Checkmate (Insanity Book 6)

by Cameron Jace

  “What? Why would you ask something like that?”

  “Because this is why I helped you become who you are now,” he says. “The world is full of good guys trying to fix it, always faltering when it’s time to pull the trigger, because they have no bad side in them. You’re not like them, Alice. You’re perfect. A good person who was once bad. If you could only find the balance inside, you will save this world.”

  Like always, his words seep through, and I devour every syllable and meaning.

  He is right. If I end up facing Death itself, I will have to pull the trigger. I can only defeat Death with the darker side of me. I grip my gun tighter and point it at The Pillar again.

  “Then walk the tiles, Pillar,” I demand. “Show me what your intentions are.”

  The Pillar nods, still reluctant, but he approaches the chessboard. And there he stands before a white tile, about to step in, but can he really do it?

  Chapter 52

  World Chess Championship, Moscow, Russia

  The Chessmaster listened to his informer telling him the latest news.

  “The Queen is dying, too.” The man told him.

  The Chessmaster nodded, thinking. “And Alice? The Pillar?”

  “They’ve found three pieces so far. In a few minutes I will be able to locate their final destination.”

  “I want to know as soon as they arrive,” the Chessmaster said. “I hope it’s not a far place from here.”

  “It can’t be,” the man said. “The sequence of how they found the pieces makes perfect sense. The last piece was in Tibet, pretty close to us.”

  “Are you suggesting they’re close?”

  “They must be.”

  “Be sure, and soon,” the Chessmaster said. “I’m counting on the accuracy of your information.”

  “But of course,” the man said. “I wouldn’t risk you killing me.” He smiled feebly.

  The Chessmaster didn’t quite like being perceived as that scary Death figure. He hadn’t been always that scary. He had a story of his own, a story that justified his actions — at least from his point of view.

  But none of this meant it wasn’t fun infusing much more chaos into the world. After all, the powers he possessed weren’t only killing people. Making entire cities fall asleep was another good one.

  He stood up, walked toward two other presidents, and with a couple of moves killed them, then simply announced more cities going to sleep. A slow boring death, he liked to call it. We all went to sleep — died every night — and woke up, never being appreciative of the gift of life. Funny how this came from Death himself.

  The Chessmaster announced the new sleeping cities on the news, warning of London being the next one on the list. Then he sat back, daydreaming about all the hell he will soon bestow on Alice. Oh, how long he’d waited for this to happen.

  Chapter 53

  Director’s Office, Radcliffe Asylum, Oxford

  “The twelve men were called Carter Pillar?” Tom Truckle said.

  “See?” Inspector Dormouse said. “I told you I know something.”

  “But what does it mean? Why would people named Carter Pillar change their name in the same year?”

  “I have an idea, not much, but I am curious to know your theories.”

  “I don’t know,” Tom Truckle said. “Maybe they knew about him being a crazy madman and didn’t want to have anything to do with him.”

  “Sounds too far-fetched to me.”

  “Then maybe he made them change their names. I wouldn’t dismiss the idea. The Pillar is a lunatic. I imagine his ego drove him to want only one man called by his name.”

  “It still makes no sense. He is a madman, and he fooled me by pretending to be some animal activist called Petmaster, but it’s not it,” Dormouse said. “Want to hear what I know?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “The twelve men are foreigners. They haven’t been born in Britain, and none of them come from the same country.”

  “It’s getting more interesting now. What else?”

  “They come from all over the world, even from countries where you normally wouldn’t find a name like Carter or Pillar.”

  “But you said their names were a translation to Carter Pillar in their own language.”

  “Indeed, but even some of those translations are never used as names in their countries.”

  “I see. So they arrived here a few years ago? Why?”

  “For all kinds of reason. None of them suspicious or unusual.”

  “That’s a dead end,” Tom Truckle said. “Did they know each other?”

  “Now you’re on the right track. They all met annually. Once every year.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “A secret meeting, and guess where?”

  “That’s hard to guess.”

  “In Oxford University.”

  “Does that mean they knew the real Pillar?”

  “In fact, yes,” Inspector Dormouse said. “I had to dig into the university’s archive to figure it was our Carter Pillar who arranged the secret meetings.”

  “What were they about?”

  “Some kind of ritual.”

  “You lost me. Ritual?”

  “About Wonderland.”

  “This can’t be.”

  “Oh, it can,” Inspector Dormouse said. “I’ve bribed a cook who worked in the kitchen below in 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 talks, and hardly 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.

  Chapter 54

  Chess City, Kalmykia, Russia

  The Pillar still hesitates at stepping onto the white tiles.

  “Please,” I tell him. “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 cloth-battered, blood having 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 an 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 qua
lity 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 could 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 the black tile. He simply 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.

  Chapter 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 it. 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 having me look for it. Because whatever Carroll’s Knight is for, Lewis was smart enough to hide from him, and only have me find it.

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

  A sudden loud crackling sound rose 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 speaks through the amplifiers, “By stepping on both white and black tiles, you have activated mankind’s last game of chess.”

  The Pillar shoots blaming rays out of his eyes toward me.

  “I only asked you to step on 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 muses. “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,” the words echo like an ancient apparition in the empty city. “But I’m sure The Pillar knows that already.

  Chapter 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 had 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 somewhat 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 had known 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’ 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 th
e 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 laughed. “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 wonders.

  “Exactly,” the Chessmaster said. “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.