Nightshade City (4 page)

Billycan stretched out the rigid parchment. Clover knew the general substance of the edict. She had witnessed a reading as a child and remembered the excitement that whirled around the Chosen One. She had exclaimed innocently to her mother, “I want to be a Chosen
One when I grow up. I will be with Killdeer!” Without hesitation, her horrified mother yanked her by the arm and pulled her forcefully down a dark passageway. She explained to Clover exactly what a Chosen One embodied and what her so-called duties to Killdeer would involve.

From that day on, Clover’s worried parents decided to teach her along with their boys. After their death, taken by the second wave of the Great Flood, her uncle continued the practice. The power of wisdom far outweighed Killdeer’s law against the schooling of females.

Billycan cleared his throat and stretched his bristly chin from side to side. He stood rigid in military stance. “Gather round, one and all!” His shrill voice bounced down the corridors as he beat his billy club against Clover’s doorframe and slapped his serpentine tail against the ground. “The High Ministry of the Catacombs is here to announce an official decree, signed and certified by the High Minister himself, the beloved Killdeer. Quickly, quickly, gather round!”

Placing a skeletal paw decisively on Clover’s diminutive shoulder, Billycan pressed his nails into her skin, his prickly claws pinching like thorns. He had a dour feeling about the girl, but continued with his duty.

Rats ran to the scene, surrounding Clover and Billycan, anxious to hear the decree. Lieutenant Carn directed the onlookers, giving the High Collector space. With the crowd now thick, Billycan began. “I, Billycan, High Collector of Stipend and Commander of the Kill Army, hereby declare Clover Belancort a Chosen One, anointed by Killdeer, High Minister of the Catacombs. Upon consummation of this union, Clover and her family will be released of all Stipend for one year. Upon discovery of offspring believed to be the progeny of the High Minister, the Belancort Clan will be released from Stipend for the duration of Clover Belancort’s life.”

He turned and addressed Clover. “This is a great honor bestowed upon you, Clover Belancort. Along with this honor, Killdeer sends his wishes of hope, prosperity, and safekeeping for you and the entirety of the Belancort Clan.” He eyed the grandfather. “What little there is left of it, that is.” Billycan chuckled inside as Clover trembled under his grasp. “Do you, Clover Belancort, accept your title as Chosen One, as decreed by myself and the High Minister?” Billycan smiled wryly at the crowd, who looked blankly at Clover’s stone face, waiting for her answer.

Clover fought her visceral reaction to rip away from Billycan and run for her life, but if she ran, it would be straight to her death. The growing crowd of rats gasped and gawked, awaiting her reply. Clover turned frantically towards her quarters, her eyes darting in all directions in search of the veiled rat. She struggled to move under Billycan’s grip, trying in vain to get the rat in her sights.

“The silly girl is so very excited she can’t stop fidgeting,” said Billycan. He looked at the crowd with a bogus grin as he firmly pressed down on her shoulder. “I believe we can accept her enthusiasm as a ‘yes’!” The crowd laughed awkwardly, still waiting to hear her reply.

Playing to the mob, Billycan looked down at Clover with an air of concern. “Oh, Billycan sees what your fuss and muss is about, poor little dear.” He leered at Clover with a patronizing grin. “You would like permission from your poor ailing grandfather. What a respectful youngster you are. More of the Catacomb youth would benefit from your example. Look, everyone,” he said, motioning to Clover’s quarters, “our little Chosen One wants approval from her ill grandpapa.” The crowd moved closer to the door, trying to see the sickly old one, resting against the back wall. Billycan called into the room. “Well, good Grandfather Timeron, do you endorse this union? Is the High Minister an acceptable match for your humble granddaughter?”

Clover’s eyes widened in panic. She spoke smartly. “You’ll have to excuse him, Collector. His speech has been destroyed by his malady. His throat is malformed, corroded by disease. He is mute.”

“Of no matter,” said Billycan. He toyed with her cruelly. “He can give us a motion, a wave of his crippled paw, perhaps a nod of his stately chin. That will do.”

The masked rat steadily leaned forward, revealing a long, blackened snout with grizzled whiskers peeking out from his grimy cloak. The ominous figure held up a cragged paw, the color of tar, with thick purplish claws. Bushy, unkempt fur poked out from the edges of his sleeve. With a shaky digit, he pointed to the decree, still dangling from Billycan’s bony fist. The old rat’s head swiveled towards Clover. With a feeble nod, he confirmed his approval.

“He agrees!” shouted Billycan in an exaggerated ballyhoo tenor.

Applause filled the Catacombs. Well-wishers gathered round Clover, hugging and kissing her. Lieutenant Carn stepped in front of her, pushing them back. Clover felt sick. Her eyes drifted down a desolate corridor, oblivious to the noise exploding around her. She finally looked up. Carn was staring at her. They exchanged glances, but he quickly turned back to the crowd.

Bending down, Billycan got as close to her ear as physically possible, his paw still clutching her shoulder. The blood rushed to Clover’s head as the cold from his mouth hit her ear. His voice purred with satisfaction, a smug whisper. “Clover, my dear, Billycan is speaking to you now. Listen to me and listen well. You will be summoned in the customary fortnight. Billycan must insist you keep yourself safe at home. There is no need for you to be outside your quarters. The Catacombs can be such a very
lethal
place. Billycan would hate to have something gruesome happen to such a pretty, unblemished face. I suggest you stay here and tend to your grandfather like a good little
girl, but don’t get too close—no, no. Billycan can’t risk you catching that nasty plague. Then what would be the point of even keeping you alive? In that case, it would be much more merciful to simply end your life. As you said yourself, the living must do just that—live.” Clover didn’t need to respond. His threats were clear.

Billycan pulled up to a standing position, blanching his voice to suit the crowd. “Now, run along, dear—scamper back inside.” He patted her head, feigning affection, before finally releasing her. “The High Minister would not want his precious Chosen One running about the Catacombs catching cold, now, would he? All right, then, good rats of the Catacombs, all is said and done. Billycan wants everyone back to their business. Miss Clover needs her dinner.”

He waved the remaining rats away with a spindly arm. The rats headed back down their corridors, gossiping about the news. Billycan brusquely thrust Clover inside her quarters and shut the door behind her. Famished, he reached into a wheelbarrow and swiped a large chunk of dried pork, his favorite, promptly shredding it with his teeth.

Public spectacles made his normal hunger pangs intensify. He rarely took food from the weekly Stipend collection, but his emotions overwhelmed him, especially his annoyance with Killdeer. He thought the Belancort girl untrustworthy, a foolish choice for a mate. “The daughter of Barcus Belancort, filthy Trilok Loyalist,” he mumbled as he chewed. “He may be dead, but his treacherous blood still runs through her veins.” He growled angrily as he choked down the scrap of hog. “Lieutenant Carn, go with the others and finish the Stipend route.”

Carn did not move; instead he looked intently at Clover’s door. “What are you staring at?” demanded Billycan. He jabbed Carn in the spine with his billy club. “Forever dawdling. On with your duties, boy!”

“Yes, Commander,” said Carn. He trotted down the corridor, caught up with the others, and vanished into the dark.

Alone, Billycan stood outside Clover’s door.
What an odd young person,
he thought. It was obvious to him that Clover wanted nothing to do with her new title and station. He leaned on the wall across from her chambers and stared at the whitewashed number 73 splashed across the rotting wood.
This one must be watched closely.

Strolling back down the corridor to Killdeer’s den, he used a tarnished nail to scrape out a stray morsel of pig that had the audacity to get stuck between two of his yellowed teeth.

“How could you give your blessing? How could you, Uncle?” muttered Clover. She looked at her uncle dismally.

Juniper Belancort leaped off the ground and shook himself furiously, freeing his body from the sweaty black shroud. He walked towards the front door, stretching his muscles, which were sore from sitting so still. He listened intently. He heard nothing.

Juniper’s looks were far from conventional. His coat matched that of Oshi wine, a rich mahogany. The broad-shouldered rat resembled a dog, with the strong, square muzzle of a Topside pinscher and the wiry fur of a terrier. Wide and open, his face resembled his niece’s but was overtly masculine. He wore a weathered leather patch over one eye, which had been wounded long ago. His face was marred with deep scars, partially hidden under his purplish fur. Despite his wounds, his features were kind, even pleasant to regard.

Juniper had hoped this day would never come. He shook his head at the irony of the situation. Of all the females in the Catacombs,
his
little niece took favor with Killdeer. He should have known it would be only a matter of time; she possessed a beauty other rats could only dream of. It made him wish he could take her beauty away, if only for the time being.

“Clover,” said Juniper, “I agreed so Billycan wouldn’t drag you
by your tail to Catacomb Hall and remove your very tongue while the good rats of the Catacombs watched you bleed to death on the cobblestone floor. Did you think Billycan would take no for an answer? Did you? I agreed to this farce of a union lest we both be executed. Had I another choice, surely I would have taken it. All we have left in this world is each other.”

Juniper had been sneaking into the Combs, pretending to be her grandfather, Timeron, staying covered in his shroud, allowing himself to be seen only on rare occasions, but seen all the same. If it was found out that Clover was without a proper guardian, she’d lose her home and be forced into servitude in the Kill Army kitchen and barracks. The orphan girls were treated cruelly and always in constant peril. The young female population of the Catacombs dwindled at a rapid rate. Food in the Combs was a problem, and the kitchen girls could barely survive on the meager scraps the High Cook spared them. Clover did not belong there; no child did.

Juniper took Clover’s small face in his paws. Billycan had terrified her. “No one in the Ministry thinks me alive, and for now it needs to stay that way, or all our plans will be for nothing. I
will
get you out of here. I need a little more time. Our hidden city is growing at a massive rate. Killdeer has no idea how many rats have already defected. We are bringing back the days of Trilok. I will soon bring you to a new home where you will never have to be afraid of Billycan, Killdeer, or anyone ever again. I promise it on my brother’s—your brave father’s—soul. Barcus is cheering us on from beyond. The Saints are on our side, little one.” He smiled tenderly. “Clover, they aren’t coming to collect you for a fortnight. That buys us some valuable time. I will be back in a week, well before the Ministry comes to claim you. I must meet with Oard and the Council. The Ministry will be watching you carefully, so we need to devise an escape route. As hard as it may seem, you must
act as though nothing has changed, especially around anyone from the Ministry—Billycan in particular.”

Juniper held his ear to the door as he shrouded himself once more so that only the tip of his snout was visible. He would make his way back through the west end of the Combs through Catacomb Hall. Behind a tavern, a forgotten corridor led Topside on the way to Juniper’s covert city. It was once a secret meeting place for key members of Trilok’s Ministry, who worked to make certain there were no conspirators in the Catacombs and Killdeer and other banished rats were kept out. The corridor was now run by the earthworms. With no place left to hide from the Kill Army majors, who tortured them for wagering and amusement, the earthworms had made the corridor their home. It was their last refuge.

Oard, leader of the earthworms, allowed Juniper and his rats the use of their corridor and his tribe’s services in the clandestine battle against Killdeer. In exchange, the worms would be given their own habitat in the new city. The tribe neared extinction in the dry, failing dirt of the Catacombs, but Juniper’s secret city had fresh, healthy soil, and the earthworms would thrive and multiply there.

Making sure not to disturb the position of his cloak, Juniper placed a shabby leather satchel across his chest, the strap barely holding on to the worn-out bag. He kissed his niece on the cheek and gently patted her head, tousling her soft fur. He looked into her eyes.
Warm marigold, same as her late father’s,
he thought. “Clover, you
must
do as I say. Act normal. Be the strong rat I know you to be. We will survive this. A week, then I’ll be back to collect you. I promise with my life.”

“Well?” asked Killdeer indifferently, sliding further down in his throne.

Billycan entered the den, tossing the rolled-up decree on a table.
“She of course complied. I do find her a strange little thing. Billycan thinks she may be up to something—she and that wretched grandfather, Timeron, who is apparently riddled with the plague. There is something not quite right with him. Either the reaper is afoot as she claims, or he’s scheming with the child. In his repulsive state, Billycan did not dare verify his affliction.”

Killdeer grunted. “You worry too much. There is no conspiracy within the Belancort Clan—that past is long since dead and buried. All that’s left is one girl and a sickly old one—Barcus, the wife, and sons, all in their graves.” He snickered. “The second wave of the flood took care of them—and
you
took care of that bedeviling brother. Your years in the lab have made you paranoid, a good quality in many ways, but maddening none the less.”