Page 109 of Heartless

Cath grabbed it. The fabric was worn and soft. It felt like an ancient thing, not a recent addition to a joker’s motley. The bells twinkled as she thrust her arm inside.

No fabric lining, no worn seams. The inside of the hat was a void, deep and endless. She pressed her arm in up to her shoulder, her fingers reaching and stretching until they wrapped around something cool and hard.

She pulled her arm back and gasped.

She was gripping the handle of a sword.

No – theVorpalSword. She knew it to her bones. Its blade shone silver in the theatre’s warm light, its hilt encrusted with the teeth and bones of the creatures it had slain before.

She thought of the stories. The brave king who had sought the Jabberwock in the forest and slain it with the righteous Vorpal Sword.

She looked up. Jest was still clinging to the monster’s back. He spotted her and his eyes widened. ‘Catherine—!’

The Jabberwock bucked. This time Jest was flung at the ground, landing on his side with a groan. His sceptre skittered into the crowd, the few who were stuck by the theatre doors, too afraid to make a run for the exit. They stood huddled in terrified groups, some fleeing back into the theatre, others hunching into what safety the staircase could afford them.

The Jabberwock rounded on Catherine again, as if Jest had been nothing but a pestering gnat and she was the true target. Its next meal.

The beast saw the sword in her hand and froze.

The weapon warmed in her hand as if it, too, sensed its prey.

Catherine gulped and allowed herself one whimper of denial. One panicked moment of refusal in which she absolutely, positively,was notgoing to stand on her broken ankle and face this monster with an ancient, mythical weapon.

Then she clenched her jaw and yanked her skirt out from beneath her tangled limbs, ignoring the sound of ripping fabric. She stumbled on to her good leg first, pain jolting up her wounded ankle with each movement. With one hand gripping the sword, she used the other to brace herself on the staircase banister. Her breath had gone ragged, her skin clammy. She was already dizzy from the exertion required to stand.

But standing she was.

Exhaling, she released the handrail and put her weight on to her injured leg. She bit back a shriek, but refused to crumple. She wrapped both hands around the sword’s handle and lifted the blade, ignoring the tremble of her arms.

The Jabberwock prowled closer, wary now. It sniffed, like it could smell the steel, or maybe the blood that had once coated it.

Another slow step closer, prowling on all fours.

Catherine tried to gulp but her scratchy throat rebelled.

Another step.

She imagined herself doing it. Swinging the sword as hard as she could. Chopping through sinew and spine. She imagined the creature’s head rolling, thumping across the lobby.

She imagined it over and over and over again.

Off with its head.

The words churned through her thoughts.

The creature took another step. Then two.

A salty bead of sweat fell into her eye, stinging her. She blinked it away.

‘Catherine . . .’ Jest’s voice was strained.

The Jabberwock watched her with its one burning coal of an eye, the blood still dribbling down its opposite cheek. Its mouth was open and she could see all of its teeth lined up along its huge jaws. Row upon row of fangs, so big that she wasn’t sure it could close its mouth even if it wanted to.

She bared her own teeth.

Off with its head. Off with its head. Off with its—

The Jabberwock shuddered suddenly and turned away. It darted across the floor, claws scratching and scrabbling, and squeezed its wings against its back so it could fit through the doors that had been left open. The crisp twilight air shimmered over the empty streets.

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