PICCADILLY CIRCUS, LONDON, 9:06 A.M.
P iccadilly Circus isn’t a real circus. It’s some sort of a traffic junction, more of a public space at London’s West End. It’s a busy meeting place. Sometimes, a tourist attraction for those who love noisy and overcrowded places.
“It’s been said that a person who stays long enough at Piccadilly Circus will eventually bump into everyone they know.” The Pillar sighs as the vehicle stops. The police officer wakes up the inspector, telling him we’ve arrived. He also tells the inspector to wipe away the words written with a marker on his forehead:
Inspector Sherlock Dormouse
Was miraculously awake from 9:02-9:04.
May he sleep in peace.
“Who did that!” the inspector barks, staring in the rearview mirror.
“It was him.” The Pillar points at the officer when it was him who did it a second ago. “But we’re in a hurry. Let’s get out.” He takes my hand, and I follow him outside while the inspector punishes the innocent officer in the car.
“Now we’re free to begin our investigation alone,” the Pillar says. “Tell me if you see anything out of the ordinary in the circus.”
Piccadilly Circus is full of video displays and neon signs mounted on every building on the northern side. Even this early, it throngs with all kinds of people.
In a hurry, I glimpse a few notable buildings, including the London Pavilion, Criterion Restaurant, and Criterion Theatre. How are we supposed to find a rabbit in this humongous place?
“I don’t know what I am looking for,” I say.
“You’re right. Come with me,” the Pillar demands. “There is no way we’re going to find clues in all this mess.”
“Don’t you think Mary Ann is the clue, not Piccadilly Circus?” I ask.
“I don’t know who Mary Ann is,” he says. “Until we do, this crowded place is all we’ve got.”
I follow the Pillar, glimpsing the time on my watch. It’s already 9:07 a.m.
As we snake our way through the crowd and cars, I see a tube station, part of the London Underground system. I wonder if the rabbit ventured down there. I hope not.
“We have to get a better look from the top.” The Pillar enters a building and runs up the stairs.
Climbing up, we’re trying not to infect others with our panic. So far, no one knows about the bomb that is about to explode in London.
The view from the top is even more confusing. It’s like a Caucus Race down there. People walking in every direction. I can’t seem to locate most of the police officers.
“This doesn’t look good.” The Pillar sighs. “It doesn’t look like there are clues for us here. And I wouldn’t expect to see the rabbit if it’s hopping down there.”
I concentrate, trying to find the next clue, but it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. I wonder if the Pillar is right about this. Are we really supposed to find the rabbit here? And why hasn’t this Hatter contacted us if he wants to play games?
9:09 a.m.
“What’s that?” I point at a notable statue in the middle of the circus. It’s of a winged, nude man, pointing a bow and string down at the tourists. “Is that Eros?”
“Eros to the Greek, Cupid to the Roman,” the Pillar says, still looking lost. “It’s one of London’s most famous landmarks. But you must know that.”
“I know a little about it,” I say, although I hardly remember being here before. “Tell me more about it.”
“We don’t have time, Alice,” the Pillar scoffs.
“But what if it’s the clue?” I argue. “As far as I see, it’s the most eye-catching landmark in this crowded place. It certainly stands out.”
“You’ve got a point.” The Pillar stares with interest. “The statue is one of London’s icons.” He starts reciting facts in case they may lead us somewhere. “It was the first in the world to be cast in aluminum. It’s set on a bronze fountain, designed by Alfred Gilbert. It’s the symbol of love, but everyone knows that.”
“That doesn’t sound like something the Hatter wants us to inspect.” I rub my chin, disappointed.
An imaginary bomb is ticking in the back of my head. The sight of a blown-out rabbit drives me crazy. Who would do such a thing?
“Wait,” the Pillar says. “The statue is erected upon a fountain, which is called Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain. It commemorates the philanthropic works of Lord Shaftesbury, a famous Victorian politician.”
“Victorian?” I say. “You mean he lived in Lewis Carroll’s time?”
“True.” The Pillar’s eyes glitter. “Lord Shaftesbury was also very interested in children, like Lewis. He was one of the first people who argued with Parliament that children shouldn’t be working so many hours like they did back then.”
“And?” I am excited we might be closing in on the next clue.
“And nothing.” The Pillar pouts again. “All similarities stop here. I told you, this statue can’t be the clue.” He glances at his pocket watch. “It’s 9:10. That’s so Jub Jub.”
“Why send us to such a crowded place?” I look down at the circus, wishing I could see a man with a huge hat and teacups. I remember seeing such a man in the Fat Duck restaurant, where Sir Elton John was playing. “Could the Cheshire be involved in this again?”
“Nah,” the Pillar says. “This is... I don’t know... different.”
“How are we supposed to find more clues here?” I mumble. “This all seems too out there.” Then it strikes me. I hope I’m not too late. “Unless...!”
“Unless what?” He looks defeated, angry he can’t solve the puzzle.
“Unless the Hatter has no intention of letting us stop the bomb,” I say. “What if he is like the Muffin Man? Maybe we’re here to witness something.”
The Pillar cuts me off. “Are you saying we’ve been led here to die in the bombing?”