The Fireclown's attention seemed elsewhere.
"The sound," said Doctor Volospion, and he touched a power ring, whereupon the air was filled with a babble of voices as prophets prophesied, preachers preached, messiahs announced various millennia, saviours summoned disciples, archbishops proclaimed Armageddon, fakirs mourned materialism, priests prayed, imams intoned, rabbis railed and druids droned. "Enough?"
The Fireclown raised a hand in assent and Doctor Volospion touched the ring again so that much of the noise died away.
"Well, Mr Bloom, do you find these pronouncements essentially distinguishable from your own?"
But the Fireclown was again studying Mavis Ming who was, in turn, looking extremely self-conscious. She was blushing through her rouge. She pretended to take an interest in the sermon being delivered by a snail-like being from some remote world near the galaxy's centre.
"What?"
Bloom cocked an ear in Volospion's direction. "Distinguishable? Oh, of course. Of course. I respect all the views being expressed. They are, I would agree, a little familiar, some of them. But these poor creatures lack either my power or my experience. I would guess, too, that they lack my courage. Or my purity of purpose. Why do you keep them locked up here?"
Doctor Volospion ignored the final sentence. "Many would differ with you, I think."
"Quite so. But you cease to entertain me, Doctor Volospion. I have decided to take Miss Ming, my Madonna, back to my ship now. The visit has been fairly interesting. More interesting than I believed it would be. Are you coming, Miss Ming?"
Miss Ming hesitated. She glanced at Doctor Volospion. "Well, I —"
"Do not consult this corpse," Mr Bloom told her. "I shall be your mentor. It is my duty and destiny to remove you from this environment at once, to bring you to the knowledge of your own divinity!"
Mavis Ming breathed heavily, still flushed. Her eyes darted from Bloom to Volospion. "I don't think you'll be removing either me or yourself from this castle, Mr Bloom." She smiled openly now at Doctor Volospion and her eyes were full of hope and terror. They asked a hundred questions. She seemed close to panic and was poised to flee.
Emmanuel Bloom gave a snort of impatience. "Miss Ming, my love, you are mine." His high, fluting voice continued to trill, but it was plain that she no longer heard his words. His birdlike hands touched hers. She screamed.
"Doctor Volospion!"
Doctor Volospion was fully himself. "It is hardly gentlemanly, as I have pointed out, to force your attentions upon a lady, Mr Bloom. I would remind you of your word."
"I keep it. I use no violence."
Doctor Volospion now appeared to be relishing the drama. The fingers of his left hand hovered over the fingers of his right, on which were most of his power rings.
The Fireclown's hands remained on Miss Ming's. "He's really strong!" she cried. "I can't get free, Doctor Volospion. Oo…" It seemed that an almost euphoric weakness suffused her body now. She was panting, incapable of thought; her lips were dry, her tongue was dry, and the only word she could form was a whispered "No".
Doctor Volospion seemed ignorant of the degree of tension in the menagerie. Many of the prophets, both human and alien, had stopped their monologues and now pressed forward to watch the struggle.
Doctor Volospion said firmly: "Mr Bloom, since you remain here as my guest, I would ask you to recall…"
The blue eyes became shrewd even as they stared into Mavis Ming's. "Your guest? No longer. We leave. Do you come, Mavis mine?"
"I — I —" It was as if she wished to say yes to him, yet she continued to pull back as best she could.
"Mr Bloom, you have had your opportunity to leave this planet. You refused to take it. Well, now you have no choice. You shall stay for ever (which is not, we think, that long)."
Mr Bloom raised a knowing head. "What?"
"You have told us, yourself, that you are unique, sir." Doctor Volospion was triumphant. "You prize yourself so highly, I must accept your valuation."
"Eh?"
"From henceforth, Sir Prophet, you will grace my menagerie. Here you will stay — my finest acquisition."
"What? My power!" Did Mr Bloom show genuine surprise? His gestures became melodramatic to a degree.
Doctor Volospion was too full of victory to detect play-acting, if play-acting there was. "Here you may preach to your heart's content. You will find the competition stimulating, I am certain."
Bloom received this intelligence calmly. "My power is greater than yours," he said.
"I led you to think that it was, so that you would feel confident when I suggested a tour of my collection. Twelve force-screens of unimaginable strength now lie between you and your ship, cutting you off from the source of your energy. Do you think you could have shattered my first force-field if I had not allowed it?"
"It seemed singularly easy," agreed the Fireclown. "But you seem still unclear as to the nature of my own power. It does not derive from a physical source, as yours does, though you are right in assuming it comes from my ship. It is spiritual inspiration which allows me to work my miracles. The source of that inspiration lies in the ship."
"This so-called Grail of yours?"
Bloom fell silent.
"Well, call on it, then," said Doctor Volospion.
Every scrap of bombast had disappeared from Bloom. It was as if he discarded a useless weapon, or rather a piece of armour which had proved defective. "There is no entity more free in all the teeming multiverse than the Fireclown." His unblinking eyes stared into Miss Ming's again. "You cannot imprison me, sir."
"Imprison?" Doctor Volospion derided the idea with a gesture. "You shall have everything you desire. Your favourite environment shall be re-created for you. If necessary, it is possible to supply the impression of distance, movement. Regard the state as well earned retirement, Mr Bloom."
The avian head turned on the long neck, the paint around the mouth formed an expression of some gravity (albeit exaggerated). Mr Bloom did not relax his grip upon Miss Ming's hands.
"Your satire palls, Doctor Volospion. It is the sort that easily grows stale, for it lacks love; it is inspired by self-hatred. You are typical of those faithless priests of the fifth millennium who were once your comrades in vice."
Doctor Volospion showed shock. "How could you possibly know my origins? The secret…"
"There are no secrets from the Sun," said the Fireclown. "The Sun knows All. Old He may be, but His memory is clearer than those of your poor, senescent cities."
"Do not seek to confound me, sir, with airy generalities of that sort. How do you know?"
"I have eyes," said Bloom, "which have seen all things. One gesture reveals a society to me — two words reveal an individual. A conversation betrays every origin."
"This Grail of yours? It helps you?"
The Fireclown ignored him. "The eagle floats on currents of light, high above the world, and the light is recollection, the light is history. I know you, Doctor Volospion, and I know you for a villain, just as I know Mavis Ming as a goddess — chained and gagged, perverted and alone, but still a goddess."