Chapter 8

Wendy and I sojourned ... it was wonderful ... and none of your business ... I will say this: the much vaunted rumor that women who survive a possible murder are highly motivated to procreate?

Yeah. It's not a rumor.

Maybe that ought to be in caps.

We picked up a breeze while we were catching our breath. Dizzying work ... is pleasure.

Yeah!

We cuddled in our after play ... which almost any girl will tell you is at least as good as foreplay ... and she told me what the sailors had planned.

I wonder if I can talk the Powers that Be into bring them back so I can kill them ... my turn, Wendy. You had yours.

Way too soon it was decided we needed to get out of bed and dress, the sun was shining ... what will the children think?

Showers first. This is the late Twenties and "Things" weren't out of hand yet. Our waste water and sewage pumped directly over the side. We did our necessaries and went out to the cockpit.

"Mom! Eww!"

"Eww?"

"Yeah ... your hair is wet ... we know what you've been doing. Eww! Eww! Eww!"

I said, "Yup ... we've been working on replacements."

"Umh ... replacements?"

"Maybe we can get good ones this time."

"Mom!"

"David, don't tease ... just pitch 'em overboard."

"Dad!"

"We have a mess in the salon," I suggested we clean it up.

"Good idea," Wendy said. "Customs and port authorities might have a problem with bloodstains and bullet holes."

Back in the salon, we found the Powers that Be working on repairing the damage.

Don't ask.

It's magic.

Well ... it involved wands that glowed, tape that melted and a pourable liquid that eliminated all traces of blood.

Magic.

Twenty-one thousandth century magic. Remember? Any sufficiently advanced... ? Yeah. That one. It wasn't technology but it sure worked.

There was still mopping. We lesser beings got stuck with that. They did teach us a nifty though. Clove hitches run up a mop handle will let one hang a mop over the side and rinse out the guck. Works well with grimy children too.

Just inside the Noorderbuitenkanaal there is a marina. We arranged for the haulage of the boat. We wanted a marine surveyor to look at the keel and we wanted the masts pulled and stored while we motored around Amsterdam and a good bit of the Nederlands. There's lots of kannaals; if we don't have masts and rigging we can really look around.

Nothing was broken nor any bolts sheared, just a few scratches and some paint flakes he didn't recognize.

After the surveyor finished checking out our keel we had the scratches painted while we looked around the beaches and looked out for bicycles.

Bicycles are very popular in the Nederlands. It's not a very big country.

It's not the bicycle that's expensive ... it's the registration, license fee and insurance that costs.

We asked around ... waved down a couple three bicyclists ... and asked them who or where we could get four decent bikes ... used, of course. We wanted fairly good ones because they were going with us. Many of the sun worshipers biked from Amsterdam to the beaches so we had many people to ask.

"Batavus," said the Norwegian hotel clerk.

"Opel." said the German student. "It's not a better bike ... national pride."

"Batavus," said the Frenchman.

"Batavus," said the Londoner. "I broke my Raleigh," he admitted. "Haven't had a spot of bother with the Batavus."

"Batavus," said the bicycle cop, "Made right here in Heerenveen and they have a children's size."

The boat was ready; the paint was dry, the masts, booms, and rigging were stored at the marina. We motored to the locks and waited until there was a lock full of small boats. We locked through and motored to the city.

We saved on lodging, meals, and our feet. We found a reputable bicycle recycler and bought four Batavus bikes and toured.

Great fun and so informative.

"It'll be on the test."

"Mom!"