The Bromeliad Trilogy Page 6

  "I don't understand," said Grimma. "How can people not see us?"

  "Because they know we're from Outside," said Masklin.

  "But other nomes can see us!" said Grimma, her voice rising. Masklin didn't blame her. He was beginning to feel a bit unsure too.

  "I think that's because they don't know," he said, "or don't believe we really are Outsiders!"

  "I ain't an Outsider!" said Torrit. "They're all Insiders!"

  "But that means that the Abbot really does think we're from Outside!" said Grimma. "That means he believes we're here and he can't see us! Where's the sense in that?"

  "That's nomish nature for you," said Dorcas.

  "Don't see that it matters much," said Granny, grimly. "Come three weeks and they'll all be Outsiders. Serve them right. They'll have to go around not looking at themselves. See how they like that, eh?" She stuck her nose in the air. "Ho, hexcuse me, Mr. Abbot, went and tripped over hyou there, didn't see hyou hi'am sure..."

  "I'm sure they'd understand if only they'd listen," said Masklin.

  "Shouldn't think so," said Dorcas, kicking at the dust. "Silly of me to think they would, really. The Stationeri never listen to new ideas."

  "Excuse me," said a quiet voice behind them.

  They turned, and saw one of the Stationeri standing there. He was young, and quite plump, with curly hair and a worried expression. In fact he was nervously twisting the corner of his robe.

  "You want me?" said Dorcas.

  "Er. I was, er, I wanted to talk to the, er, Outsiders," said the little man carefully. He bobbed a curtsey in the direction of Torrit and Granny Morkie.

  "You've got better eyesight than most, then," said Masklin.

  "Er, yes," said the Stationeri. He looked back down the corridor. "Er, I'd like to talk to you. Somewhere private."

  They shuffled around a floor joist.

  "Well?" said Masklin.

  "That, er, thing that spoke," said the Stationeri. "Do you believe it?"

  "I think it can't actually tell lies," said Masklin.

  "What is it, exactly? Some kind of radio?"

  Masklin gave Dorcas a hopeful look.

  "That's a thing for making noise," Dorcas explained loftily.

  "Is it?" said Masklin, and shrugged. "I don't know. We've just had it a longtime. It says it came with nomes from a long way away, a long time ago. We've looked after it for generations, haven't we, Torrit."

  The old man nodded violently. "My dad had it before me, and his father before him, and his father before him, and his brother at the same time as him, and their uncle before them –" he began.

  The Stationeri scratched his head.

  "It's very worrying," he said. "The humans are acting very strangely. Things aren't being replaced in the Store. There's signs we've never seen before. Even the Abbot's worried, he can't work out what Arnold Bros (est. 1905) expects us to do. So, er..." He bunched up his robe, untwisted it hurriedly, and went on. "I'm the Abbot's assistant, you see. My name is Gurder. I have to do the things he can't do himself. So, er..."

  "Well, what?" said Masklin.

  "Could you come with me? Please?"

  "Is there food?" said Granny Morkie, who could always put her finger on the important points.

  "We'll certainly have some sent up," said Gurder hurriedly. He backed off through the maze of joists and wiring. Please, follow me. Please."

  5

  I. Yet there were some who said, We have seen Arnold Bros (est. 1905)"s new Signs in the Store, and we are Troubled for we Understand them not.

  II. For this is the Season that should be Christmas Fayre, and yet the Signs are not the Signs of Christmas Fayre;

  III. Nor are they January Sales, or Back to School Week, or Spring Into Spring Fashions, or Summer Bargains, or other Signs we know in their Season;

  IV. For the Signs say Clearance Sale. We are sorely Troubled.

  From The Book of Nome, Complaints v. I–IV

  Gurder, bobbing and curtseying, led them deeper into Stationeri territory. It had a musty smell. Here and there were stacks of what Masklin was told were books. He didn't fully understand what they were for, but Dorcas obviously thought they were important.

  "Look at 'em," he said. "Powerful lot of stuff in there that we could find useful, and the Stationeri guard it like, like –"

  "Like something well guarded?" said Masklin.

  "Right. Right. That's exactly right. They keep looking hard at 'em. Reading, they call it. But they don't understand any of it."

  There was a whirr from the Thing in Torrit's arms, and a few lights lit up.

  "Books are repositories of knowledge!" it said.

  "There's said to be a lot in them," said Dorcas.

  "It is vital that you obtain books," said the Thing.

  "Stationeri hold on to 'em," said Dorcas. "Unless you know how to read books properly they inflame the brain, they say."

  "In here, please," said Gurder, shifting a cardboard barrier.

  Someone was waiting for them, sitting stiffly on a pile of cushions with his back to them.

  "Ah. Gurder," he said. "Come in. Good."

  It was the Abbot. He didn't turn around.

  Masklin prodded Gurder. "It was bad enough just now," he said. "Why are we doing this again?"

  Gurder gave him a look which seemed to say: Trust me, this is the only way.

  "Have you arranged for some food, Gurder?" said the Abbot.

  "My lord, I was just –"

  "Go and do it now."

  "Yes, my lord."

  Gurder gave Masklin another desperate look and scurried away.

  The nomes stood sheepishly, wondering what was going to happen next.

  The Abbot spoke.

  "I am nearly fifteen years old," he said. "I am older even than some departments in the Store. I have seen many strange things, and soon I am going to meet Arnold Bros (est. 1905) in the hope that I have been a good and dutiful nome. I am so old that there are nomes who think that in some way I am the Store, and fear that when I am gone the Store will end. Now you tell me this is so. Who is in charge?"

  Masklin looked at Torrit. But everyone else looked at him.

  "Well, er," he said. "Me. I suppose. Just for the moment."

  "That's right," said Torrit, relieved. "Just for the moment I'm puttin' him in charge, see. Because I'm the leader."

  The Abbot nodded.

  "A very wise decision," he said. Torrit beamed.

  "Stay here with the talking box," said the Abbot to Masklin. "The rest of you, please go. There will be food brought to you. Please go and wait."

  "Um," said Masklin, "no."

  There was a pause.

  Then the Abbot said, quite softly, "Why not?"

  "Because, you see, um, we're all together," said Masklin. "We've never been split up."

  "A very commendable sentiment. You'll find, however, that life doesn't work like that. Come, now. I can hardly harm you, can I?"

  "You talk to him, Masklin," said Grimma. "We won't be far away. It's not important."

  He nodded reluctantly.

  When they had left, the Abbot turned around. Close to, he was even older than he had looked before. His face wasn't just wrinkled, it was one big wrinkle. He was middle-aged when old Torrit was born, Masklin told himself. He's old enough to be Granny Morkie's grandfather!

  The Abbot smiled. It was a difficult smile. It was as if he'd had smiling explained to him but had never had chance to practice.

  "Your name, I believe, is Masklin," he said.

  Masklin couldn't deny it.

  "I don't understand!" he said. "You can see me! Ten minutes ago you said I didn't even exist and now you're talking to me!"

  "There is nothing strange about it," said the Abbot. "Ten minutes ago it was official. Goodness me, I can't go around letting people believe that I've been wrong all along, can I? The Abbots have been denying there is anything Outside for generations. I can't suddenly say they were all wrong. People would think
I've gone mad."

  "Would they?" said Masklin.

  "Oh, yes. Politics, you see. Abbots can't go changing their minds all the time. You'll find this out. The important thing about being a leader is not being right or wrong, but being certain. Otherwise people wouldn't know what to think. Of course, it helps to be right as well," the Abbot conceded. He leaned back.

  "There were terrible wars in the Store, once," he said. "Terrible wars. A terrible time. Nome against nome. Decades ago, of course. It seemed that there was always some nome who thought his family should rule the Store. The Battle of the Freight Elevator, the Goods Inwards Campaign, the dreadful Mezzanine Wars... But that's past, now. And do you know why?"

  "No," said Masklin.

  "We stopped it. The Stationeri. By cunning and common sense and diplomacy. We made them see that Arnold Bros (est. 1905) expects nomes to be at peace with one another. Now then. Supposing that I, in there, had said I believed you. People would have thought, the old boy has gone off his head." The Abbot chuckled. "And then they'd have said, have the Stationeri been wrong all this time? They would have panicked. Well, of course, that would never do. We must hold the nomes together. You know how they bicker at every opportunity."

  "That's true," said Masklin. "And they always blame you for everything and say, what're you going to do about it?"

  "You've noticed, have you?" said the Abbot, smiling. "It seems to me that you have exactly the right qualification for being a leader."

  "I don't think so!"

  "That's what I mean. You don't want to be one. I didn't want to be Abbot." He drummed his fingers on his walking stick, and then looked sharply at Masklin.

  "People are always a lot more complicated than you think," he said. "It's very important to remember that."

  "I will," said Masklin, not knowing what else to say.

  "You don't believe in Arnold Bros (est. 1905), do you?" said the Abbot. It was more a statement than a question.

  "Well, er –"

  "I've seen him, you know. When I was a boy. I climbed all the way up to Consumer Accounts, by myself and hid, and I saw him at his desk writing."

  "Oh?"

  "He had a beard."

  "Oh."

  The Abbot drummed his fingers on his stick. He seemed to be making up his mind about something. Then he said, "Hmm. Where was your home?"

  Masklin told him. Funnily, it seemed a lot better now he looked back on it. More summers than winters, more nuts than rat. No bananas or electric or carpets, but plenty of fresh air. And in memory there didn't seem to be as much drizzle and frost. The Stationeri listened politely.

  "It was a lot better when we had more people," Masklin finished. He glanced at his feet. "You could come and stay. When the Store is demothinged."

  The Abbot laughed. "I'm not sure I'd fit in," he said. "I'm not sure I want to believe in your Outside. It sounds cold and dangerous. Anyway, I shall be going on a rather more mysterious journey. And now, please excuse me, I must rest." He thumped on the floor with his stick. Gurder appeared as if by magic.

  "Take Masklin away and educate him a little," said the Abbot, "and then the both of you come back here. But leave that black box, please. I wish to learn more about it. Put it on the floor."

  Masklin did so. The Abbot poked it with his stick.

  "Black box," he said, "what are you, and what is your purpose?"

  "I am the Flight Recorder and Navigation Computer of the starship Swan. I have many functions. My current major function is to guide and advise those nomes shipwrecked when their scout ship crashed here fifteen thousand years ago."

  "It talks like this all the time," said Masklin apologetically.

  "Who are these nomes of which you speak?" said the Abbot.

  "All nomes."

  "Is that your only purpose?"

  "I have also been given the task of keeping nomes safe and taking them home."

  "Very commendable," said the Abbot. He looked up at the other two. "Run along, then," he commanded. "Show him a little of the world, Gurder. And then I shall have a task for both of you."

  Educate him a little, the Abbot had said.

  That meant starting with The Book of Nome, which consisted of pieces of paper sewn together with marks on them.

  "Humans use it for cigarettes," said Gurder, and read the first dozen verses. They listened in silence, and then Granny Morkie said, "So this Arnold Bros –"

  "– (est. 1905) –" said Gurder primly.

  "Whatever," said Granny. "He built the Store just for nomes?"

  "Er. Ye-ess," said Gurder, uncertainly.

  "What was here before, then?" said Granny.

  "The Site." Gurder looked uncomfortable. "You see, the Abbot says there is nothing outside the Store. Um."

  "But we've come –"

  "He says that tales of Outside are just dreams."

  "So when I said all that about where we lived, he was just laughing at me?" said Masklin.

  "It is often very hard to know what the Abbot really believes," said Gurder. "I think most of all he believes in Abbots."

  "You believe us, don't you?" said Grimma. Gurder nodded, half-hesitantly.

  "I've often wondered where the trucks go, and where the humans come from," he said. "The Abbot gets very angry when you mention it, though. The other thing is, there's been a new season. That means something. Some of us have been watching humans, and when there's a new season something unusual is happening."

  "How can you have seasons when you don't know about weather?" said Masklin.

  Weather has got nothing to do with seasons. Look, someone can take the old people down to the Food Hall, and I'll show you two. It's all very odd. But –" and now Gurder's face was a picture of misery "– Arnold Bros (est. 1905) wouldn't destroy the Store, would he?"

  6

  III. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) said, Let there be Signs, so that All within shall know the Proper Running of the Store.

  IV. On the Moving Stairs, let the Sign Be: Dogs and Pushchairs Must be Carried;

  V. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) waxed wroth, for many carried neither dog nor pushchair;

  VI. On the Lifts, let the Sign Be: This Lift to Carry Ten Persons;

  VII. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) waxed wroth, for oftimes the Lifts carried only two or three;

  VIII. And Arnold Bros (est. 1905) said, Truly Humans are Stupid, who do not understand plain language.

  From The Book of Nome, Regulations v. III–VIII

  It was a long walk through the busy underfloor world.

  They found that Stationeri could go where they liked. The other departments didn't fear them, because the Stationeri weren't a true department. There were no women and children, for one thing.

  "So people have to join?" said Masklin.

  "We are selected," Gurder corrected. "Several intelligent boys from each department every year. But when you're a Stationeri, you have to forget about your department and serve the whole Store."

  "Why can't women be Stationeri, then?" said Grimma.

  "It's a well-known fact that women can't read," said Gurder. "It's not their fault, of course. Apparently their brains get too hot. With the strain, you know. It's just one of those things."

  "Fancy," said Grimma. Masklin glanced sideways at her. He'd heard her use that sweet, innocent tone of voice before. It meant that, pretty soon, there was going to be trouble.

  Trouble or not, it was amazing the effect that Gurder had on people. They would stand aside and bow slightly as he went past, and one or two of them held small children up and pointed him out. Even the guards at the border-crossings touched their helmets respectfully.

  All around them was the bustle of the Store moving through time. Thousands of nomes, Masklin thought. I didn't even think there were any numbers that big. A world made up of people.

  He remembered hunting alone, running along the deep furrows in the big field behind the motorway. There was nothing around but earth and flints, stretching into the distance. The
whole sky was an upturned bowl with him at the centre.

  Here, he felt that if he turned round suddenly he would knock someone over. He wondered what it would be like, living here and never knowing anywhere else. Never being cold, never being wet, never being afraid.

  You might start thinking it was never possible to be anything else...

  He was vaguely aware that they'd gone up a slope and out through another gap into the big emptiness of the Store itself. It was night – Closing Time – but there were bright lights in the sky, except that he'd have to start learning to call it the ceiling.

  "This is the Haberdashery Department," said Gurder. "Now, do you see the sign hanging up there?"

  Masklin peered into the misty distance and nodded. He could see it. It had huge red letter shapes on a white banner.

  "It should say Christmas Fayre," said the Stationeri. "That's the right season, it comes after Summer Bonanza and before Spring Into Spring Fashions. But instead it says –" Gurder narrowed his eyes, and his lips moved soundlessly for a moment "– Final Reductions. We've been wondering what that means."

  "This is just a thought," said Grimma, sarcastically, "it's only a small idea, you understand. I expect big ideas would make my head explode. But doesn't it mean, well, everything is finally being reduced?"

  "Oh, it can't mean anything as simple as that. You have to interpret these signs," said Gurder. "Once they had one saying Fire Sale, and we didn't see them sell any fire."

  "What do all the other things say?" said Masklin. Everything being Finally Reduced was too horrible to think about.

  "Well, that one over there says Everything Must Go," said Gurder. "But that turns up every year. It's Arnold Bros (est. 1905)"s way of telling us that we must lead good lives because we all die eventually. And those two over there, they're always there too." He looked solemn. "No one really believes them any more. There were wars over them, years ago. Silly superstition, really. I mean, I don't think there is a monster called Prices Slashed who walks around the Store at night, seeking out bad people. It's just something to frighten naughty children with."

  Gurder bit his lip. "There's another odd thing," he said. "See those things against the wall? They're called shelves. Sometimes humans take things off them, sometimes they put things on them. But just lately... well, they just take things away."