by Lisa Fiedler
“Anything to help Ace,” Pilot said, his head bobbing, his tone determined and sincere. “Anything.”
Hopper told the pigeon that if he found Ace—when he found him—he should report that Hopper and the others were safe and heading into the tunnels. “And please ask him to join us there. That is, if he’s . . .” Hopper gulped and chose his next word carefully. “Able.”
They all watched as the half-healed bird lifted off into the bright blue sky.
“If anyone can find him,” Valky assured Hopper, “Pilot can.”
If anyone could find him.
Still, Valky’s optimism made Hopper feel a little bit better, and he was further encouraged when he recalled how Ace’s black coat had made him nearly invisible at dusk. Like two edges of a single sword, Ace’s dark fur would have the opposite effect against the pure-white snow, making him that much easier to spot from the air.
Hopper kept his eyes on the sky until Pilot’s gray tail feathers vanished into the infinite sweep of brilliant blue, and sent up a whispered request for any mystical, magical assistance La Rocha might be able to offer.
Then he led the rodents down to the platform and headed for the gap between the wall and the floor.
They would drop themselves through that portal, from the above to the below, out of the daylight and into the darkness.
And they would continue their journey onward, to whatever remained of Atlantia.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HOPPER THOUGHT HE MUST be dreaming.
As they reached the rolling crest from which Zucker had given him his first glimpse of Atlantia, he’d prepared himself to look not upon the stunning spectacle of spires and rooftops he’d marveled at then, but rather to view only a desolate wasteland left behind by war and exterminators.
What he saw was the beginnings of a whole new skyline—a new Atlantia rising up from its own ashes. Hopper blinked hard in an attempt to dispel the image he was sure was a mirage. But when he looked again, he was met with the same incredible scene.
The city was sprouting up before his eyes.
“What in the world is going on down there?” he asked breathlessly.
Firren shook her head. “I have no idea. It looks as if someone’s rebuilding the city.”
It had been only a short time since they’d landed in the tunnels. As Hopper had expected, the uplanders had been rendered speechless by their first sight of the endless darkness, by the thickness of the air and the smells that seemed to cling to the walls and rise up from the dirt and stones. It wasn’t long before a familiar rumble began to shake the planet, and Hopper and Firren quickly directed the rodents off the metal rails of the tracks. When the subway train came screaming past, they were, of course, terrified and amazed. Hopper took a mischievous sort of pride in their shock. The power of the serpentine machine and his understanding of it were just part of what made the tunnels home. He knew his friends were used to the fresh breezes of Brooklyn Bridge Park and the glittering lights of the Barclays Center. But to him the subway tunnels were just as inviting.
“Welcome to my world,” he’d said with a grin as they set out on their march.
But now he could only gawk in amazement himself at the sight of new rooflines and nearly repaired chimneys. Someone was rebuilding! And it seemed a great dealt of progress had been made in a relatively short period of time. Thrilled and curious, Hopper took one eager step forward, but a firm paw on his arm jerked him back.
“Wait,” said Valky. “What if it’s that nasty white cat you told us about? What if she’s in there right now, reclaiming your Atlantia for her own diabolical purposes?”
“He’s right,” Julius agreed. “The place could be crawling with ferals.”
Hopper considered this. It was possible that Felina had seen the fall of Atlantia as her opening to take over the once-thriving metropolis. After all, it was a fabulous location, with a solid infrastructure. Even following the raid and the exterminators’ wrath, the shell of a beautiful city remained, filled with potential. All Felina would have had to do was bring in her minions to repair the structural damage. That accomplished, she could simply move in, claim Atlantia’s magnificent buildings and parks, and of course Titus’s opulent palace, as her own. And oh, wouldn’t Felina just love that? What a fitting symbol of her ultimate victory that would be.
“I guess it could be Felina,” Hopper allowed, his eyes suddenly drawn to a flicker of movement in the shadows along the tunnel wall. But his hope outweighed his fear, and he ignored the motion. “But what if it isn’t?”
“Isn’t Felina?” Firren knit her brow, wary. “What are you thinking, Chosen One?”
“Just that it could be someone else leading the reconstruction.”
“Who?”
There! By the wall. A flick of a tail. Someone was approaching. Hopper squinted into the gloom and his heart leaped.
A flash of purple, a silvery embroidered Z . . .
The word sprang to his lips straight from his pounding little mouse heart.
“Zucker!”
The prince’s name rang through the air as Hopper galloped in the direction of that unmistakable uniform. He could see, as he drew nearer, that the rat was limping badly, his left hind leg dragging. So the prince had been wounded. But he’d made it out of Atlantia alive, and that was all that mattered.
“Zucker!” Hopper called out again.
But when the broad-shouldered rat in the purple vest stumbled out from the shadows, Hopper stopped in his tracks. He felt as if he’d run headfirst into an oncoming subway train. Because while the dark eyes that met his were keenly intelligent and familiar, they were not Zucker’s.
“Ketchum?” The name was a hollow croak in Hopper’s throat.
The soldier looked at first surprised, then thrilled at the unexpected sight of the Chosen One, safely returned to the tunnels. “Hopper! You’re alive.”
Despite his injury Ketch caught the stunned mouse in a powerful embrace; the silvery stitching of the Z on his tunic pressed against Hopper’s cheek.
It took Hopper a moment to collect himself. He’d been so sure it was Zucker that realizing it wasn’t nearly cracked his heart in two. It was like losing him all over again. Shaking off his disappointment, Hopper smiled at his friend, glad to see that no truly great harm had come to this valiant soldier.
“I thought you were lost forever,” Ketchum gushed.
“So did I,” said Hopper. “And I’m so happy to see that you’re okay too.” His eyes went to the rat’s crudely bandaged limb. “You are okay, aren’t you?”
“Took a cat claw to the leg,” said Ketch. “Could probably use some medical attention, but I’m fine.”
Hopper frowned at the bloody crust caked on the makeshift bandage and hoped Ketchum wasn’t just putting on a brave face.
“What’s going on in the city, Ketch? Who is rebuilding Atlantia?”
The rest of Hopper’s traveling party had joined them now, and Firren stepped forward, her eyes shining with hope. “Is it Zucker? Is the prince alive?”
Ketchum turned away and gave a small shake of his head. “It’s difficult to guess. If he were, I’m fairly certain he would have come looking for me.”
“True,” said Hopper. “What are you doing out here in the tunnels, anyway? Alone!” He dearly hoped the reason wasn’t that Garfield and Polhemus and the others had been lost.
“Well, it’s all a bit hazy. But I’ll tell you what I remember.” He turned to face Firren, wincing at the pain in his leg. “When the exterminators left, the other soldiers and I went in to find you and the prince. When we saw neither hide nor hair of either of you, we hoped you two had somehow saved each other.”
It was Firren’s turn to look away.
“As I said, when the exterminators were gone, the other soldiers and I went back in on a search-and-recover mission. But the ferals returned. They were wild, half crazed with starvation, and more vicious than ever. Without the hunting ground they aren’t enjoying half th
e amount of food they’d grown used to. They prowl the tunnels more savagely than ever now, but they still aren’t satisfied.”
Hopper thought of Pup, on his ill-advised quest, and shuddered. It was all he could do to keep from interrupting Ketch and asking if he’d seen him. But Hopper sensed this was a story the soldier needed to tell, so he held his tongue.
“We fought as long as we could,” Ketch was saying. “Some tabby got his claws into my leg, but I managed to get away.”
“Thank goodness,” said Hopper.
“Yes.” Ketchum sighed. “But it quickly became clear that continuing to engage would mean certain death for all of us, and we were forced to retreat. We left the cats to do what they would with the dead and those who were nearly thus, because we knew Zucker would want us to see to the safety of the rodents who’d escaped. So we took cover and waited out the massacre.”
Hopper closed his eyes. The images that spun in the darkness behind his eyelids were gruesome and nightmarish. He saw the cages as though they were still right there in front of him . . . the torn pelts, the broken paws, the vacant, lifeless eyes.
“One of the cats saw us retreating,” Ketchum continued, his tone darkening. “He followed us outside the walls.”
“Oh no,” Firren gasped.
“What did you do?” asked Valky, mesmerized.
“We scattered. I took the old lady mouse with me. . . . You remember, Beverley? The one who wore that old apron all the time?”
Hopper nodded, glancing again at Ketchum’s bandage, with a knot of dread forming in his gut.
“I was bleeding pretty badly, so I could do little more than hobble. And Beverley wasn’t much faster. Didn’t take long for the cat to realize we were the easy prey. So he came after us. I fought him as best I could, but the pain in my leg was unbearable. The animal had disarmed me and I was helpless. I knew it was the end for me, that the cat was about to devour me, and then . . . then . . .” His voice caught.
“Then what?” Firren prompted gently.
“Beverley threw herself in front of me, shielding me from that monster with her own frail body.”
Hopper gasped as he imagined the old mouse in her tattered apron performing such a courageous act.
“I begged her to run,” Ketchum said with a haunted look. “But she just smiled and pressed her fragile paw to my shoulder . . . pushing me away!”
How selfless, thought Hopper, brushing the tears from his eyes. How heroic. He bowed his head and found himself whispering to La Rocha, asking for his mystical blessing upon the old mouse.
“The cat was utterly perplexed,” Ketchum recalled. “This unexpected turn of events threw him for a moment.”
“And that gave you time to escape,” whispered Julius. “Wow. Talk about teamwork.”
Ketchum nodded. “I suppose to him, when it comes to supper, one rodent is as good as another. He was tired from the battle and from what meager fight I had been able to give him, so as I staggered to safety, he didn’t chase. He had a perfectly good meal option standing right in front of him, offering herself up without a struggle.” Here Ketchum paused to slowly shake his head, then turned a look of bemusement to Hopper. “It was the strangest thing, Chosen One. Beverley was perfectly calm. And I’ll never forget what she called out to me as I escaped.”
Hopper swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. “What did she say?”
“She said, ‘I make this sacrifice with a pure and happy heart. I’ve lived a good long life. Save yourself.’ Then, in one swift movement, the cat dipped his head and Beverley was gone.”
Hopper could almost feel the points of the feral’s razor-sharp teeth sinking into his own skin. And suddenly Ace’s words were repeating in Hopper’s mind: A larger chain of events.
“When the feral at last took his leave,” Ketch went on with a heavy sigh, “I came out of hiding, back to the place where Beverley had given her life in exchange for mine. All that was left behind was this.” He reached into his purple vest and withdrew a piece of fabric—it was half of Beverley’s familiar apron. “I tore it in two and used some to wrap my wound.” He shrugged. “I kept this half too. . . . I really don’t know why.”
“I do,” said Hopper. “May I have that?”
Reverently Ketchum handed him the scrap of material, and Hopper slipped it lovingly into his pocket, beside the pink ribbon, the torn piece of Zucker’s tunic, and the rest.
To keep.
To cherish.
To remember.
They allowed a moment of silence for Beverley, then Valky piped up in an optimistic tone. “The good news,” he said, “is that someone is rebuilding the city.”
“But who?” asked Hopper.
The soldier shrugged, taking a cautious step on his wounded limb toward the city. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m just as eager as you are to find out.”
As they made their way onward to Atlantia (slowly, to accommodate Ketchum’s limp), Firren kept sneaking worried glances at his wound.
Hopper was now prepared to ask the question he’d refrained from posing during Ketchum’s heroic tale.
“Ketch, do you by any chance happen to know anything regarding my brother Pup’s whereabouts?”
The soldier shook his head. “I’m sorry, Chosen One. But I’ve been in and out of consciousness since the battle, and I’ve neither seen nor interacted with anyone. I’d only just begun contemplating a trek back toward Atlantia when I noticed your little band approaching. As far as Pup goes, the last I heard, he was in the Mūs village, doing Pinkie’s bidding.” Ketch gave Hopper a confused look. “Is that no longer the case?”
“The situation has changed dramatically,” Firren said, then went on to explain about Pup’s plan to face Felina on his own.
They trudged onward, stopping occasionally to allow Ketch to rest, and peering into the dusty gloom for signs of Pup, renegade rodents, and of course lurking ferals. The rats showed Ketchum their newly forged weapons—swords fashioned from car keys and apartment keys and safe-deposit box keys.
The soldier was both amused and impressed. “Once in my younger days I made a staff sling out of a toothpick, some dental floss, and an aggie marble.”
A short distance before they reached Atlantia’s iron gate, a burly black squirrel stepped out of the darkness wielding a blade. Hopper let out a squeak of alarm, but in the next heartbeat he recognized the shadowy figure.
“Garfield!”
Garfield blinked, then his face lit up. “Chosen One? Firren! Ketch, you’re alive.”
“Every one of us,” Firren confirmed.
Hopper accepted the lieutenant’s paw for a firm shake, then choked up when Garfield turned to Ketchum, eyes filled with relief at seeing the friend he feared had been lost. The squirrel offered his comrade a salute, which Ketch returned, swaying on his injured leg. When Garfield noticed the bandage, he immediately placed his shoulder under Ketch’s arm and made of himself a crutch to support his fellow soldier.
“Let’s get you inside the walls, brother,” he said.
“Yes,” agreed Ketchum. “Let’s.”
Hopper swallowed hard and sniffed. This was one of the things he’d missed in his time away from the tunnels. This sense of connection, the unqualified devotion.
Zucker . . .
“Wait!” Hopper cried. “We’re going in? Does that mean it’s safe? Felina and her ferals aren’t the ones who’ve commandeered Atlantia?”
“Not by a long shot, Chosen One,” said Garfield, a grin appearing on his ordinarily steely face. “Not by a long shot.”
It wasn’t far now, and as they made their way to the gate, Firren asked about Leetch and her Rangers. “Have you seen them? Are they okay?”
“Well,” said Garfield, attempting to sound hopeful, “we have no proof that they aren’t okay.”
It wasn’t the answer Firren wanted.
“As I’m sure Ketchum explained, after the exterminators’ blitz and the ferals’ attack we scattered. Amo
ng those who returned were two of your Rangers. They reported that although they did not know for sure, they suspected most of their brethren had gone off into the tunnels to do what they could about protecting any wandering rodents.”
This had Firren smiling with pride. “That’s what they have been trained to do,” she said. “Under current circumstances it’s more risky than usual, but with any luck they’ve been holding their own out there.”
She didn’t say so, but Hopper was fairly certain that Firren would set out on a mission to locate them, first chance she got. “What of the rest of Zucker’s soldiers?” he asked. “And Marcy? Did Marcy survive?”
“Marcy is safe,” Garfield assured him. “Although she’s been a bit hard to pin down. Occasionally I’ve seen her with her brothers, patrolling the outer boundaries of the city. Other times”—he shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t supporting Ketchum—“she’s gone for days. Where she goes and why, I do not know, but this much is clear . . . she’s as brave as they come and she’s becoming quite the warrior.”
Hopper was beyond pleased to hear this. He couldn’t imagine where Marcy would be taking herself off to, especially given the state of unrest in the tunnels at the moment, but he knew that she’d always been much tougher than she looked. And smart! He put aside his worry with a fond thought for the pretty maid who’d once taken such good care of him and Zucker. Whatever she was up to, he was sure it was worthwhile, and he wished her well.
The sounds of construction reached them through the open gate. The gate Hopper had first walked through as Prince Zucker’s royal guest. Cyclops, the one-eyed wastrel, had been in charge then, and Hopper had been terrified to the depths of his soul. But today the iron gate—which had been scrubbed and polished to a midnight gleam—stood wide and welcoming.
Still, Hopper hung back, unable to step through it. His mind flashed back to his last image of the place. Zucker unconscious on the ground, blood everywhere. Stinking humans, tromping around with only one goal in mind—destruction! He imagined their footprints like scars in the dirt. He could not bear to look upon those again. Ever.
