The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(154)

Executioner 2087V’s lips quivered slightly.

“Will I feel more pleasure?”

“Oh . . . well, I think there are differing opinions about that. Personally, I prefer it without, but, alas, this cheap brew is all I can afford, and since I have no biscuits to offer you as an accompaniment, I suggest you take a drop of milk.”

There was silence. Followed by more silence.

“All right.” The Executioner focused on the diminutive old lady, and she saw something fleeting in his eyes that made them seem for a few moments less terrifying. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Lansbury . . . or should I call you Mrs. Wells?”

The old lady smiled.

“Call me Jane. And I suppose that because I am still alive you must be Executioner . . . 2087V.”

The air around the killer nodded imperceptibly. Jane also nodded, serving herself milk after pouring some into the Executioner’s steaming cup. Her movements were quick and efficient, despite her hands shaking with old age. She closed her eyes and sipped her tea. As the hot liquid scalded her lips and ran down her throat, she felt her strength renewed. She was alive, she told herself, she was still alive . . . She had succeeded. Her broken old body had survived the onslaught of the years, the torments of loneliness, and here she was at the meeting she and her husband had eagerly awaited for so long. She had only jumped twice, but some deity had heard her prayers, it seemed, and her level of infection had been enough to attract one of those ruthless killers. And not just any one: the one who had opened his mind to Bertie, the one riddled with guilt because of his ghastly mission, the perfect Executioner to whom to entrust The Map of Chaos and the salvation of the world. If it weren’t for the fact that she no longer had it, of course . . . Jane cursed to herself, then, with a sigh, replaced the cup on the saucer and opened her eyes, only to find the Executioner staring at her fixedly. She couldn’t help thinking, despite the immense sadness she felt, that her former world had created one of the most beautiful deaths imaginable. With scientific curiosity she observed the pale hands of that phenomenon, lying inert on the table like two mythical birds left there by some hunter, and then she regarded his face, whose features seemed to have been shaped out of the soft light of dawn and the primeval darkness of night. Well, I never! she reflected, fascinated. And to think we marveled at the automatons created by Prometheus Industries!

“Can you eat and drink?” she inquired with interest, pointing at the cup of tea she had poured for him, which was still untouched.

The Executioner smiled, although it would be more precise to say that his mouth curved like the neck of a dying swan.

“I don’t need to, but I can.”

The old lady extended a trembling hand toward one of his and caressed it gently, marveling like a child.

“Oh, it is warm . . . I don’t think I could tell the difference between that and real skin . . .”

“It is skin,” the Executioner informed her. “Most of my body is made of synthetic bio-cells.”

“But, then . . . what are you?”

“I’m a cybernetic organism. I was made by the best bio-robotic engineers on the Other Side.” He paused. “There was a time when I felt proud to say that . . . But not any longer.”

“Well, you should try to recapture that feeling,” Jane said, looking straight at him. “You are a wonderful . . . creation. I would have given my right arm if we had possessed the technology capable of creating something like you in my generation! Besides, pride is a good thing. It keeps guilt and despair at bay. Believe me, I know. Sometimes, when you have lost everything, pride is the only thing you have left—” The old lady’s voice snapped like a dry twig. She raised a wrinkled hand to her lips and blinked a few times until she took hold of herself. “The day my husband was . . . murdered,” she went on with sudden vehemence, “I jumped into a parallel world, as I assume you must have read in my manuscript . . . There I was, washed up on a strange shore, only this time I was alone, widowed, racked by grief and persecuted by a deranged killer . . . I imagine the easiest thing would have been to admit defeat, to take my own life in the most painless way possible, to let the eternal night of Chaos descend on the universe without caring in the slightest . . . But I realized that not only was the fate of all possible worlds in my hands, but also that of my husband’s magnum opus, for which he had sacrificed his life, and for which he should be remembered. And so I swore to myself that one day humanity would be as proud of H. G. Wells as I am.” She sighed, smiling sadly at the ruthless killer. “You see, it was pride that made me decide to carry on.”

For several seconds another silence fell upon them. Then Jane nodded absentmindedly.

“Bio-robotic engineers . . . ,” she said, savoring those words, which evoked the exquisite, distant pleasures of scientific research. “I’d like to know what they would have done, faced with the same terrible circumstances as I . . .”

“And what did you do, Jane?”

The old lady looked at him in astonishment. She thought she had perceived in that metallic murmur a curiosity that was so . . . human, almost childlike; she even thought the Executioner’s cheeks had turned a subtle shade of pink. Or perhaps they hadn’t. Possibly that creature merely reflected his victim’s feelings. And she was his victim, she reminded herself.

“Oh, you want to know what happened next in the story you read. Well, after escaping with the book, I carried on with our original plan; what else could I do? True, as an active cronotemic, I could have simply waited for an Executioner to pick up my trail. But I had to bear in mind that I had only jumped once, and there was too much at stake for everything to depend on that, so I saw no harm in continuing to go to séances. At least until I came up with a better idea. I won’t go into how I managed to survive in that new world; suffice it to say I didn’t fare too badly. In less than a year I had amassed a small fortune thanks to the Mechanical Servant, an invention that revolutionized the wealthiest households in London. It was more of a clever contraption than a serious scientific innovation, and I tried to play it down so as not to draw too much attention to myself, because I hadn’t forgotten that the Villain was trailing me. Even so, it made me the richest, most mysterious widow in all London . . .”