The Long Earth

gentleman next door who regularly came in to steal from me got quite a large electric shock. A little bit of instant karma, and that was the only time I ever laid anyone low. No kick-boxing required.’
    They broke again.
    Lobsang said, ‘And now you, my friend, have been instrumental in helping me emulate the original Mark Twain who, if we can believe his autobiographical
Life on the Mississippi
, fought with another pilot on a stern-wheeler in full steam, the man having been bullying a trainee pilot. Every now and again he had to leave the fight and make sure the vessel was still on course – rather as I am guiding our ship through the worlds, even as we spar. Given Twain’s cheerful tendency to put a shine on any anecdote, I am not certain of the truth of this, but I admire the man, which is why I named this ship after him … Actually he would have called his book
Stepping Westward
, but the title, alas, had already been claimed by William Wordsworth. The old sheep of the Lake District: very fine poet, but somehow “exploring on the
Wordsworth
” does not quite have the appropriate ring, does it?’
    Joshua said, ‘Wordsworth had his moments, according to Sister Georgina.
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free …
’
    ‘I know it, of course.
The holy time is quiet as a nun breathless with adoration
. Very apt! Are we sparring with poetry too, Joshua?’
    ‘Shut up and box, Lobsang.’

23
    WHEN THEY WERE done the sun was setting on all the worlds.
    Joshua took a shower, musing on all the meanings and usages of the word ‘strange’. Boxing like a nineteenth-century steamboat captain with an artificial man, while multiple worlds flickered by beneath. Could his life get any odder? Probably, he thought, resigned.
    He was coming to like Lobsang, although he was not entirely certain why. Nor was he certain, even now, what exactly Lobsang was. Strange, that was for sure. But then of course plenty of people called
him
strange, and worse.
    He dried himself off, got into a new pair of shorts, put on a fresh T-shirt which bore the slogan ‘Don’t worry! On another Earth it already happened’, and headed back to the saloon deck. The empty staterooms he passed bothered him; it made the
Mark Twain
feel like a ghost ship, with himself as the first, and possibly the last, ghost.
    He walked into the galley, and there was Lobsang, dressed in a bland coverall, standing patient as a statue. ‘Dinner time, Joshua? According to a preliminary cladistic analysis your salmon is not, strictly speaking, salmon, but salmon enough for the grill. We have all the relevant condiments. We also have tracklements, and I bet you have never heard of
them
before.’
    ‘Tracklements are those things which complement the main ingredient of a meal and, traditionally, at least, may be found in the vicinity of the said ingredient – for example, horseradish root in good beef country. I am impressed, Lobsang.’
    Lobsang looked pleasantly shocked. ‘Well, if it comes to that, so am I, given that I am a certifiable genius with access to every dictionary ever published. May I ask how you came across such an archaic word?’
    ‘Sister Serendipity is a world expert on cookery through the ages. In particular she has a book by somebody called Dorothy Hartley, called
Food in England
. Serendipity knows all that stuff; she can make a good meal out of anything. You should see her roadkill hot pot, always a favourite. She taught me a lot about living off the land.’
    ‘It is remarkable for a woman with such skills to devote her time to unfortunate young people. Such dedication.’
    Joshua nodded. ‘Well, yes. And maybe also because she is wanted by the FBI, which is why she doesn’t go out much and sleeps in the basement. Sister Agnes said that it was all a big misunderstanding, and in any case the bullet missed the senator by a mile. They don’t talk about it much.’
    Lobsang began walking backwards and forwards along the deck, turning smartly when he reached a bulkhead and striding back again, like a sentry.
    Joshua set about dressing the salmon, but the endless striding and the creaking of the floorboards began to get on his nerves. When Lobsang came past for the twelfth time he said, ‘You know Captain Ahab used to do that? And look what happened to him, right? What’s on your mind now, Lobsang?’
    ‘On
my
mind! Practically everything. Although I have to say that gentle physical exercise, such as our sparring, does indeed do