House of Tribes

by Garry Kilworth

  The youngster shifted uncomfortably.

  Ferocious said, ‘Well, that’s what will happen. They’ll come up here and do it. You’ll have to witness it – it will be your doing. I hope you can stand the sight of blood? The cage will be dripping with gore within seconds – guts hanging from the bars, loose eyeballs rolling around the floor, joints torn from sockets… you want to see that happen, do you? You want to be responsible for such a scene?’

  The youngster started to look a little sick. ‘Well – no,’ he murmured. ‘But what will we do with him then?’

  ‘What will we do with the poor little mousie?’ echoed Little Prince. ‘Shut his cage door then? Or send him into the garden to play? Oh, what will we do with Little Prince? Such a delicate mouse, such a loving son to his mother, such a fragile little fellow – cultured, clean and considerate to his father. Has he a home to go to? Has he a friend in the world? Poor little creature with such a tragic past.’

  ‘Shut up, while I try to think,’ said Pedlar. ‘Look, you, what’s your name?’

  ‘Elisedd,’ said the young house mouse.

  ‘A Bookeater, eh? Well, Elisedd, I think we’re going to have to keep this very, very secret. You look to us to be a responsible mouse, mature for your age. We’ll take care of Little Prince and if we’re caught we won’t implicate you, all right? There’s been bloodshed enough in this House – without adding to it. So far as we’re concerned, you were never here, all right? We’ll have a strict code of silence…’ he drew a cross over his mouth with his claw, ‘and we’ll honour it to the death.

  ‘I personally think we can trust you. You know what that means? It means I have faith in your loyalty, not to me or to Little Prince, but to yourself. Because I can see in you a deeper kind of mouse beneath the surface: a mouse that believes in a higher justice, to be administered by a higher authority than the living.’

  Elisedd gulped and looked up, from face to face.

  ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I – I promise to keep this a secret.’

  ‘Good,’ said Pedlar, quietly. ‘We appreciate this and we won’t forget it. I think you’re doing the right thing, Elisedd, and if ever you want to talk about this to anyone, if anything worries you, you come and speak to me. All right?’

  ‘All right,’ replied Elisedd. ‘I’d better go now.’

  ‘Remember,’ said Treadlightly. ‘Not a word.’

  Elisedd left them.

  ‘Now,’ said Pedlar, turning to Little Prince. ‘What do we do with this white mouse? Smuggle him out into the garden and let him go? He’d be spotted a mile off by any hawk or weasel, wouldn’t he? He might as well stand on a hill with his forelimbs wide and shout, “Come and get me.”’

  ‘Gardens are beautiful places,’ said Little Prince, to the bars of his cage, ‘lovely, lovely places, full of nice flowers to eat, nice soft petals to chew. Come with me into the garden, my little friends, and I will show you the green, green grasses…’

  They ignored him. Treadlightly said, ‘You’re right. If we turn him loose in the garden, he’ll die. He can’t survive in the wild. He’s a tame mouse. If he doesn’t eat something poisonous within a day, something will eat him. No matter what he’s done, we can’t do that. We might as well cast him down the cesspit and leave him to drown.’

  ‘Well, what’s our alternative?’

  ‘He’ll have to come into our nest for a while,’ she said, ‘until we can decide what’s best.’

  ‘Into our nest?’ cried Pedlar. ‘Oh, come on Treadlightly!’

  ‘I think that’s a very good idea,’ intervened Ferocious quickly.

  ‘That’s because she didn’t say your nest,’ retorted Pedlar. ‘Come to think of it, you live alone—’

  ‘Well, that’s settled then,’ said Ferocious. ‘I’ll be off then. Let me know what happens.’ And he was gone, through the doorway, along the hall, and down the stairs.

  ‘Oh well,’ sighed Pedlar, ‘I suppose I’d better make the best of it. Come on then, let’s smuggle him up there before the feasting stops in the sublime larder. You – are you coming, or not? We’re not dragging you, you know, but if you stay here, sooner or later other mice are going to find you, and then it will just be a matter of picking up the pieces.’

  Little Prince hopped across his cage, paused at the doorway, and then jumped out. His red-rimmed eyes looked around him in a frightened fashion and then he hopped back inside again, his legs trembling.

  ‘What’s the matter with him?’ asked Pedlar.

  ‘I think he’s been in the cage so long he’s afraid of open spaces,’ replied Treadlightly.

  ‘Open spaces!’ cried Pedlar, who had always regarded the House’s rooms as tight, enclosed boxes. ‘He should come out to the fields. I’ll show him some open spaces.’

  ‘Little Prince doesn’t like it,’ whispered the white mouse. ‘Little Prince wants to stay here.’

  Pedlar went into the cage, shot behind Little Prince, and nipped his rump until he ran out of the open door. In this way he drove the tame mouse out on to the landing and into the Skelldulgan Hole at the end of the landing. Once inside the narrow tunnels which led up through the walls to the attics, the white mouse was not so reluctant to be out of his cage. He followed Pedlar meekly, with Treadlightly close behind him. Just before they entered the water-tank attic, Pedlar stopped to view the scene ahead.

  ‘He’s going to stand out like a nudnik without its clothes,’ grumbled Pedlar, indicating Little Prince’s white coat. ‘This is the land of the Invisibles and we have a mouse that you can see from ten fields away. What are we going to do with him? Kellog will spot him, if no-one else does, and he won’t keep something as strange as this to himself.’

  ‘Let’s roll him in the dirt and cobwebs,’ replied Treadlightly. ‘If we spit on his coat beforehand, and pee on him, the dirt will stick to him that much easier.’

  Little Prince looked horrified and shuddered. ‘Dirt? I’d rather die.’

  ‘All right,’ said Pedlar, walking away, ‘Die. Merciful will fly in, in a moment, and she’ll make very short work of you. You’ll be a bit of white fluff catching in her throat before you can say—’

  ‘I’m rolling, look at me, I’m rolling!’ cried Little Prince.

  They wet his fur as he rolled, and when they had finished a dark thing with two reddish eyes peered back at them. They felt they stood a better chance with him, now.

  ‘I smell,’ whined Little Prince.

  Pedlar grunted. ‘A good job too. Kellog would have scented your perfumed fur right across the attic. Treadlightly’s odour he knows – he won’t take any notice of that. Nor mine either. I’ve been here a good time now, and he knows my mark too.’

  ‘You’ll never make an Invisible,’ said Treadlightly, ‘but it’s the best we can do for now.’

  It was she who led the way out on to the rafters, telling Little Prince to move only when she moved. The way to the nest was fraught with danger of discovery because one or two of the Invisibles had started coming back to their nests. Neither Pedlar nor Treadlightly were sure what Whispersoft would do, if he found Little Prince on his domain, but they had a good idea. Little Prince’s reputation had gone before him and he was not loved by the attic mice, any more than he was by the kitchen or the library mice. Whispersoft was a fine leader but he was not above sacrificing a deadly enemy to appease the wrath of his tribe. Little Prince had eaten some of their ancestors, their close relatives, and most of them would not hesitate to tear his throat open.

  Finally, they managed to get him inside their nest, and Treadlightly fell into her body-shaped bed of wood shavings and shredded cardboard with relief.

  Pedlar went down beside her, leaving Little Prince to find a place somewhere at the back of the nest.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ asked Pedlar of his mate. ‘Oh, I know Little Prince would have eaten me, if the Headhunter had managed to cook me, and he ridiculed and taunted me, but I suffered no serious harm. But you – surely he’s devour
ed some of your family – your brothers and sisters, your cousins?’

  ‘I don’t like to think about things like that,’ answered Treadlightly, ‘but anyway, I don’t believe it’s all Little Prince’s fault. He’s been turned into a monster by the Headhunter.’ She looked grave. ‘It was awful the way he seemed to enjoy it so much; he took such a delight in taunting other mice. But, well, what would you be like, cooped up in a cage? It would be enough to drive any mouse mad.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ sighed Pedlar. ‘I’ve told myself all that too. So, I suppose we’ll have to keep him here until we can think of something else. We’ll have to smuggle food to him from the ever-full larder. Fortunately that belongs to us mice now…’

  MÜNSTER

  TIMOROUS WAS TREMBLING AS HE MADE HIS WAY across the attic towards Kellog’s nest. He slipped in and out of thin shafts of light, keeping down low behind the beams, using the secret paths in the junk jungle: over a pile of rags here, through a rusty pair of bicycle handlebars, under a toy-train bridge. He was wondering why he had decided to do this thing: almost regretting his decision to have a fellow creature assassinated.

  There was a great deal of danger involved in the plot and while Timorous presented a careless, violent front to the world, he now felt just as vulnerable as any other wood mouse inside. He had discovered something in himself which he always despised in others: fear.

  It was twilight. The attic was particularly silent and devoid of life at this time of the evening, when the sun was going down. It was coming to the time when Merciful woke, shook herself, and went out to hunt. Although the Invisibles were adept at avoiding the flying killer, it was sensible not to be around when she was alert, hungry and restless, her bright yellow eyes burning. She was like some lamp that automatically lit with the going down of the sun and the intensity of her light was awesome to behold.

  It was, however, a good time for an assassination, for obvious reasons: there were no witnesses around and the shadows were at their trickiest.

  Timorous had asked Goingdownfast to meet him at a certain place in the attic. Now Timorous was on his way to the dreaded Kellog. This was a delicate affair, to be handled with extreme skill, and Timorous was not sure he himself was up to it. His whole body was shaking with fright.

  Finally he came to the water tank and slipped into the water. He was not such a good swimmer as Goingdownfast, but like all mice he could hold himself up long enough to get across the lake. As he swam across he could smell the deep musty odour of Kellog, wafting over the surface of the water from the other side. The great roof rat was in his nest, waiting, having heard the small splash of Timorous entering the tank.

  Timorous crawled out on the other side, shook the water from his coat, and said softly, ‘Are you in there, Kellog?’

  Something inside the darkness of the huge nest moved in response.

  Timorous trembled anew. Kellog’s nest was awe-inspiring to the mice in the attic, standing like a massive keep on the shores of the water tank. It was the home of a giant – a despotic giant – who stole babies and killed wantonly for pleasure. A raven’s feather had been woven into the outer framework of the nest and this, to the Invisibles, seemed to symbolize the black heart of the occupant within.

  A fresh wave of odour hit Timorous as Kellog appeared at the entrance to his nest. The hard eyes stared. The great whiskers quivered. The large, bare tail flicked.

  Timorous regarded the long yellow incisors.

  ‘Well?’ said the enormous rat. ‘What?’

  Timorous’s heart sank. ‘It’s time – you remember? – I promised to give you Goingdownfast.’

  ‘Of course I remember,’ replied Kellog. ‘I wonder that you have, you miserable little wretch, what with all this feasting going on in the exalted larder. I must pay it another visit myself soon, after we’ve disposed of Goingdownfast. It’s time to make my stand. Time that I was treated with the respect I deserve from you miserable mice. I shall make my nest in the splendid larder. How would that be? You’d need to gain my favour for a crumb. All that food – but Kellog in the way. You’ll need to worship me then, won’t you? You’ll have to crawl on your bellies before me, whimpering for food, crying out my name. “Kellog! Kellog!” I shall become a deity amongst rodents, a living legend, to be revered and loved – or else.’

  ‘I’m sure – everyone would agree to that,’ murmured Timorous.

  ‘I’m sure they’d damn well have to, wouldn’t they?’ snarled Kellog, ‘or I’d bite their damn heads off, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, yes, you would.’

  ‘Lord of the House, eh? No Merciful to interfere with my rule down there, is there? Just you mice, saying, “Yes sir, no sir, bite my rump sir.”’ Kellog nodded his great head slowly. ‘Speaking of Merciful,’ he said. ‘Is this a wise time to be going out after that piece of rubbish, Goingdownfast? It’s coming on dark.’

  ‘I’ve chosen this time specially for that reason,’ explained Timorous. ‘There’s no one about. It won’t take long, will it? Just a few quick bites and you can be on your way back to this nest. So long as there’s no undue noise to attract Merciful’s attention. Can you do it without any fuss?’

  ‘You show me the mouse and I’ll kill him within a moment,’ said Kellog. ‘He won’t even know what’s severed his jugular.’

  Timorous shuddered, but then pulled himself together.

  ‘Let’s go then, before Goingdownfast gets tired of waiting for me and goes back to his nest. I’ve arranged to meet him in the agreed spot in order to settle our differences. At least, that’s what I’ve told him, and he believes me. I said I didn’t want anyone else around because I was embarrassed by having to apologize to him – something I didn’t want to do in public – so that will explain the timing.’

  ‘You’re sure he’ll be there?’

  ‘Certain of it. His mate, Nonsensical, has been urging him to make it up with me. She’ll make sure he goes.’

  ‘I hope so – for your sake,’ said Kellog, sliding his massive body into the water. ‘I’m going to kill a mouse tonight. I want its name to be Goingdownfast, but if I’m disappointed in that, I’ll take another. You understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ whispered Timorous. ‘I understand.’ And he dropped into the water and began swimming alongside the roof rat, to the far shore.

  They travelled together, the pair of them, across the country of the attics, through the junk jungle. Finally, Timorous indicated he was going to stop. He pointed with his nose at a distant shadow, under a beam, and whispered, ‘He’s over there, waiting for me. If you crawl along the other side of the beam, he won’t see or smell you coming. You’ll have to be quiet though.’

  ‘I intend to be,’ murmured Kellog, checking the attic air for signs of the owl. ‘I shall be as silent as death.’

  With these final words, Kellog fixed the position of Goingdownfast with a stare, then dropped down on the far side of the rafter and began crawling along in the triangle of darkness created by the beam. When he got close, he slowed to a painstaking pace, moving by fractions.

  The light began to flow rapidly out of the air. Outside, the sun was almost down. Shadows participated in the transformation which would lead to their disappearance. Finally, Kellog settled in the dust. On the other side of the beam was his enemy, Goingdownfast. Kellog could scent the wood mouse now. Goingdownfast would also be able to smell the roof rat and Kellog knew this: he listened for any sounds of escape, knowing also that he could outrun the mouse within a few moments. He imagined Goingdownfast was shaking in terror, now that the odour of rat was in the air and escape impossible.

  He’s lying there quivering, Kellog told himself, and wondering why he ever agreed to meet with Timorous.

  There was pure silence in the attic. Nothing seemed to be stirring. It was as if the whole world were waiting for the rat to pounce, to end this blood feud. Every ear listening for the sounds of strangulated cries. Every nose anticipating the smell of death. The moments fled.

&
nbsp; Suddenly, there was movement!

  ‘Hi! Over here, owl. Come and get me! Come and get me! I’m waiting for you, owl…’

  Incredibly, Goingdownfast had leapt on to the top of the beam and was shrieking at the top of his voice.

  What was the mad creature doing? Courting death by owl to avoid death by rat?

  Kellog felt panic surging through him. He was confused: torn between running away and killing his enemy. There was great peril in remaining – but the wood mouse was only a lunge away. That wood mouse he hated so much. A quick, agonized decision – he had to kill Goingdownfast himself! Kellog hunched, tensed himself for a leap, to end this thing now. There was the wood mouse, dancing and yelling shrilly. Kellog glanced once, swiftly, over his shoulder, before springing.

  Candlepower! Bright yellow eyes were already travelling through the gloom. Eyes a hundred times more powerful than Kellog’s own: eyes that could mark an insect in poor light. Hooks with razor edges, fine needle-fine points – talons and beak – spread and gaped. They flew through the gloaming at lightning-bolt speed.

  Kellog’s teeth grazed the mouse’s skin, drawing blood. But Goingdownfast had been dropping away, down behind the beam, as Kellog struck. The rat’s teeth obtained no hold. They failed to sink deeply enough to keep a grip.

  Goingdownfast fell into the shadows, Kellog a fraction of a second behind him. The rat’s weight soared over the timber. He was exposed in mid-air, a large plump target, halfway through his pounce. There was a soft feathery hiss above him. Kellog felt the claws strike, ripping open his back, laying the flesh bare to his spinal cord.

  Kellog suddenly realized exactly what had happened.

  ‘Betrayed!’ he screamed, as he spun through the rafters, his body gushing blood.

  He lay on his side, his twisted body draining life into the dust, knowing he was going to die, knowing he was the victim of an elaborate plot. They had set him up for the kill, those two damned wood mice, knowing the depth of his hate, knowing he would risk all for the chance to kill his mortal enemy. Kellog’s eyes were dimming, his heart pumping fast, his hate still raw. He choked on bile as he waited for the killing stroke.