“Can you be sure they were his?” said Weeth.
“I am sure,” said Hamble sadly. “She loved him as passionately as Privet had done, as all moles do. She taunted, she made foolish claims, but she would never have gone with another mole, never!”
“I believe you, Hamble, I believe you!” said Weeth, surprised at his passion about the matter after so many mole-years. “What happened to her?”
“A female changes when she is with pup, and for the first time in her life Lime had others to think of but herself. I think, too, she saw in the lowland vales a gentleness and beauty that showed her a new way of living. She grew disgusted by the violence of the struggle with the Newborns, and with the mole she felt that Rooster had become. Then too she envied her sister Privet, you know, and often talked wistfully of the journey I had led Privet to the start of, to Beechenhill and, as she imagined – and as has been proved right by your account – to Duncton Wood.
“One day at the beginning of April, after her last argument with Rooster, she simply slipped away. For all the searches that we made, and the roaring and rage that Rooster showed, we did not find her, and she did not come back. I have known other moles of our group do the same, I have been tempted to do it myself – to slip away, to change a name, to become anonymous. Well, that is what Lime did.”
Weeth looked searchingly at Hamble, a clever mole experienced in subtleties studying a simple warrior whose nature was not devious or clever, only loyal, and honest, and good.
“You know more about it than you’re saying,” said Weeth.
Hamble was silent for a long time. Moles came and went. Across the chamber Rooster stirred and stared and frowned, and dozed. Afternoon came. Weeth waited patiently, and watched Hamble’s face.
“Aye,” sighed Hamble at last, “I know something. I said she confided in me sometimes, and so she did. She, talked to me the day before she left. “I’ve changed, Hamble,” says she. “The fight’s gone from me. These pups are Rooster’s, but by the Stone I don’t want him to raise them, to influence them as Red Ratcher influenced him. I don’t want their lives to be fugitive and violent like his and mine have been. I want something better for them than we have had, or we can give.”
“That’s what she said and next day she was gone. Slipped away to anonymity to raise those pups, the pups of a Master of the Delve, where he would never be able to see them, or touch them.”
“At the beginning of April, you say?” said Weeth, with a strange look in his eye and a wondering tone to his voice, and a glance about the chamber, from Hamble to Rooster, and from Rooster to the darkest shadows.
“Aye, that’s when she went. We saw no more of her, and I wasn’t going to tell Rooster all I knew. In a way I agreed with her – best let her have her pups where none knew who their father was, and would never know. I have often thought of her, and prayed to the Stone that she had her way.”
“At the beginning of April,” mused Weeth again.
“Aye, what of it?”
“’Tis nothing,” said Weeth hastily, though clearly it was. “But Rooster, what did he feel about it all?”
“Remorse. Loss. Grief He went into a kind of mourning. His life was blighted and I think that if he had not had about him moles who loved him he would have gone mad. Indeed, he did go mad for a time, and it was then that we turned away from the conflict with the Newborns and travelled north until we found ourselves in blessed Beechenhill. High, well made, a place of legend and holiness to us Moorish moles, a place of sanctuary. There were but a few moles there, and the remnants of a library, and the Newborns left us well alone – glad to be rid of us no doubt.
“All through those summer years Rooster tried to find himself. I think he tried to begin delving again, but the spirit had gone from him and he felt cursed. One after another he had lost moles he loved – Glee and Humlock, Samphire, Privet, the Charnel moles like Hume who did not long survive the journey from the Moors, and finally Lime, and with her, as he came to realize, his own pups, the pups he would never know.
“Rooster feels things deeper than most moles I know, and has the courage to turn towards his dark feelings and face them in the desert that he has made in his heart. Had he allowed himself to do what his paws longed to do, which was to delve, I believe he might have put all his shame and guilt and anger – misplaced though it mostly was – out of himself and into delvings. But he believed he had broken the vows against violence he had made as a delver in the Charnel, and had no right to do the one thing that might have given him release from the dark torments of remorse. Of all his friends only I was left, and these few companions here. How could I leave him, unhappy though I was, and lonely too? Do you think I did not want a mate? Do you think I felt happy to have as my task the tending of a half-mad Master of the Delve?”
“But you loved him,” said Weeth quietly, his eyes glancing to Rooster once more, all dark, and rough, and fearsome, and most courageously alone.
“Yes, I loved him,” said Hamble, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But Stone knows that through the years I have also longed for a different life. I wanted female company, a true companion to share my tunnels, aye, and to raise our young. But what females would share a life with a fool who before all else puts a vision that the mole he follows and helps is a Master of the Delve? None that I ever met! Yes, I loved him, and love him still, just as Privet loved him. But I have also warned him long since that fighting and death is not to be our way any more. Of that I was tired, and that was surely not his proper way. I was the only one left he trusted, or respected, and I felt that gave me the responsibility to nurture as best I could this mystery that was – that is – his continuing burden, the delving arts. Since Beechenhill he has known that I will not tolerate killing in the way we killed the Newborns during our war with them, justified though most of it seemed at the time. Defend himself if he must, but if ever I see him kill another mole when there’s a better way to achieve his end then he’s lost the truest friend he’ll ever have.
“There must be another way than killing, though I cannot tell you what it is. If a mole threatens me with death, or my kin or my friends, then I would kill to save myself or them. But not Rooster’s way, which is passionate and violent, and sometimes unnecessary. No, not that way.”
“So how come you are here in Caradoc, and imprisoned?”
“Ah, yes,” growled Hamble, “this was against our better judgement. But emissaries came from the Newborns, claiming to be from Thripp himself indeed, suggesting that the librarians in Beechenhill – a timid couple of elderly moles – might venture here as delegates. I suggested that we ourselves might come if we were given safe passage, and though Rooster was reluctant, well, I persuaded him. But when we came close to Caradoc we were led here on some pretext or another.”
“You were fooled,” observed Weeth quietly.
“Aye, even moles of the Moors can be fooled,” said Hamble. “They have told us little, but that our lives might be in danger if we venture up on to Caer Caradoc itself, because of the Newborns we killed those moleyears ago up in the Moors. We could have put up a struggle, I suppose, but as I’ve said, I wanted things more peaceable. Now —”
“Now,” said Weeth, “I would say you – we – are in considerable danger. Oh yes, I scent Newborn treachery here. We’ll have to get out, and this night if we can.”
“You said there is a way...”
“I did! But it all depends on the right mole coming. But of that I am quietly confident, since I have begun to think in recent days that the Stone is in all of this, more deeply than a pragmatic mole like me would normally concede. As a matter of fact, in one particular regard your tale rather confirms it.”
“Which is?”
“Ah, no, I prefer to remain silent upon that. It is but a faint and unconfirmed possibility, and as such I had best keep it to myself.”
“What is?”
But Weeth would say no more, turning back instead to the possibility of escape. “Now, liste
n. There’s likely to be only one way and one chance of getting out of here, and you had better face the fact, Hamble, that moles may die in the attempt. But if we stance here long enough we’ll die anyway. This is what I suggest you do, and you had better first find a mole resolute enough to be agreeable to doing something most unpleasant and risky and —”
“I’ll do it if it will help get us safely out of here,” said Hamble stoutly.
“You had better wait and hear what it is,” said Weeth with a grin.
And when Hamble had, he was still resolved to be the volunteer, though once he had told Rooster the plan, and those others with them had fully understood what their roles might be, not a mole there including Rooster himself but volunteered for the “unpleasant” task that Weeth had warned Hamble must be done. But in the end, as often before in such matters, Hamble had his way. One by one, with feigned casualness, the moles assembled near the portal, Hamble nearest of all but for Weeth himself, who having conceived the plan now positioned himself where he could see out into the chamber beyond, ready to take the slim chance he was looking for if it should offer itself, and signal to the others to act as he had told them to.
Early evening had come, dusk was settling in, and the moles did their best to laugh and banter as they had before. One persuaded their captors to let him out and up to the surface to groom, and he was able to confirm the number and disposition of the guards, who most ominously were now more numerous than before, and looking grim indeed.
“All the more reason to take the opportunity when it comes,” commented Weeth.
“You’re very sure of yourself,” said Hamble. “I can see why you say you annoy other moles.”
“That is the lot of the confident opportunist... but silence! To my post! A mole comes!”
It was the kind of chance Weeth was evidently hoping for, another mole being brought into the cell. But watching carefully as he was, and poised though Hamble and the others were to play their parts, Weeth gave no signal and the mole, an old vagrant who had stumbled across a Newborn patrol near Caradoc and been hauled in, had little to offer in the way of help or information. Except that “there’s a lot of bloody guards about!”
The waiting went on and dusk gathered towards darkness; Rooster dozed again, though the flicking of his tail showed he was alert, but others grew impatient and had to be admonished by Hamble, who stanced quiet and still, ready to act as Weeth had told him to if the moment came.
Then, some time later, when most were beginning to give up hope, sounds of movement came from beyond the portal, and then low-voiced argument. The waiting moles saw Weeth stance up and venture almost into the portal, stare out, and grow tense. He turned and signalled quickly to Hamble, and the great mole came closer, paws fretting on the ground. Rooster’s eyes opened as if he heard the mounting commotion beyond the portal through the earth itself
“I said a mole would come who would help us out and he has!” whispered Weeth gleefully to Hamble. “Wait and watch. The moment I lower my left paw do as I have told you to. Only then. Not before and not afterwards, just —”
Weeth suddenly stopped talking and all the moles heard a rough, determined voice speaking loudly in protest from the chamber beyond. If you think I’m going through that portal, chum, you’re mistaken.”
“I warn you one last time, mole, you do not argue here, you obey!” snarled the commanding voice of a Newborn guard.
“Yes! You certainly do!” cried out Weeth loudly through the portal, his left paw rising behind him as he did his best to peer through to the tussle beyond. Then calling out sharply and very clearly he continued, “If you value your life, mole, and wish to help others, you will do exactly as I say.”
There was sudden and utter silence, just as Weeth had calculated there would be following his unexpected intervention. But he delayed only a moment before he spoke again, this time with chilling clarity.
“Talon the mole in front of you. NOW, mole, if you want to live this night through!”
As Weeth sent out this bold and brutal command he dropped his left paw rapidly and stanced back to one side. Hamble surged powerfully to his paws and ran straight at the portal, but not, as might have been expected, with a view to clambering through its impossibly narrow lower part, but to dive straight into it, front paws outstretched as he fell with a thump and gasp the length of the portal, his body squeezing into the awkward lower space, his head down. His broad rough back provided a surface across which Rooster himself, with a roar and lunge, immediately came charging, his great paws going over his friend’s broad back unconfined by slanting walls and with space enough now to move swiftly and unencumbered. With a deep and terrifying roar Rooster was through, and charging down the hapless guard who one moment had been in command of things and the next, having been taloned by the new prisoner who had just arrived, was now picked up and hurled back over the prisoner’s head by the grike mole whose reputation for violence and unpredictability was there and then made still more legendary.
Sturdy Chater, who had rounded the final corner of the long series of tunnels he had been brought down through that afternoon and evening, had been absolutely ready to take action, though its nature and direction he did not guess until that astonishing moment when a grinning mole had appeared at the portal at the far end of the guards’ chamber and commanded him to strike the guard ahead, and strike “NOW!” Chater had not hesitated for one moment, and indeed even had Weeth not so commanded him he had intended to strike somemole anyway and make a bid to escape, for the sight of so difficult a portal into the chamber told him that his last moments of liberty were upon him, and if he was going to try anything he had best get on with it.
So he had struck, and so had the most awesome and astonishing spectacle he had ever witnessed begun, as a great mole, whose name he did not then know, came flying into the portal, lay down, and an even greater one, as wild and frightening as any creature he had ever seen, followed through, picked up the taloned guard, hurled him back over Chater’s head and knocked the guards behind him flying.
Realizing that the sooner he got out of the way of the portal the better, leaving space for the others who were already charging through, Chater moved his back to a wall and raised his talons, and soon found he was fighting the Newborn guards alongside moles who were as large and fierce as any he had ever seen.
Indeed, their assault on the Newborns was ferocious and initially unstoppable, so that as new contingents of guards came charging down the tunnels leading into the chamber to see what the commotion was, they found themselves driven back by a storm of fierce talons and angry moles. Chater found himself outpaced by his new-found colleagues, and took as his task the defence of their right flank against any attack that might come down a smaller tunnel that came in on that side.
It was not long, only moments perhaps, before the chamber was filled with the screams of wounded and dying moles and the grunts of fighting ones, and Chater’s initial exhilaration at so suddenly finding his wish to escape seemingly fulfilled was replaced by the growing awareness that their victory might be short-lived, for despite making swift progress beyond the chamber they might still be trapped, with their escape to the surface hindered by the narrow tunnels through which they would have to fight their way. Chater knew enough about such situations to know that moles would die, and bloodily, and escape be thwarted if, having gained the initial surprise and impetus they lost it, whilst beyond and above them their captors re-grouped and consolidated their superior forces round the exits.
He turned from the tunnel entrance he was guarding to try to assess the situation, and saw that the first and biggest of the escaping moles was already beginning to fight his way powerfully into a huge side tunnel which, evidently, went up to the surface and which he seemed familiar with. Meanwhile the tunnel Chater had entered by lay at the end of the chamber and on its left side, and another mole like him was guarding it.
“That’s the way to go!” cried out Chater, for no sooner had he s
een the general situation than he realized that the tunnel he had come through ought to be the one they were trying to escape by, since there had been no moles in it when he came through, and not far down it widened considerably which made it easier for numbers to advance. Even better, some distance up it were several ways out to the surface and the Newborns could not hope to guard them all.
But his cry was not heard, and he was unable to try again because at that moment a Newborn appeared at the lesser tunnel he was guarding, and tried to lunge at him. Once more Chater did not hesitate, but dodged the blow and followed it swiftly with a powerful thrust at his attacker’s snout. There was a soft squelch as his talons plunged into the target, and then a scraping rasp as he made contact with bone and teeth. With his other paw he followed up the thrust and the mole staggered back screaming, and slumped to one side, effectively blocking the tunnel with his writhing body.
“Mole, give us a paw!” a deep voice gasped behind him, and Chater turned back and saw that it was the mole who had so bravely allowed his body to be used to fill the base of the portal, now struggling to extricate himself from the narrow confines other paws had pressed him into, so that he might join his talons to the fray.
Chater immediately went to his aid, and with a mighty heave and shove and a final tug released the mole so suddenly that he himself nearly fell over.
He in his turn righted Chater and said, “My name’s Hamble; and yours?”
“Chater!” declared Chater, his mind racing with the strange sense of destiny he felt as he heard the mole speak his name, and knew at once that this surely was Hamble of Crowden, Privet’s Hamble.
He might indeed have said something had not a face popped in between them both and said, “Introducing Weeth to one, and as a reminder to the other! Hello! And goodbye too, if we’re not careful!” Weeth’s gaze travelled swiftly beyond them to the awesome sight of the moles of the Moors fighting alongflank Rooster and after only a moment’s pause he continued, “Mole, were you trying to tell us something before Hamble called for your help?”