The Complete Alice Wonder Series - Insanity - Books 1 - 9

by Cameron Jace

  It wasn’t like the Cheshire hadn’t possessed politicians before. Only this time he made sure not to let his persona overcome that of the politician. Instead, he let the man’s mind seep through, so the Cheshire could read it all.

  It wasn’t surprising how the politician didn’t give a damn about the world’s turmoil at the moment. The man rocked in his chair, lit a cigar, and started thinking about how he could benefit from the crisis of the Chessmaster holding the world’s leaders hostage.

  His thoughts were like this: Would the American dollar rise or decline in such times? Never mind the British pound. It may be as strong as a rock, but it means nothing in the world’s economy. Should I be investing in certain things now? Should I start planning to take the prime minister’s place?

  In short, the politician was a scumbag, and the Cheshire was far from surprised. It was what he’d always expected from humans, though he’d begun mildly sympathizing with humanity, especially since he’d time-traveled to the future and possessed Jack’s soul.

  Of course, it baffled him how he partially remembered that journey when he shouldn’t know anything about it. He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t remember much anyway.

  All he remembered was that fuzzy feeling in his chest toward Alice, which were Jack’s feelings, of course.

  But the Cheshire felt changed since then. Not that he had converted to loving humans—the politician he was possessing made sure of that—but he was confused.

  Part of the Cheshire’s confusion was that he still didn’t belong to a body or identity. It seemed like it was time he stuck to one person and lived their life. But who?

  He picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

  There was a show about cats, where a woman loved them and fed them and took care of them. All the cats looked really well-groomed, too cute, too loving.

  “Disgusting,” the Cheshire said, and turned over the channel, wondering how much they paid those cats to act like they enjoyed the company of humans.

  As he flipped through channels, he suddenly remembered that at some point he’d possessed the knowledge of the whereabouts of the Six Impossible Keys, but had forgotten it when he returned to the present again.

  “Dang!” he said in the politician’s voice.

  He stopped at the channel that broadcast the Chessmaster in Russia and laid the remote on the table.

  The Cheshire knew a few secrets about the Chessmaster. He even had an idea of why he might be killing the world’s leaders. A few secrets the Cheshire preferred to keep to himself.

  The one thing he didn’t know, that puzzled the purrs and furs out of him, was what, or where, Miss Croatia 1454 was.

  12

  On the train, somewhere in Europe

  I’m fidgeting in the seat next to the Pillar and slightly rocking to the train’s movement. He doesn’t pay attention to any of my questions, but stares at a paper he’s discreetly pinned into the back of the woman sitting in front of him. She has bushy hair and probably hasn’t washed it for some time, so she doesn’t feel it.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask him, disappointed that I’ve failed to solve the puzzle.

  “We booked two tickets for Croatia, didn’t we?” he says, still staring at the paper, which reads, Miss Croatia 1454.

  “I know, but this couldn’t be so easy.”

  “The puzzle says Croatia, so it must be,” he says. “All we need is to figure out what 1454 means. Could be an address.”

  “You mean a street or house number? Come on, he said only a few people will be able to solve it. That doesn’t sound like a puzzle designed for a few people to get.”

  “I agree, but I can’t solve it. Let’s stick with the Croatia idea. What do you think the numbers are?”

  “Coordinates?”

  “I checked. It’s not.”

  I let out a sigh. Today seems to be the day of disappointments. Earlier, I couldn’t defend myself against the Reds, and now I am clueless to this puzzle. “Are you sure this isn’t a Wonderland puzzle? Something Lewis Carroll wrote in his book?”

  “I am. Lewis only left England to travel to Russia. I doubt it if he’d ever known anything about Croatia.”

  “Not even the 1454 number?”

  “Nah, but wait.” The Pillar waves his gloved hands in the air. These are new gloves the woman at the hospice gave him with her phone number on the back.

  “What is it?”

  “1454 is a year.”

  “I thought of it, Googled it, but found nothing of importance.”

  “Not even in Croatia?”

  “I don’t think Croatia existed in 1454,” I say, wondering if he is testing me. Usually, he knows more, though today he strikes me as a little off-balance with his worrying about dying within fourteen years. I wonder about the real reason he visited the hospice. I wonder if there is still a part of what he saw in the future that he hasn’t told me about. And I hope he isn’t really dying because I am not sure what I’d do without him.

  The Pillar pulls out a marker pen and stretches his arm forward, then crosses the word miss out. Instead, he writes, Ms.

  “What difference does it make?”

  “All the difference in the world.” He looks like he’s got something.

  Then I get it. It only takes a minute to see it, and I am proud of myself. “It’s an anagram.”

  “Indeed,” he says. “The words ‘Ms. Croatia’ are meant to be shuffled and changed to give us another word.”

  “The Chessmaster is brilliant. In order to make sure very few can solve it, he made it harder by substituting ‘Ms.’ with ‘Miss.’”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” the Pillar comments. “He said Miss Croatia, never wrote it. So it was up to us to interpret it the way we want.”

  “But now that we know ‘Ms. Croatia’ is actually the word…” I am trying to figure it out without pen and paper.

  “Marostica,” the Pillar says. “I am beginning to think I’ve underestimated the Chessmaster.”

  “Marostica?” I Google it. “That’s in Italy.”

  “Yes, it is.” The Pillar pulls the paper back and the woman flinches, glaring back at him. The Pillar sticks out his tongue like a kid, making her feel uncomfortable, she looks away immediately.

  “So the message is Marostica 1454?” I whisper to him. “What happened in 1454 in Marostica?”

  “Something beautiful,” the Pillar says, booking train tickets to Italy on his phone.

  “Something beautiful?” I squint. “I doubt the Chessmaster is inviting us to something beautiful.”

  “Dear Alice, buckle up and take a deep breath,” the Pillar says. “The Chessmaster might be some sort of Wonderlander after all.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “Let me put it this way: in the year 1454 in Marostica, Italy, the first chess game in the history of mankind was played. Something Lewis had been very fascinated with.”

  13

  Marostica, Italy

  The train stops at Bassano del Grappa, the nearest railway station to Marostica. Most tourists take the buses, but the Pillar insists on taking a private taxi, so in case someone is tracking us we can see them in the mirror. Who knows what the Chessmaster really has on his mind?

  The Pillar converses with the driver in Italian, but I don’t understand what they’re saying. All I know is that the driver seems pretty amused with the professor, and at some point, it seems they’re talking about national football teams.

  Marostica itself is an exceptional town. I imagine Jack taking me here and us having a good time. But Jack is part of my past now. I shouldn’t be thinking about him, even if I want to.

  Since we don’t know where we should be going in Marostica, the taxi driver starts giving us a little tour. He shows us a few landmarks and recommends a couple of restaurants. But none of that piques our interest. Not until he shows us two castles, one at the top of the hill above town, the other in the main square, Piazza Castello
. It’s the one in the square that piques our interest.

  The square before the castle is one large chessboard laid out in paving stones. I am not making that up. It’s true.

  The view with the upper castle, Castello Superiore, behind it is enchanting. The lower castle, directly overlooking the chessboard, is Castello Inferiore, and it guards the main entrance through the town walls as well.

  We stop and get out and the taxi driver refuses to take any money, which doesn’t strike me as an Italian behavior. He shoots me a pitying glance then says in English, “I pray for you,” before he guns away.

  “What was that all about?” I ask the Pillar.

  “I told the taxi driver you were an insane girl who still thinks that Wonderland exists,” the Pillar says nonchalantly.

  “Why?”

  “It helped us get a free ride, didn’t it?” He pulls my hand and shows me ahead. “Now let me tell you about this place.” He points at the people gathered around the large chessboard. “The famous Chess Game, or as the Italians like to call it: Partita a Scacchi di Marostica.”

  “So this is where the Chessmaster wants us to obtain his Carroll’s Knight?”

  “It has to be. Right here, the first-ever chess game in history took place.” He points at the live chess pieces, men and women dressed as such, gathering, each upon a square and pretending to be bishops, pawns, rooks, knights, kings, and queens.

  “Really?” I say. “I mean, I never thought the first chess game was ever traceable.”

  “You’re right about that. Let’s just say this is the first documented chess game in history, here in Marostica in 1454. There is no doubt this is where the Chessmaster wants us to be.”

  “The only question is why.”

  “I imagine we’re about to find out,” the Pillar says. “Usually there is a yearly festival in the memory of that game, in September of each year.”

  “It’s not September, so why are people gathered and celebrating?”

  “My assumption would be that it’s been planned by the Chessmaster.”

  A woman wearing what looks like a rook’s top on her head approaches us and asks for tickets. The Pillar talks her out of it. She smiles pityingly and tells me she is going to pray for me.

  “You have to stop that,” I tell him.

  “It got us a free ticket, didn’t it?” the Pillar says. “Besides, I’m only telling the truth. You’re a mad girl who thinks Wonderland exists. The game we’re about to see, accompanied by dancing and music, involves scores of costumed participants and human chess pieces.”

  “So this isn’t really a chess game?”

  “No such thing. They’re reciting a traditional story of a local ruler with a beautiful daughter. She had two suitors, but rather than letting them fight a duel, the lord proposed a chess match, with the winner receiving her hand in marriage and the loser marrying her younger sister.”

  “So she didn’t have a say in the matter of her marriage?”

  “They’re not called the Dark Ages for nothing,” the Pillar says. “What strikes me as interesting, though, is the fact that the first documented chess game in history was about two men trying to win one woman’s heart.”

  “Are you trying to sound sentimental?” I mock him.

  “Nah, I’m trying to remind you of your similar situation. You still don’t know who you’ll end up with. Jack or the mysterious future husband, but anyways, let’s…”

  This is when the Chessmaster’s plan starts to reveal itself.

  A tall man dressed as a black knight in the game on the large chessboard acts like he is about to checkmate the white queen, but with a mallet in his hand, he threatens to knock off her head.

  14

  I am about to run toward him and stop him, when the Pillar squeezes my hand, pointing at the armed men in the higher castle, all pointing their weapons at the crowd below, including us.

  People panic in a rage of murmurs, unable to comprehend or object to the situation. None of us understands what’s going on until a large screen nearby broadcasts the Chessmaster live on TV.

  “So, I believe that two people have solved my puzzle.” The Chessmaster rubs his handlebar mustache, staring too closely at the camera. “And that’s where the game begins.”

  “Who is broadcasting this?” someone asks, but no one answers due to their paralyzing fear.

  The Chessmaster proceeds. “Whether you’re watching this on TV or are actually in Marostica in Italy, you will get to see live footage of what’s happening now. To put it simply, the man with the sword will chop off the head of the woman in the queen’s outfit if my next puzzle isn’t solved. Anyone who interferes will be shot by my men in the higher castle. Any other interference by air or military, I will kill the next president.” He looks sideways at the sweating leaders of the world, trying to figure their next move in the chess game that may save their lives. “I believe I’ve clearly explained myself.”

  “Did he mean us when he talked about the two people in Marostica?” I whisper to the Pillar.

  The Chessmaster answers me instead. “Please step forward, Alice and Professor Pillar.”

  “It’s just Pillar,” he says pompously. “I’ve not used that title in some time.”

  “Don’t try to sound smart,” the Chessmaster says. “You have no idea who I am or what I can do.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I shout at the screen.

  “Well, first of all, it’s fun,” the Chessmaster says. “My other reasons should stay concealed for the moment. Let’s just say this will help you find Carroll’s Knight for me. Let’s start with my first question or this woman in the white queen’s dress will die.”

  Neither the Pillar nor I say anything. We’ve seen too many lunatics and know they’ve usually planned everything in advance.

  “Here is my first question,” the Chessmaster begins. “What was Lewis Carroll going to call the Alice in Wonderland book when he first wrote it?”

  I am about to tell him Alice’s Adventures Under Ground, but the Pillar squeezes my arm again. “Too easy,” he says. “I doubt it’s the right answer.”

  “But it is the right answer,” I insist. “You told me so.”

  “Just think about it, Alice. The man looks like a loon. He wouldn’t give it away so easily.”

  I try to make sense out of the Pillar’s words, but the sight of the man lowering his sword toward the woman in white scares me. I snap. “It’s Alice’s Adventures Under Ground!” I shout out.

  The Chessmaster says nothing but pulls on his handlebar mustache again. One rub to the left. One to the right. “Wrong!”

  And suddenly we’re back in the Dark Ages again. The man’s sword chops off the woman’s head instantly.

  I shriek, watching her bloody head roll all over the chessboard, not knowing how my answer is wrong.

  “Checkmate!” The Chessmaster roars with laughter in the microphones. “Want to play again?”

  15

  It’s hard to imagine the world’s reaction to what just happened, not to mention those watching this on TV, probably among their children at home. As for us here in Marostica, we’re in a dreadful state of fear, since it seems like the Chessmaster has eyes in the sky. He seems so invincible.

  “I haven’t heard the right answer yet,” he announces on the screen. “Until I do, more heads are going to roll.”

  The man with the sword has approached the next woman on the board, the one wearing the uniform of a knight. She was already shivering as he came closer.

  “You’re a liar!” I tell the Chessmaster. “I know my last answer was right.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” the Pillar says, looking disappointed he didn’t figure it out sooner. “Lewis Carroll had many choices for the title of what became Alice in Wonderland. He listed them on a single page in his diary, which can still be found in the archived papers in the Surrey History Centre in London.”

  “What?” I am totally mad at the Pillar. “Why didn’t you say so earlie
r?”

  “Because it’s such trivial information that no one ever mentions it anymore.”

  The Chessmaster applauds the Pillar by clapping both sides of his mustache. “That partially answers my question. Now let’s make it harder. There are four titles on that page.” The Chessmaster neglects my comments. “Only one of them counts because Lewis actually sent it to the printing house before he changed his mind.”

  I turn back and face the Pillar. The woman’s life is in his hands now, and I am sure I don’t have enough time to Google it if this is even the kind of info I can find on Google.

  “That’s easy.” The Pillar shrugs, glancing at the poor woman. I think he isn’t sure of the answer but spits it out anyways. “Alice’s Hour in Elfland was the original title.”

  “In Elfland?” I say.

  “Right answer,” the Chessmaster says. “Weird, but right.”

  “I’m assuming you won’t let the woman go anyways.” The Pillar steps forward, flashing his cane. I’m terrified at the thought.

  “Well, you assumed right,” the Chessmaster says. “May I ask why you assumed so?”

  “Because you’re a lunatic, that’s part of it,” the Pillar says. “And because you’re not here to spill blood and institute chaos. You have a bigger plan in mind.”

  The Chessmaster smirks, brushing his mustache. “Next question.”

  “Let the woman go first,” I demand.

  “Don’t bother, Alice,” the Pillar says. “He won’t stop until he gets what he wants, though I am not sure what that is.”

  People suppress their shrieks all around us. They stand frozen in their places, some of them eying the snipers in the high castle, some of them watching the man with the sword on the chessboard.

  “Next question is,” the Chessmaster says, “name three masterpieces written in the same era Alice in Wonderland came out.”

  “David Copperfield by Charles Dickens.” The Pillar shoots his words faster than the speed of nonsense. “The Water-Babies by Charles Kingsley, and Great Expectations, also by Charles Dickens.”