The End of All Songs

21. A Question of Attitudes

"I must say," Jagged paused in his rapid, stately stride, "the city suffers a certain lassitude…"

"Oh, Jagged, you understate!" His son was beside him, while the ladies, in conference, came a little way behind.

Streamers of half-metallic, half-organic matter, of a dusty lavender shade, wriggled across their path as if withdrawn by the squat building on their right. In the gloom, it was impossible to tell their nature.

"But it revives," Jagged said. "Look there, is that not a newly created conduit?" The pipe he indicated, running to left and right of them, did seem new, though very ordinary.

"It is no sign, paternal Jagged. The illusions proliferate."

His father was insouciant. "If you'll have it so." There was a glint in his eye. "Youth was ever obstinate."

Jherek Carnelian detected irony in his father, his friend. "Ah, sardonic Jagged, it is so good to have your companionship again! All trepidation vanishes!"

"Your confidence warms me." Jagged's gesture was expansive. "What, after all, is a father for but to give comfort to his children?"

"Children?"

A casual wave. "One forms attachments, here and there, in Time. But you, Jherek, are my only heir."

"A song?"

"A son, my love."

As they advanced through the glowing semi-darkness, Jherek infected by Jagged's apparently causeless optimism, sought for signs which would indicate that the city came back to life. Perhaps there were indeed signs of this revivification: that light which, as he had seen, glowed a robust blue, and light which now burned steady crimson; moreover, the regular pounding from beneath his feet put him in mind of the beat of a strengthening heart. But, no. How could it be?

Fastidious as ever, Lord Jagged folded back one of his sleeves so that it should not trail in the fine rust which lay everywhere upon the ground. "We can rely upon the cities," he said, "even if we cannot ever hope fully to understand them."

"You speculate, Jagged. The evidence is all to the contrary. Their sources of power have dissipated."

"The sources exist. The cities have discovered them."

"Even you, Jagged, cannot be so certain." But Jherek spoke now to be denied.

"You are aware, then, of all the evidence?" Jagged paused, for ahead of them was darkness. "Have we reached the outskirts?"

"It seems so."

They waited for the Iron Orchid and Amelia Underwood, who had fallen some distance behind. To Jherek's surprise the two women appeared to be enjoying one another's company. No longer did they glare or make veiled attacks. They might have been the oldest of friends. He wondered if he would ever come to understand these subtle shifts of attitude in women; yet he was pleased. If all were to perish, it would be as well to be on good terms at the end. He hailed them.

Here the city shed a wider shaft of light into the landscape beyond: a pale, cracked, barren expanse no longer deserving the appellation "earth"; a husk that might crumble to invisible dust at a touch.

The Iron Orchid twisted a white pleat. "Dead."

"And in the last stages of decay." Amelia was sympathetic.

The Orchid put her back to the scene. "I cannot accept," she said levelly, "that this is my world. It was so vital."

"It's vitality was stolen, so Mongrove says." Jherek contemplated the darkness which his mother refused.

"That's true of all life, in a sense." Lord Jagged touched, for a second, his wife's hand. "Well, the core remains."

"Is it not already rotten, Lord Jagged?" Perhaps Amelia regretted her remorselessness as she glimpsed the Orchid's face.

"It can be revived, one supposes."

"It is cold … complained the Iron Orchid, moving further away, towards the interior.

"We drift, surely," Jherek said. "There is no sun. Not another star survives. Not a single meteorite. We drift in eternal darkness — and that darkness must, dear parent, shortly engulf us, too!"

"You over-dramatize, my boy."

"Possibly he does not." The Orchid's voice lacked timbre.

They followed her and, almost immediately, came upon the machines used by the time-traveller and by Mrs. Persson and Captain Bastable.

"But where are our friends?" mused Lord Jagged.

"They were here not long since," Jherek told him. "The Morphail Effect?"

"Here!" Lord Jagged's look was frankly sceptical.

"Could they be with Yusharisp and the others?" Jherek smiled vaguely at Amelia and his mother, who had linked arms. He was still puzzled by the change in them. It had something to do, he felt, with the Iron Orchid's marriage to Lord Jagged, this banishment of the old tension. "Shall we seek them out, venturesome Jagged?"

"You know where to look?"

"Over there."

"Then lead on, my innocent!" Lord Jagged, as had often been his way in the old days, appeared to be relishing a private joke. He stood aside for Jherek.

The light from the city glittered, for a moment sharp rather than murky, and a building that had been a ruin now seemed whole to Jherek, but elsewhere there were creakings and murmurings and groanings, all suggestive of the city's decline. Again they emerged at the edge, and here the light was very dim indeed. It was not until he heard a sound that Jherek was able to advance.

"If (skree) you would take back to their (yelp) own time this (skree) group, it would at least (roar) reduce the problem to tidier proportions, Mrs. (yelp) Persson."

They were all assembled, now, about the Pweelian spacecraft — Inspector Springer and his constables, the Duke of Queens, huge, melancholy Mongrove, the time-traveller in his Norfolk jacket and plus-fours, Mrs. Persson and Captain Bastable in their black uniforms, gleaming like sealskin. Only Harold Underwood, Sergeant Sherwood and the Lat were missing. Against the mould-like exterior of the Pweelian spaceship the Pweelians themselves were hard to distinguish. Beyond the group lay the now-familiar blackness of the infinite void.

They heard Mrs. Persson. "We made no preparations for passengers. As it is, we are anxious to return to our base to begin certain important experiments needed to verify our understanding of the multiverse's intersections…"

Lord Jagged, his pale yellow robes in contrast to the general nocturnal colouring of his surroundings, strolled into the group, leaving Jherek and the two women to follow. Jagged's private mirth was unabated. "You are as anxious as ever, my dear Yusharisp." Though it must have been some time since last he had seen the alien, Jagged had no difficulty in identifying him. "And so you persist in taking the narrower view?"

The little creature's many eyes glared distastefully at the newcomer. "I should have (roar) thought, Lord Jagged, that no broader view (yelp) existed!" He became suspicious. "Have you (skree) been here all along?"

"Only recently returned." Lord Jagged performed a brief bow. "I apologize. There were difficulties. A fine judgement is required, so close to the end of all things, if one is to arrive with matter beneath one's feet or find oneself in absolute vacuum!"

"At least (roar) you'll admit…"

"Oh, I don't think we need disagree, Mr. Yusharisp. Let us accept the fact that we shall always be temperamentally at odds. This is the moment for realism, is it not?"

Yusharisp, whilst remaining suspicious, subsided.

CPS Shushurup intervened. "Everything is settled (skree). We intend to requisition (skree) whatever we can salvage from the (roar yelp) city in order to further our survival plans. If you wish to (yelp) help, and share the subsequent benefit (skree) of our work…"

"Requisition? Salvage?" Lord Jagged raised a cool eyebrow. It seemed that his tall collar quivered. "Why should that be necessary?"

"We have (skree) not the time to (roar) spare to (skree) explain again!"

Lord Mongrove lifted his heavy head, contemplating Jagged through dismal eyes, his voice as doom-laden as ever, though he spoke as if he had never associated himself with the extra-terrestrials. "They have this scheme, equivocal Jagged, to build a self-contained environment which will outlast the final collapse of the cities." He was a bell, tolling the futility of struggle. "It has certain merits."

Lord Jagged was openly dismissive. He was dry. He was contemptuous. "I am sure it would suit the Pweelian preference for tidiness as opposed to order. For simplification as opposed to multiplicity of choice." The patrician features displayed stern dismay. "But they have no business, Lord Mongrove, interfering with the workings of our city (which I am sure they understand poorly)."

"Do any of us…?" But Mongrove was already quelled.

"Besides," continued the chrononaut, "it is only recently that I installed my own equipment here. I should be more than a little upset if, however inadvertently, it were tampered with."

"What?" The Duke of Queens was lifted from apathy. He stared about him, as if he would see the machinery. He became hopeful and expectant. "Your own equipment, sagacious Jagged? Oho!" He stroked his beard and, as he stroked, a smile began to appear. "Aha!"

They formed an audience for the lord in yellow. He gave them his best, all subtlety and self-control, with just a hint of self-mockery, enough to win the full attention of even the mistrustful time-traveller.

"Installed not long since with the help of your friend, Jherek, who enabled you to reach the nineteenth century on your last visit."

"Nurse?" Affection warmed him.

"The same. She was invaluable. Her programmes contained every scrap of information needed. It was merely a question of refreshing her memory. She is the most sophisticated of any ancient automaton I have ever encountered. I was soon able to put our problem to her and suggest the solution. Much of the rest of the work was hers."

The Iron Orchid evidently knew nothing of this. "The work, heroic husband?"

"Needed to install the equipment I mentioned. You will have noticed that, of late, the city has been conserving its power, in unison with all our other cities."

"Con(skree)serving! Bah (roar)!" Yusharisp's translation box uttered something resembling a bitter laugh. "Ex(skree)pending its last (roar), you mean!"

Lord Jagged of Canaria ignored the Pweelian, turning instead to the Duke of Queens. "It was fortunate that when I returned to the End of Time, seeking Jherek and Amelia, I heard of the discovery of the Nursery and was able to invite Nurse to Castle Canaria."

"So that is where she disappeared to — she's in your menagerie, devious Jagged!"

"Not exactly. I doubt if much of my menagerie, such as it was, survives. Nurse is now in one of the other cities. She should be finishing off a few minor adjustments."

"You have a plan, then, to save a whole city?" Lord Mongrove glanced behind him. "Surely not this one. See how it perishes, as we watch!"

"This is needless pessimism, Lord Mongrove. The city transforms itself, that is all."

"But the light…" began the Duke of Queens.

"Conserved, as I said."

"And out there?" Mongrove gestured towards the void.

"You could populate it. There is room for a good-sized sun."

"You see, Jagged," explained the Duke of Queens, "our power-rings do not work. It suggests that the city cannot give us the energy we require."

"You have tried?"

"We have."

"Not two hours since," said Amelia Underwood.

"While the city was in flux. But now?"

"They will not work, Lord Jagged." Lord Mongrove stroked the dark stones on his fingers. "Our inheritance is spent forever."

"Oh, you are too doleful, all of you. It is merely a question of attitude." Lord Jagged stretched his left hand out before him and with his right he began to twist a ruby, staring into the sky the while, still half-conscious of his audience.

Overhead there appeared what might have been a small, twinkling star; but it was already growing. It became a fiery comet, turning the stark landscape jet black and glaring white. It grew again and it was a sun illuminating the featureless world for as far as their wincing eyes could see.

"That will do, I think." Jagged was quietly satisfied. "The conventional orbit." Another touch of the same ring. "And a turning world."

Amelia murmured: "You are the Master Conjuror, dear Lord Jagged. A veritable Mephistopheles. Is that sun the size of the old one?"

"A trifle smaller, but it is all we need."

"Skree," said Yusharisp in alarm, all his eyes slitted to resist the glare. "Skree, skree, skree!"

Jagged chose to take the remark as a compliment. "Just a simple beginning or two," he murmured modestly. He swirled the great yellow cloak about him. He touched another ring and the glare became less blinding, diffused as it was, now, by the shimmering atmosphere existing everywhere beyond the city. The sky became a greenish blue and the white landscape, with its deep, black fissures, became a dull grey, seamed with brown cracks; yet still it stretched to every horizon.

"How unsightly is our Earth without its images." The Iron Orchid was disdainful.

As if apologizing for it, Jagged said: "It is a very old planet, my dear. But you must all regard it as a new canvas. Everything you wish for can be re-created. New scenes can be created, just as it has always been. Rest assured that the cities will not fail us."

"So Judgement Day is resisted, after all." The time-traveller had his head on one side as he looked, with new eyes, at Lord Jagged of Canaria. "I congratulate you, sir. You command enormous power, it seems."

"I borrow the power," said Jagged, to him, his voice soft. "It comes from the cities."

CPS Shushurup cried: "It cannot be real! This man confounds us with an illusion (skree)!"

Lord Jagged affected not to hear him and turned, instead, to Mrs. Persson who watched him, her expression analytical. "The cities conserved their energies because I need them for what, I am confident, will be a successful experiment. Of course, not everyone will consider my plan a perfect one, but it is a beginning. It is what I mentioned to you, Mrs. Persson."

"It is why we are here." Her smile was for Captain Bastable. "To see if it should work. Certainly I am convinced by the preliminaries."

The huge and healthy sun shone down on them all, its light spreading through the city, casting great, mellow shadows. The city continued to throb quietly and steadily; an engine waiting to be used.

"It's extremely impressive, sir," said Bastable. "When do you intend to make the loop?"

"In about a month."

"You cannot," said Mrs. Persson, "sustain this state indefinitely?"

"It would be preferable, of course, but uneconomic."

They shared amusement.

CPS Shushurup waddled up, waving a leg. "Do not let (skree) yourselves be (roar) convinced by this (skree) illusion. For (roar) illusion is all that it is!"

Lord Jagged said mildly: "It depends, does it not, upon your interpretation of the word 'illusion'? It is a warming sun, a breathable atmosphere, the planet turns on its orbit, it circles that sun."

Yusharisp joined the Chief Public Servant. The bright sunlight emphasized the warts and blotches on his little round body. "It is illusion (skree), Lord Jagged, because (roar) it cannot last the (yelp) disintegration (skree) of the universe!"

"I think it will, Mr. Yusharisp." Lord Jagged made to address his son, but the Pweelians refused to content themselves with his answer.

"Energy (skree) is needed to produce (roar) such 'miracles' — you will (skree) agree to that?"

Lord Jagged inclined his head.

"There must (roar) therefore be a source (skree) — perhaps a planet (skree) or two which (yelp) have escaped the (skree) catastrophe. That source (roar) will he used up soon (yelp) enough!"

It seemed that Lord Jagged of Canaria spoke to everyone but his questioner. He retained the same mild, but slightly icy, expression. "I fear that you cannot draw satisfaction even from that idea, my dear Yusharisp. Morals may be drawn, but by a more liberal intelligence."

"Morals (skree)! You know (roar) nothing of such (yelp) things!"

Lord Jagged continued to speak to them all, now more directly than before. "Such is the character of one prone to morbid anxiety that he would rather experience the worst of things than hope for the best. It is a particular and puritanical mentality, and one to which I can respond with scant sympathy. Why have such conclusions been drawn? Because that kind of mentality would prefer to bring on catastrophe rather than live forever in fear of its possibility . Suicide rather than uncertainty."

"You are not (roar) suggesting that (skree) this problem was merely (yelp) in our own (skree) minds, Lord Jagged?" Again the strange, mechanical laughter from CPS Shushurup.

"Was it not the people of Pweeli who took it upon themselves to spread the bad news throughout the galaxy? Did you not preach your despair wherever you could find hearers? The facts were plain enough to all, but your response to them was scarcely positive. Therefore, yes — to some degree the problem was merely in your own minds. You have not investigated all the possibilities. Your case depends, for one thing, upon a firm belief in a finite universe, with finite resources. However, as the time-traveller here will tell you and as Mrs. Persson and Captain Bastable will confirm, the universe is not finite."

"Words (skree) and nothing more…"

The time-traveller spoke earnestly. "I may not agree with Lord Jagged in most things, but he speaks the truth. There are a multiplicity of dimensions to the universe which you, Mrs. Persson, refer to I believe as 'the multiverse'. This is merely one such dimension, although, indeed, all experience the same fate as this one, but not simultaneously."

Lord Jagged acknowledged the time-traveller's support. "Therefore, by drawing its resources from any part of the multiverse at any point in time — which will not be a parallel point — this planet can be sustained forever, if need be."

"The notion (yelp) is quite without foundation," said Yusharisp dismissively.

Lord Jagged drew his high collar about his face and stretched an elegant hand towards the sun. "There is my proof, gentlemen."

"Illusion," said Yusharisp obstinately, "(yelp)."

"Pseudo-science (skree)," agreed Shushurup.

Lord Jagged made an acquiescent gesture and would respond no more, but Mrs. Persson remained sympathetic to the aliens in their great distress. "We have discovered," she said gently, "that the 'real' universe is infinite. Infinite, timeless and still. It is a tranquil pool which will reflect any image we conceive."

"Meta(skree)physical poppy(roar)cock!"

Captain Bastable came to her aid. "It is we who populate the universe with what we call Time and Matter. Our intelligence moulds it; our activities give it detail. If, sometimes, we imprison ourselves, it is perhaps because our humanity is at fault, or our logic…"

"How can we (skree) take seriously such notions?" Yusharisp's many eyes blinked contemptuously. "You people make a playground of the universe and justify your actions with arguments so (roar) preposterous that no (skree) intelligent being (yelp) could believe them for a moment. You deceive (skree) yourselves so that you may (yelp) remain unembarrassed by any morality…"

Lord Jagged seemed more languid than ever and his voice was sleepy. "The infinite universe is just that, Yusharisp. It is all a playground." He paused. "To 'take it seriously' is to demean it."

"You will (roar) not respect the very stuff of (skree) life?"

"To respect it is quite another thing to 'taking it seriously'."

"There is (skree) no difference!" The alien was smug; his comrades seemed to congratulate him.

"Ah," said Lord Jagged, his smile small. "You emphasize the very difference in our viewpoints, by insisting on this difference."

"Bah (skree)!" Yusharisp glowered.

As if apologizing for his one-time friend, Lord Mongrove droned: "I think he is upset because he places such importance on the destruction of the universe. Its end confirmed his moral understanding of things. I felt much as he did, at one stage. But now I grow weary of the ideas."

"Turn(yelp)coat!" said CPS Shushurup. "It was on your invitation (skree) Lord Mongrove that (yelp) we came (skree) here!"

"There was surely nowhere else to go." Mongrove was faintly astonished. "This is, after all, the only bit of matter left in the universe."

With dignity, CPS Shushurup raised an admonishing hand (or foot). "Come, Yusharisp, fellow Pweelians. There is (skree) no more use in (roar) trying to do (yelp) anything (roar) more for these fools!" The entire deputation, the Last of the Pweelians, began to waddle back in single-file into their unwholesome spacecraft.

Mongrove, remorseful, made to follow. "Dear friends — fellow intelligences — do nothing drastic, please…" But the hatch squelched shut in his melancholy face and he uttered a lugubrious sigh. The ship did not take-off. It remained exactly where it had landed, in silent accusation. Moodily Mongrove began to pick at a piece of mould on its surface. "Oh, this is truly a Hell for the serious-minded!"

Inspector Springer removed his bowler hat to wipe his forehead in a characteristic gesture. "It 'as become rather warm, sir, all of a sudden. Nice to see the sun again, though, I suppose." He turned to his sweltering men. "You can loosen your collars, lads, if you wish. 'E's quite right. As 'ot as 'ell. I'm beginning to believe it meself." The constables began to unbutton the tops of their tunics. One or two went so far as to remove their helmets and were not admonished.

A moment later, Inspector Springer removed his jacket.

"And the preliminaries are now complete. There is a sun, an atmosphere, the planet revolves." Una Persson's words were clipped as she spoke to Lord Jagged.

Lord Jagged had been lost in thought. He raised his eyes and smiled. "Ah, yes. As I said. They are over. The rest must be dealt with later, when I activate my equipment."

"You said you are certain of success." The time-traveller was cool, still critical. He was not disposed to support Lord Jagged's view of himself. "The experiment seems somewhat grandiose to me."

Lord Jagged accepted the criticism. "I make no claims, sir. The technology is not of my invention, as I said. But it will do its job, with Nurse's help."

"You will re-cycle Time!" exclaimed Captain Bastable. "I do hope we can return in order to witness that stage of the experiment."

"It will be safe enough, during the first week," said Jagged.

"Is that how you intend to preserve the planet, Jagged?" Jherek asked in excitement. "To use the equipment I found in the Nursery?"

"It is similar equipment, though more complex. It should preserve our world for eternity. I shall make a loop of a seven-day period. Once made, it will be inviolable. The cities will become self-perpetuating; there will be no threats either from Time or from Space, for the world will be closed off, re-living the same seven days over and over again."

"We shall re-live the same short period for eternity?" The Duke of Queens shook his head. "I must say, Jagged, that your scheme has no more attraction than Yusharisp's."

Lord Jagged was grave. "If you are conscious of what is happening, then you will not repeat your actions during that period. But the time will remain the same, even though it seems to change."

"We shall not be trapped — condemned to a mere week of activity which we shall not be able to alter?"

"I think not." Lord Jagged looked out across the miles and miles of wasteland. "Ordinary life, as we know it at the End of Time, can continue as it has always done. The Nursery itself was deliberately limited — a kind of temporal deep-freeze to preserve the children."

"How quickly one would become bored, if one had the merest hint that that was happening." The Iron Orchid did her best to hide any anxiety she might display.

"Again, it is a question of attitudes, my dear. Is the prisoner a prisoner because he lives in a cage or because he knows that he lives in a cage?"

"Oh, I shall not attempt to discuss such things!"

He spoke fondly. "And there, my dear, lies your salvation." He embraced her. "And now there is one more thing I must do here. The equipment must be supplied with energy."

While they watched, he walked a little way into the city and stood looking about him. His pose was at once studied and casual. Then he seemed to come to a decision and placed the palm of his right hand across all the rings on his left.

The city gave out one high, almost triumphant, yell. There came a pounding roar as every building shook itself. Blue and crimson light blended in a brilliant aura overhead, blotting the sun. Then a deep sound, comforting and powerful, issued from the very core of the planet. There was a rustling from the city, familiar murmurings, the squeak of some half-mechanical creature.

Then the aura began to grow dim and Jagged became tense, as if he feared that the city could not, after all, supply the energy for his experiment.

There came a whining noise. The aura grew strong again and formed a dome-shaped cap hovering a hundred feet or more over the whole of the city. Then Lord Jagged of Canaria seemed to relax, and when he turned back to them there was a suggestion of self-congratulation in his features.

Amelia Underwood was the first to speak as he returned. "Ah, Mephistopheles. Are you capable, now, of creation?"

He was flattered by the reference this time. He shared a private glance. "What's this, Mrs. Underwood? Manicheanism?"

"Oh, dear! Perhaps!" A hand went to her mouth, but she parodied herself.

He added: "I cannot create a world, Amelia, but I can revive an existing one, bring the dead to life. And perhaps I once hoped to populate another world. Oh, you are right to think me prideful. It could be my undoing."

On Jagged's right, from behind a gleaming ruin of gold and steel, came Harold Underwood and Sergeant Sherwood. They sweated, both, but seemed unaware of the heat. Mr. Underwood indicated the sunny sky, the blue aura. "See Sergeant Sherwood, how they tempt us now." He pushed his pince-nez more firmly onto his nose as he approached Lord Jagged who towered over him, his extra height given emphasis by his face-framing collar. "Did I hear right, sir?" said Mr. Underwood. "Did my wife — perhaps my ex-wife, I am not sure — refer to you by a certain name?"

Lord Jagged, smiling, bowed.

"Ha!" said Harold Underwood, satisfied. "I must congratulate you, I suppose, on the quality of your illusions, the variety of your temptations, the subtlety of your torments. This present illusion, for instance, could well deceive some. What seemed to be Hell now resembles Heaven. Thus, you tempted Christ, on the mountain."

Even Lord Jagged was nonplussed. "The reference was a joking one, Mr. Underwood…"

"Satan's jokes are always clever. Happily, I have the example of my Saviour. Therefore, I bid you good-day, Son of the Morning. You may have claimed my soul, but you shall never own it. I trust you are thwarted as often as possible in your machinations."

"Um…" said Lord Jagged.

Harold Underwood and Sergeant Sherwood began to head towards the interior, but not before Harold had addressed his wife: "You are doubtless already Satan's slave, Amelia. Yet I know we can still be saved, if we are genuinely repentant and believe in the Salvation of Christ. Be wary of all this, Amelia. It is merely a semblance of life."

"Very convincing, on the surface, though, isn't it, sir?" said Sergeant Sherwood.

"He is the Master Deceiver, Sergeant."

"I suppose 'e is, sir."

"But —" Harold flung an arm around his disciple — "I was right in one thing, eh? I said we should meet Him eventually."

Amelia sucked at her lower lip. "He is quite mad, Jherek. What should we do for him? Can he be sent back to Bromley?"

"He seems very much at ease here, Amelia. Perhaps so long as he receives regular meals which the city, after all, can be programmed to provide, he could stay here with Sergeant Sherwood."

"I should not like to abandon him."

"We can come and visit him from time to time."

She remained dubious. "It has not quite impinged upon me," she said, "that it is not the end of the world!"

"Have you ever seen him more relaxed?"

"Never. Very well, let him stay here, for the moment at least, in his — his Eternal Damnation." She uttered a peculiar laugh.

Inspector Springer approached Lord Jagged with due deference. "So things are more or less back to normal then, are they sir?"

"More or less, Inspector."

Inspector Springer sucked at a tooth. "Then I suppose we'd better get on with the job then, sir. Roundin' up the suspects and that…"

"Most of them are in the clear now, Inspector."

"The Latvians, Lord Jagged?"

"I suppose you could arrest them, yes."

"Very good, sir." Inspector Springer saluted and returned his attention to his twelve constables. "All right, lads. Back on duty again. What's Sherwood up to? Better give 'im a blast on your whistle, Reilly, see if 'e answers." He mopped his forehead. "This is a very peculiar place. If I was a dreamin' man, I'd be 'alf inclined to think I was in the middle of a bloomin' nightmare. Har, har!" The answering laughter of some of his men as they plodded behind him was almost hollow.

Una Persson glanced at one of several instruments attached to her arm. "I congratulate you, Lord Jagged. The first stages are a great success. We hope to be able to return to witness the completion."

"I would be honoured, Mrs. Persson."

"Forgive me, now, if I get back to my machine. Captain Bastable…"

Bastable hovered, evidently reluctant to go.

"Captain Bastable, we really must —"

He became attentive. "Of course, Mrs. Persson. The Shifter and so forth." He waved a cheerful hand to them all. "It's been an enormous pleasure. And thank you so much, Lord Jagged, for the privilege…"

"Not at all."

"I suppose, unless we do return just before the loop is finally made, we shall not be able to meet —"

"Come along, Oswald!" Mrs. Persson was marching through the mellow sunshine to where they had left their machine.

"Oh, I don't know." Lord Jagged waved in reply. "A pleasant journey to you."

"Thanks most awfully, again."

"Captain Bastable!"

"— because of the drawbacks you mentioned," shouted Bastable breathlessly, and ran to join his co-chrononaut.

When they had gone, Amelia Underwood looked almost suspiciously at the man Jherek one day hoped to make her father-in-law. "The world is definitely saved, is it, Lord Jagged?"

"Oh, definitely. The cities have ample energy. The time-loop, when it is made, will re-cycle that energy. Jherek has told you of his adventures in the Nursery. You understand the principle."

"Sufficiently, I hope. But Captain Bastable spoke of drawbacks."

"I see." Lord Jagged pulled his cloak about him. Now Mongrove and the Duke of Queens, the time-traveller and the Iron Orchid, Jherek and Amelia were all that remained of his audience. He spoke more naturally. "Not for all, Amelia, those drawbacks. After a short period of readjustment, say a month, in which Nurse and I will test our equipment until we are satisfied with its functioning, the world will be in a perpetually closed circuit, with both past and future abolished. A single planet turning about a single sun will be all that remains of this universe. It will mean, therefore, that both time-travel and space-travel will be impossible. The drawback will be (for many of us) that there is no longer any intercourse between our world of the End of Time and other worlds."

"That is all?"

"It will mean much to some."

"To me!" groaned the Duke of Queens. "I do wish you had told me, Jagged. I'd hoped to re-stock my menagerie." He looked speculatively at the Pweelian spaceship. He fingered a power-ring.

"A few time-travellers may yet arrive, before the loop is made," comforted Jagged. "Besides, doleful Duke, your creative instincts will be fulfilled for a while, I am sure, by helping in the resurrection of all our old friends. There are dozens. Argonheart Po…"

"Bishop Castle. My Lady Charlotina. Mistress Christia. Sweet Orb Mace. O'Kala Incarnadine. Doctor Volospion." The Duke brightened.

"The long-established time-travellers, like Li Pao, may also still he here — or will re-appear, thanks to the Morphail Effect."

"I thought you had proved that a fallacy, Lord Jagged." Mongrove spoke with interest.

"I have proved it a Law — but not the only Law — of Time."

"We shall resurrect Brannart and tell him!" said the Iron Orchid.

Amelia was frowning. "So the planet will be completely isolated, for eternity, in time and space."

"Exactly," said Jagged.

"Life will continue as it has always done," said the Duke of Queens. "Who shall you resurrect first, Mongrove?"

"Werther de Goethe, I suppose. He is no real fellow spirit, but he will do for the moment." The giant cast a glance back at the Pweelian spaceship as he began to move his great bulk forward. "Though it will be a travesty, of course."

"What do you mean, melancholy Mongrove?" The Duke of Queens turned a power-ring to rid himself of his uniform and replace it with brilliant multicoloured feathers from head to foot, a coxcomb in place of his hair.

"A travesty of life. This will be a stagnant planet, forever cycling a stagnant sun. A stagnant society, without progress or past. Can you not see it, Duke of Queens? Shall we have been spared death only to become the living dead, dancing forever to the same stale measures?"

The Duke of Queens was amused. "I congratulate you, Lord Mongrove. You have found an image with which to distress yourself. I admire your alacrity!"

Lord Mongrove licked his large lips and wrinkled his great nose. "Ah, mock me, as you always mock me — as you all mock me. And why not? I am a fool! I should have stayed out there, in space, while suns flickered and faded and whole planets exploded and became dust. Why remain here, after all, a maggot amongst maggots?"

"Oh, Mongrove, your gloom is of the finest!" Lord Jagged congratulated him. "Come — you must all be my guests at Castle Canaria!"

"Your castle survives, Jagged?" Jherek asked, putting his arm round his Amelia's waist.

"As a memory, swiftly restored to reality — as shall be the entire society at the End of Time. That is what I meant, Amelia, when I told you that memories would suffice."

She smiled a little bleakly. She had been listening intently to Mongrove's forebodings. It took some little while before she could rid herself of her thoughts and laugh with the others as they said farewell to the time-traveller, who intended, now that he had certain information from Mrs. Persson, to make repairs to his craft and return to his own world if he could.

The Duke of Queens stood on the grey, cracked plain and admired his handiwork. It was a great squared-off monster of a vehicle and it bobbed gently in the light wind which stirred the dust at their feet.

"The bulk of it is the gas-container — the large rear-section," he explained to Jherek. "The front is called, I believe, the cab."

"And the whole?"

"From the twentieth century. An articulated truck."

The Iron Orchid sighed as she tripped towards it, gathering up the folds of her wedding dress. "It looks most uncomfortable."

"Not as bad as you'd think," the Duke reassured her. "There is breathing equipment inside the gas-bag."