"I wish we could understand it," said Masklin. "I'm sure they're fairly intelligent, if only we could understand it."
He nodded at Angalo. "Okay," he said. "Let's go." It seemed much better this time. The truck scraped along the wall for a moment and then came free, and moved gently down the narrow alley towards the lights at the far end. As the truck came out from between the dark walls,
Angalo called for the brakes, and it stopped with only a mild jolt.
"Which way?" he said. Masklin looked blank.
Gurder fumbled through the pages of the diary.
"It depends on which way we're going," he said. "Look for signs saying, er, Africa. Or Canada, perhaps."
"There's a sign," said Angalo, peering through the rain. "It says Town Centre. And then there's an arrow and it says –" He squinted. "Onny –"
"One Way Street," murmured Grimma.
"Town Centre doesn't sound like a good idea," said Masklin.
"Can't seem to find it on the map, either," said Gurder.
"We'll go the other way, then," said Angalo, hauling on a thread.
"And I'm not sure about One Way Street," said Masklin. "I think you should only go along it one way."
"Well, we are," said Angalo smugly. "We're going this way."
The truck rolled out of the side road and bumped neatly on to the pavement.
"Let's have second gear," said Angalo. "And a bit more go-faster pedal." A car swerved slowly out of the truck's way, its horn sounding – to nome ears – like the lost wail of a foghorn.
"Shouldn't be allowed on the road, drivers like that," said Angalo. There was a thump, and the remains of a street light bounced away. "And they put all this stupid stuff in the roadway, too," he added.
"Remember to show consideration for other road-users," said Masklin, severely.
"Well, I am, aren't I? I'm not running into them, am I?" said Angalo. "What was that thump?"
"Some bushes, I think," said Masklin.
"See what I mean? Why do they put things like that in the road?"
"I think the road is more sort of over to your right," said Gurder.
"And it moves around, as well," said Angalo sullenly, pulling the right-hand string slightly.
It was nearly midnight, and Grimethorpe was not a busy town after dark. Therefore there was no one rushing to run into the truck as it slid out of Alderman Surley Way and roared up John Lennon Avenue, a huge and rather battered shape under the yellow sodium glare. The rain had stopped, but there were wisps of mist coiling across the road.
It was almost peaceful.
"Right, third gear," said Angalo, "and a bit faster. Now, what's that sign coming up?"
Grimma and Masklin craned to see. "Looks like 'Road Works Ahead'," said Grimma in a puzzled voice.
"Sounds good. Let's have some more fast, down there."
"Yes, but," said Masklin, "why say it? I mean, you could understand 'Road Doesn't Work Ahead'. Why tell us it works?"
"Maybe it means they're stopping putting curbs and lights and bushes in it," said Angalo.
"Maybe –"
Masklin leaned over the edge of the platform. "Stop!" he shouted. "Lots and lots of stop!" The brake-pedal team looked up in astonishment, but obeyed. There was a scream from the tires, yells from the nomes who were thrown forward, and then a lot of crunching and clanging from the front of the truck as it skidded through an assortment of barriers and cones.
"There had better," said Angalo, when it had finally stopped, "be a very good reason for that."
"I've hurt my knee," said Gurder.
"There isn't any more road," said Masklin, simply.
"Of course there's road," snapped Angalo. "We're on it, aren't we?"
"Look down. That's all. Just look down," said Masklin.
Angalo peered down at the road ahead. The most interesting thing about it was that it wasn't. there. Then he turned to the signaler.
"Can we please have just a wee bit of backwards," he said quietly.
"A smidgen?" said the signaler.
"And none of your cheek," said Angalo. Grimma was also staring at the hole in the road. It was big. It was deep. A few pipes lurked in the depths.
"Sometimes," she said, "I think humans really don't understand anything about the proper use of language."
She leafed through the Code as the truck was reversed carefully away from the pit and, after crushing various things, driven on to the grass until the road was clear.
"It's time we were sensible about this," she said. "We can't assume anything means what it says. So go slow."
"I was driving perfectly safely," said Angalo sulkily. "It's not my fault if things are all wrong."
"So go slow, then."
They stared in silence at the rolling road. Another sign loomed up. "Roundabout," said Angalo. "And a picture of a circle? Well. Any ideas?"
Grimma leafed desperately through the Code.
"I saw a picture of a roundabout once," said Gurder. "If it's any help. It was in We Go to the Fair. It's a big shiny thing with lots of gold and horses on it."
"I'm sure that's not it," muttered Grimma, turning the pages hurriedly. "I'm sure there's something in here some –"
"Gold, eh?" said Angalo. "Should be easy to spot, anyway. I think," he glared at Grimma, "that we can have a little third gear."
"Right you are, Mr. Angalo sir," said the signaler.
"Can't see any golden horses," said Masklin. "You know, I'm not entirely certain –"
"And there should be cheerful music," said Gurder, pleased to be making a contribution.
"Can't hear any cheer –" Masklin began. There was the long-drawn-out blast of a car horn. The road stopped, and was replaced by a mound covered in bushes. The truck roared up it, all wheels leaving the ground for a moment, then thumped down on the other side of the roundabout and continued a little way, rocking from side to side, on the opposite road. It rolled to a halt.
There was silence in the cab again. Then someone groaned.
Masklin crawled to the edge of the platform and looked down into the frightened face of Gurder, who was hanging on to the edge.
"What happened?" he groaned.
Masklin hauled him back up to safety and dusted him off.
"I think," he said, "that although the signs mean what they say, what they say isn't what they mean."
Grimma pulled herself out from underneath the Code. Angalo untangled himself from the lengths of string and found himself looking into her furious scowl.
"You," she said, "are a total idiot. And speed mad! Why don't you listen?"
"You can't speak to me like that!" said Angalo, cowering back. "Gurder, tell her she can't call me names like that!"
Gurder sat trembling on the edge of the platform.
"As far as I am concerned right now," he said, "she can call you what she likes. Go to it, young woman."
Angalo glowered. "Hang on! You were the one who went on about golden horses! I didn't see any golden horses? Did anyone see any golden horses? He confused me, going on about golden horses –"
Gurder waved a finger at him. "Don't you 'he' me –" he began.
"And don't you 'young woman' me in that tone of voice!" screamed Grimma.
Dorcas's voice came up from the depths.
"I don't want to interrupt anything," it said, "but if this happens one more time there are people down here who will be getting very angry. Is that understood?"
"Just a minor steering problem," Masklin called down cheerfully. He turned back to the others.
"Now you all look here," he said quietly. "This arguing has got to stop. Every time we hit a problem we start bickering. It's not sensible."
Angalo sniffed. "We were doing perfectly all right until he –"
"Shut up!"
They stared at him. He was shaking with anger.
"I've had just about enough of all of you!" he shouted. "You make me ashamed! We were doing so well! I haven't spent ages trying to make all this happen
just for a, a, a steering committee to ruin it all! Now you can all get up and get this thing moving again! There's a whole truckload of nomes back there! They're depending on you! Understand?"
They looked at one another. They stood up sheepishly. Angalo pulled up the steering strings. The signaler untangled his flags.
"Ahem," said Angalo quietly. "I think... yes, I think a little bit of first gear might be in order here, if it's all the same to everybody?"
"Good idea. Go ahead," said Gurder.
"But carefully," said Grimma.
"Thank you," said Angalo politely. "Is that all right by you Masklin?" he added.
"Hmm? Yes. Yes. Fine. Go."
At least there were no more buildings. The truck purred along the lonely road, its one remaining headlight making a white glow in the mist. One or two vehicles passed them on the other side of the road.
Masklin knew that soon they should be looking for somewhere to stop. It would have to be somewhere sheltered, away from humans but not too far away, because he was pretty certain there were still plenty of things the nomes were going to need. Perhaps they were going north, but if they were it would be sheer luck.
It was at that moment tired, angry with his mind not entirely on what was in front of him that he saw Prices Slashed.
There was no doubt about it. The human was standing in the road, waving its torch. There was a car beside him, with a blue flashing light on top.
The others had seen it, too.
"Prices Slashed!" moaned Gurder. "He's got here in front of us!"
"More speed," said Angalo grimly.
"What are you going to do?" said Masklin.
"We'll see how his torch can stand up to a truck!" muttered Angalo.
"You can't do that! You can't drive trucks into people!"
"It's Prices Slashed!" said Angalo. "It's not people!"
"He's right," said Grimma. "You said we mustn't stop now!"
Masklin grabbed the steering strings and gave one a yank. The truck skewed around just as Prices Slashed dropped his torch and, with respectable speed, jumped into the hedge. There was a bang as the rear of the truck hit the car, and then Angalo had the threads again and was guiding them back into something like a straight line.
"You didn't have to do that," he said sullenly. "It's all right to run into Prices Slashed, isn't it, Gurder?"
"Well. Er," said Gurder. He gave Masklin an embarrassed look. "I'm not sure it was Prices Slashed, in fact. He had darker clothes, for one thing. And the car with the light on it."
"Yes, but he had the peaked hat and the terrible torch!"
The truck bumped off a bank, taking away a large chunk of soil, and lurched back into the road.
"Anyway," said Angalo, in a satisfied voice, "that's all behind now. We left Arnold Bros (est. 1905) behind in the Store. We don't need that stuff. Not Outside."
Noisy though it was in the cab, the words created their own sort of silence.
"Well, it's true," said Angalo defensively. "And Dorcas thinks the same thing. And a lot of younger nomes."
"We shall see," said Gurder. "However, I suspect that if Arnold Bros (est. 1905) was ever any where, then he's everywhere."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I'm not sure myself. I need to think about it."
Angalo sniffed. "Well, think about it, then. But I don't believe it. It doesn't matter any more. May Bargains Galore turn against me if I'm wrong," he added.
Masklin saw a blue light out of the corner of his eye. There were mirrors over the wheels of the truck and, although one of them was smashed and the other one was bent, they still worked after a fashion. The light was behind the truck.
"He's coming after us, whoever it is," he said mildly.
"And there's that dee-dah, dee-dah noise," said Gurder.
"I think," Masklin went on, "that it might be a good idea to get off this road."
Angalo glanced from side to side.
"Too many hedges," he said.
"No, I meant on to another road. Can you do that?"
"Ten-four. No problem. Hey, he's trying to overtake! What a nerve! Ha!" The truck swerved violently.
"I wish we could open the windows," he added. "One of the drivers I watched, if anyone behind him honked, he'd wave his hand out of the window and shout things. I think that's what you're supposed to do." He waved his arm up and shouted "yahgerronyerr."
"Don't worry about that. Just find another road, a small road," said Masklin soothingly. "I'll be back in a minute."
He lowered himself down the swaying ladder to Dorcas and his people. There wasn't too much going on at the moment, just little tugs on the big wheel from the steering groups and a steady pressure on the go-faster pedal. Many of the nomes were sitting down and trying to relax. There was a ragged cheer when Masklin joined them.
Dorcas was sitting by himself, scribbling things on a piece of paper.
"Oh, it's you," he said. "Everything working now? Have we run out of things to bump into?"
"We're being followed by someone who wants to make us stop," said Masklin.
"Another truck?"
"A car, I think. With humans in it."
Dorcas scratched his chin.
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"You used things to cut the truck wires when you didn't want it to go," said Masklin.
"Pliers. What about them?"
"Have you still got them?"
"Oh, yes. But you need two nomes to use them."
"Then I shall need another nome." Masklin told Dorcas what he had in mind.
The old nome looked at him with something like admiration, and then shook his head.
"It'll never work," he said. "We won't have the time. Nice idea, though."
"But we're so much faster than humans! We could do it, and be back at the truck before they know!"
"Hmm." Dorcas grinned nastily. "You going to come?"
"Yes. I, er, I'm not sure nomes who've never been outside the Store will be able to cope."
Dorcas stood and yawned. "Well, I'd like to try some of this 'fresh air' stuff," he said. "I'm told it's very good for you."
If there had been watchers, peering over the hedge into that mist-wreathed country lane, they would have seen a truck come thundering along at quite an unsafe speed.
They might have thought: that's an unusual vehicle, it seems to have lost quite a few things it should have, like one headlight, a bumper and most of the paint down one side, and picked up a number of things it shouldn't have, like some bits of bush and more dents than a sheet of corrugated iron.
They might have wondered why it had a "Road Works Ahead" sign hanging from one door-handle.
And they would have certainly wondered why it rolled to a stop.
The police car behind it stopped rather more impressively, in a shower of gravel. Two men almost fell out of it and ran to the truck, wrenching open the doors.
If the watchers had been able to understand Human, they'd have heard someone say, All right, chummy, that's it for tonight and then say, Where's he gone? There's just a load of string in here! And then someone else would say, I bet he's nipped out and has legged it over the fields.
And while this was going on, and while the policemen poked vaguely in the hedge and shone their torches into the mist, the watchers might have noticed a couple of very small shadows run from under the rear of the truck and disappear under the car. They moved very fast, like mice. Like mice, their voices were high-pitched, fast and squeaky.
They were carrying a pair of pliers.
A few seconds later they scurried back again. And, almost as soon as they'd disappeared under the truck, it started up.
The men shouted and ran back to their car.
But instead of roaring into life, it went whirr, whirr, whirr in the misty night.
After a while one of them got out and lifted the bonnet.
As the truck vanished into the mist, its single rear light a fading glow, he knelt down, reache
d under the car, and held up a handful of neatly cut wires...
This is what the watchers would have seen. In fact, the only watchers were a couple of cows, and they didn't understand any of it.
Perhaps it nearly ends there.
A couple of days later the truck was found in a ditch some way outside the town. What was stranger was this: the battery, and every wire, light bulb, and switch had been taken out of it. So had the radio.
The cab was full of bits of string.
14
XV. And the nomes said, here is a New Place, to be ours for Ever and Ever.
XVI. And the Outsider said Nothing.
From The Book of Nome, Exits IV, v. XV–XVI
It had been a quarry. The nomes knew this because the gate had a rusty sign on it: Quarry. Dangerous. Do Not Enter.
They found it after a mad panicking run across the fields. By luck, if you listened to Angalo. Because of Arnold Bros (est. 1905) if you believed Gurder.
It doesn't matter how they settled in, found the few old tumbledown buildings, explored the caves and rock heaps, cleared out the rats. That wasn't too difficult. The harder part was persuading most of the older nomes to go outside; they felt happier with a floor over their heads. Granny Morkie came in useful there. She made them watch her walk up and down outside, braving the terrible Fresh Air.
Besides, the food taken from the Store didn't last for ever. There was hunger, and there were rabbits in the fields above. Vegetables, too. Not nice and clean, of course, as Arnold Bros (est. 1905) had intended they should be, but just sticking in the ground covered with dirt. There were complaints about this. The molehills that appeared in a nearby field were simply the result of the first experimental potato mine.
After a couple of nasty experiences, foxes learned to keep away.
And then there was Dorcas's discovery of electricity, still in wires leading to a box in one of the deserted sheds. Getting at it while staying alive seemed to need nearly as much planning as the Great Drive, with a lot of broom-handles and rubber gloves involved.
After a lot of thought, Masklin had pushed the Thing near one of the electric wires. It had flashed a few lights but had kept silent. He felt it was listening. He could hear it listening.
The Bromeliad Trilogy Page 15