by Cameron Jace
Carolus took his time in saying, “Do you know why he killed the twelve men, though?”
Margaret put her son’s picture aside. “He did it so he could plead insanity and be admitted to the Radcliffe Asylum to mentor Alice.”
“Don’t you think he could’ve found easier ways to sneak into the asylum?”
“Of course. He could’ve worn a tutu, stood in Parliament Square, and cursed the Queen of England,” she said. “But being the Pillar, he had to act larger than life and do crazy things, so he killed twelve people, claiming the Alice Underground book drove him crazy.”
“That’s not what Inspector Dormouse said.”
“Whatever he said, I wouldn’t trust a man who is asleep half of the time.”
“Maybe that’s why he sees things clearer.”
“Meaning?”
“We’re always awake. Always alert. Always thinking. Too much information could be the reason why we overlook a few details.”
“Don’t lecture me, Carolus. Don’t act like you’re a real person. You’re merely a man’s shadow. What did Dormouse say?”
“He wants to meet first, but he says he knows the twelve people the Pillar killed weren’t chosen haphazardly. They all actually have one thing in common.”
“Which is?”
“He wouldn’t tell. That’s why he wants to…”
“All right.” Margaret sighed. “Make him pay me a visit at the office today. I’d love to see the Queen chop off his head for wasting my time.”
“That’d put him into an eternal sleep.” Carolus chortled. “And, ah, I forgot. There’s one other thing.”
“What now?”
“A madman by the name of the Chessmaster is holding the world’s leaders hostage and is threatening to kill them all at that world charity event.”
“Hostages? How is that possible? Why would someone do that?”
“Not only hostages, but he also killed the Pope’s representative in a weird game of chess.”
Margaret went silent. She felt a lump in her throat. She should have been the first to know, but she was too occupied with planning to save her son.
The event had been endorsed by the top five countries in the world. A global chess game to raise money. The Queen of Hearts had sent her new prime minister puppet, Mr. Paperwhite, to attend it.
“Duchess?” Carolus’ voice crackled in the speaker.
“Forget about Dormouse,” she said. “Call my staff for an emergency meeting. Until then, I want to know everything about this Chessmaster.”
4
Mr. Jay’s limousine, Oxford
The Red pulls me out of the window. I find myself floating in the air, clinging to his wrist, baffled by the way he is balancing himself atop the limousine like a surfing master.
“Take her to Mr. Jay and make sure to evade the Pillar,” the woman demands from the limousine below.
The Red doesn’t answer her, and pulls me farther up, jumping over the car, down onto the pavement of whatever city I’m in now.
Now safe, I kick the Red, aiming for his groin, but miss due to his seamless maneuver with his waist. He swivels me as if in a dance, and we end up chest to chest. I try kicking with my knees, but his grip on my waist never falters.
“Let go of me,” I scream like a little girl, which I don’t like at all. “Don’t you know who I am? I am Alice Wonder, Mary Ann, Black Chess’s most precious.”
The Red still doesn’t speak, and I can’t see his face under the hood.
“Is that you, Pillar?” I squint.
No response.
It’s not the Pillar. He didn’t come to save me like the woman suggested. It seems like Black Chess sent their best Red this time, making sure I end up meeting Mr. Jay.
Tons of police cars suddenly arrive. They stop before us, wheels screeching, doors opening, and someone is shouting in the speakers.
“Drop your gun!” A chubby police officer jumps out of the car, pointing his gun at the Red.
But, of course, the man gripping me neither flinches nor responds.
“Drop your gun or I will shoot!”
“He doesn’t have a gun!” My voice is barely louder than a whisper as the Red’s tight hands are pressed on my chest. “Just arrest him.”
“I can’t arrest him unless he chooses not to drop his gun,” the chubby police officer says.
“Didn’t you just hear me?” I snap. “He doesn’t have a gun.”
“Then we can’t arrest him,” the officer says. “We only arrest criminals who refuse to drop their guns.”
I roll my eyes, confused. “But it’s your responsibility to save me.”
“Is it?” He scratches his head.
I squint against the ridiculousness of his question. “Of course it is. He is kidnapping me!”
“He is?” He tilts his head toward his fellow officer, a lanky young man. “Does that man in the red robe look like he is kidnapping this lady?”
The lanky officer holds on to his belt instead of his gun so his trousers won’t slip down. “Hmm,” he says. “They could as well be embracing. I mean, they’re standing chest to chest. The man in the red robe seems fond of her.”
“Lovers, you think?” the chubby officer asks.
I am still not registering the stupidity of the conversation.
“Must be lovers,” the lanky officer says. “Is it Valentine’s Day yet?”
“It’s not bloody Valentine’s Day, you fool,” the chubby one says. “They must be shooting a movie.”
“What the heck are you talking about?” I shout. “This man just kidnapped me from the limo behind me.”
“I don’t have proof of this. I’m sorry,” the chubby officer says. “I mean, I’m not sure he is kidnapping you.” He lowers his gun. “I’m not even sure why I am here.” He turns and asks his men, “Does anyone know why we’re here?”
“You told us to follow you here,” an officer responds.
“Hmm.” The chubby officer turns and faces me, then rubs his chin. “I seem to have forgotten.”
“It’s really puzzling.” The lanky one nods. “It’s almost like a movie scene. Something wrong happens and the police arrive on the spot.”
“I’ve never understood that.” The chubby one turns and converses with his friend. “I mean really, who calls the police in those movies? The director of the movie?”
“Are you out of your mind?” I shout, unable to fathom the situation.
“Gotcha!” The lanky one pulls his trousers up to his chest, then snickers.
“She really took the bait.” The chubby one laughs at me.
“What the heck is going on?” I ask.
Out of nowhere, tens of Reds jump out of the cars. Next to them, the police officers take off their uniforms, revealing Reds robes underneath.
“That was fun, wasn’t it?” The chubby man jumps up and high-fives the lanky one, who drops his trousers but catches them halfway down. “Give her to us,” he says to the silent Red gripping me. “You’ve done a good job and we’ve had some fun. Mr. Jay is waiting for her.”
Feeling humiliated, I assume the Red behind me is going to hand me to them. But instead, still, just as silent, he pulls out a sword and flashes it toward them, chopping off their heads one by one.
At first, he does it while he is still gripping me with the other hand. It’s like a dance of death. A ballet of incomprehensible killing techniques. The Red is a master who is killing his own people with a fluency I have never seen before. I glimpse a couple of None Fu techniques among his plethora of unbelievable moves.
But before I witness the end of the massacre, I bump my head on the back of his sword and fall unconscious, not knowing what the hell just happened.
5
Buckingham Palace, Queen’s garden
The Queen of Hearts had her men lined up on the vast chessboard, which she had planted at the bed of her garden. The chess tiles were white squares of grass amidst black squares of black roses. Her gardener had tol
d her that the white grass were special winter lilies, which had been exclusively imported from Siberia. When she’d asked the name of the black roses, she was shocked by the response. At first, she’d thought they were painted black roses, but her gardener had told her they weren’t. They were called Black Shit Roses, and they only grew in her royal garden.
But that was of no concern to her now. All she wanted was to treat herself with a human-sized chess game, using her less-than-smart guards as chess pieces. It seemed like a fascinating idea, using humans for chess. Because, after all, a politician’s best talent was to do so.
“They’re ready, my Queen,” said the chubby boy, an ice cream in his hand. Margaret’s boy, whom the Queen took care of now, teaching him the science of all bonkers and evil. “Red guards against white guards. I’ve lined them up like a chessboard.”
“Brilliant, Humpty Dumpty.” The Queen called him by his Wonderland name, which Margaret had hated all along. “Have you taught them how the game is played?”
“Of course,” Humpty chirped with lips smeared with ice cream. “You tell them the move you have in mind, and they obey without questioning you as if they weren’t human.”
“Just like in real life.” The Queen smiled. “My government tells people what to do and they just do it. Sometimes we make them think this is what they want to do, so they do it without knowing it’s what we want them to do, but that’s another story. So what happens if one of my chess pieces decides to disobey me?”
“They get their head chopped off, my Queen?” Humpty tilted his head, which was so heavy, he almost lost balance and fell.
“Exactly.” She patted his bloated face with her chubby hands. “And please don’t call me ‘my Queen.’”
“Really? What should I call you?”
“Call me ‘Mum.’”
Humpty looked reluctant, but then she pushed the fat cone of ice cream down his throat and he didn’t care anymore, as long as he was fed.
“But I have a question, Mum,” he said through blotchy lips. “Who are you playing against?”
“My dogs.” She pointed at them panting with excitement on the other side of the board.
“Dogs?” one of the guards standing on the chessboard said.
“Yes, dogs.” The Queen stood straight. “Haven’t you seen a queen play chess with her dogs before?”
“But how are we supposed to understand what the dog wants us to do?”
“Just like you understand me. I talk. They woof. Not much of a difference,” she said.
“Woof?” the guard, whose position was a pawn on the chessboard, said.
“I’ll show you.” She stood by the side of the board and ordered her dogs to kick-start the game.
The dogs didn’t get it at first, still panting with excitement, probably waiting for their Brazilian nuts.
“Come on, sweeties,” the Queen said. “Make your move.”
“Woof. Woof,” barked the dog in front, staring right at the reluctant guard.
“See?” The Queen waved both hands sideways. “Woof. Woof.”
“So?” The guard grimaced.
“So follow the orders and make the move.” She began to tense and become annoyed.
“Woof. Woof.” Humpty laughed at the guard.
“Don’t interfere, Humpty. Let Mum take care of this,” the Queen said. “You better stick to ‘lick, lick.’”
The dog barked again.
“I don’t know what I should do,” the guard said.
“What does a pawn do in chess?” the Queen asked.
“They either advance or move diagonally,” the guard answered.
“Elaborate,” she said, chin up.
“The pawn moves ahead, only if there is free space. Diagonally if they eat another chess piece.”
“Do you see anything you can eat diagonally?”
“No, my Queen.”
“So the dog can only order you to move forward, right?”
The guard shrugged. “Yes, my Queen.”
“And how many squares does a pawn advance at the beginning of a chess game?” The Queen flashed a smug smile.
“Two squares, my Queen.”
“And what did my genius dog say?”
“Woof. Woof.”
“Two woofs, right? Two square moves for a pawn. I rest my case.” She rested her hands on her hips and sighed.
The guard walked two squares ahead.
“Bravo!” She clapped at her dogs, as they drooled with excitement.
“But what if the dogs want me to move diagonally?” the guard asked.
“You still don’t get it?” The Queen jumped in her place. “The dog will woof once and you will have someone to eat diagonally.”
“I understand, my Queen.” The guard was already sweating, partially confused, partially humiliated, and partially thinking he’d gone mad.
“So let’s start the game.” The Queen clapped with enthusiasm. “Woof! Woof!”
“What does it mean now?” The guard looked confused.
“Nah, that’s not for you,” she said. “This is for the guard next to you, so he can chop off your head for being stupid, unable to understand the clear and precise and unmistakable language of dogs.”
In an instant, the guard’s head was chopped off, blood spilling on the grass.
Humpty laughed harder, licking his ice cream.
“From now on, I will not say ‘off with their heads’ anymore,” the Queen announced to her guards. “I will say ‘woof woof!’”
It was in that instant when Humpty’s big and stocky head was chopped off by the guard standing next to him.
“What did you do, you fool?” the Queen screamed.
“You said woof, woof,” the guard said.
And then another guard’s head was chopped off.
The dogs began to bark. Woof. Woof.
In a few seconds, everyone’s head in the garden had been chopped off, each rolling across the life-sized chessboard.
The Queen stood pouting and staring at the massacre in her garden, the dogs staring back at her. “What can I say?” she told them. “Humans are definitely woof, woof.”
6
Alice Wonder, somewhere in a dark room
When I wake up, I am too weary to fully open my eyes. The floor underneath me is cold and hard, and the ceiling, if there is any, seems so far away I can’t see it.
In the back of my head, there is a continuous buzzing, a sharp, needlelike pain that won’t stop. I reach back to touch it and instantly remember the strange incidents in the limousine, and the mysterious Red who seemed to have kidnapped me, but then rescued me as well.
My eyelids hurt when I squint and look sideways to inspect the rest of wherever I am. All I see is blurry darkness, pierced by a slant of yellow light, slithering diagonally from a top window. I think I am in some kind of dungeon.
Slowly I prop myself up on all fours, hardly finding the strength to stand up. There is a tray of food next to me. A sandwich, a glass of water, and next to them is something I didn’t expect. My precious Tiger Lily.
I reach for it instantly, remembering my future children—though I’m not comfortable with the memory of my future husband, whom I don’t know anything about. I hug my Tiger Lily, almost sure it won’t spit at me and call me insane anymore. As far as I know, I am not insane. I am only dealing with an insane world.
Still, I must have been insane once, with all the Lullaby pills, what happened in the circus, and whatever reason that turned me into the Bad Alice in the past.
It only takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the semidarkness, and realize there is someone standing before me. The silent Red who saved me.
“Who are you?” I say, holding tighter to my Tiger Lily and crawling back against the wall.
He says nothing. Doesn’t even move or make a sound.
“Listen,” I say. “You will have to talk to me and explain who you are, or I will hurt you. You know who I am, right?” I am well aware of the nonse
nse I am speaking. I can’t hurt him. He is too strong and I actually owe him for saving me from the rest of the Reds. Only I need to know what he wants with me.
The answer comes in the shape of a yellow note. A sticky one, which he writes on with a red pencil then hands to me. I take it, noticing it’s of the same type of paper as the note with the Pillar’s Wonder written upon it. The one that is buried at the bottom of Tiger Lily’s pot, which I am now holding.
I read the note: You’re a horrible Bad Alice. I thought you’d be able to fight me back.
“What the heck?” I chortle.
He passes me another note. I take it and read it: Heck is too American for a British girl that inspired Lewis Carroll. But you’re forgiven since you have no idea who you really are yet.
I am not sure if this is supposed to be a joke, but I can sense the Red isn’t here to harm me. “Why did you save me?”
Another note: Consider me your guardian angel.
“I don’t need a guardian,” I say. “And I am not sure angels are on my side at this time.”
Note says: You talk too much.
I say, “As if you talk at all.”
Note says: I made a choice not to. You, on the other hand, do talk, so use your mind and focus, or blabbing will kill you. Then he writes something that makes me chuckle. Too much yappening, not enough happening.
“And you make fun of me speaking in American terms?” I retort. “What you just said isn’t even English.”
A note: It’s better than English. It’s nonsense.
I don’t reply, watching him churn out another note. This one says: We may have started on the wrong note. Let’s start all over again.
“That sounds better,” I say. “Where do you want to start?”
A note: Let’s begin with introductions. You can call me Dude.
“Nice to meet you, Dude—I guess.” I struggle to stand up and stretch out a hand.
He doesn’t shake it, but tucks another note in it: Time is running out. You have to get ready for your next mission.