“You’ll work just half the day, I don’t want you damaging texts,” said Sturne coldly. Oh, but how welcome that coldness was to Pumpkin! Yes, yes, yes! He knew Sturne was putting on a show, an incredible, wonderful, brave, courageous show. And for whom? Out of the shadows came Brother Inquisitor Fetter, staring. For him, then. For them. For all the Newborns in moledom. Sturne was being a true, brave, good Duncton mole, and he, Pumpkin, must do all he could to help. This was the way the Stone was answering his recent and desperate prayer – not giving him support, but telling him he must give support. Here was surely the greatest task a Duncton library aide could ever be asked to perform! Pumpkin wept all the more, and could only hope that his pathetic tears would be misinterpreted as those of a weak mole, so cowed that he would be obedience itself to any Newborn command.
“Stop crying, mole,” ordered Fetter irritably.
“Yes, Brother,” replied Pumpkin meekly, sniffing back his tears and trying to control his gulps as he turned away to find a task.
“He’s surely on the way to being one of us,” he heard the Brother Inquisitor mutter to Sturne.
“Yes,” Sturne replied coldly, “he’ll be one of us, and I am sure we shall be able to trust him to be malleable.”
“‘One of us’!” declared Pumpkin to himself. “I certainly am, and so intend to stay. One of the resistance, that’s me!”
He began to weep again with relief and joy to know that out of death and darkness and illness had come this clear answer to his prayer, this light of companionable conspiracy, which now shone bright and showed him the way ahead.
“And where does the way ahead lead in the near future?” he thought to himself, as he stumbled and sniffled his way about his tasks. “I think I know, I think Keeper Sturne has told me. For did he not say when he rescued me from the Inquisitors over on the Eastside – for rescue that certainly was! – that the tasks here must be completed by Longest Night. Which, if that is so, means that something must be happening in our system then, something to do with the Newborns. Yes, yes! I may not be a strong mole, or a fighting mole, or a mole of action, but I, Pumpkin, library aide, will do what I can to help now, during and after Longest Night!”
So he urged himself on that first day back at his duties, and humble and insignificant though he may have seemed to anymole spying on him, as the Brother Inquisitor certainly was, the Newborns now had in him, as already in Keeper Sturne, a formidable opponent in their very midst.
This sense that something ominous was indeed going to happen across moledom on Longest Night was not confined to Pumpkin’s perhaps feverish imagination, but had also taken grip in the consciousness of Chater and Fieldfare in the territory south of Duncton. It seemed that such forces as the Stone had at its command it was mustering in the days of November and December before Longest Night, and among them were the motley group of refugees (or pilgrims, as they called themselves) whom the two Duncton moles had discovered in a state of collapse before the Fyfield Stone. Their leader was Spurling, and the name of his mate, though she looked anything but succulent, rose-tinged and plump, was Peach. Their story, though new to Chater and Fieldfare, would have been depressingly familiar to anymole who knew the Newborns. They, like most of their companions, had been raised in Avebury where Spurling was a library aide and copyist. They had witnessed the rise of Newborn power at first-paw, come to understand the special nature of its evil, and bravely formed the cell of resistance of which Spurling, a reticent and studious mole, had become the leader. They had been betrayed to the Newborns, and evacuated forcibly to Buckland, to isolate them from Avebury moles they might “taint”; and in Buckland they suffered the rigours of starvation and torture which had reduced them to the state in which Chater and Fieldfare found them.
Then, taking an opportunity for escape which arose when the disease of scalpskin had struck down the Newborns in Buckland and weakened their guards, Spurling had led fourteen moles out, their aim being to reach Duncton Wood for sanctuary, and give warning of the Newborns. By a combination of courage, faith, luck, and Spurling’s not inconsiderable talent for cunning retreat when their Newborn pursuers had seemed about to catch up with them, they had reached Fyfield two days before Fieldfare and Chater had heard of their presence. But they had lost over half of their group on the way through illness and capture, and two more of their number seemed close to expiring even as they told their tale.
But with Fieldfare’s care, three days” rest, and good food, they were ready to move on before the Newborns heard of their presence in Fyfield. Spurling had much more to say of the Newborn threat and that had been the reason why he had been so bravely trying to get to Duncton – to warn it of the coming dangers. Now Chater advised him that it was best to get the party to a place of safety, where they might rest up more and decide what to do.
“One thing’s certain, your original intention of going to Duncton Wood is definitely out,” he said.
“It was Spurling’s dream,” said the much-recovered Peach. “He always said he wanted to see the Duncton Stone before he died! I think part of his strength in leading us all this far was the hope of that!”
Spurling nodded ruefully and said, “Well, that’s not to be for now. Where do you think we should go, Chater?”
“Yes, you’re the journeymole, my dear,” said Fieldfare, who on these public occasions was much more supportive of Chater than their affectionate bickering sometimes made her seem among friends, “so you should know. Somewhere near but safe.”
“And somewhere others can find us if they’re of a mind to resist,” added Spurling, “for there’s several here who’ve joined us on the way – some in Buckland brought from other systems for resisting “education”, and some we met on the way to Fyfield.”
“Mmmm,” pondered Chater, “it’s hard, for any of the ordinary systems is likely to be visited by Newborns now, and even more so as they gain in strength, which they will in the molemonths coming if other indications we’ve had are to be trusted.”
“I’ve a thought!” said Noakes, one of the younger moles. “There’s a place all moles know which the Newborns fear, because they say it was desecrated in times gone by the grikes when they rampaged south in the name of the Word. I’m talking about Uffington.”
“Uffington! Of course!” said Chater, light coming to his eye as he thought of the community which had once been regarded as the most venerable of the seven Ancient Systems, but which a century before had been overrun by moles of the Word, its scribemoles massacred and great library all but destroyed.
“In fact,” said Noakes confidentially, “between ourselves, a number of my friends set off to go there. You see, the system where I come from, Gurney, which lies south-east of here, is not that far from Uffington Hill, and when the Newborns first came to educate us a few fled Uffington way believing they might find a place to hide up there. I was too afraid to follow them, but when I saw what the Newborns were really like I tried to escape that way myself, and got to the base of Uffington Hill itself before I was caught, which is how I came to be in Buckland. It was obvious to me that the Newborns did not want or intend to go up to Uffington, and had I succeeded in finding a way past them I’m sure they would not have willingly followed. It might be worth a try!”
The matter was debated at length; some of the moles, including Spurling, were reluctant to set off on another long trek in a different direction to a destination they had no certainty of reaching in safety, and which was further away from Duncton Wood, on which they had set their hearts. But Chater saw the sense of it, and when Fieldfare declared that Uffington was a most holy place, and fitting for moles seeking refuge in a time of strife, the decision was made, and they set off, led by night by Chater and resting up during the day. It was in these long enforced pauses that Chater and Fieldfare heard the rest of Spurling’s story, and understood the importance of the information that he had.
Spurling turned out not only to be a good teller of tales, but also a tougher and more res
ilient mole than his natural modest and quiet way suggested, as well as being one who had mastered the skills of scribing and, even more important, of survival in troubled times. His mate. Peach, was a quiet mole too, and though her health improved and the scalpskin she suffered abated, she remained nervous and fearful, and would not happily leave Spurling’s flank for an instant.
Their tale was, perhaps, like many that could have been told in that period of the Newborns” emergence into power, and in many places throughout moledom where the sect that Thripp of Blagrove Slide had inspired had gained a grip. Every word of it confirmed Master Stour’s long-held fears of what the Newborns might mean for moledom, and the wisdom that lay behind the plans he had made.
Yet darkly familiar though their story was, one part of it was darker than the rest, and concerned a mole whose fateful importance was realized up until that time perhaps by few moles beyond Avebury itself. As it unfolded it could not but put a growing and fearful regret in the hearts of Chater and Fieldfare that what they were learning had not been known to their friends Privet, Maple and Whillan before they set off for Caer Caradoc. Had it been, they would have realized the terrible danger into which their journey was taking them.
Chater could see no immediate way to remedy that, but could only pray that what he and Fieldfare were learning would better fit him for the task that Stour had given them. It was Spurling who told most of the tale, with Peach sometimes injecting here and there some comment or piece of information which served usually to make yet worse the implications of what they heard.
“Avebury was a grand system to be raised in,” began Spurling, “and proud of the part it had played in the struggles for the liberty of the followers of the Stone in decades past. I became an aide in the library as a young mole, just as my father had been, and from the first I wished to learn scribing. I confess I had intended to go to Duncton Wood, for its fame under the Master Stour was great, but a certain mole caught my eye and I decided to stay where I was.”
He looked at Peach fondly, as if she were still the comely young female he had first met, and not the thin and ragged thing that clung so weakly now at his flank.
“They were good days and I learnt my scribing well, and though I soon realized I would never be a scholar or anything of that sort, yet I had my part to play in the managing of copying tasks, and making sure that we in Avebury passed out to other systems copies of certain texts unique to our library, just as Master Stour long ago arranged at the Cannock Conclave that moledom’s major libraries should do.
“Our elders were a good mix of young and old, males and females, and the grim days when we had been herded away from the Stones we loved – for as you no doubt know, Avebury has a great ring of Stones – by the moles of the Word, seemed long past, never to return.
“Now, from what you have already said you know something of the evil of the Newborns, and knowing them as I now do, I daresay their methods in our system were similar to those you experienced. In short, they create what they call a “cell” of trusted moles, and this expands through the system by a combination of persuasion and threat... like a malign cancer.”
Chater nodded his head, for it did sound familiar.
“But the Newborns are a secretive lot, and the only mole among them whose name is generally known is Thripp of Blagrove Slide. You’ll have heard of him... but let me tell you there’s another mole who is his evil shadow, a mole whose name few know, and fewer have actually met – Quail, Senior Brother Quail. Now him I do know, for he was originally an Avebury mole, born only a season after myself, and in a burrow not far off.
“Oh indeed, I know Quail!” continued Spurling with a shudder. “He’s the coldest mole I ever met, with habits beyond imagining when he was young. He broke the legs off beetles that he might the more enjoy their struggles before he ate them; he put worms out in the hot sun to suffer as they dried; he caught and blinded dormice and watched them suffer as they died... and what is more...”
Peach stirred, a look of distress on her face. “It was never proved,” she whispered, “and the elders met and examined the matter twice.”
“Hmmph!” said Spurling heavily. “What Peach is referring to is the fact that he is thought to have killed two pups of a litter of three, just out of curiosity.”
“It wasn’t proved,” said Peach again.
“Those pups were Peach’s siblings. Since she escaped being killed herself only because the culprit was disturbed it is perhaps not surprising she cannot quite remember the horror of that moment. No matter, that was the kind of mole Quail was, and it was only the spiritual, forgiving generosity of the system that prevented him from being punished in some way. As it was, the opposite happened. He was a clever mole, very clever, and quite the best scholar of his day with a special interest in modern history and, if I may say so, a morbid interest in certain leaders of the recent past like Henbane, and Lucerne, whose vile doings need no introduction to Duncton moles. He had, too, a pleasure in perversity. Had it not been for his obvious inability to like other moles he would have become our Master Librarian, and not a mole would have begrudged him the post. But that did not happen, and he grew frustrated and bitter and began to look for another outlet for his diabolic energy, and it was just then that the first Newborn missionary came and caught his interest.
“In those days the Newborns were still based in Blagrove Slide because the exodus (as they grandly call it) to Caer Caradoc had not yet happened. Nor could it have, since it was Quail himself who arranged that exodus! Aye, the moment he heard the Good News of the Right Way towards the Stone (their words, not mine) which the missionaries brought, he was a changed mole, a mole with a purpose, a mole who believed himself to be right and to have a just cause.
“I will not describe the process by which he then began to apply his intelligence and cold cunning to the rise of Newborn power in Avebury, nor dwell on the moles who conveniently disappeared, the undermining of the elders and the corruption of the Master Librarian. But in the short space of a cycle of seasons following Quail’s conversion to the Newborn cause, he had effectively built up a group of young ardent moles, nearly all male, who called themselves Newborn, and by the organization and leadership he gave they took over the system in which Peach and I were born. Before we knew what had happened it was too late, and opposition to them resulted only in demotion and trouble for those who tried it. I tried it, and was removed from my post of Deputy Copy Master to become a mere Library Aide; Peach tried it and found that the tunnels we had inherited from her father, which we had expanded and improved, were taken from us and given to a Newborn pair.”
“They said it was because we were pupless,” whispered Peach, “but I was with pup, and would surely have had them if I had not been attacked.”
“Attacked?” said Fieldfare, horrified.
Peach nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “Nomole ever knew who they were, but I think they were Newborns. I aborted and never got with pup again.”
“Well, of course,” continued Spurling, “Avebury got too small for the likes of Quail. Other Newborn missionaries had come to visit, and he must have realized that his future lay at Blagrove. Anyway, the day came when he left us, along with a couple of his cronies, and went to Blagrove Slide to make his way with Thripp himself – and make his way he did, as we heard later from other Newborns. He made his way so well that he became indispensable to the Newborn leader and seems to have been the inspiration behind the takeover of Caer Caradoc.
“As you can imagine, knowing Quail as I once did, I have been interested to follow his progress. I confess that the only way I could do that was to finally subscribe to some of the Newborn views, like so many others in our system. It may have been weak – it was weak – but at least we survived, and you’d be surprised how easy it is to live a secret life under the rules of such a sect.
“I was useful to the Newborns in the library, and they grew to trust me, and promoted me once more, not guessing that already around me othe
rs had begun to gather who wished to resist them but did not know how. We remembered what we had been told of the distant time when the Word overtook Avebury and decided that the best we could do was to resist from within – to live the lie of pretending to be Newborn against the day when we might act. We might have remained unsuspected, but one of our number betrayed us – though fortunately she did not know the names of all of us. But some were tortured, and of these one or two broke down and told all. We do not blame them, we might have done the same.
“You might think that knowing they had been fooled the Newborns would have put us to death, but there is a curious hypocrisy in the way they work. They prefer to kill moles spiritually, to suborn them to their cause through a process called massing.”*
*See Duncton Tales: the subterranean confinement of a group of moles suspected of blasphemy or “wrong thought” in a chamber dangerously small for them in which many die while others are harangued by Brothers and Sisters about the Newborn way.
He saw at once from Fieldfare’s expression that she knew precisely what a massing was.
“Yes, mole, it is a living death. Many of us, myself included, were taken from our posts and harried mercilessly, and put into a massing, and many died. We survivors were taken to confinement at Buckland, far enough from Avebury for us not to be a danger to the stability of their system. In Buckland, a system first developed by moles of the Word and used by them as a prison, we found others of our kind who had also somehow survived. Peach made her way of her own accord to me —”
“I couldn’t live without him, not knowing if he was alive or dead, I had to find him!” said Peach.
Spurling’s paw reached out to her and held her close. “So there we were, and have been these summer years past. But Buckland is a place through which Newborn moles come and go, and we have learnt much of what the Newborns intend this Longest Night coming.”