2
THE INKLINGS BAR, OXFORD
B ack in the Inklings, I am thinking there is a new mission for me. But I am wrong.
Fabiola, once the White Queen and the Vatican’s most loved woman, is sitting by a table near a bar, drinking beer. She is surrounded by all sorts of drunk customers who have more tattoos than hers. It’s a drinking contest. Fabiola is winning. I can’t believe my eyes.
Fabiola gulps. A man gulps. Man falls unconscious to the table, and all Fabiola says is, “Next!” Then she burps and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Hey, Alice,” she says on my way in. “Want in?”
I don’t even answer her. I roll my eyes and move on to the March Hare.
The genius professor is cleaning the floor, talking to himself in whispers. I think he is thinking in equations, or of a new design for a garden. He still thinks Black Chess installed the light bulb in his head. Maybe he is right. Sometimes I wonder: don’t we all have light bulbs in our heads?
The March is also surrounded by a few of the children we saved in Columbia. They follow him everywhere, but he refuses to give up his broom.
“He is like a child.” I wink at the children. “You need to ask him politely.”
They laugh at me and say, “He is a child, Alice.”
“March,” I say. “How have you been?”
“Better than Fabiola.” He nods toward her, but she doesn’t hear him.
“Yeah,” I say. “What’s with the drinking contest?”
“She is upset.”
“Why?”
“A little earlier, a few women who knew her from the Vatican came all the way here asking for confessions and advice.”
“Oh. What happened then?”
“She told them, ‘If you want to ask Him something, just raise your hands and say it.’ Then she offered them a beer. One of the women left crying. Another said Fabiola was possessed by the devil. This one before them isn’t the White Queen anymore.”
“I see.”
“And then someone came and asked for the Pillar.”
“I suppose this didn’t end well at all.”
“She threw a glass at him and threw him out.”
“I wonder why she hates him so much,” I say.
“I wonder if she can ever forget her days in Wonderland.”
“So, you know how Fabiola was before becoming a nun?”
The conversation is interrupted by Fabiola. “It’s time to start real Inklings work.”
“I was hoping you’d tell me a new Wonderland Monster arrived,” I say.
She wipes her mouth again, looking a bit tipsy. “Worse.”
“Really?” the March says.
“Is this about the chaos on the streets of London?” I say.
“The chaos is only a handshake with darkness.” Fabiola kicks a man out of his chair and tells him to leave, then pulls the chair over and sits. “Sit down. This new mission is different.”
I sit. “A scarier Wonderland Monster?”
“That’s too soon to tell. What we have here is an offer.”
“An offer? From whom?”
“From the most vicious killer in history,” Fabiola says. “A murderer. He always arrives on time. Not a tick too soon, and not a tock too late.”