Tim swigged away at his porter. “This stuff’s very poor,” said he. “The beer really is best in Brentford.”

“I think it might be a while before we go back there for another tasting.”

“We could get the Savoy to order us some.”

“We can’t go back to the Savoy, I’d be recognised at once.”

“Chief, if I might just make a suggestion.”

“Please be quiet, Barry.”

“But, chief.”

“No Barry,” said Will. “Let’s be positive here, Tim. Let’s think this through. What is the easiest option to take?”

“Well,” said Tim and he made his face again.

“Do nothing,” said Will. “Nothing.”

“But I wasn’t going to—”

“I mean, I do nothing. What if I was to return to the future, but a day before I discovered the Babbage watch in The Fairy Feller’s Masterstroke. And then, what say if I don’t discover it. I ignore it, pretend I’ve never seen it. Then none of this would happen. We wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Tim thought about this. “Can’t be done,” said he. “And I’ll tell you why. If you return to the future to a time before you left it and came here, the original you would be already there. You met your original you on the tram, didn’t you? There can’t be two yous in the future, can there?”

“That wouldn’t be so bad,” said Will. “I’m sure we’d get on okay.”

“It’s a smelly idea,” said Tim. “You’ve met your other self, here in the past. You know that he comes from a different future. And a much better one than ours. Our future is rubbish: poverty, overcrowding, everyone bloated on synthetic food, chemical rains scalding the pavements, constant surveillance. Our future sucks. It’s a dystopia. Your other self’s future is a Utopia. It’s a much better option.”

“But if I save the other future, you and I will cease to exist.”

“So we’ll never know the difference, will we? And I’ll be born in the other future. That won’t be so bad.”

“It will for me,” said Will. “I’ll be the Promised One. I don’t fancy that for a future.”

“One out of two’s not so bad. Think of the rest of us. Don’t be so selfish.”

Will threw up his hands. “It’s hopeless,” he mumbled. “Whatever I do, I’m going to end up in the poo.”

“Then do the right thing. Thwart them witches.”

“Stuff the witches,” said Will. “And stuff the so-called Utopia. Our future isn’t that bad.”

“It’s worse than you know,” said Tim. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this. About what Barry told you about the death of God. You know that I’m interested in all this kind of business. Always have been, probably because I’m Rune’s magical heir. But religion has always fascinated me. Remember when you switched those paintings in the Tate’s archive and you saw those two women and I told you that they were witches and they had a lot of power? And I told you how I’d gained promotion because I’d put on my application form that I was a Pagan.”

“Yes, but—” said Will.

“Just hear me out, please. Think about the future we come from. No one actually worships God or Jesus any more. The churches are all franchised by IKEA or NIKE or ADIDAS or VIRGIN, and that’s not the Virgin Mary. The services have all been changed. The hymns are advertising jingles. The folk in churches aren’t worshipping God any more, or any God. They’re not worshipping anything. They’re just endorsing companies. Major corporations. And who are running the executive boards of these corporations? Witches, that’s who. I know this for a fact.”

“So what does it really matter?” Will asked.

“To an atheist it wouldn’t matter. But if you believed in God, it would. There is a theory, and it’s a very ancient theory, that Man and God are co-dependent upon one another. One cannot exist without the other. Without Man, God has no one to worship Him; therefore He is God to no one, and as such does not exist. God created Man to worship Him, to acknowledge His existence, to be a testament to His existence. The Egyptians worshipped Ra and Horus and Isis. Those gods were real to the Egyptians, those gods existed to them. But the temples of Ra and Horus and Isis were eventually overthrown; those gods were no longer worshipped, so what of those gods now?”

“They never existed,” said Will.

“You can’t prove that,” said Tim.

“You can’t prove that they did.”

“Please just listen to me. If gods did exist, would you find the theory of co-dependence feasible?”

Will shrugged. “Why not?” he said. “It makes some kind of sense.”

“So if it made sense with Ra and Horus and Isis, then why not the God of the Israelites and his son Jesus Christ? If no one believes in them any more or worships or acknowledges them any more, then they would cease to exist also, wouldn’t they? They’d die.”

“I suppose they would,” said Will.

“So, if you believed in them, you wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” said Will.

“So, if you personally could do something to stop that happening you’d certainly do it.”

“I certainly would,” said Will.

“Such as, doing what you have to do to stop the witches messing with the future and wiping out all memories of Victorian super technology.”

“I suppose I’d have no choice,” said Will, “if I believed in God and God’s continued existence depended upon it.”

“But you don’t believe in God,” said Tim.

“I don’t,” said Will.

“Even though you have one of His Holy Guardians in your head!”

Tim fairly shouted these words at Will and these shouted words drew the attention of other patrons of the Golden Rivet. Amongst these were a big bargee, his smaller counterpart, a gatherer of the pure and a lady in a straw hat who was selling copies of the War Cry.

“Well,” said Will, and beneath his muffler, he made a thoughtful face.

“Well?” said Tim.

Will gave Tim a good staring at. “Are you telling me,” he asked, “that you think this is what it’s all about?”

“It’s what Barry told you it’s all about.”

“He didn’t explain it the way you have.”

“I would have, chief, if you’d given me a chance.”

“It’s absurd,” said Will. “Ridiculous. And more than that, it’s unfair. I, an atheist, am expected to single-handedly save the life of God.”

“It does have a certain irony,” said Tim. “But not single-handedly, Barry and I are here to help you get the job jobbed.”

“Why do I not find this comforting?”

“Listen,” said Tim. “I didn’t believe in God. My mum’s a Sister of Sainsbury’s, like your mum. I was brought up in that faith. I signed up as a Pagan to advance my career. Now I realise what I really did. Satan’s powers on Earth have always been kept at bay by God, because Satan had far fewer believers, worshippers. But with God out of the picture and the witches worshipping Satan, then Satan has all the power. He’s in control. Our society is falling apart; things are worse every day. The new day’s always worse than the day before. It really is a dystopia, Will, and it’s turning into Hell on Earth.”

“All right,” said Will. “Stop. Stop. I get the picture.”

“And do you believe what I’m saying?”

“I don’t know,” said Will. “I’m not sure.”

“You must believe in Barry. He talks to you.”

“That doesn’t mean that he’s a Holy Guardian. He might be a demon.”

“Oh, so you believe in Satan? If you believe in Satan, then you must believe in God.”

“Aha!” said Will. “Then that’s the flaw in your theory. The witches must believe in God also. And so if there’s still folk who believe in him, he won’t die.”

“I think you’ll find it’s all to do with the worshipping, the acknowledging of him as all-powerful.”

“Maybe Barry’s not an angel or a demon,” said Will, who wasn’t giving up without a struggle. “Maybe he’s something else entirely.”

“And what might that be?” Tim sank more porter and wrung out the drippings from his beard.