"While the light lasts I shall
remember, and in the darkness I shall not forget."
Agatha
Christie, While The
Light Lasts
While The Light Lasts
Part One –
Sunrise
The old king, leaning
on a stick in his old age, stepped heavily over to his throne, and plumped
himself down upon it. He thought bitterly of the neighbouring kingdom – or
rather, it's ruler.
There was something
frightening about the ferret monarch. In the Quadruple country, there was no
such thing as vermin, so the aged otter could not put it down to prejudice. No,
it was something menacing – the otter decided it was merely worry about what
might happen to Aquile when he died. No one wanted the four kingdoms to become
three – and that might well happen with Pargit and its daunting new ruler.
A brawny squirrel, his
heir, bowed to him. Old Myrlin patted him on the back.
There was a
complicated way of succession in Aquile. The thirteen royal families married,
and the first child to be born of the new reign was the heir. There were
occasionally arguments, but usually all went well.
Usually, that was. A
feeling of fear floated around the court, it was as if one of the shrew twins
was the heir.
*
Catharine dug
feverishly. She could do little else, for Porran was a hard master – a
slavedriver, Marian had called him, and Catharine agreed. The tall stoat was
not cruel, but his dourness did not endear him to his juniors.
"Right! Work's
finished for today! The light's fading! Kit, I said stop! Collect up those
tools! There's a storm brewing, you fools! Kit, get up, and don't look so
wooden!"
Porran shouted orders,
striding about with great assurance, forgetting that he owed his position
(small though it was) to the king, and his young heir had no great liking for
the strict and bossy stoat.
Catharine gazed at
Porran with great dislike. The feeling was mutual, he detested her cool
composure, and the fact that he was terrified of what the mousemaid could do
with a simple stare did nothing to diminish this bête-noir.
On her part, she hated
to be called 'Kit', and took every chance she got of counteracting the
nickname. Porran knew this, he spread the use of the name over the workers
until even, unconsciously, Catharine's best friends used the shortened version.
*
"Marian?"
It was in the workers'
lodgings. Everyone was gathered around the fire. It was a cold winter.
Marian turned. She was
a large, capable hogwife, their landlady, and acted like their mothers.
"Oh, for goodness
sakes, child, come closer. You'll be freezin' to death!"
Catharine lifted her
face to the kindly hedgehog.
"I'm all right,
Marian. I like it here."
"Merciful Providence!
Well, it's no concern o'mine if you catch your dethercold, that's all I can
say! – What were you going to ask me, dearie?"
"Tell
us about the Messengers. Please."
"The
messengers?"
"The
Messengers."
"Oh, those! Well, I've
no time for 'em really, all on about fighting for your rights when you're quite
satisfied with your lot! I couldn't say. Huh! Most aren't the real thing. There
are good fakes, mind! I had one 'ere the other day. Poor lad, quite worried
about what'll 'appen to Aquile when the king dies…"
"Hush! That's
treason!" gasped the youngest, a tiny squirrel, not more than a season old.
"No, dearie. The king
doesn't think of it like that. He says a chap's got to die sometime, and it
don't matter if people say so. Anyhow, this lad was a fake. Don't let
yourselves get mixed up with these creatures. It leads to trouble," said Marian
sententiously. "But the real thing…you can't help following them. There's a
sort of magnetism. They have charisma all right. I don't know – maybe that's
the wrong word."
"Appeal?" suggested
Louisa, a weaselmaid.
"Yes, that's it. An
appeal to our better selves. They're so young! Very innocent. Well, perhaps
not. One was an old squirrel. You could never put one over him. But they are
all very striking. Alis of the Malicks was absolutely fascinating, not so much
that he was handsome – which he was – but in that everything he did, he forgoed
the obvious choice for the unlikely one. He was usually right, too. Once it was
between a fine, upstanding young wildcat and a devious criminal for the
position of second-in-command. Who do you think he chose?"
"The criminal," said
Louisa immediately, and everyone else seemed to agree.
Except Catharine.
"The wildcat," she
whispered.
"No," argued Louisa.
"Marian said he made strange choices. The criminal."
Catharine shook her
head silently.
"As a matter of fact,
Catharine's right," remarked Marian. "Your logic was right, Louisa, but you
applied it wrongly. This was late in Alis's career – everyone expected him to
choose the criminal. They thought he must have a reason for it, and they
supported him. But Alis did it again. He chose the wildcat. He always did what
nobody expected him to. He was a wildcat himself – a creature of great
integrity."
There was a pause.
Then Marco, a ferret, cocked his head on one side and inquired if 'Madame
Marian has any more little anecdotes about the Messengers?'
Marian regarded him
for a moment, then nodded. "Aye. Many tales 'ave been passed down over the
years. They say a Messenger is a Messenger all their lives, and when their
job's done, they die."
"Oh…no!"
The cry came from
Louisa. She blushed and looked down. "I was thinking – what if the Messenger
only had one task to do, and it only took them a week or so?"
"It would happen in
their twilight seasons, dearie. Fate is never unfair, not really."
"I suppose not."
"Of course not.
Anyhow, I don't like to talk about it, except that there's a very funny
prophecy being said round here."
"What?"
"Something about
trouble when a water-walloper dies, the tree-jumper will pop 'is clogs soon
after, and Aquile will be left to a big ferret. An 'ero will rise and some more
'igh-falutin' language that creatures don't want to be bothered with. That's
what ol' Marlie says, any'ow, so you know what's goin' to 'appen."
Old Marlie was the
village gossip, and the young workers knew that this was a very watered-down
account of the prophecy, if there was one.
A hero.
The words resounded inside Catharine's head. That's not what he said.
But Marian was
speaking again. "It's a disgrace, it is. That – that…vermin!"
"Vermin? What does
that mean?" asked Louisa curiously.
"Bad creatures,
dearie."
"Oh." Louisa had an
idea that Marian had regretted the words as soon as they emerged from her lips.
Was vermin, then, a general term applying to certain species – as Porran said?
Marian was harping on
the main subject of the gossip nowadays. "I don't know but what people'll do
when the Pargiters come along. Soneir may hold them off for a time, but he's
only a lad. What we need is a Messenger."
"The Messengers!"
Louisa sighed. "Everything comes back to them."
"Yes, dearie. It
always does in times of trouble."
"Well, in that case,"
Louisa stood up, a determined look on her face, "we'd better start looking for
a Messenger, then, hadn't we?"
*
Catharine watched the
others huddle round the fire, suggesting tortures for any Pargit invaders, and
telling gruesome stories. She was well back in a corner, far from any warmth of
the blazing hearth; even the flickering light could not reach the shadows in
which she skulked. Louisa, glancing at the young mousemaid, wondered suddenly
how far away they would have to go to find the Messenger. It was true that
Catharine could neither read nor write, that she possessed none of the
magnetism that Marian insisted was a necessary part of a Messenger, but she
wondered…yes, she certainly wondered…
She was recalled to
the conversation by Marco's teasing query as to what she was gawping at. She
laughed, and retorted that at least she had the intelligence to gawp and ponder
on something she was thinking of instead of giving a great whoop and punching
the air. Marco had the grace to blush, but kept quiet for the rest of the
evening. A great achievement for him.
*
Louisa crept out of
bed and padded softly out of the room, closing the door with a slight click.
She stole along the
passage to the other female dormitory. She entered without a sound, and moved
towards the bed by the window.
The window was wide
open, and Louisa was nearly thrown backwards on to a hefty squirrelmaid's
sleeping form with the gale-force wind blowing in. She wondered how they could
still go on snoring, but reflected that they worked hard during the day. She
glanced outside to check that Catharine was not out there.
Quietly she went
downstairs and slipped out of the door. She ran through the filthy streets and
made her way to the small, chapel-like building. Here, creatures of all shapes
and sizes came to pay their respects to the god of the Quadruple country,
Sante.
She opened her mouth
to call out to the small figure kneeling there, then thought better of it.
Catharine gripped the goblet in both paws and made her offering to Sante. It
was an ordinary enough procedure in the town, but in the middle of the night?
Catharine bowed her head and rose. Louisa dashed forward impulsively.
"Catharine? What's
wrong? Don't look so pale."
Catharine didn't seem
to hear. She walked quickly over to a small alcove, and Louisa followed,
questioning her worriedly. But no words emerged from Catharine's lips.
She picked up her
quarterstaff and broke it across a beam. Louisa flinched and thought: 'she'll
regret that.'
Louisa acted at
lightning speed. Grasping Catharine's paws in hers, she spoke authoritatively
to the sleeping mousemaid.
"Catharine, come with
me. Tell me what's wrong. Why you sleepwalk, why you hate Porran, I don't
really care what you say! I just want to talk to you."
Catharine's eyes
stared unseeingly at her. Louisa took a deep breath and shook her violently.
The mousemaid jerked
awake. White-faced, she clutched at Louisa with pitiful strength.
"They're going to kill
the king. I saw it. I don't mean King Myrlin. Soneir – the king. He's
the king now. Myrlin is dead, I tell you. Louisa…" Catharine stared at the
weaselmaid with wide, horrified eyes. "Louisa, they're going to kill King
Soneir. And when they do…Aquile – Aquile, Louisa. What will happen? You
woke me before I could see. And the Messenger – the Messenger – the flames,
Louisa. It hurt me – I could feel them, touching me, burning me…I was it…"
Louisa put her arms
about Catharine and tried to soothe her. Passing a cool paw over the
mousemaid's forehead, she snatched it back, surprised at the heat that radiated
from it.
"Catharine, you're
ill. Come back to the lodgings with me – I'll get something to calm you down."
"No!"
Louisa jumped back in
shock at the force of Catharine's shriek. Angrily she grabbed the mousemaid's
paw and dragged her back to Marian's house.
By the time they
reached the place, Catharine was completely insensible, murmuring
unintelligible words and uttering little cries from time to time. Eventually,
Louisa got her to bed and pulled a blanket over the shaking form, leaving the
room to wake Marian.
When she returned,
Catharine was sitting bolt upright, reciting the prophecy over and over again.
"I don't know what to do,"
whispered Louisa in a sudden burst of panic.
"Nothing, dearie. Go
and soak a towel in cold water for me. The young'un'll be fine, it's just a
fever. Nothing critical. No, she won't be able to work for a few days, but
neither could you when you were taken poorly."
"The worst of Marian,"
said Louisa to Marco some time later, "is that she's known you ever since you
were born. Lucky Catharine – she was a stranger when she first came here."
Louisa fetched the
towels and gently wiped the mousemaid's forehead with a corner of the cloth.
"What does she mean?"
she asked Marian. "When she's moaning and groaning?"
Marian shrugged, or as
well as a hedgehog can shrug when they are clad in a thick dressing gown
and are leaning over a sick mouse.
"She says that the
king's dead. Mayhap she's remembered that the old water-walloper's old and ill,
and it's been twisted in her mind so that she thinks he's dead. You say she was
on about a plot to kill Prince Soneir – well, perhaps she's thinkin' of that –
that ferret – and his plans to invade Aquile – our Aquile. We'll
have no Pargit monarch."
"Do you think – ''
Louisa swallowed – "that Catharine could be – could be the Messenger?"
Marian stared at the
weaselmaid. "Of course not, silly maid. How could little Kit lead an army? At
her age, too!"
"Catharine's young,
yes, but – she's old, Marian. Older than the king in a way. She'd never
have let the shrew twins have a duel over who inherited Dolene Castle. She'd be
too wise for that. She'd have known that one of them would die. It was a good
thing Prince Soneir intervened. But it's little things like that – the king
showed how unwise he was in that."
"Louisa, dearie, I
told you that all the Messengers were loved in their days. Does anyone, not
includin' our village, know she exists? And those that do know hardly notice
her. She's certainly not popular."
"But we do
know. It's not that we don't notice her – we know when she's there. We try to
ignore her, but we can't really forget that she is there. It's – it's
unnerving. And Catharine doesn't have any friends because she doesn't want them
– not because they don't want her. I want to be her friend. I want to help her.
Tonight she was just a very frightened young mousemaid. But tomorrow – you'll
see. But I think I'm the only one that feels like – like that! I'm worried
about her. I'm the mother that this little maid never had. She was abandoned by
Pargiters six seasons ago. They murdered her family because they strayed over
the border. How cruel can you get? I've an idea that they were forced over so
that the killings would be condoned as defence against enemies. This island is
a terrible place. Divided by two, not very wide, rivers! I hate this whole
kingdom. I used to care about what happened to the Quadruple country. Now –
well, now…"
Marian winced. She
said quickly: "Tell me about Catharine. How do you know about her family?"
"You remember when she
first came here? I shared a room with her, and I used to lie awake at night.
That was just after my father died, you see, and I thought about how he'd
always made the little ones laugh, and how everyone in the village, even
Porran, was fond of him…but anyhow, I used to hear Catharine crying, and sometimes
she would whisper prayers to Sante, and occasionally talk in her sleep. And she
would beg for mercy and scream softly for her mother…"
Marian said hastily:
"I understand. So you know what happened?"
"In parts. They went
for a walk together, they often did, and Pargiters ambushed them and dragged
them over the bridge into Pargit. They beheaded her father and stabbed her
mother because she tried to protect Catharine's eldest sister, Agnese. The
Pargiters took them to the dungeons in Borun. Her oldest brother and Agnese
were executed in the town square. The next two were male, Frederick and Cadoc,
and they died because of all the torture they were given, and the others,
including Catharine, were forced to watch. Magdalen and Dorothea were smothered
one night as they slept, or so Catharine seems to think. That left only her and
her youngest brother, Giles, who was separated from her after Magdalen and
Dorothea died. She managed to escape when they allowed her to be taken to a
celebration in the market."
"But why?"
asked Marian, deeply interested now.
"I think her family
were responsible for the raiding in Pargit. Do you remember it?"
Marian did. Some
seasons before, there had been a spasm of raids on rich Pargit families. Gold
and silver had been taken, precious jewellery, and other valuable objects had
been stolen too. The culprits had never been found, but the fact that Aquile
had suddenly grown much richer had leaned suspicion towards the Richmond
family, who had a reputation for being conscienceless, but was diverted by the
fact that no dirty shadow had ever fallen across their path. Moreover, the
family was extremely large, and even the humblest, most distant relation of
theirs could call on them for help, and were certain to receive it, for the
Richmonds were clannish and fiercely, violently loyal to their friends. The
fact that they were tremendously powerful had nothing to do with it, Marian
assured herself wryly. But nothing had happened for nearly four seasons. Then
the head of the family had vanished, along with his wife and children. No one
knew what had happened to them, but the general opinion was that the Pargiters
had taken their revenge.
And now to find that
Catharine was one of them!
It was startling news,
but was overshadowed by the newer, more worrying missive that came to the
village the next morning.
The king was dead.
*
There was much
wringing of paws and general lamenting over this news. The elders of the
village feared for Aquile, but the younger creatures were excited at the
thought of war, and the very young ones followed their example. There was an
undercurrent of tension running through the country, but none felt this as
keenly as Louisa and Catharine. The former grew pale and worried, however, the
latter seemed to thrive on the trouble, and became self-assured and confident.
Catharine wouldn't hesitate to put her opinion forward now, murmurs of
agreement would be heard whenever she spoke, and the creatures began to look at
her as a leader.
It could hardly go
unnoticed by the government. The raiding on the border had grown much fiercer
since the king's death, and Catharine saw the much bigger threat behind it.
"The Pargiters have
brought armies from the deeper parts of Pargit. These forces need to be fed, so
they loot and pillage the border towns in Aquile. They're definitely planning
an invasion. Are we going to wait for these – these villains to walk in and
steal your food and burn your crops? I won't! The council say war is not
inevitable. I say it is. We're not going to stand for losing our homes, our
families, and our food to those cruel tyrants. We'll fight, my friends. We'll
fight!"
The council, or
government, summoned the mousemaid to Dolene Castle. Catharine was brought
before the council, and returned their stares look for look.
"You seem to want war.
Don't you realise that we are trying to defend ourselves against the Pargit
raids?" demanded a middle-aged hedgehog, before the young king could get a word
in.
"The best defence is a
strong offence. I think you should start offending right now. You've left it a
bit late. Maybe you haven't heard that the Pargiters have captured Tarrence?"
As a matter of fact,
the Pargiters hadn't, although they were besieging it. Catharine had heard
rumours, and she knew that the town mayor was a weak stoat, and would easily
crack under pressure. And that was pressure.
"We have hostages…"
murmured someone. Catharine turned upon him.
"Cowards take hostages
– warriors do not."
"I don't understand.
Please elucidate."
"If you take hostages
– you are cruel. You will kill those hostages if Pargit does not keep the
peace. Innocent creatures! You are afraid that they will attack you. So you
would imprison fellow creatures because you are afraid. That is cowardice."
"I would rather
outthink them than outfight them," said Soneir quietly.
"Diplomacy is fine
while it lasts," retorted Catharine. "But one little incident – perhaps the
stealing of a loaf of bread – and where are all the negotiations then? Six feet
under! Whereas," she added comfortably, "the victors write the history to their
own advantage."
"But what if Pargit
are the victors?"
"They won't be."
Catharine looked at them. "Believe me. Some creatures call me a Messenger. But
whoever I am, I am loyal to Aquile. Pargiters killed my family."
King Soneir looked at
her. "Who are you?" he asked slowly.
"My name is Catharine
Richmond."
*
"Edmund."
A handsome young mouse
stepped forward and saluted.
"Edmund, this is
Catharine. Look after her. Guard her with your life. Catharine, this is Edmund,
Captain of the archers in the army. He will tell you all you need to know."
Edmund led the
mousemaid through the long corridors. Once they were out of earshot, she turned
to him and a smile tugged at her lips.
"At worst, I am a
leader amongst the people, and a symbol. At best, I am a Messenger, sent by
Sante to protect the good creatures of Aquile. Either way, I can't lose."
Edmund grinned too. He
liked the mousemaid, he had been an ardent admirer of the Richmond family, and
was fascinated by the harelike, devil-may-care attitude they had.
"I hope you won't be
captured by the Pargiters then," he told her. "They couldn't really execute you
as a prisoner of war, but you say you hear voices…they'd call you a sorceress,
a witch. Burn you alive. I don't know – but they say it is best to do so in
Borun Square – many executions are carried out there – oh, I'm sorry."
Catharine clenched the
banister rail. "It's all right. My sister Agnese and my brother Rodrigo were
hanged there, I believe. That's all."
Edmund raised his
eyebrows and apologised again. "Tell me if my big mouth gets me into trouble –
but it'll be better to train me, I think, rather than get somebody else,
because they'll be worse than I am."
"You're quieter than
most."
"So are you. That's
why I'm so talkative."
"Do a lot of people
like you?" asked Catharine, going off on a tangent.
"Don't suppose it's a
question of that…most don't dislike me, as a rule. I'm not generally
offensive. But maybe they think I don't have any spirit. That's not very nice,
perhaps, but it doesn't bother me because when I feel like it, I can have more
personality in my left paw than, say, King Soneir has in his whole body. That's
treason, I think, but no one cares, least of all Soneir. Especially since it's
me…Soneir trusts me, you see. That's why I'm here, looking after you. My older
sister" – he grimaced – "is your other completely trustworthy…when it suits
us…companion."
Catharine laughed. Her
whole face lit up when she did so, and she looked rather attractive. Edmund
looked approvingly at her as he thumped on the door of the apartments where
Catharine would sleep.
"Juna!" he called
affectionately. "Your worst enemy has arrived – and no, I don't mean
Catharine!"
A long, mocking groan
came from inside. "No, never will I allow such a wicked one to enter! Sorry
about this, it happens, Catharine."
"Catharine," returned
Edmund, sounding irritated, "is laughing her little head off. So, I advise you
to open the door before it rolls away down the hall."
Juna opened the door a
crack, and Catharine and Edmund ducked inside. Juna looked interestedly at
Catharine, who tilted her head on one side whimsically and studied Juna's face.
Catharine saw a tall
mousemaid, perhaps a season or two older than herself, with a determined chin
and appraising dark eyes. She bore a considerable resemblance to her handsome
brother, and they were clearly very fond of each other.
Juna saw a young maid
with thoughtful grey eyes and a decisive mouth. Catharine was good-looking in
her own right, and the character in the small features accentuated this.
Overall, the
impressions on both sides were favourable. Catharine held out her paw. Juna
took it and they shook paws with, at worst, tolerance.
"What do you think
about friendship, Catharine?" Juna asked her.
Catharine paused
before answering. The few moments of waiting were agony to poor Edmund, who
rocked backwards and forwards on his heels in agitation. Finally she spoke.
"Understanding has
made friends of many different people. I think we all three are very different.
But we understand each other. That's what matters. I think we are going to be
friends."
*
"Fighting? Is that
necessary?"
"Essential," replied
Edmund coldly. The council looked at him in dismay. Already the archer had been
won over to Catharine's side. And this was what King Soneir thought of as
unimpressionable? But then, Soneir had a reputation for ambiguous words.
Edmund was the sort of
personality who won creatures to his side with charm and a good memory for
names and faces. It was said that he knew the name of every single one of his
eight thousand archers. Edmund added lightly: "And I know every single one of
my best archer's eight thousand children, too!" For Ullios, the aforementioned
archer, had sixteen children, talked of nothing but his family, and, it has to
be said, even the most insignificant bow in the army knew the names of those
children.
However, returning to
the point, it was hardly unsurprising when the council heard that a mob had
gathered outside the castle and were baying for blood, for fighting, for war.
"Oh dear," said King
Soneir mildly when he heard the news. "I suppose we'll have to declare war
then. Call the Captains, please. And Catharine Richmond."
The six Captains
clanked in, followed by Catharine. Edmund shot a shrewd glance at Soneir, and
smiled, satisfied.
"We're going to do
something instead of sitting around on our backsides?" he inquired.
"Any more lip from
you, young'un, and you can go 'ome!" snapped Alid, Captain of the Staffs, who
was in his middle-seasons.
Edmund looked at
Catharine with a dry grin. She smiled back at her companion. Alid caught the
glances, and wondered…yes, he very much wondered…
"It would be
impossible to raise the siege of !" declared the eldest councillor.
" 'Impossible' is a
word you use far too often," said Catharine quietly. "Far too often."
*
The army that marched
west towards Pargit were as disciplined as to gladden the heart of any
Salamandastron officer. Catharine, with the Captains, was at the head. Edmund
looked at her in silence for a while, then he spoke.
"It will be a risky
thing to undertake."
"Risk is my business.
Why do you think I undertook this war?"
"Because you're a
Messenger."
"Yes…" Catharine was
suddenly downcast. "I suppose so."
Edmund glanced at her
again. "You're a loner, aren't you?"
Catharine repeated her
former response. "Yes, I suppose so."
"I'd like to be your
friend. And so would Juna."
"Thank you," said
Catharine repressively.
"Oh – look!" cried
Edmund, pointing to a break in the ranks. "Where've those stupid swordsbeasts
gone?"
"It barely matters.
Their stupid captain's gone with them," replied Catharine, nodding towards the
head of the line.
It turned out that the
large band of soldiers had seen a small party of Pargiters in the distance, so
they had broken rank and set upon them, slaying every last one.
Edmund remarked
facetiously that this was hardly fair, they being a much bigger group.
Catharine saw it a different way.
"Where's the victory
in that? How can there be glory in winning a battle…or rather, a skirmish…that
you can't possibly lose?"
"They weren't after
glory, they were after spoils," retorted the Captain coldly.
"Really?" inquired
Catharine with raised eyebrows. "I'm most disappointed. We're not trying to
destroy Pargit, we're trying to stop them destroying us. There is a great
difference."
There was no answer to
that.
*
"We're recapturing
Tarrence. Is that all?" asked Alid.
"No, of course it
isn't." Catharine glared at him. "For a start, we're capturing Prent, which Pargit
built."
"Pargit?"
"Yes, Pargit. We're
trying to capture that, because Pargit built Prent so that they could house
their soldiers there. It's a proper castle, with murder holes and battlements."
"Why should we be
bothered about murder holes?" asked Irimir, one of the axebeasts.
"Murder holes are…"
Edmund trailed off, thinking. "Murder holes are where the castle owners drop
big heavy rocks down tunnels. The tunnels come out at the sides of the castle
and the rocks hit unlucky mice, hares, squirrels, moles…and especially
axeshrews!"
The shrew stepped back
hurriedly. "All right, all right, I'm going!"
Edmund looked at
Catharine innocently when Irimir had gone. "What did I say?"
Catharine ignored him.
"We take the supplies into the city, then we attack the little camp there."
She pointed to a brown ring. "Early morning surprise attack. Then, if the
Pargiters don't clear out of Prent by the next day, we attack it. We have a
good few siege towers, and our trebuchets are the finest in Quadruple country.
And," she added with quiet danger in her voice, "I want you to take their
leader alive."
