Legends From the End of Time (5 page)

The Duke of Queens, in cloth-of-gold bulked and hung about with lace, pearls in his full black beard, complicated boots upon his large feet, a natural, guttering flambeau in his hand, led his party through his new caverns ("Underground" was the current fad, following the recent discovery of a lost nursery-warren, there since the time of the Tyrant Producers), bellowing cheerfully as he pointed out little grottos, his stalagmites ("Prison-children in the ancient Grautt tongues — a pretty, if unsuitable, name!"), his scuttling troglodytes, his murky rivers full of white reptiles and colourless fish, while flame made shadows which changed shape as the fluttering wind changed and strange echoes distorted their speech.

"They must stretch for miles!" hissed Miss Ming, hesitant between Dafnish and Snuffles and the host she admired. "Aren't they altogether gloomier than Bishop Castle's, eerier than Guru Guru's?"

"They seem very similar to me," coldly said Dafnish Armatuce, looking hungrily about her for a branching tunnel down which, with luck, she might escape for a short while.

"Oh, you judge without seeing properly. You close your eyes, as always, to the experience."

Dafnish Armatuce wondered, momentarily, how much of her self-esteem she might have to relinquish to purchase the good will of a potential ally, someone willing to rescue her from her remorseless leech, but she dismissed the notion, knowing herself incapable of paying the price.

"Snuffles is enjoying himself — aren't you, dear?" said Miss Ming pointedly.

Snuffles nodded.

"You think they're the best you've seen, don't you?"

Again, he nodded.

"A child's eye!" She became mystical. "They take for granted what we have to train ourselves to look at. Oh, how I wish I was a little girl again!"

Sweet Orb Mace, in loose, navy-blue draperies, waved his torch expansively as he recognized Dafnish Armatuce and her son. His accent had changed completely since their last meeting and he had dropped his lisp. "Good afternoon, time travellers. The twists and turns of these tunnels, are they not tremendously tantalising? Such a tangle of intricate transits!" The caverns echoed his alliterative Ts so as to seem filled with the ticking of a thousand tiny clocks. A bow; he offered her his arm. Desperate, she took it, uncaring, just then, that Snuffles remained behind with Miss Ming. She needed a respite, for both their sakes. "And how do you find the grottos?" he enquired.

"Grotesque," she said.

"Aha!" He brightened. "You see! You learn! Shall we ogle, the gorgeous gulfs together?"

She failed to take his meaning. He paused, waiting for her response. None came. His sigh was politely stifled. The passage widened and became higher. There was a murmur of compliment, but the Duke of Queens silenced it with a modest hand.

"This is a discovery, not an invention. I came upon it while I worked. You'll note it's limestone, and natural limestone was thought extinct."

Their fingers went to the smooth, damp rock, and it received a reverential stroke.

Sometimes in silhouette, sometimes gleaming and dramatic in the flamelight, the Duke of Queens indicated rock formations which must have lain here since before the Dawn Age: ghastly, smooth, rounded, almost organic in appearance, the limestone dripped with moisture, exuding a musty smell which reminded Dafnish Armatuce, and only Dafnish Armatuce, of a mouldering cadaver, as if this was all that remained of the original Earth, rotting and forgotten. It began to occur to her that it would be long before they were able to leave the caverns; the walls seemed, suddenly, to exert a pressure of their own, and she experienced something of the panic she had felt before, when the crowd had become too dense. She clung to Sweet Orb Mace, who would rather have gone on. She knew that she bored him, but she must have reassurance, some sort of anchor. The party moved: she felt that it pushed her where she did not want to go. She had a strong desire to turn back, to seek the place where they had entered the maze; she did half-turn, but was confronted by the grinning face of Miss Ming. She allowed herself to be carried forward.

Sweet Orb Mace had made an effort to resume the conversation, on different lines. "…would not believe how jealous Brannart Morphail was. But he shall not have it. I was the first to discover it — and you — and while he is welcome to make a reproduction, I shall hold the original. There are few like it."

"Like it?"

"Your time machine."

"You have it?"

"I have always had it. It's in my collection."

"I assumed it lost or destroyed. When I went back to seek it, it had gone, and no-one knew where."

"I must admit to a certain deception, for I knew how desperately Brannart would want it for himself. I hid it. But now it is the pride of my collection and on display."

"The machine is the property of the Armatuce," she said gently. "By rights it should be in my care."

"But you have no further use for it, surely!"

She did not possess sufficient strength for argument. She allowed him his assumption. From behind her there came an unexpected giggle. She dared to look. Miss Ming was bent low, showing Snuffles a fragment of rock she had picked up. Snuffles beamed and shook with laughter as Miss Ming indicated features in the piece of rock.

"Isn't it the image of Doctor Volospion?"

Snuffles saw that his mother watched. "Look, mama! Doctor Volospion to the life!"

She failed to note the resemblance. The rock was oddly shaped, certainly, and she supposed that it might, if held at an angle, roughly resemble a human face.

"I hadn't realized Doctor Volospion was so old!" giggled Ming, and Snuffles exploded with laughter.

"Can't you see it, mama?"

Her face softened; she smiled, not at the joke (for there was none, in her view), but in response to his innocent joy. Miss Ming's sense of humour was evidently completely compatible with her son's: the unbearable woman had succeeded in making the boy happy, perhaps for the first time since their arrival. All at once Dafnish Armatuce felt grateful to Miss Ming. The woman had some virtue if she could make a child laugh so thoroughly, so boisterously.

The caverns took up the sound of the laughter so that it grew first louder, then softer, until finally it faded in some deep and far-off gallery.

Now Miss Ming was dancing with the boy, singing some sort of nonsense song, also concerning Doctor Volospion. And Snuffles chuckled and gasped and all but wept with delight, and whispered jokes which made Miss Ming, in turn, scream with laughter. "Ooh! You naughty boy!" She noticed that Mother observed them. "Your son — he's sharper than you think, Dafnish!"

Infected, Dafnish Armatuce found that she smiled still more. She realized that hers was not only a smile of maternal pleasure but a smile of relief. She felt free of Ming. Having transferred her attentions to the boy, the woman acquired an altogether pleasanter personality. Perhaps because she was so immature, Miss Ming was one of those who only relaxed in the company of children. Whatever the cause of this change, Dafnish Armatuce was profoundly grateful for it. She, too, relaxed.

Stronger light lay ahead as the cavern grew wider. Now they all stood in a vast chamber whose curved roof was a canopy of milky green jade through which sunlight (filtered, delicate, subtly coloured) fell, illuminating rock-carved chairs and benches of the subtlest marble and richest obsidian, while luminous moss and ivy mingled on the walls and floor, revealing little clusters of pale blue and yellow primroses.

"What a perfect spot for a fairy feast!" cried Miss Ming, hand in hand with Snuffles. "We can have fun here, can't we, Prince Snuffles?" Her heavy body was almost graceful as she danced, her green and purple petticoats frothing over sparkling, diamante stockings. "I'm the Elf Queen. Ask me what you wish and it shall be granted."

Buoyed by her exuberance, Snuffles was beside himself with glee. Dafnish Armatuce stood back with a deep sigh, quietly revelling in the sight of her son's flushed, jolly cheeks, his darting eye. It had concerned her that Snuffles had no children with whom he could play. Now he had found someone. If only Miss Ming had earlier discovered her affinity — what was evidently her real affinity — with Snuffles, how much better it might have been for everyone, thought Dafnish.

Her attention was drawn to Doctor Volospion. In a costume of, for him, unusual simplicity (black and silver) he capered upon one of the tables with the leopard-spotted woman called Mistress Christia, while the rest of the guests, the Duke of Queens amongst them, clapped in time to the music of the jig Doctor Volospion played upon some archaic stringed instrument tucked beneath his goateed chin.

Unusually lighthearted, Dafnish Armatuce was tempted to join them, but she checked the impulse, tolerantly enough, contenting herself with her silent pleasure at the sight of Snuffles and Miss Ming, who, even now, were climbing upon the table. Soon all but Dafnish were dancing.

Having permitted her boy a generous frolic with his new-found friend, Dafnish Armatuce expressed genuine thanks to Miss Ming for devoting so much of her time to the lad's pleasure.

As flushed and happy as Snuffles, looking almost as attractive, Miss Ming declared: "Nonsense! It was Snuffles who entertained me. He made me feel young again." She hugged him. "Thank you for a lovely day, Snuffles."

"Shall I see you tomorrow, Miss Ming?"

"That's up to mama."

"I had planned a visit to the Uranian Remains…" began Dafnish. "However, I suppose —"

"Why don't you visit your dull old Remains on your own and let Snuffles and me go out to play together." Miss Ming became embarrassing again as she made a little-girl face and curtsied. "If you please, Mrs Armatuce."

"He'll exhaust you, surely."

"Not at all. He makes me feel properly, fully alive."

Dafnish Armatuce tried to disguise the slightly condescending note which crept into her voice, for it now became poignantly plain that the poor creature had never really wanted to grow up at all. Understanding this, Dafnish could allow herself to be kind. "Perhaps for an hour or two, then."

"Wonderful! Would you like that, Snuffles?"

"Oh, yes! Thank you, Miss Ming!"

"You are doing him good, Miss Ming, I think."

"He's doing me good, Dafnish. And it will give you a chance to be by yourself and relax for a bit, eh?" Her tone of criticism, of false concern, did not offend Dafnish as much as usual. She inclined her head.

"That's settled, then. I'll pick you up tomorrow, Snuffles. And I'll be thinking of some jolly games we can play, eh?"

"Oh, yes!"

They strolled across the undulating turf to where the air cars waited. Most of the other guests had already gone. Dafnish Armatuce helped her son into their car, which was fashioned in the shape of a huge apple-half, red and green, and, astonished that the woman had made no attempt to return with them to Canaria, bid Miss Ming a friendly farewell.

Snuffles leaned from the car as it rose into the pink and amber sky, waving to Miss Ming until she was out of sight.

"You are happy, Snuffles?" asked Dafnish as he settled himself into his cushions.

"I never had a nicer day, mama. It's funny, isn't it, but I used not to like Miss Ming at all, when she kept hanging around us. I thought she wanted to be your friend, but really she wanted to be mine. Do you think that's so?"

"It seems to be true. I'm glad you enjoyed today, and you shall play with Miss Ming often. But I beg you to remember, my boy, that you are an Armatuce: One day you must become an adult and take my place, and serve."

His laughter was frankly astonished. "Oh, mama! You don't really think we'll ever go back to Armatuce, do you? It's impossible. Anyway, it's nicer here. There's a lot more to do. It's more exciting. And there's plenty to eat."

"I have always seen the attraction this world holds for a boy, Snuffles. However, when you are mature you will recognize it for what it is. I have your good at heart. Your moral development is my responsibility (though I grant you your right to enjoy the delights of childhood while you may), but if I feel that you are forgetting…"

"I shan't forget, mama." He dismissed her fears. They were passing over the tops of some blue-black clouds shot through with strands of gleaming grey. He studied them. "Don't you think Miss Ming a marvellous lady, though?"

"She has an affinity with children, obviously. I should not have suspected that side to her character. I have modified my opinion of her."

Dafnish did not let Snuffles see her frown as she contemplated her motives in allowing him freedom that would be sheer licence in Armatuce. Events must take their own course, for a while; then she might determine how good or bad were the effects of Miss Ming's company upon her son.

The mesa, red sandstone and tall, on which stood golden, cage-shaped Castle Canaria, came into view; the air car lost height, speeding a few feet above the waving, yellow corn which grew here the year round, aiming for the dark entrance at the base of the cliff.

"You must try to remember, Snuffles," she added, while the car took its old place in the row of oddly assorted companions (none of which Lord Jagged ever seemed to use), "that Miss Ming regrets becoming an adult. That she wishes she was still, like you, a child. You may find, therefore, a tendency in her to try to make you suppress your maturer thoughts. In my company, I feel, you thought too much as an adult — but in hers you may come to think too much as a child. Do you follow me?"

But Snuffles, played out, had fallen asleep. Tenderly she raised him in her arms and began to walk (she refused to fly) up the ramp towards the main part of the castle.

Through rooms hung in draperies of different shades of soft brown or yellow, through the great Hall of Antiquities, she carried her child, until she came to her own apartments, where mechanical servants received the boy, changed his clothes for night attire and put him to bed. She sat on a chair beside him, watching the servants move gently about the room, and she tenderly stroked his fair curls, so, save for colour, like her own (as was his face), and yearned a trifle for Armatuce and home. It was as she rose to go to her chamber, adjoining his, that she saw a figure standing in the entrance. She knew a second's alarm, then laughed. "Lord Jagged. You are back!"

He bowed. There was a weariness in his face she had never noted before.

"Was your journey hard?"

"It had its interests. The fabric of Time, those Laws we have always regarded as immutable…" He hesitated, perhaps realizing that he spoke to himself.

He was dressed in clothes of a pearly grey colour, of stiffer material than he usually preferred. She felt that they suited him better, were more in keeping with the temperament she detected behind the insouciant exterior. Did he stagger as he walked? She put out a hand to help, but he did not notice it.

"You have been travelling in Time? How can that be?"

"Those of us who are indigenous to the End of Time are more fortunate than most. Chronos tolerates us, perhaps because we have no preconceptions of what the past should be. No, I am weary. It is an easier matter to go back to a chosen point from one's own Era. If one goes forward, one can never go all the way back. Oh, I babble. I should not be speaking at all. I would tempt you."

"Tempt me?"

"To try to return. The dangers are the same, but the checks against those dangers are less rigid. I'll say no more. Forgive me. I will not say more."

She walked beside him, past her own rooms, down the brown and yellow corridor, eager for further information. But he was silent and determined to remain so. At his door he paused, leaning with one hand against the lintel, head bowed. "Forgive me," he said again. "I wish you good night."

She could not in all humanity detain him, no matter how great her curiosity. But the morning would come: here, at Canaria, the morning would come, for Lord Jagged chose to regulate his hours according to the age-old movements of the Earth and the Sun, and when it did she would demand her right to know if there was any possibility of return to Armatuce.

Thus it was that she slept scarcely at all that night and rose early, with the first vermilion flush of dawn, to note that Snuffles still slept soundly, to hover close by Jagged's door in the hope that he would rise early — though the evidence of last night denied this hope, she knew. Robot servants prowled past her, preparing the great house for the morning, ignoring her as she paced impatiently to the breakfast room with its wide windows and its views of fields, hills and trees, so like a world that had existed before Cataclysm, before Armatuce, and which none of her folk would ever have expected to see again. In most things Lord Jagged's tastes harked to the planet's youth.

The morning grew late. Snuffles appeared, hungry for the Dawn Age food the robots produced at his command, and proceeded to eat the equivalent of an Armatuce's monthly provisions. She had to restrain her impulse to stop him, to warn him that he must look forward to changing his habits, that his holiday could well be over. Dawn Age kipper followed antique kedgeree , to be succeeded by sausages and cheese , the whole washed down with primitive tea . She felt unusually hungry, but the time for her daily meal was still hours away. Still Jagged did not come, although she knew it was ever his custom, when at Canaria, to breakfast each morning (he had always eaten solid food, even before the fashion for it). She returned to the passage, saw that his door was open, dared to glance in, saw no-one.

"Where is Master?" she enquired of an entering servant.

The machine hesitated. "Lord Jagged has returned to his work, my lady. To his laboratories. His engines."

"And where are they?"

"I do not know."

So Jagged was gone again. Elusive Jagged had disappeared, bearing with him the knowledge which could mean escape to Armatuce.

She found that she was clenching her hands in the folds of the white smock she wore. She relaxed her fingers, took possession of her emotions. Very well, she would wait. And, in the meantime, she had her new freedom.

Dafnish Armatuce returned to the breakfast room and saw that Miss Ming had arrived and was arranging sausages and broccoli on a plate to make some sort of caricature. Snuffles, mouth stuffed, spluttered. Miss Ming snorted through her nose.

"Good morning, good morning!" she trilled as she saw Dafnish. For an instant she stared at bare shoulders and nightdress with her old, heated expression, but it was swiftly banished. "We're going swimming today, my boyfriend and me!"

"You'll be careful." She touched her son's cheek. She was warmed by his warmth; she was happy.

"What can happen to him here?" Miss Ming smiled. "Don't worry. I'll look after him — and he'll look after me — won't you, my little man?"

Snuffles grinned. "Fear not, princess, you are safe with me."

She clasped her hands together, piping, "Oh, sir, you are so strong! "

Dafnish Armatuce shook her head, more amused than disturbed by her antics. She found herself thinking of Miss Ming as a child, rather than as an adult; she could no longer condemn her.

They left in the apple-shaped air car, flying south towards the sea. Dafnish watched until they were out of sight before she returned to her apartments. As she changed her clothes she listened obsessively for a hint of Lord Jagged's return. She was tempted to remain at Canaria and wait for him, to beg him to aid her find Armatuce again, if only for a moment, so that she might warn others of their danger and show those nearest to her that she lived. But she resisted the impulse; it would be foolish to waste perhaps the only opportunity she had to seek the silent and remote places and be alone.

Walking down to where the air cars lay, she reflected upon the irony of her situation. Without apparent subtlety Miss Ming had first denied her the freedom she was now granting. Dafnish was impressed by the woman's power. But she lacked the inclination to brood on the matter at this time; instead, she relished her freedom.

She climbed into a boat shaped like a swooping, sand-coloured sphinx. Miss Ming and Snuffles had gone south. She spoke to the boat, a single word: "North."

And northward it took her, over the sentient, senile cities, the dusty plains, the ground-down mountains, the decaying forests, the ruins and the crumbling follies, to settle in a green valley through which a silver river ran and whose flanks were spotted with hawthorn and rowan and where a few beasts (what if they were mechanical?) grazed on grass which crunched as they pulled it from the soft earth, the sound all but drowned by the splashing of small waterfalls, sighing as the river made its winding way to a miniature and secluded lake at the far end of the valley.

Here she lay with her back against the turf, spread-eagled and displayed to the grey sky through which the sun's rays weakly filtered. And she sang one of the simple hymns of the Armatuce she had learned as a child and which she thought forgotten by her. And then, unobserved, she allowed herself to weep.