fic: Pass the Hat
Title: Pass the Hat Author: nicole296 Characters/Pairing: Hatter; Queen of Hearts; OCs Rating: PG Summary: Chapter Three; Where Is It She Goes Warning: none Disclaimer: Don’t own. Pre mini-series. Word Count: 2,269
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Pass the Hat
Inside your porcelain fists,
your palms begin to crack
- Porcelain Fists, Ingrid Michaelson
Where Is It She Goes
The throne room had been completely rearranged. A large round table stood dead center, covered in red velvet. The same hue of velvet, only plusher, led in two separate lanes to the edge of the table. Katherine pulled at the buttons on the front of her dress, staring down the long aisle. As a child, she had never thought much of the room; its gilded ceilings and towering thrones had been boring and she much preferred the gardens and kitchens and small, wood-paneled hallways. Now, however, the room stood full, impressive, and terribly, terribly frightening.
She had thought of running away twice to try and avoid what was coming - even dared to create a small wisp of a jub-jub bird but hadn’t had the heart to grow it to its real size(Coward, she had chided, waving the still-wispy bird away).
Her sister sneered at her from the end of the other carpet. They weren’t sisters anymore, it seemed. From the moment their father had died all ties that had bonded them in kinship had died as well. Instead, they became adversaries. The last thing she had said to her sister was “That one,” after her sister had spent the afternoon of the funeral shrieking, “Mary Ann? Oh, for Heaven’s sake, which one of you blasted girls is Mary Ann?”
A few children waited anxiously at the edge of the door in which she stood. Probably footmen and scuttle maids, but children all the same, with large sparkling eyes and upturned, hopeful faces. She tried to smile at them, but it was weak and felt all wrong.
A thought crossed her mind shortly thereafter; turtledove. Her father had called Mary that when they were young... The sharp-nosed young woman across the room was hardly a dove of any kind; she more resembled a hawk with her beady blue eyes and predatory gaze. She looked back at the children; they would like a show no doubt.
As quietly as she could, she snapped her fingers (behind her back, so as not to draw the notice of Mary) and watched the children’s faces as her little turtle flew awkwardly on makeshift wings. If the queen of Hearts had ever resembled a turtledove, this would have been the spitting image. The children liked the magic and a few inched closer to her, spouting questions despite the disapproving glares of the guards.
“What is it?”
“A Turtle-dove. Do you like it? I’ve just thought of it.” She whispered back to them, and the guards cleared their throats.
“Very much,” said one girl, her hair golden as corn.
“Was it a real turtle once?” another asked.
“I don’t suppose so…” she could not finish the answer, for trumpets sounded and a man dressed all in red walked forward into the center of the room.
“The Red Queen,” he announced in an unnaturally loud voice. Perhaps it was the room that was unnaturally quiet. Their mother glided forward, looking fragile and pail, like a wilting rose. She nodded to the large court gathered but did not give either of her daughters a passing glance.
The herald had moved to stand a few feet from the table and held his left hand out in gesture, “The queen of Hearts, Mary Elizabeth Constance Lavinia Heart.”
Mary puffed up like bread dough and started toward the table, looking down her nose at the entire room.
The same man, still at the table, held his right hand aloft.
“The queen of Diamonds, Katherine Adelaide Patience Elaine Diamond.” Katherine started a little. So fast, she frowned, then quickly commenced to the table. She gave a meek smile to those who met her eyes. Some she recognized: maids and ladies in waiting, a number of the suits, even a couple of the cooks. The rest blurred together, nameless faces of which she might soon be queen. They hoped so, at least.
And then she was at the table, facing their Castle tutor, Doyle. Once both of the queens were in place, he opened a solid gold box wordlessly and pulled out a deck of cards, the likenesses of her mother and aunt intertwining on the back in red and white. Suddenly there were three card before her and Mary. Had he even shuffled them? She remembered countless times when she had stared at him shuffling decks for what felt like hours. She could hardly keep her hands from shaking. She put her left hand behind her back for good measure and reached for the first card shortly after Mary turned hers. She flipped it over slowly, then the second, followed after a long moment’s pause by the third.
Now there were another face stared at her. A jack of Hearts lay proudly before her, looking a lot like Mary’s latest suitor, Winston. A three of Spades and a five of Clubs sat triumphantly on either side of the Jack. Mary had been less lucky; a queen of clubs mocked her with a pair of threes. A Ten of Clubs - a real one, hardly older than Katherine, called out the spread to the spectators.
Katherine could hardly believe it. She had won. With the simple luck of the draw, she had won. This was not how she had imagined it. Not how she had wanted it. So when she spoke, it was with little thought as to what she said.
“Hit me.”
“Your majesty…” he laughed.
“Hit me,” She said again, with more conviction.
“Do you not see the cards before-” Doyle thought she was stupid -struck dumb or blind.
“Hit me.” This time the whole room heard her. A murmur rose behind her like the sound of hurricane.
“Do it,” Mary hissed, hardly loud enough for Katherine to hear. For a split-second, she was grateful for Mary’s gift, even if this favor was not meant as a favor at all.
The tutor’s hand hovered on the deck before pushing a final card towards her. It felt like forever that the queen of Diamonds stared at the back of the card, tracing her mother’s face over and over. The crowd’s murmur rose and died and then rose again.
If it was meant to be, truly meant to be, this card would be a two. Fate should choose this, not her. Not her sister, not her tutor, not even her mother. So she reached for the card.
She swore she heard her sister squeal before she even laid the card on the table again. The Ten of Clubs’ voice cracked as he called out the final card.
“A… queen of Diamonds.”
The irony. At first the people misunderstood: they thought she had flipped a two or an ace and won the kingdom. Cheers began and clapping ensued, but Tutor Doyle quieted them, “I present to you the Queen of Wonderland; Mary Elizabeth Constance Lavinia Heart, Queen of Hearts.” His voice sounded disappointed, worried even. The clapping became static, the cheers unenthusiastic. It wasn’t until this moment that Katherine realized that she had been the favorite by so great a margin.
She looked at her mother whose tired face congratulated an elated Queen of Hearts. No room left for her there. She hazarded a glance at Doyle, whose face told her that he would gladly hold down Mary so that Katherine might transform her into some kind of inanimate object, something unfit for rule. She smiled a tired smile, so similar to what her mother had when she had entered and turned without a word. Her sister wouldn’t want her congratulations. The suicide of her royal career had been gift enough. She couldn’t bear to see the faces of countless would-be subjects begging her for an explanation.
She was running for the garden, unsure of where she meant to go. It took her six tries to find her corner. By the time she did find it she had ripped most of her coronation dress off, leaving her in a velvet slip and corset. No more hoops that caught on low bushes or wide shoulder drapes that caught in rosebushes. She was free for the moment, and she relished it. The dress had been silly anyway; buttons on both the front and back. She felt like a banana shedding its peel when she removed it. A silly, stupid, self-indulgent banana.
She wanted to leave; to go somewhere that no one would have heard of her tremendous blunder. She thought of the city for the first time in years. If she could travel faster than the news…
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When she arrived in the city (having stopped a moment to remove the pearls from her hair and fasten her cape around her), it was quiet. Noise drifted to the streets from inside some of the buildings but hardly anyone walked the cobbles but her. The only person she actually saw was a very short young man with a prominent mustache and tweed jacket. He mumbled something about sleeping in the bottom of a well with three sisters or something along those lines as he walked. She followed him a short way until he went into a shop from which elicited raucous laughter. Having nowhere better to go, she entered here too. Not a single person took notice of her. It would have been hard to in any case: steam and smoke filled the air, as well as the lovely smell of jam on warm bread.
She moved further into the building, crouching a little so as not to bump into any of the furniture. A bar stretched down one wall, its surface covered in tea trays. She inspected each tray, curious that they all seemed to be full of different teas and a new set of confections the further along she went. About halfway down she found that a man was at her elbow, young or old she couldn’t see for the fog, but his voice drifted down upon her like a song from a dream.
“Can I ‘elp you?” it asked in a lovely tune. (Surely not…)
“No, I was simply looking,” she began, but quickly changed her mind. “I did wonder what the confections for these were…” she waved a hand at the nearest platters.
She tried to peer at him through the haze, but was unable to achieve any confirmation.
“Well this one,” he answered, picking up a plain looking teapot that appeared to be missing its spout, “is an Earl Gray tea.” He set it back down and picked up the plate beside it, before sighing in frustration and trying to waft the steam away from in between them. Katherine quickly recognized his hand’s attempt and turned back to the trays, hoping her cape’s hood would hide her blush as well as her face.
“And it goes delightfully with these - macaroons.” He set down the plate, humming some kind of song to himself and picked up another teapot.
“This a chamomile tea,” he poured a cup deftly, ignoring the pot’s obvious complication of having had two spouts. “Best this side of the Looking Glass, or so I’ve told everyone.” His voice told her he was smiling as he offered the cup to her. She could see his pinky sticking out in the mist but was too distracted by the horrible idea that had just crept upon her.
“It pairs perfectly with the scones,” he went on, still holding the cup for her.
“No thank you,” she refused politely. She was just about to speak again when the doors flew open, slamming on the walls they hung from.
“A FOLD!” someone screamed, and then was gone.
There was an uproar among the patrons of the teashop. She couldn’t see what they were doing, but she could hear them. Dishes had begun to crash noisily to the floor and, perhaps even, she thought, the walls.
“What does that mean: ‘a fold’?” she asked quietly, afraid to make her voice heard.
“Oi! Not the ceramics!” he cried and then huffed. “Means the queen’s been chosen,” he stated forlornly and began to move to what she assumed was the dining floor.
“Oh,” she said more quietly but moved to follow him before he could get too far.
“You mentioned the Looking Glass a moment ago. Is that far from here?”
He stopped and turned to face her, though he could hardly have seen her face. It seemed even the pots were outraged by the coronation’s outcome, spurting more steam into the air than ever before. “Yeah, s’down the street an’ ‘round the corner.” His voice was suspicious but still distracted by more crashing sounds.
“Which street? Which corner?” she could hardly breathe for what she was about to do.
“The left street - look, I dunno what you think you’ll do there but you can’t get in. They don’ let people in, an’ they don’t let oysters out…” he turned back to the dining room as a pot whistled across the room to sail through a window. “Oh,” he moaned, “that’ll take weeks to repair.” His voice squeaked on the word ‘weeks’ and if she hadn’t been so desperate to disappear, she would have stayed to see how much he was like she remembered.
Instead, she whispered “thank you” absentmindedly and made for the door before he could think of stopping her. Not that he had any reason to; she had just hoped in the back of her mind that he might. Just like she had spent those years in her childhood hoping that he might change his mind about their separate worlds and come knocking on the kitchen door in Castle. Neither happened, of course. Neither ever would.
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Sorry about the delay. My home internet no longer works. (A computer virus disguised as anti-virus software. Ha, good one.) I’m updating as quickly as I can at the public library. Sorry about the delay in response to the comments and
reviews; my mother and I drove sixteen hours to fetch my grandma and bring her home. Go Holiday travel! Oh, and there’s a showing of Alice on SyFy today at 5 o’clock Eastern Time. I’ll be watching. Will you?
Chapter One: You Plus Me Is Bad News Chapter Two: Crimson and Red Chapter Three: Where Is It She Goes Chapter Four: Many The Miles, Many The Miles Chapter Five: Reach Into Foreign Lands