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“But they don’t believe in holiness,” said Umbo.
“No, you don’t believe in it,” said Loaf. “The mice are very devout. I don’t think the number has any practical value. They just think of it as a sacred number and they expect their new colony will prosper if they start with that many settlers.”
Thinking of mice as “settlers” jarred, but that’s how it would always be, Umbo knew. Mice were hard to see as human, or of equal value. There were so many of them.
“What can they even do?” asked Umbo. “It’s not like they can pull a plow.”
“They don’t have to farm,” said Loaf. “They scavenge beautifully. They would never have developed civilization on their own, but because they inherited the human culture and knowledge of the Odinfolders, they could leap forward vastly. And they’re designed to require less food than ordinary mice. So they can live as scavengers and still have leisure to create.”
“Create what?” asked Umbo. “Can they wield a hammer? Iron doesn’t get any softer just because the blacksmith is very tiny. What can they actually make?”
“They seem content about their ability to establish a very high level of civilization in a very short time,” said Loaf. “But now it’s time for us to go.”
Umbo turned to Param. “Are you coming with us?”
She turned away from him.
“Of course she is,” said Olivenko.
“Oh,” said Umbo. “She’ll allow the peasant boy to push her into the past?”
“She apologized for that,” said Olivenko.
“Not enough for me to forget it,” said Umbo. “Or to believe she meant it.”
“Then leave me behind,” said Param spitefully. “I can watch the world get destroyed from here as well as from anywhere else.”
“We need you,” said Umbo.
Param turned her face away. But Umbo could tell she was pleased.
They all held whatever bags and extra clothing they meant to take with them. It wasn’t much.
And this time, Umbo didn’t have to push. He and Rigg instead pulled together, shifting themselves and their friends all at once, leaving no anchor in the future they had just left.
The hill was teeming with mice, except in the spot where they arrived. Mice were so thick on the ground in every direction that it was easy to see the edge of the Wall, because mice were arrayed right up against the spot where the Wall’s despair was first clearly noticeable.
“I’m letting the Wall down now,” said Rigg.
The mice seemed to sense at once that it was gone, and they surged forward, down and across the little vale. It took hours for the mice all to go through the Wall. Umbo sat and watched the undulating sea of mice until they were gone. We are servants of the mice. We have opened a door for them. Does it even matter now whether we cross into Larfold?
It matters to Rigg and Param—their father died here. And to Olivenko, because Knosso was his mentor and his king. Maybe Loaf cares. But I’m just a tool of the mice, or the tool of the Sessamids, or Loaf’s surrogate son.
No, I can’t think that way anymore. These are my friends. It’s my choice to go with them, to help them do the things that matter to them.
“Please come with us,” said Rigg.
Umbo looked at him, startled. Did he know what Umbo was thinking?
“Of course I will,” said Umbo.
“You’re free to do whatever you want,” said Rigg. “I couldn’t have done this without you, so I’m glad you were with me. But now it’s done. You never asked to be in the business of saving the world.”
Umbo was moved. “You think it’s a monopoly of the royal family?” The words could have sounded harsh, but Umbo said them with a grin.
“The Sessamids?” Rigg chuckled. “From what I know of family history, we don’t save worlds, we take over what other people have built and slowly wreck it.”
“Pretty much describes my old dad,” said Umbo. “Except when he worked with shoes.”
