The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(155)

Jane smiled as she recalled those days, but something in the Executioner’s face—a flicker of impatience, perhaps—made her continue quickly.

“Well, I might tell you that amazing story some other time. The main thing is that money allowed me to spend nearly two years attending hundreds of séances and visiting dozens of haunted houses. Alas, I never bumped into any of our cronotemic twins. I saw a Jane roaming round a graveyard once, but she was in the final stages of the disease, so almost invisible and utterly mad, and therefore of no use to me. The months flew by, and I felt increasingly weak and tired. I began to think that by the time I found a Perfect Twin to whom I could entrust The Map of Chaos it would be too late, and yet, even so, I was reluctant to seek out our twins in that world. I couldn’t forget the charming couple who had died because of us. I didn’t want any more deaths on my conscience . . . And so I decided to revert to my original plan and publish The Map of Chaos—not the one my husband had written, but rather my own version. The story I had started writing as a gift for Bertie, in which I narrated in detail how H. G. Wells saved the world, tried at the same time to redeem him from the fact that in order to do so it was necessary for him to first put it in mortal danger. It had begun as a simple pastime in the first world I washed up in, where I experienced the pleasure of boating on the river with the author of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland himself. But when the Villain murdered Bertie, forcing me to leap, I was unable to take my manuscript with me and had to start over again. However, this time my intention was to publish it; I thought that if an Executioner were to see my book in a shop window with the Star of Chaos embossed on the cover, he would undoubtedly read it and instantly begin searching for the author. Then, at last, I would be able to give him the real, the genuine MAP OF CHAOS. That is why I chose a male author to narrate my story, because in the backward society I was living in, it would have been much more difficult to publish a book written by a woman (even if she was the inventor of the Mechanical Servant) and I needed that to happen as quickly as possible and in as many different countries as possible. I even thought of publishing it under the pseudonym Miles Dyson—the bioscientist who designed the original prototype of the Executioner. My idea was as ingenuous as attending séances in search of the perfect twin, but I could not think of a better one. Unfortunately, before any of my plans bore fruit, the Villain caught up with me again. That happened on 12 September 1888. At the residence of the famous medium known as Lady Amber, the evil Rhys materialized and recognized me instantly. Naturally, he demanded I hand over The Map of Chaos. Then he tried to strangle me. Thanks to the intrepid Inspector Cornelius Clayton of Scotland Yard’s Special Branch, I managed to escape his clutches. But I no longer had any doubt about what I must do. The Villain had caught up with me. Out of all those infinite parallel universes, he had found the one I was hiding in. And he wouldn’t leave until he succeeded in taking from me what he believed was his, and so the moment I arrived home, I wrote a note to the Wells from that world—I chose him because my own twin was still only sixteen at the time—and I can tell you those were the most difficult few lines I have ever written in my life. I had to redraft the note several times, because in my excitement I couldn’t find the right words to convince a young man of twenty-two that he must come urgently to the house of a strange old woman in the middle of the night, as a matter of life and death . . . Finally, I finished the note and sent it with my faithful maid, Doris, to Fitzroy Road, where Wells was living with his aunt. Even though I knew there were no walls or doors that could keep the Villain out, I locked myself in my study and waited up all night, shivering with fear and clutching my beloved book, which was all I had left of Ber—”

“I am aware of M’s strength,” the Executioner interrupted. “He is a powerful level 6 Destructor. None of us has ever been able to catch him.”

Jane nodded sadly and continued: “The Wells from that world didn’t answer my cry for help. And Doris never returned. I don’t know what became of her, or whether my note ever reached its destination . . . In any event, whether it did or not, the Villain found me first. Thankfully, the young Inspector Clayton was with me again when he attacked a second time . . . The detective had come to my house at dawn to ask me about the mysterious events at Madame Amber’s the previous evening . . .” Jane smiled almost tenderly. “As soon as I opened the door and saw his pale, solemn face, it struck me that this eccentric young man was the answer I had been waiting for all night. Why not? I told myself. I could trust him. I knew him well . . . or I knew one of his twins, at least. I had seen him fighting off the Martians, and he had seemed like an honest, brave young man . . .” The Executioner’s eyebrows arched subtly in what would have been an ironical gesture had it materialized. “Besides, I was desperate!” the old lady defended herself furiously. “And people were not exactly queuing up outside my door to save the world . . . However, I had just begun to explain the situation to Clayton when Rhys broke into my house. I scarcely had time to entrust the inspector with The Map of Chaos and beg him to guard it with his life. Clayton slipped the book into his pocket, ordered me to lock myself in my study, and went out to confront the Villain. Soon afterward, I heard crashing from upstairs, followed by the monster’s roars, his violent pounding on my study door, and finally a gunshot. Then, for the second time in my life . . . I jumped. Thanks to the fact that I was in my own study, I was able to take the manuscript of The Map of Chaos with me. However, as you can see, publishing it in this backward world was impossible. The printing press hadn’t yet been invented, and to all appearances wouldn’t be for several more centuries. If I went on writing, it was only to stop me from taking my own life. As you can imagine, life here hasn’t been exactly easy for me. I was forced to earn my crust by working in arduous, insecure jobs that undermined my already frail health. In this world of lanterns and superstitions, inventing the Mechanical Servant would have been tantamount to an act of witchcraft. And, needless to say, no one held séances. And so, when I reached the point in The Map of Chaos where I could no longer go on writing, because I didn’t know how the adventure Bertie and I had embarked upon when we leapt through the magic hole ended, I decided to narrate those experienced by my husband’s favorite twins. I entitled them respectively The Map of Time and The Map of the Sky, and I assure you they have been a true balm for my—”