The End of All Songs dateot-3

by Michael Moorcock

  "Is it Yusharisp and some friends?" Jherek was delighted to recognize the gloomy little alien who had first brought them the news of the world's doom. "Why has not Mongrove…?"

  "These are from Yusharisp's planet," explained the Duke of Queens, "but they are not him. They are five fresh ones! I believe they came to look for him. In the meantime, of course, he has been home and returned here."

  "He is not aware of the presence of his friends on our planet?"

  "Not yet."

  "You'll tell him tonight?"

  "I think so. At an appropriate moment."

  "Can they communicate?"

  "They refuse to accept translation pills, but they have their own mechanical translators, which are, as you know, rather erratic."

  Jherek pressed his face against the force-bubble. He grinned at the inmates. He smiled. "Hello! Welcome to the End of Time!"

  China-blue eyes glared vacantly back at him.

  "I am Jherek Carnelian. A friend of Yusharisp's," he told them agreeably.

  "The leader, the one in the middle, is known as Chief Public Servant Shashurup," the Duke of Queens informed him.

  Jherek made another effort. He waved his fingers. "Good afternoon, Chief Public Servant Shashurup!"

  "Why-ee (skree) do you continue-oo too-too-to tor(roar)-ment us?" asked the CPS. "All we a(kaaar)sk(skree) is (hiss) that-tat-tat you do-oo-oo us(ushush) the cour(kur-kur-kur) tesy-ee of com-com-communicat(tate-tate)ing our requests to your representat(tat-tat)ives!" He spoke wearily, without expectation of answer.

  "We have no 'representatives', save ourselves," said Jherek. "Is there anything wrong with your environment? I'm sure that the Duke of Queens would be only too pleased to make any adjustments you saw fit…"

  "Skree-ee-ee," said CPS Shashurup desperately. "It is not(ot-ot) in our nat(tate-tate)ure to (skree) make(cake-cake) threat(et-et-et)s, but we must warn you (skree) that unless we are re(skree)lea(skree)sed our peo(pee-pee)ple will be forced to take steps to pro(pro-pro)tect us and secure(ure-ure) our release. You are behaving childishly! It is imposs(oss-oss)ible to believe(eve-eve-eve) that a race grown so old can still(ill-ill) skree-skree yowl eek yaaaarrrrk!"

  Only Mrs. Underwood showed any genuine interest in the Chief Public Servant's attempts to communicate with them. "Shouldn't you release them, Duke of Queens?" she asked mildly. "I thought it was argued that no life-form was kept here against its will."

  "Ah," said the Duke, dusting at his braid, "that is so, by and large. But if I let them go immediately, some rival will acquire them. I have not yet had time to display them as mine, you see."

  "Then how long must they remain prisoners?"

  "Prisoners? I do not understand you, Mrs. Underwood. But they'll stay here until after this party for Mongrove, at least. I'll conceive a special entertainment later, at which I may display them to full advantage."

  "Irr-re-re-sponsible oaf(f-f-f)!" cried CPS Shashurup, who had overheard some of this. "Your people already suck(uck-uck) the universe dry and we do not complain(ain-ain-ain). Oh, but we shall see (skree-skree-skree) a change when we are free (ee-ee-ee-ee)!"

  The Duke of Queens glanced at his index-finger's nail, in which a small, perfect picture formed. It showed him the party above.

  "Ah, Mongrove has arrived at last. Shall we return?"

  12. In Which Lord Mongrove Reminds Us of Inevitable Doom

  "Truly, my dear friends, I, too, disbelieved, as you do…" moaned Mongrove from the centre of the hall, "…but Yusharisp showed me withered planets, exhausted stars — matter collapsing, disintegrating, fading to nothing … Ah, it is bleak out there. It is bleak beyond imagining." His great, heavy head dropped towards his broad, bulky chest and a monstrous sigh escaped him. Massive hands clasped themselves together just above his mighty stomach. "All that is left are ghosts and even the ghosts fade. Civilizations that, until recently, spanned a thousand star-systems, have become merely a whisper of static from a detector screen. Gone without trace. Gone without trace. As we shall go, my friends." Mongrove's gaze upon them was a mixture of sympathy and accusation. "But let my guide Yusharisp, who risked his own life to come to us, to warn us of our fate, and to whom none but I would listen, tell you in his own words."

  "Scarce(skree)ly — scarcely any life survives in the universe," said the globular alien. "The process of collapse continues faster than (roar) I predicted. This is partially (skree) the fault of the people of this planet. Your cities (yelp) draw their energy from the easiest available (skree-skree) source. Now they (roar) suck raw energy from disintegrating novae, from already (skree) dying suns. It is the only reason why (skree) you still (yelp) survive!"

  Bishop Castle stood at Jherek's left shoulder. He leaned to murmur: "In truth I become quickly bored with boredom. The Duke of Queens' efforts to make entertainment from that alien are surely useless, as even he must see now." But he lifted his head and dutifully cried: "Hurrah! Hurrah!" and applauded.

  Mongrove lifted a hand. "Yusharisp's point is that we are contributing to the speed with which the universe perishes. If we were to use less energy for pursuits like — like this party — we could slow down the rate of collapse. It is all running out, dear friends!"

  My Lady Charlotina said, in a loud whisper, "I thought Mongrove shunned what he called 'materialism'. This talk smacks of it, if I'm not mistaken. But, then, I probably am." She smiled to herself.

  But Li Pao said firmly: "He echoes only what I have been saying for years."

  An Iron Orchid, in red and white checks and a simple red and white domino, linked arms with Bishop Castle. "The world does grow boring, I agree, most concise of clerics. Everyone seems to be repeating themselves." She giggled. "Especially me!"

  "It is even in our power, thanks to our cities, to preserve this planet," continued Mongrove, raising his voice above what had become a general babble of conversation. "Yusharisp's people sent us their finest minds to help. They should have arrived by now. When they do, however, there is just a chance that there will still be time to save our world."

  "He must be referring to those we have just seen in the Duke's menagerie," said Mrs. Underwood. She gripped Jherek's arm. "We must tell Lord Mongrove where they are!"

  Jherek patted her hand. "We could not. It would be in very bad taste to spoil the Duke's surprise."

  "Bad taste?"

  "Of course."

  She subsided, frowning.

  Milo de Mars went by, leaving a trail of perfectly symmetrical gold six-pointed stars in her wake. "Forgive me, Lord Mongrove," she fluted, as the giant petulantly brushed the metallic things aside.

  "Oh, what self-satisfied fools you are!" cried Mongrove.

  "Should we not be? It seems an excellent thing to be," said Mistress Christia in surprise. "Is it not what, we are told, the human race has striven for, all these millions of years? Is it not contentment?" She twirled her Grecian gown. "Is that not what we have?"

  "You have not earned it," said Li Pao. "I think that is why you will not make efforts to protect it."

  Amelia smiled approval, but Jherek was puzzled. "What does he mean?"

  "He speaks of the practical basis of the morality you were so anxious to understand, Mr. Carnelian."

  Jherek brightened, now that he realized they touched upon a subject of interest. "Indeed? And what is this practical basis?"

  "In essence — that nothing is worth possessing unless it has been worked for."

  He said, with a certain slyness, "I have worked hard to possess you, dearest Amelia."

  Again amusement threatened to get the better of her. The struggle showed on her face for only a moment before she was once more composed. "Why, Mr. Carnelian, will you always insist on confusing the issue with the introduction of personal matters?"

  "Are such matters less important?"

  "They have their place. Our conversation, I thought was a trifle more abstract. We discussed morality and its usefulness in life. It was a subject dear to my father's heart and the substance of m
any a sermon."

  "Yet your civilization, if you'll forgive me saying so, did not survive for any great length of time. A couple of hundred years saw its complete destruction."

  She was nonplussed, but soon found an answer: "It is not to do with the survival of civilizations, as such, but with personal satisfaction. If one leads a moral life, a useful life, one is happier."

  He scratched his head beneath the tweed cap. "It seems to me that almost everyone at the End of Time is happier, however, than were those I encountered in your Dawn Age era. And morality is a mystery to us, as you know."

  "It is a mindless happiness — how shall it survive the disaster Lord Mongrove warns us about?"

  "Disaster, surely, is only that if one believes it to be important. How many here, would you say, believe in Mongrove's doom?"

  "But they will."

  "Are you certain?"

  She cast an eye about her. She could not say that she was certain.

  "But are you not afraid, even a little?" she asked him.

  "Afraid? Well, I would regret the passing of all this variety, this wit. But it has existed. Doubtless something like it will exist again."

  She laughed and she took his arm. "If I did not know you better, Mr. Carnelian, I should mistake you for the wisest and most profound of philosophers."

  "You flatter me, Amelia."

  Mongrove's voice continued to boom from the babble, but the words were indistinct. "If you will not save yourselves, think of the knowledge you could save — the inherited knowledge of a million generations!"

  An Iron Orchid, in green velvet and brocade, glided by beside Brannart Morphail, who was discoursing along lines very similar to Mongrove's, though it was evident he did not listen to the gloomy giant. With some alarm, Jherek heard her say: "Of course, you are completely right, Brannart. As a matter of fact, I have it in mind to take a trip through time myself. I know you would disapprove, but it is possible that I could be of use to you…"

  Jherek heard no more of his mother's remarks. He shrugged, dismissing them as the expression of a passing foible.

  Sweet Orb Mace was making love to Mistress Christia, the Everlasting Concubine, in a most interesting fashion. Their intertwined bodies drifted amongst the other guests. Elsewhere, Orlando Chombi, Kimick Rentbrain and O'Kala Incarnadine linked hands in a complicated aerial dance, while the recently re-styled Countess of Monte Carlo extended her substance until she was thirty feet tall and all but invisible; this, it seemed, for the entertainment of the Nursery children, who gathered around her and laughed with delight.

  "We have a duty to our ancestors!" groaned Mongrove, now, for the moment, out of sight. Jherek thought he was buried somewhere in the sudden avalanche of blue and green roses tipped from Doctor Volospion's Pegasus-drawn platform. "And to those (skree) who follow us…" added a piping but somewhat muffled voice.

  Jherek sighed. "If only Jagged would reveal himself, Amelia! Then, I am sure, any confusion would be at an end."

  "He might be dead," she said. "You feared as much."

  "It would be a difficult loss to bear. He was my very best friend. I have never known anyone, before, who could not be resurrected."

  "Mongrove's point — that no one shall be resurrected after the apocalypse."

  "I agree the prospect is more attractive, for then none should feel a loss." They drifted towards the floor, still littered with the feebly fluttering fledgling hawks. Many had already expired, for Wakaka Nakooka had forgotten to feed them. Absently, Jherek dissipated them, so that they might descend and stand there, looking up at a party grown less sedate than when first they had arrived.

  "I thought you were of the opinion that we should live forever, Amelia?" he said, still peering upwards.

  "It is my belief , not my opinion."

  He failed to distinguish the difference.

  "In the Life Beyond," she said. She tried to speak with conviction, but her voice faltered, adding to herself: "Well, yes, perhaps there is still a Life Beyond, hard though it is to imagine. Ah, it is so difficult to retain one's ordinary faith…"

  "It is the end of everything!" continued Mongrove, from somewhere within the mountain of roses. "You are lost! Lost! You will not listen! You will not understand! Beware! Oh, beware!"

  "Mr. Carnelian, we should try to make them listen to Lord Mongrove, surely!"

  Jherek shook his head. "He has nothing very interesting to say, Amelia. Has he not said it before? Is not Yusharisp's information identical to that which he first brought, during the Duke's African party. It means little…"

  "It means much to me."

  "How so?"

  "It strikes a chord. Lord Mongrove is like the prophet to whom none would listen. In the end his words were vindicated. The Bible is full of such stories."

  "Then surely, we have no need for more?"

  "You are deliberately obtuse!"

  "I assure you that I am not."

  "Then help Mongrove."

  "His temperament and mine are too dissimilar. Brannart will comfort him, and Werther de Goethe, too. And Li Pao. He has many friends, many who will listen. They will gather together and agree that all but themselves are fools, that only they have the truth, the right to control events and so on. It will cheer them up and they'll doubtless do little to spoil the pleasure of anyone else. For all we know, their antics will prove entertaining."

  "Is 'entertainment' your only criterion?"

  "Amelia, if it pleases you, I'll go this moment to Mongrove and groan in tune with him. But my heart will not be in it, love of my life, joy of my existence."

  She sighed. "I would not have you live a lie, Mr. Carnelian. To encourage you towards hypocrisy would be a sin, I know."

  "You have become somewhat sober again, dearest Amelia."

  "I apologize. Evidently, there is nothing to be done, in reality. You think Mongrove postures?"

  "As do we all, according to his temperament. It is not that he is insincere, it is merely that he chooses one particular role, though he knows many other opinions are as interesting and as valuable as his own."

  "A few short years are left…" came Mongrove's boom, more distant now.

  "He does not wholly believe in what he says?"

  "Yes and no. He chooses wholly to believe. It is a conscious decision. Tomorrow, he could make an entirely different decision, if he became bored with this role (and I suspect he will become bored, as he realizes how much he bores others)."

  "But Yusharisp is sincere."

  "So he is, poor thing."

  "Then there is no hope for the world."

  "Yusharisp believes that."

  "You do not?"

  "I believe everything and nothing."

  "I never quite understood before … is that the philosophy of the End of Time?"

  "I suppose it is." He looked about him. "I do not think we shall see Lord Jagged here, after all. Lord Jagged could explain these things to you, for he enjoys discussing abstract matters. I have never much had the penchant. I have always preferred to make things rather than to talk. I am a man of action, you see. Doubtless it is something to do with being the product of natural childbirth."

  Her eyes, when next she looked at him, were full of warmth.

  13. The Honour of an Underwood

  "I am still uncertain. Perhaps if we began again?"

  Amiably, Jherek disintegrated the west wing.

  They were rebuilding his ranch. The Bromley-Gothic redbrick villa had vanished. In its place stood something altogether larger, considerably lighter, having more in common with the true Gothic of medieval France and Belgium, with fluted towers and delicately fashioned windows.

  "It is all, I think, a trifle too magnificent," she said. She fingered her fine chin. "And yet, it would only seem grandiose in Bromley, as it were. Here, it is almost simple."

  "If you will try your own amethyst power-ring…" he murmured.

  "I have still to trust these things…" But she twisted and thought at the same tim
e.

  A fairy-tale tower, the ideal of her girlhood, stood there. She could not bring herself to disseminate it.

  He was delighted, admiring its slender hundred-and twenty-feet, topped by twin turrets with red conical roofs. It glittered. It was white. There were tiny windows.

  "Such an elegant example of typical Dawn Age architecture!" he complimented her.

  "You do not find it too fanciful?" She was shy of her achievement, but pleased.

  "A model of utility!"

  "Scarcely that…" She blushed. Her own imagination, made concrete, astonished her.

  "More! You must make more!"

  The ring was turned again and another tower sprang up, connected to its fellow by a little marble bridge. With some hesitation she disseminated the original building he had made at her request, replacing it with a main hall and living apartments above. She gave her attention to the landscape around. A moat appeared, fed by a sparkling river. Formal gardens, geometric, filled with her favourite flowers, stretched into the distance, giving place to rose bowers and undulating lawns, a lake, with cypresses and poplars and willows. The sky was changed to a pale blue and the small clouds in it were never whiter; then she added subtle colours, pinks and yellows, as of the beginnings of a sunset. All was as she had once dreamed of, not as a respectable Bromley housewife, but as a little girl, who had read fairy stories with a sense that she consulted forbidden texts. Her face shone as she contemplated her handiwork. A new innocence bloomed there. Jherek watched, and revelled in her pleasure.

  "Oh, I should not…"

  A unicorn now grazed upon the lawn. It looked up, its eyes mild and intelligent. Its golden horn caught the sunlight.

  "It is everything I was told could never be. My mother admonished me, I remember, for entertaining silly fancies. She said no good would come of them."