Duncton Found (91 page)

Not that Quince was giving much away – after all it was not even near springtime yet – but the time she and Wharfe spent together, and the impressive pair they made, left little doubt what the outcome would be.

Bramble’s chances were not improved either by the fact that Quince, like Wharfe, was dubious of the sideem Merrick’s intentions with their proposed religious discussion, saying that it was not the nature of the Stone to be evangelical. Moles must learn from each other by example, not the spoken word – words, she argued, were only a means by which moles got themselves into a
position
for doing things. Bramble was a talker. She, like Wharfe, preferred to be a doer.

Squeezebelly was too wise and experienced a mole to involve himself directly in such matters, but he did what he could to keep Bramble and Wharfe apart, and sent them, as he did other moles, out into the wintry system to help repair tunnels against the ice and snow, and to delve them deeper where need be. Physical activity, he knew, was good for moles. Meanwhile he used the excuse of Betony, and his suspicions that the sideem of Ashbourne must know where she was, to keep the discussions at bay.

Only at the end of January, after repeated denials by the sideem of Ashbourne that he knew anything of the female in question, Squeezebelly finally yielded and agreed that discussions could take place – in tunnels at the edge of the system where nothing about it would be given away.

The discussions were as innocuous as Squeezebelly expected, but he attended them with some interest if only to meet the sideem Merrick directly, for until then their contact had been through intermediaries. Merrick was harmless looking enough, and might have been mistaken for diffident but for the firmness and clarity of his arguments when he was pressured by the Beechenhill moles. Squeezebelly observed with fascinated distaste the way in which this clever sideem’s apparent reasonableness seemed to impress moles like Bramble and Skelder. Nothing that was said changed his mind that the Word was merely a heartless system of oppression which made moles ruled by it miserable.

Then, after several fruitless days, the discussions were suddenly terminated by the sideem Merrick for the unconvincing reason that the Beechenhill moles were “not cooperating”. This, it seemed, referred not to the discussions but because the moles of the Word felt insulted not to be let further into the system. Rarely had Squeezebelly’s leadership and command been so sorely tested, for Bramble and Skelder argued he was being unreasonable, but he succeeded in asserting his wishes, sensing that the slow attrition of the Word might one day be too much for Beechenhill moles if too many of them were like Bramble. He hated to think such a thing of his own son, but thank the Stone for Wharfe!

In fact he was too canny a mole to believe the reason given for terminating the discussions, and observed to Wharfe and some other moles, “Something has happened outside which they are not telling us about. Did you notice that there were fewer of their moles there today, and only very senior and dependable ones?”

“Aye, and hardly any of them spoke at all in contrast to previous days, leaving it all to the sideem.”

“Something has happened which they do not want us to know about, something important, and we must find out what it is.”

“You know, I’m willing to try to get out,” began Wharfe.

“And me,” said several voices.

Squeezebelly allowed himself to smile.

“I know perfectly well that you’re all very willing to leave the system to go and find out what you can... and I also know that the grikes will be waiting for you. Even so, I must say that if the weather was not so severe I would let one or two of you go but you know as well as I do, better in fact for I don’t venture out much these days, that the chances of them getting you in these conditions are too high to be worth the risk.”

Some of the less experienced moles there muttered that they did not agree, but others, including Wharfe, knew that what Squeezebelly said was true. In warmer weather the surface provided good safe cover, but when the ground was frozen then a mole driven to the surface was dangerously exposed, and could not rely on snow for cover. Drifts were safe enough, though they disoriented a mole, but clear frozen ground was treacherous. As for the normal routes – grike guardmoles watched over them day and night. The watchers confirmed that.

Indeed, within hours of the curiously sudden cessation of the discussions, Beechenhill watchers reported that guardmole patrols had been doubled, and even obscurer routes to north and west were over-watched at their far ends where a mole must exit.

It was most frustrating and strange.

“There must be some way of getting out!” said Harebell.

“There is,” said her brother drolly: “Go to Ashbourne, and you’ll get out right into the paws of the guardmoles and that will be that.”

“It might be the quickest way of finding out where Betony is,” said Harebell with that mock light-heartedness with which she tried to hide the agony she felt.

“When the spring comes, Harebell, and the ground’s thawed, I’m afraid that my patience is finally going to snap and I’ll leave the system and find out about Betony once and for all.”

It was plain that if he ever did so, Harebell was not going to try to stop him and she said, “At least we know that the mole who took her was called Mallice – it’s not a name a mole forgets and I’m sure the sideem
does
know who Mallice is. She
must
be senior.”

But at such a time, and in such conditions, what could moles do but talk, and hope, and plot their dreams of love, or change, or journeying? But it was small consolation that in such conditions it was unlikely that the grikes would mount an attack.

Older moles than Harebell and Wharfe let the days drift by and stayed quiet and by themselves, and tried not to think too much. Hoping was a young mole’s game. Best to take things slow, best not to think much at all. Beechenhill had survived well enough for a very long time and as long as Squeezebelly was alive all would be well, so why waste energy getting agitated?

Then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, one mid-February night, when the wind battered at the ice-bound entrances, and moles sought out the warmest part of their burrows, a brave mole appeared in the system as if by magic, having come to one of the north-east approaches in the night, and the news he brought changed all their lives. And Squeezebelly discovered that he had been right, and what it was the Ashbourne sideem hoped he and other Beechenhill moles might never hear.

The mole was no more than a cycle old, strong and tough, and tired and breathless though he was, worn and bleeding though his paws, he would not rest or answer any questions until he was taken to great Squeezebelly himself.

News of his arrival got about, and Wharfe and Harebell, Skelder and Bramble and many others hurried to Beechenhill’s communal chamber to hear him speak.

The mole bore himself with strength and purpose, and yet to his eyes there was wildness, and to his speech great passion.

“Mole, I am told you will not even speak your name,” said Squeezebelly, “and yet you inspired enough trust in our watchers and those you’ve met to get this far. So tell us your name, and your purpose, and then have rest and sleep before you speak more.”

“Well!” declared the mole, nearly in tears. “I never thought I’d be in your presence, Squeezebelly. You and the moles you lead are respected far and wide beyond Beechenhill. We who are followers of the Stone in other systems know you as a great light for our faith and...” Then he stopped and looked suddenly distressed. “But no other moles have reached you? You have not been told?”

“You have a chamber of moles hanging on your every word. If you don’t want rest and food, tell us your name and tell us why you’ve come.”

“My name is Harrow, son of Winster, snouted eldrene of Ashbourne.”

A hush fell across the chamber, for most of them knew of Winster’s death, and that she had been a brave and privy friend of Squeezebelly and Beechenhill, and of the Stone; she had lived a dangerous double life of faith for many years. Her death, and those of moles close to her, had been the beginning of the closing of the outside world to Beechenhill.

“My mother had suspected that when Lucerne of Whern took over as Master-elect in June, her days at Ashbourne might be numbered.”

Squeezebelly nodded and said, “Aye, Harrow, I heard as much from moles she sent.”

“Well, fearing that, and knowing how much I was of the Stone, she sent me to Tissington, a safer system than Ashbourne, though it too has since had its troubles with grikes. But she felt it was far enough off not to be affected if she was suspected at last, and punished.

“She did not tell me all the routes into Beechenhill – I think you are too careful for that – but she spoke of some of them, and other moles helped me as well. In this weather, if a mole can stand it and risk attack from rooks and owls, guardmoles do not watch the surface too well. The only hurt I had was to my paws when I slipped down icy slopes. But this is of no consequence.” He spoke well and clearly, and without false modesty.

“I asked if others had come because several of us have tried, and two have been lost, caught, I fear by the grikes. Outside we know you are beleaguered, and my mother Winster was always aware of it, and charged me to do all I could to keep you informed when matters of importance arose. Well, something has arisen, something you must know.”

He looked around at the assembled moles, and if there had been a hush before, there was dead silence now.

Then Harrow said, “Moles of Beechenhill, a glorious time may soon be on us. We have news all followers wish to hear. The Stone Mole, for whom we have waited for so long, is come at last to moledom. He is alive, he is among us, his day has come.”

Before Harrow could say more he was interrupted by shouts of incredulity and exclamations of joy.

“What is more, this is more than just a rumour or wishful thinking by followers. We heard it through the grikes in Ashbourne, for though my mother died and others too, yet some followers remain there secretly and pass much on to those of us in Tissington who still struggle for the Stone.”

“But where and whatmole is he?” asked Harebell, her eyes gleaming, for in the Stone Mole’s coming she felt much would be resolved.

“His name is Beechen, and he was of Duncton born.”

“But we heard Duncton was outcast,” said Squeezebelly doubtfully, “and that the grikes had put their own diseased and miscreant there.”

“Well, so it was, but the Stone’s ways are wonderful and mysterious. The mole Beechen was born there. He is not in that system now, but coming north, and the grikes are much perturbed by it. They say he is not the Stone Mole but an imposter, a Stone-fool with madness in his head. Some among the followers say the same, but the stories that we’ve heard tell of healings and miracles he has made. Everymole is confused by it all, not knowing what to believe.

“What
is
certain is that the sideem of Ashbourne is much worried that if you Beechenhill moles hear of it you will rise up and go forth to meet the Stone Mole. They have recently strengthened their complement of guardmoles at Ashbourne and I think secretly they hope you will make a break out their way, for they would be on their own ground. I have come to warn you of that, and that their numbers are great now and you would certainly be crushed.

“Nevertheless, if this mole is the Stone Mole as many of us believe, then this may be the hour for us followers to prepare ourselves to fight....”

“Harrow! Our system is not, and has never been, aggressive,” said Squeezebelly immediately, “and it is because of that we have survived so long, even through this long time of the Word. One day it will end, but it shall not be ended by fighting, for that is not our way.”

He spoke sternly, and a mole might have thought that none there would have dared contradict him. But there was an immediate rumble of discontent, and Bramble dared give voice to it, saying, “There comes a time when a mole may have to fight for what he believes, and when it comes I hope that moles here will not be cowards!”

“Aye!” said many others.

“They’ll do so over my dead body,” said Squeezebelly angrily, his normal calm leaving him for a moment. “But we shall not argue at a moment like this, but hear more of this mole Beechen, and ask Harrow what else he knows. And of other news, too.”

Then to change the subject, and to divert the gathering’s attention from the question of whether to fight or not, Wharfe quietly asked if Harrow had heard anything of Betony, explaining who she was and how she had been lost.

Harrow shook his head, but when Harebell said the mole who had taken her was thought to have been called Mallice, he said sharply, “When was this?”

When they said it had been in October he said cautiously that there had been a mole called Mallice in Ashbourne at that time.

“Do you know who she is?” asked Squeezebelly.

“Oh yes, everymole who has had to do with the sideem knows who
she
is. Mallice is consort to Lucerne of Whern; she is not a mole moles love. I have heard that moles she takes end up in Cannock, Lucerne’s new system to the south-west.”