17.4

Charminar.

Charminar.

A ship’s horn sounded in the distance – a lonely, desperate plea.

Was that a sign?

Max tracked the sound until he came to a boom gate, with a guard sitting in the watch house, quietly observing his approach. He smiled as the guard slowly rose to his feet. The guard returned the smile.

Buoyed by this exchange, Max stepped gingerly around the gate and hesitated, teasing the guard as he toyed with the line.

The guard, now concerned, stepped abruptly out of his box.

“Chello,” he said, raising his rifle.

Max searched his eyes for a trace of levity but the easy smile had morphed into a look of steely determination – a bloke doing his job.

Like a cheap pane of glass the fantasy in Max’s mind cracked, leaving only the glint of light on polished gunmetal as the gun waved menacingly in his direction.

“Chello!” Max scurried off into the ruins of his fantasy.

Mate… ships aren’t interested in you!

Be realistic.

Don’t delude yourself here.

Realize once and for all that this is no game.

There are no mates to help you.

No fans screaming your name.

This is just you, mate – this is your choice.

You’re on your own out here – you are doing this for you!