The Bromeliad Trilogy

by Terry Pratchett

  "Used to do this sort of thing when I was a boy," he said. "We used to get up to all sorts of tricks."

  "Yes?" said Masklin.

  "Down this way, I think. Mind the wires. Oh, yes. Up and down the elevator shafts, in and out of the telephone switchboard –"

  "I thought you always said kids spent far too much time running around and getting into mischief these days?"

  "Ah. Yes. Well, that's juvenile delinquency," said Gurder sternly. "It's quite different from our youthful high spirits. Let's try up here."

  They crawled between two warm metal walls. There was daylight ahead.

  Masklin and Gurder lay down and pulled themselves forward.

  There was an odd-shaped room, not a lot bigger than the cab of the Truck itself. Like the cab, it was really just a space where the human drivers fitted into the machinery. There was a lot of that.

  It covered the walls and ceiling. Lights and switches, dials and levers. Masklin thought, if Dorcas were here, we'd never get him to leave. Angalo's here somewhere, and we want him to leave.

  There were two humans kneeling on the floor. One of the giving-out-food females was standing by them. There was a lot of mooing and growling going on.

  "Human talking," muttered Masklin. "I wish we could understand it."

  "Very well," said the Thing. "Stand by."

  "You can understand human noises?"

  "Certainly. They 're only nome noises slowed down."

  "What? What? You never told us that! You never told us that before!"

  "There are many billions of things I have not told you. Where would you like me to start?"

  "You can start by telling me what they're saying now," said Masklin. "Please?"

  "One of the humans has just said, 'It must have been a mouse or something,' and the other one said, 'You show me a mouse wearing clothes, and I'll admit it was a mouse.' And the giving-out-food female said, 'It was no mouse I saw. It blew a raspberry at me (exclamation).' "

  "What's a raspberry?"

  "The small red fruit of the plant Rubus idaeus."

  Masklin turned to Gurder.

  "Did you?"

  "Me? What fruit? Listen, if there'd been any fruit around I'd have eaten it. I just went 'thrrrrrrrrp.'"

  "One of the humans has just said, 'I looked around and there it was, staring out the window.'"

  "That's Angalo all right," said Gurder.

  "Now the other kneeling-down human has said, Well, whatever it is, it's behind this panel and it can't go anywhere.'"

  "It's taking off a bit of the wall!" said Masklin. "Oh, no! It's reaching inside!"

  The human mooed.

  "The human said, 'It bit me! The little devil bit me!' " said the Thing, conversationally.

  "Yep. That's Angalo," said Gurder. "His father was like that too. A fighter in a tight corner."

  "But they don't know what they've got!" said Masklin urgently. "They've seen him, but he ran away! They're arguing about it! They don't really believe in nomes! If we can get him out before he's caught, they're bound to think it was a mouse or something!"

  "I suppose we could get around there inside the walls," said Gurder. "But it'd take too long."

  Masklin looked desperately around the cabin. Besides the three people trying to catch Angalo there were two humans up at the front. They must be the drivers, he thought.

  "I'm right out of ideas," he said. "Can you think of anything, Thing?"

  "There is practically no limit to what I can think of."

  "I mean, is there anything you can do to help us rescue Angalo?"

  "Yes."

  "You'd better do it, then."

  "Yes."

  A moment later they heard the low clanging of alarms. Lights began to flash. The drivers shouted and leaned forward and started doing things to switches.

  "What's going on?" said Masklin.

  "It is possible that the humans are startled that they are no longer flying this machine," said the Thing.

  "They're not? Who is, then?"

  The lights rippled smoothly across the Thing.

  "l am."

  One of the frogs fell off the branch, and disappeared quietly into the leafy canopy far below. Since very small light animals can fall a long way without being hurt, it's quite likely that it survived in the forest world under the tree and had the second most interesting experience any tree frog has ever had.

  The rest of them crawled onward. They were going to have the most interesting experience any frog ever had anywhere, one which would go down in frog history and be remembered for... maybe even for minutes.

  Masklin helped Gurder along another metal channel full of wires. Overhead, they could hear human feet and the growling of humans in trouble.

  "I don't think they're very happy about it," said Gurder.

  "But they haven't got time to look for something that was probably a mouse," said Masklin.

  "It's not a mouse, it's Angalo!"

  "But afterward they'll think it was a mouse. I don't think humans want to know things that disturb them."

  "Sound just like nomes to me," said Gurder.

  Masklin looked at the Thing under his arm.

  "Are you really driving the Concorde?" he said.

  "Yes."

  "I thought to drive things you had to turn wheels and change gears and things?" said Masklin.

  "That is all done by machines. The humans press buttons and turn wheels just to tell machines what to do."

  "So what are you doing, then?"

  "I," said the Thing, "am being in charge."

  Masklin listened to the muted thunder of the engines.

  "Is that hard?" he said.

  "Not in itself. However, the humans keep trying to interfere."

  "I think we'd better find Angalo quickly, then," said Gurder. "Come on."

  They inched their way along another cable tunnel.

  "They ought to thank us for letting our Thing do their job for them," said Gurder solemnly.

  "I don't think they see it like that, exactly," said Masklin.

  "We are flying at a height of 55,000 feet at 1,352 miles per hour," said the Thing.

  When they didn't comment, it added, "That's very high and very fast."

  "That's good," said Masklin, who realized that some sort of remark was expected.

  "Very, very fast."

  The two nomes squeezed through the gap between a couple of metal plates.

  "Faster than a bullet, in fact."

  "Amazing," said Masklin.

  "Twice the speed of sound in this atmosphere," the Thing went on.

  "Wow."

  "I wonder if I can put it another way," said the Thing, and it managed to sound slightly annoyed. "It could get from the Store to the quarry in under fifteen seconds."

  "Good job we didn't meet it coming the other way, then," said Masklin.

  "Oh, stop teasing it," said Gurder. "It wants you to tell it it's a good boy – Thing," he corrected himself.

  "I do not," said the Thing, rather more quickly than usual. "I was merely pointing out that this is a very specialized machine and requires skillful control."

  "Perhaps you shouldn't talk so much, then," said Masklin.

  The Thing rippled its lights at him.

  "That was nasty," said Gurder.

  "Well, I've spent a year doing what the Thing's told me and I've never had so much as a 'thank you,'" said Masklin. "How high are 55,000 feet, anyway?"

  "Ten miles. Twice as far as the distance from the Store to the quarry."

  Gurder stopped.

  "Up?" he said. "We're that far ?"

  He looked down at the floor.

  "Oh," he said.

  "Now, don't you start," said Masklin quickly.

  "We've got enough problems with Angalo. Stop holding on to the wall like that!"

  Gurder had gone white.

  "We must be as high as all those fluffy white cloud things," he breathed.

  "No," said the Thing.

/>   "That's some comfort, then," said Gurder.

  "They 're all a long way below us."

  "Oh."

  Masklin grabbed the Abbot's arm.

  "Angalo, remember?" he said.

  Gurder nodded slowly and inched his way forward, holding on to things with his eyes closed.

  "We mustn't lose our heads," said Masklin. "Even if we are up so high." He looked down. The metal below him was quite solid. You needed to use imagination to see through it to the ground below.

  The trouble was that he had a very good imagination.

  "Ugh," he said. "Come on, Gurder. Give me your hand."

  "It's right in front of you."

  "Sorry. Didn't see it with my eyes shut."

  They spent what seemed like ages cautiously moving up and down among the wiring, until eventually Gurder said, "It's no good. There isn't a hole big enough to get through. He'd have found it if there was."

  "Then we've got to find a way into the cab and get him out that way," said Masklin.

  "With all those humans in there?"

  "They'll be too busy to notice us. Right, Thing?"

  "Right."

  There is a place so far up there is no down. A little lower, a white dart seared across the top of the sky, outrunning the night, overtaking the sun, crossing in a few hours an ocean that was once the edge of the world.

  Masklin lowered himself carefully to the floor and crept forward. The humans weren't even looking in his direction.

  I hope the Thing really knows how to drive this plane, he thought.

  He sidled along toward the panels where, with any luck, Angalo was hiding.

  This wasn't right. He hated being exposed like this. Of course, it had probably been worse in the days when he used to have to hunt alone. If anything had caught him then, he would never have known it. He'd have been a mouthful. Whereas no one knew what humans would do to a nome if they caught one.

  He darted into the blessed shadows.

  "Angalo!" he whispered.

  After a while a voice from behind the wiring said, "Who is it?"

  Masklin straightened up.

  "How many guesses do you want?" he said in his normal voice.

  Angalo dropped down.

  "They chased me!" he said. "And one of them stuck its arm –"

  "I know. Come on, while they're busy."

  "What's happening?" said Angalo as they hurried out into the light.

  "The Thing is flying us."

  "How? It's got no arms. It can't change gears or anything –"

  "Apparently it's being bossy to the computers that do all that. Come on."

  "I looked out the window," bubbled Angalo. "There's sky all over the place!"

  "Don't remind me," said Masklin.

  "Let me just have one more look –" Angalo began.

  "Listen, Gurder's waiting for us and we don't want any more trouble –"

  "But this is better than any truck –"

  There was a strangled kind of noise.

  The nomes looked up.

  One of the humans was watching them. Its mouth was open and it had an expression on its face of someone who is going to have a lot of difficulty explaining what they have just seen, especially to themselves.

  The human was already getting to its feet. Angalo and Masklin looked at one another. "Run!" they shouted.

  Gurder was lurking suspiciously in a patch of shadow by the door when they came past, arms and legs going like pistons. He caught up the skirts of his robe and scurried after them.

  "What's happening! What's happening?"

  "There's a human after us!"

  "Don't leave me behind! Don't leave me behind!"

  Masklin was just ahead of the other two as they raced up the aisle between the rows of humans, who paid no attention at all to three tiny blurs running between the seats.

  "We shouldn't have... stood around... looking!" Masklin gasped.

  "We might... never... have a chance... like that again!" panted Angalo.

  "You're right!"

  The floor tilted slightly.

  "Thing! What are you doing!"

  "Creating a distraction."

  "Don't! Everyone this way!"

  Masklin darted between two seats, around a pair of giant shoes, and threw himself flat on the carpet. The others hurled themselves down behind him.

  Two huge human feet were a few inches away from them.

  Masklin pulled the Thing up close to his face.

  "Let them have their airplane back!" he said.

  "I was hoping to be allowed to land it," said the Thing. Even though its voice was always flat and expressionless, Masklin still thought that it sounded wistful.

  "Do you know how to land one of these things?" said Masklin.

  "I should like the opportunity to learn –"

  "Let them have it back right now!"

  There was a faint lurch and a change in the pattern of the lights on the Thing's surface. Masklin breathed out.

  "Now, will everyone act sensibly for five minutes?" he said.

  "Sorry, Masklin," said Angalo. He tried to look apologetic, but it didn't work. Masklin recognized the wide-eyed, slightly mad smile of someone very nearly in their own personal heaven. "It was just that... do you know it's even blue below us? It's like there's no ground down there at all! And –"

  "If the Thing tries any more flying lessons we might all find out if that's true," said Masklin gloomily. "So let's just sit down and be quiet, shall we?"

  They sat in silence for a long time, under the seat.

  Then Gurder said, "That human there has got a hole in its sock."

  "What about it?" said Angalo.

  "Dunno, really. It's just that you never think of humans as having holes in their socks."

  "Where you get socks, holes aren't far behind," said Masklin.

  "They're good socks, though," said Angalo.

  Masklin stared at them. They just looked like basic socks to him. Nomes in the store used them as sleeping bags.

  "How can you tell?" he said.

  "They're Hi-style Odorprufe," said Angalo. "Guaranteed 85% Polysomething. We used to sell them in the Store. They cost a lot more than other socks. Look, you can see the label."

  Gurder sighed.

  "It was a good Store," he muttered.

  "And those shoes," said Angalo, pointing to the great white shapes like beached boats a little way away. "See them? Crucial Street Drifters with Real Rubber Soul. Very expensive."

  "Never approved of them, myself," said Gurder. "Too flashy. I preferred Mens, Brown, Laced. A nome can get a good night's sleep in one of those."

  "Those Drifter things are Store shoes, too, are they?" said Masklin, carefully.

  "Oh, yes. Special range."

  "Hmm."

  Masklin got up and walked over to a large leather bag half wedged under the seat. The others watched him scramble up it and then pull himself up until he could, very quickly, glance over the armrest. He slid back down.

  "Well, well," he said, in a mad, cheerful voice.

  "That's a Store bag, isn't it?" he said.

  Gurder and Angalo gave it a critical look.

  "Never spent much time in Travel Accessories," said Angalo, "but now that you mention it, it could be the Special Calfskin Carry-on Bag."

  "For the Discerning Executive?" Gurder added. "Yes. Could be."

  "Have you wondered how we're going to get off?" said Masklin.

  "Same way as we got on?" said Angalo, who hadn't.

  "I think that could be difficult. I think the humans might have other ideas," said Masklin. "I think, in fact, they might start looking for us. Even if they think we're mice. I wouldn't put up with mice on something like this if I were them. You know what mice are like for widdling on wires. Could be dangerous when you're ten miles high, a mouse going to the bathroom inside your computer. So I think the humans will take it very seriously. So we ought to get off when the humans do."

  "We'd get stamped on
!" said Angalo.

  "I was thinking maybe we could sort of... get in this bag, sort of thing," said Masklin.

  "Ridiculous!" said Gurder.

  Masklin took a deep breath.

  "It belongs to Grandson Richard, 39, you see," he said. "I checked," he added, watching the expressions on their faces. "I saw him before, and he's in the seat up there. Grandson Richard," he went on, "39. He's up there right now. Reading a paper. Up there. Him."

  Gurder had gone red. He prodded Masklin with a finger. "Do you expect me to believe," he said, "that Richard Arnold, the grandson of Arnold Bros. (est. 1905), has holes in his socks?"

  "That'd make them holy socks," said Angalo. "Sorry. Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit. You don't have to glare at me like that."

  "Climb up and see for yourself," said Masklin. "I'll help you. Only be careful."

  They hoisted Gurder up.

  He came down quietly.

  "Well?" said Angalo.

  "It's got R. A. in gold letters on the bag too," said Masklin. He made frantic signs to Angalo. Gurder was looking as though he had seen a ghost.

  "Yes, you can get that," said Angalo, hurriedly. " 'Gold Monogram at Only Five Ninety-nine Extra,' it used to say on the sign."

  "Speak to us, Gurder," said Masklin. "Don't just sit there looking like that."

  "This is a very solemn moment for me," said Gurder.

  "I thought I could cut through some of the stitching and we could get in at the bottom," said Masklin.

  "I am not worthy," said Gurder.

  "Probably not," said Angalo cheerfully. "But we won't tell anyone."

  "And Grandson Richard, 39, will be helping us, you see," said Masklin, hoping that Gurder was in a state to take all this in. "He won't know it, but he'll be helping us. So it'll all be right. Probably it's meant."

  Not meant by anyone, he told himself conscientiously. Just meant in general.

  Gurder considered this.

  "Well, all right," he said. "But no cutting the bag. We can get in through the zipper, all right?"

  They did. It stuck a bit halfway, since zippers always do, but it didn't take long to get an opening big enough for the nomes to climb down inside.

  "What shall we do if he looks in?" said Angalo.

  "Nothing," said Masklin. "Just smile, I suppose."

  The tree frogs were far out on the branch now. What had looked like a smooth expanse of gray-green wood was, close up, a maze of rough bark, roots, and clumps of moss. It was unbearably frightening for frogs who had spent their lives in a world with petals around it.