Dancers at the End of Time

by Michael Moorcock

  He pointed out a sign which Jherek couldn't read.

  "And where would Number Twenty Three be?"

  "Well, I'd say about half-way up — let's see — on this side of the road. Yes — can you see it — right by that lamp."

  "You're very kind, Mr. Wells. In a few moments I shall be re-united with my lost love! I have crossed thousands of centuries to be at her side! I have disproved the Morphail Theorem! I have dared the dangerous and surging seas of Time! At last, at least, I near the end of my arduous quest for Bromley!" Jherek took Mr. Wells by the shoulders and kissed him firmly upon the forehead. "And it is thanks to you, Mr. Wells, my dear!"

  Mr. Wells backed away, perhaps a trifle nervously. "Glad to have been of insistence — um — assistance to you, Mr. Carnelian. Now I really must rush." And he turned and began to walk rapidly back in the direction they had come from.

  Jherek was too happy to notice any change in Mr. Wells's manner. He strode with buoyant steps along the pavement of Collins Avenue. He reached a gate of curly cast iron. He jumped over it and walked up a crazy-paving path to the door of a red-brick Gothic villa not at all unlike the one Mrs.

  Underwood had had him build for her at the End of Time.

  He knew what to do, for she had trained him well. He found the bell. He tugged it. He removed his top hat, wishing that he had remembered to bring some flowers with him. He studied, in admiration, the stained glass lilies set into the top half of the door.

  There came a movement from within the house and at last the door was opened, but not by Mrs.

  Underwood. A rather young girl stood there. She wore black, with a white cap and a white apron. She looked at Jherek Carnelian with a mixture of surprise, curiosity and contempt.

  "Yus?"

  "This is Twenty Three Collins Avenue, Bromley, Kent, England, 1896?"

  "It is."

  "The residence of the beautiful Mrs. Amelia Underwood?"

  "It's the Underwood residence right enough. What's your business?"

  "I have come to see Mrs. Underwood. Is she within?"

  "What's the name?"

  "Carnelian. Tell her that Jherek Carnelian is here to take her back to their love-nest."

  "Gor blimey!" said the young girl. "It's a bloomin' loony!"

  "I do not follow you."

  "You'd better not try, mister. Be off wiv yer! Garn! Mrs. Underwood'll 'ave the p'lice on yer wiv talk like that!" She tried to close the door, but Jherek was already partly inside. "Mrs. Underwood's a respectable lady! Shove off — go on!"

  "I am really at a loss," said Jherek mildly, "to understand why you should have become so excited."

  Baffled, he still refused to budge. "Please tell Mrs. Underwood that I am here."

  "Oh, lor! Oh, lor!" cried the girl. " 'Ave a bit o' sense, will yer! You'll get yerself arrested! There's a good chap — be on yer way and we'll say no more about it."

  "I have come for Mrs. Underwood," Jherek said firmly. "I don't know why you should wish to stop me from seeing her. Perhaps I have offended one of your customs? I was convinced that I had done everything right. If there is something I should do — some convention I should follow — point it out, point it out. I have no desire to be rude."

  "Rude! Oh, lor!" And turning her head she shouted back into the hall. "Mum! Mum! There's a maniac outside. I can't 'old him all be meself!"

  A door opened. The hallway grew lighter. A figure in a dress of maroon velvet appeared.

  "Mrs. Underwood!" cried Jherek. "Mrs. Amelia Underwood! It is I, Jherek Carnelian, returned to claim you for my own!"

  Mrs. Underwood was as beautiful as ever, but even as he watched she grew gradually paler and paler. She leaned against the wall, her hand rising to her face. Her lips moved, but no sound issued from them.

  "Help me, mum!" begged the maid, retreating into the hall. "I can't manage 'im be meself. You know

  'ow strong these loonies can be!"

  "I have returned, Mrs. Underwood. I have returned!"

  "You —" He could barely hear the words. "You — were hanged, Mr. Carnelian. By the neck, until dead."

  "Hanged? In the time machine, you mean? I thought you said you would go with me. I waited. You were evidently unable to join me. So I came back."

  "C-came back!"

  He pushed his way past the shivering maid. He stretched out his arms to embrace the woman he loved.

  She put a pale hand to a pale forehead. There was a certain wild, distracted look in her eyes and she seemed to be talking to herself.

  "My experiences — too much — knew I had not recovered properly — brain fever…"

  And before he could take her to him she had collapsed upon the red and black Moorish-patterned carpet.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Awful Dilemma of Mrs. Amelia Underwood

  " Now look wot you've gorn an' done!" said the little maid accusingly. "Ain't you ashamed of yerself?"

  "How could I have made her swoon?"

  "You frightened 'er somefink crool — jest like you frightened me! All that dirty talk!"

  Jherek kneeled beside Mrs. Amelia Underwood, patting ineffectually at her limp hands.

  "You promise you won't do nuffink nasty an' I'll go an' get some water an' sal volatile," said the girl, looking at him warily.

  "Nasty? I?"

  "Oo, yore a cool one!" The girl's tone was half-chiding, half-admiring as she left the hall through a door under the staircase, but she no longer seemed to regard him as a complete menace. She returned very quickly, holding a glass of water in one hand and a small green bottle in the other. "Stand back," she said firmly. She joined Jherek on the floor, lifted Mrs. Underwood's head under one arm and put the bottle to her nose. Mrs. Underwood moaned.

  "Yore very lucky indeed," the maid said, "that Mr. Underwood's at 'is meeting. But 'e'll be back soon enough. Then you'll be in trouble!"

  Mrs. Underwood opened her eyes. When she saw Jherek, she closed them again. And again she moaned, but this time it seemed that she moaned with despair.

  "Have no fear," whispered Jherek. "I will have you away from all this as soon as you have recovered."

  Her voice, when she managed to speak, was quite controlled. "Where have you been, Mr.

  Carnelian, if you were not hanged?"

  "Been? In my own age, of course. The age you love. Where we were happy."

  "I am happy here, Mr. Carnelian, with my husband, Mr. Underwood."

  "Of course. But you are not as happy as you would be with me."

  She took a sip from the glass of water, brushed the smelling salts aside, and began to get to her feet.

  Jherek and the maid helped her. She walked slowly into the sitting room, a rather understated version of the one Jherek had created for her. The harmonium, he noticed, did not have nearly so many stops as the one he had made, and the aspidistra was not as vibrant; neither was the quality of the antimacassars all it could have been. But the smell was better. It was fuller, staler.

  Carefully she seated herself in one of the large armchairs near the fireplace. Jherek remained standing. She said to the girl:

  "You may go, Maude Emily."

  "Go, miss?"

  "Yes, dear. Mr. Carnelian, though a stranger to our customs, is not dangerous. He is from abroad."

  "Aeow!" said Maude Emily, considerably relieved and illumined, satisfied now that she had an explanation which covered everything. "Well, I'm sorry about the mistake then, sir." She made something of a curtsey and left.

  "She's a good-hearted girl, but not very well trained," said Mrs. Underwood apologetically. "You know the difficulties one has getting — but, of course, you would not know. She has only been with us a fortnight and has broken almost every scrap of china in the house, but she means well. We got her from a Home, you know."

  "A home?"

  "A Home. A Girl's Home. Something like a Reformatory. The idea is not to punish them but to train them for some useful occupation in Life. Usually, of course, they go into Service."<
br />
  The word had a faintly familiar ring to it. "Cannon fodder!" said Jherek. "A shilling a day!" He felt at something of a loss.

  "I had forgotten," she said. "Forgive me. You know so little about our society."

  "On the contrary," he said. "I know even more than before. When we return, Mrs. Underwood, you will be surprised at how much I have learned."

  "I do not intend to return to your decadent age, Mr. Carnelian."

  There was an icy quality in her voice which he found disturbing.

  "I was only too happy to escape," she continued. Then a little more kindly, "Not, of course, that you weren't the soul of hospitality, after your fashion. I shall always be grateful to you for that, Mr. Carnelian.

  I had begun to convince myself that I had dreamed most of what took place…"

  "Dreamed that you loved me?"

  "I did not tell you I loved you, Mr. Carnelian."

  "You indicated…"

  "You misread my —"

  "I cannot read at all. I thought you would teach me."

  "I mean that you misinterpreted something I might have said. I was not myself, that time in the garden. It was fortunate that I was snatched away before we … Before we did anything we should both regret."

  He was not perturbed. "You love me. I know you do. In your letter —"

  "I love Mr. Underwood. He is my husband."

  "I shall be your husband."

  "It is not possible."

  "Anything is possible. When I return, my power rings…"

  "It is not what I meant, Mr. Carnelian."

  "We could have real children," he said coaxingly.

  "Mr. Carnelian!" Her colour had returned at last.

  "You are beautiful," he said.

  "Please, Mr. Carnelian."

  He sighed with pleasure. "Very beautiful."

  "I shall have to ask you to leave. As it is, my husband will be returning shortly, from his meeting. I shall have to explain that you are an old friend of my father's — that he met your family when he was a missionary in the South Seas. It will be a lie, and I hate to lie. But it will save both our feelings. Say as little as possible."

  "You know that you love me," he announced firmly. "Tell him that. You will leave with me now."

  "I will do no such thing! Already there has been difficulty — my appearance in court — the potential scandal. Mr. Underwood is not an over-imaginative man, but he became quite suspicious at one point…"

  "Suspicious?"

  "Of the story I was forced to concoct, to try to save you, Mr. Carnelian, from the noose."

  "Noose of what?"

  A note of desperation entered her voice. "How, by the way, did you manage to escape death and come here?"

  "I did not know death threatened! I suppose it is always a risk in time travel, though. I came here thanks to the help of a kindly, mechanical old creature called Nurse. I had been trying for some while to find a means of returning to 1896 so that we might be reunited. A happy accident led to a succession of events which finally resulted in my arrival here, in Collins Avenue. Do you know a Mr. Wells?"

  "No. Did he claim to know me?"

  "No. He was on some business of his father's at the Rose and Crown. He was telling me that he invented time machines. A hobby, I gather. He does not manufacture them, but leaves that to others. I had meant to ask him for the name of a craftsman who could build one for us. It will make our return much easier."

  "Mr. Carnelian, I have returned — for good. This is my home."

  He looked critically about him. "It is smaller than our home. It has a trace or two more authenticity, I'll grant you, but it lacks a certain life, wouldn't you say? Perhaps I should not mention Mr. Underwood's failings, but it would seem to me he could have given you a little more." He lost interest in the subject and began to feel in his pockets, to see if he had brought something which could be a gift, but all he had was the deceptor-gun Nurse had handed back to him shortly before he had begun his journey. "I know that you like bunches of flowers and water closets and so forth (you see, I have remembered every detail of what you told me) but I forgot to make some flowers, and a water closet, of course, might have proved too bulky an object to carry through time. However," and he had a revelation as he began to tug off his nicest power ring, a ruby, "if you would accept this, I would be more than happy."

  "I cannot accept gifts of any sort from you, Mr. Carnelian. How should I explain it to my husband?"

  "Explain that I had given you something? Would that be necessary?"

  "Oh, please, please go!" She started as she heard a movement in the passage outside. "It is he!" She stared wildly around the room. "Remember," she said in an urgent whisper, "what I told you."

  "I will try, but I don't understand…"

  The door of the sitting room opened and a man of average height entered.

  Mr. Underwood wore a pair of pince-nez upon his nose. His hay-coloured hair was parted firmly in the middle. His high, white collar pressed mercilessly into his pink neck and the knot of his tie was so tight and small as to be almost microscopic. He was unbuttoning his jacket with the air of a man removing protective clothing in an environment which might not be altogether safe. Precisely, he put down a black book he had carried in with him. Precisely, he raised his eyebrows and, with precision, brushed back a hair which had strayed loose from his perfectly symmetrical moustache. "Good evening," he said with only a hint of enquiry. He acknowledged the presence of his wife. "My dear."

  "Good evening, Harold. Harold, this is Mr. Carnelian. He has just come from the Antipodes, where his father and mine, as you might recall, were missionaries."

  "Carnelian? An unusual name, sir. Yet, as I remember, the same as that felon's who…"

  "His brother," said Mrs. Underwood. "I was commiserating with him as you entered."

  "A dreadful business," Mr. Underwood glanced at a newspaper on the sideboard with the eye of a hunter who sees his quarry disappearing from bowshot. He sighed and perhaps he smiled. "My wife was very brave, you know, in offering to speak for the defence. Great risk of scandal. I was only telling Mr.

  Griggs, at the Bible Meeting tonight, that if we all had such courage in following the teachings of our conscience we might come considerably closer to the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven."

  "Ha, ha," said Mrs. Underwood. "You are very kind, Harold. I only did my duty."

  "We do not all have your fortitude, my dear. She is an admirable woman, is she not, Mr.

  Carnelian?"

  "Without doubt," said Jherek feelingly. He stared with unashamed curiosity at his rival. "The most wonderful woman in your world — in any world, Mr. Underwood."

  "Um, yes," said Mr. Underwood. "You are, of course, grateful for the sacrifice she made. Your enthusiasm is understandable…"

  "Sacrifice?" Jherek turned to Mrs. Underwood. "I was not aware that this society practised such rites? Whom did you…?"

  "You have been away from England a long time, sir?" asked Mr. Underwood.

  "This is my second visit," Jherek told him.

  "Aha!" Mr. Underwood seemed satisfied by the explanation. "In the darkest depths of the jungle, eh? Bringing light to the savage mind."

  "I was in a forest…" said Jherek.

  "He only recently heard of his brother's sad fate," broke in Mrs. Underwood.

  Jherek could not understand why she kept interrupting them. He felt he was getting on quite well with Mr. Underwood; getting on rather better, in truth, than he had expected.

  "Have you offered Mr. Carnelian some refreshment, my dear?" Mr. Underwood's pince-nez glinted as he looked about the room. "We are, needless to say, teetotallers here, Mr. Carnelian. But if you would care for some tea…?"

  Mrs. Underwood pulled enthusiastically at a bell-rope. "What a good idea!" she cried.

  Maude Emily appeared almost immediately and was instructed to bring tea and biscuits for the three of them. She looked from Mr. Underwood to Jherek Carnelian and back again. The look wa
s significant and cause the faintest expression of panic in Mrs. Underwood's otherwise resolutely set features.

  "Tea!" said Jherek as Maude Emily left. "I don't believe I've ever had it. Or did we —"

  This time, inadvertently, Mr. Underwood came to his wife's rescue. "Never had tea, what? Oh, then this is a treat you cannot miss! You must spend most of your time away from civilization, Mr. Carnelian."

  "From this one, yes."

  Mr. Underwood removed his pince-nez. From his pocket he took a large, white handkerchief. He polished the pince-nez. "I take your meaning, sir," he said gravely. "Who are we to accuse the poor savage of his lack of culture, when we live in such Godless times ourselves?"

  "Godless? I was under the impression that this was a Religious Age."

  "Mr. Carnelian, you are misinformed, I fear. Your faith is allowed to blossom unchecked, no doubt, as you sit in some far-off native hut, with only your Bible and Our Lord for company. But the distractions one has to contend with in this England of ours are enough to make one give up altogether and look to the consolations of the High Church. Why," his voice dropped, "I knew a man, a resident of Bromley, who came very close once to turning towards Rome."

  "He could not find Bromley?" Jherek laughed, glad that he and Mr. Underwood were getting on so well. "I had a great deal of trouble myself. If I had not met a Mr. Wells at a place called, as I remember, the Café Royale, I should still be looking for it!"

  " The Café Royale! " hissed Mr. Underwood, in much the same tone as he had said "Rome." He replaced his pince-nez and stared hard at Jherek Carnelian.

  "I had become lost…" Jherek began to explain.

  "Who has not, before he enters the door of that gateway to the underworld?"

  "…and met someone who had lived in Bromley."

  "No longer, I trust?"

  "So I gathered."

  Mr. Underwood breathed a sigh of relief. "Mr. Carnelian," he said, "you would do well to remember the fate of your poor brother. Doubtless he was as innocent as you when he first came to London. I beg you to remember that not for nothing has it been called Satan's Own City!"