The House of Rumour A Novel - By Jake Arnott Page 0,41

himself as an adventurer, a fearless explorer. He had written so much outlandish pulp fiction that he was already finding it hard to distinguish it from fact.

But he wasn’t allowed to get away with it for long. The imaginative competition was far too much for him. The conversation turned to the concept of parallel worlds and alternate futures, the notion of time being non-linear, the possibilities of precognition. The world was ripe for the speculative genre with all the uncertainties of war, the bewildering potential of new discoveries in science and technology. But amid all these great events I couldn’t help thinking that my personal life was on the brink of something, that this was a crucial night in my own history.

Heinlein began to hold forth on the curvature of space–time, of world-lines and points of divergence. Nemesio Carvajal intervened to speak of an Argentine writer who had just published a collection of stories. In one a character is described as attempting a novel that would describe a world where all possible outcomes of an event occur simultaneously with each one leading to further proliferation.

‘It is titled “El Jardín de senderos que se bifurcan” ,’ he explained.

‘The garden of paths that bisect?’ Boucher offered a swift translation.

‘Yes. You see, in the story there is a novel and a labyrinth. It turns out that the novel is the labyrinth and the labyrinth is the novel.’

‘Sounds interesting,’ Boucher continued. ‘What’s this writer called?’

‘Borges,’ Nemesio replied. It was the first time any of us had heard that name.

‘So what’s his genre?’ Hubbard demanded. ‘Mystery or fantasy, or what?’

‘Those things, yes,’ said Nemesio with a smile. ‘And more. He is also an important poet.’

Hubbard huffed indignantly.

‘We’re definitely at a place where the paths are diverging,’ said Cleve Cartmill.

‘But surely,’ Leigh Brackett interjected, ‘in the world, in our world, whatever that is, there will be one reality if totalitarianism goes on unchecked and another if it is defeated.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Heinlein argued. ‘It could be that different worlds can co-exist. In the past as well as the future. That’s why this kid’s story is so important,’ he nodded over at me. ‘Lords of the Black Sun shows us the worst that will happen. By imagining it perhaps we can avoid it in our own reality.’

Feeling foolishly pleased with myself, I caught Mary-Lou’s eyes across the room. She smiled at me and in that moment I imagined our future together. Then Jack Parsons walked in.

There are many images that can attest to the dark and passionate features of the glamorous rocket scientist. Jack Parsons was undeniably photogenic so one can still appreciate those deep-set eyes, that quizzical mouth, the thick curls swept up into a crowning mane. But none of these portraits can ever do justice to his charisma, that delicately soulful presence one felt when he entered a room.

His voice was soft and slow, his manner hesitant. His gaze was open, searching. He looked romantically dishevelled in a fine flannel suit that needed pressing and an open-necked shirt naped with grime. There was a light sheen of sweat on his brow. With scant introduction and a gentle insistence, he joined in the conversation.

‘We’re certainly approaching a crucial moment,’ he said.

‘In your rocket experiments?’ asked Heinlein.

‘In that, yes,’ Parsons replied. ‘But in the Greater Work too.’

‘You mean this mystical stuff?’ Jack Williamson demanded.

‘Look, I know you think it’s all a bit far-fetched, but didn’t you say once that science is magic made real?’

‘I did, yes,’ Williamson conceded.

‘There must be any number of ways to break through the space–time continuum. We should experiment with them all. Soon there will be a chance to test some of this unseen wisdom. The Hierophant has ordered a special Mass that might just help change the course of the war.’

‘Wow,’ Mary-Lou murmured, her eyes wide and bright.

I realise now, of course, that he was talking about Aleister Crowley and that perhaps Jack had some knowledge of Operation Mistletoe. All I noticed then was the way Mary-Lou looked at him.

‘What’s a hierophant?’ asked Leigh Brackett.

‘It’s a fancy name for a high priest,’ Hubbard explained.

‘So, you’ve finally joined this Order,’ said Heinlein. ‘I hope you haven’t given up on the science.’

‘Oh no,’ Parsons replied with a smile. ‘I’m following both paths now.’

The fact that Jack Parsons was actually quite shy and nervous only seemed to add to his charm. He appeared to be channelling an enchantment from another dimension. And there was a reticence in how he described his experiments that was intriguing for