Diggers (7 page)

“That's why Arnold Bros Established the Store in 1905,” said Nisodemus. “A
proper
place for, um, nomes to live.”

Dorcas gently grabbed Sacco's ear and pulled the young nome toward him.

“Do you know where Grimma is?” he whispered.

“Isn't she here?”

“I'm quite sure she isn't,” said Dorcas. “She'd have had something very sharp to say by now if she was. She may have stayed in the school hole with the children when the bell went. It's just as well.”

Nisodemus has got something on his mind, he thought. I'm not certain what it is, but it smells bad.

And it got worse as the day wore on, especially since it began to rain. A nasty, freezing sort of rain. Sleet, according to Granny Morkie. It was soggy, not really water but not quite ice. Rain with bones.

Somehow it seemed to find its way into places where ordinary rain hadn't managed to get. Dorcas organized younger nomes to digging drainage trenches and rigged up a few of the big light bulbs for heat. The older nomes sat hunched around them, sneezing and grumbling.

Granny Morkie did her best to cheer them up. Dorcas began to really wish the old woman wouldn't do that.

“This ain't nothing,” she said. “I remember the Great Flood. Made our hole cave right in—we was cold and drenched for days!” She cackled and rocked backward and forward. “Like drownded rats, we was! Not a dry stitch on, you know, and no fire for a week. Talk about a laugh!”

The Store nomes stared at her and shivered.

“And you don't want to go worrying about crossing them open fields,” she went on, conversationally. “Nine times out o' ten you don't get et by anything.”

“Oh, dear,” said a lady nome, faintly.

“Yes, I've been out in fields hundreds o' times. It's a doddle if you stay close to the hedge and keep your eyes open. You hardly ever have to run very much,” said Granny.

No one's temper was improved when they learned that the Land Rover had parked right on the patch of ground they were going to plant things in. The nomes had spent ages during the summer hacking the hard ground into something resembling soil. They'd even planted seeds, which hadn't grown. Now there were two great ruts in it, and a new padlock and chain on the gate.

The sleet was already filling the ruts. Oil had leaked in and formed a rainbow sheen on the surface.

And all the time, Nisodemus was reminding people how much better it had been in the Store. They didn't really need much persuading. After all, it
had
been better. Much better.

I mean, thought Dorcas, we can keep warm and there's plenty of food, although there is a limit to the number of ways you can cook rabbit and potatoes. The trouble is, Masklin thought that once we got outside the Store, we'd all be digging and building and hunting and facing the future with strong chins and bright smiles. Some of the youngsters are doing well enough, I'll grant you. But us old 'uns are too set in our ways. It's all right for me, I like tinkering with things, I can be useful, but the rest of them, well . . . all they've really got to occupy themselves is grumbling, and they've become really
good
at that.

I wonder what Nisodemus's game is. He's too keen, if you ask me.

I wish Masklin would come back.

Even young Gurder wasn't too bad.

It's been three days now.

At a time like this, he knew he'd feel better if he went and looked at Big John.

I. For in the Hill was a Dragon, from the days when the World was made.

II. But it was old and broken and dying.

III. And the Mark of the Dragon was on it.

IV. And the Mark was Big John.

From
The Book of Nome,
Big John Chap. 1, v. I–IV

B
IG JOHN
.

Big John was his. His little secret. His
big
secret, really. No one else knew about Big John, not even Dorcas's assistants.

He'd been pottering around in the big old half-ruined sheds on the other side of the quarry, one day back in the summer. He hadn't really had any aim in mind, except perhaps the possibility of finding a useful bit of wire or something.

So he'd rummaged around in the shadows, straightened up, glanced above him
and there Big John was
.

With his mouth open.

It had been a terrible few seconds until Dorcas's eyes adjusted to the distance.

After that, he'd spent a lot of time with Big John, poking around, finding out about it. Or
him
. Big John was definitely a him. A terrible him, perhaps, and old and wounded, like a dragon that had come here for one last final sleep. Or perhaps it was like one of those big animals Grimma had showed him in a book once. Diner soars.

But Big John didn't grumble, and he didn't keep on asking Dorcas why he hadn't got around to inventing radio
yet
. Dorcas had spent many a peaceful hour getting to know Big John. He was someone to talk to. He was the best kind of person to talk to, in fact, because you didn't have to listen to him back.

Dorcas shook his head. There was no time for that sort of thing now. Everything was going wrong.

Instead, he went to find Grimma. She seemed to have her head screwed on right, even if she was a girl.

The school hole was under the floor of the old shed with
Canteen
on the door. It was Grimma's personal world. She'd invented schools for children, on the basis that since reading and writing were quite difficult, it was best to get them over with early.

The library was also kept there.

In those last hectic hours, the nomes had managed to rescue about thirty books from the Store. Some were very useful—
Gardening All the Year Round
was well thumbed, and Dorcas knew
Essential Theory for the Amateur Engineer
almost by heart—but some were, well, difficult, and not opened much.

Grimma was standing in front of one of these when he wandered in. She was biting her thumb, which she always did when she was concentrating.

He had to admire the way she read. Not only was Grimma the best reader among the nomes, she also had an amazing ability to understand what she was reading.

“Nisodemus is causing trouble,” he said, sitting down on a bench.

“I know,” said Grimma vaguely. “I've heard.” She grabbed the edge of the page in both hands and turned it over with a grunt of effort.

“I don't know what he's got to gain,” said Dorcas.

“Power,” said Grimma. “We've got a
power vacuum
, you see.”

“I don't think we have,” said Dorcas uncertainly. “I've never seen one here. There were plenty in the Store.
Sixty-Nine Ninety-Five With Range Of Attachments For Round-The-House Cleanliness
,” he added, remembering with a sigh the familiar signs.

“No, it's not a thing like that,” said Grimma. “It's what you get when no one's in charge. I've been reading about them.”

“
I'm
in charge, aren't I?” said Dorcas plaintively.

“No,” said Grimma, “because no one really listens to you.”

“Oh. Thank you very much.”

“It's not your fault. People like Masklin and Angalo and Gurder can make people listen to them, but you don't seem to keep their attention.”

“Oh.”

“But you can make nuts and bolts listen to you. Not everyone can do that.”

Dorcas thought about this. He would never have put it like that himself. Was it a compliment? He decided it probably was.

“When people are faced with lots of troubles and they don't know what to do, there's always someone ready to say anything, just to get some power,” said Grimma.

“Never mind. When the others get back, I'm sure they'll sort it all out,” said Dorcas, more cheerfully than he felt.

“Yes, they'll—” Grimma began, and then stopped. After a while Dorcas realized that her shoulders were shaking.

“Is there anything the matter?” he said.

“It's been more than three whole days!” sobbed Grimma. “
No one's
ever been away that long before! Something must have happened to them!”

“Er,” said Dorcas, “well, they
were
going to look for Grandson Richard, 39, and we can't be sure that—”

“And I was so nasty to him before he went! I told him about the frogs and all he could think of was socks!”

Dorcas couldn't quite see how frogs had got involved. When he sat and talked to Big John, frogs were never dragged into the conversation.

“Er?” he said.

Grimma, in between sobs, told him about the frogs.

“And I'm sure he didn't even begin to understand what I meant,” she mumbled. “And you won't either.”

“Oh, I don't know,” said Dorcas. “You mean that the world was once so simple, and suddenly it's full of amazingly interesting things that you'll never ever get to the end of as long as you live. Like biology. Or climatology. I mean, before all you Outsiders came, I was just tinkering with things and I really didn't know anything about the world.”

He stared at his feet. “I'm still very ignorant,” he said, “but at least I'm ignorant about really important things. Like what the sun is, and why it rains. That's what you're talking about.”

She sniffed and smiled a bit, but not too much, because if there is one thing worse than someone who doesn't understand you, it's someone who understands perfectly, before you've had a chance to have a good pout about not being understood.

“The thing
is
,” she said, “that he still thinks I'm the person he used to know when we all lived in the old hole in the bank. You know, running around. Cooking things. Bandaging up people when they'd been hur-hur-hur—”

“Now then, now then,” said Dorcas. He was always at a loss when people acted like this. When machines went funny, you just oiled them or prodded them or, if nothing else worked, hit them with a hammer. Nomes didn't respond well to this treatment.

“Supposing he never comes back?” she said, dabbing at her eyes.

“Of course he'll come back,” said Dorcas reassuringly. “What could have happened to him, after all?”

“He could have been eaten or run over or trodden on or blown away or fallen down a hole or trapped,” said Grimma.

“Er, yes,” said Dorcas. “Apart from that, I meant.”

“But I shall pull myself together,” said Grimma, sticking out her chin. “When he
does
come back, he won't be able to say, ‘Oh, I see everything's gone to pieces while I've been away.'”

“Jolly good,” said Dorcas. “That's the spirit. Keep yourself occupied, that's what I always say. What's the book called?”

“It's
A Treasury of Proverbs and Quotations
,” said Grimma.

“Oh. Anything useful in it?”

“That,” said Grimma distantly, “depends.”

“Oh. What's ‘Proverbs' mean?”

“Not sure. Some of them don't make much sense. Do you know, humans think the world was made by a sort of big human?”

“Get out!”

“It took a week.”

“I expect it had some help, then,” said Dorcas. “You know. With the heavy stuff.” Dorcas thought of Big John. You could do a lot in a week, with Big John helping.

“No. All by himself, apparently.”

“Hmm.” Dorcas considered this. Certainly bits of the world were rough, and things like grass seemed simple enough. But from what he'd heard, it all broke down every year and had to be started up again in the spring, and—“I don't know,” he said. “Only humans could believe something like that. There's a good few months' work, if I'm any judge.”

Grimma turned the page. “Masklin used to believe—I mean, Masklin
believes
—that humans are much brighter than we think.” She looked thoughtful. “I really wish we could study them properly,” she said. “I'm sure we could learn a—”