by Lisa Fiedler
Once more the crowd settled down, and all eyes bored into Titus. Zucker and Hopper stepped aside, but Hopper noticed the prince’s paw remained firmly on his sword.
The defeated emperor took a long, shaky breath. When he spoke, his voice sounded as if it were being scraped out of his throat.
“I loved this city,” Titus began. “It was my dream, my great creation.” He paused to blink a mournful tear from his eye. Or perhaps he was just bothered by the sting of smoke that still lingered in the air. “I came below as all of you did. I was without a home in the daylight world above. Humans had laid bare my outdoor nest with their digging machines and steel beams and black tar. I was chased indoors, and for a short period, a shining moment, I was safe and warm and happy. Soon the humans came for me there, too. Came with a vengeance. But I dodged their stomping boots and refused to eat their poison, and I dove into the darkness of these tunnels, hoping for respite.”
Hopper found himself riveted. In spite of everything else Titus was still quite the orator. His voice may have been raspy and weak, but his words were entrancing. Hopper was beginning to understand how this rat had gone from being a lost soul to the leader of a great kingdom. It didn’t make him like Titus any better, but he couldn’t deny that the disgraced emperor knew how to work a crowd. No one moved as he spoke; they were utterly captivated.
“I know you will not believe me, but I did not embark on my road to royalty with evil in my heart. I never meant to hurt anyone. The abomination of the peace accord came about because I was forced to think quickly, to act in desperate haste in order to spare what I loved most in the world.”
At this Titus’s eyes darted to Zucker. Again the prince’s jaw flexed, but with what emotion Hopper could not tell.
“I confess to all of you now that back then I was not thinking clearly. I could see only as far as the split second before me . . . a split second that would mean the difference between life and death. And so I chose. I struck a dark bargain, the ramifications of which I was far too desperate and naive to even consider at the time.” His voice broke, and when he spoke again, it was in a beseeching tone. “Haven’t any among you ever been forced to make an urgent choice? Haven’t you ever been compelled to act without the luxury of taking the time to consider what might follow?”
Hopper felt his blood go cold. Yes I have. And this war-ravaged city is the proof.
Now Titus shook his head, a gesture of sadness and shame. “I am sorry. I am sorry to the depths of my soul. My early intentions were good, but it wasn’t long before I realized what a mistake I had made. And although there were tens of thousands of opportunities between then and now when I could have made it right, I elected to leave things as they were—an evil status quo. And that is my true crime: striking the accord was an act of ignorance and desperation, but allowing it to continue even after I understood what a truly sinful thing it was . . . that is my most profound trespass. I cannot say what the result of defaulting on my agreement with Felina might have been—I suspect if I had refused to honor her conditions, Atlantia would have fallen long ago. Which is precisely why I did not try to undo what I had done.”
Titus closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “It was so much easier to simply put the truth out of my mind and let myself live the lie. As those who will rise to power in my wake will soon discover, the right path is often the steepest and most difficult to climb. For some, wickedness is effortless. Goodness is a far greater challenge—but a true leader welcomes that challenge and rises to meet it. Justice is worth whatever work it requires. But sooner or later even the purest of hearts will face temptation. I regret that I was not strong enough to resist it. And so, what I wish for all of you now is a leader who will be more steadfast than I. And even as you judge me, which is surely your right to do, I would ask that you ask yourselves this question: In my place . . . what would you have done?”
With that, the former ruler of Atlantia bowed his head and let the silence surround him.
No one moved. No one blinked, no one spoke, perhaps no one even breathed. Hopper wondered if they were all suddenly remembering how, in recent days, they had been forced to steal from their neighbors in order to feed their children. Were they recalling some dark moment back on that battleground when they’d callously shoved a smaller, weaker rodent in front of them to shield themselves from a slashing cat claw or a ferocious feline fang? They had looted abandoned buildings and destroyed property, all in an attempt to survive. Hopper guessed that if he’d asked the merchant or the chipmunk or the squirrel a mere two weeks ago if they could ever imagine themselves doing any of these things, they would have said, “Never! Of course not! I am good and just and noble.”
But it’s so much easier to be those things when your loved ones are not crying out from hunger. Perhaps the true test of righteousness is being good and just and noble when your children are starving.
Now Beverley broke the silence. “I would like to hear what he has to say.” She pointed at Hopper, her eyes twinkling warmly. “You will help us find peace again, won’t you?”
Hopper looked at her trusting face and wanted more than anything to say that he would. But right now the task seemed insurmountable. He glanced down at Firren, who smiled her lovely smile, then at Zucker, who gave him an encouraging nod.
Hopper answered the only way he knew how—with the truth. “I can only say that I will try,” he said. Jamming his paws into the pocket of his tunic, he closed his eyes and wished for words of wisdom to form on his lips. Surprisingly, his wish was granted . . . in the form of a crumpled scrap of paper, stuffed deep into his pocket.
The note from La Rocha. It had been mysteriously delivered to Hopper following the bloody liberation of the camps.
He’d forgotten he’d kept it. But it was all the inspiration he needed. He didn’t even have to look at it, as he knew by heart the words the great mystic had written:
CHOSEN ONE,
THERE IS STILL SO MUCH TO BE DONE.
HAVE FAITH AND BE STRONG, FOR I SHALL COME FOR YOU.
It was that simple. Faith. And from it, strength.
What these rodents needed was something to believe in. Maybe if they had that, everything else would follow.
Hopper looked out over the waiting crowd. He must make them believe in him. And for that to happen, he needed to believe in himself.
“There is much to be done,” he boomed, the words of La Rocha’s note echoing over the crowd. “We must have faith and be strong. We have liberated the camps, but clearly, this has left us with an even greater battle to be won. We need to have faith . . . in ourselves, and in one another. If we work together to rebuild, a whole new Atlantia awaits, where all rodents will be safe and welcome. But if we fail to unite in this worthy cause, we are all doomed to live in fear.” Or die in it, he added silently.
The rodents murmured among themselves, mulling this over.
“Okay, so let’s say we do unite,” snorted a scruffy factory rat. “That still won’t keep the ferals out. Sure, maybe by banding together we can fight off a few of the beasts, one at a time. But how long can that go on? We’re hungry and weak and we’re smaller than they are. And with the city in ruins there are no safe places to hide.”
“It’ll be the hunting ground all over again,” wailed a refugee. “Except this time it’s open season on all of us! Refugee and Atlantian alike.”
This was true, of course. Faith and unity were only part of the equation. They were lacking strong, towering walls and a well-trained army to guard them. In its present condition the city was anything but secure. What these rodents needed was an impenetrable fortress . . . and they needed it fast! They needed a place where no feral could trespass. Hopper believed fully that Atlantia could be reconstructed into that safe haven over time, but these rodents needed a more immediate solution; Felina’s hungry ferals would soon be back, and in greater numbers, to hunt the unprotected streets of the ruined city.
“I know a place where we will be safe!” he cr
ied. “There is a village that lies behind a sturdy wall built of human-made bricks and mortar. In other words, it’s catproof!”
This glimmer of hope caused a few of the mice to cheer.
“Take us there!”
“Yes! Lead us, mouse!”
“Where is this wondrous place?”
Hopper beamed. “It’s far away from here, but we will make the journey together! We will seek sanctuary there, and I know they will allow us entry.”
“How do you know?” someone in the crowd demanded.
“Well, because . . . ,” said Hopper, preparing to reveal to this gathering the shocking truth. “Because although I came from above, like most of you, I have since learned that I was actually born of tunnel dwellers. And not only was I born of them, but as it turns out . . .” He paused to allow a modest shrug. “I also happen to be their foretold leader. I am the Chosen One of the Mūs tribe. And it is to their fortified dwelling place that I am going to take you.”
The cheering stopped abruptly and was overtaken by an angry gasp, followed by a grumble of disbelief.
“He’s a Mūs?” someone shrieked.
“He wants to take us to live among monsters!” another cried out.
“The Mūs are barbarians,” a hostile voice shouted. “And that would make their Chosen One the most barbaric of all.”
“I’d rather take my chances with those mangy cats!”
“The Mūs are Atlantia’s greatest enemy!”
“They most certainly are not!”
It was Titus who had spoken this last. The emperor’s face was filled with shame as he continued: “The savagery of the Mūs is merely another falsehood I invented to keep my unworthy backside securely upon the throne. I vilified them because I feared them. In truth, they are peace-loving creatures, wise and fair and strong . . . all the things I set out to be but ultimately abandoned.”
“Wait a minute. So you’re saying the Mūs aren’t dangerous?” someone shouted.
“Only to me,” Titus confessed. “Their noble leader knew the real purpose of the camps, and he would have fought valiantly to bring me down so that he might put an end to them.” His gravelly voice caught when his gaze fell on Firren. “He deserved much better than he got for his efforts.”
Hopper felt a tear trickle through the white fur that encircled his right eye.
“Thank you, Titus,” came a voice from the back of the gathering, “for finally speaking the truth about the Mūs.”
Every head turned in the direction of this proud new voice. Even Hopper went up on the tips of his hind paws, searching out this new speaker. A murmur of interest rippled through the crowd as it parted to make way for the stranger who was now moving in brisk, purposeful strides toward the platform.
The Chosen One gasped.
There was something undeniably familiar about this stranger.
Small of stature, but with a proud bearing.
And dressed in a robe of shimmering gold.
CHAPTER THREE
“PINKIE?”
The name escaped Hopper’s lips in a whisper. For the briefest of seconds he thought his sister was approaching through the crowd. But as the stranger drew nearer, Hopper could see that this golden-caped creature was not his acid-tongued, bite-first-ask-questions-later sibling.
“Sage!” he cried, jumping down from the platform to meet the leader of the revered Mūs Tribunal. Hopper hadn’t seen the council members at the camp raid or the hunting ground, and with good reason. The three elders were philosophers, not warriors. Hopper assumed they’d remained behind in the safety of the Mūs village, strategizing and planning for whatever would arise in the aftermath of the battle.
He grinned now, fairly certain that the one thing they most definitely had not imagined would arise was that Hopper would be bringing a whole gathering of displaced Atlantians and nomad refugees to live among them while the great city was being rebuilt.
“How are you?” Hopper gushed, throwing his arms around Elder Sage. “How’s Pinkie? How’s Pup?”
When Sage replied with a grim shake of his head, Hopper felt the panic seize him.
“Are they hurt?” Hopper asked anxiously. “Didn’t they make it back to the village after the battle? What’s happened to them?”
From beneath the golden hood Sage frowned. “Nothing’s happened to them,” he said archly. “They’ve happened to us!”
Zucker quickly called the anxious crowd to order, commanding them to waste no time in finding whatever shelter they could. He explained that he and Hopper would return to the palace to confer with their unexpected visitor, and promised that when plans to transition them all to the safety of the Mūs village were finalized, he would send his soldiers to notify them.
“At which time,” the prince declared confidently, “a calm and orderly departure from our compromised location will commence.” Then he turned to Hopper and added in a grim whisper, “Let’s hope so, anyway.”
Hopper rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a pessimist, Zuck-meister. It’s a great idea!” He flashed an eager grin at Sage. “Isn’t it a great idea? If we can just get all these rodents through the tunnels unharmed, they’ll be able to live behind your wall until Atlantia is up and running again. We can pool our resources, build an army. . . .” He broke off when he saw the doubtful look in Sage’s eyes. “What? We can’t build an army?”
“There is much to discuss,” the elder said in a solemn tone. “But not here.”
Zucker immediately dispatched Polhemus and Garfield to escort Elder Sage to the palace in the ramshackle rickshaw.
Marcy also hurried ahead to see what meager refreshment she could find to serve their honored guest. Hopper reminded her to take care. There was no telling what dangers the streets of Atlantia held these days.
“And what of me?” Titus asked quietly. “Will you leave me here to rot? Or perhaps to fall prey to some hunger-crazed feral skulking within the city limits?”
Zucker glared at his father. “Either works for me.”
The iciness in his friend’s eyes made Hopper shiver.
“We’ve set up a makeshift cell for him,” the soldier Ketchum reported, “in the basement of one of the abandoned factories. I’ll deliver him there and post a guard.”
“Excellent,” said Zucker. After a moment’s hesitation he sighed. “You might as well unbind his paws. He poses no threat now. And make sure he gets something to eat.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” said Titus, his voice wavering. “It is a powerful leader who can show mercy where none is warranted.”
Zucker did not reply. When Ketch had taken Titus away, the prince clapped Hopper on the back.
“Great speech, kid. You really can think on your feet when you have to.” He grinned, but there was concern in his eyes. “Let’s get back to the palace and see what old Sage has to say about this plan of yours.”
They had gotten only a few steps out of the square when Hopper remembered Firren. She was in the same spot where she’d been standing during Titus’s mea culpa address, only now her eyes were focused on the ground and she was fiddling with the handle of her sword. This was odd. Firren wasn’t ordinarily a fiddler.
“Aren’t you coming, Firren?” Hopper asked.
“Hmm?” She lifted her face, and her gaze went right to Zucker. “Oh. Well . . . I don’t know. Should I?”
Hopper was about to say, “Of course you should,” but Zucker spoke first.
“Sure. I mean, if you want to, that is.” He gave an awkward shrug. “But only if you want to. It’s entirely up to you.”
“Right.” Firren cocked her head. “Do you think you’ll be needing my help?”
“Obviously we need all the help we can get. And your help is always very . . . you know . . . helpful.” Zucker kicked a pebble on the ground and scratched the back of his head. “Which helps. A lot.”
“Okay, so then maybe I will come along.” Firren shifted her weight from one hind paw to the other. “Then again, I was j
ust thinking, maybe I should go make a quick sweep of the tunnels. Some of the Rangers are still unaccounted for since the raid. That is, if you don’t really need me.”
Zucker gave a slow nod. “Tunnel sweep. Lost Rangers. Also good ideas.”
“Okay. So . . . I won’t come with you, then? Or . . . ?”
“Nope. No need. Unless . . . you want to.”
“Do you want me to?”
Hopper listened to this exchange in utter bewilderment. It was by far the stupidest conversation he’d ever witnessed. What in the world had gotten into these two? Since when did the mighty Firren have difficulty making a simple decision? And Zucker—what was with all the shrugging and stammering and head scratching? He was acting like a total nincompoop—a nervous young rat, fresh out of the schoolroom.
“Well, I don’t not want you to come with us,” said Zucker. “But then again, like I said, it’s your call.”
“All right, then.” Firren drew her sword and forced a smile. “The tunnels it is.”
“The tunnels. Okay.” Zucker snapped her a clumsy salute. “Have at it.”
Firren frowned, returned the salute, then turned to leave.
Just as she reached the edge of the square, Zucker suddenly cupped a paw to his mouth and called, “You be careful out there!”
Firren turned back and smiled over her shoulder. “I will.”
“Good.” Zucker nodded and smiled back. “Good.”
When Firren took off toward the gates, Zucker let out a long sigh and rolled his eyes.
“What was that all about?” Hopper asked.
“Forget it, kid,” Zucker grumbled. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
They entered the palace to find the once-gleaming floors and furnishings thickly coated with dust and grime. The opulent halls, which had bustled with such energy and excitement, were now silent.
And of course, there was the cricket poop.
Scads of it.
Everywhere.
“Ewwww,” said Hopper, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Yucchhkk.”
