Duncton Found (71 page)

By mid-November the report-back by the trinities was underway, and every day seemed to bring members of the sideem back to Cannock with news of the followers and the Stone.

Lucerne and the Keepers seemed permanently convened, considering and weighing up the evidence as it came in, and there was an atmosphere of confidence and excitement about the tunnels, and suspense as well.

Although Lucerne and Terce had kept their thinking secret, the sideem talk in the tunnels was accurate enough about its general direction. The Keepers were debating where and when a punitive strike might be made for the crusade, such as Lucerne had all but promised them back in October before they had set off. Where, and when... and how complete?

The answers sideem gave depended on where their own reports had taken them. Those returning from the east had seen widespread abuse of the Word and argued for swift and thorough retribution.

Trinities from the Midlands and west lowlands up to the western front itself, where the Word was strong and followers few and isolated, agreed that a strike was needed, but argued it should be limited to making an example of one area or system.

Between these two extremes were the views of those trinities who had returned from the south-east, the old heartland of Stone belief where the once-powerful Holy Burrows of Uffington were. Strange and sombre news had come from that important quarter, for the trinities deputed to Buckland returned with the news that Wyre had died of murrain and Buckland was leaderless; and, worse, that the trinity led by Heanor of Nidd had been murdered by followers in Fyfield, a system of symbolic significance since it was one of the Ancient Seven of the Stone.

This was especially annoying to Lucerne who had instructed that trinity to enquire of Duncton Wood and whether Tryfan, his father, had ever returned there from Whern as some said he had. If he was alive... But this appealing line of thought was broken by the pressing news that several Buckland trinities had received positive reports of a Stone-fool who followers in those parts were daring to call the Stone Mole, which put the Master-elect in some difficulty....

“Difficulty, Mallice?”

“Yes, it’s what the gossips say: that the Word will be debased if you let the murder of Heanor pass without retribution, yet if our guardmoles impose it they may create a martyr if this supposed Stone Mole should be taken and put to death....”

“We need a single devastating strike of the kind I led on Mallerstang,” said Clowder. “Having kicked my talons on the Western Front for so long I no longer believe that that is the place for it. Ginnell argues that we should take Caer Caradoc, also one of the Ancient Seven systems of the Stone, and I agree with him. As I was leaving the Marches it was being reoccupied by followers, and but for your order that there should be no violence yet, we should have taken Caradoc by now. But when the time comes it will not be hard.” Clowder shrugged and smiled briefly before he continued.

“I think Beechenhill’s the place now. Our sources have given us all the information we are ever likely to need to successfully invade it. It remains a symbol of resistance to many moles, particularly in parts north of here, and is a living insult to the Word. Let us destroy its blasphemy forever that all moles know such resistance is not the way. It is the kind of gesture we are looking for, and I do not think followers in the south feel sufficiently strongly about it to use it as a rallying cry.”

Lucerne raised a paw to end the discussion.

“There are still more reports to come. The Word does not desire us to act quite yet. Longest Night is probably right, and we have time to muster our strengths to south or north or west, whichever we finally choose.

“The strength of the Stone followers does not seem to me as great as we had feared, and if anything our position has become more secure since the trinities went out than before. We shall ponder the matter a little more yet. It hurts nomole and can only benefit the Word if our sideem argue and gossip and grow angry in the tunnels outside this chamber for a little longer.”

“Well,” growled Clowder with a grimace, “I only ask that it is not too long – at every turn I take a sideem seeks to ask me what the Word shall decide, and to lobby me to tell it what it should do!”

“I like being lobbied,” said Mallice, “it teaches me so much about the greed of mole....”

It was into this busy, contentious, sanguine scene that the eldrene Wort arrived a day or two after the Keepers’ adjourned debate.

Although the guardmoles who patrolled the approach routes to Cannock were under strict instructions not to allow through moles who were not sideem or members of trinities, Wort made short shrift of any attempt to stop her. She had not journeyed so far so fast to be stopped by a mere guardmole and nor was she impressed one bit by the fact that the successively senior guardmoles who came to get rid of her were
un
impressed by her title of eldrene of Cumnor.

The henchmoles who had come with her were utterly exhausted by their journey, but Wort, like all moles who have a mission and know they are right, radiated purpose and energy.

“Take me to the Master-elect!” was virtually all she was prepared to say, except for repeating that she was....

“Yes, ‘eldrene of Cumnor’, you have said so before,” said yet another mole summoned to deal with the troublesome arrival.

“And I shall say so again until you begin to show some sign of
action.
We are here to serve the Word, and in my view your lethargy comes close to blasphemy. I have important information for the Master-elect, and he shall hear it from me direct.”

The eldrene Wort was aware that it would do her no good to reveal her information to a mole too unimportant to know how to deal with it, apart from the very real risk that another mole might annex it to his advantage.

So she made a nuisance of herself until, eventually, a sideem was summoned, and to him she revealed but one thing: she had seen the Stone Mole.

“I would talk to the Master-elect about this matter.”

“Eldrene, do you know how rarely even a sideem gets to talk to the Master?”

“Master-elect is his correct title, mole. I assume the reason sideem rarely “get to talk to him” is because he knows they have little to say. I have a great deal. Now get off your rump and do something about it.”

“Mole...!”

“I’d do it if I were you, mate,” said one of Wort’s henchmoles wearily, “it’ll be easier in the long run.”

So, mole by mole, never daunted, Wort clawed her way up Cannock’s hierarchy until at last she found herself ushered into the presence of an inoffensive and quiet-seeming mole about whom she knew nothing but that his name was Slighe.

After whispering with the sideem who had finally brought her to his chamber, he turned a mild gaze on her and said, “Well, and will you talk to me?”

“In the name of the Word, I shall talk to anymole who serves the Word’s purpose. What is your task?”

“I organise the place,” said Slighe blandly.

“Then, mole, forgive my bluntness, but organise the place so that its Master is informed that there is a mole can tell him of the Stone Mole.”

Slighe smiled faintly and his eyes hardened. The Sumps seemed an inviting place to send this difficult female, and yet there was something about her that impressed. He measured his words carefully, for he knew that sideem Mallice was listening in.

“Eldrene Wort, I ask you to believe everything I am about to say, everything.”

Wort blinked and stared at the mole. He might look mild but she sensed that at last she had met a mole of power.

“If you do not tell me enough to decide which mole of several,
including
myself, might be the best recipient of your information then you shall not leave Cannock for a very long time, during which you shall see neither the sky nor feel the wind at all. If you
do
tell me but you do not trust me to decide to whom you should speak, then the outcome will be the same. Therefore, mole, speak.”

Wort gave a bleak smile. In Slighe she had met her match.

“The Stone Mole is one Beechen of Duncton. He is not a Stone-fool or an imposter, or mad. He is the Stone Mole. He has such power over followers as nomole of the Word yet knows. He is evil come to moledom. I have seen him, I have seen his power, and I tell you this, sideem Slighe: if you do not believe me, if you abuse the trust I place in you by failing to tell the right mole the importance of what I have said, then it will not matter if you imprison me forever, for forever shall not come. The Stone Mole shall come and the Word shall be destroyed.”

It was Slighe’s turn to blink. Then a shadow crossed the portal of his chamber and he looked past Wort and her henchmoles and saw Mallice.

Mallice smiled and nodded, and as Wort turned to see who it was had entered Mallice said, “I think, Slighe, that our Master-elect will wish to listen to
this
mole. Please inform him.”

A few moments later Wort was shown into the presence of Lucerne himself. Mallice was with him.

“My love,” she said. “I think it wise that Keeper Terce is present.”

Lucerne nodded to Slighe to get him while he continued to stare at this strange female.

“Sideem Slighe has told me briefly what you have said to him,” said Lucerne pleasantly. “Now tell me, is not Cumnor adjacent to Duncton Wood?”

“It is, Master-elect,” said Wort, impressed. He was the first mole in Cannock who had heard of it.

“And I am impressed as well,” said Lucerne.

Wort was startled. It seemed the Master could read her thoughts.

“You are not nervous of me, Most moles who meet me are afraid, and not just the first time.”

“I am in awe of nothing but the great Word which my life serves,” replied Wort. “Before it we are all servants, including you yourself. Insofar as you are its greatest servant, so shall your greatness as Master be judged.”

As she spoke Terce entered, and hearing the last of what she said looked as surprised as Mallice. Lucerne merely smiled, but a dangerous smile, for Wort trod dangerous ground.

“And the Mistress Henbane, would the eldrene Wort say
she
was a great Mistress of the Word?”

Whether or not Wort was aware of the danger she was in in giving her opinion of Lucerne’s mother it was hard to tell. Her earnest face betrayed nothing but faith and certainty.

“The Mistress Henbane was made Mistress by the Word and in the Word’s name, as one day you shall be made Master. She dishonoured the Word by failing to address her task in the south-east for she did not destroy the infection of the Stone and it thrives even where the moles she appointed place their paws. I cannot judge if any could have done better. I know that many would have done worse. Perhaps we all dishonour the Word by failing to be as we should be. I know I do. Yet I try and I trust the mighty Word knows it. Did Mistress Henbane truly try? I understand that you are in a better position to judge than I.”

“A good reply, Master-elect!” said Terce with a smile.

“A clever reply,” said Mallice.

“What is it you wish to say to me?” said Lucerne.

“Moledom, the very Word itself, faces a greater danger than anymole yet seems to realise. The Stone Mole has come and is among us. He....”

“Have you
seen
him, mole?” said Lucerne.

“I have seen into his eyes, I have felt his talons on my heart, and if the holy Word, which is my mother and my father, will forgive me, if he had taken me with his body I should not have been closer to him than I have already been. Master-elect, evil is upon us, and it is to warn you of that evil that I have come to you.”

Not a mole said a thing, nor even looked at each other. The mole was either mad or inspired, and whichever she was she put fear even into
their
hearts. Lucerne nodded his understanding of the seriousness of what she said and with a polite, “One moment, eldrene Wort,” turned to his aide.

“Slighe, postpone the audience I have this afternoon. I would talk with this mole.”

“Master-elect,” said the indefatigable Wort, “I have not eaten today, or yesterday.”

“You look remarkably fit.”

“The Word has been my sustenance, but what I have to tell you may benefit from food.” They all smiled broadly, even Terce.

“So be it. Eat, drink, groom, and then tell me what you must.”

In this way did the eldrene Wort first come before Lucerne at Cannock: purposeful and assured in her service to the Word.

While she was absent Lucerne said, “A remarkable mole, Terce.”

“Frightening,” said the Twelfth Keeper.

“Mallice, what do you make of her?”

“I think,” she said in a measured way unusual for her, “and I hope I may not be wrong, that we have been waiting for a mole like her, and she has been sent to us by the Word.”

By the time Wort came back Clowder had been summoned and Drule as well, for Lucerne sensed that whatever it was the eldrene had to say they all should hear. When she returned Lucerne stanced her comfortably down.

“Tell us something of thyself, mole, for the words a mole speaks are more easily judged by knowing who she is and where she comes from,” he said, at his most charming. “Take your time, miss nothing out. Slighe shall scriven it, but pay no heed to that.”