'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.

'Oh, dear,' said Dorcas.

'Who're they?' hissed Masklin. 'Bandits. That's always a problem in Corsetry,' said Dorcas, raising his hands. 'What's bandits?' said Masklin blankly. What's Corsetry?' said Grimma. Dorcas pointed a finger at the floorboards over­head. 'It's up there,' he said. 'A department. Only no one's really interested in it because there's nothing in it of any use. It's mainly pink,' he added. 'Sometimes the elastic-' 'Orr ossessionz orr orr ife,' said the head bandit impatiently.

'Pardon?' said Grimma.

'I edd, orr ossessionz orr orr ife!' 'I think it's the knife,' said Masklin. 'I think we'd understand you if you took the knife out.' The bandit glared at them with his one good eye, but took the knife blade out of his mouth.

'I said, your possessions or your life!' he repeated.

Masklin gave Dorcas a questioning look. The old nome waved his hands.

'He wants you to give him everything you have,'he said. 'He won't kill you, of course, but they can be rather unpleasant.' The Outside nomes went into a huddle. This was something beyond their experience. The idea of stealing was a new one to them. Back home there had never been anyone to steal from. If it came to that, there had never been anything to steal.

'Don't they understand plain Nome?' said the bandit.

Dorcas gave him a sheepish grin. 'You'll have to excuse them,' he said. 'They're new here.' Masklin turned around.

'We've decided,' he said. 'If it's the same to you, we'll keep what we have. Sorry.' He gave Dorcas and the bandit a bright smile. The bandit returned it. At least, he opened his mouth and showed a lot of teeth.

'Er,' said Dorcas, 'you can't say that, you know. You can't say you don't want to be robbed!' He saw Masklin's look of complete bewilderment. 'Robbed,' he repeated. 'It means having your things taken away from you. You just can't say you don't want it to happen!' 'Why not?' said Grimma.