Urchin and the Rage Tide (4 page)

“The Heart speaks to me!” cried Mossberry. “I am the favored one of the Heart, and bring a terrible message!”

“And what is this message, Mossberry?” asked Crispin calmly.

Crispin sat in the Throne Room, with Padra to one side of the throne. At the door stood Scufflen, the young hedgehog page, ready with drinks and fruit should they be wanted. On this winter day a fire had been lit, and the logs crackled quietly under the bright flames. Before the king stood Mossberry, his head high and his eyes bright.

“Terrible things are to come upon Mistmantle!” he proclaimed. “The island must turn to me! I am the one the Heart has called to, and only I can lead the animals to safety!”

“And what makes you so sure of all this?” asked Crispin pleasantly.

“The Heart has told me!” cried Mossberry. “The Heart has entrusted this island to my care, and nobody else can save it.”

“And how has the Heart told you this?” asked Crispin.

“In my dreams,” said Mossberry, leaning forward earnestly. His eyes were brighter than ever. “And in my thoughts.”

“Perhaps you should speak to Brother Juniper,” advised Crispin. “We must not speak lightly of messages from the Heart, and Brother Juniper must be involved.”

“Oh, yes!” Mossberry nodded enthusiastically. “There is no doubt at all that my message truly comes from the Heart, but you are right to say that I must speak to Brother Juniper.”

“Thank you so much,” said Crispin, but Mossberry went on.

“I have already tried to do so, but Brother Juniper will not listen to me,” he said.

“Really?” said Crispin calmly. That didn’t sound like Juniper to him. With his intense gaze and his tail curling over his back, Mossberry was an impressive figure, but Crispin wasn’t easily impressed.

“He needs my guidance,” insisted Mossberry. “It’s most vital, and will be more so, very soon, in the bad times to come!”

“Will you tell me what you mean by ‘bad times to come’?” inquired Crispin.

“Oh, yes, I must!” said Mossberry. “A terrible rage tide will sweep across the island! You must all listen to me!”

Crispin saw the way Mossberry’s paws curled and twitched. He said nothing, looking Mossberry in the eyes, giving him time to speak further. When Mossberry dropped his gaze, Crispin spoke slowly and firmly.

“Mossberry,” he said, “we know about the rage tide. The otters are already tracking the course of it. They report to us regularly, and in the morning we—that is, the Circle and I—will announce to the islanders what the future holds. Nothing is to be said about the rage tide before then.” He leaned forward, and spoke with quiet authority. “Absolutely nothing, by anyone.”

Mossberry did not respond.

“I hope that’s understood, Mossberry,” said Crispin. “Animals will be told by the Circle in the right way, and at the right moment.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Mossberry, as if he were taking bitter medicine.

Crispin stood. He nodded to Scufflen to open the door as a sign that the meeting was over.

“Thank you for coming to me about this, Mossberry,” he said, “but we are already dealing with it.”

Mossberry bowed stiffly. “I offer you my help and advice,” he said, “for none of you can save the island without it. You will find that you need me, and then you must send for me. And my dear friend Miss Sepia sends her greetings. She urged me to come to you.” He walked away with his head high.

“Sepia!” said Crispin, when Mossberry had gone. “He’s making that up. Funny he should know about the rage tide, though.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Padra. “As far as I know, none of the otters have said a word about it.”

“Maybe he just knows things that the rest of us don’t,” said Crispin. “Some animals do. Juniper does.”

“Maybe,” agreed Padra, “but that doesn’t make him the favored one of the Heart, as he calls himself. He’s just an animal with a touch of sixth sense and not enough common sense. And a very high opinion of himself. Watch him, Crispin. He has such intensity. I don’t believe for a moment he’s a friend of Sepia’s. He’s the kind who wants to be the center of attention, and I suspect he’s as mad as a whirlpool and a sight more dangerous. If the whole island crashes down around him, that won’t bother him at all. I’d rather not even think this, but there’s a touch of Husk about him.”

All that day otters swam around the shores, sniffing the air and feeling for the currents, reporting back on the state of the tides. Spade the mole muttered about the blooming sea, and how there was far too blooming much of it. It should know how to behave its blooming self by now, he thought, as he examined tunnels to see how they could be broadened, and where new ones could be dug, so that animals and supplies could be moved inland quickly. In the tower, Needle and Thripple set about packing away the Threadings. Little Myrtle, who was by now an accomplished seamstress and embroiderer, sat on a bench at an embroidery frame far bigger than she was, rocking a little and humming to herself. Needle, rolling up a Threading, looked to see what Myrtle was stitching into her design.

“Ooh!” said Myrtle suddenly. “Please, Needle, I’ve sewn something I didn’t know about.”

“Yes, I see,” said Needle. There were times when Myrtle seemed to go into a trance and add messages to her work, even though she had never learned the Threadings Code and had no idea what the images meant. But Needle knew. Tips of wild waves stood out in the blue embroidered sea.

“It’s like an angry sea,” said Myrtle.

“Yes, and you’ll understand soon,” said Needle. “No need to tell the king. He knows about that.”

“MOSSBERRY!” exclaimed Sepia.

In Crispin and Cedar’s own chambers, a small group of animals sat together finishing supper by firelight and candlelight. The captains were there, with Urchin, Juniper, Needle, and Sepia. Outside, light snow drifted through the night sky. Princess Catkin and Sepia had curled up in the window seat to watch it when Crispin’s remark made Sepia whirl around to face him.

“Mossberry said that?” she cried.

Crispin laughed. “He came to me very full of importance,” he said. “He had all sorts of things to tell me, including the fact that you were his dear friend and had urged him to come to me.”

“I only just met him today!” cried Sepia indignantly. “And I couldn’t get away soon enough. He’s creepy! What did he want?”

Crispin turned the wineglass in his paws as if considering how much to say.

“He offered me his advice,” he said.

“Cheeky posh-paws!” cried Catkin.

“Not cheeky, I think,” said Crispin. “But certainly confused.”

“Only he doesn’t know he’s confused,” said Padra. “He’s deluded. He’s also convinced that he’s right.”

“About what?” asked Oakleaf.

“Pretty well everything,” said Crispin. “I sent him to you, Juniper. Did he turn up?”

“Not today,” said Juniper.

“Oh, and he was going to tell you how to be a priest!” said Padra.

“I have met him before, though,” said Juniper. “He came to me not long ago to tell me I should train him as a priest. It was impossible; he’s too full of himself. You can’t train an animal who already knows it all. I sent him away gently, but he was offended, nevertheless. There’s something about Mossberry that makes my fur bristle.”

“That’s how I felt,” said Sepia. “Maybe it’s that fierce brightness. It’s overpowering, and scary.”

“And he can see a bit more than the rest of us can,” said Crispin. “Sixth sense but no common sense, as Padra said. I wanted to talk to you all about him because he could do a great deal of harm. I’ll give him some fetching and carrying to do when we have to move everyone and everything inland. Catkin?”

Catkin turned from the window seat.

“Do you know why I’ve given him a job helping the tower animals?” he asked.

“Because you want to keep him where you can see what he’s up to,” replied Catkin promptly.

“Well done,” he said. “Who shall I send to keep an eye on him?”

“Urchin,” she said at once.

“I don’t think so,” said Crispin. “He might feel jealous of Urchin. Somebody older, of a different species, would be more likely to get him to settle down—and that’s what I want to do, calm him down, not catch him out. Docken, would you?”

“Certainly, Your Majesty,” said Docken. “I’ll set him to work with young Todd and a few moles—quiet, hardworking animals who won’t be impressed by his nonsense.”

“Excellent!” said Crispin. “Off you all go, then. Dismissed.”

They bowed, and left, with a swift exchange of glances and whispers between Urchin and Sepia. Urchin was the last to leave, hesitating for a moment.

“Urchin?” said the king. “Was there anything else? Anything you wanted to ask?”

There was, but Urchin hesitated. He would have liked to talk to them about Sepia—or rather, about Sepia and himself—but wasn’t sure how to. “No, Your Majesty,” he said, and bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” And he slipped out, closing the door.

The king and queen gave each other a knowing look. “How sweet,” said the queen.

Mossberry sat on a rock near the shore, wriggling with annoyance. The king hadn’t listened to him. Pressing his paws into the sand, he curled his claws. Those tower animals didn’t understand. How could they? They were all traitors. He was the chosen one to save this island. None of them had what he had—not the king (who was only king by accident), nor the priest (and nobody even knew who his family were), nor that jumped-up Urchin (who didn’t even come from Mistmantle. Neither did the queen). He was Mossberry, a trueborn Mistmantle animal and the Heart’s favorite, and the Heart had given him gifts they could never understand. Voices and music buzzed in his head.

He rose with a fierce intensity in his eyes. His work must be done, and nobody must stand in his way. He ran to Watchtop Hill, where he climbed a tree and looked out over the island as the tree swayed in the wind, rocking him.

It was no good trying to talk to those animals in the tower. They all thought they knew best, but he could always find animals who’d listen to him. He already had followers, animals who were weak and confused and knew how much they needed him. Really, he had to admit that some animals were not very clever and needed his help. Even now, from his high perch, he could see two hedgehogs—one fully grown and one small—standing paw in paw beside a stream. Their backs were turned to him, but from their hunched shoulders and bowed heads he could tell that they were miserable. The little one threw a handful of flowers into the water, as animals sometimes did as a way of honoring their dead. Mossberry ran down the tree and through the wood, so that he was in their path as they walked home. Standing in their path, he raised a paw.