Urchin and the Heartstone (18 page)
“Go back to that little squirrel,” he said. “Tell him we will keep the freak until the first snow, then everyone will see what Smokewreath’s magic can do with him. Oh, and I demand the safe return of my ambassador.”
“Are you sure you want him, Your Silver Majesty?” asked Lugg politely.
“Go!” screamed the king. “Take him away! Cram him down a tunnel and point him to Mistmantle!”
“Well done, Captain!” yelled Urchin as Lugg was hustled out of sight. “Take my greetings to King Crispin and—”
Cedar grabbed him by the throat. With bared teeth, she rammed him against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him.
“Look as if I’ve hurt you,” she whispered, and Urchin slumped to the floor. The king strode toward him, his eyes bright with fury.
“Get up, you,” he ordered. “Cedar, don’t damage him, I need him. Freak, do what you’re here to do. Find us silver. Deliver us from fear. Deliver us from poverty. Then when you’ve done that, deliver yourself to Smokewreath. And when you’re dead he’ll turn your body into magic. The strongest magic! Snowfall, I told him he can have you at snowfall. Sooner, if I’m disappointed in you. Don’t want the expense of keeping you alive through the winter, do we?”
Urchin didn’t know if he was meant to answer, and stood helpless and uncertain until he remembered Cedar’s advice. He scrabbled at his ear with his right paw and scratched his side with his left, and the king leaped backward.
“Take him away!” screamed King Silverbirch. “Filthy, verminous beast, out, out! Go! Get him out!”
Cedar dragged him away. “Well done,” she whispered as soon as they were safely out of the chamber. She hurried him back to his cell, locked them both in, and rubbed pungent oil into Juniper’s fur.
“So far, so good,” she said.
“Good?” said Urchin, and lowered his voice as she put a claw to her lips. “They caught the moles, they caught Lugg—”
“And they’ve let him go,” said Cedar, “and you and Juniper are still alive. The king is trying to get as much out of you as he possibly can. As long as he thinks you can find silver, we have until snowfall, which gives King Crispin time to make another rescue attempt, and for us to try to get you off the island in case he doesn’t succeed.”
“But Crispin can’t send moles again,” said Urchin miserably. “They’ll guard the tunnels more than ever now. Why can’t you just rally the animals against the king now? Surely they’d rise against him if they knew Larch was alive and on the island?”
“They’re not ready,” she said. “They’re too frightened of the king and Smokewreath, and they’re so used to having a raging king, they’d have to get used to the idea of a quiet, sensible queen. If we tried and failed, there’d be terrible loss of life, and we wouldn’t have the chance to try again. We can only do it once.”
“Like Crispin and Lugg and the mole tunnels,” said Urchin.
“If Crispin’s half the king I think he is, he’ll find a way,” said Cedar, and sat back, rubbing oil from her paws. “Mistmantle!” she said with longing. “When we have more time to talk, Urchin, will you tell me about it?”
“I’ll tell you now, if you like!” he said hopefully. “And I’ll tell you what might be useful. When Padra had to gather the animals together against Husk, my friend Needle and I were always going to the woods on errands, and we made sure animals knew what was really going on at the tower. The Larchlings could do that.”
“They could,” she said. “I’ll have to leave you now, I’m afraid. It might look suspicious if I stay much longer, but I’ll be back in a day or two.” She dropped her voice. “I want you to meet the rest of the Larchlings. In the meantime, give Juniper plenty to drink, keep him warm, and keep rubbing this into his fur. Unfortunately it smells strong, but the lice treatment is even stronger, so that will hide it. It’s no good pulling faces, you have to put up with it. Here, I’ll spread it around the room.”
Cedar shook the bottle and sprinkled drops of the sharp-smelling oil on the cushions. Unpleasant though it was, it gave Urchin a lurch of homesickness that tightened his throat.
“It’s got some very strong herbs in it,” she said. “It frightens everything off.” She pressed the stopper into the bottle and looked at him searchingly, as she had before. “Urchin, do you really have no idea where you came from?”
“None,” said Urchin. “They never found my mother, only me.”
“I’d better go,” she said reluctantly, as if she’d rather stay.
Urchin nodded. He didn’t trust his voice. Then somebody shouted along the corridor that Mistmantle moles were savage fighters, and that they needed a healer, and somebody should fetch Commander Cedar, and she left with a last glance at him over her shoulder.
Urchin settled the cushions around Juniper. He sniffed once more at the oil on the cushions, and with a pang of pain and longing, he knew why it had stirred him.
There was a secret joke on Mistmantle. Apple made apple-and-mint cordial, which she seemed to think was extremely nice, and nobody had the heart to tell her it tasted appalling. It was popular in summer, though, because flies and biting insects wouldn’t go near it. Whatever Apple put in her cordials, Cedar must have used it in this, and the sharp, strong note of it struck Mistmantle in his heart. Sunlight dappling through the forest; ice-cold water splashing from springs; the giggling of small animals and the swish of autumn leaves; Apple telling him to drink up his cordial to make him strong, and while she wasn’t looking he’d tip it down a mole hole. Mistmantle rushed upon him, with memories of Apple holding on to her hat; Padra’s laughing, whiskered face; fresh, warm walnut bread; the wise, kind eyes of Brother Fir; his own nest in the little firelit chamber. He struggled to keep the tears from his eyes, but it was too hard. He crossed to the window, clutched the bars with both paws, and looked out. At least he could see the stars and the sea. Tide and starlight were part of Mistmantle, too.
He swallowed hard before he could get the words out, and spoke to the stars. “I’m…I am Urchin of the Riding Stars. Do you remember me?” Then he wrapped himself in a blanket, curled up beneath the window, and sobbed as quietly as he could, so Juniper would not hear him.
N A WARM, EARLY AUTUMN MORNING
at Mistmantle Tower, Needle waited unhappily outside the Throne Room, holding a carved wooden plate of hazelnuts with blackberries, fir cones, and walnut and hazelnut bread. Beside her stood Sepia with a cup of a strong, spicy cordial that wafted a scent of orange and nutmeg, but nothing smelled nice to her today.
The attempt to rescue Urchin had been a wretched failure with the loss of Mistmantle lives. Gorsen, who stood on duty and smelled of pine oil, made things worse by lecturing them again on how dangerous the caves were, and how if he’d known they’d meant to go there, he would have warned them not to. It was a relief when a small mole opened the Throne Room door and invited them in.
Padra and Arran stood gravely on either side of the throne where Crispin sat, his back very straight and his face solemn. Needle shared his disappointment and hurt. Kind, sensible Mother Huggen the hedgehog and Brother Fir were side by side at the empty fireplace, and Lugg stood before Crispin, his blue cloak over his shoulders and his captain’s circlet held out in both forepaws.
“I won’t have this, Lugg,” Crispin was saying. “Put your circlet back where it belongs. Nobody has served Mistmantle more faithfully than you, and if anyone could have rescued Urchin, you could have. It’s because of you that we didn’t have more casualties. If you hadn’t been ambushed, he would have been home by now. I don’t want your resignation, Captain Lugg, and I won’t accept it.”
“Permission to try again, then, Your Majesty,” said Lugg gruffly.
“You’re as brave as your ancestors were, Lugg,” said Crispin, “but we can’t try the same thing twice. And if there’s a traitor on Mistmantle keeping King Silverbirch informed, we need to find out who it is before we make another move. That’s what we need to talk about now.”
“Before we do, Your Majesty,” said Padra, “you’ve been so involved in the aftermath of the rescue and planning the next one, you’ve hardly eaten for two days. Needle and Sepia have prepared this specially.”
Crispin drank the cordial and said it was perfect, and Arran sent Sepia straight to the kitchens to order another one for midday. When she had gone, Padra turned to Needle.
“You’re a Companion to the King, and should hear this,” he said. “The secret counsels of the Throne Room have been betrayed. Either one of us is a traitor, or there’s a spy somewhere.”
“Oh!” said Needle, because the answer seemed obvious. “There’s that place under the floorboards that Fingal found!”
“That’s been sealed up now,” said Crispin. “Gorsen saw to that. But even if any animal had been listening down there, they’d still have to get off the island. All the Whitewings animals are accounted for, including the ship’s crew.”
“Mistress Tay’s been visiting them,” said Needle, and wondered why Crispin laughed.
“Mistress Tay is giving Scatter lessons in law and history,” said Padra, “while Lord Treeth yells curses and throw things. She’s doing no harm.” He winked at her from behind Crispin’s back. At least, thought Needle, she’d made the king laugh.
“I don’t like to think ill of anyone,” said Mother Huggen, “but we still don’t know what happened to that new friend of Urchin’s, Juniper, who disappeared at the same time. There’s no sign of him anywhere on the island, living or dead, and why would he leave?”
“Hadn’t he disappeared before Crispin ordered the moles to go?” asked Arran.
“Might have hidden on the island, then run off through a tunnel,” said Mother Huggen. “Not that I’m saying it’s him, but the king said we had to talk about it, so I’m talking.”
“He’s young,” said Padra, “and he seemed to be making good friends. I hope very much that it isn’t Juniper, but it’s possible.”
Needle was about to say that she had her doubts about Gleaner, when Crispin sprang up from the throne and banged his paw on its arm.
“I hate this!” he cried. “The idea of going about the island, even the tower, knowing that anyone I meet could be a traitor! I don’t want to doubt my friends! Look at us, huddled up, choosing who to spy on! We’ll end up with an island that’s perfectly safe, but nobody can pick up sticks for firewood without being watched. Is that what we want?”
He turned his back to them and stood without speaking, gripping the arms of the throne with both paws. Everyone watched him except Fir who, in spite of Crispin’s outburst, sat very still on the floor with his back straight and his eyes shut. Crispin turned to face them again.
“Bear in mind,” he said firmly, “that none of our plans must ever be discussed outside our councils. Watch for anyone behaving strangely, anyone listening at doors, anyone disappearing underground. There may be tunnels we don’t know about, so Lugg, get your best moles on to it. And I want you all to pray. Thank you all, and unless anybody else has any comment to make, you may go.”
Arran and Mother Huggen bowed, though Arran, who was with young, couldn’t bow very far. Needle curtsied and was about to ask Crispin to eat, when there was a “Hm!” from somewhere near the floor.
Everyone turned to look at Brother Fir. He was still sitting absolutely straight, but his eyes had opened. Needle was afraid he might be ill, but when he spoke his voice was clear and strong.
Over the water
The Secret will bring them.
Moonlight, Firelight
,
The Holy and the True
,
The Secret will draw them home.
Needle didn’t know what was happening, and looked at the others for help. They were all watching Brother Fir intensely.
“Tell it again, please, Brother Fir,” said Crispin urgently.
Slowly, steadily, Fir repeated it. He said it a third time, and this time Crispin, Padra, and Arran said it with him, paying great attention as if they were committing a lesson to memory. Needle suddenly realized that Crispin was looking at her.
“Have you learned it yet?” he asked.