Dancers at the End of Time (71 page)

"Shall we rejoin our guests…?"

She shook her head. He turned the locomotive and made for the thatched roof of their house, visible behind the cypresses and the poplars. He landed on the lawn and immediately she ran from the locomotive to the door. She was still sobbing as she ran up the stairs to her apartment. Jherek heard a door close. He sat at the bottom of the stairs pondering on the nature of this new, all-consuming feeling of despair which threatened to rob him of the ability to move, but he was incapable of any real thought. He was wounded, he knew self-pity, he grieved for her in her pain and he, who had always expressed himself in terms of action (her wish had ever been his command, even if he had misinterpreted her occasionally), could think of nothing, not the simplest gesture, which might please her and ease their mutual misery.

After some time he went slowly to his bed.

Outside, beyond the house, the great rivers of blood still fell with unchecked force over the black cliffs, filling the swirling lake where cryptic monsters swam and on which obsidian islands still bobbed, their dark green fleshy foliage rustling in a hot, sweet wind; but Mrs. Amelia Underwood's piece-de-résistance had been abandoned long since by her forgotten guests.

For the first time in his long life Jherek Carnelian, whose body could always be modified so that it did not need sleep, knew insomnia. Oblivion was his only demand, but it refused to come. Line after line of thought developed in his brain and each line led nowhere and had to be cut off. He considered seeking Jagged out, yet something stopped him. It was Amelia, only Amelia — Amelia was the only company he desired and yet (he must admit this to himself, here in the dark) presently he feared her. Thus in his mind he performed a forward step only, immediately thereafter, to take a backward — forward, backward — a horrid little dance of indecision which brought, in due course, his first taste of self-disgust. He had always followed his impulses, without a grain of self-consciousness, without the suggestion of a question, as did his peers at the End of Time. Yet now it seemed he had two impulses; he was caught like a steel ball between magnets, equidistant. His identity and his actions had hitherto been one — so now his identity came under siege. If he had two impulses, why, he must be two people. And if he were two people, then which was the worthwhile one, which should be abandoned as soon as possible? So Jherek discovered the old night-game of see-saw, in which a third Jherek, none too firm in his resolves, tried to hold judgement on two others, sliding first this way, then the other — "I shall demand from her…" and

"She deserves better than I…" were two beginnings new to Jherek, though doubtless familiar to many of Mrs. Underwood's contemporaries, particularly those who were frustrated in their relationships with the object of their affections, or were in a position of having to choose between old loyalties and fresh ones, between an ailing father, say, and a handsome suitor or, indeed, between an unlovable husband and a lover who offered marriage. It was halfway through this exercise that Jherek discovered the trick of transference — what if she experienced these torments, even as he experienced them? And immediately self-pity fled. He must go to her and comfort her. But no — he deceived himself, merely wishing to influence her, to focus her attention on to his dilemma. And so the see-saw swung again, with the judging Jherek poorly balanced on the pivot.

And so it might have continued until morning, had not she softly opened his door with a murmured query as to his wakefulness.

"Oh, Amelia!" He sat up at once.

"I have done you an injury," she whispered, though there was none to overhear. "My self-control deserted me today."

"I am not quite sure what it is that you describe," he told her, turning on the lamp by his bed so that it shed just a fraction more light and he could see her haggard face, red with crying, "but you have done me no injury. It is I who have failed. I am useless to you."

"You are brave and splendid — and innocent. I have said it before, Jherek: I have robbed you of that innocence."

"I love you," he said. "I am a fool. I am unworthy of you."

"No, no, my dear. I am a slave to my upbringing and I know that upbringing to be narrow, unimaginative, even brutalizing — ah, and it is essentially cynical, though I could never have admitted it.

But you, dearest, are without a grain of cynicism, though I thought at first you and your world were nothing else but cynical. And now I see I am on the verge of teaching you my own habits — cynicism, hypocrisy, fear of emotional involvement disguised as self-denial — ah, there is a monstrous range…"

"I asked you to teach me these things."

"You did not know what you asked."

He stretched a hand to her and she took it, though she remained standing. Her hand was cold, and it shook a little.

"I am still unable to understand all that you say," he told her.

"I pray that you never shall, my dear."

"You love me? I was afraid I had done something to destroy your love."

"I love you, Jherek".

"I wish only to change for you, to become whatever you wish me to be…"

"I would not have you change, Jherek Carnelian." A little smile appeared.

"Yet, you said…"

"You accused me, earlier, of not being myself." With a sigh she sat down upon the edge of his bed.

She still wore the tattered oriental dress, but she had removed her feathers from her hair, which was restored to its natural colour, though not its original cut. Most of the paint was gone from her face. It was evident to him that she had slept no better than had he. His hand squeezed hers and she sighed for a second time. "Of not being your Amelia," she added.

"Not accused — but I was confused…"

"I tried, I suppose, to please you, but could not please myself. It seemed so wicked…" This smile was broader and it mocked her own choice of words. "I have been trying so hard, Jherek, to enjoy your world for what it is. Yet I am constantly haunted first by my own sense of duty, which I have no means of expressing, and second by the knowledge of what your world is — a travesty, artificially maintained, denying mortality and therefore defying destiny."

"Surely that is only one way of seeing it, Amelia."

"I agree completely. I describe only my emotional response. Intellectually I can see many sides, many arguments. But I am, in this, as in so many other things, Jherek, a child of Bromley. You have given me these power-rings and taught me how to use them — yet I am filled with a desire to grow a few marigolds, to cook a pie, to make a dress — oh, I feel embarrassed as I speak. It seems so silly, when I have all the power of an Olympian god at my disposal. It sounds merely sentimental, to my own ears. I cannot think what you must feel…"

"I am not sure what sentimentality is, Amelia. I wish you to be happy, that is all. If that is where fulfilment lies for you, then do these things. They will delight me. You can teach me these arts."

"They are scarcely arts. Indeed, they are only desirable when one is denied the opportunity to practise them." Her laughter was more natural, though still it shook. "You can join in, if you wish, but I would not have you miserable. You must continue to express yourself as you wish, in ways that fulfil your instincts."

"As long as I can express myself the means is unimportant, Amelia. It is that frozen feeling that I fear. And it is true that I live for you, so that what pleases you pleases me."

"I make too many demands," she said, pulling away. "And offer nothing."

"Again you bewilder me."

"It is a bad bargain, Jherek, my dear."

"I was unaware that we bargained, Amelia. For what?"

"Oh…" she seemed unable to answer. "For life itself, perhaps. For something…" She gasped, as if in pain, but then smiled again, gripping his hand tighter. "It is as if a tailor visits Eden and sees an opportunity for trade. No, I am too hard upon myself, I suppose. I lack the words…"

"As do I, Amelia. If only I could find adequate phrases to tell you what I feel! But of one thing you must be certain. I love you absolutely." He flung back the bedclothes and sprang up, taking her hand to his breast. "Amelia, of that you must he assured!"

He noticed that she was blushing, trying to speak, swallowing rapidly. She made a gulping noise.

"What is it, my dear?"

"Mr. Carnelian — Jherek — you — you…"

"Yes, my love?" Solicitously.

She broke free, making for the door. "You seem unaware that you are — Oh, heavens!"

"Amelia!"

"You are quite naked, my dear." She reached the door and sped through. "I love you, Jherek. I love you! I will see you in the morning. Goodnight."

He sat down heavily upon his bed, scratching his knee and shaking his head, but he was smiling (if somewhat bewilderedly) when he stretched out again and pulled the sheets over himself and fell into a deep sleep.

In the morning they breakfasted and were happy. Both had slept well, both chose to discuss little of the previous day's events, although Amelia expressed an intention of trying to discover if, in any museum in any of the old cities, there might be preserved seeds which she could plant. Jherek thought that there were one or two likely places where they could look.

Shortly after breakfast, as she boiled water to wash the dishes, two visitors arrived. The Iron Orchid — in a surprisingly restrained gown of dark blue silk against which living butterflies beat dark blue wings, upon the arm of the bearded time-traveller, dressed, as always, in his Norfolk jacket and tweed plus-fours. That Amelia had set more than one fashion was obvious from the way in which the Iron Orchid demurely knocked upon the door and waited until Amelia, her hands quickly dried, her sleeves rolled down, answered it and smilingly admitted them to the sitting room.

"I am so sorry, Iron Orchid, for yesterday's rudeness," began Amelia. "An instinct, I suppose. I was worried about Harold. We visited the city and were longer than we expected."

The Iron Orchid listened patiently and with a hint of sardonic pleasure while Amelia's apologies ran their course.

"My dear, I told them nothing. Your mysterious disappearance only served to give greater spice to a wonderful creation. I see that you have not yet disseminated it…"

"Oh, dear. I shall do so presently."

"Perhaps it should be left? A kind of monument?"

"So close to the garden? I think not."

"Your taste cannot be questioned. I merely suggested…"

"You are very kind. Would you care for some tea?"

"Excellent!" said the time-traveller. He appeared to be in fine spirits. He rubbed his hands together.

"A decent cup of English tea would be most welcome, dear lady."

They waited expectantly.

"I will put the kettle on."

"The kettle?" The Iron Orchid locked questioningly at the time-traveller.

"The kettle!" he breathed, as if the words had mystic significance for him. "Splendid."

In poorly disguised astonishment (for she had expected the tea to appear immediately), the Iron Orchid watched Amelia Underwood leave for the kitchen, just as Jherek came in.

"You are looking less pensive today, my boy."

"Most maternal of blossoms, I am completely without care! What a pleasure it is to see you. Good morning to you, sir."

"Morning," said the time-traveller. "I am staying, presently, at Castle Canaria. The Iron Orchid suggested that I accompany her. I hope that I do not intrude."

"Of course not." Jherek was still in a woollen dressing gown and striped nightshirt, with slippers on his feet. He signed for them to sit down and sat, himself, upon a nearby sofa. "Do the repairs to your craft progress well?"

"Very well! I must say — for all my reservations — your Lord Jagged — your father, that is — is a brilliant scientist. Understood exactly what was needed. We're virtually finished and just in time it seems — just waiting to test a setting. That's why I decided to drop over. I might not have another chance to say goodbye."

"You will continue your travels?"

"It has become a quest. Captain Bastable was able to give me a few tips, and if I get the chance to return to the Palaeozoic, where they have a base, I gather they'll be able to supply me with further information. I need, you see, to get back onto a particular track." The time-traveller began to describe complicated theories, most of them completely hypothetical and absolutely meaningless to Jherek. But he listened politely until Amelia returned with the tea-tray; he rose to take it from her and place it upon the low table between them and their guests.

"We have yet to solve the servant problem," Amelia told them as she poured the tea.

The Iron Orchid, to her credit, entered into the spirit of the thing. "Jherek had — what did you call them, dear? — serbos."

"Servos — mechanical servants in human form. But they were antiques, or at least of antique design."

"Well," said Amelia, handing out the cups, "we shall manage for a while, at any rate. All we had in Bromley was a maid and a cook (and she did not live in) and we coped perfectly." As the time-traveller accepted his cup she said, "It would be such a pleasure for me to be able to return your kindness to us, when we were stranded. You must, at least, come to dinner soon."

He was cheered as well as embarrassed. "Thank you, dear lady. You cannot, I think, realize what a great consolation it is for me to know that there are, in this peculiar world, at least a few people who maintain the old-fashioned virtues. However, as I was saying to Mr. Carnelian, I shall soon be on my way."

"Today?"

"Tomorrow morning, probably. It must be so, I fear, for Lord Jagged completes the circuit shortly and then it will be impossible either to leave or to return to this world."

She sipped and reflected. "So the last brick of the gaol is about to be cemented in place," she murmured.

"It is unwise to see it in those terms, dear lady. If you are to spend eternity here…"

She drew a deep breath. Jherek was disturbed to see something of a return to yesterday's manner.