A snuffle and a squeak from the cradle made her jump up to look at the baby, but Catkin was only stirring in her sleep and looked more adorable than ever. Her paw, wrapped in the cream-colored blanket, was in her mouth.
Suddenly and bitterly, Linty remembered her own sorrows. The queen must be broken with grief over this baby, and Linty knew how terrible that was. No mother should endure that. She’d go now, before she could change her mind.
Quickly and methodically, she packed up the food, the clothes, and the toys. She lifted Catkin from the cradle, wrapping her warmly with her rose petals still around her. At the sound of paws close by she stopped and tilted her head, listening, but it was only the sound of moles pattering along a tunnel nearby. She caught a few words.
“You know what they were saying, today, at the berry-picking?” a mole was saying. “Someone’s saying Husk’s about again. Nobody ever saw him dead.”
Linty began to shiver uncontrollably. She told herself not to be silly. How could Husk be back? It was only some loudmouth making trouble. Husk was dead. We had good King Crispin. Damson said so.
She laid Catkin back in her cradle and yearned for the days when life had seemed so simple, when she had been young and full of life, when her future lay before her, and she held her first baby in her arms. Miserably she rocked Catkin, weeping softly with her head turned to one side because she must not wake the baby.
CHAPTER SIX
RCHIN RAN UP THE STAIRS TO FIR’S TURRET, and knocked at the door. Fir’s voice sounded reassuringly calm, but tired, and quieter than usual.
“Urchin’s knock,” he said. “In you come, Urchin.”
Urchin stepped into the round, simple chamber where curtains wafted gently from open windows. Fir and Juniper were at the windows, their backs to him, but Fir turned with a small watering can in his paws.
“My little garden needs water, these hot days,” he said. “We have to look after the window boxes. Herbs are much needed at present. Is it time to go the Throne Room, Urchin?”
At the sight of Juniper, Urchin had to bite his lip to keep from letting his shock show on his face. His face was gaunt, his fur was dull and spiky, and the pain in his eyes was the worst thing of all. He looked like a trapped creature desperate for rescue. As Brother Fir dried his paws on his tunic, Urchin hopped to Juniper’s side.
“Whatever it is, Juniper, tell me!” he whispered. “Or tell Brother Fir. But tell someone!”
Juniper, offering his arm to Brother Fir on the stairs, made no sign that he had heard, but Urchin was sure he had. He was sure Brother Fir had, too.
No sunlight fell on Crispin and Cedar’s thrones. The king and queen sat upright as birches. Their faces looked hollow, and there was a sharp alertness about them both as if they were constantly watching and listening. Looking at them, Urchin knew that eating and sleeping were no longer important to them. The queen clutched Catkin’s remaining blanket in one tight paw.
Captain Lugg stood beside them, his feet planted firmly apart, his claws in his sword belt, his face grim. Padra and Arran were silent and solemn. Docken the hedgehog was there, and Sepia, though she couldn’t imagine why she had been summoned. Tay the otter arrived, looking disdainfully at the young animals. She clearly felt they shouldn’t be there but knew better than to argue with Crispin about it.
A chair had been provided for Brother Fir. Juniper and Whittle took their places at either side of him, as Urchin bowed to the king and glanced at Padra for guidance.
“No news of Catkin,” said Padra. “The search goes on.”
“Firstly,” said Crispin, “Sepia. The queen and I would like you to sing for Linty and the baby.”
“Excuse me?” said Sepia.
“Music can be healing,” explained the queen. “If Linty hears you and the choirs singing, it might help her to calm down and think clearly. It could bring her to the state of mind where she’ll be reasonable and bring Catkin back.”
“Of course I’ll sing, Your Majesty,” said Sepia. “Thank you for asking me.”
“Now we’ll hear Captain Lugg’s report,” said Crispin.
“Your Majesties and friends,” began Lugg, with a neat and rather stiff bow to the thrones, “there are some very silly things being said by very silly animals who like exercising their mouths without troubling their brains first. A lot of troublemakers, Your Majesties.”
“And what are they saying?” inquired Brother Fir mildly.
“They’ve got it into their heads,” said Lugg, “that Linty didn’t take the baby just because she’s crazed with grief. They reckon she couldn’t have kept her hidden all this time without help, and there must be someone backing her up. And they say"—he glanced uncomfortably at the queen, and Urchin could see how awkward this was for him—"they say that"—he squared his shoulders, put a paw to his sword hilt, and took a long deep breath—"that Husk’s come back.”
Urchin felt his fur prickle. Needle gasped—she couldn’t help it—then looked at the floor and pretended she hadn’t made a sound. Sepia bit her lip hard.
“Can’t be, of course,” said Lugg, “but there’s animals saying it.”
“That’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Urchin. “Even if Husk were still around, Linty wouldn’t work with him! She’d want to kill him!”
“Exactly what I said,” replied Lugg, “but they’re saying she’s so frightened of him that she’ll do what he says, or else she’s mad enough to do anything, or he’s killed her and hidden the body and took the baby; and as far as I’m concerned they might as well say moles are all taking wing and flying, and the rain falls down as best beer. This weather’s getting to their brains. But Linty or no Linty, they’ve got this idea that Husk’s back and it’s got stuck in their little skulls like an otter down a mole hole, if you captains will pardon the expression.” Tay raised her eyebrows alarmingly. “And you, Mistress Tay.”
“But we know Husk’s dead,” said Padra. “Some of us were there when he fell. Do they think they’ve seen or heard anything?”
“Well, some of them are saying it’s his ghost,” said Lugg, “but it beats me how a ghost can handle a real live fur-and-claws baby. There are—you know how it is—there are those who think they’ve seen him, but…”
Needle’s paw flew to her mouth.
“I shouldn’t worry, miss,” said Lugg. “Couple of moss-brained hedgehogs at dusk, last night. They say they saw a squirrel on the ridge near them steep cliffs. Saw him against the skyline. Swore it was Husk, but I daresay they’d swear to anything.”
“Didn’t they go nearer to find out?” asked Needle.
“Too scared, miss,” said Lugg, “and too drunk. I’m surprised they only saw one of him. Didn’t have the sense or the guts to check what they’d seen, as you would have done yourself. Ran off and told every one who’d listen.”
“So now,” said Padra, “the island is wriggling with rumors that Husk has come back for revenge. Rumors like this are dangerous. They spread fear of old horrors returning. They’ll always be looking over their shoulders now. They’ll become frightened to go anywhere, do anything, or trust anyone, so it’s important to sweep these rumors away. Mostly, that must be up to those of us who witnessed Husk’s"—he hesitated for a moment—"Husk’s fall.”
“His fall, yes,” said Crispin firmly. “That’s the point. You were going to say, ‘his death. ’ Let’s face this. None of us actually saw him die, we only saw him fall, and heard him. Does anybody doubt that he’s dead?”
“I have no doubt at all,” said Fir.
“He’s dead,” said Padra.
“Good,” said Crispin, “because we have to be absolutely sure of what we saw and heard that day. Animals who hear these rumors will be coming to ask us about it, trying to find out if he’s really dead. Examine your memories. Be sure that you’re sticking to the truth. If you have doubts about it, tell me now.”
Urchin imagined himself back in the dark tunnel leading to the dungeon, with Hope holding his paw and eating berri
es. Husk had retreated in terror, his paws shaking—had inched back into the dungeon—then there was the long cry, growing fainter and fainter, a wild laugh from far away—then nothing.
“He must be dead,” said Urchin.
“Excuse me,” said Needle, “I don’t like having to say this, but when Brother Fir first told us about the pit, he said that hundreds of years ago, when animals were thrown down there, some of them survived and dug tunnels to get out. That was how the moles came to build their palace. So it’s possible for an animal to survive that fall.” She looked down at her paws. “Sorry.”
Urchin put a paw on her shoulder, and she looked up with gratitude. Urchin wanted her to be wrong, but he knew that, unfortunately, she was right. Husk might have survived that fall.
“You’re quite right to remind us of it, Needle,” said Crispin. “Thank you.”
“But a squirrel’s heavier than a mole and falls harder,” said Padra. “And we don’t know what the ground is like underneath. It may have dried out and hardened since then.”
“Well, sir,” said Lugg, “I’m getting the moles unblocking as many old tunnels as possible as part of the search for Catkin. If, while we’re at it, we find Husk’s body, I’ll be delighted to let you know. If I find a door with a squirrel-shaped hole in it, Your Majesty, it would be a pleasure to go after him and give him what he’s been asking for, but I think it’s most unlikely. I’d be glad to find his body myself and know that he’s as dead as a pickled walnut. And then those troublemakers will have to find something else to talk about.”
“They will,” said Arran.
“Still,” said Crispin, “let’s face this. It’s possible, just possible, that Husk is still alive. It’s most unlikely, but possible. But this time he hasn’t taken over the island, and we’re not going to let him. Brother Fir, you had something to say?”
Everyone looked at the priest. He looked so old and tired that Urchin hurt for him.
“Oh, dear,” said Brother Fir, quietly, as if he were talking to himself. “Oh dear, yes. Hm. Sometimes I find it hard to understand why the Heart allows things as it does.” Then he straightened himself up to address them all. Urchin saw the depth and love in the dark brown eyes that held the attention of the whole room, and the suffering in those eyes. He saw it more clearly than ever before, and felt it in his own heart.
“A number of animals have been unwell lately,” said Brother Fir. “At first it seemed to be nothing that couldn’t be put down to hot weather and some minor infection, the kind of thing that’s easily shaken off. By last night I feared that it might be something worse, and this very morning I was sent for as a matter of some urgency. More and more animals are falling ill, and the symptoms are getting far worse—severe headaches, high fever, vomiting, aching and swollen limbs—some are having convulsions. There is sometimes a red and yellowish rash on the paws.”
“All the symptoms of fouldrought,” said Crispin.
“Fouldrought!” said Juniper, and his eyes widened.
“I’m afraid so,” said Fir. “The otters don’t appear to be catching it, only the land animals.”
“Juniper,” said Queen Cedar, “are you ill?”
“No, Your Majesty,” answered Juniper quickly. “Just—just alarmed. I’ve learned about fouldrought.”
“Is fouldrought all over the island, Brother Fir?” asked Padra. There was a sharply focused look about him—Urchin remembered him looking like that when he rallied the islanders against Husk. He couldn’t remember the last outbreak of fouldrought, but he had heard of it.
“In the past day or two I have been to Falls Cliffs, to the edges of the Tangletwigs, to Anemone Wood, and to the west and north shores,” said Fir. “There are clusters of it everywhere. The woods around Falls Cliffs appear to have the most cases. But not one animal living in the tower, nor the ones who work here and live elsewhere.”
Every animal in the room was silent. Each one thought of some friend or relative. Urchin’s foster mother, Apple, lived in Anemone Wood, and so did Needle’s family and the friends they had grown up with. Damson lived near Falls Cliffs. Lugg’s two married daughters, Wing and Wren, and their families lived not far from the north shore. Above all, they thought of Catkin. The Heart alone knew where she was now.
Urchin glanced nervously up at the queen, not wanting to intrude on her grief. Her paws were clenched tightly, but she looked as she did when they were in danger on Whitewings. She was very still, concentrating, planning the next step. The same expression was on Crispin’s face, too, and tension in his voice.
“How serious will it become, Brother Fir?” he asked.
“That,” said Fir, “is something we have yet to find out. It’s many years since we had a violent epidemic of anything. For that reason, I fear this one might take us badly. We haven’t been building up our resistance to contagion, you see. Usually with these things, those who are generally fit and healthy recover. But those who have less to fight with—those who are already unwell, the very old and the very young—they are in greatest danger.”
“I have seen something similar on Whitewings,” said Cedar. “May the Heart keep Catkin and Linty. All my skill as a healer is at your service.” In the silence that followed, Urchin wanted to kneel at her paws, stunned by her calm strength. Crispin stood up, and those animals who were seated—all except Queen Cedar—rose too.
“Animals are to stay in their home areas except by permission of a member of the Circle,” ordered Crispin. “The Circle will be assigned different areas of the island, their own areas as far as possible. They are to help the healers, send messengers when healing is needed, comfort those in need, and keep animals from traveling to areas of infection. They may grant animals permission to leave their home areas only when there is the greatest reason or the lowest risk. Those Circle animals who have young children are excused from this service. You mustn’t bring disease back to them.”
“Otters don’t catch it, Your Majesty,” Padra pointed out.
“Otters haven’t caught it up to now,” corrected Crispin. “You can continue to lead the search for Catkin. Urchin, Needle, and Sepia can help you.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty!” said Urchin, with Needle and Sepia joining in. “But,” added Urchin, “we’ll have to leave the tower to do that, and we mustn’t bring infection back.”
“I’ll show you how to use a mixture of herbs and vinegar to keep disease away,” said the queen. “You must rub it into your fur, every time you go out and come in.”
“Juniper,” said Crispin, “your orders will be from Brother Fir, not from me.”
Juniper did not respond. A shudder shook him from ears to claw tips.
“Juniper!” said Crispin. “If you’re ill, it’s most important that you tell us!”
“I’m perfectly well,” replied Juniper, his voice shaking. “I’m just anxious, and it…”
“We understand, Juniper,” said the queen. Urchin caught her eye and gave a twitch of his ears. There was something Juniper needed to tell, but perhaps he’d tell it later to Urchin, when they were alone.
“And Whittle must learn and memorize every detail of this disease,” said Tay. “The symptoms, the duration, the various treatments, and the result. And he must commit all the names of the dead to memory.”
Whittle nodded earnestly. He had memorized the symptoms of fouldrought as soon as Fir listed them, and looked forward to learning every single remedy.
“Cedar,” said Crispin, “please gather the healers together and get them to work, but not Mother Huggen, nor Moth. We may need to send the very young into a place of safety, and those two are the best animals to put in charge of looking after them. And it’ll keep Moth safe,” he added with a glance at Lugg. “All animals are to keep their paws and fur scrupulously clean. And don’t eat or drink anything unless you know where it comes from. Brother Fir, is there any chance of finding the source of the infection?”
“I am only a priest and a healer, Your Majesty,” sa
id Fir. “Mistress Tay may know of a case like this in the past where a source has been identified. And the queen, who has protected islands from all kinds of catastrophes, may understand such things.”
Tay’s whiskers set into a hard, dark line. She clearly felt that they could manage perfectly well with her own expert knowledge without consulting the queen, but she didn’t dare say so.
“I’ll come with you, Brother Fir,” said Cedar. “We’ll go around the island together, until I’ve seen the whole situation for myself.”
Crispin seized her paw. “You mustn’t become ill,” he said.
Just now, Urchin had hurt for Brother Fir. Now, he hurt for Crispin. He had lost his first wife, lovely young Whisper, his child was missing, and he couldn’t bear to lose Cedar. The queen took a deep breath.
“I have nursed young and old through plagues, skin diseases, rare contagions, and common sicknesses,” she said, “none of them have harmed me yet. I’ll have infusions of rosemary, sage, thyme, and all the purifying herbs made up, for washing in. And we need angelica, pennyjohn, feverfew, borage, lavender, and lemon balm. Don’t fear for me, Crispin. Fir, I’ll come with you now.”
Urchin hopped to the door to open it for them, reached out for her paw, and pressed it gently. He and Juniper owed their lives to Cedar.
“We’ll find your baby,” he said. “She’ll come back to you.” Then he darted as close to the throne as he could, bowed, and whispered, “Please, sir, may I go with Juniper now?”
Crispin gave the slightest nod of his head, and Urchin saw that he understood. “You two may go,” he said.
Urchin and Juniper bowed and left the Throne Room together. That moment of shared understanding with Crispin the King, Crispin the hero of his childhood, lifted Urchin’s spirits. They both knew that there was something Juniper needed to tell, and Urchin might be the only one he could open his heart to. They walked a little way along the corridor, but at the first window seat, they sat down.
The Heir of Mistmantle Page 6
