Urchin and the Rage Tide (15 page)

“What are you making, Myrtle?” asked Needle after a while.

Myrtle looked at the moss and frowned. “It isn’t anything yet,” she said, and went on playing with the moss, singing softly to herself and swaying. Finally, as they watched, she made an archway, and began to shape something that might be a flower.

“An archway means a home,” said Needle. “Do you think they’ve tried to go home?”

Myrtle didn’t answer. She went on playing with the moss and singing until she had made a flower, and placed it on the center of the archway.

“Can you tell me anything about that flower, Myrtle?” asked Needle.

“It’s hard to get it right with moss,” said Myrtle. “I wish I had the paints and things. It should be yellow.”

“A yellow flower?” suggested Needle. “Marigold for joy? A joyful home?”

“No, it’s the wrong shape,” said Urchin. “Could it be a spring flower? A home for springtime?”

“It’s a kingcup!” exclaimed King Crispin. “Is that right, Myrtle?”

Myrtle looked at the flower with her head on one side, as if she couldn’t be quite sure what it was, but if she listened patiently it might tell her. Then she said, “Yes. Yes, please, Your Majesty, it’s a kingcup.”

“Good girl,” said Crispin.

“Kingcup for royalty!” said Urchin. “So we’re looking for a royal home?”

“The tower?” Needle suggested. “Could they be in the tower?”

“It’s well guarded,” said Crispin. “There may be a way of tunneling through, but those two little ones couldn’t do it.”

“Or the old Mole Palace?” said Urchin. “We’ve cleared everyone out of it, but they might have gone back.”

“Could well be,” said Crispin. “We need light animals who can check in there without starting any landslides. Oakleaf, you go, and take Tipp and Todd with you. Urchin, try the tower. Fingal and Swanfeather can check the underground lake in case they’re on the way to the tower by water. Needle, don’t let Myrtle out of your sight.”

Ouch didn’t know how far he’d walked, but it felt like too far—certainly too far without anything to drink.

“My paws are tired,” he said. “All four of them.”

“Not far to go now,” said Furtle, who knew that if she kept on long enough they would be in one of two places. They would either be back where they had started, or they would be Somewhere Else. She had expected that, sooner or later, they would have met some other animals in these tunnels, and was a tiny bit worried that nobody was about, but she wouldn’t tell Ouch.

“More stairs!” sighed Ouch. Even his nose felt tired. But the only way to go was up, so they went on, stair upon stair, scrabbling away at moss and fallen earth. Some of the steps were overgrown with moss, and here and there they had to weave their way in and out of tree roots, but they came out at last to an arched doorway. The wooden door looked locked, but when they tried it, it creaked and opened.

“Here we are!” cried Furtle, as if she had been meaning to get here all along, though in fact she had never known it existed. “This is our little house!”

Ouch forgot his weariness at once.

“It can be our palace!” he exclaimed.

It was strangely like a palace, though moss and tree roots grew thickly everywhere and made it dark. Ouch ran about, stretching up to put his paws on windowsills where ivy trailed. Furtle ran through the chamber to find an adjoining room from which she could hear running water. Opening another door, she found a spring.

“It’s perfect!” she cried. “You’re right, Ouch, it’s a palace!”

When they had pulled out the moss that blocked the windows, they found they were left with heaps of beautiful soft bedding, a generous supply of beetles, and a spectacular view of the sea far below them. The chamber was rounded, with windows on all sides to let in as much light as possible, and, after running from one to another to look down, they hugged each other in delight. They could not have imagined anything so perfect, and in finding it, they forgot everything else.

Ruffle the hedgehog was running away from the tower as Urchin reached it. He had heard Mossberry shouting before he got there, and, looking up, saw a clenched paw at a barred window. A guard nodded a greeting as Urchin ran past, skimmed up, and jumped through a window.

“Afternoon, Urchin,” said Todd the mole, who was in the corridor. “Mossberry’s noisy today. Been at it for hours. With any luck, he’ll have shouted himself hoarse soon.”

“Freedom!” shouted Mossberry.

“We had to fit bars on that window specially for him,” said Todd, and added quietly, “Forty-eight. You’d think he’d be grateful. He complained because we took his chair away.”

“Why did you do that?” asked Urchin.

“Because he’d already smashed it into matchwood and thrown it at the guard who brought his dinner,” said Todd. “How’s it going?”

“The king wants you and Tipp to go to the Mole Palace,” said Urchin. “We’re still looking for those little hedgehogs, Furtle and Ouch, and they could be in there. Prince Oakleaf’s going, too.”

“Delighted!” said Todd. “Captain Padra’s about to take over here. I’ll be glad to get away from the Calamity King there.”

“Calamity!” cried Mossberry from the cell.

“Told you,” said Todd. “That’s another four points, and right at the end of my watch! Fifty-two.”

“Points?” asked Urchin.

“It’s a game, sir,” said Todd. “It whiles away the time up here. Two points for ‘freedom,’ four for ‘calamity,’ and six for ‘death to all tyrants.’ He says some other things, too, but they’re a bit on the offensive side and it doesn’t seem right to win points for them. That means—oh!” He stood to attention. “Here’s Captain Padra. Mossberry’s in good voice, sir.”

“Plague and fire, is he still at it?” said Padra. “Hello, Urchin.”

“Hear me!” yelled Mossberry.

“Fifty-two points, sir,” said Todd. “And I don’t know if he’s eaten anything today. Certainly not his breakfast, because he threw that at me.”

“Freedom!” screamed Mossberry.

“Fifty-four,” said Todd. “Have you seen my brother, sir? The king wants us.”

“He was with Brother Juniper,” said Padra. “Oh, be quiet, Mossberry. How can an animal think straight with that going on?” He lowered his voice. “With any luck he’ll fall asleep soon. The odd thing is that we still get a few devoted animals coming here to see him, and they’d risk their lives to get him out. Plaguing—royalty and present company excepted—but, plaguing squirrels! I’ll take over now, Todd.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Tod. “Fifty-four to beat, sir,” he added as he marched away down the corridor.

“Death to—” began Mossberry.

“Six,” muttered Padra. “It’s going to be a long watch.”

Hunger is good, thought Mossberry. He ate only crumbs now, despising the food the tower animals brought him.
Unclean. The tower is unclean.
He dragged his claws down the stone walls and clutched at the bars. It all depended on him. Only he could lead his followers through the mists. The island of Mistmantle was to be destroyed, and all who did not follow him would perish with it. In spite of the flood, he was still here. There would be more storms and floods—even the defiled animals here in the tower knew that.

There was no way of saving Mistmantle. The Heart would crush it. All he could do was to save his followers, and, of course, himself.

Hunger sharpened him. Dreams and voices swam in and out of his head, waking and sleeping. Which was which? Anger and frustration overwhelmed him and he hurled himself screaming from the window to the door.

“Destroy!” he yelled, again and again. “Destroy, destroy, destroy!” Hysteria carried him. “King, captain, false priest in your filthy evil tower, you will be destroyed!”

Outside the cell, Padra beckoned Scufflen the hedgehog page. “My respects to the queen,” he said, “and please, could she send something to calm him down? Chamomile or something, but she’ll know what’s best. We have to feel sorry for him, Scufflen. I only have to stand here while it’s my watch, and then I’ll walk away. He can’t walk away from himself.”

Exhausted, Mossberry collapsed on the floor and laughed helplessly at the ceiling. “Destroy, destroyer, destroyer, destroyer,” he muttered. Lights and colors flashed in his head. It was as if he heard his own name.

Mossberry, destroyer! Mossberry, destroyer!

He sat up, still laughing. It seemed so clear now. To create something was easy. Any fool could make a song, embroider a Threading, or build a home. He had never had time for such trivial things himself. This was the greatest work of all—destruction! This was his destiny! He was the chosen one! He had been wrong to think that the Heart would destroy Mistmantle! The Heart had sent him to do that!

That was his destiny! Mossberry, the destroyer of Mistmantle! And he must start with the tower!

When Tipp the mole had left the priest’s turret, Juniper and Tide knelt down to pray. Through the open windows they could hear the sea, swish and fall, swish and fall, steady and reassuring. Juniper imagined Sepia adrift on that sea, and the sea was ruthless. Was she alive, or was she dead? He felt that she was still alive, that her spirit still held strong. He took a deep breath, and felt a tingle in his paws.

“Brother Juniper,” said Tide, “are you all right?”

Juniper did not appear to hear, or even to see him. He had become completely still. Then turning his paws palm upward, he spoke.