The Urchin of the Riding Stars Page 6

  Bottle in paws, he watched, remembering Padra’s instructions. Since the prince’s death the king seemed to have grown old—tired, and gray at the muzzle—but he was still the tallest, strongest hedgehog Urchin had ever seen, and held his head high. A fire flared in the grate, lamps glowed on the walls, and the king’s crown gleamed. His paw rested on the arm of the gilded throne, and a small table stood at his elbow with a wineglass, almost empty. Threadings on the walls glowed with color, and the floor had been freshly covered with rushes.

  “Your Majesty looks tired,” said Husk. “Perhaps you slept badly?”

  “I never sleep well now, since…” began the king, and Husk nodded in sympathy. “But we have work to do. I suppose it’s work parties again, is it, Husk?”

  “Nothing that Your Majesty need worry about,” said Husk. “With more animals, and an earlier start, we’ll stay on top of the work.”

  The king slumped wearily in his throne. “I don’t know where all this work comes from, Husk,” he sighed.

  “Well, I’m afraid, Your Majesty,” said Husk, “it’s because we let things go in the past. We’ve been careless, if you’ll excuse my saying so, and need to catch up. We have very few weapons; we couldn’t defend ourselves if we had to. Just think, if a certain squirrel—no need to name names—had organized a rebellion against you, we couldn’t have fought back. Don’t even think about what might have happened, Your Majesty. So we need weapons. The moles have found a very good supply of garnets. We’re storing some, and trading the rest for swords.”

  “Jewels for swords,” mumbled the king.

  “So, if you would give the permission, sir?” suggested Husk, and spread out beech leaves on the table. “It can’t be done without a royal warrant.”

  The king raised his paw heavily, and Urchin saw that he trembled. He scratched his clawmark on a leaf.

  “And we need an order for the young otters, to make them work longer hours,” said Husk. “All they want to do is play about in the water.”

  The king raised a paw, then lowered it again and sat back. He almost smiled. “Let them play,” he said.

  “As you wish, Your Majesty,” said Husk. “Where’s that page with the wine?”

  Urchin stepped forward, bowed, and held out the bottle. He wasn’t sure if he’d be expected to pour it himself, but Husk took it and filled the king’s glass to the rim.

  “It’ll be a long hard winter,” said Husk, putting the glass in the king’s paw. “Gloss the mole says so, and so does Tay the otter. A reliable mole and the historian, they should know. If we’re going to have food and fuel for the winter, everyone has to work hard.”

  “But they already do work hard!” said the king, and peered past Husk toward Urchin. “Who’s that?”

  “Padra’s page,” said Husk, and waved a paw at Urchin. “You can go now.”

  Urchin bowed awkwardly. His mouth felt dry. “I have a message from Captain Padra, sir,” he said.

  “It can wait,” said Husk. “Stand outside the door.”

  “No, come here, page,” said the king. He leaned forward with a new light of interest in his black eyes as Urchin stepped forward and bowed. Padra hadn’t told him if he should look the king in the eyes, but it felt like the right thing to do.

  “You’re the foreigner, aren’t you?” said the king at last. “The found thing? Shell, or Starfish, or…”

  “Urchin, Your Majesty.”

  “Well, serve your captain and be true to the island,” he said. “What was Padra’s message?”

  “I was to ask if we have enough stores for the winter,” said Urchin, still looking up into the searching black eyes. “And he asked after the queen’s health.”

  “The queen sleeps far better now that Lady Aspen looks after her,” said the king.

  “Lady Aspen is very glad to be of help,” put in Husk.

  “And Husk seems to have all the winter plans under control,” the king went on. “But shouldn’t we be trading for wool, not swords?”

  “We’re doing both, Your Majesty,” said Husk quickly. He pushed a leaf toward the king and turned sharply to Urchin. “Go, and give Captain Padra his answer.”

  Urchin closed the door as slowly as possible. Husk lowered his voice, but Urchin still heard him.

  “The weaker ones won’t survive another winter, Your Majesty,” he was saying. “It’s sad, but the only kind thing to do is to keep culling. Should I pass you your drink? Thank you, Your Majesty, and we also need a clawmark for that little order…thank you.”

  Urchin had heard plenty. He was ready to dash through the nearest possible route back to Padra, but opposite him, a door opened. With a waft of perfume Lady Aspen swept down the corridor, and Urchin pressed his back against the wall to let her through. Her head was high, a yellow cloak as fine as candlelight billowed from her shoulders, and on one forepaw a bracelet of rowan berries was bright above the fur. Scurrying along behind her was Gleaner.

  “Thank you, Gleaner,” Aspen was saying. “I’m sure you’ll be an excellent maid. Report to me this evening. And I will inform Captain Husk about that hedgehog.” With polished claws she knocked on the Throne Room door.

  Gleaner had caught sight of Urchin. She turned to grin unpleasantly into his face.

  “You’re not the only one invited to the tower!” she hissed, and whisked away.

  Urchin bolted along the corridor. This time his way was blocked by a tall, broad-shouldered, and very short-furred squirrel. Urchin looked up and disliked him at once.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” snarled the squirrel.

  “To the shore, sir,” said Urchin.

  “Then go the other way,” ordered the squirrel.

  “Yes…” said Urchin, and hesitated. He didn’t know the name of this squirrel, and didn’t want to call him “sir” again if he could help it.

  “My name’s Granite,” growled the squirrel, and stretched out a hard, curling claw toward Urchin’s face.

  Urchin tightened every muscle. His instinct was to flinch, but he knew better than to show fear to a bully. The claw ran along his whiskers. In his heart he squirmed, but he forced himself to stand fast as the squirrel repeated his name.

  “I’m Granite. Remember me.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  RCHIN FLED FROM THE TOWER to the clean, salt air of the shore. The tide was out, and he bounded along the hard, wet sand with its debris of shells and seaweed. The row of wooden mooring posts stood clear of the water, some with boats tied up. Far out in the water, Padra and Arran swam side by side, but this was no time for leaving them alone, so Urchin jumped onto a post, balanced with his tail, and called for Padra. He had expected to see a wave of a paw, a slow turn, and a leisurely swim back, but Padra flicked himself over and swished to the shore with Arran following.

  “Can I talk to you in private, sir?” asked Urchin.

  “You can say anything in front of Arran,” said Padra, shaking water from his fur. “But we’ll go around the shore.”

  He led them farther from the tower. Urchin began his report at such an urgent gabble that Padra had to stop him and make him start again.

  “…so you were right: the ideas about work parties and things aren’t from the king,” he finished. “Or at least they are, but Captain Husk’s telling him what to think.”

  “Did the king ask for the wine himself?” asked Padra.

  “He didn’t have to,” said Urchin, “Husk kept filling the glass. And Lady Aspen’s taking Gleaner as one of her maids, and they were talking about a hedgehog. I think Gleaner may have told her about Needle’s baby brother, and she’ll tell Captain Husk.”

  “Pestilence!” muttered Arran, and Padra’s mouth gave a twist that twitched his whiskers.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “Anything else?” When Urchin told him about Granite, he stopped and took a deep breath.

  “Granite from the armory?” he said. “I always thought he was a nasty-claw thug, but somehow he got into the Circle.
Then Crispin put him in charge of the armory, which was wise, because Granite likes weapons, but the armorer doesn’t actually get to use them against anyone. If he’s prowling the corridors, we should be worried.” Then he smiled down at Urchin. “That is, I should be worried, not you.”

  “But, sir,” said Urchin, “when they do a culling…”

  “It’s very quick,” said Padra. “It’s best to wait till the youngster’s fast asleep, then do it so quickly they don’t know anything about it. Now, I’ve put you in for a fencing lesson, and I hear you’re learning well. Run along to the fencing master.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Urchin, “but about little Scufflen…”

  “I’ll do what I can for him,” said Padra. “That’s all.”

  Urchin ran to his fencing lesson. If Padra couldn’t save the baby hedgehog, he’d do it himself.

  In the Throne Room, Husk was filling the king’s glass again.

  “You’re right, Your Majesty,” he said. “Of all the Circle animals, Granite will make the best captain.”

  The king frowned. “I said Tay the otter was the best, Husk,” he said.

  “Oh, yes, Your Majesty, but that was before Granite was nominated,” he said. “Tay’s a great scholar, but she’s not a leader. Gloss the mole was mentioned, but the trouble with moles is that you can never be sure where they are. Padra nominated Arran, but he would. He hasn’t always been wise in his choice of friends, has he? So…”

  “Oh, I’ll consider Granite, then,” said the king wearily.

  Husk bowed, and left the king with the half-empty bottle at his paw. Back in his own chamber with its deep-red hangings and heavily curtained windows, he laughed.

  More culling would save the trouble of keeping wretched infants through the winter. There were others who needed the food. He looked forward to killing the new hedgehog.

  Granite would be a useful captain. As a fighter, he was unbeatable; as a bodyguard, he would be invincible; and he wouldn’t be troubled with thinking too much. He’d do whatever he was paid to do.

  But I am invincible anyway, thought Husk. I need fear nothing until squirrels fly through the skies. Those words of prophecy had come to him in the dungeon, and could be relied on. The evil there was so powerful and it had a voice so secret that not even Aspen must know of it, but it spoke with his own voice, rising from his own center like a warped stem. Soon he would truly be king of Mistmantle, and anyone who didn’t like it would be against a wall with a sword to the heart. And why stop at Mistmantle? There were bigger, richer islands to be conquered.

  Gloss the mole could be a problem. He would be jealous of Granite. He was useful, but he saw too much. Best to find him a job that would keep him out of the way.

  Soon there would be a splendid wedding and a feast to keep the common creatures happy. The more stupid among them had forgotten Crispin already.

  Three nights had passed when, far beyond the mists, Crispin heaved his boat well up the shore, stretched the stiffness from his limbs, and fastened on his sword. He’d already landed on one island inhabited by snakes, and another where he’d been attacked by swarms of vicious crabs, and on both he’d needed quick wits and good swordsmanship to rescue himself. But this one looked better. He took an upward path through a wood of beech and hazel, eating the nuts he found on the way and following the sound of running water until he found a fresh, clear stream. He drank, washed his face and paws, and went on.

  The path opened at last to a lake larger than Crispin could ever have imagined. Trees drooped over it. Reeds bordered it, and lilypads floated. Tiny islands, with a few bushes and a tree on each, stood here and there. Bubbles rose and ripples spread as fish nudged the calm surface.

  “The Heart brought me here,” whispered Crispin, and gave thanks.

  A wild and noisy flapping made him leap backward with paw on sword hilt. White wings blurred his vision; a stinging blow to his paw sent the sword spinning far away; and Crispin found he was looking up at the furious, hissing face of an enormous white swan.

  “What dare you do here, tree-rat!” spat the swan.

  Crispin held his ground, but he had never been so close to a swan. Its size was overwhelming.

  “I’m a stranger here, sir,” he said. “Crispin, Captain of Mistmantle.”

  “Call me Highness! Lord Arcneck!” snarled the swan. “You belong in the wood, tree-rat! This is the mere! It is only for swans!”

  Beyond the swan, on the lake, Crispin could see gray-brown cygnets bobbing between the lilypads. A sudden movement near them made him watch.

  The swan was lecturing him on the laws of the island, but Crispin wasn’t listening. His eyes were on that movement gliding under the water, near enough to the surface for him to see the long, strong body.

  A watersnake! He had sometimes seen them at Mistmantle. They may only be a kind of fish, but they were big and strong enough to drag down and devour a young animal. Usually the otters dealt with them, but Crispin had learned from Padra what to do with watersnakes.

  He leaped for his sword. The swan arched his neck to strike him, but Crispin was springing into the water.

  “Watersnake!” cried Crispin, and as the frightened cygnets scattered, he flung himself on the back of the great ugly fish, leaned forward, and plunged the sword hard into the roof of the open mouth, ramming it home. As the fish reared and thrashed, Crispin clutched the sword hilt in both paws. He was still holding it as the dying fish hurled him into the air, and the swan’s beak gripped his tail.

  The swan dragged him to the bank and dropped him. Crispin stood up, shook water from his fur, and wiped his sword clean on the grass as the swan’s neck curved over him. Its mate was chivvying the cygnets away from the great, bleeding body of the watersnake.

  “Brave, for a tree-rat,” remarked the swan. “If we want your service again, you will give it. You may continue to live on this island, in the wood, with the other tree-rats.” It turned a sharp, hard eye toward the body. “Watersnake? It is a pike. Pike, tree-rat. What is it?”

  “A pike, Highness,” said Crispin. He supposed he’d get used to this. Behind him, he heard giggling. He almost turned to look, but remembered in time that turning his back on Lord Arcneck might be an unpardonable insult. So he waited, still hearing the stifled laughter behind him, until the swan had glided away and he could turn to see who was there.

  A group of young female squirrels had gathered to watch. The only one who wasn’t giggling stepped forward.

  “Swans are like that,” she said gently. “You’ll get used to it. I’m Whisper. Who are you?”

  On a late afternoon, Urchin was on guard duty at the Spring Gate, with the dying sun in his eyes. He was chafing his paws against the cold as Padra appeared, and put a mole on guard.

  “Good news,” said Padra. “Come with me.”

  “Needle’s brother?” said Urchin hopefully.

  “First things first,” said Padra, hurrying on through the tower. “Husk and Aspen’s wedding will be soon.”

  “Oh,” said Urchin. “Is that good?”

  “It’s excellent!” said Padra. “Husk’s ordering singers and robes and jewels and whatnot, so he’s leaving the king alone. Quick sharp, before he gets back.”

  They hurried through the tapestried corridors to the Throne Room, where Urchin stayed a pace behind Padra, kneeling as Padra knelt, glimpsing the king’s tired smile. Behind the throne stood Granite with his shoulders squared. Urchin’s fur bristled.

  “Padra,” said the king, and Urchin thought his speech was slurred. “We used to patrol the shores together. You used to take the prince out in your boat! He loved the water!” A tear trickled down his face, and as he lifted a paw to brush it away, Urchin lowered his eyes. “Is there something you want, Padra?”

  “Good news, Your Majesty,” said Padra. “The hedgehog baby born to Mistress Ramblen is fine and healthy, and will thrive. There’s no need to cull.” He looked up into the king’s eyes. “A beautiful baby boy hedgehog, Your Majesty.
”

  “If he can thrive, let him,” mumbled the king, and dabbed at his eyes with a napkin. “A hedgehog baby.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty!” cried Urchin, then turned hot as he remembered he hadn’t been invited to speak. He felt the king looking at him, and shyly raised his head.

  “Weren’t you here with Husk?” asked the king curiously. “He’s to be married, you know. What would we do without Lady Aspen? The queen adores her. I offered him a wedding gift, but he only wants jewels for his wife. Padra, you should marry. Loneliness is terrible. If you want to marry your otter friend, you have my permission.”

  For once, Padra seemed lost for words. It only lasted for a moment.

  “I’ve no idea if she wants to marry me, Your Majesty,” he said, “but I hope she can be our new captain.”

  The king’s paws twitched. “Oh, Padra,” he said. “I have already made Granite our new captain.”

  “Plagues, lice, and pestilence!” muttered Padra as they strode from the Throne Room. “Fleas and worms to the pack of them!”

  “But we can have more than three captains,” said Urchin, hurrying to keep up.

  “Not with Husk in charge,” said Padra.

  “You saved Scufflen,” said Urchin.

  “Yes, I suppose so,” said Padra. “Go and tell Needle.”

  Urchin ran to the workrooms. He wondered if Needle would still be there, but everyone seemed to be working late. She came to the door looking anxious and flustered, with bits of thread caught on her spines. Urchin told her the news and stood well back in case she tried to hug him.

  “I’ll get permission to go and tell Mum,” she said. “I think they’ll let me go, but there’s so much work all of a sudden. You know about the wedding? Look at this!” She opened a door.