Free Urchin and the Heartstone by M. I. McAllister

dungeon for years. We could invite her to help.”
    “No, we couldn’t,” said Needle. “But I wish I knew where she’s off to. You can’t trust her. I’ll organize beach patrols and talk to Fir.”
    “You do like organizing, don’t you?” said Fingal.
    “I’ll look in my song cave,” said Sepia thoughtfully. “There are always pebbles there. Some are very pretty ones. It might be among them.”
    “How would it get there?” asked Needle.
    “Spat out by a water snake?” said Fingal.
    “I wouldn’t need to know how it got there,” said Sepia gently. “I’d just have to find it.” She spoke dreamily as if to herself, rocking and patting the sleeping baby hedgehog in her arms. “It’s a good place for singing. You run down Falls Cliffs to get in around the side, where it’s driest, and there’s a small entrance to squeeze through, and you come out into a cave behind the waterfall. The waterfall makes a noise, but when you go farther, it opens into the loveliest high chamber with a place that lets light in, and it’s—oh, it’s like nowhere else. The walls glow and there’s a little rock pool and a spring and then…”
    “Yes?” said Fingal.
    “…and then you sing,” she finished simply.
    “You mean, you sing,” said Needle.
    “And it sounds so strong, because the echo brings it all back to you,” said Sepia earnestly. “It’s like—like somewhere holy, and the music is all around.…”
    She stopped. It was too precious, too special, to tell them that she felt as if she rode in the night sky when she sang in her cave. It was just the sort of place where something as magical and wonderful as the Heartstone might turn up. The thought of her song chamber made her yearn to go there.
    “Find some squirrels,” said Needle, bringing her back down to earth. “Fingal, you can—”
    “Find a water snake and do it in?” he asked hopefully.
    “Organize the otters,” she said. “I’m going to tell Fir what we’re doing.” She took Scufflen from Sepia’s paws and hurried away as he blinked sleepily over her shoulder.
    Fingal shook his head. “Hasn’t anyone told her?” he said. “You can’t organize an otter.”
    “Sh!” said Sepia. “Somebody’s calling.”
    “Fingal! Fingal!” It was a cry from an old voice, a cry strained with anxiety and distress. Sepia sprang up and ran to meet the elderly squirrel hobbling toward them.
    “Mistress Damson!” she called. “What’s the matter?”
    “Have you seen Juniper?” demanded Damson quickly. “Fingal, have you seen Juniper? You two being friendly, I thought you might know where he is. Only he never came back last night, and I haven’t seen him all day, and neither has anyone! Have you seen him, Fingal? Have you seen him?” She clutched Sepia’s paw tightly and turned to her with a look of desperation. “Sepia, have you seen Juniper?”

CHAPTER NINE
    ITH A GROWL OF GRAVEL, THE BOAT RAN aground on the shores of Whitewings. Guards had already seen them, and armed hedgehogs and squirrels stood in rows on the shore, though it was still barely light. Nobody else was about except two swans bobbing on the water, watching their reflections. They wore something that looked like silver collars, but at such a distance Urchin couldn’t be sure.
    Trail and Bronze heaved him to his hind paws. He stretched and rubbed at his wrists as Trail sliced through the bonds, but Bronze held him fast.
    “Don’t even think about it,” snarled Bronze, but Urchin had already looked for chances of escape and seen none. There were archers among the guards, so he wouldn’t get far. Dragged through the shallows to the shore, he craned his neck to see farther. Know your territory , Padra would have said. And as Trail and Bronze left him in the care of three guards, two holding his arms and another holding a sword to his throat, he thought he may as well take a good look at the island.
    The sands were dull gray, almost white. Ahead of him rose gray and