“I know, but they don’t suit me,” said Torquil. “Shall we go?”
The cathedral was dusky and empty. The ladies and the verger had gone. Torquil tapped the west door with his crozier, and it swung open to show the floodlights on, shining steadily and without sparks, and the blistered and battered digger standing at the bottom of the steps. “I refuse utterly to ride in that thing,” Torquil said.
“Refuse to ride in your hearse,” said Erskine. “Hate funerals.”
“Let’s walk,” Howard said hurriedly. “It’s no distance.”
They walked, through the blue dusk, until they came to the supermarket in Church Row that stayed open late on Saturdays. Torquil said to Howard and Awful, “Wait here for us.” The two of them stood and watched through the windows while Torquil and Erskine went into the shop. At the door Torquil raised his crozier. Instantly every soul in the supermarket froze, in whatever position he happened to be at that moment. Some of the positions looked rather uncomfortable. Torquil nodded at Erskine, and the two of them went around, gathering things off the shelves. Torquil did the gathering. Erskine held the things—a mighty armful by the end.
“You could do that,” Awful said thoughtfully. “Will you do it for me in a toyshop before Christmas?”
“No,” said Howard.
“Why?” said Awful.
“Shops are Torquil’s,” said Howard. But that was not the real reason. It was that glimpse of Awful coming up the steps into the future, when she had suddenly looked so like Shine. Erskine was right to say Awful was a chip off the old block. She was. And Howard was determined not to let her grow up a bad lot like the rest of them.
Inside the supermarket Torquil was coming sailing toward the door. Erskine, loaded as he was, put out a long leg and contrived to hook his boot around Torquil’s black silk ankle. Torquil looked back in surprise. Erskine nodded to the cash desk, where the check-out girl was frozen with one hand in the air. Torquil shrugged. He stretched out his crozier and tapped the girl’s outstretched palm with it. A large pink check appeared there. Erskine bent to look at it and nodded, and the two of them came on out of the shop. Behind them everyone came to life again. The check-out girl looked at the pink check in her hand, rather puzzled, and then put it away in her cash drawer.
“Honestly, Erskine,” Torquil was saying as they came out. “I don’t always forget to pay. I remember quite often. Howard, take some of this load off him. It’s making him grumpy.”
They all were carrying things before long. By the time they turned off the beautiful new surface of Upper Park Street down the passage of number 10 even Torquil was delicately carrying a frozen chicken which had slithered out of Erskine’s arms as he turned the corner. Howard had to balance his load on his knee, like Anne Moneypenny, to open the kitchen door.
Catriona and Quentin sprang up with cries of relief, and Catriona ran to hug Howard, load and all. Ginger Hind stood up, too, painfully, and took the cotton wool from his second black eye in order to grin at Howard. Behind the shouting and confusion, Howard heard Torquil say guiltily, “Woops!” and thump his crozier on the doorstep. The drums in the cellar stopped beating at last.
“Not you again!” Quentin said to Erskine. Then as Torquil, too, stooped under the door and came in, he said, “Good God!”
Torquil bowed to Quentin. He swept up to Catriona. “I apologize,” he said, and kissed her on both cheeks. Since Catriona was not the kind of lady this happened to much, she was flabbergasted and could not think what to say.
Erskine dumped his load of food on the table. “Come to say sorry,” he said. “Business meeting.” Then, in his usual way, he marched on through the house to Quentin’s study. Howard followed him there, and together they took a look at what Archer had done to the new red typewriter. “Seems good,” Erskine said. “Should work.”
Howard knew it was better than good. Archer, in his way, was a genius. Even as Venturus, Howard knew he would not have been able to fix that typewriter half as well.
“Everyone, as always, is welcome to help himself to all I own,” Quentin said, following them in, “but I’m still not clear this applies to Goons. Just what is going on now?”
Howard grinned at him fondly. Quentin might have his faults, but he had been right about Archer. He was right about the right things. “I need some more words from you, Dad,” he said. “And this time they have to be good.”
Chapter Sixteen
Howard changed his boots at last. He had to throw his socks away, too. The left one had stuck to his foot, and he was even thinking of washing his feet when Awful shouted that the feast Torquil had provided was ready. Howard hurried downstairs then because he wanted to be the one who explained everything to Quentin and Catriona. He wanted to do it without telling Quentin that his words had been useless all this time.
He was halfway through this tricky task when Torquil said, “Oh, but surely—” and stopped with a yelp. Erskine had kicked his shin. Howard thought he was probably the only one who noticed. Torquil went white with agony, but he had the sense not to say anything else.
Ginger was being equally tight-lipped. He kept protesting that Shine had not hurt him at all. “That’s not true, Howard!” Catriona said. “You should have seen him when he came in!” She was so concerned about Ginger that Awful got jealous and threatened loudly to be bad.
And bad she would have been had not a voice spoken suddenly out of the plughole of the sink. “Erskine!” it said hollowly. “Are you there?”
Awful’s face shone. “That’s Hathaway!” She scrambled from her chair and rushed to the sink. “Hallo, Hathaway!” she called. “Can you hear me?”
“Very piercingly,” said the hollow voice. “Erskine?”
“Here,” said Erskine, leaning his elbows on the sink. “Done it?”
“I have indeed!” The plughole gave a windy laugh. “I spoke to Shine first. She was beating some wretched lad, who ran away when I spoke—for which she was disposed to blame me until I gave my news. Venturus, I told her, had formed a plot with Archer and Dillian to imprison the rest of us and take a third each of the world. I told her that their means to do this was a ship belonging to Venturus, where they would meet at nine tonight. For that purpose Venturus would bring the ship into the present day for a short while then. And I besought her to go there for me since I was fixed in the past.”
Erskine laughed. “Shine react?”
“She certainly did!” said Hathaway’s hollow voice. “That Archer should plot with Dillian was too much for her to bear. She will be there. Then I spoke with Dillian. This is why I have been so long. I gave her the story that Shine plotted with Archer and Venturus, ditto, ditto, and she would not at first believe me. I was forced to invent many circumstances—I have not lied so much since I moved here—but it came to seem to me that Dillian would also go, not because of Shine or Archer, but because she has always feared and dreaded Venturus. Erskine, tell Howard to keep out of her way.”
“Will do,” said Erskine. “Want to watch tonight?”
“Torquil can tell me,” Hathaway said windily, “when he comes to visit.”
Torquil leaned over the sink, too. “I’ll come straight on to you,” he said. “But I warn you—if it goes wrong, I shall be running, and I shall have to bring all the others.” Awful, at this, looked as if she were hoping things would go wrong.
“All will be welcome,” said Hathaway. “But, Torquil, I did warn you, did I? Stay with me more than an hour, and you will be old in your own time.”
Torquil laughed. “You mean, I have to stay for good then? Well, I shan’t mind that if you won’t.”
Hathaway’s voice laughed, too, like someone blowing across the top of milk bottle. “I’ll see you,” he said, and ended with a plop, as if a plug had been put in the plughole.
After that they all began to look at watches, and Quentin paced nervously about, reading the notes he had made about what he was to write, over and over. Howard began to feel so nervous, too, that in order to take his m
ind off it, he hunted in the back of the cupboard until he found the mug which Erskine had chipped with his knife when he first came. As he had expected, the deep glazed gouges on one side were not a G, but a crookedly carved E. For Erskine. The marks on the other side were meant to form a V, for Venturus.
Erskine saw Howard turning the mug in his hands. “Knife slipped,” he explained. “Thought you knew then. Trying to tell you I knew, too. Day after. Realized you didn’t. Kept trying to hint.” He seized Howard’s wrist and turned it around so that he could see Howard’s watch. It was twenty to nine. Erskine surged to his feet and strode to Quentin’s study. He came back carrying Archer’s red typewriter and a hunk of paper. “Time,” he said.
“Gentlemen, please!” murmured Torquil. “Thank goodness! I was beginning to think the clocks had stopped!”
They made another strange procession as they went down Hathaway’s smooth new road and along Zed Alley. Erskine strode ahead with the typewriter. Quentin followed, in the backless red and black checked coat, making a striking contrast with Torquil and his black knee breeches and swallow-tailed black coat. Torquil and Quentin were getting on surprisingly well together, chatting and laughing. Torquil had to bend over Quentin most of the time because he was almost a foot taller. Catriona followed with Awful. Awful was tired and dragging rather. Last in line, Ginger limped along beside Howard. Ginger was still taking a very gruff and unnoble line. “I’m not coming to help, see?” Ginger kept explaining. “I want to take a look at that spaceship.”
Howard suspected that Catriona’s sympathy had embarrassed Ginger. “I haven’t seen inside it yet,” he said, “but it looked like a real beauty.”
The Poly forecourt was darker than usual because the Poly was shut for the weekend. Most of the light came from a big white moon, scudding through wet clouds behind the empty girders of the new building. Erskine stopped there and parked the typewriter on a digger.
“Come on, young Venturus,” Quentin said. “Do your stuff.”
This was the part Howard was dreading. He went to stand with Erskine and Torquil opposite the gray outline of the unfinished doorway, feeling small, uncertain, and powerless. How could he fetch a whole marble temple with a spaceship inside all the way out of the future? He couldn’t. It was a mistake. He was just an ordinary person.
“Get on with it,” said Torquil. “We’ll help, but the main pull has to be yours. You made the thing. You must have got enough of your powers back by now to do that.”
“Must remember how,” said Erskine.
It was true. Howard could remember. But it was rather the way you remember being able to suck your own toes as a baby—not something you did now. “I’ll try,” he said.
They tried. Howard looked up at the scudding moon and thought earnestly of the temple and of himself fetching it. He thought of himself beckoning it. He tried to imagine himself as Venturus and remember the way he had felt then. He tried every way he could think of. On either side of him he could feel Erskine and Torquil trying, too. But nothing happened among the dark girders—nothing at all. Howard tried again. Nothing again. Oh, it was hopeless!
“No good,” Erskine said dismally. “Gone wrong.”
Torquil lost his temper. “Howard!” he shrieked. He stamped his buckled shoe. “You are simply not trying, you stupid little squirt! Fifi will be here in five minutes. Then Archer and Shine. Try!”
“I can’t,” Howard said hopelessly.
“Oh, yes, you can!” screamed Torquil. “Do it, or I’ll twist your ears!” He held his crozier aloft.
Howard clapped his hands to his ears. The pain in the ear Erskine had boxed was excruciating. “Stop it!” he gasped.
“Then try!” Torquil yelled at him. “Try, or I’ll—” He raised the crozier higher.
Howard tried. He was terrified in case his ear came off. He tried urgently. And like the time he had resisted Shine, he quite suddenly found his way into a new layer of his own mind. Then it was obvious. It was almost easy. He reached into the future and fixed a white moonlit strand of his mind to the marble temple and began to pull it back to him. It was like pulling a kite out of the sky. The temple was more difficult to control than a kite. Howard was not sure he could have got it in alone, but with Erskine and Torquil pulling strongly and steadily behind him, they began to tow it into the present. White moony mist appeared among the empty girders. The mist hardened and hardened, and the lines of the temple started to appear.
As soon as they did, Howard almost let go and let it spring back into the future again. Ginger made a scornful noise. Ginger was right, Howard thought. The temple was plain ridiculous. If he had not known he had made it himself, he would have called the person who built it a lunatic. Four towering statues of Venturus held up a roof which was a head of Venturus, giant-size, looking heroic and noble and, to Howard’s shamed eyes, utterly stupid.
“Howard!” said Torquil threateningly. There was another tweak at his ear.
Howard gave up looking at the temple and simply concentrated on getting it there. He guided it down the last twenty years, brought it gently to a stop, and anchored it firmly a year ahead from now. They had agreed on a year ahead because that would give Howard full use of his powers when he went inside.
“Nicely done,” said Torquil. “Get on into it.”
Howard sprinted for the dark square of what was now a glass door, calling to Ginger to come, too. As he pushed the door open, the marble hall inside lit up, as long as a football pitch. He saw his foot come down in the brown training shoe with yellow laces, but this time his other foot came down in the pair to it. It was much easier to get up the steps. Howard arrived at the top only an inch or so taller. Ginger arrived several inches taller, but without his two black eyes and not limping at all. He kept up with Howard easily as Howard raced down the hall and through the antechamber with the papers and into the domed room where the spaceship was. The robots were all motionless now, frozen into strange attitudes, like the people in the supermarket.
The first thing Howard did was to direct one to go and take away the papers from the antechamber. Archer must not find those. “Is the ship finished?” he asked it.
“Work completed five minutes ago,” it mouth organed. It had to trundle around Ginger on its way to the door. Ginger was rooted to the spot, staring at the spaceship.
Howard hurried forward and ordered its air lock open. The lock did not slide. It opened, just as he had hoped, like the pupil of an eye, widening in layers of rings. He could hardly wait for it to finish, there was so little time. He jumped inside. Lights came on here, too, showing a cabin like the inside of a luxury yacht, with thick red carpet from wall to wall. There were silver goblets on the table and pictures on the walls—real paintings in big gilt frames. The marvel was that though the ship was pointing upward, the salon seemed to be level. It was the domed room outside that appeared to be tipped downhill. Ginger gave a squawk of amazement at this as Howard raced for the controls.
He looked at the console and shook his head sadly. The red foam pilots’ couches were about all right, but Venturus had gone mad over the controls. There were banks and banks of unnecessary buttons, levers, and dials. He had been trying to go one better than Archer. And he had. “This looks pretty complex,” Ginger said over his shoulder.
Howard was glad he had brought Ginger. He was going to need four hands. “I was afraid of this,” he said. “You hold down those two blue levers over there and those three red switches over your head. Don’t let go.”
Ginger did so; it meant he was spread-eagled across the console. “This is ridiculous!” he said.
“I know,” said Howard. He had to leave Ginger like that while he himself leaped from side to side, programming the ship to take off in twenty minutes. He locked it on course for Alpha Centauri and instructed the computer not to permit manual override for any reason until after that. Then he shifted Ginger to some more controls and set about making it impossible for the ship ever to return to Earth. Then he
shifted Ginger again.
“I could design better controls than this in my sleep!” Ginger said, obediently spreading himself out in a new direction. “What’s this ship called?”
“Venturus!” Howard said disgustedly. The last piece of programming was tricky. The ship had to allow everyone who arrived to come in, but it was to let no one get off. Howard was not sure he could do it. He did the best he could, but that part was really going to be up to Quentin. “Right,” he said. “Let’s go.” He ran through the salon and leaped down into the domed room. As the room miraculously came right and level about him, he realized he had remarkably few regrets.
Ginger lagged a little, but he caught up with Howard in the now empty antechamber. “You know,” he said as they ran side by side down the hall, “you and me could design a better ship than that if we put our heads together.”
“Yes,” said Howard. “Let’s.”
“Make it Venturus Mark Two!” Ginger called out, leaping down the steps. “And I tell you what—” But at that point he became a year younger. “Ow!” he yelled, hobbling. Both his black eyes were back. Howard had to help him through the diggers and across the forecourt.
The others were waiting at the small side door to which Quentin had the key. Quentin unlocked the door and took them inside the Poly building, walking almost too fast for Ginger, and turning on lights as he went. In the foyer the caretaker met them accusingly.
“Mr. Sykes, isn’t it? ’Fraid you’ll have to leave. Poly’s closed for the weekend, sir.”
“So sorry, Mr. Forbes,” Quentin said. “I have to give these people an urgent seminar, and all my books are in my room upstairs. It’s very important. They all have a big exam tomorrow.” He carried on walking while he spoke and arrived at the stairs.
“All of them!” exclaimed the caretaker, his eye running from Torquil to Ginger and then on to Awful.
“All of them,” Quentin’s voice came back from halfway upstairs. “They give me all the oddballs to teach—everyone from giant morons to eight-year-old geniuses. Hurry up, all of you!”