Текст книги "Circus "

Автор книги: Cameron Jace

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Chapter 22

Radcliffe Lunatic Asylum

Dr. Truckle stood looking at the miserable flamingo inside the cage, and he has no idea what its condition was in scientific terms.

What was the diagnosis of an independent mind? Was it madness to be different, to want to live, and disobey?

“You’re in a lot of trouble. You know that, right?” Dr. Truckle said to the flamingo.

The flamingo said nothing, and hardly acknowledged the doctor’s presence, its long neck swirling over its body.

“What’s wrong with getting your head bumped into a ball?” Dr. Truckle asked him. “Wouldn’t you do that in the name of Britain?”

The flamingo’s head dipped lower. It looked ashamed to the doctor.

“Should I assume you’re an immigrant?” Dr. Truckle rubbed his chin. “Do you even have papers?”

Surprisingly, the flamingo shook its head.

“So you understand me?” Dr. Truckle approached the cage. “Look, we’re both in the mud here, fella,” he whispered. “You don’t let the Queen bang your small, beautiful head into a ball, I get fired. But if you do, I keep my job. You see, in both cases, no one really cares about you.”

The flamingo padded away from the doctor, who suddenly realized the absurdity of the situation—let alone talking to an animal. “So what am I going to do now?”

Tom stared at the invitation in his hand, and wondered what was going on. A thought occurred to him: what if he managed to use the invitation to sneak into the Event?

He was really curious about it.

He flipped the invitation, only to realize a list of the rest of guests had been written on the back.

Now Tom was really going to lose it.

What?

The names on the list were as shocking as the name in front. Tom was truly losing it, oblivious to what was going on. He glanced at the flamingo again. “Do you know what this Event is about?”

The flamingo nodded.

Chapter 23

Downstairs, Alice Wonder's house, 7 Folly Bridge, Oxford, 11:05 a.m.

Edith doesn't stab me. She screams. She sounds as if she’s choking all of a sudden, while Lorina looks appalled again.

I turn around. It’s the Pillar, choking Edith with his hookah.

“Such a fantabulous family you have, Alice,” he says, pulling the hose tighter around Edith. He doesn’t wait for my reaction, as he pulls Edith’s knife and hurls it over my shoulder toward Lorina. “No more games, Barbie doll, or I choke your sis to death.”

I turn and see Lorina has ducked the knife. She straightens up again. “You?” She frowns.

At first I think she is talking to me. Then I think there is a third party in the room—my mother, maybe? But then I realize it’s the Pillar Lorina is talking to.

“You know each other?” I ask, not knowing what to make of it.

But then the Hatter’s phone buzzes in my pocket. Another message: Tick tock. Tick tock. Is it already twelve o’clock? Wait for me to send you the next clue.

I wait for the rest of message, but nothing comes.

“Let’s go, Alice.” The Pillar drops the unconscious Edith, holding his phone up. “I’ll try to call Inspector Dormouse to arrest your sisters.”

“You didn’t answer me,” I say. “How do you know my sisters?”

But none of them answer me. I see the Pillar staring right into Lorina’s eyes. It’s that piercing look he is capable of. Lorina stares back in silence. Somewhere between those two lies another greater secret I don’t know of.

“I saw them visiting you week after week,” the Pillar replies.

I am not convinced. But Lorina doesn’t object or comment. She looks scared of the Pillar.

“Let’s get out of this circus.” The Pillar picks up my umbrella from the floor.

Dazzled, I comply and walk out with him. If I don’t, Lorina might try to kill me again—whatever the reason is. I will deal with my sisters later.

“Alice!” Lorina says from behind. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” Her voice is concerned, but not about me. Something else bothers her. “This man you’re walking with is using you. Stay away from him.”

“Coming from my sister who just tried to kill me?” I say, fighting the tears, and not looking back.

Lorina doesn’t comment. And I can’t wait to walk out of the house where I was supposedly raised. All I know is that nothing has really changed since the last time I was outside my cell. The world is still mad. Nothing makes sense. And the only thing that keeps me going again is wanting to stop this bomb at all costs.

Chapter 24

George and Danver Ice Cream Cafe, 94 St. Aldates, Oxford, near Alice’s Shop and Oxford University

Half an hour later, the Pillar arrives at our table with a tray of food and tea. We’re sitting at George and Danver Ice Cream Cafe on the same street that leads to Oxford University, a small walk from the famous Alice’s Shop. The sun in the sky is feebly battling through the foggy day. I wish it would make it through, as I am unable to take the dimness of this mind-boggling and emotional day anymore.

“Best carrot ice cream cake in Oxfordshire,” the Pillar says, pushing the tray my way. “And also the best tea in England.” He sits in his chair and winks at me. I watch him sip with ecstasy from his cup. “Almost as good as the Hatter’s tea in Wonderland.” He knows that the mention of the Hatter gets on my nerves.

I fiddle with the fork, trying to persuade myself I have an appetite for the deliciously orange cake on the tray. The truth is I hadn’t felt like eating or drinking anything since I met my sisters today. They tried to kill me? Seriously? Why was it so important to them I return to the asylum?

The Pillar slides the Hatter’s phone back to me. Earlier, I asked him to try and trace the Hatter’s number.

“I couldn’t locate him,” the Pillar explains. “The number is untraceable. Well, not quite untraceable, because it seems like it belongs to a chain of secret phone numbers.”

“Secret numbers?”

“The kind only given to people who work closely with the Queen of England in Buckingham Palace.”

“So the Queen is playing these games with us?”

“Whoever is playing games is playing with you,” he says. “But to answer your question: not a chance.” He cuts a huge part of his cake, looking at it the way a five-year-old would. “The Queen doesn't know how to play these kinds of games. Her greatest hobby is to chop off heads. Play croquet, cards, and chess—and win—when she is bored.” He swallows the cake, staining his lips with syrup. I watch him closing his eyes and moaning to the brilliance of its taste. When he opens his eyes, he says, “And don’t ask me about who the Queen of England really is. We’ve got a bomb to stop first.”

“I won’t. But doesn’t this mean the Hatter is working for the Queen?” I feel tempted to taste the cake but still can’t bring myself to. My mouth is bitter from the taste of my little bloody meeting with my family.

“Not sure, Alice. I’m still working on it. As long as I don’t understand the Hatter’s motives, there is very little help I can offer.”

“Which isn’t like you.” I eye him closely. Should I bring up the subject of why everyone keeps warning me of him? Or have I become so attached to my little adventures in the world outside the asylum that I won’t even risk the fact that the Pillar isn’t totally on my side? “I mean, how do you really know my sister?”

“I told you. I saw them visiting you.”

“Then why did she warn me of you?” I lean forward. Daring him.

“Everyone’s been warning you of me, including Fabiola.” The Pillar licks the cake’s syrup from his fingers. “And she’s supposed to be the word of God or something.”

In truth, I can’t argue with that. If anyone’s the closest to sanity, it’s Fabiola. But she hasn’t been as helpful as the Pillar so far. Lewis also warned me not to give the golden key to anyone, and the Pillar seems interested in it. It’s all confusing and messed up. From another angle, the Pillar saved my life before Edith killed me. He’s done that several times before. I decide I’ll drop this subject for now.

“So tell me about the Hatter.” I need to focus on my job and catch the rabbit.

The Pillar stops in the middle of gorging on the rest of the cake. “This might not be the Hatter, Alice,” he says. “I told you that. The Hatter is such a grand, larger-than-life character. I don’t understand why he would play a game with a rabbit and a bomb.”

“So we actually don’t know who we’re dealing with?”

The Pillar swallows the rest of his cake, moaning again, unable to answer me. A few children in the area giggle at his behavior. “We don’t.” He wipes his lips with a napkin, and then pretends to eat it. The children laugh harder, holding on to their parents’ hands. “But we’re dealing with a crazed maniac, mad enough to kill children with a bomb inside a rabbit. That’s wack à la wack on my menu of insanity. We can’t anger or provoke him. We need to follow his clues and see why he is giving them to you until we find his weak spot.”

I let out a sigh, lost in my haze of thoughts.

“Look, Alice. What happened in your house today wasn’t your fault.”

“Are we talking about my sisters trying to kill me, or me hesitating to kill Lorina?” I am so not happy with myself for being fooled by her.

“Well, Lorina’s act was superb. I’m still shocked at how you believed her.” He chuckles.

“She is my sister.” I stress each syllable, wishing he would understand. “My family. I ran into her arms for the first glimpse of bonding and peace. Don’t you have a family, Pillar?”

My question is rhetorical in nature, but it seems to strike a chord in the Pillar. His face freezes. His eyes stare into a distant memory. I wish I knew how to hypnotize him and know all about him.

“I do.” He nods. And just before he looks like he’ll open up to me, he sticks his fork into my cake and stuffs it into his mouth, silencing his conscience. “You will get better with these emotional hazards once you get your training.”

“Training?”

“They say every day in your life is nothing but training for a bigger cause. Like today. You learned a Life’s Horrible Truth Number 55.”

“Which is?” I grimace.

“Thou shalt not trust anyone,” he says. “It’s a harsh truth, unbelievable, but with all the madness surrounding us, it’s crucial. You shouldn’t have fallen for you sister’s play.” He smiles, as if I should accept this as a fully fleshed reply.

We stare at each other. It’s a long moment. I don’t grasp the meaning of it. All I am grasping moment after moment is that I am getting lonelier among the crowd. Was that why Alice met so many animals in her book? Because she couldn’t trust grownups? Because she was lonely?

“How long before the Hatter sends you the next clue?” The Pillar breaks the tension, finishing my cake and drinking my tea.

“About ten minutes,” I say. “He said the countdown will start ticking again at twelve o’clock. Ends twenty-four hours later.”

“Huh. I’m really curious what he has in mind for you.” He tongues his cheeks. “On the outside, this all seems like a time-ticking hunt to stop a bomb. But with all those clues he gave you, there’s so much more about this case.”

I stare at the housemaid dress, the gloves, and the fan I collected, contemplating the Pillar’s words. “It’s almost as if I’m in a computer game collecting items for some great reveal.”

“That’s quite right.” He says it as if it didn’t cross his mind. “The next clue should confirm your theory.”

The Hatter’s phone beeps on the table. The Pillar and I share an uncomfortable moment. Then I pick it up and read the message:

I relocated the rabbit with the bomb behind the Snail Mound in Wonderland. You’ll find it there.

Chapter 25

The Pillar snatches the phone and reads it. He looks perplexed.

“Are you saying you don’t know where this Snail Mound is?” I say.

“I don’t,” the Pillar says. He isn’t comfortable with the fact either. “But you’re missing the fact that whatever that Snail Mound is, it’s supposed to be in Wonderland. How are you supposed to get to Wonderland?”

“Through the Tom Tower, maybe?” I suggest. “The Einstein Blackboard, traveling back in time?”

“These aren’t doorways to Wonderland,” the Pillar explains. “These are only temporarily glimpses into it. You can’t use them to stay prolonged periods in Wonderland. To find something specific, you need to learn how to really go to Wonderland. Which, in the meantime, is impossible.”

“You never told me about that. Why is it impossible?”

“The only way to go to Wonderland is to find six keys, leading to six doors, leading to Wonderland.” The Pillar pouts, as if he didn’t want to bring this up now. All I can think about is that key Lewis gave me is one of those keys. “Six Impossible Keys. Lewis used to call them Six Impossible Things. But that’s way too soon to talk about. This message doesn’t make sense. It’s another game without much clues.”

“Okay,” I say. “I will message him and ask him to clarify.” I begin typing my message to him.

Once I begin, the phone beeps:

No need to reply to my messages. I was just sipping my tea.

The message sends shivers to my spine. I raise my head and look up at the surrounding buildings. How is it possible the Hatter sees me?

I stand up and keep looking at the roofs of the buildings. I am looking for a man with a top hat and goggles, like the children described. But I can’t see such a man.

I feel like a rocket about to launch, spitting out fire. “What do you want from me?” I scream at the sky, spreading my hands sideways.

“What’s wrong, Alice?” the Pillar says.

The walking pedestrians avoid my path, thinking I am insane.

“Show yourself if you dare!” I raise my voice higher, crane my neck higher.

“Beware of what you wish for,” the Pillar says sarcastically. “I requested he’d show himself while I was in Phuket, Thailand. Next day a tsunami hit us.”

I dismiss the Pillar’s annoyance. “How the heck am I supposed to get to the Wonderland?” As I scream, I can feel a slight trembling in my body. It seems to me I am not only mad at this Hatter, but I am still shocked by my previous incident with my sisters.

“You know how to get Wonderland?” a kid who was watching the Pillar earlier asks me.

“She’s insane, kiddo.” The Pillar pats him. “Here, pull my finger.”

The kid does.

The Pillar farts.

The kid runs away.

All of this happens in the back of my scene while I am panting in anger and frustration.

A phone beeps again. This times it’s my personal phone. I pick it up. It’s the Hatter’s anonymous number. There is no need for him to use his phone again. We’re playing with open cards now. He is trying to drive me crazy, and I am trying to see how deep into the rabbit hole I can go.

I read the message:

Find the March Hare. He knows how to get there. And yeah, Wonderland is real—if you’re insane enough to get there.

Chapter 26

Queen's Chamber, Buckingham Palace, London

The Queen of England was grooming herself for the Event when Margaret Kent entered the room.

“All the invitations are sent, My Queen,” Margaret said. “We’re awaiting confirmation.”

“Frabjous,” the Queen said. “Did you invite the Chinese?”

“Yes.”

“The Japanese?”

“Yes.”

“The Portuguese?”

“Of course.”

“The Lebanese?”

“Them too.”

“The Germanese?”

“You mean the Germans, Majesty?” Margaret asked.

“Yes, those.” The Queen flipped a finger arrogantly in the air. “How about the Americanese?”

“The Americans, Majesty,” Margaret corrected her politely. “Yes. I invited them, too.”

“I hate the Americans.” The Queen huffed again. “But what the hell. It’s all business. We need them.”

“We do,” Margaret agreed.

“So everyone is about to arrive and see my...” The Queen’s eyes widened, and then she snickered again. “Wait!” Her face suddenly knotted. “I hope you made sure we’re not going to run into obstacles and surprises, like the Muffin Man last week.”

“I have taken special care of all that.” Margaret was sure of herself this time. The Event was the utmost important thing on her mind. “I wanted to tell you about something, though.”

“Make it brief—and I hope it’s not about the obnoxious citizens of England asking me to lower taxes.”

“Well, it’s not that, but...” Margaret didn't know how to break the news to her. “There seems to be an unusual incident happening in the last few hours.” She shrugged. “A bomb.”

“A bomb?” The Queen’s eyes bulged. “In the palace?”

“No, My Queen. It’s outside the palace.”

“So what? Put it off?” She combed her hair.

“We can’t. It’s... inside...”

“The palace?” She stopped combing.

“No.” Margaret managed to stay calm.

“Great.” The Queen combed her hair again. “Then put it out.”

“We can’t. It’s inside a rabbit.”

“So what? Shoot the rabbit.” She began putting on her makeup.

“The rabbit is loose on the streets of London, My Queen.”

The Queen rammed everything to the floor and turned to face Margaret with furious anger in her eyes. But it was only for a moment. Her nonchalant attitude returned in a second. “That’s hilarious!” She started clapping her hands. “Who thought of this?

“A man in a circus who was dressed like the Mad Hatter.” Margaret was totally surprised by the Queen’s reaction, but she wouldn’t dare show it.

“Nonsense.” The Queen waved her hand. “It can’t be him. I know that for a fact. But wait.” She laced her hands behind her back and began walking left and right—thinking, probably. Margaret always hated when the Queen began thinking. It never resulted in good deeds. “I have an idea.”

“I’m all ears, My Queen.”

“Find this madman who stuffed a bomb in a rabbit and send him an invitation to the Event.”

“But—”

“No buts,” the Queen said. “I could use this kind of madness.”

Chapter 27

Department of Insanity, 7.5 Ha Ha Road, London

Time remaining: 23 hours, 49 minutes

Waiting for Inspector Dormouse inside the Department of Insanity’s office, I can’t help but ask the Pillar about the street name where the department is located: “Ha Ha Road?”

“Would have sounded better if it were Bonkers Road, Fruitcake Alley, or Lala Avenue.” The Pillar keeps gesturing at police officers while we talk. He seems to enjoy being among them too much—not bad for a serial killer. “But I checked it on Google Maps. It’s a legitimate street name. Maybe that’s why they built the Department of Insanity here.”

“The sign says Crimes of Insanity, but every one prefers to call it Department of Insanity.”

“Well, you can’t really call it Crimes of Insanity. If a person is mad it can’t be a crime. Thus the diversion, but I like it. Here he comes.” He cheers at Inspector Dormouse arriving with his beady eyes.

“Sorry, had to take an afternoon nap,” the inspector says, and sits across from us.

“It’s not afternoon yet—” I swallow the sentence when the Pillar kicks my foot under the table.

“We need your help, inspector,” the Pillar says. “Remember my request on the phone?”

“I do.” Inspector Dormouse’s belly ripples to his sigh. “You’re looking to meet the so-called March Hare.”

“Yes. We have evidence that he is connected to several cases of animal crimes,” the Pillar says. “We’d like to interrogate him.”

“But the March Hare has been locked up for years,” Dormouse says. “He is a very dangerous man.”

“We have evidence he organized a crew of animal offenders before he was locked up.” The Pillar does all the talking. I barely can grasp how the March Hare is talked about so openly. “It would be a big favor if you helped us meet him. He might lead us to how to stop the rabbit from exploding.”

“But no rabbit is going to explode anymore,” Inspector Dormouse says. “Can’t you see? We’re past the deadline of 666 minutes. It was all a hoax by a crazy magician in a cheap circus.”

“Again, we have evidence the deadlines has been extended for another twenty-four hours,” the Pillar says.

“What evidence?” Inspector Dormouse suddenly seems alert. “Can I see it?”

“It’s classified,” the Pillar says.

“I’m the police. Nothing is classified to me,” Inspector Dormouse says.

“You’re the Department of Insanity on 7.5 Ha Ha Street,” the Pillar remarks in a slightly mocking manner. “I’m sorry, but you’re not really the police.”

“You’re right.” Inspector Dormouse waves his fatty hand in the air. “I hate my job. We haven’t solved one case since we were hired a few years ago. How am I supposed to catch a madman and convict him of a crime? A bomb inside a rabbit. Huh.”

“I suppose you could help us, then,” I offer. “We promise you get the credit if we catch the rabbit.”

The Pillar cranes his head with admiration toward me. “She always keeps her promise,” he tells Inspector Dormouse, as he flashes a thumb at me. “I assure you, she’s not mad like all those criminals you chase. Not in the slightest. She doesn’t even own a Certificate of Insanity.”

“You look like a fine young woman,” Inspector Dormouse says. “My daughter would look up to you. She likes animals and likes saving them.” He takes a moment to think it over. His head falls onto his chest as he thinks. He is about to sleep again. “So.” Inspector Dormouse comes back from sleep. “What were we saying?”

“The March Hare,” I say. “We’d like to meet him.” We have to meet him, and soon.

“Ah, that.”

“Why is he called the March Hare, by the way?” I ask.

“Because he is as mad as a March Hare.” Inspector Dormouse chuckles.

“Mad as a March Hare?” I am really confused about this. I thought the saying was “mad as a Hatter,” although I know now that the Hatter was never described as “mad” in the book.

“It’s an old saying, young girl,” Inspector Dormouse says. “In my days we used to say things like ‘you’re mad as a March hare’ or ‘mad as a bag of snakes.’”

“Or ‘mad as a box of frogs,’” the Pillar offers.

“See, Professor Petmaster knows.” Inspector Dormouse yawns.

“Mad as a casket in the basket.” The Pillar can’t help it.

“Mad as the holes in socks.” Inspector Dormouse stands up and high-fives him.

“Mad as a parrot with a carrot!” the Pillar says.

Officers around turn their heads at the two loons I am talking to.

“Mad as the man in the van.” Inspector Dormouse looks wide awake now. No coffee needed.

“Can anyone really tell me why he is called the March Hare?” I almost yell in frustration. Seriously, why are all these people not locked away in an asylum?

“Hmm...” Inspector Dormouse adjusts his loose tie and sits back. “Well, young lady, it’s because he is usually nervous, unable to relax, always feeling anxious, and everything around him is a conspiracy.”

“Did you know that?” I turn and look at the Pillar.

“I heard about him.” He cocks his head.

“So does he have a real name?” I ask the inspector.

“Certainly,” he says. “His name is Professor Jittery March.”

“He is a professor?”

“An exceptional Scottish scientist, indeed,” Inspector Dormouse says. “A theorist, architect, and landscapist.”

“Wow, all that,” I say. “I bet he is nicknamed March Hare for all his talents.”

“Not at all,” Inspector Dormouse says. “Professor Jittery March is now locked in a high-tech asylum. He is the maddest of the mad.”

“Asylum?” I look at the Pillar.

“Top-level high-tech asylum, if I have to repeat myself,” Inspector Dormouse says.

“Why?”

Inspector Dormouse takes a long breath and then says, “A few people are allocated to such secure asylums. They say he has gone mad looking for doors to Wonderland.”