by Cameron Jace
Chapter 57
“You will kill us all!” I shout at the Chessmaster. “All you need is to find the rest of the chess pieces.”
“Calm down, Alice,” The Pillar says.
“I won’t calm down,” I am losing it, basically because of my stupidity. “He is going to kill us, and guess what? It’s me who led him to the chess pieces by unlocking the tomb in Marostica.”
“But he hasn’t found the rest of the pieces yet,” The Pillar reminds me. “And he doesn’t know where they are.”
“Yet.” I retort.
“He is just a dumb old man with an ancient handlebar mustache,” The Pillar argues. “He won’t find the rest of the pieces if we just stop searching.”
“Watch your mouth, Pillar,” the Chessmaster’s voice echoes. “I’m the greatest chess player in the history of mankind.”
“Oh, please,” The Pillar says. “Taking people’s life with a game of chess. You’ve destroyed my perception of death already. Where is the cool dude with the scythe and skeleton for a head? Now that’s what I call an awesome death. Chess game? Duh.”
“Don’t push me, Pillar, or I will tell Alice who you really are — and how we met before.”
“You keep saying that,” The Pillar says. “If you have something to tell her, do it now you liar.”
“Not now,” the Chessmaster counters. “It’s too soon. I want my masterpiece to be unveiled slowly. What good will it do me if I’m not entertained by my plan?”
“What plan?” I ask.
“The plan that will force you to find the rest of the pieces, Carroll’s Knight included, for me.” The Chessmaster seems sure of himself.
“You can’t make me do it.” I say dismissively.
“Don’t ever threaten me, Alice of Wonderland,” the Chessmaster laughs. It’s a bitter laugh, tinted with sadness and outrageous anger. My curiosity about him increases by the minute. So he isn’t just a mad chess player who wants to end the world, and not only Death itself. Then who is he really? Why is he doing this?
“Listen, mustache man,” The Pillar says, checking his hand watch. “Unless you have something really scary to show us, I’d like to leave and get me some new clothes and a new haircut.”
“Not funny, Pillar,” said the Chessmaster. “Whatever you do you will not be the ‘He Who Laughs Last’.”
He Who Laughs Last? The words remind me of The Pillar’s theory with the giant. I am beginning to think the Chessmaster was telling the truth about previously having met The Pillar.
“As for you, little Alice,” the Chessmaster says. “I hope you are ready to play.”
“Play? You mean that last game of chess?”
“Indeed, but it’s not like anything you’ve prepared for.” The Chessmaster says.
His words are followed by another rattling and drone underneath the chessboard. This time, something else accompanies the sound. Not an earthquake, but an incredibly horrifying joke.
The tiles in the chessboard part and human-size blocks of glass rise from under the earth. The whole thing is done with a most unimaginable technology. Slowly, I realize the chessboard is coming to life; each life size piece of chess, black and white, is standing upon the chessboard, only they’re trapped in glass prisons.
“What is going on?” My mouth hangs open.
I squint at the glass blocks and see the large chess pieces inside aren’t anything but real humans. They’re rapping on the glass from inside out, panicked, just like me.
The glass blocks are foggy from inside, so it’s hard to see their faces. Out of nowhere, a block of glass rises and imprisons me as well, in a flash of an eye.
I start rapping on the glass from inside, wanting out, demanding to know what is going on. But a fog fills the glass and it gets harder to see.
I keep wiping it out with the back of my hand, realizing my screams are only echoed back in my head and are hardly audible outside.
But then, through a small oval clearance in the glass, I see outside, and in that same instant, I glimpse at a few others who’d managed to wipe clear a small opening through their glass blocks. It’s shocking, and incredibly terrifying, when I recognize a few faces behind the glass.
In no particular order, I recognize three of them: Fabiola, the Duchess, and the Queen of Hearts.
Chapter 58
Aldates St, Oxford.
“This is no time to sleep again!” Tom Truckle pinched Inspector Dormouse awake.
Tom was in his car, driving to a place where he and Inspector Dormouse could further investigate the Fourteen Secret Society. They’d almost reached Oxford University when Dormouse fell asleep again.
“Wake up!” Tom’s voice pitched up. The hectic traffic was already getting on his nerves. “What kind of Inspector are you? A serial sleeper?”
“Oh, sorry.” Dormouse brushed at his beady eyes, blinking heavily against the soon-to-set sun. “Where were we?”
“You said we should come to Oxford to meet someone who can help us with figuring out why the twelve men The Pillar killed had the same name.”
“Yes, of course,” Inspector Dormouse said. “I see you’re about to park. Good. We should meet with that man soon.”
“Just stay awake, please,” Tom pleaded, parking his car. “After we figure this out together, I have a suggestion for you.”
“Suggestion?”
“Yes. I think you’d better retire from your job.”
“Retire? And do what for a living?”
“A professional sleeper. I’m sure there is such a job in this mad world we live in,” Tom pulled his keys out and popped down a few pills. He was getting a bit drowsy himself, but he wasn’t sure if it was the jinx from being with Dormouse or if he’d been swallowing too much medication lately. “So, let me think this over again. The Pillar killed twelve men whose original names were also Carter Pillar?”
“The same twelve men whom he had a meeting with every year. The Fourteen.” Inspector Dormouse confirmed.
“So he basically knew these men for some time. Are you saying he played them, suddenly betrayed them, and killed them?”
“Maybe something came up and he had to do it. What’s puzzling to me is why they all had the same name and then changed it.”
“I know. It doesn’t make sense at all,” Tom said. “But if you ask me, I’m most puzzled by the name of their little secret society.”
“The Fourteen?”
“Yes. Let alone the fact that this number always pops up in everything related to Wonderland, Alice had it scribbled on her wall. It’s the date of Lewis Carroll’s death.”
“Could it be that The Pillar planned Carroll’s death with the twelve men and then had to kill them? Of course, I’m just going along with what you told me about Wonderland being real, a bonkers idea, I must say.”
“Wonderland is real. So are Wonderlanders. I’m one of them. You better believe it now or you’ll pay the price for not believing, trust me,” Tom said. “As for The Pillar having killed Lewis, it doesn’t make sense. Why kill him almost hundred and fifty years ago, then kill his accomplices now?”
“You’re right about that,” Inspector Dormouse followed Dr. Tom Truckle outside, heading toward the university. “So, back to my puzzlement. Why name the secret society the Fourteen when they were only thirteen attendants to the meeting, including the real Pillar of course.”
“Now you’ve got a point,” Tom said, crossing the Tom Tower entrance. “So tell me why we’re meeting that cook again?”
“He is the one I told you about. He used to eavesdrop on their meetings in the past.” Dormouse said.
“But you said he knew very little.”
“I managed to persuade him to tell me more.”
“How so?”
“It turns out the cook we’re about to see was a fan of the Muffin Man. Remember him, the cook from Wonderland whom Alice and Pillar killed some weeks ago?”
“I do. So you told him The Pillar killed his idol cook and now he
wants to tell us what he heard exactly? I think I’ve underestimated you, Inspector Dormouse. You’re brilliant.”
“Only when awake,” Dormouse nodded, looking flattered.
“We’re all knuckleheads when we’re asleep. Ever seen a brilliant sleeper?”
“That’d be me too,” Dormouse said, about to smile broadly, but stopped, staring at the scrawny cook waiting for them in the hallway with a kitchen knife in his hand.
“Is that him?” Tom said worriedly.
“Didn’t I mention him being a former patient in your asylum?” Dormouse said. “You permitted his leave a few years back.”
“On what basis?” Tom couldn’t remember him, but he didn’t usually remember any of the lunatics who entered, except Alice and The Pillar of course.
“You mentioned he was a danger to the Mushroomers in your report,” Dormouse shrugged. “And preferred him to live in so-called sane world, over terrorizing your beloved mad people.”
“Did I?” Tom raised an eyebrow.
“You did,” the scrawny cook said. “I’m Chopper by the way. Chopin the Chopper.”
“Oh,” Tom said. “Brilliant nickname.”
“It’s not a nickname.” Chopin waved his hand in the air. “Ever heard of Frédéric Chopin, the French composer?”
“He was Polish.” Tom felt the need to correct him.
“Whatever,” Chopin tensed, his knuckles whitening around the knife. “His father was a cook like me. A cook who liked to chop. Chopin, you get it?”
“I got it the first time.” Tom challenged him.
“So, you want to know who the Fourteen really are or what?” Chopin said.
“I do.” Tom nodded.
“Then follow me downstairs in Oxford’s most underestimated kitchen.” Chopin inclined his stiff head in an unusual way, as if about to tell Tom a secret. “You know I’ve been secretly feeding Oxford’s student’s cats instead of fish for the past five years?”
“Blimey.” Tom said.
“Not any cats. Cheshire cats.”
Tom swallowed hard, trying to remember if he’d eaten in the university.
“Why do you think Oxford’s students are the smartest all over the world. ‘Cheshire meat is all you neet.’”
“You mean ‘need’.”
“Of course I meant ‘need’. Had to change it, so it rhymes.” Chopin’s face went red. “Now follow me down the rabbit hole.” He snickered, then itched his back with the kitchen knife.
Tom went to follow him, reluctantly, but first he had to wake up Inspector Dormouse from another sudden nap.
Chapter 59
Chess City, Kalmykia
I am astonished, staring at the three Wonderlanders behind the glass, among others I have never met. My attempts to break through the glass proves futile, so I stop, sensing that I will need my energy soon.
“You didn’t expect that, did you?” The Chessmaster’s voice attacks me from a hidden microphone inside the glass box.
“I’m confused why you didn’t kill them.” I say.
“Because Lewis’ magic that connected them to their pieces didn’t only allow me to kill them right away, but it gave me a chance to play with them the way I want.”
It suddenly strikes me that all I had to do was throw the chess pieces away — or maybe return them back in place — in order to save them. By that, I mean saving Fabiola. Whether she wanted to kill me or not, I still like her and know she is one of us.
Margaret and the Queen, I’ve never cared for.
“Pillar!” I call out, wondering if he could hear me. “Get rid of the pieces and save Fabiola!”
“Don’t bother,” the Chessmaster said. “I’m not counting The Pillar in this game. My men have already taken him to a place where he will be tortured equally to what he deserves. As for you, princess, we have a game to play.”
“What do you mean?” I lower my voice – why, I’m not sure. It’s like there is a suppressed memory that wants to break free all of a sudden.
“You don’t remember, do you?” The Chessmaster sneers.
“Should I remember something?”
“Me and you, dear Alice. Me and you,” he says. “But no hurries. It will all come to you. Besides, I love to torture you while you’re still amnesic. Oh, the pain of not knowing, Alice. If you ever know how it cuts deep.”
“Stop it! What do you want? Why have you saved Fabiola, the Queen, and the Duchess?”
“To use them against you,” The Chessmaster says, and a sheath erupts out of the ground in my glass block. It peels off on its own, showing a sword inside. A hell of a long and heavy-looking sword. “Pick it up, Alice. You will need it.”
For the first time, I’m not doubting him. I pick it up to protect myself from whatever is about to happen. Boy, is it heavy.
“Now let me tell you about the rules of the game,” the Chessmaster says. “Each of you Wonderlanders inside his or her glass box is taking their position in a chess game. The Queen of Hearts is the Black Queen. White Queen is Fabiola. Margaret is the Rook in the Black army. I’d have preferred if more chess pieces were found, so we’d have one hell of a game, but maybe later.”
“So, we’re playing chess with real Wonderlanders in a life sized chessboard? That’s lame.”
“Patience, dear Alice,” the Chessmaster says. “It’s not a game of chess, but a game of bloody chess.”
“Meaning?” I ask, staring at the sword in my hand, all kinds of scenarios start playing in my head.
“Black will play against white. When it’s time for a piece to kill another, it will kill it, except this time, the killing will be real.”
“How so?”
“You will see how,” he says. “But you haven’t asked me what your role in this game is, Alice?”
“I see I’m in the position of a pawn,” The words escape me, and I remember The Pillar talking about how pawns are the soldiers sacrificed by their governments.
“Are you asking yourself why you’re a pawn, Alice?” the Chessmaster’s voice sends chills down my spine. “Because Lewis made you so. In the Looking Glass book he made you a pawn, wandering in a world of chess. How sneaky of him, making you the weakest piece in the game; the one that’s on the frontline; the one that’s like most citizens in most countries in the world, oblivious of what’s really going on but also asked to defend their home country. Why Lewis betrayed you, you will have to ask him later… in the afterlife. Or maybe it’s an After-Wonderland.”
My neck hurts so much and I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. It’s hard to escape the Chessmaster’s logic. If Lewis loved me so much, why make me a pawn? Maybe he did it later, when I joined Black Chess. I must have done terrible things to deserve this.
“Lewis is a coward,” the Chessmaster says. “You know why? Because a wise man once told the government, ‘If you can’t stand behind your soldiers who’re defending your country, feel free to stand in front of them.’”
Now his laughter echoes against the sides of the glass box, its waves resonating back against me, buzzing me like shock therapy.
“I hope you’re ready, Alice,” he says, and my glass box moves forward on the board, two blocks, like in a normal game of chess. I’m the white pawn, and I make the call, kick-starting the game.
Behind the foggy glass, I catch a glimpse of the black pawn on the block parallel to mine making a move. Two steps forward as well.
I know what this means. It means my next move should be killing it with my sword.
“Do I have any control of my glass box?” I ask. “Can I open it on my own terms?”
“Of course,” he says. “You just say ‘check’.”
In a moment of utter heroic recklessness, I shout from the top of my lungs: ‘Check!’
The glass box slides down in an abrupt move, and I swing my sword to chop off the black pawn’s head. But I may have been too slow because a lot of blood splatters on the chessboard before me. The blood that could possibly be mine.<
br />
Chapter 60
The blood isn’t mine. It’s the black pawn’s whom I have just killed. His head rolls down his body onto the chessboard. It’s the head of a man I don’t know. A man who tried to kill me, and I had to kill instead. We’ve never met before, and will never meet again, unless it’s in the pit in hell.
Suddenly, I realize how ugly war is.
“Don’t bother if he kills us,” Fabiola shouts from her block, her glass box suddenly open now. “He is using us – mainly me – to get to Carroll’s Knight.”
“How?” I shout, about to step out of my block to get closer to her.
“Don’t try to leave your block,” Fabiola shouts frantically. “It has an invisible electrical field that will fry you to death if you do!”
Her words catch me with the tips of my toes on the edge. I freeze in place and ask her, “How do you know that?”
“I designed it!” Fabiola says. “It lets you reach out your sword to kill your opponent, but never lets you out unless it’s your turn in the game.”
“Then what’s the point of all this?” I wonder.
Fabiola hesitates, readying her Vorpal sword. “He wants to trick you into winning the game.”
“Trick me?”
“He is using you to win the battle on the chessboard because he knows you’ll be willing to save me, and if you do win, something big happens, something he’s been waiting for all these years.”
“Let me guess,” I say, “If I win, Carroll’s Knight will be found?”
Fabiola nods.
“So give him the stupid knight, if it will save us!” The Queen of Hearts jumps up and down in her place upon the black block, her glass box is open as well now. “Give him whatever he wants or he will kill us!”
“Shut up,” Margaret yells at the Queen from her position at the far corner. “You short little stocky ball of evil.”
