— U C viss 1! They all turned to stare. Yeah, yeah, ve 1 oo därs 2 enta ve Ferbiddun Zön an digabaht vare! U no viss! Ve 1 oo wil B fahnd a fliar bì ve PeeSeeO an broak! U no viss! Innit vat ee iz rì palli wiv vese beests? Innit vat ee cuddlsup wiv em? Innit vat ee iz vair bumchum?! But ee aynt ve onlë 1! Losing all composure, the Driver swivelled to confront them directly: U awl dú ì! U awl ewes ve moto 2 gé off wiv eechuwa, mummies an daddies boaf! Iss dissgusstyn! Remembah ve Braykup! Stikk 2 ve Chaynjova! Caulova ve Búk — 4 wivaht í U R awl fliars!
Carl could no longer bear the Driver's hateful rant. Although the Hamstermen made no move to grab him, he ran away in case they did. He feinted towards the startled motos, swerved and darted off behind the Shelter. Then he scampered full tilt up the home field towards the Layn, and kept on going down the far side into Norfend, crunching fallen leaves, snapping branches, sloshing through puddles, until at last he slid to a halt in a boggy slough and collapsed in a huddle of quaking limbs. He was alone now with his secret mummy self — he wouldn't cry, even though his tank was tight with misery.
Carl had only been lying like this for a few units when he felt a soft, familiar hand on his head and registered the calm tones that almost always accompanied it.
— We nú viss woz cummin, Carl, said Antonë Böm, hunkering down beside him, í woz onlë a matta uv wen. Carl looked up and his mentor's eyeglasses reflected his own thin face back at him.
— B-but iss sew unfayre on ve motos.
— Eye no vat. Böm helped Carl out of the boggy patch, and they seated themselves on drier ground. He cleared his throat and shifted to Arpee, gaining, he felt, in clarity of expression what he lost in intimacy: Unfair also on the Hamsters, whose simple dävness is used so badly. The Driver's calling over is designed to make them affirm a truth, while removing from them any responsibility for what it entails. It makes of them, um, um — he searched for the requisite analogy — nought save wollies and the Driver their gaffer. Böm began to grope in the inside pockets of his carcoat, eventually drawing out a blisterpack.
— We carnt stä eer, Carl said, struggling to his feet, vayl cummun fyndus.
— I don't think so. Now the Driver has begun he'll continue for a full tariff or more. Think on it, Carl. Ever since the Hack's party left, the Driver has called over more and more. A day no longer passes without his haling the three cabs. The dads can't get any work done — if he keeps on like this Ham will be unable to support itself through the kipper.
— An wot abaht ve motos? Carl insisted.
— The motos, ah, yes … Böm tore off a chaw of gum and stuck it in his mouth. Um, well, the Hamsters could no more slaughter their motos than they could walk over the sea to Chil, he chuckled, or build New London here and now. It'll never happen.
Carl was unmoved by this levity. Vey no, he said.
— What do you mean? Böm said, recovering himself.
— Ve dads, ve Dryva — vey no wee bin anginaht wiv ve Xeyel.
— Hmm, indeed, well, I saw young Sid Brudi scampering off when we came back along to Hel Bä the other day. I surmised it wasn't the first time he'd followed us. Still, how could they know what we were speaking of?
— Eye dunno. Vey wanna shuttusup. Bert erred Fred an ve uwah dads tawkin.
— Well, then, said Böm, chewing meditatively on this, it appears that our takeaway is ready, my lad. When we add this to what Luvvie Joolee has told us concerning her old man and his allies in London, it drives us to a single conclusion: we must find a way to leave Ham at once. We will travel to the last place our pursuers will think of: to London, and there make common cause with the Blunt dissenters. A simple petition will enable us to discover the fate of your dad. Mayhap these two endeavours, so curiously enmeshed, will serve to put a spoke in the Wheel.
Banging hard, then pushing open the heavy door of the Funch gaff, Carl was assailed by a dreadful caterwauling. His Uncle Gari, who was known familiarly as Fukka, was seated in front of a roaring fire, stripped naked save for a bubbery cockpiece; his paps were roseate with gingery hairs, his skin shone with sweat, and he had a squalling infant propped on each of his bandy legs, while his blunt hands grasped their chubby shoulders. The kids' curly mops bounced as Fukka joggled them unmercifully. Ranged along the sloping walls of the gaff were the opares, while sitting on the yok floor, crammed in between the box beds, and even atop the dresser, were a gaggle of little Hamsters. The entire juvenile population of Ham was there: it was the last tariff before Changeover, and Fukka liked to give them a good send-off. Many of the kids had the distinctive Funch face — full-lipped, broad-nosed, pop-eyed. The other Hamsters said that the Funches looked like motos, something that Fukka didn't mind in the least. Unlike his father, Burny, Fukka was almost untouched by the rigours of Dävinanity. He had a simple and straightforward nature — as close to the earth as his wide frame; and, although it was now dangerous to speak of such things, the time of the Geezer had affected him deeply.
All the kids held a vessel of some sort, a clay pot or earthenware ewer for the older ones, a wooden bowl or tincup for the youngsters. They were all beating upon them with spoons and sticks in time to Fukka's crazy jouncing, while with one discordant voice — at once bass and booming, cracked and reedy — they belted out a string of nonsense: Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal, kennukkëfrichikkin anapeetsa-hut! Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal, kennuckkëfrichikkin anapeetsa-hut! When Carl's pale face appeared in the firelight, far from moderating their racket the rambunctious crew redoubled it: Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal, kennukkëfrichikkin anapeetsa-hut! Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal, kennuckëfrichikkin anapeetsa-hut! Ending in a rat-a-tat-tat of beats and a great shout of laughter.
Ha, ha! Fukka let the infants slide from his legs to the flags and opened his arms to embrace his nephew. Ve lairë yung git! he cried. Cummeer! They hugged, and Carl breathed in his uncle's oily smell. If the Funches were the offspring of motos and humans, and — as Effi Dévúsh maintained — motos were themselves monstrous products of the union of still other beasts and the gigantic settlers of Ham, then perhaps this explained why his uncle's clan were so congenial to Carl. For the Funches were notably affectionate for Hamsters, kissing and petting their kids in a way that the others didn't.
— Wassup, ven? Fukka asked, when Carl was seated on a stool beside him, a tincan of booze in his hand.
— Iss ve Dryva, Carl replied, anna granddads. Nah ve Dryvas göinnon lyke vat Eye fink ees gonna gé me an Tonë bangdupp. Carnt U sä sumffing, Nunkul?
Fukka cast a plump red hand about him at the tumultuous scene in the house. From the rafters hung bunches of dried herbage. The curry bubbled over the fire, stirred by one of the opares, while a couple of the lads were mending a fowling rope that was uncoiled on the table. Clokk viss, Carl, Fukka said. Í doan matta wot Eye fink, coz ve granddads doan giv a munkees abaht ve Funches, nor ve Bulluks neevah. Weer inturnal Xeyels Rsels, juss lyke Luvvie Joolee aw, Dayv sayv us — he sketched a wheel on his chest and Carl did the same — ve Beestlimun. Eye gotta famlee 2 feed, if Eye speek aht abaht U weer fukked. Nah, Carl, U gotta tekyer charnsez. Fukka shook his great russet mop with a pained expression on his face, as if the whole peculiar weight of Ham had him in a headlock.
Then, summoning himself, Fukka reached out to the opare at the kettle and, grabbing her by her cloakyfing, pulled her down on to his lap. He began to jounce her as he had the infants before, and tried to get the rap going: Makk-daar-nal, makk-daar-nal! While a number of the little kids joined in, the rest remained silent, their eyes averted; and although such a sight — the swollen cockpiece battering at the opare's thin behind again and again — was so familiar as to be commonplace, nonetheless Carl felt queasy, averted his eyes, then made his excuses and left.