Urchin and the Heartstone (5 page)

At the Spring Festival, she had been so nervous that, by the time she had to sing, her mouth was dry, and if her legs hadn’t trembled so much she might have run away. But when it was time for her to step forward, Arran had whispered to her, “It’s all right. Just sing the way you sing in your cave,” and Captain Padra himself had given her such a kind smile of reassurance that she had fixed her eyes on him and sung just for him, because he gave her confidence. Later she had become caught up in the battle for Mistmantle, and had helped to save Padra, Arran, and the whole island. Suddenly, she mattered.

Suddenly, too, she had new friends. Fingal, Crackle the squirrel, and Needle the hedgehog were all her friends. Urchin, too, though she was a little in awe of Urchin, who had crossed the sea and brought Crispin home. But the animals who had shared in that vital day stayed together. Never mind that Fingal never took anything seriously; that Crackle was so afraid of being unpopular she’d be friends with anyone; that Needle could be bossy. They were her friends. If she wanted to escape into a dream world, or be very quiet by herself for a while, none of them minded. But now that she was at the tower every day, learning to be a real musician, she didn’t need to dream quite so much.

Fingal swam in and out of the wharves, popping up now and again and playing hide-and-seek with a little she-otter called Skye, who was just learning to swim. When Captain Lugg finally marched from the ship with a troop of moles and hedgehogs behind him, the animals instantly stopped playing and rushed to press round him. Apple jumped onto the jetty, which creaked. Skye darted back to her mother.

“Found anything, Captain Lugg?” asked Apple.

“Spies and swords?” asked Fingal hopefully, and the little ones clamored to know if there was any exciting cargo, and what was it like in there, and could they go on board and have a go at the wheel.

“Certainly not!” said Lugg. “It’s a king’s state vessel. No weapons. No warriors hiding. Crew unarmed, and not many. I’m reporting to the tower. But she has a ship’s boat,” he went on, winking at Needle. “A little lifeboat. Surprised they haven’t needed it. The crew has permission to lower it, just in case any littl’ uns might like to play in it.”

There were cheers and shrieks of delight, and presently the ship’s boat was lowered jerkily over the side. As the smaller animals swarmed into it, Apple sat down heavily.

“It’s a big disappointment,” she pronounced, and sighed. “I couldn’t help wondering if they’d brought a nice young princess along. Or a few to choose from. Mind you, she wouldn’t have to be a princess, it’s more important that she’s a nice—”

Fingal, who had been admiring the boat, bobbed up from the water.

“You’re not trying to marry Crispin off, are you?” he said.

“Well, and why not, and it’s
King
Crispin to you,” said Apple defensively. “It’s a hard lonely business being king, he needs somebody beside him, a better squirrel than Crispin never set paw to a branch, and besides it’s a waste, a nice squirrel like him not having a wife. There must be somebody on the island, though I don’t know that he’s got his eye on anyone.” She shook her head and sighed again. “If I were younger or he were older, I’d have a go myself.”

Fingal disappeared underwater. A giggle of bubbles rose to the surface.

“But, Mistress Apple,” said Sepia gently, “it’s not long since Whisper died. He must still be grieving for her.”

“Who’s Whisper?” asked a small hedgehog.

Sepia lifted the hedgehog carefully onto her lap. “Was, not is,” she said. “When Crispin had to go away, he lived on an island with swans and squirrels. He married a squirrel called Whisper. Urchin met her and he said she was kind and lovely, and Crispin adored her. But she died, and Crispin can’t want to marry anyone else yet.”

“All the same, there should be a family,” said Apple firmly. “And the sooner the better. A proper family in the tower, little squirrels all running and climbing about, an heir, that’s what we want.”

Fingal surfaced and tried to answer, but he was still laughing too much. He rolled over and slapped his tail against the wharf.

“I see what you mean,” said Sepia thoughtfully. “Otters are water creatures, and I’m sure Padra won’t want to be king.”

“Our Padra?” said Fingal, and abruptly stopped laughing. “Hail and plague, he’d have to be, wouldn’t he?”

“Haven’t you never worked that out?” demanded Apple. “If there’s no family, it’s the next senior captain gets kinged, or queened, or whatever. And I’m sure your Padra would be a very good king, but otters don’t like being away from water, just like moles would rather keep away underground.”

“I can’t see Arran in a crown, either,” said Fingal. “She can’t even keep her circlet on.”

“There you are, then, it’s like I told you,” said Apple. “We have to get the king married, and in the meantime, take good care of him and make sure he doesn’t get ill nor hurt nor nothing. Have you got any big sisters, Sepia?”

In the Throne Room, Urchin watched the solemn faces of Padra, Crispin, and Fir. His paws tingled. It was exciting to know that, sooner or later, Crispin would ask for his opinion. He just hoped he wouldn’t say anything silly. Padra and Fir had spoken already.

“So,” said Crispin, “three of us are agreed that we must help Whitewings, as it’s the animals we sent into exile who are causing their troubles. But putting Urchin at risk is another matter. Now, Urchin.”

Urchin’s ears twitched nervously. Crispin smiled and leaned forward casually on the throne, folding his paws as if he and Urchin were chatting in Anemone Wood, not having a solemn meeting in the Throne Room.

“I haven’t let you say a word up to now,” he said, “because I was pretty certain that you’d say, ‘Yes, Your Majesty, send me. I’ll go.’ You might not want to go, you’d rather be here with the rest of us, you might be terrified, but you’d do it.”

“I was going to ask if it could wait until after the coronation,” admitted Urchin.

“Everything
can wait until after the coronation,” said Crispin firmly. “You may be the Marked Squirrel who’s going to deliver the island. It’s just as likely that you’re not—or at least, not yet.”

Urchin looked down at his claws. There should be something exciting about the idea of being the Marked Squirrel of a prophecy. But he didn’t know anything about Whitewings, or how he was supposed to deliver the island, or even where it was, or whether they’d let him keep the sword if he didn’t.

“How can I tell if the prophecy means me?” he asked.

Crispin turned to Fir. “How can he tell?”

“He can’t,” said Fir simply. “Prophecies are all very useful in their way, but they must be handled with care. They can cause all sorts of wrong guesses.”

“Is there such a prophecy, Brother Fir?” asked Padra.

“Oh, yes. Hm. Yes,” said Fir. “A Marked Squirrel will deliver Whitewings in its time of need. Squirrels of your color are most rare, but I believe Whitewings is one of the places where they are, occasionally, seen. Or so they say.”

“Are they?” said Urchin. “Are they?” And a shiver ran through him with a hope and excitement he had never known. Fir’s words had stirred something so deeply hidden inside him that he hadn’t recognized it before.

“Please, Brother Fir,” he said, and found he was stammering. “Please, if there are squirrels like me on Whitewings, might that be where I come from?”

“Occasionally, Urchin,” said Fir, and Urchin’s hopes darkened; “very occasionally, there is a squirrel like yourself on Whitewings. But they are very rare. I think your mother must have belonged somewhere farther away. You’re very special, you know, Urchin, wherever you come from.”

“Thank you, Brother Fir,” said Urchin quickly, and bent his head to hide his disappointment. Sometimes, when he caught sight of his reflection, he would wonder what it would be like if the other squirrel in the water or the window could be real, a squirrel like himself, so he wouldn’t be the only one with pale fur. Mostly, nobody noticed the difference anymore. He himself forgot that he stood out in a crowd. But it had been so good, for a moment, to think that he might find out where he came from, and know who he was. When he had thought he came from Whitewings, his heart had urged him to go there. He swallowed hard, and curled his claws.

“You don’t have to go,” said Crispin firmly. “They offered you a sword, and Padra intervened. If you’d accepted it, it would have been as good as agreeing to fight their battles for them.”

“Oh!” said Urchin. “I didn’t know that.”

“Exactly,” said Padra drily. “I hope they weren’t trying to trick you, offering something so hard to refuse. You must bear that in mind, Urchin. They really shouldn’t have offered it.”

Urchin gave a little nod to show he understood. He’d been right about that sword. It really was too good to be true.

“But, please,” he said, looking from Crispin to Padra and back, “just for a moment, just now, when I thought it might be the place I come from, I really wanted to go there. I wanted it for my own sake. So I suppose I should be ready to go for theirs. I don’t know if I’m the squirrel in the prophecy, or what I’m supposed to do when I get there, but if I don’t go, Your Majesty, I’ll always wonder what would have happened if I had. So I’m willing to go, if you want me to—or as willing as I can be, when I don’t know what I’m letting myself in for.”

“Well done, Urchin,” said Padra, and knowing that he was impressed made Urchin feel better about everything.

Crispin nodded. “Wait outside, please, Urchin, while we talk further,” he said. “And you, too, Needle—unless there’s anything you want to say?”

Needle had stayed silently by the fireplace all this time. Urchin saw the way her sharp spines bristled, and the tight little scowl on her face.

“It’s nothing to do with me,” she said brusquely. “But since you’ve asked, Your Majesty, I think Lord Treeth’s looking down his nose at us, the same goes for that Trail squirrel, and Bronze looks like a claw thug. If I were Urchin I wouldn’t want to go with them, but if he must, I’ll go too.”

“That’s very noble of you, Needle,” said Crispin. “But if Urchin goes he’ll have guards and warriors to protect him. He mustn’t be in danger from Mistmantle exiles, or from the mercenaries who fought for Husk.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, but I think I should be there all the same,” she said. She bowed with a tight little pursing of her mouth, and left the chamber side by side with Urchin. They found Docken still on duty outside, his spines sticking out in various directions. The empty stone corridor was pleasantly cooler than the Throne Room, and they scurried straight to the open window. Three hedgehogs were struggling up the beach, carrying a dark wooden sea chest between them.

“That must be Lord Treeth’s belongings,” remarked Docken, looking over their shoulders. “He must be planning a long stay. Expect it’s full of robes.”

“He looks like the sort of animal who likes dressing up,” said Needle, and leaned out farther to watch. “I keep getting the Hedgehog Host mixed up. That big one’s Lumberen, I know that.”

“Yes, that’s Lumberen. Not bright, but a good worker,” said Docken. As he spoke, the very large hedgehog at the front stepped in a rock pool so that the chest tilted dangerously. Urchin couldn’t hear what the other hedgehogs said, but he knew it wasn’t polite.

“And the two at the back with the cross faces are Sluggen and Crammen,” said Docken, pointing out two hedgehogs who appeared to be scowling with effort. “They always look like that. These days they’ve got nothing to scowl about, but I suppose they’ve got into the habit of it. And,” he said, turning to meet someone in the corridor, “here’s Gorsen. You’ve got all those visitors sorted out, then, have you?”

Gorsen, who was rubbing something into his paws, looked even more perfectly groomed than before. Urchin supposed he was trying to impress the envoys.

“Far better work than slaving underground day and night for Captain Husk,” said Gorsen. “King Brushen would never have allowed it if he’d known the half of what was happening. I’ve put Lord Treeth in Lady Aspen’s old sitting room. It was far too good for her.” He marched smartly away with a scented waft of resin oil.

“He even puts sniffy stuff on his paws,” observed Needle.

“Gorsen thinks of everything,” said Docken. “He’ll be a member of the Circle one of these days. He’s the kind who gets places.”

Urchin’s mind was still on the other side of the Throne Room door. He supposed it would be all right, going to Whitewings; only, well, only he was still learning how to be a court squirrel, and he was making new friends, like Juniper. Juniper might be like a younger brother, and he’d often wanted a brother. Then again, if Juniper was going to be sick every time he saw a boat, he might be the sort of younger brother who wore out your patience. When the Throne Room door opened, he straightened up.

“Come in, Urchin,” called Padra, and Urchin walked into the Throne Room and bowed with his fur prickling. Padra was smiling reassuringly, but then, Padra would.

“Urchin, we’ve come to a decision,” said Crispin. “The envoys and crew can stay until after the coronation. Lord Treeth won’t be pleased—he can’t wait to get you off the island—but he’ll just have to put up with it. When the coronation is over I’ll send an advance party of our moles by tunnel to make their own judgment of the situation and report back.
If
they agree with what Lord Treeth told us, we’ll send a small fighting force to sort out a few Mistmantle animals who need to learn better manners, and
if
they advise it, you will go with them, but only if I know that there’s a bird or a tunnel to get you safely home.”