A Lease on Wonderland

Butternut in the Works

The mail service was as reliable as clockwork. Of course, so was everything. Haddler had had the honor of fixing it in spots himself once when the official mechanic for the service was grievously occupied. It was a fascinatingly complex network that started at any of the city mailboxes as easily as turning on a faucet.

Haddler had his own house modified not only to have his mail sent to his mailbox outside his door but to have it sent right into the kitchen to the center of the table and into a tidy little mail organizer into which all mail would fall. Its designated slot would be determined by size and weight with the heaviest in the middle and the lighter ones switching off on either side to the lightest. Packages were dropped next to the table on a designated welcome mat that read "Mat Welcomes". It must be noted that none of this had anything to do with Haddler being particularly a neat freak or obsessively organized but merely to prove he could design it.

Haddler was taking his tea break just now from his work on a steam-powered rattle for a client out of town who was rattled enough to power a steam engine himself. Haddler had settled him down. The only rattling would be the rattle back to its usual pacifying affect by the more...

"—Oh!" exclaimed Haddler just as he was getting the kettle on.

He bounded like a hare to the package on the mat. It was hot from the chute, although he had never known the chute to be more than room temperature. After touching a trickle oozing out a corner after having come into contact with the mat, Haddler recoiled from a sting and made a mental note to put some salve on his dry fingers after tea.

The contents smelled fresh enough, though. Aggressive as a cur, that curry's fiery spice assailed his nostrils, but he promptly took a pair of hot pads to lift the package onto a plate before another drip.

"I hope it didn't leak in the works," muttered Haddler musing up at his pipe-filled ceiling, but as much as he was concerned about the delicateness of his clockwork systems, he was not concerned about his hardy palate.

He could eat ghost peppers in zesty spirits with hardly wiping a tear from his eye when he had a mind, but at tea time? That kind of heat was hardly appropriate unless speaking of a chili chai warmed by a heartfelt cardamom— warmed with maternal cloven kisses. But, he could save it for supper, he supposed, once he figured out who it was from.

Though the address was certainly to him, there was no return address. Inside was not as much curry as one might have expected either. There was only enough curry to leak out saucily. What was more cheek was the cup with holes in the cover's lip with what looked like a bug inside. If this was a prank, it was in very poor portion even if the taste was alright in theory as he smelled the delicious spicy butternut. The thing inside the glass cup was colored brightly too, which meant that it was probably poisonous.

He didn't need anything but his own steam to take up a flyswatter. He opened the lid of the cup and prepared himself for extermination, but just as he was about to swat, he stopped. He blinked and stepped back. The bug was getting closer in a dizzying sort of way. No, wait! It was getting bigger.

In proportion to the creature, the cup went from a room, to a carriage, to a basin, to a bucket, and at last the "bug" stepped out on a pair of dainty ankles inside a pair of lacy boots. However bugged he was, this was a woman. But he forgot all heat figurative and otherwise as the screaming in his head reached a zenith to recognize the person as Lise herself while she sat upon the table's edge apologetically. Then she slipped gawkily onto a chair and onto the mat. Here she finished growing into an appropriate height. Despite her youthful features, there was a sort of agedness to her that made him feel the younger of the two.

Her wise clear sapphire eyes were not looking at his, but clasped their clarity over his shoulder at the stove. It was only here that Haddler realized with blinking stupidity that the screaming was not so much inside his head but behind it. Spinning round, he tripped over his chair and tumbled onto the floor. It was Lise who without a word turned off the heat before the kettle had run dry.