by Lisa Fiedler
On one visit to Atlantia, Zucker was called upon by two merchants to settle an argument, as was his royal duty. While the prince heard the shopkeepers’ grievances, Hopper took advantage of the bodyguard’s interest in the heated debate to slip away unseen. He wandered about, taking in the sights with his usual wonder and awe.
He came across a small park, where several young rats were playing happily, laughing and swinging back and forth, teetering up and down. The sight tugged at Hopper’s heart. How Pup would have loved such a place! For a moment Hopper found himself scanning the area just in case his tiny brother, by some miracle, was among the young ones enjoying the delightful play space.
“What are you doing here?”
The frightened voice startled Hopper from his daydream of Pup on the swinging contraption. “Me?” he asked.
The boy rat who’d asked the question nodded, eyeing Hopper cautiously. “Yeah. You!”
Hopper smiled his friendliest smile. “I’m a guest of Prince Zucker. Just seeing the sights is all.”
A little girl rat who’d been jumping rope joined the boy rat. “I don’t think our prince would ever welcome the likes of you!” she snapped.
Hopper frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
In reply the girl flung her arm out and pointed; Hopper turned to see a faded paper poster tacked to a pole behind him. The poster featured a headline—boldly printed with words he’d never seen before, but thanks to Zucker’s tutoring, he could read it easily:
BEWARE THE ENEMY MŪS
Hopper’s eyes widened. There was a sketch of a face beneath the warning.
And it looked an awful lot like his own! Just like the crudely drawn image he’d seen back in the tunnels, but without a white circle of fur.
“Y-y-you get out of here, Mūs,” said the boy, drawing himself up. He was attempting to be brave, but Hopper could see him trembling. “We’ve heard the stories of your kind! You’re vicious and coldhearted. You’re the reason why no Atlantian citizen is allowed outside the walls of the city! Emperor Titus makes sure we all hear of it every time your tribe makes a threat to our peace.”
“But I’m not a—”
“Now!” the girl echoed, her voice quivering. “Or else I’ll scream for the guards!”
Hopper gulped and nodded. He wasn’t in the habit of frightening children, and the injustice of this accusation stung him. “I’ll go, I’ll go,” he said, holding up his paws and backing away. “But, truly, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
The young rats simply glared at him.
When Hopper had backed up as far as the pole, he paused to take a closer look at the sketch. A roiling sickness filled him. If there had been a toothy chunk missing from the ear and a white tuft around the eye, it could easily have been a drawing of Pinkie.
Or of him!
But the poster was faded, clearly having been hanging on the pole for some time. The color was hard to define, and the edges of the sketch were blurred. It was torn in places; the nose was practically missing, and half the mouth was obscured with grime.
It could be him. Then again, maybe it couldn’t.
“I’m not one of them,” he told himself. But a tiny kernel of doubt, a sickening little seed of terror had begun to take root in his gut.
At the edge of the park Hopper stopped to catch his breath; his heart was skipping in his chest like the girl with the jump rope. Maybe he was a Mūs. Maybe his mother had mentioned them because they were distant relations.
The thought of being descended from the bloodthirsty tribe Titus so loathed, made Hopper dizzy.
But then perhaps the Mūs had been good once. Perhaps his mother had been remembering ancestors who were kind and morally upright. And she had simply not lived long enough to learn of their evil transformation.
That was possible. Sickening but possible.
Fine, Hopper decided. So perhaps there is a chance I may have the slightest trickle of Mūs blood in my veins. That doesn’t mean I am anything like the horrific creatures. And it certainly doesn’t mean I have to reveal the truth to anyone!
“There you are, kid,” came Zucker’s voice from down the block. “Sorry about that. Politics. You know how it is.”
Hopper swallowed hard and forced a smile, avoiding the glare he got from the guard. “Yeah, Zucker,” he squeaked. “I know how it is.”
But he was silent all the way back to the palace, trying to force the poster and the disgusting thoughts that went with it out of his mind. For the first time in his young life, Hopper had a secret. A dark, despicable secret.
He was going to keep it at all costs.
In the evenings Hopper would dine at the royal table with Titus and Zucker, and Titus would ask him about his former life up on the earth’s surface.
One night when Zucker was detained by a consultation with his blacksmith over the forging of a new sword, Hopper found himself seated at the table with just the emperor. As always, Titus was gorging himself on sugared morsels of fruit and baked goods.
“Now then, Hopper, what has the prince told you of our philanthropic activities?” the emperor asked. “Has he informed you of the extent of our charity?”
Hopper shrugged. “I don’t think so.” Then he smiled. “But he did show me the life-size chess board in Atlantia Park. The pawn piece is bigger than I am!”
“So he has yet to tell you about our refugee camps? I’m not surprised.” Titus shot Zucker, who was just hurrying in from his meeting, a furious glance. “Our young prince fancies himself quite the warrior, but he has little interest in my benevolent works.”
Zucker lowered himself into his chair stiffly. “Benevolent?” the prince challenged through tight lips.
“What are you implying?” his father snarled. “Those unfortunate souls are fed and cared for in our camps. They enjoy the hospitality and guardianship of the Romanus.”
“Yeah, sure they do.” Zucker narrowed his eyes. “Right up until the moment they—”
A heavily armed footman appeared at Zucker’s side so suddenly, it was as if he’d been conjured by black magic. The prince stopped speaking in midsentence, took a deep breath, then changed tactics. “If you’re so proud of these camps, why just tell Hopper about them? Why don’t you let me take our guest on a tour?”
Titus’s eyes widened. “Tour?” he spat. “You know I have expressly forbidden you from setting one paw inside those camps. And with good reason.”
“But surely you’ll make an exception for the Promised One,” Zucker pressed. “Surely you want him to see these delightful communities you’ve so benevolently established.” He gave the emperor an exaggerated wink. “After all, sire, what better way to gain his loyalty than to let him bear witness to the very manifestation of your kindness?”
“But I am already loyal to—” Hopper squeaked with enthusiasm.
Zucker’s paw came down firmly on his shoulder, silencing him.
“C’mon, Highness. Let me take the kid on a field trip. I’ll behave myself.”
“You do make a sound point,” Titus murmured. “Hopper should see the camps. . . .” The emperor stroked his chin as he mulled over the idea.
“I’d be honored to show the Promised One the refugee communities of which you—indeed, of which all Atlantian subjects—are so justifiably proud.”
Titus glared, considering the request.
Zucker shrugged. “But then if you’d rather I didn’t instill a greater love of our domain in Hopper by showing him your camps—”
The emperor’s gnarled paw came down with a slap on the arm of his chair. “You will take the Promised One to visit the camps tomorrow!” Titus instructed with a glower. “Do you understand?”
The young royal grinned and bobbed his chin in a satisfied nod.
Titus leaned back in his chair, curling his long, spiky whiskers around one long claw. His eyes locked on the circle of white fur around Hopper’s eye.
Hopper squirmed. “Is something wrong, sir?”
&
nbsp; “I’m just intrigued,” Titus said in a raspy voice, “by that peculiar marking of yours.”
“Oh.” Hopper gulped. He’d never been appraised so intently before, and Titus’s gaze was unnerving. What about that mark did the emperor find so interesting? Was it really that unusual? Could it be that only he and Pinkie, in all the world, possessed such a marking?
Then, as swiftly and unbidden as it had the first time, the hazy memory of that second heartbeat leaped into Hopper’s head. In his mind’s eye he saw a regal face; he pictured two black eyes glinting with love and intelligence.
And one of them was encircled in a ring of pure white.
Hopper felt a jolt of . . . something—a sensation that was part recognition, part intuition, but was also mingled with a tremor of fear. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Titus that the marking was not so special—it was not even unique to him. His sister and perhaps even another member of his family both had borne the same white sphere.
But before Hopper could say anything, Titus wrinkled his scarred nose and made a brushing gesture with one gnarled paw. “Off with you now.”
Hopper popped out of his seat, made a quick bow, and went scampering out of the dining room with Zucker hot on his heels. Hopper’s stomach was churning; his breath was coming in sharp gasps.
Something in Titus’s eyes had made him very nervous.
Hopper did not know why. But he did know he was glad he hadn’t revealed what he’d just remembered. It was becoming clear to him that there was a very important mystery behind that white marking of his.
A mystery he wasn’t yet ready to solve.
chapter thirteen
PER THE EMPEROR’S ORDERS, the very next morning Zucker took Hopper to the refugee camps. As usual, Titus’s hulking soldier attended them. By now Hopper was becoming used to the burly presence that followed them around like a militant shadow.
As always, Zucker was not pleased about having the guard tag along as they wound their way through the charming residential neighborhoods and onward into the tidy commercial district. Then they took an unfamiliar turn and ventured into an area Hopper hadn’t been to before—this was the industrial section.
“What happens here?” Hopper asked.
“That’s where the scavenged goods get repurposed for better use,” Zucker explained absently.
“Scavenged?” Hopper asked.
“Uh, well, that’s when merchants or scouts get special permission to go outside the city walls and travel upland to where the humans are. They seek out all sorts of items—objects and articles the humans leave lying around—and they transport them back here, where the factory workers resize or reimagine them to make them suitable to our needs.”
“Scavenging sounds a lot like stealing,” Hopper said.
Zucker frowned at him. “We’re rats, kid. It’s what we do. And if you’re going to judge, then judge the humans for being so sloppy and wasteful and cavalier. That’s not our fault, and besides, our survival depends on their carelessness!” He shook his head. “Well, on that and some other significant factors. But the point is, if the humans can’t be bothered to protect their belongings, why should we feel bad about appropriating them?”
“Okay, okay,” muttered Hopper, dropping the subject. Zucker was particularly edgy this morning. Hopper wondered if the prince was just nervous since this would be his first time visiting the camps in a while.
They made their way through the block of smoking factories without another word.
It was a long walk, and Hopper’s legs were beginning to ache from the effort of keeping up with Zucker. In an alley he had to pause to catch his breath.
“Tired, kid?”
“A little.”
Zucker poked two claws into his mouth and let out a long, shrill whistle. The next thing Hopper knew, the opening of the alleyway was filled by the face of a gigantic gray cat.
Hopper looked up into the shining yellow eyes of the feline, then squealed and ducked behind a trash can.
“Easy, Mr. Promised One,” said Zucker. “She’s our ride.”
“Excuse me?”
Zucker swept Hopper up from behind the garbage can and boosted him onto the cat’s silky back before gracefully leaping up himself. The guard climbed on as well, but even the presence of his heavy sword failed to calm Hopper’s fears.
“She’s going to eat me!” Hopper cried.
“No, she won’t.” Zucker made a clicking sound with his tongue, and the cat began to walk in a graceful, slinking stride.
“Back in the day the cats down here pretty much ruled the place. It wasn’t safe for a rodent to roam the tunnels for fear of being flattened by one of their gigantic paws, or torn to bloody shreds—”
Hopper cut him off with a shudder. “I get the picture.”
“Right, sorry.” Zucker reached out and tugged gently on the nearly transparent tip of the gray cat’s ear; obediently she veered left. “Anyway, Titus was just a flea-bitten commoner at the time, but he had big goals for himself. So with nothing but his wits and his political wiles, he boldly presented himself to the Queen of the Ferals, a steely white angora named Felina, and made a revolutionary proposition.”
“What was it?”
Zucker grimaced and cleared his throat. Before he began speaking again, he flicked a cautious glance at the guard. “Well, it was before I was born, and the details are kind of difficult to explain. Suffice it to say, Felina was intrigued. For weeks she and Titus met in secret, negotiating and debating, until finally Titus—raggedy little nobody that he was—emerged from the queen’s lair with a newly forged peace accord. And from that day to this, the felines have been sworn to refrain from preying upon any rodent who resides in the city of Atlantia or who is in any way associated with the Romanus. They do this in exchange for certain”—again Zucker eyed the guard before making a rasping sound deep in his throat—“arr-hmm . . . for certain mutually profitable trade considerations.”
Hopper couldn’t imagine what mutually whateverable trade whatchamacallits might be, but there was something inspirational about a lowly tunnel rat having the guts to strike a bargain with the Queen of the Ferals.
“Needless to say,” Zucker continued in a pinched tone, “Titus’s truce placed the entire rodent population in his debt. So he proclaimed himself emperor, commissioned the construction of the palace, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“How do you know all this?” Hopper asked. “If it happened before you were born, I mean?”
“It’s the story of our proud beginnings,” Zucker said dully. “All Atlantian children learn it as soon as they’re old enough to understand. Me, I had a royal tutor when I was a kid. When he wasn’t nodding off and snoring, he imparted the historic details to me.” The prince gave Hopper a mirthless grin. “The ones deemed suitable for public knowledge, anyway. But I knew there was more to the story, so I did what you might call an independent study, furrowing out and piecing together the bigger picture for myself.” He leaned closer to Hopper so the guard couldn’t hear. “I’ll tell you all about it, kid. Very soon.”
By now they had arrived at the mouth of a rusted pipe, and the gray cat lowered her head to allow them to disembark.
Feeling brave, Hopper reached up to gently pat the soft fur of the cat’s lean leg.
“Thanks for the ride, girl,” he said.
The cat smiled and rubbed the side of her silky face against him.
Zucker told the feline to wait for them, as they’d only be a few minutes.
Then Hopper followed Zucker into the pipe, and with the guard close behind, they began their descent.
Halfway down, the trio had to press themselves against the pipe’s curved wall to make room for two burly sentinels who were making their way up the narrow passage. They were dragging a filthy, wriggling rucksack. Hopper could hear faint but frantic shouts coming from within the burlap sack.
“I call upon the mystical power of La Rocha to strike you down! La Rocha’s spirit
will see to my safety!”
One of the guards jerked his paw toward the sack, landing a good hard kick in the center of the slight bulge within it. Instantly the squirming ceased.
Hopper’s bodyguard grinned. It was the first expression of emotion Hopper had ever seen him display.
Hopper, on the other hand, felt queasy.
When the guards had gone on their way, Zucker sighed and continued down the scooped pathway of the pipe.
“What was that all about?” Hopper asked with a shiver.
“Mūs captive.” Zucker’s voice dripped with revulsion. “Every now and then some rogue Mūs scout pretends to be a lost uplander and infiltrates the camps.”
“Why?” asked Hopper.
“To cause trouble, maybe incite an uprising.” The prince rolled his eyes. “I guess the Mūs don’t understand what a great and generous service these camps provide to the poor, lost, wandering ones.”
Hopper thought Zucker sounded like he might choke on his words.
He remembered the face on the poster in the park, and his stomach flipped over. “Are the Mūs truly as bad as Titus says?”
Zucker looked at him closely. The ever-watchful palace guard lifted his chin in anticipation.
A coldness flickered in Zucker’s eyes as he began to speak:
“The Mūs are a primitive and violent tribe of mice who reside deep in the tunnels below the outlying areas of Atlantia.”
He spoke as though he were reciting something he’d memorized, in a tone that was devoid of any conviction.
“Not much is known about them,” Zucker continued dryly, “except that they worship a mystical being they call La Rocha. This in itself is a violation of royal decree; belief in omnipotent beings such as this so-called La Rocha is vehemently forbidden by the throne. Still, according to the Mūs, La Rocha has prophesized that their humble clan will one day rise up to conquer Atlantia, oust the Romanus, and restore life here in the tunnels to the way it was before Titus’s reign.” Zucker paused to chuckle. “Of course, we enlightened, intelligent Romanus citizens look upon such a prophecy as pure fantasy.”
