Constant Fire

Volospion raised a finger to his lips. Bloom was some distance away but had turned, detecting the voice, no doubt, of his loved one.

"Rags and bones," said Doctor Volospion, as if he had been reiterating his opinions to Miss Ming.

"No," called Bloom from where he stood beside a case containing many slightly differently shaped strips of metal, "these were merely the instruments used to focus faith. Witness their variety. Anything would do as a lens to harness the soul's fire. A bit of wood. A stone. A cup. A custard pie. Nothing here means anything without the presence of the beings who believed in their validity. Whether that piece of worm-eaten wood really did come from Christ's cross or not is immaterial. As a symbol…"

"You question the authenticity of my prizes?"

"It is not important…"

Doctor Volospion betrayed agitation. It was genuine. "It is to me, Mr Bloom. I will have nothing in my museum that is not authentic!"

"So you have a faith of your own, after all." Bloom's painted lips formed a smile.

He leaned, a tiny jester, a cockerel, against a force dome.

Doctor Volospion lost none of his composure. "If you mean that I pride myself on my ability to sniff out any fakes, any piece of doubtful origin, then you speak rightly. I have faith in my own taste and judgement. But come, let us move on. It is not the museum that I wish you to inspect, its the menagerie, which is of greater interest, for there…"

"Show me this cup you have. This Holy Grail. I was looking for it."

"Well, if you feel you have the leisure. Certainly. There it is. In the cabinet with Jissard's space-helmet and Panjit's belt."

Emmanuel Bloom trotted rapidly in the direction indicated by Doctor Volospion, weaving his way among the various displays, until he came to the far wall where, behind a slightly quivering energy screen, between the helmet and the belt, stood a pulsing, golden cup, semi-transparent, in which a red liquid swirled.

Bloom's glance at the cup was casual. He made no serious attempt to inspect it. He turned back to Doctor Volospion, who had followed behind.

"Well?" said Volospion.

Bloom laughed. "Your taste and judgement fail you, Doctor Volospion. It is a fake, that Grail."

"How could you know?"

"I assure you that I am right."

Bloom began to leave the case, but Doctor Volospion tugged at his arm. "You would argue that it is merely mythical, wouldn't you? That it never existed. Yet there is proof that it did."

"Oh, I need no proof of the Grail's existence. But if it were the true Grail how could you, of all people, keep it?"

Doctor Volospion frowned. "You are vaguer than usual, Mr Bloom. I keep the cup because it is mine."

"Yours?"

"I had it from a time traveller who had spent his entire life searching for it and who, as it happens, found it in one of our own cities. Unfortunately, the traveller destroyed himself soon after coming to stay with me. They are all mad, such people. But the thing itself is authentic. He had found many fakes before he found the true Grail. He vouched for this one. And he should have known, a man who had dedicated himself to his quest and who was willing to kill himself once that quest was over."

"He probably thought it would bring him back to life," mused the Fireclown. "That is part of the legend, you know. One of the real Grail's minor properties."

"Real? This man's opinion was irrefutable."

"Well, I am glad that he is dead," said Bloom, and then he laughed a strange, deep-throated laugh which had no business coming from that puny frame, "for I should not have liked to have disappointed him."

"Disappointed?" Volospion flushed. "Now —"

"That cup is not even a very good copy of the original, Doctor Volospion."

Doctor Volospion drew himself up and arranged the folds of his robe carefully in front of him. His voice was calm when he next spoke. "How would you know such a thing, Mr Bloom? You claim great knowledge, yet you exhibit no signs of it in your rather foolish behaviour, your pointless pursuits. You dress a fool and you are a fool, say I."

"Possibly. Nonetheless, that Grail is a fake."

"Why do you know?" Doctor Volospion's gaze was not quite as steady as it might have been.

"Because," explained Bloom amicably, "I am, among many other things, the Guardian of the Grail. That is to say, specifically, that I am graced by the presence of the Holy Grail."

"What!" Doctor Volospion was openly contemptuous.

"You probably do not know," Mr Bloom went on, "that only those who are absolutely pure in spirit, who never commit the sin of accidie (moral torpor, if you prefer) may ever see the Grail and only one such as myself may ever receive the sacred trust of Joseph of Arimathaea, the Good Soldier, who carried the Grail to Glastonbury. I have had this trust for several centuries, at least. I am probably the only mortal being left alive who deserves the honour (though, of course, I am not so proud as to be certain of it). My ship is full of such things — relics to rival any of these here — collected in an eternity of wandering the many dimensions of the universe, tumbling through Time, companion to chronons…"

Doctor Volospion's face wore an expression quite different from anything Miss Ming had ever seen. He was deeply serious. His voice contained an unusual vibrancy.

"Oh, don't be taken in by him, Doctor Volospion," she said, giving up any idea of trying to placate the Fireclown. "He's an obvious charlatan."

Bloom bowed. Doctor Volospion did not even hear her.

"How can you prove that your Grail is the original, Mr Bloom?"

"I do not have to prove such a thing. The Grail chooses its own guardian. The Grail will only appear to one whose Faith is Absolute. My Faith is Absolute."

Bloom began to stride towards Mavis Ming. Volospion followed thoughtfully in his wake.

"Oo!" squeaked Miss Ming, seeing her protector distracted and fearing a sudden leap. "Get off!"

"I am not, Miss Ming, on. I promise you no violence, not yet, not until you come to me."

"Oh! You think that I'd —?" She struggled with her own revulsion and the remembrance of her promise to Doctor Volospion.

"You still make a pretence at resistance, I see." Bloom beamed. "Such is female pride. I came here to claim a world and now I willingly renounce that claim if it means that I can possess you, woman, body and soul. You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen in all the aeons of my wandering. Mavis! Mavis! Music floods my being at the murmur of your exquisite name. Queen Mavis — Maeve, Sorceress Queen, Destroyer of Cuchulain, Beloved of the Sun — ah, you have the power to do it — but you shall not destroy me again, Beautiful Maeve. You shall find me in Fire and in Fire shall we be united!"

It was true that, for the first time, Miss Ming's expression began to soften, but Doctor Volospion came to her aid.

"I am sure Miss Ming is duly flattered," he said. It was evident, with his next statement, that he merely resented the interruption to his line of thought. "But as for the Holy Grail, you do not, I suppose, have it about you?"

"Of course not. It appears only at my prayer."

"You can summon it to you?"

"No. It appears. During my meditations."

"You would not care to meditate now? To prove that yours is the true one."

"I have no urge to meditate." Mr Bloom dismissed the Doctor from his attention and, hands outstretched in that stiff, awkward way of his, moved to embrace Miss Ming, only to pause as he felt Volospion's touch on his arm.

"It is in your ship, then?"

"It visits my ship, yes."

"Visits?"

"Doctor Volospion. I have tried to explain to you clearly enough. The Grail you have is not a mystical artefact, no matter how miraculous it seems to be. The true Holy Grail is a mystical artefact and therefore it comes and goes, according to the spiritual ambience. That is why your so-called Grail is plainly a fake. If it were real, it would not be here!"