by Cameron Jace
First, he had possessed Edith’s body in the Wonders’ house to make sure she and her sister weren’t the Tweedles, but then they proved to be ordinary useless humans like others.
Now, he was getting curiouser and curiouser.
He scurried farther among the Mushroomers who’d spotted him and tried to slap him dead with their shoes.
Some rats die in the worst ways, he thought again. Had any of those ugly humans ever thought how it’d feel being killed under a giant shoe? And what happened when the first hit didn’t kill the rat? Were they going to finish their kill with another hit?
Not that the Cheshire liked rats. As a cat, he sometimes ate them, although he thought they tasted awful. What did you expect from something that lived in sewers?
But he’d stand up for a rat against any human on any given day.
Still scurrying away, his phone rang in his teeth. He shuddered to the vibration and decided enough was enough.
He possessed a Mushroomer and stooped over to pick up the phone from the rat he’d once possessed.
“Yes?”
“It’s Margaret.”
“I’m still looking for Tweedledee and Tweedledum,” he said, seeing that none of the other Mushroomers paid attention to him. Now that was the beauty of living among insane folks. They wouldn’t give attention to such a sentence like the one he’d just uttered.
“I don’t think that’s necessary now. Plans have changed.”
“I’ve almost lost one of my nine lives in my quest, and you tell me plans have changed?”
“The Queen is about to make things worse with one of her stupid plans again.”
“What? She decided to cut off the headless horseman’s head?”
“Worse. We’re on our way to the UN headquarters in Geneva. We’re meeting with the presidents of the world.”
“Got an appetite for some sightseeing while the world is going down?”
“The presidents of the world are supposedly discussing how to deal with the plague.”
“I bet that’s a camouflage for something else.”
“They’re actually planning how to get the elite people of the world to escape if the world really ends tomorrow,” Margaret said. “They will even have part of the fake conference broadcasted on TV, but that’s not the issue.”
“I think I know what the issue is. The Queen is about to turn this conference upside down somehow.”
“Yes. She wouldn’t tell me how, but what worries me is that she and Carolus became friends all of a sudden.”
“That’s wonderfully weird in a very sinister way.”
“I think he told her a secret about the plague that we don’t know of, and they made a deal of some kind. I don’t know what it is.”
“Frankly, I don’t care. I’d be happy to see everyone in the world die, and I have nine lives. I wouldn’t mind living in this world, although it means I’d end up possessing rats and cockroaches.”
“I think you better come to Geneva, Cheshire. I have to go now.”
The Cheshire hung up, not really caring about what the Queen had in mind. He’d come here to find the Tweedles, which he thought was a fun pursuit. If it wasn’t Edith and Lorina, then he suspected it’d be Dr. Tom Truckles children. The Twins. Todd and Tania.
And he was about to find out. Only one thing stopped him now. He realized that as a Mushroomer, he was locked behind bars now. How he wished he hadn’t let that rat go.
80
ST PETER’S, THE VATICAN
“Get in, children,” Fabiola urges them.
I make sure the March Hare and chauffeur get in safe as well. The world outside in the piazza has gone bonkers. The basilica is the last resort for the uninfected at the moment. The early morning twilight slants through its dome, reminding me I have less than twenty-four hours to kill Carolus.
“Where is the Pillar?” Fabiola asks.
“He jumped out of the plane,” I say. “I have no idea why.”
“Good.” She took the March Hare in her arms. “Missed you, buddy. Really missed you.”
“I love you, White Queen. It’s been so long. I want to go back to Wonderland.”
“Someday, March. Someday.”
Watching the old March playing child and mother with Fabiola is a bit strange. I like the March. I can feel the purity of his heart when I talk to him, but how is he supposed to be an asset to the Inklings?
The children gather around Fabiola, as well.
Fabiola is like a universal language. Every color, ethnicity, and gender throw themselves in her arms. She is like a light at the end of a dark tunnel. It’s either the fear of the dark or the freedom of light in her arms.
I sit next to a few uninfected in the church, watching Fabiola organize everything. She makes sure all entrances are perfectly locked, that there is food for everyone and that no one has gotten infected somehow while inside.
“You did a great job, Alice,” she tells me. “I’m repeatedly impressed by your insistence to make the world better.”
“Thank you,” I say. “It was a bit of a darker ride in Columbia, however.”
“I know.” She holds my hands. “The Executioner?”
“How come there are such bad people in the world?”
“I don’t specialize in analyzing bad people. I prefer to look for the good in people and help them bring it out. It’s a better way to look at the world.”
“Not with the Pillar, I guess.”
She almost lowers her gaze. “The Pillar is a man who often has the chance to be good yet prefers to walk the other side.” Her voice is a bit shattered. “I feel no salvation for him.”
Well, putting it that way makes sense. I have to admit I am confused about him, but she just described my problem with him exactly. Every time I fall for his charm or sarcastic look at the world, he throttles me back with a bad move.
“He fooled me into showing him where I had hidden one of the keys last week,” I say.
“I heard he posed as the Mad Hatter,” she says.
I lower my head. Heroes shouldn’t be fooled that easily.
“It’s all right, but you should know he was going to give it to the Queen of Hearts.”
“How do you know?”
“I have my sources. He made a deal with her and Black Chess.”
“So, he’s working with them now?”
“I don’t think so. All I know is he promised the Queen to get her the key in exchange for something. And like I told you before: the Pillar is not on anyone’s side but his own.”
“Are you telling me he shouldn’t be part of the Inklings at all costs?”
“I’m telling you that you should search the Inklings tile by tile when this is over to make sure he didn’t buy it for a reason of his own,” Fabiola says. “The least I can imagine is that he’d like to know what you’re planning.”
“You really need to tell me more about him sometime, Fabiola.”
“When the right time comes. So I take it that you didn’t get the key back yet. It’s important that you do.”
“Not yet. I saw him with it and was planning to get it back when we returned, but then he jumped out of the plane in Brazil.”
“Brazil?” Fabiola tilts her head and looks back at the kids. “Did you get those kids from Brazil?”
“No, Columbia. They were slaves for the Executioner.”
“Oh, my God, how didn’t I see it?” Fabiola runs back to the kids and kneels down to check their hands. Once she sees they’re missing two fingers, she hugs them tighter, tears forming in her eyes.
“Is there something I should know about those kids?” I stand helpless, a bit too irritated with so many truths being kept from me.
“No.” She wipes off her tears. “You did good, Alice.” She pulls me closer with one arm and hugs me as well. “Damn you, Pillar, for opening up those old wounds.”
“I’m sorry, Fabiola, but I think I deserve to know what’s going on.”
“You want to know wha
t’s going on?” she sobs between the kids’ shoulders. “I know now why the Pillar pretended he was the Hatter and stole the keys from you last week.”
81
MUSHROOMLAND, COLUMBIA
The Executioner’s men had no warning.
Still mourning the death of their leader, they were about to have a meeting to elect a new one. Millions of dollars, drug money, was about to come in this week, and someone had to lead the way. And since they had lost too many children to this Alice girl, they had to plan to kidnap and enslave more children soon. Poor children, orphans, were their best candidates.
But none of this went as planned.
Why?
Because of the man in the blue suit with white stripes and golden buttons. The man in the hat with a little bit of bad skin as if it was about to peel off. The man with the hookah who always wore white gloves.
At first, he looked like a silly magician out of a Hollywood movie or something, getting out that plane with two machine guns in his hands and strings of bullets on his back.
Although they had seen him earlier, quirky and full of life, he had turned into a man with no expression on his face. A dull look, heartless and uncaring.
The Pillar shot left and right. Up and ahead. No mercy. No second thought. Not wincing for a moment. Not retreating.
Blood spattered all around and on his suit. He didn’t care.
On his face. He didn’t notice it.
He loaded his guns again and walked like Clint Eastwood shooting left and right.
None of them had a chance to match his skill.
Those who were new in the business wondered who this man was. How he had acquired such skills, and how in the name of mushrooms and grins, he dared infiltrate Mushroomland.
But those who’d been here for a long time knew him well. Those were the ones who began running first, although he chased them one by one and finished them.
Those were the ones who knew his name — Senor Pillardo, who had once been one of them.
Everyone had feared Senor Pillardo, but why he was shooting at them now remained a mystery to all.
One of the last survivors, lying panting on the grass, saw the Pillar standing among the piles of dead drug traffickers. He watched him retreat back to his plane, about to take off.
Suddenly the dying man knew him. “You’re…” he stuttered. “It can’t be!” he watched the Pillar taking off, and knew that the man in the blue suit wasn’t finished yet.
82
ST PETER’S, THE VATICAN
Fabiola doesn’t tell me why the Pillar took the key. She doesn’t tell me what’s so special about those children. And it drives me crazy.
I can’t force her to tell me. The White Queen has this kind of aura that makes you trust her, no matter what. If she decided not to tell me, she must have a good reason for it.
I watch Fabiola spend most of her time taking special care of the Columbian children – I realize not all of them are Columbian, but from all over the world -- while the March Hare tries to remember more about the plague.
“What boggles my mind is how I could cook such a plague.” He trotted across the church, left and right.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean, no matter what Carolus promised me, or forced me to do, I could never have designed something that could hurt anyone in the world. It’s just not me.”
I believe him.
“You think he drugged me, so I had no control of myself?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my shoulders. “Maybe you’re like him and have a split persona.”
“That would be horrible.” He brushes his long beard. “I don’t think I’m horrible. Do you think I’m horrible?”
“Calm down.”
“I think I have to.” His eyes shot up again. “I think my light bulb flickered.”
I don’t know what to say.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t think much or someone will see my thoughts. Fabiola, do you think I can hide in your confession booth?”
“If it’ll make you feel better.” She approached me. “So, still no idea how you will kill Carolus?”
“I went through all my meetings with Lewis, and I still have no idea.” I look at my watch. “Shouldn’t you know something?”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t mean to interfere, but you looked like you were intimate in the vision I had about the Six Inklings.”
Fabiola looks like she’s suppressing a smile. “Well, he always talked about your umbrella. He liked that gadget, the same way he liked the Vorpal sword he gave me.”
“I remember that.” I chuckle. “I’d love to see you chop off bad guys’ heads with it again.”
“Don’t count on it. I’ve devoted my life to peace. That was the Pillar’s effect that day. He makes people dip into their dark sides. He’s good at it.”
“So, what about the umbrella?”
“Maybe it’s the Bandersnatch teeth bullets or the way it glowed when you shot the Cheshire with it in the cat throwing festival.”
“You think so?”
“It’s our last chance.”
“All right.” I sigh. “I’ll have the chauffeur fly me to London.”
“Wait!” The chauffeur strolls over and shows us video footage from his phone.
“What is it?”
“It’s Senor Pillardo—I mean the Pillar.”
83
BBC REPORT
A man in a blue suit seems to have succeeded in doing what no government has ever been able to accomplish.
The unnamed hero, flying an uncharted plane, raided all of the Columbian drug locations in as little as one hour. Reports are still unclear how he did this, but some locals say they saw him kill each and every member of the drug cartels owned by the infamous criminal called the Executioner. Locals reported seeing this man on his own with two machine guns, on foot, shooting them left and right.
Then, a few minutes later, he bombed Mushroomland, where the most expensive drugs were grown.
“This man come. Shoot all bad men. No mercy. One time,” one of the locals says. “He shoot. They die. Simple. He Jesus Christ machine gun.”
Another older Columbian woman says, “I see movie Men in Black. Good guys. Shoot aliens. This man better. He is man in blue. Shoot. Kill. No reply.”
“I have to admit I have never seen such a daring human being, reported an Englishman living in Columbia. I mean, he was Rambo on mushrooms. Terminator on crack. He shot them with uncanny accuracy, said nothing, got back on his plane, burned everyone else.”
The same instant the world is trying to survive the most lethal plague in history, a single man ends the reign of the drug cartels. Maybe he is part superman, wearing blue. Maybe he is heaven-sent to save us. In any case, maybe there is still hope in this world.
84
ST PETER’S, THE VATICAN
All of us watch the news in awe.
The children clap their hands, most enthusiastic about it, although I am against them watching it. It is Fabiola who insists they do. I can’t understand what the deal is with the children yet.
“Why did he go back to do this?” I ask Fabiola.
“You never know what’s on the Pillar’s mind.” She looks away. She is lying. She knows why. I’m starting to lose my patience.
“In spite of all his bad doings, he rid the world of those bad people.”
“Did he?” She looks back. “Or did he just promote more violence in the world?”
I am confused. She has a point, but the Pillar may also have a point.
“Do you know of a reason why he would go back to do this while we’re in the middle of stopping Carolus?” I ask her.
“I have no idea, Alice. You said it yourself. He went back when you needed him. Trust me. He just wants to evoke chaos. And even if he doesn’t, you’ll figure out he has an agenda of his own. I hope he returns and gives you back his key.”
“You’re right,” I say, trying to keep m
y focus on what matters. “I suppose I will let the chauffeur fly back to London.”
“We’ll have to delay that a bit,” the chauffeur says. “The chopper needs some maintenance. But not for long. Don’t worry.”
“Besides, you won’t find Carolus in London,” Fabiola says.
“What do you mean?”
“My sources have told me the Queen of Hearts captured him and is taking him with her to the UN’s meeting in Geneva.”
“Geneva? The Queen and Carolus? Something isn’t right here.”
“I know. That’s why you have to kill him sooner. Who knows what the Queen has planned for us all.”
85
RADCLIFFE ASYLUM, OXFORD
Since the Cheshire couldn’t find another rat to possess, he resorted to a fly in the end.
Now, this was risky business.
For one, he had to leave his phone behind for good now. Second, he was prone to getting killed at any moment. Humans loved to kill flies.
To tell the truth, it was tempting, like killing ants. Just a calculated slap and the fly was history.
But soon, he found himself another host — one of the asylum’s wardens.
The Cheshire strolled through the ward like had before when he possessed Ogier’s body and scared this Alice girl a few weeks ago. Oh, boy, was that fun. That look on her face would have made one hell of a selfie.
But enough with that poor girl thinking she was the Real Alice. It was Tom’s kids he was looking for.
He gestured at a few other wardens on his way. Everyone seems concerned with something called Plan-X. This loon Dr. Truckle thought he’d survive the apocalypse in this asylum.
But frankly, what did the Cheshire care? All these humans, dumb as a bum.
And here he was, staring at Tom’s children, Todd and Tania, with that famous Cheshire grin on his lips.