It takes me a second to connect the March to these events, but once I remind myself of the light bulb in the Hare’s head, my brain lights up with the answer. “Are you telling me, Kirsan Ilyumzhinov was searching for Wonderland?”
“Most definitely,” The Pillar nods. “The March Hare, being chased by Black Chess, including them having implanted a light bulb in his head, couldn’t build more gardens to bring him back to Wonderland. Kirsan Ilyumzhinov, being a Lewis Carroll fan — so many Russians are, trust me, because of the time Lewis spent there — he persuaded the March Hare to build Chess City, which was supposed to be the next best thing to the Garden of Cosmic Speculation.”
“A better model, you mean.”
“The March had discovered that the way to Wonderland wasn’t the gardens with ridiculous designs, but the secret was in designing a chess city from Lewis’ lost designs in his diaries.”
“So we’re about to land onto the real portal to Wonderland?” I say, my eyes fixed on the empty city.
“Not sure, but the city was banned by the Russian government, influenced by Black Chess, of course.”
“Because they wanted to find a way to Wonderland.” I mumble.
“Most probably,” The Pillar says. “I’m also not sure. What I know is that this place never worked as a portal to Wonderland, so it’s stayed like this: a most beautiful ghost city.”
I turn and look The Pillar in the eye. He looks back at me, impressed with what I am about to say. “An empty ghost town, which was once a possible portal to Wonderland,” I say. “The perfect place for Fabiola to hide Carroll’s Knight.”
Chapter 50
Buckingham Palace, London
The Queen’s first way out was to hide under the sheets of her royal bed, but then the stupid dogs barked, exposing her hiding place.
She jumped out of bed, frantically wondering how she could cheat Death. If Alice and The Pillar had really found that last piece, she was going to die in a few hours, just like Fabiola and Margaret. How was it possible to cheat Death when your name appeared on his to-do list?
She kept thinking that Death could be bribable, just like anything else in the world. But what did Death need money for? It’s not like he was in dire need to buy himself a new scythe from Harrods or Walmart.
Then what? She kept thinking.
What can I offer Death so he’d leave me alone?
She thought if she could talk to him face to face, she’d persuade him of something — or better, trick him into nearing her guards, and chop off his head.
Chopping off Death’s head, she grinned. That’d look good on my resume.
But she knew she was just fooling herself. Death was coming. Soon she’d be poisoned and die. The real issue with Death was he didn’t knock on doors. There wasn’t enough time to offer him tea and talk him out of it or change his mind.
The only solution was to fool him and make him think he was killing her when she was someone else. The Queen jumped toward the phone and called the Cheshire.
“I want you to possess me.” She told him.
The Cheshire, whoever he was possessing the moment, was munching on popcorn, watching the Exorcist movie, which he thought was entirely rubbish. If I was that terrible demon in the movie, why’d I possess a helpless young girl? I’d possess the President of the United States or something.
“Did you hear me?” The Queen said.
“I heard you, but I’m not sure I heard you right.” He munched on more popcorn and turned off the movie, watching Family Guy instead. The Cheshire dug Family Guy. “Did you just say you want me to possess you?”
“Yes, that’s an order.”
“First of all, I don’t take orders from you,” he said. “You’re too short to give orders.”
“Cheshire! Possess me!” She stomped her feet.
The Cheshire almost choked, laughing. He imagined the teen girl in the Exorcist being bratty and all, demanding the demon possessing her. That’d would be a great scene in Family Guy, he thought.
“Possess me!”
“You know I can’t,” he said. “You’re a Wonderlander.”
“Yes, you can if I give you permission.”
“So you’re serious about it. May I ask why?”
“Because…” the Queen had to cook up a reason, fast. She began to sob theatrically, “I’m fed up with myself. I’m short, obnoxious, and no one loves me. I can’t think of one child who has me as his idol. I realized I’d prefer being a cat than a Queen.”
“What’s wrong with cats?” The Cheshire purred.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I prefer to be a beautiful cat than being a nasty Queen who chops off heads.”
The Cheshire gave it some thought. He’d been searching for a person to possess forever and stick with. Being the Queen of Hearts — and Britain’s Queen — wasn’t bad, although he wouldn’t want to stick to it forever. But it’d fun, too. And he was seriously bored.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m on my way.”
“Thank you!” she chirped. “You have a pen and paper so you can write my address down?”
The Cheshire blew out a long sigh. “I know where you live. You’re the Queen of England. Everyone knows where you live.”