The chauffeur takes off his hat while driving, scratches his three
high enough."
The idea of throwing myself out of the ambulance occurs to me. If this is how they talk in Wonderland, I might not want to be part of it. I am also dazed and confused with Jack's disappearance, but I know the Pillar doesn't like Jack, so talking to him about it will be of no help. I am afraid that my increasing attachment to Jack will only complicate things. Everything that happened to me tonight only worsens the way I feel about myself and the world.
"So, it was the Cheshire who pulled the toe tag prank on you?" The Pillar drags from his hookah, eyes sparkling.
"It's not funny." I scowl. "I feel like I am really going mad, having left the asylum again."
"You feel like you want to give up?" he asks. "You used to be so
"Congratulations, then." The Pillar's face dims. "You just turned into what the Cheshire wants you to become."
"What is that supposed to mean?" I ask. "You have no idea what I have been through tonight. You have no idea!"
"The Cheshire wants you to succumb to madness under his pressure," he says, dismissing my whining.
"Succumb to madness?" I blink in confusion. "I thought he wanted to see if I'm the Real Alice."
"Exactly," the Pillar says. "Do you think the Real Alice will 'succumb to his madness'?"
"You mean, other than giving me clues, he tries to see how much unbearable insanity I can handle?"
"Touche. You just described the human condition of everyday life." He seems pleased. "Can't you see that this is what's going on? People falter and succumb under the pressure of madness every day of their lives. Be it work stress, spouse and family, self-actualization, boredom, teen issues, old-age issues, you name it. Madness is all around us. It needs to feed on us." He spreads his hands wide. "But only..." He leans a bit forward and points a finger in the air.
"...Wonderlanders can stand it," I finish.
A generous, curvy smile adorns his face. It's one of the very few smiles I like on him. It's like seeing through a devil hiding in the dark, glimpsing a faint possibility of goodness in him. "You don't realize what kind of
"Why is it so important the Cheshire makes sure I'm the Real Alice?" If giving in to madness will prove I am not Alice, I wish to know why it is so important he finds her.
"It's the only way to ensure he wins the Wonderland Wars, which I am—"
"You're not going to tell me what it is now. I get it. Just tell me why he can't win without me."
The Pillar hesitates. He looks down to his shoes and purses his lips. "You have something he wants. I don't know what it is. I might know what it
thing
"I don't mind." I take deep breath. "I need his madness."
"And why would that be?" A mix of admiration and worry flashes in his eyes, almost the same I saw on the Cheshire's.
"Because I need to know if
"These were exactly his words." I look straight at him.
"To know one's enemy is to read their mind."
"I agree. So what was the Muffin Man song all about?" I say. "He said it was a blatant clue, since we couldn't read any of the others."
"The Muffin Man rhyme definitely has to do something with Meow Muffins." The Pillar rubs his chin. "I'd presume the Muffin Man manufactures the Meow Muffins or something. But I'm not sure."
"Isn't that a well-known nursery rhyme?"
"The rhyme was first recorded in an old British manuscript," he explains. "Presumably around 1820. Some say 1862, but it's all assumptions."
"Isn't that Victorian times?" I remember the vision I had of Lewis again. It happened 1862. I can't tell the Pillar about it. Lewis told me not to tell anyone.
"It is. I know it's tempting to link the rhyme with Lewis," he says. "Sadly, I never came across the 'Muffin Man' phrase in any of Carroll's works."
"Neither have I ever heard about a Muffin Man in Wonderland," I agree.
"Let's get back to the asylum," he says. "I always have a clearer head among the Mushroomers. We need to get going before half of the country wakes up with the heads of their kids stuffed in watermelons. We have a lot of work to do."
"One last thing." I raise a finger at him.
"We don't have time, Alice." He peeks at his pocket watch.
"This is important," I insist. "I won't have anything to do with this case if you don't listen to me."
"I get it." He shakes his head. "Jack."
"How do you know?"
"He's the only one who makes your eyes go so sparkly." He rolls his eyes, not fond of the idea of love. "What about him?"
"Who is he?" I demand. "I need an answer."
The Pillar purses his lips as if he is afraid the truth could spurt out against his will.
"Look. I met him inside—"
"Inside the morgue?" The Pillar squints. "Again?"
"Yes. And like always, he saved me."
"I am not surprised."
"I tucked him in a death bag to fool the nurse and the officer so we'd leave the morgue," I say. "Outside, I discovered he wasn't there in the bag anymore."
"Don't tell me it's this miserable fellow you found." He points at the corpse, and I nod. "And I thought you began to pick up on Wonderland's nonsensical humor and brought me a sample."
"Do you know how this is possible?" I pray he has an answer. This is so important to me.
"I do." He closes his eyes for a second. What is it he knows about Jack?
"But you're not going to tell me?"
The Pillar says nothing. He glances briefly at the chauffeur then breathes back into his hookah.
"Look at me," I demand. "Is Jack a fig—"
"I will tell you who Jack is exactly when you finish this mission." He is strict, although not looking at me. I want to believe him.
"Deal." I stretch a hand across the corpse. Somehow, delaying the knowledge of Jack's identity is a relief to me, because I am so afraid there is no Jack in the first place. I wave my stretched hand again, but the Pillar isn't shaking it back.
"I prefer we don't shake hands." He looks irritated. "Germs and bacteria, Alice." He points at his gloves. "You just came out of a morgue, for Edgar Allan Poe's sake."
The rude son of a...
I take my hand back. I don't care. I need to solve the Muffin Man puzzle, stop the crimes, and maybe know if I am the Real Alice, and then my reward will be knowing who Jack is.
"You know it's not 'wee-woo,' don't you?" the Pillar says to his chauffeur with a tinge of disgust in his voice.
"Then what is it, Professor Pillar? Please help me," the chauffeur says. People driving by swear at him. Other London drivers fire back at him, saying things like "You're a nut!" and "Get your sorry ass back inside!"
"It's 'woo-wee,' not 'wee-woo,' you mousy fool!" The Pillar takes a drag and smiles at me. "Everybody knows that."
I try not to laugh and lean back, thinking of the Muffin Man puzzle. It occurred to me how crazy the journey has been. I mean, last week I met so many humans who turned out to be Wonderlanders. Who'd believe me if I told them? The thought opens a question in my mind. "Tell me, Pillar," I say in the same investigative tone he practices on me. "If Margaret Kent is the Duchess, Fabiola is the White Queen, you are the Caterpillar, and of course the Cheshire is the Cheshire, then I have to wonder how many other Wonderlanders live among us here."
"Oh, Alice," the Pillar says. "They are many, not mentioning those the Cheshire hadn't set free yet."
"I mean, Margaret Kent is a Parliament woman. Fabiola is the Vatican's most beloved nun. Does it get crazier than this?"
The Pillar leans back and smiles with beady eyes. "You have no idea."
Of course, the Queen's chambers were immaculately secure, particularly after a thirty-one-year-old psychiatric patient had scaled a drainpipe and sauntered into her chambers a few years ago.
Tonight, laced in her expensive nightgown, she regretted sleeping alone without guards in her chamber. A few guards would have caught the intruder right away.
The Queen had previously caught her guards and footmen stealing from her at her son's wedding. And what in Britain's name did they steal?
The guard dared to steal the Queen's exotic nuts, exclusively imported from Brazil. She ordered all her precious nuts removed to her private chambers and prevented any of the guards inside.
The Queen's nuts drove everyone nuts.
The Queen was known to love two things dearly: Her five o'clock tea parties, which had been once exclusively hosted by the one and only Mad Hatter—but that was a long story she didn't want to remember now. And, of course, her nuts and munchies.
Right now, the Queen tiptoed as cunningly and slowly as a cat, her back slightly hunched, and proceeded to the corridor outside her enchanting bed—her bed was too high; she needed a small stepladder to embark it. Sometimes, she secretly jumped right off it when no one was around. Being a queen, with all of this etiquette she had to fake, certainly bored her sometimes.
The Queen tiptoed on her way to check her endless bowls of exotic nuts in the corridor. She had them set at five-meter intervals, adjacent to the corridor's wall. They were set on waist-high tables so she could reach them effortlessly. She considered it ridiculous walking back a few meters when the appetite for a nut hit her. A five-meter span between each bowl of nuts was just convenient. Also, laziness sounded like a brilliant hobby.
The Queen gasped. This bowl seemed to miss a few.
She continued walking ahead, targeting a few other bowls at the end of the corridor.
As she walked, one of her dogs came padding and panting toward her. It was a Welsh corgi. She had five of them. Meals were served for each dog in their own bowl, with Britain's flag drawn on the outer shell. The meals were usually readied here in the corridor, with a few precious nuts on the side. The dogs' diet had been meticulously approved by veterinary experts from all over the world. It cost twice the income of a middle-class citizen who had two children to feed on average. But those weren't just any dogs. They were the Queen's dogs—and, in many ways, Wonderland Dogs.
Sure, the dogs never attended the meetings at Parliament, nor did they have word in the country's economy. But they were important by law. Again, being the Queen's dogs was no joke.
However, nuts weren't allowed in the dog's diet. But the Queen, being the
Bulldog panted and gave her a sweet look.
"You haven't by any chance been nibbling at my nuts, have you?" she asked the dog.
Bulldog's smile widened.
"You terrible, bad boy." She squeezed his ears. "I told you to only eat those I personally serve you in your bowl." The dog lowered its chin to the floor and sniffed.
"But wait a minute." She rubbed her own chin. "You couldn't have eaten any nuts from those bowls." She pointed at the set of bowls by the end of the corridor. They were higher than the rest. To reach them, the dog had to roll the bowl over. "Let's check those. I have marked them."