Duncton Tales (15 page)

Yet there was a lack of conviction about these secret determinations, as if Privet felt that whatever task she must next take up, it would find her rather than she actively go and find it.

But, however that might be, it was Stour who sought her out soon afterwards, and not she who went to him. The Master Librarian had every reason to consult with Privet for lately he had been much troubled by Whillan, and not known quite what to do.

For Whillan, now more adult than youngster and almost daily thickening out in that awkward changeling way that such moles have of shedding off their youth in stops and starts and deepening voices, was now more than ever inclined to moodiness.

The reason that he himself gave for this — for he retained a pleasing and charming honesty, even when at his worst — was to do with the tragedy of his birth and the death of his mother and other siblings in the cross-under as witnessed by Stour alone. Though he had been told the nature of his birth when younger, both by Privet and by Stour himself, it now seemed he wanted to go over it again and again, and had even asked Stour himself to take him to the spot in the cross-under where he had been born, and his mother had died.

Few things had ever moved Stour so much as the sight of the young adult crying for a mother he had never known, and a father he would never see, as patiently he told and re-told Whillan the story of his birth. Though because he felt obliged still to abide by the wishes of the dead mother not to tell everything until the time seemed right, which it did not yet seem to Stour, who had to think of Privet as well, he repeated only some of what his mother had said.

“But what does “Whillan” mean?” cried Whillan, anger and frustration mixing with the sadness on his face. “If she knew your name, Stour, and Privet’s, then she must have known a Duncton mole. She
must
have! Why didn’t you ask her more?”

“Mole …’ began Stour, remembering how hard it had been to ask anything that dreadful day the previous spring.

“You could have asked more!” shouted Whillan. “You could!”

“Mole —” tried Stour again.

“You could!” cried out Whillan, rushing off upslope before Stour could adequately reply.

Later, the Master Librarian wearily reported this encounter to Privet, concluding, “If I were him I think I too would be angry, and perhaps it is the only thing for him. I have no doubt that eventually he will leave the system for a time in an attempt to resolve the mystery of his beginning, and there may be comfort for you in knowing that just such concerns caused Woodruff of Arbor Low, scribemole of the Chronicles, to wander moledom asking questions until he found answers that satisfied him. You too seem still to have your secrets and you may be thankful they have nothing to do with Whillan, for believe me he would wrest them from you if he thought they had!”

He looked sharply at Privet as he said this, leaving little doubt that whatever he had said to Whillan, he too thought it strange that the mole’s mother had known Privet’s name, and virtually identified her as the one who should foster the pup. Nor, it seemed, did he doubt that Privet herself knew what the name ‘Whillan’ signified, for of course he had noticed that only when the name was first mentioned had Privet been willing to accept the task of rearing the pup.

Yet Stour was too wise a mole to force the issue, recognizing even more than Fieldfare that Privet must choose her own time for telling what she wished to of her past, assuming that such a time ever came, which it might well never do.

As usual Privet gave nothing away, but observed with a slight smile, “For moles who’ve never had pups of our own, Master, we seem wise in matters of rearing!”

“You more than me I think,” replied Stour. “But perhaps decades in the Library as Master is not so different as a few moleyears as a parent.”

Privet looked at him for a time and resolved that the moment had come to ask him to give her what he had once promised.

“You were going to give me a task … Well, Master, I submitted without complaint to the test of raising Whillan and now I wish to develop other talents in myself. I am ready for a task that will stretch me. I have had enough of copying, and the matters I am asked by others to research are usually of but small consequence.”

“Yes, indeed, Privet, I understand. That is the other reason I came today, for there is a task I have in mind. But for you to understand it I must ask you to join a few of us at a meeting in Drubbins’ place this afternoon. I would prefer that you did not mention the fact of such a meeting to anymole … Is that understood?”

He seemed severe, and concerned, and she was much mystified.

What is the meeting about, Master? It might be easier for me …”

“I think it best to say no more now, mole. Saying nothing to anymole, come to Drubbins’, and once you have heard what needs to be said you shall have your task.”

“Yes Master,” she said obediently, for Stour was at his most magisterial.

“As for Whillan and worries of
his
past, I think it might be better if we found a task for him as well. It would help if he was busy and indeed I have something in mind for him.”

“Yes Master,” agreed Privet, smiling at this repetition of the advice that Fieldfare had often given
her
.

Privet was both puzzled and excited at the Master Librarian’s visit and invitation, and she busied herself inconsequentially through the morning and early afternoon until it was time to set off for the low Eastside where Drubbins’ tunnels were.

Just as she left she was very surprised to be visited by Avens, whose stay at Duncton had extended longer than he had originally intended, not from any newly-discovered zeal in scribing and scholarship, but from the comfort of his life there and the difficulty he had in summoning the energy and enterprise to set off back to Avebury, from whence he had originally come. He had in any case found himself a niche in the Library as something rather better than a librarian and yet not quite a scholar — a mole willing to help others out with work they were doing and even on occasion to work as little more than a humble aide, and one too who always seemed to know what others were about.

“Have you heard, Privet? There’s to be a Meeting at Barrow Vale, summoned by the Master Librarian himself, and as I’m going down that way I thought you’d like to come with me. It’ll be the first for a long time.”

Privet was greatly surprised at this news, considering that she herself was attending a meeting also called by Stour, but remembering the Master’s request for secrecy she gave nothing away and simply said that she would probably come to Barrow Vale later on. But several times on her journey through the Eastside she met moles who repeated Avens’ claim, and she began to think that it was she who was wrong about the time or day, not them.

So she approached Drubbins’ tunnels with some uncertainty in the late afternoon, half expecting to find nomole there at all, to find instead that several moles were there already, all quiet, all waiting, all expectant.

There was Drubbins himself, as peaceful and cheerful as ever; and Maple too, restless and serious, his greeting brief and formal. To Privet’s surprise Fieldfare was there as well, but when Privet whispered, “Do you know what this is about?” her friend only shook her head and replied quietly, “Not really, my dear. I only know that it concerns news of Chater, but that he’s all right, thank the Stone. I think …”

“I do not think they will be long,” said Drubbins suddenly, “but they will not wish to be seen, you see.”

But who ‘they’ might be, Privet could only whisper to Fieldfare, “Do you know who else is coming?”

But Fieldfare could only shrug and shake her head. She was as much in the dark as Privet herself, and perhaps the others were the same.

But soon after this there came the sound of two more moles approaching, and in at last they came — Master Librarian Stour in the company of none other than …

“Bless me alive!” declared Fieldfare utterly astonished, “’tis my love Chater!” But while this loud announcement served to lighten the mood in the chamber, as did her eager rush to him despite so many others being thereabout, her joy was quickly displaced by dismay and concern. For Chater was badly cut about the face, and wounded in the shoulder.

“’Tis nothing now, my duck,” he said gruffly, “for Drubbins saw to it yesterday and ’tis better than it was.”

“Yesterday? You were here yesterday?” said Fieldfare, mildly affronted by this discovery.

“Yes, well, there was a nasty to-do in Cuddesdon, and important things to tell the Master, so when I got back I went straight to him and found him, thank the Stone, before others saw me.”

“I thought it best, Fieldfare, I didn’t want others in the system knowing, or rather
certain
others,” said Stour, coming forward and taking charge of the proceedings once Fieldfare and Chater had exchanged their natural and warm embraces, and Chater, to some extent at least, had calmed and reassured his love.

“I will come straight to the point,” Stour said, looking round at each of them in turn. “You will be wondering why you are here and quite what it is you have in common. Well, of that latter, that is easily said: I trust each one of you. Each of you has different qualities and skills, which I have had time to appreciate and trust. Some …’ and here he nodded towards Drubbins, “I have known all my life, and others …’ and here it seemed to be Maple that he looked at, “I have known since you were born or, in your case, Chater, since you came to the system. As for you, Privet, I have known you for the least length of time, but everything you have done causes me to trust you, and I know that you are trusted by others here.”

He meant Fieldfare most of all, but touchingly it was Chater who smiled and muttered, “Aye! She’s as worthy as they come of anymole’s trust.” At which all the others looked at Privet, and affirmed it in their different ways with nods, and smiles, and in the case of Drubbins, with a touch. It was for Privet a touching moment indeed, to know that these five moles so respected her.

Then Stour said with great seriousness, “I now believe the day has come that I, and Drubbins here as well, have long feared might one day be. Duncton and its Library are under threat from the Newborn moles. A threat that runs deeper and is more serious than any faced in my lifetime, or that faced by any Duncton mole since the days of the defence of the Stone against the Word — a fact confirmed by news that Chater here has brought back to the system yesterday, at considerable risk to himself.

“My love!” exclaimed Fieldfare involuntarily, but Chater merely smiled and nodded at her, and reached out a strong paw to shush her. There were, it seemed, more important things to discuss than any risks he might recently have taken.

“For this reason have I summoned this meeting,” continued Stour, “to warn it of what might soon begin, to seek its counsel and approval of defensive preparations we must make, and to ensure that moles within the system, who can be relied on to act on their own initiative if they need to, know what the consensus is. If there are any here who wish not to accept responsibility for such deliberations let them leave now.”

“But what of the Meeting I was told you had summoned in Barrow Vale?” asked Privet.

“A ruse, I’m afraid, to ensure that nomole stumbled on us here. None will come to Drubbins’ place if they think there’s half a chance of a good discussion down at Barrow Vale.”

“But won’t they miss us and put two and two together?” asked Maple, who must have been similarly fooled as Privet was.

“The Meeting is not starting until this evening,” said Drubbins, who seemed to have been party to the ruse, “and by then, subject to what we decide here of course, I assume we will most of us have gone on down to Barrow Vale.”

Stour nodded, looked around, and waited for any other comments. But there were none.

“May the Stone bless this meeting, and guide us forward in its Light,” he said quietly. For a long time then he paused, his eyes open and clear and staring nomole knew where, but as he continued the silence among them deepened, and each felt that the Stone was with them.

Then, when he was ready, Master Librarian Stour said, “Now, we must begin …”

PART II