Jherek regretted that this was not one of the hymns Amelia Underwood had taught him when they had first lived together at his ranch. He should have liked to have joined in, since it was not possible to communicate with her. He hoped they would sing his favourite — All Things Bright and Beautiful — but somehow guessed they would not. He found the present one not to his taste, either in tune (it was scarcely more than a drone) or in words which, he thought, were somewhat in contrast to the expressions on the faces of the singers. As soon as the hymn was over, Jherek lifted up his head and began to sing in his high, boyish voice:
"Excellent sentiments, Mr. Carnelian." Harold Underwood's tone denied his words. He seemed upset. "However, we were in the middle of giving thanks for our salvation…"
"Bad manners? I am deeply sorry. It is just that I was so moved…"
"Ha!" said Mr. Underwood. "Though we have witnessed a miracle today, I cannot believe that it is possible to convert one of Satan's own hierarchy. You shall not deceive us now!"
"But you are deceived, Harold!" cried his wife. "I am sure of it!"
"Listen not to temptation, brothers," Harold Underwood told the policemen. "Even now they seek to divert us from the true way."
"I think you'd better be getting along, sir," said Inspector Springer to Jherek. "This is a private meeting and I shouldn't be surprised if you're not infringing the Law of Trespass. Certainly you could be said to be Causing a Disturbance in a Public Place."
"Did you really see a vision of God, Inspector Springer?" Jherek asked him.
"We did, sir."
"Amen," said Sergeant Sherwood and the twelve constables.
"Amen," said Harold Underwood. "The Lord has given us the Word and we shall take the Word unto all the peoples of the world."
"I'm sure you'll be welcome everywhere." Jherek was eager to encourage. "The Duke of Queens was saying to me only the other day that there was a great danger of becoming bored, without outside stimulus, such as we used to get. It is quite possible, Mr. Underwood, that you will convert us all."
"We return to our own world, sir," Sergeant Sherwood told him mildly, "as soon as we can."
"We have been into the very bowels of Hell and yet were saved!" cried one of the constables.
"Amen," said Harold Underwood absently. "Now, if you'll kindly allow us to continue with our meeting…"
"How do you intend to return to 1896, Harold?" implored Mrs. Underwood. "Who will take you?"
"The Lord," her husband told her, "will provide." He added, in his old, prissy voice: "I see you appear at last in your true colours, Amelia."
She blushed as she stared down at her dress. "A party," she murmured.
He pursed his lips and looked away from her so that he might glare at Jherek Carnelian. "Your master still has power here, I suppose, so I cannot command you…"
"If we're interrupting, I apologize again." Jherek bowed. "I must say, Mr. Underwood, that you seemed rather happier, in some ways, before your vision."
"I have new responsibilities, Mr. Carnelian."
"The 'ighest sort," agreed Inspector Springer.
"Amen," said Sergeant Sherwood and the twelve constables. Their helmets nodded in unison.
"You are a fool, Harold!" Amelia said, her voice trembling. "You have not seen God! The one who deceives you is closer to Satan!"
A peculiar, self-congratulatory smile appeared on Harold Underwood's features. "Oh, really? You say this, yet you did not experience the vision. We have been chosen, Amelia, by God to warn the world of the terrors to come if it continues in its present course. What's this? Are you jealous, perhaps, that you are not one of the chosen, because you did not keep your faith and failed to do your duty?"
She gave a sudden cry, as if physically wounded. Jherek took her in his arms, glaring back at Underwood. "She is right, you know. You are a cruel person, Harold Underwood. Tormented, you would torment us all!"
"Ha!"
"Amen," said Inspector Springer automatically. "I really" must warn you again that you're doing yourself no good if you persist in these attempts to disrupt our meeting. We are empowered, not only by the 'Ome Secretary 'imself, but by the 'Osts of 'Eaven, to deal with would-be trouble-makers as we see fit." He gave the last few words special emphasis and placed his fists on his waistcoated hips (his jacket was not in evidence, though his bowler hat was still on his head). "Get it?"
"Oh, Jherek, we must go!" Amelia was close to tears. "We must go home."
"Ha!"
As Jherek led her away the new missionaries stared after them for only a moment or two before returning to their service. They walked together up the yellow-brown metal pathway, hearing the voices raised again in song:
They came to where they had left the locomotive and, as she clambered onto the footplate, her hem in tatters, her clothes stained, she said tearfully. "Oh, Jherek, if there is a Hell, then surely I deserve to be consigned there…"
"You do not blame yourself for what has happened to your husband, Amelia?"
"Who else shall I blame?"
"You were blaming Jagged," he reminded her.
"Jagged's machinations are one thing; my culpability is another. I should never have left him. I have betrayed him. He has gone mad with grief."
"Because he loses you?"
"Oh, no — because his pride is attacked. Now he finds consolation in religious mania."
"You have offered to stay with him."
"I know. The damage is done, I suppose. Yet I have a duty to him, perhaps more so, now."
"Aha."
They began to rise up over the city. Another silence had grown between them. He tried to break it:
"You were right, Amelia. In my wanderings I found Brannart. He plots something with the Lat."
But she would not reply. Instead, she began to sob. When he went to comfort her, she shrugged him away.
"Amelia?"
She continued to sob until the scene of her party came in sight. There were still guests there, Jherek could see, but few. The Iron Orchid had not been sufficient to make them stay — they wanted Amelia.
"Shall we rejoin our guests…?"
She shook her head. He turned the locomotive and made for the thatched roof of their house, visible behind the cypresses and the poplars. He landed on the lawn and immediately she ran from the locomotive to the door. She was still sobbing as she ran up the stairs to her apartment. Jherek heard a door close. He sat at the bottom of the stairs pondering on the nature of this new, all-consuming feeling of despair which threatened to rob him of the ability to move, but he was incapable of any real thought. He was wounded, he knew self-pity, he grieved for her in her pain and he, who had always expressed himself in terms of action (her wish had ever been his command, even if he had misinterpreted her occasionally), could think of nothing, not the simplest gesture, which might please her and ease their mutual misery.