‘I agree,’ said Wilton.
He didn’t say ’and we’ll probably meet some worms too’ but he thought it.
‘Wilton,’ said Algy.
‘Yes,’ said Wilton guiltily, wondering if Algy could read his thoughts.
‘You know before,’ said Algy, ‘when I was talking about us being up to our tendrils in bad stuff? Sorry, I didn’t think when I said that. About you not having, you know, tendrils.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Wilton.
Who needs tendrils, he thought happily, when you’ve got the bravest and most considerate friend in the world?
‘I’m feeling very good about this journey,’ said Algy. ‘I think the worst is over. I reckon we’ve seen the last of those killer fungus mongrels, trust me.’
‘I do,’ said Wilton.
They wriggled round a bend in the intestine and found themselves in a vast cavernous space.
Full of killer fungus.
‘Slithering sludge,’ squeaked Algy.
Wilton was too terrified to say anything. The boiling seething fungus hordes were all around them. There was no escape. Wilton braced himself for angonising death-inducing pain. Or at least agonising death-inducing tickling.
But neither happened.
Wilton couldn’t believe it.
The fungus spores didn’t swarm all over him. The nearest ones just glanced at him and then carried on with what they were doing.
Fighting a huge battle.
Across the surface of a vast sludge plain, armies of fungus were hurling themselves against armies of tiny but determined defenders. White blood cells, Wilton saw. The elite troops of the immune system.
Except, Wilton noticed anxiously, they didn’t look very elite at the moment. They were holding the fungus hordes off, but only just. The carnage was terrible. The dead on both sides were piling up faster than their enemies could eat them.
And still none of the fungus hordes were attacking Wilton.
‘This is amazing,’ he said to Algy. ‘The mongrels mustn’t be game to tangle with us now they know that tickling turns my tail into a ruthless killing machine.’
He looked at his shoulder to see if Algy agreed.
Algy wasn’t there.
Wilton squizzed around, concerned. He couldn’t see Algy anywhere. Then he noticed, at the far end of the sludge plain, the entrance to another tunnel.
I bet Algy’s headed down there, thought Wilton. Leading me away from all this unpleasant killing.
He wriggled down to the new tunnel as fast as he could, taking care not to squash any of the dead bodies.
As soon as Wilton was in the tunnel, Algy appeared on his shoulder.
‘Good on you, Wriggles,’ he said. ‘You read my mind.’
Wilton felt like having a word to Agly about running off like that, but there were more important things to talk about. He peered out at the battle raging across the sludge plain.
‘Those white blood cells need help,’ he said. ‘I wish there was some way we could lend a tendril. Or in my case a tail.’
‘Wilton,’ said Algy. ‘There are two of us. How many fungus spores are there?’
Wilton didn’t bother trying to work it out. He’d never learned to count past a billion.
‘I want to keep you in one piece, Wriggles,’ said Algy. ‘So please, don’t get cocky with killer fungus. Come on, the best way we can help is to find out what’s causing the fungus invasion in the first place.’
Wilton nodded, tingling inside.
He’d never had a friend who wanted to keep him in one piece before.
They headed along the tunnel.
After a while, Wilton noticed something strange about the sludge. It was hardly flowing at all here. He stopped and gave it a prod with his front molecules. It was almost solid.
‘Algy,’ he said. ‘Look at this.’
‘I know,’ said Algy. ‘Not good.’
A couple of fungus spores drifted past on their way to the battle. They ignored Wilton. Wilton, remembering Algy’s advice, ignored them too.
‘What do you think’s making the sludge go like this?’ he said to Algy.
Algy didn’t reply.
Wilton saw he’d disappeared again.
How does he do that? thought Wilton, bewildered. I’ve seen microbes move fast when farmers get angry, but never that fast.
‘Algy,’ called Wilton as he hurried on down the tunnel. ‘Are you OK?’
No Algy.
Not so much as a tendril.
Wilton wriggled round a bend, concern turning into panic, and stopped.
A huge drift of solid sludge was completely blocking the tunnel.
‘Aha,’ said Algy, appearing on Wilton’s shoulder. ‘This might be the problem we’re looking for. But we won’t know till we see what’s on the other side.’
Wilton wanted to have a very stern word with Algy, but this didn’t seem like the time. Instead he squizzed uncertainly at the wall of sludge. It did look very solid.
‘I might be able to get us through,’ he said.
‘Give up, fatso,’ said a cranky-looking amoeba lounging nearby. ‘No way you’ll get your blubber through that.’
‘Don’t listen to the miserable cell-sack,’ said Algy to Wilton. ‘If you wriggle hard enough you’ll get through, I know you will.’
Wilton saw that Algy’s ectoplasm was glowing with conviction and all his tendrils were clasped together fervently.
So this is what it feels like to have a friend who believes in you, thought Wilton.
It felt good, even if the friend did come and go a bit.
Wilton pressed his front molecules against the sludge drift and remembered how powerfully he’d wriggled when he was doing his exercises and had put his mind to it.
He put his mind to it now.
He started to bore into the hard sludge.
‘Yes,’ yelled Algy. ‘You’re doing it.’
Wilton wriggled so hard his food tube bulged out at the back.
‘Now that,’ said the amoeba, ‘is a revolting sight.’
Slowly, painfully, but without stopping once to eat the amoeba, Wilton tunnelled his way into the sludge.
After what felt like an age he had to have a rest. He wriggled back out and flopped down exhausted next to Algy.
‘Brilliant,’ said Algy. ‘At this rate you’ll be through in no time. What a champ.’
‘Thanks,’ said Wilton. ‘I couldn’t do it without you.’
‘Aw,’ crowed the amoeba. ‘Isn’t that sweet. The worm’s thanking the germ.’
‘That germ,’ said Wilton sternly to the amoeba, ‘happens to be my best friend.’
Algy glowed with pleasure, which made Wilton feel pretty good too.
But there was a job to be done.
‘Better get back to it,’ said Wilton, wriggling towards the sludge wall.
‘Only when you feel ready, Wriggles,’ said Algy. ‘I know how exhausting it can be, trying to get through a difficult blockage. I’ve been in a similar situation myself inside your food tube.’
Wilton stopped. He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Perhaps his noise molecules had been damaged by all the tunnelling.
‘Inside my food tube?’ he said to Algy.
‘That’s right,’ said Algy. ‘Your food tube gets a bit jammed at times with all those low-fat enzyme drumsticks. Sometimes I’ve been stuck in there for ages.’
Wilton couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘You?’ he whispered, horrified. ‘Inside my food tube? You’re joking, right?’
‘No,’ said Algy, looking puzzled.
‘Hee hee hee,’ chortled the amoeba. ‘This is hilarious. Wriggles’ best friend is a parasite who lives inside him and eats his guts.’
8
Wilton stared at Algy, weak with shock.
For a few dazed and disbelieving moments Wilton’s think molecules felt as clogged and jammed as the sludge blocking the tunnel.
Then he managed to get some w
ords out.
‘Is that true?’ said Wilton to Algy. ‘Do you live inside me and eat my guts?’
Algy looked indignant, his tendrils all shrugging at once.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t live inside you. I spend a fair bit of time inside you, but I don’t live there.’
Wilton couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘And what about my guts?’ he demanded, feeling sick. ‘Do you eat them?’
Algy shrugged again, his tendrils flapping nervously.
‘I don’t eat them,’ he said. ‘I just sort of nibble on them sometimes when I’m hungry, but I don’t, you know, eat them.’
Wilton stared at the tiny microbe, appalled.
He wished he was on a high ledge so he could fling himself off and roll down into a valley and get as far away from this monster as possible. But he couldn’t. In front of him the tunnel was completely blocked with solid sludge. Behind him Wilton could hear the distant sound of killer fungus slaughtering white blood cells. He had no choice but to stay close to the revolting microbe who used to be his friend.
‘Don’t look like that,’ said Algy. ‘It’s what I do. I’m a parasite. I use you for shelter and food, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.’
Wilton was speechless.
‘A parasite for a friend,’ hooted the amoeba lounging nearby. ‘Some dopes’ll do anything to lose weight.’
Wilton gave the amoeba a long hard look.
The amoeba slithered away.
Wilton turned back to Algy.
‘I see it all now,’ said Wilton. ‘You didn’t really care about giving me my egg back, did you? You just wanted to get inside me and start noshing.’
Algy looked hurt.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ he said. ‘I wanted to help. But I also needed help. So I hopped on board the biggest and strongest individual in the valley.’
‘The biggest and meatiest individual, you mean,’ retorted Wilton. ‘The one who’ll give you the most meals until he finally drops dead, a gobbled-out husk.’
Algy waved his tendrils, exasperated.
‘Use your think molecules, Wriggles,’ he said. ‘Why would I want to eat you to death when I need you to help me save the world?’
Wilton wanted to tell Algy to go and eat his own ectoplasm. He wanted to tell him to go and fry in an acid gland. But something in Algy’s voice made Wilton feel suddenly uncertain.
What if Algy was telling the truth?
‘I mostly just eat some of the food in your food tube,’ said Algy. ‘But when there’s none there and I’m starving, I nibble your guts a bit. I’m sorry. They grow back, honest. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t touch them. I don’t want to hurt you, Wriggles. I’ve been keeping you safe.’
‘My name’s Wilton,’ said Wilton coldly.
‘Sorry,’ said Algy.
‘How have you been keeping me safe?’ said Wilton.
‘Remember the tickling?’ said Algy. ‘When you were being a bridge over the acid puddle?’
Wilton remembered. If it hadn’t been for the tickling, right now he’d be a fungus-riddled corpse.
‘That was me,’ said Algy. ‘Tickling you from the inside.’
Wilton stared at him for a long time.
‘How do you do it?’ he said finally. ‘Get in and out without me feeling anything?’
‘Parasite training,’ said Algy. ‘I’ll show you. Don’t turn round.’
Wilton realised Algy was heading towards his rear end. Before he could stop him, he heard Algy’s muffled voice.
‘There, that didn’t hurt, did it?’
Slithering sludge, thought Wilton. He’s inside my tummy.
‘I’m coming out,’ called Algy.
Before Wilton could start a discussion about which exit Algy would use, he felt Algy scampering along his back. On the outside.
‘In and out, don’t make them shout,’ said Algy, appearing on Wilton’s shoulder. ‘That’s our motto.’
‘Incredible,’ muttered Wilton.
He hadn’t felt a thing.
‘Shall we get out of here?’ said Algy. ‘We’re not going to save the world stuck in a sludge jam. And when those fungus hordes get through obliterating those poor blood cells, I reckon they’ll be looking for more microbes to mangle.’
Wilton turned towards the hole he’d started in the sludge drift. There was a lot of tunnelling to be done.
‘Just before you start again,’ said Algy. ‘I’m thinking you’re going to need all your energy molecules to get through there, and I can help you with that, organising them and stuff, but I’ll have to pop inside for a bit.’
‘OK,’ said Wilton.
He still wasn’t crazy about the idea, but if it would help save the world and help him meet some worms he wasn’t going to bicker about it.
Then an unpleasant thought hit him.
‘When you go in and out,’ he said to Algy, ‘do you always use the . . .?’
‘We always try to consider our hosts’ feelings,’ said Algy. ‘Wherever possible we use the rear exit.’
Wilton wasn’t sure if that was good news or not.
‘Let’s get a wriggle on,’ said Algy.
‘Do you feel hungry?’ asked Wilton.
‘Not at the moment,’ said Algy.
‘Good,’ said Wilton.
Wilton wriggled and tunnelled and tunnelled and wriggled until he thought his front molecules were going to burst and his tail was going to fall off.
From time to time Algy’s muffled voice encouraged him.
‘Go, Wriggles.’
It helped, but the sludge drift was very thick. One by one, Wilton’s energy molecules were burned up.
‘It’s no good,’ wheezed Wilton. ‘I can’t go on.’
‘You can,’ said Algy’s muffled voice. ‘You have to. Here, I’ve found some more energy molecules. Oh no, sorry, they’re part of your guts.’
Wilton was about to tell Algy to come out and lend a tendril when suddenly, with a last wriggling spasm, he burst through the sludge.
The first thing he realised about the tunnel on the other side was that it was very bright.
Brighter than anything he’d ever seen.
And that was before he’d wriggled out of the hole, dropped to the floor of the tunnel, curled up and wiped the sludge off his squiz molecules with his tail.
Then the tunnel was so bright he thought his squiz molecules were going to explode.
After quite a long time, when his squiz molecules had adjusted, Wilton realised something else about this end of the tunnel.
No sludge.
The tunnel curved away ahead of him, completely empty.
Amazing, thought Wilton.
He waited for Algy to reappear.
Algy didn’t.
Probably feeling a bit embarrassed, thought Wilton. Now I know his guilty secret.
‘Are you OK?’ he called.
‘Fine thanks,’ replied Algy’s muffled voice.
‘Are you eating?’ said Wilton suspiciously.
‘No,’ said Algy’s voice guiltily.
You’d better not be, thought Wilton.
‘Just doing a few repairs,’ said Algy’s voice.
Wilton felt faint.
‘What do you mean?’ he squeaked.
‘Nothing serious,’ said Algy’s voice. ‘Just a few internal stress fractures. From all the tunnelling.’
Wilton felt even fainter.
‘I’ll be out shortly,’ said Algy’s voice.
Wilton decided to explore.
Best if I keep occupied, he thought. Keep my mind off what that clown’s doing in there.
He wriggled a little way along the tunnel.
And stopped.
In the tunnel wall was another gland, oozing a thick liquid. Wilton knew as soon as he saw it that it wasn’t acid. It was sugar juice. He hadn’t tasted sugar juice for ages. Sugar juice was banned for a fat microbe on a diet.
But, thought Wilton, I’m not
a fat microbe any more. And I’ve got to eat for two now.
He started sucking in the delicious sugar juice.
‘Yum,’ yelled Algy’s muffled voice. ’Don’t stop.’
Wilton didn’t stop until he felt completely full and Algy was beginning to complain about the risk of drowning.
Then Wilton headed on again.
While he explored, he thought about the solid sludge. The blockage meant that the enchanted circle of sludge was broken. Could this be the cause of all the world’s problems? Was that how to save the world, unblock the sludge?
Better discuss it with Algy, thought Wilton.
But not just yet.
He decided to go a little further along the tunnel. Just in case this was where the worms lived, down here beyond the sludge. The world could wait a little bit longer to be saved.
Wilton hurried along the tunnel.
Right to the end.
Then he stopped and stared, gobsmacked.
‘Algy, quick,’ called Wilton, struggling to get the words out.
He wanted to turn and wriggle away. He wanted to go back to the known world where things were familiar and you could mostly understand them. But his molecules were frozen with terror and amazement and they wouldn’t move.
‘Algy,’ whispered Wilton. ‘I think you should see this.’
9
Wilton’s squiz molecules had never known such searing whiteness. Not even the time a herd of albino enzymes had stampeded and flashed their bottoms at him.
‘Ow,’ said Algy, appearing on Wilton’s shoulder and squinting. ‘That’s bright. Is that albino enzymes?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Wilton, squinting even harder.
He moved cautiously forward a few wriggles.
‘I think it’s the end of the sludge tunnel,’ he said.
‘That’s impossible,’ said Algy. ‘The tunnel can’t just end. What about the enchanted circle of sludge? If the tunnel just ends, how does the sludge flow back to our valley?’
Wilton didn’t know.
All he knew was that they’d just wriggled out the end of the tunnel and they were now in a valley that was so big it made their valley at home look like a wrinkle.
‘Look at those two huge round hills,’ squeaked Algy. ‘They’re . . . they’re . . . huge.’
Wilton was already looking at them and was already amazed.