Ships and Stings and Wedding Rings Read Online Free PDF Page A

completion. They would pack up and jump back and we’d have no choice other than to follow them. Then I’d have to go and have a very difficult conversation with Dr Bairstow.
    For the first time, I began to wonder whether I should have gone straight to the Time Police and left them to sort it out. Every day we were here we risked being discovered, and that would be disastrous because it would influence events that had already happened. Doubt gnawed at me and there were several occasions when I hovered on the brink of pulling us out and heading home.
    â€˜No,’ said Markham, reading my mind. ‘Give it a little while longer.’
    I looked at our sunburned selves. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to explain this away. We’re going to be in such trouble.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t worry too much,’ he said, examining his rash again which had spread to his other elbow via his knees. ‘Everyone knows you can talk people into pulling the most outrageous stunts that seem perfectly logical at the time, and we always seem to get back more or less safely. It’s me that has to explain to Major Guthrie just how I managed to get trampled by a war elephant/covered in boiling oil/locked in the oubliette/stung by the scorpion and so on. He’s never impressed by any of it and somehow the mad redhead always gets off scot-free and everything turns out to be my fault.’
    â€˜True,’ I said, feeling more cheerful.
    On the sixth day, we wearily heaved ourselves out of the pod and trudged off to the boatyard, carefully following in Bashford’s footsteps. Peterson checked the left-hand side of the path, Markham the right and I came along behind, acting as sweeper.
    So far, everything as usual. On this day, however, we would have some excitement. Today was the day the ship would be launched. It wasn’t completed yet, but there would be a small ceremony as it was dragged down to the water. We assumed they had to float it now before it became too big and heavy to be moved.
    â€˜A bit like you in a few months, Max,’ said Markham to me.
    I suppose that for a race which casually dots massive pyramids willy-nilly around the landscape, launching a boat, however large, presents no problems at all.
    There was the obligatory shouting, of course, even when addressing the man only two feet away, because if you don’t shout, how will people know how important you are?
    Thick, chocolate-coloured ropes were attached in what was almost a cat’s cradle. The boat had a mast but no rigging or any of the horizontal bits – whatever they’re called. There were no quarter rudders yet – that’s the two big oars at the back. Look, I’m not a sailor – OK? The big bit of wood, the sternpost, which helped compress the planking and keep it watertight, was carved in the image of a huge lotus. The work was obviously a labour of love – it was beautiful. The lotus is a sacred symbol in Egypt.
    Lines of men arrived, apparently from nowhere, their bodies already glistening with sweat. Someone somewhere had a drum. Someone always has a drum. They lined up in their teams, complete with overseer, planted their feet, spat on their hands, and took up the slack.
    The drumbeat began, slow and rhythmical. The lines of men threw themselves into a near horizontal position and heaved.
    â€˜Interesting,’ said Peterson. ‘They pull backwards – like a tug of war team.’
    They were just like a tug of war team. Shifting their weight from foot to foot, barely moving an inch at a time, grunting with the effort, they began to build up a momentum. The drum banged on, providing the rhythm. Crowds of people, men, women, and children cheered with enthusiasm and threw flowers. This was obviously a great day for those who had built her. The day she went down to the water. I wondered what her name was. There would be five of these beautiful boats making that epic voyage to the