Ships and Stings and Wedding Rings Read Online Free PDF

fabulous land of Punt, and all their names are lost in the mists of History.
    Slowly, imperceptibly, the boat began to move down the slipway. I say slipway, but it was just a gentle slope down to the water, baked hard as concrete by sun and regular use. Two men ran down each side, knocking away the wooden props.
    We stood up for a better view. No one was bothering to look at us, least of all Bashford and his crew. Even Grey was completely involved in what was happening, her pack clutched tightly to her chest.
    To our left, a group of priests began to chant, raising their hands skywards, possibly invoking the blessing of the great god Re as he travelled across the heavens in his solar boat. Or if not his blessing then those of whichever deities considered themselves responsible for ships and sailors in this god-laden country.
    As the boat slid majestically past them, their chanting rose to a crescendo and acolytes began flicking what I suspected was blood along the hull. There’s always blood at a ship launch. I read somewhere that the Norsemen launched their boats over living sacrifices, to ensure the keel was well and truly saturated, because that always brought good fortune. Although not to the sacrifices, of course.
    Small boys ran up and down the lines of toiling men, throwing buckets of water over them before anyone expired in the heat.
    The noise was enormous. In addition to the drum, a small group of musicians had turned up with the priests. A pipe wailed mournfully, although this was probably a happy song. It’s quite hard to tell sometimes. Cymbals clashed. Even the dogs woke up and ran around barking hysterically and getting in everyone’s way.
    â€˜This is the way to launch a ship,’ shouted Markham, peering red-eyed at the scene.
    â€˜It’s still done more or less this way,’ I said. ‘They just use champagne and a brass band these days. Not half so much fun, though.’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Peterson thoughtfully. ‘Sadly, I have to say I can’t see Princess Alice flinging a bucket of blood at a ship as it slides past. Which is a shame, really. She’d enjoy it.’
    Now, at a command from somewhere, a number of men at the front relinquished their ropes, trotted around to the back, and began to push. The boat picked up speed, reaching the point where it would be unstoppable. Anxious mothers called for their children. The dogs got out of the way. The long lines of men, beautifully coordinated, began to peel away. She was moving by herself now, eager to reach the water. Men were cheering and urging her on. This was obviously a good sign.
    And before anyone asks, I hadn’t forgotten about Grey. She still stood, eyes fixed on the launching, still holding on to her pack for dear life.
    Ten feet to go.
    Then six.
    Then three.
    She was there, gliding smoothly into the water. Pushing a bow wave before her. The lines at the back tightened. In a torrent of white water, she jerked to a halt, swaying (or whatever the nautical term is) from side to side. With a final triumphant shout, men took the strain, feet skidding in the dust. Someone lobbed a couple of sea anchors over the side and there she was. Unfinished, lacking a complete mast, sail, or oars, but beautiful nevertheless. And alive. This ship was a living thing. I can understand now why shipbuilders and sailors always refer to boats as she and endow them with living characteristics. I was so glad I’d had the opportunity to see this.
    The ship’s crew were unhitching the ropes and tossing them into the water, where they were pulled in, coiled, and stowed away.
    The crowd broke ranks, running to the water’s edge in excitement. Everyone was eager to see the new ship.
    And then it happened. I was watching and I saw exactly what happened to the gun.
    As you can imagine, there were crowds of excited kids running everywhere. Most of them were stark naked, covered in God knows what, with crusty nostrils,