don’t know where we are, do you? Those are the Confection Mountains we’re approaching!”
“So? What’s so frightening about that? They don’t look difficult to climb.”
“The mountains aren’t the problem. It’s the Bakers we need to worry about. Their ovens are built into those foothills.”
“So? I like cookies and cake. I particularly like gingerbread, although I also enjoy chocolate chip cookies, but—”
Hatter gasped and stopped, clamping his hand over Henry’s mouth. “Shh! You can’t take sides! That’s a sure way to get dead!”
Henry pulled Hatter’s hand away from his mouth. “Will you please stop doing that?” He scowled, and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m sick and tired of your double-talk and riddles and nonsensical blathering. Tell me what’s going on, or I’m not taking another single, solitary step.”
Hatter wrung his hands, and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “We’ve no cover out here. I’d hoped to get past the foothills and up onto the mountain before the ovens were fired up, but I was wrong. We need to find someplace to hide. Maybe we could pick some of those flowers and use them as camouflage.” He reached down and plucked a daisy, holding it up to his face. “Can you see me?”
“Seriously?” Henry raised one eyebrow. “Of course I can. It’s a freaking daisy.”
“Damn.” Hatter tossed it away, and scanned the ground. “Then maybe we could dig a hole. I might have a shovel somewhere.” He pushed a hand into his pocket and began to feel around.
Henry grabbed both of Hatter’s arms, and gave him a little shake. “No! No camouflage, no hole digging, no hiding. Not until you tell me what’s going on!” He gestured toward the empty meadow and the hills beyond. “There’s nothing out here but us!”
Hatter’s eyes were huge and practically glowing with fear. “The Bakers must be at war again. That’s the only reason why the ovens would be lit at this time of day.”
“The Bakers?”
Hatter nodded. “They’re a race of giants who live up in the mountains and supply all of Wonderland with baked goods. Cookies, cakes, tarts…. Every baked treat comes from here. Their huge ovens are built into the foothills.”
“So?”
“Don’t you understand? The ovens are never fired this late in the day. They’re only operated in the wee hours of early morning! The Bakers go to work in the middle of the night.”
Henry lifted a shoulder. “So they decided to sleep in and bake later in the day. So what?”
Hatter swore softly, as if Henry were an idiot who failed to grasp the most rudimentary of explanations. “The Bakers are dedicated to their craft. Each clan has their own recipes, and each of them insists theirs is the best. Usually the Court of Confection settles disputes, but sometimes war breaks out between them. Then the hill ovens steam day and night baking their armies. It’s the only reason the ovens would be hot in the middle of the day!”
Poor Hatter looked terrified, but really… a cookie army? What sort of damage could that do? All you’d need is a glass of milk to defeat them! A chuckle bubbled up and out from between Henry’s lips before he could stop it.
“It’s not funny!”
“Well, yeah, it sort of is. Hatter, we just came out of a swamp filled with tree sharks and crocodiles and other toothy, hungry nasties I don’t even have a name for, and yet here you are, knock-kneed over a bunch of cookies!” The chuckle deepened into a true laugh that shook Henry’s shoulders and brought a tear to his eye.
Hatter sputtered with indignation. “Don’t laugh! There’s nothing funny about war, cookie or otherwise.” He looked off into the distance, but his gaze seemed to turn inward. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper. “I was only a small child during the last Confection War, but you never forget something like that, never. The noise. The smoke. The icing.” A visible shiver raced across his
“So? What’s so frightening about that? They don’t look difficult to climb.”
“The mountains aren’t the problem. It’s the Bakers we need to worry about. Their ovens are built into those foothills.”
“So? I like cookies and cake. I particularly like gingerbread, although I also enjoy chocolate chip cookies, but—”
Hatter gasped and stopped, clamping his hand over Henry’s mouth. “Shh! You can’t take sides! That’s a sure way to get dead!”
Henry pulled Hatter’s hand away from his mouth. “Will you please stop doing that?” He scowled, and folded his arms across his chest. “I’m sick and tired of your double-talk and riddles and nonsensical blathering. Tell me what’s going on, or I’m not taking another single, solitary step.”
Hatter wrung his hands, and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “We’ve no cover out here. I’d hoped to get past the foothills and up onto the mountain before the ovens were fired up, but I was wrong. We need to find someplace to hide. Maybe we could pick some of those flowers and use them as camouflage.” He reached down and plucked a daisy, holding it up to his face. “Can you see me?”
“Seriously?” Henry raised one eyebrow. “Of course I can. It’s a freaking daisy.”
“Damn.” Hatter tossed it away, and scanned the ground. “Then maybe we could dig a hole. I might have a shovel somewhere.” He pushed a hand into his pocket and began to feel around.
Henry grabbed both of Hatter’s arms, and gave him a little shake. “No! No camouflage, no hole digging, no hiding. Not until you tell me what’s going on!” He gestured toward the empty meadow and the hills beyond. “There’s nothing out here but us!”
Hatter’s eyes were huge and practically glowing with fear. “The Bakers must be at war again. That’s the only reason why the ovens would be lit at this time of day.”
“The Bakers?”
Hatter nodded. “They’re a race of giants who live up in the mountains and supply all of Wonderland with baked goods. Cookies, cakes, tarts…. Every baked treat comes from here. Their huge ovens are built into the foothills.”
“So?”
“Don’t you understand? The ovens are never fired this late in the day. They’re only operated in the wee hours of early morning! The Bakers go to work in the middle of the night.”
Henry lifted a shoulder. “So they decided to sleep in and bake later in the day. So what?”
Hatter swore softly, as if Henry were an idiot who failed to grasp the most rudimentary of explanations. “The Bakers are dedicated to their craft. Each clan has their own recipes, and each of them insists theirs is the best. Usually the Court of Confection settles disputes, but sometimes war breaks out between them. Then the hill ovens steam day and night baking their armies. It’s the only reason the ovens would be hot in the middle of the day!”
Poor Hatter looked terrified, but really… a cookie army? What sort of damage could that do? All you’d need is a glass of milk to defeat them! A chuckle bubbled up and out from between Henry’s lips before he could stop it.
“It’s not funny!”
“Well, yeah, it sort of is. Hatter, we just came out of a swamp filled with tree sharks and crocodiles and other toothy, hungry nasties I don’t even have a name for, and yet here you are, knock-kneed over a bunch of cookies!” The chuckle deepened into a true laugh that shook Henry’s shoulders and brought a tear to his eye.
Hatter sputtered with indignation. “Don’t laugh! There’s nothing funny about war, cookie or otherwise.” He looked off into the distance, but his gaze seemed to turn inward. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper. “I was only a small child during the last Confection War, but you never forget something like that, never. The noise. The smoke. The icing.” A visible shiver raced across his
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