The Urchin of the Riding Stars (12 page)

On a bench, a choir of small squirrels in white-and-silver robes sat squashed together, whispering and trying not to fidget. As Padra and Urchin marched down the hall, heads turned. The excited chattering faded, then rose again as they turned in to the anteroom.

Tay was helping Captain Granite into his robe. With a firm paw she smoothed the robe over his broad shoulders, and he winced.

“Some silly young animal has left a pin in here,” said Tay severely, and pulled a pin from the seam as delicately as if it were something unpleasant. “Those workroom animals should be punished.”

“They did have to hurry to get it finished in time, madam,” said Urchin as he lifted Padra’s robe from the chest. Tay swung around with such a glare that Urchin though she might hit him.

“Speak when you’re spoken to, squirrel!” she ordered. “You’re only a page! Can’t you keep him under control, Padra? Does he know nothing?”

Urchin bent his head over the robe and bit hard on the inside of his lip. Padra and Granite already thought him untrainable, and now he’d proved it to Tay as well.

“I think Urchin only meant to warn you that you might find more pins in it,” said Padra, and turned his back on Tay for a moment to flash a smile at Urchin. “Isn’t that right, Urchin?”

“Yes, sir,” said Urchin, glad to be rescued. He hopped onto a chair to help Padra into his robes, trying to forget about being a dead loss and remember what to do with a robe.

“That’s all wrong,” said Tay crossly. “Has nobody ever told that page how a robe should be worn? The collar should be higher. Which hook do you have it fastened on, Padra? The left cuff should be folded so that…”

“This is how I wear it, Tay,” said Padra wearily. “Don’t fuss. Nobody will mind.”

“If the king or Captain Husk sees a captain improperly robed, they may feel it shows a lack of respect,” said Tay.

“In the presence of Lady Aspen in her wedding robes, I’m sure the king and Captain Husk won’t be looking at me,” said Padra. He grinned wickedly at Urchin and added, “And, of course, Tay, you’ll dazzle them too.”

Tay only frowned. “You should have mentioned the queen,” she said.

“I doubt the queen will be well enough to attend,” said Padra. “Urchin, send my regards to Her Majesty.”

“Tell them I am inquiring after the queen’s health, and send her my good wishes,” called Tay as Urchin hurried to the royal chambers. He was speaking to a mole maid at the door when Gleaner bustled over in a white apron.

“The queen?” she said. “She’s not well enough to go to the wedding. I’m looking after her today. I told you last night, weren’t you listening?”

“Captain Padra sends his regards,” said Urchin. Gleaner wrinkled up her nose as if Captain Padra’s regards were more trouble than they were worth, but somebody called her name.

“Wait there,” she said, and there was a low-voiced conversation with a mole maid before Gleaner turned back to Urchin. “Send Mistress Tay here,” she said.

Tay was delighted to be sent for. She soon returned and issued instructions to everyone, including Urchin, with a “Hold that, page,” and “Fetch this, page,” and “Out of my way, page,” until Padra politely reminded her whose page Urchin was, and sent him to put on his cloak. Finally, when Urchin felt he had been ordered about by every animal in the tower, a trumpet sounded. The wedding was to begin.

He took his place at the door. Music swelled and filled the hall, hushing the excited animals. Brother Fir took his place on the dais. In marched the king, the jeweled crown proud and high on his head, paw on sword hilt, the cloak of heavy purple velvet swinging from his shoulders. Urchin looked at him with new respect. This was a king to be proud of, not at all the way he had appeared in the Throne Room, with his speech slurred and his paw shaking.

But he strode through the hall alone. The music stopped. In an uneasy silence, Tay carried in the queen’s crown on a velvet cushion and placed it on the empty chair. That, thought Urchin, must be why she had been sent for.

Husk entered next, and the awkward silence changed to roaring cheers. Urchin gazed in astonishment. Did all captains dress like that for their weddings? He supposed it must be some sort of rule that nobody had told him about. He had never before seen a captain’s robe with jewels in the hem and the collar, or a captain’s circlet wreathed with garnets and emeralds. But while Husk was greeted with cheering, Lady Aspen, as she appeared in the doorway, was met with hushed wonder.

Clouds of silk and the finest lace billowed around her like cherry blossom. Diamonds flashed in her fur. The wedding garland on her head sparkled, and her train flowed across the floor behind her. She was astonishingly, breathtakingly, beautiful, and every single creature in Mistmantle adored her.

At some point, Padra and Granite must have taken their places. Padra had been right. Nobody was looking at them.

In a room made hot and stuffy from the log fire, Gleaner bent over the queen as she lay unconscious among the gold and purple hangings. Her breathing was shallow, and her skin dry and wrinkled. When Gleaner took her paw, she rolled over and curled into a ball.

Gleaner wished there was somebody she could ask for help. There were mole maids about, but Lady Aspen could be scathing about them—
Useful servants, but they don’t know anything and they can’t learn.
Gleaner was in charge.

She was to send for Lady Aspen if she was seriously alarmed, even in the middle of the wedding. Well, she wasn’t seriously alarmed yet, but she was worried. She sent a maid to see where the wedding was up to, just in case.

“You’ll get better, Your Majesty,” she said. “You’ll soon be better.” But she didn’t believe it, and didn’t know if Queen Spindle had heard her. The queen turned restlessly, tried to speak, and slept again.

“They’re making the promises,” said the excited mole as she came back. “I’ll watch the queen if you want a look.”

Gleaner shook her head. She knew what to do. She lifted down the violet glass phial, shook it, and mixed the medicine as Lady Aspen had taught her, counting out the drops. Then she slipped a paw behind the queen’s head.

Poor Aspen, thought Urchin as he watched the wedding. Perhaps she doesn’t know what Husk’s really like.

Husk’s circlet glittered, catching the light of the dozens of candles. It was time for the king to speak. Aspen, taking her seat, settled like thistledown.

“This has been a dark year on Mistmantle,” began the king, “and the winter drains away the sunshine. But in this season of sorrow in our hearts and winter on our land, we welcome this bright day. Captain Husk and Lady Aspen have gladdened our hearts, our land, and our future. They have asked me for a favor for you all, and I am glad to grant it. You are all to have a day off tomorrow!”

There was a long, loud cheer, and hats were thrown into the air. Urchin hoped Apple wouldn’t grumble out loud about how “in the old days we had a day off when we felt like it and we didn’t have to ask nobody’s permission and the work still got done,” but if she did, nobody heard her. When the cheer died down, and dropped hats had been picked up from the floor, the king went on.

“None of you has seen how devotedly Aspen has cared for the queen in her illness and sorrow. Lady Aspen is as wise and good as she is beautiful, and deserves all the honor Mistmantle can bring her. In her, as in all things, Captain Husk has chosen well. Without Husk’s friendship, counsel, and help, I would find it a hard and lonely thing to be your king.” His voice faltered, and he paused to gather himself together. “Husk is like a son to me,” he finished quickly, and sat down.

Brother Fir nodded to the squirrel choir to sing. Serving lads and maids were slipping away from the hall to put on their aprons. Soon there would be feasting, dancing, and entertainment, long into the night.

From the royal chambers, Gleaner heard the music. The party must have started by now, and the feast. The mole maids had sent whispered giggling messages to their friends in the kitchens, and trays of food and wine were carried up from a back staircase. While the maids danced in the corridor, Gleaner nibbled candied walnuts and watched the queen.

Her breathing seemed slower now. Gleaner took her paw. It felt limp.

“Your Majesty?” said Gleaner. “Your Majesty?”

The queen took a long, struggling breath. Then nothing. Gleaner’s eyes widened. She turned hot and cold. The next breath came, long and rasping. Then a long pause. Another rasping breath. Gleaner ran to the door and shook the first maid she found.

“Fetch Lady Aspen!” she ordered. “At once!”

The party in the Gathering Chamber seemed to be going on forever. The tables had been pushed back, and plates of little sweet things stood among the crumbs and wine stains. The young animals had gathered under the tables to eat sugared almonds and marzipan.

Urchin was wondering whether Lugg had managed to rescue Scufflen—he had certainly been planning something—but Lugg was nowhere to be seen. In the meantime he tried to look busy, as he didn’t want to dance if he could help it. His dancing lessons had barely started, and he wasn’t at all sure if he was getting it right. But he had discovered that dancing
with
a hedgehog was much safer than dancing anywhere near one, and that Arran the otter didn’t seem to mind how many mistakes he made. He had to dance with Apple, and it took great effort not to limp as he walked away afterward. He went in search of Padra before she could ask him again. Hopefully, he would be given a useful job to do so that he could impress Padra and avoid dancing at the same time, but he realized too late that Apple was following him.