Doctor Volospion had made no alterations to his force-screen since the Fireclown had passed beyond it. Mavis Ming moved through the eternal twilight of the castle's grounds, towards the dark and ragged hole in the wall of ice. On the other side of the hole she could see the brilliant scarlet of Emmanuel Bloom's ship.
      Gingerly she stepped through the gap, sensitive to the stillness and silence of her surroundings. She wished that Doctor Volospion had been able to accompany her, at least this far, but he was wary, he had told her, of the Fireclown suspecting treachery. If Bloom detected another presence it was likely that he would immediately restore his ship's defences.
      The teardrop-shaped ship was a red silhouette against a background of dark trees. Its airlock remained open, its ramp was down. She paused as she looked up at it.
      It was impossible from where she stood to see anything of the ship's interior, but she could smell a warm mustiness coming from the entrance, together with a suggestion of pale smoke. If she had not known otherwise, she might have suspected the Fireclown still inside. The ship was redolent of his presence.
      She spoke aloud, to dispel the silence. "Here goes, Mavis."
      She was wearing her blue and orange kimono over her bikini, for Doctor Volospion had warned her that it might be uncomfortably warm within the Fireclown's ship. She struggled up the pebbled surface of the ramp and hesitated again outside the entrance, peering in. It seemed to her that points of fire still flickered on the other side of the airlock's open door.
      "Coo-ee!" she said.
      She wet her lips. "What manner of creature is lord of this fair castle?" She reassured herself with the language of her favourite books. "Shall I find my handsome prince within? Or an ugly ogre…?" She shuddered. She looked back at the battlements and towers of gloomy Castle Volospion, hoping perhaps to see her protector, but the castle seemed entirely deserted. She drew a breath and entered the airlock. It was not quite so warm as she had been led to believe.
      She moved from the airlock into the true interior of the ship. She found herself pleasantly surprised by its ordinariness. It was as if firelight illuminated the large chamber, although the source of that light was mysterious.
      The rosy, flickering light cast her shadow, enlarged and distorted, upon the far wall. The chamber was in disorder, as if the shock of landing had dislodged everything from its place. Boxes, parchments, books and pictures were scattered everywhere; figurines lay dented or broken upon the carpeted floor; drapes, once used to cover portholes, hung lopsidedly upon the walls, which curved inwards.
      "What a lot of junk!" Her voice held more confidence. Apparently the place had been Mr Bloom's store-room, for there was no sign of furniture.
      She stumbled over crates and bales of cloth until she reached a companionway leading up to the next chamber. Doctor Volospion had told her that she would probably find the cup in the control room, which must be above. She climbed, pushed open a hatch, and found herself in a circular room which was lit very similarly to the storage chamber, but so realistically that she found herself searching for the open fireplace which seemed to be the source of the light.
      Save for a faint smell of burning timber, there was no sign of a fire.
      "Mavis," she said determinedly, "keep that imagination of yours well under control!"
      This room, as she had suspected, was the Fireclown's living quarters. It contained a good-sized bed, shelves, storage lockers, a desk, a chair and a screen whereby the occupant could check the ship's functions.
      She wiped sweat from her forehead, glancing around her.
      Against one wall, at the end of the bed, was a large metal ziggurat which looked as if it had once been the base for something else. Would this be where the cup was normally kept? If so, Emmanuel Bloom had hidden it and her job was going to be harder. On the wall were various pictures: some were paintings, others photographs and holographs, primarily of men in the costumes of many periods. On the wall, too, was a narrow shelf, about two feet long, apparently empty. She reached to touch it and felt something there. It was thin, like a long pencil. Curiously she rolled the object towards her until it fell into her hand. She was surprised.
      It was an old-fashioned riding crop, its tip frayed and dividing at one end; a silver head at the other. The head was beautifully made — a woman's face in what the Italians called the "stile Liberty." Mavis was impressed most by the look of ineffable tranquillity upon the features. The contrast between the woman's expression and the function of the whip itself disturbed Mavis so much that she replaced it hastily.
      Wishing that the light were stronger, she began to search for the cup or goblet (Doctor Volospion's description had been vague). First she looked under the bed, finding only a collection of books and manuscripts, many of them dusty.
      "This whole ship could do with a good spring-clean!" She searched through the wardrobe and drawers, finding a collection of clothes to match those worn by the men whose pictures decorated the wall. This sudden intimacy with Mr Bloom's personal possessions had not only whetted her curiosity about him — his clothes, to her, were much more interesting than anything he had said — but had somehow given her a greater sympathy for him.
      She began to feel unhappy about rummaging through his things; her search for the goblet began increasingly to seem like simple thievery.
      Her search became more rapid as she sought to find the Grail and leave as soon as she could. If she had not made a promise to Doctor Volospion she would have left the ship there and then.
      "You're a fool, Mavis. Everyone's told you. And do you ever listen?"
      As she opened a mahogany trunk, inlaid with silver and mother-of-pearl, the lid squeaked and, at the same time, she thought she heard a faint noise from below. She paused and listened, but there was no further sound. She saw at once that the trunk contained only faded manuscripts.
      Miss Ming decided to return to the store-room. The curiosity which had at first directed her energy was now dissipating, to be replaced by a familiar sense of panic.
      She felt her heart-rate increase and the ship seemed to give a series of little tremors, in sympathy. She returned to the companionway and lifted the hatch. She was halfway down when the whole ship shook itself like an animal, roared, as if sentient, and she was pressed back against the steps, clinging to the rail as, swaying from side to side, the ship took off.
      Sweating, Miss Ming turned herself round with difficulty and began to climb back towards the living quarters where she felt she would be safer. If her throat had been less constricted she would have screamed. The ship, she knew, was taking off under its own power. It was quite possible that she had activated it herself. Unless she could work out how to control it she would soon be adrift in the cosmos, floating through space until she died.
      And she would be all alone.
      It was this latter thought which terrified her most. She reached the cabin and crawled across the dusty carpet as the pressure increased, climbing onto the bed in the hope that it would cushion the acceleration effects.
      The sensations she was experiencing were not dissimilar to those she had experienced on her trip through time and, as such, did not alarm her. It was the prospect of what would become of her when the ship was beyond Earth's gravity which she could not bear to consider.
      It was not, she thought, as if there were many planets left in the universe. Earth might now be the only one.
      The pressure began to lift, but she remained face-down upon the bed ("these sheets could do with a wash," she was thinking) even when it was obvious that the ship was travelling at last through free space.
      "Oh, you've let yourself in for it this time, Mavis," she told herself. "You've been conned properly, my girl."
      She wondered if, for reasons of his own, Doctor Volospion had deliberately sent her into space. She knew his capacity for revenge. Had that silly tiff meant so much to him? He had beguiled her into suggesting her own trap, her own punishment, just because of a silly scratch on the hand!
      "What a bastard! What bastards they all are!" And what an idiot she had made of herself! It taught you never to be sympathetic to a man. They always used it against you. "That's Mavis all over," she continued, "trusting the world. And this is how the world repays you!" But there was little conviction in her tone; her self-pity was half-hearted. Actually, she realized, she was not feeling particularly bad now that there was a genuine threat to her life. All the little anxieties fled away.
      Miss Ming began to roll over on the bed. At least the ship itself was comfortable enough.
      "It's cosy, really." She smiled. "A sort of den. Just like when I was a little girl, with my own little room, and my books and dolls." She laughed. "I'm actually safer here than anywhere I've been since I grew up. It shouldn't be difficult to work out a way of getting back to Earth — if I want to go back. What's Earth got to offer, anyway, except deceit, hypocrisy and treachery?"
      She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She looked at her new home, all her new toys.
      "I think it's really what I've always wanted," she declared.
      "Now you realize that I spoke the truth!" said the triumphant voice of Emmanuel Bloom from the shadows overhead.
      "My God!" said Miss Ming as she realized the full extent of Doctor Volospion's deception.

      My Lady Charlotina rose from Doctor Volospion's bed and swiftly demolished her double (Doctor Volospion would only make love to pairs of women) before touching a power ring to adorn herself in white and cerise poppies. In the shadows of the four-poster Doctor Volospion lay relishing his several victories, a beautiful cup held in his hands. He turned the cup round and round, running his fingers over an inscription which he could not read, for it was in ancient English.
      "You doubt none of my powers now, I hope, My Lady Charlotina," he said.
      Her smile was slow. She knew he would have her speak of Jagged, perhaps make a comparison, but she did not have it in her to satisfy Volospion's curiosity. Lord Jagged was Lord Jagged, she thought.
      "I was privileged," she said, "to know your plan from the start and to see it work so smoothly. I am most impressed. First you incarcerated Miss Ming, then you lured Mr Bloom to your castle, then you pretended that his power was great enough to destroy your force-field, then you captured him, knowing that he would give anything to escape. You originally meant to hold him, of course, as one of your collection, but then you learned of the Grail…"
      "So I offered Miss Ming in exchange for the Grail. Thus he thought he took her from me without force and that she went willingly to him — for I did not, of course, explain to Mr Bloom that I had deceived Miss Ming."
      "So much deception! It is quite hard for me to follow!" She laughed. "What a match! The greatest cynic of our world (with the exception of Lord Shark who does not really count) pitted against the greatest idealist in the universe!"
      "And the cynic won," said Doctor Volospion. "As they always do."
      "Well, a cynic would draw that conclusion," she pointed out. "I had a liking for that Mr Bloom, though he was a bore."
      "As was Miss Ming."
      "Great bores, both."
      "And by one stroke I rid the world of its two most awful bores," said Doctor Volospion, in case she had not considered this achievement with the rest.
      "Exactly."
      Yawning, My Lady Charlotina drifted towards a dark window. "You have your cup. He has his queen."
      "Exactly."
      My Lady Charlotina looked up at the featureless heavens. No stars gleamed here. Perhaps they were all extinguished. She sighed.
      "My only regret," said Doctor Volospion as he carefully laid the cup upon his pillow and straightened his body, "is that I was not able to ask Mr Bloom the meaning of this inscription."
      "Doubtless a warning to the curious," she said "or an offer of eternal salvation. You know more about these things, Doctor Volospion."
      A cap appeared on his head. Robes formed. Black velvet and mink. "Oh, yes, they are always very similar. And often disappointingly ordinary."
      "It does seem a very ordinary cup."
      "The faithful would see that as a sign of its true holiness," he told her knowledgeably.
      From outside they detected a halloo.
      "It is Abu Thaleb," she said in some animation. "And Argonheart Po and some others. Li Pao, I think, is with them. Shall you admit them?"
      "Of course. They will want to see my cup."
      My Lady Charlotina and Doctor Volospion left his bedroom and went down to the hall to greet their guests.
      Doctor Volospion placed the cup upon the table. The ill-functioning neon played across its bright silver.
      "Beautiful!" said Abu Thaleb, without as much enthusiasm as perhaps Doctor Volospion would have wished. The Commissar of Bengal brushed feathers from his eyes. "A fitting reward for your services to us all, Doctor Volospion."
      Argonheart Po bore a tray in his great hands. He set this, now, beside the cup. "I am always thorough in my research," he said, "and hope you find this small offering appropriate." He removed the cloth to reveal his savouries. "That is a pemmican spear. This cross is primarily the flavour of sole a la creme. The taste of the wafers and the blood is rather more difficult to describe."
      "What an elegant notion!" Doctor Volospion took one of the savouries between finger and thumb and nibbled politely.
      Li Pao asked: "May I inspect the cup?"
      "Of course." Doctor Volospion waved a generous hand. "You do not, by any chance, read, do you, Li Pao? Specifically, Dawn Age English."
      "Once," said Li Pao. He studied the inscription. He shook his head. "I am baffled."
      "A great shame."
      "Does it do anything," wondered Sweet Orb Mace, moving from the shadows where he had been studying Doctor Volospion's portrait.
      "I think not," said My Lady Charlotina. "It has done nothing yet, at any rate."
      Doctor Volospion stared at his cup somewhat wistfully. "Ah, well," he said, "I fear I shall grow tired of it soon enough."
      My Lady Charlotina came to stand beside him. "Perhaps it will fill the room with light or something," she said encouragingly.
      "We can always hope," he said.

      Emmanuel Bloom swung himself from the ceiling, an awkward macaw. He no longer wore his paint and motley but was again dressed in his black velvet suit.
      Mavis Ming saw that he had entered by means of a hatch. Doubtless the control cabin of the ship was above.
      "My Goddess," said the Fireclown.
      She still sat on the edge of the bed. Her voice was without emotion. "You traded me for the cup. That's what it was all about. What a fool I am!"
      "No, not you. Doctor Volospion proposed the bargain and so enabled me to keep my word to him. He demanded the cup which I kept in my ship. I gave it to him." He strutted across the cabin and manipulated a dial. Red-gold light began to fill his living quarters. Now everything glowed and each piece of fabric, wood or metal seemed to have a life of its own.
      Mavis Ming stood up and edged away from the bed. She drew her kimono about her, over her pendulous breasts, her fat stomach, her wide thighs.
      "Listen," she began. She was breathing rapidly once more. "You can't really want me, Mr Bloom. I'm fat old Mavis. I'm ugly. I'm stupid. I'm selfish. I should be left on my own. I'm better off on my own. I know I'm always looking for company, but really it's just because I never realized…"
      He raised a stiff right arm in a gesture of impatience. "What has any of that to do with my love for you? What does it matter if foolish Volospion thought he was killing two birds with one stone when he was actually freeing two eagles?"
      "Look," she said, "if…"
      "I am the Fireclown! I am Bloom, the Fireclown! I have lived the span of Man's existence. I have made Time and Space my toys. I have juggled with chronons and made the multiverse laugh. I have mocked Reality and Reality has shrivelled to be re-born. My eyes have stared unblinking into the hearts of stars, and I have stood at the very core of the Sun and feasted on freshly created photons. I am Bloom, Eternally Blooming Bloom. Bloom the Phoenix. Bloom, the Destroyer of Darkness. These eyes, these large bulging eyes of mine, do you think they cannot see into souls as easily as they see into suns? Can they not detect an aura of pain that disguises the true centre of a being as smoke hides fire? That is why I choose to make you wise, to enslave you so that you may know true freedom."
      Miss Ming forced herself to speak. "This is kidnapping and kidnapping is kidnapping whatever you prefer to call it…"
      He ignored her.
      "Of all the beings on that wasteland planet, you were one of the few who still lived. Oh, you lived as a frightened rodent lives, your spirit perverted, your mind enshelled with cynicism, refusing for a moment to look upon Reality for fear that it would detect you and devour you, like a wakened lion. Yet when Reality occasionally impinged and could not be escaped, how did you respond?"
      "Look," she said, "you've got no right…"
      "Right? I have every right! I am Bloom! You are my Bride, my Consort, my Queen, my Goddess. There is no woman deserves the honour more!"
      "Oh, Christ!" she said. "Please let me go. Please, I can't give you anything. I can't understand you. I can't love you." She began to cry. "I've never loved anyone! No-one but myself."
      His voice was gentle. He took a few jerky steps closer to her. "You lie, Mavis Ming. You do not love yourself."
      "Donny said I did. They all said I did, sooner or later."
      "If you loved yourself," he told her, "you would love me."
      Her voice shook. "That's good…"
      To Mavis Ming's own ears her words were without resonance of any kind. The collection of platitudes with which she had always responded to experience; the borrowed ironies, the barren tropes with which, instinctively, she had encumbered herself in order to placate a world she had seen as essentially malevolent, all were at once revealed as the meaningless things they were, with the result that an appalling self-consciousness, worse than anything she had suffered in the past, swept over her and every phrase she had ever uttered seemed to ring in her ears for what it had been: A mewl of pain, a whimper of frustration, a cry for attention, a groan of hunger.
      "Oh…"
      She became incapable of speech. She could only stare at him, backing around the wall as he came, half-strutting, half-hopping, towards her, his head to one side, an appalling amusement in his unwinking, protuberant eyes, until her escape was blocked by a heavy wardrobe.
      She was incapable of movement. She watched as he reached a twitching hand towards her face; the hand was firm and gentle as it touched her and its warmth made her realize how cold, how clammy, her own skin felt. She was close to collapse, only supported by the wall of the ship.
      "The Earth is far behind us now," he said. "We shall never return. It does not deserve us." He pointed to the bed. "Go there. Remove your clothes."
      She gasped at him, trying to make him understand that she could not walk. She did not care, now, what his intentions were, but she was too exhausted to obey him.
      "Tired…" she said at last.
      He shook his head. "No. You shall not escape by that route, madam." He spoke kindly. "Come."
      The high-pitched ridiculous voice carried greater authority than any she had heard before. She began to walk towards the bed. She stood looking down at the sheets; the light made these, too, seem vibrant with life of their own. She felt his little clawlike hands pull the kimono from her shoulders, undo the tie, removing the garment entirely.
      She felt him break the fastening on her bikini top so that her breasts hung even lower on her body. She felt no revulsion, nothing sexual at all, as his fingers pushed the bikini bottom over her hips and down her legs. And yet she was more aware of her nakedness than she had ever been, seeing the fatness, the pale flesh, without any emotion at all, remarking its poor condition as if it did not belong to her.
      "Fat…" she murmured.
      His voice was distant. "It is of no importance, this body. Besides, it shall not be fat for very long."
      She began to anticipate his rape of her, wondering if, when he began, she would feel anything. He ordered her to lie face-down upon the bed. She obeyed. She heard him move away, then. Perhaps he was undressing. She turned to look, but he was still in his tattered velvet suit, taking something from a shelf. She saw that he held the whip in his hand, the one she had discovered earlier.
      She tried to feel afraid, because she knew that she should feel fear, but fear would not come. She continued to look up at him, over her shoulder, as he returned. Still her body made no response. This was quite unlike her fantasies of flagellation. What happened now excited neither her imagination nor her body. She wished that she could feel something, even terror. Instead she was possessed by a calmness, a sense of inevitability, unlike anything she had known.
      "Now," she heard him say, "I shall bring your blood into the light. And with it shall come the devils that inhabit it, to be withered as weeds in the sun. And when I have finished you will know Rebirth, Freedom, Dominion over the Multiverse, and more."
      Was it a mark of her own insanity that she could detect no insanity in his words?
      The whip fell upon her flesh. It struck her buttocks and the pain stole her breath. She did not scream, but she gasped.
      It struck again, just below the first place, and she thought his flames lashed her. Her whole body jerked, trying to escape, but a firm hand held her down again, and again the whip fell.
      She did not scream, but she groaned as she drew in her breath. The next stroke was upon her thighs, the next behind her knees, and his hands were cruel now as she struggled. He held her by the back of the neck; he gripped her by the shoulder, by the loose flesh of her waist, and each time he gripped her she knew fresh pain.
      Mavis Ming believed at last that it was Emmanuel Bloom's intention to flay her alive, to tear every piece of skin from her body. He held her lips, her ears, her breasts, her vagina, the tender parts of her inner thighs, and every touch was fire.
      She screamed, she blubbered for him to stop, she could not believe that he, any more than she, was any longer in control of what was happening. And yet the whip fell with a regularity which denied her even this consolation, until, at length, her whole body burned and she lay still, consumed.
      Slowly the fire faded from this peak of intensity and it seemed to her that, again, her body and her mind were united; this unity was new.
      Emmanuel Bloom said nothing. She heard him cross the chamber to replace the whip. She began to breathe with deep regularity, as if she slept. Her consciousness of her body induced an indefinable emotion in her. She moved her head to look at him and the movement was painful.