"The 'Ome Secretary," declared Inspector Springer importantly, " 'as bin informed." He stood with his fists upon his hips in the centre of the large cell. He looked about him at his prisoners with the self-satisfied expression of a farmer who has made a good purchase of livestock. "I should not be surprised," he continued, "if we 'ave not uncovered the biggest load of conspirators against the Crown since the Gunpowder Plot. And, 'opefully, we shall in the next few days flush a few more from their fox-holes." He gave his particular attention now to Captain Mubbers and his crew. "We shall also discover 'ow the likes o' you are smuggled inter this country."

"Groonek, wertedas," mumbled Captain Mubbers, staring up placatingly at Inspector Springer.

"Freg nusher, tunightly, mibox?"

"So you say, my lad! We'll let an English jury decide your fate!"

Captain Mubbers abandoned his attempts to reason with Inspector Springer and, with a muttered

"Kroofrudi!" retired to the company of his crew in the corner.

"We'll need a translator, inspector," said Sergeant Sherwood, from where he stood by the door, taking down details on a clipboard. "I couldn't get their names. All the rest," he continued, "seem pretty foreign, with the exception of those three." With his pencil he indicated Mr. and Mrs. Underwood and the man who had given his name as "Mr. Jackson."

"I have a pill left," offered Jherek. "You could take that and it would enable you to converse with them, if you were on your own…"

"Pills? You stand there and offer me, an officer of the Law, drugs?" He turned to Sergeant Sherwood. "Drugs," he said.

"That explains it." Sergeant Sherwood nodded soberly. "I wonder wot 'appened to that other one you mentioned. 'Im with the flying machine."

" 'Is whereabouts will come to light in time," said Inspector Springer.

"Absolutely," said Jherek. "I hope he got back all right. The distortion seems to have subsided, wouldn't you say, Jagged?"

"Jackson," said Jagged, but he was not very emphatic. "Yes, but it won't last unless we act quickly."

Mr. Underwood had stopped singing and instead was shaking his head from side to side a good deal. "The tensions," he was saying, "the strain — as you say, my dear." Mrs. Underwood was soothing him. "I apologize for my outbursts — for everything — it was un-Christian — I should have listened — if you love this man…"

"Oh, Harold!"

"No, no. I would rather you went with him. I need a rest, anyway — in the country. Perhaps I could go to stay with my sister — the one who runs the Charity House at Whitehaven. A divorce…"

"Oh, Harold!" She clutched his arm. "Never. It is all right, I will stay with you."

"What?" said Jherek. "Don't listen to her, Mr. Underwood." But then he wished that he had not spoken. "No, you must listen to her, I suppose…"

Mr. Underwood said more firmly. "It is not merely for your sake, Amelia. The scandal…"

"Oh, Harold. I am sorry."

"Not your fault, I'm sure."

"You will sue me?"

"Well, naturally. You could not…"

"Harold!" This time her tears seemed to be of a different quality. "Where would I go?"

"With — with Mr. Carnelian, surely?"

"You cannot realize what that means, Harold."

"You are used to foreign climes. If you left England, set up a new home somewhere…"

She wiped her eyes, staring accusingly at Jherek. "This is all your doing, Mr. Carnelian. Now see what has happened."

"I can't quite see…" he began, but then gave up, for she had given her attention back to Mr.

Underwood.

Another policeman entered the cell. "Aha," said Inspector Springer. "Sorry to get you out of bed, constable. I jest wanted to clear somefin' in my mind. You were at the execution, I believe, of the Mayfair Killer?"

"I wos, sir."

"And would you say this chap's the one that got 'anged?" He pointed at Jherek.

"Bears a resemblance, sir. But I saw the Killer go. With a certain amount o' dignity, as wos remarked upon at the time. Couldn't be the same."

"You saw the body — after?"

"No, sir. In fac', sir, there was a bit of a rumour went rahnd — well … No, sir — 'e looks sort o'

different — shorter — different colour 'air an' complexion…"

"I've changed them, since you —" began Jherek helpfully, but Inspector Springer said: "Quiet, you!"

He seemed satisfied. "Thank you, constable."

"Thank you, sir." The constable left the cell.

Inspector Springer approached Mr. Underwood. "Feelin' calmer now, eh?"

"A little," agreed Mr. Underwood warily. "I hope, I mean, you don't think I…"

"I think you wos mistaken, that's all. 'Aving 'ad a chance ter — well — see you in different circumstances — I would say — well — that you wos a bit 'ighly-strung — not quite right in the — um

—" He began again, almost kindly. "With your missus runnin' off, an' all that. Besides, I'm grateful to yer, Mr. Underwood. Not knowing, like, you 'elped me unmask this vicious gang. We've bin 'earing abaht a plan to assassinate 'Er Majesty, but the clews 'ave bin a bit thin on the ground — now we've got somefin'

ter work on, see?"

"You mean, these people…? Amelia — were you aware…?"

"Harold!" She gestured imploringly to Jherek. "We have told you the truth. I am sure that nobody here knows anything about such a terrible plot. They are all from the future!"

Again Inspector Springer shook his head. "The problem will be," he said to Sergeant Sherwood, "in sortin' the out an' out loonies from the conscious criminals."

The Iron Orchid yawned. "I must say, my dear," she murmured to Jherek, "that you have your dull moments as well as your amusing ones in the Dawn Age."

"It's not often like this," he apologized.

"Therefore, sir," said Inspector Springer to Mr. Underwood, "you can go. We'll need you as a witness, of course, but I don't think, as things stand, we want to keep you up any longer."

"And my wife?"

"She must stay, I'm afraid."

Mr. Underwood allowed Sergeant Sherwood to lead him from the cell. "Goodbye, my dear," he said.

"Goodbye, Harold." She did not seem very moved now.

The Duke of Queens drew off his magnificent hunting hat and brushed at its plumes. "What is this stuff?" he asked Mr. Jackson.

"Dust," said Jackson. "Grime."

"How interesting. How do you make it?"

"There are many ways of manufacturing it in the Dawn Age," Mr. Jackson told him.

"You must tell me some of them, Jherek." The Duke of Queens replaced his hat on his head. His voice dropped to a whisper. "And what are we waiting for now?" he enquired eagerly.

"I am not quite sure," Jherek said. "But you're bound to enjoy it. I enjoy everything here."

"Who could fail to, O banisher of boredom!" The Duke of Queens beamed benignly upon Inspector Springer. "And I do love your characters, Jherek. They are in perfect key."

Sergeant Sherwood returned with a stately-looking middle-aged man in a black tailcoat and a tall black hat. Recognizing him, Inspector Springer saluted. " 'Ere they are for you, sir. I don't mind admitting it took some doing to nab 'em, but nabbed they are!"

The stately man nodded and cast a cold eye, on Lat, on Jherek, heaving a sigh. He allowed no expression to come to his face as he inspected the Iron Orchid, the Duke of Queens, Bishop Castle, My Lady Charlotina, Donna Isobella and Mrs. Underwood. It was only when he took a close glance at Mr.

Jackson's face that he breathed a barely heard: "Good heavens!"

"Good evening, Munroe — or is it morning, yet?" Jagged seemed amused. "How's the Minister?"

"Is it you, Jagger?"

"I'm afraid so."

"But, how —?"

"Ask the inspector here, my dear chap."

"Inspector?"

"A friend of yours, sir?"

"You do not recognize Lord Charles Jagger?"

"But…" said Inspector Springer.

"I told you it was," said Jherek in triumph to Mrs. Underwood, but she silenced him.

"Did you explain anything to the inspector, Jagger?"

"It's not really his fault, but he was so convinced we were all mixed up in this business that there was no point in trying to get through to him. I thought it best to wait."

Munroe smiled sourly. "And got me from my bed."

"There's the Latvians, sir," said Inspector Springer eagerly, "at least."

Munroe made a stately turn and looked sternly at the Lat. "Ah, yes. Not friends of yours, are they Jagger?"

"Not at all. Inspector Springer has done a good job there. The rest of us — all my guests — were dining at the Café Royale. As you know, I take an interest in the arts…"

"Of course. There is no more to be said."

"So you're not even a bloomin' anarchist?" complained Inspector Springer moodily to Jherek. "Just a well-connected loony." And he uttered a deep sigh.

"Inspector!" admonished the stately gentleman.

"Sorry, sir."

"Ferkit!" said Captain Mubbers from his corner. He seemed to be addressing Munroe. "Gloo, mibix?"

"Ugh," said Munroe.

None of the Lat seemed to have taken their imprisonment well. They sat in a sad little group on the floor of the cell, picking their huge noses, scratching their oddly shaped heads.

"Did you have any reason to suspect Lord Jagger and his friends, inspector?" asked Munroe distantly.

"Well, no, sir, except — well, even that wasn't … these green and blue women, sir —" Inspector Springer subsided. "No, sir."

"They have not been charged?"

"Not yet — er, no, sir."

"They can go?"

"Yes, sir."

"There you are, Jagger."

"Thank you, Munroe."

"This other business," said Munroe, waving his stick at the disconsolate aliens, "can wait until morning. I hope you have plenty of evidence for me, inspector."

"Oh, yes, sir," said Inspector Springer. In his eyes there was no light of pleasurable anticipation in the future. He stared hopelessly at the Lat. "They're definitely forrin', sir, for a start."

As they all entered the wide avenue of Whitehall, Lord Jagger's friend Munroe lifted his hat to the ladies. "My compliments on your costumes," he said. "It must have been a marvellous ball if they were all as fine. See you at the club, perhaps, Jagger?"

"Perhaps tomorrow," said Jagged.

Munroe made his stately way up Whitehall.

Light began to touch the tall buildings.

"Oh, look!" cried My Lady Charlotina. "It's a proper old-fashioned dawn. A real one!"

The Duke of Queens clapped Jherek on the shoulder. "Beautiful!"

Jherek still felt he had earned the Duke's esteem rather cheaply, considering that he had done nothing at all to produce the sunrise, but he could not help indulging an immensely satisfying sense of identification with the wonders of the 19th century world, so again he shook his head modestly, but allowed the Duke to continue with his praise.

"Smell that air!" exclaimed the Duke of Queens. "A thousand rich scents mingle in it! Ah!" He strode ahead of the others who followed him as he turned along the embankment, admiring the river with its flotsam, its barges, its sheen of oil, all grey in the early dawn.

Jherek said to Mrs. Underwood. "Will you now admit that you love me, Mrs. Underwood? I gather that your connection with Mr. Underwood is at an end?"

"He seems to think so." She sighed. "I did my best."

"Your singing was marvellous."

"He must have been fairly unstable to begin with," she said. "However, I must blame myself for what happened."

She seemed unwilling to speak further and, tactfully, Jherek shared her silence.

A tug-boat hooted from the river. Some gulls flapped upwards into a sky of soft and glowing gold, the trees lining the embankment rustled as if awakening to the new day. The others, some distance in front of Jherek and Mrs. Underwood, commented on this aspect and that of the city.

"What a perfect ending to our picnic," said the Iron Orchid to Lord Jagged. "When shall we be going back, do you know?"

"Soon," he said, "I would think."

Eventually, they left the embankment and turned into a street Jherek knew. He touched Mrs.

Underwood's arm. "Do you recognize the building?"

"Yes," she murmured, her mind evidently on other things, "it is the Old Bailey, where they tried you."

"Look, Jagged!" called Jherek. "Remember?"

Lord Jagged, too, seemed abstracted. He nodded.

Laughing and chattering, the party passed the Old Bailey and paused to wonder at the next aspect of the period which had caught their fancy.

"St. Paul's Cathedral," said Donna Isobella, clinging to Bishop Castle's arm. "Haven't you seen it before?"

"Oh, we must go in!"

It was then that Lord Jagged lifted his sensitive head and paused, like a fox catching wind of its hunters. He raised a hand, and Jherek and Mrs. Underwood hesitated, watching as the others ran up the steps.

"A remarkable —" Bishop Castle vanished. The Iron Orchid began to laugh and then she, too, vanished. My Lady Charlotina took a step backward, and vanished. And then the Duke of Queens, his expression amused and expectant, vanished.

Donna Isobella sat down on the steps and screamed.

They could hear Donna Isobella's screams from several streets away as Lord Jagged led them hurriedly into a maze of little cobbled alleys. "We'll be next, if we're not lucky," he said. "Morphail Effect bound to manifest itself. My own fault — absolutely my own fault. Quickly…"

"Where are we going, Jagged?"

"Time machine. The one you originally came in. Repaired. Ready to go. But the fluctuations caused by recent comings and goings could have produced serious consequences. Brannart knew what he was talking about. Hurry!"

"I am not sure," said Mrs. Underwood, "that I wish to accompany either of you. You have caused me considerable pain, you know, not to mention…"

"Mrs. Underwood," said Lord Jagged of Canaria softly, "you have no choice. The alternative is dreadful, I assure you."

Convinced by his tone, she said nothing further for the moment.

They came to an alley full of bleak, festering buildings close to the river. At the far end of the alley, a few men were beginning to move boxes onto a cart. They could see the glint of the dirty Thames water.

"I feel faint," complained Mrs. Underwood. "I cannot keep us this pace, Mr. Jackson. I have had no sleep to speak of in two nights."

"We are there," he said. He took a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock of a door of mouldering oak. The door creaked as he pushed it inward. Lord Jagged closed the door, reached up to take an oil lamp from a hook. He struck a match and lit the lamp.

As the light grew brighter, Jherek saw that they stood in quite a large room. The floor was stone and the whole place smelled of mildew. He saw rats running swiftly along the beams in the roof.

Jagged had crossed to a great pile of rags and debris and began to pull them to the ground. He had lost some of his composure in his haste.

"What is your part in this, Mr. Jackson?" said Mrs. Underwood, averting her eyes from the rats. "I am right, am I not, in believing that you have to an extent manipulated the destinies of myself and Mr.

Carnelian?"

"Subtly, I hope, madam," said Jagged, still tugging at the heap. "For so abstract a thing, Time keeps a severe eye upon our activities. I had to be careful. It is why I adopted two main disguises in this world.

I have travelled in Time a great deal, as you have probably guessed. Both to the past — and the future, such as it exists at all in my world. I knew about the 'End of Time' before ever Yusharisp brought the news to our planet. I also discovered that there are certain people who are, by virtue of a particular arrangement of genes, not so prone to the Morphail Effect as are others. I conceived a means of averting disaster for some of us…"

"Disaster, Jagged?"

"The end of all of us, dear Jherek. I could not bear to think that, having achieved such balance, we should perish. We had learned, you see, how to live. And it was for nothing. Such an irony was unbearable to me, the lover of ironies. I spent many, many years in this century — the furthest back I could go in my own machine — running complicated checks, taking a variety of people into the future, seeing how, as it were, they 'took' when returned to their own time. None did. I regret their fate. Only Mrs. Underwood stayed, apparently virtually immune to the Morphail Effect!"

"So you, sir, were my abductor!" she cried.

"I am afraid so. There!" He pulled the last of the coverings free, revealing the spherical time machine which Brannart Morphail had loaned to Jherek on his first trip to the Dawn Age.

"I am hoping," he continued, "that some of us will survive the End of Time. And you can help me.

This time machine can be controlled. It will take you back to our own age, Jherek, where we can continue with our experiments. At least," he added, "it should. The instability of the megaflow at present is worrying. But we must hope. We must hope. Now, the two of you, enter the machine. There are breathing masks for both."

"Mr. Jackson," said Mrs. Underwood. "I will not be bullied any further." She folded her arms across her bosom. "Neither will I allow myself to be mesmerized by your quasi-scientific lecturings!"

"I think he is right, Mrs. Underwood," said Jherek hesitantly. "And the reason I came to find you was because you are prone to the Morphail Effect. At least in a time machine we stand a chance of going to an age of our choice."

"Remember how Jherek escaped hanging," said Lord Jagged. He had by now opened the circular outer door of the time machine. "That was the Morphail Effect. It would have been a paradox if he had died in that particular way in this age. I knew it. That was why I lent myself to what appeared to you, Mrs. Underwood, to be his destruction. There is proof of my good-will. He is not dead."

Reluctantly, she began to move with Jherek towards the time machine. "I shall be able to return?"

she asked.

"Almost certainly. But I am hoping that you will not wish to when you have heard me out."

"You will accompany us?"

"My own machine is not a quarter of a mile from here. I must use it, for I cannot afford to abandon it. It is a very sophisticated model. It does not even register on Brannart's instruments. As soon as you are on your way, I will go to it and follow you. I promise you, Mrs. Underwood, that I am not deceiving you. I will reveal all I know upon our return to the 'End of Time.' "

"Very well."

"You will not find the interior of the machine pleasant," Jherek told her as he helped her into the airlock. "You must hold your breath for a moment." They crouched together in the cylinder. He handed her a breathing mask. "Fit this over your head, like so…"

He smiled as he heard her muffled complaints.

"Fear not, Mrs. Underwood. Our great adventure is almost ended. Soon we shall be back in our own dear villa, with roses climbing round the door, with our pipes and our slippers and our water closets!

King Darby and Queen Joan in Camelot!" The rest of his effusion was muffled, even to his own ears, by the necessity of putting on his mask as the airlock began to fill with milky fluid. Jherek wished that there had been rubber suits of the kind normally used in the machine, for the stuff felt unpleasant and was soaking rapidly through their clothes. There was a look of outraged disgust, in fact, in Mrs. Underwood's eyes.

The machine filled rapidly and they drifted into the main chamber. Here certain instruments were already flashing green and red alternately, swimming about his head. They floated, unable to control their movements, in the thick liquid. As his body turned slowly, he saw that Mrs. Underwood had shut her eyes. Blue and yellow lights began to flash. The liquid became increasingly cloudy.

Figures, which he could not read, began to register on the display panels. A white light throbbed and he knew that the machine was on the very brink of beginning its journey into the future. He relaxed.

Happiness filled him. Soon he would be home.

The white light burned his eyes. He became dizzy. Pain began to nag at his nerves and he stopped himself from screaming, for fear that she would hear him and be troubled.

The liquid grew dark until it was the colour of blood. His senses fled him.

He woke up knowing that the journey must be over. He tried to turn himself round so that he could see if Mrs. Underwood were awake. He could feel her body resting against his leg.

But then, surprisingly, the process began again. The green lights gave way to red, to blue and to yellow. The white light shrieked. The pain increased, the liquid became dark again.

And again he fainted.

He woke up. This time he stared directly into Mrs. Underwood's pale, unconscious face. He tried to reach out to take her hand and, as if this action were enough to begin it, the process started again. The green and red alternating lights, the blue and yellow lights, the blinding whiteness, the pain, the loss of his awareness. He woke up. The machine was shuddering. From somewhere there came a grating whine.

This time he screamed, in spite of himself, and he thought that Mrs. Underwood was also screaming. The white light throbbed. Suddenly it was totally black. Then a green light flickered. It went out. A red light flickered and went out. Blue and yellow lights flashed.

And then Jherek Carnelian knew that Lord Jagged's fears had been realized. There had been too many attempts at once to manipulate Time — and Time was refusing further manipulation. They were adrift. They were shifting back and forth at random on the timeflow. They were as much victims of the Morphail Effect as if they had never entered the time machine. Time was taking its vengeance on those who had sought to conquer it.

Jherek's one consolation, as he fainted again, was that at least he and Mrs. Underwood were together.