The Carpet People

well.’
    ‘Don’t believe it,’ said Pismire.
    One of the pones blew a raspberry in his ear.
    ‘That means they think you’re interesting,’ said Glurk.
    ‘And who’s she?’ Pismire demanded.
    ‘Tell you soon,’ said Glurk. He was enjoying himself in a quiet way. For the whole of his life Pismire had known more than he did. It wasnice, just for once, to be Mr Answers.
    At the far end of the cave was a thick bronze door. The first two pones walked straight into it, tearing it off its hinges. Once outside the herd broke into a trot, with Acretongue moving up into the lead.
    On his trumpeted signal, it became a gallop. It looked ponderous and funny, until you realized that those great big bouncing balls would walk through a house without noticing it.
    Up on Acretongue’s back the four of them were shaken like small peas in a big pot. Pismire saw a pack of mounted mouls galloping after them, spears ready to throw. Acretongue must have seen them too, because he bellowed like a distressed trumpet.
    Three pones detached themselves from the herd and turned. The mouls suddenly realized that they weren’t chasing a herd of fleeing animals . . .
    Pismire stood up in the saddle. ‘They’ve gone over them!’ he said.
    ‘What, do you mean they jumped?’ asked Brocando.
    ‘No! I mean just . . . over.’
    ‘They hate mouls,’ said Glurk. ‘Hate ’em more than any other creatures do. They think they’re very uninteresting.’
    Ahead of them was the archway, surrounded by a milling throng of mouls and Vortgorns. ‘But allthey’ve got to do is lower that platform and we’re done for,’ shouted Pismire.
    ‘They won’t,’ yelled Glurk, and pointed. ‘He powers the platform!’
    Beside the gateway they noticed for the first time a large treadmill. There was a pone in it. A pack of mouls were attacking it with whips and goads. But it stood stolidly, trumpeting. Acretongue bellowed back.
    ‘They’ll rescue it,’ said Glurk. ‘By the way – er, what was it – oh, yeah, they hate sharp things even more than mouls, so we got to be careful with spears and things ...’
    Some pones hurled themselves towards the mill, tossing mouls aside like dust. Their heavy jaws snapped through the bars. The caged pone shrugged itself free, paused for a moment to stamp on a couple of mouls who had been poking it the hardest, and then leapt through the gateway.
    ‘They must be mad!’ said Pismire. ‘That platform won’t hold them!’
    ‘We shall see,’ said Glurk, as they clattered on to it. The other pones piled on behind them, and Pismire noticed that, though they went out of their way to trample on mouls, they avoided the running Vortgorns. Vortgorns were still a bit interesting.
    He expected the platform to split under the weight of the pones. It didn’t – quite – butsomething went clang above them and the remains of the treadmill spun until it was nothing but a blur. The chains shrieked over their pulleys. The wall rushed past. Only Glurk sat calmly. Even Pismire had crouched down in the saddle. They were going to be crushed when they hit the bottom, he knew. Brocando hung on and moaned, with his eyes shut. Even Bane had slumped down, bracing himself for the shock.
    So only Glurk saw the pones leaping from the platform, one by one.
    The tiny wings opened. They were too small to carry pones – but they worked. They whirled madly and the pones stayed up, drifting gently between the hairs.
    With only Acretongue’s weight upon it the platform slowed down, and hit the dust with a thud. Acretongue lumbered off, while all about them pones crashed down through the hairs like falling fruit.
    The others looked up at Glurk’s face.
    ‘You knew we wouldn’t crash!’ said Pismire accusingly.
    ‘ Hoped ,’ said Glurk. ‘I wasn’t too sure, even after all Culaina said.’
    ‘Who’s Culaina? Is he the she? ’ said Pismire. He was badly rattled. He was kind enough in his way, but knowing more than Glurk about almosteverything was one of the few things he was sure he was good at. He wasn’t used to this.
    Another pone bounced onto the dust beside them. They’re lighter than they look, he thought. Balloons with wings. No wonder they don’t like sharp objects . . .
    ‘Culaina’s hard to describe,’ said Glurk. ‘I think she’s a sort of wight.’
    ‘A sort of wight?’ said Pismire.
    ‘You’ll have to ask her yourself,’ said Glurk. ‘We’re going to see her now.’ Acretongue’s head dipped, and he