THE EAGLE AND BIRD BAR, OXFORD
AN HOUR AFTER THE PILLAR LEFT
I received the Pillar’s call a few hours ago while I was still in the Vatican. He’d given me the address to the Inklings bar with the location of its key in a Tiger Lily pot beside the door.
I picked up the key and entered the place. On the table, there was a contract in my name. The Pillar bought me the headquarters of my Inklings gathering place.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to look at the historical signatures of the likes of Tolkien and C.S. Lewis on the walls. I was stopped, and shocked, by the news about the Lewis Carroll man on TV.
Now I am standing, staring at the TV in awkward awe.
Is this for real?
The man in the news looks just like the Lewis Carroll I saw through the Tom Tower and Einstein’s Blackboard.
Lewis Carroll is a Wonderland Monster?
“This can’t be,” I say to emptiness.
“I thought so, too.” The Pillar’s chauffeur appears out of nowhere. “But whoever he is, you need to look at this.”
He points at the BBC’s world coverage of what looks like people coughing red bubbles all over the world.
The BBC says that doctors haven’t found a medical explanation for it. Nothing in the hookahs shows a hostile infection of any sort. Still, it’s spreading fast, and they’re worried it’ll lead to a disaster in a few hours.
“The Pillar assured me this is the beginning of an unimaginable plague,” the chauffeur says.
“People coughing red bubbles. What kind of plague is that?”
“The Pillar said you’d say that, so he recorded this little video for you.” He shows me a YouTube video on his phone.
“Think about it, Alice. Have you ever seen anyone cough bubbles, let alone red? Do as my chauffeur tells you.” The Pillar drags from his hookah. “Ah, and don’t forget to sign the contract. Congrats, you own a bar now. At least you have a job, in case you lose your career as a magnificent lunatic patient in the asylum.”
The video ends.
I look at the contract, not sure if I should accept a half a million pound gift. I tell myself Fabiola would accept it; the Inklings is part of the prophecy.
I sign both the Pillar’s and my copy, not reading through.
As I hand it back to the chauffeur, I glimpse a condition in the contract written at the bottom of the page:
The two parties who share the Inklings Bar are bound by the agreement in this contract for an unknown time. The contract is automatically canceled once Alice saves the world from every last Wonderland Monster.
“Would you kindly seal the envelope?” the chauffeur suggests. “The Pillar demanded you seal his copy yourself, so I don’t peek into it.”
“Trust issues?” I roll my eyes, both at the request and the lines in the contract, then lick the envelope to seal it.
But it’s a short roll of eyes, and a shorter lick, only halfway through. I find myself swirling down to the floor like a dying flower.
The envelope’s tip contains some kind of sedative. The Pillar’s drugged me again.