Duncton Quest (62 page)

“You come with me then,” said Tryfan, more pleased than he knew, for he liked to have Spindle near, as if in his friend’s seeming weakness he felt his own strength.

Tryfan, with Spindle, would therefore join the others later, probably during the passage through the tunnel, but not before he had made sure that the retreat from the Eastside was complete, and the moles who were to occupy the Marsh End labyrinth had made good their escape to it, or at least were in a position to do so.

For Comfrey of all moles, and for Maundy too, it was a terrible moment, for it was likely that they might never see the Duncton Stone again. But the policy had been agreed, and the plans made, and there were many among the moles of Duncton who would not leave if they did not see their most beloved elder leaving as well.

Comfrey had himself told them that Duncton Wood must now be left in the care of younger paws, and it was for moles like himself to set an example of courage and patience in retreat, and to pass on, as best they might, the stories and traditions of Duncton to moles who, one day, might find the strength and the opportunity to return.

So then, for one last time together, the elders went out to the Stone clearing, and there in the rain they said their last prayers, and old Comfrey went finally to the Stone he loved and touched it, making a blessing on the moles whom it protected.

He said finally, “And if others c-c-come, let them hear thy Silence, Stone, and know thy love. Let this be but a dark passage on the way to the time when peace comes once more to Duncton, and moles may be free here, to live without fear, to think what they might, and to heal each other with the love that comes from the sound of thy gr-gr-great Silence.”

The others watched as Comfrey turned to Maundy, and reached out to touch her paw as he continued, “We two are old and have seen m-many things, and now, for the first time, when the end of our two lives is near, we are to t-t-travel on. Well, ’tis thy will, Stone, and we trust it.”

“We do,” whispered Maundy, coming nearer so that her grey and wrinkled flank touched Comfrey’s. So they crouched, and the others with them, with the Stone rising high above them to where the great beech branches still dripped sporadically with rain, and the high wood was a chamber of dull morning light.

“Come on, my dear,” said Maundy softly, “we must leave now.” Then, as if performing a rite of farewell for Comfrey, who seemed too moved by the moment to do such a thing himself, Maundy went to each in turn and touched them, and whispered their name, and wished that each one of them might one day return home safeguarded.

Then the two old moles led the others away, leaving Tryfan and Spindle alone by the Stone.

“Well!” said Tryfan. “Time to go... and I feel nervous, very.”

“I know you do,” said Spindle with a smile. “Why do you think I’m here with you? You’ve found it hard being a leader, haven’t you?”

Tryfan nodded.

“It
is
hard. Moles do not want to see doubt or weakness though I feel them often. And the fighting, Spindle, there must be a better way than that. The last messenger told me that our casualties have gone up. There are females down in the Marsh End who will never see their mates again, and youngsters who will not hear their father’s voice but as a memory. What am I to say to them? And there will be others who will die, and many who will never return to the home they loved. And all because I lead them! Who is to say that they would not be better off staying here? How can we be sure that Henbane would not show some mercy to them?”

“She never has by all reports.”

Tryfan sighed. “Well, one day there will be a better way. One day...”

“And when will that be, Tryfan?” wondered Spindle.

“When the Stone Mole comes. That will be the day. May the Stone preserve me to see it!”

“And I!” said Spindle.

“Now,” said Tryfan, “now we’ll go one last time to see Alder, and ensure the final retreat is orderly.” They took a surface route out of the Stone clearing, and Tryfan’s step was suddenly light, as if all the decisions had been made and there was nothing left now but to see them through to the end.

“Come on, Spindle!” he said, moving more quickly as they reached the edge of the wood and the Eastside slope dropped before them.

Neither mole looked back to the Stone clearing they had just left, as the Stone itself began to be lost among the trees behind; nor did they see the sudden shaft of light that came down out of the clouds and caught its wet sides, and glistened and shone where they had been.

They found Alder still holding on to the central burrow of the last main defence line on the south-eastern slopes, but only just. The tunnels were filled now with weary moles, many too tired and injured to look up as Tryfan and Spindle passed by.

What was worse, only a few minutes before Tryfan’s arrival, two watchers, one injured, had been isolated on the surface and caught by guardmoles, and even now voices could be heard raised and angry as the grikes discussed what to do with them.

Tired though they were, there was not a mole in the tunnels who would not have gone out to attempt to rescue them, but that, as Alder had firmly made clear, was what the guardmoles wanted and he was not allowing it.

Tryfan could easily see why. The ground beyond the surface burrow was undulating and several guardmoles had taken stance there; while further on, past a barbed wire fence, the ground fell to hidden ground and Stone knows what guardmole lay in wait there.

“They’re trying to get us out by keeping the two prisoners in our sight,” said Alder, “but whatever we may feel, I will not allow anymole to go.” He glared balefully around the tunnels. Like the others he looked tired, and his fur was matted with mud, sweat and blood. The blood of his wounds had coagulated, yet some still seeped through down his face; but others were far worse off than he.

“Can’t they be reached by tunnels?” asked Tryfan, watching in horror from the vantage of the surface burrow as the two watchers were paraded near the fence and talons were raised brutally against them. But he already knew the answer to that: there were no tunnels to that point.

“What news of Ramsey and his group?” asked Tryfan urgently. He knew they lay concealed further down the slope, quite surrounded by mole but for the tunnels back to where Alder and the others had refuge.

“None,” said Alder, “but the deep tunnel to his position is still clear and we think it has not been found. I do not know if Ramsey has made an attack or not, but it seems likely. He has not returned, but we must retreat, Tryfan, if we are not to be overrun and taken. I —”

At that moment the raised voices of the guardmoles stopped, there was a sudden cry of protest followed by a sickening and dreadful scream, and the Duncton moles heard the sound of one of their injured colleagues being snouted on the barbs of the wire fence.

Anger, impotence, rage... the surface burrow was dark with hatred of the grikes.

“We must do something, Alder,” said several moles at once, “we must....”

As they spoke the taunting voice of a guardmole came to them: “One up and another to go!” it cried. “Unless you lot want to give yourselves up. Well? You’ve not got long to make up your minds...” They saw the hapless uninjured watcher struggling as three guardmoles grabbed him and held him ready by the wire to hang him on a barb adjacent to the one where, so terribly, the body of his friend still shook with the rigor of pain that a snouting means, blood gushing from his snout, spilling from his mouth and bubbling as his last screams were lost in a drowning too terrible to imagine.

“We’re going to go, Alder, even if you won’t lead us,” said one of the moles. “We can’t just let them do it to Wilden. He’s my
friend
.” Wilden was the second of the captured moles.

As he spoke another couple of guardmoles appeared, one of them rather larger than the other. This mole stared over towards where the defence burrow was and Alder stiffened in surprise.

“But that mole there... that one! Aye. That’s Marram, Tryfan, that’s who that is.” It was the mole who had been Alder’s colleague at Buckland.

They stared at him and he looked impassively back, and as he did so Tryfan suddenly moved forward and took command.

“You will not go out on to the surface, any of you,” he said in a voice chilly with authority. “Now tell me quickly, if I take a surface route, where
exactly
will I find an entrance to the deep tunnels in which Ramsey still lies hidden?”

The direction was pointed out to him.

“Now listen, and listen well. I shall go out alone. I shall seem to wish to parley with them. They will hesitate for they will be surprised to see a single mole. I will take my moment and lead – what is his name? Wilden? – I will lead him on downslope. There will be confusion.

“Take that moment to evacuate as many injured upslope as you can. Maintain a guard here for I will attempt to return, with Ramsey and any others I may find through the deep tunnels. Send other messengers along the line and order an immediate and final retreat. Once that mole is safe, and Ramsey’s group is securely back, we will retreat altogether....”

The taunting voice of the guardmole came upslope to them again.

“Well, Duncton moles, your friend is beginning to sweat and shake. Is it cowards he fought alongside? Or have you the courage and common sense to surrender and save his life?”

At that Tryfan left them, and stepped up and out on to the surface. His sudden appearance brought all movement to a halt. Those holding Wilden crouched, tensely watching, as in the drab and drizzly silence that seemed to have descended on that part of the Eastside, Tryfan moved slowly and with authority towards them.

As he did so he said clearly and with an intent that was very obvious to the watchers behind him, “I come in peace and with the good will of the Stone for all moles. If there is any among you who has pity, or has ever thought he might desire the Silence of the Stone, let him come forward now and make peace with us!” As Tryfan spoke his eyes were on Marram, who laughed and said to the others, “Some hope he’s got, mates, to find a mole of the Stone here!”

“Aye, you’ll have to do better than that!” said another.

But the watchers noticed that Marram dropped back behind the others, and then moved away downslope and, for the moment, out of sight.

Meanwhile, on either side, hidden in grass or thistles, guardmoles had taken advance positions and they watched with narrowed eyes and ready talons as Tryfan approached among them. His heart hammered in his breast, he had eyes only for the terror that he could now see was in Wilden’s eyes the closer he got. Moledom seemed almost silent about him. Almost but not quite, for there was a panting and a pattering behind him and he slowed, unsure if this was an attack but determined to show no fear.

“I really think you could have
waited
you know,” said a scholarly voice. “I mean...” It was Spindle, running to catch him up, with anxiety on his face combined with a studied innocence.

“What the Stone...?” began Tryfan through clenched teeth as he tried to maintain his pose of unconcern and purpose so that the guardmoles, who stared at him surprised and uncertain now, might stay irresolute long enough for him to reach Wilden and make his move. But with Spindle....

“Well, I mean,” continued Spindle who, having now caught him up, dared to move ahead at a slightly more rapid pace as he talked loudly about... what? “I mean that it isn’t reasonable to have the pleasure, if not the privilege, of surrendering to these splendid moles who have come all this way just to —”

“Spindle!” said Tryfan, trying to stop him, and now only moleyards from the fence and Wilden just beyond it.

“— to, er, rescue moles from that dreadful fallacy, for that’s the only word for it, which is called, I believe, the Stone.”

As Spindle said the words, smiling as he did so, with Tryfan furious at his side and the guardmoles looking at each other and wondering quite who these two moles were who were wandering so nonchalantly into their very midst talking about the Stone, the two reached the wire itself. The snouted mole hung bloodily before them, his paws arced up in a death agony. The slope dipped down more steeply beyond the fence, and the morning sound of the roaring owls came over the Pasture from out of the humid air.

Across the slopes below were several other moles, perhaps ten or more, and at Tryfan’s appearance, which must have been a surprise to them, they reared up and stared.

“I think,” began Tryfan, taking his cue from Spindle and sounding utterly calm, moving under the wire and even dipping his snout so that he was vulnerable to attack, and with Spindle following suit, so they were within feet of Wilden... “I think we had better introduce ourselves.”

The guardmoles began to stiffen into aggressive stances, their grip on Wilden tightened, they moved in closer from all sides.

Tryfan turned to the one who seemed their leader.

“The mole you have captured is Wilden...” and Tryfan’s voice speeded up as he spoke with sudden compelling authority, though as quietly as before. “And if we are to talk sensibly I suggest you let him free. He is not about to escape you know.” As the guardmoles let him go, Tryfan added, “And this is my good friend Spindle, of Seven Barrows born, and my name is Tryfan.”

There was a moment more of silence. One or other of the guardmoles seemed to find his voice and even open his mouth to speak as others closed in on Tryfan, but before they could do so he said, “And
now
, Wilden, I think the time has come —” Then as Tryfan thrust violently forward at one of the four guardmoles near Wilden, Wilden himself felled another who tumbled down the slope behind them. Tryfan had not counted on Spindle but he, not to be outdone, took full advantage of the moment of surprise and confusion and dug his talons sharply into a third guardmole’s side as Tryfan reached forward, warded off the remaining guardmole near Wilden, and cried out to them all to run downslope into the very midst of the astonished guardmoles below.

“
Now
!” he cried out, and they paused for a moment and then ran down and down the slope, Tryfan guided by a faith stronger than he had ever known that they would be safe if they acted with complete assurance.