Henbane was not seen again by grike for days. Not by Sleekit, nor even by Wrekin, though Wrekin soon had things to report. She was not seen for days, but laughter was heard, and a youngster was seen, Bailey by name.
But then another grike disappeared, and another died. Henbane must be told. Weed said he would, perhaps he did, but Henbane did not appear. Just that laughter, like pups playing down there, and a warning that if Bailey was found, eating up on the surface, he was not to be touched or harmed.
Grumblings then, and Wrekin enraged. What was the WordSpeaker up to? Demands to see her. Weed smiled.
“Does she know what’s happening? Does she know that there are still killings going on in this miserable system? Does she know the Duncton moles who escaped have been sighted And she plays?”
“She knows,” said Weed.
It was more than two moleweeks before Henbane appeared, and when she did that Bailey mole was at her side. Nomole dared say a thing. She summoned Wrekin, and Sleekit, and several others.
She stared at them and seemed to be thinking, though what she had to say suggested she had thought a lot already. Bailey said, “Come on, ’cos I’m going to show you the Eastside where my burrow was.”
Whispers. A Duncton mole. More whispers. Henbane smiled.
“I’ll come, Bailey, soon now. Leave us for a time. Leave us.” It was said kindly, in a voice none of them had ever heard. A voice that made her seem almost mole. Bailey left for the surface.
She turned to Sleekit and said, “Tell me, where is scalpskin still prevalent nearby?”
“Avebury had it,” said Sleekit promptly, for it was her job to know such things. “But nearby, well... East Bladon, Frilford and some at Wytham. And —”
“Yes?” Henbane’s voice was terse and efficient.
“I said Avebury had it, and that’s true, but it seems to have been replaced there by something worse. Eats a mole, churns a mole’s skin, terrible... Some say that this disease will replace scalpskin. It is not pleasant.”
“Good. Now listen all of you. I am aware that moles are hiding in Duncton. I have heard of the new killings from Weed. I do not think we will easily find the moles responsible, and nor do I think we should bother. Such a covert campaign is not easily defeated, if ever. Nor is a system such as this ever easily destroyed. Was Whernside ever destroyed after Scirpus went there, despite all the efforts of the scribemoles of the Stone over the centuries? No it was not. But I have had a thought...” Her eyes narrowed, her voice lowered and slowed.
“I want arrangements made that moles afflicted by scalpskin and any other scourge – the more catching the better – are brought to Duncton. In fact, are summoned to Duncton. If the Duncton moles wish to desert the place then let us find moles who will not. Moles who have nowhere else to go. See that every diseased, idiot and crippled mole in those systems is brought here, all of them, Weed, every one.”
“I will,” said Weed, pleased to see that Henbane’s spirits and cruel guile were recovering.
She turned to Wrekin.
“Your surmise about a tunnel was right. The charming young Bailey has confirmed it. The Duncton moles used a tunnel, and though some died many escaped. Perhaps too many.
“So... your guardmoles have a task, Wrekin. The moles Tryfan, Spindle, Comfrey, Alder, Mayweed and Marram are to be found, and brought to me, wherever I am. Alive. These names Bailey has given me. Any other mole of Duncton, whoever they are, wherever they are, however long it takes, is to be found and killed. I repeat: found and killed.”
“We have already had reports that a group of them are moving east,” interrupted Wrekin.
“Good.”
“We have sent out a force after them.”
“Good indeed. But others may escape. Use any means you like to find out where they have gone to. If Tryfan is the mole I think he is, he will disperse his moles. Fine. Find them. Kill them. We are going to destroy this place by making it a system of shame, of disease, and an affront to the Stone that rises over it. Nomole will ever wish to be associated with it again in any way. We will also destroy forever the moles who once lived here and those who call themselves Pasture moles. From this moment Duncton is no more.”
A ripple of excitement ran through the moles heeding her. This was Henbane as once she had been. Powerful and determined. Clever. Cruel. Thinking.
“One other thing, Wrekin, and any other mole who has to do with finding Duncton moles. If ever a mole called Starling is found, or one called Lorren, I wish to know of it. On pain of death, at my talons personally, is the mole Bailey not to be told. Never. Or at least —” and she smiled terribly. “Not until after I have had my way with them. So... remember their names: Starling, Lorren.”
“Are they to be killed?” asked somemole.
“Oh no, not by their finders, no. I want them alive as well. Indeed, I would have those moles almost as much as I would have Tryfan before me. Those moles I have named will one day wish that they had never lived. And one day each of them will forswear the Stone, and forswear their very selves. They will forswear their kith and kin, and even, I suspect, their siblings. Find them. Bring them.”
“Yes, WordSpeaker....”
“And Wrekin,” she said. “I wish to speak to you of Siabod.”
He nodded, in awe. This was Henbane. This was the mole he liked to serve.
“It irritates me, Wrekin,” she said simply. “Take it.”
“I will,” said Wrekin.
After all but Weed had gone, Henbane said, “Well, Weed, you did not expect that!”
“I think I did,” said Weed.
Henbane laughed, laughed as she did when Bailey was with her.
“I have a wish to go home to Whern for a time. I have a wish to show Bailey to Rune. There is something about that mole that will please him.”
“What is that?” asked Weed, genuinely curious.
“Innocence,” said Henbane. “And a faith in the Stone and in his sister Starling so unshakeable that it will amuse the Master in his old age to find a way to break it.”
Weed smiled, and understood, and felt pleased. He too wanted to go home. For a time at least. Yes.
“When shall we leave?” he asked.
“When I am satisfied that Duncton is re-settled with the diseased and deformed moles you will find.”
“What moles will be its command?” asked Weed.
“I am surprised you ask, Weed. You’re getting old. Guardmoles, of course, the stupider and crueller the better. And then, when they are all here, let them have no support from us, none. This Duncton will become a place nomole will ever wish to visit. And if, as I suspect, there are covert moles here who hope to scare us, then they, my dear Weed, will be the ones who will soon most wish to leave! But of course Wrekin will see that the cross-under is garrisoned. For once a mole comes to the new Duncton Wood he or she will never leave alive.”
Then she went to an exit and looked up into the light.
“So...” she sighed, “see to it, Weed. And now I must find Bailey. I think he wishes to ‘play’. Now that’s a word, Weed, I never once heard my dear mother Charlock use. “Play”. Quite charming. Well one day, one day... that mole will play indeed. And his sister Starling will be there. Poor thing. Poor vile thing. Oh yes, Bailey will play. And Rune will be well pleased.”
Then she laughed bitterly and with jealousy, and then almost savagely. “That Tryfan,” she said softly before she left, “would have had me listen to Silence to find him. There is no Silence, Weed. None. Not ever.”
“Are you coming?” called Bailey from the surface.
“Yes, Bailey, I am.”
Weed’s curled snout seemed to glisten in the deserted chamber, and circled with his thoughts, his brow furrowed. Was it good or was it bad, this cruelly playful Henbane? Hard to say. For the first time in his life it was beyond his experience. What did it mean? It meant that, yes, it was time, perhaps, for her to return to Whern, time for Rune to be seen to assume control.
/> Chapter Twenty-Nine
For the first few days following the Duncton moles’ tragic departure from their system, Tryfan was determined that they should move as far east as they could, and as fast as possible. He had little doubt that the grikes would soon be sent in pursuit, and, although they would have to find a river crossing and their way would be circuitous, they would travel at speed – much faster than Tryfan’s group could.
Several trustworthy moles, led once more by Alder, whose stature among them all had increased enormously following his success in defending the system, were deputed to watch for danger. The bulk of the moles travelled in three groups, the first consisting of young adults led by Tryfan himself, in the second went older moles and youngsters under Comfrey and Maundy, and in the last, led by Smithills, travelled the watchers and good fighters. Some moles like Mayweed, Holm and Marram suited themselves where they went, while Spindle made it his job to mix with all the groups, and was the eyes and ears of Tryfan for what moles were thinking.
Tryfan had real worries. He had expected some deaths from the stresses of the journey, and the first came two moleweeks into it. One day an old male died and a day later a female wandered secretly off, in the way that old moles do sometimes, not wishing to cause trouble, nor to be found, for a mole has a right to die as he or she will.
These deaths, of respected moles, had their effect. The group was already beginning to travel more slowly, and Spindle reported a decline in morale as the full horror surrounding their departure sank in, the losses of friends and relatives was felt, and the initial impulse to escape was replaced by uncertainty about the future.
It was then that Tryfan and Alder, recognising the problems of defending so large and vulnerable a group, decided that the sooner the moles could be dispersed the better. It would be relatively easy to do such a thing in those eastern parts since such systems as there might be would not have been taken over by grikes. Hopefully, and with the support of indigenous moles, the Duncton moles could quietly infiltrate in smaller groups and, for a time at least, be “lost’. Even if grikes subsequently took over their new system, Duncton moles could disguise their origins, and submit to the grikes, and wait for their time to come again.
The problem was when they might begin such dispersal. They were still within the great vale from which Duncton Wood rises, and did not feel far enough away yet to be clear of danger. They had crossed the treacherous Otmoor and travelled on over the heights of Brill, and then on via the system of Thame, which is known to scribemole though of little account. But it did not yet feel far enough.
Beyond Thame they noticed that sometimes at night, when the atmosphere was moist and misty, the sky to the east seemed to glow, as if the ground beneath it was filled with the gazes of roaring owls and twofoots. This, Tryfan realised, must be the beginning of the Wen, and as the ground rose steadily to the east he guessed that the Wen itself lay in an enormous vale such as the one they were climbing out of, and that their best point of dispersal might be when they reached the escarpment that must divide one great vale from the next.
The moles travelled mainly at dusk and early morning, avoiding the depth of night and the heat of day, and as most soon guessed that a dispersal was coming, they were silent and thinking, as if preparing themselves for the separations to come.
Few intended to travel alone, and so moles began to split and group in twos and threes, some in old associations of family and friendship, others with moles they had only met since the evacuation.
But a few moles already had very specific places to go, none more certain and distant than Alder and Marram. Quite when it was decided, neither they nor Tryfan ever knew – and Spindle’s chronicle is not clear on the subject – but decide it they did: that those two strong moles, both grike-trained and proven in strategy, would finally turn back west and make that trek which so few moles have ever done, the long journey to Siabod. If Marram’s information was correct, Siabod must be the only one of the seven Ancient Systems not yet fallen to grike forces, and there seemed to be no doubt that Henbane would wish to change that now Duncton was taken. If she did, then Siabod might welcome two such moles as Alder and Marram, and wish to know of the plight and experience of the Duncton moles.
“I would come with you myself,” said Tryfan with real regret, “but I know my own journey must be eastwards into the Wen. But nomole would be more suited to such a venture than you, Alder, who has travelled far with me, and knows our ways, and can brave the fastnesses of Siabod to make contact with the moles there, and enlist their support against the grikes.”
“Aye, and I shall go with your spirit with me, and your good will, and the more willingly that Marram can accompany me,” said Alder. Then Tryfan told the two all he could remember of what his parents had said of Siabod and its moles.
But they agreed not to leave until they had accompanied Tryfan and the others to the dispersal point, for their special strength and courage might yet be needed if the Duncton moles met trouble before they reached the far edge of the escarpment ahead.
Others made their decisions, too – Smithills, for example, decided to travel north a little, and be within striking distance of Rollright so that he could be there to meet Skint at Longest Night if Tryfan and his party did not return in time from the Wen. Smithills already missed Skint greatly, and had no stomach to travel too far from Duncton.
Tryfan had given much thought to the moles who might accompany him, thinking at first that he might travel with several, perhaps seven in all, and one of those he had assumed would be Smithills. But Smithills’ decision changed that and he thought perhaps he should travel with just Spindle and one other.
But who? It was clear that Comfrey was too old now, and in any case Maundy would want to go with him and they themselves agreed that they would be a liability on such a venture as a journey into the Wen. Indeed, Comfrey was already giving Tryfan cause for concern, for he grew tired easily and was unable to travel fast, or even very far, without frequent stops.
Tryfan considered taking one of Alder’s watchers, for he would be disciplined and well trained, and would be reliable and loyal in the event of difficulties. And difficulties were what Tryfan expected.
But Tryfan of Duncton hesitated, for he was aware that whatever mole he chose would be involved in a venture such as few moles ever embark on, and that he would need more than courage, endurance, and intelligence. He needed a mole able to stand alone, a mole able to survive.
Survive! One mole, more than any other he had met since his parting from Boswell, who could survive, and would do so, was Mayweed. Strange Mayweed, a mole he had grown to respect and like, and one whose strange nature, though it made some impatient, made Tryfan laugh and gave him pleasure.
Since the collapse of the tunnel Mayweed had been much changed. Withdrawn, silent, sombre, his old chirpiness quite gone. He was, these days, never out of the company of Starling and Lorren. Since that fatal night when they had lost their brother Bailey, when their mother Rushe had been lost as well, they had clung on to Mayweed as if he was their father. Not once, not for a moment, had he let them down. They travelled with him, and they all seemed to support each other in some curious way. Holm, too, was of their group, and so far as there were any preferences, Holm cared for Lorren, and Mayweed for Starling.
There were times when Mayweed and Holm had to go off alone, for Mayweed was recognised as the best route-finder among them all and liked to explore ahead and around the flanks. Starling complained bitterly that she was not allowed to travel on these explorations with him, but she was too young, as was Lorren, and Mayweed put the two of them under the care of Smithills who, typically, gave them fighting lessons.
“You’ll need to fight when you’re bigger,” he said jovially, “so you might as well learn to enjoy it.” Starling complained about that too, but she soon discovered it was worth learning because the other youngsters started obeying her commands and she did for them what Maundy tended to do with older moles, which
was to be the mole they trusted and tended to group around.
“She’s a natural leader,” observed Tryfan to Spindle and Comfrey one day. “With moles like that for the future our system will survive. But... well, she’s attached now to Mayweed for a few months yet, as her sister is, which means that, desirable though it might have been, we can’t take Mayweed into the Wen with us. Can’t take a gaggle of youngsters too!” Yet Tryfan watched Mayweed, and was pleased to see Starling gain in confidence each day, and he wondered, after all, if these were the moles he might make his great journey with.
So, ever watchful for danger, making plans for the molemonths and years to come, and awed by the lurid night sky of the Wen which was brighter with each mile of the journey, they travelled on. Day by day, week by week, as May gave way to June, and mid-June came.
Then, grike was spotted. Not by the watchers or by Mayweed, but by monosyllabic Holm, who, on the outskirts of the Thame tunnels, crept, crawled, slunk, and heard.
“Grikes. Two. Talked. Coming. More, more, more,” he said, the long statement such an effort that he leaned over to a tunnel wall and stared blankly about.
“When?” said Spindle.
“Two days,” said Holm. “Not one, not three, but two. Lots of them, army of them, oh no.”
“Oh yes! Helpful Holm, yes yesl” declared Mayweed excitedly, clearly delighted that his protege had managed such a feat of reconnaissance all by himself and perking up from his recent customary gloom. “Brilliant Holm, clever Holm, is not he so, triumphant Tryfan?”
Two days behind. But had they seen the Duncton moles? It seemed so. The female who had gone to die had been found – alive. She had talked to somemole who spoke to another. News travels; grikes knew. Yes, they knew well enough.
For Tryfan and the stronger moles the problem now was to get the other slower ones to keep up a steady pace. Some, like Comfrey, offered to step aside and be left behind, so as not to hold the others up. But not a younger mole there would have allowed that.