Urchin and the Heartstone Page 14

  Following Gleaner had brought her to a clearing of uneven, mossy ground with a small cairn of stones in its center. Dead flowers lay before it, and something gleamed among them. Needle couldn’t see what it was, but she had seen enough to know what the cairn must be. Gleaner was visiting a grave. Needle shrank back, watching.

  Gleaner trotted to the cairn, laid down the parcel she carried—it was something wrapped in leaves—and with her paws on the cairn, pressed her cheek against the stones as if she wanted to hug them. With a sniff she sat back, rubbing tears from her face.

  That moment of tenderness was soon over. Gleaner scrabbled at the moss, tidying away dead flowers and shriveled berries, and opening her parcel of leaves to reveal fresh rowans, autumn daisies, and oak leaves. She arranged them fussily, talking to herself all the time. Burning with curiosity, Needle inched forward.

  “That’s better, my lady,” Gleaner was saying. “You’re all nice now. I’ve brought you fresh flowers and tidied up.” She picked up the gleaming object, and Needle thought, though she couldn’t be sure, that it might be a badly dented bracelet. “Let me polish up your bracelet, my lady.”

  Needle crept nearer. Gleaner rubbed the bracelet hard on her fur, held it in both paws, and pressed it against her chest.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been for a while, my lady,” she said. “You know how it is, this time of year, winter coming. I’ve brought you something special, though it’s only your due.”

  From the parcel of leaves she lifted something else that glittered. As Needle stretched forward to see, Gleaner looked up.

  “You!” she cried tearfully. “What are you doing here? Spiky, flea-bitten, pincushion!”

  With a flash of fur and outstretched claws, she sprang at Needle, who tucked in her head and curled up. There was a squeal of “Ow!” from Gleaner as she struck out, then Sepia’s calming voice.

  “Sh, sh,” Sepia was saying to Gleaner. “We didn’t mean any harm. We were worried about you.”

  “There’s nothing to be worried about,” snapped Gleaner, nursing a prickled paw. “Go away.”

  “Yes, yes, we’ll go,” soothed Sepia as Needle uncurled. “But I don’t like to leave you so unhappy.”

  Gleaner tilted her chin proudly. “My Lady Aspen should have been buried in the tower vault with the queen,” she said. “She was the queen’s best friend, and she was beautiful. Whatever Captain Husk did, it wasn’t my lady’s fault. She was buried out here in the Tangletwigs, and who comes to visit her grave? I do. I’m the only one who cares about her. I won’t forget all about her, like everyone else!”

  She bent her head over her paws and rubbed her eyes, but when Sepia reached out a paw she pushed her away.

  “Go away!” she snarled tearfully. “This is my queen’s place!”

  “Your queen?” said Needle, and glanced again at the grave, where something sparkled with a glint of gold thread.

  “My queen,” insisted Gleaner, “and yours. You didn’t know that, did you?” She lifted the bright object so that Needle and Sepia saw it at last. Green stems and rowans were woven with gold and silver threads into a crown—a lopsided crown, but made with great care.

  “It’s beautiful, Gleaner,” said Sepia. “Did you make it yourself?”

  Gleaner seemed a little soothed. “Of course I did,” she said. “Nobody else would, because nobody else ever knew she was a queen.” With all the dignity she could gather, she placed the crown on top of the stones, stepped back as if paying her respects, then turned to them with a smile of triumph.

  “You think you know it all,” she said. “You and your hunt for the Heartstone. I can tell you something about the Heartstone, something you didn’t know, cleverclaws. Do you want me to tell you?”

  “Oh, yes, please,” said Sepia.

  “It was one morning shortly before the Spring Festival,” said Gleaner haughtily. “I’d polished my lady’s jewelry and I was bringing it back to her, but when I knocked I didn’t get an answer, so I opened the door anyway, to go and put it all away, but there she was, and she hadn’t heard me. She was sitting on the little chair by the fire, looking at something in her paw. And the thing in her paw was a very pretty pinkish stone with gold in it, sort of heart-shaped. I didn’t know then what it was. Then…” She widened her eyes and slowed down. “I swear to you that it lay on her paw perfectly still as anything could be, all that time I was watching. It was such a beautiful sight that I forgot to tell her I was there.”

  Needle opened her mouth to comment and shut it again when Sepia stepped on her paw.

  “And then what happened?” asked Sepia.

  “Then she looked up and saw me and wasn’t a bit cross, she just smiled, sweet as ever,” said Gleaner. “She popped the stone into a little bag and never mentioned it again. But when you started talking about the Heartstone going missing, when the tower animals were all strutting about telling us what it looked like, I knew that was what I’d seen in my lady’s paw. I saw it with my own eyes, how still it lay on her paw. I know what that means,” she finished triumphantly. “It means she was the true queen of Mistmantle.”

  Sepia pressed Needle’s paw as a warning to stay quiet. “Thank you so much for telling us,” she said. “Do you know what Lady Aspen did with it after that?”

  “I never saw it again,” said Gleaner. “Suppose it might be in her chamber, though nobody would think to look in there, would they?”

  “Oh, but that’s where—” began Needle, and stopped as Sepia pressed harder on her paw.

  “Where what?” asked Gleaner. A suspicious light had come into her eye. “What have they done with it?”

  “Nothing!” said Sepia.

  “Nothing?” repeated Gleaner. Her eyes gleamed.

  “Well, the thing is,” said Sepia carefully, “it’s such a lovely room, and you and Lady Aspen kept it so beautifully, they only use it for very special guests.”

  “What guests?” demanded Gleaner. “That lot from Whitewings?”

  “Only for the Lord Ambassador himself,” said Needle. “Lord Treeth. So—”

  “Lord Treeth?” spat Gleaner. “He throws things around and breaks them! Everybody knows that!”

  “But I’m sure they’re not—” began Needle, but Gleaner elbowed her way past and sprang away through the bushes.

  “Oh, dear,” said Sepia.

  “Let her get on with it,” said Needle. “She can go and storm about it if she wants to. There’s no point in trying to keep the truth from her. Lord Treeth is in Aspen’s old room and that’s that. Brother Fir’s always telling us we should learn from our past. We shouldn’t let her go on thinking Aspen was so good and sweet, and as for holding the Heartstone…”

  “Yes,” said Sepia. “We haven’t found the Heartstone, but now we know who made the fake one. Aspen had probably just finished smoothing it down, and was admiring it when Gleaner saw her. We should go and tell the king.”

  Suddenly they both felt cold and uneasy, standing by the cairn with Aspen’s old bracelet and the twisted crown. Without another word they hurried back to the tower. They had learned something useful, but neither of them felt any better for it.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  RCHIN WAS STILL IN THE KING’S FAVOR, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Autumn grew colder. Bare trees reached up empty branches to a colorless sky, and Urchin raged in his heart against the lost summer. Winter was coming too quickly.

  There was always a basket of firewood in his cell, and whenever he was returned there after a long day at the silver mines with the king, he would find a fire already flaring brightly in the grate. Wine, fruit, and biscuits were always left for him, even on the days when he was ordered to eat with the king in the High Chamber.

  Juniper took care to stay hidden. Alert to every sound outside the cell, he made sure he stayed close enough to the bed to jump into it and hide if he thought anyone might come in—Cedar’s rumor that Urchin had lice meant that no animal would go near his bedding. Food and drink were alw
ays left in the cell, but Juniper had decided never to eat or drink anything until Urchin came back—he felt it wouldn’t be right to.

  “You should have had something to eat,” Urchin would whisper, stretching his chilled paws to the fire on his return from the mines. “At least I’m allowed outside. I don’t know how you can stand the boredom.”

  Alone all day, Juniper would remember the animals and places he loved, and hold them in his own heart before the great Heart that made them. He was learning to find quietness inside himself. He was learning to pray.

  Every day, Urchin was marched to Beacon Top to watch the search for silver, and he could never have imagined anything so tedious. It should be the time of year for storing nuts, building warm nests, and playing games with fallen leaves, not for standing at the foot of a mountain watching hedgehogs hack it with axes and dusty moles bobbing in and out of tunnels. Sometimes a group of them would mutter together and look accusingly in his direction. So far, they’d found nothing. Urchin tried to look keen and confident, but it wasn’t easy; and when the king hugged him or threw an arm around him, he had to force himself not to cringe. Bronze took every chance to tread on his paw or tweak his fur when the king wasn’t looking, which annoyed Urchin more than it hurt him.

  Smokewreath was the worst, shuffling and sniffing with a rattle of bones and claws as he made magic passes at the nervous animals. Sometimes he made a jabbing movement at Urchin, but he didn’t seem quite sure of how to cast magic at the Marked Squirrel. He contented himself with sniffing the air and muttering, “Chill, chill. Winter comes. White wings in the sky.” The king would laugh loudly.

  “Isn’t he hilarious!” he said, one chilly morning when Smokewreath was squinting up at the sky. “He can’t wait for the first snowfall. Never mind, Urchin. We won’t let him have you yet.”

  Urchin felt a change in the air as they returned to the Fortress one evening. The shivering wind that had been in their faces on the way to the mountains had turned on them again and rushed against them, spitting icy rain into their faces. Smokewreath muttered. The king wrapped himself in his cloak and snarled. Animals scurried past, heads down, hunched against the rain as they trundled barrows and ran for cover. Earth and sky were hard iron-gray, cloaks were damp, and whiskers were drooping long before they reached the Fortress, and Granite pushed Urchin through the doors.

  “The freak’s unlucky for us,” snarled Granite. He took off his wet cloak and swirled it so that water sprayed in Urchin’s face. “You’re useless, Freak! You’re worthless!”

  Grinning unpleasantly, he looked around to see if he had an audience. Bronze, Trail, and more of the Fortress Watch were there, standing around, waiting to see what would happen. After a long hard day, this could be entertaining.

  Urchin steeled himself. He mustn’t react, mustn’t make trouble. It would make life worse and escape harder, and not only for himself.

  “Everyone on Mistmantle wonders what happened to the Freak’s mother,” said Granite, looking around. “Never a sign of her. Took one look at that thing and scarpered. He probably takes after his father, whoever that might be.”

  Urchin whirled to face him, but Bronze and another guard grabbed his wrists and held him back, laughing. “I’ll teach him his manners, Lord Marshal!” called Bronze.

  “He’s mine, runt,” growled Granite. Slowly, flexing his claws, he advanced toward Urchin.

  A sudden flash of silver sent Granite reeling sideways so that he fell with a thud against the wall. Bronze bit his lip and looked at the floor, grinning helplessly. The king stood among them, lifting a hind paw to kick Granite hard in the shin.

  “I’ll decide what happens to the him, not you, Lord Marshal!” he screamed, and stretched a silvered talon at Urchin. “Where’s the silver, Freak? If I find you’ve sent us searching in the wrong place, I’ll send you back to Mistmantle one paw at a time! Why did you come here? You’re after my crown!” His voice rose to a screech. “My crown! You think you’ll sit at the table with me tonight, don’t you? Well, you won’t! Take him to his cell! You needn’t wait for snowfall! I’ll kill you tomorrow! Do you hear? Tomorrow!”

  Bronze pushed Urchin into his cell and banged the door shut. He would have loved to stay and taunt the prisoner, but he was due to take guard duty on the battlements. He stamped up the stairs, begrudging every step. Worst posting of the lot, the battlements, nothing between your fur and the winter, and these days he was always being sent to the battlements when he wasn’t trudging off on a fool’s errand to those miserable mines. The sooner they killed the freak, the better. He strode along the battlements, barking out orders to shivering guards, kicking the ones who were falling asleep on their paws from long hours on duty, scowling at the rain. And that spoiled freak had a comfortable cell, with a fire! With any luck it wouldn’t be for long. Commander Cedar had personally arranged the deliveries of firewood when he first came.…

  Bronze paused in his marching and leaned his elbows on the battlements.

  Commander Cedar was taking a great interest in the Marked Squirrel. Interesting, that. Worth thinking about.

  Bronze had always known that there were two kinds of animals on Whitewings. There were the ones who just got on with the work, kept their heads down, and stayed out of trouble; and there were animals like himself. Animals with ambition, determined to be in power, and ready to destroy whoever got in the way. Commander Cedar was in a powerful position already, but did she want more?

  You never could tell what she was up to, thought Bronze. Snobby madam, kept herself to herself, too good to speak to the rest of us except to give orders, but she was up to something now. Taking so much trouble over the freak, you might almost think she was helping him.

  You might almost think she was helping him.

  So that was it. The two of them were in it together, Cedar and the freak. Maybe she wanted to overthrow the king and make herself queen, and she’d promised to save him if he’d help her, something of that sort.

  There was a grim smile on Bronze’s face. He’d tell the king, but not just yet. The king wouldn’t believe anything against Cedar without evidence. He’d wait and watch her, catch her out. If he didn’t succeed in bringing down the Lord Marshal, he wouldn’t mind being a commander. It would only be a matter of time, and not much time at that.

  Urchin felt he’d barely fallen asleep when, long before dawn, he was woken again for the cold, weary trudge to Beacon Top. He wished he’d told the king to search somewhere nearer. Frost made the bare earth harder and crueler under the paws, and the march seemed to go on forever. The working animals built shelters and fires, and he was at least able to get warm when Granite was too busy to order him away from them. The rough wind blew dust from the mine workings and cold soot from the furnaces. It was a day Urchin felt would last forever, a day of cold, damp, and boredom. The animals with their barrows and pickaxes shivered, their shoulders hunched, misery on their faces. Long before they reached the Fortress that night, his bones were chilled to the core, his hind paws throbbed, and every step on the frozen ground hurt his paws as the Fortress loomed before them.

  He was falling asleep on his paws, then suddenly jolted awake. He seemed to be swaying, then there was a terrible moment when everything was moving, and he wasn’t sure if it was he himself losing his balance, or the ground was moving beneath him—nothing was still—and he found he was looking for a tree to climb up, a branch to spring to, but there was nothing in this desolate place.

  Somebody grabbed him, dragged him aside, and ran to safety. All around him animals were running, shouting, looking over their shoulders, and the ground was shaking and rumbling. There was nowhere to climb, nowhere was safe…. Granite was shouting orders.

  “All of you, crawl!” he bellowed. “Two groups, spread out, spread your weight!”

  Facing downward on the icy ground, Urchin crawled. From the corners of his eyes he saw animals around him creeping like insects across the gray, dusty surface. Shivering, he wondered exactly
what had happened and how long this would go on, when Granite’s voice barked out again.

  “On your feet, all of you! No fussing, it’s just a little earth tremor. Bit of shaking underground, nothing for anyone to bother about, except for the freak, because he’s a coward. Move on!”

  Urchin turned in rage. He wasn’t going to let that remark go. But guards were grabbing him by the arms and hurrying him forward, and there was no choice but to go on, step by step, aching with cold and limping with sore paws over the frozen ground.

  At least the Fortress was in sight, and he had a warm cell to look forward to. He had never thought he would find the hall of mirrors welcoming, but the torches flaring on the walls at least warmed his fur. Hedgehogs marched him to his cell, forcing a pace that he struggled to keep up with. Holding his head high, he saw their grins and the way they glanced at each other as they reached the gallery. Bronze was shouting orders.

  “Everything out! All of it!”

  Urchin stared in horror and disbelief. The cushions from his cell, the table, and even the curtains were being flung along the gallery. They were ruthlessly emptying his cell. There was nothing left for Juniper to hide behind.

  Could he have escaped? Was he hiding in the chimney? Had they found him?

  “Best bedchamber for the king’s friend,” announced Bronze, and grinned as he pushed open the door.

  A blanket and a small heap of leaves lay in one corner. On the cold hearth stood a cup of water, a plate of dry bread, and the empty log basket. Ashes lay in the grate. There was no trace of Juniper.