Urchin and the Rage Tide (30 page)

He looked up, noticing for the first time that Crown’s other wing was limp, his face hollow with exhaustion, and his feathers rough. He, too, had suffered for Sepia.

“Thank you, Crown,” said Urchin, and the swan bowed his head.

The crowds on the jetty were parting. Urchin turned to see that they were moving aside to make room for the queen as she ran through, a basket on her arm and a quilt in her paws.

“Get her onto the jetty, Urchin!” she called.

The boat glided into its place by the jetty and the keen, quick otters tied it with ropes. Urchin wrapped the yellow-gold cloak around Sepia and, as he lifted her, was terrified to find how light she was. Then he stepped from the boat, facing the tower with Sepia limp in his arms, as all around them the stars still fell into the sea and the choir sang, and it seemed to Urchin that this was the moment he had been born for. He laid her down at the queen’s paws.

“Give them room!” ordered the queen. She wrapped the quilt tightly around Sepia, putting her paw to Sepia’s head and her limbs, looking into her eyes, feeling for a pulse. She unstoppered a bottle and forced it into her mouth.

“Is that the medicine?” asked Urchin.

“No, that isn’t ready yet,” whispered the queen, still looking into Sepia’s face. “But this may keep her alive until it is.” She raised her voice. “Stay with us Sepia,” she said. “You have to, you don’t have a choice. Stay with us.” She looked up at the crowd. “All of you, look after Corr and Crown! Now, Urchin, quickly!” And she ran ahead of Urchin to the tower.

Animals were already gathered around Corr and Crown, congratulating them, asking them questions, and hurrying them back to the tower. Padra and Fingal seemed to be quietly taking over there. And still the stars fell and the choir sang, as Urchin carried Sepia home at last.

Needle, watching from the tower, turned and dashed to the workrooms where the newly finished swansdown pillow lay by itself on a table. She snatched it up, struggling to get her arms around it, and ran to Sepia’s chamber, where she found the queen there already, feeding wood to the fire in the grate, while mole maids poured steaming water into a bath. Needle had only just laid the white, scented pillow on the soft bed when the door swung open.

Urchin carried Sepia in, let the damp, grubby cloak fall to the floor, and laid her gently down, turning her hollow cheek against the soft cotton. He knelt beside her, holding her paw.

“Let me see her,” said Cedar, bending over Sepia. Urchin watched the queen, but there was no expression in her eyes.

“We have to wait until noonday to give her the antidote,” she said finally. “It’s settling and clearing now, but it isn’t ready yet. We have to keep her alive for the next few hours, and that means getting her warm. Hot bath with lavender, then dry her by the fire and put her to bed. We’ll try to get some drinks into her.”

Needle was staring at the cloak as the queen and the maids carried Sepia to her bath. “That’s your cloak, Urchin,” she said.

“No, it isn’t,” said Urchin. The cloak was the last thing he cared about. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Of course you haven’t,” she said. She smoothed it down, frowning at the stains of seawater and the frayed hem. “You weren’t meant to. It was a surprise. Sepia was making it for you.”

“Sepia was?” He reached out to hold it again. “For me?”

“Who else would?” snapped Needle. “She needed help with it, so it was in my workroom. I’ve been wondering all this time where it had gone. Corr must have taken it when he went to find her. I wish he’d asked me first.”

“I suppose he just went to find a cloak and grabbed the nearest one,” said Urchin.

“He grabbed the best cloak in the island,” said Needle. “She even had it lined.” She stroked the cloak fondly. It was good to feel that her work had been a part of saving Sepia, even though Sepia had done most of the sewing herself. “It might have made all the difference. I’d better sort out that hem for you, but I’m not sure if we can do anything about the stains. Thripple might know.”

The queen lifted Sepia from the bath and carried her to the fire to dry her, wrapping her in the towel as if she were a baby. “Stay with me, Sepia,” she said, rubbing the thin limbs in the soft white towel—gently enough, though Urchin was afraid that Sepia’s wrists would break. “Don’t give up. Keep fighting.”

“Here’s Juniper,” said Needle. Juniper limped in to bend over Sepia, and gave the queen a look of question.

“She’s going to get better,” said the queen firmly, though Sepia’s eyelids had not even flickered. “She’s home.”

When Sepia was dry, Needle plumped up the swansdown pillow on the bed. Urchin lifted her onto it, and when the queen and Needle had laid the quilt softly over her and left, he took her paw and sat beside her, talking to her. He told her that all was well on the island now, that the tower was safe, that Mossberry could do no more harm, and that her family was well, Twirl was safe, her choir was still singing for her. He told her of summer, with honeysuckle climbing up the tower walls, and fruit ripening on the trees, and of the party they would have to celebrate her homecoming.

There was a tapping at the door. A mole maid opened the door shyly.

“May Master Hope come in, Captain Urchin, sir?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” said Urchin.

Hope trundled in. His eyes were moist, and he carried a few spring flowers.

“I just wanted to see her, sir,” he said.

Urchin turned his face away, feeling the sting of tears behind his eyes. He knew that Hope could barely see Sepia at all, but only wanted to be near her. He placed Hope’s paw in hers and knew that Hope, pressing his cheek against the thin paw, was as happy and contented as any animal on the island could be now.

“She’s here, sir,” said Hope, and sighed happily.

Sepia had dreamed of Mistmantle, over and over. In her dreams she had been safe in the tower, warm and fed. The king and queen had been there, and Urchin, and her friends. But every time she had woken, she was cold, hungry, thirsty, or in pain, with yet more uncaring sea around her and an open sky. This might be another dream, but it was a vivid dream full of kindness and the voices she loved best. She could taste cool water with a touch of apple in it. She hadn’t tasted that in her dreams before. She found she was lying on something soft as a cloud, smooth and cool, and a quilt settled softly over her.

Then she knew that she was falling asleep, and if she was falling asleep now, she could not have been dreaming before. It was real, then, and she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to lie awake, feeling the loveliness of the clean, soft bed. She tried to open her eyes and see if this time, it was really Urchin—but it was still too difficult.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ATKIN SAT ON THE TOP STAIR
outside Juniper’s turret, her chin on her paws. She heard a step on the stair, but it wasn’t Juniper—you could always tell Juniper by his limp. As the patter of paws drew nearer, she recognized that it was her brother, Oakleaf.

“You, too?” he said.

“I wanted to see Juniper,” she said. “I suppose he won’t be long.”

“I’ll wait with you,” said Oakleaf. “And I’m sure he won’t mind if we wait inside. We can put some drinks on to heat. Would you like that?”

Juniper returned to his turret and was not surprised to find Catkin and Oakleaf there. They sat huddled side by side on the floor, their arms around each other, Catkin rocking a little in her brother’s arms. Juniper stooped to add more water and elderberry juice to the saucepan on the hearth. Hot drinks could not heal sorrow, but they helped.

“You didn’t know how ill he was, did you?” he said.

“Not until last night,” said Catkin. “I knew about his injury in the war, but I suppose I just thought he could survive anything.”

Juniper stirred the rich, dark cordials and held them out to Catkin and Oakleaf. Then he, too, sat down on the floor.

“He was always willing to give everything for the island,” he said. “He’d already given his life. All he had left was his death. It wasn’t just for Sepia. It was for our future, all of us, and whatever part she plays in it. There are changes already. Can you feel them?”

“I can’t feel anything good just now,” said Catkin miserably.

“I can,” said Oakleaf. “It’s as if somebody’s opened a window, and everything’s fresh, but it—it—I just can’t believe that we’ll never see Father again.”

“I
don’t
believe it,” said Catkin fiercely. “I never will. We don’t know what’s happened to him! We don’t, do we, Brother Juniper? It’s the same as when Sepia was missing, and we held out hope for her! He might be adrift on the sea, alone, and hungry.…” Her voice faltered. She took a pawful of rose petals from a bowl and wept into them. “I won’t be queen,” she sobbed. “Not until I know I have the right. How can I move into his place if he might still be alive?”

“There is a way of knowing,” said Juniper.

“He means the Heartstone, Catkin,” said Oakleaf. “If you can hold it, that’ll prove you’re the queen.”

“You mean, if I can hold it, that’ll prove he’s dead,” said Catkin. She crumpled the damp petals and reached for some more. “Would you want to find out that way, if it were you?”

“Drink your cordials and wait for me,” said Juniper. “I’ll ask Tide to stay with you.”

He limped down the stairs, sent a page to fetch Tide, and went to find the queen. She had left Sepia in the care of Urchin and the maids and gone to her chamber, where she was shaking a glass phial and holding it up to the light.

“Your Majesty,” he said gently.

She shaded her eyes against the sun before turning to him. Carefully, she placed the phial on a table.

“It’s been nearly a whole morning,” she said. “I’ve managed to live nearly a morning without Crispin.”

“Well done, Your Majesty,” said Juniper.

“But Sepia’s medicine isn’t ready yet,” she said. “It should have cleared by now. It needs to clear in five slow breaths, and it hasn’t. It’ll be useless if she has it too soon.”

“I’ve been talking to Catkin and Oakleaf,” said Juniper. “They’re in the turret. I don’t think Catkin will really believe she’s the queen until she has proof of what’s happened to Crispin. She feels as if she’d be usurping the throne, stepping into her father’s place while he might be alive.”

“I know exactly how she feels,” said Cedar. “I still expect him to come through the door. I can’t look at the throne.”

“In that case,” said Juniper, “I suggest we send for Corr and ask him to do one more errand.”

“Poor Corr, he’s hardly rested!” said the queen.

“He’s rested enough,” Juniper answered her. “And if I know Corr, he’s still full of the uplift of coming home. Better to send him out now, while he’s still buoyed up. He’ll be honored to go, and only the Voyager can do it. Now, what about Sepia?”

“She’s holding on,” said the queen. “They’re taking turns to sit with her and talk and sing to her—her family, her friends, the animals she taught to sing, all of them. Urchin never leaves her. But the water she drank was deadly. Corr and Crown kept her alive with pure water, mendingmoss from Swan Isle, and honey from Whitewings, but those things can only delay her death, not prevent it. Only the medicine can do that. I just wish it would clear. She can’t hold on much longer.”