House of Tribes

by Garry Kilworth

  The nudniks, towards whom Kellog showed a much greater respect than did the mice, were so far unaware of his presence. Once he was seen by one of them, all hell would be let loose: he had experienced their fear of his kind before. Once they knew he was there they would go to any lengths to kill him. Nudniks did not like mice, but they hated and loathed rats.

  The mice believed nudniks to be stupid bovine creatures, but Kellog knew otherwise. When it came to rooting out and destroying rats, they could be incredibly inventive, as well as ruthless. As one of the library mice might say, where roof rats were concerned nudniks were completely without ruth.

  Kellog was well at home amongst beams. He carried his ancestors’ remembrances and dreams – vague shadowy racial memories – of the bellies of tossed wooden ships. The smell of caulking tar was buried deep in his brain. So too was odour of gunpowder and iron, hemp ropes and canvas sails; the sound of timber against timber; the taste of salt water in the cheese and flour, in the apple keg. In that hot rat brain of his, was the pattern of cross-spars on masts; the lacework of ropes running from cleats to booms; the matrix of rope shrouds to mizzen and main – all pathways, escape routes, for the running rat to follow.

  Kellog was not a mariner himself, but his grandfather had travelled over the seas on a nudnik vessel. Ship rats hate the cold, unlike common rats who will happily live out in the orchard, and the colony had finally established themselves as roof rats in the House.

  Immediately a war began between the nudniks and the rats, and Kellog’s family were subjected to a brutal slaughter.

  Most of the rats died in agony, kicking and jerking, and finally curling into a stiff ball. Poison was the cause of the deaths: powder left to be eaten in the most obvious areas of the House. By degrees the survivors became immune to the poison and could eat it with relish, without any ill effects. Kellog was one of those: one of the last three rats in the House. One of the three finally died from old age and the other was chopped in half with a meat cleaver on a sunny day in spring, by the kitchen nudnik who caught him stealing cake.

  Kellog was now all on his own and his dark mind was well suited to his cloistered existence. Perhaps another rat, for they are social creatures, might have died from loneliness, but Kellog was Kellog and not another rat.

  The roof rat stretched himself and yawned, revealing his formidable teeth. Then he dropped with a heavy plop from the beam to the floor proper and made his way back to his nest. Kellog was looking forward to crawling into his cosy home, where he intended to curl up and dream rat dreams.

  He swam across the water tank, giving his fleas a soaking as well as himself. Then he pulled himself out by his nest.

  His nest!

  Kellog stared at the collapsed mess in front of him, first in bewilderment, and then in growing anger. Finally, a great sorrow came over him when he realized that his beautiful red silk ribbon had gone. It had been Kellog’s one concession to the unnecessary, and he had treasured it like a talisman. So strong was his feeling of rage it made him feel sick and giddy. He swished his tail in the thick dust. A hot sickness was in his stomach, radiating throughout his whole body. His eyes blazed and his teeth clattered together as he tried to contain his wrath.

  He said only one word.

  ‘Goingdownfast!’

  SAINT PAULIN

  Whispersoft had called a council meeting and all the Invisibles over the age of sixty nights were in attendance. Called to order, the Invisibles stepped forward into the grey light, murmured their own names, and then drifted back into the darkness again. Once he was sure they were all there, the loud-voiced leader spoke to his tribe.

  ‘You will all be aware that Tostig, of the Savage Tribe paid us a visit yesterhour…’

  ‘Couldn’t very well miss him,’ said Fallingoffthings. ‘He tramped through here like a nudnik and tried to hold a conversation with a rag doll.’

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘Well,’ agreed Whispersoft, ‘Other mice do not quite have our skill for silent unseen passage. Never mind, I’m sure Tostig felt he was creeping ever-so-carefully.’

  There was another laugh. If the Invisibles had a fault it was that they tended to be a little self-congratulatory where their own talents were concerned.

  ‘Tostig brought a message from his chieftain, Gorm-the-old, who is anxious that I get together with him to discuss something of great matter which will affect all the mice in the House.’

  Timorous, standing on the edge of the meeting under the shadow of a rafter, grunted audibly.

  ‘You have something to say, Timorous?’ asked Whispersoft of his eternal rival for leadership of the tribe. ‘I didn’t doubt that you would.’

  ‘Look,’ said Timorous, a brutish and violent wood mouse with a frosted eye. ‘I know I argue with everything you say, Whispersoft. That’s as it should be. You talk a lot of drivel most of the time. But this is going beyond the pale. Gorm is a barbaric mouse…’

  ‘That’s rich, coming from someone like you,’ called Whispersoft, and those who were farthest away from Timorous dared to laugh.

  Timorous growled softly in the back of his throat. ‘That’s as maybe, Whispersoft, but what I’m trying to say is, you can’t trust him. You can’t trust any of those Savage mice. They’re treacherous and sneaky. Come on – you know as well as I do what trouble we’ve had from them in the past.’

  Whispersoft nodded slowly. ‘I’ll concede that. There have been problems with the Savage Tribe from time to time. However, I’m inclined to think that we should talk with them this time. One of our number has been invited to an inter-tribal Allthing. I’m told that there’s some big idea of achieving Utopia by chasing the nudniks out of the House and us mice living in peace together. Without the nudniks around, there would be food in plenty, for all…’

  ‘Oh, for… you don’t believe all that claptrap, do you?’ cried Timorous, unable to take in such a vision. ‘The Invisible that attends that Allthing will never be seen again, I’ll bet my tail on that. It’s just a trick to get one of us down there in the kitchen, where some ritual murder will take place.’

  ‘The Bookeaters will be there too,’ yelled Whispersoft.

  ‘Well that confirms what I’m saying,’ said Timorous. ‘Witchcraft. Sorcery. They need an Invisible to torture and then bite his or her throat open, so that they can use the blood for one of their foul ceremonies. Send along a thirty-night-old, why don’t you? Let them have a nice innocent victim for their diabolical rites.’

  Treadlightly cleared her throat and said, ‘It is true, Whispersoft, that the Bookeaters slaughter healthy babies in moonlit hours, and lap the blood…’

  Whispersoft stamped his foot and drummed his tail. ‘So we’ve been told. So we’ve been told. But has anyone actually seen this happen?’

  ‘An uncle of mine once heard…’ began Treadlightly, but she was interrupted by Nonsensical.

  ‘Prejudice and bigotry!’ snapped Nonsensical. ‘We don’t know what goes on in the library – it’s all hearsay – and until someone actually witnesses these deeds, we should ignore these childish tales. The Bookeaters probably tell their children similar stories about us. Ignorance like this has got to be stamped out.’

  Timorous said, ‘If they tell stories about us, then we’re entitled to do the same.’

  Nonsensical snapped again, ‘Rubbish! It’s up to us to set an example, not to follow after with tattle-tales, otherwise the cycle of mistrust and hate will never be ended. This is serious. It’s our chance to get the tribes together, see for ourselves that the Savages are not all bloodthirsty destroyers with rape and pillage on their minds. It’s our chance to discover that the Bookeaters are just like us really, only a bit more mystical, a bit more learned…’

  Timorous said craftily, ‘In that case, I think Nonsensical should be our envoy, since she’s so keen on improving inter-tribal relationships. What do you think, Ferocious?’

  The browbeaten little Ferocious, frightened of his own tail and certainly terrifie
d of Timorous, whispered, ‘Oh, quite. Quite.’

  ‘No!’ cried Goingdownfast, stepping out of his shadow. ‘She’s pregnant. She’s not going anywhere.’

  But it was Nonsensical who answered this. ‘Yes, yes I am. I’m just the right mouse to send. Whether I’m pregnant or not… It’s a dangerous journey, I know, but I’ll be all right. I’d like the envoy to be me, Whispersoft.’

  At this everyone seemed to add their own point of view at once.

  ‘Nonsensical doesn’t get too emotional about things.’

  ‘She listens carefully to all the arguments and then uses her common sense to guide her to a conclusion. She’s perfect.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ said Nonsensical. ‘Now, you were telling us the reasons for this meeting, Whispersoft?’

  ‘Yes, like I said, there’s revolution in the air and we Invisibles don’t want to be left out. It could mean goodbye to the nudniks! I’m told by Tostig that the Bookeaters are very excited by it and of course the Savage Tribe are for it.’

  ‘What – what about Ulf and his 13-K?’ asked Ferocious.

  ‘Ahhh, there’s the first difficulty so far, I gather. Ulf and Drenchie have categorically stated they will never join anything in which Gorm has a part. Still, you never know, they might be brought round in the end. Or we can manage without them. Just imagine living in the House without nudniks! Especially if the tribes are at peace. The nudniks would take the cats and the dog and we could wander where we wished, without fear…’

  Many of the mice were overwhelmed into silence by the very idea of such anarchy.

  Timorous said, ‘You don’t expect Kellog and Merciful to go too, do you?’

  Whispersoft replied loudly, ‘I have plans for dealing with Merciful.’

  A gasp went through the Invisibles. A mouse? Taking on an owl? Was this possible?

  ‘I can’t reveal too much at the moment,’ said Whispersoft importantly.

  ‘My backside,’ growled Timorous. ‘You? Fight with Merciful? The idea is pathetic. When you come up with a plan to kill Merciful, I’ll leave the House, I promise you. And what about Kellog? Have you got plans for him too?’

  ‘Kellog is involved in my scheme for getting rid of Merciful,’ replied Whispersoft smugly. ‘I’ll tell you that much even now.’

  ‘I wonder if Kellog knows that?’ muttered Timorous, but the meeting was beginning to break up in sheer excitement, and no-one was taking any notice of him except Ferocious, who kept nodding and saying quietly, ‘I’m with you, Timorous.’

  Timorous looked at him disgustedly. ‘You’d better be, you little insect, or I’ll bite your ears off.’

  Suddenly, there was another shape alongside Timorous, and a voice hissed in his ear, ‘If anything happens to my Nonsensical, I’ll come looking for you, Timorous.’

  Timorous remained unruffled by this threat. ‘Well, I’ll be here, Goingdownfast. Bring an extra set of teeth with you, because you’ll need them.’

  Goingdownfast glared at him. ‘Just you remember what I’m saying. It’ll be to the death. Only one of us will walk away afterwards.’

  ‘Get lost, waterbaby,’ snapped Timorous, rolling his frosted eye. ‘I’ve no more time for you. Come back when you’re ready to use teeth instead of words.’

  ‘I will, you can be sure of that.’

  Then Goingdownfast was gone, like mist in a draught, and Ferocious was left with chattering teeth, wondering if he was going to get caught up in the conflict between his friend Timorous and the determined Goingdownfast. He wanted nothing to do with such combat, which was against tribal laws and would surely result in the victor being banished. Anyway it sounded as if a greater conflict now lay ahead and they should all be concentrating on that.

  Ferocious wandered away from the meeting with a troubled mind. This business about getting rid of the nudniks was frightening to him. It was true he was frightened by most things – he was a coward, that was a fact to him – but in this case it wasn’t so much that he was concerned for himself, as for the whole nation, the several tribes. The existing order. He had the feeling that the whole House was heading towards a disaster. These feelings had come over him before and they had always turned out to be right.

  But what could he do about it? Could he go up to Whispersoft and say, ‘Look, Whispersoft old chap, I’ve got this sort of funny feeling about chasing out the nudniks. I don’t think we ought to do it.’

  Oh, sure, that would work all right, thought Ferocious. He’d only get swung round by his tail and thrown into the water tank to toughen him up. That was the trouble with being a sensitive creature like himself. No one took you seriously, no one thought you had the general good at heart. They all thought you were scared sick of something happening to you, which was also true, sad to say. They didn’t realize that you could be worrying about them, as well as yourself.

  He was too sensitive for his own good. All his life he had been teased and tormented for it. When he was a youngster the other mice would exclude him from their games, make fun of him with jibes and taunts, and generally make his life miserable. It was an old story, with an old result. Ferocious had withdrawn into himself, kept his own company, and consequently he thought about things far more deeply than other mice. He was also far more sensitive to possible threats to the environment in which they all lived.

  He now saw that environment under threat, from these new plans of Gorm-the-old. He couldn’t say anything though. Gorm was about as sensitive as a house brick. It would be easier to reason with Eyeball, than get Gorm to understand how he felt. Anyway his main worry was bound to antagonize the Savage Tribe leader, so Ferocious had to voice it to himself. ‘Where is there one among us,’ he fretted, ‘who would even be capable of leading us through revolt to freedom?’

  Deep in thought, Ferocious wandered over the whole of the three attics, amongst cardboard boxes full of old nudnik junk. He moved like a phantom, using the deep shadows as camouflage. Coward he might be, but he was still an Invisible, and he had the power of cloaking himself with the darkness. When you lived under the eye of Merciful, you became as silent and indiscernible as a wraith, or you died a horrible death. Finally, he settled down to rest in a box of cotton wool, containing one or two cheap trinkets. The cotton wool was soft and reassuring, and he let himself drift away into sleep.

  When he woke, he felt thirsty. There was only one place to get water, so he travelled across the floors to the water tank, hoping that Kellog was away. Kellog always made him very nervous, so that he bolted his water and often ended up choking. Not that Kellog had ever touched him, for the roof rat was very choosy about his enemies. It seemed that enemies were very special to Kellog. If you weren’t an enemy, then you were nothing at all. It wasn’t that he liked mice like Ferocious, he was simply indifferent to them.

  Ferocious reached the water tank and was dismayed to see Kellog lying on the far edge of the tank. However, there was a raging thirst in the back of his throat and he knew he had to drink or die. Cautiously he crept up to the edge of the tank, only to find that the waterline was low and that he would have to drop into the tank to drink.

  After hesitating for a long while, Ferocious finally fell into the water with a little plop. He came to the surface and trod water, looking anxiously towards Kellog. The big roof rat had not moved an eyelid. Ferocious drank quickly.

  Once he had satisfied his thirst, he crawled out of the tank, on to the lip and shook himself. Still the dark shape of the rat had not changed a hair since Ferocious had first arrived on the scene. Then suddenly, Kellog turned his great head. The piercing eyes stared across the slate-black darkness of the water. Ferocious shivered violently as he felt those eyes boring into him. Yet could he turn himself away? He was transfixed to the spot, staring at the monster on the other side.

  Monster was right. Kellog was immense. A solid plumb-bob shaped creature ridged with iron-hard muscles. His terrible jaws had been known to crack the bones of the strongest wood mouse. Kellog maimed and ki
lled, not wantonly, but with individual intent. He did not eat adult mice, but he certainly had no compunction about attacking them.

  Ferocious stood and trembled under the terrible gaze.

  ‘What are you looking at, you ant?’ the rat said harshly, in a tone that sounded as if his throat had been roughened by recently eating sandpaper.

  The wood mouse’s teeth clattered together. ‘No-nothing, Kellog.’

  ‘Then go, before I give you something to stare at. You want to be looking at your own spilled guts, do you?’

  ‘N-n-no Kellog.’

  Ferocious was still frozen to the spot with the horror of the situation and it seemed certain that at any moment Kellog was going to dive into the tank and chase him. Still, he could not move, his legs refused to obey the clanging commands of his brain, to run, run, run, run, run.

  Kellog shifted slightly on his perch, then in a very ugly voice, said, ‘And you can tell Goingdownfast from me that he’s as good as dead. I’m going to kill him before the autumn. I’m going to tear his limbs off, rip his head off, and scatter the spare parts all over the attic. You tell him that from Kellog.’

  At last movement came to Ferocious’s extremities and he turned and scurried away over the floorbeams, wondering what his fellow wood mouse had done to Kellog the roof rat, and glad, just glad, that his own name was Ferocious, and not Goingdownfast.

  CAMEMBERT

  PHART AND FLEGM CONFRONTED TUNNELLER. FLEGM was gibbering with fright. Phart was made of sterner stuff than the other half of his tribe and was merely trembling. He was standing high-nose, holding some unidentifiable scrap in his claws. He could smell the arrowhead shape of the shrew in the darkness and his whiskers twitched with apprehension as he spoke.

  ‘We’ve brought you some meat,’ he said to Tunneller. ‘You got to let us through.’

  ‘Got to?’ cried the little shrew, her deadly shape ready to leap one of her famous leaps. ‘Got to?’