“We’ll descend,” Carpentaria insisted.
“It’s about Juliette,” pleaded Ilam.
“We’ll descend,” said Carpentaria a third time. “Ring the bell.”
He sat down, took his revolver from his pocket, and put it ostentatiously on his knees.
Ilam sighed, and pushed the white disc that communicated with the engine-house, and a few moments later a vibration went through the wheel, and it resumed its revolution. The car came down on the side nearest the river, and its occupants had a superb view of the final items of the display of fireworks. Among them were two portraits, in living flame, of the twin gods of the City of Pleasure, and under each headpiece was the name of its subject: “Ilam,” “Carpentaria.” The cheers of the immense multitude greeted their ears. Then there was another sound, but it came from above instead of from below. Ilam shrank as if afraid.
“You needn’t be frightened,” said Carpentaria. “It isn’t the trumpet of the Day of Judgment, it’s only the beginning of a thunderstorm. It’s just come in nice time to soak everybody through on their way home.”
Rain spattered viciously on the windows.
When they reached the ground a strange sight met their eyes—the sight of seas and oceans of black, shining umbrellas, surging in waves from all directions towards the Central Way and the exits from the City, and as the umbrellas reached the covered footpaths of the Central Way they collapsed and showed human beings. And then, at all the exits from the City, all these umbrellas—and it was estimated that there were over a quarter of a million of them—sprang again into life, and hid their owners. The tempest was already at its height.
“Come with me,” said Carpentaria, as Ilam sought to leave him, when they quitted the Amusements Park.
“No,” said Ilam flatly.