by Cameron Jace
“I hope it will lead to solving some kind of puzzle.”
“In the nineties, IBM challenged the best chess player in the world, at the time, of course, to beat the machine, and he accepted.”
“Interesting.”
“His name was Garry Kasparov, another Russian chess player—not the Chessmaster, of course.”
“And?”
“It’s a long story, but let me put it this way: Kasparov eventually lost to the machine after six games and two weeks of an exhausting emotional breakdown.”
“Breakdown?”
“IBM played all kinds of psychological tricks on the man to get him to fear the machine.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Why do you think, Alice?” The Pillar has one of those smiles on his face again—the one he has when he is about to tell me one of the world’s biggest secrets. It reminds me of the time when he told me about food companies making the world fat when we were chasing the Muffin Man.
“Let me guess,” I say. “IBM sought propaganda, making their name bigger and getting extreme exposure.”
“That’s part of it. It was a crucial moment in history like I said. IBM managed to insinuate into the global conscious brain that the ‘machine’ will beat ‘man.’”
“You don’t really believe machines will beat us someday?”
“If we create the machine, then it’s us who can make it malfunction, Alice. Don’t let anyone make you underestimate the fabulousness of being human.”
“Enough with the clichés, okay? So why did IBM force Kasparov to lose, really?”
“Before the game, IBM wasn’t as big as they are now. They were merely suppliers for Microsoft and such.” The Pillar knocks his cane on the ground. “The most important part was: this was just a marketing scheme.”
“Marketing for what?”
“For selling millions of chess games,” the Pillar says. “Now, everyone wanted to play the IBM model after the game. They wanted to buy it and challenge the game that beat the best chess player in the world.”
“Oh. All about money again.”
“All about Black Chess, you mean.”
“What’s Black Chess got to do with this?”
“Black Chess owns IBM, among many other companies all around the world.”
“You realize you sound like those lame conspiracy theorists out there?” I tell him. Though I can see Black Chess interfering with everything in the world, some part of me wants to believe the world isn’t that manipulated.
“You know what the problem with conspiracy theories is?” the Pillar says.
“Enlighten me.” I fold my arms before me.
“They’re rarely theories.”
I swallow hard, realizing I was only wishfully thinking the world wasn’t mostly manipulated by Black Chess. Was that the Bad Alice in me talking again?
“IBM will sue you for such blunt accusations,” I tell him.
“They might.” Pillar shakes his shoulders. “But they will never win.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I am like you, Alice, officially declared mad. I could just apply for a certificate of madness like you. And that’s the beauty of it. I’m invincible.”
I laugh. “You’re right. What’s the worst they can do? Send you back to the asylum?”
“Shock therapy until my hair spikes up like an Irish rooster?” He winks.
“I’ve never realized how blessed we are, being mad.” I high-five him.
“Besides, I’m supposed to be a character in a book. They can’t sue me. Pillar? Who’s the Pillar? The caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland? He is real? Get outta here! Now enough play, and back to saving the world,” the Pillar says. “We’ll start with the Deep Blue clue.”
“How so?”
“We’ll pay the infamous machine a visit.” The Pillar mounts his horse again. “I know where they keep it, and I have a feeling we can beat the machine this time.”
26
Margaret Kent’s Office, Westminster Palace
Inspector Dormouse had been sleeping on the couch in the Duchess’s office for some time. It hadn’t been his plan to fall asleep again. He’d come to discuss an important matter about Professor Pillar. But he couldn’t resist the comfort of Margaret Kent’s couch in the lobby.
In his sleep, he was wondering where he could get a smoother couch for home—or better, for his office at the Department of Insanity. Why weren’t such couches available on the market? Even if they were, how could he afford one?
But seriously, the cushions on that couch were so smooth, like marshmallows, like a steady tide of a calm river, swooping left and right. Now that was what he called sleeping. Real sleep, not flashy naps interrupted by his wife or children calling for him so he could wake up and buy the groceries.
What was a man’s life without proper sleep? Really? In Inspector Dormouse’s head, he sometimes envied sleeping dogs, snoring like they had a stack of a million bones for the rest of their lives. What a feeling!
“You!” A voice woke him up from the sweetest of dreams.
Inspector Dormouse rubbed his eyes, the image of Carolus Ludovicus slowly zooming in. He was so upset to be awake that he grabbed the edges of the couch, in case he had time to sleep again.
“Margaret Kent can’t see you,” Carolus said. “In fact, no one will. We’re all concerned about that Chessmaster in Russia.”
“Ah, I see.” The inspector stood up and adjusted his clothes. “But I think the identity of Carter Pillar is as important.”
“Why? What did you discover?”
“It has to do with the twelve people he killed. They weren’t random.”
“You already told me on the phone. Elaborate.”
“I prefer to talk to Margaret Kent,” Inspector Dormouse said.
“Then you’ll have to wait, inspector. A long time, so excuse me, because I am supposed to find a way to save our prime minister.”
“Mr. Paperwhite?”
“Yes, him. The one the Queen recommended for the position,” he said and walked away.
“Wait,” the inspector said. “May I ask why he is called Mr. Paperwhite?” He had considered it weird the prime minister had such a name, especially when it was the name of a character in Alice Through the Looking Glass, a man who only wore white papers for clothes.
“Really? You don’t get why the Queen calls the prime minister Mr. Paperwhite?”
“Trust me. I gave it a thought, but didn’t get it.”
“Because he is like a piece of white sheet paper to her—she can write anything she wants on his clothes, and then he’ll babble it out on TV as if they were his own thoughts.”
The inspector realized he was grinning, watching Carolus walk away. It was devious, what the Queen did, but the cleverness of it amused him.
He sat back on the couch, preparing himself for another nap. After all, he couldn’t leave without telling them who the Pillar really was. It would turn everything that had been happening in the world for the last weeks on its head.
27
The Pillar’s private plane
It only takes us a couple of hours to get to the Pillar’s plane, which he previously parked in a private hangar nearby. It wasn’t the mousy chauffeur who was helping this time—the Pillar said he’d let him go home to his family—but another nerdy young man who believed in the evilness of Black Chess.
“Get on the plane,” the Pillar tells me. “Before they catch us.”
I climb up the stairs, watching the young man throwing me one of those sympathetic looks again. “I pray for you,” he says, and I roll my tired eyes one more time.
I am about to scream and pull at my hair when he hands me Tiger Lily’s pot, telling me they picked it up from the safe box.
Upon the plane, I strap in next to the Pillar, who is flying this time. He puts on his oversized goggles and wears a helmet with England’s flag on it as if he’s riding a motorcycle, not a plane. “I am doing this f
or my country. You know that Alice, right?” He sounds like a child with a toy plane, ready to play James Bond.
“All in her majesty’s service,” I say, playing along.
“You mean the real majesty, right?” He adjusts some levers. “Not the Queen of Hearts. I wonder what happened to the real Queen of England.”
The plane speeds up on the runway, and we’re ready to go wherever the Deep Blue machine is.
“Hang on, Alice,” the Pillar says.
“I am.” I find my back glued to the seat. “You know how to fly this one, right?”
“I do, but a simple side fact: most plane crashes happen while they take off, so technically getting closer to heaven is the scariest part of the flight.”
I close my eyes and wish I could shut my ears, so I’d stop hearing him yell like a lunatic. As my heart sinks into my feet, the plane wriggles midair for a moment, then my whole inner compass is messed up. I am so confused at what’s going on that I am forced to open my eyes again, only to realize the plane is upside down and I am dangling from my seatbelt.
“Had to do it, Alice,” the Pillar’s upside-down face tells me. His mouth looks really weird that way. “Been dreaming of doing this since…”
“You were a child?”
“No, just a couple of minutes ago.”
Finally, he flies the plane back into its normal position.
A few minutes later, I am ready for more questions. “So where does IBM keep the Deep Blue machine now? Where are we going?”
“Let’s keep it a surprise,” he says. “But know this: Deep Blue hasn’t been used since that championship game. Never again. Rumors had it they kept the genius machine in one of the IBM buildings, but later it reappeared in the Computer History Museum in Mountain View, California. They claimed it was a similar one, but it was the real one. For some reason they didn’t want to get rid of it, and neither did they want it shown to the public.”
“So where is it now?”
“In the last place you could ever think of. You’ll see.”
I let out a sigh, but I am used to the Pillar’s vagueness. What’s confusing me is… “What are we actually doing, Pillar?”
“Following the clue.”
“To get us where?”
“So we can find Carroll’s Knight.”
“Which is presumably another chess piece in the shape of a knight?”
“Exactly, part of Lewis Carroll’s special chess set, the one Fabiola only knew about.”
“And you think the clue in the white queen chess piece will lead us to it?”
“I hope so, or the Chessmaster will kill more world leaders. Who knows what he has in store for us if we don’t find it. And don’t ask me why he wants it. I have no idea.”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t try calling Fabiola?”
“She won’t talk. I know her.”
“You mean you love her.” I am being blunt now. “I’ve read the note you sent to her while she was still in the Vatican.”
The Pillar’s face dims. No more happy, playful attitude. Even the plane winces a little in his hands. “How did the letter end up in your hands?”
“The March Hare,” I say. “He took it on her behalf because when you sent it, she’d just left the Vatican. Her assistant collected the letter and sent it to the Inklings, where the March read it.”
“And the key?”
“It’s safe with the March Hare, and Fabiola doesn’t know about it. Don’t avoid my question. How is it you’re in love with Fabiola?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” His voice is shattered and weak. He stares ahead, avoids my eyes, and I feel guilty bringing it up.
In that same instant, I receive a message from the March Hare. It’s saddening news. The kind of news I shouldn’t be telling the Pillar, not now.
“Who’s the message from?” the Pillar asks. “Your Red admirer?”
“It’s from the March Hare. Something happened to Fabiola.”
The Pillar grips the stick harder, still not facing me. He doesn’t even ask what happened to her, pretending to be that tough guy who never breaks down.
“She is dying, Pillar,” I say as slowly and softly as I can. “Someone poisoned her.”
The Pillar says nothing, his knuckles whitening around the flying stick.
“Do you wish to turn back? Maybe you want to see her before she dies.”
“No,” the Pillar says in a flat voice. “Saving the world from the Chessmaster is more important.”
I say nothing. Silence chokes both of us in the cockpit.
“In fact, I feel like doing this again,” the Pillar says, and flies the plane upside down again, like a child in pain with too many toys.
28
Buckingham Palace, London
The Queen of Hearts had been following the event on TV, as well as awaiting updates from Margaret. The news host announced the latest unfolding events, telling about Alice and the Pillar not finding Carroll’s Knight, but a chess piece of a white queen instead. One of the Chessmaster’s men had seen them opening the coffin in Marostica, and reported it to the news.
“A white queen chess piece?” the Red Queen said to her dogs, hands on her waist. She didn’t care for her guards or advisors at the moment. Whatever was going on seemed beyond anyone’s grasp.
She paced her chamber, thinking about the chess piece. If the Chessmaster wanted Carroll’s Knight, whatever that was, why did they come across this white queen piece? Was it supposed to lead Alice and the Pillar to Carroll’s Knight? And why would the Chessmaster sacrifice the world to get it?
Her telephone rang. It was Margaret.
“Queen of England speaking,” she said, liking the sound of it. In her mind, being the Queen of England seemed cooler than the Queen of Wonderland.
“I know it’s you.” Margaret sighed. “I called you on your private phone, so it has to be you.”
“Oh.” The Queen scratched her head. “So tell me, have you found anything out about the Chessmaster?”
“Nothing,” Margaret said. “None of us remember him from Wonderland.”
“He said he wasn’t a Wonderland Monster.”
“Which puzzles me. If he isn’t, why lure the Pillar and Alice to find Carroll’s Knight? And why do his puzzles scream ‘Wonderland’?”
“I agree. He knows a lot about us. Do you think he knows about our plans?”
“I can’t say.”
“So you’re useless like always, Margaret,” she said and kicked her son’s head toward her dogs. Her doctors hadn’t found a proper way to knit his head to his body again, let alone bring him back to life.
“I’m not,” Margaret said. “Something happened to Fabiola a few minutes ago.”
“Fabiola?” The Queen of Hearts felt a lump grow bitter in her throat. “What happened?”
“I am sorry to say this, but I think she is dying. It seems she’s been poisoned.”
“When did this happen?”
“I was waiting for you to ask me this.”
“Why?”
Margaret took her time and spoke clearly. “Because our White Queen was poisoned right after Alice and the Pillar found the chess piece, which is that of a…”
“A white queen, too…” The Queen of Hearts slumped in her chair. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
“I can’t tell, but it’s far from being a coincidence.”
29
The Pillar’s Plane
I am not sure how much I’ve slept, but when I wake up it seems like more than seven hours have passed. I rub my eyes to take a better look outside my window.
I can’t believe what I am seeing.
We’re flying low, gliding over a white, snowy mountain in the middle of nowhere. The Pillar next to me is still flying the plane and listening to some Asian chanting melodies.
“Where are we?”
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says and keeps chanting meeha tu tu chi, or something like that.
�
��I asked you where we are.”
“First, you have to admit it’s beautiful.”
“Okay, it’s beautiful. Where are we?”
“Here.” He points at something that’s revealing itself in the snow.
I squint and lean forward, waiting for the structures emerging out of the snow to make sense to me. Either my mind refuses to believe it or I am hallucinating.
“Is that a Buddha statue?” I point with an open mouth.
The Pillar nods, pointing. “That one is Buddha, that is Duddha, and the one on the left is Nuddha.”
“I’ve never learned of the last two.”
“They’re Buddha’s sisters, but no one ever mentions them because they were girls. You know how condescending religions are toward women.”
I ignore his remark. It’s the Pillar. No changing the way he views the world. I keep watching the structure behind the huge statues revealing itself. “It’s a monastery?”
“Jackpot!” The Pillar skews the plane, ready to land. “We’re in Tibet, baby! I hope you brought your orange robe along.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“We’re somewhere near Burang in the Tibet Autonomous Region.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are we here?”
“This is where IBM keeps their Deep Blue machine,” the Pillar says with a happy face, already waving to a few monks waiting for us below.
“Why here? This seems like the last place on earth to hide such a machine.”
“You said it yourself. Bury a genius machine in a monastery in the snow. Genius.” He reaches for something in the back with one hand. “Here. You have to dress in this.”
I grab the monk’s cloth. “Why do you want me to dress up in this?”
“We have to act like monks or they won’t let us see the machine. Trust me, you’ll love it here.”
Before I have a chance to argue, the plane lands with consecutive thuds on the snow. It’s such a clumsy landing that most of our plane’s nose is buried in white, and there is something burning in the back.