by Cameron Jace
I’m beginning to get curious, peeking to see how far he went. “Any luck?”
“Nah,” The Pillar says. “This is the seventh game I lost in a row.”
“In only a couple of moves, apparently.” I point at the screen.
The Pillar glances toward me. “I think we’d better give in and let the world end. Neither of us can beat the Chessmaster.”
“You’ve just said it may be another sort of chess game,” I remind him. “Besides, there must be a point in collecting Carroll’s pieces.”
“Of course, but we don’t know what it is.”
“Maybe you can only beat the Chessmaster with Carroll’s Knight. It’d make sense why Lewis scattered the pieces all around the world.”
The Pillar seems to like the idea. “Not bad thinking for a mad girl who’s a mere character in a children’s book.”
“Stop the joking. Be serious for a few minutes.”
“Can I be seriously joking?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Stop it, really.”
“Seriously mad?”
“Pillar!”
“I was thinking seriously funny. Now that’s new.”
“I’m not going to warn you again. Now tell me what’s in Kalmykia. I’m sure the chess piece didn’t say just to go there without further clues.”
“You want to know what’s in Kalmykia?”
“Yes.”
“Chess City.”
“Chess City? What is that?”
“A large complex devoted to chess competitions, located east of Elista, Kalmykia, in Russia.” The Pillar tucks his phone into his battered pocket. “A small town, actually, with a domed Chess Hall.”
“A center for playing chess, you mean?”
“Yes, but that’s not Chess City’s main attraction. The small city is an Olympic-style village of Californian-Mediterranean Revival Style architecture. It has a conference center, public swimming pool and a museum of Kalmyk Buddhist art.”
“And?” I tilt my head. Clearly none of what he’d mentioned is what we’re after.
“Chess City also has a complex feature of sculptures and artwork devoted to chess. One of them is a statue of a man called Ostap Bender.”
“Who’s that?”
“A fictional character of popular books written by Ilya Ilf and Yevgeni Petrov, Russian authors, equally infatuated with Alice in Wonderland.”
“What were their books about?”
“The character in their books proposed a creation of a world chess capital.”
“That’s interesting.” I’m curious to see where the Chessmaster fits in.
“Earlier, Chess City had been used to host holy men like the Dalai Lama and such, but then, when completed in 1998, a millionaire from Kalmykia, and ruler of the republic since 1993, by the name of Kirsan Ilyumzhinov, made this city into something much madder.”
“I’m listening.”
“Kirsan Ilyumzhinov was also president of FIDE, the international governing body of chess, at the time,” The Pillar explains. “A fanatical chess enthusiast, and totally against the IBM scam with his friend Garry Kasparov, had the city expanded and built for the 33rd Chess Olympiad.”
I am not saying a word. The Pillar’s story seems complex, so I keep listening eagerly, waiting for the punchline, because with The Pillar, there is always a punchline.
“Since then, Chess City has hosted three major FIDE tournaments. Kirsan Ilyumzhinov had future plans for hosting watersport and skiing events, but that never happened.”
“Why?”
“You want the truth or the newspaper’s headlines at the time?”
“Start the newspapers at the time.”
“They claimed that due to Kalmykia being a poor republic of approximately 300,000 people located in the barren steppe regions in the southeastern corner of Europe, with scant natural resources, Kirsan Ilyumzhinov was corrupt and economically stealing the poor people’s money,” The Pillar says. “As a result, the construction of the opulent Chess City was abandoned.”
“Abandoned?”
“It became a dead city,” The Pillar says. “As beautiful as it was, the investigations never ended, and no one lived there anymore.”
At this moment, the city starts to show itself beyond the fading white of snow in the distance. Slowly, I am absorbing the ridiculously beautiful and larger than life aspect of it. From this far, I could already see an endless chessboard built on the ground, much, much larger than the one in Marostica.
Beyond it, the rest of the city’s buildings are colorful and enchantingly designed, reminding me of the ridiculousness of everything Lewis Carroll imagined in Wonderland.
“I can’t believe how beautiful it is,” I say. “How come such a place is abandoned?”
“Which brings us to what really happened with Kirsan Ilyumzhinov,” The Pillar says.
“I’m curiouser and curiouser.” I say.
“In reality, Kirsan Ilyumzhinov was a dear friend of…”
“Of whom?”
“The March Hare.”
It takes me a second to connect the March to these events, but once I remind myself of the light bulb in the Hare’s head, my brain lights up with the answer. “Are you telling me, Kirsan Ilyumzhinov was searching for Wonderland?”
“Most definitely,” The Pillar nods. “The March Hare, being chased by Black Chess, including them having implanted a light bulb in his head, couldn’t build more gardens to bring him back to Wonderland. Kirsan Ilyumzhinov, being a Lewis Carroll fan — so many Russians are, trust me, because of the time Lewis spent there — he persuaded the March Hare to build Chess City, which was supposed to be the next best thing to the Garden of Cosmic Speculation.”
“A better model, you mean.”
“The March had discovered that the way to Wonderland wasn’t the gardens with ridiculous designs, but the secret was in designing a chess city from Lewis’ lost designs in his diaries.”
“So we’re about to land onto the real portal to Wonderland?” I say, my eyes fixed on the empty city.
“Not sure, but the city was banned by the Russian government, influenced by Black Chess, of course.”
“Because they wanted to find a way to Wonderland.” I mumble.
“Most probably,” The Pillar says. “I’m also not sure. What I know is that this place never worked as a portal to Wonderland, so it’s stayed like this: a most beautiful ghost city.”
I turn and look The Pillar in the eye. He looks back at me, impressed with what I am about to say. “An empty ghost town, which was once a possible portal to Wonderland,” I say. “The perfect place for Fabiola to hide Carroll’s Knight.”
Chapter 50
Buckingham Palace, London
The Queen’s first way out was to hide under the sheets of her royal bed, but then the stupid dogs barked, exposing her hiding place.
She jumped out of bed, frantically wondering how she could cheat Death. If Alice and The Pillar had really found that last piece, she was going to die in a few hours, just like Fabiola and Margaret. How was it possible to cheat Death when your name appeared on his to-do list?
She kept thinking that Death could be bribable, just like anything else in the world. But what did Death need money for? It’s not like he was in dire need to buy himself a new scythe from Harrods or Walmart.
Then what? She kept thinking.
What can I offer Death so he’d leave me alone?
She thought if she could talk to him face to face, she’d persuade him of something — or better, trick him into nearing her guards, and chop off his head.
Chopping off Death’s head, she grinned. That’d look good on my resume.
But she knew she was just fooling herself. Death was coming. Soon she’d be poisoned and die. The real issue with Death was he didn’t knock on doors. There wasn’t enough time to offer him tea and talk him out of it or change his mind.
The only solution was to fool him and make him think he was killing her when she was someo
ne else. The Queen jumped toward the phone and called the Cheshire.
“I want you to possess me.” She told him.
The Cheshire, whoever he was possessing the moment, was munching on popcorn, watching the Exorcist movie, which he thought was entirely rubbish. If I was that terrible demon in the movie, why’d I possess a helpless young girl? I’d possess the President of the United States or something.
“Did you hear me?” The Queen said.
“I heard you, but I’m not sure I heard you right.” He munched on more popcorn and turned off the movie, watching Family Guy instead. The Cheshire dug Family Guy. “Did you just say you want me to possess you?”
“Yes, that’s an order.”
“First of all, I don’t take orders from you,” he said. “You’re too short to give orders.”
“Cheshire! Possess me!” She stomped her feet.
The Cheshire almost choked, laughing. He imagined the teen girl in the Exorcist being bratty and all, demanding the demon possessing her. That’d would be a great scene in Family Guy, he thought.
“Possess me!”
“You know I can’t,” he said. “You’re a Wonderlander.”
“Yes, you can if I give you permission.”
“So you’re serious about it. May I ask why?”
“Because…” the Queen had to cook up a reason, fast. She began to sob theatrically, “I’m fed up with myself. I’m short, obnoxious, and no one loves me. I can’t think of one child who has me as his idol. I realized I’d prefer being a cat than a Queen.”
“What’s wrong with cats?” The Cheshire purred.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I prefer to be a beautiful cat than being a nasty Queen who chops off heads.”
The Cheshire gave it some thought. He’d been searching for a person to possess forever and stick with. Being the Queen of Hearts — and Britain’s Queen — wasn’t bad, although he wouldn’t want to stick to it forever. But it’d fun, too. And he was seriously bored.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m on my way.”
“Thank you!” she chirped. “You have a pen and paper so you can write my address down?”
The Cheshire blew out a long sigh. “I know where you live. You’re the Queen of England. Everyone knows where you live.”
“Ah, stupid me.” She blushed.
“I’m beginning to have second thoughts of possessing someone like you. So stupid, I could lose my cat mojo.”
“No, no. I promise I’d buy someone’s brain. How many IQ’s are good for you?”
The Cheshire simply hung up. It wasn’t worth it, really. He switched the channel and watched Dumb and Dumber.
The Queen on the other hand was shocked, listening to the terrible beep of the phone. Had the Cheshire just given up on her? How was she going to cheat Death now?
She suddenly felt a shudder, followed by terrible cramps in her stomach. There was no escaping now.
She fell to her knees, even her dogs abandoned her. She swirled and screamed and cursed and spat bubbles of stupidness out of her mouth. But nothing helped.
Fading away, she saw strange men wearing black armors and looking like the Chessmaster, entering the room. They picked her up and began pulling her as her bones scraped the floor.
“Where are you taking me?” she barely spoke.
One of the knights laughed and said, “To the afterlife. Time to pay your debt.”
Chapter 51
Chess City, Kalmykia, Russia
Walking through the ghost city, it’s hard not to feel like a tourist. A special one, in that matter. The enormous chess pieces and constructions are dazzling, sometimes infused with Buddhist architecture; it’s an almost ethereal experience.
“How do you like it in here?” The Pillar asks.
“It’s incredible,” I say. “But I have to admit the city is also intimidating.”
“Of course, because it’s empty.”
“So we’re going to walk the city? Looking for Carroll’s Knight?”
“I’m not sure. The clue didn’t explain things further.”
“I have an idea,” I tell him. “With all due respect, all those beautiful designs are a camouflage.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the city’s main attraction is this,” I point at the incredibly large chessboard, like the one in Marostica.
“I agree,” The Pillar says. “But I also don’t see how it could lead us to Carroll’s Knight.”
“Why?”
“Look, Alice. True, it’s the largest chessboard I’ve ever seen, but it’s empty, just like the city.”
The Pillar is right. The chessboard is void of any chess pieces.
In silence, feeling mesmerized and intimidated at the same time, we reach the chessboard. The sun behind us is shimmering with a patch of orange flaring behind the cloudy skies. Surprisingly, there is no snow in Chess City, making me think the March Hare may have been right about it being a portal to Wonderland.
The chessboards are huge tiles of black and white, like the one in the Vatican. The tiles are incredibly huge, they could host four to five people, shoulder to shoulder.
“I think you owe me an explanation.” I tell The Pillar, influenced by the images before me.
“What would that be?”
“How come I walked the white tiles in the Vatican’s chessboard?”
“What do you mean? You’re Alice, the only one who can save the world from Wonderland Monsters.”
“That’s the Alice you want me to be.”
“This is the Alice you are. We’re not going through this again.”
“But we have to, because at some point I was the Bad Alice and I’ve worked for Black Chess. It doesn’t make sense that if I have walked the white chess tiles inside a most important place like in the Vatican? Did Fabiola manipulate it?”
“Of course, she didn’t,” The Pillar says. “Fabiola helped you because she thought you were a nice girl who could save lives while being brainwashed by me. If she’d known it was really you, she’d have killed you.”
“Then why did she show me the vision of the Circus?”
“Either to make you realize Black Chess’s madness, or she was testing you so she could, like I said, kill you if you were the Bad Alice.”
“Some things you say about her make me wonder why you love her.”
The Pillar shrugs. “I know. But hey, I’m as bad myself.”
Sometimes I can’t help it when I listen to him. I suppress a laugh and stay focused on what I need to know. “You still haven’t told me how the Bad Alice was able to walk the white tiles in the Vatican.”
“Because of your intentions.”
“Excuse me?”
“We all have good and evil inside us. It comes and goes. Some of us dip our heads too far in the dark, and some only have snippets of bad thoughts clouding our heads from time to time. For instance, it may cross your mind to pull down the window and verbally abuse the reckless driver next to you in a rare episode of road rage. But it just subsides and you don’t give into it, once you remind yourself that being good is a choice, not a gene.”
“Stop the metaphors. I need firm answers now.”
“Because your intentions were good, Alice, that’s why you walked the white tiles.” The Pillar’s voice is flat like a truth of bare bones without flesh to conceal its hardness.
“If so, then I can walk the white tiles now as well,” I say, taking a deep breath.
“You’re assuming this is one of those holy chessboards?”
“It makes sense, since it’s in a place that is supposedly a portal to Wonderland.”
“A bit far-fetched,” he comments. “But if you truly believe so, then you should start with the black tiles. I mean if you’re right, my bet is you can’t walk them.”
“I can’t,” I say firmly. “I feel it.”
The Pillar’s eyes glimmer, not in the most pleasant way.
“I will walk the white tiles now,” I sa
y, and step inside.
The Pillar’s first reaction is taking a couple of steps back. I believe he just read my mind and realized what I was aiming for.
“Now it’s your turn,” I dare him. “I want you to try to walk the white tiles, Pillar.”
“Ah, there is no need to.” He waves his hand, trying to act playfully, but the concern in his eyes is exposing enough.
“I need you to,” I insist. “I need to know about your intentions.”
His eyes weaken. The shine in them withers a little. I’ve cornered him in a place he doesn’t prefer to be. But I need to know. I need to know, once and for all, what his intentions are.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I will never kill you, not even if you can only walk the black tiles. All I want is to know you’re on my side.”
“I am on your side.” The Pillar says.
“Actually, this is what I feel. I know what you’ve done to me. You believing in me is beyond remarkable. But there is this feeling about you, I can’t shake.
“What feeling?”
“That I don’t know who you really are.”
“I can’t walk the tiles, Alice,” The Pillar’s voice scares me, because he is almost begging me, something I’ve never experienced with him. “I just can’t.”
“Are you saying you can only walk the black tiles?”
“I’m saying I can’t.”
I pull out a gun from my back pocket and point it at him. I had confiscated it from the Chessmaster’s men in Marostica and held onto it. I’m not even sure it’s loaded, but I have to do this.
The Pillar says nothing. Somehow he is not surprised.
“I’m much more worried now,” I say. “Why aren’t you surprised I am pointing a gun at you? Is it that you don’t believe I will pull the trigger?”
“Actually, I have no doubts you will, if you need to,” he says. “And at some point you will pull the trigger and kill me. It’s my fate, but I’m not sure why you will do it.”
I grimace, realizing that maybe it’s the Bad Alice in me aiming the gun at him. “I’m sorry.” I lower the gun.
“No,” The Pillar says. “Don’t lower the gun. Don’t let repress that dark part inside you, Alice.”