The Ancient Shadows

As she entered the brown and yellow hall, she glanced across to Lord Jagged's door. It was open. She hesitated, and as she did so, Lord Jagged appeared, looking less tired than he had before, but more thoughtful.

"Lord Jagged!"

"Aha, the admirable Dafnish!" His smile was soft, almost melancholy. "Do you enjoy your stay at Canaria? Is all to your liking?"

"It is perfect, Lord Jagged, but I would go home."

"You ca

"When we last met — that night — you said something concerning the fabric of Time. The Laws, hitherto regarded as immutable, were not operating as expected?"

"I was weary. I should not have spoken."

"But you did. Therefore can I not request a fuller explanation?"

"I would raise hope where none should be permitted."

"Can I not judge?"

He shrugged, his high, grey collar almost swallowing the lower half of his face. His slim hands fingered his lower lip. "Very well, but I must ask secrecy from you."

"You have it. I am an Armatuce."

"There is little I can tell you, save this: Of late the sturdy, relentless structure of Time, which has always, so far as we know, obeyed certain grim Laws of its own, has begun to show instabilities. Men have returned to the past and remained there for much longer periods than was thought possible. By contravening the Laws of Time, they have further weakened them. There are disruptions — distortions — anomalies. I hope to discover the true cause, but every passage through Time threatens the fabric further, producing paradoxes which, previously, Time refused to allow. So far no major disaster has occurred — history remains history — but there is a danger that history itself will be distorted and then — well, we all might suddenly vanish as if we had never been!"

"Is that possible? I have listened to such speculation, but it has always seemed pointless."

"Who knows if it is possible? But can we take the risk? If, say, you were to return to Armatuce and tell them what the future held, would that not alter the future? You are familiar with these arguments, of course."

"Of course. But I would tell them nothing of your world. It would be too disturbing."

"And your boy? Children are not so discreet."

"He is an Armatuce. He would be silent."

"No, no. You risk your lives by moving against the current."

"Our lives are for Armatuce. They serve no purpose here."

"That is a difficult philosophy for one such as I to comprehend."

"Let me try!"

"Your boy would go with you?"

"Of course. He would have to."

"You'd subject him to the same dangers?"

"Here, his soul is endangered. Soon he will be incapable of giving service. His life will be worthless."

"It is a harsh, materialist assessment of worth, surely?"

"It is the way of the Armatuce."

"Besides, there is the question of a time vessel."

"My own is ready. I have access to it."

"There are only certain opportunities, when the structure wavers…"

"I should wait for one. In the machine."

"Could you not leave the child, at any rate?"

"He would not be able to exist without me. I grant his life-right. He is part of me."

"Maternal instincts…"

"More than that!"

"If you say so." He shook his head. "It is not my nature to influence another's decisions, in the normal course of things. Besides, no two consciences are alike, particularly when divorced by a million or two years." He shook his head. "The fabric is already unstable."

"Let me take my son and leave! Now! Now!"

"You fear something more than the strangeness of our world." He looked shrewdly into her face, "What is it that you fear, Dafnish Armatuce?"

"I do not know. Myself? Miss Ming? It ca

"Miss Ming? What harm could that woman do but bore you to distraction? Miss Ming?"

"She — she has been paying court to me. And, in a way, to my child. In my mind she has become the greatest threat upon the face of this planet. It is monstrous of me to permit such notions to flourish, but I do. And because she inspires them, I hate her. And because I hate her, why, I detect something in myself which must resemble her. And if I resemble her, how can I judge her? I, Dafnish Armatuce of the Armatuce, must be at fault."

"This is complicated reasoning. Perhaps too complicated for sanity."

"Oh, yes, Lord Jagged, I could be mad. I have considered the possibility. It's a likely one. But mad by whose standards? If I can go back to Armatuce, let Armatuce judge me. It is what I rely upon."

"I'll agree to debate this further," he said. "You are in great pain, are you not, Dafnish Armatuce?"

"In moral agony. I admit it."

He licked his upper lip, deliberating. "So strange, to us. I had looked forward to conversations with you."

"You should have stayed here, then, at Canaria."

"I would have liked that, but there are certain very pressing matters, you know. Some of us serve, Dafnish Armatuce, in our individual ways, to the best of our poor abilities." His quiet laughter was self-deprecating. "Shall we breakfast together?"

"Snuffles?"

"Let him join us when it suits him."

"Miss Ming is with him. They say their farewells."

"Then give them the time they need."

She was uncertain of the wisdom of this, but with the hope of escape, she could afford to be more generous to Miss Ming. "Very well."

As they sat together in the breakfast room, she said, "You do not believe that Miss Ming is evil, do you, Lord Jagged?" She watched him eat, having contented herself with the treat of a slice of toast.

"Evil is a word, an idea, which has very little resonance at the End of Time, I'm afraid. Crime does not exist for us."

"But crime exists here."

"For you, Dafnish Armatuce, perhaps. But not for us."

She looked up. She thought she had seen something move past the window, but she was tired; her eyes were faulty. She gave him her attention again. He had finished his breakfast and was rising, wiping his lips. "There must be victims, you see," he added.

She could not follow his arguments. He had become elusive once more, almost introspective. His mind considered different, to him more important, problems.

"I must go to the boy," she said.

All at once she had his full attention. His grey, intelligent eyes penetrated her. "I have been privileged, Dafnish Armatuce," he said soberly, "to entertain you as my guest."

Did she blush then? She had never blushed before.

He did not accompany her back to the apartments, but made his apologies and entered the bowels of the building, about his own business again. She went swiftly to the room, but it was empty.

"Snuffles!" She called out as she made her way to her own chamber. "Miss Ming."

They were gone.

She returned to the breakfast room. They were not there. She ran, panting, to the air car hangar. She ran through it into the open, standing waist-high in the corn, questing for Miss Ming's own car. The blue sky was deserted. She knew, as she had really known since finding her son's room absented, that she had seen them leaving, seen the car as it flashed past the window.

She calmed herself. Reason told her that Miss Ming was merely taking Snuffles on a last impulsive expedition. It was, of course, what she might have suspected of the silly woman. But the dread would not dissipate. An image of the boy's painted features became almost tangible before her eyes. Her lips twisted, conquering her ability to arrange them, and it seemed that frost ate at the marrow of her bones. Fingers caught in hair, legs shook. Her glance was everywhere and she saw nothing but that painted face.

"Snuffles!"

There was a sound. She wheeled. A robot went by bearing the remains of the breakfast.