HE GATHERING CHAMBER OF MINSMANTLE Tower had been cleared at last, and only a few animals remained. It looked more enormous than ever, with every window thrown open against the summer heat. Three squirrels—Longpaw, the messenger, and Russet and Heath, who were both members of the group of senior animals called the Circle—waited at the door in case they were needed.
In front of the great curving windows was the dais, with a single throne at the center, and before it, on a cushion of deep green satin, lay a circlet of gold. This was no plain captain’s circlet. It was beautifully wreathed with golden oak and beech leaves and acorns, and gleamed like fire when the sunlight caught it. But Crispin the king was not seated on the throne, and not even touching the crown. He was perched on the edge of the dais with the squirrel priest, Brother Fir, beside him. In the middle of the hall, Padra and Arran stood very still while hedgehogs draped their ceremonial robes of turquoise and silver around their shoulders, whispered to each other, tugged the robes into place, and occasionally put in a pin. Thripple, a senior tower seamstress hedgehog with a hunched back and a crooked look about her, knelt on the floor by Padra, spreading the hem of his robe and shuffling back to inspect the look of it.
“It’s just on the floor, Captain Padra, but not trailing,” she said.
“That’s how I want it, thank you, Thripple,” said Padra. “Crispin, I know how you feel about wearing the crown, but you should try it on for size.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” said Crispin. “It’s something I feel strongly about. I don’t even want to be called the king, and all this Your Majesty business. Yes, I know we’ve been over all this before, and that they have to call me something other than Captain or whatshiswhiskers.”
“They need to know they have a real king,” insisted Padra. “They need the feeling of having a leader. And it helps the Companions to the King if they know who they’re companions to, Your Whatshiswhiskers.”
“Yes, I know,” said Crispin. “But I won’t wear the crown until Fir puts it on my head at the coronation. It’s a solemn moment, and it won’t be if I’ve already worn it.”
“It won’t be if it falls over your eyes,” said Padra.
“It’s been measured,” said Crispin. “I don’t even want to touch it until I’m crowned. It wouldn’t be right. It would be like holding the Heartstone.”
“The Heartstone is completely different,” said Padra. “Ouch!”
“Sorry, Captain Padra,” said Thripple, and sat back on her heels to inspect the robe. “Now, sir, are you absolutely sure you don’t want it longer?”
“If it’s any longer it’ll get sat on by a mole,” said Padra. “And when you see your husband, tell him the gallery’s finished and there’s room for all the Hedgehog Host in there.”
“Oh, Docken and me and all of us are most grateful for it, Captain,” she said, and twisted awkwardly to follow his gaze up to the newly finished gallery. “There’s such an awful lot of them, sir, to fit in.”
“And you can’t pack hedgehogs in closely,” observed Arran. “Not without serious consequences. But Gorsen and Lumberen had a look at it themselves, and they were pleased with it.”
Thripple had opened her mouth to say that Gorsen was a most particular hedgehog, and if the gallery was good enough for him, it was good enough for everyone. But she said nothing, because at that point Gorsen the hedgehog himself marched into the Gathering Chamber, bowed smartly to Crispin, and saluted.
“There’s a deputation of young 'uns to see Your Majesty and Captain Padra,” he announced. Gorsen was a tall hedgehog with a bronze tip to his spines, large black eyes, and a purposeful stride, and his striking good looks had won the attention of most of the single female hedgehogs on the island.
“I told them Your Majesty’s busy,” Gorsen went on, “but they’re all mightily excited about something and they say it’s important, and Urchin sent them. Your young Hope’s among them, Mistress Thripple.”
“Tell them all to come in, please, Gorsen,” said Crispin as Thripple’s eyes brightened. “And send a squirrel down to the kitchen for some strawberries.”
They heard stifled giggling before Jig and Fig, the mole sisters, appeared with Hope the hedgehog between them. There was a cry of “Ooh, Mummy!” from Hope, who scurried as fast as he could to Thripple before he remembered where he was and turned to bow to the king.
“Please, Your Majesty—” he began.
“That’s Brother Fir,” said Thripple gently. Hope was very shortsighted.
“Please, Your Majesty,” repeated Hope as Padra picked him up and pointed him in the right direction, “King Crispin, sir, Captain Padra, sir, there’s a ship arriving and Master Urchin said you should know, urgent says it’s Urchin, no, Urchin says it’s urgent, Your Majesty, Captain Padra, sir, sir.”
“Urchin mentioned it before,” said Padra. “I’ll go, shall I, Crispin?”
“And if Your Majesty can spare me, I shall have a little look for this ship from my turret,” said Brother Fir, slowly standing up and rubbing at his lame leg. “Hope, would you like to come with me? But your legs may be too tired to manage the stairs. I believe we should wait for a minute or two and eat strawberries. They renew one’s energy, you know.”
On the shore, animals had gathered to watch the approaching ship with her tattered sails and slow, halting progress. Otters swam in the shallows and ran up and down the beach, wanting to help with mooring the ship. Squirrels and hedgehogs stood in little clusters on the rocks, shielding their eyes against the sun. It was unusual, a ship arriving, especially one as battered as this. It was well worth watching, especially for small animals bored with gathering the berry harvest. Now and again a mole or two would emerge from a tunnel, peer about, sniff, and, not caring much for ships, disappear again. Urchin, Needle, and Juniper stood close enough to the water’s edge to let the waves lap over their paws as Apple, Urchin’s foster mother, bounded across the sand toward them. Apple was very round for a squirrel, and left large paw prints. She was telling them what she thought about the ship long before she reached them.
“Ooh, look at that, or I should say look at her, shouldn’t I?” she said, and stopped to take a deep breath. “She don’t look too big, nor too healthy, neither. She must have been in the storm, I wonder who’s on there, poor souls.”
“I can see someone moving on deck,” said Needle. She scrambled onto a rock and stretched onto her clawtips. “Wait a minute—yes, there’s a hedgehog.”
Urchin hopped up beside her and stretched up on his clawtips to see. “And there’s a squirrel turning the wheel,” he said. “I can see its ear tufts.” A gentle splash nearby made him turn from the ship to the water, and Fingal bobbed up in front of him, his eyes bright, his whiskers dripping. He was enjoying this enormously.
“Should we swim out and offer to tow her in?” he asked.
Urchin looked around to see who Fingal was talking to, then realized it was himself. It wasn’t as if he were a captain or a member of the Circle. He was still a page, but he was also a Companion to the King, and other young animals seemed to think he’d know what to do. At moments like this, he asked himself what Padra would do.
“Yes, go on, then,” he said. Fingal rounded up a few more otters by splashing them, and with twists, turns, and somersaults, they swam out to the boat.
“Show-offs,” said Needle. Urchin turned to grin at Juniper, and stopped grinning when he saw Juniper’s face. There was a tight, anxious frown.
“Are you all right?” he asked. His eyes on the ship, Juniper nodded. A squirrel and a hedgehog were leaning over the rail, stretching out to see the island; and something flashed so fiercely in the sunlight that Urchin had to squint. One of the hedgehogs must be wearing some sort of silver jewelry. Or was it a sword hilt? It flashed again as a hedgehog wearing a deep-purple cap leaned over the side of the ship and cupped his paws to his mouth, and Urchin saw the broad silver chain he wore about his neck. He was still too far away for his voice to carry well, but Urchin caught a few words.
“What’s he saying, can’t hear a word. Is he talking funny?” demanded Apple.
“Something about ‘wings’ and ‘birch,’” said Urchin. “I didn’t get the rest.”
“Well, what’s that supposed to mean?” said Needle, leaning from side to side to get the best view she could. “They all look a bit a battered, don’t they? Those hedgehog spines need grooming, and the squirrel looks all, sort of—sort of washed out.”
“Her’s had a wetting, bless her,” said Apple.
“Yes, that’s what a soaked squirrel looks like,” said Urchin, who had been in a storm at sea himself and remembered it vividly. The otters had caught the ship’s ropes and, grinning hugely, were hauling her in. The hedgehog in the velvet hat and silver chain leaned forward, cupping his paws again, and Urchin waded into the sea to hear him.
“We come from King Silverbirch, King of the Island of Whitewings,” shouted the hedgehog. “We are in great need, and beg to be taken with all speed to King Crispin.”
Urchin supposed he was the one who should say something, but he wasn’t sure what. “King Silverbirch’s ship is most welcome,” he called back, because it was polite and harmless and gave him time to think. Something swished swiftly in the water to his left, and to his great relief he saw the gleam of a gold circlet.
“Captain Padra, sir!” said Urchin. “They’ve just greeted us. They’re from an island called Whitewings, from King Silverbirch.”
“And well and truly wrecked on the way,” remarked Padra, raising his head and shaking the water from his ears. “I’ve heard of Whitewings; we’ve traded with them in the past. Is that Fingal with the ropes?” He loped from the water to stand beside Urchin. “Fingal, bring her in in a straight line!”
“She looks even more battered now she’s close,” said Needle.
“Bad enough without Fingal ramming her into the jetty,” said Padra. “He never looks where he’s going. Shall we go to meet them, Urchin? Oh, you’ve met Juniper.”
He turned to Juniper with a broad smile that turned to concern. “Are you all right, Juniper?”
In spite of the summer morning, Juniper was shivering. He blinked, swallowed hard, and took a deep breath as if breathing had suddenly become a struggle.
“Yes, Captain Padra, sir,” he said, but his voice was low and shaky. “I think it’s just the sun, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Find a bit of shade, or a pool,” said Padra kindly. “Any sensible animal stays in the wood or the water in weather like this. I wouldn’t be on land if not for the coronation. Urchin, come with me, and we’ll welcome them. And do something about your tail tip.”
Urchin twisted around to look over his shoulder, found a few burrs and wild raspberries that seemed to have stuck to his tail, and pulled them out with his teeth. Then he followed Padra onto the jetty and stood a pace behind him.
“Won’t the ship have to be searched, sir?” he whispered.
“I’ve given orders for it,” Padra whispered back, and raised his voice to greet the lordly hedgehog in the bow.
“Captain Padra the otter greets King Silverbirch’s envoys in the name of Crispin, King of Mistmantle,” he called. “Come in peace, and be welcome.”
With a bit of creaking and bumping, the gangplank was lowered. Down marched the hedgehog, his head held high and his silver chain flashing in the sun. Side by side behind him came another male hedgehog, who was rather short and thickset with short spines, and a stern-looking female squirrel. They both looked a little older than Urchin. And lastly followed a small squirrel, about Urchin’s age, who looked as if she weren’t enjoying this at all. Urchin thought she must have been seasick. They all carried silver-gray satchels and wore pale yellow cloaks badly stained with seawater, and their faces were strained and worn. Advancing along the jetty, the leading hedgehog looked Padra in the eyes—but there was a swift glance toward Urchin, which made him feel uncomfortable. As for the other Whitewings animals, Urchin felt that they were trying very hard not to look at him.
“You wish to be taken to King Crispin?” said Padra.
“With all haste,” said the hedgehog. He had a deep voice and an air of grave authority. “Our need is very great.”
“Then I’ll escort you to the tower myself,” said Padra, and turned to the younger animals who had gathered on the shore. “Crackle, Sepia, off to the tower before you draw another breath. Give word to the king, then to the kitchens. Our visitors have taken hard weather, and need hospitality. Chambers should be prepared for them.”
The squirrels dashed away. Padra turned back to the envoys.
“Pardon me, but your ship must be searched. Captain Lugg will be in charge of it. I regret this, but not long ago ships arrived in Mistmantle carrying unwelcome visitors, and now we inspect all vessels. Needle will carry your satchels, and may we help you with your wet cloaks?”
Urchin discovered what was meant by “helping with cloaks” when Padra took the four damp, salt-smelling garments from the animals and passed them to him to carry, as they escorted the visitors across the sand. They were long, heavy cloaks, so it was a struggle to hold them high enough to keep them from trailing in the sand and still see over the top. Lugg’s moles and hedgehogs were pattering down to the ship to search it, but there was no sign of Juniper until Apple’s loud and unmistakable voice carried across the sand.
“Never mind, son, you’ll feel better for it,” she was saying. Urchin looked over his shoulder to see her bending over Juniper, who was being sick into a rock pool. “There, now, son. Better out than in, probably you’ve just had too much sun and excitement and that, that’s all it is.”
Urchin hoped the visitors hadn’t noticed.