There was a clang down below. One of the humans had given the door a kick.
"Temper, temper," said Dorcas mildly.
"You've thought of just about everything," said Masklin, admiringly.
"I hope so," said Dorcas. "But we'd better make sure, hadn't we." He stood up and produced a large white flag, which he waved over his head. There was an answering flicker of white from the shadows on the far side of the garage.
And then the lights went out.
"Useful thing, electricity," said Dorcas, in the darkness. There was a rumble of annoyance from the humans below, and then a jangling noise as one of them walked into something. After some grunting and a few more thuds, one of the humans found a doorway out into the basement, and the rest of them followed it.
"Don't you think they'll suspect something?" said Masklin.
"There's other humans working in the Store, they'll probably think they caused it," said Dorcas.
"That electricity is amazing stuff," said Masklin. "Can you make it? The Count de Ironmongri was very mysterious about it."
"That's because the Ironmongri don't know anything," sniffed Dorcas. "Just how to steal it. I can't seem to get the hang of the reading business, but young Vinto has been looking at books for me. He says making electricity is very simple. You just need to get hold of some stuff called you-ranium. I think it's a kind of metal."
"Is there some in the Ironmongery Department?" said Masklin hopefully.
"Apparently not," said Dorcas.
The Thing wasn't very helpful, either.
"I doubt if you are ready for nuclear power yet," it said. "Try windmills."
Masklin finished putting his possessions, such as they were, in a bag.
"When we leave," he said, "you won't be able to talk, will you? You need electricity to drink."
"That is the case, yes."
"Can't you tell us which way we should go?"
"No. However, I detect radio traffic indicative of airline activity to the north of here."
Masklin hesitated. "That's good, is it?"
"It means there are flying machines."
"And we can fly all the way home?" said Masklin.
"No. But they may be the next step. It may be possible to communicate with the starship. But first, you must ride the truck."
"After that, I should think anything is possible," said Masklin gloomily. He looked expectantly at the Thing, and then noticed with horror that its lights were going off, one by one.
"Thing!"
"When you are successful, we will talk again," said the Thing.
"But you're supposed to help us!" said Masklin.
"I suggest you consider deeply the proper meaning of the word 'help'," said the box. "Either you are intelligent nomes, or just clever animals. It's up to you to find out which."
"What?"
The last light went off.
"Thing?"
The lights stayed off. The little black box contrived to look extremely dead and silent.
"But I relied on you to help us sort out the driving and everything! You're just going to leave me like this?"
If anything, the box got darker. Masklin stared at it.
Then he thought: it's all very well for it. Everyone's relying on me. I've got no one to rely on. I wonder if the old Abbot felt like this? I wonder how he stood it for so long? It's always me who has to do everything, no one ever thinks about me or what I want...
The shabby cardboard door swung aside and Grimma stepped in.
She looked from the darkened Thing to Masklin.
"They're asking for you out there," she said quietly. "Why is the Thing all dark?"
"It just said goodbye! It said it won't help any more!" Masklin wailed. "It just said we have to prove we can do things for ourselves and it will speak to us when we're successful! What shall I do?"
I know what I could do, he thought. I could do with a cool flannel. I could do with a bit of understanding. I could do with a bit of sympathy. Good old Grimma. You can rely on her.
"What you'll do," she said sharply, "is jolly well stop moping and getup and go out there and get things organized!"
"Wha –"
"Sort things out! Make new plans! Give people orders! Get on with it!"
"But –"
"Do it now!" she snapped.
Masklin stood up.
"You shouldn't talk to me like that," he said plaintively. "I'm the leader, you know."
She stood arms akimbo, glaring at him.
"Of course you're the leader," she said. "Did I say you weren't the leader? Everyone knows you're the leader! Now get out there and lead!"
He lurched past. She tapped him on the shoulder.
"And learn to listen," she added.
"Eh? What do you mean?"
"The Thing's a sort of thinking machine, isn't it? That's what Dorcas said. Well, machines say exactly what they mean, don't they?"
"Yes, I suppose so, but –"
Grimma gave him a bright, triumphant smile.
"Well, it said 'When'," she said. "Think about it. It could have said 'If '."
Night came. Masklin thought the humans were never going to leave. One of them, with a torch and a box of tools, spent a long time examining fuse boxes and peering at the wiring in the basement. Now at last even it was gone, grumbling and slamming the door behind it. After a little while, the lights came on in the garage.
There was a rustling in the walls, and then a dark tide flowed out from under benches. Some of the young nomes in the lead carried hooks on the end of thread lines, which they swung up to the truck's covers. They caught, one after another, and the nomes swarmed up them.
Other nomes brought thicker string, which was tied to the ends of the thread and gradually dragged upwards...
Masklin ran along, under the endless shadow of the truck, to the oily darkness under the engine where Dorcas's teams were already dragging their equipment into position. Dorcas himself was in the cab, rooting around among the thick wires.
There was a sizzling noise, and then the light in the cab came on.
"There," said Dorcas. "Now we can see what we're at. Come on, lads! Let's have a bit of effort!"
When he turned around and saw Masklin he made as if to hide his hands behind his back, and then thought better of it. Both of them were thrust into what Masklin could now see were the fingers cut out of rubber gloves.
"Ah," said Dorcas, "didn't know you were there. Bit of a trade secret, see? Electricity can't abide rubber. It stops the stuff from biting you." He ducked as a team of nomes swung a long wooden beam across the cab and started to fasten it to the gear lever.
"How long's it going to take?" shouted Masklin, as another team ran past dragging a ball of string. There was quite a din in the cab now, and threads and bits of wood were moving in every direction in what he hoped was an organized way.
"Could be an hour, maybe," said Dorcas, and added, not unkindly, "We'd get on quicker without people in the way."
Masklin nodded, and explored the rear of the cab. The truck was old, and he found another hole for a bundle of wires which, at a squeeze, would take a nome as well. He crawled out into the open air and then found another gap which let him into the rear of the truck.
The first nomes aboard had dragged up one end of a thin piece of wood, which was acting as a gangplank. The rest were scrambling up it now.
Masklin had put Granny Morkie in charge of this. The old woman had a natural talent for making frightened people do things.
"Steep?" she was shouting at a fat nome, who had got halfway up and was clinging there in fright.
"Call this steep? It ain't steep, it's a stroll! Want me to come down there and help you?"
The mere threat budged him from his perch and he nearly ran the rest of the way, ducking gratefully into the shadows of the cargo.
"Everyone had better try to find somewhere soft to lie down," said Masklin. "It could be a rough journey. And you must send all the strongest nome
s up towards the cab. We're going to need everyone we can get, believe me."
She nodded, and then shouted at a family that was blocking the gangway.
Masklin looked down at the endless stream of people climbing into the truck, many of them staggering under the weight of possessions.
Funny, but now he felt he'd done everything he could. Everything was ticking over like a, like a, like something that went tick. Either all the plans would work, or they wouldn't. Either the nomes could act together, or they couldn't.
He recalled the picture of Gulliver. It probably wasn't real, Gurder had said. Books often had things in them that weren't really real. But it would be nice to think that nomes could agree on something long enough to be like the little people in the book...
"Well, it's all going well, then," he said vaguely.
"Well enough." Granny nodded.
"It would be a good idea if we found out exactly what was in all these boxes and things," Masklin ventured, "because we might have to get out quickly when we stop and –"
"I tole Torrit to see to it," said Granny. "Don't you worry about it."
"Oh," said Masklin weakly "Good"
He hadn't left himself anything to do.
He went back to the cab out of sheer well, not boredom, because his heart was pounding like a drum – but out of restlessness.
Dorcas's nomes had already built a wooden platform above the steering wheel and right in front of the big window. Dorcas himself was back down on the floor of the cab, drilling the driving teams.
"Right!" he shouted. "Give me... First Gear!"
"Pedal Down... two, three..." chorused the team on the clutch pedal.
"Pedal Up... two, three..." shouted the accelerator team.
"Lever Up... two, three..." echoed the nomes by the gear lever.
"Pedal Up... two, three, four!" the leader of the clutch team threw Dorcas a salute. "Gear all changed, sir!" he shouted.
"That was terrible. Really terrible," said Dorcas. "What's happened to the accelerator team, eh? Get that pedal down!"
"Sorry, Dorcas."
Masklin tapped Dorcas on the shoulder. "Keep doing it!" Dorcas commanded. "I want you dead smooth all the way up to fourth. Yes? What? Oh, it's you."
"Yes, it's me. Everyone's nearly on," said Masklin. "When will you be ready?"
"This lot won't be ready ever."
"Oh."
"So we might as well start whenever you like and pick it up as we go along. We can't even try steering until it's moving, of course."
"We're going to send alot more people to help you," said Masklin.
"Oh, good," said Dorcas. "Just what I need, lots more people who don't know their right from their left."
"How are you going to know which way to steer?"
"Semaphore," said Dorcas firmly. "Semaphore?"
"Signaling with flags. You just tell my lad up on the platform what you want done, and I'll watch the signals. If we'd had one more week I reckon I could have rigged up some sort of telephone."
"Flags," said Masklin. "Will that work?"
"It'd better, hadn't it. We can give it a try later on."
And now it was later on. The last nome scouts had climbed aboard. In the back of the truck most of the people made themselves as comfortable as possible and lay, wide awake, in the darkness.
Masklin was up on the platform with Angalo, Gurder and the Thing. Gurder knew even less about trucks than Masklin, but it was felt best to have him there, just in case. After all, they were stealing Arnold Bros (est. 1905)"s truck. Someone might have to do some explaining. But he'd drawn the line about having Bobo in the cab. The rat was back with everyone else.
Grimma was there, too. Gurder asked her what she was doing there. She asked him what he was doing there. They both looked at Masklin.
"She can help me with the reading," he said, secretly relieved. He wasn't, despite lots of effort, all that good at it. There seemed to be a knack he couldn't get the hang of. Grimma, on the other hand, seemed to do it now without thinking. If her brain was exploding, it was doing it in unnoticeable ways.
She nodded smugly and propped The High Way Code open in front of him.
"There's things you've got to do," he said uncertainly. "Before you start, you've got to look in a mur –"
"– mirror –" said Grimma.
"– mirror. That's what it says here. Mirror," said Masklin, firmly.
He looked enquiringly at Angalo, who shrugged.
"I don't know anything about that," he said. "My driver used to look at it, but I don't know why."
"Do you have to look for anything special? I mean, perhaps you have to make a face in it or something," said Masklin.
"Whatever it is, we'd better do things properly," said Gurder firmly. He pointed. "There's a mirror up there, near the ceiling."
"Daft place to put it," said Masklin. He managed to hook it with a grapnel and, after some effort, pulled himself up to it.
"Can you see anything?" Gurder called out.
"Just me."
"Well, come on back down. You've done it, that's the main thing."
Masklin slid back down to the decking, which wobbled under him.
Grimma peered at the Code.
"Then you've got to signal your intentions," she said. "That's clear, anyway. Signaler?"
One of Dorcas's assistants stepped forward a bit uncertainly, holding his two white flags carefully downwards.
"Yes, sir ma'am?" he said.
"Tell Dorcas –" Grimma looked at the others. "Tell him we're ready to start."
"Excuse me," said Gurder. "If it's anyone's job to tell them when we're ready to start, it's my job to tell them we're ready to start. I want it to be quite clear that I'm the person who tells people to start." He looked sheepishly at Grimma. "Er. We're ready to start," he said.
"Right you are, ma'am." The signaler waved his arms briefly. From far below the engineer's voice boomed back: "Ready!"
"Well, then," said Masklin. "This is it, then."
"Yes," said Gurder, glaring at Grimma. "Is there anything we've forgotten?"
"Lots of things, probably," said Masklin.
"Too late now, at any rate," said Gurder.
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Right then."
"Right."
They stood in silence for a moment.
"Shall you give the order, or shall I?" said Masklin.
"I was wondering whether to ask Arnold Bros (est. 1905) to watch over us and keep us safe," said Gurder. "After all, we may be leaving the Store but this is still his truck." He grinned wretchedly, and sighed. "I wish he'd give us some sort of sign," he said, "to show he approved."
"Ready when you are, up there!" shouted Dorcas. Masklin went to the edge of the platform and leaned on the flimsy rail.
The whole of the floor of the cab was covered in nomes, holding ropes in readiness or waiting by their levers and pulleys. They stood in absolute silence in the shadows, but every face was turned upwards, so that Masklin looked down at a sea of frightened and excited blobs.
He waved his hand.
"Start the engine," he said, and his voice sounded unnaturally loud in the expectant silence.
He walked back and looked out into the bright emptiness of the garage. There were a few other trucks parked against the opposite wall, and one or two of the small yellow loading trucks stood where the humans had left them. To think he'd once called it a truck nest! Garage, that was the word. It was amazing, the feeling you got from knowing the right names. You felt in control. It was as if knowing what the right name was gave you a sort of lever.
There was a whirring noise from somewhere in front of them, and then the platform shook to a thunder roll. Unlike thunder, it didn't die away. The engine had started.
Masklin grabbed hold of the rail before he was shaken off, and felt Angalo tug on his sleeve.
"It always sounds like this!" he shouted above the din. "You get used to it after a while!"
<
br /> "Good!" It wasn't a noise. It was too loud to be called a noise. It was more like solid air.
"I think we'd better practice a bit! To get the hang of it! Shall I tell the signaler that we want to move forward very slowly?"
Masklin nodded grimly. The signaler thought for a moment, and then waved his flags.
Masklin could distantly hear Dorcas yelling orders. There was a grinding noise, followed by a jolt that almost knocked him over. He managed to land on his hands and knees, and looked into Gurder's frightened face.
"We're moving!" shouted the Stationeri.
Masklin stared out of the windscreen.
"Yes, and you know what?" he yelled, springing up. "We're moving backwards!"
Angalo staggered over to the signaler, who had dropped one of his flags.
"Forward slowly, I said! Forward slowly! Not backward! Forward!"
"I signaled Forward!"
"But we're going backward! Signal them to go forward!"
The signaler scrabbled for his other flag and waved frantically at the teams below.
"No, don't signal forward, just signal them to sto –" Masklin began.
There was a sound from the far end of the truck. The only word to describe it was "crunch", but that's far too short and simple a word to describe the nasty, complicated, metallic noise and the jolt that threw Masklin on his stomach again. The engine stopped.
The echoes died away.
"Sorree!" Dorcas called out, in the distance. They heard him talking in a low, menacing voice to the teams: "Satisfied? Satisfied, are we? When I said move the Gear Lever up and left and up I meant up "and left and up, not up and right and up! Right?"
"Your right or our right, Dorcas?"
"Any right!"
"No, but –"
"Don't you but me!"
"Yes, but –"
Masklin and the others sat down as the argument skidded back and forth below them. Gurder was still lying on the planks.
"We actually moved!" he was whispering. "Arnold Bros (est. 1905) was right. Everything Must Go!"
"I'd like it to go a little further, if it's all right by him," said Angalo grimly.
"Hello up there!" Dorcas's voice boomed with mad cheerfulness. "Little bit of teething trouble down here. All sorted out now. Ready when you are!"
The Bromeliad Trilogy Page 13
