"Wh...?"

Alice began to ask the question, but the expression of deep loss on the strange man's face stopped her. He had already ventured into the realms of sorrow of his own accord, even amidst talk of talking tea. If she remained silent, he might tread once more into its shadows.

She shook her head. Where were such thoughts coming from? Realms of sorrows? Tread into shadows? She really needed to get back to her asylum. Its walls and that nice Dr. Edwards made everything safe and warm.

"She was struggling with the little things," Posty said quietly. He avoided Alice's gaze and stared at the tiny droplets of tea still on the floor that were trying to find the rest of themselves and become a fully fledged drink again. "She would forget what day it was. That was the first thing. Then how to strap her boots. She loved those boots. Silver or mauve, depending on her mood. Straps all the way up to the neck."

Alice wanted to ask why boots would strap up to the neck, but didn't. A spell had been cast and she didn't want to be the one to break it. She simply nodded, hoping the gesture would prompt him to continue.

"The boots loved her, too. They were never too loose or too tight. Just right, almost as if they were a bowl of porridge. But she forgot. Not every day at first, just the odd one. Then it was every day."

He took a sip of the tea he'd just rescued from the floor. Now aware of the fact it seemed to be alive, Alice watched the liquid. There were tiny ripples in its surface, as if it was excited to be drunk. She was sure it was on its way to his mouth even before the cup made contact with the lips.

"She forgot my name. In ninety years she has never forgotten my name."

NINETY YEARS? Alice gasped, but managed to muffle the noise into sounding like a cough. The professor looked younger than her father and he certainly had more energy. The idea that he was, well it had to be more than a century old, was unbelievable. No more bizarre, though, than bodiless voices and sentient trees, she supposed.

"I kept feeling the need to correct her," he continued. "I thought I was helping her by pointing out her mistakes but, one day, I found her in the garden, crying. She had decided to go for a walk. Just to the bottom of the garden, that was all. It was a nice day. Why shouldn't she?"

Alice could see tears creeping to the edges of his eyes, skating along the lower lids and hanging from his long lashes as if preparing to take the leap to his cheeks. She was torn between offering support in the shape of a hug and wanting to let him release these inner demons. She was more than comfortable in the presence of such creatures, having been plagued by them for so long. It appeared, Posty had been required to keep them imprisoned for some time and, if she could help him set them free, she couldn't bring herself to stem the flow.

"She'd forgotten why she was there. It was a simple stroll to breathe some fresh air, but she thought she had misplaced something. She was searching for it but couldn't remember what it was."

He paused, his mouth and eyes closing. Alice could hear his nostrils whistling slightly as he breathed. She waited patiently, allowing him to compose himself. When the composure seemed to be taking longer than expected, she reached out to touch his shoulder, snatching her hand back quickly as his eyes opened. The tears were gone but the forlorn look remained. He shook his head.

"It was her mind. She told me she was looking for her mind. She had misplaced it." Posty smiled sadly. "From that day, the deterioration accelerated. She knows that she knows me but... she doesn't know me."

The tears could no longer be held back. It was as if the demons, wallowing in their freedom, had taken the liquid by the throat and torn it from his eyes. The stream was an aching waterfall that fell silently. Professor Posthumous Postlethwaite didn't cry out. He didn't sob. There was no shaking of shoulders and clenching of hands. He simply stood there, looking straight forward, with a flood pouring down his face.

Alice could no longer hold herself back. She moved to him and put her arms around him. At first, he didn't react. He wasn't quite rigid but neither did he sink into her embrace. He was still, devoid of anything except the emotion seeping out in his tears. Alice didn't let go and, finally, she felt the professor concede defeat. He slumped and his arms came around to match Alice's hug. They remained there, holding each other, Alice giving succour but also deriving some for herself. Arms around her, even though she knew she was the one giving rather than taking, gave her a measure of support too.

Suddenly, he stood upright and cleared his throat. He gave a long sniff, as if the inhalation could expel the negativity he'd been feeling and showing. An internal cleansing, perhaps. Alice stepped back and looked at him without speaking. Her eyebrows were raised in an unasked question. He nodded in unanswered assent.

"Well, now. I think a cloud passed by and stopped for a bite of lunch, don't you? I hate it when they show up unannounced. They never write or call or make preparations. They just drop in a suck the smile off your face."

He took a sip of the tea. It was a beautiful shade of pearlescent blue that drew Alice's gaze from the man, giving him the chance to compose himself.

"Where was I?" he asked, the spark reignited.

Not wanting to bring the cloud back to visit, Alice frantically tried to think of some way to divert his attention. She looked around the busy kitchen and was going to ask about the jumble of cogs and screws.

"I'm an inventor, you know," he said.