The Long War

already knew. Nelson yawned, blinked and shut down the screens. There was a mystery here, he was sure, and he felt a tingle of anticipation at the prospect of following this trail further. And this was precisely why he was shedding his parochial duties: to have the time, while he had the resources and the strength, to follow such trails wherever they led him.
    But of course the overarching mystery that obsessed him in a background kind of way was the conundrum of stepping itself: of the sudden discovery of the Long Earth, into which Joshua Valienté and his airship and his loudmouthed partner and, apparently, his Tibetan-speaking cat had wandered so famously – of the utter realignment of the cosmos, in Nelson’s own lifetime. How could he not be intrigued? What could it all mean for mankind, the future – indeed, for God? How could he not pursue such questions?
    Well, the best strategy was usually to tackle smaller mysteries first. And right now, in that spirit, before getting ready for bed, he put on an apron, grabbed one of his toolboxes and walked to the stone-floored toilet. This throne was a massive edifice that even included straining bars, and would have been a wonderful asset if anybody over the years could have made it work properly, whereas now it worked in various forms of im properly. He had vowed to get the thing functioning before his tenure was over, taking especial care to find out why it always backed up during an east wind.
    On the whole, he thought, as he knelt before the cracked china sculpture, as if before a pagan idol, it was amazing what the English put up with.

8
    S O THE V ALIENTÉ family travelled to the High Meggers city of Valhalla, to catch a long-haul twain to Datum Earth. The twain journey, across less than three thousand Earths, took only a few hours.
    At Valhalla, Thomas Kyangu was waiting to greet them with a big handwritten sign: VALIENTÉ. Another old buddy of Joshua’s, Thomas was around fifty, with long black hair pinned back in a ponytail, and a wide grin splitting a dark, reasonably handsome face. His accent was thick Australian. ‘Greetings, clan Valienté! Welcome to Earth West One Million, Four Hundred Thousand. Well, officially it’s one point four million plus thirteen, since our founding fathers were stoned when they first got here and lost count, but we like to round it down for the TV ads . . . Good to see you again, Joshua.’
    Joshua grinned and shook his hand. Thomas dived in to help with their bags.
    Getting their bearings, some of them a little woozy from the step-nausea medication, they stood on a concrete apron under the swollen hull of the airship: Joshua, Helen, Dan and Bill Chambers, with their baggage accumulating at their feet. They and the other disembarking passengers were lost in the expanse of this apron, Joshua thought.
    And beyond sprawled the city of Valhalla itself, clusters of heavy buildings under a blue sky faintly tinged with smog, with a din of traffic, and construction engines clanking and roaring. The air was warm, warmer than at Hell-Knows-Where. But still, behind the hot tar and oil aroma of this brand-new city, Joshua could smell the salt of the nearby inland American Sea, just as he remembered from his first visit to these worlds ten years ago.
    A huge form swept over their heads, with a drone of engines and a wash of displaced air: a twain, a big one, a freight vessel heading for the transit routes to the Low Earths and the Datum. Valhalla’s principal function was as a transport nexus, one terminus of the river of airship traffic that flowed endlessly across more than a million Earths to the Datum and back again, carrying freight and passengers. And it was no coincidence that Valhalla had grown up on a location that in most stepwise Americas lay close to what in Datum terms was the Mississippi: the twains took you across the worlds, while the river could carry your goods across a world.
    Daniel Rodney Valienté, eight years old, had never seen ships of such a size, and he jumped up and down, thrilled. ‘Are we going to ride in one of those things, Dad?’
    ‘In a little while, son . . .’
    ‘And here comes Sally Linsay,’ Helen said. ‘Surprise, surprise.’
    ‘Give her a break,’ Joshua murmured to Helen. ‘I did arrange to meet her here.’
    Sally was wearing her usual pioneer-type gear, her signature fisherman’s jacket with the thousand pockets, and she carried a light leather pack. ‘What a racket,’ she