by Cameron Jace
"It's a very small town. Lovely sane people. Lazy as well. They haven't cherished Lewis Carroll's memory enough, so they stayed a small town. I wouldn't expect answers from them," the Pillar says, "I like your thinking, though, Alice. But you're like most sane people, looking in a faraway place when the answer is right under your feet." The way he says "feet" makes me stop in my place. Why am I so sure he is nearby? I know now. All the sounds surrounding him are the same sounds around me. The cars, the sound of the man selling waffles, the girls squeaking out of the Alice Shop.
"Literally, Alice," he says. "Look under your feet."
I look at my white sneakers and wonder what he means. Am I supposed to see a mark on the pavement now? I wouldn't be surprised if that is the case.
Finally, something crazy happens. A book falls from the sky, right in front of me. It's Alice's Adventures Under Ground.
Without glancing skyward again, I kneel and pick it up, making sure the copy is intact. Then I crane my neck and look up. The Pillar is standing on the roof of Tom Quad, one of the four quadrangles in Christ Church. He is standing in a spot right next to the Tom Tower. I prefer not to ask how he got there. "That's not a gentle way to treat a book that was never out in print," I tell him on the phone and wave hi to him with the book.
He pretends he doesn't know me and feeds pigeons from his gloved hands. "Did you know that the Carroll family doesn't make a dime out of its sales?" He ignores me but talks to me on the phone. Neat. "Can you believe that? It's the second most sold book in history, after the Bible." I didn't know that. "I guess Lewis couldn't compete with God, although they are both big on nonsense." The pigeons flutter away from the roof, and I stand up with the book in my hands. No one around me even questions a book that has fallen from the sky. Only a couple of girls shoot me irritated glances and keep on walking. I have no idea why they did that. Are people that busy in the sane world?
I flip through the book like crazy. "So, what page should I be reading to learn about the Cheshire's past?" I jam the phone between my cheek and shoulder. "Is it the part when I talk to him about the grin?"
"You said 'I' when you mentioned talking to the Cheshire. That's progress to me," he says. "There is only one person who might know about the Cheshire's past. She was mentioned in the book. You just need to free your mind, and the rest will follow." He whistles to the flying pigeons to come back. "Think of the first time you met the Cheshire in the book, Alice. Think."
"He was on the tree, and I was lost," I say confidently. "He kept appearing and disappearing again."
"It's a great metaphor for your current situation, but no, that's not when you first met the Cheshire. You met the Cheshire at…"
"The Duchess's house." The words spring out of my mouth. "The Duchess!"
"Yes. In fact, the Duchess owned the Cheshire Cat at this point."
"I get it. If we find the Duchess… Who better than her knows about the Cheshire's past, and hopefully, his weaknesses?" I crane my neck and look at him. "Do you know how we can find her?"
Instead of looking back at me, the Pillar raises his cane in one hand, the hookah in the other. He stares down at the pedestrians on St. Aldates Street, and then shouts at the world from the top of his lungs, "God has ordered me to build an ark and get you on it, people!" He is acting dead seriously. "If you don't get on it with me before the Wonderland Monsters arrive, you will all die. This will be your apocalypse!"
I try not to laugh, while a couple of homeless people faintly clap their hands next to me. "Yeah, the apocalypse. I remember it," a toothless man says, then goes asking someone for change. Other than this, no one even pays attention to the Noah-posing man on the roof.
The Pillar lowers his instruments and looks down at me with that smug grin on his face. "Don't you love the carelessness of the sane world? I mean, I could be wrapped up in dynamite, and no amount of warning will make them do something about it." His whole face is shimmering with delight. Then in the blink of an eye, he changes to dead serious again. "Are you ready to meet the Duchess?"
34
"I don't suppose she is really a duchess in this time and age." I stop next to the Pillar, watching the news on a TV that's for sale behind a shop window. He came down from the rooftop, and we started walking, but something about the TV caught his attention.
"Of course not," the Pillar says absently, glancing at another TV next to it. It's broadcasting news about people being evacuated from their homes. "I told you the Wonderland Monsters were reincarnated into modern-day people. The Duchess is reincarnated into what you'd call the equivalent of a duchess in our time." He is still taken by the news. There's a documentary about poverty in African countries. I don't know what's so interesting to him, and I can't read his face.
"Equivalent? What is she?" I ask. "Wait. The Duchess isn't the Queen of England, is she?"
"Oh, no." The Pillar finally looks away from the horrible news from all over the world. "That's just silly," he tells me.
"As if all the rest isn't."
"Silly is different from nonsense. Queens of England have always been fond of Lewis. As a matter of fact, Queen Victoria was a good friend of his."
"Then, who is the Duchess?"
"Margaret Kent," the Pillar announces.
"Who?"
"A very well-known woman in Parliament," he says.
"The British Parliament?"
"No. The Parliament of Oz. Focus, Alice." The Pillar pouts. "She is a TV superstar." He points at another TV behind the glass window showing a meeting of the British Parliament. There are too many important people in suits. I don't know who Margaret Kent is. "I don't expect you to recognize her. You've been living underground for years. But she is loved by most sane people."
"How is the Duchess loved by other people? Isn't she supposed to be a Wonderland Monster?"
"Like most politicians, she's fooled them by promising the impossible," the Pillar says. "Did you ever notice if you promise the possible, people won't believe you?"
"She is one of those people with two different faces. How wasn't she exposed until now?"
"Some have tried, actually. A year ago, a young man drew a caricature of her in the Daily Telegraph, mocking her as the ugliest woman in Britain."
"Is she that ugly?" I scan all the women of Parliament on the screen. They all look just fine.
"In fact, she is modestly beautiful, with all her plastic surgeries, pearl necklaces, and elegant blonde hair," the Pillar says. "Her ugliness mentioned in the newspaper stems from all the ugly things she does under the table. Bribes, extortion, and tampering with trials in favor of the big guys. One of the rules of the sane world… the poor keep getting poorer, and the rich keep getting… bitchier."
"Margret Kent?" I try the name on my lips, as I recognize her from the plate in front of her as she speaks on TV. She looks like the perfect female politician, a face everyone would normally trust.
"Of course, the artist who drew the caricature was mysteriously assassinated by a 'terrorist' a week later."
"That's awful."
"Alice." The Pillar holds me by the shoulder. "You're not focusing. The artist was assassinated by someone sent by Margaret Kent because he was exposing her dirty laundry."
"Are you sure?"
"And do you know who assassinated him?" The Pillar's face is too close to mine. I have an idea about the answer, but it just refuses to surface on my lips. "The Cheshire Cat was the Duchess's grinning cat in the book. In real life, he is her private assassin."
I take a step back, my hands on the wall. I'm dizzy, and I get that feeling again, that the world in my private cell is a better place than all of this. "This can't be." My voice is almost inaudible as it starts to rain all of a sudden.
35
THE PILLAR'S LIMOUSINE, SOMEWHERE IN OXFORD
"This is how the world operates," the Pillar says. We're sitting in the back of his limousine. "Why do you think killers like me and the Cheshire don't get caught? People like Margaret Kent are
occupied with making money and getting more powerful every day. There is famine, wars, people dying, and poverty all around us. But you know what? The heck with all that. Let's just make more money, and kill anyone who gets in the way. Or better, let's drive them insane."
"So Margaret Kent knows about Wonderland, and hires its monsters to do her dirty work?"
"Genius, isn't it?" the Pillar says, the pipe tucked in the corner of his mouth. "You get to hire someone like the Cheshire, who in the public eye is just a silly cat in a book, and then get away with it. If someone tries to expose you, he will be laughed at, because, let's face it, Wonderland can't be real."
"Why is the Cheshire Cat doing it? You said it wasn't like him to go on a killing spree."
"Even a cat has to make a living," the Pillar says. "The money is good, and he has some kind of grudge against humanity. Maybe someone stepped on his tail or something. Who knows?"
"So, Margaret Kent paid him to kill the girls?"
"It's unlikely. Who'd pay to kill young girls? Besides, he wouldn't be playing games and puzzles with us if he were being paid. Margaret's jobs are swift. She wants off with her enemies' heads."
"So how are we going to make Mrs. Kent tell us anything about the Cheshire?" I say. "Is it even possible we could meet such an important woman in the first place?"
The Pillar turns to me with that shimmering look in his eyes again. "It depends."
"On?"
"Tell me, Alice." He rubs something off his trousers. "On a scale from one to insanity, how insane are you?"
I get the feeling that the Pillar and I are about to do some crazy things.
36
DIRECTOR'S OFFICE, RADCLIFFE ASYLUM
"I'm not going to do that!" Tom Truckle protests. He fidgets in his place and reaches for his pills from the drawer.
The Pillar and I sit opposite to him in his office. We exchange looks while we're on the verge of bursting into laughter. I have to admit that spending time with the Pillar has taught me to just let go and give in to all the madness in the world.
"I am not asking much," I tell Truckle. "I just want a Certificate of Insanity."
"There is no such thing." Truckle gulps water to let the pill slide down. "And even if there is, I just can't do it. This is insane. You are insane."
"See, that's why I want a Certificate of Insanity." I am doing my best not to giggle.
"Please, Tommy." The Pillar rests his hands on his cane. "We've got work to do, and you're stalling."
"You are insane as well," Truckle says.
"Thank you, but I don't need a certificate myself. It's poor Alice here who needs it. Look at her. She is so innocent." I pull my legs together and squeeze my hands between them, flapping my eyelashes and sulking all over him. I'm really enjoying this. "How else can we prove she is insane?" the Pillar adds.
"Something tells me you're going to do something mad with this certificate." Truckle is losing it. The pressure the Pillar is putting him under is unbelievable. The doctor is breaking all the rules to keep his job.
"Please don't use words like 'mad' and 'retarded.' It really hurts." The Pillar is playing this just right. I am going to laugh until I cry when I get out.
"I didn't say 'retarded'!" Truckle grips his chair, face red like a tomato before the explosion. "Besides, what do you want me to call you?"
"'Mushroom' is a good word. Right, Alice?" The Pillar looks at me.
"Yes." I blink innocently again. "Mushroom. I am a Mushroom." The Pillar nods and pats me gently. "You're a Mushroom," I say to the Pillar, then turn to Dr. Truckle. "And you're a Mushroom, too."
"I'm not a Mushroom!" Dr. Truckle stands up, slamming his hands on the desk. I think he should seriously consider reporting the Pillar's escape and lose his job, or he'll end up in one of the underground wards.
"Yes, you are." I stare at him as if he is sick. "You have those red spots on your face. What are those, Dr. Truckle?"
"What?" He touches his face. "What spots?"
"I think it may be chickenpox." The Pillar worsens the joke: "Mushroompox, maybe?"
"You're messing with my head!" Dr. Truckle screams. I can see the veins pumping on his neck. "Here is your certificate." He pulls out an official paper from the drawer and signs it. "Get out!"
The Pillar cranes his neck to see what Dr. Truckle is writing. "Please, Dr. Truckle. Don't write that," he protests.
Dr. Truckle looks puzzled.
"What did he write?" I stand up and stamp my feet. "Is it about me?" I fold my arms in front of me.
"He wrote…" The Pillar pretends he can't bring himself to say it. "He wrote that you're 'insane in the membrane' and 'cuckoo in the head.'"
"Did you write that?" I sneer at Dr. Truckle.
"No." Dr. Truckle waves his arms defensively. "I swear I didn't."
I take the certificate angrily, then read it. It's what we're looking for. The Pillar and I stand up, ready to leave. But before we go, I get onto the desk and kiss Dr. Truckle on the cheek, then run my hands slowly over his nose. We've played the poor guy too much. When I kiss him, it's like I've electrocuted him with my lips. I think he is going to pee himself. "And you haven't even tried shock therapy yet," I whisper in his ear.
"Let's go, Alice," the Pillar says. "We're late for our plane to London." He waves my Certificate of Insanity in front of him. We're going to need it to meet the Duchess.
37
MARGARET KENT'S OFFICE, WESTMINSTER PALACE, LONDON
Margaret Kent sat alone in a luxurious private room in the Palace of Westminster in London. She had an important meeting to attend in a little while, and she didn't like waiting. If she'd ever waited for anyone, she wouldn't have come this far in her career. Things had to be done swiftly, and decisions had to be made in a blink of an eye. In order to save a few heads, many heads had to be chopped. She learned that from the Queen of Hearts many years ago. But she didn't want to remember Wonderland anymore. She had moved on, and now she had to deal with things in this world.
Ordinary people would think that a woman of her caliber would have everything at the tips of her fingers. It was far from the truth. Since Margaret joined Parliament, she'd been having a hard time sleeping at night. The horrible things she had permitted behind the public's back were enough to drive her mad for the rest of her life.
But these horrible things had to be done, she thought, as she rubbed the expensive Rolex around her wrist. A woman in such a position had to sacrifice others in favor of her nation. It was the way things were done. In the States. In Germany. And in most countries. She stood up and gazed out her window at all the simple people enjoying life outside. If they only knew the price she, and her fellow men and women of Parliament, paid to get them there.
But that's a lie, Margaret, her annoying inner voice said. Not everything you have done was for the safety of your people, or everyone would be living a prosperous life in this world by now.
Margaret walked away from the window and checked her hair in the mirror. In reality, it was thinning. But thanks to her personal crew, who took care of her appearance, it looked far from it. People loved their politicians looking good. Beauty was a must when telling lies.
She gazed at her watch one more time, trying to distract herself from her nagging inner thoughts.
Welcome back, Margaret. It's me, the true voice inside you. The one that knows all your secrets. I know about the people you wrongfully imprisoned, sent to asylums, and even killed. It's understandable. It's a game called life.
Margaret didn't know why her annoying voice was attacking her today. She'd never regretted anything she'd done. The secrets she kept from the public were a necessary evil. If anyone thought it was possible to spread justice and make everyone equal in this world, they were highly delusional. The world was like clockwork. In order for the bigger wheels to survive, the smaller wheels had to work harder in their merry-go-round. They just had to be promised big things that weren't going to happen. Problem solved.
Tur
ning her TV on to distract herself, she realized what worried her. It was right in front of her: The Cheshire Cat killing girls all around the country, and they couldn't do anything about it. They were going to discuss that in their private meeting. It had to be in private because they all knew what the Cheshire did for them, and the secrets he knew. He'd been pushing the envelope, and they couldn't catch him because he had the power to expose them.
Margaret had been using the Cheshire for some time. She'd never known him to be a crazy killer, spilling blood for no reason. He hated humans and did the jobs she'd assigned him in exchange for money or information, mostly involving Wonderland. The Cheshire was obsessed with opening the secret doors to Wonderland again. The ones Lewis Carroll had locked the monsters in a long time ago. Margaret never knew how the Cheshire escaped his prison, and she never asked.
Her peers in the office still loved to call her "the Duchess," but as much as she faked her beautiful appearance, the ugliness inside her was always coming through. She never hesitated to hurt anyone. Her career was her reason to live, and she was getting greedier every day.
"Now what am I going to do about that?" she said to herself in the empty room. The Cheshire had to stop his killing, or the consequences were going to be grand.
Margaret Kent, fiddling with her pearl necklace, squinted at the sight of the girl on TV. It was that girl who had become famous for nibbling like crazy on a block of cheese inside the Great Hall. Some said she saved the girl who'd been kidnapped by the Cheshire yesterday. The news said she was an Oxford University freshman. Still, no one had found her since.
Margaret squinted harder and neared the TV. "Wait a minute." Her eyes widened as she took a closer look at the girl. "This couldn't be. Is this her?"
