House of Tribes

by Garry Kilworth

  He turned again and used the high-nose position to look up and around him. The House was an imposing presence. Pedlar had never seen anything so enormous before. It reached up and touched the sky on two corners and its walls were vertical. Its roof was surely a perch for the highest-flying falcons: those that lived in the clouds. Looking up at the sheer front-face of the House, Pedlar felt very small. No wonder this mountainous place was so famous in the Hedgerow.

  There was an upper storey that jutted out over the lower floor. It had windows with diamond-shaped panes. Dark timbers, great beams, were visibly locking the whole structure together, making triangular and square patterns on the plasterwork. Then there was a huge nail-studded door hiding shyly under the dark overhang of the porch. Climbing roses and ivy filled the gaps between the timbers and the windows, and embraced over the roof of this porch. There was a woodstore attached to the side of the building.

  The influence of the House over its natural surrounds seemed to be tidal, reaching out unevenly in all directions, then gradually giving way to raw Nature. The garden’s pale was indefinable, as short lawn washed into long twitch grass, and cultivated flowers linked roots with thistles, cow parsley and campion along an irregular frontier. To the approaching mouse, it was hard to tell whether the wilderness was creeping forward and would soon overflow the House, or whether the garden was gaining ground, gradually moving outwards and paring away at the wilderness.

  Pedlar had an unerring feeling that whatever lay behind the walls of the House was in some way connected with his own destiny. He was drawn to those walls. He was curious about the creatures that lived in the limited space within the House and puzzled over their apparent brutal ways. He was an inquisitive creature, who once roused to interest followed his wonder to the dregs.

  The yellow-neck preened his precious whiskers as he studied the massive country before him, seeking an entrance to its inner world. He could see none, though he intended to investigate at the point where soil met wall rendering.

  He went back to low-nose and told the harvest mouse, ‘I think I’ll have to try the maze, cheese or no cheese.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, if you’re really decided on going in, you might find a way through. Once upon a time there was an entrance through the lean-to woodshed, where the 13-K now live, but that was long ago, when it was made of wood. It’s brick and concrete now, so the only way is past Tunneller.’

  The 13-K?’

  ‘A bunch of no-good youngsters led by Ulf, son of Gorm-the-old, made up of riffraff from all the House tribes.’

  This information was virtually incomprehensible to Pedlar and he decided to pursue it no further, though he found the names wildly exotic and exciting. Ulf, son of Gorm-the-old! A woodstore which was the hide-out of a bloodthirsty gang of thugs and a maze of passageways guarded by an uncivilized shrew… Pedlar enquired after the location of the latter entrance and then bid the harvest mouse good eating, before leaving her.

  When he checked all around the base of the building, he found the mouse’s information to be correct. There was only one small entrance hole, disappearing down below the foundations of the old building, near the cellar well light. He might not even run into the dreaded Tunneller; but if he did, he might be able to reason with her. Pedlar knew that a shrew’s sight and sense of smell are poor. He knew also that its normal activity is feverish and full of nervous energy, obliging it to stop in its tracks and take frequent naps, even while it is out hunting beetles and earthworms. He might have a chance to sneak by Tunneller while she slept.

  Pedlar took one last look at the outside world, at its vastness. The sky was now a soft, pale blue, falling down to the Earth. He could only see those fields which rose up behind the high garden grasses in the background. There was an orchard to one side of the garden and an open view on the other. Through this window in trees and grass, he could see the hazy form of the Hedgerow, his former home.

  He flicked his tail. His heart yearned to be back amongst the thorns at that moment, or down in his safe and warm chamber in the burrow. What was he doing, entering an unknown place full of such dangers, when he could be lazing around in the fork of a hazel branch, eating haws and drinking dew? He was going to miss the Hedgerow. But then, life could not be all comfort and no excitement, for how dull it would be if it were. There were challenges to face, adventures to experience, new worlds to explore. And he, Pedlar, was answering the call!

  He slipped down the hole behind the rain barrel.

  At once he found himself in a labyrinth of tunnels, running in all directions. Some were shrew tunnels, being oval in shape, while others were vole tunnels, being round. There were also wood-mouse tunnels, such as the kind Pedlar would dig himself, being a close cousin to wood mice. His sensitive whiskers just brushed the sides of the passage he had entered by, so he knew he was safe and would not get stuck. The darkness was a little bewildering, but he soon got a sense of his surroundings, using his nose and whiskers, as well as his instinct.

  The pungency of the Earth was strong in his sensitive nostrils as Pedlar scurried along the tunnels. As he went, he marked his trail with his own scent, and soon found that he was backtracking on himself and became thoroughly lost. Sometimes he would be in a tunnel with fresh earth and the next moment his own scent would tickle his nose, and he would know he was travelling one way or the other down a passage along which he had already been. Mixed with his own scent, impregnated within the walls of the tunnels, was the smell of another creature, a shrew. Pedlar guessed this was Tunneller’s odour. He entered a wider part of the tunnel system.

  Suddenly, Pedlar stopped dead, as if he had come up against a brick wall. In the pitch blackness ahead, he sensed a form, and then he smelled the strong odour of a shrew. A voice came out of the darkness, confirming his suspicions. The tone was sharp and testy, and full of menace.

  ‘Who’s there? Speak up, before I kill you.’

  Pedlar deliberately kept his own voice calm.

  ‘A yellow-neck, Pedlar by name, on my way into the country of the House.’

  ‘A yellow-necked mouse?’ the shrew screamed in fury. ‘What are you doing in my maze? Get out! Get out!’

  Pedlar felt fear rising within him. A shrew was no mean opponent in battle. However, he had always been too stubborn for his own good, and alongside that fear was a growing anger. Did this female shrew think the whole world belonged to her? He had as much right as she did to travel through the tunnels. The network of passageways could not possibly have been dug by this creature alone: it must have taken an army of mammals to fashion the labyrinth. He supposed that Tunneller had simply taken the area over when the wood mice and voles had had no more use for it.

  ‘Let me pass,’ growled Pedlar at this gatekeeper between two worlds. ‘I’ve got no quarrel with you…’

  Tunneller cried, ‘The toll! Give me some food!’

  The harvest mouse had specifically mentioned something called cheese, otherwise Pedlar would have brought a nut, or a piece of fruit. He then spoke the fatal words.

  ‘I have no food.’

  There came a single shriek from Tunneller, then she launched herself at him. Pedlar felt a sharp pain on his ear and knew that she had buried her teeth in it. Fortunately, in her short-sightedness, she had only caught the rim and he shook her furiously until the edge of his ear tore and she went flying off somewhere.

  Ignoring the pain in his ear, Pedlar located the shrew by her various odours. He could smell her shape in the darkness. There was always an olfactory map of his surroundings in his head. Tunneller’s poor sense of smell did not allow her the same benefits. Pedlar knew she had to rely on her sense of touch. She had to feel her way through life. It gave him a small advantage. He remained absolutely still at first.

  Tunneller then began to throw herself this way and that in an attempt to locate her enemy. The energy and speed with which she scrambled and jumped around was terrifying. Pedlar desperately tried to stay out of the way of her snapping jaws. Twic
e she almost had him by the throat. He could tell that she was not going to settle for an ear again, because she caught his flanks a number of times, letting go when she knew she had not got a vital part of him.

  Pedlar did not let her attack him unscathed. He administered one or two nips himself. At one point he had a good hold of her jowl and tried to scratch her underside with his powerful back legs. They rolled backwards and forwards as she struggled like a maniac and he found it impossible to hold on to her. Finally he released her and she bit him on the nose as she retreated. A nose is a sensitive organ. The wound was agony and Pedlar’s eyes watered furiously.

  Finally, the pair of them, mouse and shrew, ran forwards both at once, and locked jaws.

  They held each other with determination. Neither was prepared to let go. The hold was not painful for either creature, but it was a stalemate. They could only let go by common agreement. Neither could retreat without the consent of the other. No matter how much each one rattled and shook, it soon became obvious that they were locked together until they let go both at once.

  After a long struggle both creatures settled with their bellies against the Earth, prepared to remain that way. Animal combatants have been found dead in such positions. If both are too full of pride, too stubborn, to acknowledge even a draw, then they stay locked and die of thirst or starvation.

  Pedlar and Tunneller remained in the same position until, finally, Pedlar became bored and exasperated with his silly combatant. He slackened his grip ever so slightly. There was a response from Tunneller, who did the same. By degrees and mutual consent they gradually opened their jaws and released one another. This took a great deal of trust on both sides, for after a certain time, one could have lunged for the throat of the other, ripped it open, and let the blood flow forth. It would have been all over. There would have been a live winner and a dead loser.

  Neither of them did this, however. Pedlar was a mouse with honour and pride. He would have died before carrying out such a dastardly act. He discovered, to his amazement, that the shrew had the same principles. She too, by her physical response to his suggestion, had given her silent word not to attack during the separation. She kept this unspoken promise.

  When they had separated, they parted by a few lengths, to recover their strength. Pedlar heard Tunneller’s breathing increase in strength and he knew she was having a nap. He could not pass her and he was not going to return to the outside world, so he lay on his belly and recuperated himself. They remained there resting for a long while.

  Just when Pedlar was wondering if he was going to have to wake this shrew for a renewed fight, she suddenly leapt up and dashed forwards. He was caught unawares by this sudden attack.

  The shrew stopped a half a length from him and snapped something from the ground. There was a fluttering of crispy wings, a crackling. Pedlar’s heart was racing as these sounds were followed by a definite and final crunch. Then all was still again, except for a regular masticating noise.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked. ‘What are you doing?’

  There was a loud belch from his opponent, a smacking of the lips, then she replied, ‘Nice fat beetle.’

  ‘But you weren’t even awake?’ said the astounded Pedlar. ‘Were you?’

  ‘I’m aware of beetles in my sleep. Couldn’t let a delicious one like that go by.’

  They remained as they were for a few moments, then Pedlar said, ‘Are you going to let me pass, or do we have to carry on fighting?’

  ‘You could have left,’ she said, ‘while I was napping.’

  ‘Backwards yes, but I want to go on. I’m pledged to go on.’

  There was another long pause, then, ‘Well, you’d better go on then. I don’t want to fight someone as obstinate as you are to leave the real world and enter bedlam. What do you want to go into the House for? It’s full of wild tribes of mice – House mice, wood mice and yellow-necks like yourself. They all have so much, yet they all want more. Crazy House.’

  ‘I have to go,’ explained Pedlar. ‘My ancestors have told me my destiny lies in the House. I had a vision in a dream…’

  ‘Oh, a visionary,’ said Tunneller in a scathing tone. ‘Well, you’ll be all right with the Bookeater Tribe then. They’ll take to you, if you’re a mystic.’

  Pedlar shook his head. ‘No, I’m not a visionary as such, or a mystic. I didn’t get any blinding flashes of light, or pictures in my head – nothing like that. It was a very clear message in a dream and the old wood mouse, Diddycoy, told me I must obey it. So here I am. I’ve travelled many fields to get here and I’m not turning back now… Anyway, who are the Bookeater Tribe?’

  Tunneller said in a drowsy voice, ‘Look, I need another nap. You’re the first person who’s beaten me in a fight…’

  ‘A draw,’ corrected Pedlar. ‘It was a draw.’

  ‘All right, a draw then,’ yawned Tunneller. ‘I don’t want to argue about it. Whatever it is, you’re walking away – well, not unscathed, but with your honour intact. No-one’s ever done that before. I always win. I don’t want you bragging too much about this. You must simply say “Tunneller and I fought to a standstill and parted enemies.” ’

  ‘Enemies?’

  ‘You don’t expect me to call you a friend, do you? Of course, enemies. Enemies who admire one another. Enemies who respect each other. But enemies just the same. I don’t have any friends. Even when I’m tender towards another shrew, I’m aggressively tender – I am passionate but not affectionate. I don’t have fondness for another fellow creature. Not one in the whole world. I like it that way.’

  While this speech was in progress, Tunneller’s voice became fainter and fainter, and at the last word she fell asleep. Luckily she was in a wide part of the chamber and Pedlar was able to creep past her. He brushed against her smaller form as he passed and marvelled at her soft velvety touch. It made him wonder about all that hostility she had inside her. She felt so warm and inviting he wanted to snuggle up beside her. But then he knew that she was actually a creature capable of incredible ferocity – and he hurried on, following a draught to an exit that lay in the far distance.

  There was an odour on the draught, of body fluid. It was quite a strong one, and he knew from this that he was coming to the boundary of another mouse’s territory. The smell was there to warn strangers to turn back, but Pedlar bravely walked on.

  ROQUEFORT

  PEDLAR AT LAST CAME TO A CROSSROADS WHERE A GREAT many holes from the House side met those of the maze.

  He chose to enter a hole from which he felt a strong draught, guessing it to be one of the shorter tunnels. Ignoring the deliberate odour-line of mouse urine, he went through into a large open area with stone walls and floor and a wooden ceiling supported by thick beams. He took careful note of his surroundings, always making sure to remain within instant reach of the exit hole in case flight was necessary.

  Not for the first time he wondered why he had left his Hedgerow to journey out into the unknown. His longing to be back was like a lump inside him. He already missed the fragrant wild flowers, the dark smell of ditch clods, the green scent of clover leaves in the noonday sun. He missed the rough touch of bark and the taste of sap, the hawthorn blossom petals falling like soft gentle rain on his coat. The warm Earth called him to its womb. His fellow hedge-creatures, their sounds and smells, were running memory claws gently through his mind. It was hard not to answer this call, but a greater one urged him on.

  There was a set of wooden steps on the far side of the great chamber, leading up to a door, around which light entered. It was this thin oblong of light which enabled Pedlar to see in the near darkness and take stock.

  I must finally be in the House! he told himself.

  It seemed an immense place to him: over ten thousand times larger than a chamber in a mouse warren. Perhaps bigger? Pedlar had never thought to experience anything like it. And almost everywhere was lined with stone: the walls, the floor. The ceiling, dizzily high, was of wood, far, far above him. The
floor was vast and a feeling of fear came over him as he stared at the lone and level plain that stretched before him.

  Yet, he told himself, this is but one chamber in a hugeness of many chambers. Above this chamber were more vast chambers, and above those even more, and above them were yet other great open spaces, unknown spaces.

  His mind had difficulty grappling with the immensity of the whole House. It was a place of great valleys, echoing caverns and mountains, the sheer faces of which made him giddy to behold them. He was a mouse in another world: a world into which surely the whole mouse nation could fit and still find room to wander? It was as if the one Creator had said to Pedlar: ‘Behold, here is the box in which the universe came!’

  He remained by the hole, conquering his fear of the majestic scene before him, not wishing to move until he had ascertained that it was safe to venture out into the chamber. There could be anything waiting to pounce out there, from cats to weasels to stoats. Pedlar was aware that he was in a foreign land and if he was to survive he had to expect the unexpected. He swished his tail in the dust, to see if it attracted attention from anywhere in the room, and remained ready to bolt through the hole at the first sign of danger.

  In the vast chamber were various items, some of which he recognized, others he did not. There were two huge racks of bottles, full of liquid, up against one wall. He had seen bottles before during his life in the ditch. There were also crates and boxes, both of which nudniks had dumped in the ditch at various times. Then there were what looked like two small rainbarrels, lying horizontally on some kind of support. These rainbarrels dripped a liquid which smelt like fermenting fruits of the autumn. It was near to these items that Pedlar noticed two living creatures. They appeared to be mice, one smaller than the other. It seemed to Pedlar he had disturbed their rest. They in turn were staring at Pedlar, who immediately became wary. One of the mice suddenly lurched towards him, walking unsteadily.