THE TRAVELLING HAT SHOP was empty when she squeezed her heart-studded dress through the doorway – empty but for the marvellous Hatter himself. A cackle reverberated off the wooden walls the moment she stepped over the threshold. Catherine drew herself to her full height and let her gown fall around her feet. She met Hatta’s gleeful laugh with firm-pressed lips.

He was on his throne, feet up, hiding his face behind his purple hat. Mannequin heads were set on all of the chairs, adorned in elaborate hats. None were whispering now. They stared blankly ahead at the assortment of ribbons and felts and half-empty teacups.

‘Good day, Hatta.’

He lifted the hat and set it on to his white hair. Hair that was in desperate need of a combing. His cravat was undone, his coat wrinkled. There was a mysterious stain on the handkerchief that was crumpled inside his breast pocket.

‘Is it six o’clock already?’ he said, picking up a pocket watch from the table. ‘Why – barely noon. That can’t be right. Perhaps I shall make it forever six o’clock, forever time for tea. Tea in the morning, tea in the middle of the night. Then I shall always be an accommodating host. Would that suit you and your early arrival, Lady Pinkerton? Or shall I say – Your Majesty.’

Cath shut the shop’s door. ‘Am I early? I did not realize I was expected.’

‘I’m always expecting someone. Always coming and going, coming and going.’ He tossed the pocket watch on to the table with a clang. The face popped open and Cath could hear it ticking, too loud and too fast, like a manic countdown. If Hatta noticed it, though, it didn’t show. ‘I hope you haven’t come here seeking my marital blessing.’

‘I don’t need anyone’s blessing, least of all yours.’

‘Indeed, sweetness. You are the epitome of a royal bride. Tell me, does it make it easier, knowing the union had been foreordained? It was all laid out for you in stone and ink. You didn’t even have to make the decision yourself, just go along with all fate expected of you.’

She approached the table, narrowing her eyes. ‘That’s cruel of you to say, after my one choice was taken from me.’

‘That is cruel of you to say, after being given a choice to begin with.’

She frowned.

‘What do you want, Lady Pinkerton?’

‘I came to see how you’re faring.’

‘Liar.’ His white teeth flashed in a sardonic smile. ‘You came to see if I’ve gone mad. You want to know you’re not the only one to succumb to the Sisters’ prophecy.’

‘I no longer care about the Sisters’ prophecy.’

‘Convenient,’ he growled, ‘as you’re the one who dragged us back here.’

She clenched her fists. Then slowly unclenched them, smoothing her palms along the stiff fabric of her skirt. ‘Where’s Haigha?’

‘He went to get more tea.’ Hatta picked up his cane and stuck the end through a teapot handle. He lifted it clean off the table and the lid clattered on to a saucer. A few lonesome drops dribbled from the spout. ‘As you can see, we’re out.’

She let out a slow exhale. ‘I half expected you to have gone back to Chess.’

The teapot slid back on to the table and crashed against a cracked porcelain cup. ‘Without either of the Rooks, or the heart we came for?’ One side of his mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. ‘You should be afraid, Lady Pinkerton. You are a queen now.’ He jutted a finger towards her chest. ‘That has value.’

‘I am not afraid of you. Tell me your riddle again, Hatta, and I will tell you that my heart cannot be stolen, only purchased, and mine has already been bought.’

His cheek started to twitch. ‘You want to hear a riddle, you say? I know a very good one. It begins, why is a raven like a writing desk?’

She lifted her chin. ‘Have you gone mad, Hatta? I can’t seem to tell.’

‘They are both so full of poetry, you see. Darkness and whimsy, nightmares and song.’

‘Hatta—’

His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I figured it out, Lady Pinkerton.’

She pressed her lips together and swallowed. ‘You figured what out?’

‘Everything. Peter. The Jabberwock. The Mock Turtle. We are both to blame.’

Catherine gripped the edge of the table, staring at him across the turmoil. The mannequins said nothing.

‘You see, many years ago,’ said Hatta, as if she’d asked, ‘I brought a pumpkin back from Chess. It was going to be a pumpkin hat. A toothless, smiling pumpkin lantern that would light up on the inside. Oh, it would have been marvellous.’ He sung the word marvellous, letting his head tip back over the side of the chair. ‘But the pumpkin kept growing and growing. I couldn’t make it stop. It got to be as big as a goat and no longer fit to be a hat, so I cut it up and carved out the seeds. I took them to the nearest pumpkin patch and asked if they wanted them. Ungrateful wretches they were, the man and his sickly wife. Told me something about wanting no charity, slammed the door on my face. So I tossed the seeds away into a corner of their patch.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I thought nothing more of it after that.’

‘And then they started to grow,’ said Cath.

‘So they did. Lady Peter won a pumpkin-eating contest, did you know? She ate twenty-two of them, they say. Twenty-two bloody little pumpkins. And then she turned into a monster.’ His lips warbled into a mockery of a smile. Cath could see it now, the hysteria lurking beneath his amethyst eyes.