by Cameron Jace
“Ouch.” Tom stepped back from the missing finger. “What did you do with the finger?”
“Shoved it into the carrot soup. Looked like a paler carrot, but did the job,” Chopin said. “Now, where do you want me to start with the Fourteen’s story?”
“Why are they called the Fourteen?” Inspector Dormouse was alert enough to ask.
“Because there are fourteen members in their little circle of trust,” Chopin said.
“I thought only the Pillar and twelve men attended,” Tom said.
“First of all, the Pillar wasn’t part of the fourteen members,” Chopin said. “He was like the head of the community: taking care of their needs and organizing the meetings.”
“Okay,” Tom said. “Then according to you, there are still two members missing of the fourteen.”
“Of course.” Chopin chopped up some cucumbers fiercely, enjoying it too much, like a serial killer chopping off his victim’s body parts. “Two members never showed up.”
“How do you know about them then?” Inspector Dormouse asked.
“They talked about them. The Pillar, mostly. He had a great interest in finding the other two,” Chopin said.
“Are you saying the twelve who were there weren’t interested in finding the other two?”
“The twelve’s main job in the meeting was to track the other two. Pillar’s orders.”
“So those meetings were organized to look for the missing two?” Tom asked.
“Part of it,” Chopin said. “The twelve had some kind of deal previously arranged with the Pillar. Some kind of a grand plan that I will get into in a minute, because it’s really bonkers. For now, let me tell you about who the other two were.”
“I’m listening,” Tom said. Inspector Dormouse was already snoring, and Tom wondered if the three of them were the worst bunch of men acting like detectives ever.
“One of the two was most important to the Pillar,” Chopin said. “From what I heard, the Pillar wasn’t sure how to find the other.”
“So tell me about the one he was sure of,” Tom said.
“It’s a well-known man. When I first heard his name, I accidentally peed in my soup—but shoved it down some minister’s throat the next day,” Chopin said. “Point is this man, number thirteen, was a man the Pillar couldn’t bring to the meetings.”
“Why?”
“Because he is such an evil man, protected by a tribe of criminals in a faraway country, and the Pillar seemed to fear him the most.”
“The Pillar feared a man so much?” Tom asked.
“The thirteenth man was part of the Pillar deal,” Chopin explained. “A bonkers deal I never understood. It had to do with something the fourteen men, plus the Pillar, did way back in a place called Wonderland.”
“Wonderland?” Tom mopped his head in frustration, wondering about the many things that happened back then that he wasn’t aware of. Maybe he was such a trivial being back then that no one but Lewis Carroll bothered talking to him.
“Wonderland is real?” Dormouse jumped awake.
“Just go back to sleep,” Tom said, focusing on Chopin. “Do you happen to know what kind of deal that was?”
“All I understood is that fourteen men were involved with the Pillar, and that the deal wasn’t complete. To complete it, the last two needed to be found.”
“And killed,” Tom said, assuming. “The Pillar was only playing those poor fourteen men. Whatever deal they had, he figured he had to kill them at some point.” He paused for a moment and then said, “And that’s why he hadn’t killed the twelve for all those years since Wonderland. The twelve were his only way to find the missing two.”
“Are you saying the Pillar didn’t just kill twelve men, but fourteen?” Inspector Dormouse yawned, and Chopin seized the opportunity and shoved a tomato into his mouth.
Tom pried the tomato out, rolling his eyes at the silliness of his companions. “This is the only explanation. The Pillar only killed the twelve men when he was sure of the identities of the other two and how to get to them.”
“You sound like Sherlock Holmes,” Chopin said. “Though it should be Inspector Sherlock Dormouse who sounds like Holmes.”
“Don’t bother with Inspector Dormouse,” Tom said. “We’re getting closer to what happened to the Pillar. Now, tell me of the one person the Pillar identified of the missing two.”
“You mean the thirteenth man the Pillar needed to kill, but was afraid of?” Chopin grinned, showing a silver tooth.
“Yes, him,” Tom said, wondering if Chopin had managed to chop off his own tooth at some point.
“I hope you’re ready for the surprise,” Chopin said.
“Trust me, I’ve seen wonders,” Tom said. “I’m hardly surprised these days.”
“But you will be,” Chopin said. “Because the thirteenth member’s name is the Executioner.”
Tom was wrong. This did surprise him a great deal. “You mean the Columbian drug lord? The Pillar raided his crops and killed his army.”
“The Pillar had to kill everyone in Mushroomland to make sure the Executioner, the thirteenth member, was dead,” Chopin said. “Didn’t I tell you I would surprise you?”
Then Chopin accidentally chopped off another finger.
62
Chess City, Kalmykia
The shame of war was splattering on my face. With every head I chopped off or man I killed, blood covered me and Fabiola.
“I’ve got your back,” Fabiola shouts, slicing left and right, her back sticking to mine. She told me this was the technique she used with her best warriors to kill their enemies in Wonderland.
“Am I supposed to feel safe with my back to the woman who promised to kill me?” I shout back, ready for my next attacker.
“Shut up and do what you do best, Alice,” Fabiola says. “Kill.”
Why does everyone think it’s an honor to be talented at killing? If I turn out to have been the greatest gunslinger in Wonderland, I don’t think I will feel proud about it. The idea of killing people you have never met before because they’re wearing a different uniform baffles me.
But I have to defend myself.
“Why a pawn?” I shout back at Fabiola. We’re still advancing, though most of the rest of our white army is dead now. However, Fabiola’s strategy has worked so far. I have to admit, she is one fierce warrior. She even stabs her victims one more time after killing them, just to make sure.
“What pawn?” she says.
“Why did Lewis make me a pawn?” I slice another head off. “Why the weakest of the kingdom?”
“Pawns aren’t the weakest,” Fabiola says. “They’re only underestimated.”
“How so? I feel like a brainless killing machine you shoved onto the battlefield and, with my skills, I am only trained to do what you tell me.”
“There is a wisdom behind that.”
“What kind of wisdom, Fabiola? Please stop lying to me.”
“Even though I don’t want you to find Carroll’s Knight, I was hoping you’d figure out the wisdom of being a pawn on your own.”
“That’s lame, White Queen. I might as well die before I have enough time to figure out anything.”
“Behind you.” Fabiola, in an amazing and unbelievable maneuver, moves to my side and stabs a black pawn who was about to kill me.
“Thanks,” I say, frozen in place.
“Don’t ever thank your soldier friends in war,” she says.
“Why?”
She chops off the head of a black bishop who was about to finish me. “That’s why, Alice.”
I get the message and advance with fierce anger toward an approaching black pawn, slashing left and right, using my None Fu skills and jumping. Their heads roll off the chessboard, which is nothing but a red bloodbath now.
“Where are Margaret and the Queen?” I ask Fabiola.
“Don’t bother looking for them. High governmental people are cowards. They’re hiding somewhere,” Fabiola says.
“Then how are we going to win?” I ask. “Aren’t we supposed to kill them all, or are you still worried the Chessmaster will find Carroll’s Knight if we win?”
“I’m worried, but we have no choice or both of us will die.” Fabiola stands against my back again. “But winning doesn’t mean having to kill them all.”
“Then how are we going to win?”
“By you being a pawn.”
“What are you saying?”
“Search inside you, Alice. You must know the answer.”
Instantly, I remember the Pillar being fed up with Hollywood movies. When Fabiola tells me this, I wonder the same. Why wouldn’t she just tell me what to do to win? Why does she have to say things like “search inside you?” So clichéd.
But then, in the middle of my fried brain and torn muscles, killing left and right, an idea presents itself.
It’s something I heard earlier. I believe it was the Pillar who pointed at it.
“I know what I have to do,” I shout, advancing. “I’m a pawn. And if a pawn reaches the other side of the chessboard, they can exchange their piece for a king or queen or a stronger warrior.”
“That’s the Alice I’ve been looking for,” Fabiola chirps.
“You mean the Alice the Pillar believes in,” I say.
She pouts, but then lets it go. “Look, I designed this board to hide what’s left of Carroll’s chess pieces. You don’t need to exchange pieces. All you have to do, as a pawn, is to make it to the other side and we win.”
Even though I’m ready, I realize how much harder it is to advance than to fight in the same place. How am I going to kill all of them and reach the other side?
“Don’t worry,” Fabiola says. “I will help you reach the other side.”
“How so?”
Immediately, she shouts from the top of her lungs, insulting the Queen of Hearts.
“Don’t provoke me, Fabiola,” I hear the Queen shout back. I can’t see her, probably because of how short she is. “I will not die in this war because I’m too short. No chopping sword will find my head,” she mocks Fabiola. “But I won’t stand for you making fun of me! You know who I am, and what I could have done to you in all these years. You’re only alive because I let you be.”
“Then show me you can kill me,” Fabiola shouts.
“What are you doing?” I yell at her. “She’ll send the whole army to kill you.”
“That’s the point exactly.” Fabiola smiles feebly, her eyes exposing her plan to me.
I get it. She is gathering the black army all around her so I can reach the other side of the chessboard.
“I’m risking the world for you, Alice,” Fabiola says. “So make it count.”
I am about to object, but the black army is already on her. Fabiola disappears behind several waves of black warriors, and although she gives me a last look before disappearing, I fail to comprehend it. What was she trying to tell me, other than that I have to reach the end of the chessboard and make it count?
63
The Pillar’s plane
Xian, the Tibetan monk, sat back in the fancy leather chair of the Pillar’s plane. He was sipping a piña colada and looking at a Playboy magazine with eyes so open he might have fainted.
“This isn’t what America is all about.” The Pillar snatched the magazine from the monk’s clenching hands. “I’m not getting you the visa to become a burden to the country. I want you as an asset. Most immigrants are.”
“Sorry, Chao Pao Wong.” Xian looked embarrassed. “I’m weak to Western temptations.”
“There’s no such thing as Western, or Eastern, temptations, Xian.” The Pillar prepared his mini hookah as they flew away from Kalmykia. “This hookah is a temptation, if not an addiction, if you stuff it with certain ingredients, and it’s definitely Eastern.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you can be a monk, a donkey, or a good man wherever you go. It’s your choice.”
“So my American visa is a choice?”
“It is, but then everything is a choice.” The Pillar smoked his hookah.
“Why so cryptic and gloomy, Cao Pao Wong? Is it Alice?”
The Pillar nodded, though he only made a slight move of his head.
“Then why leave her behind?”
“It’s complicated, Xian. Sometimes we’re forced to leave the people we love behind.”
“I don’t understand this. I mean, in the monastery we never leave a loved one behind.”
“That’s because there is snow surrounding your arses left and right,” the Pillar said. “And because in this isolated community you’re safe from life’s everyday battles. Trust me, the visa will mess with your head more than give you peace of mind. You know why? Because it will force you to make choices.”
“What’s wrong with choices?”
“Well, for one, they seem like genius decisions at the time.” The Pillar coughed, not happy with his smoke. “Only later, you may realize your choices were wrong.”
“That’s terrible.”
“You know what’s really terrible? Living with the consequences.”
“But this doesn’t explain why you left Alice behind.”
“I’m not leaving her behind. She’ll be all right.”
“You truly believe she can reach the end of the chessboard and win?”
“She’ll do that, trust me. She’s a fabulous and fine young woman.”
“Then what’s worrying you?”
“The truth she is about to confront,” the Pillar said. “Winning will only lead her to having to make another disastrous choice.”
“Why am I sensing it has to do with her past?”
“It does. Alice will have to deal with a horrible thing she’s done in her past.”
“Don’t we all do that all the time?”
“You have no past, snowbird, so pull yourself out of it.” The Pillar tensed. “Alice is about to choose the Inklings or Black Chess.”
“I have the feeling she will choose the Inklings.”
“Me too, but I wish it was that easy. Because if you ask any person about the truth, they’d tell you it’s either black or white…”
“Inklings or Black Chess,” Xian said. “It makes sense.”
“You’re wrong, Xian. The truth is never black or white. That’s the Hollywood perspective.”
“Then what is the color of truth?”
“Grey,” the Pillar said. “An ugly grey that makes London’s rainy and creepy afternoons look like heaven in greens.”
64
Chess City, Kalmykia
Every step in my journey to the end of the chessboard reminds me of my cowardice. How can I let Fabiola die? This logic of war and how it’s supposed to be dealt with confuses me again. I’ll be saying it again and again. War is just an ugly and blinding grey.
A couple of black army soldiers notice my escape and return to attack me, but I handle them with swift ease. The smell of blood on me is not only nauseating, but humiliating as well. I hate having killed all of them.
Behind me, I can still hear Fabiola yelling as she is killing them left and right. What a fabulous and admirable warrior. But I’m almost aware of hearing her scream in pain twice. She’s been stabbed, badly, but she will not give up until they steal her last breath.
And here I am, one step away from the last tile. There is no one to stop me but the short and stocky Queen, yelling at her guards. But none of them are here now. Fabiola has taken their attention.
I step on the last white tile at the end, and suddenly it all stops. All the soldiers turn and face me, though I can’t see Fabiola, who is probably lying dead on the floor behind them. The horror on the Queen’s face is worth a nomination for Instagram’s pic of the year.
It puzzles me how stupid the Queen is. I mean, reaching the end of the chessboard will show the Chessmaster the whereabouts of Carroll’s Knight, and he will not feel the need to kill the Queen of Hearts anymore.
Bu
t, being stubborn and war hungry, she can’t understand now. Once blood was spilling on the floor, she could see nothing but war in her mind. Maybe the Chessmaster is right about trying to kill the likes of her.
After a few moments of silence, as I’m catching my breath and calming down, we start hearing a rattling sound on the square assigned to the white knight on the life-size chessboard.
Another glass box rises out of it. This one opens from the top. It’s more like a podium with a prize upon it.
A chessboard with white and black chess pieces is stacked upon its surface. These are the pieces carved from Carroll’s bones. This is what the Chessmaster killed so many people for.
I wonder if it’s worth it.
The Chessmaster’s men arrive and signal for the white and black armies to leave. He doesn’t care about the Queen or Margaret anymore. In the distance, I see Fabiola silently sprawled on the ground.
“So this is what I’ve been waiting for.” The Chessmaster arrives finally, guarded by his men.
He approaches the podium with care and checks the chess pieces one by one. He even sniffs them with a euphoric feeling I’ve never seen before.
“I told you I will find your bones, Lewis,” he whispers to them, but it doesn’t take a genius to read his lips.
“So that’s what you wanted?” I ask.
“It certainly and most delightedly is,” he says. “You know all the pieces are on this chessboard? It means that the pieces you’ve collected were fakes. Fabiola certainly cooked up a brilliant plan to hide Carroll’s bones. I mean, all this hocus pocus about the chess pieces being scattered all over the world and hiring the likes of Father Williams was one big distraction to the location of the real pieces. And look where she’s hidden them? In the Chess City that once was thought to be a portal to Wonderland.” He snickers, eyes fixed on me. “You remember Wonderland, Alice, don’t you?”
