Will Self - The Book of Dave

Böm had, it transpired, given all these matters considerable thought:

— We must march by night, avoiding all human habitation — for the motos would terrify and amaze any Chilmen we met, and they would alert the Lawyer's chaps. We must disguise ourselves — I shall be a stalker, returning from the southern isles where I've been bringing the Wheel to ignorant folk. You will be my butterboy, on your way to London to make your final appearances. See here — he pulled the appropriate robes, mirrors and trainers from his changingbag — I've got the right clobber.

Carl fingered the garments reluctantly — the soft, cotton pile felt alien after Ham bubbery. The mirror he let fall to the ground with a shudder. Eye — Eye doan fink –

Carl, Carl! Böm said, grasping his hand, we must do this chellish thing, we must! Otherwise we have no hope of travelling unmolested — this is a far harsher climate than that of Ham! Your mummy and granny risked their all by sewing us this stuff — when we reach the mainland of Chil, we must wear it. And Carl, from now on we speak in Arpee only, even between ourselves. In this way our imposture may — Dave grant us — become more natural.

Antonë showed Carl the A2Z and the traficmaster he'd managed to get hold of. I have determined on this route, he said, however, there are two further stretches of open water before we reach the main island of Chil. Once we're across them, perilous as they are, the real dangers begin. They sat, contemplating the way ahead while staring across the sound at Ham. Dave powered up his demister — 1, 2, 3 — and the clouds swept up into a screen that tinted first grey, then mauve, then violet, before night fell like a black cloth cast over the world. They kept the fire banked up against the cold night air and coaxed the motos to lie so that their bodies would block the clefts in the surrounding rocks. They chewed on curried moto meat washed down with jack and evian. Eventually, exhausted as much by foreboding as by the crossing, Carl and Antonë fell into an uneasy slumber.

Carl woke at first tariff — the foglamp was coming on in a banded screen. Long shadows striped the rubble, and the ubiquitous gulls were perched on bricks, crete — even the sleeping motos. Carl sat up and the rime on his duvet crackled. The noise startled the Beastlyman, whose hairy head hung above the rocks. He gargled, Graaarghlraarr. Carl shot upright. Tonë! he cried, iss im! Böm roused at once, and together they confronted the grim apparition. The Beastlyman was still wilder than Carl remembered, the greasy hanks of his hair strung with shells and bones, his cloakyfing a rag, his emaciated body covered in welts and bruises. W-ware2 guv, Carl said hesitantly. The Beastlyman gargled again — Hurrarghrerh — then swarmed over the rocks and fell on Sweetë's neck. His hands went to her neck folds, and his battered, weathered face butted the moto's pink muzzle. Instinctively, Carl started up and pulled the skinny wretch off the moped. The Beastlyman grovelled before the lad, a stick of arm thrown across his fanatic eyes. Gedderwä U! Carl cried. Gedderwä U, Beestlimun! The starveling scuttled into the bushes. When the commotion of the seafowl had died down, Sweetë could be heard lisping, Eeth nó beethlimun — eeth nithemun.

They packed up their changingbags, filled a moto bladder with fresh evian and, loading the motos, made ready to leave Nimar. As they were on the point of moving off, the Beastlyman came back and tried to gain their attention by darting at them, then away towards a mound of rubble that Carl realized was his gaff. The fugitives ignored him until eventually the Beastlyman came right up to Carl, grabbing his arm he tried to pull him in the direction of his hovel. I wouldn't go with him, Antonë said, you don't know what he might have in there.

Carl, beset by curiosity, was on the verge of ignoring this injunction, when the Beastlyman let go of his arm and darted across to where Antonë stood, inscribing phonics. The Beastlyman tried to grab both notebook and biro. That's enough! Böm cried, pushing him away. We must go, Carl, now. We must go in good order, and you must speak Arpee. If we don't go now we are doomed! With that he slapped Hunnë's withers and the moto started, then clambered over the rocks. Sighing heavily, Carl hearkened to this manifest good sense. He slung the changingbags around Tyga's neck, grabbed his neck folds and followed on behind. So it was that the journey to London began, in haste and in sadness: the Beastlyman left lying at Nimar, gulls lunging down to peck at him, his black mouth open, his red nubbin of tongue struggling to form the most significant words.

The underbrush of Barn was far thicker than the most impenetrable portions of the Perg and Norfend. The fugitives found themselves driven back by dense pricklebush, whippystalk and rhodies. They heard rats scuttling away at their approach, and the gulls followed them from Nimar, harrying the motos. To cut a trail was impossible without sharp tools, which they lacked. The motos, especially Sweetë and Hunnë, could be coaxed into taking the lead, but after a few hundred paces their muzzles were scratched and bleeding. So the party kept to the shoreline, blundering westwards on narrow beaches of stony rubble. When these disappeared, they were forced to take to the water, the humans once more astride the motos' broad backs.

They were fortunate with the weather — the day was cold but clear. They could see back to Ham, and after a tariff both Böm and Carl accepted — with considerable relief — that there would be no pursuit. The Hamstermen might well have set out by pedalo to accost the fugitives at Nimar; however, they feared the hinterland of Barn and would not venture much beyond the fowling grounds.

Carl, in himself, was torn between the fear of this unknown place and wonderment. Alien species of tree and shrub jostled the shoreline. The dwarfish smoothbarks, silverbarks and crinkleleafs, familiar from Ham, were interspersed with larger trees with deeply grooved, ash-grey trunks and others that were like glossier, greener versions of the pines at Wallotop. There were also flitting birds Carl had never seen before, smaller than crows or flying rats, less garish than ringnecks. They were brown, mottled, red-breasted — their piping and trilling filled the screen. He pressed Antonë to identify these exotics, but the Londoner was unequal to the task.

The coastline described a curve away from Nimar, so that, looking back after a few clicks, Carl was presented with a great sweep of a scene: the wild main they were traversing and, in the distance, beyond more open water, the hills of Chil itself, where swathes of woodland glinted under the foglamp. In the last couple of tariffs he had walked, splashed and ridden several times the length of his homeland, yet Carl seemed not to have moved at all. Truly, he thought, the world was a vast place.

The following morning they crossed from Barn to an islet midway in the seething channel. It was a rough passage: the wind was up, and the motos were tossed about by the waves. This time the humans had stripped, applied a coat of moto oil, dressed, then slathered on a second coat. They arrived less discommoded than their mounts. Without their regular mud wallows, the motos' skin dried out and cracked, while the curry-water immersions accelerated this process. Hunnë in particular was beginning to suffer. Scratches on her muzzle were infected and ran with gleet, her hand and feet flanges were ragged and bleeding. She was off her forage. Hunnë was the shyest of all four, needing constant cuddles and reassurance. Carl wept for her, and wept also for himself, for three days out from Ham it was Changeover day.

Antonë, observing how well the motos swam and the small flaps of flesh that stoppered their nostrils, while a transparent membrane protected their deep-set eyes, was driven, as ever, to speculate: Could it be, he mused as Carl tended to Hunnë, that Dave in his infinite wisdom meant for these beasts to undergo such inundations? Might they be antediluvian creatures, survivals from before the MadeinChina? They rested for a single night on the islet, and were sorely tried by the rats that infested the place. The three stronger motos were able to catch considerable numbers, while these meaty chips were refused by Hunnë. The following day at foglamp on, the convoy carved a passage through the dancing green swell to Chil.