"Of course I did."

Werther smiled. He sighed with satisfaction. Magnanimously he laid a hand upon Jherek's arm. "Come to my tower some day. I will try to help you understand the nature of sin."

"You are kind, Werther."

"I seek only to enlighten, Jherek."

"You will find it difficult, that particular task," said Brannart Morphail spitefully. "Improve his manners, Werther, and I, for one, will be eternally grateful to you."

Jherek laughed. "Brannart, are you not in danger of taking your 'anger' too far?" He made a movement towards the scientist, who raised a six-fingered hand.

"No further petitions, please. Find your own time machine, if you want one. Persist in the delusion that your Dawn Age woman will return, if you wish. But do not, I beg you Jherek, involve me any further. Your ignorance is irritating and since you refuse the truth, then I'll have no more of you. I have my work." He paused. "If, of course, you were to bring me back the time machine you lost, then I might spare you a few moments." And, chuckling, he began to return to his laboratories.

"He is wrong in one thing," Jherek murmured to Lord Jagged, "for they did have time machines in 1896, as you know. It was upon your instructions that I was placed in one and returned here."

"Ah," said Lord Jagged, studying the cloth of his sleeve. "So you said before."

"I am disconsolate," said Jherek, suddenly. "You give me no direct answers (it is your right, of course) and Brannart refuses his help. What am I to do, Jagged?"

"Take pleasure in the experience, surely?"

"I seem to tire so easily of my pleasures, these days. And when it comes to ways of enjoying current experiences, my imagination flags, my brain betrays me."

"Could your adventures in the past have tired you more than you realize?"

"I am certain it was you, Jagged, in 1896. It has occurred to me that even you are not aware of it!"

"Oh, Jherek, my jackanapes, what juicy abstractions you hint at! How close we are in temperament. You must expand upon your theories. Unconscious temporal adventurings!" Lord Jagged took Jherek's arm and led him back to where the main party had gathered.

"I base my idea," began Jherek, "on the understanding that you and I are good friends and that therefore you would not deliberately —"

"Later. I will listen later, my love, when our duties as guests are done."

And again Jherek Carnelian was left wondering if Lord Jagged of Canaria were not, under his worldly airs, quite as confused as himself.

Bishop Castle had arrived late. He made a splendid entrance, in his huge headdress twice as tall as himself and modelled on a stone tower of the Dawn Age. He had great, bushy red brows and long fine hair to match; it framed his saturnine features and fell to his chest. He wore robes of gold and silver and held the huge ornamental gearstick of some 21st-century religious order. He bowed to My Lady Charlotina.

"I left my contribution overhead, most handsome of hostesses. There were no others there, merely some flotsam on the surface. Am I to assume that I have missed the regatta?"

"You must, I am afraid." My Lady Charlotina came towards him and took his long hand. "But you shall have some of our naval fare." She drew him towards the barrels of rum. "Hot or cold?" she asked.

As Bishop Castle sipped the rum My Lady Charlotina described the battles which had taken place that day on Lake Billy the Kid. "And the way in which Lady Voiceless's Bismarck sank my Queen Elizabeth was ingenious, to say the least."

"Scuppered below decks!" said Sweet Orb Mace with a relish for words which were meaningless to her. "Hoisted by her holds. Spliced in her mainbrace! Belayed across the bows!" Her bright yellow, furry face became animated. "Rammed," she added, "under the water-line."

"Yes, dear. Your knowledge of nautical niceties is admirable."

"Admiral!" giggled Sweet Orb Mace.

"Try a little less of the rum and a little more of the hard tack, dear," suggested My Lady Charlotina, leading Bishop Castle to her hammock. Not without difficulty, he seated himself beside her (his hat was inclined to topple him over if he were not singularly careful). Bishop Castle noticed Jherek and waved his gearstick in a friendly greeting.

"Still pursuing your love, Jherek?"

"As best I can, mightiest of mitres." Jherek left Lord Jagged's side. "How are your giant owls?"

"Disseminated, I regret to say. I had it in mind to make a Vatican City in the same period as your London — I am a slave to fashion, as you know — but the only references I could find placed it on Mars about a thousand years later, so I must assume that it was not contemporary. A shame. A Hollywood I began came to nothing, so I gave up my efforts to emulate you. But when you are leaving, take a look at my ship. I hope you will approve of my careful research."

"What is it called?"

"The Mae West ," said Bishop Castle. "You know it, I assume."

"I do not! That makes it even more interesting."

The Iron Orchid joined them, her features almost invisible in their glaring whiteness. "We were considering a picnic in the Warm Snow Peaks, Charlotina. Would you care to come?"

"An exquisite idea! Of course I shall come. I think we have had the best of this entertainment now. And you, Jherek, will you go?"

"I think so. Unless Lord Jagged…" He turned to look for his friend, but Jagged had disappeared. He shrugged, reconciling himself. "I would love it. It's ages since I visited the peaks. I had no notion that they still existed."

"Weren't they something Mongrove made, in a lighter vein than usual?" Bishop Castle asked. "Has anyone heard from Mongrove, by the by?"

"Not since he rushed off into space with Yusharisp," the Iron Orchid told him, glancing about the hall. "Where is the Duke of Queens? I had hoped he would wish to come with us."

"One of his time travellers — he calls them 'retainers', I understand — came to him with a message. The message animated him. He left with his eyes bright and his face flushed. Perhaps another traveller entering our Age?"

Jherek refused to be moved by this news. "Did Lord Jagged go with him?"

"I am not sure. I wasn't aware he had gone." My Lady Charlotina raised her slender eyebrows. "Odd that he did not pay his respects. All this rushing and mystery whets my curiosity."

"And mine," said Jherek feelingly, but he was determined to remain as insouciant as possible and bide his time. If Amelia Underwood had come back, he would know soon enough. He rather admired his own self-control; he was even faintly astonished by it.

"Isn't the scenery piquant?" said the Iron Orchid with something of a proprietorial air. On the slope where they had laid their picnic they could see for scores of miles. Below, there were plains and rivers and lakes of a rich variety of gentle colours. "So unspoiled. It hasn't been touched since Mongrove made it."

"I must admit to a preference for his earlier work," agreed Bishop Castle, running sensual fingers through the glittering snow which spread across the flanks of the great eminences. It was primarily white, with just the subtlest hint of pale blue. A few little flowers poked their delicate heads above the surface of the snow. They were mainly indigenous to this sort of alpine terrain — orange vedigris and yellow bottlewurt were two which Jherek had recognized, and another which he guessed was some kind of greenish St. Buck's Buttons.

Sweet Orb Mace, who had insisted on accompanying them, was rolling down the slope in a flurry of warm snow, laughing and shouting and rather destroying the tranquillity of the scene. The snow clung to her fur as she tried to get up and instead she slipped and slid further, hanging, helpless with mirth, over a precipice which must have been at least a thousand feet high. Then, the snows gave way and with a startled yell she fell.