'What happens if I go and pull his nose?' whispered Granny, in a hoarse whisper.
'It would be extremely painful,' said Dorcas.
'Good.' 'I mean, for you.' The Abbot rose hesitantly to his feet.
'I am a tolerant nome,' he said. 'You speculate about things Outside, and I do not mind, I say it is good mental exercise. We wouldn't be nomes if we didn't sometimes allow our minds to wander. But to insist that it is real, that is not to be tolerated. Little tricksy toys ...' He hobbled forward and brought one stick down sharply on the Thing, which buzzed. 'Intolerable! There is nothing Outside, and no one to live in it! Life in other Stores, pah! Audience concluded! Be off with you.' 'I can stand an impact of two thousand five hundred tons,' said the Thing smugly, although no one took much notice.
'Away! Away!' shouted the Abbot, and Masklin saw that he was trembling.
That was the strange thing about the Store. Only a few days ago there weren't that many things you needed to know, and they mainly involved big hungry creatures and how to avoid them. Fieldcraft, Torrit had called it. Now it was beginning to dawn on Masklin that there was a different sort of knowledge, and it consisted of the things you needed to understand in order to survive among other nomes. Things like: be very careful when you tell people things they don't want to hear. And: the thought that they may be wrong makes people very angry.
Some of the lesser Stationeri ushered them hurriedly through the doorway. It was done quite expertly, without any of them actually touching Masklin's people or even looking them in the face. Several of them scattered hastily away from Torrit when he picked up the Thing and held it protectively.
Finally Granny Morkie's temper, which was never particularly long, shortened to vanishing point. She grabbed the nearest monk by his black robe and held him up inches in front of her nose. His eyes crossed frantically with the effort of not seeing her. She poked him violently in the chest.
'Do you feel my finger?' she demanded. 'Do you feel it? Not here, am I?' 'Indigenous!' said Torrit.
The monk solved his immediate problem by giving a little whimper and fainting.
'Let's get away from here,' said Dorcas hurriedly. 'I suspect it's only a small step between not seeing people and making sure they don't exist.' '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 lnto 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.