The Long Earth

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 who’d been given an important job to do and wanted to make certain that it was done exactly right. It dropped something moderately heavy into Joshua’s hands. Joshua looked down. He was holding what looked like a large salmon, beautiful and iridescent.
    He heard the voice of