The Ancient Shadows

"Customs! It is more than custom, Miss Ming. How can this be? What of his life-right? He has no soul!"

"Such superstitions," declared Miss Ming, "are of little consequence at the End of Time."

"I have not transferred the life-right! He remains a shadow until that day! But even that is scarcely important at this moment — look what you have made of him! Look!"

"You really are very silly, mother," said Snuffles, his voice softening in something close to kindness. "They can do anything here. They can change their shapes to whatever they wish. They can be children, if they want to be, or beasts, or even plants. Whatever fancy dictates. I am the same personality, but I have grown up, at last! Sixty years was too long. I have earned my maturity."

"You remain an infant!" she spoke through her teeth. "Like your fatuous and self-called friend. Miss Ming, he must be restored to his proper body. We leave, as soon as we may, for Armatuce."

Miss Ming was openly incredulous and condescending. "Leave? To be killed or stranded?"

Snuffles affected superciliousness. "Leave?" he echoed. "For Armatuce? Mother, it's impossible. Besides, I have no intention of returning." He leaned against the rusted remains of a Nash Rambler and shared (or thought he shared) a conspiratorial wink with Miss Ming and Lord Jagged. "I shall stay."

"But —" her lips were dry — "your life-right…"

"Here, I do not need my life-right. Keep it, mother. I do not want your personality, your ridiculous prejudices. Why should I wish to inherit them, when I have seen so much? Here, at the End of Time, I can be myself — an individual, not an Armatuce!"

"His destiny?" Dafnish rounded on Miss Ming. "You thought I meant that? "

"Oh, you…" Miss Ming's blue eyes, bovine and dazed, began to fill.

"I could change him to his original shape," began Lord Jagged, but Dafnish Armatuce shook her head in misery. "It is too late, Lord Jagged. What is there left?"

"But this is intolerable for you." There was a hint of unusual emotion in Lord Jagged's voice. "This woman is not one of us. She acts without wit or intelligence. There is no resonance in these actions of hers."

"You would still say evil does not exist here?"

"If vulgar imitation of art is 'evil', then perhaps I agree with you."

Dafnish Armatuce was drained. She could not move. Her shoulder twitched a little in what might have been a shrug. "Responsibility leaves me," she said, "and I feel the loss. Who knows but that I did use it as armour against experience." She sighed, addressing her son. "If adult you be, then make an adult's decision. Be an Armatuce, recall your Maxims, consider your Duty." She was pleading and she could not keep her voice steady. "Will you return with me to Armatuce? To Serve?"

"To serve fools? That would make a fool of me, would it not? Look about you! This is the way the race is destined to live, mother. Here —" he spread decorated hands to indicate the world — "here is my destiny, too!"

"Oh, Snuffles…" Her head fell forward and her body trembled with her silent sobbing. " Snuffles! "

"That name's offensive to me, mother. Snuffles is dead. I am now the Margrave of Wolverhampton, who shall wander the world, impressing his magnificence on All! My own choice, the name, with Miss Ming's assistance concerning the details. A fine name, an excellent ambition. Thus I take my place in society, my only duty to delight my friends, my only maxim 'Extravagance In Everything!' and I shall give service to myself alone! I shall amaze everyone with my inventions and events. You shall learn to be proud of me, mama!"

She shook her head. "All my pride is gone."

Several ancient clocks began to chime at once, and through the din she heard Lord Jagged's voice murmuring in her ear. "The fabric of Time is particularly weak now. Your chances are at their best."

She knew that this was mercy, but she sighed. "If he came, what point? My whole life has been dedicated to preparing for the moment when my son would become an adult, taking my knowledge, my experience, my Duty. Shall I present our Armatuce with — with what he is now?"

The youth had heard some of this and now he raised a contemptuous shoulder to her while Miss Ming said urgently: "You ca

Dafnish's laughter drove the woman back. Fingers in mouth, Miss Ming cracked a nail with her teeth, and the shadow of terror came and went across her face.

Dafnish spoke in an undertone. "You have killed my son, Miss Ming. You have made of my whole life a travesty. Whether that shell you call 'my son' survives or not, whether it should be moulded once more into the original likeness, it is of no importance any longer. I am the Armatuce and the Armatuce is me. You have poisoned at least one branch of that tree which is the Armatuce, whose roots bind the world, but I am not disconsolate; I know other branches will grow. Yet I must protect the roots, lest they be poisoned. I have a responsibility now which supersedes all others. I must return. I must warn my folk never to send another Armatuce to the End of Time. It is evident that our time-travelling experiments threaten our survival, our security. You assure me that — that the boy can live without his life-right, that remaining part of my being which, at my death, I would pass on to him, so that he could live. Very well, I leave him to you and depart."

Miss Ming wailed: "You can't! You'll be killed! I love you!"

The youth held some kind of hayfork at arm's length, inspecting its balance and workmanship, apparently unconcerned. Dafnish took a step towards him. "Snuffles…"

"I am not 'Snuffles'."

"Then, stranger, I bid you farewell." She had recovered something of her dignity. Her small body was still tense, her oval face still pale. She controlled herself. She was an Armatuce again.

"You'll be killed! " shrieked Miss Ming, but Dafnish ignored her. "At best Time will fling you back to us. What good will the journey do you?"

"The Armatuce shall be warned. There is a chance of that?" The question was for Lord Jagged.

"A slight one. Only because the Laws of Time have already been transgressed. I have learned something of a great conjunction, of other layers of reality which intersect with ours, which suggests you might return, for a moment, anyway, since the Laws need not be so firmly enforced."

"Then I go now."

He raised a warning hand. "But, Dafnish Armatuce, Miss Ming is right. There is little probability Time will let you survive."

"I must try. I presume that Sweet Orb Mace, who has my time ship, knows nothing of this disruption, will take no precautions to keep me in your Age?"

"Oh, certainly! Nothing."

"Then I thank you, Lord Jagged, for your hospitality. I'll require it no longer and you may let Snuffles go to Doctor Volospion's. You are a good man. You would make a worthy Armatuce."

He bowed. "You flatter me…"

"Flattery is unknown in Armatuce. Farewell."

She began to walk back the way she had come, past row upon row, rank upon rank of antiquities, past the collected mementoes of a score of Ages, as if, already, she marched, resolute and noble, through Time itself.

Lord Jagged seemed about to speak, but then he fell silent, his expression unusually immobile, his eyes narrowed as he watched her march. Slowly, he reached a fine hand to his long cheek and his fingers explored his face, just below the eye, as if he sought something there but failed to find it.

Miss Ming blew her nose and bawled:

"Oh, I've ruined everything. She was looking forward to the day you grew up, Snuffles! I know she was!"

"Margrave," he murmured, to correct her. He made as if to take a step in pursuit, but changed his mind. He smoothed the pile of his tabard. "She'll be back."