‘Oh, that . . .’ said the traveller, waving his hand in the air. ‘I assure you those three people were going to die anyway. Guy, the tramp in Marylebone, would have been killed the following night in a fight with one of his fellow vagrants; Mr Chambers was to have died three days later when someone robbed him outside his tavern; and on the morning of the same day the lovable Miss Ellis would have been fatally knocked down by a runaway coach in Cleveland Street. In fact, all I did was bring forward their demise by a few days. Indeed, the reason I chose them was because they were doomed to die, and I needed three people I could eliminate with our weapons so that their murders, with the fragments from your unpublished novels, would be reported in the newspapers where you would learn about them. I knew that, once I had convinced you I came from the future, I had only to let you know the meeting place and your curiosity would do the rest.’
‘Is it true, then?’ asked Stoker. ‘Do you really come from the year 2000?’
The traveller gave a wry smile. ‘I come from a long way beyond the year 2000 where, by the way, there is no war with the automatons. If only those little toys were our main problem . . .’
‘What are you insinuating?’ said Stoker. ‘Everybody knows that in the year 2000 the automatons will have conquered—‘
‘What I’m insinuating, Mr Stoker,’ the traveller interrupted, ‘is that Murray’s Time Travel is nothing but a hoax.’
‘A hoax?’ the Irishman spluttered.
‘Yes, a rather clever hoax, but a hoax all the same, although unfortunately only the passage of time will reveal that,’ their host informed them, grinning. Then he looked again at the Irishman, touched by his gullibility. ‘I hope you aren’t one of Murray’s victims, Mr Stoker.’
‘No, no . . .’ murmured the writer, with gloomy relief. ‘The tickets are beyond my means.’
‘In that case you should be happy that at least you haven’t wasted your money’ the traveller congratulated him. ‘I’m sorry you’re so disappointed to discover the journeys to the year 2000 are no more than a charade, but look on the bright side. The man telling you so is a real time traveller. As you will have deduced from the maps I left in your letterboxes, not only do I come from the future, but I am able to move along the time continuum in both directions.’
The wind was howling, yet inside the haunted house all that could be heard were the sputtering candle flames, which cast suggestive shadows on the walls. The traveller’s voice sounded oddly smooth, as if his throat were lined with silk, when he said: ‘But before I tell you how I do it, allow me to introduce myself. I do not want to give you the impression that we in the future have forgotten the basic social graces. My name is Marcus Rhys, and I am, in a manner of speaking, a librarian.’
‘A librarian?’ said James, suddenly interested.
‘Yes, a librarian, although at a very special library. But allow me to begin at the beginning. As you have seen, man will gain the ability to travel in time, but don’t imagine that where I come from we have time machines like the one in your novel, Mr Wells, or that time travel is the order of the day. No, during the next century, scientists, physicists, mathematicians all over the world will become embroiled in never-ending debates about the possibility or impossibility of time travel. Theories will abound on how to achieve it, all of which will run up against the immutable nature of the universe, which, regrettably, lacks many of the physical characteristics necessary for them to test their theories. Somehow it seems as though the universe was created impervious to time travel, as though God Himself had reinforced His creation against this aberration of nature.’
The traveller fell silent for a few moments, during which he took the opportunity to scrutinise his audience with his forceful gaze, his eyes as black as two rat holes. ‘Even so, scientists in my time will refuse to admit defeat, and will persist in trying to find a way of fulfilling man’s deepest longing: to be able to travel along the time continuum in any direction he pleases. But all their efforts will prove in vain. Do you know why? Because in the end time travel will not be achieved through science.’
Then Rhys began to pace around the halo of light, as though to stretch his legs, pretending to be oblivious of the writers’ curious stares. Finally he went back to his position and his face cracked into a smile. ‘No, the secret of time travel has always been in our heads,’ he revealed, almost gleefully. ‘The mind’s capacity is infinite, gentlemen.’
The candles continued to sputter as the traveller, with his smooth, downy voice, sympathised with them because science in their time was still a long way from envisaging the enormous potential of the human mind, having scarcely moved on from studying the skull to examining its contents in a bid to understand the functioning of the brain, albeit through primitive methods such as ablation and applying electrical stimuli.
‘Ah, man’s brain . . .’ He sighed. ‘The greatest puzzle in the universe weighs only four hundred grams, and it may surprise you to know we use only a fifth of its capacity. What we might achieve if we could use it all remains a mystery even to us. What we do know, gentlemen, is that one of the many marvels hidden beneath its cortex is the ability to travel in time.’ He paused again. ‘Although, to be honest, even our scientists cannot identify the exact mechanism that enables us to travel along the time continuum. But one thing is clear: man’s brain is equipped with some sort of superior awareness that allows him to move through time in the same way as he moves through space. And even though he is far from being able to harness it, he can activate it, which is already a huge accomplishment, as I am sure you can imagine.’
‘Our brains . . .’ whispered Stoker, with childlike awe.
Rhys gazed at him fondly, but did not let this distract him from his explanation. ‘We don’t know exactly who the first time traveller was – that is to say, the first person to suffer a spontaneous displacement in time, as we call it – because the earliest cases were isolated. In fact, if we have any knowledge of those initial displacements it is thanks to the esoteric and other journals devoted to paranormal activity.
‘However, the numbers of people claiming they had suffered such episodes began to increase steadily, although at a slow enough rate for the strange phenomenon to continue to pass unnoticed, except by a handful of mad prophets whom people usually ignore. By the middle of our century, the world suddenly experienced an epidemic of time travellers, who appeared to come from nowhere. But the fact is they existed, as if the ability to move along the time continuum were the next step on Darwin’s evolutionary ladder. It seemed that, faced with an extreme situation, certain people could activate areas of their brains that snatched them from the present as if by magic, and propelled them forwards or backwards in time. Even though they were still a minority, and unable to control their ability, theirs was clearly a dangerous talent.
‘As you can imagine, it was not long before the government created a department responsible for rounding up people showing this ability to study them and help them develop their skills in a controlled environment. Needless to say, registration with the department was not voluntary. What government would have allowed people who possessed a talent like that to roam free? No,
