Brannart Morphail, still in the traditional hump-back and club-foot of the scientist, limped towards them. He shook a bony finger at the Iron Orchid. "This is all your son's fault. And where is Lord Jagged to explain himself?"
"We have not seen him since our return," she said. "You fret so, Brannart. Think how entertaining life has become of late!"
"Not for long, delicate metal, fragile flower. Not for long." Grumbling to himself, he hobbled past them. "I must get my instruments."
They made their way through the gathering until they reached the wall of the force-dome. The Iron Orchid put her hand to her lips in astonishment. "Are they intelligent?"
"Oh, yes. Primitive, naturally, but otherwise…" My Lady Charlotina smiled. "They growl and rave so! We have not yet had a proper talk with them."
Orange fire splashed against the inner wall and spread across it, obscuring the scene within.
"They keep doing that," explained My Lady Charlotina. "I am not sure if they mean to burn us or the wall. A translator is in operation, though they are still a trifle incoherent. Their voices can be very loud."
As the fire dissipated, the Iron Orchid stared curiously at the twenty or thirty men inside the dome. Their faces were bruised, bleeding and smudged with oil; they wore identical costumes of mottled green and brown; there were metal helmets on their heads, and what she supposed to be some sort of breathing apparatus (unused) on their backs. In their hands were artefacts consisting basically of a metal tube to which was fixed a handle, probably of plastic. It was from these tubes that the flames occasionally gouted.
"They look tired," she said sympathetically. "Their journey must have been difficult. Where are they from?"
"They were not clear. We put the dome up because they seemed ill at ease in the open; they kept burning things. Four of my guests had to be taken away for resurrection. I think they must calm down eventually, don't you, Duke of Queens?"
"They invariably do," he agreed. "They'll exhaust themselves, I suppose."
"So many!" murmured Bishop Castle. He fingered the lobe of his ear.
"That is what makes them such a catch," said the Duke of Queens. "Well, Werther, you are an expert — what period would you say they were from?"
"Very early. The twentieth century?"
"A little later?" suggested Bishop Castle.
"The twenty-fifth, then."
Bishop Castle nodded. "That seems right. Are any of your guests, My Lady Charlotina, from that age?"
"Not really. You know how few we get from those Dawn Age periods. Doctor Volospion might have one, but…"
Mistress Christia approached, her eyes wide, her lips wet. "What brutes! " she gasped. "Oh, I envy you, My Lady Charlotina. When did you find them?"
"Not long ago. But I've no idea how much time they've been here."
More fire spread itself over the wall, but it seemed fainter. One of the time travellers flung down his tube, growling and glaring. Some of the audience applauded.
"If only Jherek were here," said the Iron Orchid. "He understands these people so well! Where is their machine?"
"That's the odd thing, Brannart has been unable to find a trace of one. He insists that one exists. He thinks that it might have returned to its period of origin — that sometimes happens, I gather. But he says that no machine registered on his detectors, and it has caused him to become even more bad-tempered than usual." My Lady Charlotina withdrew her arm from Werther's. "Ah, Gaf the Horse in Tears, have you seen my new time travellers yet?"
Gaf lifted his skirts. "Have you seen my new wheels , My Lady Charlotina?"
They wandered away together.
Bishop Castle was trying to address one of the nearest of the time travellers. "How do you do?" he began politely. "Welcome to the End of Time!"
The time travellers said something to him which defeated the normally subtle translator.
"Where are you from?" asked the Iron Orchid of one.
Another of the time travellers shouted to the man addressed. "Remember, trooper. Name, rank and serial number. It's all you have to tell 'em."
"Sarge, they must know we're from Earth."
"Okay," assented the other, "you can tell 'em that, too."
"Kevin O'Dwyer," said the man, "Trooper First Class, 0008859376." He added, "From Earth."
"What year?" asked the Duke of Queens.
Trooper First Class Kevin O'Dwyer looked pleadingly at his sergeant. "You're the ranking officer, sir. I shouldn't have to do this."
"Let them do the talking," snapped the sergeant. "We'll do the fighting."
"Fighting?" The Duke of Queens grinned with pleasure. "Ah, you'll be able to help me. Are you soldiers, then?"
Again the translation was muddy.
"Soldiers?" asked Bishop Castle, in case they had not heard properly.
The sergeant sighed. "What do you think, buddy?"
"This is splendid!" said the Duke of Queens.
5. In Which the Duke of Queens Seeks Instruction
As soon as it was evident that the soldiers had used up all their fire, My Lady Charlotina released the one called "sergeant", whose full name, on further enquiry, turned out to be Sergeant Henry Martinez, 0008832942. After listening in silence to their questions for a while he said:
"Look, I don't know what planet this is, or if you think you're fooling me with your disguise, but you're wasting your time. We're hip to every trick in the Alpha Centauran book."
"Who are the Alpha Centaurans?" asked My Lady Charlotina, turning to Werther de Goethe.
"They existed even before the Dawn Age," he explained. "They were intelligent horses of some kind."
"Very funny," said Sergeant Martinez flatly. "You know damn well who you are."
"He thinks we're horses? Perhaps some optical disturbance, coupled with…" Bishop Castle creased his brow.
"Stow it, will you?" asked the sergeant firmly. "We're prisoners of war. Now I know you guys don't pay too much attention to things like the Geneva Convention in Alpha Centauri, for all you —"
"It's a star system!" said Werther. "I remember. I think it was used for something a long while ago. It doesn't exist any more, but there was a war between Earth and this other system in the 24th century — you are 24th century, I take it, sir? — which went on for many years. These are typical warriors of the period. The Alpha Centaurans were, I thought, birdlike creatures…"
"The Vultures," supplied Sergeant Martinez. "That's what we call you."
"I assure you, we're as human as you are, sergeant," said My Lady Charlotina. "You are an ancestor of ours. Don't you recognize the planet? And we have some of your near-contemporaries with us. Li Pao? Where's Li Pao? He's from the 27th." But the puritanical Chinaman had not yet arrived.
"If I'm not mistaken," said Martinez patiently, "you're trying to convince me that the blast which got us out there beyond Mercury sent us into the future. Well, it's a good try — we'd heard your interrogation methods were pretty subtle and pretty damn elaborate — but it's too fancy to work. Save your time. Put us in the camp, knock us off, or do whatever you normally do with prisoners. We're Troopers and we're too tough and too tired to play this kind of fool game. Besides, I can tell you for nothing, we don't know nothing — we get sent on missions. We do what we're told. We either succeed, or we die or, sometimes, we get captured. We got captured. That's what we know. There's nothing else we can tell you."