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1: Arthur the hatter, Eames the wizard
In the land of Ingary, where such things as seven-league boots and cloaks of invisibility really exist, it is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of three. Everyone knows you are the one who will fail first, and worst, if the three of you set out to seek your fortunes.
Arthur's father owned a ladies' hat shop in the prosperous town of Market Chipping. He was the eldest of three and at twenty one stood tall and lean. He was quite deft with a needle but rather than work at his father's shop like his brothers, Arthur opted to spend all of his time reading. Books about witchery and sorcery and philosophy were his favourite although there were times when a science book or two had made their way to his shelves; he found there was a great deal that could be done when one knew how to summon the elements, when one knew how to bend nature to his or her will.
Arthur was nineteen when his father died. His father's death left the family with a great number of debts. As it turned out, Arthur's family were by no means well to do; to account for their lavish lifestyle his father borrowed money from a business mogul who lived north of the Folding Valley.
That same man, Saito, sent a notice by post. It made Arthur's stepmother Martha - who, by no means was an evil stepmother - gasp and clutch at her bosom. Arthur never found out what the notice was for but the next day, in a suspicious move, Martha sent them off to live with relatives.
"Billy, you shall live with my spinster aunt up in Brunswick, Annabel Fairfax; here is a note you shall give to her upon your arrival and your umbrella and a slice of pie that I baked the other day. Don't forget to wash behind your ears and remember that mummy loves you."
Martha wasted no time in bundling Billy up, the youngest at fourteen, in a coat made of sheepskin. There were teary goodbyes and hugs exchanged, but Billy was a brave lad, a seeker of adventure, so it was with a skip in his step that he headed East, promising to write and wash behind his ears.
Robert was next and Martha sized him up and down with a tut. "Skin and bones," she murmured with a click of her tongue. He was her favourite, Arthur knew, because as a little boy Robert had been the sickly one and so spent a lot of time getting nursed back to health. Martha hugged him tightly and pinched his cheeks before handing him a note she told him to give Mr. Saito.
"Don't forget," she said and Robert nodded, cheeks red, and went on his way to the Folding Valley. Arthur ran out of the house and called after him, taking very lofty strides.
"Where is she sending you off to?" he asked, cupping his hands around his mouth so that his voice echoed across the road.
"To the Folding Valley!" Robert said, waving, "Mum has arranged for me to be apprenticed to Saito's! He is a rich man. She says he'll take good care of me!"
"But he's a pedophile!"
"A what?"
"A pedo-" Arthur's voice tapered off as a drove of cars swept up the road. They were a dizzying number of them these days and often times Arthur found himself wishing he could drive one, zipping past the streets in a speed that rivaled a horse's gallop. But cars were expensive and only people like Saito could afford them. Someday, he promised himself quietly.
Arthur waved at Robert who was already climbing into a cab. He hurried back home before it got dark. When he returned, Martha was at the door holding a broom, shaking her head sadly at him.
"You," she said and seized him in a hug that nearly robbed him of breath, "You shall stay here and inherit your father's shop and we shall restore this business to what it once was."
"Why?" Arthur said, "You sent Billy to live with an estranged aunt, Robert to a mad man. I heard stories about that man Saito; they say he liked little boys. Why didn't you send me off to someone equally mad?"
Martha rolled her eyes. "Rumors," she snorted, "All of them baseless. Saito is a kind man, if a little bit eccentric. Your brother will be fine, Arthur. Cease your worrying. I trust Mr. Saito; he isn't mad. Just generous, a tad lonely." She sighed, setting aside her broom.
Under the light of a nearby lamp, Arthur could see the many wrinkles folding over corners of her eyes. Time had not been kind to her.
"You're the smart one, Arthur," she said tiredly, "Your brothers will die of hard labor, you know that. Robert is as stupid as a mule and Billy can't sit still long enough pay attention to anything I say. You on the other hand..." she trailed off and took both of his hands, pressing them to her face.
Arthur nodded. "I understand," he said, and, smiling slightly, made peace with the fact that he had little chance of an interesting future.
Two years passed and because nothing much happened in the little town of Market Chipping except for the occasional drunken brawl at the town square, Arthur grew, handsome and strong. He had developed quite a name for himself in the hat trade, fashioning wide-brimmed hats made of straw, caterpillar-colored hats for the mayor's daughter when time came for her to marry, hats that made you look thinner and narrow-faced, hats made from wool and leather and cloth.
But life was dull at the hat shop, although business was often very good. Arthur's brothers were doing well -- Robert was about to attend a university in the fall, his living expenses funded by Saito, and Billy, last Arthur heard, had inherited quite the sum of money after Annabel Fairfax met her untimely demise (she choked on a large fishbone and Billy became sole proprietor of her house and six cats.)
But Arthur could hardly say that he simply felt resigned to the hat trade. He often found himself dreaming of a different kind of life, one not suited to mending hats and sewing roses to bonnets and trimming ribbons until his fingers ached with strain. Whenever he had the time, he read his old books. The spines were worn by now, the pages yellowing with age. The books made him wistful for the company of his father who often regaled him with tales of adventure and witchery, black magic he'd encountered back when he'd been a young boy.
Summer was coming to a close and it was about the same time that a tall black castle suddenly appeared on the hills above Market Chipping, blowing clouds of grey smoke from its four turrets. The castle roved about, stopping here and there, restless as it were, carried, at least according to the stories, by mechanical claws that resembled that of a bird's.
The castle never stayed in the same place for a long time, which began to worry the mayor; sometimes it rested in the moors of the South East, a black smudge that heaved and creaked, other times it could be glimpsed near the cliffs of Porthaven, overlooking the sea, as if it thought to rest for a moment before it set about again on a new adventure.
There was talk of the Witch of the Waste returning to terrorize the country as she had fifty years ago but it was learned, fairly soon, that the castle did not belong to her but rather, to the Wizard Eames who was another terror altogether. The Wizard Eames was terrible enough. Some people said he ate the hearts of every young girl he came across. Others said he was cold-blooded and utterly ruthless and amused himself by hexing people and turning poor farmer's wives into frogs.
Needless to say, Arthur didn't like him. Somebody should teach him a lesson, he thought often, blood boiling in exasperation and disbelief. But what could a simple hatter like him do? He had a sewing kit and a sharp pointy needle and a room full of straw hats. What were those compared to a wizard's black magic?
2: Arthur is cursed
The streets were bustling with life that Monday afternoon, crowded and rowdy with noise. Arthur was on his way to the market when he saw a vagabond sprawled on the sidewalk, dressed impeccably in black breeches and brown leather boots but covered in soot all over. He sidestepped the man but not after dropping a few coins at his feet. On his way back home, laden with shopping bags, Arthur saw him again, the same vagabond, still unmoved from his position near the garbage bins and now starting to attracting the attention of flies.
"Are you all right?" Arthur asked, kicking him lightly on the foot. There was no response even after Arthur slapped him hard across the cheek. The man smelled heavily of liquor. He had no other possession on him besides a pouch filled with colorful marbles.
Arthur sighed, and noting it was getting rather late, checked his pocket for change. He had enough money for a cab ride home but didn't want to spend all of it on something so trivial. Arthur stared at the man again, for three, maybe five minutes, taking in the slope of his nose and his long eyelashes which were dusted with bits of ash. Despite his best efforts, Arthur found himself flagging down a cab. The man at the wheel raised his eyebrows when Arthur pulled the door open and, panting and grunting, shoved the vagabond facefirst in the backseat.