"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 passe…"

"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."

"We hear you have command of so many ancient arts, Mrs. Underwood. You read I understand?" Agape, Gaf the Horse in Tears, all foliage save for his face, one of Amelia's swiss rolls filling the twigs at the end of his left bough, rustled with enthusiasm. "And write, eh?"

"A little." Her amusement was self-conscious.

"And play an instrument?"

She inclined an artificial curl or two. "The harmonium."

The guests, each with a costume more outrageous than the next, filed in to stand on both sides of the long trestle tables, sampling the cups of tea, the cucumber sandwiches, the roast ham, the cold sausages, the strawberry flan, the battenbergs, the ginger cakes, the lettuce and the cress, all under the shade of the tall red and white striped marquee. Jherek, in a corner of the tent, nibbled a pensive teacake, ignored by all save Li Pao, who was complaining of his treatment during his brief return home. "They called me decadent, you know…"

"And you sew. Embroider, is it?" Bishop Castle carefully replaced a rattling, scarcely tasted, cup upon the trestle.

"I used to. There is little point, now…"

"But you must demonstrate these arts!" The Iron Orchid signalled to Jherek. "Jherek. You told us Amelia sang , did you not?"

"Did I tell you that? She does."

"You must persuade her to give us an air."

"A son?"

"A song, my seed!"

He looked miserably over to where Amelia gesticulated, laughing with Doctor Volospion. "Will you sing a hymn for us, Amelia?"

Her answering smile chilled him. "Not now, I think." The crimson-clad arms spread wide. "Has everyone enough tea?"

A murmur of satiation.

Werther advanced again, hovering, a white hand holding a silver cake-stand from which he helped himself, popping one pastry at a time into his clacking jaws. "Queen of Melancholy, come with me to my Schloss Dolorous, my dear and my darling to be!"

She flirted. At least, she attempted to flirt. "Oh, chivalrous Knight of Death, in whose arms is eternal rest — would that I were free." The eyelids fluttered. Was there a tear? Jherek could bear no more. She was glancing towards him, perhaps to test his reaction, as he bowed and left the tent.