"It is the ultimate achievement of our race. We enjoy it."
"Are there none who —?"
"Those time travellers, space travellers, a few who have induced special anachronistic tendencies in themselves. Yes, there are some who might respond to you. A good few of them are not with us at present, however. The Iron Orchid's little son, Jherek Carnelian, his great love, Amelia Underwood, his mentor, Lord Jagged of Canaria, and perhaps a few others, one loses track. Doctor Volospion? Perhaps, for it is rumoured that he is not of this Age at all. Li Pao and various aliens who have visited us and stayed … Yes, from these you could derive a certain satisfaction. Some would undoubtably welcome you, for one reason or another…"
"It is usually for one reason or another," said the Fireclown frankly. "Men see me as many things. It is because I am many things."
"And all of them excellent, I am sure."
"But I must do what I must do," he said. "It is all I know. For I am Bloom the Destroyer, Bloom the Builder, Bloom the Bringer of Brightness, Bloom who Blooms Forever! And my mission is to save you all."
"I thought we had at least removed ourselves from generalities, Mr Bloom," she said a little chidingly.
He turned away, disconsolately so My Lady Charlotina thought.
"Generalities, madam, are all I deal in. They are my stock-in-trade. It is the gift I bring — to remove petty anxieties, momentary considerations, and to replace them with grandeur, with huge, simple, glorious Ideals."
"It is not a simple problem," she said. "I can see that."
"It must be a simple problem!" he complained. "All problems are simple. All!"
He disappeared into the soft trees surrounding the plinth. She heard his voice muttering for some while, but he made no formal farewell, for he was too much lost in his own concerns. A short time later she saw a distant tree burst into flame and subside almost at once. She saw a rather feeble bolt of lightning crash and split a trunk. Then he was gone away.
My Lady Charlotina remained on the plinth, for she was enjoying a rare sense of melancholy and was reluctant to let the mood pass.
10. In which the Fireclown attempts to deny any suggestion so far made that he is an Anachronism
My Lady Charlotina's words had failed, as was soon to be shown, to convince Mr Bloom. Yet there was something pathetic to his acts of destruction, something almost sad about the way he demolished the Duke of Queens' City of Tulips (each dwelling a separate flower) or laid waste Florence Fawkes' delightful little Sodom with all its inhabitants, including Florence Fawkes who was never, by an oversight, resurrected. It was in a half-abstracted mood that he brought a rain of molten lava to disrupt the party which Bishop Castle was giving for moody Werther de Goethe (and which, as it happened, was received with approval by all concerned, since Werther was one of the few to appreciate the Fireclown's point of view and died screaming of repentance and the like — though when he was resurrected almost immediately he did complain that the consistency of the lava was not all that it might have been — too lumpy, he thought). The Fireclown rarely appeared personally on any of these occasions. He seemed to have lost the will to enjoy intercourse with his fellows. Moreover there was scarcely anyone who found him very entertaining after the first demolition or two, largely because his wrath always took exactly the same form. Werther de Goethe sought him out and enthused. He found, he said, Mr Bloom deeply refreshing, and he offered himself as an acolyte. Mr Bloom had informed him that he would let Werther know when acolytes were needed, if at all. Lord Mongrove also visited the Fireclown, hoping for conversation, but the Fireclown told him frankly that his talk was depressing. My Lady Charlotina visited him, too, and came away refusing to tell anyone what had passed between herself and Mr Bloom, though she seemed upset. And when Mistress Christia followed close in the footsteps of her friend and was also rebuffed, Mr Bloom told her sombrely that he waited for one woman and one alone, the beautiful Mavis Ming.
Upon hearing this, Miss Ming shuddered and suggested that someone destroy the Fireclown before he did any more damage to the world.
If it had not been for the immense and unshakeable force-field around the Fireclown's ship there is no doubt that some of the denizens at the End of Time would have at least made an attempt to halt the Fireclown's inconveniencing activities. It was a type unfamiliar even to the rotting cities, who did their best to analyse it and produce a formula for coping with it, but failed, forgetting the purpose of half their experiments before they were completed and drawing no conclusions from those they did complete, for the same reason. In most cases they took a childish delight in the more spectacular effects of their experiments and would play with the energies they had created until growing tired and pettish and refusing to help any further.
The Fireclown had been unable to bring quite the holocaust he had promised, for things were rebuilt as soon as he had destroyed them, he had at least become a large flea upon the flank of society, wrecking carefully planned picnics, entertainments, artistic creations and games, so that precautions had to taken against him which spoiled the general effect intended. Force-fields had to be produced to protect property for the first time in untold thousands of years and even the Duke of Queens, that most charitable of immortals, agreed that his ordinary enjoyment of life was being detrimentally influenced by Mr Bloom, particularly since the destruction of his menagerie, the resurrection of which had greatly discommoded him.
There came such a twittering of protest as had never been heard at the End of Time and plans were discussed interminably for the ridding of the world of the pest, deputations were sent to his ship and were ignored, polite notes left at his airlock's entrance were either burned on the spot or allowed to drift away on the wind.
"It is quite ridiculous," said My Lady Charlotina, "that this puny prophet should be allowed to figure so largely in our lives. If only Lord Jagged were here, he would surely find a solution."
She spoke spitefully, for she knew that Doctor Volospion was in earshot. They were both attending the same reception, given on Sweet Orb Mace's new lawns which surrounded his mansion, modelled on one of the baroque juvenile slaughter houses of the late 200,006 century. From within sounded the most authentic screams, causing all to compliment Sweet Orb Mace on an unprecedented, for her, effort of imagination.
"Lord Jagged has undoubtably found that his interests are not best served by remaining at the End of Time," said Doctor Volospion from behind her.
She pretended surprise. "How do you do, Doctor Volospion?" She inspected his costume — another long sleeved robe, this one of maroon and white. "Hm."
"I am well, My Lady Charlotina."
"The Fireclown has made no attack upon you, yet? That is strange. Of all of us, it is you whom he actually appears to dislike."
Doctor Volospion lowered his eyes and smiled. "He would not harm Miss Ming, my guest."
"Of course!"
She swept silky skirts of brown and blue about her and made to move on, but Volospion stayed her. "I gather there has been much debate about this Fireclown."
"Far too much."
"He would be a marvellous prize for my menagerie."
"So that is why he mistrusts you!"
"I think not. It is because my logic defeats him."
"I did not know."
"Yes. I have probably had the longest debate of anyone at the End of Time with Bloom. He found that he could not best me in argument. It is sheer revenge, the rest. Or so I suspect."
"Aha?" My Lady Charlotina turned her fine and scented head so that she could smile pleasantly upon the Duke of Queens, strutting past in living koalas. "Then surely you can conceive a means of halting his activities, Doctor Volospion?"