Urchin and the Raven War (4 page)
WILIGHT SETTLED
. Instead of the usual dinner at the tower, a banquet had been spread on the rocks, as the swans were much more at ease outside the tower than in it. Otters had been sent to fetch pondweeds, which the swans had nibbled delicately, and Fingal had managed—by a huge effort—to listen without yawning to Lord Arcneck’s stories of his mighty ancestors. Now the swans had flown to a pond to rest, the dishes had been cleared, and small Mistmantle animals were listening to stories and snuggling into their nests.
In the highest turret of the tower was a faint light. Brother Fir was sleeping, watched over by Mother Huggen and Hope the hedgehog. In the royal chambers, candles and lamps glowed. Juniper and Urchin, who had snatched a few minutes at the end of the day to walk down to the shore and skim stones, glanced up at those lighted windows and wondered what was happening behind them, but they could see only two silhouetted figures with their backs to their window.
Crispin and Cedar were in the window seat. Facing them, Princess Catkin sat on the floor with her elbows on her knees and her little pointed chin in her paws. The only other person in the room was Sepia of the Songs, a friend of Urchin and Juniper and a Companion to the Queen. She had been like a young aunt to Catkin.
“We’re not angry with you, Catkin,” the queen was saying, “but this is important. You’ve been behaving in a way that simply won’t do. You can see that, can’t you?”
Catkin wrinkled her nose and said nothing.
“You do like to take over, don’t you, Catkin?” said Crispin gently.
Catkin said nothing.
“Sometimes,” said Cedar, “you don’t let anyone else get a word in.”
Catkin looked up at last, her eyes wide and her lips parted in astonishment.
“Yes, I know you’re being as quiet as a feather now,” said Cedar, “but that’s because you’re sulking. Yes you are, dear. You like to organize, don’t you?”
“What’s wrong with that?” demanded Catkin.
“Nothing, when things need to be organized,” said Crispin. “But most animals like to sort out their own lives, and they usually do it pretty well. But the
swans
! They’re visitors! Sweetheart, you rounded them up and marched them into the tower!”
“Well, I didn’t know they were
that
special!” cried Catkin.
Crispin managed not to sigh. He wasn’t sure if any of this made sense to Catkin.
“All guests are honored guests,” he said. “Just as all animals are your equals. How would you feel if you arrived in a strange place, tired and distressed, and they started bossing you about? Think, sweetheart, think of how other creatures feel. This island is a good place to live because we all care for each other.”
Large tears formed in Catkin’s eyes. “But that’s all I try to do!” she protested. “I only try to help! I’m not bossy!” She looked at Crispin and Cedar in turn, hoping that they would say, “Of course you’re not!” but they didn’t, so she looked at Sepia, who took her paw.
“You never mean any harm,” said Sepia gently. “We know you only want to look after other animals, we just want you to know the best way to go about it. And sometimes, Princess, it’s best to leave them alone.”
A fat tear rolled down Catkin’s cheek.
“I try to do everything right,” she said, and sniffed. Sepia took a pawful of petals from a dish and offered them to her. Catkin dried her eyes and looked up at her parents with reproach in her pink-rimmed eyes, pouting dramatically. “It’s not easy being a princess.”
Cedar looked down at her paws to hide a smile. Crispin knelt on the floor beside Catkin and hugged her.
“I wouldn’t know,” he said. “I’ve never been a princess. But I think you’re a very nice one.”
Catkin wriggled free. “You’re laughing at me!” she said. “Nobody on this island has ever been a princess, so nobody can tell me what it’s supposed to be like!”
Crispin realized that she was right about this. “She has a point there,” he admitted.
“Just be yourself, Catkin,” said Cedar.
“But I don’t know what that is,” said Catkin, in a much smaller voice than usual. “I want to be a really good princess—I mean, I want to be a very good whatever I am, but I never get the chance. I want to do—you mustn’t laugh—something really brave, and special, and noble, and
exciting
!” She looked her father in the eyes. “Everyone’s always talking about the things you did, riding a swan and fighting Lord Husk, and all that stuff with Whitewings, and then the floods—and you, Mum, you did all those really dangerous, exciting things when you lived on Whitewings. And you saved animals when there was fouldrought. And Urchin and Needle, and you, Sepia! You rescued me when I was a baby! Wasn’t that exciting?”
“I don’t remember being excited,” said Sepia. “Just very frightened.”
“All the same,” said Catkin, “you’ve all done wonderful, scary, dangerous things, and I don’t get the chance, because you’ve done the exciting things already!”
“Your parents have made this island a safe place to live,” said Sepia. “I don’t think you’d like it if it were different.”
“Yes, but it’s so safe I never get to do anything really special!” wailed Catkin.
“Of course you do!” said Cedar.
“I mean,
really
special! Hero sort of special! Daddy, you’re laughing at me!”
Crispin bit hard on the inside of his lip before answering. “No, darling, I’m not.”
Catkin looked at him suspiciously, but went on. “The only adventure I ever had was being stolen when I was a baby, and I was too little to do anything about it. I can never go anywhere on my own for long. I want to do things
for
myself,
by
myself. Big, brave things.”
“Most of life is doing little things,” said Cedar gently, “and doing them really well.”
“They might be little
brave
things,” said Crispin.
“I’m sick of little things,” snapped Catkin. “I wish I were a Voyager; then I could go anywhere. A Voyager can go away through the mists and come back again as much as they like.”
She didn’t know why she’d said that. There had only been three Voyagers in the entire history of the island, and none of them had been squirrels. It wasn’t fair. She wrinkled her nose again and scowled. Crispin looked at her, and went on looking at her. She tried to keep the scowl on her face, but couldn’t—a smile was growing inside her, and she couldn’t hold it back, so she covered her face with her paws and found that the smile was too big for her, and she was laughing. She tolerated a hug.
“We’ll have to think hard about this, Catkin, and talk,” said Crispin. “Off you go, now. And send for Urchin.”
“Shall I go and look after the swans?” she offered helpfully.
“No!” said Crispin. “Go and find your brother, and see what he’d like to do.
Ask
him, don’t tell him. Let him make decisions.”
“But he never does!” argued Catkin.
“He will,” said Cedar. “He will if he gets the chance to learn. Away you go.”
Catkin dried her eyes again, blew her nose, smoothed her ear tufts, and left the chamber. Sepia, at a nod from the queen, curtsied and went with her.
“Is she right?” she asked. “Do we watch her too carefully? After she was missing when she was a baby I couldn’t bear to let her out of my sight. Now she wants to take risks, and I want to keep her safe.”
“It’s good that she wants to take responsibility,” said Crispin. “She just has an unfortunate way of going about it.”
Padra arrived at the royal chambers at the same time as Urchin. Burr brought cups of wine on a carved wooden tray, drew up chairs for Urchin and Padra and, as the evening was getting cooler, took a flint from a basket and lit the fire.
“Thank you, Burr,” said Crispin. “You may go now. Good night! Move in closer to the fire, everyone, and tell me how our guests are doing.”
“Lord and Lady Arcneck are keeping to themselves,” said Padra. “Their son’s completely different. He’s pleasant and friendly, and said you rescued him from a water snake when he was little. He’s called Crown.”
“Crown!” repeated Cedar.
“His feathers sort of stick out around the top of his head,” explained Urchin. “They regard that as a sign of his noble breeding, so they call him Crown.”
“Arran’s fur sticks out, but she calls it a nuisance,” said Padra. “But Crown is a very likeable swan. His parents do rather look down their beaks at everyone, but he’s not like that at all. He fits in well with the animals here. And he’s very keen to be useful, especially to you, Crispin. He’s been telling the whole island how you saved his life, and his mother’s. If you’ve sent for us to suggest a brilliant strategy for fighting ravens, sorry, I haven’t got one. And Urchin doesn’t look inspired, either.”
“Just now we’re thinking about Catkin,” said Crispin. “It seems that she’s only bossy because she wants to prove herself, to meet challenges, and she wants the freedom to do it. That’s what she
wants.
What I think she
needs
is to learn to live on the same terms as any other animal.”
“Couldn’t she do both?” suggested Padra. “If she had the freedom to explore, to make her own mistakes—ordinary, everyday mistakes, like everybody else’s—she’d fall into a few challenging situations. She’d fall into lots of things.”
“My father was a tower squirrel, but I wasn’t a prince,” said Crispin. “I don’t know what it’s like, growing up as royalty. We’ve tried to treat her perfectly normally, but it isn’t normal, not really.”
“She’s never had the chance to run about in Anemone Wood and choose her own tree to climb,” said Urchin. “The sort of thing other squirrels do. Needle and I built our own Mistmantle Tower in a tree.”
“What happened to it?” asked Padra.
“It fell out of the tree and Needle landed on it,” he said. “And I landed on Needle.”
“Ouch,” said Padra.
“Yes, she’s the sharpest hedgehog on the island,” said Urchin, still feeling that he should be calling Padra “sir,” even though he was a member of the Circle and it was a long time since he’d been Padra’s page. “Could Catkin go somewhere where she wouldn’t be recognized? Nobody would treat her differently. She’d be the same as everybody else, like an ordinary squirrel.”
“And fall on ordinary hedgehogs,” said Padra. “That sounds good to me.”
“She doesn’t want ‘ordinary,’” said Crispin. “She wants ‘exciting.’”
“Oh, she’ll find that as she goes along,” said Padra.
“And ordinary won’t be ordinary for her, Your Majesty,” said Urchin. “It’ll be an adventure.”
“I think Urchin’s idea is excellent,” said Padra. “Let her go to some remote corner of the island where she won’t be recognized, take a different name, and say…oh, I don’t know …”
“Say her parents work at the tower?” suggested Urchin.
“Brilliant!” said Crispin. “She’ll have to promise to cooperate, to keep her identity secret, and be willing to learn from the other animals. And she’s not to go looking for heroic things to do. As Padra suggests, trouble will find her in its own time.”
“That’s what worries me,” said the queen. “You’re all in a great hurry to let her lose herself in a strange place and fall out of trees.”
“We’ll give her a bodyguard,” said Crispin. “But nobody will know he’s a bodyguard. An animal who’ll keep her identity secret, keep his distance, and help her only if necessary. Brindle of the Circle, the hedgehog, would be good. He’s young and new to the Circle, he gets on with people easily, and he’s ready to take responsibility. And perhaps we’ll have a quick, reliable mole to watch secretly and report back to us now and again.”
“That would give me some peace of mind,” said Cedar. “There’s a bright young mole maid called Swish who could watch her discreetly. And how long should this go on?”
“Oh, until we think she’s had long enough,” said Crispin. “We can pack her off as soon as she likes.”
“Should we wait until the swan war is over?” asked Urchin.
At once, he wished he hadn’t asked. It had made the atmosphere change, as if the sun had clouded over—or, he thought, as if Crispin had clouded over.
“No,” said Crispin. “She should go now.”
Urchin was aware of the look that passed between the king and the captain. It was as if they were holding a solemn conversation he could not hear.
“Yes, I see,” said Padra, although Crispin had not spoken. “If you’ve finished with us, Urchin and I will go and work out a plan that will not only defeat the ravens, it’ll fling every last one of them into the sea. Unless, Your Majesty”—he bowed to Cedar—“you would like one kept as a souvenir.”
“What would 1 want a dead bird for?” said the queen. “But, Urchin,” she went on, “you do understand, don’t you—about Swan Isle? About leaving Mistmantle?”
Once again Urchin felt as if the sun had passed into shadow. “Yes, Queen Cedar,” he said. “I’d thought of that.”
“To work, then, Urchin,” said Padra. “Shall we go back to my chambers?”
“What was that about?” asked Urchin as they walked along the corridor. “When Crispin said Catkin should go away before the swan war, and then neither of you said anything.”
“Think, Urchin,” said Padra, striding briskly past the rows of Threadings. “It’s a war, it’s an army. Who’s going to lead it?”