The Urchin of the Riding Stars (9 page)

“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?”