Urchin and the Heartstone Page 2

  “If it’s any longer it’ll get sat on by a mole,” said Padra. “And when you see your husband, tell him the gallery’s finished and there’s room for all the Hedgehog Host in there.”

  “Oh, Docken and me and all of us are most grateful for it, Captain,” she said, and twisted awkwardly to follow his gaze up to the newly finished gallery. “There’s such an awful lot of them, sir, to fit in.”

  “And you can’t pack hedgehogs in closely,” observed Arran. “Not without serious consequences. But Gorsen and Lumberen had a look at it themselves, and they were pleased with it.”

  Thripple had opened her mouth to say that Gorsen was a most particular hedgehog, and if the gallery was good enough for him, it was good enough for everyone. But she said nothing, because at that point Gorsen the hedgehog himself marched into the Gathering Chamber, bowed smartly to Crispin, and saluted.

  “There’s a deputation of young 'uns to see Your Majesty and Captain Padra,” he announced. Gorsen was a tall hedgehog with a bronze tip to his spines, large black eyes, and a purposeful stride, and his striking good looks had won the attention of most of the single female hedgehogs on the island.

  “I told them Your Majesty’s busy,” Gorsen went on, “but they’re all mightily excited about something and they say it’s important, and Urchin sent them. Your young Hope’s among them, Mistress Thripple.”

  “Tell them all to come in, please, Gorsen,” said Crispin as Thripple’s eyes brightened. “And send a squirrel down to the kitchen for some strawberries.”

  They heard stifled giggling before Jig and Fig, the mole sisters, appeared with Hope the hedgehog between them. There was a cry of “Ooh, Mummy!” from Hope, who scurried as fast as he could to Thripple before he remembered where he was and turned to bow to the king.

  “Please, Your Majesty—” he began.

  “That’s Brother Fir,” said Thripple gently. Hope was very shortsighted.

  “Please, Your Majesty,” repeated Hope as Padra picked him up and pointed him in the right direction, “King Crispin, sir, Captain Padra, sir, there’s a ship arriving and Master Urchin said you should know, urgent says it’s Urchin, no, Urchin says it’s urgent, Your Majesty, Captain Padra, sir, sir.”

  “Urchin mentioned it before,” said Padra. “I’ll go, shall I, Crispin?”

  “And if Your Majesty can spare me, I shall have a little look for this ship from my turret,” said Brother Fir, slowly standing up and rubbing at his lame leg. “Hope, would you like to come with me? But your legs may be too tired to manage the stairs. I believe we should wait for a minute or two and eat strawberries. They renew one’s energy, you know.”

  On the shore, animals had gathered to watch the approaching ship with her tattered sails and slow, halting progress. Otters swam in the shallows and ran up and down the beach, wanting to help with mooring the ship. Squirrels and hedgehogs stood in little clusters on the rocks, shielding their eyes against the sun. It was unusual, a ship arriving, especially one as battered as this. It was well worth watching, especially for small animals bored with gathering the berry harvest. Now and again a mole or two would emerge from a tunnel, peer about, sniff, and, not caring much for ships, disappear again. Urchin, Needle, and Juniper stood close enough to the water’s edge to let the waves lap over their paws as Apple, Urchin’s foster mother, bounded across the sand toward them. Apple was very round for a squirrel, and left large paw prints. She was telling them what she thought about the ship long before she reached them.

  “Ooh, look at that, or I should say look at her, shouldn’t I?” she said, and stopped to take a deep breath. “She don’t look too big, nor too healthy, neither. She must have been in the storm, I wonder who’s on there, poor souls.”

  “I can see someone moving on deck,” said Needle. She scrambled onto a rock and stretched onto her clawtips. “Wait a minute—yes, there’s a hedgehog.”

  Urchin hopped up beside her and stretched up on his clawtips to see. “And there’s a squirrel turning the wheel,” he said. “I can see its ear tufts.” A gentle splash nearby made him turn from the ship to the water, and Fingal bobbed up in front of him, his eyes bright, his whiskers dripping. He was enjoying this enormously.

  “Should we swim out and offer to tow her in?” he asked.

  Urchin looked around to see who Fingal was talking to, then realized it was himself. It wasn’t as if he were a captain or a member of the Circle. He was still a page, but he was also a Companion to the King, and other young animals seemed to think he’d know what to do. At moments like this, he asked himself what Padra would do.

  “Yes, go on, then,” he said. Fingal rounded up a few more otters by splashing them, and with twists, turns, and somersaults, they swam out to the boat.

  “Show-offs,” said Needle. Urchin turned to grin at Juniper, and stopped grinning when he saw Juniper’s face. There was a tight, anxious frown.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. His eyes on the ship, Juniper nodded. A squirrel and a hedgehog were leaning over the rail, stretching out to see the island; and something flashed so fiercely in the sunlight that Urchin had to squint. One of the hedgehogs must be wearing some sort of silver jewelry. Or was it a sword hilt? It flashed again as a hedgehog wearing a deep-purple cap leaned over the side of the ship and cupped his paws to his mouth, and Urchin saw the broad silver chain he wore about his neck. He was still too far away for his voice to carry well, but Urchin caught a few words.

  “What’s he saying, can’t hear a word. Is he talking funny?” demanded Apple.

  “Something about ‘wings’ and ‘birch,’” said Urchin. “I didn’t get the rest.”

  “Well, what’s that supposed to mean?” said Needle, leaning from side to side to get the best view she could. “They all look a bit a battered, don’t they? Those hedgehog spines need grooming, and the squirrel looks all, sort of—sort of washed out.”

  “Her’s had a wetting, bless her,” said Apple.

  “Yes, that’s what a soaked squirrel looks like,” said Urchin, who had been in a storm at sea himself and remembered it vividly. The otters had caught the ship’s ropes and, grinning hugely, were hauling her in. The hedgehog in the velvet hat and silver chain leaned forward, cupping his paws again, and Urchin waded into the sea to hear him.

  “We come from King Silverbirch, King of the Island of Whitewings,” shouted the hedgehog. “We are in great need, and beg to be taken with all speed to King Crispin.”

  Urchin supposed he was the one who should say something, but he wasn’t sure what. “King Silverbirch’s ship is most welcome,” he called back, because it was polite and harmless and gave him time to think. Something swished swiftly in the water to his left, and to his great relief he saw the gleam of a gold circlet.

  “Captain Padra, sir!” said Urchin. “They’ve just greeted us. They’re from an island called Whitewings, from King Silverbirch.”

  “And well and truly wrecked on the way,” remarked Padra, raising his head and shaking the water from his ears. “I’ve heard of Whitewings; we’ve traded with them in the past. Is that Fingal with the ropes?” He loped from the water to stand beside Urchin. “Fingal, bring her in in a straight line!”

  “She looks even more battered now she’s close,” said Needle.

  “Bad enough without Fingal ramming her into the jetty,” said Padra. “He never looks where he’s going. Shall we go to meet them, Urchin? Oh, you’ve met Juniper.”

  He turned to Juniper with a broad smile that turned to concern. “Are you all right, Juniper?”

  In spite of the summer morning, Juniper was shivering. He blinked, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath as if breathing had suddenly become a struggle.

  “Yes, Captain Padra, sir,” he said, but his voice was low and shaky. “I think it’s just the sun, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Find a bit of shade, or a pool,” said Padra kindly. “Any sensible animal stays in the wood or the water in weather like this. I wouldn’t be on land if not for the cor
onation. Urchin, come with me, and we’ll welcome them. And do something about your tail tip.”

  Urchin twisted around to look over his shoulder, found a few burrs and wild raspberries that seemed to have stuck to his tail, and pulled them out with his teeth. Then he followed Padra onto the jetty and stood a pace behind him.

  “Won’t the ship have to be searched, sir?” he whispered.

  “I’ve given orders for it,” Padra whispered back, and raised his voice to greet the lordly hedgehog in the bow.

  “Captain Padra the otter greets King Silverbirch’s envoys in the name of Crispin, King of Mistmantle,” he called. “Come in peace, and be welcome.”

  With a bit of creaking and bumping, the gangplank was lowered. Down marched the hedgehog, his head held high and his silver chain flashing in the sun. Side by side behind him came another male hedgehog, who was rather short and thickset with short spines, and a stern-looking female squirrel. They both looked a little older than Urchin. And lastly followed a small squirrel, about Urchin’s age, who looked as if she weren’t enjoying this at all. Urchin thought she must have been seasick. They all carried silver-gray satchels and wore pale yellow cloaks badly stained with seawater, and their faces were strained and worn. Advancing along the jetty, the leading hedgehog looked Padra in the eyes—but there was a swift glance toward Urchin, which made him feel uncomfortable. As for the other Whitewings animals, Urchin felt that they were trying very hard not to look at him.

  “You wish to be taken to King Crispin?” said Padra.

  “With all haste,” said the hedgehog. He had a deep voice and an air of grave authority. “Our need is very great.”

  “Then I’ll escort you to the tower myself,” said Padra, and turned to the younger animals who had gathered on the shore. “Crackle, Sepia, off to the tower before you draw another breath. Give word to the king, then to the kitchens. Our visitors have taken hard weather, and need hospitality. Chambers should be prepared for them.”

  The squirrels dashed away. Padra turned back to the envoys.

  “Pardon me, but your ship must be searched. Captain Lugg will be in charge of it. I regret this, but not long ago ships arrived in Mistmantle carrying unwelcome visitors, and now we inspect all vessels. Needle will carry your satchels, and may we help you with your wet cloaks?”

  Urchin discovered what was meant by “helping with cloaks” when Padra took the four damp, salt-smelling garments from the animals and passed them to him to carry, as they escorted the visitors across the sand. They were long, heavy cloaks, so it was a struggle to hold them high enough to keep them from trailing in the sand and still see over the top. Lugg’s moles and hedgehogs were pattering down to the ship to search it, but there was no sign of Juniper until Apple’s loud and unmistakable voice carried across the sand.

  “Never mind, son, you’ll feel better for it,” she was saying. Urchin looked over his shoulder to see her bending over Juniper, who was being sick into a rock pool. “There, now, son. Better out than in, probably you’ve just had too much sun and excitement and that, that’s all it is.”

  Urchin hoped the visitors hadn’t noticed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  OPE HAD PEERED SHORTSIGHTEDLY DOWN from every window in turn, and was now sniffing his way happily around Fir’s round turret. The airy little room smelled of berry cordial, fresh raspberries, pinecones, herbs, and candles, all of which he managed to find. It was a simple room with an air of soft breeze, sea, and prayer about it, and had very little for him to bump into. With some difficulty Hope climbed onto a stool beneath a window and smelled lavender and rock roses as they tickled his face from the window box.

  “I have some pebbles by the hearth,” said Fir. “You may like to play with them.”

  Fir bent stiffly and picked up a basket that glowed with smooth stones, sea-washed; some white and flecked with silver; some green marble; some the palest pink; some the colors of peaches and apricots. Hope sniffed, pressed his face against the cool pebbles, and dug his paws into the basket, turning the stones over and rubbing them against his cheek. He laid them out in patterns and attempted, not very successfully, to build with them.

  “We are to have visitors,” said Fir, glancing out of the window. “Hm. They had no easy passage, and the mists may have held them off. They must have been most determined to get here, and somehow the mists let them through. There’s Urchin carrying their cloaks. And dear Apple, and a young squirrel being terribly ill. Hm.” He pulled a few straggling stems of thyme from the window box, wrapped them around newly cut flowers for Hope’s mother, and watched very keenly as Hope pushed the pebbles about. Hope seemed content to play all morning, and Fir made no attempt to hurry him.

  “Please, sir,” said Hope, after saying nothing at all for a while, “I heard somebody talking about the Halfstone of Mistmantle. I don’t know what it is, and the pebbles made me think of it again.”

  Fir chuckled softly. “The Heartstone, Hope,” he said. “The Heartstone of Mistmantle. It looks like any old pebble, just like one of these, but it has a most special quality. It is a gift of the Heart to the island. The Heartstone can only be held in the paw of a rightful ruler or priest of Mistmantle. Nobody else can hold on to it, unless they carry it in a bag or a box, of course. That makes it a vital part of the coronation. At King Crispin’s coronation I will place it in his paw, and the whole island will know he is their true king.”

  There was a knock at the door. “That’s Urchin’s knock,” said Fir. “Come in, Urchin.”

  He turned to Urchin with a twinkling smile of welcome, but Urchin thought he looked old and tired. Fir had seemed older and slower ever since the struggle with Husk, as if it had drained the strength from him.

  “The king requests you to come to the Throne Room, Brother Fir,” said Urchin with a bow.

  “Then tidy up the pebbles, the two of you,” said Fir. “Pop them in the basket. Urchin, tip some water into that bowl so that Hope can wash his face. There’s nothing like a young hedgehog among the berries for making a mess. And I notice, Urchin”—he glanced at Urchin with a lift of the eyebrows—“that King Crispin keeps his visitors indoors on such a bright and beautiful day.”

  “Yes, Brother Fir,” said Urchin. Fir might be looking old, but he still didn’t miss anything. He knew that if Crispin kept his visitors indoors, it was because he wanted secrecy.

  “Hm. I see,” said Brother Fir. “All tidy now, Hope?”

  Gorsen of the Hedgehog Host stood on duty outside the Throne Room, his fur gleaming, bowing deeply to Brother Fir before opening the door. The Throne Room was a simpler, airier place than it had been in the last days of King Brushen. Sunshine brightened it. Crispin stood by the window, his deep red fur gleaming in the light; Padra beside him. The sun was so strong that Urchin found he had to squint, and could hardly see Crispin’s face. It was much easier to look at the animals from Whitewings, who now looked well groomed. Food and wine had been set out for them on a table, but they still looked so solemn that Urchin felt he must have done something wrong as soon as he hopped in.

  Needle stood dutifully by the empty fireplace, her paws folded and the satchels neatly stacked behind her. Urchin bowed to the king and, as usual when he wasn’t sure what to do, glanced at Padra for a prompt.

  “Brother Fir, Urchin,” said Padra, holding out a paw to them, “come and meet our visitors. This is Lord Treeth of Whitewings.”

  The lordly hedgehog with the silver chain bowed stiffly to Fir and inclined his head toward Urchin.

  “Urchin, Companion to the King?” he inquired gravely.

  Urchin bowed. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Lord Treeth is a distinguished Lord of Whitewings, and the Ambassador of King Silverbirch,” Padra went on. “And attending him on his embassy are his highly trusted attendants. Bronze…”

  The stocky, short-spined hedgehog nodded briefly at Urchin with something that was half a grin and half a grimace. He looked to Urchin like an animal who could hold his own in a fi
ght.

  “…and Trail,” said Padra. The older female squirrel gave a very straight-backed curtsy with her chin up. Urchin felt as if she were inspecting him to see if his claws were clean.

  “…and Scatter,” finished Padra. The smallest squirrel managed a wobbly curtsy and a brave attempt at a smile, and Urchin smiled back with sympathy. She still looked seasick.

  “Lord Treeth,” said Crispin. “Your story concerns us all, but in particular it concerns Urchin. May I ask you to repeat it? Be seated, all of you.”

  The visitors settled themselves on stools, Urchin and Needle on the floor. Glancing up, Urchin saw that now that Crispin was seated with the back of the throne behind him, his face could be seen very clearly. He looked sharper and more attentive than ever. With great dignity Lord Treeth straightened his back, placed his empty cup on the table, and began.

  “Whitewings has always been a peaceful island, and a fair one. The brightness of silver sparkles in its waterfalls and gleams in its rivers, and mines of silver lie hidden in its depths. Swans dwell on our lakes and shores. On the rare occasions when our ships have breached the Mistmantle mists, we have been glad to trade with you. In the past, Mistmantle animals have married into Whitewings.

  “Suddenly this year, in the spring, we found ourselves with a wave of newcomers from Mistmantle, seeking to live in Whitewings. They told us of a war on Mistmantle that had caused them to flee for their lives, and we took them in. I am forced to admit that we have regretted it. We welcomed them and made them at home on our island, expecting them to be like all the Mistmantle animals we had ever met—pleasant, helpful, good-natured. But these animals were not at all like anyone else from your island. They were loud and boastful, swaggering about the island, showing off, unwilling to work except for their own benefit. They were unfriendly, huddling together, keeping their own company, avoiding the rest of us.”