The Urchin of the Riding Stars

by M. I. McAllister

  “Yes, sir!” said Urchin, and bowed awkwardly because he wasn’t sure what to do—bow, fall to his knees and kiss Captain Crispin’s paw, or jump in the air and turn somersaults.

  Padra stood up. “The stars are starting again,” he said. “You’ll get the best view looking southeast.”

  Before dawn, Urchin left the tower. Starlight and his excellent night vision were good enough to take him home to Anemone Wood. His head and heart sang with the knowledge that he was going to the court. He would work, learn, and fight if he had to, at Captain Crispin’s right paw. Captain Crispin would depend on him to polish his sword and circlet, hold his cloak, and run his messages. He would listen to the captain’s troubles, wait on him at table, and make sure everything he needed was ready before he even asked for it. The morning was not far off, but he thought it would never come.

  Urchin was not the only squirrel hurrying home from the tower that night.

  Gleaner had not had a good day. She had quarreled with Crackle. (Stupid name! Crackle!) So wherever she watched the stars, she didn’t want to be where Crackle was, which was a pity, because Crackle was going to Watchtop Hill. Then, as if that weren’t enough, Urchin had been invited to the tower! Urchin! Only to the tower, and only by Captain Crispin! Gleaner squirmed with jealousy. Urchin wasn’t even a Mistmantle squirrel. Probably wasn’t a proper squirrel at all.

  So why shouldn’t she go to the tower anyway, by herself? Pleased with her own boldness, she had run to the tower and scurried nimbly up the walls. The roughness of the stone and her excellent balance kept her from falling.

  She peeped through a window she thought might be Captain Crispin’s. No sign of Urchin there, or anybody else. She ran a little farther and tried a window on the next floor. This was fun, this spying.

  She was lucky. Not Urchin, not Crispin, but somebody well worth looking at! She found she was spying on the most beautiful squirrel on the island.

  Lady Aspen! Gleaner gazed at Lady Aspen and adored her. She almost forgot to breathe. She was near enough to see the silver bracelet on the left forepaw and the elegantly polished claws. The bracelet flashed in the candlelight as Lady Aspen groomed her tail with a small ebony brush. She was the loveliest and most refined squirrel on the island, Queen Spindle’s dearest friend—and everyone knew that she was to marry Captain Husk.

  Gleaner was losing her grip on the window ledge. She scrabbled, turned her tail to catch her balance, and ran on up the tower. She would have liked to see the queen and the little prince, but that was too much to hope for. At the window of an empty room she stopped to watch the ride of the stars, then ran on upward until she heard voices. An otter laughed. Scrambling on, she found herself among the trailing leaves and overhanging herbs of Fir’s window boxes.

  Good. Plenty of room to hide. With her ears twitching, she picked up and recognized voices—Urchin’s, then Fir’s and Captain Crispin’s, so the otter must be Padra. She clung on. It was impossible to hear everything while hanging upside down from the bottom of a window box with thyme tickling her nose and lavender in her ear, but she heard all that Crispin said to Urchin. By the time she ran down again she knew that Urchin had fallen from the sky. It could be useful, that. You never could tell.

  As dawn filtered across the sky, Urchin lay on his back in a fir tree, watching the last flourishes of starlight as he imagined his future. There was no point in trying to sleep. He ran down and filled a canvas bag with his few possessions—a spare cloak, a ball, some counters for games, and a few cones and nuts to nibble on—said good-bye to Apple, and bounded through the wood to Mistmantle Tower. It was a long way, and he didn’t want to be late.

  Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  When he thought about it afterward, he couldn’t tell how he knew it, but long before he reached the tower and saw the guards, he was feeling uneasy. He had never seen so many guards before, all grim-faced as they rushed in and out of gateways. From somewhere inside the tower he heard terrible sobbing and wailing, with one high and desperate voice rising above the rest. Animals were scurrying toward the rocks and whispering to each other, looking up at the tower but hanging back as if they were suddenly afraid of it.

  Something clenched at Urchin’s heart. His paw tightened as if he could hold on to his dreams, but he had a sickening feeling that they were slipping away.

  CHAPTER THREE

  E STILL HAD TO REPORT TO THE TOWER. He smoothed his fur nervously and climbed the stairs to the great wooden doorway where two armed moles stood on guard.

  “Nobody gets in,” said one.

  “None in, none out,” said the other.

  “But I was sent for,” said Urchin. He couldn’t let Crispin down, so he stood his ground. “I have to report to Captain Crispin.”

  “None in, none out,” repeated the mole.

  “I’m under captain’s orders,” said Urchin.

  “So’s everyone,” said both the moles, but they glanced at each other. They clearly didn’t want to risk disobeying a captain.

  “Please, can you get a message…” began Urchin, but the guards looked past him, stamped to attention, and saluted. There was a rush of paws on the stairs, and to Urchin’s great relief Crispin appeared, breathless and keen-eyed. He put one paw across Urchin’s shoulders.

  “He’s with me,” said Crispin sharply, and the door was opened at once. In the wide, high-ceilinged entrance hall, the sound of crying was suddenly louder. Animals whispered to each other. Urchin was trying to take it all in when Padra bounded toward them, and his face was grave.

  “Padra!” said Crispin. “Everyone’s rushing for the tower. What’s happening? Is that the queen crying?”

  Padra put a paw on Crispin’s shoulder. “It’s little Prince Tumble,” he said, and his voice was low with trouble. “Crispin, he’s dead.”

  The words hit Urchin so hard that he couldn’t understand them. It couldn’t be. The prince was young and full of life.

  “No!” said Crispin. “How?”

  “That’s the worst,” said Padra. “He was murdered.”

  Urchin gasped. “You must be mistaken,” said Crispin.

  “No mistake,” said Padra. “I couldn’t believe it myself, until I saw him. The queen found him just outside their chamber, stabbed to the heart.”

  “But…” began Crispin.

  “I know,” said Padra. “Nothing like that happens here. Nobody on the island would do anything like that. Only, somebody did.”

  Crispin was already leaping up the stairs, and Urchin wondered what to do. He supposed he’d been forgotten and wouldn’t be wanted now, but he hadn’t been dismissed.

  “Crispin,” called Padra, and nodded toward Urchin.

  “Wait here, Urchin,” ordered Crispin. Then he appeared to think again. “Do you still want to start work today, in the middle of all this? It won’t be easy.”

  “You might need me, sir,” said Urchin. He wanted to be useful, and he couldn’t bear to go straight back to the wood.

  “Come on, then,” said Crispin. “Stay well back and do exactly as you’re told.”

  Urchin ran after Crispin up the wide stone stairs. There were brackets on the walls for torches and lamps, with soot stains above them. Turning sharply to the right, the two hurried along a corridor hung with Threadings, and reached a ring of animals who shuffled quietly aside to let the captain through.

  The silence was solemn and fearful. Urchin stood with the others, leaning sideways a little to see past Crispin. Another squirrel was bending over the still body of a small hedgehog. A very small hedgehog. Prince Tumble, hardly more than a baby. Until then, Urchin had not quite believed it.

  Terrible grief was on the squirrel’s face as he bent over the body, but he had a lordly air about him and had taken command. Urchin hadn’t often seen Captain Husk. He would have recognized him from his captain’s sword but, more than that, he had an air of real authority that proved him to be a captain. He’d know what to do. It was reassuring to know Captain H
usk was in charge.

  Crispin pulled the circlet from his head as a mark of respect. Kneeling beside the body, he moved it gently, and Urchin saw the dark red stain on the little hedgehog’s chest. Through the half-open door of the chamber he glimpsed the king and queen huddled together, but the queen was silent now, as if tears were not enough.

  Urchin looked away quickly. It didn’t seem right to see them grieving in their own chamber and without their robes and crowns. The other animals stood with lowered heads and drooping ears.

  “It’s a clean stab wound,” Captain Husk was saying, “and there are no bloodstains in any direction, so we can’t tell which way the murderer went. At least it was quick, and the prince couldn’t have known much about it. He must have died without crying out, because nobody heard a thing. The king and queen didn’t know he’d left the chamber until the queen found him.”

  “So the murderer must have lured him out,” said Crispin. “Must have stood here and called him, but he’d take care not to wake Their Majesties.” He shook his head and twitched his ears. “Somebody the prince trusted, I should think. I watched the stars from Fir’s turret, then looked in here on my way to patrol the shores at dawn. They were all asleep then.”

  Husk stood up. “I’ve summoned all the animals to the Gathering Chamber,” he said, “all the adults and the young ones old enough to work. And I’ve sent otters to find out where everyone was last night and first thing this morning. We don’t know when it happened, but he—oh, Heart bless him, Crispin, he was still warm when the queen found him. We all have to give an account of where we were, even captains. We’ll speak to the creatures when they’re all here.”

  Crispin nodded. “We should robe,” he said. The captains all had robes to wear for important occasions. “Come with me, Urchin. You can help me robe. I’m sorry, it’s a wretched start for you.”

  “Is that a good idea?” asked Husk. “A new page starting work at a time like this?”

  “He has to learn,” said Crispin; so Urchin, relieved to be given something to do at last, pattered after them through the Gathering Chamber. Padra, coming from the other direction, joined them.

  Urchin had never seen the Gathering Chamber empty before, and couldn’t help staring about him. Long arched windows on three sides of a curving bay let in the light. Benches had been placed along the walls, and at the south end was a raised platform, the dais, with carved chairs and a plain table. He had only been there for feasts and ceremonies, when there might be long trestles overflowing with good things to eat and the hall would be hung with Threadings, decorated with garlands, and warm with candles. Today it was bare and plain. Empty, it seemed even more enormous than ever, and their paws sounded too loud on the floor.

  Padra, Husk, and Crispin strode grim-faced down the hall, paws resting on their sword hilts. Without speaking, they marched to the anteroom adjoining the hall.

  “Robes are in the carved chest, Urchin,” said Crispin gruffly. Urchin heaved open the chest—it smelled of spice and sandalwood, and the lid was heavy—and with great care, lifted out the first mantle, holding it across both forepaws to keep it from trailing. It was sea-turquoise with silver embroidery, and Urchin had never touched anything so beautiful in all his life.

  “That’s Captain Padra’s,” said Crispin. “Attend to him first. Captain Husk and I wear the green-and-gold ones.”

  “I’ll robe myself; don’t trouble your new page,” said Captain Husk quietly. He lifted his robe from the chest and drew away from the others to put it on, while Urchin helped Padra and Crispin into theirs, though it was really Padra who helped, saying things like “the cuffs have to fold back,” and “fasten that on the second hook, not the first.” The collars and cuffs were deep and richly decorated, and the hems touched the floor.

  “The moles have explored every tunnel,” said Husk, folding back his cuffs. “They’ve found no signs of intruders. They’d know from the vibrations if anybody had dug a new one.”

  “Nobody’s arrived by sea, and nobody left the ship,” said Padra. “There were otters guarding it all night. Thank you, Urchin.”

  “So it does have to be an insider,” said Crispin heavily. “Nobody’s going to own up, and nobody saw anything. I can’t believe such treachery could happen here.”

  “None of us believed that,” said Husk, “or we would have been more careful. But now that it’s happened, and we have no idea who did it, we must solve this murder the old way. The ceremonial way. We must cast lots.”

  “Cast lots?” said Crispin with a frown. “I’m not happy about that.”

  “I’ve never understood how it could work,” said Padra.

  Urchin was hoping somebody might tell him what “casting lots” meant. Crispin turned to him.

  “You need to understand this,” he said. “Casting lots is an old way of solving a mystery—very old; we rarely do it now. A token for each type of animal is put into a bag—one each for squirrels, moles, otters, and hedgehogs. One is drawn out, and that shows that the murderer is from that group. Then the clawmarks of each of that kind of animal are put into the bag, and the animal drawn out is the murderer.”

  “So how does it work?” asked Padra.

  “We will be drawn to the right name,” said Husk. “It has its own power. The power of the murderer’s guilt, maybe. Or even Prince Tumble’s spirit.”

  “We should ask Fir about this,” said Crispin.

  “He’s looking after the king and queen,” said Husk. “They need him. Urchin, take the red velvet bag from the bottom of the chest and place it on the table, please. We’ll need it. Then come with me—if I may borrow your page, Crispin. Bring the purple velvet cushion from the windowsill. We need something suitable to lay him on.”

  Red velvet bag. Purple cushion. Urchin padded behind Husk to the royal chamber as animals began to gather silently in the Gathering Chamber. It should have been wonderful—all three captains of Mistmantle were seeking his help now—but it was all happening in a nightmare. At Husk’s order, he stood at the open door with the cushion balanced on both forepaws. Fir was kneeling on the floor, holding the queen’s paw.

  “Your Majesties,” said Husk gently, with a bow, “it’s time to take the prince to the Gathering Chamber. He must be there for the casting of lots.”

  Fir’s ears twitched. “I do not like the casting of lots,” he said. “It may not be fair.”

  “Peace, Brother Fir,” said Husk. “All will be done wisely, with honor. If the lots name somebody who is clearly innocent, we will disregard them. If there is evidence, of course we’ll consider it. But the lots may at least point us in the right direction. Unless, of course, the king objects…” He bowed again. “Will you allow the casting of lots, Your Majesty?”

  “Do anything, Husk,” said the king gruffly, and to Urchin he looked suddenly old and wretched. Husk solemnly laid the prince’s tiny body on the cushion, took it from Urchin, and cradled it back to the Gathering Chamber, where the animals were now crowded together. At the sight of the small, still body, they gasped.

  Husk mounted the step to the platform, where Crispin and Padra waited silently, their paws folded and their heads down, while Urchin hoped someone would tell him what to do. It would be terrible to stand in the wrong place or get in the way, and he tried to catch Crispin’s eye.

  “Stand at the door of the anteroom, Urchin,” said Crispin, and Urchin took his place. He was near enough to see and hear all that was happening. Husk laid the cushion on the table.

  “I’ll see to it,” he said quietly to Crispin and Padra. “I have to, I’m responsible for this. I was on duty last night, and if I’d patrolled earlier, if I’d posted more guards, if I’d just been a bit sharper, this couldn’t have happened. It was on my watch.”

  “Don’t blame yourself, Husk,” said Crispin.

  “But I do,” muttered Husk bitterly. Then he turned and raised his voice to the crowd.

  “Creatures of Mistmantle,” he declared, “squirrels, hedgeho
gs, moles, and otters, we will draw lots to find the murderer of our dearly loved Prince Tumble. The tokens will be placed here.”

  Crispin lifted the red velvet bag from the table. One by one, Padra took four leaves, holding them up for all the gathering to see before he placed them in the bag. On each leaf was a mark—red for squirrels, black for moles, green for hedgehogs, blue for otters. Husk turned his back as Padra and Crispin mixed and rearranged the tokens in the bag.

  “Now, Captain Husk,” said Padra.

  The silence was tense and fearful. Urchin’s hind claws curled. He saw the wide eyes and clenched paws of the watching animals. Teeth were gritted. Nerves were stretched.

  Husk drew his paw from the bag. From his post by the door, Urchin could see what he held, and a shudder ran from his ears to his tail tip.

  “The squirrel token,” announced Husk. “The murderer is a squirrel.”

  Every mole, every otter, and every hedgehog quietly released the breath it had been holding. Squirrels stood still with set faces. Urchin bit his lip.

  Urchin curled his paws and longed for this to be over. Crispin and Padra must have felt the same, because they were briskly lining up the squirrels, trying to get it over as quickly as possible. Crispin beckoned Urchin into the queue. Every squirrel claw was different, and the animals all knew each other’s clawmarks as they knew each other’s faces. Each squirrel made a clawmark on a leaf and dropped it into the outstretched bag. Urchin, pressing his mark into a beech leaf, tried not to shake; and finally, Crispin and Husk slipped in their own leaves. Their faces were calm and set, but Urchin’s heart twisted in pain for them.

  “Husk, shall I do it?” offered Crispin.