As the games advanced, world leaders began to sweat, taking their time with each move. All but the Pope’s representative, who looked in a hurry, picking a move and gulping his shot.
“That’s your sixth shot,” the Chessmaster told the man. “I’m impressed you’ve gotten this far without me beating you.”
“I win if I drink the seventh shot without you beating me, right?” the religious man smirked like a drunk on the street.
“You win, yes,” the Chessmaster said. “But—”
The man eagerly picked a seventh move and gulped his last drink. He let out a strong noise from his throat and stood up raising his hand with victory. “I beat the Chessmaster!”
“You must be smarter than God.” The Chessmaster smiled at the shocked crowd. They couldn’t believe the best chess player in the world was losing. Not so easily, or?
The Pope’s representative began to choke and stiffen. The world leaders watched him grow more and more flushed, reddened and unable to breathe.
“Oh,” the Chessmaster began, “I forgot to tell you that the Vodka is poisoned. It’s the kind of poison that kills you once you drink the seventh shot. You could survive drinking six though, but you’d be very sick.”
“What?” Mr. Paperwhite protested.
“You see, you have to beat me in six moves or you will die,” the Chessmaster announced. “And look at you, all the presidents and leaders of the world in one room. I may kill you all tonight. Isn’t that frabjous?”
Everyone stared at the madman with horror in their eyes, unable to believe what was happening. Why did the Chessmaster want to kill the leaders of the world? Who was he working for?
The Chessmaster didn’t answer any of these questions. He returned to staring at the choking man while pulling at his handlebar mustache. One stroke to the right. One stroke to the left.
Then he made his last move in the game. The move that killed the Queen. He nudged the queen piece with the back of his middle finger and watched the Pope’s representative drop dead to his knees, and then stroked his mustache saying, “Checkmate. Who’s next?”
Chapter 1
Mr. Jay’s Limousine, Oxford
I am sitting in the dark of the limousine, not quite sure of what I am doing. It still puzzles me why I agreed to go meet Mr. Jay, whoever he really is. Maybe somewhere inside my mad brain I am still me; a loyal member of Black Chess.
Rocking to the bumps in the road, I don't try to ask questions or make conversation with the unseen passengers inside. I already have so much on my mind. Forget about the choices and decisions for now. I still need to know why I had to kill everyone on the bus in the past. What was the purpose of doing so? Why was it essential to Black Chess that every student on it died?
I take a deep breath, also thinking about what happened to me after the Circus. I am sure I saw the gathering of the Inklings in Lewis Carroll's studio when I had my vision in the Garden of Cosmic Speculation. Lewis, the March Hare, Fabiola, Jack, and me. And the little girl; who was she? Most important is: when and how did I change and become the Bad Alice? What happened to me?
“Mr. Jay will be pleased to meet you,” the woman in the dark tells me.
I say nothing. What's to say? I don't say I am pleased to meet him too, but I have questions that are eating at me.
“He has always believed in you,” she continues. “Never has he doubted that you would embrace the darkness inside you.”
“Did he say that? I mean most people think they are on the good side of the scale, even when they are the most evil.”
“Not Mr. Jay. He loves evil, embraces it, and is proud of it. That's why he is the head of Black Chess. But you must know that.”
“I haven't remembered everything yet.” I play along. “But I am sure it will come to me. Can you remind me what Black Chess really wants?”
“That, you will have to remember for yourself. We never talk about it.”
“Ah, we're after the Six Impossible Keys.” I am pulling her leg.
“Not exactly. We're after what the Six Keys are for.”
“Of course,” I say. “Can't wait to remember. How long until we arrive?”
“Not much,” she says. “We should be there in about...”
Her words are chopped off by a sudden crash against the vehicle. It's a deafening echo of metal scraping against metal.
“What the hell?” she panics.
I try to grip something in the backseat, but there isn't anything, so I rock to the left and smash my head against the window. The blood on my forehead alerts me of the fact that the car is flipping over, and looking outside the limo's window, I realize we're on the edge of a cliff.
Chapter 2
Darkness and panic aren't good friends at all. The unseen men and women inside the limousine are screaming and the smell of blood is making me nauseous. I have no idea what's happening. I can only see outside the limo but not inside. I’m not really sure how this is possible, but I am not going to argue with death knocking at the door right now.