The Heir of Mistmantle

by M. I. McAllister

  CHAPTER FOUR

  OTH AND THE OTHER MAIDS left the nursery curtains open so that lamplight would welcome Queen Cedar when she came home. Brother Fir returned first, and stood, thoughtful and quiet, warming his paws at the nursery fire, but night had grown dark before the queen appeared in the doorway with her paws and face scratched, blood and leaves clinging to her fur, and her eyes wide with hope and fear. “Is she…?” she began—but the empty cradle with its rumpled blankets lay before her, and the anxious maids saw the hope vanish from her face. Helplessly, they hurt for her. “Where’s Crispin?” she demanded.

  Brother Fir rose slowly, holding out his paws to lead her to the hearth where the log fire flickered. “He is still out searching, dear Queen,” he said. “Please warm yourself. Are you injured?”

  “There’s water heating and I’ll get the bath filled for you, Your Majesty,” whispered Moth, and led the curtsying maids from the chamber. The queen didn’t appear to notice.

  “I went all the way to the Tangletwigs,” she said. “I went as far as I could, but the undergrowth is so dense, we’ll need guards to hack their way into it, and I don’t see how Linty could have got through there with the baby. Could she, do you think? It’s all very well saying she mustn’t be alarmed, but we have to find Catkin, quickly!”

  “Linty will know all the ways through the Tangletwigs,” said Fir. “She grew up in a colony on the far side. Those squirrels had all sorts of secret ways over and under the ground.”

  “I only tried over ground,” said the queen. “Those thornbushes are everywhere, and…” She hid her face in her paws. “What if Catkin got scratched the way I did? She’s only a baby!”

  “Linty would not take her that way,” said Fir, with a paw on her shoulder. “She knows the Tangletwigs far better than you do, and she will not let any harm come to Catkin.”

  With a flash of anger, she shook off his paw. “She’s already abducted her!” she cried. “Isn’t that harm enough? I just want her back!” She knelt on the hearth to lick blood from a deep cut on her arm, then sprang up suddenly, darted to the window, and gazed out, watching the lights of the search parties. The firelight glow of torches and pale lantern beams moved slowly, too slowly, through the darkness. “I can’t stay here. I’m going out again.”

  “Is that wise?” said Fir. “The chances of somebody arriving at any moment with Catkin safe and sound are very good, you know. I’ve remembered something about Linty. When she was young, she was a dancer and was often among the dancers at our festivals. Many of our best dancers and acrobats came from the Tangletwigs. Living in such a place made them quick and nimble, you know. Linty could carry a baby all the way through the Tangletwigs and back again without a scratch. The Tangletwigs have torn at you, but they will not have touched your daughter.”

  There was a gentle tapping at the door, and Fir limped to open it. Two mole maids stood in white aprons, carrying fluffy white towels across their paws. They glanced shyly toward the queen, their faces grave and concerned.

  “Your bath’s ready, Your Majesty,” said one, with a curtsy. “Moth’s put that lovely lavender oil in it.”

  “Then I will go back to my prayers,” said Fir, and hobbled away. The maids pattered back to the bedchamber where wreaths of lavender-scented steam rose softly from the round oak bathtub.

  “We’re very sorry about the baby, Your Majesty,” said a maid softly.

  “We’re all going to say prayers for her,” said the other.

  “And we’re all thinking about you,” said Moth. “All of us in the tower and all our families.” From a table she lifted a large basket overflowing with posies of autumn flowers, shells, biscuits, clawmarked leaves, and bottles of cordial.

  “What’s this?” asked Cedar, as if she wasn’t interested.

  “Animals have been sending presents to the tower, madam,” said Moth, “because they want to help and they don’t know how, apart from joining the search—and they’re doing that, too. It’s just their way of showing how much they care, madam.”

  The smaller of the mole maids, overcoming her shyness, wriggled forward and reached up to hug Cedar. The other maid followed and hugged her, too, wiping her eyes on her apron. “Thank you, bless you,” said the queen, her voice growing lower and shakier until they had gone, and only Moth remained with her. Moved unbearably by their kindness, the Queen of Mistmantle broke down and wept.

  Urchin, Juniper, Hope, and Docken emerged from a long, thorough, cold, and cobwebby exploration of the Chamber of Candles and the tunnels around it. There was not a trace of the baby, nor of Linty. Not a paw print.

  As moonlight danced on a dark sea, Padra left his cloak at his chambers and loped down to the shore, feeling annoyed with himself. Linty, Linty… somewhere there was a memory about Linty, if only he could drag it to the front of his mind. Perhaps it would come to him. He swam to his boat, where Fingal sat at the oars.

  “I’ll take next watch, Fingal,” he said. “You’ve done long enough.”

  “Can’t I stay a bit longer?” said Fingal. “I’m not cold, and, I mean, I know it’s captain’s orders and all that, but…”

  “Oh, move up, then,” said Padra, and flipped himself dripping into the boat. He would be glad of the company. His heart was at the Spring Gate with Arran and his children, who had never seemed more precious, nor more vulnerable.

  Linty. Children. Did Linty ever have children?

  Fires were lit on the beach, to warm the shore patrols. Crackle and Scatter crouched to blow on the smoldering twigs until autumn leaves glowed, curled, and sent flames licking along dead branches. Coughing, turning their faces from the smoke, they stretched their paws to the fire.

  They said nothing, because there was nothing much to be said. Crackle was wishing that she could be the one to find the princess. But, she thought as she prodded the flames with a stick, it wouldn’t matter who found the baby as long as she was found. Scatter, too, wished she could do something wonderful for the island, but she didn’t want it to be this. She didn’t want to do something brave to rescue the princess because she simply hoped that, by morning, Princess Catkin would have turned up safe and sound, and it would be as if this had never happened.

  She huddled closer to Crackle. This long, slow night made her imagine things she would rather not think of.

  “You know,” she said, “you know there was a prince before, and he—”

  “Prince Tumble,” interrupted Crackle quickly. “Don’t talk about that.”

  “But it’s almost as if—” persisted Scatter.

  “I said, don’t!” snapped Crackle, so neither of them said, It’s as if there were a curse on the Heir of Mistmantle. But they could hear each other thinking it.

  In her tree-root home, Damson was busily packing a satchel and singing the lullaby under her breath. Neatly she packed bread, apples, hazelnuts, a flask of milk, and a shawl—the things she would want for a journey, the things that might be needed by a squirrel running away with a baby. All through Juniper’s childhood she had kept him secretly, with the help of the otters who lived near the waterfall. She knew about keeping a baby hidden. What would the king’s guards and the Circle know about it? If anyone could find Linty, she could, and Linty would trust her. At sunrise, she’d go out on her search. Young Sepia might help. Sepia was gentle and trustworthy, but also young and small, and would be better at wriggling through tunnels and climbing trees and cliffs than she was herself.

  In the Gathering Chamber, Sepia was helping Thripple to tidy up. There wouldn’t yet be any great ceremony to admit Urchin and Needle to the Circle. All the draperies and garlands could come down, robes could be brushed and put away. None of that would be needed now. Hope and the new baby, Mopple, had fallen asleep in a makeshift nest of scraps of old fabric and leftover garlands.

  Crispin balanced on the highest branch of the highest tree in a copse near the Tangletwigs, turning right and left, gazing as far as the night would let him see. He had climbed in and out
of every hollow in every tree in this copse. The sensible thing to do would be to go back to the tower and find out if there was any news, though his heart urged him to keep searching.

  “Heart keep her,” he prayed. “Heart bring her safely home.”

  He was King Crispin the Swanrider, but his own child was missing, and he was unable to help her. On his swaying treetop perch in the deep, dark night, he was utterly alone.

  “Back to the tower, find out what’s happening, then get out again,” he muttered as he sprang down. “Hold on, Catkin. We’ll find you.”

  He would not give in. He would hunt, he would use every power of thought and strength, knowledge and courage, until he dropped with exhaustion, and when he woke, he would go on searching though the sun burned him, and the Tangletwigs tore him to shreds. He would not stop to imagine Catkin crying for her mother and father in the dark, and wondering why they didn’t come. He could bear hardship, but not that.

  The night brought a brief, thin drizzle of rain. Three animals—a mole, a squirrel, and a young hedgehog—straggling back from the search, grumbled and huddled against the tower walls. Hobb the mole was a short, sturdily built, and very smooth animal—his head looked polished. He had a habit of folding his arms and rocking back and forth on his hind paws, and a tendency to waddle. (He claimed that this was because of stiffness in his joints, but he was heavy, for a mole.) Yarrow the squirrel had a strong, square jaw, angular shoulders, shaggy fur, and a way of jerking his head in indignation. His normal tone of voice suggested that he was used to complaining a lot.

  The third animal, Quill the hedgehog, was younger than the other two. He was still young enough for his mother to insist on smartening his spines in the morning, so that he had to roll in leaves as soon as he was out of her sight so as not to be embarrassingly tidy. He was so much in the company of Hobb and Yarrow that he copied their mannerisms without realizing it.

  “May as well go home and get a few hours’sleep,” muttered Hobb, pulling his coat about him and scowling up at the rain. “There’ll not be many of us in a fit state to bring in the harvest after this. There’s a lot of animals not at all well, and that means more work for the rest of us. And if that wasn’t bad enough, all the athletic ones and the bright sparks will be off looking for the princess.”

  “Let’s hope they find her tonight,” said Yarrow, in a dismal voice as if he didn’t expect her to be found at all. “It’s bad enough, this happening, without it happening at harvest. Hazelnuts won’t gather themselves, you know.”

  “My dad,” said Quill, drawing himself up, “my dad says it’s a pity the queen didn’t take better care of the princess.”

  “Nobody should speak ill of the queen….” began Hobb.

  “Sorry,” whispered Quill, but he felt, rather than heard, Hobb glaring at him through the darkness.

  “As I was saying,” said Hobb firmly, “nobody likes to speak ill of the queen, but the fact is, she doesn’t come from here. That place she comes from, I don’t think they know how to do things right. They don’t know how to look after their young. Nice enough squirrel, I’ll give her that, but she doesn’t know how to look after her baby. If we’d had one of our own, a proper Mistmantle queen, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Wouldn’t have happened, exactly,” agreed Yarrow with a sniff and a jerk. “I suppose the king knew what he was doing when he chose her, but…”

  “But did he?” argued Hobb, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. “I’m sure falling tail over ear tips in love is very nice, but we’re talking kings and queens, here. Of course, he’s not proper royalty, is he, he was just a captain.”

  “He would have known where he was if he’d married a sensible Mistmantle lass,” said Yarrow. “We thought he might have taken to our Thrippia, her having such clever ways, but nothing came of it. And there’s my sister’s lass, our Gleaner. Too young for him, I know, but he could have waited for her to grow up. She’s very grown-up for her age already.”

  “Here comes Docken of the Circle,” said Quill. He elbowed the others and straightened up as he called out to the bedraggled hedgehog marching past. “Good evening, Master Docken. Any news of the baby?”

  “There’d be lights on all over the tower if she were home, Heart protect her,” called Docken wearily. “Away you go, home to your beds and get a good night’s sleep, for it’ll be all paws to work tomorrow.”

  Hobb scowled in the darkness. “Don’t hurry,” he whispered. “He thinks he can order us all about, now he’s in the Circle.”

  “And I wouldn’t stand so near that window,” said Docken. “You’re right under the queen’s window there, and…”

  “Don’t move,” muttered Hobb to the others, and raised his voice to Docken. “Why shouldn’t we stand under the queen’s window? Got as much right as anyone.”

  “We were on this island long before she was,” said Yarrow, and wriggled indignantly. “Who does she think she is? Aren’t we good enough to stand under her window?”

  “My dad says…” began Quill, but they never found out what his dad said because at that moment the window opened and Moth and the maids tipped out the queen’s bathwater. Spluttering and cursing they glared up at the window, just in time for the next soaking.

  “Tried to warn you,” said Docken. “Lavender. You’ll smell beautiful.”

  “Bathwater!” growled Yarrow, rubbing his wet fur with his even wetter cloak and making it worse. “What’s she want baths for? Can’t she wash her face in a stream like anyone else?” And they hurried crossly home, though Quill did take the long way around to roll in a weedy rock pool. He couldn’t go around smelling of lavender.

  It seemed longer than a single night before a pale gold dawn spread across the sky. Catkin was still missing. Search parties went on hunting as the sun rose higher. The brief rain had soon stopped, and animals talked about whether they had ever had such a hot autumn as they worked on in the sun, gathering rushes, cones, nuts, and berries, sweating into their fur and gulping down water. The animals searching for Catkin labored and struggled under the hot sun. The land grew dry. Streams ran slowly.

  The harvesting was harder, too, because there were fewer animals to do it. More and more were becoming too ill to leave their burrows. Healers were sent for. Urchin, hunting in hollow trees for Catkin and Linty, remembered the riding stars and did not like to wonder too much about what they meant this time.

  Juniper opened his eyes with words of prophecy clear and true in his mind. When he thought of what they might mean, he covered his face with his paws in fear.

  Brother Fir met with squirrels and hedgehogs who were keen to discuss the past, and others who would much rather not. Many were more concerned about their neighbors falling ill—and please, Brother Fir, can we collect some feverfew from the tower? But as Fir patiently listened and talked and listened again, they began to talk of the terrible time when Lord Husk controlled the island, and any animals born weak or even a little deformed had been put to death. Some could hardly bear to talk about it, and some, when they had started, could not stop talking.

  Old friends of Linty told how she had kept to herself for years. She never talked about the past. Poor Linty, she could hardly bring herself to speak of what happened to her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  OVER THE DOOR, COVER THE DOOR. Linty gritted her teeth with effort as she heaved an old tree root back into place to hide the entrance over her head. Using the blanket as a sling, she had wound the baby to her, keeping her safe from the thorns as she wove her way through the Tangletwigs. She had run through deep streams, lifting the baby high out of the water, and rolled them both in white wild garlic to lose their scent. More ramsons grew around this tree. Nobody would scent them down. No busybody digging mole would find them.

  The tower was no place for a baby. Long ago, with hard work and ingenuity, she had made this hiding place, and another, nearer to the shore, furnished with all she would need to keep a baby hidden. They were so cleverly
concealed underground, with deeply hidden overgrown entrances and confused scent trails, that they were impossible to find. She would have lost track of them herself if she hadn’t returned every spring and autumn to clean them and bring in fresh food and bedding. She never knew when she might need them.

  There were two ways out of this deep refuge. One led into undergrowth and the other to a cave near the shore, both through concealed tunnels. She could slip out to fetch provisions if she had to, though it would be risky. She had left places above the entrance where rain could run down through the moss, so there was no need to fetch fresh water. In the meantime, in case it didn’t rain, she’d brought spring water. She’d thought of everything.

  She couldn’t remember clearly what had happened at the tower. She had been looking after this baby. Catkin. That was the baby’s name. She had been rocking the baby in her lap, yes, she could remember that. The warm, bath-smelling baby had cuddled against her and sucked a corner of a blanket—and unspeakable terror had struck hard into Linty’s heart, shaking her from her ear tips to her claws. That wave of horror had left her so sick and shaking with fear that she had thought she would pass out.

  Tower! Quick, get her out!

  She would keep this baby safe. No animal on Mistmantle would outwit her.

  Wide-awake and bright-eyed, Catkin was sitting up and looking at her.

  “You’ll be safe with me,” Linty said, and smiled with love as Catkin stretched out both front paws to her. She picked her up, cradling the soft baby fur against her cheek. “You’ll be safe with Linty, little…” what was the baby’s name? Daisy? No, this one was Catkin.