For the Record

by McPoodle (f.k.a. Newton)

Part Two

Disclaimer

Since I wasn't able to witness every last scene of this story in person, I hope you'll forgive me for inventing a few speeches here and there. However, I did my best to put the words in their mouths that I thought they would say at that place and time. Just to be sure, I had everyone look over this account, and they all told me I had got the facts correct (Mr. Ages even told me it was "close enough," which for him was quite a compliment). Oh, and one other thing--this is meant to be read by an audience that is not 100% rat, so forgive me if I have to stop the action from time to time to explain things. With that stated I think I can begin now.

Chapter One

Summer was nearly over when Mr. Ages came back from Thorn Valley, via Jeremy. He had a year-old standing invitation from the Brisbys and it was a full week before they were due to move back to their cinder block in the field, so he decided to stop at the summer home first, even if it was a little late in the day. Besides, he was sure that his own lodgings in the thresher must be perfectly filthy.

"This is it, Mr. A: the Brisby's home away from home! Sorry I couldn't get any closer, but they've got a whole development in there, or something. Do you need any help down?"

The white mouse lightly hopped to the ground, then reached up and grabbed his cane. "No, no, that will be fine. Thanks for the flight, Jeremy--you can go now." He rapidly hobbled his way into the bushes.

"Well, if you're sure you'll be OK--bye Mr. A! Boy, he sure is spry for a ground-dweller." The crow turned and a few steps later had returned to the sky.

It had been a few years since Mr. Ages had been in the summer homes section of the forest, but he was not surprised to find that little had changed. Like most sensible creatures, these commuters were proudly conservative in their habits. The mice would form their houses partly above ground, partly below, sheltered by the maze of tree roots emanating from a handful of ancient trees. The Brisbys lived under one of the oldest trees in the forest. A lightning strike a few years back had killed the eastern half of it while leaving the western half intact. Jonathan built the house against the northern face, exactly where tan bark met black. But then Jonathan always did have this strange thing about symbolism.

The only difference Mr. Ages could spot in the failing light was a battered bark poster of the cat, Dragon, attached to the rock that separated the homes of the Brisby's and the Simmons'. Reading the notice, Mr. Ages learned that the "scourge of the farm" was apparently now gone forever. Imagine how easy things would have been if that cat had dropped dead the day before we had arrived at the farm!, he thought. Jonathan would still be alive, for one thing. With Jonathan watching his back, maybe Nicodemus would still be alive, with both eyes. On the other hand, without Dragon, would the Rats have listened to the Plan? Would the Rats have gone soft without Dragon? For that matter, what of the community here? They must think themselves in Paradise now. Except maybe for the Shrew. Living between the fields, Dragon was the only major threat she had had to face for a long time. What would she do now?

"She couldn't take it, I'm afraid."

Mr. Ages quickly rounded the rock to confront the source of the voice. "What was that, Mrs. Simmons?" he demanded.

The house-mouse, dressed in a faded blue polka-dot smock and matching bonnet, looked up at him as she finished attaching another poster to the surface before her. "I was just saying, what a pity it is about Augustina. She passed on only a week after Dragon. There will be a funeral immediately after we all settle in at the farm."

"Augustina...Shrew, I take it?"

Mrs. Simmons nodded enthusiastically, her loose bonnet making a desperate attempt to engulf her face before being brushed back.

Mr. Ages shook his head in confusion. How did she know I was just...was I talking to myself again? To cover up his embarrassment, he turned brusque. "A funeral, did you say? I've never heard of a funeral in these parts!"

"It's a human custom. You see, the body is put in a box, and everyone gathers around, and one person tells the others how..."

The white mouse hopped in exasperation. "I know what a funeral is, my dear woman!" She still had that idiotic grin on her face. Is she mocking me? he asked himself. With a visible effort, he calmed himself down. After all, he thought, how can she know how many funerals I've attended?

With a large breath, she continued. "I've invited everyone for nearly a mile around to attend and I think it would be appropriate if you were there as well. In some ways, her role fit in with yours: she kept us out of trouble, and if we failed in that, you were there to take care of what the trouble did to us."

"Oh...well, I guess..."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Rather wisely, she refrained from hugging him. "I won't expect you to speak or anything, not unless you want to. Do you? No? Well, like I said, that's all right."

Speak? he thought to himself. How could I get a single word in?!

But she was still going. "I'm running the ceremony, and I'm planning on something formal. I have a little speech prepared, and then a few of us will share some memories of dear Augustina. And then a buffet and that's it. This will be the first funeral a lot of the mice and such have ever seen. Usually the family takes care of things, but Augustina had no family to speak of, so I thought this would be fitting. The last funeral around here was before you set up shop, ten, no twelve years ago, and it was just me and Elizabeth for that one. That was a day I won't forget, not for a long time! I can only hope that this funeral will have something of the grandness of..."

Mr. Ages, who felt himself losing consciousness, suddenly caught on the reference. "Excuse me, excuse me! Elizabeth Brisby?"

"Yes, that's the one. Are you having trouble with first names this evening?"

She is mocking me, I know it! And yet...of all his many (jabbering) patients, only Mrs. Brisby's past was unknown to him. "How long have you known her?"

Mrs. Simmons pulled back on the laces of the bonnet like they were ponytails and smiled warmly. "I've known Elizabeth since...since...well, old enough to date myself. Let's put it this way: I'm the oldest friend she has...left." The smile faded from her features, and she started backing toward the open door of her home. "I worry about her, Mr. Ages. I've got a family of my own and I can't keep an eye on her all the time. Once she gets an idea in her head, no matter how wrong, she just can't get it out. And her family...they're headed for trouble, I just know it! Please keep an eye on them, William, especially Timothy! That boy's up to no good!" Having backed past the doorway, Mrs. Simmons reached back and suddenly closed the door.

Mr. Ages turned his back on the door and stood there for a second, bewildered. He had worked so hard to get out of that farce known as Liberation Day back at Thorn Valley, and within five minutes he had been roped into a funeral, of all things! He reviewed the conversation in his mind, and tried to figure out how Mrs. Simmons, who was so healthy he had almost never treated her, had somehow found out his first name. He slowly walked across to the Brisby residence, and as he did so, he began to pick out the fragments of a heated conversation coming out of the open window.

The first voice he heard was that of Teresa. "That does not matter," she said. "Death longs for the same respect for all."

Martin replied. "Never the same for the patriot and the traitor."

"Who, my lord, who on earth can say that the gods of the underworld did not find this one pure and uncorrupt as well?"

"Never! Once an enemy, never a friend, not even in death."

"I was born to join in love, not hate, for that is my nature."

"Go to the underworld yourself and love; if love you must, then love the dead! But while I'm alive, no woman shall lord it over me!"

This appeared to silence Teresa, and anyone else in the room as well. This went on for several seconds, to be broken by Timothy's hiss: "Line 593!"

Mrs. Brisby was obviously the target for this cue. "Oh, yes, I'm sorry. 'Look, Ismene's coming, weeping a sister's tears, a loving sister under a cloud--her face is flushed, her cheeks streaming. Sorrow puts her lovely radiance in the dark.'"

Smiling in recognition, Mr. Ages knocked on the door. It was answered by Cynthia. She had the awkwardness of early adolescence about her, but that was replaced with childish glee as she recognized him. "It's Uncle Ages, everyone!"

Mr. Ages suddenly remembered the abnormal affection the Brisby children had toward him and began regretting not going home, after all.

"You're back, you're back!"

"Tell us what's been happening in Thorn Valley! Jeremy manages to get everything tangled so bad we can't make head or tail of anything!"

"You wouldn't believe what's been happening around here since you left!" It took them this long to drag him inside.

"We've all missed you." This last quiet statement came from Mrs. Brisby, standing isolated at the back of the room. Mr. Ages looked her warily in the eye, then shook his head as if to wake from a bad dream. At last he was among mice again!

"Well, what have you unruly children been up to, eh?" He picked up the book Mrs. Brisby had placed on the arm of her sofa. "'Antigone by Sophocles'. I don't recognize this translation; did one of you do this?"

Timothy stepped forward. "Transliteration actually. I thought it might be an interesting way to pass the time." The Brisbys had their own portable library, hand-copied by Jonathan from the much larger one once located in the rose bush.

"This isn't too bad, actually. I tried to fix the Orestia once, but the diction was just too stilted for me to crack."

Mrs. Brisby carefully edged by him into the kitchen. "My manners are awful! I'm sure you've been on a long journey to come here and you must be hungry and tired. We don't have that much to spare right now but whatever we can spare is yours. And after that we'll put together a bed for you to spend the night in."

Mr. Ages slowly eased himself into a chair and cautiously rested the cane against the table. "I'm grateful for that. The matter of your supplies reminds me--Moving Day is just around the corner, isn't it?"

"Actually, it's tomorrow," said Teresa.

And that was all the talk Mr. Ages would allow until he had had his supper.

One leisurely meal later, the guest was in a more talkative mood.

"But first," he said, "you must tell me what's been happening on the farm."

Cynthia got the news in before the others could open their mouths. "The Fitzgibbons have moved out, all but their eldest boy."

Mr. Ages nodded in satisfaction. He had been the one to find out about the inheritance for the rats. He also remembered the poster outside. "And they took Dragon with them?"

All the mice but Timothy were astonished that Mr. Ages should know this. "That's right," he said. "The eldest son Paul is the only Fitzgibbon left at the farm. He's brought another human in and between them they have been making a great deal of changes."

Mrs. Brisby looked apprehensive at the mention of the other human.

Mr. Ages massaged a whisker between two fingers. "Which could be good news or bad, depending on whether the new occupants really know how to run a farm or not."

"Have you heard about poor Aunt Shrew?" asked Teresa.

Mr. Ages indicated that he had. From the silence that followed, Mr. Ages suspected that he had heard all the news that they were willing to tell him.

Martin confirmed this: "Nothing else has happened the last eighteen months besides family matters, and I'm sure we'd just bore you with them. What's been happening with the Rats?"

"Well, they've settled in, with some quite elaborate precautions to escape detection by the occasional plane flying overhead in violation of federal law. Several of the birds are working for us on a full time basis: collecting supplies, recognizance, that sort of thing. They're led by a miniature hawk named Plummet. And they include your friends Jeremy and Beatrice. They send their love..." Or would if they remembered to when he left....

"Let's see, what else...there was a trial. Most ridiculous thing you ever saw--sort of a reverse witch hunt, with everyone coming forward to confess the slightest offenses that they construed as 'unconscious sympathy with Jenner', or some such poppycock. They all got off lightly and the only definite conspirator, Sullivan, imposed his own sentence of menial labor for a year. Justin was the judge (don't get me started on all the puns that led to), Arthur was defense attorney, Ann was prosecuting attorney, and Catherine was forerat of the jury. Arthur is the rats' architect (I think you met him), Ann is their activities coordinator, and Catherine is the rat I later trained to be my replacement. The trial was stopped to deal with our first winter (quite a rough one, as I'm sure you can attest) and was resumed in the spring as a constitutional congress, its purpose now to patch the holes that had let Jenner make his plans so successfully in secret. The rats have an almost complete democracy now, with hosts of subcommittees on this topic or the other. Justin married Ann," (Mrs. Brisby put on an undecipherable expression at this revelation) "and right after that he was elected president. After weathering every imaginable crisis the rats came into their second year at Thorn Valley. Catherine was as trained as she was going to get and that overblown Liberation Day holiday was right around the corner, so that's when I decided to come home." There was more, but Mr. Ages intended to be picky in who he told it to.

"Is there still a legislature?" asked Timothy.

"Yes, but it's much smaller now and it gets its drafts from the subcommittees. It's allowed to change the wording of bills, but not to add or subtract clauses."

"And the president gets a line-item veto?"

"Yes, he (or she) does." Mr. Ages yawned. "Well, I suppose this old body is asking for some rest, so just one more question and then I'm off to bed."

Mrs. Brisby tried to say something, but she was instantly drowned out by a chorus of voices.

"Can the legislature overturn the veto?"

"Is there a high court standing over both sides?"

"What about political parties?"

"Excuse me," said Cynthia in a significantly louder voice, "but Mother had a question."

Timothy winked at Martin. "A question from the back of the class," he sniggered.

Mrs. Brisby blushed at being the center of attention. "No, no, you all had much better questions than me. Answer one of those."

"I'd like to hear yours."

"Oh, well, it was just that I was wondering what you had in place to deal with emergencies."

"What kind of emergency?"

"Oh, like what if the president were sick, or if Thorn Valley were under attack and there was no time for subcommittees and legislature and president...like that."

"My dear lady, that was precisely what I warned the rats about, time and again, but they always put it off until now it is the fatal flaw in their system. That was a very good question, Mrs. Brisby."

Mrs. Brisby blushed again and began herding the children out of the living room where Mr. Ages was to sleep. She then came back to make his bed out of the other items in the room. Mice by necessity need to have extremely-modular furniture.

"If you would stay for a moment, I think we need to talk."

She looked up at his stern face. "I'm sorry about my children, Mr. Ages. They do get sort of unruly, but you must understand it is because they are so isolated from others as bright as they are."

"Let me impart a little wisdom to you in my old age: all these years treating 'normal' creatures have taught me that I have absolutely no right to consider myself superior because I can remember more big words than they do or can reason in Aristotelian syllogisms. It takes more than intelligence to thrive in this world and as far as happiness goes, being smart is a definite handicap. Your children are 'unruly' because they do not respect you and for them to respect you, you first have to respect yourself.

"You have lived a long and full life, Mrs. Brisby. You are successful as an individual and as a mother. And you're not as dim as you think you are. I just had an idea." Actually, he "just" had the idea two days ago. "I suppose your children have been pining to visit Thorn Valley, haven't they?"

"Of course. Timothy intends to perform his play for them."

"Thorn Valley is in crisis. Justin is about to be told to anticipate a vote of no confidence at the elections next month. I think his only hope is if you show up to remind them what a good leader he is."

"What could have caused the rats to forget that?"

"Not even the rats know the answer to that question."

Chapter Two

Catherine walked briskly down the halls, her head slightly stooped to keep from hitting any of the overhead lamps. Catherine was one of the few rats to know that Mr. Ages had a sense of humor, and she often suspected that he had originally selected her to be his replacement at Thorn Valley because of the ridiculous height discrepancy between them. She arrived at Room 16 and knocked on the door. Outwardly, this was a door like the dozens of others lining the Great Hallway, but this one undoubtedly saw the most foot traffic, for this was the home of President Justin and Coordinator Ann.

The door was answered by Sullivan, who had recently given himself the post of President's Personal Secretary, a position Justin thought unnecessary until he discovered how much more he got done after Sullivan got the more trivial matters routed to the proper authorities. Catherine (who believed in the saying "forgive and forget") was certain that if the Constitutional Committee ever got around to following Mr. Ages' suggestion to establish a Vice-Presidency, Sullivan would be a shoo-in for the job.

"What can I do for you, Catherine?"

The young doctor was immediately brought back to the here and now. She reflected that she spent too much time reflecting, and then realized she was doing it again.

"Oh, sorry, I'm here for a follow-up on Ann."

"We've been expecting you. Come right in. And before you ask, she has remained in bed the entire time, although she has been rather impatient to return to her office."

As Catherine was led past the entrance hall, she noticed that Justin's robe of state was hanging on the hook. Sure enough, Justin was sitting in a chair beside Ann, writing to her dictation on the final preparations for Liberation Day. They both looked up at her entrance, Ann hiding the annoyance that surfaced on her face at remembering how long she had been forced by illness to leave her work in other rats' hands.

Justin moved to leave as Catherine prepared to start the physical examination, but Ann impatiently waved him back down in his chair. "It's not like he hasn't seen it all already!" At this the president's face turned bright red. As for Catherine, she had learned how to inhibit all emotions from the master himself, so her face was like stone.

After a few minutes, she put her instruments away and recorded her observations in her notebook for later copying into Ann's medical record.

"Well," she told them, "I see nothing to contradict my earlier findings. You are in complete recovery and you are still capable of having a child. Or several for that matter." The couple hugged each other silently.

Catherine cleared her throat when she thought enough of a celebration had taken place. "While I have the opportunity, Ann, I would like to put on my other hat of psychiatrist and interview you for a few minutes on a variety of topics. I am building up psychological profiles on all of the rats. It may help in the case of a crisis of some kind." Of course, the real reason Mr. Ages had selected her was because when the rats had rested in the midst of their exodus from NIMH at the abandoned home of Mr. Boniface, Catherine had decided to memorize the collected psychological works of the human's immense library.

She was interrupted from her reverie by Justin's retort to Ann's earlier innuendo. "Well at least you can finally prove what I've been telling everyone for years: the girl's a fruitcake!" He quickly ducked to avoid the pillow onslaught.

"Justin, I must insist this time that you wait outside, so there's no chance that your presence will influence your wife's answers."

"Well, if that's what the doctor orders. Goodbye, dear! Dinner should be ready by the time you're done."

With the door closed, Catherine turned back to the bed as Ann propped herself into a sitting position.

"You may think some of these questions odd, or even inappropriate. Just give me the first thing that pops into your mind."

Ann giggled. "You're going to try to psyche out a Rat of NIMH? Good luck--you'll need it!"

It was times like these when Catherine wished she needed glasses, for the extra psychological edge they gave. As it was she pulled herself up to her full height and frowned.

"How old were you when the scientists captured you?"

"Three."

"And what sort of family did you leave behind?"

"I was just setting out on my own at the time. See the world, enjoy life, and after that settle down and have a family. I didn't have any boyfriends yet, and of course the moment I was gone my family completely forgot about me. I guess I was ideal, unlike so many of the others."

"To skip ahead a bit, you picked The Plague, but Albert Camus, as one of your books to memorize at the Boniface Estate."

"That is correct."

"Why?"

"Well, it had rats in it, and I was wondering just how much humans hated us, and whether it was entirely because we were disease vectors."

"And now, after all these years, do you still think it was a worthy book to add to the rat library?"

"Undoubtedly. If one is willing to abstract a little, to forget that the plague in the book is caused by rats, it becomes quite easy to imagine ourselves as the humans in that book. How would we react if faced with inescapable death? Would I sacrifice my life like Tarrou, or my soul like Rieux, or else would I get a gun and try to kill everyone else like Cottard?"

"The book seems to be fresh on your mind. Have you been thinking of it lately?"

"As a matter of fact, I have."

"Why?"

"Again with the 'why'. Well, maybe because things have been going so well for us lately. 'Perhaps the day will come when, for the bane and enlightening of men, the plague will rouse up its rats again and send them forth to die in a happy city.'--Maybe we're due for another disaster."

"Why would the Rats be 'due' for a disaster? Is there some reason you think a disaster is due to strike, or deserves to strike?"

"'Deserves'? Why would you say that?!"

"Don't take this personally, Ann. I am only observing your reactions."

"Of course you are, but I do think slinging accusations against my husband is a little below the belt!"

"I never mentioned your husband, or the government either, for that matter."

"Oh, yes that's right."

"So why did you associate a possible disaster with the presidency?"

Ann was getting a little ragged around the edges. "I don't...wait! It's...it's because the president is the one that would have to deal with any disaster that occurred."

"Fair enough." Catherine held one hand up while she finished her notes, then turned her book to a fresh sheet. "Now tell me why Justin moved the rats to Thorn Valley. Pretend I don't know."

"Justin was carrying out the dreams of Nicodemus and Jonathan. To build a world where rats could be self-sufficient."

"And this is a cause you believe in?"

"We wouldn't have agreed to the move if that weren't the case: we went from a virtual paradise to rock-bottom overnight."

"Continue to act like I'm an idiot and tell me when this goal of self-sufficiency will take place."

"It won't be in our lifetimes, however long they may be. To create a truly-autonomous mechanized society will take at least a hundred years, by the latest estimates."

"And what happens until then?"

"A lot of toil and sweat. Probably a lot of death, too. That, by the way, is the reason I expect a disaster. Accelerated progress like what we're going after has its costs."

"And who is the architect of this Plan (to finally give it its name) during all these years?"

"The president, mostly, but also the Senate and the committees, which in the end means all of us."

"And can we all hold out until then?"

"I think we can."

"You only think?"

Ann was quiet for a few moments. "Civilization, human civilization, is not too far away from Thorn Valley. It wouldn't be too hard to go back to stealing what we need, and probably absurdly simple to prevent our detection by the humans. There are probably some of us who think sometimes of how nice it was before we moved out of the rose bush, who might wonder sometimes..."

Catherine smiled. "Wonder what?"

Ann's response was the barest whisper, as if she thought the walls had ears. "Well, if maybe Jenner was not 100% wrong." She then spoke up again, loudly. "Not that 'taking on the humans' bullshit, you understand! Oh, pardon my language! But of course any move in that direction would fragment the community, perhaps end any hope that Nicodemus' dream would ever be fulfilled."

Catherine nodded, then prepared herself for the torture she was about to inflict. "But Justin would be able to handle that crisis."

"Oh, of course. Justin is very good in a crisis."

"But how is he at preventing a crisis?"

"Well..."

Catherine refused to let her finish. "If Justin was as good a leader in peacetime as he is during war, don't you think he would be an inspiring leader? So inspiring that no one would even think about the rose bush? Would you, for example?"

Ann suddenly realized the enormity of what she had been unconsciously implying and burst into tears. "I'm a traitor to my husband and everything he holds dear!"

Justin knocked at the door. He had heard an outburst, but could not make out any of the words. "Honey, are you all right in there?"

Ann looked to Catherine for answers. The doctor took her hand and mouthed the words, "Trust me."

"I'll be OK, Justin. It's just part of the interview!"

Justin wasn't entirely convinced, but he decided to trust in his wife's judgment and left.

Ann looked up at Catherine. "What can I do to rid me of these doubts?"

Catherine closed her notebook. "First of all, know that you are not alone. Nearly everyone appears to have the same feelings that you have: desire for a better life in the short term and guilt about having that desire. 'We're only rats' is the most common excuse I've heard. The Plague, by the way, is the most-borrowed book in the library. Volunteering, spontaneous work of any kind, is at an all-time low. Nobody wants to be alone, for fear of what they might succumb to, so..."

"So everyone tries to find ways to fill the time." Ann sighed. "I suspected there was some sinister reason behind the fact that a lowly activities director is almost given as much respect as the president himself. Correction, a great deal more respect. What can Justin do to stop this?"

"He has to do something, quickly, before a demagogue steps forward, because this time he or she would be allowed to speak far longer than Jenner ever was. As to what needs to be done, that is far beyond the abilities of a mere doctor, no matter how clever. I just know that when Nicodemus was in charge, this community was united as it never was before or since."

"And Nicodemus had the Stone, and knew how to use it, too. Catherine, you have my undying gratitude for revealing the corruption in our hearts, but I think that I need to be the one to tell this to Justin. Mostly because he'd only believe it out of my lips."

Catherine walked lightly out of the domicile of the couple, relieved to be freed of the burden of her research. Step One of Mr. Ages' plan was now complete.

Chapter Three

Moving Day.

The forest seemed alive with the bustle of furniture and farewells. Patrick Simmons had made the announcement that this winter his family would be staying near the old log over the stream, not too far from the Brisby's home under the stone. Mrs. Brisby had known Mrs. Simmons from childhood, so it wasn't hard for her to guess the true cause of the decision. The Simmons' in fact had so much furniture and so many children that all of the other families spent more time moving the Simmons' than in moving themselves. Why, there was so much to do that it was quite obvious that Mr. Ages' help would be required immediately. Or at least it was obvious to Cynthia Brisby. Besides, the trip would give her a chance to think. Cynthia was a very thoughtful mouse when alone, but she usually became flustered around anyone else. She spent most of her precious thinking time trying to figure the humans out, and her comparison of the Simmons move with the Fitzgibbons move proved most enlightening on the nature of human power relations.

It wasn't until she arrived at the thresher that she realized that the elderly mouse was almost certainly sleeping off the exhaustion of a long trip at this early hour. So it was in a quite normal tone of voice that she said "Mr. Ages?" with no expectation of an answer.

"What is it my child?!"

Cynthia leaped at the bellow at her back. "Mr. Ages!"

"I believe you said that the first time." Mr. Ages was in a very strange mood. For one thing, he was smiling at her.

"I, I thought you were asleep."

"Sleep? Oh, I haven't had any sleep since getting back. There was too much cleaning and unpacking to allow that. As I imagine your mother has already told you, we are going to Thorn Valley very soon, and I don't have very long to prepare myself." He leaned in close. "As a matter of fact, sleep deprivation puts you in a rather unique mental state that I anticipate requiring soon after arriving." He looked up at her befuddled expression. "Don't worry about it--I know what I'm doing."

Cynthia disengaged herself and curtseyed. "I'm here to invite your...that is to say, ask for the honor of your company in helping us Move. Or...could you help us with Moving Day?" She curtseyed again, then realized that her earlier one had been premature and blushed.

Mr. Ages laughed. Grabbing his cane in one hand and Cynthia's elbow with the other he made his way down the hill at a near-breakneck pace. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Once Mr. Ages arrived he began to lend a hand, in his own fashion.

"No, no, you've got it all wrong! If you turn that piece over--no, to the right! Yes, now see how it fits into the bottom of the table. With it like that you'll be able to fit that third--don't tip it like that!"

Mrs. Brisby stepped nimbly over the debris until she was standing just behind Mr. Ages. "Don't think this too nosy of me, but perhaps it is not very wise to be telling the Simmons' how to move." She stepped out of the way as the burly patriarch shoved his way through his wife's collection of knick-knacks.

"Nobody's sick, Ages, so what in blazes are you doing around sticking your bent nose where it doesn't belong?!"

Mr. Ages was flabbergasted, and secretly pleased. "Don't talk to your elders that way, young man! I was here to administer some 'preventative medicine', but as I see that it is not wanted, I shall peddle my wares elsewhere! Good day, my good man!"

Patrick Simmons had some trouble with the three- and four-syllable words (and with one each of the two- and one-syllable words as well), but he simply assumed they were all insults, so he wasn't far off the mark. "You do that!" he blustered.

Mr. Ages hobbled up the rock on his way to the Brisby's when he looked back. Teresa was off in a corner with the third Simmons son, Kyle. They were up to an awful lot of whispering. Mr. Ages shook his head at the follies of young love and continued to the Brisby house.

The home was empty, and looked nearly as dead as half of the roots that formed its foundations. Mr. Ages found a nice shady spot and sat down. Soon Mrs. Brisby sat down beside him. She took off her bonnet and fanned her face.

"You just couldn't stand it, could you?" joked Mr. Ages. "You couldn't stand to move once, so you just had to move the Simmons' as well, didn't you?"

"Guilty as charged!" she cried out gaily, then turned and gestured to include the denuded house. "Now this, this is something I know I'm good at!"

She laughed at her own joke, but stopped herself by an automatic impulse that always kicked in when she was having too much fun. She started to get up. "Well, this was quite nice, but I've got to get back out there and..."

"And what, avoid the wrath of Farmer Simmons?" Mrs. Brisby had to put a hand over her mouth to prevent a laugh from escaping after imagining Patrick Simmons as the farmer. "They don't really need you, you know. Try to relax a little."

Mrs. Brisby straightened out, an expression of mock-peevishness on her face. "I wish you'd make up your mind! Today you tell me to relax, and just last night you told me to take control!"

Mr. Ages had a good laugh over this. "OK, OK, I think you're relaxed enough now. But seriously, I'd like to talk to you for a while now, when we are unlikely to be interrupted."

"About what?"

"About that little night-time scene the May-before-last."

"Oh. That." Mrs. Brisby sat back down. "You were there. And surely the Rats told you...."

"The Rats make the worst story-tellers in all the world. Before I knew it, some anonymous rat had peddled 'your' version of events to Mr. Alexander Christiania, and he went right ahead and published it! That thing did so well that no one can remember what happened any other way. With the pain in my leg that night, I wasn't the ideal witness, myself. Anyway," he said as his voice returned to its normal volume, "what I would like to know is what you experienced."

"OK, well...I don't remember it too well and to be frank, I don't think the children believe me, although they'd never admit it to my face. Let's see...the block was sinking. I remember that everyone came in to help with the equipment, but it had been smashed by Jenner and there was nothing anyone could do. And then....well, this is the fuzzy part. The amulet...spoke? I think it spoke to me in Nicodemus' voice, only it was in my head. There was light, and heat, and it hurt some, but in the end the Stone got the block where it had to go."

"And you had no part in this miracle?"

"Well, at most I suppose I was the tractor for the engine, if you see what I mean...I'm afraid I've never been too good with all of those fancy words. I was the...thing the energies coming from the Stone passed through."

"The vehicle?"

"I think that's right. I remember feeling like my fur was the only thing containing a wave of light so huge that if I failed to hold it back it would have destroyed all of us: block, stone, rats, maybe even the farmhouse. So I did manage to do something I suppose, but no more than any other mouse."

"I doubt that very much." He sighed, as if hoping to hear a different story.

"Well, I hear that Jonathan had the Stone for a while while you were his roommate. Did you ever see him use it?"

Mr. Ages scowled. "Constantly. That mouse was such a show-off! Couldn't be bothered to get up for a pencil, so he'd levitate it to him and then have it sharpen itself, for crying out loud! It annoyed me to no end."

Mrs. Brisby was facinated to hear about this unknown (but not entirely unexpected) side to her husband's personality. "And why would you be annoyed?"

"Because it would never work for me, that's why! I'm too rational, or maybe the Stone didn't fit into my worldview, or maybe I didn't meet the height requirement--I don't know!"

"So, what do you know about the Stone? Justin didn't know very much at all, and of course Jonathan never told me anything, but maybe he told you...." This was clearly something she had been dwelling on for the last year and a half.

"Lady," he said proudly, "I know more than anyone living about the Stone, but trust me, what I've got isn't nearly enough to figure that blasted thing out." His eyes appeared haunted as he added, "You could go crazy just contemplating it."

Mrs. Brisby's eyes burned with the desire to know. "Tell me."

Mr. Ages was taken aback at witnessing this new side to her personality. "Well then, madam, I am of the opinion that it started right after we escaped, a week before there even was a Stone. We held a meeting to determine what to do to avoid re-capture. We all agreed with Nicodemus that we needed to get as far from the city as possible, immediately. But at the same time Jenner realized that we needed to destroy all traces of Dr. Schultz's formula before he began his experiments again. Nicodemus and Jonathan volunteered for the mission. They took all night and when they came back, they were very reticent about what actually happened beside the fact that they had completely fulfilled their mission objective. It was a week after that that Jonathan began wearing the Stone--no fanfares, no miracles. I can think of no way for an artifact like that to be simply sitting around the streets of the city ignored by all the humans and just waiting for Jonathan Brisby to come along. The only possible source I can think of is the government, and that's why I think it more than coincidence that Jonathan was one of the two on that mission to Schultz's house. On the other hand, considering its size, I think it unlikely he had actually gotten it during the mission and kept it hidden for a week, which is too bad, since it would rather neatly tie all the mysteries together.

"Anyway, it wasn't too long after that that Schultz's hired exterminator, an FBI agent named Stetin, trapped us in a warehouse." Mrs. Brisby gasped softly. Mr. Ages, his head bowed, didn't notice. "All of us were certain of our doom, with the exceptions of Jonathan and Nicodemus. Jonathan gave the Stone to Nicodemus, and Nicodemus had us all join hands. The Stone began to glow and in a moment we found ourselves outside the warehouse. What happened during that moment would be impossible to describe by any laws of reality I was aware of, then or now. It was like all the dimensions of space suddenly ceased to exist and then came back into existence slightly offset. I suppose it would have been just as easy for Nicodemus to put us in another galaxy as into that alley; in fact, it may have been easier for all I know.

"Getting out of Washington was child's play after that miracle, and it was obvious to everyone that Nicodemus was our leader now, no matter how much he had denied it before. Maybe he could have got out of it by explaining how the Stone worked, or even by admitting that Jonathan could use it as well (as I suspect he already could), but he never did, and apparently Jonathan had no problems with this.

"At first Nicodemus was using the Stone constantly, but as it tended to get us a little too close to the attention of humanity he gave it to Jonathan, who seemed to be more subtle with it. When we found all that abandoned equipment right next to the Fitzgibbon's place, Nicodemus announced in an official ceremony that the Stone was now being reserved for emergencies and formally passed it on to Jonathan.

"In the eyes of the community this made Jonathan vice-leader. Jonathan had always tried to be what those around him wanted to be. He was a diligent orator to the Senate, an awed student to Nicodemus, a rough and ready adventurer to Justin and the Guard, a workhorse to Arthur, and a quiet sounding board to me. The Rats forgot that he wasn't a rat himself! He was so good that no one thought to ask what was behind the pretty mask. None of us had an idea what he was really like. Maybe he didn't even know. With the Stone, Jonathan was more things to more people than ever before. The more he gave people what they wanted, the shallower he became. One day Jonathan went on a mission with Nicodemus and when they came back Nicodemus had lost his eye. No one ever found out what happened, but that was the last time Jonathan ever used the Stone. He gave it back to Nicodemus in another official ceremony and left us right after. I think that he was looking for the real Jonathan Brisby. Maybe he found what he was looking for in you, for we rarely saw him after the marriage."

Mrs. Brisby laughed bitterly to herself. "He didn't find it with me. I caught his attention the first time I saw through his act, but then, I suppose I was doing an act of my own. We spent all of those years trying to fool each other, and I'm afraid you know where that got us in the end." She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath, then composed herself again. "But I was asking you about the Stone. What happened after Jonathan left you?"

"In the years that followed, a lot of rats tried to use that rock, most of them when they thought nobody was watching them make a fool of themselves. Jonathan and Nicodemus were the only ones that could. This led me to conclude that there was some sort of 'X' factor that was required to use the thing, a factor that maybe Nicodemus and Jonathan acquired during their mysterious mission. In this case the Stone could have easily been found in a trash can, apparently worthless to anyone else who tried to use it. I thought that was a really nice theory. Of course, your using the Stone completely negates it, so I'm left at ground zero."

Mrs. Brisby sat there thinking for a few seconds. "What if the Stone does whatever you want, but only if you believe in it? Of course the problem with that explanation is that now that I know the secret, I'll never be able to use the Stone again."

Mr. Ages was astounded. "Believe in it? Why, that's...that's...."

"Very silly, I know, but...."

"No, that's it, that's the explanation! Although it goes against my every desire for a logical universe, there's nothing else that fits the facts. Now what I'd like to know is how you could come up with such a completely-original thought so quickly. It was original, wasn't it?"

"Sort of. Actually, I first thought about that sort of thing a long time ago, when I was just a child."

"Ah, then it's your turn for a story."

Mrs. Brisby adjusted her posture carefully, as if she was now sitting on needles. "This is going to be a long one. My family lived with most of the other farm mice and all of the rats, in the barn all year long. We were able to do this because the Fitzgibbons were doing well and Dragon was strictly an indoor cat then. Being in such close contact with humans, we elected to adopt some of their more interesting habits, and one of them was Midwinter, which was our version of Christmas."

"I know a bit about Christmas from my own childhood, but I never heard of Midwinter--what was it like?"

Mrs. Brisby closed her eyes as she began to picture it. "As Midwinter approached, each family would set aside a special Midwinter haypile. The children would arrange the haypile festively, with maybe an apple seed or something to give it a nice scent. Everyone would then prepare gifts for each other and attempt to hide them under the recipient's haypile unnoticed. When Midwinter finally came, everyone would squeeze into the first nest, admire the haypile, dismantle it to distribute the gifts, and then move on to the next nest, until everyone had been everywhere. Because this took place on Christmas Eve, the barn was left undisturbed by the humans and we were able to keep the celebration going on and on to the point that we were finally going from nest to nest in the full light of Christmas Day--the one day of the whole year when there was no danger of being out in the open.

"Running around in the daytime was the first great thing about Midwinter. The second was that the children not only received the expected 'practical' gifts from their parents but also fun gifts from 'Great-Grandfather'. Great-Grandfather was a magical being who gave his wonderful presents to all the good little boys and girls and dry twigs to all the naughty boys and girls.

"Now my next-older brother Art was always teasing me, which is probably why he always got the dry twig. But he wasn't going to accept that as an explanation, so one year he spent his time spying on the haypile to see who put what presents underneath it. He even looked under the haypile early and found my present and his twig already there. Since he never caught a stranger putting presents under the hay and never saw the hay lifted up by an invisible hand, he claimed that somebody (probably our father) had to have put the presents there and that Father lied to us when he said Great-Grandfather did it. So now he had somebody to confront on Midwinter.

"I didn't like a world without a Great-Grandfather and I refused to believe that my father would ever lie to me, so I came up with another explanation. I said that if Aunt Susan was able to make herself sick because she believed in that silly frog story, then a whole lot of little mice could make a Great-Grandfather come to be if they believed in him enough. And if this means that Great-Grandfather is invisible, then he's invisible. If that means that he can move quicker than a light bulb to put the presents under the hay at the one moment Art wasn't looking, then that's what he did. And if he decided to prove Art wrong by slipping another present in Father's haypile, then he could do that too."

She opened her eyes to look at Mr. Ages. "It took a few years, but I eventually discovered that I was wrong. Our father had been the one who had invented Midwinter in the first place, so not only was he our Great-Grandfather, he was everyone's Great-Grandfather."

"Yes, but what happened in the short term?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Your brother was going to confront your father. How did it turn out?"

"Um...if I remember correctly, that was the year all the parents got Midwinter orange slices from Great-Grandfather, so Art didn't have a leg to stand on. Dad in particular showed great surprise at his gift."

Mr. Ages turned a shade whiter than he already was and stood up suddenly. "Isn't that Mr. Simmons?" he cried out. His hopes were answered by a bellow.

"You don't know? You don't know! Well, that couch leg didn't hop off by itself, did it, so it's got to be around here somewhere!"

Mr. Ages mischievously fished a stick out of his pouch. "So begins round two!" He turned to go then looked back at the sitting mouse. "Mrs. Brisby, you don't have a thing to worry about. You're going to have to trust me when I say that the chances of you not being able to use the Stone the next time the Rats are going to Hell in a Handbasket are infinitesimal!"

Mrs. Brisby didn't hear that last remark. She was busy trying to figure out where her father could have gotten hold of so many oranges on such short notice.

Chapter Four

Liberation Day. [I STILL NEED TO WRITE THIS CHAPTER, WHICH WILL INTRODUCE THE REST OF THE THORN VALLEY CHARACTERS]

A Brief Interruption

Since the first human character is about to walk into my story I think this might be the best place to insert a quote from Cynthia Brisby's dissertation on "Communication With and Amongst Humans":

The inability of humans to understand animal languages is one of the greatest mysteries, and tragedies, of everyday existence. Careful study has led many of us to conclude that humans are deficient in the more basic of the two kinds of languages used by every creature.

From the moment we are born, all animals, all birds, all fish, in short all living things are capable of using what C. Serpentina has called the "Living" language. There are no barriers to this language, which is what allows all manner of different individuals to understand each other. But this understanding is not easy, and for some reason always feels uncomfortable. It is for this reason that communities develop "native" languages for communicating amongst themselves. Every species not only has their own native language, but in fact each species language is broken up by habitat: the north-coast Denmark muskrat is as uncomfortable speaking with a Detroit-pier muskrat as with a north-coast Denmark bat. Cross-species native languages have also been created in certain situations, the most prevalent being the North American and Eurasian varieties of Rodent (actually, C. Serpentina suspects the existence of a global "Insect" language that would have a much larger number of speakers, but has not found any insects willing to discuss the subject with him).

The form of a native language varies based on the primary organs of sense and action. Owl consists mostly of the lifting of individual feathers, a result of their keep sense of sight. Mice, despite having a much keener sense of smell, communicate mostly through vocalization because they can produce more tones than smells.

The form of the Living language, on the other hand, is almost completely unknown to us. It can be understood by individuals without eyes, without ears, and without snouts. It has a range that can be reduced or amplified at will, just like most native languages. But unlike native languages it can be directed to a single person within range, no matter how many others might be in-between.

Humans possess a native language. Observations suggest there are probably more than one, and as a result of frequent migrations it is possible for more than one to exist in the same area. Human is not too difficult to learn to understand, but it contains complexities far beyond those of any other native language. When spoken by a human in a good mood, is said to have an almost hypnotic effect on other creatures due to this complexity.

Humans can "speak" Living, but only in an extremely-primitive and garbled form. They cannot understand Living, even when they speak it; in fact it appears that they cannot even sense it. When two non-humans communicate, each is speaking two languages: Living and their chosen native. When humans are involved in communication, each only hears their native language. Since humans are completely unique in their verbal duplicity to non-humans and to each other, it is possible that native languages are capable of disguising truth to a degree completely impossible in the Living language. This flaw is the root of their evil, their history and their art.

Chapter Five

The first sliver of sun had just peeked over the horizon when Mr. Ages began knocking at the Brisby's door. Two minutes later a sleepy Timothy answered it.

"Good (yawn) morning, Mr. (awww) Ages."

Mr. Ages wrinkled his nose and quickly thrust forward the strawberry he had brought with him. "Here, I brought you all breakfast."

Timothy slowly focused his eyes on the object until he was quite sure it actually was a strawberry. "Thanks. If you're willing to wait until we're all awake, we'd be happy to have you join us."

Mr. Ages was sorely tempted. "I'm afraid I must decline, as I am currently fasting. I'd be willing to wait until you are all done though, because I thought Mrs. Brisby and I could go on a little expedition together."

Timothy shook his head slowly, his big ears flopping in all directions in slow motion. "We only got her to sleep a few hours ago. Nightmares were keeping her up. We had to give her that oil you've left us."

Mr. Ages "hrmph"d morosely: his memories and speculations had made staying awake very easy that night. "Well, if she wakes before I get back, tell her I'm going to scout out the farmhouse and its new owners."

Timothy looked the old mouse over. "Somebody should go with you." He smiled sardonically and looked down at his small frame while ruffling his headfur using the hand not holding the strawberry. "I'd go myself, but I doubt I'd be much help. I haven't the strength or speed for the tight spots. Martin's up: maybe he'd want to come. Wait right here." He turned and shuffled back into the block with the strawberry.

A minute later an eager (and somewhat sticky) Martin came out ready to take on the world.

The doctor set a brisk pace, and soon both of them were before the ventilation grill of the farmhouse. Mr. Ages worked one of his pocket fasteners free and pulled out a small flat piece of metal, which he used to work on one of the grill screws. Martin finally caught up and sat down on a bump on the ground, panting.

"So, my boy, what do you know about the mysterious newcomer?"

Martin waited until his breathing was calmer before responding. "He's some kind of farming expert, I think. He came with all kinds of books, and he has been using them to order the Fitzgibbon boy around."

"He's in charge, then?"

"More like a consultant--I think the boy owns the farm now."

"What have they been doing recently?"

"The boy's latest project is to map the farm out on this huge sheet of paper using all kinds of different instruments. I haven't seen much of the expert lately, though."

"But he still lives here?"

"Yes, he sleeps in the spare bedroom and works in the parents' former bedroom."

"Oh, bother! Martin, come here and help me with this!" Martin went to the grill and lent his weight to the makeshift screwdriver. "So I guess you've been spying on them."

"Just until we were sure they were harmless."

"I never thought I'd see the day when a mouse called a human harmless!"

"The two of them have gone to great pains to prevent any of us from getting hurt by them. They've removed all the pesticides, for instance."

"How could they grow their crops without pesticides?"

"The expert set up some fancy equipment in the back of the barn and used it to make all kinds of chemicals. He put these on the plants: you can't taste them, but the insects must think it's horrible, because they take one bite before flying off as fast as they can. The expert brought in this stretchy netting, and soaked it in a different chemical. A few of the Simmons boys and I tried to climb through it, but the chemical made us go all limp. The expert came, gently pulled us all out, then set us by the net where we stayed until the stuff wore off. The nets are set up so we can pull enough food off to live by, if you're willing to deal with a limp arm for a few minutes."

"It looks like they were using some sense for once. So after all their trouble, how did their crops turn out?"

"The first one wasn't so good, because they moved in half-way into the season. But this last crop is almost double normal yield."

"Hmm...I wonder if the Rats could use any of this expert's methods." He motioned Martin to move off the piece of metal and placed it back in his pocket. "It's no use. The Rats have some specialized equipment for this kind of job, so I'll have to get it then and come back later. In the meantime, let's go up into the kitchen and see what we can see."

Martin was silent throughout their trip under the house. When they came up from the hole under the refrigerator, Martin quickly worked his way to the left-hand side and looked up in wonder at the empty bird cage that was hanging from the ceiling. "So she really did it," he whispered.

A cry of discovery bellowed out from above him.

Mr. Ages grabbed Martin sharply by the ear and pulled him down the hole, then pointed to the two legs of the human exploring the refrigerator's contents as his explanation. Martin looked where he was shown and also noticed that the entire floor space behind the human was occupied by the map of the property and various drawing implements.

The human (who was Paul Fitzgibbon) closed the refrigerator door and walked carefully around the map, stopping a few times to admire his handicraft. In one hand he held a cup of newly-creamed coffee. His attention was focused on his find: a half-eaten chocolate bar. The human spoke to it with mock-affection for a moment, then placed it on a nearby stool. Then he squatted down to work on the map. Since the hole was completely in his sights, the two mice stayed low until he moved to one side of the map. They were then able to observe that he was using a handful of colored pencils to add a number of symbols to his map apparently taken from data recorded in a hand-sized notepad. From time to time a pencil would become slightly less than sharp, and when this happened the human would go back to the far side of the map and use his hand-sharpener over the wastebasket. His eyes kept wandering to the chocolate bar, as did Mr. Ages'.

"It's perfect," whispered Fitzgibbon.

"You got that right," whispered Mr. Ages in response.

Martin, whose knowledge of Human was necessarily-limited by being an outdoor mouse, merely shrugged.

A few minutes later, the map was complete. Fitzgibbon picked it up and began dancing with it, then he put it down and began dancing with the chocolate bar. As the imaginary waltz finished, the boy took a triumphant bite.

And then ran to the sink to wash his mouth out.

"Oxidized! How could you! Hanging's too good for you!" And with that he dropped the bar in the wastebasket. Picking up and carefully folding the map, he made his way upstairs.

Martin scratched his head as he emerged from under the refrigerator. "What was that all about?"

"We had a lab assistant like that. Must be a side effect of going to college. Keep a lookout while I get that chocolate."

Chapter Six

It was rather late that night before Arthur was ready to leave off work on the new underground silo to return to his home. He scowled at the note pinned to the door.

Ten minutes later a much cleaner Arthur knocked on the door of the "Executive Suite". Sullivan quickly ushered him into the sitting room.

The room was quite dark (too dark for human eyes, I suppose), but still rather comfortable for the two rats waiting for him. Arthur sat down and noticed that Sullivan took the seat at his left.

Ann was the first to speak. "I trust that all is going well with your work, Arthur."

"As well as can be expected. What's this about a crisis?"

"Actually," answered Justin, "this is more like an evaluation. Arthur, do you think I should continue as president?"

Arthur was taken aback. "Who has dared to suggest otherwise?"

"No one, but Ann, and a few others, have detected some notes of discontent. Not with the Plan, but with me, and with the Stone."

Arthur looked with suspicion at the gem hung around Justin's neck. "So you think your public needs some demonstrations? I have never trusted that thing, Justin."

"That's why you're here, Arthur. Like it or not, despite all the committees we here are the Rat government. This...thing...as you so aptly put it, is the crown and scepter for the office of supreme ruler. Am I right?"

Sullivan nodded slowly. "When you address them, I sometimes wonder if their eyes are on you or on the Stone. If you can't use it..."

"...then I need to be replaced be someone who can, is that it?"

"We've all seen what the Stone is capable of," said Ann. "Enough to gather unwanted attention, but not enough to protect us from a full-fledged assault. It's an awful temptation to anyone capable of using it. Maybe if the other rats understood this, they'd realize it was better kept in the hands of a non-user."

"And maybe," suggested Arthur, "it would be better kept hidden, or even destroyed."

"If it can be destroyed," added Sullivan.

Justin raised his hand to gain their attention. "I see only one immediate course of action. I had often seen Nicodemus meditating with the Stone. I think he was in communication with the same voice that later spoke to Mrs. Brisby. A year ago, I brought up this issue." He removed the Stone and tossed it to the table. "At that time I was stopped from my investigations, because of the danger to myself and because I was 'indispensable'. We are no longer in a critical growth phase; I am about as dispensable as I'll ever be. I am going to attempt to make contact with the Stone, tonight, to discover its exact nature and determine if it indeed is a threat to us."

"No!" cried Ann.

"You can't!" said Sullivan.

Arthur reached over in disgust to turn up the lamp. "Nothing's going to happen! I'm willing to believe in the levitation, Jonathan's tricks, and the...whatever it was that saved us that first time, but I do not believe in talking jewelry! I mean, what are you two afraid of? That Justin here will politely ask the Stone to reveal its secrets and the blasted thing will throw a tiny dagger into his heart?! Everyone running and screaming and there our beloved president lies, his last words: 'Ah, sweet mother in heaven! Is this the end of Justin?'" Everyone laughed uncomfortably. "Chances are, you're gonna sit there for five minutes staring at the thing, and then apologize to us for making a fool of yourself."

"I've done that so often nowadays that I've gone beyond any apology!" Another round of nervous laughter ensued.

Justin turned to Ann. "Ann, my love if...well you've always known how much I love you, so just...." He looked away in pain.

Ann gripped his hand as she wiped a tear from her eye. "Good luck."

He reluctantly released his own grip and picked up the Stone while settling into a chair. "Well, here goes...."

Clutching the Stone in both hands, he looked into the depths. There was a barely- visible flaw in the jewel that caught the gold underneath, looking like the first crack of sunlight in a crimson sky.

Suddenly, he was in blackness. For a second, Justin could not feel a body, then it sort of solidified around the sharp point he thought of as himself. He willed himself to turn around. Behind him was the same golden crack, embedded in darkness so that it resembled sunrise on the Moon rather than on Earth. He faced forward again.

"Now what?" He pondered for a few moments. "I could really use Nicodemus round about now."

With another abrupt transition, he found himself in an ornate library. It was the library in the Boniface Estate the rats had visited during their exodus from NIMH, but now perfectly proportioned for rats instead of humans, including a sofa that could handle tails. Across the room was a square reading table, and sitting at the far chair reading a book was a stately rat in a smoking jacket.

"Nicodemus?"

The other rat looked up in surprise. It was Nicodemus, looking as he did the day of the Escape, which gave him the appearance of having the same age as Justin now.

"Justin? However did you manage to get in here?"

"I merely picked the Stone up and here I am! I might ask you the same question, sir."

"Well, I leave the technical matters to Jonathan here." He looked at the seat before him. "Jonathan, where are you?"

The back of Jonathan faded into existence in the near chair. "I'm still here, Nicodemus. Are you getting old again?" He followed his friend's gaze over his shoulder. He looked exactly the same as he did the day of his wedding. "Justin! Well, this is a surprise! Sit down, sit down! We have so much to talk about, and so little time before you wear yourself out and have to leave!"

Justin took the chair at the right side of the table.

Nicodemus turned back to Jonathan. "Any idea how he was able to use the Stone?"

Jonathan scratched his head. "Well, if Dr. Schultz's agent was airborne, and we failed to clean ourselves as thoroughly as I thought we did, then I guess all the rats are capable of using the Stone."

Justin smiled at this, but said nothing.

Nicodemus turned back to Justin. "Well, then, I was just about to explain about our existence here in the Stone."

Now it was Jonathan's turn to smile. "He knows full well we aren't in the Stone, but he likes the phrase so much he uses it anyway. We are in another space: another dimension, or more likely another universe all together. This space is very close to the outside world we know and is permeated with energy. Now on the night we snuck into Dr. Schultz's house to destroy the bacterial strains he used on us, we discovered his notes on another strain bred to link the human mind to this space. Schultz thought he could reach through this space into other minds, either to learn their secrets or to control them, depending on how messed up you happen to think Dr. Schultz was when he wasn't torturing lab animals. What we didn't know was that this strain was airborne, and that it affected rodents as well as humans. He was also wrong about the effect. We were able to harness the energy of this space directly, to move objects, heat or chill them, or blow them to smithereens. The power was very uncontrollable and nearly got us caught a few times, as you all later learned. At the time, we thought it best if we kept this from the rest of you. We decided that I should work on mastering these powers while Nicodemus went about finding our new home. I discovered quite by accident that the finer grade of fake ruby focused my powers and allowed me to control the strength of this power with much greater accuracy, so I committed my only post-Capture theft by obtaining the pendant. The two of us shared it until the day I gave it up to become a normal mouse."

"Before you met your future wife."

"That's right. I never used that power again, and I guess I stuck by that decision to the very end." Jonathan allowed the last sentence to fade away as he examined the wood grain of the table. He looked back up with a jerk. "As for us, we're not real. When we first used our powers an impression of our personalities was somehow left here. We feel ourselves to be alive, though, at least until we are replaced by the next impression of the original self. You've made an impression by coming here; that should keep us company for quite a while."

Nicodemus nodded. "You can't see your own impression. In fact, you can't see anything here unless you want it, so I'm glad Jonathan's impression decided to look me up after he found himself stuck here. I had to tell him about his own wedding." Nicodemus' smile faded rapidly and he looked Justin deep in the eye. "Well, let's have it. My impression haven't been replaced for the longest time. I thought that maybe I had given up the Stone like Jonathan, but it's pretty obvious that didn't happen. I need to know the details."

Justin drew himself up in his seat like a captain of the guard giving a watch report. "We were moving the home of Mrs. Brisby--she volunteered to drug Dragon and in this way learned that NIMH was coming the next day to tear up the rose bush. You organized an immediate evacuation but still found enough rats and equipment to move the cinder block. Jenner and Sullivan...." He'd better get this out quick or he'd never do it at all. "They secretly cut the ropes while the home was on top of you. You were killed instantly."

Nicodemus gripped one hand in the other and nodded slowly, more concerned in the social than the personal consequences of that act.

Jonathan's voice filled the silence. "The pulleys must have been destroyed. What did Jenner do about that house? Was it moved in time? Were the children in there when it fell?" The mouse's voice was calm and distant.

"It was both worse and better than you imagine." His words came out like a mystical chant, uninterruptible. "Jenner tried to stop both of the moves, abandoning the Brisbys and defying NIMH. His greed overcame him when he saw the Stone on your wife and he revealed his crime trying to get it. Sullivan helped me to stop him and nearly lost his life doing it. During the struggle the block sunk under the mud, with the children inside."

"No!"

"Your wife donned the Stone. It glowed brighter than I have ever seen it--brighter than the arc lamps in the dissection room. She caused the block to lift itself and move to the lee of the stone. Any internal differences among the Rats faded to nothing beside that miracle. I was appointed President Pro Tem and Arthur's team managed to make the rose bush look like a conventional rat sty before we all escaped to Thorn Valley."

Jonathan looked at Nicodemus. "I understand now why I married her."

"How do you suppose she was able to do it?" asked Justin. "Could she have caught that agent from you?"

"Not a chance. My theory was just wrong. Maybe the agent flipped a switch in our heads that anyone could flick if they wanted it enough. Wait a second! If she used the Stone, then her impression is here somewhere! She's been here for all this time without contacting either of us. We've got to go to her!"

Justin stood up. "You're right, of course, but I hope you'll understand the need that I see her before you do."

A mouse stood in the midst of infinite blackness, her patience wearing thin. When she had first been sucked into the Stone, Mrs. Brisby had been grateful that she had fulfilled her mission for her children before succumbing to the price of using dark magics without the proper precautions. As time wore on she eventually became fearful that her unique children would have trouble without her care in the year or so until Teresa and Martin would be able to take care of themselves. That phase lasted for quite a while, until she realized with a start that she enjoyed her own suffering far too much. She had then gotten her life in order, so she'd be ready whenever things decided to get worse. She realized for the first time that the independence and wanderlust she had been scorned for in her youth were actually her best traits, right after the compassion that she first allowed herself to notice after Jonathan's death. It was then that she decided that she was Elizabeth again and not just Mrs. Brisby. She was good and ready now for any number of odd experiences and maybe an adventure or two like she had before Teresa, or maybe even like the real wild experiences she had dreamed about as a misunderstood barn mouse in a family of six elder siblings. Still nothing happened. Now she was getting mad.

With a sound like a puffball bursting a rat appeared before her. It must be an illusion, because it wore the face of Justin. She quickly arranged her shawl into something regal and fixed the illusion with a defiant stare. He seemed to shrink inside in response.

"Mrs. Brisby! If I had any idea that you were in here I never would have waited so long!"

It sure sounded sincere, but she couldn't let it know that. With a small effort she recalled the terms from one of the more gruesome stories Jonathan had told her.

"You cannot fool me, demon! If you intend to devour me on the spot you won't find it so easy!"

The isolation had driven her insane! Justin realized that he shouldn't have been surprised--he would have gone around the bend after eighteen days of confinement this solitary.

He lowered himself on one knee. "Mrs. Brisby, it is me, Justin! I came into the Stone to determine its strengths and weaknesses. I had every reason to believe that you were all right in the outer world!"

"My body is possessed in the outer world? Do not waste time talking to me--fly to my children and rescue them from a foul spirit in pleasing disguise! Tell me the truth: is it even now too late?"

Justin made a mental note to check if Jonathan had been reciting Milton and Shakespeare where he shouldn't have been. He grabbed her firmly by the shoulders.

"Listen to me very carefully. You're not really Mrs. Brisby. You're a copy of her mind made when you used the Stone. The real Mrs. Brisby is doing fine raising all of her very bright children."

He ran that over in his mind and realized how incredibly stupid it sounded.

Elizabeth looked at him with a frown, her head cocked to one side. "So I'm not a prisoner after all?"

"This world is a fantasy. You can make it look like anything you want."

She looked up into the blackness. "Stone, I want to see my family."

A golden ring appeared where she was gazing and in the window thus formed, she saw into her winter home. Since she didn't ask to hear her family, her vision was silent.

Timothy was reading aloud. It must be a heroic book, because Cynthia was drawing pictures of knights and dragons on a piece of paper as fast as Timothy was turning pages. Teresa was sitting at the high spot with a home-made abacus, staring into space as she worked some complex equation. She saw herself sitting at the other end of the table from Timothy and Cynthia with Martin. Martin was showing herself a diagram of the farmhouse and was using crayon stubs to color the different rooms using a particular coloring scheme outlined at the bottom of the sheet. The furniture was also written in, and from her dim knowledge of the layout of the house, everything was misplaced. Elizabeth reasoned that if she was being manipulated by a false vision she would be given something she would be able to understand completely, but the business with the map seemed to make no sense and in that way confirmed the vision as genuine.

"I guess you're right. Am I much like her anymore?"

"I somewhat doubt it. There is a copy of your dead husband in here, only it was made before he met you."

"Then I shall have the better of him for once. Well don't just stand there, take me to him! Spit, spot!"

Nothing like her at all.

Actually, I need to slow things down a bit to show character more, but I haven't worked that out yet. As far as plot goes, the Liberation Day holiday (which happens between the existing Chapters 2 and 3) goes along as planned, allowing us to meet all the rat characters I'll get around to using later, including the conceited Alexander Christiania. Prior to Moving Day I also want to put in a chapter on the funeral of The Shrew, organized and run by Mrs. Simmons as a way to introduce the reader to her and her family.

At the farm, Martin convinces Teresa and Cynthia to stay behind to keep an eye on the humans. Mr. Ages reluctantly decides that the disintegration among the rats require his attention more the human situation, and appoints Jeremy to watch over them. The remaining Brisbys and Mr. Ages travel to Thorn Valley on Beatrice. Everyone compares memories of Jonathan on the trip. Mr. Ages snarfs down the chocolate bar and soon makes a vast pest of himself.

In the Stone, Elizabeth talks with Jonathan but she has changed so much that they are practically unable to understand each other. He tells her that she will cease to exist the moment the real Mrs. Brisby uses the Stone again. Reasoning that the Stone is a completely subjective reality, she disconnects it from outside time and goes to explore its depths. After a few brief adventures that must stretch my imagination to its utmost limits, she comes upon a group of champions, both real and fictional, and petitions to join their ranks. They politely reject her, not because she is the first woman to do so (which she is not) or the first mouse to do so (which she is [so I haven't read Redwall yet, OK?]), but because she has not done anything truly heroic and self-sacrificing yet. Defeated, she returns to the Boniface library and restarts Time.

When she arrives in Thorn Valley, Justin takes Mrs. Brisby to the Stone. As a result of his sleep-depravation, fasting, and later gorging leading to an unbelievable sugar-high, Mr. Ages is able to suspend his sense of disbelief enough to accompany her into the Stone, but immediately afterward passes out. Mrs. Brisby has a tearful reunion with her husband, and gives him the farewell she always wanted. Mr. Ages' revival distracts everyone long enough for them not to notice the moment of Mrs. Brisby's disappearance.

To her great surprise, the strength of her personality has allowed Elizabeth to survive, and she snatches Mrs. Brisby in order to get acquainted with her and learn how things are going. She finds that she is really not interested in her counterpart's children, but is very interested in seeing the world outside the Stone. She asks for permission to accompany Mrs. Brisby back into her body, on condition that she be denied any control over it. I myself have no idea why Mrs. Brisby would go along to such a suspicious-sounding agreement, but since I know in advance that Elizabeth will be true to her word I guess Mrs. Brisby senses this as well and agrees.

Timothy recruits two rats to take the parts in his play left vacant by Teresa and Cynthia. The play is a great success, and Timothy begins to use it as a platform in his rise to power amongst the rats. Being the "son of the great Jonathan Brisby" certainly helps, but not as much as the news that Mrs. Brisby was seen wearing the Stone.

Mrs. Brisby is in an abstracted state most of the time, and that is because she is in an internal dialog with Elizabeth. The two represent the two extremes her personality has taken through life, from youthful optimism to tired self-defeatism. It becomes increasingly disconcerting to Mrs. Brisby to discover that Elizabeth has retained a number of the powers over reality she possessed while within the Stone (in one of the best scenes I haven't written yet, Elizabeth demonstrates that the universe existing around the Stone is synonymous with the universe existing within the Stone). The two of them ask deeper and deeper questions about the nature of reality, and they find the reactions of the rats to be too human: too prejudiced toward "normals" and too rigid in their attachment to reason (I might quote Shaw's Man and Superman at some point).

I now get back to Teresa, Cynthia, and Jeremy, all of whom need more character than I have been giving them. Teresa is desperate to hide her intelligence to gain the love of Kyle Simmons, unaware that as the youngest child Kyle is quite used to being surpassed and loves her already. Cynthia on the other hand appears dumb but is actually very penetrating when asked the right questions. She is the only one of them that can understand Human fluently and she is quite taken with the songs the human expert is always playing on his record player. Jeremy is of course himself, with whatever marriage-induced changes I eventually dream up (I have read a few different versions of what other authors think of Jeremy's marriage, and I would like to come up with a fresh interpretation eventually). Paul Fitzgibbon hires a boy from the village to help him with all the record keeping for their record harvest. The boy spots the mice in the barn and disobeys orders by setting a trap for them. Kyle manages to free himself but is unable to help the others before Paul spots the trap and brings it to the house. I suppose Kyle tells his father and I have a chance to bring Mrs. Simmons back into the book.

The human expert is revealed to be Rob Stetin. Sadly, this will surprise none of my readers. Stetin is not doing very well. He is afraid that he is still under the control of Schultz and is afraid that he will discover the hiding place of the Rodents and involuntarily betray them. The capture of the mice put him into near-hysterics, and he retreats to his room to listen to his record (I'm thinking of the song from the end of Dr. Strangelove, "Some Sunny Day"). Teresa is in a rather similar state, so Cynthia calms her by singing along with the record in Mouse. Stetin is shocked to discover that he can understand her and in this way discovers that he was the Catalyst at the St. Andrews Ball. Somehow or another Mrs. Brisby has been made aware of what has happened (I'm thinking Mrs. Simmons, since I intend to hint that she's a great deal more than she appears), and Elizabeth transports her to the house, where she confronts Stetin. Now I know this entire paragraph sounds extremely cheesy. I don't even know how to end that last scene. It is the weakest part of this story, and if I can pull it off the rest will be easy.

...well, except for the next part. Mrs. Brisby and Elizabeth plunge into Stetin's enormous library, at the end of which time their personalities have merged into Elizabeth Brisby. I suppose her character is a bit Poppinesque at this point, "practically perfect in every way".

I suppose there could be other subplots, which I would be dutifully following. I know that I wanted to do something with Plummet (the silent mystic miniature hawk, who I haven't even determined the gender of yet), but I forget what. I also left Mr. Ages doing nothing (unless he's stuck in the Stone!), and after my investment in Catherine and Ann they should have some part in the plot. Timothy has a juicy part to play, but Martin is left with nothing. It is impossible to do a NIMH sequel involving Jonathan without making him a major character (maybe he's the author of Part Two). And what about Justin, and his relationship with Mrs. Brisby (and her/their relationship with him, and with Jonathan)? So all manner of things could happen before....

Schultz returns to the farm (you knew this was coming a mile away, didn't you?)! As Stetin has suspected, Schultz has succeeded in recreating his second strain and has used it to convert his purely psychological skill in controlling minds into an actual psychic power. A large percentage of humanity is now his personal property, but he is certain that one or more of the Rats of NIMH share this power and so are invulnerable to him.

There is some sort of epic battle that follows, with Schultz able to take over the minds of everyone except the Brisbys. Everyone gets their part in this battle, especially Timothy, who is going to have to become a nicer person. Elizabeth is of course responsible for final victory, but I've got to figure out something better than the psych-out I currently have planned, since I hope for this ending to be truly memorable. Since I have been grooming her for the part throughout Part Two, Elizabeth Brisby takes on the Nicodemus role as ceremonial ruler of the rats, leaving Justin to take care of the day-to-day details.

You might ask what justification I might have in writing this story in the first place. Part One is quite obviously a case of author self-insertion (with the minor twist that to the Rats of NIMH he becomes one of the primary villains), but I think that the stuff about the Ball and the 400 is original. On the other hand it is also completely unneeded to read Part Two. Part Two steals a lot of ideas from existing NIMH fan fiction. I think that my origin and powers of the Stone is fairly original and that my treatment of the Brisby children is at least semi-original (there are also things like Midwinter that I really like). What makes or breaks Part Two, however, is that whole bit with Mrs. Brisby and Elizabeth. I haven't written it yet, but I know already that the challenge will be to maintain the rather-fast pacing of the rest of the work during entirely internal sequences.

One last note: I have a habit in my stories of basing them around philosophical themes. Part One is based on Communication (or lack thereof), while Part Two is concerned with Power: how to get it and how to keep it (especially when it is of the political variety). As Elizabeth Brisby demonstrates, all power comes from within.

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