Urchin and the Raven War (21 page)

“When you’re told!” said Padra. They reached the solid door leading from the otter quarters to the main tower, heaved it shut, and barred it. A channel had been dug out at this point, carrying springwater and finally joining an underground stream.

“They won’t get through that door,” Padra panted. “Fingal, run when you’re told. It’s the king’s orders, not mine, so do as you’re told.”

Fingal tried again to speak. This time he could have managed the words, but Padra kicked him into the stream and, with a final “Heart keep you!” ran up the stairs. Crispin would need him.

Another otter was swimming ahead of Fingal.

“Corr,” called Fingal, “is that you?”

Corr twisted in the water and waited for Fingal to catch up.

“Crackle said there was a way to underground waters from beneath the kitchens,” he said. “She pointed me in the right direction, and I was about to say I wanted to stay when she…sort of…”

“… kicked you through a trapdoor?” said Fingal.

Corr shook his whiskers. “I think her paw slipped,” he said.

“I doubt it,” said Fingal. “Stick with me. There’s a lake, if you go far enough, with caves around it. I found it by accident a long time ago, and I’ve been back since to explore. We can make a place of safety there for anyone who needs one. Keep listening. If there are any of these vermin about, we could do a bit of useful spying.”

The battle for the Gathering Chamber had been lost. Broken glass littered the floor. Protesting, making every last sword blow count, the defenders had obeyed the king’s orders to leave, determined to regroup and be ready to fight again. Ravens perched on ledges and on the windowsill. Crispin stood disarmed and surrounded.

Heart forgive me,
he thought.
I have failed Mistmantle.
And as the ravens dragged Cedar, bloodstained and exhausted, from the Throne Room, two things became very clear to Crispin. One was that more sorrow could be heaped upon sorrow, more heartbreak upon heartbreak. The other was that there were still things worth fighting for.

Urchin followed Todd and Hope, ducking where the tunnels were low, slithering down when they sloped downhill. It was a harder journey than they had expected, and slower than they’d hoped. They had to stop and squash against the wall as animals scurried past—infants being moved to safety and tower animals hurrying out, their eyes wide as they muttered and raged about ravens. At a crossing place, Todd stopped so suddenly that they ran into each other.

“Sorry,” said Urchin as he ran into Hope, and, “Ow!” as Needle ran into him.

“That’s all right,” said Hope.

“Mind where you’re going!” said Todd. “Tipp, what are you doing here?”

Tipp, Todd’s brother, stepped into the light of a tunnel lantern. With a sword at his hip, he stood out dramatically in the lamplight. Behind him, a young squirrel moved into view.

“Prince Oakleaf!” said Urchin.

“I’m helping to move the little ones,” said Prince Oakleaf. “I couldn’t just stay in hiding.”

There was no arguing with that. At the prince’s age, Urchin would have felt the same. Hope was sniffing about, putting his ear against walls, and scrabbling.

“We’re going to the tower,” said Needle. “And don’t tell us the tower is being emptied, because there isn’t time to explain.”

“Quickest way,” said Tipp, “will be—”

“This way,” said Hope confidently. He disappeared down a flight of steps cut into the earth, and bobbed up again. “Excuse me interrupting, but we should go this way.”

“You’ll end up in the underground lake if you do,” said Tipp.

“No,
on
it,” said Hope, “I’ve been there with Fingal; he’s got little boats and things down there. It’ll be faster to go that way, in a boat across the underground lake.”

“I’ll stay with my brother,” said Todd. “But if you want to …”

Needle and Urchin were already pattering down the steps after Hope.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T THE KITCHEN TABLE
, Crackle cried into her arms until her face hurt. Around her, other kitchen animals who had stayed in the tower dried their tears on aprons and tea towels. Finally, when there were no more tears to cry, Crackle dried her eyes and found a broom.

Flour, nuts, and dried fruit lay among the broken glass and pottery on the floor. The ravens had eaten what they wanted and scattered the rest, tearing open flour sacks, knocking over bottles, throwing berries on the floor and stamping on them until Crackle could not bear to watch for another moment. She had hidden in the cellar until the sound of cawing and tearing was over, and then crept up to see her ransacked kitchen.

She was still shaking. She clutched the broom with both paws to steady herself.

“We’ll need hot soapy water,” said a hedgehog. “They’ve spilled honey and most of the syrup. Everything’s sticky.”

“It’s this way,” said Hope. In the high arched caves, his voice echoed.

“You sure?” asked Urchin, and then realized what a silly question it was. He’d never known anyone like Hope for navigating underground. The sound of water was nearer.

“Is this really bringing us near to the tower?” said Needle.

“I’ve been here with Fingal,” said Hope. “We came by accident the first time, you know, when I fell down the water thing, and on purpose after that, but he’s been here more than I have.” He sniffed at the air, sneezed, and apologized. “This way. Needle, can you swim?”

“A bit,” she said. “It depends on how far.”

“Well,” said Hope, considering, “it’s only across a very little river. But I suppose I could find Fingal and ask him to carry you.”

“I’ll swim,” said Needle.

Hope turned so sharply that Urchin lost sight of him altogether for a few seconds, and had to follow the scuffling of his paws. The cave Hope led them to became so narrow that it was more like a tunnel; but as it widened again, Urchin saw an underground river running so slowly and gently that it made only a few soft ripples.

“There’s a cave to go through on the other side,” said Hope. “I can’t see it very well, but I know it’s there.”

“I can see it,” said Urchin, peering at the black cave mouth ahead of them. “Shall I go first?”

The water felt fresh and cool, and Urchin had never swum underground before. He found it silent and mysterious, and if things had been different, he might have enjoyed it. He could have listened to the smooth, soft splash of water and turned on his back to watch the reflections of rippling waves on the cave roof. But he couldn’t enjoy anything just now. The thought of Catkin weighed like a gray stone in his heart. He scrambled to the shore, shook himself dry, and dried his sword as well as he could on the sandy earth. Hope scurried confidently past him.

“Want a paw?” said Urchin as Needle climbed to the shore, but she glanced fiercely at him. “Sorry.”

“Keep up!” called Hope, and trundled ahead of them into the cave. Urchin followed him through the soaring corridor of rock. Without warning the cave widened out, and he gasped. In the dimness they stood at the edge of an underground lake: wide, still, and silent as moonlight. The soaring stones made their voices echo.

“It’s vast!” whispered Urchin, and knelt beside Hope, placing a paw on his back. Straining his eyes, he could just see the shore at the other side.

“Boats,” said Hope. “We’ve been busy down here, making it nice.” He paused, lifting his right paw and then his left and turning a few degrees to each side to get his bearings. “Right,” he said. “In the cove.”

In a dry cove, pulled well away from the water’s edge, was a long, light boat with neatly shipped paddles. A lantern hung on the stern, with dry flints waiting in the boat. Urchin and Hope carried it to the water. When they had lit the lantern, it glowed with a halo that cast a glow on the dark water and showed Needle and Urchin the tension in each other’s faces. Hope seemed completely unperturbed.

“Will it carry three?” asked Urchin doubtfully.

“I don’t think so,” said Hope.

“Then I’ll take you across one at a time,” said Urchin. “Needle, you first?”

“Yes, please!” said Needle, with a frown of anxiety on her face, and snapped, “I don’t need help!” as he offered her a paw. Urchin settled himself in the front of the boat. At least she hadn’t asked him if he’d ever handled this sort of boat before. To his relief, he found it was easy. The little boat skimmed through the water, cleaving a clear wake behind it, almost like flying. It would be so good to forget ravens, forget Catkin and the last yearning look over her shoulder, to forget everything except the smooth rush of the boat to the opposite shore—but it wasn’t like that.

“What is it, Needle?” he asked. “You’re all cross and edgy.”

“Oh, nothing!” she snapped. “We’re only being attacked by ravens!” Then she flicked at the water with her paw. “Sorry, Urchin. It’s …”

The boat sheared softly into sand. Needle stepped out. A shallow stairway led into the sandstone rocks.

“Somebody’s going to die,” she muttered. “Somebody important.”

“How do you know?” asked Urchin, but Needle shook her head.

Urchin had discovered before that he could be strong and calm when he really needed to, even when he hadn’t felt remotely strong and calm before. It worked now.