The Heir of Mistmantle

by M. I. McAllister

  “Twigg’s been helping me with my boat!” he said eagerly. “It just needs a coat of paint and the sail rigging up. It’s going to be red with an orange border and a pattern of green leaves, and I want to call it after someone, but I don’t know who. It was going to be Princess Catkin, then Swanfeather, then Tide and Swanfeather.”

  “Are Tide and Swanfeather all right, sir?” Urchin asked Padra.

  “They look all right to me,” said Padra. “Oh, you mean this wretched disease. Otters don’t seem to be catching it. Are you all ready to be admitted to the Circle?”

  “I don’t really think so, sir,” admitted Urchin.

  They drank cordial, put the babies to bed, polished their swords, and talked about joining the Circle, until it was time for Urchin and Needle to take over from Linty.

  “I’ll go a bit early, sir,” he said. “I don’t want to keep Linty waiting. She looked as if she’d be scared of anything, even the baby.”

  “Linty?” repeated Padra, and Urchin left him gazing thoughtfully at nothing as if he were searching for an old memory.

  “All quiet tonight,” said the guard mole, grinning as Urchin and Needle arrived outside the chamber. “Not a squeak out of the princess. Better go in quietly.”

  “Mistress Linty?"called Urchin softly as they tiptoed into the chamber, dim with lamplight. There was no answer, and he bent over the cradle. It was empty. Linty must be rocking the baby in a chair, or pacing the floor with her. They searched, they asked the guards. Anxiety grew and tingled in their paws.

  There was no trace of Linty, nor of little Catkin. There was only the rumpled catkin blanket, lying cold in the bottom of the cradle, and an open window.

  CHAPTER THREE

  RCHIN FLEW FROM THE CHAMBER, yelled to the guards, dashed back into the nursery, and leaped from the open window to run down the wall. From every direction, guards ran to search the chambers. A squirrel dashed to find the king and queen, and soon Crispin and Cedar were rushing to the chambers, their eyes sharp with attention and bright with fear. Fir was summoned, Padra and Lugg were sent for, Crispin ordered Circle animals to organize search parties. Urchin scrambled back through the window, gasping for breath.

  “No sign, Your Majesties,” he panted, “the ground’s too dry for pawprints.”

  “Any signs of struggle in here?” asked Crispin. “Marks of dragging, claws digging in, anything like that?”

  “I didn’t see any, Your Majesty,” said Urchin, noticing that Crispin hadn’t used the words “blood” and “fur.” It was bad enough for the queen without that.

  “How was the room when you found it?” demanded Cedar. Her voice was urgent and intense. “Was that window open already?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Urchin. “I jumped out without touching it.”

  “The naming shawl and the blanket with catkins on it are still here,” said Crispin, examining the cradle. “The other blanket’s missing.”

  “No signs of struggle,” said Cedar, examining the floor. “No paw prints in here, either. The bowl of porridge is gone, and her cup.”

  Urchin remembered a terrible day, long ago now. He had tried not to think of that day when the last Heir of Mistmantle, Prince Tumble, had been found murdered by a single stab wound. Nobody was talking about that, but he knew they were all thinking of it. With every scrabble of paws on the stair, heads whisked round. Circle animals arrived, and Needle hurried in bristling with anxiety, but nobody brought news of Linty and the princess.

  “We’ve sent out search parties,” said Crispin, pulling out a chair as Fir hobbled stiffly into the chamber. “Sit down, Brother Fir.”

  “So the child and the nursemaid are missing,” said Fir. He sighed, and tipped his head to one side. “I don’t suppose she’s just taken the baby for some fresh air on a warm evening?”

  “The only way out was the window,” said Crispin, “and she didn’t tell anyone she was going.”

  “Which nursemaid?” inquired Fir.

  “Mistress Linty,” said Cedar.

  “Linty?” said Fir thoughtfully.

  “The possibilities,” said Crispin, “are that something happened to alarm Linty and she’s run away, taking the baby with her, or that somebody got in through the window and forced them away. That’s unlikely because nobody heard anything and there’s no sign of a struggle. And the very worst…” He glanced at Cedar.

  “I know,” she said firmly. “The worst is that Linty is a traitor and she’s”—she took a deep breath—“she’s taken Catkin…and she…she means…”

  Urchin tried not to look at the picture in his head, but he had to. Prince Tumble, lying dead and cold on the floor, so small. Death had come so quickly, and so easily. It could happen to Catkin too.

  “…perhaps,” continued the queen, and he heard her struggling to keep her voice steady, “Linty has already…”

  Fir had been quiet since Linty’s name had first been mentioned. Now he held up a paw.

  “Dear Queen,” he said calmly, “I very much doubt that Linty intends to harm your baby, but I do think she will be easily frightened. If your search parties find her, it is most important, most important, that they don’t send her into a panic. If she’s alarmed, she will do anything to keep the princess to herself.”

  “What is it about Linty, Fir?” asked Crispin.

  “What is it?” repeated Fir. “Hm. What is it? We must all search our memories, and I will speak to those who have known her longest.”

  Crispin dismissed the guards. Cedar, Mother Huggen, and all available members of the Circle remained with him in the chamber. Longpaw, the squirrel messenger, and Juniper were sent for. Padra arrived, saying that Arran and Fingal were setting a watch on the shores. Urchin and Needle waited to see if they’d be dismissed, but the queen herself cleared a space for them in the window seat. Captain Lugg appeared, a bit out of breath, his face grim and set as he bowed.

  “We’ll find her, Queen Cedar,” he said gruffly. “I’ve set guards on all the tunnels.”

  “But Linty must not be alarmed,” insisted Fir. “She must be spoken to gently.”

  “But you’re sure she won’t harm Catkin,” said Crispin urgently.

  There was a moment’s pause. “I’m quite certain she won’t mean to,” said Fir. His voice was becoming an uneven croak, and Urchin offered him a mug of water. “Thank you, Urchin. Spring Gate water. Very good. But, you know—I don’t wish to alarm you, Your Majesties, but you must fully understand the situation—we are dealing with an animal whose mind has been damaged. She is intensely loving, and for that reason I am sure she’ll protect the baby…” He paused, and added quietly,“…as if it were her own. As I said, if she feels threatened she may panic, and by panicking, she could do something very dangerous.”

  “She mustn’t leave the island,” said Crispin.

  “She can’t,” said Padra. “We’re patrolling the shores, and Lugg’s moles are watching the tunnels.”

  “If she’s on the island, we’ll find her,” said the queen firmly. “We must increase the search parties.”

  “Small search parties will be best, if we don’t want to alarm her,” said Crispin. “No more than four at most in each. Every party to include at least one animal with a good sense of smell. And get the young ones involved. She might be scared of guards and the senior members of the Circle, but not someone like Urchin and Needle and their friends.”

  “We really want to help,” said Needle. “And little Hope’s very young, but he’s good at finding his way by scent. We’ll find her.”

  “Longpaw, we’ll need you to summon animals to the Gathering Chamber,” said Crispin. “We’ll instruct them about what to do and what not to do. And there must be a senior animal here all the time, so they have someone to report back to.”

  “Excuse me, Your Majesties,” said Captain Lugg, “I don’t like to speak out of turn. I have three daughters myself, and I know how precious the princess is. But there’s still a fair old heap of harvest
to bring in, and we don’t know how long this weather will last.”

  Urchin glimpsed a frown of irritation on Crispin’s face, but it was gone in an instant. “You’re right,” said Crispin. “We mustn’t neglect the harvest. It would have serious consequences for the whole island, and life has to go on. I’ve lived through dangerous times, and it’s doing the ordinary things that helps you to cope.”

  “Harvest and all the everyday things will have to go on,” said Cedar as firmly as she could. “Nobody should be forced to leave harvesting and search for Catkin, but…”

  “We will find her,” said Crispin fiercely, “because we have to. We’ll find her, if I have to dig up the whole island with my own claws.”

  “And,” Padra pointed out gently, “we have two new members of the Circle to admit in a few days.”

  Urchin and Needle looked at each other. They were ready to join the Circle. Their special new cloaks were waiting for them. They had prepared for the great day, practiced for it, dreamed of it, talked of it, and agreed that the best thing about joining the Circle was that Crispin, Cedar, and the captains believed that they were worthy of it. But it wouldn’t be right, not now. Nothing mattered now, except getting Catkin back.

  They understood each other without having to speak. Needle stood up and curtsied.

  “We’d like to wait, please,” she said. “It wouldn’t be right to be admitted to the Circle with all this going on.”

  “It would be very hard for you to wait,” said Crispin gently.

  “We wouldn’t enjoy the ceremony,” insisted Needle. “Nobody would, not while the baby’s missing.”

  “And it would take time when we should be out looking for her,” said Urchin. “Your Majesty, you wouldn’t be crowned until the Heartstone was found and I came home.”

  “Excuse me,” said Cedar in a tight, crisp voice as if she were keeping herself sternly controlled, “but you’re all assuming that the princess will still be missing tomorrow. We agreed that she’s still on the island, and the search parties are out. Wherever can Linty take her that she won’t be found?” She opened a chest and pulled out a belted sword, then a cloak. “I’m going out to look for her myself.”

  “Russet, go with the queen,” ordered Crispin. “And you too, Spade. Brother Fir, do you need Juniper?”

  “I need to speak to the animals who know Linty best,” said Fir. “They will speak more freely without a youngster present. May I go now, Your Majesty?”

  Fir hobbled away, and more search parties and messengers were sent in every direction. Soon, only Urchin and Juniper were left waiting for orders.

  “Now,” said Crispin briskly, “you two are to go down to the Chamber of Candles. Juniper, you must have visited it with Fir?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Juniper.

  “And Urchin’s been there before, too,” said Crispin. “Good. You two, go down there with Docken and search the chamber and all around it.”

  “Certainly, sir,” said Urchin promptly. The Chamber of Candles held so many unpleasant memories for him that it wouldn’t be an easy thing to do, but it seemed that Crispin knew that, and was offering him a challenge. He wanted to show he was up to it. So, with Juniper and Docken of the Circle, he slipped through the Gathering Chamber to a small door and took a sharp turn through an entrance that you wouldn’t even see unless you knew it was there.

  “Good thing I brought a lantern,” muttered Docken. “My eyes aren’t as good as yours, you being squirrels, and young ones.”

  The narrow stairway led to deep, damp tunnels, and in spite of Docken’s lantern, Urchin’s fur bristled as he walked farther underground. His first memories of this place still held their power.

  “You still find it creepy down here, don’t you?” said Juniper.

  “It’s all right,” said Urchin. These tunnels had been cleaned and changed since he had first come this way. Lamps shone softly on the walls. There were no nameless creatures anymore, scuffling about where you couldn’t quite see them. But water still ran down the walls, leaving green patches and, here and there, a strange-colored puddle. He strained to listen for any shuffle of paws, or the squeak of a baby.

  Long ago Lord Husk used to come this way to a hidden chamber with a history so terrible that it had been left locked for hundreds of years, and never spoken of, but Husk had found it. Its clinging air of ancient, creeping horror had drawn him and fed the evil inside him. It had been a place of nightmare.

  Since Husk’s downfall, Brother Fir had quietly and sensibly taken control of the situation. He had told the islanders of the long ago time when a squirrel king had committed murder and sacrifice in that chamber. He had opened it, blessed it, filled it with candlelight, watched, prayed, and sung in it, night and day, cleansing it of its past. It was now the Chamber of Candles, a place of prayer and peace.

  “Sh!” said Juniper sharply. Urchin twitched his ears to listen and heard nothing.

  “Not sure,” said Juniper, but as soon as they started walking again Urchin heard the quick pattering of paws from somewhere in the tunnels.

  “It’s to the left of us,” whispered Docken.

  “There must be a passageway parallel to this one,” said Urchin. The paw steps stopped again, and it occurred to Urchin that they didn’t have a sword between the three of them. That was all right if you were dealing with a frightened squirrel who mustn’t be alarmed. It was a bit unsettling if you were wedged underground with an unknown animal running about just out of sight. The paws grew louder.

  “It’s ahead of us,” muttered Docken and stepped forward, but Juniper laid a paw on his arm. Urchin had already seen what Juniper had seen. His eyes were on a small cleft in the rock a little way ahead of them.

  Something was moving. Urchin, stretching out a paw to the others for silence, crept forward. Whatever animal was wriggling through that tight cleft it must be a small one, and unarmed. He was about to ask who was there when a small voice said, “Oof! I’m squashed!” A small hedgehog pushed its nose forward, sniffed, and peered shortsightedly about. “Hello, Urchin!” He wrinkled his nose to sniff again. “Hello, Daddy!”

  “What are you doing down here?” demanded Docken.

  “Hello, Hope!” said Urchin. Irritated as he was at the scare the little hedgehog had given them, he was more relieved than anything else. And nobody could ever mind Hope. He was the son of Docken, and Thripple, the hedgehog who had carried Catkin at her naming. Hope was always so eager to please that he frequently ended up in danger, but somehow, he had always emerged in one piece.

  “Hello, Brother Juniper, sir,” said Hope. “I didn’t have any orders so I thought I’d come after you, and I found a tunnel to explore so I explored it.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t,” said Docken. “It’s dangerous, you’re on your own, and what’s more you nearly scared the spines right off me. Does Mummy know where you are?”

  “I said I was going to look for the princess and she said to stay in the tower so I did and I have and I am,” said Hope.

  “I know you’re good at tunnels, Hope,” said Urchin gently, “but it’s dangerous for you to come down here alone. There must be all sorts of tunnels we don’t know about.”

  “Yes, I just found one,” said Hope. “And there’s a whole other layer under this one, I think, I can tell from the echoes and the way it feels.”

  “Well, don’t go looking for it,” said Docken. “We’ve already got one youngster missing.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” said Hope, pattering busily along beside them. “I want to look for the princess, because now we’ve got Mopple, that’s my baby sister, Brother Juniper, now we’ve got her I thought wouldn’t it be awful if she went missing and we didn’t know where to look for her and if she was all right or anything, and it’s the same with the princess. But I don’t think the princess has been down here. It doesn’t smell of baby.”

  “He’s probably right,” said Docken. “He has a very good sense of smell, haven’t you, Hope?
But we’ll go on to the Chamber of Candles, as that’s our orders.”

  Stopping now and again while the squirrels listened and Hope sniffed, they reached the Chamber of Candles. The sight of that door still made Urchin bristle—but as Docken pushed it open, the glow of soft yellow light met him, soothed him, and welcomed him into the warmth.

  Candles flickered on the floor, on shelves, and in crevices in the walls—long candles and short ones, creamy wax candles with curls of wax rippling down their sides. They cast circles of light on the damp rock, making it glisten. The draft from the door set the flames swaying, and the patterns on the walls looked like laughter.

  “No sign of anyone,” said Urchin. “But we have to search.”

  He took a deep breath, filling himself with the atmosphere of the chamber. Soaked in prayer and self-giving, it fed him with its deep peace.

  “It feels so different,” said Urchin. “I couldn’t have believed it possible.”

  “It feels good,” said Juniper. “But it isn’t finished yet.”

  “Not finished?” said Urchin.

  “Yes, but I’m not sure what I mean by that,” said Juniper. “It just feels as if something still needs to be done.”

  “Finished or not, we’ll have a good hunt around and report back to the king,” said Docken. “There’s a good chance the princess will be back safe and sound by the time we get there.”

  Urchin hoped so. As he left the chamber, he took one last look behind him. Juniper was still there, shaking his ears as if he’d got them wet.

  A knife. Claws. Blue.

  Juniper had almost forgotten that, but somehow, vividly, it had come back to him as he lingered in the Chamber of Candles. Urchin was waiting. Juniper shook his ears and limped hurriedly to the door, finding there were words in his head which nobody had put there—something about a paw and hills. He didn’t understand it at all. But it was something to do with Catkin, and to do with this place, and the feeling that it was still unfinished.