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Authors: M. I. McAllister
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and looked more adorable than ever. Her paw, wrapped in the cream-colored blanket, was in her mouth.
Suddenly and bitterly, Linty remembered her own sorrows. The queen must be broken with grief over this baby, and Linty knew how terrible that was. No mother should endure that. She’d go now, before she could change her mind.
Quickly and methodically, she packed up the food, the clothes, and the toys. She lifted Catkin from the cradle, wrapping her warmly with her rose petals still around her. At the sound of paws close by she stopped and tilted her head, listening, but it was only the sound of moles pattering along a tunnel nearby. She caught a few words.
“You know what they were saying, today, at the berry-picking?” a mole was saying. “Someone’s saying Husk’s about again. Nobody ever saw him dead.”
Linty began to shiver uncontrollably. She told herself not to be silly. How could Husk be back? It was only some loudmouth making trouble. Husk was dead. We had good King Crispin. Damson said so.
She laid Catkin back in her cradle and yearned for the days when life had seemed so simple, when she had been young and full of life, when her future lay before her, and she held her first baby in her arms. Miserably she rocked Catkin, weeping softly with her head turned to one side because she must not wake the baby.
CHAPTER SIX
RCHIN RAN UP THE STAIRS TO F IR’S TURRET , and knocked at the door. Fir’s voice sounded reassuringly calm, but tired, and quieter than usual.
“Urchin’s knock,” he said. “In you come, Urchin.”
Urchin stepped into the round, simple chamber where curtains wafted gently from open windows. Fir and Juniper were at the windows, their backs to him, but Fir turned with a small watering can in his paws.
“My little garden needs water, these hot days,” he said. “We have to look after the window boxes. Herbs are much needed at present. Is it time to go the Throne Room, Urchin?”
At the sight of Juniper, Urchin had to bite his lip to keep from letting his shock show on his face. His face was gaunt, his fur was dull and spiky, and the pain in his eyes was the worst thing of all. He looked like a trapped creature desperate for rescue. As Brother Fir dried his paws on his tunic, Urchin hopped to Juniper’s side.
“Whatever it is, Juniper, tell me!” he whispered. “Or tell Brother Fir. But tell someone!”
Juniper, offering his arm to Brother Fir on the stairs, made no sign that he had heard, but Urchin was sure he had. He was sure Brother Fir had, too.
No sunlight fell on Crispin and Cedar’s thrones. The king and queen sat upright as birches. Their faces looked hollow, and there was a sharp alertness about them both as if they were constantly watching and listening. Looking at them, Urchin knew that eating and sleeping were no longer important to them. The queen clutched Catkin’s remaining blanket in one tight paw.
Captain Lugg stood beside them, his feet planted firmly apart, his claws in his sword belt, his face grim. Padra and Arran were silent and solemn. Docken the hedgehog was there, and Sepia, though she couldn’t imagine why she had been summoned. Tay the otter arrived, looking disdainfully at the young animals. She clearly felt they shouldn’t be there but knew better than to argue with Crispin about it.
A chair had been provided for Brother Fir. Juniper and Whittle took their places at either side of him, as Urchin bowed to the king and glanced at Padra for guidance.
“No news of Catkin,” said Padra. “The search goes on.”
“Firstly,” said Crispin, “Sepia. The queen and I would like you to sing for Linty and the baby.”
“Excuse me?” said Sepia.
“Music can be healing,” explained the queen. “If Linty hears you and the choirs singing, it might help her to calm down and think clearly. It could bring her to the state of mind where she’ll be reasonable and bring Catkin back.”
“Of course I’ll sing, Your Majesty,” said Sepia.
Suddenly and bitterly, Linty remembered her own sorrows. The queen must be broken with grief over this baby, and Linty knew how terrible that was. No mother should endure that. She’d go now, before she could change her mind.
Quickly and methodically, she packed up the food, the clothes, and the toys. She lifted Catkin from the cradle, wrapping her warmly with her rose petals still around her. At the sound of paws close by she stopped and tilted her head, listening, but it was only the sound of moles pattering along a tunnel nearby. She caught a few words.
“You know what they were saying, today, at the berry-picking?” a mole was saying. “Someone’s saying Husk’s about again. Nobody ever saw him dead.”
Linty began to shiver uncontrollably. She told herself not to be silly. How could Husk be back? It was only some loudmouth making trouble. Husk was dead. We had good King Crispin. Damson said so.
She laid Catkin back in her cradle and yearned for the days when life had seemed so simple, when she had been young and full of life, when her future lay before her, and she held her first baby in her arms. Miserably she rocked Catkin, weeping softly with her head turned to one side because she must not wake the baby.
CHAPTER SIX
RCHIN RAN UP THE STAIRS TO F IR’S TURRET , and knocked at the door. Fir’s voice sounded reassuringly calm, but tired, and quieter than usual.
“Urchin’s knock,” he said. “In you come, Urchin.”
Urchin stepped into the round, simple chamber where curtains wafted gently from open windows. Fir and Juniper were at the windows, their backs to him, but Fir turned with a small watering can in his paws.
“My little garden needs water, these hot days,” he said. “We have to look after the window boxes. Herbs are much needed at present. Is it time to go the Throne Room, Urchin?”
At the sight of Juniper, Urchin had to bite his lip to keep from letting his shock show on his face. His face was gaunt, his fur was dull and spiky, and the pain in his eyes was the worst thing of all. He looked like a trapped creature desperate for rescue. As Brother Fir dried his paws on his tunic, Urchin hopped to Juniper’s side.
“Whatever it is, Juniper, tell me!” he whispered. “Or tell Brother Fir. But tell someone!”
Juniper, offering his arm to Brother Fir on the stairs, made no sign that he had heard, but Urchin was sure he had. He was sure Brother Fir had, too.
No sunlight fell on Crispin and Cedar’s thrones. The king and queen sat upright as birches. Their faces looked hollow, and there was a sharp alertness about them both as if they were constantly watching and listening. Looking at them, Urchin knew that eating and sleeping were no longer important to them. The queen clutched Catkin’s remaining blanket in one tight paw.
Captain Lugg stood beside them, his feet planted firmly apart, his claws in his sword belt, his face grim. Padra and Arran were silent and solemn. Docken the hedgehog was there, and Sepia, though she couldn’t imagine why she had been summoned. Tay the otter arrived, looking disdainfully at the young animals. She clearly felt they shouldn’t be there but knew better than to argue with Crispin about it.
A chair had been provided for Brother Fir. Juniper and Whittle took their places at either side of him, as Urchin bowed to the king and glanced at Padra for guidance.
“No news of Catkin,” said Padra. “The search goes on.”
“Firstly,” said Crispin, “Sepia. The queen and I would like you to sing for Linty and the baby.”
“Excuse me?” said Sepia.
“Music can be healing,” explained the queen. “If Linty hears you and the choirs singing, it might help her to calm down and think clearly. It could bring her to the state of mind where she’ll be reasonable and bring Catkin back.”
“Of course I’ll sing, Your Majesty,” said Sepia.
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