She had spoken so quietly she could barely hear her own words in the turmoil, yet at that moment, Raven landed on the stairs’ railing and cocked his head, his fathomless eyes peering into her.

Jest grunted, his face contorted with the effort to control the Jabberwock. The beast suddenly hurled itself upward. Jest lost his grip and slipped back, struck by the monster’s whipping tail.

He flipped in the air, landing on his feet with only a slight stumble.

The Jabberwock beat its great wings. All around the lobby, candle flames flickered and blew out.

But one of the monster’s wings was off-kilter.

It was wounded.

Raven tore his focus from Catherine and soared upward, targeting the monster’s remaining eye. With a snap of its jaws, the Jabberwock caught a tail feather in its mouth. Raven retreated with a cry.

The Jabberwock warbled in the air. It reached for a chandelier but missed and crumpled back towards the lobby’s floor. What was left of the crowd scattered. The tiles cracked under the impact. The walls quaked.

The creature panted and gurgled. One burning eye darted around the destruction. A curl of steam spiralled from its nostrils.

It fixed its eye on Catherine again, like a predator singling out the weakest from the herd. Its tongue lolled as it shuddered itself up on to all four legs.

Cath pushed back, her palms slipping on her gown’s fabric. She was tangled and trapped and the very idea of putting weight on her ankle brought hysteria clawing up her throat.

The beast lumbered towards her, great globs of saliva dripping from its teeth.

‘No!’ Jest yelled. ‘You’re fighting me, you great smelly beast! Leave her alone!’

He launched himself off the mezzanine and swung down from a chandelier. The candles were still swinging, splattering wax on the floor, when he landed between the beast’s wings. His brow was beaded with sweat, lines of kohl running down his cheeks, yet he managed to make it look like a choreographed dance.

It was like being at the circus. Cath could see it all in her pain-filled delirium. For our next act, please welcome Jest and the Jubilant Jabberwock, best acrobatic team in all of Hearts!

She started to laugh hysterically.

Raven puffed his wings, still watching her.

Raging and twisting, the Jabberwock tried to shake off the Joker again, but Jest latched on to the soft tissue where its wings met its back, his sceptre raised to strike. Catherine didn’t believe he could kill it with a wooden stick. Take out another eye, perhaps. Wound and maim, no doubt. But soon the Jabberwock’s teeth would find Jest and end this act.

Feathered wings beat at her hair. She screamed and ducked away, but it was only Raven. He dropped to the ground beside her, his chest fluttering with quick breaths. He had Jest’s hat in his talons, the bells silenced against the broken ground.

He fixed his eyes on her and nudged the hat forward.

Cath grabbed it. The fabric was worn and soft. It felt like an ancient thing, not a recent addition to a joker’s motley. The bells twinkled as she thrust her arm inside.

No fabric lining, no worn seams. The inside of the hat was a void, deep and endless. She pressed her arm in up to her shoulder, her fingers reaching and stretching until they wrapped around something cool and hard.

She pulled her arm back and gasped.

She was gripping the handle of a sword.

No – the Vorpal Sword. She knew it to her bones. Its blade shone silver in the theatre’s warm light, its hilt encrusted with the teeth and bones of the creatures it had slain before.

She thought of the stories. The brave king who had sought the Jabberwock in the forest and slain it with the righteous Vorpal Sword.

She looked up. Jest was still clinging to the monster’s back. He spotted her and his eyes widened. ‘Catherine—!’

The Jabberwock bucked. This time Jest was flung at the ground, landing on his side with a groan. His sceptre skittered into the crowd, the few who were stuck by the theatre doors, too afraid to make a run for the exit. They stood huddled in terrified groups, some fleeing back into the theatre, others hunching into what safety the staircase could afford them.

The Jabberwock rounded on Catherine again, as if Jest had been nothing but a pestering gnat and she was the true target. Its next meal.

The beast saw the sword in her hand and froze.

The weapon warmed in her hand as if it, too, sensed its prey.

Catherine gulped and allowed herself one whimper of denial. One panicked moment of refusal in which she absolutely, positively, was not going to stand on her broken ankle and face this monster with an ancient, mythical weapon.

Then she clenched her jaw and yanked her skirt out from beneath her tangled limbs, ignoring the sound of ripping fabric. She stumbled on to her good leg first, pain jolting up her wounded ankle with each movement. With one hand gripping the sword, she used the other to brace herself on the staircase banister. Her breath had gone ragged, her skin clammy. She was already dizzy from the exertion required to stand.

But standing she was.

Exhaling, she released the handrail and put her weight on to her injured leg. She bit back a shriek, but refused to crumple. She wrapped both hands around the sword’s handle and lifted the blade, ignoring the tremble of her arms.

The Jabberwock prowled closer, wary now. It sniffed, like it could smell the steel, or maybe the blood that had once coated it.

Another slow step closer, prowling on all fours.

Catherine tried to gulp but her scratchy throat rebelled.

Another step.

She imagined herself doing it. Swinging the sword as hard as she could. Chopping through sinew and spine. She imagined the creature’s head rolling, thumping across the lobby.