walked briskly along the gallery. She had a very upright way of walking with her head held high, and her tone was crisp and commanding.
“Prisoner to the king,” she ordered, and turned on Trail and Bronze. “Don’t you dare keep the king waiting! Get him moving!”
In the High Chamber, Granite stood behind the throne, and though he wore his grim helmet, Urchin could sense the grin on his face. The squirrel in the helmet had followed them, and took her place beside the dais. Leaning back in the throne, King Silverbirch flexed his gleaming claws.
“Dear Smokewreath’s ever so busy dismembering something,” he drawled. “Now, Freak, tell me all about yourself. Who are you, exactly? No, I know you’re Urchin of Mistmantle, but who are you really? Who are your parents? You don’t really come from Mistmantle, do you?”
“He was found, Your Majesty,” said Bronze. “They said—”
“Shut up, soldier,” growled Granite, and Trail smirked with pleasure. “Yes, Your Majesty, I can vouch for that. Found.”
“Found?” asked the king, leaning forward with interest.
“I was found in the water when I was newborn,” said Urchin. He didn’t want to be helpful, but he could safely tell them this much. “Nobody knows anything about me.”
“So you’re not from Mistmantle?” purred the king.
“With respect, sir,” said the squirrel in the helmet, “we’re wasting time. It doesn’t matter where he comes from, so long as he can find silver for you. And he can.”
“Oh, thank you, Commander!” said the king, flourishing a paw at her. “That’s what I need to know. So you do have a gift for finding silver, Freak?”
Urchin didn’t like to say so. He had no idea about finding silver, but it might be safest to pretend he could.
“I might have, Your Majesty,” he said.
“He has, Your Majesty,” said the squirrel commander.
“How do you do it?” asked the king. He laced his clawtips and leaned forward with glittering brightness in his eyes. “Do tell me. What do you need? Anything magical? Wires, powders? We can kill something for you, if you like.”
He was saved from having to answer by the commander. She seemed to know a lot more about the subject than he did.
“It’s best just do it by instinct, Your Majesty,” she said. “They don’t really know how. But he’ll need to get outside and see the island, so he can get his bearings.” Urchin’s ears twitched hopefully.
“Is that right?” asked the king.
“Oh, yes, Your Majesty,” said Urchin earnestly.
“There’s foul weather coming,” observed Granite. “Still, it won’t matter if the freak gets wet.”
“It most certainly does matter!” insisted the king. Bronze grinned, and Granite glared at him. “We’ll arrange a tour for you. In the meantime, Bronze will take you back to your chamber.”
He was marched back to his room and pushed in by Bronze. The door clanked shut. He was about to have another go at the window bars when something moved.
He whisked around. The logs in the basket were moving. Urchin sprang back, reached for a sword, remembered again that he didn’t have one, and retreated as far as possible from the basket, watching.
“Urchin!” said a voice from somewhere under the logs, and the sound of his name made his heart leap. Firewood spilled out. There was a gleam of dark red fur; Urchin found it impossible to believe his eyes.
“Juniper?” he whispered.
Juniper’s head bobbed up from the basket. He shook sawdust from his ears. “Found you!” he said as he climbed out.
Speechless, Urchin leaped forward and seized Juniper’s shoulders, astonished at the delighted smile and the bright, almost too-bright, eyes. But under his touch Juniper was shivering, and after the first great surge of joy at seeing a Mistmantle face, he felt desperately sad and sorry. Juniper had ended up in this wretched place, too.
“How did you get here?” demanded Urchin. He kept his voice down to a whisper, and
“Prisoner to the king,” she ordered, and turned on Trail and Bronze. “Don’t you dare keep the king waiting! Get him moving!”
In the High Chamber, Granite stood behind the throne, and though he wore his grim helmet, Urchin could sense the grin on his face. The squirrel in the helmet had followed them, and took her place beside the dais. Leaning back in the throne, King Silverbirch flexed his gleaming claws.
“Dear Smokewreath’s ever so busy dismembering something,” he drawled. “Now, Freak, tell me all about yourself. Who are you, exactly? No, I know you’re Urchin of Mistmantle, but who are you really? Who are your parents? You don’t really come from Mistmantle, do you?”
“He was found, Your Majesty,” said Bronze. “They said—”
“Shut up, soldier,” growled Granite, and Trail smirked with pleasure. “Yes, Your Majesty, I can vouch for that. Found.”
“Found?” asked the king, leaning forward with interest.
“I was found in the water when I was newborn,” said Urchin. He didn’t want to be helpful, but he could safely tell them this much. “Nobody knows anything about me.”
“So you’re not from Mistmantle?” purred the king.
“With respect, sir,” said the squirrel in the helmet, “we’re wasting time. It doesn’t matter where he comes from, so long as he can find silver for you. And he can.”
“Oh, thank you, Commander!” said the king, flourishing a paw at her. “That’s what I need to know. So you do have a gift for finding silver, Freak?”
Urchin didn’t like to say so. He had no idea about finding silver, but it might be safest to pretend he could.
“I might have, Your Majesty,” he said.
“He has, Your Majesty,” said the squirrel commander.
“How do you do it?” asked the king. He laced his clawtips and leaned forward with glittering brightness in his eyes. “Do tell me. What do you need? Anything magical? Wires, powders? We can kill something for you, if you like.”
He was saved from having to answer by the commander. She seemed to know a lot more about the subject than he did.
“It’s best just do it by instinct, Your Majesty,” she said. “They don’t really know how. But he’ll need to get outside and see the island, so he can get his bearings.” Urchin’s ears twitched hopefully.
“Is that right?” asked the king.
“Oh, yes, Your Majesty,” said Urchin earnestly.
“There’s foul weather coming,” observed Granite. “Still, it won’t matter if the freak gets wet.”
“It most certainly does matter!” insisted the king. Bronze grinned, and Granite glared at him. “We’ll arrange a tour for you. In the meantime, Bronze will take you back to your chamber.”
He was marched back to his room and pushed in by Bronze. The door clanked shut. He was about to have another go at the window bars when something moved.
He whisked around. The logs in the basket were moving. Urchin sprang back, reached for a sword, remembered again that he didn’t have one, and retreated as far as possible from the basket, watching.
“Urchin!” said a voice from somewhere under the logs, and the sound of his name made his heart leap. Firewood spilled out. There was a gleam of dark red fur; Urchin found it impossible to believe his eyes.
“Juniper?” he whispered.
Juniper’s head bobbed up from the basket. He shook sawdust from his ears. “Found you!” he said as he climbed out.
Speechless, Urchin leaped forward and seized Juniper’s shoulders, astonished at the delighted smile and the bright, almost too-bright, eyes. But under his touch Juniper was shivering, and after the first great surge of joy at seeing a Mistmantle face, he felt desperately sad and sorry. Juniper had ended up in this wretched place, too.
“How did you get here?” demanded Urchin. He kept his voice down to a whisper, and
Similar Books
