Mouseheart

by Lisa Fiedler

  “Very grueling,” Hopper agreed as he attempted to suppress a sniffle. He was ashamed of himself for crying before someone as powerful as the emperor, but it was suddenly all just too much for him. He was hungry and exhausted and now more confused than ever. The Mūs, according to his mother, were his destiny. But according to Titus, they were to be avoided at all costs. How could he know what to do?

  “All will be well, my child,” Titus assured him. There was a warmth in his tone that made Hopper wonder if perhaps these were words the great emperor had yearned to say to someone for a long, long time.

  “Do you think so, sir?”

  “Yes. For you have the friendship of the prince, and such amity is not to be doubted. His affection, when he chooses to bestow it, is as true and as genuine as can be.” The emperor gave a sad little laugh. “Not that I personally enjoy such a relationship with the lad. But I have witnessed from afar the depth of his devotion, and you should count yourself lucky to have it.”

  Titus was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled broadly at Hopper, who inadvertently shuddered in repulsion. The smile disappeared instantly; the emperor actually looked a bit sheepish.

  Now I’ve insulted him, Hopper thought miserably. Wonderful.

  But when the emperor spoke again, there was a softness to his voice that Hopper sensed others rarely heard.

  “I apologize for my smile,” Titus whispered. “Of course, it is the scar that makes it so unseemly.” He used the tip of one arced claw to trace the raised marking that snaked across his mouth. “The result of a brutal slashing I took in my youth, from a feisty feral cat who sought to put me in my place. She succeeded, I will tell you that. Oh, how she succeeded. I carry this scar on the outside, but there are many more I carry within.” He waved his paw and shrugged. “The point, Promised One, is that I am well aware of the chilling aspect I give off when I grin, which is why I endeavor not to do it very often.”

  “So that’s why,” said Hopper. “I thought it was just because you’re the cranky sort.”

  The honesty and innocence of the mouse’s comment inspired a loud, hearty chuckle from the emperor. “I am that indeed,” the emperor admitted, rising from his knees to look out once again over his glittering domain. “It may be, Hopper, that you shall find you have quite a long road ahead of you. Decisions. Choices. Challenges the likes of which you cannot yet imagine.”

  “Great,” Hopper muttered. “I don’t know how I’ll bear it.”

  “But you will,” said Titus, his voice confident. “You see, I understand what it means to be faced with difficult, even impossible choices.” His eyes focused briefly on something far off, and his barrel chest heaved with a heavy breath. “Believe me, I understand. We never know what we might be capable of when we are up against enormous odds. In the end we may lose as much as we gain, but even so, we must do what we must do. I have endured it, young Hopper. And so shall you.”

  Hopper didn’t have the slightest notion of what the emperor was trying to express, but he did like the warmth of the words and the gentle weight of the emperor’s paw on his shoulder. Could it be that Titus was not so filled with brashness and bluster after all?

  Hopper’s tangle of thoughts was broken by the sound of a bell tolling below.

  “Ah, our feast is ready,” said Titus. “Come, friend, let us enjoy the evening. I promise you, the Mūs will not march forth tonight, with their torches and arrows and . . .” He broke off, shaking his head. “I forget myself. I should not fill your head with such insidious images. This night will be a night of joyousness and revelry. Let us go, then, Hopper. Your celebration awaits.”

  There was more food than Hopper could have ever dreamed of laid out on magnificent tables before him: baked goods, fragrant greens and other produce, and crumbs of too many different kinds of sweets to name. Members of Titus’s court—rats, chipmunks, and even a squirrel or two who enjoyed the distinction of nobility—filled the banquet hall to celebrate the arrival of this new mouse. The steady flow of dignitaries and notables who presented themselves to request the privilege of shaking Hopper’s paw caused his chest to swell with pride. He would have liked to tell Zucker how giddy he was feeling, but it seemed they were never alone long enough to share a private word.

  Marcy was one of the serving rats. For the night’s festivities she and the other servants wore more formal uniforms with puffed shoulders and ruffles at the neck and cuffs. Hopper thought she looked lovely, and was touched that she made sure to bring the biggest and best selections of every dish to him first before offering them to the other high-ranking guests. He also noticed that every time she passed their place at the head of the long table, she would pause for just a moment as she passed Zucker.

  “I think she likes you,” Hopper whispered.

  Zucker grinned and bit into a chunk of buttery biscuit. “Marcy’s a doll. But, see, I’m really not the sort of rat who settles down.”

  “Oh.” Hopper leaned back in his chair and rubbed his full belly. “I think I like being the Promised One,” he said. Then he belched.

  “Just don’t let it go to your head, kid.”

  Hopper reached for a grape that was almost as big as he was and began to nibble at the smooth, tart skin.

  Zucker laughed. “Careful, little guy, that thing’s fermented.”

  Hopper didn’t know what that meant, but he did know that the juice of the grape was sweet and fragrant, and it made him feel warm and tingly the minute it touched his lips. The more he nibbled, the more he tingled.

  As the servants cleared the empty plates and goblets from the tables, there was a round of speeches, toasts and testimonials, many of which sang the praises of their beloved emperor, Titus, and cheered the achievements of the Romanus people.

  But the most ringing tributes were those in which all present raised their glasses and drank to the great fortune of having Hopper among their number.

  By now Hopper’s eyelids had grown heavy; the tips of his paws were numb, and his brain felt ticklish.

  Zucker grinned and gently removed the sticky, pulpy remains of the grape from Hopper’s grasp. “I think you’ve had enough, kid. C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

  Hopper felt himself being hoisted up and gently laid over Zucker’s broad shoulder. His eyelids fluttered closed, and he sighed dreamily as a memory of crisp, cozy aspen curls drifted through his mind. He pictured his brother and sister snuggled in the corner, the sound of their breathing lulling him off to sleep.

  As Zucker climbed the stairs, Hopper drifted in and out of awareness.

  “Prince Zucker,” he said in a thick voice, “Imperial Highness . . . Zuck-meister?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you help me find my family?”

  “I’ll see what I can do, kid.”

  Then Hopper heard a door opening, closing, footsteps muffled across a thick carpet. His friend was lowering him onto a soft pallet and tucking a fluffy blanket around him. Again his eyelids drooped and he smiled a groggy smile at Zucker, who stood above him. The rat looked amused but also concerned.

  “Sleep tight, Promised One,” he said softly.

  “Thanks.” Hopper rolled over and let out an enormous yawn. “G’night . . . Marcy.”

  The last thing he heard before his eyes closed completely was the sound of Zucker’s laughter floating out of the room. He did not hear Zucker send for a guard, nor did he hear the prince instruct the sentry to stand watch outside the door until dawn.

  Hopper sighed and snuggled deeper into the softness of the royal bedding to dream dreams he would not recall come morning. It was the end of a night of merry revels; at long last, the palace and all of its secrets fell silent.

  And the Promised One slept.

  Zucker was true to his word. He wasted no time organizing a band of soldiers to search for Hopper’s family. They were his own most trusted officers; their uniforms featured a silver Z-shaped squiggle embroidered directly over their hearts, and they answered to Zucker and Zucker alon
e.

  “We’ll begin at the outskirts, of course,” one of the officers informed the prince. “As it takes time before the newly lost are discovered and collected. Typically they wander for weeks in the distant regions.”

  “Yes,” Zucker agreed. “If they are still a—” He cut himself off with a glance at Hopper. “Let’s just say I doubt they’ve been found and brought to the camps just yet. So cast our nets wide and start looking in the outermost regions.” He turned a placid expression to Hopper. “Tell them who they’re looking for, kid.”

  “Okay.” Seated on a richly upholstered chair in Zucker’s private chamber, Hopper told the captain—a lean and wiry rat called Polhemus—and his second in command—a stout black squirrel named Garfield—exactly what Pinkie and Pup looked like. When Hopper mentioned the white circle around Pinkie’s left eye, Zucker seemed surprised, even a little curious. But he said nothing and urged Hopper to tell the soldiers everything he could remember about the last known upland location of his siblings.

  When the soldiers had all this information, they turned to leave the room. Hopper slid off his chair and scampered along after them.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Zucker asked, his expression amused.

  “With the captain,” Hopper replied. “To find—”

  “Oh no.” Zucker shook his head. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here where it’s safe. Besides, if Titus got word that you’d left the city, he’d have my head.”

  Polhemus and Garfield exchanged bemused glances when Hopper lifted his chin and marched to the chamber door to join them. “I’m going.”

  “Sit down, kid.”

  A stab of desperation pierced Hopper’s heart. “But they’re my family.”

  “Yeah, a family who’ll likely be minus one brother if you go out there and try to keep up with my men.” He folded his arms and nodded at his officers. “These rodents are pros, kid. And those tunnels, as you might recall, can be awfully dangerous.”

  Hopper knew Zucker was right, but it just felt all wrong. He’d let his family down once before, and this might be his only chance to make up for that.

  “But they’re my responsibility,” he squeaked. “I don’t just want to go—I have to.”

  “Listen to me, Hopper,” Zucker said sternly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, every minute counts out there. My soldiers will have to be swift and unencumbered while searching those tunnels.”

  Hopper’s whiskers twitched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Zucker seemed to be fighting back a grin. “It means they don’t need to be worried about having you underfoot while they’re trying to save your kin.”

  Hopper gave Zucker a challenging look. “I won’t get in the way,” he insisted.

  Zucker rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure you will, kid.”

  Garfield cleared his throat. “Young sir,” he began, with a look that might have been warm had the soldier not been such a steely sort. “We applaud your courage, but I agree with the prince. It’s best for all concerned if you remain behind. And if we are fortunate enough to find your siblings—”

  “When you find them,” Hopper corrected firmly.

  “Yes,” said Polhemus. “That is what he meant. When.”

  “When we find your brother and sister,” Garfield continued, “we will bring them directly to you.”

  Hopper looked from the captain to Zucker, then back to the captain. He sighed and nodded.

  “Leave no stone unturned,” Zucker commanded, and Hopper realized he meant that literally.

  Then the prince nodded to his troops, who clicked their heels and marched out of the chamber.

  Hopper watched them until they disappeared down the long palace corridor. He looked up at Zucker with gratitude shining in his eyes.

  “Sorry for being so pushy,” he said softly. “And thank you—I know your soldiers will find them.”

  Zucker’s face turned serious, his smile fading, his eyes growing dark. “Let’s hope for the best, kid, but I have to be honest. The chances of them finding your brother and sister are pretty slim.”

  What Hopper didn’t tell Zucker was that he had a strong feeling deep in his heart that perhaps their chances were better than that.

  He also didn’t tell him that he had a pounding headache. But Zucker figured that out for himself.

  “That’ll teach ya to partake of fermented grapes.” He chuckled, then rang for Marcy to bring something called “coffee.” Marcy brought a wrinkled bean on a silver tray and placed it before Hopper.

  “Upland they grind these up and add water,” Zucker explained. “Here, we just go right to the source.”

  When Marcy was gone, Hopper picked up the bean and began to nibble. Zucker pulled up a chair and sat so that he was face-to-face with Hopper. His eyes darted from one corner of the room to another, almost as though he feared someone might be hiding there.

  “Okay, kid,” he said at last, “there’s something I’ve got to tell you, and it’s kind of a big deal.”

  Hopper’s eyes lit as he looked up from the bean clutched in his paws. “Are they planning another party?”

  Zucker shook his head. “No, big shot, it’s nothing like that. It’s—”

  Before Zucker could get another word in, the door to the chamber flung wide and a guard entered. But this was not one of Zucker’s men with the elegant Z emblazoned on his chest. This guard was bedecked in glittering palace livery. This guard belonged to Titus.

  “Who gave you permission to enter here?” Zucker demanded.

  “His Royal Highness,” the guard answered, his eyes vacant, his expression blank.

  “For what purpose?”

  “To guard the Promised One.”

  Zucker’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll bet,” he muttered under his breath.

  “I am commanded to remain in your and the Promised One’s company at all times.”

  Zucker grumbled, rising from his chair and stomping across the room to his desk.

  With no further discussion the guard positioned himself in the corner of the room.

  Hopper was mildly curious about the “big deal” Zucker had mentioned, but he was enjoying his coffee bean too much to be bothered by it.

  While Zucker busied himself at his desk, Hopper sat in his comfortable chair and nibbled on the treats Marcy had brought with the coffee. Halfway through the bean, as if by magic, his headache disappeared and his fatigue lifted. He felt energized, even a bit jumpy.

  Zucker was just finishing up his work when Hopper leaped off the chair, bouncing on his hind paws excitedly.

  “What are we going to do today?” he asked.

  Zucker pulled a sheaf of papers off a shelf and spread them across the desk.

  Then he smiled.

  If the greatest thing Zucker did for Hopper was to save him from the jaws of the speeding metal monster, the second greatest thing he did for him was teach him to read.

  And in Hopper’s opinion it was a very close second.

  Under Zucker’s tutelage the ambiguous squiggles, lines, dots, and slashes Hopper saw everywhere came alive. They began to make sense, revealing mysteries, telling stories, teaching lessons.

  It was like a secret code, and now Hopper had been given the key.

  Over the next several days Zucker showed Hopper how the once-elusive markings worked, lining up to create words, the words lining up to create meaning.

  Together they spent the mornings hunched over a table in the royal library, where Zucker would patiently explain the sounds made by various combinations of lines and curlicues and squiggles. Hopper was delighted to learn that collectively these were called “letters.”

  In the afternoons, always under the careful scrutiny of the ubiquitous palace guard, they wandered Atlantia and Zucker would quiz Hopper on what he’d learned. Soon enough he was able to read all the signs in the marketplace.

  Then one day Hopper made a fascinating connection: the letters he was learning to recognize w
ere the same symbols that appeared on the sign hanging on the wall of the Great Beyond. Using the skills Zucker had taught him, Hopper tried to sound out the words printed there.

  He was able to decipher SUBWAY. Whatever that meant.

  And BROOKLYN—Hopper recognized the name of the upland borough where, even at that very moment, Zucker’s soldiers were on the march, seeking, searching, and peering into dark corners on their hunt for his lost family.

  ATLANTIC AVENUE/BARCLAYS CENTER. That phrase was slightly more complicated, but he assumed it had something to do with Atlantia.

  Then came the letters that, for some reason, were printed inside a series of multicolored circles:

  B – D – N– R – Q – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5

  Either this was a word Zucker hadn’t gotten to yet, or it wasn’t a word at all. Hopper tried to read it aloud, but the sound that came out of his mouth was meaningless:

  “Buh-duh-enn-are-cue.”

  “Don’t waste your time, kid,” Zucker advised. “I’ve been trying to make sense out of that one for years.”

  Hopper was disappointed. But then Zucker presented him with a tiny, pointy chip of smooth gray substance.

  “It’s graphite,” the rat explained. “From a pencil point. You use it to write with.”

  Hopper was dumbstruck. Now not only would he be able to read, but he’d be able to record his own squiggles and slashes and symbols and turn them into words. He could set down his own thoughts and ideas on paper.

  He would be able to write!

  As the days went by, Hopper stayed busy, visiting the city and working on his reading and writing lessons. Every few days either Captain Polhemus or First Lieutenant Garfield would materialize in Zucker’s office with their report on the search for Pinkie and Pup.

  Then Zucker would raise an eyebrow in silent inquiry, to which the solemn-faced soldier would always reply with a curt shake of his head.

  And Hopper’s heart would break just a little bit more.

  But still, he did not give up hope.