by Cameron Jace
The Pillar seems slightly insulted by my words. For the first time, I realize that this ruthless killer was definitely in love once. The kind of love that maybe left him the way he is now.
65
CADBURY FACTORY, CHOCOLATE STIRRING FLOOR
I ask the Pillar to leave me alone with the Muffin Man.
"If you say so," he mumbles as the elevator door closes. "I would have liked to see a chocolate factory just like in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," he teases.
The sound of working machines and drills surrounds me as I walk in between. The factory is huge; I am worried it will take me too long to find the Muffin Man.
Surprisingly, it's easier than I thought. Gorgon Ramstein is humming his own nursery rhyme as he is working.
"Muffin Man, Muffin Man. Do you know the Muffin Man, who lives on Drury Lane?"
I take off my shoes so I can surprise him and he can't hear me coming, my umbrella held up high like a loaded gun.
"Muffin Man, Muffin Man. Do you know the Muffin Man, who somehow lost his brain?"
A few rows of stacked-up material later, I see him standing behind a huge, round machine. It looks like a bathtub, with chocolate stirring inside. It has huge mixing fans that are so long and sharp they could cut through a person. The Muffin Man has tons of pepper sacks next to him. He begins opening one to pour the pepper into the mix.
"Muffin Man, Muffin Man. Do you know the Muffin Man, who's gone utterly insane?"
"Stop!" I stand firm and point my umbrella at him. It's surprising how I got a window for a shot so easily. It occurs to me that I must have been taught to use this umbrella before—or was my clash with the Cheshire in Ypres just about enough? "Or I will shoot!" I say.
"How did you know I was here?" He is utterly surprised, one of the sacks open in his hands.
"That doesn't matter." I manage to control my voice. I have to be loud enough, so he knows I will shoot. "I need you to put that sack down, sir." I don't know how it works, but the Cheshire said if Gorgon is stopped, his acquaintances will stop.
"How did you find me?" He is perplexed. "You should be out there with all the panicked people, trying to find the poisoned food or stay away from it."
"Please, sir," I repeat. "Put down the sack of pepper."
The sound of stirring machines demands I raise my voice even more.
"The only one who knows I'm here is the Cheshire." His jaw tenses. "Did he tell you I was here? Why would he do that?"
"Because he is the Cheshire. You shouldn't have trusted him." I'm trying to use this conflict. "I promise you won't be hurt if you stop, sir. We will consider you an ally who helped prevent millions from dying." I am lying. I talk as if I am the police or something. Anything to stop this from happening. "I promise I will tell you anything you want to know once you put the sack down." I readjust the position of my feet. Holding a gun up for a long time turns out to be a hell of a task.
"I will not put the sack down," he says. "I don't care if you caught the Cheshire and made him confess. The world has to pay, or the Queen of England apologizes publicly."
I want so badly to ask him if this means the Queen of England is the Queen of Hearts, but I won't. I have to strike with iron hands. The killer has to be stopped or killed.
"Sir, for the last time." I can't quite breathe steadily. "Put the sack down, or I will shoot."
"Shoot as you want," he says. "Bullets can't kill me."
"I have Bandersnatch bullets, sir." Why do I keep saying "sir"?
The Muffin Man suddenly panics. He realizes the power in my hands.
"Then it's really the Cheshire? Did he sell me out?"
"For the last time, sir." I grit my teeth. "I mean it. The last time. Put the sack down, or I will shoot."
"You know what she has done to my children in Wonderland?" His sadness begins to surface. It's sincere, I can tell. "Can you imagine your children scraping the doors and windows for three days without food?" This isn't helping me. The image haunts me. "Do you know how many times I asked the Queen of Hearts to kill me and just send someone to open the door for them? I mean, they were just children." An image of Lewis crying I couldn't save them blocks my vision and my reason. I don't want to soften from the Muffin Man's words. I am not sure I can hold on any longer. "Then, in this new world, I told myself I would start all over again. I told myself the cruelty of Wonderland couldn't be in the human world. But once I warned the government of my scientific discoveries about the crimes committed by food companies, they killed my lawyer and killed my children. AGAIN!" he screams. His veins are about to spurt out of his neck.
His screams are absorbed by the stirring machines of the factory. Another injustice was done to him. Every part of me translates his words to "Pain."
A tear trickles down my cheek. I don't think I can take the shot. "I understand your hardships, sir." My voice is fragile. The voice of a liar. How in the world can I understand such cruelty? "Once you put the sack down, we can talk about it."
"No, we won't." He cuts the sack open, some of it already pouring in. "You look like a good girl. You don't know much about the world. And you don't have the guts to—"
I take a spontaneous step back. I don't know why. Then I close my eyes and shoot him. I can't let him play with my emotions.
The shot echoes briefly before it's sucked in by the noisy machinery again. It's followed by Gorgon's mocking laugh. I open my eyes, and he is already pouring the pepper. His laugh of evil, as hollow as his voice, resonates and reminds me of my failure to stop him. The Pillar is right. Gorgon has been mistreated, but it doesn't give him the right to kill children and people. I'm beginning to adjust to some kind of moral compass I can follow. Saving lives always comes first.
A hand pulls the umbrella from me and pushes me away.
It's the Pillar. He has come back, and he will take the shot.
Seeing him do it, I feel like burning from inside out. I am not a failure. If I am meant to save the world, then I will freakin' save it. I pace ahead, pull my umbrella back from the Pillar, and watch the astonishment in his eyes. I push him out of my way and aim at the Muffin Man, who has emptied one sack inside already and has pulled his falling hair back so I can see his empty eye socket. He sneers at me, knowing I can't shoot him.
"Take the shot, Alice!" the Pillar shouts behind me.
The Muffin Man reaches for another sack and opens it, staring blatantly at me. I have one last Bandersnatch tooth left.
Afraid I will miss the shot, I run toward the Muffin Man, aiming at him. Closer is better.
On my way, he has emptied another sack. Damn it. He is reaching for a third.
I am running so fast I wonder if I'll end up flying. I circle around the huge stirring tub. Its sharp fans are glinting and scarily sharp. I am afraid I'll trip and fall inside.
"You can't kill me!" he yells, inches away from me.
I don't hesitate. I aim at his heart. It's the heart that kills, right?
The Bandersnatch tooth hits him in the heart but sticks in his double-breasted jacket as if it's made out of steel. The one-eyed Muffin Man grins at me and pours the third sack.
I go crazy, filled with such anger I think I am going to explode. Without thinking, I run toward him, pull one of the sacks, and hit him with it on his back. It seems impossible that I could hurt such a big guy.
The look on the Muffin Man's face is priceless. He didn't expect it, bending over on the edge of the stirring tub, gripping at the edge with his hands. Still, it's not enough to hurt him.
I hit him again.
He bends closer with his head, staring right at the stirring fans. His tall body helps him to hold on. I prepare to hit him once more, but he steadies and pulls the sack from me. The look in his one eye says he is going to push me into the tub.
The Pillar interferes and whips Gorgon with his hookah hose as if he were Indiana Jones. The hose is like a snake, tightening around his neck on its own. Gorgon chokes, and the Pillar pulls. But the Muffin Man is
stronger. I run around and add my strength to the Pillars.
"Don't pull," the Pillar complains. "Kick him into the stirring machine!"
Provoked, Gorgon somehow twists his arms and manages to start choking the Pillar with his one huge hand. The two of them end up almost tangled together.
“The Queen should’ve made you sneeze harder,” the Pillar slurps with a squeaky voice, his neck reddening under the pressure of Gorgon’s hand. “So your other eyes would have popped out too!” His face is about to explode like a pumped balloon. He still has his grip tightened on the hose.
I turn back and keep kicking as the Pillar pulls, but it's all in vain. I kneel down to grab another sack but stop when I glimpse Gorgon's glinting kitchen knife.
I pick it up. It's so heavy. And I keep staring at it.
"Nice-looking knife, eh?" The Pillar can barely talk as Gorgon still chokes him. "Stab him!"
I don't know how I feel about stabbing him. The gun is easier. You pull the trigger from afar, feeling almost no responsibility for the deceased's pain—no wonder most of the killing in the world happens that way. A knife seems too personal. Too close. There is no escaping the responsibility.
"Better stab him, or just stab me!" the Pillar says. "Because if I can't hold any longer, he will surely chop me and serve me as a caterpillar soup."
I raise my hands and stab the Muffin Man in the back. He arches and stares at me with utter disbelief. The look in his eyes scares me. I stab him again, his blood on my hands.
Then again, and again.
Doing this reminds me of Edith telling the girl I came back from Wonderland with a kitchen knife in my hand. What the heck happened to me in Wonderland?
The Pillar takes advantage of Gorgon's brief weakness and pulls him closer to the edge. I catch on and kick the Muffin Man into it. He falls, bending over the edge of the stirring tub. The Pillar seizes the opportunity and kicks him a couple of times too.
Finally, the Muffin Man falls. The slicing blades of the stirring machine finish him off.
I shy away from the spattering blood all over the chocolate, a bit dazed. Killing someone, even if it's for the good of millions, shatters something inside you.
"Huh." The Pillar mops his forehead. "That was some stubborn beast."
"I could have just kicked him myself," I tell him.
"I know, brave girl, although it took you, like, forever to stab him. I just couldn't resist a kick in the butt. It's such a relief. We should do this more often." He adjusts his tie.
"Glad that you know I could have done this without you." I throw the knife away.
"Are we fighting over credits now?" He pulls his hookah back. "You know no one will know you saved the world tomorrow, right?"
"I know." I clap my hands clean of the pepper. "I'm an insane girl in an asylum. The world isn't supposed to know about me."
"Think of yourself as Superman," the Pillar suggests. "All the world's greatest heroes stay anonymous."
"You've got a point." I let my shoulders fall under the weight of exhaustion and follow the Pillar to the elevator. "I'm starving. Do I get to eat a nice meal, maybe?"
"Full of delicious carbs, saturated fats, and unhealthy sweets?" He looks irritated.
"Yes?" I tilt my head.
"Marshmallows, greasy pizza, and lots of ketchup?"
"Yes?"
"Ice cream, fudge, marmalade, and lots of cream?"
"Yes?"
"But of course." He rolls his cane with all the mirth in the world. "As long as you promise to lick your finger and make a mess while you eat."
"I promise I will make a mess, just like we did before at Westminster Palace."
"That's my girl," he chirps. "I know a boy who's been dying to get you to eat with him at Fat Duck, the best restaurant known for mock turtle soup in the world." He pushes the elevator button.
"Jack?" The smile on my face is so wide it hurts.
He nods. "But first, I need you to go to court with me," he says. "It's just a small favor."
"Court?" I am suspicious.
"It'll be fun, I promise." He snickers as the elevator doors open.
Inside, I glimpse the stirring tub for one last time. "Aren't we supposed to warn the health administration of the few sacks that fell in?"
"You forgot about the man who fell in too." He presses the button to the ground floor. "But hell no. A few body fats and blood of a dead guy in a few chocolates won't hurt. We eat gross stuff all day, and no one complains."
The elevator doors close. The Pillar tries to hold a sneeze.
"Pardon me," he says. "Achoo!"
I stare at him, terrified again.
"Gotcha!" He points at me and smiles.
"I wasn't afraid." I shake my shoulders.
"Oh, you were." He nudges me as I stare at the elevator's numbers.
"Not at all," I insist. "I was wondering if it was 'achoo' or 'atishoo.'"
I bite my lips. He buries a smile.
66
THE ROYAL COURTS OF JUSTICE, LONDON
I am sitting among the crowd, wearing a brand-new dress we bought with Margaret Kent's credit card. It's a fantabulous dress I chose with care in Harrods. And I am not planning on spattering it with blood. I will wear it on a date with Jack once the Pillar finishes his absurd joke in the court.
He stands in front of the judges, wearing a lawyer's coat and speaking with impeccable seriousness. The crowd sitting next to me loves him for filing a case against the Queen of England.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he says. I don't think this is the way you address the court in the British system. But that's the Pillar. And this is my insane world. I am beginning to love it. "I demand you look into the following case: The People versus the Queen of England."
The judges are about to laugh at him, but they act accordingly.
"We, the people of England, demand to know who pays for her nuts?" He raises his hands theatrically and talks with grace, like a nobleman. "We demand to know if she gets her nuts from the taxes we pay."
People in the crowd nod and are about to clap.
"Because I don't remember paying for the Queen's nuts." He winks at the crowd. "To be or nut to be, that is our sincere question. And we demand an answer."
The judge waits until the crowd hisses into a fading quietness and then asks the Pillar to approach the bench.
"I may only approach the bench with my assistant." The Pillar points at me. I blush in my soiree dress.
"Why would you need her to approach the bench with you?" the judge asks.
"I have a hearing problem, and she would be kind in reciting words I mishear," the Pillar says. "You know how words like 'tart' and 'fart' are almost the same."
The judge looks like he is going to sentence the Pillar with a death penalty for insulting his court. But he and his assistant judges cope with him, knowing they will eventually jail him for week or so. To them, the Pillar is a big joke they'd laugh at with cigars and cognacs in their hand by the end of the week.
I don't want to be in it, though. I want to have my first date with Jack.
"From the way we are having this conversation, I believe you can hear me well," the judge says.
"I can only hear when you're afar. The closer I get to you, I can't hear you," the Pillar says. "It's a new disease. Only discovered a few hours ago."
"All right," the judge puffs, about to scream and pull his wig. "Maybe you two approach the bench."
We do.
"Are you aware of ridiculing the court with your atrocious case?" The judge leans closer with gritting teeth.
"I stand by the people," the Pillar says. "People need to know about their taxes."
"I don't care about you or your people," the judge says. "I will give you a chance to apologize to the court or I will let you proceed with the case and jail you for disrespecting the court by saying the word 'fart.'"
"I said 'tart.'"
"You said 'tart and fart,'" the judge insists.
; "I said 'tart and tart.'" The Pillar is pushing the limits. "It would be disrespectful of me to say 'fart' in court."
"You said..." The judge's anger peaks, but he remembers to cool down. "Never mind." He breathes slower. "Have you made up your mind on whether to drop your nonsensical charges?"
"No," the Pillar says. "I insist. And you know what? You will approve of them, and have the Queen of England come to this court and explain herself. And you will not jail me."
"Is that so?" The judge smirks.
The Pillar pulls a few photos out of his pocket and throws them on the bench. I can't see them, but the judge blushes with anger and helplessness.
"This is a picture of your wife running away with an eighteen-year-old Nigerian." The Pillar sorts the photos for him. "This is your son killing a woman with his new car in a hit-and-run. A case has never been filed. And this is you in your tiger-striped underwear in—"
"Stop," the judge hisses.
"Sorry, I couldn't number the negatives." The Pillar flashes his fake smile. "I was in a hurry."
"All right. All right." The judge tucks the photos under the desk, afraid anyone will see them. "You may do as you please. Go back and say whatever you want. I will accept the charges and file a case."
"I love it when the authorities are cooperative," the Pillar says. "One more thing, though."
"What now?" The man is about to have a heart attack.
"We need you to help us book the Fat Duck restaurant tonight," the Pillar says. "Table for two, romantic dinner, extra-nice waiters, and pay it with your own credit card—I mean, my taxes."
"Will be done." The man really wants the Pillar to disappear from the face of the earth.
"And if it's not too much to ask, can we have Sir Elton John play the piano tonight?"
67
FAT DUCK RESTAURANT, LONDON
THE BEST MOCK TURTLE SOUP IN THE WORLD