MUSHROOMLAND, COLUMBIA
G ritting my teeth, I watch the poor kids being led outside.
“Where are they going?” I ask, my hands trembling.
“None of your business, little girl,” the Executioner says. “I’m starting to lose my patience with you.”
“Why not have another drink?” the Pillar interrupts.
Oh, God. How I hate both of them.
“Indeed.” The Executioner pours more of the pink liquid. “And since you’re in the mood for more drinks, here is what I will do. I know you have a question you want to ask me.”
“Finally,” I hiss.
“Yes,” the Pillar says. “I’m looking for a cure for the Hookah of Hearts plague that’s sweeping over the world by the minute—suspiciously enough, it has no effect on this region of the world.”
“Oh, that.”
“I know you don’t care about the world outside of Mushroomland, but I really need to stop the plague,” the Pillar says.
“I saw it on TV this morning,” the Executioner says. “Very funny plague. Did you see the naked teacher on the bicycle chasing his wife, trying to kill her?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure,” the Pillar says.
“Well... I understand it’s Lewis Carroll who spread the disease,” the Executioner considers. “I have to admit I don’t want to have anything to do with him. You know how mad and angry he can get, with all those migraines of his.”
I can’t believe they’re talking about Lewis Carroll, but finding the cure is my priority now. I don’t say a word.
“I know,” the Pillar says, “but we need the cure.”
“The thing is, there is no cure, Senor Pillardo.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I’m sure because you have no idea what the hookahs do to people.”
“It turns them into nuts, just like the mushrooms did to me,” I say.
“That’s an understatement to the brilliance of what this plague really does to people.” The Executioner taps the diamond grail he is drinking from. “This plague does something to people you would never have imagined in a million years. And once you realize what it is, you’ll understand why there is no cure.”
“What does it do?” I demand.
“Like I said, I’m not saying because I don’t want to have anything to do with Lewis Carroll.” The Executioner stands up. “But I know who cooked it for him.”
“That’s a start.” The Pillar steps forward. “Who?”
“I’m not telling you that either.” The Executioner smirks. “Not until you entertain me like in the old days, Senor Pillardo. Come on, make me laugh.”
The Pillar stiffens for a fraction of a second. “Of course.” He raises his glass. “Want to play Wonderland logic again?”
“Whatever’s on your mind. Just be sure you make me laugh.” The Executioner hands him a pistol. “And for starters, I laugh when someone shoots one of my guards. How about that for a start?”
“My pleasure.” The Pillar grabs the gun from the table and shoots two of the guards without hesitation.
I swallow hard and step away from him. Never have I imagined him this cruel. But who am I kidding? He has twelve dead people on his conscience.
“Frabjous! Haven’t lost your swift speed, Senor Pillardo.” The Executioner clinks glasses with the Pillar. “Now make me really laugh. Tell me jokes. Tell me about your adventures outside of Mushroomland all of these years. But I have to warn you, if you don’t make me laugh...”
“You will shoot me and the girl, I know.”
“No.” The Executioner approaches him. “I will make you shoot one of those kids outside, make the girl watch it, and then shoot you and her.”
This is the moment when I raise my trembling hand, unable to stay here any longer. “Is there a bathroom nearby?”
“Just outside that door, to the left,” The Executioner says dismissively. He is so much into the Pillar.
I turn and leave. Not for the bathroom. But for the children. It might be close to the end of the world, but I’m finding those children and getting them out of Mushroomland, if it’s the last thing I do before judgment day.