by Lisa Fiedler
“Hopper.”
“Right.”
“So what are the grasslands?”
Ace took a big bite of eggplant. “The humans call it a park. Lots of open space, plenty of places to burrow, and always food to scavenge.”
Hopper considered this. “That’s very noble of you, Ace,” he said. “I wish all cats felt the way you do.”
Ace swallowed his eggplant and motioned for Hopper to help himself to more. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”
Hopper opened his mouth to reply, which he intended to do with a simple yes. But what came out instead was his whole horrible, exciting, triumphant, and tragic story.
CHAPTER TEN
THROUGH A STREAM OF hot tears Hopper told Ace and Capone everything, from the skinny boy and his snake, to the escape from the cardboard box, to the waterfall that deposited him into the tunnels. He told them about Zucker, and Firren, Pinkie and Pup. He explained the emperor rat’s unthinkable peace accord with the feral queen and told them about all the poor innocent rodents who’d been jailed in the refugee camps and sacrificed in cold blood.
With unrestrained pride he described the rebel victory in the hunting ground, and with profound distress he confessed that the aftermath had turned out to be an unqualified disaster. He spoke of his missive from La Rocha, who’d promised to come for Hopper but never had, and he relayed the grisly tale of the giant exterminators tromping through the city. Finally, he admitted to Ace and Capone that until the moment he’d seen Zucker sprawled beside Firren’s empty cage, he’d still foolishly believed that somehow, some way, he could make it all right.
“Wow,” said Ace. “No wonder you were afraid of me. Sounds like the cats you’ve met have been pretty nasty. That feral queen in particular had a serious mean streak.”
Felina, Hopper thought, picturing her fluffy coat and strange two-toned eyes. “Felina is a monster.”
“What?” Ace’s black ears perked up. “What did you call her?”
“Felina. That’s the name of the feral queen. The one with whom Titus had the peace accord.”
Ace stiffened. “Did she, by any chance, have pure-white fur?”
“Yes,” said Hopper. “She did.”
“And her eyes. Were they two different colors? One blue, one green?”
Hopper nodded. “How did you know?”
“We’ve met,” Ace answered tightly. “Long time ago. I spent some time in the shelter when I was a kitten, and . . . well, this Queen Felina of yours was there too.”
“She’s no queen of mine,” Hopper assured him. “She’s the stuff of nightmares.”
Capone took in Ace’s snarling expression. “No wonder you remember her.”
“I’ll never forget her.” Ace’s eyes grew distant, as though he were looking into his past and not liking what he saw. “Felina was vicious. Heartless. She was never happier than when she was watching others suffer.” He jolted out of his daydream and asked, “Does she still have that red collar with the jewels on it?”
“Last I saw, she was still wearing it,” Hopper confirmed. “Why?”
Ace did not answer. He curled his tail around his body and looked away, saying nothing for several minutes. When he finally spoke again, Hopper was shocked to hear what he offered.
“I’ll help you get back there, Hopper. I’ll personally see to it that you return safely to those tunnels to finish your fight.”
Hopper blinked in amazement. “There’s nothing to go back to. I’ve failed. My friends are dead, my family despises me. I have nothing. Why would I ever want to go back?”
It was Ace’s turn to look surprised. “Because you still have work to do. You’ve got to defeat Felina and rebuild your city. You can’t just abandon your destiny.”
“Who says I can’t?” Hopper sighed and licked a spicy smudge of marinara sauce off the back of his paw. “Why should I go back? Zucker and Firren are dead. The underdwellers who remain don’t care about anything but themselves. And they all hate me for failing them.”
“You said the prince’s soldiers were still willing to fight.”
Hopper felt a stab of guilt, thinking of Bartel and Pritchard and the others. “Yes, but they’re overwhelmingly outnumbered. It’s a fight we can’t win.”
“You can’t win if you don’t try.”
“But I did try. And I failed.” Hopper dropped his face into his paws. It was clear to him that the others would be better without him. Chosen or not, he’d ruined everything. “Can’t I please just stay here with you, Ace? I won’t let the Bellissimo brothers see me, I promise.”
Ace considered this request with troubled eyes. It was so long before he answered that Hopper was afraid he was going to say no.
“All right, you can stay,” said Ace at last. Then he gave Hopper a crooked smile. “I just hope you can handle the snow.”
“Oh, I can!” Hopper assured him. “I definitely can.” He didn’t actually know what snow was, but if it came for him, he would fight it off with his bare paws if he had to. “Thank you, Ace.”
“My pleasure. Now, first thing tomorrow morning, let’s you and I go see if we can help Mrs. Fiorenza with her pest problem. For now, you should get some rest.”
“Yes, let’s,” Hopper said as he snuggled into the enormous pillow. Moments later he was sound asleep.
The next morning Hopper followed Ace down the block to the bakery. Mrs. Fiorenza’s pest problem turned out to be a very sweet family of mice seeking shelter in the warmth of the building’s old stone basement. They’d been forced to move in after the abandoned tenement building where they’d been residing was purchased by a conglomerate of humans who were planning to redevelop the neighborhood.
“Gentrification,” Ace explained, “is almost as bad as traffic. Rodents rarely survive either one.”
Ace sent Hopper into the bakery first, to warn the mice that a cat was about to pay them a visit, pointing out that this was always the trickiest part of the relocation process: rodents weren’t used to being helped by felines, and Ace usually had to calm them down quite a bit before explaining that he was there to help. Hopper could now act as the vanguard, and he was glad he could be helpful.
He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the bakery smelled more marvelous than Bellissimo’s did. Hopper found the mice in their nest by the furnace and told them all about Mrs. Fiorenza’s request to have them removed. He told them there was a cat right behind him, but they shouldn’t be afraid. When Ace came slinking in, the mice were wary, but they didn’t become hysterical.
Ace told them about the grasslands and gave them detailed directions to the park. He also told them to look for a chipmunk named Valky—another of Ace’s rescues—who would be happy to help them settle in.
The mice were grateful and insisted on giving Ace and Hopper a token of their thanks. It was in this way that Hopper discovered the indescribable joy of cannoli.
“For a little guy, you’ve sure got a good appetite,” teased Ace on their way back to Bellissimo’s.
“I think I like Brooklyn,” said Hopper, wiping cannoli crumbs from his whiskers.
“What’s not to love? It’s the best . . .” Ace stopped speaking midsentence.
Hopper followed Ace’s gaze to where a trio of rough cats were stalking a wounded pigeon. The poor bird hobbled about, trying to escape, and with good reason. Hopper could see the ferocity in those three pairs of sulfur-colored eyes.
Ace hissed at the cats; the biggest of the three hissed back.
“Well, look who it is! Ace, the Good Samaritan, all dressed up in his tuxedo.”
“Leave the bird alone,” Ace growled through his teeth.
“Why? We ain’t gonna eat him. We’re just havin’ some fun with him.”
“That’s why I want you to leave him alone.” Ace hissed again. “Now scram!”
The other two cats arched their backs; their fur bristled menacingly. Hopper could see their glistening teeth, but neither of the felines made a move to attac
k.
“How about I trade you the bird for that mouse you got there,” said the big cat. “I could use a little snack.”
Shivering, Hopper stepped closer to Ace. He thought of Cyclops with his many battle scars and his nasty disposition. Compared with these wild cats, Clops had been a gentleman.
“No chance,” said Ace.
The big cat let out a shrill meow, and the other two laughed. Then, without warning, the big cat’s paw darted in Hopper’s direction. Ace’s reaction was like lightning; he swiped his claws at the big cat, and narrowly missed taking a chunk of flesh out of its neck. It was clear to the big cat, as well as to Hopper, that the miss had been intentional.
It was also clear that the next swipe would have a vastly different outcome.
The three cats bolted.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought!” Ace called after them. Then he turned to the wounded pigeon. “Hey, Pilot.”
“Ace.” The pigeon bobbed his gray head. “Thanks for that. I owe you one.”
The bird’s voice came as a surprise to Hopper; Pilot spoke in a deeply pitched coo that was accompanied by a musical burbling—a warble. The sound had a soothing quality that reminded Hopper of the bubbling aquariums back in Keep’s shop.
He’d often watched pigeons swooping through the air outside the pet-shop window and heard Keep complaining about those “rats with wings.” Of course, now that he was personally acquainted with so many rats, this no longer seemed to be the insult Keep had intended it to be.
Hopper had never seen a pigeon up close before, and he’d certainly never expected that one could be handsome. For the most part the bird was a speckled mix of gray and white, with two darker, scribblelike stripes across his lower back and wings. He had a full, proud chest and craggy orange talons on which he strutted and bounced with a kind of jaunty grace. But it was the bird’s long, slender throat that was truly a thing of beauty. The feathers there were shiny and colorful, catching the winter sunlight in a shimmery wash of iridescent pinks, greens, and purples.
“Happy to help,” Ace told Pilot. “And if those bullies bother you again, you know the signal, right? Three short, three long, three short.”
Pilot bobbed his head and let out a series of whistles exactly as Ace had described: three short, three long, three short.
“Perfect,” said Ace, grinning. “That’s the S.O.S. signal. If I ever hear that, I’ll come running. Now, how’s that wing coming along?”
“Getting better,” the bird replied. “Still a little sore, but I think I’ll be airborne again in a day or so.”
Ace nudged Hopper forward. “Hopper, say hello to Pilot. Pilot, this is Hopper.”
The pigeon bobbed his head in greeting, and Hopper offered a wave. Then, with his lame wing drooping, the bird trotted away.
“You stood up to those cats, even though there were three of them,” said Hopper.
“Somebody has to,” said Ace, padding toward Bellissimo’s. “Those cats spend their whole miserable lives tormenting weaker creatures just because they can. They hunt for fun, not for survival. Seems they get some kind of nasty kick out of it. I keep hoping they’ll grow out of it.”
This surprised Hopper. “Do you really think animals can change their ways?”
“Sure,” said Ace. “With the right motivation. Take Capone, for example. He was the scariest stray on the block when I met him. Even the humans at the animal shelter were afraid of him. I think that’s why they sort of looked the other way when he broke out.”
“He broke out of the animal shelter?” Hopper was amazed. Capone sounded pretty daring.
“He was in a bad way when I found him. But now . . . well, Capone is as loyal as they come. All he needed was someone to care about him. There was goodness in him; it just had to be coaxed to the surface.”
Hopper pondered this. He thought of Titus giving his apology in the town square. Could he have been sincere when he said he regretted what he’d done? And Pup . . . he’d been turned into a cold mouse by Pinkie, but maybe with enough patience and attention he could become sweet again. Though he doubted there was any hope for his sister. Pinkie was a lost cause. He said as much to Ace, who laughed.
“Anyone can change, Hopper,” Ace assured him. “Like I said, it just takes the proper motivation. For Capone, part of that motivation was imported salami and provolone cheese. Which I suppose explains his breath.”
Hopper chuckled. Then a thought struck him. The exterminators had said there was a problem with rodents on the subway platforms. Was it only a matter of time before the tunnel cats headed north as well? He frowned, trying to picture it.
“What are you contemplating so intently?” asked Ace, giving Hopper a gentle swat with the soft tip of his tail. “What’s on your mind?”
“I was just thinking . . . now that the ferals don’t have Titus’s sacrifice to look forward to, they might be desperate enough to venture upland for food.”
“They can try,” said Ace, “but the local cats won’t stand for it. The natural resources here at ground level are limited. I don’t care how tough Felina’s guerrilla warriors think they are, they’re no match for a Brooklyn stray.”
Hopper tried to picture Felina tangling with the three tough cats he’d just seen. “You think the neighborhood cats would fight the ferals?”
“They’d fight and they’d win,” Ace predicted. “And that’s only fair. I may not consider any of the feline rabble who roam these streets to be personal friends of mine, but this is their neighborhood, and if anyone’s going to hunt here, it should be them.”
Hopper was stunned by Ace’s nonchalance. The same cat who refused to eat mice and had just gone out of his way to defend an injured bird was discussing feline hunting practices without so much as a shudder of revulsion.
“How can you say that?” Hopper gasped. “You’re talking about cats eating mice. And rats. Don’t tell me you’re actually in favor of that kind of atrocity.”
They had reached the back door of Bellissimo’s; Ace pushed it open. Inside, Capone was lying on his back on the comfy bed, snoring peacefully.
“There’s nothing atrocious about it, Hopper,” said Ace. “It’s the way of the world. The natural order of things. It’s . . . life.”
“But . . .” Hopper’s eyes were wide. “When I told you about Titus’s agreement with Felina, you were appalled.”
“Because that was not natural. That was evil. But when a cat in the wild hunts for his food, it’s part of a larger chain of events. It’s survival.”
“No!” Hopper shook his head. “You can’t mean that. Innocent mice being devoured by evil cats . . . ?”
“Innocence has nothing to do with it, Hopper. And there’s a big difference between evil and hungry.” Ace flopped down in a triangular shaft of sunlight, swishing his tail lazily across the floor. “Have you ever been hungry? I mean really, really hungry?”
Hopper was about to answer with an emphatic yes—there had been precious little to eat in Atlantia these last two weeks—but then it occurred to him that even in the face of a virtual famine, Zucker had somehow seen to it that Hopper and the soldiers were fed. Maybe his time living as a guest in the palace had spoiled him; before the battle there had been sumptuous meals every night, prepared by the royal kitchen staff and delivered to Hopper by liveried servants. Even back in the pet shop Keep had seen to his nourishment. Pellets were placed in his bowl every day; they weren’t fancy, but they were filling. And guaranteed.
“I stopped those hooligan cats from hurting that bird because I knew they weren’t hungry,” Ace explained. “They were just looking for an easy fight. And that would have been wrong.” The cat paused to yawn and stretch. “What do you like to eat, Hopper?”
“Eggplant parmigiana,” Hopper blurted out. Then he thought harder and said, “Fruit. Seeds. Stuff like that, I guess.”
Ace nodded. “Did you know that there are some species of mice who eat meat?”
“Really?”
“Yep. They eat critters. Worms, centipedes, insects.”
Hopper’s insides knotted up as he remembered the musical cricket who’d serenaded him in the tunnel. He couldn’t even begin to imagine.
Or could he? If he were hungry enough . . . if he were starving . . . if Pup were starving . . . could he do it?
“I would never!” he answered, stomping his foot. “I would find something else to eat. Dirt, if that’s all there was.”
Ace smiled. “I do believe you would,” he said gently. “And that’s your choice. But that choice isn’t what makes you a good mouse. And choosing differently, in the name of survival, wouldn’t make another animal bad. Those of us who can fight, fight. We run when we can, we hide when we’re able. Sometimes the hunter wins, and sometimes the hunted goes free. It’s not really up to us. We’re part of a larger chain of events. Nature decides.”
“Nature is unfair,” Hopper protested.
“I don’t know about that,” Ace said, and sighed. “Maybe it’s more fair than we think. We all win and we all lose. Give and take, up and down. In the end maybe it all comes out even.”
“That’s incredibly confusing,” said Hopper.
“It sure is.”
Ace put his head down on his white paws and closed his eyes. Hopper curled up in the sunshine beside him. He knew Ace was telling the truth. It was a tough lesson, but Hopper was beginning to understand that it was one he must accept.
Felina’s bargain had been an ugly one. It had nothing to do with nature, only power. Hopper knew he had been fighting on the side of right. For now he wouldn’t think too much about the bigger mysteries, the ones he couldn’t solve. The wins, the losses, the surprises, the challenges, eating or going hungry, building a mighty city or watching it get obliterated beneath an exterminator’s boots—in the face of all these things one could only be brave and do his best. Hopper was starting to see that there would be times when he would grieve and times when he would rejoice. And there would be times, like now, when he would simply sit and wonder. That was nature; that was life. It was not wholly good or wholly bad. It just was. And what it was, more than anything else, was an adventure.
