by Cameron Jace
“That’s impressive.” The Chessmaster claps again. “Why so fast?”
“Because it’s common knowledge that in spite of the three masterpieces being the world’s most awaited novels in that era, it was Alice in Wonderland that topped the bestseller list,” the Pillar says in one breath. “Now let the woman go.”
The Chessmaster ignores the comment and shoots another question. “What was so special about Alice’s character in the book?”
“That’s a vague question,” the Pillar says.
“Let me rephrase: What was a first about Alice’s character in Lewis Carroll’s book?” the Chessmaster says. “Something that hadn’t been done earlier in literature.”
The Pillar grimaces, searching for answers, but it’s me who surprisingly knows. I don’t know how. It could be part of my lost memories coming back, or something that has been buried in me for years that I had just forgotten about.
“She was…” I begin, realizing that what I am about to say puts so much weight on my shoulders if I am the Alice in the book. So much weight that I feel I am not really doing enough to save the world or stand up to the model Lewis made out of me.
“She was what?” The Chessmaster nears the screen, eyes glinting.
“She was the first female lead in children’s literature, ever,” I say. “Before her, children’s books had only male heroes.”
16
My words don’t seem to affect the crowd around me. They’re nothing but the right answer to them, so the woman won’t get her head chopped off like the last. But to me, they make me ashamed of myself. Lewis wrote about me as the first girl in a children’s book to stand up to adults and speak her mind freely and criticize the mad society she—or he—lived in. And still, I let him down and turned into a Bad Alice at some point in my life.
“Magnificent,” the Chessmaster says. “I am now sure it’s you and your old caterpillar who can find Carroll’s Knight.” He doesn’t explain why and says, “But first, I need to give you the first clue and to do so, you need to answer a question you don’t have an answer for.”
“You mean you want to kill this woman anyways, like the one before?” I clench my fist. “Why is it important you kill them?”
“Life is a game of chess, Alice. One move at a time. With each move, doors either open or close for the next. Some of us are lucky to come upon several doors in a row. Pure luck, if you ask me. Some are doomed with a closed door after their first move,” the Chessmaster says. “Now, here is my last question, after which, if you answer it correctly, I will let the woman go—but then again, you don’t know the answer, and the Pillar isn’t allowed to contribute.”
“I am ready,” I say.
“No, you’re not, but here it is: What was the color of the cover of the 1865 version of Alice in Wonderland book, published by Macmillan at the time?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“The kind that kills,” he says. “Lewis Carroll insisted on that color, even though his publishers thought it would scare kids away.”
I glance at the Pillar, who looks like he knows the answer, but if he tells me, the woman dies. I myself have no idea. A color that Lewis Carroll insisted on nearly two centuries ago? Why would his book’s color matter? Should I just make a guess?
“I don’t know the answer,” I tell the Chessmaster.
“Then the woman will die. Thank you very much.”
We all watch the man with the sword about to chop off her head, but an old man calls out from the crowd, “Stop!”
The man with the sword actually stops, and even the Chessmaster seems to be interested in the old man from his screen.
“Stop! Don’t kill my wife.” The old man steps ahead with both hands in the air. “I will tell you what you want to know.” He is speaking to the Chessmaster.
The Pillar and I exchange glances.
“Do tell,” the Chessmaster says. “Before it’s too late.”
“I will tell you how to get Carroll’s Knight,” the old man says, now hugging his wife, who was about to get her head chopped off.
“So this is what it’s about?” the Pillar says. “This whole game was a threat to make whoever knew the secret about Carroll’s Knight speak up before his loved one died. This was never about Alice and me, or the puzzles.”
“Genius, isn’t it?” The Chessmaster winks.
“Sick,” I retort.
“I had my doubts if it was the first woman or the second,” the Chessmaster elaborates. “Since no one came to save the first woman, it wasn’t her. But the second is. And her husband knows the whereabouts of Carroll’s Knight. The book’s cover was red, by the way,” he tells me. “The color of the Red Queen, but that’s a whole other story. Now let’s hear from this old man who knows the secret to Carroll’s Knight.”
17
The man’s name is Father Williams, which is a name the Pillar squints at, and I don’t know why.
I am surprised the man isn’t Italian. In fact, he comes from a family of English noblemen who have been instructed to live in Marostica all these years, as keepers of the secret of Carroll’s Knight.
“What secret?” I ask him.
“I will show you,” says Father Williams, gripping a torch and guiding us into the hallways of the high castle, Castello Superiore. “Follow me.”
The Chessmaster isn’t watching us at this point. He orders his man with the sword and a few snipers to follow us until we get him Carroll’s Knight and bring it back to him. I am most curious about what’s really going on here.
“So your family was instructed to keep a secret in this town?” I ask Father Williams. “Why? Who instructed you?”
“Lewis Carroll,” Father Williams says reluctantly. “It’s his knight you’re looking for.”
“You mean what the Chessmaster is looking for,” the Pillar says. “And by ‘knight’ you mean what exactly?”
“I don’t know,” Father Williams says. “I only know of the place and have been denied looking upon the tomb where it is by my father.”
“Tomb?” I shrug, the shadows from the torch reflecting on the wall and worrying me.
“It’s where the knight is kept,” Father Williams says.
“So it’s a person,” the Pillar says.
“Like I said, I don’t know.”
“Do you at least know why Lewis hid it here?” I ask.
Father Williams stops and stares into my eyes. “I am told it holds great evil.”
“Oh, please.” The Pillar rolls his eyes. “Great evil in a tomb. Is that some Hollywood movie again?”
“I can tell you’re scared,” Father Williams tells the Pillar.
“I’m not scared,” the Pillar says, though I think he is. Maybe he is claustrophobic. The castle’s hallways are a bit too narrow and slightly suffocating. “I just hate this whole thing about an item that holds evil and will unleash it onto the world if you reopen it. I mean, if Lewis knew it was so evil, why not destroy it?”
“Agreed.” I nod at Father Williams.
“Funny, coming from people interested in a book where a girl gets taller when she eats a cake and shorter when she drinks a drink.” Father Williams’ logic starts to amuse me. “Do you want the knight or not? I’d prefer to go spend time with my wife than with you.”
“Please forgive us,” the Pillar says, then whispers something in his ear.
Father Williams looks sympathetically at me and says, “I pray for you.”
I pinch the Pillar immediately, but then the door to the tomb opens before us. Carroll’s Knight is carved on the wall behind it.
18
The tomb is not like anything I expected. Its walls and floor are covered in black and white tiles, and there is a coffin in the middle. One side surprises me with two dead men, now skeletons, leaning on a chessboard.
“Thieves,” Father Williams explains. “Some claim they’re Tweedledum and Tweedledee, but I doubt it.”
“Then who are they?” the Pilla
r asks.
“They tried to steal Carroll’s Knight,” says Father Williams.
“Why are they dead on the chessboard, then?” I ask.
“The tomb has a locking system. They were locked in and, by a Wonderlastic spell, they were forced to play chess, not until one wins, but until both died.”
“You people have really misunderstood that chess thing,” the Pillar says. “Anyone told you it’s just a game?”
“It’s not a game,” Father Williams insists. “Chess is life. Move one piece, take a step in life. Move another, yet another step. Make a bad move, spend a couple of moves correcting it and paying the price. And by move, I mean a year of your life.”
“I dropped out of elementary school, so don’t go poetic on me.” The Pillar chews on the words.
“I take it you can’t play chess,” Father Williams says.
“If you mean pulling hair for hours to make one move in a game so slow it’d make a turtle bored out of its mind, then the answer is no, I can’t play chess.”
“You have a lot to learn, Mr. Pillar,” Father Williams says. “And you, Alice?”
“Me?” I shrug. “I’m fresh out of an asylum. Doctors advised me I stay away from too much thinking.”
The Pillar looks like he wants to crack a laugh, but he goes inspecting the coffin instead.
“Now that you’re here, I’ll leave you to open it,” Father Williams says.
“Wait.” I wave a hand. “Open it? I thought you knew how to open it.”
“I don’t. I am just the keeper of the secret.”
The Pillar and I sigh. Not again.
“It’s shut and locked, so don’t try to push anything, it won’t work. I’ve tried,” Father Williams says. “The key to unlocking it is in the groove in the middle of the coffin’s lid.”
I locate what he is talking about. The coffin is made of stone, and it’s fixed to the floor. It doesn’t seem to have a ledge or the slightest of openings. In the upper-middle, probably upon the corpse’s chest, is a small groove. It’s neither circular nor diagonal. In fact, it’s shapeless. It looks like three curving strokes that remind me of a palm tree with three branches, waving sideways in the wind.
“It’s too small for someone’s palm,” the Pillar says. “Or we could have tried fitting one’s fingers in the groove.”
“We tried that too, even water, but it didn’t work,” Father Williams says.
“So there is not even a clue?” I ask.
“My father left me a clue, but I believe it’s useless.”
“Tell me about it,” I say.
“Two words that hardly mean anything,” Father Williams says.
“Hi-ho?” the Pillar purses his lips. “Or hocus pocus?”
“No,” Father Williams says. “It’s ‘her lock.’”
“Her lock?” The Pillar tilts his head. “What kind of clue is that? It’s barely even proper English.”
I give it a thought, but it’s getting harder to concentrate with the noise that suddenly erupts outside.
“What’s going on?” Father Williams asks the men escorting us.
“Someone burst through the door,” one of his assistants says. “It’s the Reds.”
“If I had a smoke each time I bump into them…” the Pillar says.
“Don’t worry,” Father Williams says. “I’m sure the Chessmaster will stop them from harming us.”
“No, he won’t,” I say. “He can’t.”
“Why so sure, Alice?” the Pillar says.
“Because the Reds don’t work for the Chessmaster at the moment, but Mr. Jay. He sent a limo to drive me to his castle earlier and I escaped. They’re here to finish what they started.”
“So we’re looking for a bloodbath in here,” the Pillar says. “You have another way out of here, Father Williams?”
“None. We’ll have to fight them.”
“I’m not leaving this place,” I tell the Pillar. “Not before I open the coffin.”
A loud thud sounds outside. The Reds have already broken into the castle.
19
The Inklings, Oxford
“Her lock?” the March Hare said, staring at the message Alice had managed to send to him by phone from Italy. He had stopped cleaning the bar’s floor, and no matter how his ears perked up, he couldn’t solve it. Sometimes the March didn’t want to think too hard in case those who controlled the light bulb in his head read into his thoughts.
“So Alice is alive,” Fabiola said from behind the bar, serving a couple of customers. “The Pillar only made us think she died.”
The March didn’t comment. Fabiola’s quest to kill Alice had become redundant. He wondered if it was the whiskey she drank in the Inklings that messed with her head. Mental note, he thought: there is a reason nuns shouldn’t drink whiskey or wear tattoos.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know, Jittery,” Fabiola said.
“I am not pretending,” he answered. “You should have known she was alive all along if you’d switched on the TV and watched the news.”
“I have,” Fabiola said. “I just didn’t want to think about it. My biggest priority now is to persuade the Mushroomers to be part of my army.”
“Any luck, White Queen?” The March noticed a few customers’ heads turning when he called Fabiola by her Wonderland name. But hey, who believed in Wonderland anyway?
“Tom Truckle is working on a serum that should bring sanity to the Mushroomers.”
“Good luck with that.” The March continued cleaning. “I doubt the pill-popping doctor can help anyone with their sanity.”
“I hate it when I hear you talk like that,” Fabiola said.
The March said nothing. To him, the war didn’t mean anything. All he cared about was going back to Wonderland and never growing up again. He’d been reading Peter Pan lately, and the idea of never really growing up resonated with him even more. Adulthood sucked marshmallows.
“So tell me about the clue,” Fabiola said. “Is Alice in trouble?”
“She is,” the March said. “Reds again.”
“Maybe they’ll succeed in killing her this time.”
In his mind, and though he respected Fabiola dearly, he wanted his broom to transform into a double-headed axe that he could roll in the air and immediately chop off her head with. The March loved Alice too much, and Fabiola was being unreasonable.
“It’s a clue that should help her open a coffin with a groove in it,” the March said. “It says ‘her lock.’ Do you happen to know about that?”
“Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you,” she said. “But I’d assume it’s a clue Lewis designed.”
“Why so?”
“Because it’s a Carrollian phrase. ‘Her’ refers to Alice. ‘Lock’ refers to…” Then she suddenly stopped.
“Lock refers to what?” The March was curious. “The lock on the coffin? A metaphor for the coffin being locked?”
Fabiola suddenly smiled. It was a devious smile. Very much unlike her. Sometimes the March wondered if she’d been possessed by the Cheshire. It would explain her sudden change. But the Cheshire couldn’t possess Wonderlanders. Certainly not Fabiola.
“I think you know what the clue is,” the March said.
“In fact, I do.” Fabiola poured herself a drink, and then two free drinks for the customers at the bar. “But I am not telling. She won’t be able to solve it anyways.” She made a toast and gulped happily, leaving the March in pain, wondering what the world “lock” really meant.
20
Castle Superiore, Marostica, Italy
Fighting the Reds in such a claustrophobic corridor proved to be overly bloody. Father Williams’ men and the Chessmaster’s snipers were dropping like flies outside the tomb. Alice could barely see them. She and the Pillar preferred to stay inside the room and try to unlock the coffin.
“I don’t know how long before the Reds get into the tomb,” Father Williams said. “The Chessmaster sent his men to attack them from behind, but
it’s turning into a massacre, and I’m not sure who is going to win.”
“We have very little time,” I say.
“You mean before we die or solve the puzzle?” Father Williams chuckles worriedly.
“I am assuming the word ‘her’ means you, Alice.” The Pillar is kneeling down to inspect the groove on the coffin again. “Lewis always referred to you as ‘her,’ let alone the fact that he always talked about you.”
“So what does it mean?” I ask.
“It means the coffin is locked with your lock.” The Pillar is only speculating. “I know it doesn’t make sense.”
“Or maybe it means that only I can unlock it,” I offer.
“It’s a probability, but how?” The Pillar grimaces at the sound of men dying outside.
“Hurry!” Father Williams says.
I stare at the coffin with no clue of how to unlock it.
“Who told you about this clue?” the Pillar asks Father Williams.
“My father.”
“How so? Did he write it down for you or just say it?”
“Never wrote it down. The keepers of the secret always keep the clues in their minds.”
“And I assume your father heard it from his father, and so on.”
“I assume so,” Father Williams says. “Why?”
“I am only trying to see if the clue is wrong, misinterpreted, or even misheard.”
“I am sure it says ‘her lock,’” Father Williams insists.
“What do you have in mind, Pillar?” I ask.
“I am not sure, but I have a feeling the word is alluding to something else, if not intentionally misheard. Lewis loved those kinds of misinterpretations.”
“How so?”
“Like a game of Chinese whispers, when you whisper a word in someone’s ears and it comes out something similar, but very different in meaning from the original.”
