"Not by this method, I trust. In which direction are we heading?" She looked around her. "Roughly westwards, I would say. We might easily be in Surrey. Ah, well, the police will find us eventually. I am reconciled."
"In a world where Time seems so important," Jherek mused, "you'd think they would have more machines for manipulating it."
"Time manipulates us in this world, Mr. Carnelian."
"As, of course, it will, according to Morphail. You see the reason I came so urgently to find you, Mrs. Underwood, was that sooner or later we shall be plunged into the future, but the difference will be that we shall not be able to control our flight — we could land anywhere — we could be separated again."
"I do not quite follow you, Mr. Carnelian." She dangled her hand in the water in a gesture which, for her, was almost abandoned.
"Once you have travelled into the future, you cannot remain for long in the past, lest a paradox result. Thus time itself ejects those whose presence in certain ages would lead to confusion, an alteration of history or something like that. How we have managed to remain so long in this period is a mystery. Presumably we have not yet begun to produce dangerous paradoxes. But I think that the moment we do, then we shall be on our way."
"Are you suggesting that we shall have no choice?"
"I am. Thus we must make all speed to get back to my time, where you'll be happy. Admittedly, if we go into a future where time machines are less scarce, we should be able to make the journey in, as it were, several hops, but some of the periods between 1896 and the End of Time were exceptionally uncongenial and we could easily land in one of those."
"You are trying to convince me, then, that I have no alternative?"
"It is the truth."
"I have never known you to lie, Mr. Carnelian." She smiled that same smile again. "I have often prayed that you would! Yet if I had remained in my own time and said nothing of what had happened to me, refused to act according to what I knew of the future, I might have remained here forever."
"I suppose so. It might explain the instinct of some time travellers to speak as little of the future as possible and never to make use of their information. I have heard of these and it could be that they are 'allowed' by Time to stay where they wish. By and large, however, few can resist talking of their adventures, making use of their information. Of course, we wouldn't really know about the ones who said nothing, would we? That could explain the flaw in the Morphail Theorem."
"So — I shall say nothing and remain in 1896," she said. "By now Harold might have recovered his senses and if I tell the police that I was kidnapped by you I might not be charged as your accomplice. Moreover, if you disappear, then they'll never be able to prove you were the Mayfair Killer, somehow escaped from death. But we shall still need help." She frowned.
There came a scraping sound from beneath them.
"Aha!" she said. "We are in luck. The boat has run aground."
They disembarked onto a narrow, sandy path. From the path ran a steep bank on which grew a variety of yellow, blue and scarlet flowers. At the top of the bank was a white fence.
While Mrs. Underwood tidied her hair, using the river as a mirror, Jherek began to pick the flowers until he had quite a large bunch. His pursuit of a particularly fine specimen forced him to climb to the top of the bank so that he could then see what lay beyond the fence.
The bank went down to fields which were of a glowing green and oddly flat; and on the other side of the fields were a group of red-brick buildings, decorated with a number of rococo motifs in iron and stone. A tributary of the river ran alongside the buildings and in some of the more distant fields there were machines at work. The machines consisted of a heavy central cylinder from which extended about ten very long rods. As Jherek watched, the cylinders turned and the rods swung with them, distributing liquid evenly over the bright green fields. They were plainly agricultural robot workers; Jherek dimly remembered hearing about them in some malfunctioning record found in one of the rotted cities. He recalled that they had existed during the time of the Multitude Cultures, but he now knew enough about his particular period to be aware that they were still a rarity. This must then be something of an experimental project, he guessed. As such the buildings he could see could quite easily comprise a scientific establishment and, if so, there would be people there who would know how to go about procuring a time machine.
He was excited as he ran back down the bank, but he did not forget his priorities. He paused to arrange the flowers and, when she stood up from her toilet, turning towards him, he presented the bunch.
"A little late, I fear," he said. "But here they are! Your flowers, Mrs. Underwood."
She hesitated for a moment and then reached out to take them. "Thank you, Mr. Carnelian." Her lips trembled.
He looked searchingly at her face. "Your eyes —" he said — "they seem wet. Did you splash some water into your face?"
She cleared her throat and put fingers first to one eye and then the other. "I suppose I did," she agreed.
"I believe that we are a little closer to our goal," he told her, pointing back up the bank. "It will not be long now before we are back in my own age and you can take up my 'moral education' where you were forced to leave it, when you were snatched from my arms."
She shook her head and her smile, now, seemed a little warmer. "I sometimes wonder if you are deliberately naive, Mr. Carnelian. I have told you — my duty is to return to Harold and try to ease his mind. Think of him! He is not — not a flexible man. He must be in agony at this moment."
"Well, if you wish to return, we will both go. I will explain to him in more detail…"
"That would not help. Somehow we must ensure your safety, then I will go to him on my own."
"And after that, you will come to me?"
"No, Mr. Carnelian."
"Even though you love me?"
"Yes, Mr. Carnelian. And, I say again. I have not confirmed what I said at a time when I was not altogether in my right senses. Besides, Mr. Carnelian, what if I did love you? I have seen your world — your people play at real life — your emotions are the emotions of actors — sincere for the moment that they are displayed on stage before the public. Knowing this, how would I feel if I did love you? I would be aware that your love for me is nothing but a sentimental imposture, pursued, admittedly, with a certain persistence, but an imposture none the less."
"Oh, no, no, no!" His large eyes clouded. "How could you think that?"
They stood in silence upon the bank of the tranquil river. Her eyes were downcast as she looked at the flowers; her delicate hands stroked the petals; she breathed rapidly. He took a step towards her and then stopped. He thought for a moment, before he spoke.
"Mrs. Underwood?"
"Yes, Mr. Carnelian?"
"What is an imposture?"
She looked up in surprise and then she laughed. "Oh, dear, Mr. Carnelian! Oh dear! What are we to do?"
He took her hand and she did not resist him. He began to lead her up the bank. "We'll go to the people who live in the laboratories I've just spotted. They'll help us."
"Laboratories. How do you know?"
"Robot workers. You don't have many in 1896, do you?"
"We have none at all, as far as I've heard!"
"Then I am right. It is of an experimental nature. We shall find scientists there. And scientists will not only understand what I have to say — they'll be more than glad to be of assistance!"
"I am not at all sure, Mr. Carnelian — Oh!" She had reached the fence, she was looking at the scene below them. First she blushed and then she laughed. "Oh, Mr. Carnelian, I'm afraid your hopes are unjustified. I wondered what the smell might be…"