Urchin and the Heartstone (28 page)

“We still don’t know how they got their message to Whitewings,” said Padra. “There are no moles missing. Nobody at all.”

“Except…” said Crispin.

“Juniper,” said Padra. Sepia tugged hard at his paw and shook her head.

“I hope it wasn’t him,” said Padra. “But we have to consider it.”

Scatter left Tay’s side at last. She hopped shyly forward, stopped at a little distance from Crispin, curtsied, and took a deep breath.

“Please, Your Majesty,” she said. She fidgeted a little, then put her paws firmly behind her back and stood up straight. “I think I know how they did it.”

“Go on,” said Crispin gently.

“Your Majesty,” she said earnestly, “I was the youngest court squirrel on our island. I thought it was such an honor to be sent with the ambassadors, and I was pleased with myself for lying to you, even though I thought I’d be found out. I thought you’d send me to some terrible dungeon, but at least I was serving my island! Whitewings isn’t a bit like Mistmantle. If I’d known, I mean, if I’d known what you were all like, and what Mistmantle’s like, I wouldn’t have done it, and I wish you had Urchin back, and I’m very sorry for everything I did, but I thought it was the right thing to do.

“Lord Treeth and the others were all very important, but I wasn’t. I was…what’s that word? Expendable. They didn’t tell me everything they had planned, but I think I’ve worked it out now.

“There was a hedgehog on Whitewings called Creeper, and he was a spy. There were lots of rumors about him, and I don’t know how much was true—about him creeping up on animals and stabbing them or pushing them off cliffs. He was strong, but what made him a good spy was that he was very small for an adult, with small bones, and he could squash himself into hiding places where nobody would think of looking. When we came here on the boat, Lord Treeth insisted on having a cabin to himself so that three of us had to squeeze into a cabin for two. And when his chest was brought on shore, he was most particular about how it was carried, and he insisted on unpacking it—though he doesn’t normally do anything for himself.”

“I remember seeing them struggle to carry it, Your Majesty,” observed Docken.

“So I think maybe Creeper was in there,” Scatter went on. “He would have come specially to report to King Silverbirch if there was anything he needed to know. Oh.” She stopped suddenly. “Only he couldn’t have got back, could he?”

“From what you say, he could have got through mole tunnels,” said Crispin. “But without our moles seeing him? And in time to warn the king?”

“Excuse me, Your Majesty,” said Fingal, “but there used to be a boat by the waterfall and there isn’t now. Sorry, I didn’t think it was important.”

“There’s no reason why you should have thought so, Fingal,” said Crispin. “Nobody would have thought anything of it. Could Creeper have rowed all that way, all by himself?”

“I’m sure he could, Your Majesty,” said Scatter, and went on nervously, “Please, Your Majesty?”

“Yes, Scatter,” said Crispin.

“You were good to me, even though you knew I was lying. I had a nice chamber, and sometimes you let me out in the sunshine and I could see Mistmantle. Nothing on Whitewings is so beautiful—it’s hard and dusty there, and miserable. Not like here, where animals can play in waterfalls, and whatever work they’re doing, they seem to enjoy it. Mistress Tay came every day, and sometimes she just told me the laws, but other times she told me the stories, and they were such good stories, even…um…”

“…Even the way Tay told them,” whispered Fingal to Sepia.

“…Anyway, I don’t know if you’ll believe me, and I don’t care,” she went on quickly. “I never knew there was anywhere as wonderful as this, so green and leafy and free, and I never knew what that was like. And I swear if I’d known what they were planning, I would have told you.”

She stopped for breath, and knelt down.

“Please, I would like to stay, Your Majesty,” she said. “Even if you put me in a cell forever. Even if I’m given the hardest work in the loneliest, coldest part of the island. And I will be Your Majesty’s faithful servant, but please, Your Majesty, let me stay.”

“I will consider it, Scatter, in good time,” said Crispin. “In the meantime, you will be escorted back to your chamber.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, and was led away looking very small between two otters. Most of the remaining animals were dismissed. Crispin sent for drinks and sat down on the floor with Sepia, Padra, Fingal, Docken, and Fir.

Sepia sipped at her spiced wine, but swallowing hurt, and she tried to hold back the tears. She didn’t want anyone thinking she’d cry over a sore throat.

“Sepia,” said Crispin, “is something the matter?”

“Gorsen tried to silence the sweetest voice on the island,” said Padra tersely.

“Shall I take a look at it?” offered Mother Huggen, and ushered Sepia from the Gathering Chamber. Crispin turned to Docken.

“You fought against your own comrades to save me,” he said.

“No comrades of mine, Your Majesty,” said Docken gruffly. “Your Majesty, most of the Hedgehog Host are true to you. It’s just a few of them turned bad.”

“I know you for a loyal animal,” said Crispin. “We had already considered you for the Circle. You will be enrolled when Urchin returns.”

“Oh, Your Majesty!” said Docken as a broad smile spread across his face. “I hope it’s all right to tell Thripple?”

“You may tell her now, if you like,” said Crispin, and Docken bowed deeply and hurried away. “Fingal?”

“Oh, hello!” said Fingal.

“Well done, valiant otter,” said Crispin.

“Any time, you’re welcome,” said Fingal. “May I go for a swim now?”

“Show respect to the king, Fingal,” said Padra quietly, but Crispin laughed.

“Go and catch a fish, Fingal,” he said.

At last only he, Padra, and Fir were left.

“I’m glad Juniper’s in the clear,” said Crispin. “I wonder about Scatter. Is she telling the truth, or is she up to something?”

“I wish I knew,” said Padra.

“Give her time,” said Fir. “We’ll know. As to Gorsen and his friends, they had grown bitter in their long slavery and fed each other’s resentment. It was easy for Lord Treeth to harness their bitterness. They needed a target for their hatred, and it was you, because you are the king.”

“May the Heart help me,” said Padra, “but when he stood there, so cool and arrogant, I could have run him through.”

“But neither of you laid a paw on him,” said Fir. “That’s nobility. To be able to strike out in anger and not do it.” He smothered a yawn and limped to the window. “Dark already. Urchin’s lights on the water. Hm. Moonlight, firelight, the secret.”

“Do you yet have any idea what that means?” asked Padra.

“No,” he said. “But it’s getting closer.” He leaned closer to the window. “Well, bless me!”

Padra and Crispin jumped to their paws. “What is it?”

“Snow,” he said.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EEDLE ARRIVED WHEN EVERYTHING
was over. Crispin told her all that had happened, and she went to find Sepia, who was on her way out of the tower. In the twilight they huddled, their cloaks around them, and stood on the stair.

Snow. Sepia would not have said anything, even if she could. She felt the magic of snow in her heart, and held it. Against the violet sky with its mist and cloud, soft flakes of snow drifted lazily to the ground. They settled on ledges and rails, gentle as feathers, silent as prayer. They touched fur and whiskers, paws and noses.

Arran left the babies curled in their own warmth in the safety of the nest and wriggled her way to the Spring Gate. Raising her head, she sniffed the air and watched the snow. Padra, on his way back from the Gathering Chamber, wondered how to start in telling her all that had happened. He stood still as the snow fell around him, and offered a prayer for Urchin.

At a high window, Scatter pressed her paws against the crisscross panes. Snow on Mistmantle. Perhaps she’d be allowed outside for a little while tomorrow. On an island like this, they might let you play in the snow. And perhaps she could find a way to make herself useful. Anything, if only they’d let her stay and not send her back to Whitewings. “Please, please, let me stay,” she whispered, though she didn’t know to whom.

Apple had spent the day with Damson, who was still fretting over Juniper. Now Apple was running home through the woods, pulling her old green cloak about her, head down against the snow, ducking into her tree-stump home, lighting a fire with shivering paws, and opening a bottle of cordial.

“That’s good strong warming stuff, though I shouldn’t say it, puts the fur on your ears,” she muttered to herself. She pushed the stopper back into the bottle. “And may the Heart bring my Urchin home before this weather gets any worse.” Gazing into the fire, she hugged herself, praying warmth for Urchin.