"We could stay and fight," said Grimma. Dorcas growled. "Oh, that's easy. We fight all the time. Bicker, bicker, bicker. That's nomish nature for you."
"I mean, fight the humans. Fight for the quarry."
There was a long pause.
Then Dorcas said, "What, us? Fight humans'?"
"Yes."
"But they're bumansV
"Yes."
"But they're so much bigger than we are!" said Dorcas desperately.
"Then they'll make better targets," said Grimma, her eyes alight. "And we're faster than them, and smarter than them, and we know they exist and we have," she added, "the element of surprise."
"The what?" said Dorcas, totally lost.
"The element of surprise. They don't know we're here," she explained.
He gave her a sidelong glance.
"You've been reading strange books again," he said.
"Well, it's better than sitting around wringing your hands and saying, 'Oh dear, oh dear, the humans are coming and we shall all be squashed.' "
"That's all very well," said Dorcas. "But what are you suggesting?
Bashing them over the head would be really tricky, take it from me." "Not their heads," said Grimma. Dorcas stared at her. Fight humans? It was such a novel idea it was hard to get your mind around it.
But ... well, there was that book, wasn't there? The one Masklin had found in the Store, the one that had given him the idea for driving thetruck. What was it? Gulliver's Travels? And there'd been this picture ofa human lying down, with what looked like nomes tying it up with hundredsof ropes. Not even the oldest nomes could remember it ever happening; itmust have been a long time ago.
A snag struck him.
"Hang on a minute," he said. "If we start fighting humans ..." His voice trailed off.
"Yes?" said Grimma impatiently.
"They'll start fighting us, won't they? I know they're not very bright, but it'll dawn on them that something's happening and they'll fight back. Retaliation, that's called."
"That's right," said Grimma. "And that's why it's vitally important we retaliate right at the start." Dorcas thought about this. It seemed a logical idea. "But only in self-defense," he said. "Only in self-defense. Even with humans. I don't want there to be any unnecessary suffering."
"I suppose so," she said.
"You really think we could fight humans?"
"Oh, yes."
"So ... how?"
Grimma bit her lip. "Hmm," she said, "Young Sacco and his friends. Can you trust them?"
"They're keen lads. And lasses, one or two of them." He smiled. "Always ready for something new." "Right. Then we shall need some nails ..."
"You've really been thinking hard, haven't you?" said Dorcas. He was almost in awe. Grimma was often bad tempered. He thought perhaps it was because her mind worked very fast, sometimes, and she was impatient with people who weren't keeping up. But now she was furious. You could begin to feel sorry for any humans who got in her way.
"I've been doing a lot of reading," she said.
"Er, yes. Yes, I can see," said Dorcas. "But, er, I wonder if it wouldn't be more sensible to-"
"We're not going to run away again," she said flatly. "We shall fight them on the tracks. We shall fight them at the gates. We shall fight them in the quarry. And we shall never surrender."
"What does 'surrender' mean?" said Dorcas, desperately.
"We don't know the meaning of surrender," said Grimma.
"Well, I don't," said Dorcas.
Grimma leaned against the wall.
"Do you want to hear something strange?" she Dorcas thought about it.
"I don't mind," he said.
"There's books about us."
"Like Gulliver, you mean?"
"No. That was about a human. About us, I mean. Ordinary-size people, like us. But wearing all green suits and with little knobbly stalks on their heads. Sometimes humans put out bowls of milk for us and we do all the housework for them. And we have wings, like bees. That's what gets put in books about us. They call us pixies. It's in a book called Fairy Tales for Little Folk.'" "I don't think the wings would work," said Dorcas doubtfully. "I don't think you could get the lifting power."
"And they think we live in mushrooms," Grimma finished.
"Hmm? Doesn't sound very practical to me," said Dorcas.
"And they think we repair shoes." "That's a bit more like it," said Dorcas. "Good solid work."
"And the book said we paint the flowers to make them pretty colors," said Grimma. I Dorcas thought about this.
"Nah," he said eventually. "I've looked at the colors on flowers. They'redefinitely built-in."
"We're real," said Grimma. "We do real things. So why do you think thatsort of thing goes in books?"
"Search me," said Dorcas. "I only read manuals.
It's not a proper book, I've always said, unless it's got lists and linedrawings in it."
"If ever humans do catch us, that's what we'll become," said Grimma.
"Sweet little people, painting flowers. They won't let us be anythingelse. They'll turn us into little people." She sighed. "Do you ever getthe feeling you'll never know anything you ought to know?"
"Oh, yes. All the time."
Grimma frowned.
"I know one thing," she said. "When Masklin comes back, he's going tohave somewhere to come back to."
"Oh," said Dorcas.
"Oh," he repeated. "Oh. I see."
It was bitterly cold in the Cat's lair. Other nomes never came in, because it was drafty and stank. That suited Dorcas fine.
He padded across the floor and went under the huge tarpaulin where theCat lived. It took quite a long time to climb up to his preferred perchon the monster, even using the bits of wood and string he'd painstakinglytied to him ... it.
He sat down and waited until he got his breath back.
"I only want to help people," he said quietly. Like giving them thingslike electricity and making their lives better. But they never saythank you, y°u know. They wanted me to paint signs, so I Painted signs.
Now Grimma wants to fight humans. She's got lots of ideas out of books.
I know she's doing it to help forget about Masklin but no good will comeof it, you mark my words. But if I don't help, things will only getworse. I don't want anybody to get hurt. People like us can't be repairedas easily as people like you."
He drummed his heels on the Cat's. What would it be? The Cat's neck, probably.
"It's all right for you," he said. "Sleeping quietly here all the time.
Having a nice rest ..."
He stared at the Cat for a long while.
Then, very quietly, he said, "I wonder ... ?"
Five long minutes went past. Dorcas appeared and reappeared among thecomplicated shadows, muttering to himself, saying things like, "That's dead, that's no good, we need a new battery," and "Seems okay, nothingthat a good clean couldn't put right," and "Hmm, not much in your tank ..."
Finally he walked out from under the dusty tarp and rubbed his handstogether.
Everyone has a purpose in life, he thought. It's what keeps them going.
Nisodemus wants things to be as they were. Grimma wants Masklin back. AndMasklin . . no one knows exactly what it is that Masklin wants, exceptthat it's very big.
But they all have this purpose. If you have a purpose in life, you canfeel six inches tall.
And now I've found one.
Wow.
The human came back later and it did not come alone. There was the Land-Rover and a much larger truck, with the words Blackbury Stone andGravel Inc. painted on the side. Its tires turned the thin coating ofsnow into glistening mud.
It ~iolted up the dirt road, slowed down as it came out into the openarea in front of the quarry gates, and stopped.