To take them Home.
And while they waited, Masklin thought, we forgot all about them, we forgot everything about ourselves, and lived in holes in the ground.
He knew what he had to do. It was, of course, an impossible task. But he was used to impossible tasks. Dragging a rat all the way from the woods to the hole had been an impossible task. But it wasn’t impossible to drag it a little way, so you did that, and then you had a rest, and then you dragged it a little way again. . . . The way to deal with an impossible task was to chop it down into a number of merely very difficult tasks, and break each one of them into a group of horribly hard tasks, and each one of them into tricky jobs, and each one of them . . .
Probably the hardest job of all was to make nomes understand what they once were and could be again.
He did have a plan. Well, it had started off as the Thing’s plan, but he’d turned it over and over in his mind so much, he felt it belonged to him. It was probably an impossible plan. But he’d never know unless he tried it.
Gurder was still watching him cautiously.
“Er,” Masklin said. “This plan . . .”
“Yes?” said Gurder.
“The Abbot told me that the Stationeri have always tried to make nomes work together and stop squabbling,” said Masklin.
“That has always been our desire, yes.”
“This plan will mean they’ll have to work together.”
“Good.”
“Only I don’t think you’re going to like it much,” said Masklin.
“That’s unfair! How can you make assumptions like that?”
“I think you’ll laugh at it,” said Masklin.
“The only way to find out is to tell me,” said Gurder.
Masklin told him. When Gurder was over the shock, he laughed and laughed.
And then he looked at Masklin’s face, and stopped.
“You’re not serious?” he said.
“Let me put it like this,” said Masklin. “Have you got a better plan? Will you support me?”
“But how will you—how can nomes—is it even possible that we can—?” Gurder began.
“We’ll find a way,” said Masklin. “With Arnold Bros (est. 1905)’s help, of course,” he added diplomatically.
“Oh. Of course,” said Gurder weakly. He pulled himself together. “Anyway, if I’m to be the new Abbot, I have to make a speech,” he said. “It’s expected. General messages of goodwill and so on. We can talk about this later. Reflect upon it at leisure in the sober surroundings of—”
Masklin shook his head. Gurder swallowed.
“You mean now?” he said.
“Yes. Now. We tell them now.”
8
I. And the leaders of the nomes were Assembled, and the Abbot Gurder said unto them, Harken to the Words of the Outsider;
II. And some waxed wroth, saying, He is an Outsider, wherefor then shall we harken to him?
III. The Abbot Gurder said, Because the old Abbot wished it so. Yea, and because I wish it so, also.
IV. Whereupon they grumbled, but were silent.
V. The Outsider said, Concerning the Rumors of Demolition, I have a Plan.
VI. Let us not go like Woodlice fleeing from an overturned log, but like Brave Free People, at a time of our choosing.
VII. And they interrupted him, saying, What’s Woodlice? Whereupon the Outsider said, All right, Rats.
VIII. Let us take with us the things that we need to begin our life anew Outside, not in some other Store, but under the sky. Let us take all nomes, the aged and the young, and all the food and materials and information that we need.
IX. And they said, All? And he said, All. And they said unto him, We cannot do this thing. . . .
From The Book of Nome, Third Floor v. I–IX
“YES, WE CAN,” said Masklin. “If we steal a truck.”
There was a dead silence.
The Count de Ironmongri raised an eyebrow.
“The big smelly things with wheels at each corner?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Masklin. All eyes were on him. He felt himself beginning to blush.
“The nome’s a fool!” snapped the Duke de Haberdasheri. “Even if the Store were in danger, and I see no reason, no reason I say, to believe it, the idea is quite preposterous.”
“You see,” said Masklin, blushing even more, “there’s plenty of room, we can take everyone, we can steal books that tell us how to do things—”
“The mouth moves, the tongue waggles, but no sense comes out,” said the Duke. There was nervous laughter from some of the nomes around him. Out of the corner of his eye Masklin saw Angalo standing by his father, his face shining.
“No offense to the late Abbot,” said one of the lesser lords hesitantly, “but I’ve heard there are other Stores Out There. I mean to say, we must have lived somewhere before the Store.” He swallowed. “What I’m getting at, if the Store was built in 1905, where did we live in 1904? No offense meant.”
“I’m not talking about going to another Store,” said Masklin. “I’m talking about living free.”
“And I’m listening to no more of this nonsense. The old Abbot was a sound man, but he must have gone a little funny in the head at the finish,” snapped the Duke. He turned and stormed out noisily. Most of the other lords followed him. Some of them quite reluctantly, Masklin noticed; in fact, a few hung around at the back, so that if asked they could say that they were just about to leave.
Those left were the Count, a small fat woman whom Gurder had identified as the Baroness del Icatessen, and a handful of lesser lords from the subdepartments.
The Count looked around theatrically.
“Ah,” he said. “Room to breathe. Carry on, young man.”
“Well, that’s about it,” Masklin admitted. “I can’t plan anything more until I’ve found out more things. For example, can you make electric? Not steal it from the Store but make it?”
The Count stroked his chin.
“You are asking me to give you departmental secrets?” he said.
“My lord,” said Gurder sharply, “if we take this desperate step, it is vital that we be open with one another and share our knowledge.”
“That’s true,” said Masklin.
“Quite,” said Gurder sternly. “We must all act for the good of all nomes.”
“Well said,” said Masklin. “And that’s why the Stationeri, for their part, will teach all nomes who request it—to read.”
There was a pause. It was broken by the faint wheezing noise of Gurder trying not to choke.
“To read—!” he began.
Masklin hesitated. Well, he’d gone this far. Might as well get it over with. He saw Grimma staring at him.
“Women too,” he said.
This time it was the Count who looked surprised. The Baroness, on the other hand, was smiling. Gurder was still making little mewling noises.
“There’s all kinds of books on the shelves in the Stationery Department,” Masklin plunged on. “Anything we want to do, there’s a book that tells us how! But we’re going to need lots of people to read them, so we can find out what we need.”
“I think our Stationeri friend would like a drink of water,” observed the Count. “I think he may be overcome by the new spirit of sharing and cooperation.”
“Young man,” said the Baroness, “what you say might be true, but do these precious books tell us how one may control one of these truck things?”
Masklin nodded. He had been ready for this one. Grimma came up behind him, dragging a thin book that was nearly as big as she was. Masklin helped her prop it up so they could all see it.
“See, it’s got words on it,” he said proudly. “I’ve learned them already. They say . . .” He pointed each one out with his spear as he said it. “. . . The . . . High . . . Way . . . Code. High Way Code. It’s got pictures inside. When you learn The High Way Code, you can drive. It says so. High Way Code,” he added uncertainly.
�
��And I’ve been working out what some of the words mean,” said Grimma.
“And she’s been reading some of the words,” Masklin agreed. He couldn’t help noticing that this fact interested the Baroness.
“And that is all there is to it?” said the Count.
“Er,” said Masklin. He’d been worrying about this himself. He had an obscure feeling that it couldn’t be as easy as that, but this was no time to worry about details that could be sorted out later. What was it the Abbot had said? The important thing about being a leader was not so much being right or wrong as being certain. Being right helped, of course.
“Well, I went and looked in the truck nest, I mean the garage, this morning,” he said. “You can see inside them if you climb up. There’s levers and wheels and things, but I suppose we can find out what they do.” He took a deep breath. “It can’t be very difficult—otherwise humans wouldn’t be able to do it.”
The nomes had to concede this.
“Most intriguing,” said the Count. “May I ask what it is you require from us now?”
“People,” said Masklin simply. “As many as you can spare. Especially the ones you can’t spare. And they’ll need to be fed.”
The Baroness glanced at the Count. He nodded, so she nodded.
“I’d just like to ask the young girl,” she said, “whether she feels all right. With this reading, I mean.”
“I can only do some words,” said Grimma quickly. “Like Left and Right and Bicycle.”
“And you haven’t experienced any feelings of pressure in the head?” asked the Baroness carefully.
“Not really, ma’am.”
“Hmm. That’s extremely interesting,” said the Baroness, staring fixedly at Gurder.
The new Abbot was sitting down now. “I—I—” he began.
Masklin groaned inwardly. He’d thought it would be difficult, learning to drive, learning how a truck worked, learning to read, but they were, well, just tasks. You could see all the difficulties before you started. If you worked at them for long enough, then you were bound to succeed. He’d been right. The difficult thing was going to be all the people.
There turned out to be twenty-eight.
“Not enough,” said Grimma.
“It’s a start,” said Masklin. “I think there will be more by and by. They all need to be taught to read. Not well, but enough. And then five of the best of them must be taught how to teach people to read.”
“How did you work that out?” said Grimma.
“The Thing told me,” said Masklin. “It’s something called critical path analysis. It means there’s always something you should have done first. For example, if you want to build a house, you need to know how to make bricks, and before you can make bricks you need to know what kind of clay to use. And so on.”
“What’s clay?”
“Don’t know.”
“What’re bricks?”
“Not sure.”
“Well, what’s a house?” she demanded.
“Haven’t quite worked it out,” said Masklin. “But anyway, it’s all very important. Critical path analysis. And there’s something else called progress chasing.”
“What’s that?”
“I think it means shouting at people, ‘Why haven’t you done it yet?’” Masklin looked down at his feet. “I think we can get Granny Morkie to do that,” he said. “I don’t reckon she will be interested in learning to read, but she knows how to shout.”
“What about me?”
“I want you to learn to read even more.”
“Why?”
“Because we need to learn how to think,” said Masklin.
“I know how to think!”
“Dunno,” said Masklin. “I mean, yes, you do, but there’s some things we can’t think because we don’t know the words. Like the Store nomes. They don’t even know what the wind and rain are really like!”
“I know, and I tried to tell the Baroness about snow and—”
Masklin nodded. “There you are, then. They don’t know, and they don’t even know they don’t know. What is it that we don’t know? We ought to read everything that we can. Gurder doesn’t like it. He says only the Stationeri should read. But the trouble is they don’t try to understand things.”
Gurder had been furious.
“Reading,” he’d said. “Every stupid nome coming up here and wearing all the printing out with looking at it! Why don’t you give away all our skills while you’re about it? Why don’t we teach everyone to write, eh?”
“We can do that later,” said Masklin mildly.
“What!”
“It isn’t so important, you see.”
Gurder thumped the wall. “Why in the name of Arnold Bros (est. 1905) didn’t you ask my permission first?”
“Would you have given it?”
“No!”
“That’s why, you see,” said Masklin.
“When I said I’d help you, I didn’t expect this!” shouted Gurder.
“Nor did I!” snapped Masklin.
The new Abbot paused.
“What do you mean?” he said.
“I thought you’d help,” said Masklin, simply.
Gurder sagged. “All right, all right,” he said. “You know I can’t forbid it now, not in front of everyone. Do whatever is necessary. Take whatever people you must.”
“Good,” said Masklin. “When can you start?”
“Me? But—”
“You said yourself that you’re the best reader.”
“Well, yes, of course, this is the case, but—”
“Good.”
They grew used to that word, later. Masklin developed a way of saying it that indicated that everything was all sorted out, and there was no point in saying anything more.
Gurder waved his hands wildly.
“What do you want me to do?” he said.
“How many books are there?” said Masklin.
“Hundreds! Thousands!”
“Do you know what they’re all about?”
Gurder looked at him blankly. “Do you know what you’re saying?” he said.
“No. But I want to find out.”
“They’re about everything! You’d never believe it! They’re full of words even I don’t understand!”
“Can you find a book that tells you how to understand words you don’t understand?” said Masklin. This is critical path analysis, he thought. Gosh, I’m doing it without thinking.
Gurder hesitated. “It’s an intriguing thought,” he said.
“I want to find out everything about trucks, and electric, and food,” said Masklin. “And then I want you to find a book about, about . . .”
“Well?”
Masklin looked desperate. “Is there a book that tells you how nomes can drive a truck built for humans?” he said.
“Don’t you know?”
“Not . . . exactly. I was sort of hoping we could work it out as we went along.”
“But you said all we needed to do was learn The High Way Code!”
“Ye-ss,” said Masklin uncertainly, “and it says you have to know The High Way Code before you can drive. But somehow I get the feeling that it might not be as simple as that.”
“Bargains Galore preserve us!”
“I hope so,” said Masklin. “I really do.”
And then it was time to put it all to the test.
It was cold in the truck nest, and stank of all. It was also a long way to the ground if they fell off the girder. Masklin tried not to look down.
There was a truck below them. It looked much bigger indoors. Huge, red, and terrible in the gloom.
“This is about far enough,” he said. “We’re right over the sticking-out bit where the driver sits.”
“The cab,” said Angalo.
“Right. The cab.”
Angalo had been a surprise. He’d turned up in the Stationery Department breathing heavily, his face red, and demanding to be taught to read.
So he could learn about trucks.
They fascinated him.
“But your father objects to the whole idea,” Masklin had said.
“That doesn’t matter,” said Angalo shortly. “It’s all right for you, you’ve been there! I want to see all those things, I want to go Outside, I want to know if it’s real!”
He hadn’t been very good at reading, but he’d tried until his brain hurt when the Stationeri found him some books with trucks on the front. Now he probably knew more about them than any other nome. Which wasn’t a lot, Masklin had to admit.
He listened to Angalo muttering to himself as he struggled into the straps.
“Gear,” he said. “Shift. Steering Wheel. Wipers. Auto Transmission. Breaker Break Good Buddy. Smoky. Truckers.” He looked up and smiled thinly at Masklin. “Ready,” he said.
“Now remember,” said Masklin, “they don’t always leave the windows open, so if they’re closed, one pull on the rope and we’ll pull you back up, okay?”
“Ten-four.”
“What?”
“It’s Trucker for ‘yes,’” explained Angalo.
“Oh. Fine. Now, when you’re in, find somewhere to hide so you can watch the driver—”
“Yes, yes. You explained it all before,” said Angalo impatiently.
“Yes. Well. Have you got your sandwiches?”
Angalo patted the package at his waist. “And my notebook,” he said. “Ready to go. Put the Pedal to the Metal.”
“What?”
“It means ‘go’ in Truck.”
Masklin looked puzzled. “Do we have to know all this to drive one?”
“Negatory,” said Angalo proudly.
“Oh? Well, so long as you understand yourself, that’s the main thing.”
Dorcas, who was in charge of the rope detail, tapped Angalo on the shoulder.
“You sure you won’t take the Outside suit?” he said hopefully.
It was cone shaped, made out of heavy cloth over a sort of umbrella frame of sticks so that it folded up, and had a little window to look out of. Dorcas had insisted on building it, to protect Outsidegoers.
“After all,” he’d said to Masklin, “you might be used to the Rain and the Wind—perhaps your heads have grown specially hard. Can’t be too careful.”
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