The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(147)
Wells then decided that the completion of the work that contained the key to saving that and all other possible worlds called for a celebration, and that they both deserved a rest. And so they lit the fire, poured themselves a drink—only a drop, as alcohol no longer agreed with them very well—and slumped into their respective armchairs with a contented sigh and a creaking of elderly joints. It was time to enjoy one of their soothing, magical sessions by the fire that they had so missed. But before starting they agreed they would connect with only happy twins that evening, not with those poor wretches who had developed the disease, or those fleeing Martians, or the Invisible Man, or any other equally disturbing threat. No, they had had enough thrills and shocks. That evening they would savor the dull but peaceful existences of those twins who were simply minding their own business, because fortunately, in a universe made up of infinite parallel worlds, it was still possible to live a normal life.
But Wells cheated. He could not resist the temptation to take a peek at the first person infected. He wanted to know what had been going on in his life since he had stopped watching him, although what he might find was as daunting as Jane discovering his small deception. At first, he had difficulty locating his twin, because after not using his gift for a year he was somewhat out of practice. But at last he found him: that Wells was now an old man, and by leafing back through the pages of his memory he discovered everything that had happened to him since he last ventured into his mind. He was pleased to see that at the end of an eventful life his twin had attained a measure of peace. After an exciting adventure in the Antarctic, where he had lost a couple of fingers on his right hand, he had jumped into the universe in which he currently found himself, where his disease had entered a dormant phase, allowing him to rebuild his shattered life as best he could. Alas, just when he thought that his last days would be spent calmly preparing for death, an Executioner had picked up his trail, and for months he had been forced to live in hiding, escaping only narrowly and by sheer luck on a couple of occasions, like that time in front of the Royal Opera House. He had moved residences, changed his name to Baskerville, and adopted a different profession . . . Wells couldn’t help smiling when he saw that he had ended up as coachman to Gilliam Murray, who in that universe called himself Montgomery Gilmore. Just as Wells infiltrated his mind, the twin with the scar was holding a conversation with the original Wells from that universe.
“So you have no scar on your left hand . . . ,” Baskerville was saying to him. “But you do have one on your chin, whereas I don’t . . .”
“When I was fifteen I fell down some stairs,” replied the other Wells.
“I see. Whereas I didn’t. I was always very careful with stairs.”
“I’m very happy for you,” his young twin sighed.
Observer Wells chuckled to himself in his armchair in front of the fire, his eyes still closed. He felt tremendously proud of Baskerville, who was no less unique than he, not merely because he had succeeded in defeating a Martian invasion single-handedly, but because it seemed that he, too, had worked out the true nature of the universe, and of his disease, all by himself . . . Contented, he silently bade him farewell and let that world vanish slowly into the magic hole at the center of his mind. Then he opened his eyes.
Jane’s eyes were still half-closed, and so he sat gazing at her affectionately as he waited for her to wake up. He had no idea what his wife was seeing, but, judging from the sweet smile on her face, she must have been enjoying it. Ten minutes or so later, Jane opened her eyes to find Wells observing her with a rapt smile.
“Where have you been, my dear? You were grinning like a little girl on a merry-go-round.”
“Oh, I connected with a young twin of mine who was about to fall in love with her biology teacher.” She smiled significantly as she remembered. “As in many parallel worlds, they, too, were in the habit of walking to Charing Cross station together to catch their respective trains. But if the majority of your twins used the time to impress mine with their sparkling wit, this Wells was much . . . bolder. As we walked past a little gated garden, we slipped inside, and there, hiding behind a hedge in the moonlight we . . . Oh, Bertie, it was wonderful . . .” Jane noticed her husband gaping at her and thought it best not to go into any more detail. “And what about you, dear?”
“Er . . . well, I’m afraid the twin I connected with wasn’t up to such exploits.”
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BUT THE FACT THEY had finished The Map of Chaos did not mean their work was done. On the contrary, the most difficult part remained: to make sure the book found its way into the hands of one of the Executioners. But how? Those ruthless killers weren’t in the habit of strolling through the city, smelling flowers in the park, or traveling by tram, nor did they leave a visiting card after eliminating cronotemics. The only way Wells and Jane could see Executioners was when they were hunting down one of their twins, and even then they couldn’t communicate with them. Nor could they wait for one to come looking for them, since they weren’t Destructors. They might develop the disease in the future, but equally they might not. However, they were convinced there had to be at least one Executioner on their adopted stage who was pursuing a cronotemic, or there would be at some point. And a book called The Map of Chaos, especially if it had the same eight-pointed star on its cover that adorned their cane, was bound to catch the attention of any Executioner. Therefore, all they had to do was to ensure that the book became popular enough to appear in every bookshop window and newspaper in England for as long as possible. Yes, it had to enjoy the same success as Dodgson’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland or the novels of Wells’s own twin or, better still, the adventures of that pompous detective Sherlock Holmes.