Urchin and the Heartstone (12 page)

“Better than Mistmantle,” growled Granite. “If you’re lucky, the king will be having one of his good days. If he’s in a rage, you’d better duck. Of course, I don’t want the king to be angry with you.” He put on a soft, purring voice that made the hedgehogs chuckle. “I don’t want the nasty big king to be angry with the poor little freak do I? Well?” he went on, as Urchin didn’t answer. “Do I?”

“I don’t know,” said Urchin. “Do you?”

“Oh, no,” he said, and tweaked the fur on the back of Urchin’s neck. “I want him to give you to
Smokewreath!
”

They had arrived at a wooden door so polished that it gleamed. Blue stones studded it. Patterns curved and twisted across its surface, and the silver handles gleamed. Squirrels in tunics and helmets guarded it, and Granite nodded at them as he rapped at the door with his sword hilt. The doors creaked open a little from the inside, and Urchin caught a glimpse of a shining floor.

“Urchin the Freak for His Splendor, King Silverbirch,” announced Granite, and gave Urchin a push in the back that sent him stumbling into the High Chamber of King Silverbirch.

CHAPTER TEN

FTER
U
RCHIN HAD BEEN MARCHED AWAY
and the shore was deserted, a half-drowned squirrel crawled from the water.

The world swirled about him and waves pounded in his aching head, but he could see a cave. Pained with cold, Juniper crawled across the shore.

Had it been three days? He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in the water. He’d tried so hard to save his hero, his friend. He’d meant to get into the boat, to seize Bronze’s sword, or gnaw through Urchin’s bonds, but by the time he’d caught up with them, he was too chilled and exhausted to do anything except cling to the stern and try to hold on. Time after time he had tried to climb up, but every effort had left him falling back into the water and swimming to catch up. So much for saving Urchin. It had been all he could do to save himself, scrabbling with a free paw for a mouthful of bread or the water bottle when they weren’t looking.

It hardly mattered now. He had no idea where he was anymore, or why. He knew that his name was Juniper. He had a vague memory of Damson, and knew she was too far away to help him. His breathing hurt, everything hurt. He was too cold to shiver. Paw by paw he crept into the darkness of the cave, and sank down. Paws came toward him so softly that he barely heard them until somebody was beside him.

It was no good. Too late to run away, even if he could.

A gentle paw was on his head. A low voice, a female hedgehog voice, was whispering urgently.

“Who’s this? He’s soaked and frozen! Flame! We need a fire!” Someone was helping him to his paws, asking his name. Through half-closed eyes he saw a tall, thin squirrel in a priest’s tunic running toward him—then the priest was pulling off the tunic, wrapping him in it, and at a run they were carrying him away. Or was he dreaming? It was as strange as a dream, and as confusing.

He caught little of what they said to each other as they ran deeper and farther into tunnels, but he heard “dangerous” and “quickest way.” Suddenly, they had stopped. The priest carrying him was huddling back against a wall, inching his way along in absolute silence. The hedgehog had become so quiet that Juniper wasn’t even sure she was still there. Juniper looked around, trying to see what was so dangerous that they needed to creep past like this. Then he clenched his teeth.

The same dark and terrible horror he had felt as the ship arrived at Mistmantle washed through him again. Some evil thing must be close. He must look it in the face and know what it is.

From the tunnel, a short passageway opposite them ended in a dark orange firelit glow from a half-open door. In absolute silence they slipped past, but the hot glow of firelight showed Juniper the things that hung on the walls beyond that door.

Dead things. A squirrel, a hedgehog. Knives. Nets of things that looked like claws, teeth, and ears, but they couldn’t be, surely…then there was a sound of tuneless chanting in a dry, rasping voice, and a laugh like the grating of steel and stone. A different kind of cold prickled through Juniper and made his fur bristle. He wanted to shut his eyes, but he couldn’t. He swallowed hard. They edged farther and farther away from the evil glow and its appalling chanting until he could see and hear it no more, and the nausea left him. Then they were running again, in and out of passageways and tunnels until, suddenly, they were in a round chamber with a feeling of peace and safety about it, and somebody was kindling a fire in the hearth, and the hedgehog was giving him a drink that warmed him all the way through, and wrapping him in a blanket.

“I’m Larch,” she said, rubbing his shoulders with the blanket. Her eyes were kind and concerned. “Do you feel any better now?”

He nodded. Now that he was no longer so numb, he might manage to speak soon, but he was still bewildered that all this warmth and gentleness could exist so close to that terrible dungeon, or whatever it was. Larch turned to speak to the priest.

“Pity we had to come past Smokewreath’s lair, but there wasn’t time to waste,” she said. “Where’s Cedar?” She turned back to Juniper. “Were you with the Marked Squirrel?”

“M…m…marked…” stammered Juniper.

“Urchin,” she said urgently. “Were you with Urchin?”

He wasn’t sure how far he could trust these animals, but he had to. “He shouldn’t be here,” he mumbled through chilled lips.

“I know,” said Larch. “We’ll do what we can for him, and we’ll take care of you, too.”

A squirrel with flame-red fur appeared in the doorway.

“Here’s Cedar,” said Larch.

Urchin had been trying out various defiant speeches in his head, but the effort to recover his balance made him forget them, and the sight of the chamber made him forget everything else. Beneath his paws the floor gleamed so brightly that he couldn’t understand why it wasn’t slippery, and his astonished reflection gazed back up at him. On three sides there were windows with mirrors between them, and everything was decorated with silver: coils and twists of silver, silver engraved with patterns, silver shining from goblets and trays. The attendant squirrels and hedgehogs wore silver helmets and polished swords. And on the dais, proud and straight-backed on the high silver throne, was King Silverbirch.

He was a tall, lean hedgehog, and his face was stern under the silver crown of birch leaves. On the arms of the throne his claws were long and sharp as talons, and painted silver. A high-collared cloak of silver cloth was fastened at his throat with a twisted clasp. His gaze was piercing, and his voice, when he spoke to Urchin, was like a note on a tight string.

“Closer,” he ordered.

Urchin stepped forward, the chains on his wrists clanking as his guards moved with him. He would try to behave as if Padra were watching, but a flash of sunlight from a mirror so dazzled him that he had to shade his eyes with a paw.

The king’s face brightened with a wild delight that was terrifying. Then he gave a peal of laughter.

“I dazzle him!” he laughed, and leaped from the dais with his paws outstretched. “Welcome, Marked Squirrel from Mistmantle! Lord Marshal, why did you chain him? What sort of welcome is this?” He laughed wildly and took Urchin’s paws in his. “Take these chains off! Has he eaten? Has he had anything to drink?” He waved a young squirrel toward him. “Let him drink from my own cup! Bring him bread, bring him almonds, bring him berries and apples! Make his chamber ready!”

Urchin was too amazed to speak, but there was no need to. The king stepped back, holding him by the shoulders at arm’s length and looking him up and down as attendants hurried about with keys and, to his enormous relief, released his chains.

“A Marked Squirrel!” he cried in delight, and turned Urchin around as if he wanted to show him off. “Well! Just look at him, all of you! Look at that color! Welcome, Urchin of Mistmantle!”

Urchin had expected rage or hatred, but this welcome didn’t reassure him. The king’s wild excitement was disturbing.

“Granite, what have you done?” demanded the king, and Urchin saw the smirk on Bronze’s face. “He’s our honored guest! Dearest Urchin, I am so sorry! Bring him a chair! Not
that
one! Bring him cushions!”

Urchin rubbed at his wrists. The king was either mad or playing games, or perhaps he himself had gone mad, and none of this was really happening. A basket chair filled with cushions was brought for him, and the king put a cup into his paws. Thirsty as he was, he was uneasy about eating or drinking anything they gave him—he’d already been drugged once—but he didn’t have much choice. He sipped cautiously at the wine, found it very strong, and tried not to pull a face.

“Did you have a good journey?” asked the king anxiously, and seated himself on the throne again. “You must be tired.”

As if Padra were watching, thought Urchin. “Your Majesty,” he said. “Your envoys told King Crispin that animals from Mistmantle were terrorizing this island, and that you needed his support. In particular, you asked for me. I was brought here against my will and marched across Whitewings in chains. If there is any service you need from me, tell me what it is, and if I can do it without harm to Mistmantle or to innocent animals, I will. Then send me back.”

The king stared as if astounded, then gave such a shriek of laughter that Urchin winced.

“Oh, I know,” he said. “Yes, lots of your old friends from Mistmantle are here, but most of them are terribly, terribly helpful to us. I don’t know what we’d do without them. There’s our excellent Lord Marshal, to begin with. And some of them have come to so much use to dear Smokewreath.” He frowned and wriggled his paws. “He should be here to meet you, but they gave him a little kill today, a hedgehog, and he can’t be torn away from it. The thing is, dear Urchin, you’re so precious to us, we had to get you here, whatever the cost. All they told you about rescuing us from naughty Mistmantle animals, it was terribly good, wasn’t it? Lord Treeth had to tell you that. It isn’t true, but we thought Crispin would fall for it. Those two animals who brought you here, they’ve done so well, I’m promoting them to the Inner Watch! Isn’t that wonderful!”

“Thank you, Your Majesty!” said Trail and Bronze.

The idea that he was being paraded as a trophy was too much for Urchin. “You mean,” he exclaimed, “your ambassadors lied to King Crispin to get me here, whether I wanted to come or not? What is it that you really want me for?”

The silver cloak billowed. The king swept down on Urchin, seized his throat, and forced his head back. For a terrifying moment Urchin felt the strong, sharp talons, looked up into the wild eyes, and heard the snarl deep in the king’s throat. Then the king laughed again.

“Poor little thing!” he said, and let go so suddenly that Urchin swayed. “You don’t understand. You will.” He turned to Granite.

“He understands more than you think, O Splendor of Silver,” said Granite. “He’s not as stupid as he looks.”

“Explain to him, Lord Marshal Granite,” said the king.

“It’ll be a pleasure,” said Granite. He stamped forward, carrying his damaged paw badly. The long march must have put a strain on it. “Listen, Freak.”