by Lisa Fiedler
Then Hopper caught sight of something that froze his blood. A cloud . . . a billowing puff of pure, snowy white emerging from the darkness. For one crazed second he thought the upland blizzard had found its way into the tunnels.
But the white shape was no icy storm cloud, and when Hopper realized what he was seeing, a single word tore from his throat—a desperate command, a panicked plea:
“NOOOOOOOOOOO!”
The racing army halted itself in a confusion of stumbling paws and weapons stalled in flight. Every eye—even the four poisonous-yellow eyes of the remaining two ferals—gaped at Hopper, who stood with his own eyes locked on the elegant white creature drifting cloudlike out of the shadows.
Felina.
Because she was not alone.
Dangling from her daggerlike fangs was the prince.
And he was alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ZUCKER.
Alive.
Barely.
The two ferals saw their chance for escape and bolted, kicking up grimy swirls of dust as they ran.
Felina’s searing, mismatched eyes remained on the Chosen One as she skulked forward, holding the prince in her mouth like some ill-gotten prize. Clasped in her jaws, Zucker dangled like a wet rag. Hopper could see that he was cut and scratched and bitten in more places than he wasn’t. His ears and tail were crusted over with scabs and welted with fresh scars. His eyes were closed and his head lolled as he hung there from Felina’s mouth.
The purr of her smug contentment rolled from her throat like thunder, and her eyes snapped with triumph as they bored into Hopper. She could not speak, of course, occupied as she was with clamping the royal heir between her teeth. But her expression, icy and ferocious, spoke volumes.
“Zucker!” Hopper cried.
The prince flinched in his toothy prison. When his eyes opened, Hopper saw they were glazed and vacant.
Hopper knew that a single movement from him or any of his troops would result in Zucker being eaten. The sense of helplessness shot through him like an electric shock.
Felina was once again calling the shots, making the rules.
Hopper’s only hope would be to surprise her somehow. But with her devilish eyes glaring at them so unwaveringly, there was little chance of that.
“Zucker . . . ,” Hopper whispered, tears springing to his own eyes.
“Hey, kid. How ya been?” Zucker’s voice was a hollow croak, trembling with pain, but somehow his grin did not falter. “Heard you went upland.”
Hopper nodded. “I did.” His mind flashed on all the things he’d seen and done in the daylight world, things he would so love to share with Zucker. He thought of whom he’d met and what he’d learned. . . .
And slowly an idea came to him.
“I made a wonderful friend up there,” Hopper went on, keeping his voice light, the conversation casual. “He’s a cat, if you can believe it.”
“I can believe it, kid. You’re a likable mouse.”
Hopper could see that Felina’s brow was knit low. She was smart enough to know he was up to something; he was smart enough to know that the trick would be not letting her know what it was.
“This friend taught me how to do a really amazing thing. Would you like to hear it?”
Zucker winced. “Well, this ain’t exactly the time for a floor show, kid, but if you really want to—”
“Oh, I want to,” Hopper assured him. “I really want to!”
Then he lifted his head and began to whistle. The shrill sound carried itself away, far into the tunnels.
Felina’s eyes flashed as she slid her glance left and right, wondering what Hopper had intended with all that noise. When nothing happened, she seemed to relax, although she did not release her hold on the prince.
Hopper turned to Firren, who was staring at Felina with fiery eyes. Garfield and Polhemus and Driggs all held their swords aloft, and Hopper knew even the slightest nod from him would send them tearing at the cat with a single, bloody intention.
But he also knew that such a charge would result in instant death for Zucker.
“What is it you want, Felina?” Hopper asked. “You’ve lost the fight. Your ferals have deserted you. Even if you . . .” He paused, searching for a word he could say without being sick. “Even if you . . . consume . . . our prince, you will win nothing.”
Felina clearly did not like having her failure pointed out to her. She narrowed her flashing eyes and ever so slightly tightened her jaws.
“Aaaahhhhggghhh!” Zucker screamed as Felina’s teeth bit into his flesh.
“Stop!” cried Hopper, raising his sword toward the queen cat’s chest. “Stop or I’ll—”
Again the cat bit down on the prince. Zucker winced. This time the noise that escaped him was an agonized growl.
“Release him!”
The voice came out of the darkness, blazing with authority, echoing with might.
Even Felina started at the sound of it, nearly dropping Zucker from her clenched jaws.
“Release him,” the voice commanded again. “Release my son.”
“Titus!” gasped Hopper. He could barely believe what he was seeing. The exiled emperor of Atlantia—his robe tattered, his face drawn—was standing before him.
And then he wasn’t . . . because he was moving.
Forward and with great force, heading straight for Felina. A rasping scream tore from Titus’s throat as he flung himself at her front leg and sank his teeth into the fur.
Felina opened her mouth, letting out a blood-chilling shriek and releasing Zucker from the grip of her jaws.
Firren sprang forward, as did Driggs, placing themselves between the prince and the ground. It was a clumsy catch, but their quick action spared him from a bone-breaking landing.
Felina ignored her lost prize; baring her teeth, she began to stalk the emperor.
“You disgusting beast,” Felina hissed, circling the rat. “You think I won’t devour you simply because we once enjoyed a mutually profitable business arrangement?”
“Devour me,” Titus said, lifting his chin in a defiant pose. “Go ahead. I deserve to meet such a violent and undignified end. Just spare my son. I will gladly sacrifice myself so that he may live.”
Felina laughed, then reached out her front paw and gave the frail emperor a firm swat. The force of the blow knocked him to his knees.
“Oh, Titus. How familiar this all is,” Felina sneered. “Do you remember how you fell to your knees and begged me for mercy before?”
“What are you talking about?” Zucker asked, gritting his teeth against his pain. “What is she saying, Father?”
Titus expelled a ragged breath. “It’s a long story, my son. And it doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters to me,” said Zucker. “When did you ever beg Felina for mercy?”
“Tell him, Titus,” Felina drawled. “You know how I love reminiscing.”
Titus clenched his jaws. “It was long ago,” he began, his voice hollow and distant. “Your mother had just given me the news that she was expecting. I was thrilled and terrified, and I went to Felina to ask her what it would take for her to leave my family alone.”
The emperor’s craggy paw went to the scar that snaked so hideously across his snout.
“She told me that she would spare my litter, and any other rodent to whom I chose to grant my protection, if I agreed to bring her as many rodents as I could lay my filthy paws upon. As I could see no other way to save the pups I had already begun to love, I offered my paw and my word to this evil queen. I thought just one such offense could not be too difficult to endure, so I did as Felina asked. But after the first . . . sacrifice . . . she was so pleased with the arrangement, she decreed that our foul covenant would not be put asunder until she declared it so.”
“I was brilliant,” Felina purred.
Zucker’s face was an unreadable mask. “There was a litter? Where are they?”
“Died,” said Titus with a sob. “Al
l of them. At birth, and of natural causes.” His weary eyes flickered toward Felina, and the hatred in his gaze was unmistakable.
“Time went by,” Felina continued, glowering at Zucker. “You grew up without a clue as to how the peace accord worked. But one day your royal mother came to me, all dressed up in that dangly blue-and-gold necklace of hers, to appeal to my good graces. Unfortunately for her, I’ve never had any of those.” The cat laughed; it was a mirthless cackle. “She had finally learned the truth about the camps and wanted me to do away with the atrocity of the hunting ground. I told her that was fine with me, I would gladly put an end to all of it if she would just give me one teeny-tiny little thing.”
“And that was . . . ?” snarled Zucker.
“What else?” Felina’s eyes narrowed to slits and her fangs glistened. “Her life.”
Firren gasped; Hopper let out a yelp of revulsion.
“And she agreed to that?” asked Zucker, appalled.
“Well, now, I’m not really sure,” said Felina with a flick of her fluffy tail. “She never did get around to answering the question, you see, because . . . I had already devoured her in one tasty bite.”
Zucker roared with anguish; Titus merely closed his eyes.
“But you never did put an end to the camps . . . ,” shouted Hopper. “Or the hunting ground! You told her you would stop the sacrifices, but you didn’t.”
“I happen to be a wonderful liar,” Felina crooned. “In fact, it was a lie that got me this beautiful little bauble.” She craned her white neck to show off her famous red collar. “It belonged to a trusting mother cat I met when I was on death row in an upland animal shelter. She had a litter, three male kittens, all named for playing cards, if I recall. I knew the humans would never take the life of a mama, so I conned her into letting me try on the collar, knowing they would think she was me . . . and guess who got the needle! I got to live, and I walked away with her pretty red collar.”
“You’re diabolical,” said Hopper.
“Yes. And I also happen to be hungry.” Felina glared at Titus, who was still huddled on his knees in the dirt. “I’m in the mood for rat, Your Majesty. Shall I feast on fresh young rebel flesh?” She tossed her head in Zucker’s direction, then leaned down so that her nose was touching Titus’s. “Or should I just settle for rancid old emperor meat?”
Hopper felt his stomach clench as Titus turned his desperate, grieving eyes to Zucker.
“For all that I have done wrong,” he whispered, “I apologize.”
That was his answer.
In one lightning-fast motion Felina dipped her head and clamped her teeth around Titus. A second later he was gone.
Zucker let out a howl of fury just as a streak of black-and-white fur rocketed out of the darkness and slammed into Felina.
“Ace!” cried Hopper.
The cats fought wildly, a tangle of striking claws and gnashing teeth, until the upland cat had pinned the feral queen in the dirt. Dust rose in a choking cloud, and Ace’s green eyes glowed in the midst of it as he bared his fangs and went for her throat.
“Mrrrrowwww!”
When Ace jerked his head up again, Hopper’s stomach turned over at the sight of something red that appeared to drip from his mouth.
“Is that blood?” Firren whispered.
“I hope so,” seethed Zucker.
But as Hopper squinted through the dirt cloud, he saw that it was not a bloody piece of Felina’s flesh that hung from Ace’s jaws . . . it was her collar.
“Get out of here, Felina . . . ,” Ace snarled, gripping his jeweled prize in his teeth. “And don’t ever come back.”
He released Felina, who bounded off, hissing and snarling, into the tunnel.
Hopper watched until her white tail disappeared around a sharp bend. And at that very moment he heard the familiar rumbling from the depths of the gloom. Shadows flickered as a blinding stream of light ignited the tiled walls. Metal wheels screamed along their rails, spitting sparks . . . and the cat queen was running straight for them.
The last sound she made was a shriek of horror that was instantly swallowed by the roar of the train.
Felina’s reign had ended.
The Queen of the Ferals was pronounced dead by Polhemus. The train had done what the rodents had thought to do themselves. And as much as Hopper believed that taking their revenge against Felina would have been justified, he was just as happy not to have her blood on his paws. He may have become a seasoned warrior, but he still did not relish the idea of killing another living creature.
“What shall we do about the lair?” Driggs asked.
“Torch it,” said Garfield. “Burn it to a crisp. Let the memory of Felina and her wicked ferals vanish with the smoke.”
Everyone looked to the Chosen One, who nodded. It was decided that the basketball rats would carry the severely wounded prince the long distance back to Atlantia. Hopper covered him with the patchwork banner for warmth, and Firren would walk with her paw wrapped around Zucker’s limp and trembling one.
Valky, Driggs, and the soldiers, their weapons at the ready, fell into formation, flanking Zucker.
Hopper and Ace would meet up with them in Atlantia later; they had a stop to make.
Then Hopper pointed a steady claw into the tunnels.
“To Atlantia,” he said.
“And mind those train tracks,” whispered Ace.
The triumphant rodent army headed home.
They approached the shoe warily. From a distance Ace examined it with the discerning eye of a typically fashion-conscious Brooklynite.
“Your brother’s got good taste,” he declared, pointing out the quality leather and hand tooling. “Where I come from, humans pay a fortune for shoes like these.”
“I don’t think Pup chose it for its stylishness,” said Hopper. He moved closer to the shoe and cupped a paw around his mouth. “Pup . . . Hacklemesh. It’s me, Hopper. I’m coming in to get you. I just want to bring you back to Atlantia, so please don’t shoot any of that spidery gunk at me this time.”
Hopper waited for a reply.
None came.
His heart thudded.
“Maybe he’s just being stubborn,” Ace suggested.
“Or maybe he’s not. Maybe he’s . . .”
Hopper bolted for the shoe, leaping through the V-shaped opening in the torn seam. “Pup!” he cried, searching the shoe with frantic eyes.
The soft leather insole was stained with blood.
And Pup was gone.
All that remained was a message (written by the spider, Hopper assumed, but dictated by Pup), scrawled in dark stone dust on the interior sides of the shoe. It was a rather long statement; fortunately for Pup, the original owner of the pricey wing tip had had very big feet.
I DIDN’T DIE, the message said.
This declaration came as a great relief to Hopper. He took a moment to still his racing heart before reading on:
I EXPECT YOU HAVE ALREADY FOUGHT FELINA AND PROBABLY WON. BUT I DID NOT ASK YOU TO FIGHT MY BATTLES FOR ME. I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF. I DO NOT WANT, NOR DO I NEED, YOUR PROTECTION.
The next line made Hopper’s blood turn frigid.
FROM NOW ON, BROTHER, IT WILL BE YOU AND OUR SISTER WHO WILL REQUIRE PROTECTION.
If this prediction weren’t bad enough, it was the final three words that actually made Hopper dizzy. Because Pup had concluded his message with this fur-bristling phrase:
PROTECTION . . . FROM ME!
When at last Hopper had recovered from his shock, he and Ace set out again.
“I think maybe he’s bluffing,” said Ace.
“Maybe.” Hopper sighed. “I suppose there’s nothing I can do about it right now.”
“Exactly,” said Ace. “I say forget about Pup for the moment. You should be celebrating. You just defeated the wicked Queen of the Ferals. I think that entitles you to be in a very good mood.”
“Yes,” Hopper agreed. And despite the memory of Pup’s haunting proclamati
on, he smiled. “We really did it, didn’t we?”
“Nice going with that SOS,” said Ace.
“I’m just glad you made it,” said Hopper.
About halfway back to the city the two ferals who had survived the battle appeared in their path.
“Want me to handle this?” Ace whispered.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” Hopper stepped forward toward the spitting cats, his tiny shoulders squared, his paw on the hilt of his weapon.
“Are you hungry?” he demanded to know.
The ferals exchanged glances as Hopper took a step toward them, gripping his sword. “Where did you go when you left Felina’s lair?”
“To the upland platform where the humans wander,” said one.
“Did you find food there?” Hopper asked.
“Some,” said the other. “Bits and scraps. Enough.”
Hopper nodded. “Then I will ask you again and you will answer with honesty. . . . Are . . . you . . . hungry?”
“No,” said the first cat.
“Then leave us be.”
Again the cats looked at each other, confused.
“This is how it is to be in these tunnels from now on,” declared Hopper. “Hunger is the only purpose to hunt . . . not vengeance, not sport, not power. Nature will see to the balance; nature deals the cards.”
Cards. Ace. Hopper suddenly remembered what Felina had said about the litter in the upland shelter—kittens named for playing cards.
As the ferals prowled off toward their smoldering lair, Hopper turned to Ace, who had slung the red jeweled collar loosely around his neck.
“You had a family once, didn’t you, Ace?” Hopper ventured softly. “Brothers named King and Jack?”
Ace confirmed this with a nod.
“And that’s why you wanted to be the one to relieve Felina of her collar?”
“That’s exactly why.” The brave tuxedo cat gave his friend a sad smile. “Because it was my mother’s.”
