I try to overlook the interesting fact as we finally enter the circus.
The circus inside is a dirt hole. Cheap as it gets. I glimpse a sign announcing that entrance is for free. I am not surprised. The circus is a bit too dim inside. The ring in the middle is filled with white sand, but empty otherwise. Actually, the whole place is abandoned. A huge flyer dangling from above says “The Maddest Show on Earth.” This does seem like a Wonderland Monster’s crime scene so far.
“So what happened in here?” I ask the Pillar, now that we’re alone, and we can drop the act.
“A man calling himself the Hatter has been performing here for the last month, for free,” the Pillar says, walking slowly with his cane and inspecting the place. Dressed the way he is, I realize the Pillar would easily fit in here, mistaken for one of the circus’s performers. An insane ringmaster, maybe. “Last night, the so-called Hatter performed a magic trick where he managed to magically make a white rabbit swallow a time bomb.”
“Oh.” I remember last week’s killer stuffing heads in watermelons. I wonder what’s with all that stuffing. “And?”
“He showed it to the children. The children panicked and ran away, so did the white rabbit, now loose on the streets of London, hopping happily, waiting to explode.” The Pillar seems interested in the sand on the floor inside the ring.
“What’s with all the cruelty Wonderland Monsters have toward animals?”
“Almost everyone in Carroll’s book is an animal, Alice,” the Pillar remarks. “I’m one, if you haven’t noticed.”
Of course, he’s not an animal. Or is he?
“So that’s why there is no corpse. We’re supposed to chase a loose rabbit with a bomb this time?” I change the subject. What, and who, the Pillar is isn’t something I want to delve into now. I am just happy to be out there, using my legs and away from the asylum.
“Could be.”
“Some kind of wicked Wonderland Monster terrorism attack?”
“I assume so.” The Pillar is still fascinated by the ring.
“Why do you seem to have doubts about all of this?” I say. “A bomb inside a rabbit is meant to brutally explode somewhere in London. I can’t see it any other way.”
“If I’m a terrorist with a bomb, I’d let it just explode wherever I want it to explode.” The Pillar squints, still staring at the ring in the middle. “Why let a rabbit loose? Whoever this Wonderland Monster is, he has a mysterious plan I can’t put my finger on.”
Chapter 3
Sunday, 8:24 a.m.
When I think about it, the Pillar’s assumption makes sense. A rabbit with a bomb, let alone how unethical it is, might be meant to stir panic all over the city for a reason or another. I try to figure out what’s going on, but I know very little about the situation. “Are you saying this is meant for me and you again, a message from a Wonderland Monster?”
“It’s hard to tell. The Wonderland Monsters work in nonsensical ways.” The Pillar stops before the ring, not willing to step inside for some reason. What’s so important about the sand inside?
“At least we know he is the Mad Hatter this time.”
“That’s who he claims to be.” The Pillar kneels down, thoroughly inspecting the empty ring. “Still, something isn’t quite right here.”
“The sand?”
The Pillar nods and stands up again. “But I’m not sure yet.” He looks at me, as if he is seeing me for the first time. “What's up with all your bruises? Had a fight with Waltraud?"
“Nah, it's None Fu.” I swallow the word. “I was training.”
“Does it say to try to kill yourself and stick a carrot in your behind in the book?”
“Of course not! There are certain moves, similar to karate, that are supposed to work, but I end up falling on my hips or hitting the wall.” I try to sound casual but I am utterly embarrassed. Even to the Pillar, this None Fu thing seems off the rocker. “I'll have to keep doing this until it works."
“You know only insane people do the same thing over and over again, expecting the same results, over and over again, right?”
“What’s so wrong with insane people?” A half-smile surfaces on my lips.
“Nothing.” The Pillar smiles. “They can do whatever they want... and that is the fun of it.”
Suddenly, a noise interrupts us.
Someone is snoring in the tiers behind me. I turn around and see a man in his fifties, sitting with his neck resting on his shoulder. He is wearing a long brown duster, and is sleeping on the bank in the highest row in the back. I turn back and shoot the Pillar an inquisitive look.
“Nothing to worry about. That’s Chief Inspector Dormouse,” the Pillar says. “Sherlock Dormouse.” He raises one eyebrow and shields his mouth with one gloved hand.