The Bromeliad Trilogy

by Terry Pratchett

  The Store nomes stared at her, and shivered.

  "And you don't want to go worrying about crossing them open fields," she went on, conversationally. "Nine times out o' ten you don't get eat by anything."

  "Oh, dear," said a lady nome, faintly.

  "Yes, I've been out in fields hundreds o' times. It's a doddle if you stay close to the hedge and keep your eyes open, you hardly ever have to run very much," said Granny.

  No one's temper was improved when they learned that the Land-Rover had parked right on the patch of ground they were going to plant things in. The nomes had spent ages during the summer hacking the hard ground into something resembling soil. They'd even planted seeds, which hadn't grown. Now there were two great ruts in it, and a new padlock and chain on the gate.

  The sleet was already filling the ruts. Oil had leaked in and formed a rainbow sheen on the surface.

  And all the time Nisodemus was reminding people how much better it had been in the Store. They didn't really need much persuading. After all, it had been better. Much better.

  I mean, thought Dorcas, we can keep warm and there's plenty of food, although there is a limit to the number of ways you can cook rabbit and potatoes. The trouble is, Masklin thought that once we got outside the Store we'd all be digging and building and hunting and facing the future with strong chins and bright smiles. Some of the youngsters are doing well enough, I'll grant you. But us old 'uns are too set in our ways. It's all right for me, I like tinkering with things, I can be useful, but the rest of them, well... all they've really got to occupy themselves is grumbling, and they've become really good at that.

  I wonder what Nisodemus's game is? He's too keen, if you ask me.

  I wish Masklin would come back.

  Even young Gurder wasn't too bad.

  It's been three days now.

  At a time like this, he knew he'd feel better if he went and looked at the Cat.

  6

  I. For in the hill was a Beast, from the days when the World was made.

  II. But it was old and broken and dying.

  III. And the mark of its name was on it.

  IV. And the mark was the mark of the Cat.

  From the Book of Nome, Cat I, v. I–IV

  The Cat.

  The Cat was his. His little secret. His big secret, really. No one else knew about the Cat, not even Dorcas's assistants.

  He'd been pottering around in the big old half-ruined sheds on the other side of the quarry, one day back in the summer. He hadn't really got any aim in mind, except perhaps the possibility of finding a useful bit of wire or something.

  So he'd rummaged around in the shadows, straightened up, glanced above him and there the Cat was.

  With its mouth open.

  It had been a terrible few seconds until Dorcas's eyes adjusted to the distance.

  After that he'd spent a lot of time with the Cat, poking around, finding out about him. Or it. The Cat was too big to be a him or a her, it had to be an it. A terrible it, perhaps, and old and wounded, like a dragon that had come here for one last final sleep.

  Or perhaps it was like one of those big animals Grimma had showed him in a book once. Diner-soars.

  Dorcas had never seen a cat before, but he'd heard from Masklin that they were dangerous, and Dorcas wasn't about to argue.

  But this cat was kind of peaceful to have around.

  It didn't grumble, and it didn't keep on asking Dorcas why he hadn't got around to inventing radio yet. Dorcas had spent many a peaceful hour getting to know the Cat. It was someone to talk to. It was the best kind of person to talk to, in fact, because you didn't have to listen back at it.

  Dorcas shook his head. There was no time for that sort of thing now. Everything was going wrong. Instead, he went to find Grimma. She seemed to have her head screwed on right, even if she was a girl.

  The schoolhole was under the floor of the old shed with CANTEEN on the door. It was Grimma's personal world. She'd invented schools for children, on the idea that since reading and writing were quite difficult it was best to get them over with early.

  The library was also kept there.

  In those last hectic hours the nomes had managed to rescue about thirty books from the Store.

  Some were very useful – Gardening All the Year Round was well thumbed, and Dorcas knew Essential Theory for the Amateur Engineer almost by heart – but some were, well, difficult, and not opened much.

  Grimma was standing in front of one of these when he wandered in. She was biting her thumb, which she always did when she was concentrating.

  He had to admire the way she read. Not only was Grimma the best reader among the nomes, she also had an amazing ability to understand what she was reading.

  "Nisodemus is causing trouble," he said, sitting down on a bench.

  "I know," said Grimma vaguely. "I've heard."

  She grabbed the edge of the page in both hands, and turned it over with a grunt of effort.

  "I don't know what he's got to gain," said Dorcas.

  "Power," said Grimma. "We've got a power vacuum, you see."

  "I don't think we have," said Dorcas uncertainly. "I've never seen one here. There were plenty in the store. 'Ninety-Nine Ninety-Five with Range of Attachments for Around-the-House Cleanliness,' " he added, remembering with a sigh the familiar signs.

  "No, it's not a thing like that," said Grimma, "It's what you get when no one's in charge. I've been reading about them."

  "I'm in charge, aren't I?" said Dorcas plaintively.

  "No," said Grimma. "Because no one really listens to you."

  "Oh. Thank you very much."

  "It's not your fault. People like Masklin and Angalo and Gurder can make people listen to them, but you don't seem to keep their attention."

  "Oh."

  "But you can make nuts and bolts listen to you. Not everyone can do that."

  Dorcas thought about this. He would never have put it like that himself. Was it a compliment? He decided it probably was.

  "When people are faced with lots of troubles and they don't know what to do, there's always someone ready to say anything, just to get some power," said Grimma.

  "Never mind. When the others get back I'm sure they'll sort it all out," said Dorcas, more cheerfully than he felt.

  "Yes, they'll..." Grimma began, and then stopped. After a while Dorcas realized that her shoulders were shaking.

  "Is there anything the matter?" he said.

  "It's been more than three whole days!" sobbed Grimma. "No one's ever been away that long before! Something must have happened to them!"

  'Er," said Dorcas. "Well, they were going to look for Grandson Richard, 39, and we can't be sure that –"

  "And I was so nasty to him before he went! I told him about the frogs and all he could think of was socks!"

  Dorcas couldn't quite see how frogs had got involved. When he sat and talked to the Cat, frogs were never dragged into the conversation.

  "Er?" he said.

  Grimma, in between sobs, told him about the frogs.

  "And I'm sure he didn't even begin to understand what I meant," she mumbled. "And you won't either."

  "Oh, I don't know," said Dorcas. "You mean that the world was once so simple, and suddenly it's full of amazingly interesting things that you'll never ever get to the end of as long as you live. Like biology. Or climatology. I mean, before all you Outsiders came, I was just tinkering with things and I really didn't know anything about the world." He stared at his feet. "I'm still very ignorant," he said, "but at least I'm ignorant about really important things. Like what the sun is, and why it rains. That's what you're talking about."

  She sniffed, and smiled a bit, but not too much because if there is one thing worse than someone who doesn't understand you it's someone who understands perfectly, before you've had a chance to have a good pout about not being understood.

  "The thing is," she said, "that he still thinks I'm the person he used to know when we all lived in the old
hole in the bank. You know, running around. Cooking things. Bandaging up people when they'd been hur-hur-hur –"

  "Now then, now then," said Dorcas. He was always at a loss when people acted like this. When machines went funny you just oiled them or prodded them or, if nothing else worked, hit them with a hammer. Nomes didn't respond well to this treatment.

  "Supposing he never comes back?" she said, dabbing at her eyes.

  "Of course he'll come back," said Dorcas reassuringly. "What could have happened to him, after all?"

  "He could have been eaten or run over or trodden on or blown away or fallen down a hole or trapped," said Grimma.

  "Er, yes," said Dorcas. "Apart from that, I meant."

  "But I shall pull myself together," said Grimma, sticking out her chin. "When he does come back, he won't be able to say, 'Oh, I see everything's gone to pieces while I've been away.' "

  "Jolly good," said Dorcas. "That's the spirit. Keep yourself occupied, that's what I always say. What's the book called?"

  "It's A Treasury of Proverbs and Quotations," said Grimma.

  "Oh. Anything useful in it?"

  "That," said Grimma distantly, "depends."

  "Oh. What's proverbs mean?"

  "Not sure. Some of them don't make much sense. Do you know, humans think the world was made by a sort of big human?"

  "No! Are you sure?"

  "It took a week."

  "I expect it had some help, then," said Dorcas. "You know. With the heavy stuff." Dorcas thought of the Cat. You could do a lot in a week, with the Cat helping.

  "No. All by itself, apparently."

  "Hmm." Dorcas considered this. Certainly bits of the world were rough, and things like grass seemed simple enough. But from what he'd heard it all broke down every year and had to be started up again in the spring, and... "I don't know," he said. "Only humans could believe something like that. I think you'd need more than one week. There's a good few months work, if I'm any judge."

  Grimma turned the page. "Masklin used to believe – I mean, Masklin believes – that humans are much brighter than we think." She looked thoughtful. "I really wish we could study them properly," she said. "I'm sure we could learn a –"

  For the second time, the alarm bell rang out across the quarry.

  This time, the hand on the switch belonged to Nisodemus.

  7

  II. And Nisodemus said, You are betrayed, People of the Store;

  III. Falsely you were led into This Outside of Rain and Cold and Humans and Order, and Yet it Will become Worse;

  IV. For there will be Sleet and Snow, and Hunger in the Land;

  V. And there will come Robins;

  VI. Um.

  VII. Yet those that brought you here, where are they Now?

  VIII. They said. We go to seek Grandson Richard, 39, but tribulation abounds on every side and no help comes. You are betrayed into the hands of Winter.

  IX. It is time to put aside things of the Outside.

  From the Book of Nome, Complaints, v. II–IX

  "Yes. Well. That's hard to do, isn't it?" said a nome uneasily. "I mean, we are Outside."

  'But I have a plan," said Nisodemus.

  "Ah," said the nomes, in unison. Plans were the thing. Plans were what was needed. You knew where you were, with a plan.

  Grimma and Dorcas, almost the last to arrive, sidled their way into the crowd. The old engineer was going to push his way to the front, but Grimma restrained him.

  "Look at the others up there," she whispered.

  There were quite a few nomes behind Nisodemus. Many of them Dorcas recognized as Stationeri, but there were a few others from some of the great departmental families. They weren't looking at Nisodemus as he spoke, but at the crowd. Their eyes flickered back and forth, as though they were searching for something.

  "I don't like the look of this," said Grimma quietly. "The big families never used to get on too well with the Stationeri, so why are they up there now.'

  "Grubby pieces of work, some of them," said Dorcas.

  Some of the Stationeri had been particularly upset about common, everyday nomes learning to read. They said it gave people ideas, Dorcas gathered, which were not a good thing unless they were the right kind of ideas. And some of the great families hadn't been too happy about nomes being able to go where they pleased, without having to ask permission.

  They're all up there, he thought – the nomes who haven't done so well since the Drive. They all lost a little power.

  Nisodemus was explaining his plan.

  As he listened, Dorcas's mouth slowly dropped open.

  It was magnificent in its way, that plan. It was like a machine where every single part was perfectly made, but had been put together by a one-handed nome in the dark. It was crammed full of good ideas which you couldn't sensibly argue with, but they had been turned upside down. The trouble was, they were still ones you couldn't sensibly argue with, because the basically good idea was still in there somewhere.

  Nisodemus wanted to rebuild the Store.

  The nomes stood in horrified admiration as the Stationeri explained that, yes, Abbot Gurder had been right, when they left the Store they had taken Arnold Bros. (est. 1905) with them inside their heads.

  And, if they could show him that they really cared about the Store, he would come out again and put a stop to all these problems and reestablish the Store here, in this green unpleasant land.

  That was how it all arrived in Dorcas's head, anyway. He'd long ago decided that if you spent all your time listening to what people actually said you'd never have time to work out what they meant.

  But it wouldn't mean building the whole Store, said Nisodemus, his eyes shining like two bright black marbles. They could change the quarry in other ways. Go back to living in proper Departments instead of any old how all over the place. Put up some signs. Get back to the Good Old Ways.

  Make Arnold Bros. (est. 1905) feel at home. Build the Store inside their heads.

  Nomes didn't often go mad. Dorcas vaguely recalled an elderly nome who had once decided that he was a teapot, but he'd changed his mind after a few days.

  Nisodemus, though, had definitely been getting too much fresh air.

  It was obvious that one or two other nomes thought so too.

  "I don't quite see," said one of them, "how Arnold Bros. (est. 1905) is going to stop these humans. No offense meant."

  "Did humans interfere with us when we were in the Store?" demanded Nisodemus.

  "Well, no, because –"

  "Then trust in Arnold Bros. (est. 1905)!"

  "But that didn't keep the Store from being demolished, did it?" said a voice. "When it came to it, you all trusted Masklin and Gurder and the Truck. And yourselves! Nisodemus is always telling you how clever you are. Try and be clever, then!"

  Dorcas realized it was Grimma. He'd never seen anyone so angry.

  She pushed her way through the apprehensive nomes until she was face to face or at least, since he was standing on something and she wasn't, face to chest. Nisodemus was one of those people who liked standing on things.

  "What will actually happen, then?" she shouted.

  "When you've built the Store, what will happen? Humans came into the Store, you know!"

  Nisodemus's mouth opened and shut for a while.

  Then he said, "But they obeyed the regulations! Yes! Um! That's what they did! And things were better then!"

  She glared at him.

  "You don't really think people are going to accept that, do you?" she said.

  There was silence.

  "You've got to admit," said an elderly nome, very slowly, "things were better then."

  The nomes shuffled their feet.

  That was all you could hear.

  Just people, shuffling their feet.

  "They just accepted it!" said Grimma, "Just like that! No one's bothered about the council anymore! They just do what he tells them! Even Granny Morkie's no help! She just sits around with all the old people
, talking! I told her she should help me, and all she said was that she's too old to worry about young fools like Nisodemus! She says, in ten years' time who'll care?"

  Now she was in Dorcas's workspace under a bench in the old quarry garage. My little sanctuary, he always called it. My little nook. Bits of wire and tin were scattered everywhere. The wall was covered with scrawls done with a bit of pencil lead.

  Dorcas sat and twirled a bit of wire aimlessly. "You're being hard on people," he said quietly. "You shouldn't yell at them like that. They've been through a lot. They get all confused if you shout at them. The council was all right for when times were good..." He shrugged. "And without Masklin and Gurder and Angalo, well, it hardly seems worthwhile."

  "But after all that's happened!" She waved her arms. "To act so stupidly, just because he's offered them –"

  "A bit of comfort," said Dorcas. He shook his head. You couldn't explain things like this to people like Grimma. Nice girl, bright head on her, but she kept thinking that everyone else was as passionate about things as she was. All people really wanted, Dorcas considered, was to be left alone.

  The world was quite difficult enough as it was without people going around trying to make it better all the time.

  Masklin had understood that. He knew the way to make people do what you wanted was to make them think it was their idea. If there was one thing that got right up a nome's nose, it was people saying to them, "Here is a really sensible idea – what are you, too stupid to understand?"

  It wasn't that people were stupid. It was just that people were people.

  "Come on," he said wearily. "Let's go and see how the signs are getting on."

  The whole of the floor of one of the big sheds had been turned over to the making of the signs.

  Or rather, the Signs. Another thing Nisodemus was good at was giving words capital letters. You could hear him doing it.

  Dorcas had to admit that the Signs were a pretty good idea, though. He felt guilty about thinking this.