She took the stone very carefully in both paws, feeling the eyes of Fir, Arran, Padra, and the long resting on it as she held it. It made her nervous so that her paws shook a little, but it stayed still.
“That is not the Heartstone,” said Fir. “It is convincingly like the real thing. For a time it even convinced me, and I am the only animal left alive who ever held the real one. But it didn’t feel right in my paw. The weight, the balance, and there is something of a…a…what can I call it? Something that calls to me from the Heartstone, as if it were a living thing. Just to make absolutely sure, I put this one in with a basket of pebbles for that delightful little hedgehog to play with today. He carried it about in his paws and in his mouth, he built with it, he made patterns with it. Never dropped it once. The real Heartstone would have been halfway across the floor as soon as he touched it.”
“So what’s happened to the real one?” asked Arran.
“You can be sure Husk was responsible, whatever it was,” said Padra.
“Certainly, certainly,” said Fir, scratching his ear. “Husk intended to be crowned, but he knew he wouldn’t really be the true king, and so wouldn’t be able to hold on to the Heartstone at his coronation. Wouldn’t do, would it? All those animals packed into the Gathering Chamber, all stretching up on their hind paws to watch, and the Heartstone leaps out of his paw like a frog. Hm? So he had a copy made, and disposed of the real one.”
“How?” said Crispin. “How can we find it?”
“I wish I knew,” replied Fir simply. “I know of no power that could destroy the Heartstone, so it must still be somewhere. I only hope it will help us to find it, for there’s no knowing where it is. You’re the king anyway, Crispin. By the laws of the island you have been king since the death of King Brushen, and you were acknowledged as king that very day. That’s what you are, whether or not you’re crowned using the Heartstone.”
“But I should be,” said Crispin. “It’s the right way. It must be found.”
“Does that mean we should all go looking for a small stone that could be anywhere?” asked Arran.
Crispin’s whiskers twitched. “And for whoever made this one,” he said. Fir’s eyes brightened.
“I hoped you’d think of that,” he said. “It must have taken great skill to make such an excellent copy.”
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Needle suddenly felt better than she had since Urchin disappeared. Now she had something to do, something worth doing that would take her mind from worrying about Urchin. In her heart, she made a vow.
I promise that I will search for the Heartstone, and will never stop searching until I find it
She’d need a plan. And she’d need other animals to join in. It was time to do some organizing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
N A LITTLE TURRET ROOM IN THE TOWER, Scatter the squirrel stretched up on her hind claws to look down from the window. Nobody had ever told her how beautiful Mistmantle was. How could she ever have imagined this, the changing green woodland, the blue of harebells, the clusters of berries like jewels on the currant bushes, the pale gold shore? What a shame she’d never be able to enjoy it.
If this was a prison cell, it was a surprisingly nice one. She had expected to be thrown into a dark hole in the ground, but they had locked her into a sunny little room with a bed, a chair, and water and biscuits on a table. When she looked down she could see animals gossiping as they gathered baskets of summer fruit or carried water from the springs. Lord Treeth was in the chamber next door. She had heard him complaining to the guards about it. He had talked about her, too.
“Scatter is expendable,” he had said. Expendable. She didn’t know what that meant, but she supposed it must be something good. King Crispin had seen through her lies—she had known that might happen, but she had carried out her part anyway. If
“That is not the Heartstone,” said Fir. “It is convincingly like the real thing. For a time it even convinced me, and I am the only animal left alive who ever held the real one. But it didn’t feel right in my paw. The weight, the balance, and there is something of a…a…what can I call it? Something that calls to me from the Heartstone, as if it were a living thing. Just to make absolutely sure, I put this one in with a basket of pebbles for that delightful little hedgehog to play with today. He carried it about in his paws and in his mouth, he built with it, he made patterns with it. Never dropped it once. The real Heartstone would have been halfway across the floor as soon as he touched it.”
“So what’s happened to the real one?” asked Arran.
“You can be sure Husk was responsible, whatever it was,” said Padra.
“Certainly, certainly,” said Fir, scratching his ear. “Husk intended to be crowned, but he knew he wouldn’t really be the true king, and so wouldn’t be able to hold on to the Heartstone at his coronation. Wouldn’t do, would it? All those animals packed into the Gathering Chamber, all stretching up on their hind paws to watch, and the Heartstone leaps out of his paw like a frog. Hm? So he had a copy made, and disposed of the real one.”
“How?” said Crispin. “How can we find it?”
“I wish I knew,” replied Fir simply. “I know of no power that could destroy the Heartstone, so it must still be somewhere. I only hope it will help us to find it, for there’s no knowing where it is. You’re the king anyway, Crispin. By the laws of the island you have been king since the death of King Brushen, and you were acknowledged as king that very day. That’s what you are, whether or not you’re crowned using the Heartstone.”
“But I should be,” said Crispin. “It’s the right way. It must be found.”
“Does that mean we should all go looking for a small stone that could be anywhere?” asked Arran.
Crispin’s whiskers twitched. “And for whoever made this one,” he said. Fir’s eyes brightened.
“I hoped you’d think of that,” he said. “It must have taken great skill to make such an excellent copy.”
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Needle suddenly felt better than she had since Urchin disappeared. Now she had something to do, something worth doing that would take her mind from worrying about Urchin. In her heart, she made a vow.
I promise that I will search for the Heartstone, and will never stop searching until I find it
She’d need a plan. And she’d need other animals to join in. It was time to do some organizing.
CHAPTER SEVEN
N A LITTLE TURRET ROOM IN THE TOWER, Scatter the squirrel stretched up on her hind claws to look down from the window. Nobody had ever told her how beautiful Mistmantle was. How could she ever have imagined this, the changing green woodland, the blue of harebells, the clusters of berries like jewels on the currant bushes, the pale gold shore? What a shame she’d never be able to enjoy it.
If this was a prison cell, it was a surprisingly nice one. She had expected to be thrown into a dark hole in the ground, but they had locked her into a sunny little room with a bed, a chair, and water and biscuits on a table. When she looked down she could see animals gossiping as they gathered baskets of summer fruit or carried water from the springs. Lord Treeth was in the chamber next door. She had heard him complaining to the guards about it. He had talked about her, too.
“Scatter is expendable,” he had said. Expendable. She didn’t know what that meant, but she supposed it must be something good. King Crispin had seen through her lies—she had known that might happen, but she had carried out her part anyway. If
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