Duncton Stone (67 page)

“I stopped and turned to look back, and over Bourton Hill, from where the chant came, and where I imagined many moles to have assembled, a great spread of stars seemed to hang, like a huge tree of hawthorn blossom caught by a bright sun. I knew I could travel no further and, for prudence’s sake, as was my habit, I climbed upslope above my path and made a scrape in some obscure spot overlooking it. I listened to the chant for but a short time more before I fell asleep, Rooster’s mysterious words in my mind: ‘You show way to Privet, not me. Master of Delve is Master of Delve only; servant otherwise! You lead now! Go, go, go, mole! Flames come, fire burns, go to river now. Needs you too.’

“‘Well! And what is a mole to make of that?’ I wondered! Still, his words must mean something, and I had done his bidding to ‘Go’ as best I could. But now sleep overtook me, and his words and the moles’ chanting mingled into some heavy awe-inspiring dream which carried me along through night and late into the morning, though when I woke all details of it fled before I could grasp them to my memory. I was left feeling lonely and afraid, and therefore lethargic, a condition I had known often enough before to have faith that it would pass.

“I stayed where I was and let the sun rise higher before I even moved to find a little food. My limbs were heavy, my mind slow, and I decided to rest for a time. I am glad I did, for from my secret place I saw what few others can have seen, the departure of the forces of the followers out of Bourton, to begin what allmole now knows to be their campaign across southern moledom.

“I saw them all, as if in place of the dream I had lost, except they seemed still a part of it: mole after mole, large and small, warriors all. I did not know their names, or that among them great moles went. Later I learnt that Maple was there, but I did not know him; the great Siabodian leader Ystwelyn went by, so I have been told, but I did not know him either.

“Yet my eyes scanned them all, hoping to see the two moles I knew – Weeth and Rooster. Weeth I did see, and glimpsed as well one of those moles who had been his companions on the way back to the Wolds when we had briefly met. Rooster I did not see, and since once seen he is not a mole one forgets, I concluded he was not of the Crusade that day.

“One by one, dark-furred and fair, famous and less so, but to me all one, I watched them go, their eyes fixed on the glories they hoped to find on the westward horizon, and thus not seeing me, Hibbott of Ashbourne Chase, a mole getting older, dustier each day, and troubled. Why
should
they see me?

“They left behind them a haze of dust stirred up by the tramp of their paws. I prayed then to the Stone, for their sakes as well as my own, concluding with these words, for I felt very alone: ‘Though you are not only watching over me, Stone, give me the sense that you are with me.’

“The dust was still in the air when I slipped into sleep again. I woke to find dusk had come, and with it a clear cool sky. I slept into night and another dawn came, the first day of October, a time of change that brings in autumn and the falling of the leaves. I knew that now my long pilgrimage had taken another turn, into new tunnels and strange ways, and they seemed bleak and long and without end.

“‘Hibbott,’ I told myself, ‘they have gone their way, and now you must go yours.’ And where was that? Surely, to the Duncton Stone...

“Though I rose then, and journeyed on, never had I done so with such a sense of foreboding, nor felt that my journey’s destination, and moledom’s, was so far away, and reaching it so fraught with difficulty.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Where are they?”

“Just over there, sir, just beyond the rise.”

The guardmole moved smartly out of the way as Brother Commander Thorne and no less a mole than Chervil, formidable son of Thripp, moved past him to view the corpses for themselves. A little behind, puffing from the exertion of climbing the steep slope, came old Brother Rolt, frowning, a little reluctant, concerned.

The three dead guardmoles lay where they had been attacked, paws outstretched, mouths open to the blue October sky, red-brown blood like excrement smeared on grass and fur, in one case in a trail where the mole had crawled a little way before dying.

“You heard nothing, mole?”

The guardmole came hurrying over to Thorne and gave what account he could, which was not much. He himself, along with several others, had been in the nearby guard-chamber. The patrol of watchers – doubled in number for safety after three other recent murderous night-time attacks – had simply been patrolling. When they did not come in for the change of watch the next guards on duty had gone to investigate and found all but one dead. It had all been done with ruthless efficiency.

The fourth guardmole in the patrol, to whom Thorne and the others had spoken a short time before where he was being tended below ground, was alive, though wounded. He had played dead and got away with it, and in doing so he had gained useful information about his attackers.

“They were of Squilver’s force, sir, no doubt of it. I heard them refer to yourself and our forces, and how the Elder Senior Brother would have a report of
this
operation, and it would serve their promotions well. They talked of another successful ‘softening-up operation’ for the assaults yet to come.”

The mole winced with pain, the wound in his flank still seeping a watery blood.

“You have done well, mole,” Thorne had said, pleased that even under such pressure the mole had kept his ears open and his eyes shut.

“I hardly dared breathe, sir, they were that close. Five of them.”

“But you got a glimpse of them before they wounded you?”

“Not much of one. They tricked us into giving them our attention – made a whistling kind of noise as if it was one of our own – and then reared up out of the dark and went for us. We’ll have a chance to go after them, won’t we, sir? They were my friends Quail’s lot killed.”

Now Thorne stanced looking at the dead, Chervil and Rolt at his flank. Near them a strong force of guardmoles, brought in at dawn in case of further trouble, waited patiently, staring downslope to the south, towards the territory they knew to be in Quail’s control. Where they stanced was the boundary between the two, so far as one could be defined. A good way off to their left flank a huge roaring owl way rose into the sky.

“The system over there’s called Gaydon,” said Rolt, “so I am told. Nomole about there any more, it seems.”

“Hmmph!” grunted Thorne, glancing at Chervil. None of them were at all pleased at what had happened. “We know there aren’t any other Caradocians about, at least not in force, otherwise patrols would have spotted them long since. This is obviously a small force working under cover, and I must say I am impressed. I didn’t think Squilver had it in him to organize such a thing. Six killed three days ago, two yesterday and now three more, nearly four.”

“You have the forces to retaliate in the same way,” said Chervil. “It’s just that you haven’t chosen to use them.”

“Well, I think that time is now coming,” said Thorne. For Chervil was right, Thorne had long since had a force of well-trained moles for just such work as this – tough, efficient, disciplined moles able to work in small groups.

“But Brother Commander, I thought you had decided to avoid conflict with Quail’s force and reach Duncton as quickly as possible and so cut it off to him!”

“I
said,
Brother Rolt, that I would
like
to do that, but we must pay heed to what is happening on the ground. If we had been able to muster our forces from the north, and consolidate the eastern territories sooner, then we might have been able to set off for Duncton earlier, but only now have we come to full strength, and it seems it is too late for what I had in mind. In any case, a little show of force by us here and now might well serve to delay Quail, and if he proves as weak as I think, make it easier for us finally to make the breakthrough to Duncton. My wish is to contain the violence. I do not want civil war. But...” He frowned, thinking, his eyes dark. “My moles demand retaliation, and they may well be right – they have been very disciplined so far, but there are limits. I am as concerned for your father Thripp as you are, Chervil, of course I am. But we do not know where he is, and I think Rolt is right to believe that Quail will not allow harm to come to him because he still needs him. Frankly, if he had wanted to kill him he would have done so long since. Perhaps he has...”

Rolt shook his head slowly, his eyes full of care for the master he loved so much but of whom nomole had heard a thing. That much Quail – or Snyde, perhaps – had done well.

“I remain dubious about the wisdom of attacking Quail’s force,” Chervil said. “But perhaps we cannot show weakness, especially at a time when the followers are gaining support.”

The others nodded, thinking no doubt of the growing number of pilgrims who had begun to appear from out of nowhere, as it seemed. Ever since mid-July such fearless moles had begun to trek southwards, and they all told the same story: they were heading for Duncton Wood, they came in peace, they were showing their support for the mole Privet. Some of them even refused to speak, seeming to have chosen to adopt a vow of silence in sympathy with a mole who had become both heroine and martyr to them. One group of moles brought into Leamington had all chosen silence, but for one who acted as their spokesmole.

“Praise be, brothers,” he told them, “but we’re on our way in silence to mark our respect, and show our faith in the virtues of holy Privet, whose blessed words we hope to hear when her vow of silence is complete.”

“And when might that be, pilgrim?” wondered Thorne.

“When the lost and last Book, which is of Silence, is brought back to Duncton Wood.”

Thorne and Chervil had decreed that such moles should be unharmed, given shelter, and sent on their way – or he had for a time. Then, when two of them were found snouted some way south of Leamington, the outrage perpetrated by Quail’s moles, the pilgrims had been told to return to the north.

Not that this policy had been very effective: they came back again, or they were found detouring to the east and then moving south, despite all the warnings Thorne’s moles gave them about what would happen to them if the Caradocians caught them.

“Brother! Have faith in the Stone!” the pilgrims hectored him. “Free yourselves of fear as Privet has done! Feel the healing power of fearlessness!”

Throughout the summer years Thorne had made every effort to track down Privet, having greatly regretted letting her slip away from Leamington. Now he had a use for her, and in any case he feared for her safety. The only positive lead he had came from one of a rough group of moles his own forces had captured who had been in the thrall of one of the independent Newborns who had begun to flourish at that time. The mole was called Rees; he was badly scarred about the eyes and had only limited vision, and told a strange story of having been attacked by some followers, temporarily blinded, and then healed by the touch of a female who sounded very like the Privet Thorne had known up on Wenlock Edge. Rees confessed he had been transformed by the experience, and had even been tempted to join the pilgrims, but Thorne had persuaded him he might serve Privet’s cause better by staying with him. He had the natural instinct good leaders have for moles who have qualities which may prove useful.

Clouds had begun to mount in the sky, and a late afternoon chill came to the air, as often happens in October. The days were drawing in...

“The decision’s made, then,” said Thorne forcefully, bringing to an end further discussion about the slain patrol. “We’ll attack the positions to the south-west on which we have had our eyes for a long time. We’ll do it in a limited way, and then seek to parley with Squilver. I prefer to persuade him to make Quail stance down, than to take Quail himself by force – it will be easier to contain things afterwards if we take power quietly.”

“Quail will
never
go quietly,” said Chervil darkly, glancing at Rolt who shrugged unhappily and nodded his agreement.

“He would rather die,” said Rolt.

“He will die, then,” said Thorne grimly. “Meanwhile, tonight he will get a clear message that we mean business, and not before time. Now, we have moles to brief and plans to implement.”

Rolt turned to leave, Chervil also, feeling perhaps that military matters were best left to Thorne, but the Brother Commander suggested they stay some moments more.

“It’s not one of my senior commanders I’m going to speak to first, as a matter of fact, nor even the moles who will be mounting the night’s attack. No, it’s a mole we all have an interest in, and perhaps the time is right for him to succeed in a task at which so many have failed.”

He summoned Rees, he who claimed to have been healed by Privet.

“Sir? They said you wanted to see me.”

Rees peered round at Chervil and Rolt, his poor sight making him seem over-inquisitive. But for all that he had a strong look about him, and a solid stance.

“Aye, mole, we do,” said Thorne. “You’ve wanted a task, and in the past you’ve expressed a willingness to undertake a dangerous one.”

“Aye, sir! But as you see, I’m past my fighting days, though I’m not a fool and could give a good account of myself if I chose my own ground, like a tunnel or chamber where I knew nomole was behind me. So just give the order and if it does not offend against the Stone —”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” said Thorne sharply. Give a mole a mite of worm and he’ll take the whole lot!

“Yes, sir,” said Rees, chastened.

“I want you to slip away from Leamington with the next pilgrims that come by.”

“Sir?” said Rees, astonished.

“Aye, that’s what I said. Become a pilgrim mole, just as you’ve wanted to. But a pilgrim with a task. I want you to find Privet, if you can.”

“The whole of moledom’s been looking for her, sir.”

“The whole of moledom does not know what she looks like. You do.”

“I never actually saw her clearly, sir, for my eyes had been injured and what sight I have now returned only after she had gone. I just heard her voice, but I’d know that anywhere. At the end of my time with her and her two friends I did succeed in glimpsing her dimly. She seemed not to be a big mole.”