Immediately, Benny and Bjornita’s heads went inside their shells.

“What’s happening?!” said Malcolm, opening his eyes wide.

Nothing. No response. It was like talking to two khaki domes. Or two rather mossy rocks. The ground shook more and more loudly.

“Benny! Bjornita!!” said Malcolm, panicked. “What should I do?!”

Still nothing. The ground was now shaking a lot, and Malcolm could hear a noise.

TRAMP. TRAMP. TRAMP.

Oh my God! he thought. And then suddenly, he knew what to do.

He darted his head inside his shell.

Inside, it was dark and quiet. He could still hear the TRAMP TRAMP TRAMP from outside, but it was much more like TRAMP TRAMP TRAMP. It was a bit like being inside a tent: kind of cosy, but rather cramped. And obviously stiffer than a tent:²³ his shell did not flap in the wind. It was echoey as well – he could hear his breath sounding loud in his ears.

What was strange – well, it was all strange, but this was particularly strange – was that although he knew his head was inside the shell, the hole to the outside looked like it was where his head should be. Like his head had been cut off, even though he knew it couldn’t have been, as he was looking at the hole with his eyes, which were in his head.

Luckily, he wasn’t able to carry on thinking about this, because then, somewhat muffled, he heard a voice say:

“Come here, Benny! Come here, Bjorn!”

This was followed by the sound of something being scattered on the ground. Through the hole in his shell, Malcolm saw three bits of manky lettuce and an ancient cucumber lying there. From his point of view, these vegetables looked very large; the manky lettuce leaves looked like bushes. Also they smelt, these vegetables, strong – much stronger than he would’ve expected. And he found himself drawn, via this smell – this strong smell of old vegetables, which was not something, to be honest, that Malcolm was normally attracted by – towards the rotting leaves.

Then, slowly – very slowly, like it was in super slo-mo – he saw Benny’s head appear and start munching in that carefully-considering-every-morsel-of-manky-lettuce way tortoises eat; then Bjornita’s head doing the same thing; and then he heard another voice say:

“Hey, Gav?”

“Yes, Mav?”

“Who’s that?”

“Who’s that who?”

“That tortoise?”

“It’s Benny, isn’t it?”

“No, Benny’s here.”

“Well, then it’s Bjorn …”

“No, Bjorn’s here too.”

There was a long silence. Eventually, Malcolm heard Gavin say:

“So … there’s a third tortoise?”

“Like … yuh! And yuh again!”

Another silence. Then:

“So … that means … that …”

“Yuh …?”

“Benny and Bjorn have had a baby! Hey! Great news!!”

At this point, Malcolm stuck his head out of the shell.

“No … look …” he said. “Gavin. Maven. I’m not a baby tortoise. I mean, I’m obviously not a baby tortoise. I’m too big for a start. Tortoises don’t come out of the egg full-sized!”

Gavin and Maven looked at him. Gavin frowned. Maven frowned.²⁴

“Anyway, never mind that,” Malcolm continued. “Listen, I know this is hard to believe, but … I’m Malcolm Bailey! From the Bracket Wood Primary School trip! The boy who was standing at the back when you were telling us about the goat! And I’ve been transformed … into a tortoise!!”

Gavin and Maven crouched down and stared at Malcolm closely. He looked up at them. Thank God, he thought, they believe me; they understand.

Then Gavin said:

“Wow. This one makes a lot of squeaky noises!”