Diggers (16 page)

“It just means that sometimes you're forced to do things,” said Grimma testily. “I don't think he actually
drives
anything.”

“Well, no. There wouldn't be the room down there, for one thing.”

Dorcas coughed. He seemed to be upset about something. Well, everyone was upset, but he was even more upset.

“All right,” he said quietly.

Something about the way he said it made them pay attention.

“You'd all better come with me,” he went on. “Believe me, I'd rather you didn't have to.”

“Where to?” said Grimma.

“The old sheds. The ones by the cliff,” said Dorcas.

“But they're all tumbled down. And you said they were very dangerous.”

“Oh, they are. They are. There's piles of junk and stuff in cans the children shouldn't touch and stuff like that. . . .”

He twiddled his beard nervously.

“But,” he said, “there's something else. Something I've been sort of working on, sort of.”

He looked Grimma in the eye. “Something of mine,” he said. “The most marvelous thing I've ever seen. Even better than frogs in a flower.”

Then he coughed. “Anyway, there's plenty of room in there,” he said. “The floors are just earth, er, but the sheds are big and there are lots of places, er, to hide.”

A snore from the human shook the office.

“Besides, I don't like being so close to that thing,” he added.

There was a general murmur of agreement about this.

“Had you thought about what you're going to do with it?” said Dorcas.

“Some people wanted to kill it, but I don't think that's a good idea,” said Grimma. “I think the other humans would get really upset about it.”

“Besides, it doesn't seem right,” said Dorcas.

“I know what you mean.”

“So . . . what shall we do with it?”

Grimma stared at the huge face. Every pore, every hair, was huge. It was strange to think that if there were creatures smaller than nomes, little people perhaps the size of ants, her own face might look like that. If you looked at it philosophically, the whole thing about big and small was just a matter of size.

“We'll leave it,” she said. “But . . . is there any paper here?”

“Loads of it on the desk,” said Nooty.

“Go and fetch some, please. Dorcas, you've always got something to write with, haven't you?”

Dorcas fumbled in his pockets until he found a stub of pencil lead.

“Don't waste it,” he said. “Don't know if I'll ever get some more.”

Eventually Nooty came back towing a yellowing sheet of paper. At the top of it, in heavy black lettering, were the words: Blackbury Sand & Gravel Ltd. Below that was the word: Invoice.

Grimma thought for a while, then licked the stub and, in big letters, started to write.

“What are you doing?” said Dorcas.

“Trying to communicate,” said Grimma. She carefully traced another word, pressing quite hard.

“I've always thought it might be worth trying,” said Dorcas, “but is this the right time?”

“Yes,” said Grimma. She finished the last word.

“What do you think?” she said, handing Dorcas the pencil lead.

The writing was a bit jagged where she had pressed hard, and her grasp of grammar and writing wasn't as good as her skill at reading, but it was clear enough.

“I would have done it differently,” said Dorcas, reading it.

“Perhaps you would, but this is the way
I've
done it.”

“Yes.” Dorcas put his head on one side. “Well, it's definitely a communication. You can't get much more communicating than that. Yes.”

Grimma tried to sound cheerful. “And now,” she said, “let's see this shed of yours.”

Two minutes later the office shed was empty of nomes. The human snored on the floor, one hand outstretched.

There was a piece of paper in it now.

It said: Blackbury Sand & Gravel Ltd.

It said: Invoice.

It said: We Could Of Kiled You. LEAV US ALONE.

Now it was quite light outside, and the snow had stopped.

“They'll see our tracks,” said Sacco. “Even humans will notice this many tracks.”

“It doesn't matter,” said Dorcas. “Just get everyone into the old sheds.”

“Are you sure, Dorcas?” said Grimma. “Are you really
sure
this is a good idea?”

“No.”

They joined the stream of nomes hurrying through a crack in the crumbling corrugated iron and entered the vast, echoing chamber of the shed.

Grimma looked around her. Rust and time had eaten large holes in the walls and ceiling. Old cans and coils of wire were stacked willy-nilly in the corners, along with odd-shaped bits of metal and jam jars with nails in them. Everything stank of oil.

“What's the bit we ought to know about?” she said.

Dorcas pointed to the shadows at the far end of the shed, where she could just make out something big and indistinct.

“It just looks like . . . some sort of big cloth . . .” she said.

“It's, um, underneath it. Is everyone in?” Dorcas cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Is everyone in?”
he shouted. He turned to Nooty.

“I need to know where everyone is,” he said. “I don't want anyone to be frightened, but I don't want unnecessary people getting in the way.”

“Unnecessary for what?” said Grimma, but he ignored her.

“Sacco, you take some of the lads and get those things we put in the hedge,” said Dorcas. “We'll definitely need the battery, and I'm really not certain how much fuel there is.”

“
Dorcas!
What is it?” said Grimma, tapping her foot.

Dorcas got like this sometimes, she knew. When he was thinking about machines or things he could do with his hands, he started to ignore people. His voice changed, too.

He gave her a long, slow look as if he were seeing her for the first time. Then he looked down at his feet.

“You'd better, er, come and see,” he said. “I shall need you to explain things to everyone. You're so much better at that sort of thing.”

Grimma followed him across the chilly floor as more nomes filed into the shed and huddled apprehensively along the walls.

He led her under the shadow of the tarpaulin, which formed a sort of big, dusty cave.

A tire like a truck's loomed up a little way away in the gloom, but it was far more knobbly than any she had seen.

“Oh. It's just a truck,” she said uncertainly. “You've got a truck in here, have you?”

Dorcas said nothing. He just pointed upward.

Grimma looked up. And then looked up some more. Into the mouth of Big John.

IV. Dorcas said, This is Big John, Great Beast with teeth.

V. Needs Must. If we are driven, let us Drive.

From
The Book of Nome,
Big John Chap. 2,v. IV–V

S
OMETIMES WORDS NEED
music too. Sometimes the descriptions are not enough; books should be written with sound tracks, like films.

Something deep on an organ, perhaps.

Grimma stared.

Dee-dah-DAH.

It can't really be alive, she thought desperately. It's not really about to bite me. Dorcas wouldn't have brought me in here if he knew there was a monster about to bite me. I'm not going to be frightened. I'm not frightened at all. I am a thinking nome and I'm not
frightened!

“I think the knobbly wheels are just to make it grip the ground better,” said Dorcas, his voice sounding a long way off. “Now, I've had a good look around it and, you know, there's nothing really wrong with it, it's just very old—”

Grimma's gaze traveled along the huge yellow neck.

Dee-dah-dee-dah-DUM.

“Then I thought, I'm sure he could be started up. These diesel engines are quite easy really, and of course there were pictures in one of the books, although I'm not sure about these pipes, hydraulics I think it's called, but there was this book on one of the benches,
Workshop Manual,
and I've put grease on things and tidied it up,” Dorcas gabbled.

Dah-dah-dah-DUM.

“I suppose the humans or whatever knew they would be coming back, and I've been up and looked at the controls and, you know, it's probably easier than the Truck was, only of course there's these extra levers for the hydraulics, but that shouldn't be a problem if there's enough fuel, which . . .”

He stopped, aware of her silence.

“Is there something the matter?” he said.

“What
is
it?” said Grimma.

“I was just telling you,” said Dorcas. “It's fascinating. You see, these pipes pump some sort of stuff that makes those bits up there move, and those pistons are forced out, which makes the arm thing over there—”

“I didn't ask you what it does, I asked you what it
is
,” said Grimma, impatiently.

“Didn't I say?” said Dorcas innocently. “Well, there's its name painted on it. Just up there, look.”

She looked where he pointed. Grimma's brow wrinkled.

“John Deere?” she said.

“Well, I don't know him
that
well,” said Dorcas. “I call him Big John. It's more respectful. And we should show respect. Come and see.”

She followed him dreamily, and, once more, stared into the darkness under the tarpaulin.

“There,” he said. “There's no mistaking what
they
are, I hope.”

“Oh, my,” said Grimma, and raised her hand to her mouth.

“Yes,” said Dorcas. “That's what I thought. When I first found this I thought, Oh, it's a sort of truck, well, well, and then I walked up here and I found it was a truck with—”

“Teeth,” said Grimma, softly. “Great big metal teeth.”

“That's right,” said Dorcas proudly. “Big John. A sort of truck. A truck with teeth.”

Dah-DUM.

“Does it—does it work?” said Grimma.

“It should certainly. It should certainly. I've tested what I can. Basic principle
is
like a truck, but there's a lot of extra levers and things—”

“Why didn't you tell me about this before?” Grimma demanded.

“Dunno. Because I didn't have to, I suppose,” said Dorcas.

“But it's
huge
. You can't keep something like this to yourself!”

“Everyone has to have something they can keep to themselves,” said Dorcas vaguely. “Anyway, the size isn't important. It's just so, well, so perfect.” Dorcas patted a knobbly tire. “You know you said humans think someone made the world in a week? When I saw Big John for the first time, I thought, Okay, this is what he used.”

He stared up into the shadows.

“First thing we've got to do is get the tarpaulin off,” he said. “It'll be very heavy, so we'll need lots of people. You'd better warn them. Big John can be a bit scary when you see him for the first time.”

“Didn't frighten me a bit,” said Grimma.

“I know,” said Dorcas. “I was watching your face.”

The nomes looked expectantly at Grimma.

“The thing to remember,” she said, “is that it's just a machine. Just a sort of truck. But when you first see it, it can be rather frightening, so hold on to small children's hands. And run smartly backward when the tarpaulin comes down.”

There was a chorus of nods.

“All right. Grab hold.”

Six hundred nomes spat on their hands and grasped the edge of the heavy sheet.