HOOKAH FESTIVAL, BRAZIL
T he blaring horn puts the festival to a halt.
Not only that, but most of the crowd around us scurry away like rats. The Pillar and I are left alone inside a haze of smoke and fire.
Neither of us say anything for a long time. Anticipation? Fear? I have no idea. But I can hear the footfalls of dozens approaching us from behind the smoke.
“It occurs to me that we’ve not been told if getting the Scientist’s attention could lead to our deaths,” The Pillars says, trying to see through the fog of hookah smoke.
It’s hard for me to utter any words now. I realize what might be in danger is not the Pillar or me but Lewis’s key.
Staring at it, I don’t know where to hide it. Was it stupid of me to use it? Lewis was clear about not losing it. An insane idea hits me. What if I swallow it? I’ve seen them do that in movies.
But I am not going to swallow it. No way. I tuck it inside my shoe, wishing it to be a good idea.
The footfalls are nearing now. Everyone else in this festival has disappeared.
“Anything you want to say before you die?” the Pillar asks me.
“Not to you,” I counter back. ‘I hate you’ is what my eyes say, even in this haze. Then I realize I’m curious about something. “Maybe it’s you who wants to tell me something before you die. The Executioner. What was going on between you two?”
Unexpectedly, the Pillar’s face changes. It dims in such an unhealthy way. What happened between you and the Executioner, Professor Pillar?
His dimming face doesn’t last long, though. His eyes widen as our pursuers show up from behind the haze of smoke.
I am surprised I recognize them. But I’m not sure how they fit into all of this.
“If I had a mushroom for every time I run into one of you,” The Pillar pouts, staring at the Reds.
As usual, they are dressed in their numbered, red cloaks, their faces hidden underneath them.
“You want to meet up with the Scientist?” one of them says, his voice deep and hollow, as if from another world.
“Yes.” I stand up straight.
“You will have to drink this before we bring you to him!”
The Pillar looks away from the drink. “I’m not drinking that.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Hmm.” He hesitates.
“It’s the drink he made you drink in the rabbit hole in the Garden of Cosmic Speculation,” one of the Reds explains.
I sneer at the Pillar. He starts whistling, staring up as if admiring the night stars.
Then I realize I have to ask something, “And how do you, Red, know about that?”
“You don’t seem to realize who we are, Alice,” their leader says, his voice implying mockery. “Just drink this, or you will not see the Scientist.”
I have no choice but to accept. What harm will that do? I am used to seeing things bigger in scale. It’s not that bad, actually.
But as I bring myself to drink it, the Red’s sentence rings in my head. You don’t seem to realize who we are, Alice.
Does that mean they’re working for the Pillar? Does that mean I have been fooled again?