Chapter 1

Captain Peter Strasser stood panning the landscape below through the forward clear-screen panels of the control car. The Navmap reported the area as largely unexplored although he knew it to be the Gulf of Memphis. The ground glistened with salt marsh, tiny islands covered in lush tropical vegetation, and areas of open sea. It teemed with bird life and he noted flocks of Southern Terns skimming the water looking for food.

"Two degrees trim forward," announced the helm.

"Pump aft, 1 tonne," the Captain ordered.

"Aye."

"Weather?" Strasser turned to the watchman at the weather radar.

"Light Sou-easterlies - 5 knots, sir."

"Good, very good!" Strasser was relieved because he'd heard so much about the climate in these parts - storms, high seasonal rainfall and prevailing Southerly wind drifts. Such conditions made him uneasy.

"May I have a word?" came a voice from the aft ladder. He turned and saw the Very Reverend Mathew Allsinger. With a nod, he bade him to come down. "Captain?" the man said. "Have you sighted Canaan as yet?"

Allsinger was dressed in his white gown tied at the waist with a purple sash. Among his community, that made him the big cheese, although to look at him he seemed unprepossessing. He was short, slim with a constant beatific smile Strasser found irritating. The Reverend, however, had paid good money for the lease of the ship and Strasser resigned to putting up with him.

"If I had any idea what this 'Canaan' looked like..."

"God will guide the helm," Allsinger said. "'It will shine forth in emerald magnificence upon a sea of the deepest azure.' So it is written, so it's been told."

"Azure, Reverend?" Strasser raised his eyebrows. "I see kilometres of salt marsh and fetid tropical swamp. Very little of it 'azure'."

"Then we must head West until we find it."

"Reverend? There's the question of fuel, our supplies, and the endurance of the crew. Another day is all I can spare. After that, I have to turn around. I might remind you also I am expected to land the ship without a tower. That, in itself, is a very difficult task. If the conditions are not right, we may be required to linger."

"God is in command of our mission, Captain. You can be sure he will provide the conditions you require." With that, Allsinger ascended the ladder back into the accommodation section.

"Let's hope the weather is on good terms with his God," Strasser muttered to the helmsman.

He strolled around the consoles, checking the power readouts of the ten, semi-closed-cycle, hydrogen motors. The 'Voortrekker' possessed six turbines and four reciprocating, maneuvering motors. The exhausts ran through condensers running up the enormous hull from which water was extracted. The water was then piped back to renew the ballast, or dumped. Because of the hot temperatures in these climes, the helium gas in the cells expanded and so increased lift. This had to be compensated for or the airship would rise - and continue to rise until it reached 'bursting height.' 'Bursting height' was when the helium expanded to such a degree the cells failed. Of course, as an airship increased altitude, the air pressure decreased and so the gas expanded even more.

To vent gas under these circumstances, reduced an airship's lift when the air temperature cooled. To vent too much, therefore, could cause a situation called, 'positive gravity.' The end result of 'positive gravity' was to hit the ground. To fly an airship required a mass of mathematical calculations. 0.1% 'negative gravity' at ground level was considered near ideal in most circumstances.

The 'Voortrekker' had 45 passengers and 25 crew. There was also 15 tonnes of freight to be discharged. As a rule of thumb, 15 people was equivalent to a tonne. Such lightening for the return trip to Europe required a mass of further calculations and Strasser was grateful for the aid of the ship's computers.

"Rising ground ahead," the watchman said.

"Let me see," Strasser said.

"15 kilometres range - I believe it should be the Ozarks, going on these old charts."

"A reasonable guess," agreed the Captain. "Any sign of this magical land?"

"A valley of some kind, sir. I guess you could call it 'emerald'."

"Better fetch the Reverend. I hope he agrees - I don't like being in an area where the weather's unknown." Shortly, Allsinger, again, descended the ladder. He rushed forward to the clear-screen, stared, then closed his eyes. "Well?" asked Strasser.

"I believe the Lord has answered our prayers," declared Allsinger. "Tis the land of Canaan - the land the Prophet saw - the land promised to His people - the land from which we will ascend to His Kingdom."

"Good," Strasser rolled his eyes. "Close valves - trim down for'ard. Helm, put us over that valley - let's have a look at our approach?"

"Port helm 10 degrees," said the helmsman.

"Valves closed, down plane 15," the trimmer added.

"North by Nor-west 280..."

As the control car crew went through the drill, the Captain began to scan for possible approaches. The Voortrekker was 1 and a half kilometres long containing 8.5 million cubic metres of helium gas. Such a gigantic craft needed room to maneuvre and a good area of open space to land. The aluminised fabric of the hull could easily be damaged by even a gentle nudge of a tree or rocky outcrop.

"Descent rate 3 metres per second..."

"Too sharp!" cautioned the Captain. "Release 1 tonne of ballast for'ard and aft breeches."

"Aye, sir. Releasing breeches 2 and 9."

"Neutral plane - level at 1000 metres - what's my grav?"

"Coming to... 0% light."

"Trim up for'ard!"

"Aye, sir."

"Slow engines!"

Gradually, majestically, the huge silver cigar glided smoothly over the slash of brilliant green that had become their destination. Captain Strasser noted the obvious approach was over the open marsh. The valley floor seemed reasonably wide and flat and, clearly, a flood spillway. Should he inform the Reverend, he wondered? The last thing he needed was more stooging around looking for a more likely area for a new colony. He decided the Reverend's God was an authority that brooked no contradiction. If Allsinger had found his promised land then who was he to argue?

"Bring the landing officer to the control car," he ordered. Shortly, 1st Officer Leo Furtzinger came down to have a look. "That area there," the Captain pointed. "It looks big enough?"

"Aye, sir. We will need smoke flares at two kilometre intervals and a bomb to test ground consistency. The grade is not too steep?"

"As far as we can judge the gradient is inconsequential. Perhaps 1 in 50? We will roll a ball down it as we make a preliminary run."

"A good idea. Any idea what this place is?" Furtzinger asked.

"Some valley coming down from the Ozarks. There are salt marshes and a lot of silting up-current. I'd say it floods pretty well in the rainy season."

"Allsinger wants to set up a colony there?" the landing officer expressed surprise.

"Malarial swamps, likely. He wants fish farms, orchards and vegetable gardens..."

"Where is he to put all his people? There are another, what 1000 folks?"

"1200, 1300, hmm. I have seen plans. He intends to build polders out into the gulf."

"Dykes? With his 45 people and no earth moving equipment? Amid salt marshes and tidal flats? His God will be kept busy, I expect - receiving the Chosen into Heaven."

"You're cynical, Leo," Strasser, grinned. "In any case, once we've discharged our cargo our involvement in this farce is over. Shall we circle out into the gulf for descending? I think we can get her in, don't you?"

"Providing the crosswinds are within limits and the ground is able to hold the drag anchors?"

For an hour, the Voortrekker circled to lose height. Eventually, they came in for the final run and Furtzinger got the ground crew to their stations. As the airship passed over land, the landing officer ordered the drag anchors released. Strasser had been running full reverse on the maneuvring motors for ten minutes so the Voortrekker was barely doing 10kph. The drag anchors held and the winches wound the airship down so the control car was almost touching the ground. This was the time for the 'captive ropes' to be released - each with a spike called a 'tah' lashed to the end. Each 'tah' had an explosive hammer fixed to the upper end for driving it into the ground. Ten ropes each side were controlled by ten of the crew who had landing duties. Within 20 minutes the airship was secure and Strasser climbed down from the control car. As the Captain, he had the final say whether it was safe for disembarkation. After checking each of the 'tahs' he finally ordered the ramps to be lowered.

The discharge of the passengers and freight took fully four hours. Strasser watched the activity impatiently. Once back out into the Atlantic, he knew he'd have to battle prevailing easterlies all the way back to Augsburg-Marienhefelde. The sooner he returned the Voortrekker to her owners the better - then he could spend a week up in the Finnish wine country with his family. For something to do he strolled down the length of the ship, inspecting each contra-rotating airscrew in turn - anxious to see them turning once more.

20 klicks to the West, 10 caravans wound slowly through the mountain passes - each pulled by four Shire horses. In the first van, Roger of the Durretti sat with his partner Sean Beth. Their oldest boy, George, age twenty, headed the team at the front around the worst of the bends in the road. Behind, sitting on the tailboard, was 16 year old Rasida and her brother 10 year old Bondy. They were all anxious to be home after spending a week at the Ark Convoke in faraway Iberica - the heart of the Preserve.

Behind, Sean Beth's parents drove the next van - Jack, who was nearly 60 with silvery hair - and Janet, at 57 still in good shape. They, too, were Duretti by declaration and proud of their band. The next family was that of Mikele and Reged, their two sons perched on the leading Shires. Their names were Funor, aged 19 and nicknamed 'Nor, ' and Thane, 16. Reged was also 5 months pregnant - a fact that caused a lot of good natured ribbing. It was claimed she only wanted to keep up with Sean Beth, who, at 36, had all but given up having more children. Mikele, Reged and their boys were also Duretti by declaration.

Bluefields, as they called the upper valley, had been discovered by Roger and Sean Beth some 17 years ago. The sheer breathtaking beauty of the place had easily convinced Sean Beth and their friends this was the place for Roger's dream - to breed the finest horses in all of the Ark Preserve. With the Bakhunin Fladomer as mentor, he gradually built the stud until it had become the envy of all Arks. Fladomer, at 79, had decided to return to his ancestral stockholdings in the Northern highlands in well-respected retirement.

Other Duretti decided to choose Bluefields as their home. There was Shad and Soraya, and 29 year old Sheba and her family. Her 14 year old daughter Rada was outspoken and vivacious with long, straight ginger hair that came down to her waist. Her best friend and 'sister' was Rasida and it appeared their mission was to tear out the vulnerable hearts of as many young men they could find.

The vans were all stuff full of supplies traded for seven of the finest Arabian thoroughbreds Bluefields could produce. There was a new porta-gen to replace Roger's old worn out unit. Sacks of grain weighed down the wheels of the wagons as Bluefields was not the sort of country to grow wheat. Jack and Janet's van contained boxes of the Nin's hand-crafted ammunition and 6 autorifles to be presented to those who had attained autonomy. Traditionally, a person who'd reached autonomy, 13 years old, was presented with a gun of their own. Others of the vans contained sugar, hand tools, some of Roger's electronic gadgets, medical supplies, nails and sundry items to make their idyllic life in Bluefields a little more so.

At last the gradient eased and they could smell the trees and vegetation. Two horsemen approached - the two who'd elected to stay behind to mind the stock while the rest attended Convoke.

"Roger!" Easele yelled, "a giant balloon - two days ago - over the lower valley!"

"What?" He replied. "Have you two been plundering the homebrew?"

"It's true," Costa backed up his friend. "It was silver. I saw it rise up into the sky. I've never seen anything like it."

"Marsh gas?" Roger suggested.

"No - nothing at all like marsh gas. It's true - it was a balloon!"

"Describe the shape?" asked Roger, combing through his beard.

"It was long - like so," he showed with his hands. "And shaped liked a giant dick!"

"A dick?" he grinned at Sean Beth. "A giant silver dick that floats in the air? Lads, that sounds like an airship."

"There were things along its side..." Costa continued.

"Motors, a gondola? Perhaps hanging below - like so?"

"I guess," thought Costa. "Roger, this was gigantic. You've no idea..."

"Way back in Castro Prov, they used a few airships. They were what we called 'blimps' with, perhaps two motors and a control car. This sounds more like a rigid airship. I wonder what it was doing over the lower valley?"

"Maybe some scientific thing?" suggested Sean Beth. "Maybe exploring..."

"Charting the gulf, hmm? Who would be way down this way? Only the Coms have anything resembling this thing - but way smaller, if Costa and Easele are correct?"

"We are - I swear!"

Roger thought for a moment, before motioning the horses to continue.

"Could the Coms have built something like that?" Sean Beth asked.

"I dunno. It's possible. But why would they be down this way? What's down here they would want? I don't think Centcom are into pointless exploring unless they had some plan in mind. There's always an endgame in Centcom thinking."

"Perhaps they're after you?" said Sean Beth.

"They build a giant airship and send it all the way down to Bluefields to arrest me?" he laughed. "You flatter me! Likely, they've forgotten. No, I think we should unload the supplies and settle in for the night. Maybe tomorrow I'll take a few of the boys and we'll go down to the lower valley to have a look? They may have left something behind?"

"Foraging? Is that all you can think of? I'll think I'll come down with you - maybe the girls if they want to?"

"Why not?" agreed Roger.

The community of Bluefields was strung out for 3 klicks along the mountain stream they'd named 'the Passion.' During the dry season it reduced to a trickle, although a number of pools were ideal for swimming holes. 23 buildings had been constructed over the years from whole log pine from the surrounding hills. There were two barns for housing stock in winter and several hay sheds, a tackle shed and machine shop. The families had constructed 10 houses for themselves and guest cottages for their infrequent visitors.

Two artesian bores provided water during the dry season powered by wind turbines. Two other wind turbines provided electricity with porta-gens for those times the wind didn't blow. Over the years, Bluefields had grown to quite a community and Roger was justifiably proud.

The convoy, at last, wound down the last few klicks of the mountain road and split up to the families' various homes. Reged and Mikele were neighbours of Sean Beth and Roger and the two families pitched together to unload the wagons and stow away the supplies.

After so long confined into caravans, most of the boys organised a game of kickball after dinner. Rada and Rasida found vantage points to indulge in their favourite pastime, 'perving.' Rasida, however, was still brooding over a fling she'd had at Iberica. Rada complained she'd been grumpy all the way from Convoke.

"Serves you right for going with a Bakhunin," Rada told her.

"Huh! Don't start! All guys are jerks. All they want is a free fuck."

"Yah!" Rada stared at her friend. "So?"

"I'm not going to give it away so cheaply in future," Rasida said, haughtily. "I'm worth more!"

"Oh, spare me," laughed Rada.

"Sweet fruits?" Roger came and sat beside them. "Glace cherries and these look like angelicas."

"Oh, yummy!" cried Rada. "Look, Rasida, there's your cherry!"

"Oh, funny, NOT!"

"Showing your sensitive side, Rada?" Roger peered at her. "I thought friends supported each other?"

"Well? I mean, why ... I mean," Rada sighed. "Why don't guys look at me the way they do Rasida? Am I ugly or something?"

"So you're giving Rasida a hard time because you think you're not attractive? What kind of deal is that?" asked Roger.

"Um, hold on Rada," Rasida interrupted. "If I didn't know you better, I'd say you're holding a torch for someone. So who're you trying to snap?"

"Rasida!" Rada scowled.

"Gotcha, sister! Lemmee see, hmm. Who's caught your eye?" Rasida scanned the kickball players.

"This is so not my gig," said Roger and, smiling, got up to join the players.

"Hey Brother?" Rasida called. "Want some candy?"

"Aw, Hell!" Rada buried her head in her hands.

"My brother George?" Rasida said, wide eyed. "You're in love with my brother?"

"Don't bring him over," Rada whined.

"Hey George?" Rasida called again. "All gone, sorry!" George gave her the big finger and Rasida responded in kind. "Rada, George is too old for you."

"Can we change the subject?" her friend asked, staring into middle space.

"Sure, Rada, sure," she shrugged.

The next morning, after breakfast, Roger called together those who wanted to go down to the lower valley. Mikele came with Reged and their son Nor. Roger, his son George, and Sean Beth made up the final party. Because of the relatively unpleasant conditions in the lower valley, they dressed themselves in full, black allsuits and carried autorifles and horse pistols - because of the conditions, perhaps, but, also because they were Arks.

About halfway to their destination, at the point in the valley called 'The Fall, ' they could all see they had new neighbours. In the distance their tents seemed like a slash of silver across the pale green foliage and grey mud of the river flat. Roger signaled a halt and he and Sean Beth trotted to a vantage point above the top cataract.

"Who are they?" Sean Beth voiced everyone's question.

"Dunno. A scientific party, perhaps?"

The silver tents were grouped in a square. At the centre was a big tent with a large cross erected above it upon which was surmounted a star. Each silver tent had a different coloured roof. The centre one was purple and there were tents with white, blue and lastly, a single tent with a red roof. The scene reminded Roger of the traveling carnival shows of his youth in the Com Provs.

Sean Beth unslung her autorifle and worked the lever engaging the clip into the receiver. She powered it up and squinted into the scope. "Shall we be neighbourly?"

Roger grinned. "I'll ask George and Nor to cover us from the rocks. Two women and two men might seem less threatening - or so the theory goes."

Roger, Sean Beth, Mikele and Reged trotted the last klick down to the encampment. They were sighted, maybe, half a klick by a fat guy dressed in a pale blue gown tied at the waist by a sash of darker blue. He immediately turned, waving his arms in panic, and shouting. The two Ark couples watched as women and children scattered into tents. They noted they were all dressed in the same colours of the tent roofs, blue and white, although they saw no red.

"Colour coded?" Roger said aloud.

"Perhaps blue are Biologists, white Geologists?" suggested Mikele.

"And those children are training to be whatever?" suggested Sean Beth. "I saw no blue children so I guess they're all learning to be Geologists?"

"A toddler learns Geology?" Reged added. "They sure train them at an early age."

"I saw a baby Geologist," Roger said. "In the arms of woman Biologist."

"Clans? Houses, perhaps?" suggested Mikele. "What do you make of that symbol by the big tent, Dodge?"

Mikele was one of a selected few who called Roger 'Dodge'. They were all old friends who went back twenty years. "I've seen such crosses outside of old Religionist sites," Roger replied. "And that star as well - but never together on the same pole."

"Religionists?" said Mikele, raising his eyebrows. "I have never met Religionists. I didn't know there were any left."

"Religionism was suppressed in the Com Provs over 70 years ago. Maybe some of diehards escaped and went into hiding in places such as this?" suggested Roger.

"Caps had these funny cults," Sean Beth explained. "They only met in virtual temples - places like that. Most people I knew thought they were nuts, but harmless."

"Some Religionists acknowledged no authority except their Gods," said Roger. "Centcom couldn't permit that, of course. In any case, most of their so-called prophesies never happened. When the big Banana didn't arrive in a flash of lightning at the appointed time, folks got disillusioned."

"It's all hierarchy, anyway," Mikele scoffed.

"A kind of infantilism," added Roger. "Looking towards some mystical paternal figure to tell them what to do. Handing your autonomy to some priest..."

"On a plate with vegetables," Sean Beth smiled.

"I see a delegation is forming at the edge of their camp," observed Roger. "Let's be formal about this, huh?"

Ahead, five men stood in a row, in the centre of which, was a short, weasel of a man in a white gown tied with a purple sash. The others wore blue gowns - including the fat guy they'd seen earlier ordering the women and children away. The four Arks drew the horses to a halt facing them. The two groups looked each other up and down for a few moments. Presently, 'purple sash' walked forward, holding his hand up in the universal sign of peace.

"The peace of God be upon you, Canaanites," 'purple' said, facing skywards.

Mikele, Sean Beth and Reged looked towards Roger in silent acknowledgement that he would speak on behalf of the Arks. "My name is Roger of the Duretti band of the Arks. This is Sean Beth, Mikele and Reged - they are all Durettis. We live in the upper valley we call Bluefields. We come in peace and offer the hospitality of our community."

"Well said, Canaanites," purple replied. "I am the Very Reverend Mathew Allsinger, pastor to His flock, shepherd to the faithful of the New Redemption. Please, come to the Lord and feel the glory of his love."

"His Lord is a swinger?" muttered Reged.

"A bisexual?" added Mikele.

Roger threw a cautioning look at the pair. He then looked towards the river and saw some kind of flood bank had been started with piles of river stone - each one dug out from the greasy silt. "You staying long?" asked Roger, surprised.

"In the land of Canaan - as shown to us by the Lord - as prophesised in the Holy books of the Prophet."

"Perhaps I should be speaking to this Lord?" Roger said. "He has shown you the wrong place to build a village."

"All may seek the Lord on bended knees in supplication and truly penitent in the face of His goodness."

"Huh? Kneeling? Maybe I won't speak to your Lord.? Perhaps you could take him a message, then? This place you are camping on floods in the rainy season - maybe a month and a half away? The stream dries out and any well water is likely brackish. Out there is salt marsh and you often get alligators and Tiger snakes coming in at night to feed. It will be the storm season soon and the surges come right through to the lower cataracts. I have seen them as high as six metres or more."

"The Lord will protect us."

"Will he? How?"

"With His love."

"Okay," Roger shrugged. "You should have plenty of Mosquito repellant because - should your colony survive the rains - they carry Malaria. I see you intend to keep fowls?" Allsinger nodded. "Then Tiger snakes will come out of the swamps attracted by the chickens. You should have plenty of anti-veneen on hand because their venom will kill an adult within 24 hours. The soil has a too high Ph and any root crops will die."

"That is all very interesting, Canaanite, but our Lord has shown us what we must do."

"How do you intend to feed yourself?" Roger asked.

"We are building fish farms out beyond the flats."

"Fish farming?" Roger expressed surprise. "We had a lot of fish farming back where I was born. Likely any pens out there will be destroyed by storms. Any that survive will attract swarms of snakes and there's no way you can make the barriers high enough to keep them out. They will climb anything for a feed."

"I thank you or your advice, Canaanite..." Allsinger started to say.

"What's this 'Canaanite' bullshit?" said Mikele, unable to contain himself.

"This is the land of Canaan - you are of the land and therefore..."

"I know of no 'Canaan'. We are Arks."

"Ah, Roger," the Reverend said, looking at the two women, uneasily. "Is it your custom to allow your women to dress so immodestly - and to stand in the company of men as equals?"

Roger's jaw sagged. He looked across at Sean Beth and Reged. Both wore the tight allsuits of the Arks that clung to their bodies like gloves. Both had stunned expressions on their faces. "They stand where they like and dress as they please - as do we all," he snapped.

"Such displays of licentiousness is offensive to true believers."

"Tough!" exclaimed Mikele.

"You don't keep orderly houses?" declared Allsinger. "'You must discipline your women as you do your children.' So it's been written, so it's been told."

"What?" cried Sean Beth and Reged in unison. Roger saw Sean Beth fingering her autorifle in a dangerous manner. For Allsinger's sake, he decided he'd better exert his diplomatic skill.

"Allsinger, ah..."

"'Reverend', if you please."

"I don't, Allsinger. Titles are offensive to us. If we are to be neighbours, I suggest we both exercise a little toleration of each other's customs. An Ark woman is autonomous regardless of what your Lord instructs. If you choose to ignore our advice and remain at this site, that's your decision. We will offer any help we can. I would suggest you wear calf-length leather boots as Tiger snakes don't leap too high. We are beyond the Fall and two klicks West. We have healers and medicine for the snake bites and water purification tablets. Beyond that," Roger added, "I wish you luck and trust you may make high ground in time during the rains." With that, he signaled they should go. The four turned their horses and headed back up the track.

"They have no brains," declared Mikele as they rode home. "We ought to speak to this Lord of theirs and advise him to move his subjects to a better place."

"Yes," agreed, Reged. "Maybe somewhere on the other side of the Gulf - 1000 klicks away from us."

"I saw no boats," Roger said. "How are they going to go anyplace else without boats? Good grief, how are they going to farm fish without punts or something similar?"

"How are they to survive the rainy season without a levee and floodbanks?" added Mikele. "I see we might have to take them in."

"Oh, no!" shivered Sean Beth. "My 'toleration' is only so long." She drew a length of about half a metre. Roger called Nor and George down from their positions and, together, they made their way back to Bluefields.

Their encounter left Roger with no satisfaction. They obviously had no idea how to live out in the wilderness - as, maybe, city folks unused to the outdoors.? He wondered on their plan to feed such a large community. Although Roger could brook the foolishness of adults, he was worried about the children and how their small, frail bodies were going to withstand the many things that could infect, bite or swallow whole. At some time he thought he should meet this Lord, but would do so as an autonomous Ark, not groveling on the floor like a cowering dog. Before that happened, however, he fully expected a visit from some hysterical parent bringing their sick or dying children for them to cure - that is, if this Allsinger would brook such blasphemy.

And, sure enough, only two days later George brought a lad of about 16 to him. He was dressed in a white gown, now stained with mud and green algae, tied with a sash of the same colour. It was a cool morning and the boy was shivering. His eyes were wild with panic.

"My mother..." he pleaded, "my sister ... back there. Snake - my mother ... we can't carry..."

"Sean Beth?" he yelled. "Get Reged and medicine - we have patients. George? Sprint next door and fetch Nor. I'll get the horses."

Presently, Roger, with Nor and George, galloped back down the track towards the lower valley. Less than half a klick away they found the pair. A woman in a blue gown lay exhausted next to a prone figure in white on a litter. The girl was shivering violently and the woman was doing her best to comfort her. "Let me see?" Roger said, dropping down from his horse. He felt the girl's forehead while the woman stared wide eyed at him. "Get her up, boys," he said anxiously, and together they lifted her carefully from the litter and onto his horse. Meanwhile the woman, who was dumb with shock, didn't resist as George and Nor lifted her onto a horse - George springing on behind.