'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 lorry.' 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 lorries 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 lorry 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!' '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 practise a bit! To get the hang of it! Shall I tell the signaller that we want to move forward very slowly?' Masklin nodded grimly. The signaller 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 signaller, who had dropped one of his flags.
'Forward slowly, I said! Forward slowly! Not backward! Forward!' 'I signalled Forward!' 'But we're going backward! Signal them to go forward!' The signaller 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 lorry. 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!' '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 lorry 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 signaller 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 lorry 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.