House of Tribes

by Garry Kilworth

  Despite the fact that he was shaken, Pedlar was through the open trapdoor in an instant, and under the bed. There he cowered in the comforting shadows, gathering his wits together. The next second the Headhunter’s face was close to the floor, looking under the bed. Pedlar came to his senses and streaked past the face and through the open doorway, out on to the landing.

  Had Pedlar been a long-time resident of the House, he would instinctively have headed for one of the holes on the landing. As it was, he was simply disorientated, and didn’t know where to go. The Headhunter came crashing out of the bedroom, his boots thumping on the landing floor.

  ‘Quickly, this way!’

  Pedlar heard the shout, but didn’t know which way to turn.

  ‘This way, this way!’ shouted the voice.

  Finally, Pedlar located the owner of the voice, a wood mouse near a hole leading to the bathroom. Pedlar zipped towards the hole, just as a heavily booted foot smashed down on the spot where he had been sitting dithering. The next second, Pedlar was into the hole, and following the wood mouse.

  When they were well into the intricate maze of the wallways, the wood mouse finally stopped. She turned to Pedlar and said, ‘Are you all right? The Headhunter almost had you then.’

  ‘Almost?’ said Pedlar, gasping for breath. ‘He did have me, but I escaped.’

  The other mouse’s eyes widened. ‘He had you and you got away? That must be a first! How did you manage it?’

  Pedlar sat high-nose, gathering himself together. ‘Funnily enough,’ he said, ‘it was Eyeball who helped me get away. She snatched a… a thing the Headhunter was boiling in a pan, and he threw something at her. It struck my cage and knocked the door open. That’s how I got out.’

  ‘Well, you’re very lucky, my friend. You should be Prince-meat by now.’

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ sighed Pedlar. ‘I must have some good spirit looking after me. I am so lucky.’

  He shivered, the experience still having an effect on him. He doubted he would get over it for a long time to come. ‘Nightmare’ wasn’t strong enough, he thought. There should be some word which adequately described the hell he had been through, but he couldn’t think of one. Ordeal, suffering, atrocity – they just weren’t accurate enough.

  ‘You seem to be a bit shaken up,’ said the other mouse. ‘Do you have anywhere to go?’

  Pedlar shook his head. ‘I was living with the Bookeaters, but I’ve had enough of that life. I never got enough to eat there. Who are you? Where are you from? I haven’t seen any other wood mice around.’

  ‘My name is Nonsensical,’ she said, ‘I’m an Invisible. The Invisibles own the attics. You can come with me if you like, but first I’ve got to go to an Allthing – a meeting of all the tribes, in the cupboard under the stairs. I’m the Invisibles’ representative.’

  The last sentence was spoken with some pride.

  ‘An Allthing? What’s it about?’ asked Pedlar.

  Nonsensical became very excited. ‘Apparently there’s a plan to drive the nudniks out of the House, so that we have enough food to share between everyone. Representatives from nearly all the tribes will be there.’ She meant all except the unmentionable and untouchable Stinkhorns, and the rebellious 13-K.

  Something sparked inside Pedlar. He had a sudden flashback, of his younger self sitting in the hazel curlie-wurlie. It was as if he had heard all this before, somewhere long ago. As if it had always been destined that he, Pedlar, would be in this place at this time. In some way what the mice did next was going to involve him: he felt his life was about to turn a corner. How? Why? When? Pedlar had no idea. He just knew that he ought to find out as much as possible.

  ‘Can I come with you?’ he asked.

  Nonsensical looked doubtful. ‘It’s for the tribes’ representatives,’ she said.

  ‘My name’s Pedlar,’ he told her, ‘I’m from the Outside. I could represent the Outsiders.’

  ‘Weeelll…’ she said, uncertainly.

  ‘Thanks for saving my life by the way. If you hadn’t been along…’

  ‘Oh,’ she replied, ‘think nothing of it. And yes, you can come with me to the Allthing, but once we get there you’ll have to persuade Gorm that you should be present. I hope you understand that? I can’t really protect you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ he said, ‘I’ll be all right.’

  He followed her along the mouse highways through the walls of the House and they came out at the Gwenllian Hole. From there they made a quick dash to the cupboard under the stairs, the mouse nerve-centre of the House, where inter-tribal Allthings took place. They squeezed through the gap beneath the door. It was dark inside, but Pedlar’s senses soon adjusted, until he was completely aware of his surroundings and the mice around him.

  There were tough-looking little house mice, one or two harvest mice and some yellow-necks like himself. Nonsensical seemed to be the only wood mouse present. She sat low-nose at first, on the edge of the circle, and Pedlar sat beside her in the same position.

  ‘You’re late, Invisible,’ said a gruff house mouse, sitting up on top of the gas meter with his two doubles. ‘Who’s that you’ve brought with you?’

  Pedlar shook his head, thinking he was seeing things, but the three identical mice were still there when he looked again. They were so alike even their scars were the same. It was as if the speaker was caught between two mirrors.

  Nonsensical replied, ‘This is Pedlar, he’s an Outsider.’

  ‘What’s he doing in here then?’ growled the belligerent house-mouse triplet. ‘Haven’t we got enough mice in the House without more coming in?’

  Nonsensical ignored this question, saying instead, ‘The reason I’m late was because of Pedlar. He escaped from the Headhunter and I had to show him the way to a hole. Being an Outsider, you see…’

  ‘Escaped from the Headhunter?’ exclaimed an elderly yellow-neck. ‘Impossible, surely?’

  ‘Not impossible,’ said Pedlar, deciding it was time he spoke for himself, ‘because, as you can see, here I am. Not so long ago I was in a cage that snapped shut on me.’

  ‘One of the Headhunter’s traps!’ said a house mouse.

  Pedlar continued. ‘Yes, I suppose it was. Anyway…’ he told them the story of his escape.

  ‘Sounds a bit far-fetched to me,’ growled the middle one of the triplets, which made Pedlar’s yellow-neck hairs rise.

  ‘Listen, you,’ he said. ‘I don’t know who you are and I don’t really care – you and your… brothers don’t interest me a great deal – but I won’t be called a liar.’

  ‘My name is Gorm-the-old,’ snarled the house mouse, ‘and if you don’t keep a civil tongue, I’ll bite the damn thing out.’

  Gorm! The leader of the Savage Tribe. Well, he would be a formidable opponent, thought Pedlar, but not an unbeatable one, not unless his bookends joined in the fight too.

  ‘I’m from the Hedgerow,’ said Pedlar, ‘and we don’t recognize tyrants there.’

  ‘The Hedgerow,’ sneered Gorm. ‘Home of country bumpkins and rustics who eat damned hips and haws.’

  ‘You watch what you say about my birthplace,’ said Pedlar, his whiskers twitching. ‘The Hedgerow is fine country, home to some of the greatest mice.’

  ‘Turnip eaters,’ smirked Gorm. ‘Nut nibblers.’

  ‘Now you listen to me…’ began Pedlar, squaring up, but he felt Nonsensical’s tail fall across his shoulder.

  Just then another mouse spoke. Pedlar recognized her, by her quiet tones. It was Skrang, the Deathshead spiritual warrior-priestess. She said, ‘Don’t be too hasty, Gorm. Pedlar over there beat Tunneller the shrew to a standstill in single combat.’

  This obviously impressed Gorm, who took another look at Pedlar and then grunted, ‘Well, so he might have done. I heard something about that. It doesn’t make any difference to me. If he wants a scrap, I’ll give it to him, now if he likes. I’ve knocked down a few sloe gobblers in my time.’

  ‘I don’t wan
t a fight,’ said Pedlar, ‘but I won’t be spoken to as if I was some cellar mouse.’

  ‘’Ere, steady on,’ muttered a joker, copying Phart’s accent, and there was quiet laughter in the wings.

  The mimic had broken the tension and things were left at that.

  Pedlar said to Gorm, ‘If you object to my being here because I don’t belong, then perhaps you’ll recognize me as representing the Outsiders?’

  Skrang said quickly, ‘That sounds fair – the Outsider Tribe?’

  ‘Sounds daft to me,’ grunted Gorm, ‘but I haven’t got the energy to argue. Let’s get on with it.’

  The meeting settled down into some kind of order, with Gorm doing most of the talking. The leader of the Savage Tribe seemed to like the sound of his own voice, and only rarely gave way for anyone else to get a word in edgeways.

  ‘…so,’ Gorm was saying, ‘someone from every tribe is present. Even it seems,’ he glared at Pedlar, ‘the Outsiders are represented. Everyone but the 13-K are here.’

  ‘What about the Stinkhorns?’ questioned Pedlar. ‘I don’t see them.’

  ‘The Stinkhorns?’ snarled Gorm. ‘They’re not a tribe, they’re degenerates.’

  ‘True enough,’ said Pedlar, ‘but if you’re going to form some kind of concerted attack on the nudniks, you’ll need the co-operation of all the mice in the House – even me – so it doesn’t make sense to leave out the Stinkhorns.’

  I-kucheng piped up, ‘What Pedlar says is true. It’s foolish to leave anyone out, whatever their worth. I’ll speak to the Stinkhorns myself, later.’

  ‘If they’re still alive,’ sniggered Tostig.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked I-kucheng.

  ‘Well, the last I heard they visited Stone, out in the garden, and couldn’t get back in again. Tunneller’s probably bitten them both in half by now. Or they’ve been eaten in the wilderness Outside.’

  I-kucheng gave Tostig a very serious look. ‘You find that amusing, do you?’

  Tostig withered under the glare of the elderly yellow-necked Deathshead.

  At that moment there was a nudnik yell from the kitchen.

  Gorm, Hakon and Tostig leapt off the gas meter with remarkable alacrity. The rest of the mice scattered to the far triangular corners of the cupboard-under, including Pedlar, whose instinct was to follow the crowd for once. Something had happened in the House and though he had no idea what it was, Pedlar knew that the other mice were expecting a knock-on development.

  Sure enough, when they were all quietly crammed into the far reaches of the cupboard, the door opened and a bent nudnik shone a light inside, illuminating the gas meter. An arm came in, the hand clutching a round shiny object, which was pushed into a slot in the gas meter. A small handle was turned by the great fingers, then a click was heard, and there was another yell from the kitchen. The arm disappeared and the door to the cupboard-under was closed and latched.

  Gorm resumed his stand on the gas meter and without further ado continued with the Allthing as if nothing had occurred.

  ‘…so now we come to the next item.’

  Pedlar wasn’t listening. His heart was still hammering in his chest.

  ‘What was that?’ he asked Skrang quietly.

  ‘What? Oh, that? It happens sometimes – not often, but you can’t tell when it’s going to. Something to do with the kitchen oven.’

  ‘Oh,’ replied Pedlar, none the wiser. Nothing like that ever happened in the Hedgerow. Yet he wondered if there were things that happened there, which would confuse the mice who lived in the House. They seemed so sophisticated, yet he would bet that the first time they saw a grass snake, they would be as confused as he was about the grey box. Wouldn’t they?

  Gorm then brought up the question of the 13-K, who were not represented at the Allthing.

  ‘It seems that the 13-K do not want to join with us, in our great task of ridding our world of nudniks. They made my envoy eat dirt, when I sent him to them last night. I shall punish Ulf for that insult later, but in the meantime we’re going to have to resign ourselves to going ahead without them.’

  The Great Clock in the hall struck three, interrupting the conversation for a while. It was a beautiful set of notes that reverberated through the House as if through an empty temple, echoing. Everyone always stopped what they were doing if within earshot of the sounding cymbal of the Clock. There was always reverence for the passing of time, given numbers by the hidden bronze. The meeting let the last deep note die before carrying on with its business.

  Skrang said, ‘Why don’t I have a word with them? I’m sure I can make them see reason. They wouldn’t dare try to make me eat dirt.’

  Gorm-the-old shrugged, his bent worn whiskers drooping. The cares of leading his tribe over the long hours were evident in the way his shoulders slumped when he spoke of his son and the breakaway youthful 13-K. It was his one great sorrow, that his son had not only rejected him, but had also actively set himself up against his father. Gorm had many, many sons and daughters of course, but Ulf was the one who had rebelled and consequently Ulf was the one Gorm wanted to return to the fold, repentant and father-loving. As Astrid had once said, Ulf would be a minor guard in an obscure squadron of the tribe’s army if he hadn’t turned his back on Gorm. His father would certainly not have been interested in him, if he hadn’t run away. Gorm’s ego was massive and all-embracing, and if your actions did not touch him personally, you did not exist.

  Skrang then said, ‘Do we want to consult Ulug Beg?’

  ‘There’s always a price to pay when consulting that old sage,’ said I-kucheng. ‘However, it might be best.’

  Gorm shook his head. ‘I would only want to consult him in an emergency. We don’t even know if he’s still alive.’

  ‘He’s always still alive,’ murmured I-kucheng.

  Pedlar had followed this mysterious conversation with some interest and was disappointed when it was dropped. He wanted to know more about Ulug Beg. However, it seemed that there was to be no more discussion about the ‘old sage’.

  Nonsensical the Invisible, Pedlar’s new friend, spoke up now.

  ‘I would like to ask the Allthing, or rather Gorm in particular, what Astrid thinks of this plan to rid the House of the nudniks.’

  Gorm grimaced and looked testy. ‘Astrid’s not been herself lately,’ he said. ‘I think she’s losing it.’

  ‘By that answer, I take it she doesn’t approve of the plan,’ said Nonsensical.

  Gorm looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, not as such, but then I’ve noticed she’s not the mystic she was once, you know. I think her visionary powers are wearing out.’

  ‘Visionary powers don’t wear out,’ interrupted Skrang. ‘You know as well as I do, Gorm, that Astrid is one in a million. She aids you quietly and firmly, without any wailing at the moon, or reliance on choral backdrops. And I’ve never known one of Astrid’s prophecies not to come true. If Astrid is against it, it’s because she’s had a genuine vision.’

  Skrang didn’t add, unlike the library mice, who are a load of fakes and frauds, because Frych-the-freckled, Owain and Iago were all present at the meeting.

  Nonsensical said, ‘Until we find out what that reason is, I think the Invisibles will be very wary of joining the enterprise. We have a lot of respect for Astrid.’

  Hakon said, ‘Can I say something here? I’ve been observing Astrid lately. I think she has found, er, how shall I put it, a male companion. A buck.’

  Gorm’s head spun round and he stared at his principal double.

  ‘What do you mean, a buck? I’m her buck.’

  Hakon shifted uncomfortably and changed his sitting position, only to resume the old one almost immediately. Pedlar thought it strange that the two mice on either side of Gorm should even copy the way the old mouse sat. It really was like seeing triple.

  Hakon said, ‘Yes, we know that Gorm, but she has a secret mate – she meets him on the pan shelf.’ Hakon cleared his throat. ‘Everyone knows but you,
I’m afraid.’

  ‘Why wasn’t I told this before?’ roared Gorm. ‘I’ll tear someone’s liver out! Who is he?’

  ‘No one knows,’ said Hakon, hoarsely. ‘No one’s actually seen him, but you can tell by the way she acts…’

  ‘I’ll kill her! I’ll kill him too, whoever he is!’

  I-kucheng interrupted with a stern, ‘This is neither the time nor the place to sort out your domestic quarrels, Gorm. You invited us here to discuss the Great Nudnik Drive. We’re not here to waste our costly time listening to your private affairs.’

  This was the first time the scheme had been called the ‘Great Nudnik Drive’, and because it sounded right this was the title under which it was subsequently known. This became its historical epithet. It was never called a ‘war’ because you can’t have a war with dense creatures like nudniks. It would be like declaring war on cows or sheep. You drove them out, if and when they became a nuisance. The intention was to drive the nudniks out into the wilderness, ridding the House of these pests. Where they went to, once they were driven out, was of no interest. Perhaps they might graze in the fields beyond the House, or take to the woodlands, to live on mushrooms and moss. It didn’t matter to the mice. Mice had wars with mice, but they drove away anything else.

  Thus I-kucheng tried to get the Allthing back on track again, but Gorm was too incensed by this personal insult to his reputation to let it drop just like that. His own wounded ego was more important than a unique and unprecedented meeting of the tribes. His pride had been hurt and someone else was going to be hurt, physically, to balance the scales. Punishing the offenders was more important than House peace.

  He said, ‘This priestess has been disloyal to me! Does no one care about that? I’m the greatest chieftain the Savage Tribe has ever seen. I am glorious in battle. I’m courageous to the last drop of my blood. And I’m – I’m not bad looking. Why has she turned her face from her lord. Is loyalty to be cast aside as if it were nothing, these hours?’