Redd and her assassins had been escorted out of the Doomsine encampment, and though Ripkins and Blister were still several blocks away, trying to wrestle out from under Redd’s iron weights, the intel ministers had reconvened in Arch’s tent. “Is it really wise,” a minister asked, “to try and befriend such a one as Redd?” “I lose nothing by pretending it,” Arch said, “whereas I risk everything if I don’t. As long as she lives, Redd will cause serious trouble for whoever possesses the Heart Crystal.” Unseen by the king or his ministers, a shadow flitted past the tent’s entrance, a shadow belonging to someone about to enter but who stopped suddenly when Arch asked, “Homburg Molly is secure?” “As ever, my liege.”
Moments ticked away as Arch schemed in silence. Then— “If I had to bet,” he said, “I’d bet that Redd may yet turn out to be stronger than her niece.” “But even her strength,” one of the ministers offered, “maze or no maze, is nothing compared to WILMA.”
Arch nodded. “It’s sooner than I’d like to put Hatter to my purpose. I wanted to string him along awhile, make him desperate for Molly’s life and weaken whatever rebellious resolves he has in his head. But Redd makes it necessary to take action now.” The shadow at the tent’s entrance disappeared, the eavesdropper secreting away. “Bring Hatter Madigan to me,” Arch ordered. “It’s time he met WILMA.” CHAPTER 35
P RETENDING TO be out for a stroll, Hatter passed through bazaars, promenades, and food courts, well-to-do and not so well-to-do neighborhoods, scanning the various scenes with a trained eye and hoping for some evidence of Molly’s whereabouts. He made these excursions whenever possible, sometimes with Weaver at his side, though she thought they were simply a means for him to better familiarize himself with life in Boarderland. An intel minister whose duty was to keep Hatter under constant surveillance approached. “The king requires your presence,” he said.
Hatter fell in step with the Doomsine and was soon seated in the royal tent, Arch pacing back and forth before his usual pack of intel ministers. “As Queen Alyss’ bodyguard—” the king began. “Homburg Molly is the queen’s bodyguard, Your Majesty,” Hatter said. Arch smiled. “Yes, I forgot. You’re with us now. As the former bodyguard then, of both Queen Genevieve and Queen Alyss, you have privileged access to every gwormmy-length of the queendom—more privileged perhaps than anyone except Bibwit Harte or Alyss herself—and you can