When I pressed him on the point, saying they were available to moles who took the trouble to come and ask, and why risk taking them out of the Library he revealed that one reason was that then they might one day “join with the Book of Silence”. When I asked him what that meant, and by now I was beginning to think that while Wesley was a great scholar he might also be a slightly insane one, he said it was Thripp’s view that the Book of Silence would come to light in this generation.
This
, it seemed, was Thripp’s mission, though it is not something the more brutal members of his Order are much concerned with. Indeed, Thripp does not want them to be, fearing that if they gained control over the Book of Silence then it would do no mole any good.”
“But the Book of Silence either does not exist, or if it does its whereabouts is unknown,” said Privet. “These, surely, are the dreams and desires of a mole who wants to be made legitimate before the Stone, just as obsessive leaders of the past have looked for evidence that their leadership is Stone-given.”
“That I am sure is true,” said the Master Stour. “Yet there is something appealing about the idea of the Book of Silence, and something dangerous in our remaining too passive about it. When Brother Wesley left the Library/was left with the abiding impression that one day he or his like would be back in force to try to gain possession of the six Books, as if that might help them begin to realize Thripp’s dream of discovering, or rediscovering the Book of Silence.
“Yet there is one more element in all of this, one about which I so far know too little and intend after our meeting today to discover more from certain mediaeval texts in the Library. It concerns the lost delving arts. You see, it is Thripp’s opinion that the coming of the Book of Silence has to do with the rediscovery of the delving arts … namely, those arts long since lost by which certain Masters were able to create the kind of great chambers and tunnels of which, sadly, the chambers wherein our Library exists are but remnants. Of course the Ancient System beneath the High Wood was delved by a Master or Masters of those arts in the long distant past, and I have no doubt that the Dark Sound that protects the place — and which I often have cause to hear since my study cell is in peripheral tunnels of the ancient system — was delved by them.
“On this matter I shall have more to say. I will only observe, regarding Thripp, one more, or rather two related things. One is, that he, like me, appears to have gone into retreat for a time and none have seen him. This I take as possibly ominous, for it may signal a change of policy or attitude that will affect us all in time. Possibly for the good, but probably for the bad. Secondly, I have good reason to think that even now there is, or there is coming, a mole to join the Newborn cell in the Marsh End who is none other than Thripp’s son, and legitimate spiritual heir. This mole’s name is Brother Chervil. Why he should come here, and what it might mean for us, I cannot think, but we must be most wary now …
“As for the Book of Silence, my belief is that its time for moledom is near. This last great struggle as I have described it has to do with such a Book, and so far as moles may succeed in setting an example for peace as the Stone Mole did, and find leadership for the way of the great teachings of his ministry, so will the Book of Silence come nearer to us, and perhaps at last be known to us.
“Aye, the “seven Books will come to ground” as a wise mole of the past scribed it, and in our time perhaps, my friends, and in our system. I sense that these things are near, and with us, and that the Stone shall entrust us with much …”
Old Stour’s voice had grown quiet, and his body still, so that it seemed that it was not he who spoke but something more than him, something like the wind-sound of the tunnel, or the whisper of the trees above, something out of the long decades of trial and faith in Duncton Wood.
“Moles, we are near the end of a long and terrible struggle. Perhaps its hardest phase has already begun. Perhaps this is why the trial of the Newborns is on us. We few must seek a way to break for ever the roundel of violence provoking violence. We who are but ordinary moles must show by example what all moles can do. Somewhere at the end of this unknown and treacherous way we shall find the Book of Silence, and somehow it
will
come to ground. That I believe; that we must all believe.
“I beg you to ponder these things, however hard they seem, and to search for a way to discover the courage of love.”
He fell silent, and Privet, who had been successively astonished, dismayed, bewildered and filled with faith, noticed that his head and face and shoulders were streaked with sweat, and his body weak and limp from the effort of finding words to speak the thoughts he had won so hard.
None spoke. Fieldfare reached a paw to Chater’s. Maple, more warrior and fighter than any of them, stared blankly at a future that seemed to have no place for him. And Drubbins sighed.
It was finally he who spoke.
“I feel old,” he said, “and almost that this challenge and struggle is too great for me. Where are younger moles to take our place? Where is the leader who will go forth and speak of the things that Stour has spoken of?”
Since nomole was able to answer these questions it was Drubbins himself who continued talking.
“It would surely help us to know that there are others in moledom who feel as Stour does, and who, like myself, are persuaded by the quest for peace Master Sturne has extolled. Setting examples is all very well, but it would be easier knowing we might find support for what we do.”
“Well …’ began Chater, frowning as if recalling something he had forgotten to mention, “there was that business of rebellion against the Newborns that I mentioned to you before, Master …”
“Tell them, mole,” said Stour, “it is a small comfort at least.”
“It was this,” said Chater. “The vagrant mole I told you had helped me after I escaped from Garsington was one of those we journeymoles get used to coming across from time to time. Wanderers from system to system, of no fixed abode, who have no family and few friends and a disinclination to make either. They make interesting travelling companions, though a mole’s inclined to wake up and find they’ve gone at the crack of dawn, never to be seen again. This one had come from Rollright a few days before he came across me, and told me that the Newborn moles there were abuzz with news of a revolt against them in the north.”
“You said —” began Stour.
“Aye, though the mole himself didn’t know much about it he had heard mention that the leader of the revolt, Rooster by name, was being hunted for blasphemy, which fitted in with the kind of treatment that the Cuddesdon moles seemed to have received.”
“Did he say in which part of the north this revolt took place?” asked Privet. She seemed interested in this part of the news, and Fieldfare, who knew her so well, guessed that she felt special pride or interest in the fact that this first news of active resistance to the Newborns came from the north.
Chater shrugged and shook his head.
“The mole knew only what I have reported,” he said.
“No mention of Beechenhill?” persisted Privet.
“No,” said Chater.
“Well, at least it seems we are not entirely alone in our doubts about the Newborns,” said Stour, “but then it would be surprising if we were.”
They all nodded, cheered a little by Chater’s news, and then Drubbins said formally, “Master Librarian, you have spoken to me before of plans and arrangements, and mentioned them at the beginning of what you said to our meeting. Can you speak of them now?”
“I shall,” said Stour. “One way for moles to avoid fighting is for them to arrange affairs such that fighting becomes harder to begin. Those among you familiar with the Library — you, Privet, and you, Chater — will know that since my retreat certain important texts have disappeared. So they have. A mole in retreat does not sit on his rump all day. I have removed many texts, and all six of the Books of Moledom, deep into the Ancient System of our Wood where nomole will easily find them, especially those afraid of Dark Sound.”
There was a movement of surprise among the moles.
“You went in
there
?” said Chamfer.
“Aye,” said Stour, “and nearly did not come out again. But it is done, and if the Newborns seek to censor our great Library they will find that many texts are no longer there to censor! Next, I must ask Privet to undertake a task. It concerns that outlying collection of Rolls, Rhymes and Tales, which she will know is uncatalogued and vulnerable. I ask her without delay to venture there and using her own discretion and knowledge and what help she may summon, bring those texts she values to my study cell, that they may be taken on into the ancient runnels for protection.”
“But what of Husk?”
“Charm him, Privet,” said Stour with a smile. “Lastly,” he continued, a little wearily, “I now ask Maple and Chater to journey to Rollright, and to find out what they can of the Newborns’ doings there and report them back to us. While you’re there find more out about this mole Rooster and the revolt in the North. There may be lessons in that for us. Forgive me for suggesting this, Fieldfare, but needs must and Chater is the mole for such a task.”
Poor Fieldfare opened her mouth to object, but then closed it again without saying anything.
“It will be sensible if you take Whillan with you,” said Stour, “for he needs a task and I have a feeling that he is one of those younger moles who, as Drubbins says, we have need of now. Such a venture will give him experience.
“For the rest, tasks will soon present themselves. I think we are not yet under pressure, but it is coming and we must be prepared in thought and ideas for it. Now, evening has come, and a Meeting was somewhat falsely summoned in Barrow Vale by Drubbins and myself. Let us go there, and speak of peace, and begin the task of preparing our moles for the struggle that will come.
“May the Stone guide us all in thought and in deed. May it protect us. May it lead us to the Silence.”
With that Stour had finished, and he did not wait for any comments or conversation. What he had said was a beginning, and it was one he wanted each of them to think about and discover for themselves.
Nor did the others speak, but went out on to the surface and paused briefly, and stared at the coming stars, thoughtful and concerned. Then they turned to each other to talk in low voices, and share something of their thoughts. All, that is, but Privet. For when Fieldfare turned to talk to her, Privet was already hurrying away, head down, not looking back, wishing to talk to nomole.
Fieldfare ran after her.
“Privet, my dear …”
Briefly, Privet turned back and faced her. But in her eyes was a strange lost look, and a look of terrible despair. But more than that, there was terrible hope as well.
“Privet …” said Fieldfare again, but Privet shook her head vacantly, turned, and was gone into the dark as surely as if the last light had suddenly fled from the western sky.
Chapter Ten
Privet did not waste time before beginning her task. After only a brief return to her tunnels to clear out some old nesting material and seal up a few entrances against the pre-winter trespasses of the shrews and voles, she crossed the Wood and entered into a small and inconspicuous grove of beech trees that lies adjacent to the High Wood and some way to the west of the Library,
It lay off any of the communal surface routes to the Stone, and she might easily have missed it had not Whillan some time previously pointed the place out to her, and told her who and what lay beneath its surface. The scene had an air of dereliction and decay caused, surely, by something more than the great tree that had fallen in some forgotten storm across the place and now lay rotted and broken upon the ground. Though the day was mild she shivered involuntarily before picking her way among the rotten wood and remnants of a patch of dog’s mercury.
She peered about among the shadows for an entrance, wondering how Whillan had ever dared to make his way here, let alone venture down into the tunnels below and make contact with Keeper Husk. He must have more courage than she thought! And persistence too, for it took her a long time before she found a serviceable entrance, during which she was uncomfortably aware that if Husk was below he could hear her every move. But having found it she went on down into the tunnel beneath without further delay.
It was so dark after the bright light above that a short way in she stumbled over a pile of texts, which in falling brought down others across the tunnel floor. She did her best to pile them up again and noticed as she did so that they were a complete jumble of subjects, shapes and sizes and in no order at all. Then, with extreme caution, she ventured on down the tunnel which, she was not surprised to see, was shoulder-high in texts and folios all along its length.
Slowly her eyes adjusted to the light and she made out movement ahead, and then the shape of an ancient mole stanced poised and staring in a rheumy geriatric way in her direction. Keeper Husk.,
“Go away, I’m busy!” he shouted. Indeed he did seem so, for he carried two texts against his scraggy furless chest with one paw, while he raised the other towards her, either to threaten her, or to shield his eyes from the light behind her so that he might see better.
“Keeper Husk?” she said, advancing in a friendly way upon him. “The Master Librarian sent me.”
“Oh he did, did he? What for?” His voice was still loud, though she was so near him now.
“I’m one of his librarians. He would like me to help you.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” he cackled, genuinely amused and dropping the texts as he fell into a wheezing fit of such noise and duration that Privet thought that he might collapse on the spot. But eventually he caught his breath, wiped his eyes, put out a paw against the dusty wall to support himself, and said, “Several decades too late I’d say, wouldn’t you?” and grinned wickedly.
Privet peered around the place, and the more her eyes took in, the more untidy and chock-a-block it seemed.