that he was being watched crept over him, and he turned to see a sleek, dark mole look away quickly. It was Gloss, who had argued against Crispin at the trial. Urchin shuddered, then forgot Gloss as he saw Gleaner and a mole guard wriggle through the hall.
They whispered to Husk, who listened, dismissed them, and strode to the throne. Something was happening. Presently Husk led the king and Brother Fir toward the royal chambers. Padra, finishing his dance with Apple, joined them, and Urchin followed, still carrying the sea-turquoise robe over both paws. He half expected to be told to stay out of the way, but Padra only said, “You may be needed in the royal chambers, Urchin, but put that robe away first. I won’t need it again tonight.”
Urchin carried the robe to the anteroom and laid it on the floor to smooth and fold it. With the door closed, it was as if the crowded hall was in another world. He was alone in cool stillness and quiet. A single lamp glowed.
Snow was falling, floating in thick soft flakes through the darkness. Urchin laid the robe on the floor, then went to the window and rested his paws on the sill. It was quiet enough even to hear the waves swishing gently onto the shore, and he thought of Crispin and prayed, as he always did, for the Heart to keep him safe. More than ever he missed Crispin, who always had a kind word for him.
He turned to open the heavy lid of the chest with both paws. Husk’s green-and-gold robe was still in there—of course—he was wearing his new one today, his magnificent wedding robe.
Whoever had put that robe away had not done it correctly. It would crease if he laid Padra’s on top of it. He smoothed it and felt the layers of creases underneath. It would have to be taken out and folded again. He held it high to shake it, and, taking care not to let his claws catch the embroidery, smoothed it down.
On the bottom of the chest, something fluttered. Urchin bent to look more closely. Three dried leaves lay there, and he reached to take them out.
If they had been scented leaves, he would have understood why they were there. They would be to keep the moths away, or make the robes smell sweet. But these were plain beech leaves. He turned them over and held them to the lamp.
There was a clawmark on each one. Crispin’s.
Urchin wasn’t sure what they meant, but he knew they were important. His green cloak had been stitched up hurriedly at the hem and the stitches were long and gaping. Gently, to hide the leaves without damaging them, he slipped them between the stitches into the hem. Padra must be told.
CHAPTER TEN
N THE ROYAL CHAMBERS , the queen lay very peacefully among the deep pillows. The king held her paw. Brother Fir stood at the end of the bed, and Padra, Aspen, and Husk, keeping a respectful distance, had taken their places at the door.
Once, the queen had opened her eyes and smiled at the king. Later she had said, clearly but very softly, “Aspen.” Then the slow, rasping breathing had continued and the pauses between the breaths became longer, until the next breath did not come.
Aspen stepped forward and felt for a pulse in the queen’s neck. She turned to Brother Fir, shook her head, and drew back.
Nobody noticed Urchin take his place in the doorway. Something jostled his shoulder, and Captain Granite pushed past him. He looked ready to march straight up to the king, but Aspen put out a paw to warn him, and Husk whispered something in his ear.
“This will break the king,” whispered Aspen.
The king raised his head. “I wish,” he said, but his voice was low and slurred, “I wish I had not sent that treacherous squirrel away. When he killed our son, he destroyed her. I wish I had him here now, to tear him apart with my own teeth and claws. Wherever he is, may my curses reach him!”
Brother Fir said nothing, but held up a paw as if to hold back the curses. Husk summoned Padra to his side.
“The only question,” said Husk, “is whether to tell
They whispered to Husk, who listened, dismissed them, and strode to the throne. Something was happening. Presently Husk led the king and Brother Fir toward the royal chambers. Padra, finishing his dance with Apple, joined them, and Urchin followed, still carrying the sea-turquoise robe over both paws. He half expected to be told to stay out of the way, but Padra only said, “You may be needed in the royal chambers, Urchin, but put that robe away first. I won’t need it again tonight.”
Urchin carried the robe to the anteroom and laid it on the floor to smooth and fold it. With the door closed, it was as if the crowded hall was in another world. He was alone in cool stillness and quiet. A single lamp glowed.
Snow was falling, floating in thick soft flakes through the darkness. Urchin laid the robe on the floor, then went to the window and rested his paws on the sill. It was quiet enough even to hear the waves swishing gently onto the shore, and he thought of Crispin and prayed, as he always did, for the Heart to keep him safe. More than ever he missed Crispin, who always had a kind word for him.
He turned to open the heavy lid of the chest with both paws. Husk’s green-and-gold robe was still in there—of course—he was wearing his new one today, his magnificent wedding robe.
Whoever had put that robe away had not done it correctly. It would crease if he laid Padra’s on top of it. He smoothed it and felt the layers of creases underneath. It would have to be taken out and folded again. He held it high to shake it, and, taking care not to let his claws catch the embroidery, smoothed it down.
On the bottom of the chest, something fluttered. Urchin bent to look more closely. Three dried leaves lay there, and he reached to take them out.
If they had been scented leaves, he would have understood why they were there. They would be to keep the moths away, or make the robes smell sweet. But these were plain beech leaves. He turned them over and held them to the lamp.
There was a clawmark on each one. Crispin’s.
Urchin wasn’t sure what they meant, but he knew they were important. His green cloak had been stitched up hurriedly at the hem and the stitches were long and gaping. Gently, to hide the leaves without damaging them, he slipped them between the stitches into the hem. Padra must be told.
CHAPTER TEN
N THE ROYAL CHAMBERS , the queen lay very peacefully among the deep pillows. The king held her paw. Brother Fir stood at the end of the bed, and Padra, Aspen, and Husk, keeping a respectful distance, had taken their places at the door.
Once, the queen had opened her eyes and smiled at the king. Later she had said, clearly but very softly, “Aspen.” Then the slow, rasping breathing had continued and the pauses between the breaths became longer, until the next breath did not come.
Aspen stepped forward and felt for a pulse in the queen’s neck. She turned to Brother Fir, shook her head, and drew back.
Nobody noticed Urchin take his place in the doorway. Something jostled his shoulder, and Captain Granite pushed past him. He looked ready to march straight up to the king, but Aspen put out a paw to warn him, and Husk whispered something in his ear.
“This will break the king,” whispered Aspen.
The king raised his head. “I wish,” he said, but his voice was low and slurred, “I wish I had not sent that treacherous squirrel away. When he killed our son, he destroyed her. I wish I had him here now, to tear him apart with my own teeth and claws. Wherever he is, may my curses reach him!”
Brother Fir said nothing, but held up a paw as if to hold back the curses. Husk summoned Padra to his side.
“The only question,” said Husk, “is whether to tell
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