House of Tribes

by Garry Kilworth

  Pedlar shivered. A rat was a formidable enemy.

  Nonsensical seemed to glide like a shadow through the pathways of the attic over which they were crossing. Even though she was quite close to Pedlar, he had difficulty in making out her form. In darkness like this his senses were normally strong enough to distinguish objects around him, but Nonsensical seemed to drift like smoke, shifting her shape, re-forming somewhere else. There were no footfalls. Her paws were as soft as cherry-plum blossoms.

  Pedlar tagged on behind her, following the paths she took as best he could. There was no way he could emulate her movements, so he didn’t try, but she made him feel awkward and clumsy, like a nudnik blundering around.

  Finally, they came to a nest, and Nonsensical called a name softly.

  Then she entered, bidding Pedlar to follow.

  Inside the nest was a male, who bristled instantly on seeing Pedlar.

  ‘What’s this?’ said the buck of the nest. ‘What’s going on here?’

  Nonsensical replied, ‘This is Pedlar. He just escaped from the Headhunter. He’s also beaten Tunneller to a standstill, so you can stop posing in that aggressive manner, Goingdownfast.’

  ‘Oh, taking over my nest, is he? Well we’ll see about that, even – even if he did beat Tunneller.’

  ‘…and escape from the Headhunter,’ added Nonsensical, ‘but he doesn’t want to fight you. He’s not coming in here with me. He just wants to live in the attics. I want to ask Whispersoft if he will allow it, because I think Pedlar will be a valuable member to have up here.’

  ‘He’s not even a wood mouse,’ cried the aggrieved Goingdownfast.

  Pedlar could see why the other mouse was so upset. It was not usual for does, or their mates for that matter, to bring home other mice. Such a thing would have been unheard of in the Hedgerow and certainly, going by this mouse’s manner, was not the done thing in the attics either.

  ‘Look,’ said Pedlar, ‘I don’t want to upset anyone. Perhaps I’ll just—’

  ‘You’ll just nothing,’ said Nonsensical severely. ‘You’ll be our guest, that’s what you’ll be. If Goingdownfast wants to be silly about this, he can be so by himself. There’s far too much suspicion and distrust around here. It’s time we were more open with one another, which we’ll have to be if the tribes are to unite against the nudniks.’

  Goingdownfast opened his eyes at this remark.

  ‘It’s going to happen then?’

  His mate replied with the air of one delivering solemn news, ‘The Great Nudnik Drive has been agreed upon in principle. I’ve got to talk to our tribe tonight, to get their reaction to what’s been said.’

  Pedlar said, ‘She spoke very well at the Allthing, your mate. I’d be proud of her.’

  ‘I am proud of her,’ Goingdownfast said, whipping round so fast his tail lashed Pedlar’s legs. ‘I don’t need you to tell me when to be proud of her.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t,’ said Pedlar in a conciliatory tone. ‘I’m sorry I mentioned it. It was just that I was there and you were not, so I thought you’d like to know.’

  ‘Well, now you’ve told me, haven’t you?’

  ‘And,’ said Nonsensical sweetly, ‘you don’t have to kill Timorous now, do you, since I got back safely from the Allthing?’

  ‘No I don’t,’ growled Goingdownfast.

  He went off into a corner to sulk for a while, as if he actually would have liked an excuse to murder this member of his tribe and was annoyed to be thus thwarted. Pedlar realized there were tribal politics going on, about which he had no understanding, so he didn’t enquire why Goingdownfast wanted to kill Timorous.

  Nonsensical then left the nest, to report to Whispersoft on what was said at the Allthing.

  While Nonsensical was away, Goingdownfast said nothing to Pedlar, and Pedlar did not feel inclined to open any conversation. Fortunately, she returned shortly with another mouse in tow: a nervous character who said to Pedlar, ‘Look, er, Nonsensical said you wanted to share a nest with someone, so, er, would you – I mean, you can sleep in my nest if you, er, want.’

  Nonsensical made the introductions, ‘Pedlar, this is Ferocious. He’s not got a mate and his nest is quite large, so he’s willing to share it with you while you’re here. Some of the Invisibles can be quite understanding – quite hospitable,’ she added, glaring in the direction of Goingdownfast, whose attention seemed to be taken up wholly with the inspection of his own toes.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Ferocious.’

  ‘Good, good,’ muttered Ferocious. ‘Well then – well then, come with me, I’ll show you where to go.’

  ‘Thanks for your help,’ Pedlar said to Nonsensical.

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ she said.

  Pedlar then followed Ferocious out into the attic again. Once more the yellow-neck was astounded at the natural camouflage adopted by a wood mouse. Ferocious was just as nebulous in the half-light of the attics as Nonsensical had been. It took all of Pedlar’s concentration to keep up with the other mouse. Then, when they were crossing a rafter, something happened.

  The light changed dramatically, as the attic suddenly became darker. A source of illumination had been blocked by the entrance of a foreign body. Ferocious stopped dead where he was, and seemed to melt into the roofwork of beams and sheets of tarpaper. Pedlar instinctively did the same, finding a deep shadow in which to drown himself for a few moments. A second later the attic returned to its former gloom, lit only by thin rays coming through pinholes in the tarpaper.

  Pedlar was aware of a swift shape gliding through the atmosphere of the attic, cutting through the slim rays of sunshine. It was as if a slice of the darkness itself had been shaved away and silently skimmed by an unseen hand.

  Then there was a brief flutter of soft-feathered wings and all was motionless again in the dust-moted air of the room in the roof.

  When Pedlar felt able to speak, he whispered, ‘What was that?’

  ‘Merciful the owl,’ said Ferocious. ‘She’s – she’s still there, on her perch. Don’t – don’t move yet.’

  Pedlar had no intention of moving until he saw some motion from his guide. The thought that there was a silent, deadly killer not far away was enough to make his blood run cold. It was one of those times when a mouse had to be patient and wait for his best opportunity before stirring.

  After a very long while Pedlar became aware that Ferocious was moving ever-so-slowly, shadow by shadow, along the wooden beam. Pedlar followed the wood mouse, stepping into his vacated shadows while they were still warm. In this way they managed to reach a nest tucked in the bustle of an old dress on a dressmaker’s dummy. Pedlar had never been so glad to see a safe haven.

  ‘She can’t get us in here,’ said Ferocious. ‘She flies over the junk jungle, and never creeps around inside it.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ breathed Pedlar, his legs shaking.

  ‘We can get some rest now.’

  But Pedlar needed no telling. He had immediately curled up, exhausted by all his adventures. Now that he was in a nest, not even his own, he felt safe from harm. It was the nice, tight feeling of being wrapped by the familiar scents of a fellow mouse; the security of the darkness; the lovely touch of the nest itself, which engendered this feeling. Outside the world was full of owls, rats and nudniks, but in here was shelter. Relaxed and assured he fell fast asleep.

  PIPO CRÉME

  In the woodshed, there was another council meeting going on, between the three mice at the head of the 13-K gang. They had been arguing for at least an hour. It was two against one. The three quarrelling mice were Ulf, Drenchie and Gunhild.

  Gunhild had recently had enough of the Savage Tribe, and had run away to join the 13-K on the promise that she would be put in charge of discipline and drill, the two things she loved most in life. On learning of her defection Gorm had voiced an order to the effect that if ‘that treacherous grunt was found’, the finders were to tear off her legs and drag the limbless body into his presence, so
that he could finish the job himself. Gorm hated traitors, almost as much as he hated his son.

  Gunhild did not intend to go back, and was now in the same position as Ulf and his band.

  Ulf was explaining his decision not to join the other mice tribes in uniting against the nudniks.

  ‘It’s not that I have any love for nudniks,’ he said to his audience, draped as usual around the logs and kindling, ‘but this Revolution is against everything we stand for.’

  ‘What do we stand for?’ asked his mate Drenchie, her low-nose stance suggesting she would rather bite his ears off than converse with him. ‘If we’re not in favour of revolution, just exactly what do we stand for?’

  ‘We’re rebels,’ Ulf stated passionately. ‘That’s why the original thirteen of us, the founder knights of the gang, left the other tribes in the first place – because we don’t agree with all those old greywhiskers. We left because we stand for New Ideas, New Thoughts, New Ways. If we join with them again, what will we be protesting against? How can we be revolutionaries if we join with the very society we hold in contempt?’

  Drenchie snarled, ‘But, you dumb-cluck, a Nudnik Drive is a New Idea. If we’re for New Ideas, we ought to be able to recognize what they are and support them.’

  Gunhild said, ‘You’re missing the point, Drenchie. It has to be our New Idea, not Gorm’s. Gorm is the Old Guard, the epitome of outmoded tactics and strategies. It doesn’t matter what he comes up with, we have to set our teeth against it.’

  Gunhild saw everything in military terms. She had left the Savage Tribe because it was ‘a mob, a horde’ and not a well-organized army. Unfortunately, though the 13-K were not such barbarian fighters, they still lacked order themselves. They were full of the laziness, ineptness and thoughtlessness of youth. If she had her way, the 13-K would be arranged in regiments and battalions. They would sit to attention, unless she ordered them to sit at ease. She was a strict disciplinarian, and she detested the sloppiness of Drenchie, who was completely the opposite in nature. Drenchie was a loose, languid sort of creature, not even given to organizing herself personally, let alone the tribe.

  Drenchie however had one thing going for her. She was bright. She knew how to string two ideas together and could be a parallel thinker when the situation called for it.

  ‘There is a way we can be part of it all,’ said Drenchie. ‘We can suggest a New Idea to work within Gorm’s plan. What I mean is, we can denounce his plan as an Old Idea, but when they begin searching for specific ways of driving out the nudniks, we can suggest a way and call it a New Idea. Instead of just being rebels, we’ll be the counter-rebels.’

  Ulf looked at his mate with admiration. ‘That’s excellent, Drenchie! I like that.’

  Any plan that required no immediate attention or action was approved of by Ulf. Drenchie’s scheme sounded just the right kind of thing for the 13-K to consider. It involved waiting until all the hard graft was over, until Gorm’s plan reached a stumbling block, then stepping in with a quick, bright idea, saving the situation and grabbing all the glory.

  ‘That’s pretty damn good, Drenchie, you know you get flashes of genius sometimes…’

  ‘Well,’ said Gunhild stiffly. ‘If you’ve no further use for me, my general?’

  Ulf looked at Gunhild as if he had just realized she was still there.

  ‘What? Oh, no. Thanks Gunhild. Oh, there is one thing by the way, I thought the Chosen Ones did pretty well in that last scrap we had with the Savages, didn’t they? All down to you and your training, of course. Don’t know what we’d do without someone like you – someone who takes their duties seriously. I’ve been thinking, you don’t feel we ought to reorganize a few mice within the Chosen Ones? It’s getting rather large and unwieldy as a personal bodyguard. What if we were to cut some of them out? The very best of them? I was thinking you might use, say six of them, as your personal guard. Give them a name – something like The Companions. I would still be protected by the Chosen Ones as a whole unit, but the six Companions would be responsible entirely to you. What do you think?’

  Just when she was about to throw it all in, in disgust, Ulf said something like this and made Gunhild’s eyes water with gratitude. She felt sniffly, which was more like Drenchie than her. This wonderful leader knew her heart and he was showing her that she was not a forgotten item, that she was useful and necessary to the 13-K Gang. Gang. How she hated that word. Perhaps she would suggest they change it when the mood was right, to something like force or legion? Not now though, while Drenchie was here, looking like a rag draped over the edge of a bucket. Some other time.

  ‘Thank you, my general,’ said Gunhild quietly. ‘I shall carry out your orders.’

  Once Gunhild had gone, Drenchie repeated in a high, whining voice, ‘Thank you, my general. Would you set up nest with me, my general? I’d be a much better mate than Drenchie, sir. I’ll march to your tune, sir.’

  Ulf said, ‘Don’t be unfair, Drenchie. You know she’s an odd sort, and it doesn’t do any harm to please her.’

  ‘I know what she wants, even if she doesn’t herself!’ snorted Drenchie. ‘She wants to take you away from me. She wants to drag you off to her nest – no, not drag – march you off in fine military fashion, shouting “Charge!” when she reaches the entrance.’

  ‘Now, now Drenchie, that’s really not fair,’ protested Ulf.

  But the leader of the 13-K was thinking about what Drenchie had said. Did Gunhild really want him to set up nest with her? He hadn’t thought about it before. Perhaps, one hour? But Drenchie would kill him, of course. She would take it as a personal insult. Any other doe in the gang, but not Gunhild. Now that he thought about it, Gunhild was the one female who really excited him. She was so – so military. Going with her would be something quite different.

  No, Drenchie would never forgive him.

  ‘Life’s a bitch, and then you die,’ Ulf sighed, rolling on to his back and staring at the uneven planks of the woodshed’s ceiling-cum-roof.

  ‘What’s that about dogs?’ asked Drenchie, who sounded as if she were drifting into a lazy daze. ‘You said something about dogs?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing at all.’

  FETA

  PEDLAR WOKE IN A DARK CORNER OF THE NEST TO THE unpleasant sound of a loud belch. There was a putrid smell in the air, as if something had just wandered in from the cesspit. He could hear voices too, and found them vaguely familiar.

  ‘Strewth,’ said one of the voices, full of joyous relief. ‘I thought we was goners, didn’t you Phart? You should have seen us, Ferocious, climbin’ up the inside of that rotten pipe! It was the worst journey of me life. Black as sin in there, it was—’

  Pedlar’s eyes opened slowly as he came to realize who was in the nest with him.

  Phart was saying, ‘…too right. It was a tunnel to ruddy heaven, but you had to go through hell to get there – if you know what I mean, Ferocious. You’ve got no idea what’s up them pipes. Muck, bugs, the lot. Then we got to the gutter, ran along it, and just at that second this thing came out of the hole—’

  Flegm’s excited voice took over again. ‘Thing is right – thing it was. It was Merciful. I tell you I wet meself, Ferocious. I wet meself and I ain’t ashamed to say it.’

  At this point Flegm broke down and started sobbing.

  ‘Anyways,’ Phart continued the story, with a scowl at his weaker companion, ‘we crouched at the end of the gutter, and she didn’t see us. We had to wait there until she took off into the sky. Once we was sure she wasn’t comin’ back, we nipped through her hole!’

  Pedlar stared hard in the direction of the creature who had caused him so much grief, knowing he had not yet been scented, probably because Phart’s nostrils were still full of the odours from the drainpipe.

  ‘So, we got here,’ sobbed Flegm in relief. ‘And I’m so hungry I could eat a dead spider.’

  Phart looked about him. ‘You haven’t got nothing to eat, I suppose? No nice bit o’ cheese for two brave
adventurers what have just come back from the Unknown, ’ave you Ferocious? I haven’t had a nice bit o’ cheese since…’ he stopped.

  ‘Since when?’ asked Ferocious.

  Phart suddenly sniggered. ‘Since I conned a bit from some stupid twit locked in a cage. Some mice,’ he shook his head, laughing. ‘Some mice ain’t got the sense they was born with.’

  ‘No, but they have got the teeth!’ cried Pedlar, springing from his bed in the darkness. He nipped Phart sharply behind the ear – not a deep bite, but in a very tender spot.

  Flegm had stopped sobbing, and probably thinking he was in for the next attack, rolled on his back and started kicking his legs in the air.

  ‘Get away from me,’ he shrieked. ‘Get away!’

  ‘I’m not coming anywhere near you,’ Pedlar said in contempt.

  Ferocious had watched all this activity in great alarm, and now it had settled, he said to Pedlar, ‘That wasn’t a nice thing to do. You’re my guest, but so are Phart and Flegm. I won’t – I won’t have my guests attacked in this manner.’

  ‘Phart deserved that – and a lot more,’ said Pedlar, simply. ‘I’m not easily roused, but he almost had me killed a little while ago, and even after that he took advantage of me while my life was in danger, simply to get some cheese. I’m afraid if he stays here, I must leave. I can’t be responsible for my actions towards him.’

  ‘Is – is this true Phart?’ demanded Ferocious in an unsteady voice.

  There was blood trickling from behind Phart’s ear as he rubbed his head on the wall of the nest.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m goin’,’ he sneered. ‘I wouldn’t stay in a nest with that maniac, even if you was to offer me some grub…’

  ‘I was going to,’ said Ferocious.

  Phart stopped rubbing his head and looked solemn.

  ‘What if I was to say “Sorry”, Pedlar?’

  Pedlar gritted his teeth. ‘Get out of here, Phart, before I do something really awful to you. Get going quickly! Don’t say another word, or it might be your last.’

  Phart stared at Pedlar for a few more moments, before slipping out of the nest. When he was a few lengths away, he shouted something back, but it was too muffled for the mice in the nest to hear.