Duncton Stone (30 page)

“This is dangerous, Weeth, and we must not allow ourselves to be moved out of reach of this portal. Meanwhile, let us remember why we came and talk to some moles and find where their sympathies really lie.”

It was hard, hot work in such a milling, excitable crowd, especially one in the heart of a Newborn system awaiting an event, and Maple, formidable as he looked, made little headway. But Weeth, well used to Newborns and practised in subterfuge, found two moles together who, he whispered to Maple, were probably not the devotees they claimed.

“Sure?”

“Sure-ish,” said Weeth. “They’re not enjoying themselves; their claim to be Newborn was a little too eager.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“You’ll scare them!” said Weeth, and he meant it.

Maple pushed past him, looked over the two moles, and fixed them with a stare.

“Hello, Brothers,” he said menacingly.

They stole a hurried glance at each other and mumbled a greeting in return. They looked a little frightened, and they were sweating a lot. They seemed jumpy, as moles all around sang and jostled, and complained that it was about time something happened. The noise level in the chamber had risen and when Maple made up his mind to risk confronting them directly he had to lean close and raise his voice to be heard.

“Listen, you two,” he said, “and listen well, for your lives and mine may depend on it...”

“Maple!” hissed Weeth in his ear.

Maple ignored him: “I am a mole of Duncton Wood and a follower of the Stone. There’s going to be trouble here and danger, so stay close by me.”

“We’re followers too,” they said with relief.

“Maple!” whispered Weeth urgently.

“In a moment,” said Maple over his shoulder, “Go on.”

“We only came because...”

The crowd was almost a crush now and the mole’s next words could not be heard.

“Stay close by me, whatever else you do!” ordered Maple, turning round with some difficulty to hear what Weeth had to say.

But Weeth had gone, and not a hair of him was visible in the crowd.

“Weeth?” growled Maple, annoyed, as he stanced up as high as he could to see where his companion had got to, and why he had disobeyed instructions. What was he doing?

Maple’s two new comrades at least were doing as he said and sticking close, but if they wished to say their piece there was no more time. The singing moles on the dais fell silent, the hidden guards came out in force and as a self-confident-looking brother appeared before them, an expectant hush fell.

“That’s Brother Squilver,” a mole nearby told another, and an appreciative chanting of his name went up. Squilver was a tough-looking mole with a humourless expression, and dead eyes that scanned the crowd menacingly.

“Where’s the sinners, sir?” cried out somemole up front.

“Aye, that’s what I’d like to know, Brothers,” roared out Squilver powerfully, glancing round the edge of the chamber and giving what was surely a signal to the guards at the portals, “that is
indeed
what I’d like to know.” Maple looked behind him at the portal he had tried so hard to stay near and saw issuing forth from it more guards, and then, as his eyes travelled round the chamber, he saw others gathering at each portal.

“This is a massing... aye, that’s what
this
is,” said Maple to himself grimly. “
Where’s Weeth
?”

The Newborns’ intention was now increasingly plain, and the crowd began to look about with growing confusion and concern as from the left side of the chamber and that part of the rear furthest from Maple the guards began an ominous, deep-throated chant, quite horrible to hear. It had no words that made sense, but was a guttural noise accompanied by the rhythmic stamp of paws on the ground as very slowly but irresistibly they began to advance upon the crowd of moles.

Suddenly, but only for a few moments, the guards stopped and fell silent, in which time Brother Squilver roared out again, “There’s traitors among you – spies and reprobates – and we will not have it. Let those among you who are untainted, and free of the snake of doubt point the talon of guilt at the culprits and punish them here and now...”

His voice was drowned out by the guards’ resumption of their stamping chant, accompanying it now with an action which Maple had never seen or heard of before: as the guards advanced they reared up alternately, talon-thrusting violently into the space ahead of them; if a mole got in the way, it was just too bad. Some did, and fell injured, which made the others fight all the harder to get away, and the screams of the first combined with the flailing paws of the second tipped the mass of moles into panic. Over the desperate hubbub of cries, shouts and death-screams the deep and ominous chant continued inexorably.

The crowd pushed and swayed and fought this way and that, while the guards advanced on only two fronts, leaving Maple stanced in a quieter part protecting himself from the worst crush by dint of keeping his two recruits close by, paws and shoulders set firmly. And still he looked for Weeth, whilst kenning the disposition of guards and observing that their advance had ceased now that its objective of causing panic had been achieved. Maple could see all too clearly what its effect was: that the crowd – the massing – was simply killing itself as mole crushed into mole, the weak unable to breathe, the strong climbing over them to get air, and all so far as they were able striking out at any nearby. But Weeth...

“Mole!” The voice was a deep guttural roar: “MOLE!”

Maple turned, the crowd parted, and there was Weeth, some way towards the centre of the chamber; looming over him was a huge, dark, rough-furred mole whom Maple recognized, but could not place. Around him, solid and determined, were others maintaining their position in safety as Maple had been with his two new-found friends. Even as Weeth grinned apologetically, and shrugged, the crowd began to close in again.

Maple’s response was instinctive and immediate, as he realized that if three were stronger than one in such a panicking mass and perilous situation, eight or nine would be stronger still than three: he ordered the two with him to follow with all their strength and began to push through towards Weeth. As Weeth disappeared behind a struggling crowd Maple had the satisfaction of seeing that the great mole with him, and his companions, had also begun to press forward to make contact.

Only as Maple pushed, and heaved, and struggled to keep his paws on the ground did it dawn on him who the moles with Weeth were; the name of the big one, his name was... Ystwelyn, the mole they had first seen at Caradoc! That’s who he was! Maple shouted this out to himself, heaving and thrusting moles out of the way for the final short distance until he found himself snout to snout with Ystwelyn who had been doing the same thing; Weeth emerged gasping from the mass of paws beneath.

“Sorry about that,” he panted, digging some poor mole adjacent to them in the ribs to be rid of him, “but I spied Ystwelyn here in the crowd and since we were looking for like-minded moles —”

“SILENCE!” roared Maple powerfully, glowering around. Weeth thought at first this command was directed at himself. It had but little effect on others, though a few moles nearby stilled and turned to see whatmole dared cry out so in such a situation.

“Heave me up, lads!” commanded Maple to the two so-far anonymous moles who had valiantly followed him. “Aye, get me aloft so we can get some order in here.”

“Come on!” Ystwelyn said to his followers, putting a huge scarred paw under Maple’s belly. “Do as he says!”

Suddenly Maple was raised above the crowd and precarious though his position felt – for his companions had not only to hold him up but keep themselves steady too – his second cry of “SILENCE!” had more effect.

“Silence and be still! You’re killing yourselves! Order there. Be still...”

A sudden wave of quietness and calm went over the crowd, rippling out from the still centre where Maple was, and spread by Weeth, Ystwelyn and the others, themselves calling for silence calmly, and shushing moles nearby.

Maple knew that he had but moments to act before the Newborn guards gathered their senses and Squilver, whom he could see now was still lurking at the portal beyond the dais, protected by guards, came forward to give orders and regain the initiative. It was a moment in which a lesser mole might have hesitated, or a more foolhardy one wasted the opportunity by saying the wrong things. But for Maple it was a moment of decision and commitment, and if moledom’s movement to resist the Newborns can be said to have found order and direction at a particular time, a movement that might transform secret criticisms and unstated outrage into an organized spirit of open revolt and action, that time was now.

“If you’re looking for a culprit, moles, you see one here! Aye, a mole who resists the Newborn ways, and who scents evil and dark doings in this chamber today! I’m a follower of the Stone!”

“What’s your name, mole?” cried out one of those who had fallen silent.

“Maple of Duncton Wood.”

The hush deepened into a profound silence at mention of that famous place from which so many great and worthy moles had come. Duncton, home of liberty and moles of virtue. If they had dreamed of a Duncton warrior mole, then this mole matched their dreams: large, powerful, confident and commanding.

“I’ll not be confined a moment longer in this vile chamber!” cried out Maple, “and I’ll warrant there’s many a mole here who agrees with me. Therefore any followers who are here today – or “reprobates” as the Newborns call us – stance with me now, and let’s fight our way out. Follow me!”

There was a great roar of approval, though a few seemed, by their fearful looks, to doubt the wisdom of this defiance. Ystwelyn and the others let Maple down and with a raised paw he pointed to the portals at the rear of the chamber and cried out boldly, “Follow us!”

With Ystwelyn at his right flank and Weeth to his left, and the others roaring and shouting close behind, Maple led the moles against the guards at the back. The size of the crowd, which had been the cause of all the danger earlier, now proved an obstruction to the Newborn reinforcements reaching the rear, while a raging Squilver, seeing his career crumbling before his eyes, screamed at the other guards to go and help.

Cut off from their colleagues, the rear guards had to face Maple and the others alone, and soon broke down before the assault, so that after only a few moments of struggle, they were bloodily overrun. Maple crashed his way between them and led the rebels through the portal and
Up
to the surface. Then, making sure that all who wished to escape were helped out of the tunnels, he led them rapidly off to the south-west to a wood where they were able to rest and recuperate.

Here for the first time they had an opportunity to look at each other – and a motley lot they were, all shapes and sizes, some strong in body, a few strong only in spirit, all puffing and panting and with the fire of resistance in their eyes.

“Now listen,” said Maple, “except for Weeth here, who is a trusted companion and a dependable mole, you don’t know me any better than I know you. Except that is for Ystwelyn of Siabod here and, if my memory serves, Arvon, who’s something of a route-finder, who I met in Caradoc, and later.”

The two Siabod moles nodded their acknowledgement and muttered their greetings to one and all before turning their attention back to Maple.

“If you heard what I said down in that Newborn chamber of death you’ll know what I’m about: resistance and restoration. Resistance to the Newborn ways of repression and punishment of moles that disagree with them; restoration of the liberties of thought, of travel, of worship which our ancestors fought for a century ago when the Word threatened them.”

“Hear, hear!” cried out somemole at the back of the group.

“This is not the time or place for long speeches, but I’m not going a step further without making as plain as I can what’s likely to come our way in the moleweeks and months ahead. Hardship, that’s for sure. Tiredness, that’s sure too. Doubt and uncertainty, they’ll be our companions, and along with them will be fear and even pain. No, it won’t be easy, the Newborns are well entrenched in all the major systems, and if my intelligence is right, by now all effective opposition will have been suppressed. This spring they’re beginning what they call crusades
out
of the main systems, including this one, I dare say.

“So if you follow me it’ll be hard going. And it will be harder because I’ll make it so. It’s no good fighting for liberty if we don’t uphold the rights of others in all we do – and that includes the rights of Newborns.”

There was a muttering when he said this which quietened when Ystwelyn growled, “Hear the Duncton mole out.”

“Aye, the Newborns have rights as have all moles, just so long as what they do doesn’t infringe on the liberty of others. I’ll not have moles fight alongflank me who are in it for revenge, however justified it may be, or for power over others, however attractive that might seem. I’m a Duncton mole and I’ll fight for the freedoms I mentioned because that’s the way I was raised. But never let me see a mole in my command raise a talon to another who’s weaker, or defeated, or simply disagrees. But fight honestly and honourably, and I’ll stance by you to the bitter end.”

“Well said, mole, for that’s the old Siabod way as well!” cried out Ystwelyn. “Though it’s easier said than done.”

“I’ve made plain the way I feel so there’s no doubt in your minds what we’re about,” Maple continued. “If you agree with me then come with me today and begin a war which we
will
win, and win justly, however small our force may seem now, for the Stone will have it no other way!”

There was a cheer at this, and a good deal of talk, at the end of which Maple said, “We’ll bide our time for proper introductions and agreement about whatmole does what.”

“We’ll obey your command for now, Maple, won’t we moles?” cried out Ystwelyn, with Arvon vigorously nodding his agreement.

There was a murmur of general assent.

“Well then,” said Maple decisively, “is there a mole here knows the routes out of Cannock well enough to guide us to a place we can hide nearby for a day or two? There may be others who’ll want to join our cause, or some who failed to get out of that chamber when we did.” Two moles called Warren and Pottle came forward and after a quick conference offered to lead the party to a place called Shoal Hill, a little to the south.