Duncton Rising (37 page)

“Courage?” he whispered, staring at her paw, and not moving his own away as he might have done.

“To dare to listen with an open heart. To allow yourself to feel. To stay and hear what you did not wish to hear. You made me a promise,” she continued with sudden fervour, “and I shall make one to you, for I feel the Stone’s Silence is in our meeting here this dawn and what we have said is not for other moles. I shall speak of this meeting to nomole, neither traditional Stone follower, nor Newborn, not ever, unless you give me permission to.”

They stared at each other in silence, each surprised at this most intimate and unexpected of contracts, yet feeling too that it had somehow been intended.

“Well, then, I must go,” she said, “and leave you to what is left of the dawn. They say we shall be in Caer Caradoc in a few days.”

“Tomorrow, if the weather stays as fine as this. By dusk today we should
see
it.”

“I am sorry that your father is ill. Chervil,” she said. She meant sorry for him, not for Thripp whom she did not know, nor had any reason to feel other than hatred for, considering all he had done. Except that hatred was not part of Privet’s nature now, if it ever had been. They were silent a few moments more, as if neither wanted to leave the other for fear of the lives, and stresses, they must turn back to.

“He is ill because he feels he has failed,” said Chervil at last, “and I think he wishes me to take his place. But I am... uncertain.”

There, it was said, what he had really been thinking of as dawn came, and as they approached the threshold of Caer Caradoc, where lives would for ever be changed. For Chevil now, between him and Privet, a portal had opened that could not again be closed.

“This is how the Stone wished it,” she said to herself in wonder. Yet their dialogue was not quite done.

“The mole you loved,” he said impulsively, “what was his name?”

“If you had known that you might not have promised that I would be safe! But... his name was Rooster. Rooster of Charnel Clough.”

For a moment Chervil literally swayed, quite incredulous; then suddenly, delightfully, and as unexpectedly, he laughed, the spontaneous laughter of a real mole.

“Well! Of course! I should have known!” he said. “And that’s something I will not mention to another mole, least of all the Elder Senior Brother Thripp of Blagrove Slide! Rooster!”

Privet knew that somehow she had broken through to him, or, more accurately, she had touched some good quality in him that had allowed her to.

He opened his mouth to ask another question, and she knew in advance what it would be. She had been asked it before, many times it seemed, and each time she felt she was coming closer to an answer.

“What is a Master of the Delve, Librarian Privet? It is something that for all their learning the most scholarly of Newborn moles seem unable to explain. Even my father —”

She shook her head, and looked in the direction from which sounds of mole came.

“It would take too long, mole, to tell you now. Ask me again one day and I shall tell you.”

“Is that a promise too?”

She smiled her yes, feeling suddenly that if indeed this mole, stiff as he was, trained in narrow ways as he had been, was to take on the task that Thripp had set himself, moledom could do worse. His mind was still open, still curious. Perhaps, after all, the Stone was wiser than anymole could have guessed. She did not want to go but knew she must. There were sounds of movement nearby, and the growl of guards’ voices, and already the face of the Newborn was returning to Senior Brother Chervil.

“Is your father really so ill that he will not live?” she said. “Or is it...?”

“In the mind?” he whispered, guessing at her thought in his turn. He shook his head. “The reports say it looks like wasting murrain,” he whispered. “Few of the Senior Brothers know it because he has stayed hidden away, and why I have told you I do not know. This has been the strangest conversation of my life. But... yes, he is ill, and it may be of the mind for all I know. Never was there so sane a mole as he, nor one that suffered so for others.”

“Perhaps too sane?” She said. “Too logical? Too much a genius, as I have heard him described?”

He permitted himself one last smile and as she turned to go he called after her, “Perhaps he is!”

“Well?” said Whillan for the hundredth time, “and what did you talk about, what did he say?”

The others had tried, especially Weeth, who prided himself on being able to extract rather more than most moles wished to give away, until finally they had deputed Whillan to the task, feeling that perhaps to her adopted son she might reveal at least a fragment of her conversation with Chervil. What made it worse, or more frustrating, was that the more they asked, the more she looked benign and pleased with herself, not like a mole nearing Caer Caradoc at all.

“No, my dear, I shall say nothing and my only regret is that Weeth saw me talking to him. Otherwise you would not have badgered me with questions as you have.”

“But —”

“No!”

So there was nothing said, however much there was to say. She had promised Chervil, and found a comfort in the fact. A comfort, and a stimulus to thought as well, in the outrage, frustration, anger, and final silence her reticence on the subject provoked.

“You look as if you’re
thinking
something,” said Whillan with exasperation.

“I was, my dear. I was thinking that never in my life until this moment had I appreciated how effective being silent is. It is remarkable what it does to moles when one amongst them will not respond; or rather, I should more accurately say, responds with silence. I shall think about that more as we trek on our weary way.”

She was thinking of it still as dusk advanced, and they climbed westward over a ridge and saw, rising before them, the dark, enshadowed south-eastern face of Caer Caradoc: steep, high, once a holy place but now the stronghold of the Newborn sect. They went no further, but were informed that they had nearly reached Bowdler and would stay the night in communal tunnels which served Caradoc and Bowdler, and all ways north and south. Excited as they were, and apprehensive too, they slept the sleep of moles who want to forget the past for a time, and have no wish to ponder the future.

The following day they arose to the grey light of a dull dawn which cast itself across the steep face of Caer Caradoc, whose lower slopes bore patches of dead brown heather, and whose topmost part was edged by a scar of grey rock which angled very slightly up towards its northern end to form the famous Stones of Caradoc.

They journeyed but a short distance further before they dropped down into an extensive network of communal tunnels which Maple immediately saw was part of a defensive system designed to ensure that nomole could easily gain access to Caer Caradoc itself without making his presence known to watcher moles. There was indeed a military air to the place, and much movement of individuals and groups of moles, so that their arrival seemed but one of several, and of no great consequence.

Perhaps moles might have taken more heed of them had Chervil been amongst them, but once more he was nowhere to be seen and must have gone on ahead of them earlier that day, or even the night before. Brother Inquisitor Slane was again in charge, and the Duncton moles and Weeth felt themselves closely watched – being forced to pause together here, eat there, groom somewhere else, and then wait. Other moles unknown to them went back and forth, some, like themselves, travel-stained and weary, possibly delegates from other systems; others seemed more like watchers, or journeymoles bearing news and information. Certainly there was an air of movement and interchange, a sense of preparation and planning towards an imminent event in which moles such as themselves had but a small part to play, and must know their place.

Apprehensive though they were they felt a natural relief to have arrived, and a concomitant frustration when they found they were made to wait for a day and then a night and then into another day again, with no information about what was happening, or news of when they might go up to Caer Caradoc itself. All that was clear was that a great deal was going on about them, and not all of it to the Newborns’ liking, and that for the time being they must stay where they were.

Snyde was no use to anymole, for though he was allowed the privilege of going off and meeting Senior Brothers, when he came back he was unwilling to report much of what he had heard beyond the fact that “matters are complex” and “it is right that certain rebellious elements are taken and incarcerated until the end of the Convocation lest they disrupt things”.

Whillan himself avoided conversations with Snyde so far as he could, having come to detest the little mole since Ludlow; Maple too, who perhaps guessed something of what had happened, barely concealed his contempt. It was left to Weeth to find out what he could, but even he was unable to get information, and he reported that the Newborns who had formerly talked to him willingly enough had either been moved on, or were suddenly unwilling to say anything at all.

“Something serious is apaw, that’s all I know.”

As the hours passed Maple grew increasingly uneasy, and growled that he did not like things one little bit, and that they had made themselves defenceless and vulnerable, and with hindsight should not have allowed themselves to be trapped in tunnels that did not even seem to have a name.

“The sooner we’re up on top amongst other delegates to this supposed Convocation the happier I shall be,” he said.

The hours passed by, and the sense of events continuing without them increased until, sometime near dusk of the second day, a Newborn guard they had not seen before appeared. It was at a time when Snyde was out of the chamber.

“Sister Privet,” he called out from the portal, “will you come with me, please?”

“What for?” said Maple protectively.

“Talks about talks,” said the Newborn brother in a reasonable and reassuring way.

“I’ll come along with her then,” said Maple suspiciously.

The Newborn nodded as if to say yes, and then said, “I quite understand your concern, but it might be more politic if the mole Weeth accompanied her. Which one is he?”

Weeth raised a paw in an exaggerated way. “That’s me,” he said.

“It’s all right, Maple,” said Privet. “If the Stone does not protect me I am sure Weeth will.” Then addressing the brother she asked, “How long will we be gone?”

“As long as it takes,” he replied, moving to one side to let her and Weeth pass by before Maple could raise any further objection.

“But Privet...” called Maple after her.

She turned and gazed at him, and then at Whillan, and said, “I shall come to no harm and nor shall you. The Stone is with us all in this.”

Then Privet was gone, and Weeth after her, and Maple could only look at Whillan and say, “You know what that sounded like?”

“It sounded like goodbye. But it also sounded as if Privet
knew
she was safe to go with the mole.”

“Which can only mean that Chervil made some kind of promise to her which she could not reveal. I
hope
it means that, because if it doesn’t then when Snyde shows his pointed little snout in here again I shall...”

Whillan grinned and said, “If you don’t, Maple, I shall do it for you!”

Maple’s fears were more than justified. Only a short while after their two friends had been so quietly, and so expertly, separated from them, four large Newborns appeared in their chamber. For one grim moment Maple and Whillan thought their time had come, and squared up to the sudden threat, ready to make a final stance against what seemed their murderers. But they lowered their paws and felt rather silly when one of the guards simply said, “Time is short and it is better that you come with us now.”

Naturally they protested, asking where Privet was, and Weeth, but the best they could get – and it was plain they were powerless to get more – was the assurance that the Deputy Master Snyde was waiting for them up on Caer Caradoc, and there all would be explained.

“Divide and rule, divide and rule!” growled Maple, going with the guards with great reluctance. “That’s what they’re doing! I should have known better.”