We have the Thing,' he said. 'It will show us the Way, it will.' Masklin nodded gloomily. Funny how Torrit always knew what the Thing wanted. It was just a black square thing, but it had some very defi­nite ideas about the importance of regular meals and how you should always listen to what the old folk said. It seemed to have an answer for every­thing.

'And where does this Way take us?' said Masklin.

'You knows that well enough. To the Heavens.' 'Oh. Yes,' said Masklin. He glared at the Thing. He was pretty certain that it didn't tell old Torrit anything at all; he knew he had pretty good hear­ing, and he never heard it say anything. It never did anything, it never moved. The only thing it ever did was look black and square. It was good at that.

'Only by followin' the Thing closely in all par­ticulars can we be sure of going to the Heavens,' said Torrit, uncertainly, as if he'd been told this a long time ago and hadn't understood it even then.

'Yes, well,' said Masklin. He stood up on the swaying floor and made his way to the tarpaulin.

Then he paused to screw up his courage and poked his head under the gap.

There- was nothing but blurs and lights,. and strange smells.

It was-all going wrong. It had seemed so sensible that night, a week ago. Anything was better than here. That seemed so obvious then. But it was odd. The old ones moaned like anything when things weren't exactly to their liking but now, when everything was looking bad, they were almost cheerful.

People were a lot more complicated than they looked. Perhaps the Thing could tell you that, too, if you knew how to ask.

The lorry turned a corner and rumbled down into blackness and then, without warning, stopped. He found himself looking into a huge lighted- space, full of lorries, full of humans...

He pulled his head back quickly and scuttled across the floor to Torrit.