In spite of all the confusion, the mixed emotions, the drink’s effect is hilarious. I wake up laughing like I haven’t for some time. It’s the kind of laughing that cramps the stomach and makes you wiggle your feet or hands. And the funniest part of it is that I don’t know why.
Could it be because everything around me looks so big?
This room I am in is definitely hot and humid, but its doors are the size of a fortress. The windows are, too, and it takes me a while to realize they are in fact windows. And this desert of velvet I’m walking on is nothing but the sheets of normal-sized bed.
I laugh harder when I see the Pillar the same size as me. He looks really annoyed, and it makes me happy.
“See? This is the same way I felt when you drugged me in the rabbit hole, pretending you were the Mad Hatter,” I say.
The Pillar is too annoyed to even answer me. He keeps shouting the Scientist’s name.
“But wait a minute,” I say. “This means the Reds aren’t working for you?”
“The Reds are hired mercenaries, Alice. I hired them last week, like others hire them all the time,” the Pillar says. “They once worked for the Queen of Hearts, and some of them still do, but those don’t call themselves Reds anymore.”
“Are you saying the Scientist has hired them now?”
“Looks like it. Where are you, Scientisto!” he shouts.
“I’m here,” a deafening sound answers. “I had to use the Alice Syndrome on you so as to keep my identity secret.”
It’s true. All we see is someone huge talking to us. It’s hard to tell who he is. Still, his loud voice, in proportion with his size, is annoying.
“So let’s cut this short,” the Pillar raises his voice, in case the Scientist can’t hear us clearly. “We know Carolus asked you to cook this plague for him. We need you to cook us the cure.”
I am curious about how this Alice Syndrome works. This is not exactly like the one I experienced in the rabbit hole. I mean, here we’re really small. And what boggles my mind is that I know that we’re not small. It’s just the effect of the drink.
It’s tremendously uncomfortable.
“There is no cure to the plague,” the Scientist says.
“Come on,” I shout. “What kind of virus has no cure? There must be one.”
“This plague is like no other. It’s not a virus.”
“Why does everyone tell us that?” the Pillar says. “You make it sound as if it’s not a chemical plague. Is it some kind of magic?”
“Worse.”
“Tell us, Scientisto,” I say. “Please.”
“I’ll pay double whatever Carolus paid you,” the Pillar offers.
“All the money in the world can’t cure the truth.”
“The truth?” the Pillar and I ask in unison.
“Yes. Carolus wanted a plague that wasn’t just incurable, but also ironic,” the Scientist says. “Like most Wonderlanders who were in the Circus, he wanted to laugh at the world. He wanted to give them a poison of their own.”
“I’m not quite following.” The Pillar suppresses a thin smile on his lips. Of course he’s amused about the idea. He just wants the Scientist to spell it out for him.
“The Hookah of Hearts plague makes people tell the truth.”
Chapter 62
Queen’s garden, Buckingham Palace, London
Margaret watched the Queen of Hearts lay on her stomach on the floor, kicking her hands and feet. The Queen couldn’t stop laughing so hard Margaret and the guards felt embarrassed for her. They also didn’t quite understand what Carolus said that was so laughable.
“You infected the world with telling the truth no matter what?” Tears of joy sprang out of her eyes. “Brilliant. Bloody Brilliant!”
The only one who shared her point of view was Carolus. Tied in a special execution chair, and still aching with migraines, he let out a few chuckles. He looked satisfied someone appreciated the idea, but he certainly didn’t get a kick out of it like the Queen.
Hiccupping, the Queen walked up, her face red like a pumped tomato. She adjusted her dress, trying to suck the laughs in around her guards. But it was only seconds before she started again.
“May I ask why this is supposed to be so funny, My Queen?” Margaret asked.
“Don’t you get it?” the Queen said. “Imagine a father returns home to his wife and children. He shouts ‘Honey, I’m home,’ And his wife goes like, ‘Why did you come back? I prayed to the Lord that you’d get hit by a train on the way.’ And the husband goes like, ‘Like I haven’t prayed the same thing for you all of those years.’ Then their child walks into the room and says, ‘Papa, you’re fat. And bald. My friends laugh at you. And mama, your cooking sucks.’ And from then on imagine the trail of honesty escalating until someone physically hurts the other.”