Chapter Three
31
I could feel Laurence take a hop and then
a leap. He flapped his wings noisily as we flew up
into the tree. Twigs and leaves hit me in the face.
I clenched every part of my worm body tightly.
After what seemed like ages, I opened my eyes.
We’d flown up into the sunny blue sky.
Just to remind you, in case you have forgotten,
I am a worm. I usually spend my time in the dark,
under the ground. But now I was sitting on this
super-soft flying bird cushion. Up high in the sky.
When I looked down, I could see the trees and the
houses below getting smaller and smaller. I felt
so many things at once — amazed, excited, and
terrified. Part of me wanted to take a little nap
and forget that this was happening. And another
part of me wanted to be sick; my worm stomach
felt really funny all of a sudden.
“Are you OK?” Laurence asked.
I couldn’t speak. The wind was flapping
against my face.
“If you feel a little FUNNY, look at the
HORIZON,” Laurence shouted. “Please try not
to THROW UP on me.”
I stared ahead at the green and brown fields.
Looking at the view made my stomach forget
that it was upset.
“When you’re ready, Marcus, open up the map
and tell me which way we need to fly. We have to
head south toward France. See if you can FIND
THE WAY TO PARIS.”
“OK!” I shouted back. There were a lot of
things to think about. I was almost getting the
hang of this flying business. I unfolded the large
map, suddenly feeling confident about my new
job as a navigator.
35
Immediately, a gust of wind caught the map
and tossed it into the air. I watched as it became
a small square speck in the distance.
That’s the end of my navigation career,
I thought. Without a map I was of
no use to Laurence. What would he
do when he found out? Would he eat
me for his lunch? Or maybe he’d keep
me for his dinner. There was not a lot I could do
until he’d made a decision about when to eat me.
Until then, I may as well relax and enjoy the ride,
I thought, snuggling deeper into Laurence’s soft
feathers.
“We need to cross the English Channel first.
Have you seen it on the map?” Laurence asked.
“It’s blue.”
“Umm . . . oh, yes,” I lied. “It’s on the right.”
Laurence turned his body, and we flew toward
some bright yellow fields. That worked pretty well,
I thought.
I could see a horse in a far-off field, galloping
in a pasture. “Fly toward the horse and then turn
left,” I said.
Laurence changed direction again. It was
great! Laurence was doing everything that
I asked him to do. This was better than flying
a potato in my potato-spaceship dream.
“Fly higher!” We went up and up, until
I could hardly breathe.
37
That was a good one. Afterward, I had to
concentrate on the horizon again.
W
h
e
e
e
e
e
!
“Lower,” I said, and we flew so low that
the grass swished against Laurence’s fat belly.
“Now do a loop the loop.”
38
“I’ve got a funny feeling about this, Marcus.
You do know how to map-read, don’t you?”
I didn’t say anything. I was a little bit worried
that he might change his mind about eating me
for breakfast if I told him the truth. Laurence
turned around to look at me.
“You don’t even have the map!” He was angry
now. “THAT’S IT!”
Laurence didn’t question any of my
instructions until I said, “Now fly backward.”
“Does the map really say that?” Laurence
called up to me.
Umm . . .
39
When I’m sad or frightened, I like
calming and relaxing being in the
ground, surrounded by lovely, cool,
safe mud. Forgetting where I was, I
flopped over and dug into Laurence’s
soft feathery wing.
But digging a hole in the ground
is not the same as digging a hole in
the sky. I found this out the hard
way.
One moment I was comfortably
perched on Laurence’s back,
immersed in a million soft feathers,
and the next moment, there was
nothing there at all. It was just air.
I spun and tumbled, free-falling
speedily toward the broccoli-looking
trees. I closed my eyes and tried to
multiply 2,657 by 6,765 in my head.
40
I’m not sure if I did figure out the answer,
because the next thing I knew, I was sleeping in
a very comfortable bed that felt like it was made
out of mashed potatoes.
I opened my eyes. Laurence was looking at me.
There was no mashed-potato bed. I was lying on
my back on the grass, in a field. “Where are the
mashed potatoes?” I asked Laurence sleepily.
“There are no mashed potatoes. You must
have been dreaming. Are you OK?” he asked
with a worried look on his face.
“I think so,” I said, sitting up.
Laurence folded his wings across his front. The
worried look went away and he was angry again.
“You told me that you knew how to map-read.”
42
“Pfft! You don’t even know where you’re going!”
Laurence called out to me.
“No, I didn’t!” I’d said things to Laurence that
weren’t quite true, but I was sure that I hadn’t
said I could map-read.
“You did.”
“No, I didn’t.” I was beginning to get angry.
“You’re really mean, Laurence! I don’t want to
be here anymore. I’m going home.”
I got up from my bed of grass and wriggled
farther into the field. I wanted to get away from
Laurence as fast as I could.
“Yes, I do,” I said, lying again. I didn’t know
what to do. I was lost, but I couldn’t turn back.
I wriggled some more and stopped to think,
pretending that I was admiring the view.
As I was pretending to admire the view,
I noticed that there actually was a view. And
it looked oddly familiar, just like the cover of
Laurence’s Paris guidebook. . . .
Was it?
It was. . . .
The Eiffel Tower!
“Laurence!” I said, forgetting
that I was upset with him.
“What? Are you going to
admit that you’re lost?”
“I’m NOT lost. I know exactly
where we are.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do! We’re in Paris.”
“No, we’re not,” he said,
hopping
over to stand next to me.
We both looked at the Eiffel
Tower.
“Oh,” he said with bright eyes and
a smile on his beak. “So we are.”
The sun was setting, casting a long
shadow on this famous landmark.
It was spectacular.
We’d been looking at the Eiffel Tower for some
time. It didn’t look exactly like the picture in
the book. The shape was similar, but there was
something that seemed different. At the top
there were tight wires that connected it to . . .
other Eiffel Towers. There were Eiffel Towers
everywhere, as far as the eye could see.
Things must have changed since the photo in
the book was taken, I thought to myself.
Chapter Four
47
“That’s progress for you,” I said out loud by
accident.
I wriggled my way over to the Eiffel Tower to
get a closer look, and Laurence hopped after me.
We stood beneath it, looking up.
“I must have taken a special shortcut. It didn’t
seem to take that long.”
Laurence laughed without opening his beak.
“Yes, it took no time at all. I don’t even remember
“I think that we did. I saw some ducks,” I
replied, pleased that Laurence seemed to have
forgotten about the map fiasco.
“Oh, I thought that was a pond,” Laurence
said. He opened up his little bag, which had
been tucked into his feathers. He took out an
itchy-looking blanket and shook it roughly. The
blanket must have reminded him of the map
that I had lost, because he suddenly remembered
that he was angry.
“I’m still upset with you,” Laurence said.
“You made me think that you were good at map
reading. It’s only by luck that we ended up here in
Paris. You’re just as bad at directions as I am!”
He lay down on the ground and pulled the
blanket over him so that it was tucked under his
beak. “I wish that I’d stayed at home.”
“Well,” I said, lying down next to him, “I didn’t
even want to come. I’d much rather be at home,
too.” I pulled some of his blanket toward me and
turned my back to him.
“Good night,” I said angrily.
“Hmph. Good night,” he replied, taking the
covers back again.
50
We’d traveled a very long way. The sun had
set, and the stars were shining through the
blackened sky. I thought about a plan for the
next day.
I’d get up early before Laurence woke and
had time to think about what he might eat for
breakfast. Then I’d have a look around,
checking out all of the Eiffel
Towers and seeing if there
was anything else of
interest in Paris. I’d send
a postcard to everyone
back home to let them
know that I’d be living here
now. Then I’d take French lessons and begin my
new life here in France.
I began counting the stars. On the four
hundred and eighty-fourth star, I fell asleep.
I slept deeply that night, under the stars. Early
the next morning, I stretched my worm body
and yawned a great big yawn. I opened my eyes,
expecting to see Laurence’s grumpy face, an itchy
blanket, and a row of Eiffel Towers in a field.
Chapter Five
53
But there was no field.
And there were no Eiffel Towers,
either. Laurence and I were not
lying beneath an itchy blanket.
We were both sitting on a
leather sofa, and next to us was
a mole with long, sharp claws.
He was gently stroking the arm
of the sofa.
I looked at Laurence for
some clues as to what might be
happening. He had an expression on his face that
I’d not seen before.
My worm instincts were telling me that
something was not quite right.
The evil-looking French mole, Laurence, and I
were in some kind of a shelter. It was pretty dark
in there, but when my eyes adjusted to the dim
and smoky light, I could see that the roof and walls
were made from cardboard and plastic bottles.
The floor was bare soil.
A scrawny squirrel with
terrible teeth stood at
the opening of the shelter,
staring at me and cleaning
her front teeth with a twig.
A creepy-looking crow was
on the other side of the door.
He was using a wooden spoon to stir the contents
of a large metal
pot that was
balancing
over a fire.
55
“I’d like to go home now, please,”
I whispered to Laurence.
“You need to BE QUIET, Marcus.
Just try to ACT NORMAL,”
Laurence whispered back, very loudly.
The mole overheard our conversation.
He seemed to understand English. “Relaaax,
Marcus. And you, chicken bird. We’re making
breakfast. It’s going to be a delicious stew.”
He spoke perfect English.
“I DON’T LIKE STEW,”
Laurence blurted out.
“You’ll like this one,” said
the mole. “It’s a chicken and
worm stew.” He laughed,
and then the crow and
the squirrel laughed too.
Neither Laurence nor I laughed
at his joke, because we both knew that he meant
us (even though Laurence isn’t a chicken).
56
“I THINK THAT I NEED TO USE THE
BATHROOM NOW,” Laurence said loudly.
Everyone stopped laughing. The crow dropped
the spoon into the pot. He moved over to block
the doorway. The squirrel stood behind him with
her arms folded; she was chewing vigorously
on her twig.
“You DON’T need to use the bathroom,” said
the mole firmly. Everyone looked at Laurence.
Laurence thought for a moment.
“You’re right,” he said softly. “It was a false
alarm.”
No one said anything. Laurence was now
gently rocking backward and forward
on the seat, cradling his head in
his wings. I daydreamed about
being somewhere different.
It would be very nice to
be wandering around
Paris right now.
57
Perhaps riding a bicycle with
a wicker basket on the front
that held a freshly baked
baguette.
Then I remembered that I didn’t know how to
ride a bicycle, and then I remembered where I was
and whom I was with.
Ever since I’d known Laurence, all that he had
ever brought me was trouble. First he almost ate
me for breakfast, and now, because he looked
like a chicken and I happened to be sitting next
to him, I was going to end up as lunch.
He was like a bad-luck charm. I needed to
get away from him and as far away from that
cooking pot as possible. An idea floated into my
worm brain. I cleared my throat.
“Excuse me, Mr. Mole. I was
thinking about your stew. Do
you mind if I give you a tip to
make it taste even better?”
ding ding
58
“Why should I listen to you about cooking
tips?” he said gruffly.
I turned to look at him and said, “My uncle is a
chef.”
“Oh,” he responded. “Go on, then, give us some
of your uncle’s chef tips.”
“Well,” I began. “If you’re cooking with
chicken, then you have to add some leeks.
Chicken-and-leek stew tastes like you are having
your heart hugged. Would you like your
heart to be hugged?”
“A stew can’t hug your heart!”
“Oh yes, it can, if it has enough
leeks and lots of cream.”
The mole scratched his chin with
his claw. “Hmm, I do like cream, and I do
like hugs.”
“And secondly — you probably know this
already — but when you cook worm, you have to
add tarragon. You know about tarragon, don’t
59
you? It’s an herb.
You do have some
for the stew, don’t
you?”
The mole looked at the
squirrel, and the squirrel looked at
the crow. The crow shook his head.
“No, we don’t,” said the mole.
“Oh,” I said, shaking my head too, pretending
to be sad that they didn’t have any tarragon.
“What?” asked the mole.
“Well, if you add worm
without the tarragon,
it’s going to ruin the
flavor of the whole stew.
And if it ruins the flavor of
the stew, then you won’t get
that hug in your heart.”
“But I WANT my HUG,”
said the mole, standing up.