Chapter 1
1 And when the world was done, and when the world was full, and all the beasts of the field and fish of the sea did fill it, 2 didst Satan look upon all with envious eyes 3 and conspire to subdue it and all being in it.
Chapter 2
1 And Satan went into the world, among the beasts and the fruitful lands, as one of them, 2 and with masterful tongue turned them the peaceful the one against the other 3 until trust and faith were as the stir of the fire come dawn; 4 and Beauty was turned to dust. 5 The Lord, in His merciful ways, sent Michael, who strode the earth, 6 and there did great armies clash, 7 and was a third of all the earth laid waste, and a third of all in it was waste. 8 And it came to pass that, taking the Fiend by his might, 9 Michael didst bind him, 10 and deliver him up unto the judgement of his Master.
Chapter 3
1 And spake the Lord, saying, "Wherefore hast thou gone forth into that which I forbade thee, and seen to put it under thy feet?" 2 And Satan said, "I didst see, with this eye hast Thou given, a gleam of myself in that which Thou hast made, and would claim it." 3 And God, perturbed, walked the halls of Paradise for a time, and returning 4 said unto Satan, "Go now, into the world, to seek thine and yours. 5 But nothing else; and finding thine, be it willful unto thee, take it as thine own, and as thou willst, do. 6 Make what thou wouldst of what is thine, but nothing else shalt thou touch; thy gets are thine for a time. 7 Remembering all is Mine, and Mine is all that is, and at that time's calling, shall return to Me. 8 Now go."
Chapter 4
1 And Satan was in the world again 2 and didst nothing of harm, and walked the world freely and without restraint. 3 He walked the world four weeks and ten, and going didst ask all he didst see to follow him; none would; 4 for although the world was waste and there was no more enough to fill them, still 5 they knew the Lord and His love for them, and would not follow. 6 And Satan came upon man, at sitting alone, and pondering. 7 And hiding his evil, said, What troubles thee?" 8 Man saw him, and didst say, "My belly and mine are empty, and there is nought in the plains to fill our hunger." 9 And Satan said, "Follow me, and there is no hunger for thee." 10 And man said "Yes." 11 And hither came into Satan's power, and believed him, and Satan poured into his ear the makings of falsehoods and lies. 12 "Thou art alone the image of thy maker; thou and thine are His form. 13 All else is made for thee, and is under thee, as the ground is under thy feet. 14 And thou must take the world, and do with it what thou willst, and what thou willst is good in His eyes." 15 All this man heard, and in his heart didst heed it. 16 And man said, "How shall the other beasts know my power?" 17 And Satan said, "Behold." And taking a stone, 18 didst roughly hew man, such that much fur was lost, and his tail cut off. 19 And Satan sent him off, and himself didst go to that place of his dwelling.
Chapter 5
1 And man and his went forth, and seeing their nakedness, did slay them once brothers, and take their fur as their own. 2 No more couldst man converse with his brothers, and his desire to live peacefully among them was gone. 3 And in his quest for food, man was given flesh by Satan, and didst eat of it, and glory in its procurement. 4 Many other beasts, the strong and the proud, seeing man's example and power, followed, and soon but were the meek left in His service. 5 And God sorrowed, that His children had come to this, 6 but His promise was upon Satan's lips. And so the Lord came again into the world, and to the meek saying 7 "Ye too are My children, and dear are ye to Me, for ye do still follow My word. 8 For a time the world is man's, and man is Satan's, but it shall come to pass that he shall taste the dust of My wrath, and his slaves the nectar of freedom. 9 Ye shall not perish. 10 I give unto you My promise, and My blessing, that your numbers shall be ensured, and ye shall see the end of time." 11 And they went forth, quick and full of sense, to fight at His word, and keep the Beauty He had set at the Dawning of Dawn. 12 Glory to God in the highest. Amen.
The winter had settled in at last, good and hard. Indoors, between the walls, it was warm. So warm that Edward could have doffed all his fur and not missed it at all. So very warm, in fact, that he was restless in his bed of grass and felt: he could not sleep. The wind outside howled and moaned in the eaves and telephone wires; neither could it rest, he supposed.
With a sigh, Edward finally conceded the point. Sleep was not to be his, at least not yet tonight. Swinging his feet out from his felt blankets, he stepped onto the cool brick floor. Passing from his nest, he could hear the sounds of the other members of his family breathing lightly in the midst of winter's holocaust. Quietly he stepped past their nests, not making a sound. Safely past, he went down on all fours and scampered along the ductwork.
It was always this way. Edward's midnight excursions were frequent, as frequent as his bouts of sleeplessness. They were not sanctioned by his father or by the others of the Phalastery, but they took place nonetheless. They were exciting, they were instructive, but most of all, they were tiring, and he could always find sleep in the wake of one. It was a price he had to pay, it seemed. Sometimes he wondered if he weren't an insomniac merely as a convenience. An excuse to defy his father and scout the Interior anyway.
Innerway Three was at the end of a long series of pipes and airshafts, which Edward could negotiate in the dark by memory without problem. But this was rarely necessary, as once the last turn was made, Edward's sensitive eyes could more than easily find the way for his feet thanks to the light that poured through the Innerway. This was due to the habit the humans had of blazingly illuminating whatever place they happened to inhabit. They seemed to almost pathologically fear the dark. Uncle Paul, who knew the metaphor of The Books like an old mouse knew his whiskers, felt that this was a reflection of their guilt from the First Evil. For his part, Edward felt they had poor night vision, which could be dangerous for creatures on the order of size they were. To stumble in the dark was to topple a pillar of flesh, and send it tumbling heavily to the ground. Surely nothing so large and powerful could fear anything in the dark; obviously they feared only the dark itself, for this practical reason. No matter; it made the going easier for Edward.
Innerway Three was the closest to Edward's family's quarter of the Phalastery. They had the ground floor left side, and Innerway Three entered the kitchen in the lower cupboards, behind the sink. Edward poked his head through; he could see nothing but the huge grey basin before him, and below him the boxes happily lit from the cracks in the cupboard doors. Testing the air carefully with his nose, he could find nothing in it to alarm him. By his reckoning, there had been no human in the kitchen for at least two hours. Excitedly, he grasped the climb string, jerked it once or twice between his paws to test its strength, then threw it out the hole. He quickly climbed down and nosed his way between the boxes, cleansers and utensils to the cupboard door. Carefully he shoved it open a crack. It was heavy, but well oiled, and not much of a chore for a mouse nearing adulthood like himself. Nothing threatening caught his eye, and so he stepped out into the kitchen, the Interior proper.
It always made him shiver, stepping into the Interior. So forbidden and full of dangers, yet so great, so useful, so bountiful, so... huge! There was no other word for it. Some of the rooms of the Interior of the 252 Phalastery were sheerly spectacular in scope. Edward had been on a trip with his father to the basement once, and its dimensions were almost beyond belief. A hundred mice could spend a thousand years in it, and still not find use for all of it, and yet, Uncle Paul reckoned, a single human, and not one greatly possessed of worldly amenities, would still find life cramped and difficult assigned to it. It made Edward shake his head just to consider it.
The house was 252 Dempsey Street, but the mice called it the 252 Phalastery. Any house mice inhabited they called such. Usually, as was the case here, several families shared a house, using it together and sharing what they found. Mice by nature must be generous; a lone mouse does not go far in this world.
Two Fifty Two Dempsey Street was about eighty or ninety years old; it was a tall, thin Victorian home built in the naive innocence before the wars. It could easily manage one or two human families; and its mouse amiable areas were even more generous. It had thick, sheer, brick walls, with plenty of space between them and the inner walls, and within the inner walls as well. The mice had constructed quite a comfortable commune within it. They even managed to produce some food of their own; whatever else they needed they appropriated from the cast offs of the humans in the house. The mice of the 252 Phalastery, unlike many, did not take anything the humans still used or were likely to use, including food. This was due to their pride and honor, but also due to their caution.
The human family was the Hodgsons. There were five of them, although only four presently lived in the house. The mice collected intelligence concerning them, as wise mice always did concerning their hosts, and they knew this: Sophia and Walter Hodgson had moved in on July 14, 1977, with their two children, Shelley, then 11, and Kevin, then 5. February 9, 1982, Mrs. Hodgson's mother, April Coprison, 74, had moved in after having been widowed in 1979 and subsequently breaking her hip in mid winter 1981. Shelley Hodgson left home on August 24, 1985, to attend the University of British Columbia. There were other minor details, but these were the main facts. Knowing one's hosts well meant better predicting their actions and eventualities. It meant planning for the inevitable, which was almost always eventual discovery.
Dropping again to all fours he hurried quietly along the wall to the step chair. Deftly ascending it, he climbed onto the wooden sill of the window near the table. It felt almost icy cold to his paws; water that had condensed on the window pane had swum down to form cold little pools there. Edward stood, gazing through the glass at the fury winter was hurling against it, all virtually in vain. Despite all he had heard about them, despite all the evil they had wrought and were still capable of working, it was hard not to be impressed by the humans, humbled by their power, stirred by their accomplishments, and awed by the magnitude of their works. It was hard not to admire them (in philosophical moments, nearly everyone had a kind word for them, especially his father), and hard not to, in the darkest, furthest, most secret corner of one's soul, harbour an insane, foolish desire to be like them. To even, dare he even think it, be one of them. But then, he reminded himself, evil always had its allures. Otherwise how could it ever hope to threaten good?
Watching winter stupidly throwing itself against the silent might the humans had erected against it, Edward found himself dwelling on these dark thoughts. Like television. What could be more alluring, and more evil, than television? Satan had given them the whole earth, and surely it was their way of keeping watch over the whole of creation foolish enough to show itself. Still, it was wholly attractive, even to a pious young mouse like himself; even to his father, with whom he had been on the two occasions they had succumbed, during night raids, to its charms briefly. It poured the light of the world into one room, and all the world was contained within its flickering, fickle eye. A daring thought struck him: perhaps, if he were quiet, he might tonight step out into the living room and risk a moment or two of...
The kitchen door flew open abruptly. Mesmerized by the snow and his own thoughts, Edward had not heard the approaching footsteps. He froze, as if winter had claimed him, but fruitlessly; in a moment he was under the mammoth, horrific gaze of Mrs. Hodgson, the human matriarch of the Phalastery.
She screamed on sight of him.
* * * * *
The scream shook the house, rousing all of its inhabitants, rodent and primate alike, and Gregory, Edward's father, sat bolt upright in bed. "By the name of God, what was that?"
Anastasia, his wife, reached for him. "Gregory! The children!"
Gregory hurled the covers off himself and rushed from their nest into the family space. Anastasia followed him. Already Gillian, carrying Rebecca, and Phillip were pouring out of their nests to join them.
Rebecca, the youngest, was wailing, and Anastasia hurried to Gillian to take the baby in her arms.
"Father, what was it?" Gillian puzzled. "It sounded like Mrs. Hodgson."
"I think so too " Gregory replied absently, demanding, "Where's Edward?"
They all looked about.
"Edward?" Anastasia called.
Slowly rising to alarm, she and Gregory, and then the children hurried to Edward's room. Looking in, Anastasia raised her paws to her mouth in horror. Edward was missing.
"Damn!" Gregory spat. Rebecca would not be comforted; she wailed away in her mother's arms. Anastasia was speechless, her eyes filled with imagined terror. Gregory turned, and hurried for the door to the common halls. "Gillian! Hurry to the Commons. I'm sure people will be gathering there. Tell them what's happened! Tell them I've gone to find Edward!"
"Yes, Father!" Gillian answered breathlessly. She ran for the door.
"I'm coming with you, Father!" Phillip called, advancing.
Gregory stopped. "No! Stay here and look after your mother!" Phillip, who had always felt keenly his youth, stopped, looking wounded. "I'm counting on you, son," Gregory told him. With a sudden look of pride, Phillip stiffened, and nodded. He turned back to his mother and Rebecca. That solved, Gregory turned and hurried out of their quarters.
* * * * *
Mrs. Hodgson was shrieking unreasonably now. Unreasonably, Edward felt, as he made a zigzag dash for the cupboard, still slightly ajar, since she had the advantage of gigantic size and strength on her side. Maybe it was the evil in her heart that made her fear a creature of God, a tiny bit of Uncle Paul speculated in a corner of Edward's mind as he scampering into the cupboard.
* * * * *
Attracted by the furor in the kitchen Gregory headed instinctively for Innerway Three. Tearing along as fast as he could he prayed God that Edward was in no way involved, that it was all coincidence, that Edward had found love with one of the young girls in the Phalastery, and was innocently (relatively speaking) pursuing that end this night; anything just please Lord not the kitchen not that oh please sweet God not Edward not that...
As he ran, Gregory formed warm pictures of his son, stirring beside some young beauty, as puzzled as his father at the nature of the scream; Edward was certainly old enough, and had expressed an interest in the more pleasant side of the night; he had for a time had a sweetheart named Emily, from the second floor. Gregory was hoping that on this night, Edward and Emily had had a reconciliation. But given Edward's nature and history, it seemed more likely that he was fighting for his life, even now.
* * * * *
Scrambling clumsily over the boxes and bars of soap, Edward fumbled at the climb string, finally getting a good grip on it. Nervously he began the climb, felt himself slip, and felt his heart dread he would not make it.
Just then he felt the string jerked upwards. He looked up. "Father?!"
"Hold tight, Edward!" Marshalling all his strength, Gregory heaved his son up the back of the cupboard, retracting the evidence of the string as he went. Heavier steps shook the kitchen now, most likely Mr. Hodgson, or their son Kevin. There wasn't much time. Gregory strained his muscles to the point of fainting, while Edward pulled himself up and scampered up the wall with his feet. Finally, Edward, Gregory, and the end of the climb string cleared the hole just as the cupboard flooded with light.
"Edward! Thank God!" Gregory cried, embracing the boy. "Come on!"
* * * * *
Gillian faced the panic of her neighbours with the calm sensibility she had been born to. A woman herself now, she was a respected voice of reason in the Commons, and more than one man had a hopeful eye on her. But now was not the time to flatter herself with thoughts like that. Now was the time to assess the situation at hand and plan contingency.
"Calm down," she counselled. "We don't even know where Edward is yet. It could have been anything; a roach, maybe a shadow -- human fears are erratic at the best of times; you all know that."
"Puffery!" spat Irwin, father of the family in the attic. "Mere talk. We all know Edward's blundered into discovery, and we're all going to pay the price for it."
Other mice grumbled their agreement.
"You're jumping to conclusions," Gillian responded, but in her heart she suspected they were right.
Paul, her father's brother, added, "That's right. 'Confusion now hath made his masterpiece'; remember that."
"Huh!" someone snorted. "Imagine quoting one of them at a time like this!"
"You'd think the son of the Director of Foodstuffs would know better," said Kimberley, a mouse who rarely had a kind word even in good times, "than to recklessly endanger us all."
Gillian sighed, spent, while the debate went on all around her. Just then Gregory, followed by Edward, burst into the Commons. "I've found him! We're safe!"
"That's fine," said Irwin, "but are we?"
"Was it him?" someone demanded.
Gregory paused, unsure of how to proceed. He looked at Gillian, whose face was as full of questions as everyone else's. "Yes. Mrs. Hodgson saw Edward in the kitchen."
Consternation erupted, and went unchecked for several seconds until Matthew, the oldest mouse in the Phalastery, stood, raising his paws in the air in demand to be heard. He was the Overseer of the Phalastery, and while no one's word was law in the Phalastery, still his wisdom was respected and he was rarely contradicted. "Please, please," he called, until they were silent.
Matthew was Edward's great grandfather; one of the founders of the 252 Phalastery, Dempsey Street; normally Edward would have looked up at him with great pride and admiration. Tonight he could not raise his eyes from the floor.
Matthew, however, looked down on Edward. "Now it's true that what Edward has done tonight was ill considered, but I doubt it was deliberate, and he is still a youngster. A little charity for him in the face of all our youths, I think, is in order. The important thing, for the moment, is that he has come back to us alive.
"As far as endangerment to the Phalastery goes, well... Those of you old enough may recall a similar occurance sometime ago before the Hodgsons moved into the Interior; when the Willemsens lived here. There were no consequences; we were simply careful and conservative in our incursions for a while afterward. Perhaps that will be the case this time as well."
Out of the general consoled mumblings came the protestation, "What about the 236 Phalastery? The whole lot of them, exterminated! Cleared out like vermin, without a soul to say a prayer or provide a decent burial!" And the crowd's fear rose again.
"That -- that remains to be seen in this case," Matthew bellowed, trying to be heard above the crowd. They settled down. "In the meantime, we're all safe for now; that's certain. Now let's all go home and try to get some sleep, and see what we can see in the morning." And amidst worried muttering, the families began to separate and head off back to their quarters.
"You and I have a lot to talk about," Gregory told Edward sternly. "But not now. In the morning. Let's try and get some sleep, like Grandfather said, and put all this into perspective."
Edward just nodded, unable to face Gregory or Gillian.
* * * * *
Early Gregory rose. He managed not to wake anyone; quietly he crept from their quarters. The way down to Innerway Three had never seemed so long or possibly dangerous before, and while he had been wary at the end he had never actually dreaded getting there before.
It'll be alright, he told himself. It will be like Matthew said. So Mrs. Hodgson saw a mouse. Surely they won't turn the house upside down over that! He wondered if he really believed it as much as he pretended he did.
He reached the hole and didn't hesitate to look. And at once he saw it. A trap. The glint of cruel steel and dull buff of complicient wood were clear at the mouth of the cupboard. The smell of cheddar was strong in the cavern.
Gregory withdrew from the hole, full of fear and sick with sorrow at the ramifications.
* * * * *
Edward sat quietly, waiting for his father's return, expecting he had gone to check the scene. Gregory was taking a long time; the wait weighed heavily upon his repentant son.
Gillian was at the Commons; she had gone to wait with the rest of the people. This left Edward with his mother Anastasia, who patiently soothed Edward's conscience while attending to her youngest children, Phillip and Rebecca. "Stop worrying, son. It'll be alright."
Edward looked up at her; he nodded weakly.
Gregory and Gillian entered slowly. Edward stood. "Father...?"
Gregory sighed; he placed his paws gently on Edward's shoulders. "Son... There's a trap."
Edward's mouth fell open and his brow met sharply. "Oh, no," he choked.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," Gregory said quietly. "The Commons are meeting again tonight once the Contingency Planning Committee has had time to assess the situation and recommend action. You should be there, Edward."
Edward turned away. "No," he said, stifling his distress. Gillian, who had always been like a second mother to him, put her arms around him, and he responded, burying his face in the fur of her breast, free to weep out a bottomless guilt.
* * * * *
Edward could not face his neighbors in the Commons that night and so stayed home. But if Edward was heartsick, the others were angry, and frightened for their families.
"It's Edward's fault! Damn him!" shouted Elizabeth, a mouse from the second floor.
"What's the sense in trying to place blame?" Uncle Paul shot back. "What's done is done and blaming Edward is not going to solve our problem!"
"We wouldn't have a problem if not for Edward!" she shouted back. Anastasia was about to say something wicked in defence of her son when Matthew interrupted them all.
"Quiet, please! Everybody! ...Now we have to face realities. A trap's been set, and that means they're taking our presence seriously. We've no choice now but to move away from here "
"Move away?!" Paul laughed outrageously, "Over one lousy trap? All we have to do is step around it; even if there were a dozen "
"You don't understand," Matthew said heavily. "I've heard of this before. They know there's at least one mouse in the house. They won't be happy until they know we're all gone. If the traps fail they'll use gas. How do you propose to 'step around' that?" Paul, for once, was silent.
"I and a few others have sent requests along the wires to other Phalasteries, anyone willing to take us in. We've managed to find a few, enough to take everyone. Unfortunately, it involves splitting up the Phalastery. Worse, I'm afraid it means splitting up some of the larger families." A cry went up, and wearily Matthew raised his hands. "I know, I know how you feel. Believe me. But it's the only thing."
People grumbled and complained. Anthony, a contingency planner, swallowed hard. He had to explain the next part. "It's not just that, either. Due to the nature of the problem, we'll be unable to use the Exchanges between the Phalasteries. The gas attack could come next week; it could come tomorrow afternoon. The gas would travel along them and reach other Phalasteries. That's something we can't allow. So we've bugun to fill them in. The, uh... the exodus will have to be above ground." He quickly stepped back into the shadows.
The collective anguish was palpable.
"Out in the freezing cold! Out in the open, prey to any bird or cat who happens by? It'll be a massacre!" someone cried.
"There may be hardships on the way," Matthew admitted sadly. "Proximity is at a premium. That is why I want the head of each household to come forward. We've assigned a number to each straw--" --and he held them up, "--and by luck of the draw shall you each select the destination for your family. Some are nearby, some are several streets over. But there is no alternative."
Slowly, the representatives of each family came forward. Gregory picked third. The straw was marked with four rings; he worried over the significance.
Matthew began. "One... 181 Phalastery, Dempsey Street. Two... 30 Phalastery, Grace Avenue, one street west. Three... 304 Phalastery, Dempsey Street [and here Gregory's heart leapt: obviously the number of rings bore no relation to proximity]. Four... 159 Phalastery, Pinnell Road, four streets north, one street west. Five..."
Gregory heard nothing else. He saw only the straw that doomed his family to a half mile run across the open world.
* * * * *
It had been a wait for the worst for Edward, once again, as he waited at home, looking after Phillip and Rebecca. The baby bawled as Edward tried desperately to please her; but in his heart he was feeling much the same.
Finally his parents and sister returned. Edward asked the inevitable questions with his eyes. And with their eyes, they answered.
Slowly Anastasia began picking up useful objects. "We're leaving?" Edward howled.
Gregory nodded. "Everyone. The Phalastery is being broken up into a number of small groups, and we're moving to new homes. Children, everyone gather around," he said, opening his arms. They came to him, even Edward.
Gregory took a deep breath. "The Committee is afraid there may be a gas attack. They're fairly sure it'll come when the Hodgsons get impatient with their empty traps. Since it could come at any time, they've had to fill in the Exchanges. We can't risk the lives of others in the connecting Phalasteries. So I'm afraid we'll have to escape above ground."
Edward's eyes widened. "How far do we have to go?"
Gregory swallowed. "We have to go Pinnell Road, Edward."
Edward was crestfallen. Crushed. He turned slowly from his father. "Oh, my God..."
Gregory stepped up to him, turning him. He touched Edward's chin. "No, Edward -- it's going to be alright. No one blames you for "
"Yes they do! Do you think I didn't hear them yesterday? They're right, Father. It's all my fault. It's all because I went there, without permission, without being at all careful..."
"Edward," Anastasia said, "it won't do any good to torture yourself. It's done. Right now we have to get ready to go. So let's all put our things together. Only the things we're really going to need," she told everyone quietly.
There was silence. Finally Edward turned and, shoulders dropped in defeat, headed sadly for his room. And the others did likewise. No one spoke; no one dared to, lest they all collapse and lose their resolve.
* * * * *
"Shouldn't we go at night?" Phillip asked Gillian as they finished packing his things. "When it's dark?"
Gillian smiled at him. "No, sweetheart," she said, stroking the fur on his head. "That's when most of the things that hunt us are about. It's true we're more visible by day, but then, there are fewer enemies by day as well."
Phillip nodded. "Gillian? Do you think we'll make it?"
"Of course we will. Don't you worry about anything. I'll keep an eye on you."
"And I'll keep an eye on you," he said, and hugged her. It was then she caught sight of Edward. She smiled at him.
Gregory gathered his family together again. "We'll be leaving early, and we'll need all our strength. Everyone say good night, and let's get to bed. Tomorrow will be here sooner than you know. God willing, we'll all be together somewhere safe tomorrow night." He kissed them all and sent them off to bed.
Edward lingered. "You'd better get to bed, son."
Edward whispered so his voice wouldn't crack. "Oh, Father, I'm so, so sorry. You know I never would have done this to any of you in a million years."
"We know, son. We forgive you, without reservation. That's as God wills."
Edward seemed not to hear him. It was like he was talking from somewhere else. "I love you," he breathed, finally. "All of you."
Something in the way Edward's words slid past lodged a sliver of ice in Gregory's heart, and for a moment he wanted to hold his son and never let him go. But the sliver melted, and, unsure of what else to say, Gregory told him, "We love you too, son. That will never change. Now get some sleep." He patted his son's nose. "You'll need it. Good night."
"Good night," Edward replied, and moved slowly to his room. Gregory felt misgivings, and stood staring at the doorway. But he shook them off, and headed to his own room, to join Anastasia.
* * * * *
Edward did not sleep, but spent a while examining all his belongings. The things he could not bring; the things he could. All of it. He rediscovered each one, where he'd gotten it, what it meant. Then he would put it down and go on to the next.
Finally he came to the blue marble he'd found on a rare outdoor excursion with some of the men of the Phalastery. He was so proud of that marble; it was so purely round, so smooth, so specially colourful. There was not another like it in the whole Phalastery, and he had guarded it long and well from jealous agents. It was the only thing he took with him when, with infinite slowness and silence, he slipped from his nest and his home, out into the common hall that led to Innerway Three.
In a slow march that seemed to take hours, Edward dragged his leaden feet on towards the Innerway. As he went he would stop from time to time, remembering some incident along the way as he passed its place, and then he would trudge on. He ran his free paw along the brickwork as he went, as if it were some friend he could remember. It was cold and rough, and far older than he was or ever could be, but it was home, and as much a part of himself as his ears or his tail, or his heart.
The circle of light that was the Innerway came into sight as he rounded the last corner. He trembled now; his heart racing. But still he went on.
At last he was there. In his mind, he saw his course. Taking the climb string, he chewed the anchored end almost through, and then lowered it down into the cupboard. The evil trap smiled maniacally up at him, beckoning him. There were no delusions; evil did not need to lie tonight.
Edward quickly lowered himself down, and to his relief the string held. Setting down the marble he took the string in both paws and tugged on it over and over until it gave way and came fluttering down to him. There would be no going back, and no slack evidence.
Edward retrieved the marble, and turned to face the trap. He stared his end in the face; it grinned at him expectantly. This death need not move; it victim would come willingly. Shaking unmanageably Edward slowly advanced, until he stood before the trap.
Edward stared at the marble. He swallowed; his breathing was so rapid that he feared if he did not hurry he might pass out. Calling on the courage inherent in recovering such a prize, he clutched the marble, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, lowered his neck to the smooth, carefully cut wood of the trap. The steel gleamed hungrily; I'll be swift, it promised him.
Edward could barely smell the cheese a little over an inch in front of his nose. But he knew it was there. He thought of his family, his friends, and he wondered if they would ever know. He wasn't sure he was thinking clearly; would this really have the desired effect? But as he pondered all this, his free paw began to stretch out, inching, slowly, towards the cheese.
Almost insanely he was thinking he had to make it look good. He had to make it look like he was trying to get the cheese; trying to steal -- this would justify their prejudice. He was asking for the lives of his people -- the least he owed them was a performance. This was a ritual sacrifice; there were formalities to be observed here...
He almost had it. His eyes bulged horribly, his breathing was like the flapping of hummingbird wings, and his heart beat so loudly he could hear nothing else. He was very near to being catatonic, and advancing by sheer unthinking will alone. Perhaps this was God's mercy. He prayed, somewhere in his mind, for his family; straining, he almost had it--
FFFFPHNAPPPP!!!
Faster than a mouse could blink it pounced on him. The steel smashed down through his neck like Saturday, June 22, 1996a blow from Satan himself; the trap leaping triumphantly into the air the full high of a mouse standing erect. When it settled, Edward's body was stiffening; his tongue lolled bloodily before tasteless cheese; and unseeing eyes bulged as if all the universe were exposed before them.
The marble rolled crazily, then finally settled down to rest behind a rusting can of forgotten bug spray.
And all was still.
* * * * *
Some terrible sound woke Gregory. He sat up straight almost before waking. Before he could address the sound, or even what it was, it was already with him, as if supplied by waking straight from a dream. Over quivering lips, he breathed one word, "Edward." And tears streamed down his face.
He stuck a foot over the side of the bed -- then stopped himself. He withdrew his foot, and by his most powerful act of will ever, remained rooted on the spot. Eyes wide in horror, he raised a paw to his mouth, clamping it shut so tightly it bled.
Beside him, Anastasia stirred in her sleep.
* * * * *
God saw to it, Gregory felt, that they should recover the boy's body. As if in answer to prayer, the Hodgsons, Edward's executioners, had dumped his body unceremoniously in the trashcan outside their door. Moved beyond words by Edward's selflessness, the men of the Phalastery braved the outside to retreive him. Seeing what the trap had done to him, they had quickly wrapped him in felt. Then they had conveyed Edward to the Commons, where he remained, covered.
Anastatia, despite Gregory's and other relatives' misgivings, demanded that she would see her son's body one last time. Slowly lifting the cover, she gasped and wept bitterly. Then she leaned forward and kissed Edward's cheek for a final time, and carefully replaced the cover.
The bitterness in his soul, Gregory felt, would never wash away. He would live with it, and go on, but somewhere it would always bubble and burn. As he stared at the felt wrapped body of his son, the one whose death had soothed the Hodgson's bigoted fears and saved the Phalastery, he felt a lump rise that threatened to kill him. He fought it down. How could he not be brave in the face of what Edward had done?
* * * * *
In light of this new development, the Phalastery postponed its exodus with a wait and see attitude. Sure enough, when no more mice were caught, the five traps that were discovered to have been set, disappeared -- this about a week afterwards. The Hodgsons, no doubt due in part to Edward's immediate action, had come to accept a single mouse, whom they had quickly eliminated. And that was the end of it.
In the meantime, the mice buried Edward in the soft dirt of the cemetery tunnel, not far from where Gregory's father lay. The entire Phalastery showed up, and a few mice from beyond as well -- almost incredible, under the circumstances. Paul, who was always asked to deliver the eulogies, was especially eloquent, but even his bold voice cracked under the strain of emotion. He was burying his nephew, a hero. And he was sure, he told the congregation, that God's Own glory and final victory were reflected in Edward's martyrdom. He had bought beauty, life, and salvation, even for the humans who killed him. And that overwhelmed Gregory, and he collapsed, broken.
When they put up Edward's stone, it echoed Paul's words and reflected the feelings of the Phalastery, reading, "HERE LIES EDWARD, SON OF GREGORY AND ANASTASIA. HE DIED THAT THE COMMUNITY MIGHT LIVE; NOBLY AND WITHOUT THOUGHT FOR HIMSELF. SUCH IS THE TITHE OF LIFE'S BEAUTY."
* * * * *
When Gillian married, and later Phillip and Rebecca (and Daniel and Robert, as they came along), and their home rang daily with the visits of frolicsome grandchildren, Gregory would bask in the glow of their lives, paid for so dearly. They would listen intently and proudly to his stories of their brave uncle; and every now and then Gregory would see, in look on a face, a movement, or turn of phrase, a bit of Edward. And he would know Edward lived among them yet, in them and through them, and his heart would fill with quiet joy.