Present: Ice-cream Truck, London
“S o drugs are the source of madness?” Constance is skeptic. “It’s not a psychological issue?”
“We can’t confirm any of this,” Lewis says. “The first diagnosis of insanity because of mushrooms was ‘detritus effects of a very common species of non-poisonous agaric.’”
“What’s agaric?” Constance asks.
“Mushrooms,” Lewis replies. “Today it’s called ‘intoxication by Liberty Caps’ which are magic mushrooms.”
“I can’t imagine the word ‘magic’ in this conversation,” I comment, looking at the weak March.
“Well, it was magic, dark magic,” Fabiola says. “In the 1950s the dark magic became LSD.”
“I once read that mushrooms whisked humans off to another planet,” Constance snorted. “‘Whisked’ is the wrong word to use, but they used it.”
“Is that why your book was bonkers, Lewis?” Tom mocks him. “To whisk us all away from our existing miseries?”
“Wait,” I pick up my sword and go to check on Jack. “Are you alright, dude?”
“Stop calling me dude,” he is bored at the wheel.
“You called yourself Dude, dude,” I tease him. “What’s going on?”
“I am bored to death, watching people kill each other everywhere,” he says. “Although, I am quite surprised by the fact that they don’t attack us.”
“Maybe an ice-cream truck isn’t what they are looking for.”
“Are you kidding me,” he says. “So many people need vehicles now, not that there aren’t many, but so many need help. Why didn’t anyone stop us?”
“Maybe they don’t want help,” I say, watching the chaos through the front window.
“What do you mean?”
“Think of it. What is this war about? They are supposedly looking for the Inklings, us, because we are the bad guys.”
“And here we are, passing through without them noticing.”
“See? That’s my point. The people just want to express their anger. They want to yell at someone. Point fingers. This isn’t exactly about us. We’re only an excuse for World World III to happen.”
“You talk like the Pillar.”
I nod, not sure if it’s a good thing.
“So you mean the end of the world was going to happen anyway?”
“With or without us,” I point at a drunk man with pot belly sticking out of his short, and wearing heavy metal t-shirt. He winks and smirks while dizzily passing by. He sees the truck, gives us the finger and says, “Drink up, it’s the end of the world, bitches.”
“Wise words,” Constance sticks her head between Jack and me, laughing at the man.
“Are you supposed to hear such bad words?” Jack asks her.
“Bad words?” she mocks him and sticks out her tongue. “It’s the end of the world, bit—”
“Stop it,” I tell her. “What’s going on back there?”
“Did you leave because of the overly philosophical conversation back there?” she winks.
“Well, I don’t mind,” I say. “It’s good to know where all of this started. Also, there are always answers hidden between the words, so I love to listen.”
“Well, it ended up with Lewis telling us where we are going.”
“I know where we are going,” I tell her. “Jack too, or he wouldn’t be driving.”
“Did you know the Kew Garden is a botanical garden in southwest London that houses the largest and most diverse botanical and mycological collections in the world,” she explains. “I didn’t get that word ‘botanical’ at first, but in short it means exotic plants, which include mushrooms.”
“We’re on the right track,” Jack says. “I can feel it.”
“Is it at the London Borough of Richmond?” she asks Jack.
“Yes."
“So we are going near the river where we escaped earlier.”
“Yep,” he nods and rounds the wheel. “The worst place in London right now. It’s not going to be easy, but I know a way around. The Garden itself should be safe.”
“Why hadn’t the March remembered then when we were in the boat, while we were nearby?” Constance wonders.
“We weren’t in the garden itself,” Jack looks back Constance. “Why do you ask?”
She sighs, “I don’t knowwhat, but there is something wrong with both Tom and the March. I just can’t put a finger on it.”