12. In which Doctor Volospion gives a tour of his Museum and his Menagerie of Forgotten Faiths

Mavis Ming was desolate.

"Oh, you have betrayed me!"

"Betrayed?" Doctor Volospion laid a hand upon her trembling shoulder. "Nothing of the sort. This is all part of my plan. I beg you to become an actress, Miss Ming. Show, as best you can, some little sympathy for your suitor. It will benefit you in the end."

"You're laying a trap for him, aren't you?"

"I can only say, now, that you will soon be free of him."

"You're certain."

"Certain."

"I'm not sure I could keep it up."

"Trust me. I have proved myself your loyal protector up to now, have I not?"

"Of course. I didn't mean to imply…" She was hasty to give him reassurance.

"Then dress yourself and join us, as soon as you can, for dinner."

"You'll be eating? You never —"

"It is the ceremony which is important."

She nodded. "All right."

He crossed to the door. She said: "He's not really very intelligent, is he?"

"I think not."

"And you're very clever indeed."

"You are kind."

"What I mean is, I'm sure you can trick him, Doctor Volospion, if that's what you mean to do."

"I appreciate your encouragement, Miss Ming." He went out.

Mavis looked to her wardrobe. She dragged from it an evening dress of green and purple silk. She passed to her mirror and looked with displeasure upon her red-rimmed eyes, her bedraggled hair. "Chin up, Mavis," she said, "it'll all be over soon. And it means you can go visiting again. What a relief that'll be! And if I play my part right, they'll have me to thank, as well as Doctor Volospion. I'll get a bit of respect." She settled to her toilet.

It was to her credit that she made the most of herself, in her own eyes. She curled her hair so that it hung in blonde waves upon her shoulders. She applied plenty of mascara, to make her eyes look larger. She was relatively subtle with her rouge and she touched her best perfumed deodorant to all those parts of her body which, in her opinion, might require it (her cosmetics were largely 20th century, created for her by Doctor Volospion at her request, for she considered the cosmetics of her own time to be crude and synthetic by comparison). She arranged an everlasting orchid upon her dress; she donned diamond earrings, a matching necklace, bracelets. "Good enough to dine with the Emperor of Africa," she said to herself, when she was ready.

She left her apartments and began her journey through passages which, in her opinion, Doctor Volospion kept unnecessarily dark, although, as she knew, it was done for the artistic effect he favoured.

At last she reached the great, gloomy hall where Doctor Volospion normally entertained his guests. Hard-faced metal servants already waited on the long table at one end of which sat dignified Doctor Volospion and the pipsqueak Bloom, all got up in the silliest outfit Mavis Ming had ever seen. Strips of ancient neon, blue-white, illuminated this particular part of the castle, though they had been designed to malfunction and so flickered on and off, creating sudden shadows and brilliances which always disturbed Miss Ming. The walls were of undressed stone and bore no decoration save the tall portrait of Doctor Volospion over the massive fireplace in which a small electric fire had been positioned, and the fire was also an antique, designed to simulate burning coal.

Becoming aware of her entrance, both men rose from their seats.

"My madonna!" breathed Bloom.

"Good evening, Miss Ming." Doctor Volospion bowed.

Emmanuel Bloom seemed to be making an effort to contain himself. He sat down again.

"Good evening, gentlemen." She responded to this effort with one of her own. "How nice to see you again, Mr Bloom!"

"Oh!" He lifted a chop to his grease-painted mouth.

Simple food was placed by servants before her. She sat at Doctor Volospion's left. She had no appetite but she made some show of eating, noting that Doctor Volospion did the same. She hoped that Bloom would not subject them to any more of his megalomaniacal monologues. It was still difficult to understand why a man of Doctor Volospion's intelligence indulged Bloom at all, and yet they seemed to converse readily enough.

"You deal, sir, in Ideals," Doctor Volospion was saying, "I in Realities: though I remain fascinated by the trappings by means of which men seek to give credence to their dreamings."

"The trappings are all you can ever know," said the Fireclown, "for you can never experience the ecstasy of Faith. You are too empty."

"You continue to be hard on me, sir, while I try —"

"I speak the truth."

"Ah, well. I suppose you do read me aright, Mr Bloom."

"Of course I do. I gave my word only that I should not take Miss Ming from here by force. I did not agree to join in your courtesies, your hypocrisies. What are your manners when seen in the light of the great unchangeable realities of the multiverse?"

"Your belief in the permanence of anything, Mr Bloom, is incredible to me. Everything is transitory. Can the experience of a billion years have taught you nothing?"

"On the contrary, Doctor Volospion." He did not amplify. He chewed at his chop.

"Has experience left you untouched? Were you ever the same?"

"I suppose my character has changed little. I have known the punishments of Prometheus, but I have been that god's persecutor, too — for Bloom has bloomed everywhere, in every guise…"

"More peas?" interrupted Miss Ming.

Emmanuel Bloom shook his head.

"But creed has followed creed, movement followed movement, down all the centuries," continued Doctor Volospion, "and not one important change in any of them, though millions have lost their lives over some slight interpretation. Are men not fools to destroy themselves thus? Questing after impossibilities, golden dreams, romantic fancies, perfectibility…"

"Oh, certainly. Clowns, all of them. Like me."

Doctor Volospion did not know what to make of this.

"You agree?"

"The clown weeps, laughs, knows joy and sorrow. It is not enough to look at his costume and laugh and say — here is mankind revealed. Irony is nothing by itself. Irony is a modifier, not a protection. We live our lives because we have only our lives to live."

"Um," said Doctor Volospion. "I think I should show you my collection. I possess mementoes of a million creeds." He pointed with his thumb at the floor. "Down there."

"I doubt that they will be unfamiliar to me," said Bloom. "What do you hope to prove to me?"

"That you are not original, I suppose."

"And by this means you think you will encourage me to leave your planet without a single pledge fulfilled?"

Doctor Volospion made a gesture. "You read me so well, Mr Bloom."

"I'll inspect this stuff, if you wish. I am curious. I am respectful, too, of all prophets and all objects of devotion, but as to my originality…"

"Well," said Doctor Volospion, "we shall see. If you will allow me to conduct you upon a brief tour of my collection, I shall hope to convince you."

"Miss Ming will accompany us?"

"Oh, I'd love to," said Miss Ming courageously. She hated Doctor Volospion's treasures.

"I think my collection is the greatest in the universe," continued Doctor Volospion. "No better has existed, certainly, in Earth's history. Many missionaries have come this way. Most have made attempts to — um — save us. As you have. They have not been, in the main, as spectacular, I will admit, nor have they claimed as much as you claim. However…" He took a pea upon his fork. There was something in the gesture to make Mavis Ming suspect that he planned something more than a mere tour of his treasures. "… you would agree that your arguments are scarcely subtle. They allow for no nuance."