The Urchin of the Riding Stars (4 page)

“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.”

“Yes, sir!” said Urchin, and bowed awkwardly because he wasn’t sure what to do—bow, fall to his knees and kiss Captain Crispin’s paw, or jump in the air and turn somersaults.

Padra stood up. “The stars are starting again,” he said. “You’ll get the best view looking southeast.”

Before dawn, Urchin left the tower. Starlight and his excellent night vision were good enough to take him home to Anemone Wood. His head and heart sang with the knowledge that he was going to the court. He would work, learn, and fight if he had to, at Captain Crispin’s right paw. Captain Crispin would depend on him to polish his sword and circlet, hold his cloak, and run his messages. He would listen to the captain’s troubles, wait on him at table, and make sure everything he needed was ready before he even asked for it. The morning was not far off, but he thought it would never come.

Urchin was not the only squirrel hurrying home from the tower that night.

Gleaner had not had a good day. She had quarreled with Crackle.
(Stupid name! Crackle!)
So wherever she watched the stars, she didn’t want to be where Crackle was, which was a pity, because Crackle was going to Watchtop Hill. Then, as if that weren’t enough,
Urchin
had been invited to the tower!
Urchin! Only
to the tower, and
only
by Captain Crispin! Gleaner squirmed with jealousy. Urchin wasn’t even a Mistmantle squirrel. Probably wasn’t a proper squirrel at all.

So why shouldn’t she go to the tower anyway, by herself? Pleased with her own boldness, she had run to the tower and scurried nimbly up the walls. The roughness of the stone and her excellent balance kept her from falling.

She peeped through a window she thought might be Captain Crispin’s. No sign of Urchin there, or anybody else. She ran a little farther and tried a window on the next floor. This was fun, this spying.

She was lucky. Not Urchin, not Crispin, but somebody well worth looking at! She found she was spying on the most beautiful squirrel on the island.

Lady Aspen!
Gleaner gazed at Lady Aspen and adored her. She almost forgot to breathe. She was near enough to see the silver bracelet on the left forepaw and the elegantly polished claws. The bracelet flashed in the candlelight as Lady Aspen groomed her tail with a small ebony brush. She was the loveliest and most refined squirrel on the island, Queen Spindle’s dearest friend—and everyone knew that she was to marry Captain Husk.

Gleaner was losing her grip on the window ledge. She scrabbled, turned her tail to catch her balance, and ran on up the tower. She would have liked to see the queen and the little prince, but that was too much to hope for. At the window of an empty room she stopped to watch the ride of the stars, then ran on upward until she heard voices. An otter laughed. Scrambling on, she found herself among the trailing leaves and overhanging herbs of Fir’s window boxes.

Good. Plenty of room to hide. With her ears twitching, she picked up and recognized voices—Urchin’s, then Fir’s and Captain Crispin’s, so the otter must be Padra. She clung on. It was impossible to hear everything while hanging upside down from the bottom of a window box with thyme tickling her nose and lavender in her ear, but she heard all that Crispin said to Urchin. By the time she ran down again she knew that Urchin had fallen from the sky. It could be useful, that. You never could tell.

As dawn filtered across the sky, Urchin lay on his back in a fir tree, watching the last flourishes of starlight as he imagined his future. There was no point in trying to sleep. He ran down and filled a canvas bag with his few possessions—a spare cloak, a ball, some counters for games, and a few cones and nuts to nibble on—said good-bye to Apple, and bounded through the wood to Mistmantle Tower. It was a long way, and he didn’t want to be late.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

When he thought about it afterward, he couldn’t tell how he knew it, but long before he reached the tower and saw the guards, he was feeling uneasy. He had never seen so many guards before, all grim-faced as they rushed in and out of gateways. From somewhere inside the tower he heard terrible sobbing and wailing, with one high and desperate voice rising above the rest. Animals were scurrying toward the rocks and whispering to each other, looking up at the tower but hanging back as if they were suddenly afraid of it.

Something clenched at Urchin’s heart. His paw tightened as if he could hold on to his dreams, but he had a sickening feeling that they were slipping away.

CHAPTER THREE

E STILL HAD TO REPORT TO THE TOWER
. He smoothed his fur nervously and climbed the stairs to the great wooden doorway where two armed moles stood on guard.

“Nobody gets in,” said one.

“None in, none out,” said the other.

“But I was sent for,” said Urchin. He couldn’t let Crispin down, so he stood his ground. “I have to report to Captain Crispin.”

“None in, none out,” repeated the mole.

“I’m under captain’s orders,” said Urchin.

“So’s everyone,” said both the moles, but they glanced at each other. They clearly didn’t want to risk disobeying a captain.

“Please, can you get a message…” began Urchin, but the guards looked past him, stamped to attention, and saluted. There was a rush of paws on the stairs, and to Urchin’s great relief Crispin appeared, breathless and keen-eyed. He put one paw across Urchin’s shoulders.

“He’s with me,” said Crispin sharply, and the door was opened at once. In the wide, high-ceilinged entrance hall, the sound of crying was suddenly louder. Animals whispered to each other. Urchin was trying to take it all in when Padra bounded toward them, and his face was grave.

“Padra!” said Crispin. “Everyone’s rushing for the tower. What’s happening? Is that the queen crying?”

Padra put a paw on Crispin’s shoulder. “It’s little Prince Tumble,” he said, and his voice was low with trouble. “Crispin, he’s dead.”