Duncton Tales

by William Horwood

  He grunted non-committally.

  “Will talk now,” he said finally, as if hoping that was a good reply.

  They stared at each other in silence and suddenly, for the first time since she was a growing pup, she felt her snout blush pink. Was he staring at her as she had at him, devouringly? No, no, no. No.

  “Tell me,” she said impulsively with no idea what she wanted him to tell her until she said it, “about the first time you went with Drumlin, Sedum and your mother, and the others, to see the secret delvings in the Charnel.”

  “You know about me?” he said.

  She nodded. “Tell me what you want to, Rooster. Please.”

  “That day my life began,” he said. “That day the journey here began.”

  “Today our journey on from here begins,” she said, again impulsively. Now why had she said that, and what did it mean? Oh, she knew, she knew what it meant!

  Rooster blinked and his great paws fretted.

  “Want to talk about it all,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The entrance into which Drumlin led Samphire, Rooster and the others, with Sedum taking up the rear, appeared at first as no more than a cleft among rocks, but once inside, they saw it continued steeply downward as a tunnel between narrow sloping walls. These came so close together that it was hard for the moles to progress without tripping over themselves, which most of them did; and it was made harder by the loose rocks and other obstructions which littered the tunnel’s steep floor. It occurred to Samphire after only a short way that she would have already given up and turned back had not Drumlin, who had the advantage of familiarity with the place, been leading them on with such determination. But perhaps after all the tunnel was meant to be awkward, to discourage strangers from venturing down too far; and perhaps too this visit, which seemed so sudden and spontaneous, had long been planned.

  After some initial nervous chatter they all fell silent as they continued to clamber steeply down, concentrating on where to put their paws. Twice they had to stop to catch up with each other and recover themselves, but at last the tunnel walls widened and the floor cleared and flattened into a more normal tunnel.

  A short distance on the passage opened up, and they found themselves deep underground in a hushed, cool, cavernous chamber, across which, from fissures in the roof high above, great shafts of light shone down so brightly in the gloomy place that they obscured what lay at the furthest end, though some sense of sound and continuation came from that direction.

  Those parts of the walls they could see, which ran back behind them to a gloomy end wall, were carved in deep and intricate patterns of an extent and beauty that quite took a mole’s breath away. Their convolutions of spiral and incision seemed to shimmer and shine with the light from above, and when a mole stared at them they seemed to move as if they were alive, being sensuous and subtle in some places, stark and shocking in others.

  “Was this delved?” asked Rooster in awe, going to the nearest wall and reaching up to touch an area of the carvings. As he ran his paws over them a sound was emitted from the wall opposite, strange and wistful, then suddenly harsh, then fading into a cry from somewhere fer away.

  Rooster pulled his paw back in alarm, at which the sounds stopped as suddenly as they had begun, and he glowered first at the place he had touched, and then round at the fer side of the chamber where the sound had seemed to come from.

  Glee scampered after him to examine the wall, but when she touched it in her turn — and the carvings had a quality that invited a mole’s paw to touch them — she did so more tentatively than he had; even so her touch brought forth similar echoing sounds from across the chamber, as of moles calling from the past. Once more, as she withdrew her paw, the sounds stopped.

  Rooster stared upwards to where the carvings continued fer out of reach of any mole, up so fer indeed that they were lost in that bright part of the roof where the light came in.

  “Moles delved these?” he asked again in wonder, pointing at the walls. He reached forward to touch the carvings yet again, but something in the awesome quality of the place stopped him, and anyway, from that part of the great chamber that lay beyond the light came a shuffling, dragging sound of mole, and they all turned that way in awed and silent expectation.

  So absorbed had Rooster and Glee been by the sounds, and Drumlin, Sedum and Samphire by the effect they had on them, that it was only then, as they looked towards the light in the central part of the chamber, that they realized the dramatic effect the sounds had had on Humlock. Normally when Glee or Rooster took their paw from his to go and do something, as they had now gone to the wall, he hunched himself up protectively, head down, snout low, great shoulders massed and haunches held tight.

  But now as they heard the shuffling sound and turned back from the walls towards it, they saw to their surprise that for once he had begun to move of his own volition. He held his head up and looked attentive, his great snout turned towards the light, and he began to move his head about most strangely, in such a way that a mole who did not know his disabilities might have thought he was trying to catch the sound of something amongst the odd echoes of the place.

  A moment or two later, apparently satisfied that whatever he had ‘heard’ lay towards the light that flooded into the centre of the chamber, he set off in a shambling and tentative way towards it, pausing now and then as if uncertain, yet not once snouting round to his flanks as he so often did for Glee’s and Rooster’s support.

  These two were about to go forward to him as they always did when Samphire said in a low voice, “Leave the mole be, my dears, does he not seem to know what he’s after?”

  “But he never does anything for himself!” declared Glee, both puzzled and worried.

  “I noticed him look up when you touched the wall,” said Samphire quietly. “Perhaps he felt some vibration in the ground from the sounds …”

  They watched in silence as he continued his slow and hesitant progress towards the light and in their different ways became conscious, as they had been out on the surface before he delved, that Humlock was in the process of discovering something for himself that moles could only direct him towards; the getting there he must do alone, and he was getting there now. But to where, and for what, none could guess.

  The nearer he drew to the light the slower he became, and the more evidently in distress, so that the tension among his friends increased as the desire to let him discover life for himself conflicted with the growing urge to rush forward and help him. He began to stop more than he started, “looking’ round behind him as if hoping that his friends would come to his aid, and beginning to let his head drop down towards that posture of defence against a world that seemed to have given him so little.

  “I must go to him,” said Glee anxiously at last, I must.” And so she might had not Rooster reached out a great paw to forestall her; with a thoughtful look furrowing his brow he turned back towards the wall, and watching Humlock closely, once more ran his talons over the carvings. He did so gently, and the resulting sounds were gentle in return, and in a way Humlock appeared to hear them, for he raised his head again for a moment, as hope seemed to come to his body, and he half turned towards the far side wall from where the sounds apparently came. But then he began to retreat into himself once more, and this time more quickly, as if he had lost the scent of something he had thought — he had hoped — might be somewhere there, and was now beginning to feel lost and in despair.

  “It was your touching of the wall that affected him more,” said Samphire quietly to Glee.

  Rooster pulled her to his flank and pointed silently at the carved wall and muttered, “You do it now. You. It might help.”

  Without looking at where she touched, for her eyes were on the mole she cared so much for, who now stanced alone near the light, all uncertain and lost in that mute and sightless world of his, Glee ran her talons gently along the wall. As she did so she whispered Humlock’s name urgently, as a mother might
purse her mouth in an effort to make a weaning pup begin to eat.

  Her touching of the wall was no more than a caress; so light, so simple, that the sounds it made were soft and distant things, like whispered memories of once-loved moles whom others have lost touch with. These echoing sounds played wistfully and alluringly among them all, and after a moment Humlock seemed to hear them, and gain strength from them, and then find new inspiration, for he raised his head again, scented the air and went on to the centre of the chamber where the light was brightest.

  As he paused there they heard quiet voices, barely more than whispers, which said, “Welcome, mole! Welcome!” again and again. The light slowly faded, no doubt because cloud had crossed the sun in the sky they could not see out above the surface, and for the first time they were able to make out what was at the far end of the chamber — a great arched entrance, and a group of three or four moles, all grey and old and disabled. It was from these moles that the gentle greeting had come. As Humlock paused, and this group were able to see the newcomers as they themselves were seen, Drumlin started forward with an exclamation of pleasure and at the same time one of the far group broke free of his companions and came forward as well, both moving towards where Humlock now stanced.

  Of the others none moved at all, as if they sensed that a certain formal propriety was needed for the greeting they were witnessing. Drumlin reached Humlock’s flank long before the other, and a deep silence settled on the chamber, broken only by the sound of the dragging and shuffling paws of the advancing mole, and the whispered tremors of his painful breathing as he advanced ever nearer to Drumlin and Humlock.

  At last he stopped before them both, nodded briefly to Drumlin, who seemed eager to go forward and greet him but held back out of respect, and fixed his eyes on Humlock. Then, in a gesture that combined welcome with reassurance, acknowledgement with blessing, the older mole reached out a paw to Humlock’s and touched him. As he did so Samphire saw that the joints of his paws were swollen and bent, the talons crooked and useless, the fur almost all gone.

  Then he spoke these words, and though his voice was but a painful whisper they had about them the quality of a blessing ordained by the Stone itself.

  “Be the grace of the Stone between thy two shoulders,

  Protecting thee in thy coming and thy going;

  Be the spirit of the Stone Mole in thine heart

  Guiding thee in thy coming and thy going;

  Be the love of the ancients ever with thee,

  Their voice known for ever by thy going and thy coming.”

  Then the old mole pulled back from Humlock, turned as best he could to Drumlin and said, “Now, my dear, my beloved daughter, come and embrace me, show me the youngster of whom you’re so proud, and her new friend …”

  So this was Drumlin’s father! She needed no further encouragement and happily went forward as he had asked, and embraced him warmly, saying how much she had missed him, and sniffling at some tears as she did so.

  “It was too long to leave you, Father, your illness has hit you hard.”

  “It was best you stayed away from here to have your pup, best for her to get fresh air, and for you to be free to help Sedum with her pup.” He nodded towards Humlock’s abnormality. To this mole, it seemed, it was life that mattered, not normality. “But you have found new friends … I knew your time of birthing would be propitious and it seems it was. Introduce me to them now.”

  Samphire, Rooster and Glee came forward, while Sedum went immediately to Humlock’s flank and put a proud paw to his, for had he not come forward of his volition and received a welcome on behalf of them all?

  “This is my father,” said Drumlin. “He prefers to be called simply by his name, which is Gaunt. This is Samphire, this Rooster her son, and this your granddaughter Glee.”

  Gaunt smiled at them and bowed his head, looking piercingly at each.

  “You’ll find that moles hereabout call him Mentor,” explained Drumlin, “because he’s the Mentor of the Delvings, the one on whom the continuation of their traditions depends, and who teaches the others all he himself has learnt …”

  “There has been a Mentor here ever since Hilbert himself first came,” whispered Gaunt, “and that is many centuries ago, as no doubt you already know. But each of us hopes he is the last.”

  “But if there was a last there would be no more, and that would mean the traditions were at an end,” said Samphire. She spoke to him with a curious mixture of gentleness and familiarity, and Gaunt’s face seemed to soften as he listened to her, as if her presence eased his pain. Indeed, watching the scene a mole might almost have thought the two had met before — though that, surely, was not possible.

  “Yes, it might seem so,” he replied, “but it is not so. You see, most traditions are bent on preserving the dead past from the living future, but ours has a very different purpose. We live in the hope that Hilbert’s prophecy will be fulfilled, that one day a mole will come to the Charnel who will have the gifts and abilities to understand all that we have preserved here, and make it live again and take it forth into moledom. Such a mole will be a Master of the Delve and be the true successor to Hilbert and affirm the faith he had that better times would one day come to moledom. We here are simply intermediaries through time between two Masters, one past and one future, using our traditions to keep alive knowledge of the delving arts that moles of the Word so nearly destroyed.”

  “Gaunt,” began Samphire, coming closer still and visibly having to restrain herself from reaching out to touch him, “I feel that …” She shook her head, retreated a little in confusion, and in a vain attempt to hide it brought Rooster forward and said, “I mean … Rooster, say hello.”

  Rooster came forward awkwardly and touched Gaunt’s paw formally.

  “His greatest desire has always been to delve,” said Samphire.

  Gaunt nodded pleasantly, but it was obvious that he was as affected by their meeting as she seemed to be, and all of them seemed to sense that there was something unfinished between the two moles, like a long-interrupted dialogue between moles who were separated which must now be finished before life between them could go on properly. Yet how could such a thing possibly be, between moles who had never met before?

  “Drumlin,” whispered Gaunt, turning from this unspoken tension at his meeting with Samphire, yet speaking with roguish delight at this first sight of his granddaughter, “your pup is albino and her fur is holy white!”

  Glee giggled and darted a mischievous glance at Drumlin.

  “Unholy white, she says,” said Glee. “Makes me conspicuous, makes me vulnerable. Humlock and Glee are two of a kind in that. That’s why Rooster was sent to protect us. He can see, and speak, and he’s strong and he’s dark! Aren’t you, Rooster?”

  Rooster frowned and muttered that he supposed he was, but all he wanted to do was delve.

  “Ah! Delve! Yes, there’s plenty of that for everymole, plenty of delving here!” said Gaunt, before turning back to Samphire, still confused by the sense she gave him of past knowledge.

  “So you are Ratcher’s consort! A unique accomplishment, I would say!”

  “Former consort,” said Samphire firmly but respectfully.

  “Quite so, Samphire,” smiled Gaunt.

  Afterwards, when Rooster described these events to Privet at Hilbert’s Top, he remembered well that particular moment when Gaunt spoke his mother’s name. He had been staring at the delvings on the walls and listening to the subtle murmurs of echoes as the meeting with Gaunt continued. Was it Rooster’s imagination that as Gaunt said ‘Samphire’, and the two looked into each other’s eyes, the chamber seemed to tremble with discovered silence, as if some moment of past or future time had been touched, and sounded now in the whispers of the place?

  “Come now, Drumlin, my dear, lead us on into the Delvings,” whispered Gaunt, breaking the moment as he had before, “and speak for me, telling them all that I have taught you and what you have discovered for yourself
, for my voice is weak today and painful. You Samphire, you stay near and help me if you will, and you Sedum, be proud of Humlock, for he has found a place to call a home and is welcome here. As for Humlock, and you two …’ he half turned and nodded gently at Rooster and Glee, “you listen, you learn, you act, for yours is moledom’s future, to make as glorious as you will. There is so much for you to learn, and so little time to do it.”

  The party turned out of the light and went on into that part of the chamber that had been obscured to them. There they were joined by the moles they had only glimpsed earlier, and whatever nervousness Glee and Rooster might have felt was gone in an instant before the shy friendliness of some, and the exuberant welcome of others as all followed on behind Gaunt and Samphire and entered into the lost Delvings of Charnel Clough.

  The mysteries the young moles had encountered in the chamber where Gaunt met them — of strange delving, of old deformed moles, of haunting sound and strange prophecy — deepened the moment they accompanied him on into the Delvings. It was not that Gaunt or the others refused to explain or answer questions, but rather that they believed that the youngsters would understand the Charnel better if they saw and experienced things for themselves.

  They did not know it, but this process of learning had already begun before they met Gaunt, and in the mole-months and years of summer, autumn and winter which now followed it continued more quickly. Some matters, like the organization of the Delvings and the moles who lived there, were easily understood; others, like the nature and purpose of delving, were matters of practice and increasing maturity which the three youngsters now became involved with.

  One major issue — the extent of Rooster’s special gifts, their development and their importance — was something which dawned only slowly on Gaunt and the others, and which he himself could not begin to guess at. All he sensed was, as he spoke of it so much later to Privet with increasing frustration, that he had a special role to play, a role that felt a burden to him, and was a source of confusion and, finally, distress.