Starship Home (40 page)

He shook his head and kept chipping away. ‘Got to finish this.’

‘When she self-destructs, it’ll be destroyed.’

‘Doesn’t matter. I still have to finish it.’

Inside, the bridge was in darkness except for the self destruct but there was the sound of people moving, then Rocky’s voice, ‘How do you find your way through this place in the dark?’

‘Training,’ Marine’s voice said. ‘In battle, the lights can fail, so we train in the dark.’ Then there was a decisive click, a rattle, and a powerful beam struck out from the end of a Slarnstaff held by Marine. She switched on another and handed it to Rocky, who played the light around the bridge until it fell on the sign that the Slarn marine had cut in the rear bulkhead. ‘That wasn’t there before,’ he said, ‘what is it?’

Marine moved to it, and ran her hand across it, staring at it in horror. ‘It’s what they’d tattoo on my face if I deserted and was recaptured. It’s the brand of shame. The Mark of the Great Abyss. They’re not going to take her off planet. Self destruct will proceed.’

From a warrior culture himself, Rocky fully understood her feelings, and it was in silence that they gathered up the remaining Slarnstaffs and headed back toward the welcoming light of day.

Minutes later, they were ready to depart, and Harold was still stubbornly chipping away at Guinevere’s tombstone. Meg knew there was little she could do to get him to leave his task, so she said, ‘The castle in 24 hours, Harold! We may not be able to come for you!’ while making a mental promise to come for him whatever the cost.

In the cell on the Starship Charles de Josselin, Zachary and Marlowe sat, each on one of the two couches, watching each other like suspicious dogs. ‘We’re in this together,’ Marlowe began and Zachary shook his head. ‘You may be in this together,’ he said, ‘but I’m in it by myself.’ He looked around at the blank walls. ‘I can’t believe I trusted people in uniforms! Got to get out of here!’ But the walls looked blanker the more he gazed at them. ‘Hey Charles! Charles de Josselin!’ Charles manifested in one corner of the cell. Zachary gave him his best conman’s smile. ‘Good to see you. Listen, you wouldn’t like to do me a favor and beam me back to Earth, would you?’

‘No.’

‘And that would mean the same thing in English as it does in French?’

Charles ignored that. ‘Your desire is that I should end the same way as Guinevere? Broken? Disgraced?’

‘So much for plan number one,’ said Zachary, ‘now for plan number two, hide in the laundry truck,’ and then added to Marlowe, ‘that was a joke.’

‘I’ve told you before. I don’t understand jokes,’ said Marlowe.

Charles was watching them.
Were these truly the idiots Guinevere died for?

Meg and Rocky and Marine were riding along an open, lightly wooded valley, the Slarnstaffs divided between them, and Meg turned to Rocky and said, ‘It’s looking good, Rocky, this could be the way through we’ve been looking for.’ But Rocky and Marine, trained soldiers both, were looking from side to side, and starting to get decidedly twitchy. Then Rocky said, ‘Look up to the left. On the ridge.’ Meg looked, and what she saw was sunshine flashing off metal. The flashes were patterned; someone was signalling. ‘And to the right,’ said Marine, and when Meg looked to the ridge to the right of them, there it was again: a series of sunshine flashes off a metal surface. ‘Sullivans,’ said Rocky, and Marine said, ‘We do the same in space war. We leave the enemy a space to run through …’ Rocky nodded grimly, ‘and then shut the door on them. Right now, we’re riding into a trap and they don’t want us getting home to tell the tale!’

And as they turned their horses and hastened back the way they came, groups of Sullivan horsemen were spurring down either slope, uttering yelps as they came. Marine, unused to riding a horse, was falling behind, and Meg and Rocky turned back to help her, but as they did so, Marine slipped from her saddle, took a Slarnstaff and stood, as if she were on a firing range and the Sullivans were moving targets and as she fired, the first wave of Sullivans began falling from their horses. Swiftly turning to the other flank, Marine began firing again, disrupting that wave, and then, helped by Rocky to remount, she and the other two rode back along the valley to safety.

The Don was angry at their report. His eyes blazed as he leant on his couch and addressed them. ‘You put yourselves at risk, you put the Slarnstaffs at risk ,,,’

‘And found that the one clear way out is a Sullivan trap!’ Meg replied.

Painfully, the Don hoisted himself to his feet. ‘I can’t lead my people from my bed,’ he said, ‘and with you, Lady Henderson, at risk, I can’t lead at all. Ulf? Take these two to the Women’s Room.’

‘Gladly,’ said Ulf with a gigantic grin, and picked up Meg and Marine, one under each arm, and took them struggling to the door leading to the Troll wives’ quarters. ‘You can’t do this!’ Meg cried, ‘women have rights, you can’t roll back the clock!’ and then Ulf carried her and Marine inside and the door closed again and her protests became muffled. A moment later Ulf came out again and joined the Don, Father John and Rocky at the map. Turning to the Don, Ulf said, about Rocky, ‘I want him away from you.’

‘Rocky?’ the Don said, ‘to the village, make sure the Forest People are ready to move out.’

‘Don, I swear I seek no revenge. You adopted me as your son, and you are my father, not Spider.’

‘I know that. But while you’re here Ulf’ll waste time nagging me about you. To the village. Go. Now!’

Rocky whirled around and ran out.

‘Let me out!’ Meg’s muffled cries could still be heard from the screen looking into the hall from the Women’s Room.

Inside the women’s quarters, veiled Troll women surrounded Marine, inspecting her. One of them turned to Meg. ‘Lady Henderson, is this a woman?’ while Marine was saying, ‘Are these veiled creatures women?’

‘Yes to both questions,’ Meg replied.

‘And these are the women we’re going to have to fight our way out with?’ Meg nodded and Marine shook her head pessimistically. ‘Those skirts are going to have to go for a start.’

In the village, the Forester people were loading wagons and carts with provisions and tools: bags of seed, baskets of fruit and vegetables, small trees in earthenware pots, axes, spades, forks, looms, dye vats, all manner of things were being loaded. The vehicles ranged from animal-drawn drays to push-carts and wheelbarrows. Other villagers were bringing in grazing animals: cows, sheep, and goats. Everything needed to reconstruct their village in a new place was going. Near Helena’s house, two carpenters were busily making a carrying litter for Our Mother, and Zoe and Maze moved through it all, helping, encouraging, advising. Into this scene rode Rocky, still tight with anger, and he dismounted and strode to them.

‘The Don’s sent me to lend a hand,’ he said, ‘and ask when you’ll be ready to leave.’

‘Tomorrow early,’ Zoe said, and added, ‘but I thought you’d be riding patrol.’

His anger burst its bonds. ‘They don’t trust me! Not the Don, he does, but Ulf and the others. The Don killed my … not my father, but the man who fathered me, and Ulf believes that by the Code I’m bound to seek revenge. But I’m not. The Don adopted me. He’s my true father and lord and I’ve given him my hand in loyalty. He’s my father, not the traitor!’

Zoe put a hand on his arm. ‘It’s okay. We know you’re staunch for the Don.’

‘It’s not okay. It’ll never be okay until I prove it to the others.’

‘Meanwhile, help us out here,’ Zoe said, ‘we need every pair of hands we can get.’

In the women’s quarters of Trollcastle, Marine was conducting a class in empty-handed fighting. Meg and the women and children were all lined up before her, and though the women were still veiled, their skirts had been cut short for ease of movement. Marine made a fist. ‘This is a fist,’ she said, ‘everyone make a fist.’ They did so. ‘Everyone make two fists. This is how we stand. Back straight, feet apart and flat on the floor, knees bent slightly as if we were riding one of those horrible horse animals your men get around on.’ They followed her example. ‘The parts of the body we use are the fist, the blade of the hand, elbow, knee, ball of foot, side of foot, heel.’

‘Teeth?’ said one of the women.

‘If you must,’ said Marine.

‘Nails?’ asked another woman.

‘Whatever works.’

‘Daggers?’ asked the first woman.

Marine was puzzled. ‘Daggers?’

‘All Troll women carry daggers,’ came the reply and as one, every Troll woman lifted her skirt at one side, and strapped to every thigh was a scabbard with a dagger in it.

Marine looked at Meg. ‘You didn’t tell me this?’

‘Because I didn’t know.’

Marine snapped her fingers and put her hand out to the nearest Troll woman, and was handed her dagger. It was a thing of military precision and beauty. A double-sided blade tapering to a fine point, suitable for both cutting and stabbing, and weighted for throwing. ‘Nice,’ said Marine and handed it back to the woman hilt first. The woman took it, made a tiny cut on her hand and returned it to its scabbard. Marine was looking at her questioningly. ‘If drawn, the blade must drink blood,’ said the woman, ‘for that is the true nature of a blade.’

Marine nodded, once again recognizing and respecting a warrior culture similar to her own.

In the white cell Zachary and Marlowe sat facing each other. ‘The only way to make sure that no one’s killed down there is lifting Guinevere,’ Zachary told the warlock.

‘The Slarn won’t do it,’ argued Marlowe.

‘So we get Charles to do it.’

‘Charles de Josselin can hear every word you say, probably know every thought you think. And you believe you can con him?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Zachary and then addressed the empty air. ‘Can I, Charles?’

There was no answer and Marlowe said: ‘You believe you can out-think a starship?’

‘No, I don’t believe that at all. But I can out-feel one. My take on Charles is that he’s like Guinevere was before she started to feel human again.’

It was a challenge and Charles met it, manifesting in the cell, glowering at Zachary. ‘What do you know of us, who live forever, between the stars?

‘I know you don’t love,’ said Zachary.

‘That’s a lie.’

‘I know you think you do. I know you tell each other beautiful stories about it. Guinevere told me some of them.’

‘I loved Guinevere more than life. More than …’

Zachary broke in. ‘More than the starship Cassius loved the starship Phoebe?’

Charles stared at him. ‘She told you that story? That’s all it is. A story, a beautiful lie.’

‘Is it? She said that the starship Phoebe was lost in a storm in Time, and was found 20 years later, dying, and then died. But the starship Cassius loved her so much that he shared his life force with her and brought her back.’

‘Just a story,’ Charles said again.

‘Is it?’ said Zachary. ‘Or don’t you love Guinevere enough to try? You go down there to the home planet where the primitives live, and you’ll find us being primitive enough to love and fight and put our lives on the line for each other. Just as we put our lives on the line for Guinevere. Again and again and again.’

‘I’ve now read her log,’ Charles said, and his voice was tight with emotion, ‘and I know what you did. How hard you all tried.’

‘While you sit up here feeling sorry for yourself and afraid of your Slarn masters! There’s a boy and a girl down there. The boy’s thirteen years old, and the girl’s fifteen, and they’re each worth ten of you! And they loved her, really loved her, not just had warm romantic feelings about her, but they loved her in what they did for her, by action after action, more than you!’

Charles held his gaze for one long moment, and then vanished. Marlowe looked at Zachary and said: ‘And what did that achieve?’

‘I out-felt him,’ said Zachary, ‘and that’s a start.’

The bridge of the starship Guinevere was in darkness, when abruptly the glowing form of Charles de Josselin manifested, gestured, and the lights came on as he lent them energy from his own store. He stood, looking around the bridge, at the clothes on the improvised washing lines, at the uneaten food rotting in baskets, and then at the rear bulkhead, and the Mark of the Abyss, the brand of shame burned there beneath the ship’s insignia. For a moment he looked at it, his eyes bleak, and then he vanished and the lights went out. Darkness again.

Outside, Harold was still working on the tombstone. ‘Guinevere,’ the carved letters read, and then there followed a gap for the year of her birth and death, the latter already carved, and then the RIP, which was also completed. Charles manifested beside him, and Harold looked up. ‘What year was she born?’

‘The Year of Our Lord 1510,’ said Charles, and as Harold chalked in the year preparatory to carving it, he went on, ‘The Slarn marked her with the brand of shame, and you do this? Why?’

‘We were friends, I guess,’ Harold said and continued chipping away at the stone.

‘Finish your work and go quickly,’ Charles said. ‘Au revoir.’

‘What’s that mean?’

‘It means “goodbye” but not forever. It means we shall see each other again.’

‘We have one like that. It goes “see you”.’

‘See you, my young friend,’ said the musketeer and vanished, and immediately reappeared in the cell in his own ship, where he said to Zachary, ‘Your friend, the boy Harold, has persuaded me. I’ll speak to the oldest of the starships. He may remember Cassius and Phoebe, and if the legend be true he’ll know. And then we can see if we can make it come true again.’

‘You think you can actually get her back? Make her live again?’

‘We’re simply sets of information. When she died, the information should have been stored. Perhaps it can be brought back into life. Perhaps.’ And with that he was gone.

Helena lay in her bed, and Zoe sat beside her, stroking her head. ‘So old, my little sister,’ Zoe was saying, ‘so old.’ Maze had been watching, and now she put her hand on Zoe’s arm and beckoned her. When they came out onto the verandah, all around them the preparations for evacuation, the loading of carts, the mustering of stock, were still continuing. Rocky moved among it all, helping where he could. ‘I keep thinking,’ Zoe said, ‘of Helena when she was a little girl, younger than you, Maze. She was cute, seeing me off to school every morning with a teddy bear? I sort of treated her like a big doll herself. And then I got taken and I wasn’t there when she needed me. I wasn’t there for 90 years.’ She paused and then concluded: ‘Well I’m here now.’

Maze nodded and then said with a maturity far beyond her years, ‘When Our Mother dies, I’ll be Our Mother because I’m anointed one, The Choosen. But I’m young, and need a big sister to advise me, way you’ve been doing past few days. Will you do that?’

Zoe took Maze’s hand in silent agreement and then realized that the words had also to be said, to seal the contract. ‘I will do that.’

Stars shone unblinking in the dark of space, and sitting on the hull of a starship, unaffected by the hard vacuum surrounding them, were two transparent figures. One was the French musketeer Charles de Josselin, and the other an ancient Sumerian, the oldest of the starships, the starship Gilgamesh. Once Gilgamesh had been a king in ancient Sumeria, a king who feared death and dreamed of immortal life. And one day the Slarn had come and claimed him, and he found what he had dreamed of among the stars.

‘I’ve searched the records, Gilgamesh,’ Charles was saying, ‘and they say it really happened.’

The ancient starship paused, and then inclined his head. ‘Cassius breathing life into Phoebe? Yes. It happened.’

‘And the records say that you, the oldest of the Fleet, were there when that occurred.’

‘I was there.’

‘Has it happened since?’

‘It has been attempted,’ said the ancient one. ‘I have this conversation every hundred years or so. There are no records, because it’s not permitted, so the Slarn must never know.’ He paused and Charles waited. ‘Cassius and Phoebe … that was the only time it ever worked. The other starships who’ve tried it died or went mad and had to be terminated themselves. Some just went silent.’

‘Why?’ asked Charles.

‘Your mind enters the mind of the dead. Your heart enters the dead’s heart. You hear the final cry of the soul leaving the ship. You see the Dark Abyss. Cassius himself told me this. And once I tried it myself but pulled back.’

‘What do you advise me?’

Gilgamesh lifted his giant head and turned it toward Charles. ‘I advise nothing. You have made up your mind to do this thing and you will do it whatever I may advise. But I tell you this, as one who did so in my mortal life, of those who visit the land of the dead, but few return.’ And with that the transparent lineaments of Gilgamesh dissolved, and Charles was left alone to make his decision.

Zachary and Marlowe were sleeping when Charles manifested in their cell. ‘Come!’ the musketeer said, ‘it is necessary that we be working! The oldest of the starship fleet, the starship Gilgamesh says that the story of Cassius and Phoebe is true and may be repeated. I can breathe life into Guinevere and she can live again!’

To Zachary, it suddenly all sounded too easy. ‘The way Guinevere told the story it wasn’t any picnic.’

‘Pah! For a musketeer a mere bagatelle! But I need help, for the operation is one of precision.’

‘You want us back on Earth?’

‘Certainly not. I need you here to make a distraction. The Slarn must not interfere with what I have to do. But I also need the help of people down below. Your Harold, your Meg, your Zoe, and whatever friends they have.’

The Don and Ulf stood beneath the portrait of the first Don, Don Spider I. ‘When the first Don led us in here on the Harleysickles we had nothing, and tomorrow we will have nothing again,’ mused the Don, ‘but what fate loses, the sword can win back.’ He smiled and slapped Ulf on the arm. ‘And when the Slarn are gone we’ll still have their weapons. There’s a kingdom waiting out there for us, Ulf, and when we have it, you’ll be a Duke.’

Behind them, someone cleared their throat, and the Don and Ulf turned as one, their hands going to the hilts of their swords, for in these dangerous days no one came unannounced. But it was Charles, smiling at their response, which took him back to the days of his youth in Paris. ‘You may not have to leave at all,’ he said, ‘for there’s a chance of restoring Guinevere to life. But I need cooperation from you and the woman Meg.’

The Don moved to the door of the women’s quarters and entered and was astounded at what he saw. Under Marine’s supervision, Meg and the Troll women and children were practising judo throws. ‘Throw! Follow them down and strike for the throat with the blade of the hand!’ shouted Marine, and the women cheerfully followed her orders. They had not had this much fun for years.

‘Lady Henderson!’ the Don shouted. ‘What are you thinking of! I want you and the Slarn witch out of here before you corrupt every woman in the castle!!’ Meg and Marine approached him, grinning and sweating with exertion. ‘Charles de Josselin’s here. He needs our help.’

Minutes later, a mounted party consisting of the Don, Meg, Marine and Ulf leading two spare saddle horses rode out of the castle gates and into the night.

Helena lay on her couch, her breathing labored, and Zoe and Maze slept on the floor nearby, and then Charles manifested in the dimly lit room. ‘Zoe?’ he said, ‘I need your help.’

It was Maze who woke first. ‘Zoe? Picturemovie man with feathers on his hat want you.’

Zoe woke, and Charles said, ‘There’s a chance we can bring Guinevere back, but you must come to the starship now.’

‘I can’t. This is my sister and she’s dying.’

‘If we bring Guinevere back, this village may live. You must choose.’

As he spoke, Maze was gripped with a vision of two possible futures. They were at a crossroads in Time, and in one direction lay disaster and in the other hope. ‘Go!’ she said to Zoe. ‘I see in my head two futures, and everything depends on whether you go! Go now!’

Driven by the child’s certainty, Zoe stood, and made for the door and went out into the cool night. Rocky had stationed himself on the verandah, and was sleeping but woke instantly when Zoe touched his arm. ‘Can I borrow your horse? I’ve got to get to the starship.’

‘I’ll come,’ he said, ‘and protect you.’

Although Rocky was smaller and younger than she was, Zoe did not want to hurt his Troll male feelings. And besides … some company on the dark track? So she nodded her agreement, and they both mounted Rocky’s horse and rode for the starship. The night was alive with sounds, the cough of a leopard, then silence, and then the cry of a small animal fallen victim to a predator, and Zoe was suddenly glad of Rocky’s company.

Into the clearing outside the starship rode the Don’s party, and dismounted, Ulf pulling four bitumen-soaked torches from his saddlebags. Awakened by their arrival, Harold came to the top of the ramp, rubbing sleep from his eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, and Meg replied, ‘What are
you
doing here? I thought you were at the village with Zoe!’ ‘I’m staying with Guinevere,’ he said, stubbornly, and then looked past them as Zoe and Rocky rode into the clearing, double-banking on Rocky’s horse.

‘Charles says there’s a chance of bringing Guinevere back,’ Zoe said, dismounting, and before anyone could reply, Ulf turned on Rocky. ‘You. Back to the village where you came from,’ he said, and Rocky, his lips tight with anger, turned his steed and cantered away. Ulf now produced an ancient cigarette lighter, fuelled with rare gasoline scavenged from an ancient underground tank, lit it and began lighting the torches with it preparatory to entering the starship. ‘Is there a chance? Is there really?’ Zoe said to Meg, wishing it to be true.

‘I don’t pretend to understand it,’ Meg said, ‘but the way he describes it, it’s like mouth to mouth resuscitation or those electric shock things they use to get people’s hearts started again.’ The torches now lit, they moved into the dark interior of the starship, and when they reached the bridge, Charles’ manifestation was waiting for them.

‘You have the maps?’ he said, and the Don produced three maps of the district and spread them out. ‘I have most precisely to guide my energies into the area where the information which used to be Guinevere is stored. For this I need beacons placed in an exact equilateral triangle about the ship. In this way I can lock beams onto the points of the triangle and from them find the centre. When it is happening I shall have no time for the games. It must be correct first time. Do we comprehend?’ They nodded and he went on: ‘For beacons, we shall use the communication devices in the helmets from the store here.’ He directed his gaze at a hatch and it opened revealing the racked armor which had thrown such a scare into them when they first explored the ship. ‘You yourselves must place the beacons. Three beacons, three helmets, three parties. Understood?’ He now pointed to three positions on the map. ‘They must be placed here, here and here. This map lacks precision but when you get near the places I shall be there to guide you. So now the good God bless us and
on y va
! Let’s go!’

Outside again, they divided into three parties: Meg and the Don, Zoe and Marine, and Ulf and Harold. In each party one carried a Slarn helmet. The manifestation of Charles watched them from the hatchway and saluted them as they rode out and then he vanished. A moment later Rocky rode from where he had been waiting in cover and followed Harold and Ulf at a distance.

Charles’ next visit was to Zachary and Marlowe. ‘We go apace,’ he told them. ‘Your friends travel now to place the beacons. One hour after dawn, we move.’

‘You’re going to have to do some fancy talking after all this is finished,’ Zachary said, but the musketeer simply shrugged and said: ‘Guinevere must live.’

First light was just beginning to filter through the trees when Meg and the Don rode from the edge of the forest to the banks of a river. The Don consulted his map. ‘It should be somewhere around here,’ he said.

‘He pointed to the river itself,’ Meg said.

‘He must’ve meant the bank,’ the Don replied, but a voice from the direction of the river now contradicted him. ‘No, my friend, I meant the river,’ and they looked up to find Charles’s manifestation standing on top of the river’s surface. ‘You take a line from the dead tree on your side to the one opposite. Halfway across and ten feet in the air is the place.’

The Don did not like the sound of this. ‘How are we supposed to put it halfway across a river?’ he said.

‘I’m sure you’ll find a way,’ said Charles and vanished.

‘If we find a tree branch, swim out and hold the helmet up on that?’ Meg suggested, but the Don shook his head. ‘I don’t swim.’

That puzzled her but she continued. ‘Then we find a boat?’

‘I hate boats!’ the Don said with a little too much emphasis.

Meg looked at him, astonished. Was this fear of water she was hearing?

‘And it’s not because I’m afraid!’ the Don said, ‘it’s just that Trolls don’t swim. It’s … well, it’s un-Troll-like.’

Meanwhile, Zoe and Marine were sitting on their horses in the main street of the Looters’ village. ‘It had to be here,’ moaned Zoe and in answer to Marine’s questioning look she said, ‘last time I was here I was captured by Looters who wanted to sacrifice me to their god.’ They rode down the main street toward where the sacrificial stakes stood. ‘But I guess that they must have had such a scare in the ship that they’re still running.’ She was sounding more optimistic than she felt, but then Charles manifested, standing on top of one of the sacrificial stakes and that drove her gloomy thoughts from her mind. ‘Here,’ Charles said, ‘the beacon must be here.’

‘Up there,’ said Zoe, ‘is this a joke?’

‘No joke,’ Charles told her, ‘this happens to be the place. Now be quick, the time comes,’ and he vanished again. Zoe and Marine dismounted, and hitched their horses to the verandah posts of a long-abandoned shop, and went over to inspect the sacrificial stake that Charles had been standing on only seconds before.

Charles meanwhile had re-appeared in front of Harold and Ulf on a featureless plain. ‘Mark this spot,’ he said, and Harold walked to where the transparent manifestation stood, and marked the spot by drawing a big ‘X’ with one heel. Then he put the helmet on the dead centre of the X, brushed his hands and said, ‘Easy.’ Charles then levitated so that his feet were at the height of Harold’s head. ‘At the height of my head,’ he said, ‘and now I must be away.’

‘If I get on your shoulders,’ Harold said, ‘and put it on your spear, we’re in.’

Ulf nodded. ‘Like the way the first Don killed the Giant of Unley.’ Harold looked at him in question. ‘You never heard that story? This giant, lived in the ruins, was terrorizing the people of Unley, abducting their women, eating their children, usual stuff, and the people came to the first Don and said, “please rid us of this monster” …’

On the riverbank, upstream from the point where they had to erect the beacon, Meg and the Don were engaged in stealing a punt from its owners, a pair of rough-looking river traders lying asleep on the riverbank by the ashes of their campfire. ‘You don’t think we should ask them?’ whispered Meg but the Don shook his head. ‘I am their Don, this is my turf, therefore this is my punt,’ a feat of logic which seemed not to impress the traders, who, awakened by the whispering now staggered to their feet roaring ‘Whattaya think you’re doing?’ and ‘Oi!’ and the other things people say when strangers are stealing their punt. The Don and Meg pushed the punt out into the stream and climbed aboard and the traders followed them into the shallow water, trying to get hold of the punt’s sides. ‘Just borrowing it for a just cause, my good fellows,’ the Don shouted, ‘I’m your Don so all’s well, have it back to you in an hour or so!’ The traders continued to hurl abuse at them and shake their fists in rage, but by this time the current of the river was taking the punt with the Don and Meg in it out of reach, around a bend and out of sight, and Meg, who had experience in punts, took the pole and used it to guide them downstream.