Dancers at the End of Time

by Michael Moorcock

  "Who would this Mr. Satan be?" asked Jherek conversationally. "You see, I was re-creating the city and it would be useful to have the advice of one who…"

  "Maude Emily!" sang Mrs. Underwood, as if greeting the sight of land after many days in an open boat. "The tea!" She turned to them. "The tea is here!"

  "Ah, the tea," said Mr. Underwood, but he was frowning as he mulled over Jherek's latest words.

  Even Jherek had the idea that he had somehow said the wrong thing, in spite of being so careful — not that he felt there was very much point in Mrs. Underwood's deception. All he needed to do, really, was to explain the problem to Mr. Underwood (who plainly did not share his passion for Mrs. Underwood) and Mr. Underwood would accept that he, Jherek, was likely to be far happier with Mrs. Underwood.

  Mr. Underwood could remain here (with Maude Emily, perhaps) and Mrs. Underwood would leave with him, Jherek.

  As Maude Emily poured the tea and Mrs. Underwood stood near the fireplace fiddling with a small lace handkerchief and Mr. Underwood peered through his pince-nez as if to make sure that Maude Emily poured the correct amount of tea into each cup, Jherek said:

  "I expect you are happy here, aren't you, Maude Emily, with Mr. Underwood?"

  "Yes, sir," she said in a small voice.

  "And you are happy with Maude Emily, Mr. Underwood?"

  Mr. Underwood waved a hand and moved his lips, indicating that he was as happy with her as he felt he had to be.

  "Splendid," said Jherek.

  A silence followed. He was handed a tea-cup.

  "What do you think?" Mr. Underwood had become quite animated as he watched Jherek sip.

  "There are those who shun the use of tea, claiming that it is a stimulant we can well do without." He smiled bleakly. "But I'm afraid we should not be human if we did not have our little sins, eh? Is it good, Mr. Carnelian?"

  "Very nice," said Jherek. "Actually, I have had it before. But we called it something different. A longer name. What was it, Mrs. Underwood?"

  "How should I know, Mr. Carnelian." She spoke lightly, but she was glaring at him.

  "Lap something," said Jherek. "Sou something."

  "Lap-san-sou-chong! Ah, yes. A great favourite of yours, my dear, is it not? China tea."

  "There!" said Jherek beaming by way of confirmation.

  "You have met my wife before, Mr. Carnelian?"

  "As children," said Mrs. Underwood. "I explained it to you, Harold."

  "You surely were not given tea to drink as children?"

  "Of course not," she replied.

  "Children?" Jherek's mind had been on other things, but now he brightened. "Children? Do you plan to have any children, Mr. Underwood?"

  "Unfortunately." Mr. Underwood cleared his throat. "We have not so far been blessed…"

  "Something wrong?"

  "Ah, no…"

  "Perhaps you haven't got the hang of making them by the straightforward old-fashioned method? I must admit it took me a while to work it out. You know," Jherek turned to make sure that Mrs.

  Underwood was included in the conversation, "finding what goes in where and so forth!"

  "Nnng," said Mrs. Underwood.

  "Good heavens!" Mr. Underwood still had his tea-cup poised half-way to his lips. For the first time, since he had entered the room, his eyes seemed to live.

  Jherek's body shook with laughter. "It involved a lot of research. My mother, the Iron Orchid, explained what she knew and, in the long run, when we had pooled the information, was able to give me quite a lot of practical experience. She has always been interested in new ideas for love-making. She told me that while genuine sperm had been used in my conception, otherwise the older method had not been adhered to. Once she got the thing worked out, however (and it involved some minor biological transformations) she told me that she had rarely enjoyed love-making in the conventional ways more. Is anything the matter, Mr. Underwood? Mrs. Underwood?"

  "Sir," said Mr. Underwood, addressing Jherek with cool reluctance, "I believe you to be mad. In charity, I must assume that you and your brother are cursed with that same disease of the brain which sent him to the gallows."

  "My brother?" Jherek frowned. Then he winked at Mrs. Underwood. "Oh, yes, my brother…"

  Mrs. Underwood, breathing heavily, sat down suddenly upon the rug, while Maude Emily had her lips together, had gone very red in the face, and was making strange, strangled noises.

  "Why did you come here? Oh, why did you come here?" murmured Mrs. Underwood from the floor.

  "Because I love you, as you know," explained Jherek patiently. "You see, Mr. Underwood," he began confidentially, "I wish to take Mrs. Underwood away with me."

  "Indeed?" Mr. Underwood presented to Jherek a peculiarly glassy and crooked grin. "And what, might I ask, do you intend to offer my wife, Mr. Carnelian?"

  "Offer? Gifts? Yes, well," again he felt in his pockets but again could find nothing but the deceptor-gun. He drew it out. "This?"

  Mr. Underwood flung his hands into the air.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Strange Events in Bromley

  One Night in the Summer of 1896

  "Spare them," said Mr. Underwood. "Take me, if you must!"

  "But I don't want you, Mr. Underwood," Jherek said reasonably, gesturing with the gun. "Though it is kind of you to offer. It is Mrs. Underwood I want. She loves me, you see, and I love her."

  "Is this true, Amelia?"

  Dumbly, she shook her head.

  "You have been conducting a liaison of some sort with this man?"

  "That's the word I was trying to think of," said Jherek.

  "I don't believe you are that murderer's brother at all." Mr. Underwood remembered to keep his hands firmly above his head. "Somehow you have escaped the gallows — and you, Amelia, seem to have played a part in thwarting justice. I felt at the time…"

  "No, Harold. I have nothing to be ashamed of — or, at least, very little … If I tried to explain what had happened to me one night, when…"

  "One night, yes? When?"

  "I was abducted."

  "By this man?"

  "No, that came later. Oh, dear! I told you nothing, Harold, because I knew it would be impossible for you to believe. It would have put a burden upon you that I knew you should not have to bear."

  "The burden of truth, Amelia, is always easier to bear than the burden of deceit."

  "I was carried into our world's most distant future. How, I cannot explain. There I met Mr.

  Carnelian, who was kind to me. I did not expect ever to return here, but return I did — to the same moment in which I had left. I decided that I had had a particularly vivid dream. Then I learned of Mr.

  Carnelian's appearance in our time — he was being tried for murder."

  "So he is the same man!"

  "I felt it my duty to help him. I knew that he could not be guilty. I tried to prove that he was insane so that his life, at least, would be spared. My efforts, however, were fruitless. They were not helped by Mr. Carnelian's naïve insistence upon a truth which none could be expected to believe. He was sentenced to death. The last I knew, he had perished through the usual auspices of the Law."

  "Preposterous," said Mr. Underwood. "I can see that I have been an absolute fool. If you are not as mad as he, then you are guilty of the most unholy deception ever practised by an erring wife upon her trusting husband." Mr. Underwood was trembling. He ran a hand across his head, disturbing his hair. He loosened his tie. "Well, luckily the Bible is very clear on such matters. You must go, of course. You must leave my house, Amelia, and thank Our Lord Jesus Christ for the New Testament and its counsels. If we lived in Old Testament times, your punishment would not be so lenient!"

  "Harold, please, you are distraught, I can see. If you will try to listen to Mr. Carnelian's story…"

  "Ha! Must I listen to his ravings any further, before he kills me?"

  "Kill you?" said Jherek mildly. "Is that what you want, Mr. Underwood? I'd willingl
y do anything to help…"

  "Oh!"

  Jherek saw Maude Emily leaving the room. Perhaps she had become so bored with the conversation. He was certainly having quite a lot of difficulty understanding Mr. Underwood, whose voice was shaking so much, and pitched so high at times, that the words were distorted.

  "I will do nothing to stand in your way," Mr. Underwood told him. "Take her and leave, if that is what you want. She has told you she loves you?"

  "Oh, yes. In a letter."

  "A letter! Amelia?"

  "I wrote a letter, but…"

  "So you are foolish, as well as treacherous. To think that, under my own roof, I supported such a creature. I had thought you upright. I had thought you a true Christian. Why, Amelia, I admired you.

  Admired you, it seems, for what was merely your disguise, a cloak of hypocrisy."

  "Oh, Harold, how can you believe such things? If you knew the lengths to which I went to defend my —"

  "Honour? Really, my dear, you must consider me a pretty poor sort of brain, if you think you can continue any further with your charade!"

  "Well," said Jherek cheerfully, wishing that Mr. Underwood would make his meaning clearer, but glad that the main problem had been cleared up, "shall we be off, Mrs. Underwood?"

  "I cannot, Mr. Carnelian. My husband is not himself. The shock of your appearance and of your — your language. I know that you do not mean badly, but the disruption you are causing is much worse than I feared. Mr. Carnelian — please put the gun back in your pocket!"

  He slipped it into its old place. "I was going to offer it in exchange. As I understood…"

  "You understand nothing at all, Mr. Carnelian. It would be best if you left…"

  "Leave with him, Amelia. I insist upon it." Mr. Underwood lowered his hands, drew out his pocket handkerchief and, with a precise, thoughtful air, glancing often at the white cloth, mopped his brow. "It is what you both want, is it not? Your freedom. Oh, I gladly give it to you. You pollute the sanctity of my home!"

  "Harold, I can scarcely believe the vehemence — you have always preached charity. You are normally so calm!"

  "Should I be calm, now?"

  "I suppose not, but…"

  "All my life I have lived by certain principles — principles I understood you to share. Must I join you in throwing them aside? Your father, the Reverend Mr. Vernon, once warned me that you were overly inclined to high spirits. When we married, I found no sign of that side of your character and assumed that the sober business of being a good wife had driven it from you. Instead, it was buried. And not very deeply, either!"

  "I fear, Harold, that it is you who are mad!"

  He turned his back on them. "Go!"

  "You will regret this, Harold. You know you will."

  "Regret my wife conducting a liaison under my own roof with a convicted murderer? Yes!" He laughed without humour. "I suppose I shall!"

  Jherek took Mrs. Underwood's arm. "Shall we be off?"

  Her imploring eyes were still upon her husband, but she allowed Jherek to lead her to the door.

  And then they were in the peace of Collins Avenue. Jherek realized that Mrs. Underwood was disturbed by the parting.

  "I think Mr. Underwood accepted the situation very well, don't you? There you are, you see, all your fears, Mrs. Underwood, were groundless. The truth is always worth telling. Mr. Underwood said as much. Perhaps he did not behave as gracefully as one might have hoped, but still…"

  "Mr. Carnelian, I know my husband. This behaviour is untypical, to say the least. You have been responsible for making him undergo greater strain than anyone should have to tolerate. I, too, am partly responsible…"

  "Why are you speaking in a whisper, Mrs. Underwood?"

  "The neighbours." She shook her head. "We might as well walk a little, I suppose. It will give Harold time to think things over. These Bible Meetings of his sometimes take rather more out of him than one might expect. He is very dedicated. His people have been missionaries for generations. It was always his regret that he could not follow in his father's footsteps. His health, while not singularly poor, is badly affected by hot climates. He has been like it from a small child, his mother was telling me." She checked her flow. "I am babbling, I fear."

  "Babble on, beautiful Mrs. Underwood!" Jherek's stride was light and long. "We shall soon be where we both belong. I remember every word of the letter Mr. Griffiths read to me. Particularly the last part: '— and so I must tell you, Jherek, that I do love you, that I miss you, that I shall always remember you.' Oh, how happy I am. Now I know what happiness is!"

  "Mr. Carnelian, I wrote that letter in haste." She added resentfully. "I thought you were about to die."

  "I can't understand why."

  A deep sigh escaped her and she did not explain further.

  They walked through a number of streets very similar to Collins Avenue (Jherek wondered how the people could find their way to their individual dwellings) and after a while Jherek noticed that she was shivering. He, himself, had become conscious of an increased chill in the air. He removed his coat and put it around her shoulders. She did not resist the gesture.

  "Thank you," she said. "If I were not a sensible woman, Mr. Carnelian, I might at this moment be thinking that I have been ruined. I prefer to think, however, that Harold will come to understand his error and that we may be reconciled."

  "He will live with Maude Emily," Jherek told her. "He indicated as much. She will comfort him."

  "Oh, dear. Oh, dear." Mrs. Underwood shook her head. The road had given way to a path which ran between first fences and then hedges. Beyond the hedges were open fields. The sky was clear and a large moon offered plenty of light.

  "I think that we are probably going in the wrong direction for the Rose and Crown."

  "Why should you wish to visit a public house?"

  " Public house?"

  "Why do you want go to the Rose and Crown, Mr. Carnelian?"

  "To see Mr. Wells, of course, Mrs. Underwood. To ask him the name of a good maker of time machines."

  "In my age, there are no such things as time machines. If this acquaintance of yours told you that, he was probably having some sort of joke with you."

  "Oh, no. Our conversation was most serious. He was one of the few people I have met in your world who seemed to know exactly what I was talking about."

  "He was doubtless humouring you. Where did this conversation take place?"

  "On the train. And what a marvellous experience that was, in its own right. I shall be making plenty of modifications as soon as we return."

  "Then you have no means, as yet, of escaping to your original period?"

  "Well, no, but I can't see any difficulty, really."

  "There could be difficulties for both of us if Maude Emily, as I suspect, went for a policeman. If my husband has not had time to calm down he will inform the policeman, when he arrives, that an escaped murderer and his female accomplice are even now in the vicinity of Bromley — and that the man is armed. What was that thing you were waving, anyway?"

  "The deceptor-gun? Would you like me to demonstrate it?"

  "I think not."

  From the distance the silence of the night was broken by the sound of a high-pitched whistling.

  "The police!" gasped Mrs. Underwood. "It is as I feared." She clutched his arm, then removed her hand almost immediately. "If they find you, you are doomed!"

  "Why so? You refer to the gentlemen with the helmets who helped me before. They will have access to a time machine. It was thanks to them, after all, that I was able to return to my own age on my previous visit."

  She ignored him, pushing him through a gate and into a field. It smelled sweet and he paused to take the scent into his lungs. "There is no question," he began, "that I have much to learn. Smells, for instance, are generally missing in my reproductions, and when they do exist they lack subtlety. If there were only some way of recording…"

  "Silence!" she whispered urgently. "See
, they are coming this way." She pointed back to the road. A number of small, dancing lights were in evidence. "It is their bullseyes. The whole of the Bromley constabulary must be on your trail!"

  Again a whistle sounded. They crouched behind the hedge, listening to the swish of bicycle tyres over the unmade road.

  "They'll be making for the railway station, that's my guess," said a gruff voice. "They'd be fools to head for open countryside. We're on a wild-goose chase."

  "You can never be sure about madmen," said another voice. "I was part of the lot what tracked down the Lewisham Murderer three years ago. They found 'im cool as a cucumber in a boarding 'ouse not five streets away from the scene of the crime. 'E'd bin there for a fortnight, while we raced about half of Kent night and day catching nothing but colds in the 'ead."

  "I still think they'll try for a train. That bloke said 'e came on the train."

  "We're not entirely sure it was the same man. Besides, 'e said two men, obviously friends, got off the train. What 'appened to the other?"

  "I don't believe 'e did come on the train."

  "What's 'e doin' in Bromley, any'ow?" said a third voice complainingly.

  "Come back for 'is bit o' stuff — you know what some women're like — go 'ead over 'eels for that sort. I've seen it before — perficktly decent women brought low by a smooth-talking villain. If she ain't careful I'd say she'll be 'is next victim."

  "Often the way it goes," another agreed.

  They passed out of earshot. Mrs. Underwood seemed to have a high colour again. "Really!" she said. "So I already have a reputation as the consort of criminals. Mud sticks, as they say. Well, Mr.

  Carnelian, you will never understand the damage you have done, I know, but I am currently very much regretting that I allowed my better nature to take me to the Old Bailey in your defence! Even at the time, there was a hint of gossip — but now — well, I shall have to consider leaving the country. And poor Harold — why should he be made to suffer?"

  "Leaving? Good." He stood up, brushing pieces of straw from his trousers. "Now, let's go and find Mr. Wells."

  "Mr. Carnelian — it is really far too dangerous. You heard those policemen. The station is being watched. They are combing Bromley for us!"