1

Hunter and Prey

‘We’ll never do it!’ moaned Gobkin. He threw his spear down into the quagmire of dirt, hair and congealed fat surrounding his feet, where it landed with a dull splot sound. ‘It’s hopeless.’

Gafferty Sprout counted down from five in her head. She looked at her little brother, his scared face criss-crossed with shadows cast by the grille that covered the extractor pipe in which they were hidden. Warm, greasy light oozed through the metal lattice and dribbled gleaming spots on to the lenses of Gobkin’s goggles. Or was that the glistening of his frightened tears?

Be patient with him, Dad had said to her before the two of them had set out on the expedition. He’s young, but he must learn our ways. Gafferty was learning more about Gobkin’s ways, so far. Annoying little snivel-scrap! He’d moaned and whined all the way through the tunnel. He’d griped and groaned as they scaled the wall to get to the pipe. He’d grumbled and groused as they squeezed through the conveniently sized hole cut in its side. He’d carped and bellyached as they passed the now useless fan that Dad had carefully detached on a previous visit. It was Gobkin’s first time properly out in the Big World and he was acting like it was bath night!

Dad had taken Gafferty out on her first hunt. She’d been brave. The oldest child had to be brave. If something happened to Mum or Dad, then she would be the one in charge. Gobkin was different. He was three years younger than Gafferty, and Mum and Dad had spoilt him, protected him. But that had all changed six months ago, when their little brother, Grub, had been born. A creature of snot and bad temper, he now took up all their parents’ time. Gobkin was no longer the youngest. Gobkin needed to grow up.

Gafferty sighed irritably. This would be a lot easier if he weren’t so much younger than her. But then, she had never known anyone of her own age. It was a constant annoyance, not having anyone who understood what she was feeling. Almost as much of a constant annoyance as Gobkin. Her hands toyed anxiously with the strap of her scavenger bag. The truth was that she was feeling nervous, and having a miserable, insecure assistant with her made it worse.

‘I’ve done this a hundred times, you fimbling grizzle-head!’ she said finally, summoning the effort to sound confident. ‘Well, once or twice. Even three or four times. Lots of times. Maybe.’

‘And Dad was with you then.’

‘Don’t worry, Gob. It’ll be easy. I know what I’m doing.’ She peered through the grille at the activity taking place in the noisy kitchen on its other side. ‘And I have our prey in my sights.’

Gobkin leaned forward, his curiosity getting the better of him.

‘Where … ?’ he began.

Without warning, a shadow fell over the grille.

‘Humans!’ hissed Gafferty. She threw her arms protectively around her brother and dragged him backwards through the muck. They crouched in the darkness, frozen with fear, trying not to breathe in the rancid stench of their surroundings.

A gigantic eye stared through the grille. Gobkin squealed and even Gafferty gave a sharp intake of breath. The eye frowned, blinked, then disappeared. Before the children had time to act, an enormous finger, wider and taller than either of them, rammed against the grille, sending a rattling echo down the pipe. Gafferty and Gobkin covered their ears as the finger hit the metal mesh once more.

‘Oi, Barry!’ boomed a voice. ‘Is this extractor broken again?’

‘Aye, boss,’ called Barry, from somewhere in the kitchen. ‘Keeps getting fixed, keeps getting broken. Mice, I reckon.’

‘Mice?’ snapped the boss. ‘Got screwdrivers, have they? Don’t let anyone hear you talk about mice, or we’ll be closed down.’ The voice grew quieter. The giant was moving away from the pipe. ‘And where would we be without McGreasy’s Burgers? Where would everyone go for their chips then, eh?’

‘I don’t think I’ll ever get used to Big Folk,’ whispered Gobkin, getting to his feet and reaching for his spear, ‘with their great big stomping feet and humongous bottoms wobbling about overhead. And always shouting about everything! Why can’t everyone be like us? Smidgens. Too small to cause any trouble …’

‘But big enough to care.’ Gafferty finished their dad’s often-repeated adage. She saw Gobkin’s eyes shine as his brain caught up.

‘Chips,’ he said. ‘They’re making chips.’

‘Chips,’ confirmed Gafferty, nodding. ‘Our prey. Golden, plump and crispy, completely defenceless, and ours for the taking. That’s what we’re hunting today. One chip will do nicely for dinner for all of us.’

‘And don’t forget the kurrisorce,’ said Gobkin, drooling slightly. ‘I read about it in The Big Book of Big Folk Facts. Humans love kurrisorce. The book says it channels the power of the mythical Kurri, god of chips.’

Gafferty smiled. That was more like it. Gobkin always had his nose in a book. Sometimes he talked like one. And now that he had survived a risky encounter with the Big Folk, his hunger was making him bolder. They pressed their faces against the grille and stared out at the Big World.

Rule One of the Smidgens: stay hidden and observe. From inside the extractor fan they could watch the goings-on of the burger bar. There were two chefs – Barry and his boss – cooking the burgers and sausages on the griddle, and frying chips, nuggets and anything else anyone cared to batter and fry in a deep vat of boiling oil. Dealing with humans – who were at least twenty times as tall as you – was a dangerous business for all manner of reasons. If you weren’t dodging human feet, then there were human-made death-traps. You could easily end up as a Smidgen-fritter if you weren’t careful.

A counter separated the kitchen from the shop, where customers waited for their orders. Gafferty had chosen a quiet time for the hunt when the cooks were preparing food in readiness for the evening rush. There were no customers, and that meant fewer eyes to see them.

‘It’s time,’ she said. ‘Let the hunt begin.’