Through a Looking Glass Darkly: Knight of Cups, Part One
When Alice was fifteen years old, she was in danger of being executed for the first time.
She’d been sentenced to death before, and the first couple of times it had been scary, yes. But she’d been young, and by and large in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one had seriously expected her not to be pardoned. Today, however, was a bit different.
“You and your fucking radishes,” Othello groused from his corner of their cell.
“I said I was sorry,” Jelly repeated.
“Well, the acoustics in this cell suck!” he shot back.
“Look, we got our guy anyway,” Jelly began.
“Yeah, our little old guy. The Queen can rest safely tonight knowing that Duck is off the street along with a majestic fuckton of radishes!”
Jelly rolled her eyes, but didn’t comment. Othello was something of a worrywart; he also had three more years worth of experience than her, which meant that being his partner was a good way to be promoted quickly. He had lost his first partner, which meant that she was usually willing to cut him a little slack.
As previously established, today was not usual; today had involved radishes, one of her plans backfiring in a nearly unsalvageable way, and so is naturally followed that he was really starting to piss her off. Thankfully, Cricket chose that moment to enter, followed closely by Grace and a large tray of food.
“Hello Fours,” he greeted. “We come bearing food.”
“And news?” Jelly asked hopefully.
“Not the sort of news you’re hoping for,” Grace said. “But there is-”
The door to the holding cells opened again, and in walked Jack, wearing a dapper suit and a beleaguered expression. “Well, I’m done. That was the worst idea I’ve ever had.”
“What was?” Jelly asked.
“The party,” Jack replied, then did a double take, as though just realizing that she was behind bars. “Which you likely haven’t heard about.”
“You threw a party?” Jelly asked.
“He’s throwing a party,” Cricket confirmed. “There’s alcohol and loud music and everything, four stories up and three corridors that way.” He jerked his head back in the direction of door.
“I’m celebrating my inability to get past Mother’s guards for these past six months,” Jack elaborated. “Thought being, that if I can’t go to the city, then a part of the city can come to me. And it was a terrible idea.”
“My career certainly misses being able to hand you over,” Othello commiserated. “And the lack of radishes.”
Jack made a rude noise, pulled a chair out of an empty cell, and sat down in it, burying his face in his hands.
“Jack, darling,” Grace said. Jack looked up. “I can’t help but get the impression that you’re going about partying the wrong way.”
“Oh?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I’ll be right back.”
She left; Othello chose that moment to ask “So… you and Grace?”
“Yes, him and Grace,” Cricket interrupted vehemently. “If there’s much more ‘him and Grace’ I’m going to puke in my robes!”
“Thank you Cricket,” Jack replied. “It’s so nice to know that I can rely upon you.”
“You can rely on me!” Cricket protested. “You just also make me want to vomit.”
Grace entered the room at that point, carrying five goblets, three wine bottles and several small kebabs in a basket.
“First,” she proclaimed. “We need to drink this. All of it.”
Jelly had moved past the buzzed stage several hours later when she realized the flaw in this plan.
“Uh, Jack?” she asked.
Jack lifted his head from where he’d been using Grace’s hat as a pillow. “Hm?” he asked, bleary eyed.
“What is your mother going to do when she sees the pictures of this?” she asked.
“She’s not going to see pictures of this,” Jack scoffed. “She doesn’t check security cameras.”
“No one’s going to send her them if they show her son drunkenly curled up with a Club?” Jelly pressed meaningfully.
“And associating with prisoners she might have executed anyway?” Othello added, getting shakily to his feet.
Cricket frowned. “I think we’re supposed to show her those sorts of pictures.”
“She’s not going to see any pictures,” Jack insisted, standing up, and dragging his chair over to the where the camera was mounted on the wall. He swung the chair up at it; he missed, but the force of the chair hitting the wall was great enough to shake the camera from its mountings and have it crash to the floor in pieces. “So there.”
Cricket laughed, loud, obnoxious, and drunken.
“My hero,” Grace purred, as Jack dragged his chair back next to her.
“Anything for you, darling,” he murmured.
Cricket made a retching noise as the door swung open into his chair, and Jelly’s father stepped inside. He took in the room: the empty bottles, the broken camera, and the way Grace and Jack had sprung apart guiltily when he entered, before settling his gaze on her.
“What?” Jelly protested. “This isn’t my fault! I’m in a cell! On death row!”
Dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not anymore you’re not. The King’s given you and your partner a pardon.”
He turned to Cricket and held his hand out for the keys, which the Club gave to him after a small amount of fumbling.
“Come on, Jelllybean,” he said, as he unlocked the door. “Let’s go back to our quarters.”
“FREEDOM!” yelled Othello as the door opened, and he ran for the exit. He stopped just short of it, though, and turned to Cricket before vomiting down the front of his robes.
~*~
Eight years later, Jelly watched from a niche in one of the dilapidated old buildings that surrounded the White Rabbit’s headquarters. If they’d been in any other area of the City, they would be surrounded by urchins, glaikits, stiffs, and other irregulars; as it was, this part of the City was dead quiet, disturbed only by the occasional Spade making their way into and out of the Police headquarters five stories down.
There were areas in the City she would never authorize a presence in except in force; but no one bothered the Suits in their own territory.
Except for, apparently, her. And Hatter.
“You can leave, you know,” she said again, keeping her eyes trained on the auxiliary Looking Glass room. She’d been a little skeptical when she’d heard that the agent the White Rabbit had captured had been operating on the other side- how exactly were they going to keep her father safe if they couldn’t stop their own Other Side agents from being caught?- but Gryphon had explained it well enough, if with scanter details than she would have liked. The agent in question was someone the Queen wanted very much, and as he’d planned to return eventually, which meant that he’d stayed close to the Looking Glass rather than moving into one of the Resistance’s safe houses several hundred miles inland.
Which meant that it was up to Jelly to anticipate the White Rabbit’s actions on this side, something that she had actually gotten rather good at over the years. If they were anticipating trouble from the Resistance- and since the Resistance was apparently planning on giving them trouble that was a pretty sure bet- they would likely be using that instead of the actual Looking Glass chambers. “You’ve put me in contact with the Resistance, and gotten a contact yourself. I’m not going to blame you if you just go back to your shop.”
“Ah, but if I help rescue this agent of Gryphon’s, he’ll be grateful,” Hatter replied. “And then I could have another contact.”
“You know, the plan is to bring him back to your shop,” Jelly reminded him.
“Yes, but he’s more likely to be grateful if I help to rescue him.”
“You do realize this is going to involve fighting, right?” Jelly was willing to accept that Hatter was good at avoiding her men, good at talking his way out of things, good at working in the shadows. She was a little more leery of how he would fare in a physical confrontation.
Hatter reached into his jacket and pulled out a pocket pistol. “You’re not the only one who goes around armed, you know,” he said, sounding insulted.
“It might be hand to hand combat,” Jelly clarified.
“I have a mean right hook.”
“Really?”
Hatter’s protest, whatever it was going to be, was cut short as the air began to vibrate faintly with a Scarab’s approach.
“It’s early,” Jelly said. “They must want to take him directly there. Come on.”
She swung a board from the nearby ledge to the roof of the White Rabbit’s Headquarters, and, teeth and fists tightly clenched, made her way across. Hatter followed behind her, and they dashed behind the White Rabbit’s insignia as two men came out of the auxiliary building, dragging a third between them.
“That must be him,” Hatter muttered. Jelly nodded. The unconscious man was wearing jeans and a watch glinted on his wrist; there was no excuse for that unless he’d been living in hiding on the Other Side.
“Wait just a bit,” Jelly murmured, holding out an arm to stop him from running for the ladder.
The men were nearly on the premises when Agent White finally appeared, jumping nimbly through the landscape despite his cane.
“Go,” Jelly said, moving for the right-hand ladder; Hatter took the left. She climbed down as quickly and quietly as she could and ran around the ledgeway that surrounded the building.
“Agent White!” she shouted.
White stopped short, as did his Suits.
“I do not have time, Ten,” he said imperiously. “To quibble with you today. As you can see-”
His monologue was cut short by a sharp whistle, and suddenly one of the men holding the Resistance agent went sprawling to the ground. Jelly lunged for White while he was distracted, and they went tumbling over the Suit’s unconscious body. She caught a flash of Hatter squaring off against the other Suit, who was using the unconscious agent as human shield. Then they rolled to a stop, him on top of her; she twisted her hips slightly as he tried to pin her to the ground, and managed to bring her knee up sharply between his legs. He gasped, instinctively curling in on himself, so she rolled herself to the top and the both of them farther away from the ledge and brought her hand back. Her punch landed squarely in the center of his jaw, and his head snapped back against the concrete before his body went limp.
She stood, intending to help Hatter, but there was no need: the Resistance agent suddenly threw himself forwards, pulling himself free of his jacket and leaving the Suit with nothing to protect him but a scrap of cloth. Hatter let fly with his right fist; the Suit tumbled back onto the stairs in a dead faint, his jaw hanging at an unnatural angle.
“You alright?” he asked, breathing hard.
“Yep,” she replied, turning back to face the Resistance agent. “How about you, are you okay?”
The agent had been bending over White, his back to them, but he faced them at her question. Jelly blinked.
“Jack?” she asked.
He stood without answering, but now that she had a good look at his face there could be no mistaking the stubborn set of his jaw anywhere, even if he was mysteriously brunet.
“You’re with the Resistance?” she demanded.
“I rather think I should be asking you that,” he replied.
The air hummed louder, and she could see the Scarab’s shadow play across the building in front of them. She grabbed Jack by the wrist and made a dash for the shrubbery, Hatter following close behind. She pressed herself flat against the wall behind the shrubs, Hatter to her right and Jack to her left.
“Who’s this then?” Hatter whispered in her ear as the Scarab made its way across the dell.
“Hatter, this is Jack Heart,” she told him. “Jack, meet Hatter.”
“What,” he said, more a statement then a question. He stood on his toes to peer over her head at Jack; Jelly gave him a firm yank and a stern warning look that told him on no uncertain terms to stop rustling the branches.
“That’s the bloody heir apparent?” he asked.
“Heir presumptive,” Jelly corrected.
“Perhaps we might just stick with heir?” Jack suggested. Jelly shrugged. It wasn’t really an area she had much experience with, but she imagined it smarted a little when your mother called a full session of Court to strip inheritance of the throne from you and give it to your hypothetical future wife instead. That probably explained the whole Resistance agent thing, come to think of it, though it still begged the question: just how many people did she know who were secretly members of the Resistance, anyway?
“Seriously, you’re the Prince of Hearts?” Hatter demanded.
“Yes,” Jack told him.
“He’s normally blond,” Jelly added.
“Well, that explains everything,” Hatter said, words basted liberally with sarcasm. The humming in the air stopped as the Scarab docked.
“Let’s go,” Jelly said, and they went, curving around the building and taking the covered bridge into the next building over before beginning their way down.
~*~
Jelly didn’t think they would be followed: the board they’d used as a bridge would stand out immediately to any Suits wondering who had taken out the Rabbits. That would imply that they’d gone up and west, rather than south and down. It still grated though, when a few moments after they’d rescued him Jack piped up with “Where exactly are we going?”
“The shop,” Hatter replied, peering over the ledgeway to see if the ladder was clear. It was, and he began to climb down it.
“And the shop is..?” Jack asked.
“Where Gryphon will be meeting us,” Jelly replied, motioning to the ladder.
“Gryphon?” Jack repeated.
“Yeah, Gryphon,” Jelly confirmed.
Jack looked dismayed, and didn’t budge.
Hatter poked his head above the ledge. “Are you two coming?”
“Eventually,” Jelly said, before turning back to Jack. “What about Gryphon?”
“He’s under the impression that I’m working for my mother,” Jack said.
“What gave him that idea?” Hatter asked, eyes narrowing.
“The fact that she’s my mother, I believe,” Jack replied drily.
“Blood is thicker than water,” Hatter pointed out.
“Not in my family, it isn’t,” Jack retorted.
Hatter looked at him, and then at her, wholly unimpressed.
“Can we continue this conversation when we’re inside, please?” Jelly asked. Before either of the two men could reply, a small boy rounded the corner on the ledgeway on the opposing side of the lacuna. Jelly glared at him until he skittered out of sight.
“Yes,” Hatter agreed.
Jack looked uncertain.
“Don’t make me carry you,” Jelly warned him. Jack let out a small huff of annoyed breath, and followed the Tea Seller down.
The fog had largely burned off when they waited for Jack’s arrival, and as they walked through the city now it was almost pleasant out. The sun shone brightly down upon them, and even if Hatter’s chosen route was his most effifying one yet, her fingers didn’t go numb and she even unbuttoned the jacket a little. Jack kept up better than she would have expected, stopping only to occasionally say things like “Didn’t we just pass that building half an hour ago?”
“Half a what?” Hatter asked, not stopping.
“Just how long were you away for, anyway?” Jelly demanded.
“Six weeks,” Jack replied. “I went to New York- it was a lot of fun.”
Jelly nearly lost her footing, managing to latch onto the wall before falling down completely. Jack had been to her home- well, probably not her home exactly, but he’d been to her home city.
“You just left yesterday, on this end,” she told him, pulling herself upright and ignoring the concerned look Hatter threw her.
“Really?” Jack asked, sounding surprised. “It was supposed to be longer.”
“Really,” Jelly told him, and nodded her head forwards to move him along. Jack didn’t budge, but Hatter leaned back against the wall, clearly taking everything in.
“Just how long have you been with the Resistance?” Jack asked.
“Since yesterday,” she told him.
“I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be.”
She moved forwards; Jack began to move when she overtook him, jogging to get back in between her and Hatter, and the three of them went back on the move. They stayed that way, just long enough that Jelly was beginning to wonder if Hatter himself had gotten lost, before she realized that they were back in his neighborhood. They walked down the alley that lead to the promenade-side of his shop, and then stopped, the sound of a pretty thorough ransacking drifted towards them. Hatter rounded the corner with no small amount of trepidation, and then pulled himself up behind the phone booth.
There was a posse of Suits- Spades, from Dudley’s deck, and Darrel, and a man who appeared to be wearing her father’s cookie jar on his head. He had Gryphon by the collar, and was shaking him like a ragdoll.
“Have you seen him?” The jar-headed man asked.
Oh. Oh, shit.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” Gryphon replied. “I’m just here for the Tea!”
He wasn’t wearing the jar on his head; he was wearing it as his head.
“Get out of here!” March snarled, and threw the Resistance man bodily off the porch. She heard Jack take a sharp breath in when he tumbled off the walkway and into the city below. Fucking fuck fuckers…
“It can’t be,” Hatter murmured, much more politely.
March’s head, as it were, snapped up with a mechanical twist, and he turned his face towards them.
“It is,” Jelly said, giving Jack a shove to get him moving. “Run.”
The three of them scrambled back the way they’d come, March following at his inevitable, double-time pace. Hatter turned around and watched him approach, horrified, until Jelly reached out grabbed him by the hand. Then he shook himself out of his stupor, and made a dash for a small ramp.
“This way,” he said, pulling her along.
“But-” she protested. Hatter’s shop was fairly close to the water, and the way this ramp lead would trap them against it.
“Trust me,” Hatter said. Jack apparently needed no such cajoling, and sped down the ramp without them, which meant that Jelly had to follow. Even if they weren’t quite friends these days, he was her ticket into the Resistance, after all.
They ran down until they reached the docks, and that’s when Jelly realized that Hatter did know what he was doing after all. His boat was docked at the end, waiting for them.
“That way,” Hatter said, turning around again to watch the posse’s approach.
“The boat,” Jelly clarified for Jack’s benefit, pulling Hatter forwards.
Hatter ran ahead of them both and jumped into the back, tugging at the ripcord. Jack followed close behind, tugging at the knots on the moorings. Jelly pulled out the knife from her boot, and cut them free.
“Keep your head down,” she ordered, pushing Jack to the far side of the boat. She replaced the knife and drew out her gun just as March stepped off the ramp. Hatter managed to get the motor started just as she opened fire, shattering one of the assassin’s new ceramic ears, and causing the rest of the Suits to dive for cover. Hatter scrambled into the driver’s seat, and they sped off, leaving the posse behind, and Jelly quickly sat down before she fell off.
“What was that?” Jack asked.
“Mad March,” Jelly yelled, the wind whipping her words away as soon as they were out of her mouth.
“What?”
“I said Mad March!” Jelly repeated.
“What?” Jack said again, but this time it was the sort of question that was directed at the world at large, rather than her.
“What did you think?” Jelly demanded. “That your mother was just going to let you jump through the Looking Glass without comment? The minute word reached her she ordered my father to bring him back so he could track you!”
Jack looked away. Jelly scoffed to herself.
“Right,” Hatter said, slowing the boat down enough that he could be heard. “Our contact’s dead, and my shop’s no longer a safe zone. What are we doing next?”
“I need to get to the Resistance,” Jack said.
“Same here,” Jelly added quickly.
“Well, the only contacts I have are in the city, so.” He stopped short as the air began to hum, and Jelly turned around so she could see a Scarab making its way towards them. “First we have to shake that royal flush. Hold on.”
He turned back to the wheel and they sped off, Jack’s tie whipping out and hitting her in the face as they did so.
She’d been sentenced to death before, and the first couple of times it had been scary, yes. But she’d been young, and by and large in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one had seriously expected her not to be pardoned. Today, however, was a bit different.
“You and your fucking radishes,” Othello groused from his corner of their cell.
“I said I was sorry,” Jelly repeated.
“Well, the acoustics in this cell suck!” he shot back.
“Look, we got our guy anyway,” Jelly began.
“Yeah, our little old guy. The Queen can rest safely tonight knowing that Duck is off the street along with a majestic fuckton of radishes!”
Jelly rolled her eyes, but didn’t comment. Othello was something of a worrywart; he also had three more years worth of experience than her, which meant that being his partner was a good way to be promoted quickly. He had lost his first partner, which meant that she was usually willing to cut him a little slack.
As previously established, today was not usual; today had involved radishes, one of her plans backfiring in a nearly unsalvageable way, and so is naturally followed that he was really starting to piss her off. Thankfully, Cricket chose that moment to enter, followed closely by Grace and a large tray of food.
“Hello Fours,” he greeted. “We come bearing food.”
“And news?” Jelly asked hopefully.
“Not the sort of news you’re hoping for,” Grace said. “But there is-”
The door to the holding cells opened again, and in walked Jack, wearing a dapper suit and a beleaguered expression. “Well, I’m done. That was the worst idea I’ve ever had.”
“What was?” Jelly asked.
“The party,” Jack replied, then did a double take, as though just realizing that she was behind bars. “Which you likely haven’t heard about.”
“You threw a party?” Jelly asked.
“He’s throwing a party,” Cricket confirmed. “There’s alcohol and loud music and everything, four stories up and three corridors that way.” He jerked his head back in the direction of door.
“I’m celebrating my inability to get past Mother’s guards for these past six months,” Jack elaborated. “Thought being, that if I can’t go to the city, then a part of the city can come to me. And it was a terrible idea.”
“My career certainly misses being able to hand you over,” Othello commiserated. “And the lack of radishes.”
Jack made a rude noise, pulled a chair out of an empty cell, and sat down in it, burying his face in his hands.
“Jack, darling,” Grace said. Jack looked up. “I can’t help but get the impression that you’re going about partying the wrong way.”
“Oh?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I’ll be right back.”
She left; Othello chose that moment to ask “So… you and Grace?”
“Yes, him and Grace,” Cricket interrupted vehemently. “If there’s much more ‘him and Grace’ I’m going to puke in my robes!”
“Thank you Cricket,” Jack replied. “It’s so nice to know that I can rely upon you.”
“You can rely on me!” Cricket protested. “You just also make me want to vomit.”
Grace entered the room at that point, carrying five goblets, three wine bottles and several small kebabs in a basket.
“First,” she proclaimed. “We need to drink this. All of it.”
Jelly had moved past the buzzed stage several hours later when she realized the flaw in this plan.
“Uh, Jack?” she asked.
Jack lifted his head from where he’d been using Grace’s hat as a pillow. “Hm?” he asked, bleary eyed.
“What is your mother going to do when she sees the pictures of this?” she asked.
“She’s not going to see pictures of this,” Jack scoffed. “She doesn’t check security cameras.”
“No one’s going to send her them if they show her son drunkenly curled up with a Club?” Jelly pressed meaningfully.
“And associating with prisoners she might have executed anyway?” Othello added, getting shakily to his feet.
Cricket frowned. “I think we’re supposed to show her those sorts of pictures.”
“She’s not going to see any pictures,” Jack insisted, standing up, and dragging his chair over to the where the camera was mounted on the wall. He swung the chair up at it; he missed, but the force of the chair hitting the wall was great enough to shake the camera from its mountings and have it crash to the floor in pieces. “So there.”
Cricket laughed, loud, obnoxious, and drunken.
“My hero,” Grace purred, as Jack dragged his chair back next to her.
“Anything for you, darling,” he murmured.
Cricket made a retching noise as the door swung open into his chair, and Jelly’s father stepped inside. He took in the room: the empty bottles, the broken camera, and the way Grace and Jack had sprung apart guiltily when he entered, before settling his gaze on her.
“What?” Jelly protested. “This isn’t my fault! I’m in a cell! On death row!”
Dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not anymore you’re not. The King’s given you and your partner a pardon.”
He turned to Cricket and held his hand out for the keys, which the Club gave to him after a small amount of fumbling.
“Come on, Jelllybean,” he said, as he unlocked the door. “Let’s go back to our quarters.”
“FREEDOM!” yelled Othello as the door opened, and he ran for the exit. He stopped just short of it, though, and turned to Cricket before vomiting down the front of his robes.
~*~
Eight years later, Jelly watched from a niche in one of the dilapidated old buildings that surrounded the White Rabbit’s headquarters. If they’d been in any other area of the City, they would be surrounded by urchins, glaikits, stiffs, and other irregulars; as it was, this part of the City was dead quiet, disturbed only by the occasional Spade making their way into and out of the Police headquarters five stories down.
There were areas in the City she would never authorize a presence in except in force; but no one bothered the Suits in their own territory.
Except for, apparently, her. And Hatter.
“You can leave, you know,” she said again, keeping her eyes trained on the auxiliary Looking Glass room. She’d been a little skeptical when she’d heard that the agent the White Rabbit had captured had been operating on the other side- how exactly were they going to keep her father safe if they couldn’t stop their own Other Side agents from being caught?- but Gryphon had explained it well enough, if with scanter details than she would have liked. The agent in question was someone the Queen wanted very much, and as he’d planned to return eventually, which meant that he’d stayed close to the Looking Glass rather than moving into one of the Resistance’s safe houses several hundred miles inland.
Which meant that it was up to Jelly to anticipate the White Rabbit’s actions on this side, something that she had actually gotten rather good at over the years. If they were anticipating trouble from the Resistance- and since the Resistance was apparently planning on giving them trouble that was a pretty sure bet- they would likely be using that instead of the actual Looking Glass chambers. “You’ve put me in contact with the Resistance, and gotten a contact yourself. I’m not going to blame you if you just go back to your shop.”
“Ah, but if I help rescue this agent of Gryphon’s, he’ll be grateful,” Hatter replied. “And then I could have another contact.”
“You know, the plan is to bring him back to your shop,” Jelly reminded him.
“Yes, but he’s more likely to be grateful if I help to rescue him.”
“You do realize this is going to involve fighting, right?” Jelly was willing to accept that Hatter was good at avoiding her men, good at talking his way out of things, good at working in the shadows. She was a little more leery of how he would fare in a physical confrontation.
Hatter reached into his jacket and pulled out a pocket pistol. “You’re not the only one who goes around armed, you know,” he said, sounding insulted.
“It might be hand to hand combat,” Jelly clarified.
“I have a mean right hook.”
“Really?”
Hatter’s protest, whatever it was going to be, was cut short as the air began to vibrate faintly with a Scarab’s approach.
“It’s early,” Jelly said. “They must want to take him directly there. Come on.”
She swung a board from the nearby ledge to the roof of the White Rabbit’s Headquarters, and, teeth and fists tightly clenched, made her way across. Hatter followed behind her, and they dashed behind the White Rabbit’s insignia as two men came out of the auxiliary building, dragging a third between them.
“That must be him,” Hatter muttered. Jelly nodded. The unconscious man was wearing jeans and a watch glinted on his wrist; there was no excuse for that unless he’d been living in hiding on the Other Side.
“Wait just a bit,” Jelly murmured, holding out an arm to stop him from running for the ladder.
The men were nearly on the premises when Agent White finally appeared, jumping nimbly through the landscape despite his cane.
“Go,” Jelly said, moving for the right-hand ladder; Hatter took the left. She climbed down as quickly and quietly as she could and ran around the ledgeway that surrounded the building.
“Agent White!” she shouted.
White stopped short, as did his Suits.
“I do not have time, Ten,” he said imperiously. “To quibble with you today. As you can see-”
His monologue was cut short by a sharp whistle, and suddenly one of the men holding the Resistance agent went sprawling to the ground. Jelly lunged for White while he was distracted, and they went tumbling over the Suit’s unconscious body. She caught a flash of Hatter squaring off against the other Suit, who was using the unconscious agent as human shield. Then they rolled to a stop, him on top of her; she twisted her hips slightly as he tried to pin her to the ground, and managed to bring her knee up sharply between his legs. He gasped, instinctively curling in on himself, so she rolled herself to the top and the both of them farther away from the ledge and brought her hand back. Her punch landed squarely in the center of his jaw, and his head snapped back against the concrete before his body went limp.
She stood, intending to help Hatter, but there was no need: the Resistance agent suddenly threw himself forwards, pulling himself free of his jacket and leaving the Suit with nothing to protect him but a scrap of cloth. Hatter let fly with his right fist; the Suit tumbled back onto the stairs in a dead faint, his jaw hanging at an unnatural angle.
“You alright?” he asked, breathing hard.
“Yep,” she replied, turning back to face the Resistance agent. “How about you, are you okay?”
The agent had been bending over White, his back to them, but he faced them at her question. Jelly blinked.
“Jack?” she asked.
He stood without answering, but now that she had a good look at his face there could be no mistaking the stubborn set of his jaw anywhere, even if he was mysteriously brunet.
“You’re with the Resistance?” she demanded.
“I rather think I should be asking you that,” he replied.
The air hummed louder, and she could see the Scarab’s shadow play across the building in front of them. She grabbed Jack by the wrist and made a dash for the shrubbery, Hatter following close behind. She pressed herself flat against the wall behind the shrubs, Hatter to her right and Jack to her left.
“Who’s this then?” Hatter whispered in her ear as the Scarab made its way across the dell.
“Hatter, this is Jack Heart,” she told him. “Jack, meet Hatter.”
“What,” he said, more a statement then a question. He stood on his toes to peer over her head at Jack; Jelly gave him a firm yank and a stern warning look that told him on no uncertain terms to stop rustling the branches.
“That’s the bloody heir apparent?” he asked.
“Heir presumptive,” Jelly corrected.
“Perhaps we might just stick with heir?” Jack suggested. Jelly shrugged. It wasn’t really an area she had much experience with, but she imagined it smarted a little when your mother called a full session of Court to strip inheritance of the throne from you and give it to your hypothetical future wife instead. That probably explained the whole Resistance agent thing, come to think of it, though it still begged the question: just how many people did she know who were secretly members of the Resistance, anyway?
“Seriously, you’re the Prince of Hearts?” Hatter demanded.
“Yes,” Jack told him.
“He’s normally blond,” Jelly added.
“Well, that explains everything,” Hatter said, words basted liberally with sarcasm. The humming in the air stopped as the Scarab docked.
“Let’s go,” Jelly said, and they went, curving around the building and taking the covered bridge into the next building over before beginning their way down.
~*~
Jelly didn’t think they would be followed: the board they’d used as a bridge would stand out immediately to any Suits wondering who had taken out the Rabbits. That would imply that they’d gone up and west, rather than south and down. It still grated though, when a few moments after they’d rescued him Jack piped up with “Where exactly are we going?”
“The shop,” Hatter replied, peering over the ledgeway to see if the ladder was clear. It was, and he began to climb down it.
“And the shop is..?” Jack asked.
“Where Gryphon will be meeting us,” Jelly replied, motioning to the ladder.
“Gryphon?” Jack repeated.
“Yeah, Gryphon,” Jelly confirmed.
Jack looked dismayed, and didn’t budge.
Hatter poked his head above the ledge. “Are you two coming?”
“Eventually,” Jelly said, before turning back to Jack. “What about Gryphon?”
“He’s under the impression that I’m working for my mother,” Jack said.
“What gave him that idea?” Hatter asked, eyes narrowing.
“The fact that she’s my mother, I believe,” Jack replied drily.
“Blood is thicker than water,” Hatter pointed out.
“Not in my family, it isn’t,” Jack retorted.
Hatter looked at him, and then at her, wholly unimpressed.
“Can we continue this conversation when we’re inside, please?” Jelly asked. Before either of the two men could reply, a small boy rounded the corner on the ledgeway on the opposing side of the lacuna. Jelly glared at him until he skittered out of sight.
“Yes,” Hatter agreed.
Jack looked uncertain.
“Don’t make me carry you,” Jelly warned him. Jack let out a small huff of annoyed breath, and followed the Tea Seller down.
The fog had largely burned off when they waited for Jack’s arrival, and as they walked through the city now it was almost pleasant out. The sun shone brightly down upon them, and even if Hatter’s chosen route was his most effifying one yet, her fingers didn’t go numb and she even unbuttoned the jacket a little. Jack kept up better than she would have expected, stopping only to occasionally say things like “Didn’t we just pass that building half an hour ago?”
“Half a what?” Hatter asked, not stopping.
“Just how long were you away for, anyway?” Jelly demanded.
“Six weeks,” Jack replied. “I went to New York- it was a lot of fun.”
Jelly nearly lost her footing, managing to latch onto the wall before falling down completely. Jack had been to her home- well, probably not her home exactly, but he’d been to her home city.
“You just left yesterday, on this end,” she told him, pulling herself upright and ignoring the concerned look Hatter threw her.
“Really?” Jack asked, sounding surprised. “It was supposed to be longer.”
“Really,” Jelly told him, and nodded her head forwards to move him along. Jack didn’t budge, but Hatter leaned back against the wall, clearly taking everything in.
“Just how long have you been with the Resistance?” Jack asked.
“Since yesterday,” she told him.
“I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be.”
She moved forwards; Jack began to move when she overtook him, jogging to get back in between her and Hatter, and the three of them went back on the move. They stayed that way, just long enough that Jelly was beginning to wonder if Hatter himself had gotten lost, before she realized that they were back in his neighborhood. They walked down the alley that lead to the promenade-side of his shop, and then stopped, the sound of a pretty thorough ransacking drifted towards them. Hatter rounded the corner with no small amount of trepidation, and then pulled himself up behind the phone booth.
There was a posse of Suits- Spades, from Dudley’s deck, and Darrel, and a man who appeared to be wearing her father’s cookie jar on his head. He had Gryphon by the collar, and was shaking him like a ragdoll.
“Have you seen him?” The jar-headed man asked.
Oh. Oh, shit.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” Gryphon replied. “I’m just here for the Tea!”
He wasn’t wearing the jar on his head; he was wearing it as his head.
“Get out of here!” March snarled, and threw the Resistance man bodily off the porch. She heard Jack take a sharp breath in when he tumbled off the walkway and into the city below. Fucking fuck fuckers…
“It can’t be,” Hatter murmured, much more politely.
March’s head, as it were, snapped up with a mechanical twist, and he turned his face towards them.
“It is,” Jelly said, giving Jack a shove to get him moving. “Run.”
The three of them scrambled back the way they’d come, March following at his inevitable, double-time pace. Hatter turned around and watched him approach, horrified, until Jelly reached out grabbed him by the hand. Then he shook himself out of his stupor, and made a dash for a small ramp.
“This way,” he said, pulling her along.
“But-” she protested. Hatter’s shop was fairly close to the water, and the way this ramp lead would trap them against it.
“Trust me,” Hatter said. Jack apparently needed no such cajoling, and sped down the ramp without them, which meant that Jelly had to follow. Even if they weren’t quite friends these days, he was her ticket into the Resistance, after all.
They ran down until they reached the docks, and that’s when Jelly realized that Hatter did know what he was doing after all. His boat was docked at the end, waiting for them.
“That way,” Hatter said, turning around again to watch the posse’s approach.
“The boat,” Jelly clarified for Jack’s benefit, pulling Hatter forwards.
Hatter ran ahead of them both and jumped into the back, tugging at the ripcord. Jack followed close behind, tugging at the knots on the moorings. Jelly pulled out the knife from her boot, and cut them free.
“Keep your head down,” she ordered, pushing Jack to the far side of the boat. She replaced the knife and drew out her gun just as March stepped off the ramp. Hatter managed to get the motor started just as she opened fire, shattering one of the assassin’s new ceramic ears, and causing the rest of the Suits to dive for cover. Hatter scrambled into the driver’s seat, and they sped off, leaving the posse behind, and Jelly quickly sat down before she fell off.
“What was that?” Jack asked.
“Mad March,” Jelly yelled, the wind whipping her words away as soon as they were out of her mouth.
“What?”
“I said Mad March!” Jelly repeated.
“What?” Jack said again, but this time it was the sort of question that was directed at the world at large, rather than her.
“What did you think?” Jelly demanded. “That your mother was just going to let you jump through the Looking Glass without comment? The minute word reached her she ordered my father to bring him back so he could track you!”
Jack looked away. Jelly scoffed to herself.
“Right,” Hatter said, slowing the boat down enough that he could be heard. “Our contact’s dead, and my shop’s no longer a safe zone. What are we doing next?”
“I need to get to the Resistance,” Jack said.
“Same here,” Jelly added quickly.
“Well, the only contacts I have are in the city, so.” He stopped short as the air began to hum, and Jelly turned around so she could see a Scarab making its way towards them. “First we have to shake that royal flush. Hold on.”
He turned back to the wheel and they sped off, Jack’s tie whipping out and hitting her in the face as they did so.