Bulgaria. Iâm sure it wouldnât matter if I unwrapped it and had a look.â
Wellington undid the paper and discovered the most beautifully bound book. Stamped on the front in gold letters were the words A S HORT H ISTORY OF THE B LACK F OREST B URROW .
And underneath this, C OMPILED AND WRITTEN BY H APSBURG V ON H OHENZOLLERN W OMBLE . 52 COLOUR PLATES , 200 ETCHINGS .
Wellington got his breath back slowly. Thank goodness he hadnât known at the time that they were being entertained by one of the most illustrious and scholarly Wombles of all time. If he had known he wouldnât have been able to get out one word without stuttering. Wellington put the book back into its wrappings very, very carefully and reached for the small envelope marked âClover-root indigestion tablets.â He handed one to Tomsk and began to suck one himself.
âCor,â Wellington said to no one in particular. âCoo-er, cor!â
.
Chapter Six
Yellow Sky atNight *
It seemed to Bungo that several hours went past before the hand was removed from his mouth and he was able to breathe more or less properly again. More or less, because the air had rather a nasty taste to it.
âDonât move or make a sound,â the voice whispered. âWe find ourselves in a difficult situation territory-wise. Kindly inform your colleague of this.â
Bungo nodded violently and whispered in Orinocoâs ear.
âOi, psst , wake up, but please be quiet. I think weâve been napped nabbed.â
Orinocoâs eyes blinked open and he made a smacking noise with his tongue and did a bit of gentle scratching. He didnât seem to be very alarmed by this information, but then it takes a great deal to upset Orinoco, who is by nature extremely placid.
âNapped nabbed, nothing,â said the voice and out of the yellow murkiness above their heads emerged a strange figure. It was short and fat and distinctly round and wearing a shiny yellow coat, and an odd-looking hat, goggles and a mask.
âYou two,â said this apparition, âare the dirty laundry and I am about to take you to the laundromat. Hold still.â
Orinoco and Bungo looked at each other and Orinoco shrugged and patted Bungo on the shoulder. He didnât much care for being called âdirty laundryâ, but on the other hand it didnât sound as if they were being napped nabbed. Orinoco reached for a biscuit, munched it as quietly as he could and slid back into his sleeping bag. Bungo remained sitting bolt upright.
There was a faint scuffling sound and the trolley appeared to be lifted slightly off the ground. Voices whispered softly, there was a squeaking noise and then the trolley jolted slightly and began to move bumpily forwards, lurching from side to side. A light flickered on somewhere close by, and in its beam they could see that the air was full of little yellow wisps of fog.
A voice called out something from a distance.
âOK, Mac, itâs the laundromat,â was the reply.
The distant voice made a grumbling sound and a door was banged shut. The jolting went on and Orinoco actually dozed off, but Bungo continued to sit bolt upright with his eyes and his stomach going round and round. Suddenly they stopped moving and Bungo, his ears strained to catch every sound, realised that they were surrounded by whispering voices.
âGet âem in back . . .â
â. . . steady . . .â
âOne, two, three, we have lift-off . . .â
The trolley tilted alarmingly, was propelled up a small slope, then levelled out and came to a full stop. Something clicked shut and finally, most surprising of all, there was a soft tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock , and they were on the move again.
Bungo let out a small whimper and the strange voice whispered, âHold it. Not long now and weâll all be OK.â
The ânot long nowâ seemed to be rather an understatement, but finally the tick-tocking
Wellington undid the paper and discovered the most beautifully bound book. Stamped on the front in gold letters were the words A S HORT H ISTORY OF THE B LACK F OREST B URROW .
And underneath this, C OMPILED AND WRITTEN BY H APSBURG V ON H OHENZOLLERN W OMBLE . 52 COLOUR PLATES , 200 ETCHINGS .
Wellington got his breath back slowly. Thank goodness he hadnât known at the time that they were being entertained by one of the most illustrious and scholarly Wombles of all time. If he had known he wouldnât have been able to get out one word without stuttering. Wellington put the book back into its wrappings very, very carefully and reached for the small envelope marked âClover-root indigestion tablets.â He handed one to Tomsk and began to suck one himself.
âCor,â Wellington said to no one in particular. âCoo-er, cor!â
.
Chapter Six
Yellow Sky atNight *
It seemed to Bungo that several hours went past before the hand was removed from his mouth and he was able to breathe more or less properly again. More or less, because the air had rather a nasty taste to it.
âDonât move or make a sound,â the voice whispered. âWe find ourselves in a difficult situation territory-wise. Kindly inform your colleague of this.â
Bungo nodded violently and whispered in Orinocoâs ear.
âOi, psst , wake up, but please be quiet. I think weâve been napped nabbed.â
Orinocoâs eyes blinked open and he made a smacking noise with his tongue and did a bit of gentle scratching. He didnât seem to be very alarmed by this information, but then it takes a great deal to upset Orinoco, who is by nature extremely placid.
âNapped nabbed, nothing,â said the voice and out of the yellow murkiness above their heads emerged a strange figure. It was short and fat and distinctly round and wearing a shiny yellow coat, and an odd-looking hat, goggles and a mask.
âYou two,â said this apparition, âare the dirty laundry and I am about to take you to the laundromat. Hold still.â
Orinoco and Bungo looked at each other and Orinoco shrugged and patted Bungo on the shoulder. He didnât much care for being called âdirty laundryâ, but on the other hand it didnât sound as if they were being napped nabbed. Orinoco reached for a biscuit, munched it as quietly as he could and slid back into his sleeping bag. Bungo remained sitting bolt upright.
There was a faint scuffling sound and the trolley appeared to be lifted slightly off the ground. Voices whispered softly, there was a squeaking noise and then the trolley jolted slightly and began to move bumpily forwards, lurching from side to side. A light flickered on somewhere close by, and in its beam they could see that the air was full of little yellow wisps of fog.
A voice called out something from a distance.
âOK, Mac, itâs the laundromat,â was the reply.
The distant voice made a grumbling sound and a door was banged shut. The jolting went on and Orinoco actually dozed off, but Bungo continued to sit bolt upright with his eyes and his stomach going round and round. Suddenly they stopped moving and Bungo, his ears strained to catch every sound, realised that they were surrounded by whispering voices.
âGet âem in back . . .â
â. . . steady . . .â
âOne, two, three, we have lift-off . . .â
The trolley tilted alarmingly, was propelled up a small slope, then levelled out and came to a full stop. Something clicked shut and finally, most surprising of all, there was a soft tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock , and they were on the move again.
Bungo let out a small whimper and the strange voice whispered, âHold it. Not long now and weâll all be OK.â
The ânot long nowâ seemed to be rather an understatement, but finally the tick-tocking
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