The End of All Songs

7. En Route for the End of Time

"The capsule has no power of its own," Una Persson explained. Morning light filtered through the opening in the wall above them as the four stood together in the Time Centre's compound and inspected the rectangular object, just large enough for two people and resembling, as Mrs. Underwood had earlier remarked, nothing so much as a sedan chair. "We shall control it from here. It is actually safer than any other kind of machine, for we can study the megaflow and avoid major ruptures. We shall keep you on course, never fear."

"And be sure to remind Lord Jagged that we should be glad of his advice," added Captain Bastable. He kissed Mrs. Underwood's hand. "It has been a very great pleasure, ma'am." He saluted.

"It has been a pleasure for me to meet a gentleman," she replied, "I thank you, sir, for your kindness."

"Time we were aboard, eh?" Jherek's joviality was of the false and insistent sort.

Una Persson seemed to be enjoying some private glee. She hugged one of Oswald Bastable's arms and whispered in his ear. He blushed.

Jherek climbed into his side of the box. "If there's anything I can send you from the End of Time, let me know," he called. "We must try to keep in touch."

"Indeed," she said. "In the circumstances, all we time-travellers have is one another. Ask Jagged about the Guild."

"I think Mr. Carnelian has had his fill of adventuring through time, Mrs. Persson." Amelia Underwood was smiling and her attitude towards Jherek had something possessive about it, so that Jherek was bewildered even more.

"Sometimes, once we have embarked upon the exercise, we are not allowed to stop," Una Persson said. "I mention it, only. But I hope you are successful in settling, if that is what you wish. Some would have it that Time creates the human condition, you know — that, and nothing else."

They had begun to shout, now that a loud thrumming filled the air.

"We had best stand clear," said Captain Bastable. "Occasionally there is a shock wave. The vacuum, you know." He guided Mrs. Persson towards the largest of the black huts. "The capsule finds its own level. You have nothing to fear on that score. You won't be drowned, or burned, or compressed."

Jherek watched them retreat. The thrumming grew louder and louder. His back pressed against Mrs. Underwood's. He turned to ask her if she were comfortable but before he could speak a stillness fell and there was complete silence. His head felt suddenly light. He looked to Mrs. Persson and Captain Bastable for an answer, but they were gone and only a shadowy, flickering ghost of the black wall could be seen. Finally this, too, disappeared and foliage replaced it. Something huge and heavy and alive moved towards them, passed through them, it seemed, and was gone. Heat and cold became extreme, seemed one. Hundreds of colours came and went, but were pale, washed out, rainy. There was dampness in the air he breathed; little tremors of pain ran through him but were past almost before his brain could signal their presence. Booming, echoing sounds — slow sounds, deep and sluggish — blossomed in his ears. He swung up and down, he swung sideways, always as if the capsule were suspended from a wire, like a pendulum. He could feel her warm body pressed to his shoulders, but he could not hear her voice and he could not turn to see her, for every movement took infinity to consider and perform, and he appeared to weigh tons, as though his mass spread through miles of space and years of time. The capsule tilted forward, but he did not fall from his seat; something pressed him in, securing him: grey waves washed him; red rays rolled from toe to head. The chair began to spin. He heard his own name, or something very like it, being called by a high, mocking voice. Words piped at him; all the words of his life.

He breathed in and it was as if Niagara engulfed him. He breathed out; Vesuvius gave voice.

Scales slipped by against his check and fur filled his nostrils and flesh throbbed close to his lips, and fine wings fluttered, great winds blew; he was drenched by a salty rain (he became the History of Man, he became a thousand warm-blooded beasts, he knew unbearable tranquillity). He became pure pain and was the universe, the big slow-dancing stars. His body began to sing.

In the distance:

" My dear — my dear — my dearest dear… "

His eyes had shut. He opened them.

"My dear!"

Was it Amelia?

But, no — he could move — he could turn and see that she was slumped forward, insensible. Still the pale colours swam. They cleared.

Green oak trees surrounded a grassy glade; cool sunlight touched the leaves.

He heard a sound. She had tumbled from the capsule and lay stretched, face-forward, upon the ground. He climbed from his seat, his legs trembling, and went to her, even as the capsule made a wrenching noise and was gone.

"Amelia!" He touched soft hair, stroked the lovely neck, kissed the linen exposed by the torn velvet of her sleeve. "Oh, Amelia!"

Her voice was muffled. "Even these circumstances, Mr. Carnelian, do not entitle you to liberties. I am not unconscious." She moved her head so that her steady grey eyes could see him. "Merely faint. Perhaps a trifle stunned. Where are we?"

"Almost certainly at End of Time. These trees are of familiar workmanship." He helped her to her feet. "I think it is where we originally came across the Lat. It would be logical to return me here, for Nurse's sanctuary is not far distant." He had already recounted his adventures to her. "The Lat spaceship is probably also nearby."

She became nervous. "Should we not seek out your friends?"

"If they have returned. Remember, the last we saw of them was in London, 1896. They vanished — but did they return? Our destinations were the same. Almost certainly the Morphail Effect sent them home — but we know that Brannart's theories do not apply to all the phenomena associated with Time."

"We'll not be served by further speculation," she pointed out. "You have your power-rings, still?"

He was impressed by her sense. "Of course!" He stroked a ruby, turning three of the oaks into a larger version of the power-boat of the Palaeozoic, but translucent, of jade. "My ranch awaits us — rest or roister, as we will! " He bowed low as, with a set expression upon her beautiful features, she advanced towards the boat. He brought up the rear. "You do not think the jewelled propeller vulgar?" He was eager for her praise. "It seemed a refinement."

"It is lovely," said she, distantly. With considerable dignity, she entered the vessel. There were benches, quilted with cloth-of-gold. She chose one near the centre of the craft. Joining her, he lounged in the prow. A wave of a hand and the boat began to rise. He laughed. He was his old self again. He was Jherek Carnelian, the son of a woman, the darling of his world, and his love was with him.

"At last," he cried, "our aggravations and adventures are concluded. The road has been a weary one, and long, yet at its end what shall we find but our own little cottage complete with cat and kettle, cream, crumpets, cranberries, kippers, cauliflower, crackers, custard, kedgeree for tea, sweet, my dear Amelia, sweet tranquillity! Oh, you shall be happy. You shall!"

Stiffly though she sat, she seemed more amused than insulted. She seemed pleased to recognize the landscapes streaming by below, and she did not chide him for his use of her Christian name, nor for his suggestions which were, of course, improper.

"I knew it!" he sang. "You have learned to love the End of Time."

"It does have certain attractions," she admitted, "after the Lower Devonian."