The Queen of Hearts smiled, listening to his mumbling. Good. The Tea of Truth was working.
Chapter 95
Geneva, Switzerland
“You need to remember,” I tell the March while inside the special limousine the Pillar rented for us. “Are those tubes the cure?”
“First of all, they aren’t just tubes. They are syringes inside.” He examines them in his hands. “But I think they are.”
“Think isn’t good enough,” Fabiola says.
The limousine crosses the gate and we’re parking next to the most important presidents in the world. I watch each one of them get out of his car, surrounded by the bulkiest guards. It’s ironic to see this kind of luxury and protection while the world is withering away everywhere else.
“If everyone is a president around here, who are we?” Fabiola asks the chauffeur.
“You’re Queen and Princess of Bonkerstan,” he announces, handing over our fake passports.
“That’s not a country.” I comment.
“That’s not even a real word” The March chuckles. “Oh, I’m the Minister of Cuckoology. Love that.”
“You know how many countries exist with such weird names?” the chauffeur says. “The world is too big, and the weirder the country’s name, the more no one cares. Just flash your passport on the way in. Act like a queen and princess. If asked, tell them you have a cure for the plague and show them the syringes. You need to get inside and stop the presidents from drinking the Queen’s tea.”
“So I didn’t need to dress like a business woman,” Fabiola says. “I’m a queen, after all.”
We step out of the limo, and we’re the only ones without protection or guards. I see Fabiola hide her Vorpal sword inside her dress and raise an eyebrow at her.
“In case your umbrella isn’t good enough,” she says.
“Time to kick some butt,” the March Hare says.
We both shoot him a straight look. He shouldn’t be joking. He should remember things.
We wave at the other presidents on the way in. Most of them stare at us from head to toe, wondering how it’s possible we’re here.
“Bonkerstan!” I celebrate, waving my umbrella.
Suddenly, all kinds of reporters surround us.
“Are you here to save the world? “A woman sticks her mic into my face.
“Of course,” I say. “Me and my mother.” I point at Fabiola.
“You speak English?” the reporter wonders. “Could you please tell us where Bonkerstan is on the map?”
“It’s not on the map.” I am improvising. “We asked it not to be included.”
“We need to protect our resources.” Fabiola catches up.
“Really?” another reporter asks. “What kind of resources?”
“It’s hard to explain,” I begin to stutter. What did I get myself into? “It’s more of...”
“Jub jubs.” Fabiola saves me again. “We produce about fourteen million jub jubs a year.”
“What’s a jub jub—“
“I think it’s more like thirteen million.” Now I cut in.
“Of course.” Fabiola distracts the reporter until we get into the building. “Considering the last million was all infested with marshmallows.”
“I’m sorry,” the reporter tenses. “But who are you, really?”
Fabiola and I say nothing. We’re only a few meters into the building, and this reporter could expose us.
“We are the one who have the cure!” the March steps in. The he turns to me and Fabiola. “I mean it. I found a note in my pocket. It says all we have to do is inject the infected with this syringe.”
“Then what are waiting for?” I pull out one of the syringes and dart into the building. Fabiola and the March follow me. All the reporters are commenting on how bonkers we are.
Chapter 96
UN Headquarters, Geneva, Switzerland
“Sit here,” the Cheshire told Tom Truckle. “It’s a bit far from the presidential area, but we’ll be able to see and hear everything.”
“Thank you, Jack. I didn’t think you’d be so useful.”
“I didn’t think I’d be either.” The Cheshire took in a long breath. It was good being in Jack’s body. Young, healthy, and feeling so alive. Why hadn’t he done that long ago? Something told him he’d stay in the boy’s body for a long time. Maybe it was time to forget about the Cheshire and just be Jack.
He enjoyed how most of the girls giggled at him. Jack was attractive and athletic. All the Cheshire needed was to learn how to act like Jack.
“Oh, tea,” the Cheshire said, taking what the butler was offering. “My father used to love his five o’clock milk—I mean tea, of course.”
“Did he love flying saucers too?” Tom said, squinting at something in the distance.”
“No, we cats—I mean, my father never believed in extraterrestrials.”
“I’m not talking about that. I am talking about teacups and flying saucers.” Tom was pointing at saucers flying their way now.
“Duck, Dr. Truckle!” The Cheshire pulled him under the stairs with him.
Teacups and saucers and vases were flying and crashing against the walls everywhere, accompanied by presidents swearing and shouting at each other.
“What is going on?” Tom wailed.
“Nothing much,” the Cheshire said. “World War Wonderland—I mean World War III.”
Chapter 97
UN Headquarters, Geneva, Switzerland
We’re too late. The hall is a teacups and saucers festival.
The most surprised of us is the March Hare, staring at the presidents of the world swearing and throwing teacups at each other.
And the worst part is that it’s all being caught on TV.
“Each one has his own war,” Fabiola says. “The Arabs and Jews throwing all kinds of china at each other.”
“My God,” I say. “The words they say to each other. Humiliating.”
“It’s a centuries old conflict,” Fabiola says. “And it seems all this peace talk was nothing but a front. The Tea of Truth proves that.”
“North Korea and South Korea, too.” The March points at them in the far corner.
“Is that the Russian and Ukrainian presidents?” I point.
“Not sure,” Fabiola says. “But I’m sure that’s the American president throwing china at the Queen of Hearts.”
“She is enjoying this,” the March says.
We watch her atop a high chair raiding the American ambassadors with her favorite teacups.
“The Queen shoots teacups better than Tiger Woods on a golf course,” a voice says behind us.
A voice we all know well. The Pillar.
“I thought I told you...” Fabiola begins.
The Pillar pulls her down instantly. A series of teacups swoosh above her head and knocked a reporter down to the floor. Fabiola looks more annoyed he saved her this time. She waves his hand off and looks the other way.
“Is she always that way?” the Pillar tells me. “I thought nuns had manners.”
“We don’t have time for this.” I tuck a syringe against his chest. “Dip this into the American president’s neck.”
“I’m going to kill him?”
“No. It will cure him of the plague. Sadly, we only have four. So our best shot is to save the American president, Iranian, Israeli and Egyptian.”
“I’d say the China and German presidents are good ones, too,” Fabiola says. “We’re not sure if offending the Germans won’t give birth to another Hitler.”
“Basically the most powerful president.” I duck as another saucer almost knocks me down. “The aim is to cool the world down and stop them from the telling the truth about how they feel about each other.”
“You want one in your chest too, Fabiola?” the Pillar says.
She dismisses him and turns toward the presidents. “I’ll take the Jews’ and Arabs’.”
“You should take the American president,” I tell the Pillar.