'Because-' the old nome hesitated. 'I don't know, really. Tradition, I suppose.' The bandit chief tossed his knife from one hand to the other. 'Tell you what I'll do,' he said, 'you being new and everything. We'll hardly hurt you at all. Get them!' Two bandits grabbed Granny Morkie.
This turned out tobe a mistake. Her bony right hand flashed out and there were two ringing slaps.
'Cheek!' she snapped, as the nomes staggered sideways, clutching their ears.
A bandit who tried to hold old Torrit got a pointed elbow in his stomach. One waved a knife at Grimma, who caught his wrist; the knife dropped from his hand and he sank to his knees, making pathetic bubbling noises.
Masklin leaned down, grabbed a handful of the chief's shirt in one hand, and lifted him up to eye-level.
'I'm not sure we fully understand this custom,' he said. 'But nomes shouldn't hurt other nomes, don't you think?' 'Ahahaha,' said the chief, nervously.
'So I think perhaps it would be a good idea if you go away, don't you?' He let go. The bandit scrabbled on the floor for his knife, gave Masklin another anxious grin, and ran for it. The rest of the band hurried after him, or at least limped fast.
Masklin turned to Dorcas, who was shaking with laughter.
Well,' he said, 'what was that all about?' Dorcas leaned against a wall for support.
'You really don't know, do you?' he said.
'No,' said Masklin patiently. 'That's why! asked, you see.' 'The Corsetri are bandits. They take things that don't belong to them. They hide out in Corsetry because it's more trouble than it's worth to anyone to drag them out,' said Dorcas. 'Usually they just try to frighten people. They're really just a bit of a nuisance.' 'Why'd that one have his knife in his mouth?' said Grimma.
'It's supposed to make him look tough and devil-may-care, I think.' 'I think it makes him look silly,' said Grimma flatly.
'He'll feel the back of my hand if he comes back here,' said Granny Morkie.
'I don't think they'll be back. I think they were a bit shocked to have people hit them, in fact,' said Dorcas. He laughed. 'You know, I'm really looking forward to seeing what effect you lot have on the Abbot. I don't think we've ever seen anything like you. You'll be like a a what's that stuff you said there's a lot of Outside?' 'Fresh air?' said Masklin.
'That's right. Fresh air.' And so they came, eventually, to the Stationeri.
Go to the Stationeri or go Outside, the Duke had said, meaning that he didn't see a lot of difference between the two. And there was no doubt that the other great families distrusted the Stationeri, who they reckoned had strange and terrifying powers.
After all, they could read and write. Anyone who can tell you what a piece of paper is saying must be strange.
They also understood Arnold Bros (est. 1905)'s messages in the sky.
But it is very hard to meet someone who believes you don't exist.
Masklin had always thought that Torrit looked old, but the Abbot looked so old that he must have been around to give Time itself a bit of a push. He walked with the aid of two sticks, and a couple of younger nomes hovered behind him in case he needed support. His face was a bag of wrinkles, out of which his eyes stared like two sharp black holes.
The tribe clustered up behind Masklin, as they always did now when they were worried.
The Abbot's guest hall was an area walled with cardboard, near one of the lifts. Occasionally one went past, shaking down some dust.
The Abbot was helped to his chair and sat down slowly, while his assistants fussed around him. Then he leaned forward.
'Ah,' he said, 'Del Icatessen, isn't it? Invented anything lately?' 'Not lately, my lord,' said Dorcas. 'My lord, I have the honour to present to you-' 'I can't see anyone,' said the Abbot, smoothly.
'Must be blind,' sniffed Granny.
'And I can't hear anyone, either,' said the Abbot. 'Be quiet,' Dorcas hissed. 'Someone's told him about you! He won't let himself see you! My lord,' he said loudly, turning back, 'I bring strange news. The Store is going to be demolished!' It didn't have quite the effect Masklin had expected. The Stationeri priests behind the Abbot sniggered to themselves, and the Abbot permitted himself a faint smile.
'Dear me,' he said. 'And when is this terrible event likely to occur?' 'In twenty-one days, my lord.' Well, then,' said the Abbot in a kindly voice, 'you run along now and, afterwards, tell us what it was like.' This time the priests grinned.
'My lord, this is no-' The Abbot raised a gnarled hand. 'I'm sure you know a great deal about electricity, Dorcas, but you must know that every time there is a Grand Final Sale excitable people say "The end of the Store is nigh". And, strangely enough, life goes on.' - Masklin felt the Abbot's gaze on him. For someone who was invisible, he seemed to be attracting considerable attention.
'My lord, it is rather more than that,' said Dorcas stiffly.
'Oh? Did the electricity tell you?' said the Abbot mockingly.
Dorcas nudged Masklin in the ribs. 'Now,' he said.
Masklin stepped forward and put the Thing down on the floor.
'Now,' he whispered.
'Am I in the presence of community leaders?' said the Thing.
'About as much as you ever will be,' said Dorcas. The Abbot stared at the box.
'I will use small words,' said the Thing. 'I am the Flight Recording and Navigation Computer. A computer is a machine that thinks. Think, computer, think. See the computer think. I use elec-tricity. Sometimes elec-tricity can carry messages. I can hear the messages. I can under-stand the messages. Sometimes the messages go along wires called telephone wires. Sometimes they are in other computers. There is a computer in the Store. It pays humans their wages. I can hear it think. It thinks: no more Store soon, no more payroll, no more accounts. The telephone wires they say, Is that Grimethorpe Demolition Co.?, can we discuss final arrangements for the demolition, all stock will be out by the twenty-first-' 'Very amusing,' said the Abbot. 'How did you make it?' 'I didn't make it, my lord. These people brought it here-' Which people?' said the Abbot, looking straight through Masklln.
'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.