The Heir of Mistmantle (19 page)

“Oh, please, Your Majesty,” gabbled Hammily in a high, tense voice, “I wouldn’t dream of it, but you said to tell you if he got worse, and if he wanted you…”

“I’ll fetch my things,” said Cedar. “Thripple, vinegar mixture, please!”

Fingal turned the boat and felt her swing into the wind as smoothly as a bird in flight. He raised his head to the sunrise, the salt breeze, and fine rain, almost laughing with exhilaration, tasting the moment. All his life he had been in and out of boats, but nothing compared with this—
his
boat, with her perfect lines, responding so lightly to his touch and his heart, that she was somehow part of himself.

What name would be good enough for her?
Queen Cedar? Catkin? Joy? Joy
was the nearest word he knew to the way he felt now.

As soon as the little ones were allowed out of the Mole Palace, he’d give them rides in his boat. He’d already taken Tide and Swanfeather out in it but now, with simply himself and his boat in the great sea and the wide air, he felt wonderfully happy.

Thinking of the little ones, he remembered that he’d promised to look in on the Mole Palace. The children grew restless in there and needed someone to organize games, and anxious parents were eager for news of them. With regret he turned for the shore, sensing a waft of turbulence on the air. Sailing in that would be fun, and already he was looking forward to taking to the sea again tomorrow. Tomorrow would soon come, but it felt too long.

The queen had said Hobb had been fortunate. He had caught a very mild case of fouldrought and recovered within hours, so he’d be immune to it after this. But he didn’t feel at all happy now: in the middle of a large burrow with a lot of animals expecting him to tell them what to do about fouldrought, and Husk, and not being able to let the little ones out of our sight except, of course, we had to take them to the Mole Palace, and it’s not fair, and is there a curse on the Heir of Mistmantle? and somebody ought to talk to the king about it, and it’s no good expecting the queen to understand anything because she’s a foreigner. Some were even angrier than he was. They all seemed to think he should be the one to speak to King Crispin. The big hedgehog was most insistent about it.

And, of course, he should. He’d wanted for a long time to give the king a piece of his mind, and His Majesty had somehow heard about their grievances and had arranged to meet them here this evening. He had a feeling that somebody might come out of this looking ridiculous, and it wouldn’t be King Crispin.

The Mole Palace was becoming pleasantly noisy, apart from the corner where Jig and Fig, the mole sisters, were telling old stories of mole princes and princesses to the small animals, who sat sucking their paws and gazing up at them. One little mole, perched on a tree root, put up his paw and asked if they could have a story about Gripthroat, but Jig firmly said no, not today. Gripthroat was a terrifying mole from ancient legends, and stories about him were sure to give the little ones nightmares.

A hedgehog and an otter were giving lessons to some of the older ones. Whenever a question was asked, paws would shoot into the air.

“What can any of you tell me about the Heartstone? Yes, Flynn?”

“Please, miss, it rolls about and you can’t hold on to it unless you’re the true ruler or the true priest….”

“…please, miss, if you’re not you drop it…”

“…please, miss, I saw it at the coronation…”

“…miss, so did I…”

“And why must you never go beyond the mists?”

“Please, miss, because you can’t leave by water and come back by water.”

“Please, miss, Urchin did…”

“…and so did Brother Juniper, miss!”

“Yes, they did, because the Heart made that possible. What is the most times anyone has ever left the island and come back?”

“Twice, miss.”

“Miss, if anybody leaves a third time, they can’t come back at all, not anyway.”

“We’re not sure about that,” said the hedgehog. “Nobody ever
has
come back. That might not mean that nobody
can,
but it’s never happened so far, except for…”

“I know, miss!”

“Go on, then.”

“Except for a Voyager.”

“Except for a Voyager, yes, but that’s very rare. The island goes for many, many generations without a Voyager. There are pictures in the Threadings of the last two Voyagers—there was one called Lochan the otter—but they were long before the memory of anyone alive now.”

“Please, how can you tell if someone’s a Voyager?”

This question was too difficult for the teachers, and there was nobody they could ask. They changed the subject.

Fingal was met by such a rush of infants that Jig hardly had time to say “mind his burns!” before they could hug him. The older children were helping to look after the little ones, and the squirrels who usually sang in Sepia’s choir were rehearsing as well as they could without her, but as they never managed to come in on the same note and at the same time, there was a lot more giggling than singing. Hope the hedgehog was telling anyone who’d listen that this was where he grew up, Mother Huggen was holding a baby hedgehog against her shoulder and patting its back, and some little mole girls were playing clapping games in a corner, or playing at weddings and pretending to be Moth’s bridesmoles. Tipp appeared to be directing a battle against Gripthroat.

Mother Huggen had insisted on the strictest and highest standards of cleanliness. One of the palace rooms had been made into a laundry, where towels and clothes were pounded furiously to get them clean. The strong smell of vinegar and herbs was now so familiar that the animals who used to hold their noses and pull faces no longer noticed it.

A few squirrels, bored with games of First Five, began to chase each other. They ran shrieking along a corridor where a door stayed shut.

“Out of there, you lot,” called Fig. “Urchin’s asleep in there.”

“Should think he’d sleep through a landslide,” said Mother Huggen. The baby on her shoulder burped thunderously. “Beg pardon, you? He’s been up all night with the king on the search. I hear they tracked Linty down, but she’d gone, and the king wanted Urchin to stay the night here because he was soaked, and it was a long walk back to the tower. They think they’ve got a track somewhere not far from here. If that poor Mistress Linty would just leave Princess Catkin with me and run for it, that would suit me. I’ll have no peace until that baby’s home. Don’t know where the queen went.”

“Is she looking after that whiny Yarrow?” called Fingal. Mother Huggen sat herself down in the rocking chair and settled the baby in her lap.

“I’ve never known anyone work so hard as the queen,” she said. “I think it gets her through.”

Behind the shut door, Urchin was woken by a screech from somewhere in the Mole Palace. He sat upright and reached for his sword, but the screech was followed by a cry he found completely unbelievable.

“Hope hit me!” screamed someone.

The idea of well-mannered little Hope hitting anyone was so astonishing that Urchin sprang up and ran from the chamber. Fingal, laughing, was holding back Hope as he struggled toward a small, red-faced, and very astonished hedgehog.

“Hang on to this warrior for me, Urchin!” he called. “He might strangle Cringle. It’s hard holding a hedgehog at the best of times, especially with burned paws.”

“Hope, calm down!” ordered Urchin, and the eager little crowd that had gathered parted to make way for him, whispering with excitement. He took Hope’s paws firmly and knelt to look into his face. “This won’t do, Hope. What’s it all about?”

“He hit me!” screamed the hedgehog. He was now clinging to Jig, who was biting her lip with giggles.

“I’ll defend you!” cried Tipp.

“No, you won’t,” said Fingal.

“No, you won’t,” said Todd. Tipp didn’t answer, as he wasn’t at all sure who needed defending, and why.

“I know I shouldn’t have hit him,” said Hope.

“Certainly not,” said Fingal, his mouth twitching.

“Absolutely,” said Urchin, with a huge effort not to look at Fingal. “This isn’t like you. You don’t go around hitting animals.”

“It was because of what he said,” said Hope, glaring past Urchin at the hedgehog.

“I never!” said the hedgehog.

“Ooh, he did!” squeaked an excited little squirrel in the crowd. Urchin recognized Siskin, one of Sepia’s choir. “About the queen and King Crispin, we all heard him say it, sir.”

“Well, it’s true!” said the hedgehog, and ducked behind Jig.

“It’s true, but you never said it?” asked Fingal.

“We all heard it!” said Siskin eagerly. “He said the queen’s gone mad!”

Tipp tried to draw his toy sword, but it stuck. Hope lunged forward in fury. Urchin dragged him farther back from the cowering hedgehog, who was stammering in an effort to say something.

“But…” mumbled the hedgehog, “it’s only what they say at home.”

“I see,” said Fingal, and knelt down beside the frightened hedgehog. “Who’s ‘they’?” he asked gently. “Who’s been saying things about the queen?”

“My mum and dad,” whispered Cringle wretchedly. “And my big brother, Quill. And his friends.” He sniffed. “Sir.”

“We won’t be angry,” said Fingal, “but we need to know what islanders are saying. Hope won’t hit you again.” He looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Hope. “Will you, Hope?”

“He didn’t understand what he was saying, Hope,” said Urchin. “You know perfectly well that you don’t sort anything out by hitting animals, don’t you?”

Hope looked down at his paws and muttered an awkward apology.

“Good lad,” said Urchin, and cautiously let him go. Cringle looked uneasily at his paws, then at Fingal.

“Quill and everyone,” he said, and shuffled a little closer to Jig, “they say that"—he lowered his voice—"they say that the queen let her baby get stolen so now she’s gone mad and she goes round whispering to the ground and singing. Well, she does, doesn’t she? We all know that, it isn’t a secret. Maybe it’s because she’s a foreigner.”

Urchin, noticing a movement in the shadows, glanced up and caught his breath. Crispin and Padra had slipped into the Mole Palace and were standing half-hidden in a tunnel. Rain soaked their cloaks and made their fur gleam. Urchin was about to tell Fingal, but Crispin put a paw to his lips.

“And we didn’t have no diseases like this before the queen came,” went on Cringle, gaining confidence as he realized nobody would hit him this time. “My mum says maybe they’re all mad where she comes from. And we know Captain Husk’s come back and they’re not telling us, that’s what Quill says Master Hobb says, they say the king doesn’t want us to know about it, and there was this bit of muslin or something in the woods, and…”

“Slow down, young hedgehog,” said Fingal. “We don’t know Captain Husk’s back, because he isn’t. How can I explain this? Listen. He isn’t coming back, he can’t, he’s dead. Got it?”

“No, no, my dad says nobody ever saw him dead,” gabbled Cringle. “He’s back, he poisoned the water, and it’s true, because my dad’s friend saw him one evening, and he’s taken the baby away and killed it, and he’s going to…ow, ow, ow…help!”

The cry was because he was being lifted into the air. Padra had slipped in behind him and picked him up very gently. As Cringle kicked in the air, Padra turned to Crispin, bowed, and carefully placed the trembling hedgehog in front of him.