The Urchin of the Riding Stars

by M. I. McAllister

  “Your Majesty?” he said.

  “His Majesty is not well,” said Aspen quickly. She offered him his flask, and he drank deeply.

  The king looked down and saw Padra’s kind face smiling up at him. The cold water helped to clear his head. Padra the Plodder. Good fellow.

  “Do you command me to make my speech now, Your Majesty?” said Padra.

  “Speech? Of course I do, Padra!” said the king, and raised his voice. “I command Captain Padra to speak!”

  Husk snarled very softly. Padra walked to the front of the dais. Needle, watching from the front of the crowd, was aware of a shuffling behind and around her. The Anemone Wooders were moving to their places.

  “Good creatures of Mistmantle,” said Padra, “Your Majesty, Lady Aspen, Captain Husk, Captain Granite, Brother Fir. I won’t keep you long, and I promise not to bore you.”

  There was no chance of being bored now. Since Tay had failed to appear, the animals had woken up. Something was going on.

  “Some years ago,” began Padra, “when the culling law was first established, a small squirrel was carried to the tower. She was very tiny, hardly feeding at all, and struggling to breathe, and there were those who thought she should be culled. Crispin, Fir, and I made the point that the squirrel had been born the day before the culling law was made. The king agreed that only animals born after that date could be culled. If she had been born a day later she would have been killed, but she lived. Today, she sang to you. Her name is Sepia.”

  A murmur ran through the animals. Husk growled.

  “Since then,” said Padra, “it has concerned me that some very noble animals were too eager to cull. If culling is the king’s law, no animal should be culled without his express command.”

  Husk’s eyes were fixed on Padra’s back. He stamped his hind paw on the dais.

  Padra nodded to Arran, who stood in front of the dais. She carried the new baby otter in one paw and in the other, wriggling a little and poking his tongue out, was Needle’s brother Scufflen. Needle’s spines bristled with tension.

  Oh, Heart, Heart, Heart, she prayed silently. Protect him, protect him.

  She found she was holding her breath. Padra gently took Scufflen from Arran’s paws, smoothing the spines that were not yet sharp. He knelt beside the king.

  “Your Majesty,” he said. “This animal was condemned to death simply for being small, with the slightest curling on a hind paw. And the otter, she’s not deformed at all, but an order was given for her death.”

  The king bent over Scufflen, picked him up, sat him on his knee, and smiled down at him. His eyes were wet.

  “Oh, Heart love 'im!” said Apple’s voice from the crowd. There was a little laughter and a murmur of approval.

  “Your Majesty,” said Padra, raising his voice. “Did you order the killing of these animals?”

  “Certainly not!” growled the king.

  “The poor king cannot be expected to deal with every little culling!” exclaimed Aspen.

  “Little culling!” said Padra handing the animals back to Arran. “Is the death of an animal a little thing? If the king does not command them, who does?” He rounded on the crowd. “Do you know who does? Shall I tell you? All this culling is Captain Husk’s idea, not the king’s! The harsh work parties, too—do you think that idea comes from the king? These are Husk’s orders! The king appears before you today, wretched and pitiable, because that is how Captain Husk has made him! You think you’ve had a fine feast because Husk provided it, but Husk wanted to ration your food all winter. Arran the otter has managed the food stores; that’s who you should thank for your feast!”

  The animals were all on their hind paws. Ears twitched; eyes were bright. A ring of hedgehogs and otters had gathered around the dais, closing very gradually round Husk and the king. Needle edged closer to Arran.

  “What would you have eaten if the food had been rationed?” went on Padra. “What could you find? Beech leaves?” He whirled around to face Husk. “Would animals have eaten beech leaves, Captain Husk? Is that why you stored them? Beech leaves, like the ones we used for the casting of lots, when Crispin was found guilty of murder?”

  The king struggled to stand. Lady Aspen leaped up.

  “The king is distressed!” she cried.

  “The king is angry,” said Padra. “Arran, stay with him, please.”

  “Easier said than done,” muttered Arran. “I’ve got my arms full of babies. Needle, hold that.” She pushed Scufflen into Needle’s paws, and gave the little otter to its mother. Followed by two hedgehogs, she climbed onto the dais, with a withering glare at Aspen.

  Padra raised his voice above the snarling animals. “A beech leaf bearing Crispin’s mark was taken from the bag,” he said. “Captain Husk took it upon himself to draw the lots. Some weeks later, on the night of Husk’s wedding, more beech leaves were found in the chest where our robes are kept. These, too, had Crispin’s mark!”

  Needle found she was holding Scufflen too tightly. Very gently, the two hedgehogs took Husk’s paws and held on to them. There were hedgehogs on either side of Aspen and Granite, too. Claws curled. Teeth were bared. Husk’s face was set, tight and terrifying with rage.

  “How did they get there?” demanded Padra. “Had they somehow fallen in? It’s easily done!” He slipped a paw into the cuff of his robe. “It’s easy, isn’t it, to slip leaves into a cuff, or out again! That token wasn’t in the bag, was it, Husk? It was in your cuff!” And as he held the leaves high, the whole community of Mistmantle stared up at them. It was as if they were seeing a vision.

  The growling rose louder, but Needle found she was breathing more easily. Padra had done it. It would be all right.

  Padra held up a paw to keep the crowd from rushing forward, but his other paw was on his sword hilt. He knelt before the king.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, “I call for the arrest of Captain Husk.”

  “Arrest Husk!” roared the king.

  Husk’s hind paw beat on the dais again. The hedgehogs led him away. With a swish, Granite drew his sword—then from the back of the crowd came a shriek; a cry rang from somewhere else; the dais trembled; and the battle began.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  HERE DID THEY COME FROM? Moles poured from tunnels; squirrels sprang down from trees and up from rocks; there were otters and hedgehogs among them, and with battle cries they swarmed to the dais. Everywhere, sharp swords whirled and daggers flashed; but, more than that, there were such helmets and breastplates as had never been seen on Mistmantle. Scattering the woodlanders, the attackers rushed for the dais. Under Lugg’s command, Padra’s hedgehogs stood firm, their needles bristling, their swords high. Needle pressed Scufflen’s head down and ran, covering his eyes and ears as best as she could to keep the cries of war from him. Through the shouting and clanging of weapons she heard Fir’s cry of “treachery!”and Padra’s of “Look to the king!” Running, she reached the sandy soil near the dais, ducked behind a rock, and put Scufflen down.

  They had known Husk wouldn’t go without a fight. That was why the hedgehogs had been ready for action. But there were so many rallying to Husk’s side from every direction, and so well-armed! Steel flashed and rang; teeth and claws were bared; there were snarls and squeals, roars and cries; sand and dust billowed into the air as animals fell. There was no sign of Husk on the dais, but Padra and Arran held their ground, fighting back to back as Padra’s and Granite’s swords clashed together. And where was the king?

  Lugg and the hedgehogs fought furiously, but the tide of armed moles came on. An otter who looked a bit like Padra was hurling stones toward them, but he had to stop as they mingled with Padra’s supporters. Soon the moles would be on the dais, and all those sharp blades would rush at Padra. Desperately, Needle looked up. The spectacular awnings and Threadings around the dais were rocking with the surge of battle. She could use those. She looked wildly about her. Crackle and Sepia were pressed together in terror with their paws wrapped tigh
tly round each other. A few small choir squirrels and the teams of acrobats watched, too, huddling together.

  “Crackle! Sepia!” called Needle. “I need you here! Faster!” She stamped her paw as they crept nervously to her. “Look! We need to gnaw this scaffolding. Then we can bring everything crashing down on the moles as soon as they get on the dais!”

  “But what about Captain Padra?” said Sepia.

  “We get him off first! Come on!”

  “I’ll help!” said a small choir squirrel, and another, and another. Crackle tried to tell them they were too young, but the acrobats were already racing up the scaffolding. A large hat with roses on it seemed to be swimming through the fray, and presently Apple was on the scene, hurling pebbles at the attackers. When she ran out of ammunition, she joined in the gnawing at the scaffolding. Other young animals, seeing them, struggled through the battle to help.

  Padra and Arran had been pushed to the edge of the dais. Twice Granite had tried to force Padra over it, and Padra had pushed him back. Needle saw Granite heave his sword in both paws, ready to crash into Padra’s skull; but Padra struck out with all his strength to parry the blow, staggering back a pace before finding his balance again. A mole leaped at him, but with a swish of his tail he hurled it flying from the dais. The Threadings would fall soon, but it might not be soon enough.

  “Somebody help Captain Padra!” yelled Needle, but in the rage of battle she couldn’t tell if anyone heard her. “Why is it always up to me?” Gritting her teeth, she struggled to climb onto the dais.

  “What you doing?” called Apple.

  “Give me a shove!” said Needle, and with a heave from Apple, she was on the dais, brandishing her spines at any mole that came near her as she darted forward, grabbed Granite’s ankle in both paws, and bit with all her might. There was a howl and a kick from Granite, and as she rolled backward, she saw a squirrel leap from a Threading to sink its teeth into his shoulder. Armed moles were on the dais, then more of them.

  But the awnings were ready to fall. Needle leaped down.

  “Shake the scaffolding!” she gasped.

  “Shake the scaffolding!” shouted Apple.

  “Padra, Arran, Lugg, jump!” she yelled.

  “Padra, Arran, Lugg, jump!” bellowed Apple as the scaffolding rocked.

  With a cry of “Mistmantle, jump!” Padra and Arran hurled themselves from the dais. At the other side, Lugg and the rest of their supporters sprang and scrambled to safety as the scaffolding creaked and folded. Awnings and Threadings swung, swayed, and collapsed, lurching like a wild sea, as underneath them the trapped animals kicked and hacked.

  Padra was already on his paws. “The king!” he shouted.

  “The tower!” panted a hedgehog. “We tried to fight our way through to His Majesty, but Husk had him surrounded by guards and dragged him into the tower. Don’t know where all his troops came from, sir.”

  “I think I do,” said Padra, getting his breath back. “Who’s in the tower?”

  “The king, Husk, Lady Aspen,” said the hedgehog. “Brother Fir, I think, but I’m not sure. Some of the servants and Husks’s guards.”

  Padra looked up at the tower. Against the late afternoon sky, it stood as beautiful as sunset and as hard as diamond.

  “They’ll have every tunnel and entrance well guarded,” he said. “But we should be able to take it by storm.”

  There were cries and curses from behind him. Swords were hacking through the fallen Threadings.

  “Have that lot trussed up and put in—oh, hang it, we don’t have the use of a dungeon,” Padra went on. “A cave, then, well guarded. Or a burrow. Arran, Lugg, take some reliable creatures to see to it.”

  There was still some fighting going on below the dais, but it seemed that most of Husk’s supporters were either trapped on the dais or back in the tower. The wrecked Threadings rose and fell as the moles trying to escape became more and more tangled.

  “Well done, everyone,” said Padra. He grinned down at the swarm of young animals gathered around him. “The collapse of that scaffolding has just saved the whole island. It certainly saved me. Whose idea was it?”

  “It were 'er, sir,” said Apple with a jerk of her head at Needle.

  “They all helped,” said Needle.

  “Needle,” said Padra, “you are one of the heroes of Mistmantle, and we will honor you forever. You will be in the Threadings.”

  “We’ll need new Threadings,” remarked Apple.

  Needle’s eyes filled with tears. She tried biting her lip; she tried pulling her face straight; but she couldn’t help it: the tears would not be held back, and she sobbed wretchedly.

  “I know, I know,” said Padra sympathetically, and held her paws. “You’ve never been in a battle before. It’s all too much. Cry all you like, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “It’s not that,” snapped Needle through her tears. “It’s the Threadings! We worked so hard—we were proud of them!”

  Padra drew himself up and rubbed his sore shoulder. It had been badly jarred in the fight with Granite and felt injured, and his right hind paw had been gashed by a mole’s sword.

  “Time for the tower, then,” he said. He climbed onto a rock and clanged his sword against a fallen helmet for attention.

  “Animals of Mistmantle,” he called, “loyal and true, faithful hedgehogs, bright-hearted squirrels, brave moles, valiant otters—will you rescue your king? Are you with me? At my word of command, otters to the Spring Gate! Hedgehogs and squirrels to the main stairs! Moles to the tunnels! Are you ready? For Mistmantle! For the king! For your families! Storm the tower!”

  “And me with my best hat on!” muttered Apple.

  Needle put Scufflen into Apple’s arms. “Please take him to my mum,” she said. “I’m going with Padra.”

  The charge Padra led was wholehearted and furious, but every tunnel and window was guarded. Rocks were hurled, and arrows sleeted down from the battlements.

  “Fall back!” called Padra, not wanting to risk lives for a struggle he couldn’t win. “Fall back!” But as he called out and ran backward across the rocks, a window opened.

  “Captain Padra!” Aspen was calling down from a window, her paws on the sill, her head high. “Go to the windows of the Gathering Chamber. Captain Husk seeks to parley with you.”

  “It’s a trap, sir,” said Needle.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” said Padra. “You’re too young for this.”

  “I’m a hero of Mistmantle, sir,” Needle said, “and she’s setting a trap.”

  “That’s a chance I have to take,” said Padra. “If Husk really does want to parley, it’s a sign that he knows he’s losing. Don’t worry, I’ve got an army at my back.”

  Determined not to limp, he made his way to the rocks under the Gathering Chamber windows. Armed animals followed him.

  “Husk!” shouted Padra, because he would no longer call him captain. “Come to the window!”

  Another window opened, and animals gasped in terror. Husk’s face was fierce with wild, dangerous delight, as if he treasured this hour. He looked as if he couldn’t wait to kill. He certainly didn’t look sane.

  “Padra the otter,” he said, and laughed. “Padra the Plodder. Plodder the Otter, Otter the Plodder. Have you come to beg for mercy?”

  Padra rested a paw on his sword hilt. “I come,” he said, “to demand that you hand over King Brushen and Brother Fir to my safekeeping, and surrender the tower.”

  “And if I don’t?” sneered Husk. “Will you go back to your baby-minding?”

  “If you don’t,” said Padra clearly, “you may choose to call yourself King of Mistmantle, if you want. But whose king? Your supporters are dead or prisoners. Not one of us will ever call you king. All we can call you is murderer and traitor, and every one of us would die to defend this island from you. Only we don’t intend to die. We will live on a free island, under our true king.”

  “Your true king?” smiled Husk, and it was
a terrible smile. “Do you want to see your true king?”

  He disappeared from the window. Needle tried telling herself that everything would be all right, but it didn’t feel all right. And when Husk came back, she wanted to cry.

  The king wore no crown and no robe. His paws were tied to his sides; his fur was roughened; and his eyes were bloodshot. Husk and a guard heaved him harshly to the open window, and for a sickening moment Needle thought they would throw him down.

  There was a rasp as Husk drew his sword, and a shriek of dismay from the animals. If Padra had not held out a paw to hold them back, they might have surged at the tower at once and been ruthlessly cut down. But they stayed still, their breathing taut and shallow, as Husk put the blade to the king’s throat.

  “Come any nearer,” he said, “and the king is dead. And then I shall be king by right of law. Who can challenge me? And it’s no good trying to sneak in through a tunnel. They’re all guarded. The slightest stirring of any intruder, and the king dies. And then we’ll let Brother Fir out of his lonely tower so he can crown me.”

  “Is Brother Fir held prisoner?” asked Padra.

  “No, not at all,” said Husk over the king’s shoulder. “He loves his turret room. And he can come out as soon as he agrees to crown me. I won’t surrender, so you’ll have to. Poor Padra, you can have until dawn to proclaim me king. I know it takes you a long time to think and understand. Till dawn, Padra. I can hardly wait. It will be a long night.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ADRA SURVEYED THE BATTLEFIELD. There were prisoners to be guarded, the dead to be buried, wounded and grieving animals to be cared for, and guards to be posted. Needle, wanting to be useful, took him a flask of water.

  She found him by the remnants of the dais with the young otter she had seen in the battle. Whoever he was, he was battered, bruised, and grinning.

  “No more heroics, Fingal,” Padra was saying. “I know you’ve been brave, but you could have been killed. Go and get your wounds washed. Never mind that I’m your brother, I’m your captain—so do as you’re told.”