The trio of flute-carrying mice scurried forward. “We’re here to play for the grand governor’s birthday, we are,” one said.
“Give your names to Taskmaster Lash and you will be admitted.” She snapped her paw. “Lash, why are you dawdling? Do your job!”
The taskmaster crept forward and bowed. “My apologies, Overseer.”
The mice scurried to the taskmaster, who wrote their names onto his scroll with a feather pen. The overseer pointed at Melvin. “You there. Swamp water rat. Are you here to join the Royal Guard?”
“Uh … yes. Yes, I am,” Melvin replied. If he could get inside, then he could find Lola’s uncle. Lola’s heart danced for a moment—a hopeful flutter, despite her own peril.
Taskmaster Lash held out his scroll. “Sign this contract of servitude and you may enter.”
Contract of servitude? Lola stiffened.
Melvin glanced at the scroll and frowned. “This says that I agree to work for the grand governor until … I die?”
“Correct,” the overseer said.
“That’s an awfully long time,” Melvin said.
“I doubt it. You swamp water rats have such a terrible diet, you don’t tend to live long.” She tapped her foot and looked down on him with a mixture of pity and disgust. “But do not concern yourself. There is a garbage pile with your name on it. And all that you see on the train will soon rot as well. Now sign, swamp scum.”
Melvin puffed out his chest. “I am not scum.”
Lola gulped. She was proud to see her friend defend himself, but at what cost?
Overseer Rake curled her upper lip into a sneer, bending down so her eyes were level with his. She spoke slow and deliberately, as a bully to her victim. “I suppose you believe that you are different from other rats. Did you come to Dore because you have dreams? Because you want to be something special?” She stepped closer to Melvin and sniffed the air. “Well I’m here to tell you not to waste your time dreaming such things. Despite your soap and polish, I can still smell the swamp clinging to you.” Melvin momentarily lost his proud composure. His ears drooped. He’d clearly been stung by the overseer’s harsh words.
“Do you want to get into the city or not?” the taskmaster asked, bored and clearly uncaring about which path Melvin took.
Lola tensed and Blue whined quietly, pressing himself against Lola as she tightened her grip on his flipper. If Melvin signed, he’d be stuck in the Royal Guard for the rest of his life, doing who knew what and being rewarded with garbage. There had to be another way to get into the city. But time was ticking. Melvin stared at the scroll, then grabbed the pen. Lola’s mouth fell open. He was going to do this for her?
“No!” she cried, darting from her hiding spot with Blue in tow. “Stop! Don’t sign it!”
A grin spread over the overseer’s face. Then she bared her carnivorous teeth and said, “My, my, my, what have we here?”
20
RAKE AND LASH
Overseer Rake pressed her paws together and stared at Lola with the satisfied look of a predator who had stumbled upon easy prey. Blue let out a little strangled sound, then buried his face in Lola’s side. “Hello, young wombat. I do believe we have met before,” Rake said in her sinister, confident voice.
“Yes,” Lola replied. “I…” She held tight to Blue’s flipper.
Melvin darted between them and tried to push Lola backward, away from Rake. “Lola? What are you doing? You need to get out of here,” he warned, pushing with all his might. But, as before, Lola wouldn’t budge.
“I can’t let you sign that,” she said. “I can’t let you give up your dreams. Not for me, not for my family, not for anyone.” She gently pushed Melvin aside, placing Blue in his care. Then she faced the enemy, squaring her shoulders. “My name is Lola Budge. I’m from the Northern Forest.” The overseer’s gaze was fierce, now even more than before, but Lola didn’t have time to be intimidated. She was on a mission. “I want to see my uncle. I … I demand to see my uncle.”
“You … demand?!” Overseer Rake’s blazing eyes narrowed as she reached for her whip.
It took every bit of effort for Lola not to flinch. The overseer’s whip reminded her of an angry bee, capable of stinging at any moment. Stay calm. No sudden movements. “My uncle’s name is Tobias Bottom. He’s an ambassador.”
The taskmaster, who’d been listening, gasped. Tittering to himself, he anxiously twirled his parasol. “Did she say that her uncle is—?”
The overseer threw back her head and released a vicious screech. The trumpet-carrying mouse squealed and scurried away. The echidna, who’d poked her head out to see what was going on, tightened into a ball again. Everyone else went silent, including the pale taskmaster, who retreated a few steps. When the screech subsided, Overseer Rake closed her mouth and lowered her head to face Lola. No matter how many times she heard a Tassie devil growl, Lola had the same reaction—an overwhelming instinct to dig and hide. But she held her ground.
The overseer ran a paw along her whip’s handle. “Grand Governor Tobias Bottom is not receiving visitors today.”
“Grand Governor Bottom?” Melvin said in astonishment, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“Bottom!” Blue shouted.
Lola shook her head. “There must be some mistake. My uncle is an ambassador, not a governor.”
“Well, at the moment, he is a governor.” Then the overseer mumbled under her breath, “But not for long.”
The taskmaster snickered and repeated, “But not for long.”
Lola had no idea what the taskmaster was talking about. She was still confused by the new job title. “A governor?” Lola shifted her weight. “Are you sure?”
The taskmaster drew a sharp breath. “Did my red ears deceive me? Did that wombat just question our honorable overseer?” He looked to the trumpet-carrying mouse for assurance. The mouse nodded shakily, hiding behind his instrument.
The overseer leaned closer to Lola and asked, loudly and slowly, as if speaking to a critter who was hard of hearing, “Are your ears plugged with fur? Tobias Bottom, grand governor of Dore, is not receiving visitors.”
“But he’ll want to see me,” she said. “I came here because … because he sent for me.”
“An obvious deceit,” the taskmaster said. He stepped closer to his boss. “You would know if the grand governor had sent for this joey. You have the governor’s absolute trust.”
“But no one knew he sent for me because it was a secret message,” Lola insisted. Despite the fact that she didn’t trust the taskmaster, she needed to do whatever it took to get through that gate. “I have proof.” She reached for her backpack, but her ears sagged with disappointment as her paw closed around nothing. “I did have proof, but it was stolen.”
“I can vouch for that,” Melvin said as he struggled to keep Blue from wandering off.
“Just as I suspected,” Taskmaster Lash said, tapping the parasol’s handle with his razor-sharp claw—a claw that was even better cared for than Melvin’s—polished to a shine and with a gleaming gilded tip. “This wombat is wasting your precious time, Overseer. Shall I send her to dig with the others of her kind?”
“No. Please, I must see my uncle,” Lola pleaded.
“Lola is telling the truth,” Melvin said. The overseer gazed upon him with an expression of pure annoyance. “Her uncle did send a message and that’s why she’s here. And I think you should let her see him because, well, you see, I’ve learned a lot about wombats and penguins over the last few days. Penguins love eating more than anything else in the world.”
“Hungry!” Blue cried as he tried to pull his flipper free from Melvin’s grip.
Melvin continued. “And while wombats love peace and quiet, they love their families more. A wombat will travel the length of an island to be reunited with a family member. I wouldn’t want to be in your position when the grand governor finds out that you turned away his only niece. His family.”
The overseer sneered, showing off
her teeth. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner, you filthy creature.”
If Melvin’s feelings were hurt, he didn’t show it. Instead, he spoke calmly. “Though my fur needs a good brushing and my whiskers need whisker oil, I am not filthy, having just recently plunged into an estuary.” Then he bowed. “I am merely concerned for your welfare, Overseer. I wouldn’t want you to lose favor.”
The taskmaster sidled up to the overseer. “The rat makes a logical point. Maybe you should consider—”
Overseer Rake spun around. “I don’t need you to tell me about logic. You follow me, remember? You were nothing without me.”
“Yes, nothing,” the taskmaster said, bowing low and again stepping away.
A low growl vibrated in the overseer’s throat as she spun back and glared at Melvin. “We shall see what the grand governor has to say about this. He will be eating supper soon and will not be pleased with an interruption. If you have lied to me, you will all be dealt with in a very … delicious way.”
Lola shuddered. The threat was clear. When their eyes met, the overseer licked her sharp teeth. With the whip hanging at her side, Overseer Rake tucked her paws into her long sleeves, then turned on her heels. “Follow me.” Lola began to follow, with Blue and Melvin at her side. The overseer stopped. “Only the wombat.”
“But they’re my friends,” Lola explained. “I’m going to ask my uncle to help them.”
“Help them?” Overseer Rake’s serious expression melted into bemusement. “Indeed, I am certain that the grand governor will help your friends.” She laughed in an unsettlingly high-pitched way. “And you, Lash, you deal with these other creatures.”
“Yes, Overseer.”
The mouse blew his trumpet as the overseer walked back through the gates. The rat guards, who’d been leaning sleepily against the wall, bounded to attention. Taskmaster Lash pointed his scroll at the line of waiting critters. “You there. Have you come to play for the grand governor’s birthday celebration? Step forward and sign the contract of servitude.”
Before leaving, Lola caught the look on the taskmaster’s face—one of adoration but also frustration for his boss. Not at all what she expected.
But there was no time to contemplate that strange relationship, for finally, Lola, Melvin, and Blue were entering the royal city of Dore—the golden city by the bay. The beautiful city that TheoDore the Wise built to symbolize the beauty of the island and the peace won for all the critters. Where furred, feathered, taloned, and clawed lived together in harmony. And where golden cobblestones led to the royal palace, where all critters were welcome to seek guidance. So much hope flooded Lola’s body, she felt like she might burst.
But as soon as they passed through the gates, Lola’s spirits plummeted anew.
21
WELCOME TO DORE
Dore was nothing like the beautiful and harmonious city in Lola’s storybook.
First, it was dark. The smoky cloud that hovered overhead kept the sun from shining through. The darkness cast the streets in a somber, grayish color. Darkness had never bothered Lola, but this felt unnatural, like this entire world was nothing more than a lamplit cave.
Next, an acrid odor shot up Lola’s nostrils. Its source was a large heap of festering food. A few swamp water rats, with bellies bloated, lay atop the heap, smiling with contentment as they digested. One waved at Melvin and motioned him over, but he politely declined. They passed another heap, then another. Lola tried covering her nose with her paws, but there was no way of avoiding the stink. How she longed for a forest breeze carrying the scent of soil and rain. Of moss and dew. Back home even sunlight had a lovely scent as it warmed the leaves, but here there was no fresh air to be found.
“Icky!” Blue whined. Melvin took pity on the little thing and pulled out a handkerchief to cover his beak with, keeping at least some of the smog out.
The road inside the city walls was covered with mud and stagnant pools of water where bities congregated. Lola scooped Blue into her arms to keep him from jumping in the puddles. “The drainage ditches are clogged,” Melvin pointed out as they passed rotting piles of leaves. Barren, dead trees lined the road, their greenery choked by the smoke and lack of sunshine. If they couldn’t survive these conditions, how could the critters?
They followed the overseer onto a makeshift sidewalk—a line of raised wooden planks set over the mud. But when a cart of coal barreled down the road, the cart’s wheels churned up mud, splashing some onto Melvin’s legs. “How rude,” he said. Then he called out to the brown rats who were pulling the cart, “For your information, only swamp-water mud is good for the fur, and only when properly applied!” The rats didn’t seem interested in this tidbit and they continued on their way.
The main street was lined with shops, but none appeared open for business. Their colorful awnings and painted signs had been torn down; some lay in the street. CANDLERY. PERFUMERY. HATTERY. Windows were broken; doors hung by a single hinge. Most of the stores appeared to have been looted. Melvin reached out and ran a paw along a windowsill. “Filthy,” he told Lola. Soot coated everything. The air tasted smoky. Lola sniffed. The hair on her neck bristled. She could smell fire. It was near.
A pair of Tassie devils stood outside a café, supervising as rats carried out bags of flour and sugar. Like the others, they wore long black robes. “Get a move on,” one of them ordered. “All the food goes to the palace kitchen. Straightaway.” They bowed as the overseer walked past. But there were no signs of shopkeepers or customers. “Where is everyone?” Lola whispered.
“I don’t know,” Melvin whispered back, “but I’m getting a bad feeling. Worse than the time I tried a bite of Stanley’s rotten egg omelet—just to be polite, mind you.”
Lola also had a bad feeling about the queen she’d been raised to admire. Queen Myra had let these monsters into Dore and the result was ugliness and destruction. How did Lola’s uncle fit into all this? If he lived in the city, then surely he knew what was going on inside the walls. But he probably knew nothing about the fate of the wombats. He’d be shocked when Lola told him.
They took a sharp left, following Overseer Rake down another street.
“Look,” Melvin said. They’d come to a tall brick building. A sign hung on the door.
FACTORY #1
Lola craned her neck and looked up toward the roof. Black smoke plumed out the building’s chimney. Sounds of hammering and clanging could be heard. What was going on inside? The window was covered in soot, so Lola wiped a section clean using her forearm. Then she and Melvin pressed their faces to the glass. Blue climbed onto Lola’s shoulder to get a better view.
It was crowded inside, with all sorts of critters hurrying about, all wearing dingy gray aprons. Not a single smile to be seen, only fretful, weary faces. “These working conditions should be against the law,” Melvin said. “There’s no fresh air in there. And they’re all covered in soot. That’s terrible for the complexion.”
But Lola wasn’t looking at the critters. Her gaze was frozen on the huge, gaping maw of a fireplace, which was being fed shovelfuls of coal. A large bubbling basin was suspended above the fire, filled with gleaming liquid. A wallaby tilted the basin and the liquid flowed into a stone mold. Strips of metal that had cooled enough were carefully lifted out of these molds with large tongs and placed at one end of a stone table. The first critter pounded the strip with a hammer before passing it along to the next critter, who did much the same.
“They’re making train tracks,” Lola realized. “That’s what this is all about. My family was taken away because of the train. Everything is for the train. Why?”
“Another question for your uncle,” Melvin said.
“Hurry up!” Overseer Rake commanded from the end of the street.
“Uh-oh,” Lola said. “Hold tight, Blue.” She and Melvin ran to catch up.
They left the factory behind, following the overseer around another corner, then another. Then they stopped in their tracks.
&
nbsp; The royal palace stood before them. It appeared to be the only soot-free building in all of Dore, thanks to a contingency of mice who scurried here and there with rags and ladders, polishing every golden brick. Pairs of mice dangled from ropes in order to reach all the high nooks and crannies with mops. Dozens of street lanterns caressed the palace with a warm buttery glow. It was everything Lola had imagined, a golden welcome for the weary traveler.
Overseer Rake continued up a wide flight of stairs that led to the palace entrance. Mice scurried out of the way as she approached. Upon reaching the top, the overseer stopped momentarily at a short stone pillar. She looked at it, cringed, and then continued walking. When Lola reached the pillar, she smiled. Sitting atop the pillar for all to admire was a cubic dropping. Her uncle hadn’t forgotten his wombat heritage. It was a proud display, though the overseer didn’t seem to appreciate the significance.
“Ah,” Melvin said when he spied the dropping. “Well-crafted right angles.”
“It’s a sign that my uncle is well and he’s waiting for me,” she said with certainty.
The double front doors opened into a vast foyer with walls and ceiling painted gold. A pair of mice mopped the golden floor. The overseer stepped right through their work, then kicked a bucket out of the way. The mice squeaked as soapy water splashed onto their faces. Lola reached down and righted the bucket and one of the little mice, who quietly thanked her.
The foyer narrowed into a hallway, which was lined with a bright-red carpet, soft beneath their paws. They padded along this carpet until the hallway opened into the throne room. The throne had been carved from the trunk of a single great gum tree, sanded and polished so each ring stood out from the others in a vibrant display ranging from golden to red. Here, the mice wore dainty black aprons and carried little feather dusters. Two wallabys were in the process of removing the queen’s portrait from the wall, cradling it like a sick child. Must need cleaning, Lola thought.
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