Alyss and her advisers had
discussed sending a small force into the Heart Crystal in pursuit
of Redd and
The Cat, which Dodge had volunteered to command. But the risks involved and the unlikelihood of the mission meeting with success had argued against it. No living thing had ever passed through the crystal and there was no guarantee that a physical body survived. Alyss had come up with an alternate plan. “Bibwit,” she had said, “you’ve claimed that because Redd passed through the Heart Crystal, my aunt in the form we knew her might no longer exist?” “I have claimed that,” Bibwit had admitted, “and a great many other things too.” “And whatever passes into the crystal goes out into the universe to inspire imaginations in other worlds—most specifically, Earth, the world that has the most direct link to ours?” “Sounds familiar.”
So she had suggested that Hatters Rohin and Tock, two of the most gifted among the new Millinery class, travel to Earth through the Pool of Tears, to keep watch for signs of Redd, The Cat, or the influence of either.
“Hunh,” Arch said when he heard Redd’s death had not been assured. He reached for a tarty tart and tossed it to one of his bodyguards.
The guard made a show of flexing his fingertips: Glinting sawteeth pushed out of the skin in the exact whorling patterns of his fingerprints. Without a wince of emotion, with hands moving as fast as the spinning blades of Hatter Madigan’s top hat, he reduced the tarty tart to a pile of crumbs, then nodded to Arch: The food was safe to eat. The sawteeth sunk back into the skin of his fingers, and Arch helped himself to a tarty tart and finished it off in one and a half manly bites. “I see that Mr. Ripkins deserves his name,” Alyss said, for as she used her imagination to fuse the tarty tart crumbs back together, she noted that they weren’t crumbs at all, but shreds. He had ripped the treat apart.
The king pretended not to notice the tart settling on the platter, again in one piece and ready to be properly consumed. “My guards are prodigies when it comes to more traditional modes of combat,” he said, looking at Homburg Molly. “Blades, orbs, crystal shooters, what have you. But why should I limit them to traditional modes when they can do so much more?” He snapped his fingers. One of his intel ministers stepped forward and pushed up his sleeve. Blister lowered an index finger toward the minister’s forearm. “Ah, ah,” Arch said, and waggled a pinkie. “We don’t want him permanently scarred, do we?” Blister pressed the tip of his pinkie against the minister’s exposed skin. The minister clenched and began to sweat. His entire forearm blistered.
“It’s best to have it drained as soon as possible,” Arch explained, “otherwise complications arise.” As the blistered fellow was taken into the fold of the other ministers, Molly reached for her hat, which was vibrating in anticipation of action. She would show Ripkins, Blister, and their smug king who the prodigy was.
“Molly!” Alyss warned.
It required all the discipline the girl had to restrain herself. Did the queen doubt that her bodyguard’s
The Cat, which Dodge had volunteered to command. But the risks involved and the unlikelihood of the mission meeting with success had argued against it. No living thing had ever passed through the crystal and there was no guarantee that a physical body survived. Alyss had come up with an alternate plan. “Bibwit,” she had said, “you’ve claimed that because Redd passed through the Heart Crystal, my aunt in the form we knew her might no longer exist?” “I have claimed that,” Bibwit had admitted, “and a great many other things too.” “And whatever passes into the crystal goes out into the universe to inspire imaginations in other worlds—most specifically, Earth, the world that has the most direct link to ours?” “Sounds familiar.”
So she had suggested that Hatters Rohin and Tock, two of the most gifted among the new Millinery class, travel to Earth through the Pool of Tears, to keep watch for signs of Redd, The Cat, or the influence of either.
“Hunh,” Arch said when he heard Redd’s death had not been assured. He reached for a tarty tart and tossed it to one of his bodyguards.
The guard made a show of flexing his fingertips: Glinting sawteeth pushed out of the skin in the exact whorling patterns of his fingerprints. Without a wince of emotion, with hands moving as fast as the spinning blades of Hatter Madigan’s top hat, he reduced the tarty tart to a pile of crumbs, then nodded to Arch: The food was safe to eat. The sawteeth sunk back into the skin of his fingers, and Arch helped himself to a tarty tart and finished it off in one and a half manly bites. “I see that Mr. Ripkins deserves his name,” Alyss said, for as she used her imagination to fuse the tarty tart crumbs back together, she noted that they weren’t crumbs at all, but shreds. He had ripped the treat apart.
The king pretended not to notice the tart settling on the platter, again in one piece and ready to be properly consumed. “My guards are prodigies when it comes to more traditional modes of combat,” he said, looking at Homburg Molly. “Blades, orbs, crystal shooters, what have you. But why should I limit them to traditional modes when they can do so much more?” He snapped his fingers. One of his intel ministers stepped forward and pushed up his sleeve. Blister lowered an index finger toward the minister’s forearm. “Ah, ah,” Arch said, and waggled a pinkie. “We don’t want him permanently scarred, do we?” Blister pressed the tip of his pinkie against the minister’s exposed skin. The minister clenched and began to sweat. His entire forearm blistered.
“It’s best to have it drained as soon as possible,” Arch explained, “otherwise complications arise.” As the blistered fellow was taken into the fold of the other ministers, Molly reached for her hat, which was vibrating in anticipation of action. She would show Ripkins, Blister, and their smug king who the prodigy was.
“Molly!” Alyss warned.
It required all the discipline the girl had to restrain herself. Did the queen doubt that her bodyguard’s