As he reached the Elizabethan façade of Holland House, Jerry paused and looked up.
The American jets were dancing in the frozen sky. For several minutes they performed complicated formations then regrouped into conventional flights and flew away from London towards the Atlantic. Either they had been recalled or events had got on top of them.
With mixed feelings Jerry watched them leave.
He was on his own now.
Pushing open the mansion's heavy doors he entered a large, gloomy hall. A Shifter gateway had once been here, but he knew it must have dispersed by now. Beesley had buggered the phasing completely.
He drew his gun and started up the Tudor staircase.
Mitzi was waiting, unarmed, at the top. She wore an ankle-length dress in Regency stripes of dark and light pink. There were pink slippers on her feet and her blonde hair was combed to frame her face. Her large blue eyes regarded him.
'Herr Cornelius. You are not looking well.'
'I'm as well as could be expected.' He motioned with the vibragun. 'Is Beesley here?'
'My father? Yes. He's waiting for you. He thinks you're probably ready to join us at last.'
She smiled and Jerry saw that her teeth seemed to have grown to points, like a fox's. 'It will soon be summer again, and we can be together...' She turned, walking back along the landing. This way.'
Jerry hesitated.
'What's the matter?' She paused by the door of the main bedroom.
'Death.' His nostrils quivered. 'A lot of death.'
There's nothing wrong with death. Nothing to be afraid of. A sleep...'
'It depends on the kind.' He gripped the gun desperately.
'Don't you like the idea of life after death?'
'It depends on the kind.'
'Herr Cornelius, you have no trust.' Her eyes widened with sympathy. 'You are so wild.'
'I...' He felt very tired.
'You are a fierce beast.'
'No...'
'You must be more tame. In time.'
' I want...' He gasped as the tears flooded from his face. 'I want...'
'Peace. We want nothing more.'
'Peace?'
He rocked on his heels. His grip was still tight on his gun, though all his energy seemed concentrated in his right hand.
She came towards him. He tried to raise his gun. She stretched out her palm. He shook his head.
'Don't you want to rest? We can help you rest.'
'Not that kind.'
She frowned, her eyes concerned. 'Why do you split hairs so? Does it matter about the kind?'
'Yes.'
'We all grow older, you know. More mature.'
'No.'
'Love,' said Mitzi. 'Do you love nothing but your Cause? It is hopeless, you know.'
'Love.' The tears chilled his cheeks. He trembled as he thought of Oxford and Catherine and the Science of Innocence.
'You know,' Mitzi murmured, 'that what you have done is wrong. But we forgive you.'
He snarled and laughed through his teeth. The energy left his right hand and blazed from his eyes. 'I am Jerry Cornelius.' The gun dropped. He bent but she swept forward and kicked the gun through the banisters and he watched it fall slowly to the floor of the hall below.
'It's a turning world, darling.' Mitzi helped him straighten up, wincing as she saw his eyes. 'There are many kinds of beauty.'
Jerry staggered back from her with a growl.
The cardinal came out of the master bedroom. 'Misericordia! The poor chap looks completely beaten. He needs help.'
Jerry tried to descend the stairs. It was dawn outside. He gasped as the cardinal seized him around the waist.
'Could you bring him in here, please. Cardinal Orelli.' Mitzi's voice was vibrant with sympathy. 'He'll soon feel a new man.'
Jerry shut everything down.
He let them get on with it.
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I
One too many mornings
He was awakened by a cold caress.
Mitzi's hand was on his brow. He felt the heat leave his head and he tried to jerk away.
She removed her hand.
He lay on a hard mattress in a wide four-poster with grey curtains that were drawn back so that he could see Bishop Beesley standing by the Jacobean dresser and bending over the box which stored Jerry's machine.
Ash-coloured light came through the window. Jerry took stock of his reserves. They were low.
'Good — um — hello, there, Mr Cornelius. I see my daughter's been looking after you. She's an angel. A ministering angel.'
Jerry sat up. He was still dressed in his red suit and he was unbound. He frowned suspiciously at Mitzi.
'I'm sick,' he said, 'of...'
'Cancer?'said Mitzi.
'Crabs.'
'It's a complicated state of affairs, I'm afraid,' said the bishop, chewing a Crunchie bar. The artificial honeycomb coursed down his chins. 'I've got so far, but I now need your help. I want to find out where the rest of your 'converts' are, for a start. Some are hanging on, you know, against all common sense.'
'I promised them nothing less than the Millennium.' Jerry drew a sluggish breath. 'What do you expect?'
'I'm afraid we'll have to put back the Millennium for a while.' Beesley smacked his lips. 'I know it's disappointing. They were all prepared for it, weren't they? Well, that's over. If you can help me locate them, I'll get in touch with them and arrange a deconversion. Could I say fairer?'
Jerry took a lock of his hair in his hand. It was stringy and off-white. He sniffed.
'You knew the apocalypse wasn't due for several million years yet, Mr Cornelius,' Bishop Beesley continued, 'and yet you wished to bring it about for purely selfish reasons. Reasons, I regret, that I simply fail to understand. It may be all right for you — but consider your dupes!'
'What do you think my crash programme was for?' Jerry glanced out of the window. A wind was blowing the ash northward.
'You can't save the whole human race, Mr Cornelius. Besides, I insist that your motives were still suspect, let alone your goals!'
Jerry got off the bed and walked weakly to the box but Mitzi barred his way, looking questioningly at her father. Bishop Beesley shrugged. 'We've reached something of an impasse, I'm afraid. The power seems to be weakening.'
'You can say that again.' Jerry smiled. 'What else did you expect?'
Bishop Beesley cast down his eyes in embarrassment and unwrapped a toffee. 'I never claimed to be a scientist, Mr Cornelius.'
'Naturally.' Jerry stroked the box. 'You'll have to find a power source, won't you? Whether transmission of any kind's possible now, I just don't know. Things are fixed, Bishop Beesley. They are solid.'
'The sun hasn't moved for an — for some t -' Mitzi gave up. 'It isn't moving.'
That's merely an indication,' Jerry said. 'An image, if you like.'
'What sort of power does the machine take?' Beesley asked, chewing. 'Electricity?'