The Ancient Shadows lfteot-3 Read online

  "The thought is revolting to me!"

  "You suppress your normal emotions, that's all!"

  She said gently: "I am an Armatuce. That means much to me. I should be obliged, Miss Ming, if…"

  "I'm going!" The woman rose, dabbing at her eyes. "I could help. Doctor Volospion would help us both. I could…"

  "Please, Miss Ming."

  Miss Ming looked up imploringly. "Could I see Snuffles? One last time?"

  Dafnish relented. "To say goodbye to the child? Yes. Perhaps you could help me —"

  "Anything!"

  "Tell him to remember his destiny. The destiny of an Armatuce."

  "Will he understand?"

  "I hope so."

  "I'll help. I want to help."

  "Thank you."

  Miss Ming walked unsteadily from the room. Dafnish Armatuce heard her footsteps in the corridor, heard her enter Snuffles' chamber, heard the child's exclamation of pleasure. She drew a deep breath and let it leave her slowly. With considerable effort she got up, washed and dressed, judging, now, that Miss Ming had had a fair allotment of time with the boy.

  As she entered the brown and yellow hall, she glanced across to Lord Jagged's door. It was open. She hesitated, and as she did so, Lord Jagged appeared, looking less tired than he had before, but more thoughtful.

  "Lord Jagged!"

  "Aha, the admirable Dafnish!" His smile was soft, almost melancholy. "Do you enjoy your stay at Canaria? Is all to your liking?"

  "It is perfect, Lord Jagged, but I would go home."

  "You cannot. Are you still unconvinced?"

  "When we last met — that night — you said something concerning the fabric of Time. The Laws, hitherto regarded as immutable, were not operating as expected?"

  "I was weary. I should not have spoken."

  "But you did. Therefore can I not request a fuller explanation?"

  "I would raise hope where none should be permitted."

  "Can I not judge?"

  He shrugged, his high, grey collar almost swallowing the lower half of his face. His slim hands fingered his lower lip. "Very well, but I must ask secrecy from you."

  "You have it. I am an Armatuce."

  "There is little I can tell you, save this: Of late the sturdy, relentless structure of Time, which has always, so far as we know, obeyed certain grim Laws of its own, has begun to show instabilities. Men have returned to the past and remained there for much longer periods than was thought possible. By contravening the Laws of Time, they have further weakened them. There are disruptions — distortions — anomalies. I hope to discover the true cause, but every passage through Time threatens the fabric further, producing paradoxes which, previously, Time refused to allow. So far no major disaster has occurred — history remains history — but there is a danger that history itself will be distorted and then — well, we all might suddenly vanish as if we had never been!"

  "Is that possible? I have listened to such speculation, but it has always seemed pointless."

  "Who knows if it is possible? But can we take the risk? If, say, you were to return to Armatuce and tell them what the future held, would that not alter the future? You are familiar with these arguments, of course."

  "Of course. But I would tell them nothing of your world. It would be too disturbing."

  "And your boy? Children are not so discreet."

  "He is an Armatuce. He would be silent."

  "No, no. You risk your lives by moving against the current."

  "Our lives are for Armatuce. They serve no purpose here."

  "That is a difficult philosophy for one such as I to comprehend."

  "Let me try!"

  "Your boy would go with you?"

  "Of course. He would have to."

  "You'd subject him to the same dangers?"

  "Here, his soul is endangered. Soon he will be incapable of giving service. His life will be worthless."

  "It is a harsh, materialist assessment of worth, surely?"

  "It is the way of the Armatuce."

  "Besides, there is the question of a time vessel."

  "My own is ready. I have access to it."

  "There are only certain opportunities, when the structure wavers…"

  "I should wait for one. In the machine."

  "Could you not leave the child, at any rate?"

  "He would not be able to exist without me. I grant his life-right. He is part of me."

  "Maternal instincts…"

  "More than that!"

  "If you say so." He shook his head. "It is not my nature to influence another's decisions, in the normal course of things. Besides, no two consciences are alike, particularly when divorced by a million or two years." He shook his head. "The fabric is already unstable."

  "Let me take my son and leave! Now! Now!"

  "You fear something more than the strangeness of our world." He looked shrewdly into her face, "What is it that you fear, Dafnish Armatuce?"

  "I do not know. Myself? Miss Ming? It cannot be. I do not know, Lord Jagged."

  "Miss Ming? What harm could that woman do but bore you to distraction? Miss Ming?"

  "She — she has been paying court to me. And, in a way, to my child. In my mind she has become the greatest threat upon the face of this planet. It is monstrous of me to permit such notions to flourish, but I do. And because she inspires them, I hate her. And because I hate her, why, I detect something in myself which must resemble her. And if I resemble her, how can I judge her? I, Dafnish Armatuce of the Armatuce, must be at fault."

  "This is complicated reasoning. Perhaps too complicated for sanity."

  "Oh, yes, Lord Jagged, I could be mad. I have considered the possibility. It's a likely one. But mad by whose standards? If I can go back to Armatuce, let Armatuce judge me. It is what I rely upon."

  "I'll agree to debate this further," he said. "You are in great pain, are you not, Dafnish Armatuce?"

  "In moral agony. I admit it."

  He licked his upper lip, deliberating. "So strange, to us. I had looked forward to conversations with you."

  "You should have stayed here, then, at Canaria."

  "I would have liked that, but there are certain very pressing matters, you know. Some of us serve, Dafnish Armatuce, in our individual ways, to the best of our poor abilities." His quiet laughter was self-deprecating. "Shall we breakfast together?"

  "Snuffles?"

  "Let him join us when it suits him."

  "Miss Ming is with him. They say their farewells."

  "Then give them the time they need."

  She was uncertain of the wisdom of this, but with the hope of escape, she could afford to be more generous to Miss Ming. "Very well."

  As they sat together in the breakfast room, she said, "You do not believe that Miss Ming is evil, do you, Lord Jagged?" She watched him eat, having contented herself with the treat of a slice of toast.

  "Evil is a word, an idea, which has very little resonance at the End of Time, I'm afraid. Crime does not exist for us."

  "But crime exists here."

  "For you, Dafnish Armatuce, perhaps. But not for us."

  She looked up. She thought she had seen something move past the window, but she was tired; her eyes were faulty. She gave him her attention again. He had finished his breakfast and was rising, wiping his lips. "There must be victims, you see," he added.

  She could not follow his arguments. He had become elusive once more, almost introspective. His mind considered different, to him more important, problems.

  "I must go to the boy," she said.

  All at once she had his full attention. His grey, intelligent eyes penetrated her. "I have been privileged, Dafnish Armatuce," he said soberly, "to entertain you as my guest."

  Did she blush then? She had never blushed before.

  He did not accompany her back to the apartments, but made his apologies and entered the bowels of the building, about his own business again. She went swiftly to the room, but it was empty.

&nbs
p; "Snuffles!" She called out as she made her way to her own chamber. "Miss Ming."

  They were gone.

  She returned to the breakfast room. They were not there. She ran, panting, to the air car hangar. She ran through it into the open, standing waist-high in the corn, questing for Miss Ming's own car. The blue sky was deserted. She knew, as she had really known since finding her son's room absented, that she had seen them leaving, seen the car as it flashed past the window.

  She calmed herself. Reason told her that Miss Ming was merely taking Snuffles on a last impulsive expedition. It was, of course, what she might have suspected of the silly woman. But the dread would not dissipate. An image of the boy's painted features became almost tangible before her eyes. Her lips twisted, conquering her ability to arrange them, and it seemed that frost ate at the marrow of her bones. Fingers caught in hair, legs shook. Her glance was everywhere and she saw nothing but that painted face.

  "Snuffles!"

  There was a sound. She wheeled. A robot went by bearing the remains of the breakfast.

  "Lord Jagged!"

  She was alone.

  She began to run through the yellow and brown corridors until she reached the hangar. She climbed into her air car and sat there, unable to give it instructions, unable to decide in which direction she should search first. The miniature palaces of yesterday? Were they not a favourite playground for the pair? She told the car its destination, ordered maximum speed.

  But the Gothic village was deserted. She searched every turret, every hall into which she could squeeze her body, and she called their names until her voice cracked. At last she clambered back into her car. She recalled that Miss Ming was still resident at Doctor Volospion's menagerie.

  "Doctor Volospion's," she told the car.

  Doctor Volospion's dwelling stood upon several cliffs of white marble and blue basalt, its various wings linked by slender, curving bridges of the same materials. Minarets, domes, conical towers, skyscraper blocks, sloping roofs and windows filled with some reflective but transparent material gave it an appearance of considerable antiquity, though it was actually only a few days old. Dafnish Armatuce had seen it once before, but she had never visited it, and now her difficulty lay in discovering the appropriate entrance.

  It took many panic-filled minutes of circling about before she was hailed, from the roof of one of the skyscrapers, by Doctor Volospion himself, resplendent in rippling green silks, his skin coloured to match. "Dafnish Armatuce! Have you come to accept my tryst? O, rarest of beauties, my heart is cast already — see — at your feet." And he gestured, twisting a ring. She looked down, kicking the pulsing, bloody thing aside. "I seek my Snuffles," she cried. "And Miss Ming. Are they here?"

  "They were. To arrange your surprise. You'll be pleased. You'll be pleased. But have patience — come to me, splendid one."

  "Surprise? What have they done?"

  "Oh, I cannot tell you. It would spoil it for you. I was able to help. I once specialized in engineering, you know. Sweet Orb Mace owes much to me."

  "Explain yourself, Doctor Volospion."

  "Perhaps, when the confidences of the bedchamber are exchanged…"

  "Where did they go?"

  "Back. To Canaria. It was for you. Miss Ming was overjoyed by what I was able to accomplish. The work of a moment, of course, but the skill is in the swiftness." With a wave of his hand he changed his costume to roaring red. The light of the flames flooded his face with shadow. But she had left him.

  As she fled back to Canaria, she thought she heard Doctor Volospion's laughter; and she knew that her mind could not be her own if she detected mockery in his mirth.

  On her right the insubstantial buildings of Djer streamed past, writhing with gloomy colour, muttering to themselves as they strove to recall some forgotten function, some lost experience, re-creating, from a memory partially disintegrated, indistinct outlines of buildings, beasts or men, calling out fragments of song or scientific formulae; almost piteous, this place, which had once served Man proudly, in the spirit with which she served the Armatuce, so that she permitted herself a pang of understanding, for she and the city shared a common grief.

  "Ah, how much better it might have been had we stayed there," she said aloud.

  The city cried out to her as if in reply, as if imploringly:

  The world is too much with us; late and soon ,

  Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:

  Little we see in Nature that is ours;

  We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

  She did not understand the meaning of the words, but she replied: "You could have helped me, but I was afraid of you. I feared your variety, your wealth." Then the car had borne her on, and soon Canaria's graceful cage loomed into view, glittering in sparse sunshine, its gold all pale.

  With tense impatience she stood stiffly in the car while it docked, until she could leap free, running up the great ramp, through the dwarfing portals, down halls which echoed a magnified voice, calling for her boy.

  It was when she had pushed open the heavy doors of Lord Jagged's Hall of Antiquities that she saw three figures standing at the far end, beneath a wall mounted with a hundred examples of heavy Dawn Age furniture. They appeared to be discussing a large piece in dark wood, set with mirrors, brass and mother-of-pearl, full of small drawers and pigeonholes from which imitation doves poked their little heads and crooned. Elsewhere were displayed fabrics, cooking utensils, vehicles, weapons, technical apparatus, entertainment structures, musical instruments, clothing from mankind's first few thousand years of true planetary dominance.

  The three she saw were all adults, and she guessed initially that they might, themselves, be exhibits, but as she approached she saw, with lifting heart, that one of them was Lord Jagged and another was Miss Ming. Her anger with Miss Ming turned to annoyance, and she experienced growing relief. The third figure she did not recognize. He was typical of those who inhabited the End of Time; a foppish, overdressed, posturing youth, doubtless some acquaintance of Lord Jagged's.

  "Miss Ming!"

  Three heads turned.

  "You took Snuffles. Where is he now?"

  "We went to visit Doctor Volospion, dearest Dafnish. We thought you would not notice. You yourself gave me the idea when you told me to remind Snuffles of his destiny. It's my present to you." She fluttered winsome lashes. "Because I care so much for you. A tribute of my admiration for the wonderful way you've tried to do your best for your son. Well, Dafnish, I have put your misery at an end. No more sacrifices for you!"

  Dafnish Armatuce did not listen, for the tone was as familiar to her as it was distasteful. "Where is Snuffles now?" she repeated.

  The youth, standing behind Miss Ming, laughed, but Lord Jagged was frowning.

  Miss Ming's oversweet smile spread across her pallid face. "I have done you a favour, Dafnish. It's a surprise, dear." Two clammy hands tried to fold themselves around one of Dafnish's, but she pulled away. Miss Ming had to be content with clinging to an arm. "I know you'll be pleased. It's what you've looked forward to, what you've worked for. And it means real freedom for us."

  "Freedom? What do you mean? Where is my Snuffles?"

  Again the stranger laughed, spreading his arms wide, showing off exotic garments — blue moleskin tabard stitched with silver, shirt of brown velvet with brocaded cuffs, puffed out at the shoulders to a height of at least two feet, hose which curled with snakes of varicoloured light, boots whose feet were the heads of living, glaring dragons, the whole smelling strongly of musk — and pouting in his peacock pride. "Here, mama!"

  She stared.

  The youth waltzed forward, the smile languid, the eyes half-closed. "I am your son! It is my destiny come to fulfilment at last. Miss Ming has made a man of me!"

  Miss Ming preened herself, murmuring with false modesty: "With Doctor Volospion's help. My idea — his execution."

  Dafnish Armatuce swayed on her feet as she stared. The face was longer, more eff
eminate, the eyes large, darker, luminous, the hair pure blond; but something of Snuffles, something of herself, was still there. There were emeralds in his lobes. His brows had been slimmed and their line exaggerated; the lips, though naturally red, were too full and too bright.

  Dafnish Armatuce groaned and her fingers fled to cover her face. A hand touched her shoulder. She shook it off and Lord Jagged apologized.

  Miss Ming's voice celebrated the spirit of comfiness: "It's a shock, of course, at first, until you understand what it means. You don't have to die!"

  "Die?" She looked with loathing upon Miss Ming's complacent features.

  "He is a man and you are free. Snuffles explained something of your customs to me."

  "Customs! It is more than custom, Miss Ming. How can this be? What of his life-right? He has no soul!"

  "Such superstitions," declared Miss Ming, "are of little consequence at the End of Time."

  "I have not transferred the life-right! He remains a shadow until that day! But even that is scarcely important at this moment — look what you have made of him! Look!"

  "You really are very silly, mother," said Snuffles, his voice softening in something close to kindness. "They can do anything here. They can change their shapes to whatever they wish. They can be children, if they want to be, or beasts, or even plants. Whatever fancy dictates. I am the same personality, but I have grown up, at last! Sixty years was too long. I have earned my maturity."

  "You remain an infant!" she spoke through her teeth. "Like your fatuous and self-called friend. Miss Ming, he must be restored to his proper body. We leave, as soon as we may, for Armatuce."

  Miss Ming was openly incredulous and condescending. "Leave? To be killed or stranded?"

  Snuffles affected superciliousness. "Leave?" he echoed. "For Armatuce? Mother, it's impossible. Besides, I have no intention of returning." He leaned against the rusted remains of a Nash Rambler and shared (or thought he shared) a conspiratorial wink with Miss Ming and Lord Jagged. "I shall stay."

  "But —" her lips were dry — "your life-right…"

  "Here, I do not need my life-right. Keep it, mother. I do not want your personality, your ridiculous prejudices. Why should I wish to inherit them, when I have seen so much? Here, at the End of Time, I can be myself — an individual, not an Armatuce!"