The Urchin of the Riding Stars (7 page)

“I’ll still have what I wanted, sir,” said Urchin. “I know you didn’t do it. I’ll still be with you.”

Crispin gave a little shake of his ears. “What are you saying, Urchin?”

“I’m coming with you, sir,” Urchin said. He knew he’d miss his old friends terribly, and he had no idea where he’d end up. But it couldn’t be helped. He was Captain Crispin’s page now.

Crispin almost smiled. “I wish I could have your company, Urchin,” he said gently. “You’re a brave squirrel. You’re as loyal as a hedgehog, as determined as a mole, and as valiant as an otter. But I don’t even know where I’m going. I’ve never been beyond sight of the island. I could be taking you to death or danger, and I won’t do that.”

“But I…”

“Urchin,” said Crispin, “if you still regard me as your captain, obey my order. Stay here.”

“But won’t I ever see you again, sir?” Urchin asked.

“Almost certainly not, Urchin,” said Crispin gently.

It was unthinkable. Urchin couldn’t imagine a world without Crispin. He struggled to hold his head up and keep the tears out of his voice. “Then, have you any other orders for me, sir?” he asked. “Because they will be all I’ll have of you.”

“Hurry up!” shouted a hedgehog guard, and Padra silenced him with a glare. Crispin put both forepaws on Urchin’s shoulders.

“Serve this island faithfully,” he said. “This island needs you more than I do. Look to Padra and Fir to guide you. If you think of me, pray the Heart’s blessing on me. And take care, Urchin of the Riding Stars.” His paws tightened on Urchin’s shoulders. “Take care!”

“I’ll look out for him, Crispin,” said Padra.

“Let’s get it over with,” said Crispin. For a moment he clasped Urchin in his arms, then Padra, then knelt before Fir for his blessing.

“Ready,” he said at last, and Urchin thought he understood for the first time what was really great about Crispin. He was about to walk out with no bitterness and no hatred. He could even care about the future of a page squirrel straight from the wood.

They set off for the shore with Crispin in the middle of a square of guards; Padra, Urchin, and Fir behind them. It seemed to Urchin like a lot of guarding for a single unarmed squirrel who wasn’t even trying to escape, but when they came out into the open, he was glad of it. The jeering and growling crowd took him by surprise—but at least the escort protected Crispin from the gravel, pebbles, and rotting fruit they were throwing. Some of it hit Urchin, who was too proud to duck, but Padra stood beside him to protect him from most of it. When they reached the boat, the guards stood back, and didn’t seem to know what to do next. Fir limped forward and spoke to Crispin. Padra helped him into the boat and gave him the oars. Then there was absolutely nothing Urchin could do but watch and watch until at last the boat had disappeared completely into the mist; and though he strained his ears, not even the splashing of oars could be heard.

All Urchin’s efforts, all his life, had made him strong and resourceful. Now he knew he would need that strength. Mistmantle was his home. It was also an island where a ruthless murderer had crept through the tower; the king was broken with grief; justice had not been done; and there would never be Crispin again. He supposed he’d go back to the wood and join a work party, but he couldn’t bear to think about it.

Padra put a paw on his shoulder as they trudged slowly across the sand together.

“It’s unusual for an otter to take on a squirrel for a page,” he said, “and I’m a poor substitute for Crispin.”

Urchin had been feeling that he would never be happy again. Now hope flared. “I can swim a bit, sir, if that helps,” he said eagerly.

Padra managed a smile. “Then, Urchin, if you’d like to be my page, report to me in the morning. No—report to me tonight, and then you won’t have to go back to Anemone Wood with your tail down.”

“Thank you very much, sir!” gasped Urchin.

“We’ll eat in the lower chamber with the rest of the court tonight,” he said. They began climbing the rocks to the tower, and without a word about it, they both stopped to look into the mists. “And, Urchin,” Padra added quietly, “whatever those sharp squirrel ears pick up, be careful of repeating anything. Always think twice about what you say and who you say it to, you understand? I know Crispin was innocent, and so do you. I know you’re angry, and so am I. But there is danger in high places on this island. Whoever really killed the prince is still free. So, when you’re around the court, keep your young eyes and ears open. If you hear anything useful, tell me. And if you get the chance to serve the king, take it. Always be true to the king, Urchin.”

That evening, Urchin moved himself and his bag of belongings into a small chamber near Padra’s, close to the Spring Gate. A comfortable bed had been prepared for him, but it was very unlike the treetop nest he was used to. Padra was needed to make arrangements for the prince’s funeral, so Urchin hardly saw him.

The body of the murdered prince lay in state in a small coffin in the hall while animals trooped past with bowed heads, paying their respects. One of the guards was always there, standing sternly on duty. Padra took a turn himself. The king and queen stayed in their chamber, and either Fir or Captain Husk was always with them. The queen was said to be distraught with grief, weeping helplessly in Lady Aspen’s arms.

Finally, not knowing what to do, his heart still aching for his missing hero, Urchin curled up in his new, strange chamber and knew he would not sleep.

CHAPTER FIVE

ATE THAT NIGHT, DARKNESS DEEPENED
over Mistmantle in its grief. Captain Husk, still in his green-and-gold robe, held a glowing lamp as he stood on watch before the pitifully small coffin on the table. Lamplight glowed on the gold clasps of the coffin, on the fastenings of Husk’s robe, and on the fine embroidery of the cuffs. Still and silent, he stood on guard alone until a hedgehog marched solemnly down the hall to take the next watch.

Leaving the hall with his lamp, he did not go straight to his own quarters. In the anteroom he took off the heavy robe and laid it in the chest, then crossed the hall with a solemn bow toward the coffin and walked with grave dignity down a flight of stairs.

At the bottom of the stairs, he would not be seen. He slipped noiselessly back up a neglected narrow stairway that led him to a little space, no more than a cupboard, next to the Gathering Chamber. An opening at the back, so well concealed that it could hardly be found, led down another set of stairs, darker and narrower. He was hurrying by now. A passageway came next, hardly more than a tunnel, and so small that he had to lower his head and draw in his shoulders. He turned right, left, right again, down another flight, through tunnels and chilly passageways, where his lamp gave only a feeble wisp of light and the air smelled of mold and damp. Unseen things ran and scrabbled in the darkness. Old cobwebs caught in his fur. These were ancient passageways, unknown even to the moles.

Darkness, absolute darkness. It was around him, and deep within him. He breathed it in; it smelled of death. Death, decay, and worse. It was better not to see what might be in these tunnels. The cold was like a chilling where nothing can live. Keeping his nerve, not knowing what would come at him from the dark, Husk came to the door that waited for him.

He laid down the lamp. This was not a place for light.

Fear shivered him. He pushed with both front paws at the door, and as it creaked and moved, he felt sickening terror.

Bang the door shut! Turn! Fly!
But he always felt like that at the moment of pressing the door, knowing the horror of the place. It disgusted and fascinated him, but the fascination was stronger. He shut the door behind him and absorbed the sense of creeping evil.

Rough, cold stone was clammy under his paws. The smell of decay filtered into him. He could taste the smell. In the thick, deep darkness he could see no more than a gleam of slime on the rough walls, and a patch of even deeper darkness. That was the pit. Dark as a nightmare, dark as drowning, the pit yawned like a hungry mouth from the center of the floor. It was as if by being here he could feed its evil, as it fed his. He closed his eyes and reached into the greed and ruthlessness in himself.

He had first found this place when he wasn’t looking for it. He had been looking for the legendary Old Palace but had stumbled on this ancient dungeon instead.

He wished he knew the story of this place. It must have a history. Its aura of horror told him that murder and despair had happened here.

Evil breathed and echoed around him, exciting and satisfying him even as it appalled him. It spoke to him of power, fear, treachery. In here, he could think clearly of how worthless the other animals were, and how unfair it was that he had to serve the king, when he would be a far better king himself. He thought of the first murder he had ever committed. As he soaked himself in the atmosphere of the dungeon, its power seeped into him until it spoke to him. It spoke to him. Words formed themselves clearly, grimly, in his head and heart. They were words of prophecy.

I
will be all powerful. But the one that falls from the sky must be destroyed.

The one that falls from the sky?
What did that mean? He imagined something falling from the sky. In the smothering blackness behind his closed eyes, a picture was forming. A picture of something falling from the sky—something almost white—he ached to see what it was, but it was not clear. Was it falling, or was it flying? The picture in his head was clearer now, like a reflection in dark water. Something was moving in the sky…coming closer…words were rising from his heart as another message formed itself inside him.

Fear nothing until squirrels fly through the skies
.

Squirrels in the sky! That was too ridiculous! It might as well be “until the ends of the earth”! He need fear nothing, ever! He sprang up, shut the door on the swallowing pit, and laughed wildly in the dark where no living thing heard him.

CHAPTER SIX

N THE DAYS AND WEEKS AFTER THE FUNERAL
, Urchin learned more of his duties. As Crispin had promised, he learned to use a sword, as well as the less exciting things like when to bow and when not to. As a very new and young tower squirrel, he found it safest to bow to everyone. He carried messages. He learned how to serve at the table, and how to clean and polish a sword. He learned to cook fish, and didn’t mind that, so long as Padra didn’t expect him to eat it. He discovered that the water from the spring at the gate was by far the best water anywhere on the island, especially when it was freshly drawn. He learned to clean and care for Padra’s chamber, which always smelled faintly of smoked fish. When even the moss for the bedding began to smell smoky, he threw it out and replaced it. His own bed became more of a nest, but nobody minded. He was gathering pawfuls of moss one morning when he saw Gleaner scrambling about in the high branches of a rowan tree, collecting sprays of bright red berries—but she pretended not to see him.