Free Diggers by Terry Pratchett

overstuffed mattresses.
    â€œAt least it means we won’t have to go to that horrid barn place,” said a nome.
    â€œThat’s right,” said Granny Morkie. “You could catch your death, going out in this.” She looked cheerful.
    The old nomes grumbled among themselves and scanned the sky anxiously for the first signs of robins or reindeer.
    The snow closed the quarry in. You couldn’t see out across the fields.
    Dorcas sat in his workshop and stared at the snow piling up against the grubby window, giving the shed a dull gray light.
    â€œWell,” he said quietly, “we wanted to be shut away. And now we are. We can’t run away, and we can’t hide. We ought to have gone when Masklin left.”
    He heard footsteps behind him. It was Grimma. She spent a long time near the gate these days, but the snow had driven her indoors at last.
    â€œHe wouldn’t be able to come,” she said. “Not in the snow.”
    â€œYeah. Right,” said Dorcas uncertainly.
    â€œIt’s been eight days now.”
    â€œYes. Quite a long time.”
    â€œWhat were you saying when I came in?” she said.
    â€œI was just talking to myself. Does this snow stuff stay for a long time?”
    â€œGranny says it does, sometimes. Weeks and weeks, she says.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œWhen the humans come back, they’ll be here for good,” said Grimma.
    â€œYes,” said Dorcas sadly. “Yes, I think you’re right.”
    â€œHow many of us would be able to . . . you know . . . go on living here?”
    â€œA couple of dozen, perhaps. If they don’t eat much, and lie low during the day. There’s no Food Hall, you see.” He sighed. “And there won’t be much hunting. Not with humans around the quarry the whole time. All the game up in the thickets will run away.”
    â€œBut there’s thousands of us!”
    Dorcas shrugged.
    â€œIt’s hard enough for me to walk through this snow,” he said. “There’s hundreds of older nomes who’ll never do it. And young ones, come to that.”
    â€œSo we’ve got to stay, just like Nisodemus wants,” said Grimma.
    â€œYes. Stay and hope. Perhaps the snow will be gone. We could make a run for the thickets or something,” he said vaguely.
    â€œWe could stay and fight,” said Grimma.
    Dorcas growled. “Oh, that’s easy. We fight all the time. Bicker, bicker, bicker. That’s nomish nature for you.”
    â€œI mean, fight the humans. Fight for the quarry.”
    There was a long pause.
    Then Dorcas said, “What, us? Fight humans ?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBut they’re humans !”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBut they’re so much bigger than we are!” said Dorcas desperately.
    â€œThen they’ll make better targets,” said Grimma, her eyes alight. “And we’re faster than them, and smarter than them, and we know they exist—and we have,” she added, “the element of surprise.”
    â€œThe what?” said Dorcas, totally lost.
    â€œThe element of surprise. They don’t know we’re here,” she explained.
    He gave her a sidelong glance.
    â€œYou’ve been reading strange books again,” he said.
    â€œWell, it’s better than sitting around wringing our hands and saying, ‘Oh dear, oh dear, the humans are coming and we shall all be squashed.’”
    â€œThat’s all very well,” said Dorcas, “but what are you suggesting? Bashing them over the head would be really tricky—take it from me.”
    â€œNot their heads,” said Grimma.
    Dorcas stared at her. Fight humans? It was such a novel idea, it was hard to get your mind around it.
    But . . . well, there was that book, wasn’t there? The one Masklin had found in the Store, the one that had given him the idea for driving the Truck. What was it? Gulliver’s Travels ? And there’d