But he did worry a bit about Algy, who hadn’t said a word for ages.
He’ll be fine, Wilton told himself. Probably just sleeping off a big lunch of my guts.
To take his mind off the guilt molecules prickling inside him, Wilton asked the worms if they’d show him around the dog’s intestines.
‘Best leave that till later,’ said one of the worms. ‘He’s just had lunch out of a garbage bin and there might be some chunks of washing detergent floating around in there.’
Instead, while the dog had a sleep, the worms took Wilton back into the fur forest to ski down some flea bites. After lots of runs, they all sprawled out, happy and exhausted, for a doze themselves.
‘We like you,’ said one of the worms to Wilton.
Half-asleep, Wilton glowed happily.
‘You can live here with us if you want,’ said another worm.
Wilton wondered if he’d died and become a sludge god.
‘So can your friend,’ said a third worm.
That’s strange, thought Wilton sleepily. How do they know about Algy?
‘Slithering sludge,’ squeaked a familiar voice.
Wilton snapped wide awake. Algy was on his shoulder, peering around in a state of shock.
He didn’t look happy.
‘Don’t mind me,’ said Algy. ‘Don’t let me interrupt you. I’m just getting my bearings in this new place, wherever it is.’
‘Algy,’ said Wilton. ‘I’m sorry. I was planning to tell you just as soon as I . . .’
He didn’t know what to say.
‘Just as soon as you’d made some new friends,’ said Algy. ‘And some plans for the rest of your life that don’t include me or the folks back home.’
‘Algy . . .’ said Wilton.
He could see how hurt Algy was.
‘I’m fine,’ said Algy, scrambling off Wilton’s shoulder. ‘Have a good time with your new friends. I can make new friends too.’
Algy headed over towards a pack of dog microbes.
‘Hi there,’ he said to the microbes. ‘Can anyone tell me how to get out of this place?’
‘Woof,’ said the microbes.
Wilton watched him, feeling awful.
‘He’ll be OK,’ said one of the worms. ‘When he realises what a great place this is, he’ll thank you for bringing him here.’
Wilton wasn’t so sure.
Algy was surrounded by mean-looking dog microbes. They were sniffing him and growling at him and doing strange things to his lower tendrils.
‘Stop that,’ Algy was shouting. ‘Back off. Sit.’
Wilton watched miserably. He wished Algy had the egg boat to hide under. He turned away, feeling even more jumbled inside than when Algy had rearranged his major organs.
He tried to think straight.
I’m not a microbe, I’m a worm. I belong here with the other worms. Algy’s free to go back to where he belongs. I can’t hold his tendril forever. He’ll make it back on his own.
Probably.
Perhaps.
Wilton tried to think about something else. About all the good times he was going to have with the other worms for the rest of his life.
‘Ow,’ wailed Algy.
‘Leave the visitor alone,’ one of the worms yelled at the dog microbes. ‘Bad microbes. I don’t know what’s got into you. You’re behaving worse than fungus.’
Suddenly Wilton knew he couldn’t do it.
He spoke up quickly, before he changed his mind.
‘Thanks for inviting me to stay,’ he said to the worms. ‘It’s a very kind offer, but I’ll have to accept it some other time.’
Then he went over to Algy, who was throwing plasma twigs, obviously hoping the dog microbes would run and fetch them and stop jiggling on his lower tendrils.
They weren’t.
‘Come on, Algy,’ said Wilton quietly. ‘Let’s find a way to get back onto our janet.’
14
‘What do you reckon, Algy?’ said Wilton. ‘Can you do it?’
Algy peered into the dog’s ear.
‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘It looks very dark in there. And scary.’
Wilton hated asking Algy to go on such a dangerous mission, but he didn’t have any choice.
‘I’d go in myself,’ he said, ‘if I could.’
The worm who’d guided them to the dog’s ear shook its front end. ‘Don’t even try it,’ said the worm to Wilton. ‘You won’t get past the eardrum. Only a microbe can squeeze past and get to the brain.’
‘If you don’t want to go in there,’ Wilton said to Algy, ‘you don’t have to. We’ll think of something else.’
Algy peered into the ear again and shuddered.
Wilton knew how he felt. The thought of creeping into the dark depths of a strange ear made him shudder too.
‘The basic task’s a breeze,’ said Algy. ‘Making a host feel hungry is what we parasites do all the time. It’s how we get most of our food. I’ve done it to you heaps.’
‘I know,’ said Wilton. ‘That’s how I got the idea.’
‘What I still don’t understand,’ said Algy, ‘is why I have to go in this end. Why can’t I go in the usual end?’
‘Too dangerous,’ said Wilton.
‘Pollution in the digestive system,’ said the worm. ‘Dog had a garbage bin lunch.’
‘And it’s much further to travel,’ said Wilton. ‘By the time you’ve reached the stomach and done whatever you do there to get the hunger juices flowing, our janet might have gone.’
Wilton peered out through the dog forest.
Their janet was still sitting in the distance, head in tendrils, but for how much longer?
‘OK,’ said Algy. ‘I’ll give it a go.’
Wilton’s gratitude molecules swelled as he gazed at his friend.
‘Explain once more about the drain,’ Algy was saying to the worm.
‘Not drain,’ said the worm. ‘Brain. Some living organisms don’t have think molecules scattered through their bodies like us. They have theirs all bunched in one place inside their head. It’s called their brain.’
‘That’s crazy,’ said Algy. ‘How do their bottoms think?’
‘We don’t have to worry about that now,’ said Wilton. ‘We just have to concentrate on getting to the dog’s brain.’
‘You mean I do,’ said Algy.
‘Yes,’ said Wilton quietly. ‘You do.’
Wilton waited on the dog’s ear flap, rigid with worry.
‘Algy’s been gone ages,’ he said. ‘Something awful’s happened.’
‘Relax,’ said the worm. ‘He’s probably just taking it slowly while he sneaks past the killer wax fungus.’
‘Killer wax fungus?’ squeaked Wilton. ‘You didn’t say anything about killer wax fungus.’
‘Relax,’ insisted the worm. ‘Worrying isn’t going to help him now.’
‘I’m going in,’ said Wilton. ‘I’m not leaving him to face killer wax fungus on his own.’
The worm blocked his way.
‘You won’t fit,’ said the worm. ‘And killer wax fungus isn’t that much of a problem. It can’t move. It’s trapped in the wax. The only way it can kill you is if you eat it.’
Great, thought Wilton. Algy meeting something he mustn’t eat. Why don’t I feel reassured?
Wilton tried to relax. But his think molecules were going bonkers. What if Algy got through, met some brain cells as planned, and then got into a violent argument with them about whether sludge gods exist or not?
Or what if he got lost and ended up in the dog’s nose? There was probably killer snot fungus there, as well as killer nose hair fungus.
Or what if . . .
‘That,’ said a familiar voice, ‘was the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I’m starving.’
Wilton spun round, joy molecules bouncing off relief molecules all through him.
‘Algy,’ he said. ‘Thank sludge you’re safe.’
Algy was trudging out of the ear,
tendrils drooping wearily at his side.
‘How did you go?’ asked the worm.
‘Mission done,’ said Algy. ‘I met some brain cells like you said and explained our problem and they were very helpful. Said they’d be very happy to get the hunger molecules working. They reckon their dog doesn’t get enough to eat anyway. All this talk of food has made me feel pretty hungry too. Luckily the brain cells warned me not to eat any wax on the way out.’
‘Algy,’ said Wilton, ’you’re a legend.’
‘Let’s hope it works,’ said Algy. He pointed to Wilton’s tummy. ‘OK if I pop inside for a feed?’
‘Of course,’ said Wilton.
If he had tendrils he would have given Algy a hug as well as a feed.
He saw Algy was hesitating.
‘There was another reason I did it,’ said Algy. ‘Apart from the ones we discussed.’
He gave Wilton a steady squiz, and Wilton saw that his tendrils weren’t just weary, they were sad as well.
‘What was it?’ said Wilton.
‘I just wanted to show you,’ said Algy, ‘that with us parasites, it’s not all take, take, take.’
‘I know that,’ said Wilton softly.
But Algy had already disappeared.
Wilton crouched on the dog’s head, none of his molecules moving.
Well, hardly any of them.
‘Is it working?’ said a voice.
Wilton could feel Algy peeking out of his rear entrance.
‘Get back inside,’ he hissed urgently. ‘There’s no point in it working at all if you get left behind.’
Algy went back inside.
Wilton peered ahead through the dog forest.
It was working. The dog was approaching their janet, who was sitting against a tree eating something dark and sticky-looking just as Wilton had hoped.
The janet was looking up, surprised. Now she was looking alarmed. Now she was looking not so alarmed.
Good on you, worms, thought Wilton.
They were obviously doing their job up the other end, making the dog’s tail wag in a friendly way.
The janet was smiling.
The dog was licking her hand in an even more friendly way.
‘Arghhh,’ yelled Algy’s voice. ‘We’re in the wrong place.’
Wilton realised the voice wasn’t muffled. Algy was on his shoulder.
‘Get back inside,’ he said.
‘He’s licking her hand,’ shrieked Algy. ‘We shouldn’t be on the head, we should be on the tongue.’
‘Go back in,’ insisted Wilton. ‘It’s under control. The worms said this would happen. Be patient. Our turn will come.’
Grumbling and complaining and predicting doom and failure, Algy went back inside.
For a few excruciating moments, Wilton feared he might be right.
Then, just as the worms had said, the janet reached out the end of her tendril and patted the dog on the head.
15
‘We’re on,’ yelled Wilton. ‘We’re back on a finger. We’re back on the janet.’
Algy appeared on Wilton’s shoulder, looking delighted.
Wilton tried to feel delighted too. He did in a way, but as he waved goodbye with his tail to the worms on the dog’s bottom, he also felt sad.
The worms were too far off to see clearly, but he knew they were waving back.
‘See you,’ Wilton called to them wistfully.
‘Slithering sludge.’
Suddenly Algy was gripping him and sounding very alarmed.
‘How are you doing this?’ squeaked Algy. ‘Keeping us on the finger when you haven’t got any tendrils or plasma strands to cling on with and we’re not wedged under a fingernail?’
Wilton nodded at the rough surface of the finger.
‘See that dark stuff,’ he said.
‘What,’ said Algy, ‘the dark stuff clogging up the gullies and smeared over the ridges?’
‘I think it’s called chocolate,’ said Wilton. ‘The worms told me that janets often have sticky patches of it on their fingers. So when our janet started patting the dog’s head, I spotted one and positioned us so we’d stick to it.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Algy. ‘You’re not just a long tube of eating opportunities.’
‘Thanks,’ said Wilton.
But he didn’t feel brilliant. Not with what lay ahead.
The main problem was the sheer distance they had to travel to get back to the sludge tunnel. All the way up the tendril, down the entire surface of the janet to the underpants, and over at least one of those two huge round hills.
‘And after all that way,’ said Wilton to Algy, ‘we still have to get back up the clogged and fungusinfested sludge tunnel to our valley.’
He felt weak at the thought, and a bit ill.
It all seemed overwhelming.
Who am I kidding, thought Wilton miserably. I’m just a worm. One puny little worm. How can I possibly help the poor janet when I’m this tiny?
He stared down at his body, which suddenly seemed smaller than it ever had before.
‘We can do it,’ said Algy. ‘Together.’
Algy was staring at Wilton with a familiar expression. The same look of total belief he’d had when Wilton was tunnelling through the sludge blockage.
Now, seeing Algy’s expression, Wilton felt his determination molecules lock together.
Good on you, Algy, he thought gratefully.
Algy might not be long and wriggly, but just how important was that in a friend? Wilton decided that later, when there was more time, he’d curl up and give Algy a hug.
‘Thanks,’ he said for now.
‘That’s OK,’ said Algy. ‘Your strength and my brains. Unbeatable.’
Wilton concentrated on getting the journey started. He wriggled hard until the sticky strands of chocolate under his tummy began to stretch and he was able to start moving slowly along the finger.
He hoped it wouldn’t be this difficult all the way.
‘Algy,’ he said. ‘It looks to me like most of the surface of the janet is covered in underpants, what do you reckon?’
Algy didn’t reply. He’d disappeared.
Must be inside eating, thought Wilton.
He peered back over at the janet’s main body section. It did seem to be covered in a layer of various types of underpants, bigger and looser and different colours, but definitely underpants.
‘If we can get inside that outer layer,’ said Wilton to his tummy, ‘I reckon the going will be easier because we won’t have to worry about falling off the surface of the janet. What do you reckon, Algy?’
Algy still didn’t reply.
‘Algy, are you eating?’ called Wilton more loudly. He guessed Algy was, because he could feel some slightly unpleasant feelings inside.
‘Yes,’ called Algy’s voice. ‘It’s delicious. You should try some.’
Algy’s voice wasn’t muffled and, Wilton realised, Algy wasn’t on his shoulder either.
He looked around.
Close by were a cluster of bacteria feeding greedily in a chocolate-filled gully. Among them, chocolate molecules hanging off his tendrils, was Algy.
‘Come and have some,’ called Algy, waving enthusiastically. ‘It’s yummy.’
‘No,’ said Wilton sternly. ‘We’ve got to get going.’
‘But this’ll give us energy for the journey home.’ said Algy plaintively.
‘Algy,’ said Wilton. ‘If the janet pats the dog again, we won’t be going home because we’ll be back on the dog.’
Algy thought about this. He gave one last longing squiz at the chocolate, then headed for Wilton’s rear entrance.
‘I’ll be in here if you need me,’ said Algy, disappearing.
Wilton felt a violent jolt. For a moment he thought Algy was rearranging things inside again. Then he realised that wasn’t it.
The janet’s tendril had started to hurtle through outer space. Wilton pressed himself into the sticky chocolate strands so he
wouldn’t be flung off.
‘What’s happening?’ squeaked Algy’s muffled voice.
Wilton squizzed anxiously to see where the tendril was headed.
And relaxed.
It wasn’t moving towards the dog.
Then he tensed again as he saw what it was moving towards.
A big blue shiny square spaceship.
‘We’re off the janet,’ yelled Wilton. ‘We’re off the janet.’
Algy appeared on his shoulder, tendrils waving hysterically.
‘What happened?’ he squeaked. ‘What happened?’
‘I couldn’t hang on,’ said Wilton, sick with distress. ‘The janet took the lid off the spaceship and we got knocked off the finger.’
They looked around at the shiny blue walls of the spaceship looming over them.
‘What’s a spaceship?’ said Algy.
Wilton explained about the spaceship myths and legends and gossip he’d overheard from ancient slime patches.
‘Though,’ added Wilton, ‘the spaceships the slime patches talked about were usually green and white capsules with molecules in them that cured headaches.’
‘You’re sure it was molecules?’ asked Algy. ‘Not paddocks?’
Wilton saw what Algy meant.
He and Algy were in a huge paddock. A white spongy paddock that crumbled as you wriggled over it and was full of caves and craters you had to be careful not to fall into.
In fact, Wilton saw as he peered over the edge, he and Algy were on a pile of paddocks. A white one on top of a green one on top of a yellow one on top of another white one. And so on, as far down as he could see.
‘Slithering sludge,’ said Algy. ‘I’ve never seen a pile of paddocks before.’
‘Don’t be a jiffing idiot,’ said a chocolate-covered bacteria scowling out of a crater. ‘This isn’t a pile of paddocks, you stupid ajax, it’s a couple of cheese and lettuce sandwiches.’
Wilton stared at the bacteria.
‘And while we’re at it, handy andy,’ said another bacteria to Wilton. ‘This isn’t a jiffing spaceship, it’s a lunchbox.’
Wilton squizzed around, bewildered. And noticed for the first time a huge pink cliff face behind him covered in what looked horribly like worms the same as him, only dead.