Constant Fire

"Coo-ee!" she said.

She wet her lips. "What ma

She moved from the airlock into the true interior of the ship. She found herself pleasantly surprised by its ordinariness. It was as if firelight illuminated the large chamber, although the source of that light was mysterious.

The rosy, flickering light cast her shadow, enlarged and distorted, upon the far wall. The chamber was in disorder, as if the shock of landing had dislodged everything from its place. Boxes, parchments, books and pictures were scattered everywhere; figurines lay dented or broken upon the carpeted floor; drapes, once used to cover portholes, hung lopsidedly upon the walls, which curved inwards.

"What a lot of junk!" Her voice held more confidence. Apparently the place had been Mr Bloom's store-room, for there was no sign of furniture.

She stumbled over crates and bales of cloth until she reached a companionway leading up to the next chamber. Doctor Volospion had told her that she would probably find the cup in the control room, which must be above. She climbed, pushed open a hatch, and found herself in a circular room which was lit very similarly to the storage chamber, but so realistically that she found herself searching for the open fireplace which seemed to be the source of the light.

Save for a faint smell of burning timber, there was no sign of a fire.

"Mavis," she said determinedly, "keep that imagination of yours well under control!"

This room, as she had suspected, was the Fireclown's living quarters. It contained a good-sized bed, shelves, storage lockers, a desk, a chair and a screen whereby the occupant could check the ship's functions.

She wiped sweat from her forehead, glancing around her.

Against one wall, at the end of the bed, was a large metal ziggurat which looked as if it had once been the base for something else. Would this be where the cup was normally kept? If so, Emmanuel Bloom had hidden it and her job was going to be harder. On the wall were various pictures: some were paintings, others photographs and holographs, primarily of men in the costumes of many periods. On the wall, too, was a narrow shelf, about two feet long, apparently empty. She reached to touch it and felt something there. It was thin, like a long pencil. Curiously she rolled the object towards her until it fell into her hand. She was surprised.

It was an old-fashioned riding crop, its tip frayed and dividing at one end; a silver head at the other. The head was beautifully made — a woman's face in what the Italians called the "stile Liberty." Mavis was impressed most by the look of ineffable tranquillity upon the features. The contrast between the woman's expression and the function of the whip itself disturbed Mavis so much that she replaced it hastily.

Wishing that the light were stronger, she began to search for the cup or goblet (Doctor Volospion's description had been vague). First she looked under the bed, finding only a collection of books and manuscripts, many of them dusty.

"This whole ship could do with a good spring-clean!" She searched through the wardrobe and drawers, finding a collection of clothes to match those worn by the men whose pictures decorated the wall. This sudden intimacy with Mr Bloom's personal possessions had not only whetted her curiosity about him — his clothes, to her, were much more interesting than anything he had said — but had somehow given her a greater sympathy for him.

She began to feel unhappy about rummaging through his things; her search for the goblet began increasingly to seem like simple thievery.

Her search became more rapid as she sought to find the Grail and leave as soon as she could. If she had not made a promise to Doctor Volospion she would have left the ship there and then.

"You're a fool, Mavis. Everyone's told you. And do you ever listen?"

As she opened a mahogany trunk, inlaid with silver and mother-of-pearl, the lid squeaked and, at the same time, she thought she heard a faint noise from below. She paused and listened, but there was no further sound. She saw at once that the trunk contained only faded manuscripts.

Miss Ming decided to return to the store-room. The curiosity which had at first directed her energy was now dissipating, to be replaced by a familiar sense of panic.

She felt her heart-rate increase and the ship seemed to give a series of little tremors, in sympathy. She returned to the companionway and lifted the hatch. She was halfway down when the whole ship shook itself like an animal, roared, as if sentient, and she was pressed back against the steps, clinging to the rail as, swaying from side to side, the ship took off.

Sweating, Miss Ming turned herself round with difficulty and began to climb back towards the living quarters where she felt she would be safer. If her throat had been less constricted she would have screamed. The ship, she knew, was taking off under its own power. It was quite possible that she had activated it herself. Unless she could work out how to control it she would soon be adrift in the cosmos, floating through space until she died.

And she would be all alone.

It was this latter thought which terrified her most. She reached the cabin and crawled across the dusty carpet as the pressure increased, climbing onto the bed in the hope that it would cushion the acceleration effects.

The sensations she was experiencing were not dissimilar to those she had experienced on her trip through time and, as such, did not alarm her. It was the prospect of what would become of her when the ship was beyond Earth's gravity which she could not bear to consider.

It was not, she thought, as if there were many planets left in the universe. Earth might now be the only one.

The pressure began to lift, but she remained face-down upon the bed ("these sheets could do with a wash," she was thinking) even when it was obvious that the ship was travelling at last through free space.

"Oh, you've let yourself in for it this time, Mavis," she told herself. "You've been co

She wondered if, for reasons of his own, Doctor Volospion had deliberately sent her into space. She knew his capacity for revenge. Had that silly tiff meant so much to him? He had beguiled her into suggesting her own trap, her own punishment, just because of a silly scratch on the hand!

"What a bastard! What bastards they all are!" And what an idiot she had made of herself! It taught you never to be sympathetic to a man. They always used it against you. "That's Mavis all over," she continued, "trusting the world. And this is how the world repays you!" But there was little conviction in her tone; her self-pity was half-hearted. Actually, she realized, she was not feeling particularly bad now that there was a genuine threat to her life. All the little anxieties fled away.

Miss Ming began to roll over on the bed. At least the ship itself was comfortable enough.

"It's cosy, really." She smiled. "A sort of den. Just like when I was a little girl, with my own little room, and my books and dolls." She laughed. "I'm actually safer here than anywhere I've been since I grew up. It shouldn't be difficult to work out a way of getting back to Earth — if I want to go back. What's Earth got to offer, anyway, except deceit, hypocrisy and treachery?"

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She looked at her new home, all her new toys.