As the syrup filled her stomach, its warmth seeped into her body. It spread through her limbs, growing hotter, like her muscles had been set aflame. It was its own sort of pain, but nothing like her shattered ankle.
‘It’s working,’ said Jest.
She hardly felt it. The slow straightening of the joint, the shrinking of the lump, the gradual reduction of her swollen flesh.
She slumped forward as the pain became bearable, then bordered on slight discomfort, then disappeared altogether.
Jest brushed a strand of hair off her brow. ‘How does it feel?’
She rubbed her ankle, gently at first, but growing bolder when there was no flare of pain. She imagined how distraught her mother would be to witness such a thing – her daughter rubbing her bare ankle while alone in a strange place with a strange man . . .
‘Better, thank you.’
‘Good.’ This single, simple word was full of an ocean’s worth of relief.
Jest stood and carried the bucket back to the well, replacing it on its hook. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘What do you ask for payment?’
A snicker echoed up from the bottom of the well, sending a chill of goosebumps along Cath’s bare arms.
It was followed by a high, dreamy voice, like that of a little girl. She sang, ‘Elsie wants the lady’s boot, cut near in two. Tillie wants the lonely stocking, lost without a shoe. And I shall take an unspent kiss, as you’ve given far too few.’
Jest was expressionless but for a brief tightening of his jaw, then he nodded and returned to Cath’s side. Without looking at her, he gathered up the destroyed boot and shredded stocking foot.
‘Who’s down there?’ Cath whispered.
‘The Sisters,’ he said, and she could sense the weight of the title. ‘We owe them payment for the treacle, but don’t worry. They only ask for things we have no need of.’
He carried the boot and stocking to the well and dropped them inside, though there was no splash down below. Then a tiny, pale hand attached to a bony wrist twisted up from the well. Jest bent over it and placed a kiss into the upward-turned palm.
The fingers curled into a fist the moment he pulled away and the hand disappeared back into the well, taking its prize with it. Cath thought she heard another low laugh, then silence.
Jest grabbed his hat and paced back to where Cath still sat on the wildflower meadow. He sighed and crouched down, almost at eye level, and this close she could see the weariness in his eyes and the exhausted set of his shoulders. Between fighting the Jabberwock and carrying her all the way here, she wondered he had strength to stay upright at all.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
A ghost smile fluttered over his mouth – but just one side, barely revealing his dimples. ‘Mostly right, my lady.’
She grinned, briefly, at the memory of their first meeting, but with her thoughts no longer writhing with pain, questions were fast pouring into her. ‘How did we get here? There was . . . I remember a wall of stone, surrounding us . . .’ Her thoughts were hazy. It felt more like a dream than reality.
‘I am a Rook,’ Jest said. ‘I can travel faster than any carriage, so long as the path is straight.’
She opened her mouth, but shut it again. She didn’t understand, but she sensed he had been as clear as he could. So she started again, ‘The treacle well is real.’
He nodded.
‘Do you think . . . do you think it could help the Turtle?’
Jest looked surprised at the question, but gathered himself quickly. ‘Hatta already tried, but the poor creature wouldn’t follow him here. He wasn’t desperate enough.’
‘Desperate?’ She faintly remembered Hatta saying something about desperation too.
‘Yes. He was distraught and miserable, no doubt, but that isn’t enough. I’m afraid he will forever be a Mock Turtle now.’ He rocked back on his heels and, as if afraid of what other questions Cath might be preparing, said, ‘If you think you’re able to walk, I’ll escort you home. Miss Mary Ann will be worried. No doubt, everyone will be by now.’
She glanced around. ‘How much time has passed since we left the theatre?’
‘An hour or two, I think, but no timepiece will work here.’
‘That can’t be right. It’s near daylight.’
Amusement glinted in his eyes. ‘Or it’s near night. Never one or the other. At least, that’s what Hatta told me. I’ve only been here once before, but it was the same then.’
‘Never day or night,’ she murmured, looking around at the gold-lit grasses. ‘How can it be?’
‘I suspect Time has never set foot in this glen. Perhaps he isn’t willing to pay whatever price the Sisters would demand.’ His voice lowered. ‘Or maybe he’s never been desperate enough to find it.’
Cath dug her bare toes into the soft grass. ‘And how did you find it? You and Hatta.’
His shoulders slumped and, as if realizing that she was not about to leave, no matter how much time had or hadn’t passed, he lowered himself to sit beside her. He peeled off his gloves and set them and the tri-pointed hat aside. ‘Only the desperate will ever find this place. Hatta found it when he was desperate not to meet the same fate as his father. I brought you here because you were in so much pain, and I was desperate to make it stop.’
Her heart expanded, but she tried to squeeze it back into place. ‘And what about the first time you came here?’
He peered back at the well and stared at it for a long time – a very long time – before returning his attention to her. He looked like he’d lost an internal debate.