You would really think I’d know better by now.
We were left in no doubt when they were ready. The professor, obviously embracing the distraction aspect of the experiment, rather than going for historical accuracy, had rigged a sound system. It seemed safe to assume the original assault was not accompanied by the ominous opening chords of “Mars, the Bringer of War”. It was all very dramatic.
Making a gesture more appropriate to King Darius unleashing the Immortals at The Hot Gates, and to shouts of encouragement (and other things), the little flotilla set off, the lead boat trailing plumes of smoke from the burning brushwood. They trundled sedately and with a certain dignity across the lake.
Leon sat back and relaxed. ‘I don’t think this is going to produce a siege-ending conflagration, do you?’
As he spoke, the little boat collided with the jetty. The impact was sufficient to tip the cauldrons and the heated mixture spilled onto the burning kindling. For a second, nothing happened. I just had time for a twinge of disappointment and then …
With a tremendous roar, which made birds erupt from the treetops and the horses in the paddock bolt, a huge, HUGE tongue of orange fire broiled across the surface of the lake, enveloping the jetty and sending a great oily, black cloud high into the air like a nuclear mushroom. Water seemed to have no effect on the flames, which danced higher and higher across the lake’s surface. The reed beds around the south side exploded into flames. The professor and his team were blown backwards into their boats, clothes smoking and, I bet, not an eyebrow between them.
Markham appeared, shouting, ‘Duty fire team to the lake. All field medics with me!’ Never mind field medics or fire teams, the entire unit put down its tea and set off at a run for the disaster area, obviously eager to be involved.
On Dr Bairstow’s balcony, the Time Police had stopped laughing.
Professor Rapson clambered unsteadily to his feet and beat out his smouldering lab coat. The boat wobbled violently but he remained upright. The team in the other boat slowly started to pick themselves up. No fatalities. Yet.
Suddenly, and even over the cameras I saw this quite clearly, their heads snapped around in unison, there was a moment’s frozen panic and then someone screamed ‘Row! Row for your lives!’
They rowed like madmen. It was like that scene from Ben Hur. All that was missing was the fat, naked guy with the drum.
‘Good God,’ said Leon in disbelief. ‘Have they let loose the Kraken?’
The R & D team reached the shore, tumbled from their boats, and shrieking incoherently, raced away from the lake, becoming entangled with the Markham and his team who were racing towards the lake. For a few seconds everyone milled around chaotically with the professor and his team waving their arms and shouting, and Markham (whose track record rendered him perfect for the occasion) also waving his arms and shouting and considerably adding to the confusion.
I have to admit that up to that moment, I was fairly baffled. All right, the entire lake appeared to be a giant inferno, but it wasn’t the first time and someone would sort it all out so what was all the panic about?
Leon pointed. Ah. That was what all the panic was about.
Swans!
Coming in at eye-height, in attack formation with necks outstretched, wings extended and some very nasty looks in their eyes, was what seemed like every swan in the county, or possibly all of England. A whole battalion of them. I had no idea we had so many. I know they can be nasty, and God knows these had good reason. Over the years St Mary’s swans have been blown up, terrorised by Plesiosaur look-alikes, had a Renault 5 engine mistakenly flung at them by a Roman trebuchet, and been dyed Barbie pink. These were swans that had had enough. Forget Nile crocodiles – suddenly, this was not the place to be.