Checkmate (Insanity Book 6)

by Cameron Jace

  “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 says. “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 offered. “It makes sense.”

  “You’re wrong, Xian. The truth is never black or white. That’s the Hollywood movies perspective.”

  “Then what is the color of truth?”

  “Gray,” The Pillar says. “An ugly gray that makes London’s rainy and creepy afternoons look like heaven in greens.”

  Chapter 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’s voice 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 all of their attentions.

  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 to 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.

  But 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, I am catching my breath and calming down, we start hearing a rattling sound on the block 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 price 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?”

  “Hardly.”

  “But you must remember it,” he says. “And if you don’t, trust me, I will remind you.”

  “Let’s stop the talking. You got what you wanted. Release the world’s leaders and wake the cities that are sleeping. I have no intentions on getting to know you better.”

  “But you will know me better.” The Chessmaster places both hands behind his back and approaches me. “In fact, one day not so long ago, you knew me very well.”

  “I don’t remember you.”

  “But I will remind you of who I am, and what you have done to me.”

  “So this is personal?” I shrug my shoulders. “I hurt you when were in Wonderland? Why would I regret hurting a monster like you?”

  “You want to know why?” the Chessmaster’s breath is on my face. “Because I wasn’t a monster then. It was you who was a monster, Alice of Black Chess.”

  Chapter 65

  Underground Kitchen, Oxford University

  “So The Pillar killing the Executioner was a hoax?” Inspector Dormouse wondered.

  “Probably,” Tom suggested. “He made the world think he was freeing them from the worst drug empire in the world, while executing his brilliant plan.”

  “What plan?” Inspector Dormouse asked. “We don’t even know why he killed the thirteen — or fourteen — men.”

  “A deal that went awry, that’s all we need to know,” Tom said. “What matters is that it had nothing to do with saving the world or Alice being the Real Alice.”

  “I heard a few members talking about this when The Pillar hadn’t arrived yet in one of the meetings,” Chopin said. “They argued that he used Alice to kill the Executioner for him. They believed Alice had certain powers or secrets that helped him do it.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Tom said. “The man is pure evil. He has the capacity and slyness to fool the world and come out with no blood on his gloves.”

  “Still, I need to know what this is all about,” Inspector Dormouse said. “Fourteen people making a deal with the devil, in our case The Pillar, and then being killed years later by him. Why? Did they break the deal? Did he deceive them?”

  “Hard to tell, Inspector,” Tom said. “Also, none of this tells us who The Pillar really is.”

  “Maybe we will never find out,” Inspector Dormouse wondered. “Chopin, anything else? How about the fourteenth member?”

  “It’s hard to tell,” Chopin said. “All I know is that The Pillar couldn’t find him.”

  “Any reason why?”

  “I overheard the Fourteen mention that the fourteenth member was so sly he managed to hide his identity from all of them,” Chopin said. “Meaning, he changed his name and escaped before the time they’d previously agreed upon.”

  “So changing their names was part of the deal?” Tom asked.

  “Don’t you get it?” Dormouse said. “This whole deal was about the Fourteen keeping the secret and changing their names at a certain time so the secret dies with them, except that The Pillar broke this deal and, for some reason, had to get rid of them.”

&
nbsp; “Probably because he sensed they’d expose him,” Tom said. “But what in God’s name was the deal?”

  “I think I know,” Chopin said, putting the knife down, looking agitated. “Look, I’m not sure I heard this right, but since you seem to be stuck I have to tell you.”

  “Speak up,” Tom demanded.

  Chopin minded the wound on his newly chopped finger, making sure he wasn’t bleeding anymore, and tucked his lost finger into his pocket — for a later carrot soup, probably. “I don’t believe in magic or spirits or all these things, but here is what I once overheard.”

  “Just say it,” Tom said.

  “I heard the Fourteen once joke that they sold their souls to the devil.”

  Chapter 66

  Chess City, Kalmykia

  The Chessmaster’s men usher me toward a building decorated in Buddhist ornaments and architecture. It’s one of the most memorable buildings in Chess City. No one says a word to me.

  Inside, a few Tibetan women help me take a bath and put on better, clean clothes. They take care of my nails and hair, but they don’t speak my language, so I don’t know what’s going on.

  I have no choice but to go along, since the Chessmaster, though having found what he wanted, refused to release the world leaders.

  “You and I, Alice, we have one last chess game to play,” these were his words. “I want you to look good for the end of either your life or mine.”

  One of the women brings me a chessboard, books about chess, and DVDs about the Chessmaster’s previous games. This one, unlike the others, speaks English.

  “Why those?” I ask.

  “You need to prepare yourself,” she says. “The Chessmaster has never lost a game. He even won the game with…”

  “God, I know, and I don’t care about all of this propaganda. I don’t have any idea how to play chess.”

  “Then you will die,” she grins happily.

  “Is he seriously intent on playing a final chess game with me?” I ask. “A real game of chess? I thought it was a metaphor.”

  “The Chessmaster loves chess. It’s his life, and just so you know, there is a prophecy about you and him playing the last chess game in the world.”

  “I know about the stupid prophecy. I read it in some ancient note,” I say. “But this is ridiculous. He knows I will lose.”

  “If you lose, people will die, the world will end, too.”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” I cough, almost chortling. “Are you saying I’m playing that same game he killed the Pope with?”

  “And all the other world leaders,” she remarks. “He has killed a few more in the last few hours and put more cities to sleep. They say Oxford and London will be put to sleep next.”

  “I have to see the Chessmaster and talk to him. He needs to know I can’t play chess. Whatever happened between us in the past, there must be another way to solve it.”

  “No other way. Win or lose,” she says. “Remember, after every move you drink a small cup of poison. The poison makes you dizzy and doesn’t kill you until your seventh move. If you can’t beat the Chessmaster before this one, you will die. Thank you very much.”

  Chapter 67

  The Last Chess Game, Chess City, Kalmykia

  The auditorium they send me to has bright lights, almost blinding, focused on two chairs with a table in the middle and a chess board upon it. Carroll’s chessboard; with pieces made of his bones.

  Walking onto the stage, I hear murmurs and heavy breathing from the audience, but it’s too dark to see them. This intimidates me even more.

  I’m asked to sit on my chair, creepily tagged with the words: ‘Alice: Loser.’

  It looks more like a gravestone, not a chair to sit on and play chess. But I have no choice and take my place.

  In front of me, I realize I will be playing with the black pieces. The Chessmaster with the white. I’m not sure what’s going on.

  Why is the Chessmaster playing with white chess pieces?

  Then my eyes catch a strange sighting. One of the white pieces, specifically the white knight, is missing. It’s the only piece that’s missing on the whole board. I’m assuming this is where Carroll’s Knight is supposed to be.

  But I am not catching the meaning behind it.

  On both sides of the chessboard I see seven small cups, filled with that poison Tibetan woman mentioned. I swallow hard. Will I really drink seven cups and die today?

  A few tight breaths later, the unseen crowd applauds. Cocking my head, I see the Chessmaster arrive.

  He strolls over as if he were Julius Ceaser in his time. Brushes his handlebar mustache to the left and right. Even combs the thin hairs on his head, and bows to the invisible crowd in his ridiculous armor outfit.

  Suddenly, it strikes me. His outfit is that of a knight. So is he actually Carroll’s Knight? I don’t get it.

  The Chessmaster sits with ease and then lightly touches the top of each of his chess pieces for luck or as some kind of ritual. He doesn’t meet my eyes, but then pulls out a chess piece of a white knight, rubs it gently with his hands and kisses it, then places it on the board where it should be.

  “My beloved white knight,” he says. “Carroll’s Knight.”

  “Congratulations. I figured.” I keep an expressionless face.

  “This is what you, Alice, helped me retrieve after all of these years.”

  “I wonder why it’s so important.”

  “I can’t win without it,” he says with a smile. It’s the smile of a psychopath, but it’s strangely genuine.

  “I find that hard to believe,” I say. “You’ve never lost a game, and yet you were playing without it.”

  “Smart girl.” He claps his hands, the flesh barely meeting, like an aristocratic old lady living in an ancient mansion she’s never left for ages. “That I will answer, but first I need you to listen to this.”

  He claps once more and the speakers start playing a nonsensical song. It’s all vocals of children and has no music in it. Probably some sort of a poem. I realize it’s called Haddock’s Eyes.

  “Remember this one, Alice?” He tilts his head with curiosity.

  I do. “It’s a poem in Alice Through the Looking Glass.”

  “Bravo.” He claps. “Clever girl. Does it remind you of me?”

  “I don’t know who you are.”

  “But you do know me. You used to know my children, too. My wife and my grandmother.”

  “We were neighbors in Wonderland?”

  “Not exactly.” He raises a single forefinger. “But back to your question: why I can’t win without Carroll’s Knight?”

  “I’m all ears.”

  His eyes dim, and a dark flash of anger and vengeance-seeking look consumes me in ways I can’t explain. I feel sucked in by his stare, watching him lean forward. “Because Carroll denied me taking my revenge on you and killing you, though he knew what you did to me.” His voice is really unsettling. Not because he is scary, but because he is sincere. A sincere villain isn’t a good thing.

  “I get it that I hurt you in Wonderland. You still haven’t explained the necessity of Carroll’s Knight.”

  “It’s the only piece in chess I can kill you with, and I have it now. And the irony? You brought to me. The double irony? That Lewis made Fabiola bury and hide it in Chess City,” his eyes are moistening, and it’s getting to me. “And triple irony? That Lewis made the chess piece I can kill you with in the first place. I guess he was so confused about whether to kill you or give you another chance, so he left it to Fabiola, and the random fate of finding Carroll’s Knight.”

  There is too much for me to absorb here, but what is most troubling is the Chessmaster’s ability to make me feel evil.

  “You can’t win this game, Alice. I’ve mastered the game of chess for almost two centuries, so I will never lose one,” he says. “You know why? Because I was waiting for this moment all my life. You deserve this, Alice. To burn in hell. And all I needed was Carroll’s Knight.”r />
  He pats his beloved chess piece one more time; as if it were alive.

  So many question are on my mind. What could I have possibly done in the past to this man that made him hate me so much? But the one that comes out of my mouth is this: “Why a knight? Why not any other piece?”

  “Because I, the Chessmaster, Vozchik Stolb, was a Wonderlander once,” he says in a tone so friendly and naive, that I’m starting to hate myself for hurting him. “In fact, I was the funniest, most harmless, of Wonderlanders. Lewis has mentioned me with care and I’m proud of it — though I still hate him.”

  “Mentions you in the book?” I ask. “Who are you?”

  “I’m the White Knight.”

  Chapter 68

  Underground Kitchen, Oxford University

  “Devil, my butt,” Tom snapped. “You don’t expect me to believe that?”

  “Why not?” Inspector Dormouse offered. “You believe in the nonsense of Wonderland and not in good and evil and the forces beyond our grasp.”

  “Everything is beyond your grasp, Inspector,” Tom said. “You’re asleep two-thirds of your life. I’m surprised you know what it’s like to be awake.”

  Chopin snickered.

  “So you think The Pillar is the devil?” Inspector Dormouse averted his gaze toward the cook.

  “I didn’t say that,” Chopin shrugged his shoulders. “But look, I accidentally chop off a finger every time I mention The Pillar. Diabolic!”

  “You heard anything else?” Dormouse said. “Please, remember. It’s important.”

  “I don’t want to remember,” Chopin pulled his chin up and away, like a silly cartoon character in a manga. “I only have eight fingers left.”

  “How about a hundred pounds?” Inspector Dormouse slapped the money onto the kitchen table.

  “For a finger?” Chopin seemed interested.

  “Two hundred pounds.” Dormouse pulled out another hundred.

  “I need three hundred pounds,” Chopin argued.