The Heir of Mistmantle (9 page)

By the morning, Urchin hardly felt he’d rested. He, Needle, and Juniper climbed to a hilltop where they scrabbled, scratched, dug, sniffed, and listened until their ears and noses were so confused that they couldn’t distinguish anything clearly, and they stopped for a rest. Urchin had soil dust in his eyes and ears, and a catching in his throat.

“Are we far from the stream?” he asked hoarsely.

“Sorry?” said Juniper, and when Urchin repeated it, he hopped away to find his satchel. “I brought flasks of Spring Gate water,” he said. “You see that row of trees on the skyline?”

Urchin twisted around to look. “Do you think we should look there next?”

“We should, if nobody else has,” said Needle. She had found a useful supply of earwigs and popped one into her mouth.

“The thing about those trees,” said Juniper, “is that beyond and below them there’s a sheer drop to Tangle Bay. Damson found me near there.”

Urchin turned to him with sudden interest. As Juniper had been in a world of his own all day, it was a relief to hear him talk about Damson.

“Has Damson told you anything more?” he asked.

“No,” said Juniper with a shrug, as if it weren’t important anymore. “She might not know much about who I am, but she knows more than she’s telling me.”

Needle sprang up. “It’s her!” she called. Urchin and Juniper leaped up, scattering crumbs and gulping down chunks of apple.

“Sorry,” said Needle, “I didn’t mean Linty, I meant Damson.” She waved with both paws. “Damson, we’re here!”

Damson lumbered stiffly up the hill. “I’m getting too old for this,” she panted. She put down her basket, sat down beside Needle, and rubbed her hind paws. “But I reckon Linty’s got a place well down, all carved out, all in and out the tree roots, and well covered. I had places like that where I kept you, Juniper, before I found our home behind the waterfall. Excuse me asking, Needle, but where did you find those earwigs?”

“Just here,” said Needle, clearing a space with her claws around the heather roots. She was about to add, “There’s plenty,” when she remembered that, of course, squirrels don’t eat earwigs. Didn’t know what they were missing.

“That’ll do,” said Damson, and sprawled face down on the heather. Juniper and Urchin exchanged puzzled glances.

“Mistress Linty,” she called gently, “no need to be alarmed, now, it’s only Damson. Are you still looking after little Catkin?”

Juniper, Urchin, and Needle looked at each other and back at Damson. Had she really found Linty, or should they be worried about her?

“I’m sure you’re taking good care of her,” Damson went on, “and King Crispin’s most grateful, but he and the queen are missing her very much and they want her back. It’s time she had a sleep in her own cradle. Brother Fir said he thought you might be afraid of Lord Husk. Well, Husk’s dead and gone, Mistress Linty. King Crispin and Queen Cedar are good animals and don’t have culling. So my dear, you bring little Catkin back to the tower. They’ll be happy to see you both.” She got up slowly, brushing dust from her fur.

“Have you found her?” gasped Needle. “Is she really down there?”

“I’ve no idea,” said Damson. “I might just be a silly old squirrel talking into the ground. But where there’s a lot of creepy crawly things about, like earwigs, there are insect runs, and where the insects can get through, so can the sound. When I was in hiding, I heard a great deal of what was said aboveground. Linty might be able to hear voices. It wouldn’t hurt if you all tried talking into the ground for her, especially you, my dear.” She nodded at Needle. “She might be more willing to trust a girl.” She looked up at the hills above them. “I’ve come this far, I may as well go on.”

“We’ll do the uphill bit,” said Juniper, “but you’re worn out, so I’ll take you home first.”

“You will not!” said Damson. “You’ll go on searching for the princess as King Crispin told you to! Do as you’re told. I’m going downhill and you’re going up.”

Juniper and Urchin leaped up the hill. Around them mothers took children back to their nests and burrows, holding their paws firmly, casting sharp, worried glances over their shoulders. Needle followed more slowly. She’d do anything to rescue Catkin. She would go through fire and water, place herself in any danger, and risk her life. But she hadn’t imagined having to sprawl across the heather, whispering kind words into tree roots. Danger was one thing, but looking ridiculous, really….

She saw a gathering of wood lice, lay down, and began talking. She’d do anything for Catkin, even this. She’d better tell the queen about it, in case she wanted to try it herself.

Dusk settled. Animals worked on, searching for Catkin and gathering the harvest, though heads ached and limbs were stiff with effort and heavy with tiredness. Only the otters, smoking and salting fish and drying seaweed, seemed to keep up the pace of the day’s work. Even squirrels trudged to their nests instead of running.

“But the harvest’s almost in,” said Padra to Captain Lugg as they met on the shore. “It’ll all be under cover when the weather breaks.”

“Can’t break soon enough,” said Lugg. “We need rain. Streams are running slow. Sluggish water isn’t good. No wonder animals are falling sick. How are Crispin and the queen?”

“Keeping very busy,” said Padra, “searching, organizing, and doing whatever they’re needed for. It’s the only thing that makes life bearable. I don’t know how they can stand it.” Nearby, two moles hurried home, their heads bowed and close together in conversation. When their children ran ahead, they were sharply called back.

“What’s going on?” asked Padra. “Suddenly there’s a lot of whispering going on. And the children—ever since Catkin disappeared, the animals have been very watchful of their young, but now it seems they don’t want them to go out to play at all.”

“Something’s up,” agreed Lugg. “Better ask a few questions, find out what it is. Missus might know. And that lot in Anemone Wood hear everything. I’ll see what I can find out.”

Underground, Linty rocked herself. She had heard paw steps above, up and down, coming, going, searching, not leaving her alone. But then she had heard a kind voice, speaking her name—
Mistress Linty…they’re most grateful…they want her back…he’s gone…

Linty remembered that voice. That was Damson. She had admired and envied Damson, who had managed to keep a young one safe through the bad times. If Damson said it was safe to take this baby to King Crispin, it was safe. Good King Crispin. She remembered Crispin. He was a nice young squirrel.

A terrible thought struck her. What if that wasn’t really Damson? What if…she turned hot and sick with fear when she thought of this—what if it were a bad animal playing a trick, putting on Damson’s voice? Or what if Damson were wrong, or couldn’t be trusted? In these strange days, who could you trust? If she were lured into a trap, Catkin would be killed, and it would be her fault.

She hugged herself and rocked. What was the best thing to do for the baby?

Stay here, dig farther in, move to another refuge, and hope they don’t find us, or take the baby back. Just take her back to her own mother.

She couldn’t hide forever. She could trust Damson. She’d take the baby back to King Crispin and the queen, maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow, she’d go to the tower. Or would she?

A snuffle and a squeak from the cradle made her jump up to look at the baby, but Catkin was only stirring in her sleep and looked more adorable than ever. Her paw, wrapped in the cream-colored blanket, was in her mouth.

Suddenly and bitterly, Linty remembered her own sorrows. The queen must be broken with grief over this baby, and Linty knew how terrible that was. No mother should endure that. She’d go now, before she could change her mind.

Quickly and methodically, she packed up the food, the clothes, and the toys. She lifted Catkin from the cradle, wrapping her warmly with her rose petals still around her. At the sound of paws close by she stopped and tilted her head, listening, but it was only the sound of moles pattering along a tunnel nearby. She caught a few words.

“You know what they were saying, today, at the berry-picking?” a mole was saying. “Someone’s saying Husk’s about again. Nobody ever saw him dead.”

Linty began to shiver uncontrollably. She told herself not to be silly. How could Husk be back? It was only some loudmouth making trouble. Husk was dead. We had good King Crispin. Damson said so.

She laid Catkin back in her cradle and yearned for the days when life had seemed so simple, when she had been young and full of life, when her future lay before her, and she held her first baby in her arms. Miserably she rocked Catkin, weeping softly with her head turned to one side because she must not wake the baby.

CHAPTER SIX

RCHIN RAN UP THE STAIRS TO
F
IR’S TURRET
, and knocked at the door. Fir’s voice sounded reassuringly calm, but tired, and quieter than usual.

“Urchin’s knock,” he said. “In you come, Urchin.”

Urchin stepped into the round, simple chamber where curtains wafted gently from open windows. Fir and Juniper were at the windows, their backs to him, but Fir turned with a small watering can in his paws.

“My little garden needs water, these hot days,” he said. “We have to look after the window boxes. Herbs are much needed at present. Is it time to go the Throne Room, Urchin?”

At the sight of Juniper, Urchin had to bite his lip to keep from letting his shock show on his face. His face was gaunt, his fur was dull and spiky, and the pain in his eyes was the worst thing of all. He looked like a trapped creature desperate for rescue. As Brother Fir dried his paws on his tunic, Urchin hopped to Juniper’s side.

“Whatever it is, Juniper, tell me!” he whispered. “Or tell Brother Fir. But tell someone!”

Juniper, offering his arm to Brother Fir on the stairs, made no sign that he had heard, but Urchin was sure he had. He was sure Brother Fir had, too.

No sunlight fell on Crispin and Cedar’s thrones. The king and queen sat upright as birches. Their faces looked hollow, and there was a sharp alertness about them both as if they were constantly watching and listening. Looking at them, Urchin knew that eating and sleeping were no longer important to them. The queen clutched Catkin’s remaining blanket in one tight paw.