Diggers by Terry Pratchett Page B

we’d find stuff like this among the trash bins at the back. It kills you if you eat it!”
    The nomes stared at the innocent little tray. Food that killed you? That didn’t make sense.
    â€œI remember there was some canned meat we had once in the Store,” said an elderly nome. “Gave us all a nasty upset, I remember.” He gave Grimma a hopeful look.
    She shook her head. “This isn’t like that,” she said. “We used to find dead rats near it. They didn’t die in a very nice way,” she added, shuddering at the memory. “Oh.”
    The nomes stared at the tray again. And there was a thump from overhead.
    There was still a human in the quarry.
    It was sitting in the old swivel chair in the manager’s office, reading a paper.
    From a knothole near the floor the nomes watched carefully. There were huge boots, great sweeps of trouser, a mountain range of jacket and, far above, the distant gleam of electric light on a bald head.
    After a long while, the human put the paper down and reached over to the desk by its side. The watching nomes gazed at a pack of sandwiches bigger than they were, and a thermos flask that steamed when it was opened and filled the hut with the smell of coffee.
    They climbed back down and reported to Grimma. She was sitting by the food tray and had ordered six of the older and more sensible nomes to stand guard around it to keep children away.
    â€œHe’s not doing anything,” she was told. “He’s just sitting there. We saw him look out of the window once or twice.”
    â€œThen he’ll be here all night,” said Grimma. “I expect the humans are wondering who’s causing all this trouble.”
    â€œWhat shall we do ?”
    Grimma sat with her chin on her hands.
    â€œThere’s those big old tumbledown sheds across the quarry,” she said, at last. “We could go there.”
    â€œDorcas said—Dorcas used to say it was very dangerous in the old sheds,” said a nome cautiously. “Because of all the old junk and stuff. Very dangerous, he said.”
    â€œMore dangerous than here?” said Grimma, with just a trace of her old sarcasm.
    â€œYou’ve got a point.”
    â€œPlease, m’m.”
    It was one of the younger female nomes. They held Grimma in awe because of the way she shouted at the men and read better than anyone. This one held a baby in her arms and kept curtseying every time she finished a sentence.
    â€œWhat is it, Sorrit?” said Grimma.
    â€œPlease, m’m, some of the children are very hungry, m’m. There isn’t anything wholesome to eat down here, you see.” She gave Grimma a pleading look.
    Grimma nodded. The stores were under the other sheds, what was left of them. The main potato store had been found by some of the humans, which was perhaps why the poison had been put down. Anyway, they couldn’t light a fire and there was no meat. No one had been doing any proper hunting for days , because Arnold Bros (est. 1905) would provide, according to Nisodemus.
    â€œAs soon as it gets light, I think all the hunters we can spare should go out,” said Grimma.
    They considered this. The dawn was a long way away. To a nome, a night was as long as three whole days. . . .
    â€œThere’s plenty of snow,” said a nome. “That means we’ve got water.”
    â€œ We might be able to manage without food, but the children won’t,” said Grimma.
    â€œAnd the old people, too,” said a nome. “It’s going to freeze again tonight. We haven’t got the electric and we can’t light a fire outside.”
    They sat staring glumly at the dirt.
    What Grimma was thinking was: They’re not bickering. They’re not grumbling. Things are so serious, they’re actually not arguing and blaming each other.
    â€œAll right,” she said, “and what do you all think we should do?”

11
    I. We will