Aldate’s St., Oxford
“T his is no time to sleep again!” Tom Truckle pinched Inspector Dormouse awake.
Tom was in his car, driving to a place where he and Inspector Dormouse could further investigate the Fourteen Secret Society. They’d almost reached Oxford University when Dormouse fell asleep again.
“Wake up!” Tom’s voice pitched up. The hectic traffic was already getting on his nerves. “What kind of inspector are you? A serial sleeper?”
“Oh, sorry.” Dormouse brushed at his beady eyes, blinking heavily against the soon-to-set sun. “Where were we?”
“You said we should come to Oxford to meet someone who can help us with figuring out why the twelve men the Pillar killed had the same name.”
“Yes, of course,” Inspector Dormouse said. “I see you’re about to park. Good. We should meet with that man soon.”
“Just stay awake, please,” Tom said, parking his car. “After we figure this out together, I have a suggestion for you.”
“Suggestion?”
“Yes. I think you’d better retire from your job.”
“Retire? And do what for a living?”
“A professional sleeper. I’m sure there is such a job in this mad world we live in.” Tom pulled his keys out and popped a few pills. He was getting a bit drowsy himself, but he wasn’t sure if it was the jinx from being with Dormouse or if he’d been swallowing too much medication lately. “So, let me think this over again. The Pillar killed twelve men whose original names were also Carter Pillar?”
“The same twelve men whom he had a meeting with every year. The Fourteen,” Inspector Dormouse confirmed.
“So he basically knew these men for some time. Are you saying he played them, suddenly betrayed them, and killed them?”
“Maybe something came up and he had to do it. What’s puzzling to me is why they all had the same name and then changed it.”
“I know. It doesn’t make sense at all,” Tom said. “But if you ask me, I’m most puzzled by the name of their little secret society.”
“The Fourteen?”
“Yes. Let alone the fact that this number always pops up in everything related to Wonderland, Alice had it scribbled on her wall. It’s the date of Lewis Carroll’s death.”
“Could it be that the Pillar planned Carroll’s death with the twelve men and then had to kill them? Of course, I’m just going along with what you told me about Wonderland being real—a bonkers idea, I must say.”
“Wonderland is real. So are Wonderlanders. I’m one of them. You better believe it now or you’ll pay the price for not believing, trust me,” Tom said. “As for the Pillar having killed Lewis, it doesn’t make sense. Why kill him almost one hundred and fifty years ago, then kill his accomplices now?”
“You’re right about that.” Inspector Dormouse followed Tom outside, heading toward the university. “So, back to my puzzlement. Why name the secret society the Fourteen when there were only thirteen attendants to the meeting—including the real Pillar, of course.”
“Now you’ve got a point,” Tom said, crossing the Tom Tower entrance. “So tell me why we’re meeting that cook again?”
“He is the one I told you about. He used to eavesdrop on their meetings in the past,” Dormouse said.
“But you said he knew very little.”
“I managed to persuade him to tell me more.”
“How so?”
“It turns out the cook we’re about to see was a fan of the Muffin Man. Remember him, the cook from Wonderland whom Alice and Pillar killed some weeks ago?”
“I do. So you told him the Pillar killed his idol cook and now he wants to tell us what he heard? I think I’ve underestimated you, Inspector Dormouse. You’re brilliant.”
“Only when awake.” Dormouse nodded, looking flattered.
“We’re all knuckleheads when we’re asleep. Ever seen a brilliant sleeper?”
“That’d be me too,” Dormouse said, about to smile broadly, but he stopped, staring at the scrawny cook waiting for them in the hallway with a kitchen knife in his hand.
“Is that him?” Tom said worriedly.
“Didn’t I mention him being a former patient in your asylum?” Dormouse said. “You permitted his leave a few years back.”
“On what basis?” Tom couldn’t remember him, but he didn’t usually remember any of the lunatics who entered, except Alice and the Pillar, of course.
“You mentioned he was a danger to the Mushroomers in your report.” Dormouse shrugged. “And preferred that he live in the so-called sane world, rather than having him terrorizing your beloved mad people.”
“Did I?” Tom raised an eyebrow.
“You did,” the scrawny cook said. “I’m Chopper, by the way. Chopin the Chopper.”
“Oh,” Tom said. “Brilliant nickname.”
“It’s not a nickname.” Chopin waved his hand in the air. “Ever heard of Frédéric Chopin, the French composer?”
“He was Polish.”
“Whatever.” Chopin tensed, his knuckles whitening around the knife. “His father was a cook like me. A cook who liked to chop. Chopin, you get it?”
“I got it the first time,” Tom said.
“So, you want to know who the Fourteen really are or what?” Chopin asked.
“I do.” Tom nodded.
“Then follow me downstairs into Oxford’s most underestimated kitchen.” Chopin inclined his head in an unusual way, as if about to tell Tom a secret. “You know I’ve been secretly feeding Oxford’s students cats instead of fish for the past five years?”
“Blimey,” Tom said.
“Not any cats. Cheshire cats.”
Tom swallowed hard, trying to remember if he’d eaten in the university.
“Why do you think Oxford’s students are the smartest all over the world? ‘Cheshire meat is all you neet .’”
“You mean ‘need.’”
“Of course I meant ‘need.’ Had to change it, so it rhymes.” Chopin’s face went red. “Now follow me down the rabbit hole.” He snickered, then itched his back with the kitchen knife.
Tom went to follow him, reluctantly, but first he had to wake up Inspector Dormouse from another sudden nap.