10

An Unplanned Excursion

For the rest of the morning, there were chores to be done: a hole in one of Gafferty’s boots needed repairing using a strip of masking tape, Gobkin needed to be shown how to use spider silk to sew antennae on to his fly goggles, and bark chips needed chopping into pieces to fuel the boiler.

‘We’re running low on breadcrumbs,’ Mum said as Gafferty walked into the kitchen with a bundle of bark. She was standing on a chair scrutinising a row of jars on the food shelf. ‘And your father wants them to make cinnamon pudding. You can take Gobkin to the kaffay next to the factory after middle-meal. The cook in there always has a few spare crusts. Enough to keep us going for a while.’

Gobkin looked up from the table, where he was sat drawing a picture of an ant with a stub of red crayon.

‘Can we get cake crumbs too?’ he said eagerly.

‘This afternoon?’ said Gafferty. ‘Do I have to?’

‘Have you got other plans?’ said her mother, raising an eyebrow as she rattled a jar labelled Mustard Seeds. ‘Tea with the Queen of the Mountain Gnomes, perhaps?’

Gafferty bit her lip in annoyance. She did have other plans, as it happened. The Smidgenmoot – whatever it was – was waiting, and the last thing she wanted was to be a babysitter.

‘I want to get cake!’ whined Gobkin.

‘Fine,’ she said, dumping the bark chips in a box next to the boiler. She could do both – go exploring and get the stupid breadcrumbs. She would make this hunting trip a little more interesting.

At middle-meal, she found Gobkin at the kitchen table all ready and waiting, wearing his goggles and scavenger backpack. He was messily devouring potato waffles that Mum had made from some of the leftover chip.

‘He’s a keen lad when there’s cake involved,’ chuckled Dad, bouncing Grub on his knee. ‘Listen, boy: enthusiasm is all well and good, but don’t let it make you forget the dangers.’

‘The specific dangers of a Big Folk kaffay,’ recited Gobkin, spluttering potato everywhere, much to the delight of Grub, ‘are boiling water, sharp knives and toasters. Also, beware of falling into sugar bowls.’ The Big Book of Big Folk Facts was the foundation of all the Sprout family’s knowledge of humans, supplemented by Great-Great-Uncle Flemm’s Manual for Surviving in the Big World, with Particular Attention to the Perils of Cats, written by a distant relative of Dad’s. Gobkin could quote whole pages.

Gafferty laughed. ‘You’ve changed your tune since our visit to McGreasy’s yesterday. We’ll make a hunter of you yet.’

After finishing their food, Gobkin helped Gafferty get ready. They gathered on the table all the necessary items for an expedition. Fishing line for rope, bent pins for hooks, a bottle of water, a bundle of match-end torches with a lighting flint – and Gafferty’s glass knife, which she fetched from its hiding place under her mattress. She’d avoided thinking about the strange encounter in the tunnel with the creepy thing, its awful, hungry coldness and what it might want with her. But the memory returned as she contemplated exploring the forgotten parts of the Tangle. What would she find there? Were there other dangerous creatures lurking in the darkness? And was it somewhere she should be taking her little brother?

Whilst they packed, she studied the wallpaper plastered over the wall behind the table. It was, in fact, itself part of a map, a plan of the Big Folk town that Mum had rescued from a wastepaper bin, and it covered the space from floor to ceiling. Dad had written notes on to it of food sources and other useful scavenging places, as well as the locations of Tangle exits.

Mum and Dad were safely out of the way, giving an enraged Grub a bath. Shrieks and splashes (from Grub) and curses (from Dad) emanated from the bathroom. Gafferty quickly fetched the atlas from her room and tried to match the location of the Smidgenmoot with the modern human landmarks. There was the humans’ food market. The Smidgenmoot was close by, probably somewhere in that narrow alley that ran next to it. The atlas wasn’t very clear on distances, but the Big Folk map was accurate, so it gave a better idea of how far away things were. Gafferty reckoned they could just about make it to the Smidgenmoot and then the kaffay without her parents noticing they had been gone too long.

‘What’s that?’ asked Gobkin, pointing to the atlas.

‘Nothing,’ she said, hastily stuffing the book into her bag. ‘Gob, as you’re now so experienced, how do you fancy a little detour on our way to the kaffay? A test of our skills in navigation.’

‘What do you mean?’ Gobkin eyed her suspiciously. In his opinion, you didn’t take detours when the quickest path led you to cake.

‘Only a bit of exploring, that’s all. Discovering new routes to places. You want to become as knowledgeable as me, don’t you?’

Gobkin eyed her slyly.

‘Do you want to go to the Smidgenmoot?’ he said.

Gafferty was too surprised to pretend to look innocent.

‘How did you know?’ she said.

‘I saw you gawping at it in that book. I’m not daft, Gafferty.’

‘Hmmm, well … yes. Though I don’t really know what it is.’

‘A moot is a meeting, or a place to have a meeting,’ Gobkin said nonchalantly. ‘It’s in Great-Great-Uncle Flemm’s book. He talks about the Smidgens of the House having a moot to decide on important things. I thought you would have read his manual, what with you being so knowledgeable about everything.’

Gafferty flicked one of Gobkin’s new antennae so that it wobbled about like a giddy flower.

‘Don’t be such a cheeky smarty-socks,’ she said, although she was secretly pleased. A Smidgenmoot was a meeting of Smidgens! What better place to go searching for the other clans? Perhaps they were still meeting there. ‘If you come on this little expedition I’ve in mind, and don’t tell Mum and Dad, we’ll get cake and I’ll scavenge us some strawberry jam too.’

Gobkin looked unconvinced – he knew his father’s opinions on exploring – but the promise of jam was too tempting. He nodded. Gafferty grinned. They slung their bags over their shoulders and scampered out of the House.

It wasn’t long before they were crossing the packing area of the factory, where the boxes of sweets were stacked awaiting delivery. There was an entrance to the Tangle in a storeroom at its edge. They darted from stack to stack until they were in sight of the storeroom, then paused behind a pile of boxes as a young man appeared at its door.

‘What’s that thing he’s pushing?’ said Gobkin.

‘It’s called a bysickal,’ said Gafferty, pleased to show her knowledge for a change. ‘The Big Folk ride on them, making them move by flapping their feet. It’s much faster than walking but not as fast as a kar. He must keep it in there.’

The man stopped and propped his bike against the boxes. Gobkin peered around to have a closer inspection of the unfamiliar contraption.

‘You off home, Robbie?’ said a woman, walking towards the man as he fastened his cycle helmet. She was clutching a bag of sweets and looking stressed.

‘That’s right,’ said Robbie. ‘My shift’s done. Are you OK, Maureen?’

‘The van left without this order of Fizzfires and Rainbow Fudge for the corner shop on Market Street,’ said Maureen. ‘You couldn’t drop it off on your way, could you? It’ll save me a phone call and goodness knows how much paperwork.’

‘Market Street!’ whispered Gafferty. ‘That’s near where we want to go. He’ll be there a lot sooner than us.’ A thought forced its way into her mind, a dangerous, foolish thought, but she’d seemed to be making a habit of those lately.

‘Do you—?’ she began.

‘No,’ said Gobkin. ‘I know what you’re about to say, Gafferty, and I’m not doing it. You are never making me ride on that thing. Never!’