Free The Fabulous Beast by Garry Kilworth Page A

partner had refrained from firing.
    When the police had taken statements from us, we were allowed to go home. I was followed down the stairs by the little man, Archie, who was still badly shaken.
    ‘I’m never going on another jury,’ he said. ‘I swear if they try to make me I’ll just – well, they can do what they like to me. It looked like a gun, didn’t it? You thought it was a gun, didn’t you? We nearly died in there. He might have had a machine pistol of some kind. He could have mowed the lot of us down. I’m never going near a courtroom again. They can do what they like to me . . .’
    I let him rattle on. He was harmless enough. We both hit the street at the same time and he said, ‘Share a cab?’
    ‘No, no thanks. I’ll get my own.’
    He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. Here’s one. You take it.’
    I got in and closed the door behind me.
    ‘Where to, sir?’ asked the driver.
    I leaned forward, opening my mouth, then suddenly realised that none of the twelve addresses in my head was of any use to me.

Atlantic Crossing
    All would agree that history would have followed a different course if an unknown Galilean had not learned the art of walking on water. Not only did this remarkable man teach himself this now common skill, he was willing to pass it on to others. Just as the first firemaker handed the secret of the flame to his neighbour, thus did this early philosopher generously reveal the secret of his discovery to some fishermen on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. His name has been lost to us, but his talent is now universal. There are few of our children beyond the age of six or seven years who cannot now tread the waves.
    At the time my stylus touches this paper we are happy to be alive and well in the year 1692 on the Carthage calendar, the anniversary of Hannibal’s victory over Rome and the rise of African dominance over what is now Italy, Greece and Spain – and later Germany and Britain. It was only some 200-odd years after this event that water-walking dispensed with the need for ships. Just 800 years ago the Angles, Saxons and Jutes marched their armies over the North Sea and wrested the fair lands of Southern Britain from Celts and remnants of the Carthaginian Legions. Following them the lightly-clad but ferocious Vikings ran the high waters to carve enclaves into our society. Then later still William and the Normans invaded, defeated Harold and the English army, but were afterwards swiftly repelled by the High King of all Ireland, Brian Bórumha mac Cennétig, whose descendants now rule all the Isles of Britain. Wounded in the thigh by Brian Boru’s blade, William Duke of Normandy was drowned on his flight back to the shores of France when he was unable to keep his footing and fell beneath the waves.
    To return to the Galilean: that which suffered the most from the development of his talent was shipbuilding. Naturally there are small recreational boats, which hug the coastlines, but they are basic deckless hulls compared with the great Roman galleys, the Greek triremes and the Carthaginian warships. The craft is gone, for in more recent years ocean farms have done away even with the need for fishing vessels. We walk out to the farms to do our work, and draw the produce back on smaller rafts pulled by trained dolphins and porpoises. These creatures are only of use over short distances, being fond of play and easily bored.
    All this, you know. I am coming to the point of my journal: the need to extend our explorations of the world. I am building gradually and firmly towards a record of my experiences, my personal part in a great expedition. I am proud and honoured to be here and I wish to pass on the feelings that lie within my bosom to the children of my children.
    Those old days of huge armies covered in lightweight glimmering armour, crossing stretches of water like the Red Sea, the Irish Sea or even the Mediterranean in certain places – they are gone. A glorious sight it must have