In short, the politician was a scumbag, and the Cheshire was far from surprised. It’s what he’d always expected from humans, though he’d began mildly sympathizing with humanity, especially since when he time traveled to the future and possessed Jack’s soul.
Of course, it baffled him how he partially remembered that journey when he shouldn’t know anything about it. He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t remember much anyways.
All he remembered was that fuzzy feeling in his chest toward Alice, which were Jack’s feelings, of course.
But the Cheshire felt a bit changed since then. Not that he had converted to loving humans — the politician he was possessing made sure of that — but he was confused.
Part of the Cheshire’s confusion was that he still didn’t belong to a body or identity. It seemed like it was time he stuck to one person and lived their lives. But who?
He picked up the remote and turned on the TV.
There was a show about cats, where a woman loved them and fed them and took care of them. All cats looked really neat, too cute, too loving.
“Disgusting.” the Cheshire said and turned the channel, wondering how much they paid those cats to act like they enjoyed the company of humans.
As he flipped through channels, he suddenly remembered that at some point he’d possessed the knowledge of the whereabouts of the Six Impossible Keys, but then had forgotten them when he returned to the present again.
“Dang!” he said in the politician’s voice.
He stopped at the channel that broadcasted the Chessmaster in Russia and laid the remote on the table.
The Cheshire knew a few secrets about the Chessmaster. He even had an idea why he maybe be killing the world leaders. A few secrets the Cheshire preferred to keep to himself.
The one thing he didn’t know, and puzzled the purrs and furs out of him was what, or where, Miss Croatia 1454 was?
Chapter 12
On the Train, somewhere in Europe
I’m fidgeting in the seat next to The Pillar and slightly rocking to the train’s movement. He doesn’t pay attention to any of my questions, but stares at a paper he’s discreetly pinned into the back of the woman sitting in front of him. She has bushy hair and probably hasn’t washed it for some time, so she doesn’t feel it.
“Aren’t you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask him, disappointed that I’ve failed solving the puzzle.
“We booked two tickets for Croatia, didn’t we?” He says, still staring at the paper, which reads ‘Miss Croatia 1454.’
“I know, but this couldn’t be so easy.”
“The puzzle says Croatia, so it must be,” he says. “All we need is to figure out what 1454 means. Could be an address.”
“You mean a street or house number? Come on, he said only few people will be able to solve it. This doesn’t sound like a puzzle designed for few people to get.”
“I agree, but I can’t solve it. Let’s stick with the Croatia idea. What do you think the numbers are?”
“Coordinates?”
“I checked. It’s not.”
I let out a sigh. Today seems to be the day of disappointments. Earlier, I couldn’t defend myself against the Reds and now I am clueless to this puzzle. “Are you sure this isn’t a Wonderland puzzle? Something Lewis Carroll wrote in his book?”
“I am. Lewis only left England to travel to Russia. I doubt it if he’d ever known anything about Croatia?”
“Not even the 1454 number?”
“Nah, but wait,” The Pillar waves his gloved hands in the air. Those were new gloves the woman at the hospice had given him with her phone number on the back.
“What is it?”
“1454 is a year.”
“I thought of it, Googled it, but found nothing of importance.”
“Not even in Croatia?”
“I don’t think Croatia existed in 1454,” I say, wondering if he is testing me. Usually he knows more, though today he strikes me a little off balance with his worrying about dying within fourteen years. I wonder about the real reason he visited the hospice. I wonder if there is still a part of what he’d seen in the future that he hasn’t told me about. And I hope he isn’t really dying because I am not sure what I’d do without him.
The Pillar pulls out a marker pen and stretches his arm forward, then crosses the word ‘miss’ out. Instead he writes, ‘Ms.’
“What different does it make?”
“All the difference in the world,” He looks like he’s got something.
Then I get it. It only takes a minute to see it, and I am proud of myself. “It’s an anagram.”
“Indeed,” he says. “The words ‘Ms. Croatia’ are meant to be shuffled and changed to give us another word.”
“The Chessmaster is brilliant. In order to make sure very few can solve it, he made it harder by substituting ‘Ms.’ with ‘Miss.’”
“I wouldn’t say that,” The Pillar comments. “He said Miss Croatia, never wrote it. So it was up to us to interpret it the way we want.”
“But now that we know, ‘Ms. Croatia’ is actually the word…” I am trying to figure it out without pen and paper.
“Marostica,” The Pillar says. “I am beginning to think I’ve underestimated the Chessmaster.”