An Alien Heat

"You would not be Mongrove if you had."

"The turning of my feet into rats. You were only a boy, then."

"Correct. The first slight." Jherek bowed.

"The theft of my private poems."

"True — and my publishing them."

"Just so." Mongrove nodded, continuing: "The shifting of my lair and its environs from the North to the South pole."

"You were confused."

"Confused and angry with you, Jherek Carnelian. The list is endless. I know that I am your butt, your fool, your plaything. I know what you think of me."

"I think well of you, Lord Mongrove."

"You know me for what I am. A monster. A horror. A thing which does not deserve to live. And I hate you for that, Jherek Carnelian."

"You love me for it, Mongrove. Admit it."

A deep sigh, almost a windy bellow, escaped the giant's lips and tears fell from his eyes as he turned away. "Do your worst, Jherek Carnelian. Do your worst to me."

"If you insist, my darling Mongrove."

Jherek smiled as he watched Mongrove plod deeper into the holocaust, his great shoulders slumped, his huge hands hanging heavily at his hips. Dressed all in black, was Mongrove, with his skin, hair and eyes stained black, too. Jherek wondered if he and Mongrove would ever consummate their love for each other. Perhaps Mongrove had learned the secret of "virtue"? Perhaps the giant deliberately sought the opposite of everything he really desired to think and do? Jherek felt he was begi

However, thought Jherek as he strolled on through the flames and the liquids, if he became Mongrove would not Mongrove then have an incentive to become something else? But would that new Mongrove be as delightful as the old? It was unlikely.

"Jherek, my delicious fancy! Here!"

Jherek turned with a crack of his russet cloak and saw Lord Jagged of Canaria, a mass of quilted yellow, his head barely visible in his puffy collar, signalling to be joined at a table of fruits.

"Lord Jagged." Jherek embraced his friend. "Well, cosy one, are your battles ended?"

"They are ended at last. It has been five years. But they are ended. And every little man dead, I fear." Lord Jagged had invented a perfect facsimile of the Solar System and had played out every war on it he had ever heard of. Each soldier had been complete in every detail, though of sub-microscopic proportions. A tiny personality. The entire set had been built in a cube measuring just over two feet square. Lord Jagged yawned and for a moment his face disappeared altogether into his collar. "Yes, I quite lost affection for them in the end. Silly things. And you, handsome Jherek, what do you do?"

"Nothing very ambitious. Reproductions of the ancient world. Have you seen my locomotive?"

"I don't even know the word!" Lord Jagged roared. "Shall I see it now?"

"It's over there, somewhere," said Jherek, pointing through a tumbling skyscraper. "It can wait until you are nearer."

"Your costume is admirable," said Lord Jagged, fingering the cloak. "I have always envied your taste, Jherek. Is this, too, something the ancients wore?"

"Exactly."

"Exactly! Oh, your patience! Your care! Your eye !"

Jherek stretched his arms and looked about him, pleased by the compliment. "It is fine," he said, "my eye."

"But where is our host, the magnificent Duke of Queens, the inventor of all this excitement?"

Jherek knew that Lord Jagged shared his view of the Duke's taste. He shook his head. "I haven't seen him. Perhaps in one of the other cities. Is there a main one?"

"I think not. It is possible, of course, that he has not yet arrived — or left already. You know how he loves to absent himself. Such a strong, dramatic sense."

"And droll," said Jherek, meeting his friend's eyes and smiling.

"Now, now," said Lord Jagged. "Let us, Jherek, circulate . Then, perhaps, we'll find our host and be able to compliment him to his face."

Arm in arm they moved through the blazing city, crossed the lawns and entered Timbuctoo, whose slender oblongs, crowned by minarets, fell in upon each other, criss-crossed, nearly struck the ground and then sprang upright again, to be consumed by the flames afresh.

"Chrome," Jherek heard Li Pao saying. "They were chrome. Not silver and quartz and gold at all. To me, I'm afraid, that spoils the whole idea."

Jherek chuckled. "Do you know Li Pao? I suspect that he did not travel willingly through time. I suspect, my padded Jagged, that his comrades sent him off! I am learning 'virtue,' by the way."

"And what is 'virtue'?"

"I think it involves being like Mongrove."

"Oh!" Lord Jagged rounded his lips in an ironic expression of dismay.

"I know. But you're familiar with my perfectionism."

"Of its kind it is the sweetest."

"I think you taught me that — when I was a boy."

"I remember! I remember!" Lord Jagged sighed reminiscently.

"And I am grateful."

"Nonsense. A boy needs a father. I was there." The puffed sleeve stretched out and a pale hand emerged to touch Jherek lightly upon his carnation, to pluck a tiny petal from it and touch it so elegantly to the pale lips. "I was there, my heart."

"One day," said Jherek, "we must make love, Lord Jagged."

"One day. When the mood comes upon us at the same time. Yes." Lord Jagged's lips smiled. "I look forward to it. And how is your mother?"

"She is sleeping a great deal again."

"Then we may expect something extraordinary from her soon."

"I think so. She is here."

Lord Jagged drew away from Jherek. "Then I shall look for her. Farewell."

"Goodbye, golden Lord Jagged."

Jherek watched his friend disappear through an archway of fire which was there for a moment before the towers reformed.

It was true that Lord Jagged of Canaria had helped form his taste and was, perhaps, the kindest, most affectionate person in all the world. Yet there was a certain sadness about him which Jherek could never understand. Lord Jagged, it was sometimes said, had not been created in this age at all, but had been a time-traveller. Jherek had once put this to Lord Jagged but had met with an amused denial. Yet still Jherek was not sure. He wondered why, if Jagged were a time-traveller, he would wish to make a secret of it.

Jherek realised that he was frowning. He rearranged his expression and sauntered on through Timbuctoo. How dull the 28th century must have been. Odd that things could change so swiftly in the course of a few hundred years so that a century like the 19th could be full of richness and a century like the 28th could only offer the Great Fire of Africa. Still, it was all a matter of what happened to amuse the individual. He really must try to be less critical of the Duke of Queens.

A pride of lions appeared and prowled menacingly around Jherek, growling and sniffing. They were real. He wondered if the Duke of Queens had gone so far as to allow them all their instincts. But they lost interest in him and swaggered on. Their colours, predominantly blue and green, clashed as usual. Elsewhere Jherek heard people giggling in fear as the lions found them. Most people found such sensations gratifying. He wondered if his pursuit of virtue was making him bad-tempered. If so, he would swiftly become a bore and had best abandon the whole idea. He saw Mistress Christia, the Everlasting Concubine, lying on her back near the edge of the burning city and humping up and down with glad cries as O'Kala Incarnadine, who had turned himself into a gorilla for the occasion, enjoyed her. She saw Jherek and waved. "Jherek!" she panted. "I — would — love — to — see — Oh, Kala, my love, that's enough. Do you mind? But I want to talk to Jherek now." The gorilla turned its head and saw Jherek and gri