Dancers at the End of Time

by Michael Moorcock

  "Only ourselves." Mrs. Underwood glanced away from the grim eye of her husband.

  "Ha!" said Mr. Underwood.

  "We have separate apartments," she explained to the inspector, upon whose ruddy features there had spread the suggestion of a leer.

  "Well, sir," said Sergeant Sherwood, "shall we take this pair back first?"

  "To the nineteenth century?" Jherek asked.

  "That is what he means," the time-traveller replied on the sergeant's behalf.

  "This would be your opportunity, Amelia." Jherek's voice was small. "You said that you wished, still, to return…"

  "It is true…" she began.

  "Then…?"

  "The circumstances…"

  "You two 'ad better stay 'ere," Inspector Springer was telling two of the constables, "to keep an eye on 'em. We'll search the premises." He led his men off towards a staircase. Jherek and Amelia sat down on a padded bench.

  "Would you care for some tea?" Amelia asked her husband, the time-traveller and the two constables.

  "Well…" said one of the constables.

  "I think that'd be all right, ma'am," said the other.

  Jherek was eager to oblige. He turned a power-ring and produced a silver tea-pot, six china cups and saucers, a milk-jug and a hot-water jug, a silver tea-strainer, six silver spoons and a primus stove.

  "Sugar, I think," she murmured, "but not the stove."

  He corrected his error.

  The two police constables sat down together quite suddenly, goggling at the tea. Mr. Underwood remained standing, but seemed rather more stiff than he had been. He muttered to himself. Only the time-traveller reacted in a normal fashion.

  Mrs. Underwood seemed to be suppressing amusement as she poured the tea and handed out the cups. The constables accepted the tea, but only one of them drank any. The other merely said, "Gord!"

  and put his cup on the table, while his companion grinned weakly and said: "Very good, very good," over and over again.

  From above there came a sudden loud cracking sound and a yell. Puzzled, Jherek and Amelia looked up.

  "I do hope they are not damaging…" began the time-traveller.

  There was a thunder of boots and Inspector Springer, Sergeant Sherwood and their men came tumbling, breathless, back into the hall.

  "They're attacking!" cried Sergeant Sherwood to the other two policemen.

  " 'Oo?"

  "The enemy, of course!" Inspector Springer answered, running to peer cautiously out of the window. "They must know we've occupied these premises. They're a cunning lot, I'll grant you that."

  "What happened up there, Inspector?" asked Jherek, carrying forward a cup of tea for his guest.

  "Something took the top off the tower, that's all!" Automatically the inspector accepted the tea.

  "Clean off. Some kind of 'igh-powered naval gun, I'd say. 'Ave you got any sea near 'ere?"

  "None, I fear. I wonder who could have done that." Jherek looked enquiringly at Amelia. She shrugged.

  "The Wrath of God!" announced Mr. Underwood helpfully, but nobody took much notice of his suggestion.

  "I remember once, some flying machine of the Duke of Queens' crashed into my ranch," Jherek said. "Did you notice a flying machine, Inspector?"

  Inspector Springer continued to peer through the window. "It was like a bolt from the blue," he said.

  "One minute the roof was there," added Sergeant Sherwood, "the next it was gone. There was this explosion — then — bang! — gone. It got very 'ot for a second, too."

  "Sounds like some sort of ray," said the time-traveller, helping himself to another cup of tea.

  Inspector Springer proved himself a reader of the popular weeklies by the swiftness with which he accepted the notion. "You mean a Death Ray?"

  "If you like."

  Inspector Springer fingered his moustache. "We were fools not to come armed," he reflected.

  "Ah!" Jherek remembered his first encounter with the brigand-musicians in the forest. "That's probably the Lat returned. They had weapons. They demonstrated one. Very powerful they were, too."

  "Those Latvians. I might 'ave guessed!" Inspector Springer crouched lower. " 'Ave you any means of telling 'em you're our prisoners?"

  "None at all, I fear. I could go and find them, but they could be hundreds of miles away."

  " 'undreds? Oh, Lor!" exclaimed Sergeant Sherwood. He looked at the ceiling, as if he expected it to fall in on him. "You're right, Inspector. We should've put in for some pistols."

  "The Day of Doom is here!" intoned Harold Underwood, raising a finger.

  "We must introduce him to Lord Mongrove," Jherek said, inspired. "They would get on very well, don't you think, Amelia?"

  But she did not reply. She was staring with a mixture of sympathy and resignation at her poor, mad husband. "I am to blame," she said. "It is all my doing. Oh, Harold, Harold."

  There came another loud report. Cracks began to appear in the walls and ceiling. Jherek turned a power-ring and re-formed the palace. "I think you'll find the roof's back on, Inspector, should you wish to continue your tour."

  "I'll receive a medal for this, if I ever get back," said Inspector Springer to himself. He sighed.

  "I'd suggest, sir," said his sergeant, "that we make the most of what we've got and return with these two."

  "You're probably right. We'll do a dash for it. Better put the gyves on 'em, eh?"

  Two constables produced their handcuffs and advanced towards Jherek and Amelia.

  At that moment an apparition appeared at the window and drifted through. It was Bishop Castle, completely out of breath, looking extremely excited, his huge mitre askew. "Oh, the adventures, my dears! The Lat have returned and are laying waste to everything! Murder, pillage, rape! It's marvellous!

  Ah, you have company…"

  "I believe you've met most of them," Jherek said. "This is Inspector Springer, Sergeant Sherwood…"

  Bishop Castle subsided slowly to the floor, nodding and smiling. Blinking, the constables backed away.

  "They have taken prisoners, too. Just as they took us prisoner, that time. Ah, boredom is banished, at last! And there has been a battle — the Duke of Queens magnificent, in charge of our aerial fleet (it did not last more than a few seconds, unfortunately, but it did look pretty), and My Lady Charlotina as an amazon, in a chariot. Amusement returns to our dull world! Dozens, at least, are dead!" He waved his crook apologetically at the company. "You must forgive the interruption. I am so sorry. I forget my manners."

  "I know you," said Inspector Springer significantly. "I arrested you before, at the Café Royal."

  "So pleased to see you again, Inspector." It was plain that Bishop Castle had not understood a word that Inspector Springer had said. He popped a translation pill into his mouth. "You decided to continue your party, then, at the End of Time?"

  "End of Time?" said Harold Underwood, showing fresh interest. "Armageddon?"

  Amelia Underwood went to him. She tried to sooth him. He shook her off.

  "Ha!" he said.

  "Harold. You're being childish."

  "Ha!"

  Despondently, she remained where she was, staring at him.

  "You should see the destruction," continued Bishop Castle. He laughed. "Nothing at all is left of Below-the-Lake, unless Brannart's laboratories are still there. But the menagerie is completely gone, and all My Lady Charlotina's apartments — the lake itself — all gone! It'll take her hours to replace them."

  He tugged at Jherek's sleeve. "You must return with me and see the spectacle, Jherek. That's why I came away, to make sure you did not miss it all."

  "Your friends aren't going anywhere, sir. And neither, I might add, are you." Inspector Springer signalled his constables forward.

  "How wonderful! You'd take us prisoners, too! Have you any weapons, like the Lats? You must produce something, Inspector, to rival their effects, unless you wish to be absolutely outshone!"

  "I thought these Latvians w
ere on your side," said Sergeant Sherwood.

  "Indeed, no! What would be the fun of that?"

  "You say they're destroying everything. Rape, pillage, murder?"

  "Exactly."

  "Well, I never…" Inspector Springer scratched his head. "So you're merely the foils of these people, instead o' the other way about?"

  "I think there's a misunderstanding, Inspector," said Mrs. Underwood. "You see…"

  "Misunderstanding!" Suddenly Harold Underwood lurched towards her. "Jezebel!"

  "Harold!"

  "Ha!"

  There came another boom, louder than the previous ones, and the ceiling vanished to reveal the sky.

  "It can only be the Lat," said Bishop Castle, with the air of an expert. "You really must come with me. Jherek and Amelia, unless you want to be destroyed before you have enjoyed any of the fun." He began to lead them towards his air-car at the window. "There'll be nothing left of our world, at this rate!"

  "Do they really mean to destroy you all?" asked the time-traveller, as they went by.

  "I gather not. They originally came for prisoners. Mistress Christia, of course," this to Jherek, "is now a captive. I think it's their habit to go about the galaxy killing the males and abducting the females."

  "You'll let them?" Mrs. Underwood enquired.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You won't stop this?"

  "Oh, eventually, I suppose we'll have to. Mistress Christia wouldn't be happy in space. Particularly if it has become as bleak as Mongrove reports."

  "What do you say, Amelia? Shall we go and watch? Join in?" Jherek wanted to know.

  "Of course not."

  He suppressed his disappointment.

  "Perhaps you wish me to be abducted by those creatures?" she said.

  "Indeed, no!"

  "Perhaps it would be better to return in my Chronomnibus," suggested the time-traveller, "at least until —"

  "Amelia?"

  She shook her head. "The circumstances are too shameful for me. Respectable society would be closed to me now."

  "Then you will stay, dearest Amelia?"

  "Mr. Carnelian, this is no time to continue with your pesterings. I will accept that I am an outcast, but I still have certain standards of behaviour. Besides, I am concerned for Harold. He is not himself.

  And for that, we are to blame. Well, perhaps not you, really — but I must accept a large share of guilt. I should have been firmer. I should not have admitted my love —" and she burst into tears.

  "You do admit it, then, Amelia!"

  "You are heartless, Mr. Carnelian," she sobbed, "and scarcely tactful…"

  "Ha!" said Harold Underwood. "It is just as well that I have already begun divorce proceedings…"

  "Excellent!" cried Jherek.

  Another boom.

  "My machine!" exclaimed the time-traveller, and ran outside.

  "Take cover, men." Inspector Springer called. They all lay down.

  Bishop Castle was already in his air-car, surrounded by a cloud of dust. "Are you coming, Jherek?"

  "I think not. I hope you enjoy yourself, Bishop Castle."

  "I shall. I shall." The air-car began to rise, Charon's barge, into the upper atmosphere.

  Only Mr. and Mrs. Underwood and Jherek Carnelian remained standing, in the ruins of the palace.

  "Come," said Jherek to them both, "I think I know where we can find safety." He turned a power-ring.

  His old air-car, the locomotive, materialized. It was in gleaming red and black now, but lime-coloured smoke still puffed from its stack. "Forgive the lack of invention," he said to them, "but as we are in haste…"

  "You would save Harold, too?" she said, as Jherek helped her husband aboard.

  "Why not? You say you are concerned for him." He grinned cheerfully, while overhead a searing, scarlet bolt of pure energy went roaring by, "Besides, I wish to hear the details of this divorce he plans. Is that not the ceremony that must take place before we can be married?"

  She made no reply to this, as she joined him on the footplate. "Where are we going, Mr.

  Carnelian?"

  The locomotive began to puff skyward. "I'm full of old smokies," he sang, "I'm covered in dough.

  I've eaten blue plovers and I'm snorting up coke!" Mr. Underwood clutched the rail and stared down at the ruins they left behind. His knees were shaking. "It's a railroad song, from your own time," Jherek explained. "Would you like to be the fireman?"

  He offered Mr. Underwood the platinum shovel. Mr. Underwood accepted the shovel without a word and, mechanically, began to stoke coal into the fire-chamber.

  "Mr. Carnelian! Where are we going?"

  "To certain safety, dearest Amelia. To certain safety, I assure you."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  In Which Jherek Carnelian and Mrs. Underwood find

  Sanctuary of Sorts, and Mr. Underwood Makes a New Friend

  "You are not disturbed, dearest Amelia, by this city?"

  "I find the place improbable. I failed to realize, listening only to talk of such settlements, how vast and how, well, how unlike cities they were!"

  Mr. Underwood stood some distance away, on the other side of the little plaza. Green globes of fuzzy light, about the size of tennis balls, ran up and down his outstretched arms; he watched them with childlike delight; behind him the air was black, purple, dark green shot with crimson, as chemicals expanded and contracted in a kind of simulation of breathing, giving off their vapours; bronze sparks showered nearby, pinkish energy arced from one tower to another; steel sang. The city murmured to itself, almost asleep, certainly drowsy. Even the narrow rivulets of mercury, criss-crossing the ground at their feet, seemed to be running slowly.

  "The cities protect themselves," Jherek explained. "I have seen it before. No weapon can operate within them, no weapon can harm them from without, because they can always command more energy than any weapon brought against them, you see. It was part of their original design."

  "This resembles a manufactory more than it does a township," she remarked.

  "It is actually," he told her, "more in the nature of a museum. There are several such cities on the planet; they contain what remains of our knowledge."

  "These fumes — are they not poisonous?"

  "Not to Man. They could not be."

  She accepted his assurance, but continued wary, as he led them from the plaza, through an arcade of lurid yellow and mauve metallic fronds, faintly reminiscent of those they had seen in the Palaeozoic; a strange greyish light fell through the fronds and distorted their shadows. Mr. Underwood wandered some distance behind them, softly singing.

  "We must consider," she whispered, "how Harold is to be saved."

  "Saved for what?"

  "From his insanity."

  "He seems happier in the city."

  "He believes himself in Hell, no doubt. Just as I once believed. Inspector Springer should never have brought him."

  "I am not altogether sure that the inspector is quite himself."

  "I agree, Mr. Carnelian. All this smacks of political panic at home. There is thought to be considerable interest in Spiritualism and Freemasonry among certain members of the Cabinet, at the present time. There is even some talk that the Prince of Wales…"

  She continued in this vein for a while, mystifying him entirely. Her information, he gathered, was gleaned from a broadsheet which Mr. Underwood had once acquired.

  The arcade gave way to a chasm running between high, featureless buildings, their walls covered with chemical stains and peculiar semi-biological growths, some of which palpitated; ahead of them was something globular, glowing and dark, which rolled away from them as they advanced and, as they reached the end of the chasm, vanished. Here the vista widened and they could see across a plain littered with half-rotted metal relics to where, in the distance, angry flames spread themselves against an invisible wall.

  "There!" he said. "That must be the Lat's weapons at work. The city throws up its defences.
See, I told you that we should be safe, dear Amelia."

  She glanced over her shoulder to where her husband sat upon a structure that seemed part of stone and part of some kind of hardened resin. "I wish you would try to be more tactful, Mr. Carnelian.

  Remember that my husband is within earshot. Consider his feelings, if you will not consider mine!"

  "But he has relinquished you to me. He said as much. By your customs that is sufficient, is it not?"

  "He divorces me, that is all. I have a right to choose or reject any husband I please."

  "Of course. But you choose me. I know."

  "I have not told you that."

  "You have, Amelia. You forget. You have mentioned more than once that you love me."

  "That does not mean — would not mean — that I would necessarily marry you, Mr. Carnelian.

  There is still every chance that I may return to Bromley — or at least to my own time."

  "Where you will be an outcast. You said so."

  "In Bromley. Not everywhere." But she frowned. "I can imagine the scandal. The newspapers will have published something, to be sure. Oh, dear."

  "You seemed to be enjoying life at the End of Time."

  "Perhaps I would continue to do so, Mr. Carnelian, were I not haunted, very definitely, by the Past." Another glance over her shoulder. "How is one ever to relax?"

  "This is a fluke. It is the first time anything like it has ever occurred here."

  "Besides, I would remind you that, according to Bishop Castle (not to mention the evidence of our own eyes) your world is being destroyed about your ears."

  "For the moment, only. It can soon be replaced."

  "Lord Mongrove and Yusharisp would have us believe otherwise."

  "It is hard to take them seriously."

  "For you, perhaps. Not for me, Mr. Carnelian. What they say makes considerable sense."

  " Opportunities for redemption must therefore be few in such an ambience as you describe,"

  said quite another voice, a low, mellow, slightly sleepy voice.

  "There are none," said Mr. Underwood, "at least that I know of."

  " That is interesting. I seem to recall something of the theory, but most of the information I would require was stored elsewhere, in a sister city, whose co-ordinates I cannot quite recollect. I am of a mind to believe, however, that you are either a manifestation of this city's delusions (which proliferate notoriously, these days) or else that you are deluded yourself, a victim of too much morbid fascination with ancient mythologies. I could be mistaken — there was a time when I was infallible, I think. I am not sure that your description of this city tallies with the facts which remain at my command. You could argue, I know, that I myself am deluded as to the truth, yet my evidence would seem to tally with my instincts, whereas you, yourself, make intellectual rather than instinctive assumptions; that at least is what I gather from the illogicalities so far expressed in your analysis. You have contradicted yourself at least three times since you sat down on my shell."