case labelled Forty-three Century Chinese Home Computer and stared at it intently until the person arrived.
It was a friendly brown-faced lady called Petula who was looking for Vivian. “Madam Sempitern told me to look out for you, dear,” she said. “Would you like to come and see if everything in your room is the way you like it?”
“I’ll come and show her,” Jonathan said at once.
But Petula said, “No, go away, Jonathan dear. You don’t own her.” She took Vivian away upstairs, leaving Sam and Jonathan looking like people who have been brought up short in mid-adventure.
A while later, Vivian was peacefully and happily installed in a small friendly room. Though none of the things in it were much like things she knew, Petula had shown her how everything worked – for instance, if you wanted a mirror, you put your foot on a stud in the floor and a piece of wall reflected your face suddenly – and told her what everything was called. She had shown Vivian how to work the shower and where the switch was for music. Finally, she pressed a stud that made a wall unfold into a cupboard. Inside was a row of pyjama suits mysteriously hanging on nothing and all miraculously Vivian’s size.
“You can count on Elio for that,” Petula said. “If you have any trouble with anything, put your hand across that blue square by the bed and one of us will come and sort you out.”
When Petula had gone, Vivian took possession of the room by straightening out the paper goblet, which had become rather battered by then, and planting it on an empty-frame table by the wall. Then she lay on the bed, which was a flowered blanket draped over nothing, and listened to strange chiming music out of a thing called “the Deck” which floated beside the bed. It was almost as good as listening to the wireless. She thought she had better start thinking how to get the bees out of Jonathan’s bonnet and make him help her get back to stay with Cousin Marty. In some strange way, she knew that those two time-ghosts she had seen would do that, if she could think how. But she did not want to think of that ghost of herself walking beside the ghost of Jonathan for hundreds of years before either of them were born. She went to sleep instead.
She woke because someone had come quietly in and laid out clothes for her. The sound of the door sliding shut made her sit up with a jerk. Now she found that she did want to think about the two time-ghosts. I wonder what we were – I mean what we will be doing, she thought, with a great deal of interest. I can use them somehow. She almost had an idea how.
“Are you there, V.S.?” Jonathan’s voice said out of the Deck.
“No. I’m asleep,” said Vivian. And the almost-idea was gone.
“Then wake up. Dinner’s in half an hour,” said Jonathan’s voice. “It’ll be official, with guests, I warn you. It always is. Shall I come and get you?”
“Is it? Then perhaps you’d better,” Vivian said.
This news made her very nervous. She managed to fumble her way into the silky white suit laid out for her. Its trousers were so baggy they were almost like a skirt, and she put both feet down the same leg twice before she got it right. When she stood up and put her arms into the baggy sleeves, the suit fastened itself down her back like magic and began to glow slightly. Blue flowers appeared, floating gently in spirals round her arms and legs. Vivian touched them, and they were as unreal as time-ghosts. This was unnerving enough, but the most unnerving thing was the looseness of the suit itself, if, like Vivian, you were used to the tight clothes and underclothes of 1939. She felt as if she had no clothes on at all, and that made her more nervous than ever.
When Jonathan arrived, all in white, with his hair newly-plaited, he did not help her to feel any better. “It’ll be quite boring,” he warned her on the way down the polished stairs. “The guests are Dr Wilander – he’s my tutor – and Librarian Enkian. They hate one another. There’s a story that Wilander once threw a whole set of Shakespeare folios at Enkian. He’s strong as an ox, so it could be true. They had another quarrel today and my father invited them to soothe them down.”
“I hope they’ll all be too busy hating and soothing to notice me,” Vivian said.
“Bound to be,” said Jonathan.
But they were not. Jonathan’s parents were waiting in the dining room, which was a round vaulted room that put Vivian instantly in mind of a tube station, and the two guests were standing with them beside a pretend fire flickering in a real fireplace. Though all four were in solemn black, Vivian found it hard not to think of them as sheltering from an air raid. It gave her an instant feeling of danger. That feeling grew worse when Jenny looked up and said, “Here she is,” and Vivian realised they had all been talking about her.
Mr Enkian, who had a yellow triangular face and a way of sneering even when he talked about ordinary things, looked at Vivian and said, “What a pale little creature!”
Vivian’s face at once contradicted him by growing red and hot. She felt like something the cat had brought in. Except I don’t think there are any cats here! she thought, rather desperately.
“Six years in smoke-polluted history isn’t good for anyone,” Jenny said, in her most worried-soothing way, as she led the way to the table.
Sempitern Walker shot her an anguished look over his shoulder. “She managed to grow though,” he said. He sounded as if he bore Vivian a grudge for it.
As for Dr Wilander, he simply stared at Vivian. He was huge. He had a huge hanging face like a bear’s. Vivian took one look at him and found her eyes being met by shrewd little grey eyes gazing hard at her out of the bear’s face. They terrified her. She knew she was being stared at and summed up by one of the cleverest people she had ever met. She was too frightened to move until Jonathan took hold of her shoulder and shoved her into a carved and polished empty-frame chair. Then it was a relief just to look at the table and find that it was not invisible, but made of some white stuff with patterns of white on it to imitate a tablecloth.
Dr Wilander sat down opposite her and the empty chair creaked. He spoke to her. His voice was a dull grunting, like a bear in a distant thicket.
“So you’re the youngest Lee, eh? Vivian Lee?”
“Yes,” Vivian said, wishing she did not need to lie.
“Sent home because of the Second World War, eh?” grunted Dr Wilander.
“Yes,” Vivian agreed – with relief, because now she was back at least to lying by telling the truth.
“By which we understand,” said Mr Enkian, “that the notorious instability of Twenty Century must have escalated to a degree to cause concern to your parents. We hope you can give an account of it.”
Help! thought Vivian. She looked desperately at Jonathan, but she could tell he was going to be no help. He was looking cool and well-behaved, the picture of a boy trying not to be noticed.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Enkian,” grunted Dr Wilander. “You can’t expect an eleven-year-old child to judge degrees of instability.”
“I do expect it from the child of two trained Observers,” Mr Enkian snapped. “She can answer questions at least.”
Jonathan’s father interrupted, realising that his guests were starting to quarrel. “We all know the source of the trouble,” he said, “and though extirpation is still a possibility, what most concerns us now is how the resulting temporonic unrest might be contained
