Arcadia Page 28

His peace did not last very long, however. Less than half an hour after he had arrived, there was a knock on the door. He had taken another indirect route back and arrived tired, and dirty and wet from the grime-filled rain that had been coming down in torrents all day. He wanted a long shower and an even longer sleep. He was annoyed that he had spent so much time on his journey thinking of the girl. Dare he access the files once more to find out about her? Risky. He wanted no direct contact linking him to her, or to her Retreat. But there was no reason he could not send the request through one of his old colleagues to muddy the trail. He had just sent one off when the door lit up to indicate visitors.

  He knew exactly who, or rather what, the two men were when he opened the door and saw them standing there. The size, the sureness, the watchful eyes assessing him. The look of faint surprise to see someone who was so unlike most members of the elite they had ever met. More like them, in fact.

  ‘Dr More?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Come with us, please.’

  Well – polite, Jack thought, but it would have been interesting to discover how they would respond if he refused. ‘I am just about to get into the shower.’

  ‘Sorry, sir. Orders.’

  ‘Under whose authority?’

  ‘You will be given an explanation in due course. It is a necessary security precaution, I’m afraid.’

  Jack liked that ‘I’m afraid’ bit. Conciliatory, regretful, as spoken to a superior. Despite their appearance they weren’t about to beat him up.

  ‘Oh, very well,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to make your life difficult. Come in though. Give me five minutes. Fix yourselves a drink while I make myself presentable. I’m sure whoever is responsible for all this must be terribly important. I wouldn’t want to appear scruffy.’

  Experience. He knew exactly how to make them relax. Cooperate, make their job easy, get something in return. That’s the way it worked. Always had and always would.

  ‘Hope I’ve not been too long,’ he said when he emerged. ‘Shall we go?’

  But they still wouldn’t tell him who he was going to see, or why.

  31

  When they left Lytten’s house, Rosie and Angela walked for some way along the road together. ‘Where are you heading?’ the older woman asked after a while.

  ‘I have to go home and face the music, I suppose. My parents won’t let me out again for months. What do you want with me? Why did the Professor agree to do what you asked?’

  ‘I assume he believes you have been spending the last few days in an orgy of depravity. So, naturally, he wouldn’t want to know anything about it. But mainly because he likes you and trusts me. I thought you might like to have lunch, so we could get to know each other.’

  ‘I see.’ Rosie reflected; it was strange, she rather liked the idea of being suspected of some terrible vice. What was really strange, though, was that Professor Lytten found it credible.

  They walked on a while further before Rosie finally plucked up courage. ‘Jenkins. He looks like that because of that thing in the cellar.’

  Angela gave a light laugh. ‘Oh, surely not.’

  ‘Fiddlesticks. The Professor wasn’t interested, but the moment I mentioned it, you shot off down to the cellar to have a look. Then you started questioning me.’

  ‘You were very evasive. Not an attractive characteristic in a young woman.’

  ‘There was a forest behind the curtain. And people, and rivers, and men with swords. And an extraordinary party. And they cut my hair and dressed me up. How do you think I came to look like this?’

  ‘What an imagination you have.’

  Rosie reached into her bag and pulled out a golden wig. She handed it to Angela. Then she sat on the wall of the house they were passing and took off a shoe, showing the three gleaming rings on her middle toes.

  ‘You know perfectly well it is nothing to do with my imagination.’

  There was a pause. ‘You were wearing those rings? When you came back?’

  ‘So now you believe me?’

  ‘But not when you went through?’

  ‘No. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Are they metal?’

  ‘Gold and silver, I think. I feel terribly guilty about them.’

  ‘When you came back, was it the same as the last time?’ Angela’s tone had changed dramatically.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Did it feel the same? Happen in the same way?’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Rosie thought. ‘No. The first time it was like just stepping through a door. A bit tickly, but nothing much. This time it started off like that but then got harder, like trying to wade through water. As though it was thicker, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘You didn’t get stuck?’

  ‘No. It was just much harder. I had this odd feeling for a moment that I got frozen. Not cold, you understand. Just like I stopped for the tiniest moment. Then I came through and everything was just fine. The odd thing was that when I stepped through there was no one near me, but when I looked back I could see someone.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was night. I could just make out a shadow.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Angela softly. ‘How very interesting.’

  ‘What is going on? I’ve worried you about something.’

  ‘That is really very difficult to explain,’ she said. ‘Not least because I doubt you could understand it.’

  ‘Try.’

  ‘Listen, will you trust me?’

  Rosie laughed. ‘I doubt it.’

  *

  How does a universe come into existence? An odd question, certainly, and not one which – to my knowledge – anyone has ever answered before. All worlds exist, but only one is actualised at any point; another might take concrete form only if some external force acts upon it. The world projected from Tolkien’s thoughts existed in potential only, and did so before I opened it up. As long as I merely observed through the pergola, only that part of it which came to my view was actualised. When I stepped through, it began to coalesce and immediately came up against its own inherent contradictions. The essential laws of physics took over and it began cancelling itself out, with nearly fatal consequences for me.

  Anterwold was more stable, but it was very lucky that this was so, as instead of being realised in slow increments, each small addition tested for stability, it became concrete at a breakneck pace. The fine human detail was generated by Rosie on her two irruptions: whatever she had done, whoever she had seen or talked to, instantly meant that these people, their friends and family, customers, possessions, ancestors – and indeed their descendants – sprang from a latent into an actualised state of existence.

  Time started moving. Lytten had sketched out the basics of a functioning alternative society and created something frozen, unchanging and immoveable; I had built in limits so that this state would continue just in case of accidents, but the irruption of Rosie threatened to break through those limits and set everything in motion. From the moment she stepped into Anterwold, both past and future started to adjust to fit.

  This could be a serious problem. The experiment was at risk of spinning totally out of control, as I discovered when I tried to shut it down and found it would not respond. In theory, now that Rosie (and the cat) were out, then it should have been possible. I couldn’t understand it, until I saw those rings on her toes and she mentioned the shadow. I talked to her with one part of my mind, set up a few rapid calculations in the background and, with what little mental space I had left over, I began to worry.

  *

  Angela led Rosie to the side street where she had parked her car. ‘I’m starving, and we might as well talk over food. Have you ever been to the Randolph?’

  Rosie hadn’t. She had, in fact, never been anywhere really, except, of course, to Lytten’s cellar. Angela knew this perfectly well, which was why she made the invitation. She reasoned that the girl would be in a much more pliable state if she formed an attachment, or if
she had a couple of drinks inside her. So she drove into the centre of town and led Rosie into the hotel, where she requested a table for two in a corner.

  ‘I suppose,’ she said once they were sitting comfortably and she had lit her cigarette, ‘I may not offer you a sherry.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Rosie replied, ‘but I would like one.’ She sat perfectly still and glanced around her. ‘It might be good for me. It’s very nice here.’

  ‘Yes, all appearance and little substance, I’m afraid. The food,’ she confided, ‘is quite dreadful. I would have liked to give you a good meal, but that is not possible in England at the moment. We will have to settle for a charming one instead.’

  ‘Have you travelled much?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  So Angela did, and warmed to the girl as she saw the misty look of longing pass over her eyes while she told of mountains, of little restaurants in village squares, of warmth and sun and blue skies, and of all the sorts of food that were to be had.

  ‘Ah, that sounds just lovely,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Have you ever been abroad?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rosie replied cautiously. ‘I suppose that is why we are here. So you can be nice to me until I answer all your questions. Oh, I don’t mean to be rude,’ she added hurriedly when she saw the look of surprise on Angela’s face.

  ‘No, no. You are quite right. It is I who have been rude. I have been treating you like a silly girl, and you clearly are not. Not any longer, at least. I think a sherry would be a very good idea. And a large gin for me. Very large. I’m so glad they haven’t introduced drink-driving laws yet.’

  They drank and conversed of little until the pea soup arrived, ladled into their plates from a grand silver-plated tureen. They got a great deal of attention from the waiter, as they were the only people in the place.

  ‘Now, which of us is going to start?’ Angela said, once she had tasted the soup, grimaced and then doggedly drunk a small portion of it. ‘Are you going to tell me what happened on the other side of the pergola? Or am I going to tell you what it is? I would prefer the first. Then I can explain the second much better. You must understand that I don’t really know what is there. I give you a solemn promise that I will fulfil my side of the bargain.’

  Rosie drank a spoonful of soup. ‘Just answer one question first,’ she said. ‘Is that a time machine?’

  ‘Good guess,’ Angela said. ‘But not exactly. It moved you somewhere. Relatively past or future I do not know. But not our past or future, I hope.’

  ‘There are lots of pasts and futures?’

  ‘No. Only one. That is the problem. One of the two I’ve noticed, at least.’

  ‘What’s the other one?’

  Angela dabbed her lips. ‘Well, you were sticky coming back, you were wearing rings and you saw a shadow.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m working on it; it’s why I am not going to hide anything from you. I need your help. I have to figure out what has happened. Rather more is at stake than your current status with your parents, serious matter though that is. Besides, it’s not as if you can tell anyone else. So, what were you doing in that cellar? The first time, I mean.’

  ‘I was looking for Jenkins. I thought he might have got himself stuck there. I pulled back the old curtain in case he was behind it.’

  ‘I see. Then you went through.’

  ‘Just for a moment. I saw this boy, and he bowed at me, and then I came back. That was all, really.’

  ‘This was Jay?’

  ‘So I discovered later. How did you know that?’

  ‘Then you went through again. When? On Thursday?’

  ‘Wednesday. This time I was there until late at night, but I seem to have been away until dawn here.’

  ‘Ah!’ Angela seemed very interested in that. ‘Go on. What did you see this time?’

  ‘Wonderful things! Everybody was so nice to me. They acted as if I was terribly important. There was a super party, and I was a sort of guest of honour.’

  ‘Who was your host?’

  ‘Lady Catherine. She is the Lady of Willdon, and awfully rich.’ Rosie peered at her over the table. ‘She looked a bit like you, except that she was younger, and wore a wig. She was beautiful.’

  ‘I’m flattered.’

  ‘It was odd, though. Everybody made a fuss of her house, but it was really very simple. Pretty and big, but simple. And they were all in awe of things like her cups and glasses, but they were old and scratched and a lot of them looked as though they’d come from Woolworth’s. We’ve got nicer ones at school.’

  ‘Tell me about the party.’

  ‘There was food, which they thought was terribly grand but was quite simple as well. And everyone asked why I wasn’t married. I heard some of the oddest music I have ever come across. And I met this really handsome man called Pamarchon.’

  ‘You’re blushing.’

  ‘And everyone called me Lady Rosalind and acted as though being able to read and speak English was amazing.’

  ‘What did they speak?’

  ‘The ones I talked to most spoke English, although like it was a foreign language. The others … I don’t know. I began to recognise a few words after a while, and even managed to say a few things. It’s quite basic, you know. Not like French or Latin. It sounded a bit like English put through a mangle, if you see what I mean. Or a badly tuned radio where you can almost make out what is being said.’

  ‘You seem to have had an interesting evening.’

  ‘It was magical. Wonderful. I danced, and everybody admired me, and it was lovely.’

  ‘I’m glad you had a good time. I’m surprised you came back.’

  ‘I was going into the forest after Pamarchon. I’d upset him, although I don’t know how I did it, and I wanted to apologise. I got a bit lost, and then I found Jenkins and saw the light. Saw the light. That sounds silly. But you know what I mean. I thought I’d better take the chance while it was there. Last time it had vanished.’

  ‘That was my fault. I’m sorry about that. I shut it down to stop anyone going through. I didn’t know you already had. Anyway, you decided to abandon your lover for the sake of your homework. Faithless mistress you are!’

  Rosie blushed scarlet. ‘Oh, don’t say that! Please! Whatever will people think? Was that a quotation, by the way?’

  ‘You sound worried.’

  ‘They’re always quoting things. It is a bit annoying.’

  ‘What do they quote?’

  ‘The Story. It seems to be a bit like a cross between the Bible and the Encyclopaedia Britannica. The thing which really worried me is that they call the place Anterwold.’

  ‘Well, they would.’

  ‘But that’s what Professor Lytten …’

  ‘Indeed. I built it out of his head.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Seriously.’

  Rosie digested this surprising statement for a few moments. ‘Go on, then. What is that thing? I mean, really?’

  ‘It is a machine which I invented, designed and built. It is a way of gaining access to a variety of realities. As I say, at the moment it leads to a world created from Henry’s imagination.’

  ‘Does he know?’

  ‘No, and I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell him. He might be offended.’

  ‘What do you mean by variety of realities?’

  ‘It means that for any given state of the universe, there are an infinite number of other possibilities. For example, we came to this restaurant and you ordered chicken. You could have ordered fish. A universe where you did order fish is a viable alternative to this one. One where you ordered roast Brontosaurus is more distant and more difficult to access.’

  Rosie’s eyes narrowed. ‘So?’

  ‘Anterwold is one of those variants. A very distant one, I hope. To get to it, the number of different events must be gigantic. That was why I chose it. I d
idn’t want any confusion with the line of events which leads from here to my future. Otherwise it would be difficult to study properly. Are you confused?’

  ‘Very. Especially the “my future” part. Do you mean that?’

  ‘Yes. I am born – you notice I don’t say “I will be born”; it is an important distinction – in a little over two hundred years’ time. I do hope you are not going to say that I am mad.’

  ‘I’ve been into your invention,’ Rosie pointed out. ‘But I don’t rate your chances with anyone else.’

  ‘You may be correct. That’s why I don’t want you to mention any of this to Henry. Girls’ secret. It will be a lot easier if you simply take my word for it. Just as the future is determined by the past, so the past is determined by the future. Where I come from is the future and I want it to stay like that. What Anterwold is I do not yet know.’

  ‘So what is now? The present.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Angela airily, waving her fork in the air. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Mathematically speaking. An abstract concept. Now is just what lies between yesterday and today, just as zero lies between minus one and one. From the point of view of the future, the present is the past. From the point of …’

  ‘Yes. I get the idea,’ Rosie interrupted. ‘But it’s not nothing. It really is now.’

  ‘So is Monday morning and Saturday evening.’

  ‘Now I am eating a piece of chicken. Monday morning I overslept, and Saturday evening – heaven knows what I’ll be doing.’

  ‘You are still doing those things. Unless something changes so that last Monday you do not oversleep and now you are somewhere else. If, for example, you decide not to come back …’

  ‘But I did.’

  ‘Yes. You did. But will you?’

  ‘You’re really annoying, you know.’

  ‘No. I’m not. Existence is. It’s not my fault.’

  Angela poured herself a glass of the not very good red wine she had ordered after her gin and sipped thoughtfully. It was curious talking to this girl. She had, after all, had to keep it to herself for nearly thirty years. Now she was explaining in simple language, the simplest language, to a young girl who listened with great seriousness to what she was saying. The only person in the world she could talk to, because she knew at least that it worked.