“That must be Lord Treeth’s belongings,” remarked Docken, looking over their shoulders. “He must be planning a long stay. Expect it’s full of robes.”
“He looks like the sort of animal who likes dressing up,” said Needle, and leaned out farther to watch. “I keep getting the Hedgehog Host mixed up. That big one’s Lumberen, I know that.”
“Yes, that’s Lumberen. Not bright, but a good worker,” said Docken. As he spoke, the very large hedgehog at the front stepped in a rock pool so that the chest tilted dangerously. Urchin couldn’t hear what the other hedgehogs said, but he knew it wasn’t polite.
“And the two at the back with the cross faces are Sluggen and Crammen,” said Docken, pointing out two hedgehogs who appeared to be scowling with effort. “They always look like that. These days they’ve got nothing to scowl about, but I suppose they’ve got into the habit of it. And,” he said, turning to meet someone in the corridor, “here’s Gorsen. You’ve got all those visitors sorted out, then, have you?”
Gorsen, who was rubbing something into his paws, looked even more perfectly groomed than before. Urchin supposed he was trying to impress the envoys.
“Far better work than slaving underground day and night for Captain Husk,” said Gorsen. “King Brushen would never have allowed it if he’d known the half of what was happening. I’ve put Lord Treeth in Lady Aspen’s old sitting room. It was far too good for her.” He marched smartly away with a scented waft of resin oil.
“He even puts sniffy stuff on his paws,” observed Needle.
“Gorsen thinks of everything,” said Docken. “He’ll be a member of the Circle one of these days. He’s the kind who gets places.”
Urchin’s mind was still on the other side of the Throne Room door. He supposed it would be all right, going to Whitewings; only, well, only he was still learning how to be a court squirrel, and he was making new friends, like Juniper. Juniper might be like a younger brother, and he’d often wanted a brother. Then again, if Juniper was going to be sick every time he saw a boat, he might be the sort of younger brother who wore out your patience. When the Throne Room door opened, he straightened up.
“Come in, Urchin,” called Padra, and Urchin walked into the Throne Room and bowed with his fur prickling. Padra was smiling reassuringly, but then, Padra would.
“Urchin, we’ve come to a decision,” said Crispin. “The envoys and crew can stay until after the coronation. Lord Treeth won’t be pleased—he can’t wait to get you off the island—but he’ll just have to put up with it. When the coronation is over I’ll send an advance party of our moles by tunnel to make their own judgment of the situation and report back. If they agree with what Lord Treeth told us, we’ll send a small fighting force to sort out a few Mistmantle animals who need to learn better manners, and if they advise it, you will go with them, but only if I know that there’s a bird or a tunnel to get you safely home.”
“Are there really mole tunnels under the sea?” asked Urchin. He’d always doubted it.
“Oh, yes,” said Crispin. “The moles don’t like telling the rest of us about them, except to swear that they exist. But apparently they were made thousands of years ago, when the seabed wasn’t the seabed at all, and the islands weren’t islands. I suppose they could get a small squirrel through one if they had to.”
Urchin didn’t like tunnels, but if he had to go through one to get home, that was that. And he might not have to go there at all, and certainly not yet. He could forget it until after the coronation.
“And now,” said Crispin, “we have guests to entertain. Lord Treeth will eat here with the captains, Fir, and myself; and I’ll have a table set up in the next chamber for you and Needle and the young Whitewings attendants. And, Urchin, all we have said here is of the highest secrecy. Not a word to anyone. Even Needle. All she needs to know is that she has to be pleasant to the Whitewings envoys.”
“Yes, sir,” said Urchin, catching the laughter in Padra’s eyes. All he had to do now was persuade Needle to be nice to animals she didn’t like. Delivering an island would have been easier.
CHAPTER FIVE
HE SMALL CHAMBER WAS DECORATED very beautifully for the young Whitewings attendants. Colorful arrangements of summer flowers, deep purple irises, creamy roses, and deep red peonies spilled from windowsills and crowned the tables. Cushions had been spread on benches and on the floor. In the late evening sunshine all the windows were open, and the sea glittered beyond them. The curtains, creamy-white and patterned with leaves, lifted softly in the sea breeze.
The evening was turning out better than Urchin had expected, as they shared supper and stories. Bronze, Trail, and Scatter were much friendlier now than they had been in the Throne Room. Scatter looked better than she had before, though she still seemed frail and shy. She wore a little ring of hawthorn berries on her wrist and stayed close to Trail, who constantly asked her what she’d like to eat and whether she felt well.
Needle was on her best behavior, whether or not she was enjoying herself. Chilled cordials had been brought from the cellar, with berries and flower heads floating on the top, and there were hazelnut cakes, cheese, tiny vegetable pastries, and sweet frothy things made from fruit, cream, and honey. Urchin stopped worrying about whether he’d be going to Whitewings and how to get back.
Bronze had looked like the kind of hedgehog nobody argued with, but he was turning out to be good company. When Needle asked him, with cold politeness, what sort of journey they’d had, he launched into a tale of how, as soon as the storm began, Lord Treeth retired to his cabin with a pillow on his head and stayed there (“He kept a whole cabin to himself, too!” said Scatter). When he came back on deck he’d forgotten about the pillow, which had impaled itself on his spines and was still on top of his head, and when they managed to pull it off, you couldn’t see His Lordship for feathers.
Scatter giggled. She asked Urchin and Needle about their part in the battle for Mistmantle, and listened with fascination. She sucked stickiness from her clawtips; Bronze told another funny story; he and Needle got hiccups; and Trail told them how Lord Treeth had tried to be heroic and help to furl the sails, and ended up hanging on with all four paws to the mast and waiting to be rescued.
Urchin laughed politely, but unease was slowly creeping into him. This didn’t feel right. He wouldn’t tell stories about Padra the way these animals told them about Lord Treeth. But then, Padra wouldn’t do silly things like that in the first place.
Needle moved away to the window. Urchin could tell she was tired of Scatter giggling and Bronze telling his tales, but unfortunately Bronze followed her.
“The nights are drawing in earlier now,” he said. “Sunset’s beginning.” Trickles of gold were spreading across the blue evening light.
“Ooh, do you think we’ll see that riding stars thing?” said Scatter in excitement. “When the stars all dance around the sky and everything? That happens in Mistmantle, doesn’t it? I’d love to see that.”
“It won’t be tonight,” said Needle, and explained patiently as if she were speaking to a small child. “Brother Fir would have told us. Riding stars don’t happen often, and when it does it always means something, for good or for harm. We’ve had enough harm on Mistmantle.”
“But it’ll be a lovely sunset,” said Trail. “We’d see it better from the other side of the tower. Shall we go and see King’s Arrow by sunset?”
“What by sunset?” said Needle.
“It’s the name of our ship,” said Trail. “King’s Arrow. She looks wonderful in this sort of light. Shall we go and see?”
“Shouldn’t somebody know where we are?” said Scatter nervously, and looked to Needle for help. “We should tell Lord Treeth, but we can’t interrupt them while they’re in the Throne Room. He’d get cross.”
“I’ll tell them,” said Needle, and couldn’t resist adding, “Our king won’t get cross. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Urchin was pretty sure she wouldn’t hurry. She’d prob
ably had enough of the company by now, and he’d better get them out of her way before she forgot to be polite. He gathered up the visitors’cloaks, and they pattered down the stairs and out of the tower. The fresh air was still pleasantly warm, the summer evening was scented with thyme and chamomile, and the ship lay calm after her wild crossing, with the fire-bright sky beyond her. Her lifeboat nestled half-screened behind her like a shy child with its mother.
“That boat should have been raised back to the deck,” said Bronze.
“She’s a beauty, though!” said Urchin, looking with admiration at the little lifeboat. Her lines were sleek, her sail was furled, and she even had a canopy folded back against the starboard side.
“She’s small, but she’s built to be a boat we could survive in after shipwreck, even on a long crossing,” said Trail. “She has that canopy for shelter, and there are storage boxes under the rowing benches and the seats in the stern, to make room for cloaks and provisions. Shall we show you?”
“I’ll go first!” called Scatter, and ran along the jetty, wobbling a bit on the wooden slats. “Somebody give me a paw?”
Bronze sighed. “I don’t know why we had to bring her,” he said. “Clueless. Can’t get in and out of a boat without falling in. Give her a paw, would you, Urchin?”
Juniper dashed along the path that wound from Falls Cliffs and darted up the first tall tree he found. The quickest way to the bay was through the pine treetops to Anemone Wood and beyond, and so he leaped from tree to tree, the tips springing back beneath him, faster and faster. He must reach the bay, though it had been the scene of one of the worst moments in his life.
He didn’t understand what had happened to him as the Whitewings ship had drawn near. He only knew that as she came in, something gray and tight had seemed to press him, as if smoke had filtered into his eyes and throat. A sense of horror had made his stomach turn with nausea, his heart had raced, he had turned hot and cold—then, with the lurch that followed, it had been all he could do to find a rock pool and be sick.
Juniper had known moments like that before. They had been rare and terrible, but never as bad as this. He could remember feeling this anxiety, this fear and horror, once when he had been very small, and once just before a baby was taken away to be culled. It was as if he knew beforehand that something terrible would happen.
It had been such a wonderful morning until the bedraggled ship had come in and horror had enfolded him. Being wretchedly sick was bad enough, but he had done it in front of all his new friends. In front of Urchin of the Riding Stars, his hero! Today his hero had become his friend, and he had immediately ruined it all by vomiting in a pool while Urchin escorted distinguished guests to the tower. He couldn’t help being sick. The horror had overwhelmed him. But that same sense of fear about the ship was the very thing that now sent him rushing back to the bay, his ears flattened back, his paws outstretched, his tail spread like a banner behind him. Urchin needed help. It was as if the darkness had been lifted from him and wrapped around Urchin, and he would do anything, anything, to save him.
In the Throne Room, the remnants of a meal lay on the table and wine shone in glasses. Needle stood politely with her back straight, her spines smoothed down, and her paws folded, patiently answering yet more of Lord Treeth’s questions. She had meant to deliver her message and leave—she wanted to see her family, and there might be leftovers from the table to take to little Scufflen—but Lord Treeth insisted on taking an interest in her. He asked her so many questions about her family and about the other hedgehogs on Mistmantle, that she cast pleading looks at Crispin to rescue her. He stood up.
“Needle, do you go back to your family tonight?” he asked.
“I was hoping to, sir,” she said. He swept a few cakes into a basket.
“Take these,” he said, “with my greetings to your parents. Captain Lugg, will you escort Needle home?”
“There’s no need, sir,” she said, feeling happier already and curtsying as she took the basket. “Shall I—”
She stopped. There were scufflings outside, a high, tearful voice, and a loud, urgent rapping on the door.
“What on the island is this?” said Lugg, his paw on his sword hilt.
“Enter!” called Crispin. As the door swung open, the sound of a squirrel sobbing grew louder.
Gorsen marched in, his face grim. Scatter was holding his paw and rubbing tears from her eyes.
“You won’t be in any trouble, Miss Scatter,” said Gorsen gravely. “Tell the king what you told me.”
Scatter struggled through her tears, and couldn’t speak. Crispin knelt in front of her. “Take a deep breath,” he said gently. “Don’t be afraid of me.”
Scatter’s lips trembled. “He’s gone, Your Majesty,” she stammered.
“Who’s gone, Scatter?” asked Crispin.
Needle found her skin was clammy. Her limbs felt weak, and she clenched her paws.
“Urchin,” whispered Scatter, and her voice rose into a wail. “He went in the little boat…” And, hiding her face against Gorsen, she sobbed wretchedly.
Sweating and breathless in the fading light, Juniper reached the shore, sniffed the evening air, and looked about him. Nobody was in sight.
The ship lay at her moorings, and juniper forced himself to look hard at her. The ship would have no power to frighten him if he faced her. With her tattered sail, she looked helpless and harmless. Then he saw a small boat moving far off on the water, drawing steadily nearer to the mists.
“Padra, fetch guards and go after him,” ordered Crispin, “but not beyond the mists.” Padra ran from the room. Needle would have followed, but a glance from Crispin told her to stay. “Now, Scatter,” he went on, “tell me exactly what happened.”
Scatter still gulped and gasped as she tried to speak. From the flowers on the table, Crispin gave her a pawful of soft petals to dry her eyes, and at last she spoke.
“The ship’s boat was still down,” she sniffed. “It shouldn’t have been, and if only it hadn’t been, he would never have gone. But as soon as he saw it he said he’d just go to Whitewings. He said it was his own risk, and he wouldn’t put anybody else in danger if he went alone, and Y…Y…Your Majesty wouldn’t have to order him. Please, please, Your Majesty, we all tried to talk him out of it, but he was so determined. He—he kissed the ground, and held up his paw, and made a vow about it—he would have gone all by himself, and got lost, so Trail and Bronze went with him, and he…he…he said…”
She burst into fresh weeping, and Gorsen hugged her tightly.
“He said Your Majesty would understand,” she sobbed. “He said, if he was the Marked Squirrel—that Marked Squirrel—it was the only honorable thing to do.” She buried her face against Gorsen.
“Oh, Your Majesty,” said Lord Treeth heavily. “What can I say? We would never have knowingly put your Companion in danger.”
Needle’s spines bristled as she watched Lord Treeth’s face. He wore a look of concern and sorrow, but it seemed to her that it could have been painted on. She slipped her paw into Arran’s, not for comfort, but to keep herself from flying at Lord Treeth with her claws out.
He’s lying, Your Majesty. She thought the words hard at Crispin, wishing he could read her mind. They’re both lying. It was all too convenient, Urchin going when Whitewings wanted him so much.
“They’ll look after him,” sniffed Scatter.
“Oh, Trail and Bronze will look after him,” said Lord Treeth. “They are the best of our young. Brave, skilled, and expert sailors. He’s safe with them.”
Silence followed, a tight, chilly silence. Needle had never been afraid of Crispin, but she felt afraid even to look at him now. King Crispin knows, she thought. He knows they’re lying.
“Fetch a guard squad, Gorsen,” ordered Crispin tersely. “Arran, get every available otter to join Padra in searching the waters as far as the mists, but no farther.”
Arran slipped from the room, and Gorsen rapped out orders from the door
way. Paws scurried along the corridor, and, as a squad of moles and hedgehogs lined up before him, Crispin turned without smiling to Lord Treeth.
“These animals will conduct you and Scatter to your chambers,” he said. “Captain Lugg, go with them. We will discuss matters further in the morning. Brother Fir, Needle, come with me, please.”
Outside, the air had turned cool. Crispin, Fir, and Needle felt the breeze tug at their fur as they stood on the cold, wet sand. No light showed on the water. It seemed a long time before Padra’s sleek wet head appeared in the shallows and he scrambled to the shore.
“Not a sign,” he said. His voice was gray with defeat, and anger burned in his eyes. “Nothing. Sorry, Crispin.”
Needle stared wretchedly out at the empty sea. She knew Padra was angry with himself for not catching up with Urchin and bringing him back. She knew what that felt like.
If only I’d gone with them to the shore. If only I’d delivered my message to the king and then gone straight down to join them. I’d had enough of the Whitewings lot, and I was glad to get out of it. I should have stayed with him. If only I could go back to supper time and change what happened. If only I could start again.
“Padra, you’ve done all you could,” said Crispin. “Come to the Throne Room and I’ll tell you everything that Scatter said.”
Miserably, Needle edged closer to Crispin.
“Please, Your Majesty,” she said, “Urchin is Padra’s page and your Companion. He wouldn’t have gone away without your permission.” Speaking quickly to get it over with, she added, “Please, King Crispin, I’m sorry. It’s my fault, if I’d stayed with him he’d still be here.”
Urchin and the Heartstone Page 4