Mrs. Underwood gasped. "Was that a joke, Harold?"

He beamed.

Something alive, perhaps an animal, ran swiftly across their path and into the heart of the city.

"We are at the edge," said the Duke of Queens. "Yet nothing but blackness seems to exist beyond. Perhaps it is some optical trick? A malfunctioning force-screen?"

"No," said Jherek, who was ahead of him. "The city still sheds a little light. I can see — but it is a wasteland."

"There is no sun." Amelia peered forward. "There are no stars. That is what it is."

"The planet is dead, do you mean?" The Duke of Queens joined them. "Yes, it is a desert out there. What can have become of our friends?"

"I suppose it is too late to say that I, of course, forgive you everything, Amelia," Harold Underwood said suddenly.

"What, Harold?"

"It does not matter now. You were, of course, this man's mistress. You did commit adultery. It is why you are both here."

With some reluctance, Amelia Underwood withdrew her gaze from the lifeless landscape. She was frowning.

"I was right, was I not?" her husband continued.

Dazed, she glanced from Jherek Carnelian to Harold Underwood. Jherek was turning, a bemused half-smile on his lips.

She gestured helplessly. "Harold, is this the time…?"

"She loves me," said Jherek.

"Mr. Carnelian!"

"And you are his mistress?" Harold Underwood put a gentle hand to her face. "I do not accuse you, Amelia."

She gave a deep sigh and tenderly touched her husband's wrist. "Very well, Harold. In spirit, yes. And I do love him."

"Hurrah!" cried Jherek. "I knew. I knew! Oh, Amelia. This is the happiest day of my life."

The others all turned to stare at them. Even the Duke of Queens seemed shocked.

And from somewhere in the sky overhead a booming voice, full of gloomy satisfaction, shouted:

"I told you so. I told you all. See — it is the end of the world!"

The large, black egg-shaped air-boat containing, in an indentation at the top, Lord Mongrove settled to the ground nearby. A look of profound and melancholy gratification lay upon the giant's heavy features. In robes of funereal purple he stepped from the boat, his right hand drawing their attention to the desolation beyond the city, where not even a wind whispered or stirred the barren dust to a semblance of vitality.

"It has all gone," intoned Mongrove. "The cities no longer sustain our follies. They can barely sustain themselves. We are the last survivors of humanity — and there is some question as to whether we shall continue to exist for much longer. Well, at least most of the time-travellers have been returned and the space-travellers given ships, for all the good it will do them. Yusharisp and his people did their best, but they could have done much more, Duke of Queens, if you had not been so foolish as to trap them for your menagerie…"

"I wanted to surprise you," said the Duke somewhat lamely. He was unable to take his eyes away from the desolation. "Do you mean that it's completely lifeless out there?"

"The cities are oases in the desert that is our Earth," Mongrove confirmed. "The planet itself crumbles imminently."

Jherek felt Mrs. Underwood's hand seeking his. He took it, grasping it firmly. She smiled bravely up at him.

The Duke continued to fiddle with his useless power-rings. "I must say one feels a certain sense of loss," he said, half to himself. "Is My Lady Charlotina gone? And Bishop Castle? And Sweet Orb Mace? And Argonheart Po? And Lord Shark the Unknown?"

"Everyone, save those here."

"Werther de Goethe?"

"Werther, too."

"A shame. He would have enjoyed this scene so much."

"Werther flirts with Death no longer. Death grew impatient. Death took him, perforce." Lord Mongrove uttered a great sigh. "I am meeting Yusharisp and the others here, shortly. We shall know, then, how much longer we have."

"Our time is limited, then?" said Mrs. Underwood.

"Probably."

"Gord!" said Inspector Springer, upon whom the import of Mongrove's words was just beginning to dawn. "What bad luck!" He removed his bowler again. "I suppose there's no chance at all of getting back now? You wouldn't 'ave seen a large time-machine about, eh? We were 'ere on official business…"

"Nothing exists beyond the cities," Mongrove reiterated. "I believe your time-travelling colleague was prevailed upon to help in the general exodus. We thought you dead, you see."

For an instant, at their backs, the city shrieked, but subsided quickly. Scarlet clouds, like blood in water, swirled into the atmosphere. It was as if the city had been wounded.

"So he's returned…" continued Inspector Springer. "That's for sure, eh?"

"I regret that the evidence would suggest as much. If he was unlucky, he might have been caught up in the general destruction. It happened very quickly. Atoms, you know, dissipating. As our atoms will doubtless dissipate, eventually. As the city's will. And the planet's. Joining the universe."

"Oo, blimey!" Sergeant Sherwood screwed up his face.

"Hm." Inspector Springer rubbed his moustache. "I don't know what the 'Ome Secretary's going to say. There's nobody to explain…"

"And we'll never know, either," Sergeant Sherwood pointed out. "This is a fine turn up." He seemed to be accusing the inspector. "What price promotion now?"

"I think it's high time you reconciled yourselves to your fate," suggested Harold Underwood. "Earthly ambition should be put aside. We are, after all, here for eternity. We must begin considering repentance."

"Do be quiet, Mr. Underwood, there's a good chap." Inspector Springer's shoulders had slumped somewhat.

"It could be that there is still a chance of salvation, Inspector."

" 'Ow do you mean, sir?" asked Sergeant Sherwood. "Salvation?"

"I have been considering the possibility that one may be granted the Kingdom of Heaven, even after one has been consigned here, if one can work out, satisfactorily, exactly why one was placed here…"

" 'Ere?"

"In Hell."

"You think this is —"

"I know it, Sergeant!" Harold Underwood's smile was radiant. Never had he been so relaxed. It was plain that he was absolutely happy. Amelia Underwood contemplated him with some relief and affection.

"I am reminded of John Bunyan's uplifting moral tale, The Pilgrim's Progress ," began Mr. Underwood, flinging a friendly arm around Sergeant Sherwood's shoulders. "If you recall the story…" They wandered off together, along the perimeter.

"Would that we were all so deluded, at this moment," said Mrs. Underwood. "Shall there be no chance of escape, ultimately, Lord Mongrove?"

"Yusharisp and his people are currently looking into the problem. It could be that, with careful use of the resources at our command, we could keep a small artificial vessel of some kind going, for a few hundred years. We should have to ration all provisions most carefully. It might even be that some would not be able to join the vessel, that a selection would have to be made of those most likely to survive…"

"A sort of new Ark, then?" she suggested.

The reference was meaningless to Lord Mongrove, but he was polite. "If you like. It would entail living in the most rigorous and uncomfortable conditions. Self-discipline would be all-important, of course, and there would be no place for amusement of any sort. We would use what we could from the cities, store the information we could glean, and wait."

"For what?" asked the Duke of Queens, appalled.

"Well, for some kind of opportunity…"

"What kind?"

"We cannot be sure. No one knows what will happen after the dissipation. Perhaps new suns and planets will begin to form. Oh, I know it is not very hopeful, Duke of Queens, but it is better than complete extinction, is it not?"