One of the young nomes brought some food after a while. And they talked, and argued, and often contradicted one another, while Dorcas listened, and asked questions.
He was, he told them, an inventor. Especially of things to do with electricity. Back in the early days, when the nomes first began to tap into the Store's wiring, a good many had been killed. They'd found safer ways to do it now, but it was still a bit of a mystery and there weren't many who were keen to get close to it. That's why the leaders of the big families, and even the Abbot of the Stationeri himself, left him alone. It was always a good idea, he said, to be good at something other F people couldn't or didn't, want to do. So they put up with him sometimes wondering, out loud, about the Outside. Provided he wasn't too loud.
'I shan't remember it all,' he sighed. 'What was the other light, the one that you get at Closing Time? Sorry, I mean bite.' 'Night,' corrected Masklin. 'It's called the moon.' 'Moon,' said Dorcas, roffing the word around his mouth. 'But it's not as bright as the sun? Strange, really. It'd be more sensible to have the brightest light at night, not during the day, when you can see anyway. I suppose you've no idea why, have you?' 'It just happens,' said Masklin.
'I'd give anything to see for myself. I used to go and watch the lorries when! was a lad, but! never had the courage to get on one.' He leaned closer.
'I reckon,' he said, 'that Arnold Bros (est. 1905) put us in the Store to find out things. To learn about it. Otherwise, why have we got brains? What do you think?' Masklin was rather flattered at being asked, but he was interrupted as soon as he opened his mouth. 'People keep talking about Arnold Bros (est. 1905),' said Grimma. 'No one actually says who he is, though.' Dorcas leaned back. 'Oh, he created the Store. In 1905, you know. The Bargain Basement, Consumer Accounts, and everything between. I can't deny it. I mean, someone must have done it. But I keep telling people, that doesn't mean we shouldn't think about-' The green light on the Thing went off. Its little spinning cup vanished. It made a faint whirring sound, such as a machine would make to clear its throat.
'I am monitoring telephonic communications,' it said.
The nomes looked at one another.
Well, that's nice,' said Grimma. 'Isn't that nice, Masklin?' 'I have urgent information to impart to the leaders of this community. Are you aware that you are living in a constructed entity with a limited life?' 'Fascinating,' said Dorcas. 'All those words. You could imagine you could almost understand what it's saying. There's things up there,' he jerked his thumb to the floorboards above them, 'that're just like that. Radios, they're called. With pictures, too. Amazing.' 'Vitally important I communicate information of utmost significance to community leaders, concerning imminent destruction of this artifact,' intoned the Thing.
'I'm sorry,' said Masklin. 'Could you try that again?' 'You do not comprehend?' 'I don't know what "comprehend" means.' 'Evidently language has changed in ways I do not understand.' Masklin tried to look helpful.
'I will endeavour to clarify my statement,' said the Thing. A few lights flashed.
'Jolly good,' said Masklin.
'Big-fella Store him go Bang along plenty soon enough chop-chop?' said the Thing, hopefully.
The nomes watched one another's faces. There didn't seem to be any light dawning.
The Thing cleared its throat again. 'Do you know the meaning of the word "destroyed"?' it said.
'Oh, yes,' said Dorcas.
'That's what is going to happen to the Store. In twenty-one days.'
4
i. Woe unto you, Ironmongri and Haberdasheri; woe unto you, Millineri and Del Icatessen; woe unto you, Young Fashiones, and unto you, you bandits of Corsetry. And even unto to you, Stationeri.
ii. For the Store is but a Place inside the Outside.
iii. Woe unto you, for Arnold Bros (est. 1905) has opened the Last Sale. Everything Must Go.
iv. But they mocked him and said, You are an Outsider, You don't even Exist.
From The Book of Nome, Goods Inwards v.I-IV Overhead the humans plodded through their slow and incomprehensible lives. Below, so that that the din was muffled by carpet and floorboards into a distant rumbling, the nomes straggled hurriedly along their dusty passageways.
'It couldn't of meant it,' said Granny Morkie. 'This place is too big. Place as big as this can't be de-stroyed Stands to reason.' 'I tole you, dint I?' panted Torrit, who always cheered up immensely at any news of devastation and terror. 'They always said the Thing knows things. And don't you go tellin' me to shut up, you.' 'Why do we have to run?' said Masklin. 'I mean, twenty-one days is a long time.' 'Not in politics,' said Dorcas grimly.
'I thought this was the Store?' Dorcas stopped so suddenly that Granny Morkie cannoned into the back of him.
'Look,' he said, with impatient patience. 'What do you think nomes should do, eh, if the Store is destroyed?' 'Go outside, of-' Masklin began.
'But most of them don't even believe the Outside really exists! Even I'm not quite sure about it, and I have an extremely intelligent and questioning mind! There isn't anywhere to go. Do you understand me?' 'There's masses of outside-' 'Only if you believe in it!' 'No, it's really there!' 'I'm afraid people are more complicated than you think. But we ought to see the Abbot, anyway Dreadful old tyrant, of course, but quite bright in his way. It's just a rather stuffy way.' He looked hard at them.
'Possibly best if we don't draw attention to ourselves,' he added. 'People tend to leave me alone, but it's not a wise thing for people to wander around outside their department without good reason. And since you haven't got a department at all...' He shrugged. He managed, in one shift of his shoulders, to hint at all the unpleasant things that could happen to departmentless wanderers.
It meant using the lift again. It led into a dusty underfloor area, dimly lit by well-spaced, weak bulbs. No one seemed to be around. After the bustle of the other departments it was almost unpleasantly quiet. Even quieter, Masklin thought, than the big fields. After all, they were meant to be quiet. The underfloor spaces should have nomes in.
They all sensed it. They drew closer to one another.
'What dear little lights,' said Grimma, to break the silence. 'Nome-size. All different colours, look. And some of them flash on and off.' 'We steal boxes of 'em every year, around Christmas Fayre,' said Dorcas, without looking around. 'Humans put them on trees.' 'Why?' 'Search me. To see 'em better, I suppose. You can never tell, with humans,' said Dorcas.
'But you know what trees are, then,' said Masklin. 'I didn't think you'd have them in the Store.' 'Of course I know,' said Dorcas. 'Big green things with plastic prickles on. Some of 'em are made of tinsel. You can't move for the damn things every Christmas Fayre, I told you.' 'The ones we have outside are huge,' Masklin ventured. 'And they have these leaves, which fall off every year.' Dorcas gave him an odd look.
'What do you mean, fall off?' he said.
'They just curl up and fall off,' said Masklin. The other nomes nodded. There were a lot of things lately they weren't certain about, but they were experts on what happened to leaves every year.
'And this happens every year?' said Dorcas.
'Oh, yes.' 'Really?' said Dorcas. 'Fascinating. And who sticks them back on?' 'No one,' said Masklin. 'They just turn up again, eventually.' 'All by themselves?' They nodded. When there's one thing you're certain of, you hang on to it. 'They seem to,' said Masklin. 'We've never really found out why. It just happens.' The Store nome scratched his head. Well,! don't know,' he said uncertainly. 'It sounds like very sloppy management to me. Are you sure? 'There were suddenly figures surrounding them. One minute dust heaps, the next minute people. The one right in front of the party had a beard, a patch over one eye, and a knife clutched in his teeth. It somehow made his grin so much worse.