The Urchin of the Riding Stars (8 page)

When the fresh moss had been piled onto the beds, Urchin was supposed to report to Padra. Padra being an otter, this was often difficult, as he could have swum halfway to the mists. More often, he would be swimming near the shores on patrol, but that could mean a long journey around the island. (If Urchin saw Padra twirling about in the water with Arran, or loping along the shore with her, he thought it best to stay back and wait.) If Padra was nowhere to be found at all, Urchin had discovered that the best thing was to go up to Brother Fir’s tower and ask the priest’s permission to look out from there. He could be sure of a good view, a warm welcome, and a cup of hot berry cordial on a cold morning.

As this was turning out to be one of those mornings, Urchin ran up the stairs to Fir’s tower. He reached the workroom landing in time to see a roll of canvas waddling toward him on its own paws, and collide with it.

“Look where you’re going!” cried Needle from behind the canvas.

“Sorry!” said Urchin. “What’s that for?”

“Hold the other end and don’t ask stupid questions,” snapped Needle, and with a struggle they carried the canvas into a workroom and heaved it onto a long table. At last Urchin could see Needle’s face, and she looked tense and troubled.

“You all right?” he said.

“’Course I am!” said Needle. “The work’s really good. I sit next to a nice hedgehog called Thripple; she’s helping me to learn. She looks a bit odd, but she’s lovely. And Mum had the baby! A little boy! We call him Scufflen!”

“Oh, good!” said Urchin. But the trace of anxiety in her eyes told him that it wasn’t exactly good.

“He’ll be all right,” she went on quickly. “My mum’s been feeding him lots, so he’s putting on weight.”

“Oh,” said Urchin, and his heart sank. He knew what could happen to undersize babies. “Is he very tiny?”

“Who said he was tiny?” she snapped, and her spines bristled so that Urchin dodged. “There’s nothing at all the matter with him. And his paw…”

“What’s wrong with his paw?” asked Urchin.

“Didn’t say there was anything wrong, did I?” she said. Then she sat down on a bench and gave a little sigh. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not being very nice. And there isn’t anything the matter with his paw, not really. It’s just a teeny bit curled in. You’d hardly notice it if you didn’t know.”

“Maybe he just hasn’t opened it out yet,” suggested Urchin, to be helpful. He didn’t know anything about babies, but it made sense to him.

“Yes!” said Needle, brightening up. “Yes, that’ll be it! He just hasn’t wanted to uncurl his claws yet! He’ll be all right.”

“I’d better go, then,” said Urchin. “I’m looking for Captain Padra.”

“Why didn’t you say?” said Needle. “He just went up the stairs to Fir’s turret.”

Padra had been in the turret for some time while Urchin was with Needle. He often went there when he needed to think out loud, though as a sea animal he disliked heights. Instead of looking down, he stared out at the wide, gray sea.

“The work parties start earlier and earlier,” Padra said. “Winter’s coming, when everyone just wants to keep warm and get enough to eat. I know the work has to be done, but we managed for years up to now without animals being rounded up before dawn and heaving timber about all day.” He turned impatiently. “It’s far worse since Crispin went.”

“Hm,” said Brother Fir. “And why is that, do you suppose?”

“Either the king’s still angry and is taking it out on everyone else,” said Padra, “or he knows some reason why we need to do extra work and he hasn’t told the rest of us,
or
”—his tail swished in irritation—“the instructions aren’t from the king at all. I think this is all Husk’s idea, but he couldn’t get away with so much when Crispin was here.”

“Hm,” said Fir.

“Husk spends more time with the king than anyone else does,” said Padra. “I think he’s the one giving orders, but like everything else about Husk, it can’t be proved.”

“You are still seething about the trial,” observed Fir, and was interrupted by a polite little tapping at the door. “That’s Urchin’s knock.”

“Wait outside, Urchin,” called Padra.

“Why should he?” said Fir, and bent stiffly to put a saucepan of cordial to warm by the fire. “Let the lad come in, have his drink, and hear what you think about Captain Husk.”

“Of course not!” said Padra. “He’s only a young page; we can’t involve him!”

“Ah, but he already is involved,” said Fir. “And too young to be left in danger, and he certainly will be in danger if he isn’t warned.” He turned a gaze of deep intensity on Padra. “We’re not talking about just any young squirrel lad, you know.”

“He has a great future, I think,” said Padra.

“Oh, please, Padra!” said Fir. “Do I have to do your thinking for you? Is it something to do with that otter-shaped head? Think, can’t you? After a night of riding stars, something important always happens. After the last one, the prince was killed and Crispin was exiled. But on the one all those years ago, before you and Crispin were captains, nothing dramatic happened at all. Unless you count the arrival of one lost, scrappy baby squirrel.” He raised his voice. “Urchin, come in!”

Urchin hopped into the chamber, wondering why they’d kept him waiting. He bowed smartly to Fir, then to Padra.

“Heart bless you, Urchin,” said Fir.

“Heart bless you, too, Brother Fir, and reporting for duty, Captain Padra, sir,” gabbled Urchin.

“Oh, report for a hot drink while you’re about it, what’s the hurry?” said Fir, filling a wooden cup from the saucepan. The aroma of hot, spiced fruit rose from the cup, and Urchin folded his paws gratefully around it.

“Your captain has time to waste with a creaky old squirrel like me,” went on Fir. “But don’t get him angry, Urchin. He’s still cross about Crispin’s trial.”

“If you can call it a trial.” Padra glanced at Fir, knelt to be nearer to Urchin’s level, and lowered his voice. “I think you’re too young to be told this, Urchin, but Fir thinks you should know, and he’s usually right. I don’t know how Husk fixed the casting of lots, but I suspect he did. And he was better placed to kill the prince than anyone else was. I don’t think any of those witnesses could be sure about when they saw him.”

Urchin looked down into the cordial and shuffled his paws. He felt he ought to show surprise and horror, but he couldn’t. It was something he had to face. Husk carried a sword. He was often close to the royal apartments. And he had taken charge of the casting of lots that declared Crispin guilty. Urchin realized now that, in his heart, he’d always known Husk could be the murderer. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but it made sense.

“All he had to do next was to get Crispin blamed and exiled,” continued Padra. “With the prince and Crispin out of the way, he’s next in line to the throne.”

“The queen could have another baby,” said Urchin.

Padra shrugged. “They say her health is almost broken, and her spirit, too,” he said. “Hardly anybody every sees her, except Aspen and the maids, and Aspen may be paw-in-paw with Husk. Weevils, plague, pestilence, rot, thunder, and lice upon him, he’s getting the island in his paw.”

“Hm,” said Fir. “And he’s clever enough to get away with it. The animals will never rise against the king. They might rise against Husk, eventually, but only if you have real evidence against him and if they realize that he isn’t obeying the king at all. But it will take a long time. You must wait for the right moment, Padra.”

“Will there ever be a right moment?” said Padra.

“There is a right moment for everything,” said Fir. “Like tides and fishing. At present, I think it is the right moment for you to give Urchin his orders. Let him finish his drink first.”

“Urchin,” said Padra briskly. “I want you to go to the king.”

Urchin spluttered on his cordial. “The king!” he gasped.

“Every animal has the right to see the king; don’t be so flustered,” said Padra. “He’ll be in the Throne Room. I need to know what plans he has for the winter, and whether the stores are full yet. Ask after the queen. Keep your eyes and ears sharp, and if Husk is there, watch him.”

Urchin held the cup tightly. It was exciting, being entrusted with secrets like this, but something knotted in his stomach when he thought of Husk as a murderer. Still, he only had to watch him. He wouldn’t be alone with him.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “And, sir, my friend Needle has a new baby brother, Scufflen. I think they’re worried. He’s a bit small.” Over the rim of his cup, he saw a look pass between Fir and Padra.

“Keep me informed,” said Padra. “And when I say ‘me,’ I mean exactly that. Me, not Husk. Finish your drink and run to the Throne Room.”

Urchin scrambled out of the window, down the wall, in through another window—it was the quickest way—and ran through the corridors to the royal chambers. At the heavy oak door of the Throne Room, he was asking the guard moles if he could speak to the king when Captain Husk himself stepped briskly from the chamber. Urchin jumped back in alarm, then tried not to be frightened.

“You’re Padra’s page, aren’t you?” said Husk. “Fetch wine from the cellar. Bring it straight here.”

“Y-yes, sir,” said Urchin. “What kind, sir?”

“Tell the otter in charge of the cellar it’s for the king,” said Husk. “He’ll know what to send. Quickly, now!”

Glad to escape, Urchin ran down to the wide, airy cellar and collected the wine—“we seem to be going through a lot of this just now,” remarked the cellar otter as he handed over the bottle—and hurried back up again. Ahead of him, a squirrel who looked very much like Gleaner dashed across and jumped from a window, but so quickly that Urchin couldn’t be quite sure who it was. He arrived at the Throne Room door a little breathless, was let in by the moles, and waited by the door as Padra had taught him.

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.