The Heir of Mistmantle (4 page)

“And I’ll keep her company,” said Urchin.

“That’s very kind of you,” said Cedar, “but we have a rotation of nursemaids on duty this evening, so they all have a chance to go to the party. Jig and Fig the mole maids are first, then Moth and Mother Huggen, of course, and there are two squirrels…” but at that moment, Moth the mole maid, a little out of breath, hurried toward them and curtsied. She held Tipp and Todd by the paws. Todd, who, like his grandfather Captain Lugg, was a solid, down-to-earth mole, marched steadily beside her. Tipp waved an imaginary sword and pulled on her paw as he lunged at invisible enemies.

“Please, Your Majesties,” said Moth, “there’s a message from the two squirrels who were on the rotation. They’re neither of them feeling well, and they want to go home. They didn’t want to look after the princess in case they’ve got something catching.”

“Quite right,” said Crispin. “I’ll send two of the guards to escort them home.”

“Give them our love, and we hope they feel better soon,” said Cedar.

“Take care what you’re doing with that sword, Tipp,” said Crispin, “you nearly took Urchin’s head off.” Tipp looked down at his paw in astonishment. Crispin took a little time to talk to the young moles, and to ask Moth about her engagement to Twigg, and Lugg’s health, while Cedar turned to Urchin and Needle.

“I’ll take up your offer to babysit Catkin,” she said. “And there’s another squirrel we can ask. Catkin should sleep right through.”

“I hope she doesn’t,” said Needle.

The Gathering Chamber that evening was bright with lights and alive with music. Animals danced, watched entertainments, sang, and feasted. On hilltops and shores, beacons were lit to celebrate the princess’s naming. Princess Catkin herself, in the little room adjoining Crispin and Cedar’s bedchamber, slept soundly in her cradle. Needle and Urchin took their turn and were disappointed that she lay contentedly wrapped in a white blanket embroidered with catkins, her eyes tightly shut and her thumb in her mouth, a cream-colored blanket beneath her, and didn’t wake up once. The rose petals from the naming ceremony had been spread about her so that she lay in a nest of them. Needle rocked the cradle while singing the lullaby that all babies in Mistmantle heard, from their earliest days.

“Waves of the seas
Wind in the trees
Spring scented breeze
For your sleeping, sleeping
Sleep while I pray
Peace for your day
Heart hold your way
In its keeping, keeping
…”

She was still singing when the queen tiptoed in.

“We’ve had word of another squirrel being taken ill, and a hedgehog,” she said quietly. “Feverish and aching, being sick. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

By the next evening, more animals were reported to be ill, and the first two squirrels were worse. The queen, a wise and skilled healer, gave instructions about care of patients and supervised the making of medicines herself, but Crispin and Fir urged her not to visit the sufferers. Urchin stood on duty by the door.

“You can’t risk bringing infection back to Catkin,” said Crispin. “And she mustn’t be attended by anyone who’s been in contact with the illness.”

“His Majesty is right,” said Fir. “Dear Queen Cedar, simply train the island’s healers, make the medicines, and leave the rest to us. If, while you do so, this crisis has left you without enough baby-minders, I’m sure plenty of animals will rush to your aid. Urchin and Needle, perhaps?”

“Yes, Brother Fir!” said Urchin.

“Thank you, Urchin,” said Crispin. “You and Needle can take the second watch with Catkin tonight.”

Another squirrel came to the tower to join the nursery team that evening, a squirrel widow called Linty. Urchin met her at the main door and carried her bag as he escorted her to the royal chambers. Dimly he recalled seeing her somewhere before—it must have been at some event in the Gathering Chamber—but she didn’t come from his own colony in Anemone Wood. There was a sort of faded prettiness in her pointed face and large, dark eyes, and she had a nervous, wary way of glancing around her as if she expected something frightening to leap from behind the Threadings. She said little, and her voice was soft and shy, but already she was humming the Mistmantle lullaby under her breath. Urchin left Linty, giving her instructions—
Here’s her cup, here’s her porridge if she wants it, and she likes being sung to
—and went back to his chambers at the Spring Gate where Padra and Fingal greeted him. Tide and Swanfeather were rolling over each other on the floor, and sawdust clung to Fingal’s fur.

“Twigg’s been helping me with my boat!” he said eagerly. “It just needs a coat of paint and the sail rigging up. It’s going to be red with an orange border and a pattern of green leaves, and I want to call it after someone, but I don’t know who. It was going to be Princess Catkin, then Swanfeather, then Tide and Swanfeather.”

“Are Tide and Swanfeather all right, sir?” Urchin asked Padra.

“They look all right to me,” said Padra. “Oh, you mean this wretched disease. Otters don’t seem to be catching it. Are you all ready to be admitted to the Circle?”

“I don’t really think so, sir,” admitted Urchin.

They drank cordial, put the babies to bed, polished their swords, and talked about joining the Circle, until it was time for Urchin and Needle to take over from Linty.

“I’ll go a bit early, sir,” he said. “I don’t want to keep Linty waiting. She looked as if she’d be scared of anything, even the baby.”

“Linty?” repeated Padra, and Urchin left him gazing thoughtfully at nothing as if he were searching for an old memory.

“All quiet tonight,” said the guard mole, grinning as Urchin and Needle arrived outside the chamber. “Not a squeak out of the princess. Better go in quietly.”

“Mistress Linty?"called Urchin softly as they tiptoed into the chamber, dim with lamplight. There was no answer, and he bent over the cradle. It was empty. Linty must be rocking the baby in a chair, or pacing the floor with her. They searched, they asked the guards. Anxiety grew and tingled in their paws.

There was no trace of Linty, nor of little Catkin. There was only the rumpled catkin blanket, lying cold in the bottom of the cradle, and an open window.

CHAPTER THREE

RCHIN FLEW FROM THE CHAMBER
, yelled to the guards, dashed back into the nursery, and leaped from the open window to run down the wall. From every direction, guards ran to search the chambers. A squirrel dashed to find the king and queen, and soon Crispin and Cedar were rushing to the chambers, their eyes sharp with attention and bright with fear. Fir was summoned, Padra and Lugg were sent for, Crispin ordered Circle animals to organize search parties. Urchin scrambled back through the window, gasping for breath.

“No sign, Your Majesties,” he panted, “the ground’s too dry for pawprints.”

“Any signs of struggle in here?” asked Crispin. “Marks of dragging, claws digging in, anything like that?”

“I didn’t see any, Your Majesty,” said Urchin, noticing that Crispin hadn’t used the words “blood” and “fur.” It was bad enough for the queen without that.

“How was the room when you found it?” demanded Cedar. Her voice was urgent and intense. “Was that window open already?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Urchin. “I jumped out without touching it.”

“The naming shawl and the blanket with catkins on it are still here,” said Crispin, examining the cradle. “The other blanket’s missing.”

“No signs of struggle,” said Cedar, examining the floor. “No paw prints in here, either. The bowl of porridge is gone, and her cup.”

Urchin remembered a terrible day, long ago now. He had tried not to think of that day when the last Heir of Mistmantle, Prince Tumble, had been found murdered by a single stab wound. Nobody was talking about that, but he knew they were all thinking of it. With every scrabble of paws on the stair, heads whisked round. Circle animals arrived, and Needle hurried in bristling with anxiety, but nobody brought news of Linty and the princess.

“We’ve sent out search parties,” said Crispin, pulling out a chair as Fir hobbled stiffly into the chamber. “Sit down, Brother Fir.”