Furthermore(58)

Oliver offered her a sympathetic look. “To be fair,” he said, “I’ve had your father’s journals to guide me. I’d have been lost without them.”

Alice sighed, kicked at a patch of dirt, and trudged on. Quietly, she said, “I suppose I’ve now thrown us entirely off course, haven’t I?” She looked up. “I’ve made a great mess of things.”

“Not at all,” Oliver said brightly. “I know it might not seem like it, but you’re doing exceptionally well in Furthermore. Most people don’t make it this far.”

“Oliver,” she said, visibly embarrassed, “I tried to make it on my own for five minutes and I had my arm ripped off! The result of which forced us to take an unknown path that ended with our being attacked by a skulk of foxes who nearly bit off your head and forced me to snap my ruler in three.” She put her hand on her hip. “I don’t think that makes me any good at this.”

“Well”—he hesitated—“no, maybe you’re not an expert, but—”

“Oh, don’t bother, Oliver. I’m terrible on my own and we both know it.”

Oliver bit his lip. His mouth twitched.

And Alice couldn’t help it: She started laughing.

So Oliver did, too.

The two of them laughed and laughed until tears streamed down their faces, and for just a moment, neither child was bothered by the strange floral lane they walked through or the dangers they’d survived or the ones they’d soon encounter. This was a time of ease and release, and while it was possible they’d sniffed one too many sweet blooms and were unnaturally moved to silliness, it was far more likely that they’d just discovered one of life’s greatest tricks: Laughter was a silk that would soften even the roughest moments.

“You’re right,” Oliver was saying. “We should probably stick together from now on.”

“Yes, please,” said Alice, still giggling. “I’ve no interest at all in doing this on my own anymore. And I hope you will at least try to stop me if I attempt to abandon you again.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Oliver, eyes shining. “I’m so glad.”

Alice smiled.

Oliver smiled back.

Alice was missing an arm, and somehow it didn’t matter; she was much happier now than when she had a spare.

“Alice,” said Oliver, once the laughter had subsided. He was looking at her only hand.

“Yes?” she said.

“Did you really snap your ruler in three parts?”

Alice nodded and, after tugging them out of her pocket, held up the broken pieces for him to see.

Oliver looked suddenly anxious. “You know,” he said, “snapping your ruler like that—that is, I’m terribly grateful—but—”

“What is it?” Alice narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just—your ruler is a container. If you snap it open, its contents scatter—and you lose all the time you’ve been allotted. And . . . if you lose all the time you’ve been allotted, you’ll have to live on borrowed time; and if you’re caught borrowing time, you’ll be arrested for stealing.”

Alice’s mouth had fallen open. “Then why does it say to snap my ruler in case of emergency?”

“For its own selfish reasons, I suppose. You’d get your emergency sorted out just in time to be carted off for Time Thievery.”

“So I’m going to be arrested?”

Oliver said nothing.

“Oliver!”

“Probably?” He looked anguished. “Maybe? I don’t know, Alice, I have no real experience in this matter. Only theories.”

Alice groaned.

“I’m truly sorry. And I could be wrong, you know.”

Alice sighed, defeated, and looked off into the distance. Time had turned against her, and she didn’t know how much she had left. “Maybe,” she said, trying not to sound too hopeful, “maybe if I get arrested, you could use your emergency option to help me?”

Oliver shook his head. “I wish I could. But all Tibbins are different. Mine isn’t the same as yours.”

“Tibbin?” Alice said. “Is that what it’s called?”

“Yes. Furthermore likes to pretend its rulings are fair and forgiving, so every visitor is offered one bit of help on their journey through the land. But the help is different for everyone, and it’s always decided at Border Control. Once it’s been issued, it’s inscribed on the back of your ruler. It’s called a Tibbin.”

Alice frowned. “How could they know what bit of help I’d need on my journey before I’d even begun?”

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “How do you think?”

“But, Oliver,” she said, confounded, “using magic to tell the future—they couldn’t possibly—”

“Couldn’t they? Furthermore does what it wishes.”

“But happenstance is the most unstable, imprecise kind of magic—surely even Furthermore would know better than to rely on magic that grants only flickers of the future.”

“You think too highly of this land if you think it wouldn’t resort to lowly tactics,” said Oliver. “Remember: Furthermore has no interest in playing fair. They could snatch us up at any moment, Alice. They could kill us right now if they wanted to. Don’t you see? We’re alive only because they want us to be.”