[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Thrilling Wonder Stories, August 1947.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
John Weston balks death—but not destiny—when
he tries to save Serena, mindless perfect
woman, from the Flame Blossom!
When he looked up from the pool, the garden was—different. In the waterWeston had seen the reflection of blue sky and sunset clouds, and theshape of a plane going over. The deep buzzing of the engines hadsuddenly died. It had been sunset; now it was noon—and he was no longerin Versailles.
It had taken months. But the miracle was that it had happened at all.People who search for miracles seldom find them. Yet John Weston,perhaps because he was idle and footloose and wealthy enough to indulgehis impulses, had come searching for a phantom, and had found it. Dunnehad been right, and the theory of serial time could be right, and theauthenticated tales of temporal apparitions in the Versailles gardenwere more than merely tales.
The first day he had come here he had sensed a shifting and astrangeness, but it had passed quickly. Still, it was enough to anchorhim here, strolling through the old paths, not quite believing that hewould ever again see that face he had glimpsed momentarily through ashimmer of spray. Time-traveling was nothing you could weigh andbalance. It either happened or it didn’t.
And now it happened.
Weston stood without moving, looking around. The trees had moved andchanged, and not far away were low blue buildings with conical roofs.Underfoot was a thick, soft moss instead of grass. The pool was still athis feet.
After the initial shock of incredulous amazement had passed, he began towalk toward the cone-roofed buildings.
Then the second miracle happened. Three people came out of one of thestructures and began to walk toward him. One of them was the girl whoseface he had already seen. The others were young men, thin, wearingtunics of shining bronze-green, like the girl’s, and a curious vitalityseemed to shimmer from them as they walked.
As Weston looked at them, he felt certain that this was another world ora far-distant era in time. They were almost unbelievably slender, butnot awkward or angular, nor were their thin, pointed faces sharp.Bronze-green eyes looked at him.
Weston opened his mouth. The impossibility of communication occurred tohim. But they were waiting.
“Hello,” Weston stuttered almost at random.
The three smiled at him and repeated his greeting. It might have beenmerely a friendly echo. Weston, slightly stunned, tried again.
“Where am I?” he asked. “What place is this?”
“This is Jekir’s,” the girl answered.
“Oh. W-what year is this?”
But this time they looked at him, still smiling, but waiting forsomething. It was very quiet; leaves rustled somewhere.
One of the men turned and walked softly away.
“He has work to do,” the girl said. “Have you finished yours for awhile? My name is—”
It sounded something like Serena.
Weston had not expected this placid acceptance. He began to explain andquestion, but the girl interrupted him.
“I must get back to my work, too.” She turned, and Weston, hesitating,glanced helplessly at the other man.
There was no help there.
Weston went after Serena, feeling baffled. She had gone into one of thebuildings. It was an amazing place, Weston found. There were corridorsand little irregular rooms and floors like balconies, and all thepartitions were translucent, lik