“But the babies can’t stay here forever,” said Urchin. “What happens when they get older?”
Mother Huggen hurried to rescue a small hedgehog that was getting a little too close to the washing.
“This one’s nearsighted,” she explained as she turned the little hedgehog around. It trundled away with determination and bumped into the log basket, but didn’t seem to mind. “I send him to play with the moles. They’re all nearsighted, so they teach him how to get along.”
“You’re right, Urchin, they can’t stay here,” said Padra. “As soon as they start to talk, we move them out. They soon forget about being here.”
“I make them little mitts to fit over any bad paws or anything of that sort,” said Huggen. “They look just like real paws; you wouldn’t know. And we train them well, so nobody can see anything the matter with them.”
“But where do they go?” asked Urchin.
“Mostly to colonies on the north or west of the island, well away from the tower, or in the middle of the wood,” said Padra. “Places where nobody will ask questions about one or two extra young ones, and the parents know where they are. But I wish we didn’t have to do this. There’s something very wrong about this island, Urchin. There shouldn’t be any culling at all.”
He walked to the fire, carefully stepping over a baby squirrel, and stoked the blaze. Urchin limped painfully toward him.
“This isn’t the only quiet backwater colony on the island,” went on Padra. “There are groups of animals here and there, mostly near the shores or in the caves by the waterfall, living quiet lives and keeping away from the tower as much as they can. That’s apart from the host of hedgehogs and moles digging for jewels, who work so hard they must have forgotten what daylight is like. You didn’t know I have a younger brother, did you? Fingal. He lives in a small otter colony, about as far away from Husk and the tower as I can get him.”
“Quite right, too,” said Mother Huggen. “Fingal’s safer that way.”
“Everybody’s safer that way,” said Padra. The nearsighted hedgehog was now climbing in and out of tree roots. When it met a mole head on, it curled into a ball in shock.
Padra threw another log on the fire, and sparks showered upward. “It’s worse since Crispin went,” he said. “The king listened to him. No wonder Husk wanted him out.”
“Crispin!” said Urchin, remembering. He hobbled painfully back to the moss bed and scrabbled at the hem of his cloak.
“I was coming to show you, sir!” he cried. “I was putting the robes away, and I found these in the chest!”
The leaves were battered now, with bits broken away from the edges. But the mark was still visible.
“Crispin’s mark!” exclaimed Padra, his eyes bright and keen. “Where did you find these?” He stood turning the leaves in his paw as Urchin answered.
“Have you ever seen a captain give a token, Urchin?” asked Padra.
“No, sir,” said Urchin, “but I saw the king once mark a leaf for Husk.”
“I’m sure he did,” said Padra drily. “Captains don’t use tokens much these days. Husk gets Gloss the mole to carry messages for him. I like to give my orders myself, if I give them at all. But if Crispin wanted to confirm that an order was from him, or give his approval of something, he’d send a leaf with his mark on it as a token. What you’ve found here may just be some old tokens.”
“Oh,” said Urchin, disappointed. “So they’re not important, then?”
“I think they’re very important,” said Padra. “They may be just a few old tokens, but Crispin wouldn’t have left them in the robe chest. Somebody must have collected them for a purpose.”
“Or Husk got hold of one, and made copies of it,” suggested Urchin.
“So,” said Padra, “on the day when we drew lots…Urchin, I must have seaweed where my brain should be! Why didn’t I see it before? I’ve always known that Husk tricked us that day, but I couldn’t see how. He didn’t take Crispin’s token out of the bag at all—he must have hidden one of these in his paw.”
“Or tucked it into his sleeve,” said Urchin in excitement. “We—I mean, someone—should have checked which tokens were still in the bag.”
“And we would have found Crispin’s,” said Padra.
“So these are evidence that Husk did it!” said Urchin eagerly. “If we take these to the king…”
“Slow down, Urchin,” said Padra. “What can we prove? Husk would only say that they were old tokens Crispin left lying around, or that we copied them ourselves to incriminate him. The king and the Circle would listen to him, not us. We have to wait until Husk goes too far. He will, believe me. The animals will lose faith in him, and be ready to listen to us. Then we can move against him, and these leaves will help us to do that. But we still have to wait for the tide to turn.”
“But he gets worse all the time!” said Urchin. “He’s even talking about rationing the winter food! Can’t we help the tide to turn?”
“Oh, yes, we can do that,” said Padra cheerfully, “but we have to do it cautiously. If Husk thinks we’re stirring up rebellion, believe me, he’ll have us murdered on the quiet. Me, Arran, Lugg…even you, Urchin.”
Urchin was about to say that he was willing to take the risk, but Padra stopped him.
“Yes, I’m sure you’re willing to die for the island, but you’re more use alive,” he said. “We all are. Without us, there’d be nobody left to protect the others. When I show up Husk, it has to be in public, at a big, special occasion. He wouldn’t be able to do any quiet knife-in-the-back stuff with the whole island watching.”
“Like at a feast, sir?” said Urchin. “The next one’s the Spring Festival.”
Padra smiled. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “I was thinking of the Spring Festival.”
“Shh!” said Huggen, and Padra sprang to his feet with his paw on his sword hilt. Something was moving toward them through the tunnels. Urchin stepped back from the entrance, flexing his claws. But then Padra relaxed, and let go of the sword.
“Arran,” he said. “I know her step.”
“Ask her to marry you, why don’t you?” muttered Mother Huggen.
“She’d only hit me,” said Padra.
Arran appeared presently, loping on all fours as she emerged from a tunnel.
“Padra, you’re on next watch with the king,” she said.
“Stay here tonight, Urchin, and I’ll get you out tomorrow,” said Padra. “If anyone asks, I’ll say you were so useless you didn’t know which floor you were on, and that’s why you fell out of the window. On your head, so no harm done. I’ll tell Fir the truth, though. He ought to know everything you’ve told me. And, Urchin, those leaves could be vital. You’ve done bravely today. But don’t put yourself in danger. I told Crispin I’d take care of you.”
“I’m too old to be taken care of,” said Urchin as Padra left. But it was good to be here, with the flickering fire and Mother Huggen bringing him hot drinks and creamy hazelnut porridge, and Moth hushing a baby. The small hedgehog half woke up, found its way to Urchin’s lap, and fell asleep again.
“We all need to be taken care of,” said Mother Huggen. “This island is full of young animals Captain Padra has rescued. Arran, will you stop and have some cordial with us? And it’s time you asked Padra to marry you.”
“He’d only laugh,” said Arran.
Urchin wondered what Padra would do at the Spring Festival. But filled with hot porridge and warmed by the fire, he could no longer keep his eyes open. He was drifting into dreams. He managed to slur a prayer for Crispin, but he was already more asleep than awake.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LEANER WAS CRYING.
She was hunched miserably in a small chair in a corner of Husk and Lady Aspen’s chambers. It was a hard and uncomfortable chair, a good place for misery. She was not used to being snapped at and hadn’t deserved it, so she sniffed in a corner out of the way, where somebody was sure to find her. Two mole maids came in carr
ying black mourning veils, and she drew a paw across her eyes.
“Still crying for the queen?” asked one of the moles.
“I think the captain was a bit sharp with her just now,” said the other. The moles didn’t like Gleaner, who had become Lady Aspen’s darling so quickly, but Captain Husk had been bad-tempered with everyone since the queen died. It was time his wife knew about it.
“I didn’t mean any harm,” said Gleaner. “I knew there should be flowers by the coffin and I’d been out in the snow and ice to find something pretty, and I told him so, and he turned and shouted at me for nothing!”
“Shouted at you?” said a mole eagerly.
“Yes, he shouted that I was to stay away and leave him alone,” she sniffed.
Lady Aspen glided into the room.
“My poor little Gleaner!” she said. “Still weeping for the queen?”
“Captain Husk was cross with her,” said the moles, and exchanged sly smiles. Either Gleaner or Captain Husk would be in trouble. They didn’t care which.
“You may go,” said Aspen, and the moles curtsied and scurried away. “Never mind, Gleaner. Captain Husk has too much on his mind just now, and the whole island depends on him. Did the moles bring the veils?”
As Gleaner dried her eyes, Lady Aspen took a veil and shook out the folds. Husk had not been himself since the wedding, and she had accepted his brooding silences and short answers. It was better not to ask questions. They had never discussed the night when Prince Tumble died. It was enough to know that he was dead. And Husk had never asked her about the queen. She had cared for the queen and the queen had died and that, too, was enough. They knew each other too well to ask questions. She threw the veil over her ears and was looking at herself in the glass through a dark film of silk, when Husk came in.
“Off you go, Gleaner,” Lady Aspen said, and Gleaner was glad to hurry away with a quick, hurt glance at the captain. Husk made sure she closed the door after her. There were too many small animals scuttling about the tower these days.
Had one of them been following him four nights ago, after the queen died? No, of course not. Those tunnels were always full of creatures of the dark, things that crept, squirmed, and scuttled. It was only one of those. Or had he really heard a brush of fur and running paws behind him? There was a swish and a rustle as Aspen bent to pick something from the floor, and his paw flew to his sword hilt.
“My lord!” she cried.
“My love,” he said, “you startled me. It’s nothing.”
Long slashes of rain dashed hard against the windows of the crowded Gathering Chamber. The funeral service was nearly over, and Urchin waited to take his place in the procession. Brother Fir came first, limping. Queen Spindle’s coffin, draped in black, was borne slowly from the Gathering Chamber as a choir of moles sang their low, solemn dirge and a hedgehog carried her crown on a velvet cushion. The king followed the coffin, his face grim, leaning his paw on Husk’s shoulder. Behind them came Granite, with Aspen veiled in black; then Padra with Tay; the animals of the Circle; and rows of guards. Finally, when the crowd had lost interest, came Urchin as Padra’s page, and Gleaner as Aspen’s attendant.
“See?” whispered Gleaner. “You’re not that important.”
Urchin didn’t mind being at the back of the procession. What he minded was the way Padra had been placed behind Granite and Aspen, in front of a chamber full of animals. It was a deliberate insult. The coffin was carried down to the vault below the tower, followed by the captains, Tay, Aspen, and the hedgehog with the crown. Nobody else. The guards saluted and were dismissed, and Urchin and Gleaner stood back to let the tearful animals shuffle down the stairs, wrap their cloaks around them, and scurry home through the pelting rain.
Urchin spotted Apple in the crowd. Her rosebud bonnet had been trimmed with blackbird feathers for mourning, and she wore a very old and battered cloak. He couldn’t reach her—he had to stay at his post at the top of the stairs—but she saw him, stuck out her elbows, and barged her way through.
“Terrible business, this, terrible, poor queen, poor hedgehog, what a nice queen she were before the little prince died, it’s the king I feel sorry for, poor old king, what’s he going to do now? Do they give us anything to eat on the way out?”
“They’re giving out drinks and biscuits at the main door,” said Urchin, but as a tower squirrel, he felt secretly ashamed. The meager refreshments amounted only to watered-down cordial and plain biscuits. Tay had said it was a solemn occasion and plain food was suitable. “And not much of it,” she had added. “We can’t have them making a feast of the queen’s death.”
“Keep moving, please,” called a hedgehog behind Apple, who was blocking the hallway. Urchin put her paw through his arm and escorted her to the door.
Sleeting rain drove in from the sea. In the doorway at the top of the stairs, tower servants with silver trays gave out the frugal drinks and biscuits.
“I think nothing of this,” said Apple, inspecting her biscuit. “There’s not going to be rationing, is there?”
“I don’t know,” said Urchin. He’d heard those rumors, too, and hoped they weren’t true. Sea air, long hours of work, and sword practice made him hungry. “I hope not.”
“Looks like they’ve started already,” grumbled Apple. “Don’t see how they expect us to do all that work, not with rationing. All this extra work, with never a decent meal inside us. And they can’t expect the young 'uns to go without, nor the very old 'uns, neither, and anyway they don’t eat much, them old 'uns.”
This analysis made surprisingly good sense to Urchin. It might sound sensible to the king, too, if only somebody could get near enough to tell him. Apple licked the last of the biscuit crumbs from her paws.
“Can’t afford to waste nothing, not if they’re going to start counting out the hazelnuts after this,” she said. “Suppose I have to go. I miss you, you know.”
“And I miss you, Apple,” he said, and bowed. As a page he’d become used to bowing to almost everyone and everything. Then he kissed her cheek, a little awkwardly.
“You’ve turned out good, I’m proud of you, proud of you,” she muttered, and rubbed her eyes as she turned to go.
Maybe it was because the stairs were wet with rain, or maybe she couldn’t quite see clearly. Apple’s balance had never been good. One second, she was saying good-bye to Urchin. The next, she was tumbling head over heels down the steps with a trail of “ouch!” and “oof!,” gathering speed until she rolled at last to a halt beyond the foot of the stair. The hat rolled a little farther, leaving a few loose feathers and a squashed rosebud. Urchin dashed down after her just as the royal party were leaving the vault and walking solemnly round the corner of the tower.
Apple had landed far enough from the stair to be directly in their way. She lay still, panting, as if she had to wait for the world to stop spinning as King Brushen, Husk, and Aspen drew nearer.
Heat rose in Urchin’s face and crept down his paws. With any luck, he thought, a hole in the stairs would appear and he’d drop through it, or there might be a bird big enough to swoop down and carry him off. But he had to help Apple, even if it did mean getting in the way of the procession and being the laughingstock of the whole island.
Before he could reach her, Lady Aspen had slipped from her place. She darted to Apple’s side and helped her to sit up.
“Poor squirrel!” soothed Aspen. “Are you hurt? Don’t try to stand.” Padra was approaching, too, but she waved him away as Apple stammered her thanks.
“Don’t be alarmed,” called Aspen. “I’ll take care of her.” She looked up to see Urchin, who had caught the hat before it could blow away. Remembering his training, he had placed himself on the seaward side to protect them from the driving rain.
“You’re Padra’s page, aren’t you?” she said. “Thank you, but we can manage without you. Off you go, now. Report to your captain.”
Apple was getting her breath back. “He’s my little fosterling, him,
my lady, he’s my Urchin, I brung him up, my lady, least we all did, all of us in the wood, but mostly me, my lady, please, he’s a good squirrel, I’m right proud of him, my lady.”
Stop it, thought Urchin as his claws curled with embarrassment; please, please, stop it. Aspen was looking at him with a new interest.
“Is that so?” she said, and smiled warmly. “I can see you’d be proud of him. And how kind of you to take care of the little foundling!”
“Yes, well, it were me that foundled him,” said Apple. “He were all washed up on the shore, all wet and cold and scrappy, may the Heart love him missus, I mean my lady, sorry, my lady.” She was standing up now, and able cautiously to let go of Aspen’s paw. “I can get home now, thank you, my lady.”
“No, no, you must come with me,” urged Lady Aspen. “Come to my chambers. Take a little wine. On such an afternoon I need company.” She looked about her. “Gleaner, bring Apple’s hat and carry it with great care. Apple and I shall have a cozy afternoon together. Urchin, report to your captain!”
Urchin didn’t have a choice. He bowed again as Gleaner took Apple’s hat with a gleam of triumph. Padra didn’t particularly want to be reported to and had no orders for him, so he went to meet the Anemone Wood animals on their way out. Shaking ears and whiskers against the rain, they asked him how he was getting on at the tower, and what Padra was like to work for, and was the food good. Sooner or later they all got around to the same question—Are we going to have rationing? Is it true? Then, There’s no need for it. You’ll tell Captain Padra that, won’t you? Can you tell the king?
Urchin said he’d do what he could, though he didn’t know what that could be. These animals were his family, and he couldn’t bear for them to go hungry through a long winter. Not even Crackle, Gleaner’s old friend, who was hopping up to him with a timid little smile, as if she wasn’t sure whether or not he’d be pleased to see her. She wasn’t sneering at him the way she used to in the old days.
The Urchin of the Riding Stars Page 10