The Urchin of the Riding Stars Page 2

  Needle turned quickly.

  “Ouch!” said Crackle.

  “Oh, did you get caught in my spines?” asked Needle politely. “You shouldn’t get so close to me. Ignore her, Urchin.”

  “You must be looking forward to tomorrow,” said Urchin.

  “I haven’t liked to talk about it,” Needle said awkwardly.

  “What, because you’ve been chosen for training at the tower and I haven’t?” said Urchin. “Talk all you like. I’m very glad for you. It’s just that…”

  He looked at the shore again. Captain Crispin was no longer there. A few squirrels and otters sat on the jetty, dabbling their paws in the water.

  “I had dreams,” he said quietly. “Sometimes I think I’m meant to do something special.” He wriggled his paws. “Maybe it’s because of not knowing who I am. I don’t even know how I got here, or where from. I don’t know who my parents are—or were—and I don’t even look like the rest of you. Apple always told me I was special. I used to think, perhaps, I’d been chosen for something. I…you won’t laugh, will you?”

  “Of course not!” said Needle.

  He wouldn’t have said this to anyone but Needle. Even with her, it wasn’t easy.

  “I was born on a night of riding stars,” he said. “Wonderful things are supposed to happen after those nights, but I don’t think anything very exciting followed that one. It was as if…well, as if I was what happened. As if I was sent here that night, and I have something vital to do. And I’ve tried really hard at everything I’ve ever done. I knew I wasn’t really a Mistmantle squirrel and I’d have to make an effort to become one. And I have made the effort, but I’ve got nothing to show for it. Nothing except loading ships for the rest of my life.”

  “What makes you think it’s for the rest of your life?” asked Needle. “You might go on to…”

  She stopped, as Apple had finally appeared at the top of the hill. She was looking down at the moored ship while she got her breath back.

  “Unloading boats!” she grumbled, and flopped down heavily beside Needle and Urchin. The log rocked, and the little squirrel squeaked. “It’s all wrong, this. They never used to do it this way. They never had no work parties, and that and all the work that needed doing got done, all the same, and we had a lot more fun in them days.”

  Urchin and Needle grinned swiftly at each other. There was no point in arguing, or in speaking at all, once Apple had something to say.

  “The boats all got unloaded and loaded up, too, and all the nuts and berries and that all got gathered up and stored, and all the making of cloaks and cordials and the fishing and the work on the boats, and looking after the tower and making medicines, and keeping our nests nice, all that, it all got done. And these days it’s all work parties, isn’t it?” She looked around for support. “Isn’t it, though?”

  “Yes, Apple,” said Needle.

  “It’s work parties all the time now, and before you’re up in the mornings it’s ‘all the West Shore otters report for beachcombing’ and ‘all the Anemone Wood squirrels to report to the cone stores’ and I don’t know what else. Here’s Urchin looking after them little ones—hello, little one—climbing trees, all the things he should be doing at his age and tomorrow he’s got to go and…”

  “Load timber!” squeaked Gleaner, and giggled.

  Needle’s spines bristled. “And what work will you be doing, Gleaner?” she asked sweetly.

  “They haven’t told me yet,” said Gleaner with a wriggle and a shrug. “They’re still thinking about me. They may be considering me for work in the tower.” She wriggled again. “Of course, I don’t suppose I’ll get in, but it’s very nice to be considered.”

  “Who said you were being considered?” asked Needle.

  “Mind your own business,” snapped Gleaner, and added in a whisper, “you should have been culled at birth.”

  “Culled?” said Urchin. “That’s not funny!”

  “And that’s another thing that never used to happen in the old days,” said Apple crossly. “There wasn’t no culling.”

  The small squirrel twisted to look up at Urchin. “What’s culling?” she asked.

  “Never you mind, bless your little ears,” said Apple.

  “There was a mole baby taken to be culled last week,” said Crackle loudly.

  “That’s enough out of you!” said Apple.

  “But it’s kind, isn’t it, to kill the weak ones,” said Gleaner as Needle took the little squirrel by the paw and dragged her away to play. “It’s cruel to let them live if they’re weak or they’re not right. Far more sensible to kill them off. They do them in very quickly.”

  “They dope them first, don’t they?” said Crackle.

  “You just be quiet,” snapped Apple over her shoulder. “It’s a terrible thing, and we never used to do it in the old days.”

  Gleaner sat up very straight. “It’s the king’s law!” she said indignantly. “You can’t say the king’s wrong!”

  All Mistmantle animals were fiercely loyal to the king, and always had been. Turning against the king was unthinkable. Hedgehogs especially were famous for their loyalty and hard work, just as otters were known for their courage and good humor, and squirrels for their bright spirits. Moles were so much underground it could be difficult to get to know them at all, but they were determined and reliable.

  “He’s a real good king, a good king,” agreed Apple firmly. “He’s just got some funny laws, that’s all. Like that”—she glanced at the little squirrel, who had escaped from Needle and was climbing up Urchin’s leg”…that law we were just talking about, and them work parties. And them’s not good laws, in fact, that thing we’re talking about, that’s a bad law, there’s no good in that, can’t be, but he’s a good king, a right good king, but them laws just isn’t good laws, that’s all, he’s got some bad laws.”

  “Pardon?” said Urchin.

  “Oh, don’t make her say it all again,” sighed Gleaner.

  “I wish they wouldn’t, though,” said Needle quietly. “My mum’s having another baby, and I just hope and hope and pray that it’s all right. I couldn’t bear it if…”

  Urchin looked down at the small squirrel, but she was staring at something a little way off.

  “The baby should be all right,” he said.

  “But even babies that are just a bit weak and small get culled,” she said. “Or a teeny bit lame or short-sighted.”

  “What’s the little one staring at?” demanded Apple loudly. “Oh, my goodness, it’s him!”

  “It’s Captain Crispin!” exclaimed Urchin. He jumped to his hind paws and nearly dropped the little squirrel as Captain Crispin leaped from a tree and landed on the hilltop.

  “Good morning!” he called. “What a splendid woodpile!”

  As a captain, he wore a gold circlet on his head and a belted sword at his hip. Thrilled and flustered at the same time, Urchin bowed awkwardly and wondered if his fur was dirty or sticking up. That was the trouble with being pale. The dirt showed. And he wished he’d been found doing something more impressive than looking after a toddler. He stammered a good morning.

  Apple curtsied and wobbled a bit. “Good morning, Captain Crispin, lovely morning, Captain Crispin, sir, we’ve built our bonfire, sir, we’re all ready for the stars tonight, we’ll be having a grand supper up here, I’ve brought some of my apple-and-mint cordial, would you like some cordial, sir?”

  Urchin’s claws curled in embarrassment. Apple’s cordial was famous for repelling insects, but it tasted terrible.

  “Thank you, Mistress Apple, but I’ll do without that pleasure today,” said Crispin. “But I’d like to speak to young Urchin, if I may. Urchin, will you come with me?”

  Urchin, astonished, tried to stammer a reply. He glanced at Apple for help, didn’t get any, and only just remembered to hand the young squirrel to Needle. He dusted down his fur as he ran to Captain Crispin’s side, and they walked down the hill path.

  Crispin ask
ed Urchin how Apple was, and what work had been chosen for him, and how the autumn harvest gathering was doing, while Urchin tried to guess at what the best answers would be and to say something intelligent without showing off. But Captain Crispin was so friendly and natural, that in time, he forgot to be shy. Finally, Crispin turned to him and asked, “Will you be on Watchtop Hill tonight, to watch the stars?”

  “Oh, yes, sir!” said Urchin.

  “Only, if you’d like to, you could come to the tower,” said Crispin. “Captain Padra and I are going to Brother Fir’s turret room to watch from there. Probably the best view of the island. You’re invited, if you’d like to join us.”

  Urchin felt a shiver of joy through his fur even though he was sure he must have misheard. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Finally, he managed to say, “Me, sir? The tower?”

  “Certainly you, Urchin, if they can manage here without you,” said Crispin, “and if you don’t mind missing the bonfire. Make your own way to the tower, around twilight, and I’ll tell the guards to expect you. They’ll direct you to Fir’s turret.”

  “Thank you, sir!” gasped Urchin.

  “Thank you, Urchin!” said Crispin, and with a leap he was bounding down the hill. Urchin watched him until he was out of sight, then ran full tilt to the nearest tree, shinned up it, and turned somersaults for pure joy. A night of riding stars, the tower, and Crispin!

  CHAPTER TWO

  RCHIN’S FUR HAD BEEN WASHED AND BRUSHED until it shone softly in the lamplight inside Mistmantle Tower. He wore a cloak, a new dark red one, partly because the nights could get cold, but also to honor the occasion. He couldn’t go to the tower without a decent cloak. The guard pointed him toward a staircase, and he was springing up three steps at a time before he reminded himself that this was Mistmantle Tower, and he was here to meet two captains and a priest. After that he ran up lightly, imagining a sword at his hip.

  He passed the workrooms where Needle would start work tomorrow. They were locked now, but he could picture them full of parchment, canvas, silk, needles, shuttles, and every shade of every color he could dream of. Rolls of canvas and stone jars of paint were stacked outside the doors, with skeins of soft wool.

  Mounting the next staircase, he was startled by color. The walls here were hung with Threadings and paintings showing ancient stories of the island’s past and its heroes. Some of the pictures were old and needed dusting, but Urchin still gazed. The animals looked as clear and vivid as if they lived. The colors and patterns enchanted him. Then he pulled himself together and pattered up the wide stairs, because he mustn’t keep Captain Crispin waiting. There was a narrow, twisting flight next, and another, and another, before he found the small oak door at the top.

  With his paw shaking, he took a deep breath, knocked, not too hard, at the door, and waited for a guard to answer it. But to his great surprise it was opened by a tall, pleasant-faced otter wearing a circlet and sword.

  “Captain Padra!” he gasped, and managed to bow, though he was so startled he had to balance with his tail to keep from falling straight back down the stairs. There was something larger than life about Padra the Otter. But he had a kind expression and bright, intelligent eyes, and looked as if he would always be ready to laugh.

  “Urchin! Come in! Welcome!” he said, and held out a paw to shake. “I’m Padra! Crispin, stop staring out of windows and come and meet your guest.”

  The small, round room had a sweet, fresh scent of smoke and apple from the logs crackling gently in the grate. The room was spotlessly clean and simply furnished, with a jug and wooden goblets on a low table. A bench had been drawn up near the fire. And all around the tower were windows, high, arched windows, some of them a little open to the autumn night. In the twilight, they looked into a sky of violet and apricot. Crispin came to meet Urchin with a goblet of spiced wine.

  “Now you see why Fir’s turret is the best star-watching place on the island,” said Crispin. “The only problem is choosing your window.”

  “Thank you for letting me come, Brother Fir,” said Urchin, and the old priest’s eyes twinkled.

  “You must see my gardens,” he said. “Hm! Did you know there were gardens, right up here, up in the sky?”

  Urchin leaned from a window and realized for the first time how far up he was. Far, far below him the sea hushed and swished, and the stars seemed close enough to touch.

  “You live in Anemone Wood, don’t you?” said Fir. “Come over here. You can see it from the northwest window.”

  He steered Urchin from one window to the next. It was growing dark, but Urchin could see his favorite pine tree and Watchtop Hill, where little lights bobbed and moved as animals gathered to watch the stars. Fir proudly showed him the window boxes.

  “Parsley, marjoram, basil, peppermint, thyme,” he said of one, and then, “sea thrift, periwinkle, and…” He stopped and turned up his face to the sky. “Hm. There goes a star. D’you see?”

  Padra and Crispin darted to the windows. Something silver flew across the sky, twirling and sparkling, then another and another. There was a pause; then from the eastern sky the stars twirled into sight, twisting like otters at play, dancing, swirling farther away and out of sight. Then there was only one, then one more, and the sky was dark again.

  “Wonderful!” said Crispin.

  “Worth staying up for,” said Padra. But Brother Fir said nothing, and Urchin knew that the priest felt as he did himself. It was too breathtaking for speech. The beauty and terror of it had reached into Urchin’s heart, and he could not speak for fear of breaking the spell. He stayed at the window where the chill night air still seemed sparkling with starlight. Then he spun around when he realized Crispin was saying his name.

  “I’m sorry! Sorry, sir; did you want me?”

  He wondered if it was time for him to go. The two captains had seated themselves on low stools by the hearth with goblets in their paws, and Padra grinned.

  “Urchin’s still up in the sky,” he said. “Quite right, too. But it’ll be a little while before the next lot, so you may as well sit down and get warm. Over here,” he added, as Urchin hesitated. “Come by the fire.”

  “Wonderful stars,” said Crispin. Urchin took off his cloak. “But not as good as the night I found you.”

  Urchin thought he must have misheard. “You found me, sir?”

  Padra chuckled quietly. Crispin smiled down.

  “Apple forgot,” he said. “She only remembers what she wants to remember, so she thinks she found you all by herself. We let her go on thinking it.”

  “But Crispin found you first,” said Fir. “Then I came hobbling behind him. He took you from the wet sand.”

  “You saved me, sir!” cried Urchin, and added, “Excuse my asking, but do you know how I got there?”

  A glance passed between Crispin and Fir. “We tried to find your mother,” said Crispin. “There was no trace of her. We saw you drop out of the sky, and that was that.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” said Urchin, “but you might be mixing me up with somebody else. I don’t think I dropped out of the sky.”

  “Oh, you did,” said Fir. “Yes. Hm. I saw you, too, floating down. Hadn’t a clue what you were, but you didn’t look much like a star. We kept quiet about it. The other animals might have formed some extremely strange ideas about you if they knew you came tumbling down like that, especially on such a night. And I’d go on keeping it quiet, if I were you.”

  “Yes, sir, but how…” began Urchin, and stopped, because it seemed like a silly question.

  “How did you get up there in the first place?” asked Fir. “Hm. It’s something I should very much like to know.”

  “Maybe a gull tried to carry you off and dropped you,” said Padra. “But if so, it’s amazing that you survived.”

  “And I’ve kept an eye on you since then.” Crispin smiled. “You’ve turned out all right.”

  “Which is just as well,” said Padra. “Crispin’s finally worked out
that he can’t look after himself. I could have told him that years ago. Come to the point, Crispin.”

  Crispin put down his goblet and turned to Urchin. “I need a page to help me, Urchin,” he said. “Somebody who can do some fetching and carrying, be my messenger, help me at court, and so on. There would be some guard duties, but you know what it’s like here—nobody needs much guarding. And a page learns to handle a sword, but it’s so peaceful here, nobody needs to fight. I only use mine for fencing contests, calming down rowdy sailors from the trading ships, cutting ivy in the woods, that sort of thing. The point is, I need somebody to be my right-paw squirrel. What do you think, Urchin?”

  Urchin felt his heartbeat quicken. He doesn’t mean me, he thought. He’s asking if I can think of anyone.

  “He does mean you, Urchin,” said Padra gently, as if he had read Urchin’s thoughts.

  “Take time to think about it, if you like,” offered Crispin.

  “I don’t need to,” said Urchin, and found he was almost breathless. “It would be wonderful. But are you sure, sir?”

  “I wouldn’t be asking you otherwise,” said Crispin. “I’ve watched you grow up. I keep an eye on all the island’s squirrels, and I know you’ll do very well at court. I would have asked you sooner, but I had to wait for the king’s permission.”

  Urchin thought of that morning, when he had stood on top of Watchtop Hill and envied the kitchen mole. Now he was to be a page, and spend every day in the company of Captain Crispin. He’d serve in the Gathering Chamber, and maybe even in the Throne Room and the royal chambers.

  “It’s all my dreams, sir,” he said, and found he was whispering in awe. “I’ll work hard, I promise. I won’t let you down.”

  “I know that,” said Crispin. “Shake paws on it, then.” And as they shook paws, he looked past Urchin at the window. “There’s a stray star out there. They’ll start again soon. Urchin, when you go home tonight, get your belongings together. Tell Apple where you’re going, and I’ll let your work party know they can’t have you. Come to the tower first thing. You’ll have the room next to mine.”