Lord Shark trudged on, his grey-booted feet making the dust of his arid domain dance, giving the landscape a semblance of life, and came in a while to his rectangular domicile at the foot of those time-ground ridges, the ragged remains of the Rockies. Two guards, identical in appearance to each other and to Lord Shark, were positioned on either side of his single small door, and they remained rigid, only their eyes following him as he let himself in and marched up the long, straight, sparsely lit passage which passed through the centre of the internal grid (the house was divided into exactly equal sections, with rooms of exactly equal proportions) to the central chamber of the building, in which he spent the greater part of his days. There he sat himself down upon a chair of grey metal and began to brood.
Regretfully, he must pursue his agreement with the Duke of Queens, but he felt no demand to hurry the business through; the longer it took, the better.
4. In Which Unwilling Travellers Arrive at the End of Time
Walking slowly across the ceiling of his new palace, the Duke of Queens looked up to see that Bishop Castle had already arrived and was peering with some pleasure through a window. "Shall we join him?" asked the duke of the Iron Orchid and, at her nod of assent, turned a jewel on one of his rings. Elegantly they performed half a somersault so that they, too, were upside down and, from their new perspective, descending towards the floor. Bishop Castle hailed them. "Such a simple idea, duke, but beautiful." He waved a white-gloved hand at the view. The sky now lay like a sea, spread out below, while inverted trees and gardens and lawns were overhead.
"It is refreshing," confirmed the duke, pleased. "But I can take no credit. The idea was the Iron Orchid's."
"Nonsense, most dashing of dukes. Actually," she murmured to Bishop Castle, "I borrowed it from Sweet Orb Mace. How is she, by the by?"
"Recovered completely, though the resurrection was a little late. I believe the snow helped preserve her, for all its heat."
"We have just seen Lord Shark the Unknown," she announced. "And he challenged the Duke of Queens to, my lord bishop, a duel! "
"It was not exactly a challenge, luscious blossom. Merely an agreement to fight at some future date."
"To fight?" Bishop Castle's large eyebrows rose, almost touching the rim of his tall crown. "Would that involve 'violence'?"
"A degree of it, I believe," said the duke demurely. "Yes, blood will be spilled, if today's experience is typical. These little sticks…" He turned with a questioning frown to the Iron Orchid.
"Swords," she said.
"Yes, swords — with points, you know, to pierce the flesh. You will have seen them in the old pictures and possibly wondered at their function. We have used them for decoration, of course, in the past — many believing them to be some sort of ancient totem, some symbol of rank — but it emerges that they were meant to kill."
Bishop Castle was apologetic. "The conceptions involved are a little difficult to grasp, as with so many of these ancient pastimes, though of course I have witnessed, in visitors to our age, the phenomena. Does it not involve 'anger', however?"
"Not necessarily, from what little I know."
The conversation turned to other subjects; they discussed their recent adventures and speculated upon the whereabouts of the Iron Orchid's son, Jherek Carnelian, of Mrs Underwood, whom he loved, of Lord Jagged of Canaria, and the uncouth alien musicians who had called themselves the Lat.
"Brannart Morphail, querulous as ever, refuses to discuss any part he might have played in the affair," Bishop Castle told his friends. "He merely hints at the dangers of 'meddling with the fabric of Time', but I cannot believe he is entirely objective, for he has always affected a somewhat proprietorial attitude towards Time."
"Nonetheless, it is puzzling," said the Iron Orchid. "And I regret the disappearance of so many entertaining people. Those space travellers, the Lat, were they, do you think, 'violent'?"
"That would explain the difficulties we had in communicating with them, certainly. But we can talk further when we see My Lady Charlotina." Bishop Castle was evidently tiring of the discussion. "Shall we go?"
As they drifted, still upside down, from the house, Bishop Castle complimented the Iron Orchid on her costume. It was dark blue and derived from the clothing of some of those she had encountered at the Cafe Royal, in the 19th century. The helmet suited her particularly, but Bishop Castle was not sure he liked the moustache.
Righting themselves, they all climbed into Bishop Castle's air carriage, a reproduction of a space vehicle of the 300th Icecream Empire, all red-gold curlicues and silver body work, and set off for Lake Billy the Kid, where My Lady Charlotina's reception (to celebrate, as she put it, their safe return) had already started.
They had gone no more than a few hundred miles when they encountered Werther de Goethe, magnificently pale in black, voluminous satin robes, riding upon his monstrous tombstone, a slab of purple marble, and evidently recovered from his recent affair with Mistress Christia, the Everlasting Concubine, in such good spirits that he deigned to acknowledge their presence as they put their heads through the portholes and waved to him. The slab swung gracefully over the tops of some tall pine trees and came to rest, hovering near them.
"Do you go to My Lady Charlotina's, moody Werther?" asked the Iron Orchid.
"Doubtless to be insulted again by her, but, yes, I go," he confirmed. "I suppose you have seen the newcomers already?"
"Newcomers?" The light breeze curled the duke's feathers around his face. "From space?"
"Who knows? They are humanoid. My Lady Charlotina has endomed them, near Lake Billy the Kid. Her whole party has gone to watch. I will see you there, then?"
"You shall, sorrowing son of Nature," promised the Iron Orchid.
Werther was pleased with the appellation. He swept on. The spaceship turned to follow him.
Soon they saw the stretch of blue water which was My Lady Charlotina's home, the presence of her vast subaqueous palace marked only by a slight disturbance of the surface of the water in the middle of the lake where the energy-tube made its exit. They rose higher into the air, over the surrounding mountains, and at length saw the shimmering, green-tinted air indicating a force-dome. Descending, they saw that the dome, all but invisible, was surrounded by a large throng of people. They landed in the vicinity of a number of other air carriages of assorted designs and disembarked.
My Lady Charlotina, naked, with her skin coloured in alternate bands of black and white, saw them. She already had her arm through Werther's. "Come and see what I have netted for my menagerie," she called. "Time travellers. I have never seen so many at once." She laughed. "Brannart, of course, takes a very gloomy view, but I'm delighted! There isn't another set like it!"
Brannart Morphail, still in the traditional hump-back and club-foot of the scientist, limped towards them. He shook a bony finger at the Iron Orchid. "This is all your son's fault. And where is Lord Jagged to explain himself?"
"We have not seen him since our return," she said. "You fret so, Brannart. Think how entertaining life has become of late!"
"Not for long, delicate metal, fragile flower. Not for long." Grumbling to himself, he hobbled past them. "I must get my instruments."
They made their way through the gathering until they reached the wall of the force-dome. The Iron Orchid put her hand to her lips in astonishment. "Are they intelligent?"
"Oh, yes. Primitive, naturally, but otherwise…" My Lady Charlotina smiled. "They growl and rave so! We have not yet had a proper talk with them."
Orange fire splashed against the inner wall and spread across it, obscuring the scene within.
"They keep doing that," explained My Lady Charlotina. "I am not sure if they mean to burn us or the wall. A translator is in operation, though they are still a trifle incoherent. Their voices can be very loud."
As the fire dissipated, the Iron Orchid stared curiously at the twenty or thirty men inside the dome. Their faces were bruised, bleeding and smudged with oil; they wore
identical costumes of mottled green and brown; there were metal helmets on their heads, and what she supposed to be some sort of breathing apparatus (unused) on their backs. In their hands were artefacts consisting basically of a metal tube to which was fixed a handle, probably of plastic. It was from these tubes that the flames occasionally gouted.
"They look tired," she said sympathetically. "Their journey must have been difficult. Where are they from?"
"They were not clear. We put the dome up because they seemed ill at ease in the open; they kept burning things. Four of my guests had to be taken away for resurrection. I think they must calm down eventually, don't you, Duke of Queens?"
"They invariably do," he agreed. "They'll exhaust themselves, I suppose."
"So many!" murmured Bishop Castle. He fingered the lobe of his ear.
"That is what makes them such a catch," said the Duke of Queens. "Well, Werther, you are an expert — what period would you say they were from?"
"Very early. The twentieth century?"
"A little later?" suggested Bishop Castle.
"The twenty-fifth, then."
Bishop Castle nodded. "That seems right. Are any of your guests, My Lady Charlotina, from that age?"
"Not really. You know how few we get from those Dawn Age periods. Doctor Volospion might have one, but…"
Mistress Christia approached, her eyes wide, her lips wet. "What brutes! " she gasped. "Oh, I envy you, My Lady Charlotina. When did you find them?"
"Not long ago. But I've no idea how much time they've been here."
More fire spread itself over the wall, but it seemed fainter. One of the time travellers flung down his tube, growling and glaring. Some of the audience applauded.
"If only Jherek were here," said the Iron Orchid. "He understands these people so well! Where is their machine?"
"That's the odd thing, Brannart has been unable to find a trace of one. He insists that one exists. He thinks that it might have returned to its period of origin — that sometimes happens, I gather. But he says that no machine registered on his detectors, and it has caused him to become even more bad-tempered than usual." My Lady Charlotina withdrew her arm from Werther's. "Ah, Gaf the Horse in Tears, have you seen my new time travellers yet?"
Gaf lifted his skirts. "Have you seen my new wheels , My Lady Charlotina?"
They wandered away together.
Bishop Castle was trying to address one of the nearest of the time travellers. "How do you do?" he began politely. "Welcome to the End of Time!"
The time travellers said something to him which defeated the normally subtle translator.
"Where are you from?" asked the Iron Orchid of one.
Another of the time travellers shouted to the man addressed. "Remember, trooper. Name, rank and serial number. It's all you have to tell 'em."
"Sarge, they must know we're from Earth."
"Okay," assented the other, "you can tell 'em that, too."
"Kevin O'Dwyer," said the man, "Trooper First Class, 0008859376." He added, "From Earth."
"What year?" asked the Duke of Queens.
Trooper First Class Kevin O'Dwyer looked pleadingly at his sergeant. "You're the ranking officer, sir. I shouldn't have to do this."
"Let them do the talking," snapped the sergeant. "We'll do the fighting."
"Fighting?" The Duke of Queens grinned with pleasure. "Ah, you'll be able to help me. Are you soldiers, then?"
Again the translation was muddy.
"Soldiers?" asked Bishop Castle, in case they had not heard properly.
The sergeant sighed. "What do you think, buddy?"
"This is splendid!" said the Duke of Queens.
5. In Which the Duke of Queens Seeks Instruction
As soon as it was evident that the soldiers had used up all their fire, My Lady Charlotina released the one called "sergeant", whose full name, on further enquiry, turned out to be Sergeant Henry Martinez, 0008832942. After listening in silence to their questions for a while he said:
"Look, I don't know what planet this is, or if you think you're fooling me with your disguise, but you're wasting your time. We're hip to every trick in the Alpha Centauran book."
"Who are the Alpha Centaurans?" asked My Lady Charlotina, turning to Werther de Goethe.
"They existed even before the Dawn Age," he explained. "They were intelligent horses of some kind."
"Very funny," said Sergeant Martinez flatly. "You know damn well who you are."
"He thinks we're horses? Perhaps some optical disturbance, coupled with…" Bishop Castle creased his brow.
"Stow it, will you?" asked the sergeant firmly. "We're prisoners of war. Now I know you guys don't pay too much attention to things like the Geneva Convention in Alpha Centauri, for all you —"
"It's a star system!" said Werther. "I remember. I think it was used for something a long while ago. It doesn't exist any more, but there was a war between Earth and this other system in the 24th century — you are 24th century, I take it, sir? — which went on for many years. These are typical warriors of the period. The Alpha Centaurans were, I thought, birdlike creatures…"
"The Vultures," supplied Sergeant Martinez. "That's what we call you."
"I assure you, we're as human as you are, sergeant," said My Lady Charlotina. "You are an ancestor of ours. Don't you recognize the planet? And we have some of your near-contemporaries with us. Li Pao? Where's Li Pao? He's from the 27th." But the puritanical Chinaman had not yet arrived.
"If I'm not mistaken," said Martinez patiently, "you're trying to convince me that the blast which got us out there beyond Mercury sent us into the future. Well, it's a good try — we'd heard your interrogation methods were pretty subtle and pretty damn elaborate — but it's too fancy to work. Save your time. Put us in the camp, knock us off, or do whatever you normally do with prisoners. We're Troopers and we're too tough and too tired to play this kind of fool game. Besides, I can tell you for nothing, we don't know nothing — we get sent on missions. We do what we're told. We either succeed, or we die or, sometimes, we get captured. We got captured. That's what we know. There's nothing else we can tell you."
Fascinated, the Iron Orchid and her friends listened attentively and were regretful when he stopped. He sighed. "Bad Sugar!" he exclaimed. "You're like kids, ain't you? Can you understand what I'm saying?"
"Not entirely," Bishop Castle told him, "but it's very interesting for us. To study you, you know."
Muttering, Sergeant Martinez sat down on the ground.
"Aren't you going to say any more?" Mistress Christia was extremely disappointed. "Would you like to make love to me, Sergeant Martinez?"
He offered her an expression of cynical contempt. "We're up to that one, too," he said.
She brightened, holding out her hand. "Wonderful! You don't mind, do you, My Lady Charlotina?"
"Of course not."
When Sergeant Martinez did not accept her hand, Mistress Christia sat down beside him and stroked his cropped head.
Firmly, he replaced the helmet he had been holding in his hands. Then he folded his arms across his broad chest and stared into the middle-distance. His colour seemed to have changed. Mistress Christia stroked his arm. He jerked it away.
"I must have misunderstood you," she said.
"I can take it or leave it alone," he told her. "You got it? Okay, I'll take it. When I want it. But if you expect to get any information from me that way, that's where you're wrong."
"Perhaps you'd rather do it in private?"
A mirthless grin appeared on his battered features. "Well, I sure ain't gonna do it out here, in front of all your friends, am I?"
"Oh, I see," she said, confused. "You must forgive me if I seem tactless, but it's so long since I entertained a time traveller. We'll leave it for a bit, then."
The Iron Orchid saw that some of the men inside the force-dome had stretched out on the ground and had shut their eyes. "They probably need to rest," she suggested, "and to eat something. Shouldn't w
e feed them, My Lady Charlotina?"
"I'll transfer them to my menagerie," agreed her hostess. "They'll probably be more at ease there. Meanwhile, we can continue with the party."
Some time went by; the world continued in pretty much its normal fashion, with parties, experiments, games and inventions. Eventually, so the Iron Orchid heard when she emerged from a particularly dull and enjoyable affair with Bishop Castle, the soldiers from the 24th century had become convinced that they had travelled into the future, but were not much reconciled. Some, it seemed, were claiming that they would rather have been captured by their enemies. No news came from Lord Shark, and the two or three messages the Duke of Queens had sent him had not been answered. Jherek Carnelian did not come back, and Lord Jagged of Canaria refused all visitors. Brannart Morphail bewailed the inconsistencies which he claimed had appeared in the fabric of Time. Korghon of Soth created a sentient kind of mould which he trained to do tricks; Mistress Christia, having listened to an old tape, became obsessed with learning the language of the flowers and spent hour after hour listening to them, speaking to them in simple words; O'Kala Incarnadine became a sea-lion and thereafter could not be found. The craze for "Cities" and "Continents" died and nothing replaced it. Visiting the Duke of Queens, the Iron Orchid mentioned this, and he revealed his growing impatience with Lord Shark. "He promised he would send me an instructor. I have had to fall back on Trooper O'Dwyer, who knows a little about knives, but nothing at all about swords. This is the perfect moment for a new fashion. Lord Shark has let me down."
Trooper O'Dwyer, ensconced in luxury at the duke's palace, had agreed to assist the duke, his sergeant having succumbed at last to the irresistible charms of Mistress Christia, but the duke confided to the Iron Orchid that he was not at all sure if bayonet drill were the same as fencing.
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