Urchin and the Rage Tide (32 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY

ADRA AND JUNIPER REMAINED
in the Gathering Chamber with Crispin’s family. There would be days of lying in state before Crispin could be laid to rest. There would be Captains’ watch, Circle watch, squirrel watch, mole watch, hedgehog watch, and otter watch. Animals would filter past or stand with bowed heads to look once more at the face of their king, lay flowers around him, and give thanks. But for now, Urchin had a little time of his own. He ran up to Juniper’s turret and found Needle and Hope already there. Needle was drying her eyes on a pawful of petals and Hope poured cordial into a cup. He took the wet petals from her and carefully placed the cup in her paws.

“I was all right, really,” said Needle, “and then I thought—I’ll have to make a Threading of…of Crispin, and he was so…” Her voice was drowned in tears, and Hope reached for fresh petals.

“So she came up here,” said Hope. “I’ll look after her. And I’ve asked a mole to find my mum, because she’ll look after her, too. She always has done. So Needle’s all right, Urchin.” He removed a petal that seemed to have stuck to his claw. “What the king did was right, and it’s sad, but it’s good. You can sort of be very happy and very sad at the same time.”

Urchin wasn’t sure how this made sense, but he didn’t want to ask questions about it now.

“I’ve come for some lavender from the window boxes,” he said. “I don’t suppose Juniper will mind.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” said Hope. “Especially if it’s for Sepia.”

“She doesn’t know about Crispin yet,” said Needle. “It might be best coming from you.”

Urchin leaned from the window to take a few stems of the mauve lavender, breathing in the sharp, sweet scent. Thripple was arriving at the turret as he ran down to Sepia’s chamber and knocked at the door, which was opened by the mole maid.

“Miss Sepia’s already—oh!” she said, and curtsied. “Captain Urchin, sir! Miss Sepia already has a visitor, but I should think it’ll be all right for you to come in, seeing as it’s you.”

Urchin looked past her and could see nothing but flowers, bright in the sunlight that filtered through the windows. There were pink and white roses, pale bluebells, trailing honeysuckle—so many flowers had been brought that a bower seemed to have grown around Sepia. A small squirrel peeped around from behind a sunflower, squeaked in surprise, and curtsied.

“Hello, Twirl!” he said.

“Urchin!” said a weak voice from the bed.

A tingle of silver ran from Urchin’s ear tufts to his clawtips. It had been so, so long since he had heard Sepia say his name! It was like the taste of the first fresh berries after a long winter. As he stepped through the ranks of flowers he saw that she was sitting up, propped on the swansdown pillow with her ear tufts brushed and her claws clean and trimmed. Her face was still thin, but her expression was brightly, truly, thoroughly Sepia again. She held out her paws and he kissed her gently on the cheek, almost afraid of hurting her.

“Look at Twirl!” she said. “She’s safe!”

Of course she was safe, but Sepia hadn’t known that until now. She had known nothing of what had happened on the island since the night of the first rage tide. Twirl managed a nervous twitch of a smile at Urchin as if afraid that he would be angry with her for putting Sepia in danger all those lifetimes ago—or that was what it seemed like—when the rage tide had struck.

“Yes, you both survived,” said Urchin. “And you were both worth saving. I’m glad you’re all right, Twirl.”

“Twirl made me a bracelet,” said Sepia, and held up her paw to show a rattly little shell bracelet on her wrist. “Isn’t it beautiful? Urchin, what’s happened to
your
bracelet? It looks different—it hasn’t been torn or anything, has it?”

“I’ll tell you later,” said Urchin. “Twirl, sweetheart, will you run to the pages’ room beside the kitchens and see if there are any vases left, to put this lavender in?”

Delighted to be doing an errand for both Sepia and the new captain, Twirl ran from the room. Urchin sat on the bed.

“Urchin,” said Sepia, “what is it that everyone’s not telling me? They all disappeared this morning for some meeting or other, all except two mole maids and they just said they didn’t know anything about anything. Now everyone looks solemn—everyone except Twirl—and I could hear crying. Has somebody died? Nobody’s telling me anything. I don’t even know how I got home. The last thing I remember I was in a cave, and everything hurt. What’s happening?”

He would rather have put it off until she was stronger—but if she wanted so much to be told, he must tell her. He took her paws and told her all about Corr and Crown’s rescue of her, and, at last, of the prophecy and of what Crispin had done. Then he held her while she wept.

“He shouldn’t have done that for me,” she sobbed. “Tell me again it was for the island, not just me. Not for me.”

“For the island, and for you,” said Urchin. “That’s how precious you are. And you know—knew—Crispin. Nobody could have stopped him. Not even you.”

When her family arrived, he left her. Anything else he had to say to her could wait until tomorrow, after a night that would bring more healing rest for her and a long night’s vigil for him.

Prince Oakleaf climbed the hill to the burrow where Mossberry was held securely under guard. Before he reached it he heard sobbing.

Mole guards stood on either side of the entrance. Between them, lying on the ground, sobbing, was Ruffle the hedgehog. Oakleaf knelt to put a paw on her head.

“Has nobody tried to comfort her?” he asked.

“Tried, sir,” said a mole. “There’s no comforting her. She never leaves that spot.”

“Ruffle,” said the prince. “I’m Prince Oakleaf. Don’t be afraid, nobody’s angry. Nobody’s going to punish you. Will you talk to me?” When she did not reply, he went on, “Tell me about Mossberry.”

She sat up, drying her eyes, and he thought he had never seen an animal look so wretched. Her eyes were small and red with crying, and her spines seemed limp.

“It’s not his fault, sir,” she said. “He just went a bit all wrong at the end of things, sir. He’s not well.”

“And he won’t be, until he learns to take his medicine, sir,” said the mole. “You can go in, sir, but he’s already got visitors.”

“He doesn’t still have any followers, apart from this one, does he?” asked Oakleaf in surprise.

“Oh, no.” The mole grinned. “Not followers, sir.” He opened the door.

Mossberry sat huddled in a corner of his cell, hugging his knees, rocking, staring at nothing. Opposite him, wrapped in their warm woolen cloaks, with a basket between them, sat Apple and Filbert. They sprang up and bowed when Oakleaf came in.

“Evening, sir!” said Apple. “Sir, I’m heart sorry about your father, we both are, aren’t we, Filbert? Never was a better squirrel on all the island.” She turned to Mossberry. “Look at this, Mossberry, look who’s come to see you!”

Mossberry did not even look at Oakleaf.

“He’s like this all the time, sir,” said Apple in what was meant to be a whisper. “But Filbert says to me, that Mossberry’s sick in his mind, has been for a long time, and he’s done terrible harm, but he’s sick in his mind, and he’s still an animal with four paws same as the rest of us, and he deserves kindness, so our Filbert came up here to give him a bit of company, bit of conversation, few biscuits, berries, nice drop of my homemade cordial. We come in most evenings, just for a little while, so he has company.”

“We’ll be off now you’re here, sir,” said Filbert. “So sorry about the king.”

Their kindness left Oakleaf almost speechless. He struggled to find the words.

“You are so good,” he said. “One of the things my father loved about being king was meeting animals with hearts as good as yours. I wish he could see this.”

“You’re welcome, Your Highness,” said Filbert.

“Wouldn’t any animal do the same for any other poor animal, Prince Oakleaf, Heart love you,” said Apple, wrapping her shawl about her. “And you’re just like your poor father, Heart love him, except there weren’t nothing poor about him.”

“No,” he said. “There wasn’t.” When they had gone, he took their place.

“Mossberry,” he said, “you need help. You can have it, if you want it.”

He stayed for a while, getting no answer, and no indication that Mossberry had even heard him. Wondering what was going on behind those staring eyes, he left. Perhaps the queen and Juniper could help Mossberry, or the patient kindness of Apple and Filbert, but he seemed beyond all else. Ruffle was still at the door when Oakleaf left.

“Ruffle,” he said gently, “go home.”

“No, sir,” she said. “I want to help him.”

“You can’t help him like this,” he said. “Go home, sleep, have a good meal. You need to.”

“Do as His Highness says,” said the guard mole.

“And then,” he said, “go to the tower, after the king’s funeral. Talk to my mother and Juniper. They are good animals, whatever Mossberry told you. Together, you can all help Mossberry.”

“If she won’t, she won’t, sir,” said one of the moles.

Oakleaf left, feeling that he had done all he could. But perhaps there was hope. There seemed to be a new feeling about the island, as if more were possible than they had ever dreamed of. He turned around once more and saw Ruffle sitting up, rubbing her face, and accepting a biscuit from one of the moles.

From sunrise, animals came to say their farewells to King Crispin. The Gathering Chamber windows were open, and a cool breeze brought the freshness of the sea into the chamber. Apple came in, dabbing at her eyes, supported by Filbert. Thripple and Needle came, leading Myrtle and Furtle and carrying Ouch, who was too young to understand much. Furtle asked to be lifted up so she could see the king.

“What’s your best memory of him, Needle?” asked Thripple.

Needle thought about this. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “There were so many good times. What about you?”

“When he first came back to Mistmantle,” said Thripple promptly. “There was no more forced labor, no more need to hide Hope away. He set us all free, and Hope was able to stay with me after that. He remembered who I was, too. That afternoon, I made bark boats for Hope and we felt so free at last.”

Myrtle’s head was full of stars and flowers. She had no idea whether or not they meant anything, but she knew she’d put them in her next Threading.

Fingal took his place at the corner of the bier. He tried hard not to think of Crispin in case he broke down and wept, but he could not suppress the memory of breakfast in the Throne Room with Crispin, as if they had been old friends, and fighting by his side soon afterward. He remembered the king’s warmth and kindness and it made him smile, not weep. At the foot of the bier, Lord Crown of Swan Isle spread his wings and lowered his head.

“King Crispin taught me of two sorts of kingship,” he said. “The king who wants the island to serve him and die for him, and the king who chooses to serve and die for his island. I will follow King Crispin’s way, though it is not the way of my ancestors.”

When the other animals were gone, Oakleaf, Catkin, and Cedar approached Crispin one at a time.

“I’ll do my best,” said Oakleaf. “I won’t let you down, Father.”

“You haven’t really left me, have you?” said Catkin. “You’ll always help me. You must. You knew what to do, and I don’t.”