Nightshade City (7 page)

“Oh, yes, he and I had many a dealing. It’s such a pity he’s not here to see your newfound fortune.”

Not wanting to push his unpredictable temper, Clover changed the subject. “High Collector, when do you wish me to be ready for the Grand Speech?”

“I will be back to collect you at midnight on Rest Day. Be flawless to the eye, and mind your manners. Killdeer does not want you scratching and fidgeting while all the Catacomb subjects bear witness. You now represent the High Ministry.” Twisting down like a snake, Billycan placed his nose to Clover’s, tip to tip. He grabbed her muzzle with a hard, thorny paw. His voice lowered to a scratchy, uneven bass as his eyes flickered in the tawny reflection from the fire pit. He spoke harshly, leaving no room for uncertainty. “If you disobey my orders and are not present and accounted for tomorrow at midnight for the Grand Speech, that will be considered direct treason to the High Ministry. Do you know what the Ministry enjoys doing to traitors, young one? Do you, my sweet?”

Clover’s mouth wouldn’t move; it couldn’t. She’d heard all the tales of Billycan’s hypnotizing stare but never believed them. She lost herself, paralyzed by his unfaltering gaze. His eyes no longer had form. They churned and sloshed with splashes of red and light—electrified pools of rolling blood. “If your father weren’t already dead, you could ask him. He could tell you what we do with traitors. Old Barcus knew firsthand.”

Billycan released her and pulled up to his full height, instantly changing his tone to a much more agreeable one. “Be ready, my dear. You will not let your Ministry down. Incidentally, you will be fulfilling your Chosen One duties directly following the Minister’s speech. Minister Killdeer is always wound up after a stirring speech to his subjects, and he is looking forward to his
time
with you.” He grinned in warped amusement and exited her quarters.

Clover stood staring out the open door, spellbound. The fire made a loud pop, waking her from her daze. The truth hit her like a slap, and she dropped to the floor in a heap. Unless her uncle returned before midnight tomorrow, she was doomed.

Juniper led Vincent down the dimly lit prison corridor, lined with heavy wooden doors on both sides, each with a bulky iron bolt and a thin slot barely big enough for an underfed paw to slip through. Past the doors sat barren dirt cells.

“Are all these rooms for prisoners?” asked Vincent, surprised by the vast number.

“Well, we’re going to need them. Vincent, this is a serious endeavor we’re taking on. You know as well as I do the size of the Kill Army. Most of these rooms are intended for Kill Army majors. Those are the rats we’re worried about. We feel the bulk of the foot soldiers will easily convert back to citizens once they realize the High Ministry has been dismantled. Most of the so-called lieutenants are simply scared young rats, such as you, conditioned to believe there is no real life for them without the Kill Army.”

Vincent thought about Major Lithgo and how lucky he and Victor were to have eluded him. Vincent shuddered as he thought of the tenpenny just missing his head.

The brothers’ guardian, old Missus Cromwell, had gone dotty,
and in planning for her death had innocently brought Lithgo to see her wards. Her mounting dementia had rendered her judgment useless, and she easily fell for Lithgo’s buoyant speech about a new family for her orphan wards. After her passing, the brothers managed to keep the death quiet for months, but eventually Lithgo found out.

“Did you ever think of escaping the Combs before?” asked Juniper.

“All the time,” said Vincent. “It just never seemed the
right
time. I was eight at the time of the flood, and Victor was only four. After that night, the night we lost our family, he was terrified of everything. It took years before he’d even go Topside again. When he was finally brave enough to go with me, I grew worried. What if something happened to him Topside? I’d never forgive myself. Or what if something happened to me? He’d be alone, without anyone to look after him or teach him what Father had taught me.”

“You are a good brother.”

“I suppose,” said Vincent. “I always dreamed of leaving the Combs. It was almost as though every time I saw an opportunity to leave, there would be some sort of sign to stop me—a warning. Years ago, Victor and I were leaving our sector to go Topside and collect Stipend. The major who always signed us out had fallen asleep at his post. I thought it was our chance. We could sneak out of the Combs, and the majors would never know. Our names would not be on the register—by the time anyone realized we’d even left the Combs, we’d be so far away they’d never find us. We made it unseen all the way to Catacomb Hall, just about to Father’s corridor, ready to make a run for it, when it happened.”

“What?” asked Juniper. “What happened?”

“Billycan happened,” said Vincent. “Just at that moment, he came parading through Catacomb Hall with two pairs of soldiers,
each pair carrying the carcass of a dead rat tied to a wooden post by its wrists and ankles. Billycan announced that the dead rats were caught trying to escape. They’d been signed out of the Combs and were secretly trying to leave with a sack filled with their belongings. A High Major seized them. Death was their punishment. They were two black rats, one older, like me, and the other younger, like Victor. I thought it was a clear sign from the Saints—don’t go.”

“That certainly sounds like a sign to me,” said Juniper. “You were smart to wait.”

“I don’t know if I was smart or just afraid.”

“I think you were both. You were smart for staying and afraid for Victor, which you should have been. After all, he was only a child. You were right to think of him first. It’s much easier to throw caution to the wind when there’s only yourself to worry about. You’re both free now, not to mention alive! That’s because of you, Vincent. Don’t think otherwise.”

Juniper led Vincent into a large gathering hall with high vaulted ceilings. “This is Bostwick Hall,” he said as they walked through the rounded entry.

“Bostwick Hall?” asked Vincent. “Is Bostwick a rat, someone who knew my father?”

“Just someone I knew long ago,” said Juniper. “Someone the Saints had other plans for. We can chat about that some other time. Now, then, there is someone here who is anxious to see you.”

A round wooden table sat in the center of the room, surrounded by several mismatched chairs and stools. Seated at the table were five rats, all robust, looking to be about Juniper’s age, all except for one—Victor.

He bounded from his chair and ran at Vincent like a freight train. Victor grabbed his brother in a tight hug, nearly knocking him to the
ground. “Vincent! I was so worried about you, but you’re all right, thank the Saints! I’ve told everyone about you and how you’d gotten us out of the Catacombs and away from that major and into the house and how you—” Vincent put a claw to his mouth, hushing his excited little brother. Victor stopped talking and caught his breath.

Normally such displays of affection in front of strangers would have embarrassed Vincent, but not this time. Before Victor could start up again, Vincent hugged him firmly, not caring that the rats were staring.

The older rats smiled silently. They resumed eating their meal, which consisted of a thick cut of reddish meat and pumpernickel bread, both doused in dark, savory gravy, along with a full mug of Carro root ale.

Juniper walked up between the boys and put a paw on their shoulders. “Now, Victor, let’s get your brother something to eat. He must be starving. We have a lot to catch you boys up on. You’ve earned the right to be here, and your father would want it this way. You two could very well be vital hands in our fight—your father’s fight. I think he would be honored to know his boys had a key part in finishing what he started.”

Juniper walked Vincent to the table, pointing to an open spot. One of the other rats, a black and white mottled fellow, dished up a generous plate for Vincent. After so many days without food, Vincent’s belly had started ratcheting in on itself, eating away at its own tissue. Smelling the aromatic sauce and spiced meat bordered on torture. He attacked his food, licking his nails clean with every bite, being sure not to overlook even a smidgen of meat or a drop of gravy.

The spotted rat poured Vincent a mug of ale and slid it in front of him. Vincent looked at the ale and then looked at Juniper. “Don’t look to me for approval, lad,” Juniper said. “You’re definitely old
enough to have a mug of Carro ale if you so please. Your father would not disapprove. You are of age, a grown rat now, not a boy. As for your brother, we collectively decided he could have half a pour. He didn’t like it!” The rats laughed out loud.

Victor grinned sheepishly. “It tasted like Topsider sewer water, Vincent.”

Vincent took his first mouthful, wincing at its bitter taste. His face knotted into a grimace. Juniper held back his grin, signaling with a glance at the others to do the same. Vincent took another drink. The suds stuck to his black whiskers, forming a frothy white mustache. The second guzzle tasted slightly better. “Well,” said Vincent, “it takes a little getting used to, but it sure goes down easy enough!” Vincent choked as he said it, causing the others to erupt in wild laughter.

“It does knock back pretty easy,” said Juniper. He held up his mug and gave Vincent’s a hard clink. Vincent smiled. It felt good to be included with grown male rats.

Once everyone started talking, Vincent learned their identities. With no formal city government or even a city name, Juniper and his counterparts were simply referred to as the Council. These were Juniper’s brothers-in-arms, his board of advisers, the four rats who would die at his side if necessary.

Juniper slapped the back of the black and white mottled rat, an odd-eye rat, with one lilac and the other a deep ruby. “Vincent, this is Cole, my second-in-command. He is a master strategist and is instrumental in our plan to overthrow Killdeer.”

“I was in a similar boat to you and Victor,” said Cole. “When I was a boy, my parents were taken from me too, killed by poisoned apples left out by the Topsiders in their efforts to exterminate our kind. So I too know what it’s like to grow up without parents. My wife and I may not have little ones of our own, but our door is open
to as many Catacomb orphans as we can squeeze in it.” He glanced at both boys. “I had family to look after me when my parents passed on. Tell me, how have you two managed all this time?”

“Missus Cromwell, an old neighbor of my parents, took us in just after the flood,” said Vincent. “Since then, we’ve tried to stay quiet and out of trouble. We’ve had our share of scraps in the Combs, but the Ministry didn’t seem to take notice of us. Some rats would stare at us strangely sometimes, but Victor and I thought it was because of my green eyes.”

“I’m afraid there was far more behind those stares than your eyes,” said Juniper. “You look just like your father. I suppose the Ministry didn’t need to worry themselves with two orphaned boys, no matter who your father was. Thank the Saints for that.”

“In any case,” said Vincent, “Major Lithgo heard a rumor of Missus Cromwell’s death and came for us straightaway. We were just coming round the corner to our quarters, and there he was. When I saw the smug grin on his face, I knew we were found out. We turned and ran.”

“He nearly caught us,” said Victor. “But Vincent remembered Father’s secret corridor in Catacomb Hall. That’s how we escaped.”

“We all know that corridor well,” said Cole. “Many a meeting was held there, away from traitorous ears.” He glanced at the Council. “Or so we thought.”

“I thought you boys had surely been picked up by the army,” said Juniper. “I remember thinking how heartbroken your parents would have been, knowing their boys were serving in Killdeer’s army of orphans. The very rat who—” Juniper stopped. “Never mind that now. We’ve got other fish to fry, as they say. Our pasts can’t be rewritten, but our futures can.” He nudged the rat next to him, a tall fellow, with fur the shade of wheat. A ledger sat next to his plate, and a feather
pen peeked out from behind his ear. “This here is Virden, our City Planner. He’s in charge of our city’s bright future.”

“Indeed,” said Virden, smiling at the boys. “I direct city planning and design, making sure we don’t have cave-ins and the like. Quite the tricky business, but with a little bit of math and measuring, and a whole lot of praying, it
is
possible.”

“You designed all this?” said Vincent, gazing up at the rotunda.

“He did,” said Juniper. “Ol’ Virden is also our resident expert on Oshi. We only serve the wine on special occasions, and Virden here makes sure our berries are of the highest quality.”

“Well, what did you expect?” said Virden. “My father was born in a vineyard—taught me everything I know. We’ll serve none of that moonshine the Ministry pushes on its subjects in its effort to numb their spirits. Might as well drink turpentine!” Virden chuckled. “Killdeer drinks so much of it himself, he’s lucky he hasn’t burst into flames within arm’s length of a candle!” Everyone laughed as Virden topped off their mugs of ale.

“And last but not least, these are the twins,” said Juniper, nodding at two identical rats of slate blue. “Quite the perceptive pair, they are. Ragan and Ulrich are in charge of our city’s security. Questioning new city inhabitants is an essential role.”

“Yes, sir,” said Ragan with an excited snigger. “If anyone can sniff out a rotten apple, it’s the two of us. Don’t know where we got the knack, but we have it all the same—only been wrong once.”

“Yes, indeed,” announced Ulrich in the same quickfire manner. “Our mother had the gift. I suppose she passed it down to us.”

Vincent looked at them, already unsure of which twin was which. “But how do you tell them apart? I’ve never seen two rats that look so much alike.”

Ulrich jumped up and turned around. “This is how,” he said with
a grin. He wiggled his stubby excuse for a tail, causing the Council to snort with laughter. “Got my tail hacked off by a livid Topsider hausfrau wielding a meat cleaver!”

Did it hurt?” asked Victor.

“It was so quick, I scarcely felt it,” said Ulrich. “I’m lucky that’s all she got. I reason my knack for sensing trouble doesn’t work on irate Topsider housewives. Ragan yanked me out of the way just in time.” He looked at Vincent and then back to Victor, smiling. “But I suppose that’s what brothers are for, aren’t they—saving each other’s necks?”