Mushrooms

by Cameron Jace

  That day, the Hatter left and didn’t return for a while. From there on, she began dreaming about him. Blurred dreams with no particular clearance or conclusion. All she knew was that she had to have met him before.

  A month later, Lewis Carroll himself came to visit. He was one of few people who were allowed into the garden without permission — the Cheshire too, but he creeped her out.

  “Looking lovely, White Queen,” he said, looking tired. He’d been looking tired for some time now. People said he was dying. That he’d been possessed by a demon called Carolus and it sucked his life away.

  But she had always loved him dearly. “Thank you, Lewis.”

  “I brought you a few photographs,” he reached out and gave her his latest work.

  “How lovely,” she said, flipping through. “You’re a great artist, Lewis. Why all girls? Why all young?”

  “There is a secret behind it, but I will tell you later. For now, could I ask you to look into their eyes? I mean the eyes are considered a true photographer's best work. I wonder if you can see something special in their eyes.”

  “Of course,” she stared at each picture, looking into the girl's eyes. Slowly she began feeling something. Those butterflies in her stomach. “There is something about these pictures,” she said. “I can’t explain it.”

  Lewis nodded, “Don’t worry. Keep them. Look at them. I think you will love them.”

  “What’s going on?” interrupted the Pillar, appearing from nowhere. “Ah, Lewis” he smirked. “What brings you here?”

  “Was just passing by,” he said.

  “Oh, really?” the Pillar eyed his wife as well, a devious look twinkling in his eyes. “Did you know Lewis once tasted one of my lovely mushrooms, White Queen?”

  “Oh, you did,” she naively turned to face Lewis, clapping her hands together. “Delicious aren’t they?”

  Lewis said nothing. He was starting to fall down the rabbit hole then. Carolus had been surfacing more and more, and his madness was prevailing.

  Pillar patted him, pretending empathy, “You know what, darling. We should let Lewis go now. His mushroom was a special one. It helped forget something he didn’t want to remember.”

  “Is that true?” she asked Lewis who resided to silence again. It wasn’t much silence as it was weakness and confusion.

  “But wait,” she said. “If you took a mushroom to help you forget, how do you remember that you took a mushroom to forget?” She rolled her eyes and giggled.

  The Pillar gazed back at Lewis and patted his shoulders. He leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “What do you make of that, Lewis?”

  “I-I-,” Lewis began. Years before he’d began stuttering after the events of Mr. Jay killing Alice’s family, but since taking the mushroom it had intensified. “Don’t know.”

  “Don’t bother,” Pillar continued whispering. “The mushroom has side effects. It messes with your mind. Makes you remember and not remember. Be there and not be there. You are you, and then you are someone else.”

  Lewis fisted a hand, but the horror in Pillar’s wife’s eyes stopped him. He didn’t want to traumatize the poor girl. “I will come back later,” he said. “Please, look at the photos White Queen.”

  “Your pathetic photos, Loui,” Pillar waved him goodbye. “You know noh wha ah think yah should dooo?” he mocked him. “You shh-haul m-maybe w-w-write ah book.”

  Lewis left defeated, and the Pillar embarked his mushroom throne to smoke again.

  As for the White Queen, this moment began to wake her up. The Pillar’s cruelty to Lewis shook her from the inside out. She flipped through the photos and suddenly dropped them all on the floor.

  Could that be?

  Did she see what she thought she’d seen or was it the effect of the mushrooms the Pillar fed her? Lewis’ incident ignited her curiosity and shook her out of her naivety.

  She knelt down. Picked up the photos and saw the girl in the photo was talking to her. In a picture?

  “He is not who you think he is,” the girl in the picture told her. “He gave you a mushroom, just like he gave Lewis one.”

  The White Queen’s heart trembled with betrayal. She wasn’t sure, but this was an eye-opening experience. She read the girl in the picture’s name at the bottom:

  Constance Westmacott.

  31

  Present: Ice-cream Truck, London

  “So drugs are the source of madness?” Constance is skeptic. “It’s not a psychological issue?”

  “We can’t confirm any of this,” Lewis says. “The first diagnosis of insanity because of mushrooms was ‘detritus effects of a very common species of non-poisonous agaric.’”

  “What’s agaric?” Constance asks.

  “Mushrooms,” Lewis replies. “Today it’s called ‘intoxication by Liberty Caps’ which are magic mushrooms.”

  “I can’t imagine the word ‘magic’ in this conversation,” I comment, looking at the weak March.

  “Well, it was magic, dark magic,” Fabiola says. “In the 1950s the dark magic became LSD.”

  “I once read that mushrooms whisked humans off to another planet,” Constance snorted. “‘Whisked’ is the wrong word to use, but they used it.”

  “Is that why your book was bonkers, Lewis?” Tom mocks him. “To whisk us all away from our existing miseries?”

  “Wait,” I pick up my sword and go to check on Jack. “Are you alright, dude?”

  “Stop calling me dude,” he is bored at the wheel.

  “You called yourself Dude, dude,” I tease him. “What’s going on?”

  “I am bored to death, watching people kill each other everywhere,” he says. “Although, I am quite surprised by the fact that they don’t attack us.”

  “Maybe an ice-cream truck isn’t what they are looking for.”

  “Are you kidding me,” he says. “So many people need vehicles now, not that there aren’t many, but so many need help. Why didn’t anyone stop us?”

  “Maybe they don’t want help,” I say, watching the chaos through the front window.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Think of it. What is this war about? They are supposedly looking for the Inklings, us, because we are the bad guys.”

  “And here we are, passing through without them noticing.”

  “See? That’s my point. The people just want to express their anger. They want to yell at someone. Point fingers. This isn’t exactly about us. We’re only an excuse for World World III to happen.”

  “You talk like the Pillar.”

  I nod, not sure if it’s a good thing.

  “So you mean the end of the world was going to happen anyway?”

  “With or without us,” I point at a drunk man with pot belly sticking out of his short, and wearing heavy metal t-shirt. He winks and smirks while dizzily passing by. He sees the truck, gives us the finger and says, “Drink up, it’s the end of the world, bitches.”

  “Wise words,” Constance sticks her head between Jack and me, laughing at the man.

  “Are you supposed to hear such bad words?” Jack asks her.

  “Bad words?” she mocks him and sticks out her tongue. “It’s the end of the world, bit—”

  “Stop it,” I tell her. “What’s going on back there?”

  “Did you leave because of the overly philosophical conversation back there?” she winks.

  “Well, I don’t mind,” I say. “It’s good to know where all of this started. Also, there are always answers hidden between the words, so I love to listen.”

  “Well, it ended up with Lewis telling us where we are going.”

  “I know where we are going,” I tell her. “Jack too, or he wouldn’t be driving.”

  “Did you know the Kew Garden is a botanical garden in southwest London that houses the largest and most diverse botanical and mycological collections in the world,” she explains. “I didn’t get that word ‘botanical’ at first, but in short it means exotic plants, which include mushrooms.
”

  “We’re on the right track,” Jack says. “I can feel it.”

  “Is it at the London Borough of Richmond?” she asks Jack.

  “Yes."

  “So we are going near the river where we escaped earlier.”

  “Yep,” he nods and rounds the wheel. “The worst place in London right now. It’s not going to be easy, but I know a way around. The Garden itself should be safe.”

  “Why hadn’t the March remembered then when we were in the boat, while we were nearby?” Constance wonders.

  “We weren’t in the garden itself,” Jack looks back Constance. “Why do you ask?”

  She sighs, “I don’t what, but there is something wrong with both Tom and the March. I just can’t put a finger on it.”

  32

  Warehouse, an hour earlier

  When the Inklings were fighting the Reds in the warehouse, Tom Truckle had to bet on his best shelter. Not being a man of war, he needed protection. Constance had been his better choice, but the little girl hated his guts. Jack didn’t care much for Tom so he didn’t know whether he’d protect him or not. Tom had let Lewis down in the past, so he didn’t think crouching and ducking behind him was a safe bet. The best bet had been, like always, Alice.

  He hid behind her as Fabiola was giving her the sword. Tolerating all the madness about her cutting herself to gain powers had been much easier than taking Constance’s curveballs in his face all the time.

  Then when Fabiola fainted, and Alice gained her power and left to fight, he was alone again. He sneaked around like a cat, trying his best to dodge a bullet or a sword’s cut here and there.

  And then, in the middle of all of this, he found what he had been looking for. A cellphone.

  It didn’t matter whether a Red had dropped the phone or if it had belonged to someone in the warehouse earlier that day. After all, everyone had been in a panic since last night. Leaving a cellphone behind wasn’t a surprise.

  The real question was: did it work?

  Tom picked it up and wiped the blood off of its screen and pushed the button. Hurray and hallelujah! It worked.

  Now the question was: did it have credit?

  Two hurrays, three hallelujah, and fries on the side! It did.

  Tom ambled out of the warehouse, leaving the fight behind. He had been dying for this phone call all day. But the line wouldn’t connect.

  A few minutes later he returned. The Inklings were gathered around the March. He told them about the mushrooms and the garden and Six Keys. Tom now had to make that call now.

  He stepped back a little, out of the warehouse. In the shade next to the main door, he found a signal.

  Typing the number, he breathed heavily. The man on the line scared him, but the phone call had to be done.

  “Hello?” the gruff voice said.

  “It’s Tom.”

  “Tom who?”

  “Tom Truckle.”

  Silence. A drag from a cigarette. Then, “Ah, the Mock Turtle. You have something for me?”

  “Of course,” Tom whispered. “I heard the March tell them where the Six Keys are,” Tom told the man what happened.

  “Great job.”

  “Will you send someone to pick me up now? I spend so much time with those monkeys, and I need my pills — and my financial reward.”

  “You get your pills and your money when you finish your mission,” the voice said.

  “As you wish, Master,” Tom said disappointedly. “As you wish, Mr. Jay.”

  33

  Ice-cream Truck

  “Check this out,” Constance points the phone she had confiscated from Tom Truckle. “The Kew Garden where the mushrooms are has its own guards.”

  “Really?” I snatch the phone from her.

  “Do you have internet?” Jack wonders. “I thought phone coverage would be dead by now.”

  “It’s a Wonderland War, not a Walking Dead Episode, Jack,” Constance says. “Though it soon will be, unless we save the world and find that most precious thing.”

  “Why would they have their own guards?” I ask, reading the Wikipedia article. “It says they’ve had their police since 1897.”

  Constance looked back over her shoulder to check on Fabiola and Lewis in the back to ask them, but they seemed engaged in a conversation of their own. She gave it up and talked back to Alice, “I think this is evidence that the March is right.”

  “Why?” Jack asks.

  I answer on Constance’s behalf, “A private police guarding the garden suggests there is some secret there. Maybe they’ve been waiting for the March’s arrival for two centuries.”

  “I agree on that,” Constance says. “The plot thickens, though I’m still confused why the March forgot after being told the secret.”

  I nod. It’s been puzzling me as well.

  “Maybe the secret was too hard to hold on to,” Jack says. “So he went to the Pillar as well,” Jack squints at his conclusion. “But it doesn’t add up since the Pillar doesn’t know where the Six Keys are.”

  Constance sighs, hands on her waist. “Why six keys?”

  “Six impossible things. It’s one of Lewis’ most memorable saying in the book,” I told her, pointing at Lewis and Fabiola. “What do you think they are talking about?”

  Fabiola and Lewis sat guarding the March Hare. Tom sat a bit on the end of the seat, looking out a small window. The March was breathing. He looked like he was dreaming, in deep sleep, solemn and serene, without troubles now that he’d passed on that part of the secret.

  “Shouldn’t we try to wake him up?” Fabiola wondered.

  “I’ve tried,” Lewis said. “He has to wake up on his own. Sleeping long enough should help him remember.”

  “And you don’t remember Lewis?” she leaned forward to the seat opposite to him. “Are you hiding something from me?”

  Lewis looked back into her eyes, “I never lie to you.”

  “I know, but I had to ask,” she said. “I mean, without you, I would have still been married to the Pillar.”

  “We all wanted to help you out,” Lewis said, then his face drooped. “Though what happened to you after your awakening was worse.”

  She leaned back again, not wanting to remember. It was worse.

  “Sometimes I think maybe I should have let you be married to the Pillar, brainwashed by his mushrooms,” he said. “But then again, someone had to tell you the truth so you could make up your mind.”

  “It was my destiny,” she pointed at her scars, which everyone mistakes for tattoos.

  “Is that why didn’t kill him? Because you still loved him?”

  “Why do you keep asking me this?”

  “Because you keep saying you didn’t kill him, or attempt it, because of Alice. I don’t buy it.”

  Fabiola looked away, then nodded in Tom’s direction. She didn’t want him to hear. Then she turned to look at the March sleeping again. “Do you at least know what the Six Keys are? I mean, you and I have an idea of what they do, but what are they?”

  “What do you mean ‘are’?” Lewis questioned. “They are keys.”

  Fabiola sighed, eyes fixed on the March. “I am starting to doubt that they even exist.”

  34

  King’s Cross Station in London

  Margaret worried that the Tiger Lily was lost. Thieves had blown off the lockers to steal what was inside. With cemented feet, she felt like she was going to have a heart attack, staring at them stealing what’s inside.

  “What the hell,” she said.

  She gathered her courage and began looking as fast as she could, jumping from pile to pile, and avoiding strange-looking men that stole everything. She saw two guys fight over a safe box that had been kept in one of the lockers. She peeked to see if the Lily was nearby, then left to another pile.

  She saw a child hanging onto a pot of roses.

  That’s it!

  She ran to her and snatched the pot away, howling at her. The girl cried right away and ran off.
Margaret held on to the pot like kids hold on to their books from school on their way home.

  Finally.

  She lowered her head, and to her surprise, this wasn’t a tiger lily. Just some flowers. She read the card on it:

  To my lovely wife, till death do us apart.

  “Death already did you apart,” she said and dropped the pot.

  Panic surged through her every pore as she jumped again and again. A civilian buried under the pile reached out to her so she could help him. She took off her hoodie and snarled at him. The man changed his mind and buried himself back inside.

  She was in such hurry that she stumbled and fell over and over again.

  “Goddamit!” she cried out, kicking whatever she’d stumbled upon.

  Then her feet froze.

  Here it was. The Tiger Lily.

  Crawling on all fours, she went back and picked it up. What kind of plant survived so intact? The pot had no scratches on it.

  With one grip she pulled the poor lilies out with their muddy roots and threw them behind her. With her other hand, she had already dug into the mud to find an envelope.

  An easy task.

  A yellow note.

  She pulled out it, wiped off the mud and flattened it.

  Her heart pounded faster, so much that her eyes could not comprehend what she was reading. It was as if she had dyslexia all of a sudden. Why was it hard to read one word?

  The Pillar’s Wonder.

  But when she read the note, her facial features crumbled. On her knees, she flipped her head back and screamed upward. “Damn you, Pillar!”

  35

  Ice-cream Truck

  “It’s like the Writing Desk puzzle,” Constance says. “No one ever knew what it was. Lewis is crazy sometimes, but I adore him.”

  “So we’re never going to know why they are six keys, not seven or five?” Jack asks.