BOOOM! (2 page)

Chapter 2

Dribble Dobble, Dib Dab

I
t looked like the whole tribe had turned out for the Naming Ceremony. Most of them had never attended one before, as Hammerhead had been Chief for what seemed like for ever. As darkness fell, they gathered by the Standing Stone. A crackling fire lit the filthy, hairy faces on the front row, where many of the women had taken their place. Everyone was eager to find out who would be chosen as the next High Chief, the one who would eventually step into Hammerhead's shoes (at least if he'd had any shoes).

Iggy looked round the ragged circle, wondering which of them would be chosen. The six wrinkled elders were there, although Sedric had already dozed off, as usual. Iggy's dad sat on the Chief's left, wearing a worried expression. Hammerhead stepped into the firelight and raised his hand to command silence.

‘Friends, brothers, sisters, Urks,' he said, hoping that covered just about everyone. ‘As you know, I has been your Chief for a good many years. Some might say I been a good Chief, perhaps even a great one . . .' He paused in case anyone wanted to cheer – they didn't. ‘But no Chief lives for ever, not even me. The day will come when I can't . . . um . . . do the things a Chief does.'

The Urks looked blank. As far as they could tell a Chief slept till noon and helped himself to gigantic helpings of roast meat. It didn't exactly seem like a heavy burden.

Hammerhead pressed on regardless. ‘That is why I has decided to name the Chief who'll come after me. One of you must lead the tribe of Urk into the new dawn.'

Across the circle, Iggy caught sight of Snark wearing a confident smirk. Iggy remembered what he'd said by the river. If Borg, his father, ever became Chief they had better watch their backs.

Iggy had wondered if the ceremony would include some trial of strength or hunting skills, but it turned out the Chief would be chosen in the traditional Urk way – with the aid of a blindfold and a pointy stick. Hammerhead had the stick in his hand now and was dipping it into a bowl of red gunk that looked like the innards of a pig. He held up the stick for everyone to see, dripping sticky red globs into the dust.

‘Whoever is marked with the blood, he shall be Chief!' he declared. Borg came forward to blindfold him with a strip of hide. When it was done he held up three fingers in front of the Chief's face.

‘How many fingers does you see?'

‘Twelve!' said Hammerhead, taking a wild guess. Borg nodded, satisfied that everything was in order. He stood behind the Chief to tighten the blindfold one last time.

‘Choose wisely,' he whispered in his ear. ‘Listen for my cough.'

‘Your cloth?' said Hammerhead.

‘My
cough,
you deaf clod!' hissed Borg. ‘I'll cough twice. Don't forget.'

He gripped Hammerhead by the shoulders and spun him round three times so that there could be no accusations of cheating. Borg then retired to take his place in the circle, leaving Hammerhead alone in the middle clutching his sticky stick. All that spinning round had made the Chief dizzy and he staggered to one side. Somewhere behind him the fire crackled and he made a mental note not to burn his bottom like the last time he was blindfolded.

Standing in the circle, Iggy watched as the Chief took a few unsteady steps forward. He waggled the stick in front of him and spoke the words of the ancient ceremony:

Ip dip my little stick,

Dribble dobble, dib dab,

Which one's IT?

The Chief kept walking, heading straight for a young Urk called Pud, who was nobody's idea of a future Chief. Someone in the circle coughed loudly. Hammerhead seemed to hear it because he suddenly changed direction, lurching to his right. He took three or four paces and stopped – right in front of Snark's father. Iggy held his breath. Surely he wasn't going to choose Borg of all people – Borg, who regarded Hammerhead and everyone else as blundering idiots? Borg, who had once left a deadly black scorpion in the Chief's cave claiming he thought it was a crab?

Iggy could hardly bear to watch as the dripping stick reached out just short of Borg's forehead and paused. Very slowly, so as not to make it obvious, Borg began to lean forward to meet it. All his life he had waited for this moment and now finally it had arrived. He coughed again. Suddenly the stick jerked away and Hammerhead was off, wandering around blindly again. Halfway round the circle he stopped as if obeying some inner voice. Iggy watched in alarm as he took three paces forward. He was heading straight towards . . . argh! Towards
him
! The blobby stick reached out . .
.
‘OUCH!'
said Iggy as it poked him in the nose, leaving a sticky red mark.

‘The Spirits have chosen!' cried Gaga the Wise. Hammerhead pulled off his blindfold.

‘IGGY!'
he beamed, clasping him in a bear hug.

‘
Iggy?
'
chorused several voices.

‘
Iggy?
'
seethed Borg, crimson with rage.

Iggy looked at the faces in the circle, all staring at him in bug-eyed disbelief.

‘Um . . . best of three?' he said.

Back in his cave, Borg stamped up and down, kicking a bone out of his way. He wasn't a patient man, as everyone knew, but this time Hammerhead had pushed him too far.

‘Iggy?' he fumed. ‘That runty little scroggler? It's his nephew, for the love of Urk!'

Snark sighed. ‘It were just bad luck!'

‘Luck my eye!' thundered Borg. ‘Hammerhead did this on purpose. He cheated!'

‘You wanted him to cheat,' Snark pointed out.

‘Of course I did. He were meant to pick me! I explained it to him clear as mud. But the fathead walked right past me.'

‘Maybe he didn't see you,' suggested Snark.

‘He were wearing a blindfold, dung brain. How could he see me?'

Snark shrugged. ‘I don't know. How come he seen Iggy? How did he cheat?'

Borg growled and turned away. All he knew was that he had been robbed – robbed by a skinny little brat who shouldn't be in charge of an ants' nest. For years he had slaved for this, plotted and schemed to become Chief – and now, just when the prize was in his grasp, it had been snatched away by a low-down, filthy trick. The worst of it all was Iggy was still a boy – he might be Chief for years. No, Borg decided – Hammerhead wouldn't get away with this. He would pay.

‘There's only one thing for it,' he said. ‘We has to get rid of them.'

‘You mean kill 'em?' said Snark hopefully. ‘Iggy too?'

‘'Course him too. The question is how? It has to be done clever and quiet. No one must suspect.'

‘I could drop a boulder on Iggy's head,' suggested Snark.

‘I said “clever”,' sighed Borg.

‘Two boulders? One for Hammerhead.'

Borg rolled his eyes. ‘If we kill 'em both at once it'll look too obvious. People will start asking questions. Unless . . .' Borg stopped pacing the cave. An evil light entered his eyes.

‘Unless what?' said Snark.

‘We get someone else to do it.'

Snark looked puzzled. ‘Who?'

‘Remember that tribe,' said Borg, ‘the one that attacked us last winter?'

Snark turned pale. ‘You mean Nonecks? But they're savages.'

‘Exactly,' nodded Borg. ‘That's why we're going to pay them a visit.'

Chapter 3

Floaters and Sinkers

T
he next morning Iggy went in search of Hubba. Usually he turned up at Iggy's cave the moment he saw the smoke from a fire, but today Iggy found him down the hill, sorting through his rock collection. Hubba collected rocks for the simple reason that they were easy to find – the hillside was littered with them. Feathers or shells might have been more interesting but they were a lot more effort. Iggy hadn't had much chance to speak to his friend since the Naming Ceremony and there was something he wanted to show him.

‘Hey, Hubba – come to the river,' he said.

Hubba didn't look up. ‘Can't. I'm busy.'

‘It's a surprise. Come and see!'

Normally Hubba couldn't resist a surprise but this time he gave a weary shrug. ‘Thought you'd be busy,' he said.

‘Busy?'

‘You being High Chief an' all. I expect you got big important stuff to do.'

Iggy stared at him. ‘What are you on about? It's me – Iggy!'

‘I can see that. I aren't stupid,' said Hubba sulkily.

‘And I'm not Chief yet – Hammerhead could go on for years,' Iggy pointed out. ‘Anyway, it wasn't my idea. I didn't ask to be chosen.'

Hubba went on sorting rocks into different colours: grey, light grey, dark grey . . .

‘Still, it's different now, isn't it?' he mumbled.

‘Why?'

‘Like I said, you got meetings with elders and that. You don't want to waste time messin' around with me.'

Iggy crouched down beside him. ‘Of course I do, you noggerhead! You're my best friend.'

Hubba squinted at him. ‘Who you calling noggerhead?'

‘You, noggerhead!' Iggy pushed him over. ‘Come on, I'll race you to the river!'

They chased down the hill. Iggy arrived first, though Hubba claimed that he had a head start.

‘So where is it?' asked Hubba, panting for breath. ‘The big surprise?'

‘Wait there – I'll show you,' said Iggy. He went haring off along the bank and disappeared through the trees. For a while Hubba heard nothing, then there was a loud splash as something hit the water. A moment later Iggy came into view, up to his waist in the river and pulling a strange-looking thing behind him. It was made out of woven twigs and bobbed along like a giant bird's nest.

Hubba knitted his brows. ‘What is it?'

‘A boater. What do you think?'

‘Yeah – deadly,' said Hubba uncertainly.

‘It's made of twigs, leaves and mud. You know why?'

‘You run out of rocks?' said Hubba.

‘No. They're all things that float – apart from mud, of course, but that's holding it together.'

‘So how's it catch 'em exactly?' asked Hubba.

‘What?'

‘The fishes.'

‘It's not for fishing. It's a boater,' said Iggy. ‘You sit inside here and it carries you along the river.'

‘Ah. Right. Why?'

‘Because that's the idea – you float.'

Hubba doubted this, but he didn't want to sound critical. Most of Iggy's ideas sounded crackpot at first – and one or two of them even worked.

‘Show us then,' he said.

‘All right,' said Iggy. ‘Come on – we'll go for a trip.'

Hubba gaped at him. ‘What? In that?'

‘It's quite safe. See, it floats!'

Hubba sighed heavily. He knew he was going to regret this.

Getting into the boater proved harder than Iggy expected. It spun round, wobbling and bobbing away as if it was playing a game with them. Eventually Iggy managed to climb on board, but when Hubba tried to join him the boater tipped up alarmingly and water sloshed inside. There wasn't a lot of room to get comfortable, but at last they got their legs untangled and were ready to set off.

‘Now what?' asked Hubba, clinging to the sides.

‘Nothing. We sit back and the current takes us.'

Hubba looked blank.

‘The current,' said Iggy. ‘The river sort of wibbles in one direction – haven't you noticed?'

Hubba couldn't say he had. You could paddle in water, or even swim in it if you really had to, but it wasn't meant for bobbing and wibbling. His feet were cold already, not to mention his bottom. He shifted in his seat.

‘Iggy, it's wet in here.'

‘Stop worrying. Enjoy it!' said Iggy. ‘Look, we're coming to Giant's Rock!'

Hubba looked towards the bank, wishing that he had never left it. Despite spinning in circles they had drifted some way downstream where the river was deeper and the current stronger.

‘I'm wet!' he grumbled. ‘My bottom's leaking!'

‘Stop moaning!' said Iggy, who was trying, without much success, to steer.

Hubba stood up suddenly, rocking them dangerously. ‘We're sinking!' he yelped.

‘Sit down. You'll tip us over!'

‘But we are! Look!'

Iggy looked down at his feet. He was shocked to see how much dirty water had got into the boater. It sloshed around his ankles. It seemed to be trickling in through the tiny gaps between the woven twigs where the mud was – or used to be.

‘Quick,' he cried. ‘Get it out!' He knelt down, scooping up water in an attempt to bail it out. Hubba tried to help, but that made the boater rock more wildly. As fast as they threw water out, more seeped back in to take its place. They were sinking lower.

‘Do something, Iggy!' wailed Hubba.

‘What?'

Hubba suddenly had an idea. The water was coming in so it followed they had to let it out – and quickly. There was one easy way to do that. Hubba raised his foot.

‘NO!'
cried Iggy. But he was too late, Hubba brought his heel down hard in the bottom of the boat.

A gaping hole appeared, and water immediately rushed in instead of going out as Hubba had expected. The boater went down with a final gloop and glug, taking its crew with it.

For a few seconds Iggy tried to hang on, but it was no use. The two of them thrashed around in the river, struggling towards the bank with ungainly strokes. Neither of them were strong swimmers, but luckily they didn't have far to go before their feet touched squelchy mud.

Iggy stood up, coughing and dripping. It was a few moments before he noticed someone perched on a rock, grinning at him. It was Umily.
Perfect
, thought Iggy –
she must have seen the whole disaster from start to finish
.

‘How's the water?' she asked.

‘Yeah, very funny,' replied Iggy, squelching on to the bank.

‘So what was you trying to do? I'm just interested.'

Iggy sighed, not in the mood for long explanations. ‘It's a boater,' he said. ‘It floats.'

Umily raised her eyebrows. ‘Ah. That's why you're so wet.'

‘It's not perfect yet. Next time it'll be better,' said Iggy.

‘Next time?' said Umily with a grin.

‘Why not? We're not giving up now, are we, Hubba?'

Hubba gave him a withering look. If he wanted to drown himself in the river, next time he could do it by himself.

Iggy looked back at the spot where the boater had gone down. A few twigs and leaves were floating away.
Still, great inventions don't happen overnight
, he reasoned. All the boater needed was a few adjustments – not so many holes, for one thing. Next time he would try using logs, rather than twigs. Four or five logs bound together might work. And no mud – mud was a mistake.

Umily had hung back to wait for him. ‘Coming?' she said. ‘You'll get cold standing there.'

They walked along the bank and began to climb uphill towards the caves. Suddenly they were shaken by a deafening noise like the sky cracking in two. At first Iggy thought it must be thunder or a woolly mammoth jumping out of a tree, but then he saw Umily staring in the direction of the mountains. High above the valley, Old Grumbly was spewing black clouds into the sky.

‘Great Urk!' gasped Hubba. ‘What's that?'

Iggy shook his head. ‘I don't know, but I think we better get back.'

They raced up the hill. The rest of the Urks had felt the ground shake too and had come running out of their caves to see what was happening. They stood gazing up at the distant mountains in fear. The sky was full of birds and winged lizards screeching as they swooped by. Iggy found his mum and dad outside their cave, looking pale and worried.

‘What is it, Dad?' he asked.

‘Old Grumbly,' replied Dad. ‘Her's never done this before.'

‘Will we be all right?'

‘'Course we will,' said Mum, putting a big arm round him. ‘Your uncle will know what to do.'

They looked around, searching for Chief Hammerhead, but he was nowhere to be seen. At the first thundering rumble, he had fled into his cave and hadn't come out.