by Cameron Jace
She’d injected the tea with the truth serum already, and even called it the Tea to Truth. “Oh, the Mad Hatter would’ve loved this if he were here. The real Mad Hatter, I mean.”
“I still don’t understand trying to make the world’s most powerful presidents clash against each other when the world is going to end anyway,” Margaret had to say.
“I know what I am doing. Didn’t I say don’t question me? Besides, villains always do it in James Bond movies.” She stood on a high chair, checking out her beauty in a mirror. “Do you think I look good for the end of the world?”
“If you’re planning to take a photo with you to the afterlife,” Margaret mumbled.
“I heard you,” the Queen said. “Don’t you think I’m not planning to conquer the afterlife after I conquer the world, ugly Duchess.”
Margaret shrugged, having no idea what to do. She had already been angry enough, hearing what the Pillar did to her investments in Columbia, but this wasn’t the right time to teach this hookah man a lesson. She needed to deal with this crazy Queen first. What did she know that Margaret didn’t?
It must have all happened in her conversation with Carolus. If the Queen’s guards would only let her meet with this man.
“I’m ready,” the Queen chirped. “Now, did you call Fabiola?”
“Yes. She didn’t recognize my voice. I told her I was a rebelling guard from Buckingham Palace who wished the Queen’s reign would end,” Margaret said. “I told her that you are taking Carolus to Geneva and that she and Alice have to come and save the world by killing Carolus.”
“Fantastic. I bet she took the bait.”
“Like a starving fish,” Margaret said. “She is coming here in a while.”
“Great. That’s the deal between me and Carolus. He gave me what was left of the plague so I could put in the tea in exchange for handing him this Alice girl.”
“I thought he wanted the Lullaby pill.”
“He needed the pill when he had migraines. I gave him one to ease his pain, but his real plan was to lure Alice. He first asked me for the Pillar, because he knew that the easiest way to find Alice was through the Pillar, but I told him I have faster and easier ways to get her.”
“So, this whole plague was to help him find Alice?”
“Some loon, right?” The Queen grinned. “He said he wasn’t sure who the Real Alice was. That the only way he’d find her is to threaten the world’s safety.”
“I’m not following, My Queen.”
“Think about it. The Real Alice will always stand up to save the world like we were told in that prophecy. Apparently, Carolus believes in it.”
“Strange way to find the Real Alice, but he has a point. Still, why does he want to meet her so bad?”
“Maybe he wants to kill her, but don’t ask me why. All that matters is that I get the world’s presidents into a war. And it’s always good to get rid of any girl named Alice, in case she is the real one.” She rolled her eyes.
Margaret watched the Queen enter the meeting hall. She thought it was a good idea she’d also told Fabiola the Queen’s plan. Now maybe this annoying Alice would find a heroic way to stop the Queen from her executing her plan, and then she would die in Carolus’s hands.
Now that’s what they called two birds with one stone.
93
PILLAR’S CHOPPER ON ITS WAY TO GENEVA
Fabiola changes into modern clothes inside the plane.
She comes to show her formal, businesswoman dress. And she looks rather shy or confused.
“You look good,” I say. And she does. I don’t think she realizes she has an athletic feminine-looking body. Or maybe it’s me who just doesn’t know who she was before she became a nun.
“I haven’t changed my nun’s dress in years.” She’s almost blushing. “It’s a bit uncomfortable for me.”
“You’re always beautiful, White Queen,” the March says, although he should be trying to remember the exact incident with Carolus.
“You are,” I say.
“I don’t want to look beautiful,” she says. “I want to look convincing enough that we can get through the UN’s building gates.”
“Don’t worry,” the chauffeur says. “I’ve taken care of that. The Pillar sent me fake invitations for the three of you.”
This doesn’t warm Fabiola toward him, though.
“I think, as much of a mystery as he is, he still tries to help,” I say.
“You don’t know him, Alice,” she says. “He shouldn’t have killed more people. You think he solved the world’s drug problem? Tomorrow, another Executioner will be born.”
“I understand.”
“This is exactly what I was talking about when I told about you staring darkness in the eyes, and not getting stained with it.”
“I think I get it. I felt so much hate and anger in Columbia, I was about to go on a rampage, too.”
“The Pillar never got it. That’s why he isn’t a good man. He wants to fight fire with fire, not admitting that he likes it.”
“I have to say he does like it.” I stretch my arms. “But forget about him. You know what I like about this moment?”
“What?”
“The three of us are on a mission together. Three more and the Inklings will be complete.”
“I’m an Inklings’ member?” The March giggles. “So frabjous.”
“You know what would be frabjous?” I tell him. “If you remembered any useful details about the plague. Maybe there is a cure, after all.”
“I’m trying my best.” His ears dangle a bit. “Believe me, I do. I’ve even looked through all my pockets for a clue, but...”
Suddenly his ears stand erect again. His eyes bulge out like usual.
“What is it?” Fabiola says.
“I found something in my jacket’s pocket. It’s a hidden pocket I totally forgot about.”
“And what did you find in there?” I ask.
The March says nothing. He elevates his hands, showing four thin tubes, like the ones you use in a chemistry lab.
“What are those?” I inquire.
“I still need to remember that, but...” His eyes dart between me and Fabiola. “I think this could be the cure.”
94
GENEVA, SWITZERLAND
“Where is Alice?” Carolus’ face twitched.
“Calm down,” the Queen told him, not facing him but the presidents of the world from behind the curtain overlooking the huge meeting room. “She is on her way. Besides, didn’t I give you a Lullaby pill?”
“It was just one pill. Not enough.”
“Well, then save your anger for Alice when she arrives. I have no idea why everyone is so interested in this girl.”
“Because she is the Real Alice.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Who else would walk around trying to save the world?” Carolus said. “It must be her.”
“That’s the Pillar’s doing. He wants something from her, probably the whereabouts of the keys. That’s all. She isn’t Alice.”
“She must be.” Carolus’ head ached. His jaw looked tense.
“I think you should wait in the other room for her to arrive,” the Queen said. “You can’t show up at the meeting anyway. Everyone knows you’re the madman with the hookahs.”
“Not even when Alice arrives?”
“You can do whatever you want to her when she comes, but not in the meeting room. I need the press to document and videotape the presidents swearing and humiliating each other when the tea’s effect begins. Wait for her when she leaves the room. I’ll get my guards to help you catch her.”
“I don’t need your guards. You don’t know what my plan is.”
“I surely don’t.” The Queen rolled her eyes. Lewis’s split persona had always been cuckoo in the head. “And I don’t want to. All I care about is seeing the presidents clash against one another.”
“Good luck with that.” Carolus turned around.
/> “Wait,” the Queen said. “I just need to make sure we understand each other, that what you told me about the plague is true, or my plan will be useless.”
“I told you the truth.”
“’The ‘truth’ is not the best word to use on this occasion.”
“Rest assured. What I told you about the plague is a fact. You go rule the world while I get Alice.”
“Agreed.” The Queen rubbed her hands and entered the meeting.
Once she got inside, a butler offered her tea.
“I don’t need tea,” she mumbled, sitting down. “Do I look like I need to tell the truth?”
The butler, who was Indian, walked away confused, cursing those arrogant English people who’d wrongfully occupied his land for years. He suddenly realized how much he despised them.
The Queen of Hearts smiled, listening to his mumbling. Good. The Tea of Truth was working.
95
GENEVA, SWITZERLAND
“You need to remember,” I tell the March while inside the special limousine the Pillar rented for us. “Are those tubes the cure?”
“First of all, they aren’t just tubes. They are syringes inside.” He examines them in his hands. “But I think they are.”
“Think isn’t good enough,” Fabiola says.
The limousine crosses the gate, and we’re parking next to the most important presidents in the world. I watch each one of them get out of his car, surrounded by the bulkiest guards. It’s ironic to see this kind of luxury and protection while the world is withering away everywhere else.
“If everyone is a president around here, who are we?” Fabiola asks the chauffeur.
“You’re Queen and Princess of Bonkerstan,” he announces, handing over our fake passports.
“That’s not a country ,” I comment.
“That’s not even a real word.” The March chuckles. “Oh, I’m the Minister of Cuckoology. Love that.”
“You know how many countries exist with such weird names?” the chauffeur says. “The world is too big, and the weirder the country’s name, the more no one cares. Just flash your passport on the way in. Act like a queen and princess. If asked, tell them you have a cure for the plague and show them the syringes. You need to get inside and stop the presidents from drinking the Queen’s tea.”
“So I didn’t need to dress like a businesswoman,” Fabiola says. “I’m a queen, after all.”
We step out of the limo, and we’re the only ones without protection or guards. I see Fabiola hide her Vorpal sword inside her dress and raise an eyebrow at her.
“In case your umbrella isn’t good enough,” she says.
“Time to kick some butt,” the March Hare says.
We both shoot him a straight look. He shouldn’t be joking. He should remember things.
We wave at the other presidents on the way in. Most of them stare at us from head to toe, wondering how it’s possible we’re here.
“Bonkerstan!” I celebrate, waving my umbrella.
Suddenly, all kinds of reporters surround us.
“Are you here to save the world? “A woman sticks her mic into my face.
“Of course,” I say. “Me and my mother.” I point at Fabiola.
“You speak English?” the reporter wonders. “Could you please tell us where Bonkerstan is on the map?”
“It’s not on the map.” I am improvising. “We asked it not to be included.”
“We need to protect our resources.” Fabiola catches up.
“Really?” another reporter asks. “What kind of resources?”
“It’s hard to explain,” I begin to stutter. What did I get myself into? “It’s more of...”
“Jub jubs.” Fabiola saves me again. “We produce about fourteen million jub jubs a year.”
“What’s a jub jub—“
“I think it’s more like thirteen million.” Now I cut in.
“Of course.” Fabiola distracts the reporter until we get into the building. “Considering the last million was all infested with marshmallows.”
“I’m sorry,” the reporter tenses. “But who are you, really?”
Fabiola and I say nothing. We’re only a few meters into the building, and this reporter could expose us.
“We are the ones who have the cure!” the March steps in. Then he turns to me and Fabiola. “I mean it. I found a note in my pocket. It says all we have to do is inject the infected with this syringe.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” I pull out one of the syringes and dart into the building. Fabiola and the March follow me. All the reporters are commenting on how bonkers we are.
96
UN HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA, SWITZERLAND
“Sit here,” the Cheshire told Tom Truckle. “It’s a bit far from the presidential area, but we’ll be able to see and hear everything.”
“Thank you, Jack. I didn’t think you’d be so useful.”
“I didn’t think I’d be either.” The Cheshire took in a long breath. It was good being in Jack’s body. Young, healthy, and feeling so alive. Why hadn’t he done that long ago? Something told him he’d stay in the boy’s body for a long time. Maybe it was time to forget about the Cheshire and just be Jack.
He enjoyed how most of the girls giggled at him. Jack was attractive and athletic. All the Cheshire needed was to learn how to act like Jack.
“Oh, tea,” the Cheshire said, taking what the butler was offering. “My father used to love his five o’clock milk—I mean tea, of course.”
“Did he love flying saucers too?” Tom said, squinting at something in the distance.”
“No, we cats—I mean, my father never believed in extraterrestrials.”
“I’m not talking about that. I am talking about teacups and flying saucers.” Tom was pointing at saucers flying their way now.
“Duck, Dr. Truckle!” The Cheshire pulled him under the stairs with him.
Teacups and saucers and vases were flying and crashing against the walls everywhere, accompanied by presidents swearing and shouting at each other.
“What is going on?” Tom wailed.
“Nothing much,” the Cheshire said. “World War Wonderland—I mean World War III.”
97
UN HEADQUARTERS, GENEVA, SWITZERLAND
We’re too late. The hall is a teacups and saucers festival.
The most surprised of us is the March Hare, staring at the presidents of the world swearing and throwing teacups at each other.
And the worst part is that it’s all being caught on TV.
“Each one has his own war,” Fabiola says. “The Arabs and Jews are throwing all kinds of china at each other.”
“My God,” I say. “The words they say to each other. Humiliating.”
“It’s a centuries-old conflict,” Fabiola says. “And it seems all this peace talk was nothing but a front. The Tea of Truth proves that.”
“North Korea and South Korea, too.” The March points at them in the far corner.
“Is that the Russian and Ukrainian presidents?” I point.
“Not sure,” Fabiola says. “But I’m sure that’s the American president throwing china at the Queen of Hearts.”
“She is enjoying this,” the March says.
We watch her atop a high chair raiding the American ambassadors with her favorite teacups.
“The Queen shoots teacups better than Tiger Woods on a golf course,” a voice says behind us.
A voice we all know well — the Pillar.
“I thought I told you...” Fabiola begins.
The Pillar pulls her down instantly. A series of teacups swoosh above her head and knock a reporter down to the floor. Fabiola looks more annoyed he saved her this time. She waves his hand off and looks the other way.
“Is she always that way?” the Pillar asks me. “I thought nuns had manners.”
“We don’t have time for this.” I tuck a syringe against his chest. “Dip this into the American president’s neck.”
“I’
m going to kill him?”
“No. It will cure him of the plague. Sadly, we only have four. So our best shot is to save the American president, Iranian, Israeli, and Egyptian.”
“I’d say the China and German presidents are good ones, too,” Fabiola says. “We’re not sure if offending the Germans won’t give birth to another Hitler.”
“Basically the most powerful presidents.” I duck as another saucer almost knocks me down. “The aim is to cool the world down and stop them from telling the truth about how they feel about each other.”
“You want one in your chest too, Fabiola?” the Pillar says.
She dismisses him and turns toward the presidents. “I’ll take the Jews’ and Arabs’.”
“You should take the American president,” I tell the Pillar.
“Why me?”
“Just do as I say,” I demand. “I’ll make sure you’re doing well and then go look for Carolus.”
“Ah, I forgot. First, make sure World War III won’t happen and then make sure to save the lazy human who’s done nothing to find a cure.”
“That’s it.” I’m not going to argue now.
“I think you will need to stay longer, Alice.” The March grits his teeth against all things crashing around us.
“Why?”
“You need to inject the Queen of Hearts.”
“She is a Wonderlander. She can’t get infected with the truth.”
“Not if it’s inhaled from the Hookah of Hearts, but she injected it into the tea, and that’s a different story. I just remembered.”
“Well, you should have remembered about two years ago,” the Pillar says. “No wonder she is all bonkers, shooting saucers like a short, stocky alien in a movie I never saw.”
“All right.” I grit my teeth. “So, I’ll inject the Queen.”
“Did you notice we’ve been discussing this a bit too long?” Fabiola urges us. “Let’s get going.”