‘Yes—well—sorry,’ muttered Mekkins, shaking his shoulders and looking chastened. ‘But they needn’t have been so rough with Rebecca and the youngsters. This is Rose, you two,’ he added, turning to Comfrey and Violet, ‘so you say hello.’
‘Hello!’ said Violet, running up to Rose immediately.
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?’
