Free Diggers by Terry Pratchett Page A

been this picture of a human lying down, with what looked like nomes tying it up with hundreds of ropes. Not even the oldest nomes could remember it ever happening. It must have been a long time ago.
    A snag struck him.
    â€œHang on a minute, he said. “If we start fighting humans . . .” His voice trailed off.
    â€œYes?” said Grimma impatiently.
    â€œThey’ll start fighting us, won’t they? I know they’re not very bright, but it’ll dawn on them that something’s happening and they’ll fight back. Retaliation, that’s called.”
    â€œThat’s right,” said Grimma. “And that’s why it’s vitally important we retaliate right at the start.”
    Dorcas thought about this. It seemed a logical idea.
    â€œBut only in self-defense,” he said. “Only in self-defense. Even with humans. I don’t want there to be any unnecessary suffering.”
    â€œI suppose so,” she said.
    â€œYou really think we could fight humans?”
    â€œOh, yes.”
    â€œSo . . . how?”
    Grimma bit her lip. “Hmm,” she said. “Young Sacco and his friends. Can you trust them?”
    â€œThey’re keen lads. And lasses, one or two of them.” He smiled. “Always ready for something new.”
    â€œRight. Then we shall need some nails. . . .”
    â€œYou’ve really been thinking hard, haven’t you?” said Dorcas. He was almost in awe. Grimma was often bad-tempered. He thought perhaps it was because her mind worked very fast, sometimes, and she was impatient with people who weren’t keeping up. But now she was furious. You could begin to feel sorry for any humans who got in her way.
    â€œI’ve been doing a lot of reading,” she said.
    â€œEr, yes. Yes, I can see,” said Dorcas. “But, er, I wonder if it wouldn’t be more sensible to—”
    â€œWe’re not going to run away again,” she said flatly. “We shall fight them in the lane. We shall fight them at the gates. We shall fight them in the quarry. And we shall never surrender.”
    â€œWhat does ‘surrender’ mean?” said Dorcas, desperately.
    â€œWe don’t know the meaning of surrender,” said Grimma.
    â€œWell, I don’t,” said Dorcas.
    Grimma leaned against the wall.
    â€œDo you want to hear something strange?” she said.
    Dorcas thought about it.
    â€œI don’t mind,” he said.
    â€œThere’s books about us.”
    â€œLike Gulliver , you mean?”
    â€œNo. That was about a human. About us, I mean. Ordinary-sized people, like us. But wearing all green suits and with little knobbly stalks on their heads. Sometimes humans put out bowls of milk for us, and we do all the housework for them. And they have wings, like bees. That’s what gets put in books about us. They call us pixies. It’s in a book called Fairy Tales for Little Folk .”
    â€œI don’t think the wings would work,” said Dorcas doubtfully. “I don’t think you could get the lifting power.”
    â€œAnd they think we live in mushrooms,” Grimma finished.
    â€œHmm? Doesn’t sound very practical to me,” said Dorcas.
    â€œAnd they think we repair shoes.”
    â€œThat’s a bit more like it,” said Dorcas. “Good solid work.”
    â€œAnd the book said we paint the flowers to make them pretty colors,” said Grimma.
    Dorcas stared at her.
    â€œNah,” he said eventually. “I’ve looked at the colors on flowers. They’re definitely built-in.”
    â€œWe’re real,” said Grimma. “We do real things. Why do you think that sort of thing goes in books?”
    â€œSearch me,” said Dorcas. “I only read manuals. It’s not a proper book, I’ve always said, unless it’s got lists and part numbers in it.”
    â€œIf ever humans do catch us, that’s what we’ll