The Urchin of the Riding Stars (18 page)

The king was frowning. Urchin’s stomach churned. He must have stepped over the line, and any minute now the king would throw something. Anxiously he watched the king’s paws, but they stayed folded.

“Padra?” said the king thoughtfully. “I always thought he was a bit of a plodder, as captains go. Padra the Plodder, Urchin! But it’s a job for a plodder. I’ll do as you suggest.” He said nothing for a while and Urchin waited to be dismissed, but then the king said, “You haven’t had anything to drink, Urchin. Nor have I. Husk usually leaves wine somewhere.”

“I don’t want any, thank you, Your Majesty,” said Urchin quickly. He’d rather not encourage the king to drink.

“What do you like to drink, Urchin?” asked the king.

“I live by the Spring Gate,” began Urchin, “so—”

“Water straight from that spring!” exclaimed the king, and for the first time his face brightened. “You lucky squirrel! It’s always stale by the time I get it.” He gazed past Urchin, and his eyes misted. “My dear queen Spindle loved that spring water. We used to meet there, long ago, when she was not much older than you are.”

He covered his face and Urchin waited, not sure what to do. Then suddenly he knew exactly what to do and went to speak to Lugg, who still waited at the door.

“Please fetch His Majesty some water from the spring at the gate,” he said. “Freshly drawn.”

Lugg hurried busily away. The king raised his head.

“That was thoughtful, Urchin,” he said. “And while we’re waiting for the water, open the box on the shelf over the fire and take out a leaf.”

The box was full of dried beech leaves, and Urchin took care not to let them blow away in the draught from the fire. He offered a leaf to the king.

“Take this to Padra,” he said, and extending a sharp, shaking claw, he scored his mark into it. “This is my authority to take charge of food stores. And another leaf.”

Urchin fetched one. The king marked that one, too.

“This is for Anemone Wood,” he said. “It is my pledge to the animals that there will be no rationing, on my word of honor.” He sighed deeply. “My dear queen would not have wanted rationing.”

Presently there was a padding of paws and a few splashes as Lugg brought the water. The king sipped, closed his eyes in pleasure, drank deeply, and called for more.

“This reminds me of being a young hedgehog,” he said. “Take a drink, Urchin. I want that water sent every day. I feel clearer in my head than I have for months. Why is it so hot in here? Open a window! And tell me more about Anemone Wood!”

It was a long time before the king dismissed him. Bright with eagerness to share the good news, Urchin pattered back through the corridors with Lugg.

Not far from the Throne Room, he stopped. His nose twitched. There was a fusty smell. He couldn’t remember what it reminded him of and wasn’t sure he wanted to, but it troubled him. It cast shadows over the day.

“Come on, young 'un!” called Lugg, and Urchin was glad to hurry after him and leave that nasty smell with its odor of creeping evil. He was about to bolt back to Padra’s chambers and tell him what had happened, but then he remembered Brother Fir hobbling away in his wet tunic. Perhaps he’d better go and make sure Fir was all right. It was the sort of thing Padra would want him to do.

He found Fir kneeling by the fireplace in his turret room. The stained tunic had been sponged clean, and he was draping it over a stool near the fire to dry.

“Are you unharmed, Brother Fir?” asked Urchin anxiously. The priest looked around with a twinkle in his eye.

“It would take more than a little wetting to do me any harm,” he said. “I seem to have survived most things over the years. But I think I need a little drop of hot cordial, and someone to share it with.” He took the little saucepan that was warming at the edge of the hearth, and poured steaming cordial into two wooden cups. “And I have wanted to talk to you, Urchin.”

He pushed the wet tunic across the stool to make room for Urchin, who sat down. Fir heard the story of what had happened in the Throne Room, then he sipped a little cordial, and began.

“Padra did tell me, you know, about your extraordinary adventures”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“the night the queen died. But I would like to hear it all from yourself, and particularly about the underground place where you followed Husk. Quietly, Urchin.”

Urchin told him. It wasn’t easy to talk about, and he couldn’t remember much. The fear and the sense of evil in that place came back to him like a bad dream as he spoke. But he told Fir all he could, and at the end, Fir simply said, “and I suppose you have no intention of trying to find the place again?”

“Certainly not, sir!” said Urchin.

“Quite right,” said Fir. “You mustn’t. Well, well, run along to Padra and tell him all you’ve been up to. Keep out of Husk’s way.”

After Urchin had gone, Fir knelt for a long time, gazing into the fire, deeply thoughtful. So that was where it was.

It was a story known, as far as he could tell, only by himself and the king. It was a story from far, far back, before the moles had ruled the island and built their palace. It was the story of a squirrel king who hated the Heart and loved hate, destruction, and power. Any creature who opposed him was dragged underground to be killed and thrown down a pit, or thrown down alive; and the place of these murders was said to be infected by fear and horror. It had been sealed up after the evil king’s death, and soon nobody knew where it was. But Husk must have found it.

“We have ignored it too long,” Fir murmured to himself. “Too long. If Husk found it, so can I. And I must. It must be prayed in. And it needs to be blessed with light. Candles. Hm. I need candles.”

He would need strength, too. He closed his eyes and prayed. There would be a hard battle for Mistmantle, and this was his part in it.

As Urchin was leaving the Throne Room, Husk reached the end of the corridor. He paused to lean his paws against a windowsill, and tried not to shake.

It had been a long day, that was all, with so much to do. He had needed to go back to the dark dungeon and the pit to renew his strength, and now his paws were grimy and cobwebbed. He’d need a wash before he went to the Throne Room.

He heard scurrying paws in the corridor. Some nuisance, some sharp-eyed twitch-nosed animals who couldn’t let well alone. He pressed back into an alcove, hidden by the shadows. From the royal apartments came a guard mole—one of Padra’s cronies—and the freak squirrel. He was coming to hate that little page.

By the time he reached Padra’s rooms, Urchin had forgotten about the moment of fear in the corridor. But to his great disappointment, Padra wasn’t back. The chamber was lonely and silent. Urchin made himself a nest of cloaks and moss by the fire, wrapped the precious leaves in his own cloak, folded it into a pillow, and settled down to wait. For a long time he lay awake, gazing into the fire, reliving his meeting with the king. He slept at last, but lightly, and every swish of the waves outside disturbed him. When he dozed again, something seemed to scuttle about in the dark.

Crabs sometimes got in here, being so near the shore. And beetles. That was all, He was more than half asleep. And as Urchin slept by the Spring Gate, somewhere in the darkness of the tower, in the high corridors overlooking the sea, there was a scream.

Lady Aspen leaped from the silken-draped bed and ran to open the bedchamber doors. Guards were running through the corridors.

“Leave me a lamp and return to your posts,” she commanded. “My lord had a nightmare, that is all.” With the lamp in her paw she glided back to the bed, where Husk was sitting upright, his fur stiff with bristling, his eyes wide and staring.

“He’s there!” he whispered.

Aspen shook him gently, and he shuddered. His fur was damp with sweat.

Husk knew he was in his own bed, but the nightmare was still there. He felt the deathly cold of it. If he shut his eyes, even only to blink, he saw it again. In his nightmares the dead Prince Tumble crawled out from the darkness and scuffled through the tunnels that led to the dungeon, covered in dust and cobwebs, bloodstained, turning his head in the dark, sniffing for him, seeking him out.…

He dared not shut his eyes.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

HE DOOR OPENED AND SHUT QUICKLY
. Urchin was suddenly awake, sitting upright on his nest as Padra came in, shivering, with sand in his wet fur.

“Still here, Urchin?” he said. “You shouldn’t have waited.”

“I had something to tell you,” said Urchin. It was a bitterly cold morning, so he pushed logs onto the fire and prodded it with a poker. While he made breakfast, he told Padra everything he had done the night before, leaving out the bit about “Padra the Plodder.” Padra grinned and occasionally said “You did what?” and “Cheeky little rodent!"; but now and again he would put a claw to his lips to remind Urchin to speak quietly. Finally, Urchin put the king’s leaves into his paw, and Padra turned them in delight.

“Well done, you cocky young ear-twitcher!” he said. “It could have gone disastrously wrong and I suppose I should warn you never to do such a thing again, but I’m impressed. I should give you my sword and circlet now, but they wouldn’t fit you. You’ve made more work for me, you know, putting me in charge of the stores.”