The vivid splashes of light no longer spread across the horizon and the scene darkened. No sun could be observed in the lurid sky, across which clouds of queerly coloured gases perpetually drifted. Behind them, the city seemed to stir, shuddering with age and strain, groaning almost complainingly.
"What would happen to you if your cities collapsed?" she asked him.
"That is impossible. They are self-perpetuating."
"There is no evidence of that." Even as she spoke, two of the metallic structures fell into the dust and became dust themselves.
"Yet they are," he told her. "In their own way. They have been like this for millennia, somehow surviving. We see only the surface. The essence of the cities is not so tangible, and that is as robust as ever."
She accepted what he said with a shrug. "How long must we remain here, then?"
"You sought escape from the Lat, did you not? We remain here until the Lat leave the planet."
"You do not know when that will be?"
"It will be soon, I am sure. Either they will become bored with the game or we will. Then the game will end."
"With how many dead?"
"None, I hope."
"You can resurrect everyone?"
"Certainly."
"Even the denizens of your menageries?"
"Not all. It depends how solidly they have made an impression on our own memories, you see. Our rings work from our minds, to achieve the reconstructions."
She did not pursue the topic. "We seem as thoroughly marooned now at the End of Time as we did at the Beginning," she said moodily. "How few are our moments of ordinary living…"
"That will change. These are particularly agitated days. Brannart explained that the chronological fluctuations are unusually persistent. We must all agree to stop travelling through time for a while, then everything will be back to normal."
"I admire your optimism, Mr. Carnelian."
"Thank you, Amelia." He began to walk again. "This is the very city where I was conceived, the Iron Orchid told me. With some difficulty, it seems."
She looked back. Mr. Underwood still sat upon the memory bank, deep in conversation. "Should we leave him?"
"We can return for him later."
"Very well."
They stepped upon thin silver surfaces which creaked as they crossed, but did not crack. They ascended a flight of ebony stairs, towards an ornamental bridge.
"It would seem fitting," said Jherek, "if I were to propose formally to you here, Amelia, as my father proposed to my mother."
"Your father?"
"A mystery my mother chooses to perpetuate."
"So you do not know who —"
"I do not."
She pursed her lips. "In Bromley such a fact would be sufficient to put a complete bar on marriage, you know."
"Truly?"
"Oh, yes."
"But we are not in Bromley," she added.
He smiled. "Indeed, we are not."
"However…"
"I understand."
"Please, continue…"
"I was saying that it would seem fitting that I should ask you, here in this city where I was conceived, for your hand in marriage."
"Should I ever be free to give it, you mean?"
"Exactly."
"Well, Mr. Carnelian, I cannot say that this is sudden. But…"
"Mibix dug frishy hrunt!" said a familiar voice, and across the bridge came marching Captain Mubbers and his men, armed to the teeth and looking not a little put out.
16. The Skull Beneath the Paint
17. Some Confusion Concerning the Exact Nature of the Catastrophe
18. In Which Truths are Revealed and Certain Relationships are Defined
"What would happen to you if your cities collapsed?" she asked him.
"That is impossible. They are self-perpetuating."
"There is no evidence of that." Even as she spoke, two of the metallic structures fell into the dust and became dust themselves.
"Yet they are," he told her. "In their own way. They have been like this for millennia, somehow surviving. We see only the surface. The essence of the cities is not so tangible, and that is as robust as ever."
She accepted what he said with a shrug. "How long must we remain here, then?"
"You sought escape from the Lat, did you not? We remain here until the Lat leave the planet."
"You do not know when that will be?"
"It will be soon, I am sure. Either they will become bored with the game or we will. Then the game will end."
"With how many dead?"
"None, I hope."
"You can resurrect everyone?"
"Certainly."
"Even the denizens of your menageries?"
"Not all. It depends how solidly they have made an impression on our own memories, you see. Our rings work from our minds, to achieve the reconstructions."
She did not pursue the topic. "We seem as thoroughly marooned now at the End of Time as we did at the Beginning," she said moodily. "How few are our moments of ordinary living…"
"That will change. These are particularly agitated days. Brannart explained that the chronological fluctuations are unusually persistent. We must all agree to stop travelling through time for a while, then everything will be back to normal."
"I admire your optimism, Mr. Carnelian."
"Thank you, Amelia." He began to walk again. "This is the very city where I was conceived, the Iron Orchid told me. With some difficulty, it seems."
She looked back. Mr. Underwood still sat upon the memory bank, deep in conversation. "Should we leave him?"
"We can return for him later."
"Very well."
They stepped upon thin silver surfaces which creaked as they crossed, but did not crack. They ascended a flight of ebony stairs, towards an ornamental bridge.
"It would seem fitting," said Jherek, "if I were to propose formally to you here, Amelia, as my father proposed to my mother."
"Your father?"
"A mystery my mother chooses to perpetuate."
"So you do not know who —"
"I do not."
She pursed her lips. "In Bromley such a fact would be sufficient to put a complete bar on marriage, you know."
"Truly?"
"Oh, yes."
"But we are not in Bromley," she added.
He smiled. "Indeed, we are not."
"However…"
"I understand."
"Please, continue…"
"I was saying that it would seem fitting that I should ask you, here in this city where I was conceived, for your hand in marriage."
"Should I ever be free to give it, you mean?"
"Exactly."
"Well, Mr. Carnelian, I cannot say that this is sudden. But…"
"Mibix dug frishy hrunt!" said a familiar voice, and across the bridge came marching Captain Mubbers and his men, armed to the teeth and looking not a little put out.
16. The Skull Beneath the Paint
When Captain Mubbers saw them he stopped suddenly, aiming his instrument-weapon at Jherek.
Jherek was almost pleased to see him. "My dear Captain Mubbers…" he began.
"Mr. Carnelian! He is armed!"
Jherek could not quite understand the point of her excitement. "Yes. The music they produce is the most beautiful I have ever heard."
Captain Mubbers plucked a string. There came a grinding noise from the bell-shaped muzzle of his weapon; a slight fizzle of blue sparks appeared for a moment around the rim. Captain Mubbers uttered a deep sigh and threw the thing to the flagstones of the bridge. Similar grindings and fizzlings came from the other instruments held by his men.
Popping a translation pill into his mouth (he had taken to carrying them everywhere just recently) Jherek said:
"What brings you to the city, Captain Mubbers?"
"Mind your own smelly business, sonny jim," said the leader of the space-invaders. "All we armjoint want to do now is find a shirt-elastic way out!"
"I can't understand why you wanted to come in, though…" He glanced apologetically at Mrs. Underwood, who could not understand anything that was being said. He offered her a pill. She refused. She folded her arms in an attitude of resignation.
"Spoils," said another of the Lat.
"Shut it, Rokfrug," Captain Mubbers ordered.
But Rokfrug continued:
"The knicker-patch place seemed so rotten-well protected that we thought there was bound to be something worth having here. Just our shirt-elastic luck —"
"I said shut it, arse-brain!"
But Captain Mubbers' men seemed to be losing faith in his authority. They crossed their three eyes in a most offensive manner and made rude gestures with their elbows.
"Weren't you already sufficiently successful elsewhere?" Jherek asked Rokfrug. "I thought you were doing extremely well with the destruction, the rape and so on…"
"Pissing right we were, until…"
"Cork your hole, bum-face!" shouted his leader.
"Oh, elbow-off!" retorted Rokfrug, but seemed aware that he had gone too far. His voice became a self-pitying mumble as Captain Mubbers gazed disapprovingly back at him. Even his fellows plainly thought Rokfrug's language had put him beyond the pale.
"We're under a bit of a strain," said one of them, by way of apology.
"Who wouldn't be?" Captain Mubbers kicked petulantly at his abandoned weapon. "All the farting trouble we went to to get knicker-patching back to our ship in the first place…"
"…and everything we laid waste to crapping re-appearing," complained Rokfrug, evidently glad to find a point of agreement with his captain.
"…and all our puking prisoners suddenly disappearing…" added another.
"What's the point of it?" Captain Mubbers asked Jherek plaintively. "When we sighted this planet we thought looting it'd be as easy as wiping your bum."
"Ever since," said Rokfrug, "we've been buggered about. These people haven't got the shirt-elastic they were born with. No common sense. How can you terrorize people who keep laughing at you? Besides, the scenery keeps changing…"
"It's a Planet of Illusions," said Captain Mubbers portentously. His pupils darted about in his single eye. "I mean, this is probably another of their traps." He focussed on Jherek. "Is it? You seem a decent sort of bugger, basically. Is it?"
"I don't think anyone's been deliberately misleading you," Jherek told him. "In fact, there seems to have been an effort to accommodate you. What exactly happened? Who stopped you?"
"Well, it was half-and-half. Partly we just ran out of farting steam," Rokfrug said. "Then these soppy little round buggers arrived. They —"
Mrs. Underwood was tapping Jherek urgently on the arm.
He turned, at last, to look at her. Plodding up the steps behind them, grim-faced and triumphant, was Inspector Springer, Sergeant Sherwood and the party of constables.
"Gee noo fig tendej vega!" said Inspector Springer.
"Flow hard!" exclaimed Mrs. Underwood.
It was time for Jherek to swallow a fresh pill.
"Led us straight to 'em, didn't you?" Inspector Springer waved his men forward. "Shackle 'em, lads!"
The constables, moving like automata, pressed forward to arrest the unresisting Lat.
"I knew you'd arrange a meeting sooner or later," Inspector Springer told Jherek. "That's why I let you get away."
"But how were you able to follow us, Inspector?" Mrs. Underwood asked.
"Commandeered a vehicle," Sergeant Sherwood told her importantly.
"Whose?"
"Oh — 'is…" A thumb was jerked backward.
Both Jherek and Amelia turned and looked below. There stood the Duke of Queens, wearing a bright pastel blue uniform not dissimilar in cut to Sergeant Sherwood's. As they saw him he gave a cheerful wave of his bright yellow truncheon and blew his silver whistle.
"Good heavens!" she exclaimed.
"We've made 'im an honorary constable, 'aven't we, Inspector?" said Sergeant Sherwood.
"There's no 'arm in 'umorin' 'em, sometimes." Inspector Springer smiled to himself. "If it's to your advantage."
"Kroofrudi hrunt!" said Captain Mubbers as he was led away.
The city shuddered and groaned. A sudden darkness came and went. Jherek noticed that everyone's skins seemed ghastly pale, almost blue, and the light gave their eyes a peculiar flat sheen, so that they were like the eyes of statues.
"Cripes," said Sergeant Sherwood. "What was that?"
"The city —" Mrs. Underwood whispered. "It is so still. So silent." She moved closer to Jherek. She gripped his arm. He was pleased to comfort her. "Does this often happen?"
"To my knowledge, no…"
Everyone had stopped moving, even the Duke of Queens, below. The Lat grunted nervously to one another. The mouths of the majority of the constables hung open.
Another great shudder. Somewhere in the distance a piece of metal rattled and then fell with a crash, but that was the only sound.
Jherek pressed her towards the stair. "We had better get to the ground, I think. If that is the ground."
"An earthquake?"
"The world is too old for earthquakes, Amelia."
They hurried down the steps and their action lent motion to the others, who followed.
"Harold must be found," said Mrs. Underwood. "Is there danger, Mr. Carnelian?"
"I do not know."
"You said the city was safe."
"From the Lat." He could scarcely bear to look at her deathly-pale skin. He blinked, as if blinking would dispel the scene, but the scene remained.
They reached the Duke of Queens. The Duke stroked his beard, which had gone a seedy sort of purple colour. "I stopped by at your palace, Jherek, but you had gone on. Inspector Springer told me that he, too, was looking for you, so we followed in your wake. It took a while to find you. You know what these cities are like." He fingered his whistle. "Wouldn't you say this one was behaving a bit oddly, at present, though?"
"Collapsing?"
"Possibly — or undergoing some sort of radical change. The cities are said to be capable of restoring themselves. Could that be it?"
"There is no evidence…"
The Duke nodded. "Yet it can't be breaking down. The cities are immortal."
"Breaking down superficially, perhaps."
"One hopes that is all it is. You do look sickly, Jherek, my darling."
"We all do, I think. The light."
"Indeed." The Duke replaced his whistle in his pocket. "Those aliens of mine escaped, you know. While the Lat were on the rampage. They got to their own ship, with Yusharisp and Mongrove."
"They've left?"
"Oh, no! They're spoiling everything. The Lat must be annoyed. They look a bit annoyed, don't they? Yusharisp and company have taken over!" The Duke laughed, but the sound was so unpleasant, even to his own ears, that he stopped. "Ha, ha…"
The city seemed to lurch, as if the entire structure slipped downhill. They recovered their balance.
"We'd better proceed to the nearest exit," said one of the constables in a hollow voice. "Walking, not running. As long as nobody panics, we'll be able to evacuate the premises in no time at all."
"We've got what we came for," agreed Sergeant Sherwood. His uniform had turned a luminous grey. He kept brushing at it, as if he thought the colour was dust clinging to the material.
"Where did we leave the whatsit?" Inspector Springer removed his bowler hat and wiped the inner band with a handkerchief. He looked enquiringly at the Duke of Queens. "Attention there, Special Constable!" His grin was unspontaneous and horrible. "The airship thing?" There had never been jocularity so false.
For a moment the Duke of Queens was so puzzled by the inspector's manner that he merely stared.
"The airship, ho, ho, ho, what brought us 'ere!" Inspector Springer replaced his hat and swallowed rapidly two or three times.
The Duke was vague. "Over there, I think." He rotated slowly, gesturing with his truncheon (which had turned brown), seeking his bearings. "Or was it that way?"
"Cor blimey!" said Inspector Springer in disgust.
"Mibix?" Captain Mubbers spoke absently, as one whose mind is on other things. He returned to chewing on the metal of his hand-cuffs.
The ground made a moaning sound and shivered.
"Harold." Mrs. Underwood plucked at Jherek's sleeve. He noticed that the white linen of his suit had become a patchy green. "We must find him, Mr. Carnelian."
As Jherek and Amelia began to run back to where they had left her husband Inspector Springer also broke into a trot, closely followed by his men, carrying the muttering but unresisting Lat between them, and lastly by the Duke of Queens who was beginning to cheer up at the prospect of action. Action, sensation, was his lifeblood; he wilted without it.
As Jherek and Amelia ran, they heard the piercing eery tones of the Duke's whistle and his lusty voice crying: "Halloo! View halloo!"
Tiny whispering noises issued from the ground, with each step that they made. Something hot and organic seemed at one point to be pulsing beneath their feet. They reached the plain of rotting metal. Harold Underwood could be distinguished through the murky semi-darkness, still deep in conversation with his friend, the rock. He looked up. "Ha!" His tone was kindlier. "So you are all here, now. It says something, does it not, for our earthly hypocrisies?" Evidently the rock had made no real impression on his convictions.
The plain gasped, gave way and became a mile-wide pit.
"I think I'd better make a new air-car," said the Duke of Queens, coming to a sudden halt.
Harold Underwood crossed to the lip of the pit and stared down. He scratched his hay-coloured hair, disturbing the parting. "So there's another level, at least," he mused. "I suppose one should be relieved." He made to investigate further but did not demur when his wife gently drew him back.
The Duke of Queens was twisting all his rings. "Do our rings not work in the city itself?" he asked Jherek.
"I can't remember."
At their backs a building silently burst. They watched the debris float by overhead. Jherek noticed that all their skins now had a mottled, glossy appearance, like mother-of-pearl. He moved closer to Amelia, who still clutched her husband (the only member of the party who seemed serene). They began to move away from the pit, skirting the city proper.
" It is rare that the city's power is overtaxed ," said Harold Underwood's rocky confidante. " Who could need such energy ?"
"You know what is causing this upheaval, then?" Jherek enquired of it.
" No, no. A conversion problem, perhaps. Who can say? You could try the central philosophy department. Except I believe I am all that is left of it. Unless I am the whole of it. Who is to say which is a fragment and which the whole? And is the whole contained in every fragment or a fragment in the whole, or are whole and fragment different, not in terms of size or capacity, but in essential qualities…? "
Regretting his impoliteness, Jherek continued on past the rock. "It would be wonderful to discuss these points," he apologized, "but my friends…"
"The circle is the circle," Harold Underwood said. "We shall be back again, no doubt. Farewell, for the moment." Humming to himself, he allowed Jherek and Amelia to lead him off.
" Indeed, indeed. The nature of reality is such that nothing can, by definition, be unreal, if it exists, and since anything can exist if it can be conceived of, then all that we say is unreal is therefore real… "
"Its arguments are sometimes very poor," Harold Underwood said in an undertone, as if apologizing. "I do not believe that it has quite the authority it claims. Well, well, well, who would have believed that Dante, a Catholic, could have been so accurate, after all!" He smiled at them. "But then, I suppose, we must forget these sectarian differences now. Damnation certainly broadens the mind, eh?"
Mrs. Underwood gasped. "Was that a joke, Harold?"
He beamed.
Something alive, perhaps an animal, ran swiftly across their path and into the heart of the city.
"We are at the edge," said the Duke of Queens. "Yet nothing but blackness seems to exist beyond. Perhaps it is some optical trick? A malfunctioning force-screen?"
"No," said Jherek, who was ahead of him. "The city still sheds a little light. I can see — but it is a wasteland."
"There is no sun." Amelia peered forward. "There are no stars. That is what it is."
"The planet is dead, do you mean?" The Duke of Queens joined them. "Yes, it is a desert out there. What can have become of our friends?"
"I suppose it is too late to say that I, of course, forgive you everything, Amelia," Harold Underwood said suddenly.
"What, Harold?"
"It does not matter now. You were, of course, this man's mistress. You did commit adultery. It is why you are both here."
With some reluctance, Amelia Underwood withdrew her gaze from the lifeless landscape. She was frowning.
"I was right, was I not?" her husband continued.
Dazed, she glanced from Jherek Carnelian to Harold Underwood. Jherek was turning, a bemused half-smile on his lips.
She gestured helplessly. "Harold, is this the time…?"
"She loves me," said Jherek.
"Mr. Carnelian!"
"And you are his mistress?" Harold Underwood put a gentle hand to her face. "I do not accuse you, Amelia."
She gave a deep sigh and tenderly touched her husband's wrist. "Very well, Harold. In spirit, yes. And I do love him."
"Hurrah!" cried Jherek. "I knew. I knew! Oh, Amelia. This is the happiest day of my life."
The others all turned to stare at them. Even the Duke of Queens seemed shocked.
And from somewhere in the sky overhead a booming voice, full of gloomy satisfaction, shouted:
"I told you so. I told you all. See — it is the end of the world!"
Jherek was almost pleased to see him. "My dear Captain Mubbers…" he began.
"Mr. Carnelian! He is armed!"
Jherek could not quite understand the point of her excitement. "Yes. The music they produce is the most beautiful I have ever heard."
Captain Mubbers plucked a string. There came a grinding noise from the bell-shaped muzzle of his weapon; a slight fizzle of blue sparks appeared for a moment around the rim. Captain Mubbers uttered a deep sigh and threw the thing to the flagstones of the bridge. Similar grindings and fizzlings came from the other instruments held by his men.
Popping a translation pill into his mouth (he had taken to carrying them everywhere just recently) Jherek said:
"What brings you to the city, Captain Mubbers?"
"Mind your own smelly business, sonny jim," said the leader of the space-invaders. "All we armjoint want to do now is find a shirt-elastic way out!"
"I can't understand why you wanted to come in, though…" He glanced apologetically at Mrs. Underwood, who could not understand anything that was being said. He offered her a pill. She refused. She folded her arms in an attitude of resignation.
"Spoils," said another of the Lat.
"Shut it, Rokfrug," Captain Mubbers ordered.
But Rokfrug continued:
"The knicker-patch place seemed so rotten-well protected that we thought there was bound to be something worth having here. Just our shirt-elastic luck —"
"I said shut it, arse-brain!"
But Captain Mubbers' men seemed to be losing faith in his authority. They crossed their three eyes in a most offensive manner and made rude gestures with their elbows.
"Weren't you already sufficiently successful elsewhere?" Jherek asked Rokfrug. "I thought you were doing extremely well with the destruction, the rape and so on…"
"Pissing right we were, until…"
"Cork your hole, bum-face!" shouted his leader.
"Oh, elbow-off!" retorted Rokfrug, but seemed aware that he had gone too far. His voice became a self-pitying mumble as Captain Mubbers gazed disapprovingly back at him. Even his fellows plainly thought Rokfrug's language had put him beyond the pale.
"We're under a bit of a strain," said one of them, by way of apology.
"Who wouldn't be?" Captain Mubbers kicked petulantly at his abandoned weapon. "All the farting trouble we went to to get knicker-patching back to our ship in the first place…"
"…and everything we laid waste to crapping re-appearing," complained Rokfrug, evidently glad to find a point of agreement with his captain.
"…and all our puking prisoners suddenly disappearing…" added another.
"What's the point of it?" Captain Mubbers asked Jherek plaintively. "When we sighted this planet we thought looting it'd be as easy as wiping your bum."
"Ever since," said Rokfrug, "we've been buggered about. These people haven't got the shirt-elastic they were born with. No common sense. How can you terrorize people who keep laughing at you? Besides, the scenery keeps changing…"
"It's a Planet of Illusions," said Captain Mubbers portentously. His pupils darted about in his single eye. "I mean, this is probably another of their traps." He focussed on Jherek. "Is it? You seem a decent sort of bugger, basically. Is it?"
"I don't think anyone's been deliberately misleading you," Jherek told him. "In fact, there seems to have been an effort to accommodate you. What exactly happened? Who stopped you?"
"Well, it was half-and-half. Partly we just ran out of farting steam," Rokfrug said. "Then these soppy little round buggers arrived. They —"
Mrs. Underwood was tapping Jherek urgently on the arm.
He turned, at last, to look at her. Plodding up the steps behind them, grim-faced and triumphant, was Inspector Springer, Sergeant Sherwood and the party of constables.
"Gee noo fig tendej vega!" said Inspector Springer.
"Flow hard!" exclaimed Mrs. Underwood.
It was time for Jherek to swallow a fresh pill.
"Led us straight to 'em, didn't you?" Inspector Springer waved his men forward. "Shackle 'em, lads!"
The constables, moving like automata, pressed forward to arrest the unresisting Lat.
"I knew you'd arrange a meeting sooner or later," Inspector Springer told Jherek. "That's why I let you get away."
"But how were you able to follow us, Inspector?" Mrs. Underwood asked.
"Commandeered a vehicle," Sergeant Sherwood told her importantly.
"Whose?"
"Oh — 'is…" A thumb was jerked backward.
Both Jherek and Amelia turned and looked below. There stood the Duke of Queens, wearing a bright pastel blue uniform not dissimilar in cut to Sergeant Sherwood's. As they saw him he gave a cheerful wave of his bright yellow truncheon and blew his silver whistle.
"Good heavens!" she exclaimed.
"We've made 'im an honorary constable, 'aven't we, Inspector?" said Sergeant Sherwood.
"There's no 'arm in 'umorin' 'em, sometimes." Inspector Springer smiled to himself. "If it's to your advantage."
"Kroofrudi hrunt!" said Captain Mubbers as he was led away.
The city shuddered and groaned. A sudden darkness came and went. Jherek noticed that everyone's skins seemed ghastly pale, almost blue, and the light gave their eyes a peculiar flat sheen, so that they were like the eyes of statues.
"Cripes," said Sergeant Sherwood. "What was that?"
"The city —" Mrs. Underwood whispered. "It is so still. So silent." She moved closer to Jherek. She gripped his arm. He was pleased to comfort her. "Does this often happen?"
"To my knowledge, no…"
Everyone had stopped moving, even the Duke of Queens, below. The Lat grunted nervously to one another. The mouths of the majority of the constables hung open.
Another great shudder. Somewhere in the distance a piece of metal rattled and then fell with a crash, but that was the only sound.
Jherek pressed her towards the stair. "We had better get to the ground, I think. If that is the ground."
"An earthquake?"
"The world is too old for earthquakes, Amelia."
They hurried down the steps and their action lent motion to the others, who followed.
"Harold must be found," said Mrs. Underwood. "Is there danger, Mr. Carnelian?"
"I do not know."
"You said the city was safe."
"From the Lat." He could scarcely bear to look at her deathly-pale skin. He blinked, as if blinking would dispel the scene, but the scene remained.
They reached the Duke of Queens. The Duke stroked his beard, which had gone a seedy sort of purple colour. "I stopped by at your palace, Jherek, but you had gone on. Inspector Springer told me that he, too, was looking for you, so we followed in your wake. It took a while to find you. You know what these cities are like." He fingered his whistle. "Wouldn't you say this one was behaving a bit oddly, at present, though?"
"Collapsing?"
"Possibly — or undergoing some sort of radical change. The cities are said to be capable of restoring themselves. Could that be it?"
"There is no evidence…"
The Duke nodded. "Yet it can't be breaking down. The cities are immortal."
"Breaking down superficially, perhaps."
"One hopes that is all it is. You do look sickly, Jherek, my darling."
"We all do, I think. The light."
"Indeed." The Duke replaced his whistle in his pocket. "Those aliens of mine escaped, you know. While the Lat were on the rampage. They got to their own ship, with Yusharisp and Mongrove."
"They've left?"
"Oh, no! They're spoiling everything. The Lat must be annoyed. They look a bit annoyed, don't they? Yusharisp and company have taken over!" The Duke laughed, but the sound was so unpleasant, even to his own ears, that he stopped. "Ha, ha…"
The city seemed to lurch, as if the entire structure slipped downhill. They recovered their balance.
"We'd better proceed to the nearest exit," said one of the constables in a hollow voice. "Walking, not running. As long as nobody panics, we'll be able to evacuate the premises in no time at all."
"We've got what we came for," agreed Sergeant Sherwood. His uniform had turned a luminous grey. He kept brushing at it, as if he thought the colour was dust clinging to the material.
"Where did we leave the whatsit?" Inspector Springer removed his bowler hat and wiped the inner band with a handkerchief. He looked enquiringly at the Duke of Queens. "Attention there, Special Constable!" His grin was unspontaneous and horrible. "The airship thing?" There had never been jocularity so false.
For a moment the Duke of Queens was so puzzled by the inspector's manner that he merely stared.
"The airship, ho, ho, ho, what brought us 'ere!" Inspector Springer replaced his hat and swallowed rapidly two or three times.
The Duke was vague. "Over there, I think." He rotated slowly, gesturing with his truncheon (which had turned brown), seeking his bearings. "Or was it that way?"
"Cor blimey!" said Inspector Springer in disgust.
"Mibix?" Captain Mubbers spoke absently, as one whose mind is on other things. He returned to chewing on the metal of his hand-cuffs.
The ground made a moaning sound and shivered.
"Harold." Mrs. Underwood plucked at Jherek's sleeve. He noticed that the white linen of his suit had become a patchy green. "We must find him, Mr. Carnelian."
As Jherek and Amelia began to run back to where they had left her husband Inspector Springer also broke into a trot, closely followed by his men, carrying the muttering but unresisting Lat between them, and lastly by the Duke of Queens who was beginning to cheer up at the prospect of action. Action, sensation, was his lifeblood; he wilted without it.
As Jherek and Amelia ran, they heard the piercing eery tones of the Duke's whistle and his lusty voice crying: "Halloo! View halloo!"
Tiny whispering noises issued from the ground, with each step that they made. Something hot and organic seemed at one point to be pulsing beneath their feet. They reached the plain of rotting metal. Harold Underwood could be distinguished through the murky semi-darkness, still deep in conversation with his friend, the rock. He looked up. "Ha!" His tone was kindlier. "So you are all here, now. It says something, does it not, for our earthly hypocrisies?" Evidently the rock had made no real impression on his convictions.
The plain gasped, gave way and became a mile-wide pit.
"I think I'd better make a new air-car," said the Duke of Queens, coming to a sudden halt.
Harold Underwood crossed to the lip of the pit and stared down. He scratched his hay-coloured hair, disturbing the parting. "So there's another level, at least," he mused. "I suppose one should be relieved." He made to investigate further but did not demur when his wife gently drew him back.
The Duke of Queens was twisting all his rings. "Do our rings not work in the city itself?" he asked Jherek.
"I can't remember."
At their backs a building silently burst. They watched the debris float by overhead. Jherek noticed that all their skins now had a mottled, glossy appearance, like mother-of-pearl. He moved closer to Amelia, who still clutched her husband (the only member of the party who seemed serene). They began to move away from the pit, skirting the city proper.
" It is rare that the city's power is overtaxed ," said Harold Underwood's rocky confidante. " Who could need such energy ?"
"You know what is causing this upheaval, then?" Jherek enquired of it.
" No, no. A conversion problem, perhaps. Who can say? You could try the central philosophy department. Except I believe I am all that is left of it. Unless I am the whole of it. Who is to say which is a fragment and which the whole? And is the whole contained in every fragment or a fragment in the whole, or are whole and fragment different, not in terms of size or capacity, but in essential qualities…? "
Regretting his impoliteness, Jherek continued on past the rock. "It would be wonderful to discuss these points," he apologized, "but my friends…"
"The circle is the circle," Harold Underwood said. "We shall be back again, no doubt. Farewell, for the moment." Humming to himself, he allowed Jherek and Amelia to lead him off.
" Indeed, indeed. The nature of reality is such that nothing can, by definition, be unreal, if it exists, and since anything can exist if it can be conceived of, then all that we say is unreal is therefore real… "
"Its arguments are sometimes very poor," Harold Underwood said in an undertone, as if apologizing. "I do not believe that it has quite the authority it claims. Well, well, well, who would have believed that Dante, a Catholic, could have been so accurate, after all!" He smiled at them. "But then, I suppose, we must forget these sectarian differences now. Damnation certainly broadens the mind, eh?"
Mrs. Underwood gasped. "Was that a joke, Harold?"
He beamed.
Something alive, perhaps an animal, ran swiftly across their path and into the heart of the city.
"We are at the edge," said the Duke of Queens. "Yet nothing but blackness seems to exist beyond. Perhaps it is some optical trick? A malfunctioning force-screen?"
"No," said Jherek, who was ahead of him. "The city still sheds a little light. I can see — but it is a wasteland."
"There is no sun." Amelia peered forward. "There are no stars. That is what it is."
"The planet is dead, do you mean?" The Duke of Queens joined them. "Yes, it is a desert out there. What can have become of our friends?"
"I suppose it is too late to say that I, of course, forgive you everything, Amelia," Harold Underwood said suddenly.
"What, Harold?"
"It does not matter now. You were, of course, this man's mistress. You did commit adultery. It is why you are both here."
With some reluctance, Amelia Underwood withdrew her gaze from the lifeless landscape. She was frowning.
"I was right, was I not?" her husband continued.
Dazed, she glanced from Jherek Carnelian to Harold Underwood. Jherek was turning, a bemused half-smile on his lips.
She gestured helplessly. "Harold, is this the time…?"
"She loves me," said Jherek.
"Mr. Carnelian!"
"And you are his mistress?" Harold Underwood put a gentle hand to her face. "I do not accuse you, Amelia."
She gave a deep sigh and tenderly touched her husband's wrist. "Very well, Harold. In spirit, yes. And I do love him."
"Hurrah!" cried Jherek. "I knew. I knew! Oh, Amelia. This is the happiest day of my life."
The others all turned to stare at them. Even the Duke of Queens seemed shocked.
And from somewhere in the sky overhead a booming voice, full of gloomy satisfaction, shouted:
"I told you so. I told you all. See — it is the end of the world!"
17. Some Confusion Concerning the Exact Nature of the Catastrophe
The large, black egg-shaped air-boat containing, in an indentation at the top, Lord Mongrove settled to the ground nearby. A look of profound and melancholy gratification lay upon the giant's heavy features. In robes of funereal purple he stepped from the boat, his right hand drawing their attention to the desolation beyond the city, where not even a wind whispered or stirred the barren dust to a semblance of vitality.
"It has all gone," intoned Mongrove. "The cities no longer sustain our follies. They can barely sustain themselves. We are the last survivors of humanity — and there is some question as to whether we shall continue to exist for much longer. Well, at least most of the time-travellers have been returned and the space-travellers given ships, for all the good it will do them. Yusharisp and his people did their best, but they could have done much more, Duke of Queens, if you had not been so foolish as to trap them for your menagerie…"
"I wanted to surprise you," said the Duke somewhat lamely. He was unable to take his eyes away from the desolation. "Do you mean that it's completely lifeless out there?"
"The cities are oases in the desert that is our Earth," Mongrove confirmed. "The planet itself crumbles imminently."
Jherek felt Mrs. Underwood's hand seeking his. He took it, grasping it firmly. She smiled bravely up at him.
The Duke continued to fiddle with his useless power-rings. "I must say one feels a certain sense of loss," he said, half to himself. "Is My Lady Charlotina gone? And Bishop Castle? And Sweet Orb Mace? And Argonheart Po? And Lord Shark the Unknown?"
"Everyone, save those here."
"Werther de Goethe?"
"Werther, too."
"A shame. He would have enjoyed this scene so much."
"Werther flirts with Death no longer. Death grew impatient. Death took him, perforce." Lord Mongrove uttered a great sigh. "I am meeting Yusharisp and the others here, shortly. We shall know, then, how much longer we have."
"Our time is limited, then?" said Mrs. Underwood.
"Probably."
"Gord!" said Inspector Springer, upon whom the import of Mongrove's words was just beginning to dawn. "What bad luck!" He removed his bowler again. "I suppose there's no chance at all of getting back now? You wouldn't 'ave seen a large time-machine about, eh? We were 'ere on official business…"
"Nothing exists beyond the cities," Mongrove reiterated. "I believe your time-travelling colleague was prevailed upon to help in the general exodus. We thought you dead, you see."
For an instant, at their backs, the city shrieked, but subsided quickly. Scarlet clouds, like blood in water, swirled into the atmosphere. It was as if the city had been wounded.
"So he's returned…" continued Inspector Springer. "That's for sure, eh?"
"I regret that the evidence would suggest as much. If he was unlucky, he might have been caught up in the general destruction. It happened very quickly. Atoms, you know, dissipating. As our atoms will doubtless dissipate, eventually. As the city's will. And the planet's. Joining the universe."
"Oo, blimey!" Sergeant Sherwood screwed up his face.
"Hm." Inspector Springer rubbed his moustache. "I don't know what the 'Ome Secretary's going to say. There's nobody to explain…"
"And we'll never know, either," Sergeant Sherwood pointed out. "This is a fine turn up." He seemed to be accusing the inspector. "What price promotion now?"
"I think it's high time you reconciled yourselves to your fate," suggested Harold Underwood. "Earthly ambition should be put aside. We are, after all, here for eternity. We must begin considering repentance."
"Do be quiet, Mr. Underwood, there's a good chap." Inspector Springer's shoulders had slumped somewhat.
"It could be that there is still a chance of salvation, Inspector."
" 'Ow do you mean, sir?" asked Sergeant Sherwood. "Salvation?"
"I have been considering the possibility that one may be granted the Kingdom of Heaven, even after one has been consigned here, if one can work out, satisfactorily, exactly why one was placed here…"
" 'Ere?"
"In Hell."
"You think this is —"
"I know it, Sergeant!" Harold Underwood's smile was radiant. Never had he been so relaxed. It was plain that he was absolutely happy. Amelia Underwood contemplated him with some relief and affection.
"I am reminded of John Bunyan's uplifting moral tale, The Pilgrim's Progress ," began Mr. Underwood, flinging a friendly arm around Sergeant Sherwood's shoulders. "If you recall the story…" They wandered off together, along the perimeter.
"Would that we were all so deluded, at this moment," said Mrs. Underwood. "Shall there be no chance of escape, ultimately, Lord Mongrove?"
"Yusharisp and his people are currently looking into the problem. It could be that, with careful use of the resources at our command, we could keep a small artificial vessel of some kind going, for a few hundred years. We should have to ration all provisions most carefully. It might even be that some would not be able to join the vessel, that a selection would have to be made of those most likely to survive…"
"A sort of new Ark, then?" she suggested.
The reference was meaningless to Lord Mongrove, but he was polite. "If you like. It would entail living in the most rigorous and uncomfortable conditions. Self-discipline would be all-important, of course, and there would be no place for amusement of any sort. We would use what we could from the cities, store the information we could glean, and wait."
"For what?" asked the Duke of Queens, appalled.
"Well, for some kind of opportunity…"
"What kind?"
"We cannot be sure. No one knows what will happen after the dissipation. Perhaps new suns and planets will begin to form. Oh, I know it is not very hopeful, Duke of Queens, but it is better than complete extinction, is it not?"
"Indeed," said the Duke of Queens with some dignity, "it is not! I hope you have no intention of selecting me for this — this drifting menagerie!"
"The selection will be arranged justly. I shall not be the arbiter. We must draw lots, I suppose."
"This is your plan, Lord Mongrove?" asked Jherek.
"Well, mine and Yusharisp's."
"It appeals to you?"
"It is not a question of what appeals, Jherek Carnelian. It is a question of realities. There are no more options. Will you not understand that? There are no more options !" Mongrove became almost kindly. "Jherek, your childhood is over. Now it is time for you to become an adult, to understand that the world is no longer your cockle."
"Don't you mean oyster?" Inspector Springer asked.
"I think he does," agreed Mrs. Underwood, with some distaste. The thought of sea-food was still inclined to make her feel queasy.
"It would help," said Mongrove sternly, "if I were not interrupted. I speak of the most serious matters. We may be moments away from total obliteration!" He looked up. "Ah, here are our saviours."
With a sort of wheezing noise the familiar asymmetrical mound that was Yusharisp's spaceship started to descend, to land near to Mongrove's egg. Almost immediately a tiny squeaking began and a mould-covered door opened in the side of the ship. From the door issued Yusharisp (at least, it was probably Yusharisp) followed by his colleagues.
"So(skree) many sur(skree)vivors!" exclaimed Yusharisp. "I suppose (skree) that we (roar) should be grateful! We, the survivors of (skree) Pweeli, greet (roar) you, and are glad to kreee yelp mawk…" Yusharisp lifted one of his feet and began to fiddle with something at the side of his body.
Another Pweelian (probably CPS Shashurup) said: "I take it (skree) that Lord Mongrove (roar) has informed you that the end (skree) is with us and that (roar) you must now (skree) place yourselves under our discipline (skree) if you wish to (roar) extend your chances of living (skree) (roar)…"
"A most distasteful idea," said the Duke of Queens.
The Pweelian said, with a note of satisfaction in his voice: "It is not (skree) long since, Duke (roar) of Queens, that we were (roar) forced to subject ourselves to your will without (skree) any justification whatso(skree)ever!"
"That was entirely different."
"Indeed(skree) it was!"
The Duke of Queens subsided into a sulk.
"As far (skree) as we can ascertain (skree)," continued Yusharisp, "your cities are still continuing to (roar) function, though they have been hard-pressed. Indeed, surprisingly, there is (skree) every evidence that (yelp) they will remain functional long enough (roar) to (skree) allow us good time in which to prepare evacuation (yelp). If a means of harnessing their energies can be found…"
Helpfully, Jherek lifted a hand on which power-rings gleamed. "These harness the energies of the city, Yusharisp. We have used them for a good many millions of years, I believe."
"Those toys (yelp) are not (skree) what we need now, Jherek Car(roar)nelian."
"This encounter becomes boring," said Jherek in Amelia's ear. "Shall we seek privacy? I have much to say."
"Mr. Carnelian — the Pweelians hope to help us!"
"But in such a dull way, Amelia. Would you belong to yet another menagerie?"
"It is not quite the same thing. As they say, we have no choice."
"But we have. If the cities live, so may we live in them, at least for a while. We shall be free. We shall be alone."
"You do not fear annihilation, still? For all that you have seen that wasteland — out there?"
"I am still not entirely sure what 'fear' is. Come, we'll walk a little way and you can try to explain to me."
"Well — a little way…" Her hand was still in his. They began to leave.
"Where (skree) are you going?" shrieked Yusharisp in astonishment.
"Perhaps we'll rejoin you later," Jherek told him. "We have something we wish to discuss."
"There is no time! (Roar). There is no (yelp) time left!"
But Jherek ignored him. They headed for the city, where Harold Underwood and Sergeant Sherwood had already disappeared, not long since.
"This is (skree) insane!" cried Yusharisp. "Do you reject our (roar) help, after all our efforts? After all we have (yelp) forgiven you!"
"We are still a little confused," Jherek said, remembering his manners, "as to the exact nature of the catastrophe. So —"
"Confused! Isn't it (skree) obvious?"
"You seem a trifle insistent that there is only one answer."
"I warned you, Jherek," said Mongrove. "There are no more options!"
"Aha." Jherek continued to draw Amelia towards the city.
"It is the very End of Time. The End of Matter!" Mongrove had gone a very odd colour. "There may be only a few seconds left!"
"Then I think we should like to spend them as peacefully as possible," Jherek told him. He put his arm round his Amelia's shoulders. She moved closer to him. She smiled up into his face. He bent to kiss her, as they turned a corner of a ruined building.
"Oh, there you are, at last," said an amiable voice. "I'm not too late, after all."
This time, Jherek did not respond to the newcomer until he had kissed Amelia Underwood warmly upon her welcoming lips.
"It has all gone," intoned Mongrove. "The cities no longer sustain our follies. They can barely sustain themselves. We are the last survivors of humanity — and there is some question as to whether we shall continue to exist for much longer. Well, at least most of the time-travellers have been returned and the space-travellers given ships, for all the good it will do them. Yusharisp and his people did their best, but they could have done much more, Duke of Queens, if you had not been so foolish as to trap them for your menagerie…"
"I wanted to surprise you," said the Duke somewhat lamely. He was unable to take his eyes away from the desolation. "Do you mean that it's completely lifeless out there?"
"The cities are oases in the desert that is our Earth," Mongrove confirmed. "The planet itself crumbles imminently."
Jherek felt Mrs. Underwood's hand seeking his. He took it, grasping it firmly. She smiled bravely up at him.
The Duke continued to fiddle with his useless power-rings. "I must say one feels a certain sense of loss," he said, half to himself. "Is My Lady Charlotina gone? And Bishop Castle? And Sweet Orb Mace? And Argonheart Po? And Lord Shark the Unknown?"
"Everyone, save those here."
"Werther de Goethe?"
"Werther, too."
"A shame. He would have enjoyed this scene so much."
"Werther flirts with Death no longer. Death grew impatient. Death took him, perforce." Lord Mongrove uttered a great sigh. "I am meeting Yusharisp and the others here, shortly. We shall know, then, how much longer we have."
"Our time is limited, then?" said Mrs. Underwood.
"Probably."
"Gord!" said Inspector Springer, upon whom the import of Mongrove's words was just beginning to dawn. "What bad luck!" He removed his bowler again. "I suppose there's no chance at all of getting back now? You wouldn't 'ave seen a large time-machine about, eh? We were 'ere on official business…"
"Nothing exists beyond the cities," Mongrove reiterated. "I believe your time-travelling colleague was prevailed upon to help in the general exodus. We thought you dead, you see."
For an instant, at their backs, the city shrieked, but subsided quickly. Scarlet clouds, like blood in water, swirled into the atmosphere. It was as if the city had been wounded.
"So he's returned…" continued Inspector Springer. "That's for sure, eh?"
"I regret that the evidence would suggest as much. If he was unlucky, he might have been caught up in the general destruction. It happened very quickly. Atoms, you know, dissipating. As our atoms will doubtless dissipate, eventually. As the city's will. And the planet's. Joining the universe."
"Oo, blimey!" Sergeant Sherwood screwed up his face.
"Hm." Inspector Springer rubbed his moustache. "I don't know what the 'Ome Secretary's going to say. There's nobody to explain…"
"And we'll never know, either," Sergeant Sherwood pointed out. "This is a fine turn up." He seemed to be accusing the inspector. "What price promotion now?"
"I think it's high time you reconciled yourselves to your fate," suggested Harold Underwood. "Earthly ambition should be put aside. We are, after all, here for eternity. We must begin considering repentance."
"Do be quiet, Mr. Underwood, there's a good chap." Inspector Springer's shoulders had slumped somewhat.
"It could be that there is still a chance of salvation, Inspector."
" 'Ow do you mean, sir?" asked Sergeant Sherwood. "Salvation?"
"I have been considering the possibility that one may be granted the Kingdom of Heaven, even after one has been consigned here, if one can work out, satisfactorily, exactly why one was placed here…"
" 'Ere?"
"In Hell."
"You think this is —"
"I know it, Sergeant!" Harold Underwood's smile was radiant. Never had he been so relaxed. It was plain that he was absolutely happy. Amelia Underwood contemplated him with some relief and affection.
"I am reminded of John Bunyan's uplifting moral tale, The Pilgrim's Progress ," began Mr. Underwood, flinging a friendly arm around Sergeant Sherwood's shoulders. "If you recall the story…" They wandered off together, along the perimeter.
"Would that we were all so deluded, at this moment," said Mrs. Underwood. "Shall there be no chance of escape, ultimately, Lord Mongrove?"
"Yusharisp and his people are currently looking into the problem. It could be that, with careful use of the resources at our command, we could keep a small artificial vessel of some kind going, for a few hundred years. We should have to ration all provisions most carefully. It might even be that some would not be able to join the vessel, that a selection would have to be made of those most likely to survive…"
"A sort of new Ark, then?" she suggested.
The reference was meaningless to Lord Mongrove, but he was polite. "If you like. It would entail living in the most rigorous and uncomfortable conditions. Self-discipline would be all-important, of course, and there would be no place for amusement of any sort. We would use what we could from the cities, store the information we could glean, and wait."
"For what?" asked the Duke of Queens, appalled.
"Well, for some kind of opportunity…"
"What kind?"
"We cannot be sure. No one knows what will happen after the dissipation. Perhaps new suns and planets will begin to form. Oh, I know it is not very hopeful, Duke of Queens, but it is better than complete extinction, is it not?"
"Indeed," said the Duke of Queens with some dignity, "it is not! I hope you have no intention of selecting me for this — this drifting menagerie!"
"The selection will be arranged justly. I shall not be the arbiter. We must draw lots, I suppose."
"This is your plan, Lord Mongrove?" asked Jherek.
"Well, mine and Yusharisp's."
"It appeals to you?"
"It is not a question of what appeals, Jherek Carnelian. It is a question of realities. There are no more options. Will you not understand that? There are no more options !" Mongrove became almost kindly. "Jherek, your childhood is over. Now it is time for you to become an adult, to understand that the world is no longer your cockle."
"Don't you mean oyster?" Inspector Springer asked.
"I think he does," agreed Mrs. Underwood, with some distaste. The thought of sea-food was still inclined to make her feel queasy.
"It would help," said Mongrove sternly, "if I were not interrupted. I speak of the most serious matters. We may be moments away from total obliteration!" He looked up. "Ah, here are our saviours."
With a sort of wheezing noise the familiar asymmetrical mound that was Yusharisp's spaceship started to descend, to land near to Mongrove's egg. Almost immediately a tiny squeaking began and a mould-covered door opened in the side of the ship. From the door issued Yusharisp (at least, it was probably Yusharisp) followed by his colleagues.
"So(skree) many sur(skree)vivors!" exclaimed Yusharisp. "I suppose (skree) that we (roar) should be grateful! We, the survivors of (skree) Pweeli, greet (roar) you, and are glad to kreee yelp mawk…" Yusharisp lifted one of his feet and began to fiddle with something at the side of his body.
Another Pweelian (probably CPS Shashurup) said: "I take it (skree) that Lord Mongrove (roar) has informed you that the end (skree) is with us and that (roar) you must now (skree) place yourselves under our discipline (skree) if you wish to (roar) extend your chances of living (skree) (roar)…"
"A most distasteful idea," said the Duke of Queens.
The Pweelian said, with a note of satisfaction in his voice: "It is not (skree) long since, Duke (roar) of Queens, that we were (roar) forced to subject ourselves to your will without (skree) any justification whatso(skree)ever!"
"That was entirely different."
"Indeed(skree) it was!"
The Duke of Queens subsided into a sulk.
"As far (skree) as we can ascertain (skree)," continued Yusharisp, "your cities are still continuing to (roar) function, though they have been hard-pressed. Indeed, surprisingly, there is (skree) every evidence that (yelp) they will remain functional long enough (roar) to (skree) allow us good time in which to prepare evacuation (yelp). If a means of harnessing their energies can be found…"
Helpfully, Jherek lifted a hand on which power-rings gleamed. "These harness the energies of the city, Yusharisp. We have used them for a good many millions of years, I believe."
"Those toys (yelp) are not (skree) what we need now, Jherek Car(roar)nelian."
"This encounter becomes boring," said Jherek in Amelia's ear. "Shall we seek privacy? I have much to say."
"Mr. Carnelian — the Pweelians hope to help us!"
"But in such a dull way, Amelia. Would you belong to yet another menagerie?"
"It is not quite the same thing. As they say, we have no choice."
"But we have. If the cities live, so may we live in them, at least for a while. We shall be free. We shall be alone."
"You do not fear annihilation, still? For all that you have seen that wasteland — out there?"
"I am still not entirely sure what 'fear' is. Come, we'll walk a little way and you can try to explain to me."
"Well — a little way…" Her hand was still in his. They began to leave.
"Where (skree) are you going?" shrieked Yusharisp in astonishment.
"Perhaps we'll rejoin you later," Jherek told him. "We have something we wish to discuss."
"There is no time! (Roar). There is no (yelp) time left!"
But Jherek ignored him. They headed for the city, where Harold Underwood and Sergeant Sherwood had already disappeared, not long since.
"This is (skree) insane!" cried Yusharisp. "Do you reject our (roar) help, after all our efforts? After all we have (yelp) forgiven you!"
"We are still a little confused," Jherek said, remembering his manners, "as to the exact nature of the catastrophe. So —"
"Confused! Isn't it (skree) obvious?"
"You seem a trifle insistent that there is only one answer."
"I warned you, Jherek," said Mongrove. "There are no more options!"
"Aha." Jherek continued to draw Amelia towards the city.
"It is the very End of Time. The End of Matter!" Mongrove had gone a very odd colour. "There may be only a few seconds left!"
"Then I think we should like to spend them as peacefully as possible," Jherek told him. He put his arm round his Amelia's shoulders. She moved closer to him. She smiled up into his face. He bent to kiss her, as they turned a corner of a ruined building.
"Oh, there you are, at last," said an amiable voice. "I'm not too late, after all."
This time, Jherek did not respond to the newcomer until he had kissed Amelia Underwood warmly upon her welcoming lips.
18. In Which Truths are Revealed and Certain Relationships are Defined
A burst of red, flickering light threw the figure of the time-traveller (for it was he) into silhouette. The city gibbered for a moment, as if, in its senility, it had just become aware of danger. Voices began to sound from a variety of places as memory banks were activated, one by another. The near querulous babble became quite disturbing before it subsided. Amelia's kiss at length betrayed awareness of her surroundings, of an observer. Their lips withdrew, they smiled and shared a glance, and then they moved their heads to acknowledge the time-traveller, who waited, nonchalantly studying some detail of a lichen-covered structure, until they had finished.
"Forgive us," said Jherek, "but with the uncertainty of our future…"
"Of course, of course." The time-traveller had not heard Jherek's words. He waved an airy hand. "I must admit I did not know if — phew — you'll never believe the devil of a job I had to get those passengers back before coming on here. It couldn't be more than a couple of hours, eh? A pretty fine balance. Has everyone else turned up?"
Jherek could tell by Amelia's expression that she disapproved of the time-traveller's insouciance. "The world ends, did you know, sir? In a matter of minutes, we gather."
"Um." He nodded an acknowledgement but did not judge the statement interesting.
"The Duke of Queens is here." Jherek wondered at a sudden fresh breeze bearing the scent of hyacinths. He sought the source, but the breeze subsided. "And Yusharisp, from space, and Inspector Springer, and Lord Mongrove, and Captain Mubbers and the rest."
Almost blankly, the time-traveller frowned. "No, no — Society people I mean."
"Society?" enquired Mrs. Underwood, for the moment back in Bromley. Then she realized his meaning. "The Guild! They are due here? They hope to save something of the world?"
"We arranged a meeting. This seemed the most convenient spot. On an ordinary course one can, after all, go no further!" The time-traveller walked the few yards to where his large and somewhat battered machine rested, its crystalline parts smouldering with dark, shifting colours, its brass reflecting the red light from the city. "Heaven knows what damage this jockeying about has done to my machine. It was never properly tested, you see. My main reason for being here is to get information from some Guild member, both as regards the obtaining of spare parts and so that I may, with luck, get back into my own universe." He tapped the ebony framework. "There's a crack there that will last no more than another couple of long journeys."
"You do not come to witness the End of the World, then?" Jherek wished that his power-rings were working and that he could make himself a warmer coat. He felt a chill enter his bones.
"Oh, no, Mr. Carnelian! I've seen that more than once!" The time-traveller was amused. "This is merely a convenient 'time-mark', if you take my meaning."
"But you could rescue Inspector Springer and his men, and my husband — take them back, surely?" Mrs. Underwood said. "You did, after all, bring them here."
"Well, I suppose that morally I have contributed to their predicament. However, the Home Secretary requisitioned my machine. I was unwilling to use it. Indeed, Mrs. Underwood, I was intimidated. I never thought to hear such threats from the lips of British Civil Servants! And it was Lord Jagged who gave me away. I was working in secret. Of course, recognizing him, I confided something of my research to him."
"You recognized Lord Jagged?"
"As a fellow time-traveller, yes."
"So he is still in the nineteenth century!"
"He was. He vanished shortly after I was contacted by the Home Secretary. I think initially he had hoped to requisition my machine for his own use, and took advantage of his acquaintance with various members of the government. His own machine had failed him, you see."
"Yet he was no longer in 1896 when you left?" Jherek became eager for news of his friend's safety. "Do you know where he went?"
"He had some theory he wanted to test. Time-travel without machinery. I thought it dangerous and told him as much. I don't know what he was plotting. I must say I didn't care for the fellow. An unhealthy sort of chap. Too full of himself. And he did me no good, involving me in his complicated schemes, as he did."
Jherek would not listen to this criticism. "You do not know him well. He has been a great help to me on more than one occasion."
"Oh, I'm sure he has his virtues, but they are of the proud sort, the egocentric sort. He plays at God, and that's what I can't abide. You meet the odd time-traveller like that. Generally speaking, they come to a sticky end."
"You think Lord Jagged is dead, then?" Mrs. Underwood asked him.
"More than likely."
Jherek was grateful for the hand she slipped into his. "I believe this sensation must be very close to the 'fear' you were talking about, Amelia. Or is it 'grief', I wonder?"
She became remorseful. "Ah, it is my fault. I teach you of nothing but pain. I have robbed you of your simple joyfulness!"
He was surprised. "If joy flees, Amelia, it is in the face of experience. I love you. And it seems there is a price to pay for that ecstasy I feel."
"Price! You never mentioned such things before. You accepted the good and had no understanding of the evil." She spoke in an undertone, conscious of the time-traveller's proximity.
Jherek raised her hand to his lips, kissing the clenched fingers. "Amelia, I mourn for Jagged, and perhaps my mother, too. There is no question…"
"I became emotional," she said. "It is hard to know whether such a state of mind is suitable to the occasion…" And she laughed, though her eyes blinked at tears. She cleared her throat. "Yes, this is mere hysteria. However, not knowing if death is a heartbeat hence or if we are to be saved…"
He drew her to him. He kissed her eyes. Very quickly, then, she recovered herself, contemplating the city with a worried, unhappy gaze.
The city had every appearance of decline, and Jherek himself no longer believed the assurances he had given her, that the changes in it were merely superficial. Where once it had been possible to see for distances of almost a mile, down vistas of statuary and buildings, now there was only sufficient light (and that luridly unpleasant) to see a hundred yards or so. He began to entertain thoughts of begging the time-traveller to rescue them, to take them back to 1896, to risk the dangers of the Morphail Effect (which, anyway, did not seem to operate so savagely upon them as it did upon others).
"All that sunshine," she said. "It was false, as I told you. There was no real sun ever in your sky — only that which the cities made for you. They kept a shell burning and this barren cinder of a planet turning about it. Your whole world, Jherek, it was a lie!"
"You are too critical, Amelia. Man has an instinct to sustain his own environment. The cities were created in response to that instinct. They served it well."
Her mood changed. She started away from him. "It is so cruel that they should fail us now."
"Amelia…" he moved to follow.
It was then that the sphere appeared, without warning, a short distance from the time-traveller's "Chronomnibus". It was black, and distorted images of the surrounding city could be seen in its gleaming hull.
Jherek joined her and together they watched as a hatch whirled and two black-clad figures emerged, pushing back their breathing-apparatus and goggles to become recognizable as Mrs. Una Persson and Captain Oswald Bastable.
Captain Bastable smiled as he saw them. "So you did arrive safely. Excellent."
The time-traveller approached, shaking hands with the young captain. "Glad you were able to keep the rendezvous, old man. How do you do, Mrs. Persson? How pleasant to see you again."
Captain Bastable was in high spirits. "This should be worth witnessing, eh?"
"You have not been present at the end before?"
"No, indeed!"
"I was hoping that you could give me some advice."
"Of course, if we can help. But the man you really need is Lord Jagged. It was he who —"
"He is not here." The time-traveller placed both hands in the pockets of his Norfolk. "There is some doubt that he survives."
Una Persson shook out her short hair. She glanced idly around as a building seemed to dance a few feet towards her and then collapsed in on itself, rather like a concertina. "I've never much cared for these places. Is this Tanelorn?"
"Shanalorm, I think." Jherek held back, though he was desperate for news of his friend.
"Even the names are confusing. Will it take long?"
Believing that he interpreted her question, Jherek told her: "Mongrove estimates a matter of moments. He says the very planet crumbles."
Mrs. Persson sighed and rubbed at a weary eye. "We have Shifter co-ordinates which require working out, Captain Bastable. The conditions are so good. Such a pity to waste —"
"The information we stand to gain…" Evidently Captain Bastable had wanted to keep this appointment more than had she. He shrugged apologetically. "It isn't every day we have the chance to see something as interesting…"
She gestured with a gauntleted hand. "True. Pay no attention to me. I'm not quite recovered."
"I am trying to get back to my own universe," began the time-traveller. "It was suggested to me that you could help, that you have experience of such problems."
"It's a matter of intersections," she told him. "That was why I wanted to concentrate on the Shifter. Conditions are excellent."
"You can still help?"
"Hopefully." She did not seem ready to discuss the matter. Politely, yet reluctantly, the time-traveller checked his eagerness and became silent.
"You are all taking this situation very casually." Amelia Underwood cast a critical eye over the little group. "Even selfishly. There is a possibility that at least some of those here could be evacuated, taken back through time. Have you no sense of the import — of the tragedy taking place. All the aspirations of our race vanishing as if they had never existed!"
Una Persson seemed to express a certain weary kindness when she replied. "That is, Mrs. Underwood, a somewhat melodramatic interpretation…"
"Mrs. Persson, the situation seems to be rather more than 'melodramatic'. This is extinction!"
"For some, possibly."
"Not for you time-travellers, perhaps. Will you make no effort to help others?"
Mrs. Persson did her best to stifle a yawn. "I think our perspectives must be very different, Mrs. Underwood. I assure you that I am not without a social conscience, but when you have experienced so much, on such a scale, as we have experienced, issues take on a different colouring. Besides, I do not think— Good heavens! What is that?"
They all followed her gaze towards a low line of ruins; recently crumbled. In the semi-darkness there bobbed, apparently along the top of the ruins, a procession of about a dozen objects, roughly dome-shaped. They were immediately familiar to Jherek and Amelia as the helmets of Inspector Springer's constables. They heard the faint sound of a whistle.
Within a few seconds, as a break appeared in the ruins, it was apparent to all that they witnessed a chase. The Lat were attempting to escape their captors. Their little pear-shaped bodies scuttled rapidly over the fallen masonry, but Springer's men were not far behind. They could hear the cries of the Lat and the police quite clearly now.
"Hrunt mibix ferkit!"
"Stop! Stop in the name of the law! Collar 'im, Weech!"
The Lat stumbled and fell, but managed to keep ahead of their pursuers, for all that most of them, save Captain Mubbers and perhaps Rokfrug, still wore handcuffs.
The whistles shrilled again. There was a great waving of truncheons. The Lat disappeared from view, but emerged again not far from Mrs. Persson's time-sphere, saw the group of humans and hesitated before dodging off in the opposite direction.
The policemen, who would remain solidly conscious of their duty until the Crack of Doom sounded at last, and the very ground fell away from beneath their pounding boots, continued implacably after their prey.
Soon both Lat and police were out of sight and earshot again, and the conversation could resume.
Mrs. Persson lost something of her weary manner and seemed amused by the incident. "I had no idea there were others here! Were not those the aliens we sent on? I would have thought that they would have left the planet by now."
"They wanted to loot and rape everything first," Jherek explained. "But then the Pweelians stopped them. The Pweelians seem to take pleasure in stopping almost everyone from doing almost everything! This is their hour of triumph, I suppose. They have waited for it for a long time, of course, so it seems niggardly to criticize…"
"You mean there is still another race of space-travellers in the city?" Captain Bastable asked.
"Yes. The Pweelians, as I said. They have some sort of plan for survival. But I did not find it agreeable. The Duke of Queens…"
"He is here!" Mrs. Persson brightened. Captain Bastable frowned a little circumspectly to himself.
"You know the Duke?"
"Oh, we are old friends."
"And Lord Mongrove?"
"I have heard of him," said Mrs. Persson, "but I have never had the pleasure of meeting him. However, if there is an opportunity…"
"I should be delighted to introduce you. Always assuming that this little oasis, as Mongrove called it, doesn't disintegrate before I have the chance."
"Mr. Carnelian!" Amelia tugged at his sleeve. "I would remind you that this is no time for social chat. We must attempt to prevail upon these people to rescue as many of those here as is possible!"
"I was forgetting. It is so nice to know that Mrs. Persson is a friend of the Duke of Queens. Do you not think, dearest Amelia, that we should try to find him. He would be glad to resume the acquaintance, I am sure!"
Mrs. Amelia Underwood shrugged her beautiful shoulders and sighed a really rather shallow sigh. She was beginning to lose interest, it seemed, in the whole business.
"Forgive us," said Jherek, "but with the uncertainty of our future…"
"Of course, of course." The time-traveller had not heard Jherek's words. He waved an airy hand. "I must admit I did not know if — phew — you'll never believe the devil of a job I had to get those passengers back before coming on here. It couldn't be more than a couple of hours, eh? A pretty fine balance. Has everyone else turned up?"
Jherek could tell by Amelia's expression that she disapproved of the time-traveller's insouciance. "The world ends, did you know, sir? In a matter of minutes, we gather."
"Um." He nodded an acknowledgement but did not judge the statement interesting.
"The Duke of Queens is here." Jherek wondered at a sudden fresh breeze bearing the scent of hyacinths. He sought the source, but the breeze subsided. "And Yusharisp, from space, and Inspector Springer, and Lord Mongrove, and Captain Mubbers and the rest."
Almost blankly, the time-traveller frowned. "No, no — Society people I mean."
"Society?" enquired Mrs. Underwood, for the moment back in Bromley. Then she realized his meaning. "The Guild! They are due here? They hope to save something of the world?"
"We arranged a meeting. This seemed the most convenient spot. On an ordinary course one can, after all, go no further!" The time-traveller walked the few yards to where his large and somewhat battered machine rested, its crystalline parts smouldering with dark, shifting colours, its brass reflecting the red light from the city. "Heaven knows what damage this jockeying about has done to my machine. It was never properly tested, you see. My main reason for being here is to get information from some Guild member, both as regards the obtaining of spare parts and so that I may, with luck, get back into my own universe." He tapped the ebony framework. "There's a crack there that will last no more than another couple of long journeys."
"You do not come to witness the End of the World, then?" Jherek wished that his power-rings were working and that he could make himself a warmer coat. He felt a chill enter his bones.
"Oh, no, Mr. Carnelian! I've seen that more than once!" The time-traveller was amused. "This is merely a convenient 'time-mark', if you take my meaning."
"But you could rescue Inspector Springer and his men, and my husband — take them back, surely?" Mrs. Underwood said. "You did, after all, bring them here."
"Well, I suppose that morally I have contributed to their predicament. However, the Home Secretary requisitioned my machine. I was unwilling to use it. Indeed, Mrs. Underwood, I was intimidated. I never thought to hear such threats from the lips of British Civil Servants! And it was Lord Jagged who gave me away. I was working in secret. Of course, recognizing him, I confided something of my research to him."
"You recognized Lord Jagged?"
"As a fellow time-traveller, yes."
"So he is still in the nineteenth century!"
"He was. He vanished shortly after I was contacted by the Home Secretary. I think initially he had hoped to requisition my machine for his own use, and took advantage of his acquaintance with various members of the government. His own machine had failed him, you see."
"Yet he was no longer in 1896 when you left?" Jherek became eager for news of his friend's safety. "Do you know where he went?"
"He had some theory he wanted to test. Time-travel without machinery. I thought it dangerous and told him as much. I don't know what he was plotting. I must say I didn't care for the fellow. An unhealthy sort of chap. Too full of himself. And he did me no good, involving me in his complicated schemes, as he did."
Jherek would not listen to this criticism. "You do not know him well. He has been a great help to me on more than one occasion."
"Oh, I'm sure he has his virtues, but they are of the proud sort, the egocentric sort. He plays at God, and that's what I can't abide. You meet the odd time-traveller like that. Generally speaking, they come to a sticky end."
"You think Lord Jagged is dead, then?" Mrs. Underwood asked him.
"More than likely."
Jherek was grateful for the hand she slipped into his. "I believe this sensation must be very close to the 'fear' you were talking about, Amelia. Or is it 'grief', I wonder?"
She became remorseful. "Ah, it is my fault. I teach you of nothing but pain. I have robbed you of your simple joyfulness!"
He was surprised. "If joy flees, Amelia, it is in the face of experience. I love you. And it seems there is a price to pay for that ecstasy I feel."
"Price! You never mentioned such things before. You accepted the good and had no understanding of the evil." She spoke in an undertone, conscious of the time-traveller's proximity.
Jherek raised her hand to his lips, kissing the clenched fingers. "Amelia, I mourn for Jagged, and perhaps my mother, too. There is no question…"
"I became emotional," she said. "It is hard to know whether such a state of mind is suitable to the occasion…" And she laughed, though her eyes blinked at tears. She cleared her throat. "Yes, this is mere hysteria. However, not knowing if death is a heartbeat hence or if we are to be saved…"
He drew her to him. He kissed her eyes. Very quickly, then, she recovered herself, contemplating the city with a worried, unhappy gaze.
The city had every appearance of decline, and Jherek himself no longer believed the assurances he had given her, that the changes in it were merely superficial. Where once it had been possible to see for distances of almost a mile, down vistas of statuary and buildings, now there was only sufficient light (and that luridly unpleasant) to see a hundred yards or so. He began to entertain thoughts of begging the time-traveller to rescue them, to take them back to 1896, to risk the dangers of the Morphail Effect (which, anyway, did not seem to operate so savagely upon them as it did upon others).
"All that sunshine," she said. "It was false, as I told you. There was no real sun ever in your sky — only that which the cities made for you. They kept a shell burning and this barren cinder of a planet turning about it. Your whole world, Jherek, it was a lie!"
"You are too critical, Amelia. Man has an instinct to sustain his own environment. The cities were created in response to that instinct. They served it well."
Her mood changed. She started away from him. "It is so cruel that they should fail us now."
"Amelia…" he moved to follow.
It was then that the sphere appeared, without warning, a short distance from the time-traveller's "Chronomnibus". It was black, and distorted images of the surrounding city could be seen in its gleaming hull.
Jherek joined her and together they watched as a hatch whirled and two black-clad figures emerged, pushing back their breathing-apparatus and goggles to become recognizable as Mrs. Una Persson and Captain Oswald Bastable.
Captain Bastable smiled as he saw them. "So you did arrive safely. Excellent."
The time-traveller approached, shaking hands with the young captain. "Glad you were able to keep the rendezvous, old man. How do you do, Mrs. Persson? How pleasant to see you again."
Captain Bastable was in high spirits. "This should be worth witnessing, eh?"
"You have not been present at the end before?"
"No, indeed!"
"I was hoping that you could give me some advice."
"Of course, if we can help. But the man you really need is Lord Jagged. It was he who —"
"He is not here." The time-traveller placed both hands in the pockets of his Norfolk. "There is some doubt that he survives."
Una Persson shook out her short hair. She glanced idly around as a building seemed to dance a few feet towards her and then collapsed in on itself, rather like a concertina. "I've never much cared for these places. Is this Tanelorn?"
"Shanalorm, I think." Jherek held back, though he was desperate for news of his friend.
"Even the names are confusing. Will it take long?"
Believing that he interpreted her question, Jherek told her: "Mongrove estimates a matter of moments. He says the very planet crumbles."
Mrs. Persson sighed and rubbed at a weary eye. "We have Shifter co-ordinates which require working out, Captain Bastable. The conditions are so good. Such a pity to waste —"
"The information we stand to gain…" Evidently Captain Bastable had wanted to keep this appointment more than had she. He shrugged apologetically. "It isn't every day we have the chance to see something as interesting…"
She gestured with a gauntleted hand. "True. Pay no attention to me. I'm not quite recovered."
"I am trying to get back to my own universe," began the time-traveller. "It was suggested to me that you could help, that you have experience of such problems."
"It's a matter of intersections," she told him. "That was why I wanted to concentrate on the Shifter. Conditions are excellent."
"You can still help?"
"Hopefully." She did not seem ready to discuss the matter. Politely, yet reluctantly, the time-traveller checked his eagerness and became silent.
"You are all taking this situation very casually." Amelia Underwood cast a critical eye over the little group. "Even selfishly. There is a possibility that at least some of those here could be evacuated, taken back through time. Have you no sense of the import — of the tragedy taking place. All the aspirations of our race vanishing as if they had never existed!"
Una Persson seemed to express a certain weary kindness when she replied. "That is, Mrs. Underwood, a somewhat melodramatic interpretation…"
"Mrs. Persson, the situation seems to be rather more than 'melodramatic'. This is extinction!"
"For some, possibly."
"Not for you time-travellers, perhaps. Will you make no effort to help others?"
Mrs. Persson did her best to stifle a yawn. "I think our perspectives must be very different, Mrs. Underwood. I assure you that I am not without a social conscience, but when you have experienced so much, on such a scale, as we have experienced, issues take on a different colouring. Besides, I do not think— Good heavens! What is that?"
They all followed her gaze towards a low line of ruins; recently crumbled. In the semi-darkness there bobbed, apparently along the top of the ruins, a procession of about a dozen objects, roughly dome-shaped. They were immediately familiar to Jherek and Amelia as the helmets of Inspector Springer's constables. They heard the faint sound of a whistle.
Within a few seconds, as a break appeared in the ruins, it was apparent to all that they witnessed a chase. The Lat were attempting to escape their captors. Their little pear-shaped bodies scuttled rapidly over the fallen masonry, but Springer's men were not far behind. They could hear the cries of the Lat and the police quite clearly now.
"Hrunt mibix ferkit!"
"Stop! Stop in the name of the law! Collar 'im, Weech!"
The Lat stumbled and fell, but managed to keep ahead of their pursuers, for all that most of them, save Captain Mubbers and perhaps Rokfrug, still wore handcuffs.
The whistles shrilled again. There was a great waving of truncheons. The Lat disappeared from view, but emerged again not far from Mrs. Persson's time-sphere, saw the group of humans and hesitated before dodging off in the opposite direction.
The policemen, who would remain solidly conscious of their duty until the Crack of Doom sounded at last, and the very ground fell away from beneath their pounding boots, continued implacably after their prey.
Soon both Lat and police were out of sight and earshot again, and the conversation could resume.
Mrs. Persson lost something of her weary manner and seemed amused by the incident. "I had no idea there were others here! Were not those the aliens we sent on? I would have thought that they would have left the planet by now."
"They wanted to loot and rape everything first," Jherek explained. "But then the Pweelians stopped them. The Pweelians seem to take pleasure in stopping almost everyone from doing almost everything! This is their hour of triumph, I suppose. They have waited for it for a long time, of course, so it seems niggardly to criticize…"
"You mean there is still another race of space-travellers in the city?" Captain Bastable asked.
"Yes. The Pweelians, as I said. They have some sort of plan for survival. But I did not find it agreeable. The Duke of Queens…"
"He is here!" Mrs. Persson brightened. Captain Bastable frowned a little circumspectly to himself.
"You know the Duke?"
"Oh, we are old friends."
"And Lord Mongrove?"
"I have heard of him," said Mrs. Persson, "but I have never had the pleasure of meeting him. However, if there is an opportunity…"
"I should be delighted to introduce you. Always assuming that this little oasis, as Mongrove called it, doesn't disintegrate before I have the chance."
"Mr. Carnelian!" Amelia tugged at his sleeve. "I would remind you that this is no time for social chat. We must attempt to prevail upon these people to rescue as many of those here as is possible!"
"I was forgetting. It is so nice to know that Mrs. Persson is a friend of the Duke of Queens. Do you not think, dearest Amelia, that we should try to find him. He would be glad to resume the acquaintance, I am sure!"
Mrs. Amelia Underwood shrugged her beautiful shoulders and sighed a really rather shallow sigh. She was beginning to lose interest, it seemed, in the whole business.