“You’re going on,” said Weeth, “but I will not unless you tell me if you accept me as your companion. You’ve had these days of travel in the Vale to judge me and now you must make up your minds. You’ve seen me as I am, for better and for worse, and —”
“Mole,” said Maple, “I speak for all of us when I say we want you with us. We have no choice, but even if we had I’d choose you as a companion on the way!”
Weeth seemed much touched by this, and blinked his eyes as if about to cry, though no tears could be seen at all.
Whillan asked, “What would you have done if Maple had said no?”
“I would have gone over to the other side, of course,” said Weeth matter-of-factly, “as Maple knows, that’s why he speaks of having no choice. Mind you, I would have regretted betraying you, but a mole must...”
“... take his opportunities where he can?” suggested Whillan with a smile.
“Young mole, you are learning fast, and I rather think that what you have learnt may be the saving of your life one day, as it has been of mine in the past. The study of opportunity – what a rich, worthwhile field that is! But look, we have been seen. Observe the humourless aspect of the Newborn patrol! See their joyless eyes! Thrill to the sterility of the purpose of their paws!”
It was true enough, the patrol had seen them and, shouting to others nearby, a good few Newborns were bearing down on them with ominous speed and intent. Weeth kept up his commentary for a little longer before breaking off and turning to his adoptive friends.
“Weeth pledges himself to you and yours. Weeth’s years and months and days of non-commitment to anymole but himself are done! Weeth is yours.”
“Beware, Weeth,” said Privet gently, as the first Newborn arrived, “for the Stone may turn what you think of now as opportunity into the very destiny you doubt, and it may ask much of you. Remember, if that happens, that in us you have three friends who will give you loyalty in return.”
“Well!” declared Weeth, unable to say more, and with a sudden brightness to his eyes that certainly was tears.
He sniffled a little and, without being asked, pushed forward towards the first Newborn. Raising his paw in a benign but imperious way said, “Hail, Brother in justice, truth and good intent, take us to your leader!”
They were led to the tunnels of Evesham and thence into the company of moles the stench of whose vile sectarian beliefs benumbed the mind. They were first examined by various Brother Inquisitors as if they were fleeing reprobates, and they told truthfully who they were and how they had come, exactly as they had agreed. Ironically, it was Privet who was treated most lightly, almost with indifference, as if her questioners could not believe a female could be of importance, or have anything useful to impart. But her age, obvious reserve, and sharp retorts made even those dogmatic moles realize in the end that she was not the travelling concubine they seemed to think her, but was indeed who she said she was. Privet of Duncton Wood, a scholar and scribe. After that they treated her with a mixture of fear and suspicion, and made life as hard for her as they could.
“Their attitude and interrogation tells us more about the Newborns than they will have learnt from us,” said Whillan when the Inquisitors, accepting their story at last, hurriedly brought them together again in a comfortable communal chamber, and gave them better food.
Of the four of them, only Weeth had been physically abused, for his face had marks and swellings that betrayed he had been buffeted a good deal, but when the others asked him what had happened he shrugged it off, saying that as a Newborn who had reneged on the cause he had got off lightly.
“Worse might be in store for all of us,” he said ominously. “Attitudes are hardening.”
Soon after this the four found themselves summoned at last into the presence of the mole who had fretted so long to catch up with them, and question them, and assert himself over them once more: Snyde.
“Acting Master Librarian Snyde,” he said when they addressed him as Deputy Master, and he smirked at them all, preserving a look of especially condescending disdain for Librarian Privet.
It must be said that the journey from Duncton to Evesham, which had brought a gloss to the fur and a brightness to the eyes of Whillan, Maple and Privet, had done the same for Snyde. But whereas they looked the better for it, he contrived to look the worse, or at least the more unpleasant. The sheen on such fur as his bent and twisted back sustained now contrived only to highlight his untoward deformity, while the shine to his mean snout, and the devouring eagerness of his healthy eyes, served only to reveal what a ruthlessly self-seeking mole he remained.
They had been brought to him in an ante-chamber to Evesham’s great communal chamber, wherein, within earshot, some ritual presentation or other was being made.
1 was of course invited,” said Snyde with a quick look in which false modesty vied with overweening pride, “but on hearing that you had so magnanimously decided to join the delegation here I felt it only fair to brief you.”
“About what?” growled Maple.
Snyde frowned, trying hard to keep his patience, and certainly the large Newborn brothers who had been deputed to act as his bodyguards and retinue did not like the way that the four journey-stained moles regarded him with barely concealed contempt. They stared malevolently at Maple, which made Snyde’s sharp unpleasant smile seem all the worse.
“About what? About whom, you mean,” said Snyde. “You will perhaps be aware that a certain mole, an important mole, has chosen to honour me with his company on this journey to Caer Caradoc. Senior Brother Chervil is here, and will be leading us on towards Ludlow on the morrow.”
“I thought —”
“It matters little what you thought or think, Whillan,” said Snyde contemptuously. “When you meet him you would be sensible to address the Senior Brother in the Newborn way; that would also be wise and politic. You would also be advised to answer his questions, or those of any Brother Inquisitors he may depute to examine you on certain matters in which he has, I think, a justifiable interest.”
“What matters. Deputy Master?” said Privet calmly.
Snyde allowed a cunning smile to play across his face and then let it lapse into a chilly stare. He seemed to want them to know that he felt they were playing a game with him and he understood it, in which he was nearly right.
“The Master Stour, mole: where is he?” The words came out in a nasal, staccato way which betrayed Snyde’s great concern to find the answer.
“We will be glad to inform anymole of that,” said Privet, “though I fear the truth is something some moles may find distressing.”
“He is dead along the way...?” said Snyde with ill-concealed delight.
“I thought it was Chervil who washed to ask the question,” said Privet.
“It would be wise of you not to play verbal games with me. Librarian Privet,” said Snyde, looking at Whillan menacingly, and making it very plain that he had powers to make life uncomfortable for the mole he perceived as the weakest of the three Duncton moles.
“I will tell Senior Brother Chervil all that he wishes to know, to the best of my ability,” said Privet a little wearily. She had no need of the gentle nudge Maple gave her to indicate the snooping shadow of a mole at a small portal beyond where Snyde squatted, she had seen it already, and assumed that if it was not Chervil who spied, it was one of his Brother Inquisitors.
“We are weary from travel. Acting Master Librarian,” said Privet impatiently, and as much for the spy’s ears as Snyde’s, “and if we are to see Senior Brother Chervil let us do so now. If not, let us go and rest.”
“Speak more respectfully to the Acting Master, Sister,” snarled one of the watchful brothers at Snyde’s flank, the first open expression of the hostility they had sensed from the beginning in Evesham against Privet because she was female.
“Speak more respectfully yourself,” said Whillan hotly.
Snyde raised a crooked paw and half laughed, in an almost apologetic
way, before saying, “Brothers, you must be patient with these Duncton moles, they are not trained in Newborn ways, and their females are regarded as our equals...”
“Tstt!” said one of the brothers with genuine incredulity.
“... and perhaps they are, perhaps they are theoretically...” He paused, enjoying the dismay produced by his unexpected support of Privet, though he ended it soon enough. “... for all moles are born equal before the Stone, and go forward equally into its Silence.
It is just that it is ordained that males have rather different tasks than females, whose main and first concern must naturally be the rearing of young through procreation with a male.”
“Twould be difficult any other way. Brother!” declared Weeth suddenly, winking broadly at the assembled Newborns.
Is that mole Newborn?” said a voice from the shadows.
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” responded the irascible Weeth, turning to the mole and finding himself snout to snout with Chervil.
His riposte was perhaps ill-advised, for hearing it, and seeing at which mole it had been directed, if unknowingly, several brothers moved forward menacingly towards Weeth as if to roughly eject him from the chamber, when Chervil said quietly, “Leave him be!”
The moment Chervil came fully into the chamber – and he did so from a direction which showed he had not been the spying mole – its atmosphere changed. For one thing, he commanded an awed respect quite different from the authority that Snyde wielded.
He too was trimmer from the journey, but also more powerful-looking, as if he had cast off some shadow that had beset him in Duncton Wood and now saw his objectives clearly. He was, undeniably, a mole with charisma, and had the ability to inspire in those around him, even in Whillan and Maple if not Privet, a certain sense of excitement.
“You must forgive the Acting Master’s questioning. Librarian Privet,” he said courteously, nodding his head towards Maple and Whillan, and speaking their names. “He – I should more fairly say we – have been impatient for your coming. Your late arrival has caused a delay, and we were all of us anxious to take advantage of the fair weather we have had and get to Caradoc. Fortunately, the days are still mild.”
He eyed Privet with considerable respect, as she did him. “It seems strange, Sister, that we have both had to travel so far to meet, when for so many moleyears past we have resided in the same system. But, well, I preferred to pursue my spiritual studies and meditations in the Marsh End of Duncton Wood, well away from the taunts and temptations of your Library. But of course your reputation precedes you here and I trust you will forgive some of the moles you are likely to meet for their brusqueness, even rudeness perhaps; they are not used to lettered females. Great reforms of the kind for which my... the Elder Senior Brother Thripp has been responsible do not proceed all at once; some things must wait, and the radical equality of Duncton Wood is perhaps one of them.”
It was elegantly spoken, and the Duncton moles had the clear impression that though he had not said so directly, perhaps because of the presence of others both in the chamber and close by outside it, he himself was a reforming mole, not entirely set in the old ways, even if his rank and natural authority meant that he represented them.
Having spoken, he paused, eyeing them searchingly and finally letting his gaze settle on Weeth. One of the brothers came and whispered in his ear.
“You are the mole Weeth?” said Chervil.
“I am,” said Weeth with no sign of fear.
“But no longer Newborn.”
“Arguable,” said Weeth. “I have been trained in Newborn beliefs here and there in a sporadic kind of way, but now I have the honour of being attached to Maple of Duncton here, as a kind of aide or helper.”
“He does not look a mole who needs much help,” said Chervil.
“Nor do you. Senior Brother, if I may say so, but there seem a great many brothers here eager to help you.”
There was a flurry of dismay at this rejoinder but Weeth ignored it utterly, and instead smiled and did not let his gaze on Chervil waver, and to his credit Chervil smiled back. But it was the smile of a confident and intelligent mole who appreciated the joke; there was no hint of weakness in it.
“Well, you are now of Brother Snyde’s party and since all in it naturally have a safe conduct to Caer Caradoc, I am sure, Weeth, that you will come to no harm along the way from anymole, Newborn or otherwise.” Here he looked heavily at the Newborn guards to make his meaning plain. “Now, we are interested to know what has happened to the Master Librarian Stour. We had understood from the Keeper Sturne that he was journeying with you. I trust that nothing has harmed him on the way?”
The reply Privet gave was the nearest she ever got to a lie, and she was conscious of it, and it was the reason she hesitated. Even though it was a lie by default and what she said was nearer the truth than either Maple or Whillan expected, or Weeth could ever have predicted, she did not like it. But in this company the whole truth might be, as Snyde would have it, impolitic.
“I had imagined that Keeper Sturne would have told you what Master Stour wished him to tell you,” said Privet. “The fact is that to the best of my knowledge Stour is still in Duncton Wood, where he remained when we left. He is in retreat in the Ancient System.”
“In Duncton Wood...?” said Chervil slowly, his intelligent eyes flickering as he rapidly weighed up what that might mean. It was plain he did not doubt that Privet was telling the truth. “And can you tell us what he is doing in the Ancient System? That is, is it not, the system of old tunnels deserted by moles for many decades, which the Duncton Library is adjacent to?”
“In the Ancient System,” spat out Snyde. “But —”
“That is so,” said Privet, ignoring him, and though her voice was quiet it carried increasing assurance, for she felt that the only thing worth speaking now was the truth, and in that moment of confrontation with Chervil she sensed that the real struggle between Stour and Thripp was beginning, and everything before had been a gradual gathering of support and preparation of position.
In speaking to Chervil she felt she was speaking indirectly to Thripp himself Chervil seemed to understand this too, and there was no trace of disdain or condescension towards her such as they had experienced from the other Newborn moles and Snyde.
“So what is moledom’s most venerable librarian doing in those obscure and deserted tunnels when moledom’s other respected librarians are all on their way to confer with the Elder Senior Brother in Caradoc?” he asked.
“You could hardly expect him to make the trek to Caradoc and survive,” said Privet, who was proving to be as in control and as commanding as Chervil himself, though in a different way.
“I confess I was surprised when I heard it,” said Chervil, darting a questioning glance at the discomfited Snyde, “but we could find no trace of the Master Stour, could we. Acting Master Snyde?”
Snyde stared through narrowed, hate-filled eyes at Privet. He felt excluded by the dialogue, and perhaps he thought the “Acting” appendage to his title was now even less deserved than it had been before. Privet was making no friend in Snyde, not for herself or those on her side, but then she had never wished to, and the rising tide of truth and purpose in her would surely see that she never would if it compromised her task.
“The Master Stour charged me, through Deputy Master Snyde,” she continued, “to inform the Convocation of Caradoc that in his judgement the calling of such a Convocation was mistaken, and the trend of the Newborn sect towards retributive dogma and censorship of contrary views – not to mention texts being called “blasphemous” which are not – is a most dangerous thing, which all moles should resist. As for what he is doing in Duncton, I am empowered to tell you, though I would have preferred to do so through my colleague here,” she nodded her head towards the fuming Snyde, “with whom I have not yet had time for a proper talk, but if he permits I will tell you what I know.”
“Does he permit?” said Chervil a little ir
onically, turning graciously to Snyde, who spat out some word or other to indicate that of course he did.
“Well then?” said Chervil, turning back to Privet.
“As you may infer from what I have said, the Master Stour is somewhat concerned about the future safety of certain of the Duncton Library’s more revered and ancient texts, his view being that the role of a librarian is not only the dissemination of knowledge through texts – a task he in particular has advocated and advanced all his life – but their preservation as well. The texts he is most concerned with are the Books of Moledom.”
“There are copies in most libraries, are there not?”
“In all of them but Beechenhill, I think, thanks to him,” said Privet. “But he is concerned for the originals, believing as he does that there is something special, perhaps sacred, about the texts and the folios they contain which were scribed by the holy moles who originally made the Books themselves.”
“And where is he preserving them from this supposed danger?” asked Chervil quietly. “He seems to have told you much, Librarian Privet, perhaps he has told you that as well.”
“He did not,” said Privet. “He is not a fool. Senior Brother Chervil. He would have realized the considerable dangers in our journey to Caradoc, and with all due respect, being dubious about the Newborn sect and their likely treatment of moles with dissenting views, he may have felt it wisest that we did not know, lest the information be forced out of us. Forgive me if I sound cynical – I am.”
“Which being so, Librarian Privet, a mole must admire your courage in coming at all.”
“A mole must stance up for what he believes,” was her quiet reply.
“You mean she believes,” said Chervil with a confident and now humourless stare. What Privet had said seemed to have angered him somewhat.
“Oh, do I?” said Privet innocently.
Chervil frowned with displeasure, discomfited by her assurance, which had increased with each moment, and seemed in some subtle way to undermine his authority with the other Newborns there. Then, with a brief and chilly smile, he turned and was gone.