The Dancers at the End of Time Book 5

                A Messiah at the End of Time
                             or
           The Transformation of Miss Mavis Ming

                                  By

                            Michael Moorcock


Kindle me to constant fire,
Lest the nail be but a nail!
Give me wings of great desire,
Lest I look within and fail!

… Red of heat to white of heat,
Roll we to the Godhead's feet!
Beat, beat! white of heat,
Red of heat, beat, beat!

— George Meredith
The Song of Theodolinda



BOOKS BY MICHAEL MOORCOCK

THE DRAGON IN THE SWORD
THE ETERNAL CHAMPION
THE SILVER WARRIORS
THE ICE SCHOONER

The Elric Saga

ELRIC OF MELNIBONÉ
THE SAILOR ON THE SEAS OF FATE
THE WEIRD OF THE WHITE WOLF
THE VANISHING TOWER
THE BANE OF THE BLACK SWORD
STORMBRINGER

The Chronicles of Castle Brass

COUNT BRASS
THE CHAMPION OF GARATHORM
THE QUEST FOR TANELORN
    The Books of Corum

    THE KNIGHT OF THE SWORDS
    THE QUEEN OF THE SWORDS
    THE KING OF THE SWORDS
    THE BULL AND THE SPEAR
    THE OAK AND THE RAM
    THE SWORD AND THE STALLION

    The Dancers at the End of Time

    AN ALIEN HEAT
    THE HOLLOW LANDS
    THE END OF ALL SONGS
    LEGENDS FROM THE END OF TIME
    A MESSIAH AT THE END OF TIME

    FROM ACE HARDCOVER

    THE CITY IN THE AUTUMN STARS


    ACE BOOKS, NEW YORK



    A little something for Alfie Bester

      You can join the Michael Moorcock fan club! Write to: Nomads of the Time Streams: The
International Michael Moorcock Appreciation Society, P.O. Box 451048, Atlanta, GA 30345-1048.

    British edition published under the title of The Transformation of Miss Mavis Ming.

    This Ace Book contains the complete text of the original edition.

    A MESSIAH AT THE END OF TIME

    An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

    PRINTING HISTORY
    British edition published 1977
    DAW edition / February 1978
    Ace edition / January 1989

    All rights reserved.
    Copyright © 1977 by Michael Moorcock.
    Cover art by Robert Gould.
    This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without
permission.
    For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New
York 10016.

     ISBN: 0-441-13664-8

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New York 10016.
    The name "ACE" and the "A" logo are trademarks belonging to Charter Communications, Inc.

     PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




                                                     1

           In which your Auditor gives credit to his Sources
      The incidents involving Mr Jherek Carnelian and Mrs Amelia Underwood, their adventures in Time,
the machinations of, among others, the Lord of Canaria, are already familiar to those of us who follow
avidly any fragment of gossip coming back from the End of Time.
      We know, too, why it is impossible to learn further details of how life progresses there since the
inception of Lord Jagged's grand (and some think pointless) scheme, details of which have been
published in the three volumes jointly entitled The Dancers at the End of Time and in the single volume,
companion to this, called Legends from the End of Time.
      Time travellers, of course, still visit the periods immediately preceding the inception of the scheme.
They bring us back those scraps of scandal, speculation, probable fact and likely lies which form the
bases for the admittedly fanciful reconstructions I choose to term my "legends from the future" — stories
which doubtless would cause much amusement if those I write about were ever to read them (happily,
there is no evidence that the tales survive our present century, let alone the next few million years).
      If this particular tale seems more outrageous and less likely than any of the others, it is because I
was gullible enough to believe the sketch of it I had from an acquaintance who does not normally journey
so far into the future. A colleague of Mrs Una Persson in the Guild of Temporal Adventurers, he does not
wish me to reveal his name and this, happily, allows me to be rather more frank about him than would
have been possible.
      My friend's stories are always interesting, but they are consistently highly coloured; his exploits have
been bizarre and his claims incredible. If he is to be believed, he has been present at a good many of the
best-known key events in history, including the crucifixion of Christ, the massacre at My Lai, the
assassination of Naomi Jacobsen in Paris and so on, and has often played a major rôle.
      From his base in West London (20th century, Sectors 3 and 4) my friend has ranged what he terms
the "chronoflow", visiting periods of the past and future of this Earth as well as those of other Earths
which, he would have us accept, co-exist with ours in a complex system of intersecting dimensions
making up something called the "multiverse".
      Of all the temporal adventurers I have known, my friend is the most ready to describe his exploits to
anyone who will listen. Presumably, he is not subject to the Morphail Effect (which causes most travellers
to exercise the greatest caution regarding their actions and conversations in any of the periods they visit)
mainly because few but the simple-minded, and those whose logical faculties have been ruined by drink,
drugs or other forms of dissipation, will take him seriously.
      My friend's own explanation is that he is not affected by such details; he describes himself rather
wildly as a "chronic outlaw" (a self-view which might give the reader some insight into his character). You
might think he charmed me into believing the tale he told me of Miss Mavis Ming and Mr Emmanuel
Bloom, and yet there is something about the essence of the story that inclined me to believe it — for all
that it is, in many ways, one of the most incredible I have heard. It cannot, of course, be verified readily
(certainly so far as the final chapters are concerned) but it is supported by other rumours I have heard, as
well as my own previous knowledge of Mr Bloom (whose earlier incarnation appeared in a tale, told to
me by one of my friend's fellow Guild members, published variously as The Fireclown and The Winds
of Limbo, some years ago).
       The events recorded here follow directly upon those recorded in Legends from the End of Time
and in effect take up Miss Ming's story where we left it after her encounter with Dafnish Armatuce and
her son Snuffles.
       As usual, the basic events described are as I had them from my source. I have re-arranged certain
things, to maintain narrative tensions, and added to an earlier, less complete, draft of my own which was
written hastily, before all the information was known to me. The "fleshing-out" of the narrative, the
interpretations where they occur, many of the details of conversations, and so on, must be blamed
entirely on your auditor.
       In the previous volume to this one I have already recounted something of the peculiar relationship
existing between Miss Ming and Doctor Volospion: the unbearable bore and that ostentatious
misanthrope.
       Why Doctor Volospion continued to take perverse pleasure in the woman's miserable company,
why she allowed him to insult her in the most profound of ways — she who spent the greater part of her
days avoiding any sort of pain — we cannot tell. Suffice it to say that relationships of this sort exist in our
own society and can be equally puzzling.
       Perhaps Doctor Volospion found confirmation of all his misanthropism in her; perhaps she preferred
this intense, if unpleasant, attention to no attention at all. She confirmed his view of life, while he
confirmed her very existence.
       But it is the purpose of a novel, not a romance, to speculate in this way and it is no part of my
intention to dwell too much upon such thoughts.
       Here, then, for the reader's own interpretation (if one is needed), is the tale of Miss Ming's
transformation and the part which both Doctor Volospion and Emmanuel Bloom had in it.

                                                                                 MICHAEL MOORCOCK
                                                                                       Ladbroke Grove,
                                                                                       November, 1975




                                                      2

In which Miss Mavis Ming experiences a familiar Discomfort
        The peculiar effect of one sun rising just as another set, causing shadows to waver, making objects
appear to shift shape and position, went more or less entirely unobserved by the great crowd of people
who stood, enjoying a party, in the foothills of a rather poorly finished range of mountains erected some
little time ago by Werther de Goethe during one of his periodic phases of attempting to re-create the
landscape, faithful to the last detail, of Holman Hunt, an ancient painter Werther had discovered in one of
the rotting cities.
        Werther, it is fair to say, had not been the first to make such an attempt. Werther, however, held to
the creed that an artist should, so far as his powers allowed, put up everything exactly as he saw it in the
painting. Werther was a purist. Werther volubly denied the criticisms of those who found such literal
work bereft of what they regarded as true artistic inspiration. Werther's theories of Fidelity to Art had
enjoyed a short-lived vogue (for a time the Duke of Queens had been an earnest acolyte) but his fellows
had soon tired of such narrow disciplines.
      Werther, alone, refused to renounce them.
      As the party progressed one of the suns eventually vanished while the other rose rapidly, reached
zenith, and stopped. The light became golden, autumnal, misty. Of the guests but three had paused to
observe the phenomenon: they were Miss Mavis Ming, plump and eager in her new dress; Li Pao, bland
in puritanical denim; and Abu Thaleb, their host, svelte and opulent, splendidly overdressed.
      "Whose suns?" murmured Abu Thaleb appreciatively. "How pretty. And subtle. Rivals, perhaps…"
      "To your own creations?" asked Li Pao.
      "No, no — to one another."
      "They could be Werther's," suggested Miss Ming, anxious to return to their interrupted topic. "He
hasn't arrived yet. Go on, Li Pao. You were saying something about Doctor Volospion."
      A fingered ear betrayed Li Pao's embarrassment. "I spoke of no-one specifically, Miss Ming." His
round Chinese face became expressionless.
      "By association," Abu Thaleb prompted, a somewhat sly smile manifesting itself within his pointed
beard, "you spoke of Volospion."
      "Ah! You would make a gossip of me. I disdain such impulses. I merely observed that only the
weak hate weakness; only the wounded condemn the pain of others." He wiped a stain of juice from his
severe blouse and turned his back on the tiny sun.
      Miss Ming was arch. "But you meant Doctor Volospion, Li Pao. You were suggesting…"
      A tide of guests flowed by, its noise drowning what remained of her remark, and when it had
passed, Li Pao (perhaps piqued by an element of truth) chose to show impatience. "I do not share your
obsession with your protector, Miss Ming. I generalized. The thought can scarcely be considered a
specific one, nor an original one. I regret it. If you prefer, I retract it."
      "I wasn't criticising, Li Pao. I was just interested in how you saw him. I mean, he has been very
kind to me, and I wouldn't like anybody to think I wasn't aware of all he's done for me. I could still be in
his menagerie couldn't I? But he showed his respect for me by letting me go — that is, asking me to be
his guest rather than — well, whatever you'd call it."
      "He is a model of chivalry." Abu Thaleb stroked an eyebrow and hid his face with his hand. "Well, if
you will excuse me, I must see to my monsters. To my guests." He departed, to be swallowed by his
party, while Li Pao's imploring look went unnoticed.
      Miss Ming smoothed the front of Li Pao's blouse. "So you see," she said, "I was only curious. It
certainly wasn't gossip I wanted to hear. But I respect your opinions, Li Pao. We are fellow 'prisoners',
after all, in this world. Both of us would probably prefer to be back in the past, where we belong — you
in the 27th century, to take your rightful position as chairman or whatever of China, and me in the 21st to,
to…" Inspiration left her momentarily. She contented herself with a coy wink. "You mustn't pay any
attention to little Mavis. There's no malice in her."
      "Aha." Li Pao closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.
      Miss Ming's sky-blue nail traced patterns on the more restrained blue of his chest. "It's not in
Mavis's nature to think naughty thoughts. Well, not that sort of naughty thought, at any rate!" She giggled.
      "Yaha?" It was almost inaudible.
      From somewhere overhead came the distant strains of one of Abu Thaleb's beasts. Li Pao raised
his head as if to seek the source. He contemplated heaven.
      Miss Ming, too, looked up. "Nothing," she said. "It must have come from over there." She pointed
and, to her chagrin, her finger indicated the approaching figure of Ron Ron Ron who was, like herself and
Li Pao, an expatriate (although in his case from the 140th century). "Oh, look out, Li Pao. It's that bore
Ron coming over…"
      She was surprised when Li Pao expressed enthusiastic delight. "My old friend!"
      She was sure that Li Pao found Ron Ron Ron just as awful as everyone else did but, for his sake,
she smiled as sweetly as she could. "How nice to see you!"
      Ron Ron Ron had an expression of hauteur on his perfectly oval face. This was his usual
expression. He, too, seemed just a little surprised by Li Pao's effusion. "Um?"
      The two men contemplated one another. Mavis plainly felt that it was up to her to break the ice. "Li
Pao was just saying — not about Doctor Volospion or anybody in particular — that the weak hate
weakness and won't — what was it, Li Pao?"
       "It was not important, Miss Ming. I must…" He offered Ron Ron Ron a thin smile.
       Ron Ron Ron cleared his throat. "No, please…"
       "It was very profound," said Miss Ming. "I thought."
       Ron Ron Ron adjusted his peculiar jerkin so that the edges were exactly in line. He fussed at a
button. "Then you must repeat it for me, Li Pao." The shoulders of his jerkin were straight-edged and the
whole garment was made to the exact proportions of a square. His trousers were identical oblongs; his
shoes, too, were exactly square. The fingers of his hands were all of the same length.
       "Only the weak hate weakness…" murmured Miss Ming encouragingly, "and…"
       Li Pao's voice was almost a shriek: "…only the wounded condemn the pain of others. You see,
Ron Ron Ron, I was not —"
       "An interesting observation." Ron Ron Ron put his hands together under his chin. "Yes, yes, yes. I
see."
       "No!" Li Pao took a desperate step forwards, as if to leave.
       "By the same argument, Li Pao," began Ron Ron Ron, and Li Pao became passive, "you would
imply that a strong person who exercised that strength is, in fact, revealing a weakness in his character,
eh?"
       "No. I…"
       "Oh, but we must have a look at this." Ron Ron Ron became almost animated. "It suggests, you
see, that indirectly you condemn my efforts as leader of the Symmetrical Fundamentalist Movement in
attempting to seize power during the Anarchist Beekeeper period."
       "I assure you, that I was not…" Li Pao's voice had diminished to a whisper.
       "Certainly we were strong enough," continued Ron Ron Ron. "If the planet had not, in the meantime,
been utilized as a strike-base by some superior alien military force (whose name we never did learn),
who killed virtually all opposition and enslaved the remaining third of the human race during the duration
of its occupation — not much more than twenty years, admittedly — before they vanished again, either
because our part of the galaxy was no longer of strategic importance to them or because their enemies
had defeated them, who knows what we could have achieved."
       "Wonders," gasped Li Pao. "Wonders, I am sure."
       "You are kind. As it was, Earth was left in a state of semi-barbarism which had no need, I suppose,
for the refinements either of Autonomous Hiveism or Symmetrical Fundamentalism, but given the chance
I could have —"
       "I am sure. I am sure." Li Pao's voice had taken on the quality of a labouring steam-engine.
       "Still," Ron Ron Ron went on, "I digress. You see, because of my efforts to parley with the aliens,
my efforts were misinterpreted —"
       "Certainly. Certainly."
       "— and I was forced to use the experimental time-craft to flee here. However, my point is this…"
       "Quite, quite, quite…"
       Miss Ming shook her head. "Oh, you men and your politics. I…"
       But she had not been forceful enough. Ron Ron Ron's (or Ron's Ron's Ron's, as he would have
preferred us to write) voice droned on, punctuated by Li Pao's little gasps and sighs. She could not
understand Li Pao's allowing himself to be trapped in this awful situation. She had done her best, when he
seemed to want to talk to Ron Ron Ron, to begin a conversation that would interest them both, knowing
that the only thing the two men had in common was a past taste for political activity and a present
tendency, in their impotence, to criticize the shortcomings of their fellows here at the End of Time. But
now Li Pao showed no inclination at all to take Ron Ron Ron up on any of his points, which were
certainly of no interest to anyone but the Symmetrical Fundamentalist himself. She knew what it was like
with some people; if a string was pulled in them, they couldn't stop themselves going on and on. A lot of
those she had known, back home in 21st century Iowa, had been like that.
       Again, thought Mavis, it was up to her to change the subject. For Li Pao's sake as well as her own.
      "… they never did separate properly, you see," said Ron Ron Ron.
      "Separate?" Miss Ming seized the chance given her by the pause in his monologue. She spoke
brightly. "Properly? Why, that's like my Swiss cheese Plant. The one I used to have in my office? It grew
so big! But the leaves wouldn't separate properly. Is that what happened to yours, Ron Ron Ron?"
      "We were discussing strength," said Ron Ron Ron in some bewilderment.
      "Strength! You should have met my ex. I've mentioned him before? Donny Stevens, the heel. Now
say what you like about him, but he was strong! Betty — you know, that's the friend I told you about?
— more than a friend really…" She winked. "… Betty used to say that Donny Stevens was prouder of
his pectorals than he was of his prick! Eh?" She shook with laughter.
      The two men looked at her in silence.
      Li Pao sucked his lower lip.
      "And that was saying a lot, where Donny was concerned," Mavis added.
      "Ushshsh…" said Li Pao.
      "Really?" Ron Ron Ron spoke in a peculiar tone.
      The silence returned at once. Dutifully, Mavis tried to fill it. She put a hand on Ron Ron Ron's
tubular sleeve.
      "I shouldn't tell you this, what with my convictions and all — I was polarized in '65, became an
all-woman woman, if you get me, after my divorce — but I miss that bastard of a bull sometimes."
      "Well…" Ron Ron Ron hesitated.
      "What this world needs," said Mavis as she got into her stride, "if you ask me, is a few more real
men. You know? Real men. The girls around here have got more balls than the guys. One real man and,
boy, you'd find my tastes changing just like that…" She tried, unsuccessfully, to snap her fingers.
      "Ssssss…" said Li Pao.
      "Anyway," Mavis was anxious to reassure him that she had not lost track of the original topic, "It's
the same with Swiss cheese plants. They're strong. Any conditions will suit them and they'll strangle
anything that gets in their way. They use — they used to use, I should say — the big ones to fell other
trees in Paraguay. I think it's Paraguay. But when it comes to getting the leaves to separate, well, all you
can say is that they're bastards to train. Like strong men, I guess. In the end you have to take 'em or
leave 'em as they come."
      Mavis laughed again, waiting for their responding laughter, which did not materialize. She was
valiant:
      "I stayed with my house-plants, but I left that stud to play in his own stable. And how he'd been
playing! Betty said if I tried to count the number of mares he'd serviced while I thought he was stuck late
at the lab I'd need a computer!"
      Li Pao and Ron Ron Ron now stood side by side, staring at her.
      "Two computers!" She had definitely injected a bit of wit into the conversation and given Li Pao a
chance to get on to a subject he preferred but evidently neither of them had much of a sense of humour.
Li Pao now glanced at his feet. Ron Ron Ron had a silly fixed grin on his face and was just grunting at
her, even though she had stopped speaking. She decided to soldier on:
      "Did I tell you about the busy Lizzie that turned out to be poison ivy? We were out in the country
one day, this was before my divorce — it must have been just after we got married — either '60 or '61
— no, it must have been '61 definitely because it was spring — probably May…"
      "Look!"
      Li Pao's voice was so loud that it startled Mavis.
      "What?"
      "There's Doctor Volospion." He waved towards where the crowd was thickest. "He was signalling
to you, Miss Ming. Over there!"
      The news heartened her. This would be her excuse to get away. But she could not, of course, show
Li Pao how pleased she was. So she smiled indulgently. "Oh, let him wait. Just because he's my host here
doesn't mean I have to be at his beck and call the whole time!"
      "Please," said Ron Ron Ron, removing a small, pink, even-fingered hand from a perfectly square
pocket. "You must not let us, Miss Ming, monopolize your time."
      "Oh, well…" She was relieved. "I'll see you later, perhaps. Byee." Her wink was cute; she waggled
her fingers at them. But as she turned to seek out Doctor Volospion it seemed that he had disappeared.
She turned back and to her surprise saw Li Pao sprinting away from Ron Ron Ron towards the foot of
one of Abu Thaleb's monsters, perhaps because he had seen someone to whom he wished to speak. She
avoided Ron Ron Ron's eye and set off in the general direction indicated by Li Pao, making her way
between guests and wandering elephants who were here in more or less equal numbers.
      "At least I did my best," she said. "They're very difficult men to talk to."
      She yawned. She was already beginning to be just a trifle bored with the party.




                                                    3

               In which Miss Ming fails to find Consolation
      The elephants, although the most numerous, were not the largest beasts providing the party's
entertainment; its chief feature being the seven monstrous animals who sat on green-brown haunches and
raised their heavy heads in mournful song.
      These beasts were the pride of Abu Thaleb's collection. They were perfect reproductions of the
singing gargantua of Justine IV, a planet long since vanished in the general dissipation of the cosmos
(Earth, the reader will remember, had used up a good many other star systems to rejuvenate its own
energies).
      Abu Thaleb's enthusiasm for elephants, and all that was elephantine, was so great that he had
changed his name to that of the ancient Commissar of Bengal solely because one of that legendary
dignitary's other titles had been Lord of All Elephants.
      The gargantua were more in the nature of huge baboons, their heads resembling those of Airedale
terriers (now, of course, long-extinct) and were so large that the guests standing closest to them could not
see them as a whole at all. Moreover, so high were these shaggy heads above the party that the beautiful
music of their voices was barely audible.
      Elsewhere, the commissar's guests ate from trays carried upon the backs of baby mammoths, or
leaned against the leather hides of hippopotami which kneeled here and there about the grounds of Abu
Thaleb's vast palace, itself fashioned in the shape of two marble elephants standing forehead to forehead,
with trunks entwined.
      Mavis Ming paused beside a resting oryx and pulled a tiny savoury doughnut or two from its left
horn, munching absently as the beast's huge eyes regarded her. "You look," she remarked to it, "as fed
up as I feel." She could find no-one to keep her company in that whole cheerful throng. Almost everyone
she knew had seemed to turn aside just as she had been about to greet them and Doctor Volospion
himself was nowhere to be seen.
      "This party," she continued, "is definitely tedious."
      "What a supehb fwock, Miss Ming! So fwothy! So yellah!"
      Sweet Orb Mace, in flounces and folds of different shades of grey, presented himself before her,
smiling and languid. His eyebrows were elaborately arched; his hair incredibly ringleted, his cheeks
exquisitely rouged. He made a leg.
      The short-skirted yellow dress, with its several petticoats, its baby-blue trimmings (to match her
eyes, her best feature), was certainly, Mavis felt, the sexiest thing she had worn for a long while, so she
was not surprised by his compliment.
      She gave one of her little-girl trills of laughter and pirouetted for him.
      "I thought," she told him, "that it was high time I felt feminine again. Do you like the bow?" The big
blue bow in her honey-blonde hair was trimmed with yellow and matched the smaller bows on her yellow
shoes.
       "Wondahful!" pronounced Sweet Orb Mace. "It is quite without compahe!"
       She was suddenly much happier. She blew him a kiss and fluttered her lashes. She warmed to
Sweet Orb Mace, who could sometimes be such good company (whether as a man or a woman, for his
moods varied from day to day), and she took his arm, confiding: "You know how to flatter a girl. I
suppose you, of all people, should know. I'll tell you a secret. I've been a bit cunning, you see, in wearing
a full skirt. It makes my waist look a little slimmer. I'm the first to admit that I'm not the thinnest girl in the
world, but I'm not about to emphasize the fact, am I?"
       "Wemahkable."
       Amiably, Sweet Orb Mace strolled in harness while Mavis whispered further secrets. She told him
of the polka-dot elephant she had had when she was seven. She had kept it for years, she said, until it
had been run over by a truck, when Donny Stevens had thrown it through the apartment window into the
street, during one of their rows.
       "I could have taken almost anything else," she said.
       Sweet Orb Mace nodded and murmured little exclamations, but he scarcely seemed to have heard
the anecdote. If he had a drawback as a companion it was his vagueness; his attention wavered so.
       "He accused me of being childish," exclaimed Mavis putting, as it were, twice the energy into the
conversation, to make up for his failings. "Ha! He had the mental age of a dirty-minded eleven-year-old!
But there you go. I got more love from that elephant than I ever got from Donny Stevens. It's always the
people who try to be nice who come in for the nasty treatment, isn't it?"
       "Wather!"
       "He blamed me for everything. Little Mavis always gets the blame! Ever since I was a kid.
Everybody's whipping boy, that's Miss Mavis Ming! My father…"
       "Weally?"
       She abandoned this line, thinking better of it, and remained with her original sentiment. "If you don't
stand up for yourself, someone'll always step on you. The things I've done for people in the past. And
you know what almost always happens?"
       "Natuwally…"
       "They turn round and say the cruellest things to you. They always blame you when they should really
be blaming themselves. That woman — Dafnish Armatuce — well…"
       "Twagic."
       "Doctor Volospion said I'd been too easy-going with her. I looked after that kid of hers as if it had
been my own! It makes you want to give up sometimes, Sweet Orb. But you've got to keep on trying,
haven't you? Some of us are fated to suffer…"
       Sweet Orb Mace paused beside a towering mass of ill-smelling hairy flesh which moved
rhythmically and shook the surrounding ground so that little fissures appeared. It was the gently tapping
toe of one of Abu Thaleb's singing gargantua. Sweet Orb Mace stared gravely up, unable to see the head
of the beast. "Oh, cehtainly," he agreed. "Pwetty tune, don't you think?"
       She lifted an ear, but shrugged. "No, I don't."
       He was mildly surprised.
       "Too much like a dirge for my taste," she said. "I like something catchy." She sighed, her mood
returning to its former state. "Oh, dear! This is a very boring party."
       He became astonished.
       "This pwofusion of pachyderms bohwing? Oh, no! I find it fascinating, Miss Ming. An
extwavagance of elephants, a genewosity of giants!"
       She could not agree. Her eye, perhaps, was jaundiced.
       Sweet Orb Mace, sensing her displeasure, became anxious. "Still," he added, "evewyone knows
how easily impwessed I am. Such a poah imagination of my own, you know."
       She sighed. "I expected more."
       "Monsters?" He glanced about, as if to find her some. "Awgonheaht Po has yet to make his
contwibution! He is wumouhed to be supplying the main feast."
      "I didn't know." She sighed again. "It's not that. I was hoping to meet some nice person. Someone
— you know — I could have a real relationship with. I guess I expected too much from that Dafnish and
her kid — but it's, well, turned me on to the idea. I'm unfulfilled as a woman, Sweet Orb Mace, if you
want the raw truth of it."
      She looked expectantly at her elegantly poised escort.
      "Tut," said Sweet Orb Mace abstractedly. "Tut, tut." He still stared skywards.
      She raised her voice. "You're not, I guess, in the mood yourself. I'm going to go home if things don't
perk up. If you feel like coming back now — or dropping round later…? I'm still staying at Doctor
Volospion's."
      "Weally?"
      She laughed at herself. "I should try to sound more positive, shouldn't I? Nobody's going to respond
well to a faltering approach like that. Well, Sweet Orb Mace, what about it?"
      "It?"
      She was actually depressed now.
      "I meant…"
      "I pwomised to meet O'Kala Incarnadine heah," said Sweet Orb Mace. "I was suah — ah — and
theah he is!" carolled her companion. "If you will excuse me, Miss Ming…" Another elaborate bending of
the body, a sweep of the hand.
      "Oh, sure," she murmured.
      Sweet Orb Mace rose a few feet into the air and drifted towards O'Kala Incarnadine, who had
come as a rhinoceros.
      "The way I'm beginning to feel," said Miss Ming to herself, "even O'Kala Incarnadine's looking
attractive. Bye, bye, Sweet Orb. No sweat. Oh, Christ! This boredom is killing!"
      And then she had seen her protector, her host, her mentor, her guardian angel and, with a grateful
"Hi!", she flew.
      Doctor Volospion was sighted at last! He seemed at times like this her only stability. He it was who
had first found her when, in her time machine, dazed and frightened, she had arrived at the End of Time.
Doctor Volospion had claimed her for his menagerie, thinking from her conversation that she belonged to
some religious order (she had been delirious) and had discovered only later that she was a simple
historian who believed that she had returned to the past, to the Middle Ages. He had been disappointed
but had treated her courteously and now allowed her the full run of his house. She did not fit into his
menagerie, which was religious in emphasis, consisting of nuns, prophets, gods, demons, and so forth,
and could have founded her own establishment, had she wished, but she preferred the security of his
sometimes dolorous domicile.
      She slowed her pace. Doctor Volospion was hailing the Commissar of Bengal, whose
howdah-shaped golden air car was drifting back to the ground (apparently Abu Thaleb had been feeding
his gigantic pets).
      "Coo-ee!" cried Miss Ming as she approached.
      But Doctor Volospion had not heard her.
      "Coo-ee."
      He joined in conversation with Abu Thaleb.
      "Coo-ee, Doctor!"
      Now the sardonic, saturnine features turned to regard her. The sleek black head moved in a kind of
bow and the corners of the thin, red mouth lifted.
      She was panting as she reached them. "It's only little me!"
      Abu Thaleb was avuncular. "Miss Ming, again we meet. Scheherazade come among us." The dusky
commissar was one of the few regular visitors to Doctor Volospion's, perhaps the only friend of the
Doctor's to treat her kindly. "You enjoy the entertainment, I hope?"
      "It's a great party if you like elephants," she said. But the joke had misfired; Abu Thaleb was
frowning. So she added with some eagerness: "I personally love elephants."
      "I did not know we had that in common."
       "Oh, yes. When I was a little girl I used to go for rides at the zoo whenever I could. At least once a
year, on my birthday. My daddy would try to take me, no matter what else was happening…"
       "I must join in the compliments." Doctor Volospion cast a glinting eye from her toes to her bow.
"You outshine us all, Miss Ming. Such taste! Such elegance! We, in our poor garb, are mere flickering
candles to your supernova!"
       Her giggle of response was hesitant, as if she suspected him of satire, but then an expression almost
of tranquillity passed across her features. His flattery appeared to have a euphoric effect upon her. She
became a fondled cat.
       "Oh, you always do it to me, Doctor Volospion. Here I am trying to be brittle and witty, cool and
dignified, and you make me grin and blush like a schoolgirl."
       "Forgive me."
       She frowned, finger to lips. "I'm trying to think of a witticism to please you."
       "Your presence is uniquely pleasing, Miss Ming."
       Doctor Volospion moved his thin arms which were hardly able to bear the weight of the sleeves of
his black and gold brocade gown.
       "But…"
       Doctor Volospion turned to Abu Thaleb. "You bring us a world of gentle monsters, exquisite
commissar. Gross of frame, mild of manner, delicate of spirit, your paradoxical pachyderms!"
       "They are very practical beasts, Doctor Volospion." Abu Thaleb spoke defensively, as if he, too,
suspected irony.
       People would often respond in this way to Doctor Volospion's remarks which were almost always,
on the surface at least, bland enough.
       "Oh, indeed!" Doctor Volospion eyed a passing calf which had paused and was tentatively
extending its trunk to accept a piece of fruit from the commissar's open palm. "Servants of man since the
beginning of time."
       "Worshipped as gods in many eras and climes…" added Abu Thaleb.
       "Gods! True. Ganesh…"
       Abu Thaleb had lost his reservations:
       "I have re-created examples of every known species! The English, the Bulgarian, the Chinese, and
of course the Indian…"
       "You have a favourite?" Volospion heaved at a sleeve and scratched an eyebrow.
       "My favourites are the Swiss Alpine elephants. There is one now. Notice its oddly shaped hooves.
These were the famous white elephants of Sitting Bull, used in the liberation of Chicago in the 50th
century."
       Miss Ming felt bound to interrupt. "Are you absolutely certain of that, commissar? The story sounds
a bit familiar, but isn't quite right. I am an historian, after all, if not a very good one. You're not thinking of
Carthage…?" She became confused, apparently afraid that she had offended him again. "I'm sorry. I
shouldn't have butted in. You know what a silly little ignoramus I am…"
       "I am absolutely certain, my dear," said Abu Thaleb kindly. "I had most of the information from an
old tape which Jherek Carnelian found for me in one of the rotting cities. The translation might not have
been perfect, but…"
       "Ah, so Carthage could have sounded like Chicago, particularly after it has been through a number
of transcriptions. You see Sitting Bull could have been —"
       Doctor Volospion broke in on her speculations. "What romantic times those must have been! Your
own stories, Miss Ming, are redolent with the atmosphere of our glorious and vanished past!" He looked
at Abu Thaleb as he spoke. Abu Thaleb moved uncomfortably.
       Mavis Ming laughed. "Well, it wasn't all fun, you know." She sighed with pleasure, addressing Abu
Thaleb. "The thing I like about Doctor Volospion is the way he always lets me talk. He's always
interested…"
       Abu Thaleb avoided both their eyes.
       "Say what you like about him," she continued, "Doctor Volospion's a gentleman!" She became
serious. "No, in a lot of ways the past was hell, though I must say there were satisfactions I never realized
I'd miss till now. Sex, for instance."
       "You mean sexual pleasure?" The Commissar of Bengal drew a banana from his quilted cuff and
began to peel it.
       Miss Ming appeared to be taken aback by this gesture. Her voice was distant. "I certainly do mean
that."
       "Oh, surely…" murmured Doctor Volospion.
       Miss Ming found her old voice. "Nobody around here ever seems to be interested. I mean, really
interested. If that's what's meant by an ancient race, give me what you call the Dawn Ages — my time —
any day of the week! Well, not that you have days or weeks, but you know what I mean. Real sex!"
       She seemed to realize that she was in danger of becoming intense and she tried to lighten the effect
of her speech by breaking into what, in the Dawn Age, might have been a musical laugh.
       When her laughter had died away, Doctor Volospion touched his right index finger to his left eyelid.
"Can this be true, Miss Ming?"
       "Oh, you're a sweetie, Doctor Volospion. You make a girl feel really foolish sometimes. It's not
your fault. You've got what we used to call an 'unfortunate tone' — it seems to make a mockery of
everything. I know what it is. You don't have to tell me. You're really quite shy, like me. I've lived with
you long enough to know…"
       "I am honoured, as always, by your interpretation of my character. But I am genuinely curious. I can
think of so many who concern themselves with little else but sexual gratification. My Lady Charlotina,
O'Kala Incarnadine, Gaf the Horse in Tears and, of course, Mistress Christia, the Everlasting
Concubine." He cast an eye over the surrounding guests. "Jherek Carnelian crucifies himself in pursuit of
his sexual object…"
       "It's not what I meant," she explained. "You see, they only play at it. They're not really motivated
by it. It's hard to explain." She became coy. "Anyway, I don't think any of those are my types, actually."
       The Commissar of Bengal finished feeding his banana to a passing pachyderm. "I seem to recall that
you were quite struck by My Lady Charlotina at one time, Miss Ming," he said.
       "Oh, that was —"
       Doctor Volospion studied something beyond her left shoulder. "And then there was that other lady.
The time traveller, who I rather took to, myself. Why, we were almost rivals for a while. You were in
love, you said, Miss Ming."
       "Oh, now you're being cruel! I'd rather you didn't mention…"
       "Of course." Now he looked beyond her right shoulder. "A tragedy."
       "It's not that I — I mean, I don't like to think. I was badly let down by Dafnish — and by Snuffles,
in particular. How was I to know that … Well, if you hadn't consoled me then, I don't know what I'd
have done. But I wish you wouldn't bring it up. Not here, at least. Oh, people can be so baffling
sometimes. I'm not perfect, I know, but I do my best to be tactful, you know. To look on the bright side.
To help others. Betty used to say that I ought to think more of my own interests. She said I wasn't selfish
enough. Oh, dear — people must think me a terrible fool. When they think of me at all!" She sniffed.
"I'm sorry…"
       She craned to look back, following Doctor Volospion's gaze.
       Li Pao was nearby, bowing briefly to Doctor Volospion, making as if to pass on, for he was
apparently in some haste, but Doctor Volospion smilingly called him over.
       "I was complimenting our host on his collection," he explained to Li Pao.
       Abu Thaleb made a modest gesture.
       Miss Ming bit her lip.
       Li Pao cleared his throat.
       "Aren't they fine?" said Doctor Volospion.
       "It is pleasant to see the beasts working," Li Pao said pointedly, "if only for the delight of these
drones."
       Doctor Volospion's smile broadened. "Ah, Li Pao, as usual you refuse amusement! Still, that's your
recreation, I suppose, or you would not attend so many of our parties."
       Li Pao bridled. "I come, Doctor Volospion, on principle. Occasionally there is one who will listen to
me for a few moments. My conscience drives me here. One day perhaps I will begin to convince you of
the value of moral struggle."
       An affectionate trunk nuzzled his oriental ear. He moved his head.
       Doctor Volospion was placatory. "But I am convinced, Li Pao, my dear friend. Its value to the 27th
century is immeasurable. But here we are at the End of Time and we have quite different needs. Our
future is uncertain, to say the least. The cosmos contracts and perishes and soon we must perish with it.
Will industry put a stop to the dissolution of the universe? I think not."
       Miss Ming patted at a blonde curl.
       "Then you fear the end?" Li Pao said with some satisfaction.
       Doctor Volospion affected a yawn. "Fear? What is that?"
       Li Pao's chuckle was grim. "Oh, it's rare enough here, but I think you reveal at least a touch of it,
Doctor Volospion."
       "Fear!" Doctor Volospion's nostrils developed a contemptuous flare. "You suggest that I —? But
this is such a baseless observation. An accusation, even!"
       "I do not accuse, Doctor Volospion. I do not denigrate. Fear, where real danger threatens, is surely
a sane enough response? A healthy one? Is it insane to ignore the knife which strikes for the heart?"
       "Knife? Heart?" Abu Thaleb lured the persistent elephant towards him, holding a bunch of grapes.
"Do forgive me, Li Pao…"
       Doctor Volospion said softly: "I think, Li Pao, that you will have to consider me insane."
       Li Pao would not relent. "No! You are afraid. Your denials display it, your posture pronounces it!"
       Doctor Volospion moved an overloaded shoulder. "Such instincts, you see, have atrophied at the
End of Time. You credit your own feelings to me, I think."
       Li Pao's gaze was steady. "I am not deceived, Doctor Volospion. What are you? Time traveller or
space traveller? You are no more born of this age than am I, or Miss Ming, here."
       "What —?" Doctor Volospion was alerted.
       "You say that you do not fear," continued the Chinese, "yet you hate well enough, that's plain. Your
hatred of Lord Jagged, for instance, is patent. And you exhibit jealousies and vanities that are unknown,
say, to the Duke of Queens. If these are innocent of true guile, you are not. It is why I know there is a
point in my talking to you."
       "I will not be condescended to!" Doctor Volospion glared.
       "I repeat — I praise these emotions. In their place —"
       "Praise?" Doctor Volospion raised both his hands, palms outward, to bring a pause. His voice,
almost a whisper, threatened. "Strange flattery, indeed! You go too far, Li Pao. The manners of your
own time would never allow such insults."
       "I do think you've gone just a teeny bit too far, Li Pao." Mavis Ming was anxious to reduce the
tension. "Why are you so bent on baiting Doctor Volospion? He's done nothing to you."
       "You refuse to admit it," Li Pao continued relentlessly, "but we face the death of everything. Thus I
justify my directness."
       "Shall we die gracelessly, then? Pining for hope when there is none? Whining for salvation when we
are beyond help? You are offensive at every level, Li Pao."
       Miss Ming was desperate to destroy this atmosphere. "Oh, look over there!" she cried. "Can it be
Argonheart Po arrived at last, with the food?"
       "He is late," said Abu Thaleb, looking up from his elephant.
       Li Pao and Doctor Volospion both ignored her.
       "There is hope, if we work," said Li Pao.
       "What? This is unbelievable." Doctor Volospion sought an ally but found only the anxious eyes of
Mavis Ming. He avoided them. "The end looms — the inevitable beckons. Death comes stalking over the
horizon. Mortality returns to the Earth after an absence of millennia. And you speak of what? Of work?
Work!" Doctor Volospion's laugh was harsh. "Work? For what? This age is called the End of Time for
good reason, Li Pao! We have run our race. Soon we shall all be ash on the cosmic wind."
      "But if a few of us were to consider…"
      "Forgive me, Li Pao, but you bore me. I have had my fill of bores today."
      "You boys should really stop squabbling like this." Determinedly Mavis Ming adopted a matronly
rôle. "Silly, gloomy talk. You're making me feel quite depressed. What possible good can it do for
anyone? Let's have a bit more cheerfulness, eh? Did I ever tell you about the time I — well, I was about
fourteen, and I'd done it for a dare — we got caught in the church by the Reverend Kovac — I'd told
Sandy, that was my friend —"
      Doctor Volospion's temper was not improved. An expression of pure horror bloomed on Miss
Ming's round face as she realized that she had made another misjudgement and caused her protector to
turn on her.
      He was vicious. "The rôle of diplomat, Miss Ming, does not greatly suit you."
      "Oh!"
      Abu Thaleb became aware, at last, of the ambience. "Come now…"
      "You will be kind enough not to interfere, not to interject your absurd and pointless anecdotes into
the conversation, Miss Ming!"
      "Doctor Volospion!" It was a shriek of betrayal. Miss Ming took a step backwards. She became
afraid.
      "Oh, she meant no harm…" Li Pao was in no position to mediate.
      "How," enquired Doctor Volospion of the shaking creature, "would you suggest we settle our
dispute, Miss Ming? With swords, like Lord Shark and the Duke of Queens? With pistols?
Reverb-guns? Flame-lances?"
      Her throat quivered. "I didn't mean…"
      "Well? Hm?" His long chin pointed at her throat. "Speak up, my portly referee. Tell us!"
      She had become very pale and yet her cheeks flamed with humiliation and she did not dare look at
any of them. "I was only trying to help. You were so angry, both of you, and there's no need to lose your
tempers…"
      "Angry? You are witless, madam. Could you not see that we jested?"
      There was no evidence. Miss Ming became confused.
      Li Pao's lips were pursed, his cheeks were as pale as hers were red. Doctor Volospion's eyes were
hard and fiery. Abu Thaleb gave vent to a troubled muttering.
      Miss Ming seemed fixed in her position by a terrible fascination. Mindlessly she stared at the eyes of
her accuser. It seemed that her urge to flee was balanced by her compulsion to stay, to fan these flames,
to produce the holocaust that would consume her, and her mouth opened and words fled out of it, high
and frightened:
      "Not a very funny joke, I must say, calling someone fat and stupid. Make up your mind, Doctor
Volospion. Only a minute or two ago you said how nice I looked. Don't pick on little Mavis just because
you're losing your argument!" She panted. "Oh!"
      She cast about for friends, but all eyes were averted, save Volospion's, and those pierced.
      "Oh!"
      Doctor Volospion parted his teeth a fraction to hiss:
      "I should be more than grateful, Miss Ming, if you would be silent. For once in your life I suggest
that you reflect on your own singular lack of sensitivity —"
      "Oh!"
      "— on your inability to interpret the slightest nuance of social intercourse save in your own
unsavoury terms."
      "O-oh!"
      "A psychic cripple, Miss Ming, has no business swimming in the fast-running rivers of philosophical
discussion."
      "Volospion!" Li Pao made a hesitant movement.
      Perhaps Miss Ming did not hear his words at all, perhaps she only experienced his tone, his vicious
stance. "You are in a bad mood today…" she began, and then words gave way to her strangled,
half-checked sobs.
       "Volospion! Volospion! You round on that wretch because you cannot answer me!"
       "Ha!" Doctor Volospion turned slowly, hampered by his robes.
       Abu Thaleb had been observing Miss Ming. He spoke conversationally, leaning forward to stare at
her face, his huge, feathered turban nodding. "Are those tears, my dear?"
       She snorted.
       "I had heard of elephants weeping," said Abu Thaleb with some animation, "or was it giraffes? —
but I never thought to have the chance to witness…"
       His tone produced a partial recovery in her. She lifted a wounded face. "Oh, be quiet! You and
your stupid elephants."
       "So, all our time travellers are blessed with the same brand of good manners, it seems." Volospion
had become cool. "I fear we have yet to grasp the essence of your social customs, madam."
       She trembled.
       "Childish irony…" said Li Pao.
       "Oh, stop it, Li Pao!" Mavis flinched away from him. "You started all this."
       "Well, perhaps…"
       Abu Thaleb put a puzzled tongue to his lower lip. "If…"
       "Oh," she sobbed, "I'm so sorry, commissar. I'm sorry, Doctor Volospion. I didn't mean to…"
       "It is we who are in the wrong," Li Pao told her. "I should have known better. You are a troubled
young girl at heart…"
       Her weeping grew mightier.
       Doctor Volospion, Abu Thaleb and Li Pao now stood around her, looking down at her.
       "Come, come," said Abu Thaleb. He patted the crown of her head.
       "Oh, I'm sorry. I was only trying to help … Why does it always have to be me…?"
       Doctor Volospion at last placed a hand on her arm. "Perhaps I had best escort you home?" He was
magnanimous. "You should rest."
       "Oh!" She moved to him, as if to be comforted, and then withdrew. "Oh, you're right! You're right!
I'm fat. I'm stupid. I'm ugly." She pulled away from him.
       "No, no…" murmured Abu Thaleb. "I think that you are immensely attractive…"
       She raised a trembling chin. "It's all right." She swallowed. "I'm fine now."
       Abu Thaleb gave a sigh of relief. The other two, however, continued to watch her.
       She sniffed. "I just didn't want to see anyone having a bad time, hurting one another. Yes, you're
right, Doctor Volospion. I shouldn't have come. I'll go home."
       Doctor Volospion replaced his hand to steady her. His voice was low and calming. "Good. I will
take you in my air car."
       "No. You stay and enjoy yourself. It's my fault. I'm very sorry."
       "You are too distraught."
       "Perhaps I should take her," said Li Pao. "After all, she is right. I introduced the original argument."
       "We all relieve our boredom in one way or another," said Doctor Volospion quietly. "I should not
have responded as I did."
       "Nonsense. You had every reason…"
       "Boo-hoo," said Miss Ming. She had broken down again.
       Abu Thaleb said coaxingly: "Would you like one of my little flying elephants, my dear, for your very
own? You could take it with you."
       "Oh-ah-ha-ha…"
       "Poor thing," said Abu Thaleb. "I think she would have been better off in a menagerie, Doctor
Volospion. Some of them feel much safer there, you know. Our world is too difficult for them to grasp.
Now, if I were you…"
       Doctor Volospion tightened his grip.
       "Oh!"
       "You are too sensitive, Miss Ming," said Li Pao. "You must not take us seriously."
       Doctor Volospion laughed. "Is that so, Li Pao?"
       "I meant…"
       "Ah, look!" Doctor Volospion slowly raised a hand to point. "Here's your friend, Miss Ming."
       "Friend?" Red eyes were raised. Another sniff.
       "Your friend, the cook."
       It was Argonheart Po, in smock and cap of dark brown and scarlet, so corpulent as to make Miss
Ming look slim. He advanced towards them with monumental dignity, pushing small elephants from his
path. With a brief bow he acknowledged the company and then addressed Abu Thaleb.
       "I have come to apologize, epicurean commissar, for the lateness of my contribution."
       "No, no…" Abu Thaleb seemed weary of what appeared to be a welter of regrets.
       "There is an integral fault in my recipe," explained the Master Chef, "which I am loath to disguise by
any artifice…"
       The Commissar of Bengal waved a white-gloved hand. "You are too modest, Kaiser of Kitchens.
You are too much a perfectionist. I am certain that none of us would detect any discrepancy…"
       Argonheart Po acknowledged the compliment with a smile. "Possibly. But I would know." He
confided to the others: "The cry of the artist, I fear, down the Ages. I hope, Abu Thaleb, that things will
right themselves before long. If not, I shall bring you those confections which have been successful, but I
will abandon the rest."
       "Drastic…" Abu Thaleb lowered his eyes and shook his head. "Can we not help in some way?"
       "The very reason I came. I hoped to gain an opinion. If there is someone who could find it within
themselves to leave the party for a short while, to return with me and sample my creations, not so much
for their flavour as for their consistency. It would not require much time, nor would it require a
particularly sophisticated palate, but…"
       "Miss Ming!" said Doctor Volospion.
       "Me," she said.
       "Here is your chance to be of service."
       "Well," she began, "as everyone knows, I'm no gourmet. Not that I don't enjoy my chow, and of
course Argonheart's is always excellent, but I'd like to help out, if I can." She was twice the woman.
       "It is not a gourmet's opinion I seek," Argonheart Po told her. "You will do excellently, Miss Ming,
if you can spare a little time."
       "You would be delighted, wouldn't you, Miss Ming?" said Abu Thaleb sympathetically.
       "Delighted," she confirmed. She cast a wary glance at Doctor Volospion. "You wouldn't mind?"
       "Certainly not!" He was almost effusive.
       "A splendid idea," said Li Pao, blatantly relieved.
       "Well, then, I shall be your taster, Argonheart." She linked her arm in the cook's. "And I really am
sorry for that silly fuss, everybody."
       They shook their heads. They waved their fingers.
       She smiled. "It did clear the air, anyway, didn't it? You're all friends again now."
       "Absolutely," said Li Pao.
       "Well, that's fine."
       "And you won't be wanting the little elephant?" Abu Thaleb asked. "I can always create another."
       "I'd love one, Abu. Another time, perhaps when I have a menagerie of my own. And power rings
of my own and everything. I've nowhere to keep it while I stay with Doctor Volospion."
       "Ah, well." Abu Thaleb also seemed relieved.
       "I think," said Argonheart Po, "that we should go as quickly as possible."
       "Of course," she said, "You really must take me in hand, Argonheart, and tell me exactly what you
expect me to do."
       "An opinion, I assure you, is all I seek."
       They made their adieux.
       "Well," she confided to Argonheart as they left, "I must say you turned up at just the right moment.
Honestly, I've never seen such a display of temper! You're so calm, Argonheart. So unshakeably
dignified, you know? I did my best, of course, to calm everyone down, but they were just determined to
have a row! Of course, I do blame Li Pao. Doctor Volospion had a perfectly understandable point of
view, but would Li Pao listen to him? Not a bit of it. I suspect that Li Pao never listens to anyone but
himself. He can be so thoughtless sometimes, don't you find that?"
      The Master Chef smacked his lips.




                                                      4

      In which Mavis Ming is once again disappointed in her
                          Ambitions
       Argonheart Po dipped his fingers into his rainbow plesiosaurus (sixty distinct flavours of gelatine)
and withdrew it as the beast turned its long neck round to investigate, mildly, the source of the irritation.
       The great cook put a hand to mouth, sucked, and sighed.
       "What a shame! Such an excellent taste."
       Argonheart Po's creature, lumbering on massive legs that were still somewhat wobbly, having failed
to set at the same time as the rest of its bulk, moved to rejoin the herd grazing some distance away on the
especially prepared trees of pastry and angelica that Argonheart Po had designed to occupy them until it
was time to drive them to the party which was only a mile or two off (the gargantua were plainly visible
on the horizon).
       "You agree, then, Miss Ming? The legs lack coherence." He licked a disappointed mouth.
       "Isn't there something you could add?" she suggested. "Those flippers were really meant for the sea,
you know…"
       "Mm?"
       "It's not your fault, not strictly speaking. The design of the creature itself is wrong. You must be able
to do something, Argonheart, dear."
       "Oh, indeed. A twist of a power ring and all would be well, but I should continue to be haunted by
the mystery. Was the temperature too high, for instance? You see, I allow for all the possibilities. My
researches show that the animal could move on land. I wonder if the weight of the beast alters the atomic
structure of the gelatine. If so, I should have prepared for it in my original recipe. There is no time to
begin again."
       "But Argonheart…"
       He shook his huge head. "I must cull the herd of the failures and present, I am afraid, only a partial
spectacle."
       "Abu Thaleb will still be pleased, I'm sure."
       "I hope so." He voiced a stupendous and sultry sigh.
       "It is nice to be out of the hurly-burly for a bit," she told him, her mind moving on to other topics.
       "If you would care to rejoin the party now?"
       "No. I want to be here with you. That is, if you have no objection to little Mavis watching a real
artist at work."
       "Of course."
       She smiled at him. "It's such a relief, you see, to be out here alone with a real man. With someone
who does something." She simpered. "What I mean is, Argonheart, is that I've always wanted…"
       She gasped as he jumped, his hands flailing, to taste a passing pterodactyl. He missed it by several
inches, staggered and fell to one knee.
       "Cunning beasts, those." He picked himself up. "My fault. I should have made them easier to catch.
Too much sherry and not enough blancmange."
       She sidled up to him again. "My husband, Donny Stevens, was a real man, for all his faults."
       Argonheart returned suddenly to his knees. He cupped his hands around something which wobbled,
glinting green and yellow in the pale sunshine. "Oh, this makes up for everything. See what it is, Miss
Ming?"
       "A dollop of jello?"
       "Dollop? Dollop!" He breathed upon it. He fondled the rounded, quivering surface. He spoke
reverently. "This is an egg, Miss Ming. One of my creations has actually laid an egg. Good heavens! I
could breed them. What an achievement!" His expression became seraphic.
       "A man like you is capable of anything, Argonheart. I often felt Donny was like that. I never thought
I'd miss the bastard."
       He was searching the ground for more eggs.
       "You remind me of him a little," she said softly. "You are real, Argonheart."
       Argonheart Po's only weakness was for metaphysical speculation. Miss Ming had captured his
attention. Stroking his egg, he looked round. "Mm?"
       Her breast rose and fell rapidly. "A real man."
       He was curious. "You believe everyone else imaginary, then? But why should I be real when the
others are not? Why should you be real? Reality, after all, can be the syllabub that melts upon the tongue,
leaving not even a flavour of memory…"
       Her breathing became calmer. She turned to contemplate the half-melted remains of a completely
unsuccessful stegosaurus.
       "I meant," she said, "that Donny was a manly man. Stupid and vain, of course. But that's probably
all part of it. And obsessed with his work — well, when he wasn't screwing his assistants." She laid her
hand upon his trembling egg. "I like you, Argonheart. Have you ever thought…?"
       But the chef's attention was wavering again as he bent to scoop up a little iguanadon. He placed his
egg carefully upon a slab of marzipan rock and held the iguanadon out to her for her inspection.
       With a frustrated sigh she licked the beast's slippery neck. "Too much lime for my taste." She gave a
theatrical shudder and laughed. "Far too bitter for me, Argonheart, dear."
       "But the texture? It was the texture, alone, I needed to know about."
       The iguanadon struggled, squawking rather like a chicken, and was released. It ran, glistening,
semi-transparent, green and orange, in a crazy path towards the nearby cola lake.
       "Perfect," she said. "Firm and juicy."
       He nodded sadly. "The small ones are by far the most successful. But that will scarcely satisfy Abu
Thaleb. I meant the monsters for him. The little beasts were only to set off the large ones — to set the
scale, do you see. I was too ambitious, Miss Ming. I tried to produce too much and too many." His fat
brow wrinkled.
       "You haven't been listening, Argonheart, dear," she chided. "Argonheart?"
       Reluctantly he withdrew from his regrets. "We were discussing the nature of reality."
       "No."
       "You were discussing what? Men?"
       She patted at the yellow flounces of her frock. "Or their absence?" She chuckled. "I could do with
one…"
       He had picked up a ladle in his plump, gloved hand. She followed him as he approached his lake,
bent on a final taste.
       "A man? What could you do with one?" He sipped.
       "I need one."
       "A special kind?"
       "A real one."
       "Couldn't you make something — someone, I mean — to suit you? Doctor Volospion would help."
He looked across the tranquil surface, like molten amber. "Delicious!"
       She seemed pained. "There's no need, dear, to throw that particular episode in my face."
       "Um. Yet, I'm indulging myself, I fear." He stooped, dipped his ladle, drew it to his red lips,
sampled self-critically and nodded his head. "Yes. The conception was too grandiose. Given another day
I could put everything to rights, but poor Abu Thaleb expects … Ah, well!"
       "Forget all about that for a moment." Lust was mounting in her. She slipped a hand along his
massive thigh. "Make love to me, Argonheart. I've been so unhappy."
       He rubbed his several chins. "Oh, I see."
       "You knew all along, didn't you? What I wanted?"
       "Um."
       "You're so proud, Argonheart. So masculine. A lot of girls don't like fat men, but I do." She giggled.
"It's what they used to say about me. All the more to get hold of. Please, Argonheart, please!"
       "My confections," he murmured lamely.
       "You can spare a few minutes, surely?" She dug her nails into his chest. "Argonheart!"
       "They could —"
       "You must relax sometime. You have to relax. It gives you a new perspective."
       "Well, yes, that's true."
       "Argonheart!" She moved against him.
       "I certainly cannot improve anything now. Perhaps you are right. Yes…"
       "Yes! You'll feel so much better. And I will, too."
       "Possibly…"
       "Definitely!"
       She pulled him towards a pile of discarded dark brown straw. "Here's a good place." She sank into
it, tugging at his gloved hand.
       "What?" he murmured. "In the vermicelli?"
       It was already beginning to stick to her sweating arms, but it was plain that such considerations
were no longer important. "Why not? Why not? Oh, my darling. Oh, Argonheart!"
       He drew off his gloves. He reached down and removed a strand or two of the vermicelli from her
elbow and placed it neatly on her neck. He stood back.
       She writhed in the chocolate.
       "Argonheart!" She mewed.
       With a shrug, he fell beside her in the chocolate.
       It was at the point where she had helped him to drag the tight scarlet smock up to his navel while
wriggling her own blue lace knickers to just below her knees that they heard a shriek that filled the sky
and saw the crimson spaceship falling through the dark blue heavens in an aura of multicoloured flame.
       Argonheart's belly quivered against her as he paused.
       "Golly!" said Mavis Ming.
       Argonheart licked her shoulder, but his attention was no longer with her. He glanced back. The
spaceship was still falling. The noise was immense.
       "Don't stop," she said. "There's still time. It won't take long."
       But Argonheart was already rolling over in the vermicelli, pulling his smock back into position. He
stood up. Shreds of half-melted confectionery dropped from his legs.
       A dreadful wail escaped Miss Ming. It was drowned by the roar of the ship.
       With her fist she pounded at the vermicelli. It flew in all directions. She appeared to be swearing.
And then, when the ship's noise had dropped momentarily to a muted howl, and as Mavis Ming drew up
her underwear, her voice, disappointed, despairing, could be heard again.
       "What a moment to pick! Poor old Mavis. Isn't it just your luck!"




                                                     5
    In which certain denizens at the End of Time indulge
themselves in Speculation as to the Nature of the Visitor from
                           Space
       It was a spaceship from some mythical antiquity, all fins and flutes and glittering bubbles, tapering at
the nose, bulbous at the base, where its rockets roared. It slowed as they watched, falling with a peculiar
swaying motion, as if its engines malfunctioned, the vents first on one side and then on the other
sputtering, gouting, sputtering again until, just before the ship reached the ground, the rockets flared in
unison, bouncing the machine like a ball on a water jet, gradually subsiding until it had settled to earth.
       Miss Ming, observing it from her nest of chocolate worms, tightened her lips.
       Even after the ship had landed flame still rolled around its hull, sensuous flame caressed the scarlet
metal.
       The surrounding terrain sent up heavy black smoke, crackling as if to protest; the smoke curled
close to the ground, moving towards the ship: eels attracted to wreckage.
       Miss Ming was in no temper to admire the machine; she glared at it.
       "It has a certain authority, the ship," murmured Argonheart Po.
       "A fine sense of timing, I must say! A little love-making would have improved my spirits no end and
taken away the nasty taste of Doctor Volospion's tantrum. It isn't as if I get the chance every day and I
haven't had a man for ages. I don't even know if one can still give me what I need! Even you,
Argonheart…"
       She pouted, brushing at the nasty sticky stuff clinging to her petticoats. "I'm too furious to speak!"
       Argonheart Po helped her from the pile and, perhaps moved by unconscious chivalry, pecked her
upon the cheek. The smell of burning filled the air.
       "Ugh," she said. "What a stink, too!"
       "It is the least attractive of odours," Argonheart said.
       "It's horrible. Surely it can't just be coming from that ship?"
       The heat from the vessel was heavy on their skins. Argonheart Po, had his body been so fashioned,
would have been sweating quite as much as Miss Ming. His sensitive nose twitched.
       "There is something familiar about it," he agreed, "which I would not normally identify with hot
metal." He perused the landscape. His cry of horror echoed over it.
       "Ah! Look what it has done! Look! Oh, it is too bad!"
       Miss Ming looked and saw nothing. "What?"
       Argonheart was in anguish. His hands clenched, his eyes blazed.
       "It has melted half my dinosaurs. That is what is making the smoke!"
       Argonheart Po began to roll rapidly in the direction of the ship, Mavis Ming forgotten.
       "Hey!" she cried. "What if there's danger?"
       He had not heard her.
       With a whimper, she followed him.
       "Murderer!" cried the distressed chef. "Philistine!" He shook his fist at the ship. He danced about it,
forced back by its heat. He attempted to kick it and failed.
       "Locust!" he raved. "Ravager! Insensitive despoiler!"
       His energy dissipated, he fell to his knees in the glutinous mess. He wept. "Oh, my monsters! My
jellies!"
       Mavis Ming hovered a short distance away. She wore the pout of someone who considered herself
abandoned in her hour of need.
       "Argonheart!" she called.
       "Burned! All burned!"
       "Argonheart, we don't know what sort of creatures are in that spaceship. They could mean us
harm!"
       "Ruin, ruin, ruin…"
       "Argonheart. I think we should go and warn someone, don't you?" She discovered that her lovely
shoes were stuck. As she lifted her feet, long strands of toffeelike stuff came with them. She waded back
to a patch of dust still free of melted dinosaur.
       Her attention focused upon the ship as curiosity conquered caution. "I've seen alien spacecraft
before," she said. "Lots of them. But this doesn't look alien at all. It's got a distinctly human look to it, in
fact."
       Argonheart Po raised his mighty body to its feet and, with shoulders bowed, mourned his dead
creations.
       "Argonheart, don't you think it's got a rather romantic appearance, really?"
       Argonheart Po turned his back on the source of his anger and folded his arms across his chest. He
wore a martyred air, yet his dignity increased.
       Mavis Ming continued to inspect the spaceship. A strange smile had replaced the expression of
anxiety she had worn earlier. "Come to think of it, it's just the sort of ship I used to read about when I
was a little girl. All the space-heroes had ships like that." She became fey. "Perhaps at long last my
prayers have been answered, Argonheart."
       The Master Chef grunted. He was lost in profundity.
       Miss Ming uttered her trilling laugh. "Has my handsome space-knight arrived to carry me off, do
you think? To the wonderful planet of Paradise V?"
       From Argonheart there issued a deep, violent rumbling, as of an angry volcano. "Villain! Villain!"
       She put a hand to her mouth. "You could be right. It could easily carry a villain. Some pirate captain
and his cut-throat crew." She became reminiscent. "My two favourite authors, you know, when I was
young — well, I'd still read them now, if I could — were J.R.R. Tolkien and A.A. Milne. Well, this is
more like the movie versions, of course, but still … Oooh! Could they be rapists and slavers,
Argonheart?"
       She took his silence for disapproval. "Not that I really want anything nasty to happen to us. Not
really. But it's thrilling, isn't it, wondering?"
       "I —" said Argonheart Po. "I —"
       Miss Ming, as she anticipated the occupants of the ship, seemed torn between poles represented in
her fantasies by the evil, fascinating Sauron and the soft, jolly Winnie-the-Pooh.
       "Will they be fierce, do you think, Argonheart? Or cuddly?" She bit her lower lip. "Better still, they
might be fierce and cuddly!"
       "Aaaaaah," breathed Argonheart.
       She looked at him in surprise. She appeared to make an effort to retrieve herself from sentiment
which, she had doubtless learned, was not always socially acceptable in this world. She achieved the
retrieval by a return to her previous alternative, her vein of heavy cynicism. "I was only joking," she said.
       "Sadist," hissed Argonheart. "This might have been deliberately engineered."
       "Well," she said, having determined her new attitude, "at least it might be someone to relieve the
awful boredom of this bloody planet!"
       Still bowed, her baffled and grieving escort turned from the blackened fragments of his culinary
dreams to stare wistfully after his surviving stegosauri and tyrannosauri which, startled by the ship, were in
rapid and uncertain flight in all directions.
       His self-control returned. He became a fatalist. His little shrug went virtually unnoticed by her.
       "It is fate," declared the Master Chef. "At least I am no longer in a dilemma. The decision has been
taken from me."
       He began to wade, as best the sticky glue would allow him, towards her.
       "Couldn't you round them up?" she asked. "The ones who survived?"
       "And make only a partial contribution? No. I shall find Abu Thaleb and tell him he must create
something for himself. A few turns of a power ring, of course, and he will have a feast of sorts, though it
will lack the inspiration of anything I could have prepared for him." A certain guilt, it seemed, inspired him
to resent the object of his guilt and therefore made him feel somewhat aggressive towards Abu Thaleb.
       He reached Miss Ming's side. "Shall we return to the party together?"
       "But what of the ship?"
       "It has done its terrible work."
       "But the people who came in it?"
       "I forgive them," said Argonheart with grandiose magnanimity.
       "I mean — don't you want to see what they look like?"
       "I bear them no ill-will. They were not aware of the horror they brought. It is ever thus."
       "They might be interesting."
       "Interesting?" Argonheart Po was incredulous.
       "They might have some news, or something."
       Argonheart Po looked again upon the spaceship. "They are scarcely likely to be anything but crude,
ill-mannered rogues, Miss Ming. Surely, they must have seen, by means of their instruments, my herds?"
       "It could be a crash-landing."
       "Perhaps." Argonheart Po was a fair-minded chef. He did his best to see her point. "Perhaps."
       "They might need help."
       He cast one final glance about the smoking detritus and said, with not a little violence, "Well, I hope
that they find it."
       "Shouldn't we…?"
       "I return to find Abu Thaleb and tell him of the disaster."
       "Oh, very well, I suppose I shall have to come with you. But, really, Argonheart, you're looking at
this in a rather selfish way, aren't you? This could be a great event. Remember those other aliens who
turned up recently? They were trying to help us, too, weren't they? It would be lovely to have some nice
news for a change…"
       She reached for his arm, so that he might escort her through the glutinous pools.
       At that moment there came a grinding noise from the vessel. Both looked back.
       A circular section in the hull was turning.
       "The airlock," she gasped. "It's opening."
       The door of the airlock swung back, apparently on old-fashioned hinges, to reveal a dark hole from
which, for a few seconds, flames poured.
       "They can't be human," she said. "Not if they live in fire."
       No further flames issued from within the ship but from the darkness of the interior there came tiny
flashes of light from time to time.
       "Like fireflies," whispered Mavis Ming.
       "Or eyes," said Argonheart, his attention held for the moment.
       "The feral eyes of wild invaders." Miss Ming seemed to be quoting from one of her girlhood texts.
       An engine murmured and the ship shivered. Then, from somewhere inside the airlock, a wide band
of metal began to emerge.
       "A ramp," said Mavis Ming. "They're letting down a ramp."
       The ramp slid slowly to the ground, making a bridge between airlock and Earth, but still no
occupant emerged.
       Mavis cupped her hands around her mouth. "Greetings!" she cried. "The peaceful people of Earth
welcome you!"
       There was still no acknowledgement from the ship. Grainy dust drifted past. There was silence.
       "They might be afraid of us," suggested Mavis.
       "Most probably they are ashamed," said Argonheart Po. "Too abashed to display themselves."
       "Oh, Argonheart! They probably didn't even see your dinosaurs!"
       "Is that an excuse?"
       "Well…"
       Now a muffled, querulous voice sounded from within the airlock, but the language it used was
unintelligible.
       "We have no translators." Argonheart Po consulted his power rings. "I have no means of making
him speak any sort of tongue I'll understand. Neither have I the means to understand him. We must go.
Lord Jagged of Canaria usually has a translation ring. Or the Duke of Queens. Or Doctor Volospion.
Anyone who keeps a menagerie will…"
      "Sssh," she said. "The odd thing is, Argonheart, that while I can't actually understand the words, the
language does seem familiar. It's like — well it's like English — the language I used to speak before I
came here."
      "You cannot speak it now?"
      "Obviously not. I'm speaking this one, whatever it is, aren't I?"
      The voice came again. It was high-pitched. It tended to trill, like birdsong, and yet it was distinctly
human.
      "It's not unpleasant," she said, "but it's not what I would have called manly." She was kind: "Still,
the pitch might be affected by a change in the atmosphere, mightn't it?"
      "Possibly." Argonheart peered. "Hm. One of them seems to be coming out."
      At last a space traveller emerged at the top of the ramp.
      "Oh, dear," murmured Miss Ming, "what a disappointment! I hope they're not all like him."
      Although undoubtedly humanoid, the stranger had a distinctly birdlike air to him. There was a wild
crest of bright auburn hair, which rose all around his head and created a kind of ruff about his neck; there
was a sharp pointed nose; there were vivid blue eyes which bulged and blinked in the light; there was a
head which craned forward on an elongated neck and which would sometimes jerk back a little, like a
chicken's as it searched for grain amid the farmyard's dust; there was a tiny body which also moved in
rapid, poorly coordinated jerks and twitches; there were two arms, held stiffly at the sides of the body
like clipped wings. And then there was the plaintive, questioning cry, like a puzzled gull's:
      "Eh? Eh? Eh?"
      The eyes darted this way and that and then fixed suddenly upon Mavis Ming and Argonheart Po.
They received the creature's whole attention.
      "Eh?"
      He blinked imperiously at them. He trilled a few words.
      Argonheart Po waited until the newcomer had finished before announcing gravely:
      "You have ruined the Commissar of Bengal's dinner, sir."
      "Eh?"
      "You have reduced a carefully planned feast to a rabble of side-dishes!"
      "Fallerunnerstanja," said the visitor from space. He reached back into the airlock and produced a
black frock coat dating from a period at least 150 years before Mavis Ming's own. He drew the coat
over his shirt and buttoned it all the way down. "Eh?"
      "It's not very clean," said Mavis, "that coat. Is it?"
      Argonheart had not noticed the stranger's clothes. He was regretting his outburst and trying to
recover his composure, his normal amiability.
      "Welcome," he said, "to the End of Time."
      "Eh?"
      The space traveller frowned and consulted a bulky instrument in his right hand. He tapped it, shook
it and held it up to his ear.
      "Well," said Mavis with a sniff, "he isn't much, is he? I wonder if they're all like him."
      "He could be the only one," suggested Argonheart Po.
      "Like that?"
      "The only one at all."
      "I hope not!"
      As if in response to her criticism, the creature waved both his arms in a sort of windmilling motion. It
seemed for a moment as if he were trying to fly. Then, with stiff movements, reminiscent of a poorly
controlled marionette, it retreated back into its ship.
      "Did we frighten him, do you think?" asked Argonheart Po in some concern.
      "Quite likely. What a weedy little creep!"
      "Mm?"
      "What a rotten specimen! He doesn't go with the ship at all. I was expecting someone tanned,
brawny, handsome…"
      "Why so? You know these ships? You have met those who normally use them?"
      "Only in my dreams," she said.
      Argonheart made no further effort to follow her. "He is humanoid, at least. It makes a change, don't
you think, Miss Ming, from all those others?"
      "Not much of one though." She shifted a gluey foot. "Ah, well! Shall we return, as you suggested?"
      "You don't think we should remain?"
      "There's no point, is there? Let someone else deal with him. Someone who wants a curiosity for
their menagerie."
      Argonheart Po offered his arm again. They began to wade towards the dusty shore.
      As they reached the higher ground they heard a familiar voice from overhead. They looked up.
      Abu Thaleb's howdah hovered there.
      "Aha!" said the Commissar of Bengal. His face, with its beard carefully curled and divided into two
parts, set with pearls and rubies, after the original, peered over the edge of the air car. "I thought so." He
addressed another occupant, invisible to their eyes. "You see, Volospion, I was right."
      "Oh, dear." Mavis tried to rearrange her disordered dress. "Doctor Volospion, too…"
      Volospion's tired tones issued from the howdah. "Yes, indeed. You were quite right, Abu Thaleb. I
apologize. It is a spaceship. Well, if you feel you would like to descend, I shall not object."
      The howdah came down to earth beside Argonheart Po and Miss Ming. Within, it was lined with
dark green and blue plush.
      Doctor Volospion lay among cushions, still in black and gold, his tight hood covering his skull and
framing his pale face. He made no attempt to move. He scarcely acknowledged Miss Ming's presence as
he addressed Argonheart Po:
      "Forgive this intrusion, great Prince of Pies. The Commissar of Bengal is bent on satisfying his
curiosity."
      Argonheart Po made to speak but Abu Thaleb had already begun again:
      "What a peculiar odour it has — sweet, yet bitter…"
      "My creations…" said Argonheart.
      "Like death," pronounced Doctor Volospion.
      "The smell is all that is left," insisted Argonheart now, "of the dinner I was preparing for your party,
Abu Thaleb. The ship's landing destroyed almost all of it."
      Climbing from his howdah the slender commissar clapped the chef upon his broad back. "Dear
Argonheart, how sad! But another time, I hope, you will be able to re-create all that you have lost
today."
      "It is true that there were imperfections," Argonheart told him, "and I would relish the opportunity to
begin afresh."
      "Soon, soon, soon. What a lovely little ship it is!" Abu Thaleb's plumes bounced upon his turban. "I
had yearnings, you see, to embellish my menagerie, but I fear the ship is too small to accommodate the
kind of prize I seek."
      Mavis Ming said: "You'd be even more disappointed than me, Abu Thaleb. You should see the little
squirt we saw just before you turned up. He —"
      Doctor Volospion, so it seemed, had not heard her begin to speak. He called from his cushions:
      "Your menagerie is already a marvel, Belle of Bengal. The most refined collection in the world.
Splendid, specialized, so much more sophisticated than the scrambled skelter of species scraped together
by certain so-called connoisseurs whose zoos surpass yours only in size but never in superiority of
sensitive selection!"
      Mavis Ming displayed confusion. Although Doctor Volospion appeared to address Abu Thaleb he
seemed to be speaking for her benefit. She looked from one to the other, wondering if she should form a
smile.
      Doctor Volospion winked at her.
      Mavis grinned. She had been forgiven for her outburst. The joke was at Abu Thaleb's expense.
      She began to giggle.
      "Go on, Doctor Volospion. I'm sure Abu Thaleb enjoys your flattery," she said.
      "In taste, salutory commissar, you are assured of supremacy, until our planet passes at last into that
limbo of silence and non-existence which must soon, we are told, be its fate."
      Abu Thaleb's back was to Miss Ming and she seemed glad of this. She held her breath. She went
deep red. She made a muted, spluttering noise.
      But now the Commissar of Bengal was looking back at Doctor Volospion. "Oh, really, my friend!"
He was good-natured. "You are capable of subtler mockery than this!"
      "But I am a true showman, Abu Thaleb. I relate properly to my audience."
      "Can that be true?" Abu Thaleb turned to Mavis. "You have seen the visitors, then, Miss Ming?"
      "Briefly," she said. "Actually, there only seems to be one."
      Abu Thaleb stroked his beard, his pearls and rubies. "He is not in any way, I suppose, um —
elephantoid?"
      She was prepared to allow herself a giggle now. She looked towards the lounging Volospion.
      "Not a trace of a trunk, I'm afraid." She looked for approval from her protector. "Not even a touch
of a tusk. He couldn't be less like a jumbo, although his nose is long enough, I suppose. He's more like
one of those little birds, Abu Thaleb, who pick stuff out of elephant's teeth."
      "Excellent!" applauded Doctor Volospion. "Ha, ha, ha!"
      Abu Thaleb turned and regarded her with mysterious gravity. "Teeth?"
      She giggled again. "Don't they have teeth, then, any more?"
      Argonheart Po seemed much embarrassed. His glance at Doctor Volospion was almost
disapproving. "I must away to my thoughts," he said. "I shall leave this sad scene. There is nothing I can
save. Not now. So I'll wish you all farewell."
      "Are we to be denied even a taste of your palatable treasure, Argonheart?" Doctor Volospion used
much the same voice as the one he had used to speak to Abu Thaleb. "Hm?"
      Argonheart Po cleared his throat. He shook his head. He glanced at the ground. "I think so."
      "Oh, but Argonheart, you still have a few dinosaurs left. Can't I see one now? On the horizon." Miss
Ming clutched at his hand but failed to engage.
      "No more, no more," said the Master Chef.
      Doctor Volospion spoke again. "Ah, mighty Lord of the Larder, how haughty you can sometimes
be! Just a morsel of mastodon, perhaps, to whet our appetites?"
      "I made no mastodons!" bellowed Argonheart Po, and now he was striding away. "Goodbye to
you!"
      Doctor Volospion stirred in his cushions. "Well, well. Obsessive people can be very boorish
sometimes, I think."
      Mavis Ming said: "He was more interested in his confectionery than any opportunity for contact with
another intelligence. Still, he was upset."
      "Then you are the only one of us to have tasted his preparations." Abu Thaleb looked doubtfully at
the congealing lake between him and the spaceship.
      "How were his dishes, by the by, Miss Ming?" Doctor Volospion wished to know. "You sampled
them, eh?"
      Miss Ming adopted something of a worldly air for Doctor Volospion's approval. She uttered a light,
amused laugh. "Oh, a bit over-flavoured, really, if the truth be told."
      His thin tongue ran the line of his lips. "Too strong, the taste?"
      "He's not as good as they say he is, if you ask me. All this —" she rotated a wrist — "all these big
ideas."
      Abu Thaleb would not allow such malice. "Argonheart Po is the greatest culinary genius in the
history of the world!"
      "Perhaps our world has not been well favoured with cooks…" suggested Doctor Volospion slyly.
      "And he is the most good-hearted of fellows! The time he must have spent preparing the feast for
today!"
      "Time?" inquired Volospion in some disbelief. "Time? Time?"
      "His presents are famous. Not long since, he made me a savoury mammoth that was the most
delicious thing I have ever eaten. An arrangement of flavours defeating description, and yet possessing a
unity of taste that was inevitable!" Abu Thaleb was displaying unusual vivacity.
      Doctor Volospion was incapable of diplomacy now. He was as one who has hooked his shark and
refuses to cut the line, no matter what damage may ensue to both boat and man.
      "Perhaps you confuse the subject-matter with the art, admirable Abu?"
      Mavis Ming would also take hold of the rod, secure in the approval of her protector, inspired by his
wit. "One man's elephant steak, after all, is another man's bicarbonate of soda!"
      And now it was as if rod and line snapped over the side to be borne to the depths.
      Abu Thaleb stared at her in frank bewilderment.
      Doctor Volospion turned from his prey, his grey face controlled. There was a pause. His expression
changed. A secretive smile, for himself more than for her.
      The Commissar of Bengal had been saved from conflict and as a result became bewildered. "Well,"
he said weakly, "I for one am always astonished by his invention."
      Miss Ming became aware of the atmosphere. Such an atmosphere often followed her funniest
observations. "I'm being too subtle and obscure. I'm sorry. No — Argonheart can be very clever. Very
clever indeed. He's very nice. He's always made me feel very much at home. Oh, dear! Do I always
manage to spoil things? It can't be me, can it?"
      Doctor Volospion, for reasons of his own, had cast a fresh line. "My dear Miss Ming, you are being
too kind again!"
      He raised a long hand, the fingers curled forwards to form a claw. "Do not let this clever commissar
confuse you into compromising your opinions. Be true to your own convictions. If you find Argonheart's
work unsatisfactory, not up to the demands of your palate, then say so."
      Abu Thaleb this time ignored the bait. "Volospion you mock us both too much," he protested.
"Leave Miss Ming, at least, alone!"
      "Oh, he's not mocking me," Miss Ming observed.
      "I?" Doctor Volospion moved his brows in apparent astonishment. "Mock?"
      "Yes. Mock." Abu Thaleb studied the spaceship.
      "You do me too much credit, my friend."
      "Hum," said Abu Thaleb.
      Mavis Ming laughed amiably. "You never know when he's being serious or when he's joking, do
you, commissar?"
      Abu Thaleb was brief. "Well, Miss Ming, if you are not discomforted, then —"
      He was interrupted by Doctor Volospion, who pointed to the ship.
      "Ha! Our guest emerges!"




                                                     6

   In which Mr Emmanuel Bloom lays claim to his Kingdom
      Once more he stood before them, his head bent forwards, his bright blue eyes glittering, his stiff
arms at his sides, his red hair flaring to frame his face. He remained for some while at the top of the ramp.
He watched them, not with caution but with dispassionate curiosity.
      He had changed his clothes.
      Now he had on a suit of crumpled black velvet, a shirt whose stiff, high collar rose as if to support
his chin, whose cuffs covered his clenched hands to the knuckles. His feet were small and there were
tiny, shining pumps on them. He leaned so far over the ramp that he threatened to topple straight down it.
       "What an altogether ridiculous figure," hissed Miss Ming to Doctor Volospion. "Don't you think?"
       She would have said more but, for the moment, she evidently felt the compelling authority of those
bulging blue eyes.
       "Not from space at all," complained the Commissar of Bengal. "He's a time traveller. His clothes…"
       "Oh, no," Miss Ming was adamant. "We saw him arrive. The ship came from space."
       "From the sky, perhaps, but not from space." Abu Thaleb pushed pearls away from his mouth.
"Now —"
       But the newcomer had struck a strange pose, arms stiffly extended before him, little mouth smiling,
head held up. He spoke in fluting, musical tones that were this time completely comprehensible to them
all.
       "I welcome you, people of Earth, to my presence. I cannot say how moved I am to be among you
again and I appreciate your own feelings on this wonderful day. For the Hero of your greatest legends
returns to you. Ah, but how you must have yearned for me. How you must have prayed for me to come
back to you! To bring you Life. To bring you Reassurance. To bring you that Tranquillity that can only be
achieved by Pain! Well, dear people of Earth, I am back. At long last I am back!"
       "Back…?" grunted Abu Thaleb.
       "Oh, the journey has demented him," suggested Mavis Ming.
       Abu Thaleb cleared his throat. "I believe you have the advantage, sir…"
       "We missed the name," explained Doctor Volospion, his voice a fraction animated.
       A sweet smile appeared upon the creature's ruby lips. "But you must recognize me!"
       "Not a stirring of memory, for my part," said Doctor Volospion.
       "A picture, perhaps, in the old cities. But no…" said Abu Thaleb.
       "You do look like someone. Some old writer or other," said Miss Ming. "I never did literature."
       He frowned. He turned his palms inwards. He looked down at his own strange body. His voice
trilled on. "Yes. Yes. I suppose it is possible that you do not recognize this particular manifestation."
       "Perhaps you could offer a clue." Doctor Volospion sat up in his cushions for the first time.
       He was ignored. The newcomer was patting at his chest. "I have changed my physical appearance
so many times that I have forgotten how I looked at first. The body has probably diminished quite a lot.
The hands are certainly of a different shape. Once, as I recall, I was fat. As fat as your friend — ah, he's
gone! — the one who was here when I first emerged and whose language I couldn't understand — the
translator is working fine now, eh? Good, good. Oh, yes! Quite as fat as him. Fatter. And tall, I think,
too. Much taller than any of you. But I leant towards economy. I had the opportunity to change. To be
more comfortable in the confines of my ship. I caused my physique to be altered. Irreversibly. This form
was modelled after a hero of my own whose name and achievements I forget." He drew a deep breath.
"Still, the form is immaterial. I am here, as I say, to bring you Fulfilment."
       "I am sure that we are all grateful," said Doctor Volospion.
       "But your name, sir?" Abu Thaleb reminded him.
       "Name? Names! Names! Names! I have so many!" He flung back his head and gave forth a
warbling laugh. "Names!"
       "Just one would help…" said Abu Thaleb without irony.
       "Names?" His blue eyes fixed them. He gestured. "Names? How would you have me called? For I
am the Phoenix! I am the Sun's Eagle! I am the Sun's Revenge!" He strutted to the very edge of the ramp
but still did not descend. He leaned against the airlock opening. "You shall know me. You shall! For I am
the claws, come to take back the heart you stole from the centre of that great furnace that is my Lord and
my Slave. Eh? Do you recall me now, as I remind you of your crimes?"
       "Quite mad," said Miss Ming in a low, tense voice. "I think we'd better…" But her companions
were fascinated.
       "Here I am!" He spread his legs and arms, to fill the airlock: X. "Magus, clown and prophet, I —
Master of the World! Witness!"
       Mavis Ming gasped as flames shot from his fingertips. Flames danced in his hair. Flames flickered
from his nostrils. "Clownly, kingly, priestly eater and disgorger of fire! Ha!"
      He laughed and gestured and balls of flame surrounded him.
      "I have no ambiguities, no ambitions — I am all things! Man and woman, god and beast, child and
ancient — all are compatible and all co-exist in me."
      A huge sheet of fire seemed to engulf the whole ship and then vanish, leaving the newcomer standing
there at the airlock, his high voice piping, his blue eyes full of pride.
      "I am Mankind! I am the Multiverse! I am Life and Death and Limbo, too. I am Peace, Strife and
Equilibrium. I am Damnation and Salvation. I am all that exists. And I am you!"
      He threw back his little head and began to laugh while the three people stared at him in silent
astonishment. For the first time he walked a little way down the ramp, balancing on the balls of his feet,
extending his arms at his sides. And he began to sing:

     "For I am GOD — and SATAN, too!
     "PHOENIX, FAUST and FOOL!
     "My MADNESS is DIVINE, and COOL my SENSE!
     "I am your DOOM, your PROVIDENCE!"

       "We are still, I fear, at a loss…" murmured Doctor Volospion, but he could not be heard by the
singing creature whose attention was suddenly, as if for the first time, on Mavis Ming.
       Miss Ming retreated a step or two. "Oo! What do you think you're looking at, chum!"
       He stopped his singing. His features became eager. He bent to regard her.
       "Ah! What a splendid woman!"
       He moved still further down the ramp and he was sighing with pleasure.
       "Oh, Madonna of Lust. Ah, my Tigress, my Temptation. Mm! Never have I seen such beauty! But
this is Ultimate Femininity!"
       "I've had enough," said Miss Ming severely, and she began to edge away.
       He did not follow, but his eyes enchained her. His high, singsong voice became ecstatic.
       "Enough? You have known nothing until now! What Beauty! Ah — I will bring great wings to beat
upon your breast." His hands clenched at air. "Tearing talons your talents shall grasp! Claws of blood and
sinew shall catch the silver strings of your cool harp! Ha! I'll have you, madam, never fear! Ho! I'll bring
your blood to the surface of your skin! Hei! It shall pulse there — in service to my sin!"
       "I'm not hanging around," she said, but she did not move.
       The other two watched, forgotten by both, as the strange, mad figure pranced upon his ramp,
paying court to the fat, bewildered lady in blue and yellow below.
       "You shall be mine, madam. You shall be mine! This is worth all those many millennia when I was
denied any form of consolation, any sort of human company. I have crossed galaxies and dimensions to
find my reward! Now I know my twofold mission. To save this world and to win this woman!"
       "No chance," she breathed. "Ugh!" She panted but could not flee.
       He ignored her, or else had not heard her, his attention drawn back to Doctor Volospion. "You
asked my name. Now do you recognize me?"
       "Not specifically." Even Doctor Volospion was impressed by the intensity of the newcomer's
speech. "Um — perhaps another clue?"
       Bang! A stream of flame had shot from the man's hand and destroyed one of Werther's unfinished
mountains.
       Boom! The sky darkened and thunder shook the landscape while lightning struck all about them.
Chaos swirled around the ship and out of it stared the newcomer's face shouting:
       "There! Is that enough to tell you?"
       Abu Thaleb demurred. "That was one of a set of mountains manufactured by someone who was
hoping…"
       "Manufactured?"
       The thunder stopped. The lightning ceased. The sky became clear again.
      "Manufactured? You make these pathetic landscapes? From choice? Pah!"
      "There are other things we make…"
      "And what puny conceits! Paint! I use all that is real for my canvases. Fire, water, earth and air —
and human souls!"
      "We can sometimes achieve quite interesting effects," continued Abu Thaleb manfully, "by…"
      "Nonsense! Know you this — that I am the Controller of your Destinies! Re-born, I come among
you to give you New Life! I offer the Universe!"
      "We have had the universe," said Doctor Volospion. "That is partly why we are in our current
predicament. It is all used up."
      "Bah! Well, well, well. So I must take it upon myself again to rescue the race. Yes, well I shall not
betray you — as you have betrayed me in the past. Again I give you the opportunity. Follow me!"
      The Commissar of Bengal passed a hand over the gleaming corkscrew curls of his blue-black
beard; he tugged at the red Star of India decorating his left ear-lobe; he fingered a feather of his turban.
      "Follow you? By Allah, sir, I'm confounded! Follow you? Not a word, I fear. Not a syllable."
      "That is not what I meant."
      "I think," interposed Doctor Volospion, "that our visitor regards himself as a prophet — a chosen
spokesman for some religion or other. The phrase he uses is more than familiar to me. Doubtless he
wishes to convert us to the worship of his god."
      "God? God! God! I am no servant of a Higher Power!" The visitor's neck flashed back in shock.
"Unless, as can fairly be said, I serve myself — and Mankind, of course…"
      Doctor Volospion casually changed the colour of his robes to dark green and silver, then to crimson
and black. He sighed. He became all black.
      The visitor watched this process with some contempt. "What have we here? A jester to my clown?"
      Doctor Volospion glanced up. "Forgive me if I seem unmannerly. I was seeking an appropriate
colour for my mood."
      Abu Thaleb was dogged. "Sir, if you could introduce yourself, perhaps a little more formally…?"
      The stranger regarded him through a milder eye, as if giving the commissar's remark weighty
consideration.
      "A name? Just one," coaxed the Lord of All Elephants. "It might jog our memories, d'you see?"
      "I am your Messiah."
      "There!" cried Doctor Volospion, pleased with his earlier interpretation.
      The Messiah raised inflexible arms towards the skies. "I am the Prophet of the Sun! Flamebringer,
call me!"
      Still more animated, even amused, Doctor Volospion turned his attention away from his cuffs (now
of purple lace) to remark: "The name is not familiar, sir. Where are you from?"
      "Earth! I am from Earth!" The prophet gripped the lapels of his velvet coat. "You must know me. I
have given you every hint."
      "But when did you leave Earth?" Abu Thaleb put in, intending help. "Perhaps we are further in your
future than you realize. This planet, you see, is millions, billions, of years old. Why, there is every
evidence that it would have perished a long time ago — so far as supporting human life was concerned,
at any rate — if we had not, with the aid of our great, old cities, maintained it. You could be from a past
so distant that no memory remains of you. The cities, of course, do remember a great deal, and it is
possible that one of them might know you. Or there are time travellers here, like Miss Ming, with better
memories of earlier times than even the cities possess. What I am trying to say, sir, is that we are not
being deliberately obtuse. We should be only too willing to show you proper respect if we knew who
you were and how we should show it. It is on you, the onus, I regret."
      The head jerked from side to side; a curious cockatoo. "Eh?"
      "Name, rank and serial number!" Miss Ming guffawed.
      "Eh?"
      "We are an ancient and ignorant people," Abu Thaleb apologized. "Well, at least, I speak for
myself. I am very ancient and extremely ignorant. Except, I should explain, in the matter of elephants,
where I am something of an expert."
       "Elephants?"
       The stranger's blue eyes glittered. "So this is what you have become? Dilettantes! Fops! Dandies!
Cynics! Quasi-realists!"
       "We have become all things at the End of Time," said Doctor Volospion. "Variety flourishes, if
originality does not."
       "Pah! I call you lifeless bones. But fear not. I am returned to resurrect you. I am Power. I am the
forgotten Spirit of Mankind. I am Possibility."
       "Quite so," said Doctor Volospion agreeably. "But I think, sir, that you underestimate the degree of
our sophistication."
       "We have really considered the matter quite closely, some of us," Abu Thaleb wished the stranger
to know. "We are definitely, it seems, doomed."
       "Not now! Not now!" The little man jerked his hand and fire began to roar upon Argonheart Po's
cola lake. It was a bright, unlikely red. There was heat.
       "Delightful," murmured Doctor Volospion. "But if I may demonstrate…" He turned a sapphire ring
on his right finger. Pale blue clouds formed over the lake. A light rain fell. The fire guttered. It died. "You
will see," added Doctor Volospion quickly, noting the stranger's expression, "that we enjoy a certain
amount of control over the elements." He turned another ring. The fire returned.
       "I am not here to match conjuring tricks with you, my jackal-eyed friend!" The stranger gestured
and a halo of bright flame appeared around his head. He swept his arms about and black clouds filled the
sky once more and thunder boomed again; lightning crashed. "I use my mastery merely to demonstrate
my moral purpose."
       Doctor Volospion raised a delighted hand to his mouth. "I did not realize…"
       "Well, you shall! You shall know me! I shall awaken the memory dreaming in the forgotten places of
your minds. Then, how gladly you will welcome me! For I am Salvation." He struck a pose and his high,
musical voice very nearly sang his next speech:
       "Oh, call me Satan, for I am cast down from Heaven! The teeming worlds of the multiverse have
been my domicile till now; but here I am, come back to you, at long last. You do not know me now —
but you shall know me soon. I am He for whom you have been waiting. I am the Sun Eagle. Ah, now
shall this old world blossom with my fire. For I shall be triumphant, the terrible, intolerant Master of your
Globe."
       He paused only for a second to review his audience, his head on one side. Then he filled his lungs
and continued with his litany:
       "This is my birthright, my duty, my desire. I claim the World. I claim all its denizens as my subjects. I
shall instruct you in the glories of the Spirit. You sleep now. You have forgotten how to fly on the wild
winds that blow from Heaven and from Hell, for now you cower beneath a mere breeze that is the cold
Wind of Limbo. It flattens you, deadens you, and you abase yourselves passively before it, because you
know no other wind."
       His hands settled upon his hips. "But I am the wind. I am the air and the fire to resurrect your Spirit.
You two, you bewildered men, shall be my first disciples. And you, woman, shall be my glorious
consort."
       Mavis Ming gave a little shudder and confided to Abu Thaleb: "I couldn't think of anything worse.
What a bombastic little idiot! Isn't one of you going to put him in his place?"
       "Oh, he is entertaining, you know," said Abu Thaleb tolerantly.
       "Charming," agreed Doctor Volospion. "You should be flattered, Miss Ming."
       "What? Because he hasn't seen another woman in a thousand years?"
       Doctor Volospion smiled. "You do yourself discredit."
       The stranger did not seem upset by the lack of immediate effect he had on them. He turned grave,
intense eyes upon her. Mavis Ming might have blushed. He spoke with thrilling authority, for all his
pre-pubescent pitch:
       "Beautiful and proud you may be, woman, yet you shall bend to me when the time comes. You shall
not then react with callow cynicism."
      "I think you've got rather old-fashioned ideas about women, my friend," said Miss Ming staunchly.
      "Your true soul is buried now. But I shall reveal it to you."
      The sky began to clear. A flock of transparent pteranodons sailed unsteadily overhead, fleeing the
sun. Miss Ming pretended an interest in the flying creatures. But it was plain that the stranger had her
attention.
      "I am Life," he said, "and you are Death."
      "Well…" she began, offended.
      He explained: "At this moment everything is Death that is not me."
      "I'm beginning to pity you," said Mavis Ming in an artificial voice. "It's obvious that you've been so
long in space, whatever your name is, that you've gone completely mad!" She made nervous tuggings and
pullings at her costume. "And if you're trying to scare me, or turn my stomach, or make fun of me, I can
assure you that I've dealt with much tougher customers than you in my time. All right?"
      "So," he said, in tones meant only for her, "your mind resists me. Your training resists me. Your
mother and your father and your society resist me. Perhaps even your body resists me. But your soul
does not. Your soul listens. Your soul pines for me. How many years have you refused to listen to its
promptings? How many years of discomfort, of sorrow, of depravity and degradation? How many nights
have you battled against your dreams and your true desires? Soon you shall kneel before me and know
your own power, your own strength."
      Miss Ming took a deep breath. She looked to Doctor Volospion for help, but his expression was
bland, mildly curious. Abu Thaleb seemed only embarrassed.
      "Listen, you," she said, "where I come from women have had the vote for 150 years. They've had
equal rights for almost 100. There are probably more women in administrative jobs than there are men
and more than 50 percent of all leading politicians are women, and when I left we hadn't had a big war
for ten years, and we know all about dictators, sexual chauvinists and old-fashioned seducers. I did a
History of Sexism course as part of my post-graduate studies, so I know what I'm talking about."
      He listened attentively enough to all this before replying. "You speak of Rights and Precedents,
woman. You refer to Choice and Education. But what if these are the very chains which enslave the
spirit? I offer you neither security nor responsibility — save the security of knowing your own identity and
the responsibility of maintaining it. I offer you Dignity."
      Miss Ming opened her mouth.
      "I note that you are a romantic, sir," said Doctor Volospion with some relish.
      The stranger no longer seemed aware of his presence, but continued to stare at Mavis Ming who
frowned and cast about in her troubled skull for appropriate defence. She failed and instead sought the
aid of her protector.
      "Can we go now?" she whispered to Doctor Volospion. "He might do something dangerous."
      Doctor Volospion lowered his voice only a trifle. "If my reading of our friend's character is correct,
he shares a preference with all those of his type for words and dramatic but unspecific actions. I find him
quite stimulating. You know my interests…"
      "Do not reject my gifts, woman," warned the stranger. "Others have offered you Liberty (if that is
what it is) but I offer you nothing less than yourself — your whole self."
      Miss Ming tried to bridle and, unsuccessful, turned away. "Really, Doctor Volospion," she began
urgently, "I've had enough…"
      Abu Thaleb attempted intercession. "Sir, we have few established customs, though we have
enjoyed and continue to enjoy many fashions in manners, but it would seem to me that, since you are a
guest in our Age…"
      "Guest!" The little man was astonished. "I am not your guest, sir, I am your Saviour."
      "Be that as it may…"
      "There is no more to be said. There is no question of my calling!"
      "Be that as it may, you are disturbing this lady, who is not of our time and is therefore perhaps more
sensitive to your remarks than if she were, um, indigenous to the Age. I think 'stress' is the word I seek,
though I am not too certain of how 'stress' manifests itself. Miss Ming?" He begged for illumination.
       "He's a pain in the neck, if that's what you mean," said Miss Ming boldly. "But you get used to that
here." She drew herself up.
       "As a gentleman, sir —" continued Abu Thaleb.
       "Gentleman? I have never claimed to be a 'gentleman'. Unless by that you mean I am a man — a
throbbing, ardent, lover of women — of one woman, now — of that woman!" His quivering finger
pointed.
       Miss Ming turned her back full on him and clambered into Abu Thaleb's howdah. She sat,
stiff-necked, upon the cushions, her arms folded in front of her.
       The stranger smiled almost tenderly. "Ah, she is so beautiful! So feminine! Ah!"
       "Doctor Volospion," Miss Ming's voice was flat and cold. "I should like to go home now."
       Doctor Volospion laughed.
       "Nonsense, my dear Miss Ming." He bowed a fraction to the stranger, as if to apologize. "It has
been an eternity since we entertained such a glorious guest. I am eager to hear his views. You know my
interest in ancient religions — my collection, my menagerie, my investigations — well, here we have a
genuine prophet." A deeper bow to the stranger. "A preacher who shows Li Pao up for the parsimonious
hair-splitter that he is. If we are to be berated for our sins, then let it be full-bloodedly, with threats of fire
and brimstone!"
       "I said nothing of brimstone," said the stranger.
       "Forgive me."
       Miss Ming leaned from the howdah to put her lips to Doctor Volospion's ear. "You think he's
genuine, then?"
       He stroked his chin. "Your meaning is misty, Miss Ming."
       "Oh, I give up," she said. "It's all right for everybody else, but that madman's more or less
announced his firm decision to rape me at the earliest opportunity."
       "Nonsense," objected Doctor Volospion. "He has been nothing but chivalrous."
       "It would be like being raped by a pigeon," she added. She withdrew into herself.
       Doctor Volospion's last glance in her direction was calculating but when he next addressed the
stranger he was all hospitality. "Your own introduction, sir, has been perhaps a mite vague. May I be
more specific in my presentation of myself and my friends. This lovely lady, whose beauty has
understandably made such an impression upon you, is Miss Mavis Ming. This gentleman is Abu Thaleb,
Commissar of Bengal —"
       "— and Lord of All Elephants," modestly appended the commissar.
       "— while I, your humble servant, am called Doctor Volospion. I think we share similar tastes, for I
have long studied the religions and the faiths of the past and judge myself something of a connoisseur of
Belief. You would be interested, I think, in my collection, and I would greatly value your inspection of it
for, in truth, there are few fellow-spirits in this world-weary Age of ours."
       The stranger's red lips formed a haughty smile. "I am no theologian, Doctor Volospion. At least,
only in the sense that I am, of course, All Things…"
       "Of course, of course, but —"
       "And I see you for a trickster, a poseur."
       "I assure you —"
       "I know you for a poor ghost of a creature, seeking in bad casuistry, to give a dead mind some
semblance of life. You are cold, sir, and the cruelties by means of which you attempt to warm your own
blood are petty things, the products of a niggardly imagination and some small, but ill-trained, intelligence.
Only the generous can be truly cruel for they know also what it is to be truly charitable."
       "You object to casuistry, and yet you do not disdain the use of empty paradox, I note." Doctor
Volospion remained, so it appeared, in good humour. "I am sure, sir, when we are better acquainted, you
will not be so wary of me."
       "Wary? I should be wary? Ha! If that is how you would misrepresent my nature, to comfort
yourself, then I give you full permission. But know this — in giving that permission I am allowing you to
remain in the grave when it might have been that you could have known true life again."
       "I am impressed…"
       "No more! I am your Master, whether you acknowledge it or no, whether I care or no, and that is
unquestionable. I'll waste no more energy in debate with you, manikin."
       "Manikin!" Miss Ming snorted. "That's a good one."
       Doctor Volospion put a finger on his lips. "Please, Miss Ming. I would continue this conversation."
       "After he's insulted you —"
       "He speaks his mind, that is all. He does not know our preferences for euphemism and ornament,
and so —"
       "Exactly," said Abu Thaleb, relieved. "He will come to understand our ways soon."
       "Be certain," fluted the stranger, "that it is you who will come to understand my ways. I have no
respect for customs, manners, fashions, for I am Bloom the Eternal. I am Bloom, who has experienced
All. I am Emmanuel Bloom, whom Time cannot touch, whom Space cannot suppress!"
       "A name at last," said Doctor Volospion in apparent delight. "We greet you, Mr Bloom."
       "That's funny," said Miss Ming, "You don't look Jewish."




                                                      7

In which Doctor Volospion becomes eager to offer Mr Bloom
                      his Hospitality
      Mr Emmanuel Bloom seemed for the moment to have lost interest in them. He stood upon the ramp
of his spaceship and stared beyond Argonheart Po's cola lake (still bearing a whisp or two of flame)
towards the barren horizon. He shook his head in some despair. "My poor, poor planet. What have they
made of it in my absence?"
      "Do you think we could go now?" complained Miss Ming to Doctor Volospion and Abu Thaleb. "If
you really want to see him again you could tell him where to find you." She had an inspiration. "Or invite
him to your party, Abu Thaleb, to make up for what he did to Argonheart's feast!"
      "He would be welcome, of course," said the commissar doubtfully.
      "His conversation would be refreshing, I think," said Doctor Volospion. He plucked at his ruff and
then, with a motion of a ring, disposed of it altogether. He was once again in green and silver, his cap
tight about his head, emphasizing the angularity of his white features. "There are many there who would
respond rather better than can I to the tone of his pronouncements. Werther de Goethe, for instance,
with his special yearning for Sin? Or even Jherek Carnelian, if he is still with us, with his pursuit of the
meaning of morality. Or Mongrove, who shares something of his monumental millennialism. Mongrove is
back from space, is he not?"
      "With his aliens," Abu Thaleb confirmed.
      "Well, then, perhaps you should invite him now, courteous commissar?"
      "We could tell him that the party was in his honour," suggested Abu Thaleb. "That would please
him, don't you think? If we humour him…"
      "Can't he hear us?" hissed Miss Ming.
      "I think he only listens to us when it interests him to do so," guessed Doctor Volospion. "His mind
appears on other things at present."
      "This is all very uncomfortable for me," said Mavis Ming, "though I suppose I shouldn't complain.
Not that there's a lot of point, because nobody ever listens to little Mavis. It's too much to expect, isn't it.
But mark my words, he's going to make trouble for all of us, and especially for me. We shouldn't be
wondering about inviting him to parties. We should tell him he's not welcome. We should give him his
marching orders. Tell him to leave!"
       "It is traditional to welcome all visitors to our world, Miss Ming," said Abu Thaleb. "Even the dullest
has something to offer and we, in turn, can often offer sanctuary. This Mr Bloom, while I agree with you
he seems a little deluded as to his importance to us, must have had many experiences of interest. He has
travelled, he tells us, through time and through space. He has knowledge of numerous different societies.
There will be many here who will be glad to meet him. Lord Jagged of Canaria, I am sure —"
       "Jagged is gone from us again," said Volospion somewhat sharply. "Fled, some say, back into Time
— to avoid disaster."
       "Well, there are women, too, who would delight in meeting one so passionate. My Lady Charlotina,
Mistress Christia, the Iron Orchid…"
       "They're welcome," said Mavis Ming. "More than welcome. Though what any woman would see in
the little creep I don't know."
       "Once he meets other ladies doubtless his own infatuation for you will subside," said Abu Thaleb
encouragingly. "As you say, you are probably the first woman he has seen for many a long year and he
has had no opportunity to select from all our many wonderful women one who pleases him even more
than you do at present. He is evidently a man of great passion. One might almost call it elephantine in its
grandeur."
       Miss Ming put her chin on her fist.
       There was a bang. Pensively, Mr Bloom had blown up the rest of Werther's mountains. He
continued to remain with his hands on his hips, contemplating the distance.
       "Miss Ming. As a student of history have you any knowledge of Mr Bloom?" Doctor Volospion
came and sat next to her in the howdah.
       "None," she said. "Not even a legend. He must be after my time."
       "A near-contemporary, I would have thought, judging by his dress."
       "He said himself he'd taken on someone else's appearance. Someone he'd admired."
       "Ah, yes. Another prophet, do you think?"
       "From the 19th century? Who was there? Karl Marx? Nietzsche? Wagner? Maybe he looks a bit
like Wagner. No. Someone like that, though. English? It's just not my period, Doctor Volospion. And
religion was never my strong subject. The Middle Ages were my own favourite, because people lived
such simpler lives, then. I could get quite nostalgic about the Middle Ages, even now. That's probably
why I originally started doing history. When I was a little girl you couldn't get me away from all those
stories of brave knights and fair ladies. I guess I was like a lot of kids, but I just hung on to that interest
until I went to the university, where I got more interested in the politics, well, that was Betty, really, who
was the political nut, you know. But she really had some strong ideas about politics — good ideas. She
—"
       "But you do not recognize Mr Bloom?"
       "You couldn't fail to, could you, once you'd seen him? No. Doctor Volospion, can't you send me
home on my own? If I had a power ring, even a little one, I could…"
       She had hinted to him before that if she were equipped with a power ring or two she would be less
of a nuisance to him. Few time travellers, however, were given the rings which tapped the energy of the
old cities, certainly not when, like Miss Ming, they were comparative newcomers to the End of Time. As
Doctor Volospion had explained to her before, there was a certain discipline of mind — or at least a
habit of mind — which had to be learned before they could be used. Also they were not one of the
artefacts which could be reproduced at will. There was a relatively limited number of them. Miss Ming
had never been quite convinced by Doctor Volospion's arguments against her having her own power
ring, but there was little she could do save hope that one day he would relent.
       "Regretfully…" He gestured. "Not yet, Miss Ming." It was not clear to which of her suggestions he
was referring. She allowed her disappointment to show on her plump face.
       "Hm," said Mr Bloom from above, "it is evident that the entire planet will have to be consumed so
that, from the ashes, a purer place may prosper."
       "Mr Bloom!" cried Abu Thaleb. "I would remind you, sir, that while you are a most honoured guest
to our world, you will inconvenience a great many people if you burn them up."
       Bloom blinked as he looked down at Abu Thaleb. "Oh, they will not die. I shall resurrect them."
       "They are perfectly capable of resurrecting one another, Mr Bloom. That is not my point. You see
many of us have embarked on schemes — oh, menageries, collections, creations of various kinds — and
if you were to destroy them they would be seriously disappointed. It would be the height of bad manners,
don't you think?"
       "You have already heard my opinion of manners."
       "But —"
       "It is for your own good," Bloom told him.
       "Aha! The authentic voice of the prophet!" cried Doctor Volospion. "Sir, you must be my guest!"
       "You begin to irritate me, Doctor Volospion," piped Emmanuel Bloom, "with your constant
references to me as a guest. I am not a guest. I am the rightful inheritor of this world, controller of the
destinies of all who dwell in it, sole Saviour of your souls."
       "Quite," apologized Doctor Volospion. "I should imagine, however, that your spaceship, however
grandly furnished and with whatever fine amenities, palls on you as a domicile after so many centuries.
Perhaps if you would allow me to put my own humble house at your disposal until a suitable palace — or
temple, perhaps — can be built for you, I should be greatly flattered."
       "Your feeble attempts at guile begin to irritate me, Doctor Volospion. I am Emmanuel Bloom."
       "So you have told us…"
       "I am Emmanuel Bloom and I can see into every soul."
       "Naturally. I merely…"
       "And this priestly fawning only makes me despair of you still further. If you would defy me, defy me
with some dignity."
       "Mr Bloom, I am simply attempting to make you welcome. Your ideas, your language, your
attitudes, they are all decidedly unfashionable now. It was my intention to offer you a dwelling from which
you may observe the Age at the End of Time, and make plans for its specific salvation — at your leisure."
       "My plans are simple enough. They can apply to any age. I shall destroy everything. Then I shall
create it afresh. Your identity will not only be preserved, it will be fully alive, perhaps for the first time
since you were born."
       "Most of us," Abu Thaleb wished to point out, "were not actually born at all, Mr Bloom…"
       "That is immaterial. You exist now. I shall help you find yourselves."
       "Most of us are content…"
       "You think you are content. Are you never restless? Do you never wake from slumber recalling a
dream of something lost, something finer than anything you have ever experienced before?"
       "As a matter of fact I have not slept for many a long year. The fashion died, with most people, even
before I became interested in elephants."
       "Do not seek to confuse the issue, Abu Thaleb."
       "Mr Bloom, I am confused. I have no wish to have my precious pachyderms destroyed by you. My
enthusiasm is at its height. I am sure the same can be said for at least half the population, small though it
is, of this planet."
       "I cannot heed you," said Emmanuel Bloom, feeling in the pockets of his velvet suit. "You will be
grateful when it is done."
       "At least you might canvas the opinion of a few more people, Mr Bloom." Abu Thaleb begged. "I
mean to say, for all I know most people might think the idea a splendid one! It would make a dramatic
change, at least…"
       "And besides," said Doctor Volospion, "we certainly have the means to resist you, Mr Bloom,
should you begin seriously to discommode us."
       Emmanuel Bloom began to stride up the ramp of his spaceship. "I am weary of all this. Woman, do
you come with me now?"
       Miss Ming maintained silence.
       "Please reconsider, Mr Bloom," Doctor Volospion said spiritedly, "as my guest you would share the
roof with many great philosophers and prophets, with messiahs and reformers of every description."
      "It sounds," piped Mr Bloom, "like Hell."
      "And there are things you should see. Souvenirs of a million faiths. Miraculous artefacts of every
kind."
      Emmanuel Bloom seemed mildly interested. "Eh?"
      "Magical swords, relics, supernatural stones — my collection is justly famous."
      Emmanuel Bloom continued on his way.
      "You would, as well as enjoying this fabulous company, be sharing the same roof as Miss Ming,
who is another guest of mine," said Doctor Volospion.
      "Miss Ming comes with me. Now."
      "Oh, no I don't," exclaimed Miss Ming.
      "What?" Emmanuel Bloom paused again.
      "Miss Ming stays with me," said Doctor Volospion. "If you wish to visit her, you may visit her at my
dwelling."
      "Oh, don't bother with him!" said Mavis Ming.
      "You will come to me, in time, Mavis Ming," said Emmanuel Bloom.
      "That's the funniest thing I've ever heard," she told him. She said to Doctor Volospion: "It's a bit
insensitive of you, isn't it, Doctor Volospion, to use me as bait? Why do you want him so badly?"
      Doctor Volospion ignored the question.
      "You would be very comfortable at Castle Volospion," he told Mr Bloom. "Everything you could
desire — food, wine, luxurious furniture, women, boys, any animal of your taste…"
      "I need no luxuries and I desire only one woman. She shall be mine soon enough."
      "It would make Miss Ming happy, I am sure, if you became my g— if you used my house."
      "You are determined, I think, to misunderstand my mission upon this world. I have come to re-fire
the Earth, as its Leader and its Hero. To restore Love and Madness and Idealism to their proper
eminence. To infuse your blood with the stuff that makes it race, that makes the heart beat and the head
swim! Look about you, manikin, and tell me if you see any heroes. You no longer have heroes — and
you have such paltry villains!"
      "It does not seem reasonable of you to judge by us three alone," said Abu Thaleb.
      "Three's enough. Enough to tell the general condition of the whole. Your society is revealed in your
language, your gestures, your costumes, your landscapes! Oh, how sad, how ruined, how unfulfilled you
are! Ah, how you must have longed, in your secret thoughts, those thoughts hidden even from yourselves,
for me to return. And look now — you still do not realize it."
      He smiled benevolently down on them, standing near the entrance to his ship.
      "But that realization shall dawn anon, be sure of that. You ask me to live in one of your houses — in
a tomb, I say. And could I bear to leave my ship behind? My much-named ship, the Golden Hind? Or
Firedrake call her, Virgin Flame — Pi-meson or the Magdelaine — sailing out of Carthage, Tyre, Old
Bristol or Bombay: Captain Emmanuel Bloom, late of Jerusalem, founder of the Mayan faith, builder of
pyramids, called Ra or Raleigh, dependent on your taste — Kubla Khan or Prester John, Baldur,
Mithras, Zoroaster — the Sun's Fool, for I bring you Flame in which to drown! I am blooming Bloom,
blunderer through the million planes — I am Bloom, the booming drum of destiny. I am Bloom — the
Fireclown! Aha! Now you know me!"
      The three faces stared blankly up.
      He leaned with his hand against the entrance to the airlock, his head on his shoulder, his eye beady
and intelligent. "Eh?"
      Doctor Volospion remained uncharacteristically placatory. "Perhaps you could enlighten us over a
meal? You must be hungry. We can offer the choicest foods to suit the most demanding of tastes. Please,
Mr Bloom, I ask again that you reconsider…"
      "No."
      "You feel I have misinterpreted you, I know. But I am an earnest student. I remain a mite confused.
Your penchant for metaphor…"
      The Fireclown clapped a tiny hand to a tiny knee. He frowned at Doctor Volospion. "One
metaphor is worth a million of your euphemisms, Doctor Volospion. I have problems to consider and
must seek solitude. I have poetry to write — or to recall — I forget which — and need time for
meditation. I should accept your invitation for it is my duty to broaden your mind — but that duty can
wait."
      He turned again to regard the woman.
      "You'll join me now, Miss Ming?"
      His huge blue eyes flashed suddenly with an intelligence, a humour, which shocked her completely
from her hard-won composure.
      "What?" The response was mindless.
      He stretched out a hand. "Come with me now. I offer you pain and knowledge, lust and freedom.
Hm?"
      She began to rise, as if mesmerized. She seemed to be shivering. Then she sat down. "Certainly
not!"
      Emmanuel Bloom laughed. "You'll come." He returned his attention to Doctor Volospion. "And I
would advise you, sir, to save your breath in this meaningless and puny Temptation. Your hatred of me is
patent, whether you admit it to yourself or not. I would warn you to cease your irritation."
      "You still refuse to believe my good faith, Mr Bloom. So be it." Doctor Volospion bowed low.
      The ramp was withdrawn. The airlock shut.
      No further sound escaped the ship.




                                                      8

        In which Miss Ming begins to feel a certain curiosity
           concerning the intentions of Emmanuel Bloom
      If anyone at the End of Time expected Mr Bloom to begin immediately to exercise his particular
plans for bringing Salvation to the planet they were to be disappointed, for his extravagant spaceship
(which the fashion of the moment declared to be in hideous taste) remained where it landed and
Emmanuel Bloom, the Fireclown, did not re-emerge. A few sightseers came to view the ship — the usual
sensation-seekers like the Duke of Queens (who wanted to put the ship at once into his collection of
ancient flying machines), My Lady Charlotina of Below the Lake, O'Kala Incarnadine, Sweet Orb Mace,
the Iron Orchid, Bishop Castle and their various followers, imitators and hangers-on — but in spite of all
sorts of hallooings, bangings, catcalls, lettings-off of fireworks, obscene displays (on the part of the ladies
who were curious to see what Miss Ming's most ardent suitor really looked like) and the rest, the great
Saviour of Mankind refused to reveal himself; nothing occurred which could be interpreted as action on
the Fireclown's part. No fires swept the Earth, no thunders or lightnings broke the calm of the skies, there
was no destruction of artefacts nor any further demolition of landscapes. Indeed, it was singularly
peaceful, even for the End of Time, and certain people became almost resentful of Mr Bloom's refusal to
attempt, at least, a miracle or two.
      "Doctor Volospion exaggerated!" pronounced My Lady Charlotina, all in blue and sage, the colours
of dreams, as she lunched on a green and recently constructed hillside overlooking the ship (it now stood
in clouds of daisies, a memento of the Duke of Queens' pastoral phase which had lasted scarcely the
equivalent of an ancient Earth summer) and raised a turnip (another memento) to her ethereal lips. "You
know his obsessions, my dear O'Kala. His taste for monks and gurus and the like."
      O'Kala Incarnadine, currently a gigantic fieldmouse, nibbled at the lemon he held in both front paws.
"I am not familiar with the creatures," he said.
      "They are not creatures, exactly. They are a kind of person. Lord Jagged was good enough to
inform me about them, although, of course, I have forgotten most of what he said. My point is, O'Kala,
that Doctor Volospion wished this Mr Bloom to be like a guru and so interpreted his words
accordingly."
      "But Miss Ming confirmed…"
      "Miss Ming!"
      O'Kala shrugged his mousy shoulders in assent.
      "Miss Ming's bias was blatant. Who could express such excessive ardour of anyone, let alone Miss
Ming?" My Lady Charlotina wiped the white juice of the turnip from her chin.
      "Jherek — he pursues his Amelia with much the same enthusiasm."
      "Amelia is an Ideal — she is slender, beautiful, unattainable — everything an Ideal should be. There
is nothing unseemly in Jherek's passion for such a woman." My Lady Charlotina was unaware of anything
contradictory in her remarks. After her brief experience in the Dawn Age she had developed a taste for
propriety which had not yet altogether vanished.
      "In certain guises," timidly offered O'Kala, "I have lusted for Miss Ming myself, so…"
      "That is quite different. But this Mr Bloom is a man."
      "Abu Thaleb's tale was not dissimilar to Doctor Volospion's."
      "Abu Thaleb is impressionable. On elephants he is unequalled, but he is no expert on prophets."
      "Is anyone?"
      "Lord Jagged. That is why Doctor Volospion apes him. You know of the great rivalry Volospion
feels for Lord Jagged, surely? For some reason, he identifies with Jagged. Once he used to emulate him
in everything, or sought to. Jagged showed no interest. Gave no praise. Since then — oh, so long ago my
memory barely grants me the bones of it — Doctor Volospion has set himself up as a sort of
contra-Jagged. There are rumours — no more than that, for you know how secretive Jagged can be —
rumours of a sexual desire which flourished between them for a while, until Jagged tired of it. Now that
Lord Jagged has disappeared, I suspect that Doctor Volospion would take his place in our society, for
Jagged has the knack of making us all curious about his activities. You have my opinion in a nutshell —
Volospion makes much of this Bloom in an effort to pique our interest, to gossip about him in lieu of
Jagged."
      O'Kala Incarnadine wiped his whiskers. "Then he has succeeded."
      "For the moment, I grant you, but unsubtly. It will not last."
      My Lady Charlotina sighed and sucked at a celery stalk, letting her gaze wander to the scarlet
spaceship. "Our curiosity is still with Jagged. Where can he be? This," she indicated the vessel with her
vegetable, "is no more than a diversion."
      "It would be amusing, though, if Mr Bloom did begin to lay waste the world."
      "There is no logic to it. The world will be finished soon enough, as everyone knows. The very
universe in which our planet hangs is on the point of vanishing forever. Mr Bloom has brought his
salvation at altogether the wrong moment and at a time when salvation itself is unfashionable, even as a
topic of conversation."
      "The reasons are obvious…" began O'Kala, in a rare and philosophical mood, "… for who would
wish to discuss such matters, now that we know —?"
      "Quite." My Lady Charlotina waved. An air car was approaching. It was the shape of a great
winged man, its bronze head flashing in the red light of the sun, its blind eyes glaring, its twisted mouth
roaring as if in agony. The Duke of Queens had modelled his latest car after some image recently
discovered by him in one of the rotting cities.
      The car landed nearby and from it trooped many of My Lady Charlotina's most intimate friends.
From his saddle behind the head of the winged man the Duke of Queens raised his hand in a salute. He
had on an ancient astronaut's jacket, in silver-tipped black fur, puffed pantaloons of mauve and ivory
stripes, knee-boots of orange lurex hide, a broad-brimmed hat of panda ears, all sewn together in the
most fanciful way.
      "My Lady Charlotina! We saw you and had to greet you. We are on our way to enjoy the new
boys Florence Fawkes had made for her latest entertainment. Will you come with us?"
       "Perhaps, but boys…" She lifted the corner of her mouth.
       My Lady Charlotina noted that Doctor Volospion and Mavis Ming were among those pouring from
the body of the winged man. She greeted Sweet Orb Mace with a small kiss, laid a sincere hand upon
the arm of Bishop Castle, winked at Mistress Christia, and smiled charmingly at Miss Ming.
       "Aha! The beauty for whom Mr Bloom crossed galaxies. Miss Ming, you are the focus of all our
envy!"
       "Have you seen Mr Bloom?" asked Miss Ming.
       "Not yet, not yet."
       "Then wait before you envy me," she said.
       Doctor Volospion's cunning eye glittered. "There is nothing more certain to attract the attention of a
lady to a gentleman, even in these weary times of ours than the passion of that gentleman for another
lady."
       "How perceptive you are, dear Doctor Volospion! It must be admitted. In fact, I believe I already
admitted it when I first greeted you."
       Doctor Volospion bowed his head.
       "You are looking at your best," she continued, for it was true. "You are always elegant Doctor
Volospion." He had on a long, full-sleeved robe of bottle-green, trimmed with mellow gold, the neck
high, to frame his sharp face, a matching tight-fitting cap upon his head, buttoned beneath the pointed
chin.
       "You are kind, My Lady Charlotina."
       "Ever truthful, Doctor Volospion." She gave her attention to Miss Ming's white frills. "And this
dress. You must feel so much younger in it."
       "Much," agreed Miss Ming. "How clever of you to understand what it was to be like me! How
many hundreds of years can it have been?"
       "More than that, Miss Ming. Thousands, almost certainly. I see, at any rate, that your would-be
ravisher has yet to come out of his little lair again."
       "He can stay there forever as far as I'm concerned."
       "I have made one or two attempts to rouse him," said Doctor Volospion. "I sought to shift the ship,
too, but it is protected now by a singularly intractable force-field. Nothing I possess can dissipate that
field."
       "So he does have the power he boasted of, eh?" Bishop Castle in his familiar tall tête which cast a
shadow over half the company, looked without much interest at the spaceship.
       "Apparently," said Doctor Volospion.
       "But why doesn't he use it?" The Duke of Queens joined them. "Has he perished in there, do you
think. In his own mad flames?"
       "We should have smelled something, at least," said O'Kala Incarnadine.
       "Well," Sweet Orb Mace was now a pretty blonde in a black sari, "you would have smelled
something, O'Kala, with your nose."
       O'Kala wrinkled his current one.
       "He's playing cat and mouse with me, that's what I think," said Mavis Ming with a nervous glance at
the vessel. "Oh, I'm sorry, O'Kala, I didn't mean to suggest…"
       O'Kala Incarnadine made a toothy grin. "I pity any ordinary cat who met a mouse like me!"
       "He's hoping I'll give in and go to him. That's typical of some men, isn't it? Well I had enough of
crawling with Donny Stevens. Never again I told my friend Betty. And never again it was!"
       "But you have been tempted, eh?" My Lady Charlotina became intimate.
       "Not once."
       My Lady Charlotina let disappointment show.
       "I wish," said Mavis Ming, "that he'd either start something or else just go away. It must have been
weeks and weeks he's been waiting there! It's getting on my nerves, you know."
       "Of course, it must be, my dear," said Sweet Orb Mace.
      "Well," the Duke of Queens reminded them all, "Florence Fawkes awaits us. Will you come My
Lady Charlotina? O'Kala?"
      "I have a project," said My Lady Charlotina, by way of an excuse, "to finish. Of course it is very
hard to tell if it is properly finished or not. An invisible city populated with invisible androids. You must
come and feel it soon."
      "A lovely notion," said Bishop Castle. "Are the androids of all sexes?"
      "All."
      "And is it possible to —?"
      "Absolutely possible."
      "It would be interesting —"
      "It is."
      "Aha!" Bishop Castle tilted his tête. "Then I look forward to visiting you at the earliest chance, My
Lady Charlotina. What entertainments you do invent for us!" He bowed, almost toppled by his headgear.
      The Duke of Queens had resumed his saddle. "All aboard!" he cried enthusiastically.
      It was then that there came a squeak from the space vessel below. The airlock opened. All heads
turned.
      Emmanuel Bloom's bright blue eyes regarded them. His high-pitched voice drifted up to them.
      "So you have come to me," he said.
      "I?" said the Duke of Queens in astonishment.
      "I have waited," Emmanuel Bloom said, "for you, Miss Ming. So that you may share my joy."
      Miss Ming drew back into the main part of the gathering. "I was only passing…" she began.
      "Come." He extended a stiff hand from the interior of the ship. "Come."
      "Certainly not!" She hid behind Doctor Volospion.
      "So, the one with the jackal eyes holds you still. And against your will, I am sure."
      "Nothing of the sort! Doctor Volospion is my host, that is all."
      "You are too afraid to tell me the truth."
      "She speaks the truth, sir," said Volospion in an off-hand tone. "She is free to come and go from my
house as she pleases."
      "Some pathetic enchantment, no doubt, keeps her there. Well, woman, never fear. The moment I
know that you need me I shall rescue you, wherever you may be hidden."
      "I don't need rescuing," declared Miss Ming.
      "Oh, but you do. So badly do you need it that you dare not tell yourself!"
      My Lady Charlotina cried: "Excuse me, sir, for intruding, but we were wondering if your plans for
the destruction of the world were completely formulated. I, for one, would appreciate a little notice."
      "My meditations are not yet completed," he told her. He still stared at Miss Ming. "Will you come to
me now?"
      "Never!"
      "Remember my oath."
      Doctor Volospion stepped forward. "I would remind you, sir, that this lady is under my protection.
Should you make any further attempt to annoy her I must warn you that I shall defend her to the death!"
      Miss Ming was taken aback by this sudden about-face. "Oh, Doctor Volospion! How noble!"
      "What's this?" said Bloom, blinking rapidly. "More posturing?"
      "I give fair warning, that is all."
      Doctor Volospion folded his arms across his chest and stared full into the eyes of Emmanuel Bloom.
      Bloom remained unimpressed. "So you do keep her prisoner, as I suspected. She believes she has
her liberty, but you know better!"
      "I shall accept no more insults." Doctor Volospion lifted his chin in defiance.
      "This is not mere braggadocio, I can tell. It is calculated. But what do you plan?"
      "Any more of this, sir," said Doctor Volospion in ringing tones, "and I shall have to demand
satisfaction of you."
      The Fireclown laughed. "I shall free the woman soon."
     The airlock shut with a click.
     "How extraordinary!" murmured My Lady Charlotina. "How exceptional of you, Doctor Volospion!
Miss Ming must feel quite moved by your defence of her."
     "I am, I am." Miss Ming's small eyes were shining. "Doctor Volospion. I never knew…"
     Doctor Volospion strode for the air car. "Let us leave this wretched place."
     Miss Ming tripped behind him. It was as if she had found her True Knight at last.




                                                      9

   In which the Fireclown brings some small Salvation to the
                         End of Time
       It was, as it happened, My Lady Charlotina who first experienced the fiery wrath of Emmanuel
Bloom.
       Tiring (for reasons described elsewhere) of her apartments under Lake Billy the Kid, she had begun
a new palace which was to be constructed in an arrangement of clouds above the site of the lake, so that
it hovered over the water, reflecting both this and the sun. It was to be primarily white but with some
other pale colours here and there, perhaps for flanking towers. She had spent considerable thought upon
the palace and it was still by no means complete, for My Lady Charlotina was not one of those who can
create a conception whole with the mere twist of a power ring; she must consider, she must alter, she
must build piece by piece. Thus, in the clouds over Lake Billy the Kid, there were half-raised towers,
towers without tops, domes with spires and domes that were turreted, there were gaps where halls had
been, there were whole patches of space representing apartments which, at a whim, she had returned to
their original particles.
       Emerging from Lake Billy the Kid, after resting, My Lady Charlotina stood upon the shore,
surrounded by comfortable oaks and cypresses, and arranged the mist upon the water into more
satisfactory configurations, making it drift so high that it mingled with the clouds on which her new palace
was settled, and she was about to eradicate a tower, which offended, now, her sense of symmetry, when
there came a loud roaring sound and the whole edifice burst into flame.
       My Lady Charlotina gasped with indignation. Her first thought was that one of her friends had
misjudged an experiment and accidentally set fire to her palace, but she soon guessed the true cause of
the blaze.
       "The lunatic incendiary!" she cried, and she flung herself into the sky, not to go to her crackling
palace (which was beyond salvaging) but to look down upon the world and discover the whereabouts of
the Fireclown.
       He was not a mile from the conflagration, standing on top of a great plinth meant to support a statue
of himself which the Duke of Queens had never bothered to complete. He wore his black velvet, his bow
tie, his shirt with its ruffles. He stood upon the plinth like a parrot upon its pedestal, shifting from side to
side and flapping his arms at his sides as he studied his handiwork. He did not see My Lady Charlotina
as, in golden gauze, she fluttered down towards him.
       She paused, to hover a few feet above his head, she waited, watching him, until he became aware
of her presence. She listened to him as he spoke to himself.
       "Quite good. A fitting symbol. It will look well in any legends, I think. It is best for the first few
miracles to be spectacular and not directed at individuals. I should not leave it too late, however, before
rescuing the remains of any residents and resurrecting them."
       She could not contain herself.
       "I, sir, might have been the only resident of that castle in the clouds. Happily I had not arrived at it
before you began your fire-raising!"
      His little head jerked here and there. At last he looked up. "So!"
      "The palace was to be my new home, Mr Bloom. It was impolite of you to destroy it."
      "There were no inhabitants?"
      "Not yet."
      "Well, then, I shall be on my way."
      "You make no attempt to apologize?"
      Mr Bloom was amused. "I can scarcely apologize for something so calculating. You ask me to lie? I
am the Fireclown. Why should I lie?"
      She was speechless. Mr Bloom began to climb down a ladder he placed against the plinth. "I bid
you good morning, madam."
      "Good morning?"
      "Or good afternoon — you keep no proper hours on this planet at all. It is hard to know. That will
be changed," he smiled, "in Time."
      "Mr Bloom, your purposes here are quite without point. Are we to be impressed by such displays?"
She waved her hand towards the blazing palace. Her clouds had turned brown at the edges. "Time, Mr
Bloom, is not what it was. Times, Mr Bloom, have changed since those primitive Dawn Ages when such
'miracles' might have provoked interest, even surprise, in the inhabitants of this world. Watch!" She
turned a power ring. The fire vanished. An entire, if uninspired, fairy palace glittered again in the pristine
clouds.
      "Hum," said Mr Bloom, still on his ladder. He began to climb back to the top of the plinth. "I see.
So Volospion is not the only conjurer here."
      "We all have that power. Or most of us. It is our birthright."
      "Birthright? What of my birthright?"
      "You have one?"
      "It is the world. I explained to Doctor Volospion, madam…" He was aggrieved. "Did he speak to
no-one of my mission here?"
      "He told us what you had said, yes."
      "And you are not yet spiritually prepared, it seems. I left you plenty of time for contemplation of
your fate. It is the accepted method, where Salvation is to be achieved."
      "We have no need of Salvation, Mr Bloom. We are immortal, we control the universe — what's left
of it — we are, most of us, without fear (if I understand the term properly)." My Lady Charlotina was
making an untypical effort to meet Emmanuel Bloom halfway. It was probably because she had no strong
wish to be at odds with him, since she was curious to know better the man who courted Miss Ming with
such determination. "Really, Mr Bloom, you have arrived too late. Even a few hundred years ago, before
we heard of the dissolution of the universe, there might have been some enjoyment for all, but not now.
Not now, Mr Bloom."
      "Hum." He frowned. He lifted a hand to his face and appeared to peck at his cuff. "But I have no
other rôle, you see. I am a Saviour. It is all I can do."
      "Must you save a whole world? Aren't there a few individuals you could concentrate on?"
      "It hardly seems worthwhile. I am, to be more specific, a World Saviour — a Saver of Worlds. I
have ranged the multiverse saving them. From all sorts of things, physical and spiritual. And I always
leave the places I have saved spiritually regenerated. Ask any of them. They will all tell you the same. I
am loved throughout the teeming dimensions."
      "Then perhaps you could find another world…"
      "No, this is the last. I left it long ago, promising that I would return and save it, as my final action."
      "Well, you are too late."
      "Really, madam, I cannot take your word for it. I am the greatest authority on such matters in the
universe, to say the least. I am the Champion Eternal, Hero of a million legends. When Law battles
Chaos, I am always called. When civilizations are threatened with total extermination, it is to me that they
turn for rescue. And when decadence and despair rule an otherwise secure and prosperous world, it is
for Emmanuel Bloom, the Fireclown, Time's Jester, that they yearn. And I come."
      "But we did not call you, we require no rescuing. We are not yearning, I assure you, even a
fraction."
      "Miss Ming is yearning."
      "Miss Ming's yearning is hardly spiritual."
      "So you think. I know better."
      "Well, then, I'll grant you that Miss Ming is yearning. But I am not yearning. Doctor Volospion is
incapable, I am sure, of yearning. Yearning, all in all, Mr Bloom, is extinct in this Age."
      "Forgotten, hidden, unheeded, but I know it is there. I know. A deep, unadmitted sadness. A
demand for Romance. A pining for Ideals."
      "We take up Romance from time to time, and we have an interest, on occasion, in Ideals — but
these are passing enthusiasms, Mr Bloom. Even those of us most obsessed with such things show no
particular misery when circumstances or changing fashion require that they be dropped."
      "How shallow are those who dwell here now! All, that is, save Mavis Ming."
      "Some think her the shallowest of us all." My Lady Charlotina regretted her spite, for she did not
wish to seem malicious in Mr Bloom's eyes.
      "It is often the case," he said, "with those who cannot see beyond flesh and into the soul."
      "I doubt if there are many souls remaining among us," said My Lady Charlotina. "Since we are
almost every one of us self-made creatures. There is even some speculation that we are not human at all,
but sophisticated androids."
      "It could be the explanation," he mused.
      "I hope you will not be wholly frustrated," she said sympathetically, watching him climb down his
ladder. "I can imagine what it is like to possess only one rôle."
      She settled, like a butterfly, upon the vacated plinth.
      He reached the ground and peered up at her, arms held stiffly, as usual, by his side, red hair flaring.
"I assure you, madam," he piped, "that I am not in the least impressed by what you have told me."
      "But I speak the truth."
      "Unlike Volospion, who lies, lies, lies. I agree that you believe, like Miss Ming, that you speak the
truth. But I see decadence. And where there is decadence there is misery. And where there is misery
then must come the Fireclown, to bring laughter, joy, terror, to banish all anxieties."
      "Your logic is, I fear, obsolete, Mr Bloom. There is no misery here, to speak of. And," she added,
"there is no joy. Instead, we have a comfortable balance. It enables us to contemplate our own end with
a certain grace."
      "Hum."
      "Surely this equilibrium is what all human morality and philosophy has striven for over the millennia?"
she said, seating herself on the edge of the plinth and arranging her gold gauze about her legs. "Would
you set the see-saw swinging again?"
      He frowned. "No heights or depths here, eh?"
      "For most of us, no."
      "No Heaven and Hell?"
      "Only those we create for our own amusement."
      "No Terror and no Ecstasy?"
      "Scarcely a scrap."
      "How can you bear it?"
      "It is the ultimate achievement of our race. We enjoy it."
      "Are there none who —?"
      "Those time travellers, space travellers, a few who have induced special anachronistic tendencies in
themselves. Yes, there are some who might respond to you. A good few of them are not with us at
present, however. The Iron Orchid's little son, Jherek Carnelian, his great love, Amelia Underwood, his
mentor, Lord Jagged of Canaria, and perhaps a few others, one loses track. Doctor Volospion?
Perhaps, for it is rumoured that he is not of this Age at all. Li Pao and various aliens who have visited us
and stayed … Yes, from these you could derive a certain satisfaction. Some would undoubtably
welcome you, for one reason or another…"
       "It is usually for one reason or another," said the Fireclown frankly. "Men see me as many things. It
is because I am many things."
       "And all of them excellent, I am sure."
       "But I must do what I must do," he said. "It is all I know. For I am Bloom the Destroyer, Bloom the
Builder, Bloom the Bringer of Brightness, Bloom who Blooms Forever! And my mission is to save you
all."
       "I thought we had at least removed ourselves from generalities, Mr Bloom," she said a little
chidingly.
       He turned away, disconsolately so My Lady Charlotina thought.
       "Generalities, madam, are all I deal in. They are my stock-in-trade. It is the gift I bring — to remove
petty anxieties, momentary considerations, and to replace them with grandeur, with huge, simple, glorious
Ideals."
       "It is not a simple problem," she said. "I can see that."
       "It must be a simple problem!" he complained. "All problems are simple. All!"
       He disappeared into the soft trees surrounding the plinth. She heard his voice muttering for some
while, but he made no formal farewell, for he was too much lost in his own concerns. A short time later
she saw a distant tree burst into flame and subside almost at once. She saw a rather feeble bolt of
lightning crash and split a trunk. Then he was gone away.
       My Lady Charlotina remained on the plinth, for she was enjoying a rare sense of melancholy and
was reluctant to let the mood pass.




                                                    10

In which the Fireclown attempts to deny any suggestion so far
               made that he is an Anachronism
      My Lady Charlotina's words had failed, as was soon to be shown, to convince Mr Bloom. Yet
there was something pathetic to his acts of destruction, something almost sad about the way he
demolished the Duke of Queens' City of Tulips (each dwelling a separate flower) or laid waste Florence
Fawkes' delightful little Sodom with all its inhabitants, including Florence Fawkes who was never, by an
oversight, resurrected. It was in a half-abstracted mood that he brought a rain of molten lava to disrupt
the party which Bishop Castle was giving for moody Werther de Goethe (and which, as it happened, was
received with approval by all concerned, since Werther was one of the few to appreciate the Fireclown's
point of view and died screaming of repentance and the like — though when he was resurrected almost
immediately he did complain that the consistency of the lava was not all that it might have been — too
lumpy, he thought). The Fireclown rarely appeared personally on any of these occasions. He seemed to
have lost the will to enjoy intercourse with his fellows. Moreover there was scarcely anyone who found
him very entertaining after the first demolition or two, largely because his wrath always took exactly the
same form. Werther de Goethe sought him out and enthused. He found, he said, Mr Bloom deeply
refreshing, and he offered himself as an acolyte. Mr Bloom had informed him that he would let Werther
know when acolytes were needed, if at all. Lord Mongrove also visited the Fireclown, hoping for
conversation, but the Fireclown told him frankly that his talk was depressing. My Lady Charlotina visited
him, too, and came away refusing to tell anyone what had passed between herself and Mr Bloom, though
she seemed upset. And when Mistress Christia followed close in the footsteps of her friend and was also
rebuffed, Mr Bloom told her sombrely that he waited for one woman and one alone, the beautiful Mavis
Ming.
      Upon hearing this, Miss Ming shuddered and suggested that someone destroy the Fireclown before
he did any more damage to the world.
      If it had not been for the immense and unshakeable force-field around the Fireclown's ship there is
no doubt that some of the denizens at the End of Time would have at least made an attempt to halt the
Fireclown's inconveniencing activities. It was a type unfamiliar even to the rotting cities, who did their best
to analyse it and produce a formula for coping with it, but failed, forgetting the purpose of half their
experiments before they were completed and drawing no conclusions from those they did complete, for
the same reason. In most cases they took a childish delight in the more spectacular effects of their
experiments and would play with the energies they had created until growing tired and pettish and
refusing to help any further.
      The Fireclown had been unable to bring quite the holocaust he had promised, for things were rebuilt
as soon as he had destroyed them, he had at least become a large flea upon the flank of society,
wrecking carefully planned picnics, entertainments, artistic creations and games, so that precautions had
to taken against him which spoiled the general effect intended. Force-fields had to be produced to
protect property for the first time in untold thousands of years and even the Duke of Queens, that most
charitable of immortals, agreed that his ordinary enjoyment of life was being detrimentally influenced by
Mr Bloom, particularly since the destruction of his menagerie, the resurrection of which had greatly
discommoded him.
      There came such a twittering of protest as had never been heard at the End of Time and plans were
discussed interminably for the ridding of the world of the pest, deputations were sent to his ship and were
ignored, polite notes left at his airlock's entrance were either burned on the spot or allowed to drift away
on the wind.
      "It is quite ridiculous," said My Lady Charlotina, "that this puny prophet should be allowed to figure
so largely in our lives. If only Lord Jagged were here, he would surely find a solution."
      She spoke spitefully, for she knew that Doctor Volospion was in earshot. They were both attending
the same reception, given on Sweet Orb Mace's new lawns which surrounded his mansion, modelled on
one of the baroque juvenile slaughter houses of the late 200,006 century. From within sounded the most
authentic screams, causing all to compliment Sweet Orb Mace on an unprecedented, for her, effort of
imagination.
      "Lord Jagged has undoubtably found that his interests are not best served by remaining at the End
of Time," said Doctor Volospion from behind her.
      She pretended surprise. "How do you do, Doctor Volospion?" She inspected his costume —
another long sleeved robe, this one of maroon and white. "Hm."
      "I am well, My Lady Charlotina."
      "The Fireclown has made no attack upon you, yet? That is strange. Of all of us, it is you whom he
actually appears to dislike."
      Doctor Volospion lowered his eyes and smiled. "He would not harm Miss Ming, my guest."
      "Of course!"
      She swept silky skirts of brown and blue about her and made to move on, but Volospion stayed
her. "I gather there has been much debate about this Fireclown."
      "Far too much."
      "He would be a marvellous prize for my menagerie."
      "So that is why he mistrusts you!"
      "I think not. It is because my logic defeats him."
      "I did not know."
      "Yes. I have probably had the longest debate of anyone at the End of Time with Bloom. He found
that he could not best me in argument. It is sheer revenge, the rest. Or so I suspect."
      "Aha?" My Lady Charlotina turned her fine and scented head so that she could smile pleasantly
upon the Duke of Queens, strutting past in living koalas. "Then surely you can conceive a means of halting
his activities, Doctor Volospion?"
      "I believe that I have done so, madam."
      She laughed, almost rudely. "But you decide to keep it to yourself."
      "The Fireclown has a certain sensitivity. For all I know he has the means to overhear us."
      "I should not have thought that, temperamentally, he was an ordinary eavesdropper."
      "But I feel, nonetheless, that I should be cautious."
      "So you'll not illuminate me?"
      "To my regret."
      "Well, I wish you luck with your plan, Doctor Volospion." She looked here and there. "Where is
your guest, the Fireclown's quarry? Where is Miss Ming?"
      He expressed secret glee. "Not here."
      "Not here? She travels to meet her suitor at last?"
      "No. On the contrary…"
      "Then what?" My Lady Charlotina expressed cool impatience.
      "Wait," said Doctor Volospion. "I protect her, as I promised. I am her True Knight. You heard me
called that. Well I am doing my duty, My Lady Charlotina."
      "You are vague, Doctor Volospion."
      "Oh, madam, recall that encounter when we stood upon the cliff above Mr Bloom's ship!"
      She drew her beautiful brows together. "You acted uncharacteristically, as I remember."
      "You thought so."
      "Oh," she was again impatient, "yes, yes…"
      "Mr Bloom noticed, do you think?"
      "He remarked on it, did he not?"
      Doctor Volospion brought his hands together at his groin, his maroon and white sleeves swirling. He
had an expression upon his pale, ascetic features of extreme self-satisfaction. "Miss Ming," he said, "is
safe in my castle. A force-field, quite as strong as the Fireclown's, surrounds it. For her own good, she
cannot leave its confines."
      "You have locked her up?"
      "For her own good. She agreed, for she fears the Fireclown greatly. I merely pointed out to her that
it was the best way of ensuring that she would never encounter him."
      "In your menagerie?"
      "She is comfortable, secure and, doubtless, happy," said Doctor Volospion.
      "True Knight, say you? Sorcerer, more accurately!" My Lady Charlotina for the first time showed
admiration of Doctor Volospion's cunning. "I see! Excellent!"
      Doctor Volospion's thin smile was almost joyous. His cold eyes sparkled. "I shall show you, I think,
that I am no mere shadow of Jagged."
      "Did anyone suggest…?"
      "If anyone did suggest such a thing, he shall be proved in error."
      She pursed her lips and looked at first one of her feet and then the other. "If the plan works…"
      "It will work. The art of conflict is to turn the antagonist's own strengths against him and to draw out
his weaknesses."
      "It is one interpretation of the art. There have been so many, down all these millions of days."
      "You shall see, madam."
      "The Fireclown knows what you have done?"
      "He has already accused me of it."
      "Well, you shall have the gratitude of each of us if you succeed, Doctor Volospion."
      "It is all I wish."
      The ground shook. They both turned, to see a magnificent pink pachyderm lumbering towards
them. The beast bore a swaying howdah in which were seated both Abu Thaleb and Argonheart Po.
      Abu Thaleb, in quilted silks of rose and sable, leaned down to greet them. "My Lady Charlotina! I
see music! And my old friend, Volospion. It has been so long…"
      "I will leave you to this reunion," murmured My Lady Charlotina, and with a curtsy to the
Commissar of Bengal she departed.
      "Have you been all this time in your castle, Volospion?" asked Abu Thaleb. "We have not met since
that time when we were all three together, Argonheart, you and I, when Mr Bloom's ship had first
landed. I have looked for you at many a gathering."
      "My attention, for my sins, has been much taken up with our current problem," said Doctor
Volospion.
      "Ah, if only there were a solution," rumbled Argonheart Po. "We should have realized, when my
dinosaurs were incinerated…"
      "It was the moment to act, of course," agreed Doctor Volospion. His neck grew stiff with craning
and he lowered his head.
      "It needs only Miss Ming," said Abu Thaleb, lowering himself over the side of the howdah and
beginning to descend by means of a golden rope-ladder the side of his great beast, "to complete the
original quartet."
      "She cannot be with us. She remains in safety in my castle."
      "Probably wise." Abu Thaleb reached the ground. He signed for Argonheart Po that his way was
now clear. The monstrous chef heaved his bulk gingerly to the edge and put a tentative foot upon a
golden rung. Doctor Volospion watched with some fascination as the corpulent figure, swathed in white,
came down the pink expanse.
      "It is my duty to protect the lady from any danger," Doctor Volospion said with a certain semblance
of piety.
      "She must be very much pleased by your thoughtfulness. She is so lacking in inner tranquillity that
the trappings of security, physical and tactile, must mean much to her."
      "I think so."
      "Of course," said Abu Thaleb doubtfully, "this will confirm Mr Bloom's suspicions of you. Are you
sure —?"
      "I shall have to bear those suspicions, as a gentleman. I do my duty. If my actions are
misinterpreted, particularly by Mr Bloom, that is no fault of mine."
      "Naturally." Abu Thaleb dismissed his elephant. "But if Mr Bloom were to take it into his head to —
um — rescue Miss Ming?"
      "I am prepared."
      Argonheart Po grunted. "You are looking paler than ever, Doctor Volospion. You should eat
more."
      "More? I do not eat at all."
      "There is more to eating than merely sustaining the flesh," said Argonheart Po pointedly. "If it comes
to that, none of us needs to eat, there are so many quicker ways of absorbing energy, but there is a
certain instinctive relish to such old-fashioned activities which it is as well to enjoy. After all, we are all
human. Well, most of us."
      Abu Thaleb was upset by what seemed to him to be one friend's criticism of another. "Argonheart,
my dear, we all have preferences. Doctor Volospion enjoys rather more intellectual pastimes than do we.
We must respect his tastes."
      Argonheart Po was quick to apologize. "I did not mean to infer…"
      "I detected no inference," said Doctor Volospion with an extravagant wave of his hand. "My
interests, as you must know, are specialized. I study ancient faiths and have little time for anything else. It
is perhaps because I would wish to believe in something supernatural. However, in all my studies I have
yet to find something which cannot be explained or dismissed either as natural or as delusion. I do,
admittedly, possess one or two miraculous artefacts which would seem to possess qualities not easily
defined by science, but I fear it is only a lack of knowledge on my part, and that these, too, will be shown
to be the products of man's ingenuity."
      Argonheart Po smiled. "If, one day, you will let me, I shall produce a culinary miracle for you and
defy you to detect all the flavours and textures I shall put into it."
      "One day, perhaps, I should be honoured, mighty King of the Kitchen."
        And to Abu Thaleb's relief, the two parted amicably.
        Doctor Volospion, alone for the moment, glanced about him. He seemed unusually content. A little
sigh of pleasure passed between his normally tight-pressed lips. He could, on occasion, produce in
himself a semblance of gaiety and now there was a lightness to his step as he moved to greet Mistress
Christia, the Everlasting Concubine, changing his costume as he went, to brilliant damson doublet and
hose, curling shoes, a hat with a high crown and an elongated peak which could be doffed to brush the
turf with a flourish as he bowed low. "Beautiful Christia, Queen of my Heart, how I have longed for this
opportunity to see you alone!"
        Mistress Christia wore ringlets today of light red-gold, a translucent gown of sea-green antique
rayon, bracelets of live lizards, their tails held between their tiny forepaws.
        "Oh, Doctor Volospion, how you flatter me! I have heard that you keep the most sought-after
beauty in the world imprisoned in one of your gloomy towers!"
        "You have heard? Already? It is true." He pretended shame. "I cannot help it. I am sworn to do so."
        "Is it fitting, then, that you dally with me — for my reputation —"
        "Is enviable," he said.
        She kissed his chilly cheek. "But I know you to be heartless."
        "It is you, Mistress Christia, who gives me a heart."
        "But you will lay it at another's feet, I know. It is my fate, always."
        His attention was distracted, all at once. Sweet Orb Mace's juvenile slaughter house was blazing.
And a look of joy crossed Doctor Volospion's face.
        Mistress Christia was bemused. "You seem pleased at this? Poor Sweet Orb Mace and his lovely
little house."
        "Oh, no, no, that is not it, at all." He moved like a moth for the flames, his face lit by them. And then
fire licked his body again and he was naked. There came a chorus from all around. Everyone was
likewise unclad.
        From out of the inferno stepped Emmanuel Bloom. He wore a black and white Pierrot costume.
        "I have come," he trilled amiably, "to be worshipped. I strip you naked. Thus I will strip your souls."
He looked at their bare bodies and seemed rather confounded by some of the sights.
        Fussing, a number of the guests were already replenishing themselves. Costumes blossomed on
flesh again.
        "No matter," said the Fireclown, "I have made my moral point."
        With a caress Doctor Volospion brought rippling velvet to his body, dark reds and greens glowed
upon him. "Shall you never tire of these demonstrations?" he asked.
        Emmanuel Bloom shrugged. "Why should I? It is my way of preaching to you. There are many
excellent precedents for the method. A miracle and a parable or two work, as it were, wonders."
        "You have converted no-one, sir," said My Lady Charlotina, in a huge china bell decorated with
little flowers. Her voice tended to echo.
        The Fireclown agreed with her. "It is taking longer than I expected, madam. But I am persistent, by
nature. And patient, in my way."
        "Well, sir, we lose patience," said Abu Thaleb. "I regret to say it, but it is true." He turned for
confirmation to his friends. All nodded. "You see?"
        "Is consensus truth?" the Fireclown wished to know. "Agree what you like between yourselves, for
it will not alter what is so."
        "It could be said that that which all are agreed upon is truth," mildly proposed Argonheart Po, who
saw the chance of a metaphysical spat. "Do we not make the truth from the stuff of Chaos?"
        "If the will is strong enough, perhaps," said Emmanuel Bloom. "But your wills are nothing. Mine is
immeasurably powerful. You use gadgetry for your miracles. Do you see me using anything else but the
power of my mind?"
        "Your ship's force-field…" suggested Doctor Volospion.
        "That, too, is controlled by my mind."
        Doctor Volospion seemed unhappy with this information.
       "And where is my soul mate?" inquired Mr Bloom. "Where is my consort? Where are you hiding
her, Volospion? Eh, manikin? Speak!" He glared up at his smiling adversary.
       "She is protected," said Volospion, "from you."
       "Protected? She needs no protection from Emmanuel Bloom. So, you imprison her."
       "For her own safety," said My Lady Charlotina. "It is what Miss Ming wants."
       "She is deluded." The Fireclown displayed irritation. "Deluded by this conjuror and his jesuitry. Give
her up to me. I demand it. If I can save no other soul in this whole world, I shall save hers, I swear!"
       "Never," said Doctor Volospion, "would I give another human creature into your keeping. How
could I justify my conscience?"
       "Conscience! Pah!"
       "She is secure," My Lady Charlotina glanced once at Doctor Volospion, "is she not? Locked in
your deepest dungeon?"
       "Well…" Doctor Volospion's shrug was modest.
       "Ah, I cannot bear it! Know this, creeping jackal, sniggering quasi-priest, that I shall release her. I
shall rescue her from any prison you may conceive. Why do you do this? Do you bargain with me?"
       "Bargain?" said Doctor Volospion. "What have you that I should wish to bargain?"
       "What do you wish from me?" The Fireclown had become agitated. "Tell me!"
       "Nothing. You have heard my reasons for keeping Miss Ming safe from your threats…"
       "Threats? When did I threaten?"
       "You have frightened the poor woman. She is not very intelligent. She has scant self-confidence…"
       "I offer her all of that and more. It is promises, not threats, I make! Bah!" The Fireclown set the
lawn to smouldering and, as a consequence, many of the guests to dancing. At length everyone withdrew
a few feet into the air, though still disturbed by rich smoke. Only the Fireclown remained on the ground,
careless of the heat. "I can give that woman everything. You take from her what little pride she still has. I
can give her beauty and love and eternal life…"
       "The secret of eternal life, Mr Bloom, is already known to us," said My Lady Charlotina from
above. She had some difficulty in seeing him through the smoke, which grew steadily thicker.
       "This? It is a state of eternal death. You have no true enthusiasms any longer. The secret of eternal
life, madam, is enthusiasm, nothing more or less."
       "Enough?" said a distant Argonheart Po. "To sustain us physically?"
       "To relish everything to the full, for its own sake, that's the answer." Mr Bloom's black and white
Pierrot costume was almost invisible now in the boiling smoke. "Away with your charms and potions,
your Shangri-Las, your Planets of Youth, of frozen cells and brain transfers! — many's the entity I've
seen last little more than a thousand years before boredom shrivels up his soul and kills him."
       "Kills him?" Argonheart's voice was even fainter.
       "Oh, his body may live. But one way or another, boredom kills him!"
       "Your ideas remain somewhat out of date," said My Lady Charlotina. "Immortality is no longer a
matter of potions, enchantments or surgery…"
       "I speak of the soul, madam."
       "Then you speak of nothing at all," said Doctor Volospion.
       There was no reply.
       The Fireclown was gone.




                                                    11

       In which Doctor Volospion is subjected to a siege and
                       attempts to Parley
      Miss Ming was neither chained nor bound, neither did she languish in a dungeon, but she did confine
herself, at Doctor Volospion's request, to her own apartments, furnished by him to her exact
requirements, and at first she was content to accept this security, but as time passed she came to pine for
human company, for even Doctor Volospion hardly ever visited her, and her only intercourse was with
mechanical servants. When she did encounter her dark-minded host she would beg for news of Bloom,
praying that by now he would have abandoned his plans and left the planet.
      She saw Doctor Volospion soon after the party at Sweet Orb Mace's, where the house and lawn
had been burned.
      "He is still, I fear, here," Volospion informed her, seating himself on a pink, quilted pouf. "His
determination to save the world has weakened just a little, I would say."
      "So he will go soon?"
      "His determination to win your hand, Miss Ming, is if anything stronger than ever."
      "So he remains…" She sank upon a satin cushion.
      "Everyone shares your dismay. Indeed I have been deputized to rid the world of the madman, in an
informal way, and I have racked my brains to conceive a plan, but none comes. Can you think of
anything?"
      "Me? Little Mavis? I'm very honoured, Doctor Volospion, but…" She played with the neck of her
blue lace negligee. "If you have failed, how can I help?"
      "I thought you might have a better understanding of your suitor's mentality. He loves you very much.
He told me so again, at the party. He accused me of keeping you here against your will."
      She uttered her familiar tinkling laugh. "Against my will? What does he intend to do, but carry me
off!" She shuddered.
      "Quite."
      "I still can't believe he was serious," she said. "Can you?"
      "He is deeply serious. He is a man of much experience, that we know. He has considerable learning
and his powers are impressive. As a lover, you could know worse, Miss Ming."
      "He's repulsive."
      Doctor Volospion rose from the pouf. "As you say. Well — why, what is that beyond the
window?"
      The window to which he pointed was large but filled with small panels of thick glass, obscured,
moreover, by the frothy blue curtains on either side of it, reminiscent of the ornaments on a baby's cradle,
the ribbons being pink and yellow.
      It seemed that a small nova flared above the dour landscape of brooding trees and rocks
surrounding Castle Volospion. The light approached them and then began to fall, just short of the
force-field which protected the whole vast building (or series of buildings, as they actually were). Its
colour changed from white to glowing red and it became identifiable as Emmanuel Bloom's baroque
spacecraft.
      "Oh, no!" wailed Miss Ming.
      "Rest assured," said Doctor Volospion. "My force-field, like his own, is impregnable. He cannot
enter."
      The vessel landed, destroying a tree or two as it did so and turning rocks to a pool of black glass.
      Miss Ming fled hastily to the window and drew the curtains. "There! This is torment, Doctor
Volospion. I'm so unhappy!" She began to weep.
      "I will do what I can," he said, "to dissuade him, but I can make no promises. He is so dedicated."
      "You'll go to see him?" she snuffled. Her blue eyes begged. "You'll make him go away?"
      "As I said —"
      "Oh! Can't you kill him? Can't you?"
      "Kill? What a waste that would be of such an authentic messiah…"
      "You're still thinking of yourself. What about me?"
      "Of course, I know that you are feeling some stress but, perhaps with your help, I could solve our
problem."
      "You could?" She dried her eyes upon her lacy sleeve.
      "It would demand from you, Miss Ming, considerable courage, but the end would, I assure you, be
worthwhile to us all."
      "What?"
      "I shall tell you if and when the opportunity arises."
      "Not now?"
      "Not yet."
      "I'll do anything," she said, "to be rid of him."
      "Good," he said. He left her apartments.
      Doctor Volospion strode, in ornamental green and black, through the candle-light of his corridors,
climbing stairs of grey-brown stone until he had reached a roof. Into the late evening air, which he
favoured, he stepped, upon his battlements, to peruse the Fireclown's ship.
      Doctor Volospion laughed and his joy was mysterious. "So, sir, you lay siege to my castle!"
      His voice was echoed from many parts of his stronghold, from massive towers, from steeples and
from eaves. A cool breeze blew at his robes as he stood there in his pride and his mockery. Behind him
stretched bridges without function, buttresses which gave support to nothing, domes which sheltered only
empty air. Above were dark masses of cloud in a sky the colour of steel. Below, lurid and out of key
with all these surroundings, stood the spaceship.
      "I warn you, sir, you shall be resisted!" continued Doctor Volospion.
      But there was still no reply.
      "Miss Ming is in my charge. I have sworn an oath to protect her!"
      The air lock hatch swung back. Little tongues of flame came forth and dissipated in the dank air.
The ramp licked out and touched the glassy rock and the Fireclown made his appearance. He wore a
scarlet cap and a jerkin of red and yellow stripes. One leg was amber and the other orange, one foot,
with bell-toed shoes, matched the red of his jerkin and the other matched the yellow. He had painted his
face so that it was now the ridiculous mask of a traditional clown of antiquity and yet, withal, Doctor
Volospion received the impression that Emmanuel Bloom was dressed for battle. Doctor Volospion
smiled.
      The thin, birdlike voice rose to the battlements. "Let the woman go free!"
      "She fears you, sir," said Doctor Volospion equably. "She begs me to slay you."
      "Of course, of course. It is because, like so many mortals, she is terror-struck by some hint of what
I can release in her. But that is of no consequence, at this moment. You must remove yourself from the
position you have taken between us."
      Emmanuel Bloom walked in poorly coordinated strides down his ramp, crossed the grass and was
halted by the force-field. "Remove this," he commanded.
      "I cannot," Doctor Volospion told him.
      "You must!"
      "My pledge to Miss Ming…"
      "Is meaningless, as well you know. You serve only yourself. It is your doom ever to serve yourself
and thus never to know true life!"
      "You invent a rôle for me as you invent one for Miss Ming. Even your own rôle is invented. Your
imagination, sir, is disordered. I advise you, with all courtesy, to leave, or change your ways, or alter your
ambitions. This masquerade of yours will bring you only misery." Doctor Volospion adopted the voice of
sympathy.
      "Must I suffer further examples of your hypocrisy, manikin? Let down this screen and show me to
my soul mate." Emmanuel Bloom banged a small fist upon the field, causing it to shimmer somewhat. His
mad blue eyes were fierce and paradoxical in their setting of paint.
      "Your 'soul mate', sir, reviles you."
      "Your interpretations are of no interest to me. Let me see her!"
      "If you saw her, she would confirm my words."
      "Her voice, perhaps, but not her soul."
      "I'll indulge you no further, sir." Doctor Volospion turned from the battlements.
      Behind him there came a most terrible tumult. He felt heat upon his back. He whirled. The
Fireclown could not be seen, for now a wall of flame reared in place of the force-field. And the wall
screamed.
      Doctor Volospion touched a power ring and the flames became transparent ice through which he
could just make out the silhouette of the Fireclown.
      "Mr Bloom!" he called. "We can play thus for many a century and consume all our energies. If I
admitted you, would you give me your word that you would use no violence against either myself or Miss
Ming, that you would not attempt to achieve your ends with force?"
      "I never use force. I use my power to produce living parables, that is all, and so convince those who
would oppose me."
      "But you would give your word?"
      "If you require it, you have it." And then the Fireclown raised his shadowy fist again and struck at
the ice which shattered. He strode through the hole he had made. "But you see how easily I can dispose
of your protection!"
      Doctor Volospion hid his mouth behind his hand. "Ah, I had not realized…" He lowered his lids so
that his eyes might not be seen, yet it might have been that a cunning humour glittered there for a moment.
      "Will you admit me to your castle, Doctor Volospion, so that I may see Miss Ming for myself?"
      "Give me a little while so that I may prepare the lady for your visit. You will dine with me?"
      "I will undergo any ritual you wish, but when I leave, it shall be with Mavis Ming, my love."
      "You gave your word…"
      "I gave my word and I shall keep it."
      Doctor Volospion quit his battlements.




                                                   12

In which Doctor Volospion gives a tour of his Museum and his
              Menagerie of Forgotten Faiths
      Mavis Ming was desolate.
      "Oh, you have betrayed me!"
      "Betrayed?" Doctor Volospion laid a hand upon her trembling shoulder. "Nothing of the sort. This is
all part of my plan. I beg you to become an actress, Miss Ming. Show, as best you can, some little
sympathy for your suitor. It will benefit you in the end."
      "You're laying a trap for him, aren't you?"
      "I can only say, now, that you will soon be free of him."
      "You're certain."
      "Certain."
      "I'm not sure I could keep it up."
      "Trust me. I have proved myself your loyal protector up to now, have I not?"
      "Of course. I didn't mean to imply…" She was hasty to give him reassurance.
      "Then dress yourself and join us, as soon as you can, for dinner."
      "You'll be eating? You never —"
      "It is the ceremony which is important."
      She nodded. "All right."
      He crossed to the door. She said: "He's not really very intelligent, is he?"
      "I think not."
      "And you're very clever indeed."
      "You are kind."
      "What I mean is, I'm sure you can trick him, Doctor Volospion, if that's what you mean to do."
      "I appreciate your encouragement, Miss Ming." He went out.
      Mavis looked to her wardrobe. She dragged from it an evening dress of green and purple silk. She
passed to her mirror and looked with displeasure upon her red-rimmed eyes, her bedraggled hair. "Chin
up, Mavis," she said, "it'll all be over soon. And it means you can go visiting again. What a relief that'll be!
And if I play my part right, they'll have me to thank, as well as Doctor Volospion. I'll get a bit of respect."
She settled to her toilet.
      It was to her credit that she made the most of herself, in her own eyes. She curled her hair so that it
hung in blonde waves upon her shoulders. She applied plenty of mascara, to make her eyes look larger.
She was relatively subtle with her rouge and she touched her best perfumed deodorant to all those parts
of her body which, in her opinion, might require it (her cosmetics were largely 20th century, created for
her by Doctor Volospion at her request, for she considered the cosmetics of her own time to be crude
and synthetic by comparison). She arranged an everlasting orchid upon her dress; she donned diamond
earrings, a matching necklace, bracelets. "Good enough to dine with the Emperor of Africa," she said to
herself, when she was ready.
      She left her apartments and began her journey through passages which, in her opinion, Doctor
Volospion kept unnecessarily dark, although, as she knew, it was done for the artistic effect he favoured.
      At last she reached the great, gloomy hall where Doctor Volospion normally entertained his guests.
Hard-faced metal servants already waited on the long table at one end of which sat dignified Doctor
Volospion and the pipsqueak Bloom, all got up in the silliest outfit Mavis Ming had ever seen. Strips of
ancient neon, blue-white, illuminated this particular part of the castle, though they had been designed to
malfunction and so flickered on and off, creating sudden shadows and brilliances which always disturbed
Miss Ming. The walls were of undressed stone and bore no decoration save the tall portrait of Doctor
Volospion over the massive fireplace in which a small electric fire had been positioned, and the fire was
also an antique, designed to simulate burning coal.
      Becoming aware of her entrance, both men rose from their seats.
      "My madonna!" breathed Bloom.
      "Good evening, Miss Ming." Doctor Volospion bowed.
      Emmanuel Bloom seemed to be making an effort to contain himself. He sat down again.
      "Good evening, gentlemen." She responded to this effort with one of her own. "How nice to see you
again, Mr Bloom!"
      "Oh!" He lifted a chop to his grease-painted mouth.
      Simple food was placed by servants before her. She sat at Doctor Volospion's left. She had no
appetite but she made some show of eating, noting that Doctor Volospion did the same. She hoped that
Bloom would not subject them to any more of his megalomaniacal monologues. It was still difficult to
understand why a man of Doctor Volospion's intelligence indulged Bloom at all, and yet they seemed to
converse readily enough.
      "You deal, sir, in Ideals," Doctor Volospion was saying, "I in Realities: though I remain fascinated
by the trappings by means of which men seek to give credence to their dreamings."
      "The trappings are all you can ever know," said the Fireclown, "for you can never experience the
ecstasy of Faith. You are too empty."
      "You continue to be hard on me, sir, while I try —"
      "I speak the truth."
      "Ah, well. I suppose you do read me aright, Mr Bloom."
      "Of course I do. I gave my word only that I should not take Miss Ming from here by force. I did
not agree to join in your courtesies, your hypocrisies. What are your manners when seen in the light of the
great unchangeable realities of the multiverse?"
      "Your belief in the permanence of anything, Mr Bloom, is incredible to me. Everything is transitory.
Can the experience of a billion years have taught you nothing?"
        "On the contrary, Doctor Volospion." He did not amplify. He chewed at his chop.
        "Has experience left you untouched? Were you ever the same?"
        "I suppose my character has changed little. I have known the punishments of Prometheus, but I
have been that god's persecutor, too — for Bloom has bloomed everywhere, in every guise…"
        "More peas?" interrupted Miss Ming.
        Emmanuel Bloom shook his head.
        "But creed has followed creed, movement followed movement, down all the centuries," continued
Doctor Volospion, "and not one important change in any of them, though millions have lost their lives
over some slight interpretation. Are men not fools to destroy themselves thus? Questing after
impossibilities, golden dreams, romantic fancies, perfectibility…"
        "Oh, certainly. Clowns, all of them. Like me."
        Doctor Volospion did not know what to make of this.
        "You agree?"
        "The clown weeps, laughs, knows joy and sorrow. It is not enough to look at his costume and laugh
and say — here is mankind revealed. Irony is nothing by itself. Irony is a modifier, not a protection. We
live our lives because we have only our lives to live."
        "Um," said Doctor Volospion. "I think I should show you my collection. I possess mementoes of a
million creeds." He pointed with his thumb at the floor. "Down there."
        "I doubt that they will be unfamiliar to me," said Bloom. "What do you hope to prove to me?"
        "That you are not original, I suppose."
        "And by this means you think you will encourage me to leave your planet without a single pledge
fulfilled?"
        Doctor Volospion made a gesture. "You read me so well, Mr Bloom."
        "I'll inspect this stuff, if you wish. I am curious. I am respectful, too, of all prophets and all objects of
devotion, but as to my originality…"
        "Well," said Doctor Volospion, "we shall see. If you will allow me to conduct you upon a brief tour
of my collection, I shall hope to convince you."
        "Miss Ming will accompany us?"
        "Oh, I'd love to," said Miss Ming courageously. She hated Doctor Volospion's treasures.
        "I think my collection is the greatest in the universe," continued Doctor Volospion. "No better has
existed, certainly, in Earth's history. Many missionaries have come this way. Most have made attempts to
— um — save us. As you have. They have not been, in the main, as spectacular, I will admit, nor have
they claimed as much as you claim. However…" He took a pea upon his fork. There was something in
the gesture to make Mavis Ming suspect that he planned something more than a mere tour of his
treasures. "… you would agree that your arguments are scarcely subtle. They allow for no nuance."
        Now nothing would stop the Fireclown. He rose from the table, his birdlike movements even more
exaggerated than usual. He strutted the length of the table. He strutted back again. "A pox on nuance!
Seize the substance, beak and claws, and leave the chitterlings for the carrion! Let crows and storks
squabble over the scraps, these subtleties — the eagle takes the main carcass, as much or as little as he
needs!" He fixed his gaze upon Miss Ming. "Forget your quibbling scruples, madonna! Come with me
now. Together we'll leave the planet to its fate. Their souls gutter like dying candles. The whole world
reeks of inertia. If they will not have my Ideals, then I shall bestow all my gifts on you!"
        Mavis Ming said in strangled tones: "You are very kind, Mr Bloom, but…"
        "Perhaps that particular matter can be discussed later," proposed Doctor Volospion tightening his
cap about his head and face. "Now, sir, if you will come?"
        "Miss Ming, too?"
        "Miss Ming."
        The trio left the hall, with Miss Ming reluctantly trailing behind. She desperately hoped that Doctor
Volospion was not playing one of his games at her expense. He had been so nice to her lately, she
thought, that he was evidently mellowing her, yet she hated in herself that slight lingering suspicion of him,
that voice which had told her, on more than one occasion, that if someone liked her then that someone
could have no taste at all and was therefore not worth knowing.
      They descended and they descended, for it was Doctor Volospion's pleasure to bury his collection
in the bowels of his castle. Murky corridor followed murky corridor, lit by flambeaux, candles, rush
torches, oil-lamps, anything that would give the minimum of heat and cast the maximum number of
shadows.
      "You have," said Mr Bloom after some while of this tramping, "an unexceptional imagination,
Doctor Volospion."
      "I do not concern myself with the lust for variation enjoyed by most of my fellows at the End of
Time," remarked the lean man. "I follow but a few simple obsessions. And in that, I think, we share
something, Mr Bloom."
      "Well —" began the Fireclown.
      But then Doctor Volospion had stopped at an iron-bound door. "Here we are!" He flung the door
wide. The light from within seemed intense.
      The Fireclown strutted, stiff-limbed as ever, into the high vaulted hall. He blinked in the light. He
sniffed the warm, heavy air. For almost as far as the eye could see there were rows and rows of cabinets,
pedestals, display domes; Doctor Volospion's museum.
      "What's this?" inquired Mr Bloom.
      "My collection of devotional objects, culled from all ages. From all the planets of the universe."
Doctor Volospion was proud.
      It was difficult to see if Mr Bloom was impressed, for his clown's paint hid most expression.
      Doctor Volospion paused beside a little table. "Only the best have been preserved. I have
discarded or destroyed the rest. Here is a history of folly!" He looked down at the table. On it lay a dusty
scrap of skin to which clung a few faded feathers. Doctor Volospion plucked it up. "Do you recognize
that, Mr Bloom, with all your experience of Time and Space?"
      The long neck came forwards to inspect the thing. "The remains of a fowl?" suggested Mr Bloom.
"A chicken, perhaps?"
      Miss Ming wrinkled her nose and backed away from them. "I never liked this part of the castle. It's
creepy. I don't know how —" She pulled herself together.
      "Eh?" said Mr Bloom.
      Doctor Volospion permitted himself a dark smile. "It is all that remains of Yawk, Saviour of
Shakah, founder of a religion which spread through fourteen star-systems and eighty planets and lasted
some seven thousand years until it became the subject of a jehad."
      "Hm," said Mr Bloom non-committally.
      "I had this," confided Doctor Volospion, "from the last living being to retain his faith in Yawk. He
regarded himself as the only guardian of the relic, carried it across countless light-years, preaching the
gospel of Yawk (and a fine, poetic tale it is), until he reached Earth."
      "And then?" Bloom reverently replaced the piece of skin.
      "He is now a guest of mine. You will meet him later."
      A smile appeared momentarily on Miss Ming's lips. She believed that she had guessed what her
host had in mind.
      "Aha," murmured the Fireclown. "And what would this be?" He moved on through the hall, pausing
beside a cabinet containing an oddly wrought artefact made of something resembling green marble.
      "A weapon," said Volospion. "The very gun which slew Marchbanks, the Martyr of Mars, during
the revival, in the 25th century (A.D., of course), of the famous Kangaroo Cult which had swept the solar
system about a hundred years previously, before it was superseded by some atheistic political doctrine.
You know how one is prone to follow the other. Nothing, Mr Bloom, changes very much, either in the
fundamentals or the rhetoric of religions and political creeds. I hope I am not depressing you?"
      Bloom snorted. "How could you? None of these others has experienced what I have experienced.
None has had the knowledge I have gained and, admittedly, half-forgotten. Do not confuse me with
these, I warn you, Doctor Volospion, if you wish to continue to converse with me. I could destroy all this
in a moment, if I wished, and it would make no difference…"
       "You threaten?"
       "What?" The little man removed his clown's cap and ran his fingers through the tangles of his auburn
hair. "Eh? Threaten? Don't be foolish. I gave my word. I was merely lending emphasis to my statement."
       "Besides," said Doctor Volospion smoothly, "you could do little now, I suspect, for there are
several force-fields lying between you and your ship now — they protect my museum — and I suspect
that your ship is the main source of your power, for all you claim it derives entirely from your mind."
       Emmanuel Bloom chuckled. "You have found me out, Doctor Volospion, I see." He seemed
undisturbed. "Now, then, what other pathetic monuments to the nobility of the human spirit have you
locked up here?"
       Doctor Volospion extended his arms. "What would you see?" He pointed in one direction. "A
wheel from Krishna's chariot?" He pointed in another. "A tooth said to belong to the Buddha? One of the
original tablets of Moses? Bunter's bottle? The sacred crown of the Kennedys? Hitler's nail? There," he
tapped a dome, "you'll find them all in that case. Or over here," a sweep of a green and black arm, "the
finger-bones of Karl Marx, the knee-cap of Mao Tse-tung, a mummified testicle belonging to Heffner,
the skeleton of Maluk Khan, the tongue of Suhulu. Or what of these? Filp's loin-cloth, Xiombarg's
napkin, Teglardin's peach rag. Then there are the coins of Bibb-Nardrop, the silver wands of Er and Er,
the towels of Ich — all the way from a world within the Crab Nebula. And most of these, in this section
here, are only from the Dawn Age. Farther along are relics from all other ages of this world and the
universe. Rags and bones, Mr Bloom. Rags and bones."
       "I am moved," said Emmanuel Bloom.
       "All that is left," said Doctor Volospion, "of a million mighty causes. And all, at core, that those
causes ever were!"
       The clown's face was grave as he moved among the cases.
       Mavis Ming was shivering. "This place really does depress me," she whispered to her guardian. "I
know it's my fault, but I've always hated places like this. They seem ghoulish. Not that I'm criticising,
Doctor Volospion, but I've never been able to understand why a man like you could indulge in such a
strange hobby. It's all research material, of course. We have to do research, don't we? Well, at least, you
do. It's nice that someone does. I mean this is your area of research, isn't it, this particular aspect of the
galaxy's past? It's why I'll never make a first-rank historian, I suppose. It's the same, you know, when I
lived with Donny Stevens. It was the cold-blooded killing of those sweet little rabbits and monkeys at the
lab. I'd simply refuse, you know, to let him or anyone else talk about it when I was around. And with the
time machine, too, they sent so many to God knows where before they'd got it working properly. When
can I stop this charade, Doctor…?"
       Volospion raised a finger to his lips. Bloom was some distance away but had turned, detecting the
voice, no doubt, of his loved one.
       "Rags and bones," said Doctor Volospion, as if he had been reiterating his opinions to Miss Ming.
       "No," called Bloom from where he stood beside a case containing many slightly differently shaped
strips of metal, "these were merely the instruments used to focus faith. Witness their variety. Anything
would do as a lens to harness the soul's fire. A bit of wood. A stone. A cup. A custard pie. Nothing here
means anything without the presence of the beings who believed in their validity. Whether that piece of
worm-eaten wood really did come from Christ's cross or not is immaterial. As a symbol…"
       "You question the authenticity of my prizes?"
       "It is not important…"
       Doctor Volospion betrayed agitation. It was genuine. "It is to me, Mr Bloom. I will have nothing in
my museum that is not authentic!"
       "So you have a faith of your own, after all." Bloom's painted lips formed a smile.
       He leaned, a tiny jester, a cockerel, against a force dome.
       Doctor Volospion lost none of his composure. "If you mean that I pride myself on my ability to sniff
out any fakes, any piece of doubtful origin, then you speak rightly. I have faith in my own taste and
judgement. But come, let us move on. It is not the museum that I wish you to inspect, its the menagerie,
which is of greater interest, for there…"
      "Show me this cup you have. This Holy Grail. I was looking for it."
      "Well, if you feel you have the leisure. Certainly. There it is. In the cabinet with Jissard's
space-helmet and Panjit's belt."
      Emmanuel Bloom trotted rapidly in the direction indicated by Doctor Volospion, weaving his way
among the various displays, until he came to the far wall where, behind a slightly quivering energy screen,
between the helmet and the belt, stood a pulsing, golden cup, semi-transparent, in which a red liquid
swirled.
      Bloom's glance at the cup was casual. He made no serious attempt to inspect it. He turned back to
Doctor Volospion, who had followed behind.
      "Well?" said Volospion.
      Bloom laughed. "Your taste and judgement fail you, Doctor Volospion. It is a fake, that Grail."
      "How could you know?"
      "I assure you that I am right."
      Bloom began to leave the case, but Doctor Volospion tugged at his arm. "You would argue that it is
merely mythical, wouldn't you? That it never existed. Yet there is proof that it did."
      "Oh, I need no proof of the Grail's existence. But if it were the true Grail how could you, of all
people, keep it?"
      Doctor Volospion frowned. "You are vaguer than usual, Mr Bloom. I keep the cup because it is
mine."
      "Yours?"
      "I had it from a time traveller who had spent his entire life searching for it and who, as it happens,
found it in one of our own cities. Unfortunately, the traveller destroyed himself soon after coming to stay
with me. They are all mad, such people. But the thing itself is authentic. He had found many fakes before
he found the true Grail. He vouched for this one. And he should have known, a man who had dedicated
himself to his quest and who was willing to kill himself once that quest was over."
      "He probably thought it would bring him back to life," mused the Fireclown. "That is part of the
legend, you know. One of the real Grail's minor properties."
      "Real? This man's opinion was irrefutable."
      "Well, I am glad that he is dead," said Bloom, and then he laughed a strange, deep-throated laugh
which had no business coming from that puny frame, "for I should not have liked to have disappointed
him."
      "Disappointed?" Volospion flushed. "Now —"
      "That cup is not even a very good copy of the original, Doctor Volospion."
      Doctor Volospion drew himself up and arranged the folds of his robe carefully in front of him. His
voice was calm when he next spoke. "How would you know such a thing, Mr Bloom? You claim great
knowledge, yet you exhibit no signs of it in your rather foolish behaviour, your pointless pursuits. You
dress a fool and you are a fool, say I."
      "Possibly. Nonetheless, that Grail is a fake."
      "Why do you know?" Doctor Volospion's gaze was not quite as steady as it might have been.
      "Because," explained Bloom amicably, "I am, among many other things, the Guardian of the Grail.
That is to say, specifically, that I am graced by the presence of the Holy Grail."
      "What!" Doctor Volospion was openly contemptuous.
      "You probably do not know," Mr Bloom went on, "that only those who are absolutely pure in spirit,
who never commit the sin of accidie (moral torpor, if you prefer) may ever see the Grail and only one
such as myself may ever receive the sacred trust of Joseph of Arimathaea, the Good Soldier, who carried
the Grail to Glastonbury. I have had this trust for several centuries, at least. I am probably the only mortal
being left alive who deserves the honour (though, of course, I am not so proud as to be certain of it). My
ship is full of such things — relics to rival any of these here — collected in an eternity of wandering the
many dimensions of the universe, tumbling through Time, companion to chronons…"
      Doctor Volospion's face wore an expression quite different from anything Miss Ming had ever seen.
He was deeply serious. His voice contained an unusual vibrancy.
      "Oh, don't be taken in by him, Doctor Volospion," she said, giving up any idea of trying to placate
the Fireclown. "He's an obvious charlatan."
      Bloom bowed. Doctor Volospion did not even hear her.
      "How can you prove that your Grail is the original, Mr Bloom?"
      "I do not have to prove such a thing. The Grail chooses its own guardian. The Grail will only appear
to one whose Faith is Absolute. My Faith is Absolute."
      Bloom began to stride towards Mavis Ming. Volospion followed thoughtfully in his wake.
      "Oo!" squeaked Miss Ming, seeing her protector distracted and fearing a sudden leap. "Get off!"
      "I am not, Miss Ming, on. I promise you no violence, not yet, not until you come to me."
      "Oh! You think that I'd —?" She struggled with her own revulsion and the remembrance of her
promise to Doctor Volospion.
      "You still make a pretence at resistance, I see." Bloom beamed. "Such is female pride. I came here
to claim a world and now I willingly renounce that claim if it means that I can possess you, woman, body
and soul. You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen in all the aeons of my wandering. Mavis!
Mavis! Music floods my being at the murmur of your exquisite name. Queen Mavis — Maeve, Sorceress
Queen, Destroyer of Cuchulain, Beloved of the Sun — ah, you have the power to do it — but you shall
not destroy me again, Beautiful Maeve. You shall find me in Fire and in Fire shall we be united!"
      It was true that, for the first time, Miss Ming's expression began to soften, but Doctor Volospion
came to her aid.
      "I am sure Miss Ming is duly flattered," he said. It was evident, with his next statement, that he
merely resented the interruption to his line of thought. "But as for the Holy Grail, you do not, I suppose,
have it about you?"
      "Of course not. It appears only at my prayer."
      "You can summon it to you?"
      "No. It appears. During my meditations."
      "You would not care to meditate now? To prove that yours is the true one."
      "I have no urge to meditate." Mr Bloom dismissed the Doctor from his attention and, hands
outstretched in that stiff, awkward way of his, moved to embrace Miss Ming, only to pause as he felt
Volospion's touch on his arm.
      "It is in your ship, then?"
      "It visits my ship, yes."
      "Visits?"
      "Doctor Volospion. I have tried to explain to you clearly enough. The Grail you have is not a
mystical artefact, no matter how miraculous it seems to be. The true Holy Grail is a mystical artefact and
therefore it comes and goes, according to the spiritual ambience. That is why your so-called Grail is
plainly a fake. If it were real, it would not be here!"
      "This is mere obfuscation…"
      "Doctor Volospion, you are a most obtuse creature."
      Miss Ming began to move slowly backwards.
      "Mr Bloom I ask only for illumination…"
      "I try to bring it. But I have failed with you, as I have failed with everyone but Miss Ming. That is
only to be expected of one who is not really alive at all. Can one hold an intelligent conversation with a
corpse?"
      "You are crudely insulting, Mr Bloom. There is no call…" Doctor Volospion had lost most of his
usual self-control.
      Mavis Ming, terrified of further conflict in which, somehow she knew she would be the worst
sufferer, if her experience were anything to go by, broke in with a nervous yelp:
      "Show Mr Bloom your menagerie, Doctor Volospion! The menagerie! The menagerie!"
      Doctor Volospion turned glazed and dreaming eyes upon her. "What?"
      "The menagerie. There are many entities there that Mr Bloom might wish to converse with."
      The Fireclown bent to straighten one of his long shoes and Mavis Ming seized the chance to wink
broadly at Doctor Volospion.
      "Ah, yes, the menagerie. Mr Bloom?"
      "You wish to show me the menagerie?"
      "Yes."
      "Then lead me to it," said Bloom generously.
      Doctor Volospion continued to brood as he advanced before them, through another series of
gloomy passages whose gently sloping floors took them still deeper underground. Doctor Volospion had
a tendency to favour the subterranean in almost everything.
      By the time, however, that they had reached the series of chambers Doctor Volospion chose to call
his "crypts", their guide had resumed his normal manner of poised irony.
      These halls were far larger than the museum. On either side were reproduced many different
environments, in the manner of zoological gardens, in which were incarcerated his collection of creatures
culled from countless cultures, some indigenous and others alien to Earth.
      Enthusiasm returned to Volospion's voice as he pointed out his prizes while they progressed slowly
down the central aisle.
      "My Christians and my Hare Krishnans," declaimed the Doctor, "My Moslems and my Marxists,
my Jews and my Joypushers, my Dervishes, Buddhists, Hindus, Nature-worshippers, Confucians,
Leavisites, Sufis, Shintoists, New Shintoists, Reformed Shintoists, Shinto-Scientologists, Mansonite
Water-sharers, Anthroposophists, Flumers, Haythornthwaitists, Fundamentalist Ouspenskyians, Sperm
Worshippers, followers of the Five Larger Moon Devils, followers of the Stone that Cannot Be
Weighed, followers of the Sword and the Stallion, Awaiters of the Epoch, Mensans, Doo-en Skin
Slicers, Crab-bellied Milestriders, Poobem Wrigglers, Tribunites, Callagriphic Diviners, Betelgeusian
Grass Sniffers, Aldebaranian Grass Sniffers, Terran Grass Sniffers and Frexian Anti-Grass Sniffers.
There are the Racists (Various) — I mix them together in the one environment because it makes for
greater interest. The River of Blood was my own idea. It blends very well, I think, into the general
landscape." Doctor Volospion was evidently extremely proud of his collection. "They are all, of course, in
their normal environments. Every care is taken to see that they are preserved in the best of health and
happiness. You will note, Mr Bloom, that the majority are content, so long as they are allowed to speak
or perform the occasional small miracle."
      The Fireclown's attention seemed elsewhere.
      "The sound," said Doctor Volospion, and he touched a power ring, whereupon the air was filled
with a babble of voices as prophets prophesied, preachers preached, messiahs announced various
millennia, saviours summoned disciples, archbishops proclaimed Armageddon, fakirs mourned
materialism, priests prayed, imams intoned, rabbis railed and druids droned. "Enough?"
      The Fireclown raised a hand in assent and Doctor Volospion touched the ring again so that much of
the noise died away.
      "Well, Mr Bloom, do you find these pronouncements essentially distinguishable from your own?"
      But the Fireclown was again studying Mavis Ming who was, in turn, looking extremely
self-conscious. She was blushing through her rouge. She pretended to take an interest in the sermon
being delivered by a snail-like being from some remote world near the galaxy's centre.
      "What?"
      Bloom cocked an ear in Volospion's direction. "Distinguishable? Oh, of course. Of course. I
respect all the views being expressed. They are, I would agree, a little familiar, some of them. But these
poor creatures lack either my power or my experience. I would guess, too, that they lack my courage.
Or my purity of purpose. Why do you keep them locked up here?"
      Doctor Volospion ignored the final sentence. "Many would differ with you, I think."
      "Quite so. But you cease to entertain me, Doctor Volospion. I have decided to take Miss Ming, my
Madonna, back to my ship now. The visit has been fairly interesting. More interesting than I believed it
would be. Are you coming, Miss Ming?"
      Miss Ming hesitated. She glanced at Doctor Volospion. "Well, I —"
       "Do not consult this corpse," Mr Bloom told her. "I shall be your mentor. It is my duty and destiny
to remove you from this environment at once, to bring you to the knowledge of your own divinity!"
       Mavis Ming breathed heavily, still flushed. Her eyes darted from Bloom to Volospion. "I don't think
you'll be removing either me or yourself from this castle, Mr Bloom." She smiled openly now at Doctor
Volospion and her eyes were full of hope and terror. They asked a hundred questions. She seemed close
to panic and was poised to flee.
       Emmanuel Bloom gave a snort of impatience. "Miss Ming, my love, you are mine." His high, fluting
voice continued to trill, but it was plain that she no longer heard his words. His birdlike hands touched
hers. She screamed.
       "Doctor Volospion!"
       Doctor Volospion was fully himself. "It is hardly gentlemanly, as I have pointed out, to force your
attentions upon a lady, Mr Bloom. I would remind you of your word."
       "I keep it. I use no violence."
       Doctor Volospion now appeared to be relishing the drama. The fingers of his left hand hovered
over the fingers of his right, on which were most of his power rings.
       The Fireclown's hands remained on Miss Ming's. "He's really strong!" she cried. "I can't get free,
Doctor Volospion. Oo…" It seemed that an almost euphoric weakness suffused her body now. She was
panting, incapable of thought; her lips were dry, her tongue was dry, and the only word she could form
was a whispered "No".
       Doctor Volospion seemed ignorant of the degree of tension in the menagerie. Many of the prophets,
both human and alien, had stopped their monologues and now pressed forward to watch the struggle.
       Doctor Volospion said firmly: "Mr Bloom, since you remain here as my guest, I would ask you to
recall…"
       The blue eyes became shrewd even as they stared into Mavis Ming's. "Your guest? No longer. We
leave. Do you come, Mavis mine?"
       "I — I —" It was as if she wished to say yes to him, yet she continued to pull back as best she
could.
       "Mr Bloom, you have had your opportunity to leave this planet. You refused to take it. Well, now
you have no choice. You shall stay for ever (which is not, we think, that long)."
       Mr Bloom raised a knowing head. "What?"
       "You have told us, yourself, that you are unique, sir." Doctor Volospion was triumphant. "You prize
yourself so highly, I must accept your valuation."
       "Eh?"
       "From henceforth, Sir Prophet, you will grace my menagerie. Here you will stay — my finest
acquisition."
       "What? My power!" Did Mr Bloom show genuine surprise? His gestures became melodramatic to a
degree.
       Doctor Volospion was too full of victory to detect play-acting, if play-acting there was. "Here you
may preach to your heart's content. You will find the competition stimulating, I am certain."
       Bloom received this intelligence calmly. "My power is greater than yours," he said.
       "I led you to think that it was, so that you would feel confident when I suggested a tour of my
collection. Twelve force-screens of unimaginable strength now lie between you and your ship, cutting you
off from the source of your energy. Do you think you could have shattered my first force-field if I had not
allowed it?"
       "It seemed singularly easy," agreed the Fireclown. "But you seem still unclear as to the nature of my
own power. It does not derive from a physical source, as yours does, though you are right in assuming it
comes from my ship. It is spiritual inspiration which allows me to work my miracles. The source of that
inspiration lies in the ship."
       "This so-called Grail of yours?"
       Bloom fell silent.
       "Well, call on it, then," said Doctor Volospion.
      Every scrap of bombast had disappeared from Bloom. It was as if he discarded a useless weapon,
or rather a piece of armour which had proved defective. "There is no entity more free in all the teeming
multiverse than the Fireclown." His unblinking eyes stared into Miss Ming's again. "You cannot imprison
me, sir."
      "Imprison?" Doctor Volospion derided the idea with a gesture. "You shall have everything you
desire. Your favourite environment shall be re-created for you. If necessary, it is possible to supply the
impression of distance, movement. Regard the state as well earned retirement, Mr Bloom."
      The avian head turned on the long neck, the paint around the mouth formed an expression of some
gravity (albeit exaggerated). Mr Bloom did not relax his grip upon Miss Ming's hands.
      "Your satire palls, Doctor Volospion. It is the sort that easily grows stale, for it lacks love; it is
inspired by self-hatred. You are typical of those faithless priests of the fifth millennium who were once
your comrades in vice."
      Doctor Volospion showed shock. "How could you possibly know my origins? The secret…"
      "There are no secrets from the Sun," said the Fireclown. "The Sun knows All. Old He may be, but
His memory is clearer than those of your poor, senescent cities."
      "Do not seek to confound me, sir, with airy generalities of that sort. How do you know?"
      "I have eyes," said Bloom, "which have seen all things. One gesture reveals a society to me — two
words reveal an individual. A conversation betrays every origin."
      "This Grail of yours? It helps you?"
      The Fireclown ignored him. "The eagle floats on currents of light, high above the world, and the light
is recollection, the light is history. I know you, Doctor Volospion, and I know you for a villain, just as I
know Mavis Ming as a goddess — chained and gagged, perverted and alone, but still a goddess."
      Doctor Volospion's laugh was cruel. "All you do, Mr Bloom, is to reveal yourself as a buffoon! Not
even your insane Faith can make an angel of Miss Ming!"
      Mavis Ming was not resentful. "I've got my good points," she said, "but I'm no Gloria Gutzmann.
And I try too hard, I guess, and people don't like that. I can be neurotic, probably. After all that affair
with Snuffles didn't do anyone any good in the end, though I was trying to do Dafnish Armatuce a
favour."
      She babbled on, scarcely conscious of her words, while the adversaries, pausing in their conflict,
watched her.
      "But then, maybe I was acting selfishly, after all. Well, it's all water under the bridge, isn't it? What's
done is done. Who can blame anybody, at the end of the day?"
      Mr Bloom's voice became a caressing murmur. He stroked her hands. "Fear not, Miss Ming. I am
the Flame of Life. I carry a torch that will resurrect the spirit, and I carry a source to drive out devils. I
need no armour, save my faith, my knowledge, my understanding. I am the Sun's soldier, keeper of His
mysteries. Give yourself to me and become fully yourself, alive and free."
      Mavis Ming began to cry. The Fireclown's vivid mask smiled in a grotesque of sympathy.
      "Come with me now," said Bloom.
      "I would remind you that you are powerless to leave," said Doctor Volospion.
      The Fireclown dropped her hands and turned so that his back was to her. His little frame twitched
and trembled, his red-gold mass of hair might have been the bristling crest of some exotic fowl, his little
hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, like claws, as his beautiful, musical voice filled that dreadful
menagerie.
      "Ah, Volospion, I should destroy you — but one cannot destroy the dead!"
      Doctor Volospion was apparently unmoved. "Possibly, Mr Bloom, but the dead can imprison the
living, can they not? If that is so, I possess the advantage which men like myself have always possessed
over men such as you."
      The Fireclown wheeled to grasp Miss Ming. She cried out:
      "Stop him, Doctor Volospion, for Christ's sake!"
      And at last Doctor Volospion's long hand touched a power ring and the Fireclown was surrounded
by bars of blue, pulsing energy.
    "Ha!" The clown capered this way and that, trying to free himself and then, as if reconciled, sat
down on the floor, crossing his little legs, his blue eyes blinking up at them as if in sudden bewilderment.
    Doctor Volospion smiled.
    "Eagle, is it? Phoenix? I must admit that I see only a caged sparrow."
    Emmanuel Bloom paid him no heed. He addressed Mavis Ming.
    "Free me," he said. "It will mean your own freedom."
    Mavis Ming giggled.




                                                    13

      In which Doctor Volospion asks Mavis Ming to make a
                           Sacrifice
        She awoke from another nightmare.
        Mavis Ming was filled with a sense of desolation worse than any she had experienced in the past.
        "Oh, dear," she murmured through her night-mask.
        An impression of her dream was all that was left to her, but she seemed to recall that it involved Mr
Bloom.
        "What a wicked little creature! He's frightened me more than anything's ever frightened me before.
Even Donny's tantrums weren't as bad. He deserves to be locked up. He deserves it. In any other world
it would be his just punishment for doing what he had done. If Doctor Volospion hadn't stopped him, he
would have raped me, for sure. Oh, why can't I stop thinking about what he said to me? It's all nonsense.
I wish I was braver. I can't believe he's safely out of the way. I wish I had the nerve to go and see for
myself. It would make me feel so much better."
        She sank into her many pillows, pulling the sheets over her eyes. "I know what those energy cages
are like. It's the same sort I was in when I first arrived. He'll never get out. And I can't go to see him.
That ridiculous flattery. And Doctor Volospion doesn't help by telling me all the time that he thinks
Bloom's love is 'genuine,' whatever that means. Oh, it's worse now. It is. Why couldn't Doctor
Volospion have made him go away? Keeping him here is torture!"
        Doctor Volospion had even suggested, earlier, that it would be charitable if she went to his cage to
"comfort" him.
        "Repulsive little runt!" She pushed back her pink silky sheets and turned up the lamp (already fairly
bright) whose stand was in the shape of a flesh-coloured nymph rising naked from the powder-blue
petals of an open rose. "I do wish Doctor Volospion would let me have a power ring of my own. It
would make everything much easier. Everyone else has them. Lots of time travellers do." She crossed the
soft pale yellow carpet to her gilded Empire-style dressing-table to look at her face in the mirror.
        "Oh, I look awful! That dreadful creature."
        She sighed. She often had trouble sleeping, for she was very highly strung, but this was much worse.
For all their extravagant entertainments, their parties where the world was moulded to their whims, what
they really needed, thought Mavis, was a decent TV network. TV would be just the answer to her
problems right now.
        "Perhaps Doctor Volospion could find something for me in one of those old cities," she mused. "I'll
ask him. Not that he seems to be doing me many favours, these days. How long's he had the Fireclown
now? A couple of weeks? And spending all his time down there. Maybe he loves Bloom and that's what
it's all about." She laughed, but immediately became miserable again.
        "Oh, Mavis. Why is it always you? The world just isn't on your side." She gave one of her funny
little crooked smiles, very similar to those she had seen Barbara Stanwyck giving in those beautiful old
movies.
       "If only I could have gone back in time, to the 20th century, even, where the sort of clothes and
lifestyle they had were so graceful. They had simpler lives, then. Oh, I know they must have had their
problems, but how I wish I could be there now! It's what I was looking forward to, when they elected
me to be the first person to try out the time machine. Of course, it was proof of how popular I was with
the other guys at the department. Everyone agreed unanimously that I should be the first to go. It was a
great honour."
       Apparently this thought did not succeed in lifting her spirits. She raised a hand to her head.
       "Oh, oh — here comes the headache! Poor old Mavis!"
       She began to pad back towards the big circular bed. But the thought of a continuance of those
dreams, even though she had pushed them right out of her mind, stopped her. It had been Doctor
Volospion's suggestion that she continue to lead the sort of life she had been used to — with regular
periods of darkness and daylight and a corresponding need to sleep and eat, even though he could easily
have changed all that for her.
       To be fair to him, she thought, he tended to follow a similar routine himself, ever since he had heard
that Lord Jagged of Canaria had adopted this ancient affectation. If she had had a power ring or an air
car at her disposal (again she was completely reliant on Volospion's good graces) she would have left the
palace and gone to find some fun, something to take her mind off things. She looked at her
Winnie-the-Pooh clock — another three hours before the palace would be properly activated. Until then
she would not even be able to get a snack with which to console herself.
       "I'm not much better off than that little creep down there," she said. "Oh, Mavis, what sort of a state
have they got you into!"
       A tap, now, at the door.
       Grateful for the interruption, Mavis pulled on her fluffy blue dressing-robe. "Come in!"
       Doctor Volospion, a satanic Hamlet in black and white doublet and hose, entered her room. "You
are not sleeping, Miss Ming? I heard your voice as I passed…"
       Hope revealed itself in her eyes. "I've got a bit of a headache, Doctor." He could normally cure her
headaches. Her mood improved. She became eager, anxious to win his approval. "Silly little Mavis is
having nightmares again."
       "You are unhappy?"
       "Oh, no! In this lovely room? In your lovely palace? It's everything a little girl dreams about. It's just
that awful Mr Bloom. Ever since…"
       "I see." The saturnine features showed enlightenment. "You are still afraid. He can never escape,
Miss Ming. He has tried, but I assure you my powers are far greater than his. He becomes tiresome, but
he is no threat."
       "You'll let him go, then?"
       "If I could be sure that he would leave the planet, for he fails to be as entertaining as I had hoped.
And if he would give me that Grail of his, from which his power, I am now certain, derives. But he
refuses."
       "You could take it now, couldn't you?"
       "Not from him. Not from his ship. The screen is still impenetrable. No, you are our only hope."
       "Me?"
       "He would not have allowed himself to be trapped at all, if it had not been for you." Doctor
Volospion sighed deeply. "Well, I have just returned from visiting him again. I have offered him his liberty
in return for that one piece of property, but he fobs me off with arguments that are typically specious,
with vague talk of Faith and Trust — you have heard his babble."
       Mavis murmured sympathetically. "I've never seen you so cast down, Doctor Volospion. You never
know with some people, do you? He's best locked up for his own good. He's a sort of cripple, isn't he?
You know what some cripples are like. You can't blame them. It's the frustration. It's all bottled up in
them. It turns them into sex maniacs."
       "To do him justice, Miss Ming, his interest seems only in you. I have offered him many women, both
real and artificial, from the menageries. Many of them are very beautiful, but he insists that none of them
has your 'soul,' your — um — true beauty."
      "Really?" She was sceptical, still. "He's insane. A lot of men are like that. That's one of the reasons I
gave them up. At least with a lady you know where you are on that score. And Mr Bloom has got about
as much sex-appeal as a seagull — less! Did you ever hear of a really sweet old book called Jonathan
…"
      "Your headache is better, Miss Ming?"
      "Why, yes." She touched her hair. "It's almost gone. Did you…?"
      Doctor Volospion drew his own brows together and traced beringed fingers across the creases.
"You do not give yourself enough credit, Miss Ming…"
      She smiled. "That's what Betty was always telling me when I used to feel low. But poor old
Mavis…"
      "He demands that you see him. He speaks of nothing else."
      "Oh!" She paused. She shook her head. "No, I couldn't, really. As it is, I haven't had a good night's
sleep since the day he arrived."
      "Of course, I understand."
      Miss Ming was touched by Doctor Volospion's unusual sadness. He seemed to have none of his
usual confidence. She moved closer to him.
      "Don't worry, Doctor Volospion. Maybe it would be best if you tried to forget about him."
      "I need the Grail. I am obsessed with it. And I cannot rid myself of the notion that, somehow, he is
tricking me."
      "Impossible. You're far too clever. Why is this Grail so important to you?"
      Doctor Volospion withdrew from her.
      "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to pry."
      "Only you can help me, Miss Ming."
      The apparent pleading in his voice moved her to heights of sympathy. "Oh…"
      "You could convince him, I think, where I could not."
      She was relenting, against all her instincts. "Well, if I saw him for a few moments … And it might
help me, too — to lay the ghost, if you know what I mean."
      His voice was low. "I should be very grateful to you, Miss Ming. Perhaps we should go
immediately."
      She hesitated. Then she patted his arm. "Oh, all right. Give me a few minutes to get dressed."
      With a deep bow, Doctor Volospion left the room.
      Miss Ming began to consider her clothes. On the one hand, she thought, some sort of sexless boiler
suit would be best, to dampen Mr Bloom's ardour as much as possible. Another impulse was to put on
her very sexiest clothes, to feed her vanity. In the end she compromised, donning a flowery mou-mou
which, she thought, disguised her plumpness. Courageously she went to join Doctor Volospion, who
awaited her in the corridor. Together they made their way to the menagerie.
      As they descended flights of stone stairs she observed: "Surprisingly I'm feeling quite light-headed.
Almost gay!"
      They passed through the tiered rows of his many devotional trophies, past the bones and the sticks
and the bits of cloth, the cauldrons, idols, masks and weapons, the crowns and the boxes, the scrolls,
tablets and books, the prayer-wheels and crystals and ju-jus, until they reached the door of the first
section of the menagerie, the Jewish House.
      "I had thought of putting him in here," Doctor Volospion told her as they passed by the inmates,
who ranted, wailed, chanted, tore their clothing or merely turned aside as they passed, "but finally I
decided on the Non-Sectarian Prophet House."
      "I hadn't realized your collection was so big. I've never seen it all, as you know." Miss Ming made
conversation as best she could. Evidently the place still disturbed her.
      "It grows almost without one realizing it," said Doctor Volospion. "I suppose, because so many
people of a messianic disposition take an interest in the future, we are bound to get more than our fair
share of prophets, anxious to discover if their particular version of the millennium has come about.
Because they are frequently disappointed, many are glad of the refuge I offer."
       They went through another door.
       "Martyrdom, it would seem, is the next best thing to affirmation," he said.
       They passed through a score of different Houses until, finally, they came to the Fireclown's habitat.
It was designed to resemble a desert, scorched by a permanently blazing sun.
       "He refused," whispered Doctor Volospion, as they approached, "to tell me what sort of
environment he favoured, so I chose this one. It is the most popular with my prophets, as you'll have
noted."
       Emmanuel Bloom, in his clown's costume, sat on a rock in the centre of his energy cage. His
greasepaint seemed to have run a little, as if he had been weeping, but he did not seem in particularly low
spirits now. He had not, it appeared, noticed them. He was reciting poetry to himself.

     "… Took shape and were unfolded like as flowers.
     And I beheld the hours
     As maidens, and the days as labouring men,
     And the soft nights again
     As wearied women to their own souls wed,
     And ages as the dead.
     And over these living, and them that died,
     From one to the other side
     A lordlier light than comes of earth or air
     Made the world's future fair.
     A woman like to love in face, but not
     A thing of transient lot —
     And like to hope, but having hold on truth —
     And like to joy or youth,
     Save that upon the rock her feet were set —
     And like what men forget,
     Faith, innocence, high thought, laborious peace —"

      He had seen her. His great blue eyes blinked. His stiff little body began to rise. His birdlike, fluting
voice took on a different tone.
      "And yet like none of these…" He put an awkward finger to his small mouth. He put his painted
head on one side.
      Mavis Ming cleared her throat. Doctor Volospion's hand forced her further towards the cage.
      The Fireclown spoke first. "So Guinevere comes at last to her Lancelot — or is it Kundry, come to
call me Parsifal? Sorceress, you have incarcerated me. Tell your servant to release me so that, in turn, I
may free you from the evil that holds you with stronger bonds than any that chain me!"
      Miss Ming's smile was insincere. "Why don't you talk properly, Mr Bloom? This is childish.
Anyway, you know he's not my servant." She was very pale.
      Mr Bloom crossed the stretch of sand until he was as close to her as the cage permitted. "He is not
your master, you may be sure of that, this imitation Klingsor!"
      "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about." Her voice was shaking.
      He pressed his tiny body against the energy screen. "I must be free," he said. "There is no mission
for me here, now, at the End of Time. I must continue my quest, perhaps into another universe where
Faith may yet flourish."
      Doctor Volospion came forward. "I have brought Miss Ming, as you have so constantly demanded.
You have talked to her. Now, if you will give up the Grail to me…"
      Mr Bloom's manner became agitated. "I have explained to you, demi-demon, that you could not
keep it, even if, by some means, I could transfer it to you. Only the pure in spirit are entitled to its trust. If
I agreed to your bargain I should lose the Grail myself, for ever. Neither would gain!"
      "I find your objections without foundation." Doctor Volospion was unruffled by the Fireclown's
anger. "What you believe, Mr Bloom, is one thing. The truth, however, is quite another! Faith dies, but
the objects of faith do not, as you saw in my museum."
      "These things have no value without Faith!"
      "They are valuable to me. That is why I collect them. I desire this Grail of yours so that I may, at
least, compare it with my own."
      "You know yours to be false," said the Fireclown. "I can tell."
      "I shall decide which is false and which is not when I have both in my possession. I know it is on
your ship, for all that you deny it."
      "It is not. It manifests itself at certain times."
      Doctor Volospion allowed his own ill-temper to show. "Miss Ming…"
      "Please let him have it, Mr Bloom," said Mavis Ming in her best wheedling voice. "He'll let you go if
you do."
      The Fireclown was amused. "I can leave whenever I please. But I gave my word on two matters. I
said that I would not take you by force and that I would take you with me when I left."
      "Your boasts are shown to be empty, sir," said Doctor Volospion. He laid the flat of his hand
against the energy screen. "There."
      Mr Bloom ran his hand through his auburn mop, continuing to speak to Miss Ming. "You demean
yourself, woman, when you aid this wretch, when you adopt that idiotic tone of voice."
      "Well!" It was possible to observe that Miss Ming's legs were shaking. "I'm not staying here, not
even for you, Doctor Volospion! It's too much. I can stand a lot of things, but not this."
      "Be silent!" The Fireclown's voice was low and firm. "Listen to your soul. It will tell you what I tell
you."
      "Miss Ming!" Seeing that she prepared to flee Doctor Volospion seized her arm. "For my sake do
not give up. If I have that Grail…"
      "You may see the Grail, beautiful Mavis, when I have redeemed you," murmured the Fireclown,
"but it shall always be denied to such as he! Come with me and I shall let you witness more than
Mystery."
      She panicked. "Oh, Christ!" She was unable to control herself as she sensed the terrible pressure
coming from both sides. She tried to free herself from Doctor Volospion's restraining hand. "I can't take
any more. I can't!"
      "Miss Ming!" fiercely croaked a desperate Volospion. "You promised to help."
      "Come with me!" cried the Fireclown.
      She still struggled, trying to prise his grip away from the sleeve of her mou-mou. "You can both do
what you like. I don't want any part of it."
      Hysteria ruled now. She scratched Doctor Volospion's hand so that at last he released her. She ran
away from them. She ran crazily between the cages of roaring, screaming, moaning prophets. "Leave me
alone! Leave me alone!"
      And then, just before a door shut her from their view:
      "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"




                                                    14

In which Miss Mavis Ming is given an opportunity to win the
               Forgiveness of her Protector
       When Mavis Ming next awoke, finding herself in the soft pink security of her own bed, where she
had fled in terror after scratching Doctor Volospion, she was surprised by how refreshed she felt, how
confident. Even the threat of Doctor Volospion's anger, which she feared almost as much as the
Fireclown's love, failed to thrill her.
       "What can he do, after all?" she asked herself. She still wore the mou-mou. She looked at the
ripped sleeve, and she inspected the bruise on her arm. She doubted if the scratch she had given Doctor
Volospion was any worse than the bruise he had given her, but she also recalled that, in her experience,
men had a different way of looking at these things.
       "Why do I feel so good? Because of a fight?" She was almost buoyant. "Maybe because it's over. I
tried to please him. I really tried. But he's got a way of double-binding a girl like nobody else's. I guess
little Mavis will have to find a new berth."
       She removed the mou-mou and went to take a shower. "Well, it was high time for a change. And
I'm not much gone on sharing the same roof with that mad midget downstairs."
       The shower was refreshing.
       "I'm going to go out. I'm going to visit a few people. Now," elbow on palm of hand, fingertip to
chin, "who shall I visit first?"
       She reviewed her acquaintances, wondering who would be most sympathetic. Who would welcome
her.
       And then, of a sudden, depression swept back. It caught her so unexpectedly that she had to sit
down on the edge of the unmade bed, dropping her towel to the floor. "Oh, Christ! Oh, Christ! What in
hell's wrong with you, Mavis?"
       A knock on her door interrupted the catharsis before it had properly got under way.
       "Yes?"
       "Miss Ming?" It was, of course, Doctor Volospion.
       "This is it, Mavis." She pulled herself together. She put on a robe. "Time for the tongue-lashing.
Well, I'll tell him I'm leaving. He'll be glad of that." She raised her voice. "Come in!"
       But he was smiling when he entered.
       She looked at him in nervous astonishment.
       He was dressed in robes of scarlet and green. There was a tight-fitting dark green hood on his
head, emphasizing the sharpness of his features.
       "You are well, Miss Ming?" As he spoke he drew on dark green gloves.
       "Better than I thought. I wanted to…"
       "I came to apologize," he said.
       She had glanced at his hand before the glove went on. There was, of course, no sign of her scratch.
       "Oh," she said. She was taken aback.
       "If I had realized exactly how badly that Mr Bloom affected you, I would never have subjected you
to the ordeal," he said.
       "Well, you weren't to know." She bit her lip, as if she sensed her determination dissipating already.
       "The fault was wholly mine." He had all his old authority. It comforted her.
       "I lost my cool, I guess." Her voice shook. "I'm sorry about your hand."
       "I deserved worse."
       His voice was warm and, as always, it caused her to purr. It would not have been surprising if she
had arched her back and rubbed her body against him. "That Mr Bloom, he just freaks me, Doctor
Volospion. I don't know what it is. I suppose I've completely blown it for you, haven't I?"
       "No, no," he reassured her.
       "You talked? After I'd gone?"
       "Somewhat. He remains quite adamant."
       "He won't give you the Grail?"
       "Unfortunately not…"
       "It was my fault. I'm really sorry." She responded almost without any sort of consciousness,
mesmerized by him.
       "It grieves me. I can think of no way of obtaining it without your help."
       "You know I'd like to." The words emerged as if another spoke them for her. "I mean, if there's
anything I can do to make up for what happened last night…"
       "I would not put you to further embarrassment." He turned to leave.
       "Oh, no!" She paused, making an effort of will. "I mean, I couldn't face actually seeing him again,
but if there's anything else…"
       "I can think of nothing. Goodbye, Miss Ming."
       "There must be something?"
       He paused by the door, frowning. "Well, I suppose it is possible for you to get the Grail for me."
       "How?"
       "He said that he would allow you to see it, you recall?"
       "I can't really remember the details of what he said. I was too frightened."
       "Quite. You see somehow he controls his ship's protective devices from where he is. After you had
gone he told me again that he would let you see the Grail, but not me. I think he believes that if you see it
you will realize that he is this spiritual saviour he sets himself up to be."
       "You mean I could get into the ship and find the Grail?"
       "Exactly. Once I had it in my possession, I would let him go. You would be free of him."
       "But he'd suspect."
       "His infatuation blinds him."
       "I wouldn't have to see him again?" She spoke as firmly as she could. "I won't do that, whatever
else."
       "You will never be asked to go to the menagerie and, in a while, he will have left this planet."
       "It's stealing, of course," she said.
       "Call it recompense for all the damage he has done while here. Call it justice."
       "Yes. That's fair enough."
       "But no," he looked kindly down on her, "I ask too much of you."
       "You don't, really." He had inspired in her a kind of eager courage. "Let me help."
       "He has assured me that he will lower the barriers of his ship for you alone."
       "Then it's up to Mavis, isn't it?"
       "If you feel you can do it, Miss Ming, I would show my gratitude to you in many ways when you
returned with the cup."
       "It's enough to help out." But she glanced at the power rings on his gloved fingers. "When shall I
go?" She paused. "There won't be any danger, I suppose…?"
       "None at all. He genuinely loves you, Miss Ming. Of course, if you consider this action a betrayal of
Mr Bloom…"
       "Betrayal? I didn't make any deals with him."
       His voice was rich with gratification. "It would mean much to me, as you know. My collection is
important to my happiness. If I thought that I possessed an artefact that was not authentic, well, I should
never be content."
       "Rely on Mavis." Her eyes began to shine.
       "You are possessed of a great and admirable generosity," he said.
       His praise sent a pulse of well-being through her whole body.




                                                    15

     In which Mavis Ming sets off in search of the Holy Grail
     Doctor Volospion had made no alterations to his force-screen since the Fireclown had passed
beyond it. Mavis Ming moved through the eternal twilight of the castle's grounds, towards the dark and
ragged hole in the wall of ice. On the other side of the hole she could see the brilliant scarlet of Emmanuel
Bloom's ship.
       Gingerly she stepped through the gap, sensitive to the stillness and silence of her surroundings. She
wished that Doctor Volospion had been able to accompany her, at least this far, but he was wary, he had
told her, of the Fireclown suspecting treachery. If Bloom detected another presence it was likely that he
would immediately restore his ship's defences.
       The teardrop-shaped ship was a red silhouette against a background of dark trees. Its airlock
remained open, its ramp was down. She paused as she looked up at it.
       It was impossible from where she stood to see anything of the ship's interior, but she could smell a
warm mustiness coming from the entrance, together with a suggestion of pale smoke. If she had not
known otherwise, she might have suspected the Fireclown still inside. The ship was redolent of his
presence.
       She spoke aloud, to dispel the silence. "Here goes, Mavis."
       She was wearing her blue and orange kimono over her bikini, for Doctor Volospion had warned
her that it might be uncomfortably warm within the Fireclown's ship. She struggled up the pebbled surface
of the ramp and hesitated again outside the entrance, peering in. It seemed to her that points of fire still
flickered on the other side of the airlock's open door.
       "Coo-ee!" she said.
       She wet her lips. "What manner of creature is lord of this fair castle?" She reassured herself with the
language of her favourite books. "Shall I find my handsome prince within? Or an ugly ogre…?" She
shuddered. She looked back at the battlements and towers of gloomy Castle Volospion, hoping perhaps
to see her protector, but the castle seemed entirely deserted. She drew a breath and entered the airlock.
It was not quite so warm as she had been led to believe.
       She moved from the airlock into the true interior of the ship. She found herself pleasantly surprised
by its ordinariness. It was as if firelight illuminated the large chamber, although the source of that light was
mysterious.
       The rosy, flickering light cast her shadow, enlarged and distorted, upon the far wall. The chamber
was in disorder, as if the shock of landing had dislodged everything from its place. Boxes, parchments,
books and pictures were scattered everywhere; figurines lay dented or broken upon the carpeted floor;
drapes, once used to cover portholes, hung lopsidedly upon the walls, which curved inwards.
       "What a lot of junk!" Her voice held more confidence. Apparently the place had been Mr Bloom's
store-room, for there was no sign of furniture.
       She stumbled over crates and bales of cloth until she reached a companionway leading up to the
next chamber. Doctor Volospion had told her that she would probably find the cup in the control room,
which must be above. She climbed, pushed open a hatch, and found herself in a circular room which was
lit very similarly to the storage chamber, but so realistically that she found herself searching for the open
fireplace which seemed to be the source of the light.
       Save for a faint smell of burning timber, there was no sign of a fire.
       "Mavis," she said determinedly, "keep that imagination of yours well under control!"
       This room, as she had suspected, was the Fireclown's living quarters. It contained a good-sized
bed, shelves, storage lockers, a desk, a chair and a screen whereby the occupant could check the ship's
functions.
       She wiped sweat from her forehead, glancing around her.
       Against one wall, at the end of the bed, was a large metal ziggurat which looked as if it had once
been the base for something else. Would this be where the cup was normally kept? If so, Emmanuel
Bloom had hidden it and her job was going to be harder. On the wall were various pictures: some were
paintings, others photographs and holographs, primarily of men in the costumes of many periods. On the
wall, too, was a narrow shelf, about two feet long, apparently empty. She reached to touch it and felt
something there. It was thin, like a long pencil. Curiously she rolled the object towards her until it fell into
her hand. She was surprised.
       It was an old-fashioned riding crop, its tip frayed and dividing at one end; a silver head at the other.
The head was beautifully made — a woman's face in what the Italians called the "stile Liberty." Mavis
was impressed most by the look of ineffable tranquillity upon the features. The contrast between the
woman's expression and the function of the whip itself disturbed Mavis so much that she replaced it
hastily.
       Wishing that the light were stronger, she began to search for the cup or goblet (Doctor Volospion's
description had been vague). First she looked under the bed, finding only a collection of books and
manuscripts, many of them dusty.
       "This whole ship could do with a good spring-clean!" She searched through the wardrobe and
drawers, finding a collection of clothes to match those worn by the men whose pictures decorated the
wall. This sudden intimacy with Mr Bloom's personal possessions had not only whetted her curiosity
about him — his clothes, to her, were much more interesting than anything he had said — but had
somehow given her a greater sympathy for him.
       She began to feel unhappy about rummaging through his things; her search for the goblet began
increasingly to seem like simple thievery.
       Her search became more rapid as she sought to find the Grail and leave as soon as she could. If she
had not made a promise to Doctor Volospion she would have left the ship there and then.
       "You're a fool, Mavis. Everyone's told you. And do you ever listen?"
       As she opened a mahogany trunk, inlaid with silver and mother-of-pearl, the lid squeaked and, at
the same time, she thought she heard a faint noise from below. She paused and listened, but there was no
further sound. She saw at once that the trunk contained only faded manuscripts.
       Miss Ming decided to return to the store-room. The curiosity which had at first directed her energy
was now dissipating, to be replaced by a familiar sense of panic.
       She felt her heart-rate increase and the ship seemed to give a series of little tremors, in sympathy.
She returned to the companionway and lifted the hatch. She was halfway down when the whole ship
shook itself like an animal, roared, as if sentient, and she was pressed back against the steps, clinging to
the rail as, swaying from side to side, the ship took off.
       Sweating, Miss Ming turned herself round with difficulty and began to climb back towards the living
quarters where she felt she would be safer. If her throat had been less constricted she would have
screamed. The ship, she knew, was taking off under its own power. It was quite possible that she had
activated it herself. Unless she could work out how to control it she would soon be adrift in the cosmos,
floating through space until she died.
       And she would be all alone.
       It was this latter thought which terrified her most. She reached the cabin and crawled across the
dusty carpet as the pressure increased, climbing onto the bed in the hope that it would cushion the
acceleration effects.
       The sensations she was experiencing were not dissimilar to those she had experienced on her trip
through time and, as such, did not alarm her. It was the prospect of what would become of her when the
ship was beyond Earth's gravity which she could not bear to consider.
       It was not, she thought, as if there were many planets left in the universe. Earth might now be the
only one.
       The pressure began to lift, but she remained face-down upon the bed ("these sheets could do with a
wash," she was thinking) even when it was obvious that the ship was travelling at last through free space.
       "Oh, you've let yourself in for it this time, Mavis," she told herself. "You've been conned properly,
my girl."
       She wondered if, for reasons of his own, Doctor Volospion had deliberately sent her into space.
She knew his capacity for revenge. Had that silly tiff meant so much to him? He had beguiled her into
suggesting her own trap, her own punishment, just because of a silly scratch on the hand!
       "What a bastard! What bastards they all are!" And what an idiot she had made of herself! It taught
you never to be sympathetic to a man. They always used it against you. "That's Mavis all over," she
continued, "trusting the world. And this is how the world repays you!" But there was little conviction in
her tone; her self-pity was half-hearted. Actually, she realized, she was not feeling particularly bad now
that there was a genuine threat to her life. All the little anxieties fled away.
      Miss Ming began to roll over on the bed. At least the ship itself was comfortable enough.
      "It's cosy, really." She smiled. "A sort of den. Just like when I was a little girl, with my own little
room, and my books and dolls." She laughed. "I'm actually safer here than anywhere I've been since I
grew up. It shouldn't be difficult to work out a way of getting back to Earth — if I want to go back.
What's Earth got to offer, anyway, except deceit, hypocrisy and treachery?"
      She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She looked at her new home, all her new toys.
      "I think it's really what I've always wanted," she declared.
      "Now you realize that I spoke the truth!" said the triumphant voice of Emmanuel Bloom from the
shadows overhead.
      "My God!" said Miss Ming as she realized the full extent of Doctor Volospion's deception.




                                                    16

In which Doctor Volospion receives the congratulations of his
   peers and celebrates the acquisition of his new Treasure
      My Lady Charlotina rose from Doctor Volospion's bed and swiftly demolished her double (Doctor
Volospion would only make love to pairs of women) before touching a power ring to adorn herself in
white and cerise poppies. In the shadows of the four-poster Doctor Volospion lay relishing his several
victories, a beautiful cup held in his hands. He turned the cup round and round, running his fingers over an
inscription which he could not read, for it was in ancient English.
      "You doubt none of my powers now, I hope, My Lady Charlotina," he said.
      Her smile was slow. She knew he would have her speak of Jagged, perhaps make a comparison,
but she did not have it in her to satisfy Volospion's curiosity. Lord Jagged was Lord Jagged, she thought.
      "I was privileged," she said, "to know your plan from the start and to see it work so smoothly. I am
most impressed. First you incarcerated Miss Ming, then you lured Mr Bloom to your castle, then you
pretended that his power was great enough to destroy your force-field, then you captured him, knowing
that he would give anything to escape. You originally meant to hold him, of course, as one of your
collection, but then you learned of the Grail…"
      "So I offered Miss Ming in exchange for the Grail. Thus he thought he took her from me without
force and that she went willingly to him — for I did not, of course, explain to Mr Bloom that I had
deceived Miss Ming."
      "So much deception! It is quite hard for me to follow!" She laughed. "What a match! The greatest
cynic of our world (with the exception of Lord Shark who does not really count) pitted against the
greatest idealist in the universe!"
      "And the cynic won," said Doctor Volospion. "As they always do."
      "Well, a cynic would draw that conclusion," she pointed out. "I had a liking for that Mr Bloom,
though he was a bore."
      "As was Miss Ming."
      "Great bores, both."
      "And by one stroke I rid the world of its two most awful bores," said Doctor Volospion, in case she
had not considered this achievement with the rest.
      "Exactly."
      Yawning, My Lady Charlotina drifted towards a dark window. "You have your cup. He has his
queen."
       "Exactly."
       My Lady Charlotina looked up at the featureless heavens. No stars gleamed here. Perhaps they
were all extinguished. She sighed.
       "My only regret," said Doctor Volospion as he carefully laid the cup upon his pillow and
straightened his body, "is that I was not able to ask Mr Bloom the meaning of this inscription."
       "Doubtless a warning to the curious," she said "or an offer of eternal salvation. You know more
about these things, Doctor Volospion."
       A cap appeared on his head. Robes formed. Black velvet and mink. "Oh, yes, they are always very
similar. And often disappointingly ordinary."
       "It does seem a very ordinary cup."
       "The faithful would see that as a sign of its true holiness," he told her knowledgeably.
       From outside they detected a halloo.
       "It is Abu Thaleb," she said in some animation. "And Argonheart Po and some others. Li Pao, I
think, is with them. Shall you admit them?"
       "Of course. They will want to see my cup."
       My Lady Charlotina and Doctor Volospion left his bedroom and went down to the hall to greet
their guests.
       Doctor Volospion placed the cup upon the table. The ill-functioning neon played across its bright
silver.
       "Beautiful!" said Abu Thaleb, without as much enthusiasm as perhaps Doctor Volospion would have
wished. The Commissar of Bengal brushed feathers from his eyes. "A fitting reward for your services to
us all, Doctor Volospion."
       Argonheart Po bore a tray in his great hands. He set this, now, beside the cup. "I am always
thorough in my research," he said, "and hope you find this small offering appropriate." He removed the
cloth to reveal his savouries. "That is a pemmican spear. This cross is primarily the flavour of sole à la
crème. The taste of the wafers and the blood is rather more difficult to describe."
       "What an elegant notion!" Doctor Volospion took one of the savouries between finger and thumb
and nibbled politely.
       Li Pao asked: "May I inspect the cup?"
       "Of course." Doctor Volospion waved a generous hand. "You do not, by any chance, read, do you,
Li Pao? Specifically, Dawn Age English."
       "Once," said Li Pao. He studied the inscription. He shook his head. "I am baffled."
       "A great shame."
       "Does it do anything," wondered Sweet Orb Mace, moving from the shadows where he had been
studying Doctor Volospion's portrait.
       "I think not," said My Lady Charlotina. "It has done nothing yet, at any rate."
       Doctor Volospion stared at his cup somewhat wistfully. "Ah, well," he said, "I fear I shall grow tired
of it soon enough."
       My Lady Charlotina came to stand beside him. "Perhaps it will fill the room with light or something,"
she said encouragingly.
       "We can always hope," he said.




                                                    17

   In which Miss Mavis Ming at last attains a State of Grace
     Emmanuel Bloom swung himself from the ceiling, an awkward macaw. He no longer wore his paint
and motley but was again dressed in his black velvet suit.
      Mavis Ming saw that he had entered by means of a hatch. Doubtless the control cabin of the ship
was above.
      "My Goddess," said the Fireclown.
      She still sat on the edge of the bed. Her voice was without emotion. "You traded me for the cup.
That's what it was all about. What a fool I am!"
      "No, not you. Doctor Volospion proposed the bargain and so enabled me to keep my word to him.
He demanded the cup which I kept in my ship. I gave it to him." He strutted across the cabin and
manipulated a dial. Red-gold light began to fill his living quarters. Now everything glowed and each piece
of fabric, wood or metal seemed to have a life of its own.
      Mavis Ming stood up and edged away from the bed. She drew her kimono about her, over her
pendulous breasts, her fat stomach, her wide thighs.
      "Listen," she began. She was breathing rapidly once more. "You can't really want me, Mr Bloom.
I'm fat old Mavis. I'm ugly. I'm stupid. I'm selfish. I should be left on my own. I'm better off on my own. I
know I'm always looking for company, but really it's just because I never realized…"
      He raised a stiff right arm in a gesture of impatience. "What has any of that to do with my love for
you? What does it matter if foolish Volospion thought he was killing two birds with one stone when he
was actually freeing two eagles?"
      "Look," she said, "if…"
      "I am the Fireclown! I am Bloom, the Fireclown! I have lived the span of Man's existence. I have
made Time and Space my toys. I have juggled with chronons and made the multiverse laugh. I have
mocked Reality and Reality has shrivelled to be re-born. My eyes have stared unblinking into the hearts
of stars, and I have stood at the very core of the Sun and feasted on freshly created photons. I am
Bloom, Eternally Blooming Bloom. Bloom the Phoenix. Bloom, the Destroyer of Darkness. These eyes,
these large bulging eyes of mine, do you think they cannot see into souls as easily as they see into suns?
Can they not detect an aura of pain that disguises the true centre of a being as smoke hides fire? That is
why I choose to make you wise, to enslave you so that you may know true freedom."
      Miss Ming forced herself to speak. "This is kidnapping and kidnapping is kidnapping whatever you
prefer to call it…"
      He ignored her.
      "Of all the beings on that wasteland planet, you were one of the few who still lived. Oh, you lived as
a frightened rodent lives, your spirit perverted, your mind enshelled with cynicism, refusing for a moment
to look upon Reality for fear that it would detect you and devour you, like a wakened lion. Yet when
Reality occasionally impinged and could not be escaped, how did you respond?"
      "Look," she said, "you've got no right…"
      "Right? I have every right! I am Bloom! You are my Bride, my Consort, my Queen, my Goddess.
There is no woman deserves the honour more!"
      "Oh, Christ!" she said. "Please let me go. Please, I can't give you anything. I can't understand you. I
can't love you." She began to cry. "I've never loved anyone! No-one but myself."
      His voice was gentle. He took a few jerky steps closer to her. "You lie, Mavis Ming. You do not
love yourself."
      "Donny said I did. They all said I did, sooner or later."
      "If you loved yourself," he told her, "you would love me."
      Her voice shook. "That's good…"
      To Mavis Ming's own ears her words were without resonance of any kind. The collection of
platitudes with which she had always responded to experience; the borrowed ironies, the barren tropes
with which, instinctively, she had encumbered herself in order to placate a world she had seen as
essentially malevolent, all were at once revealed as the meaningless things they were, with the result that
an appalling self-consciousness, worse than anything she had suffered in the past, swept over her and
every phrase she had ever uttered seemed to ring in her ears for what it had been: A mewl of pain, a
whimper of frustration, a cry for attention, a groan of hunger.
      "Oh…"
      She became incapable of speech. She could only stare at him, backing around the wall as he came,
half-strutting, half-hopping, towards her, his head to one side, an appalling amusement in his unwinking,
protuberant eyes, until her escape was blocked by a heavy wardrobe.
      She was incapable of movement. She watched as he reached a twitching hand towards her face; the
hand was firm and gentle as it touched her and its warmth made her realize how cold, how clammy, her
own skin felt. She was close to collapse, only supported by the wall of the ship.
      "The Earth is far behind us now," he said. "We shall never return. It does not deserve us." He
pointed to the bed. "Go there. Remove your clothes."
      She gasped at him, trying to make him understand that she could not walk. She did not care, now,
what his intentions were, but she was too exhausted to obey him.
      "Tired…" she said at last.
      He shook his head. "No. You shall not escape by that route, madam." He spoke kindly. "Come."
      The high-pitched ridiculous voice carried greater authority than any she had heard before. She
began to walk towards the bed. She stood looking down at the sheets; the light made these, too, seem
vibrant with life of their own. She felt his little clawlike hands pull the kimono from her shoulders, undo
the tie, removing the garment entirely.
      She felt him break the fastening on her bikini top so that her breasts hung even lower on her body.
She felt no revulsion, nothing sexual at all, as his fingers pushed the bikini bottom over her hips and down
her legs. And yet she was more aware of her nakedness than she had ever been, seeing the fatness, the
pale flesh, without any emotion at all, remarking its poor condition as if it did not belong to her.
      "Fat…" she murmured.
      His voice was distant. "It is of no importance, this body. Besides, it shall not be fat for very long."
      She began to anticipate his rape of her, wondering if, when he began, she would feel anything. He
ordered her to lie face-down upon the bed. She obeyed. She heard him move away, then. Perhaps he
was undressing. She turned to look, but he was still in his tattered velvet suit, taking something from a
shelf. She saw that he held the whip in his hand, the one she had discovered earlier.
      She tried to feel afraid, because she knew that she should feel fear, but fear would not come. She
continued to look up at him, over her shoulder, as he returned. Still her body made no response. This
was quite unlike her fantasies of flagellation. What happened now excited neither her imagination nor her
body. She wished that she could feel something, even terror. Instead she was possessed by a calmness, a
sense of inevitability, unlike anything she had known.
      "Now," she heard him say, "I shall bring your blood into the light. And with it shall come the devils
that inhabit it, to be withered as weeds in the sun. And when I have finished you will know Rebirth,
Freedom, Dominion over the Multiverse, and more."
      Was it a mark of her own insanity that she could detect no insanity in his words?
      The whip fell upon her flesh. It struck her buttocks and the pain stole her breath. She did not
scream, but she gasped.
      It struck again, just below the first place, and she thought his flames lashed her. Her whole body
jerked, trying to escape, but a firm hand held her down again, and again the whip fell.
      She did not scream, but she groaned as she drew in her breath. The next stroke was upon her
thighs, the next behind her knees, and his hands were cruel now as she struggled. He held her by the
back of the neck; he gripped her by the shoulder, by the loose flesh of her waist, and each time he
gripped her she knew fresh pain.
      Mavis Ming believed at last that it was Emmanuel Bloom's intention to flay her alive, to tear every
piece of skin from her body. He held her lips, her ears, her breasts, her vagina, the tender parts of her
inner thighs, and every touch was fire.
      She screamed, she blubbered for him to stop, she could not believe that he, any more than she, was
any longer in control of what was happening. And yet the whip fell with a regularity which denied her
even this consolation, until, at length, her whole body burned and she lay still, consumed.
      Slowly the fire faded from this peak of intensity and it seemed to her that, again, her body and her
mind were united; this unity was new.
       Emmanuel Bloom said nothing. She heard him cross the chamber to replace the whip. She began to
breathe with deep regularity, as if she slept. Her consciousness of her body induced an indefinable
emotion in her. She moved her head to look at him and the movement was painful.
       "I feel…" Her voice was soft.
       He stood with his arms stiffly at his sides. His head was cocked, his expression was tender and
expectant.
       She could find no word.
       "It is your pride," he said.
       He reached to caress her face.
       "I love you," he said.
       "I love you." She began to weep.
       He made her rise and look at her body in the oval mirror he revealed. It seemed that her skin was a
lattice of long, red bruises; she could see where he had gripped her shoulders and her breasts. The pain
was hard to tolerate without making at least a whisper of sound, but she controlled herself.
       "Will you do this again?" It was almost a request.
       He shook his little head.
       She walked back to the bed. Her back, though lacerated, was straight. She had never walked in
that way before, with dignity. She sat down. "Why did you do it?"
       "In this manner? Perhaps because I lack patience. It is one of my characteristics. It was quick." He
laughed. "Why do it to you, at all? Because I love you. Because I wished to reveal to you the woman that
you are, the individual that you are. I had to destroy the shell."
       "It won't fade, this feeling?"
       "Only the scars will go. It is within you to retain the rest. Will you be my wife?"
       She smiled. "Yes."
       "Well, then, this has been a satisfactory expedition, after all. Better, really, than I expected. Oh,
what leaping delights we shall share, what wonders I can show you! No woman could desire more than
to be the consort of Bloom, the Good Soldier, the Champion Eternal, the Master of the Multiverse!"
       "And my master, too."
       "As you are my mistress, Mavis Ming." He fell with a peculiar, spastic jerk, on his knees beside her.
"For Eternity. Will you stay? I can return you within an hour or two."
       "I will stay," she said. "Yet you gave up so much for me. That cup. It was your honour?"
       He looked shamefaced. "He asked for the cup I kept in my ship. I could not give him the Holy
Grail, for it is not mine to give. I gave him something almost as dear to me, however. If Doctor Volospion
ever deciphers the inscription on the cup he will discover that it was awarded, in 1980, to Leonard
Bloom, by the Union of Master Bakers, for the best matzo bread of the Annual Bakery Show,
Whitechapel, London. He was a very good baker, my father. I loved him. I had kept his cup in all my
journeys back and forth through the time streams and it was the most valuable thing I possessed."
       "So you do not have the Grail." She smiled. "It was all part of your plan — pretending to own it,
pretending to be powerless — you tricked Doctor Volospion completely."
       "And he tricked me. Both are satisfied, for it is unlikely he shall ever know the extent of my trickery
and doubtless considers himself a fine fellow now! All are satisfied!"
       "And now…?" she began.
       "And now," he said, "I'll leave you. I must set my controls. You shall see all that is left of this
universe and then, through the centre of the brightest star, into the greater vastness of the multiverse
beyond! There we shall find others to inspire and if we find no life at all, upon our wanderings, it is within
our power to create it, for I am the Fireclown. I am the Voice of the Sun! Aha! Look! It has come to
you, too. This, my love, is Grace. This is our reward!"
       The cabin was filled suddenly by brilliant golden light, apparently having as its source a beam which
entered through the very shell of the spaceship, falling directly upon the ziggurat at the end of the bed.
       A smell, like sweet spring flowers after the rain, filled the cabin, and then a crystal cup, brimming
with scarlet liquid, appeared at the top of the ziggurat.
      Scarlet rays spread from a hundred points in the crystal, almost blinding her, and, although Mavis
Ming could hear nothing, she received an impression of sonorous, delicate music. She could not help
herself as she lifted her aching body from the bed to the floor and knelt, staring into the goblet in awe.
      From behind her the Fireclown chuckled and he knelt beside her, taking her hand.
      "We are married now," he said, "before the Holy Grail. Married individually and together. And this
is our Trust which shall be taken from us should we ever commit the sin of accidie. Here is proof of all
my claims. Here is Hope. And should we ever cease to forget our purpose, should we ever fall into that
sin of inertia, should we lose for more than a moment, our Faith in our high resolve, the Grail will leave us
and shall vanish forever from the sight of Man, for I am Bloom, the Last Pure Knight, and you are the
Pure Lady, chastized and chaste, who shall share these Mysteries with me."
      She began: "It is too much. I am not capable…" But then she lifted her head and she smiled, staring
into the very heart of the goblet. "Very well."
      "Look," he said, as the vision began to fade, "your wounds have vanished."

     Scanned and proofed October 2004