Duncton Rising (69 page)

“Fieldfare alive!” cried the watcher, deserting his post, and rushing about hither and thither, calling out for Spurling, for anymole to come and see because it was a blessing it was, a wonder, a Longest Night miracle.

“Fieldfare’s alive and safe and well?” cried out another, and moles came running, and shouting, and laughing, and the celebrations for Longest Night began.

Although Hamble’s departure from Privet after Chater’s death had been impulsive, and a response to her persuasions that he might find a new task and a new direction in distant Duncton Wood, as the day had worn on he had felt increasingly right about what he was doing.

The years of journeying and struggle had begun to wear him down, and he had reached a point where he felt there was no more he could usefully do for Rooster. He had not lost one bit of his faith that Rooster was a great mole, a Master of the Delve, but he had come at last to the conclusion that he had lost his way – his friends could help him no more.

He knew the depth of Rooster’s suffering, and felt it now all the more for having, so briefly, met Privet again. For on her face was a look of growing peace and self-discovery, and in her voice an acceptance of life and changing circumstance that so far was not Rooster’s.

“I can’t bear his burden for him, and do him no favours trying to,” said Hamble to himself as he crossed the moist fields of pasture and ploughed land that lie eastward of Caer Caradoc.

Occasionally he turned back and looked at the great hill receding, his discomfort and guilt at not being at Rooster’s right paw to help giving way to unexpected feelings of relief to be free from it all. At liberty to go where he liked at what pace he chose; at liberty to talk to moles if he felt inclined or to nomole at all if that’s how the mood took him.

But that was in the future – for now he was in Newborn territory and must watch where he went, and avoid the obvious routes where patrols might be. Of those, and how to evade them, he had learnt much in recent moleyears – indeed there were few moles as experienced as he in predicting the Newborns’ tactics and strategies.

“Though they did catch us on our approach to Caer Caradoc,” he admitted to himself ruefully. He frowned and paused, thinking for the briefest of moments that if Rooster was in trouble he would need a friend. And there was only him who understood, who knew the depth of confusion and suffering in the Delver’s mind.

“Only me? No, no, there’s Privet as well. She said she would continue to watch over him, and by the Stone I believe she’ll do a better job than me!”

Then, content to let others continue with a task he had begun long ago but now left behind, Hamble surveyed the land ahead and chose a route which looked safe, and would put as much distance as possible between him and Caer Caradoc in the shortest space of time.

Next day, long before the sky dulled towards dusk, Hamble felt a tiredness coming upon him such as he could not remember feeling so heavily before. His limbs could hardly move his paws, his mind began to wander and his eyes closed towards sleep even as he moved along. This was no physical tiredness, but rather the fatigue of one who has finally given up a struggle he has continued far too long.

I’d better find a secure place before I drop down where I am,” said Hamble to himself, as he yawned, and shook his head and rubbed his eyes to keep awake. He wandered on a little more, turned from the path he had found towards a small stand of ash trees at the end of a hedge line, almost under some barbed wire and the remnants of a fallen fence, checked that there were no signs of moles or other tracks, and delved himself a temporary burrow deep enough that he could sleep underground and safe, but for his snout which prudently poked up into the winter air.

“This’ll do,” he sighed contentedly, snuggling down and back, “nomole will find me here. Today brings the first Longest Night of my life that I’ll be all alone... yes, this’ll do...”

And great Hamble, good dependable Hamble, old friend of Privet and Rooster, fell asleep, just as the afternoon darkened towards Longest Night, and safely beyond the vales across which he had come, the light on Caer Caradoc’s eastern face began to fade.

Chapter Thirty

“Through my fault, my own fault, my own grievous fault,” Rooster had said, and he now stanced before Brother Quail, Chief Inquisitor Skua and the others to confess his sins.

But broken though he seemed – his sobs had stopped and now his brute head moved wildly from side to side as if trying to fend off his anguish – his towering presence dominated the chamber. There was a sense of danger and unpredictability about him which perhaps was what put the wary glitter into Quail’s otherwise smug and confident eyes.

It was this very unpredictability that now hung over the Convocation which had given Maple the idea – the hope – that matters might not continue in the smooth and contrived way that Quail had so far successfully arranged, by which Chervil had been controlled and humiliated, and Thripp brushed aside and made impotent. With a mole like Rooster about, however helpless he seemed at the moment, things could happen of which quick-witted moles might take advantage.

So Maple had suddenly become very alert indeed, and his eyes began continuously to scan the chamber below to spot anything at all which might have to be considered if he was to make the move that he was already considering.

“What are you thinking?” whispered Whillan, who if he had to help was satisfied that Madoc would watch over Privet and see that she did nothing foolish, for her distress on seeing Rooster had changed to a kind of blank numbness.

“I am thinking,” said Maple slowly, “that from the expression on his face our friend Chervil is thinking the same kind of thought as I am, and also, that it is significant that sometime in the hubbub of Rooster’s arrival Feldspar and the other guards have moved a good deal closer to him as if they expect something to happen. We’ll just have to wait and see, and be ready to act.

“I’ll tell you this, Whillan, that whatever else happens somemole’s going to be sacrificed to the Newborn need for retribution this Longest Night and I am going to see that it’s not one of our own, or Rooster, if I possibly can. And it looks like Chervil’s going to see that it’s not himself. As for Thripp, well, nomole can guess what’s in his mind!”

Thripp was still barely visible below them, the only mole there it seemed who had not moved or spoken. His presence was felt not by what he did or did not do, but because many others looked over to him expectantly from time to time, as if the question about him was not
whether
he might do and say something, but
when.

But all this was unspoken, and for now it was Rooster who held their attention as Quail coaxed him into confession.

“We await your leisure, mole,” said Quail.

Rooster stopped moving his head, peered up at him and said, “Have been ready since that day the world went dark.”

“‘That day the world went dark’,” hissed Skua, coming forward and nodding to Brother Quail that he would take over now. “When was that, Rooster of Charnel Clough?”

“Long time, long ago. I used these paws...” He raised one of his front paws and then rearing up he showed the other, turning hugely round that everymole might see. “These paws and these talons. Different. Always were. Different...”

“Mole!” said Skua, for Rooster seemed to be wandering, but there was no stopping him. He turned his back on Skua and spoke directly to the Convocation. Those immediately before him – or rather beneath him – might well look intimidated. Rooster was not a mole that made others who did not understand him feel safe.

“Ugly, these paws. Big. Did wrong and defiled them.”

“When?” said Skua more softly, trying to regain control.

Rooster turned round and glared at him, almost snout to snout.

“When,” he said blankly. “At Crowden, did wrong, killed with them. Killed...” He faltered into a silent confused world of his own, far more frightening to him than the stolid and apprehensive silence of the moles listening to him.

“You have killed since, have you not?” tried Skua once again, but Rooster ignored him altogether, and remained silent for some time before picking up his thought where he had left it.

“... I killed Red Ratcher, and killed everymole in that. Killed me, killed her. But can’t kill, can’t never kill.”

“But you did. Rooster,” said Skua quickly, sensing the confessand was feeling a guilt that could be played upon.

“Yesss... YES!” roared Rooster, “killed him in darkness.”

There was silence once more, which Skua broke in the hope of luring his victim back to confession.

“Darkness,” he repeated, “it was night when you...” Like a good confidant he had long since discovered that moles said most whose words were repeated back to them.

“Night in my head. The peat moor was riot dark – the sky was not dark. But her cries were fading into dark and I saw Ratcher’s body on hers. I took this paw, and this one, and I broke my vow and killed him.”

“What vow?” asked Skua quickly.

“Delving vow. Ancient. Delvers do not kill.”

“But
you
killed. Rooster, you offended the Stone.”

“I hurt all Stones, I hurt all moles, I saw him hurting her and I hurt him.”

“What mole was he hurting, mole? Tell us what mole it was...”

This was not Skua’s voice but an old one, a little frail, and gentle. Mole looked at mole and nodded. The Elder Senior Brother had spoken at last. “What mole?” was the question, and Rooster would answer, for Thripp himself had asked.

“No, no, no,” said Rooster. “Never speak her name. Her name not mine to speak.”

Above this strange grim scene, unseen, Whillan turned and stared at Maple, who nodded briefly in Privet’s direction. Privet was staring down below; her eyes were filled with tears, her mouth open yet silent, as if she wished to speak but knew she must not.

“He’s talking about Privet, isn’t he?” whispered Whillan.

Maple nodded and said, “It’s the tale she told us on the journey here, about how she had to leave the Moors after Rooster killed Red Ratcher.”

“She blames herself for it.”

“And
he
blames himself by the sound of things.”

“We can’t let this go on,” said Whillan urgently.

“No, we can’t. Look, Whillan, the time for action’s coming and I want to get Rooster out of here. He’s a mole the Newborns fear, maybe because he’s the only one who’s ever stanced up to them. All the more reason to get him out.”

“It’s very risky,” said Whillan; “can’t we get Privet and the others out first and then come back?”

Maple nodded appreciatively at the young mole’s pluck. “We could if we could get Privet to leave, but that might be difficult now she’s seen her Rooster in the grip of the Newborn Inquisitors. There’s not much doubt about what Skua and Quail will want to do when they have his confession, and that might be soon.”

“But Chervil might slow things down – he doesn’t look too happy with what’s going on. Have you any idea how to get Rooster out?”

“Not much of one, and it may hardly be worth the risk, but my instinct tells me we’ve got a better chance than might at first appear. More than that, if we get away with it then the Newborns will have been hit hard, right where they least expect it. If others heard that, they’d know they’re vulnerable. It makes sense to try. If you could lead Privet and Madoc out to the west side by the way I showed you and get them to hide on the steep western slope you could come back and help me free Rooster. They’re not expecting any trouble up here on Caer Caradoc, and certainly not in the chamber itself – except from Rooster himself perhaps. So we have the advantage of surprise.”

All this was said in a low and hurried whisper. When Maple was sure Whillan understood he went over to Privet, signalled to the others to listen in, and briefly told them what he wanted them to do.

“But I can’t leave Rooster here among them,” said Privet.

“Whillan will talk to you about that,” said Maple judiciously. “For my part I must go exploring again and see if I can get safely to one of the chamber entrances below us, and find a way to lead Rooster out to safety; that will confuse the Newborns enough to make them think we’re escaping by any route but the steep west side. But whatever else you do, Privet, and whatever Rooster says or does, do not shout out to him...” He paused, frowning and thinking as the light of an idea crossed his face; “At least, not yet!”

With that he was gone, and all the others could do was watch Rooster’s continuing confession, as Whillan sought ways to persuade Privet that if circumstances seemed right the best thing she might do was leave.

Below them, despite Skua’s best efforts Rooster had not yet mentioned Privet’s name as the mole for whom he had killed, and about whom he evidently felt such deep distress. But still he talked in his wild and wandering way, a mole who wanted to be free of the darkness that haunted him, but whom life and circumstances had placed in the worst possible place to do so, and before moles who were likely to be not in the least receptive or sympathetic. They were looking for weakness and failure, but what Rooster needed was a release from the past, and the love and support of moles dear to him who might lead him to a better future. Of these only Privet perhaps might have known how to reach out her paws to him and make him feel safe and good, and in any other circumstances but these she might have done so.