Duncton Found

by William Horwood

  “I am in awe of nothing but the great Word which my life serves,” replied Wort. “Before it we are all servants, including you yourself. Insofar as you are its greatest servant, so shall your greatness as Master be judged.”

  As she spoke Terce entered, and hearing the last of what she said looked as surprised as Mallice. Lucerne merely smiled, but a dangerous smile, for Wort trod dangerous ground.

  “And the Mistress Henbane, would the eldrene Wort say she was a great Mistress of the Word?”

  Whether or not Wort was aware of the danger she was in in giving her opinion of Lucerne’s mother it was hard to tell. Her earnest face betrayed nothing but faith and certainty.

  “The Mistress Henbane was made Mistress by the Word and in the Word’s name, as one day you shall be made Master. She dishonoured the Word by failing to address her task in the south-east for she did not destroy the infection of the Stone and it thrives even where the moles she appointed place their paws. I cannot judge if any could have done better. I know that many would have done worse. Perhaps we all dishonour the Word by failing to be as we should be. I know I do. Yet I try and I trust the mighty Word knows it. Did Mistress Henbane truly try? I understand that you are in a better position to judge than I.”

  “A good reply, Master-elect!” said Terce with a smile.

  “A clever reply,” said Mallice.

  “What is it you wish to say to me?” said Lucerne.

  “Moledom, the very Word itself, faces a greater danger than anymole yet seems to realise. The Stone Mole has come and is among us. He....”

  “Have you seen him, mole?” said Lucerne.

  “I have seen into his eyes, I have felt his talons on my heart, and if the holy Word, which is my mother and my father, will forgive me, if he had taken me with his body I should not have been closer to him than I have already been. Master-elect, evil is upon us, and it is to warn you of that evil that I have come to you.”

  Not a mole said a thing, nor even looked at each other. The mole was either mad or inspired, and whichever she was she put fear even into their hearts. Lucerne nodded his understanding of the seriousness of what she said and with a polite, “One moment, eldrene Wort,” turned to his aide.

  “Slighe, postpone the audience I have this afternoon. I would talk with this mole.”

  “Master-elect,” said the indefatigable Wort, “I have not eaten today, or yesterday.”

  “You look remarkably fit.”

  “The Word has been my sustenance, but what I have to tell you may benefit from food.” They all smiled broadly, even Terce.

  “So be it. Eat, drink, groom, and then tell me what you must.”

  In this way did the eldrene Wort first come before Lucerne at Cannock: purposeful and assured in her service to the Word.

  While she was absent Lucerne said, “A remarkable mole, Terce.”

  “Frightening,” said the Twelfth Keeper.

  “Mallice, what do you make of her?”

  “I think,” she said in a measured way unusual for her, “and I hope I may not be wrong, that we have been waiting for a mole like her, and she has been sent to us by the Word.”

  By the time Wort came back Clowder had been summoned and Drule as well, for Lucerne sensed that whatever it was the eldrene had to say they all should hear. When she returned Lucerne stanced her comfortably down.

  “Tell us something of thyself, mole, for the words a mole speaks are more easily judged by knowing who she is and where she comes from,” he said, at his most charming. “Take your time, miss nothing out. Slighe shall scriven it, but pay no heed to that.”

  This said, the most powerful group of moles in moledom fell silent to hear how it might be that not only they, but even the Word itself, faced the greatest danger it had ever known.

  “I am born of Nuneham, which lies close by Duncton to its south,” began Wort, adding quickly and with pride, “but my father was the guardmole Sedge, born in the north.

  “We were well taught of the Word and I saw its wisdom young and was able to make modest service to it while barely more than a pup, which brought me to the notice of the eldrene’s assistants.*

  * Wort’s long and despicable career as persecutor of Stone followers did indeed start young. Among the “modest services” she performed while still a pup at Nuneham, was to spy on followers, whose numbers she pretended to join. Her reports resulted in the routine torture and killing of several leading followers, including her mother, one brother, and an uncle.

  “From Nuneham I was sent to Buckland shortly before eldrene Fescue went to serve in Duncton Wood, and after the changes that followed the then worthy Wyre’s coming I was honoured with the appointment as assistant to the eldrene of Fyfield, a system to the south of Duncton.

  “It was not long before the Word called the eldrene to its final service and I assumed command at Fyfield and there rigorously imposed the Word.** It was my sole purpose to see that the Word was observed at Fyfield, and since those days I have ruthlessly put down anymole who has preached the Stone, or encouraged others to do so. More than that I have felt it my duty before the Word itself to treat as blasphemers anymole, be he grike, guardmole or even sideem who without just cause has been lax of the Word.

  ** There is evidence, not conclusive, that Wort murdered the eldrene of her time; and further evidence, reliable, that she ordered that the sideem Gerne be put to death when he threatened to report his suspicions of this murder to Wyre.

  “When the winter years were over we in Fyfield and several of my more reliable colleagues in nearby systems became aware of an upsurgence of interest in the so-called ‘Stone Mole’, whose coming had been predicted by followers after the showing of a star in the east. I had seen it myself: impressive, but an aberrance in the sky. Deviant moles might be forgiven for thinking it presaged something strange, though we in Fyfield, failing instruction on the matter from Wyre who I believe had become infected by murrain at that time, concluded that the star was a warning from the Word to be vigilant at all times. I trust I was not mistaken in issuing such a command.

  “Interest in this ‘Stone Mole’ now increased and it came to my notice that a number of Fyfield moles who, despite our precautions and efforts had fallen victim to the evil wiles and persuasions of the Stone, had made their way north-eastward towards Duncton saying that he was ‘coming there’. The guardmoles were warned that such journeys must be stopped, and it became necessary to put two of these moles to death as an example to others. They were snouted by me personally at the Fyfield Stone.

  “I pride myself that no moles from Fyfield thereafter joined that foolhardy march of moles that sought the Stone Mole, which was nothing less than a march to blasphemy, but I heard reports that elsewhere followers persisted in doing so. I strove to warn Wyre of this but he was unavailable even to eldrenes, and I was told he did not believe that suppression was wise or even of the Word, which shocked me.

  “Even though there was for a time an assemblage of followers near and about the sole entry into Duncton Wood so great that it was almost beyond the power of the sideem and guardmoles there to control them, Wyre did nothing. I resolved that if in future the Word should put into my paws the power to control that cross-under of Duncton I would quickly disperse those followers in the name of the Word. It is one of my great prides that I was able to do this.

  “I confess I expected the interest to decline as spring came and brought with it the normal birth of pups and need to concentrate on rearing. So far as Fyfield was concerned, I believe that with a few minor exceptions this was the case. I cannot say that I was then aware of the extent to which interest in the Stone Mole persisted, and that many still believed that he was near and continued to visit Duncton Wood. It is said always to be a goodly place, and stances proud of the river and roaring owl ways that together circumscribe it,” said Wort. “I have not visited it myself but I am told by moles who have that it has a mighty Stone at its highest point and moles go there in trembling and awe. For my
self, Master-elect, who have seen several of these Stones, including the one at Fyfield, I do not understand such fears and think them unnecessary and degenerate. The Word protects allmole that has true faith in it. As for the rest of Duncton, it sounds ordinary enough with wormful and worm-poor parts as any system has. It has an area called the Marsh End which is dank and harbours disease. The place has been little visited by mole since the Mistress Henbane made it outcast.”

  “Yet you have said this Beechen is ‘of Duncton’,” said Terce. “How do you know?”

  “He himself claims it,” said Wort. Spittle had formed a minute froth at the corners of her mouth, and her talons were tensed angrily as if she expected the arch enemy Beechen himself to appear in the chamber at any moment. There was a look of obsession about her, or perhaps it was merely that related curse of mole, sincerity without softening of humour.

  “In view of the disarray in some other nearby systems, and the seeming laxity of the guardmoles at Duncton Wood itself, I felt it incumbent on me to depute moles I trusted to watch out for developments regarding this so-called Stone Mole. Various stories were heard and rumours went about, and they were sufficiently appealing to followers that three emerged from the slime of their own secret deceit in my own system and attempted to perform some heathen ritual at the Fyfield Stone which was, naturally, out of bounds to all moles in the system but for the patrols.

  “They were caught and I decided to punish them myself before the Stone. It was as they died that I felt for the first time the corrupting temptations of the Stone, and knew I was being tried and tested in my faith to the Word.

  “I ordered the guardmoles away and decided to prove my faith in the Word. Master-elect, no words can adequately express the trial I then went through. For it seemed to me that the Word sent its temptation in the form of a mole of surpassing beauty who I saw as a light. This mole called out to me, and others with him called as well, and they asked me to touch the Stone in that mole’s name as if by doing so we should help him.

  “The light was beautiful, the day like no other I remember. I wept and felt pity for that mole, but always there was a corner in my heart that said, “Thou art of the Word and for the Word and the Word is here to strengthen you!” Only when I felt strong again did I reach forward and touch the Stone, believing that to do so was not to yield to the Stone but to show it and that mole that I could touch it with impunity.”

  “Eldrene Wort, why do you believe that this mole who, in your own words, was no more than light was the Stone Mole?” asked Mallice.

  “Because I later saw the mole in corporeal form and saw the same light about him, and felt the same presence. I am not in doubt of that and nor shall you be.

  “But before that, and after what I call my vision in June before the Fyfield Stone, I gave certain of the guardmoles strict instructions that if a young charismatic male mole was apprehended or seen I should be informed directly.”

  “I do not fully understand, eldrene Wort. You gave out a description of a mole you had only seen as ‘light’?”

  “I had the sense of what he might be. I made a guess that he was young and male. The reason I did it was because I believed this mole was sent to test me before the Word, and that in his presence I knew evil disguised as goodness. It seemed imperative that as few other moles as possible knew of his whereabouts before I apprehended him. Forgive me, Master, I....”

  Lucerne nodded his head and said, “Wort, your testimony is as impressive as any I have heard, the more so for your attempt to try to make clear something that is not clear. Say what you have to fearlessly. The Word shall judge you well for this! You are a credit to the office of eldrene.”

  “Well then,” she continued, almost falling over her words in her eagerness now to get to the heart of her report and to tell of the experience that had so obviously made such impact on her, and her face darkening.

  “The order I had given came to the ears of Wyre of Buckland as well as the punishment I meted out on those three blasphemous followers. He sent moles to depose me from my office at Fyfield, demoting me to Cumnor, an unknown and empty place north of the system I had grown to love and in the very shadow of infamous Duncton Wood.

  “But since Wyre acted in the name of the Word I was obedient and went without argument. But the Word was merciful and prevailed on Wyre’s representatives to let those few moles who wished to travel with me to Cumnor to do so. This was a further test of my faith in the Word, for I saw that by taking honour and power from me, and giving me but a few moles to direct, I was forced to examine my faith and the way that as an eldrene I gave leadership to a system. I believe that in Cumnor the Word was not disappointed in me, and it was not long before it sent other moles of the Word, disenchanted by the laxities the rule of Wyre at Buckland had encouraged, to serve with me. So it was that there were enough moles in Cumnor for me to send some to the Duncton cross-under and there gain acceptance and finally dominance. In that way the Word was at least well served at that place where, the followers of the Stone believed, the Stone Mole might be known.

  “But in fact it was from other moles who joined me in October that I at last heard of a Stone-fool preaching and healing in the vicinity of Frilford who sounded like the mole I myself had already “seen” at Fyfield. Then one of my informants who pretended to be a follower offered to get me into one of this Stone-fool’s gatherings.

  “Despite the great risks involved – not only of my being recognised by followers, but of my being tempted by the Stone – I knew it was my duty to go. To lessen the chances of being recognised I went unaccompanied by my guardmoles.”

  “And what did you see?” asked Mallice impatiently.

  “Evil masquerading as something beautiful!” exclaimed Wort. “Much that was alluring and corrupting!

  “The meeting was held in a high place east of Frilford, windy and wormless. There are few tunnels thereabouts, and those mainly used to avoid the patrols. An eldrene prepared to get her paws dirty learns much. My informant led me well, and although here and there we came upon other moles going the same way, all followers no doubt, we kept to the shadows as they did and did not linger to talk. There is something privy and filthy about Stone followers. They have not the pride of true moles of the Word.

  “However, I reached the chamber where the meeting was held without being challenged or even having the necessity of identifying myself at all. Only later did I realise that this seeming openness is a lure to attract moles of the Word who might otherwise fear to go. So cleverly does the heathen Stone make its converts!

  “I kept out of the way well at the back, but found a good vantage point so that I could view others there and all that took place. I was able to identify two moles I knew to be guardmoles – moles I have yet to bring before the vengeance of the Word, and one or two others who had minor positions in the Fyfield system.

  “I will not dwell at length on the happenings in that burrow prior to the mole Beechen’s appearance, except to say that there was some chanting and songs using old and now forbidden tunes with words full of reverence for the Stone. I noted a number of moles there were evidently crippled, and others I saw were badly diseased. They were a sorry bunch! Nevertheless I stayed and since excitement in the chamber was rising in expectation of the coming of the Stone Mole, whose title was chanted and called out a good deal, nomole was much interested in me.

  “The chamber was rank with the sweat and smell of so many, and the air was getting ever hotter when a sudden silence fell and at the far end of the chamber, by an entrance guarded by two or three larger moles unknown to me, two moles came in. Both were elderly – a scalpskinned male of no consequence and a female of the same age, but healthy.

  “A pity you did not know their names,” murmured Terce.

  “But I did!” said Wort, affronted. “For emboldened by not being challenged I asked a follower nearby, since my own informant – who confirmed the names later – had stayed clear of me lest I was found out. The moles were
Mayweed and Sleekit.”

  Terce and Lucerne looked so astonished that Wort paused in her narrative and said, “You know those moles?”

  “We have heard of Mayweed,” said Terce quietly. “And Sleekit is a former sideem, assistant to the Mistress Henbane. Well! This is indeed remarkable, Master-elect.”

  “It is, Tutor-Keeper Terce. Continue, Wort.”

  “After those two the one called Stone Mole arrived. There was pause before he came in, in which the excitement mounted even more and I confess I felt faint with heat and the blasphemy of being in such a place, and whispered prayers to the Word to protect me....

  “But then he came. He came alone. Alone into that heaving, noisome, ghastly chamber...” She paused and her eyes stared behind Lucerne and Terce as if she saw again the sight she had seen then. What was most extraordinary about that pause, which was marked only by the matching pause in the scrivening talon of Slighe, was that Wort’s attitude towards Beechen was plainly ambivalent as if, recalling the moment, she could not even now decide whether to talk of what she saw with alarm, or awe.

  The moment lasted long enough for the doubts arising from that ambivalence to be sown in any listening mole’s mind – and then her manner veered towards condemnation and hatred as she said with quiet intensity: “The Stone Mole is a young mole, male, handsome, healthy, and has eyes that a mole cannot easily look away from. He looked briefly about him, and as he did I knew him to be the mole I had seen as light before. Then he smiled, and his smile was that of innocence, and he spoke and his voice was soft to the ear. Oh, beware this mole, moles of the Word! Beware the words he speaks, the temptation he brings. Though I have said this to nomole, I fear the power that he holds! Aye, I fear! Evil is in his form, which is good and strong; evil is in his words, which are pleasant and reassuring. Evil is in his ideas, which dwell upon the unthinking mindlessness of a Silence to come. But most of all, evil is in his eyes, which draw a mole as do the gazes of a roaring owl, and blind him, and paralyse him, and lead him to his doom.