Lords of Trillium

by Hilary Wagner

  Ajax smiled, looking around the bustling hall. “Then you accomplished your goal, despite Hecate. We only called you king because you deserved it.”

  “Ajax,” said Silvius, “I cannot lead our kingdom anymore. At the moment I feel quite lucid, but I fear it will not last. You must lead these rats. I will counsel you whenever I can. You are like a son to me. Back in that dreadful lab, the humans bred us most unnaturally, taking bits and pieces of us with their diabolical needles and injecting the poor would-be mothers of our future children. It was unspeakable. I never knew who my children were, or their mother. That is a heartache that will never leave me.”

  Cocking his head, Billycan reached out and grabbed Silvius by the wrist. “Did you know a female named Lenore?” he asked urgently. “She was my mother. Did you know her?”

  Silvius exhaled. “The lab was very much segregated. The females were kept far away from us males and the children. I’m sorry, my boy,” he said, seeing the hope in Billycan’s face. “I did not know her.” He smiled weakly, patting Billycan’s paw. “Though I wish I had.”

  Billycan bowed his head and closed his eyes. He laughed softly. With this new way of being, this new life, came much suffering. In some ways he wished he had his callousness back. When nothing mattered but getting what he wanted, life was less painful.

  “Ajax, you must take the reins of this kingdom right now,” declared Silvius. Ajax’s jaw dropped, his black skin turning a pasty gray. “You can do this, lad. You must.”

  “But why now?” asked Ajax.

  “Because Billycan leaves the island tonight,” Silvius replied. “I’m certainly old.” He laughed. “I may even be crazy, but the stakes are too high for us not to do something. We must at least try to warn the rats of Nightshade, unless they’ve already come to a bitter end.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Fear

  WIPING SWEATY PAWS ON HIS COAT, Duncan nervously wheeled around a corner. He looked down the dim corridor and listened. The only sounds he could hear were indistinct whispers coming from behind the large metal door of the prison corridor.

  Heart pounding, Duncan looked through the barred window of the door and knocked. A moment later his brother arrived.

  Suttor smiled. “Duncan,” he said cheerfully. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well,” said Duncan, “I just thought I’d stop by and say hello. We never seem to see each other anymore. I brought you some tea.”

  “Thanks!” said Suttor, surprised and pleased. He scratched his head. “But you hate this place.”

  Duncan looked around nervously. “I—I just don’t like it here. It’s a bit creepy.”

  “Kar dislikes it even more than you,” said Suttor. “At least you two get to work with Lali in Bostwick kitchen, though I’d hate all that cleaning up after dinner. I’ll take creepy over cleaning anytime. Besides, it’s not so bad down here, gives me time to read and to think, a little peace and quiet . . . when the prisoners aren’t grousing, that is.”

  Through the small barred window, Duncan looked down the corridor. “Aren’t there any other guards?”

  “Don’t worry. The doors are bolted tight,” Suttor replied, “made of the thickest ironwood. Even the cells are lined with it, so the prisoners can’t dig their way out.” He nodded to a cell door. “Each prisoner has a small window for food, just the perfect size for a single dinner plate, no more.” A rat cursed from inside his cell. Suttor grinned. “The old Kill Army majors can whine and complain all they please, start a right fuss if they like. They’ll never get out.” He snickered, then lowering his voice, said, “Even old High Major Foiber, he’s the one always swearing, but I’d swear too if I had that frightful hairless skin.”

  “Juniper seems to have thought of everything,” said Duncan, his confidence growing. “What would you do, though, if one of the prisoners took ill? Some of the majors are getting on in years, especially High Majors Schnauss and Foiber. How can you help them if they’re all locked up?”

  Suttor snorted. “What do you care about those old codgers? Rats like them tend to live forever! No rest for the wicked.” He leaned in to the tiny window. “There’s a metal cabinet right here next to the door.” He rapped on it with his paw, causing it to clang. “You can’t see it from out there, but it contains the cell keys.” He laughed. “But even that’s locked up tight!”

  “And who holds the key to that?”

  “Why, I do, of course,” said Suttor, feeling the leather cord around his neck that held the iron key, partially hidden by his spotted coat. “How else would I get to a prisoner if one suddenly took ill? I’ve had this key around my neck since I can remember, and you’ve never known what it’s for?”

  “Well, what if the prisoner’s faking—a ruse to escape? You could get hurt . . . or worse.”

  Suttor laughed at that. “Little brother, you’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you? Any prisoner who gets to go out for any reason would be shackled before a guard unlocked his door.”

  “But what if they’re sick and moaning on the ground? How can you shackle them?”

  “The Council Chamber is not far from here. We’ve been instructed to fetch a Council member for backup if that situation ever arises.”

  “Has it ever happened before?”

  “Old Foiber pretended to be sick once. He groaned on the ground, clutching his stomach, putting up a right fuss. When he wouldn’t crawl over to the bars so I could shackle him, I knew he was faking.”

  “What happened?”

  “I laughed at him!” said Suttor. “He started his normal screaming and cursing, jumping to his feet, shaking his fists at me.” He shook his head. “It was a comical scene.”

  “I’m glad I came to see you,” said Duncan. He inwardly laughed. All this time he’d been so frightened of the prison corridor. “When is your next shift?”

  “Day after tomorrow,” said Suttor.

  “Can I come back then? I’ll bring more tea.”

  Suttor smiled shrewdly at his brother. “Do you think you could smuggle in a basket of Lali’s bitonberry biscuits, too?”

  “Consider it done,” said Duncan.

  Reaching through the bars, Suttor cuffed his brother’s shoulder playfully. “You’re a good brother, Duncan. Me, you, and Kar, we’ve made it through thick and thin. The three of us have seen it all, and we survived.”

  Duncan smiled contentedly. He was proud of himself. He’d faced down a longtime fear. He couldn’t wait to thank Elvi. She’d changed his life.

  Billycan was tense. The journey back from Tosca had taken far longer than expected. The boat he had stowed away on had made countless stops at various islands that dotted the Hellgate Sea, picking up exotic goods to sell in Trillium. He was glad to be off the boat and away from the acrid smell of water-chip root, Tosca’s only export. He’d hidden in a crate of it on the journey, and the putrid stench was overwhelming.

  Hidden by the darkness of the early morning, Billycan watched for what felt like hours as rat after rat darted up and down the pier, attending to their duties.

  The dock rats were a rough sort. They contended with the humans every day, easily outwitting them. In his dark days, Billycan had once tried to take over their operation. Had the Bloody Coup not happened when it did, he might have succeeded.

  Billycan’s head was pounding, throbbing in time with his rapidly beating heart. He pulled at his ears, listening intently even through the pain. He remained silent in the alley, looking, listening, waiting, which was beginning to drive him mad. He didn’t like to wait.

  Suddenly a huge rat approached from behind. Billycan turned to face him. He was a big, brown fellow. One ear was all but gone and the other had a rather sizable bite out of it. His fur was disheveled and missing in a few places, revealing deep battle scars. His tail was mangled, and looked more like a frayed piece of twine than a proper rat’s tail. The rat was battle-worn, thought Billycan.

  “You don’t belong here!” said the rat in a gruff voice. “Y
ou’re in my territory. What do you want?” He flared his long claws. He gave Billycan a wicked sneer, grunting arrogantly. The rat’s rancor poured off of him like the stench of rotting meat.

  Billycan circled swiftly around the rat, his body shaking with suppressed rage.

  “Well?” demanded the rat.

  “I’m waiting for someone,” said Billycan. “Moreover, this is the dock rats’ territory, not yours.”

  “Is that so?” The rat grinned crookedly, flexing his digits. He cracked his neck from side to side, a sure sign he was preparing for a fight.

  Billycan was in no mood to trifle with this rat. He shook his head resignedly. “We are not going to settle this amicably, are we?”

  The rat grinned deviously. “Well, now, where would be the fun in that?”

  Billycan’s eyes narrowed to dark slits. His voice dropped to a callous whisper. “Do yourself a favor, as you don’t look like the brightest of fellows. Do not challenge me. You’ll lose.”

  “I’ll kill you!” shouted the rat, now thoroughly infuriated.

  Billycan sighed. “I’ll say it again, slowly this time, so you understand me. You’ll lose.”

  The rat snorted disdainfully. Flaring his teeth and growling, he immediately circled in closer. He inspected Billycan, eyeing him for a soft spot.

  Billycan noted the rat’s snout. It was oversized, just as he was—its underside slightly bulbous and rounded. His meaty chest had several deep scars on it. He’d been injured there before. And then there were his eyes, bulging like swollen black globes. A plan formed in Billycan’s head: snout, chest, eyes, and finally jaw, in that order—four steps.

  Still circling, the rat suddenly took a deft turn, charging at breakneck speed. Here was Billycan’s chance. Instead of jumping to the left or right, he dived underneath him, causing him to topple backwards as Billycan struck the bottom of the rat’s snout with his head. The rat groaned loudly in agony. Step one—complete.

  “Lucky shot, is all,” said the rat as he staggered to his feet. He wiped blood from his mouth, stumbling dizzily to the right and then back to the left, clearly unable to focus, his brain ringing from the blow.

  Quickly now, thought Billycan, time for step two. Using his heavy tail as a whip, Billycan came up from behind, cuffing the rat hard in the chest—the blow so powerful Billycan’s tail smarted. The rat coughed and groaned, a fine mist of blood flying from his mouth.

  Billycan laughed gleefully, circling tightly around the rat, who teetered, unable to stand straight any longer. Billycan threw himself to the left and then quickly back to the right, hurling himself into the rat’s cranium, striking with such force Billycan could feel the bone around the rat’s eye break. Step three—achieved.

  His once rigid body now slack, the rat moaned feebly, bobbing back and forth. Billycan came at him one final time. Charging him head on, Billycan lunged at implausible speed, his arm lurching forward, grabbing the rat’s lower jaw. He locked on to his mandible, pulling downward. The rat howled as his jaw cracked. Billycan’s body shivered with delight.

  Step four—accomplished.

  Task—concluded.

  The rat fell to the ground with a heavy thud. Billycan was mesmerized by the sight. He surveyed the damage. Blood trickled from the rat’s mouth, eye, and chest, his eye socket crushed, his jaw nearly detached, undoubtedly fractured. The rat would be lucky if he kept his sight in the wounded eye, but Billycan suspected he’d probably lose it.

  All and all, recovery would take at least three months. The healing of the rat’s ego, on the other hand, might take far longer.

  Billycan’s agonizing headache had vanished. He looked around, unsure where he was. He looked down at his bloodied paws, uncertain how the fight he wound up in even started.

  The rat was out cold on the pavement. Billycan sat down next to him, confused, but it seemed as if a fog had suddenly been lifted. He lay on his back and looked up at the stars, their light dimmed by the illuminated city.

  He was glad to be home.

  “Oh, Clover,” said Mother Gallo, digging through her chest of sewing supplies, “this is all so exciting—a wedding!” At her feet Nomi squealed with delight, covering herself in strands of beads and ribbons that had fallen to the floor. “Only a few days until the big event. There is so much to do in so little time.” She paced around the fire pit, tapping her chin. “Why, there’s your sash—I’m thinking a lovely yellow to match your eyes—the invitations, the decor, the seating, the menu, the music, and so many other details. I almost don’t know where to begin.”

  “Really, I’m fine with a small, quiet ceremony,” replied Clover, seeing the worry on Mother Gallo’s face. “There’s no need for you or Uncle to fuss. After four years, Vincent and I don’t want to wait any longer than necessary.”

  “If anyone knows how you feel, it’s me,” said Mother Gallo, thinking back on how long she was apart from Juniper. “You and Vincent are right. Don’t wait! And about having a small, quiet ceremony, well, you can simply forget about that. Nightshade City will have the wedding of the century!”

  “Of the century!” repeated Nomi as she placed a large pink bow atop her head.

  Clover giggled. She crouched down, helping Nomi put another necklace over her head. “I suppose it’s settled, then. Thank you for your help.” She paused for a moment, remembering their first meeting in the Catacombs and how Mother Gallo had safely delivered her to her uncle. “Thank you . . . for everything. Without you, I doubt there’d be any wedding celebration for me. I owe my life to you.”

  “My dear,” said Mother Gallo, ceasing her harried pacing. She smiled down at Nomi. “You are just as much a daughter to me as this one. And though I could never take her place, it’s my pleasure—more so, my honor—to fill in for your mother on occasions such as these.” She held an anxious paw to her heart. “I only hope I do her proud.”

  “Mother Gallo, you already have.”

  Billycan had moved away from the injured brown rat, down the pier, where he hid behind a pile of ropes. Finally the rat Billycan had been waiting for emerged from the dark. Its coat was a gleaming cinnamon. Its eyes shone a brilliant violet, reflecting the cold water.

  Billycan wasted no time. “Gwenfor!” he called out, trying to keep his voice down. The rat turned her head in his direction. “Over here!”

  Long and imperial, the rat stood stiffly on her haunches. “Who’s there?” she asked, baring her lethal teeth. “Who calls me?”

  Stepping into a thin shaft of light, Billycan showed himself. He stared at her. “I do.”

  Gwenfor stood her ground, looking at him coolly. “Billycan, we had an agreement, you and I. Why then have you come? What is the meaning of this intrusion?”

  “You owe me,” said Billycan decisively. “It’s high time I collected payment.”

  “I owe you nothing,” she said, her regal mouth slipping into a sneer. “You gave me your word you’d never come for me. My debt is paid. I never should have trusted you.”

  “You’re quite right,” he replied grimly. “You never should have trusted me, but things have changed. Many lives hang in the balance, possibly your own. That being the case, our little arrangement is null and void.”

  “What are you talking about? Apart from your own skin, since when do you care about lives hanging in the balance?”

  “I’ve no doubt you haven’t forgotten Killdeer, his plans for you and your rats.”

  Her eyes flooding with hatred, Gwenfor spat bitterly on the pier. “How could I forget? We celebrated for days upon word of his death.” She took a step forward, trying to get a better look at him. “What’s different about you?” she asked, cocking her head curiously. “Your voice, it’s . . . calmer. And your eyes, they are not the same.”

  Billycan ignored her observations. “A rat from Killdeer’s reign has returned—one who wielded much power, but even more venom. She and members of her throng have infiltrated Nightshade. There will be bloodshed.”

  “Who?�
�� demanded Gwenfor.

  “Hecate,” he said coolly.

  “But—but why?”

  “To take power, of course, to reclaim the throne in Killdeer’s name—to kill any rat she feels has wronged her, from the most powerful rat in all of Nightshade down to the most innocent child. She is out for blood.”

  “Elvi, what possible objection could you have to Texi being in the wedding?” asked Juniper. “She’s one of Clover’s dearest friends.”

  “After what Texi did I do not think you should reward her in such a way,” Elvi replied with conviction. “She hasn’t been able to concentrate on her studies since Clover asked her, dizzy with thoughts of dancing and merriment. How is she to pay for her crimes, if we indulge such folly?” She shook her head. “It’s utterly ridiculous.”

  “Her crimes?” said Juniper, incensed by the choice of word. He got up brusquely from his chair. “What Texi did, she only did to gain acceptance from her sisters—to feel loved. She thought she was doing the right thing, and in the end she protected Julius from them. Her heart has always been in the right place, and there is no crime in that!” He exhaled, not wanting to broach his mounting concerns with Elvi, but it was time. He lowered his voice. “Why must you be so hard on her? Of late you have not been yourself. You seem so angry, dare I say bitter, not the Elvi I know so well, not the one I grew up with in the Catacombs.” He rubbed his brow. “We’ve all noticed it. There’s been talk among the Council. It’s clear to everyone. Many of the Council members have grown wary of you, afraid to speak their minds in your presence lest you explode.” He reclaimed his seat. “After the harsh life you endured in Tosca and all that happened last year, I’d think you’d be happy to have some peace, but you only stew with rage.”

  Getting up from her chair, Elvi fetched her teapot. She turned her back to Juniper, her mouth curling into a sneer. “I know I’ve been . . . cold lately.” She sighed. “Happiness is an elusive thing for a rat such as me. Every moment of joy I’ve ever felt has been stolen. Perhaps my heart has been stolen as well.”