The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(125)

“But I am!

“Well, then let go of him.”

“But I already have, haven’t I?”

“F-F-Forgive me . . . ,” the young man interrupted timidly.

“Oh, no . . . ,” Jane wailed, ignoring the young man and looking at Newton, bewildered. “In fact I’ve been holding him all along. By the Atlantic Codex! Have we lost our minds? Is it an effect of time travel?”

“Jane, I told you we haven’t traveled in time!”

“But it’s him, Bertie, it’s him!” she protested, pointing at the young man while Newton started barking again. “And he can’t be older than thirty . . . And yet when we jumped through the hole he was sixty-six. Moreover, he was . . .”

Unable to finish her sentence, Jane buried her face in Newton’s fur to muffle her sobs, at which the dog instantly stopped barking, surprised at this new role as a pillow.

“F-F-Forgive me . . . ,” the young man ventured again.

“One moment!” Wells interrupted him, slightly irritated. The young man raised his hand in a sign of peace. Wells turned to Jane, endeavoring to sound as composed as possible: “Jane, I implore you, regain your composure. We won’t be able to understand anything if we allow our emotions to get the better of us. We must calm our minds to allow knowledge to flourish in them.”

Jane nodded, her sobs beginning to subside. Wells rubbed the bridge of his nose and turned to face the young man, doing his best to appear as cordial and unthreatening as possible.

“Please forgive the inexcusable manner in which my wife and I have turned up in your home. I assure you there are reasons for it that are beyond our control, and we will gladly explain them to you. But, in order to do so, firstly I must beg you to answer a couple of questions. Preferably”—he gestured subtly toward the little girl—“alone. You have my word that it is absolutely necessary and that afterward we will be only too happy to answer any questions you may wish to ask us, Mr. . . . Dodgson. For you are Charles Lutwidge Dodgson . . .”

The young man looked at them inquiringly.

“D-Do I k-know you?”

Wells did not know how to reply. If all the current theories were incorrect, and they had in fact traveled back in time, then that twenty-something-year-old Charles still did not know them, because neither of them had been born yet . . . But time travel was not possible. Wells observed the young man attentively, studying his clothes, his hairstyle, and the tube he was clasping . . . Then, in a flash, what might have been the correct answer suddenly occurred to him. The young man would doubtless find it most odd, but if this Charles was anything like the Charles he knew (and Wells prayed he was), he was convinced he would accept it, because as well as strange it was also beautiful.

“Not in this world, Mr. Dodgson. But in the world we come from, another Dodgson identical to you taught me how to enjoy a golden evening.”

Jane looked at her husband, wide-eyed, as a spark of comprehension lit up her face. Wells smiled at her lovingly, proud of her quick mind, of having her as a companion on the long journey toward Supreme Knowledge. Dodgson cleared his throat.

“P-P-Please excuse me for a mmoment, if you would be so k-k-kind, er . . . Mr. and Mrs. Sprite,” he said, and then turned to Alice, prizing her gently from his leg. “My dear girl, I am afraid you must join your governess and your sisters in the garden and, er . . . ask them to take you home. We won’t be able to take any photographs today, because, as you can see, I must attend to these unexpected guests.” He spoke to her in a hushed tone, not in the way adults habitually speak to children, but with the more intimate manner they use among themselves and, oddly enough, with no trace of any stammer. “Is that all right?”

“No, it is not all right,” the girl protested rather crossly. “Look . . . I’ve dressed up as an urchin! I’ve even been practicing the pose you told me.” She ran to the nearest wall, which she leaned against, propping up one of her legs and extending a cupped hand before staring defiantly at the young man. “I might forget it by tomorrow,” she threatened gently.

“I am sure you will remember it perfectly tomorrow,” the young man replied, taking her by the shoulders and steering her gently toward the door. “Although I think you ought to sleep in that position all night just to be on the safe side.”

“But, but . . . you promised you’d take me into the darkroom to develop the plates!”

“A promise that will still be valid tomorrow. Providing it doesn’t rain starfish tonight. If that happens, I am afraid I shall be forced to break my promise, for as everyone knows—”

“But I want to stay and talk to the fairies! They’re so amusing . . .”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s a very good idea . . .” The young man glanced uneasily at the couple and lowered his voice. “Sprites are very particular, Alice, and there are few things they find more vexatious than naughty little girls. Except perhaps for the sight of human feet . . . Yes, now I remember, they can’t abide bare feet! It gives them insomnia, tinnitus, and terrible stomach cramps. Ah, and another thing they detest is orange marmalade; they only have to look at it and they come out in bumps . . . Luckily we didn’t eat orange marmalade for breakfast this morning and you aren’t a naughty little girl!”

“But, Charles . . . ,” the child whispered, “I’ve got bare feet!”