"That is impossible. They are self-perpetuating."

"There is no evidence of that." Even as she spoke, two of the metallic structures fell into the dust and became dust themselves.

"Yet they are," he told her. "In their own way. They have been like this for millennia, somehow surviving. We see only the surface. The essence of the cities is not so tangible, and that is as robust as ever."

She accepted what he said with a shrug. "How long must we remain here, then?"

"You sought escape from the Lat, did you not? We remain here until the Lat leave the planet."

"You do not know when that will be?"

"It will be soon, I am sure. Either they will become bored with the game or we will. Then the game will end."

"With how many dead?"

"None, I hope."

"You can resurrect everyone?"

"Certainly."

"Even the denizens of your menageries?"

"Not all. It depends how solidly they have made an impression on our own memories, you see. Our rings work from our minds, to achieve the reconstructions."

She did not pursue the topic. "We seem as thoroughly marooned now at the End of Time as we did at the Beginning," she said moodily. "How few are our moments of ordinary living…"

"That will change. These are particularly agitated days. Brannart explained that the chronological fluctuations are unusually persistent. We must all agree to stop travelling through time for a while, then everything will be back to normal."

"I admire your optimism, Mr. Carnelian."

"Thank you, Amelia." He began to walk again. "This is the very city where I was conceived, the Iron Orchid told me. With some difficulty, it seems."

She looked back. Mr. Underwood still sat upon the memory bank, deep in conversation. "Should we leave him?"

"We can return for him later."

"Very well."

They stepped upon thin silver surfaces which creaked as they crossed, but did not crack. They ascended a flight of ebony stairs, towards an ornamental bridge.

"It would seem fitting," said Jherek, "if I were to propose formally to you here, Amelia, as my father proposed to my mother."

"Your father?"

"A mystery my mother chooses to perpetuate."

"So you do not know who —"

"I do not."

She pursed her lips. "In Bromley such a fact would be sufficient to put a complete bar on marriage, you know."

"Truly?"

"Oh, yes."

"But we are not in Bromley," she added.

He smiled. "Indeed, we are not."

"However…"

"I understand."

"Please, continue…"

"I was saying that it would seem fitting that I should ask you, here in this city where I was conceived, for your hand in marriage."

"Should I ever be free to give it, you mean?"

"Exactly."

"Well, Mr. Carnelian, I cannot say that this is sudden. But…"

"Mibix dug frishy hrunt!" said a familiar voice, and across the bridge came marching Captain Mubbers and his men, armed to the teeth and looking not a little put out.

When Captain Mubbers saw them he stopped suddenly, aiming his instrument-weapon at Jherek.

Jherek was almost pleased to see him. "My dear Captain Mubbers…" he began.

"Mr. Carnelian! He is armed!"

Jherek could not quite understand the point of her excitement. "Yes. The music they produce is the most beautiful I have ever heard."

Captain Mubbers plucked a string. There came a grinding noise from the bell-shaped muzzle of his weapon; a slight fizzle of blue sparks appeared for a moment around the rim. Captain Mubbers uttered a deep sigh and threw the thing to the flagstones of the bridge. Similar grindings and fizzlings came from the other instruments held by his men.

Popping a translation pill into his mouth (he had taken to carrying them everywhere just recently) Jherek said:

"What brings you to the city, Captain Mubbers?"

"Mind your own smelly business, sonny jim," said the leader of the space-invaders. "All we armjoint want to do now is find a shirt-elastic way out!"

"I can't understand why you wanted to come in, though…" He glanced apologetically at Mrs. Underwood, who could not understand anything that was being said. He offered her a pill. She refused. She folded her arms in an attitude of resignation.

"Spoils," said another of the Lat.

"Shut it, Rokfrug," Captain Mubbers ordered.

But Rokfrug continued:

"The knicker-patch place seemed so rotten-well protected that we thought there was bound to be something worth having here. Just our shirt-elastic luck —"

"I said shut it, arse-brain!"

But Captain Mubbers' men seemed to be losing faith in his authority. They crossed their three eyes in a most offensive manner and made rude gestures with their elbows.

"Weren't you already sufficiently successful elsewhere?" Jherek asked Rokfrug. "I thought you were doing extremely well with the destruction, the rape and so on…"

"Pissing right we were, until…"

"Cork your hole, bum-face!" shouted his leader.

"Oh, elbow-off!" retorted Rokfrug, but seemed aware that he had gone too far. His voice became a self-pitying mumble as Captain Mubbers gazed disapprovingly back at him. Even his fellows plainly thought Rokfrug's language had put him beyond the pale.

"We're under a bit of a strain," said one of them, by way of apology.

"Who wouldn't be?" Captain Mubbers kicked petulantly at his abandoned weapon. "All the farting trouble we went to to get knicker-patching back to our ship in the first place…"

"…and everything we laid waste to crapping re-appearing," complained Rokfrug, evidently glad to find a point of agreement with his captain.

"…and all our puking prisoners suddenly disappearing…" added another.

"What's the point of it?" Captain Mubbers asked Jherek plaintively. "When we sighted this planet we thought looting it'd be as easy as wiping your bum."

"Ever since," said Rokfrug, "we've been buggered about. These people haven't got the shirt-elastic they were born with. No common sense. How can you terrorize people who keep laughing at you? Besides, the scenery keeps changing…"

"It's a Planet of Illusions," said Captain Mubbers portentously. His pupils darted about in his single eye. "I mean, this is probably another of their traps." He focussed on Jherek. "Is it? You seem a decent sort of bugger, basically. Is it?"

"I don't think anyone's been deliberately misleading you," Jherek told him. "In fact, there seems to have been an effort to accommodate you. What exactly happened? Who stopped you?"

"Well, it was half-and-half. Partly we just ran out of farting steam," Rokfrug said. "Then these soppy little round buggers arrived. They —"

Mrs. Underwood was tapping Jherek urgently on the arm.

He turned, at last, to look at her. Plodding up the steps behind them, grim-faced and triumphant, was Inspector Springer, Sergeant Sherwood and the party of constables.

"Gee noo fig tendej vega!" said Inspector Springer.

"Flow hard!" exclaimed Mrs. Underwood.

It was time for Jherek to swallow a fresh pill.

"Led us straight to 'em, didn't you?" Inspector Springer waved his men forward. "Shackle 'em, lads!"

The constables, moving like automata, pressed forward to arrest the unresisting Lat.

"I knew you'd arrange a meeting sooner or later," Inspector Springer told Jherek. "That's why I let you get away."

"But how were you able to follow us, Inspector?" Mrs. Underwood asked.

"Commandeered a vehicle," Sergeant Sherwood told her importantly.

"Whose?"

"Oh — 'is…" A thumb was jerked backward.

Both Jherek and Amelia turned and looked below. There stood the Duke of Queens, wearing a bright pastel blue uniform not dissimilar in cut to Sergeant Sherwood's. As they saw him he gave a cheerful wave of his bright yellow truncheon and blew his silver whistle.