Needle gave Padra the water, which he offered to Fingal first. A few squirrels were still chewing the scaffolding because, they said, it tasted nice. Some of the young ones were making nests from it, and the work of her own paws was being shredded by a baby mole. A hedgehog was eating the fringe. Needle tried not to look anymore.
“Please, sir,” she said as Padra drank, “where did all those moles come from?”
“Mercenaries,” said Padra, and offered her the water. “We don’t have that many moles. Husk must have arranged all this long ago. He knew he couldn’t count on enough support from Mistmantle animals, so he’s been smuggling in moles on trading ships and bribing them with jewels. It all makes sense. That’s why we’ve been trading so much, and he’s been storing up treasure. And that’s why he wanted to ration the food, so he could keep his secret army well supplied. They were all ready in tunnels, waiting for a signal. Did you notice, he beat his paw on the floor? That was the signal. One to be ready, two to attack. It’s all very clear now.”
“Like knowing the answer to a riddle,” said Needle. “Once you know it, you think it’s obvious, but it isn’t really.”
“Crispin would have worked it all out weeks ago,” said Padra. “I always knew I had seaweed where my brain should be. But Husk wasn’t ready for Mistmantle to fight back so fiercely.” He smiled down at her, making her glow with pride. “He certainly wasn’t ready for you, and he didn’t expect a siege. There’s still hope.” He stood up and grimaced as he put his weight on his wounded paw. “Here’s Moth!”
The little mole maid bustled across the rocks toward him. She looked pleased with herself.
“Moth,” he called. “Are all the young ones safe?”
“Oh, yes!” she said confidently. “But we’re not very comfortable stuck under that boat, especially with our prisoner. She takes up a lot of room.”
“Prisoner?” said Padra.
“Yes, sir, would you like to come and see? And please will you tell us what to do with her?”
A few strong animals helped Padra overturn the boat, and Mother Huggen seized the paws of any infants likely to run away. Basins and plates had been tipped across the floor, and somebody had spilled porridge.
“Heart love us,” said Padra. “It’s Tay!”
From the sand, Tay glared up at him with all the dignity she had left. It wasn’t much. She had been tied and trussed with whatever Mother Huggen could find—knitting wool, thick trails of seaweed, and, of course, Moth’s apron. A fluffy pink blanket had been stuffed between her teeth and fastened as a gag. There was porridge in her fur.
“She’s been a lot of trouble,” said Mother Huggen severely, as if Tay were a very naughty child. “She’s been thrashing about in a tantrum and knocked over all the basins and spilled the porridge—that’s why we had to tie her up so much. I’d be most grateful if you’d take her off my paws, Captain Padra.”
Padra turned to his helpers. “Mistress Tay,” he said, “is a distinguished otter, a scholar, and a lawyer, and came near to being made a captain. Treat her with respect. Untie her, use another upturned boat for a prison cell, and guard her well. When we take the tower, she’ll be escorted to a cell there.”
He bowed low, hiding the twitching of his whiskers. “Mistress Tay, I’m sorry for this indignity,” he said. “But I suspect you have brought it on yourself.” Then he bowed abruptly to Huggen and Moth, and strode away before they could see him laughing.
“I suppose the little ones can go home now,” said Needle, left with Mother Huggen. “Nobody’s going to cull them now.”
“So that’s that,” said Huggen. “No more secret nursery. No more babies. Home. And quite right, too.”
“I’ve lost Hope,” said Moth suddenly.
“There’s no need for that, my dear!” said Huggen.
“No,” said Moth, “I mean him! Hope! All the rest of them are accounted for, but not Hope the hedgehog!”
“Oh, bless him,” sighed Huggen. “What can we do with him? No doubt he’s gone off looking for Thripple, his ‘beautiful mother,’as he calls her.”
“I know her!” said Needle. “But I don’t know where she is.”
“Goodness only knows,” said Huggen. “And he’s not safe to be out on his own!”
“He can do tunnels,” said Moth.
“He still bumps into walls,” grumbled Huggen. “We’ll have to start a search. But I daresay he’ll be all right. There’s something about that one. The Heart protects the helpless, I suppose.”
In the bare Gathering Chamber, daylight was fading. Aspen sent Gleaner to light the lamps.
“And take a message to all those at guard duty,” she said. “Tell them Captain Husk and I are proud of them. There are fewer of us now, but that means a greater share of treasure. Have food and wine sent to them.”
“Yes, my lady,” said Gleaner. “Please, my lady…”
“Yes, Gleaner?” said Aspen.
“It’s all Padra’s fault, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Gleaner.”
Gleaner trotted importantly away, trying to glide as gracefully as Aspen. It was Padra’s fault. If he’d just let Husk take over, none of this would have happened.
Aspen turned to Husk with an impatient swish of her robe.
“Why don’t we just kill the king now?” she asked.
“Because then we’d lose everything,” snapped Husk. “Padra would storm the tower.”
“What if he does?” she said. “We’d win.”
“We might not,” said Husk. The king was sagging in his arms, and he pushed him roughly up against the window. “Stand up, you. Our losses in the battle were greater than we expected. Granite should have finished Padra off; then they wouldn’t have a leader. They should all have done as I said, all along. I’ve always said that. It’s true.”
He stared down at the shore. The tide was coming in. Padra’s supporters had camped high, away from the shoreline, close to the tower. None of this would have happened if everyone had simply done as he wanted. He knew best.
He was the first son of his family, or at least, the first son who mattered. There had been a feeble brother who had died at birth, and a feebler one who had managed to live. But he had never been of any use. He was an embarrassment to the family and the colony. Husk had tried to explain that to his parents, but they wouldn’t listen; so it had been up to him to push the miserable cripple over a cliff.
Killing the priest would be satisfying, but it was too unlucky. Besides, he would want Brother Fir to crown him. The priest would come to his senses.
There was a tap at the door. Aspen drew the small dagger she had fastened at her waist.
“Can I come in?” said Gleaner’s voice, and presently she hurried in with a basket on her arm. “I brought some food.”
“Thank you, Gleaner,” said Aspen, replacing the dagger. “And, Gleaner, the king can’t reach his flask. He may want a drink from it now and again,”
“Yes, my lady,” said Gleaner. She took the flask and held it to the king’s lips. Whatever was in it, it didn’t smell as strong as the spirits Aspen had been giving him, but she didn’t like to mention it. She was frightened of Captain Husk.
“Does he never sleep?” said Padra. Looking up through the gathering twilight, he could see Husk still holding the king at the open window, still with the knife at his throat. Padra had stationed groups of animals at points all around the tower and the island, but he himself had stayed with Arran and a few others before the Gathering Chamber windows. By the campfire light, their faces were warm and fierce.
Pulling his cloak around him, Padra massaged his painful shoulder and walked around the tower until he stood under Fir’s turret. The small, bent figure stood framed in light in the arch of a window.
“Brother Fir!” called Padra, and saw the priest’s head tilt toward him.
“Dearest Padra!” called Fir. It was too dark to see him clearly, but Padra heard his smile. “I have prayed for you. Dear son, stand firm
.”
“Do you have all you need?” called Padra. “Do they treat you well?”
“I have the company of four excellent moles,” replied Fir. “They are here to make sure that I don’t leap from windows, nor take up a sword against them. Four of them, Padra! With weapons! Two in here, and two at the door! They must think me a most formidable warrior; I’m thoroughly flattered. And I have bread and water, which is all…my goodness! There’s a star! A riding star!”
“It can’t be!” Padra turned to look as a spark of silver flew across the sky. “But you always tell us when we’re going to have riding stars!”
“Hm,” said Fir. “Well, this time I didn’t, because I didn’t know. Extraordinary!”
For good or for harm, thought Padra, thinking of Crispin and all that had happened since the last night of riding stars. Good or harm? He knelt on the cold rock.
“May I have your blessing, Brother Fir?” he asked. And however old Fir was, however weary, the paw he lifted in blessing was firm and did not tremble. He turned his face to the skies.
The night grew colder. Stars flocked, danced, stopped, and began again. The besiegers slept in snatches. Padra slipped into a rock pool to ease his injuries in salt water. Husk muttered to himself, to the king, to Aspen. All watched the stars. And Fir, standing at his window, looked beyond the riding stars and saw the first pale gold light tracing across the eastern sky. With a great leap of his heart and a surge of joy, he saw in the distance the faraway specks of Mistmantle’s deliverance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
RCHIN KNELT IN FEATHERS, STRETCHING FORWARD as he held tight to the strong, white neck of the swan. The rush of cold air through his fur chilled him, but his legs were warm, pressed against the swan’s body. He gazed forward and upward past its head, into the sky, not daring to look down.
They were flying higher. The beat and beat and beat of the powerful white wings swished in the air as they rose.
“I’m flying!” Urchin told himself again, breathless, his eyes wide. “I’m really flying!” It was wonderful and impossible, but it was happening.
Crispin flew ahead of him, his head up, his hind paws anchored in the space between the wings. For Urchin, if there was one thing better than flying back to Mistmantle, it was flying back with Crispin—and Crispin was himself again.
He wondered at the strength and endurance of the birds. The swans had told him how noble they were, and how they were not birds of burden to carry lesser animals, but for once, only once, for Crispin’s sake, they would do this. For hour upon hour they had flown, as the night sky clouded and the air seemed dense around them.
“It’s the mist!” Crispin had cried. “We’re going home!”
“Wonderful swans!” called Urchin. “Beautiful, wonderful swans!”
He didn’t know if they could hear, and swans didn’t care about the praises of a common tree-rat. But he had to say it. Mists curled around them. White wings rose and fell, rose and fell.
“Captain Crispin, sir!” called Urchin. “I can’t see you!” Through mist and darkness, he heard Crispin laugh.
“Don’t be anxious! I’m still here!”
Something silver rushed toward them, so that Urchin gasped and ducked.
“Crispin!” he called. “Did you see? A star!”
“The stars are riding for us, Urchin!” cried Crispin. And Urchin, who had thought nothing could be more wonderful than this, caught his breath. The stars that had danced on the night of his birth were sweeping through the sky to bring him home to Mistmantle, and he rode among them.
On Mistmantle, dawn was cold. Aspen had ordered the kindling of a fire in the hearth and stood beside it to warm herself, but Husk would not leave the king. He remained, fierce-eyed with terrifying delight. Gleaner gave the king drinks from the flask whether he asked for them or not. It was her way of helping Lady Aspen.
Cold air from the window, and the spring water Lugg had put in his flask, had helped to clear the king’s head. His wits were his own again, and he understood only too well.
At last he knew he had been Husk’s puppet. He had been drunk half the time and doped the rest, and in his weakness and grief he had let Husk get away with it. He no longer deserved to be king. But he was king, and it was up to him to save the island. He remembered the days when he had been young, sharp, and ready for action. He dozed and woke again; and each time he woke he was more fully himself.
Husk’s dagger was at his throat, but his sword was still sheathed. If only he could free his left paw. If he concentrated and summoned all his old skill, he could whip that sword away and with a quick twist send the dagger flying from Husk’s paw. Then he would be free, and Padra could storm the tower. He himself might not last against Husk and Aspen until Padra reached him, but he would take the chance.
Gradually, slowly, in the tiniest movements, he wriggled his left paw in the ropes. It might take until morning, but he could do it.
Aspen left the warmth of the fire to watch him. The king stopped trying to free his arm, and turned his head a little. Although the window was wide open, he could, from this angle, see a reflection in the glass. He watched and watched, seeing the stars ride across the sky while the night seemed to last forever, until at last Husk’s eyelids drooped, and Lady Aspen yawned.
He slipped his paw up a little farther. Husk’s eyes snapped open.
“Stand still!” he ordered.
“Husk,” he said wearily, trying another way, “enough blood has been shed. Let me abdicate. The crown is yours. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“What, and leave you alive so they can all plot behind my back to make you king again?” snarled Husk. “And let that otter get away with it? I could have been king by now, and nobody would have drawn a single sword. And this island would be perfect. Perfect! They’d all obey me. We’d have weapons. We could conquer other islands. The beasts would only have to obey me and not think too much, that’s all! It would be so easy! I will not be content until I have personally hacked that otter into pieces and put his head on a spike over the priest’s tower. And I will. Do you see the riding stars? They are for me! The stars proclaim me king! Stop wriggling, you!”
The king looked down to see Padra near a campfire, watching the window. Far away, golden light streaked across the sky. It was nearly day, and his paw was free. He couldn’t tell how clearly Padra could see him, but he looked directly down and hoped.
“Now,” he mouthed silently. “Ready. Now.”
Aspen had been falling asleep on her paws. With a jerk she woke, shook herself, and turned sharply to watch.
“The king!” she cried, and leaped forward as the king swept Husk’s sword from its sheath and spun the dagger from his paw. With a kick, she sent the king careering off balance and, with her dagger in her paw, fell on him with a force that flung them both to the floor. Picking himself up, Husk dashed forward to grapple for the sword, screaming something about the window.
It was too late. As Husk shouted, Aspen and the king were on the window ledge. Husk was still screaming as the two fell and crashed onto the rocks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
AKE THE TOWER!” shouted Padra, and with a rush and a roar the ranks tore forward. Padra glanced about for the oldest and slowest.
“Look to the king,” he ordered, “and to Lady Aspen.”
As the troops streamed past to the tower, he bent over Aspen and the king. A sword lay on the rocks. The king’s eyes were closed, but he moaned softly. Lady Aspen lay absolutely still, with a pool of blood darkening the rocks behind her head.
Padra put a paw to her throat. There was still a pulse. Both were wounded, and the sword and the dagger were both bloodied.
“Do your best for them both,” he said shortly, and ran for the tower as Husk’s terrified guards either flew for their lives or fell back to the Gathering Chamber. Padra’s forces rushed in: squirrels scrambling through windows, moles pouring from tunnels, otters and hedgehogs surging through every ga
te. As Padra ran for the Gathering Chamber, Arran was leaping down a staircase.
“Release Fir!” he called.
“Done it!” she said. “He was off like a fish, I don’t know where to.”
Battle cries and the clash of swords came from the Gathering Chamber. Husk’s supporters must be making a last fight of it. Padra found squirrels and hedgehogs, moles and otters battling with teeth, claws, and weapons. Husk had armed himself again, and with a sword in one paw and a dagger in the other, fought with all the passion and fury of his life. Padra raised his sword in both paws, and with all his might, gritting his teeth against the pain in his shoulder, rang it against the doorway.
“In the king’s name!” he yelled.
The fighting stopped. All eyes turned to him. The animals stepped back, breathing hard, leaning on their swords, nursing their wounds.
He had thought of this moment, and prepared for it. His shoulder still ached and his hind paw stung. He wasn’t as fast as Husk, but he was stronger and heavier.
“Enough blood has been shed,” he said. “Husk: deceiver, murderer, traitor to your king and to Mistmantle, I challenge you to single combat in the names of the ones you have wronged. I come for King Brushen, Queen Spindle, and Prince Tumble. I come for Captain Crispin the Exile, and for Urchin of the Riding Stars. I come for the Isle of Mistmantle.”
“And I come for Husk,” growled Husk, crouching over his sword. “Captain Husk, Lord Husk, Husk the Triumphant, King Husk.” His voice rose high and wild. “For the great King Husk, and for Queen Aspen!” He raised his sword in both paws.
Padra raised his own sword, and kissed the blade. He was suddenly aware of a hedgehog running past him, and recognized Needle as she dashed to the window.
“Look!” cried Needle with joy. “All of you! LOOK!”
All heads except Husk’s turned to look. All stared, wide-eyed, hushed with wonder.
“It’s a trick!” sneered Husk, but nobody listened. They were watching the sky as something emerged through the mist, something that flew high and steadily toward them. “Squirrels on swans!” whispered Needle in awe. “Captain Padra, sir, it’s…”
The Urchin of the Riding Stars Page 19
