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

by Cameron Jace

  “What were they about?”

  “Some kind of ritual.”

  “You’ve lost me. Ritual?”

  “About Wonderland.”

  “That can’t be.”

  “Oh, it can,” Inspector Dormouse said. “I’ve bribed a cook who worked in the kitchen below Oxford to tell me all he knew about the meetings.”

  “And?”

  “He heard them talk about Wonderland all the time. But the boy thought they were nuts. He was fooled by Carter Pillar pretending to be a nerdy professor at the time, so he dismissed the nonsensical talk, and only overheard a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like what they called their meetings.”

  “They had a name for a meeting?” Tom Truckle said. “I’m curious. What did they call it?”

  “Are you ready for it?” Inspector Dormouse seemed too awake and alert now.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because I think it may tie a few things you already know together—in a vague way, though.”

  “I know you’re a detective who likes suspense, but I’m not into that,” Tom Truckle said. “So tell me what they called their meetings.”

  “I suggest you suck down a few pills first,” Inspector Dormouse said. “You will need them.”

  “Damn it. Just spill it out. What did they call their meetings?”

  “The Fourteen,” Inspector Dormouse said, watching Tom Truckle pop down a few pills right away.

  54

  Chess City, Kalmykia, Russia

  The Pillar still hesitates at stepping onto the white tiles.

  “Please,” I say. “You owe me this.”

  His right foot is slightly higher, presumably ready to step onto the white tiles. I’m not sure if he is tricking me into playing one of his games, but he looks a bit thin-skinned at the moment. Something is showing through, but I can’t quite see it.

  “Like I said, I will not kill you, no matter what,” I say. “I will not even hate you. It seems impossible to do so now, not after all we’ve been through, not after you’ve believed in me so much. But I need to know who you are.”

  “Beware of what you wish for,” he says, almost mumbling it.

  What’s going on with him? Who is he, really? Having him standing in front of me, his clothing in tatters, blood dried on his bare skin in most places, makes him most vulnerable-looking now. This looks like a moment I can take advantage of. How many times do you get to have the upper hand over the infamous Carter Pillar?

  “I am ready for anything,” I say. “If you don’t step onto the chessboard, I will assume you’ve been denied walking upon white tiles, just like you wouldn’t do it in the Vatican. Fabiola may have been right. You’re a devil in disguise.” I raise a hand. “But even so, I will never blame you for it, because whatever makes you see something good in me, whatever makes you want me to save people, there must be a redeeming quality about you.”

  The Pillar says nothing. It’s evident to me that he is sucking in whatever truth he is about to spill, right into the belly of his soul.

  “There is nothing to be ashamed about,” I continue. “I am like you. An evil girl. But I made a choice to be good and pay for my sins.”

  “Did you?”

  I shrug. “I’m trying. Believe me, I am. I may not have remembered everything I’ve done in the past, but the basic principle is to try to be a better person in the now.”

  “I like the sound of that,” he says, and steps further.

  My heart races, watching his foot near the white tile. Is he really going to step on it? Knowing him, I’m sure he can come up with a last-minute trick.

  In slow motion, holding my breath, I watch the Pillar step onto the white tile.

  I can’t believe it.

  Even slower, he pulls his other leg up and now steps with both feet upon the tile.

  I wait for something to happen. I wait for a trick. I wait for him to shiver and shudder in pain because he isn’t supposed to be stepping on white tiles.

  But all my assumptions are futile. The Pillar does have the power to step on white tiles. His intentions are clear, unless I don’t truly believe in the chessboard’s verdict. But I do believe in it. My heart tells me so.

  “How is that for good intentions?” the Pillar says.

  “Then why didn’t you just do it?” I chortle, so happy. “Why did you play games with me? I get it. Fabiola wasn’t right. You can walk the white tiles. You just want to come across as mysterious, like you always do.”

  “Maybe I have another reason.”

  I raise my eyes to meet his—they’ve been fixed on his legs all this time. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you ready for this, Alice?”

  “Ready for what? Please stop doing that. You’re scaring me.”

  “You wanted to know my intentions, whether I can step on the white tiles or not. You wanted to know why I haven’t stepped on the tiles in the Vatican, even when I can now step on white tiles. Scary or not, you asked for the truth.”

  It puzzles me what he is about to show me. What could possibly shatter this beautiful moment, knowing his intentions are “white”?

  “This is why, Alice,” he says, strolling over the corner of the white tile.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Showing you who I am,” he says, and lifts up his right leg, leaning more to the right, then he stretches over to the adjoining black tile.

  And there he shows me. It’s confusing. Too confusing, in fact. But it’s the truth.

  The Pillar’s right leg steps over onto the black tile. He can step on both.

  I cup my shriek with both my hands, more bewildered than shocked, because I’m not quite sure what this implies, having both white and black intentions.

  Suddenly, when I’m about to press him for an explanation, the whole life-sized chessboard hums in a low drone that I can feel in my feet.

  The drone escalates to a rattle, which escalates to an earth-shattering sound, as if an earthquake is about to take place.

  55

  “What’s going on?”

  “I have no idea,” the Pillar says, stretching out his arms for balance, the same as me. “Hang on tight, Alice.”

  “This is ridiculous,” I say. “We’ve ended up here because of the clue in the black queen chess piece. Are we going to die?”

  “Unless Fabiola and Lewis intended a horrible fate for those who looked for Carroll’s Knight, it couldn’t be,” the Pillar says. The whole Chess City starts to shake all around us. “Why would Lewis want us to die if he’s scattered the pieces all over the world? He could have simply thrown them into the ocean for no one to find them.”

  “But he didn’t.” It’s getting hard to keep balance. “He hid the pieces from the Chessmaster, but he wanted someone else to find them. Probably me.”

  It’s this exact moment when I realize that the final chess game is definitely between me and the Chessmaster. Carroll’s Knight isn’t just something the Chessmaster needs, but also fears.

  This is it!

  This is the part I read in the notes, where it explains he is afraid of something. I think the Chessmaster is afraid of me. No, that’s not quite it. He is afraid of me finding Carroll’s Knight, but he also had no choice but have me look for it. Because whatever Carroll’s Knight is for, Lewis was smart enough to hide it from the Chessmaster, and only have me find it.

  My head spins as I think of my lock of hair, which released the very first piece in this journey. Lewis planned this all along. As always, he proves to be a genius.

  A sudden, loud crackling sound rises in the distance.

  It’s like a microphone connected to the loudest of amplifiers. The crackling is too loud; it surpasses the sound of crashing and tumbling buildings all around us.

  “What is that?” I ask the Pillar.

  “Someone’s idea of this being an excellent time for having a concert.”

  Someone’s voice comes through the a
mplifiers: “By stepping on both white and black tiles, you have activated mankind’s last game of chess.”

  The Pillar glares, with blame-filled eyes, toward me.

  “I only asked you to step on the white tiles.” I scowl.

  “Yeah,” he says. “It’s always my fault.”

  The amplified voice laughs, ever so loud, as the shaking of the earth slowly subsides.

  “Evil laugh,” the Pillar says. “I’m sick of those silly laughs in Hollywood movies. I mean, what real badass villain laughs like that?”

  “Me!” The answer echoes in the empty city.

  I tilt my head upward, wondering if the voice comes from the sky, but it doesn’t.

  “Who are you?” I demand.

  “They call me the Chessmaster,” the voice answers. “My real name is Vozchik Stolb. But I’m sure the Pillar knows that already.”

  56

  “You know who he is?” I glare at the Pillar.

  “I wouldn’t have gone through this journey if I had, right?” the Pillar says. “He is trying to trick us for some reason.”

  “Am I?” the voice says. “But hey, my name isn’t that important.”

  “Then what’s important now?” I ask. “How could you have possibly arrived before us when it’s you who sent us to find Carroll’s Knight?”

  “Believe me, dear Alice,” the Chessmaster says, “it never crossed my mind that this, the Chess City, is where the final chess game would take place.”

  “Then why are you here?” I ask.

  “I had you followed. It’s that simple. Millions of people all around the world were scared I’d kill their leaders and put their countries into an eternal sleep, so everyone in the world was practically helping me,” he explains. “Some reported seeing you in Tibet, a few spotted the poorly disguised balloon, and finally, a few residents in neighboring Kalmykia towns spotted you enter it.”

  “So you’re as blind as us to where Carroll’s Knight is in this city?” I ask.

  “No quite that blind,” the Chessmaster says. “Bear in mind that Lewis Carroll was something of a genius, having made the clues lead you here to a city that may also be a portal to Wonderland.”

  A light bulb suddenly flickers in my head. Is it possible that the March Hare knew about the whereabouts of Carroll’s Knight all along? But that’s impossible. I know he likes me and wouldn’t keep such a thing from me. He is just a child inside a man, designing Wonderland-themed gardens and cities, wanting to go back to relive his childhood.

  It was all Lewis’s planning. But why?

  “But you must have known something,” the Pillar challenges him.

  “Not until an hour ago, when I found out the clues led you here. I had my men search the empty city and found a few of Carroll’s lost diaries.”

  “In this city?” I say. “What’s in the diaries?”

  “The diaries don’t exactly point to where I can obtain Carroll’s Knight, but they tell of a great secret.”

  “Spit it out!”

  “It has to do with the chessboard you’re standing on,” the Chessmaster says.

  “The one the Pillar accidentally activated,” I remark.

  “Nah, he didn’t,” the Chessmaster says. “That was a joke I made up. Nothing activates it, and the fake earthquake is part of the March Hare’s nonsensical and absurd design, having planned Chess City to become another Wonderland. It’s all done with the touch of the button.”

  “Never mind all that,” the Pillar says. “What did you discover about the chessboard?”

  “Ah, this will really amuse you.” The Chessmaster laughs. “You see, each piece you found is connected to some of your beloved Wonderland characters. The white queen piece was connected to Fabiola, the rook to the Duchess, and the black queen to the Queen of Hearts.”

  “Is that why Fabiola was poisoned?” the Pillar asks.

  “Exactly,” the Chessmaster says. “At first, I thought this was how Lewis Carroll protected Wonderlanders from me. As Death, I’ve always been puzzled about my inability to kill Wonderlanders. Turns out Lewis protected most of you with a spell that demanded he created chess pieces from his bones and hide them all over the world.”

  The Pillar and I exchange glances. So this was why Lewis made that chessboard. It explains why the Chessmaster asked him about the chess pieces the day he took his life. Lewis really cared for the Wonderlanders, though he knew most of them were monsters.

  “But I wasn’t quite right,” the Chessmaster says. “Each time both of you found a piece, a Wonderlander seemed to be dying, while in reality they were only poisoned, and some mysterious army of black men brought them to me.”

  “Not much of a difference,” I remark, “because I assume you killed them when they arrived. My God, you killed Fabiola, the Duchess, and the Queen. Soon you will kill each of us, once you find the chess piece we’re connected to.”

  I close my eyes, clench my teeth, and feel like I could kick myself for being so stupid. This is why the Queen was afraid of the Chessmaster. He is no Wonderlander. He is no Inkling. No Black Chess. But he is the one capable of ending the Wonderland Wars before they start, because he is about to kill us all right now.

  57

  “You will kill us all!” I shout at the Chessmaster. “All you need is to find the rest of the chess pieces.”

  “Calm down, Alice,” the Pillar says.

  “I won’t calm down.” I am losing it, basically because of my stupidity. “He is going to kill us, and guess what? It’s me who led him to the chess pieces by unlocking the tomb in Marostica.”

  “But he hasn’t found the rest of the pieces yet,” the Pillar reminds me. “And he doesn’t know where they are.”

  “Yet,” I retort.

  “He is just a dumb old man with an ancient handlebar mustache,” the Pillar argues. “He won’t find the rest of the pieces if we just stop searching.”

  “Watch your mouth, Pillar.” The Chessmaster’s voice echoes. “I’m the greatest chess player in the history of mankind.”

  “Oh, please,” the Pillar says. “Taking people’s lives with a game of chess. You’ve destroyed my perception of Death already. Where is the cool dude with the scythe and skeleton for a head? Now that’s what I call an awesome death. Chess game? Duh.”

  “Don’t push me, Pillar, or I will tell Alice who you really are—and how we met before.”

  “You keep saying that,” the Pillar says. “If you have something to tell her, do it now, you liar.”

  “Not now,” the Chessmaster counters. “It’s too soon. I want my masterpiece to be unveiled slowly. What good will it do me if I’m not entertained by my plan?”

  “What plan?” I ask.

  “The plan that will force you to find the rest of the pieces, Carroll’s Knight included, for me.” The Chessmaster seems sure of himself.

  “You can’t make me do it,” I say dismissively.

  “Don’t ever threaten me, Alice of Wonderland.” The Chessmaster laughs. It’s a bitter laugh, tinted with sadness and outrageous anger. My curiosity about him increases by the minute. So he isn’t just a mad chess player who wants to end the world, and not only Death itself. Then who is he really? Why is he doing this?

  “Listen, mustache man,” the Pillar says, checking his wristwatch. “Unless you have something really scary to show us, I’d like to leave and get myself some new clothes and a new haircut.”

  “Not funny, Pillar,” says the Chessmaster. “Whatever you do, you will not be the ‘He Who Laughs Last.’”

  He Who Laughs Last? The words remind me of the Pillar’s theory with the giant. I am beginning to think the Chessmaster was telling the truth about previously meeting the Pillar.

  “As for you, little Alice,” the Chessmaster says, “I hope you are ready to play.”

  “Play? You mean that last game of chess?”

  “Indeed, but it’s not like anything you’ve prepared for,” the Chessmaster says.

  His words are followed
by another rattling and drone underneath the chessboard. This time, something else accompanies the sound. Not an earthquake, but an incredibly horrifying joke.

  The tiles on the chessboard part and human-sized blocks of glass rise from under the earth. The whole thing is done with a most unimaginable technology. Slowly, I realize the chessboard is coming to life; each life-size piece of chess, black and white, is standing upon the chessboard, only they’re trapped in glass prisons.

  “What is going on?” My mouth hangs open.

  I squint at the glass blocks and see that inside the large chess pieces are real humans. They’re rapping on the glass from inside, panicked, just like me.

  The glass blocks are foggy on the inside, so it’s hard to see their faces. Out of nowhere, a block of glass rises and imprisons me as well, in the blink of an eye.

  I start rapping on the glass from inside, wanting out, demanding to know what is going on. But a fog fills the glass and it gets harder to see.

  I keep wiping it with the back of my hand, realizing my screams are only echoed back in my head and are hardly audible outside.

  But then, through a small oval shape I’ve managed to clear in the fogged glass, I see outside, and in that same instant, I glimpse at a few others who’ve managed to wipe clear a small opening through their glass blocks. It’s shocking, and incredibly terrifying, when I recognize a few faces behind the glass.

  In no particular order, I recognize three of them: Fabiola, the Duchess, and the Queen of Hearts.

  58

  Aldate’s St., Oxford

  “This is no time to sleep again!” Tom Truckle pinched Inspector Dormouse awake.

  Tom was in his car, driving to a place where he and Inspector Dormouse could further investigate the Fourteen Secret Society. They’d almost reached Oxford University when Dormouse fell asleep again.