“Haul her up gently,” he said. “She’s hurt.”
“Ready!” called Docken. Presently, Needle’s taut, brave face appeared over the edge of the cliff, and in a few seconds Crispin had lifted her clear of the sling.
“Lower it for Juniper,” he ordered. “Needle, how are you feeling?”
“It hurts,” said Needle. Her voice wasn’t very strong, but she tried to smile. “I’ll be all right. Hello, Urchin.”
“Take her back up to the top, Urchin,” Crispin ordered, “to your own chamber at the Spring Gate. Lugg, they’ll need help. Can you carry her between you?”
“How heavy do you think I am?” demanded Needle weakly. Crispin left Urchin and Needle exchanging stories as she was carried away, while he looked over the cliff edge as Juniper was hauled up. He was dirty, bloodstained, and trying not to shiver, but on his face was a calmness that nobody who saw it ever forgot. He looked, they thought afterward, like Brother Fir. Crispin looked gravely into Juniper’s face.
“Well done, Juniper,” he said. “Well done. Are you all right?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Juniper, and knew that he should explain to Crispin why he’d done what he’d done, and he supposed he should apologize because it was his fault that Needle was hurt—but somehow he couldn’t find the words. And Crispin said nothing to question or to blame him, but just held him by the shoulders and said, “Is it all over now?”
“I didn’t just do it for me,” said Juniper. “It was for the island. And for you. There was a prophecy.”
“I understand,” said Crispin, and took off his cloak. “Put that on, you’re frozen. Now, I want to go down there and see for myself. Don’t bother with the sling. If those two can manage a jump like that, so can I.”
He took a step or two back to prepare for the leap. But before he could move farther, there was a racing of paws toward them, and Longpaw flew through the doorway.
“Your Majesty!” he cried. “Catkin! Linty, in a boat, heading for the mists!”
The wind was rising as Sepia ran around the shore and scampered onto a high rock to give herself the best possible overall view. Animals were clustered on the shore around Arran who was giving instructions, holding back those who were determined to swim out or already hauling their boats down to the water.
“If she’s desperate enough to row for the mists, she’s desperate enough for anything,” called Arran. “She’s rowing a heavy boat against the tide, which should slow her down. The queen has given orders, all the way through this, that we mustn’t make Linty panic. Still, I’ll see if she’ll listen to me.” She took off her circlet and passed it to a small otter called Skye. “Hang on to that for me, please. I’ll go alone, or she may take fright. Have two or three boats ready, but don’t do anything until you have orders from the king or Padra.” And she launched herself into the water.
Sepia stayed where she was, hugging her cloak about her against the chill, watching for every squirrel and every mole who ran across the shore. She had to think of Urchin and Lugg now, who had gone beyond the mists twice and somehow returned safely. Nobody had ever done it a third time. Catkin might not be the only one who needed saving.
She could see them, Urchin and Lugg, carrying Needle between them, with two adult hedgehogs who must be Needle’s parents. It looked as if Lugg and Urchin were going to end up in the same place, which made her task a lot easier.
Following them was easy, too. They were slowed down by carrying Needle, and by stopping now and again to ask some passing animal what was happening. The Spring Gate, it looked as if they were on their way to the Spring Gate. Good.
She wasn’t sure if she could ask the Heart to help her in what she meant to do, but perhaps she could ask to be forgiven for it. Heart, please understand why I’m doing this and I’m sorry, but I have to.
She caught up with them as they headed to the Spring Gate, chatting, asking after Needle, running ahead of them to open the chamber door, strike a spark for the fire, and shake a blanket over Urchin’s nest. She filled a jug of water from the spring. Then, leaving them all fussing over Needle, she slipped quietly out and closed the door behind her.
There was no lock on that door. Pity. She looked about and found a heap of driftwood which was probably meant for fires. She took a plank that looked about the right size, jammed it under the door, whispered “Sorry!” and ran.
She flew up the nearest stair, racing along empty corridors, up flight after flight of stairs, past Threadings, and empty workrooms, past windows that opened to the twilight, until she stood breathlessly at the door of Fir’s turret, feeling the fierce, fast pounding of her own heart.
She had done one bad thing for a good reason. Now, she would have to do another. She had to. Trying not to think of what she was doing, she slipped in. There was enough light to show the loose stone in the hearth.
“Heart forgive me,” she whispered.
When Juniper had taken the Heartstone from its box, she had been deeply shocked. But once before it had helped to bring Urchin home, so perhaps it would protect her, too. She wouldn’t even open the gleaming box, just pick it up and put it in a satchel.
No, she wouldn’t.
She couldn’t. Every instinct told her not to. She turned to leave.
“Dearest daughter,” said Fir.
“Door’s jammed,” said Lugg. “Give us a paw, Urchin.”
Urchin hopped to his side and tugged at the solid, heavy, old door. There was no movement at all. He curled his claws against the edge and tugged, but nothing happened.
“We’re trapped!” said Needle.
“We’re not,” said Lugg, who was lying down inspecting the floor. “There’s a great plank under here. Dunno how it got there, but we’ll get it out. Perhaps you two hedgehogs could give us a paw?”
The plank was wedged so tightly that not all their heaving could move it. Lugg stood back, gulping for breath.
“We’ll have to scrabble the earth away to loosen it,” he said. “Everyone get scrabbling.”
Sepia gazed toward the window as she told Brother Fir why she was there.
“I’m sorry for what I meant to do,” she said. She couldn’t believe she’d intended to do anything so terrible. “It’s just that I think Linty might listen to me because she won’t be afraid of me. She’s trying to get beyond the mists, and on a night like this, it’s hard to tell what’s real Mistmantle mist, and what’s just the weather, I mean, the fog sort of mist. I’m afraid of following her and not being able to get back, so I wanted the Heartstone to help me. But when I got here, I knew I couldn’t take it.”
“Of course,” said Brother Fir.
“So I’d better go now,” she said. “I’ve wasted too much time already.”
Brother Fir smiled with such kindness that she wished she could stay there, drinking in the wisdom and love in those eyes. “Then go, child. Put your trust in the Heart, not the Heartstone. And go quickly, with my blessing.”
Sepia dashed back down the stairs. Brother Fir hobbled to the window, where he raised a paw and turned his face to the shore. Between mists, fog, and gathering dark, it was hard to see anything much. Brother Fir prayed steadily into cloud and darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY
HE BREEZE WAS STIRRING THE WAVES, thinning and mixing the fog that had rolled in so that it was hard to tell where fog ended and the mists began. Sepia, running to the shore with one paw clasping her cloak, saw boats bobbing on the water and the two figures of Cedar and Crispin, ankle deep in the sea, as they called out. Padra stood a little behind them. Soon she was close enough to see the stretched, strained hope and fear on their faces, and the way Queen Cedar still clutched the naming blanket in her paws, as if she couldn’t wait to wrap Catkin in it and hold her. Then Arran glided through the water and shook herself dry.
“She won’t have anything to do with me,” said Arran. “If I try to get nearer, she just rows farther away. She won’t trust any of us. Juniper’s in a boat close to her and she h
asn’t sent him away, but she won’t let him any nearer either.”
“She’ll listen to me,” said Cedar.
“I don’t think she will, Your Majesty,” said Arran. “She’s got it into her head that Catkin is her own baby and you want to take her away. If you go near her, she really will go through the mists. You have to stand back, and we’ll find someone she’ll listen to. Mother Huggen, perhaps? Or one of the young ones?”
Sepia looked about for an empty boat. There wasn’t one. Something warm brushed past her leg, and she looked down to see Fingal rolling in the sand, looking up at her.
“Otters are better than boats,” he said. “Want a ride?”
“I’ll be too heavy,” she said.
“You?” he said. “Just let me get into the water first.”
As Fingal loped into the shallows, Sepia ran to the queen. “Please, Your Majesty,” she said, “Catkin’s blanket? May I take it out to her?”
The queen, straining to see the boat as it moved farther away, didn’t even seem to have heard her.
“Please, Your Majesty?” she said again, and held out her paws.
The queen seemed to wake from a trance. She pushed the blanket into Sepia’s paws.
“Go, then, Sepia,” she said. “Heart bless you. Take care, don’t…”
Sepia ran away before she could hear the queen say, “Don’t go beyond the mists,” because that might be the very thing she had to do. She heard Crispin shout out her name, as if he might be calling her back, but she was already throwing her cloak on the shore and gasping at the coldness of the water.
“I’ll stay at a distance,” said Padra, and slipped into the water after them.
As lightly as she could, Sepia hopped onto Fingal’s back and twisted her tail for balance. She knelt, holding on with her forepaws, the blanket clenched in her paw to keep it dry.
“Freezing!” she gasped through her teeth as Fingal plunged forward.
“No it isn’t!” cried Fingal.
Sepia tried to keep her balance on the smooth, wet body of the otter as he surged through the lifting waves. When she dared to look up, she saw the moon through breaks in the blowing clouds and fog in the wild sky. When she looked down, she saw lapping waves with, here and there, a glint of moonlight or starlight. And as Fingal rushed on, she could see more clearly the outline of Linty’s boat, getting nearer and nearer to the mists.
She didn’t dare look behind her in case she fell, so she didn’t see Urchin flying down to the beach with Lugg lumbering after him. But Padra, twisting in the water, had seen them and swam to meet them.
“If Sepia and Fingal are going, they could do with an escort boat,” said Urchin, when Padra had explained everything to him. “And I’m young, so she might not be afraid of me. Let me go, sir.”
“Stay this side of the mists,” ordered Padra. He waved at Docken, who was in the nearest boat, and summoned him in. “Docken, I could do with you on shore. Urchin and Lugg, row as near to Linty as you can without scaring her. Lugg, take off your circlet. Any sign of a captain, and we’ve lost her.”
“But, sir,” said Docken, “if she did try to scarper into the mists, it would be easy enough to catch up with her, and we’d all be more than a match for her, even if she did put up a fight.”
“Yes,” said Padra, “but in the course of that, the baby could end up in the water, and we don’t want a drowned princess. We won’t storm the boat unless we absolutely have to.”
Sepia could see more clearly now and was balanced more confidently. She held on with one forepaw while taking the blanket from her teeth and holding it round her neck, not to keep herself warm but to keep the blanket dry. Shivering on Fingal’s back, she tried to work out what she’d say to Linty. Linty sat forward in the boat, rowing with steady determination. Juniper, seeing Sepia and Fingal, rowed toward them.
“She won’t listen to me,” he said. “You might have more of a chance, being a girl. Can you get near her? We’ll all stay close and come if you call.”
“Not too close,” said Sepia. “Perhaps if she sees a boat, she thinks someone’s going to put Catkin into it. I haven’t got a boat, just Fingal.”
“Just Fingal?” said Fingal. “Shall I see if I can get alongside her?”
“Yes, please,” said Sepia, “but stop if I tell you.”
He swam on, and all the time Sepia could see more clearly. She saw the intensity in Linty’s wild eyes and heard a gentle whimpering from the bottom of the boat.
“Slow down, Fingal,” she said softly.
Fingal slowed down just in time. Linty jerked upright in the boat so that it rocked dangerously, and Sepia gasped with fear for the baby. It rocked again as Linty stopped to pick up something from the bottom of the boat, and just in time Sepia ducked low over Fingal’s head. A stone flew past her.
“I won’t harm you, Linty,” she called, “I’ve come to help. I’ve brought you the baby’s blanket, I heard her crying for it.”
“Keep away!” shouted Linty. She scooped up another stone and stood holding it in her upraised paw. The baby’s crying sounded louder, so that Sepia longed to hold her.
“She needs her blanket,” she urged gently. “Let me bring it for her. It’s her own special one, she has to have it. She—she’ll get ill without it.”
Two small paws appeared over the side of the boat, followed by the tufts of two squirrel ears. With a leap of her heart, Sepia saw the small, bright face of Catkin, gazing in fascination over the side of the boat.
“Get down, my darling,” said Linty. “Dangerous.” Awkwardly, with a suspicious glance at Sepia, she shipped the oars and reached out for the baby.
“I’m watching you, girl!” she called. With one paw she pressed Catkin back into the boat, waving wildly with the other. “Keep back, you!”
“It’s all right, Linty,” said Sepia. “I came to help you. Shall I row for you while you look after the baby?”
“You’ll try something,” muttered Linty, struggling to control the wriggling baby and the boat at the same time, as they drifted toward the mist. “I don’t trust you.”
“I think you should trust someone,” said Sepia. “You can’t keep rowing and keep the baby still at the same time, and you don’t want her to fall in. What would you like me to do for you?”
Linty held tightly to the baby as the boat rocked. The girl’s right. Pity. Let her row. I can push her out if she’s any trouble.
“Go on, then,” she grumbled. “You can take the oars for a bit, just until she settles. Keep that otter back.”
“I’ll send him back when I’m in the boat, I promise,” said Sepia. “But I can’t swim and keep the blanket dry at the same time.”
“He’ll get the oar across his skull if he gets too close,” warned Linty, watching Fingal ferociously.
“When I’m in the boat, Fingal, swim away, fast as you can,” said Sepia quickly, and struggled to keep her balance as she stood up on his wet back and scrambled into Linty’s little boat. She took Linty’s place on the wet rowing bench and reached for the oars, the cold air on her wet limbs sending shivers all the way through her so that her teeth chattered. As the moonlight shone through a gap in the clouds, she saw Linty’s face clearly.
Linty had grown haggard since taking the baby. Her eyes were wild, suspicious, and, to Sepia, quite insane.
Catkin looked well enough, though, as Linty wrapped her in the blanket and cradled her. The baby looked brightly at Sepia—it was a long time since she had seen any face but Linty’s, and this one intrigued her. Sepia smiled, and Catkin smiled delightedly back at her.
“Stop that!” ordered Linty. “Just you row to the mists, girl.”
Sepia rowed as slowly as she could. It was so hard to tell whether it was only fog that drifted past her, or the mists. She hoped it was fog. Trust the Heart and not the Heartstone.
“Get right away, you otter!” Linty shouted at Fingal. “And that squirrel who says he’s a priest, he has to go. Brother Fir’s the pri
est, not him. That evil captain must have sent him.”
“The evil captain’s dead, Linty,” said Sepia through chattering teeth. “He can’t hurt you, and he can’t hurt the baby.”
“I said, send that squirrel away!” shrieked Linty. “And row faster!”
“You’ll have to go, Juniper!” called Sepia, and tried to look as if she was rowing faster, though all the time her heart reached out to Juniper and Fingal as they moved away from her. The mists are at my back and I’ll never see you again…should I grab the baby and swim for it…but she’d kill me and the baby would drown…. Heart help me….
She forced herself to concentrate. She had to stay one step ahead of Linty. She rowed very lightly, knowing that the tide was against them.
“Captain Husk is dead, Mistress Linty,” she said. “Nobody’s allowed to kill babies anymore.”
“Is that right?” asked Linty, but the wary look was still on her face. “You’re lying. I heard them talking about him. He’s back.”
“No,” said Sepia. “They were wrong about that. He really is dead.” Admire the baby. She’ll like that. “She’s a very beautiful baby. You’ve taken great care of her.”
“’Course I have,” said Linty, looking proudly into Catkin’s face.
“What’s her name?” asked Sepia.
“Ca…Daisy,” said Linty. “I called her Daisy.”
“And whose baby is she?”
“Why, she’s mine, of course,” snapped Linty. “Whose should she be?” She hugged Catkin tightly. “The king and queen think she’s theirs, but they’re wrong. This is my baby. They didn’t know how to look after their little baby, so they lost her.” She yawned, then said again, “She’s mine. This is my Daisy.”
“I see,” said Sepia, thinking hard, though freezing wet fur made it hard to think at all. “Would you like to take Daisy home to her nest? Her own warm little nest that you’ve made for her?”
The Heir of Mistmantle Page 20