—It was Fate! You made it so!
Is the last shriek they hear from the Unregarded Prophet. He is furious, even as his dastardly plan appears to be coming to fruition, as though he were the most self-pitying villain in the world. Like Cassandra, but less passive-aggressive.
And from the chink of skylight as the room fills with water, up to their necks even now, as they battle at the obdurate grille to free themselves from certain death.
MH died by hydrocution, this is no time to remember that. And where he’d gone wrong had been… they neither of them could remember.
If Unregarded Prophets are going to act, instead of boring everybody with their tiresome hindsight — what’s the world coming to?
The Unregarded Prophet, more dismissively referred to Hindsight Man, an inaccuracy because it was everybody else relying on Hindsight; he is the one who had seen clearly all along.
A bad influence, radix malorum, Prophet of Doom man.
—I told you I was being followed. I did say.
He was following me around as if he wanted to say something, but never spoke — dogging my footsteps.
Had he begun a conversation on his fears for the future, a Journalist would have reply to any Prophet:— There’s no story here if it hasn’t yet happened. I’m not a safety inspector.
She had broached her fears to the Pathologist: adducing various trivial incidents that might not add up to a credible danger, taken in isolation… but taken in aggregate…
The Unregarded Prophet is trying to kill us, I’m sure of it.
It was him, must have been, trying to drop rocks on us, when we were in that canyon.
And you said:—No, it’s just your guilty conscience, and, I have to say, laughed.
Although that had been the moment when he has to admit, very privately, this might explain some oddities he’d been noticing in his life recently.
Seems wrong that a Prophet should be influencing events, but if something else were to happen, we will be warned of it at least, he thought.
The foaming water rising, the air-pocket diminishing, they choking, spluttering.
—Why is he so angry with us?
—I think he thinks we haven’t done our jobs properly—that we symbolise the whole rotten world to him—communication and science all corrupt—reason for all his unhappiness—because he was told that the world verges towards good—(parents do this to children)—that if we had done our jobs, he wouldn’t be in such pain—maybe wouldn’t even have to exist.
—We can get out of this, he gasps. I’ve got an idea.
And soon their predicament is in the past.