TERRY
PRATCHETT

TRUCKERS

DEDICATION

Another one for Rhianna

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Concerning Nomes and Time

Epigraph

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

Excerpt from The Bromeliad Trilogy: Diggers

About the Author

Other Works

Credits

Copyright

Back Ad

About the Publisher

CONCERNING NOMES AND TIME

NOMES ARE SMALL. On the whole, small creatures donâ€™t live for a long time. But perhaps they do live fast.

Let me explain.

One of the shortest-lived creatures on the planet Earth is the adult common mayfly. It lasts for one day. The longest-living things are bristlecone pine trees, at 4,700 years and still counting.

This may seem tough on mayflies. But the important thing is not how long your life is but how long it seems.

To a mayfly, a single hour may last as long as a century. Perhaps old mayflies sit around complaining about how life this minute isnâ€™t a patch on the good old minutes of long ago, when the world was young and the sun seemed so much brighter and larvae showed you a bit of respect. Whereas the trees, which are not famous for their quick reactions, may just have time to notice the way the sky keeps flickering before the dry rot and woodworm set in.

Itâ€™s all a sort of relativity. The faster you live, the more time stretches out. To a nome, a year lasts as long as ten years do to a human. Remember it. Donâ€™t let it concern you. They donâ€™t. They donâ€™t even know.

EPIGRAPH

In the beginning . . .

I. There was the Site.

II. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) Moved upon the face of the Site, and Saw that it had Potential.

III. For it was In the High Street.

IV. Yea, it was also Handy for the Buses.

V. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) said, Let there be a Store, And Let it be a Store such as the World has not Seen hitherto;

VI. Let the length of it be from Palmer Street even unto the Fish Market, and the Width of It, from the High Street right back to Disraeli Road;

VII. Let it be High even Unto Five Stories plus Basement, And bright with Lifts; let there be the Eternal Fires of the Boiler Room in the subbasement and, above all other floors, let there be Customer Accounts to Order All Things;

VIII. For this must be what all shall Know of Arnold Bros (est. 1905): All Things Under One Roof. And it shall be callÃ¨d: the Store of Arnold Bros (est. 1905).

IX. And Thus it Was.

X. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) divided the Store into Departments, of Ironmongery, Corsetry, Modes and others After their Kind, and Created Humans to fill them with All Things saying, Yea, All Things Are Here. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) said, Let there be Trucks, and Let their Colors be Red and Gold, and Let them Go Forth so that All May Know Arnold Bros (est. 1905), By Appointment, delivers All Things;

XI. Let there be Santaâ€™s Grottoes and Winter Sales and Summer Bargains and Back-to-School Week and All Commodities in their Season;

XII. And into the Store came the Nomes, that it would be their Place, for Ever and Ever.

From The Book of Nome, Basements v. Iâ€“XII

1

THIS IS THE story of the Going Home.

This is the story of the Critical Path.

This is the story of the truck roaring through the sleeping city and out into the country lanes, smashing through streetlamps and swinging from side to side and shattering shop windows and rolling to a halt when the police chased it. And when the baffled men went back to their car to report Listen, will you, listen? There isnâ€™t anyone driving it!, it became the story of the truck that started up again, rolled away from the astonished men, and vanished into the night.

But the story didnâ€™t end there.

It didnâ€™t start there, either.

The sky rained dismal. It rained humdrum. It rained the kind of rain that is so much wetter than normal rain, the kind of rain that comes down in big drops and splats, the kind of rain that is merely an upright sea with slots in it.

It rained a tattoo on the old hamburger boxes and french fries wrappers in the wire basket that was giving Masklin a temporary hiding place.

Look at him. Wet. Cold. Extremely worried. And four inches high.

The litter bin was usually a good hunting ground, even in winter. There were often a few cold fries, sometimes even a chicken bone. Once or twice there had been a rat, too. It had been a really good day when there had last been a ratâ€”it had kept them going for a week. The trouble was that you could get pretty fed up with rat by the third day. By the third mouthful, come to that.

Masklin scanned the parking lot.

And here it came, right on time, crashing through the puddles and pulling up with a hiss of brakes.

Heâ€™d watched this truck arrive every Tuesday and Thursday morning for the last four weeks. He timed the driverâ€™s stop carefully.

They had exactly three minutes. To someone the size of a nome, thatâ€™s more than half an hour.

He scrambled down through the greasy paper, dropped out of the bottom of the bin, and ran for the bushes at the edge of the lot, where Grimma and the old folk were waiting.

â€œItâ€™s here!â€ he said. â€œCome on!â€

They got to their feet, groaning and grumbling. Heâ€™d taken them through this dozens of times. He knew it wasnâ€™t any good shouting. They just got upset and confused, and then theyâ€™d grumble some more. They grumbled about cold fries, even when Grimma warmed them up. They moaned about rat. Heâ€™d seriously thought about leaving alone, but he couldnâ€™t bring himself to do it. They needed him. They needed someone to grumble at.

But they were too slow. He felt like bursting into tears.

He turned to Grimma instead.

â€œCome on,â€ he said. â€œGive them a prod or something. Theyâ€™ll never get moving!â€

She patted his hand.

â€œTheyâ€™re frightened,â€ she said. â€œYou go on. Iâ€™ll bring them out.â€

There wasnâ€™t time to argue. Masklin ran back across the soaking mud of the lot, unslinging the rope and grapnel. It had taken him a week to make the hook out of a bit of wire teased off a fence, and heâ€™d spent days practicing; he was already swinging it around his head as he reached the truckâ€™s wheel.

The hook caught the tarpaulin high above him at the second try. He tested it once or twice and then, his feet scrabbling for a grip on the tire, pulled himself up.

Heâ€™d done it before. Oh, heâ€™d done it three or four times. He scrambled under the heavy tarpaulin and into the darkness beyond, pulling out more line and tying it as tightly as possible around one of the ropes that were as thick as his arm.

Then he slid back to the edge, and thank goodness, Grimma was herding the old people across the gravel. He could hear them complaining about the puddles.

Masklin jumped up and down with impatience.

It seemed to take hours. He explained it to them millions of times, but people hadnâ€™t been pulled up onto the backs of trucks when they were children and they didnâ€™t see why they should start now. Old Granny Morkie insisted that all the men look the other way so that they wouldnâ€™t see up her skirts, for example, and old Torrit whimpered so much that Masklin had to lower him again so that Grimma could blindfold him. It wasnâ€™t so bad after heâ€™d hauled the first few up, because they were able to help on the rope, but time still stretched out.

He pulled Grimma up last. She was light. They were all light, if it came to that. You didnâ€™t get rat every day.

It was amazing. They were all on board. Heâ€™d worked with an ear cocked for the sound of footsteps on gravel and the slamming of the driverâ€™s door, and it hadnâ€™t happened.

â€œRight,â€ he said, shaking with the effort. â€œThatâ€™s it, then. Now if we just goâ€”â€

â€œI dropped the Thing,â€ said old Torrit. â€œThe Thing. I dropped it, dâ€™you see? I dropped it down by the wheel when she was blindfoldinâ€™ me. You go and get it, boy.â€

Masklin looked at him in horror. Then he poked his head out from under the tarpaulin, and yes, there it was, far below. A tiny black cube on the ground.

The Thing.

It was lying in a puddle, although that wouldnâ€™t affect it. Nothing touched the Thing. It wouldnâ€™t even burn.

And then he heard the sound of slow footsteps on the gravel.

â€œThereâ€™s no time,â€ he whispered. â€œThere really is no time.â€

â€œWe canâ€™t go without it,â€ said Grimma.

â€œOf course we can. Itâ€™s just a, a thing. We wonâ€™t need the wretched object where weâ€™re going.â€

He felt guilty as soon as heâ€™d said it, amazed at his own lips for uttering such words. Grimma looked horrified. Granny Morkie drew herself up to her full, quivering height.

â€œMay you be forgiven!â€ she barked. â€œWhat a terrible thing to say! You tell him, Torrit.â€ She nudged Torrit in the ribs.

â€œIf we ainâ€™t taking the Thing, I ainâ€™t going,â€ said Torrit sulkily. â€œItâ€™s notâ€”â€

â€œThatâ€™s your leader talkinâ€™ to you,â€ interrupted Granny Morkie. â€œSo you do what youâ€™re told. Leave it behind, indeed! It wouldnâ€™t be decent. It wouldnâ€™t be right. So you go and get it, this minute.â€

Masklin stared wordlessly down at the soaking mud and then, with a desperate motion, threw the line over the edge and slid down it.

It was raining harder now, with a touch of sleet. The wind whipped at him as he dropped past the great arc of the wheel and landed heavily in the puddle. He reached out and scooped up the Thingâ€”

And the truck started to move.

First there was a roar, so loud that it went beyond sound and became a solid wall of noise. Then there was a blast of stinking air and a vibration that shook the ground.

He pulled sharply on the line and yelled at them to pull him up, and realized that even he couldnâ€™t hear his own voice. But Grimma or someone must have got the idea because, just as the big wheel began to turn, the rope tightened and he felt his feet lifted off the mud.

He bounced and spun back and forth as, with painful slowness, they pulled him past the wheel. It turned only a few inches away from him, a black, chilly blur, and all the time the hammering sound battered at his head.

Iâ€™m not scared, he told himself. This is much worse than anything Iâ€™ve ever faced, and itâ€™s not frightening. Itâ€™s too terrible to be frightening.

He felt as though he were in a tiny, warm cocoon, away from all the noise and the wind. Iâ€™m going to die, he thought, just because of this Thing that has never helped us at all, something thatâ€™s just a lump of stuff, and now Iâ€™m going to die and go to the Heavens. I wonder if old Torrit is right about what happens when you die. It seems a bit severe to have to die to find out. Iâ€™ve looked at the sky every night for years, and Iâ€™ve never seen any nomes up there. . . .

But it didnâ€™t really matter, it was all outside him, it wasnâ€™t realâ€”

Hands reached down and caught him under the arms and dragged him into the booming space under the tarpaulin and, with some difficulty, pried the Thing out of his grip.

Behind the speeding truck, fresh curtains of gray rain dragged across the empty fields.

And, across the whole country, there were no more nomes.

There had been plenty of them, in the days when it didnâ€™t seem to rain so much. Masklin could remember at least forty. But then the highway had come; the stream was put in pipes underground, and the nearest hedges were dug up. Nomes had always lived in the corners of the world, and suddenly there werenâ€™t too many corners anymore.

The numbers started going down. A lot of this was due to natural causes, and when youâ€™re four inches high natural causes can be anything with teeth and speed and hunger. Then Pyrrince, who was by way of being the most adventurous, led a desperate expedition across the highway one night, to investigate the woods on the other side. They never came back. Some said it was hawks, some said it was a truck. Some even said theyâ€™d made it halfway and were marooned on the central reservation between endless swishing lines of cars.

Then the cafe had been built a little farther along the road. It had been a sort of improvement. It depended how you looked at it. If cold leftover fries and scraps of gray chicken were food, then there was suddenly enough for everyone.

And then it was spring, and Masklin looked around and found that there were just ten of them left, and eight of those were too old to get about much. Old Torrit was nearly ten.

It had been a dreadful summer. Grimma organized those who could still get about into midnight raids on the litter bins, and Masklin tried to hunt.

Hunting by yourself was like dying a bit at a time. Most of the things you were hunting were also hunting you. And even if you were lucky and made a kill, how did you get it home? It had taken two days with the rat, including sitting out at night to fight off other creatures. Ten strong hunters could do anythingâ€”rob beesâ€™ nests, trap mice, catch moles, anythingâ€”but one hunter by himself, with no one to watch his back in the long grass, was simply the next meal for everything with talons and claws.

To get enough to eat, you needed lots of healthy hunters. But to get lots of healthy hunters, you needed enough to eat.

â€œItâ€™ll be all right in the autumn,â€ said Grimma, bandaging his arm where a stoat had caught it. â€œThereâ€™ll be mushrooms and berries and nuts and everything.â€

Well, there hadnâ€™t been any mushrooms, and it rained so much that most of the berries rotted before they ripened. There were plenty of nuts, though. The nearest hazel tree was half a dayâ€™s journey away. Masklin could carry a dozen nuts if he smashed them out of their shells and dragged them back in a paper bag from the bin. It took a whole day to do it, risking hawks all the way, and it was just enough food for a day as well.

And then the back of the burrow fell in, because of all the rain. It was almost pleasant to get out, then. It was better than listening to the grumbling about him not doing essential repairs. Oh, and there was the fire. You needed a fire at the burrow mouth, both for cooking and for keeping away night prowlers. Granny Morkie went to sleep one day and let it go out. Even she had the decency to be embarrassed.

When Masklin came back that night, he looked at the heap of dead ashes for a long time and then stuck his spear in the ground and burst out laughing, and went on laughing until he started to cry. He couldnâ€™t face the rest of them. He had to go and sit outside where, presently, Grimma brought him a shellful of nettle tea. Cold nettle tea.

â€œTheyâ€™re all very upset about it,â€ she volunteered.

Masklin gave a hollow laugh. â€œOh, yes, I can tell,â€ he said. â€œIâ€™ve heard them: â€˜You ought to bring back another cigarette-end, boy, Iâ€™m right out of tobacco,â€™ and â€˜We never have fish these days; you might find the time to go down to the river,â€™ and â€˜Self, self, self, thatâ€™s all you young people think about, in my dayâ€”â€™â€

Grimma sighed. â€œThey do their best,â€ she said. â€œItâ€™s just that they donâ€™t realize. There were hundreds of us when they were young.â€

â€œItâ€™s going to take days to get that fire lit,â€ said Masklin. They had a spectacle lens; it needed a very sunny day to work.

He poked aimlessly in the mud by his feet.

â€œIâ€™ve had enough,â€ he said quietly. â€œIâ€™m going to leave.â€

â€œBut we need you!â€

â€œI need me, too. I mean, what kind of life is this?â€

â€œBut theyâ€™ll die if you go away!â€

â€œTheyâ€™ll die anyway,â€ said Masklin.

â€œThatâ€™s a wicked thing to say!â€

â€œWell, itâ€™s true. Everyone dies anyway. Weâ€™ll die anyway. Look at you. You spend your whole time washing and tidying up and cooking and chasing after them. Youâ€™re nearly three! Itâ€™s about time you had a life of your own.â€

â€œGranny Morkie was very kind to me when I was small,â€ said Grimma defensively. â€œYouâ€™ll be old one day.â€

â€œYou think? And who will be working their fingers to the bone to look after me?â€

Masklin found himself getting angrier and angrier. He was certain he was in the right. But it felt as if he was in the wrong, which made it worse.

Heâ€™d thought about this for a long time, and it had always left him feeling angry and awkward. All the clever ones and the bold ones and the brave ones had gone long ago, one way or the other. Good old Masklin, theyâ€™d said, stout chap, you look after the old folk and weâ€™ll be back before you know it, just as soon as weâ€™ve found a better place. Every time good old Masklin thought about this, he got indignant with them for going and with himself for staying. He always gave in, that was his trouble. He knew it. Whatever he promised himself at the start, he always took the way of least resistance.

Grimma was glaring at him.

He shrugged.

â€œAll right, all right, so they can come with us,â€ he said.

â€œYou know they wonâ€™t go,â€ she said. â€œTheyâ€™re too old. They all grew up around here. They like it here.â€

â€œThey like it here when thereâ€™s us around to wait on them,â€ muttered Masklin.

They left it at that. There were nuts for dinner. Masklinâ€™s had a maggot in it.

He went out afterward and sat at the top of the bank with his chin in his hands, watching the highway again.

It was a stream of red and white lights. There were humans inside those boxes, going about whatever mysterious business humans spent their time on. They were always in a hurry to get to it, whatever it was.

He was prepared to bet they didnâ€™t eat rat. Humans had it really easy. They were big and slow, but they didnâ€™t have to live in damp burrows waiting for daft old women to let the fire go out. They never had maggots in their tea. They went wherever they wanted and they did whatever they liked. The whole world belonged to them.

And all night long they drove up and down in these little trucks with lights on. Didnâ€™t they ever go to sleep? There must be hundreds of them.

Heâ€™d dreamed of leaving on a truck. Trucks often stopped at the cafe. It would be easyâ€”well, fairly easyâ€”to find a way onto one. They were clean and shinyâ€”they had to go somewhere better than this. And after all, what was the alternative? Theyâ€™d never see winter through here, and setting out across the fields with the bad weather coming on didnâ€™t bear thinking about.

Of course, heâ€™d never do it. You never actually did it, in the end. You just dreamed about following those swishing lights.

And above the rushing lights, the stars. Torrit said the stars were very important. Right at the moment, Masklin didnâ€™t agree. You couldnâ€™t eat them. They werenâ€™t even much good for seeing by. The stars were pretty useless, when you thought about it. . . .

Somebody screamed.

Masklinâ€™s body got to his feet almost before his mind had even thought about it, and sped silently through the scrubby bushes toward the burrow.

Where, its head entirely underground and its brush waving excitedly at the stars, there was a dog fox. He recognized it. Heâ€™d had a couple of close shaves with it in the past.

Somewhere inside Masklinâ€™s head the bit of him that was really himâ€”old Torrit had a lot to say about this bitâ€”was horrified to see him snatch up his spear, which was still in the ground where he had plunged it, and stab the fox as hard as he could in a hind leg.

There was a muffled yelp and the animal struggled backward, turning an evil, foaming mask to its tormentor. Two bright yellow eyes focused on Masklin, who leaned panting on his spear. This was one of those times when time itself slowed down and everything was suddenly more real. Perhaps, if you knew you were going to die, your senses crammed in as much detail as they could while they still had the chance. . . .

There were flecks of blood around the creatureâ€™s muzzle.

Masklin felt himself become angry. It welled up inside him, like a huge bubble. He didnâ€™t have much, and this grinning thing was taking even that away from him.

As the red tongue lolled out, he knew that he had two choices. He could run, or he could die.

So he attacked instead. The spear soared from his hand like a bird, catching the fox in the lip. It screamed and pawed at the wound, and Masklin was running, running across the dirt, propelled by the engine of his anger, and then jumping and grabbing handfuls of rank red fur and hauling himself up the foxâ€™s flank to land astride its neck and drawing his stone knife and stabbing, stabbing, at everything that was wrong with the world. . . .

The fox screamed again and leaped away. If he had been capable of thinking, then Masklin would have known that his knife wasnâ€™t doing much more than annoying the creature, but it wasnâ€™t used to meals fighting back with such fury, and its only thought now was to get away. It breasted the embankment and rushed headlong down it, toward the lights of the highway.

Masklin started to think again. The rushing of the traffic filled his ears. He let go and threw himself into the long grass as the creature galloped out onto the asphalt.

He landed heavily and rolled over, all the breath knocked out of him.

But he remembered what happened next. It stayed in his memory for a long time, long after heâ€™d seen so many strange things that there really should have been no room for it.

The fox, as still as a statue in a headlightâ€™s beam, snarled its defiance as it tried to outstare ten tons of metal hurtling toward it at seventy miles an hour.

There was a bump, a swish, and darkness.

Masklin lay facedown in the cool moss for a long time. Then, dreading what he was about to see, trying not to imagine it, he pulled himself to his feet and plodded back toward whatever was left of his home.

Grimma was waiting at the burrowâ€™s mouth, holding a twig like a club. She spun round and nearly brained Masklin as he staggered out of the darkness and leaned against the bank. He stuck out a weary hand and pushed the stick aside.

â€œWe didnâ€™t know where youâ€™d gone,â€ she said, her voice on the edge of hysteria. â€œWe just heard the noise and there it was you should have been here and it got Mr. Mert and Mrs. Coom and it was digging at theâ€”â€

She stopped and seemed to sag.

â€œYes, thank you,â€ said Masklin coldly, â€œIâ€™m all right, thank you very much.â€

â€œWhatâ€”what happened?â€

He ignored her and trooped into the darkness of the burrow and lay down. He could hear the old ones whispering as he sank into a deep, chilly sleep.

I should have been here, he thought.

They depend on me.

Weâ€™re going. All of us.

It had seemed a good idea, then.

It looked a bit different, now.

Now the nomes clustered at one end of the great dark space inside the truck. They were silent. There wasnâ€™t any room to be noisy. The roar of the engine filled the air from edge to edge. Sometimes it would falter and start again. Occasionally the whole truck lurched.

Grimma crawled across the trembling floor.

â€œHow long is it going to take to get there?â€ she said.

â€œWhere?â€ said Masklin.

â€œWherever weâ€™re going.â€

â€œI donâ€™t know.â€

â€œTheyâ€™re hungry, you see.â€

They always were. Masklin looked hopelessly at the huddle of old ones. One or two of them were watching him expectantly.

â€œThere isnâ€™t anything I can do,â€ he said. â€œIâ€™m hungry too, but thereâ€™s nothing here. Itâ€™s empty.â€

â€œGranny Morkie gets very upset when sheâ€™s missed a meal,â€ said Grimma.

Masklin gave her a long, blank stare. Then he crawled his way to the group and sat down between Torrit and the old woman.

Heâ€™d never really talked to them, he realized. When he was small, they were giants who were no concern of his, and then heâ€™d been a hunter among hunters, and this year heâ€™d either been out looking for food or deep in an exhausted sleep. But he knew why Torrit was the leader of the tribe. It stood to reasonâ€”he was the oldest nome. The oldest was always leader; that way there couldnâ€™t be any arguments. Not the oldest woman, of course, because everyone knew this was unthinkable; even Granny Morkie was quite firm about that. Which was a bit odd, because she treated him like an idiot and Torrit never made a decision without looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Masklin sighed. He stared at his knees.

â€œLook, I donâ€™t know how longâ€”â€ he began.

â€œDonâ€™t you worry about me, boy,â€ said Granny Morkie, who seemed to have quite recovered. â€œThis is all rather excitinâ€™, ainâ€™t it?â€

â€œBut it might take ages,â€ said Masklin. â€œI didnâ€™t know it was going to take this long. It was just a mad idea . . .â€

She poked him with a bony finger. â€œYoung man,â€ she said, â€œI was alive in the Great Winter of 1999. Terrible, that was. You canâ€™t tell me anything about going hungry. Grimmaâ€™s a good girl, but she worries.â€

â€œBut I donâ€™t even know where weâ€™re going!â€ Masklin burst out. â€œIâ€™m sorry!â€

Torrit, who was sitting with the Thing on his skinny knees, peered shortsightedly at him.

â€œWe have the Thing,â€ he said. â€œIt will show us the Way, it will.â€

Masklin nodded gloomily. Funny how Torrit always knew what the Thing wanted. It was just a black square thing, but it had some very definite ideas about the importance of regular meals and how you should always listen to what the old folk said. It seemed to have an answer for everything.

â€œAnd where does this Way take us?â€ said Masklin.

â€œYou knows that well enough. To the Heavens.â€

â€œOh. Yes,â€ said Masklin. He glared at the Thing. He was pretty certain that it didnâ€™t tell old Torrit anything at all; he knew he had pretty good hearing, and he never heard it say anything. It never did anything, it never moved. The only thing it ever did was look black and square. It was good at that.

â€œOnly by followinâ€™ the Thing closely in all particulars can we be sure of going to the Heavens,â€ said Torrit uncertainly, as if heâ€™d been told this a long time ago and hadnâ€™t understood it even then.

â€œYes, well,â€ said Masklin. He stood up on the swaying floor and made his way to the tarpaulin. Then he paused to screw up his courage and poked his head under the gap.

There was nothing but blurs and lights, and strange smells.

It was all going wrong. It had seemed so sensible that night, a week ago. Anything was better than here. That had seemed so obvious then. But it was odd. The old ones moaned like anything when things werenâ€™t exactly to their liking, but now, when everything was looking bad, they were almost cheerful.

People were a lot more complicated than they looked. Perhaps the Thing could tell you that, too, if you knew how to ask.

The truck turned a corner and rumbled down into blackness and then, without warning, stopped. He found himself looking into a huge lighted space, full of trucks, full of humans. . . .

He pulled his head back quickly and scuttled across the floor to Torrit.

â€œEr,â€ he said.

â€œYes, lad?â€

â€œHeaven. Do humans go there?â€

The old nome shook his head. â€œThe Heavens,â€ he said. â€œMore than one of â€™em, see? Only nomes go there.â€

â€œYouâ€™re absolutely certain?â€

â€œOh, yes.â€ Torrit beamed. â€œOâ€™ course, they may have heavens of their own,â€ he said. â€œI donâ€™t know about that. But they ainâ€™t ours, you may depend upon it.â€

â€œOh.â€

Torrit stared at the Thing again.

â€œWeâ€™ve stopped,â€ he said. â€œWhere are we?â€

Masklin stared wearily into the darkness.

â€œI think I had better go and find out,â€ he said.

There was whistling outside, and the distant rumble of human voices. The lights went out. There was a rattling noise, followed by a click, and then silence.

After a while there was a faint scrabbling around the back of one of the silent trucks. A length of line, no thicker than thread, dropped down until it touched the oily floor of the garage.

A minute went by. Then, lowering itself with great care hand over hand, a small, stumpy figure shinned down the line and dropped onto the floor. It stood rock still for a few seconds after landing, with only its eyes moving.

It was not entirely human. There were definitely the right number of arms and legs, and the additional bits like eyes and so on were in the usual places, but the figure that was now creeping across the darkened floor in its mouse skins looked like a brick wall on legs. Nomes are so stocky that a Japanese sumo wrestler would look half starved by comparison, and the way this one moved suggested that it was considerably tougher than old boots.

Masklin was, in fact, terrified out of his life. There was nothing here that he recognized, except for the smell of all, which he had come to associate with humans and especially with trucks (Torrit had told him loftily that all was a burning water that trucks drank, at which point Masklin knew the old nome had gone mad. It stood to reason. Water didnâ€™t burn).

None of it made any sense. Vast cans loomed above him. There were huge pieces of metal that had a made look about them. This was definitely a part of a human heaven. Humans liked metal.

He did skirt warily around a cigarette end and made a mental note to take it back for Torrit.

There were other trucks in this place, all of them silent. It was, Masklin decided, a truck nest. Which meant that the only food in it was probably all.

He untensed a bit and prodded about under a bench that towered against one wall like a house. There were drifts of wastepaper there, and, led by a smell which here was even stronger than all, he found a whole apple core. It was going brown, but it was a pretty good find.

He slung it across one shoulder and turned around.

There was a rat watching him thoughtfully. It was considerably bigger and sleeker than the things that fought the nomes for the scraps from the litter bin. It dropped on all fours and trotted toward him.

Masklin felt that he was on firmer ground here. All these huge dark shapes and cans and ghastly smells were quite beyond him, but he knew what a rat was, all right, and what to do about one.

He dropped the core, brought his spear back slowly and carefully, aimed at a point just between the creatureâ€™s eyes . . .

Two things happened at once.

Masklin noticed that the rat had a little red collar.

And a voice said: â€œDonâ€™t! He took a long time to train. Bargains Galore! Where did you come from?â€

The stranger was a nome. At least Masklin had to assume so. He was certainly nome height and moved like a nome.

But his clothes . . .

The basic color for a practical nomeâ€™s clothes is mud. That was common sense. Grimma knew fifty ways of making dyes from wild plants, and they all yielded a color that was, when you came right down to it, basically muddy. Sometimes yellow mud, sometimes brown mud, sometimes even greenish mud, but still, well, mud. Because any nome who ventured out wearing jolly reds and blues would have a life expectancy of perhaps half an hour before something digestive happened to him.

Whereas this nome looked like a rainbow. He wore brightly colored clothes of a material so fine, it looked like a fries wrapper, a belt studded with bits of glass, proper leather boots, and a hat with a feather in it. As he talked, he slapped his leg idly with a leather strap which, it turned out, was the leash for the rat.

â€œWell?â€ he snapped. â€œAnswer me!â€

â€œI came off the truck,â€ said Masklin shortly, eyeing the rat. It stopped scratching its ears, gave him a look, and went and hid behind its master.

â€œWhat were you doing on there? Answer me!â€

Masklin pulled himself up. â€œWe were traveling,â€ he said.

The nome glared at him. â€œWhatâ€™s traveling?â€ he snapped.

â€œMoving along,â€ said Masklin. â€œYou know? Coming from one place and going to another place.â€

This seemed to have a strange effect on the stranger. If it didnâ€™t actually make him polite, at least it took the edge off his tone.

â€œAre you trying to tell me you came from Outside?â€ he said.

â€œThatâ€™s right.â€

â€œBut thatâ€™s impossible!â€

â€œIs it?â€ Masklin looked worried.

â€œThereâ€™s nothing Outside!â€

â€œIs there? Sorry,â€ said Masklin. â€œBut we seem to have come in from it, anyway. Is this a problem?â€

â€œYou mean really Outside?â€ said the nome, sidling closer.

â€œI suppose I do. We never really thought about it. Whatâ€™s this plâ€”â€

â€œWhatâ€™s it like?â€

â€œWhat?â€

â€œOutside! Whatâ€™s it like?â€

Masklin looked blank. â€œWell,â€ he said. â€œItâ€™s sort of bigâ€”â€

â€œYes?â€

â€œAnd, er, thereâ€™s a lot of itâ€”â€

â€œYes? Yes?â€

â€œWith, you know, things in itâ€”â€

â€œIs it true the ceiling is so high you canâ€™t see it?â€ asked the nome, apparently beside himself with excitement.

â€œDonâ€™t know. Whatâ€™s a ceiling?â€ said Masklin.

â€œThat is,â€ said the nome, pointing up to a gloomy roof of girders and shadows.

â€œOh, I havenâ€™t seen anything like that,â€ said Masklin. â€œOutside itâ€™s blue or gray, with white things floating around in it.â€

â€œAnd, and, the walls are such a long way off, and thereâ€™s a sort of green carpet thing that grows on the ground?â€ asked the nome, hopping from one foot to the other.

â€œDonâ€™t know,â€ said Masklin, even more mystified. â€œWhatâ€™s a carpet?â€

â€œWow!â€ The nome got a grip on himself and extended a shaking hand. â€œMy nameâ€™s Angalo,â€ he said. â€œAngalo de Haberdasheri. Haha. Of course, that wonâ€™t mean anything to you! And this is Bobo.â€

The rat appeared to grin. Masklin had never heard a rat called anything, except perhaps, if you were driven to it, â€œdinner.â€

â€œIâ€™m Masklin,â€ he said. â€œIs it all right if the rest of us come down? It was a long journey.â€

â€œGosh, yes! All from Outside? My fatherâ€™ll never believe it!â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry,â€ said Masklin. â€œI donâ€™t understand. Whatâ€™s so special? We were outside. Now weâ€™re inside.â€

Angalo ignored him. He was staring at the others as they came stiffly down the line, grumbling.

â€œOld people, too!â€ said Angalo. â€œAnd they look just like us! Not even pointy heads or anything!â€

â€œSaucy!â€ said Granny Morkie. Angalo stopped grinning.

â€œMadam,â€ he said icily, â€œdo you know who youâ€™re talking to?â€

â€œSomeone whoâ€™s not too old for a smacked bottom,â€ said Granny Morkie. â€œIf I looked just like you, my lad, Iâ€™d look a great deal better. Pointy heads, indeed!â€

Angaloâ€™s mouth opened and shut silently. Then he said: â€œItâ€™s amazing! I mean, Dorcas said that even if there was a possibility of life outside the Store, it wouldnâ€™t be life as we know it! Please, please, all follow me.â€

They exchanged glances as Angalo scurried away toward the edge of the truck nest, but followed him anyway. There wasnâ€™t much of an alternative.

â€œI remember when your old dad stayed out too long in the sun one day. He talked rubbish, too, just like this one,â€ said Granny Morkie quietly.

Torrit appeared to be reaching a conclusion. They waited for it politely.

â€œI reckon,â€ he said at last, â€œI reckon we ought to eat his rat.â€

â€œYou shut up, you,â€ said Granny, automatically.

â€œIâ€™m leader, I am. Youâ€™ve got no right, talking like that to a leader,â€ Torrit whined.

â€œOâ€™ course youâ€™re leader,â€ snapped Granny Morkie. â€œWho said you werenâ€™t leader? I never said you werenâ€™t leader. Youâ€™re leader.â€

â€œRight,â€ sniffed Torrit.

â€œAnd now shut up,â€ said Granny.

Masklin tapped Angalo on the shoulder. â€œWhere is this place?â€ he said.

Angalo stopped by the wall, which towered up into the distance.

â€œYou donâ€™t know?â€ he said.

â€œWe just thought, well, we just hoped that the trucks went toâ€”to a good place to be,â€ said Grimma.

â€œWell, you heard right,â€ said Angalo proudly. â€œThis is the best place to be. This is the Store!â€

2

XIII. And in the Store there was neither Night nor Day, only Opening Time and Closing Time. Rain fell not, neither was there Snow.

XIV. And the nomes grew fat and multiplied as the years passed, and spent their time in Rivalry and Small War, Department unto Department, and forgot all they knew of the Outside.

XV. For they said, Is it not so, Arnold Bros (est. 1905) has put All Things Under One Roof?

XVI. And those who said, Perhaps Not All Things, were cruelly laughed at, and prodded.

XVII. And other nomes said, Even if there were an Outside, What can it hold that we would need? For here we have the power of the Electric, the Food Hall, and All manner of Diversions.

XVIII. And thus the Seasons fell thicker than the cushions that are in Soft Furnishings (3rd Floor).

XIX. Until a Stranger came from afar, crying out in a loud voice, and he cried, Woe, woe.

From The Book of Nome, First Floor v. XIIIâ€“XIX

THEY TRIPPED OVER one another, they walked with their heads turned upward and their mouths open, they gawked. Angalo had stopped by a hole in the wall and waved them through hurriedly.

â€œIn here,â€ he said.

Granny Morkie sniffed.

â€œThatâ€™s a rat hole,â€ she said. â€œYouâ€™re not asking me to go down a rat hole?â€ She turned to Torrit. â€œHeâ€™s asking me to go down a rat hole! Iâ€™m not going down a rat hole!â€

â€œWhy not?â€ said Angalo.

â€œItâ€™s a rat hole!â€

â€œThatâ€™s just what it looks like,â€ said Angalo. â€œItâ€™s a disguised entrance, thatâ€™s all.â€

â€œYour rat just went through it,â€ said Granny Morkie triumphantly. â€œIâ€™ve got eyes. Itâ€™s a rat hole.â€

Angalo gave Grimma a pleading look and ducked through the hole. She poked her head through after him.

â€œI donâ€™t think itâ€™s a rat hole, Granny,â€ she said, in a slightly muffled voice.

â€œAnd why is that, pray?â€

â€œBecause thereâ€™s stairs inside. Oh, and dear little lights.â€

It was a long climb. They had to stop and wait several times for the old ones to catch up, and Torrit had to be helped most of the way. At the top, the stairs went through a more dignified sort of door intoâ€”

Even when he was young, Masklin had never seen more than forty nomes all together at once.

There were more than that here. And there was food. It didnâ€™t look like anything he recognized, but it had to be food. After all, people were eating it.

A space about twice as high as he was stretched away into the distance. Food was stacked in neat piles with aisles between them, and these were thronged with nomes. No one paid much attention to the little group as it shuffled obediently behind Angalo, who had got some of his old swagger back.

Several nomes had sleek rats on leashes. Some of the ladies had mice, which trotted obediently behind them, and out of the corner of his ear Masklin could hear Granny Morkie tut-tutting her disapproval.

He also heard old Torrit say excitedly, â€œI know that stuff! Thatâ€™s cheese! There was a cheese sandwich in the bin once, back in the summer of ninety-seven, dâ€™you rememberâ€”?â€ Granny Morkie nudged him hard in his skinny ribs.

â€œYou shut up, you,â€ she commanded. â€œYou donâ€™t want to show us up in front of all these folk, do you? Be a leader. Act proud.â€

They werenâ€™t very good at it. They walked in stunned silence. Fruits and vegetables were stacked behind trestle tables, with nomes working industriously on them. There were other things, too, which he couldnâ€™t begin to recognize. Masklin didnâ€™t want to show his ignorance, but curiosity got the better of him.

â€œWhatâ€™s that thing over there?â€ he asked, pointing.

â€œItâ€™s a salami sausage,â€ said Angalo. â€œEver had it before?â€

â€œNot lately,â€ said Masklin truthfully.

â€œAnd theyâ€™re dates,â€ said Angalo. â€œAnd thatâ€™s a banana. I expect youâ€™ve never seen a banana before, have you?â€

Masklin opened his mouth, but Granny Morkie beat him to it.

â€œBit small, that one,â€ she said, and sniffed. â€œQuite tiny, in fact, compared to the ones we got at home.â€

â€œIt is, is it?â€ said Angalo, suspiciously.

â€œOh, yes,â€ said Granny, beginning to warm to her subject. â€œVery puny. Why, the ones we got at homeâ€â€” she paused and looked at the banana, lying on a couple of trestles like a canoe, and her lips moved as she thought fastâ€”â€œwhy,â€ she added triumphantly, â€œwe could hardly dig them out oâ€™ the ground!â€

She stared victoriously at Angalo, who tried to outstare her and gave up.

â€œWell, whatever,â€ he said vaguely, looking away. â€œYou may all help yourselves. Tell the nomes in charge that itâ€™s to go on the Haberdasheri account, will you? But donâ€™t say youâ€™ve come from Outside. I want that to be a surprise.â€

There was a general rush in the direction of the food. Even Granny Morkie just happened to wander toward it, and acted quite surprised to find her way blocked by a cake.

Only Masklin stayed where he was, despite the urgent complaints from his stomach. He wasnâ€™t sure he even began to understand how things worked in the Store, but he had an obscure feeling that if you didnâ€™t face them with dignity, you could end up doing things you werenâ€™t entirely happy about.

â€œYouâ€™re not hungry?â€ said Angalo.

â€œIâ€™m hungry,â€ admitted Masklin. â€œIâ€™m just not eating. Where does all the food come from?â€

â€œOh, we take it from the humans,â€ said Angalo airily. â€œTheyâ€™re rather stupid, you know.â€

â€œAnd they donâ€™t mind?â€

â€œThey think itâ€™s rats,â€ sniggered Angalo. â€œWe take up rat doodahs with us. At least, the Food Hall families do,â€ he corrected himself. â€œSometimes they let other people go up with them. Then the humans just think itâ€™s rats.â€

Masklinâ€™s brow wrinkled.

â€œDoodahs?â€ he said.

â€œYou know,â€ said Angalo. â€œDroppings.â€

Masklin nodded. â€œThey fall for that, do they?â€ he said doubtfully.

â€œTheyâ€™re very stupid, I told you.â€ The boy walked around Masklin. â€œYou must come and see my father,â€ he said. â€œOf course, itâ€™s a foregone conclusion that youâ€™ll join the Haberdasheri.â€

Masklin looked at the tribe. They had spread out among the food stalls. Torrit had a lump of cheese as big as his head, Granny Morkie was investigating a banana as if it might explode, and even Grimma wasnâ€™t paying him any attention.

Masklin felt lost. What he was good at, he knew, was tracking a rat across several fields, bringing it down with a single spear throw, and dragging it home. Heâ€™d felt really good about that. People had said things like â€œWell done.â€

He had a feeling that you didnâ€™t have to track a banana.

â€œYour father?â€ he said.

â€œThe Duke de Haberdasheri,â€ said Angalo proudly. â€œDefender of the Mezzanine and Autocrat of the Staff Canteen.â€

â€œHeâ€™s three people?â€ said Masklin, puzzled.

â€œThose are his titles. Some of them. Heâ€™s nearly the most powerful nome in the Store. Do you have things like fathers Outside?â€

Funny thing, Masklin thought. Heâ€™s a rude little twerp except when he talks about the Outside; then heâ€™s like an eager little boy.

â€œI had one once,â€ he said. He didnâ€™t want to dwell on the subject.

â€œI bet you had lots of adventures!â€

Masklin thought about some of the things that had happened to himâ€”or, more accurately, had nearly happened to himâ€”recently.

â€œYes,â€ he said.

â€œI bet it was tremendous fun!â€

Fun, Masklin thought. It wasnâ€™t a familiar word. Perhaps it referred to running through muddy ditches with hungry teeth chasing you. â€œDo you hunt?â€ he asked.

â€œRats, sometimes. In the boiler-room. Of course, we have to keep them down.â€ He scratched Bobo behind an ear.

â€œDo you eat them?â€

Angalo looked horrified. â€œEat rat?â€

Masklin stared around at the piles of food. â€œNo, I suppose not,â€ he said. â€œYou know, I never realized there were so many nomes in the world. How many live here?â€

Angalo told him.

â€œTwo what?â€ said Masklin.

Angalo repeated it.

â€œYou donâ€™t look very impressed,â€ he said, when Masklinâ€™s expression didnâ€™t change.

Masklin looked hard at the end of his spear. It was a piece of flint heâ€™d found in a field one day, and heâ€™d spent ages teasing a bit of twine out of the hay bale in order to tie it onto a stick. Right now it seemed about the one familiar thing in a bewildering world.

â€œI donâ€™t know,â€ he said. â€œWhat is a thousand?â€

Duke Cido de Haberdasheri, who was also Lord Protector of the Up Escalator, Defender of the Mezzanine, and Knight of the Counter, turned the Thing over in his hands, very slowly. Then he tossed it aside.

â€œVery amusing,â€ he said.

The nomes stood in a confused group in the Dukeâ€™s palace, which was currently under the floorboards in the Soft Furnishings Department. The Duke was still in armor, and not very amused.

â€œSo,â€ he said, â€œyouâ€™re from Outside, are you? Do you really expect me to believe you?â€

â€œFather, Iâ€”â€ Angalo began.

â€œBe quiet! You know the words of Arnold Bros (est. 1905)! Everything Under One Roof. Everything! Therefore, there can be no Outside. Therefore, you people are not from it. Therefore, youâ€™re from some other part of the Store. Corsetry. Or Young Fashions, maybe. Weâ€™ve never really explored there.â€

â€œNo, weâ€™reâ€”â€ Masklin began.

The Duke held up his hands.

â€œListen to me,â€ he said, glaring at Masklin. â€œI donâ€™t blame you. My son is an impressionable young lad. I have no doubt he talked you into it. Heâ€™s altogether too fond of going to look at trucks, and he listens to silly stories and his brain gets overheated. Now I am not an unreasonable nome,â€ he added, daring them to disagree, â€œand there is always room for a strong lad like yourself in the Haberdasheri guards. So let us forget this nonsense, shall we?â€

â€œBut we really do come from outside,â€ Masklin persisted.

â€œThere is no Outside!â€ said the Duke. â€œExcept of course when a good nome dies, if he has led a proper life. Then there is an Outside, where he will live in splendor forever. Come now.â€ He patted Masklin on the shoulder. â€œGive up this foolish chatter, and help us in our valiant task.â€

â€œYes, but what for?â€ said Masklin.

â€œYou wouldnâ€™t want the Ironmongri to take our department, would you?â€ said the Duke. Masklin glanced at Angalo, who shook his head urgently.

â€œI suppose not,â€ he said, â€œbut youâ€™re all nomes, arenâ€™t you? And thereâ€™s masses for everyone. Spending all your time squabbling seems a bit silly.â€

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Angalo put his head in his hands.

The Duke went red.

â€œSilly, did you say?â€

Masklin leaned backward to get out of his way, but heâ€™d been brought up to be honest. He felt he wasnâ€™t bright enough to get away with lies.

â€œWellâ€”â€ he began.

â€œHave you never heard of honor?â€ said the Duke.

Masklin thought for a while and then shook his head.

â€œThe Ironmongri want to take over the whole Store,â€ said Angalo hurriedly. â€œThat would be a terrible thing. And the Millineri are nearly as bad.â€

â€œWhy?â€ said Masklin.

â€œWhy?â€ said the Duke. â€œBecause they have always been our enemies. And now you may go,â€ he added.

â€œWhere?â€ said Masklin.

â€œTo the Ironmongri, or the Millineri. Or the Stationeriâ€”theyâ€™re just the people for you. Or go back Outside, for all I care,â€ said the Duke sarcastically.

â€œWe want the Thing back,â€ said Masklin stolidly. The Duke picked it up and threw it at him.

â€œSorry,â€ said Angalo when they had got away. â€œI should have told you Father has rather a temper.â€

â€œWhat did you go and upset him for?â€ asked Grimma irritably. â€œIf weâ€™ve got to join up with someone, why not with him? What happens to us now?â€

â€œHe was very rude,â€ said Granny Morkie stoutly.

â€œHeâ€™d never heard of the Thing,â€ said Torrit. â€œTerrible, that is. Or Outside. Well, I was borned and bred outside. Ainâ€™t no dead people there. Not living in any splendor, anyway.â€

They started to squabble, which was fairly usual.

Masklin looked at them. Then he looked at his feet. They were walking on a sort of short dry grass that Angalo had said was called carpet. Something else stolen from the Store above.

He wanted to say: This is ridiculous. Why is it that as soon as a nome has all he needs to eat and drink, he starts to bicker with other nomes? There must be more to being a nome than this.

And he wanted to say: If humans are so stupid, how is it that they built this Store and all these trucks? If weâ€™re that clever, then they should be stealing from us, not the other way around. They might be big and slow, but theyâ€™re quite bright, really.

And he wanted to add: I wouldnâ€™t be surprised if theyâ€™re at least as intelligent as rats, say.

But he didnâ€™t say any of this, because while he was thinking, his eyes fell on the Thing, clasped in Torritâ€™s arms.

He was aware that there was a thought he ought to be having. He made a space in his head politely and waited patiently to see what it was and then, just as it was about to arrive, Grimma said to Angalo: â€œWhat happens to nomes who arenâ€™t in a department?â€

â€œThey lead very sad lives,â€ said Angalo. â€œThey just have to get along as best they can.â€

He looked as if he were about to cry. â€œI believe you,â€ he said. â€œMy father says itâ€™s wrong to watch the trucks. They can lead you into wrong thoughts, he says. Well, Iâ€™ve watched them for months. Sometimes they come in wet. Itâ€™s not all a dream Outsideâ€”things happen. Look, why donâ€™t you sort of hang around, and Iâ€™m sure heâ€™ll change his mind.â€

The Store was big. Masklin had thought the truck was big. The Store was bigger. It went on forever, a maze of floor and walls and long, tiring steps. Nomes hurried or sauntered past them on errands of their own, and there seemed to be no end of them. In fact the word â€œbigâ€ was too small. The Store needed a whole new word.

In a strange way it was even bigger than outside. Outside was so huge, you didnâ€™t really see it. It had no edges and no top, so you didnâ€™t think of it as having a size at all. It was just there. Whereas the Store did have edges and a top, and they were so far away they were, well, big.

As they followed Angalo, Masklin made up his mind and decided to tell Grimma first.

â€œIâ€™m going back,â€ he said.

She stared at him. â€œBut weâ€™ve only just arrived! Why on earthâ€”?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know. Itâ€™s all wrong here. It just feels wrong. I keep thinking that if I stay here any longer, Iâ€™ll stop believing thereâ€™s anything outside, and I was born there. When Iâ€™ve got you all settled down, Iâ€™m going out again. You can come if you like,â€ he added, â€œbut you donâ€™t have to.â€

â€œBut itâ€™s warm and thereâ€™s all this food!â€

â€œI said I couldnâ€™t explain. I just feel weâ€™re being, well, watched.â€

Instinctively she stared upward at the ceiling a few inches above them. Back home anything watching them usually meant something was thinking about lunch. Then she remembered herself and gave a nervous laugh.

â€œDonâ€™t be silly,â€ she said.

â€œI just donâ€™t feel safe,â€ he said wretchedly.

â€œYou mean you donâ€™t feel wanted,â€ said Grimma quietly.

â€œWhat?â€

â€œWell, isnâ€™t that true? You spend all your time scrimping and scraping for everyone, and then you donâ€™t need to anymore. Itâ€™s a funny feeling, isnâ€™t it.â€

She swept away.

Masklin stood and fiddled with the binding on his spear. Odd, he thought. I never thought anyone else would think like that. He had a few dim recollections of Grimma in the hole, always doing laundry or organizing the old women or trying to cook whatever it was he managed to drag home. Odd. Fancy missing something like that.

He became aware that the rest of them had stopped. The underfloor stretched away ahead of them, lit dimly by small lights fixed to the wood here and there. Ironmongri charged highly for the lights, Angalo said, and wouldnâ€™t let anyone else into the secret of controlling the electricity. It was one of the things that made the Ironmongri so powerful.

â€œThis is the edge of Haberdasheri territory at the moment,â€ he said. â€œOver there is Millineri country. Weâ€™re a bit cool with them at the moment. Er. Youâ€™re bound to find some department to take you in. . . .â€ He looked at Grimma.

â€œEr,â€ he said.

â€œWeâ€™re going to stay together,â€ said Granny Morkie. She looked hard at Masklin, and then turned back imperiously and waved her hand at Angalo.

â€œGo away, young man,â€ she said. â€œMasklin, stand up straight. Now . . . forward.â€

â€œWhoâ€™re you, saying forward?â€ said Torrit. â€œIâ€™m the leader, I am. Itâ€™s my job, givinâ€™ orders.â€

â€œAll right,â€ said Granny Morkie. â€œGive â€™em, then.â€

Torritâ€™s mouth worked soundlessly. â€œRight,â€ he managed. â€œForward.â€

Masklinâ€™s jaw dropped.

â€œWhere to?â€ he asked, as the old woman shooed them along the dim space.

â€œWe will find somewhere. I lived through the Great Winter of 1999, I did,â€ said Granny Morkie haughtily. â€œThe cheek of that silly old Duke man! I nearly spoke up. He wouldnâ€™t of lasted long in the Great Winter, I can tell you.â€

â€œNo â€™arm can befall us if we obey the Thing,â€ said Torrit, patting it carefully.

Masklin stopped. He had, he decided, had enough.

â€œWhat does the Thing say, then?â€ he said sharply. â€œExactly? What does it actually tell us to do now? Come on, tell me what it says we should do now!â€

Torrit looked a bit desperate.

â€œEr,â€ he began, â€œit, er, is clear that if we pulls together and maintains a properâ€”â€

â€œYouâ€™re just making it up as you go along!â€

â€œHow dare you speak to him like thatâ€”â€ Grimma began. Masklin flung down his spear.

â€œWell, Iâ€™m fed up with it!â€ he muttered. â€œThe Thing says this, the Thing says that, the Thing says every blessed thing except anything that might be useful!â€

â€œThe Thing has been handed down from nome to nome for hundreds of years,â€ said Grimma. â€œItâ€™s very important.â€

â€œWhy?â€

Grimma looked at Torrit. He licked his lips.

â€œIt shows usâ€”â€ he began, white-faced.

â€œMove me closer to the electricity.â€

â€œThe Thing seems to be more important than . . . what are you all looking like that for?â€ said Masklin.

â€œCloser to the electricity.â€

Torrit, his hands shaking, looked down at the Thing.

Where there had been smooth black surfaces there were now little dancing lights. Hundreds of them. In fact, Masklin thought, feeling slightly proud of knowing what the word meant, there were probably thousands of them.

â€œWho said that?â€ said Masklin.

The Thing dropped out of Torritâ€™s grasp and landed on the floor, where its lights glittered like a thousand highways at night. The nomes watched it in horror.

â€œThe Thing does tell you things . . .â€ said Masklin. â€œGosh!â€

Torrit waved his hands frantically. â€œNot like that! Not like that! It ainâ€™t supposed to talk out loud! Itâ€™s ainâ€™t done that before!â€

â€œCloser to the electricity!â€

â€œIt wants the electricity,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWell, Iâ€™m not going to touch it!â€

Masklin shrugged and then, using his spear gingerly, pushed the Thing across the floor until it was under the wires.

â€œHow does it speak? It hasnâ€™t got a mouth,â€ said Grimma.

The Thing whirred. Colored shapes flickered across its surfaces faster than Masklinâ€™s eyes could follow. Most of them were red.

Torrit sank to his knees. â€œIt is angry,â€ he moaned. â€œWe shouldnâ€™t have eaten rat, we shouldnâ€™t have come here, we shouldnâ€™tâ€”â€

Masklin also knelt down. He touched the bright areas, gingerly at first, but they werenâ€™t hot.

He felt that strange feeling again, of his mind wanting to think certain thoughts without having the right words.

â€œWhen the Thing has told you things before,â€ he said slowly, â€œyou know, how we should live proper livesâ€”â€

Torrit gave him an agonized expression.

â€œIt never has,â€ he said.

â€œBut you saidâ€”â€

â€œIt used to, it used to,â€ moaned Torrit. â€œWhen old Voozel passed it on to me he said it used to, but he said that hundreds and hundreds of years ago it just stopped.â€

â€œWhat?â€ said Granny Morkie. â€œAll these years, my good man, youâ€™ve been telling us that the Thing says this and the Thing says that and the Thing says goodness knows what.â€

Now Torrit looked like a very frightened, trapped animal.

â€œWell?â€ said the old woman, menacingly.

â€œAhem,â€ said Torrit. â€œEr. What old Voozel said was, think about what the Thing ought to say, and then say it. Keep people on the right path, sort of thing. Help them get to the Heavens. Very important, getting to the Heavens. The Thing can help you get there, he said. Most important thing about it.â€

â€œWhat?â€ shouted Granny.

â€œThatâ€™s what he told me to do. It worked, didnâ€™t it?â€

Masklin ignored them. The colored lines moved over the Thing in hypnotic patterns. He felt that he ought to know what they meant. He was certain they meant something.

Sometimes, on fine days back in the times when he didnâ€™t have to hunt every day, heâ€™d climb farther along the bank until he could look down on the place where the trucks parked. There was a big blue board there, with little shapes and pictures on it. And in the litter bins the boxes and papers had more shapes and pictures on them; he remembered the long argument theyâ€™d had about the chicken boxes with the pictures of the old man with the big whiskers on them. Several nomes had insisted that this was a picture of a chicken, but Masklin had rather felt that humans didnâ€™t go around eating old men. There had to be more to it than that. Perhaps old men made chicken.

The Thing hummed again.

â€œFifteen thousand years have passed,â€ it said.

Masklin looked up at the others.

â€œYou talk to it,â€ Granny ordered Torrit. The old man backed away.

â€œNot me! Not me! I dunno what to say!â€ he said.

â€œWell, I ainâ€™t!â€ snapped Granny. â€œThatâ€™s the leaderâ€™s job, is that!â€

â€œFifteen thousand years have passed,â€ the Thing repeated.

Masklin shrugged. It seemed to be up to him.

â€œPassed what?â€ he said.

The Thing gave the impression that it was thinking busily. At last it said: â€œDo you still know the meaning of the words Flight Navigation and Recording Computer?â€

â€œNo,â€ said Masklin earnestly. â€œNone of them.â€

The light pattern moved.

â€œDo you know anything about interstellar travel?â€

â€œNo.â€

The box gave Masklin the distinct impression that it was very disappointed in him.

â€œDo you know you came here from a place far away?â€ it said.

â€œOh, yes. We know that.â€

â€œA place farther than the moon.â€

â€œEr.â€ Masklin hesitated. The journey had taken a long time. It was always possible that they had gone past the moon. He had often seen it on the horizon, and he was certain that the truck had gone farther than that.

â€œYes,â€ he said. â€œProbably.â€

â€œLanguage changes over the years,â€ said the Thing thoughtfully.

â€œDoes it?â€ said Masklin politely.

â€œWhat do you call this planet?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know what planet means, either,â€ said Masklin.

â€œAn astronomical body.â€

Masklin looked blank.

â€œWhat is your name for this place?â€

â€œItâ€™s called . . . the Store.â€

â€œThestore.â€ The lights moved, as if the Thing were thinking again.

â€œYoung man, I donâ€™t want to stand here all day exchanging nonsense with the Thing,â€ said Granny Morkie. â€œWhat we need to do now is sort out where weâ€™re going and what weâ€™re going to do.â€

â€œThatâ€™s right,â€ said Torrit defiantly.

â€œDo you even remember that you are shipwrecked?â€

â€œIâ€™m Masklin,â€ said Masklin. â€œI donâ€™t know who Shipwrecked is.â€

The lights changed again. Later, when he got to know the Thing better, Masklin always thought that particular pattern was its way of sighing deeply.

â€œMy purpose is to serve you and guide you,â€ said the Thing.

â€œSee?â€ said Torrit, who was feeling a bit out of things. â€œWe was right about that!â€

Masklin prodded the box. â€œYouâ€™ve been keeping a bit quiet about it lately, then,â€ he said.

The Thing hummed. â€œThis was to maintain internal power. However, I can now use ambient electricity.â€

â€œThatâ€™s nice,â€ said Grimma.

â€œYou mean you sort of drink up the lights?â€ said Masklin.

â€œThat will suffice as an explanation for now.â€

â€œWhy didnâ€™t you talk before, then?â€ said Masklin.

â€œI was listening.â€

â€œOh.â€

â€œAnd now I await instructions.â€

â€œIn where?â€ said Grimma.

â€œI think it wants us to tell it what to do,â€ said Masklin. He sat back on his heels and watched the lights.

â€œWhat can you do?â€ he said.

â€œI can translate, calculate, triangulate, assimilate, correlate, and extrapolate.â€

â€œI donâ€™t think we want anything like that,â€ said Masklin. â€œDo we want anything like that?â€ he asked the others.

Granny Morkie appeared to think about it. â€œNo,â€ she said eventually, â€œI donâ€™t think we wants any of that stuff. Another bananaâ€™d be nice, mind.â€

â€œI think all we really want is to go home and be safe,â€ said Masklin.

â€œGo home.â€

â€œThatâ€™s right.â€

â€œAnd be safe.â€

â€œYes.â€

Later on, those five words became one of the most famous quotations in nome history. They got taught in schools. They got carved in stone. And itâ€™s sad, therefore, that at the time no one thought they were particularly important.

All that happened was that the Thing said, â€œComputing.â€

Then all its lights died, except a small green one, which began to flash.

â€œThank goodness for that,â€ said Grimma. â€œWhat a horrible voice. What shall we do now?â€

â€œAccording to that Angalo boy,â€ said Granny, â€œwe have to live very sad lives.â€

3

I. For they did not know it, but they had brought with them the Thing, which awoke in the presence of Electricity, and it alone knew their History;

II. For nomes have memories of Flesh and Blood, while the Thing had a memory of Silicon, which is Stone and perisheth not, whereas the memory of nomes blows away like dust;

III. And they gave it Instructions, but knew it not.

IV. It is, they said, a Box with a Funny Voice.

V. But the Thing began to Compute the task of keeping all nomes safe.

VI. And the Thing also began to Compute the task of taking all nomes home.

VII. All the way Home.

From The Book of Nome, Mezzanine v. Iâ€“VII

IT WAS EASY to get lost under the floor. It took no effort at all. It was a maze of walls and cables, with drifts of dust away from the paths. In fact, as Torrit said, they werenâ€™t exactly lost, more mislaid; there were paths all over the place, between the joists and walls, but no indication of where they led to. Sometimes a nome would hurry past on an errand of its own and pay them no attention.

They dozed in an alcove formed by two huge wooden walls and woke up to light as dim as ever. There didnâ€™t seem to be any night or day in the Store. It did seem noisier, though. There was a distant, all-pervading hubbub.

A few more lights were flashing on the Thing, and it had grown a little, cup-shaped, smaller thing that went round and round very slowly.

â€œShould we look for the Food Hall again?â€ asked Torrit hopefully.

â€œI think you have to be a member of a department,â€ said Masklin. â€œBut it canâ€™t be the only place with food, can it?â€

â€œIt wasnâ€™t as noisy as this when we came here,â€ said Granny. â€œWhat a din!â€

Masklin looked around. There was a space between the woodwork, and a distant gleam of very bright light. He edged toward it and stuck his eye to the crack.

â€œOh,â€ he said weakly.

â€œWhat is it?â€ Grimma called out.

â€œItâ€™s humans. More humans than youâ€™ve ever seen before.â€

The crack was where the ceiling joined the wall of a room nearly as big as the truck nest and it was, indeed, full of humans. The Store had opened.

The nomes had always known that humans lived very slowly. Masklin had almost walked into humans once or twice, when he was hunting, and knew that even before one of their huge stupid faces could swivel its eyes, he could be off the path and hiding behind a clump of something.

The space below was crowded with them, walking their great slow clumping walk and booming at each other in their vague, deep voices.

The nomes watched, fascinated, for some time.

â€œWhat are those things theyâ€™re holding?â€ said Grimma. â€œThey look a bit like the Thing.â€

â€œDunno,â€ said Masklin.

â€œLook, they pick them up and then give something to the other human, and then itâ€™s put in a bag, and they go away. They almost look, well, as if they mean what theyâ€™re doing.â€

â€œNo, itâ€™s like ants,â€ said Torrit authoritatively. â€œThey seems intelligent, Iâ€™ll grant you, but when you looks closely, thereâ€™s nothing really clever about them.â€

â€œThey build things,â€ said Masklin vaguely.

â€œSo do birds, my lad.â€

â€œYes, butâ€”â€

â€œHumans are a bit like magpies, Iâ€™ve always said. They just want things that glitter.â€

â€œHmm.â€ Masklin decided not to argue. You couldnâ€™t argue with old Torrit, unless you were Granny Morkie, of course. He had room only for a certain number of ideas in his head, and once one had taken root, you couldnâ€™t budge it. But Masklin wanted to say: If theyâ€™re so stupid, why isnâ€™t it them hiding from us?

An idea struck him. He lifted up the Thing.

â€œThing?â€ he said.

There was a pause. Then the tinny little voice said: â€œOperations on main task suspended. What is it that you require?â€

â€œDo you know what humans are?â€ said Masklin.

â€œYes. Resuming main task.â€

Masklin looked blankly at the others.

â€œThing?â€ he said.

â€œOperations on main task suspended. What is it that you require?â€

â€œI asked you to tell me about humans,â€ said Masklin.

â€œThis is not the case. You said: Do you know what humans are? My answer was correct in every respect.â€

â€œWell, tell me what humans are!â€

â€œHumans are the indigenous inhabitants of the world you now call Thestore. Resuming main task.â€

â€œThere!â€ said Torrit, nodding wisely. â€œTold you, didnâ€™t I? Theyâ€™re indigenous. Clever, yes, but basically just indigenous. Just a lot of indigenouses.â€ He hesitated. â€œIndigenice,â€ he corrected himself.

â€œAre we indigenous?â€ said Masklin.

â€œMain task interrupted. No. Main task resumed.â€

â€œCourse not,â€ said Torrit witheringly. â€œWeâ€™ve got a bit of pride.â€

Masklin opened his mouth to ask what indigenous meant. He knew he didnâ€™t know, and he was certain that Torrit didnâ€™t. And after that, he wanted to ask a lot more questions, and before he asked them, heâ€™d have to think about the words he used.

I donâ€™t know enough words, he thought. Some things you canâ€™t think unless you know the right words.

But he didnâ€™t get around to it, because a voice behind him said, â€œPowerful strange things, ainâ€™t they? And very busy just lately. I wonder whatâ€™s got into them?â€

It was an elderly, rather stocky nome. And drably dressed, which was unusual in the Store. Most of his clothing was a huge apron, its pockets bulging mysteriously.

â€œHave you been spying on us?â€ said Granny Morkie.

The stranger gave a shrug.

â€œI usually come here to watch humans,â€ he said. â€œItâ€™s a good spot. There isnâ€™t usually anyone else here. What department are you?â€

â€œWe havenâ€™t got one,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWeâ€™re just people,â€ said Granny.

â€œNot indigenous, either,â€ Torrit added quickly.

The stranger grinned and slid off the wooden beam heâ€™d been sitting on.

â€œFancy that,â€ he said. â€œYou must be these new things Iâ€™ve heard about. Outsiders?â€

He held out his hand. Masklin looked at it cautiously.

â€œYes?â€ he said politely.

The stranger sighed. â€œYouâ€™re supposed to shake it,â€ he said.

â€œI am? Why?â€

â€œItâ€™s traditional. My nameâ€™s Dorcas del Icatessen.â€ The stranger gave Masklin a lopsided grin. â€œDo you know yours?â€ he said.

Masklin ignored this. â€œWhat do you mean, you watch humans?â€ he said.

â€œI watch humans. Study them, you know. Itâ€™s what I do. You can learn a lot about the future by watching humans.â€

â€œA bit like the weather, you mean?â€ said Masklin.

â€œWeather! Of course, weather!â€ The nome grinned hugely. â€œYouâ€™d know all about the weather. Powerful stuff, weather?â€

â€œYouâ€™ve heard of it?â€ said Masklin.

â€œOnly the old stories. Hmm.â€ Dorcas looked him up and down. â€œI reckoned Outsidersâ€™d have to be a different shape, though. Life, but not as we know it. You just come along with me. Iâ€™ll show you what I mean.â€

Masklin looked slowly around the dusty space between the floors. This was just about it. Heâ€™d had just about enough of it. It was too warm and too dry and everyone treated him like a fool, and now they thought he was the wrong shape.

â€œWellâ€”â€ he began, and under his arm the Thing said, â€œWe need this person.â€

â€œMy word,â€ said Dorcas. â€œWhat a tiny radio. They get smaller all the time, donâ€™t they?â€

Where Dorcas led them was just a hole. Big, square, deep, and dark. A few cables, fatter than a nome, disappeared down into the depths.

â€œYou live down here?â€ asked Grimma.

Dorcas fumbled in the darkness. There was a click. Far above, something went bang and there was a distant roaring sound.

â€œHmm? Oh, no,â€ he said. â€œTook me ages to sort out, did this. Itâ€™s a sort of floor on a rope. It goes up and down, you know. With humans in it. So I thought, Iâ€™m not getting any younger, all those stairs were playing havoc with my legs, so I had a look at the way it worked. Perfectly simple. Itâ€™d have to be, oâ€™ course, otherwise humans wouldnâ€™t know how to use it. Stand back, please.â€

Something huge and black came down the shaft and stopped a few inches above their heads. There were clangs and thumps and the now-familiar sound of clumsy humans walking about.

There was also, slung under the elevatorâ€™s floor, a small wire basket tied on with bits of string.

â€œIf you think,â€ said Granny Morkie, â€œthat Iâ€™m going to get into a, a wire nest on a string, then youâ€™ve got anotherâ€”â€

â€œIs it safe?â€ said Masklin.

â€œMore or less, more or less,â€ said Dorcas, stepping across the gap and fumbling with another little bundle of switches. â€œHurry up, please. This way, madam.â€

â€œEr, how much more than less?â€ asked Masklin as Granny, astonished at being called madam, got aboard.

â€œWell, my bit Iâ€™m sure is safe,â€ said Dorcas. â€œThe bit above us was put together by humans, though, and you never can tell. Hold tight, please. Going up!â€

There was a clang above them and a slight jerk as they began to rise.

â€œGood, isnâ€™t it,â€ said Dorcas. â€œTook me ages to bypass all the switches. Youâ€™d have thought theyâ€™d notice, wouldnâ€™t you? They press the button to go down, but if I want to go up, we go up. I used to worry that the humans would think it odd that these lifts seemed to go up and down by themselves, but they seem powerful dense. Here we are.â€

The elevator stopped with another jerk, leaving the nomeâ€™s basket level with another underfloor gap.

â€œElectrical and Domestic Appliances,â€ said Dorcas. â€œJust a little place I call my own. No one bothers me here, not even the Abbot. Iâ€™m the only one who knows how things work, see.â€

It was a place of wires. They ran under the floor in every direction, great bundles of the things. A few young nomes were taking something to pieces in the middle of it all.

â€œRadio,â€ said Dorcas. â€œAmazing thing. Trying to figure out how it talks.â€ He rummaged among piles of thick paper, pulled out a sheet, and sheepishly passed it to Masklin.

It showed a small pinkish cone, with a little tuft of hair on top.

The nomes had never seen a limpet. If they had, theyâ€™d have known that this drawing looked exactly like one. Except for the hair.

â€œVery nice,â€ said Masklin, uncertainly. â€œWhat is it?â€

â€œUm. It was my idea of what an Outsider would look like, you see,â€ said Dorcas.

â€œWhat, with pointy heads?â€

â€œThe Rain, you see. In the old legends of the time before the Store. Rain. Water dropping out of the sky all the time. Itâ€™d need to run off. And the sloping sides are so the Wind wonâ€™t keep knocking it over. I only had the old stories to go on, you see.â€

â€œIt hasnâ€™t even got any eyes!â€

Dorcas pointed. â€œYes, it has. Tiny ones. Tucked in under the hair so they wonâ€™t get blinded by the Sun. Thatâ€™s a big bright light in the sky,â€ Dorcas added helpfully.

â€œWeâ€™ve seen it,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWhatâ€™s he sayinâ€™?â€ said Torrit.

â€œHeâ€™s saying you ought to of looked like that,â€ said Granny Morkie sarcastically.

â€œMy head ainâ€™t that sharp!â€

â€œYouâ€™re right there, you,â€ said Granny.

â€œI think youâ€™ve got it a bit wrong,â€ said Masklin slowly. â€œItâ€™s not like that at all. Hasnâ€™t anyone been to look?â€

â€œI saw the big door open once,â€ said Dorcas. â€œThe one down in the garage, I mean. But there was just a blinding white light outside.â€

â€œI expect it would seem like it, if you spend all your time in this gloom,â€ said Masklin.

Dorcas pulled up an empty cotton reel. â€œYou must tell me about it,â€ he said. â€œEverything you can remember about the Outside.â€

In Torritâ€™s lap, the Thing began to flash another green light.

One of the young nomes brought some food after a while. And they talked, and argued, and often contradicted one another, while Dorcas listened, and asked questions.

He was, he told them, an inventor. Especially of things to do with electricity. Back in the early days, when the nomes first began to tap into the Storeâ€™s wiring, a good many had been killed. Theyâ€™d found safer ways to do it now, but it was still a bit of a mystery and there werenâ€™t many who were keen to get close to it. Thatâ€™s why the leaders of the big families, and even the Abbot of the Stationeri himself, left him alone. It was always a good idea, he said, to be good at something other people couldnâ€™t or didnâ€™t want to do. So they put up with him sometimes wondering, out loud, about the Outside. Provided he wasnâ€™t too loud.

â€œI shanâ€™t remember it all,â€ he sighed. â€œWhat was the other light, the one that you get at Closing Time? Sorry, I mean bite.â€

â€œNight,â€ corrected Masklin. â€œItâ€™s called the moon.â€

â€œMoon,â€ said Dorcas, rolling the word around his mouth. â€œBut itâ€™s not as bright as the sun? Strange, really. Itâ€™s be more sensible to have the brightest light at night, not during the day, when you can see anyway. I suppose youâ€™ve no idea why, have you?â€

â€œIt just happens,â€ said Masklin.

â€œIâ€™d give anything to see for myself. I used to go and watch the trucks when I was a lad, but I never had the courage to get on one.â€ He leaned closer.

â€œI reckon,â€ he said, â€œthat Arnold Bros (est. 1905) put us in the Store to find out things. To learn about it. Otherwise, why have we got brains? What do you think?â€

Masklin was rather flattered at being asked, but he was interrupted as soon as he opened his mouth. â€œPeople keep talking about Arnold Bros (est. 1905),â€ said Grimma. â€œNo one actually says who he is, though.â€

Dorcas leaned back. â€œOh, he created the Store. In 1905, you know. The Bargain Basement, Consumer Accounts, and everything between. I canâ€™t deny it. I mean, someone must have done it. But I keep telling people, that doesnâ€™t mean we shouldnâ€™t think aboutâ€”â€

The green light on the Thing went off. Its little spinning cup vanished. It made a faint whirring sound, such as a machine would make to clear its throat.

â€œI am monitoring telephonic communications,â€ it said.

The nomes looked at one another.

â€œWell, thatâ€™s nice,â€ said Grimma. â€œIsnâ€™t that nice, Masklin?â€

â€œI have urgent information to impart to the leaders of this community. Are you aware that you are living in a constructed entity with a limited life?â€

â€œFascinating,â€ said Dorcas. â€œAll those words. You could imagine you could almost understand what itâ€™s saying. Thereâ€™s things up thereâ€â€” he jerked his thumb to the floorboards above themâ€”â€œthatâ€™re just like that. Radios, theyâ€™re called. With pictures, too. Amazing.â€

â€œVitally important I communicate information of utmost significance to community leaders, concerning imminent destruction of this artifact,â€ intoned the Thing.

â€œIâ€™m sorry,â€ said Masklin. â€œCould you try that again?â€

â€œYou do not comprehend?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know what â€˜comprehendâ€™ means.â€

â€œEvidently language has changed in ways I do not understand.â€

Masklin tried to look helpful.

â€œI will endeavor to clarify my statement,â€ said the Thing. A few lights flashed.

â€œJolly good,â€ said Masklin.

â€œBig-fella Store him go Bang along plenty soon enough chop-chop?â€ said the Thing, hopefully.

The nomes watched one anotherâ€™s faces. There didnâ€™t seem to be any light dawning.

The Thing cleared its throat again. â€œDo you know the meaning of the word â€˜destroyedâ€™?â€ it said.

â€œOh, yes,â€ said Dorcas.

â€œThatâ€™s what is going to happen to the Store. In twenty-one days.â€

4

I. Woe unto you, Ironmongri and Haberdasheri; woe unto you, Millineri and Del Icatessen; woe unto you, Young Fashions, and unto you, you bandits of Corsetry. And even unto to you, Stationeri.

II. For the Store is but a Place inside the Outside.

III. Woe unto you, for Arnold Bros (est. 1905) has opened the Last Sale. Everything Must Go.

IV. But they mocked him and said, You are an Outsider, You donâ€™t even Exist.

From The Book of Nome, Goods Inward v. Iâ€“IV

OVERHEAD THE HUMANS plodded through their slow and incomprehensible lives. Below, so that that the din was muffled by carpet and floorboards into a distant rumbling, the nomes straggled hurriedly along their dusty passageways.

â€œIt couldnâ€™t of meant it,â€ said Granny Morkie. â€œThis place is too big. Place as big as this canâ€™t be destroyed. Stands to reason.â€

â€œI tole you, dint I?â€ panted Torrit, who always cheered up immensely at any news of devastation and terror. â€œThey always said the Thing knows things. And donâ€™t you go tellinâ€™ me to shut up, you.â€

â€œWhy do we have to run?â€ said Masklin. â€œI mean, twenty-one days is a long time.â€

â€œNot in politics,â€ said Dorcas grimly.

â€œI thought this was the Store?â€

Dorcas stopped so suddenly that Granny Morkie cannoned into the back of him.

â€œLook,â€ he said, with impatient patience, â€œwhat do you think nomes should do, eh, if the Store is destroyed?â€

â€œGo outside, ofâ€”â€ Masklin began.

â€œBut most of them donâ€™t even believe the Outside really exists! Even Iâ€™m not quite sure about it, and I have an extremely intelligent and questioning mind! There isnâ€™t anywhere to go. Do you understand me?â€

â€œThereâ€™s masses of outsideâ€”â€

â€œOnly if you believe in it!â€

â€œNo, itâ€™s really there!â€

â€œIâ€™m afraid people are more complicated than you think. But we ought to see the Abbot, anyway. Dreadful old tyrant, of course, but quite bright in his way. Itâ€™s just a rather stuffy way.â€ He looked hard at them.

â€œPossibly best if we donâ€™t draw attention to ourselves,â€ he added. â€œPeople tend to leave me alone, but itâ€™s not a wise thing for people to wander around outside their department without good reason. And since you havenâ€™t got a department at all . . .â€

He shrugged. He managed, in one shift of his shoulders, to hint at all the unpleasant things that could happen to departmentless wanderers.

It meant using the lift again. It led into a dusty underfloor area dimly lit by well-spaced, weak bulbs. No one seemed to be around. After the bustle of the other departments, it was almost unpleasantly quiet. Even quieter, Masklin thought, than the big fields. After all, they were meant to be quiet. The underfloor spaces should have nomes in them.

They all sensed it. They drew closer to one another.

â€œWhat dear little lights,â€ said Grimma, to break the silence. â€œNome size. All different colors, look. And some of them flash on and off.â€

â€œWe steal boxes of â€™em every year, around Christmas Fayre,â€ said Dorcas, without looking around. â€œHumans put them on trees.â€

â€œWhy?â€

â€œSearch me. To see â€™em better, I suppose. You can never tell, with humans,â€ said Dorcas.

â€œBut you know what trees are, then,â€ said Masklin. â€œI didnâ€™t think youâ€™d have them in the Store.â€

â€œOf course I know,â€ said Dorcas. â€œBig green things with plastic prickles on. Some of â€™em are made of tinsel. You canâ€™t move for the damn things every Christmas Fayre, I told you.â€

â€œThe ones we have outside are huge,â€ Masklin ventured. â€œAnd they have these leaves, which fall off every year.â€

Dorcas gave him an odd look.

â€œWhat do you mean, fall off?â€ he said.

â€œThey just curl up and fall off,â€ said Masklin. The other nomes nodded. There were a lot of things lately they werenâ€™t certain about, but they were experts on what happened to leaves every year.

â€œAnd this happens every year?â€ said Dorcas.

â€œOh, yes.â€

â€œReally?â€ said Dorcas. â€œFascinating. And who sticks them back on?â€

â€œNo one,â€ said Masklin. â€œThey just turn up again, eventually.â€

â€œAll by themselves?â€

They nodded. When thereâ€™s one thing youâ€™re certain of, you hang on to it. â€œThey seem to,â€ said Masklin. â€œWeâ€™ve never really found out why. It just happens.â€

The Store nome scratched his head. â€œWell, I donâ€™t know,â€ he said uncertainly. â€œIt sounds like very sloppy management to me. Are you sureâ€”â€

There were suddenly figures surrounding them. One minute dust heaps, the next minute people. The one right in front of the party had a beard, a patch over one eye, and a knife clutched in his teeth. It somehow made his grin so much worse.

â€œOh, dear,â€ said Dorcas.

â€œWhoâ€™re they?â€ hissed Masklin.

â€œBandits. Thatâ€™s always a problem in Corsetry,â€ said Dorcas, raising his hands.

â€œWhatâ€™s bandits?â€ said Masklin blankly.

â€œWhatâ€™s Corsetry?â€ said Grimma.

Dorcas pointed a finger at the floorboards overhead. â€œItâ€™s up there,â€ he said. â€œA department. Only no oneâ€™s really interested in it because thereâ€™s nothing in it of any use. Itâ€™s mainly pink,â€ he added. â€œSometimes the elasticâ€”â€

â€œOrr ossessionz orr orr ife,â€ said the head bandit impatiently.

â€œPardon?â€ said Grimma.

â€œI edd, orr ossessionz orr orr ife!â€

â€œI think itâ€™s the knife,â€ said Masklin. â€œI think weâ€™d understand you if you took the knife out.â€

The bandit glared at them with his one good eye, but took the knife blade out of his mouth.

â€œI said, your possessions or your life!â€ he repeated.

Masklin gave Dorcas a questioning look. The old nome waved his hands.

â€œHe wants you to give him everything you have,â€ he said. â€œHe wonâ€™t kill you, of course, but they can be rather unpleasant.â€

The Outside nomes went into a huddle. This was something beyond their experience. The idea of stealing was a new one to them. Back home there had never been anyone to steal from. If it came to that, there had never been anything to steal.

â€œDonâ€™t they understand plain Nome?â€ said the bandit.

Dorcas gave him a sheepish grin. â€œYouâ€™ll have to excuse them,â€ he said. â€œTheyâ€™re new here.â€

Masklin turned around.

â€œWeâ€™ve decided,â€ he said. â€œIf itâ€™s the same to you, weâ€™ll keep what we have. Sorry.â€

He gave Dorcas and the bandit a bright smile.

The bandit returned it. At least, he opened his mouth and showed a lot of teeth.

â€œEr,â€ said Dorcas, â€œyou canâ€™t say that, you know. You canâ€™t say you donâ€™t want to be robbed!â€ He saw Masklinâ€™s look of complete bewilderment. â€œRobbed,â€ he repeated. â€œIt means having your things taken away from you. You just canâ€™t say you donâ€™t want it to happen!â€

â€œWhy not?â€ said Grimma.

â€œBecauseâ€”â€ The old nome hesitated. â€œI donâ€™t know, really. Tradition, I suppose.â€

The bandit chief tossed his knife from one hand to the other. â€œTell you what Iâ€™ll do,â€ he said, â€œyou being new and everything. Weâ€™ll hardly hurt you at all. Get them!â€

Two bandits grabbed Granny Morkie.

This turned out to be a mistake. Her bony right hand flashed out and there were two ringing slaps.

â€œCheeky!â€ she snapped as the nomes staggered sideways, clutching their ears.

A bandit who tried to hold old Torrit got a pointed elbow in his stomach. One waved a knife at Grimma, who caught his wrist; the knife dropped from his hand and he sank to his knees, making pathetic bubbling noises.

Masklin leaned down, grabbed a handful of the chiefâ€™s shirt in one hand, and lifted him up to eye level.

â€œIâ€™m not sure we fully understand this custom,â€ he said. â€œBut nomes shouldnâ€™t hurt other nomes, donâ€™t you think?â€

â€œAhahaha,â€ said the chief, nervously.

â€œSo I think perhaps it would be a good idea if you go away, donâ€™t you?â€

He let go. The bandit scrabbled on the floor for his knife, gave Masklin another anxious grin, and ran for it. The rest of the band hurried after him, or at least limped fast.

Masklin turned to Dorcas, who was shaking with laughter.

â€œWell,â€ he said, â€œwhat was that all about?â€

Dorcas leaned against a wall for support.

â€œYou really donâ€™t know, do you?â€ he said.

â€œNo,â€ said Masklin patiently. â€œThatâ€™s why I asked, you see.â€

â€œThe Corsetri are bandits. They take things that donâ€™t belong to them. They hide out in Corsetry because itâ€™s more trouble than itâ€™s worth to anyone to drag them out,â€ said Dorcas. â€œUsually they just try to frighten people. Theyâ€™re really just a bit of a nuisance.â€

â€œWhyâ€™d that one have his knife in his mouth?â€ said Grimma.

â€œItâ€™s supposed to make him look tough and devil-may-care, I think.â€

â€œI think it makes him look silly,â€ said Grimma flatly.

â€œHeâ€™ll feel the back of my hand if he comes back here,â€ said Granny Morkie.

â€œI donâ€™t think theyâ€™ll be back. I think they were a bit shocked to have people hit them, in fact,â€ said Dorcas. He laughed. â€œYou know, Iâ€™m really looking forward to seeing what effect you lot have on the Abbot. I donâ€™t think weâ€™ve ever seen anything like you. Youâ€™ll be like aâ€” aâ€”whatâ€™s that stuff you said thereâ€™s a lot of Outside?â€

â€œFresh air?â€ said Masklin.

â€œThatâ€™s right. Fresh air.â€

And so they came, eventually, to the Stationeri.

Go to the Stationeri or go Outside, the Duke had said, meaning that he didnâ€™t see a lot of difference between the two. And there was no doubt that the other great families distrusted the Stationeri, who they reckoned had strange and terrifying powers.

After all, they could read and write. Anyone who can tell you what a piece of paper is saying must be strange.

They also understood Arnold Bros (est. 1905)â€™s messages in the sky.

But it is very hard to meet someone who believes you donâ€™t exist.

Masklin had always thought that Torrit looked old, but the Abbot looked so old that he must have been around to give Time itself a bit of a push. He walked with the aid of two sticks, and a couple of younger nomes hovered behind him in case he needed support. His face was a bag of wrinkles, out of which his eyes stared like two sharp black holes.

The tribe clustered up behind Masklin, as they always did now when they were worried.

The Abbotâ€™s guest hall was an area walled with cardboard, near one of the lifts. Occasionally one went past, shaking down some dust.

The Abbot was helped to his chair and sat down slowly, while his assistants fussed around him. Then he leaned forward.

â€œAh,â€ he said, â€œdel Icatessen, isnâ€™t it? Invented anything lately?â€

â€œNot lately, my lord,â€ said Dorcas. â€œMy lord, I have the honor to present to youâ€”â€

â€œI canâ€™t see anyone,â€ said the Abbot, smoothly.

â€œMust be blind,â€ sniffed Granny.

â€œAnd I canâ€™t hear anyone, either,â€ said the Abbot.

â€œBe quiet,â€ Dorcas hissed. â€œSomeoneâ€™s told him about you! He wonâ€™t let himself see you! My lord,â€ he said loudly, turning back, â€œI bring strange news. The Store is going to be demolished!â€

It didnâ€™t have quite the effect Masklin had expected. The Stationeri priests behind the Abbot sniggered to themselves, and the Abbot permitted himself a faint smile.

â€œDear me.â€ He said, â€œAnd when is this terrible event likely to occur?â€

â€œIn twenty-one days, my lord.â€

â€œWell, then,â€ said the Abbot in a kindly voice. â€œYou run along now and, afterward, tell us what it was like.â€

This time the priests grinned.

â€œMy lord, this is noâ€”â€

The Abbot raised a gnarled hand. â€œIâ€™m sure you know a great deal about electricity, Dorcas, but you must know that every time there is a Grand Final Sale, excitable people say, â€˜The end of the Store is nigh.â€™ And, strangely enough, life goes on.â€

Masklin felt the Abbotâ€™s gaze on him. For someone who was invisible, he seemed to be attracting considerable attention.

â€œMy lord, it is rather more than that,â€ said Dorcas stiffly.

â€œOh? Did the electricity tell you?â€ said the Abbot mockingly.

Dorcas nudged Masklin in the ribs. â€œNow,â€ he said.

Masklin stepped forward and put the Thing down on the floor.

â€œNow,â€ he whispered.

â€œAm I in the presence of community leaders?â€ asked the Thing.

â€œAbout as much as you ever will be,â€ said Dorcas. The Abbot stared at the box.

â€œI will use small words,â€ said the Thing. â€œI am the Flight Recording and Navigation Computer. A computer is a machine that thinks. Think, computer, think. See the computer think. I use electricity. Sometimes electricity can carry messages. I can hear the messages. I can under-stand the messages. Sometimes the messages go along wires called telephone wires. Sometimes they are in other computers. There is a computer in the Store. It pays humans their wages. I can hear it think. It thinks: No more Store soon, no more payroll, no more accounts. The telephone wires, they say, Is that Blackbury Demolition Co.? Can we discuss final arrangements for the demolition, all stock will be out by the twenty-firstâ€”â€

â€œVery amusing,â€ said the Abbot. â€œHow did you make it?â€

â€œI didnâ€™t make it, my lord. These people brought it hereâ€”â€

â€œWhich people?â€ said the Abbot, looking straight through Masklin.

â€œWhat happens if I go and pull his nose?â€ whispered Granny, in a hoarse whisper.

â€œIt would be extremely painful,â€ said Dorcas.

â€œGood.â€

â€œI mean for you.â€

The Abbot rose hesitantly to his feet.

â€œI am a tolerant nome,â€ he said. â€œYou speculate about things Outside, and I do not mind, I say it is good mental exercise. We wouldnâ€™t be nomes if we didnâ€™t sometimes allow our minds to wander. But to insist that it is real, that is not to be tolerated. Little tricksy toys . . .â€ He hobbled forward and brought one stick down sharply on the Thing, which buzzed. â€œIntolerable! There is nothing Outside, and no one to live in it! Life in other Stores, pah! Audience concluded! Be off with you.â€

â€œI can stand an impact of two thousand five hundred tons,â€ said the Thing smugly, although no one took much notice.

â€œAway! Away!â€ shouted the Abbot, and Masklin saw that he was trembling.

That was the strange thing about the Store. Only a few days ago, there werenâ€™t that many things you needed to know, and they mainly involved big hungry creatures and how to avoid them. Fieldcraft, Torrit had called it. Now it was beginning to dawn on Masklin that there was a different sort of knowledge, and it consisted of the things you needed to understand in order to survive among other nomes. Things like: Be very careful when you tell people things they donâ€™t want to hear. And: The thought that they may be wrong makes people very angry.

Some of the lesser Stationeri ushered them hurriedly through the doorway. It was done quite expertly, without any of them actually touching Masklinâ€™s people or even looking them in the face. Several of them scattered hastily away from Torrit when he picked up the Thing and held it protectively.

Finally Granny Morkieâ€™s temper, which was never particularly long, shortened to vanishing point. She grabbed the nearest monk by his black robe and held him up inches in front of her nose. His eyes crossed frantically with the effort of not seeing her. She poked him violently in the chest.

â€œDo you feel my finger?â€ she demanded. â€œDo you feel it? Not here, am I?â€

â€œIndigenous!â€ said Torrit.

The monk solved his immediate problem by giving a little whimper and fainting.

â€œLetâ€™s get away from here,â€ said Dorcas hurriedly. â€œI suspect itâ€™s only a small step between not seeing people and making sure they donâ€™t exist.â€

â€œI donâ€™t understand,â€ said Grimma. â€œHow can people not see us?â€

â€œBecause they know weâ€™re from Outside,â€ said Masklin.

â€œBut other nomes can see us!â€ said Grimma, her voice rising. Masklin didnâ€™t blame her. He was beginning to feel a bit unsure too.

â€œI think thatâ€™s because they donâ€™t know,â€ he said, â€œor donâ€™t believe, we really are Outsiders!â€

â€œI ainâ€™t an Outsider!â€ said Torrit. â€œTheyâ€™re all Insiders!â€

â€œBut that means that the Abbot really does think weâ€™re from Outside!â€ said Grimma. â€œThat means he believes weâ€™re here and he canâ€™t see us! Whereâ€™s the sense in that?â€

â€œThatâ€™s nomish nature for you,â€ said Dorcas.

â€œDonâ€™t see that it matters much,â€ said Granny grimly. â€œCome three weeks and theyâ€™ll all be Outsiders. Serve them right. Theyâ€™ll have to go around not looking at themselves. See how they like that, eh?â€ She stuck her nose in the air. â€œHo, hexcuse me, Mr. Abbot, went and tripped over hyou there, didnâ€™t see hyou hiâ€™am sure. . . .â€

â€œIâ€™m sure theyâ€™d understand if only theyâ€™d listen,â€ said Masklin.

â€œShouldnâ€™t think so,â€ said Dorcas, kicking at the dust. â€œSilly of me to think they would, really. The Stationeri never listen to new ideas.â€

â€œExcuse me,â€ said a quiet voice behind them.

They turned and saw one of the Stationeri standing there. He was young, and quite plump, with curly hair and a worried expression. In fact he was nervously twisting the corner of his robe.

â€œYou want me?â€ said Dorcas.

â€œEr. I was, er, I wanted to talk to the, er, Outsiders,â€ said the little man carefully. He bobbed a curtsey in the direction of Torrit and Granny Morkie.

â€œYouâ€™ve got better eyesight than most, then,â€ said Masklin.

â€œEr, yes,â€ said the Stationeri. He looked back down the corridor. â€œEr, Iâ€™d like to talk to you. Somewhere private.â€

They shuffled around a floor joist.

â€œWell?â€ said Masklin.

â€œThat, er, thing that spoke,â€ said the Stationeri. â€œDo you believe it?â€

â€œI think it canâ€™t actually tell lies,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWhat is it, exactly? Some kind of radio?â€

Masklin gave Dorcas a hopeful look.

â€œThatâ€™s a thing for making noise,â€ Dorcas explained loftily.

â€œIs it?â€ asked Masklin, and shrugged. â€œI donâ€™t know. Weâ€™ve just had it a long time. It says it came with nomes from a long way away, a long time ago. Weâ€™ve looked after it for generations, havenâ€™t we, Torrit?â€

The old man nodded violently. â€œMy dad had it before me, and his father before him, and his father before him, and his brother at the same time as him, and their uncle before themâ€”â€ he began.

The Stationeri scratched his head.

â€œItâ€™s very worrying,â€ he said. â€œThe humans are acting very strangely. Things arenâ€™t being replaced in the Store. Thereâ€™s signs weâ€™ve never seen before. Even the Abbotâ€™s worriedâ€”he canâ€™t work out what Arnold Bros (est. 1905) expects us to do. So, er . . .â€ He bunched up his robe, untwisted it hurriedly, and went on. â€œIâ€™m the Abbotâ€™s assistant, you see. My name is Gurder. I have to do the things he canâ€™t do himself. So, er . . .â€

â€œWell, what?â€ said Masklin.

â€œCould you come with me? Please?â€

â€œIs there food?â€ said Granny Morkie, who could always put her finger on the important points.

â€œWeâ€™ll certainly have some sent up,â€ said Gurder hurriedly. He backed off through the maze of joists and wiring. â€œPlease, follow me. Please.â€

5

I. Yet there were some who said, We have seen Arnold Bros (est. 1905)â€™s new Signs in the Store, and we are Troubled for we Understand them not.

II. For this is the Season that should be Christmas Fayre, and yet the Signs are not the Signs of Christmas Fayre;

III. Nor are they January Sales, or Back-to-School Week, or Spring Into Spring Fashions, or Summer Bargains, or other Signs we know in their Season;

IV. For the Signs say Clearance Sale. We are sorely Troubled.

From The Book of Nome, Complaints v. Iâ€“IV

GURDER, BOBBING AND curtseying, led them deeper into Stationeri territory. It had a musty smell. Here and there were stacks of what Masklin was told were books. He didnâ€™t fully understand what they were for, but Dorcas obviously thought they were important.

â€œLook at â€™em,â€ he said. â€œPowerful lot of stuff in there that we could find useful, and the Stationeri guard it like, likeâ€”â€

â€œLike something well guarded?â€ said Masklin.

â€œRight. Right. Thatâ€™s exactly right. They keep looking hard at â€™em. Reading, they call it. But they donâ€™t understand any of it.â€

There was a whirr from the Thing in Torritâ€™s arms, and a few lights lit up.

â€œBooks are repositories of knowledge?â€ it said.

â€œThereâ€™s said to be a lot in them,â€ said Dorcas.

â€œIt is vital that you obtain books,â€ said the Thing.

â€œStationeri hold on to â€™em,â€ said Dorcas. â€œUnless you know how to read books properly, they inflame the brain, they say.â€

â€œIn here, please,â€ said Gurder, shifting a cardboard barrier.

Someone was waiting for them, sitting stiffly on a pile of cushions with his back to them.

â€œAh. Gurder,â€ he said. â€œCome in. Good.â€

It was the Abbot. He didnâ€™t turn around.

Masklin prodded Gurder. â€œIt was bad enough just now,â€ he said. â€œWhy are we doing this again?â€

Gurder gave him a look that seemed to say: Trust me, this is the only way.

â€œHave you arranged for some food, Gurder?â€ said the Abbot.

â€œMy lord, I was justâ€”â€

â€œGo and do it now.â€

â€œYes, my lord.â€

Gurder gave Masklin another desperate look and scurried away.

The nomes stood sheepishly, wondering what was going to happen next.

The Abbot spoke.

â€œI am nearly fifteen years old,â€ he said. â€œI am older even than some departments in the Store. I have seen many strange things, and soon I am going to meet Arnold Bros (est. 1905) in the hope that I have been a good and dutiful nome. I am so old that there are nomes who think that in some way I am the Store, and fear that when I am gone, the Store will end. Now you tell me this is so. Who is in charge?â€

Masklin looked at Torrit. But everyone else looked at him.

â€œWell, er,â€ he said. â€œMe. I suppose. Just for the moment.â€

â€œThatâ€™s right,â€ said Torrit, relieved. â€œJust for the moment Iâ€™m puttinâ€™ him in charge, see. Because Iâ€™m the leader.â€

The Abbot nodded.

â€œA very wise decision,â€ he said. Torrit beamed.

â€œStay here with the talking box,â€ said the Abbot to Masklin. â€œThe rest of you, please go. There will be food brought to you. Please go and wait.â€

â€œUm,â€ said Masklin, â€œno.â€

There was a pause.

Then the Abbot said, quite softly, â€œWhy not?â€

â€œBecause, you see, um, weâ€™re all together,â€ said Masklin. â€œWeâ€™ve never been split up.â€

â€œA very commendable sentiment. Youâ€™ll find, however, that life doesnâ€™t work like that. Come, now. I can hardly harm you, can I?â€

â€œYou talk to him, Masklin,â€ said Grimma. â€œWe wonâ€™t be far away. Itâ€™s not important.â€

He nodded reluctantly.

When they had left, the Abbot turned around. Close to, he was even older than he had looked before. His face wasnâ€™t just wrinkled, it was one big wrinkle. He was middle-aged when old Torrit was born, Masklin told himself. Heâ€™s old enough to be Granny Morkieâ€™s grandfather!

The Abbot smiled. It was a difficult smile. It was as if heâ€™d had smiling explained to him but had never had the chance to practice.

â€œYour name, I believe, is Masklin,â€ he said.

Masklin couldnâ€™t deny it.

â€œI donâ€™t understand!â€ he said. â€œYou can see me! Ten minutes ago you said I didnâ€™t even exist, and now youâ€™re talking to me!â€

â€œThere is nothing strange about it,â€ said the Abbot. â€œTen minutes ago it was official. Goodness me, I canâ€™t go around letting people believe that Iâ€™ve been wrong all along, can I? The Abbots have been denying there is anything Outside for generations. I canâ€™t suddenly say they were all wrong. People would think Iâ€™ve gone mad.â€

â€œWould they?â€ said Masklin.

â€œOh, yes. Politics, you see. Abbots canâ€™t go changing their minds all the time. Youâ€™ll find this out. The important thing about being a leader is not being right or wrong, but being certain. Otherwise people wouldnâ€™t know what to think. Of course, it helps to be right as well,â€ the Abbot conceded. He leaned back.

â€œThere were terrible wars in the Store once,â€ he said. â€œTerrible wars. A terrible time. Nome against nome. Decades ago, of course. It seemed that there was always some nome who thought his family should rule the Store. The Battle of the Freight Elevator, the Goods Inward Campaign, the dreadful Mezzanine Wars . . . But thatâ€™s past, now. And do you know why?â€

â€œNo,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWe stopped it. The Stationeri. By cunning and common sense and diplomacy. We made them see that Arnold Bros (est. 1905) expects nomes to be at peace with one another. Now then. Supposing that I, in there, had said I believed you. People would have thought, The old boy has gone off his head.â€ The Abbot chuckled. â€œAnd then theyâ€™d have said, Have the Stationeri been wrong all this time? They would have panicked. Well, of course, that would never do. We must hold the nomes together. You know how they bicker at every opportunity.â€

â€œThatâ€™s true,â€ said Masklin. â€œAnd they always blame you for everything and say, Whatâ€™re you going to do about it?â€

â€œYouâ€™ve noticed, have you?â€ said the Abbot, smiling. â€œIt seems to me that you have exactly the right qualification for being a leader.â€

â€œI donâ€™t think so!â€

â€œThatâ€™s what I mean. You donâ€™t want to be one. I didnâ€™t want to be Abbot.â€ He drummed his fingers on his walking stick and then looked sharply at Masklin.

â€œPeople are always a lot more complicated than you think,â€ he said. â€œItâ€™s very important to remember that.â€

â€œI will,â€ said Masklin, not knowing what else to say.

â€œYou donâ€™t believe in Arnold Bros (est. 1905), do you?â€ said the Abbot. It was more a statement than a question.

â€œWell, erâ€”â€

â€œIâ€™ve seen him, you know. When I was a boy. I climbed all the way up to Consumer Accounts, by myself, and hid, and I saw him at his desk writing.â€

â€œOh?â€

â€œHe had a beard.â€

â€œOh.â€

The Abbot drummed his fingers on his stick. He seemed to be making up his mind about something. Then he said, â€œHmm. Where was your home?â€

Masklin told him. Funnily, it seemed a lot better now that he looked back on it. More summers than winters, more nuts than rat. No bananas or electric or carpets, but plenty of fresh air. And in memory there didnâ€™t seem to be as much drizzle and frost. The Stationeri listened politely.

â€œIt was a lot better when we had more people,â€ Masklin finished. He glanced at his feet. â€œYou could come and stay. When the Store is demo-thinged.â€

The Abbot laughed. â€œIâ€™m not sure Iâ€™d fit in,â€ he said. â€œIâ€™m not sure I want to believe in your Outside. It sounds cold and dangerous. Anyway, I shall be going on a rather more mysterious journey. And now, please excuse me, I must rest.â€ He thumped on the floor with his stick. Gurder appeared as if by magic.

â€œTake Masklin away and educate him a little,â€ said the Abbot, â€œand then the both of you come back here. But leave that black box, please. I wish to learn more about it. Put it on the floor.â€

Masklin did so. The Abbot poked it with his stick.

â€œBlack box,â€ he said, â€œwhat are you, and what is your purpose?â€

â€œI am the Flight Recorder and Navigation Computer of the starship Swan. I have many functions. My current major function is to guide and advise those nomes shipwrecked when their scout ship crashed here fifteen thousand years ago.â€

â€œIt talks like this all the time,â€ said Masklin apologetically.

â€œWho are these nomes of which you speak?â€ said the Abbot.

â€œAll nomes.â€

â€œIs that your only purpose?â€

â€œI have also been given the task of keeping nomes safe and taking them Home.â€

â€œVery commendable,â€ said the Abbot. He looked up at the other two.

â€œRun along, then,â€ he commanded. â€œShow him a little of the world, Gurder. And then I shall have a task for both of you.â€

Educate him a little, the Abbot had said.

That meant starting with The Book of Nome, which consisted of pieces of paper sewn together with marks on them.

â€œHumans use it for cigarettes,â€ said Gurder, and read the first dozen verses. They listened in silence, and then Granny Morkie said, â€œSo this Arnold Brosâ€”â€

â€œâ€”(est. 1905)â€”â€ said Gurder primly.

â€œWhatever,â€ said Granny. â€œHe built the Store just for nomes?â€

â€œEr. Ye-ess,â€ said Gurder, uncertainly.

â€œWhat was here before, then?â€ said Granny.

â€œThe Site.â€ Gurder looked uncomfortable. â€œYou see, the Abbot says there is nothing outside the Store. Um.â€

â€œBut weâ€™ve comeâ€”â€

â€œHe says that tales of Outside are just dreams.â€

â€œSo when I said all that about where we lived, he was just laughing at me?â€ said Masklin.

â€œIt is often very hard to know what the Abbot really believes,â€ said Gurder. â€œI think most of all he believes in Abbots.â€

â€œYou believe us, donâ€™t you?â€ said Grimma. Gurder nodded, half hesitantly.

â€œIâ€™ve often wondered where the trucks go, and where the humans come from,â€ he said. â€œThe Abbot gets very angry when you mention it, though. The other thing is thereâ€™s been a new season. That means something. Some of us have been watching humans, and when thereâ€™s a new season, something unusual is happening.â€

â€œHow can you have seasons when you donâ€™t know about weather?â€ said Masklin.

â€œWeather has got nothing to do with seasons. Look, someone can take the old people down to the Food Hall, and Iâ€™ll show you two. Itâ€™s all very odd. Butâ€â€”and now Gurderâ€™s face was a picture of miseryâ€”â€œArnold Bros (est. 1905) wouldnâ€™t destroy the Store, would he?â€

6

III. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) said, Let there be Signs, so that All within shall know the Proper Running of the Store.

IV. On the Moving Stairs, let the Sign Be: Dogs and Strollers Must be Carried;

V. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) waxed wroth, for many carried neither dog nor stroller;

VI. On the Lifts, let the Sign Be: This Elevator to Carry Ten Persons;

VII. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) waxed wroth, for oftimes the Lifts carried only two or three;

VIII. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) said, Truly Humans are Stupid, who do not understand plain language.

From The Book of Nome, Regulations v. IIIâ€“VIII

IT WAS A long walk through the busy underfloor world.

They found that Stationeri could go where they liked. The other departments didnâ€™t fear them, because the Stationeri werenâ€™t a true department. There were no women and children, for one thing.

â€œSo people have to join?â€ said Masklin.

â€œWe are selected,â€ Gurder corrected. â€œSeveral intelligent boys from each department every year. But when youâ€™re a Stationeri, you have to forget about your department and serve the whole Store.â€

â€œWhy canâ€™t women be Stationeri, then?â€ asked Grimma.

â€œItâ€™s a well-known fact that women canâ€™t read,â€ said Gurder. â€œItâ€™s not their fault, of course. Apparently their brains get too hot. With the strain, you know. Itâ€™s just one of those things.â€

â€œFancy,â€ said Grimma. Masklin glanced sideways at her. Heâ€™d heard her use that sweet, innocent tone of voice before. It meant that pretty soon there was going to be trouble.

Trouble or not, it was amazing the effect that Gurder had on people. They would stand aside and bow slightly as he went past, and one or two of them held small children up and pointed him out. Even the guards at the border crossings touched their helmets respectfully.

All around them was the bustle of the Store moving through time. Thousands of nomes, Masklin thought. I didnâ€™t even think there were any numbers that big. A world made up of people.

He remembered hunting alone, running along the deep furrows in the big field behind the highway. There was nothing around but earth and flints, stretching into the distance. The whole sky was an upturned bowl with him at the center.

Here, he felt that if he turned around suddenly, he would knock someone over. He wondered what it would be like, living here and never knowing anywhere else. Never being cold, never being wet, never being afraid.

You might start thinking it was never possible to be anything else. . . .

He was vaguely aware that theyâ€™d gone up a slope and out through another gap into the big emptiness of the Store itself. It was nightâ€”Closing Timeâ€”but there were bright lights in the sky, except that heâ€™d have to start learning to call it the ceiling.

â€œThis is the Haberdashery Department,â€ said Gurder. â€œNow, do you see the sign hanging up there?â€

Masklin peered into the misty distance and nodded. He could see it. It had huge red letter shapes on a white banner.

â€œIt should say Christmas Fayre,â€ said the Stationeri. â€œThatâ€™s the right season, it comes after Summer Bonanza and before Spring Into Spring Fashions. But instead it saysâ€â€”Gurder narrowed his eyes, and his lips moved soundlessly for a momentâ€”â€œFinal Reductions. Weâ€™ve been wondering what that means.â€

â€œThis is just a thought,â€ said Grimma, sarcastically, â€œitâ€™s only a small idea, you understand. I expect big ideas would make my head explode. But doesnâ€™t it mean, well, everything is finally being reduced?â€

â€œOh, it canâ€™t mean anything as simple as that. You have to interpret these signs,â€ said Gurder. â€œOnce they had one saying Fire Sale, and we didnâ€™t see them sell any fire.â€

â€œWhat do all the other things say?â€ said Masklin. Everything being Finally Reduced was too horrible to think about.

â€œWell, that one over there says Everything Must Go,â€ said Gurder. â€œBut that turns up every year. Itâ€™s Arnold Bros (est. 1905)â€™s way of telling us that we must lead good lives because we all die eventually. And those two over there, theyâ€™re always there too.â€ He looked solemn. â€œNo one really believes them anymore. There were wars over them, years ago. Silly superstition, really. I mean, I donâ€™t think there is a monster called Prices Slashed who walks around the Store at night, seeking out bad people. Itâ€™s just something to frighten naughty children with.â€

Gurder bit his lip. â€œThereâ€™s another odd thing,â€ he said. â€œSee those things against the wall? Theyâ€™re called shelves. Sometimes humans take things off them, sometimes they put things on them. But just lately . . . well, they just take things away.â€

Some of the shelves were empty.

Masklin wasnâ€™t too familiar with the subtleties of human behavior. Humans were humans, in the same way that cows were just cows. Obviously there was some way that other cows or humans told them apart, but heâ€™d never been able to spot it. If there was any sense in anything they did, heâ€™d never been able to work it out.

â€œEverything Must Go,â€ he said.

â€œYes, but not go,â€ said Gurder. â€œNot actually go. You donâ€™t really think it means actually go, do you? Iâ€™m sure Arnold Bros (est. 1905) wouldnâ€™t allow it. Would he?â€

â€œCouldnâ€™t rightly say,â€ said Masklin. â€œNever heard of him till we came here.â€

â€œOh, yes,â€ said Gurder in a meek voice. â€œFrom Outside, you said. It sounded . . . very interesting. And nice.â€

Grimma took Masklinâ€™s hand and squeezed it gently.

â€œItâ€™s nice here, too,â€ she said. He looked surprised.

â€œWell, it is,â€ she said defiantly. â€œYou know the others think so, too. Itâ€™s warm and thereâ€™s amazing food, even if they have funny ideas about womenâ€™s brains.â€ She turned back to Gurder. â€œWhy canâ€™t you ask Arnold Bros (est. 1905) what is going on?â€

â€œOh, I donâ€™t think we should do that!â€ said Gurder hurriedly.

â€œWhy not? Makes sense, if heâ€™s in charge,â€ said Masklin. â€œHave you ever even seen Arnold Bros (est. 1905)?â€

â€œThe Abbot did, once. When he was young he climbed all the way up to Consumer Accounts. He doesnâ€™t talk about it, though.â€

Masklin thought hard about this as they walked back. There had never been any religion or politics back home. The world was just too big to worry about things like that. But he had serious doubts about Arnold Bros (est. 1905). After all, if he had built the Store for nomes, why hadnâ€™t he made it nome sized? But, he thought, it was probably not the time to ask questions like that.

If you thought hard enough, heâ€™d always considered, you could work out everything. The wind, for example. It had always puzzled him until the day heâ€™d realized that it was caused by all the trees waving about.

They found the rest of the group near the Abbotâ€™s quarters. Food had been brought up for them. Granny Morkie was explaining to a couple of baffled Stationeri that the pineapples were nothing like as good as the ones she used to catch at home.

Torrit looked up from a hunk of bread.

â€œEveryoneâ€™s been looking for you two,â€ he said. â€œThe Abbot fellow wants you. This breadâ€™s soft. You donâ€™t have to spit on it like the bread we had at hoâ€”â€

â€œNever you mind going on about that!â€ snapped Granny, suddenly full of loyalty for the old hole.

â€œWell, itâ€™s true,â€ muttered Torrit. â€œWe never had stuff like this. I mean, all these sausages and meat in big lumps, not stuff you have to kill, no ferreting around in dirty bins . . .â€

He saw the others glaring at him and lapsed into shamefaced muttering.

â€œShut up, you daft old fool,â€ said Granny.

â€œWell, we dint have no foxes, I expect?â€ said Torrit. â€œLike Mrs. Coom and my old mate Mert, they neverâ€”â€

Her furious glare finally worked. His face went white.

â€œIt just wasnâ€™t all sunshine,â€ he whispered, shaking his head. â€œNot all sunshine, thatâ€™s all Iâ€™m saying.â€

â€œWhat does he mean?â€ asked Gurder brightly.

â€œHe donâ€™t mean nothing,â€ snapped Granny.

â€œOh.â€ Gurder turned to Masklin. â€œI know what a fox is,â€ he said. â€œI can read Human books, you know. Quite well. I read a book calledâ€â€”he hesitatedâ€”â€œOur Furry Friends, I think it was. A handsome and agile hunter, the red fox scavenges carrion, fruit, and small rodents. Itâ€” Iâ€™m sorry, is something wrong?â€

Torrit was choking on his bread while the others slapped him hurriedly on the back. Masklin took the young Stationeri by the arm and quickly walked him away.

â€œWas it something I said?â€ said Gurder.

â€œIn a way,â€ said Masklin. â€œAnd now I think the Abbot wants to see us, doesnâ€™t he?â€

The old man was sitting very still, with the Thing on his lap, staring at nothing.

He paid them no attention when they came in. Once or twice his fingers drummed on the Thingâ€™s black surface.

â€œSir?â€ said Gurder after a while.

â€œHmm?â€

â€œYou wanted to see us, sir?â€

â€œAh,â€ said the Abbot vaguely. â€œYoung Gurder, isnâ€™t it?â€

â€œYes, sir!â€

â€œOh. Good.â€

There was silence. Gurder coughed politely.

â€œYou wanted to see us, sir?â€ he repeated.

â€œAh.â€ The Abbot nodded gently. â€œOh. Yes. You, there. The young man with the spear.â€

â€œMe?â€ said Masklin.

â€œYes. Have you spoken to this, this thing?â€

â€œThe Thing? Well, in a way. It talks funny, though. Itâ€™s hard to understand.â€

â€œIt has talked to me. It has told me it was made by nomes, a long time ago. It eats electric. It says it can hear electric things. It has saidâ€â€”he glared at the thing in his lapâ€”â€œit has said that it has heard Arnold Bros (est. 1905) plans to demolish the Store. It is a mad thing, it talks about stars, it says we came from a star, flying. But . . . there is talk of strange events. I wonder to myself, is this a messenger from the Management, sent to warn us? Or is it a trap set by Prices Slashed? So!â€ He thumped the Thing with a wrinkled hand. â€œWe must ask Arnold Bros (est 1905). We will learn his truth.â€

â€œBut, sir!â€ Gurder burst out. â€œYouâ€™re far tooâ€”I mean, it wouldnâ€™t be right for you to go all the way to the Top againâ€”itâ€™s a terrible dangerous journey!â€

â€œQuite so, boy. So you will go instead. You can read Human, and your boisterous friend with the spear can go with you.â€

Gurder sagged to his knees. â€œSir? All the way to the Top? But I am not worthy . . .â€ His voice faded away.

The Abbot nodded. â€œNone of us are,â€ he said. â€œWe are all Shop soiled. Everything Must Go. Now be off, and may Bargains Galore go with you.â€

â€œWhoâ€™s Bargains Galore?â€ said Masklin, as they went out.

â€œSheâ€™s a servant of the Store,â€ said Gurder, who was still trembling. â€œSheâ€™s the enemy of the dreadful Prices Slashed, who wanders the corridors at night with his terrible shining light, to catch evil nomes!â€

â€œItâ€™s a good thing you donâ€™t believe in him, then,â€ said Masklin.

â€œOf course I donâ€™t,â€ agreed Gurder.

â€œYour teeth are chattering, though.â€

â€œThatâ€™s because my teeth believe in him. And so do my knees. And my stomach. Itâ€™s only my head that doesnâ€™t, and itâ€™s being carried around by a load of superstitious cowards. Excuse meâ€”Iâ€™ll go and collect my things. Itâ€™s very important that we set out at once.â€

â€œWhy?â€ said Masklin.

â€œBecause if we wait any longer, Iâ€™ll be too scared to go.â€

The Abbot sat back in his chair.

â€œTell me again,â€ he said, â€œabout how we came here. You mentioned a color. Mauve, wasnâ€™t it?â€

â€œMarooned,â€ said the Thing.

â€œAh, yes. From something that flew.â€

â€œA galactic survey ship,â€ said the Thing.

â€œBut it got broken, you said.â€

â€œThere was a fault in one of the everywhere engines. It meant we could not return to the main ship. Can it be that this is forgotten? In the early days, we managed to communicate with humans, but the different metabolic rates and time sense eventually made this impossible. It was hoped originally that humans could be taught enough science to build us a new ship, but they were too slow. In the end, we had to teach them the very basic skills, such as metallurgy, in the hope that they might eventually stop fighting one another long enough to take an interest in space travel.â€

â€œMetal Urgy.â€ The Abbot turned the word over and over. Metal urgy. The urge to use metals. That was humans, all right. He nodded. â€œWhat was that other thing you said we taught them? Began with a G.â€

The Thing appeared to hesitate, but it was learning how to talk to nomes now. â€œAgriculture?â€ it said.

â€œThatâ€™s right. A Griculture. Important, is it?â€

â€œIt is the basis of civilization.â€

â€œWhat does that mean?â€

â€œIt means â€˜yes.â€™â€

The Abbot sat back while the Thing went on talking. Strange words washed over him, like planets and electronics. He didnâ€™t know what they meant, but they sounded right. Nomes had taught humans. Nomes came from a long way away. From a distant star, apparently.

The Abbot didnâ€™t find this astonishing. He didnâ€™t get about much these days, but he had seen the stars in his youth. Every year, around the season of Christmas Fayre, stars would appear in most of the departments. Big ones, with lots of pointy bits and glitter on them, and lots of lights. Heâ€™d always been very impressed by them. It was quite fitting that they should have belonged to nomes, once. Of course, they werenâ€™t out all the time, so presumably there was a big storeroom somewhere where the stars were kept.

The Thing seemed to agree with this. The big room was called the galaxy. It was somewhere above Consumer Accounts.

And then there were these â€œlight years.â€ The Abbot had seen nearly fifteen years go past, and they had seemed quite heavy at the timeâ€”full of problems, swollen with responsibilities. Lighter ones would have been better.

And so he smiled, and nodded, and listened, and fell asleep as the Thing talked and talked and talked. . . .

7

XXI. But Arnold Bros (est. 1905) said, This is the Sign I give you:

XXII. If You Do Not See What You Require, Please Ask.

From The Book of Nome, Regulations v. XXIâ€“XXII

â€œSHE CANâ€™T COME,â€ said Gurder.

â€œWhy not?â€ said Masklin.

â€œWell, itâ€™s dangerous.â€

â€œSo?â€ Masklin looked at Grimma, who was wearing a defiant expression.

â€œYou shouldnâ€™t take girls anywhere dangerous,â€ said Gurder virtuously.

Once again Masklin got the feeling heâ€™d come to recognize often since heâ€™d arrived in the Store. They were talking, their mouths were opening and shutting, every word by itself was perfectly understandable, but when they were all put together, they made no sense at all. The best thing to do was ignore them. Back home, if women werenâ€™t to go anywhere dangerous, they wouldnâ€™t go anywhere.

â€œIâ€™m coming,â€ said Grimma. â€œWhat danger is there, anyway? Only this Price Slasher, andâ€”â€

â€œAnd Arnold Bros (est. 1905) himself,â€ said Gurder nervously.

â€œWell, Iâ€™m going to come anyway. People donâ€™t need me, and thereâ€™s nothing to do,â€ said Grimma. â€œWhat can happen, anyway? Itâ€™s not as if something terrible could happen,â€ she added sarcastically, â€œlike me reading something and my brain overheating, for example.â€

â€œNow, Iâ€™m sure I didnâ€™t sayâ€”â€ said Gurder weakly.

â€œI bet the Stationeri donâ€™t do their own washing,â€ said Grimma. â€œOr darn their own socks. I betâ€”â€

â€œAll right, all right,â€ said Gurder, backing away. â€œBut you mustnâ€™t lag behind, and you mustnâ€™t get in the way. Weâ€™ll make the decisions, all right?â€

He gave Masklin a desperate look.

â€œYou tell her she mustnâ€™t get in the way,â€ he said.

â€œMe?â€ said Masklin. â€œIâ€™ve never told her anything.â€

The journey was less impressive than heâ€™d expected. The old Abbot had told of staircases that moved, fire in buckets, long empty corridors with nowhere to hide.

But since then, of course, Dorcas had put the lifts in. They only went as far as Kiddies Klothes and Toys, but the Klothians were a friendly people who had adapted well to life on a high floor and always welcomed the rare travelers who came with tales of the world below.

â€œThey donâ€™t even come down to use the Food Hall,â€ said Gurder. â€œThey get everything they want from the Staff restroom. They live on tea and biscuits, mainly. And yogurt.â€

â€œHow strange,â€ said Grimma.

â€œTheyâ€™re very gentle,â€ said Gurder. â€œVery thoughtful. Very quiet. A little bit mystical, though. It must be all that yogurt and tea.â€

â€œI donâ€™t understand about the fire in buckets, though,â€ said Masklin.

â€œEr,â€ said Gurder, â€œwe think that the old Abbot might, er, we think his memory . . . after all, he is extremely old . . .â€

â€œYou donâ€™t have to explain,â€ said Grimma. â€œOld Torrit can be a bit like that.â€

â€œItâ€™s just that his mind is not as sharp as it was,â€ said Gurder.

Masklin said nothing. It just seemed to him that if the Abbotâ€™s mind was a bit blunt now, it must once have been sharp enough to cut the breeze.

The Klothians gave them a guide to take them through the outlying regions of the underfloor. There were few nomes this high up. Most of them preferred the busy floors below.

It was almost like being outside. Faint breezes blew the dust into gray drifts; there was no light except what filtered through from odd cracks. In the darkest places the guide had to light matches. He was a very small nome who smiled a lot in a shy way and said nothing at all when Grimma tried to talk to him.

â€œWhere are we going?â€ said Masklin, looking back at their deep footprints.

â€œTo the moving stairs,â€ said Gurder.

â€œMove? How do they move? Bits of the Store move around?â€

Gurder chuckled patronizingly.

â€œOf course, all this is new to you. You mustnâ€™t worry if you donâ€™t understand everything,â€ he said.

â€œDo they move or donâ€™t they?â€ said Grimma.

â€œYouâ€™ll see. Itâ€™s the only one we use, you know. Itâ€™s a bit dangerous. You have to be topsides, you see. Itâ€™s not like the lifts.â€

The little Klothian pointed forward, bowed, and hurried away.

Gurder led them up through a narrow crack in the ancient floorboards, into the bright emptiness of a passageway, and thereâ€”

â€”the moving stair.

Masklin watched it hypnotically. Stairs rose out of the floor, squeaking eerily as they did so, and whirred up into the distant heights.

â€œWow,â€ he said. It wasnâ€™t much, but it was all that he could think of.

â€œThe Klothians wonâ€™t go near it,â€ said Gurder. â€œThey think it is haunted by spirits.â€

â€œI donâ€™t blame them,â€ said Grimma, shivering.

â€œOh, itâ€™s just superstition,â€ said Gurder. His face was white and there was a tremble in his voice. â€œThereâ€™s nothing to be frightened of,â€ he squeaked.

Masklin peered at him.

â€œHave you ever been here before?â€ he asked.

â€œOh, yes. Millions of times. Often,â€ said Gurder, picking up a fold of his robe and twisting it between his fingers.

â€œSo what do we do now?â€

Gurder tried to speak slowly, but his voice began to go faster and faster of its own accord: â€œYou know, the Klothians say that Arnold Bros (est. 1905) waits at the Top, you know, and when nomes dieâ€”â€

Grimma looked reflectively at the rising stairs and shivered again. Then she ran forward.

â€œWhatâ€™re you doing?â€ said Masklin.

â€œSeeing if theyâ€™re right!â€ she snapped. â€œOtherwise weâ€™ll be here all day!â€

Masklin ran after her. Gurder gulped, looked behind him, and scurried after both of them.

Masklin saw her run toward the rising bulk of a stair, and then the floor below her came up and she was suddenly rising, wobbling as she fought for balance. The floor below him pushed against his feet and he rose after her, one step below.

â€œJump down!â€ he shouted. â€œYou canâ€™t trust ground that moves by itself!â€

Her pale face peered over the edge of her stair.

â€œWhat good will that do?â€ she said.

â€œThen we can go and talk about it!â€

She laughed. â€œGo where? Have you looked down lately?â€

Masklin looked down.

He was already several stairs up. The distant figure of Gurder, his face just a blob, screwed up his courage and jumped onto a step of his own. . . .

Arnold Bros (est. 1905) was not waiting at the Top.

It was simply a long brown corridor lined with doors. There were words painted on some of them.

But Grimma was waiting. Masklin waved a finger at her as he staggered off his stair, which mysteriously folded itself into the floor.

â€œNever, ever, do anything like that again!â€ he shouted.

â€œIf I hadnâ€™t, youâ€™d still be at the bottom. You could see Gurder was scared out of his wits!â€ she snapped.

â€œBut there could have been all sorts of dangers up here!â€

â€œLike what?â€ said Grimma haughtily.

â€œWell, there could be . . .â€ Masklin hesitated. â€œThatâ€™s not the point, the point isâ€”â€

At this point Gurderâ€™s stair rolled him almost to their feet. They picked him up.

â€œThere,â€ said Grimma brightly. â€œWeâ€™re all here, and everythingâ€™s perfectly all right, isnâ€™t it.â€

Gurder stared around him. Then he coughed and adjusted his clothes.

â€œI lost my balance there,â€ he said. â€œTricky, these moving stairs. But you get used to them eventually.â€ He coughed again and looked along the corridor. â€œWell, weâ€™d better get a move on,â€ he said.

The three nomes crept forward, past the rows of doors.

â€œDoes one of these belong to Prices Slashed?â€ asked Grimma. Somehow the name sounded far worse up here.

â€œUm, no,â€ said Gurder. â€œHe dwells among the furnaces in the basement.â€ He squinted up at the nearest door. â€œThis one is called Salaries,â€ he said.

â€œIs that good or bad?â€ asked Grimma, staring at the word on the varnished wood.

â€œDonâ€™t know.â€

Masklin brought up the rear, turning slowly to keep all the corridor in view. It was too open. There was no cover, nothing to hide behind.

He pointed to a row of giant red things hanging halfway up the opposite wall. Gurder whispered that they were buckets.

â€œThereâ€™s pictures of them in Colin and Susan Go to the Seaside,â€ he confided.

â€œWhatâ€™s that written on them?â€

Gurder squinted. â€œâ€˜Fire,â€™â€ he said. â€œOh, my. The Abbot was right. Buckets of fire!â€

â€œFire in buckets?â€ said Masklin. â€œBuckets of fire? I canâ€™t see any flames.â€

â€œThey must be inside. Perhaps thereâ€™s a lid. Thereâ€™s beans in bean tins, and jam in jam jars. There should be fire in fire buckets,â€ said Gurder vaguely. â€œCome on.â€

Grimma stared at this word, too. Her lips moved silently as she repeated it to herself. Then she hurried after the other two.

Eventually they reached the end of the corridor. There was another door there, with glass in the top half.

Gurder stared up at it.

â€œI can see thereâ€™s words,â€ said Grimma. â€œRead them out. Iâ€™d better not look at them,â€ she added sweetly, â€œin case my brain goes bang.â€

Gurder swallowed. â€œThey say â€˜Arnold Bros (est. 1905). D.H.K. Butterthwaite, General Manager.â€™ Er.â€

â€œHeâ€™s in there?â€ she said.

â€œWell, thereâ€™s beans in bean tins and fire in fire buckets,â€ said Masklin helpfully. â€œThe doorâ€™s not shutâ€”look. Want me to go and see?â€

Gurder nodded wretchedly. Masklin walked over to the door, leaned against it, and pushed it until his arms ached. Eventually it swung in a little way.

There was no light inside, but by the faint glow from the corridor through the glass he could see he was entering a large room. The carpet was much thickerâ€”it was like wading through grass. Several yards away was a large rectangular wooden thing; as he walked around it, he saw a chair behind it. Perhaps this was where Arnold Bros (est. 1905) sat.

â€œWhere are you, Arnold Bros (est. 1905)?â€ he whispered.

Some minutes later the other two heard him calling softly. They peered around the door.

â€œWhere are you?â€ hissed Grimma.

â€œUp here,â€ came Masklinâ€™s voice. â€œThis big wooden thing. Thereâ€™s sticking-out bits you can climb on. Thereâ€™s all kinds of things up here. Careful of the carpetâ€”there could be wild animals in it. If you wait a minute, I can help you up.â€

They waded through the deep pile of the carpet and waited anxiously by the wooden cliff.

â€œItâ€™s a desk,â€ said Gurder, loftily. â€œThereâ€™s lots of them in Furnishing. Amazing Value In Genuine One Hundred Percent Oak Veneer.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s he doing up there?â€ said Grimma. â€œI can hear clinking noises.â€

â€œA Must In Every Home,â€ said Gurder, as if saying the words gave him some comfort. â€œWide Choice Of Styles To Suit Every Pocket.â€

â€œWhat are you talking about?â€

â€œSorry. Itâ€™s the sort of thing Arnold Bros (est. 1905) writes on the signs. I just feel better for saying it.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s that other thing up there?â€

He looked where she was pointing.

â€œThat? Itâ€™s a chair. Swiveled Finish For That Executive Look.â€

â€œIt looks big enough for humans,â€ she said thoughtfully.

â€œI expect humans sit there when Arnold Bros (est. 1905) is giving them their instructions.â€

â€œHmm,â€ she said.

There was a clinking noise by her head.

â€œSorry,â€ Masklin called down. â€œIt took me a while to hook them together.â€

Gurder looked up at the heights, and the gleaming chain that now hung down.

â€œPaper clips,â€ he said, amazed. â€œI never would have thought it.â€

When they clambered to the top, they found Masklin wandering across the shiny surface, prodding things with his spear. This was paper, Gurder explained airily, and things for making marks.

â€œWell, Arnold Bros (est. 1905) doesnâ€™t seem to be around,â€ Masklin said. â€œPerhaps heâ€™s gone to bed, or whatever.â€

â€œThe Abbot said he saw him here one night, sitting at the desk right here,â€ said Gurder. â€œWatching over the Store.â€

â€œWhat, sitting on that chair?â€ said Grimma.

â€œI suppose so.â€

â€œSo heâ€™s big, then, is he?â€ Grimma pressed on relentlessly. â€œSort of human sized?â€

â€œSort of,â€ Gurder agreed reluctantly.

â€œHmm.â€

Masklin found a cable as thick as his arm winding off across the top of the desk. He followed it.

â€œIf heâ€™s human shaped and human sized,â€ said Grimma, â€œthen perhaps heâ€™s aâ€”â€

â€œLetâ€™s just see what we can find up here, shall we?â€ said Gurder hurriedly. He walked over to a pile of paper and started reading the top sheet by the dim light coming in from the corridor. He read slowly, in a very loud voice.

â€œâ€˜The Arnco Group,â€™â€ he read, â€œâ€˜incorporating Arnco Developments (UK), United Television, Arnco-Schultz (Hamburg) AG, Arnco Airlines, Arnco Recording, the Arnco Organization (Cinemas) Ltd., Arnco Petroleum Holdings, Arnco Publishing, and Arnco UK Retailing Ltd.â€™â€

â€œGosh,â€ said Grimma flatly.

â€œThereâ€™s more,â€ said Gurder excitedly, â€œin much smaller lettersâ€”perhaps theyâ€™re meant to be right for us. Listen to all these names: â€˜Arnco UK Retailing Ltd. includes Bonded Outlets Ltd., the Blackbury Dye and Paint Company, Kwik-Kleen Mechanical Sweepers Ltd., andâ€”andâ€”andâ€”â€™â€

â€œSomething wrong?â€

â€œâ€˜â€”Arnold Bros (est. 1905).â€™â€ Gurder looked up. â€œWhat do you think it all means? Bargains Galore preserve us!â€

There was a light. It skewered down on the two of them, white and searing, so that they stood over a black pool of their own shadows.

Gurder looked up in terror at the brilliant globe that had appeared above them.

â€œSorry, I think that was me,â€ said Masklinâ€™s voice from the shadows. â€œI found this sort of lever thing, and when I pushed it, it went click. Sorry.â€

â€œAhaha,â€ said Gurder mirthlessly. â€œAn electric light. Of course. Ahaha. Gave me quite a start for a moment.â€

Masklin appeared in the circle of brightness and looked at the paper.

â€œI heard you reading,â€ he said. â€œAnything interesting?â€

Gurder pored over the print again.

â€œâ€˜Notice to all Staff,â€™â€ he read. â€œâ€˜I am sure we are all aware of the increasingly poor financial performance of the store in recent years. This rambling old building, while quite suitable for the leisured shopper of 1905, is not appropriate in the exciting world of the twenty-first century, and as we all know, there have unfortunately been marked stock losses and a general loss of custom following the opening of newer major outlets in the town. I am sure our sorrow at the closure of Arnold Bros, which as you know was the foundation of the Arnco fortunes, will be lessened by the news of plans by the Group to replace it with an Arnco Super Saverstore in the Neil Armstrong Shopping Mall. To this end, the store will close at the end of the month, and will shortly be demolished to make way for an exciting new Arnco Leisure Complex. . . .â€™â€

Gurder fell silent, and put his head in his hands.

â€œThereâ€™s those words again,â€ said Masklin slowly. â€œClosure. Demolished.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s leisure?â€ said Grimma.

The Stationeri ignored her.

Masklin took her gently by the arm.

â€œI think he wants to be alone for a while,â€ he said. He pulled the tip of his spear across the broad sheet of paper, creasing it, and folded it up until it was small enough to carry.

â€œI expect the Abbot will want to see it,â€ he said. â€œHeâ€™ll never believe us if weâ€”â€

He stopped. Grimma was staring over his shoulder. He turned and looked out through the glass part of the great door into the corridor beyond. There was a shadow out there. Human shaped. And growing bigger.

â€œWhat is it?â€ she said.

Masklin gripped the spear. â€œI think,â€ he said, â€œit may be Prices Slashed.â€

They turned and hurried over to Gurder.

â€œThereâ€™s someone coming,â€ Masklin whispered. â€œGet down to the floor, quickly!â€

â€œDemolished!â€ moaned Gurder, hugging himself and rocking from side to side. â€œEverything Must Go! Final Reductions! Weâ€™re all doomed!â€

â€œYes, but do you think you could go and be doomed on the floor?â€ said Masklin.

â€œHeâ€™s not himselfâ€”you can see that,â€ said Grimma. â€œCome on,â€ she added in a horribly cheerful voice. â€œUpsy-daisy.â€

She lifted him up bodily and helped him toward the rope of clips. Masklin followed them, walking backward with his eye on the door.

He thought: He has seen the light. It should be dark in here now, and he has seen the light. But Iâ€™ll never get it off in time, and anyway it wonâ€™t make any difference. I donâ€™t believe in any demon called Prices Slashed, and now here he comes. What a strange world.

He sidled into the shade of a pile of paper and waited.

He could hear Gurderâ€™s feeble protests, down around floor level, suddenly stop. Perhaps Grimma had hit him with something. She had a way of taking obvious action in a crisis.

The door drifted open, very slowly. There was a figure there. It looked like a human in a blue suit. Masklin wasnâ€™t much of a judge of human expressions, but the man didnâ€™t look very happy. In one hand he held a metal tube. Light shone out of one end. His terrible flashlight, Masklin thought.

The figure came closer, in that slow-motion, sleepwalking way that humans had. Masklin peered around the paper, fascinated despite himself. He looked up into a round, red face, felt the breath, saw the peaked hat.

Heâ€™d learned that humans in the Store had their names on little badges, becauseâ€”heâ€™d been toldâ€”they were so stupid they wouldnâ€™t remember them otherwise. This man had his name on his hat. Masklin squinted and made out the shape of the letters: S . . . E . . . C . . . . U . . . R . . . I . . . T . . . Y. He had a white mustache.

The man straightened up and started to walk around the room. Theyâ€™re not stupid, Masklin told himself. Heâ€™s bright enough to know there shouldnâ€™t be a light on, and he wants to find out why. Heâ€™s bound to see the others if he just looks in the right place. Even a human could see them.

He gripped his spear. The eyes, he thought, Iâ€™d have to go for the eyes. . . .

Security drifted dreamily around the room, examining cupboards and looking in corners. Then he headed back toward the door.

Masklin dared to breathe, and at that moment, Gurderâ€™s hysterical voice came from somewhere below him.

â€œIt is Prices Slashed! Oh, Bargains Galore, save us! Weâ€™re all mmphmmphmmphâ€”â€

Security stopped. He turned back, a look of puzzlement spreading across his face as slowly as treacle.

Masklin shrank farther back into the shadows. This is it, then, he thought. If I can get a good run at him . . .

Something outside the door started to roar. It was almost a truck noise. It didnâ€™t seem to worry the man, who just pulled the door open and looked out.

There was a human woman in the passage. She looked quite elderly, as far as Masklin was any judge, with a pink apron with flowers on it and carpet slippers on her feet. She held a duster in one hand, and with the other she was . . .

Well, it looked as though she was holding back a sort of roaring thing, like a bag on wheels. It kept rushing forward across the carpet, but she kept one hand on its stick and kept pulling it back.

While Masklin watched, she gave the thing a kick. The roaring died away as Security started to talk to her. To Masklin the conversation sounded like a couple of foghorns having a fight.

Masklin ran to the edge of the desk and half climbed, half fell down the chain of clips. The other two were waiting in the shadow of the desk. Gurderâ€™s eyes were rolling; Grimma had one hand clamped firmly over his mouth.

â€œLetâ€™s get out of here while heâ€™s not looking!â€ said Masklin.

â€œHow?â€ said Grimma. â€œThereâ€™s only the doorway.â€

â€œMmphmmph.â€

â€œWell, letâ€™s at least get somewhere better than this.â€ Masklin stared around across the rolling acres of dark carpet. â€œThereâ€™s a cupboard thing over there,â€ he said.

â€œMmphmmph!â€

â€œWhat are we going to do with him?â€

â€œLook,â€ said Masklin to Gurderâ€™s frightened face, â€œyouâ€™re not going to go on about doom, doom again, are you? Otherwise weâ€™ll have to gag you. Sorry.â€

â€œMmph.â€

â€œPromise?â€

â€œMmph.â€

â€œOkay, you can take your hand away.â€

â€œIt was Bargains Galore!â€ hissed Gurder excitedly.

Grimma looked up at Masklin. â€œShall I shut him up again?â€ she said.

â€œHe can say what he likes as long as he keeps quiet,â€ said Masklin. â€œIt probably makes him feel better. Heâ€™s had a bit of a shock.â€

â€œBargains Galore came to protect us! With her great roaring Soul Sucker . . .â€ Gurderâ€™s brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

â€œIt was a carpet cleaner, wasnâ€™t it?â€ he said slowly. â€œI always thought it was something magical, and it was just a carpet cleaner. Thereâ€™s lots of them in Household Appliances. With Extra Suction For Deep-Down Carpet Freshness.â€

â€œGood. Thatâ€™s nice. Now, how do we get out of here?â€

Some searching behind the filing cabinets found a crack in the floorboards just big enough to squeeze through with difficulty. Getting back took half a day, partly because Gurder would occasionally sit down and burst into tears, but mainly because they had to climb down inside the wall itself. It was hollow and had wires and odd bits of wood in it, tied into place by the Klothians, but it was still a tedious job. They came out under Kiddies Klothes. Gurder had pulled himself together by then and haughtily ordered food and an escort.

And so at last they came back to the Stationery Department.

Just in time.

Granny Morkie looked up as they were ushered into the Abbotâ€™s bedroom. She was sitting by the bed with her hands on her knees.

â€œDonâ€™t make any loud noises,â€ she ordered. â€œHeâ€™s very ill. He says heâ€™s dyinâ€™. I suppose he should know.â€

â€œDying of what?â€ said Masklin.

â€œDyinâ€™ of beinâ€™ alive for such a long time,â€ said Granny.

The Abbot lay, wrinkled and even smaller than Masklin remembered him, among his pillows. He was clutching the Thing in two thin, clawlike hands.

He looked at Masklin and, with a great effort, beckoned him to come closer.

â€œYouâ€™ll have to lean over,â€ Granny ordered. â€œHe canâ€™t talk above a croak, poor old soul.â€

The Abbot gently grabbed Masklinâ€™s ear and pulled it down to his mouth.

â€œA sterling woman,â€ he whispered. â€œMany fine qualities, I am sure. But please send her away before she gives me any more medicine.â€

Masklin nodded. Grannyâ€™s remedies, made from simple, honest, and generally nearly poisonous herbs and roots, were amazing things. After one dose of stomachache jollop, you made sure you never complained of stomachache ever again. In its way, it was a sort of cure.

â€œI canâ€™t send,â€ he said, â€œbut I can ask.â€

She went out, shouting instructions to mix up another batch.

Gurder knelt down by the bed.

â€œYouâ€™re not going to die, are you, sir?â€ he said.

â€œOf course I am. Everyone is. Thatâ€™s what being alive is all about,â€ whispered the Abbot. â€œDid you see Arnold Bros (est. 1905)?â€

â€œWell. Er.â€ Gurder hesitated. â€œWe found some Writing, sir. Itâ€™s true, it says the Store will be demolished. That means the end of everything, sirâ€”whatever shall we do?â€

â€œYou will have to leave,â€ said the Abbot.

Gurder looked horrified.

â€œBut youâ€™ve always said that everything outside the Store could only be a dream!â€

â€œAnd you never believed me, boy. And maybe I was wrong. That young man with the spear, is he still here? I canâ€™t see very well.â€

Masklin stepped forward.

â€œOh, there you are,â€ said the old nome. â€œThis box of yours.â€

â€œYes?â€ said Masklin.

â€œTold me things. Showed me pictures. Storeâ€™s a lot bigger than I thought. Thereâ€™s this room they keep the stars in, not just the glittery ones they hang from the ceiling at Christmas Fayre, but hundreds of the damn things. Itâ€™s called the universe. We used to live in it, it nearly all belonged to us, it was our home. We didnâ€™t live under anyoneâ€™s floor. I think Arnold Bros (est. 1905) is telling us to go back there.â€

He reached out, and his cold white fingers gripped Masklinâ€™s arm with surprising strength.

â€œI donâ€™t say youâ€™re blessed with brains,â€ he said. â€œIn fact, I reckon youâ€™re the stupid but dutiful kind who gets to be leader when thereâ€™s no glory in it. Youâ€™re the kind who sees things through. Take them Home. Take them all Home.â€

He slumped back onto the pillows and shut his eyes.

â€œButâ€”leave the Store, sir?â€ said Gurder. â€œThereâ€™s thousands of us, old people and babies and everyone. Where can we go? Thereâ€™s foxes out there, Masklin says, and wind and hunger and water that drops out of the sky in bits! Sir? Sir?â€

Grimma leaned over and felt the old nomeâ€™s wrist.

â€œCan he hear me?â€ said Gurder.

â€œMaybe,â€ said Grimma. â€œPerhaps. But he wonâ€™t be able to answer you, because heâ€™s dead.â€

â€œBut he canâ€™t die! Heâ€™s always been here!â€ said Gurder, aghast. â€œYouâ€™ve got it wrong. Sir? Sir!â€

Masklin took the Thing out of the Abbotâ€™s unresisting hands as other Stationeri, hearing Gurderâ€™s voice, hurried in.

â€œThing?â€ he said quietly, walking away from the crowd around the bed.

â€œI hear you.â€

â€œIs he dead?â€

â€œI detect no life functions.â€

â€œWhat does that mean?â€

â€œIt means â€˜yes.â€™â€

â€œOh.â€ Masklin considered this. â€œI thought you had to be eaten or squashed first. I didnâ€™t think you just sort of stopped.â€

The Thing didnâ€™t volunteer any information.

â€œAny idea what I should do now?â€ said Masklin. â€œGurder was right. They are not going to leave all this warmth and food. I mean, some of the youngsters might, for a lark. But if weâ€™re going to survive outside, weâ€™ll need lots of people. Believe me, I know what Iâ€™m talking about. And what am I supposed to say to them: Sorry, youâ€™ve all got to leave it all behind?â€

The Thing spoke.

â€œNo,â€ it said.

Masklin had never seen a funeral before. Come to that, heâ€™d never seen a nome die from being alive too long. Oh, people had been eaten, or had never come back, but no one had simply come to an end.

â€œWhere do you bury your dead?â€ Gurder had asked.

â€œInside badgers and foxes, often,â€ heâ€™d replied, and hadnâ€™t been able to resist adding, â€œYou know. The handsome and agile hunters?â€

This was how the nomes said farewell to their dead:

The body of the old Abbot was ceremoniously dressed in a green coat and a pointy red hat. His long white beard was carefully combed out, and then he lay, peacefully, on his bed as Gurder read the service.

â€œNow that it has pleased you, Arnold Bros (est. 1905), to take our brother to your great Gardening Department beyond Consumer Accounts, where there is Ideal Lawn Edging and an Amazing Floral Display and the pool of eternal life in Easy-To-Lay Polythene With Real-Crazy-Paving Edging, we will give him the gifts a nome must take on his journey.â€

The Count de Ironmongri stepped forward. â€œI give him,â€ he said, laying an object beside the nome, â€œthe Spade Of Honest Toil.â€

â€œAnd I,â€ said the Duke de Haberdasheri, â€œlay beside him the Fishing Rod Of Hope.â€

Other leading nomes brought other things: the Wheelbarrow Of Leadership, the Shopping Basket Of Life. Dying in the Store was quite complicated, Masklin gathered.

Grimma blew her nose as Gurder completed the service and the body was ceremoniously carried away.

To the subbasement, they later learned, and the incinerator. Down in the realms of Prices Slashed, the Security, where he sat at nighttimes, legend said, and drank his horrible tea.

â€œThatâ€™s a bit dreadful, I reckon,â€ said Granny Morkie as they stood around aimlessly afterward. â€œIn my young day, if a person died, we buried â€™em. In the ground.â€

â€œGround?â€ said Gurder.

â€œSort of floor,â€ explained Granny.

â€œThen what happened?â€ said Gurder.

Granny looked blank. â€œWhat?â€ she said.

â€œWhere did they go after that?â€ said the Stationeri patiently.

â€œGo? I donâ€™t reckon they went anywhere. Dead people donâ€™t get about much.â€

â€œIn the Store,â€ said Gurder slowly, as if he were explaining things to a rather backward child, â€œwhen a nome dies, if he has been a good nome, Arnold Bros (est. 1905) sends them back to see us before they go to a Better Place.â€

â€œHow canâ€”â€ Granny began.

â€œThe inner bit of them, I mean,â€ said Gurder. â€œThe bit inside you thatâ€™s really you.â€

They looked at him politely, waiting for him to make any sort of sense.

Gurder sighed. â€œAll right,â€ he said, â€œIâ€™ll get someone to show you.â€

They were taken to the Gardening Department. It was a strange place, Masklin thought. It was like the world outside but with all the difficult bits taken away. The only light was the faint glow of indoor suns, which stayed on all night. There was no wind, no rain, and there never would be. There was grass, but it was just painted green sacking with bits sticking out of it. There were mountainous cliffs of nothing but seeds in packets, each one with a picture that Masklin suspected was quite unreal. They showed flowers, but flowers unlike any heâ€™d ever seen before.

â€œIs the Outside like this?â€ said the young priest who was guiding them. â€œThey say, they say, er, they say youâ€™ve been there. They say youâ€™ve seen it.â€ He sounded hopeful.

â€œThere was more green and brown,â€ said Masklin flatly.

â€œAnd flowers?â€ said the priest.

â€œSome flowers,â€ Masklin agreed. â€œBut not like these.â€

â€œI seed flowers like these once,â€ said Torrit and then, unusually for him, fell silent.

They were led around the bulk of a giant lawn mower and thereâ€”

â€”were nomes. Tall, chubby-faced gnomes. Pink-cheeked painted gnomes. Some of them held fishing rods or spades. Some of them were pushing painted wheelbarrows. And every single one of them was grinning.

The tribe stood in silence for some time.

Then Grimma said, very softly, â€œHow horrible.â€

â€œOh, no!â€ said the priest, horrified. â€œItâ€™s marvelous! Arnold Bros (est. 1905) sends you back smart and new, and then you leave the Store and go to a wonderful place!â€

â€œThereâ€™s no women,â€ said Granny. â€œThatâ€™s a mercy, anyway.â€

â€œAh, well,â€ said the priest, looking a bit embarrassed. â€œThatâ€™s always been a bit of a debatable question. Weâ€™re not sure why, but we thinkâ€”â€

â€œAnd they donâ€™t look like anyone,â€ said Granny. â€œThey all look the same.â€

â€œWell, you seeâ€”â€

â€œCatch me coming back like that,â€ said Granny. â€œIf you come back like that, I donâ€™t want to go.â€

The priest was almost in tears.

â€œNo, butâ€”â€

â€œI saw one like these once.â€ It was old Torrit again. He looked very gray in the face and was trembling.

â€œYou shut up, you,â€ said Granny. â€œYou never saw nothing.â€

â€œI did too,â€ said Torrit. â€œWhen I was a little lad. Grandpa Dimpo took some of us across the fields, through the wood, and there was all these big stone houses where humans lived, and they had little fields in front full of flowers like what they got here, and grass all short, and ponds with orange fish, and we saw one of these. It was sitting on a stone toadstool by one of these ponds.â€

â€œIt never was,â€ said Granny automatically.

â€œIt was anâ€™ all,â€ said Torrit levelly. â€œAnd I mind Grandpa sayinâ€™, â€˜That ainâ€™t no life, out there in all weathers, birds doing their wossname on your hat and dogs widdlinâ€™ all over you.â€™ He tole us it was a giant nome who got turned to stone on account of sitting there for so long and never catching no fish. And he said, â€˜Wot a way to go. That ainâ€™t for me, ladsâ€”I want to go sudden like,â€™ and then a cat jumped out on him. Talk about a laugh.â€

â€œWhat happened?â€ said Masklin.

â€œOh, we gave it a good seeing-to with our spears and picked him up, and we all run like buâ€”run very fast,â€ said Torrit, watching Grannyâ€™s stern expression.

â€œNo, no!â€ wailed the priest. â€œItâ€™s not like that at all!â€ and then he started to sob.

Granny hesitated for a moment and then patted him gently on the back.

â€œThere, there,â€ she said. â€œDonâ€™t you worry about it. Daft old fool says any old thing that comes into his head.â€

â€œI donâ€™tâ€”â€ Torrit began. Grannyâ€™s warning look stopped him.

They went back slowly, trying to put the terrible stone images out of their minds. Torrit trailed along behind, grumbling like a worn-out thunderstorm.

â€œI did see it, Iâ€™m telling you,â€ he whispered. â€œDamn great grinning thing, it were, sitting on a spotty stone mushroom. I did see it. Never went back there, though. Better safe than sorry, I always said. But I did see it.â€

It seemed taken for granted by everyone that Gurder was going to be the new Abbot. The old Abbot had left strict instructions. There didnâ€™t seem to be any argument.

The only one against the idea, in fact, was Gurder.

â€œWhy me?â€ he said. â€œI never wanted to lead anyone! Anyway . . . you know . . .â€ He lowered his voice. â€œI have Doubts, sometimes. The old Abbot knew it, Iâ€™m sure. I canâ€™t imagine why heâ€™d think Iâ€™d be any good.â€

Masklin said nothing. It occurred to him that the Abbot might have had a very definite aim in mind. Perhaps it was time for a little doubt. Perhaps it was time to look at Arnold Bros (est. 1905) in a different way.

They were off to one side in the big underfloor area the Stationeri used for important meetings; it was the one place in the Store, apart from the Food Hall, where fighting was strictly forbidden. The heads of the families, rulers of departments and subdepartments, were milling around out there. They might not be allowed to bear weapons, but they were cutting one another dead at every opportunity.

Getting them to even think of working together would be impossible without the Stationeri. It was odd, really. The Stationeri had no real power at all, but all the families needed them and none of them feared them, and so they survived and, in a strange sort of way, led. A Haberdasheri wouldnâ€™t listen even to common sense from an Ironmongri, on general principles, but he would if the speaker was a Stationeri because everyone knew the Stationeri didnâ€™t take sides.

Masklin turned to Gurder.

â€œWe need to talk to someone in the Ironmongri. They control the electric, donâ€™t they? And the truck nest.â€

â€œThatâ€™s the Count de Ironmongri over there,â€ said Gurder, pointing. â€œThin fellow with the mustache. Not very religious. Doesnâ€™t know much about electric, though.â€

â€œI thought you told meâ€”â€

â€œOh, the Ironmongri do. The underlings and servants and whatnot. But not people like the Count. Good heavens.â€ Gurder smiled. â€œYou donâ€™t think the Duke de Haberdasheri ever touches a pair of scissors, do you, or Baroness del Icatessen goes and cuts up food her actual self?â€

He looked sideways at Masklin. â€œYouâ€™ve got a plan, havenâ€™t you?â€ he said.

â€œYes. Sort of.â€

â€œWhat are you going to tell them, then?â€

Masklin picked absently at the tip of his spear.

â€œThe truth. Iâ€™m going to tell them they can leave the Store and take it all with them. I think it should be possible.â€

Gurder rubbed his chin. â€œHmm,â€ he said. â€œI suppose itâ€™s possible. If everyone carries as much food and stuff as they can. But itâ€™ll soon run out, and anyway, you canâ€™t carry electric. It lives in wires, you know.â€

â€œHow many Stationeri can read Human?â€ said Masklin, ignoring him.

â€œAll of us can read a bit, of course,â€ said Gurder. â€œBut only four of us are any real good at it, if you must know.â€

â€œI donâ€™t think thatâ€™s going to be enough,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWell, thereâ€™s a trick to it, and not everyone can get the hang of it. What are you planning?â€

â€œA way to get everyone, everyone, out. Carrying everything weâ€™ll ever need, ever,â€ said Masklin.

â€œTheyâ€™ll be squashed under the weight!â€

â€œNot really. Most of what theyâ€™ll be carrying doesnâ€™t weigh anything at all.â€

Gurder looked worried.

â€œThis isnâ€™t some mad scheme of Dorcasâ€™s, is it?â€ he said.

â€œNo.â€

Masklin felt that he might explode. His head wasnâ€™t big enough to hold all the things the Thing had told him.

And he was the only one. Oh, the Abbot had known, and died with his eyes full of stars, but even he didnâ€™t understand. The galaxy! The old man thought it was just a great big room outside the Store, just the biggest department ever. Perhaps Gurder wouldnâ€™t comprehend either. Heâ€™d lived all his life under a roof. He had no idea of the sort of distances involved.

Masklin felt a slight surge of pride at this. The Store nomes couldnâ€™t understand what the Thing was saying, because they had no experiences to draw on. To them, from one end of the Store to the other was the biggest possible distance in the world.

They wouldnâ€™t be able to come to grips with the fact that the stars, frâ€™instance, were much farther away. Even if you ran all the way, itâ€™d probably take weeks to reach them.

Heâ€™d have to lead up to it gently.

The stars! And a long, long time ago, nomes had traveled between them on things that made trucks look tinyâ€”and had been built by nomes. And one of the great ships, exploring around a little star on the edge of nowhere, had sent out a smaller ship to land on the world of the humans.

But something had gone wrong. Masklin hadnâ€™t understood that bit, except that the thing that moved the ships was very, very powerful. Hundreds of nomes had survived, though. One of them, searching through the wreckage, had found the Thing. It wasnâ€™t any good without electricity to eat, but the nomes had kept it nevertheless, because it had been the machine that steered the Ship.

And the generations passed by, and the nomes forgot everything except that the Thing was very important.

That was enough for one head to carry, Masklin thought. But it wasnâ€™t the most important bit, it wasnâ€™t the bit that made his blood fizz and his fingers tingle.

This was the important bit. The big Ship, the one that could fly between stars, was still up there somewhere. It was tended by machines like the Thing, patiently waiting for the nomes to come back. Time meant nothing to them. There were machines to sweep the long corridors, and machines that made food and watched the stars and patiently counted the hours and minutes in the long, dark emptiness of the Ship.

And theyâ€™d wait forever. They didnâ€™t know what Time was, except something to be counted and filed away. Theyâ€™d wait until the sun went cold and the moon died, carefully repairing the Ship and keeping it ready for the nomes to come back.

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 wasnâ€™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 Thingâ€™s plan, but heâ€™d turned it over and over in his mind so much, he felt it belonged to him. It was probably an impossible plan. But heâ€™d never know unless he tried it.

Gurder was still watching him cautiously.

â€œEr,â€ Masklin said. â€œThis plan . . .â€

â€œYes?â€ said Gurder.

â€œThe Abbot told me that the Stationeri have always tried to make nomes work together and stop squabbling,â€ said Masklin.

â€œThat has always been our desire, yes.â€

â€œThis plan will mean theyâ€™ll have to work together.â€

â€œGood.â€

â€œOnly I donâ€™t think youâ€™re going to like it much,â€ said Masklin.

â€œThatâ€™s unfair! How can you make assumptions like that?â€

â€œI think youâ€™ll laugh at it,â€ said Masklin.

â€œThe only way to find out is to tell me,â€ said Gurder.

Masklin told him. When Gurder was over the shock, he laughed and laughed.

And then he looked at Masklinâ€™s face, and stopped.

â€œYouâ€™re not serious?â€ he said.

â€œLet me put it like this,â€ said Masklin. â€œHave you got a better plan? Will you support me?â€

â€œBut how will youâ€”how can nomesâ€”is it even possible that we canâ€”?â€ Gurder began.

â€œWeâ€™ll find a way,â€ said Masklin. â€œWith Arnold Bros (est. 1905)â€™s help, of course,â€ he added diplomatically.

â€œOh. Of course,â€ said Gurder weakly. He pulled himself together. â€œAnyway, if Iâ€™m to be the new Abbot, I have to make a speech,â€ he said. â€œItâ€™s expected. General messages of goodwill and so on. We can talk about this later. Reflect upon it at leisure in the sober surroundings ofâ€”â€

Masklin shook his head. Gurder swallowed.

â€œYou mean now?â€ he said.

â€œYes. Now. We tell them now.â€

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, Whatâ€™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. Iâ€“IX

â€œYES, WE CAN,â€ said Masklin. â€œIf we steal a truck.â€

There was a dead silence.

The Count de Ironmongri raised an eyebrow.

â€œThe big smelly things with wheels at each corner?â€ he asked.

â€œYes,â€ said Masklin. All eyes were on him. He felt himself beginning to blush.

â€œThe nomeâ€™s a fool!â€ snapped the Duke de Haberdasheri. â€œEven if the Store were in danger, and I see no reason, no reason I say, to believe it, the idea is quite preposterous.â€

â€œYou see,â€ said Masklin, blushing even more, â€œthereâ€™s plenty of room, we can take everyone, we can steal books that tell us how to do thingsâ€”â€

â€œThe mouth moves, the tongue waggles, but no sense comes out,â€ 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.

â€œNo offense to the late Abbot,â€ said one of the lesser lords hesitantly, â€œbut Iâ€™ve heard there are other Stores Out There. I mean to say, we must have lived somewhere before the Store.â€ He swallowed. â€œWhat Iâ€™m getting at, if the Store was built in 1905, where did we live in 1904? No offense meant.â€

â€œIâ€™m not talking about going to another Store,â€ said Masklin. â€œIâ€™m talking about living free.â€

â€œAnd Iâ€™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,â€ 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.

â€œAh,â€ he said. â€œRoom to breathe. Carry on, young man.â€

â€œWell, thatâ€™s about it,â€ Masklin admitted. â€œI canâ€™t plan anything more until Iâ€™ve found out more things. For example, can you make electric? Not steal it from the Store but make it?â€

The Count stroked his chin.

â€œYou are asking me to give you departmental secrets?â€ he said.

â€œMy lord,â€ said Gurder sharply, â€œif we take this desperate step, it is vital that we be open with one another and share our knowledge.â€

â€œThatâ€™s true,â€ said Masklin.

â€œQuite,â€ said Gurder sternly. â€œWe must all act for the good of all nomes.â€

â€œWell said,â€ said Masklin. â€œAnd thatâ€™s why the Stationeri, for their part, will teach all nomes who request itâ€”to read.â€

There was a pause. It was broken by the faint wheezing noise of Gurder trying not to choke.

â€œTo readâ€”!â€ he began.

Masklin hesitated. Well, heâ€™d gone this far. Might as well get it over with. He saw Grimma staring at him.

â€œWomen too,â€ 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.

â€œThereâ€™s all kinds of books on the shelves in the Stationery Department,â€ Masklin plunged on. â€œAnything we want to do, thereâ€™s a book that tells us how! But weâ€™re going to need lots of people to read them, so we can find out what we need.â€

â€œI think our Stationeri friend would like a drink of water,â€ observed the Count. â€œI think he may be overcome by the new spirit of sharing and cooperation.â€

â€œYoung man,â€ said the Baroness, â€œwhat you say might be true, but do these precious books tell us how one may control one of these truck things?â€

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.

â€œSee, itâ€™s got words on it,â€ he said proudly. â€œIâ€™ve learned them already. They say . . .â€ He pointed each one out with his spear as he said it. â€œ. . . The . . . High . . . Way . . . Code. High Way Code. Itâ€™s got pictures inside. When you learn The High Way Code, you can drive. It says so. High Way Code,â€ he added uncertainly.

â€œAnd Iâ€™ve been working out what some of the words mean,â€ said Grimma.

â€œAnd sheâ€™s been reading some of the words,â€ Masklin agreed. He couldnâ€™t help noticing that this fact interested the Baroness.

â€œAnd that is all there is to it?â€ said the Count.

â€œEr,â€ said Masklin. Heâ€™d been worrying about this himself. He had an obscure feeling that it couldnâ€™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.

â€œWell, I went and looked in the truck nest, I mean the garage, this morning,â€ he said. â€œYou can see inside them if you climb up. Thereâ€™s levers and wheels and things, but I suppose we can find out what they do.â€ He took a deep breath. â€œIt canâ€™t be very difficultâ€”otherwise humans wouldnâ€™t be able to do it.â€

The nomes had to concede this.

â€œMost intriguing,â€ said the Count. â€œMay I ask what it is you require from us now?â€

â€œPeople,â€ said Masklin simply. â€œAs many as you can spare. Especially the ones you canâ€™t spare. And theyâ€™ll need to be fed.â€

The Baroness glanced at the Count. He nodded, so she nodded.

â€œIâ€™d just like to ask the young girl,â€ she said, â€œwhether she feels all right. With this reading, I mean.â€

â€œI can only do some words,â€ said Grimma quickly. â€œLike Left and Right and Bicycle.â€

â€œAnd you havenâ€™t experienced any feelings of pressure in the head?â€ asked the Baroness carefully.

â€œNot really, maâ€™am.â€

â€œHmm. Thatâ€™s extremely interesting,â€ said the Baroness, staring fixedly at Gurder.

The new Abbot was sitting down now. â€œIâ€”Iâ€”â€ he began.

Masklin groaned inwardly. Heâ€™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. Heâ€™d been right. The difficult thing was going to be all the people.

There turned out to be twenty-eight.

â€œNot enough,â€ said Grimma.

â€œItâ€™s a start,â€ said Masklin. â€œI 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.â€

â€œHow did you work that out?â€ said Grimma.

â€œThe Thing told me,â€ said Masklin. â€œItâ€™s something called critical path analysis. It means thereâ€™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.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s clay?â€

â€œDonâ€™t know.â€

â€œWhatâ€™re bricks?â€

â€œNot sure.â€

â€œWell, whatâ€™s a house?â€ she demanded.

â€œHavenâ€™t quite worked it out,â€ said Masklin. â€œBut anyway, itâ€™s all very important. Critical path analysis. And thereâ€™s something else called progress chasing.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s that?â€

â€œI think it means shouting at people, â€˜Why havenâ€™t you done it yet?â€™â€ Masklin looked down at his feet. â€œI think we can get Granny Morkie to do that,â€ he said. â€œI donâ€™t reckon she will be interested in learning to read, but she knows how to shout.â€

â€œWhat about me?â€

â€œI want you to learn to read even more.â€

â€œWhy?â€

â€œBecause we need to learn how to think,â€ said Masklin.

â€œI know how to think!â€

â€œDunno,â€ said Masklin. â€œI mean, yes, you do, but thereâ€™s some things we canâ€™t think because we donâ€™t know the words. Like the Store nomes. They donâ€™t even know what the wind and rain are really like!â€

â€œI know, and I tried to tell the Baroness about snow andâ€”â€

Masklin nodded. â€œThere you are, then. They donâ€™t know, and they donâ€™t even know they donâ€™t know. What is it that we donâ€™t know? We ought to read everything that we can. Gurder doesnâ€™t like it. He says only the Stationeri should read. But the trouble is they donâ€™t try to understand things.â€

Gurder had been furious.

â€œReading,â€ heâ€™d said. â€œEvery stupid nome coming up here and wearing all the printing out with looking at it! Why donâ€™t you give away all our skills while youâ€™re about it? Why donâ€™t we teach everyone to write, eh?â€

â€œWe can do that later,â€ said Masklin mildly.

â€œWhat!â€

â€œIt isnâ€™t so important, you see.â€

Gurder thumped the wall. â€œWhy in the name of Arnold Bros (est. 1905) didnâ€™t you ask my permission first?â€

â€œWould you have given it?â€

â€œNo!â€

â€œThatâ€™s why, you see,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWhen I said Iâ€™d help you, I didnâ€™t expect this!â€ shouted Gurder.

â€œNor did I!â€ snapped Masklin.

The new Abbot paused.

â€œWhat do you mean?â€ he said.

â€œI thought youâ€™d help,â€ said Masklin, simply.

Gurder sagged. â€œAll right, all right,â€ he said. â€œYou know I canâ€™t forbid it now, not in front of everyone. Do whatever is necessary. Take whatever people you must.â€

â€œGood,â€ said Masklin. â€œWhen can you start?â€

â€œMe? Butâ€”â€

â€œYou said yourself that youâ€™re the best reader.â€

â€œWell, yes, of course, this is the case, butâ€”â€

â€œGood.â€

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.

â€œWhat do you want me to do?â€ he said.

â€œHow many books are there?â€ said Masklin.

â€œHundreds! Thousands!â€

â€œDo you know what theyâ€™re all about?â€

Gurder looked at him blankly. â€œDo you know what youâ€™re saying?â€ he said.

â€œNo. But I want to find out.â€

â€œTheyâ€™re about everything! Youâ€™d never believe it! Theyâ€™re full of words even I donâ€™t understand!â€

â€œCan you find a book that tells you how to understand words you donâ€™t understand?â€ said Masklin. This is critical path analysis, he thought. Gosh, Iâ€™m doing it without thinking.

Gurder hesitated. â€œItâ€™s an intriguing thought,â€ he said.

â€œI want to find out everything about trucks, and electric, and food,â€ said Masklin. â€œAnd then I want you to find a book about, about . . .â€

â€œWell?â€

Masklin looked desperate. â€œIs there a book that tells you how nomes can drive a truck built for humans?â€ he said.

â€œDonâ€™t you know?â€

â€œNot . . . exactly. I was sort of hoping we could work it out as we went along.â€

â€œBut you said all we needed to do was learn The High Way Code!â€

â€œYe-ss,â€ said Masklin uncertainly, â€œand 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.â€

â€œBargains Galore preserve us!â€

â€œI hope so,â€ said Masklin. â€œI really do.â€

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.

â€œThis is about far enough,â€ he said. â€œWeâ€™re right over the sticking-out bit where the driver sits.â€

â€œThe cab,â€ said Angalo.

â€œRight. The cab.â€

Angalo had been a surprise. Heâ€™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.

â€œBut your father objects to the whole idea,â€ Masklin had said.

â€œThat doesnâ€™t matter,â€ said Angalo shortly. â€œItâ€™s all right for you, youâ€™ve been there! I want to see all those things, I want to go Outside, I want to know if itâ€™s real!â€

He hadnâ€™t been very good at reading, but heâ€™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 wasnâ€™t a lot, Masklin had to admit.

He listened to Angalo muttering to himself as he struggled into the straps.

â€œGear,â€ he said. â€œShift. Steering Wheel. Wipers. Auto Transmission. Breaker Break Good Buddy. Smoky. Truckers.â€ He looked up and smiled thinly at Masklin. â€œReady,â€ he said.

â€œNow remember,â€ said Masklin, â€œthey donâ€™t always leave the windows open, so if theyâ€™re closed, one pull on the rope and weâ€™ll pull you back up, okay?â€

â€œTen-four.â€

â€œWhat?â€

â€œItâ€™s Trucker for â€˜yes,â€™â€ explained Angalo.

â€œOh. Fine. Now, when youâ€™re in, find somewhere to hide so you can watch the driverâ€”â€

â€œYes, yes. You explained it all before,â€ said Angalo impatiently.

â€œYes. Well. Have you got your sandwiches?â€

Angalo patted the package at his waist. â€œAnd my notebook,â€ he said. â€œReady to go. Put the Pedal to the Metal.â€

â€œWhat?â€

â€œIt means â€˜goâ€™ in Truck.â€

Masklin looked puzzled. â€œDo we have to know all this to drive one?â€

â€œNegatory,â€ said Angalo proudly.

â€œOh? Well, so long as you understand yourself, thatâ€™s the main thing.â€

Dorcas, who was in charge of the rope detail, tapped Angalo on the shoulder.

â€œYou sure you wonâ€™t take the Outside suit?â€ 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.

â€œAfter all,â€ heâ€™d said to Masklin, â€œyou might be used to the Rain and the Windâ€”perhaps your heads have grown specially hard. Canâ€™t be too careful.â€

â€œI donâ€™t think so, thank you,â€ said Angalo politely. â€œItâ€™s so heavy, and I donâ€™t expect Iâ€™ll go outside the truck this trip.â€

â€œGood,â€ said Masklin. â€œWell, letâ€™s not hang about. Except for you, Angalo. Haha. Ready to take the strain, lads? Over you go, Angalo,â€ he said, and then, because it paid to be on the safe side and you never knew, it might help, he added, â€œMay Arnold Bros (est. 1905) watch over you.â€

Angalo eased himself over the edge and slowly became a small spinning shape in the gloom as the team carefully let the thread out. Masklin prayed that theyâ€™d brought enough of it; there hadnâ€™t been time to come and measure.

There was a desperate tugging on the thread. Masklin peered down. Angalo was a small shape a yard or so below him.

â€œIf anything should happen to me, no one is to eat Bobo,â€ he called up.

â€œDonâ€™t you worry,â€ said Masklin. â€œYouâ€™re going to be all right.â€

â€œYes, I know. But if Iâ€™m not, Bobo is to go to a good home,â€ said Angalo.

â€œRight you are. A good home. Yes.â€

â€œWhere they donâ€™t eat rat. Promise?â€

â€œNo rat eating. Fine,â€ said Masklin.

Angalo nodded. The gang started to pay out the thread again.

Then Angalo was down and hurrying across the sloping roof to the side of the cab. It made Masklin dizzy just to look down at him.

The figure disappeared. After a while came two tugs, meaning â€œpay out more thread.â€ They let it slip past gradually. And then there were three tugs, faint butâ€”well, three. And a few seconds later they came again.

Masklin let out his breath in a whoosh.

â€œAngalo has landed,â€ he said. â€œPull the thread back up. Weâ€™ll leave it here, in caseâ€”I mean, for when he comes back.â€

He risked another look at the forbidding bulk of the truck. The trucks went out, the trucks came back, and it was the considered opinion of nomes like Dorcas that they were the same trucks. They went out loaded with goods, and they came back loaded with goods, and why Arnold Bros (est. 1905) felt the need to let goods out for the day was beyond anyoneâ€™s understanding. All that was known with any certainty was that they were always back within a day, or two at the outside.

Masklin looked down at the truck that now contained the explorer. Where would it go, what would happen to it? What would Angalo see, before he came back again? If he didnâ€™t come back, what would Masklin tell his parents? That someone had to go, that heâ€™d begged to go, that they had to see how a truck was driven, that everything depended on him? Somehow, he knew, it wouldnâ€™t sound very convincing in those circumstances.

Dorcas leaned over next to him.

â€œItâ€™ll be a job and a half getting everyone down this way,â€ he said.

â€œI know. Weâ€™ll have to think of some better way.â€

The inventor pointed down toward one of the other silent trucks. â€œThereâ€™s a little step there,â€ he said, â€œjust by the driverâ€™s door, look. If we could get to that and get a rope around the handleâ€”â€

Masklin shook his head.

â€œItâ€™s too far up,â€ he said. â€œItâ€™s a small step for a man, but a giant leap for nomekind.â€

9

V. Thus the Outsider said, Those who believe not in the Outside, see, one will be sent Outside to Prove This Thing;

VI. And one went upon a Truck, and went Outside, to see where there may be a new Home;

VII. And there was much waiting, for he did not return.

From The Book of Nome, Goods Outward v. Vâ€“VII

MASKLIN HAD TAKEN to sleeping in an old shoebox in the Stationery Department, where he could find a little peace. But when he got back, there was a small deputation of nomes waiting for him. They were holding a book between them.

Masklin was getting a bit disillusioned with the books. Maybe all the things he wanted to know were written down somewhere, but the real problem was to find them. The books might have been put together especially to make it difficult to find things out. There seemed to be no sense in them. Or, rather, there was sense, but in nonsensical ways.

He recognized Vinto Pimmie, a very young Ironmongri. He sighed. Vinto was one of the keenest and fastest readers, just not a particularly good one, and he tended to get carried away.

â€œIâ€™ve cracked it,â€ said the boy proudly.

â€œCan you repair it?â€ said Masklin.

â€œI mean, I know how we can get a human to drive the truck for us!â€

Masklin sighed. â€œWeâ€™ve thought about this, but it really wonâ€™t work. If we show ourselves to a humanâ€”â€

â€œDonâ€™t matter! Donâ€™t matter! He wonâ€™t do anything, the reason being, weâ€™ll haveâ€”youâ€™ll like thisâ€”weâ€™ll have a gnu!â€

Vinto beamed at him, like a dog whoâ€™s just done a difficult trick.

â€œA gnu,â€ repeated Masklin weakly.

â€œYes! Itâ€™s in this book!â€ Vinto proudly displayed it. Masklin craned to see. He was picking reading up as he went along, a little bit at a time, but as far as he could make out the book was about Host Age at 10,000 Feet.

â€œItâ€™s got something to do with lots of shoes?â€ he said hopefully.

â€œNo, no, no, what you do is, you get a gnu, then you point it at the driver and someone says, â€˜Look out, heâ€™s got a gnu!â€™ and you say, â€˜Take us where we want to go or Iâ€™ll fire this gnu at you!â€™ and then heâ€”â€

â€œRight, right. Fine,â€ said Masklin, backing away. â€œJolly good. Splendid idea. Weâ€™ll definitely give it some thought. Well done.â€

â€œThat was clever of me, wasnâ€™t it?â€ said Vinto, jumping from one foot to the other.

â€œYes. Certainly. Er. You donâ€™t think you might be better reading a more practical kind ofâ€”â€ Masklin hesitated. Who knew what kind of books were best?

He staggered inside his box and pulled the cardboard over the door and leaned against it.

â€œThing?â€ he said.

â€œI hear you, Masklin,â€ said the Thing, from the heap of rags that was Masklinâ€™s bed.

â€œWhatâ€™s a gnu?â€

There was a brief pause. Then the Thing said: â€œThe gnu, a member of the genus Connochaetes and the family Bovidae, is an African antelope with down-curving horns. Body length is up to 6.5 ft. The shoulder height is about 4.5 ft., and weight is up to 600 lb. Gnus inhabit grassy plains in central and southern Africa.â€

â€œOh. Could you threaten someone with one?â€

â€œQuite possibly.â€

â€œWould there be one in the Store?â€

There was another pause. â€œIs there a Pet Department?â€

Masklin knew what that was. The subject had come up yesterday, when Vinto had suggested taking a herd of guinea pigs to raise for meat.

â€œNo,â€ he said.

â€œThen I should think the chance is remote.â€

â€œOh. Just as well, really.â€ Masklin sagged down on his bed. â€œYou see,â€ he said, â€œweâ€™ve got to be able to control where weâ€™re going. We need to find somewhere a little way from humans. But not too far. Somewhere safe.â€

â€œYou must look for an atlas or map.â€

â€œWhat do they look like?â€

â€œThey may have the words â€˜atlasâ€™ or â€˜mapâ€™ written on them.â€

â€œIâ€™ll ask the Abbot to have a search made.â€ Masklin yawned.

â€œYou must sleep,â€ said the Thing.

â€œPeople always want me to do things. Anyway, you donâ€™t sleep.â€

â€œItâ€™s different for me.â€

â€œWhat I need,â€ said Masklin, â€œis a way. We canâ€™t use a gnu. They all think I know the way to do it, and I donâ€™t know the way. We know what we need, but weâ€™ll never get it all into a truck in one night. They all think I know all the answers, but I donâ€™t. And I donâ€™t know the way . . .â€

He fell asleep and dreamed of being human sized. Everything was so easy, if you were human sized.

Two days went past. The nomes kept watch from the girder over the garage. A small plastic telescope was rolled down from the Toy Department, and with its help the news came back that the big metal doors to the garage opened themselves when a human pressed a red button next to them. How could you press a button ten times higher than your head? It went down on Masklinâ€™s list of problems to solve.

Gurder found a map. It was in quite a small book.

â€œThat was no trouble,â€ he said. â€œWe have dozens of these every year. Itâ€™s calledâ€â€”he read the gold lettering slowlyâ€”â€œPocket Diary. And it has this map all at the back, look.â€

Masklin stared down at the small pages of blue and red blobs. Some of the blobs had names, like Africa and Asia.

â€œWe-ell,â€ he said, and â€œYe-ss. I suppose so. Well done. Where are we, exactly?â€

â€œIn the middle,â€ said Gurder promptly. â€œThatâ€™s logical.â€

And then the truck returned.

Angalo didnâ€™t.

Masklin ran along the girder without thinking of the drop on either side. The little knot of figures told him everything he didnâ€™t want to know. A young nome who had just been lowered over the edge was sitting down and getting his breath back.

â€œI tried all the windows,â€ he said. â€œTheyâ€™re all shut. Couldnâ€™t see anyone in there. Itâ€™s very dark.â€

â€œAre you sure itâ€™s the right truck?â€ said Masklin to the head watcher.

â€œTheyâ€™ve all got numbers on the front of them,â€ he was told. â€œI was particularly sure to remember the one he went out on, so when it came back this afternoon, Iâ€”â€

â€œWeâ€™ve got to get inside to have a look,â€ said Masklin firmly. â€œSomeone go and get . . . no, itâ€™ll take too long. Lower me down.â€

â€œWhat?â€

â€œLower me down,â€ Masklin repeated. â€œAll the way to the floor.â€

â€œItâ€™s a long way down,â€ said one of them doubtfully.

â€œI know! Far too long to go all the way around by the stairs.â€ Masklin handed the end of the thread to a couple of nomes. â€œHe could be in there hurt, or anything.â€

â€œâ€™Tisnâ€™t our fault,â€ said a nome. â€œThere were humans all over the place when it came in. We had to wait.â€

â€œItâ€™s no oneâ€™s fault. Some of you, go around the long way and meet me down there. Donâ€™t look so upsetâ€”itâ€™s no oneâ€™s fault.â€

Except perhaps mine, he thought, as he spun around in the darkness. He watched the huge shadowy bulk of the truck slide past him. Somehow, theyâ€™d looked smaller outside.

The floor was greasy with all. He ran under the truck into a world roofed with wires and pipes, far too high to reach, but he poked around near one of the benches and came back dragging a length of wire and, with great difficulty, bent it into a hook at one end.

A moment later he was crawling among the pipes. It wasnâ€™t hard. Most of the underneath of the truck seemed to be pipes or wires, and after a minute or two he found a metal wall ahead of him, with holes in it to take even more bundles of wires. It was possible, with a certain amount of pain, to squeeze through. Insideâ€”

There was carpet. Odd thing to find in a truck. Here and there a candy wrapper lay, large as a newspaper to a nome. Huge pedal-shaped things stuck out of greasy holes in the floor. In the distance was a seat, behind a huge wheel. Presumably it was something for the human in the truck to hold on to, Masklin thought.

â€œAngalo?â€ he called out softly.

There was no answer. He poked around aimlessly for a while, and had nearly given up when he spotted something in the drifts of fluff and paper under the seat. A human would have thought it was just another scrap of rubbish. Masklin recognized Angaloâ€™s coat.

He looked carefully at the rubbish. It was just possible to imagine someone had been lying there, watching. He rummaged among it and found a small sandwich wrapper.

He took the coat back out with him; there didnâ€™t seem to be much else to do.

A dozen nomes were waiting anxiously on the all- soaked floor under the engine. Masklin held out the coat and shrugged.

â€œNo sign,â€ he said. â€œHeâ€™s been there, but heâ€™s not there now.â€

â€œWhat could have happened to him?â€ said one of the older nomes.

Someone behind him said darkly: â€œPerhaps the Rain squashed him. Or he was blown away by the fierce Wind.â€

â€œThatâ€™s right,â€ said one of the others. â€œThere could be dreadful things, Outside.â€

â€œNo!â€ said Masklin. â€œI mean, there are dreadful thingsâ€”â€

â€œAh,â€ said the nomes, nodding.

â€œâ€”but not like that! He should have been perfectly all right if he stayed in the truck! I told him not to go exploringâ€”â€

He was aware of a sudden silence. The nomes werenâ€™t looking at him but past him, at something behind him.

The Duke de Haberdasheri was standing there, with some of his soldiers. He stared woodenly at Masklin and then held out his hands without saying a word.

Masklin gave him the coat. The Duke turned it over and over, staring at it. The silence stretched out thinner and thinner, until it almost hummed.

â€œI forbade him to go,â€ said the Duke softly. â€œI told him it would be dangerous. You know, that was foolish of me. It just made him more determined.â€ He looked back up at Masklin.

â€œWell?â€ he said.

â€œEr?â€ said Masklin.

â€œIs my son still alive?â€

â€œUm. He could be. Thereâ€™s no reason why not.â€

The Duke nodded vaguely.

This is it, thought Masklin. Itâ€™s all going to end here.

The Duke stared up at the truck and then looked around at his guards.

â€œAnd these things go Outside, do they?â€ he said.

â€œOh, yes. All the time,â€ said Masklin.

The Duke made an odd noise in the back of his throat.

â€œThere is nothing Outside,â€ he said. â€œI know this. But my son knew differently. You think we should go Out. Will I see my son then?â€

Masklin looked into the old manâ€™s eyes. They were like two eggs that werenâ€™t quite cooked yet. And he thought about the size of everything outside, and the size of a nome. And then he thought: A leader should know all about truth and honesty, and when to see the difference. Honestly, the chance of finding Angalo out there is greater than the whole Store taking wings and flying, but the truth is thatâ€”

â€œItâ€™s possible,â€ he said, and felt terrible. But it was possible.

â€œVery well,â€ said the Duke, his expression unchanged. â€œWhat do you need?â€

â€œWhat?â€ said Masklin, his mouth dropping open.

â€œI said what do you need? To make the truck go Outside?â€ said the Duke.

Masklin floundered. â€œWell, er, at the moment, I suppose, we need peopleâ€”â€

â€œHow many?â€ snapped the Duke.

Masklinâ€™s mind raced.

â€œFifty?â€ he ventured.

â€œYou shall have them.â€

â€œButâ€”â€ Masklin began. The Dukeâ€™s expression changed now. He no longer looked totally lost and alone. Now he looked his usual angry self.

â€œSucceed,â€ he hissed, and spun on his heel and stalked off.

That evening fifty Haberdasheri turned up, gawping at the garage and acting generally bewildered. Gurder protested, but Masklin put all those who looked even vaguely capable onto the reading scheme.

â€œThereâ€™s too many!â€ said Gurder. â€œAnd theyâ€™re common soldiers, for Arnold Bros (est. 1905)â€™s sake!â€

â€œI expected him to say fifty was too many and beat me down to twenty or so,â€ said Masklin. â€œBut I think we will need them all, soon.â€

The reading program wasnâ€™t going the way he expected. There were useful things in books, it was true, but it was a hard job to find them among all the strange stuff.

Like the girl in the rabbit hole.

It was Vinto who came up with that one.

â€œ. . . and she fell down this hole and there was a white rabbit with a watch, I know about rabbits, and then she found this little bottle of stuff that made her BIG, I mean really huge, and then she found some more stuff which made her really small,â€ heâ€™d said breathlessly, his face glowing with enthusiasm, â€œso all we need do is we just find some more of the BIG stuff and then one of us can drive the truck.â€

Masklin didnâ€™t dare ignore it. If just one nome could be made the size of a human, it would be easy. Heâ€™d told himself that dozens of times. It had to be worth an effort.

So theyâ€™d spent nearly all the night searching the Store for any bottles labeled â€œDrink Me.â€ Either the Store didnâ€™t have itâ€”and Gurder wasnâ€™t prepared to accept that, because the Store had Everything Under One Roofâ€”or it just wasnâ€™t real. There seemed to be lots of things in books that werenâ€™t real. It was hard to see why Arnold Bros (est. 1905) had put so many unreal things in books.

â€œSo the faithful can tell the difference,â€ Gurder had said.

Masklin had taken one book himself. It just fitted his box. It was called A Childâ€™s Guide to the Stars, and most of it was pictures of the sky at night. He knew that was real.

He liked to look at it when he had too much to think about. He looked at it now.

They had names, like Sirius and Rigel or Wolf 359 or Ross 154.

He tried a few on the Thing.

â€œI do not know the names,â€ it said.

â€œI thought we came from one of them,â€ said Masklin. â€œYou saidâ€”â€

â€œThey are different names. Currently I cannot identify them.â€

â€œWhat was the name of the star that nomes came from?â€ said Masklin, lying back in the darkness.

â€œIt was called: The Sun.â€

â€œBut the sunâ€™s here!â€

â€œAll stars are called The Sun by the people who live nearby. It is because they believe them to be important.â€

â€œDid theyâ€”I mean, did we visit many?â€

â€œI have 94,563 registered as having been visited by nomes.â€

Masklin stared up at the darkness. Big numbers gave him trouble, but he could see that this number was one of the biggest. Bargains Galore! he thought, and then felt embarrassed and corrected it to Gosh! All those suns, miles apart, and all I have to do is move one truck!

Put like that, it seemed ridiculous.

10

X. When Lo! One returned, saying, I have Gone upon Wheels, and I have Seen the Outside.

XI. And they said to him, What is the Outside?

XII. And he said, It is Big.

From The Book of Nome, Accounts v. Xâ€“XII

ON THE FOURTH day, Angalo returned, wild-eyed and grinning like a maniac.

The nome on guard came running into the department, with Angalo swaggering behind him and a gaggle of younger nomes trailing, fascinated, in his wake. He was grimy, and ragged, and looked as though he hadnâ€™t slept for hoursâ€”but he walked proudly, with a strange swaying motion, like a nome who has boldly gone where no nome has gone before and canâ€™t wait to be asked about it.

â€œWhereâ€™ve I been?â€ he said. â€œWhereâ€™ve I been? Where havenâ€™t I been, more like. You should see whatâ€™s out there!â€

â€œWhat?â€ they asked.

â€œEverywhere!â€ he said, his eyes glowing. â€œAnd you know what?â€

â€œWhat?â€ they chorused.

â€œIâ€™ve seen the Store from the outside! Itâ€™s . . .â€ He lowered his voice. â€œItâ€™s beautiful. All columns and big glass windows full of color!â€

Now he was the center of a growing crowd as the news spread.

â€œDid you see all the departments?â€ said a Stationeri.

â€œNo!â€

â€œWhat?â€

â€œYou canâ€™t see the departments from outside! Itâ€™s just one big thing! And, and . . .â€ In the sudden silence he fumbled in his pouch for his notebook, which was now a lot fatter, and thumbed through the pages. â€œItâ€™s got a great big sign outside it, and I copied it down because itâ€™s not Trucker language and I didnâ€™t understand it but this is what it was.â€

He held it up.

The silence got deeper. Quite a few nomes could read by now.

The words said CLOSING DOWN SALE.

Then he went to bed, still babbling excitedly about trucks and hills and cities, whatever they were, and slept for two hours.

Later on, Masklin went to see him.

Angalo was sitting up in bed, his eyes still shining like bright marbles in the paleness of his face.

â€œDonâ€™t you get him tired,â€ warned Granny Morkie, who always nursed anyone too ill to prevent it. â€œHeâ€™s very weak and feverish. Itâ€™s all that rattling around in those great noisy things; itâ€™s not natural. Iâ€™ve just had his dad in here, and I had to toss him out after five minutes.â€

â€œYou got rid of the Duke?â€ said Masklin. â€œBut how? He doesnâ€™t listen to anyone!â€

â€œHe might be a big nome in the Store,â€ said Granny in a self-satisfied tone of voice, â€œbut heâ€™s just an awkward nuisance in a sickroom.â€

â€œI need to talk to Angalo,â€ said Masklin.

â€œAnd I want to talk!â€ said Angalo, sitting up. â€œI want to tell everyone! Thereâ€™s everything out there! Some of the things Iâ€™ve seenâ€”â€

â€œYou just settle down,â€ said Granny, gently pushing him back into the pillows. â€œAnd Iâ€™m not too happy about rats in here, either.â€ Boboâ€™s whiskers could just be seen under the end of the blankets.

â€œBut heâ€™s very clean and heâ€™s my friend,â€ said Angalo. â€œAnd you said you like rats.â€

â€œRat. I said rat. Not rats,â€ said Granny. She prodded Masklin. â€œDonâ€™t you let him get overexcited,â€ she commanded.

Masklin sat down by the bed while Angalo talked with wild enthusiasm about the world outside, like someone who had spent his life with a blindfold on and had just been allowed to see. He talked about the big light in the sky, and roads full of trucks, and big things sticking out of the floor that had green things all over themâ€”

â€œTrees,â€ said Masklin.

â€”and great buildings where things went on the truck or came off it. It was at one of these that Angalo got lost. Heâ€™d climbed out when it stopped for a while, to go to the lavatory, and hadnâ€™t been able to get back before the driver returned and drove away. So heâ€™d climbed onto another one, and some time after it had driven away it stopped at a big park with other trucks in it. He started looking for another Arnold Bros (est. 1905) truck.

â€œIt must have been a cafe on a highway,â€ said Masklin. â€œWe used to live near one.â€

â€œIs that what itâ€™s called?â€ said Angalo, hardly listening. â€œThere was this big blue sign with pictures of cups and knives and forks on it. Anywayâ€”â€

â€”there werenâ€™t any Store trucks. Or perhaps there were, but there were so many other types, he couldnâ€™t find one. Eventually heâ€™d camped out on the edge of a parking lot, living on scraps, until by sheer luck one had turned up. He hadnâ€™t been able to get into the cab, but he had managed to climb up a tire and find a dark place where he had to hold on to cables with his hands and knees to stop himself from falling off onto the rushing road, far below.

Angalo produced his notebook. It was stained almost black.

â€œNearly lost it,â€ he said. â€œNearly ate it once, I was so hungry.â€

â€œYes, but the actual driving,â€ Masklin said insistently, with one eye on the impatient Granny Morkie. â€œHow do they do the actual driving?â€

Angalo flicked through the book. â€œI made a note somewhere,â€ he said. â€œAh, here.â€ He passed it over.

Masklin looked at a complicated sketch of levers and arrows and numbers. â€œâ€˜Turn the key . . . one, two . . . press the red button . . . one, two . . . push pedal number one down with the left foot, push big lever left and up . . . one, two . . . let pedal one up gently, push pedal number two down . . .â€™â€ He gave up. â€œWhat does it all mean?â€ he said, dreading the answer. He knew what it was going to be.

â€œItâ€™s how you drive a truck,â€ said Angalo.

â€œOh. But, er, all these pedals and buttons and levers and things,â€ said Masklin weakly.

â€œYou need â€™em all,â€ said Angalo, proudly. â€œAnd then you go rushing along, and you change up the gears, andâ€”â€

â€œYes. Oh. I see,â€ said Masklin, staring at the piece of paper.

How? he thought.

Angalo had been very thorough. Once, when heâ€™d been alone in the cab, heâ€™d measured the height of what he called the Gear Lever, which seemed very important. It was five times the height of a nome. And the big wheel that moved and seemed to be very important was as wide as eight nomes standing side by side.

And you had to have keys. Masklin hadnâ€™t known about the keys. He hadnâ€™t known about anything.

â€œI did well, didnâ€™t I?â€ said Angalo. â€œItâ€™s all in there.â€

â€œYes. Yes. You did very well.â€

â€œYou have a good lookâ€”itâ€™s all in there. All about the going-around-corners flasher and the horn,â€ Angalo went on enthusiastically.

â€œYes. Yes, Iâ€™m sure it is.â€

â€œAnd the go-faster pedal and the go-slower pedal and everything! Only you donâ€™t look very pleased.â€

â€œYouâ€™ve given me a lot to think about, Iâ€™m sure.â€

Angalo grabbed him by the sleeve. â€œThey said there was only one Store,â€ he said urgently. â€œThere isnâ€™tâ€”thereâ€™s so much outside, so much. Thereâ€™s other Stores. I saw some. There could be nomes living in â€™em! Life in other Stores! Of course, you know.â€

â€œYou get some more sleep,â€ said Masklin as kindly as he could manage.

â€œWhen are we going to go?â€

â€œThereâ€™s plenty of time,â€ said Masklin. â€œDonâ€™t worry about it. Get some sleep.â€

He wandered out of the sickroom and straight into an argument. The Duke had returned, with some followers, and wanted to take Angalo up to the Stationery Department. He was arguing with Granny Morkie. Or trying to, anyway.

â€œMadam, I assure you heâ€™ll be well looked after!â€ he was saying.

â€œHumph! Wot do you people know about doctorinâ€™? You hardly ever have anything go wrong here! Where I come from,â€ said Granny, proudly, â€œitâ€™s sick, sick, sick all year round. Colds and sprains and bellyache and bites the whole time. Thatâ€™s what you call experience. I reckon Iâ€™ve seen more ill people that youâ€™ve had hot dinners andâ€â€”she prodded the Duke in the stomachâ€”â€œyouâ€™ve had a few of those.â€

â€œMadam, I could have you imprisoned!â€ roared the Duke.

Granny sniffed. â€œAnd what has that got to do with it?â€ she said.

The Duke opened his mouth to roar back and then caught sight of Masklin. He shut it again.

â€œVery well,â€ he said. â€œYou are, in fact, quite right. But I will visit him every day.â€

â€œNo longer than two minutes, mind,â€ said Granny, sniffing.

â€œFive!â€ said the Duke.

â€œThree,â€ said Granny.

â€œFour,â€ they agreed.

The Duke nodded and beckoned Masklin toward him.

â€œYou have spoken to my son,â€ he said.

â€œYes, sir,â€ said Masklin.

â€œAnd he told you what he saw.â€

â€œYes, sir.â€

The Duke looked quite small. Masklin had always thought of him as a big nome, but now he realized that most of the size was a sort of inward inflation, as if the nome were pumped up with importance and authority. It had gone now. The Duke looked worried and uncertain.

â€œAh,â€ he said, looking approximately at Masklinâ€™s left ear. â€œI think I sent you some people, didnâ€™t I?â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œSatisfactory, are they?â€

â€œYes, sir.â€

â€œLet me know if you need any more help, wonâ€™t you? Any help at all.â€ The Dukeâ€™s voice faded to a mumble. He patted Masklin vaguely on the shoulder and wandered away.

â€œWhatâ€™s up with him?â€ asked Masklin.

Granny Morkie started to roll bandages in a businesslike way. No one needed them, but she believed in having a good supply. Enough for the whole world, apparently.

â€œHeâ€™s having to think,â€ she said. â€œThat always worries people.â€

â€œI just never thought it would be as hard as this!â€ Masklin wailed.

â€œYou mean you didnâ€™t have any idea how we can drive one?â€ said Gurder.

â€œNone at all?â€ said Grimma.

â€œI . . . well, I suppose I thought the trucks sort of went where you wanted,â€ said Masklin. â€œI thought if they did it for humans, theyâ€™d do it for us. I didnâ€™t expect all this go-one-two-pull stuff! Those wheels and pedals are hugeâ€”Iâ€™ve seen them!â€

He stared distractedly at their faces.

â€œIâ€™ve thought about it for ages,â€ he said. He felt they were the only two he could trust.

The cardboard door slid open and a small, cheerful face appeared.

â€œYouâ€™ll like this one, Mr. Masklin,â€ he said. â€œIâ€™ve been doing some more reading.â€

â€œNot now, Vinto. Weâ€™re a bit busy,â€ said Masklin. Vintoâ€™s face fell.

â€œOh, you might as well listen to him,â€ said Grimma. â€œItâ€™s not as if weâ€™ve got anything more important to do now.â€

Masklin hung his head.

â€œWell, lad,â€ said Gurder with forced cheerfulness, â€œwhat idea have you come with this time, eh? Pulling the truck with wild hamsters, eh?â€

â€œNo, sir,â€ said Vinto.

â€œMaybe you think we could make it grow wings and fly away in the sky?â€

â€œNo, sir. I found this book, itâ€™s how to capture humans, sir. And then we can get a gnuâ€”â€

Masklin gave the others a sick little smile.

â€œI explained to him that we canâ€™t use humans,â€ he said. â€œI told you, Vinto. And Iâ€™m really not certain about threatening people with antelopesâ€”â€

With a grunt of effort, the boy swung the book open.

â€œItâ€™s got a picture in it, sir.â€

They looked at the picture. It showed a human lying down. He was surrounded by nomes and covered with ropes.

â€œGosh,â€ said Grimma, â€œtheyâ€™ve got books with pictures of us!â€

â€œOh, I know this one,â€ said Gurder dismissively. â€œItâ€™s Gulliverâ€™s Travels. Itâ€™s just stories, itâ€™s not real.â€

â€œPictures of us in a book,â€ said Grimma. â€œImagine that. You see it, Masklin?â€

Masklin stared.

â€œYes, youâ€™re a good boy, well done,â€ said Gurder, his voice sounding far off. â€œThank you very much, Vinto, and now please go away.â€

Masklin stared. His mouth dropped open. He felt the ideas fizz up inside him and slosh into his head.

â€œThe ropes,â€ he said.

â€œItâ€™s just a picture,â€ said Gurder.

â€œThe ropes! Grimma, the ropes!â€

â€œThe ropes?â€

Masklin raised his fists and stared up at the ceiling. At times like this, it was almost possible to believe that there was someone up there, above Kiddies Klothes.

â€œI can see the way!â€ he shouted, while the three of them watched in astonishment. â€œI can see the way! Arnold Bros (est. 1905), I can see the way!â€

After Closing Time that evening, several dozen small and stealthy figures crept across the garage floor and disappeared under one of the parked trucks. Anyone listening would have heard the occasional tiny clink, thud, or swear word. After ten minutes they were in the cab.

They stood in wonder, looking around.

Masklin wandered over to one of the pedals, which was taller than he was, and gave it an experimental push. It didnâ€™t so much as wobble. Several of the others came over and helped, and managed to get it to move a little.

One nome stood and watched them thoughtfully. It was Dorcas, wearing a belt from which hung a variety of homemade tools, and he was idly twiddling the pencil lead that was kept permanently behind one ear when it wasnâ€™t being used.

Masklin walked back to him.

â€œWhat dâ€™you think?â€ he said.

Dorcas rubbed his nose. â€œItâ€™s all down to levers and pulleys,â€ he said. â€œAmazing things, levers. Give me a lever long enough, and a firm enough place to stand, and I could move the Store.â€

â€œJust one of these pedals would be enough for now,â€ said Masklin politely.

Dorcas nodded. â€œWeâ€™ll give it a try,â€ he said. â€œAll right, lads. Bring it up.â€

A length of wood, carried all the way down from the Home Handyman Department, was nomehandled into the cab. Dorcas ambled around, measuring distances with a piece of thread, and finally had them wedge one end into a crack in the metal floor. Four nomes lined up at the other end and hauled the wood across until it was resting on the pedal.

â€œRight, lads,â€ said Dorcas again.

They pushed down. The pedal went all the way to the floor. There was a ragged cheer.

â€œHow did you do that?â€ said Masklin.

â€œThatâ€™s levers for you,â€ said Dorcas. â€œO-kay.â€ He looked around, scratching his chin. â€œSo weâ€™ll need three levers.â€ He looked up at the great circle of the steering wheel. â€œYou have any ideas about that?â€ he said.

â€œI thought ropes,â€ said Masklin.

â€œHow dâ€™you mean?â€

â€œItâ€™s got those spokes in it, so if we tie ropes to them and have teams of nomes on the ropes, they could pull it one way or the other, and thatâ€™ll make the truck go the way we want,â€ said Masklin.

Dorcas squinted at the wheel. He paced the floor. He looked up. He looked down. His lips moved as he worked things out.

â€œThey wonâ€™t see where theyâ€™re going,â€ he said finally.

â€œI thought someone could stand right up there, by the big window in the front, and sort of tell them what to do?â€ said Masklin, looking hopefully at the old nome.

â€œTheseâ€™re powerful noisy things, young Angalo said,â€ said Dorcas. He scratched his chin again. â€œI reckon I can do something about that. Then thereâ€™s this big lever here, the Beer Leverâ€”â€

â€œGear Lever,â€ said Masklin.

â€œAh. Ropes again?â€

â€œI thought so,â€ said Masklin earnestly. â€œWhat do you think?â€

Dorcas sucked in his breath. â€œWe-ell,â€ he said. â€œWhat with teams pulling the wheel, and teams shifting the Gear Lever, and people working the pedals with levers, and someone up there telling them all what to do, itâ€™s going to take a powerful lot of practicing. Supposing I rig up all the tackle, all the ropes and such: How many nights will we have to practice? You know, get the hang of it?â€

â€œIncluding the night we, er, leave?â€

â€œYes,â€ said Dorcas.

â€œOne,â€ said Masklin.

Dorcas sniffed. He stared upward for a while, humming under his breath.

â€œItâ€™s impossible,â€ he said.

â€œWeâ€™ll only have one chance, you see,â€ said Masklin. â€œIf itâ€™s a problem with all the equipmentâ€”â€

â€œOh, no problem there,â€ said Dorcas. â€œThatâ€™s just bits of wood and stringâ€”I can have that ready by tomorrow. I was thinking of the people, see. Youâ€™re going to need a powerful lot of nomes to do all this. And theyâ€™re going to need training.â€

â€œButâ€”but all that theyâ€™ll have to do is pull and push when theyâ€™re told, wonâ€™t they?â€

Dorcas hummed under his breath again. Masklin got the impression that he always did that if he was going to break some bad news.

â€œWell, laddie,â€ he said, â€œIâ€™m six; Iâ€™ve seen a lot of people, and Iâ€™ve got to tell you, if you lined up ten nomes and shouted â€˜Pull!,â€™ four of them would push and two of them would say â€˜Pardon?â€™ Thatâ€™s how people are. Itâ€™s just nomish nature.â€

He grinned at Masklinâ€™s crestfallen expression.

â€œWhat you ought to do,â€ he said, â€œis find us a little truck. To practice on.â€

Masklin nodded gloomily.

â€œAnd,â€ said Dorcas, â€œhave you thought again about how youâ€™re going to get everyone on? Two thousand nomes, mind. Plus all this stuff weâ€™re taking. You canâ€™t have old grannies and little babies shinning up ropes or crawling through holes, can you?â€

Masklin shook his head. Dorcas was watching him with his normal mild grin.

This nome, Masklin thought, knows his stuff. But if I say to him Leave it all to me, heâ€™ll leave it all to me, just to serve me right. Oh, critical path analysis! Why is it always people?

â€œHave you got any ideas?â€ he said. â€œI really would appreciate your help.â€

Dorcas gave him a long, thoughtful look and then patted him on the shoulder.

â€œIâ€™ve been looking around this place,â€ he said. â€œMaybe thereâ€™s a way we can practice and solve the other problem. You come down here again tomorrow night and weâ€™ll see, shall we?â€

Masklin nodded.

The trouble was, he thought as he walked back, that there werenâ€™t enough people. A lot of the Ironmongri were helping, and some of the other departments, and quite a few young nomes were sneaking off to help because it was all exciting and unusual. As far as the rest of them were concerned, though, life was going on as normal.

In fact the Store was, if anything, busier than usual.

Of all the family heads, only the Count seemed at all willing to take an interest, and Masklin suspected that even he didnâ€™t really think the Store was going to end. It just meant that the Ironmongri could learn to read, and that annoyed the Haberdasheri, which amused the Count. Even Gurder didnâ€™t seem so sure as he had been.

Masklin went back to his box and slept, and woke up an hour later.

The terror had started.

11

I. Run to the Lifts

Lifts, wonâ€™t you carry me?

Run to the Walls,

Walls, wonâ€™t you hide me?

Run to the Truck,

Truck, wonâ€™t you take me?

All on that Day.

From The Book of Nome, Exits Chap. 1, v. I.

IT STARTED WITH silence when there should have been noise. All the nomes were used to the distant thumping and murmuring of the humans during the long daylight hours, so they didnâ€™t notice it. Now that it was gone, they could hear the strange, oppressive silence. There were days, of course, when humans didnâ€™t come into the Storeâ€”for instance, Arnold Bros (est. 1905) sometimes allowed them almost a week off between the excitement of Christmas Fayre and the hurly-burly of Winter Sale Starts Today! But the nomes were used to this; it was part of the gentle rhythm of Store life. This wasnâ€™t the right day.

After several hours of silence, they just stopped telling one another not to worry, it was probably just some special day or something, like that time when the Store had shut for a week for redecoration, and one or two of the braver or more inquisitive ones risked a quick glance above floor level.

Emptiness stretched away between the familiar counters. And there didnâ€™t seem to be much stock around.

â€œItâ€™s always like this after a Sale,â€ they said. â€œAnd then, before you know where you are, all the shelves are filled up again. Nothing to get upset about at all. Itâ€™s all part of Arnold Bros (est. 1905)â€™s great plan.â€

And they sat in silence, or hummed a little tune, or found something to occupy their minds, to stop thinking unpleasant thoughts. It didnâ€™t work.

And then, when the humans came in and started taking the few things that were left off the shelves and counters, and piling them in great boxes and taking them down to the garage and loading them onto the trucks . . .

And started taking up the floorboards . . .

Masklin awoke. People were prodding him. Somewhere in the distance, other people were shouting. It was somehow familiar.

â€œGet up, quickly!â€ said Gurder.

â€œWhatâ€™s happening?â€ asked Masklin, yawning.

â€œHumans are taking the Store to bits!â€

Masklin sat bolt upright.

â€œThey canâ€™t be! Itâ€™s not time!â€ he said.

â€œTheyâ€™re doing it just the same!â€

Masklin stood up, struggling into his clothes. He jigged sideways across the floor, one leg out of his trousers, and thumped the Thing.

â€œHey!â€ he said. â€œYou said the demolition wasnâ€™t for ages yet!â€

â€œFourteen days,â€ said the Thing.

â€œItâ€™s starting now!â€

â€œThis is probably the removal of remaining stock to new premises, and preliminary works,â€ said the Thing.

â€œOh, good. That should make everyone feel a lot better. Why didnâ€™t you tell us?â€

â€œI was not aware you did not know.â€

â€œWell, we didnâ€™t. So what do you suggest we do now?â€

â€œLeave as soon as possible.â€

Masklin snarled. He had expected two more weeks to solve all the problems. They could have stockpiled stuff to take with them. They could have made proper plans. Even two weeks was hardly long enough. Now the thought of even one week was a luxury.

He went out into the milling, disorganized crowd. Fortunately the boards hadnâ€™t been taken up in an inhabited areaâ€”some of the more sensible refugees said that only a few had been taken up in the far end of the Gardening Department, so the humans could get at the water pipesâ€”but nomes living nearby were taking no chances.

There was a thump overhead. A few minutes later, a breathless nome arrived and reported that the carpets were being rolled up and taken away.

That caused a terrified silence. Masklin realized that they were all looking at him.

â€œEr,â€ he said.

Then he said, â€œI think everyone ought to get as much food as they can carry and go down to the basement, near to the garage.â€

â€œYou mean you still think we should do it?â€ said Gurder.

â€œWe havenâ€™t much choice, have we?â€

â€œBut we wereâ€”you said we should take as much as we could from the Store, all the wire and tools and things. And books,â€ said Gurder.

â€œWeâ€™ll be lucky if we can just take ourselves. Thereâ€™s no time!â€

Another messenger came running up. It was one of Dorcasâ€™s group. He whispered something to Masklin, who gave a strange smile.

â€œCan it be that Arnold Bros (est. 1905) has abandoned us in our hour of need?â€ said Gurder.

â€œI donâ€™t think so. He may be helping us,â€ said Masklin. â€œBecause, well, youâ€™ll never guess where the humans are putting all this stuff. . . .â€

12

I. And the Outsider said, Glory to the Name of Arnold Bros (est. 1905).

II. For he hath sent us a Truck, and the Humans are loading it now with all manner of Things needful to nomes. It is a Sign. Everything Must Go. Including us.

From The Book of Nome, Exits Chap. 2, v. Iâ€“II

HALF AN HOUR later Masklin lay on the girder with Dorcas, looking down at the garage.

He had never seen it so busy. Humans sleepwalked across the floor, carrying bundles of carpet into the backs of some of the trucks. Yellow things, like a cross between a very small truck and a very large armchair, inched around them, stacking boxes.

Dorcas passed him the telescope.

â€œBusy little things, ainâ€™t they,â€ he said conversationally. â€œBeen at it all morning, they have. A couple of trucks have already gone out and come back, so they canâ€™t be going very far.â€

â€œThe letter we saw said something about a new Store,â€ said Masklin. â€œPerhaps theyâ€™re taking the stuff there.â€

â€œCould be. Itâ€™s mostly carpets at the moment, and some of the big frozen humans from Fashions.â€

Masklin made a face. According to Gurder, the big pink humans that stood in Fashions, and Kiddies Klothes, and Young Living, and never moved at all, were those who had incurred Arnold Bros (est. 1905)â€™s displeasure. They had been turned into horrible pink stuff, and some said they could even be taken apart. But certain Klothian philosophers said no, they were particularly good humans, who had been allowed to stay in the Store forever and not made to disappear at Closing Time. Religion was very hard to understand.

As Masklin watched, the big roller door creaked upward and a truck nearby started with a roar and ground slowly out into the blinding daylight.

â€œWhat we need,â€ he said, â€œis a truck with a lot of stuff from the Ironmongery Department. Wire, you know, and tools and things. Have you seen any food?â€

â€œLooked like a lot of stuff from the Food Hall on the first truck out,â€ said Dorcas.

â€œWeâ€™ll have to make do, then.â€

â€œWhatâ€™ll I do,â€ said Dorcas slowly, â€œif they load it all up on a truck and drive it away? Theyâ€™re working powerful fast, for humans.â€

â€œSurely they canâ€™t empty the Store in one day?â€ said Masklin.

Dorcas shrugged.

â€œWho knows?â€ he said.

â€œYouâ€™ll have to stop the truck from leaving,â€ said Masklin.

â€œHow? By throwing myself under it?â€

â€œAny way you can think of,â€ said Masklin.

Dorcas grinned. â€œIâ€™ll find a way. The lads are getting used to this place.â€

Refugees were flowing into the Ironmongery Department from all over the Store, filling all the space under the floor with a frightened buzz of whispered conversation. Many of them looked up as Masklin walked past, and what he saw in their faces terrified him.

They believe I can help, he thought. Theyâ€™re looking at me as if Iâ€™m their only hope.

And I donâ€™t know what to do. Probably none of it will workâ€”we should have had more time. He forced himself to look brimful of confidence, and it seemed to satisfy people. All they wanted to know was that someone, somewhere, knew what he was doing. Masklin wondered who it was; it certainly wasnâ€™t him.

The news was bad from everywhere. A lot of the Gardening Department had been cleared. Most of the Clothes departments were empty. The counters were being ripped out of Cosmetics, although fortunately not many nomes lived there. Masklin could hear, even here, the thud and crunch of the work going on.

Finally he could stand it no longer. Too many people kept staring at him. He went back down to the garage, where Dorcas was still watching from his spy post on top of the girder.

â€œWhatâ€™s happened?â€ said Masklin.

The old nome pointed to the truck immediately below them.

â€œThatâ€™s the one we want,â€ he said. â€œItâ€™s got all sorts in it. Lots of stuff from the Do-It-Yourself Department. Thereâ€™s even some Haberdashery things, needles and whatnot. All the stuff you told me to look out for.â€

â€œWeâ€™ve got to stop them from driving it out!â€ said Masklin.

Dorcas grinned. â€œThe machinery that raises the door wonâ€™t work,â€ he said. â€œThe fuse has gone.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s a fuse?â€ said Masklin.

Dorcas picked up a long, thick red bar lying by his feet. â€œThis is,â€ he said.

â€œYou took it?â€

â€œTricky jobâ€”we had to tie a bit of string round it. Made a powerful big spark when we pulled it out.â€

â€œBut I expect they can put another one in,â€ said Masklin.

â€œOh, they did,â€ said Dorcas, with a self-satisfied expression. â€œTheyâ€™re not daft. Didnâ€™t work, though, because after we took the fuse out, the lads went and cut the wires inside the wall in a couple of places. Very dangerous, but itâ€™ll take the humans forever to find it.â€

â€œHmm. But supposing they lever the door up?â€

â€œWonâ€™t do them any good. Itâ€™s not as if the truck will go, anyway.â€

â€œWhy not?â€

Dorcas pointed downward. Masklin watched, and after a moment he saw a couple of small figures scurry out from under the truck and dive into the shadows by the wall. They were carrying a pair of pliers.

A moment later a solitary figure hurried after them, dragging a length of wire.

â€œPowerful lot of wire them trucks need,â€ said Dorcas. â€œThis one ainâ€™t got so much, now. Funny, isnâ€™t it? Take away a tiny spark and the truck wonâ€™t go. Donâ€™t worry, thoughâ€”I reckon weâ€™ll know where to put it all back later.â€

There was a clang down below. One of the humans had given the door a kick.

â€œTemper, temper,â€ said Dorcas mildly.

â€œYouâ€™ve thought of just about everything,â€ said Masklin admiringly.

â€œI hope so,â€ said Dorcas. â€œBut weâ€™d better make sure, hadnâ€™t we.â€ He stood up and produced a large white flag, which he waved over his head. There was an answering flicker of white from the shadows on the far side of the garage.

And then the lights went out.

â€œUseful thing, electricity,â€ said Dorcas in the darkness. There was a rumble of annoyance from the humans below, and then a jangling noise as one of them walked into something. After some grunting and a few more thuds, one of the humans found a doorway out into the basement, and the rest of them followed it.

â€œDonâ€™t you think theyâ€™ll suspect something?â€ said Masklin.

â€œThereâ€™s other humans working in the Store. Theyâ€™ll probably think they caused it,â€ said Dorcas.

â€œThat electricity is amazing stuff,â€ said Masklin. â€œCan you make it? The Count de Ironmongri was very mysterious about it.â€

â€œThatâ€™s because the Ironmongri donâ€™t know anything.â€ Dorcas sniffed. â€œJust how to steal it. I canâ€™t seem to get the hang of the reading business, but young Vinto has been looking at books for me. He says making electricity is very simple. You just need to get hold of some stuff called you-ranium. I think itâ€™s a kind of metal.â€

â€œIs there some in the Ironmongery Department?â€ said Masklin hopefully.

â€œApparently not,â€ said Dorcas.

The Thing wasnâ€™t very helpful, either.

â€œI doubt if you are ready for nuclear power yet,â€ it said. â€œTry windmills.â€

Masklin finished putting his possessions, such as they were, in a bag.

â€œWhen we leave,â€ he said, â€œyou wonâ€™t be able to talk, will you? You need electricity to drink.â€

â€œThat is the case, yes.â€

â€œCanâ€™t you tell us which way we should go?â€

â€œNo. However, I detect radio traffic indicative of airline activity to the north of here.â€

Masklin hesitated. â€œThatâ€™s good, is it?â€

â€œIt means there are flying machines.â€

â€œAnd we can fly all the way Home?â€ said Masklin.

â€œNo. But they may be the next step. It may be possible to communicate with the starship. But first, you must ride the truck.â€

â€œAfter that, I should think anything is possible,â€ said Masklin gloomily. He looked expectantly at the Thing, and then noticed with horror that its lights were going off, one by one.

â€œThing!â€

â€œWhen you are successful, we will talk again,â€ said the Thing.

â€œBut youâ€™re supposed to help us!â€ said Masklin.

â€œI suggest you consider deeply the proper meaning of the word â€˜help,â€™â€ said the box. â€œYou are either intelligent nomes or just clever animals. Itâ€™s up to you to find out which.â€

â€œWhat?â€

The last light went off.

â€œThing?â€

The lights stayed off. The little black box contrived to look extremely dead and silent.

â€œBut I relied on you to help us sort out the driving and everything! Youâ€™re just going to leave me like this?â€

If anything, the box got darker. Masklin stared at it.

Then he thought: Itâ€™s all very well for it. Everyoneâ€™s relying on me. Iâ€™ve got no one to rely on. I wonder if the old Abbot felt like this. I wonder how he stood it for so long. Itâ€™s always me who has to do everythingâ€”no one ever thinks about me or what I want. . . .

The shabby cardboard door swung aside and Grimma stepped in.

She looked from the darkened Thing to Masklin.

â€œTheyâ€™re asking for you out there,â€ she said quietly. â€œWhy is the Thing all dark?â€

â€œIt just said good-bye! It said it wonâ€™t help anymore!â€ Masklin wailed. â€œIt just said we have to prove we can do things for ourselves and it will speak to us when weâ€™re successful! What shall I do?â€

I know what I could do, he thought. I could do with a cool washcloth. I could do with a bit of understanding. I could do with a bit of sympathy. Good old Grimma. You can rely on her.

â€œWhat youâ€™ll do,â€ she said sharply, â€œis jolly well stop moping and get up and go out there and get things organized!â€

â€œWhaâ€”â€

â€œSort things out! Make new plans! Give people orders! Get on with it!â€

â€œButâ€”â€

â€œDo it now!â€ she snapped.

Masklin stood up.

â€œYou shouldnâ€™t talk to me like that,â€ he said plaintively. â€œIâ€™m the leader, you know.â€

She stood arms akimbo, glaring at him.

â€œOf course youâ€™re the leader,â€ she said. â€œDid I say you werenâ€™t the leader? Everyone knows youâ€™re the leader! Now get out there and lead!â€

He lurched past. She tapped him on the shoulder.

â€œAnd learn to listen,â€ she added.

â€œEh? What do you mean?â€

â€œThe Thingâ€™s a sort of thinking machine, isnâ€™t it? Thatâ€™s what Dorcas said. Well, machines say exactly what they mean, donâ€™t they?â€

â€œYes, I suppose so, butâ€”â€

Grimma gave him a bright, triumphant smile.

â€œWell, it said â€˜When,â€™â€ she said. â€œThink about it. It could have said â€˜If.â€™â€

Night came. Masklin thought the humans were never going to leave. One of them, with a flashlight and a box of tools, spent a long time examining fuse boxes and peering at the wiring in the basement. Now at last even it was gone, grumbling and slamming the door behind it.

After a little while, the lights came on in the garage.

There was a rustling in the walls, and then a dark tide flowed out from under benches. Some of the young nomes in the lead carried hooks on the ends of thread lines, which they swung up to the truckâ€™s covers. They caught, one after another, and the nomes swarmed up them.

Other nomes brought thicker string, which was tied to the ends of the thread and gradually dragged upward. . . .

Masklin ran along, under the endless shadow of the truck, to the oily darkness under the engine where Dorcasâ€™s teams were already dragging their equipment into position. Dorcas himself was in the cab, rooting around among the thick wires. There was a sizzling noise, and then the light in the cab came on.

â€œThere,â€ said Dorcas. â€œNow we can see what weâ€™re at. Come on, lads! Letâ€™s have a bit of effort!â€

When he turned around and saw Masklin, he made as if to hide his hands behind his back, then thought better of it. Both of them were thrust into what Masklin could now see were the fingers cut out of rubber gloves.

â€œAh,â€ said Dorcas, â€œdidnâ€™t know you were there. Bit of a trade secret, see? Electricity canâ€™t abide rubber. It stops the stuff from biting you.â€ He ducked as a team of nomes swung a long wooden beam across the cab and started to fasten it to the gear lever.

â€œHow longâ€™s it going to take?â€ shouted Masklin, as another team ran past dragging a ball of string. There was quite a din in the cab now, and threads and bits of wood were moving in every direction in what he hoped was an organized way.

â€œCould be an hour, maybe,â€ said Dorcas, and added, not unkindly, â€œWeâ€™d get on quicker without people in the way.â€

Masklin nodded, and explored the rear of the cab. The truck was old, and he found another hole for a bundle of wires which, at a squeeze, would take a nome as well. He crawled out into the open air and then found another gap that let him into the rear of the truck.

The first nomes aboard had dragged up one end of a thin piece of wood, which was acting as a gangplank. The rest were scrambling up it now.

Masklin had put Granny Morkie in charge of this. The old woman had a natural talent for making frightened people do things.

â€œSteep?â€ she was shouting at a fat nome, who had got halfway up and was clinging there in fright. â€œCall this steep? It ainâ€™t steep, itâ€™s a stroll! Want me to come down there and help you?â€

The mere threat budged him from his perch and he nearly ran the rest of the way, ducking gratefully into the shadows of the cargo.

â€œEveryone had better try to find somewhere soft to lie down,â€ said Masklin. â€œIt could be a rough journey. And you must send all the strongest nomes up toward the cab. Weâ€™re going to need everyone we can get, believe me.â€

She nodded, and then shouted at a family that was blocking the gangway.

Masklin looked down at the endless stream of people climbing into the truck, many of them staggering under the weight of possessions.

Funny, but now he felt heâ€™d done everything he could. Everything was ticking along like a, like a, like something that went tick. Either all the plans would work or they wouldnâ€™t. Either the nomes could act together or they couldnâ€™t.

He recalled the picture of Gulliver. It probably wasnâ€™t real, Gurder had said. Books often had things in them that werenâ€™t really real. But it would be nice to think that nomes could agree on something long enough to be like the little people in the book. . . .

â€œWell, itâ€™s all going well, then,â€ he said vaguely.

â€œWell enough.â€ Granny nodded.

â€œIt would be a good idea if we found out exactly what was in all these boxes and things,â€ Masklin ventured, â€œbecause we might have to get out quickly when we stop andâ€”â€

â€œI tole Torrit to see to it,â€ said Granny. â€œDonâ€™t you worry about it.â€

â€œOh,â€ said Masklin weakly. â€œGood.â€

He hadnâ€™t left himself anything to do.

He went back to the cab out of sheerâ€”well, not boredom, because his heart was pounding like a drumâ€”but out of restlessness.

Dorcasâ€™s nomes had already built a wooden platform above the steering wheel and right in front of the big window. Dorcas himself was back down on the floor of the cab, drilling the driving teams.

â€œRight!â€ he shouted. â€œGive me . . . First Gear!â€

â€œPedal Down . . . two, three . . .â€ chorused the team on the clutch pedal.

â€œPedal Up . . . two, three . . .â€ shouted the accelerator team.

â€œLever Up . . . two, three . . .â€ echoed the nomes by the gear lever.

â€œPedal Up . . . two, three, four!â€ The leader of the clutch team threw Dorcas a salute. â€œGear all changed, sir!â€ he shouted.

â€œThat was terrible. Really terrible,â€ said Dorcas. â€œWhatâ€™s happened to the accelerator team, eh? Get that pedal down!â€

â€œSorry, Dorcas.â€

Masklin tapped Dorcas on the shoulder.

â€œKeep doing it!â€ Dorcas commanded. â€œI want you dead smooth all the way up to fourth. Yes? What? Oh, itâ€™s you.â€

â€œYes, itâ€™s me. Everyoneâ€™s nearly on,â€ said Masklin. â€œWhen will you be ready?â€

â€œThis lot wonâ€™t be ready ever.â€

â€œOh.â€

â€œSo we might as well start whenever you like and pick it up as we go along. We canâ€™t even try steering until itâ€™s moving, of course.â€

â€œWeâ€™re going to send a lot more people to help you,â€ said Masklin.

â€œOh, good,â€ said Dorcas. â€œJust what I need, lots more people who donâ€™t know their right from their left.â€

â€œHow are you going to know which way to steer?â€

â€œSemaphore,â€ said Dorcas firmly.

â€œSemaphore?â€

â€œSignaling with flags. You just tell my lad up on the platform what you want done, and Iâ€™ll watch the signals. If weâ€™d had one more week, I reckon I could have rigged up some sort of telephone.â€

â€œFlags,â€ said Masklin. â€œWill that work?â€

â€œItâ€™d better, hadnâ€™t it. We can give it a try later on.â€

And now it was later on. The last nome scouts had climbed aboard. In the back of the truck most of the people made themselves as comfortable as possible and lay, wide awake, in the darkness.

Masklin was up on the platform with Angalo, Gurder, and the Thing. Gurder knew even less about trucks than Masklin, but it was felt best to have him there, just in case. After all, they were stealing Arnold Bros (est. 1905)â€™s truck. Someone might have to do some explaining. But heâ€™d drawn the line about having Bobo in the cab. The rat was back with everyone else.

Grimma was there, too. Gurder asked her what she was doing there. She asked him what he was doing there. They both looked at Masklin.

â€œShe can help me with the reading,â€ he said, secretly relieved. He wasnâ€™t, despite lots of effort, all that good at it. There seemed to be a knack he couldnâ€™t get the hang of. Grimma, on the other hand, seemed to do it now without thinking. If her brain was exploding, it was doing it in unnoticeable ways.

She nodded smugly and propped The High Way Code open in front of him.

â€œThereâ€™s things youâ€™ve got to do,â€ he said uncertainly. â€œBefore you start, youâ€™ve got to look in a murâ€”â€

â€œâ€”mirrorâ€”â€ said Grimma.

â€œâ€”mirror. Thatâ€™s what it says here. Mirror,â€ said Masklin, firmly.

He looked inquiringly at Angalo, who shrugged.

â€œI donâ€™t know anything about that,â€ he said. â€œMy driver used to look at it, but I donâ€™t know why.â€

â€œDo you have to look for anything special? I mean, perhaps you have to make a face in it or something,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWhatever it is, weâ€™d better do things properly,â€ said Gurder firmly. He pointed. â€œThereâ€™s a mirror up there, near the ceiling.â€

â€œDaft place to put it,â€ said Masklin. He managed to hook it with a grapnel and, after some effort, pulled himself up to it.

â€œCan you see anything?â€ Gurder called out.

â€œJust me.â€

â€œWell, come on back down. Youâ€™ve done it, thatâ€™s the main thing.â€

Masklin slid back down to the decking, which wobbled under him.

Grimma peered at the Code.

â€œThen youâ€™ve got to signal your intentions,â€ she said. â€œThatâ€™s clear, anyway. Signaler?â€

One of Dorcasâ€™s assistants stepped forward a bit uncertainly, holding his two white flags carefully downward.

â€œYes, sir maâ€™am?â€ he said.

â€œTell Dorcasâ€”â€ Grimma looked at the others. â€œTell him weâ€™re ready to start.â€

â€œExcuse me,â€ said Gurder. â€œIf itâ€™s anyoneâ€™s job to tell them when weâ€™re ready to start, itâ€™s my job to tell them weâ€™re ready to start. I want it to be quite clear that Iâ€™m the person who tells people to start.â€ He looked sheepishly at Grimma. â€œEr. Weâ€™re ready to start,â€ he said.

â€œRight you are, maâ€™am.â€ The signaler waved his arms briefly. From far below, the engineerâ€™s voice boomed back: â€œReady!â€

â€œWell, then,â€ said Masklin. â€œThis is it, then.â€

â€œYes,â€ said Gurder, glaring at Grimma. â€œIs there anything weâ€™ve forgotten?â€

â€œLots of things, probably,â€ said Masklin.

â€œToo late now, at any rate,â€ said Gurder.

â€œYes.â€

â€œYes.â€

â€œRight then.â€

â€œRight.â€

They stood in silence for a moment.

â€œShall you give the order, or shall I?â€ asked Masklin.

â€œI was wondering whether to ask Arnold Bros (est. 1905) to watch over us and keep us safe,â€ said Gurder. â€œAfter all, we may be leaving the Store, but this is still his truck.â€ He grinned wretchedly and sighed. â€œI wish heâ€™d give us some sort of sign,â€ he said, â€œto show he approved.â€

â€œReady when you are, up there!â€ shouted Dorcas.

Masklin went to the edge of the platform and leaned on the flimsy rail.

The whole of the floor of the cab was covered in nomes, holding ropes in readiness or waiting by their levers and pulleys. They stood in absolute silence in the shadows, but every face was turned upward, so Masklin was looking down at a sea of frightened and excited blobs.

He waved his hand.

â€œStart the engine,â€ he said, and his voice sounded unnaturally loud in the expectant silence.

He walked back and looked out into the bright emptiness of the garage. There were a few other trucks parked against the opposite wall, and one or two of the small yellow loading trucks stood where the humans had left them. To think heâ€™d once called it a truck nest! Garage, that was the word. It was amazing, the feeling you got from knowing the right names. You felt in control. It was as if knowing what the right name was gave you a sort of lever.

There was a whirring noise from somewhere in front of them, and then the platform shook to a thunder roll. Unlike thunder, it didnâ€™t die away. The engine had started.

Masklin grabbed hold of the rail before he was shaken off and felt Angalo tug on his sleeve.

â€œIt always sounds like this!â€ he shouted above the din. â€œYou get used to it after a while!â€

â€œGood!â€ It wasnâ€™t a noise. It was too loud to be called a noise. It was more like solid air.

â€œI think weâ€™d better practice a bit! To get the hang of it! Shall I tell the signaler that we want to move forward very slowly?â€

Masklin nodded grimly. The signaler thought for a moment and then waved his flags.

Masklin could distantly hear Dorcas yelling orders. There was a grinding noise, followed by a jolt that knocked him over. He managed to land on his hands and knees and looked into Gurderâ€™s frightened face.

â€œWeâ€™re moving!â€ shouted the Stationeri.

Masklin stared out of the windshield.

â€œYes, and you know what?â€ he yelled, springing up. â€œWeâ€™re moving backward!â€

Angalo staggered over to the signaler, who had dropped one of his flags.

â€œForward slowly, I said! Forward slowly! Not backward! Forward!â€

â€œI signaled Forward!â€

â€œBut weâ€™re going backward! Signal them to go forward!â€

The signaler scrabbled for his other flag and waved frantically at the teams below.

â€œNo, donâ€™t signal forward, just signal them to stoâ€”â€ Masklin began.

There was a sound from the far end of the truck. The only word to describe it was â€œcrunch,â€ but thatâ€™s far too short and simple a word to describe the nasty, complicated, metallic noise and the jolt that threw Masklin onto his stomach again. The engine stopped.

The echoes died away.

â€œSorree!â€ Dorcas called out, in the distance. They heard him talking in a low, menacing voice to the teams: â€œSatisfied? Satisfied, are we? When I said move the Gear Lever up and left and up, I meant up and left and up, not up and right and up! Right?â€

â€œYour right or our right, Dorcas?â€

â€œAny right!â€

â€œNo, butâ€”â€

â€œDonâ€™t you â€˜butâ€™ me!â€

â€œYes, butâ€”â€

Masklin and the others sat down as the argument skidded back and forth below them. Gurder was still lying on the planks.

â€œWe actually moved!â€ he was whispering. â€œArnold Bros (est. 1905) was right. Everything Must Go!â€

â€œIâ€™d like it to go a little farther, if itâ€™s all right by him,â€ said Angalo grimly.

â€œHello up there!â€ Dorcasâ€™s voice boomed with mad cheerfulness. â€œLittle bit of teething trouble down here. All sorted out now. Ready when you are!â€

â€œShould I look in the mirror again, what do you think?â€ said Masklin to Grimma. She shrugged.

â€œI shouldnâ€™t bother,â€ said Angalo. â€œLetâ€™s just go forward. And as soon as possible, I think. I can smell dies-all. We must have knocked over some drums of it or something.â€

â€œThatâ€™s bad, is it?â€ said Masklin.

â€œIt burns,â€ said Angalo. â€œIt just needs a spark or something to set it off.â€

The engine roared into life again. This time they did inch forward, after some grinding noises, and rolled across the floor until the truck was in front of the big steel door. It stopped with a slight jerk.

â€œLike to try a few practice turns,â€ shouted Dorcas. â€œSmooth out a few rough edges!â€

â€œI really think it would be a very bad idea to stay here,â€ said Angalo urgently.

â€œYouâ€™re right,â€ said Masklin. â€œThe sooner we get out of here the better. Signal Dorcas to open the door.â€

The signaler hesitated. â€œI donâ€™t think weâ€™ve got a signal for that,â€ he said. Masklin leaned over the rail.

â€œDorcas!â€

â€œYes?â€

â€œOpen the door! Weâ€™ve got to get out now!â€

The distant figure cupped his hand to its ear.

â€œWhat?â€

â€œI said open the door! Itâ€™s urgent!â€

Dorcas appeared to consider this for a while and then raised his megaphone.

â€œYouâ€™ll laugh when I tell you this,â€ he said.

â€œWhat was that?â€ said Grimma.

â€œHe said weâ€™re going to laugh,â€ said Angalo.

â€œOh. Good.â€

â€œCome on!â€ shouted Masklin. Dorcasâ€™s reply was lost in the din from the engine.

â€œWhat?â€ shouted Masklin.

â€œWhat?â€

â€œWhat did you say?â€

â€œI said, in all this rush I clean forgot about the door!â€

â€œWhatâ€™d he say?â€ said Gurder.

Masklin turned and looked at the door. Dorcas had been very proud of the way heâ€™d stopped it opening. Now it had an extremely closed look. If something with no face could look smug, the door had managed it.

He turned back in exasperation, and also in time to see the small door to the rest of the Store swing slowly open. There was a figure there, behind a little circle of sharp white light.

His terrible flashlight, Masklin thought again.

It was Prices Slashed.

Masklin felt his mind begin to think very clearly and slowly.

Itâ€™s just a human, it said. Itâ€™s nothing scary. Just a human, with its name on it in case it forgets who it is, like all those female humans in the Store with names like â€œTracyâ€ and â€œSharonâ€ and â€œMrs. J. E. Williams, Supervisor.â€ This is just old â€œSecurityâ€ again. He lives down in the boiler room and drinks tea. Heâ€™s heard the noise.

Heâ€™s come to find out what made it.

That is, us.

â€œOh, no,â€ whispered Angalo, as the figure lurched across the floor. â€œDo you see what itâ€™s got in its mouth?â€

â€œItâ€™s a cigarette. Iâ€™ve seen humans with it before. What about it?â€ said Masklin.

â€œItâ€™s alight,â€ said Angalo. â€œDo you think it canâ€™t even smell the dies-all?â€

â€œWhat happens if it catches alight, then?â€ said Masklin, suspecting that he knew the answer.

â€œIt goes whoomph,â€ said Angalo.

â€œJust whoomph?â€

â€œWhoomph is enough.â€

The human came nearer. Masklin could see its eyes now. Humans werenâ€™t very good at seeing nomes even when they were standing still, but even a human would wonder why a truck was driving itself around its garage in the middle of the night.

Security arrived at the cab and reached out slowly for the door handle. His light shone in through the side window, and at that moment Gurder reared up, trembling with rage.

â€œBegone, foul fiend!â€ he yelled, illuminated as by a spotlight. â€œHeed ye the Signs of Arnold Bros (est. 1905)! No Smoking! Exit This Way!â€

The humanâ€™s face wrinkled in ponderous astonishment and then, as slowly as the drift of clouds, became an expression of panic. It let go of the door handle, turned, and began to head for the little door at what, for a human, was high speed. As it did so, the glowing cigarette fell from its mouth and, turning over and over, dropped slowly toward the floor.

Masklin and Angalo looked at each other, and then at the signaler.

â€œGo fast!â€ they shouted.

A moment later the entire truck shuddered as the teams tackled the complicated process of changing gear. Then it rolled forward.

â€œFast! I said fast!â€ Masklin shouted.

â€œWhatâ€™s going on?â€ shouted Dorcas. â€œWhat about the door?â€

â€œWeâ€™ll open the door! Weâ€™ll open the door!â€ shouted Masklin.

â€œHow?â€

â€œWell, it didnâ€™t look very thick, did it?â€

The world of nomes is, to humans, a rapid world. They live so fast that the things that happen around them seem quite slow, so the truck seemed to drift across the floor, drive up the ramp, and hit the door in a leisurely way. There was a long-drawn-out boom and the noise of bits of metal being torn apart, a scraping noise across the roof of the cab, and then there was no door at all, only darkness studded with lights.

â€œLeft! Go left!â€ Angalo screamed.

The truck skidded around slowly, bounced lazily off a wall, and rolled a little way down the street.

â€œKeep going! Keep going! Now straighten up!â€

A bright light shone briefly on the wall outside the cab.

And then, behind them, a sound like whoomph.

13

I. Arnold Bros (est. 1905) said, All is now Finished;

II. All Curtains, Carpeting, Bedding, Lingerie, Toys, Millinery, Haberdashery, Ironmongery, Electrical;

III. All walls, floors, ceilings, lifts, moving stairs;

IV. Everything Must Go.

From The Book of Nome, Exits Chap. 3, v. Iâ€“IV

LATER ON, WHEN the next chapters of The Book of Nome came to be written, they said the end of the Store started with a bang. This wasnâ€™t true but was put in because â€œbangâ€ sounded more impressive. In fact, the ball of yellow and orange fire that rolled out of the garage, carrying the remains of the door with it, just made a noise like a giant dog gently clearing its throat.

Whoomph.

The nomes werenâ€™t in a position to take much notice of it at the time. They were more concerned with the noise made by other things nearly hitting them.

Masklin had been prepared for other vehicles on the road. The High Way Code had a lot to say about it. It was important not to drive into them. What was worrying him was the way they seemed determined to run into the truck. They emitted long blaring noises, like sick cows.

â€œLeft a bit!â€ Angalo shouted. â€œThen right just a smidgen, then go straight!â€

â€œSmidgen?â€ said the signaler slowly. â€œI donâ€™t think I know a code for smidgen. Could weâ€”â€

â€œSlow! Now left a bit! Weâ€™ve got to get on the right side of the road!â€

Grimma peered over the top of The High Way Code.

â€œWe are on the right side,â€ she said.

â€œYes, but the right side should be the left side!â€

Masklin jabbed at the page in front of them. â€œIt says here weâ€™ve got to show consâ€”consyâ€”â€

â€œConsideration,â€ murmured Grimma.

â€œâ€”consideration for other road users,â€ he said. A jolt threw him forward. â€œWhat was that?â€ he said.

â€œUs going onto the sidewalk! Right! Right!â€

Masklin caught a brief glimpse of a brightly lit shop window before the truck hit it sideways on and bounced back onto the road in a shower of glass.

â€œNow left, now left, now right, right! Straight! Left, I said left!â€ Angalo peered at the bewildering pattern of lights and shapes in front of them.

â€œThereâ€™s another road here,â€ he said. â€œLeft! Give me left! Lots and lots of left! More left than that!â€

â€œThereâ€™s a sign,â€ said Masklin helpfully.

â€œLeft!â€ shrieked Angalo. â€œNow right. Right! Right!â€

â€œYou wanted left,â€ said the signaler accusingly.

â€œAnd now I want right! Lots of right! Duck!â€

â€œWe havenâ€™t got a signal forâ€”â€

This time whoomph wouldnâ€™t have done. It was definitely bang. The truck hit a wall, ground along it in a spray of sparks, rolled into a pile of litter bins, and stopped.

There was silence, except for the hissing sounds and pink, pink noises from the engine.

Then Dorcasâ€™s voice came up from the darkness, slow and full of menace.

â€œWould you mind telling us down here,â€ it said, â€œwhat youâ€™re doing up there?â€

â€œWeâ€™ll have to think of a better way of steering,â€ Angalo called down. â€œAnd lights. There should be a switch somewhere for lights.â€

Masklin struggled to his feet. The truck appeared to be stuck in a dark, narrow road. There were no lights anywhere.

He helped Gurder stand up and brushed him down. The Stationeri looked bewildered.

â€œWeâ€™re there?â€ he said.

â€œNot quite,â€ said Masklin. â€œWeâ€™ve stopped to, er, sort out a few things. While theyâ€™re doing that, I think weâ€™d better go back and check that everyoneâ€™s all right. They must be getting pretty worried. You come too, Grimma.â€

They climbed down and left Angalo and Dorcas deep in argument about steering, lights, clear instructions, and the need for a proper supply of all three.

There was a gabble of voices in the back of the truck, mixed with the crying of babies. Quite a few nomes had been bruised by the throwing about, and Granny Morkie was tying a splint to the broken leg of a nome who had been caught by a falling box when they hit the wall.

â€œWee bit rougher than the last time,â€ she commented dryly, tying a knot in the bandage. â€œWhyâ€™ve we stopped?â€

â€œJust to sort out a few things,â€ said Masklin, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt. â€œWeâ€™ll be moving again soon. Now that everyone knows what to expect.â€ He gazed down at the dark shadowy length of the truck, and inquisitiveness overcame him.

â€œWhile weâ€™re waiting, Iâ€™m going to take a look outside,â€ he said.

â€œWhat on earth for?â€ said Grimma.

â€œJust to, you know, look around,â€ said Masklin awkwardly. He nudged Gurder. â€œWant to come?â€ he said.

â€œWhat? Outside? Me?â€ The Stationeri looked terrified.

â€œYouâ€™ll have to sooner or later. Why not now?â€

Gurder hesitated for a moment and then shrugged.

â€œWill we be able to see the Storeâ€â€”he licked his dry lipsâ€”â€œfrom the Outside?â€ he said.

â€œProbably. We havenâ€™t really gone very far,â€ said Masklin, as diplomatically as he could.

A team of nomes helped them over the end of the truck, and they swung down onto what Gurder would almost certainly have called the floor. It was damp, and a fine spray hung in the air. Masklin breathed deeply. This was outside, all right. Real air, with a slight chill to it. It smelled fresh, not as though it had been breathed by thousands of nomes before him.

â€œThe sprinklers have come on,â€ said Gurder.

â€œThe what?â€

â€œThe sprinklers,â€ said Gurder. â€œTheyâ€™re in the ceiling, you know, in case of f . . .â€ He stopped and looked up. â€œOh, my,â€ he said.

â€œI think you mean the rain,â€ said Masklin.

â€œOh, my.â€

â€œItâ€™s just water coming out of the sky,â€ said Masklin. He felt something more was expected of him. â€œItâ€™s wet,â€ he added, â€œand you can drink it. Rain. You donâ€™t have to have pointy heads. It just rolls off anyway.â€

â€œOh, my.â€

â€œAre you all right?â€

Gurder was trembling. â€œThereâ€™s no roof!â€ he moaned. â€œAnd itâ€™s so big!â€

Masklin patted him on the shoulder.

â€œOf course, all this is new to you,â€ he said. â€œYou mustnâ€™t worry if you donâ€™t understand everything.â€

â€œYouâ€™re secretly laughing at me, arenâ€™t you?â€ said Gurder.

â€œNot really. I know what itâ€™s like to feel frightened.â€

Gurder pulled himself together. â€œFrightened? Me? Donâ€™t be foolish. Iâ€™m quite all right,â€ he said. â€œJust a little, er, surprised. I, er, wasnâ€™t expecting it to be quite so, quite so, quite so Outside. Now Iâ€™ve had time to come to terms with it, I feel much better. Well, well. So this is what itâ€™s likeâ€â€”he turned the word around his tongue, like a new candyâ€”â€œOutside. So, er, big. Is this all of it, or is there any more?â€

â€œLots,â€ said Masklin. â€œWhere we lived, there was nothing but outside from one edge of the world to the other.â€

â€œOh,â€ said Gurder weakly. â€œWell, I think this will be enough Outside for now. Very good.â€

Masklin turned and looked up at the truck. It was almost wedged into an alleyway littered with rubbish. There was a large dent in the end of it.

The opening at the far end of the alley was bright with streetlights in the drizzle. As he watched, a vehicle swished by with a blue light flashing. It was singing. He couldnâ€™t think of any other word to describe it.

â€œHow odd,â€ said Gurder.

â€œIt used to happen sometimes at home,â€ said Masklin. It was secretly rather pleasing, after all this time, to be the one who knew things. â€œYouâ€™d hear ones go along the highway like that. Dee-dah dee-dah DEE-DAH DEE-DAH dee-dah. I think itâ€™s just to get people to get out of the way.â€

They crept along the gutter and craned to look over the pavement at the corner, just as another bawling car hurtled past.

â€œOh, Bargains Galore!â€ said Gurder, and put his hands over his mouth.

The Store was on fire.

Flames fluttered at some of the upper windows like curtains in a breeze. A pall of smoke rose gently from the roof and made a darker column against the rainy sky.

The Store was having its last sale. It was holding a Grand Final Clearance of specially selected sparks, and flames to suit every pocket.

Humans bustled around in the street below it. There were a couple of trucks with ladders on them. It looked as though they were spraying water into the building.

Masklin looked sidelong at Gurder, wondering what the nome was going to do. In fact he took it a lot better than Masklin would have believed, but when he spoke, it was in a wound-up way, as if he were trying to keep his voice level.

â€œItâ€™s . . . itâ€™s not how I imagined it,â€ he croaked.

â€œNo,â€ said Masklin.

â€œWe . . . we got out just in time.â€

â€œYes.â€

Gurder coughed. It was as if heâ€™d just had a long debate with himself and had reached a decision. â€œThanks to Arnold Bros (est. 1905),â€ he said firmly.

â€œPardon?â€

Gurder stared at Masklinâ€™s face. â€œIf he hadnâ€™t called you to the Store, weâ€™d all still be in there,â€ he said, sounding more confident with every word.

â€œButâ€”â€ Masklin paused. That didnâ€™t make any sense. If they hadnâ€™t left, there wouldnâ€™t have been a fire. Would there? Hard to be sure. Maybe some fire had got out of a fire bucket. Best not to argue. There were some things people werenâ€™t happy to argue about, he thought. It was all very puzzling.

â€œFunny heâ€™s letting the Store burn,â€ he said.

â€œHe neednâ€™t,â€ said Gurder. â€œThereâ€™s the sprinklers, and thereâ€™s these special things, to make the fire go out. Fire Exits, theyâ€™re called. But he let the Store burn because we donâ€™t need it anymore.â€

There was a crash as the entire top floor fell in on itself.

â€œThere goes Consumer Accounts,â€ said Masklin. â€œI hope all the humans got out.â€

â€œWho?â€

â€œYou know. We saw their names on the doors. Salaries. Accounts. Personnel. General Manager,â€ said Masklin.

â€œIâ€™m sure Arnold Bros (est. 1905) made arrangements,â€ said Gurder.

Masklin shrugged. And then he saw, outlined against the firelight, the figure of Prices Slashed. There was no mistaking that hat. He was even holding his flashlight, and he was deep in conversation with some other humans. When he half turned, Masklin saw his face. He looked very angry.

He also looked very human. Without the terrible light, without the shadows of the Store at night, Prices Slashed was just another human.

On the other hand . . .

No, it was too complicated. And there were more important things to do.

â€œCome on,â€ he said. â€œLetâ€™s get back. I think we should get as far away as possible as quickly as we can.â€

â€œI shall ask Arnold Bros (est. 1905) to guide us and lead us,â€ said Gurder firmly.

â€œYes, good,â€ said Masklin. â€œGood idea. And why not? But now we really mustâ€”â€

â€œHas his Sign not said If You Do Not See What You Require, Please Ask?â€ said Gurder.

Masklin took him firmly by the arm. Everyone needs something, he thought. And you never know.

â€œI pull this string,â€ said Angalo, indicating the thread over his shoulder and the way it disappeared down into the depths of the cab, â€œand the leader of the steering wheel left-pulling team will know I want to turn left. Because itâ€™s tied to his arm. And this other one goes to the right-pulling team. So we wonâ€™t need so many signals, and Dorcas can concentrate on the gears and things. And the brakes. After all,â€ he added, â€œwe canâ€™t always rely on a wall to run into when we want to stop.â€

â€œWhat about lights?â€ said Masklin. Angalo beamed.

â€œSignal for the lights,â€ he said to the nome with flags. â€œWhat we did was, we tied threads to switchesâ€”â€

There was a click. A big metal arm moved across the windshield, clearing away the raindrops. They watched it for a while.

â€œDoesnâ€™t really illuminate much, does it?â€ said Grimma.

â€œWrong switch,â€ muttered Angalo. â€œSignal to leave the wipers on but put on the lights.â€

There was some muffled argument below them, and then another click. Instantly the cab was filled with the dull throbbing sound of a human voice.

â€œItâ€™s all right,â€ said Angalo. â€œItâ€™s only the radio. But itâ€™s not the lights, tell Dorcas.â€

â€œI know what a radio is,â€ said Gurder. â€œYou donâ€™t have to tell me what a radio is.â€

â€œWhat is it, then?â€ said Masklin, who didnâ€™t know.

â€œTwenty-Nine Ninety-Five, Batteries Extra,â€ said Gurder. â€œWith AM, FM, And Auto-Reverse Cassette. Bargain Offer, Not To Be Repeated.â€

â€œAm and Fum?â€ said Masklin.

â€œYes.â€

The radio voice droned on.

â€œâ€”ggest fire in the townâ€™s history, with firemen coming in from as far afield as Newtown. Meanwhile, police are searching for one of the storeâ€™s trucks, last seen leaving the building just beforeâ€”â€

â€œThe lights. The lights. Third switch along,â€ said Angalo. There was a few secondsâ€™ pause, and then the alley in front of the truck was bathed in white light.

â€œThere should be two, but one got broken when we left the Store,â€ said Angalo. â€œWell, then, are we ready?â€

â€œâ€”Anyone seeing the vehicle should contact Blackbury police onâ€”â€

â€œAnd turn off the radio,â€ said Angalo. â€œThat mooing gets on my nerves.â€

â€œI wish we could understand it,â€ said Masklin. â€œIâ€™m sure theyâ€™re fairly intelligent, if only we could understand it.â€

He nodded at Angalo. â€œOkay,â€ he said. â€œLetâ€™s go.â€

It seemed much better this time. The truck scraped along the wall for a moment, then came free and moved gently down the narrow alley toward the lights at the far end. As the truck came out from between the dark walls, Angalo called for the brakes, and it stopped with only a mild jolt.

â€œWhich way?â€ he said. Masklin looked blank.

Gurder fumbled through the pages of the diary. â€œIt depends on which way weâ€™re going,â€ he said. â€œLook for signs saying, er, Africa. Or Canada, perhaps.â€

â€œThereâ€™s a sign,â€ said Angalo, peering through the rain. â€œIt says Town Center. And then thereâ€™s an arrow and it saysâ€”â€ He squinted. â€œOnnyâ€”â€

â€œOne Way Street,â€ murmured Grimma.

â€œTown Center doesnâ€™t sound like a good idea,â€ said Masklin.

â€œCanâ€™t seem to find it on the map, either,â€ said Gurder.

â€œWeâ€™ll go the other way, then,â€ said Angalo, hauling on a thread.

â€œAnd Iâ€™m not sure about One Way Street,â€ said Masklin. â€œI think you should only go along it one way.â€

â€œWell, we are,â€ said Angalo smugly. â€œWeâ€™re going this way.â€

The truck rolled out of the side road and bumped neatly onto the pavement.

â€œLetâ€™s have second gear,â€ said Angalo. â€œAnd a bit more go-faster pedal.â€ A car swerved slowly out of the truckâ€™s way, its horn soundingâ€”to nome earsâ€”like the lost wail of a foghorn.

â€œShouldnâ€™t be allowed on the road, drivers like that,â€ said Angalo. There was a thump, and the remains of a streetlight bounced away. â€œAnd they put all this stupid stuff in the roadway, too,â€ he added.

â€œRemember to show consideration for other road users,â€ said Masklin severely.

â€œWell, I am, arenâ€™t I? Iâ€™m not running into them, am I?â€ said Angalo. â€œWhat was that thump?â€

â€œSome bushes, I think,â€ said Masklin.

â€œSee what I mean? Why do they put things like that in the road?â€

â€œI think the road is more sort of over to your right,â€ said Gurder.

â€œAnd it moves around, as well,â€ said Angalo sullenly, pulling the right-hand string slightly.

It was nearly midnight, and Blackbury was not a busy town after dark. Therefore there was no one rushing to run into the truck as it slid out of Alderman Surley Way and roared up John Lennon Avenue, a huge and rather battered shape under the yellow sodium glare. The rain had stopped, but there were wisps of mist coiling across the road.

It was almost peaceful.

â€œRight, third gear,â€ said Angalo, â€œand a bit faster. Now, whatâ€™s that sign coming up?â€

Grimma and Masklin craned to see.

â€œLooks like Road Works Ahead,â€ said Grimma in a puzzled voice.

â€œSounds good. Letâ€™s have some more fast, down there.â€

â€œYes, but,â€ said Masklin, â€œwhy say it? I mean, you could understand Road Doesnâ€™t Work Ahead. Why tell us it works?â€

â€œMaybe it means theyâ€™ve stopped putting curbs and lights and bushes in it,â€ said Angalo. â€œMaybeâ€”â€

Masklin leaned over the edge of the platform.

â€œStop!â€ he shouted. â€œLots and lots of stop!â€

The brake-pedal team looked up in astonishment but obeyed. There was a scream from the tires, yells from the nomes who were thrown forward, and then a lot of crunching and clanging from the front of the truck as it skidded through an assortment of barriers and cones.

â€œThere had better,â€ said Angalo, when it had finally stopped, â€œbe a very good reason for that.â€

â€œIâ€™ve hurt my knee,â€ said Gurder.

â€œThere isnâ€™t any more road,â€ said Masklin, simply.

â€œOf course thereâ€™s road,â€ snapped Angalo. â€œWeâ€™re on it, arenâ€™t we?â€

â€œLook down. Thatâ€™s all. Just look down,â€ said Masklin.

Angalo peered down at the road ahead. The most interesting thing about it was that it wasnâ€™t there. Then he turned to the signaler.

â€œCan we please have just a wee bit of backward,â€ he said quietly.

â€œA smidgen?â€ said the signaler.

â€œAnd none of your cheek,â€ said Angalo.

Grimma was also staring at the hole in the road. It was big. It was deep. A few pipes lurked in the depths.

â€œSometimes,â€ she said, â€œI think humans really donâ€™t understand anything about the proper use of language.â€

She leafed through the Code as the truck was reversed carefully away from the pit and, after crushing various things, driven onto the grass until the road was clear.

â€œItâ€™s time we were sensible about this,â€ she said. â€œWe canâ€™t assume anything means what it says. So go slow.â€

â€œI was driving perfectly safely,â€ said Angalo sulkily. â€œItâ€™s not my fault if things are all wrong.â€

â€œSo go slow, then.â€

They stared in silence at the rolling road.

Another sign loomed up.

â€œRoundabout,â€ said Angalo. â€œAnd a picture of a circle? Well. Any ideas?â€

Grimma leafed desperately through the Code.

â€œI saw a picture of a roundabout once,â€ said Gurder. â€œIf itâ€™s any help. It was in We Go to the Fair. Itâ€™s a big shiny thing with lots of gold and horses on it.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure thatâ€™s not it,â€ muttered Grimma, turning the pages hurriedly. â€œIâ€™m sure thereâ€™s something in here someâ€”â€

â€œGold, eh?â€ said Angalo. â€œShould be easy to spot, anyway. I thinkâ€â€”he glared at Grimmaâ€”â€œthat we can have a little third gear.â€

â€œRight you are, Mr. Angalo sir,â€ said the signaler.

â€œCanâ€™t see any golden horses,â€ said Masklin. â€œYou know, Iâ€™m not entirely certainâ€”â€

â€œAnd there should be cheerful music,â€ said Gurder, pleased to be making a contribution.

â€œCanâ€™t hear any cheerâ€”â€ Masklin began.

There was the long-drawn-out blast of a car horn. The road stopped and was replaced by a mound covered in bushes. The truck roared up it, all wheels leaving the ground for a moment, then thumped down on the other side of the roundabout and continued a little way, rocking from side to side, on the opposite road. It rolled to a halt.

There was silence in the cab again. Then someone groaned.

Masklin crawled to the edge of the platform and looked down into the frightened face of Gurder, who was hanging on to the edge.

â€œWhat happened?â€ he groaned.

Masklin hauled him back up to safety and dusted him off.

â€œI think,â€ he said, â€œthat although the signs mean what they say, what they say isnâ€™t what they mean.â€

Grimma pulled herself out from underneath the Code. Angalo untangled himself from the lengths of string and found himself looking into her furious scowl.

â€œYou,â€ she said, â€œare a total idiot. And speed mad! Why donâ€™t you listen?â€

â€œYou canâ€™t speak to me like that!â€ said Angalo, cowering back. â€œGurder, tell her she canâ€™t call me names like that!â€

Gurder sat trembling on the edge of the platform.

â€œAs far as I am concerned right now,â€ he said, â€œshe can call you what she likes. Go to it, young woman.â€

Angalo glowered. â€œHang on! You were the one who went on about golden horses! I didnâ€™t see any golden horses! Did anyone see any golden horses? He confused me, going on about golden horsesâ€”â€

Gurder waved a finger at him. â€œDonâ€™t you â€˜heâ€™ meâ€”â€ he began.

â€œAnd donâ€™t you â€˜young womanâ€™ me in that tone of voice!â€ screamed Grimma.

Dorcasâ€™s voice came up from the depths.

â€œI donâ€™t want to interrupt anything,â€ it said, â€œbut if this happens one more time, there are people down here who will be getting very angry. Is that understood?â€

â€œJust a minor steering problem,â€ Masklin called down cheerfully. He turned back to the others.

â€œNow you all look here,â€ he said quietly. â€œThis arguing has got to stop. Every time we hit a problem, we start bickering. Itâ€™s not sensible.â€

Angalo sniffed. â€œWe were doing perfectly all right until heâ€”â€

â€œShut up!â€

They stared at him. He was shaking with anger.

â€œIâ€™ve had just about enough of all of you!â€ he shouted. â€œYou make me ashamed! We were doing so well! I havenâ€™t spent ages trying to make all this happen just for a, a, a steering committee to ruin it all! Now you can all get up and get this thing moving again! Thereâ€™s a whole truckload of nomes back there! Theyâ€™re depending on you! Understand?â€

They looked at one another. They stood up sheepishly. Angalo pulled up the steering strings. The signaler untangled his flags.

â€œAhem,â€ said Angalo quietly. â€œI think . . . yes, I think a little bit of first gear might be in order here, if itâ€™s all the same to everybody?â€

â€œGood idea. Go ahead,â€ said Gurder.

â€œBut carefully,â€ said Grimma.

â€œThank you,â€ said Angalo politely. â€œIs that all right by you, Masklin?â€ he added.

â€œHmm? Yes. Yes. Fine. Go.â€

At least there were no more buildings. The truck purred along the lonely road, its one remaining headlight making a white glow in the mist. One or two vehicles passed them on the other side of the road.

Masklin knew that soon they should be looking for somewhere to stop. It would have to be somewhere sheltered, away from humansâ€”but not too far away, because he was pretty certain there were still plenty of things the nomes were going to need. Perhaps they were going north, but if they were, it would be sheer luck.

It was at that momentâ€”tired, angry, with his mind not entirely on what was in front of himâ€”that he saw Prices Slashed.

There was no doubt about it. The human was standing in the road, waving its flashlight. There was a car beside him, with a blue flashing light on top.

The others had seen it, too.

â€œPrices Slashed!â€ moaned Gurder. â€œHeâ€™s got here in front of us!â€

â€œMore speed,â€ said Angalo grimly.

â€œWhat are you going to do?â€ said Masklin.

â€œWeâ€™ll see how his light can stand up to a truck!â€ muttered Angalo.

â€œYou canâ€™t do that! You canâ€™t drive trucks into people!â€

â€œItâ€™s Prices Slashed!â€ said Angalo. â€œItâ€™s not people!â€

â€œHeâ€™s right,â€ said Grimma. â€œYou said we mustnâ€™t stop now!â€

Masklin grabbed the steering strings and gave one a yank. The truck skewed around just as Prices Slashed dropped his flashlight and, with respectable speed, jumped into the hedge. There was a bang as the rear of the truck hit the car, and then Angalo had the threads again and was guiding them back into something like a straight line.

â€œYou didnâ€™t have to do that,â€ he said sullenly. â€œItâ€™s all right to run into Prices Slashed, isnâ€™t it, Gurder?â€

â€œWell. Er,â€ said Gurder. He gave Masklin an embarrassed look. â€œIâ€™m not sure it was Prices Slashed, in fact. He had darker clothes, for one thing. And the car with the light on it.â€

â€œYes, but he had the peaked hat and the terrible light!â€

The truck bumped off a bank, taking away a large chunk of soil, and lurched back onto the road.

â€œAnyway,â€ said Angalo in a satisfied voice, â€œthatâ€™s all behind now. We left Arnold Bros (est. 1905) behind in the Store. We donâ€™t need that stuff. Not Outside.â€

Noisy though it was in the cab, the words created their own sort of silence.

â€œWell, itâ€™s true,â€ said Angalo defensively. â€œAnd Dorcas thinks the same thing. And a lot of younger nomes.â€

â€œWe shall see,â€ said Gurder. â€œHowever, I suspect that if Arnold Bros (est. 1905) was ever anywhere, then heâ€™s everywhere.â€

â€œWhat do you mean by that?â€

â€œIâ€™m not sure myself. I need to think about it.â€

Angalo sniffed. â€œWell, think about it, then. But I donâ€™t believe it. It doesnâ€™t matter anymore. May Bargains Galore turn against me if Iâ€™m wrong,â€ he added.

Masklin saw a blue light out of the corner of his eye. There were mirrors over the wheels of the truck and, although one of them was smashed and the other one was bent, they still worked after a fashion. The light was behind the truck.

â€œHeâ€™s coming after us, whoever it is,â€ he said mildly.

â€œAnd thereâ€™s that dee-dah, dee-dah noise,â€ said Gurder.

â€œI think,â€ Masklin went on, â€œthat it might be a good idea to get off this road.â€

Angalo glanced from side to side.

â€œToo many hedges,â€ he said.

â€œNo, I meant onto another road. Can you do that?â€

â€œTen-four. No problem. Hey, heâ€™s trying to pass! What a nerve! Ha!â€ The truck swerved violently.

â€œI wish we could open the windows,â€ he added. â€œOne of the drivers I watched, if anyone behind him honked, heâ€™d wave his hand out of the window and shout things. I think thatâ€™s what youâ€™re supposed to do.â€ He waved his arm up and shouted, â€œYahgerronyerr!â€

â€œDonâ€™t worry about that. Just find another road, a small road,â€ said Masklin soothingly. â€œIâ€™ll be back in a minute.â€

He lowered himself down the swaying ladder to Dorcas and his people. There wasnâ€™t too much going on at the moment, just little tugs on the big wheel from the steering groups and a steady pressure on the go-faster pedal. Many of the nomes were sitting down and trying to relax. There was a ragged cheer when Masklin joined them.

Dorcas was sitting by himself, scribbling things on a piece of paper.

â€œOh, itâ€™s you,â€ he said. â€œEverything working now? Have we run out of things to bump into?â€

â€œWeâ€™re being followed by someone who wants to make us stop,â€ said Masklin.

â€œAnother truck?â€

â€œA car, I think. With humans in it.â€

Dorcas scratched his chin.

â€œWhat do you want me to do about it?â€

â€œYou used things to cut the truck wires when you didnâ€™t want it to go,â€ said Masklin.

â€œPliers. What about them?â€

â€œHave you still got them?â€

â€œOh, yes. But you need two nomes to use them.â€

â€œThen I shall need another nome.â€ Masklin told Dorcas what he had in mind.

The old nome looked at him with something like admiration and then shook his head.

â€œItâ€™ll never work,â€ he said. â€œWe wonâ€™t have the time. Nice idea, though.â€

â€œBut weâ€™re so much faster than humans! We could do it and be back at the truck before they know!â€

â€œHmm.â€ Dorcas grinned nastily. â€œYou going to come?â€

â€œYes. I, er, Iâ€™m not sure nomes whoâ€™ve never been outside the Store will be able to cope.â€

Dorcas stood and yawned. â€œWell, Iâ€™d like to try some of this â€˜fresh airâ€™ stuff,â€ he said. â€œIâ€™m told itâ€™s very good for you.â€

If there had been watchers, peering over the hedge into that mist-wreathed country lane, they would have seen a truck come thundering along at quite an unsafe speed.

They might have thought: Thatâ€™s an unusual vehicleâ€”it seems to have lost quite a few things it should have, like one headlight, a bumper, and most of the paint down one side, and picked up a number of things it shouldnâ€™t have, like some bits of bush and more dents than a sheet of corrugated iron.

They might have wondered why it had a Road Works Ahead sign hanging from one door handle.

And they would have certainly have wondered why it rolled to a stop.

The police car behind it stopped rather more impressively, in a shower of gravel. Two men almost fell out of it and ran to the truck, wrenching open the doors.

If the watchers had been able to understand Human, theyâ€™d have heard someone say, All right, chummy, thatâ€™s it for it tonight and then say, Whereâ€™s he gone? Thereâ€™s just a load of string in here! And then someone else would say, I bet heâ€™s slipped out and has legged it over the fields.

And while this was going on, and while the policemen poked vaguely in the hedge and shone their flashlights into the mist, the watchers might have noticed a couple of very small shadows run from under the rear of the truck and disappear under the car. They moved very fast, like mice. Like mice, their voices were high-pitched, fast, and squeaky.

They were carrying a pair of pliers.

A few seconds later, they scurried back again. And almost as soon as theyâ€™d disappeared under the truck, it started up.

The men shouted and ran back to their car.

But instead of roaring into life, it went whirr, whirr, whirr in the misty night.

After a while one of them got out and lifted the hood.

As the truck vanished into the mist, its single rear light a fading glow, he knelt down, reached under the car, and held up a handful of neatly cut wires. . . .

This is what the watchers would have seen. In fact, the only watchers were a couple of cows, and they didnâ€™t understand any of it.

Perhaps it nearly ends there.

A couple of days later the truck was found in a ditch some way outside the town. What was stranger was this: The battery, and every wire, light bulb, and switch had been taken out of it. So had the radio.

The cab was full of bits of string.

14

XV. And the nomes said, Here is a New Place, to be ours for Ever and Ever.

XVI. And the Outsider said Nothing.

From The Book of Nome, Exits Chap. 4, v. XVâ€“XVI

IT HAD BEEN a quarry. The nomes knew this because the gate had a rusty sign on it: Quarry. Dangerous. Do Not Enter.

They found it after a mad panicking run across the fields. By luck, if you listened to Angalo. Because of Arnold Bros (est. 1905), if you believed Gurder.

It doesnâ€™t matter how they settled in, found the few old tumbledown buildings, explored the caves and rock heaps, cleared out the rats. That wasnâ€™t too difficult. The harder part was persuading most of the older nomes to go outside; they felt happier with a floor over their heads. Granny Morkie came in useful there. She made them watch her walk up and down outside, braving the terrible Fresh Air.

Besides, the food taken from the Store didnâ€™t last forever. There was hunger, and there were rabbits in the fields above. Vegetables, too. Not nice and clean, of course, as Arnold Bros (est. 1905) had intended they should be, but just sticking in the ground covered with dirt. There were complaints about this. The molehills that appeared in a nearby field were simply the result of the first experimental potato mine. . . .

After a couple of nasty experiences, foxes learned to keep away.

And then there was Dorcasâ€™s discovery of electricity, still in wires leading to a box in one of the deserted sheds. Getting at it while staying alive seemed to need nearly as much planning as the Great Drive, with a lot of broom handles and rubber gloves involved.

After a lot of thought, Masklin had pushed the Thing near one of the electric wires. It had flashed a few lights but had kept silent. He felt it was listening. He could hear it listening.

Heâ€™d taken it away again and tucked it into a gap in one of the walls. He had an obscure feeling that it wasnâ€™t time to use the Thing yet. The longer they left it, he thought, the longer theyâ€™d have to work out for themselves what it was they were doing. Heâ€™d like to wake it up later and say, â€œLook, this is what weâ€™ve done, all by ourselves.â€

Gurder had already worked out that they were probably somewhere in China.

And so the winter became spring, and spring became summer. . . .

But it wasnâ€™t finished, Masklin felt.

He sat on the rocks above the quarry, on guard. They always kept a guard on duty, just in case. One of Dorcasâ€™s inventions, a switch that was connected to a wire that would light a bulb down under one of the sheds, was hidden under a stone by his side. Heâ€™d been promised radio, one of these days. One of these days might be quite soon, because Dorcas had pupils now. They seemed to spend a lot of time in one of the tumbledown sheds, surrounded by bits of wire and looking very serious.

Guard duty was quite popular, at least on sunny days.

This was home, now. The nomes were settling in, filling in the corners, planning, spreading out, starting to belong.

Especially Bobo. Heâ€™d disappeared on the first day, and turned up again, scruffy and proud, as the leader of the quarry rats and father of a lot of little ratlings. Perhaps it was because of this that the rats and the nomes seemed to be getting along okay, politely avoiding each other whenever possible and not eating one another.

They belong here more than we do, thought Masklin. This isnâ€™t really our place. This belongs to humans. Theyâ€™ve just forgotten about it for a while, but one day theyâ€™ll remember it. Theyâ€™ll come back here and weâ€™ll have to move on. Weâ€™ll always have to move on. Weâ€™ll always try to create our own little worlds inside the big world. We used to have it all, and now we think weâ€™re lucky to have a little bit.

He looked down at the quarry below him. He could just make out Grimma sitting in the sun with some of the young nomes, teaching them to read.

That was a good thing, anyway. Heâ€™d never be that good at it, but the kids seemed to pick it up easily enough.

But there were still problems. The departmental families, for example. They had no departments to rule, and they spent a lot of time squabbling. There seemed to be arguments going on the whole time, and everyone expected him to sort them out. It seemed the only time nomes acted together was when they had something to occupy their minds. . . .

Beyond the moon, the Thing had said. You used to live in the stars.

Masklin lay back and listened to the bees.

One day weâ€™ll go back. Weâ€™ll find a way to get to the big Ship in the sky, and weâ€™ll go back. But not yet. Itâ€™ll take some doing, and the hard part again will be getting people to understand. Every time we climb up a step, we settle down and think weâ€™ve got to the top of the stairs, and start bickering about things.

Still, even knowing that the stairs are there is a pretty good start.

From here, he could see for miles across the countryside. For instance, he could see the airport.

It had been quite frightening, the day theyâ€™d seen the first jet go over, but a few of the nomes had recalled pictures from books theyâ€™d read, and it turned out to be nothing more than a sort of truck built to drive in the sky.

Masklin hadnâ€™t told anyone why he thought that knowing more about the airport would be a good idea. Some of the others suspected, he knew, but there was so much to do that they werenâ€™t thinking about it now.

Heâ€™d led up to it carefully. Heâ€™d just said that it was important to find out as much about this new world as possible, just in case. Heâ€™d put it in such a way that no one had said, â€œIn case of what?â€ and, anyway, there were people to spare and the weather was good.

Heâ€™d led a team of nomes across the fields to it; it had been a long journey, but there were thirty of them and there had been no problems. Theyâ€™d even had to cross a highway, but theyâ€™d found a tunnel built for badgers, and a badger coming along it the other way turned around and hurried off when they approached. Bad news like armed nomes spreads quickly.

And then theyâ€™d found the wire fence, and climbed up it a little way, and spent hours watching the planes landing and taking off.

Masklin had felt, just as he had done once or twice before, that here was something very important. The jets looked big and terrible, but once heâ€™d thought that about trucks. You just had to know about them. Once you had the name, you had something you could handle, like a sort of lever. One day, they could be useful. One day, the nomes might need them.

To take another step.

Funnily enough, he felt quite optimistic about it. Heâ€™d had one glorious moment of feeling that, although they argued and bickered and got things wrong and tripped over themselves, nomes would come through in the end. Because Dorcas had been watching the planes, too, clinging to the wire with a calculating look in his eyes. And Masklin had said:

â€œJust supposingâ€”for the sake of argument, you understandâ€”we need to steal one of those, do you think it could be done?â€

And Dorcas had rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

â€œShouldnâ€™t be too hard to drive,â€ he said, and grinned. â€œTheyâ€™ve only got three wheels.â€

EXCERPT FROM THE BROMELIAD TRILOGY: DIGGERS

The nomesâ€™ adventures continue
in the next installment of

THE BROMELIAD TRILOGY

DIGGERS

I. And in that time were Strange Happenings: the Air moved harshly, the Warmth of the Sky grew Less, on some mornings the tops of puddles grew Hard and Cold.

II. And the nomes said unto one another, What is this Thing?

From The Book of Nome, Quarries Chap. 1, v. Iâ€“II

â€œWINTER,â€ SAID MASKLIN firmly. â€œItâ€™s called winter.â€

Abbot Gurder frowned at him.

â€œYou never said it would be like this,â€ he said. â€œItâ€™s so cold.â€

â€œCall this cold?â€ said Granny Morkie. â€œCold? This ainâ€™t cold. You think this is cold? You wait till it gets really cold!â€ She was enjoying this, Masklin noticed; Granny Morkie always enjoyed doomâ€”it was what kept her going. â€œItâ€™ll be really cold then, when it gets cold. You get real frosts and, and water comes down out of the sky in frozen bits!â€ She leaned back triumphantly. â€œWhat dâ€™you think to that, then? Eh?â€

â€œYou donâ€™t have to use baby talk to us.â€ Gurder sighed. â€œWe can read, you know. We know what snow is.â€

â€œYes,â€ said Dorcas. â€œThere used to be cards with pictures on, back in the Store. Every time Christmas Fayre came around. We know about snow. Itâ€™s glittery.â€

â€œYou get robins,â€ agreed Gurder.

â€œThereâ€™s, er, actually thereâ€™s a bit more to it than that,â€ Masklin began.

Dorcas waved him into silence. â€œI donâ€™t think we need to worry,â€ he said. â€œWeâ€™re well dug in, the food stores are looking satisfactory, and we know where to go to get more if we need it. Unless anyoneâ€™s got anything else to raise, why donâ€™t we close the meeting?â€

Everything was going well. Or, at least, not very badly.

Oh, there was still plenty of squabbling and rows between the various families, but that was nomish nature for you. Thatâ€™s why theyâ€™d set up the Council, which seemed to be working.

Nomes liked arguing. At least the Council of Drivers meant they could argue without hitting one anotherâ€”or hardly ever.

Funny thing, though. Back in the Store, the great departmental families had run things. But now all the families were mixed up and, anyway, there were no departments in a quarry. But by instinct, almost, nomes liked hierarchies. The world had always been neatly divided between those who told people what to do and those who did it. So, in a strange way, a new set of leaders was emerging.

The Drivers.

It depended on where you had been during the Long Drive. If you were one of the ones who had been in the truck cab, then you were a Driver. All the rest were just Passengers. No one talked about it much. It wasnâ€™t official or anything. It was just that the bulk of nomekind felt that anyone who could get the Truck all the way here was the sort of person who knew what they were doing.

Being a Driver wasnâ€™t necessarily much fun.

Last year, before theyâ€™d found the Store, Masklin had to hunt all day. Now he hunted only when he felt like it; the younger Store nomes liked hunting, and apparently it wasnâ€™t right for a Driver to do it. They mined potatoes, and thereâ€™d been a big harvest of corn from a nearby field, even after the machines had been round. Masklin would have preferred them to grow their own food, but the nomes didnâ€™t seem to have the knack of making seeds grow in the rock-hard ground of the quarry. But they were getting fed, that was the main thing.

Around him he could feel thousands of nomes living their lives. Raising families. Settling down.

He wandered back to his own burrow, down under one of the derelict quarry sheds. After a while he reached a decision and pulled the Thing out of its own hole in the wall.

None of its lights were on. They wouldnâ€™t go on until it was close to electricity wires, when it would light up and be able to talk. There were some in the quarry, and Dorcas had got them working. Masklin hadnâ€™t taken the Thing to them, though. The solid black box had a way of talking that always made him unsettled.

He was pretty certain it could hear, though.

â€œOld Torrit died last week,â€ he said after a while. â€œWe were a bit sad but, after all, he was very old and he just died. I mean, nothing ate him first or ran him over or anything.â€

Masklinâ€™s little tribe had once lived in a highway embankment beside rolling countryside that was full of things that were hungry for fresh nome. The idea that you could die simply of not being alive anymore was a new one to them.

â€œSo we buried him up on the edge of the potato field, too deep for the plow. The Store nomes havenâ€™t got the hang of burial yet, I think. They think heâ€™s going to sprout, or something. I think theyâ€™re mixing it up with what you do with seeds. Of course, they donâ€™t know about growing things. Because of living in the Store, you see. Itâ€™s all new to them. Theyâ€™re always complaining about eating food that comes out of the ground; they think itâ€™s not natural. And they think the rain is a sprinkler system. I think they think the whole world is just a bigger store. Um.â€

He stared at the unresponsive cube for a while, scraping his mind for other things to say.

â€œAnyway, that means Granny Morkie is the oldest nome,â€ he said eventually. â€œAnd that means sheâ€™s entitled to a place on the Council even though sheâ€™s a woman. Abbot Gurder objected to that, but we said, All right, you tell her, and he wouldnâ€™t, so she is. Um.â€

He looked at his fingernails. The Thing had a way of listening that was quite off-putting.

â€œEveryoneâ€™s worried about the winter. Um. But weâ€™ve got masses of potatoes stored up, and itâ€™s quite warm down here. Theyâ€™ve got some funny ideas, though. In the Store they said that when it was Christmas Fayre time, there was this thing that came called Santer Claws. I just hope it hasnâ€™t followed us, thatâ€™s all. Um.â€

He scratched an ear.

â€œAll in all, everythingâ€™s going right. Um.â€

He leaned closer.

â€œYou know what that means? If you think everythingâ€™s going right, somethingâ€™s going wrong that you havenâ€™t heard about yet. Thatâ€™s what I say. Um.â€

The black cube managed to look sympathetic.

â€œEveryone says I worry too much. I donâ€™t think itâ€™s possible to worry too much. Um.â€

He thought some more.

â€œUm. I think thatâ€™s about all the news for now.â€ He lifted the Thing up and put it back in its hole.

Heâ€™d wondered whether to tell it about his argument with Grimma, but that was, well, personal.

It was all that reading books, that was what it was. He shouldnâ€™t have let her learn to read, filling her head with stuff she didnâ€™t need to know. Gurder was rightâ€”womenâ€™s brains did overheat. Grimmaâ€™s seemed to be boiling hot the whole time, these days.

Heâ€™d gone and said, Look, now everything was settled down more, it was time they got married like the Store nomes did, with the Abbot muttering words and everything.

And sheâ€™d said she wasnâ€™t sure.

So heâ€™d said, It doesnâ€™t work like thatâ€”you get told, you get married, thatâ€™s how itâ€™s done.

And sheâ€™d said, Not anymore.

Heâ€™d complained to Granny Morkie. Youâ€™d have expected some support there, he thought. She was a great one for tradition, was Granny. Heâ€™d said: Granny, Grimma isnâ€™t doing what I tell her.

And sheâ€™d said: Good luck to her. Wish Iâ€™d thought of not doinâ€™ what I was told when I was a girl.

Then heâ€™d complained to Gurder, whoâ€™d said, Yes, it was very wrong, girls should do what they were instructed. And Masklin had said, Right then, you tell her. And Gurder had said, Well, er, sheâ€™s got a real temper on her, perhaps it would be better to leave it a bit and these were, after all, changing times. . . .

Changing times. Well, that was true enough. Masklin had done most of the changing. Heâ€™d had to make people think in different ways to leave the Store. Changing was necessary. Change was right. He was all in favor of change.

What he was dead set against was things not staying the same.

His spear was leaning in the corner. What a pathetic thing it was . . . now. Just a bit of flint held onto the shaft with a twist of binder twine. Theyâ€™d brought saws and things from the Store. They could use metal these days.

He stared at the spear for some time. Then he picked it up and went out for a long, serious think about things and his position in them. Or, as other people would have put it, a good sulk.

The old quarry was about halfway up the hillside. There was a steep turf slope above it, which in turn became a riot of bramble and hawthorn thicket. There were fields beyond.

Below the quarry, a lane wound down through scrubby hedges and joined the main road. Beyond that there was the railway, another name for two long lines of metal on big wooden blocks. Things like very long trucks went along it sometimes, all joined together.

The nomes had not got the railway fully worked out yet. But it was obviously dangerous, because they could see a lane that crossed it, and whenever the railway moving thing was coming, two gates came down over the road.

The nomes knew what gates were for. You saw them on fields, to stop things getting out. It stood to reason, therefore, that the gates were to stop the railway from escaping from its rails and rushing around on the roads.

Then there were more fields, some gravel pitsâ€”good for fishing, for the nomes who wanted fishâ€”and then there was the airport.

Masklin had spent hours in the summer watching the planes. They drove along the ground, he noticed, and then went up sharply, like birds, and got smaller and smaller and disappeared.

That was the big worry. Masklin sat on his favorite stone, in the rain that was starting to fall, and started to worry about it. So many things were worrying him these days, he had to stack them up, but below all of them was this big one.

They should be going where the planes went. That was what the Thing had told him, when it was still speaking to him. The nomes had come from the sky. Up above the sky, in fact, which was a bit hard to understand, because surely the only thing above the sky was more sky. And they should go back. It was their . . . something beginning with D. Density. Their density. Worlds of their own, they once had. And somehow theyâ€™d got stuck here. Butâ€”this was the worrying partâ€”the Ship thing, the airplane that flew through the really high sky, between the stars, was still up there somewhere. The first nomes had left it behind when they came down here in a smaller ship, and it had crashed, and they hadnâ€™t been able to get back.

And he was the only one who knew.

The old Abbot, the one before Gurder, he had known. Grimma and Dorcas and Gurder all knew some of it, but they had busy minds and they were practical people, and there was so much to organize these days.

It was just that everyone was settling down. Weâ€™re going to turn this into our little world, just like in the Store, Masklin realized. They thought the roof was the sky, and we think the sky is the roof.

Weâ€™ll just stay and . . .

There was a truck coming up the quarry road. It was such an unusual sight that Masklin realized he had been watching it for a while without really seeing it at all.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

TERRY PRATCHETTâ€™s novels have sold more than thirty-two million copies and have inspired a devoted worldwide following. In addition to his best-selling adult books about Discworld, Mr. Pratchett has also written several books for young readers, including THE WEE FREE MEN and the Johnny Maxwell trilogy: ONLY YOU CAN SAVE MANKIND, JOHNNY AND THE DEAD, and JOHNNY AND THE BOMB. Mr. Pratchett was awarded Britainâ€™s highest honor for a childrenâ€™s novel, the Carnegie Medal, for THE AMAZING MAURICE AND HIS EDUCATED RODENTS.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

OTHER WORKS

The Wee Free Men

A Hat Full of Sky

The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents

The Carpet People

The Dark Side of the Sun

Strata

THE JOHNNY MAXWELL TRILOGY

Only You Can Save Mankind

Johnny and the Dead

Johnny and the Bomb

The Unadulterated Cat (illustrated by Gray Jolliffe)

Good Omens (with Neil Gaiman)

THE DISCWORLD SERIES

The Color of Magic

The Light Fantastic

Equal Rites

Mort

Sourcery

Wyrd Sisters

Pyramids

Guards! Guards!

Eric

Moving Pictures

Reaper Man

Witches Abroad

Small Gods

Lords and Ladies

Men at Arms

Soul Music

Feet of Clay

Interesting Times

Maskerade

Hogfather

Jingo

The Last Continent

Carpe Jugulum

The Fifth Elephant

The Truth

The Thief of Time

Night Watch

Monstrous Regiment

The Last Hero: A Discworld Fable

(illustrated by Paul Kidby)

CREDITS

Cover art Â© 2003 by S. Saelig Gallagher

Cover design by Bradford Foltz

Cover Â© 2004 by HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

COPYRIGHT

Harper TrophyÂ® is a registered trademark of
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

The Bromeliad Trilogy
Copyright Â© 1998 by Terry and Lyn Pratchett including

Truckers
Copyright Â© 1989 by Terry and Lyn Pratchett
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

EPub Edition Â© JANUARY 2012 ISBN 9780062193827

First published in 1989 by Doubleday
a division of the Random House Group Ltd
First Harper Trophy edition, 2004
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