She might have known that Martin would find a way to get himself into
trouble; but she never would have dreamed that he would involve Teresa too.

It had been many months since Elizabeth slept as well as she did that first
night in Thorn Valley, despite the unfamiliar and overly-large bed. One minute
she was settling her head into the oversized pillow; and the next--or so it
seemed--Timothy and Cynthia were shaking her awake. She rose feeling
better-rested than she had in a very long time.

No doubt there were many reasons why she had slept so soundly. The big bed
was surprisingly comfortable, the mattress firmly stuffed with cotton (or so
she supposed) instead of the rather lumpy straw that filled her mattress at
home. She'd had an early morning and a late evening; and in between a long and
very eventful day. Probably the most important reason, however, was that she
felt safe. At home there were always the little worries, niggling away at her,
below the level of her conscious awareness: what the next day would bring,
whether they would be able to find food and water, what dangers they might have
to face. All quite unconscious; but still they took a toll on her, most
especially at night. Here, however, her subconscious had gone blissfully quiet.
If only she didn't have to sleep alone any more, her relaxation could have been
complete.

Her children had been glad enough of their beds last night too. Julian had
played long into the night, and, sitting as they were in the very front row, it
would have been both impolite and conspicuous for them to get up and leave.
Cynthia did doze for a short time, nestled there in Elizabeth's arm, but no one
else had noticed, it seemed. Teresa and Martin were also sagging by concert's
end. Not Timothy, though. He had remained awake and alert throughout, his eyes
following Julian's hands with rapt concentration, as if he could learn by
simple observation. Only after the concert was over did exhaustion overtake
him. They had all been too tired, in fact, to complain about having to share
the two beds; and that, to Elizabeth at least, had been more than miracle
enough. That they had also slept well was obvious that morning: they were wide
awake, full of energy, ready for anything--and hungry. Fortunately that, at
least, was easily cured.

The community's dining hall was one place Elizabeth was reasonably sure she
could find--having been there twice already--and in fact it was not too distant
from their guest quarters. It was also a place that, for some unfathomable
reason, tended to intimidate her.

It may have been the room's sheer size--half again as large as the lounge,
and with a higher ceiling, making it literally cavernous. Or it may have been
the fact that the dining hall, every time she entered there, was both crowded
and noisy. And that morning was no exception.

The huge room had the usual bank of west-facing windows, giving a view of
valley and lake; but it had a set of skylights as well. During the day the
place was flooded with light; only at dinner were the hanging lamps needed.
Scattered around the wide, open floor were a number of tables of various sizes,
shapes and seating capacities. Some, small and round, were meant for just two;
others, larger and rectangular, would accommodate ten or more. All of the
tables--so it seemed at first glance--were full; and even as the Brisby family
entered more rats were pouring in behind them. Elizabeth looked around
desperately for Justin--but he was not there, it seemed. They would have to do
this on their own.

Service in the dining hall was strictly cafeteria-style, as Justin had told
them yesterday at noon. At that time Elizabeth had no idea what he meant by
that; but she had found out soon enough. On the room's north side, a long, wide
counter separated the hall from the kitchens beyond. At the end nearest the
entrance were stacks of trays, and racks of utensils. Moving down from there,
the kitchen staff behind the counter would dish out whatever meal was being
served at that particular time of day. And at the very end were racks of cups
and mugs, and pitchers and thermal pots of beverages. It was a simple and
efficient system--but it was designed for rats. For Elizabeth and her family
almost everything--the trays, the utensils, the plates and bowls, the cups, the
tables, even the portions--were far too large. Yesterday they had made do, with
Justin's help…but this morning he was not present. Elizabeth hesitated, drawing
her children close to her, unsure what to do--and then Timothy tugged on her
arm and pointed. Behind the counter a rat was beckoning to them.

Young (there I go again, Elizabeth thought wryly) and female, the rat
wore a white smock and apron, and a bandanna tied over her head by way of a
hair-net. As Elizabeth and her children approached, the young rat reached down
beneath the counter and produced five trays, all of them already prepared with
plates, bowls, cups and utensils…and all about half the size of what the rats
were pulling from the racks.

"Justin asked me to keep an eye out for you," the young woman
explained. "These will be waiting for you at every meal--just ask, if we
don't see you coming first."

"Thank you," Elizabeth said gratefully. "Thank you very much."

"You're welcome," the young rat said; and once again, beneath the
smile, Elizabeth detected that same look of profound respect. She was truly
beginning to believe that there was nothing these people wouldn't do for her.
Hopefully, as they got to know her and her children, the rats wouldn't change
their minds.

After that it was easy enough. The counter was almost neck-high to
Elizabeth--and in fact taller than Cynthia--but they managed. They moved along
the line, having their smaller plates and bowls filled, and at the end, the
pitchers and urns were just small enough for them to handle. Elizabeth looked
around for a table…and what she saw, almost instantly, made her smile and shake
her head. Justin, she thought. Bless him!

Near the windows a smallish round table sat completely unoccupied. It was
rat-sized, but someone had piled the chairs high with cushions. A tent-shaped
cardboard sign sat in the middle of the table, and even Elizabeth, with her
limited reading skills, could decipher what it said: "Reserved for the
Brisby family." The hall was crowded, almost all available seats taken;
but no one, it seemed, dared ignore that sign.

She helped her children to seat themselves--Martin and Teresa were tall
enough to scramble up onto the chairs by themselves, but Timothy and Cynthia
needed a boost--and then, for the first time, she looked down at her breakfast.

What she and her children had been served would have qualified as a royal
feast where they came from. Hot cereal--oatmeal, it seemed, with nuts and
raisins; fresh warm bread with honey, and dried, hard grains (a vital
necessity, always, for the endlessly-growing teeth of both mice and rats.)
Elizabeth had filled her mug, almost at random, with what turned out to be hot
herbal tea, and so had Timothy; the other three had opted for some kind of
fruit juice.

And to think, Justin had apologized to her for the quality of the food! The
farm wasn't really producing yet, he'd said; and so they were still depending
on what they'd had in storage. But Elizabeth could scarcely imagine how it
could get any better. She and her children lived on what they could glean from
field and garden--that had always been true, even when Jonathan was with them.
To her, to all of them, this was nothing less than the food of the gods. And
for Elizabeth, the best part was that she had not been obliged to gather or
cook it herself. I could get used to this, she realized. Maybe too
used; she would have to watch out, find a way to get some exercise, or it would
all end up going to her hips.

As she ate she glanced around the table. Of all her children, only Cynthia
could be described as a finicky eater. Teresa, the oldest and most responsible,
was too conscious of the effort it cost to gather food; usually she ate what
they had, and was glad of it. Martin, always hungry, ate what was put in front
of him and looked around for more. Timothy, with other things on his mind,
usually ate without seeming to be aware of what was on his plate. Only Cynthia
was known to complain that--for example--they'd had corn three meals a day for
a week. But here and now, even she seemed content. And no wonder.

The dining hall was noisy, filled with the sound of voices and the clinking
of dishware; and so Martin had to raise his voice as he said, "Mom? What
are we going to do today?"

"I don't know, dear," she said. "I hadn't really given it any
thought." She paused. "Why? Did you have something in mind?"

Martin exchanged a glanced with his older sister. "Teresa and I saw
some places yesterday we'd like to explore."

"If that's all right," Teresa amended hurriedly.

For a long moment Elizabeth hesitated. On the one hand, Justin had
told them that there were no forbidden places in the community; with the exception
of the private apartments, they were welcome to explore anywhere. But on the
other hand, "we" clearly meant only Teresa and Martin; Cynthia was
rather pointedly not included, and Timothy only halfway so, if the look on
Martin's face was any indication. And Timothy was sticking close to his little
sister these days: where he went, so did she. Should Elizabeth insist they be
taken along? Did they want her to insist? I hope I do live
long enough to see them all adults, she thought darkly. Though whether
even that would end the rivalry, she didn't know.

She gazed around at the four of them, and finally she sighed. "All
right," she said. She was very aware of Timothy and Cynthia's eyes on her;
she didn't dare look at them. She raised a warning finger. "As long as you
don't get into trouble."

Martin grinned, a fair approximation of his father's most disarming
expression; and Teresa's blue eyes were huge and innocent. "Who, us?"
Martin said.

Just outside the dining hall they separated, Martin and Teresa taking off
like a shot down the corridor, before their mother could change her mind.
Elizabeth watched them go with a resigned smile. It will change, she
realized. The older two were adolescents now; they were at the age when they
didn't want to be seen with younger siblings tagging along. Soon--very
soon--Timothy would be that age too; and Cynthia would not be far behind.
Eventually they would all learn to appreciate one another again. But in the
meantime…

She smiled down at the younger two, laying her arms across their shoulders.
They had watched their older brother and sister depart with obviously mixed
feelings, Cynthia looking wistful, and Timothy indignant. "If they don't
want us around," Timothy told his sister, "that's their problem. Just
see what happens next time Martin wants to play chess."

"Yeah," Cynthia agreed. "We'll show them."

Of that Elizabeth had no doubt; she just hoped she wasn't in the vicinity
when it happened. She said, "So--what are we going to do with you
two?"

"Perhaps I can be of some help there."

The voice that spoke from behind them was female, kindly, and tinged with
amusement. They turned. Standing there smiling down at them was a female rat.
Not quite a stranger--Elizabeth had seen her several times in the last twenty-four
hours, but couldn't remember her name, if indeed she'd heard it. The rat wore a
grey skirt and a white blouse, and a brightly-colored silk scarf was tied
around her neck. She held a kind of portfolio under her right arm. She
was…well, not heavyset, exactly, but certainly ample. She was attractive,
though, in a motherly way, her fur dark brown and her eyes bright. Elizabeth,
who was rapidly becoming an expert, instantly knew that she was one of the
Original 22. She did not look in any way old; but neither did she have that air
of generic youth that the second generation all radiated.

The rat smiled down at them. "Mrs. Brisby, I presume?" she said.
She held out her hand. "My name is Alice. I'm pleased to meet you."

As usual, it took Elizabeth several seconds to find her tongue. She reached
up to clasp the proffered hand. "I'm pleased to meet you too, Alice,"
she said finally. She drew her children closer. "This is my son Timothy
and my daughter Cynthia. My other two have already gotten away. And please--it's
Elizabeth."

"How do you do," Alice said to the children; then she smiled again
at Elizabeth. "I'm sorry if I interrupted, but did I hear you discussing
what your children would like to do today?"

"Yes," Elizabeth said. "Yes, that's right. Teresa and Martin
are off exploring, and…"

Alice held up her hand. "Say no more," she said. "I've been
there. I have ten of my own."

Ten, Elizabeth thought. Good grief. Giving birth four times was
hard enough; but ten?

Alice went on, "As it happens, I'm in charge of the community school. I
was wondering if Timothy and Cynthia might like to visit our classrooms. They
might enjoy meeting some children their own ages…"

A human parent would have been both gratified and astounded to see the look
those two exchanged. Not only were Timothy and Cynthia ready, but willing and
able too, it seemed. Elizabeth had to grasp their shoulders to hold them back,
so eager were they. "I think," she told Alice dryly, "we can
take that as 'yes.'"

Alice smiled. "I'm on my way there now," she said. She turned and
waved an arm. "This way, please."

Together the four of them headed down the corridor, in a direction opposite
that of their guest quarters. Elizabeth was smiling secretly, fondly, as she
watched Timothy and Cynthia push ahead. She herself could have made no better
suggestion than the one that had just fallen into their laps, so to speak. She
knew also that there were very different reasons for those two's eagerness. In
Timothy's case it was easy enough to understand: "school" equaled
"knowledge"--and that was the one thing above all else that he could
never get enough of. For Cynthia, though, it was different. She was certainly
not immune to learning--she'd come quite far under Timothy's tutelage--but more
than anything else she was eager for friends, for someone her own age. Never
mind that they would be twice her size.

As they walked Elizabeth said to Alice, "I've met so many people
here--I wonder if I've met your husband--?"

Alice shook her head. "I doubt it--he's very hard to catch up with. But
you've probably heard him mentioned: he's Arthur."

She had indeed, a number of times. Arthur, the Chief Engineer, the one who
had designed and built the community and almost everything in it. A genius,
Justin had said; and Elizabeth believed it. "I'd very much like to meet
him," she said.

"We'll arrange it," Alice assured her. "He's got to come to
ground once in a while. To eat, if nothing else, though he sometimes goes days
without."

Elizabeth smiled wryly to herself. If you've got ten children, she
thought, obviously he's had time for something besides work.

"Did I see you and your family at the concert last night?" Alice
asked.

"Yes," Elizabeth said. "We enjoyed it very much."

Alice smiled. "I'm glad to hear you say that. The young man who
played--Julian--is my son. My third-oldest child."

Elizabeth felt her eyebrows rise. There wasn't much resemblance between this
short and ample woman and that skinny boy; and yet… "Timothy was telling
me," she said, "that he would like to learn to play the guitar."

Alice nodded seriously. "Than can be arranged," she said.
"Julian has other work, of course--music is a hobby--but he always finds
time to squeeze in lessons. I'll talk to him this evening."

"Thank you," Elizabeth said. "Timothy will appreciate that.
What is Julian's real job?"

"He's an optician," Alice said. Then, seeing Elizabeth's blank
expression, she went on, without missing a beat, "He makes
eyeglasses."

Instantly Elizabeth glanced at Timothy, some paces ahead and deep in
conversation with his sister. "Your son might be able to do more for mine
than just teach him music," she said. "I've thought for a while that
Timothy might need glasses."

Alice nodded firmly. "I'll arrange that too," she said. "A good
deal of his work comes from my school. My teachers often notice vision problems
in their students even before their own parents do."

"It seems to be mostly his reading," Elizabeth said. "He
seems to be able to see far things fine."

"Julian will test both," Alice assured her. She smiled.
"That's another reason why it's fortunate you came to our valley. He might
have had that problem for life."

Jonathan would already have fixed it, Elizabeth realized. Exactly
how, she wasn't sure, if he had still been keeping his secrets. Possibly he
would have used Mr. Ages as an intermediary. But somehow he would have fixed
it, long before now. Of that she could be certain.

Angrily she thrust that thought aside. All she could do--she and anyone
else, including Jonathan--was her best. She had kept Timothy alive, against
odds that had seemed insurmountable. Any other problems she would have to take
one at a time.

"We're here," Alice said, stopping short before a pair of wide
double doors. Curiously, they were on the east side of the corridor, the
side without windows; the rooms on that side, Justin had told them, were used
mostly for storage, not for habitation. Surely they wouldn't make the children
go to school in classrooms without windows--would they?

The doors opened into a short corridor, which ended at a T-shaped junction.
The corridors that led off to the left and right were curved inward like a pair
of arms, and Elizabeth realized that they must form a wide, full circle. But a
circle around what?

Alice turned to the left--obviously she knew where she was going--and within
a very few paces they encountered a door, on the right-hand, inner wall. The
door had a wide vertical strip of glass up its center, and through that they
could peer into the room beyond. A room that was--curiously--brightly sunlit.

A classroom, obviously. On the wall at the head of the room, an enormous
chalkboard covered with letters and numbers. In the front left corner a large
desk, a bouquet of flowers in a vase atop it; and arranged in neat rows through
the rest of the room, the smaller student desks. Beyond that the far wall was
all glass; and peering through, Elizabeth suddenly understood the architecture
of the place. The school was indeed in the form of a circle, the
classrooms--and whatever other spaces there might be--all facing a large, open
circle, a crater-like natural depression in the earth. The floor of the crater
was flat--though it probably hadn't started that way--and some eight feet or so
in diameter; it was grassy, and filled with benches and playground equipment:
swings, climbing bars and so on. At the moment the playground was empty; it was
not yet recess time.

The classroom that Elizabeth and her children were peering into was
currently in use. The students--about a dozen in all, it seemed--were
adolescents; about the same age as Teresa, Elizabeth realized ruefully. They
sat at their desks, industriously scribbling notes, while at the head of the
room a somewhat older female rat was writing on the blackboard. Math class,
Elizabeth guessed; the symbols meant nothing to her, but she'd seen something
similar in one of Timothy's books.

Alice smiled. "A little farther along, I think," she said, and
started walking again.

They had not gone very much farther when Timothy suddenly stopped, peering
curiously through another glass-paneled door. "Alice, ma'am," he said
politely, "what's this?"

"That's our school library," Alice said. "Nowhere near as big
as the community library, but more convenient for the students."

Timothy pointed. "And who's he?"

Alice peered through the narrow window, and she smiled fondly. The room
beyond was about twice the size of the classrooms, and was stuffed nearly full
with high, solidly-packed bookshelves. Spaced around the room were a number of
square tables, each with four chairs. At the moment just one of the tables was
occupied.

The rat who sat there, absolutely surrounded with books, was male, and
young, seemingly just a little short of adolescence He wore a short-sleeved
white pullover shirt, and a dark blue vest; his fur was medium grey, his eyes
dark and serious-looking. A handsome young man, Elizabeth thought; but to her
eye--a mother's eye, always--he seemed a little undersized, and a little pale,
as if he had recently been in less-than-perfect health.

"That's my youngest son," Alice told Timothy. "His name is
Robert." She glanced from mouse to rat and back again. "I'd say that
you two are about the same age," she commented.

"He's not being punished, I hope," Elizabeth said.

Alice shook her head. "Not at all," she said. "Just the
opposite, in fact. He's so far ahead of his classmates, we've decided to let
him do some independent study." Alice looked once again from Robert to
Timothy, and then briefly at Elizabeth; and then she seemed to come to a
decision. She laid a hand on Timothy's shoulder. "Why don't you go in and
say hello?" she suggested. "I have a feeling you two might have a lot
in common."

Timothy hesitated, glancing uncertainly at his mother. She smiled and
nodded, and inwardly she shrugged. Why not? she thought. Friends were
something her children had always been short on; the other mice on the farm
tended to avoid them. They were too intelligent, too different; the other mice
were halfway afraid of them, as they had been afraid of Jonathan, no matter how
charming he'd been. Here, if anywhere, that would not be a problem, if they
could overcome the little matter of species. And Timothy, whether he knew it or
not, needed friends just as much as Cynthia did.

Finally Timothy stepped forward, reaching up for the doorknob. Robert looked
up, startled, as the door opened and closed. Rat and mouse looked at each other
for a few seconds…then Robert smiled a greeting. Elizabeth couldn't hear the
words they exchanged; but she saw her son cross the room and climb up onto a
chair next to Robert, and peer down interestedly as the young rat pointed out
something in the book he'd been reading. Ten seconds, and already they were
chatting as if they'd known each other all their lives. Elizabeth couldn't know
it--no one could have, then--but what she was seeing was, simultaneously, the
fulfillment of a prophecy--and history in the making.

Art by Saul Moran

Beside her, Alice spoke wistfully. "There were so many times we were
afraid we'd lose him," she said. "Ever since he was born he's bounced
from one illness to another. There was nothing Mr. Ages could do. Robert spent
so much time in bed--all he could do was read and study. That's why he's so far
ahead of his friends."

Elizabeth looked up at her in surprise. With minor differences, Alice might
have been telling Timothy's life story instead of Robert's. "But he's
better now?" she guessed.

Alice nodded. "Yes. Yes, thank God, he is. Since we moved here…the
fresh air, the sunlight…it's been good for him, when I can get him out into it.
Since we've been here he's put on weight and muscle, and he hasn't been sick at
all. We think--Arthur and I--that he'll be all right now."

Elizabeth peered in at the two of them, laughing and talking together like
old friends. "You were right, Alice," she said. "They do
have a lot in common." She looked up. "And so do we."

At that moment Elizabeth felt a hand on her arm, and she turned to see her
youngest child gazing at her plaintively. "I'm still here," Cynthia
said.

Alone, Elizabeth thought. When was the last time I was really,
truly alone?

Actually--she realized as she walked the corridors, absently acknowledging
the greetings of the passers-by--that was not the right question. More
correctly she should ask, when was the last time I was alone, and with no
responsibilities at all? And the answer to that was: a very long time
ago. Or possibly never.

Leaving Timothy and Cynthia at the school had been unexpectedly hard for
her; a feeling that any human parent would have sympathized with instantly. Of
course the two of them would be well taken care of, would not be harmed, and
would scarcely notice the time passing; but for her, that little separation was
a prelude to a bigger one yet to come--one which she did not feel at all ready
to confront. Probably, she reflected, no parent ever is.

Cynthia had been welcomed into a class of some dozen or so rats, all about
her own age, presided over by a female--there was hardly any need to say
"young"--named Marie. Cynthia had not gone boldly, as Timothy would
have, but reluctantly, hiding behind her mother's cape as long as she could.
These youngsters knew their community history, though, and the name
"Brisby" was enough for them: Cynthia was an instant celebrity. When
last seen she had been installed in an extra desk, elevated on several volumes
of the encyclopedia, with the other students clustered around her, bombarding
her with questions. Elizabeth was able to slip out unnoticed.

And now, walking the hallways all but aimlessly, Elizabeth found herself
feeling curiously adrift. She hadn't expected that, though she might have: it
was a matter of habit. Vacations, relaxation, inactivity, were simply not in
her nature.

So…what to do about it? At this time of day the only thing going on in the
community was work. The lounge would be open, but deserted. She might have gone
to the library, but for her that would have been pointless. Unfortunately. She
had no idea where Justin was--had not seen him all morning, in fact--and
anyway, he had to have better things to do than look after her. So…

She turned purposefully, her mind made up--and almost ran headlong into a
pair of rats. "Pardon me--" she began; but then the full significance
of what she was seeing sunk in, and she trailed off, taking a horrified step
backwards. Her shoulders thumped the wall, bringing her up short.

One of the rats she recognized easily: Thomas, the Captain of the Guard. The
other seemed a stranger at first; but something about his face struck her
memory. It was not her face that arrested her attention, though: rather, it was
his handcuffs.

The rat was shorter than most, and it seemed that he had once been heavyset;
but now he was thin and wan. His fur was dark grey and seemed somewhat unkempt;
he wore a very simple shirt and vest, light brown in color. His hands were
indeed fastened before him with a pair of sturdy iron cuffs. Never in her life
had she seen anything like that; and she shrank back in horror.

Thomas stood just behind the prisoner, gripping his upper right arm firmly.
"Nothing to be afraid of," he began; but the prisoner interrupted.
His voice was low and raspy.

"Mrs. Brisby?" he said. She didn't reply, just stared, and he went
on, "You are Mrs. Brisby, aren't you?"

Finally she found her voice; it was thin and shaky. "Yes," she
said. "Yes, I'm Mrs. Brisby."

The prisoner held out his manacled hands pleadingly, making her shrink back
farther. "I need to talk to you," he said. "Please. Just for a
moment."

Thomas frowned and tugged on his arm. "I think you're disturbing the
lady," he said.

Elizabeth reached deep down inside and brought out her courage, wrapping it
around herself like a cloak. Her voice somewhat firmer, she said, "That's
all right, Thomas." She gazed at the stranger. "I don't think we've
met--?" she went on.

He shook his head. "No," he said. "Not really. My name is
Sullivan. I…I was there that night on the farm. You might remember--I threw a
sword to Justin."

Suddenly the light dawned. In all the confusion, and the darkness, she had
just barely glimpsed this rat's face. And she had never known his name until
now. It was he who had saved Justin's life; Justin had been unarmed, opposing
Jenner's sword with a stick, until Sullivan tossed the younger rat a blade. And
more--it was Sullivan who threw the dagger that finally brought Jenner down,
after Justin had discarded his sword. Every moment of the fight was emblazoned
on her memory; from the moment when Jenner struck her (she'd had a bruise for
days) to the moment when he fell lifeless into the mud. Justin had intervened
because Jenner had attacked her; but she knew very well that she herself had
been only a small part of the struggle. In fact they had been fighting over the
Stone…and, ultimately, control of the entire community.

"But that isn't the whole story," Sullivan went on. "That
makes me sound like a hero--but I'm not. God help me, I'm not."

"I don't understand," Elizabeth said.

Sullivan seemed unable to continue; his eyes had suddenly filled with tears,
and his jaw worked soundlessly. He wrung his cuffed hands, making the chain
between them clink.

Thomas spoke quietly. "Sullivan had plotted with Jenner to murder
Nicodemus," he explained, with just a tiny trace of contempt. "That
is why both he and Jenner had swords that evening: to cut the ropes of the
apparatus that was lifting your home, and drop it on Nicodemus."

She stared at Sullivan, aghast, and he nodded miserably. "It's
true," he said, his voice hollow. "Almost true. When it came right
down to it I couldn't go through with it," he went on. "I couldn't cut
the ropes; I couldn't be a murderer. Jenner did that himself; I backed away.
But that was too little too late. And I've paid." He held out his hands.
"This is one way. And this is another." He pulled up his shirt, and
Elizabeth, with a gasp of horror, saw the long, deep scar that ran across the
right side of his abdomen, slantwise from his hip almost to his ribs. The edges
of the scar were white, and the fur was tufted and patchy along its length. As
Sullivan had thrown his sword to Justin, Jenner had struck at him in rage. And
this, obviously, was the result.

She looked up at Thomas, and the young rat said blandly, "After his
recovery from his injuries, Sullivan was tried and convicted on a charge of
conspiracy to commit murder. All circumstances, good and ill, were taken into
account. Part of his sentence involves labor on the farm, and that is where I
am taking him now."

She looked at the older rat, and saw the torment in his eyes. He had
suffered too, she realized. More than Nicodemus; and certainly more than
Jenner--because he had been forced to live with the memory of what he'd done.
He isn't like Jenner, she realized. Jenner was twisted, evil; Sullivan
was just…weak. "What--what do you want from me?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all. I
don't ask for your forgiveness, because I don't deserve it. I just want to say
one thing to you--I've been waiting months to say it." He took a deep
breath. "Jenner's plan used your home, your children, your poor sick son,
as objects. He used them with no more thought than if he'd picked up a stone
and thrown it. And I went along with it. And for that I just want to say--I'm
sorry. I know that isn't worth much--but I truly am sorry."

At that moment Elizabeth fled. She had no idea where she was going; only
that she desperately needed to be somewhere else. She dodged past the two of
them and headed up the corridor as fast as her legs could carry her, doggedly
fighting an impulse to go faster by dropping to all fours. Finally, some minutes
later, she found a bench, in a niche cut into the stone wall, and she collapsed
onto it, trembling, burying her face in her hands. Suddenly, for the moment at
least, the rats' little paradise didn't seem quite so perfect any more.

She had no idea how long she'd sat there, shaking violently, when she felt a
hand on her shoulder, and heard a concerned voice speak quietly in her ear:
"Mrs. Brisby? Are you all right?"

She looked up sharply--and found herself gazing into the dark eyes of a
young female rat. The white smock and apron, and the bandanna tied over her
head, were familiar, and an instant later Elizabeth recognized her: it was the
kitchen worker who had helped Elizabeth and her family that morning. Name,
unfortunately, unknown.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, gradually stilling her trembling, and she
attempted a smile. "Yes," she said.. "I'm fine." She
hesitated "I'm sorry, dear, I don't know--"

"Andrea," the rat supplied with a smile. "My name's
Andrea." She sat down next to Elizabeth. "Are you sure you're
all right?" she asked. "I was just coming off my break and I saw you
sitting there…"

"I was just…thinking," Elizabeth said. She looked around in some
surprise. She'd had no idea that she was anywhere near the dining hall; but she
was, almost directly across from it in fact. Her morning had come full circle.

"Well," Andrea said, gazing at her dubiously, "as long as
you're okay, I've got to get back to work. We're right in the middle of getting
lunch ready." She stood, but Elizabeth caught at her sleeve. The memory of
the decision she'd made, before being so horribly interrupted, had suddenly
returned.

"Andrea," she said, "may I see your kitchen?"

The young rat glanced down at her in surprise, and then she smiled wryly.
"It's hardly my kitchen, I'm afraid. But I don't think my boss will
mind. This way."

Andrea led Elizabeth a short distance up the corridor, through a wide set of
double doors--and into chaos.

The community's kitchen was not in fact one room, but rather a complex of
rooms, all interconnected, and all lit (at that time of the day) by large
windows and skylights. As they entered, the place was a bedlam of noise, motion
and scents; for several seconds Elizabeth was quite disoriented, until she
began to detect order amidst the chaos.

The first space that Andrea led her into seemed to be mainly the prep area.
The walls were lined with counters, topped with polished stone, and there was
an additional long bench up the center of the room. Here a half-dozen or so
rats, an equal mix of male and female, all of them wearing white smocks and
aprons identical to Andrea's, were slicing, chopping, mixing and pounding. None
of them looked up from their tasks as Andrea and Elizabeth passed through.

The next room was more properly the kitchen, because the actual process of
cooking was going on there. Here the windows and the skylights were wide open;
they had to be, or else the heat and the steam would have been unendurable. A
wide door led directly outside, and stacked there were enormous piles of split
wood. The huge cookstoves that lined the walls were black iron, and had stone
chimneys. Another half-dozen rats, their smocks soaked with perspiration, were
busy stoking the fires; while another ten, somewhat less disheveled, did the
cooking. Today's lunch menu featured vegetable soup, it seemed: it was already
simmering in huge pots atop the stoves, and more vegetables, beans and
lentils--passed through from the prep room--were being tossed in even as they
watched. Already the smell was heavenly.

There was another scent in the air as well, even better, and Elizabeth,
following her nose, peeked through a stone arch into the next room. As she had
expected, it was the bakery. Its ovens were made of brick, and shared the
cookstoves' chimneys. The metal rack at the back of the room were already
half-filled with loaves; and more, resting in pans on the center workbench,
were apparently waiting to go into the ovens. Fresh bread was something she had
never experienced, before coming to Thorn Valley; and of all the luxuries that
she had found herself getting used to, that one was at the top of the list,
surpassing even running water.

Andrea smiled down at her. "I'm sorry I can't give you a full
tour," she said, raising her voice a little over the rattle of pots and
pans. "But I've got to get back to work."

Elizabeth gazed around…and at that moment, made up her mind. "I want to
help," she said.

The young rat looked startled. "Pardon me?"

"I want to help," Elizabeth repeated firmly. "I'm not a great
chef, but I can cook. Find me an apron, or a towel, and give me a
job."

"But you're a guest…"

She nodded. "I know I am," she said. "I'm a guest who wants
to repay some of the kindness she's been shown."

Andrea looked at her dubiously; then she smiled. "I understand,"
she said. She looked around. "Let me see if I can find the boss."

Elizabeth sat in the dining room shortly after noon, a little tired, a
little concerned…but on the whole, well pleased with herself.

Andrea's boss--the head of the kitchen department--had turned out to be
another of the Original 22, a black-furred female named Margaret (or
"Meg," as everyone in the kitchens affectionately called her.) An
extremely busy person (weren't they all?) she had been inclined to be impatient
with Andrea for interrupting her…until she saw who Andrea had brought with her.

In the end, Elizabeth spent the remainder of her morning making soup,
standing atop a tall stool above a huge pot, a towel tied around her waist in
lieu of an apron. She had not been given a recipe; she was free to follow her
own instincts. She had a definite flair for improvisation, when it came to
cooking; where she came from, she had to. It had seldom, if ever, been possible
for her to plan a meal in advance; she never knew what foodstuffs she'd have
available, any given day. It was that talent she put to good use that morning.

Seldom in her life had Elizabeth enjoyed a job more, than she did that
morning. Certainly not since Jonathan had been gone. Mostly it was the company.
The kitchen staff most certainly did not work in silence; in fact they chatted
back and forth constantly. In those few hours Elizabeth, listening more than
she talked, learned more Thorn Valley gossip than she would have thought
possible--including the hardly-surprising fact that every unattached female in
the community, girls to adults, was hopelessly in love with Justin. That, at
least, she could well understand.

Eventually--it seemed only minutes, but in fact was almost three hours
later--one of the kitchen staff came and got her creation, taking her pot of
soup, along with the others, out to the warming tables of the serving line.
Not, however, before she had managed to secure a bowlful for herself. She took
it, and a good supply of bread and grains, out to her "reserved"
table in the dining hall. Her non-recipe soup was edible, if she did say so
herself, even though most of the ingredients had been preserved rather than
fresh. Just how popular it would be, though, she would probably never know. In
the bustle of the service line it was impossible to know for certain who was
being served from which pot.

As she ate, as the dining hall filled up around her, Elizabeth kept and eye
out constantly for her older children; and as the time passed and they failed
to appear, she began to feel a tiny knot of concern grow inside her. Timothy
and Cynthia she hadn't expected to see--the school had its own lunchroom, Alice
had told her. But nothing short of a calamity could keep Martin away from his
lunch. She knew that only too well. She had finished her meal, and returned her
tray to the pickup window, before the two of them put in an appearance…and even
then, she scarcely recognized them.

What she saw first was a large rat, a stranger to her, who strode into the
dining hall with a scowl on his wide face and an air of determination. He was
not tall--a full head shorter than Justin--but he outweighed the leader of the
community by at least double. He was not fat, however, but massive; his
chest and arms especially were hugely muscular. He wore a sleeveless brown
tunic, a little lighter than his fur and none too clean; and a heavy tool-belt
rode low on his hips. His large hands were clamped down firmly on the shoulders
of two much smaller figures, flanking him; ones that were barely waist-high to
him. Teresa and Martin Brisby. The two of them stood fidgeting, looking
shame-faced, held firmly in place by the rat's grip on their arms…and covered,
literally covered head to toe, with thick black mud.

Alarmed, Elizabeth hurried across the room…and was brought up short by the
intensity of the big rat's glare. "Mrs. Brisby?" he said, his voice
gruff. Then, without waiting for an answer, he went on, "I believe these
are yours?"

Elizabeth peered sternly at the two of them. They couldn't hold her gaze;
their eyes kept shifting, sliding away from hers. It was hard to tell where mud
ended and mouse began; everything, their clothes, their fur, their tails, even
the ribbon in Teresa's hair, was thickly plastered. Apparently they weren't
hurt; but how on earth…?

She gazed up at the rat. "Yes, they're mine," she said. She shook
her head. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met."

"Arthur," the rat supplied. "My name is Arthur."

Involuntarily Elizabeth took a step backwards. So this was the famous Chief
Engineer, the genius who had built the community and everything in it. She was
not quite sure what she had pictured; but she had to admit that he fit the
part, from his tool-belt to his massively strong arms. She'd been looking
forward to meeting him…but under very different circumstances. She felt her
ears and nose reddening; whether it was embarrassment, or anger, or both, she
wasn't sure.

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked. She directed the question at
Teresa and Martin; but it was Arthur who answered.

"I," he said, in matter-of-fact tones, "just found these two
up on the fourth level. We've been doing some tunnel construction up there, and
we've run into some bad seepage. I've had to build a long wooden sluice to
carry the water and mud away. I don't know who started it, but one of them
apparently dared the other to balance on the edge of the sluice, while I was
off getting tools. You can see the result. When I got back I found them both
stuck in the bottom of the sluice."

Elizabeth shook her head in despair. Why, oh why, did she have to be left
alone to cope with this? A combination of too much intelligence, too much
curiosity, too much energy…and sibling rivalry as well. Something deep inside
had warned her, that morning; she should never have let those two out of her
sight. And why here, of all places?

"Well?" she asked the two of them. "Is this true?"

They still couldn't hold her gaze; a few seconds later Teresa nodded.
"Yes, Mother," she said faintly. "It's true. But it's Martin's
fault--"

He would have disputed that, but Elizabeth held up her hand, forestalling
him. "I don't care whose fault it is," she said. "Both of you
should have known better. Both of you do know better. Am I right?"

They exchanged a glance; and then they nodded. "Yes, Mom," Martin
said.

"We're sorry, Mother," Teresa added.

"I'm glad you are," she said. "But that's not the end of it,
I'm afraid. Are either of you hurt?"

They exchanged another glance; and then they shook their heads.
"No," Teresa said.

"Thank goodness for that, at least. I want the two of you to go get
cleaned up. And then I want you to go to our room and stay there. Do you
understand me? We're going to have a very long talk about this."

"Yes, Mother."

"Okay, Mom."

Arthur lifted his hands, releasing them, and they turned and departed
hurriedly, without looking back. Elizabeth watched them go. I hope they
don't touch anything before they get washed up, she thought. And I hope
their good clothes aren't ruined. She looked up then, to see Arthur gazing
down at her. The expression on his face was curious; it seemed to be an equal
mix of anger, amusement and respect. "Thank you," she said.
"Were they…were they in any danger?"

He shook his head "No, not really," he said. "The mud wasn't
that deep; not even up to their knees. But after they fell in, the sides of the
sluice were too high and too slippery to climb. I'm just glad I was there to
hear them yelling for help."

Me too, she thought. "They won't be doing anything like that
again, I promise you."

He leaned down to gaze earnestly at her. "I hope not," he said.
"For all our sakes." And then he turned and departed.

For a moment she stood still, there in the middle of the rapidly-emptying
dining hall, her face buried in her hands as she fought to get her emotions
under control. This never would have happened if Jonathan were here,
she thought. They were never out of control, when he was alive. Never. But
I'm not him, and they know it. They take advantage of me because of what I
am…or what I'm not..

"Mrs. Brisby?"

She whirled around, to see Thomas standing behind her, looking down at her
in concern. "I'm sorry to disturb you," he said contritely, "but
I have a message. Justin would like to see you in his office as soon as it's
convenient."

"Thank you, Thomas," she said. She sighed. What was it Jonathan
used to say? "It never rains but what it pours."

"Justin, I am terribly, terribly sorry," Elizabeth began, even
before she sat down; but the leader of the rats waved that off with a smile.

"Oh, that? Don't worry about it," he said. "Kids will be
kids, and there was no harm done. I'm just glad they weren't hurt." He
paused. "Though I have to admit, if I had to pick a person to cross, it
wouldn't be Arthur."

Justin's office was just a few doors down from the Brisbys' guest room--and
it suited him.

A good-sized space--though Elizabeth had as yet very little basis for
comparison--the room had a curious, but comfortable, mix of furnishings. Along
one wall sat a large desk, evidently old, made of a dark-stained wood. Lying
atop it--amidst a sea of papers, pens and pencils--was something that Elizabeth
recognized instantly, and not without a brief stab of pain: the Book, the
journal of the Rats of NIMH. Somewhere inside, between those massive covers,
were the words that had stabbed her to the heart, three months ago:
"Jonathan Brisby was killed today…" With an effort of will she tore
her eyes away. Flanking the desk were a pair of large filing cabinets, made of
the same dark wood, and evidently stuffed full of papers. On the opposite wall
were two doors: one, closed now, presumably led into Justin's bedroom. The
other was also closed, and was in fact partially concealed by a hanging
tapestry, as if the room beyond was unused. In the center of the room sat a
large and comfortable sofa--onto which Elizabeth had hoisted herself at
Justin's invitation--a coffee table made of light wood, and a huge overstuffed
easy chair, which was evidently Justin's private domain, but which did not
match the sofa at all. The chair's dark-green upholstery enfolded him like a
hand as he settled into it. On the far wall, two large round windows flanked a
fireplace, cold and dead now. Elizabeth gazed around…and suddenly she
understood why the furniture seemed so mismatched: half of it, most notably the
desk and the file cabinets, had been Nicodemus'. Probably the office had been
intended for him as well.

At that point the significance of Justin's words struck her, and with an
effort she tore her attention away from the furnishings. "Why?" she
asked anxiously. "What will he do? He didn't seem to be a bad
person…"

"Oh, he's not," Justin assured her quickly. "Not at all. He
just has a lot on his mind. He's responsible for keeping this place
running." He waved a hand. "Anything to do with construction or
maintenance is his department. And I've been contributing to his stress, I'm
afraid. Ever since we've been up here I've been looking to him to be a kind of
unofficial second-in-command, precisely because he does know so much
about keeping the place running. He hasn't complained about it--but I know I've
been leaning on him too much."

"I met his wife earlier today too," Elizabeth commented.

"Oh, Alice? Yes, she's a treasure. She's done wonders with our school
system--especially with limited resources. She'll have Arthur calmed down by
dinnertime."

And then Teresa and Martin will apologize to him, she vowed silently.
Or else. Justin may have been willing to forget the whole thing, and
that was fine for him; but they were not his children.

Justin cleared his throat. "Actually," he said, "it's you
I wanted to discuss, not your kids."

"Me?" she asked, startled. "Why?"

"Well," he began. He ran an embarrassed hand across his head.
"I had a report that you were seen working in the kitchen this
morning."

"Yes," she confirmed. "I was. Why? Is that wrong?"

"No, it's not wrong," he said hurriedly. "Not as such. Meg
had nothing but praise for everything you did. It's just--well, I don't want
you to get the idea that you have to work for your keep, because that's
absolutely not true. You're our guest here, for as long as you want to
stay."

"I know," she assured him. "And I don't want you to think that
I'm not grateful, because I am. More than I can say. But…well, I know I don't have
to work, but the fact is, I want to."

"I don't quite understand."

"I've always worked," she explained. "Ever since I was a
little girl. The last time I went a whole day without working was after Cynthia
was born. Jonathan was always telling me to slow down, take it easier--but
that's not me. I know this is supposed to be a vacation, and I certainly don't
intend to work all day every day. But I'll feel better if you'll let me help
out. Just a little."

Justin smiled widely. "I can't argue with that," he said.
"And I do understand what you mean. I just wish these rats of mine had
half your work-ethic."

"They do," she assured him. The memories of her morning's work
were still strongly with her. "Of course they do."

"Oh, I know it," Justin said. "Just kidding."

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment. One piece of Justin's decor had suddenly
caught her eye, and the sight of it had brought back to mind her other morning
encounter: the more alarming one. That object was a sheathed sword, which hung
on pegs above Justin's desk. She said, "Justin, can you do me a
favor?"

"I'll certainly try," he said with a smile. "What is
it?"

"Can you…can you let Sullivan out of prison?"

His expression instantly darkened, and she drew back in alarm. "Did I
say something wrong?" she asked.

He sighed. "No," he said. "No, not really. I'm sorry. It's
just…well, you couldn't have known it, but that's a rather sore subject around here,
I'm afraid. For me especially. It was one of the first thing I had to deal with
after I was elected--and one of the worst. I actually found myself wishing he
would die from his wounds."

"Justin, that's terrible!" she cried.

He nodded. "I know it is," he said heavily. "But it really
was something I wished I didn't have to deal with. Yes, Sullivan did save my
life. He tossed me his sword, so I could defend myself, and that got him sliced
open. And he threw the dagger that finally took Jenner out, after I'd discarded
my sword like an idiot. But the only reason he had a sword in the first place
was that he was plotting with Jenner to murder Nicodemus. And there was no way
we could ignore that, no matter what the extenuating circumstances were. He was
tried and convicted according to our laws. He pled guilty, in fact. Threw
himself on the mercy of the court. He can thank those mitigating circumstances
for the fact that he was imprisoned instead of permanently banished."

"So--you can't let him free?"

Justin spread his hands helplessly. "It's not up to me,
Elizabeth," he said. "I'm the leader, but I'm not a dictator. I'm not
above the law. He was sentenced to three years imprisonment with hard labor,
and that's what he'll serve." He hesitated, peering at her curiously.
"Forgive me for asking, but why do you care so much? The plot he
and Jenner hatched used your home and your family as pawns."

She looked away. "I know," she said. "But I don't think it
was Sullivan's fault. I think Jenner forced him every step of the way. Sullivan
was a…pawn too, in a way."

"Maybe so," he said grudgingly.

"…And I have to wonder if you're punishing Sullivan because you can't
punish Jenner."

For a moment Justin looked at her, absolutely stricken; then he shook his
head in wonder. "You, dear lady," he said, "have a definite way
of stirring things up." He sighed. "I'll see what I can do," he
said. "Truly, I will."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome--I think." For a moment he looked thoughtful; then
he rose and offered her his hand. "Come on," he said. "Let's go
collect Teresa and Martin, have a word with Arthur. I think I have an idea how
we can prevent any more mischief."

Elizabeth was resting, lying flat on her back on her borrowed bed, her hands
behind her head, when Timothy and Cynthia got home from school.

Exactly why she was so tired she didn't know; certainly she had not put in a
full day's work in the kitchen--not like she would have at home--and yet, soon
after she and Justin had tracked down (and mollified) Arthur, she had found
herself utterly exhausted. Perhaps it was the work involved in just living in
this place (it was, after all, designed for rats); or perhaps--as Jonathan
would have said--she was "worn out doing nothing." Surely she wasn't
getting that old; not yet, anyway. Though with Teresa and Martin around…

It had been a distinct pleasure to see Justin at work, once they'd found
Arthur. What was the word he had used? "Schmoozing," that was it. She
had no clear idea what that meant; but he had clearly been laying on the charm
a foot thick. She had detected clear echoes of Jonathan in Justin's routine;
who, she wondered, had taught whom? The compromise they had reached had
satisfied everyone--with the possible exception of Teresa and Martin. Certainly
they had been looking none too pleased, when she'd last seen them. Well, it was
their own fault.

As the door slammed open and the younger two entered, chatting and laughing,
Elizabeth sat up, sliding down to the end of the bed. Timothy and Cynthia were
clearly having a better day than their siblings; they were both smiling,
bumping into each other playfully. Their arms were loaded full with books,
which they dumped on their beds. "Hello, dears," Elizabeth said. And
then she spoke words that she never in her wildest dreams ever imagined she
would: "How was school?"

The two of them pulled themselves up onto the foot of her bed, flanking her,
and she laid her arms around their shoulders. "It was great," Timothy
said, and Cynthia nodded her agreement.

"Can we keep going?" she asked.

Elizabeth hugged them both. "I don't see why not," she said.
"That is, if Alice agrees." She glanced at Timothy. "You made a
friend today, I think," she observed. "What was his name?"

Timothy nodded. "Yes I did," he said, with enthusiasm. "He's
great. His name's Robert." He shook his head in wonder. "He's really
smart. He's way ahead of me in math." He grinned impishly, an expression
he'd inherited intact from his father. "But not for long." Then,
abruptly, he sobered. "Mom--you know he's Arthur's son? The chief
engineer?"

Elizabeth nodded wryly. As of that afternoon, she was well acquainted with
that personage. "Yes, I do."

"Robert says he once met Dad--when Dad came to talk to Arthur about the
Plan. He says Dad was bigger than him then." Timothy shook his head again.
"I didn't know Dad had that much to do with the Plan. But Robert says he
did--he says Dad worked on it just as much as Justin and Arthur, and almost as
much as Nicodemus."

"That's what I've heard too," Elizabeth said. "I wish your
father could have told us. But I'm glad there are others who can."

Timothy nodded. Then he looked up at her anxiously. "Mom," he
said, "Alice says she wants me to see Julian tomorrow morning. She says
she wants him to check my eyes."

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, I know," she said. "Alice and I
discussed it this morning."

"But why?"

"Because I've been concerned about you," she said. "I've
noticed that you squint when you read--and that's not right. Julian is
an…optician." She stumbled just slightly over the unfamiliar word.
"He can check your vision, and make sure there's nothing wrong."

He looked up at her in anguish. "Does that mean I'm gonna need glasses?"

She smiled and pulled him a little closer. "Maybe it does," she
said. "That will have to be Julian's decision. But honey," she went
on, "I know how much you love to read. Wouldn't you like it to be easier
for you?"

He sighed and glanced away. That argument had hit home, she saw. Reading,
learning, the pursuit of knowledge, was a passion for Timothy. His father would
have been proud. "Sometimes," he admitted slowly, "when I've
been reading for a long time my eyes start to hurt. And sometimes I even get a
headache. And sometimes after I've been reading, I look up and everything
is blurry."

"Well, there you are," she said. "That's exactly what Julian
can fix."

Timothy sighed again, tragically. "All right," he said. "I'll
go."

Elizabeth smiled and hugged him. "I think you'll live through it,"
she said. Then she turned to her daughter. "And how was your day,
honey?"

Cynthia nodded and smiled. "It was a lot of fun," she said.
"I made friends too. And I learned a lot. It was really great.
Except…" she trailed off then and looked away.

Elizabeth frowned. "Except what, dear?" she said gently.

Cynthia turned toward her, and Elizabeth was surprised to see tears in those
big brown eyes. "Some of the kids," Cynthia said. her voice
trembling, "not all of them--just a few. They…they laughed at me."
She turned away again hurriedly.

"Why did they laugh?" Elizabeth asked. "Because you're a
mouse?"

Without turning, Cynthia shook her head. "No," she said.
"Nobody cared about that. They laughed because there's so much I don't
know. I'm way behind them in everything." She turned. "I'm…I'm not dumb,
am I, Momma?"

"No," both Elizabeth and Timothy said together, firmly. Elizabeth
removed her left arm from Timothy's shoulders and wrapped it around Cynthia,
pulling the girl close to her. "No, honey, you're not dumb at all,"
Elizabeth went on. She was aware of Timothy murmuring words of agreement behind
her. "Never let anyone tell you that you are. It's just…well, they've had
advantages that you haven't. They've all gone to school since they were small,
and that wasn't possible for you. Of course they're ahead of you now. But that
doesn't mean they have to stay ahead."

Cynthia spoke into her shoulder. "Marie says I could catch up, if I
worked hard."

"I'm sure she's right," Elizabeth said. Even as she spoke she was
fighting ugly pangs of guilt. Ridiculous, she knew; but still they persisted. Surely
Jonathan had a plan, she thought. He must have had some way to deal with
this. Oh my darling, if only you'd been able to tell me! Here and now, with
Jonathan gone, she could think of only one thing to do: it involved thoughts
that had first come into her mind the night before, as they sat listening to
the concert. Thoughts which she was not at all prepared to confront. "Do
you want to work hard?" she asked.

"Yes," Cynthia said firmly. "Yes I do."

"Then we'll give you all the help we can, for as long as we're
here." Elizabeth glanced at Timothy. "I think you can count on your
brother's help."

Timothy smiled and reached over to rub Cynthia's shoulder. "You
bet," he said.

For a moment Cynthia hugged Elizabeth hard; then she looked around in
surprise. "Hey," she said, "where are Teresa and Martin?"

Elizabeth couldn't help but smile, just a little. Timothy and Cynthia had
vowed revenge for being excluded that morning; and in a sense, they had
achieved it. "Your brother and sister," she said blandly, "are
busy mopping floors right now."

Philip and Eileen hadn't been sleeping together--at least as far as Jonathan
knew--but they had definitely grown fond of each other. Extremely fond,
in fact.

Jonathan had watched the growth of their relationship, these past nine
months, with a mixture of feelings. Surprise and amusement at first, because
the two of them were such diametric opposites. Eileen was analytical, always
thinking through every move before she made it; Philip, on the other hand,
seldom let thinking get in the way of action. In the beginning, as Jonathan
knew very well, Eileen had regarded Philip as reckless to the point of being
suicidal; and he had regarded her as a fussy, sarcastic pedant. That the two of
them could even become friends, let along anything closer, had at first seemed
unlikely in the extreme.

And yet, somehow, they had managed it. Watching them grow closer together,
Jonathan had felt his surprise and amusement turn to distinct pleasure. Never
had the two of them allowed their personal business to interfere with the job
at hand; that was not an issue. It had pleased Jonathan greatly to see that someone,
at least, was looking beyond the conclusion of this endless mission. Clearly
the two of them believed that there would be a future; and Jonathan, even in
his darkest moments, found that optimism contagious. Just to watch them
together was to forget his problems, at least momentarily. Except when--as
sometimes happened, unless he was very careful--the sight of their happiness
just served to remind him of what he had lost. When those moods struck, nothing
could console him.

But these last three days, Jonathan had noticed a subtle change in that
relationship. Ever since Philip had brought the news that Dr. Schultz had hired
a helicopter, the two of them had drifted apart. It was not--certainly
not--that they no longer loved each other. Jonathan didn't believe that for a
moment. No--it seemed to him that neither Philip nor Eileen believed in the
future any more. Whatever plans they had made, consciously or unconsciously,
now seemed pointless. How can you plan for a future, when it seemed doubtful
that you would even have a home to return to? It had been days since Jonathan
had seen them kiss or embrace; or even heard them exchange a kind word. And
that distressed him almost as much as the danger the rats, his friends, faced.

The three of them--Jonathan, Philip and Eileen--sat vigil that evening in
the air-conditioning duct behind Dr. Schultz's office, leaving Mark and David
to gather food. On this, the second day of his search, it seemed that the
scientist had been gone considerably longer; the gleam of sunlight had nearly
vanished from the windows when they finally heard the machine roar in for a
brief landing in the parking lot. A few minutes later the office door opened,
and the lights clicked on. Cautiously Jonathan and his friends crept forward,
watching and listening.

Dr. Schultz was a middle-aged man now, short and compact. Rather pale of
skin, he had close-cropped hair and a neatly-trimmed beard, both black with a
sprinkling of grey. As they watched he settled gingerly into his desk chair,
removed his glasses, and leaned back, rubbing his eyes tiredly. For a full five
minutes he sat motionless; then he straightened up, and put his glasses back
on. He pulled the topo map from his jacket pocket and spread it out across the
desk. For some time he pored over it, making notes with a black felt-tip pen;
then he sat back and closed his eyes again. Finally he reached for the
telephone and dialed.

"Hello, it's me," he said, a few seconds later. He had a pleasant
enough voice; but one that Jonathan had long ago learned to hate, because in
his mind--and in the minds of twenty-nine others, some of them dead--that voice
had been associated with pain and imprisonment. A pause, and then Schultz
continued, "No, no luck. I haven't found them yet. Frankly I didn't expect
to, the places where I've been searching so far. Why? Too close to
civilization, that's why. Why should they abandon one farm just to move to
another? That never made any sense to me."

Inside the vent, Jonathan and his friends exchanged a worried glance; but
Dr. Schultz was still speaking. "I need permission to fly over that
wilderness area," he said. "That's where they are; that's where they have
to be. They couldn't have just up and vanished. We're not dealing with anything
supernatural here. They're living somewhere near that mountain; I know it. And
if I'm right, there's no way they can completely hide their activities."

He listened for a moment, then he said, "That's all I ask for right
now. I just want to be able to make a few low-level flights. You can tell them
that. If I find anything, then we can start talking about landing." A pause.
"Yes, I know your reputation is riding on this. You think mine isn't?
Obviously we have to deliver. But this is bigger than either of us, my friend.
Bigger than our reputations; maybe even bigger than our lives. And don't worry:
it's a sure thing. I am going to find them. And when I do…" A
pause. "All right. Let me know what you find out. Right. Good-bye."

He hung up then, and sat for a moment, gazing up at the ceiling. Then he
chuckled, shook his head, and stood. "Reputations," he muttered.
"He's worried about our reputations. Idiot!" He folded the map and
stuck it back in his jacket pocket (much to Jonathan's disappointment); and
then he left, clicking off the lights behind him.

Jonathan sighed and stood, stretching out his cramped muscles. They had been
waiting the better part of two hours. "Nothing more to see here," he
said. "Let's go."

For several minutes they walked in silence, following the ductwork back to
their hideaway, their toenails clicking faintly on the sheet metal. The Philip said
quietly, "Jonathan? Who was Dr. Schultz talking to, do you think?"

"Who knows?" Jonathan said. He thought about it for a moment, then
went on, "A government official, perhaps. Someone who can get Schultz
permission to fly over the wilderness area."

"Or so Schultz thinks," Eileen put in. "It didn't sound
certain."

"Trust me, Hacker," Jonathan told her bitterly. "It's
certain. It's just a matter of time. Dr. Schultz seldom takes 'no' for an
answer."

They walked in silence for another few minutes, each of them lost in their
own gloomy thoughts. Then Eileen came to a sudden halt, laying a hand on
Jonathan's shoulder. "We've got to talk," she said. "You asked
me last night if I had any ideas, any way to deal with Schultz. Well, I do."
She took a deep breath. "I think…I think we should…get rid of him."

Jonathan gazed up at her, his eyes narrowed. "Meaning what
exactly?" he demanded.

"Oh, don't be dense, Jonathan," she said impatiently. "I mean
put him out of the way. Kill him."

Jonathan paused for a moment. Then he said, carefully,
"Eileen--Hacker--I really hope you're joking."

She shook her head. "I've never been more serious in my life," she
said. "I've been thinking about this the last two days. Ever since he
started searching for our home. I've been trying to tell myself that it's
unthinkable; but I can't do that any more. I really believe it's our only
choice."

Jonathan's voice was level, his tone neutral. "Supposing--just
supposing--that I was to agree," he said. "How would you go about
such a thing? Given that he's several hundred times your size, I mean."

She shrugged. "He has coffee every morning like clockwork, right?"
she asked. "We find something in one of the labs and sneak it into his
mug. No problem."

Jonathan shook his head. "No," he said simply. "No, that we
will not do."

"Why not? she insisted.

"Among other things," he told her, "it's murder."

She shook her head. "No," she said. "It's not murder. It's war.
You know that as well as I do. Schultz isn't looking for Thorn Valley so he can
drop in and say hello. He intends to destroy the place. He might stop for a few
prisoners…but his objective is to wipe our people out. You don't dispute that,
do you?"

Jonathan shook his head. "No, of course I don't," he said.
"But--"

"But nothing, Jonathan." She knelt down, laid her hands on his
shoulders, and spoke earnestly as she gazed into his eyes. "In Thorn
Valley I have parents and six siblings, including a twin sister." She
gestured. "Philip has parents and eight siblings. Mark and David have parents
and seven siblings. And that's not even counting nieces and nephews…and
friends. Everyone we know is there, Jonathan. Almost everyone you know
is there. Schultz is going to kill as many of them as he can. Unless we
stop him first."

"And you think I don't know that?" Jonathan demanded. "Do you
really think that hasn't been in my mind every minute of the last three days?
Of course it has." He shook his head. "But I will not be a party to
murder. Not by any other name, and not for any reason."

She released him and stood, turning her back. "Then I'll do it
myself," she said.

"No," Jonathan told her. "You won't."

She rounded on him, smiling bitterly. "Oh, and you think you can
stop me?"

Philip cleared his throat. Up until then he had been standing back, silent,
watching the argument with a pained expression on his face. Now he said,
softly, "He might not be able to, Eileen. But I certainly can, and
I will."

She turned, looking shocked. "You?"

He nodded tiredly. "Yes, me," he said. "Eileen, you know how
I feel about you. At least I hope you do. All of us are worried about our
families--of course we are. But killing Schultz isn't the answer. You'll
realize that too, once you calm down and think it through. I don't know what
we're going to do--but Jonathan is right. We're not going to murder
anyone."

"Why?" Eileen demanded. Her eyes, flashing with anger, shifted
from Jonathan to Philip and back again. "Why is this one human more
important to you than your own families and friends?"

Jonathan shook his head. "That's not it," he said. He paused.
"Eileen, would you agree that I probably know more about Nicodemus'
motivations than you do?"

She half-smiled. "I suppose that's true," she admitted.

"This isn't about Dr. Schultz," Jonathan said. "Not really; though
I for one don't want anybody's blood on my hands. What you have to
understand is this: Nicodemus never intended Thorn Valley as a permanent hiding
place. He saw it as a refuge. Human beings are too expansionist, too
acquisitive. Nicodemus knew that. He recognized that the Rats of NIMH are going
to come into contact with humans again, some time in the future. What he hoped
to do, by moving to Thorn Valley, was to delay that time. He hoped for a day
when the humans might be prepared to accept us, rather than trying to destroy
us." He shook his head sadly. "Obviously it hasn't worked out that
way. But if we can get through this, we have to keep hoping for that day."

Eileen shook her head. "What has this got to do with Schultz?"

"Eileen, if we're ever going to have peaceful contact with the humans,
we can't afford to do them any harm now. Because it won't be forgotten. Jenner
used to make a similar argument. You know that the farmer--Fitzgibbons--knew
very well there were rats on his land. Every once in a while he'd do something
to make our lives a little more difficult--reinforce his feed bins, for
example. Every time he did, Jenner would argue that we ought to arrange an
'accident" for him. We could have done it, too. That I don't doubt. But if
we kill humans, even to keep them from killing us, we run the risk of having it
held against us in the future. And that would absolutely assure our
destruction. Nicodemus understood that, even if Jenner didn't."

"So you're going to stand around doing nothing," Eileen said.

Jonathan shrugged. "I wouldn't put it exactly that way," he said.
"But unless somebody suggests a viable plan, yes."

Without another word Eileen turned and stalked away, shouldering roughly
past Philip. In just a few seconds the darkness swallowed her.

Philip would have gone after her, but Jonathan caught at the hem of the
young rat's tunic, stopping him. "I wouldn't, if I were you,"
Jonathan advised.

"No?" Philip asked.

"No," Jonathan said firmly. "I really think you'd be better
off leaving her alone for a while."

Philip frowned down at him, and Jonathan continued, "She's scared, son.
We're all scared. Right now I think she might say some things she
doesn't really mean--and you wouldn't want to hear. Let her cool off for a
while."

Philip sighed and nodded. For a moment he stood gazing down the dark, dusty
shaft. Then he turned. "Jonathan," he said softly, "what if
she's right?"