Naturally, I said nothing of this to President Gandhi. Instead, I frowned, pretending to consider what he had said tome.
I think I was a little mad, then. It seems so to me now. The strain of finding myself in yet another version of history, of being in no way in control of my own destiny, was probably what influenced me to seek to alter events in this world. Still, I will not try to justify myself. The fact remains that I had decided to become, if necessary, a murderer! I will leave it to you, the reader, to decide on what sort of morality it is that justifies such a decision.
At last I looked up at President Gandhi and said:
'When would I have to leave, sir?'
Gandhi seemed relieved. 'Within two weeks. I must select the other members of the mission.'
'Have you any idea, sir, what part Miss Persson has played in this?'
'No,' he admitted. 'No clear idea. It could be quite a large one, for all I know. She seems to have considerable influence with General Hood. She is an extremely enigmatic woman.'
I was bound to agree with him.
It was with great regret that I said good-bye to Captain Korzeniowski and the other friends I had made in Cape Town. All felt that I had been forced into this position and I wished that I might confide in them my secret decision, but of course it was impossible. To share a secret is to share a burden and I had no intention of placing any part of such a burden on the shoulders of anyone else.
President Gandhi was sending some of his best people to New Kumasi - ten men, three women and myself. The others were either of Asian or African origin or of mixed blood. As the only white I did not feel out of place in their company, for I had long since become used to the easy terms on which the races mingled in Bantustan. In his choice, President Gandhi had shown that he was a shrewd as well as an idealistic politician, for two of the members of the mission were military experts briefed to observe all they could of General Hood's war-making capacity and discover as much intelligence as possible in respect of his long-term military ambitions. All, with the possible exception of myself, believed heart and soul in Gandhi's ideals.
The day came when we were ferried up to the waiting aerial frigate. Its hull was a gleaming white and it hung in the deep, blue sky like some perfectly symmetrical cloud, with the plain, pale-green flag of Bantustan flying from its rigging.
Within moments of our going aboard, the ship dropped its anchor-cables and began to head north-west towards the shining waters of St Helena Bay.
I looked back at the slender spires of Cape Town and wondered if I should ever see that city or my friends again. Then I put such thoughts from my head and gave myself up to polite conversation with my colleagues, all of whom were speculating on what they would find in New Kumasi and
how we might expect to be treated if relations between New Ashanti and Bantustan became strained. None of us were used to dealing with despots who had absolute powers of life and death over their subjects.
Twenty-four hours passed as we crossed the greater part of western Africa and hung, at last, in the air over General Cicero Hood's capital.
It was very different from Cape Town. Those new buildings which had been erected were of a distinctly African character and not, I must admit, unpleasant to look upon. A preponderance of cylindrical shapes topped by conical roofs reminded one somewhat of the kind of huts found in a typical kraal in the old days - but these 'huts' were many storeys high and built of steel, glass, concrete and modern alloys. The city was unusual, too, in that it seemed to be walled in the medieval manner, and on the walls was evidence that New Kumasi had been designed as a fortress - large guns could be seen, as well as 'pillbox' emplacements. The grandiose, barbaric lion flag of the Ashanti Empire flew everywhere, and military airships cruised around the perimeters like guardian birds of prey. Here there were no monorails or moving pavements or any of the other public-transport amenities of Bantustan's cities, but it was a well-run metropolis, as far as one could see - very much under the control of the army. Indeed, half the people I saw, after we had landed, were in uniform - both men and women. There was no sign of poverty, but no sign, either, of the bountiful wealth of Cape Town. The majority of the population were Negro and the only whites I saw seemed to be doing fairly menial tasks (one or two of the porters at the aerodrome were European) but were not evidently ill-treated. There were very few private vehicles in the streets, but a good many public omnibuses of, for this world, a slightly old-fashioned sort, running off wire-born electrical current. Other than these, there were a good many military vehicles moving about. Huge land ironclads rolled up and down the thoroughfares, evidently taking precedence over other vehicles. These were chiefly of the globular pattern, mounted on a wheeled frame but able, at a pinch, to release themselves from the frame and roll under their own volition, their speed and course being checked by telescopic legs which could be extended from most points on the hull. I had heard of these machines, but had never seen one at close quarters. If released upon a town, or an enemy position, they were capable of flattening it in moments without firing a shot from their powerful steam-powered gatlings and electrical cannon. I could imagine the terror one might feel when such a monster came rolling towards one.
In contrast, the Guard of Honour which greeted us and escorted us to General Hood's headquarters was mounted on tall, white stallions, and the carriages into which we climbed were much more familiar to me than the rest of my colleagues-for they were horse-drawn, rather like the landaus of my own world. The nodding plumes of the Lion Guard horsemen flanking us, the discipline with which they sat their mounts, reminded me graphically of that world which I so longed to return to but which, now, I was reconciled never to seeing again.
The Imperial Palace of New Ashanti recalled, in its impressive beauty, what I had seen of the famous Benin culture. Like so many of the other buildings, it was cylindrical and topped by a conical roof which stretched beyond the walls, umbrella-fashion, and was supported by carved pillars forming a kind of cloister or arcade faced with ivory, gold, bronze and silver, affording shade for the many guards who surrounded it. Every modern material and architectural skill had been used in the building of the palace, yet it was undeniably African, showing hardly any evidence of European influence. I was to learn later that it had been Cicero Hood's firm policy to encourage what he called 'the practical arts' in his Empire, and to insist that their expression be distinctly African in conception. As one who had seen many foreign cities of Asia ruined by ugly European-style architecture, who regretted the passing of ethnic and traditional designs in buildings, as well as many other things, I welcomed this aspect of Hood's rule, if no other.
Having had some experience of the petty tyrants of India, I fully expected the Black Attila to behave as they behaved and to keep us waiting for hours in his anterooms before we were granted an audience, but we were escorted rapidly through the exquisitely decorated passages of the palace and into a wide, airy hall lit from above by large windows, its walls covered with friezes and bas-reliefs of traditional African design but showing the events of the recent past in terms of the heroic struggles and triumphs of the New Ashanti Empire. Hood himself was recognizable as featuring in several scenes, including the Conquest of Scandinavia, and -there were representations of land fleets, aerial battles, underwater skirmishes and the like, giving the panels a very strange appearance -a mingling of ancient and almost barbaric emotions with examples of the most modern technical achievements of mankind.