The Heir of Mistmantle (34 page)

The more Urchin thought of that moment afterward, the more he knew that there was no warning, no sound, no movement, nothing to make Linty do what she did. Nobody alarmed her, nothing changed. With a scream of fury and the silver flash of a blade, she sprang at him.

Urchin ducked to one side, pulling in the oars, but she was already upon him, biting and clawing, and he saw the gleam of the knife raised to kill. He tried to stretch out a paw to catch her wrist, but her teeth held his arm. As he thrashed, kicked, fought, and struggled, he heard her howl again, with rage and frustration.

“Get off me, you evil mole!”

Lugg had seized her and was dragging her away. In the furiously rocking boat, Urchin struggled to his paws, pried the knife from her claws, and sprang to help Lugg; but before he could land, Linty had lurched so furiously that she and Lugg hurtled into the sea. Yelling for help, Urchin wrenched the oar from its place and held it out, keeping the blade under the churning waves.

“Lugg!” he shouted. “Grab the oar! Fingal!”

Otters were already swimming toward them. There must be a rope in the boat—he found it and threw it, but there was no answering pull. Fingal and Arran seared through the water, disappearing under the surface where Linty and Lugg had fallen. More otters were swimming to them, more boats were coming, the water thrashed and heaved as Urchin gazed helplessly into the baffling darkness of the sea.

“Get them out!” he yelled as an otter swirled beneath them. “Please, please, get them out!”

A squirrel’s paw appeared on the side of the boat. Juniper emerged from the sea, shaking his ears, and Urchin heaved him into the boat.

“The otters have got them,” he said. “But it’s not good. Urchin!” There was a quick, convulsive shudder. “That knife!”

“Linty’s,” said Urchin. “We didn’t know she had it.”

“Oh,” said Juniper. “Linty’s!”
A
knife. A
blue cloak.

With a smooth surge through the water, Fingal and another otter appeared. Between them they held Linty, feebly coughing and spluttering as they towed her to the boat. After them, slowly, as if dragging a heavy weight, came Padra and Arran with Captain Lugg.

Urchin and Juniper reached down to drag him into the boat. There was a cough, and a sort of moan as if he were trying to speak.

“He’s alive,” said Juniper. “Where’s his cloak?”

Urchin pounced on the blue cloak. It lay in the boat where Linty had dropped it, but her wet fur had soaked it.

“We need cloaks and blankets, here, now!” yelled Padra to whichever boat was nearest. He and Arran held Lugg in their arms as he coughed and spluttered seawater from his lungs. “Get him to dry land. I’ll swim, the boat will be faster without me. Arran, stay with him. You two, row as you’ve never rowed.”

Someone threw a blanket from another boat, and Arran wrapped it tightly around Lugg as Urchin and Juniper threw all their strength into rowing, powerful stroke after powerful stroke, as if they could hurl the boat to shore. They were within sight of lanterns now, with other boats escorting them, and as the mists cleared they could see the highest lights of the tower. Urchin’s shoulders burned as he strained at the oars, but the swirling fog was clearing, and beneath the light of lanterns he could see Crispin and Cedar standing on the shore, looking out to sea, with Catkin cradled in blankets in the queen’s arms. Padra and Fingal were swimming around to either side of them, and soon they were behind the boat, pushing and urging her home.

“I’ll take a turn at an oar now,” said Arran. “You two will be tiring. Urchin, move over.”

Urchin changed places with her, taking Captain Lugg’s head in his lap. “Nearly there now, Lugg,” he said.

“'Bout time, young 'un,” said Lugg, with a shaky grin, and Urchin thought he was about to say something else, but the words never came. He seemed to be struggling to speak, or even to breathe. One paw clutched at his forearm as if it hurt, and in an effort to speak, he gasped and wheezed. Juniper stopped rowing and leaned forward, reaching for Lugg’s paw.

“Don’t try to talk, Lugg,” said Arran, but Lugg didn’t seem to hear her.

“Well, Heart bless us!” he said suddenly, as if pleasantly surprised. There was a soft, smothered gasp of pain and no more. His head fell to one side in Urchin’s lap.

“Lugg!” cried Urchin and bent over him, listening for a breath, feeling for a pulse. In disbelief, he looked up at Arran and Juniper. They had to tell him that Lugg was alive, that he’d be all right, because losing Lugg was unthinkable. They were both feeling for a pulse. Arran listened at Lugg’s chest and placed a paw over his heart.

“Do something!” begged Urchin. He rubbed Lugg’s cold paws, wrapped the blanket around him, and tried to warm him. “We have to do something! Juniper, do something!”

Arran straightened up.

“It’s too late,” she said. “There’s nothing we can do.”

“But it’s Lugg!” cried Urchin. “You have to save him!”

“It’s too late,” she repeated. “I’m sorry, Urchin. He’s dead.”

It didn’t make sense. Lugg had always been there, as if there couldn’t be a Mistmantle without him. But there was nothing they could do.

Juniper raised a paw and said the words of blessing.

“May the Heart claim you with joy and forgive you with love,” he said. “May your heart fly freely to the Heart that gave you life.”

Urchin took the wet blue cloak and covered the old soldier’s body. Juniper took the oars as Arran and Padra swam on either side. Crispin waded out to pull the boat in, and together, in silence and with honor, they brought a hero of Mistmantle home.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ATKIN SLEPT SWEETLY AND SOUNDLY
in her own cradle that night. Perhaps she and the little otters were the only animals in the tower who could sleep.

As a fiery dawn crossed the sky, Cedar and Crispin lay in each other’s arms, watching Catkin’s steady breathing as she slept with her paw in her mouth and her naming shawl spread over her. Sepia, after a hot bath, had been escorted to bed by one of the queen’s attendants, but she couldn’t sleep and slipped down to the kitchens where she joined Scatter and Crackle to huddle by the grate and sip cordials for comfort.

By the Spring Gate, Padra, Arran, Fingal, and Urchin sat up by the fire, looking into the flames, saying little. Needle had been carried to her home burrow where her mother had made her a nest. It was only after reaching the shore that Urchin had felt the stinging of Linty’s bites and scratches, and he had submitted quietly as Padra washed the wounds. Whittle came to knock timidly at the door.

“Master Urchin to the Gathering Chamber, please,” he said softly.

“Thanks, Whittle, I’ll be up in a minute,” said Urchin. He stood up, the scratches hurting as he moved.

“Juniper’s been up there with Mistress Cott and the rest of Lugg’s family,” he explained. “But when they said they wanted animals to stand on watch beside him, I said I’d like to take first watch. I should, because…”

“We know,” said Padra, but Urchin still felt he had to say it.

“He was saving me,” said Urchin. “He was pulling Linty off me when he fell. And I keep going over it again and wishing so much that it could have been different. I can’t believe this has happened.” He fastened on his sword as he left the chamber, and Padra slipped out after him.

“Urchin,” he said, with a paw on Urchin’s shoulder, “Lugg’s heart was old and tired already. It would have happened, sooner or later. Probably sooner. It might have happened last night anyway, even if he’d been at home in his own bed.”

“I wish he had been, all the same,” said Urchin, and followed Whittle silently through corridors that felt subdued with grief.

In the Gathering Chamber, a table had been spread with a purple cloth to receive the body of Captain Lugg. He lay in his best blue cloak, his paws folded, like a well-fed and contented mole settling down for sleep. But he wore his sword and circlet, polished until they shone in the candlelight.

Lugg’s wife, Mistress Cott, stood at his side, her paw over his, looking down at his face with patient resignation. The three daughters were there, Wing, Wren, and Moth, with their husbands and Twigg the carpenter. Tipp and Todd leaned against their mother. Moth looked pink-eyed and tearful and sat apart from the others talking to Brother Fir, who had been given a chair a little way from the table. A step at the door made Urchin turn, and he bowed, for it was King Crispin, who embraced Mistress Cott in a warm hug and greeted each of the family in turn.

“I suppose, Your Majesty,” said Moth, “if his heart was going to just stop like that, he’d be glad to die the way he did. But I still wish he could have died by his own fireside, telling his old stories with all of us around. I wish he’d had that chance.”

“So do I,” said Crispin. “We’ll all tell his stories, and his own story, too. He will be in the Threadings. I, too, wish he could have grown old. Who is on first watch?”

“I am, Your Majesty,” said Urchin.

“Good,” said Crispin. “I’ll share it with you. Mistress Cott, all of you, stay as long as you wish.” He knelt to speak to Tipp and Todd. “You’ll always remember your grandfather, and you’ll always be proud of him, I know.”

“I’m going to be like him when I grow up, Your Majesty,” said Tipp, with a determined tilt of the chin.

“Everyone says I’m like him already, Your Majesty,” said Todd.

“You are,” said Crispin. “Both of you.” He stood up. “Ready, Urchin?”

After Crispin and Urchin’s watch came Padra and Docken, Arran and Cedar, Russet and Heath, Needle and Longpaw, Moth and Spade, as all that day and into the next, animals stunned with grief tiptoed into the Gathering Chamber to pay their respects to Captain Lugg. Apple came by, dabbing at her eyes with a bunch of petals, stopping to squeeze Urchin’s paw. Thripple walked past, pink-eyed, holding Mopple in her arms with Hope walking alongside. Hope had brought a posy of autumn leaves and seed heads and stretched up to place them at Lugg’s side. Quill, Yarrow, and Hobb came with their families. Crackle and Scatter crept shyly in, and Gleaner, too, who had never even liked Lugg. There was Fingal, leading Tide and Swanfeather by the paws. Tower animals, shore animals, animals from Anemone Wood, the Tangletwigs, the Western Woods, and Falls Cliffs, from trees and tunnels; they filed past, some leaving dried leaves or flower heads beside him until Captain Lugg lay garlanded in the gifts and the love of Mistmantle.

“I’ve had a long time with the best mole that ever dug the earth,” said Mistress Cott. “I’d wish him alive to grow old, but I don’t know that it would suit him. And I’d wish him alive to see Moth and Twigg married, and the young ones grown up. But there’s always much to wish for and much to thank for, and just now, I’d rather be thankful.”