Werther seemed nonplussed. "You mean our world?"
"Aye."
"It is still part of our world, " said the Duke of Queens.
"Is the palace to your liking?" asked Werther.
"It is lovely."
"A trifle pale for my own taste, " said the Last Romantic. "It was Mistress Christia's idea."
"You built this?" The albino turned to the woman. "When?"
"Just now." She seemed surprised.
Elric nodded. "Aha. It is within the power of Chaos to create whatever whims it pleases."
The chariot crossed a white drawbridge and entered a white courtyard. In it grew white flowers. They dismounted and entered a huge hall, white as bone, in which red lights glowed. Again Elric began to suspect mockery, but the faces of the Chaos lords showed only pleasure. He realized that he was dizzy with hunger and weariness, as he had been ever since he had been flung into this terrible world where no shape was constant, no idea permanent.
"Are you hungry?" asked Mistress Christia.
He nodded. And suddenly the room was filled by a long table on which all kinds of food were heaped — and everything, meats and fruits and vegetables, was white.
Elric moved to take the seat she indicated and he put some of the food on a silver plate and he touched it to his lips and he tasted it. It was delicious. Forgetting suspicion, he began to eat heartily, trying not to consider the colourless quality of the meal. Werther and the Duke of Queens also took some food, but it seemed they ate only from politeness. Werther glanced up at the faraway roof. "What a wonderful tomb this would make, " he said. "Your imagination improves, Mistress Christia."
"Is this your domain?" asked Elric. "The moon?"
"Oh no, " she said. "It was all made for the occasion."
"Occasion?"
"For your adventure, " she said. Then she fell silent.
Elric became grave. "Those demons? They were not your enemies. They belong to you! "
"Belong?" said Mistress Christia. She shook her head.
Elric frowned and pushed back his plate. "I am, however, most certainly your captive." He stood up and paced the white floor. "Will you not return me to my own plane?"
"You would come back almost immediately, " said Werther de Goethe. "It is called the Morphail Effect. And if you did not come here, you would yet remain in your own future. It is in the nature of Time."
"This is nonsense, " said Elric. "I have left my own realm before and returned — though admittedly memory becomes weak, as with dreams poorly recalled."
"No man can go back in Time, " said the Duke of Queens. "Ask Brannart Morphail."
"He, too, is a Lord of Chaos?"
"If you like. He is a colleague."
"Could he not return me to my realm? He sounds a clever being."
"He could not and he would not, " said Mistress Christia. "Haven't you enjoyed your experiences here so far?"
"Enjoyed?" Elric was astonished. "Madam, I think … Well, what has happened this day is not what we mortals would call 'enjoyment'! "
"But you seemed to be enjoying yourself, " said the Duke of Queens in some disappointment. "Didn't he, Werther?"
"You were much more cheerful through the whole episode, " agreed the Last Romantic. "Particularly when you were fighting the demons."
"As with many time travellers who suffer from anxieties, " said Mistress Christia, "you appeared to relax when you had something immediate to capture your attention…"
Elric refused to listen. This was clever Chaos talk, meant to deceive him and take his mind from his chief concern.
"If I was any help to you, " he began, "I am, of course…"
"He isn't very grateful, " Mistress Christia pouted.
Elric felt madness creeping nearer again. He calmed himself.
"I thank you for the food, madam. Now, I would sleep."
"Sleep?" she was disconcerted. "Oh! Of course. Yes. A bedroom?"
"If you have such a thing."
"As many as you like." She moved a stone on one of her rings. The walls seemed to draw back to show bedchamber after bedchamber, in all manner of styles, with beds of every shape and fashion. Elric controlled his temper. He bowed, thanked her, said goodnight to the two lords and made for the nearest bed.
As he closed the door behind him, he thought he heard Werther de Goethe say: "We must try to think of a better entertainment for him when he wakes up."
11 In which Mrs Persson Witnesses the First Sign of the Megaflow's Disintegration
In Castle Canaria Lord Jagged unrolled his antique charts. He had had them drawn for him by a baffled astrologer in 1950. They were one of his many affectations. At the moment, however, they were of considerably greater use than Alvarez's electronics.
While he used a wrist computer to check his figures, Una Persson looked out of the window of Castle Canaria and wondered who had invented this particular landscape. A green and orange sun cast sickening light over the herds of grazing beasts who resembled, from this distance at any rate, nothing so much as gigantic human hands. In the middle of the scene was raised some kind of building in the shape of a vast helmet, vaguely Greek in conception. Beyond that was a low, grey moon. She turned away.
"I must admit, " said Lord Jagged, "that I had not understood the extent…"
"Exactly, " she said.
"You must forgive me. A certain amount of amnesia — euphoria, perhaps? — always comes over one in these very remote periods."
"Quite."
He looked up from the charts. "We've a few hours at most."
Her smile was thin, her nod barely perceptible.
While she made the most of having told him so, Lord Jagged frowned, turned a power ring and produced an already lit pipe which he placed thoughtfully in his mouth, taking it out again almost immediately. "That wasn't Dunhill Standard Medium." He laid the pipe aside.
There came a loud buzzing noise from the window. The scene outside was disintegrating as if melting on glass. An eerie golden light spread everywhere, flooding from an apex of deeper gold, as if forming a funnel.
"That's a rupture, " said Lord Jagged. His voice was tense. He put his arm about her shoulders. "I've never seen anything of the size before."
Rushing towards them along the funnel of light there came an entire city of turrets and towers and minarets in a wide variety of pastel colours. It was set into a saucer-shaped base which was almost certainly several miles in circumference.
For a moment the city seemed to retreat. The golden light faded. The city remained, some distance away, swaying a little as if on a gentle tide, a couple of thousand feet above the ground, the grey moon below it.
"That's what I call megaflow distortion, " said Una Persson in that inappropriately facetious tone adopted by those who are deeply frightened.
"I recognize the period." Jagged drew a telescope from his robes. "Second Candlemaker's Empire, mainly based in Arcturus. This is a village by their standards. After all, Earth was merely a rural park during that time." He retreated into academe, his own response to fear.
Una craned her head. "Isn't that some sort of vehicle heading towards the city. From the moon — good heavens, they've spotted it already. Are they going to try to put the whole thing into a menagerie?"
Jagged had the advantage of the telescope. "I think not." He handed her the instrument.