"Jonathan? Darling, are you awake?"

"I am now."

"Would you be a dear and get us another blanket? I'm freezing."

I sighed. "You," I said, "are becoming entirely too
domesticated." Nevertheless I threw back the covers and climbed out of
bed, wincing as I passed beyond the edge of the rug and my feet hit the cold
tile floor. Working entirely by feel--because there was not a glimmer of light
in the room--I made my way to the foot of the bed and opened the chest. Almost
immediately my questing fingers encountered the roughness of wool; and that was
good, because my wife was right: our bedroom was freezing.

The bed-covering that I drew out of the chest was--if memory served--dark
green in color; it was one of several dozen which had been cut from a very
slightly moth-eaten army surplus blanket during the rats' Wandering Days. This
particular piece, in fact, had a narrow stripe of black down one side: part of a
dye-stamped "U", as in "U.S." Working once again by touch,
I spread the blanket out over the bed and tucked it in loosely at the foot.

"That's better," Elizabeth said contentedly. She chuckled.
"Any colder and I think I'd go into hibernation. And I've got too much
work to do tomorrow."

"Me too." I glanced through the darkness in the general direction
of the stove, and I saw--or thought I saw, anyway--a tiny flickering bluish
flame. Briefly I considered turning it up...but finally, reluctantly, I abandoned
that idea. And what changed my mind was the soft sound of the living-room clock
striking one. Too many hours until morning; if I turned the stove up it would
probably run out of pressure and go out long before dawn. And then the room
would be colder than ever. No: better to rely on shared body heat--by no means
a bad thing.

Carefully rubbing my shoulder--three days after my accident, it still ached,
and the cold wasn't helping--I climbed back into bed. As she cuddled up close
to me, settling into my arms, Elizabeth said worriedly, "I hope the
children..."

"They're fine," I assured her firmly. "They have extra
blankets too, and enough sense to use them." I paused. "And they're
not children any more."

She sighed tragically. "I know," she said. "But I'll never stop
being their mother." For a moment she lay unmoving; then she said,
"How still it is tonight."

She was right, I suddenly realized. The Thorn Valley community was usually
quiet at night; though there were rats coming and going through the corridors
at almost all hours, they made little if any noise. But tonight there was
something...different. The silence seemed positively thick, almost
oppressive, as if the valley lay beneath a vast muffling shroud. It was a
phenomenon I had encountered before, somewhere...but I couldn't for the life of
me remember where.

Because you spent last winter in a storeroom at NIMH, I suddenly
realized. And with that thought I once again tossed aside the bolstered
bedcovers and stood. "Jonathan?" Elizabeth said in alarm.
"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said. "I just think...No, it can't be. Can
it?" I hauled myself up into the window-seat, and peered out through the
narrow gap between the curtains. "Well I'll be," I said. "He was
right after all."

"Who was right? And what was he right about?" Elizabeth demanded
in irritation.

"Arthur," I told her. I climbed down and pulled the curtains wide.
Outside it was very nearly pitch-black, but my dark-adapted eyes could just
barely detect a kind of shimmering whiteness. It was something which, in my old
life on the farm, I had sometimes sat and watched for hours. In those days it
had represented trouble, of a sort which was no longer relevant; but even then,
it was a sight which I never had been able to get enough of.

"We'd better break out the shovels," I said. "And the sleds
too. It's snowing."

"You were right too," I told Justin.

I couldn't see his smile, but I did detect the twinkle in his eye, somewhere
in the narrow dark space between hood and scarf. "Well, that's nice to
know," he said, his voice somewhat muffled by that wide coil of
multicolored wool. He paused for a second, then "What about?" he
asked.

"A few days ago you told me that we were in for an early winter,"
I explained. "At the time I didn't believe you--but I do now. I have
to."

As it happened, we were standing in the exact same place where he had
pronounced that particular bit of prophecy: a narrow ridge overlooking the
farm. The prospect before us could not have been more different, though, and
the change had occurred quite literally overnight.

The snowfall had ended at about six in the morning, though judging by the
look of the clouds--and the temperature--it could start again at any time. In
all about four inches had fallen. To a human, an almost inconsequential amount;
hardly even worth putting on boots for. To a community of rats and mice,
though, it was somewhat more significant. A blanket of pure, uniform white lay
over the farm, covering the fallow ground and the fields of winter wheat alike.
Here and there the smooth drifts were broken by long, narrow, meandering
hummocks: the stone fences that separated the fields. Farther away, the trees
were also dusted; those that had not yet lost their leaves certainly would now.
Off to our right, the long grassy slope that ran down to the lake was also
blanketed; but that covering was no longer anything like "deep and crisp
and even." It started out that way, of course...but that was before the kids
got hold of it.

The slope was perfect for sledding, and that's exactly what at least a dozen
young rats were doing with it, their shouts of delight ringing out loud and
clear through the clear frosty air. Others were building snowmen; and still
others had erected forts and were engaged in an energetic snowball fight. Of
course they were all well-bundled; but even so, I knew, it would not be long
before they would be soaked through and half-frozen. And then, willing or no,
they would be dragged inside by their mothers, stripped of their wet clothes,
and plunked into hot baths--all the while enduring the tongue-lashing of their
young lives. I knew that very well indeed--because it had often enough happened
to my own children. Alas for them, they all had far too many adult
responsibilities to allow that sort of thing now.

Standing there, side-by-side on the ridge, wrapped quite literally to the
ears in sweaters, heavy wool tunics, hooded cloaks, scarves and mittens, Justin
and I were both rocking back and forth, lifting one foot after the other in a
ludicrous dance intended to keep our toes from freezing. Gazing down at the
seething mass of youngsters, I had to smile. For most of them--no, make that all
of them--this was the very first time in their lives they'd been able to play
in the snow. Certainly it had not been possible during the rosebush days. Was
this, technically speaking, a school-day? Probably, but who cared? They might
be a bit more blasé about the next snowfall--but this time, they were not to be
denied. And who can blame them?

Above us the sky was pewter-grey, the clouds hanging low and heavy; the
valley's western ridge was quite invisible, lost in the mist. Clearly there was
more moisture in this storm; but exactly what form in which it would fall was
as yet unknown.

"I remember that day," Justin was saying. He chuckled, deep within
his hood. "In fact that's what started us on that merry-go-round--because
I asked you to inventory the food stores."

I winced. "Don't remind me, please," I begged. I glanced up.
"More to come, do you think?"

"Undoubtedly," he said. "Tonight, if not sooner." He
reached up to hitch his scarf a little higher around the tip of his nose.
"Hard to say how long this will last, though. In two days we could have a
warm spell, and all this will melt. Or it could go on without letup until
spring, storm after storm. No telling."

"We're ready," I said.

"Are we?" Justin asked bleakly. He gestured down at the seething
mob of kids. "I wish I could be like them," he went on. "Able to
enjoy this unconditionally. But I can't. As beautiful as this is--and I
certainly can't deny it--all I can think about is the trouble it's going to
cause. When I look at this now I don't--I can't--see a winter
wonderland. What I see is increased fuel usage, increased food consumption, and
increased danger for the people who have to be outdoors. The wood-cutting
crews, for example. Not to mention potential trouble with the plumbing and the
drainage, the possibility of more seeps like the ones that brought down the
fourth level..." he trailed off, shaking his head gloomily.

While I certainly understood his concerns, what I saw as I looked out
over the valley was something considerably different. Partly, I think, because
it had been so terribly long since I'd last seen snow; and partly because I
still could not--would not--buy into Justin's belief that the weight of
the entire community rested solely on his shoulders. But there was something
even more basic at work, I think. This was the first time in recent memory when
I could stand and look at a fresh snowfall and admire its beauty, without the
immediate, personal, visceral fear that it would be the death of my family and
myself. I know that Elizabeth would have agreed with me as well. For all
Justin's concerns--and certainly they were valid, in the long run--right
then and there the community did possess a sufficiency of food and fuel, and
for my family and me that was an almost unprecedented thing. So too was the
fact that none of us--thanks to the division of labor in Thorn Valley--had any
need to go slogging through the snow, risking our lives to find sustenance.
With lunch already cooking in the kitchens, and all the fuel my family could
possibly use waiting in a storage locker just a few steps from our apartment,
is it any wonder that I was having a hard time feeling worried?

"Let's go inside," I suggested finally. "Winter wonderlands
are one thing--frostbitten toes are quite another."

"Agreed."

We turned and made our way back to the main entrance, avoiding a needless
struggle by carefully stepping in our own outbound footprints. On the way
inside we passed Brutus on guard duty, bundled almost beyond recognition but as
phlegmatic as ever. Five minutes later I was seated on the sofa in Justin's
office, warming my chilled toes before the stove as our fearless leader ducked
into his bedroom to fill a teakettle at the washbasin. As he stepped back into
the office he hurriedly closed the door behind him--but not before I caught
sight of a decidedly pink bathrobe lying across the foot of the neatly-made
bed. An object which was by no means alone in its significance.

The changes to Justin's quarters since my last visit were subtle--but
definite. A potted fern now draped its tendrils over the filing cabinet; a new
and brightly-colored afghan hung over the back of Justin's easy chair; and a
few unfamiliar books rested on the shelves. Botany texts, it seemed--big
surprise. Looks like she's moving in a little at a time, I thought
wryly. Now he'll have to marry her.

If Justin noticed my roving eyes, he gave no sign. He set the kettle atop
the stove, and then eased himself into his chair, extending his hands and feet
toward the waves of warmth. "Ah," he said contentedly, a few minutes
later. "That's better."

"Definitely," I agreed. I nodded toward the windows. "As
beautiful as it is, I'd just as soon enjoy it from here."

"Me too," Justin said. He paused for a moment; then, without
looking at me, he went on, in quiet and almost insinuating tones, "I take
it you don't share my concerns?"

"Certainly I share them," I said firmly. "What I don't
share is your response to them."

"Pardon me?"

I shook my head in despair. "Justin my friend, we've had this
discussion before, and quite recently too, as I recall. I'm all for preparation
and planning--I'd be a fool not to be. But I don't believe in borrowing
trouble. I spent the first part of my married life doing exactly that:
constantly obsessing about what might happen. What would I do if my wife
or my kids accidentally found out about the Rats of NIMH? What would I do if my
children began to wonder why they were so different from their friends--and
Timothy at least surely would have eventually. There's a point where
"careful" becomes "compulsive," Justin. I've been
there--and believe me, it's not a place where you want to spend a whole lot of
time."

"So what you're saying--" Justin began dubiously, but I
interrupted him with a wave of my hand.

"If you don't know what I'm saying by now," I told him, "you
never will. Let your people do their jobs, Justin. Let me do mine. If you do,
everything will turn out fine." I paused and grinned. "Anyway,"
I said, "don't you have something more important to concern yourself
with?"

He grinned in return, somewhat sheepishly, and scratched at the back of his
head. "I...suppose I do, yes," he admitted. By then the teakettle had
begun to boil, and he rose to attend to it. As he worked--spooning tea into a
pot and locating a pair of mugs--he continued to speak quietly over his
shoulder. "I know you played a part in getting Judith and me back together,
Jonathan," he said. "I don't know exactly what you said to her--I
don't think I want to know--but whatever it was, it worked, and I'm
extremely grateful."

"You're welcome," I said. I'm just glad that one of you was
willing to listen...

"...But I don't want to make it sound as if she came to me and begged for
forgiveness," Justin went on. "Nothing of the sort. In fact, if
anyone had been keeping score, I rather think I'd come out ahead in that
department. Mostly we admitted to each other--and to ourselves--what we'd been
afraid of."

"Always a good beginning," I observed. I hesitated a second, then
I said, "As happy as I am that the two of you are back together, and as
thrilled as I was to hear about your engagement, I'm afraid I still have to
wonder: is it entirely wise, politically speaking, for her to be living here
with you before the marriage?"

He turned, so quickly that he almost spilled the tea. "How did
you--?" he began. Then he sighed and nodded. "Elizabeth," he
said with certainty.

"She did give me the first clue," I confirmed. I waved a hand.
"But even if she hadn't..."

"I understand," Justin said. He handed me a steaming mug, and then
he plopped down in his chair once more. "And if Elizabeth knows, then
everyone knows," he added bitterly.

He was right, of course; still, the implication stung. "Have either of
you been trying all that hard to keep it secret?" I asked challengingly.

"No," he admitted. "We haven't." He took a cautious sip
of tea. "I do appreciate what you're saying, Jonathan. Though I'm afraid
Judith wouldn't. She's a scientist; political concerns--as you put it--have
absolutely no hold on her mind."

"I know," I said with a grin. "I spent the better part of a
year living with her twin sister, remember." I took a drink of herbal
brew, and felt its welcome warmth course through me. "I'm not saying that
this community is populated by bluenoses," I went on. I grinned and looked
out at the weather. "Well, maybe today some of them are. For a very long
time, these people have wanted to see you get hitched. For the moment
they're pleased--and they're willing to overlook quite a bit, though I daresay
there has been some sniggering." I paused. "And it's just as
well, frankly, that Judith turned out not to be pregnant. For a while
this community will be willing to cut you some slack--but not forever. I don't
know if the two of you have set a firm date yet..."

"We haven't," he said. "We were going to, but then the fourth
level collapsed, and then this happened..." he indicated the snow
with a wave of his hand.

"I understand," I said. "And believe me, I sympathize. All
I'm saying is this: some people might view the ceremony of marriage as just a
formality, as something put on more for the sake of the relatives than the
people involved. But the majority of this community does not feel that
way. I'm concerned that as long as Judith is living here, you two might be
tempted to keep finding reasons to put off that ceremony. In my opinion that
would be a very bad idea, for both you and her--but mostly for you. The people
won't give you a free ride forever. And I wonder if it might be a good idea
to...well, let's just say to remove the temptation to procrastinate."

For a long moment Justin was silent, twirling his mug between his hands as
he stared out the window. Outside the clouds had closed down once again, and it
seemed to me that I could already detect a few hesitant flakes slowly drifting
earthward. Finally Justin spoke again. "Jonathan," he said, "you
know I respect your opinion in all things--political matters not the least. And
what you're saying makes all kinds of sense--of course it does."

I waited for a moment, then "But?" I prompted.

"But," he echoed with a quick grin, "there are some things
which are more important than politics, and this is one of them. I love her,
Jonathan. It's as simple as that--and as complicated. She has agreed to marry
me, and both of us want that to happen sooner, rather than later. The only
reason we're delaying at all, quite frankly, is because of you. Or Elizabeth;
we're waiting for someone who will be legally able to conduct the ceremony,
since I can't very well do it myself."

"I know that," I said. "But..."

"...But in the meantime," he finished. "I know." He
hesitated, then he shook his head. "No," he said finally, firmly.
"Politics be damned, Jonathan. Obviously the people already know that
Judith has been spending her nights here with me. So be it. As far as I'm
concerned, that has absolutely nothing to do with the performance of my duties
as Leader. I'm not lying to anyone about it, nor have I really tried to conceal
it. If we've tried to be discreet....well, can you really blame us? Putting aside
for the moment the evident fact that we failed. I guess what I'm saying is...it
isn't the people's business."

Again I waited, and again he continued. "You know how long I've been
alone, Jonathan. Far too long. And I don't need to tell you how very big and
empty a bed can be, when you're the only one in it. Just these last few days
have almost made me forget what that was like. And I won't go back to that,
Jonathan, however briefly. Not for the people, this job...anything. Nor will
Judith--and I wouldn't ask her to."

I opened my mouth to reply, but exactly what I might have said I don't know,
because at that instant the office door opened and Judith herself entered,
followed closely by her twin sister. Judith was wearing her usual work outfit
of patched tunic and rough flannel shirt; but today it had been bolstered by a
heavy denim jacket and a scarf. As she spied the two of us she smiled
apologetically. "Oops," she told Justin. "Sorry to barge in. I
didn't know you were discussing important affairs of state. Hello,
Jonathan."

"Actually we weren't," Justin assured her. "Not exactly,
anyway." He held out his arms, and she crossed over to embrace him and
accept his kiss.

Inwardly I smiled. "Not exactly," no, I thought. I
wonder if her ears are burning--?

Eileen was dressed somewhat more conventionally, in a heavy tweed skirt and
a ribbed sweater. She was pushing a kind of stroller--which is to say, a
tightly-woven wicker basket mounted on wheels--in which Jeanette was happily
engaged in a voyage of discovery, the ultimate aim of which seemed to be her
own toes. Thorn Valley's future heartbreaker was growing almost literally like a
weed: she was visibly larger than the last time I'd seen her, just a few days
ago.

"What's up?" Justin asked.

"I'm just here to change clothes," Judith told him. "It's too
cold to work in the seed warehouse, and everything in the greenhouse is
dormant. And Sis and I are meeting someone for lunch. Excuse me." She
headed for the bedroom and closed the door.

I glanced across at Eileen. If she was at all surprised that her sister's
clothing now resided in Justin's bedroom, she gave no sign. "Anybody we
know?" I asked dryly.

"I should hope so," Hacker replied with a smile. "It's your
wife. We're going to discuss her campaign."

Now this, I thought, is more like it. Much.

Sitting up in his hospital bed with the pillows bulked behind him and a
kidney-shaped lap desk balanced across his legs, Thorn Valley's Chief Engineer
was entirely surrounded by a blizzard of paperwork, covering every horizontal
surface a least as deep as the snowfall outside. With a pair of half-glasses
(which he never wore in public) perched on the end of his nose, Arthur
sat staring out at the snowy afternoon, tapping the end of his pencil
thoughtfully on the thin wood of his desk. So absorbed was he, in fact, that he
didn't see me poke my head in, between the folding screens; nor did he notice
my presence until I quietly cleared my throat. Then he looked over quickly, and
his face broke into a broad, beaming smile. "Jonathan!" he said, in
tones of delight. "Please--sit down. If you can find a place to, that
is."

That was indeed a challenge, but finally I moved a thick pile of papers from
the top of a rolling stool to the floor, pulled the stool up next to the bed,
and hauled myself up onto it. "How--uh--how are you, Arthur?" I
asked.

"Much better," he said seriously. "The pain is much less, and
according to Ages, the bone is beginning to knit." He patted his leg,
which still hung, plaster-cased, from its traction rig. "In fact he's
going to let me go home in the morning."

"That's good," I said. I paused. "But that wasn't exactly
what I meant."

"I know," he said quietly. He took a deep breath. "I owe you
an apology, Jonathan, for my behavior the other day. And my thanks too."
He quirked a smile. "Have you ever considered a career in
psychology?"

"Who, me?" I said in surprise. "Not likely. I was just
speaking from experience. I'm glad I could help, though--really."

Indeed, the change I saw before me was more than gratifying. Less than three
days ago he had been despondent, experiencing terrible pain--both physical and
emotional--and so guilt-ridden that he'd been on the verge of resigning his
position. I doubted very much, though, whether the few words I'd spoken had
made all the difference--or even a significant part of it. More likely it was
his own sense of responsibility that had done it. Yes, the change was
gratifying--but not entirely surprising. I suppose it might have been--if on my
way into the Infirmary I hadn't run into young Robert, looking rather harried
as he acted as a courier for his father. Exactly as I'd predicted, Arthur was
trying to run his department from his hospital bed--and that was the best news
I'd had in days.

"Me too," Arthur murmured. He hesitated a moment, then he went on,
"What can I do for you, Jonathan?"

I smiled. "I'm here to give you a chance to gloat," I told him. He
gazed at me quizzically, and I waved my hand toward the window. "Your
weather forecast," I explained.

He nodded in sudden understanding. "I remember now," he said.
"But I have no idea how I knew. Maybe it was the painkillers talking. I'm
just glad it didn't happen a few days ago."

I remembered my nightmare crawl across the face of a sheer cliff, on a shelf
barely wide enough for my feet...and in my imagination I added a freezing wind
and blowing snow to the mix. I shuddered. "I am too," I assured him.
"More than you can imagine."

"I wonder, though..." Arthur began thoughtfully.

"Yes?"

He looked at me over the top of his glasses. "I was just thinking...maybe
this snowfall today is a good thing. It may have taken people's minds off what
happened on the fourth level."

"Maybe so," I agreed softly. "I couldn't say." I nodded
at his lap-desk, on which was spread a single, wide sheet of white paper.
"What do you have there?"

Arthur shook himself and smiled. "Ah," he said mysteriously, and
he handed me the sheet. "Just a rough idea," he assured me quickly.
"Something to help pass the time."

It was a pencil sketch, executed in his rapid but remarkably accurate hand.
What it depicted was instantly--almost chillingly--recognizable: the
"notch" in the community's outer wall, north of the main entrance,
where a big chunk of the fourth level had come tumbling down. The ragged
gap--which Arthur could not have seen--was not visible, though; in its place
Arthur has rendered some manner of structure, a kind of long balcony or arcade,
fronted with what were evidently intended to be wide, high windows, and topped
with steeply-angled skylights.

"Very...uh...interesting," I said.

Arthur grinned. "Don't think it'll work, eh?" he asked pointedly.

"No, I don't think that at all," I assured him. "I'm not an
engineer; I'm not qualified to make that judgment. But it would be
interesting to know what holds it up..."

"Reinforced concrete beams," he said blithely. "Cantilevered
into the cliff. Over that a wood deck. The rest of it is just conventional
stick-framing."

"If you say so," I said. "What about the seepage
problem?"

He rummaged through a stack of papers atop the bedside table, and handed me
another sheet. "We intercept and channel it," he said. "The
outlet will be below the level of the bridge-deck, so the water will never
touch the wood."

I handed back both sheets. "And you think Justin will let you build
it?"

"Oh, not right away," he said. "That's obvious enough. He'll
require some convincing first, of course. And that's all right. There's no way
we could begin construction before spring anyway." He glanced down at the
papers. "I think I'll assign my two young apprentice draftsmen to draw up
the plans. It'll be a good challenge for them."

I smiled. One of those "young apprentices" was Robert; the other
was Timothy. "I'm sure it will," I said.

He set the sheets aside, and then, removing his glasses, he leaned his head
back, gazing thoughtfully up at the infirmary ceiling. "This has taught me
a lesson," he said. "Probably the most important lesson I could ever
learn: humility." He gestured. "I tried to fight with nature up
there, and I lost. Nature is bigger than we are, Jonathan. We can't beat it.
The best we can hope for is a truce--or maybe I really mean an armistice."

Words to live by, I thought; but I remained silent, and a moment
later Arthur went on. "I think I know where it started for me. In the days
after we escaped from NIMH we were all hungry for knowledge. It didn't matter
what; we were just desperate to learn all we possibly could about the
world."

I nodded. "I remember."

"But after a while we all started to specialize, to narrow our fields
of interest," he continued. He paused and smiled, glancing at me sidelong.
"At least most of us did. I became fascinated with the idea of building,
in all its aspects. Houses, bridges, roads...anything. If it had been
constructed, if it was the product of someone's mind and hands, it interested
me."

Again I nodded. More than once during our Wandering Days, Arthur had held up
a march while he paused to examine some human structure, trying to decipher how
it had been built. It was a habit that drove the rest of us to distraction. All
except Nicodemus, who understood. Nicodemus understood everything--and
everybody.

"At first I couldn't believe it was possible for anyone to achieve what
the humans have," Arthur continued. "But after a time, as I started
to learn how it's all done...I suppose I started to feel almost omnipotent. As if
there was nothing I couldn't achieve, given the tools, the materials and the
time. And then I was given the job of creating a new community, a new way of
living, from the ground up."

"And it went to your head," I supplied blandly.

"Exactly," he agreed heavily. He shook his head firmly. "But
no more. This--" he indicated his sketches with a wave of his
hand--"will be built in cooperation with the rock, not in competition. And
that's the method of design which I'm going to teach your son, and mine.
Because in the future they will plan this community's structures."

"Frank Lloyd Wright was a great architect," I commented.
"Truly visionary, ahead of his time. But from what I hear, all too often
his roofs leaked."

Arthur nodded. "A lesson I ought to have learned a long time ago,"
he said. "And I thank God that no one was killed before I did."

As my kids and I settled onto a bench on one of the middle tiers, Timothy
leaned close and whispered, "Dad? What's this all about? What is Mom
planning to say?"

I shook my head. "I wish I knew, son," I told him seriously.
"I really wish I knew."

He frowned. "Whatever it is," he said, "I hope she hurries. I
need to practice."

Thorn Valley's meeting hall was windowless, which was rather a pity, because
outside at that very moment the snow was falling again, even more heavily than
it had the previous night. As I've mentioned, that was a sight which usually
had a calming effect on me--and "calming" was something which I was
definitely in need of just then. My dear wife was being mysterious again, and
that, as I'd discovered these past few months, was ominous. Worse yet was the
fact that two others were involved: one of my best friends, and her sister, the
de facto first lady of the community. Exactly what the three of them had
been cooking up all afternoon, I didn't know--and I wasn't sure if I wanted to
find out.

Speaking of whom...it took my roving eye a few minutes to find Judith and
Eileen, some rows down and about halfway around the curve of the hall. And when
my gaze finally lit on them, I felt my eyebrows lift in surprise, because they
were clearly in the midst of a rather heated disagreement. Not loud--they
weren't making a spectacle of themselves--but clearly sharp. They sat side by
side, as exact as a pair of matching bookends, their heads bent close together
as they whispered fiercely back and forth. Philip--no doubt prudently--had
retreated to the far end of the bench, where he sat dandling his daughter on
his knee, rather pointedly not listening to his wife and sister-in-law having
it out. What in the world--? I thought as I watched them exchange words
which I couldn't hear, and didn't want to. They both had tempers, that much I
knew; but when I'd seen them last, in Justin's office, they'd been all smiles
and sorority. What could have happened during the intervening few hours?

Abruptly Timothy nudged me with his elbow. "I think they're coming,
Dad."

I glanced over my shoulder, back up at the main hallway doors. As I watched
they swung slowly open and Justin entered, followed immediately by Elizabeth.
On their way down the steps to the speaker's platform, both of them kept their
eyes facing resolutely forward and their expressions quite neutral. Well,
almost. As they passed the tier where the kids and I sat, Elizabeth's whiskers
twitched, just a little; and Justin flashed me a half-helpless, half-amused
grin. Evidently he didn't know what my lady wife was planning to say either.

At the bottom of the stairs Justin stepped immediately up onto the platform,
as I had seen him do so many times these last few months; but Elizabeth hung
back, remaining in the shadows for the moment. Justin turned a slow circle,
holding up his hands, and the buzz of conversation gradually stilled. Finally
he spoke. "We have a great deal to discuss this evening," he said.
"Quite a lot has happened since our last meeting--as I'm sure I don't
need to remind anyone--and there are a number of decisions which must be
made." He took a deep breath. "However, before we begin, Mrs.
Elizabeth Brisby has asked permission to address you for a few moments. Mrs.
Brisby?"

He stepped back, out of the light, and Elizabeth climbed up onto the
platform. I found myself leaning forward expectantly as she waited for the
polite smattering of applause to die down; beside me, the other members of my
family were doing the same. Behind his glasses Timothy's eyes were narrowed,
and I imagine mine were as well, as I racked my brains trying to figure out
what was going on.

Elizabeth was dressed in a green wool skirt and a beige sweater, and I'm
certain that it was not only to my eyes that she looked beautiful, intelligent,
composed...I might even say regal. She looked up at the sea of faces for a
moment, smiling slightly; and then she began to speak.

"As you know," she began, "several days ago I proposed an
amendment to this community's Constitution, to create the post of an elected
Vice-Leader. We will be voting on that amendment in a little more than a week.
At that time we will also be voting to fill the position, should the amendment
be adopted.

"As you are all aware, I am one of the two candidates for that
post." She smiled, and I thought I saw her big blue eyes meet mine, just
for an instant before she continued. "I won't discuss exactly how that
came to be. Because of everything that has happened in this community recently,
neither my worthy opponent nor I have had the time or attention to spend on
campaigning. It would surprise me not at all, in fact, to learn that the
election has been the farthest thing from most of your minds.

"But it is something which we must face, and Justin has kindly
granted me a few minutes this evening to speak to you about my candidacy."

She paused again, this time for a full ten seconds or more, and as I waited
for her to go on I found myself frowning deeply. What's she getting at?
I wondered. Is this going to be a stump speech? Is that what she spent all
that time working on with Eileen and Judith? Her platform? But a quick
glance down at Thorn Valley's one-and-only set of twins did nothing to allay my
confusion. The two of them had stopped arguing as soon as Elizabeth began to
speak, and were now--like everyone in the hall--staring owlishly at my wife;
but both identical faces wore an identical expression of disappointment.
Clearly they did not like what they were hearing; but why?

Before I could even begin to puzzle that out, though, Elizabeth continued.
In the absolute, pin-drop silence her voice, quiet but forceful, carried easily
even to the topmost tiers. "Since my nomination I've been thinking a great
deal about the qualities which the successful candidate will need to have. That
person must be prepared to take over instantly in a crisis, of course; but
that's really only part of the story.

"The Vice-Leader will also, on a day-to-day basis, be the eyes and ears
of the community Leader, going out among the people to observe and to learn
what it is they expect the government to do--or in some cases, not do.
Such a person must not only be well-known to the public--which around here isn't
difficult--but must also be trusted, respected and liked by them, able to 'draw
them out' as the saying goes; to convince them to reveal their innermost hopes,
needs and fears. That person will also need the ability to separate mere
whining and wishful thinking from true problems and unmet needs. That person
must also be willing and able to speak freely to the Leader, to disagree with
him when necessary, and to present him with the truth without becoming a
'yes-man.'

"And finally, that person must have a complete knowledge of this
community. Of its functioning, yes; of how each and every department interacts
with all the others. Also of its laws, of its history--and of its customs too,
of the habits and attitudes which have been in development ever since the
Original 22 escaped from NIMH. Most importantly, that person must have the
ability to recognize situations in which custom is more important than written
law. That is the sort of knowledge which can come only from a deep personal
familiarity with each and every person in this valley.

"In my mind, those are the most important qualities for our Vice-Leader
to have. And in examining the personalities and qualifications of the two
candidates in this race, I am drawn to the inevitable conclusion that only one
of them possesses enough of those qualities to deserve your vote." She
paused and took a deep breath. "And that person's name is...Jonathan
Brisby."

Not wanting to become involved in yet another public scene, I somehow
managed to force myself to wait until my wife and I were behind closed
doors--in that particular case, those of our apartment and our bedroom--before
I exploded.

"Elizabeth Brisby," I demanded, "do you have any idea what
you just did?"

She smiled. "I believe Eileen and Judith called it 'throwing the
election,'" she said.

"Well, exactly," I replied, slightly nonplused by her calm,
matter-of-fact demeanor. "But why? That's what I don't
understand--and I don't imagine I'm alone, either."

"Probably not," she agreed sadly. She sighed and seated herself on
the edge of the bed, inviting me with a nod to join her. I did so, and she
reached across to grasp my hands earnestly. "Of course I know why you
nominated me in the first place," she went on. "Mostly it was to pay
me back for maneuvering you into the election. But partly--at least I hope--it
was because you genuinely believe I'm capable of doing the job. Am I
right?"

"Of course," I assured her. "I never doubted that you're
capable. So why--?"

"I'm getting to that," she promised. She took a deep breath.
"The plain fact is this," she said. "Everything that has
happened these last few days has convinced me that I don't want to be
vice-leader."

"Why not?"

"Because in watching you I've come to understand what having that job
would really mean--apart from everything I said tonight. It would mean
chasing after Justin as he rushes to the scene of some crisis or other, and
being able to supply him with instant, on-the-spot advice. It also means
dealing with his moods, and keeping him and his career from self-destructing.
It also sometimes means putting one's self in direct, immediate physical
danger. And with that job description, my darling...I think I'll stick to the one
I've already got."

Slowly I smiled. "Well," I said, "when you put it that
way..."

"And that's not all," she went on quietly.

"No?"

"No." For a few seconds she paused, collecting her thoughts; then
she swallowed hard and went on. "You and I both know what I was, less than
a year ago: a silly little field-mouse, scared of her own shadow, all but
helpless in a crisis."

"Elizabeth--" I began, but she shook her head firmly, cutting me
off.

"No," she said. "I know what you're going to say, Jonathan,
and I appreciate it. But there's no use denying the truth. I'm not ashamed of
it; it's just the way things were. I've gone through tremendous changes since
last spring--beginning that day when I met Nicodemus, God rest his soul. But
the fact of the matter is, Jonathan, those changes are still occurring. Even
now I'm not exactly sure who I am." She smiled. "Oh, I'm sure of some
things," she added hurriedly. "I am, and always will be, Mrs.
Elizabeth Brisby, with a husband and four children whom I adore. That will
never change. But in many other ways I still feel like a work on
progress."

"Meaning--?" I prompted.

"Meaning...right now I just don't want to be one heartbeat away from the
leadership. Maybe I'll feel differently someday--in which case you'll have a
fight on your hands, when you stand for reelection. But even with all I've
learned this last year, I just don't feel qualified. Not really, not in
my heart of hearts."

I squeezed her hands. "I understand," I said. "And please
note that I use the word 'understand,' not 'agree.'" I paused. "Would
I be right in guessing that one of our twin-sister friends agreed with you, and
the other didn't?"

"Not exactly," she said with a smile. "Actually they both
strongly agreed that I could 'learn by doing,' as they put it. That's what they
spent most of the afternoon trying to convince me of. But when it became clear
to them that I wasn't going to change my mind...that's when the argument
started."

"Why?"

"Well, even though I'd decided that I don't want to be vice-leader, I
still wasn't sure exactly what I should do about it. Eileen argued that I
should simply go up on the platform tonight and withdraw. But Judith said no.
She pointed out that the ballots have already been printed, with both our names
on them, and it would be a needless waste to have to print them again. She also
pointed out that if I withdraw, one of two things would have to happen. Either
the election would have to be delayed until a new candidate can be found, or
you would end up running unopposed. And Judith doesn't like unopposed
elections. I think the phrase she used was 'perverting the democratic process.'
She convinced me to do what I did--and then to stand back and let the results
fall where they may."

"And if the results fall towards you?" I asked; and in response to
her stricken look I chuckled and shook my head. "It could happen," I
told her. "The people might think that you were just being clever or coy.
Right now they're probably expecting me to make the exact same speech myself,
throwing all my votes to you."

"You won't, will you?" she asked in horrified tones.

I grinned. "It would serve you right if I did," I said. "But
no, I'm not--unless you want me to. When we went into this thing we both agreed
that there was no particular need for either of us to campaign. I intend to
stick to that."

"Me too," she said in relief. She hesitated. "But...well, if
what I did tonight does manage to backfire, I won't have much choice, will I?
If the people really want me to take the job, I suppose I'll have to."

"'If nominated I will not run; if elected I will not serve,'" I
quoted.

"Pardon me?"

"That's what William Tecumseh Sherman said when someone tried to
persuade him to run for President of the United States. People probably thought
he was being coy too--but in fact he never was nominated or
elected."

She gazed into my eyes. "What about you?" she asked. "If
elected, will you serve?"

I kissed her; but then, seeing that she was still waiting for a real answer,
I said, "It doesn't appear I'd have much choice either."

Election Day. Finally.

Despite the truly miserable weather outside their snug tunnel homes, the
Rats of NIMH were in a remarkably buoyant, almost celebratory mood as they
trooped into the meeting hall that evening. I had watched that mood growing all
day, as I went about my business, possibly for the very last time as Justin's
Executive Assistant. Or perhaps I should say as I tried to go about my
business. In truth I got very little work done that day. I tried, God knows...but
the citizens I encountered seemed much more interested in wishing me luck than
in giving me their reports. I could only wonder if Elizabeth was running into
the same phenomenon. Probably; but at least she had an office to retreat
into. My office, so to speak, was the corridors--something which
probably wouldn't be changing, no matter what happened.

The feeling continued through dinner, during which I once again felt the
eyes upon me (something I was rapidly becoming used to); and it climaxed as my
family and I walked into the meeting hall. There was a sudden hush as we entered,
Elizabeth and I, arm-in-arm with our kids following along behind us; and then,
as we descended the stairs, the hush was broken. First by whispers, as those
nearest the stairs reached out their hands to us--to my wife as often as me, I
hasten to add. "Good luck," they said, or else "We're rooting
for you!"--and it was difficult to tell exactly which one of us they
meant. Maybe both. As we continued to descend, the whispers turned into
applause, quiet at first but rapidly gaining intensity; until finally, the only
way to end it was for both of us to climb up onto the bench and acknowledge it,
waving our hands over our heads like a pair of prize fools. Sitting beside us,
our children looked on amazed; and when finally the crowd allowed my wife and I
to sit down, Teresa smiled and leaned over. "I guess," she observed
dryly, "everything they teach the kids about you two is true."

For most of the inhabitants of Thorn Valley, this day had been pretty much
like any other--with one very important exception. All day long, while a thin
slushy snow fell outside, my friend the Hacker had sat in the community
library, behind a table which bore a large padlocked box, a stack of
pre-printed ballots, and a list of every adult citizen. And all day long,
singly or in small groups, those adult citizens took fifteen minutes from their
busy schedules to visit the library, where Eileen checked off their names,
handed them a ballot, and directed them to one of the half-dozen little
curtained booths which had been temporarily erected near the windows. It was a
short ballot; really there were just two choices to make. One of them I doubt
anyone spent much time agonizing over; it was a rather self-evident choice. The
other was perhaps a little more problematic. This was only the second time
since the rats moved to Thorn Valley that the ballot box and the voting booths
had been brought out of storage; it was only the second time they'd needed to
be. One member of the community--Arthur--voted "absentee," which is
to say that Philip hand-carried a ballot to him, as he sat in his apartment
nursing his leg, and turned his back as Arthur made two swift X's on the little
square of paper.

By late afternoon it was all over. Eileen might have kept the polls open
longer, but there was no need: by four p.m. there was not a name left unchecked
on her list. So, while workers dismantled and stowed away the booths, Eileen
and Philip took the ballot box into a small conference room near the library
and began to count, observed by Alice. That was a process which took some time,
even with Hacker on the team; halfway through they called for dinner to be sent
in.

I knew all of this, I should explain, entirely by word of mouth. By no means
had I hung around the library all day; my one visit had been brief and to the
point. It might have been briefer, actually, if they hadn't had to find a
step-stool for me to stand on so I could use the rat-sized voting booth. If I'd
tried to haunt the vicinity, Eileen would have firmly ejected me, and of course
it would have been entirely correct for her to do so.

Elizabeth sat close beside me as we waited for Justin to appear; and through
her hip, which was pressed tight against mine, I felt her tension. I found her
hand and grasped it, and smiled over at her. "Afraid you might lose, or
afraid you might win?" I asked quietly.

She grinned back at me, a little nervously. "Some of both, I
think," she confessed. "And..." she trailed off.

"And what?"

She shook her head. "You'll think it's silly."

"No," I promised. "No, I won't."

"All right," she said. She paused, gathering her thoughts, and
then she continued, "I guess what I mean to say is that there's
something...exciting about this whole process. I mean, I've participated in
plenty of votes since we moved to this valley, but so far it's always been a
show-of-hands thing, right here in this hall. Never anything like what we had
today. And the fact that I'm the one who set it all in motion...somehow it makes
me realize that this community, this idea, is bigger than any of us. And
that it will still be here when we're both gone."

I grinned and kissed her on the cheek. "Speak for yourself, my
darling," I said. "Personally I plan on living forever." I
paused, and then I went on more seriously, "Of course you're right,
though. And I know exactly what you mean. It's something I felt a long, long
time ago, when I first saw Nicodemus' plans for this place. It is bigger
than any of us...but at the same time, in a strange way, it isn't."

"Because it's a place where an ex-field mouse's vote counts for just as
much as the oldest rat's," she said. "I know."

"And," I said, "because it's a place where that same ex-field
mouse could become Vice-Leader. Is it all right if I wish you good luck?"

"Only if I can wish you the same."

"Done."

She kissed me then, rather quickly; because at that moment Justin arrived.
The Leader of the Rats of NIMH (by unanimous election) entered through the
double-doors and slowly descended the stairs to the speaker's platform. On the
way down he gave Elizabeth and me a grin and a wink. I truly believe that he
didn't much care which of us won; or rather, that he was equally fond of both
of us, and willing to work with the victor and console the loser, whomever they
might be.

And me? What did I want, deep down in my heart of hearts? Just one
thing, I'm afraid, and I'm sorry if it sounds neither particularly heroic nor
poetic. What I wanted was for this whole dog-and-pony show to be over with, so
that I could go back to living this second life which I had somehow been
granted.

Down on the platform, Justin raised his hands for silence, which came a
little more slowly than usual. As the minutes ticked down, the excitement that
I felt all around me was growing, and I must confess that it was infectious.
Elections often have that effect, I've noticed. It doesn't really matter who or
what is on the ballot; people just seem to get caught up in the excitement of
it all. Probably, like my wife, they were feeling what it's like to be involved
in something much bigger than they were. And in my opinion, that's a good
thing. If the citizenry at large stops being enthused by elections, your
government is in deep trouble. So far at least, that particular brand of ennui
hadn't struck Thorn Valley. Thankfully.

When finally Justin could make himself heard, he looked up at one of the
middle tiers, where Eileen and her husband sat. "Do you have the results
of the election?" Justin asked formally.

"Yes I do," Hacker said. She handed Jeanette to Philip, and then
she stood, picking up a clipboard from the bench beside her. She cleared her
throat, and then, in the instant silence, she went on, "As tabulated by
Philip and myself, with assistance from Alice, the results of today's election
are as follows.

"On the matter of the constitutional amendment, creating the post of
elected Vice-Leader, we show a 'yes' vote of two hundred thirty-four, and a
'no' vote of...one."

A quick ripple of laughter swept through the hall, in which Elizabeth and I
joined. Who, I wondered, was that one person who had voted against the
amendment? I took a quick look around the hall--and instantly saw that the same
thought had occurred to almost everyone else. They too were searching faces,
looking for the nay-sayer. But exactly who it had been, and whether he or she
had done so deliberately or by mistake, was destined to remain a mystery. No
one ever confessed.

Justin, smiling, raised his hand again. "The amendment having been
approved by a two-thirds majority," he began, and waited while a second ripple
of laughter died away, "it hereby becomes part of our Constitution. And
that validates the second half of the ballot. Eileen?"

Hacker cleared her throat again. "On the election for
Vice-Leader," she went on, "we have: for Mr. Jonathan Brisby, one hundred
thirty-four votes; and for Mrs. Elizabeth Brisby...ninety-seven. The post of
Vice-Leader thereby goes to Jonathan Brisby."

With those words, the hall erupted into pandemonium. Elizabeth threw her
arms around me and kissed me; but only for a brief second before a crowd of
rats, with my old companions Mark and David at its head, swept me up onto their
shoulders and carried me down to the platform. As they did--as I fought a
losing battle with dizziness--the cheering and shouting gradually coalesced
into a single chant, repeated over and over: "Speech! Speech!"

They deposited me on the platform, and somehow or other I managed to remain
on my feet, though the entire hall seemed to be spinning. As I fumbled for
something to say, some small part of my mind was coming to the realization that
the numbers I'd just heard didn't quite add up. According to Hacker there were
two hundred and thirty-five eligible voters in the community. All of them had
marked a ballot; and all of them had voted, one way or another, on the matter
of the amendment. Four of them, though, had evidently chosen not to vote for a
Vice-Leader. But who--? I wondered. Then I looked up at the bench where
my family stood cheering and waving, and suddenly I knew. Teresa, Martin,
Timothy and Cynthia--the latter having just become eligible--had been faced
with a terrible choice, one which they had apparently found insoluble. And for
that I could scarcely blame them. My fault, really, for forcing such a decision
upon them.

To me, that fact was of much greater importance than the so-called
"victory" I had just won; but the rafters were still ringing with
demands for a speech, and reluctantly I tore my attention away from thoughts of
my children. I'd have to speak to them all later, in private--just as soon as
the election-day furor had died down a little. But in the meantime...

I raised my hands, exactly as Justin always did, and gradually the shouts
quieted. Not completely, though, and I doubt very much whether my voice carried
more than a few rows. But considering the words I spoke--the first that came to
mind--that probably didn't matter much.

"My friends," I began. "Fellow citizens of Thorn Valley,
members of the Rats of NIMH, former fellow escapees and refugees. I want first
of all--before I forget--to thank you all for the honor you have done me today.
I pledge to do everything in my power to live up to your confidence in me.

"Second, I want to thank you all for the unfailing kindness you have
shown toward my family, most of all in inviting them--and me--to share this
valley and the community you have built here. During a time when I was unable
to help them, you did, and I will always be grateful for that.

"Third--and most important--I would like, if I may, to call for a show
of appreciation for my worthy opponent, a person who has truly come farther
this last year than any of us. With her around, I think I'd better watch my
back come reelection time. Friends, fellow citizens, I give you Elizabeth
Brisby!"

Those words unleashed another storm of applause and cheering, in which I
joined with enthusiasm. And when I noticed the look in Elizabeth's eyes, as she
stood there with her ears and nose turning bright crimson, I decided that I'd
better begin watching my back considerably sooner.

Later that evening (never mind exactly how much later) my wife and I,
along with Justin and Judith, managed to escape from the ongoing festivities
and take refuge in my family's apartment. There in the living room, which was
lit only by the crackling flames in the fireplace, the four of us made
ourselves comfortable on the smaller and larger sofas respectively. We were all
tired, overdue for bed; but none of us were willing to let the day end--not
quite yet.

"To be brutally honest," Justin said with a grin, "I think
that these people might be celebrating tonight as much for their own sakes as
for yours."

I quirked a curious eyebrow. Our leader and his bride-to-be sat close
together, Judith's head resting on Justin's shoulder and his arm curled
protectively around her, slowly and gently massaging her arm and shoulder. She
looked contented, and more than a little sleepy; if she'd been a feline rather
than a rodent, she'd have been purring. In other company I suppose their
closeness might have caused some raised eyebrows, but not here; because my wife
was curled up against me in exactly the same way, and my hand was stoking her
arm too.

The curtains had been pulled tightly over our living-room window, to
conserve heat; but even if they had not, that window would have been nothing
more than a black hole looking out into a pitch-dark night. Outside it was
still snowing, as it had been all day, and as it had, intermittently, for most
of the last week. As the night wore on and the cold bit deeper, the fat, wet slushy
pellets that had plopped down during the day were solidifying into fine powdery
flakes. By morning the drifts would be deep, and the shovel brigade hard at
work.

"How so?" I asked.

"No offense, of course," Justin said quickly. "But a lot has
happened in the last week or so. The fourth level, all this early snow,
concerns about the winter--I think these people were in need of something to
release the tension. Your election gave them the perfect excuse to cut
loose."

"You may be right," I agreed. The Rats of NIMH don't go in for
alcoholic beverages--we save our alcohol for our stoves--but the way these
people were acting, they might just as well have been drunk. In the hours
following my election there had been games, music, dancing...you name it; and all
of it absolutely spontaneous and unplanned, as far as I knew. Outside our cozy
refuge, out in the hallways, it was still going on; we could still occasionally
hear the noisy passage of a conga line. I had no particular idea where my
children were; but they were adults now, and if they wanted to stay up until
all hours of the night and be cranky the next day, that was there own concern.
The intensity of the celebration was much more than I could take credit for
myself. Justin was right: these people had been overdue for a distraction,
something along the lines of the luau with which we'd closed out the summer.
Probably very little work would get done the next day--but was that really so
terrible?

"But congratulations nonetheless," Justin said. His gaze shifted
to Elizabeth, half-asleep by my side, and his smile widened. "And you,
Mrs. Brisby," he went on, "didn't make a bad showing at all. Without
that little speech of yours the other night..."

Elizabeth roused herself. "Jonathan would still have won," she said
with certainty. "But...it might have been a little closer," she
admitted with a smile.

"What would you have done," Justin asked me, "if she'd beaten
you?"

I shrugged; carefully, because Elizabeth's head was resting on my shoulder.
"If she had, then her job would have been vacant," I said.
"I don't imagine I could mess it up too badly." I drew my wife a
little closer. "And I would have learned to call her 'Madam
Vice-Leader.'"

Justin grinned. "That's presupposing," he said, "that I would
have given you her old job."

I shrugged again. "If not," I said, "then I suppose I would
have had to retire on my reputation."

"Justin," Judith said suddenly, "don't we have something else
to tell them?"

"Yes," Justin agreed. He smiled, a little nervously I thought, and
went on, "Judith and I have set the date. November 30th."
He rubbed her shoulder. "That way she won't be a December bride."

"Thanks a whole lot," Judith said with a sardonic grin.

"Congratulations," I said, and beside me Elizabeth nodded.

"I know you'll be very happy together," she said.

Justin's smile widened as he pulled Judith a little closer. "Oh, we
are," he assured us. "We are."

Elizabeth dug her elbow gently into my ribs, and I winked quickly in return.
All right, I told her silently. You called this one. No need to
gloat! "That's one official duty I look forward to performing," I
said.

"Speaking of duties," Justin said, "you and I have a lot of
work to do, Jonnymouse. We have to codify exactly what your duties will be, so
there won't be any turf battles later. And we've got to--"

I held up my hand, interrupting him firmly. "Justin my friend," I
said, "I'll be very happy to discuss all that with you--tomorrow." I
glanced down into Elizabeth's half-closed eyes. "But right now your second
in command needs to take his wife to bed."

THE
END
(For Now)