The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(181)
“And you thought that if you concentrated hard enough you could conjure the death scene from The Invisible Man,” Jane concluded admiringly.
Wells nodded and they both looked at Marcus Rhys’s body, the man from the future who had killed them so many times. Crookes’s substance had by now sketched his whole frame, which was gradually becoming more clouded and opaque. He resembled a normal man with an athletic build and harsh, rather crude features, half-obscured by a thick, unkempt beard. His clothes were spattered with blood and torn in several places. His bruised, battered face wore an expression of anger and dismay.
“The Map of Chaos is no longer in danger,” said Wells.
But the world was still coming to an end. They hurried back to the Chamber of Marvels, where they had been obliged to leave Inspector Clayton, Captain Sinclair, and his men at the mercy of the engulfing hole. As they passed the entrance, they avoided looking toward the main door. The cries and explosions from the street were enough to tell them that madness and mayhem were raging outside. Once they had reached the basement, they were guided to the Chamber by the roar of the black hole. They paused in the doorway, contemplating the human chain formed by Sinclair and Clayton, with the addition of Doyle and Murray, who must have arrived at some point. The relentless power of the hole was gradually squeezing reality, sucking up increasingly heavy objects, and tugging furiously at their friends. The only police officer who had so far escaped could hold on no longer: his fingers slipped from the crate they were clasping, and he went spinning toward the interior of the insatiable hole. At that moment, the column the captain was holding on to creaked threateningly.
“The column is giving way!” Sinclair cried.
“They are going to die, Bertie!” exclaimed Jane, clinging to the doorframe, her skirts and petticoats flapping in the air.
Wells nodded dejectedly and gazed wistfully at the book he was holding.
“Damn it! The key to stopping all this is supposed to be in here, but none of us knows how to use it,” he said despairingly.
“I wouldn’t be so sure, Bertie.”
At first he thought it was Jane’s voice. But his wife was standing next to him, looking at him imploringly and in silence. And the voice had come from outside the Chamber. Wells and Jane turned round. Halfway down the corridor they discovered a strange trio. A small, frail old lady was gazing at them in a kindly fashion. Beside her stood a lanky gentleman with a horsey face and the stuffy air of an academic. And finally, behind them stood a striking figure, over six feet tall, wearing a flowing black cape and a broad-brimmed hat that obscured his face. Stifling a shudder, Wells looked again at the old lady, who quickly smiled to put him at ease. And in a flash, he recognized those defiant, intelligent eyes.
“Jane . . .”
She nodded and gazed with sorrow at the book Wells was clutching.
“At last it is with you,” she said softly.
Wells nodded, standing erect in a dismal attempt to appear worthy. After all, he was the last Wells in that long chain of doubles, the Wells who had been entrusted to guard it with his life, to prevent the Villain of the story from destroying it.
“If you will allow me, Mr. Wells,” the well-dressed gentleman said, extending his hand to take the book. “We have to save the world and I don’t think there is much time.”
Wells gave it to him with a sense of relief rather than solemnity. The man began flicking through it with nimble fingers, nodding from time to time, which was more than anyone else had done and which led Wells to deduce that he might be a Scientist from the same universe as the old lady. Then he contemplated Jane’s aged twin, who was gazing at him with a wistful smile, and he felt a sudden surge of admiration. It was clear that despite everything she had been through since the Villain killed her husband, she had never given in, and now, at last, she had succeeded in handing the book over to those who came from the Other Side.
“I am proud of you, Jane,” said Wells, smiling back at her. “And I think I can speak for all the Wellses in the universe.”
The old lady’s smile grew a little broader. Then she stepped toward him and studied his face tenderly for a moment. Wells understood that she was simply contemplating the face of the man she loved, whom she had seen shot in the heart an eternity ago. Then she brought her face closer to his. Wells closed his eyes, expecting her to kiss him, preparing to become the depositary of that posthumous gesture, which, through the invisible threads that linked him to all the other Wellses, would reach the lips for which they were intended. But there was no kiss. Instead he felt the old lady press her forehead against his. She remained like that for a moment, as though listening to the sound of his thoughts, and then pulled away. Afterward, she clasped her twin’s hands and performed the same solemn gesture with her. For a few seconds, the two women remained in that position, one leaning against the woman she would become, the other against the woman she had once been.
Just then, the man poring over the book broke the spell with a triumphant cry. He showed the page to the Executioner, who nodded almost imperceptibly. His fingers touched the handle of his cane, which lit up instantly.
“We must leave,” he said without moving his lips. “I have a multiverse to save, and you a book with a happy ending to finish.”
The old lady nodded, bade the couple farewell with a smile, and placed herself next to the Executioner, who enfolded her in his cape like a conjuror. The air quivered slightly, and Wells and Jane found themselves alone with the Scientist. Then a loud crack made them turn toward the inside of the Chamber, in time to see the column Captain Sinclair was holding on to break in half and their friends fly toward the hole.