DIRECTOR'S OFFICE, RADCLIFFE LUNATIC ASYLUM, OXFORD
W hen 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 underwater." 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 this?" I am too tired to deal with his paranoia now.
"I figured you might know, since..."
"Since?" I tilt my head.
"Since you are an expert in escaping a straitjacket," he blurts.
I try not to shrug. I find it a plausible train of thought. Where did I ever learn to escape a straitjacket? I have no idea.
"You know how many people in the world are capable of escaping a straitjacket as tight as the one we used on you?" he explains, then makes a V sign with his fore and middle fingers. "You and Houdini."
I laugh. "Look, I don't know how I do it. I just know I can. If Houdini did it too, rest assured, I am in no way related to him. Besides, how did you ever connect those events together?"
"Because of this." He hands me an old copy of the New Yorker listing the honorable guests attending the Houdini event. I scan it, and among the names find the following:
Carter Chrysalis Cocoon Pillar,
VIP guest,
A personal friend of Mister Harry Houdini.
"Is that his real name?" I raise my eyebrows as high as I can. Dr. Truckle nods.
Although I am astonished, I don't know what to make of it. The documents could be forged. "Listen," I say. "I'm not friends with Professor Pillar, and I need rest. Can I go now?"
Sighing, he waves the path to the door to me, then asks, "Is he going to ask for you again tomorrow?"
"I believe so." We still have tons of work in the Muffin Man case. "Look!" I point at the surveillance camera behind him. "The Pillar is back."
Dr. Truckle turns around, looking like an angry turtle about to explode. He watches the Pillar smoking his hookah, leaning back on his sofa, and wiggling his feet. If you take the cell out of the picture, you'd think he was on vacation in Ibiza. When Dr. Truckle turns on the sound, there is a song playing in the background. It's "Crazy" by Seal.
I try my best not to laugh as I walk away, wondering if Waltraud would allow me a shower today.