Urchin and the Heartstone (9 page)
“I fully intend to,” said the otter firmly. “Scatter of Whitewings, you are charged—”
Scatter pressed her paws hard against the door. “Oh, please,” she called, “please just tell me when they’re going to kill me, and how?”
To Scatter, the silence seemed to last forever. Then the otter answered, sounding faintly surprised.
“Kill? This is Mistmantle. We do not have a death sentence. You are charged with deceiving the king and aiding in the abduction of Urchin, Companion to the King. The king orders that you should be given food, water, and shelter, but kept under guard awaiting His Majesty’s decision regarding your case, as under the fourteenth rule of the Circle and Court of King Brooken and the third and fourth orders of the Tower Guard. But we most certainly do not put our prisoners to death. I will now go to the king and seek permission to enter this chamber.”
No death sentence! Life was wonderful! And so was Mistmantle!
As darkness gathered, Scatter fell asleep. In the deepest hour of night, in the next chamber, Lord Treeth silently opened the lid of his sea chest.
“Out you come, Creeper,” he whispered. “We will soon have someone to assist us.”
Urchin grew utterly sick of the dull, lifting sea. Even when he shut his eyes, he could still see it. He gazed at the horizon for any sign of land or, much better, a ship that might rescue him.
He didn’t even know why he was wanted on Whitewings and whether they really wanted him to save the island. At least he’d have more idea what was going on when he got there, so when the first faint line of land came into sight, he didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.
He sat up straighter, scanning the horizon, twitching his ears. Once he got there, he could plan his escape. If he were really lucky, the court would be full of hedgehogs; he could outrun and outclimb any hedgehog easily. But where would he run to on an unknown island?
“Heart keep me,” he prayed. There was nobody else to help him.
Bronze was tipping pawfuls of shriveled berries into broad leaves. “That’s his,” he said, nodding at Urchin, who had just enough freedom of movement to feed himself. “Who’s been at the fresh water, then?”
Trail, who had bent to give Urchin his food, drew herself up. “Exactly what are you suggesting?” she asked icily.
“I’m not suggesting anything,” said Bronze. “I’m saying. There’s less fresh water than there should be. I’ve been rationing it, I should know.”
“Then you’re not rationing it very well, are you?” said Trail.
“Well, if I took it, I wouldn’t be saying anything about it, would I?” growled Bronze. “There’s only you, me, and him, and he can’t reach anything much. And there’s an apple missing, and some of that bread from Mistmantle, and I haven’t been eating it.”
Urchin watched with intense interest, saying nothing. If they squabbled, they’d forget to watch him. He wriggled, flexed his paws, and stopped abruptly when Trail turned on him with a glare.
“It’s you, stealing, isn’t it!” she snapped.
“How can he, idiot?” growled Bronze.
“I don’t know how he’s done it, but it was him,” she insisted. “You don’t watch him properly when it’s your turn. I have to do everything myself.”
“And I suppose you do all the rowing yourself, too?” snarled Bronze. As Trail spun round to face him, she blocked Urchin from his view.
Urchin could get his paw close enough to his mouth to eat. Could he bite through his bonds? Trail had moved now, and Bronze was looking over his shoulder to continue the argument. Stretching and twisting, Urchin gnawed the rope on his wrist.
“Are you saying I haven’t been watching him?” demanded Bronze.
Trail straightened up. “You’re not watching him now!” she said in triumph, and turned on Urchin. He whipped his wrist away from his mouth, but it was too late.
“What are you up to!” she demanded as she climbed over the rowing bench. “What’s happened here? You verminous freak, you’ve been chewing this!”
“Nice try,” said Bronze, and crouched forward over the oars to talk to him. “Listen, you half-colored freak from an island of idiots, just behave, and you won’t be harmed. You’re supposed to be the deliverer, though you don’t look like delivering much at the moment. Not even yourself. Leave him alone, Trail.”
Urchin gazed out at the land that seemed to come no nearer, and told himself he never should have tried that. Escape was impossible. He should have talked to Trail and Bronze, tried to get at least one of them to be friendly, and urged them to tell him all about Whitewings and about themselves. He might have persuaded them that they’d all live much more happily if they took him back to Mistmantle and stayed there—it was the sort of thing Crispin would have done. He would have made his enemies his friends. What would Crispin have said if he’d seen that pathetic attempt to free himself?
He knew exactly what Crispin would say, and Padra, too.
Never mind, Urchin. Put it down to experience.
He made a promise in his heart.
I
will come back. I will come back to Mistmantle, to my friends and my king.
The coast of Whitewings was becoming clearer. He could see cliffs, and a few sparse trees. Looking down to keep the glare from his eyes, he saw a squirrel’s paw on the side of the boat.
He shut his eyes and looked again. Definitely a paw.
“What are you looking at?” demanded Trail.
“A fish or something,” said Urchin. Instinct told him that they should not know about the paw. When he looked again, it had disappeared.
In the tunnels under Whitewings, moles ran whispering, one to the next, and the next, and the next. A message was being hurried underground as far as the round chamber, where Brother Flame was finishing his morning prayers.
“Pardon me, Brother Flame,” said a mole in a low, urgent voice. “Boat sighted. Small one. Here soon. Must be them.”
ONGPAW AND THE FASTEST OF THE
squirrels flew through treetops, bending the tips of firs, shaking the cones, carrying in one paw or in their teeth the leaves bearing King Crispin’s clawmark. Otters twirled through the water, whispers ran through tunnels and burrows, through nests and into tree roots. From the windows of the tower, trumpets flashed in the sunlight with a sharp, shrill call. Animals heard the message and ran to tell one another until the whole island knew that Urchin had been taken away, the real Heartstone was missing, and Crispin would not be crowned until they were both returned.
Animals wept, raged, ran to the tower to learn more of what had happened, cried out their prayers to the Heart. Ripples of rage and indignation spread through the woods, hills, and shores. Squirrels scrambled up the highest trees to gaze out to the mists. “He’s OUR Urchin, how dare they?” “Heart keep him, where are they taking him?” “And who had the nerve to meddle with the Heartstone?” “Whatever happened to it, you can be sure it was to do with Husk.” But even more than they cared for the sacred stone, they cared and fretted for Urchin. And everyone asked, where was Apple, and who was going to tell her?
On Crispin’s orders, Apple had been one of the first to know. Longpaw had dashed through the woods to search for her, and found her watching a group of squirrels practicing their dances for the coronation party. Apple, fanning herself with a fern, had just chosen a pleasant young squirrel to bring to Crispin’s attention, when Longpaw gave her the message. Attended by Longpaw, she stood up, paws on hips, to march to the tower and hear everything about it.
The day lengthened. Late golden light fell on the water, where little boats bobbed near the mists, and now and again a sleek round head would rise to the surface. On Crispin’s orders the otters were keeping watch from the sea, as members of the Circle watched from the turrets of Mistmantle Tower. Needle, with little Scufflen falling asleep in her arms, sat miserably on the jetty, kicking her paws. Sepia sat beside her, keeping quiet because there was nothing worth saying. Fingal swam listlessly around the wharves. Every time Needle kicked the jetty, Scufflen opened his eyes and squeaked, until Sepia, who had always wanted a younger brother or sister to look after, lifted him from her paws and cradled him herself, singing lullabies.
“I’m still thinking about the Heartstone,” said Needle. Scufflen’s eyes opened and shut again, and Fingal bobbed up beside them to see if anything interesting was happening. “I know what it looks like, I’ve seen the copy. I can describe it so we all know what we’re looking for. The thing is, it could be anywhere on the island.”