Quire smiled and shrugged. ‘Yes, they do make rather a meal of it. There’s no mystery. Today is the day when the secret Song is sung. You know, Merton’s task and all that. Now that may be a mystery, but the fact of its being sung is known to all moles. That’s what all the fuss about chosen moles was about, you see. They like to enter their names in the book before the Song is sung, all twenty-four of them. You’ll probably find, Bracken of Duncton, that Boswell has been chosen. Hence the secret. We’ll soon know, since the Holy Mole will return the book tomorrow with the new names neatly scribed. Of course, you’re not meant to read them but, well, the book’s kept on the shelves and it’s an open secret. As a matter of fact, there is an exceptional number of new chosen moles this time because so many of the last lot died of the plague. That’s why you’ll find there’s not that many about. After the devastation of the plague it’s a miracle that there’s enough moles to sing the song.’
‘Where do they sing the song?’ asked Bracken.
‘Never been there myself, of course, not being chosen, but it’s somewhere up near the Silent Burrows. In a special chamber. Said to be the oldest in Uffington, though, strictly speaking, it’s not in Uffington but up where the Silent Burrows are. About two miles yonder . . .’ He waved a paw towards the west.
‘Could I get there?’ asked Bracken.
‘Whatever for?’ said Quire. ‘I never can understand why you youngsters are always rushing off to see and hear things somewhere else when there’s plenty to see and hear where you happen to be crouching at the moment. You’ll be asking me next what I thought about all those moleyears I was in the Silent Burrows. You wouldn’t be the first.’
Bracken couldn’t help laughing. It was true. Quire wasn’t as daft as he seemed. Then Quire laughed, too, though his laughter rapidly degenerated into a wheezing and coughing through which he finally said, ‘I thought about nothing, don’t you see? Mind you, that’s easier said than done for most.’ There were times when Bracken thought himself completely stupid, when his brain seemed to register things so slowly that he found it embarrassing to contemplate the process as it happened. It happened now, as everything about him, all the secrecy and rushings about, fell into place. They were going to sing the same secret song that Hulver had once told him about when he told the story of Merton, and Merton’s task. Linden had been the scribe who wrote about Merton, the selfsame scribe, presumably, who made the first entries into the Book of Chosen Moles. Why didn’t somemole say, and then he wouldn’t have got worried about Boswell. In fact, come to think of it, he felt proud of Boswell. Him, a chosen mole! A feeling of awe came over him… there was something special about a day when they sang a song that had been passed on in secret through generations and which was sung once in twelve moleyears, and which would only be sung to all moles, and then by them, when the Blowing Stone sounded seven times.
‘Quire, have you ever heard the Blowing Stone sound?’
‘Many times, many times. A mole may often hear it in a storm sounding the odd note. As a matter of fact, I once heard it sound three times in succession and it was that which made me decide to go to the Silent Burrows. It seemed significant at the time. I never regretted it.’
‘What did it sound like?’
‘Oh, dear! More questions? You can ask things until your snout turns blue, but you’ll only ever really find the answers yourself. Now, why don’t you stop asking questions and go up on to the surface and get some fresh air? Make your way up to the surface near the Silent Burrows and crouch among the grass and trees up there. It’s a good place to be.’
‘How will I find it?’
‘More questions? Go and try. And if you see Boswell anywhere tomorrow when it’s over, tell him he hasn’t finished here yet. I thought he said he was going to do some filing for me,’ and Quire turned away from Bracken and started poking about among the books. As Bracken set off out of the library to find a way to the surface, his spirit was very calm and peaceful. He might not be able to sing a song or take part in the special rituals the scribemoles seemed involved in, but in his own Duncton way he could perhaps go and crouch on the surface and offer some invocation to the Stone on this special day, and think of Boswell, who perhaps needed a little extra strength in the next few hours.
Up through the tunnels he went, back the way he had first come with Boswell, with a smile of affection for Quire on his face and moving with an air of reverence and peace which, though he did not know it, was exactly the same as that in which the two scribemoles had originally passed him by in the tunnel. The spirit of Uffington, ancient and reverent, had finally caught up with Bracken.
