Years further in the past, Alice steered the Chronosphere to a safe landing. Once again, she stood on the outskirts of Witzend, but this time the air had a winter bite.
Her shoes crunched on the frost-covered ground as she made her way into the village. Strolling around her, people wore heavy coats, and their cheeks were pink from the chill.
Suddenly, a tiny grinning set of teeth, followed by an aqua-and-gray-striped kitten’s tail, appeared from around a corner. That must be a young Chessur! Alice thought. The tail twitched teasingly, and a bloodhound puppy—who could only be Bayard—bounded into sight.
Two plump young boys toddled into view, their arms knocking against each other; these were the young Tweedles! Trailing behind them was a very dapperly dressed eight-year-old boy with bright orange hair. There was no mistaking the Hatter, no matter his age.
Smiling, Alice watched her young friends.
“Tarrant!” A stern voice called.
Hatter stopped mid-step and turned toward his father, whose tall f?igure was framed by the doorway of his shop. Zanik, his arms crossed over his chest, was frowning.
Dragging his shoes, the young Hatter trudged toward his family’s shop. He perked up when he noticed Alice standing in the shadows. Perhaps drawn by her colorful tunic or the hat on her head that he himself would later create, he skipped over to her. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her into the shop.
Zanik, who had his nose buried in an account book, glanced up, his eyes brief?ly focusing on Alice.
“We’re closed,” he said.
Hatter ran around the desk to join his father.
“Papa! Look!” he cried. “A customer with a lovely head. Right here!”
“I’m sorry, miss,” Zanik continued, ignoring his son. “You’ll have to come back another time.”
Zanik shut the ledger with a snap, tucked it under his arm, and moved toward a back room. Alice knew he wanted her to leave, but she stayed put, waiting for an opportunity to broach the subject of the future with Zanik now that she was there.
“Oh, and, Papa, look!” Hatter clamored at Zanik’s side, tugging on his coat.
“Not now, Son,” Zanik said f?irmly.
“I made something for you in school,” Hatter continued. He f?lopped open his schoolbag and dug into it.
Zanik sighed. “I keep telling you I’m busy. What is it?”
Caught up in their conversation, both Zanik and Tarrant seemed unaware that Alice had lingered in the shop.
Hatter pulled out his present, his face full of hope. Alice felt a jolt, her heart f?luttering at the sight of the tiny blue paper hat cupped in his hand.
“A hat!” Hatter exclaimed as he held it out proudly.
“This? Let me have a look.” Zanik took the hat and began to examine it. “If my son is going to make a hat, he will make a proper one. Do something, do it right, eh? Look here”—he jabbed at the hat—“the band is crooked.”
As Zanik’s f?ingers poked at the band, the paper ripped. In the stillness of the shop, the sound echoed. Alice cringed; Hatter looked like he’d been slapped.
“Ah. Oh. Hmm,” Zanik muttered. “Well, cheap materials. There’s your lesson. Tell you what, tomorrow I’ll help you make a real hat, Son. Not one of these pretend ones, eh?”
Zanik balled up the paper hat and tossed it into the waste bin. Hatter’s eyes brimmed with tears as he saw it arc through the air. F?leeing from the room, he passed his mother on the stairs. Though Tyva reached for him, he barreled past her without a word.
“You’re too hard on him, Zanik,” Tyva said as she joined her husband. She did not notice Alice by the door, either.
“I’m hard on him because he has great potential.” Zanik’s mouth twitched slightly. “It’s how my father was with me, and his father with him.”
He walked to his desk and opened one of the drawers. Inside, Alice saw a sea of green-and-white Swizzles. She stepped forward slightly to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. The movement caught Zanik’s eye, and his head snapped up. With a quick push, he shut the drawer.
“Miss, I told you, we’re closed,” Zanik said in a tone that brooked no argument.
Alice bowed her head and backed out of the store, her expression pensive.
Time shifted irritably in his chair. Alice still hadn’t shown up for tea and the Hatter was becoming tiresome—as were his companions. Time’s eyes drifted to where Mallymkun danced in circles on the table and the March Hare bounced up and down as he poured himself some tea.
Time’s breaths came in heavy pants and his shoulders sagged slightly. “Now, when is Alice coming?” he asked impatiently.
Hatter’s lips twitched. Imagine Time’s not knowing the when of something. Surely this all powerful being would be aware of every event in every second.
Hatter sprang around Time’s chair, leaning over one shoulder, then the other as he f?ired questions.
“Enough!” Time bellowed. F?linging the Hatter off, he jerked to his feet and, with narrowed eyes, rounded on him. “She’s not coming, is she?”
“I never said she was, old bean,” Hatter said nonchalantly. He sauntered to a chair and slid into it. “I merely said I invited her.”
Time’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “What? You! You—you ...” he stammered in rage. He took a deep breath, then continued more calmly. “Nicely done, sir. But now it’s my turn.” His eyes glinted menacingly. “You were asking when ‘now’ is?”
Time lifted his cloak once again to reveal the clock in his chest. The hands read 5:59.
“Now is precisely one minute to teatime,” Time continued. “And until young Alice eventually joins you for tea, it will always be one minute to teatime.” He smiled smugly. “Enjoy your little party.”
Spinning the clock in his chest backward, Time disappeared.
“What? Wait, what’s he done?” Mallymkun asked. She and Thackery both twisted in their own seats, squirming to get free.
Hatter tried to stand up but couldn’t! He pushed his arms down harder on the chair’s arms and strained with his legs, but it was no use.
He was stuck in place.