The Urchin of the Riding Stars (32 page)

“Yes, I know,” said Urchin, and wondered what to do next. He really wanted to rush to wherever Crispin was, but he couldn’t leave the hedgehog. It could hardly even see where it was going, and the moles might find it again.

He sighed quietly. It had been like this before he came to the tower. Since then he’d served two great captains, nearly been killed, crossed the sea in a storm, and flown through the mists on a swan. Now he was back to looking after infants.

“Come on, then,” he said, and lifted the lamp from its bracket on the wall. “Where are you meant to be?”

“I think I can manage now, sir,” said the hedgehog. “I can do tunnels.”

“It’s a good thing one of us can,” muttered Urchin, who had just realized that he wasn’t at all sure which way he’d come in. The hedgehog trundled along at his side as Urchin tried to remember Padra’s map of the tunnels. He must be heading either back to the Spring Gate or forward to the Gathering Chamber. As his confidence returned, the hedgehog chattered to Urchin about how he’d had a lovely time at the Spring Festival except he didn’t see his mummy, and she might be sad at missing him, so he thought he’d better go to the tower and find her, because he knew how to do tunnels.

“She works here,” he explained. “She makes Threadings. She’s very clever. And very, very beautiful.” He told Urchin how he had got a little bit lost and a very little bit frightened, but he’d kept searching. It was a long time, and he’d got very hungry.

“I should have thought of that,” said Urchin, and slipped the satchel from his shoulder. There was a bottle of water and some very squashed biscuits and berries. The squashed berries were impossible to eat without making a mess, especially in a dusty old tunnel, but the hedgehog enjoyed them and didn’t notice the stains of juice on his chest and the stickiness that glued cobwebs to his spines. They hurried on, Urchin carrying the lamp, Hope walking on his hind legs with a biscuit in his paw, talking with his mouth full. The moles had found him and asked him a lot of questions, “and they were very rude about my mummy,” he said indignantly. Then he dropped to all fours and sniffed.

“It’s this way,” he said. “There’s a nasty smell and a nice one. Yes, this way.”

“But it’s downhill!” said Urchin.

“It’ll go up again,” said the hedgehog. “It gets nasty farther on, but I can smell candlelight. And a squirrel. A nice squirrel.”

“It’s narrow, too,” said Urchin. He didn’t know of any other way, and he couldn’t leave Hope. But something about this tunnel made his fur bristle with cold. He didn’t want to go on.

Husk didn’t know how he came to be in the middle of the hall. He supposed he must have backed away as Crispin sprang down from the swan.
Squirrels flying through the air.
This should be his hour of triumph, and everything had turned against him.

Padra’s joy shone in his face as Crispin balanced on the windowsill. And Padra knew that Crispin did not come with bitterness, or for revenge. It was simply time to finish what should never have started, and he was the one to do it.

“Padra, please send someone to find Urchin,” said Crispin, but his eyes rested on Husk. Padra nodded to a few eager squirrels.

“And Padra,” Crispin went on, “if you were about to settle this vermin, will you please stand back?”

“You have a higher right to it,” said Padra, and took a pace backward. Needle, not wanting to be in the way, scurried away to a side door to watch.

Silence had settled on the hall. Miraculously, wonderfully, Crispin was here, in command, raising his sword, kissing the blade, his face steady and set against the wild-eyed Husk. Then with a scream of outrage, Husk lifted his sword and leaped at Crispin, who darted from beneath the blade and swung to face him, parrying the swinging blow. The creatures gasped.

Husk fought furiously, but skill and planning were deserting him. He turned his back to the window. No, no, he mustn’t let Crispin force him to that open window. He swung around, his back to the door—but then Padra was behind him.…

There was a passageway from this room. A passageway, a flight of stairs, a tunnel reaching to draw him down to welcoming darkness. That darkness called him. The absorbing, breathable evil of the pit drew him. Nobody was near that door, except a young hedgehog.

He fought on, letting Crispin force him back to the place where he wanted to be. He could feel it behind him, the side door, the sharp turn through the shadowed gap in the wall. Nearly there, and as Crispin’s sword plunged toward his heart, he slipped backward through the door, turned sharply, and was running wildly to the place where he belonged.

Needle whisked around the corner just in time to glimpse Husk’s vanishing tail tip.

“That way, sir!” she called, and Crispin darted after him. Padra followed, twisting his way through the gap, with Needle at his heels. As they raced after Husk into darkness, they followed the sound of squirrel paws and wild laughter.

Husk ran through the tunnels as if he ran to destiny, faster, faster, leaping over stones: fierce, wild, and driven. The place of darkness would save him. He only had to lead them to it, open the door, and stand his ground. It was too narrow for them to come at him in a rush. They would come one at a time, and he could pick them off one by one and fling them into the pit, alive if necessary. Crispin first, then Padra, then any animal that still dared challenge him. He could hear the paws that followed him. Let them follow. He gathered speed. He was nearly there when horror transfixed him.

It was the horror of light.

The door of the dungeon stood open. Light glowed from inside it, the dancing light of hundreds upon hundreds of candle flames, flickering as if they were laughing. Even the water and slime twisting down the walls were transformed into gleams of gold and silver. Husk put a shaking paw against the wall. Fear gathered around and inside him, all his fear, his nightmares, and the greatest fear of all, the terrible fear of all his life, the fear of helplessness, crippled him. His nerve failed. The sword fell from his paw.

He could not go back. Crispin and Padra were there. With both paws to the walls, he inched forward, creeping past the open door of the dungeon. Then he saw the unspeakable thing.

He closed his eyes, and looked again. Aspen was not there to wake him up, and the thing of nightmare was running toward him. But he knew he was awake. It was real. Prince Tumble was stumbling toward him, cobwebs hanging from his prickles, his eyes half closed as he sniffed out his murderer. The stain on his chest was deep and drying, just as he remembered it. Unstoppably, the prince came on. Light followed him.

Urchin followed Hope, staying close, holding up the lamp before him, taking shallow breaths and holding his courage together. He remembered this place with its terrible smell of death and fear, but Hope needed him, and as he went on, there was light ahead. He kept going. There in the dim tunnel ahead of him was Husk, and Urchin had never seen such terror.

Husk was backing away. His eyes were staring, his paws shaking, his coat bristling. “No!” whispered Husk. “No!”

“It’s only me, sir,” said the hedgehog.

“Stay away!” pleaded Husk. “Away, you!” He inched backward, staggering. No!”

From the dungeon, Urchin heard Brother Fir’s voice. “Husk! Stop! Take care!”

Urchin dashed past Hope. Crispin and Padra were running in from the other direction.

There was no time to take it all in. He was aware of a grim place softened by candlelight; Brother Fir hobbling forward, stretching out his paws; a last cry—then somehow Husk disappeared, and the cry sounded farther and farther down and turned into something that was half a cry and half bitter laughter—then it stopped.

“Keep away from the edge,” said Fir sharply. “All of you.”

Urchin stepped back and put out a paw to stop the hedgehog from going any farther. Crispin and Padra were beside him. He saw and smelled a damp cellar, but its slimy walls were softened by the shining of candles, rows and rows of them, like jewels. There was a faint scent of beeswax. Deep sorrow lay in Brother Fir’s dark eyes. Padra’s warm paw was across Urchin’s shoulders.

“What is this place?” asked Crispin.

“It is a place of ancient evil,” said Fir gravely. “I myself have only just found it and attempted to cleanse it of its past. We should leave it for now.”

“The king,” said Padra. “What’s the quickest way out?”

“Excuse me,” whispered the hedgehog. “What happened?”

“Never mind,” said Urchin. “Come with me, and we’ll find your mum.”

Brother Fir led them away. Padra gave Urchin’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s over now,” he said. “Well done.”

“I didn’t run away this time,” said Urchin.

Padra’s paw tightened on his shoulder, and there was a catch in his voice. “I know, Urchin. You didn’t run away.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

AYING LITTLE, THEY MADE THEIR WAY BACK
through the tunnels to the rocks below the Gathering Chamber. Urchin gulped the fresh sea air gladly. Waddling and wobbling, Apple ran to him, and he left Hope in her care while he followed Fir and the captains across the rocks.

Arran had taken charge of the king. He lay with his head in her lap; his wounds had been dressed, but Arran shook her head. A few paces from them, Gleaner knelt in a crumpled mess of torn silk and bent tearfully over Aspen, lifting her head to hold a drink to her lips. A dented bracelet lay on the rocks.

Urchin glanced from Aspen to the king. Sooner or later, somebody would tell him what had happened, but both were so wounded and bruised that it was impossible to work it out. Padra and Crispin were kneeling before the king, so Urchin did the same, and the king turned his head a little.

“The page,” he said. “Nice young chap.” With sorrow in his eyes, he turned to Crispin, struggling to speak, and Urchin felt Padra’s paw on his shoulder.

“We should leave,” he said. “Let them be alone.”

There was real warmth in the morning sun. While Padra issued orders about the prisoners, Urchin stood on the shore and drew in deep, long breaths of Mistmantle air. Two swans glided across the bay toward him, and he waded out to meet them.