These were sturdy boots, a pair of functional work-shoes that had had that functionality tested. These boots had seen water, mud and sand, had been plunged into Arctic snow and burning coals and survived to tell the tale.
These were the boots of a man who would take no crap.
"Hey," said a voice, from above.
Dirk "Rock" Hardy is generally portrayed as a mountain of a man. To be fair, the original tales do not dwell overly on specifics. They use emotive adjectives, such as "powerful," and "mighty." We're told his hair is dark, his eyes are blue, but beyond that the man's physicality is unexplored. It's understandable that the mind's eye builds up an image of a tower of strength, a colossus bestriding the world with tree-trunk legs, arms like sacks of boulders, and a chest that would put paving slabs to shame. Naturally, in his film and television outings he has been cast as body-builders, strongmen, athletes. Not one of the actors to play the part has been below six feet tall.
The man I looked up at now was of below-average height, even for the period, being around five-six in his bare feet. The sleeves of his dirty brown leather jacket did not strain to bursting with bulging biceps. His shoulders were broad, but not huge. His eyes, while blue, did not fix my gaze with an steely glare that shook me to my very bones. It's hardly surprising that I didn't recognise him.
"Can you stand?" he asked, holding out a hand to help me up.
"Ufff," I replied, flapping a limb in his approximate direction, neurons still re-establishing a functional network. It's a miracle I remember any of this.
"Never mind," he nodded, "Let's get you out of here." Reaching down, he wrapped one arm around my waist, did the same to Professor Ng, and lifted both of us onto a shoulder.
Now that I was in intimate contact with the man's arms, his strength became apparent. Quite aside from the way he moved us both with ease - though the professor is hardly a large man, I'm well over six foot myself - his muscles felt like literal rocks. It's not that they were particularly massive, any moreso than a man of his age, height and build who engages in moderate physical exercise, but when set to a task they simply would not give, would not bend. It was like straddling a dry-stone wall.
As he lifted us I was briefly able to see more of the room we were in; brief impressions only, before all I could see was his back (and feel, against my face; again, it had all the comforting softness of a cliff face). The room was dark, lit by flashing red lights. Some sort of technology, all consoles and pipes. Hazard-strips of yellow and black paint. In the distance, a warning klaxon.
And then we were away.
