The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(184)

“Yes, yes,” the man with the metal hand cut in, exchanging a meaningful glance with the others, who nodded as one. “I think you should return to your post, lad. The museum will be opening soon, and I expect you have things to do . . .” He placed his prosthesis on the young man’s shoulder and shepherded him gently inside while Eric observed his metal hand nervously. “Ah, and don’t be alarmed if you come across a few officers from the Yard in the museum taking notes and samples . . . It is simply a routine inspection, nothing of any importance, though we trust we can count on you to be discreet. If you prove you are able keep quiet, I’ll bring you Mr. Doyle’s and Mr. Wells’s details, so that you can send them your manuscript . . . all right?”

Eric nodded and, after one last dazed glance at the remarkable group, entered the museum.

“Remember, you are only living one of your many possible lives. There are others. An infinite number!” Doyle shouted after him.

“And for the love of God, if you want to be a writer, shorten your name!” added Wells.

When the doors closed, Murray remarked, “That’s incredible! He doesn’t remember anything. He thinks it was all a dream! And his writer’s fantasies also appeared to him! Just like my Captain Shackleton!”

“And my Sherlock Holmes!” exclaimed Doyle.

“And I saw Martian tripods,” Wells chimed in, “and, as I told you, when Rhys was chasing us, I even conjured—”

“Well, I’m damned,” Doyle interrupted. “That means everything we imagine exists somewhere!”

“But . . . where are all those creatures now? And what happened to the damaged buildings? And the dead bodies?” said Jane. “Look at everyone: they are all strolling along calmly . . . no one seems to remember a thing!”

“It’s true,” said Murray. “Does that mean the end of the world didn’t happen?”

“But we remember it,” Jane reflected. “And that young man dreamt . . .”

Sinclair asked them to calm down and turned to Dr. Ramsey.

“Doctor, if I understood correctly what you were telling me on our way up from the Chamber, you come from the same world as Mrs. Lansbury, a world far in advance of ours. Perhaps you can shed some light on this matter.”

“Yes, Doctor, what is going on?” Clayton interjected. “Clearly the Executioner managed to prevent the infection, and now everything is as it would have been had that dog never bitten Mr. Wells. And yet all of us remember perfectly what happened just now.”

“And we also remember Baskerville, and the evil Rhys . . . ,” said Wells. “But if the epidemic never took place, how could we have met them? And, more important, why are my wife and I still in our nightclothes?”

Ramsey gave them a paternal smile.

“Mrs. Wells, gentlemen . . . I don’t think any of you fully appreciate what a wonderful, magical universe you live in. Although that is not your fault. In fact, the reason your universe is so special is precisely because none of its inhabitants understands it in its entirety. You live in a fascinating universe where everything is possible, where everything you dream or imagine exists somewhere . . . and perhaps at this very moment in another place, someone is also dreaming you or imagining you . . . Did the end of the world happen? Yes. Did it not happen? The answer is also yes.”

“But both things can’t be true at the same time!” protested Murray.

“Of course they can, Gilliam! Didn’t you hear what the doctor said?” exclaimed Doyle, a feverish look in his eyes. “Everything is possible! Everything! That means somewhere all the realities we encountered and experienced exist exactly as we remember them, and because we remember them. All those lost worlds: the epidemic, Baskerville’s adventures, Rhys’s odyssey, the Day of Chaos . . . But the world we are living in now, where none of that happened, where we managed to prevent the epidemic and therefore its devastating consequences, could also be in the process of being remembered or recounted by someone at this very moment. It also exists . . . Perhaps we are all a memory of a memory of a memory, and so on until infinity.”

“What the devil does that mean?” Murray muttered.

“Perhaps you are right, Mr. Doyle.” Ramsey nodded with satisfaction. “Existence is no more than an endless, repeated imitation of itself, like that snake devouring its own tail . . .”

“Or one of those things that simply happens because it can happen . . .” Jane added with a mysterious smile.

Wells looked at her in bewilderment.

“And why are we the only ones who seem to remember anything?” asked Clayton.

“You have all been in contact with the Supreme Knowledge. You have understood the profound truth of what has been happening. You have become Observers and, as a result, in some sense foreigners in your own universe, at least for a short time. However, for them,” said Ramsey, pointing at the passersby in front of the museum, “the Day of Chaos never existed, because they have never stopped belonging to this world, in which that day never actually happened. How could they remember something that never happened? But you have privileged minds, minds that are practiced in the art of imagination, minds that are open to every possibility, and that have allowed you, for a few moments, to become spectators and actors simultaneously. That is why you can’t forget. You have seen what didn’t happen, but also what might have happened, and for that very reason it did happen . . .” Ramsey looked at them one by one, his eyes radiant with joy, searching among their expressions of puzzlement and concentration for a glimmer of excitement that matched his own. He sighed, pointing vehemently toward the door of the museum. “Like that young attendant. He possesses a mind similar to yours, which is why he can sense that he has other lives. Who knows, perhaps deep down he is aware that there are parallel worlds where things have turned out differently for him. But clearly, thanks to having a mind capable of imagining other possible realities, he is able to remember what happened, though only in the form of a dream, because, unlike you, he hasn’t been touched by the Supreme Knowledge. Do not attempt to understand this. Be content . . . simply to experience it. Therein lies the true beauty of your world. The supremacy of the emotions, magic, mystery . . . Today you were touched by the Supreme Knowledge . . . But tell me, can you say you feel happier than any of those people quietly strolling along? Of course not. The thirst for knowledge, the tyranny of reason . . . those are the viruses that destroyed my world and almost caused us to destroy yours. Since the dawn of our civilization, we on the Other Side tried so stubbornly to scrutinize every mystery around us that all we achieved was to speed up the disintegration of our universe . . . I am convinced that the true fabric of existence, the final layer below the subatomic level, is the imagination. And whoever tries to fathom its enigma destroys it forever. Some of us have finally learned this lesson, and we will have to teach it to our own civilization, now that we will be reborn in one of your worlds. Perhaps we will need your help, my friends. The help of those of you who have not forgotten . . .”