7. In Which a Man is made

Lord Jagged remained away from Canaria for many days, but Dafnish Armatuce was patient. Every morning Miss Ming, punctual in arriving, would take Snuffles on some new jaunt, and she was careful to return at the agreed hour, when a joyful boy would be reunited with a mother who was perhaps not so unrelaxed as she had once been; then Miss Ming, with the air of one who has performed a pleasant duty, would retire, leaving them to spend the remainder of the afternoon together. If Dafnish Armatuce thought she detected an unwelcome change in her son's attitude to certain values she held dear, she told herself that this was unreasonable fear, that she would be harming the boy's development if she interfered too much with his ideas. She hardly listened to his words as he described his latest escapades with his friend, but the animation in his voice was music and the sparkle in his eye was sweet to see, and experience, she told herself, would teach him reverence.

She returned to her private valley time after time, glad that whoever had created it had forgotten it or had, for some reason, omitted to dissimilate it. Here, and only here, could she show the whole Dafnish Armatuce to the world, for here there were none to judge her, to quiz her as to why she spoke or sang, laughed or wept. Her favourite maxims she told to trees; her secret fears were confided to flocks of sheep; and stones were audience to her hopes or dreams. Long for Armatuce she might, but she did not despair.

Her confidence repaired, she was also able to visit those she chose, and most frequently she visited Sweet Orb Mace, who welcomed her, observing to his friends that she was much improved, that she had learned to accept what life at the End of Time could offer. A few fellow time travellers, also noticing this improvement, guessed that she had found a lover and that her lover was none other than haughty Lord Jagged. As a consequence she was often questioned as to her host's whereabouts (for there was always such speculation where Lord Jagged was concerned), but, while she was not aware of the rumours, she kept her own counsel and added no flax to Dame Gossip's wheel. She courted Sweet Orb Mace (another, but less heavily backed contender for the title of Lover) for the simple reason that he possessed her time machine. He allowed her to inspect it, to linger in its cabin when she wished. She reassured him: She could not attempt to use it, her concern for Snuffles' well-being overriding any desire she might have to return to Armatuce. But, privately, she hoped; and should it be foolish to hope against all evidence, then Dafnish Armatuce was foolish.

If she had not found happiness, she had found a certain contentment, during the month which passed, and this gave her greater tolerance for herself, as well as for their society. Two more time travellers arrived in that month, and, perhaps unluckier than she, were snapped up, one for Doctor Volospion's menagerie, which he was patiently restocking, one for My Lady Charlotina's great collection. Dafnish spoke to both, and both agreed that they had little difficulty reaching the Future but that the Past (meaning their own period) had been denied them. She refused to be depressed by the information, consoling herself with the prospect of Jagged's help.

This equilibrium might have been maintained for many more such months had not Miss Ming betrayed (in Dafnish's terms) her trust.

It happened that Dafnish Armatuce, returning from visiting Brannart Morphail, the scientist (a visit cut short by the old misanthrope himself), passed in her air car over an area of parkland still occupied by the remnants of small Gothic palaces and towns which had been constructed, during a recent fad for miniatures, by the Duke of Queens. And there she observed two figures, which she recognized as those of Snuffles and Miss Ming, doubtless playing one of their fanciful games. Noting that it was almost time for Miss Ming to bring Snuffles home, Dafnish decided that she would save Miss Ming the trouble and collect him there and then. So the sphinx car sank to Earth at her command and she crossed a flower-strewn lawn to bend and enter the dim interior of the little chateau into which she had seen them go as she landed.

Having no wish to take them by surprise, she called out, but came upon them almost immediately, to discover Miss Ming dabbing hastily at Snuffles' face. In the poor light it was difficult to see why she dabbed, but Dafnish assumed that the lad had, as usual, been eating some confection of which she might have disapproved.

She chuckled. "Oh, dear. What have you two been up to while my back was turned?" (This whimsicality more for Miss Ming's sake than her son's). She reached out her hand to the boy, whose guilty glance at Miss Ming seemed more imploring than was necessary, and led him into the sunlight.

She quelled the distaste she felt for the long red robes of velvet and lace in which Miss Ming had clothed him (Miss Ming herself wore tights and doublet) but could not resist a light: "What would they make of you in Armatuce?" and wondered why he kept his face from her.

Turning to Miss Ming, who had a peculiar expression upon her own features, she began, "I'll take him —" And then her voice died as she saw the smeared rouge, the mascara, the eye shadow, the paint with which Miss Ming had turned the child's face into a parody of a female adult's.

Shocked, she trembled, unable to speak, staring at Miss Ming in accusation and horror.

Miss Ming tried to laugh. "We were playing Princes and Princesses. There was no harm meant…"

The boy began to protest. "Mama, it was only a game."

All she could do was gasp, "Too far. Too far," as she dragged him to the air car. She pushed him roughly in, climbed in herself and stood confronting the ridiculous woman. She tensed herself to reduce the shaking in her body and she drew a deep breath. "Miss Ming," she said carefully, "you need not call tomorrow."

"I hardly think," said Miss Ming. "I mean, I feel you're over-reacting, aren't you? What's wrong with a little fantasy?"

"This," indicating the cosmetics on the frightened face, "is not what children do!"

"Of course they do. They love to dress up and play at being big people."

"I thought, Miss Ming, you played at children. You are a corrupt, foolish woman. I concede that you are unaware of your folly, but I cannot have my child influenced any longer by it. I admit my own stupidity, also. I have been lazy. I allowed myself to believe that your nonsense could do Snuffles no harm."

"Harm? You're overstating…"

"I am not. I saw you. I saw the guilt. And I saw guilt on my boy's face. There was never guilt there before, in all the years of his life."

"I've nothing to be ashamed of!" protested Miss Ming as the air car rose over her head. "You're reacting like some frustrated old maid. What's the matter, isn't Lord Jagged —?" The rest faded and they were on course again for Canaria.

Metal servants gently bathed the boy as soon as they arrived. Slowly the cosmetics disappeared from his skin, and Dafnish Armatuce looked at him with new eyes. She saw a pale boy, a boy who had become too fat; she saw lines of self-indulgence in his face; she detected signs of greed and arrogance in his defiant gaze. Had all this been put there by Miss Ming? No, she could not blame the silly woman. The fault was her own. Careful not to impose upon him the strictures which she imposed upon herself, she had allowed him to indulge appetites which, perhaps, she secretly wished to indulge. In the name of Love and Tolerance she, not Ming, had betrayed Trust.

"I have been unfair," she murmured as the robots wrapped him in towels. "I have not done my duty to you, Snuffles."

"You'll let me play with Miss Ming tomorrow, mama?"

She strove to see in him that virtue she had always cherished, but it was gone. Had it gone from her, too?

"No," she said quietly.

The boy became savage. "Mama! You must! She's my only friend!"

"She is no friend."

"She loves me. You do not!"

"You are that part of myself I am allowed to love," she said. "That is the way of the Armatuce. But perhaps you speak truth, perhaps I do not really love anything." She sighed and lowered her head. She had, she thought, become too used to crying. Now the tears threatened when they had no right to come.

He wheedled. "Then you will let me play with Miss Ming?"

"I must restore your character," she said firmly. "Miss Ming is banished."

"No!"

"My duty —"

"Your duty is to yourself, not to me. Let me go free!"

"You are myself. The only way in which I could give you freedom is to let you come to adult status…"

"Then do so. Give me my life-right."

"I cannot. It serves the Armatuce. The race. We have to go back. At least we must try."

"You go. Leave me."

"That is impossible. If I were to perish, you would have no means of sustenance. Without me, you would die!"

"You are selfish, mama! We can never go back to Armatuce."

"Oh, Snuffles! Do you feel nothing for that part of you which is your mother?"

He shrugged. "Why don't you let me play with Miss Ming?"

"Because she will turn you into a copy of her fatuous, silly self."

"And you would rather I was a copy of a prude like you. Miss Ming is right. You should find yourself a friend and forget me. If I am doomed to remain a child, then at least let me spend my days with whom I choose!"

"You will sleep now, Snuffles. If you wish to continue this debate, we shall do so in the morning."

He sulked, but the argument, the effort of thinking in this way, had tired him. He allowed the robots to lead him off.

Dafnish Armatuce also was tired. Already she was debating the wisdom of allowing herself to react as she had done. No good was served by insulting the self-justifying Miss Ming; the boy lacked real understanding of the principles involved. She had been guilty of uncontrolled behaviour. She had failed, after all, to maintain her determination, her ideals. In Armatuce there would be no question of her next decision, she would have applied for adult status for her son and, if it had been granted, so settled the matter. But here…"

And was she justified in judging Miss Ming a worse influence than herself? Perhaps Miss Ming, in this world, prepared Snuffles for survival? But she could not support such an essentially cynical view. Miss Ming was disliked by all, renowned for her stupidity. Lord Jagged would make a better mentor; Sweet Orb Mace, indeed, would make a better mentor than Miss Ming.

All the old confusion swam back into her mind, and she regretted bitterly her misguided tolerance in allowing Miss Ming to influence the boy. But still she felt no conviction; still she wondered whether self-interest, loneliness — even jealousy — had dictated her actions. Never before had she known such turmoil of conscience.

That night the sleep of Dafnish Armatuce was again disturbed, and there were dreams, vague, prophetic and terrible, from which she woke into a reality scarcely less frightening. Before dawn she fell asleep again, dreaming of her husband and her co-workers in Armatuce. Did they condemn her? It seemed so.

She became aware, as she slept, that there was pressure on her legs. She tried to move them, but something blocked them. She opened her eyes, sought the obstruction, and saw that Miss Ming sat there. She was prim today. She wore black and blue; muted, apologetic colours. Her eyes were downcast. She twisted at a cuff.

"I came to apologize," said Miss Ming.

"There is no need." Her head ached; the muscles in her back were knotted. She rubbed her face. "It was my fault, not yours."

"I was carried away. It was so delightful, you see, for me. As a girl I had no chums."

"I understand. But," more gently, "you still intrude, Miss Ming."

"I know you, too, must be very lonely. Perhaps you resent the fact that your son has a friend in me. I don't mean to be rude, but I've thought it over lots. I feel I should speak out. You shouldn't be unkind to Snuffles."

"I have been. I shall not be in future."

Miss Ming frowned. "I thought of a way to help. It would give you more freedom to live your own life. And I'm sure Snuffles would be pleased…"

"I know what to do, Miss Ming."

"You wouldn't punish him! Surely!"

"There is no such thing as punishment in Armatuce. But I must strengthen his character."

A tear gleamed. Miss Ming let it fall. "It's all my fault. But we were good friends, Dafnish, just as you and I could be good friends, if you'd only…"

"I need no friends. I have Armatuce."

"You need me!" The woman lurched forward, making a clumsy attempt to embrace her. "You need me!"

The wail was pathetic and Dafnish Armatuce was moved to pity as she pushed Miss Ming by her shoulders until she had resumed her original position on the bed. "I do not, Miss Ming."

"The boy stands between us. If only you'd let him grow up normally!"

"Is that what you were trying to achieve?"

"No! We were both misguided. I sought to please you , don't you see? You're so proud, such an egotist. And this is what I get. Oh, yes, I was a fool."

"The customs of the Armatuce are such," said Dafnish evenly, "that special procedures must be taken before a child is allowed adult status. There is no waste in Armatuce."

"But this is not Armatuce." Miss Ming was sobbing violently. "You could be happy here, with me, if you'd only let me love you. I don't ask much. I don't expect love in return, not yet. But, in time…"

"The thought is revolting to me!"

"You suppress your normal emotions, that's all!"

She said gently: "I am an Armatuce. That means much to me. I should be obliged, Miss Ming, if…"

"I'm going!" The woman rose, dabbing at her eyes. "I could help. Doctor Volospion would help us both. I could…"

"Please, Miss Ming."

Miss Ming looked up imploringly. "Could I see Snuffles? One last time?"

Dafnish relented. "To say goodbye to the child? Yes. Perhaps you could help me —"

"Anything!"

"Tell him to remember his destiny. The destiny of an Armatuce."

"Will he understand?"

"I hope so."

"I'll help. I want to help."

"Thank you."

Miss Ming walked unsteadily from the room. Dafnish Armatuce heard her footsteps in the corridor, heard her enter Snuffles' chamber, heard the child's exclamation of pleasure. She drew a deep breath and let it leave her slowly. With considerable effort she got up, washed and dressed, judging, now, that Miss Ming had had a fair allotment of time with the boy.

As she entered the brown and yellow hall, she glanced across to Lord Jagged's door. It was open. She hesitated, and as she did so, Lord Jagged appeared, looking less tired than he had before, but more thoughtful.

"Lord Jagged!"

"Aha, the admirable Dafnish!" His smile was soft, almost melancholy. "Do you enjoy your stay at Canaria? Is all to your liking?"

"It is perfect, Lord Jagged, but I would go home."

"You cannot. Are you still unconvinced?"

"When we last met — that night — you said something concerning the fabric of Time. The Laws, hitherto regarded as immutable, were not operating as expected?"

"I was weary. I should not have spoken."

"But you did. Therefore can I not request a fuller explanation?"

"I would raise hope where none should be permitted."

"Can I not judge?"

He shrugged, his high, grey collar almost swallowing the lower half of his face. His slim hands fingered his lower lip. "Very well, but I must ask secrecy from you."

"You have it. I am an Armatuce."

"There is little I can tell you, save this: Of late the sturdy, relentless structure of Time, which has always, so far as we know, obeyed certain grim Laws of its own, has begun to show instabilities. Men have returned to the past and remained there for much longer periods than was thought possible. By contravening the Laws of Time, they have further weakened them. There are disruptions — distortions — anomalies. I hope to discover the true cause, but every passage through Time threatens the fabric further, producing paradoxes which, previously, Time refused to allow. So far no major disaster has occurred — history remains history — but there is a danger that history itself will be distorted and then — well, we all might suddenly vanish as if we had never been!"

"Is that possible? I have listened to such speculation, but it has always seemed pointless."

"Who knows if it is possible? But can we take the risk? If, say, you were to return to Armatuce and tell them what the future held, would that not alter the future? You are familiar with these arguments, of course."

"Of course. But I would tell them nothing of your world. It would be too disturbing."

"And your boy? Children are not so discreet."

"He is an Armatuce. He would be silent."

"No, no. You risk your lives by moving against the current."

"Our lives are for Armatuce. They serve no purpose here."

"That is a difficult philosophy for one such as I to comprehend."

"Let me try!"

"Your boy would go with you?"

"Of course. He would have to."

"You'd subject him to the same dangers?"

"Here, his soul is endangered. Soon he will be incapable of giving service. His life will be worthless."

"It is a harsh, materialist assessment of worth, surely?"

"It is the way of the Armatuce."

"Besides, there is the question of a time vessel."

"My own is ready. I have access to it."

"There are only certain opportunities, when the structure wavers…"

"I should wait for one. In the machine."

"Could you not leave the child, at any rate?"

"He would not be able to exist without me. I grant his life-right. He is part of me."

"Maternal instincts…"

"More than that!"

"If you say so." He shook his head. "It is not my nature to influence another's decisions, in the normal course of things. Besides, no two consciences are alike, particularly when divorced by a million or two years." He shook his head. "The fabric is already unstable."

"Let me take my son and leave! Now! Now!"

"You fear something more than the strangeness of our world." He looked shrewdly into her face, "What is it that you fear, Dafnish Armatuce?"

"I do not know. Myself? Miss Ming? It cannot be. I do not know, Lord Jagged."

"Miss Ming? What harm could that woman do but bore you to distraction? Miss Ming?"

"She — she has been paying court to me. And, in a way, to my child. In my mind she has become the greatest threat upon the face of this planet. It is monstrous of me to permit such notions to flourish, but I do. And because she inspires them, I hate her. And because I hate her, why, I detect something in myself which must resemble her. And if I resemble her, how can I judge her? I, Dafnish Armatuce of the Armatuce, must be at fault."

"This is complicated reasoning. Perhaps too complicated for sanity."

"Oh, yes, Lord Jagged, I could be mad. I have considered the possibility. It's a likely one. But mad by whose standards? If I can go back to Armatuce, let Armatuce judge me. It is what I rely upon."

"I'll agree to debate this further," he said. "You are in great pain, are you not, Dafnish Armatuce?"

"In moral agony. I admit it."

He licked his upper lip, deliberating. "So strange, to us. I had looked forward to conversations with you."

"You should have stayed here, then, at Canaria."

"I would have liked that, but there are certain very pressing matters, you know. Some of us serve, Dafnish Armatuce, in our individual ways, to the best of our poor abilities." His quiet laughter was self-deprecating. "Shall we breakfast together?"

"Snuffles?"

"Let him join us when it suits him."

"Miss Ming is with him. They say their farewells."

"Then give them the time they need."

She was uncertain of the wisdom of this, but with the hope of escape, she could afford to be more generous to Miss Ming. "Very well."

As they sat together in the breakfast room, she said, "You do not believe that Miss Ming is evil, do you, Lord Jagged?" She watched him eat, having contented herself with the treat of a slice of toast.

"Evil is a word, an idea, which has very little resonance at the End of Time, I'm afraid. Crime does not exist for us."

"But crime exists here."

"For you, Dafnish Armatuce, perhaps. But not for us."

She looked up. She thought she had seen something move past the window, but she was tired; her eyes were faulty. She gave him her attention again. He had finished his breakfast and was rising, wiping his lips. "There must be victims, you see," he added.

She could not follow his arguments. He had become elusive once more, almost introspective. His mind considered different, to him more important, problems.

"I must go to the boy," she said.

All at once she had his full attention. His grey, intelligent eyes penetrated her. "I have been privileged, Dafnish Armatuce," he said soberly, "to entertain you as my guest."

Did she blush then? She had never blushed before.

He did not accompany her back to the apartments, but made his apologies and entered the bowels of the building, about his own business again. She went swiftly to the room, but it was empty.

"Snuffles!" She called out as she made her way to her own chamber. "Miss Ming."

They were gone.

She returned to the breakfast room. They were not there. She ran, panting, to the air car hangar. She ran through it into the open, standing waist-high in the corn, questing for Miss Ming's own car. The blue sky was deserted. She knew, as she had really known since finding her son's room absented, that she had seen them leaving, seen the car as it flashed past the window.

She calmed herself. Reason told her that Miss Ming was merely taking Snuffles on a last impulsive expedition. It was, of course, what she might have suspected of the silly woman. But the dread would not dissipate. An image of the boy's painted features became almost tangible before her eyes. Her lips twisted, conquering her ability to arrange them, and it seemed that frost ate at the marrow of her bones. Fingers caught in hair, legs shook. Her glance was everywhere and she saw nothing but that painted face.

"Snuffles!"

There was a sound. She wheeled. A robot went by bearing the remains of the breakfast.

"Lord Jagged!"

She was alone.

She began to run through the yellow and brown corridors until she reached the hangar. She climbed into her air car and sat there, unable to give it instructions, unable to decide in which direction she should search first. The miniature palaces of yesterday? Were they not a favourite playground for the pair? She told the car its destination, ordered maximum speed.