Urchin and the Heartstone Page 21

  “He’s right,” said Juniper. “We need you. And if there has been a rebellion against Crispin, we could do with someone like you on our side.”

  “Now,” said Larch. “This is my royal command. Go, Cedar, before you miss the tide.”

  Cedar shared a few final words with Larch and Flame while Urchin looked with longing at the elegant ship. Snow still lay on the mast and the furled sails. To sail in that ship must be almost as good as riding on a swan.

  “Come on, then, young 'uns,” said a voice behind them. “Best get it over with. Time and tide.”

  “Thanks, Lugg,” said Urchin, turning around, and stopping in surprise. He’d never seen Lugg look this worried before.

  “What do you think?” said Juniper. “Straight up the side?”

  Urchin and Juniper hopped onto the jetty and measured the jump. Then they sprang to the side of the ship, scrambled up, and tumbled onto the deck.

  Organized by Larch, the Whitewings animals were escorting Cedar to the ship. A guard of honor hastily dusted itself down and lined up on the jetty. On the deck, Urchin and Juniper found cloaks to wrap around themselves, and rubbed their paws against the cold.

  “Heart be with you!” called Flame. “May the Heart bring you all to Mistmantle!” Two swans, trying their wings, flew to the mast and circled it.

  “You see!” said Urchin to Juniper. “They’re learning already!”

  “We’ll need more ballast,” said one of the hedgehogs in the crew, making Urchin bite his lip with impatience. “We’re too light without it. They’re loading it up now.”

  “Will that stop the rocking?” muttered Lugg. “And it isn’t even going anywhere yet. Moles aren’t meant to be on boats.” He sniffed, and sniffed again. “I can smell that stuff for killing lice.” He stepped a pace back from Urchin. “You haven’t caught lice here, have you?”

  “Certainly not!” said Urchin. Cedar had warned him that it might take a while to wear off, and he hoped he wouldn’t smell of it when he got home. He wouldn’t want Crispin and Padra to think he was lousy.

  Standing in the bow, he looked for the last time at the island where his parents had met, where his father had died. Finally the ballast had been loaded, the anchor was hauled up, the sails were unfurled, and the ship was moving. “We’ll take turns helping the crew at the oars,” said Cedar. There was clear, deep water between the ship and the coast of Whitewings; animals waved, squirrels sang, and silver dust settled and caught the sunlight. Swans rose into the air. And when Urchin could see nothing more of Whitewings, he turned his face to the horizon, pressed his forepaws against the bow, and prayed the ship would make it safely to Mistmantle and to Crispin.

  The sea breeze was sharp and chill, flapping Urchin’s cloak about him. He felt somebody at his side and turned to see Cedar, with the little box in her paws. His heart thumped hard, and he held out his left forepaw.

  “Tie it very tightly, please?” he said. “So I never lose it.” And when Cedar had knotted the bracelet firmly on his wrist, he folded his right paw over it and pressed it hard against his heart under his cloak. Nobody could take it away from him now.

  A harsh wind followed them, cruel with sleet, but it drove them hard to Mistmantle. They navigated by the stars at night and by guesses in the day, but in the deep winter the days were short and the nights were long. They helped at the oars, brewed up cordials for themselves and the crew, and slept by turns in nests beneath the deck. They kept their cloaks wrapped about themselves even in their nests, and in the night watch on deck Urchin and Juniper saw frost on each other’s whiskers. When Urchin slept, huddled in a tightly clenched heap, he dreamed of roaring fires in Mistmantle Tower. He and Juniper talked of their childhoods, and Urchin realized that something in Juniper’s story didn’t quite fit. When he felt they understood each other well enough, he mentioned it.

  “You’re not that much younger than I am,” he said, “and the culling didn’t come in until Sepia was born. I think you’re older than Sepia. So Damson must have hidden you before the culling law came in, before she absolutely had to.”

  Juniper looked out to sea for a while. Then he said, “I know. I’ve thought of that. She must have had another reason for hiding me, but when I’ve tried to ask her, she changes the subject. I can’t push her about it, can I?”

  They talked a lot about what they'd do when they reached the mists. The swans were learning to use their wings, but the mists were long, and it looked unlikely that they could fly all the way over them, let alone carrying a passenger. They were hopeful of Lugg or Cedar at least getting through. If the rest of them were kept out, and there was no swan on Mistmantle to fetch them, they d just have to return to Whitewings and go all the way back through tunnels. Nobody except Lugg liked the idea, and even he admitted it would be a long way to go about it.

  “We could climb the mast,” suggested Juniper. “Then we wouldn’t be coming by water. We’d be over it.”

  “I think it would still count,” said Urchin. “But if the mists are there to protect the island, they should let us through.”

  “Firelight, moonlight, the secret,” said Juniper.

  “I don’t suppose you know what that means?” said Urchin.

  “No idea,” said Juniper with a shrug. “But I think it’s something to do with getting back. And I don’t feel sick.” Lugg trotted quietly to the side of the ship. “I think if the moles had invaded Mistmantle, I’d feel sick. Firelight, moonlight, the secret.”

  When the sails needed to be furled or unfurled, the squirrels took turns running up the rigging. Urchin could see that Juniper found it harder than he did, not because of his withered paw—that never seemed to bother him—but because he became breathless quickly. Urchin knew that Juniper had sacrificed his health by following him to Whitewings. He called up to Juniper that they could swap places if they liked, but Juniper shouted down that he could climb just as well as Urchin, and was soon pulling himself up into the crow’s nest.

  The trip was harder for Lugg, who endured it as best he could in spite of being seasick all the way. He persisted in calling the bow “the pointed end,” the stern “the blunt end,” the mast “the sticky-up bit” (unless the sails were unfurled, when he called it “the washing”), and the bowsprit “the sticky-out bit.” As for port and starboard, he said it was all the same to him when he leaned over it.

  On the third night, the sky was so cloudy that it was hard to navigate, but the wind still seemed to be set for Mistmantle. Urchin, yawning enormously, rubbing his eyes and huddling into his cloak, scurried across the deck to take over from Cedar. He hugged a cup of hot cordial.

  “Dawn takes forever,” she said, chafing her paws against the cold. “It always does when you’re waiting for it. But it seems longer than ever tonight.”

  “M-midwinter,” stammered Urchin through chattering teeth. “Lugg’s got the stove going and Juniper’s heating up cordials.”

  “Hot cordial!” said Cedar, and dashed away. She was right about the dawn. Urchin stood at the wheel for what seemed like hours, and it was still dark. The cordial cooled quickly, and the heated core it had given him had faded before he noticed that the sky seemed a little paler and grayer than before, but when Juniper came to take over, the horizon still could not be seen. The chill had entered Urchin deeply.

  “It’s still gray,” he said, shivering.

  “It’s clearer behind us,” said Juniper, his fur fluffed out for warmth as he joined Urchin on deck.

  Urchin looked around. Behind them the sky was pale blue, and the wave tips showed clearly.

  “But it’s foggy ahead,” he said, and suddenly he leaped across the deck, stumbling on numb paws, twirling his tail as he sprang down the hatch, shouting, “Cedar! Lugg! We’re in the mists!”

  They stood on deck, all of them, their eyes shining, their ears pricked as they gazed at the white wall of mist. Lugg stretched up on clawtips, peering forward with his nose twitching. Cedar pressed forward over the bow, her chin
tilted upward, tears in her eyes.

  “I’ve seen the mists,” she said in a shaky voice. “Even if I never get to Mistmantle, I’ve seen the mists. I know it’s in there.”

  Juniper took her paw. “The Heart won’t keep us out,” he said. “There’ll be a way.”

  “Oh, good,” said Lugg, sounding unconvinced. “Don’t suppose you know what way? Should have gone by tunnels. Could have been hacked to death by mad moles, but better than a boat. Never again.”

  “But we’re moving,” said Juniper. “We’re in the mists, and we’re still moving. So far, so good.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  N THE WORKROOMS OF MISTMANTLE TOWER, Needle stitched steadily, making Fir a new tunic for the coronation in hope that there really would be a coronation. A little heap of pebbles lay in front of her. Hope had not managed to find the Heartstone, but he had found any number of pretty pebbles to give to his mother and closest friends. Needle was neatly embroidering a pattern of leaves around the hem of a tunic, but on this winter day the light was poor and it was time to stop.

  “You’ll strain your eyes,” said Thripple. “You’ve done enough for one day. Off you go.”

  Higher up the tower, in Fir’s turret, Padra looked down from the window with his son Tide in his arms. Fir sat on a stool by the fire with the baby girl otter in his lap. Bright brown eyes looked back up at him.

  “She has your expression,” he said. “One would think she’s always going to laugh.”

  “She is,” said Padra. The baby heard his voice, squealed with delight, and wriggled as he turned Tide toward the window.

  “Look, Tide,” he said. “That’s Watchtop Hill. No, not that way, that’s Brother Fir. They’re building a bonfire for the riding stars.”

  “Does this young lady have a name yet?” asked Fir.

  “We liked Swan, because of the way Urchin and Crispin came home,” said Padra. “But we won’t call her that, because she’s not a swan, she’s an otter. Then we thought of Swanwing. Then Swanfeather. We both really like that one.”

  “Hm,” said Fir. “Swanfeather of Mistmantle.”

  “It’s better than Wriggle, which is what we call her at the moment,” said Padra. “It’s what she does all the time.” He moved to the next window. “And they’re building another fire on the beach. They’re going to make a great night of it.” With a sigh, he sat down opposite Fir. “The fact is, Brother Fir, the whole island’s desperate for a party. What they really want is the coronation. It’s been a long hard winter and there’s more of it to come, and they need something to celebrate instead of gazing into the mists watching for Urchin and Juniper. And Lugg—he may be a tough old soldier, but he’s not invincible. Mistress Cott and the family are being very brave, but my heart goes out to those two little grandsons.”

  “Tipp and Todd,” said Fir. “Yes.”

  “They’re always hanging around wanting rides in boats, and when any of us do take them out, they’re so desperate to see as far as they can, they’re in danger of falling in. They’re anxious to have him back, What will the riding stars bring, Brother Fir?”

  “Ask Miss Swanfeather,” said Fir. “She has as much idea as I have.”

  “Look at me!” squeaked Hope, on the shore. “I’m climbing the bonfire!”

  “What a big brave hedgehog!” said Sepia. In fact he had climbed onto the heap of firewood to be taken to the tower, but she hadn’t the heart to tell him.

  “Here’s Needle with your mum,” said Fingal, lifting him down.

  Hope set off in the wrong direction, heard Thripple’s voice, and turned toward her, bumping his paw on something. He stopped to examine it.

  “Have I found the Heartstone?” he said hopefully.

  Needle dawdled over to look. It was hard to go on being enthusiastic about the Heartstone now.

  “No, it’s a pink shell, but never mind,” she said. “It’s a nice one to give to your mum. We’ll light the bonfire soon. Crackle says they’re making hot soup and spice cake.” Crackle, who had been working in the kitchens, came down to join them.

  “Urchin’s lights will be coming on soon,” said Thripple.

  “I sort of don’t like it when Urchin’s lights come on,” said Crackle. “They come on every night and he still doesn’t come.”

  Urchin and Juniper stamped their paws for warmth and watched the mists.

  “We’re getting closer,” said Juniper. Lugg was gazing into the mists with such intensity that he had forgotten to feel seasick. Cedar leaned over the bow as if she wanted to reach out beyond the mists.

  “We’re moving very slowly,” said Urchin.

  “But we’re moving,” said Juniper. “What will happen if we can’t get through? Will we just stay here?”

  “I’ve heard about ships from Whitewings that didn’t get through,” said Cedar. “The ship slows down and down, and then stops. It won’t go forward, even if there’s a gale blowing and you row with all your might. It’ll only turn around and go back.”

  “If that happens,” said Urchin, “we’ll lower the ship’s boat with you in it, and pray that you get through.”

  “Yes,” said Juniper. “Pray.”

  “What in all the island do you think I’m already doing?” said Lugg.

  “Pray for something wonderful to happen,” said Juniper. “You never know. We might all just sail through. There must be more in the Heart’s way of doing things than we can understand.”

  “You sound like Brother Fir,” said Urchin.

  They prayed. They watched. They ran up and down the mast to keep warm and to see if the view was any better. They brewed cordials and ate food that still had the metallic taste of Whitewings. Daylight faded. They hung lanterns fore and aft, and in the crow’s nest.

  “Wouldn’t it help if we were up there, too?” said Juniper. “I still think that if we’re not so much on the water, we might get through.”

  “If we stop dead and absolutely can’t move,” said Lugg, “then I’ll join you up there, to see if it works. But only if I have to. Plague and lice,” he muttered, “the things I do for Mistmantle. And speaking of lice, you still smell.”

  The ship slowed. Urchin and Juniper climbed the mast and settled in the crow’s nest. They looked down on Cedar as she stood like a figurehead, with wreaths of mist whirling like veils around her.

  “We’re still moving,” said Juniper, “and still forward.”

  The mist made tiny beads on fur and whiskers. Whiteness folded Cedar and Lugg until Urchin could hardly see them. The lamps glowed softly through layers of white. Urchin pressed his frozen paws to his mouth to warm them. A snowflake landed on his nose.

  Were the mists thinner? He might be imagining it, and soon it was hard to tell. The snow grew heavier, falling faster in thick, tumbling flakes that twirled to the deck. In the crow’s nest, they stretched out their paws to it.

  “It’s like flying!” whispered Juniper. “I wanted to fly on a swan, but this is magical!”

  Urchin laughed up at the sky. Then he gasped.

  “What was that?” he said

  “There was something in the snow!” Cedar called up.

  Urchin watched. Beyond the mist, he could see deep-violet sky where the snowflakes danced and silver swished among them. Awed and wide-eyed, he could barely breathe the word.

  “Star,” he whispered.

  “Riding stars!” cried Juniper, and the swans rose in the air for joy. “Urchin, it’s riding stars! They’re taking us home!”

  From Cedar came something like a sob and a cry of joy. Urchin leaped down the mast, ran balancing along the bowsprit, and stood in the light of the ship’s lantern, clinging with his hind claws, his face and forepaws lifted to the pouring sky.

  Snow over Mistmantle settled steadily on treetops, casting a white hush on Anemone Wood. On Watchtop Hill and on the rocks above the waterfall, animals warmed their paws at bonfires and turned their faces to the sky. On the shore, young animals staying up late to see the star
s forgot all about them, and were content to watch the snow drift silently down and melt into the sea or vanish in the halo of the bonfire. Padra, his daughter wrapped in a shawl in his arms, watched the small squirrels and hedgehogs hopping across the rocks trying to gather the snow before it melted, tipping their heads back to catch snowflakes on their tongues. Damson stood a little apart from the others, her cloak wrapped about her, Sepia holding her paw.

  “Are you cold, Mistress Damson?” asked Padra. “Won’t you come nearer the fire?”

  “Thank you, Captain Padra, but the smoke hurts my eyes,” she said. “Miss Sepia’s keeping me company.”

  Brother Fir hobbled over the rocks. “Mistress Damson, will you come to my tower and drink cordial with me?” he offered, holding out his paw. “Best place on the island for stars, and a great deal more civilized than the sea’s edge in a snowstorm. And young Sepia can come if she likes, though I daresay she’d rather be with her friends.”

  Sepia looked up at the tower. Urchin had told her that the stars looked wonderful from Brother Fir’s turret. They would be breathtakingly close.

  “I’ll go the quick way, shall I?” she said in a husky whisper. “I can light the lamps for you.”

  Sepia dashed up the wall, having to stop on a window ledge now and again to get her breath back before she scrambled over a snowy window box into Fir’s turret. By the time she had set the lamps flaring, she could hear his step on the stairs, and knew from the voices behind him that Thripple and Hope had joined him. While Damson warmed herself, Sepia stood at the window holding Hope’s paw and watching the stars. They were large and bright as they danced across the night sky and the dark sea, and from Hope’s gasps of delight, she knew he could see them. Then a shower of stars hurtled at the tower at a rush, like laughing children, so wild and fast that she wanted to duck; but she didn’t. If the stars had swept the top from the tower and carried her along with them, she could have danced across the sky. But they passed in a rush and all was still.