The Long Earth

the split between neighbouring worlds is usually around fifty years deep. Within the lifetime of your average pine tree. Of course that raises a lot of questions.’

Joshua heard a rumble, a splashing sound, a kind of shrill trumpet. He turned slowly; evidently he wasn’t alone on this world. A short distance inland he glimpsed a scene of predator and prey: a cat-like creature with fangs so heavy it could barely lift its head, it seemed, was tracking a waddling beast with a hide like a tank. These were the first animals he had seen on this world.

Lobsang saw what he saw. ‘The over-armed in pursuit of the over-armoured: the result of an evolutionary arms race. And one that has played out on Datum Earth many times, in various contexts, until both parties succumbed to extinction, all the way back to the dinosaur age and beyond. A universal, it seems. As on the Datum, so on the Long Earth. Joshua, go around the rocky outcrop. You’ll come to the open water.’

Joshua turned and walked easily around the outcrop. The snow was deep, heavy to push through, but it felt good to stretch his legs after so many hours in the gondola.

The expanse of the lake opened up before him. On the lake itself ice lay in a sheet, but there was open water close to the shore, and here there was movement, massive, graceful: elephants, a family of them, furry adults with calves between their towering legs. Some of them were wading out into the shallow water. The adults had extraordinary shovel-shaped tusks that they used to scoop at the lake bed, muddying the water for yards around. In a crystalline sparkle of spray a mother played with a calf. Fresh snow started to fall now, big heavy flakes that settled on the fur of the oblivious elephantids.

‘Gompotheres,’ Lobsang murmured. ‘Or relatives, or descendants. I’d keep away from the water. I suspect there are crocodiles.’

Joshua felt oddly moved by the scene; there was a sense of calm about these massive creatures. ‘This is what you brought us down to see?’

‘No. Although these worlds are full of elephant types. A plethora of pachyderms. I wouldn’t normally have brought them to your attention. But they are a high-order prey species, and it appears that they are being tracked. And, interestingly, so are you.’

Joshua stood quite still. ‘Thank you for sharing.’ He looked around, peering through the thickening snow, but saw nothing else moving. ‘Just tell me when to run, OK? I don’t mind if you say right now…’

‘Joshua, the creatures moving cautiously towards you are holding a conversation about you, though I doubt very much if you can hear it because it is very high pitched. Your fillings might tingle.’

‘I have no fillings. I always brushed my teeth properly.’

‘Of course you did. The communication is also quite complex, and becoming more rapid, as if some kind of conclusion is being reached as to what they’re going to do. It comes and goes because they are constantly stepping. This is almost too fast to see — too fast for you to see. From this behaviour I can deduce that they have a very ingenious method of triangulating the point at which all of their major hunters will surround the victim, which is to say, you—’

‘Hold on. Rewind. You said they are stepping? Stepping animals, stepping predators?’ The world pivoted around Joshua. ‘Well, that’s new.’

‘Indeed.’

‘These creatures are the reason you stopped here, aren’t they?’

‘By the way, I see no need for you to be afraid.’

‘You see no reason for me to be afraid?’

‘Well, they appear to be inquisitive creatures. As opposed to hungry creatures. Possibly more frightened of you than you currently are of them.’

‘How much do you want to bet? My life, for instance?’

‘Let’s see how this plays out. Joshua, wave your hands in the air, please. That’s good. Let them see you. The snow is reducing visibility, obviously. Now shuffle round in a circle. That’s right, just stand there until I say otherwise. Don’t worry. I’m in control of the situation.’

This reassurance meant nothing to Joshua. He kept as still as he could. The snow was coming down hard now. If he panicked he might inadvertently step, and he would step into … what? Given the presence of stepping predatory animals he might land in some even worse situation.

Lobsang murmured in his ear, apparently aware of his tension, trying to calm him. ‘Joshua, just remember that I built the Mark Twain. And it, which is to say of course I, watches over you at all times. Anything that I perceive is attempting to do harm to you will be dead before it knows it. I am of course a pacifist, but the Mark Twain carries weapons of many types, from the invisibly small to the invisibly large. I will not mention the word nuclear, of course.’

‘No. Really don’t mention nuclear.’

‘Then we are of one accord. This being so, would you now please sing a song?’

‘A song? What song?’

‘Any song! Choose a song and sing. Something jaunty … just sing the song!’

Lobsang’s command, while wholly insane, had the authority of Sister Agnes’s voice at the extreme limit of her patience, when even the cockroaches knew to get out of town. So Joshua launched into the first song that came to mind: ‘Hail to the Chief, he’s the chief and we must hail him. Hail to the Chief, he is the one we have to hail…’

When he finished, there was silence on the snowfield.

Lobsang said, ‘Interesting choice. Another legacy of those nuns of yours, no doubt. Spirited when it comes to political debate, are they? Well, that should do it. Now we wait. Please do not move.’

Joshua waited. And just as he opened his mouth to declare that enough was enough, there were dark figures all around him. They were jet black, holes in the snow, with wide chests, big heads and enormous paws, or rather hands, which thankfully did not seem to have claws; they were hands that looked more like boxing gloves, or maybe catcher’s mitts.

And they were singing, with big pink mouths opening and shutting with every sign of enjoyment. But this wasn’t the political silliness that Joshua had sung, and nor was it some animal howl. It was human, and he could understand all the words as they were repeated again and again, with the singers chiming in with different harmonies and repetitions, multi-part chords hanging in the air like Christmas decorations. It went on for minutes, the avenues and trajectories of this wild music, until it gradually converged into one great warm silence.

And the main refrain had gone like this: ‘Wotcher!’ all the neighbours cried, ‘Oo yer gonna meet, Bill? ’Ave yer bought the street, Bill?’ Laugh? — I fort I should’ve died. Knocked ’em in the Old Kent Road…

Astonished, Joshua could barely breathe. ‘Lobsang—’

‘Interesting song choice. Written by one Albert Chevalier, a native of Notting Hill, London. Curiously enough it was later recorded by Shirley Temple.’

‘Shirley Temple… Lobsang, I’m guessing there’s a good reason why these Mighty Joes in the blizzard are singing old comedy songs from England.’

‘Oh, certainly.’

‘And I’m also guessing you know what that good reason is.’

‘I’ve a fair idea, Joshua. All in good time.’

Now one of the creatures walked right up to him, with tennis-racket-sized hands cupped as if cradling something. Its mouth was open, and it was still panting with the energy of the singing; there were a lot of teeth in there, but the general expression was a smile.

‘Fascinating,’ Lobsang breathed. ‘A primate, certainly, surely some species of ape. As convincingly upright as any hominid, but that doesn’t necessarily imply a correlation with human evolution—’

‘It’s not the time for a lecture, Lobsang,’ Joshua murmured.

‘Of course you’re right. We must play out the moment. Take the gift.’

Joshua cautiously took a step forward and held out his own hands. The creature seemed excited, like a child