“Oh, shut up,” muttered Chip. “It was your idea to turn down here.”
The little tractor was wedged. Jammed good and solid. Maggots didn’t build in straight lines. This cross tunnel was no exception.
“Let me out of the net,” said the Korozhet. “We must flee on foot. The machine has ceased to function.”
“Don’t be stupid, Crotchet,” said Chip, his heart in his mouth. How would they ever get the tractor out of this jam and then push start it down here . . . ?
He twitched the key, just knowing it was not going to work. She started perfectly.
As usual, Bronstein took charge. “Fly ahead and see if it gets any wider,” she commanded O’Niel. “Behan, you and Siobhan go back to the main tunnel and scout ahead. Eamon, let’s you and me take those spray cans and see if that’ll slow them— What are you doing?”
Eamon was attempting to wrap a piece of white rag with a red splotch on it around his head. “Indade. Just something I have a fancy to,” the big bat said sullenly. “Here, you—Don Whatsisname—tie this around my head.”
“Of a certainty!” cried the galago. Despite the apparent enthusiasm of the words, Fluff seemed doubtful of the project.
“Stop wasting time, Eamon!” snapped Bronstein. “Chip. You’re to go on if that’s possible. Otherwise try and reverse.”
Chip looked appropriately nervous at the thought of reversing fifteen yards. “Hope like hell we can go on.”
Even as Bronstein and Eamon flew off, cans of spraypaint clutched in their feet, O’Niel returned.
“Begorra, ’tis narrower ahead!”
Eamon turned and shouted: “Join us then, O’Niel! Time we’ll need to buy for them!”
The plump bat looked startled. Eamon’s somewhat skew white headband with a red paint spot in the center looked bizarre on his evil blackface. “Are you injured, then, boyo?”
“No. ‘Tis my new image,” came the proud reply.
O’Niel clucked. “‘Tis right daft you look.”
* * *
Chip peered at the gear lever to work out—again—where reverse was located. He thought—
“Hang on, Chip,” said Fal. “Methinks we’ll go and set some snares. Come on, you swashers!” said Fal. The rats baled off.
“Hey, don’t leave me alone,” whined Chip.
Pistol stopped and grinned back at him. “Tradition! Rats are deserting a stinking ship!”
Chip grit his teeth. “Here goes nothing.”
He was dead right. They were stuck fast. All that moved was a little wisp of steam that curled up from the engine. He tried; stalled again. “Where the hell are the rats and bats when I need them?”
“I will do my best, señor!” piped the tiny galago. “How may I help?”
Chip shook his head. “Can you dig through Magh’ adobe or blow it aside? No. I need rats and bats . . .”
“I’ll run and fetch them,” said Ginny eagerly.
“No, stay. Let’s try it with the blade,” he said.
“Yes, Virginia,” said the Korozhet. “Stay. You must stay near me.”
Ginny looked affronted. “You don’t have to be so protective, Professor. I’m a big girl now.”
“You tell him, girl. And get that chainsaw of yours going in case.” Chip’s tone was deeply approving.
He started the tractor again. With care, accompanied by the smell of a burning clutch and various wild efforts with the hydraulics—the tractor came free.
Of course, the trailer started scraping along the wall. But at least it couldn’t jackknife.
They scraped through a trail of fertilizer from a torn bag. Back out into the main passage, where terrible war raged.
The rats were sitting back, against the wall, watching it. Placing bets.
“Three to one on the greens,” said Pistol, pushing forward a small pile of money.
“Pass the bottle. I’ll take you up on that!” Melene’s voice was cheerful. “Methinks the oranges have the edge in skill if not the numbers.”
Fal was in the act of putting a suggestive tail around Doll’s waist. “Hey Doll, we have time, doth want to slip away for spot of tail-twisting?”
“With you, Fal? But where are my flowers and candy?” Coyly, Doll pushed his tail away.
Fal’s jaw dropped. “Flowers? Candy? Candy? I offered you a drink!”
The plump rat’s tone was shocked, shocked. He caught sight of Ginny and the galago and began shaking his fist. ” ‘Tis your fault! Yours, say I!”