'There should be two, but one got broken when we left the Store,' said Angalo. 'Well, then, are we ready?' '-Anyone seeing the vehicle should contact Grimethorpe police on-' 'And turn off the radio,' said Angalo. 'That mooing gets on my nerves.' 'I wish we could understand it,' said Masklin. 'I'm sure they're fairly intelligent, if only we could understand it.' He nodded at Angalo. 'Okay,' he said. 'Let's go.' It seemed much better this time. The lorry scraped along the wall for a moment and then came free, and moved gently down the narrow alley towards the lights at the far end. As the lorry came out from between the dark walls, Angalo called for the brakes, and it stopped with only a mild jolt.

Which way?' he said. Masklin looked blank.

Gurder fumbled through the pages of the diary.

'It depends on which way we're going,' he said. 'Look for signs saying, er, Africa. Or Canada, perhaps.' 'There's a sign,' said Angalo, peering through the rain. 'It says Town Centre. And then there's an arrow and it says-' He squinted. 'Onny-' 'One Way Street,' murmured Grimma.

'Town Centre doesn't sound like a good idea,' said Masklin.

'Can't seem to find it on the map, either,' said Gurder.

We'll go the other way, then,' said Angalo, haul­ing on a thread.

'And I'm not sure about One Way Street,' said Masklin. 'I think you should only go along it one way.' Well, we are,' said Angalo smugly. 'We're going this way.' The lorry rolled out of the side road and bumped neatly on to the pavement.

'Let's have second gear,' said Angalo. 'And a bit more go-faster pedal.' A car swerved slowly out of the lorry's way, its horn sounding - to nome ears - like the lost wail of a foghorn. 'Shouldn't be allowed on the road, drivers like that,' said Angalo. There was a thump, and the remains of a street light bounced away. 'And they put all this stupid stuff in the roadway, too,' he added. 'Remember to show consideration for other road-users,' said Masklin, severely.

'Well, I am, aren't I? I'm not running into them, am I?' said Angalo. What was that thump?' 'Some bushes, I think,' said Masklin.

'See what I mean? Why do they put things like that in the road?' 'I think the road is more sort of over to your right,' said Gurder.

'And it moves around, as well,' said Angalo sullenly, pulling the right-hand string slight­ly.

It was nearly midnight, and Grimethorpe was not a busy town after dark. Therefore there was no one rushing to run into the lorry as it slid out of Alderman Surley Way and roared up John Lennon Avenue, a huge and rather battered shape under the yellow sodium glare. The rain had stopped, but there were wisps of mist coiling across the road.

It was almost peaceful.

'Right, third gear,' said Angalo, 'and a bit fast er. Now, what's that sign coming up?' Grimma and Masklin craned to see. 'Looks like "Road Works Ahead",' said Grimma in a puzzled voice.

'Sounds good. Let's have some more fast, down there.' 'Yes, but,' said Masklin, 'why say it? I mean, you could understand "Road Doesn't Work Ahead". Why tell us it works?' 'Maybe it means they're stopping putting kerbs and lights and bushes in it,' said Angalo.

'Maybe-' Masklin leaned over the edge of the platform. 'Stop!' he shouted. 'Lots and lots of stop!' The brake-pedal team looked up in astonish­ment, but obeyed. There was a scream from the tyres, yells from the nomes who were thrown forward, and then a lot of crunching and clanging from the front of the lorry as it skidded through an assortment of barriers and cones.

'There had better,' said Angalo, when it had finally stopped, 'be a very good reason for that.' 'I've hurt my knee,' said Gurder.

'There isn't any more road,' said Masklin, simply.

'Of course there's road,' snapped Angalo. 'We're on it, aren't we?' 'Look down. That's all. Just look down,' said Masklin.

Angalo peered down at the road ahead. The most interesting thing about it was that it wasn't. there. Then he turned to the signaller.

'Can we please have just a wee bit of back­wards,' he said quietly.

'A smidgen?' said the signaller.

'And none of your cheek,' said Angalo. Grimma was also staring at the hole in the road. It was big. It was deep. A few pipes lurked in the depths.

'Sometimes,' she said, 'I think humans really don't understand anything about the proper use of language.' She leafed through the Code as the lorry was reversed carefully away from the pit and, after crushing various things, driven on to the grass until the road was clear.

'It's time we were sensible about this,' she said. 'We can't assume anything means what it says. So go slow.' 'I was driving perfectly safely,' said Angalo sulkily. 'It's not my fault if things are all wrong.' 'So go slow, then.' They stared in silence at the rolling road. Another sign loomed up. 'Roundabout,' said Angalo. 'And a picture of a circle? Well. Any ideas?' Grimma leafed desperately through the Code.

'I saw a picture of a roundabout once,' said Gurder. 'If it's any help. It was in We Go to the Fair. It's a big shiny thing with lots of gold and horses on it.' 'I'm sure that's not it,' muttered Grimma, turning the pages hurriedly. 'I'm sure there's something in here some-' 'Gold, eh?' said Angalo. 'Should be easy to spot, anyway. I think,' he glared at Grimma, 'that we can have a little third gear.' 'Right you are, Mr Angalo sir,' said the sig­naller.

'Can't see any golden horses,' said Masklin. 'You know, I'm not entirely certain-' 'And there should be cheerful music,' said Gurder, pleased to be making a contribution.

'Can't hear any cheer-' Masklin began. There was the long-drawn-out blast of a car born. The road stopped, and was replaced by a mound covered in bushes. The lorry roared up it, all wheels leaving the ground for a moment, then thumped down on the other side of the roundabout and continued a little way, rocking from side to side, on the opposite road. It rolled to a halt.

There was silence in the cab again. Then some­one groaned.

Masklin crawled to the edge of the platform and looked down into the frightened face of Gurder, who was hanging on to the edge.

'What happened?' he groaned.

Masklin hauled him back up to safety and dusted him off.

'I think,' he said, 'that although the signs mean what they say, what they say isn't what they mean.' Grimma pulled herself out from underneath the Code. Angalo untangled himself from the lengths of string and found himself looking into her furious scowl.

'You,' she said, 'are a total idiot. And speed mad! Why don't you listen?' 'You can't speak to me like that!' said Angalo, cowering back. 'Gurder, tell her she can't call me names like that!' Gurder sat trembling on the edge of the plat­form.

'As far as I am concerned right now,' he said, 'she can call you what she likes. Go to it, young woman.' Angalo glowered. 'Hang on! You were the one who went on about golden horses! I didn't see any golden horses? Did anyone see any golden horses? He confused me, going on about golden horses-' Gurder waved a finger at him. 'Don't you "he" me-' he began.

'And don't you "young woman" me in that tone of voice!' screamed Grimma.

Dorcas's voice came up from the depths.

'I don't want to interrupt anything,' it said, 'but if this happens one more time there are people down here who will be getting very angry. Is that understood?' 'Just a minor steering problem,' Masklin called down cheerfully. He turned back to the others.

'Now you all look here,' he said quietly. 'This arguing has got to stop. Every time we hit a problem we start bickering. It's not sensible.' Angalo sniffed. 'Weweredoingperfectlyallright until he-' 'Shut up!' They stared at him. He was shaking with anger. 'I've had just about enough of all of you!' he shouted. 'You make me ashamed! We were doing so well! I haven't spent ages trying to make all this happen just for a, a, a steering committee to ruin it all! Now you can all get up and get this thing moving again! There's a whole truckload of nomes back there! They're depending on you! Understand?' They looked at one another. They stood up sheepishly. Angalo pulled up the steering strings. The signaller untangled his flags.