"The Lat are still with us?" Mistress Christia, the Everlasting Concubine, licked lush lips and widened her already very wide blue eyes to assume that particular look of heated innocence so attractive to those who loved her (and who did not?). "Oh, what splendid news, Iron Orchid! They raped me, you know, an enormous number of times. You cannot see them now, since my resurrection, but my elbows were both bright red!" Her dress, liquid crystal, coruscated as she lifted her arms. They walked together through the dripping, glassy passage in one of Mrs. Underwood's obsidian islands; at the far end of the tunnel was reddish light, reflected from the bloody sea beyond. "The atmosphere is rather good here, don't you think?"

"A trifle reminiscent of something of Werther's."

"None the worse for that, dearest Orchid."

"You have always found his work more attractive than I have." (They had been rivals once, however, for sighing de Goethe.)

The light was blocked. My Lady Charlotina rustled towards them, in organdie and tulle of clashing greens. She staggered for a second as a wave struck the island and it tilted, then righted itself. "Have you seen the beasts? One has eaten poor O'Kala." She giggled. "They are fond of goats, it seems."

"I thought the beasts good," agreed her friend. The Orchid had retained white as her main effect, but had added a little pale yellow (Jagged's colours) here and there. The yellow looked well on her lips, against the pallor of her skin. "And the smell. So heavy."

"Not too sweet?" asked Mistress Christia.

"For me, no."

"And your marriage, oracular Orchid," breathed My Lady Charlotina, giving her ears a pinch, to increase the size of the lobes. She added earrings. "I have just heard. But should we call you Orchid still?

Is it not Lady Jagged now?"

They moved back towards the opening in the passage.

"I had not considered it." The Iron Orchid was the first to reach the open. Her son was there, leaning against a dark green palm, staring into the depths of the crimson ocean.

"With Jherek," said My Lady Charlotina enviously, from behind her, "you begin a dynasty. Imagine that!"

All three women emerged now and saw him. He looked up, as if he had thought himself alone.

"We interrupt a reverie…" said Mistress Christia kindly.

"Oh, no…" He still wore clothes his Amelia had considered suitable — a straw boater, a bright blazer, white shirt and white flannels. "

"Well, Jherek?" His mother approached closer, amused, "Shall you be presenting us with a son, you and your Amelia?"

"An air?"

"A boy, my boy!"

"Aha! I rather doubt it. We cannot marry, you see."

"Your father and I, Jherek, were not formally married when…"

"But she has reservations," he told her gloomily. "Her husband, who is still in the city, haunts us. But perhaps she changes…"

"Her inventions indicate as much."

A sigh. "They do."

"You do not find this lake, these cliffs, these beasts, magnificently realized?"

"Of course I do." He raised his head to watch the blood as it roared from every edge. "Yet I am disturbed, mother."

"Resentful of her hidden talent, you mean!" The Iron Orchid chided him.

"Where is she?" My Lady Charlotina cast about. "I must congratulate her. All her work, Jherek?

Nothing yours?"

"Nothing."

"Exquisite!"

"She was with Li Pao when I last saw her," Jherek said. "On one of the farther islands."

"I was glad Li Pao returned in time," the Iron Orchid said. "I should miss him. But so many others are gone!"

"And nothing for a menagerie, save what we make ourselves," complained My Lady Charlotina.

She produced a sunshade (the fashion had been set by Amelia) and twirled it. "We live in difficult days, audacious Orchid."

"But challenging."

"Oh, yes."

"The Duke of Queens has those round aliens," said Mistress Christia.

"By rights," My Lady Charlotina told her bitterly, with a glance at Jherek, "at least one of those is mine. Still, not very much of an acquisition, by any real standards. I suppose they'll be prized now, however."

"He remains very proud of them." Mistress Christia moved to hug Jherek. "You seem sad, handsomest of heroes."

"Sad? Is that the emotion? I am not sure I am enjoying it, Mistress Christia."

"Why sad?"

"I am not at all sure."

"You seek to rival Werther, that is it. You are in competition!"

"I had not thought of Werther."

"Here he is!" The Iron Orchid and My Lady Charlotina pointed together. Werther had seen them from above and came circling down on his coffin-shaped car. His cape and hood were black and white checks and he had removed all the flesh from his face so that his skull was revealed and only his dark eyes, in the recesses of the sockets, gave it life. "Where is Mrs. Underwood, Jherek?" said Werther. "I must honour her. This is the most beautiful creation I have seen in a millennium!"

They were slow to answer. Only Jherek pointed to a distant island.

"Oho!" said Mistress Christia, and she winked at the Iron Orchid. "Amelia makes another conquest."

Jherek kicked at a piece of rock. It resisted his foot. Again, he sighed. His boater fell from his head.

He stooped and picked it up.

The women linked arms and rose together into the air. "We go to Amelia," called back the Iron Orchid. "Shall you join us, Jherek?"

"In a moment."

He had only recently escaped the press of guests who flocked about his intended bride, for she was at the centre and all congratulated her on her creation, her costume, her comportment and if they spoke to him, it was to praise Amelia. And over there on the other island, she chattered, she was witty, she held them but — and he could define it no better — she was not his Amelia.

He turned, at the sound of a footfall, and it was the time-traveller, hands in pockets, looking quite as glum as he did himself. "Good afternoon to you, Jherek Carnelian. My Lady Charlotina passed on your invitation. Lord Mongrove brought me. This is all very fanciful. You must have journeyed further inland, during your stay in the Palaeozoic, than I realized."

"To the creek?"

"Beyond the creek there are landscapes very similar to this — wild and beautiful, you know. I assumed this to be a perverse version. Ah, to see again the rain falling through sunshine on a Palaeozoic morning, near the great waterfalls, with the ferns waving in a light wind which ripples the waters of the lake."

"You make me envious." Jherek stared at his reflection, distorted in the blood. "I sometimes regret our return, though I know now we should have starved."

"Nonsense. With decent equipment and a little intelligence one could live well in the Palaeozoic."

The time-traveller smiled. "So long as one resisted the urge to swim in the creeks. That fish, by the by, is very tasty. Sweet, you know. Like a kind of ham."

"Um," said Jherek, looking towards the island where Amelia Underwood held court.

"It seems to me," murmured the time-traveller after a pause, "that all the romance has gone out of time-travel since I first began. I was one of the first, you know. Perhaps the very first."

"A pioneer," Jherek confirmed.

"Quite so. It would be a terrible irony indeed if I were to be marooned here, when your Lord Jagged puts his time-recycling plan into operation. I crossed eons, crossed the barriers between the worlds, and now I am threatened with being imprisoned forever in the same week, repeated over and over again, throughout eternity." He uttered something resembling a staccato snort. "Well, I shall not allow it. If I cannot get help with repairs to my craft, I shall risk the journey back and ask for the support of the British Government. It will be better than this."

"Brannart refuses his aid?"

"He is involved, I gather, in building a machine of his own. He refuses to accept Lord Jagged's theories or his solutions."

Jherek's smile was faint. "For thousands of years Brannart was the Lord of Time. His Effect was one of the few laws known to that imprecise science. Suddenly he is dethroned, without authority. It is no wonder that he became so agitated recently, that he still utters warnings. Yet there would be much he could continue to do. Your Guild would welcome his knowledge, would it not?"

"Possibly. He is not what I would call a true scientist. He imposes his imagination upon the facts, rather than using that imagination to investigate. It is probably not his fault, for you all do that, and with considerable success. In most cases you are in the position to alter all the Laws of Nature which, in my own time, were regarded as unalterable."

"I suppose that's so." Jherek saw more new arrivals heading for Amelia's island.

"Enviable, of course. But you have lost the scientific method. You solve problems by changing the facts. Magic, we'd call it."

"Very kind of you." Absently.

"Fundamentally different attitudes. Even your Lord Jagged is to some, extent infected."

"Infected?" He saw Argonheart Po's shortcake space-shuttle spiralling above the cliffs. It, too, made for the island which had his attention.

"I employed the word without criticism. But for someone like myself used to getting to grips with a problem by means of analytical method…"

"Naturally."

"Natural to me. I was trained to despise any other method."

"Aha." It was useless to hold himself in cheek any longer. He twisted a power-ring. He rose into the air. "Forgive me — social commitments — perhaps we'll have a chance to chat later."

"I say." said the time-traveller urgently, "you couldn't give me a lift, I suppose? I have no means of crossing…"

But Jherek was already out of earshot, leaving the time-traveller abjectly staring at the pink-flecked foam washing the rocking obsidian shore, stranded until some other guest arrived to help him to the mainland. Something black and somewhat phallic pushed itself above the surface of the crimson sea and stared at him, smacking its tiny lips before losing interest and swimming away in the direction Jherek had taken. Removing his hands from his pockets, the time-traveller turned, seeking the highest point of the island where, with luck, he would be safe from the beasts and be able to signal for help.

She was surrounded. Jherek could just see her head and shoulders at the centre of the crowd; she was struggling with a cigarette. In imitation, Sweet Orb Mace, all mauve fluff, puffed smoke from her ears, while Bishop Castle decorously swung his huge headdress back to avoid collision with the holder.

The Iron Orchid, Mistress Christia, My Lady Charlotina and Werther de Goethe were closest to her and their words came to Jherek through the general babble.

"Even you, Amelia, would admit that the nineteenth century is rather passé…"

"Oh, but you have proven it, my love, with all this. It is so wonderfully original…"

"And yet so simple —"

"The best ideas, Mistress Christia, are always simple…"

"Truly, sweetest Orchid — the ones you wish you'd conceived yourself, but never did…"

"But serious, withal. If Man were still mortal — ah, and what he loses! — what a comment on that mortality!"

"I see it merely as beauty, Werther, and nothing more. Surely, Amelia, the creation is not intended…"

"There was no conscious intention."

"You must have planned for days —?"

"It came spontaneously."

"I knew it! It's so vital…"

"And the monsters! Poor O'Kala…"

"We must remember to revive him."

"At the end. Not before."

"Our first post-Resurrection resurrection! Here's the Duke of Queens."

"Come to pay my compliments. I bow to a master. Or should it be mistress?"

"Master will do, Duke of Queens."

"Mistress of my heart!"

"Really Werther, you embarrass me!" A burst of laughter such as she had never uttered before.

Jherek pushed forward.

"Oh, Amelia, but if you would give me just the smallest encouragement…"

"Jherek! Here at last!"

"Here," he said. A silence seized him. It threatened to spread through the throng, for it was that kind, but Bishop Castle wagged his crook.

"Oho, Werther. You were overheard. Will this mean a duel, I wonder?"

"A duel!" The Duke of Queens saw an opportunity to strike a pose. "I will advise you. My own skill with the foil is considered not unremarkable. I am sure Lord Shark would agree…"

"Boasting Duke!" The iron Orchid put a pale yellow hand upon Amelia's naked shoulder and a white one upon Jherek's Joseph-coat. "I am sure that we are as tired of the fashion for duelling as we are of the nineteenth century. Amelia must have seen enough, of such sport in her native Burnley."

"Bromley," said Jherek.

"Forgive me. Bromley."

"Oh, but the idea is appealing!" cawed Doctor Volospion, his pointed chin thrust forward from beneath the brim of his hat. He cocked an eye first at Jherek, then at Werther. "The one so fresh and healthy, the other so stale and deathly. It would suit you, Werther, eh? With your penchant for parable. A duel between Life and Death. Whoever shall win shall decide the fate of the planet!"

"I could not undertake such a responsibility, Doctor Volospion." It was impossible to tell either from Werther's tone or from his expression (a skull's are limited at the best of times) if he jested or was in earnest.

Jherek, who had never much cared for Doctor Volospion (the doctor's jealousy of Lord Jagged was notorious), affected not to have heard. His suspicion of Volospion's motives was confirmed with the next remark.

"Is it only Jagged then who is allowed to decide Man's fate?"

"We choose our own!" Jherek defended his absent father. "Lord Jagged merely supplies us with the means of choice. We should have none at all without him!"

"So the old dog is barked for by the pup." Doctor Volospion's malice was at its sharpest.

"You forget, Doctor Volospion," said the Iron Orchid sweetly, "that the bitch is here, too."

Volospion bowed to this; a withdrawal.

In a loud voice Amelia Underwood declared: "Shall we repair to the largest island? Refreshment awaits us."

"I anticipate inspiration," said Argonheart Po, with weighty gallantry.

The guests became airborne.

For a second Jherek and Amelia were left alone, confronting one another. His face was a question which she ignored. He made a movement towards her, certain that he saw pain and bewilderment behind those painted, unblinking eyes.

"Amelia…"

She was already rising.

"You punish me!" His hand went up, as if to catch at her fluttering gown.

"Not you, my love."