“Marketing for what?”
“For selling millions of chess games,” The Pillar says. “Now, everyone wanted to play the IBM model after the game. They wanted to buy it and challenge the game that beat the best chess player in the world.”
“Oh. All about money again.”
“All about Black Chess, you mean.”
“What’s Black Chess got to do with this?”
“Black Chess owns IBM, among many other companies all around the world.”
“You realize you sound like those lame conspiracy theorists out there?” I tell him. Though I can see Black Chess interfering with everything in the world, some part of me wants to believe the world isn’t that manipulated.
“You know what the problem with conspiracy theories is?” The Pillar says.
“Enlighten me.” I fold my arms before me.
“They’re rarely theories.”
I swallow hard, realizing I was only wishfully thinking the world isn’t mostly manipulated by Black Chess. Was that the Dark Alice in me talking again?
“IBM will sue you for such blunt accusations.” I tell him.
“They might,” Pillar shakes his shoulders. “But they will never win.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I am like you Alice, officially declared mad. I could just apply for a certificate of madness like you. And that’s the beauty of it. I’m invincible.”
I laugh. “You’re right. What’s the worst they can do? Send you back to the asylum?”
“Shock therapy until my hair spikes up like an Irish rooster?” He winks.
“I’ve never realized how blessed we are, being mad.” I high-five him.
“Besides, I’m supposed to be a character in a book. They can’t sue me. Pillar? Who’s The Pillar? The caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland? He is real? Get outta here! Now enough play, and back to saving the world,” The Pillar says. “We’ll start with the Deep Blue clue.”
“How so?”
“We’ll pay the infamous machine a visit.” The Pillar rides his horse again. “I know where they keep it, and I have a feeling we can beat the machine this time.”
Chapter 26
Margaret Kent’s Office, Westminster Palace
Inspector Dormouse had been sleeping on the couch in the Duchess’ office for some time. It hadn’t been his plan to fall asleep again. He’d come to discuss an important matter about Professor Pillar. But he couldn’t resist the comfort of Margaret Kent’s couch in the lobby.
In his sleep he was wondering where he could get a smoother couch at home — or better, at his office of the Department of Insanity. Why weren’t such couches available on the market? Even if they were, how could he afford one?
But seriously, the cushions on that couch were so smooth, like marshmallows, like a steady tide of a calm river, swooping left and right. Now that was what he called sleeping. Real sleep, not flashy naps interrupted by his wife or children calling for him so he could wake up and buy the groceries.
What was a man’s life without proper sleep? Really? In Inspector Dormouse’s head, he sometimes envied sleeping dogs, snoring like they had a stack of million bones for the rest of their lives in the back of house’s yard. What a feeling!
“You!” A voice woke him up from the sweetest of dreams.
Inspector Dormouse rubbed his eyes, the image of Carolus Lodivicus slowly zooming in. He was so upset to be awake, he grabbed the edges of the couch, in case he had means to sleep again.
“Margaret Kent can’t see you,” Carolus said. “In fact, no one will. We’re all concerned about that Chessmaster in Russia.”
“Ah, I see.” the Inspector stood up and adjusted his clothes. “But I think the identity of Carter Pillar is as important.”
“Why? What did you discover?”
“It has to do with the twelve people he’s killed. They weren’t random.”
“You already told me on the phone. Elaborate.”
“I prefer to talk to Margaret Kent,” Inspector Dormouse said.
“Then you’ll have to wait, Inspector. A long time, so excuse me because I am supposed to find a way to save our Prime Minister.”
“Mr. Paperwhite?”
“Yes, him. The one the Queen recommended for the position.” He said and walked away.
“Wait,” the Inspector said. “May I ask why he is called Mr. Paperwhite?” He had considered it weird the Prime Minister had such a name, especially when it was the name of a character in Alice Through the Looking Glass, a man who only wore white papers for clothes.
“Really? You don’t get why the Queen calls the Prime Minister, Mr. Paperwhite?”
“Trust me. I gave it a thought, but didn’t get it.”
“Because he is like a piece of white sheet paper to her, she can write anything she wants on his clothes, and then he’d babble it out on TV, as if they were his own thoughts.”