Figment - Jace Cameron (книги полностью .TXT) 📗

She walked ahead with Bulldog and grabbed herself a small stepper, specially designed for her to stand up whenever she wished to reach something that was supposed to be out of reach. The Queen was slightly shorter than most queens.

She stood upon it and stretched her hands, pulling the bowl down. This time, she didn't need to dip her hand inside. She had these bowls previously marked with a yellow marker from inside, so she'd know when the level of nuts dipped below the mark. This was her perfectly planned trap for her nasty guards and footmen who were tall enough to get the nuts—if they had really sneaked into the chamber.

"Hmm..." The Queen's face reddened again. "So there was an intruder in the chamber a few minutes ago," she said to Bulldog, who nodded obediently. "Did you see the intruder?"

The dog shook its head with bulging Scooby-Doo eyes.

"Bloody traitors!" The Queen jumped off her stepper and plowed the bowl against a precious painting of Lewis Carroll that hung on the wall. The painting was called Alice's Adventures Underground, the original cover of one of very few initial copies that bore this name before changing it into Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. The painting, an older property of Queen Victoria, was signed by John Tenniel, Lewis' illustrator himself.

In the middle of the corridor, the angry Queen stood with clenched hands and stiffened feet, about to burst into tears like a child. Her shoulders were hunched but stiffened. Her hair thin and uncombed. Bulldog beside her had his tail clutched between his legs. The Queen's wrath wasn't to be underestimated.

"Something isn't right." She gasped again. "This can't be. The guards couldn't have entered and nibbled on my nuts." It briefly occurred to her that she sounded like the evil witch from Hansel and Gretel. "Who's nibbling on my nuts, muahaha!" But she flashed the thought away. "I am sure the chamber is locked. Only I own the remote control to lock it."

Bulldog nodded with approval, as long as it would calm her down. Dogs in general knew their owners were a bunch of cuckoos in the head. They had to pamper them and make humans feel good about themselves in exchange of charitable food and shelter. Nothing wrong with fooling a human to get what you want.

"So who's been nibbling on my nuts!" she screamed again from the top of her lungs, her voice echoing in the chamber. "Nuts. Nuts. Nuts!"

She tiptoed again, clenched hands again, and the thin veins on her neck protruded outward. For another brief moment she felt like the Queen of Hearts in Lewis Carroll's book; that scene when she was upset about who stole her tarts. But then again, this wasn't the time for thinking about Wonderland. Her nuts mattered the most.

The anger showing on her face was gradually intensifying. It looked she could explode like a full-blown balloon.

The Queen's dog had no means to tuck his head inside his body like turtles did, or he would have not hesitated doing it now. The hair on his skin prickled like needles and pins.

Suddenly, the Queen's mobile phone rang.

Now she got really furious. Who dared to call her that late?

Maybe a citizen in need, Your Majesty, her inner voice told her. But she was sure that only a few selected people had her number.

Trotting back to her room, anger spitting out of her ears, she wondered if anyone knew about her secret Facebook profile, but there was no way she'd really give it a thought now.

She picked up the phone and read the caller's name.

Now, this is alarming.

She calmed down a little, as this was an unusually worrying call.

She clicked the answer button. "You know what time it is?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Margaret Kent, the Duchess and revered Parliament member, said from other side. "But it's important."

"It better be." The Queen sighed impatiently.

"I know this will sound inappropriate if I ask, but..." Margaret hesitated.

"I hate the word 'but,'" the Queen said.

"Are you missing any of your precious nuts, My Majesty?"

The Queen was silent, and her knees felt wobbly all of a sudden.

"I see," Margaret responded to the Queen's utter silence. "So someone's been stealing from your nuts again. And it's not the guards, I assume."

The Queen nodded. Now, fear wrapped itself around her skin like a pale ghost. Bulldog was really starting to worry. Suddenly, it seemed apparent who took her nuts. The same man who broke in many years ago. It couldn't be. After all these years?

"Is it him? Is he back?" she asked, watching her dog's ears perk up. Of course, Bulldog must have been confused. What was so utterly scary about a thief stealing nuts from the Queen?

"I am afraid he is." Margaret sighed. "And it doesn't look good. He stole the nuts to remind you he's back. It's a message. A threatening message. We have to get rid of him. We can't handle him, not this time."

"You promised me last week's killings would be the last of Wonderland's nonsense," the Quern retorted. "I can't allow this in my country."

"I know. Don't worry. We'll contain the matter."

"Then do something about it!" The Queen's hands shivered. "Kill him. Do anything. Make sure I never see the Muffin Man again!"

Chapter 25

Director's office, Radcliffe Lunatic Asylum, Oxford

When we get back to the asylum, the Pillar and I separate so we won't be seen together by the guards. I still don't know how he is capable of escaping and returning to his cell, but I enter through the main door, as if the ambulance just dropped me back from the hospital I was sent to in London.

Inside, I have to pass by Tom Truckle's office.

"Before I let you in, I want to ask you something," Dr. Truckle says. He is eating his favorite mock turtle Soup, exclusively delivered from a famous restaurant called Fat Duck in London. Fat Duck is owned by one of the world's best cooks, Gorgon Ramstein. The restaurant is rumored to have stolen their amazing mock turtle soup from a Victorian kitchen in Oxford University's basement, supposedly the same kitchen that inspired Lewis Carroll's Mock Turtle character.

"And what would that be?" I ask flatly. He is mean, and he means nothing to me.

"Did Professor Pillar, under any circumstance, ever mention Houdini?" he asks after wiping his greasy lips on a napkin.

"Who's Houdini?"

"Harry Houdini, the most famous American magician of all time. The escape artist who could escape a box chained and submerged under water." He seems offended by my ignorance.

"Ah, that Houdini." Lately, no historical figure matters much to me. I am now all fixated on Wonderland Monsters. Who's Houdini compared to the Cheshire, really? "No, I don't remember him talking about him. Why would the Pillar mention him?"

"To cut it short, do you know how he escapes and sneaks back into the asylum without my cameras ever catching him?" Dr. Truckle points at the many new surveillance cameras in his office. "I've researched the matter, and only found one incident in history that matches the Pillar's skills."

I smile. It's amusing how the Pillar gets on his nerves.

"It happened 1819 in New York's Hippodrome Theatre, wildly known as the Disappearing Elephant event."

"Why are you asking me about his?" I am too tired to deal with his paranoia now.