The End of All Songs

27. Conversations and Conclusions

Dusty varicoloured light fell from brilliant windows through the lofty shadows of the cathedral; rainbow patterns littered the marble floors, the dark oak stalls, the cool vaulted galleries, the golden pulpits, the brass and ceramic choirs; they filtered through the silver-framed squints, dappling the extravagant costumes of brides, grooms and celebrants who, together, were the whole complement of this world at the End of Time and would remain its sole denizens for eternity.

At the great altar, against the radiance from the circular stained glass behind him, wearing vestments of black and red silk trimmed with woven ribbons of white and grey, a magnificent mitre swaying on his head, his aluminium crook in one gloved hand, his other hand raised to give a blessing, stood Bishop Castle, impressive and grave as through the high doors, admitting a sweep of sunshine into the main aisle, sounded the blare of a thousand instruments voicing a single note. Then there came a silence from without while the cathedral echoed, transformed the note, seeming to answer. Bishop Castle let the echoes fade before signalling Sweet Orb Mace, on the arm of Lord Jagged himself, to proceed towards the altar; then came the Duke of Queens, in uniform still, striding until he stood beside his bride-to-be, who wore white — hair, eyebrows, lashes, lips, gown bobbysox and boots. The altar itself was already piled with blue and green gifts of every description. From the chancel Jherek, Amelia and the Iron Orchid watched as, with due ceremony, Bishop Castle handed the Duke of Queens a black curved bow and a single arrow, enjoining the groom to "show yourself worthy of this woman". The Iron Orchid whispered that Amelia would be familiar with the ritual and would doubtless be a trifle blase, but she, the Orchid, was thrilled. Bishop Castle motioned and twenty palm trees sprang up in the main aisle, standing, one behind each other, in a perfectly straight line.

The Duke of Queens placed the arrow upon the string, drew it back, and shot at the first palm tree. The arrow pierced the tree through, entered the next and pierced that, going on to the next and the next until all twenty trees were pierced. There came a yell from the distance (it seemed that Li Pao had been standing behind the last palm tree and had received the arrow directly in his eye and had been killed; with as little fuss as possible he was resurrected — meanwhile the ceremony continued), but the Duke of Queens was already handing the bow back to Bishop Castle while intoning a reference to Sugriva, Jatayus and Disney the Destroyer and calling upon the Buddha to strike him bald if his love for Sweet Orb Mace ever faltered. This ritual progressed for some time, giving great satisfaction to the central participants, as is the nature of ritual, but tending to drag a little so far as the audience was concerned, though many admitted that the spoken parts were moving.

Bishop Castle gradually brought the wedding to its conclusion. "…until such time as the aforementioned Parties shall deem this Agreement void and that any disputes arising from this Agreement, or the performance thereof, shall be determined by arbitration in the Heavenly City or its Dependencies in accordance with the rules then obtaining of the High, Middle and Low Courts of Chance and Arbitrary Union and judgement on the award rendered may be entered in any court having jurisdiction thereof, in the name of God the Father, God the Mother or God the Next of Kin, God Bless, Good Luck and Keep Smiling." The ceremonial chain of iron was locked about Sweet Orb Mace's neck; the huge jewelled truss was fitted onto the lower part of the Duke of Queens' torso, thumbs were cut and blood mingled, halos were exchanged, two goats were slaughtered, and a further fanfare announced that the marriage was duly sanctified. Next came Werther de Goethe and Lord Mongrove, who had chosen a shorter but rather gloomier ceremony, followed by Mistress Christia, the Everlasting Concubine, and her little group of grooms, then Doctor Volospion with Platinum Poppy (a clever, but obvious copy of the Iron Orchid, to the smallest feature).

It was at this point that Lord Jagged slipped away.

Probably, Jherek thought, it was because his father was quickly bored by such things and also because (it was rumoured) he had no liking for the envious Volospion. Not a few of the others had chosen group marriages, which, save for the naming of the names, took somewhat less time to complete. Amelia was becoming restless, as was the Iron Orchid; the two women whispered together and occasionally made remarks which caused one or both to repress laughter and, on certain occasions, under cover of some loud report, for instance, from a Wedding Cannon, or Clare Cyrato's perfect rising contralto shriek as her labia were pierced, or the Earl of Carbolic's nine hundredth-century bull-bellow, allowed themselves to giggle quite openly. Jherek did not feel excluded; he was relieved that their friendship flourished, though every so often he noticed a look of disapproval cross Amelia's features, as if she found her own behaviour reprehensible. Sometimes she would join in the applause which began to fill the cathedral, as more and more people, on the spur of the moment, rushed towards the tasteful web of neon that was the altar, and married one another.

The proceedings were becoming extremely chaotic and Bishop Castle, who had lost his air of gravity, was waving his mitre around his head, making up more and more extravagant rituals and, like the ringmaster, putting his brides and his grooms through increasingly ludicrous paces, so that laughter now sounded from every corner of the great cathedral, bursts of clapping greeted quite unremarkable exercises (such as the four ladies who insisted on being married whilst standing on their hands). As the Iron Orchid remarked: "The wittiest of us are already wedded — these give us only low comedy!"

They prepared to leave.

"Bishop Castle should not lend himself to such sport," said the Orchid. "I note that most of these people are largely of immigrant origin who have been returned, just recently, by the Morphail Effect. Is that not boorish Pereg Tralo — there in the blazing crown, with all those little girls? But what is Gaf the Horse in Tears doing to that other time-traveller, the one bending down — there?"

Amelia turned away.

The Iron Orchid patted her padded shoulder. "I agree, my dear, it is most distasteful."

The remaining celebrants were dancing now, in a long line which wandered in and out of the arches, up and down the stairs, along the high galleries, through deep shadows and into sudden sunlight, while Bishop Castle urged them on, his mitre swinging in time to the music of the Duke's band which came faintly from beyond the doors. "Bless you!" he cried. "Bless you!"

Fire bloomed now as brands were added, at the insistence, it seemed, of Trixitroxi Ro, dethroned queen of a decadent court who had been exiled, by successful revolutionaries, to the future, and who had, for hundreds of years, only one idea for a successful party — to set fire to everything.

The Iron Orchid, Jherek and Amelia, began to make their way towards the doors, moving against the crowd.

"These are the very worst aspects of the world's infancy," protested the Orchid as she was jostled by a brand-bearing cat-masked spring-footed Holy Electrician from a period which had prospered at least a million years before.

"You become a snob, Iron Orchid!" Amelia's mockery was good-natured.

"You relished such scenes once, Mother, it is true," agreed Jherek.

"Oh, perhaps I grow old. Or some quality leaves life at the End of Time. I find it hard to describe."

The doors were still a good distance from them. The dancing crowd had separated into several interweaving sections. Screams of laughter mingled with snatches of song, with shrieks and guffaws and the sound of stamping feet; bizarre masks grinned through the hagioscopes in walls and pillars, bodies, painted and unpainted, natural and remodelled, writhed on steps, in choirs, pews, pulpits and confessionals; feathers waved, spangles glittered, silks scraped on satins, jewelled cloaks and boots reflected torchlight and seemed to blaze of their own accord; skins, yellow and green and brown and red and pink and black and blue and orange, glistened; and everywhere the eyes they saw were burning, the mouths were hot.

Of the three, only Jherek laughed. "They enjoy themselves, mother! It is a festival."

"Danse macabre," murmured Amelia. "The damned, the dead, the doomed — they dance to forget their fate…"

This was a trifle too much even for the Orchid in her abnormal despondency. "It is certainly vulgar," she said, "if nothing else. The Duke of Queens is to blame, of course. It is typical of him to allow a perfectly entertaining event to degenerate into — ah!" she fell to the flagging, bowled down by a squirming couple over whom she had tripped.

Jherek helped her up. He was smiling. "You used to chide me for my criticisms of the Duke's taste. Well, I am vindicated at last."

She sniffed. She noticed the face of one of the people on the ground. "Gaf! How can you lend yourself to this?"

"Eh?" said Gaf the Horse in Tears. He extricated himself from under his partner. "Iron Orchid! Oh, your perfume, your petals, your delicate stamen — let them consume me!"

"We are leaving," she said pointedly, casting a hard eye over the black and white fur which Gaf sported. "We find the proceedings dull."

"Dull, dearest Orchid? It is an experience. Experience of any sort is sufficient to itself!" Gaf thought she joked. From where he lay, he extended a hand. "Come. Join us. We —"

"Perhaps another time, weeping stallion." She perceived an opening in the throng and made towards it, but it had closed before any of them could reach it.

"They seem drunk with the prospect of their own damnation…" began Amelia before her voice was lost in the yell of the throng. She held herself as she had when Jherek had first seen her, her mouth set, her eyes contemptuous, and all his love swept over him so that he was bound to kiss her. But her cheek was cold. She plunged away, colliding with the crowd which caught her and began to bear her from him. She was as one who had fallen into a torrent and feared drowning. He ran to her rescue, dragging her clear of the press; she gasped and sobbed against him. They were on the edge of the sunlight from the doors; escape was near. They could hear the band still playing outside. She was shouting to him, but her words were indistinct. The Iron Orchid plucked at Jherek's arm, to lead them from the cathedral and at that moment darkness descended.

The sun was gone; no light entered the doors or fell through the windows; the music died; there was silence outside. It was cold. Yet many of the revellers danced on, their way illuminated by the guttering flames of the flambeaux in their hands; many still laughed or shouted. But then the cathedral itself began to tremble. Metal and glass rattled, stone groaned.

The doors, now a black gap, could still be seen, and towards them the three fled, with Iron Orchid crying in astonishment: "Jagged has failed us. The world ends, after all!"

Into the coldness they rushed. Behind them firelight flickered from the many windows of the building, but it was too feeble to brighten the surrounding ground, though it was possible to identify the whereabouts of the stalls and booths and tents from the voices, some familiar, calling out in bewilderment. Jherek expected the air to give way to vacuum at any moment. He clutched Amelia and now she hugged him willingly. "If only there had been some way to live," she said. "And yet I think I am glad for this. I could never have changed. I would have become a hypocrite and you would have ceased to love me."

"Never that," he said. He kissed her. Perhaps because the surrounding air was so cold, she seemed very warm to him, almost feverish.

"What an unsatisfactory conclusion," came the voice of the Iron Orchid. "For once, it seems, Jagged has lost his sense of timing! Still, there'll be no one to criticize in a moment or two…"

Beneath their feet, the ground shook. From within the cathedral a single voice was raised in a high, sustained scream. Something fell with a rush and a crash to the ground; several of the cathedral's bells tolled, crazy and dissonant. Two or three figures, one with a brand that was now scarcely more than an ember, came to the door and stood there uncertainly.

Jherek thought he heard a howling, far off, as if of a distant hurricane, but it did not approach; instead it seemed to die away in another direction.

They all awaited death with reconciliation, trepidation, amusement, relish or incredulity, according to their temperaments. Here and there people could be heard chatting with complete lack of concern, while others moaned, crying out for impossible succour.

"At least Harold is safe," she said. "Did Jagged know that this could happen, do you think?"

"If he did, he made sure we should not suspect."

"He certainly said nothing to me ." The Iron Orchid did not bother to hide her petulance. "I am his wife, after all."

"He cannot help his secretive nature, Mother," said Jherek Carnelian in defence.

"Just as you cannot help possessing an open one, my child. Where are you? Over there, eh?"

"Here," said Amelia.

The blind hand found her. "He is so easily deceived," confided the Orchid to her daughter-in-law. "It made him entertaining, of course, before all this began — but now … I blame myself for lacking forethought, certain sorts of perception…"

"He is a credit to you, Mother." Amelia wished to comfort. "I love him for what you made him."

Jherek was amused. "It is always the way of women, as I was discovering, to regard men as some sort of blank creature into which one woman or another has instilled certain characteristics. This woman has made him shy — this woman has made him strong — another has driven such and such an influence (always a woman's of course) from him … Am I merely no more than an amalgamation of women's creative imaginations? Have I no identity of my own?"

"Of course, dear." Amelia spoke. "Of course. You are completely yourself! I spoke only figuratively."

The Iron Orchid's voice came again. "Do not let him bully you, Amelia. That is his father's influence!"

"Mother, you remain as adamant as always!" Jherek said affectionately. "A flower that can never be bent by even the strongest of winds!"

"I trust you are only jesting, Jherek. There is none more malleable than I!"

"Indeed!"

Amelia was forced to join in Jherek's laughter. The Iron Orchid, it seemed, sulked.

Jherek was about to speak again when the ground beneath his feet began to undulate violently, in tiny waves. They held fast to one another to stop themselves from falling. There was a briny smell in the air and, for a second, a flash of violet light on the horizon.

"It is the cities," said the Iron Orchid. "They are destroyed!" She moved closer to Amelia.

"Do you find it colder?" his mother asked.

"Somewhat," replied Amelia.

"Certainly," said Jherek.

"I wonder how long…"

"We have already had longer than I expected," Jherek said to her.

"I do wish it would finish. The least Jagged could do for us…"

"Perhaps he struggles with his machinery, still trying to save something," suggested Jherek.

"Poor man," murmured Amelia. "All his plans ruined."

"You sympathize now?" Jherek was confounded.

"Oh, well — I have always felt for the loser, you know."

Jherek contented himself with squeezing her shoulder.

There came another flash of violet light, some distance away from the first, and this lasted just a fraction longer.

"No," said the Iron Orchid, "it is definitely the cities. I recognize the locations. They explode."

"It is strange that the air is still with us," Jherek said. "One city must continue to function, at least, to create the oxygen."

"Unless we breathe only what is left to us," suggested Amelia.

"I am not sure that this is the end, at all," Jherek announced.

And, as if in response to his faith, the sun began to rise, dull red at first and then increasingly brighter until it filled the blue sky with streaks of yellow and mauve and crimson; and everywhere was cheering. And life resumed.

Only Amelia seemed discontented with this reprieve. "It is madness," she said. "And I shall soon be mad myself, if I am not mad already. I desired nothing but death and now even that hope has been dashed!"

The shadow of a great swan fell across her and she looked up through red-rimmed, angered eyes. "Oh, Lord Jagged! How you must enjoy all these manipulations!"

Lord Jagged was still in his morning suit, with his tall hat on his head. "Forgive me, for the darkness and so on," he said. "It was necessary to start the first week's cycle from scratch, as we mean to begin. It is running smoothly now, as it will run for ever."

"You do not offer even the slightest possibility that it will collapse?" Amelia was not facetious; she seemed desperate.

"Not the slightest, Amelia. It is in its nature to function perfectly. It could not exist if it were not perfect, I assure you."

"I see…" She began to move away, a wretched figure, careless of where she walked.

"There is an alternative, however," said Lord Jagged laconically. "As I mentioned." He threw himself elegantly from his swan and landed near her, his hands in his pockets, waiting for his words to register with her. She came about slowly, like a tacking schooner, looking from Jagged to Jherek, who had approached his father.

"An alternative?"

"Yes, Amelia. But you might not find it any more to your liking and Jherek would probably consider it completely distasteful."

"Tell me what it is! " Her voice was strained.

"Not here." He glanced around him, withdrawing one hand from a pocket so that he might signal to his swan. The air-car moved obediently and was beside him. "I have prepared a simple meal in pleasant surroundings. Be my guests."

She hesitated. "I can take little more of your mystification, Lord Jagged."

"If decisions are to be reached, you will want to make them where you may be sure to be free of interruption, surely."

Bishop Castle, swaying a little beneath the weight of his mitre, leaning for support upon his crook, stepped from the cathedral. "Jagged — was this your doing?" He was bemused.

Lord Jagged of Canaria bowed to his friend. "It was necessary. I regret causing you alarm."

"Alarm! It was splendid. What a perfect sense of drama you have!" Yet Bishop Castle was pale and his tone was achieved with a certain difficulty.

The old half-smile crossed Lord Jagged's perfect lips. "Are all the weddings duly solemnized?"

"I think so. I'll admit to being carried away — a captive audience, you know, easily pleased — we forget ourselves."

From the cluster of booths came the Duke of Queens. He signalled to his band to play, but after a few seconds of the din he thought better of his decision and made the band stop. He stepped up, with Sweet Orb Mace prettily clinging to his arm. "Well, at least my marriage wasn't interrupted, illusive Jagged, elusive Lord of Time, though I believe such interruptions were once traditional." He chuckled. "What a joke. I was convinced that you had blundered."

"I had more faith," said Sweet Orb Mace, brushing black curls from her little face. "I knew that you would not wish to spoil the happiest day of my life, dear Jagged."

She received a dry bow from Jherek's father.

"Well," briskly said the Duke, "we leave now to our honeymoon (scarcely more than an asteroid, really), and so must say farewell."

Amelia, with a gesture Jherek found almost shocking, it was so untypical, threw her arms about the jolly Duke and kissed him on his bearded cheek. "Farewell, dear Duke of Queens. You, I know, will always be happy." Sweet Orb Mace, in turn, was kissed. "And may your marriage last for a long, long while."

The Duke seemed almost embarrassed, but was pleased by her demonstration. "And may you be happy, too, Mrs. Under—"

"Carnelian."

"—wood. Aha! Here are our wings, my dear." Two automata carried two large pairs of white feathered wings. The Duke helped his bride into her harness and then slipped into his own, stretching his arms to catch the loops. "Now, Sweet Orb Mace, the secret lies in taking a good, fast run before you commence to beat. See!" He began to race across the ground, followed by his mate. He stumbled once, righted himself, started to flap the great wings and, eventually, succeeded in becoming wildly airborne. His wife imitated him and soon she, too, was a few feet in the air, swaying and flapping. Thus, erratically, they disappeared from view, two huge, drunken doves.

"I hope," said Amelia gravely, "that they do not get those wings too sticky." And she smiled at Jherek, and she winked at him. He was glad to see that she had recovered her spirits.

Mistress Christia ran past, tittering with glee, pursued by four Lat, including Captain Mubbers who grunted happily: "Get your balloons down, you beautiful bit of bone, you!"

She had already allowed her knee-balloons to slip enticingly half-way towards her calves.

"Cor!" retorted Lieutenant Rokfrug. "What a lovely pair!"

"Save a bit for us!" begged the Lat furthest in the rear. "Don't worry," panted the second furthest, "there's enough for everyone!"

They all rushed into the cathedral and did not emerge again.

Now, in small groups, the brides, the grooms and the guests were beginning to go their ways. Farewells were made. My Lady Charlotina and Brannart Morphail passed overhead in a blue and white enamel dish-shaped boat, but Charlotina was oblivious of them all and the only evidence of Brannart being with her was his club-foot waving helplessly over the rim of the air-car.

"What do you say, Amelia?" softly asked Lord Jagged. "Will you accept my invitation?"

She shrugged at him. "This is the last time I intend to trust you, Lord Jagged."

"It could he the last time you will have to, my dear."

The Iron Orchid mounted the swan first, with Amelia behind her, then Jherek and lastly Jagged. They began to rise. Below them, near the cathedral and amongst the tents and booths, a few determined revellers continued to dance. Their voices, thin and high, carried up to the four who circled above. Amelia Carnelian began to quote from Wheldrake's longest and most ambitious poem, unfinished at his death, The Flagellants . Her choice seemed inappropriate to Jherek, but she was looking directly at Lord Jagged and seemed to he addressing him, as if only he would understand the significance of the words.

So shall they dance, till the end of time,

Each face a mask, each mark a sign

Of pride disguised as pain.

Yet pity him who must remain,

His flesh unflayed, his soul untried:

His pain disguised as pride.

Lord Jagged's face was impassive, yet he gave a great shrug and looked away from her, seemingly in annoyance. It was the only occasion Jherek had ever detected that kind of anger in his father. He frowned at her, questioning her, wondering at the peculiar smile on her lips — a mixture of sympathy and triumph, and of bitterness — but she continued to stare at Jagged, even though the lord in yellow refused to meet that gaze. The swan sailed over forests now, but Amelia continued with her Wheldrake.

I knew him when he offered all,

To God, and Woman, too,

His faith in life was strong,

His trust in Christ was pure…

Jagged's interruption was, for him, quite abrupt. "They can be delightfully sentimental, those Victorian versifiers, can they not? Are you familiar with Swinburne, Amelia?"

"Swinburne? Certainly not, sir!"

"A shame. He was once a particular favourite of mine. Was he ever Laureate?"

"There was some talk — but the scandal. Mr. Kipling refused, I heard. Mr. Alfred Austin is — was — our new Poet Laureate. I believe I read a book of his about gardens." She chatted easily, but there remained an edge to her voice, as if she knew he changed the subject and she refused to be diverted. "I am not familiar with his poetry."

"Oh, but you should look some out." And in turn, Lord Jagged quoted:

"Very rousing," said Amelia. The swan dipped and seemed to fly faster, so that her hair was blown about her face. "Though it is scarcely Wheldrake. A different sort of verse altogether. Wheldrake writes of the spirit, Austin, it seems, of the world. Sometimes, however, it is good for those who are much in the world to spend a few quiet moments with a poet who can offer an insight or two as to the reasons why men act and think as they do…"

"You do not and Wheldrake's preoccupations morbid, then?"

"In excess, yes. You mentioned Swinburne…"

"Aha! Goes too far?"

"I believe so. We are told so. The fleshly school, you know…"

Lord Jagged pretended (there was no other word) to notice the bemused, even bored, expressions of the Iron Orchid and Jherek Carnelian. "Look how we distress our companions, our very loved ones, with this dull talk of forgotten writers."

"Forgive me. I began it — with a quotation from Wheldrake I found apt."

"Those we have left are not penitents of any sort, Amelia."

"Perhaps so. Perhaps the penitents are elsewhere."

"Now I lose your drift entirely."

"I speak without thinking. I am a little tired."

"Look. The sea."

"It is a lovely sea, Jagged!" complimented the Iron Orchid. "Have you only just made it?"

"Not long since. On my way back. He turned to Jherek. "Nurse sends her regards, by the way. She says she is glad to hear that you are making a sensible life for yourself and settling down and that it is often the wild ones who make the best citizens in the end."

"I hope to see her soon. I hold her in great esteem and affection. She re-united me with Amelia."

"So she did."

The swan had settled; they disembarked onto a pale yellow beach that was lapped by white foam, a blue sea. Forming a kind of miniature cove was a semi-circle of white rocks, most of them just a little taller than Jherek, apparently worn almost to spikes by the elements. The smell of brine was strong. White gulls flapped here and there in the sky, occasionally swooping to catch black and grey fish. The pale yellow beach, of fine sand, with a few white pebbles, was spread with a dark brown cloth. On pale yellow plates was a variety of brown food — buns, biscuits, beef, bacon, bread, baked potatoes, pork pies, pickles, pemmican, peppercorns, pattercakes and much more — and there was brown beer or sarsaparilla or tea or coffee to drink.

As they stretched out, one at each station of the cloth, Amelia sighed, evidently glad to relax, as was Jherek.

"Now, Lord Jagged," Amelia began, ignoring the food, "you said there was an alternative…"

"Let us eat quietly for a moment," he said. "You will admit the common sense of becoming as calm as possible after today's events, I know."

"Very well." She selected a prune from a nearby dish. He chose a chestnut.

Conscious that the encounter was between Jagged and Amelia, Jherek and the Iron Orchid said little. Instead they munched and watched the seabirds wheeling while listening to the whisper of the waves on the shore.

Of the four, the Iron Orchid, in her orchids, supplied the only brilliant colour to the scene; Jherek, Amelia and Lord Jagged were still in grey. Jherek thought that his father had chosen an ideal location for the picnic and smiled drowsily when his mother remarked that it was like old times. It was as if the world had never been threatened, as if his adventures had never taken place, yet now he had gained an entire family. It would be pleasant, he thought, to make a regular habit of these picnics; surely even Amelia must be enjoying the simplicity, the sunshine, the relative solitude. He glanced at her. She was thoughtful and did not notice him. As always, he was warmed by feelings of the utmost tenderness as he contemplated her grave beauty, a beauty which showed itself at its best when she was unaware of attention, as now, or when she slept. He smiled, wondering if she would agree to a ceremony, not public or grandiose as the ones they had recently witnessed but private and plain, in which they should be properly married. He was sure that she yearned for it.

She looked up and met his eyes. She smiled briefly before speaking to his father: "And now, Lord Jagged — the alternative."

"It is within my power," said Jagged, responding to her briskness, "to send you into the future."

She became instantly guarded again. "Future? There is none."

"Not for this world — and there will be none at all, when this week has passed. But we are still capable of moving back and forth in the conventional time-cycle — just for the next seven days. When I say 'the future' I mean, of course, 'the past' — I can send you forward to the Palaeozoic, as I originally hoped. You would go forward and therefore not be at all subject to Morphail's Law. There is a slight danger, though I would not say much. Once in the Palaeozoic you would not be able to return to this world and, moreover, you would become mortal."

"As Olympians sent to Earth," she said.

"And denied your god-like powers," he added. "The rings will not work in the Palaeozoic, as you already know. You would have to build your own shelters, grow and hunt your own food. There are no material advantages at all, though you would have the advice and help of the Time Centre, doubtless, if it remains. That, I must remind you, is subject to the Morphail Effect. If you intended to bear children…"

"It would be unthinkable that I should not," she told him firmly.

"…you would not have the facilities you have known in 1896. There would be a risk, though probably slight, of disease."

"We should be able to take tools, medicines and so forth?"

"Of course. But you would have to learn to use them."

"Writing materials?"

"An excellent idea. There would be no problem, I think I have an Enquire Within and a How Things Work somewhere."

"Seeds?"

"You would be able to grow most things — and think how they would proliferate, with so little competition. In a few hundred years' time, before your death almost certainly, what a peculiar ecology would develop upon the Earth! Millions of years of evolution would be bypassed. There is time-travel for you, if you like!"

"Time to create a race almost entirely lacking in primitive instincts — and without need of them!"

"Hopefully."

She addressed Jherek, who was having difficulty coming to grips with the point of the conversation. "It would be our trust. Remember what we discussed, Jherek, dear? A combination of my sense of duty and your sense of freedom?"

"Oh, yes!" He spoke brightly, breathlessly, as he did his best to assimilate it all.

"What splendid children they could be!"

"Oh, indeed!"

"It will be a trial for you, too," said Jagged gently.

"Compared with the trials we have already experienced, Lord Jagged, the ones to come will be as nothing."

The familiar smile touched his lips. "You are optimistic."

"Given a grain of hope," she said. "And you offer much more." Her grey eyes fixed on him. "Was this always part of your plan?"

"Plan? Call it my own small exercise in optimism."

"Everything that has happened recently — it might have been designed to have led up to this."

"Yes, I suppose that's true." He looked at his son. "I could be envious of you, my boy."

"Of me? For what, Father?"

Jagged was contemplating Amelia again. His voice was distant, perhaps a touch sad. "Oh, for many things…"

The Iron Orchid put down an unfinished walnut. "They have no time-machine," she said tartly. "And they have not the training to travel without one."

"I have Brannart's abandoned machine. It is an excellent one — the best he has ever produced. It is already stocked. You can set off as soon as you wish."

"I am not sure that life in the Palaeozoic is entirely to my taste," said Jherek. "I would leave so many friends behind, you see."

"And you would age, dear," added the Orchid. "You would grow infirm. I cannot imagine…"

"You said that we should have several hundred years, Lord Jagged?" Amelia began to rise.

"You would have a life-span about the same as Methusalah's, at a guess. Your genes are already affected, and then there would be the prevailing conditions. I think you would have time to grow old quite gracefully — and see several generations follow you."

"That is worthwhile immortality, Jherek," she said to him. "To become immortal through one's children."

"I suppose so…"

"And those children would become your friends," added his father. "As we are friends, Jherek."

"You would not come with us?" He had so recently gained this father, he could not lose him so soon.

"There is another alternative. I intend to take that."

"Could not we…?"

"It would be impossible. I am an inveterate time-traveller, my boy. I cannot give it up. There is still so much to learn."

"You gave us the impression there was nothing left to explore," said Amelia.

"But if one goes beyond the End of Time, one might experience the beginning of a whole new cycle in the existence of what Mrs. Persson terms 'the multiverse'. Having learned to dispense with time-machines — and it is a trick impossible to teach — I intend to fling myself completely outside the present cycle. I intend to explore infinity."

"I was not aware…" began the Orchid.

"I shall have to go alone," he said.

"Ah, well. I was becoming bored with marriage. After today, anyway, it could scarcely be called a novelty!"

Amelia went to stand beside a rock, staring landwards.

Jherek said to Jagged: "It would mean that we should be parted forever, then — you and I, Jagged."

"As to that, it depends upon my fate and what I learn in my explorations. It is possible that we shall meet. But it is not probable, my boy."

"It would make Amelia happy," said Jherek.

"And I would be happy," Lord Jagged told him softly. "Knowing that, whatever befalls me, you and yours will go on."

Amelia wheeled round at this. "Your motives are clear at last, Lord Jagged."

"If you say so, Amelia." From a sleeve he produced pale yellow roses and offered them to her. "You prefer to see me as a man moved entirely by self-interest. Then see me so!" He bowed as he presented the bouquet.

"It is how you justify your decisions, I think," She accepted the flowers.

"Oh, you are probably right."

"You will say nothing, even now, of your past?"

"I have no past." His smile was self-mocking. "Only a future. Even that is not certain,"

"I believe," said Jherek suddenly, "that I weary of ambiguity. At least, at the Beginning of Time, there is little of that."

"Very little," she said, coming to him. "Our love could flourish, Jherek dear."

"We would be truly husband and wife?"

"It would be our moral duty." Her smile held unusual merriment. "To perpetuate the race, my dear."

"We could have a ceremony?"

"Perhaps, Lord Jagged —"

"I should be glad to officiate. I seem to remember that I have civil authority, as a Registrar…"

"It would have to be a civil ceremony," she said.

"We shall be your Adam and Bede after all, Jagged!" Jherek put his arm around his Amelia's waist. "And if we keep the machine, perhaps we could visit the future, just to see how it progressed, eh?"

Lord Jagged shook his head. "If you go further forward, once you have stopped, you will immediately become subject to the Morphail Effect again. Therefore time travel will be impossible. You will be creating your future, but if you ever dare try to find out what the future will be like, then it will almost certainly cease to exist. You will have to reconcile yourself to making the most of one lifetime in one place. Amelia can teach you that." He stroked his chin. "There will be something in the genes, I suppose. And you already know much about the nature of Time. Ultimately a new race of time-travellers could exist, not subject to the Morphail Effect. It might mean the abolition of Time, as we have understood it up to now. And Space, too, would assume, therefore, an entirely different character. The experiment might mean —"

"I think that we shall try not to indulge in experiments of that sort, Lord Jagged." She was firm.

"No, no, of course not." But his manner remained speculative.

The Iron Orchid was laughing. She, too, had risen to her feet, her orchids whispering as she moved. "At least, at the Beginning of Time, they'll be free from your further interference, Jagged."

"Interference?"

"And this world, too, may go its own way, within its limitations." She kissed her husband. "You leave many gifts behind you, cunning Lord of Canaria!"

"One does what one can." He put his hand into hers. "I would take you with me, Orchid, if I could."

"I think that temperamentally I am content with things as they are. Call me conservative, if you will, but there is a certain predictability about life at the End of Time which suits me."

"Well, then, all our temperamental needs are satisfied. Jherek and Amelia go to work as colonists, founding a whole new culture, a new history, a new kind of race. It should prove very different, in some aspects, from the old one. I travel on, as my restless brain moves me. And you, dearest Orchid, stay. The resolution seems satisfactory."

"There might be others here," Amelia said, after an internal struggle with her conscience, "who might also wish to become 'colonists'. Li Pao, for instance."

"I had considered that, but it complicates matters. I am afraid that Li Pao is doomed to spend eternity in this particular paradise."

"It seems a shame," she said. "Could you not —?"

He raised a hand. "You accused me of manipulating Fate, Amelia. You are wrong — I merely offer a certain resistance to it. I win a few little battles, that is all. Li Pao's fate is now settled. He will dance with the others, at the End of Time." He made references to her quotation and as he did so he lifted his hat as if he acknowledged some previous point she had made. Jherek sighed and was glad of his own decision for, if nothing else, it would, as he had said, mean no more of these mysteries.

"Then you condemn them all to this terrible mockery of existence." Amelia frowned.

Jagged's laughter was frank. "You remain, in spite of all your experiences, a woman of your time, Amelia! Our beautiful Iron Orchid finds this existence quite natural."

"It has a simplicity, you see," agreed the Orchid, "which I did not find, for instance, in your age, my dear. I do not have the courage, I suppose, to confront such complications as I witnessed in 1896. Though," she hastened to add, "I enjoyed my short visit thoroughly. I suppose it is mortality which makes people rush about so. This world is more leisurely, probably because we are not constrained by the prospect of death. It is, I would be the first to admit, entirely a matter of taste. You choose your work, your duty, and your death. I choose pleasure and immortality. Yet, if I were in your position, I should probably make the decisions you have made."

"You are the most understanding of mothers-in-law!" cried Amelia, hugging her. "There will be some things I shall regret leaving here."

The Iron Orchid touched Amelia's neck with a hand subtly coloured to match her costume; her tongue moistened her lower lip for an instant; her expression caused Amelia to blush. "Oh, indeed," breathed the Orchid, "there is much we might have done together. And I shall miss Jherek, of course, as I am sure will Jagged."

Amelia became her old, stern self. "Well, there'll be little time to make all the arrangements necessary before we leave, if we go tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" said Jherek. "I was hoping…"

"It would be best to go as soon as possible," she told him. "Of course, if you have changed your mind and wish to remain with — your parents, and your friends…"

"Never. I love you. I have followed you across a world and through Time. I will go with you wherever you choose, Amelia."

Her manner softened. "Oh, my dear." She linked her arm in his.

Lord Jagged said. "I suggest we stroll along the beach for a bit." He offered an exquisite arm to Amelia and, after scarcely any hesitation at all, she took it. The Iron Orchid took Jherek's free arm, and thus joined, they began to walk along the pale yellow shore; as handsome and as happy a family group as any one might find in history.

The sun was starting to sink as Amelia stopped, dropped Jherek's arm and began to turn one of her power-rings, "I could not resist a last indulgence," she apologized.

The yellow beach became a white promenade, with green wrought-iron railings, stretching, it seemed, to infinity. The rocky interior became rolling green hills, a little golf-course. She created a red and white-striped bandstand, in which a small German band, not dissimilar to the larger one made by the Duke of Queens, began to play Strauss. She paused, then turned another ring, and there was a white and green rococo pier, with flags and bunting and variously coloured lamps decorating its iron-work, stretching out to sea. She made four deck-chairs, brilliantly striped, appear on the beach below the promenade. She created four large ice-cream cornets so that they had one each.

It was almost twilight now, as they continued to stroll, admiring the twinkling lights of the pier which were reflected in the calm, dark blue sea.

"It is beautiful," said the Iron Orchid. "May I keep it, when you have gone?"

"Let it be my monument," she said.

They all began to hum the tune of the waltz; Lord Jagged even danced a few jaunty steps as he finished his ice-cream, tilting his topper over one eye, and everyone laughed. They stopped when they came close to the pier. They leaned on the railings, staring out across the glistening water. Jherek put his arm about her shoulders; Lord Jagged embraced his own wife, and the distant band played on.

"Perhaps," said Jherek romantically, "we shall be able to make something like this in the Palaeozoic — not immediately of course, but when we have a larger family to build it."

She smiled. "It would be pleasant to dream about, at least."

The Iron Orchid sighed. "Your imagination will be a great loss to us at the End of Time, Amelia. But your inspiration will remain with us, at least."

"You flatter me too much."

"I think she is right," said Lord Jagged of Canaria, producing a pale yellow cigarette. "Would you mind, Amelia?"

"Of course not."

Lord Jagged began to smoke, looking upward at the infinite blackness of the sky, his features once again controlled and expressionless, the tip of his cigarette a tiny glowing ember in the gathering twilight. The sun, which he and the cities had created, burned deepest crimson on the horizon and then was gone, leaving only a smear of dusky orange behind it; then that, too, faded.

"So you'll leave tomorrow," said Jagged.

"If it is possible."

"Certainly. And you have no fears? You are content with your decision?"

"We are content." Jherek spoke for them both, to reassure her.

"I was truly divorced from Harold," she said, "when he refused to let me return with him. And, after you have married us, Lord Jagged, I do not think I shall feel even a hint of guilt about any of my decisions."

"Good. And now…" Lord Jagged drew his wife from the rail, escorting her along the promenade, leaving the lovers alone.

"It is growing a little chilly," she said.

Jherek produced a cloak for her, of gold-trimmed ermine, and placed it around her shoulders. "Will this do?"

"It is a trifle ostentatious." She stroked the fur. "But since this is our last night at the End of Time, I think I can allow myself the luxury."

He bent to kiss her. Gently, she took his face in her hands. "There will he so much, Jherek, that we shall have to learn together. Much that I will have to teach you. But do not ever, my dear, lose that joyous spirit. It will be a wonderful example to our children, and their children, too."

"Oh, Amelia! How could I lose it, for it is you who make me joyful! And I shall be a perfect pupil. You must explain it all to me again and I am sure that I shall learn it eventually."

She was puzzled. "What is it I must explain to you, my dear?"

"Guilt," he said.

They kissed.