Mouseheart

by Lisa Fiedler

Hopper darted a glance at the guard, who was nodding as though Zucker’s speech consisted of undisputed truths. Indeed, everything the rat had just said confirmed what Titus had told Hopper that evening on the ledge.

  “So . . .” Hopper’s mouth felt sticky, and his voice seemed to cling in his throat. “You’re saying that the Mūs are . . . bad?”

  “Yeah, kid,” Zucker answered tightly. “The worst.”

  Hopper couldn’t stand it any longer. “But, Zucker,” he breathed, “I think I’m—”

  “Afraid?” Zucker cut him off quickly and pointedly. “Well, sure you are, kid. But there’s nothing to be afraid of. That whole prophecy thing is ridiculous. And nobody with a brain in their head believes there even is a La Rocha.” He laughed, but it sounded forced to Hopper. “It’s a fairy tale. And as for the Mūs—they’re nothing. Just a rabid little bunch of underdwellers. Mice! Everybody knows mice are not only weak and puny but ignorant, too. Uh, no offense . . .”

  “None taken.”

  “The thing is, the Mūs aren’t even worth thinking about. Because no matter what that cockroach deity of theirs has predicted, they won’t attack Atlantia. Even they know they’d get crushed.”

  Again the guard nodded his agreement.

  Hopper took a moment to digest this. Except for that crack about mice being rabid and puny, the rest seemed logical. Still, the fact that his mother had invoked the Mūs and had urged him to find them continued to baffle him. Before he could question Zucker about that, however, the prince clapped his paws together decisively and resumed walking.

  “Okay, so now that we’ve cleared that up . . .” Zucker let out another burst of phony-sounding laugher. “Let’s get this show on the road, huh? I’d like to finish touring these camps in time for lunch.”

  The pipe deposited them at a gate cut into a wire fence. Two cat guards—friends of the surly Cyclops, no doubt—patrolled the perimeter.

  “New blood?” one of the cats asked, eyeing Hopper.

  “The Promised One,” Zucker corrected coolly.

  When the cat opened the gate, Zucker motioned for Hopper to enter first, then followed him inside. The bodyguard, as always, remained within earshot.

  Aside from Atlantia, Hopper had never seen so many rats, mice, chipmunks, and squirrels in one place. There were elderly ones and young, virile-looking ones. Hopper even saw a few families scampering about. Everyone looked healthy, cared for, and well fed. And undeniably happy!

  Hopper wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting exactly, but this thriving city-beneath-the-city was a very pleasant surprise.

  “Welcome to the refugee camps,” Zucker said flatly.

  “It’s nice,” Hopper observed.

  “Sure. That is, if you aren’t overly concerned with little things like rights and freedom.”

  The guard cleared his throat loudly. Hopper thought it sounded almost like a warning.

  “What I mean is,” Zucker amended stiffly, “if ya want comfortable lodging and three squares a day, this place is paradise. Titus likes to call it a ‘gated community for the marginalized.’ ”

  “Where are they from?” Hopper asked.

  “Well, let’s put it this way: some rodents willingly relocate, and others have relocation thrust upon them. These refugees have all come from the upland. Some of them just kinda ‘dropped in,’ like you did. Others found their way into the tunnels after they were forced out of their nests by the most vile form of human being there is—the Exterminator.”

  “So they’re strangers here too? They came from above like me?” An instant sense of kinship bloomed in Hopper. “Well, this is wonderful. These rodents are lucky to be here.”

  “Yeah, kid,” Zucker said. “They’re downright blessed.”

  “I know it’s not as grand as the palace,” Hopper admitted. “But at least they don’t have to worry about those speeding metal serpents or that Firren and the Rangers.”

  At the mention of the rebel’s name the guard’s ears pricked up; he scowled at Zucker, who muttered a curse beneath his breath, then raised his voice so that the guard could hear him.

  “Titus thinks Firren and her band of mercenaries present a danger to Atlantia, but I say she’s more of a nuisance than anything else. I guess you could say she believes her own hype. She thinks she’s fighting on the side of justice, but she’s really just a little girl with a big sword and an even bigger ego.” Zucker patted Hopper’s shoulder. “The point is, kid, you’re right. These poor lost refugees are much safer here in the camps, living as wards of the state, than they would be out in the tunnels.”

  The guard nodded, satisfied, but Hopper thought he detected some sarcasm in Zucker’s tone.

  “In fact,” Zucker continued, “let’s see if there are any lucky new additions to the camp.”

  He gave Hopper a quick wink as he waved over one of the cat guards.

  “I’d like to have a look at some of your more recent arrivals,” he said with all the authority of his royal station. “Where would we find such newcomers?”

  “Hmm.” The cat frowned in thought. “Well, just this morning we got a litter of baby chipmunks. And I’m expecting a wave of full-grown field mice later today.”

  “No.” Zucker shook his head. “Not that recent. I’m interested in any refugees who might’ve arrived in, say, the last few weeks or so?”

  Hopper tugged on Zucker’s tunic. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m doing exactly what I came here to do,” Zucker whispered. “You didn’t think I baited Titus into sending me down to this god-awful place for nothing, did you?”

  “Baiting?” Hopper repeated. “God-awful? Zucker, I don’t understand!”

  “I’ve sent my men here every day to search for your family, but the guards would only allow them very limited access. I thought of sending some in undercover, but it was just too risky.” Zucker grinned at Hopper, his eyes twinkling. “So I figured the only way to get it done right was to do it myself.”

  Now the cat guard was pointing to a far corner of the fenced-in space.

  “Try the southwest quadrant,” he suggested. “That’s where you’ll find the Orientation Building. New arrivals spend their first few weeks there being debriefed and reeducated.”

  “I think the term is ‘brainwashed,’ ” Zucker grumbled.

  Hopper’s gaze followed the cat’s pointing paw across the vast yard to the southwest corner of the camp. And what he saw there filled him with a joy he could scarcely contain.

  “What is it?” the bodyguard asked.

  But Hopper was already running across the yard.

  “Halt!” the cat commanded.

  Zucker ignored the feline’s reprimand and hurried to catch up to Hopper. “Both of them, kid?” he whispered knowingly.

  Hopper shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. “Just one. But it’s a start.”

  “That’s the spirit. Okay, show me—which one is it?”

  Hopper’s mouse heart nearly burst as he pointed across the distance with a trembling paw. “That one right there. The tiny one. He’s my brother! He’s Pup!”

  chapter fourteen

  “PUP!” HOPPER CRIED OUT. “Pup, over here! It’s me! Hopper!”

  But Pup could not hear him; in fact, no one could. Because Hopper’s joyful shout was drowned out by the sudden earsplitting sound of a horn blowing somewhere just outside the fence.

  Hopper turned to Zucker. “What’s going on?”

  A tiny grin spread across Zucker’s face. “I’m guessing it’s a rebel raid.”

  As the enemy’s horn continued to blare, the guards reacted, blowing their whistles and shouting orders for the refugees to return to their barracks immediately. The rodents obeyed, running as fast as their legs could carry them. Hopper watched helplessly as his baby brother disappeared into a rolling sea of fur and whiskers and tails.

  Hopper darted toward Pup, but Zucker quickly grabbed his arm. “We gotta get outta here, kid!” He was shouting to be heard above th
e commotion. “It’s about to get ugly!”

  “No!” Hopper cried. “Not without Pup.”

  “He’ll be okay!”

  “But—”

  The first wave of panicking rodents reached them, and Hopper clung tightly to Zucker as the mob jostled him. Again Zucker raised his voice to be heard above the din.

  “Listen to me, kid! This is important. Everything I said back there, about the Mūs being bad and the camps being good and Firren . . . it was all a big, fat—”

  Fwump!

  Hopper shrieked as the heavy hilt of a sword came down hard on the back of Zucker’s head; horrified, he watched the prince crumble to the ground. His stomach flipped over when he saw who’d wielded the weapon.

  Standing above Zucker’s lifeless form was the bodyguard.

  “What have you done?” Hopper breathed.

  The guard was returning his sword to its sheath. “Accidents happen.”

  Did they?

  Hopper wasn’t so sure. It was possible that in the chaos the guard had misjudged and unintentionally brought his sword down on Zucker’s skull. It was possible, but if it had been a mistake, Hopper couldn’t help but notice that the bodyguard did not look especially troubled by it.

  Now the guard was slinging the unconscious prince over his shoulder. Hopper was glad for that, at least; the hysteria was escalating, and in another moment Zucker would have been trampled in the stampede of refugees.

  “It is my duty to see you to safety,” the bodyguard barked at Hopper. “Follow me.”

  With no intention of following the guard, Hopper turned his attention back to where he last saw Pup and started to claw his way in that direction. But in the next instant the camp began to fill with the smell of burning wood and choking clouds of thick black smoke.

  Panic became pandemonium. Hopper glanced over his shoulder and saw flames flickering just outside the gates. He heard screaming; he heard crying. There were pleas for help and commands for order. The rodents still ran, although now they could not see nor even breathe.

  Determined, Hopper squinted into the swirling cloud and called for Pup. He thought he caught sight of him leaving the southwest quadrant, but when he tried to change course to reach his brother, a fleeing refugee stepped on his tail and Hopper fell to the ground. Above him the terrified camp rodents were pushing and shoving in their mad quest to find shelter—if Hopper didn’t get out of their path, he would be crushed.

  Hopper hugged his arms close to his chest, squeezed his eyes shut, and began to roll sideways out of the way of the running paws, out of the path of destruction.

  He kept rolling until he collided with the fence, safely out of the fray. Dizzy, he stood up and struggled to find his bearings. The bodyguard was long gone, but if Hopper could find the pipe by which they’d arrived, he could make his way back up to Atlantia. Then he would return to the palace to see if Zucker was all right.

  Unsure of his direction, he did his best to stumble along as the smoke continued to swirl. Bodies rushed past in a charcoal-colored blur, but no one seemed to notice him as he crept along the fence, searching in vain for the gate through which he had entered the camp with the Romanus prince.

  When Hopper’s paw caught on a plank of splintered wood, he pushed the plank aside and saw a hole beneath it. It seemed bottomless.

  Then he heard the heavy clank of metal on metal.

  A duel? An execution? He could not say for sure.

  Another clash of swords and then:

  “Meeeoooowwww!” A keening howl filled with pain.

  Hopper turned to see where the wail had come from. He saw nothing, but in the next heartbeat he heard a deep thud.

  Then through the haze of smoke and flame Hopper spied a petite figure, running toward him with sword drawn.

  “Aye, aye, aye!”

  Firren’s battle cry!

  As she drew nearer, he could see that the sword was bloody.

  “Aya, aye, aye!”

  Hopper had no choice. Holding his breath, he flung himself into the dark chasm of the bottomless hole.

  Unfortunately Firren had the same idea.

  Hopper found himself facedown in the muck. Again.

  Again the world was dampness and shadow.

  Again he was lost and alone.

  But not for long.

  Thump!

  Something—make that someone—had dropped out of the darkness and landed on him, hard. Luckily it wasn’t a particularly heavy someone.

  Firren.

  Sword and all.

  She quickly scrambled off him and raised her weapon.

  But Hopper was too overwhelmed with despair to even flinch. Fighting was definitely out of the question, and running would have been pointless.

  Besides, he didn’t care.

  He had lost Pup. Again. So maybe a sword across his throat wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

  Firren’s sword poked Hopper in the shoulder.

  “Are you all right?”

  The voice startled Hopper. He had been expecting her blade to cut; he hadn’t been expecting conversation.

  “Hey . . . I asked if you were all right.”

  For a ruthless killer rebel, she certainly had a sweet-sounding voice.

  “Just get it over with, please,” Hopper said into the mud, sighing. “I won’t put up a fuss.”

  “Well, a fuss wouldn’t do you much good against my blade,” Firren pointed out on a ripple of soft laughter.

  So now she was laughing at him? Hopper’s humiliation was complete. He summoned his last ounce of energy to spring up and meet her gaze.

  When Firren saw his face, a little gasp escaped her lips. Her eyes widened in surprise, and perhaps something else—disbelief? Excitement? Hope? Hopper wasn’t sure, and right now he didn’t care.

  “Go ahead,” he snapped, throwing his arms wide to make a better target of himself. “Plunge that bloody thing right into my heart. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”

  For a long moment the warrior just stared at him. Her eyes threw glints of light into the darkness. Hopper could see that her silvery cape was rumpled, and her white tunic with its red-and-blue stripes was smeared with dirt and splattered with red splotches—cat blood. He stood there, waiting for the tip of her sword to slice into his belly. Or better yet, his heart. “C’mon!” he prodded. “What are you waiting for?”

  Firren opened her mouth to speak. Then she closed it.

  And then she laughed. Again.

  “You’ve got spirit, uplander. I’ll give you that! You’re standing here on the business end of my sword, and you don’t even have the good sense to plead for your life.”

  “Maybe because it’s not worth pleading for,” Hopper said with a sigh.

  “Still, I applaud your bravery. I mean, it’s foolhearted bravery, but it’s bravery nonetheless.”

  Hopper blinked. Had she just called him brave? Yes. She had. He chose to ignore the “foolhearted” part.

  “I am Firren,” she said in that lilting voice. She reached out a paw to shake. The gesture reminded Hopper of his first meeting with Zucker.

  “Hopper,” he said, accepting her paw. “Um, how did you know I was an uplander?”

  Her eyes flickered to the white circle around his eye. “I just knew.”

  “But how?”

  Firren sighed. “Well, for one thing, the locals know better than to go jumping into mysterious dark holes of unknown origin.”

  “You did,” Hopper reminded her.

  “That’s because I knew where it ended.” Then she smiled at him, and it was one of the loveliest things he’d ever seen. “You look like you could use a friend. Come with us. We’ll give you true sanctuary.” She raised her eyes to the arched ceiling of the tunnel and shook her head. “Not like that evil sham up there.”

  “Titus cares for those refugees, Firren.”

  She frowned. “Already brainwashed, I see.”

  “Those refugees live a good life. They’re fed, given s
helter.” Hopper stopped as he saw the cynicism grow on Firren’s face. “Why is that bad? I don’t understand.”

  “You will. Unfortunately today’s raid was unsuccessful. But next time we’ll get it right. We’ll strike again, and we’ll annihilate that camp.”

  But Pup was in that camp! If Firren annihilated it, then she would be annihilating him! This was a reminder that Titus was right about her. She was a dangerous monster.

  Something ignited in Hopper, just as it had the day Pinkie had bitten him. With a growl he sprung forward, prepared to fight this rebel rat with every last breath in his body.

  But she sidestepped his attack, and in one strikingly graceful maneuver she had both his arms pinned behind him and the tip of her sword pressed to his throat.

  “Like I said. Foolhearted.”

  “My baby brother is a refugee in that camp,” Hopper blurted. “And all those other poor, lost rodents! They’ve suffered enough already, and now you want to burn down the only home they have! Titus was right about you! You’re evil. And Zucker—he said you were just a little girl with—”

  Firren did not release her grip, but Hopper was aware of an immediate change in her bearing. “You know Zucker?”

  Hopper nodded.

  The rat was silent for several seconds. “Zucker is a faithless, self-serving traitor,” she said finally. Her tone was calm, but there was a note of sadness in it.

  “That’s not true!”

  “Well, I say it is, and I’m pretty sure I’ve known him longer than you have.”

  Firren released her grip, and Hopper adjusted his posture.

  “I’m going back, Firren. I need to find my brother.”

  “Believe me, going back to that place will be your doom.” She smiled. “Your brother is safe for now. I won’t be mounting another invasion for days.” She reached into a pocket sewn into the underside of her tunic and removed a length of rope.

  Then Firren cupped a paw around her mouth to call out in a shorter, quieter version of her battle call. “Aye!”

  Two of her Rangers appeared from out of the shadows. She handed them the rope, and they immediately set about binding Hopper’s paws behind his back.

  “Sorry about the rope,” Firren said, “but I can’t be sure you won’t try to escape. You’re with me now, and I swear upon the honor of my very soul that I will keep you safe.” She reached out reverently and traced the white circle as Titus had, only much more gently. “Actually, I swore to protect you long ago.”