Read Online The Heir of Mistmantle by M. I. McAllister - Free Book Online
Authors: M. I. McAllister
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girl.” She looked up at the hills above them. “I’ve come this far, I may as well go on.”
“We’ll do the uphill bit,” said Juniper, “but you’re worn out, so I’ll take you home first.”
“You will not!” said Damson. “You’ll go on searching for the princess as King Crispin told you to! Do as you’re told. I’m going downhill and you’re going up.”
Juniper and Urchin leaped up the hill. Around them mothers took children back to their nests and burrows, holding their paws firmly, casting sharp, worried glances over their shoulders. Needle followed more slowly. She’d do anything to rescue Catkin. She would go through fire and water, place herself in any danger, and risk her life. But she hadn’t imagined having to sprawl across the heather, whispering kind words into tree roots. Danger was one thing, but looking ridiculous, really….
She saw a gathering of wood lice, lay down, and began talking. She’d do anything for Catkin, even this. She’d better tell the queen about it, in case she wanted to try it herself.
Dusk settled. Animals worked on, searching for Catkin and gathering the harvest, though heads ached and limbs were stiff with effort and heavy with tiredness. Only the otters, smoking and salting fish and drying seaweed, seemed to keep up the pace of the day’s work. Even squirrels trudged to their nests instead of running.
“But the harvest’s almost in,” said Padra to Captain Lugg as they met on the shore. “It’ll all be under cover when the weather breaks.”
“Can’t break soon enough,” said Lugg. “We need rain. Streams are running slow. Sluggish water isn’t good. No wonder animals are falling sick. How are Crispin and the queen?”
“Keeping very busy,” said Padra, “searching, organizing, and doing whatever they’re needed for. It’s the only thing that makes life bearable. I don’t know how they can stand it.” Nearby, two moles hurried home, their heads bowed and close together in conversation. When their children ran ahead, they were sharply called back.
“What’s going on?” asked Padra. “Suddenly there’s a lot of whispering going on. And the children—ever since Catkin disappeared, the animals have been very watchful of their young, but now it seems they don’t want them to go out to play at all.”
“Something’s up,” agreed Lugg. “Better ask a few questions, find out what it is. Missus might know. And that lot in Anemone Wood hear everything. I’ll see what I can find out.”
Underground, Linty rocked herself. She had heard paw steps above, up and down, coming, going, searching, not leaving her alone. But then she had heard a kind voice, speaking her name— Mistress Linty…they’re most grateful…they want her back…he’s gone…
Linty remembered that voice. That was Damson. She had admired and envied Damson, who had managed to keep a young one safe through the bad times. If Damson said it was safe to take this baby to King Crispin, it was safe. Good King Crispin. She remembered Crispin. He was a nice young squirrel.
A terrible thought struck her. What if that wasn’t really Damson? What if…she turned hot and sick with fear when she thought of this—what if it were a bad animal playing a trick, putting on Damson’s voice? Or what if Damson were wrong, or couldn’t be trusted? In these strange days, who could you trust? If she were lured into a trap, Catkin would be killed, and it would be her fault.
She hugged herself and rocked. What was the best thing to do for the baby?
Stay here, dig farther in, move to another refuge, and hope they don’t find us, or take the baby back. Just take her back to her own mother.
She couldn’t hide forever. She could trust Damson. She’d take the baby back to King Crispin and the queen, maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow, she’d go to the tower. Or would she?
A snuffle and a squeak from the cradle made her jump up to look at the baby, but Catkin was only stirring in her sleep
“We’ll do the uphill bit,” said Juniper, “but you’re worn out, so I’ll take you home first.”
“You will not!” said Damson. “You’ll go on searching for the princess as King Crispin told you to! Do as you’re told. I’m going downhill and you’re going up.”
Juniper and Urchin leaped up the hill. Around them mothers took children back to their nests and burrows, holding their paws firmly, casting sharp, worried glances over their shoulders. Needle followed more slowly. She’d do anything to rescue Catkin. She would go through fire and water, place herself in any danger, and risk her life. But she hadn’t imagined having to sprawl across the heather, whispering kind words into tree roots. Danger was one thing, but looking ridiculous, really….
She saw a gathering of wood lice, lay down, and began talking. She’d do anything for Catkin, even this. She’d better tell the queen about it, in case she wanted to try it herself.
Dusk settled. Animals worked on, searching for Catkin and gathering the harvest, though heads ached and limbs were stiff with effort and heavy with tiredness. Only the otters, smoking and salting fish and drying seaweed, seemed to keep up the pace of the day’s work. Even squirrels trudged to their nests instead of running.
“But the harvest’s almost in,” said Padra to Captain Lugg as they met on the shore. “It’ll all be under cover when the weather breaks.”
“Can’t break soon enough,” said Lugg. “We need rain. Streams are running slow. Sluggish water isn’t good. No wonder animals are falling sick. How are Crispin and the queen?”
“Keeping very busy,” said Padra, “searching, organizing, and doing whatever they’re needed for. It’s the only thing that makes life bearable. I don’t know how they can stand it.” Nearby, two moles hurried home, their heads bowed and close together in conversation. When their children ran ahead, they were sharply called back.
“What’s going on?” asked Padra. “Suddenly there’s a lot of whispering going on. And the children—ever since Catkin disappeared, the animals have been very watchful of their young, but now it seems they don’t want them to go out to play at all.”
“Something’s up,” agreed Lugg. “Better ask a few questions, find out what it is. Missus might know. And that lot in Anemone Wood hear everything. I’ll see what I can find out.”
Underground, Linty rocked herself. She had heard paw steps above, up and down, coming, going, searching, not leaving her alone. But then she had heard a kind voice, speaking her name— Mistress Linty…they’re most grateful…they want her back…he’s gone…
Linty remembered that voice. That was Damson. She had admired and envied Damson, who had managed to keep a young one safe through the bad times. If Damson said it was safe to take this baby to King Crispin, it was safe. Good King Crispin. She remembered Crispin. He was a nice young squirrel.
A terrible thought struck her. What if that wasn’t really Damson? What if…she turned hot and sick with fear when she thought of this—what if it were a bad animal playing a trick, putting on Damson’s voice? Or what if Damson were wrong, or couldn’t be trusted? In these strange days, who could you trust? If she were lured into a trap, Catkin would be killed, and it would be her fault.
She hugged herself and rocked. What was the best thing to do for the baby?
Stay here, dig farther in, move to another refuge, and hope they don’t find us, or take the baby back. Just take her back to her own mother.
She couldn’t hide forever. She could trust Damson. She’d take the baby back to King Crispin and the queen, maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow, she’d go to the tower. Or would she?
A snuffle and a squeak from the cradle made her jump up to look at the baby, but Catkin was only stirring in her sleep
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