Alice nodded silently. Realisation was seeping through her mind like a morning mist from a river. It was, in turn, revealing and concealing her thoughts randomly, making her mind spin in a foggy whirlwind. One moment, she felt she was dreaming and wanted nothing more than to wake up and the next, she was sure she was fully awake and wished dreams would take her.

She had following the flow. Since being shut in the room with all the mirrors and then falling into... wherever or whatever this was, she'd had no choice but to take the path that opened up to her. And now she was accepting nonsense and riddles being spoken to her by a strange man and his bed ridden wife. She needed to step off the path and reassert, to herself at least, her status as a free thinking individual who needed to be asking what the hell was going on.

So she did.

"What the hell is going on?" she asked.

The professor blinked over the cup he was about to pass to Alice.

"I'm sorry?" he said, looking as if the tea was, perhaps, the most important thing in the world at that moment and she had just smashed his cup with a mighty hammer.

"I want to know what is going on."

"I don't understand," said Posty. "I asked if you wanted tea."

"I don't want tea!" she exclaimed, trying to refrain from shouting. "I want answers!"

"Answers to what?" he asked.

"To what? Are you insane?"

"Well, I don't believe I am, but sanity is subjective, in an objective way, so I could, in fact be."

"See? That's what I mean!"

"What? Look, you either want the tea or you don't. There's no reason to get upset. It've very nice tea."

"I don't want any tea! I want to know where I am and what's happening and how I get back!"

"Well," said Posty, shrugging his shoulders. "I'll drink it myself."

Alice stared at him, the frustration building to the point it had nowhere to go and evaporating against the wall of inanity he was putting up.

"Fine," she said. "I'll have some."

"I knew you couldn't resist," he said happily. "I wasn't really going to drink it."

She took the cup and sipped carefully at the orange liquid. It was sweet and, when she swallowed, if felt as if it were sliding down her throat smoothly, like honey but with a warmth of hot coals on a cold night. For a moment, it took her breath away.

"Good?" asked Posty, smiling brightly.

Alice nodded. She didn't feel like speaking. She just wanted to go home. Well, to the asylum, at least. Let Dr. Edwards wrap her up in a nice cosy strait jacket and help her sleep with those nice needles.

"I should go," she said quietly.

"And where will you go?"

Alice stared into the tea. She felt as if she had taken a dip in its warm waters and was being sucked under. She could herself drowning in despair and the sweetness of the liquid only served to make her feel more bitter.

"Anywhere."

"Alice," said Posty softly. "You don't even know where you are, so how can you discern where you might wish to go?"

"I don't think it matters," she answered. "I think I'm dreaming. Its the drugs. Maybe they gave me too high a dose."

"Oh perchance to dream," Posty sighed.

"You don't dream?"

"I did, once upon a time," he said, shaking his head. "When your dreams become a constant nightmare and seep into your reality, you tend to give up."

"What do you mean? It all seems wonderful here."

"In what way is it wonderful?"

Alice scratched her head and took another sip of her tea. What did she mean? Well...

"Your house is lovely, in its own unique way. You grow bizarre vegetables. You have trees and paths that drop where they want. Your wife seems... nice."

Posty placed his own cup, which he was still stirring, carefully down on the worktop. He looked at it without speaking, as if trying to force the spoon to keep moving. It didn't. Perhaps he should invent an invention to do that for him.

"My house is too busy. It doesn't know what it wants to be."

"I don't understand," said Alice. She wasn't only referring to his comment, either. Nothing made sense.

"It can't decide if it wants to be a home or a rabbit warren. It keeps adding some rooms and moving others. The bedroom was downstairs was a fortnight and actually outside for a month."

"How can a house do that? It's just bricks and mortar!"

"I wonder," he said. "I do wonder."

Alice opened her mouth to say something but he held up his hand to stop her. She stopped, swallowing the words back down. She had been about to complain, again, about his vague responses and insistence on dodging a straight answer.

"The vegetables are bizarre, but I've done everything I can to help her. The vegetables are part of that." He sighed heavily, appearing to shrink without getting any smaller. He was an inflatable figure deflating as the air - and the resolve - left him. "And my wife has lost her mind."

"She's...?"

"Lost her mind. I've looked everywhere for it. It's not in the garden. It's not at the back of the sofa, though I did find a key I'd lost. I just have to find the door it fits."

"You can't find a mind like that. It doesn't work that way."

"Have you lost a mind yourself?" Posty asked, squinting at Alice as if doing so would allow his eyes entry into her mind through her own eyes and see for himself.

Alice shifted under his scrutiny. It made her uncomfortable and she could feel the whisper of his touch inside her head. It was a creeping caress that sent a shiver spidering along her spine. She shuddered.

"No," she said. She was certain her family would disagree and Dr. Edwards would probably have to flip a coin. From her point of view, however, she was perfectly sane.

Probably.

"Then how do you know?"

"Pardon?"

"How do you know it doesn't work that way?"

Posty stepped forward suddenly, causing Alice to drop her cup in surprise. The cup smashed on the stone floor and the shattered pieces scattered as if they, too, were shocked and wanted to escape. The tea, somehow, had managed to land in one rippling puddle of orange, avoiding being splashed up legs and cupboards.

"Don't worry," said the professor, bending down to pick up the pieces. "It was only my favourite cup."

"It was?"

"You're a guest. I would only give you the best.

"Let me help!"

She crouched but he swatted her hands away. He smiled at her, showing he wasn't angry.

"Accidents happen," he said. "Particularly around here. Hence my wife."

Alice was about to ask what he meant but the question was forgotten as Posty reached out his hand to the pool of tea and it moved towards him, jumping up like a water spout in reverse. He stood and picked up an empty mug, offering it to the tea which flowed into it from his palm.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?" asked Alice.

"Not you, silly," he laughed. "I was thanking the tea for helping me clear up!"

"The tea...?"

"Yes," he said. "It could have been very messy."

"But... But it's tea...?"

"And?"

"It moved."

"And?"

"But it's tea?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

Alice rubbed her forehead, trying to ease the headache that was threatening.

"It's tea," she said slowly, attempting to not sound as if she was talking to a child. "But it moved. And you thanked it."

"That's right."

"But...?"

"Alice, my dear," said Posty, his hand on her shoulder. "Like I said, accidents happen."

"I don't..."

"It was my invention," he said, his smile fading quickly. "I tried to help her, but it all went wrong."