"Weddings, mama. Three — no four — to my knowledge."
"About twenty in all," said Jagged. "You know how quickly these things catch on."
"Who else?" said Jherek.
"Doctor Volospion weds the Platinum Poppy."
"Such a pleasant, empty creature," sniffed the Iron Orchid, "at least, before she changed her name."
"And Captain Marble is to be spliced to Soola Sen Sun. And Lady Voiceless, I gather, gives herself in marriage to Li Pao."
The Iron Orchid seemed displeased by this announcement, but she said nothing.
"And how long, I wonder, will these 'marriages' last," said Amelia.
"Oh, I should think as long as the various parties wish them to last," murmured Lord Jagged. "The fashion could remain with us for a thousand years, or even two. One never knows. It all depends upon the ingenuity, surely, of the participants. Something else might come along to fire society's imagination…"
"Of course," she said. She had become subdued. Noticing this, Jherek pressed her arm, but she was not comforted.
"I should have thought, Amelia, that you would have been pleased by this development." Lord Jagged's lips curved a fraction. "A tendency towards social stability, is it not?"
"I cannot rise to your jesting today, Lord Jagged."
"You still grieve for your perished potatoes, then?"
"For what is signified by their destruction."
"Later, we must put our heads together. There could be a solution to the problem…"
"There can be no solution, sir, to the abiding dilemma of one who would not be a drone in a world of drones."
"You are too hard on yourself, and on us. See it, instead, as a reward to the human race for all its millions of years of struggle."
"I have not been part of that struggle."
"Surely, in one sense…"
"In one sense, sir, we have all been involved. In another, we have not. It is, as you would agree, I know, not what is, but how one looks at what is."
"You will change."
"I fear that I shall."
"You fear cynicism in yourself?"
"Perhaps it is that."
"Some would consider your attitude cowardly."
" I consider it cowardly, Lord Jagged, you may be sure. Let us terminate this conversation. It excludes too many; it discomforts all. My problems are my own responsibility."
"You claim more than you should, Amelia. Have I had no part in creating those problems?"
"I suppose that you would be offended if I disagreed with you on that point."
His voice was very quiet and only for her ears. "I have a conscience, too, Amelia. All that I have done might be seen as the result of possessing an exaggerated sense of duty."
Her lips parted; her chin lifted a fraction. "If I could believe that, I think I should be more reconciled to my situation."
"Then you must believe it."
"Oh, Jagged! Amelia is right. We become bored with all this listless talk. It lacks colour, my dears."
The Iron Orchid drew close to her husband.
Lord Jagged of Canaria raised his hat to Amelia. "Perhaps we can continue with this later. I have a proposal of my own, which you might find satisfactory."
"You must not concern yourself," she said, "with our affairs."
Jherek made to speak, but an ear-splitting fanfare came suddenly from all directions and an unnaturally loud, somewhat distorted voice — almost certainly that of the Duke of Queens — cried from the air:
"The weddings begin!"
They joined the crowd moving towards the cathedral.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Conversations and Conclusions
Dusty varicoloured light fell from brilliant windows through the lofty shadows of the cathedral; rainbow patterns littered the marble floors, the dark oak stalls, the cool vaulted galleries, the golden pulpits, the brass and ceramic choirs; they filtered through the silver-framed squints, dappling the extravagant costumes of brides, grooms and celebrants who, together, were the whole complement of this world at the End of Time and would remain its sole denizens for eternity.
At the great altar, against the radiance from the circular stained glass behind him, wearing vestments of black and red silk trimmed with woven ribbons of white and grey, a magnificent mitre swaying on his head, his aluminium crook in one gloved hand, his other hand raised to give a blessing, stood Bishop Castle, impressive and grave as through the high doors, admitting a sweep of sunshine into the main aisle, sounded the blare of a thousand instruments voicing a single note. Then there came a silence from without while the cathedral echoed, transformed the note, seeming to answer.
Bishop Castle let the echoes fade before signalling Sweet Orb Mace, on the arm of Lord Jagged himself, to proceed towards the altar; then came the Duke of Queens, in uniform still, striding until he stood beside his bride-to-be, who wore white — hair, eyebrows, lashes, lips, gown bobbysox and boots. The altar itself was already piled with blue and green gifts of every description. From the chancel Jherek, Amelia and the Iron Orchid watched as, with due ceremony, Bishop Castle handed the Duke of Queens a black curved bow and a single arrow, enjoining the groom to "show yourself worthy of this woman". The Iron Orchid whispered that Amelia would be familiar with the ritual and would doubtless be a trifle blasé, but she, the Orchid, was thrilled.
Bishop Castle motioned and twenty palm trees sprang up in the main aisle, standing, one behind each other, in a perfectly straight line. The Duke of Queens placed the arrow upon the string, drew it back, and shot at the first palm tree.
The arrow pierced the tree through, entered the next and pierced that, going on to the next and the next until all twenty trees were pierced. There came a yell from the distance (it seemed that Li Pao had been standing behind the last palm tree and had received the arrow directly in his eye and had been killed; with as little fuss as possible he was resurrected — meanwhile the ceremony continued), but the Duke of Queens was already handing the bow back to Bishop Castle while intoning a reference to Sugriva, Jatayus and Disney the Destroyer and calling upon the Buddha to strike him bald if his love for Sweet Orb Mace ever faltered. This ritual progressed for some time, giving great satisfaction to the central participants, as is the nature of ritual, but tending to drag a little so far as the audience was concerned, though many admitted that the spoken parts were moving.
Bishop Castle gradually brought the wedding to its conclusion. "…until such time as the aforementioned Parties shall deem this Agreement void and that any disputes arising from this Agreement, or the performance thereof, shall be determined by arbitration in the Heavenly City or its Dependencies in accordance with the rules then obtaining of the High, Middle and Low Courts of Chance and Arbitrary Union and judgement on the award rendered may be entered in any court having jurisdiction thereof, in the name of God the Father, God the Mother or God the Next of Kin, God Bless, Good Luck and Keep Smiling."
The ceremonial chain of iron was locked about Sweet Orb Mace's neck; the huge jewelled truss was fitted onto the lower part of the Duke of Queens' torso, thumbs were cut and blood mingled, halos were exchanged, two goats were slaughtered, and a further fanfare announced that the marriage was duly sanctified. Next came Werther de Goethe and Lord Mongrove, who had chosen a shorter but rather gloomier ceremony, followed by Mistress Christia, the Everlasting Concubine, and her little group of grooms, then Doctor Volospion with Platinum Poppy (a clever, but obvious copy of the Iron Orchid, to the smallest feature).
It was at this point that Lord Jagged slipped away. Probably, Jherek thought, it was because his father was quickly bored by such things and also because (it was rumoured) he had no liking for the envious Volospion. Not a few of the others had chosen group marriages, which, save for the naming of the names, took somewhat less time to complete. Amelia was becoming restless, as was the Iron Orchid; the two women whispered together and occasionally made remarks which caused one or both to repress laughter and, on certain occasi
ons, under cover of some loud report, for instance, from a Wedding Cannon, or Clare Cyrato's perfect rising contralto shriek as her labia were pierced, or the Earl of Carbolic's nine hundredth-century bull-bellow, allowed themselves to giggle quite openly. Jherek did not feel excluded; he was relieved that their friendship flourished, though every so often he noticed a look of disapproval cross Amelia's features, as if she found her own behaviour reprehensible. Sometimes she would join in the applause which began to fill the cathedral, as more and more people, on the spur of the moment, rushed towards the tasteful web of neon that was the altar, and married one another.
The proceedings were becoming extremely chaotic and Bishop Castle, who had lost his air of gravity, was waving his mitre around his head, making up more and more extravagant rituals and, like the ringmaster, putting his brides and his grooms through increasingly ludicrous paces, so that laughter now sounded from every corner of the great cathedral, bursts of clapping greeted quite unremarkable exercises (such as the four ladies who insisted on being married whilst standing on their hands). As the Iron Orchid remarked: "The wittiest of us are already wedded — these give us only low comedy!"
They prepared to leave.
"Bishop Castle should not lend himself to such sport," said the Orchid. "I note that most of these people are largely of immigrant origin who have been returned, just recently, by the Morphail Effect. Is that not boorish Pereg Tralo — there in the blazing crown, with all those little girls? But what is Gaf the Horse in Tears doing to that other time-traveller, the one bending down — there?"
Amelia turned away.
The Iron Orchid patted her padded shoulder. "I agree, my dear, it is most distasteful."
The remaining celebrants were dancing now, in a long line which wandered in and out of the arches, up and down the stairs, along the high galleries, through deep shadows and into sudden sunlight, while Bishop Castle urged them on, his mitre swinging in time to the music of the Duke's band which came faintly from beyond the doors. "Bless you!" he cried. "Bless you!"
Fire bloomed now as brands were added, at the insistence, it seemed, of Trixitroxi Ro, dethroned queen of a decadent court who had been exiled, by successful revolutionaries, to the future, and who had, for hundreds of years, only one idea for a successful party — to set fire to everything.
The Iron Orchid, Jherek and Amelia, began to make their way towards the doors, moving against the crowd.
"These are the very worst aspects of the world's infancy," protested the Orchid as she was jostled by a brand-bearing cat-masked spring-footed Holy Electrician from a period which had prospered at least a million years before.
"You become a snob, Iron Orchid!" Amelia's mockery was good-natured.
"You relished such scenes once, Mother, it is true," agreed Jherek.
"Oh, perhaps I grow old. Or some quality leaves life at the End of Time. I find it hard to describe."
The doors were still a good distance from them. The dancing crowd had separated into several interweaving sections. Screams of laughter mingled with snatches of song, with shrieks and guffaws and the sound of stamping feet; bizarre masks grinned through the hagioscopes in walls and pillars, bodies, painted and unpainted, natural and remodelled, writhed on steps, in choirs, pews, pulpits and confessionals; feathers waved, spangles glittered, silks scraped on satins, jewelled cloaks and boots reflected torchlight and seemed to blaze of their own accord; skins, yellow and green and brown and red and pink and black and blue and orange, glistened; and everywhere the eyes they saw were burning, the mouths were hot.
Of the three, only Jherek laughed. "They enjoy themselves, mother! It is a festival."
"Danse macabre," murmured Amelia. "The damned, the dead, the doomed — they dance to forget their fate…"
This was a trifle too much even for the Orchid in her abnormal despondency. "It is certainly vulgar," she said, "if nothing else. The Duke of Queens is to blame, of course. It is typical of him to allow a perfectly entertaining event to degenerate into — ah!" she fell to the flagging, bowled down by a squirming couple over whom she had tripped.
Jherek helped her up. He was smiling. "You used to chide me for my criticisms of the Duke's taste.
Well, I am vindicated at last."
She sniffed. She noticed the face of one of the people on the ground. "Gaf! How can you lend yourself to this?"
"Eh?" said Gaf the Horse in Tears. He extricated himself from under his partner. "Iron Orchid! Oh, your perfume, your petals, your delicate stamen — let them consume me!"
"We are leaving," she said pointedly, casting a hard eye over the black and white fur which Gaf sported. "We find the proceedings dull."
"Dull, dearest Orchid? It is an experience. Experience of any sort is sufficient to itself!" Gaf thought she joked. From where he lay, he extended a hand. "Come. Join us. We —"
"Perhaps another time, weeping stallion." She perceived an opening in the throng and made towards it, but it had closed before any of them could reach it.
"They seem drunk with the prospect of their own damnation…" began Amelia before her voice was lost in the yell of the throng. She held herself as she had when Jherek had first seen her, her mouth set, her eyes contemptuous, and all his love swept over him so that he was bound to kiss her. But her cheek was cold. She plunged away, colliding with the crowd which caught her and began to bear her from him.
She was as one who had fallen into a torrent and feared drowning. He ran to her rescue, dragging her clear of the press; she gasped and sobbed against him. They were on the edge of the sunlight from the doors; escape was near. They could hear the band still playing outside. She was shouting to him, but her words were indistinct. The Iron Orchid plucked at Jherek's arm, to lead them from the cathedral and at that moment darkness descended.
The sun was gone; no light entered the doors or fell through the windows; the music died; there was silence outside. It was cold. Yet many of the revellers danced on, their way illuminated by the guttering flames of the flambeaux in their hands; many still laughed or shouted. But then the cathedral itself began to tremble. Metal and glass rattled, stone groaned.
The doors, now a black gap, could still be seen, and towards them the three fled, with Iron Orchid crying in astonishment: "Jagged has failed us. The world ends, after all!"
Into the coldness they rushed. Behind them firelight flickered from the many windows of the building, but it was too feeble to brighten the surrounding ground, though it was possible to identify the whereabouts of the stalls and booths and tents from the voices, some familiar, calling out in bewilderment.
Jherek expected the air to give way to vacuum at any moment. He clutched Amelia and now she hugged him willingly. "If only there had been some way to live," she said. "And yet I think I am glad for this. I could never have changed. I would have become a hypocrite and you would have ceased to love me."
"Never that," he said. He kissed her. Perhaps because the surrounding air was so cold, she seemed very warm to him, almost feverish.
"What an unsatisfactory conclusion," came the voice of the Iron Orchid. "For once, it seems, Jagged has lost his sense of timing! Still, there'll be no one to criticize in a moment or two…"
Beneath their feet, the ground shook. From within the cathedral a single voice was raised in a high, sustained scream. Something fell with a rush and a crash to the ground; several of the cathedral's bells tolled, crazy and dissonant. Two or three figures, one with a brand that was now scarcely more than an ember, came to the door and stood there uncertainly.
Jherek thought he heard a howling, far off, as if of a distant hurricane, but it did not approach; instead it seemed to die away in another direction.
They all awaited death with reconciliation, trepidation, amusement, relish or incredulity, according to their temperaments. Here and there people could be heard chatting with complete lack of concern, while others moaned, crying out for impossible succour.
"At least Harold is safe," she said. "Did Jagged k
now that this could happen, do you think?"
"If he did, he made sure we should not suspect."
"He certainly said nothing to me." The Iron Orchid did not bother to hide her petulance. "I am his wife, after all."
"He cannot help his secretive nature, Mother," said Jherek Carnelian in defence.
"Just as you cannot help possessing an open one, my child. Where are you? Over there, eh?"
"Here," said Amelia.
The blind hand found her. "He is so easily deceived," confided the Orchid to her daughter-in-law.
"It made him entertaining, of course, before all this began — but now … I blame myself for lacking forethought, certain sorts of perception…"
"He is a credit to you, Mother." Amelia wished to comfort. "I love him for what you made him."
Jherek was amused. "It is always the way of women, as I was discovering, to regard men as some sort of blank creature into which one woman or another has instilled certain characteristics. This woman has made him shy — this woman has made him strong — another has driven such and such an influence (always a woman's of course) from him … Am I merely no more than an amalgamation of women's creative imaginations? Have I no identity of my own?"
"Of course, dear." Amelia spoke. "Of course. You are completely yourself! I spoke only figuratively."
The Iron Orchid's voice came again. "Do not let him bully you, Amelia. That is his father's influence!"
"Mother, you remain as adamant as always!" Jherek said affectionately. "A flower that can never be bent by even the strongest of winds!"
"I trust you are only jesting, Jherek. There is none more malleable than I!"
"Indeed!"
Amelia was forced to join in Jherek's laughter. The Iron Orchid, it seemed, sulked.
Dancers at the End of Time Page 60
