Duncton Rising by William Horwood Page B

particular brother”. No sooner had he remembered this than he recalled a remark by Master Stour himself, all that long time ago when Chervil had first come to the system so unexpectedly; “He seems a remarkably well-trained mole for what is surely a minor posting from Caradoc. There’s more to his coming than there seems.”
    The guard seemed to guess something of Snyde’s thoughts. “He’s back in favour with the Elder Senior Brother Thripp,” he said. “You’ll know what that means.”
    “I can’t say that I do, exactly,” said Snyde with his usual ambiguity.
    But you surely know who Brother Chervil is?” said the guard incredulously.
    Snyde stared, unsure whether or not to admit to ignorance of something else that perhaps he ought to know. Chervil was Senior Brother Chervil, that was all.
    Brother Chervil is Thripp’s son,” whispered the guard, “and now his period of punishment in exile is over. We’re to take him home.”
    Thripp’s son? Chervil? His son?
    Snyde scarcely blinked before he began to calculate, and when he did it was but a moment before the implications sank in. Then, with what growing pleasure could he contemplate that the Stone had put him in the right place at the right time with the right mole! Yes, it had!
    “Truly, the Master did me a favour trying to leave me behind!” he gloated.
    “Hurry up, Brother Snyde, you’re lagging and we have a long long way to go!” called out Chervil.
    “Yes, of course! I will!” said Snyde eagerly, seeking with each word he spoke to put the sound of respect into his nasal voice as he hobbled and hurried his hunched and crooked way along the path which Chervil led them on.
     

Chapter Four
    Late November found Chater and Fieldfare set fair for their journey to Avebury, and it seemed that nothing more could now hinder them. Certainly something had hindered them thus far, and that was Fieldfare’s slowness, for she was so long unused to journeying, so plump, so appreciative of pauses, rests, pleasing delays to admire the view, and downright stops (to catch her breath and declare, “Bless me! I never knew moledom was so big and the ways so long!’) that they spent more time stopping than starting.
    Not that Chater had minded at first. He had so long wanted to have his love at his flank on a journey worth the making that it was as much pleasure for him to pause as it was for her. What was more, when they did so he was made to realize that he had spent all his working life as a journeymole travelling, yet not seeing what he travelled through, and so her slow pace suited his new-found mood of discovery and contemplation.
    It must be said, however, that Chater was beginning to want to get on with the journey to Avebury, and had put his paw down about a diversion that Fieldfare had mooted, to visit the Fyfield System which lay a day’s trek off to the south-east. He had not objected too loudly, but his protest was registered, as was Fieldfare’s counter-protest.
    Meanwhile, Chater would have been the first to admit that there was an exciting sense of rediscovering themselves together about the journey thus far, so that when they came to fabled places like peaceful Bablock Hythe, it seemed a positive affront to life itself to hurry on without stopping
    for a few days to enjoy the place, and meet the quiet moles who inhabited it.
    It was the same further upriver – for they took a route along the River Thames – when they came to Appleton, a system which had a somewhat dark record in Woodruff’s Chronicles since it was there that the Eldrene Wort first came to power and evil prominence. Not that there was much sign of darkness or evil when they were there, for the moles had put the sinister past of their system behind them, and gave a warm welcome to the two journeyers from Duncton. Chater was naturally cautious about saying who they were until he was sure that the Newborns were not about and looking for them, but the Appleton moles reported