Times Without Number (14 page)

"A fortunate new year to you, my son," he said. "It's kind of you to
come calling when the year is still so young. I'd have thought you'd
be eager to return to the merrymaking in the palace -- " He broke off,
searching Don Miguel's face, and resumed in a more serious tone.
"Forgive me for jesting!" he exclaimed. "For I see by your expression
you're here on no light errand."
"Truth, Father -- I'm afraid. And so strange an errand, too, that I'm at
a loss to know how to convince you I'm neither drunk nor dreaming." Don
Miguel passed his tongue over dry lips." I think, though, you may take
me seriously if I say that I know which of our present-day company was
absent from the Mass tonight."
The smile vanished from Father Ramón's face. He said, "That's hardly
a matter for casual chat, my son. You had indeed better satisfy me of
your grounds for mentioning it."
"I'll try." Don Miguel swallowed hard. "You'll grant there's no normal
means I could find out by? You'll take my word that I haven't pried
into any secret records -- that I don't even know for certain such
records exist?"
"You puzzle me . . . But I'll accept your word. Continue."
"How then can I be positive that the present-day Licentiate you did not
serve at tonight's Mass was -- Don Arturo Cortés?"
There was a long pause. Father Ramón terminated it by reaching for a
black-bound Bible from a shelf at his side. On its front cover it bore a
cross embossed in gold. He set it on the table between them and nodded
for Don Miguel to sit down. Doing so, the latter laid one hand on the
book and with the other wiped perspiration from his forehead.
"There's something else I'm giving you my word about, Father," he resumed.
"I've never -- in this world as it is -- entered the restricted room of
the library. But I know, and you know, that at the court of King Mahendra
the White Elephant they have female gladiators who fight like Hashishin."
"You learned of them from Don Anuro?" snapped Father Ramón.
"No, I've never spoken to him about it. You must know there's little love
lost between him and me."
"Then who -- ?"
"You yourself, Father. You told me about them."
Once more there was a terrible silence. In the light of the lamps the
Jesuit's face gleamed like oiled parchment. But his voice was quite
level as he said, "You speak in riddles, yet you have not the air of a
madman. I must hear you out. Go on."
"You told me so that I could tell you now, in my turn, and so convince
you I'm not out of my mind. You made me party to a secret which would
gain your own attention."
"In that you've succeeded," admitted the Jesuit. "For good and sufficient
reasons the existence of this potential world you've mentioned has never
been advertised. Perhaps you can imagine why?"
"Because in that world the true faith is suppressed?" ventured Don Miguel.
"Correct. And there are other reasons, but that's the chief. So explain
your version of events."
Already, Don Miguel realised, his fantastic mind must have touched the
kernel of the matter. Already he must be aware that he was condemned to
the worst of all possible human predicaments: to judge actions of his
own that he had no knowledge of . . .
Aloud, he said, "First, Father, you must write a message to the future.
To ensure the security of our very world, you must issue instructions --
unquestionable orders, under the Great Seal of the Society -- that when
the day comes that Don Arturo is sent to celebrate Mass with the brothers
of another time than his own, he must be fetched from an earlier time
than usual. He must lose, as nearly as I can judge, three whole hours
from his evening. Above all, he must not be allowed to speak with the
Ambassador of the Confederacy or anyone else concerning the subject of
women as valiant fighters."
Father Ramón looked stricken. He said, "I will do as you ask. But tell
me why."
So, by pieces and scraps, Don Miguel did so.
When he had finished, Father Ramón sat for a long while in silence. At last
he stirred, his face perfectly white.
He said, "Yes. Yes, it could have happened. A venal and corrupt mind
panders to the whim of a monarch -- and the result is the slaughter
of thousands. You have performed a signal service to the Society,
my son. But no doubt you understand that your only reward must be a
dreadful nightmare of knowledge."
Don Miguel nodded. His voice thick, he said, "Worse yet than the
knowledge is my present ignorance! I feel like a leaf tossed on the
wind. Do I know what I have done -- now in this world -- during the
evening that's passed?"
"With caution and grace you'll establish that before any harm results,"
Father Ramón promised. "But . . . Well, do you wish to be free of what you
know? I can release you if you prefer -- what you remember is now clearly
non-existent, and it would be lawful to banish it from your brain."
Don Miguel hesitated. The idea was tempting, and he knew the process
nowadays would be quick and easy -- there were humane drugs developed
by the Holy Office for the relief of sincerely repentant criminals whose
guilt-feelings prevented them from becoming useful members of society.
But suddenly he said, amazed at himself, "No, Father. For you know what
I know now. And I feel it would somehow be unjust to leave you in sole
possession of this knowledge, sharing it with no one else."
"It is shared with God," the Jesuit reminded him gently. "But I thank
you, nonetheless. It seems to me a brave thing to say." He drew back
the book stamped with the cross and held it before him in both hands.
"I counsel you now, for your peace of mind, to return to the palace
reception. The longer you allow this memory of what did not happen to
dominate your mind, the longer you'll be ill at ease. Go back and see
for yourself that the palace stands unburned, that the King lives, that
your friend Don Felipe has not been shot full of arrows. In the end it
will become like a dream."
"Was it in truth nothing more?" Don Miguel insisted. Father Ramón gave
a skeletal smile.
"Tomorrow -- later today, rather, if you wish, come to me and I will
recommend you some texts in the library which treat of the powers and
limitations of the Adversary. It is possible for him to create convincing
delusions, but not to create reality. And it is always possible for
determined and upright men to penetrate those delusions."
He rose to his feet. Don Miguel did the same, then dropped to his knees
and bowed his head. When the priest had blessed him, he looked up.
"And you, Father? What are you going to do?"
"Write the message to the future, as you directed. Review certain
undesirable elements of vanity in the character of a prominent Licentiate.
Perhaps draft a scare-mongering article for publication in one of the
Society's journals, which no one will dare to dismiss as absurd thanks
to my not inconsiderable reputation. And also, of course, I shall pray."
He walked past Don Miguel and opened the door.
"Go with God, my son," he said.
IX
His mind churning, Don Miguel walked slowly along the cold passage which
connected the chapel to the adjacent palace. He could hear the sound of
the band performing again, and voices singing with it, and much laughter.
This was real.
Yet -- how
much
of what had happened to him had happened to no one else?
Had he spent this evening in Londres with Kristina, mingling with the
crowds? Clearly they had not encountered the feathered girl at Empire
Circle, but what had they done instead?
Was he in fact already at the reception?
That final shocking possibility stopped him in his tracks. With a shake
of his head he dismissed it. If not before now, then later, under the
direction of Father Ramón, the Society would take / have taken steps to
rectify any such paradox. He could clearly recall the precautions which
the technicians at the Headquarters Office had (not) carried out to
ensure he arrived within a minute or two of midnight in this rectified
reality. But he had overlapped with himself in one sense, of course,
because in the potential world at the corresponding moment to this he
had been with Father Ramón and Kristina at the Headquarters Office,
and here he was rejoining the party instead . . .
Wrestling with the insoluble problem threatened to give him a headache.
He snatched his attention back to his surroundings and realised that he
was now in a warm, well-lit, gaily-decorated corridor; he had regained
the interior of the palace. Any moment now he might emerge into a room
full of guests and find Kristina impatiently awaiting him on his return
from the Mass.
Or -- his heart sank at the prospect -- he might learn that she and he
had not slipped away together to the city, but had spent a miserably
dull evening making polite small-talk until she lost patience with him
and found an excuse to choose herself a livelier partner.
Father Ramón had counselled him to proceed with grace and caution.
The former he could not control, but he could certainly abide by the
latter. Instead of making directly for the main hall where the body of the
party was, he turned aside down another corridor where slaves were coming
and going with the traditional New Year breakfast on trays and trolleys,
and bowls of steaming mulled wine giving off a spicy aroma. This led
him to a sheltered alcove from which he could spy out the land before
showing himself.
By now the great hall was half as full as before. There was no sign of the
King, but at least one might presume he'd departed peacefully. Likewise
there was no Sign of the Ambassador of the Confederacy. But he spotted
the Prince Imperial, having a whale of a time with a pretty Mohawk girl
just in front of the bandstand, and there too was Red Bear slumped down
in a chair and holding court. He'd probably had to be sobered up forcibly
to take part in the Mass; imagine a Licentiate trying to get away with
that, but of course a General Officer --
"Miguel!"
He glanced round, startled. Coming towards him, smiling broadly, was
Don Felipe.
"Miguel, where've
you
been all evening?" He gave his friend a poke in
the ribs and a knowing wink. "Don't tell me, let me guess -- only I'd
better not say
what
I guess! I'm sure you've been enjoying yourself
anyway."
"Yes!" Don Miguel seized on the slim clue. "Have you been looking for
me, then?"
"Not especially," Don Felipe chortled. "I've had -- ah -- other things
to occupy me. But I did notice you were conspicuous by your absence."
"Then perhaps you'd better put me in the picture about what's been going
on," Don Miguel suggested, trying to adopt a blasé tone. "I -- ah might
have to cover my absence, mightn't I?"
Don Felipe's eyes grew round as O's. "Miguel, you don't mean . . .?
Why, you lucky so-and-so! Ingeborg's tremendous fun, but she's a little
on the young side for -- "
"Felipe!" Don Miguel interrupted sharply.
"All right, all right!" Don Felipe parodied repentance. "Never take a
lady's name in vain, and all that pow-wow . . . Well, make it snappy;
I'm in a hurry to get rid of the drink I've had and get back to
Ingeborg. Where did you lose touch?"
"Uh . . ." Don Miguel frowned. "Wasn't there some kind of a disagreement
between the royals and the Ambassador of the Confederacy?"
"Oh, that! Yes, it was pretty stormy for a while -- Red Bear was still
in fair possession of his faculties and rounded up a bunch of us to try
and provide a distraction. But it didn't help much, largely because your
old chum the Marquesa di Jorque kept starting all kinds of irrelevant
hares. In fact at one point it nearly came to a free fight about women's
rights. The real fly in the ointment, though, was Don Arturo, as you
might expect. Luckily for everyone he got mislaid at some stage. Drank
too much, I shouldn't wonder. Good Lord! Glutton for punishment, isn't
he? He's over there -- see? -- and isn't he just knocking it back!"
Don Miguel glanced in the direction Don Felipe indicated, and there
indeed was Don Arturo, pale as a ghost and trying apparently to restore
his colour by gulping glass after glass of red wine.
"So what happened after that?" Don Miguel said slowly.
"Oh, the subject got changed to something less controversial and when
the royals left about half past eleven and the Ambassador too, there
was laughing all round and handshaking and all kinds of friendliness.
Perfectly calm and in order. Miguel, forgive me but I
must
disappear!"
He vanished down the corridor, leaving Don Miguel to sigh with relief. It
really was all right, then. The only point which did still briefly puzzle
him was this: if the doyen of the diplomatic corps, the Ambassador from
the Confederacy, had left before midnight, it would presumably have been
to celebrate Mass at the embassy, and the rest of the foreign dignitaries
would have done the same. So why had Ingeborg remained -- would she have
stayed later than her father?
Then he remembered that, being of a heterodox faith, the Scandinavians
probably had different observances. In which case he stood an excellent
chance of locating Kristina and finding that they had indeed spent those
delightful few hours playing truant from the party. He was about to set
off happily in search of her when he glanced again in the direction of
Don Arturo.
No, there was one thing he must attend to before going to look for
Kristina. It was little enough to do for a man -- likeable or detestable
-- who had suffered one of the cruelest fates imaginable for anyone. He
must realise that he had lost part of his evening; he must know it was
due to no such commonplace cause as drinking himself into a stupor;
logically, then, he must be the first ( and may he be the only! --
added Don Miguel's mind silently) member of the Society to realise that
he was not celebrating the New Year Mass in his own time.
What justice was there in allowing him to suffer now that the consequences
of his heedless boasting had been swept into limbo?
Well, that was a matter to be left to the casuists, if they ever learned
about it. He was not, at least, as badly off as Father Ramón, who must
judge his own actions without having committed them. But he must be in
an agony of apprehension.