“Oliver,” she said.

“Yes?” he said.

“When do you think we’ll reach the bottom?”

“Of what?”

“Of . . .” Alice looked around at the emptiness surrounding them. The bluest skies, a couple of clouds, and no sun she could see from where she sank. “Of this,” she said, nodding at nothing in particular. “When do we get to the bottom of this?”

“I haven’t any idea,” he said simply. And right then they hit the ground.

Alice and Oliver landed with two great thumps, one after the other, the impact rattling their teeth and bruising their knees.

“Right,” said Alice, as she picked herself up off the ground, dizzy and light-headed. She squinted at the scene set before them. “I take it you’ve never been here before, have you?”

Oliver shook his head.

They were standing in a narrow lane walled in by hedges three times taller than Oliver and packed so densely with roses and lilies and peonies and lilacs (and gardenias and freesia and hyacinth) that the two of them could hardly breathe. The flowers were stunning, but the sweet scent was so intoxicating as to be sickening, and the farther they walked, the more difficult it was to tolerate.

“Well,” said Alice. “I suppose we’re about to die, aren’t we?”

“You jest,” said Oliver, raising an eyebrow. “But it’s entirely possible.”

Alice shot him a halfhearted grin. “Well then, should we down-exit?”

Oliver laughed. “You can’t just down-exit your way through Furthermore, Alice. You’re only allowed to do it once every five villages.”

“See—how do you even know that?” Alice said, throwing her only hand up in defeat. “I haven’t any idea how to go about unearthing information like that.” She sighed, then mumbled, “And anyway I was wondering why it hadn’t worked for me earlier.”

Oliver offered her a sympathetic look. “To be fair,” he said, “I’ve had your father’s journals to guide me. I’d have been lost without them.”

Alice sighed, kicked at a patch of dirt, and trudged on. Quietly, she said, “I suppose I’ve now thrown us entirely off course, haven’t I?” She looked up. “I’ve made a great mess of things.”

“Not at all,” Oliver said brightly. “I know it might not seem like it, but you’re doing exceptionally well in Furthermore. Most people don’t make it this far.”

“Oliver,” she said, visibly embarrassed, “I tried to make it on my own for five minutes and I had my arm ripped off! The result of which forced us to take an unknown path that ended with our being attacked by a skulk of foxes who nearly bit off your head and forced me to snap my ruler in three.” She put her hand on her hip. “I don’t think that makes me any good at this.”

“Well”—he hesitated—“no, maybe you’re not an expert, but—”

“Oh, don’t bother, Oliver. I’m terrible on my own and we both know it.”

Oliver bit his lip. His mouth twitched.

And Alice couldn’t help it: She started laughing.

So Oliver did, too.

The two of them laughed and laughed until tears streamed down their faces, and for just a moment, neither child was bothered by the strange floral lane they walked through or the dangers they’d survived or the ones they’d soon encounter. This was a time of ease and release, and while it was possible they’d sniffed one too many sweet blooms and were unnaturally moved to silliness, it was far more likely that they’d just discovered one of life’s greatest tricks: Laughter was a silk that would soften even the roughest moments.

“You’re right,” Oliver was saying. “We should probably stick together from now on.”

“Yes, please,” said Alice, still giggling. “I’ve no interest at all in doing this on my own anymore. And I hope you will at least try to stop me if I attempt to abandon you again.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Oliver, eyes shining. “I’m so glad.”

Alice smiled.

Oliver smiled back.

Alice was missing an arm, and somehow it didn’t matter; she was much happier now than when she had a spare.

“Alice,” said Oliver, once the laughter had subsided. He was looking at her only hand.

“Yes?” she said.

“Did you really snap your ruler in three parts?”

Alice nodded and, after tugging them out of her pocket, held up the broken pieces for him to see.

Oliver looked suddenly anxious. “You know,” he said, “snapping your ruler like that—that is, I’m terribly grateful—but—”

“What is it?” Alice narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just—your ruler is a container. If you snap it open, its contents scatter—and you lose all the time you’ve been allotted. And . . . if you lose all the time you’ve been allotted, you’ll have to live on borrowed time; and if you’re caught borrowing time, you’ll be arrested for stealing.”

Alice’s mouth had fallen open. “Then why does it say to snap my ruler in case of emergency?”

“For its own selfish reasons, I suppose. You’d get your emergency sorted out just in time to be carted off for Time Thievery.”

“So I’m going to be arrested?”

Oliver said nothing.

“Oliver!”

“Probably?” He looked anguished. “Maybe? I don’t know, Alice, I have no real experience in this matter. Only theories.”