‘I’ll bet that wasn’t complimentary,’ muttered Pedlar.
There was a sniffling sound from the corner and Pedlar turned to see that Flegm was still there.
Flegm choked, ‘I didn’t do nothin’. I never even knew he’d done that about the cheese.’
‘Done what – did what?’ asked Pedlar, suspiciously.
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Flegm said. ‘I never had nothin’ to do with it. I just went for the magic mushrooms, then I had to climb up the drainpipe in that bleedin’ awful dark and muck, and then I was attacked by Merciful—’
‘You were no such thing,’ Ferocious interrupted. ‘If you’d been attacked, you wouldn’t be here.’
‘Nearly attacked,’ corrected Flegm. ‘It was whisker close, I can tell you. Maybe even closer. I—’
‘Flegm?’ came a voice out the depths of the attics. ‘You comin’ or what?’
Flegm went to the exit hole of the nest. ‘Get lost, you rotten slug!’ he shouted. Then he came back inside and said to the other two, ‘You got to let me stay now – he’ll beat the shades out of me if I go out there.’
So Flegm was allowed to remain with Ferocious and Pedlar, though the latter was not really happy at cohabiting with either of the cellar mice.
Pedlar was intrigued by Ferocious. The wood mouse had been worried by the commotion in his nest, but he had been firm and resolute about his rights as the owner. Pedlar was beginning to wonder whether Ferocious was as cowardly as he actually gave the impression he was. Moreover, it was unusual for a mouse to share his stored food. Most mice, Pedlar included, ate what they could find, without a thought for others – unless they were family of course – and hoarded food in secret places, with no intention of sharing.
Pedlar was beginning to suspect there was more to Ferocious than other mice believed.
While Flegm gobbled away at Ferocious’s provisions, the host asked Pedlar, ‘What do you think about this business of driving out the nudniks? Do you think it’s a good idea?’
Pedlar couldn’t help being excited by the idea of mouse-rule but he tried to weigh up his response carefully. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘there’s all that food in the kitchen larder which would be ours. Some mice have reservations, I understand. There’s a priestess or something, called Astrid, who foretells famine – and one or two others who are uneasy – but most mice think it’s a good idea.’
‘Yes, it does sound like the answer, doesn’t it? I’m – I’m afraid I’m one of the uneasy ones though. Drastic change bothers me. You never know what’s going to come after, do you?’
‘Lots of ruddy grub, that’s what,’ Flegm interrupted, speaking with his mouth full and spraying the other two. ‘I’m goin’ to eat cheese till I’m sick.’
‘What happens when the larder’s empty?’ asked Pedlar. ‘Has anyone thought of that?’
‘It never is,’ replied Ferocious. ‘It sort of keeps going, filling itself up as it goes on. I don’t know how it works.’
‘A bit like growing veg and stuff,’ said Flegm. ‘You know, cabbages, carrots and stuff comes every year, sometimes twice, out in the gardin. That’s what happens in the great larder – it grows itself all the time.’
Pedlar, used to the countryside producing food, except in certain seasons, said, ‘What about the winter? I’ve only been here in the summer, but does the munificent larder stop growing food in the winter?’
‘No, it still keeps growin’ itself,’ replied Flegm. ‘That’s cos it’s warm in the House, what with the boiler and radiators and all. That’s what stops the growin’ Outside – the cold weather, the ice and whatnot. In the House it’s warm as anythink.’
Ferocious said, ‘I’m inclined to agree with Flegm. Conditions in the House are not like Outside during the winter. It is always warm in here. This would account for the lavish larder being full all the year round.’
‘Well,’ said Pedlar, ‘it looks as if Gorm’s plan is unstoppable now, so we’ll find out in the end.’
When Flegm had finished stuffing himself, Ferocious sent him on his way. Then Ferocious and Pedlar went to an attic meeting to hear Nonsensical speak. She informed her tribe of what had taken place at the Allthing and opinions were sought.
While the tribe was deep into discussion, Pedlar took the opportunity of looking around and studying its members. There was Whispersoft, who was the leader: a very down-to-earth character, a bit like a male Nonsensical. Pedlar recognized Whispersoft as the mouse who had saved him from the mousetrap. Then there was Timorous, who seemed to be the main dissenter, and though he did not speak as loudly as Whispersoft, he certainly spoke at more length and with great passion. Goingdownfast was also much in evidence, usually arguing hotly with some other mouse.
There were also two does who seemed to be in each other’s company: Ferocious had introduced them to him as Fallingoffthings and Treadlightly. Treadlightly was one of the few yellow-necks amongst the Invisibles. The two females were standing fairly close to Pedlar and Tread-lightly kept looking across at the new yellow-neck, then turning away when he looked back. They were both acutely aware they were under observation by each other.
Skrang and I-kucheng were also present. The two Deathshead seemed to be quite deeply involved in the affair.
Having already borne the brunt of Goingdownfast’s annoyance, Pedlar was not surprised to see this mouse constantly locked in loud conflict with another mouse, whose name appeared to be Timorous. The two Invisibles seemed to hate each other with venom and constantly attacked each other’s suggestions, often rowing furiously over trivial matters. In fact several times the leader, Whispersoft, had to step between them to calm the scene. Other mice were obviously tired of the feud between the two males, especially Nonsensical, who kept trying to distract her mate to stop him from making a fool of himself.
It was an embarrassing situation, which Pedlar realized had been going on for some time. At one point, Timorous muttered, ‘One of these hours I’ll see you dead!’ This caused a few shocked gasps amongst the listeners and earned the speaker a rebuke from his leader.
While the meeting was going on, Pedlar couldn’t help wondering how mice like these would ever achieve revolution when they couldn’t stop bickering among themselves for five minutes. He took the opportunity of washing himself down, licking his fur where he could reach, and generally cleaning himself up, which included nipping out a flea or two. This was in no way considered a breach of etiquette: a lot of the mice were doing the same. One could listen, take part, and still use the time usefully. And once the meeting was over, even with revolution in the air, there would still be nest-building and food-gathering to do. Where there was a family there would be young to suckle and much fetching and carrying. The hours were short and mice are busy creatures, always active in the pursuit of comfort.
‘Shall I do the places you can’t reach?’ said a voice near him, and Pedlar turned to see that it was Treadlightly who had spoken.
Fallingoffthings gasped, and said, ‘Treadlightly! He’s a stranger! How could you?’
Treadlightly took no notice of her friend, nor waited for any answer, but proceeded to lick and nip away at the fur which Pedlar could not reach with his own tongue and teeth.
She was quite efficient, there being no sense that she was acting too familiar, and when she had finished, she said, ‘There, that’s much better isn’t it? What happened to your tail?’
Pedlar swished his tail and glanced behind him. ‘Oh, that? Got caught in a mousetrap.’
‘Such a beautiful tail too! Us yellow-necks have the best tails, next to harvest mice of course. You can’t beat a harvest mouse’s tail, can you?’
‘No, you can’t. The way they use them to hang on to things is quite remarkable,’ agreed Pedlar.
They were being awfully polite to one another. Tread-lightly kept getting nudges from Fallingoffthings, especially when Pedlar asked if he could return the favour, and clean her fur for her. Treadlightly declined with thanks, saying that her friend
had already been of assistance earlier in the hour.
The meeting broke up after agreement was reached that the Invisibles would indeed go along with Gorm’s plan. There was to be peace amongst the tribes for the first time in many nights. When the Traveller’s Joy finally became Old Man’s Beard and the boiler was lit behind the kitchen, then the Great Nudnik Drive would begin. Until that time they were to live their lives and not bother each other, each tribe preparing in its own way for the great freedom that lay ahead.
‘It’ll be strange not hearing “Assundoon” ringing about the House,’ said Ferocious.
‘What exactly is that?’ asked Pedlar. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It’s – it’s the Otherworld of the Savage Tribe, the place they go to when they die. They use it as a battle cry. However, the rules about getting there are quite strict. You have to die with your teeth meeting through the flesh of an enemy.’
‘Not many make it then?’
‘You’d be surprised,’ muttered Ferocious. ‘They’re – they’re a barbaric lot. I’m amazed they’ve agreed to this peace, or truce, or whatever it is. Gorm and his tribe seem to like nothing better than sinking their teeth into other mice.’
The crowd broke up, Treadlightly going off with her friend, but giving Pedlar a last glance over her shoulder. Pedlar watched her go, while continuing his conversation with his host.
‘What’s the Deathshead’s interest in all this? I thought they ate nothing but stale crumbs,’ said Pedlar.
Ferocious said, ‘That’s true, but they go along with the general currents and tides of House affairs. They don’t seek to control, only to be involved in the natural flow of life, so that they can guide us in our endeavours. I-kucheng would never say, “You must do this” or “You must do that”, like Stone would, for example. But he would suggest that one path to the same goal might be better than another.
‘The Deathshead are our spiritual navigators, our mentors, our advisors. They steer us gently down the rivers of morality: they direct us when we lose our way.’
Pedlar said dubiously, ‘Sounds very much like control to me, but then I’m not really one of you.’
‘No,’ agreed Ferocious kindly, ‘you’re an Outsider. It’s hard for Outsiders to understand.’
‘By the way,’ said Pedlar casually. ‘That doe, Treadlightly – does she – does she have a mate?’
Ferocious frowned. ‘Our clumsy-footed Treadlightly? No, I don’t think she does. She’s a yellow-neck, of course. Didn’t want to be a Deathshead, so she lives with us. Whispersoft is the one with the most mates, and it’s he who takes his pick, being the leader of the tribe, but I don’t think… why? What’s the problem?’
‘No problem, no problem. Just curious, that’s all. I noticed her with that Fallingoffthings, and just wondered, that’s all. The pair of them seemed to be quite close.’
‘Oh, they are. Good friends. Do you – do you, er, want me to speak to Treadlightly about – er – anything?’
Pedlar snatched at his own tail and subjected it to close scrutiny, as if concerned about its condition.
‘No, no. Just wondered, that was all. Just wondered. Just curious, nothing more. Just curious.’
‘Well, that’s all right then,’ said Ferocious.
‘Yes, just wondering. Just curious.’
‘That’s fine.’
After that Pedlar watched a mouse crawl down a glassless brass telescope, while another used a rafter to leap into a rusty coal-scuttle. There were nests in every hanging valley, on every hill. The attic was indeed a magic place, full of arcane landforms and contours, lanced by dusty spears of sunlight – a gloaming world – a high penumbral country with its one still lake.
TALEGGIO
Some hours after the meeting to discuss the Great Nudnik Drive, Kellog made his attack on his enemy. He had been waiting, biding his time, planning his plans, ever since he had sworn to kill Goingdownfast. A patient rat, but not willing to wait until doomsnight to obtain his revenge, Kellog had watched the activity amongst the Invisibles with curiosity tempered with caution. The roof rat had long since ceased to allow inquisitiveness to dominate his actions. Such behaviour could cause self-injury and death, and Kellog wanted to live for ever.
Kellog’s body was nothing now but a lump of gristle and muscle held together by bones. Kellog’s mind was nothing now but a corroded mentality held together by instinctive self-preservation. Kellog’s soul was nothing now but a dry spirit held together by hot thoughts of reprisals.
Kellog was steeped in the bitter juices of his own hatred of arrogant mice.
‘I will have him,’ said the roof rat quietly to himself, several times a night. ‘I will eat his brains.’
After the meeting had reached its historic decision and terminated, mice went out looking for food, and it was then that Kellog made his move. He picked his target and followed behind, cautiously, tracking more by instinct than by sight, smell or sound. The Invisibles were not easy to stalk, even if one had been marked out. Kellog had to watch for changing patterns of light, and catch the smell of stirred dust, to sense the direction of his prey.
The keeper of the lake came from a line of brilliant trackers, his ancestors having had to survive long sea voyages in overcrowded conditions. In those nights, aboard ship, his great-greats killed mice for food, rather than for revenge. Their skills had been passed down to him, through racial memory. The stalking rat was in his veins, and he used his intuitive talents to the full.
Moreover, he too could use light and shadow, mask his scent and tread with the softness of a spider running over a cobweb. He too was invisible and soundless.
Just when the unsuspecting mouse was entering a hole in the loft floor, Kellog leapt, and sank his teeth into the throat of his victim. Even though the neck was broken instantly, Kellog shook the corpse savagely, his blood-lust high and his mind a red haze of sweet revenge. The mouse’s head lolled and the teeth rattled in the jaws, as Kellog allowed his delighted fury full rein.
Then he flung the body high in the air, to let it drop with a small thud on to the boards. Kellog stared triumphantly at his dead enemy, at the lifeless corpse of what used to be the arrogant and insolent Goingdownfast, now brought low in the dust.
Except that it was not, after all, Goingdownfast.
The mouse Kellog had killed indeed looked very much like Goingdownfast – in fact it was his brother, Miserable. Not only did they look like one another, their movements were also the same, their method of walking identical. Kellog had killed the wrong wood mouse.
The bitter disappointment rose like bile to the roof rat’s throat as he turned the corpse over several times, hoping he was mistaken. But it was indeed, the body of Miserable. Kellog was so disgusted with the mouse, he bit it savagely on the breast, despite the fact that it was already dead. Then he slunk away, back to his nest, to plan fresh plans.
SAMSOE
The Invisibles survived in an attic which was home to an owl because they had unerring judgement, not of time, but of light and shadow. Merciful was a creature of habit, who rested during the days, and hunted during the nights. She came and went according to the light of the evenings, the greys of the mornings. A cloud-covered sky would have her leaving the attics earlier than normal, or arriving before her usual time. She flew according to the density of the gloaming.
The Invisibles could judge the flight-times of Merciful by the thickness of the shadows, the texture of the light. They were tuned and locked to the mind of Merciful. If they too had had wings, were predatory birds, they would have stirred their feathers at precisely the same time as Merciful.
They did indeed stir when she stirred, returned to their nests when she returned to the attics. They knew the cryptic ways of the owl as well as they knew their own hearts. They lived and survived under her cold stare.
The death of Miserable had come just before the return of Merciful. Consequently his body was not found until several hours later. The mouse who discovered th
e remains of Goingdownfast’s brother did not need to be a detective to decide who had perpetrated the deed. There were thick, coarse, dark hairs on the corpse – rat hairs. And the punctures in Miserable’s throat were too large to be those of a mouse.
Goingdownfast, on learning of his brother’s death, knew that a mistake had occurred. His heart was heavy, since he knew it should be himself lying in the dust.
No one removed the body of course, for mice do not inter their dead like some creatures. Once the spirit has gone, the corpse is left to dry to a husk, or be eaten by predators. The mouse itself lives on, in others, and is thus revered. ‘Miserable used to say that,’ it would be remarked upon, or, ‘That’s the way Miserable used to twitch his ears.’
‘So, Kellog,’ Goingdownfast said to himself. ‘So. We’ll see. Great Nudnik Drive or no Great Nudnik Drive, first there has to be a reckoning. There has to be a reckoning for all such deeds.’
And a reckoning there would be.
BÛCHE DE CHÈVRE
ADARK SHAPE SLIPPED ACROSS A BEAM IN THE ATTIC, making its way towards the water tank. Kellog caught a slight change in the consistency of the light, and knew something was out there, something was approaching his precious water. He stared out through the hole in his nest, watching and waiting. The Invisibles knew he was always home at this hour and it did not make sense that they should disturb him at his rest. They valued their lives.
Unless! Kellog peered, searching the darkness. Unless it was a mouse come to do him harm? Come to avenge the death of a brother? Kellog recalled his small error, still not amended, in killing Miserable when he had meant to kill Goingdownfast. Would that mouse dare attack him in his own nest?
The mouse who was approaching the water tank was now in view. Kellog could see its shape, smell its scent, hear the scratching of its claws on wood. It was not Goingdownfast. It was in fact Goingdownfast’s enemy, Timorous. Kellog prepared to launch himself into the water at a moment’s notice.
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