The passengers formed a straggly Une and filed excitedly into the luxurious vehicle. Lined with patterned cloth, the carriage contained two rows of wooden benches separated by a narrow aisle. Several candelabra screwed to the ceiling and walls cast a gloomy, nickering light, which gave it the air of a chapel. Lucy and Claire sat on a bench approximately in the middle of the carriage, between Mr Ferguson and his wife and two nervous young dandies, whose parents, having sent them to Paris and Florence to expose them to art, were now shipping them off to the future in the hope of broadening their horizons. While the other passengers were taking their places, Ferguson, twisting his head round, bored them with a series of observations about the decor. Lucy listened politely, while Claire struggled to blot them out in order to be able to savour the importance of the moment.
When they had all settled, the guide closed the carriage door and sat facing them on a tiny chair, like an overseer on a galley ship. Almost at once, a violent jolt caused some of the passengers to cry out in alarm. Mazursky hurriedly put their minds at rest, explaining that this was simply the engine starting. And, sure enough, the unpleasant juddering soon gave way to a gentle tremor, almost a purr, propelling the vehicle from the rear. Mazursky then looked through the periscope and smiled with satisfaction.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to inform you that our journey to the future is under way. This very moment we are crossing the fourth dimension.’
As if to confirm this, the vehicle was suddenly swaying from side to side, giving rise to further consternation among the passengers. The guide reassured them once more, apologising for the state of the road and adding that, despite their sustained efforts to keep the path clear, the terrain in the fourth dimension was naturally rough and dotted with bumps and crevices. Claire glanced at her face, reflected in the darkened window, wondering what the landscape looked like behind the black paint blocking their view. However, she scarcely had time to wonder about anything else, for at that very moment, to the passengers’ horror, they heard a loud roar outside, followed by a burst of gunfire and a heartrending bellow.
Startled, Lucy clutched Claire’s hand.
This time Mazursky limited himself to smiling serenely at the passengers’ alarmed faces, as if to say that the roars and gunfire would be a recurring feature of their journey, and the best thing they could do was to ignore them.
‘Well,’ he declared, rising from his seat and strolling down the aisle, once everyone had recovered a little, ‘we shall soon be in the year 2000. Please pay attention while I explain what will happen when we arrive in the future. As Mr Murray mentioned, we will climb out of the tram and I will take you to the promontory where we will watch the battle between humans and automatons. Although they can’t see us from below, it is imperative you stay together and keep quiet so as not to give our position away. There is no telling what effect it might have on the fabric of time, although I assume it would not be a positive one.’
Further bellows came from outside, followed by the alarming shots, which Mazursky scarcely appeared to notice. He carried on pacing between the benches, thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, a pensive crease on his brow, like a professor weary of repeating the same old lecture time and again.
‘The battle will last approximately twenty minutes,’ he went on, ‘and will resemble a short three-act play: the evil Solomon will appear with his entourage and be ambushed by the brave Captain Shackleton and his men. A brief but thrilling skirmish will follow, and finally a duel between the automaton known as Solomon and Derek Shackleton, which, as you already know, will end in victory for the humans. Please refrain from applauding when the duel is over: this is not a music-hall act, but an actual event, which we are not supposed to witness. Simply form a line and follow me to the vehicle as quietly as possible. Then we will travel back across the fourth dimension and return home safe and sound. Is that clear?’
The passengers nodded. Lucy pressed Claire’s hand again, and beamed at her, full of anticipation. Claire returned the smile, yet hers had nothing in common with her friend’s: Claire’s was a farewell gesture, her only way of telling Lucy she had been her best friend and would never forget her, but that she must follow her destiny. Likewise, the kisses she had planted on her mother’s cheek and her father’s wrinkled brow, it had been an affectionate but far more solemn farewell than was appropriate before leaving for the Burnetts’ country mansion, but her parents had not noticed. Claire stared again at the blacked-out glass, and wondered whether she was prepared for life in the world of the future, the devastated planet Gilliam Murray had described to them. She was gripped by a pang of fear, which she forced herself to suppress. She could not weaken now that she was so close. She must go ahead with her plan.
Just then, the tram came to a grinding halt. Mazursky took a long look through the periscope, until he was satisfied that everything outside was as it should be. Then, with a mysterious smile, he opened the carriage door. Screwing up his eyes, he scanned the surrounding area one last time, before announcing: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you would kindly follow me, I will show you the year 2000.’
Chapter XXI
While her fellow travellers clambered down from the tram without further ado, Claire paused on the running- board, her right foot poised above the ground of the future, as solemn as when she had ventured into the sea for the very first time. Aged six, she had stepped with infinite care, almost reverentially, into the waves, as though this would determine how the dark enormity of the water responded to her intrusion. In the same way she now ventured into the year in which she had decided to stay, hoping it would treat her with equal respect.
As her heel touched the ground, she was surprised at how hard it felt, as though she had expected the future to be like a partially baked cake simply because it had not yet happened. However, a few steps sufficed to demonstrate that this was not the case. The future was a solid place, and unquestionably real – although it was utterly devastated. Was that heap of rubble really London?
The tram had stopped in a clearing amid the remains of what had probably been a small square, the only reminder of which was a few charred, twisted trees. The surrounding houses had been destroyed. Only the odd wall remained intact – still papered and incongruously adorned with an occasional picture or lamp-fitting – the remnants of a broken staircase, elegant railings now enclosing nothing more than piles of rubble. Dotted along the pavements were grim mounds of ash, probably the remains of fires built by humans from sticks of furniture to ward off the cold night air.
Claire could find no clue in the surrounding ruins as to what part of London they were in, not least because, although it was midday, it was very dark. A gloomy light filtered down from the sky, veiled by the greyish smoke that billowed from dozens of fires, their flames flickering like votive candles between the gaping ruins, obscuring the outlines of that shattered world – a world seemingly abandoned to its fate, like a ship stricken with malaria condemned to drift until time brings it to rest on a coral reef.
When Mazursky considered sufficient time had passed for the passengers to appreciate the depressing face of the future, he asked them to form a group. With him leading the way and one of the marksmen bringing up the rear, they moved off. The time travellers marched out of the square and into an avenue where the devastation struck them as even greater, for there was scarcely anything left standing to suggest that the piles of rubble had once been buildings. The avenue had no doubt once been lined with luxurious town houses, but the prolonged war had turned London into an enormous refuse tip. Magnificent churches had become indistinguishable from foul-smelling
