The Map of Time (Trilogía Victoriana #1)(133)
“That’s right, she and her entourage wanted to see the war of the future that the whole of London was raving about. As you can imagine, I wasn’t too keen on the idea. Not only because, naturally, I would be expected to organize the performance free of charge, but, given the distinguished nature of our guests, it had to be carried off to perfection. In other words, as convincingly as possible. Luckily, there were no mishaps. I think I can even say it was our best performance. The distress on Her Majesty’s face when she saw London razed to the ground spoke for itself. But the following day, she sent for me a second time. Again, I imagined my fraud had been discovered, and again I was astounded to discover the reason for this new summons: Her Majesty wished to make a generous donation to enable me to carry on my research.
It’s the honest truth: the Queen herself was willing to finance my swindle. She was keen for me to carry on studying other holes, to open up other routes to other times. But that wasn’t all. She also wanted me to build her a summer palace inside the fourth dimension so that she could spend long periods there, with the aim of escaping the ravages of time and prolonging her life. Naturally, I accepted. What else could I do? Although, of course, I haven’t been able to finish building her palace and I never will. Can you think why?” “It must be because the work is continually being delayed by attacks from the ferocious dragons that live in the fourth dimension,” replied Wells, visibly disgusted.
“Precisely,” declared Gilliam, beaming. “I see you’re beginning to understand the rules of the game, Mr. Wells.” The author refused to humor him, instead staring at the dog, which was furiously scrabbling in the rubble a few yards from them.
“Not only did the fact that Her Majesty was taken in by my deception line my pockets, it also banished my fears. I immediately stopped fretting over the letters that appeared like clock-work in the newspapers written by scientists accusing me of being a charlatan: in any case, people had stopped paying them any attention. Even the swine that kept smearing cow dung on the front of the building no longer bothered me. Actually, at that point, there was only one person who could have exposed me, and that was you, Mr. Wells. But I assumed that if you hadn’t already, you never would. And I confess I found your attitude worthy of admiration, that of a truly sporting gentleman who knows when he has lost.” With a smug grin on his face, Murray gestured to Wells to carry on walking with him. They left the square in silence, the dog tagging along behind, and turned into one of the streets obstructed by mounds of rubble.
Have you stopped to consider the essence of all this, Mr. Wells?” asked Murray. “Look at it this way: what if I had presented this as a simple play I had written about the future instead of passing it off as the real year 2000? I would have committed no offense, and people would have flocked to see it anyway. But I assure you that when they arrived home, none of them would have felt special, or seen the world in a different light. In reality, all I’m doing is making them dream. Isn’t it a shame to think I could be punished for that?” “You’d have to ask your customers whether they would be prepared to pay as much to watch a simple play,” replied the author.
“No, Mr. Wells. You’re wrong. The real question you’d have to ask them is whether they’d prefer to discover this had all been a hoax and get their money back, or, on the contrary, whether they’d prefer to die believing they had visited the year 2000. And I can assure you, the majority would prefer not to know. Aren’t there lies that make life more beautiful?” Wells gave a sigh but refused to acknowledge that in the end Gilliam was right. Apparently, his fellow men preferred to believe they lived in a century in which science could ferry them to the year 2000, by whatever means, than to be trapped in a time from which there was no hope of escape.
“Take young Harrington, for example,” Murray went on, with a playful grin. “Do you remember him? If I’m not mistaken, it was a lie which saved his life. A lie in which you agreed to participate.” Wells was about to remark that there was a world of difference between the purpose behind one lie and the other, but Murray headed him off with another question.
“Are you aware that it was I who built the time machine you keep in your attic, the little toy that pleases you so much?” This time Wells was unable to conceal his amazement.
“Yes, I had it especially made for Charles Winslow, the wretched Andrew Harrington’s cousin,” Gilliam chuckled. “Mr. Winslow came on our second expedition, and a few days later he turned up at my offices asking me to organize a private trip for him and his cousin to the year 1888, the Autumn of Terror. They assured me money was no object, but unfortunately I was unable to satisfy their whim.” Murray had wandered off the main road towards a pile of debris beyond which a row of shattered rooftops was visible in the distance, darkened by a few clouds looming above.
“But Mr. Winslow’s reason for wanting to travel into the past was so romantic it moved me to help them,” said Murray sarcastically, even as, to Wells’s horror, he began scrambling up the hill of rubble. “I explained to him he could only make the journey in a time machine like the one in your novel, and together we hatched a plot, in which, as you know, you played the leading role. If Mr. Winslow managed to persuade you to pretend you had a time machine, I would not only produce a replica of the one in your novel, I would also provide him with the actors necessary to play the parts of Jack the Ripper and the whore he murdered.