by Cameron Jace
“Did he mean us when he talked about the two persons in Marostica?” I whisper to The Pillar.
The Chessmaster answers me instead. “Please step forward, Alice and professor Pillar.”
“It’s just Pillar,” he says pompously. “I’ve given up on that professor part some time ago.”
“Don’t try to sound smart,” the Chessmaster says. “You have no idea who I am or what I can do.”
“Why are you doing this?” I shout at the screen.
“Well, first of all, it’s fun,” the Chessmaster says. “My other reasons should stay concealed for the moment. Let’s just say this will help you find Carroll’s Knight for me. Let’s start with my first question or this woman in the white queen’s dress will die.”
Neither The Pillar nor I say anything. We’ve seen too many lunatics and know they’ve usually planned everything in advance.
“Here is my first question,” the Chessmaster begins. “What was Lewis Carroll about to call the Alice in Wonderland book when he first wrote it?”
I am about to tell him Alice’s Adventure’s Underground, but The Pillar squeezes my arm again. “Too easy,” he hisses. “I doubt it’s the right answer.”
“But it is the right answer,” I insist. “You told me so.”
“Just think about it, Alice. The man looks like a loon. He wouldn’t give it away so easily.”
I try to make sense out of The Pillar’s words, but the sight of the man lowering his sword toward the woman in white scares me. I snap. “It’s Alice’s Adventure’s Underground!” I shout out.
The Chessmaster says nothing, but pulls on his handlebar mustache again. One rub to the left. One to the right. “Wrong!”
And suddenly we’re back in the dark ages again. The man’s sword chops off the woman’s head instantly.
I shriek, watching her bloody head roll all over the chessboard, not knowing how my answer is wrong.
“Checkmate!” The Chessmaster roars with laughter in the microphones. “Want to play again?”
Chapter 15
It’s hard to imagine the world’s reaction to what just happened, not to mention those watching this on TV, probably among their children at home. As for us here in Marostica, we’re in a dreadful state of fear, since it seems like the Chessmaster has eyes in the sky. He seems so invincible.
“I haven’t heard the right answer yet,” he announces on the screen. “Until I do, more heads are going to roll.”
The man with the sword approached the next woman on the board, the one who wears the uniform of a knight. She already shivers when he comes close enough.
“You’re a liar!” I tell the Chessmaster. “I know my last answer was right.”
“No, it wasn’t,” The Pillar says, looking disappointed he hasn’t figured it out sooner. “Lewis Carroll’s first choice of the title for Alice in Wonderland were many. He listed them on a single page in his diary, which can still be found in the archived papers in the Surrey History Center in London.”
“What?” I am totally mad at The Pillar. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“Because it’s such trivial information no one ever mentions anymore.”
The Chessmaster applauds The Pillar with clapping both sides of his moustache. “That partially answers my question. Now let’s make it harder. There are four titles on that page.” The Chessmaster neglects my comments. “One of them only counts, because Lewis actually sent it to the printing house before he changed his mind.”
I turn back and face The Pillar. The woman’s life is in his hands now, and I am sure I don’t have enough time to Google it, if this is the kind of info I can find on Google.
“That’s easy,” The Pillar shrugs, glancing at the poor woman. I think he isn’t sure of the answer but spits it out anyways. “Alice’s Hour in Elfland was the original title.”
“In Elfland?” I say.
“Right answer,” the Chessmaster says. “Weird, but right.”
“I’m assuming you won’t let the woman go anyways,” The Pillar steps forward, flashing his cane. I’m terrified at the thought.
“Well, you assumed right,” the Chessmaster says. “May I ask why you assumed so?”
“Because you’re a lunatic, that’s part of it,” The Pillar says. “And because you’re not here to spill blood and insinuate chaos. You have a bigger plan in mind.”
The Chessmaster smirks, brushing his mustache. “Next question.”
“Let the woman go first,” I demand.
“Don’t bother, Alice,” The Pillar says. “He won’t stop until he gets what he wants, which I am not sure what it is.”
People suppress their shrieks all around us. They stand frozen in their places, some of them eyeing the snipers in the high castle, some of them watching the man with the sword on the chessboard.
“Next question is,” the Chessmaster says. “Name three masterpieces written in the same era Alice in Wonderland came out.”
“David Copperfield by Charles Dickens,” The Pillar shoots his words faster than the speed of nonsense. “Water Babies by Charles Kingsley, and Great Expectations, also by Charles Dickens.”
“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 neglects 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, it 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 had been buried in me for years I just forgot about it.
“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 had 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.”
Chapter 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 had written 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, which I promise to let the woman go if you answer correctly — 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 1965 version of Alice in Wonderland’s book, published by McM
illan 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 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 when 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 that Carroll’s Knight speak up before his loved one dies. 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 were 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 mocks me. “The color of the Red Queen, but that’s a whole other story. Now let’s hear it from this old man who knows the secret to Carroll’s Knight.”
Chapter 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 those 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?”
“Plausible.” 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 apologizes, then whispers something in his ears.
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. The words ‘Carroll’s Knight’ are carved on the wall behind it.
Chapter 18
The tombs are not like anything I have expected. Its walls and floors 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 onto a chessboard.
“Thieves,” Father Williams explains. “Some claim they’re Tweedledum and Tweedledee but I doubt it.”
“Then who are they?” The Pillar asks.
“They tried to steal Carroll’s Knight.” Says Father Williams.
“Why are they dead on the chessboard then?” I wonder.
“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 unlock 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 parents left me a clue, but I believe it’s as useless.”
“Tell me about it,” I say.
“Two words that hardly mean anything.” Father Williams says.
“Hi Ho?” The Pillar pursed his lips. “Or hocus pocus?”
“None,” Father Williams says. “It
’s ‘Her lock’.”
“Her Lock?” The Pillar tilts his head. “What kind of clue is that? It’s not 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 had 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.
Chapter 19
The Inklings, Oxford
“Her Lock?” The March Hare said, staring at the message Alice managed to send to him by phone from Italy. He had stopped cleaning the bar’s floor and no matter how his ears erected, he couldn’t solve it. Sometimes the March didn’t want to think too hard in case those who control 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.”
