Emmanuel Bloom laughed. "You'll come." He returned his attention to Doctor Volospion. "And I would advise you, sir, to save your breath in this meaningless and puny Temptation. Your hatred of me is patent, whether you admit it to yourself or not. I would warn you to cease your irritation."
"You still refuse to believe my good faith, Mr Bloom. So be it." Doctor Volospion bowed low.
The ramp was withdrawn. The airlock shut.
No further sound escaped the ship.
8. In which Miss Ming begins to feel a certain curiosity concerning the intentions of Emmanuel Bloom
If anyone at the End of Time expected Mr Bloom to begin immediately to exercise his particular plans for bringing Salvation to the planet they were to be disappointed, for his extravagant spaceship (which the fashion of the moment declared to be in hideous taste) remained where it landed and Emmanuel Bloom, the Fireclown, did not re-emerge. A few sightseers came to view the ship — the usual sensation-seekers like the Duke of Queens (who wanted to put the ship at once into his collection of ancient flying machines), My Lady Charlotina of Below the Lake, O'Kala Incarnadine, Sweet Orb Mace, the Iron Orchid, Bishop Castle and their various followers, imitators and hangers-on — but in spite of all sorts of hallooings, bangings, catcalls, lettings-off of fireworks, obscene displays (on the part of the ladies who were curious to see what Miss Ming's most ardent suitor really looked like) and the rest, the great Saviour of Mankind refused to reveal himself; nothing occurred which could be interpreted as action on the Fireclown's part. No fires swept the Earth, no thunders or lightnings broke the calm of the skies, there was no destruction of artefacts nor any further demolition of landscapes. Indeed, it was singularly peaceful, even for the End of Time, and certain people became almost resentful of Mr Bloom's refusal to attempt, at least, a miracle or two.
"Doctor Volospion exaggerated!" pronounced My Lady Charlotina, all in blue and sage, the colours of dreams, as she lunched on a green and recently constructed hillside overlooking the ship (it now stood in clouds of daisies, a memento of the Duke of Queens' pastoral phase which had lasted scarcely the equivalent of an ancient Earth summer) and raised a turnip (another memento) to her ethereal lips. "You know his obsessions, my dear O'Kala. His taste for monks and gurus and the like."
O'Kala Incarnadine, currently a gigantic fieldmouse, nibbled at the lemon he held in both front paws. "I am not familiar with the creatures," he said.
"They are not creatures, exactly. They are a kind of person. Lord Jagged was good enough to inform me about them, although, of course, I have forgotten most of what he said. My point is, O'Kala, that Doctor Volospion wished this Mr Bloom to be like a guru and so interpreted his words accordingly."
"But Miss Ming confirmed…"
"Miss Ming!"
O'Kala shrugged his mousy shoulders in assent.
"Miss Ming's bias was blatant. Who could express such excessive ardour of anyone, let alone Miss Ming?" My Lady Charlotina wiped the white juice of the turnip from her chin.
"Jherek — he pursues his Amelia with much the same enthusiasm."
"Amelia is an Ideal — she is slender, beautiful, unattainable — everything an Ideal should be. There is nothing unseemly in Jherek's passion for such a woman." My Lady Charlotina was unaware of anything contradictory in her remarks. After her brief experience in the Dawn Age she had developed a taste for propriety which had not yet altogether vanished.
"In certain guises," timidly offered O'Kala, "I have lusted for Miss Ming myself, so…"
"That is quite different. But this Mr Bloom is a man."
"Abu Thaleb's tale was not dissimilar to Doctor Volospion's."
"Abu Thaleb is impressionable. On elephants he is unequalled, but he is no expert on prophets."
"Is anyone?"
"Lord Jagged. That is why Doctor Volospion apes him. You know of the great rivalry Volospion feels for Lord Jagged, surely? For some reason, he identifies with Jagged. Once he used to emulate him in everything, or sought to. Jagged showed no interest. Gave no praise. Since then — oh, so long ago my memory barely grants me the bones of it — Doctor Volospion has set himself up as a sort of contra-Jagged. There are rumours — no more than that, for you know how secretive Jagged can be — rumours of a sexual desire which flourished between them for a while, until Jagged tired of it. Now that Lord Jagged has disappeared, I suspect that Doctor Volospion would take his place in our society, for Jagged has the knack of making us all curious about his activities. You have my opinion in a nutshell — Volospion makes much of this Bloom in an effort to pique our interest, to gossip about him in lieu of Jagged."
O'Kala Incarnadine wiped his whiskers. "Then he has succeeded."
"For the moment, I grant you, but unsubtly. It will not last."
My Lady Charlotina sighed and sucked at a celery stalk, letting her gaze wander to the scarlet spaceship. "Our curiosity is still with Jagged. Where can he be? This," she indicated the vessel with her vegetable, "is no more than a diversion."
"It would be amusing, though, if Mr Bloom did begin to lay waste the world."
"There is no logic to it. The world will be finished soon enough, as everyone knows. The very universe in which our planet hangs is on the point of vanishing forever. Mr Bloom has brought his salvation at altogether the wrong moment and at a time when salvation itself is unfashionable, even as a topic of conversation."
"The reasons are obvious…" began O'Kala, in a rare and philosophical mood, "… for who would wish to discuss such matters, now that we know —?"
"Quite." My Lady Charlotina waved. An air car was approaching. It was the shape of a great winged man, its bronze head flashing in the red light of the sun, its blind eyes glaring, its twisted mouth roaring as if in agony. The Duke of Queens had modelled his latest car after some image recently discovered by him in one of the rotting cities.
The car landed nearby and from it trooped many of My Lady Charlotina's most intimate friends. From his saddle behind the head of the winged man the Duke of Queens raised his hand in a salute. He had on an ancient astronaut's jacket, in silver-tipped black fur, puffed pantaloons of mauve and ivory stripes, knee-boots of orange lurex hide, a broad-brimmed hat of panda ears, all sewn together in the most fanciful way.
"My Lady Charlotina! We saw you and had to greet you. We are on our way to enjoy the new boys Florence Fawkes had made for her latest entertainment. Will you come with us?"
"Perhaps, but boys…" She lifted the corner of her mouth.
My Lady Charlotina noted that Doctor Volospion and Mavis Ming were among those pouring from the body of the winged man. She greeted Sweet Orb Mace with a small kiss, laid a sincere hand upon the arm of Bishop Castle, winked at Mistress Christia, and smiled charmingly at Miss Ming.
"Aha! The beauty for whom Mr Bloom crossed galaxies. Miss Ming, you are the focus of all our envy!"
"Have you seen Mr Bloom?" asked Miss Ming.
"Not yet, not yet."
"Then wait before you envy me," she said.
Doctor Volospion's cunning eye glittered. "There is nothing more certain to attract the attention of a lady to a gentleman, even in these weary times of ours than the passion of that gentleman for another lady."
"How perceptive you are, dear Doctor Volospion! It must be admitted. In fact, I believe I already admitted it when I first greeted you."
Doctor Volospion bowed his head.
"You are looking at your best," she continued, for it was true. "You are always elegant Doctor Volospion." He had on a long, full-sleeved robe of bottle-green, trimmed with mellow gold, the neck high, to frame his sharp face, a matching tight-fitting cap upon his head, buttoned beneath the pointed chin.
"You are kind, My Lady Charlotina."