"Change time? No, Peregrine, nothing of the sort," said Albert.
All we observe here occurred long ago. This series of events is fixed in an unalterable past, and we are uninvited spectators to the enactment.
'Surely you mean 're-enactment?'
No Peregrine, this is the actual moment when these events are taking place — the elusive 'now,' a sequence, indelibly marked at a precise point on the space-time continuum. I have not stopped time for Mr Tolkien; for him, this is happening in the present and flows without interruption. I have merely paused our observation.
He held up his hand.
Now, on with the show.'
The pause was lifted, and Tolkien resumed where he left off.
"... the reason why you decided to keep him in."
'Tollers, old man," replied Lewis with a smile, 'I value your criticism always, but on this occasion, and regarding this matter, I intend to stand firm. To tell you the truth, I don't have a completely rational explanation for my decision, which no doubt will further weaken my case, but Father Christmas deserves his place in my story. He appears when the witch's magic is waning, and his presence gives us hope that the time is approaching when her spell will be broken forever, and the people will be freed from tyranny. He cries out,
'Merry Christmas! Long live the true king!'
I was beginning to understand what Ernest meant about a subtext.
Lewis continued with his oration, but I was no longer listening; all my attention was fixed on a globe of luminous yellow light the size of an orange, hovering above Lewis' right shoulder, following him around as if attached.
Montana was fascinated.
"What is it?"
'A leech. A biological machine hybrid that tracks its assigned target everywhere. Records and transmits the raw data back to its masters.'
'Can't Lewis see the leech?'
'No, it is invisible in normal light – in any light. But during independent observations, the filters don't work, and the globe becomes visible. Only to us, of course. To the Inklings, this meeting is happening in the present and always will be. It will never change, no matter how often observers revisit this time segment.'
'Why is Lewis being monitored?'
'His work is considered subversive."
Albert suddenly looked up in alarm.
The enemy has intercepted the signal and recognised you.
"Time to go. See that green light sweeping around the ceiling? It is a target spotter, and if it locks in on us, we are done for."
Albert pulled us through the closed door as something struck the inside with a muffled thud and a blinding flash of light. We retreated in alarm, but whatever it was, it could not leave the space within the room, and we remained unharmed.
"Totally irresponsible,' says Albert, "somebody could have easily got hurt there."
More jokes, but I can see that he was rattled.
"What about the people inside?" Montana asked.
"They are in the same space, but a different dimension," Albert replied, "and totally unaffected, but there is a lesson here for you, Peregrine. I hate to say it, but it won't be the first time something like this happens to you. You are a wanted man, and they will do everything in their power to hunt you down."
Arthur hesitated for a moment; his face creased with concern, "but more of that later. We will not disturb the authors any further tonight, but I would like you both from now onward to think of fiction as a work of creation in every sense of the word and accept the idea that characters from novels can escape the rigid confines of the role assigned by their author and assume an independent existence in the external world."
"What about the character left behind in the novel?" Montana asked. "Do they disappear as well?"
No. The original character remains in their same role in the novel, unaware that an alternative version of themselves exists and lives in another dimension. The novel remains entirely unchanged.
"That sounds wonderful, Uncle Albert," said Montana, "and I can't wait to start this adventure with Peregrine."
Albert smiled.
"My remarks were primarily addressed to Peregrine," said Albert, " and well you know it, but there will be a place for you later. Now, if I may continue.
"The original character continues in the novel as before," replied Albert, "and has no idea that an alternative version of themselves has evolved into a living, breathing person, possessed of free will. Would you like to consider that no doubt startling revelation as we walk to Blackwell's?"
But there was nothing to think over.
We believed him implicitly.
We strolled into the town, passing rows of quaint-looking cars before we arrived outside the famous bookshop. We stood back so as not to be too conspicuous.
Two undergraduates in short black academic gowns, holding textbooks, were conversing near the door. More precisely, one was speaking while the other, somewhat reluctantly, listened. The speaker was slim and angular, with floppy black hair that he continually flicked back with well-manicured fingers.
He wore narrow black trousers with matching suede shoes, and beneath his gown was a brown velvet jacket. One of the pockets held a paperback French novel, artfully positioned so the title was visible. A white shirt and a red bow tie completed his striking ensemble, and on this sunny day, he carried a large furled black umbrella with a carved bone handle, on which he leaned from time to time.
A poseur with a forced manner that was painfully unoriginal. I had no interest in him; my attention was on the second undergraduate. It was 'Bob Cherry,' late of 'The Remove,' at Greyfriars School, and a main character in one of my favourite childhood books.
Well, not exactly, but this chap looked just as I had imagined Bob to be.
Bob and his friends featured in a series of books about a schoolboy called Billy Bunter, a greedy yet likeable boy who was always trying to steal cakes and sweet pastries belonging to others. The boys lived and learned at Greyfriars School, an English boarding school similar to Hogwarts but without magic, where the main sports were rugby and cricket instead of Quidditch.
My grandfather, who had read the books during his childhood, gave them to me. Although the stories were set in a bygone era that I knew little about, I enjoyed them. The narratives reflected the attitudes of that time, but I recognised issues I had experienced at school myself, especially bullying.
In the books, the boys had wealthy parents, unlike me, but that didn't matter; they seemed a good lot and had loads of fun and escapades at school.
Bob Cherry.
One of my closest childhood friends, who used to live within the pages of a book, was now a grown young man at Oxford. He was tall, neat, and looked wholesome, with an open, honest face. His hairstyle was a straightforward 'short back and sides,' carefully brushed and 'Brylcreemed. ' The same stuff that Albert had put on my hair.
Bob wore high-waisted, generously cut grey trousers with wide turn-ups that flapped slightly in the breeze and highly polished black leather shoes. Under his gown was a clean white shirt and what must surely have been his old-school tie, fashioned in a Windsor knot. Over his shirt, he wore an unbuttoned jacket, old but well-tailored, with leather patches at the elbows.
He was the model for a whole generation, an ex-public school, and the product of the rigid class system of Earth Major up to the mid-twentieth century.
Bob Cherry at Oxford!
I now spoke to him face-to-face, although he could not see or hear me, of course.
"One of the heroes of my childhood, Bob, you and your friends were my closest companions. I often felt lonely and had no other friends of my age, so your school adventures felt like mine. You don't know how much you all meant to me. I used to hide away in a quiet spot to escape the shouting in our house and lose myself in your escapades. I read every book in the series, and now I can see how you looked when you grew up.
As long as people read books, Bob, you will never truly age or die. But here, your life is limited. I wonder what comes after Oxford. I would guess the Army; you have the look of an officer, but like all your generation, you will do compulsory military service and might get wounded or killed.
I hope it didn't end like that; you deserved better, but life can be unfair, and some things are beyond our control. Nevertheless, you don't have a right to happiness; you must fight for what you can change and never give up.