FTER THE NIGHT OF THE FAILED RESCUE, Urchin’s spirits lifted. Juniper recovered slowly. His voice was still no more than a croak and his pointy face looked hollow, but he was awake, conscious, and able to eat and walk. Each day he became a little stronger, making a patch of gladness in the long, frustrating days. They talked of Mistmantle, of the waterfall, and Anemone Wood. They carved pictures on firewood, flipped plum stones into an upturned bowl from as far a distance as possible in a small cell, and made plans for escape, all of which were impossible. And they played endless games of First Five, a Mistmantle game to do with getting five pebbles into a pattern in the middle of a grid while preventing your partner from doing the same. (Cedar provided the pebbles.) The king, who was making a tour of the mine workings and silversmiths, had not sent for Urchin again.
“His Majesty doesn’t want to see you, Freak,” said Bronze, grinning as he brought bread and water. “Not bothered about feeding you very much, either, by the look of things.” The bread and water wasn’t much between two of them, but at least they were left alone, and Cedar smuggled food to them on the rare occasions when she saw them. The hardest thing was knowing that summer was over, autumn was blowing in, and they were still held in a small cell smelling of lice lotion with nothing to explore, nothing changing, and nothing to climb but the walls.
“We should be bringing in the hazelnut harvest,” said Urchin restlessly.
“I hope Damson’s all right,” said Juniper. “She’ll be making cordials from the rose hips, and it’s hard work. I should be there to help her.”
When the king finally did send for Urchin, his mood had changed again. Summoned to the High Chamber, Urchin saw a small hedgehog curled smugly by the king’s throne. He knew he recognized that hedgehog from somewhere, but it took a minute to remember that this was the one who had appeared on the night when the Mistmantle moles had attacked. He was small, but his face was adult and cunning. The king was speaking to him as Smokewreath huddled in a corner, his arms folded and a scowl on his face.
“You’ve done ever so well, Creeper,” the king was saying to the hedgehog. “For now, I think you should just enjoy the fun.” He looked at Urchin, stood up, and held out his paws with a frightening smile. “Dear little Freak, you’re going to come with me around the island. Let me show it off to you? Won’t that be lovely?”
“Yes, Your Majesty!” said Urchin, and his ears twitched with anticipation. At the thought of fresh air he wanted to leap from the nearest window and race the wind.
“Yes, it’ll be such fun!” gushed the king. “And you can tell me where all that lovely, lovely silver is hiding!”
Oh, thought Urchin, and hoped he could bluff his way through convincingly. The king swept toward him and placed both silvered paws on his shoulders.
“Smokewreath’s such a crosspatch today,” he said. “He’s jealous because you might be better at finding silver than he is.” He called over his shoulder to Smokewreath. “I’ve arranged a lovely little killing for you!”
He clapped his paws twice, sharply, and four nervous squirrels shuffled into the chamber carrying something in a blanket. They laid it before the king, and stood meekly back, their paws behind their backs and their heads bowed. Smokewreath edged forward.
Urchin didn’t want to look, but he had to know the worst. He forced himself to look down at what lay in the blanket.
For one horrible moment, he thought it was Cedar. When he gathered himself together he realized it was nothing like her, but it was still the body of a young squirrel with an arrow wound staining her fur. It was a young life, somebody’s daughter, somebody’s friend, who would never go back to her nest.
With a clatter of bones and a stale smell of smoke, sweat, and vinegar, Smokewreath bent over the body. His gnarled front paws clutched at the dead squirrel’s ears and heaved her up, sniffing her face, forcing her mouth open to squint at her teeth, tugging at her fur. Urchin turned his face away in disgust and pressed down the churning in his stomach.
“What’s the matter with you?” demanded the king.
Urchin’s paws tightened. He had to hold himself back from seizing Smokewreath and wrenching him away from the body.
“Don’t you mind that she was killed?” he asked. “She was one of your islanders!”
“As you say,” answered the king. “She was one of my islanders. Mine. Mine to dispose of. Mine, mine, silver mines!” He laughed hysterically and threw an arm around Urchin. “She had to die one day, didn’t she? Oh,” he went on as Urchin flinched from his touch, “are we cold? Lord Marshal, fetch a warm garment for our honored guest!”
“Bronze, get a cloak for the freak,” grunted Granite. Urchin didn’t want one, but he couldn’t afford to annoy the king. He fastened it at his throat as, surrounded by guards and attendants, he followed the king from the palace. It was reassuring to see Cedar take her place among the guards.
His prison was at the opposite side of the Fortress, so he stepped out into part of the landscape he hadn’t seen since he’d first arrived. Gladly he took a deep breath of cool air, but it tasted of dust and made him cough. The leaves had started to twirl down, but like everything else on the island, they lay under the fine gray powder of dust from the mines. As they marched from the Fortress and passed scrawny woodland, he saw that even the fruit and nuts on the trees shimmered with it. Still, after all this time in prison it was wonderful to be outside at all. The king was watching him with a smile of pride.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he said. “My lovely island! And there’s something you simply must see.”
He led them far away from the Fortress and along a steep path that wound up a hillside, and the farther they walked, the cleaner and kinder the air became, with a sniff of the sea in it. The fallen leaves were deeper here. If he hadn’t been with the king, Urchin would have leaped into them and rolled. As it was, he reminded himself to be alert, his ears twitching, his eyes wide with attention, looking for anything at all that would help when the time came for escape. He needed to find places that would provide cover after leaf fall. The trees grew more thickly here, and there were times when he was very tempted to make a dash for it, but it was far too risky. The archers were proud of their skill, and they’d be glad to show it off. He did his best to take in everything he saw in the hope that he’d remember it, but it wasn’t easy with the king distracting him, throwing an arm around his shoulder or slapping him on the back, and saying, “What do you think? What do you think? Have you smelled silver? Can you feel it? Do you want to stop and have a little search? You do have the gift for finding it, don’t you? Commander Cedar says you have, don’t you, Cedar?”
“Your Majesty,” said Urchin, “do you really think silver is what your island needs? Animals can’t eat it. The dust from the mines is in the soil, it’s everywhere. I think that’s why the trees don’t thrive.”
“Aren’t they healthy trees?” asked the king in alarm. “Don’t you think so? We need trees! We refine the silver in furnaces, and we need trees for the fuel! And coal, of course. We have mines for that, too.”
“More mining!” said Urchin. “Your Majesty, you don’t need silver! You need good, soft earth where things can grow, and healthy plants to grow in it!” The king was gazing into the distance and might not be hearing a single word, but Urchin went on, quickly thinking of all the things hedgehogs like to eat. “Your Majesty, if your soil is good it’ll be full of slugs and worms and beetles, and you can grow berry bushes….”
“Good soil,” murmured the king. “Good earth, with fresh green grass and moss, slugs, and beetles…”
“Yes, that’s what you need.…” urged Urchin.
“…fruit and flowers…”
“Yes!” said Urchin.
“Mmm,” said the king thoughtfully. But Urchin, looking up at his face, saw a gleam of greed and menace that made him shudder from ears to tail tip.
“Nice,” said the king softly. He was almost purring. “Yes, I think so. Yes, I have thought of it. Yes, I want an island like that!”
Urchin didn’t want to guess at what the king meant, but he had a horrible suspicion. I want an island like that…It was a good thing Mistmantle couldn’t be invaded. Then the king flung an arm about him with a force that knocked him paws first into a puddle.
“Come on!” he cried. “Up the hill! It gets harder after this!”
Urchin allowed the king to do the talking as they marched and climbed up the long, steep hillside. Long before they reached the top, he had noticed how much fresher and saltier the breeze had become. A gull wheeled overhead, a far-off swishing of waves reached him; there was sand mixed with the earth—it took all his self-control to keep from dashing ahead over the thick, shrubby bushes and bounding down to the sea. Forcing himself to stay at the king’s pace, he trudged to the top of the dunes, and there he stood and gasped, forgetting all about captivity, feeling a leap of joy in his heart.
He looked down on a small, curving bay of silvery sand. Gulls swooped. Gentle waves washed themselves to nothing on the shore. A wooden jetty extended into the water, small boats were tied up and two tall ships stood at anchor. Beautifully and painfully, it reminded him of Mistmantle. Perhaps this was the way Whitewings used to be, the way it could be again if Queen Larch and Brother Flame were in their rightful places. Curled asleep on the water, their beaks under their wings, were two swans with something gleaming on their necks. Did even the swans here wear silver? This was not only the loveliest sight to meet him since he’d arrived on Whitewings, but the bay offered the best chance of escape so far.
“Aren’t you simply thrilled?” cried the king. “Isn’t it just delightful? Look at the view! I knew you’d be impressed. We’re so high up, we can see all the way past the Fortress!” He took Urchin by the shoulders and turned him around. “There’s the forest with the Fortress in it,” he was saying. “You can see the battlements from here, do you see? Smokewreath could stand up there and wave at us! You can see it far better in winter, when all the leaves are down—as long as you’re still with us, of course!” He gave a shriek of laughter, which Urchin found intensely irritating. “And you can see all the way across to the mountains,” he went on proudly. “Do you see the three in a row? Eagle Crag, Claw Crag, and Beacon Top. Isn’t it simply stunning?”
“Oh, yes,” agreed Urchin, surveying the view. He took in the flat surface of Beacon Top, Claw Crag rising steeply beside it in the shape of a curled claw, and Eagle Crag towering above them both.
“Now,” said the king. “Now that you have a good view of the island, you can tell me where we can find more silver. Can you feel it yet? Do you need to do any magic? We can find something to sacrifice, if you like.”
“No, thank you,” said Urchin, and thought quickly. This bay with its swans and boats looked the best place to escape from, so he had to keep the king and his guards away from it as much as possible. He stretched out a claw confidently toward the mountains, and with a firmness that surprised him said, “It’s in there.”
“I knew it!” cried the king, and hugged him tightly. “I always thought so, you know. Smokewreath wouldn’t have it, but what does he know? I always knew there was silver there! Whereabouts exactly? Tell me, tell me.”
Urchin opened his mouth to speak and shut it again, realizing that he could have made a terrible mistake. For all he knew, Larchlings could be hiding in those mountains, or under them.
Make time, he thought. Don’t tell him anything until I’ve talked to Cedar. He looked about for her, but she was still wearing her helmet, and her expression was impossible to see.
He rubbed his eyes. “I can’t tell yet,” he said. “I’ll need time.”
“How much time?” demanded the king.
“I can’t tell,” repeated Urchin, struggling to think one step ahead. “It could be days, I don’t—”
“Oh, just have a teeny peek at the mountains today, then,” said the king. “I’m sure it’ll help. We’ll go straight there now. March!”
All day, the king and his guards marched Urchin from one part of the island to another. The grim, gaunt mountains were much farther away than he had realized, and the king insisted on leading him up and down the foothills, showing him every path and every boulder. Urchin could only hope that as there were so many guards, making such a noise with the clanking of their weapons, that any Larchlings in hiding would hear them far off, and vanish. He tried hard to remember everything he saw, but long before the sun was setting he had decided that one bit of rock was much the same as another. Even the guards were slow and grumbling about their sore paws. Trail was struggling and fell behind, and Bronze, teasing her at every step, made sure everybody noticed.
Exhausted, with aching paws, Urchin returned to his cell that night and was about to flop onto a cushion when he saw Juniper’s ears sticking up from underneath it.
“Hello, Juniper!” he whispered, and lifted the cushion. But Juniper didn’t wake up. In that appalling second, Urchin saw that he lay absolutely still. His eyes were closed and his whiskers drooped.
Urchin seized him by the shoulders. Frightened, he gave him a swift, sharp shake. “Juniper!”
Juniper felt cold. He didn’t wake.
“Juniper!” whispered Urchin.
Juniper snuffled and wriggled, then opened his eyes wide, and shut them again. Urchin sat back, angry with Juniper for the scare and wildly glad to see that he was, after all, only asleep. Juniper muttered something.
“I beg your pardon?” asked Urchin.
“Firelight and moonlight,” said Juniper. “The secret.”
“Oh,” said Urchin. Lots of animals talked in their sleep, and none of them ever said anything sensible. Juniper sat up and shook his ears.
“Firelight, moonlight,” he said firmly. “And a secret.”
“You’ve been dreaming,” said Urchin. “Listen, I need to tell you what I’ve been doing. And we need Cedar. And I’m starving, is there anything to eat?”
“Moon—” began Juniper again, but the sound of paws and the rattle of dishes outside meant that the guards were bringing food. Juniper disappeared under the cushions again while they placed covered dishes on the hearth, and a jug and a cup on the table.
“Thank you,” said Urchin, and waited until the door was locked before whisking the cushions off Juniper and the covers off the dishes. Steaming vegetables and bowls of nuts and warm bread wafted an aroma that sharpened Urchin’s hunger.
“You must be in favor again,” said Juniper.
After that they were too busy eating to talk about anything, but the food was finished all too quickly, and they were licking crumbs from their paws when they heard Cedar’s voice outside.
“Freak’s lousy again,” she said. “They must have lice as big as earwigs in that place. And his paws are too soft for all this walking.” Presently she was admitted to the cell, where she offered cough medicine to Juniper and rubbed lice lotion into Urchin’s fur. “So you smell right,” she said.
“Juniper keeps talking about moonlight and a secret,” said Urchin.
“I don’t know what it’s about,” said Juniper with a twitch of his ears. “It was just there, when I woke up, something about moonlight, firelight, and a secret, in my head. It was really strong, and I know it’s important but I don’t understand what it means. And when I was ill, I sort of saw something, remembered something, and that felt important, too.”
“What did you sort of see?” asked Cedar. Juniper’s ears twitched again.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Something to do with when I was very small.”
“If it happens again, tell me,” she said. “It may be that you have extra sensitivity—you’re aware of things that the rest of us don’t notice. Some animals are just born that way.”
“Like feeling sick when I saw the Whitewings ship?” asked Juniper.
“Exactly like that,” said Cedar, and turned to Urchin. “Urchin, you did well today. If the king wants silver from the mountains, he can mine at Beacon Top all he likes. He’ll be out of our way there.”
“I wanted to keep him away from the bay,” said Urchin, and his face brightened when he thought of it. “You should see it, Juniper! There’s a ship! And swans!”
“Swans!” said Juniper, with shining eyes. “Do you think we could fly home?” But Cedar’s face was sad and kind, and Urchin’s heart sank.
“Didn’t you see, Urchin?” she said gently. “I suppose, if the swans were asleep, you couldn’t tell.”
“Couldn’t tell what?” he said, and tried not to resent her for spoiling his hope.
“The collars,” she said. “All the swans have silver chains around their necks, and they’re tethered to the jetty. They can’t fly away.”
Urchin took a deep breath as if it could arm him against his disappointment. “Then they need to be set free,” he said.
In his dark cellar, Smokewreath chewed at his claws. Marked Squirrel. Marked Squirrel. It wouldn’t be safe until the thing was dead. Who cared what the magic did? Whether it worked? The king would believe anything. But that squirrel was a threat. It was dangerous. It had to die. He would take pleasure in killing it. There was a quality about it that disturbed him deeply.
And there was worse. Smokewreath sensed something. He had a talent for sensing things that could not be seen, and he had used this talent in his rise to power as the king’s sorcerer. He could tell when there was something close that threatened him, the sort of simple goodness and honesty that he could not control. Something of the kind hung about the Marked Squirrel. It was as if there were two of them. He’d only ever seen this one Marked Squirrel, but it was as if there were another one with a rare, true quality that threatened him and made him shudder. If he killed the freak, the other thing might go away.
Trail knocked quietly at the Lord Marshal’s chamber door. When it creaked open she slipped into the chamber, which, with its rows of weapons, looked more like an armory.
Lord Marshal Granite sat at a table examining a small iron dagger, turning the blade toward the lamplight.
“It’s Bronze, sir,” she said. “It’s not easy to talk about him like this, but you should know, sir.” Granite gave no answer, so she went on. “He’s always tried to imitate you, but now he wants to take over. He sneers about you, sir, behind your back; he’s not content to live in your shadow anymore. He’s ambitious, and he thinks it’s his turn to get to the top. He thinks he’d be a good Lord Marshal, and there’s only room for one.”
Granite ran a claw along the dagger blade and grunted. He didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t noticed Bronze making a bid for power, but that didn’t matter. He never trusted anyone, especially young animals seeking promotion.
“We know he doesn’t have your experience, sir,” Trail went on, “and he’d never be the soldier you are. He seems to think the king would favor him because—well, sir, because he comes from Whitewings, and he’s a hedgehog, the same as the king.”
Granite grunted again and jerked his head at the door, but Trail smiled inside her helmet as she left, closing the door behind her. She’d had enough of Bronze. Getting on the wrong side of the Lord Marshal was about the worst thing that could happen to anyone, and Bronze had been asking for it.