Peter spotted him and snarled. His grip tightened around the axe handle. ‘You!’

The Jabberwock prowled closer to Cath, tongue slithering between razor teeth, leaving a trail of saliva in the mud. Cath stumbled backward.

‘Hatta,’ she said, her voice warbling. ‘Jest’s hat. It might have the sword.’

Hatta was shaking his head, as if denying that any of this were happening, as if wondering why he’d ever left the comfort of his hat shop. ‘We should not have come back,’ he murmured, but in the next moment he was sprinting towards the hat, scooping it into his hands.

The Jabberwock swiped at Catherine. She screamed and jumped away. One claw caught on her muddied gown, drawing a great tear across the front of the skirt and into the heavy petticoat, barely missing her knees. Catherine wondered whether she was lucky, or whether the beast liked to toy with its food before devouring it.

Hatta cursed, still digging through the hat. A pile of assorted joker’s tricks grew around him. Bright juggling balls. A deck of cards. A bundle of scarves knotted together. Silver hoops. Fireworks and sparklers. Smoke bombs. A stuffed rabbit. A single white rose, its petals turning brittle. ‘It’s not here!’ He pulled out his arm and bunched the hat in his fist. ‘It has to be you!’ His eyes pierced Catherine beneath the Jabberwock’s outstretched wing. ‘It answers only to royalty, love.’

‘But I’m not—’

He threw the hat. It landed a couple of yards away. She couldn’t get to it without edging closer to the Jabberwock.

‘YOU!’

Peter’s howl was so sharp and loud even the Jabberwock swivelled her head towards him.

Seizing her chance, Cath darted towards the hat. She snatched the hat off the ground and thrust her arm inside, still running. As before, her fingers curled around the bone-studded handle and the sword emerged, gleaming.

Cath halted and spun back to face the monster.

The Jabberwock snarled and hunkered her head in between muscled, scaly shoulders. She took a step back, her single burning eye studying the sword like a lifelong enemy.

Cath raised the weapon with both hands. It was heavy, but determination strengthened her arms. Resolve pumped through her veins.

The beast took another step away.

Cath dared to glance at Jest, afraid it was already too late, that she would see the vision from the drawings . . .

But no, he was alive, and had managed to get back to his feet. One hand was pressed to the side of his head. He seemed dazed. His feet kept stumbling out from beneath him as if he couldn’t hold his balance. If he noticed Cath standing there with the Vorpal Sword, he showed no sign of recognition.

‘How dare you show your face here?’ Peter yelled. His face was flaming red, his nostrils flared with rage.

‘Such a pleasure to see you again, as well,’ said Hatta, seemingly unsurprised that the pumpkin grower looked ready to tear him apart. ‘How is business?’

Peter swung the axe at the ground, disconnecting another pumpkin lantern from its vine. With a guttural scream he lifted the pumpkin and heaved it in Hatta’s direction. Hatta ducked away. The pumpkin splintered against the ground.

‘This is your doing,’ Peter said. ‘You and those damned seeds. They were cursed!’

Hatta’s jaw tightened and Cath knew, without any idea what they were talking about, that Peter’s accusation was not news to Hatta.

‘You know each other,’ she said. Her arms were trembling and she allowed herself to lower the sword, just a few inches. The Jabberwock blew a puff of steam at her. ‘How do you know each other?’

‘This devil brought me bad seeds,’ said Peter. ‘I didn’t even want ’em, not knowing the quality, but he threw them away in my patch and now look what’s happened. Look what you did to my wife!’

He pulled the axe from the mud and pointed it at the Jabberwock.

Hatta released a hearty guffaw. ‘You don’t honestly expect us to believe that this . . . this creature . . .’ He trailed off, his smile fading, his eyes widening as the Jabberwock looked back at him and her one eye blazed in recognition, not unlike how she had recognized the Vorpal Sword. ‘It can’t be.’

‘You brought him seeds?’ Cath stammered. ‘From Chess?’

The pumpkins.

The Mock Turtle.

The Jabberwock and Jest and the Vorpal Sword.

It all started on the other side of the Looking Glass.

And the connection between them?

Hatta.

This was Hatta’s doing.

But Peter was the one who had captured Mary Ann. He was the one trying to keep a monster as a pet and feed it innocent lives.

‘I’ll kill you for what you’ve done to her!’ Peter shouted. ‘I’ll post your head on my gate!’

Cath’s fists tightened around the sword.

‘Stop this,’ said Jest, breathless. ‘Whatever Hatta’s involvement, it was a mistake. How was he to know what the seeds would do? And this . . . this creature is no longer your wife, Sir Peter. I’m sorry, but you have to see that.’

‘Isn’t she?’

It was Hatta arguing with him. Cath snarled, ‘Hatta!’

But he shrugged, his gaze scraping over the beast’s scaly dark skin, wide-veined wings. ‘Is the Mock Turtle no longer the Turtle? How can we know Lady Peter isn’t still inside the body of this beast?’

‘She’s been eating people!’ Cath screamed. ‘If she is still in there, she’s a murderer!’