9:39 A.M.
T he blood on the man’s chest is nothing but red paint. Was this meant to spook us? I honestly have no idea. All I know is that there is a bomb I need to stop.
“The first time it’s only paint, the Hatter told me,” the homeless man explains, looking shocked. “The second time, the TNT will explode.”
“Then why did you fall back?” I say.
“I was just shocked by the impact of the paintball on my chest,” he says.
I look up, trying to locate where the shot came from. I am thinking from the roofs, but I am not sure.
“What do you want from us?” I raise my hands and shout upward. Instead of asking what’s wrong, people walk away from me. “Show your face, ugly Wonderlander!”
The Pillar raises an eyebrow, as people stare warily at me. “She’s got a Certificate of Insanity,” he remarks playfully to the crowd. “She has the right to do that.” He swirls his finger around his ear.
“Do you have a problem with that?” I snarl at the passing crowd. I have no idea what’s gotten into me, but I am getting sick of all these secret Wonderland games.
“Screaming always feels good.” The Pillar acts as if he is my counselor or something. “Breathe in. Breathe out.”
“Get your hands off me,” I snap. Screaming does feel good. Not just because I’ve wanted to scream at anyone for a while, but because it helps me remember the solution to the riddle. “I know the answer to your question now.” I turn back to the homeless man. “In the book, the Mock Turtle says, ‘We called our teacher tortoise because he taught us .’ Tortoise sounds like taught us . A play on words, like the Pillar said.” The Pillar’s smile is ten miles wide. “It’s in the ninth chapter, called ‘The Mock Turtle’s Story.’”
“Right answer,” the homeless man says. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” I say, proud of myself. “How come you didn’t remember it?” I ask the Pillar.
“Maybe I did.” I can’t tell whether he is joking or not. “Maybe I’m not fond of homeless people. I think they should get a job.” He cocks his head.
“Unbelievable.” I shake my head at the Pillar’s cruelty. I am definitely not fond of him today.
“So we saved a homeless man from being killed in a silly game,” the Pillar says. “How are we going to catch the rabbit?”
Before I contemplate the question, the homeless man answers it: “By answering the second question.”
It takes me a moment to realize what I am looking at. The homeless man simply pulls the dynamite off, sneering at me and the Pillar. It’s not dynamite. It’s a hoax. The homeless man grins, showing his silver tooth and a few other absent ones.