Nightshade City (22 page)

Billycan leaped to the ground and exited the room. Texi scurried down the corridor from the opposite direction. Billycan spoke to her
as he passed, not bothering to stop or look at her. “Get your brother some breakfast—now! No sweets, no lard, and
absolutely
no wine or ale. If I find out you brought him any of those things, I will slaughter you and every last one of your imbecilic sisters.”

Texi halted in the corridor, watching as Billycan’s white coat disappeared into the dark. What had her brother done now?

Vincent and Victor gently turned the wheelbarrow through the doorway and brought the still-sleeping Suttor into their quarters. Vincent wasn’t certain what he would say to his old friend, but he wasn’t too worried. He had heard the horror stories about the Kill Army changing otherwise fine rats into callous assassins, but he just couldn’t see his childhood playmate mutating into a coldhearted killer. Growing up, Suttor was always good. He never got into trouble and was devoted and caring to his two little brothers.

That brought up another problem—his brothers. Vincent knew Suttor would be near frantic once he realized they were so far out of his reach. Vincent had all the faith in the world that Juniper would get them out somehow, but for now he had no words to ease Suttor’s mind. Vincent needed to get the hard conversation over with, and he figured there was no time like the present. Suttor had been asleep for hours.

“Suttor,” Vincent said. He softly pushed on the sleeping rat’s shoulder. “Suttor, wake up. It’s Vincent Nightshade.” Suttor started to move. “You bumped your head, but you’re all right. You just needed some rest. Suttor, do you hear me?”

Suttor slowly opened his eyes and stretched his lanky arms, splotched with black and white. He had a partial smile on his face, and he smacked his lips together as his fuzzy eyes adjusted.

Vincent stood over him cautiously, hoping he wouldn’t
startle him. “Suttor, don’t be alarmed. It’s Vincent—Vincent Nightshade—and my little brother, Victor. You remember us, don’t you?” Suttor idly rolled over on his belly and pushed up on his elbows. He slowly focused on Vincent’s face, and, recognizing him, his lethargy instantly faded.

Suttor sat up with a jerk and looked down at his bed of dirt on top of the wheelbarrow. “Vincent Nightshade!” he blurted in amazement. “What are
you
doing here? I heard you escaped this ghastly place. Why on earth would you come back?”

Vincent grinned. “Here, let me help you down,” he said. He took one of Suttor’s arms, Victor the other, and they helped him out of the wheelbarrow.

Suttor stood upright, wobbling on his feet. “It’s been a long time, Nightshade! Where have you been?” Suttor looked at Victor, taller than both he and Vincent. “And Victor, you’re huge! Last time I saw you, I could pick you up with one arm!”

“Hello, Suttor,” said Victor. “Sorry to say I don’t remember you too well. I don’t remember much of anything from those days.”

“No worries,” said Suttor cheerfully. “You could barely talk back then. Now that you’re both back in the Combs, we can get to know each other all over again, just like old times! How did I end up in your quarters? Does anyone know I’m here? I could be in serious trouble with the Ministry. I was supposed to be guarding the Chosen One. Did Mistress Gallo bring me here?”

“Well, I suppose, yes, Mother Gallo did bring you here,” said Vincent, helping Suttor over to the table where Lali had left a basket of biscuits. “The Ministry knows you’re here, and everything is fine.”

Suttor eyed the biscuits. “Would you mind if I—”

“Oh, go right ahead,” said Vincent. “Have as many as you like.” Suttor bit into a thick butter biscuit. It tasted like nothing he’d
ever had before. “This biscuit—it’s amazing,” he said with a full mouth. “Who made it?”

“A female named Lali. She seems to keep everyone fed around here.”

“Well, give her my compliments. I’m surprised I’ve never heard of her. I’ve been around your sector enough times. What clan does Lali hail from? The name does not ring familiar.”

“I’m actually not sure what her clan name is. We only just met her ourselves.”

“She should talk to the Ministry about a station. High Cook Longtooth could take a few lessons from her. The cook’s pastry is as dry and tasteless as she is!” he said with a snicker. “So, how did you two get back in without being punished? I hate to sound morbid, but after your stunt, I’m surprised to see you alive. Major Lithgo wanted your heads!”

Vincent glanced at Victor. He wasn’t sure where to start.

Victor shrugged his shoulders. “Just tell him the truth,” he said.

“Tell me what?”

“Well, that’s the thing, Suttor,” said Vincent delicately. “Victor and I never did go back to the Catacombs. Lithgo
would
have killed us. We can never go back.”

Suttor smiled as he gnawed his biscuit. “Ah, still the clever one, I see,” he said, thinking Vincent was teasing him, “always telling a good yarn!”

Vincent crinkled his forehead, thinking of another approach. “Suttor, do you know anything about Clover Belancort, the Chosen One you were guarding?”

“Not really. She’s a Chosen One—what else do I need to know?” asked Suttor, taking another bite of biscuit.

“Suttor, Clover is the daughter of Barcus Belancort and the niece
of Juniper Belancort, both important members of the Loyalists who fought against Killdeer during the Bloody Coup.”

Suttor seemed more interested in eating than listening to Vincent’s history lesson. “Well, I knew all that, but that was years ago. Besides, they’re dead. So what does it matter now?”

Vincent flashed Suttor a deadly serious look, forcing eye contact. “Suttor, listen to me carefully. There is much you don’t know about Clover’s uncle—Juniper.”

“Well, I know he was a vocal Trilok Loyalist, getting himself killed by Billycan because of it. I hear tales about it in the barracks all the time. That fight is legendary. Billycan ripped Juniper to shreds. What else could I possibly need to know?”

“What you’ve heard, it’s not true. Suttor, the rat lives. Juniper is very much alive.”

Suttor looked confused. “How do you know this? Where is your proof?” he demanded. “Even if it is true, what does it have to do with anything and why did you say you can never go back to the Combs? We are in the Catacombs right now! This joke has gone too far!”

“Suttor, this is
no
joke! You passed out a second time in Clover’s quarters, moments before we dug through her floor to rescue her—taking her out of the Catacombs for good. Juniper saved your life. Billycan and a dozen troops were seconds away. If we had left you there, you would have been blamed for everything. Guilty or not, they would have punished you for it, just to prove to their subjects they had caught the perpetrator. The Ministry does not take kindly to treason. They would have strung you up in Catacomb Hall for all to see. You know it to be true!”

Suttor threw his biscuit to the floor and jumped up from the table. “I’m
not
in the Catacombs?” He bounded to the door and ran out
into the hall. The colors and decorations made him halt in his tracks. There were no sector guards to be seen. The corridors were fully lit—welcoming. He was surely
not
in the Combs. He staggered back into the room and stood in front of Vincent—mystified. “So … where am I?”

Suttor looked about to crumple. Vincent helped him back to his chair. “Suttor, do you remember my father?”

Suttor nodded weakly. “Of course I do. Everyone remembers Julius Nightshade—the Citizen Minister. Your father is a legend. My parents loved him. Everyone did.” Suttor looked around the room. “Where are we, anyway?”

Vincent smiled. “We are in my father’s city.”

Billycan entered the War Room, a narrow, egg-shaped hall. Maps and blueprints were tacked over every inch of wall, meticulously detailing everything Topside of Trillium City all the way to the internal workings of the Kill Army kitchens. No area that involved the Catacombs or the area above it was left undocumented.

All Kill Army majors were present and awaiting Commander Billycan. They bolted from their chairs as Billycan entered, standing at full attention. High Majors Lithgo, Schnauss, and Foiber stood at the front of the room, facing the crowd of majors, standing just behind Billycan. The three high majors, next in command to Billycan, had all been members of Killdeer’s original Topside faction, all banished to the surface by Minister Trilok, charged with malevolent harm to citizens, thievery, skullduggery, and murder.

Major Lithgo was a heavy brown rat with an oversized belly. He had a pleasant, open face and an outwardly jovial nature, making him extremely successful in securing new recruits. He used his welcoming features and notable manipulation techniques to lure young rats into
the Kill Army, preventing Topside escapes. He would give the youths a tender hug, a pat of fatherly love on the head, convincing them that he looked out for their best interests. In actuality, he slowly squeezed the will from them, killing their fragile spirits.

Major Schnauss was nearly ancient. He was built similarly to Billycan, tall and bony, but even more emaciated, reminiscent of a mummified corpse. He was the color of oil with dashes of ivory sprinkled throughout, his skin a dry cinder. He had two graying snaggleteeth that hung over his lower lip, pressing it back, as if in a perpetual snarl. His grizzled nose and upper lip turned skyward, making him look as though he smelled something foul. Adding to Schnauss’s repellency, one eye glowed a gauzy blue, the other—a dead eye of ghostly whitewash, which bobbled aimlessly around its socket like a sickly fish.

A hairless rat, Major Foiber was short and fleshy, with skin the texture of dried corn and bulbous eyes like two rotting pumpkins. Creased and desiccated, his casing draped in folds around his belly, haunches, and chest as if several sizes too large. Foiber was eternally cursed with red, scaly rashes, concentrated around his joints and neck, irritating the foul-tempered rat no end.

Foiber and Schnauss, masters of torture, worked in concert, interrogating the soldiers when deemed necessary. Whenever a major called a soldier’s devotion into question, the pair exposed the truth, at least their version of it. They could smell fear on the young ones and sense deceit, and they had a talent for making even the older boys cry. The boys would squirm and lather at just a glimpse of Schnauss’s wandering eye or a whiff of Foiber’s infected skin.

The Ministry believed that Lieutenant Suttor had been kidnapped by Juniper and his cohorts. They knew only one thing about Juniper’s alleged city: It had to be somewhere under the Reserve. The freshly tilled earth made it the perfect place to build. Any other area of polluted
Trillium was as lifeless as the Catacombs. Of late, several corridors had fallen in on themselves; the Catacombs were crumbling, taking scores of rats with them.

Billycan’s faith in the Ministry and its army renewed as he inspected his majors. The lot stood strong and firm, imperial and intimidating. Cleaned and pressed, his navy and crimson sash held fast against his inflexible chest, his billy club dangling at his side. He walked front and center, standing before the large throng of majors, his paws clasped behind his back.

“At ease, majors, at ease; take your seats. Billycan is glad to see you all here together. I don’t know what you may know of the past day’s events.” Billycan began to pace. “The Kill Army has controlled the Catacombs for some time now. Several of you have been here since the beginning and took part in the victorious battle we waged on the old regime—and have the scars to prove it,” he said, tapping his disfigured muzzle. “All of you have been promoted through the ranks because you showed the Kill Army and your Ministry that you have what it takes to be leaders. You have the drive, the tenacity to keep the Catacombs in our power, because you know that without that power …we are
nothing.”

Billycan cleared his throat. “Now, once again, we have a battle to wage. A new city has emerged, and it threatens our very existence. Last night, a band of rats from this covert city kidnapped one of our young lieutenants—Lieutenant Suttor—along with the Chosen One, Clover Belancort.” The room rumbled softly with muffled talk. There had been murmurings of deserters and traitors, but nothing of kidnappings, let alone a new colony of rats.

“Silence!” roared Billycan. “The Chosen One—little Miss Belancort—is not the angelic creature she has feigned to be. Clover Belancort, the scheming little harpy, led us to believe she lived under the care of a guardian, her sickly grandfather, Timeron. But this
shrouded, yellow-bellied rat is by no means ailing and is certainly no grandfather at all! He is the leader of this new city, he was—he is—Juniper Belancort. Juniper—lives.”

The room went completely silent. Up until that very moment, the majors had all believed that Billycan had killed Juniper during the Bloody Coup. They could only imagine their commander’s rage—his humiliation—upon discovering that the Trilok Loyalist was alive and had been plotting a takeover all this time.

Billycan searched the stone faces in the room. His majors avoided eye contact at all costs, lest they bear the brunt of his ferocious tongue-lashing or the head of his billy club. “I know what you all must be thinking. Billycan thinks it himself. Your respected Kill Army Commander, your High Collector—a failure. Oh, yes, it’s true. I made the regretful mistake of leaving a job unfinished. Had I stayed to make sure the job was done, the Loyalists surely would have killed me. A choice had to be made, and now I alone must live with that choice. Juniper, the conspirator, has programmed his rabble-rousing fabrications into the minds of our dim subjects. He is luring families out of the Combs with dreams of a better life.”

Billycan’s eyes rippled with wrath, his pupils disappeared, overcome by his expanding irises, now a lightened hue of indignant vermilion. Utilizing all available air in his concave chest, he bayed mightily. “He is a liar!” No one moved. The sector majors seated in front felt a mist of his spittle on their snouts and heard Billycan’s jagged knuckles crack behind his twisted back. “Juniper has once again tricked his way into the hearts of our simple subjects. He has established a city. A city whose mere name is an affront to the High Ministry—Nightshade City,” he hissed. Whispers buzzed through the room. “Yes, it’s true! Juniper has smugly named his little city in memory of that sanctimonious Trilok Loyalist, Julius Nightshade!