He and Ginny leaped down from the still-roaring tractor and began manhandling the loaded trailer up to it. The rats scrambled to help—all except Nym, who stayed on the saddle, shaking the wheel.
They’d just got the linchpin in, when the bull-throated bellow of the over-revved diesel was muted. Reduced to a throaty chuckling thrub-thrub. Nym stood on the saddle looking as if he’d just burned his paw. “I just . . . um, pulled that lever.”
“For God’s sake, get off there,” shouted Chip. “This time you found the throttle. Next time you’ll probably blow the whole thing up.”
“Not I!” protested Nym. Smugly: “Just as I said. Methinks I’m a natural with machines.”
Chip’s bellow showed he was sergeant-major material in one way at least. “GET down here! Give us a hand with this drive shaft. We’ve got to move!”
Ten seconds later, they’d figured out that it couldn’t be done, short of losing fingers. “We’ll just tie the trailer end of the drive shaft out of the way! We don’t have time. There must be a way of stopping it turning—but I don’t know how!” Chip’s voice was sounding a tad desperate, even to him.
“I’ll find out,” said Nym serenely.
“No you won’t!” snapped Eamon. “Tie it up and out of the way. We’ll go and arm the mines.”
Half a minute later it was done. And not half a minute too soon. A huge mass of Maggots was streaming up the hill from three sides, dark in the moonlight, except where the light flashed off snapping chelicerae.
“Okay, chilluns! All aboard the Maggotdom Midnight Express!” yelled Chip, caught up in the manic-ness of it all. “Grab your toys and let’s go go GO!”
“Where is Fluff?” cried Virginia. “And where is the Professor?”
“Never fear! I am here!” The galago stood rampant in the moonlight on the trailer-top. Head back in a noble pose, he beat on his chest with tiny fists.
“Where the Professor, Fluff?”
Chip would have shouted “leave the stupid bastard,” except he knew by now the others cherished stinky-prickles. The rats and bats fanned out, searching and calling. Chip followed his instincts to the cellar, with a piece of cargo netting. The Korozhet was lurking behind the farthest vat.
“You must flee, human. The enemy approaches,” said the Korozhet.
“Come on,” cooed Chip. “We have the tractor waiting.”
“No, no. I will just delay you.” The Korozhet retreated farther into the corner, rattling spines at him.
“It’s all right. I’ve got a wonderful safe hideaway for you, Crotchet. We must look after you. Come.” He quietly laid down the piece of netting. It was dim down here, and he’d noticed that the Crotchet wasn’t very good at spotting obstacles in the dark. The Pricklepuss came wandering out of its dark corner. When it was half out and on top of the net Chip flipped the other side over it. Virginia, Siobhan and Melene came running in as he caught the corners.
“Chip,” Virginia yelled, as she tripped down the stairs, “the bats have mined this place! It is going to blow sky-high in less than four minutes. We’ve got to find the Professor and get out of here.”
“Grab a couple of corners,” said Chip. “I’ve just arranged transportation for your Pricklepuss. Hey, Pricklepuss?”
The Korozhet seemed to be undergoing a sudden change of heart. “Indeed, Miss Virginia! Let us flee!”
* * *
The Crotchet was tied to the trailer like a bag of onions. Chip thought it an excellent place for him. And then the first Maggots came spilling into the yard. Bats dived into the attack as the tractor took the only open way out—back into the shed . . .
“Heads down!” shouted Chip, thrusting the tractor into second gear and pushing open the throttle. They took off with a wild jerk and sway, bouncing off most of the contents of the shed before crashing into the corrugated iron wall in the back. In a terrible, tearing din, the wall shrieked off its rivets and clattered aside.
They were out, free, and into the open. The tractor switchbacked down the hill through the barren fields as Chip kept frantically overcorrecting his overcorrections.