The Abbot nodded. 'None of us are,' he said. 'We are all Shop-soiled. Everything Must Go. Now be off, and may Bargains Galore go with you.' Who's Bargains Galore?' said Masklin, as they went out.
'She's a servant of the Store,' said Gurder, who was still trembling. 'She's the enemy of the dreadful Prices Slashed, who wanders the corridors at night with his terrible shining l-ight, to catch evil nomes!' 'It's a good job you don't believe in him, then,' said Masklin.
'Of course I don't,' agreed Gurder.
'Your teeth are chattering, though.' 'That's because my teeth believe in him. And so do my knees. And my stomach. It's only my head that doesn't, and it's being carried around by a load of superstitious cowards. Excuse me, I'll go and collect my things. It's very important that we set out at once.' Why?' said Masklin.
'Because, if we. wait any longer, I'll be too scared to go.' The Abbot sat back in his chair.
'Tell me again,' he said, 'about how we came here. You mentioned a colour. Mauve, wasn't it?' 'Marooned,' said the Thing.
'Ah, yes. From something that flew.' 'A galactic survey ship,' said the Thing.
'But it got broken, you said.' 'There 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.' 'Metal Urgy.' The Abbot turned the word over and over. Metal urgy. The urge to use metals. That was humans, all right. He nodded. 'What was that other thing you said we taught them? Began with a G.' The Thing appeared to hesitate, but it was learning how to talk to nomes now. 'Agriculture?' it said.
'That's right. A Griculture. Important, is it?' 'it is the basis of civilization.' 'What does that mean?' 'It means "yes".' The Abbot sat back while the Thing went on talking. Strange words washed over him, like planets and electronics. He didn'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 didn't find this astonishing. He didn'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. He'd always been very impressed by them. It was quite fitting that they should have belonged to nomes, once. Of course, they weren't out all the time, so presumably there was a big store-room 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 'light years'. The Abbot had seen nearly fifteen years go past, and they had seemed quite heavy at the time - 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.XXI -XXII 'She can't come,' said Gurder.
'Why not?' said Masklin.
'Well, it's dangerous." 'So?' Masklin looked at Grimma, who was wearing a defiant expression.
'You shouldn't take girls anywhere dangerous,' said Gurder virtuously.
Once again Masklin got the feeling he'd come to recognize often since he'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 weren't to go anywhere dangerous, they wouldn't go anywhere.
'I'm coming,' said Grimma. 'What danger is there, anyway? Only this Price Slasher, and-' 'And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) himself,' said Gurder nervously.
Well, I'm going to come anyway. People don't need me and there's nothing to do,' said Grimma. What can happen, anyway? It's not as if something terrible could happen,' she added sarcastically, 'like me reading something and my brain overheating, for example.' 'Now, I'm sure I didn't say-' said Gurder weakly.
'I bet the Stationeri don't do their own washing,' said Grimma. 'Or darn their own socks. I bet-' 'All right, all right,' said Gurder, backing away. 'But you mustn't lag behind, and you mustn't get in the way. We'll make the decisions, all right?' He gave Masklin a desperate look.
'You tell her she mustn't get in the way,' he said.
'Me?' said Masklin. 'I've never told her anything.' The journey was less impressive than he'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 Kiothians were a friendly people who had adapted well to life on a high floor and always welcomed the rare travellers who came with tales of the world below.
'They don't even come down to use the Food Hall,' said Gurder. 'They get everything they want from the Staff rest-room. They live on tea and biscuits, mainly. And yoghurt.' 'How strange,' said Grimma.
They're very gentle,' said Gurder. 'Very thoughtful. Very quiet. A little bit mystical, though. It must be all that yoghurt and tea.' 'I don't understand about the fire in buckets, though,' said Masklin.
'Er,' said Gurder, 'we think that the old Abbot might, er, we think his memory... after all, he is extremely old...' 'You don't have to explain,' said Grimma. 'Old Torrit can be a bit like that.' 'It's just that his mind is not as sharp as it was,' said Gurder.
Masklin said nothing. It just seemed to him that, if the Abbot's mind was a bit blunt now, it must once have been sharp enough to cut the breeze.
The Kiothians 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 grey 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.
'Where are we going?' said Masklin, looking back at their deep footprints.
'To the moving stairs,' said Gurder.
'Move? How do they move? Bits of the Store move around?' Gurder chuckled patronizingly.
'Of course, all this is new to you. You mustn't worry if you don't understand everything,' he said.
'Do they move or don't they?' said Grimma. 'You'll see. It's the only one we use, you know. It's a bit dangerous. You have to be topsides, you see. It's not like the lifts.' 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 there- -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.
'Wow,' he said. It wasn't much, but it was all that he could think of.
'The Klothians won't go near it,' said Gurder. 'They think it is haunted by spirits.' 'I don't blame them,' said Grimma, shivering. 'Oh, it's just superstition,' said Gurder. His face was white and there was a tremble in his voice. 'There's nothing to be frightened of,' he squeaked.
Masklin peered at him.
'Have you ever been here before?' he asked. 'Oh, yes. Millions of times. Often,' said Gurder, picking up a fold of his robe and twisting it between his fingers.
'So what do we do now?' Gurder tried to speak slowly but his voice began to go faster and faster
of its own accord: 'You know, the Klothians say that Arnold Bros (est. 1905) waits at the top, you know, and when nomes die-' Grimma looked reflectively at the rising stairs, and shivered again. Then she ran forward.
'What're you doing?' said Masklin.
'Seeing if they're right!' she snapped. 'Otherwise we'll be here all day!' Masklin ran after her. Gurder gulped, looked behind him, and scurried after both of them.
Masklin saw her run towards 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.
'Jump down!' he shouted. You can't trust ground that moves by itself!' Her pale face peered over the edge of her stair.
'What good will that do?' she said.
Then we can go and talk about it!' She laughed. 'Go where? Have you looked down lately?' 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 on to 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 down into the floor.
'Never, ever, do anything like that again!' he shouted.
'If I hadn't, you'd still be at the bottom. You could see Gurder was scared out of his wits!' she snapped.
'But there could have been all sorts of dangers up here!' 'Like what?' said Grimma haughtily.
Well, there could be ...' Masklin hesitated. 'That's not the point, the point is-' At this point Gurder's stair rolled him almost to their feet. They picked him up.
'There,' said Grimma brightly. We're all here, and everything's perfectly all right, isn't it.' Gurder stared around him. Then he coughed, and adjusted his clothes. 'I lost my balance there,' he said. 'Tricky, these moving stairs. But you get used to them eventually.' He coughed again, and looked along the corridor. 'Well, we'd better get a move on,' he said.
The three nomes crept forward, past the rows of doors.
'Does one of these belong to Prices Slashed?' said Grimma. Somehow, the name sounded far worse up here.
'Urn, no,' said Gurder. 'He dwells among the furnaces in the basement.' He squinted up at the nearest door. 'This one is called Salaries,' he said.
'Is that good or bad?' said Grimma, staring at the word on the varnished wood.
'Don't know.' 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.
'There's pictures of them in Colin and Susan Go to the Seaside,' he confided.
'What's that written on them?' Gurder squinted.' "Fire",' he said. 'Oh, my. The Abbot was right. Buckets of fire!' 'Fire in buckets?' said Masklin. 'Buckets of fire? I can't see any flames.' 'They must be inside. Perhaps there's a lid. There's beans in bean tins, and jam in jam jars. There should be fire in fire buckets,' said Gurder vaguely. 'Come on.' 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.
'I can see there's words,' said Grimma. 'Read them out. I'd better not look at them,' she added sweetly, 'in case my brain goes bang.' Gurder swallowed. 'They say "Arnold Bros (est. 1905). D.H.K. Butterthwaite, General Manager." Er.' 'He's in there?' she said.
'Well, there's beans in bean tins and fire in fire buckets,' said Masklin helpfully. 'The door's not shut, look. Want me to go and see?' 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 thicker it was like wading through grass. Several meters 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.
'Where are you, Arnold Bros (est. 1905)?' he whispered.
Some minutes later the other two heard him calling softly. They peered around the door.
'Where are you?' hissed Grimma.
'Up here,' came Masklin's voice. 'This big wooden thing. There's sticking-out bits you can climb on. There's all kinds of things up here. Careful of the carpet, there could be wild animals in it. If you wait a minute, I can help you up.' They waded through the deep pile of the carpet and waited anxiously by the wooden cliff.
'It's a desk,' said Gurder, loftily. 'There's lots of them in Furnishing. Amazing Value in Genuine One Hundred Per Cent Oak Veneer.' What's he doing up there?' said Grimma. 'I can hear clinking noises.' 'A Must In Every Home,' said Gurder, as if saying the words gave him some comfort. 'Wide Choice of Styles to Suit Every Pocket.' 'What are you talking about?' 'Sorry. It's the sort of thing Arnold Bros (est. 1905) writes on the signs. I just feel better for saying it.' What's that other thing up there?' He looked where she was pointing. 'That? It's a chair. Swivelled Finish For That Executive Look.' 'It looks big enough for humans,' she said thoughtfully.
'I expect humans. sit there when Arnold Bros (est. 1905) is giving them their instructions.' 'Hmm,' she said.
There was a clinking noise by her head.
'Sorry,' Masklin called down. 'It took me a while to hook them together.' Gurder looked up at the heights, and the gleaming chain that now hung down.
'Paperclips,' he said, amazed. 'I never would have thought it.' 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.
'Well, Arnold Bros (est. 1905) doesn't seem to be around,' Masklin said. 'Perhaps he's gone to bed, or whatever.' 'The Abbot said he saw him here one night, sitting at the desk right here,' said Gurder. 'Watching over the Store.' 'What, sitting on that chair?' said Grimma.
'I suppose so.' 'So he's big, then, is he?' Grimma pressed on relentlessly. 'Sort of human-sized?' 'Sort of,' Gurder agreed reluctantly.
'Hmm.' Masklin found a cable as thick as his arm winding off across the top of the desk. He followed it.
'If he's human-shaped and human-sized,' said Grimma, 'then perhaps he's a-' 'Let's just see what we can find up here, shall we?' 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.
'"The Arnco Group,"' he read, '"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 plc."' 'Gosh,' said Grimma flatly.
'There's more,' said Gurder excitedly, 'in much smaller letters, perhaps they're meant to be right for us. Listen to all these names: "Arnco UK Retailing plc includes Bonded Outlets Ltd, the Grimethorpe Dye and Paint Company, KwikKleen Mechanical Sweepers Ltd, and - and -and-" 'Something wrong?' '-"Arnold Bros (eat. 1905)".' Gurder looked up. What do you think it all means? Bargains Galore preserve us!' 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.
'Sorry, I think that was me,' said Masklin's voice from the shadows. 'I found this sort of lever thing and when I pushed it, it went click. Sorry.' 'Ahaha,' said Gurder, mirthlessly. 'An electric light. Of course. Ahaha. Gave me quite a start for a moment.' Masklin appeared in the circle of brightness,
and looked at the paper.
'I heard you reading,' he said. 'Anything interesting?' Gurder pored over the print again. "Notice to all Staff,"' he read, '"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 Nineties, 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...".' Gurder fell silent, and put his head in his hands.
'There's those words again,' said Masklin slowly. 'Closure. Demolished.' 'What's leisure?' said Grimma. The Stationeri ignored her.
Masklin took her gently by the arm.
'I think he wants to be alone for a while,' 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.
'I expect the Abbot will want to see it,' he said. 'He'll never believe us if we-' 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.
What is it?' she said.
Masklin gripped the spear. 'I think,' he said, 'it may be Prices Slashed.' They turned and hurried over to Gurder.
'There's someone coming,' Masklin whispered. 'Get down to the floor, quickly!' 'Demolished!' moaned Gurder, hugging himself and rocking from side to side. 'Everything Must Go! Final Reductions! We're all doomed!' 'Yes, but do you think you could go and be doomed on the floor?' said Masklin.
The Bromeliad 1 - Truckers Page 7
