Urchin and the Heartstone (27 page)

“Well done, Burr,” said Crispin to the mole. “Lord Treeth, if you’ve nothing else to tell me, the hedgehog on duty will presently escort you back to—”

“My prison?”

“Your chamber,” said Crispin.

Treeth bowed stiffly. “As Your Majesty wishes,” he said. “Permit me to drink the health of my king.” He raised his voice. “King Silverbirch!” With a flourish he drank the wine, then a swift movement of his paw made Crispin reach for his sword hilt.

With a swish and flash of silver, Lord Treeth swept a dagger from inside his cloak and hurled himself forward. A twist of Crispin’s sword sent the dagger whirling across the room, but Treeth snatched Urchin’s sword from the hearth.

Sepia fought, kicked, scratched, struggled, tried to scream, and bit with all her might into the paw that covered her mouth until Gorsen curled over with pain, and Sepia pulled hard at his ankle. Voices in the Throne Room shouted for the guards. Off balance, Gorsen fell heavily and Sepia scrambled over him to the door, but Lumberen was through it first. She tried to cry for help, and couldn’t. Everything was happening at once: Gleaner was tearing along the corridor and hurling herself at the door; Fir was at the door, then at the window, shouting for help; Lord Treeth was on the floor, grappling with Burr the mole page; Lumberen had drawn a sword from under his cloak and was fighting with Crispin; and as Sepia threw herself, biting at Lumberen’s sword arm, the floor seemed to wobble as if it would give way altogether. Gleaner was pulling Lord Treeth from Burr, digging her claws into his shoulders. Sepia was flung from Lumberen’s arm. Crispin stooped to seize Lord Treeth by the scruff of the neck, and turned to aim a blow at Gorsen, who had struck at him, as Lumberen threw a sword to Lord Treeth. Burr was biting a hedgehog ankle, and from under the floorboards Fingal appeared with a cry of, “Treason, Your Majesty!” before launching into the fight. Brother Fir took the tablecloth and threw it over Lord Treeth’s head. Fingal, having felled Lumberen with a swish of his tail, turned to the throne and was trying to drag it into place over the hole in the floorboards, but Sluggen was already clambering up into the chamber. Fingal knocked him on the head, and he tumbled back down, but more came, some seeming to lose their footing. Docken and a company of moles had run in from the corridor, crying, “Treason! Look to the king!” There were cries and clashes, blood and fur. Padra hurled himself into the room, and suddenly it was over, with Docken, Padra, and Crispin holding drawn swords to the throats of Lord Treeth and the rebel hedgehogs. Fingal picked up Gorsen’s dropped dagger, looked to see what Padra was doing, and copied him. Brother Fir was attending to Burr the mole, who appeared to be injured and was shaking. Guards blocked the doorway and window, and two of them were struggling to hold back Gleaner as she screamed tearful insults at Lord Treeth.

“Quiet, Gleaner,” ordered Crispin, still breathless from the fight. “You have done your part bravely, and may rest now.”

“I did it for my lady!” snarled Gleaner.

“I know,” said Crispin. “Guards, take her and leave her with a sensible squirrel who can calm her down. Take Lord Treeth, Gorsen, and Lumberen here under guard to the Gathering Chamber, and put the rest in cells.”

Padra bowed and gave orders, and the rebels were taken away. Fingal mentioned that there were more of the vermin down there, then vanished down the gap, and bobbed up again to report that the ones he’d knocked down were still there, and a bit bruised.

“Then I will attend to them next,” said Brother Fir calmly, and patted the young mole on the shoulder. “Bravely done, Burr. What a very good thing you spilled that wine. There was still enough left for the hedgehogs to slip on.”

“Was that wine?” asked Fingal. “I thought it was just wet floor from wet otter! Sorry I didn’t get here a bit faster, Your Majesty.”

“Loyal and true animals, all of you,” said Crispin, throwing a paw across Fingal’s wet shoulders. “Well done, and thank you. I owe my life to each one of you, and the island owes you more than we can ever know. Burr, well done! Are you hurt? No? We’ll have to make sure your family knows how brave you’ve been. Moles, send some fast squirrels to gather together as many of the Circle animals as you can find and send them to the Gathering Chamber, and I need two good tunneling moles to investigate under the Throne Room.”

Mother Huggen and a team of efficient hedgehogs and moles slipped in quietly to care for the wounded. A silent procession made its way to the Gathering Chamber—guards, Lord Treeth, Gorsen, Lumberen, Fir, Crispin, and Docken bleeding from a cut to his paw but insisting that he didn’t need help.

“I’ll join you presently,” called Padra.

Fingal, who hadn’t been in the Throne Room often, was lying on his back under the throne to inspect it from underneath.

“Fingal, get out of there,” ordered Padra. “You’re in the royal Throne Room now, not a cave at low tide.” Fingal wriggled out. “You’ll be needed in the Gathering Chamber.”

“Good!” said Fingal.

“Well, move, then!” said Padra, and as Fingal lolloped away, Padra added, “Well done, you.”

Fingal grinned back over his shoulder. “I enjoyed it,” he said.

Padra called back one of the guards. “We’ll need Mistress Tay,” he said, “and that other Whitewings squirrel, Scatter, just in case she knows anything. And Whittle, as he’s learning law and history. He should be there. Sepia, would you—” But as he turned he saw tears standing in Sepia’s eyes, and knelt before her in concern.

“Sepia!” he said, “You’ve been so brave, and I’m neglecting you! Are you hurt?”

Sepia put her hands to her throat.

“Can’t…” she whispered hoarsely, and struggled painfully to swallow. “…He tried to strangle me, and…”

“You can’t speak?” said Padra.

“Sing,” whispered Sepia, and sobbed with heartbreak into Padra’s shoulder.

The Gathering Chamber had hardly been used lately, and though somebody had hastily made up a fire, the air was still forbiddingly cold. The gallery built for the Hedgehog Host was conspicuously new and empty. Dust sheets covered the chairs brought in for the coronation and the new Threadings, but a Threading of a young female squirrel with a circlet on her head hung uncovered outside the doorway, looking serenely across at them. Crispin’s eyes flickered toward it as he took his place on the dais in a grim, cold silence. Tay had been sent for, and stood rigidly upright with Scatter beside her. She glared across the room at Fingal, clearly annoyed at his presence. Whittle stayed two paces behind Brother Fir, to the right. Padra and Sepia arrived, Sepia trying not to cry, Padra stern and tight-lipped, slipping to the dais to whisper something to Crispin.

Before the dais stood Lord Treeth, Gorsen, and Lumberen, their forepaws tied, each one attended by a guard with a drawn sword. The Circle animals, stern-faced, stood in an arc around them. Mother Huggen, having attended the wounded, took her place among them, and when all were gathered, Crispin spoke.

“Gorsen,” he said slowly, “Lord Treeth, and the rest of you who took arms against me and my subjects today, you have endangered the peaceful animals of Mistmantle. Gorsen, you attempted the murder of our young and loyal Sepia. You were one of our most trusted animals, nurtured by Mistmantle all your life. Explain yourself.”

Gorsen cleared his throat and drew himself up.

“I am delighted to, Crispin,” he said. “Pardon me if I don’t call you Your Majesty, but, of course, you’re nothing of the kind. You’re only a twitch-tail squirrel. I believe in some places they’re called tree-rats.”

Padra’s paw was on his sword, but he watched Crispin.

“Go on, Gorsen,” said Crispin calmly.

“The only kings of Mistmantle are hedgehogs,” said Gorsen. “For generations, we had hedgehog kings and the island was well-governed. King Brushen was the last. His son was murdered by a squirrel. Who brought King Brushen down? Husk and Aspen. Squirrels. And,” he raised his voice, slowing down the words for impact, “Husk the squirrel encouraged the king to cull the young! Husk the squirrel forced us into underground labor in far corners of the island! All our woes have been caused by squirrels!”

“May I interrupt?” said Brother Fir mildly. “They were caused by only two squirrels, Husk and Aspen. Crispin the squirrel and Padra the otter freed you.”

“They were only doing their duty as captains,” said Gorsen loftily. “I have no complaint about that. They were adequate captains. But having freed the island from a tyrannous, false, murdering squirrel, they made another squirrel king.”

“You are at fault,” came a clear, stern female voice, and Tay stepped forward with a frown that made her strong, dark whiskers stand out more than ever. “Nobody
made
Crispin king. Under the laws of Mistmantle, he was next in line to the throne. His suitability for the crown might be questioned, but his right to it cannot be.”

“Thank you, Tay,” said Crispin.

Gorsen cast a glance of contempt at Tay. “This is what I’d expect from an otter,” he said loftily. “Otters are only fit for splashing about in streams, just as squirrels are only fit for fetching and carrying. Moles are quite happy if they’re kept underground, and they don’t talk much because no mole ever has anything worth saying. Hedgehogs are creatures of the earth. We take life at a sensible pace. We have dignity and understanding. King Brushen was a true king, a good king. Who can respect a king with…” He gave a snort of laughter. “…A bushy tail and tufted ears? A king who runs up trees? Those who fought against Crispin the squirrel today—myself, Lumberen, Sluggen, Crammen, and our supporters—were sworn to a secret brotherhood of hedgehogs, and not even our closest families and colleagues knew our plans. You needn’t think the rest of the Hedgehog Host had an in. We were a very select band, only ten of us altogether, but we swore we wouldn’t rest until we had a hedgehog on the throne again. We were few, we were brave, we were determined, we were loyal to our own kind. We would have given our heart’s blood for our cause.”

“And what cause was that, Gorsen?” asked Fir.

“Simply to kill the upstart Crispin and all who tried to defend him,” said Gorsen, and smirked. “You gave me the most wonderful opportunity, Crispin, when you set me to guard Lord Treeth. Great lordly hedgehog that he is, he treated me like a brother. He told me about Whitewings, and that it’s a place where hedgehogs are given proper respect. I made a pact with him. I would be king of Mistmantle under King Silverbirch, and Mistmantle would become a sensible, well-run island, like Whitewings. We thought we might even send slaves to Whitewings, as a sign of our loyalty. You had no idea, Crispin, did you? It’s all your fault, of course. You sent me to guard Lord Treeth. I heard your councils. You even put me in charge of blocking the space under the Throne Room!”

“We trusted you,” said Padra.

“Yes, that’s what I’d expect from an otter,” said Gorsen. “It’s the water that gets to your brains. As for squirrels, I suppose it’s all those fir cones that damage your thinking.”

Crispin rose and walked to Gorsen very slowly, looking the hedgehog in the eyes. Even Sepia, who loved and trusted Crispin, felt afraid.

“Gorsen,” he said very softly, “you have betrayed your own islanders. You have sent our good and loyal moles to their death, and left Urchin of the Riding Stars in an enemy prison. You have harmed and endangered our young. You have betrayed the hedgehog kind and led your companions into rebellion. And all because you think hedgehogs are superior. No kind on this island is superior. If you had succeeded, the creatures of Mistmantle would have hated all hedgehogs for generations to come just because of the bitterness of ten hedgehogs who wanted their own way.”

Gorsen tried to look Crispin in the eyes, and couldn’t. Crispin stepped nearer, and Gorsen flinched.

“Take him away,” ordered Crispin, “and Lumberen and Lord Treeth. Put them in cells and keep them well guarded.” The guards bowed and led the procession away.

From the doorway came a last shout. “Death to Crispin!”

“Oh, be quiet,” said Padra wearily. Docken remained on guard. Sepia stayed close to Padra, and Fir was saying something to young Whittle. Still in her place beside Tay, Scatter stood very still and tense, with her eyes wide and her claws curled.