Urchin and the Heartstone Page 18

  “And what cause was that, Gorsen?” asked Fir.

  “Simply to kill the upstart Crispin and all who tried to defend him,” said Gorsen, and smirked. “You gave me the most wonderful opportunity, Crispin, when you set me to guard Lord Treeth. Great lordly hedgehog that he is, he treated me like a brother. He told me about Whitewings, and that it’s a place where hedgehogs are given proper respect. I made a pact with him. I would be king of Mistmantle under King Silverbirch, and Mistmantle would become a sensible, well-run island, like Whitewings. We thought we might even send slaves to Whitewings, as a sign of our loyalty. You had no idea, Crispin, did you? It’s all your fault, of course. You sent me to guard Lord Treeth. I heard your councils. You even put me in charge of blocking the space under the Throne Room!”

  “We trusted you,” said Padra.

  “Yes, that’s what I’d expect from an otter,” said Gorsen. “It’s the water that gets to your brains. As for squirrels, I suppose it’s all those fir cones that damage your thinking.”

  Crispin rose and walked to Gorsen very slowly, looking the hedgehog in the eyes. Even Sepia, who loved and trusted Crispin, felt afraid.

  “Gorsen,” he said very softly, “you have betrayed your own islanders. You have sent our good and loyal moles to their death, and left Urchin of the Riding Stars in an enemy prison. You have harmed and endangered our young. You have betrayed the hedgehog kind and led your companions into rebellion. And all because you think hedgehogs are superior. No kind on this island is superior. If you had succeeded, the creatures of Mistmantle would have hated all hedgehogs for generations to come just because of the bitterness of ten hedgehogs who wanted their own way.”

  Gorsen tried to look Crispin in the eyes, and couldn’t. Crispin stepped nearer, and Gorsen flinched.

  “Take him away,” ordered Crispin, “and Lumberen and Lord Treeth. Put them in cells and keep them well guarded.” The guards bowed and led the procession away.

  From the doorway came a last shout. “Death to Crispin!”

  “Oh, be quiet,” said Padra wearily. Docken remained on guard. Sepia stayed close to Padra, and Fir was saying something to young Whittle. Still in her place beside Tay, Scatter stood very still and tense, with her eyes wide and her claws curled.

  “We still don’t know how they got their message to Whitewings,” said Padra. “There are no moles missing. Nobody at all.”

  “Except…” said Crispin.

  “Juniper,” said Padra. Sepia tugged hard at his paw and shook her head.

  “I hope it wasn’t him,” said Padra. “But we have to consider it.”

  Scatter left Tay’s side at last. She hopped shyly forward, stopped at a little distance from Crispin, curtsied, and took a deep breath.

  “Please, Your Majesty,” she said. She fidgeted a little, then put her paws firmly behind her back and stood up straight. “I think I know how they did it.”

  “Go on,” said Crispin gently.

  “Your Majesty,” she said earnestly, “I was the youngest court squirrel on our island. I thought it was such an honor to be sent with the ambassadors, and I was pleased with myself for lying to you, even though I thought I’d be found out. I thought you’d send me to some terrible dungeon, but at least I was serving my island! Whitewings isn’t a bit like Mistmantle. If I’d known, I mean, if I’d known what you were all like, and what Mistmantle’s like, I wouldn’t have done it, and I wish you had Urchin back, and I’m very sorry for everything I did, but I thought it was the right thing to do.

  “Lord Treeth and the others were all very important, but I wasn’t. I was…what’s that word? Expendable. They didn’t tell me everything they had planned, but I think I’ve worked it out now.

  “There was a hedgehog on Whitewings called Creeper, and he was a spy. There were lots of rumors about him, and I don’t know how much was true—about him creeping up on animals and stabbing them or pushing them off cliffs. He was strong, but what made him a good spy was that he was very small for an adult, with small bones, and he could squash himself into hiding places where nobody would think of looking. When we came here on the boat, Lord Treeth insisted on having a cabin to himself so that three of us had to squeeze into a cabin for two. And when his chest was brought on shore, he was most particular about how it was carried, and he insisted on unpacking it—though he doesn’t normally do anything for himself.”

  “I remember seeing them struggle to carry it, Your Majesty,” observed Docken.

  “So I think maybe Creeper was in there,” Scatter went on. “He would have come specially to report to King Silverbirch if there was anything he needed to know. Oh.” She stopped suddenly. “Only he couldn’t have got back, could he?”

  “From what you say, he could have got through mole tunnels,” said Crispin. “But without our moles seeing him? And in time to warn the king?”

  “Excuse me, Your Majesty,” said Fingal, “but there used to be a boat by the waterfall and there isn’t now. Sorry, I didn’t think it was important.”

  “There’s no reason why you should have thought so, Fingal,” said Crispin. “Nobody would have thought anything of it. Could Creeper have rowed all that way, all by himself?”

  “I’m sure he could, Your Majesty,” said Scatter, and went on nervously, “Please, Your Majesty?”

  “Yes, Scatter,” said Crispin.

  “You were good to me, even though you knew I was lying. I had a nice chamber, and sometimes you let me out in the sunshine and I could see Mistmantle. Nothing on Whitewings is so beautiful—it’s hard and dusty there, and miserable. Not like here, where animals can play in waterfalls, and whatever work they’re doing, they seem to enjoy it. Mistress Tay came every day, and sometimes she just told me the laws, but other times she told me the stories, and they were such good stories, even…um…”

  “…Even the way Tay told them,” whispered Fingal to Sepia.

  “…Anyway, I don’t know if you’ll believe me, and I don’t care,” she went on quickly. “I never knew there was anywhere as wonderful as this, so green and leafy and free, and I never knew what that was like. And I swear if I’d known what they were planning, I would have told you.”

  She stopped for breath, and knelt down.

  “Please, I would like to stay, Your Majesty,” she said. “Even if you put me in a cell forever. Even if I’m given the hardest work in the loneliest, coldest part of the island. And I will be Your Majesty’s faithful servant, but please, Your Majesty, let me stay.”

  “I will consider it, Scatter, in good time,” said Crispin. “In the meantime, you will be escorted back to your chamber.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, and was led away looking very small between two otters. Most of the remaining animals were dismissed. Crispin sent for drinks and sat down on the floor with Sepia, Padra, Fingal, Docken, and Fir.

  Sepia sipped at her spiced wine, but swallowing hurt, and she tried to hold back the tears. She didn’t want anyone thinking she’d cry over a sore throat.

  “Sepia,” said Crispin, “is something the matter?”

  “Gorsen tried to silence the sweetest voice on the island,” said Padra tersely.

  “Shall I take a look at it?” offered Mother Huggen, and ushered Sepia from the Gathering Chamber. Crispin turned to Docken.

  “You fought against your own comrades to save me,” he said.

  “No comrades of mine, Your Majesty,” said Docken gruffly. “Your Majesty, most of the Hedgehog Host are true to you. It’s just a few of them turned bad.”

  “I know you for a loyal animal,” said Crispin. “We had already considered you for the Circle. You will be enrolled when Urchin returns.”

  “Oh, Your Majesty!” said Docken as a broad smile spread across his face. “I hope it’s all right to tell Thripple?”

  “You may tell her now, if you like,” said Crispin, and Docken bowed deeply and hurried away. “Fingal?”

  “Oh, hello!” said Fingal.

  “Well done, valiant ot
ter,” said Crispin.

  “Any time, you’re welcome,” said Fingal. “May I go for a swim now?”

  “Show respect to the king, Fingal,” said Padra quietly, but Crispin laughed.

  “Go and catch a fish, Fingal,” he said.

  At last only he, Padra, and Fir were left.

  “I’m glad Juniper’s in the clear,” said Crispin. “I wonder about Scatter. Is she telling the truth, or is she up to something?”

  “I wish I knew,” said Padra.

  “Give her time,” said Fir. “We’ll know. As to Gorsen and his friends, they had grown bitter in their long slavery and fed each other’s resentment. It was easy for Lord Treeth to harness their bitterness. They needed a target for their hatred, and it was you, because you are the king.”

  “May the Heart help me,” said Padra, “but when he stood there, so cool and arrogant, I could have run him through.”

  “But neither of you laid a paw on him,” said Fir. “That’s nobility. To be able to strike out in anger and not do it.” He smothered a yawn and limped to the window. “Dark already. Urchin’s lights on the water. Hm. Moonlight, firelight, the secret.”

  “Do you yet have any idea what that means?” asked Padra.

  “No,” he said. “But it’s getting closer.” He leaned closer to the window. “Well, bless me!”

  Padra and Crispin jumped to their paws. “What is it?”

  “Snow,” he said.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  EEDLE ARRIVED WHEN EVERYTHING was over. Crispin told her all that had happened, and she went to find Sepia, who was on her way out of the tower. In the twilight they huddled, their cloaks around them, and stood on the stair.

  Snow. Sepia would not have said anything, even if she could. She felt the magic of snow in her heart, and held it. Against the violet sky with its mist and cloud, soft flakes of snow drifted lazily to the ground. They settled on ledges and rails, gentle as feathers, silent as prayer. They touched fur and whiskers, paws and noses.

  Arran left the babies curled in their own warmth in the safety of the nest and wriggled her way to the Spring Gate. Raising her head, she sniffed the air and watched the snow. Padra, on his way back from the Gathering Chamber, wondered how to start in telling her all that had happened. He stood still as the snow fell around him, and offered a prayer for Urchin.

  At a high window, Scatter pressed her paws against the crisscross panes. Snow on Mistmantle. Perhaps she’d be allowed outside for a little while tomorrow. On an island like this, they might let you play in the snow. And perhaps she could find a way to make herself useful. Anything, if only they’d let her stay and not send her back to Whitewings. “Please, please, let me stay,” she whispered, though she didn’t know to whom.

  Apple had spent the day with Damson, who was still fretting over Juniper. Now Apple was running home through the woods, pulling her old green cloak about her, head down against the snow, ducking into her tree-stump home, lighting a fire with shivering paws, and opening a bottle of cordial.

  “That’s good strong warming stuff, though I shouldn’t say it, puts the fur on your ears,” she muttered to herself. She pushed the stopper back into the bottle. “And may the Heart bring my Urchin home before this weather gets any worse.” Gazing into the fire, she hugged herself, praying warmth for Urchin.

  With a lantern in his paw, Whittle knocked at the chamber of Brother Fir’s turret room, heard no answer, and looked in. The priest lay sprawled on his bed fast asleep, still in his old tunic. Whittle found a cloak and gently spread it over him. Every day he looked forward to his lessons. Brother Fir was going to tell him about the Old Palace of the moles, and how the old routes were being closed, and new ones made. Even more exciting, he was going to tell him stories of those rare occasions—so rare that most animals didn’t live to see one—when the mists changed and moved, and all manner of wonderful things happened at such times. But it would have to wait. It had been a long and troubling day. Fast asleep, even Brother Fir looked vulnerable. Whittle said a prayer silently, tiptoed out, and slipped back in again to pick up his lantern, which he had forgotten.

  At the Fortress on Whitewings, Bronze leaned over the battlements and watched Cedar. It had been difficult to spy on her, as he had to traipse to the mines every day while she had a cushy posting at the Fortress. But sooner or later, she’d make a mistake and visit the freak once too often. Surely he couldn’t need washing that much? Next time she tried it, he’d catch her out.

  He hoped it would be soon. He was looking forward to destroying her. It would be worth doing, just to see her disgraced and killed. And before long, he’d be Commander Bronze. Or Lord Marshal Bronze. Why not?

  Urchin had been locked in his bare cell all day. Now that there was nowhere for another squirrel to hide, Juniper stayed with the Larchlings. To Urchin, the lonely days seemed everlasting. In spite of the discovery of silver, the king seemed to hate the very sight of him, and usually went to the mines without him. Bored, restless, and alone, he had scratched squares on the floor so he could play First Five, but he had to play his right paw against his left and pretend not to know what the next move would be. At least it distracted him from the window. Sooner or later it would snow, and Smokewreath would claim him.

  Cedar had managed to convince the king that the Marked Squirrel was a delicate creature who would die if he became cold, leaving a curse on the island and depriving Smokewreath of the pleasure of killing him, so Urchin was allowed a fire. Tired of feeling the window like a menacing ghost at his back, he put down his pawful of pebbles and crossed the room toward it. If it snowed, it snowed. The Larchlings might rescue him….

  The door banged open. Urchin whirled around.

  It’s too late. They’re coming for me.

  “The Marked Squirrel to the king!” shouted Trail, and Urchin was marched down to the vast, silvered chamber, where flickering logs in the fireplace made the only brightness in the room. King Silverbirch sat proudly enthroned, with Granite and Smokewreath behind him on either side. It was reassuring to see Cedar by the fireplace, even though she wore her commander’s helmet and he didn’t dare look at her directly.

  The wild joy in the king’s face was startling and appalling. He strode dramatically to the fireplace, swirled off his cloak, and flashed a smile so bright it was terrifying.

  “You did it, Freak!” cried the king. “Such silver!” He rushed at Urchin and grasped his shoulders, beaming into his face. “We’d nearly given up, but we kept following that seam you found. Oh, you wonderful freak! Such silver! Such gleaming, glimmering, wonderful silver, the very best and finest silver, and so much! You must see it yourself, Urchin, you absolutely must! It’s so beautiful!” He waved a paw impatiently at the servants. “Fetch him wine! Fetch him cake! Fetch him a cloak, fetch him jewelry! You must see it, this lovely silver. Too dark now, too dark. But you will, you will.”

  There was a rattle and a hiss from Smokewreath.

  “Oh, yes, Smokewreath, you can have him,” he snapped. “He’s done what we wanted! He’s found all that lovely silver for us. But the snow hasn’t fallen yet, so you’ll have to wait for him!”

  Urchin curled his claws. It was bad enough that they wanted to kill him, without bickering like two small squirrels over a hazelnut.

  “Shall I sharpen a sword for you, Smokewreath, so you’re ready when the time comes?” said Granite, looking Urchin up and down. “Or do you want an archer to follow him around?”

  “We should kill him sooner, not later,” snarled Smokewreath. “He’s done all he had to do.”

  “We could leave him on the battlements to freeze,” suggested Granite. He stood back with folded arms and regarded Urchin. “He’s only a runt, it should finish him off. But I’m sure you’d rather have the pleasure of putting a knife through his heart. Or would you prefer a dagger?”

  Smokewreath hissed softly through his teeth. “I need his heart whole, whole,” he said. “Strong magic.”

  “I do beg your pard
on, sir,” said Granite. “I was forgetting the strong magic. Did you hear that, O High Splendor of Silver? The sooner he gets his strong magic done, the sooner you can invade Mistmantle.”

  Urchin gasped. He turned hot and cold and tried to say that Mistmantle couldn’t be invaded, but his voice failed him. It was too terrible for words.

  “Invade Mistmantle?” said Cedar sharply from the fireplace. “Pardon me, High Splendor of Silver, I knew nothing of this!”

  “Oh, Lord Marshal!” pouted the king. “That was my tell! There you are, you see, not even Commander Cedar knew of it, only you and me and dear Smokewreath. But soon, everyone will know. Won’t it be wonderful?” He turned his glittering eyes on Urchin. “You said yourself that an island should have good earth and trees, and all those lovely things, and I’m going to have them. Smokewreath’s magic will get me to Mistmantle! With a little help from you.”

  Urchin started to say that he would defend Mistmantle and Crispin with every breath he took for the rest of his life, but Smokewreath hissed at him.

  “Such strong magic from the Marked Squirrel,” he rasped. “From that fur, from those claws, from the bones, from the heart. Strong enough even to pierce those mists, oh, yes.”

  Urchin’s claws stretched and curled. His fur bristled. “You’re all wrong about that,” he said, and hoped with all his heart that he was right. “Your magic isn’t stronger than the Heart that gave us the mists.”

  “Oh, what a pity you won’t be alive to find out,” said the king, and gave a shriek of laughter. “Isn’t it delightful! Just think of King Crispin’s face when he sees the mists parting and my beautiful ship sailing to Mistmantle! And all my moles will run through the tunnels. What fun!”

  “Even if you could get through the mists,” said Urchin, “you wouldn’t take Mistmantle. Every animal on the island—”

  “Will support me,” said the king. “I should think they already do. Creeper brought back such an interesting report from Mistmantle when he came to tell me about those little rescue moles. He said there were hedgehogs on the island all ready to turn on the king and kill him.”