So Maple had suddenly become very alert indeed, and his eyes began continuously to scan the chamber below to spot anything at all which might have to be considered if he was to make the move that he was already considering.
“What are you thinking?” whispered Whillan, who if he had to help was satisfied that Madoc would watch over Privet and see that she did nothing foolish, for her distress on seeing Rooster had changed to a kind of blank numbness.
“I am thinking,” said Maple slowly, “that from the expression on his face our friend Chervil is thinking the same kind of thought as I am, and also, that it is significant that sometime in the hubbub of Rooster’s arrival Feldspar and the other guards have moved a good deal closer to him as if they expect something to happen. We’ll just have to wait and see, and be ready to act.
“I’ll tell you this, Whillan, that whatever else happens somemole’s going to be sacrificed to the Newborn need for retribution this Longest Night and I am going to see that it’s not one of our own, or Rooster, if I possibly can. And it looks like Chervil’s going to see that it’s not himself. As for Thripp, well, nomole can guess what’s in his mind!”
Thripp was still barely visible below them, the only mole there it seemed who had not moved or spoken. His presence was felt not by what he did or did not do, but because many others looked over to him expectantly from time to time, as if the question about him was not whether he might do and say something, but when.
But all this was unspoken, and for now it was Rooster who held their attention as Quail coaxed him into confession.
“We await your leisure, mole,” said Quail.
Rooster stopped moving his head, peered up at him and said, “Have been ready since that day the world went dark.”
“‘That day the world went dark’,” hissed Skua, coming forward and nodding to Brother Quail that he would take over now. “When was that, Rooster of Charnel Clough?”
“Long time, long ago. I used these paws...” He raised one of his front paws and then rearing up he showed the other, turning hugely round that everymole might see. “These paws and these talons. Different. Always were. Different...”
“Mole!” said Skua, for Rooster seemed to be wandering, but there was no stopping him. He turned his back on Skua and spoke directly to the Convocation. Those immediately before him – or rather beneath him – might well look intimidated. Rooster was not a mole that made others who did not understand him feel safe.
“Ugly, these paws. Big. Did wrong and defiled them.”
“When?” said Skua more softly, trying to regain control.
Rooster turned round and glared at him, almost snout to snout.
“When,” he said blankly. “At Crowden, did wrong, killed with them. Killed...” He faltered into a silent confused world of his own, far more frightening to him than the stolid and apprehensive silence of the moles listening to him.
“You have killed since, have you not?” tried Skua once again, but Rooster ignored him altogether, and remained silent for some time before picking up his thought where he had left it.
“... I killed Red Ratcher, and killed everymole in that. Killed me, killed her. But can’t kill, can’t never kill.”
“But you did. Rooster,” said Skua quickly, sensing the confessand was feeling a guilt that could be played upon.
“Yesss... YES!” roared Rooster, “killed him in darkness.”
There was silence once more, which Skua broke in the hope of luring his victim back to confession.
“Darkness,” he repeated, “it was night when you...” Like a good confidant he had long since discovered that moles said most whose words were repeated back to them.
“Night in my head. The peat moor was riot dark – the sky was not dark. But her cries were fading into dark and I saw Ratcher’s body on hers. I took this paw, and this one, and I broke my vow and killed him.”
“What vow?” asked Skua quickly.
“Delving vow. Ancient. Delvers do not kill.”
“But you killed. Rooster, you offended the Stone.”
“I hurt all Stones, I hurt all moles, I saw him hurting her and I hurt him.”
“What mole was he hurting, mole? Tell us what mole it was...”
This was not Skua’s voice but an old one, a little frail, and gentle. Mole looked at mole and nodded. The Elder Senior Brother had spoken at last. “What mole?” was the question, and Rooster would answer, for Thripp himself had asked.
“No, no, no,” said Rooster. “Never speak her name. Her name not mine to speak.”
Above this strange grim scene, unseen, Whillan turned and stared at Maple, who nodded briefly in Privet’s direction. Privet was staring down below; her eyes were filled with tears, her mouth open yet silent, as if she wished to speak but knew she must not.
“He’s talking about Privet, isn’t he?” whispered Whillan.
Maple nodded and said, “It’s the tale she told us on the journey here, about how she had to leave the Moors after Rooster killed Red Ratcher.”
“She blames herself for it.”
“And he blames himself by the sound of things.”
“We can’t let this go on,” said Whillan urgently.
“No, we can’t. Look, Whillan, the time for action’s coming and I want to get Rooster out of here. He’s a mole the Newborns fear, maybe because he’s the only one who’s ever stanced up to them. All the more reason to get him out.”
“It’s very risky,” said Whillan; “can’t we get Privet and the others out first and then come back?”
Maple nodded appreciatively at the young mole’s pluck. “We could if we could get Privet to leave, but that might be difficult now she’s seen her Rooster in the grip of the Newborn Inquisitors. There’s not much doubt about what Skua and Quail will want to do when they have his confession, and that might be soon.”
“But Chervil might slow things down – he doesn’t look too happy with what’s going on. Have you any idea how to get Rooster out?”
“Not much of one, and it may hardly be worth the risk, but my instinct tells me we’ve got a better chance than might at first appear. More than that, if we get away with it then the Newborns will have been hit hard, right where they least expect it. If others heard that, they’d know they’re vulnerable. It makes sense to try. If you could lead Privet and Madoc out to the west side by the way I showed you and get them to hide on the steep western slope you could come back and help me free Rooster. They’re not expecting any trouble up here on Caer Caradoc, and certainly not in the chamber itself – except from Rooster himself perhaps. So we have the advantage of surprise.”
All this was said in a low and hurried whisper. When Maple was sure Whillan understood he went over to Privet, signalled to the others to listen in, and briefly told them what he wanted them to do.
“But I can’t leave Rooster here among them,” said Privet.
“Whillan will talk to you about that,” said Maple judiciously. “For my part I must go exploring again and see if I can get safely to one of the chamber entrances below us, and find a way to lead Rooster out to safety; that will confuse the Newborns enough to make them think we’re escaping by any route but the steep west side. But whatever else you do, Privet, and whatever Rooster says or does, do not shout out to him...” He paused, frowning and thinking as the light of an idea crossed his face; “At least, not yet!”
With that he was gone, and all the others could do was watch Rooster’s continuing confession, as Whillan sought ways to persuade Privet that if circumstances seemed right the best thing she might do was leave.
Below them, despite Skua’s best efforts Rooster had not yet mentioned Privet’s name as the mole for whom he had killed, and about whom he evidently felt such deep distress. But still he talked in his wild and wandering way, a mole who wanted to be free of the darkness that haunted him, but whom life and circumstances had placed in the worst possible place to do so, and before moles who were likely to be not in the least receptive or
sympathetic. They were looking for weakness and failure, but what Rooster needed was a release from the past, and the love and support of moles dear to him who might lead him to a better future. Of these only Privet perhaps might have known how to reach out her paws to him and make him feel safe and good, and in any other circumstances but these she might have done so.
“Never wanted killing, not first, not since. Was trained to other things. Good things. Felt the delving need. Not satisfying it. It eats my heart away.”
He raised his paws – the same paws that had not only killed, but (as Privet knew better than anymole alive) had once delved most beautifully and with great love and wisdom – and peered at the walls of the chamber. His eyes softened and looked hopeful and though it was but momentarily Privet was not the only one who saw it, and understood.
“Mole, if it’s easier for you to tell us what’s in your heart you can delve it here and now,” said Thripp, moving a little closer to the centre of the dais, with Brother Bolt at his flank. Privet looked down appreciatively at his back and again wished she could see his face and eyes so she could the better assess what kind of mole he was. She was surprised that like others there she felt an instinctive warmth and sympathy towards him.
Rooster turned towards Thripp, and his heart was still.
“The Stone honours delving,” said Thripp. “It was once the greatest of arts, taking precedence even over scrivening and scribing.”
“Is still, does now,” said Rooster in a calm voice. “But I can’t, now nor never. Broke the vow.”
“What vow is that?” asked Thripp, waving Skua into silence when he tried to interrupt. Quail glowered, not liking Thripp’s involvement, nor the way his voice and seeming sympathy seemed to quieten Rooster, and turn the Convocation’s goodwill towards him.
“Old vow. Made to Gaunt. Gaunt taught me, he was Mentor and said the centuries’ guarding of the delving art ended with me.”
“Why with you, Rooster of Charnel Clough?”
“Must go forth as Master, must do right. Must show moledom. Was my task.”
“Show us...” said Thripp seductively.
Again Rooster looked appraisingly at the walls and floor of the chamber, and his paws fretted and moved restlessly in the air so that the watching moles could feel his need to express himself through delving as if it were their own.
“Can’t,” said Rooster, “afraid. Can’t never. Must never.”
But how desperate was his need, and how his very desperation and frustration explained the conflicts that seemed to plague him.
“Perhaps the Stone will not mind...”
Perhaps so, and perhaps given time Thripp might have persuaded Rooster to delve there and then, had not Quail, uneasy with his diminishing control, reared himself up and said harshly, “Do as the Elder Brother says you must, for the snake is in your heart and you must bring the evil up and out before us now.”
“Can’t,” said Rooster, faltering and upset once more.
“Do it, sinner!” ordered Quail, his voice suddenly vicious. Whatever bloom of hope and trust Thripp had succeeded in bringing to life withered and died before this unnecessary harshness, just as, no doubt, Quail had hoped. Yet Rooster continued to be capable of surprises. He turned on Quail and said with brutal honesty, “Would be a bad delving with you here, and others. Darkness of the moles in this chamber would make my delving be dark, and would frighten you. Need peace, need love, for delving to be good and pure like the Stone. So. can’t.”
“And the vow?” said Chervil, who was stancing closest to Rooster throughout all this. “The vow the mole Gaunt made you make; can a confession not make you free of it?”
“You,” said Rooster compliantly. “Felt you from the first. You should leave.”
“Moles,” said Skua, addressing the gathering generally, “this mole is wasting our time with his wandering and the things he says, this mole —”
“Am confessing,” roared Rooster, thrusting his snout at the increasingly hapless Skua. “Like a journey in dark it is confusing, like delving for something unanswered. You talk, he talks, all talk: none listen and I am alone. None hear and I cry. None know, but I know. Darkness in mind, for I have done wrong and only moles who could help are gone. Knew moles could help but all gone and Rooster’s alone. Rooster’s in darkness. Rooster cannot see...”
His anguish was so genuine and palpable that it was impossible for moles to do anything before it but stay silent, or weep as Privet did; and Squelch. Oh yes, fat Squelch was weeping now and very quietly crooning some new lament.
“He knows,” said Rooster, pointing at Squelch without looking at him, “he is in darkness. He has sinned. His singing is like my delving need – but he can sing, I can’t delve. Can never. Never will now. All friends gone...”
“Mole!” began Quail and Skua simultaneously, no doubt to admonish Rooster for what they in their narrow-mindedness understood to be an attack on Squelch.
But like a rising surge of floodwater in what had been a dried-up watercourse Rooster was now rising to his theme, far beyond their power to control. His voice was loud and full of pain, his gestures clumsy yet fearsome and his eyes wide and compelling in the sudden stares that transfixed one mole after another, the whole effect making all feel that they were somehow to blame for the sins, supposed or otherwise, that beset the great mole.
“All friends of my life died. All kin, all gone. All, all, all made to go by me. Samphire my mother who bore me, she’s gone. To her I was beautiful. To her I was worth saving. To her I was worth living in the Charnel for. Stone forgive me. She did not know my ugliness!
“Gaunt my mentor, he suffered pain to teach me. His paws were diseased, his body hurting, but he used them to teach me. Stone forgive me.
“Humlock, in silent darkness, he knew me, he was part of me, my delving born of his acceptance. Humlock I left to die. Glee was only mole like a sister I knew, white-furred like snow and eyes that saw like Samphire’s the beauty that lies beyond these misshapen paws, and behind this furrowed face. Left her to die. Stone, Almighty Stone, forgive me. Hear my confession now.”
“Yes, yes,” sang Squelch softly, tears streaming down his face. “Stone hear him.” And against Rooster’s anguish, Squelch’s voice was the lament of a wild wind through leafless hawthorn alone in a winter’s waste.
“Is more, more and bad. Mole found me up there where I was alone, where Hilbert was, on the Top. Came out of my tears and found me. She did. Found Rooster and not afraid. Found me.”
There was still an innocent wonder in Rooster’s voice at this sweet memory, and had they seen Privet’s tears and mute anguish for the suffering of a mole she loved, no mole would have doubted who had done the finding.
“Found me and taught me, like my Mentor taught...”
“Oh no my dear, you taught me as you are teaching those who hear you now,” whispered Privet helplessly.
“... taught me to delve a different way. Like Gaunt said, life would teach me more than he ever could. He showed me how, not why or when. We lived together up on Hilbert’s Top and I knew joy. Rooster knew joy. Life taught me new delving ways, and she was life to me. Was all.”
“Was she the one you killed for?” said Thripp from the now enshadowed dais; and even Quail did not interrupt. He had retreated and Privet and the others could not now see him at all.
Rooster nodded massively, eyes imploring others to understand. “Was the one. She was my life and from what she gave me and would always give me, all my delving would be, all, all was hers. She could hear beyond the Dark Sound of my delving. To her I was not ugly.” He bowed his head. “But I wronged. Wronged her, wronged us. Did wrong to the Stone in that.”
“You wronged,” insinuated Skua, with the relish of a mole who after a long hunt has found a very large and tasty worm indeed.
“Not wrong, but wrong,” said Rooster wrinkling his brow at a confusion he still felt. “Didn’t feel wrong what Lime did. When she did. How she did.”
> Skua’s eyes glistened with pleasure and zeal and his snout rose quivering as, carried on the air, he found the heady scent of base desire.
“Fornication,” he whispered almost silently, turning to share his discovery with Quail.
“With Lime it was good. Only one was Lime. Was right... but wrong. Destroyed her love for me.”
“Lime’s?” whispered Quail.
“No, no, no,” roared Rooster, angry at Quail’s misunderstanding. “You’re dark as deep tunnels. You’re where things die. You’re...”
As a collective gasp of dismay at this sudden attack on Quail went through the gathering Thripp cut it short.
“Then who’s the mole you love, mole? Speak the name you dared not speak before.”
“Privet’s,” said Rooster at last. “Hers was the love I broke. Confused her. Red Ratcher found her. My father, who took Samphire and made me. Dark, dark was Ratcher, like him.”
Nomole need ask any more who he was! Quail!
“He was taking her. Like disease across a young mole’s face; like odour in a place of flowers; like death all filthy on life. Ratcher was the slash of Dark Sound across a perfect delve. So I killed him and broke all vows. A Master must not kill; a delver cannot kill. A delver makes, a delver creates, a delver brings to life the sound of life, of happiness, of all. A delver cannot kill. So, I was delver no more. I hurt Privet and destroyed our love that was all we had: me to delve and she to scribe. Killed Ratcher with these paws and killed myself and Privet who was more than myself.”
“Privet of the Moors,” whispered Thripp’s voice.
Rooster glared at all the moles about as if defying them to speak. His chest heaved with the effort of memory and confession and he muttered incoherently to himself, his head swaying from side to side as it had at the beginning.
A few moments before this Maple had returned. Now he gathered Whillan and the others about Privet and said urgently, “It’s possible to get right below here to the entrance to the chamber. The Newborn guards are all listening to Rooster, and preparing to have their fun with him once Skua has had his say. I was seen but nomole said a thing. Maybe they think I’m Newborn. Now listen, Privet, will you go with Whillan when he decides the moment’s right? That could be very soon.”