He hesitated outside. The red cascades continued to fall from all sides into the lake. The obsidian islands slowly drifted to the centre, some of them already touching. In the distance he could see the time-traveller gingerly leaping from one to another.

He had a compulsion to seek solitude in the old city, where he had sought it as a boy. It was possible that he would find his father there and could gain advice.

"Jherek!"

Amelia stood behind him. There was a tear on either scarlet cheek. "Where are you going? You are a poor host today."

"I am ignored. I am extraneous." He spoke as lightly as he could. "Surely I am not missed. All the guests join your entourage."

"You are hurt?"

"I merely had it in mind to visit the city."

"Is it not bad manners?"

"I do not understand you fully, Amelia."

"You go now?"

"It occurred to me to go now."

She paused. Then: "I would go with you."

"You seem content" — a backward look at the marquee — "with all this."

"I do it to please you. It was what you wanted." But she accused him. The tears had fallen: no more followed.

"I see."

"And you find my new role unattractive?"

"It is very fine. It is impressive. Instantly, you rank with the finest of fashion-setters. The whole of society celebrates your talents, your beauty. Werther courts you. Others will."

"Is that not how life is led, at the End of Time — with amusements, flirtations?"

"I suppose that it is."

"Then I must learn to indulge in such things if I am to be accepted." Again that chilling smile. "Mistress Christia would have you for a lover. You have not noticed?"

"I want only you. You are already accepted. You have seen that today."

"Because I play the proper game."

"If you'll have it so. You'll stay here, then?"

"Let me and I'll come with you. I am unused to so much attention. It has an effect upon the nerves. And I would satisfy myself that Harold fares well."

"Oh, you are concerned for him."

"Of course." She added: "I have yet to cultivate that particular insouciance characteristic of your world."

Lord Jagged's swan was drifting down. The pale yellow draperies billowed; he was somewhere amongst them — they heard his voice.

"My dears. How convenient. I did not wish to become involved with your party, but I did want to make a brief visit, to congratulate you upon it. A beautiful ambience, Amelia. It is yours, of course."

She acknowledged it. The swan began to hover, Lord Jagged's face now distinct, faintly amused as it often was, looking down on them. "You are more at ease, I see, with the End of Time, Amelia."

"I begin to understand how one such as I might learn to live here, Mephistopheles."

The reference brought laughter, as it always did. "So you have not completely committed yourself. No wedding, yet?"

"To Jherek?" She did not look at Jherek Carnelian, who remained subdued. "Not yet."

"The same reasons?"

"I do my best to forget them."

"A little more time, that is all you need, my dear." Jagged's stare gained intensity, but the irony remained.

"I gather there is only a little left."

"It depends upon your attitude, as I say. Life will continue as it has always done. There will be no change."

"No change," she said, her voice dropping. "Exactly."

"Well, I must continue about my work. I wish you well, Amelia — and you, my son. You have still to recover from all your adventures. Your mood will improve, I am sure."

"Let us hope so, Lord Jagged."

"Hi! I say there. Hi!" It was the time-traveller, from a nearby island. He waved at Jagged's swan. "Is that you, Jagged?"

Lord Jagged of Canaria turned a handsome head to contemplate the source of this interruption. "Ah, my dear chap. I was looking for you. You need help, I gather."

"To get off this damned island."

"And to leave this damned era, too, do you not?"

"If you are in a position…"

"You must forgive me for my tardiness. Urgent problems. Now solved." The swan began to glide towards the time-traveller, settling on the rocky shore so that he could climb aboard. They heard the time-traveller say: "This is a great relief, Lord Jagged. One of the quartz rods requires attention, also two or three of the instruments need adjusting…"

"Quite so," came Jagged's voice. "I head now for Castle Canaria where we shall discuss the matter in full."

The swan rose high into the air and disappeared above one of the cliffs, leaving Jherek and Amelia staring after it.

"Was that Jagged?" It was the Iron Orchid, at the entrance to the tent. "He said he might come. Amelia, everyone is remarking on your absence."

Amelia went to her. "Dearest Orchid, be hostess for a little while. I am still inexperienced. I tire. Jherek and I would rest from the excitement."

The Iron Orchid was sympathetic. "I will give them your apologies. Return soon, for our sakes."

"I will."

Jherek had already summoned the locomotive. It awaited them, blue and white steam drifting from its funnel, emeralds and sapphires winking.

As they climbed into the air they looked down on the scene of Amelia's first social creation. Against the surrounding landscape it resembled some vast and terrible wound; as if the Earth were living flesh and a gigantic spear had been driven into its side.

Shortly, the city appeared upon the horizon, its oddly shaped, corroded towers, its varicoloured halo, its drifting streamers and clouds of chemical vapour, its little grumblings and murmurings, its peculiar half-organic, half-metallic odour, filling them both with a peculiar sense of nostalgia, as if for happier, simpler days.

They had not spoken since they had left; neither, it seemed, was capable of beginning a conversation; neither could come to terms with feelings which were, to Jherek at least, completely unfamiliar. He thought that for all her gaudy new finery he had never known her so despairing. She hinted at this despair, yet denied it when questioned. Used to paradox, believing it the stuff of existence, he found this particular paradox decidedly unwelcome.

"You will look for Mr. Underwood?" he asked, as they approached the city.

"And you?"

He knew foreboding. He wished to volunteer to accompany her, but was overwhelmed by unusual and probably unnecessary tact.

"Oh, I'll seek the haunts of my boyhood."

"Isn't that Brannart?"

"Where?" He peered.

She was pointing into a tangle of ancient, rotten machinery. "I thought in there. But he has gone. I even glimpsed one of those Lat, too."

"What would Brannart want with the Lat?"

"Nothing, of course."

They had flown past, but though he looked back, he saw no sign either of Brannart Morphail or the Lat. "It would explain why he did not attend the party."

"I assumed that was pique, only."

"He could never resist an opportunity in the past to air his portentous opinions," said Jherek. "I am of the belief that he still works to thwart our Lord Jagged, but that he cannot be successful. The time-traveller was explaining to me, as I recall, why Brannart's methods fail."

"So Brannart is out of favour," said she. "He did much to help you at first." She chided him.

"By sending you back to Bromley? He forgets, when he berates us for our meddling with Time, that a great deal of what happened was because of his connivance with My Lady Charlotina. Waste no sympathy on Brannart, Amelia."

"Sympathy? Oh, I have little of that now." She had returned to her frigid, sardonic manner.

This fresh ambiguity caused further retreat into his own thoughts. He had surprised himself with his criticisms, having half a notion that he did not really intend to attack Brannart Morphail at all. He was inexpert in this business of accusation and self-immolation: a novice in the expression of emotional pain, whereas she, it now seemed, was a veteran. He floundered, he who had known only extrovert joy, innocent love; he floundered in a swamp which she in her ambivalence created for them both. Perhaps it would have been better if she had never announced her love and retained her stern reliance upon Bromley and its mores, left him to play the gallant, the suitor, with all the extravagance of his world. Were his accusations really directed at her, or even at himself? And did she not actually rack her own psyche, all aggression turned upon herself and only incidentally upon him, so that he could not react as one who is threatened, must thresh about for an object, another person, upon whom to vent his building wrath, as a beaten dog snaps at a neutral hand, unable to contemplate the possibility that it is its master's victim?