Elizabeth Brisby still hated flying.

Perched there on the crow's wide back, sandwiched in between her two
daughters, with their excited chatter flowing non-stop around her, she took a
quick peek down...and instantly wished that she hadn't. For her, at least, the
third time definitely was not the charm.

Exactly how high they were she had no idea--"far too" was what
came first to mind--high enough, at least, that the forest below looked like a
lumpy green carpet, the individual trees blurring and merging. But as high as
they were, Jeremy was climbing still higher, his wings flapping steadily,
easily. Considering what lay ahead, Elizabeth certainly couldn't blame him; but
with every foot of altitude they gained she felt a few more butterflies hatch
in her stomach. Why am I the only one who doesn't like this? she
wondered gloomily.

Certainly--all too obviously--her children loved flying. That had been clear
the first time, some two months ago, when they and Jeremy had talked her into a
short flight, just a quick turn around the farm (so they'd claimed) to see the
ruins of the rosebush. Unfortunately Jeremy loved having a receptive (and
captive) audience, and had turned that "short flight" into an
extended show of aerobatics. Elizabeth had landed swearing "never
again!"; and yet here she was. And here they were too; if anything, more
excited than they'd been that first time. She could feel it, literally, in her daughters,
Cynthia in front of her and Teresa behind, as the three of them sat held
together by a single string "seatbelt." Both their bodies--Teresa's
slim form and Cynthia's more rounded--seemed to be almost literally vibrating. They
weren't afraid to look down; in fact they did nothing but. Elizabeth couldn't
see her sons--not unless she leaned over farther than she wished to--but she
could hear them; they too, were clearly having a wonderful time, cradled in the
crow's big feet. Jonathan would have loved this too, she realized. A few
more of his genes at work.

She leaned forward a little, to speak past Cynthia. "Jeremy!"

The crow turned his head to look back at her, something she really wished he
wouldn't do, though he could hardly run into anything way up here. "What's
up, Briz?" he asked cheerfully. No doubt about it, he was in his element.

"Are we almost there?" Elizabeth asked.

Jeremy looked forward, squinting into the wind of their passage.
"Yeah," he decided. He nodded, making the three of them bounce up and
down briefly. "Just over that next ridge, and we'll see the valley."
He paused. "I think."

Wonderful, Elizabeth thought. "Are Timothy and Martin all
right?"

Jeremy relayed the question. A second later Martin's voice drifted up to
her, in tones of impatience: "Yeah, Mom!" followed closely by
Timothy's more cheerful "We're doing great, Mom!"

Once again Elizabeth sighed. Why doesn't that surprise me? On the
last flight Martin had ridden in Jeremy's foot, and obviously lived to tell of
it; but she'd been less than happy about Timothy's desire to emulate his
brother. Last time she'd held Timothy in her lap, and had almost crushed him,
she'd held on so tightly. This time, however, they'd had little choice: no
room. Not only were all four of them measurably bigger now, but there was also
the matter of the five packs strapped across Jeremy's lower back, behind
Teresa. (One thing about Jeremy: he was never at a loss for string.) Jeremy had
sworn that he wouldn't let Timothy or Martin fall, and that would have to be
enough.

She relaxed then--as much as was possible--and looked ahead. The view was at
least impressive.

During the last hour they had climbed steadily, passing over several ridges,
each one higher and more rugged than the previous. Ahead of them now, just a
few minutes distant, was the highest yet, its summit a sharp and barren spine
of rock. Beyond that rose a range of grey mountains. The highest of
those--Jeremy seemed to have set his course directly towards it--had a distinct
shape, an almost perfect triangle with a slightly bent needle-sharp peak. Thorn
Mountain. The mountains were still far in the distance, their peaks
mist-shrouded. Even Jeremy didn't know exactly how far away that range was;
only that he would not be taking his passengers quite that far. Elizabeth had
been glad enough of that news; she didn't know the word
"agoraphobia," but she knew that the sight of those huge looming
peaks made her feel very small indeed.

Elizabeth's feelings that morning--looking past her fear of flying--were
mixed, to say the least. On the one hand she was almost as excited as her
children were, at the thought of seeing the rats again. During her brief
periods of sleep the night before she had dreamed about them--well, one of
them, anyway--and not for the first time; and during her longer periods of
wakefulness she'd wondered what she and her children would find when they
arrived. How do the rats live now? she'd wondered, over and over. That
they had become farmers was a given: Nicodemus and Justin had told her that
much of the Plan. But beyond that she knew next to nothing. Had they built
houses of some kind, constructed their own town? Did they all farm, each family
with its own plot of land, or was it a cooperative venture? Those were the
questions that had burned inside her for months, without any real hope of being
answered.

But on the other hand her capacity for worry, which she'd thought buried for
good, was making a loud and unwelcome reappearance. What kind of reception
would they get? Would the rats truly welcome them, or just tolerate them? And
worse: despite Justin's assurances, would she and her children be harmed? Even
perhaps enslaved, forced to work against their will? Utterly ridiculous
thoughts, she knew; every time one of them popped up she pushed it away
angrily; but somehow they didn't remain banished for very long.

And there was still worse, lurking somewhere in the basement of her mind.
That morning she and her children had risen early, and while waiting for Jeremy
to arrive, they had closed up their cinder-block home: uprooted the chimney and
stowed it inside, covered the windows with straw and earth, and finally plugged
the door securely. Hopefully those precautions would keep their house and
belongings secure until they returned. But Elizabeth, looking at her sealed-up
and disguised home, had been suddenly filled with a strange feeling--almost a
premonition--that she would never see it again. That thought she had also
dismissed as ridiculous...but it too had persisted, beyond all reason and
logic, and because of it she still felt vaguely troubled.

Such was the lot of the compulsive worrier. But at that moment all her
fears, all her worries, were driven completely out of her head, as Jeremy
turned again to gaze back at her. "This is the place!" he said
triumphantly.

Jeremy had passed over that final ridge with some twenty or thirty feet to
spare--and now the ground dropped away below him with dizzying abruptness.
Elizabeth, her fear of heights temporarily forgotten, leaned far over,
clutching at Jeremy's glossy black feathers for support. Instantly she realized
that he was right. They were there: Thorn Valley. It could be no other.

For a very long time afterwards Elizabeth Brisby would remember her first
glimpse of the rats' new home, and the gasp of amazement that was forced from
her. Around her, the children fell suddenly silent (and that was miracle
enough) as they too gazed down, astonished. Whatever they had imagined, it was
nothing like the reality. "It's beautiful," Cynthia whispered, and
Elizabeth hugged the girl a little closer.

"Yes," she agreed. "Yes, it is."

Elizabeth had then very little head for distances--feet she could
cope with, but miles perplexed her. Later she would be told that Thorn
Valley was some five miles long and two across; but even that information
conveyed very little to her. At the moment, as Jeremy cleared the ridge and
began a long, slow spiral downwards, she knew only that the valley was very
much larger than she'd imagined.

Thorn Valley ran nearly straight, on a line almost exactly north to south.
Jeremy had topped the ridge near the valley's midpoint; from there both ends
were lost in distance, just a blur of dark-green forest. The western wall was
abrupt, high and rocky, and at first glance seemed impassable; but Elizabeth,
peering closer, saw the narrow trail that switchbacked down to the valley
floor. The opposite, eastern wall was considerably lower, and more broken,
rising in a series of broad stair-steps of earth and stone. Beyond that--still
far in the misty distance--rose the imposing bulk of Thorn Mountain. And
between those walls...

The first feature to catch Elizabeth's eye was the lake. Shaped somewhat
like a fallen maple leaf, dark blue and sparkling in the sun, it was fed
primarily by a wide rushing stream that tumbled down from the eastern wall.
Quite large, the lake seemed to fill perhaps a tenth of the valley, mainly the
southern end. The rats would never lack for water, at very least.

In between the lake-shore and the eastern wall was a wide, clear area,
sloping gently down to the water, and bright green with close-cropped grass.
And it was in the middle of this area that Elizabeth saw her first sign of
civilization, the first positive proof that they'd come to the right place. A
large hollow oval of bare earth, like a thick capital O, had been carved out of
the grass; in the center of the O, a rectangle of lawn was marked with white
lines and circles. At either end a pair of white wooden posts supported a
dangling net. What it was all for she had no idea--but clearly it was not
natural, and it had not been built by humans. Then they circled a little lower
and a little farther to the north, and Elizabeth saw the farm.

North and west of the lake, a very large area of nearly-flat land had been
cleared and plowed into well-tended fields. As Jeremy circled lower Elizabeth
saw and recognized a number of crops: wheat, corn, oats and rice; vegetables
including tomatoes, and even large fields of cotton and flax. It was then early
summer, and the majority of the crops were still quite immature. The fields
were surprisingly large, and were separated by straight paths and low stone
walls. Beyond the farthest fields, and indeed filling most of the rest of the valley,
was thick, dark forest.

Absolutely fearless in her fascination, Elizabeth leaned out a little
farther, shading her eyes with her hand. Down in the fields she had caught
sight of motion. In fact there seemed to be quite a large number of moving
objects--but, oddly, at first glance they hardly seemed to be rats. What she
had seen appeared to be wide circles, yellowish in color, moving slowly among
the rows of crops. Strange...but then Jeremy dropped a little lower, and
Elizabeth suddenly understood. It was their altitude that had caused the
illusion. What she'd seen were rats, working the fields with hoe and
shovel--rats who were wearing large round straw hats, like flattened cones,
which cast wide circles of shade over their heads and shoulders. Very wise,
that: even now, in mid-morning, the sun was intense; by noon it would be all
but intolerable.

Teresa leaned forward to speak into her ear. "Mother, I don't see any
houses. Where are they living?"

"I don't know, dear," Elizabeth began; but then Cynthia
interrupted her, pointing down and to the east.

"Under the rocks," she said. "Look!"

Elizabeth followed her daughter's pointing finger--and saw that Cynthia was
correct. Along the valley's east wall, the tiered stairstep ridges were pierced
by a large number of round windows. At first glance just dark holes; but as
Jeremy circled, only a dozen feet off the ground now, the sunlight flashed and
glinted from dozens of panes of glass. It seemed the rats had not built houses
at all: rather, they had built tunnels.

"That must be the entrance," Teresa said, pointing. On the lowest
tier of stairsteps, directly fronting the wide grassy field, was a dark
archway, tall and easily wide enough for three or four rats to enter abreast.
Standing guard next to that archway was a rat; a very large rat. With a feeling
somewhere between a thrill and a shudder, Elizabeth recognized him: Brutus. The
rat stood like a stone, gazing out over the valley, leaning on a long wooden
staff.

Elizabeth gazed uneasily at the sentry, remembering their last encounter.
I hope someone remembered to tell Brutus that we're coming, she thought.
She didn't much desire to be chased out of the valley at the end of that staff,
as she'd been chased out of the rosebush.

"Coming in for a landing," Jeremy said suddenly. "Everybody
hang on!"

Directly below them now was the center of the grassy area; Jeremy was
bringing them down about halfway between the entrance and the lake-shore.
Elizabeth tightened her grip on Cynthia; and in turn, Teresa's arms tightened
around her mother's waist. Below them, out of sight, Timothy and Martin climbed
the crow's legs, hanging on with hands and feet to the thick black feathers of
his undercarriage. At the last instant, as Jeremy fluttered to a typically
abrupt landing, the two brothers let go, and landed rolling over and over in
the thick grass. They came to rest in a tangle of arms and legs, hanging on to
each other and laughing.

For a few seconds Elizabeth sat still, catching her breath, trying to
convince herself that they were indeed on solid ground. The air in the valley
was fresh and pleasantly tree-scented, with just a hint of wood smoke. Cooking,
probably. Which was good; it wouldn't take Martin very long to realize that he
was hungry. Finally she shook herself and fumbled with the string knotted
around her waist. Jeremy obligingly lowered himself to the ground, folding his
legs beneath himself, as Elizabeth and her daughters slid down to the grass.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. Well, we're here, she thought. So where
are they?

While her children untied the strings, unloading the bundles from Jeremy's
back, Elizabeth circled around to lay her hands on the crow's large beak.
"Jeremy," she said, smiling,. "Thank you for a very pleasant
flight." And thank you for not doing any barrel rolls, she
added silently.

Jeremy grinned at her. "Hey, no problemo, Mrs. B," he said.
"I needed the exercise anyway." Relieved of his burdens he stood,
stretching out his wings in a shower of feathers; and then he nodded toward the
east. "Looks like we've got company," he observed.

Elizabeth turned. From the direction of the wide archway, a figure was
indeed headed toward them at a brisk walk. Too small to be Brutus--in fact the
big sentry was still standing like a statue beside the door--this rat wore a
dark blue tunic and a white long-sleeved shirt. As Elizabeth saw those garments
she felt her heart skip a beat--but then, almost immediately, she realized that
she'd been mistaken. It wasn't Justin either, but a stranger. This rat was
somewhat smaller and much younger than Justin--at least as Elizabeth remembered
him--and his fur was dark grey. As he stepped up before them he smiled and
bowed low, lifting his tail high into the air.

"Mrs. Brisby, I presume?" the young rat asked formally; and then,
without waiting for an answer, he continued. "My name is Thomas; I am
Captain of the Guard. On behalf of the Rats of NIMH and our leader Justin, I
bid you and your family welcome to Thorn Valley."

Behind Elizabeth, Cynthia suddenly stifled a giggle, and was firmly elbowed
in the ribs by her sister. Elizabeth could hardly blame her younger daughter,
though: in fact there was something definitely comical in this young
rat's stiff, dignified formality. Is he always like this? she
wondered.

But then--peering closer into his narrow, earnest face--she saw that there
was more to it. To her amazement, what she saw there was profound respect,
almost awe--and it was directed entirely at her. Justin's message had hinted
that the rats thought well of her; but just how well, she hadn't dared wonder.
She was, after all, just a mouse, a normal mouse, not even one of them. And yet
from the look on Thomas' face, he might have been greeting a queen.

At that moment, looking up at this young, slightly anxious rat, Elizabeth
felt a change come over her. To Timothy--by far the most observant of her four
offspring--it seemed that his mother had suddenly and inexplicably grown. He
watched, astounded, as she pulled herself to her full height, and, with a
dignity to match his own, offered her hand to Thomas. "Thank you,"
she said, her voice quiet and without any trace of a tremor. "We're very
glad to be here."

How to explain what she had felt, seeing the respect in Thomas' eyes? Since
learning the truth about her husband's origins, and about the Rats of NIMH,
Elizabeth Brisby had felt, deep down inside herself, a sense of her own
inferiority. That her children, and Justin, would have instantly refuted such
an idea meant nothing to her. Those words, so callously spoken in her presence
that day in the Council chamber, she had taken to heart, even more than she had
consciously known: "Let the lower creatures fend for themselves." She
had not been to NIMH; she did not have their genes; she was not, could never be,
as intelligent as they were. Therefore, inferior. But to see the honest respect
on the face of this rat, a stranger, and know that it was for her...she knew,
suddenly, what it was she had really feared. Not that the rats would harm her
or her children; but that they would reject her, ridicule her; and that her own
children might join them in doing so. But that, it seemed, would not be
happening.

They were all staring at her now, as she stood silent, and Thomas cleared
his throat delicately. "My orders are to escort you to Justin as soon as
you arrive," he said. "So if you will please follow me--?"

"Just one moment please, Thomas," Elizabeth told him, and she
turned to the crow. "Jeremy," she said, "thank you again. And
remember--one month. Right? You'll be back for us in one month?"

"Sure, sure," Jeremy promised grandly. "One month." He
pointed skyward. "I'll watch the moon. Have a good time, Mrs. B. See ya
later, kids."

They watched him go, vanishing swiftly over the western ridge; and Elizabeth
shook her head. Why do I have the feeling we'll be walking home? she
wondered; but somehow that thought wasn't half as alarming as it should have
been. She and her children turned to collect their luggage, but Thomas stepped
in quickly. "Allow me," he said graciously, and he gathered up all
five packs at once. His hands full, he pointed with his chin. "This way,
please."

They had not gotten very far when they were intercepted. The rat who came
jogging toward them was, like Thomas, dressed in a blue tunic and a white
shirt; but he was taller, his fur dark brown...and Elizabeth recognized him
instantly, even before she saw the flash of red and gold from around his neck.
"Justin!" she cried. And suddenly she was running, her cape flying
behind her.

They met somewhere in the middle, and for Justin, it seemed, a hearty
handshake was not sufficient. He caught her up in his long arms, lifting her
completely off her feet, and pulled her into a massive bearhug that threatened
to crack ribs. She could do no more than hang on around his neck.

Art by Saul Moran

Finally--a very long moment later--he set her on her feet, and he knelt down
before her, putting his face at the same level as her. He was smiling, but
there was a hint of moisture at the corners of his eyes, and his voice was
suspiciously husky as he said, quietly, "I can't tell you how happy I am
to see you. I was starting to think...well, that it might never happen
again."

Elizabeth felt the tears dripping from her whiskers, and she reached up with
the back of her hand to wipe them away. "I know," she said. "I
was afraid of that too. I'm very glad it didn't come true."

Briefly he hugged her again; then he held her at arm's length, his hands on
her shoulders, while they both took a closer look at each other. Behind
Elizabeth, her children crowded around, the older two nudging each other knowingly;
and Thomas, his arms still full of luggage, stood waiting stoically. If there
was just a hint of a smile on his face, he can probably be forgiven.

To Elizabeth, Justin looked just as he had when she'd first met him, beneath
the rosebush, the morning of that terrible day. He was leader now, no longer
Captain of the Guard, and she had wondered if he would have new clothes to go
with his new job. She had tried--and utterly failed--to imagine him wearing
Nicodemus' robes. But now, looking at him, she was glad he had not changed: the
uniform suited him far better than anything else would have. There was only one
change, a symbol, perhaps, of his new authority: the Stone, which hung proudly
around his neck. And perhaps--just perhaps, if one looked closely--a few more
lines on his forehead, carved there by several months of worry.

In Justin's eyes, though, Mrs. Brisby had changed; but entirely for
the better. He had known her so briefly, and on what had to have been one of
the worst, most stressful days of her life. His strongest memories of her were
of her anxiety, her uncertainty, her fear. Now--as she stood there smiling
despite her watery eyes--he saw that there had been an enormous change in her
since that day. She seemed...serene. Calm, confident, ready for anything. The
deeply-buried courage that Nicodemus had seen in her was now much closer to the
surface, available for use--just as Nicodemus had intended. And in repose--he
was almost startled to realize--she was even more attractive than he had remembered.
If indeed she was aging faster than him, it certainly didn't show. Not yet. Her
only flaw--if it could be called that--was a hint of sadness, carefully
concealed but visible nonetheless. He knew its cause, and its cure; but that
thought he could only push aside for now.

Eventually Justin shook himself free of his thoughts, and glanced up at his
Captain of the Guard. "I'll take it from here, Thomas," he said. He
nodded at the bundles. "If you'll please take those to the guest
room."

Thomas nodded crisply in lieu of a salute. "Yes, sir," he said,
and started across the field. Justin watched him go with a smile. No, that one
would never change.

"We've arranged a room for you," Justin told Elizabeth. "I
think you'll find it comfortable. Thomas will leave your luggage there."
Then he glanced up, smiling, at the four who were clustered behind Elizabeth;
silent, but pleading to be noticed. "Welcome," he said.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Justin," she said, "I don't
know if you've met my children..."

"Three of them I have," he said. "Very briefly, that night on
the farm. You were temporarily out of service at the time." Still
kneeling, then, he did the honors: he kissed Teresa's hand (whereupon she
blushed bright crimson); he shook Martin's hand firmly and clapped him on the
back; he tousled Cynthia's hair (while she sighed in frustration) and finally
he extended his hand to Timothy. "I'm very glad to finally meet you,"
he said. "You probably don't remember much about that night on the farm, I
suspect."

Timothy shook his head. "No, sir," he said regretfully. "I
don't. But I've heard all about it." He paused, and his eyes shone with
admiration. "And all about you."

Justin grinned hugely. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said.
He stood and brushed off his knees. Then he glanced at Elizabeth. "Since
you brought luggage, I assume you've accepted my invitation? You'll stay with
us a while?"

She nodded. "Yes," she said. "I asked Jeremy to come back in
a month. If that's all right," she added hurriedly.

Once again he grinned. "As a matter of fact," he said, "it's
entirely too short. And now I suppose you'd like to take a look at the
place." He waited until the chorus of voices had died down, and then he
raised his hand. "Before we go inside," he said, "there's just a
few things I'd like you to know." Suddenly he was serious, absolutely so;
Elizabeth was astounded by the change. In an instant the prankster, the
fun-loving young rat who joked his way through life, was gone; in his place was
the Leader, the one who had brought his people through their greatest crisis
safe and alive. Elizabeth looked, and understood: he had grown, that last night
on the farm; even as she herself had.

He went on, "First and most important, all of you are welcome here, now
and always. That isn't something I've decreed." He swept his arm.
"These people have decided it themselves." He glanced at Elizabeth.
"I know you didn't get a very good reception last time you visited us, but
that's in the past, an everyone here wants to make that up to you." He
paused. "Second, we have no secrets here. There are no places where it's
forbidden for you to go." He smiled. "Except of course the private
living quarters; I think people would appreciate it if you knocked first. There
are also a few--a very few--places where it might be dangerous for you to go,
because there's machinery in use. But we'll cover that later. Other than that,
you are welcome to use every public space in this community: the library, the
lounge, the dining hall...and we'll be disappointed if you don't come to the
meeting hall." He paused again. "Let's see, have I forgotten
anything? Oh yes--if any of you need any help, just ask anyone. Our hallways
are a little confusing at first--I've even gotten lost myself a time or two. If
you need directions, or anything else, just ask. We're here to help." He
grinned then, and suddenly the old Justin was back. He clapped his hands
together briskly. "All right," he said. "Enough for the public
service announcements. Let's get you settled in, shall we?"

He turned to lead them inside; but he was interrupted.
"Justin--sir?"

Justin turned, smiling. "Yes, Timothy?" he said. "And by the
way--you can drop the 'sir.' Only Thomas calls me that. To everybody else I'm
just Justin."

Timothy smiled broadly. "Okay," he said. He took a deep breath.
"Justin--was our father your friend?"

For just an instant Justin froze, and Elizabeth thought she saw a spasm of
pain cross his face. Then he knelt down again on the grass and clasped
Timothy's shoulders in his large hands. "Timothy," he said seriously,
"your father was one of the best friends I've ever had. In fact we shared
quarters for a time, under the rosebush, before he decided to move in with
Ages. I miss him terribly, each and every day."

"I was just thinking," Timothy said. "There must be a lot you
could tell us about him."

Justin smiled. "Yes, there is," he said. "And you bet I
will." He clapped Timothy on the shoulder, and rose. "Let's go see
the place he helped make possible."

To Elizabeth and her children, the Thorn Valley community was something
close to a dream come true.

They crossed the field to the main entrance, the children running ahead,
racing each other, while Elizabeth and Justin followed more sedately. Justin
walked slowly, his hands behind his back, patiently matching her shorter-legged
stride. "So," he asked with a smile, "how did you like your
first look at our valley?"

She shook her head in wonderment. "It's beautiful," she said.
"I can't believe how much you've accomplished."

He grinned. "Neither can I, sometimes." He nodded ahead.
"Your children," he said. "They've really grown since I saw them
last. And they're all looking very well--especially Timothy."

"Yes," she agreed fondly. "Yes, they are. Especially him. I
thank heaven for that every day. I...really don't know what I would have done,
if anything had happened to him. Or if anything ever happened to any of
them."

Justin gazed at Timothy, running along easily, almost effortlessly, beside
his brother. Even two months ago that would not have been possible for him.
"He reminds me a lot of Jonathan," Justin said. "Bold as brass,
as the old saying goes."

That was the word for it, she had to agree. For both of them.

Justin cleared his throat. "May I make a confession?" he asked,
sounding embarrassed.

She glanced up at him. "What kind of confession?" she asked.

He scratched the back of his head. "I'm sorry to admit," he said,
"that I don't know your first name. I'm sure Jonathan told me," he
went on hurriedly. "But if he did, I'm afraid it's slipped my mind."

Suddenly, and for no reason she could think of, she felt herself blush. He
was right, she realized. All through their previous, all-too-brief
acquaintance, she had been simply "Mrs. Brisby." And not only to him,
but to the other rats as well. "It's Elizabeth," she told him.

"'Elizabeth,'" he quoted slowly, as if savoring the sound of it.
"I like that. It suits you. May I...?"

"Of course you may," she said. She smiled. "As long as I
don't have to call you 'Mr. Leader Justin.'"

He made a sour face. "Nobody calls me that," he said.
"Sometimes I think I'm lucky they don't call me 'hey fathead.'"

By that time they had reached the archway, and there the children had
halted, panting, under the benign--but slightly alarming--gaze of Brutus.
Justin smiled up at the sentry. "Brutus, you remember Mrs. Brisby, don't
you?"

She couldn't quite suppress a shudder as those big dark eyes shifted over to
her. For a moment Brutus stared down at her; then, slowly, he nodded. Justin
went on, "She and her children are our guests. Can I count on you to keep
an eye out for them?"

Brutus' gaze shifted slowly from him to her, then to the children; and
finally back to Justin. Then a huge yellow-toothed smile split his narrow face,
and he nodded again, vigorously. "Good man," Justin said, clapping
him on the arm. And then the six of them passed through the entrance.

The archway led into a wide, high-ceilinged corridor, which ran for perhaps
three feet, and intersected at right angles with another, even wider hallway.
At that joining Justin turned right, and the Brisbys followed, looking around
in astonishment. Elizabeth took the rear to keep any of her children from
straying. Indeed, this was nothing like what they had expected--whatever that
might have been. They found themselves in a hallway perhaps two feet wide,
evidently cut from the solid rock. Walls and ceiling were smooth, almost
polished. The floor beneath their feet was not stone, but rather tile, red
squares of unglazed terra-cotta, smooth but not slick. The walls angled in
slightly, and at irregular intervals the ceiling had clearly been buttressed
for additional support. Along both walls, high up near the ceiling, oil lamps
with polished brass reflectors cast circles of warm, bright light. Along both
walls as well were a number of wooden doors, more on the right than on the
left, each one painted a different color, and each one with a sign affixed to
the wall beside it. Other signs, with arrows, gave directions: to the Dining
Hall, for example, or to the North Stairway.

Justin, seeing the looks on their faces, smiled fondly. "This is our magnum
opus," he said. "This is why the Plan took so long to
complete--because we had to finish this first." He slapped the stone wall.
"There are four levels of tunnels, and they run for quite a distance along
the valley's east wall. A lot of it is unused so far--and quite a bit is
unfinished too. Planning for the future. The best rooms are on the west side."
He pointed to the right. "They're the ones with the windows. The ones on
the other side aren't used for living space. They're storerooms, lavatories and
so forth."

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "The air is fresh," she commented.
"Under the rosebush you had electric fans--Nicodemus told me. How do
you--?"

"Water-powered fans," Justin said. "Our Chief Engineer
Arthur's greatest achievement. I'll introduce you to him later, if we can catch
up with him. He managed to redirect a small stream that flows into our lake. It
provides us with our drinking water, and powers some machinery. Including the
ventilation."

By this time they had entered the heart of the community--and the corridor
was filled with rats.

During her visit to the rosebush Elizabeth had met very few of the rats, and
so the ones who passed them now were all strangers to her. It was clear,
however, that every one of them knew her, by reputation at least. Male
and female, they passed up and down the corridor singly or in pairs, all of
them obviously intent on some errand or other. Of the elaborate, almost
fancy-dress costumes she had seen under the rosebush, there was absolutely no
sign here. The males wore shirt and tunic, in various colors; or shirt and
vest, or simply a shirt. The females wore simple skirts and blouses, mostly
short-sleeved or sleeveless. Most of them carried something on their hands or
under their arms: a clipboard, perhaps, or a book; or else a toolbox or a
laundry basket. Elizabeth could not guess the age of any of them. That, she would
soon realize, was the way with the Rats of NIMH, except the remainder of the
Original 22. The members of the second and subsequent generations, having
inherited the NIMH genes, simply stopped aging soon after they reached
adulthood; and so all of them just looked Young. Her own children, Elizabeth
realized, would probably experience that same effect: eventually they would all
four appear to be the same age. She hoped she'd live long enough to see it.

But--whatever their age, and whatever their errand--every one of the rats
who passed them, stopped to greet her personally. Except for Justin's strict
orders, they might have mobbed her; but every one of them paused to smile
respectfully down at her, and to murmur words of greeting. "We're glad
you're here," seemed to be the general sentiment. Later on, after she was
settled in, they would mob her; and she would have more names to
memorize than she could possibly cope with.

"See what I mean?" Justin said with a smile. "They've been
looking forward to this almost as much as I have."

To his right, then, Justin pointed to a door painted dark green.
"That's my office and quarters," he said. "Sometimes I'm even
there." And then, just three doors up the corridor, he stopped. "And
this is the room we've fixed up for you. I hope you'll like it."

With a flourish (Justin was nothing if not dramatic, as Elizabeth knew very
well) he threw open the sky-blue door and ushered them inside. The room within
was not large, by rat standards; but it was more than twice the size of both
rooms of their cinder-block home put together. The floor was tile, as were the
hallways; but a number of brightly-colored woven-rag carpets were scattered
about. On the west wall were two large round windows; both of them were wide
open, their curtains hooked back, to let in light and air. Through the windows
the view ran unobstructed down the grassy slope to take in the lake and a
portion of the farm.

The room contained just a few pieces of furniture, all of them large. Along
the wall to the right of the door, a writing desk and stool; there were pens
and a bottle of ink on the top shelf. Above the desk a small, oak-cased
pendulum clock ticked softly. Tucked into the corners, a pair of
straight-backed chairs with padded seats. And--largest of all--three beds.
Rat-sized, almost ridiculously huge for a mouse, all three of them had wooden
frames and elaborately-carved head- and foot-boards, and all were covered with
brightly-colored patchwork quilts. Two of the beds sat side by side on the
right side of the room; the third was on the other side, and could be closed
off from the other two by means of a curtain running on a ceiling-hung track.
At the foot of each bed sat a large wooden chest, no doubt containing extra
blankets. On top of one of these chests, in a neat pile, were the five packs
Thomas had brought inside. On the walls hung several oil lamps, one over each
bed and another over the desk, none of them lit at present.

Justin, leaning against the door-frame with his arms crossed over his chest,
grinned. "Well?" he asked, "what do you think?" Then,
without waiting for an answer, he went on, "Best we can do right now, I'm
afraid. We're a little short on finished space. Not to mention furniture."

All five of them were gazing around in wonder; a little bare, perhaps,
compared to their home, but they had never seen, nor even imagined, so much
living space. And, Elizabeth realized, we probably won't be doing
much more than sleeping here anyway. Everything else we'll need is
outside, in the corridors. "Justin," she said, "it's
wonderful. Thank you."

His grin widened. "You're welcome," he said. "I hope you
won't mind the beds--we really didn't have anything smaller available." He
glanced at the younger Brisbys. "I'm sure you won't mind sharing, will
you?"

The four of them exchanged a wary glance; but in fact their own beds at home
were packed so tightly together, they might as well have been sharing. They
would get used to it. Each of the two beds had more than enough mattress-space
for two mice.

"There's a few special features, too," Justin said. He pointed
across the room, to a squat black object that sat directly between the two
windows. "That's a heating stove," he said. "Burns alcohol. The
nights have been fairly warm lately, and you probably won't need it, but if you
do I can show you how to operate it. And then there's this." He turned.
Into the wall to the left of the door a small niche had been carved, and a
round earthenware basin set into it. A bright-metal spigot was affixed to the
wall above the basin, and as Justin turned its X-shaped handle, a stream of
water poured down into the basin. "Arthur's proudest achievement,"
Justin said. "Running water. Running cold water for the moment, but we're
working on that." A shelf above the basin held soap and towels, there was
a mirror affixed next to it; and someone had thoughtfully provided a
step-stool, so they could actually reach the sink.

This is better than I expected, Elizabeth realized suddenly. Better
because it was simpler. She had been bewildered, not to say frightened, by the
electric opulence of the rosebush community; this, however--tunnels, oil lamps
and simple wooden furniture--she could relate to. And running water she could
definitely get used to.

"Let's see, have I forgotten anything?" Justin said. "Oh
yes--there's a lavatory right across the hall, and it has a bathtub too. I can
show you how to operate the boiler later. It's a little tricky until you get the
hang of it."

Elizabeth crossed the room--it required more steps to do so than she'd
expected--and reached up to clasp his hands. "Justin," she said,
"thank you. I...never expected anything like this."

"What, you thought we'd keep you in the broom closet?" he asked.
He looked around. "Tell you what--I've got some business that I should
attend to, but it won't take long. Why don't I let you unpack and relax for a
while, then I'll show you around." He glanced at the clock. "And
maybe we'd better begin the tour in the dining hall."

Justin found Elizabeth later that afternoon, down by the beach.

At a spot not far from the community's main entrance, near where a small
seasonal stream joined the lake, was a semicircular cove, fronted by a broad
sloping beach of coarse sand. The rats had improved the cove some months in the
past, laying a breakwater of stones partially across it, so that now it formed
a swimming hole, safely shallow near the shore but deep enough for diving at
the breakwater. Justin, strolling out from the community that afternoon, was
once again glad that he had insisted the work be done. He knew from experience
that Thorn Valley could get very hot indeed in the middle of summer--it looked
like they'd set another record today, and again tomorrow--and that a cool swim
would be a welcome respite for adults as well as children. (And--of course--it
was important that all the children learn how to swim, for their own safety.)
The beach itself was also becoming increasingly popular; Justin had witnessed--and
participated in--a number of very spirited games of volleyball. And in the back
of his mind, he had the beginnings of a cunning plan: a luau, perhaps? There
were a few rats he was dying to see in sarongs...

Recreation. If Nicodemus--rest his soul--had one blind spot, that was
it: recreation. He had entirely failed to realize that his hard-working,
socially-responsible, industrious rats would need ways to blow off steam. It
was an omission Justin had worked hard to correct. One of his priorities, in
fact. Keep 'em happy, and they'll work harder.

For a moment Justin stood at the upper edge of the beach, looking down and
smiling. The water was absolutely seething with rat children, perhaps as many
as two dozen in all--but that was hard to tell, they wouldn't stay still to be
counted. Quite naked--the rats has never seen the need for swimsuits--they
swam, they splashed, they bounced a beach ball almost as big as they were back
and forth; and the older and more adventurous among them clambered up on the
breakwater for diving. When Justin saw two much smaller figures climbing up
onto the rocks he peered closer--then his smile widened. Those two were Teresa
and Martin Brisby. They seemed to have challenged each other to a diving
contest. Even as he watched, Martin attempted a somersault that turned into a
belly-flop, and Teresa, brushing her hair out of her eyes, almost fell from her
rocky perch, laughing. Down below the other two--Timothy and Cynthia--were
among the group with the beach ball; Justin saw Timothy lift his sister out of
the water, high enough to bat the ball away from the other grasping hands. If
Justin had harbored any fears that the Brisby children wouldn't be accepted by
the community's youngsters--actually he hadn't--they would have evaporated
right then and there.

Justin looked around, and immediately found what (or rather who) he
expected to find. A little way up the slope from the beach was a wide grassy
area, shaded by a number of bushes; and lying there in the deepest shade was
Elizabeth Brisby. After lunch--and after the tour he'd managed to give them
(brief, just the highlights, because he didn't want to tire them, and because
they'd have plenty of time to explore on their own)--he had lost track of the
Brisby family; but it didn't surprise him to find them here. Not at all.

Elizabeth lay with her eyes closed, flat on her back; her hands were clasped
over her stomach and her cape spread out beneath her, its knot unfastened.
Beside her, in a single pile, lay her children's clothing. No need for towels,
not today; when they finally tired of their games and came out, the sun would
bake them dry in a few minutes.

That cape troubled Justin. It was utterly typical of Elizabeth--typical of any
mother, for that matter--that she would deny herself while providing for her
children. The four younger Brisbys had arrived in Thorn Valley wearing clothes
that seemed brand-new, well-fitting and with not a rip or a patch to be seen.
But her...it hurt Justin, literally pained him, to see her wearing that same
old cape, ragged at the hem and with multiple patches. All of the cloth they
had left her, it seemed, had gone into keeping her rapidly-growing children
clothed; she had expended none on herself. Justin doubted whether he could
convince her to accept any other type of clothing, such as the skirts and
blouses that her daughters wore; but that old cape was marked for replacement.
By stealth, if necessary.

Quietly Justin strolled over. He didn't think she was asleep, but still it
seemed a shame to disturb her; never in their brief association had he seen her
look quite so relaxed. She heard his footsteps, though, and opened one big blue
eye; and a second later she was sitting up, hurriedly knotting her cape.

"Sorry," he said with a grin. "Only me from over the sea. May
I join you?"

Her returning smile was a little embarrassed. "Please," she said,
waving her hand. He sat down beside her, cross-legged, the pile of clothing
between them. He nodded down at the water.

"It looks like they're having fun, at least," he commented.

She nodded. "Yes," she said. "We met some children a little
while ago, and they invited mine to join them. I couldn't possibly say no.
Jonathan taught Teresa and Martin to swim some time ago--he thought it was
important. And they taught the other two. They don't get much chance at
home."

"I'll bet they'll sleep tonight."

She smiled wryly. "I hope so. I know I will."

He peered over at her. "You didn't join them?" he asked.
"It's open to anyone, you know. Kids and adults."

"I know," she said. "But...no. I can swim, of course.
But only when it's absolutely necessary." She paused. "Justin,"
she said, "I want to thank you again for what you've done for us. Everyone
here has been so kind..."

"You're welcome," he said. "But I can't really take credit
for that. It was entirely spontaneous. Like it or not, Elizabeth, you're a
celebrity here."

He saw her ears redden, and for a moment she turned away. Then she said,
"I'm glad you happened by. I've been hoping that we could talk--just the
two of us."

"Me too."

"That is, unless I'm keeping you from your work," she added
quickly.

He spread out his hands. "This is my work," he said.
"Part of the job--'greet and entertain visiting dignitaries.'"

"Oh?"

"Well," he said with a grin, "it has been since I made it up
this morning."

"So...how do you like being the leader?"

He sighed and gazed across the lake. "It's taken some getting used
to," he said. "Especially the paperwork. And I can't deny it's caused
me some sleepless nights. It's a huge responsibility, having the fate of all
these people on my shoulders. They all look to me for advice and wise
decisions, and I have to deliver, or I'll lose their confidence. Sometimes I
think it's too much for one rat to handle--especially the way I've decided to
do the job."

"Which is?"

"Well--you know how much I loved Nicodemus," Justin said. "We
all did; for me, in many ways, he was the father I'd never known. But as time
went on he withdrew himself more and more from the day-to-day running of the
community. In a way that's understandable; he had the Plan to think about, and
he had his own developing powers. But all the same, it was a mistake. It
allowed Jenner to gain almost complete control of the Council. And that nearly
led to disaster. I've tried--deliberately--to be much more hands-on. I spend
part of every day walking around the community, talking to people, solving
little problems, heading off disputes... 'Schmoozing,' the word is. Just trying
to stay visible, stay connected."

"And?"

He grinned. "And, so far it seems to be working. Nobody's scrawled any
death threats on my office door yet, at least. And I was elected
unanimously."

"I've been wondering," Elizabeth said, "what happened after
you got here. You said in your letter that there was a lot of hard
work..."

He nodded soberly. "That's an understatement," he said. "This
place was nowhere near ready for occupation. There were a few people
here--Arthur and his crew doing construction, and Ralph the master farmer and a
few others waiting for the frost to break so they could get plowing." He
grinned again. "Were they surprised when the rest of us descended on them.

"We weren't able to bring half the things with us that we wanted
to," Justin went on. "Just bare necessities--and even then the wagons
were overloaded."

"By the way," Elizabeth said, "I want to thank you for the
things you left us."

"You're very welcome," he said. "For better than two weeks it
was like a camping trip--a really bad camping trip. First it rained, then it
got cold again, and even snowed some. And all the while we were trying to make
the place livable; trying to get the kitchen running, and the plumbing, and get
the glass into the windows and the doors in place, so the apartments would be
inhabitable." He paused. "In a way--I've sometimes thought--it was
for the best. The Plan called for most of the people to move in this coming
fall. All he construction would have been finished by then, and the farm
producing. But they say you appreciate the most what you work for the
hardest."

"And what about you?" she asked.

"Ah, there's another story," he said. "That night on the
farm...well, the fact is, I was a usurper too. I grabbed control as surely as
Jenner planned to."

She shook her head firmly. "There were many differences," she
said.

"Maybe so," he conceded. "But at any rate, for the next two
weeks or so, there I was, shouting orders all day long--and everybody obeyed
me. Nobody tried to overthrow me, nobody questioned my authority. But I knew it
couldn't go on forever; eventually they'd begin to wonder, 'why are we taking
orders from him?'

"So--as soon as things calmed down a little--I called a meeting. Not
the Council--a meeting of every adult in the community. Among other things I
told them that, in my opinion, the Council hadn't been doing a very good job of
representing them lately. The Council had allowed Jenner to take over--again,
that was partly Nicodemus' fault. But the Council also came very close to kicking
you out that day. If it hadn't suited Jenner's purpose to pretend to help you,
they would have; and then we'd all be dead."

"You know that was just an accident," she protested.

"I don't care," he said. "Neither do these people, now.
Accident or no, you delivered the warning that saved us, Elizabeth, and we are never
going to forget that." He paused. "Where was I? Oh yes--I'm afraid I
might have made a few enemies that night, but what happened was this: I told
the people that it was their community, not the Council's, and that they
should decide how it is governed. And in the end they agreed with me: they
dissolved the Council on the spot."

"So how are you managing now?"

"Town meetings," Justin said. "About once a week, or more if
we have more business. There'll be one tomorrow night, as it happens, and I'd
very much like for you to be there. Every adult in the community has a vote,
and anyone can speak on any subject." He sighed. "Eventually it will
become too cumbersome, and we'll have to go back to a council system. But not
right away, if I have anything to say about it. At any rate, one of the first
things they did--I had nothing to do with it--was to change our constitution.
The position of Leader--that's the official title--is now elected. Every two
years." He smiled broadly. "And guess who they elected first, right
on the spot?"

"You deserved it," she insisted. "You got them here alive,
and you stopped Jenner from taking over."

He shrugged again. "So," he said, "tell me--what do you think
of the place?"

"It's...wonderful," she said. She gazed around. "These last
few months, since Nicodemus told me about your Plan, I've been trying to
imagine what it would be like." She shook her head. "But I never
imagined anything like this."

"It's got a few rough edges," he said. "And it's nowhere near
as opulent as the old place. But it's all ours, and that's what's
important."

"There is one other thing I've been wondering about," Elizabeth
said.

"Go on."

"Well--from what I've always heard, when the humans build a farm, like
Mr. Fitzgibbons, it belongs to one family, or sometimes one company. They raise
the crops, and they sell what they grow to pay for what they need. That's what
Jonathan told me."

Justin nodded. "Yes, that's right," he said.

"But here--well, it seems to me you're doing things differently here.
There seems to be just one farm, just as there's one kitchen and one dining
hall."

Justin nodded again. "That's exactly correct," he said.
"We're a cooperative. That was Nicodemus' fondest wish, the way he
structured the entire Plan, and I agreed with him almost entirely. Mostly it's
a matter of efficiency. Nicodemus believed that it would be ridiculous for everyone
here to try to run their own small farms. Especially when there are certain to
be people who have no talent for it. And...well, Nicodemus was not a big fan of
the humans' capitalist system. He believed that we--being what we are--would do
better to cooperate than compete."

"And?"

"And--everyone here, or I should actually say every family, has their
own living quarters; the apartments you see along our corridors. We've worked
very hard to make certain that everyone meets at least a basic level of
comfort. We're just now reaching the point where we can provide some luxuries
too. But beyond that, beyond the living spaces, we hold everything in common.
The products of the farm we share equally, each according to his needs. The
same with the products of the workshops, the clothing factory, and so on. And
everyone--every adult--has a job. About fifty-three percent of our population
works directly on the farm. The rest are spread out into a number of
jobs--Arthur's workshop, the cloth mill and clothing factory, the kitchen, the
cleaning staff...I've tried very hard to convince everyone that every
kind of work is important, and has an equal dignity."

"How has it worked out?"

"Very well, so far," he said. "I did have to make one minor
adjustment--added some incentives. Nicodemus didn't think it would be
necessary, but it is. If a citizen here works hard, pulls his weight, he gets
an equal share of all the necessities of life, and a good share of comforts
too. But if he works harder, above and beyond the call, he gets some extra
credits, which he can trade for additional luxuries. It's about as close as we
get to what the humans call money."

"It seems that everyone is happy," she commented.

"Well, I don't think there's a revolution brewing quite yet." He
paused, and sighed. "There's one job we haven't filled yet, though, and it
worries me. We don't have a physician."

"I was a little surprised that Mr. Ages didn't come with you,"
Elizabeth said.

"He--uh--had his reasons, I'm sure," Justin said. Exactly what
those reason were, he didn't dare tell her: in fact Mr. Ages had remained on
the farm in order to receive messengers from the NIMH expedition. "I
really wish he had, though. Have you seen him lately?"

She shook her head. "Not for some weeks," she said. "For a
while after you left he came to see us fairly often--to check on Timothy's
lungs and my hands. But after Timothy and I got better, he stopped coming. He
said he had too much work to do."

"When you go home," Justin said, "if you don't mind, I'd like
you to take a letter from me to him." He shook his head. "We need him
here. It's just a matter of time before someone gets really sick, or injured,
and right now we couldn't cope with that."

"Certainly I will," she said. She paused, and then she said,
"Justin, may I ask you a favor?"

"Of course."

She pointed to his throat. "May I...may I hold the Stone?"

"Certainly," he said. He reached up behind his head to unclasp the
chain, and then he laid the amulet across her hands. She turned it over, gazing
for a moment at the inscription on the back of the gold setting; then she sat
silent, her eyes closed. Justin, watching quietly, saw a red spark suddenly
flare in the Stone's depths. For a few moments it grew steadily brighter, and
he seemed to feel a humming vibration in the air; unless that was just his
imagination. Then Elizabeth sighed, opened her eyes, and handed the Stone back
to him.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome." He paused. "I can't get it to do any tricks
for me, I'm afraid. But somehow it makes me feel more comfortable just to wear
it. I only take it off when I bathe." He paused again. "If you want
it back, Elizabeth, I'd be more than happy to give it to you. I've always felt
it belongs more to you than me."

She smiled and shook her head firmly "No," she said. "Thank
you, Justin, but no. You need it more than I do. And it will work for
you--when you need it."

For a moment Justin sat silent, the Stone still resting in his hands. Then
he cleared his throat. "Oh, by the way," he said. "I wanted you
to know that there's going to be a concert in the lounge tonight, and you and
your children are invited."

"Concert?" she asked.

"A musical performance," he explained. "A young rat named
Julian--he's very good with a guitar. I think you'll enjoy it."

"Thank you," she said. A musical performance...what next?
How else could these people manage to amaze her? "If they're not too
tired, we'll certainly come."

A sudden noise attracted her attention then, and she looked down. Below, in
the swimming hole, a major splashing war had erupted, and somewhere in the
middle of it were her children. She frowned and half-rose. "Is that
safe--?" she said anxiously.

"Perfectly," Justin assured her. Her pointed. In the middle of the
beach stood a tall wooden platform, a seat about two feet tall, where a young
female rat was perched attentively, a visor on her forehead and a white smear
of zinc oxide across her nose. "Carla's a qualified lifeguard." And
as if on cue, the young rat raised a whistle to her lips and blew a sharp
blast. The splashing died away instantly. "See?" Justin grinned.

"I know, I shouldn't worry so much," Elizabeth said. She sighed.
"But sometimes I can't help it." She looked up at him. "I am
a mother, after all."

Justin nodded. "It's part of the job description," he said.
"Not, of course, that I'll ever know."

"Well, you'll never know what it's like to be a mother,"
Elizabeth said, smiling. "That's obvious. But what about a father?"

Justin's grin was a little sheepish this time, and he scratched the back of
his head. "I'll get around to that someday," he said. "I think
I've still got time."

"Maybe so," she cautioned. "But all the same, don't put it
off too long. Someday has a way of becoming never."

"That's just what Jonathan used to--" he began, but then cut
himself off. "I'm sorry," he finished contritely.

She shook her head. "Don't be," she said. "It's all right.
That's one of the reasons why I came here--and why they came." She
pointed down at her soaking-wet children. "We want to know what
Jonathan used to say. We want to hear everything you can tell us about
him."

"I understand," he said again. "And I will. Believe me,
there's a lot to tell."

"I know," she said. She paused. "Half of his life--the half
that included all of you--was hidden from us. Nicodemus tried to explain why,
and I've tried to understand. But, Justin, do you think Jonathan would ever
have told us? Would he ever have let us be part of this half of his life?"

Justin paused for a long moment. Suddenly the conversation had turned into a
minefield, and he would have to tread very carefully indeed. He said, "I
think that very question troubled him more than anything else. He did want you
to be a part of this. He especially wanted your children to be a part of it,
because he believed that they already were, if you see what I mean. But I don't
know, Elizabeth. I honestly don't know. He couldn't see past the difference
between you and him--the fact that he would age so much slower than you. That
one thing filled his mind constantly--and because of that, he wasn't able to
think very clearly about a lot of other things."

She nodded. "I know," she said. "Maybe...maybe after I was
gone, it would have been easier for him to tell them."

At that moment--so great was his affection for her--Justin came closer than
he ever had to blurting out the truth. What would it harm? He demanded
of himself. She knows about us now; she understands what we are. And good
God, how she misses him! She's lived with this torment for nine months; why
should it go on?

In the end, for better or worse, Justin was a rat of his word; that, he
believed, was the most important thing setting him apart from the likes of
Jenner. He had sworn an oath to one of his very best friends; and he would
not--could not--break it. It was not easy; but he held his silence. Heaven
help me if she ever does find out, he thought in despair. She'd
never forgive me; and I couldn't blame her.

Finally Justin stood and stretched out his long arms. He squinted up at the
sun. "You know," he said, "it is hot today. I think I
might join them."

"You're joking," she said. "You?"

"Hey," he said, "a rat needs his exercise, you know."
And then, while Elizabeth watched in amazement and not a little embarrassment,
he removed his tunic and shirt and laid them in a neat pile, topping it with
the Stone. He grinned down at her. "Last one in," he said, and then
he dashed down the slope and plunged into the lake.

Elizabeth sat frozen for a moment, her mouth hanging open in astonishment
She glanced first at the pile of clothing, and then down at him, happily
cavorting with her children and the others as if he was still a kid himself.. This
is the elected leader of the Rats of NIMH? she thought. Then she shook her
head. Maybe so--but it's also still Justin. She looked--and then,
scarcely able to believe what she was doing, she stood. Her cape landed where
she dropped it, covering the Stone...and then, to the amazement and delight of
her children and Justin, she also pelted down the hill and threw herself into
the cool water. "Glad you could join us," Justin said, as she
surfaced beside him.

"Hey," she said, smiling as she splashed him, "a mouse needs
her exercise too."

Later that evening--and with some small difficulty--Elizabeth and her children
found the lounge.

Actually, more correctly, it was Timothy who found it. Elizabeth was hardly
surprised. Trust him to be the one with enough presence of mind to memorize the
places they'd seen, the corridors they'd passed, during their whirlwind tour
earlier. Less than a day, and already he knew his way around almost as well as
the rats who built the place. Myself, Elizabeth predicted gloomily, as
her younger son led the way, I'll probably just be learning these corridors
when it's time for us to go home.

The lounge was on the community's second tier, and it was the third-largest
room they had seen so far; only the meeting hall (which they had seen briefly
earlier that afternoon) and the dining hall (from which they had just come)
were larger. The lounge was a place for relaxation, for conversation. Its
western wall was a solid bank of windows, which, as they entered that evening,
was filled with one of the most spectacular sunsets Elizabeth had ever seen. A
large room, its ceiling was low (by rat standards) and supported by a number of
pillars. Hanging lamps sent down overlapping circles of light, and
brightly-colored rugs covered the floor. Normally, when there was no
performance scheduled, a large number of sofas and easy chairs would be
scattered around the room, individually or in small groups; and there would
also be a number of tables available for games, board or card. This night,
however, that arrangement had been changed. In the room's northwest corner a
stage had been set up, a small wooden platform with a folding screen for a
backdrop; and the sofas and chairs had all been pulled into a semicircle in
front of the stage. Most of the room lights were turned low, and several other
lamps had been arranged to illuminate the stage.

As Elizabeth and her children entered, the lounge was already quite full,
most of the chairs and sofas already occupied, and more rats arriving by the
minute. For a second she looked around, wondering where they might find
space...but then she saw, from the front row, a hand beckoning to her. Justin.

They stepped forward, to find the leader of the rats sitting, quite alone,
at one end of a large comfortable-looking couch. He grinned as Elizabeth drew
near. ""Glad you could make it," he said. "I used my
executive powers for once. Not that anyone was going to tell me no. Make
yourselves comfortable."

They did so. Elizabeth settled herself into the depths of the sofa with her
children flanking her, Timothy and Cynthia next to her, and Teresa and Martin
on the outside. Elizabeth noticed--and refrained from commenting on--the fact
that Teresa managed to place herself right next to Justin. Yes, she's
growing up, all right, Elizabeth thought with a smile. Not that she could
blame her; not at all.

"This should be good," Justin told them. "Julian is one of
the most talented musicians in the valley."

"Meaning that there's more than one?" Elizabeth asked.

"Oh yes," Justin assured her. "Quite a few. There's hardly a
week goes by that we don't have a concert."

Elizabeth thought about that, while she gazed up at the still-unoccupied
stage. There were three objects there, on the platform; two familiar, and one
not. First was a wooden stool, about waist-high to a rat. Second a small table,
on which stood a single glass of water. And third....On a rack-like wooden
stand stood an object the likes of which Elizabeth had never seen. Made of
wood, apparently, light in color and polished to a glow. The body of it was
oval in outline, squashed in at the middle, and with a small hole in its center.
A long narrow neck of darker wood protruded from the top. Along the length of
the neck, and a little more than halfway along the oval body, were stretched
six thin strings. Or perhaps wires; Elizabeth couldn't tell which.

Timothy noticed her puzzled frown, and leaned over to whisper in her ear.
"It's called a 'guitar,'" he said. "The humans play them too. I
saw a picture in one of the books the rats gave us."

"Thank you, dear," she said. A guitar. Another word added
to her vocabulary; was that two or three hundred so far today? I wonder what
a guitar sounds like?

She had not long to wait for an answer to that. The rat who stepped up to
the stage was a young male, grey-furred and almost skinny; he wore a
long-sleeved white shirt and a black vest, and large glasses with round lenses.
He smiled shyly, acknowledging the polite smattering of applause, as he perched
himself on the stool and lifted his instrument from its stand. Julian, his name
was, apparently; at least that's what Justin had said; he didn't introduce
himself. Probably he didn't think it was necessary. "Thank you," he
said. He plucked a few notes, adjusted a tuning key, then strummed a quiet
chord and nodded his satisfaction. "I'd like to start tonight with
something a little different for me. It's a classical piece by Gabriel Faure;
his Pavane, opus 50."

He took a deep breath then, sat for a second with his fingers poised over
neck and bridge; and then began to play.

For several moments Elizabeth Brisby sat with her eyes closed, letting the
sound wash over her. Up until then, music was something which simply hadn't
been part of her life. She knew what it was; at times she had heard snatches
drifting through the open windows of the farmhouse, or from a radio carried by
someone into the garden or the fields. Jonathan had once tried to explain it to
her. She'd understood that the radio was only the carrier; that it didn't
really make the music, but exactly what did, she'd never even stopped to
consider. That such a sound could come from a wooden box and six strings, would
never have occurred to her.

Finally, perhaps halfway through the piece, she opened her eyes and, as
casually as she could, she looked around the lounge. She had cautioned her
children to be on their best behavior, not knowing how they would react to such
an unfamiliar situation; now, she saw, she needn't have bothered. All four of
them there absolutely entranced. Even Cynthia, sitting there in the crook of
Elizabeth's left arm, showed no sign of fidgeting. And Timothy, cuddled up
against her right side, was nothing short of enraptured, his blue eyes huge and
gleaming.

Behind them the room was packed to capacity; obviously Julian's performances
were popular. The rats sat singly in chairs, or together on the sofas; many of
the couples had arms around each other's shoulders. All of them sat quiet,
relaxed; many of them had their eyes closed, or were smiling in enjoyment. Many
of them were familiar, people Elizabeth had met that day; she only wished she
remembered all their names.

The piece ended, and Elizabeth and the children joined in the quiet,
reserved applause. Julian stepped off his stool to take a bow, then he reseated
himself. "Thank you," he said. "My next piece is a little
something of my own, which I wrote a few months ago. I call it 'Exodus.'"

This piece was much different from the first; the tempo faster, much less
formal. Elizabeth watched Julian's fingers dancing across his instrument, a
blur of movement; she watched the total concentration on his face. His eyes
were closed behind his glasses. She could scarcely begin to imagine the skill,
the dedication he must possess. Truly, she had never seen anything like it.

It was at that moment, sitting there in the lounge with the music swirling
around her, that Elizabeth Brisby experienced what she might have called an
epiphany, had she known the word. This is the way to live. The thought
came to her mind suddenly, unbidden; it was a thought that had been building
inside her all day. Now, finally, it had given itself voice. She looked around
at the assembled rats, all of them sitting at ease, concentrating on the music
or on each other. All day they had worked hard; but now, in the evening, they
could put work aside. Here and now they had no worries; they needn't wonder
where their next food would come from, or whether their homes would be turned
over and destroyed by a plow. They had time to read, to study, to listen to
music. Their lives were a challenge, but not a struggle. Safety, security--the
very things she had craved so strongly these last few months--were the very
things they had in plenty.

During the next break, when Julian paused to take a drink and check his
tuning, Timothy twisted his head around to speak softly into her ear. "Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I think...I'd like to learn how to do that."

"I..." she began, and trailed off. She'd been about to say.
"I don't know if that's possible." But somehow, sitting there, she
suddenly didn't believe that any more. She smiled and drew him a little closer.
"I don't see why not," she told him.

Jonathan wasn't hungry, it seemed.

The gleanings from the employees' lounge had been particularly good that
evening: there had been a potluck at noon, and as usual, no one had touched the
mixed vegetable platter. The carrot sticks, celery, radishes, broccoli and
jicama were a little dry, after sitting out so long; but for the five of them,
subsisting as they usually did on junk food and forgotten sack lunches, it was
an unexpected and welcome feast.

Sitting there with her companions at the makeshift cardboard table, there in
the forgotten storeroom that they called home, Eileen gazed at Jonathan in
concern and pity. The mouse sat silent, his arms crossed over his chest,
staring into space; his dinner lying there untouched before him. This was not
the first time he had refused food; far from it, as his protruding ribs and
spine demonstrated all too clearly. Over these last few months Eileen had taken
it upon herself to try to keep his spirits up, to somehow, by jokes or outright
cajoling, keep him going one more day. It was a job that was getting
progressively harder, and that troubled her more than anything else. Quite
apart from the fact that Jonathan was important to this mission, he was important,
period, to all of them.

Eileen's respect for Jonathan Brisby was almost inborn, as it was for all
the second and subsequent generations of the Rats of NIMH. All of them knew the
story, having literally heard it since birth, of how he had saved them; how the
Original 22 would never have escaped from NIMH, if not for Jonathan. And they
knew also, first-hand, of the many, many contributions he had made since. That
the Plan owed almost as much to Jonathan as it did to Nicodemus was
universally-known. A mouse, less than half the size of anyone else in the
community; and yet Eileen herself had seen him, with fire in his eyes, stand up
in the Council and engage Jenner in blistering rounds of debate. And usually
win. All of the rats (with the possible exception of Jenner) had been
distressed beyond words to see him, in those last few months before this
mission, spiral slowly and inexorably into confusion and depression. Whether
this job had been the appropriate cure, Eileen seriously doubted.

For a time the mission had seemed to perk him up, as the five of them went
about the business of espionage; but as time went on, and the answers they
sought proved more elusive than they'd expected, she had seen despair begin to
overtake him again. This latest round, however, which had melted the weight off
of him, and left him at times with barely enough will to rise from his bed, was
of very recent origin.

A little more than two months ago Mark and David had undertaken one of their
dangerous, but unfortunately necessary, pilgrimages back to the farm. They did
so for two reasons; first and most importantly, to deliver the fruits of their
"research" to Mr. Ages; but also to bring back to their companions
news of friends and families. The latest collection of news had shocked and
saddened them all. Nicodemus dead, murdered by Jenner; Jenner himself dead
after a vicious battle with Justin; the rats themselves narrowly escaping an
invasion by NIMH; and the Plan coming to a conclusion months too early.
Jonathan had greeted the news with mixed feelings at best. On the one hand the
pressure was off, finally and permanently; his wife, his family now knew about
NIMH, and knew who and what he was. And he couldn't help but be amazed, and
gratified, to learn that the rats now regarded his wife as a hero too, a savior
equal to Jonathan himself. And it had heartened him--as it had all of them--to
learn that Justin had stepped in as leader. If anyone could pull the rats
through this crisis, it was him.

But on the other hand, the circumstances that had brought those events about
had wounded Jonathan terribly. He would never have consciously admitted to
playing favorites among his children; but Eileen knew, as did they all, that
Jonathan had a special affinity for his younger son, Timothy. The news that
Timothy had come close to dying had struck Jonathan like a knife to the heart.
"I should have been there," he'd said, brokenly, over and over.
"I should have been there." All through this mission, Eileen knew,
Jonathan had carried a terrible load of guilt; now it was tripled at least. And
worse: what he had done, abandoning his wife and children to their fates, had
seemed to him to make any hope of forgiveness unlikely in the extreme; now that
hope seemed utterly dead. Timothy was alive, Mr. Ages had said; but to Jonathan
that made little difference. None of them, wife or children, would ever speak
to him again. That much seemed certain to him.

And now here was this new crisis, about which they could do nothing except
agonize; yet another weight upon an already-overburdened mind. Perhaps--she
very much feared--one thing too many; the proverbial straw. She sat for a time,
watching him; then she reached across the table and pushed his food a little
closer to him. "Starving yourself to death isn't the answer," she
told him firmly.

Art by Saul Moran

He shook himself violently, as if out of a dream, and he looked up at her
almost angrily. She held his gaze steadily, refusing to back down. Slowly his
expression softened, and something like his old easy smile appeared.
"No," he said. "No, I guess it isn't." He picked up a sliver
of carrot and nibbled on it; slowly at first, and then with increasing
enthusiasm. Eileen watched in satisfaction as he reached for more. His body
is smarter than he is, she thought.

She hesitated for a few minutes, then she said, cautiously, "So--what
did you two find out?"

Early that morning--as they knew well--Dr. Schultz's chartered helicopter
had arrived. They had watched it, crouched down behind a ventilator grille;
watched the small craft land within a circle of roped-off parking spaces,
kicking up dust and paper; and watched Dr. Schultz, complete with leather
jacket, binoculars and camera bag, cross the parking lot at a crouch and climb
in. Seconds later the copter lifted off, circled the complex, and headed off
into the distance. There had been no one else on board, just Schultz and the
pilot; obviously the scientist was doing this on his own, without even his
ever-faithful assistants

Later that afternoon, close to evening, Jonathan and Philip had been waiting
behind the grille in Dr. Schultz' office when they heard the machine come
roaring in for a brief landing, and then take off again. Minutes later Dr.
Schultz had entered the office. He remained just long enough to fling jacket,
camera bag, binoculars and topo map into his desk chair, and then he departed.
Philip and Jonathan had wasted no time.

"He marked off the area that he searched today on his map,"
Jonathan told Eileen. He shook his head. "He was way too far to the north,
nowhere near Thorn Mountain. But he's clearly not giving up--according to his
notes he plans to search farther to the south tomorrow. It's only a matter of
time."

"If," Philip pointed out, his mouth full, "he gets
permission to fly over the wilderness area."

Jonathan fixed him with his gaze. "Do you seriously think he
won't?" he asked, and Philip glanced away.

"Jonathan," Eileen said, "are we certain that there's nothing
we can do?"

The steady, sad brown eyes turned to her. "Hacker," he said,
"if you can think of anything, please let me know. I'm fresh out of
ideas."

Eileen did have one; but it was something she would never have dared to
mention. None of them--not Jonathan or their companions, nor Justin, nor
Nicodemus, wherever he was--would ever had sanctioned it. It was an idea that
even frightened her, when she'd thought of it earlier that day. We're in a
building with labs, she'd reasoned. Labs full of chemicals, some of them
dangerous. If someone were to slip something into Dr. Schultz's morning
coffee...But no. Not even to save her family could she condone murder. She
would not be another Jenner.

"Then all we can do it wait and watch," she said softly.

Jonathan nodded. "That's right," he agreed. "Wait,
watch...and pray."