Duncton Found (40 page)

Such is an outline of the catalogue of opposition to the Word of which Lucerne had been made aware by the time summer reached its height in August. At the same time he had gathered much intelligence about individual sideem and eldrene, and was beginning to make dispositions among those who might take over lax systems, or go to the support of undermoled ones.

“‘Lax’ is the proper word, Terce.
Lax
,” said Lucerne one day. “Most systems are of the Word, most are under no physical threat of the Stone, and where the Stone predominates are but marginal areas such as the west and Beechenhill where they are well contained by us. But... infections easily spread. My mother’s campaign was not consolidated as a young sideem’s early training is consolidated by the austerities and disciplines imposed by his Tutor Keeper. We shall be the very Tutor Keeper of moledom, and cleanse it of the rebellion of spirit! I like not permissiveness and negligence... We shall appoint new moles to the guardianship of the main systems, and give the eldrenes power once more to force Atonement. Moles must suffer to be cleansed.”

But perhaps the appointment that concerned him most was that of Wyre in Buckland, which was still the stronghold of the south. Wyre had gained power under Henbane, but reports of him now were ambivalent and contradictory. In his time he had certainly been a strong and decisive mole but it seemed that since the spring he had been ill with scalpskin and had lost the confidence of some of those at Buckland. Certainly there was news of increasing restiveness in the systems south of Duncton Wood. But the reports were patchy and too vague to make it possible for Lucerne to decide on what detailed action to take there.

“What is clear,” he told Terce at this time, “is that we know enough to know we have just cause to mount a crusade against the Stone, but we know too little in any detail to be able to do more than plan a general strategy... I
must
know more. I must have facts. I must have a sense of where to attack first, where to attack hardest, and in what ways the followers’ faith in the Stone is vulnerable.”

Terce agreed.

“Our sideem shall become better trained in gathering information,” he said.

“And more regular in providing it!” interrupted Lucerne. “But for that we need to move our centre south.”

“Which is what the Master Rune always said must be done,” continued Terce. “And to a system easily reached from north and south.”

“And one that is placed to mount a campaign against the west side of moledom,” said Clowder. “I like not the reports from the Marches, nor that we have lost credence in Siabod once more. Yet... it is a long time since we campaigned and we shall have things to learn. What happened to the mole Wrekin, Henbane’s general?”

“Retired,” said Terce. “Dead, I think. He came from north of here.”

“And Ginnell?” asked Clowder.

“Wrekin’s second-in-command? He is in the west still. I have never met him, but I hear good of him. He has sent reports regularly, but never uses sideem. Like Wrekin before him, sideem worry him.” Terce permitted himself the briefest of cold smiles.

“I think we should talk with him,” said Clowder, turning to Lucerne.

“I agree,” said Lucerne.

“Shall I recall him?” said Clowder.

“He is not a mole to treat casually,” said Terce, “and might treat a simple recall as an insult.”

“I know that, Tutor Keeper, I know it well,” growled Clowder. “But with respect, he will as like talk more sense to me than a thousand namby sideem who wouldn’t know a military report from their arse if they heard it with their own ears.”

Lucerne smiled. He remembered his mother saying that the military mind and the sideem mind were different things. Clowder was at least anointed, and nomole could doubt his loyalty to the Word, but if he was to be to Lucerne what Wrekin had been to Henbane, then just such blunt directness and impatience was what he would need. No harm would come of conflict between Terce and Clowder, provided neither felt the other had the upper paw.

“We shall move south to a system I shall name,” said Lucerne, stopping their argument before it got further. “To it we shall summon Ginnell and he shall tell us of the campaign along the Marches, and of Siabod. If he is the mole I have heard he is he will know a great deal more than that. You shall serve with him for a time, Clowder.”

“
With
him?” repeated Clowder slowly.

Lucerne stared at him unflinching.

“As his subordinate, then. Yes, why not? A little humility will not hurt. You will have things to learn and he shall teach them to you.”

Clowder was speechless. Terce relaxed and looked a little smug to see Clowder discomfited.

“And you, Twelfth Keeper, surprise me,” said Lucerne turning on him suddenly. “You have not even thought to establish whether Wrekin is alive or dead. Supposing alive and living north? What if moles of the Stone find him? Had I been told he
might
be alive sooner then our chance of apprehending Henbane might have been better.”

Terce looked puzzled. It was Clowder’s turn to be amused.

Lucerne leaned menacingly close to Terce and the two moles eyed each other coldly.

“Wrekin is the only mole apart from Tryfan of Duncton I
ever
heard my mother speak of with respect. Might she not have fled to him? If there is even the smallest chance that she has then we should investigate it, should we not? I cannot stress enough how important it is that she is found, or her fate discovered. Moles must know that she is dead or else she robs the Mastership of strength. I am displeased, Terce.”

Terce’s face betrayed no sign of emotion.

“I shall see to it.”

“Aye, you shall. And if Wrekin is alive then Clowder will wish to speak with him.” He paused and for a moment allowed himself to look both weary and disappointed.

“We shall win no crusades if we are vain...” (and here he looked at Clowder)... “or lax...” (and now his gaze shifted to Terce). Then he turned and left them, and where he had stanced was left the sense of cold silence and threat.

Terce smiled bleakly.

“He shall be the greatest Master ever known.”

“He shall indeed, Tutor Keeper,” said Clowder, “and the Word’s will shall be done.”

They watched where Lucerne had gone, and Clowder added wryly, “But the way he takes us shall be harder even than the training you gave us.”

“I know it, and it pleases me,” said Terce.

When next they saw him Lucerne was charming once more, and decisive. He came in the company of Mallice.

“The rest of the Keepers have been summoned and will assemble shortly. Meanwhile I shall tell you what they shall agree to do.

“The Keepers and main body of the sideem shall leave for the south in three days. The Word shall guide as to which system will form our new centre.

“But those new sideem who have already proved themselves worthy to gather information in southern systems to aid our strategy shall go forth as I dictate. They shall return as winter sets in to the new centre we have found and there preparations for our crusade shall be made. Many shall be given their chance of the Word, and non-sideem shall be listened to.

“Meanwhile we are surprised and displeased that there are moles as near as Ribblesdale who persistently flout the Word. We shall need to make an early example that allmole knows the Word is not to be taken in vain, or ignored, or mocked, and that its representatives are to be obeyed. Accordingly, Clowder, you shall go to Ribblesdale immediately and destroy utterly this rebel system of Mallerstang. Such an exercise will give cause for Ginnell to respect you when you rejoin us further south and meet him. I know you will not fail, but I wish that destruction to be on such a scale, and in such a manner, that when news of it is known nomole who hears it shall doubt the power of the Word, or that it shall take vengeance on those who turn their snout from it. It shall be an example for other zealots to follow. Do you understand?”

“They shall be destroyed in a way that all that hear of it will not forget it, nor doubt the Word’s power for just retribution,” said Clowder. Nomole who saw his eyes glinting and his fur bristling, and the way his huge talons tore restlessly at the soil in front of him could doubt it would be so.

“Mallice, I have a different task for you: Beechenhill. Send out spies to discover its weaknesses. When the time comes to destroy it I would have it done well, very well. But that time is not yet. It shall be after we have gone south and when this Squeezebelly will have decided that we prefer to leave well alone. Discover what you can of the place and the moles within it.”

“I shall,” she said, her mouth curled to a cruel smile, her eyes warm upon her Master.

“The Word shall be with you,” he said.

“And I?” said Terce.

“It shall be with thee as well!” joked Lucerne. But his smile was brief as that which Terce tried out. “You shall stay with me, Tutor Keeper, and watch over this migration south. Do it with ritual, do it with pomp. Make moles know it is ordained of the Word, and the Word shall guide us.”

In such a way, thoroughly and with decision, were the first orders of the great crusade of the Word given and final preparations put in paw.

By the end of August all those leaving on tasks had gone, including most of the Keepers and sideem who would help establish the new centre in the south.

Those that remained were a body of picked sideem and guardmoles who would garrison Whern and seal it against incursion from anymole but those come with permission of Lucerne and Terce only.

It was a clear, sunny day, with the colour of autumn spreading over the bracken of the fells, and the heath in mauve bloom in the distant parts.

Lucerne had made his final obeisances at the Rock, and gone to the surface and slowly made his way, in the company of his faithful guardmoles, down to the limestone scars on the western slopes through which the ways lead on to Kilnsey, Grassington and the south.

The river Wharfe wound its way southward in the valley below them, and parts of the trees along its banks were already turning brown.

“The Word be with thee, Master!” said one of the faithful who was staying at Whern to Lucerne as he finally left.

Lucerne deigned to smile.

“I am not Master yet, mole. But with the Word’s guidance and the support of moles such as thee then may the day come swift when the Stone is shattered into a thousand pieces across moledom. Then I shall return to this hallowed place and hear once more the wind across its fells and in its tunnels.”

“Then shall you be made Master and all of us able to rejoice in your triumph?”

“May it be so, mole. The Word be with thee.”

With that Lucerne left Whern at last, accompanied by Terce and a pawful of sideem, and the great crusade began.

Chapter Sixteen

September came to Duncton as it did across all moledom, with rain, grey weather, and day after day of blustering winds. Moles poked their snouts out of their burrows, scented at the wet in the air, scurried up to surface exits, peered at the swaying branches above and scatters of wet leaves below, and sighed.

The peace of a long summer was over and the restlessness of autumn had come back again. Tunnels to delve, entrances to repair, burrows to clear and clean, realities to face once more.

If, as the September winds blew on, most moles in Duncton became resigned to this, they sensed as well that, from the moment of the coming of Marram and old Sorrel back to Barrow Vale to tell of their near escape at the cross-under, all of them were on the verge of change. Their time with Beechen was nearly over and, as all youngsters must (for that was how so many of them still thought of him), he would soon be gone.

As if to confirm the truth of this, and to prepare them for his parting, Beechen retreated from them. To Madder’s place he went first of all, but then down to the Marsh End to be with Tryfan. When, as on some days he did, he went to the surface, it was plain that he needed to be alone, and moles left him so, to think and meditate as he wished. Yet often when his thoughts were done and he rose from the meditating stance he had taken and turned to go back underground, he would find an offering of food left for him; or some old mole, a friend, watching over him, and saying he had stayed, “Just to make sure you weren’t disturbed... just to be sure.”

Then he would go to them, and gaze on them, and touch them with a smile of strange sadness, and go on his way.

Some dared asked him to bless them, and this he quietly did. Others, probably more than we now know, asked for a healing; but they had no need to ask, for those that needed healing or comfort found it came in the touch of his paw, in the warmth of his eyes. But always, always, he whispered, “Speak not of this, it is between thy heart and the Stone; others need not know.”

Perhaps too, a tender few, when he had gone from them, cried and whispered after him that the Stone might give him strength, and show its mercy. Then the September wind would rattle the branches and a gust of rain come down and they would turn to find shelter and think of that summer, and the young mole who had touched their hearts.