The
ladies too, I very soon knew,
Wor
smitten, wan and all;
For
beneath me spell, they quickly fell,
And
I held them in me thrall.
Wid
me handsome face, wid me charm and grace,
They
thought and they dreamt of me;
And
whin I'd pass by I could hear them sigh:
"Oh,
I love MO-RI-AR-I-TY!"
I'm
a well known bobby of the stalwart squad,
I
belong to the D.M.P.
And
the girls all cry as I pass by:
Are
you there, MORIARITY?
Lesley Nelson-Burns
CHAPTER 62 THE BAY OF BENGAL
The taxi left the 4 lane, and drove through an orange grove towards the Bay of Bengal. It stopped at a brackish creek. Fishermen looked out from their huts, or up from mending nets. A helicopter clattered overhead towards the distant cranes, building another rocket launching site. How many sites did India have now?
“Thank you.” Colonel Roger Moriarty took his bag from the driver. He could smell the sea and all the perfumes of the orient, and fish drying on wooden racks, and hear the waves. “Hallo Prof? I'm here at the beach.” he said into his mobile, but still no reply.
He looked up. Nowadays the blue sky was a shade darker in these parts. Like looking through sunglasses. Like there was a cloud across the Sun even when there wasn't. The Sun itself had been dimmed by the swarms of huge inflatable balls that India was orbiting. So now there was a diffuse inter-tropical convergent zone covering both hemispheres. Showers all year round, not just in the rainy season.
His brother, the Prof had helped in that. Working out orbits that would cool and moisten the Sahara and bring snow to Himalayan glaciers. But at the same time the balls wouldn't stay too long crossing the equator, allowing the sun to evaporate more sea water for rain.
Prof was a genius.
One who wasn't answering his phone. Roger frowned. But there was probably nothing wrong.
The creek was separated from the sea by low dunes. The roofs of smart looking cottages showed between the palm trees, with here and there a windmill, or tower of solar panels.
It looked like you got there on a rickety bridge made from.....old truck chassis? Could be. Roger crossed the surprisingly solid structure, and walked through coconut palms to the top of the dunes. The beach was an exotic Indian mixture of poor fishermen with home made nets, and the families of wealthy tourists from the smart bungalows.
Some of the coconut trees leaning out over the sand had almost naked children laughing and climbing. Other trees were a perch for men with grey moustaches to sit and say how it was better in their day. The poor left their clothes to dry after washing in the sea, the rich left their clothes in the dry after they'd gone water skiing. Lumps of masonry, from older building swept away by rising seas, were used to anchor speed boats and fishing boats, each in their discreet groups.
Roger kept to harder sand by the waters edge, smiling politely at rich and poor, but the fishermen kept their eyes down and the tourists were too important to notice him. Only girls in bikinis gave him a fleeting curious glance, before looking back at young men posing by their jet skis.
The Profs bungalow was of course the biggest there, because it really belonged to the Champ, Mr Champakalakshmi himself. Apparently the Indian Government were so grateful for the Prof working out orbits for their ball swarms, they said he could sort of have anything he wanted. So the Prof said anyway.
Roger left the firm sea washed sand and trudged up through dirtier sand, full of twigs and dead leaves. Bright green creepers stretched out from the grassy soil, trying to colonise the beach. A path led between coconut trees to chipped concrete steps going up to the front patio. He half expected to see the prof by the swimming pool with some half naked girls. But nothing, just a sun lounger and an empty bottle of cheap whisky known the world over as spare oil.
The place needed sweeping and there were a few small dead things floating in the blue pool.
“Prof? I'm here. Where are you?”
He walked through sliding windows into a lounge with no ceiling, just a big empty space going up into the conical roof, where hot air could escape through louvers.
“Hallo? Anyone here?”
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