The Last of the Gullivers (8 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

STORKS
ON THE
ROOF

W
hen the service was done, Michael found Jane in the nave, alone and apart. Her father was talking business with a local television personality as the boy made his way to Jane's side.

“I need your help,” he said.

He let her guide him back into the chapel, empty now.

“Help how, Michael, help with what?” she wanted to know.

“Can't say, exactly,” he told her. Their words echoed off the old walls, no matter how softly they spoke.

“What does that mean, exactly? Why can't you say, exactly?”

“Can't, that's all. I need to show you,” he said.

He waited for an answer, but she said, “You better get out of here, Michael. If my Dad sees you, mannnn, he's going to—”

“There's nobody but you,” he said, he pleaded.

It was another long moment till she told him, “All right.”

“Tomorrow? Nine?” The schools were closed that Monday. “Meet me here.”

She nodded, she would.

“You want to tell me what it's all about?” she asked.

“I want to. But if I did, you wouldn't believe me. Tomorrow. You'll see then.”

“Wasn't sure your Dad'd let you come,” he said when they met on the windy steps of St. Edwards. Esther and Stella watered boxed geraniums and watched the children closely. Francis Froth peered at them through the pet shop window. Michael walked Jane down the street, away from the many eyes of the Merchants Watch Committee.

“He thinks I'm at Nicole's house,” she told him.

“What if he finds out you're—?”

“Let's don't think about it. Now why don't you tell me what's going on?”

“Come on,” he said. “I'll show you.”

They set out walking, not talking much. When they came to the crossroads Michael said, “If I told you there's a place up here . . .” he chose words carefully, “like you never imagined, like you never dreamed . . .”

“I guess I'd say take me there,” she answered.

He gave her his hand and they walked together.

“Unbelievable,” was all Jane could say when she saw the Garden City. “How'd it get here, how long's it been here, how'd you find out about it?”

“Wait,” he said. “There's more.” He used a stick to tap the church bell and called, “There's somebody you need to meet.”

“Who, who're you talking to—” Then she saw. Jane saw the Little Ones come from houses, shelters, every corner of the Nation. They gathered in the new square, one hundred ninety-three of them, all in their best clothes. They stood on the fountain, watched from window ledges, in tree branches, rooftops.

“What are—” she asked quietly, “who are they?”

“They're my friends.” Michael told her their story, as much as he knew. “They're vulnerable,” he said, “to weasels and Sparrow Hawks.”

“Where'd they come from?” she whispered.

“Don't know,” he answered. “They're the only ones like them in the world, is what they tell me. Nantwuzzled, that's their word for it.” He introduced her to the Grand Panjandrum, his wife, to the Tiddlins, Evet Butz, Thudd Ickens, Philament Phlopp, Mumraffian Rake, Burra Dryth, the rest.

“We will call her Quinbus Ooman,” the G.P. announced.

“Means ‘the Girl Mountain,'” Michael told her.

“Great Ghost of
BOLGOLAM
,” Hoggish shuddered, and left for lunch.

Topgallant declared another New Quinbus Day and the celebrating began. There were dancers, jugglers, food everywhere, and the music, always the music.

And again Jane said, “Unbelievable. I never imagined something like this could exist . . .”

“I guess there are whole other worlds all around us, if we bother to look,” Michael said. “The old man watched over them, him and his dog, for I-don't-know-how-long. But they're gone. And you and me are the only ones who know about them.”

“And you and me,” she said, “are we going to take care of them now?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE
GATHERING CLOUDS
OF
WAR

I
n their little flat above the bookstore, Stella and Esther Daniels had the same thought at the same moment.

“The key,” Stella began.

“Is knowledge,” Esther finished.

“That's right, dear. And knowledge is information,” from Stella.

They decided that the Merchants Watch Committee, the MWC they called it, needed more information. With street brawls and children ending up in hospitals, the Merchants had to know what was going on in their little town. A newsletter is what they needed.

They went straight to Larry Tiswas and badgered him into putting one together for them. The Daniels were sure
every
merchant in Moss-on-Stone would want a copy.

Together through those stretching-out Spring days, Michael and Jane watched over the Little Ones. Together, they did their best to keep them safe.

Jane went to the Garden City whenever she could and told her father she was with her school friend. And Michael was there every day, at least twice a day, and was careful to keep the curfew.

They were busy every second, exhausted, exhilarated, and they kept each other going. When Michael was stressed, Jane was serene and her serenity calmed him. When he was scattered, she was focused.

And for his part, Michael had opened a whole new world to her, had shown her a place full of possibilities.

But these were dark days in Lesser Lilliput. The weasels knew the old man and his dog were gone. They came over the Wall one night and killed three of the Farmer's cows, four sheep, a goose. Evet Butz heard the animal cries and ran to the field. But he found only mud and blood and monster-tracks.

The Grand Panjandrum ordered double-watch in the tower, but it didn't stop the beasts. They came back and didn't wait for darkness. They went to the farm and killed more cows, more sheep, a pig, another goose.

It seemed the bell rang every hour. Villagers ran from their homes, young ones to shelters, the rest to fight off the monsters. Armed with tiny guns and arrows, they chased the vermin over the Wall and into the Land of Naught and Nil, where all the bad things came from; but the weasels could not be stopped. Soon the livestock would be gone and the beasts would come looking for the villagers.

It was a warm windy night, some sour smell in the air, as Nick sat in the old Victor, in a puddle of streetlight, and watched his Boys work. The house was big and close to the street. It wasn't empty, but these were desperate times for Nick. Michael was lost to him and the Merchants Watch Committee had all the shops guarded. He'd been seeing the
7-A-M
tags around town, Lyall Murphy's work, and he knew he had to do something. He had to take bigger chances on bigger hauls.

That's why he sent his Boys into the house with ivy grown like an angel across it. Robby used a thin jimmy on a first floor window. The bedrooms were upstairs but they ought to find computers, televisions, and the like down here.

“Careful you don't break it,” Peter hissed.

“Look, I know what I'm doing,” Robby hissed back, but he didn't know this was Jane's house and he didn't know about the new security system. He pushed the jimmy hard and, as the window gave way, alarms and floodlights blasted from every corner.

Mr. Mallery was in Jane's room in seconds: “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, but what”—she was still shaking sleep from her head—“Dad, what's happening?”

Her father was already on the phone and the police were already coming.

Robby ran for the street, but Peter and Phil, addled and afraid, went the wrong way. “Fools!” Nick spat as he cranked the engine. Robby jumped in and they fled into the night and didn't stop till they hit the crossroads.

“If they get Phil, that's two times for him.”

“It's three,” Nick rumbled back. “And the same for Peter.”

“They'll get YOI. Eejits.”

The Lesser Lilliputians gathered in the Hall that night. There had been a dozen attacks in the day and panic was taking the city. “What do those monsters want from us?!” one of them cried.

“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner!” called another.

“Now, now. We've faced challenges before,” said the Grand Panjandrum, a lonely voice of calm and hope. “We'll overcome this one.”

“That's no
ANSWER
!” screeched Hoggish. “We have to understand why these things are mad at us.”

“Why? They only care about food, Hoggish, same as you. They only want to eat us!” said the Farmer.

“Evet has a point,” some murmured. “And Hoggish has another,” some mumbled.

“Ahh, rattletraps!” shouted the Farmer. “Don't listen to that pig! He hates us more'n the monsters do!”

“I hate no one,” the big man bellowed. “I am in charity with the world.”

“I say we kill 'em all!” Evet yelled.

“A good idea,” muttered some.

“
YES, BUT
more will come and take their place!” wailed Hoggish. “If we leave
THEM
alone, they'll leave
US
alone!”

“A good point,” mumbled others.

“No buts, no buts, no buts!” cried Evet. “If more of 'em come, we kill those, too! Use your loaf!”

And on it went, each with a piece of the answer, but neither with the answer.

“Simple country dunce,” screeched one brother. “Use reason!”

“Great blubberous slab!” screamed the other. “Use a gun!”

“Yes, but—” “No buts!” “Yes, but—” “No buts!”

Half the town sided with Evet, half with Hoggish, and these camps came to be called Yesbutzers and Nobutzers.

“Friends, let's look at this calmly,” the G.P. pleaded. “Let's talk it through like rational folk.”

“You are not rational folk,” screamed Hoggish. “At best you pretend to be rational and some”—a sharp glance at his brother here—“
SOME
pretend better than others.”

“We can't let emotions rule,” said the Grand Panjandrum. “That will split us in two and leave us half as strong as we were.” But his words were lost in a sea of ugly anger.

Hoggish and Knitbone worked through the night at the old printing press, setting each word of each scandalous sentence. With morning, a new truth spread through the streets of Lesser Lilliput:
“NATION IN CIVIL WAR!
”

By the time Michael reached the Garden City, the simmering anger had boiled to blistering rage. The Yesbutzers and Nobutzers had stopped talking and fights were breaking out. The boy had no idea how to stop them and only stood there, helpless, hopeless, and watched.

When the first issue of the MWC Newsletter appeared on Mallery's desk, he thought it was junk that had slipped past the
No Free Newspapers
sticker on his letterbox. He was about to throw it in a bin when he noticed the screaming headline—
STREET GANGS TAKING OVER MOSS-ON-STONE!
He put aside his work and sat to read. He read about break-ins, into cars, houses, the church, the tagging, he read the names of the suspects, and he read the name Michael Pine.

Jane's father kept his calm as he walked into the Chief Magistrate's office.

“Good morning, Mr. Mallery.”

“Tell me, Horace, is it true you knew that Michael Pine was part of the break-in at my house?”

“No, no!” Ackerby assured him. “There no evidence he was involved in that.”

“But he's in a gang,” Mallery went on, “and his gang was responsible?”

“Well. Yes. I suppose. The boy was once part of the—”

“Once? And the other crimes—car break-ins, church vandalism—you let him off for those things?” Mr. Mallery wasn't calm anymore.

“Well, no, you see, he—” Ackerby began.

“No wonder!” The blood was darkening Mallery's face now. “No wonder we've got such crime, when you let criminals go scot-free!” He was yelling and courthouse workers paused at the door to peer in. “I'm not safe in my own house, because of you! If something isn't done, Ackerby, you'll be off the bench, I'll make sure of it!”

And he left, still mumbling his anger.

Here was Ackerby's great fear, come true. The voice of the people, rising against
him
. If things didn't change, he'd be out of a job.

The Lesser Lilliputians didn't want Civil War, but the pamphlets said there was one, so there had to be. The Farmer's followers gathered in a fresh field of wheat, a hundred pair of feet grinding the seedlings to pulp. The other army met outside the bakery where Hoggish was picking up battlefield supplies.

The first shot was fired by the Nobutz Army at 1:07 PM and the second went un-fired for another two hours. There was only one cannon and they had to take turns shooting at each other. A swab-pole soaked in water had to be run down the bronze bore to dampen the barrel. Gunpowder, from Mr. Phlopp's fireworks, was shoveled in and a plug of cloth and straw was ramrodded over it. The cannonball was loaded and pushed tight against the wadding.

Evet Butz set a match to the touchhole and the missile went flying, entirely off-target, smashing a hole through the wall of his own farmhouse, wrecking a jigsaw puzzle he'd been working on for months.

“Ahhh, rattletraps.”

The Yesbutzers had no better luck: the cannonfire gave Hoggish a Tension Headache—“Great Ghost of
BOLGOLAM
!”—and he ordered his soldiers to use half the gunpowder. And so the next shot made it halfway to the Nobutzer line.

And the battle went on, slowly, for day after day. And each day, the armies fought to a draw. No one was hurt, no one was helped, and it seemed the war might go on without end.

Nick Bottoms found himself in a doldrums. Gordy and Peter and Phil were gone, locked away at the YOI, and Lyall Murphy's Gang had taken over Moss-on-Stone. One afternoon, Nick went to see Robby.

“We're going to call out Lyall Murphy.”

“Who, why?” Robby was sure he hadn't heard right.

“You and me. We'll fight 'em, we'll run 'em off.”

“Have you lost it, Nick?” Robby asked him. “You and me are going to fight seven guys?”

“We have to do
something
.”

Robby was quiet for a second, then he said, “Listen, Nick. I've been meanin' to tell you. Lyall's Gang asked me to join 'em.”

“And you said no.” Nick couldn't believe things had gotten so bad, so fast.

“Told 'em I'd think about it,” said Robby.

“
You flat-out fool!
”

“C'mon, Nick, I got to do somethin' with my life. Let's be real. The Boys are done with. You should talk to 'em, too.”

“My gang's had a setback,” Nick grumbled, “that's all.”

“You call this a setback? You can't have a gang with nobody in it. You and me. That's not a gang. That's a couple of guys talking.”

“We'll get Michael back with us,” said Nick. “We'll start over.”

“Who? Pine? He's useless! You think you can count on him for
anything
?”