Duncton Tales (30 page)

There was a stir of surprise among the moles, for none of them but Drubbins had ever had that privilege before.

“We shall go there later, or perhaps at tomorrow’s dawn, and then on into the Ancient System itself so that you may all know what preparations I have made to defend our ancient texts.”

All of them but Drubbins perhaps were astonished at his casual mention of their imminent entry to the Ancient System. Strange and troubled times indeed!

“Today,” Stour continued, “I received a visit from a Newborn messenger informing me that Senior Brother Chervil, of whom I suppose all of you by now know, is summoning a second Meeting in Barrow Vale tomorrow. Its supposed purpose is to allow me to declare the names of a delegation we have been invited to send to Caer Caradoc, to attend a Convocation of moles summoned by none other than the Elder Senior Brother Thripp himself. His intention it seems is to discuss proposals to reform moledom’s libraries, whatever that may mean. I think I know!”

He looked around at them, allowing time for this to sink in and the natural questions to rise in their minds.

“The delegation will be of all important moles, and I must tell you now that for reasons of my own I believe that Deputy Master Snyde should be one of them. But who else?”

“Take Chater or myself to give you protection, I beg you,” said Maple.

“Protection we may need, Maple, though not in the way you mean, but I am grateful for your offer. I doubt that Fieldfare will wish Chater to be counted among those who will leave Duncton Wood!”

To everymole’s surprise Fieldfare said passionately, “I will disagree with nothing that serves the purpose of obstructing and defeating the Newborns!”

“Good! But we jump ahead. I have no intention of attending tomorrow’s Meeting in Barrow Vale, but intend instead to retreat once more into the Ancient System, to a place I have already set aside for the defence of our textual heritage. I shall need nomole with me in person, but I
shall
need your moral support and understanding.”

“In the Ancient System, Master?” said Maple. “But the tunnels there are not fit for mole to live in.”

“Quite so, they are not. Yet a mole may survive, if he sets his mind to it. And Dark Sound is a great protector of old texts, especially from moles filled with noisy desire to get their paws on them. Believe me, nomole will easily get to where I intend to go, and have indeed already been many times carrying texts. I confess however that I have never been in that great Chamber of Dark Sound, as our predecessors accurately called it, for very long. Meanwhile, I have summoned you here for the second and perhaps the last time, that we may understand each other’s views on a number of matters — some of which I raised when we last met, when, if I am correct, Drubbins and myself were in a minority of two in supporting peaceful resistance as opposed to violent resistance.

“I welcome to Whillan, whose courage and purpose, of which we may shortly hear more, makes him a mole worthy to join our number in the coming struggle against the Newborns.

“I do not want to seek your views on that until we have heard each other out, and considered those matters that have occurred since then and for which this is the first opportunity to report …” He paused to look up at the chamber’s roof as a stronger gust of wind than most shook it, and stirred and flurried at the tunnels’ entrances leaving behind the stress and strain of shifting roots and wind-sound.

“We all want to hear what happened to Fieldfare, and I hope she will be willing to tell us.”

Fieldfare nodded grimly, and shot a glance at Chater, who looked grimmer still.

“I hope too that we may prevail on Privet to come and join us before the evening’s out —”

“I swear she’ll not come, Master Librarian!” said Whillan.

Stour smiled and said, “She
should
be here, Whillan, and I have noticed that the Stone has a way, always mysterious to me, of arranging matters as they should be, and not as moles wish them to be. I may incidentally observe that your presence here, Whillan, makes us six, and if, as I believe she will, Privet joins us then that will be seven. Which means we shall form what in more superstitious or possibly more reverent times, was called a Seven Stancing, which is to say seven moles taking council amongst themselves to try, with the Stone’s help, to right some wrong, or prosecute some great and holy purpose. Let us therefore be patient and, meanwhile, hear the rest of your account of your expedition with Chater and Maple to Rollright.”

“That’s easily told …’ began Whillan; and so it was.

Once the Duncton moles had got the four they had rescued from the massing by the Stone in the Circle to safety, it was decided that Chater and Maple would go back briefly into the system and talk with one or two moles Chater knew of old.

“I know the way there,” he said, “and they’ll know as much as anymole. Meanwhile, you can talk to this lot, Whillan, and establish what you can about the intentions of the Newborns. We’ll meet by or before the new moon at the spot I showed you on our way here, and if we’re not back by then, don’t dawdle — set off to Duncton and tell them what you can.”

So Chater and Maple bravely went back into Rollright’s tunnels, and were successful in making the contact they sought. They learnt much that confirmed not only Stour’s fears about censorship and destruction of texts, but also accounted for the attack on Cuddesdon which Chater had reported on. It seemed that the Cuddesdon moles had heard of the censorship in Rollright and, foolishly as it turned out, sent a delegation to the Newborn Brothers there to attempt to reason with them. This was interpreted as blasphemy, and in the face of the Cuddesdon moles’ “intransigence” the attack and killings that Chater had seen the evidence of were perpetrated.

This information gathered, and certain additional facts about Chervil ascertained — namely that he was not himself one of the Brother Inquisitors and had been sent by Thripp to Duncton Wood to keep him out of harm’s way as strife within the Caradocian Order reached a climax — the two moles returned to where they had left Whillan, content that they had gathered sufficient information to make the expedition worthwhile.

But when they got there Whillan was gone, along with the four rescued moles. It was for Chater and Maple a grim and terrible moment, and their earlier elation gave way to grave doubts and fears. The only consolation, and that but a small one, was that there were no signs of struggle, blood or bodies.

“We’ll search the tunnels and surface nearby, and if that fails we’ll fall back on our arrangement to meet at that place we stopped at on the way here, and hope that Whillan leads the others there,” said Chater.

“He’s not a fool,” said Maple, “and he kept his head earlier. The chances are they got disturbed by Newborns searching for them and scarpered.”

So they made their search, and finding no clues at all, and not wishing to risk more, went to the place where they had agreed to meet and since Whillan was not already there, stanced down in the hope that he would come.

Of their long wait and increasing concern moles can imagine for themselves. But the days passed, the moon waxed, and the night came in when it was full and they must leave. With heavy hearts they watched its inexorable rise above the horizon, scanning the tunnels and the silvery surface that led towards Rollright, and listening out for mole. The more they waited the more Chater and Maple needed their resolve and confidence to stay just where they were.

“He’ll come!” said Chater, time after time.

“Aye!” said Maple heavily, shaking his head and in great distress, “but we should never have left him.”

“He’ll come, mole. That one was a survivor from the moment he was born. He’ll come.”

But the moon was already waning, and the dawn coming through before which they should have long since left, when they heard moles at last.

“’Tis trouble apaw,” said Maple, stancing up fiercely. He was in the mood for a fight.

And trouble it was. For out across the surface, running helter-skelter along, came the mole young Fiddler, fur flying, and behind him, wounded in the flank and hobbling along, was Whillan.

Fiddler did not waste words.

“Patrol’s behind, safety’s in front, the scribemole’s wounded, the big’un take up rear and clobber them if you have to, the old’un shove the scribemole up the rear to hurry him and the whole lot of you follow me! On to liberty and fraternity! Out, up, over, down! Away!”

With this third-explanation, third-command, and third-rousing-speech, Fiddler, looking excited and pleased with himself, led the escape from the Newborn Brothers who chased behind.

It was clear to Chater who the ‘big’un’ and the ‘scribe-mole’ were, which left him as the ‘old’un’, and this pleased him not one bit. But needs must, and off he went, taloning Whillan in the rump as much to express his annoyance as to hurry his young friend up.

The route Fiddler led them on was a windy one to the west and far from that along which Chater himself would normally have taken them. It eventually left the ups and downs of the high ground and dropped into the moist coppices that lie above the River Evenlode, and there Fiddler suddenly stopped.

“The Newborns don’t like low, wet ground that’s wooded,” he said, cocking his head on one side to listen. “Yes, listen …”

The four moles heard much crashing about in the dry grass and undergrowth on the slopes above them. Then mutterings of deep angry voices until the noises faded and they were gone.

“Don’t want to come down here, you see,” grinned Fiddler wickedly. “Newborns don’t like alders. Strange lot. But good fun, eh? We’re safe now.”

“You better go back, Fiddler, you’ll be safe enough by yourself,” said Whillan. He spoke affectionately, and it was obvious real trust had built up between the two moles.

“Don’t want to go, shan’t, and will not,” said Fiddler. “Been thinking as we ran. Glad we got chased. Good fun. You are where the action is, scribemole, and I’d like to stay with you and help you out.”

“You can’t,” said Whillan. “We’re going back to Duncton.”

Fiddler grinned and said, “Duncton? Good! The Newborns fear it. I’ll be
useful
.”

“You can’t,” said Whillan uneasily, not wishing to send him back at all, “and you probably won’t.”

“But I can! I can!” declared Fiddler. Life, it seemed, was a game to him.

“Come on, Whillan, thank your new-found friend and send him packing,” interrupted Chater impatiently. “If I’d allowed all the moles who asked to come with me to Duncton Wood the place would be overcrowded. They all want to come. No offence of course, Fiddle or whatever your name is, but if I may sum up the situation: we rescued you, you helped us, we’re quits and we’re off, leaving you behind. What’s more, your friends in Rollright need a mole like you, so stay and help them.”

Fiddler raised his paws in a look of abject agreement.

“Yes! Quite understand. Very well put. Makes sense and sounds reasonable, except for one thing: if I can’t come with you now I shall come one day. Since Duncton is the home of liberty it will no doubt welcome me. See you later, Chater!” He giggled madly to himself, and was gone.

“Chater, that wasn’t necessary,” said Whillan angrily. “He saved my life.”

Maple frowned and nodded in agreement.

“I know a good mole when I see one,” said Chater, “and that’s a very good mole, and very useful. But we can’t be too careful. If he’s as good as I think he is we’ll see him again one of these days. It never hurts to try a mole.”

Whillan and Maple laughed.

“You’re a rascal, Chater,” said Maple, “and Fieldfare’s got my sympathy! Now, Whillan, where are the others?”

“Safe enough. We nearly got caught by a patrol, which is why we weren’t there when you got back. But Fiddler led us back through to where a lot of the Rollright moles live and we were safe enough there. The Newborns get worried when moles wander.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re safe,” said Chater.

“Got a lot of information,” said Whillan.

“Us too,” said Maple.

“Let’s keep it until we’re well out of here,” said Chater.

That evening, tired but safe, and on course once more for Duncton Wood, Chater led them to an old run of tunnels and burrows that overlooked the River Evenlode, and had been used in the old days by wandering scribemoles. They settled down to eat of the thin worms that they found in the gravelly soil and to listen to what Whillan had to tell them about his discoveries.