Iban drew himself up. ‘You’ll have to kill me then.’
Tunneller narrowed her eyes. ‘How about I just beat you black and blue and send you back inside with your tail between your legs?’
‘That’s no good,’ sighed Iban. ‘What about if I was to promise you a piece of cheese later?’
‘What about if I was to bite your ear for you?’
‘I’m good at Ik-to,’ warned Iban.
‘I’m willing to let you try,’ snarled Tunneller, who never took kindly to threats.
Iban sighed again. He could smell the outside world from where he stood. Primroses and cherry-plum leaves. The fresh air with all its dangers was just a few snaky tunnels away, providing he didn’t get lost down some of the blind alleys. Tunneller was like some rock blocking his right to suicide. It was always so difficult to get out of the House, if you weren’t a kitchen mouse and very rich.
Eventually, he saw it was no use and turned around and went back up into the House, unhappily admitting defeat.
While he was emerging from the Gwenllian Hole, a nudnik came out of the living-room and strode down the hallway. Iban watched as the nudnik went to the front door of the House, opened it with one quick movement, stepped outside and shut the door behind it. It was done so easily, so effortlessly, it made Iban gasp with frustration. A journey to the outside world was made so hard for a mouse! It all seemed so unfair.
TOMME AU RAISIN
PEDLAR WAS OF COURSE ALLOWED FREE PASSAGE through the territory of the Savage Tribe, to the hole leading to the lean-to woodshed. Some of the kitchen mice stayed around, to watch him go through, certain he would not be making the return trip. Pedlar noticed how plump and well-fed they looked and thought to himself, We’ll all look like that soon.
When he reached the hole there was a general forward surge from the crowd, which now gathered around his point of departure. There was an air of anticipation about the kitchen mice. Ulf had promised to attack in person any mouse not of the 13-K Gang who entered the woodshed uninvited. They would not be able to see such a show, but they might be able to hear it if they were close enough. Ghoulish lot, thought Pedlar, waiting to hear my screams.
Pedlar stopped at the entrance to the hole and called to the sentry on the other side.
‘Hello in there! Pedlar the Hedgerow yellow-neck, here. I’m coming in.’
There was a commotion on the other side of the hole, then a voice cried out, ‘How many of you?’
‘Just one,’ Pedlar replied.
‘One will come in, but many will leave,’ sniggered the same voice.
For a second Pedlar was reminded of the destiny forecast for him by the ancestral voices of his dreams. ‘What does that mean?’ he asked of the nearest kitchen mouse, who happened to be Elfwin.
‘It means you’ll come out in pieces,’ Elfwin told him.
‘Not a good start,’ muttered Pedlar to himself. ‘Well I’m coming in anyway,’ he shouted.
He decided on a quick dash through the hole and found himself ringed by youthful mice on the other side. They were all crouched low-nose, ready to attack him. A quick glance around the woodshed told Pedlar there were others, lounging on the wood piles, in amongst the logs, watching the spectacle.
He did the only thing he could do – he introduced himself as, ‘Pedlar the Outsider come to speak with Ulf the leader of the great 13-K Gang. Otherwise known, out in the far-off Hedgerow, as Ulf-the-cool.’
‘Ulf-the-cool?’ Ulf identified himself in a surprised but pleased tone. ‘They’ve heard of me in the distant Hedgerow?
‘That’s what they call you. Your fame spreads even further than that. It goes way out into the wheatlands, amongst the fieldmice. “Ulf-the-cool”, they say, “best guerrilla fighter this side of the main road”.’
‘Ulf-the-cool,’ said Ulf. ‘I like that. Better than Ulf-the-son-of-Gorm,’ he added darkly. ‘Maybe I’ve got out from under the shadow of my father at last?’
‘I should say so,’ said Pedlar, ‘though unfortunately you’ve inherited his pathetic lack of brains along with his bigotry.’
‘Eh?’ cried Ulf, looking up.
‘Well, what’s the one thing on everyone’s mind right now? The Great Nudnik Drive! Everyone knows it will benefit the whole of the mouse nation within the House, yet here you are, stubborn as hell, refusing to join anything which involves your father.’
‘That’s right,’ growled Ulf.
‘Let me ask you one thing,’ said Pedlar. ‘Do you want access to the great larder?’
‘Of course we do!’ chorused a background circle of mice, answering for their leader.
‘Then why are you fighting Gorm? Why are you against the Great Nudnik Drive? The whole point of it is that we get rid of the nudniks and their pets, so that the contents of the celestial larder can be shared out amongst all mice in the House.’
Ulf shook his head slowly. ‘Do you really believe Gorm is going to share the food with us? Do you think he would ever give us a single crumb of cheese – oh beloved cheese of inestimable worth! – do you? Once we get rid of the nudniks, he’ll start up his old battles again. It’s in his blood. He’s a warmonger, and he’ll never change. I know him. He’s my father. If he doesn’t die with his teeth sunk into an enemy’s flesh, he’ll never get to Assundoon, and believe me he’s determined to go there.’
Pedlar nodded. ‘From what I’ve seen of Gorm-the-old I think there’s something in what you say. However, this is the first time all the tribes have come together, as a house-mouse nation, and the nights when Gorm could count on divided interests are gone. Gorm’s Savages could only survive while the tribes were all at war with one another. If you join us now he’ll have the whole House of tribes to contend with – he won’t be able to keep the larder to himself.’
Ulf turned to his captains, Drenchie and Gunhild, and said, ‘Well?’
Drenchie answered, ‘He’s talking sense.’
Gunhild snapped, ‘My troops are ready at any time – now or in the future. Yes, I think the yellow-neck has got a head on his shoulders.’
The leader of the 13-K Gang did not look entirely convinced.
‘Look,’ Pedlar tried, ‘you’ve said that the reason you won’t join the Great Nudnik Drive is because you don’t trust Gorm. Well, I personally guarantee that Gorm will cause no trouble once the nudniks have gone. If he does, I’ll fight him myself.’
‘You’ll fight Gorm?’ Ulf said. ‘You realize you’ll have to fight his doubles too – Hakon and Tostig, his brothers?’
‘I do realize that,’ said Pedlar, his heart sinking a little, ‘but I give you my word. I will battle Gorm to the death if necessary. Is that good enough?’
Ulf nudged him with his nose in a gesture of friendship.
‘Good enough for me, friend. We’ll join your Great Nudnik Drive as from tonight.’
The rest of the 13-K suddenly came to life and dropped from the wood pile, crowding around Pedlar and Ulf, cheering. They had lived on the edge of starvation for so long, this was like a dream opening up before them. Whiskers were preened, tails were flicked, noses began twitching in expectation of the wonderful gorging which lay ahead.
When the clamour had subsided a little, Pedlar said to Ulf, ‘Well, you’d better come and see Gorm…’
Suddenly Ulf’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘You want me to come and see Gorm – alone?’
Pedlar nodded. ‘Well, that’s the whole idea, isn’t it? That you make peace with the kitchen mice. Then we can forge ahead all together.’
‘It’s a trap,’ snapped Gunhild. ‘Send me instead, Ulf. I’ll choose three good mice and go in—’
‘No,’ said Pedlar. ‘It’s got to be Ulf. Just me and Ulf. If you trust me, then you should have no fear. If not, then I go back and tell them I’ve failed.’
Ulf stared into Pedlar’s eyes for a long time and then he let out a determined-sounding sigh. ‘I don’t know why, but I do trust you, yellow-neck. I just hope it’s not going to be the de
ath of me. Come on, let’s go.’ He gave the crowd a twisted expression. ‘I’m dying to see their faces anyway, when we step through that hole together, into the kitchen.’
The 13-K Gang cheered again, as Pedlar and Ulf walked to the hole.
The Savage Tribe were still clustered around their side of the hole. They all moved back a little when the handsome young 13-K buck stepped out of it. Pedlar followed.
The two of them stood there, under the glare of the crowd, when suddenly a voice roared from the rear.
‘Out of the way, out of the way,’ and there stood Gorm, his gnarled features wearing a triumphant expression. He stared at his rebellious son with hard glinting eyes. There was the anticipation of revenge in that face.
Pedlar said, ‘We have an agreement from the 13-K Gang – peace amongst the whole nation – Ulf is here to ratify the terms of the treaty.’
These words were ignored as Gorm rushed past Pedlar and confronted his son.
‘At last!’ snarled Gorm, baring his teeth at his son. ‘Grab him. Grab the dissident! At last I’ve got you, you little runt!’
Some of the Savage Tribe warriors began to move forward, but Pedlar spoke. When he did so it was with an authority that was rare in a Hedgerow mouse and which reflected the great strides he had taken since being singled out by the spirits of his ancestors. ‘Stop!’ he shouted, ‘I’ve given my word. If you do this Gorm, you’ll have all the tribes of the House on your head. They all heard you tell me to negotiate a peace with your son.’
‘If we kill you too, no one will know about it, will they?’ said Gorm.
‘We will,’ cried a voice, ‘and you can be sure, very sure Gorm, that you won’t get away with a thing.’
All heads turned to see I-kucheng and Skrang standing together with Iban. Three Deathshead. One Deathshead alone could take on a dozen Savages. It would have to be brave kitchen warriors who would take on three of them.
Gorm scowled at the Deathshead and then turned to face Ulf. ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself… son?’
The last word was delivered with heavy sarcasm.
‘What have I got to say? You offered me a truce and here I am. Of course, I knew you wouldn’t keep your word – you never do. But Pedlar here persuaded me that you had somehow changed, that you were now a leader with a sense of honour. I was stupid to think he might be right, but then I take after you for brains…’
‘Oh, stop your yattering,’ growled Gorm, ‘you’re worse than a natterjack, you always were. A truce it is then.’
‘Good,’ said I-kucheng. ‘It’s what we’ve always hoped for, that the Savage Tribe and the 13-K Gang should come together—’
At that moment there was the sound of heavy footfalls and then the kitchen was flooded with light. Mice scattered in all directions. Ulf and Pedlar shot through a gap between the sink unit and the wall. Others found places of safety within a split second.
A nudnik in night attire padded across the kitchen floor, its cavernous mouth yawning. It reached the larder door and opened it, going inside. It emerged a few moments later with a huge slice of cake and a bottle of milk. The milk was guzzled down in hasty gulps – enough to satisfy two dozen mice – and then the cake was crammed into the enormous mouth.
There followed some shuffling around near the sink. From his hiding place Pedlar could see a massive bare foot not a couple of lengths away from his nose. It was an offensive object of hard cracked skin underneath, soft wrinkled skin on top, and carrying a peculiar odour. The tops of the toes were covered in coarse, curling hair, which gave them the appearance of being individual live creatures, captured and enslaved by the great ugly foot itself. The nails were chipped and dirty and there were callouses and a huge bunion decorating the edges.
Pedlar had a strong urge to rush out and bite this monster, to drive it away. It offended him so much. As other mice had told him and he had subsequently discovered for himself, when a nudnik was so close it was difficult to think of it as a single creature. Its parts were so gross one thought of it as an amalgam of several grotesque creatures, who had got together for purposes known only to themselves, and merely functioned as one animal. This was the closest he had ever been to an adult nudnik. The whole thing was revolting!
The foot moved away after a while and then came the slapping sound of bare soles on tiles.
Finally the light went out again.
Mice emerged from their hiding places.
‘Did you see that?’ growled Gorm. ‘It just ate enough for an army. We’ve got to get rid of them.’
Pedlar shuddered. ‘That smell!’
‘And that’s just its feet,’ remarked Hakon, who was standing near to Pedlar. ‘You should whiff its breath. Why I was standing on a shelf once, and—’
Hakon never finished the sentence. He gave out a sudden strangled scream and was gone, whisked upwards by a mighty force that Pedlar could now smell, though he still couldn’t see it. The grotesque had been replaced by the horrible. When the nudnik had left the kitchen and returned it to darkness, it had not closed the door behind it, and a blue-grey beast had entered swiftly and snatched Hakon from the floor in one lightning grab.
Mice scattered again, their ears ringing with Hakon’s desperate screams of ‘Help me! Somebody help me! Ahhhhggggghhh!’
But Hakon was gone. He was still alive, still unbroken, but it was best to try to forget him. To shut one’s ears to the terrible screams, close one’s mind from the torture, the sound of pain. Some of the mice were now even talking about mundanities, albeit in strained voices, for nothing could be done to save Hakon.
Hakon was in the jaws of Eyeball, whose eyes could now be seen glittering, as she lay on the kitchen tiles with the wriggling mouse securely in her mouth, clasped lightly with her teeth. At some time, perhaps not too soon, those teeth would close and crush Hakon to death. Perhaps in a few moments she would toss him around, flick his terrified form with her paws, pin him to the ground with a pawful of needles. But for now she was happy to stare triumphantly into the darkness.
I am a killer of mice, her eyes seemed to be saying, I am invincible, invulnerable, almighty.
And so she was. There was no force greater in the world of a mouse. The cat was death itself, as sure as a heart attack or the severing of a head. She was descended from heaven, ascended from hell, and untouchable.
I am a terrible god, all powerful, without pity or favour. Look on my countenance ye puny rodents, and despair.
But they did not despair. They simply tuned out the cat from their thoughts, considered other things, discussed the coming Revolution, current intrigues, tribal affairs, but not the lack of compassion in a cat.
Some while later, they heard the crunching of bones and gave a blessed collective sigh. Hakon’s worldly cares were over. Gorm was short of one brother, one double. When the commiserations came to him, he replied typically, ‘Well, I have little need of doubles these nights, there being no wars, so it’s no great loss – but thank you for the sentiments anyway.’
Life emerged once again, moved around, filled the rooms, and Hakon was now but a tragic blemish in the history of the House. Hakon was either amongst the cheeses of heaven, or the rotten whiffs of hell, and there was an end.
PART TWO
The Great Nudnik Drive
MOZZARELLA
THE BOILER WAS LIT IN THE KITCHEN AND IN THE outside world Old Man’s Beard covered the Hedgerow: the word went from mouse to mouse that the season had changed. The Outsiders sent the message to the Insiders, and the Insiders sent the message to the Outsiders. It was time. The Revolution was ready to boil over and spill throughout the great House. The whisper went from mouth to mouth, from nest to nest, from tribe to tribe. And all the tribes rose up as one nation, joining together under a single cause, that cause being true and just. Mice came out of their holes, out of the darkness, into the light.
The Great Nudnik Drive began.
This necessitated a great deal of to-ing and fro-ing, expos
ing mice to more risk than normal. The cats were instinctively aware of the increased activity and they responded in like fashion. Spitz was less alert than Eyeball, but they both became intensely vigilant.
According to the particular role that had been allocated them, each tribe went into motion.
The Bookeaters began chewing the electric cables that ran below the floorboards and between the ceiling and the upper storey.
The Savages bit through sacks of flour, spilled bags of beans, opened up barrels of grain.
The Deathshead gnawed on gas pipes.
The 13-K, rebels that they were, created havoc in the neutral cupboards and drawers, gnawing clothes.
The Invisibles attacked the water pipes in the attics, hoping to cause a great flood.
The Stinkhorns were forced into the living-room and parlour by Gorm and there they hid, trembling, under a china cabinet until it was time to go back down to the cellar again.
Even Kellog fell in with the spirit of the thing, by poisoning the water tank with dead slugs, worms, snails, weeds, vomit, rodent droppings and unidentifiable slimy things. He liked putrefaction and stench. It gave him great satisfaction to make things start to rot and smell. He enjoyed watching the water turn an ugly yellowish colour and begin to grow grey things on the bottom of the tank. He liked stagnancy. This fitted in with the philosophy of his kind and with the places in which they chose to live: sewers and cesspits.
With the progress of the Great Nudnik Drive, Kellog’s arrogance began to increase. He saw his future as being one of great power. Once the Revolution was over and the nudniks were gone, he would be the undisputed master of the House. Kellog began to fall under the influence of his own ego, believing himself to be chosen of the gods, the king of rats.
One night he broke his own rule by squeezing through Claude’s Hole and going into the House proper. The beleaguered nudniks were all asleep and the cats, he knew from reports by the mice, were both out in the garden. The mice were all busy of course, nibbling away at this pipe, or gnawing away at that cable. Kellog strode along the landing as if he already owned it and the nudniks had all fled to the far side of nowhere.
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