"This might be useful to you," he said, replacing the other objects in the trunk and securing the straps. "It's the best I can offer, short of passage home. And I've explained why that's impossible. You wouldn't want to come face to face with yourselves in the middle of Waterloo Circus, would you?" He laughed.
"Don't you mean Piccadilly Circus, sir?" enquired Mrs. Underwood with a frown.
"Never heard of it," said the time-traveller.
"I've never heard of Waterloo Circus," she told him. "Are you sure you're from 1894?"
The stranger fingered the stubble on his chin. He seemed a little disturbed. "I thought I'd merely gone full circle," he murmured. "Hm perhaps this universe is not quite the same as the one I left. Is it possible that for every new time-traveller a new chronology develops? Could there be an infinite number of universes?" He brightened. "This is a fine adventure, I must say. Aren't you hungry?"
Mrs. Amelia Underwood raised her beautiful brows.
The stranger pointed at the basket. "My provisions," he said. "Make what use of them you like. I'll risk finding some food at my next stop hopefully 1895. Well, I must be on my way."
He bowed, brandishing his quartz rod significantly. He climbed onto his saddle and placed the rod in the brass groove, making some adjustments to his other controls.
Mrs. Underwood was already lifting the lid of the hamper. Her face was obscured, but Jherek thought he could hear her crooning to herself.
"Good luck to you both," said the stranger cheerfully. "I'm sure you won't be stuck here forever. It's unlikely, isn't it? I mean, what a find for the archaeologists, ha, ha! Your bones, that is!"
There came a sharp click as the stranger moved his lever a notch or two and almost immediately the time machine began to grow indistinct. Copper glowed and crystal shimmered; something seemed to be whirling very rapidly above the stranger's head and already both man and machine were semi-transparent. Jherek was struck in the face by a sudden gust of wind which came from nowhere and then the time-traveller had gone.
"Oh, look, Mr. Carnelian!" cried Mrs. Amelia Underwood, brandishing her trophy. "Chicken!"
2. In Which Inspector Springer Tastes the Delights of the Simple Life
They rose somewhat, those spirits, at dawn this morning for the beauty,
"We converse," he said. "You have heard us."
"Conversation has been called an art, yet"
"We do not write it down," he said, "if that is what you mean. Why should we? Similar conversations often arise similar observations are made afresh. Does one discover more through the act of making the marks I have seen you make? If so, perhaps I should"
"It will pass the time," she said, "if I teach you to write and read."
"Certainly," he agreed.
She knew the questions he had asked had been innocent, but they struck her as just. She laughed. "Oh, dear, Mr. Carnelian. Oh, dear!"
He was content not to judge her mood to but to share it. He laughed with her, springing up. He advanced. She awaited him. He stopped, when a few steps separated them. He was serious now, and smiling.
She fingered her neck. "There is more to literature than conversation, however. There are stories."
"We make our own lives into stories, at the End of Time. We have the means. Would you not do the same, if you could?"
"Society demands that we do not."
"Why so?"
"Perhaps because the stories would conflict, one with the other. There are so many of us there."
"Here," he said, "there are but two."
"Our tenancy in this this Eden is tentative. Who knows when?"
"Logically, if we are torn away, then we shall be borne to the End of Time, not to 1896. And what is there, waiting, but Eden, too?"
"No, I should not call it that."
They stared, now, eye to eye. The sea whispered. It was louder than their words.
He could not move, though he sought to go forward. Her stance held him off; it was the set of her chin, the slight lift of one shoulder.
"We could be alone, if we wished it."
"There should be no choice, in Eden."
"Then, here, at least" His look was charged, it demanded; it implored.
"And take sin with us, out of Eden?"
"No sin, if by that you mean that which give your fellows pain. What of me?"
"We suffer. Both." The sea seemed very loud, the voice faint as a wind through ferns. "Love is cruel."
"No!" His shout broke the silence. He laughed. "That is nonsense! Fear is cruel! Fear alone!"
"Oh, I have so much of that!" She called out, lifting her face to the sky, and she began to laugh, even as he seized her, taking her hands in his, bending to kiss that cheek.
Tears striped her; she wiped them clear with her sleeve, and the kiss was forestalled. Instead she began to hum a tune, and she placed a hand on his shoulder, leaving her other hand in his. She dipped and led him in a step or two. "Perhaps my fate is sealed," she said. She smiled at him, a conspiracy of love and pain and some self-pity. "Oh, come, Mr. Carnelian, I shall teach you to dance. If this is Eden, let us enjoy it while we may!"
Brightening considerably, Jherek allowed her to lead him in the steps.