House of Tribes

by Garry Kilworth

The two visiting mice waited for a short time, while Ulug Beg stared into space, then Fallingoffthings said, ‘Well, sir, will you come with us now?’

  Ulug Beg seemed to come out of a trance.

  ‘Wha… what? Come with you? Certainly not! I can’t be piggybacked across that line any more. Look at me – I’m a bag of skin and bones. Touch me and I’ll fall to bits. I only survive by staying exactly where I am and eating acorns that drop through the holes in the roof.’

  ‘But how can you address the Allthing from here?’ said Fallingoffthings helplessly.

  ‘Shan’t,’ snapped the old mouse.

  Pedlar stared at Ulug Beg. It did seem entirely likely that he would crumble to tiny fragments the moment he was moved from where he sat.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said the sensible Hedgerow yellow-neck. ‘We’ll explain the details of the problem and then you can pass your ideas for a solution to the Allthing through us. What about that? We’ll be your messengers to Gorm and the leaders of the other tribes.’

  ‘I’ve never done that before,’ replied Ulug Beg simply.

  Pedlar blinked and swished his tail. ‘Never done what before?’

  ‘Never used messengers. Don’t intend to start now.’

  Pedlar looked at Fallingoffthings, who shrugged, as if to say, I’ve done my best, now it’s up to someone else.

  Pedlar ground his teeth in frustration. What could he do? He could go back and tell Gorm to do the tightrope himself. It would serve the old beggar right: he’d either have to walk the rope or lose face in front of his tribe. However, Pedlar had his pride too, and he did not like to return to the House having failed to bring Ulug Beg or his solution with him. So he wasn’t going to give up without trying his best.

  Like anyone else, Pedlar had found that very old mice, however intelligent, liked to recall the past and the glorious hours of their youth. In fact they became very impatient with the present and had absolutely no time for the future. It was the past in which they wanted to bask: in the brilliant rays of their golden hours. Perhaps this characteristic could now be played on to save the day.

  ‘Well, sir,’ he said, nodding politely at Ulug Beg’s concertinaed body, like a bag of skin collapsed on itself, ‘we’ll be going now. It was nice to meet you.’ Fallingoffthings was giving Pedlar a funny look but Pedlar ignored his companion. ‘I have wanted to speak with you ever since I heard you ate the Book of Knowledge.’

  ‘True, true,’ ruminated Ulug Beg. ‘I nibbled and gnawed and now know all things. If there’s something I don’t know…’

  ‘…it’s not worth knowing. I heartily agree. How old are you, sir?’

  ‘Older than the House,’ nodded Ulug Beg. ‘I’m the oldest living thing on the planet – almost.’

  ‘Really? How extraordinary,’ cried Pedlar, while Fallingoffthings appeared to be dropping off to sleep. ‘You must have seen some things in your time. Tell me, were you born here in the treehouse…?’

  …Several reminiscences later, by which time Pedlar felt he knew all there was to know about the creased figure in front of him, Ulug Beg was saying, ‘Do you know, I think I’m going to break my rule! I will use you as a messenger after all. You strike me as a very competent fellow – so few about these nights you know. You’ll do, you’ll do. Tell me the problem and I’ll give you the answer. I’ve never failed yet, so let’s have them then – the facts – let’s hear what you’ve got to say!’

  PONT L’ÉVÊQUE

  ‘THE GREAT NUDNIK DRIVE? YES, IT HAS PANACHE,’ murmured Ulug Beg as Fallingoffthings snored quietly in the corner, just as she’d done while Pedlar had related the events of the Great Nudnik Drive to their host. ‘Of course, I can see why you’re not winning.’

  ‘You can?’

  ‘Well, it’s only as plain as the whiskers on your face. You’re trying to engage the nudniks in a physical battle – that’s a battle you can never win. You won’t get them out of the House that way. No!’

  Pedlar stared at the pool of skin before him, wondering whether Ulug Beg was high-nose or low-nose. ‘What do we do then?’

  ‘The supernatural,’ nodded the old sage, his little eyes shining in the moonlight. ‘You have to make them think the House is haunted. Be gone in a flash.’

  Pedlar sounded dubious, ‘I suppose we could get the library mice to raise the ghost of Megator-Megator.’

  Ulug Beg dismissed this. ‘There’s no such thing as Megator-Megator.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because I invented him. I’m always inventing stories that people take to be the gospel truth. Megator-Megator is a figment of my vast imagination.’

  If Pedlar was dismayed at the loss of such a mouse icon, he managed not to show it, concerning himself only with the business in hand. ‘Then how do we conjure up a ghost? I don’t see how we can trick the nudniks into thinking one of us is a ghost. We’re too small to bother about in their eyes. If one of the kitchen mice dipped himself in flour and went wailing through the House, they’d just tread on him – or put him in with Little Prince, thinking they’d found a mate for that nasty little beast.’

  Ulug Beg sighed. It sounded like the wind soughing through the branches of the tree. It was a deep and impatient sigh.

  ‘You mice these nights – and I thought I’d found a mouse in you that I’d been looking for, Pedlar. Why do you always think of the obvious? Visual tricks! We do have other senses besides sight. Let me tell you this – show them the ghost, and they’ll no longer be afraid of it. You have to make them believe there’s a ghost there, and never let them see it.’

  ‘Noises!’ Pedlar said quickly.

  ‘Exactly – and touches, if you can get away with them.’

  ‘Noises and touches. Not smells?’

  Ulug Beg shook his head. ‘What does a ghost smell like? Rotten cabbage? They’ll just go looking for a rotten cabbage. Cat’s poo? They’ll blame the cats. No, sound is the big persuader. You give them a few unexplained noises and you’ll drive them crazy.’

  Pedlar realized he had at last got the answer to the nudnik problem.

  ‘Thank you very much, Ulug Beg. It has been a very great honour to meet you, sir. I never thought I’d be talking to the creator of Megator-Megator.’

  The rheumy old sage rose a little out the pool of his flesh. ‘You can be a bit slow but you’ve got the makings of a very astute yellow-neck, Pedlar.’

  Pedlar regarded the strange pile of mottled fur with its squinty eyes and wondered about something. Yellow-neck, house mouse, pet mouse, harvest mouse, wood mouse? Eventually he found the courage to ask.

  ‘Er – what – what kind of mouse did you – er – start out as?’

  ‘Same as I am now – can’t you tell?’

  Pedlar didn’t even want to hazard a guess and indicated his bemusement.

  ‘A moon-star mouse of course,’ said Ulug Beg matter of factly.

  ‘Of course, of course! How silly of me. Well, we must be going…’ Pedlar gave Fallingoffthings a flick with his tail, to sting her awake.

  ‘What?’ cried Fallingoffthings, rolling to a low-nose position, her eyes wide open.

  ‘Time to go,’ said Pedlar.

  ‘Oh, fine – but what about our mission?’

  ‘Accomplished,’ said Pedlar in a satisfied tone.

  ‘Really?’ said Fallingoffthings. ‘Oh, excellent! Well done. Goodbye, Ulug Beg.’

  ‘Yes, goodbye,’ Pedlar repeated.

  ‘Don’t come back again,’ grumbled Ulug Beg. ‘I’ll be dead.’

  ‘You look dead already,’ said Fallingoffthings, before she could stop herself.

  ‘Exactly,’ Ulug Beg murmured. ‘Tell them I’m already dead and you talked to my ghost, ha, ha!’

  He gave them a final wink and then they crossed the rotten floorboards and damp leaves and went through the doorway on to the moonlit platform to which the washing line was attached. They both stared about them, up into the branches of the tree and out into the night, both thinki
ng of owls, both remaining silent on the subject. You never saw the owl that hit you.

  ‘What was he on about, back there?’ asked Fallingoffthings. ‘Is he off his head?’

  ‘No, it was a kind of joke, I think,’ said Pedlar. ‘Anyway, let’s get back. I’m not looking forward to crossing this line again.’

  Out in the garden’s night there were doings and killings and eatings going on. Hedgehogs were munching unlucky worms, a fox was prowling near the privy wondering if that really was a dormousey scent mingling with the stink of old sewage. And above all this the scattered owls were cruising silently, their eyes sharp and unfailing. Outside the House, Nature was carrying on as normal as if there were no life-and-death struggle going on within, no mouse history being carved.

  This time Pedlar went out on the line first, his confidence a little stronger since his earlier successful crossing. At that moment the moon went behind a cloud and darkness rushed in.

  Fallingoffthings said, ‘Get out into the middle. I want to dash across.’

  Pedlar knew what the other mouse meant. The sky was dangerous. Fallingoffthings didn’t want to expose herself to risk any longer than she need. This thought made Pedlar act in a hasty fashion. He tried to trot. The moon came out of the other side of the cloud, suddenly. Shadows leapt across Pedlar’s line of sight. Was that an owl? He put more speed into his legs, slipped, turned upside down.

  For a moment he dangled on two legs, then he could no longer hold on, and dropped downwards.

  Despite the fact that he landed in springy grasses and old leaves, it knocked all the wind out of him. He turned over and lay on his stomach for a moment, staring upwards, getting his breath back. His heart was beating wildly. Above him, he saw Fallingoffthings make her dash across the line. The other mouse managed to reach the House in safety so quickly that Pedlar wondered whether they were both subject to the same laws of time. His own time on the rope had seemed like for ever!

  The scents in the grasses came to him as he lay there. Many trails, many creatures. The night was full of them. A garden is a populous country, having much to offer, even a neglected one. Pedlar’s thoughts turned on what to do next. He had to get back into the House of course and carry his message to the other mice. Tunneller’s entrance hole was round the other side of the building. To travel all that way at night, with all the nocturnal predators around, might prove fatal. There would be cats from the neighbourhood, if not from the House itself. There would be foxes, stoats, weasels and owls. There might even be badgers around, who were not averse to a mouse or two, if the mice were foolish enough to be out and about.

  There was a rustle in the grass ahead!

  Pedlar stiffened then hunched up, ready for flight. Freeze first, run at the last resort. That was the golden rule.

  Then a familiar smell assailed his nostrils. It was the scent of a dormouse: a nose poked through the grass and some eyes blinked at him. A creature in a sandy coat and wearing a bushy tail confronted Pedlar.

  ‘Ah, a new mouse to the region,’ said the dormouse. ‘Out hunting foxes are we?’

  ‘Hunting foxes?’ said Pedlar.

  ‘Little joke,’ chuckled the dormouse. ‘But you know, it would be better to be tucked up somewhere in a hole. There are foxes around. You must go and find a safe nest.’

  ‘I must? What about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m on my way home now. The privy helps to hide the smells of my nest from predators. It confuses them. Good, eh?’

  ‘So you’re Stone! I’ve heard of you. My name’s Pedlar – I live in the House – now.’

  ‘Ah, the famous Pedlar. I’ve heard of you too. What on earth made you leave the lovely hedgerows and fields to enter that abomination?’

  ‘Abomination?’

  ‘The House. Mice don’t need such dwellings. We are at one with Nature and at our best in natural surroundings. You must come out of there, back into the fresh air, back amongst the grasses and the mushrooms! What glorious vegetation we have out here, all for the asking. Daisies, dandelions, campion, stitchwort – thousands, millions of plants. Not at the moment of course, for the weather has turned, but spring will come again. You must definitely leave the House for good. One hour, the House will return to Nature too, you know.’

  Pedlar explained, ‘I’m here because my destiny lies within the House – for the moment anyway – and I must get back inside. What’s the best way to get back in?’

  ‘Through the maze or up a drainpipe. You take your choice.’

  There was a sound like a peacock calling not far from where the two mice were talking. Both knew it to be a fox.

  ‘Which is the nearest entrance?’ said Pedlar quickly.

  ‘Drainpipe,’ said the dormouse. ‘Goodbye.’

  They parted and Pedlar ran to the wall of the House, he went along the edge of the cliff face until he came to a drainpipe. Up into this dark hole he disappeared. There was moss and lichen lining the inside, which Pedlar used to grip and climb, making steady progress.

  It was a long haul but he eventually reached the gutter. Once out into the channel, he ran quickly around the corner, to find Merciful’s hole. A quick check of the night sky, for silhouettes of owls and then into the tribal area of the Invisibles.

  Once inside, Pedlar let out a huge sigh of relief. He began to make his way along the beams. But before he had achieved much headway, someone stepped out and barred his way.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he shouted. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Astrid,’ answered the figure.

  Pedlar stared. Astrid had struck a dramatic pose, half in, half out of the shadows. She seemed to be talking to someone.

  ‘Who’s with you?’ asked Pedlar.

  Astrid replied, ‘No one. I was talking with my friends and informants the Shadows. Do you have news for the Allthing? Fallingoffthings said you had lost your balance on the line. Everyone’s out looking for you, wondering whether you were hurt.’

  ‘No, I’m not hurt. I think Ulug Beg’s given me the answer to our problems.’

  ‘The end of one problem may be the beginning of a vast new set.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I mean answers become questions again, very soon. If we drive out the nudniks, we’ll be sorry. That much I know from the cryptic warnings my Shadows give me. I say to you now, turn around and leave, take your news with you, return to the distant Hedgerow.’

  A vision of his former home came into Pedlar’s head. Suddenly, he could smell the hedge garlic and stitchwort. He could hear the voices of the many birds, passing up and down the Hedgerow. But it was another world, another time. The House had claimed him since then.

  Pedlar shook his head and swished his tail. ‘I can’t do that,’ he said solemnly.

  ‘Well, carry your great tidings to the Allthing, then. But let it be noted: I’ve tried to stop you.’ Astrid stood high-nose before Pedlar and raised her forelimbs in a dramatic gesture, as if pleading with the gods above. ‘I’ve done my best to try to prevent the world from being destroyed.’

  Pedlar said kindly, ‘You always do your best, Astrid. I’m sorry, but I can’t run away now. We’re so close to reaching our goal. Besides, you could be wrong, you know. The Shadows could be trying to control us.’

  With this, Pedlar made his escape quickly, before Astrid had time to make any more pronouncements. Whilst from deep within the attic, the Invisibles began to come out, their perfect camouflage fooling Pedlar up to the last moment.

  ‘Call the Allthing,’ he cried. ‘There is news from Ulug Beg!’

  ‘Call the Allthing! Call the Allthing!’ went up the cry.

  Pedlar saw Treadlightly and gave his mate an affectionate nip in passing. She nuzzled him back and then followed behind him, whispering that she was relieved to see him safe and well, and that she would hear what happened to him later. For the moment he was the important mouse, the messenger from Ulug Beg, and all were waiting to hear him speak.

  Gorm-the-old was wakened from
a doze. The Allthing was hastily assembled. Pedlar gave out his news.

  ‘We are to create some noisy ghosts,’ he told the ring of faces. ‘We must frighten the nudniks from the House.’

  ‘Ghosts!’ the cry went up. ‘We must put the fear of phantoms into the nudniks! Ulug Beg has done it again!’

  There was a quick, excited discussion amongst the leaders of the tribes. The general consensus was that the idea was brilliant. Especially when Pedlar explained that it wasn’t necessary to emulate ghosts visually, but simply to produce noises which might be made by ghosts. It all seemed so simple, now that it had been laid before them.

  ‘Well done,’ Gorm growled, reluctantly. ‘Good work, what’s-his-name.’

  ‘Pedlar,’ said Pedlar.

  ‘As you wish,’ said Gorm. ‘Now, we must decide how to go about this noisy ghost business. Knock a few plates off the Welsh dresser – that sort of thing, eh? Scratch around some bedposts in the late night. Good, good. We’ll soon have it operating…’

  EMMENTHAL

  In his room, the Headhunter was polishing his collection of mouse skulls, baring his teeth as he did so. Little Prince was running about restlessly in his cage. Little Prince was desperately trying to communicate with his master.

  ‘They’re up to something, I know they are. I can hear the whispers. They’re doing something very, very bad – oh, yes – I can feel it in my precious fur. Nasty little house mice, nasty little sweetmeats. They’re plotting plans, hatching schemes, I know they are…’

  The Headhunter stopped polishing the skulls and with his stubby, dirty fingers, shook the cage roughly. Little Prince shuddered and rattled, falling on the floor. It was his master’s way of telling him to shut up.

  ‘You silly creature!’ shouted Little Prince. ‘I’m trying to warn you of those horrible mice…’

  The cage was shaken again, this time more roughly. Little Prince wisely shut up this time. His master was trying to concentrate on cleaning his collection and did not want to be disturbed. There were about three dozen intact skulls and several more that had cracks or chips out of them. Presumably the latter was the result of a snapwire trap coming down on the head of the victim. The Headhunter did not like it when a mouse had its skull caved in. He preferred his skeletons to be perfect: just the spinal cord broken. Little Prince knew this because of the rages which occurred when a skull was damaged.