Duncton Wood (27 page)

It had been the eastsiders who had first labeled whatever it was up in the Ancient System the Stone Mole. Mekkins told Rebecca that story and thrilled to see the pleasure it gave her to have her belief that Bracken was still alive confirmed. He was puzzled that she should be so concerned about a mole she had never met, but with Rebecca, well, she was concerned about so many things so enthusiastically that one more shouldn’t be a surprise. And she had explained the impact Hulver’s conversation had had on her.

After that, he brought her the “news” of the Stone Mole as it came along, and there was plenty of it. Nothing highlighted the system’s decline in morale under Mandrake’s thrall so well as everymole’s willingness to believe that anything out of the ordinary that happened in the system was the Stone Mole’s doing. It was as if the whole system were looking for a savior, if only a fictional one, to rid them of Mandrake and his henchmoles. If a wind-broken branch was found at the foot of a tree, it had been done by the Stone Mole; if a badger left his trail in moist soil down near the marsh, the Stone Mole had passed that Way; if weasels had a fight and left a mess on the ground, why, of course, the Stone Mole did it!

Mekkins and Rebecca laughed together at these stories, for even Rebecca, eager as she was to have her hopes confirmed, could not believe them all when a mole as skeptical as Mekkins was her mentor.,

But even Mekkins was surprised at something that happened just a few moledays before the arrival of Rue and provided almost the perfect preface of violence to it. One night, over on the westside adjacent to the pastures, there were screechings and unearthly growlings as two creatures locked together in combat late at night. The woodland silence was shattered by it, and many moles trembled to hear the fatal sounds carrying down into their burrows.

Everything finally fell silent as dawn broke, and some brave westsider, whose burrows lay nearby, crept out to find, hanging limp from the pasture fence in the cold, dull light of very early morning, a massive owl, savaged to death. One wing was entangled in the barbed wire of the fence, the body tilting from it down onto the ground, its talons hooked and dead. One eye was staring open, its yellow glare overtaken by a lifeless, opaque haze; the stomach and neck were bloody with gore, while the only movement was in the soft downy feathers of its inner legs when the morning breeze stirred them where they were not stiff with dried blood.

Burrhead was summoned, and he immediately sent henchmoles to get Mandrake and Rune, for a dead owl is a rare sight for a mole and something the elders should see. And the word quickly got about that the Stone Mole had killed an owl!

The only mole not visibly shaken by the sight was Mandrake himself – even Rune seemed put out by it, looking at the body sideways and unwilling to get too close to it. Mandrake doubted whether the owl had been killed by mole at all – the descriptions of the unearthly growling that had been heard, presumably sounds made by the mole’s successful adversary, sounded very like a wild farm cat to him. But then, he thought, looking contemptuously around at the miserable Duncton moles gathered there, he was forgetting that this lot had never seen a farm, let alone a farm cat. They had, never even been out of their own system.

But he didn’t say anything – he had his own strategy for dealing with the Stone Mole rumor and it hinged on fostering the system’s fear and awe of the Stone Mole until he felt the time was right to make an excursion to the Ancient System and kill it. Or rather, find some scapegoat mole and kill him in privacy in such a way as to impress on these miserable moles that only one mole was in charge in Duncton Wood and that was himself. Mandrake was beginning to get heartily sick of the Stone Mole rumor and was looking forward to putting into effect his simple plan to scotch it at one fell blow.

Meanwhile, his sense of bloody drama had not left him. As the rest of the moles hemmed and hawed at the sight of the owl, and Rune looked at it in his sneaking way. Mandrake went up to it and plunged his right paw, talons outstretched, into the owl’s torn breast and smeared the blood over his face fur. Then, turning on the moles, he looked at each of them in turn and laughed. They looked shocked and frightened at his actions, as if believing that in some way he would now be able to inflict the owl curse on them. Then he licked his talons with relish and, with a mighty blow, knocked the owl’s wing in such a way that the body fell onto the ground with a thump.

“Any mole here like a taste of owl as well?” he taunted them. “Good for the health, it is,” he mocked.

The moles slunk away, excitement over, aware once again of Mandrake’s brutish power. And even Rune, who had strategies within strategies of his own for dealing with the Stone Mole and Mandrake together, could not help wondering, as he looked at Mandrake exulting in the owl’s gore, whether this bestial mole might not kill them all before he had a chance to take power for himself.

News of this incident was soon all over the system, and Mekkins regretted that he had not been near enough to witness it. So the Stone Mole was an owl-killer as well now! By the time he got near where the owl had died, it had long since been taken by some predator and only feathers and dried blood on the grass remained. The story impressed him, and it impressed Rebecca, too, elevating the already overimaginative idea of Bracken she had in her into almost heroic status.

Against this background, the sudden arrival of Rue on the scene caused a sensation, and when Mekkins told Rebecca of it, she determined to get to Barrow Vale before Mandrake and Rune did and talk for herself to the mole who claimed to have gotten to within a few mole-feet of the Stone Mole. The idea of the journey appealed to her newfound restlessness for mating and gave her something concrete to do. She would be careful, she promised Mekkins, who was against her going, but she
would
go.

Rebecca reached Barrow Vale in safety, but she never got to Rue in time. For just as she entered among the wider Barrow Vale tunnels, a chilling voice called out to her from the shadows of a side tunnel. “Rebecca!” it said. “Now this is a surprise, it really is. You in Barrow Vale of all moles, come to gossip away with the best of them? Well, well.”

Rune came out of the dark and stood boldly in front of her, moving slowly toward her as he spoke each word and forcing her back toward the side tunnel. Rune always seemed to be where he could inflict most evil, and he began to weave his black spell on Rebecca now. The moment he saw her so fortuitously he could scent she was ready for mating. Now, ever bold, ever opportunistic, he began resolutely to impose his sensual maleness on her. Rebecca hated him, but her body did not. She could have run, she could have raised her talons, she could have done a thousand things to get away. But instead, her snout fell low and her body tensed as her eyes were held by his bold gaze and she retreated before him.

“Well, now, it must be a long time since we met, yes... back in the spring, wasn’t it, when you were hardly more than a pup... but one who’s grown into an adult, a female, ripe with life, from what I’ve heard...”

She hated his words, she hated his stare that outstared hers, she hated the secret knowledge he seemed to have that he was going to take her then and there whatever she wanted, his slinky body bold and sure within hers, she hated him... and yet her breathing grew shallow with the excitement of it, and her eyes grew dim with the darkness of his bigger body coming closer and closer to her. Perhaps after all this was all mating was: just sensual darkness. She could wonder only vaguely where the light in the mating excitement was, where the joy she had sensed would be found.

Rune stopped talking and moved up to her, sniffling at her from snout to tail and then back to snout again. The sound of other moles in the main Barrow Vale tunnels nearby seemed to recede and grow distant, and though she wanted to move and run, her body also wanted to drown in his darkness as Rebecca relaxed before his power to do what no other moles she had met dared do, which was to master her. She did not want to feel the moment of his touch but craved his talons in her fur and shuddered and gasped when the first touch came, confident and assured, upon her. She stood tense and bound by instinctive desire, her haunches shivering very slightly and her mating scent growing moister and stronger as he circled about closer and closer with his sensual strength binding her.

She was ready for him, almost thrusting her haunches at him, and he could take her just when he wanted, just as he wanted...

“Rune! Rune, sir!” The henchmole’s voice carried down the tunnel toward him and then the sound of the henchmole running down to them, “Rune, sir! Mandrake wants you.”

The henchmole stopped some way from Rune before he could see what female he was with, for the salty, mating scent hung in the air and carried with it the threat that Rune might attack to kill for being disturbed. In the spring a mole was more careful, but September matings were a rarer thing. The henchmole backed slowly away, repeating “It’s Mandrake, sir, he’s got a mole he wants you to see and listen to. He’s got Rue from the slopes.”

Rune turned to look at him, the voice growing louder in his ears as he pulled himself back from the encirclement of Rebecca to the demands of Mandrake. He heard Rebecca’s breathing change and saw her tense and move away very slightly, and he saw that his moment had gone, for the time being. I’ll have you yet, he promised himself, looking at her beautiful coat and now only half-open haunches. I’ll take you any way I want. With that, and without a word to her, he left, following the henchmole to go to Mandrake and this tiresome mole from the slopes.

For a long time after he had gone, Rebecca stayed where he had left her, feeling enshadowed and grimy. The talon touch that had excited her so much moments before now hung heavy on her. She could smell his scent in the air where he had left it, and it seemed dry and cold, making her shiver with disgust.

She had no more desire to stay in Barrow Vale, even though she had only just arrived. If Mandrake and Rune had got hold of Rue, she would have little chance of talking to her without Mandrake finding out she was there and causing trouble. And she was so tired of that from him. She wondered why something so simple as mating seemed to be so complicated.

Eventually, it was the possibility that Rune might come back and find her there, or that he would tell Mandrake that she was in Barrow Vale, that made Rebecca leave. But she had no desire to return to her tunnels. Instead, she circled her way through Barrow Vale in the direction opposite that in which Rune had gone with the henchmole, keeping to the shadows and avoiding conversation with other moles until she found herself leaving by an entrance that led toward the westside.

Well! She had heard so much about it and never dared to go there. Now was her chance! She stayed on the surface for only a short time, found what smelled like a communal tunnel, and shook the shadows of Rune and Barrow Vale from her fur as she headed off on the longest journey she had begun since going down to the Marsh End and meeting Rose the Healer.

If the thought had crossed Rue’s mind, as she rushed in a panic down to Barrow Vale, that she would eventually be summoned into the elder burrow to tell her story to Mandrake, she might have thought twice about heading down there in the first place. She was terrified of him and had never forgotten his threat to kill her if she ever tried to return to her tunnels again.

But on her third day in Barrow Vale, a henchmole ambled up to her, pushed away the moles who were gathered around her, and said, “Yer ter jump to it and come wiv me dahn to the Elder Burrer: Mandrake wants to talk to yer.” She stared at him in terror and could not move a muscle. “Come on then, look sharp. And for Stone’s sake clean yerself up a bit, because although Mandrake won’t notice. Rune’s goin’ to be there and ‘e will.”

The henchmole, a roly-poly bully of a southern west-sider, almost had to drag her along to get her there, and when finally he shoved her into the presence of Mandrake and Rune, cuffing and cursing as he did, she felt certain she was going to be killed on the spot. Her paws trembled and she did not dare at first look up at the looming presence above her. When she finally did, it seemed that Mandrake’s eyes were black holes deep in his face.

“So this is the female who claims to have heard mole noises coming from the Ancient System,” said Rune to Mandrake in a voice so accusatory that it made it sound as if Rue had set out to tell lies and deliberately deceive Mandrake himself.

Mandrake looked full on her and she quailed before his gaze, everything suddenly cast for her into slow motion as he shifted his massive weight from one side to the other and scratched the side of his face with the biggest talon she had ever seen.

“Mmm...,” he growled. “What’s your name, girl?”

“R-Rue,” she faltered.

“Rue.” He said the name as if it were the name of a mole long lost in the pit of despair. “Rue. Mmm... you used to live over by...” He didn’t finish the sentence, and to fill the gap she nodded her head eagerly, feeling an inclination to say anything to save herself from the death that she felt certain was about to come her way. Something like “It really doesn’t matter that you forced me out of my tunnels, I don’t mind, I’m only an insignificant little mole and you can do what you like to me only please don’t...” As it was, she didn’t need to say anything,” since she looked as abject and pathetic as she felt.’

“I have heard of your story and I’m not wasting time hearing it again here,” said Mandrake. “You will take us to your tunnels and show us where you heard what you claim to have heard.”

“Yes, sir,” whispered Rue.

Rune suddenly poked his snout forward until it was only inches from hers, and she felt the power of his contempt on her.

‘’
Did
you hear noises, or did you make it up to draw attention to your miserable little self?” he asked.

Rue started to whimper at this. She was so frightened and cowered back, stuttering out that “n-n-no mole could tell a lie in the Elder Burrow.” The thought had not occurred to Rune, who would tell a lie in front of the Stone itself if need be, but what did occur to them was that Rue was too grubby and unintelligent to make up such a bold lie.