Lords of Trillium

by Hilary Wagner

  “You deal with deadly snakes on a daily basis,” Clover pointed out.

  “I’ll take snakes over this any day.”

  “Listen, everyone, you must run on my signal—very, very fast,” hissed Billycan. “You risk dying if you don’t.” Everyone’s ears perked, their bodies ready for flight. Billycan snapped his head around. “Now!”

  Just as a taxi pulled out into the street, he shot across the busy garage, the others racing behind.

  Juniper, at the rear end of the line, watched in awe as a taxi came flying into the garage, missing Billycan’s tail by just inches. How did he time it so perfectly? How often had he come to this place? It made Juniper wonder how much more there was to his brother than he’d ever know.

  They raced after Billycan, who dived through an opening in a painted orange guardrail and dashed down a ramp. Panting, he came to a fast stop, the others nearly piling on top of one another as they came to a halt.

  Vincent and Juniper rushed to Billycan’s side. Vincent looked at the panting white rat, watching his face as it broke into . . . a smile. Not a sly smile or a cruel smile, but a real smile. Billycan didn’t acknowledge him or Juniper. He merely looked down the ramp with what could only be happiness. Vincent followed his gaze, down the ramp to a yellow-lined curb of the garage. He was staring at a grizzled old rat. Suddenly the rat turned. His eyes met Billycan’s. The rat’s face went slack and his ragged ears drooped. He was timeworn and bony, but agile. His head snapped this way and that, quickly taking in all the rats gathering behind Billycan. His shocked face cracked into a wide smile of broken teeth. He waved hurriedly from across the garage, leaping up and down as he beckoned Billycan over.

  “How do you know that rat?” asked Juniper.

  “I knew him in my younger days . . . before the Catacombs,” whispered Billycan.

  “Who is he?”

  “That’s Fitspur.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Fitspur

  THE RAT FITSPUR BEGAN TO SHAKE when Billycan neared. At first glance one might have thought he was frightened, but a closer look showed he wasn’t afraid in the least. He was over the moon. “Billycan, it really is you!” he shouted.

  As Billycan hopped onto the curb, Fitspur snapped up his paw and shook it briskly. He spoke as fast as he moved. “And look at you — all grown up! You’re a sight for sore eyes, to be sure.” He shook his head, rebuking himself. “What am I doing, shaking your paw? This calls for a hug of epic proportions!” As old and skeletal as he was, Fitspur grabbed Billycan and squeezed him tightly. Billycan laughed out loud. The younger rats exchanged glances, looking at the odd scene in silence. This couldn’t be happening—a rat, other than little Julius, actually happy to see . . . Billycan?

  Juniper cleared his throat, getting Billycan’s attention.

  “Fitspur,” said Billycan, “it’s so good to see you, truly, but we’re in a rush.” He set a paw on Fitspur’s shoulder. “I’ll come back to see you soon, but a young rat is missing. We think he’s gone to the City Museum, and I was hoping to enlist your services. Getting there on foot, without proper directions—well, we may be too late by the time we find him.”

  “My dear boy,” said Fitspur, “no need to explain, none at all!”

  “Dear boy,” muttered Suttor. “He’s got to be joking.”

  “Fitspur, this is my brother, Juniper.”

  Fitspur’s crooked eyes looked as if they were about to pop from their sockets. “You mean—your real brother, your flesh and blood? You found family?” He grabbed Juniper’s paw and shook it firmly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, indeed!” His eyes darted between Juniper and Billycan. “Why, you’re exactly the same size, aren’t you? How did you two meet? You must tell me everything!”

  “Well, that’s a long story,” said Juniper.

  “Very long, to be sure,” said Billycan. “Fitspur, we really do need—”

  “Yes, yes, of course!” said Fitspur. He glanced at the Nightshade rats surrounding Juniper and Billycan. “Ah . . . you’re groundlings, then, aren’t you?”

  “Groundlings?” asked Juniper.

  “Yes, groundlings. You live underground—in those tunnels. Why, I can spot a groundling a mile away. You all have that nervous, jittery look about you. Dead giveaway.” He shuddered. “Too confining, if you ask me. I’d go a little wonky not being able to hear the noise of the city or breathe the fresh air.”

  Suttor elbowed Carn. “Has he smelled this place?”

  Juniper smiled. He’d never thought of himself as a groundling. Other than the dock rats, there were few rats who lived above ground and made it to Fitspur’s age. Clearly this rat was a tough old bird.

  Fitspur let out a long, shrill whistle. Within seconds a slender gray rat dashed around a corner. All Fitspur said to her was “City Museum.” She nodded her head and darted back the other way. “C’mon, then,” he said, giving the Nightshade rats a crafty grin. His eyes glinted. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Fitspur led them around a sharp turn. There before them stood a procession of idling yellow cabs, waiting to spill into the bustling streets of Trillium. Fitspur’s rats zipped under them, unafraid of the huge metal vehicles that could crush them in seconds. They seemed to be sharing information with one another. The rat stationed at the front of the line, closest to the open door leading to the street, raced over to another, chattered with him a bit, and then that one went to the next rat, and so on, creating a chain of information.

  Juniper was astonished by the flurry of activity before him. He’d seen Topside rats before—that was not unusual—but the sheer number before him was staggering. Across the way, on the opposite curb, a line of rats waited patiently in the shadows. There were no fewer than fifty, possibly more. He nudged Fitspur. “How many of you live Topside?”

  Fitspur cocked his head and began counting on his claws. “Well sir, let’s see. I transport hundreds weekly. Mind you, many are repeat customers, and mind you again, many city rats have no need to travel, quite happy where they are, especially with my customers visiting them on a regular basis from all over our fine city. And this is not the only operation, to be sure. We’ve got one in the Reserve and another on the city outskirts. So, all in all, I’d say our ranks lie somewhere in the tens of thousands—give or take a thousand or two, of course.”

  “Well . . . ,” said Juniper, somewhat speechless, “I’m embarrassed to say I had no idea there were so many of you.”

  Chuckling, Fitspur whistled to a family of brown rats on the opposite curb, waving them to the front of the line. “Party for Brimstone Station, you’re next!” He motioned to one of his assistants, who ushered them to a yellow cab, where they quickly disappeared into its undercarriage. “You groundlings live in your own world, oblivious to what goes on up here.” He grinned.

  “How do you stand it, though? Topside couldn’t be more dangerous.”

  “And what’s wrong with living dangerously?” said Fitspur, slapping Juniper on the back. “Keeps things interesting, if you ask me!” He nodded toward Billycan, who was explaining Fitspur’s operation to the others. “That one used to come to me looking mad and disheveled. Saints only know what mischief he was up to—I didn’t think it my business to ask. I just knew he was looking for others like him—his family. Why, sometimes he didn’t even look like a rat, so wild he was.”

  “Where did he go?” asked Juniper curiously.

  Fitspur lowered his voice. “He always seemed to end up back where he came from. You know, that horrible place.”

  “You mean . . . the lab?” whispered Juniper. “How did you know where it was?”

  “I’m a city rat. We all knew where that horrible lab was.” He shook his head. “I’d send that lad off, letting him ride around for hours under whichever car he liked—always searching for something, though I don’t think he ever quite knew what that was. When I’d see him the next time, ask him where he’d been, it was always somewhere near the lab. With the wretched life he had there,
you’d think he’d want to stay as far away as possible, but I suppose it was all he knew back then . . . his only real home.”

  “Yes,” said Juniper, thinking about the scientists’ diaries and what Silvius claimed—that everything centered around the volcano, hidden somewhere in the museum.

  The gray female raced up to Fitspur and nodded. “All right, then,” he said, “your crew’s next.” He clapped his paws. “Quickly, everyone, or Saints only know how long you’ll be stuck here waiting for another car headed that way. The museum closes soon!”

  Billycan darted over to Fitspur as the others crossed the street. “Thank you once again for your help.”

  “I hope you find your friend,” said Fitspur. “I hope you find everything you’ve been searching for all these years.”

  “I’ll come back afterward and tell you all about it,” said Billycan.

  “Of course you will,” said Fitspur, patting Billycan’s shoulder. “Run along now, you’ll miss your ride.”

  Billycan smiled faintly and dashed after the others.

  “All right, pay attention now!” shouted the gray rat forcefully over the ruckus of the garage. “Everyone, underneath! Some of you may have done this before, so just consider this a refresher course!” She pointed to the undercarriage of the cab. “All of you climb in, on either side. Jump on, grab hold, and whatever you do, don’t let go. It’s going to be a rough ride!” The rats leaped up into the undercarriage as instructed. She specifically looked at Duncan and Oleander, who seemed more out of their element than the others. She pointed to a rounded silver box stuck in the center area of the undercarriage and a long metal tube feeding out of it. “That is the cab’s muffler. Whatever you do, do not touch it. It will burn you to a crisp.” Duncan grabbed his tail, pulling it as far away from the muffler’s pipe as possible. “Do you all understand me?” Everyone nodded back at her. “Good. When the doors to the cab open, you’re at your stop—Battery Park West at 79th. You can’t miss the museum, biggest building in sight, showy statues in front.” The cab started to roll. “Remember, don’t let go . . . and good luck!” She dashed back onto the curb and out of sight.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Water Bound

  HIS MIND AND HEART RACING, Billycan closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the cab tore down the street. Returning home, the salty smell of the Hellgate Sea had exhilarated him, but being in Trillium, his old hunting grounds, was electrifying. He thought of all those months he’d searched for any surviving albinos, trying to find anyone who might be family, when all along the rat who’d saved him from the fire in the lab and led him to safety was actually his mother. His heart suddenly sank in his chest. His mother, Lenore, had offered to take care of him—to look out for him in the Catacombs, to help him control his urge for violence—but thinking it was hopeless, he abandoned her, stealing away into the dark as she screamed out his name. He glanced at Juniper, wondering how different his life might have been had he taken her up on her offer. Maybe his mother could have made a difference, despite the power of the toxic chemicals pumping through his veins. He swallowed stiffly, thinking of the alternative . . . maybe not.

  Billycan craned his neck, trying to catch the buildings as they zoomed by, but all he could see was a blur of stone and neon. He could smell the pigeons, the alley cats, even a bat or two, but then it hit him—the overwhelming smell of cooked meat. Beef, to be exact. His eyes rolled back slightly. He was ravenous. He’d caught a whiff of the City Steakhouse, an establishment almost as rich in history as the museum itself. He used to scavenge its alley, tearing through the trash bins and Dumpsters for scraps of meat and strips of gluey fat. He shook his head, trying to not think of food. At least he knew they were close. Yes, he could smell them—the chestnut carts, the aroma still lingering even at this late hour. “Be ready to jump, everyone,” he called out over the drone of the engine. “We’re here.”

  “Now!” yelled Juniper.

  In unison the rats dropped from the car and leaped onto the curb the moment the wheels stopped. Never had they been in such an exposed space. Even Juniper stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the wide sidewalk that led to the vast museum. Toward the back of the museum he saw a tall stack, smoke pouring out of it. “Juniper!” shouted Cole, snapping him from his daze. “Move!”

  With Billycan in the lead, they darted from the sidewalk onto the grass, hoping to be lost in the dark sea of green as they raced away from the sound of human feet. The moon was full and bright, bright enough to see nine rats tearing through the grass.

  “I remember now!” shouted Duncan as they grew nearer to the colossal stone columns. He blew ahead of the others, his memories driving him. “This way!”

  Two large statues sat on either side of the stairs leading up to the entrance, stone sentries dressed in antiquated military garb. Streaked a mossy green, each sentry waved his sword from atop a horse, its nostrils flared, ears back, ready to plunge into battle.

  Duncan led them to the back of one of the statues. Panting, the rats gathered around, staring down through a metal grate at the base of the statue.

  “Where does it lead?” asked Juniper.

  Cringing a bit, knowing they would not like the answer, Duncan said, “It leads under the museum. That’s how I got in the first time.”

  “Duncan,” said Cole, “what are you not telling us?”

  “Well, I . . . it’s just that . . .”

  Putting an ear to the grate, Juniper realized what Duncan was not telling them. “It leads to the sewer,” said Juniper, patting Duncan’s shoulder. He sighed. This was the last thing they needed. Memories of the Great Flood haunted the older rats, and nightmares terrorized the younger ones—so much had been lost. But with the doors of the museum locked tight for the night, everyone must face their fears.

  Suttor made a face and moaned. “I’d rather go back to the swamp with all its snakes and poison plants than down there in the murk.”

  “Agreed,” said Juniper, “but it may be our only option.”

  “Yes, it’s how I found my way in the last time,” said Duncan. “I don’t want to go down there any more than the rest of you, but there’s no other way in that I know of, at least not that I could find back then.”

  “If Victor got here before they closed, I’m sure he found a way inside,” said Vincent. He knew his brother was more of a risk taker than he was. If he saw a way in, he would have taken it. “Even if some Topsiders spotted him, what would they have done?”

  “Ignored him,” said Suttor. “What’s one lone pest slipping past them? Even if they did manage to alert someone at the museum, what would happen then? They’re not going to waste time chasing after a rat loose in a place that size.”

  “I just hope he made it here,” said Vincent.

  Studying the hole in the grate, Billycan mentally sized up each rat. Duncan was by far the largest, but even he’d be able to squeeze through. “We don’t have time to speculate.” He glanced at Vincent. “Your brother took on Killdeer. I’m sure he made it here and figured out a way inside. There’s something to be said for sheer grit.”

  Vincent studied Billycan’s profile, finding it more than a little odd to agree with him on anything, but he spoke the truth. Whether it was justice for their dead family, a stolen moment with Petra, or now to find the lost Hunters, Victor was dogged when he wanted something.

  Billycan looked over his shoulder at the faces of the Nightshade rats, each one consumed with dread of a watery doom. He had never feared water. “If Duncan can guide me, I’ll take the lead,” he said, turning his attention back to the grate. He’d swum in the Hellgate Sea and was quite sure he could handle the city sewer. “The ghosts of the Great Flood may still haunt you, but we rats are natural-born swimmers. You’ll see.”

  As Juniper and Cole lined up the others, Vincent watched Billycan. A tremor traveled up the white rat’s spine, causing his whole body to shudder. Billycan’s mouth opened, baring his teeth. His eyes burst with color, their b
lood-red hue something Vincent had not seen since back in the swamp. Billycan turned back to the others, his eyes shifting back to the same muted red they’d been since he’d returned to Nightshade.

  “It’s all right!” Billycan shouted up to the others, his voice echoing against the sewer walls. Retching, he spat out a mouthful of dirty water. “Disgusting, but all right.”

  He looked around, his eyes adjusting to the dark. It was a large cylindrical tunnel made of bricks. He paddled over to water’s edge. By the looks of it, this was an older part of the city’s sewer system, probably not used in some time. The water was stagnant, covered with dead insects and bits of floating trash. It was deep, but if they stayed along the side of the tunnel, they’d only get their feet and tails wet—once they dried off from the initial plunge through the grate, at any rate.

  Rat after rat tumbled gracelessly into the water, each one slightly stunned and gasping for breath as they broke the surface. Oleander seemed at home, though, hitting the water head-first in an elegant, twisting dive. Having lived in the swamp all her life, water—polluted or otherwise—felt like home. The stench didn’t bother her much, either. The odor of the fetid water was familiar, almost welcoming. She laughed as Carn choked and wheezed, sticking his tongue out in disgust. He spewed a mouthful of dirty water into the air, clumsily making his way to the edge.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked peevishly, wiping his mouth.

  “Oh, nothing,” she replied, with a familiar twinkle in her eye, “but if you start drowning, I’ll be sure to rescue you.”

  “I can swim!” he said.

  She giggled and pushed his shoulder. “Whatever you say, Corn.”

  He couldn’t help but grin. Rats were natural swimmers, but he was clumsy in the water. “Don’t start that again. I was just beginning to live down the legend of Corn the Snake Killer.”