Bronstein nodded. “To be sure. Come, put some of those boxes in that bag. Take some of those concentrate bars, all of you. You too, little creature.”
The little creature raised itself up. “I am not your ‘little creature’! I am a galago, and I am a hidalgo. Treat me with respect, I warn you!”
Bronstein did not take to this. “I don’t care what or who you are. Carry food or go hungry.”
“I am no beast of burden,” sneered the galago.
Bronstein gave him a look that promised plain and fancy murder. Later. “You’re a big mouth and a small brain. Carry food. We don’t have any to spare.”
“Yeah, and we girls would hate you to lose your sexy figure,” said Doll, lowering her lashes. “You might need all your strength.”
“And lots of stamina,” added Phylla, winking.
“That tail of his is just too, too gorgeous!” Melene hugged herself, quivering.
“And those dreamy bedroom eyes!” husked Phylla throatily. “Wow!”
The male rats were not enjoying this. Not even one tiny bit. The galago, on the other hand, was strutting his stuff. He was also gathering provisions.
Of course, Doll was the first to make a move. “So what is your name, handsome? Heedalgo-go?”
The galago took Doll’s paw and bowed over it with an extravagant flourish of his long fluffy tail, before kissing it delicately. “You may call me Don Juan, señorita. My name is Don Juan el Magnifico de Gigantico de Immaculata Concepcion y Major de Todos Saavedra Quixote de la Mancha.”
“Ooh! I don’t think I’ll ever wash this paw again!” Doll said breathlessly.
Melene looked on with longing. “Ooh! He fair makes my insides turn to jelly! So romantic!”
“Huh. I’ll turn him into jelly. Effing cream puff,” muttered Pistol.
* * *
As best they could, the rats hid their hole. Then they had to lug several bags of looted food back through the waking corridors of the Maggot-mound. It was no sinecure.
“You’ve overfilled this thing,” Fal moaned.
Nym grunted. “Well, we can’t exactly pour some out here, can we?”
“Why not?” Fal was ready to suit action to the words.
Nym tapped Fal’s head with his tail. “Why not just leave a signpost for the Maggots, smooth-pate? Anyway you’ll be the one complaining that you cannot compass the waste.”
Fal shook his head and tried to wrap his tail around his bulging belly. “I cannot even compass my own waist, but with this sweating I am forced to do, I’m fain to be melting away.”
“You’ve got a fair bit go still, Fal. Umph. And you’re letting your corner down,” said Nym.
“Hey you, whatsisname . . . Don Gigolo, come give us a hand,” said Fal, ever hopeful.
A bat fluttered up. “Back. There are Maggots coming. Quickly, fools!”
They hid. Scampered. Hid again. Dodged off down a new passage. And finally reached the down-rope.
“What is this?” The galago eyed the rope with suspicion.
“The effing way out, Don Gigolo.” Fat Fal might have sounded grimmer than usual because he did not fancy it. Or perhaps he was just tired.
The tiny galago strutted into Fal’s personal space. “If you call me that again, I warn you, I shall challenge you to a duel.”
“I’m shakin’. I’m shakin’. Oh, Pistol, I’m tho thcared, big bad Don Gigolo will prong me.”
The galago was beside himself with fury. “Name your seconds, sir!”
“You leave Don Juan alone. You bunch of big bullies. Don’t pay any attention to them, DonJee, sweetie.” Doll took him gently by the arm, showing Fal her teeth.
“Will you be stopping this tomfoolery and tie those bags on so Chip can haul them up,” hissed Eamon, “before I bite all of you. He’s still got to haul you up.”
The galago paused. “Who is ‘Chip’?”
“He’s the human member of this circus,” replied Bronstein.
“There is a human up there? Then I will go. My mission, she brooks no delay. I am a galago of action.” The little primate saluted the cluster of rat-girls and began to climb the rope with consummate ease.
Phylla sighed. “He’s sooo masterful!”
Nym shook his head. “He’s a complete ass.”