The Map of Time. Felix J. Palma

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘Kaufmann and Austin are trying to reach the one nearest the entrance to the year 2000, but they still haven’t found a way to circumnavigate the herd of beasts grazing in the valley right in front of it.’

      While Andrew and Charles studied the map, Murray knelt down to stroke the dog. ‘Ah, the fourth dimension. What mysteries it holds,’ he mused. ‘All I know is that our candle never burns out there, to use a poetic turn of phrase. Eternal only looks one, but he was born four years ago. And I suppose that must be his actual age – unless the long periods he has spent on the plain, where time seems to leave no mark, are of no matter. Eternal was with me while I carried out my studies in Africa, and since we came back to London, he sleeps next to me every night inside the hole. I did not name him “Eternal” for nothing, gentlemen, and while I can, I’ll do everything in my power to honour his name.’

      Andrew felt a shiver run down his spine when his and the dog’s eyes met.

      ‘What is that building supposed to be?’ asked Charles, pointing to an image of a castle close to the mountains.

      ‘Ah … that,’ Gilliam said uneasily. ‘That’s Her Majesty’s palace.’

      ‘The Queen has a palace in the fourth dimension?’ asked Charles, astonished.

      ‘That’s right, Mr Winslow Let us call it a thank-you present for her generous contribution to our expeditions,’ Gilliam paused, unsure whether he should go on. At last he added, ‘Ever since we organised a private journey to the year 2000 for the Queen and her entourage, she has shown great interest in the laws governing the fourth dimension and, well … She made it known to us that she would like a private residence to be put at her disposal on the plain, where she could spend time when her duties allow, as one does at a spa. She has been going there for some months now, which makes me think her reign will be a long one …’ he said, with no attempt to conceal his irritation at having been forced to make this concession. He, no doubt, had to be content to spend his nights in a wretched tent with Eternal. ‘But that doesn’t concern me. All I want is to be left alone. The Empire wishes to conquer the moon. Let it … But the future is mine!’

      He closed the little curtain and led them back to his desk. He invited them to take a seat, and himself sat in his armchair, while Eternal – the dog who would outlive mankind, excepting Murray, the Queen and the lucky employees at her palace outside the time continuum – slumped at his feet.

      ‘Well, gentlemen, I hope I’ve answered your question about why we are only able to take you to May the twentieth in the year 2000, where all you will see is the result of the most decisive battle in human history,’ he said ironically.

      Andrew snorted. None of that interested him in the slightest, at least while he was unable to experience anything other than pain. He was back at square one, it seemed. He would have to go ahead with his suicide plan as soon as Charles’s back was turned. The man had to sleep some time.

      ‘So, there’s no way of travelling back to the year 1888?’ said his cousin, apparently unwilling to give up.

      ‘Not without a time machine,’ replied Murray, shrugging his shoulders.

      ‘We’ll just have to hope science invents one soon,’ Charles said ruefully, patting his cousin’s knee and rising from his chair.

      ‘It’s just possible that one has already been invented, gentlemen,’ Murray blurted out.

      Charles swivelled to face him. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Hm, it’s just a suspicion … but when our company first started, there was someone who vehemently opposed it. He insisted time travel was too dangerous, that it had to be taken slowly. I always suspected he said this because he had a time machine, and wanted to experiment with it before making it public. Or perhaps he wanted to keep it to himself, to become the only master of time.’

      ‘Who are you talking about?’ asked Andrew.

      Murray sat back in his chair, a smug grin on his face. ‘Why, Mr Wells, of course,’ he replied.

      ‘But, whatever gave you that idea?’ asked Charles. ‘In his novel Wells only writes about journeying into the future. He doesn’t even envisage the possibility of going back in time.’

      ‘That’s exactly my point, Mr Winslow. Just imagine, gentlemen, if somebody were to build a time machine, the most important invention in the history of humanity. Given its incredible potential, they would have no choice but to keep it secret, to prevent it falling into the hands of some unscrupulous individual who might use it for their own ends. But would they be able to resist the temptation to divulge their secret to the world? A novel would be the perfect way of making their invention known without anyone ever suspecting it was anything but pure fiction. Don’t you agree? Or if vanity doesn’t convince you as a motive, then what if they weren’t trying to satisfy their ego at all? What if The Time Machine were merely a decoy, a message in a bottle cast into the sea, a cry for help to somebody who might know how to interpret it? Who knows? Anyway, gentlemen, Wells did contemplate the possibility of going back in time, and with the aim of changing it, moreover, which I imagine is what motivates you, Mr Harrington.’

      Andrew jumped, as if he had been discovered committing a crime. Murray smiled at him wryly, then rifled through one of his desk drawers. He pulled out a copy of Science Schools Journal dating from 1888 and threw it on to the table. The title on the cover of the dog-eared periodical was The Chronic Argonauts, by H. G. Wells. He handed it to Andrew, asking him to take good care of it as it was a rare copy.

      ‘Exactly eight years ago, as a young man having recently arrived in London and ready to conquer the world, Wells published a serial novel entitled The Chronic Argonauts. The main character was a scientist called Moses Nebogipfel, who travelled back in time to commit a murder. Perhaps Wells considered he had overreached himself, and when he recycled the idea for his novel, he eliminated the journeys into the past, perhaps so as not to give his readers ideas. In any case, he decided to concentrate solely on travelling into the future. He made his protagonist a far more upright character than Nebogipfel, as you know, and never actually mentions his name in the novel. Perhaps Wells could not resist this gesture.’ Andrew and Charles stared at one another, then at Murray, who was scribbling something in a notebook. ‘Here is Wells’s address,’ he said, holding out a scrap of paper to Andrew. ‘You have nothing to lose by seeing whether my suspicions are well founded or not.’

      Chapter X

      Drifting through the scent of roses suffusing the lobby, the cousins left the offices of Murray’s Time Travel. In the street, they hailed the first hansom cab they saw and gave the driver the address in Woking, Surrey, where the author H. G. Wells lived. The meeting with Gilliam Murray had plunged Andrew into a profound silence where God only knew what dark thoughts he was grappling with. But the journey would take at least three hours, and therefore Charles was in no hurry to draw his cousin into conversation. He preferred to leave him to gather his thoughts. They had experienced enough excitement for one day, and there was still more to come. In any case, he had learned to sit back and enjoy the frequent unexpected bouts of silence that punctuated his relationship with Andrew, so he closed his eyes and let himself be rocked by the cab as it sped out of the city.

      Although they were not troubled by the silence, I imagine that you, who are in a sense sharing their journey, might find it a little tiresome. Therefore, rather than lecture you on the nature and quality of this inviolate calm, scarcely broken by the cab’s creaks and groans, or describe to you the view of the horses’ hindquarters upon which Andrew’s gaze was firmly fixed, and, since I am unable even to relate in any exciting way what was going on in Andrew’s СКАЧАТЬ