TOP OF A BUILDING, PICCADILLY CIRCUS, LONDON,
9:21 A.M.
“B ut it can’t be that easy,” I say, contradicting my previous assumption about us being led here to die. Blame it on my insanity, I guess. “I’m confused about this bomb. I really don’t know how to stop it.”
“I think you were right.” The Pillar snaps his fingers. “Not about being led here to die, but about the statue being the clue.”
“How so? Tell me. We have so little time.”
“There is something peculiar about the Eros statue,” he says. “I remember someone telling me that if it were to release its arrow, its shaft would bury itself in Shaftesbury Avenue down there.”
“The statue is pointing at a specific destination?” I squeak. “That must be it. The arrow, within this crowd, is a peculiar landmark. It could be like an X marks the spot. Maybe it leads to the rabbit’s whereabouts.”
I am already running for the stairs. The Pillar follows me down.
We reach the street below. It’s already 9:23 a.m., and I dash through the crowd, toward the statue, tolerating all kinds of vulgar insults for my behavior.
The Pillar stands next to me, our backs to the statue. We follow the arrow’s target and can see it’s exactly pointing at something.
A homeless man...
The man is standing fixed in place as if someone led him to this precise spot. He looks overly dirty, with tattered clothes. The wandering crowds keep away from him. This must be it. The man stands alone, right in the arrow’s target. He is even staring at the statue.
The Pillar and I approach the man, not knowing what to say. He doesn’t care to lower his eyes at us. He’s fixated on the statue, fidgeting his feet, as if to make sure he’s standing in the right spot.
“Do you know where the rabbit is?” I blurt out, as insane as it sounds.
The man lowers his eyes. His gaze is weird. I suddenly realize he looks frightened.
“Answer me, please.” I take a step forward. He says nothing.
“Did the Hatter send you?” the Pillar demands.
The word “Hatter” seems to resonate with the man. Something glitters in his eyes, but he still doesn’t talk. He is scared of something.
The Pillar pulls the man by his collar, about to force him to talk. The man resists. His feet cemented in place. Then I see it. Underneath the man’s tattered clothes, he is wired with dynamite, and it’s probably controlled from afar.
“Look.” I point at the dynamite. The Pillar looks around for whoever is doing this. “Stay put,” I tell the homeless man. “We’ll get help.”
I am about to look for Inspector Dormouse when the Pillar squeezes my hand. “I don’t think this is the way to solve it. Let’s see what this awful-smelling man has to say.”
I raise my head and realize that the homeless man has been trying to talk, only he was too scared to raise his voice. The Pillar nears him, trying to listen to the man’s shivering lips. The man begins whispering, still stuttering with fear.
“Louder.” The Pillar can’t make the words out. “You!” he shouts at a few teenagers, listening to their iPods and singing along. The teenagers ignore him, still swinging to the music. The Pillar takes a step forward, pulls their iPods from them, and throws them away. “Walk!” he says and turns back to the homeless man. The teenagers run away. I haven’t seen this serious side of the Pillar before.
The homeless man raises his voice now, intimidated by the Pillar. “Why did the Mock Turtle call its teacher Tortoise?” the homeless man manages to say.
“What?” I grimace.
“Why did the Mock Turtle call its teacher Tortoise ?” the man repeats, his eyes sincerely pleading for an answer.
“Is this a joke?” I say.
“He’s talking about the Alice in Wonderland book,” the Pillar says. “It’s a play on words that we’re supposed to solve. It was mentioned in the book.”
“What kind of sick game is this?” I lament, then scratch my memory to solve the puzzle. I am supposed to have the Alice in Wonderland book memorized in the back of my head, but panic disrupts my thinking.
I look at the Pillar for the solution, and I hate myself for not solving it myself. I want to save this homeless man from exploding any minute now.
“Just give me a minute.” The Pillar raises a finger. “I know the solution to this.”
“There’s no time,” the homeless man stutters. “The Hatter told me a girl named Mary Ann might know the answer.”
The Pillar and I exchange worried looks. Who the heck is Mary Ann?
“Forget about this Mary Ann,” the Pillar tells the man. “We’re going to get it solved and save your sorry life.”
“Please...” the man says, but then he can’t say more.
We’re too late. Something splashes against the man’s chest. At first, I don’t understand what it is. But when the Pillar holds the man tight and helps him fall to the ground, I realize what it is.
The homeless man was shot, probably with a silencer.