It's their world, not ours.
It's too risky. No. I never realized it before, but we've got to do it our way.
Grandson Richard, 39, slowly reached out a hand and said, Whoomp?
Masklin took a running jump.
Nomes can fall quite a long way without being hurt, and in any case a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich broke his fall.
There was a blur of activity and the sandwich rose on three pairs of legs. It raced across the floor, leaking mayonnaise.
Grandson Richard, 39, threw a towel at it. He missed.
The sandwich leapt over the doorway and vanished into the chirping, velvety, dangerous night.
There were other dangers besides falling off the branch. One of the frogs was eaten by a lizard. Several others turned back as soon as they were out of the shade of their bromeliad because, as they pointed out... mipmip... mipmip...
The frog in the lead looked back at his dwindling group. There was one... and one... and one... and one... and one, which added up to – it wrinkled its forehead in the effort of calculation – yes, one.
Some of the one were getting frightened. The leading frog realized that if they were ever going to get to the new flower and survive there, there'd need to be a lot more than one frog. They need at least one, or possibly even one. He gave them a croak of encouragement.
Mipmip, he said.
5
FLORIDA (or Floridia): A place where alligators, longnecked turtles, and space shuttles may be found. A place that is warm and wet, and there are geese. Only foolish people think it is really an orange drink. Bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches may be found here also. A lot more interesting than many other places. The shape when seen from the air is like a bit stuck on a bigger bit.
From A Scientific Encyclopedia for the Enquiring Young Nome
by Angalo de Haberdasheri.
Let the eye of your imagination be a camera...
This is the globe of the world, a glittering blue and white ball like the ornament on some unimaginable Christmas tree.
Find a continent... Focus.
This is a continent, a jigsaw of yellows, greens, and browns.
Find a place... Focus.
This is a bit of the continent, sticking out into the warmer sea to the southeast. Most of its inhabitants call it Florida.
Actually, they don't. Most of its inhabitants don't call it anything. They don't even know it exists. Most of them have six legs, and buzz. A lot of them have eight legs, and spend a lot of time in webs waiting for six-legged inhabitants to arrive for lunch. Many of the rest have four legs, and bark or moo or even lie in swamps pretending to be logs. In fact, only a tiny proportion of the inhabitants of Florida have two legs, and even most of them don't call it Florida. They just go tweet, and fly around a lot.
Mathematically, an almost insignificant number of living things in Florida call it Florida. But they're the ones who matter. At least, in their opinion. And their opinion is the one that matters. In their opinion.
Find a highway... Focus... Traffic swishing quietly through the soft warm rain... focus... high weeds on the bank... focus... grass moving in a way that isn't quite like grass moving in the wind... Focus... a pair of tiny eyes...
Focus... Focus... Focus... Click!
Masklin crept back through the grass to the nomes' camp, if that's what you could call a tiny dry space under a scrap of thrown-away plastic.
It had been hours since they'd run away from Grandson Richard, 39, as Gurder kept on putting it. The sun was rising behind the rain clouds.
They'd crossed a highway while there was no traffic, they'd blundered around in damp undergrowth, scurrying away from every chirp and mysterious croak, and finally they'd found the plastic. And they'd slept. Masklin stayed on guard for a while, but he wasn't certain what he was guarding against.
There was a positive side. The Thing had been listening to radio and television and had found the place the going-straight-up shuttles went from. It was only eighteen miles away. And they'd definitely made progress. They'd gone – oh, call it half a mile. And at least it was warm. Even the rain was warm. And the bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich was holding up.
But there were still almost eighteen miles to go.
"When did you say the launch is?" said Masklin.
"Four hours time," said the Thing.
"That means we'll have to travel at more than four miles an hour," said Angalo gloomily.
Masklin nodded. A nome, trying hard, could probably cover a mile and a half in an hour over open ground.
He hadn't given much thought to how they could get the Thing into space. If he'd thought about it at all, he'd imagined that they could find the shuttle plane and wedge the Thing on it somewhere. If possible maybe they could go, too, although he wasn't too sure about that. The Thing said it was cold in space, and there was no air.
"You could have asked Grandson Richard, 39, to help us!" said Gurder. "Why did you run away?"
"I don't know," said Masklin. "I suppose I thought we ought to be able to help ourselves."
"But you used the Truck. Nomes lived in the Store. You used the Concorde. You 're eating human food."
Masklin was surprised. The Thing didn't often argue like that.
"That's different," he said.
"How?"
"They didn't know about us. We took what we wanted. We weren't given it. They think it's their world, Thing! They think everything in it belongs to them! They name everything and own everything! I looked up at him, and I thought, here's a human in a human's room, doing human things. How can he ever understand about nomes? How can he ever think tiny people are real people with real thoughts? I can't just let a human take over. Not just like that!"
The Thing blinked a few lights at him.
"We've come too far not to finish it ourselves," Masklin mumbled. He looked up at Gurder.
"Anyway, when it came to it, I didn't exactly see you rushing up, ready to shake him by the finger," he said.
"I was embarrassed. It's always embarrassing, meeting deities," said Gurder.
They hadn't been able to light a fire. Everything was too wet. Not that they needed a fire, it was just that a fire was more civilized. Someone had managed to light a fire there at some time, though, because there were still a few damp ashes.
"I wonder how things are back home?" said Angalo, after a while.
"All right, I expect," said Masklin.
"Do you really?"
"Well, more hope than expect, to tell the truth."
"I expect your Grimma's got everyone organized," said Angalo, trying to grin.
"She's not my Grimma," snapped Masklin.
"Isn't she? Whose is she, then?"
"She's..." Masklin hesitated. "Hers, I suppose," he said lamely.
"Oh. I thought the two of you were set to –" Angalo began.
"We're not. I told her we were going to get married, and all she could talk about was frogs," said Masklin.
"That's females for you," said Gurder. "Didn't I say that letting them learn to read was a bad idea? It overheats their brains."
"She said the most important thing in the world was little frogs living in a flower," Masklin went on, trying to listen to the voice of his own memory. He hadn't been listening very hard at the time. He'd been too angry.
"Sounds like you could boil a kettle on her head," said Angalo.
"It was something she'd read in a book, she said."
"My point exactly," said Gurder. "You know I never really agreed with letting everyone learn to read. It unsettles people."
Masklin looked gloomily at the rain.
"Come to think of it," he said, "It wasn't frogs exactly. It was the idea of frogs. She said there are these hills where it's hot and rains all the time, and in the rain forests there are these very tall trees and right in the top branches of the trees there are these like great big flowers called... bromeliads, I think, and water gets into the flowers and makes little pools and ther
e's a type of frog that lays eggs in the pools and tadpoles hatch and grow into new frogs and these little frogs live their whole lives in the flowers right at the top of the trees and don't even know about the ground, and once you know the world is full of things like that, your life is never the same."
He took a deep breath.
"Something like that, anyway," he said.
Gurder looked at Angalo.
"Didn't understand any of it," he said.
"It's a metaphor," said the Thing. No one paid it any attention.
Masklin scratched his ear. "It seemed to mean a lot to her," he said.
"It's a metaphor," said the Thing.
"Women always want something," said Angalo. "My wife is always on about dresses."
"I'm sure he would have helped," said Gurder. "If we'd talked to him. He'd probably have given us a proper meal and, and –"
"Given us a home in a shoebox," said Masklin.
"And given us a home in a shoebox," said Gurder automatically. "No! I mean, maybe. I mean, why not? A decent hour's sleep for a change. And then we –"
"We'd be carried around in his pocket," said Masklin.
"Not necessarily. Not necessarily."
"We would. Because he's big and we're small."
"Launch in three hours and fifty-seven minutes," said the Thing.
Their temporary camp overlooked a ditch. There didn't seem to be any winter in Florida, and the banks were thick with greenery.
Something like a flat plate with a spoon on the front sculled slowly past. The spoon stuck out of the water for a moment, looked at the nomes vaguely, and then dropped down again.
"What was that thing, Thing?" said Masklin.
The Thing extended one of its sensors.
"A long-necked turtle."
"Oh."
The turtle swam peacefully away.
"Lucky, really," said Gurder.
"What?" said Angalo.
"Its having a long neck like that and being called a Long-Necked Turtle. It'd be really awkward having a name like that if it had a short neck."
"Launch in three hours and fifty-six minutes.'"
Masklin stood up.
"You know," said Angalo, "I really wish I could have read more of The Spy with No Trousers. It was getting exciting."
"Come on," he said. "Let's see if we can find a way."
Angalo, who had been sitting with his chin in his hands, gave him an odd look.
"What now?"
"We've come too far just to stop, haven't we?"
They pushed their way through the weeds. After a while a fallen log helped them across the ditch.
"Much greener here than at home, isn't it?" said Angalo.
Masklin pushed through a thick stand of leaves.
"Warmer too," said Gurder. "They've got the heating fixed here."5
"No one fixes heating Outside, it just happens," said Angalo.
"If I get old, this is the kind of place I'd like to live, if I had to live Outside," Gurder went on, ignoring him.
"It's a wildlife preserve," said the Thing.
Gurder looked shocked. "What? Like jam? Made of animals'?"
"No. It is a place where animals can live unmolested."
"You're not allowed to hunt them, you mean?"
"Yes."
"You're not allowed to hunt anything, Masklin," said Gurder.
Masklin grunted.
There was something nagging at him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. Probably it was to do with the animals after all.
"Apart from turtles with long necks," he said, "what other animals are there here, Thing?"
The Thing didn't answer for a moment. Then it said, "I find mention of sea cows and alligators."
Masklin tried to imagine what a sea cow looked like. But they didn't sound too bad. He'd met cows before. They were big and slow and didn't eat nomes, except by accident.
"What's an alligator?" he said.
The Thing told him.
"What?" said Masklin.
"What?" said Angalo.
"What?" said Gurder. He pulled his robe tightly around his legs.
"You idiot!" shouted Angalo.
"Me?" said Masklin hotly. "How should I know? How should I know? Is it my fault? Did I miss a sign at the airport saying 'Welcome to Floridia, home of large meat-eating reptiles up to twelve feet long'?"
They watched the grasses. A damp warm world inhabited by insects and turtles was suddenly a disguise for horrible terrors with huge teeth.
Something's watching us, Masklin thought. I can feel it.
The three nomes stood back-to-back. Masklin crouched down, slowly, and picked up a stone.
The grass moved.
"The Thing did say they don't all grow to twelve feet," said Angalo, in the silence.
"We were blundering around in the darkness!" said Gurder. "With things like that around!"
The grass moved again. It wasn't the wind that was moving it.
"Pull yourself together," muttered Angalo.
"If it is alligators," said Gurder, trying to look noble, "I shall show them how a nome can die with dignity."
"Please yourself," said Angalo, his eyes scanning the undergrowth. "I'm planning to show them how a nome can run away with speed."
The grasses parted.
A nome stepped out.
There was a crackle behind Masklin. His head spun around. Another nome stepped out. And another. And another. Fifteen of them.
The three travelers swiveled like an animal with six legs and three heads.
It was the fire that I saw, Masklin told himself. We sat right down by the ashes of a fire, and I looked at them, and I didn't wonder who could have made them.
The strangers wore gray. They seemed to be all sizes. And every single one of them had a spear.
I wish I had mine, Masklin thought, trying to keep as many of the strangers as possible in his line of sight.
They weren't pointing their spears at him. The trouble was, they weren't exactly not pointing them, either.
Masklin told himself that it was very rare for a nome to kill another nome. In the Store it was considered bad manners, while Outside... well, there were so many other things that killed nomes in any case. Besides, it was wrong. There didn't have to be any other reasons.
He just had to hope that these nomes felt the same way.
"Do you know these people?" said Angalo.
"Me?" said Masklin. "Of course not. How could I?"
"They're Outsiders. I dunno, I suppose I thought all Outsiders would know each other."
"Never seen them before in my life," said Masklin.
"I think," said Angalo, slowly and deliberately, "that the leader is that old guy with the big nose and the topknot with a feather in it. What do you think?"
Masklin looked at the tall, thin old nome who was scowling at the three of them.
"He doesn't look as if he likes us very much."
"I don't like the look of him at all," said Angalo.
"Have you got any suggestions, Thing?" said Masklin.
"They are probably as frightened of you as you are of them."
"I doubt it," said Angalo.
"Tell them you will not harm them."
"I'd much rather they told me they're not going to harm us."
Masklin stepped forward, and raised his hands.
"We are peaceful," he said. "We don't want anyone to be hurt."
"Including us," said Angalo. "We really mean it."
Several of the strangers backed away and raised their spears.
"I've got my hands raised," said Masklin over his shoulder, "Why should they be so upset?"
"Because you're holding a large rock," said Angalo flatly. "I don't know about them, but if you walked toward me holding something like that I'd be pretty scared."
"I'm not sure I want to let go of it," said Masklin.
"Perhaps they don't understand us."
Gurder moved.
He hadn't said
a word since the arrival of the new nomes. He'd just gone very pale.
Now some sort of internal timer had gone off. He gave a snort, leapt forward, and he bore down on Topknot like an enraged balloon.
"How dare you accost us, you – you Outsider!" he screamed.
Angalo put his hands over his eyes. Masklin got a firm hold on his rock.
"Er, Gurder..." he began.
Topknot backed away. The other nomes seemed puzzled by the small explosive figure that was suddenly among them. Gurder was in the grip of the kind of anger that is almost as good as armor.
Topknot screeched something back at Gurder.
"Don't you harangue me, you grubby heathen," said Gurder. "Do you think all these spears really frighten us?"
"Yes," whispered Angalo. He sidled closer to Masklin. "What's got into him?" he said.
Topknot shouted something at his nomes. A couple of them raised their spears, uncertainly. Several of the others appeared to argue.
"This is getting worse," said Angalo.
"Yes," said Masklin. "I think we should –"
A voice behind them snapped out a command. All the Floridians turned. So did Masklin.
Two nomes had come out of the grass. One was a boy. The other was a small, dumpy woman, the sort you'd cheerfully accept an apple pie from. Her hair was tied in a bun, and like Topknot's, it had a long gray feather stuck through it.
The Floridians looked sheepish. Topknot spoke at length. The woman said a couple of words. Topknot spread his arms above him and muttered something at the sky.
The woman walked around Masklin and Angalo as if they were items on display. When she looked Masklin up and down he caught her eye and thought: She looks like a little old lady, but she's in charge. If she doesn't like us, we're in a lot of trouble.
She reached up and took the stone out of his hand. He didn't resist.
Then she touched the Thing.
It spoke. What it said sounded very much like the words the woman had just used. She pulled her hand away sharply, and looked at the Thing with her head on one side. Then she stood back.
At another command the Floridians formed, not a line, but a sort of V shape with the woman at the tip of it and the travelers inside it.
"Are we prisoners?" said Gurder, who had cooled off a bit.
The Bromeliad Trilogy Page 33