The Urchin of the Riding Stars (16 page)

As Gleaner dried her eyes, Lady Aspen took a veil and shook out the folds. Husk had not been himself since the wedding, and she had accepted his brooding silences and short answers. It was better not to ask questions. They had never discussed the night when Prince Tumble died. It was enough to know that he was dead. And Husk had never asked her about the queen. She had cared for the queen and the queen had died and that, too, was enough. They knew each other too well to ask questions. She threw the veil over her ears and was looking at herself in the glass through a dark film of silk, when Husk came in.

“Off you go, Gleaner,” Lady Aspen said, and Gleaner was glad to hurry away with a quick, hurt glance at the captain. Husk made sure she closed the door after her. There were too many small animals scuttling about the tower these days.

Had one of them been following him four nights ago, after the queen died? No, of course not. Those tunnels were always full of creatures of the dark, things that crept, squirmed, and scuttled. It was only one of those. Or had he really heard a brush of fur and running paws behind him? There was a swish and a rustle as Aspen bent to pick something from the floor, and his paw flew to his sword hilt.

“My lord!” she cried.

“My love,” he said, “you startled me. It’s nothing.”

Long slashes of rain dashed hard against the windows of the crowded Gathering Chamber. The funeral service was nearly over, and Urchin waited to take his place in the procession. Brother Fir came first, limping. Queen Spindle’s coffin, draped in black, was borne slowly from the Gathering Chamber as a choir of moles sang their low, solemn dirge and a hedgehog carried her crown on a velvet cushion. The king followed the coffin, his face grim, leaning his paw on Husk’s shoulder. Behind them came Granite, with Aspen veiled in black; then Padra with Tay; the animals of the Circle; and rows of guards. Finally, when the crowd had lost interest, came Urchin as Padra’s page, and Gleaner as Aspen’s attendant.

“See?” whispered Gleaner. “You’re not that important.”

Urchin didn’t mind being at the back of the procession. What he minded was the way Padra had been placed behind Granite and Aspen, in front of a chamber full of animals. It was a deliberate insult. The coffin was carried down to the vault below the tower, followed by the captains, Tay, Aspen, and the hedgehog with the crown. Nobody else. The guards saluted and were dismissed, and Urchin and Gleaner stood back to let the tearful animals shuffle down the stairs, wrap their cloaks around them, and scurry home through the pelting rain.

Urchin spotted Apple in the crowd. Her rosebud bonnet had been trimmed with blackbird feathers for mourning, and she wore a very old and battered cloak. He couldn’t reach her—he had to stay at his post at the top of the stairs—but she saw him, stuck out her elbows, and barged her way through.

“Terrible business, this, terrible, poor queen, poor hedgehog, what a nice queen she were before the little prince died, it’s the king I feel sorry for, poor old king, what’s he going to do now? Do they give us anything to eat on the way out?”

“They’re giving out drinks and biscuits at the main door,” said Urchin, but as a tower squirrel, he felt secretly ashamed. The meager refreshments amounted only to watered-down cordial and plain biscuits. Tay had said it was a solemn occasion and plain food was suitable. “And not much of it,” she had added. “We can’t have them making a feast of the queen’s death.”

“Keep moving, please,” called a hedgehog behind Apple, who was blocking the hallway. Urchin put her paw through his arm and escorted her to the door.

Sleeting rain drove in from the sea. In the doorway at the top of the stairs, tower servants with silver trays gave out the frugal drinks and biscuits.

“I think nothing of this,” said Apple, inspecting her biscuit. “There’s not going to be rationing, is there?”

“I don’t know,” said Urchin. He’d heard those rumors, too, and hoped they weren’t true. Sea air, long hours of work, and sword practice made him hungry. “I hope not.”

“Looks like they’ve started already,” grumbled Apple. “Don’t see how they expect us to do all that work, not with rationing. All this extra work, with never a decent meal inside us. And they can’t expect the young 'uns to go without, nor the very old 'uns, neither, and anyway they don’t eat much, them old 'uns.”

This analysis made surprisingly good sense to Urchin. It might sound sensible to the king, too, if only somebody could get near enough to tell him. Apple licked the last of the biscuit crumbs from her paws.

“Can’t afford to waste nothing, not if they’re going to start counting out the hazelnuts after this,” she said. “Suppose I have to go. I miss you, you know.”

“And I miss you, Apple,” he said, and bowed. As a page he’d become used to bowing to almost everyone and everything. Then he kissed her cheek, a little awkwardly.

“You’ve turned out good, I’m proud of you, proud of you,” she muttered, and rubbed her eyes as she turned to go.

Maybe it was because the stairs were wet with rain, or maybe she couldn’t quite see clearly. Apple’s balance had never been good. One second, she was saying good-bye to Urchin. The next, she was tumbling head over heels down the steps with a trail of “ouch!” and “oof!,” gathering speed until she rolled at last to a halt beyond the foot of the stair. The hat rolled a little farther, leaving a few loose feathers and a squashed rosebud. Urchin dashed down after her just as the royal party were leaving the vault and walking solemnly round the corner of the tower.

Apple had landed far enough from the stair to be directly in their way. She lay still, panting, as if she had to wait for the world to stop spinning as King Brushen, Husk, and Aspen drew nearer.

Heat rose in Urchin’s face and crept down his paws. With any luck, he thought, a hole in the stairs would appear and he’d drop through it, or there might be a bird big enough to swoop down and carry him off. But he had to help Apple, even if it did mean getting in the way of the procession and being the laughingstock of the whole island.

Before he could reach her, Lady Aspen had slipped from her place. She darted to Apple’s side and helped her to sit up.

“Poor squirrel!” soothed Aspen. “Are you hurt? Don’t try to stand.” Padra was approaching, too, but she waved him away as Apple stammered her thanks.

“Don’t be alarmed,” called Aspen. “I’ll take care of her.” She looked up to see Urchin, who had caught the hat before it could blow away. Remembering his training, he had placed himself on the seaward side to protect them from the driving rain.

“You’re Padra’s page, aren’t you?” she said. “Thank you, but we can manage without you. Off you go, now. Report to your captain.”

Apple was getting her breath back. “He’s my little fosterling, him, my lady, he’s my Urchin, I brung him up, my lady, least we all did, all of us in the wood, but mostly me, my lady, please, he’s a good squirrel, I’m right proud of him, my lady.”

Stop it, thought Urchin as his claws curled with embarrassment; please, please, stop it. Aspen was looking at him with a new interest.

“Is that so?” she said, and smiled warmly. “I can see you’d be proud of him. And how kind of you to take care of the little foundling!”

“Yes, well, it were me that foundled him,” said Apple. “He were all washed up on the shore, all wet and cold and scrappy, may the Heart love him missus, I mean my lady, sorry, my lady.” She was standing up now, and able cautiously to let go of Aspen’s paw. “I can get home now, thank you, my lady.”

“No, no, you must come with me,” urged Lady Aspen. “Come to my chambers. Take a little wine. On such an afternoon I need company.” She looked about her. “Gleaner, bring Apple’s hat and carry it with great care. Apple and I shall have a cozy afternoon together. Urchin, report to your captain!”

Urchin didn’t have a choice. He bowed again as Gleaner took Apple’s hat with a gleam of triumph. Padra didn’t particularly want to be reported to and had no orders for him, so he went to meet the Anemone Wood animals on their way out. Shaking ears and whiskers against the rain, they asked him how he was getting on at the tower, and what Padra was like to work for, and was the food good. Sooner or later they all got around to the same question—
Are we going to have rationing? Is it true?
Then,
There’s no need for it. You’ll tell Captain Padra that, won’t you? Can you tell the king?

Urchin said he’d do what he could, though he didn’t know what that could be. These animals were his family, and he couldn’t bear for them to go hungry through a long winter. Not even Crackle, Gleaner’s old friend, who was hopping up to him with a timid little smile, as if she wasn’t sure whether or not he’d be pleased to see her. She wasn’t sneering at him the way she used to in the old days.

“You look very smart, being a tower squirrel,” she said. “Is Apple all right?”

“Lady Aspen’s looking after her,” said Urchin.

“And Gleaner,” said Crackle, pouting a little. “Gleaner won’t talk to me now. She won’t have anything to do with me, not now she’s a tower squirrel. Sometimes I have to deliver nuts and herbs to the tower and I see her, but she’s too busy and important to talk to me.”

“Never mind,” said Urchin. It was all he could think of.

“I don’t,” she said. “I don’t mind a bit about her. But do you think there might be any work for more tower squirrels? Do you think they want anyone in the kitchens? Or the workrooms? Or cleaning, or anything?”

“I’ll tell you if I hear of anything,” he said, feeling sorry for her. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the tower wasn’t a happy place to be just now, with the king broken in despair and Granite, Gloss, and Tay never far away. He wondered where Aspen had taken Apple and wished, for Apple’s sake, that he could have stayed with her.

In Lady Aspen’s sitting room, Apple didn’t even try not to stare. She had never imagined that any room could be like this, with velvet curtains hanging from heavy gilded rings, embroidered cushions, chairs—even the chairs had padded seats, worked with embroidery! Surely they weren’t for sitting on! A rug lay on the floor, and Apple took care not to step on it. A great gilded mirror hung over the fire, and Apple, about to ask why that squirrel was staring at her, realized it was herself and shut her mouth. The hazelnuts in the bowl were tossed in spices and something she supposed might be orange peel, but oranges were something she rarely saw. Gleaner poured the wine and took her cloak to dry.

“You look better now,” said Aspen, and appeared not to notice as Apple heaved herself awkwardly into a chair. The wine was a rare treat for Apple, and sips of it warmed her down to her claw tips.

“It’s very nice, my lady,” she said. “I’ll send you some of my apple-and-mint cordial, that’s nice, too, not so nice as this, my lady, but it’s good, and I’d like you to have some, Lady Aspen, my lady.”

“I should be delighted,” said Aspen smoothly. “Tell me all about Urchin. You must be proud of him.”

Apple loved to talk about Urchin. Aspen let her go on drinking wine, eating hazelnuts, and talking, then suddenly interrupted.

“The shore?” she said. “You found him on the shore?”

“Yes, my lady, all cold and wet and a sorry little scrap, all washed up on the shore. I reckon he came out of the sea, my lady.”

“And how did he get in there?”

“Dunno, my lady. Fell off a boat, I suppose.”

“Yes,” said Aspen. “He may have fallen off a boat. I seem to remember hearing somewhere—I can’t remember who told me this, my dear, and I may have misunderstood—that he came from the sky.”

Apple coughed on a hazelnut. “What? I mean,” she added hastily, “beg your pardon, my lady; sorry, my lady; please my lady. No, whoever told you that, they got it wrong. I found him, and he definitely got washed up. It was a night of riding stars, my lady, and I’d gone out looking for one, and there may have been things dropping out of the sky all right, bits of star, my lady, but not no squirrel.”

“Of course,” said Aspen graciously. “What a silly idea!”

“He fell out of a window once if that’s any help,” said Apple hopefully. “The night of your and Captain Husk’s wedding, my lady, what a beautiful wedding, my lady. I were down on the shore, I must have got a bit lost going home, and anyway, the snow were that beautiful, anyway, our Urchin drops out of a window. Nearly flattened me. Good thing I was there, and there were all that soft snow.”