The Bromeliad Trilogy

by Terry Pratchett

  "Should I look in the mirror again, what do you think?" said Masklin to Grimma. She shrugged.

  "I shouldn't bother," said Angalo. "Let's just go forwards. And as soon as possible, I think. I can smell dies-all. We must have knocked over some drums of it or something."

  "That's bad, is it?" said Masklin.

  "It burns," said Angalo. "It just needs a spark or something to set it off."

  The engine roared into life again. This time they did inch forward, after some grinding noises, and rolled across the floor until the truck was in front of the big steel door. It stopped with a slight jerk.

  "Like to try a few practice turns," shouted Dorcas. "Smooth out a few rough edges!"

  "I really think it would be a very bad idea to stay here," said Angalo urgently.

  "You're right," said Masklin. "The sooner we get out of here the better. Signal Dorcas to open the door."

  The signaler hesitated. "I don't think we've got a signal for that," he said. Masklin leaned over the rail.

  "Dorcas!"

  "Yes?"

  "Open the door! We've got to get out now!"

  The distant figure cupped his hand to its ear.

  "What?"

  "I said open the door! It's urgent!" Dorcas appeared to consider this for a while, and then raised his megaphone.

  "You'll laugh when I tell you this," he said.

  "What was that?" said Grimma.

  "He said we're going to laugh," said. Angalo.

  "Oh. Good."

  "Come on!" shouted Masklin. Dorcas's reply was lost in the din from the engine.

  "What?" shouted Masklin.

  "What?"

  "What did you say?"

  "I said, in all this rush I clean forgot about the door!"

  "What'd he say?" said Gurder.

  Masklin turned and looked at the door. Dorcas had been very proud of the way he'd stopped it opening. Now it had an extremely closed look If something with no face could look smug, the door had managed it.

  He turned back in exasperation, and also in time to see the small door to the rest of the Store swing slowly open. There was a figure there, behind a little circle of sharp white light.

  His terrible torch, Masklin thought again.

  It was Prices Slashed.

  Masklin felt his mind begin to think very clearly and slowly.

  It's just a human, it said. It's nothing scary. Just a human, with its name on it in case it forgets who it is, like all those female humans in the Store with names like "Tracy" and "Sharon" and "Mrs. J. E. Williams, Supervisor". This is just old "Security" again. He lives down in the boiler-room and drinks tea. He's heard the noise. He's come to find out what made it. That is, us.

  "Oh, no," whispered Angalo, as the figure lurched across the floor. "Do you see what it's got in its mouth?"

  "It's a cigarette. I've seen humans with it before. What about it?" said Masklin.

  "It's alight," said Angalo. "Do you think it can't even smell the dies-all?"

  "What happens if it catches alight, then?" said Masklin, suspecting that he knew the answer.

  "It goes whoomph," said Angalo.

  "Just whoomph?"

  "Whoomph is enough."

  The human came nearer. Masklin could see its eyes now. Humans weren't very good at seeing nomes even when they were standing still, but even a human would wonder why a truck was driving itself around its garage in the middle of the night.

  Security arrived at the cab and reached out slowly for the door-handle. His torch shone in through the side window, and at that moment Gurder reared up, trembling with rage.

  "Begone, foul fiend!" he yelled, illuminated as by a spotlight. "Heed ye the Signs of Arnold Bros (est. 1905)! No Smoking! Exit This Way!"

  The human's face wrinkled in ponderous astonishment and then, as slowly as the drift of clouds, became an expression of panic. It let go of the door-handle, turned, and began to head for the little door at what, for a human, was high speed. As it did so the glowing cigarette fell from its mouth and, turning over and over, dropped slowly towards the floor.

  Masklin and Angalo looked at each other, and then at the signaler.

  "Go fast!" they shouted.

  A moment later the entire truck juddered as the teams tackled the complicated process of changing gear. Then it rolled forward.

  "Fast! I said fast!" Masklin shouted.

  "What's going on?" shouted Dorcas. "What about the door?"

  "We'll open the door! We'll open the door!" shouted Masklin.

  "How?"

  "Well, it didn't look very thick, did it?"

  The world of nomes is, to humans, a rapid world. They live so fast that the things that happen around them seem quite slow, so the truck seemed to drift across the floor, up the ramp and hit the door in a leisurely way. There was a long-drawn-out boom and the noise of bits of metal being torn apart, a scraping noise across the roof of the cab, and then there was no door at all, only darkness studded with lights.

  "Left! Go left!" Angalo screamed.

  The truck skidded around slowly, bounced lazily off a wall, and rolled a little way down the street.

  "Keep going! Keep going! Now straighten up!"

  A bright light that shone briefly on the wall outside the cab.

  And then, behind them, a sound like "whoomph".

  13

  I. Arnold Bros (est. 1905) said, All is now Finished;

  II. All Curtains, Carpeting, Bedding, Lingerie, Toys, Millinery, Haberdashery, Ironmongery, Electrical;

  III. All walls, floors, ceilings, lifts, moving stairs;

  IV. Everything Must Go.

  From The Book of Nome, Exits III, v. I–IV

  Later on, when the next chapters of The Book of Nome came to be written, they said the end of the Store started with a bang. This wasn't true, but was put in because bang sounded more impressive. In fact, the ball of yellow and orange fire that rolled out of the garage, carrying the remains of the door with it, just made a noise like a giant dog gently clearing its throat.

  Whoomph.

  The nomes weren't in a position to take much notice of it at the time. They were more concerned with the noise made by other things nearly hitting them.

  Masklin had been prepared for other vehicles on the road. The High Way Code had a lot to say about it. It was important not to drive into them. What was worrying him was the way they seemed determined to run into the truck. They emitted long blaring noises, like sick cows.

  "Left a bit!" Angalo shouted. "Then right just a smidgen, then go straight!"

  "Smidgen?" said the signaler, slowly. "I don't think I know a code for smidgen. Could we –"

  "Slow! Now left a bit! We've got to get on the right side of the road!"

  Grimma peered over the top of The High Way Code.

  "We are on the right side," she said.

  "Yes, but the right side should be the left side!" Masklin jabbed at the page in front of them. "It says here we've got to show cons consy –"

  "Consideration," murmured Grimma.

  " – consideration for other road-users," he said. A jolt threw him forward. "What was that?" he said.

  "Us going on to the pavement! Right! Right!"

  Masklin caught a brief glimpse of a brightly lit shop window before the truck hit it sideways on and bounced back on to the road in a shower of glass.

  "Now left, now left, now right, right! Straight! Left, I said left!" Angalo peered at the bewildering pattern of lights and shapes in front of them.

  "There's another road here," he said. "Left! Give me left! Lots and lots of left! More left than that...!"

  "There's a sign," said Masklin, helpfully.

  "Left!" shrieked Angalo. "Now right. Right! Right!"

  "You wanted left," said the signaler accusingly.

  "And now I want right! Lots of right! Duck!"

  "We haven't got a signal for –"

  This time "whoomph" wouldn't have done. It was definitely "bang". The truck hit a wall, gro
und along it in a spray of sparks, rolled into a pile of dustbins and stopped.

  There was silence, except for the hissing sounds and pink, pink noises from the engine.

  Then Dorcas's voice came up from the darkness, slow and full of menace.

  "Would you mind telling us down here," it said, "what you're doing up there?"

  "We'll have to think of a better way of steering," Angalo called down. "And lights. There should be a switch somewhere for lights."

  Masklin struggled to his feet. The truck appeared to be stuck in a dark, narrow road. There were no lights anywhere.

  He helped Gurder stand up, and brushed him down. The Stationeri looked bewildered.

  "We're there?" he said.

  "Not quite," said Masklin. "We've stopped to, er, sort out a few things. While they're doing that I think we'd better go back and check that everyone's all right. They must be getting pretty worried. You come too, Grimma."

  They climbed down and left Angalo and Dorcas deep in argument about steering, lights, clear instructions and the need for a proper supply of all three.

  There was a gabble of voices in the back of the truck, mixed with the crying of babies. Quite a few nomes had been bruised by the throwing about, and Granny Morkie was tying a splint to the broken leg of a nome who had been caught by a falling box when they hit the wall.

  "Wee bit rougher than the last time," she commented dryly, tying a knot in the bandage. "Why've we stopped?"

  "Just to sort out a few things," said Masklin, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt. "We'll be moving again soon. Now that everyone knows what to expect." He gazed down at the dark shadowy length of the truck, and inquisitiveness overcame him.

  "While we're waiting, I'm going to take a look outside," he said.

  "What on earth for?" said Grimma.

  "Just to, you know, look around," said Masklin awkwardly. He nudged Gurder. "Want to come?" he said.

  "What? Outside? Me?" The Stationeri looked terrified,

  "You'll have to sooner or later. Why not now?" Gurder hesitated for a moment, and then shrugged.

  "Will we be able to see the Store," he licked his dry lips, "from the outside?" he said.

  "Probably. We haven't really gone very far," said Masklin, as diplomatically as he could.

  A team of nomes helped them over the end of the truck and they swung down on to what Gurder would almost certainly have called the floor. It was damp, and a fine spray hung in the air. Masklin breathed deeply. This was outside, all right. Real air, with a slight chill to it. It smelled fresh, not as though it had been breathed by thousands of nomes before him.

  "The sprinklers have come on," said Gurder.

  "The what?"

  "The sprinklers," said Gurder. "They're in the ceiling, you know, in case of f..." He stopped, and looked up. "Oh, my," he said.

  "I think you mean the rain," said Masklin.

  "Oh, my."

  "It's just water coming out of the sky," said Masklin. He felt something more was expected of him. "It's wet," he added, "and you can drink it. Rain. You don't have to have pointy heads. It just rolls off anyway."

  "Oh, my."

  "Are you all right?"

  Gurder was trembling. "There's no roof!" he moaned. "And it's so big!"

  Masklin patted him on the shoulder.

  "Of course, all this is new to you," he said. "You mustn't worry if you don't understand everything."

  "You're secretly laughing at me, aren't you!" said Gurder.

  "Not really. I know what it's like to feel frightened."

  Gurder pulled himself together. "Frightened? Me? Don't be foolish. I'm quite all right," he said. "Just a little, er, surprised. I, er, wasn't expecting it to be quite so, quite so, quite so outside. Now I've had time to come to terms with it, I feel much better. Well, well. So this is what it's like," he turned the word around his tongue, like a new sweet, "outside. So, er, big. Is this all of it, or is there any more?"

  "Lots," said Masklin. "Where we lived, there was nothing but outside from one edge of the world to the other."

  "Oh," said Gurder weakly. "Well, I think this will be enough outside to be going on with. Very good."

  Masklin turned and looked up at the truck. It was almost wedged in an alleyway littered with rubbish. There was a large dent in the end of it.

  The opening at the far end of the alley was bright with street lights in the drizzle. As he watched, a vehicle swished by with a blue light flashing. It was singing. He couldn't think of any other word to describe it.

  "How odd," said Gurder.

  "It used to happen sometimes at home," said Masklin. It was secretly rather pleasing, after all this time, to be the one who knew things. "You'd hear ones go along the motorway like that. Dee-dah dee-dah DEE-DAH DEE-DAH dee-dah. I think it's just to get people to get out of the way."

  They crept along the gutter and craned to look over the pavement at the corner, just as another bawling car hurtled past.

  "Oh, Bargains Galore!" said Gurder, and put his hands over his mouth.

  The Store was on fire.

  Flames fluttered at some of the upper windows like curtains in a breeze. A pall of smoke rose gently from the roof and made a darker column against the rainy sky.

  The Store was having its last sale. It was holding a Grand Final Clearance of specially selected sparks, and flames to suit every pocket. Humans bustled around in the street below it. There were a couple of trucks with ladders on them. It looked as though they were spraying water into the building.

  Masklin looked sidelong at Gurder, wondering what the nome was going to do. In fact he took it a lot better than Masklin would have believed, but when he spoke it was in a wound-up way, as if he was trying to keep his voice level.

  "It's... it's not how I imagined it," he croaked.

  "No," said Masklin.

  "We... we got out just in time."

  "Yes."

  Gurder coughed. It was as if he'd just had a long debate with himself and had reached a decision. "Thanks to Arnold Bros (est. 1905)," he said firmly.

  Pardon?"

  Gurder stared at Masklin's face. "If he hadn't called you to the Store, we'd all still be in there," he said, sounding more confident with every word.

  "But –" Masklin paused. That didn't make any sense. If they hadn't left, there wouldn't have been a fire. Would there? Hard to be sure. Maybe some fire had got out of a fire bucket. Best not to argue. There were some things people weren't happy to argue about, he thought. It was all very puzzling.

  "Funny he's letting the Store burn," he said.

  "He needn't," said Gurder. "There's the sprinklers, and there's these special things, to make the fire go out. Fire Exits, they're called. But he let the Store burn because we don't need it any more."

  There was a crash as the entire top floor fell in on itself.

  "There goes Consumer Accounts," said Masklin. "I hope all the humans got out."

  "Who?"

  "You know. We saw their names on the doors. Salaries. Accounts. Personnel. General Manager," said Masklin.

  "I'm sure Arnold Bros (est. 1905) made arrangements," said Gurder.

  Masklin shrugged. And then he saw, outlined against the firelight, the figure of Prices Slashed. There was no mistaking that hat. He was even holding his torch, and he was deep in conversation with some other humans. When he half turned, Masklin saw his face. He looked very angry.

  He also looked very human. Without the terrible light, without the shadows of the Store at night, Prices Slashed was just another human.

  On the other hand...

  No, it was too complicated. And there were more important things to do.

  "Come on," he said. "Let's get back. I think we should get as far away as possible as quickly as we can."

  "I shall ask Arnold Bros (est. 1905) to guide us and lead us," said Gurder firmly.

  "Yes, good," said Masklin. "Good idea. And why not? But now we really must –"

  "Has his Sign not sai
d If You Do Not See What You Require, Please Ask?" said Gurder.

  Masklin took him firmly by the arm. Everyone needs something, he thought. And you never know.

  "I pull this string," said Angalo, indicating the thread over his shoulder and the way it disappeared down into the depths of the cab, "and the leader of the steering wheel left-puffing team will know I want to turn left. Because it's tied to his arm. And this other one goes to the right-pulling team. So we won't need so many signals and Dorcas can concentrate on the gears and things. And the brakes. After all," he added, "we can't always rely on a wall to run into when we want to stop."

  "What about lights?" said Masklin. Angalo beamed. "Signal for the lights," he said, to the nome with flags. "What we did was, we tied threads to switches –"

  There was a click. A big metal arm moved across the windscreen, clearing away the raindrops. They watched it for a while.

  "Doesn't really illuminate much, does it?" said Grimma.

  "Wrong switch," muttered Angalo. "Signal to leave the wipers on but put on the lights."

  There was some muffled argument below them, and then another click. Instantly the cab was filled with the dull throbbing sound of a human voice.

  "It's all right," said Angalo. "It's only the radio. But it's not the lights, tell Dorcas."

  "I know what a radio is," said Gurder. "You don't have to tell me what a radio is."

  "What is it, then?" said Masklin, who didn't know.

  "Twenty-Nine Ninety-Five, Batteries Extra," said Gurder. "With AM, FM, and Auto-Reverse Cassette. Bargain Offer, Not to Be Repeated."

  "Am and Fum?" said Masklin.

  "Yes."

  The radio voice droned on.

  " – ggest fire in the town's history, with firemen coming in from as far afield as Newtown. Meanwhile, police are searching for one of the store's trucks, last seen leaving the building just before –"

  "The lights. The lights. Third switch along," said Angalo. There was a few seconds pause, and then the alley in front of the truck was bathed in white light.

  "There should be two, but one got broken when we left the Store," said Angalo. "Well, then, are we ready?"

  " – Anyone seeing the vehicle should contact Grimethorpe police on –"

  "And turn off the radio," said Angalo. "That mooing gets on my nerves."