Duncton Stone (45 page)

“Quail’s coming here?” gasped his listeners.

“So it seems. Now, I suggest that Hamble and Arvon, who know about such things, advise you how best to defend yourselves, while the worthy Pumpkin and I – and I have many a message for
you,
sir, from Maple and Rooster —”

“Rooster?” cried out several moles. “The Master of the Delve?” The news was coming almost too thick and fast for moles to take in.

“The same,” cried out Weeth dramatically. “Safe and sound, if a little wet, after his ordeal in a certain river east of Wildenhope Bluff...”

But his voice was drowned by cheering, and a chattering excitement that told its own story: their time of isolation was truly over. Relief had come, but with it new danger and new challenges. But Rooster, Master of the Delve, was
alive,
and in that news was the best indication they had yet received that the Stone’s purpose was being served by the followers, amongst whom they so proudly numbered themselves.

“Yes, he’s alive. And he says Whillan’s alive too...” (which provoked still louder cheers) “... though how he knows I have no idea. Masters of the Delve are
most
mysterious! But, as I was trying to say, the defence will be in the capable paws of Hamble and Arvon, whilst Pumpkin and myself have several matters to discuss, and possibilities to consider!”

It was as much as Weeth could say before a melee of talk, excited exclamations and greetings drowned the rest of his words. Food, rest, talk, news, and plans, all were needed now, and the rebels of the High Wood rushed about servicing the needs of the weary guests, and listening to the stories and tales that they told; while moles like Hamble and Pumpkin, Arvon and Weeth, with Noakes available to do whatever task they set him, and young Cluniac hoping for an assignment of some sort, talked on and on in low voices and with furrowed brows: Quail coming; defence needed; and the Newborns no longer in the ascendant in moledom.

“But danger, danger, everywhere,” said Weeth, much later, “and much to decide.”

Later again, when sleep was creeping up on many a mole but before any quite succumbed to it, Pumpkin said this prayer in the communal chamber for them all: “Stone, grant that the troubled days ahead of moledom may be resolved without loss of life to follower or Newborn. Grant that a way may be found that leads to reconciliation. Grant that those who seek to fulfil the tasks they pursue in your name may be guided by your Light. We are troubled, Stone, and wander still in the tunnels of darkness: give us comfort, give us hope, give us life again.”

“Some hope,” muttered more than one mole to himself as sleep overtook him; yet there was comfort in Pumpkin’s simple plea.

Much later still, when deep night had come and all moles but the watchers slept, Pumpkin stirred and crept out and up through the whispering tunnels to the surface.

“Can’t sleep, sir?” asked a look-out softly.

“Not too well, no,” said Pumpkin, the stars of the night shining on his tired and worried face.

“Going to the Stone as usual, sir?”

“To pray, yes,” said Pumpkin.

“Let one of us accompany you. For Stone’s sake, one of these nights —”

Pumpkin shook his head and said quietly, “No, no, I need to be alone sometimes. Now, I must be off.”

But it was not to the Stone that he went; nor towards the Stone that he hurried through the night-still Wood; nor to the Stone he went to pray – but to Sturne’s austere quarters on the Eastside slopes just beyond the Library, to report and to warn. Of the coming of Weeth and the others sent by Maple, Sturne naturally knew nothing, but of Quail...

“I know, I know, Pumpkin, I heard it from Brother Fetter this afternoon. I have been much concerned about how to tell you: Quail will be here before two days are out. He has Thripp with him. There are to be trials and arraignments, and from Duncton a new wave of terror is to be prosecuted across moledom. Pumpkin, what is to come will be worse than what has gone before, unless there is some way to stop it.”

“There
will
be a way, there
must
be a way,” said Pumpkin earnestly, “but I don’t know where to turn to find it. The coming of moles like Weeth and Arvon is all to the good I’m sure, but I do not want to see Duncton itself riven by a bloody war, and nor does Hamble. There has got to be another way forward.”

“You’re tired, mole,” said Sturne with unaccustomed gentleness. “Here, stance yourself down and rest. Dawn will not be with us for a while yet.”

Pumpkin did as he was asked, and Sturne found him a thin worm from his meagre stock, which the library aide dabbed at in a dilatory sort of way.

“I wasn’t trained for this kind of thing, Sturne,” he muttered. “I’m no good at it at all, full of doubts, not a strong leader...”

Sturne admitted a bleak smile to his lined face.

“You are a leader, Pumpkin, and a good one, whether you like it or not.”

“Humph!” said Pumpkin, finally chewing the worm and relaxing. “Humph! What other news did you get from Fetter?”

“Rumours, stories, nothing factual. Nothing certain, nothing you would wish to scribe into a text.”

“Like what?” said Pumpkin, who could see Sturne had something more to say, but was reluctant to do so. He either doesn’t believe it, Pumpkin thought to himself, or it’s not “factually substantiated” enough for his academic mind!

“Tittle-tattle. Idle dreams of moles with nothing better to talk about. I dislike peddling rumours – they become accepted fact and then scholars like me have to spend the years disproving them.”

“Like
what
?” said Pumpkin again, the familiar exasperation with Sturne returning. If only the Acting Master Librarian would let himself go for once! Rumour arose from emotion, and that was why he did not like it.

“Well then,” said Sturne, reluctant, his mouth pursing with distaste, “I’ll tell you what I’m told is being said, and it’s the main reason Quail is so anxious to get to Duncton fast. He wants to be here before it comes.”

“
What
comes?” poor Pumpkin almost shouted.

“The Book of Silence.”

The Book of Silence
...

“The Book itself?” gasped Pumpkin.

“They’re saying the Book of Silence has been found.”

Pumpkin could only stare into the enshadowed eyes of Sturne. His own eyes were wide with excitement, all weariness gone.

“But it’s not true, you see, it can’t be true,” said Sturne.

“Why not?”

“The Book’s here, it has always been here.”

“
Here
?”

“That’s what our Master Stour always believed, that it was deep and safe in the Ancient System.”

“Here in the Ancient System?” said Pumpkin incredulously.

Sturne nodded. “That’s why he went into retreat into the Ancient System not once but twice, and it killed him in the end. He was seeking the Book of Silence.”

“How do you know?”

“He told me.” The two moles looked at each other and Pumpkin knew that Sturne would never lie, and had never lied. He spoke the truth.

“But he never found it?” said Pumpkin.

“Oh, but he did, you see, he did – or more accurately, he found out where it must be. It was just that he did not have the strength to go on into that Dark Sound. You saw what the other Books involved, you shared the burden of them with me in the Chamber of Roots at Longest Night when we helped Master Stour take them at last to the Stone.”

“Why did he not tell me? I was... I mean I would have... I...”

For the first time in his long life Pumpkin felt he had been betrayed by Master Stour, or not trusted at any rate.
That
felt like betrayal, and Sturne saw how deeply hurt he was.

“My dear friend,” said Sturne, “Master Stour wanted to tell you so much and he knew how hurt you would be when you found out you had not been told. But you see, he was sure that if you knew, you would, as you were about to say, have wished to help him. More than that, that you would have done anything to help him, for you were and remain a library aide whose sense of service goes far beyond the bounds of duty. He knew it, and he valued it, but he also wished to protect you from it.”

“But why? If he had found the Book, then it was only a matter —”

“‘Only a matter’!” cried out Sturne. “Mole, it would have killed you as it so nearly killed him. He knew where the Book could be found – deep in the Ancient System, through those tunnels nomole can venture through, nor emerge from alive. The ones, my dear friend,
you
know something about...”

They looked at each other, remembering that grim night when Pumpkin and Cluniac had barely escaped with their lives from their foolhardy attempt to explore the central section of the Ancient System.

“I now think that but one mole can lead the way right into the centre and find what it is that the mediaeval Masters of the Delve sought so successfully to hide away, and protect with Dark Sound.”

“You think the Book of Silence is hidden there, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“And that Privet’s the one to fetch it?”

“Aye, I do,” said Sturne quietly.

A tawny owl hooted and then was gone from a nearby tree on the surface above them; the first light of dawn touched the portal of Sturne’s tunnels, grey-violet and dim.

“I want to think the same, but if it’s so why did Stour send her from Duncton?” demanded Pumpkin, angry now, and confused. If he knew the Book was here... did he see the Book? Are you sure he could have known?”

“He knew or guessed,” said Sturne firmly. “Why did he send Privet forth? I think because he understood that she was not yet ready to fake up the challenge of the Book of Silence, and find a way, or the strength, to take it up from the centre of the Ancient System and then through the Chamber of Roots to the base of the Stone and so complete the circle of Books and Stillstones. Her present retreat into Silence is the last part of a journey that will bring her back in readiness to Duncton Wood.”

“And to the Newborns, and Quail, and danger,” said Pumpkin regretfully.

“You will help her,” said Sturne softly. “Stour believed you would be the one she would need.”

“Me?” said Pumpkin faintly. Oh yes, he remembered the

Books, and the near-impossibility of holding them and the terrible toll they took of a mole. He thought too of the Dark Sound of the Ancient System, delved so many centuries before by Masters unknown, as he guessed too, to protect the Book of Silence until a great mole came. It was all waiting for them! As, in some way, he had always felt it must be.

“I will do whatever I can, Keeper Sturne, you know that.”

“I know it, mole, and the Master Stour knew it. Above all moles he ever worked with or ever knew, you were the one he trusted for the task of aiding Privet of Crowden.”

“A mole can only do his best,” whispered Pumpkin.

“And
your
best. Library Aide Pumpkin, is the very best there is!”

Weeth’s description of the panic and recriminations that had swept across moledom through the molemonths of June and the beginning of July was accurate, and it had been into this very wave of danger, bloody and terrible, that Hibbott of Ashbourne Chase had unknowingly set off after his stay in the Community of Rose at the southern edge of the Midland Wen. Let us join him on his pilgrimage once more...

His cause had not been helped by his bold, if ingenuous, insistence that there was no virtue in going on a pilgrimage in search of Privet of Duncton Wood if he did not honestly tell others whatmole it was he sought.

“I was surprised,” he later scribed in the account of his great pilgrimage, “that mere mention of Privet’s name should send moles scurrying for cover, or disappearing into their portals, or hotpaw (as it finally turned out) to report my presence to a group of Newborn guardmoles who, unhappily, were ensconced nearby.

“Before I knew what was happening I was surrounded by large and brutal moles who demanded my name, and asked where I had come from. It seemed plain to me that the Stone must have sent me into their path because in some way as yet unknown to me they would help lead me nearer the object of my quest. I therefore bade them welcome, and told them they really had no need to buffet me to the ground, stamp on my head and abuse me, as we had common cause. Were we not all seeking peace and harmony? However, these words appeared to incense them further and I found myself being dragged along into unwholesome tunnels and cast into a chamber with other moles, who, I came to realize, were their captives.

“Only later did I know that I had unwittingly arrived at the notorious place of containment called Leamington, whose moles were generally elderly and infirm, and disinclined to support the Newborn cause. This being so they had been massed into a great and unwholesome chamber and there I now joined them, after some unpleasant questioning from which the Newborns deduced that I was a fool and knew nothing about Privet.

“Surrounded as I now was by the groans of the injured and dying, not to mention sights and odours about which I have no wish to scribe, I told myself, “Hibbott, you are on the edge of a void. Gloom and depression beckons, hopelessness and desolation calls, and you must now use all your strength and faith not to be lured towards them, and so into the depth of black despair like these other moles. Therefore, your progress temporarily halted, and the fulfilment of your task in abeyance, you must keep yourself busy and occupied by creating a task for yourself The Stone will guide you...”