Harry the Poisonous Centipede (11 page)

“Listen,” he said. “What's the most important thing for us right now?”

“To get home,” said Harry.

“No,” said George. “That's second-most-important.”

“To get damp,” said Harry.

“Right,” said George. “And I smell water.”

Harry moved his feelers around. He could smell it too, now. It was rather a long way off, but he knew it was ahead of them, not behind.

Harry knew they were doing the thing Belinda had warned him never to do. He was sure they were in terrible danger. But when a centipede feels itself drying out, nothing else seems to matter except getting damp.

“All right,” he said at last. “Let's head for it. When we're damp, we'll be able to think better.”

They began to run across the flat meaty floor towards the moist smell.

They passed a nice little nest on their way – just the right size for one of them to curl up in. (It was a tummy button, of course, but they didn't know that.)

They were both very tired by now. George got into the little round nest and turned around in it several times. When he curled up tight, it just fitted him.

“You can't rest now, Grndd!” crackled Harry. “We must go—”

Suddenly there was an upheaval. Something came down hard on top of the
warm-web above the little round nest. Huge hard things moved around, prodding and scratching. And the whole vast meat-mountain they were on heaved and shook.

George shot out of the nest just in time. The two centis clung together. Then, as the prodding things went on digging and rubbing at the little round nest, they scattered and ran.

They ran through a heaving forest of hairs. This was tricky for them. The hairs grew so thickly here that they had to push through. Several times their little claw feet
got caught on the hairs and they had to pull free.

The hairy forest moved up and down even more than the hairless floor, even after the whole meat-mountain had stopped heaving about. And then The Noise started.

It was a rumbling, gurgling, growly sound, a little like thunder, but wetter. It happened – then stopped – then it happened again. It kept on happening.

“What's that noise?” asked Harry fearfully.

But George didn't even bother to answer. His cuticle was feeling drier and drier. His breathing holes were all dry around the edges. His feelers, back and front, were so dry he felt they might snap off if he bumped into them.

He could sense the water. It was getting nearer! Nothing else mattered. He made for it, and Harry, though quaking with fear, followed.

At last they came out of the forest and found a meaty ridge in front of them. There was no warm-web tunnel roof over their heads now. They were in the open.

They ran along the ridge. There was a great curly complicated bit of meat at the top. They found a tiny tunnel in the middle, and stood for a moment, peering in. Should they go down it?

But the moist smell was not coming from there. It was close by, though. They
ran over a prickly slope, and suddenly, there it was – a round hole, rather like the top of the Up-Pipe only it was made of warm meat.

They stopped on the edge and peeped in. The noise was coming from here and it was very loud, but they just didn't care.

“A lovely wet tunnel!” breathed Harry.

“Oh, Hx! We made it!” said George.

“LET'S GO!” they both cried together.

And they threw themselves down into it.

For about two beautiful seconds, they ran along the inside of the tunnel, getting themselves gloriously damp again.

Two seconds was all they had.

After that, everything started to happen.

In the country where the centipedes lived, there were sometimes earthquakes. Not very big ones. But the centis knew about them, knew what happened when the earth shook and the tunnel roofs fell in and you had to dig yourself out.

What happened when they were in the wet tunnel was worse than the worst earthquake they had been through, or could imagine.

First of all the tunnel suddenly seemed to jump – a very big jump, not a little
jump. The two centis clung on to a big wet thing inside their tunnel with their forty-two (well, eighty-four counting both of them) feet, but not for long because suddenly they were flying through the air.

Not just flying nicely like a bird on the breeze, but like a cork flying out of a bottle. Like a bullet fired from a gun. Well. Not quite that fast, but it felt that fast to them.

Of course you can guess what had happened. They had popped down into the sleeping Hoo-Min's
mouth.
And he
had felt them running around, and it had wakened him, and he had leapt up and spat them out as hard as he could. PTUI!

Of course, you and I can think of nothing much worse than having a couple of centipedes crawling around inside our mouths. The poor old Hoo-Min, you might think! No wonder he spat them out and sent them flying through the air.

But think of poor Harry and George! They had forty-two feet apiece, but they
didn't have wings. Flying through the air was about the worst feeling they'd ever had. Even worse than nearly drowning. But it didn't last as long.

A moment, that's all. Then they landed back on the bed.

Luckily it was soft. They weren't hurt, just frightened out of their wits.

They ran around in circles for a minute or two. And then suddenly it was bright-time.

Light flooded them. They crouched down. Then a shadow fell on them.

They both knew what they had to do when a shadow fell on them.

Run. Run!
Run!

They ran.

They ran across the warm-web thing. But it wasn't good for running on! Their feet kept falling into the open bits of the blanket and snagging in the tiny hairs of the wool.

They kept expecting something to whack down on them. But the Hoo-Min was looking for something to hit them with. That gave them a few moments, long enough to reach the edge of the bed.

They headed straight down. Luckily they found the bed-leg and slid down it head-first.

Then they were on the floor. They ran across it like mad, heading for the door. They could see it now.