Belphebe pointed, «Marry, are those not sheep?»

Shea shaded his eyes. «Right you are, darling,» he said. The objects looked like a collection of lice on a piece of green baize, but he trusted his wife’s phenomenal eyesight.

«Sheep,» said Brodsky. One could almost hear the gears grind in his brain as he looked around. «Sheep.» A beatific expression spread over his face. «Shea, you must of done it! Three, two, and out we’re inIreland — and if it is, you can hit me on the head if I ever want to go back.»

Shea followed his eyes. «It does rather look like it,» he said. «But when.»

Something went past with a rush of displaced air. It struck a nearby boulder with a terrific crash and burst into fragments that whizzed about like pieces o fan artillery shall.

«Duck!» shouted Shea, throwing himself flat and dragging Belphebe down with him.

Brodsky went into a crouch, lips drawn tight over his teeth, looking around with quick, jerky motions for the source of the missile. Nothing more happened. After a minute, Shea and Belphebe got up and went over to examine a twenty-pound hunk of sandy conglomerate.

Shea said, «Somebody is chucking hundred pound boulders around. This may beIreland, but I hope it isn’t the time of Finn McCool or Strongbow.»

«Cripes,» said Brodsky, «and me without my heater. And you a shiv man with no shiv.»

It occurred to Shea that at whatever period they had hit this place, he was in a singularly weaponless state. He climbed on the boulder against which the missile had destroyed itself and looked in all directions. There was no sign of life except the distant, tiny sheep — not even a shepherd or a sheep-dog.

He slid down and sat on a ledge of the boulder and considered, the stone feeling hard against his wet back. «Sweetheart,» he said, addressing Belphebe, «it seems to me that whenever we are, the first thing we have to do is find people and get oriented. You’re the guide. Which direction’s the most likely?»