Curlew’s burrow was quieter, not only because there was just a single pup there, but because he was far less advanced than Rue’s other four.
Comfrey was thin and nervous, sticking close to Rebecca or Curlew, or both if he could, and by the time the snow came had not learned to talk with any fluency. He would try as best he could, but the words came out stutteringly and he often broke off in mid-sentence as if he had lost interest in what he was trying to say.
‘R-R-Rebecca? I want the…’ and he would trail off, looking somewhere else, as Rebecca looked up inquiringly and asked him what it was he wanted. Often he seemed to have forgotten.
Mekkins stayed on for only two days after he had delivered Rebecca back safely—just time enough to confirm that the change for the better that he saw coming over her on Longest Night, whose causes he did not fully understand, was lasting. Then he left them to it—partly because no male likes to be away from his own burrow too long in January, when the females are just beginning to get restless for the mating season and the males are beginning to extend their territory.
So, when the deep snow came, it was just Rebecca, Curlew and a fascinated Comfrey there.
‘Where has the g-g-ground gone?’ asked Comfrey when he first saw the snow. Then ‘Where did it come from? What is it? H-how long has it come for?’
His slowness of speech did not stop him asking a dozen questions, many of which neither Rebecca nor Curlew could answer. But Rebecca did her best—for she remembered her own insatiable curiosity as a pup about the wood—and to Curlew’s delight the two would sit and talk away, the burrow filled with Rebecca’s laughter and Comfrey’s hesitating, serious voice. He never laughed and rarely smiled, yet managed to convey a sense of excitement and fascination with the world about him. But he hated Rebecca to leave the burrow for too long and would stand by the burrow entrance, looking miserably up the tunnel, and nothing Curlew could say would take the worried furrows from the thin fur on his forehead.
* * *
When the snows came and the males in the system began to be more aggressive, Rune knew that he must soon take a chance on his own revolution. The time was right, for there was nothing like a bit of premating aggression to put the henchmoles into the right frame of mind to follow his lead and oust Mandrake. But it had to be done subtly.
His opportunity came during a conversation with Mandrake—‘monologue’ is a better word—which convinced Rune that the system’s long-standing leader was, indeed, demented.
‘Have you see the Stone Mole, Rune?’ asked Mandrake, having summoned him into his tunnels with a roaring shout around Barrow Vale. ‘Well?’
‘I? No… I have not,’ said Rune carefully.
Mandrake smiled a terrible smile of triumph.
‘Ah! But I have, you see. I know!’
Rune was a study in unctuous silence.
‘I have spoken to the Stone Mole,’ added Mandrake softly. ‘I know he means harm to the system and I have told him I will kill him.’ Mandrake’s black eyes widened horribly and he nodded his head. ‘I will. Yes, I will. I’ll kill him.’
There was a long silence.
‘Only you could do such a thing,’ began Rune soothingly, wondering if his opportunity to get Mandrake up to the Ancient System and isolate him there, which was his intention, was now coming.
Mandrake grew irrationally angry at this: he did not need Rune to tell him what he could do or could not do. What mole was Rune to say such a thing? Always poking his snout into things. Perhaps he was the one who had told the Stone Mole to take Sarah away, and Rebecca? Wouldn’t have put it past him. Slimy little bastard was Rune. Interfering little hypocrite. Mandrake turned to Rune to strike him with his talons so that he would learn what not to say… But Rune was gone. Rune was not crouching where he had been. There, there were only black shadows where Rune had been, shades of darkness where Runemole Rune had gone. And there would be, for Mandrake was not even facing where Rune had been and still was; Mandrake did not want to put his talons into anymole again; Mandrake was mumbling into a dark corner of his own imagining, mumbling to himself in his loneliness.
He knew the Stone Mole was waiting for him and he was afraid, and he had never felt fear, no not that, not fear. He didn’t like fear, so he would go to that ancient place where the voice in the Midsummer Night was and where the old mole died, never even struggling, no fear in his eyes. Old whatwashisname? Before Sarah, before Rebecca, remember? He had been a pup but he couldn’t remember or could he member, member his talons soft like Rebecca’s had been when she was born, he membered that, no blizzard though. But snow, now. ‘They don’t know the cold. Only Siabod moles know cold. Take them up Cwmoer and the whole bloody lot would freeze. Gelert would have a feast, see? What did Y Wrach used to say? “Crai by mryd rhag lledfryd heno.” Melancholy as hell she was, the old bitch. Call this Duncton snow cold? They should try the ice on Castell y Gwynt.’
Mandrake’s massive body moved uncomfortably in the dark, his own dark, aching with the lifelong effort of seeing beyond the whirling blizzard in his mind and failing, always not quite seeing, but remembering that he might have, with Sarah, who surely could hear him calling when he took her and he tried to say something but his body and the darkness wouldn’t let him. Yes, she heard him calling out of the blizzard, oh Sarah, she heard him out of the Siabod ice. He membered that. Or was it Rebecca? With Rebecca. On and in Rebecca when she heard him… yes, she did! She heard him. ‘Where is she now? Where is she?’
Rune watched the slow tears on Mandrake’s face pitilessly and called them madness. Mandrake had raised his talons to strike the wall and then muttered, and now turned mumbling and with tears wetting his rough old face fur. ‘He’s past it,’ gloated Rune.
‘You must go to the Ancient System and find the Stone Mole,’ said Rune finally and bravely, ‘and you must kill him for us.’
Mandrake looked at his talons, twisted with fighting and killing, and his snout lowered. He was thinking of when they were in Rebecca’s fur, his Rebecca.
‘Yes,’ he said wearily. ‘Will you come with me, Rune?’
‘Yes,’ said Rune, thinking that a lot of henchmoles would not be far behind either.
‘Yes, you come along, Rune, you might help me find Sarah.’ He wasn’t going to mention Rebecca because he didn’t want Rune helping him to find her. No.
* * *
How was Rue to know that her youngsters had mischievously burrowed a way into Hulver’s old tunnels? What wisdom could ever have told her that Mandrake and Rune would happen that way? When trouble comes calling, a mole had better not waste time asking such questions else the impossibility of answering them and so finding some reason for tragedy will drive him, or her, mad.
But one day, when the world was quiet because the snow was thick and all the pups had gone off somewhere, Rue was suddenly alert with a mother’s foreknowledge that something is dreadfully wrong. It was Violet who came running, frightened as a pup should never be frightened.
‘What’s happened?’ Rue asked urgently.
‘There’s two big moles and they’ve got Beech and they’re hitting him.’ Rue started to run the way Violet had come, calling out, ‘Show me.’
What Violet had reported was not strictly true. Mandrake and Rune had entered Hulver’s burrows and gone straight to the sealed tunnel that led into the Ancient System. They had not even considered that the tunnels would be occupied, and the lack of sound and smell seemed to prove them right.
Mandrake started without ado to burrow around the flint seal and, quite quickly, made sufficient of a passage to get through to the other side if he wanted. He had sniffed the cold air of the Ancient System, looked into its depths and was working himself up into a rage preparatory to setting off by himself into its silent depths, to root out and kill the Stone Mole.
Then Rune heard a rustle behind them and caught sight of the youngsters, watching. Mandrake, unpredictably, laughed. Rune, predictably, saw as quick as a talon thrust that there m
ight be some use for these youngsters. They were all of them about to run off, but there was such ice in Rune’s gaze that they froze trembling to the wall—all except Violet, who was behind and slipped back into the shadows.
Mandrake came out of the tunnel he had made, peered heavily at them, shook his head, and was gone into the blackness of the Ancient System with a chuckle and a roar, leaving Rune with the youngsters.
Beech was nearest, so Rune picked on him. ‘Well, well,’ he said sneeringly at him, ‘and who are we, then?’
‘Beech, sir,’ whispered Beech. Rune stretched out a talon and cuffed him hard enough to hurt.
‘Really?’ smiled Rune, hitting him again. The other youngsters’ eyes widened in fear and they started to tremble.
‘Who’s your mother then, Beech, sir?’ said Rune, approaching near him so that Beech felt he was being engulfed by darkness. Beech couldn’t take his eyes off Rune’s; Coltsfoot and Pipple simply stared at him in horror as if they were transfixed by a talon to the tunnel wall.
‘She’s Rue, sir,’ said Beech. He looked round at his brothers and sister for help, his mouth trembling in his struggle not to cry, for he thought that if he did, he might be punished still more. It was at this point that Violet slipped away to run and find Rue.
Until Rue’s name was mentioned, Rune was merely enjoying himself putting terror into the hearts of these youngsters; once it came out, his mind began to race with possibilities. The opportunity he was seeking, and which he knew would come eventually if he was patient enough, had arrived.
Rue was the mole who had first reported hearing the Stone Mole in the Ancient System—a report that in Rune’s view was hysterical and unfounded. But that was no matter—her name was remembered sympathetically in Barrow Vale. What a terrible thing it would be—would it not?—if Mandrake was proved to have killed some of Rue’s litter—a litter she had bravely reared up on the slopes all by herself, et cetera and so forth. And after he had done away with Rebecca’s brood! Rune looked down at the pathetic Beech, thinking that there was nothing like fear to confuse a mind.
Then he heard a calling and a running, the cry of a mother to her litter, and a look of hope came into the stricken eyes of little Beech. So Rue was coming, was she? Perfect timing?
With a talon thrust quicker than a pup can bleat, Rune killed Beech, his body and a few drops of blood falling in a slump against the tunnel wall.
He watched coldly when Rue arrived and a look of horror came over her face and a choking to her throat as she looked disbelievingly at Beech and then up at Rune.
‘Very sad,’ said Rune. ‘Very unpleasant. The work of Mandrake, I’m afraid, wasn’t it?’ He looked menacingly at Coltsfoot and Pipple; he could not see Violet, who was some way behind Rue and sensibly staying there. The two youngsters nodded silently. Rue could see they were terrified, too afraid even to run to her. She went to them.
Rune looked at her and said, ‘You will go to Barrow Vale and report that Mandrake has tried to kill your litter and that Rune has managed to save all but one of them. Tell them that he wants the henchmoles to muster. Tell them that Rune is coming.’
Rue started to back away, eyes wide, protectively pulling two youngsters with her.
Rune loomed towards her. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ he smiled. ‘They’ll slow your progress, and anyway, I will protect them from Mandrake should he return.’ He reached out his paws for them, talons loose, and she looked into his evil eyes, every instinct telling her to push them behind her and fight… and yet, if she did, they would surely die, whereas this way, Rune’s way, there could be a chance.
‘Will they be all right?’
‘Of course,’ nodded Rune, ‘they’ll be safer here than tagging along with you. I will block up the entrance into the Ancient System, making it more difficult for Mandrake to return and then hide elsewhere in these tunnels. If Mandrake returns, which he may very soon do, I will fight him for you, for I hate him as you do, as we all do. Now the time has come to resist him, so run to Barrow Vale now, not only for your system’s sake but for your litter’s, too.’
Rue’s grasp of Coltsfoot and Pipple loosened. Perhaps he was telling the truth. She looked round for Violet, and not seeing her, decided not to mention her.
‘Take care of them,’ she whispered desperately, then she turned and ran for their lives towards Barrow Vale.
The two youngsters looked up at Rune, feeling utterly betrayed and now quite terrified. Rune looked down at them, and as his smile faded, he pulled back his paw swiftly and, with a lunge powerful enough to make him grunt a little with its effort, he stabbed Coltsfoot to death.
Pipple simply turned and ran, his tiny paws desperately trying to carry him away from Rune, who watched him go and then nonchalantly trotted after him, letting him run for a twist and turn or two of the tunnel. Unwittingly, Pipple ran straight into the place where Violet was hiding and the two simply crouched transfixed as Rune came upon them in a side tunnel.
‘Well!’ said Rune, ‘how many more of you are there?’
‘There’s four of us altogether,’ said Violet.
‘Just two left, then,’ said Rune to himself. He decided to leave one alive, just so it could tell the story to the henchmoles. Whichever one it was would be too confused to know the truth, and too terrified to tell it if he did. He wondered coldly which one to kill.
‘What are your names?’ asked Rune.
‘I’m Violet,’ said Violet, ‘and he’s Pipple.’ Pipple looked up at Rune and put his paw for safety on his sister’s flank.
‘Pipple?’ ruminated Rune. He didn’t like the name.
So he killed Pipple.
‘My name’s Mandrake,’ lied Rune to Violet, just to confuse the youngster further. And with that he went back to the main tunnel and headed off for Barrow Vale, slowly enough to let Rue get there ahead of him and create some panic before he arrived.
Violet crouched in the tunnel looking at the crumpled Pipple. His eyes were closed and his mouth hung open. ‘Pipple?’ she faltered. ‘Pipple?’ She touched him, but he didn’t move.
She ran down the tunnel, back to where they had been, and found Coltsfoot. ‘Coltsfoot?’ she said, her voice faltering in fear about the tunnel. But she didn’t move either.
Then on towards where Beech had been… surely he would be there. Yes, he was, but there was blood on him. He wasn’t like Beech any more.
Violet looked in panic around the tunnel, not even seeing the owl face that lowered down at her from the flint seal. All she knew was that she could not return down the tunnel where that big mole who had hurt Beech, Pipple and Coltsfoot had gone. She was too afraid to do that.
So she turned instead to the tunnel by the side of the flint that went into the hill where that other big mole had gone, the one who had laughed. Perhaps he would help them. He would know what to do to help Beech and Pipple and Coltsfoot. So, panicking and half sobbing, Violet clambered over the fresh earth burrowed out by Mandrake and went into the echoing depths of the Ancient System, fear behind her and Mandrake somewhere in the darkness ahead.
* * *
Rune’s plan worked. It could hardly have done otherwise. Rue had given such a garbled version of what had happened, and was in such a state of shock, that everymole became convinced that it was Mandrake who had killed one of her young, and Mandrake who was now lurking in the Ancient System, possibly with the Stone Mole himself, ready to wreak vengeance on Duncton.
Moles gathered in panic in Barrow Vale, and when Rune arrived he was greeted like the saviour he wanted to appear to be. The time, he told them, had come for the system to act. The Stone had sent Mandrake to test the system’s courage and strength and it must now act by killing him and prove to the Stone that they would not accept such an evil leader.
In the next few hours, henchmoles flocked into Barrow Vale, and even some Eastsiders, hearing the news, came and offered their help.
Rune fuelled their anger by cynically sending Rue back to her tunnels�
��with a henchmole to ‘watch over her’—to collect her young, whom he said he had had to leave there so that he could get himself to Barrow Vale quickly. The terrible story she brought back, that her young were dead or gone, which the henchmole confirmed, gave Rune the final impetus he needed to create a sense of communal outrage against Mandrake and set the moles gathered in Barrow Vale on the path to destroy Mandrake and ‘anymole still in his thrall’.
Rune made various speeches, the most predictable of which ended with the words, ‘These are troubled times and at a time when we lack a leader we must stand firm together…’
At the words ‘lack a leader’ there were cries of dissent and dismay from the attendant henchmoles, who clamoured to let him know that he was far too modest, he was their leader, would he lead them? It was finally Burrhead himself who proposed it, a suggestion Rune accepted ‘reluctantly’ and ‘for the time being’ and with the thought to himself that life can sometimes be very simple.
It was now only a matter of time before Rune would lead the henchmoles back up to the tunnel into the Ancient System and then march through its aged depths to find and kill Mandrake.
There was only one small cloud on Rune’s horizon, and that was the uncooperative attitude of the Marsh End to his new rule.
‘I see no Marshenders lending their support here in Barrow Vale,’ he said smoothly to Mekkins, who had put in an appearance to see what was going on.
‘Disease,’ lied Mekkins, taking a tip from Curlew’s methods of isolating herself. ‘Been dropping like flies in the Marsh End, they have. Often do this time of year, just before the mating season is about to start. There’s not a mole down there doesn’t want to give his support, Rune—in fact, I had to physically restrain a whole pack of them from coming up here. There’s no love lost for Mandrake down our way, you know. But I felt it was too big a risk, mate, too much trouble.’
Duncton Wood Page 33
