Comfrey just looked at her, moving to hide behind Rebecca.
‘Hello, my dears,’ said Rose. ‘Now Mekkins had better tell me what has happened.’
Rose quickly insisted on installing Rebecca and the youngsters in a burrow near her own, though the Pasture moles muttered that it wasn’t right, and they’d better not get up to any of their Duncton Wood hanky-panky here. And to make sure they didn’t, they said they would post some guards by the burrow, while they went and conferred with one of their elders.
Mekkins found this hard to take, especially as he was now very anxious to get back to the Marsh End, but did not want to risk leaving Rebecca here until he was sure it was safe for her. He suggested that he go with the Pasture moles to see their elders for himself.
‘No way, mate,’ said the toughest of the Pasture moles. ‘No way. We’re not having you spying on us, casting those spells and rituals you get up to in Duncton Wood. No! You stay right here and just shut up until we decide what to do. And think yourself lucky that Rose knows you, otherwise…’ He stabbed a talon into the air to indicate what would otherwise happen.
However, after two days of complaints and anger, Mekkins was finally summoned to meet a Pasture elder somewhere deep in the Pasture system. By then Rose had made it quite clear that she felt that Rebecca must stay with her, and Comfrey and Violet, too, until they were more independent.
‘Which won’t be all that long, my love, by the way they’re already settling down,’ she said. And it was true, for Violet was beginning to get on with even the Pasture moles and Comfrey was finding new questions to ask Rose every hour, now that he had got used to her.
The place that Mekkins was taken to by four of the toughest male moles he had ever seen outside the Westside of Duncton (‘guardmoles’, they called themselves) was way down in the pastures through a series of long, sparse tunnels with far fewer burrows off them than he was used to. The Pasture moles seemed thinner on the ground—but then he could see that worms were not so plentiful out here either.
Finally they reached a structure that Mekkins had heard of but never seen—a fortress, a massive molehill with burrows on several levels, both above and below ground, connected by linked tunnels. There was a big, round central burrow that was wider but not so high as the elder burrow in Barrow Vale. Its walls were dry and well burrowed, and its floor covered in comfortable nesting material, mainly dry thistles and grass. He was ushered none too gently into the burrow where, at one end, a big, dark-grey mole crouched, his talons splayed loosely before him and his snout sleepily lowered over them. His eyes were half closed, but his voice, when he finally used it after a long silence, was wide awake.
‘Name?’
‘My name’s Mekkins, and I…’
‘System?’
‘Don’t be so daft!’ said Mekkins, more than irritated. ‘I’m from Duncton, aren’t I?’
The guardmoles moved heavily forward at this rudeness, but the big mole raised one paw to stop them.
‘Just answer my questions,’ he said. ‘Purpose.’
‘What do you mean, “purpose”?’ said Mekkins.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘The moles I brought—that’s Rebecca and her two youngsters—had a spot of bother. They were being attacked. I knew Rose would help them so I brought them.’
‘Why should we let them stay here?’
Mekkins opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t think of anything to say that would make any sense to a mole that didn’t know Rebecca.
‘Well?’
‘Because Rose trusts her; that’s the best reason I can give,’ said Mekkins.
Suddenly and unexpectedly the mole smiled. It was a slow, warm smile which took the aggression right out of Mekkins.
‘A very good reason, if I may say so, a very good reason. Very good.’ The mole got up and came over to where Mekkins was crouched between the guardmoles. With a pleasant nod he dismissed them, leaving himself alone with Mekkins.
‘My name’s Brome,’ he said, ‘and despite appearances, I’m glad to see you. Rose warned me that there was trouble coming and she even mentioned your name as a mole to trust. I did not think we would meet so soon. Sorry about my guardmoles, but you can’t change generations of hostility overnight and there’s no reason why we should. Except that if you believe Rose, which I do, the time is coming when hostility isn’t going to matter much one way or another. Now, since you are on Pasture territory, I think it is reasonable that you tell me about your system first. All these warnings by Rose are fair enough, but I have to run a system and I can’t do it on vague guesses and surmises. So what’s happening?’
He spoke pleasantly but with great authority, treating Mekkins as an equal and instilling in him a sense of trust that Mekkins, well used to judging moles quickly, was prepared to accept. These were funny times and the more friends a mole had the better, as far as he was concerned. So he told Brome exactly what the problem was and how the system had changed and been corrupted under Mandrake—a mole, it turned out, who had done a great deal of damage in the pastures en route to Duncton. Mekkins described how Rune was in the process of taking over Duncton and what the implications were for his own Marsh End.
Mekkins told him something too about Rebecca, saying there was no reason the Pasture moles should suddenly take her into their system except that he, Mekkins, believed she held some kind of destiny in herself for more than just a couple of youngsters. And so did Rose.
Brome listened to this with great interest, for it seemed to him to have a lot to do with what he wanted to say to this first senior mole of Duncton he had met. But first he had to decide if he could trust Mekkins.
‘Tell me, Mekkins,’ he said quietly, ‘what do you know of the Stone?’
Brome noticed that Mekkins’ manner changed. It became more personal, less weighted by the many considerations a leader has, even if only of part of a system like Marsh End.
‘Do you mean the Stone generally?’ asked Mekkins, looking around in a quiet way. ‘Or the Duncton Stone in particular?’
‘Is there a difference?’ asked Brome.
Mekkins hesitated. He had never talked about the Stone to another mole in his life, not even since he had gone to it for Rebecca’s sake and it had answered his prayers. Since then he had been in deep awe of it and hesitated now to talk to another mole who might not understand his words. Finally he said: ‘The Duncton Stone has great power and may still be the true heart of our system, as it once was the heart in reality—when moles lived only on top of the hill. We’ve been cut off from it, though, by the likes of Mandrake and Rune, who I’ve told you about.’ Then he added in a rush: ‘If you want to know what I think, the Stone is the most important thing Duncton’s got.’
Brome nodded. He looked pleased by this reply but said nothing. For a moment it was his turn to hesitate, but then he settled down further on to his paws with the air of a mole who, after keeping something to himself for a very long, time has decided that the moment has come to tell it all. He trusted Mekkins.
‘You’ve got to understand that in my system we are brought up to believe that Duncton moles are spell-weavers and evil, that the wood is dangerous to go near and that the Stone on top of the hill—which we have all heard about—is an evil Stone.’
Mekkins looked visibly surprised at this.
‘Well, that’s how it is. Now, plenty of moles here believe in the Stone as an idea—something to worship, if you like. And we’ve got our rituals, like any other system. But we’re a big, diverse system and in recent years have been plagued by fighting and factions, just as other systems such as your own have. When, at about the time I took control here, I got talking to Rose about this and that, she told me, to my surprise, that she had been to your Stone several times. “It’s about as evil as a buttercup”, she said. Well, one night I decided to go and see for myself—a bit risky, but something drove me to it.’