The Heir of Mistmantle (27 page)

Padra nodded. “Go after him, Urchin,” he said. “You’re nearly a Circle animal. Use your own judgment and do whatever you think best. I’ll explain your absence to the king if necessary.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Urchin.

“And if you haven’t come back by the time Crispin dismisses us all, I’ll send someone to find you,” said Padra.

“Please, Captain Padra,” began Needle, “I’m nearly a Circle animal too, and it might be…”

“Get along with you, then!” smiled Padra, but he stopped smiling as the two young animals hurried away, and watched until they were out of sight.

“Heart keep them,” he said quietly, and raised a paw toward the tower. “Heart keep them safe.”

Urchin and Needle pattered away after Juniper, Urchin making an effort to slow down for Needle, and Needle making a bigger effort to keep up with Urchin. On the rocks around the tower, Juniper veered off to the left.

“He’s not going into the Tangletwigs, is he?” said Urchin. “We’d never find him in there.”

Needle crouched down, her bright eyes alert and her nose twitching. “There he goes!” she said. “Into the hill!”

Juniper had turned sharply right and ducked into the rocks beneath the tower. Needle and Urchin hurried after him.

“It’s where Twigg’s carpentry yard used to be, before he moved,” said Needle. “What’s Juniper doing in there? Shouldn’t we call him?”

“Not just yet,” said Urchin. He wasn’t sure at first why he said this, but he knew there was a reason and had to ask himself what it was. “He’s in a terrible state. He means to do something. If we ask him about it too soon, he’ll avoid saying anything. We have to ask him at the right point, and I don’t think this is it.”

“If you say so,” said Needle, and followed him to the cave, where sawdust still lay soaked into the ground outside. Inside it was clean, swept, and completely empty.

“Where’s he gone?” whispered Needle.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

RISPIN LEAPED TO A HIGH POINT
on the rock and rang his sword against it for silence. Chatter stopped, apart from one crying baby otter, and a shrill-voiced squirrel saying, “Ooh, look, there’s a spider on Mistr…ooh, sorry.” But when Crispin stepped forward, the silence became complete.

Crispin’s keen gaze traveled slowly across the crowd, engaging the animals at the back, moving forward, scanning row by row until every animal felt that the king knew about him or her, and cared, and understood. Then he began.

“Animals of Mistmantle,” he called, “we have come through so much together this autumn. I know how you have sweated in the sun for the harvest and hunted by night and day across the island for Catkin. We have struggled together against disease, storm, and landslide, and you have shared it all with courage, love, effort, and perseverance that I can only wonder at. I count myself glad and privileged to be one of you. To be an islander of Mistmantle! There is no greater honor than this!”

“Isn’t he a love!” muttered Apple to the otter next to her and received a quick dig in the ribs.

“The worst of the fouldrought is over,” said Crispin. “And we have three of our young animals to thank. Fingal, Scatter, Crackle, come here!”

Crackle, who hadn’t really been listening, jerked at the sound of her name. Was there anybody else here called Crackle? Scatter pulled on her paw.

“That’s us!” she whispered, dragging her forward. “Where’s Fingal?”

Paw in paw, they wove their way through the parting, murmuring crowd to the rock. Fingal scrambled up, too, looking a bit embarrassed, which wasn’t like him. Crackle was thinking that they were very high up, and then realized that it really wasn’t a high rock at all, it was just that everybody else was down below them looking up, when someone passed bouquets of autumn flowers to Crispin.

“Well done, Crackle,” he said.

This is really me, really here, and the king is putting flowers into my paws!

She turned to face the crowd. Applause! There was applause! Warmed and happy, she held the flowers against her face. Mistmantle loved her! Beside her, Scatter received a bouquet from the king’s paws, beamed with joy, and wondered if it were possible to burst with happiness.

Crispin turned to Fingal. “Please don’t give me flowers,” said Fingal.

“The queen thought you would prefer this,” said Crispin, and fastened a bracelet of plain silver on Fingal’s wrist, taking care to do it gently. “How are the burns?”

“Almost gone, sir,” said Fingal. Crispin turned him to face the crowds. Fingal grinned, gave a brief wave, and jumped down, and Crispin went on with his speech.

“And I know you want to thank the teams of healers,” he said, “who have traveled day and night to care for the sick, going without sleep and putting their own health at risk. All of you, from the oldest and wisest to the newest apprentices, gatherers of herbs and makers of medicines, we thank you from our hearts. The queen has told me of all your hard work, and she marvels at it.”

He paused while a few murmurs of thanks and approval ran through the crowd, listening hard for any resentful mutterings and the pockets of silence.

“I know it’s been hard,” he went on. “If you have complaints, if you are discontented, if you feel our problems could be dealt with better than they are now, animals of Mistmantle, tell me! Tell me now! I am your king, and I am here to care for you. Tell me your needs! Tell me your doubts! Help me to help you!”

There was silence. A few animals shuffled their paws.

“Then everything’s perfect?” he said. There was a little uneasy laughter.

“Last night,” he went on, “I was forced to cancel a meeting with a delegation of animals who had problems to discuss with me. Good creatures, will you talk to me now?”

Hobb and Yarrow stood very still, looking hard at the ground. Quill stood behind Gleaner and hoped nobody could see him. Somebody nudged Hobb in the back.

“Leave us alone,” he muttered.

“Then is all well?” demanded Crispin. “Disease has carried off our dear ones, my daughter is still missing, burrows are flooded. Is all well?”

Animals looked at each other. A bright-eyed young squirrel, one of the choir, piped up, “No, sir, but it’s not your fault!” and there was more nervous laughter.

“Thank you, Siskin,” said Crispin. Siskin, astonished that the king knew her name, went a bit shaky and had to sit down. In the middle of the crowd, somebody prodded Yarrow in the arm.

“Ow!” said Yarrow. “Get off!” Heads turned toward him.

“You had enough to say before,” said Hammily loudly. “You can say it now.”

“You’re the one who can do the talking,” muttered Yarrow to Hobb.

“But I never…” began Hobb, but it was too late. Animals were steering them toward the rock where Crispin stood. Quill’s father shoved him forward, and he was carried along unwillingly to the front of the crowd. A few of the other hangers-on, looking resentfully over their shoulders, were pushed along with them and almost bundled into the king’s presence.

“Gently!” called the king. He reached down a paw to help Quill onto the rock. “Good animals, don’t heave them about as if they were timber!”

Embarrassed and wretched, the animals dusted down their fur as they stood before him.

“I’m not here to blame you, judge you, or trick you,” said Crispin. “And I’m certainly not here to show you up. Whatever you have to say, say it to me, and not to your neighbors in the burrows. I’m here so that we can know the truth and treat it as the truth. There’s no point in anything else. Now—” He raised his voice. “What did you want to ask me about? What are your complaints?”

Yarrow and Hobb still looked at their paws. Quill decided it was up to him.

In a voice so nervous he could hardly shape the name, he whispered, “Husk, sir.”

“Husk!” called out Crispin. A shudder of fear ran through the crowd. “Well done, Quill! Don’t be afraid, it’s only his name! What about Husk?”

“They say he’s back, sir,” whispered Quill.

Crispin knelt in front of him. “Can you tell me who says it, Quill?” he said. “Well, never mind, you’ve made an effort. Good lad.” He stood up. “Can anyone say
who
says Husk is back?”

“Lots of animals, sir,” said a voice in the crowd.

“But he is, sir!” said a hedgehog. “I saw him!”

Various animals, gaining courage, told their stories. They had seen Husk against the skyline. Well, it looked like Husk. Yes, it was dark. No, it wasn’t for long, but they thought it was Husk. And, Gleaner said, what about the muslin that had been stolen from Aspen’s grave?

“So, you think he’s back,” said Crispin. “I’ll talk to you presently about Husk. Is there anything else that worries you? Anything else that needs holding up to the light?”

There were more shuffles and murmurs. A squabble appeared to be breaking out between Gleaner and the hedgehog next to her.

“You said it was,” hissed the hedgehog.

“No, I didn’t, I only said that Yarrow said it.”

“You didn’t, you said that she…”

“Yes, you did!” said another hedgehog.

“It wasn’t me, it was Quill!”

Gleaner suddenly realized that everyone around them was silent. Everyone, including the senior animals on the rock, was watching them.

Well, let them, she thought. I’ll say what I think. Crackle and Scatter have had their moment of glory. I’m going to have mine. She stuck out her elbows, pushed through the crowd, and marched to the foot of the rock where she stood, paws on hips, looking up at Crispin.

“It’s the queen,” she announced. “She’s all wrong.”

There was a gasp and a stunned silence. Everyone watched Crispin as he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Thank you for your courage, Gleaner,” he said. He unbuckled his sword and sat down at the edge of the rock, close to the crowd, scanning their faces. A few looked embarrassed, or defiant, or just guilty. Most were shocked. There was a little murmuring in a corner of the crowd as Tipp insisted that if anyone said anything about the queen he’d fight them, and his mother shushed him.

“The queen,” said Crispin. “Cedar, who overthrew Silverbirch and Smokewreath on Whitewings and put their rightful queen on the throne? Cedar who brought Urchin, Juniper, and Lugg safely back to us? Cedar who healed you? Cedar who helps me to be a king? You don’t really believe that she brought fouldrought, do you? You don’t really believe that she didn’t know how to look after Catkin, so why blame her?”

“We don’t, Your Majesty!” cried a voice in the crowd. Paw after paw was raised as animals competed with each other to tell about the queen’s kindness and wisdom and how she had healed and helped them.

“In that case,” said Crispin pleasantly, “why does anyone complain about her? Tell me!”

Yarrow leaned toward Gleaner. “Tell him!” he whispered.

“Tell me what, Yarrow?” asked Crispin, without turning his head.

“Nothing, Your Ma…I mean…” stammered Yarrow, “I mean, it’s not her fault that she’s not in her right mind.”

There was a hiss of shock from the animals. Crispin was about to speak when Thripple raised her paw.

“May I speak, Your Majesty?” she asked. Crispin extended a paw to help her onto the rock, and she turned unevenly to speak to the crowd of animals gazing upward. She looked as she always did, lopsided, standing to one side to adjust to the weight of her hunched back.