by Lisa Fiedler
Hopper had never been brave before. But Firren herself had said he was.
So perhaps it was true. Pinkie may bear the mark and the heritage, but Hopper fit every criteria from the Mūs text.
“It is decided, then,” Sage proclaimed in a solemn tone. “Hopper shall lead us.”
The look Pinkie hurled at Hopper was heated enough to singe his whiskers. But Hopper barely noticed. He was too astounded by the announcement that they were appointing him to lead a mission.
The thought nearly paralyzed him.
First of all, he was utterly untested and inexperienced in the ways of war. And second of all, he wasn’t even on their side!
Of course, they did not know that.
Firren must have seen the panic in his face. Quickly she removed herself from the crowd and drew Hopper aside.
“Chin up, little one,” Firren said softly. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. I know you’re afraid. I know this is a daunting proposition for one so small and untried. But the prophecy says that the Chosen One will be innocent. And I’ve never met anyone more innocent than you!”
Did she think he was worried about failing her and the Mūs? That was ridiculous.
And yet there was such sincerity in her words and such kindness in her voice.
Liar!
“Courage,” she continued, “is a complicated thing. Most think that having courage means never being frightened. But that is untrue. Real bravery is doing what needs to be done, even if what needs to be done terrifies you to the depths of your soul. Being immune to fear isn’t courage—it’s idiocy! Life holds many dangers. It is the mouse who feels fear but takes action in spite of it who is the most heroic of them all!”
Hopper remembered how frightened he’d been in the camp when the rebel horns had blown and the smoke had swirled in like a dark spirit. He remembered the fear that overtook him. And he also remembered that in spite of it, he could focus on only one thing: finding Pup. He would have walked through those flames to get to his brother, if only he’d known where Pup was.
Maybe Firren, vicious, dishonest usurper that she was, for once was speaking the truth.
They returned to the table, where the Mūs General DeKalb was showing them maps that were included in the Sacred Book. They were old and also faded, and the pathways they marked seemed to be a pointless tangle.
Hopper immediately recognized the word “Brooklyn” on the big map, and the familiar colored circles with the letters inside. This was a map, a map of the rails and tracks that carried the speeding monsters—the subway trains! Their destinations were clearly noted, and there were numbers that indicated which trains arrived at which stops.
So that was how the humans did it. They had a map! And a schedule.
A quick glance around the table told Hopper that none of the other mice or rats had made the connection.
Good. He would keep this to himself. He had no idea how the information might be useful to him, but on the chance that it would, he was not about to share it with Firren and these dreadful Mūs soldiers.
chapter eighteen
ALL THAT WAS LEFT was to receive La Rocha’s blessing.
Sage excused himself and disappeared into the sanctuary where the deity lived in seclusion from all except the Tribunal. This sacred chamber was built into the long, narrow smokestack of the engine and was heavily guarded by armed sentinels.
The assemblage waited.
It seemed to Hopper that in the entire time Sage was gone, no one moved. No one even breathed.
When at last he returned, he opened his arms and said, “The wise and benevolent La Rocha deems it right and necessary that we join with Firren and her Rangers in this worthy endeavor to defeat Titus.”
A cheer went up from the gathering, echoing off the gleaming steel of the engine’s walls.
“A small contingent shall go forth with the Rangers now. The remainder of our forces will prepare and follow soon after. Pinkie, sister of the Chosen One, shall go along at this time, and assist her valiant brother in leading this mission.”
Pinkie’s whiskers twitched as she scowled, not happy about “assisting” anyone, let alone her brother. But there was nothing Hopper could do about that.
Well, fine, then. If they were going to follow him, he would take his cue from Firren and become a boldfaced liar. She’d twisted the true purpose of the camps in order to enlist the Mūs. So why shouldn’t he be equally conniving?
And Zucker—he’d already played this game, making Firren believe he was on her side when all along he’d . . . well, Hopper wasn’t exactly sure what Zucker had been doing back then, but he’d fooled Firren—that much was clear.
So if Firren could lie, and Zucker could make believe, then Hopper could too.
He would pretend. He would fool Firren, letting her think he welcomed this role of the Chosen One. Then the very first chance he got, he would dash for freedom. Somehow he would find his way back to Atlantia and warn Zucker that the Mūs had united with the rebels.
Titus deserved at least that much. He had treated Hopper with kindness and respect. Sure, he was gruff, and sometimes Hopper felt nervous around him. But Titus was powerful, and under great pressure to protect his city and his subjects. That kind of responsibility would make anyone short-tempered.
Summoning his most dignified voice, Hopper lifted his chin and declared, “I gladly accept this honor.” For Titus, he added silently.
His announcement was met with more shouts of celebration, followed by a flurry of activity. The Rangers marched off to the bladesmith with General DeKalb to collect more weapons. Firren conferred with Temperance and Christoph while Sage and a handful of attendants went off to the village square to inform the populace of this new alliance and the importance of their support.
Pinkie stood in the corner, toying with her blade. And brooding.
Hopper, still dressed in his flowing golden robe, watched it all with a worried but resolute heart. Then he went back to the antique table to again examine the mysterious map unfolded upon it.
The lines, the circles, the letters. He would pretend about this, too. He would pretend he hadn’t solved the elusive mystery of the train routes.
He was sure that knowing this was the answer to something.
If only he knew what.
There were a dozen Mūs soldiers led by General DeKalb, Firren and her Rangers, Pinkie, and Hopper. This was the company that set out through the door in the great gray wall.
They made their way through the tunnels, the Rangers leading since they were most familiar with the labyrinth of passageways. At times they heard the rumble of the trains speeding above their heads.
Firren went over her plan with the general, and Hopper made it a point to listen carefully.
She explained that the rebels had managed to breach the perimeter of the refugee camp in several spots. They had dug holes and tunnels, creating entry points and escape routes, and then with the help of some brave Rangers posing as refugees on the inside, they had camouflaged these egresses so that the camp guards would not detect them. One of these was the hole near the fence down which Hopper had gone on the day of the fire.
Firren would lead the Mūs to these various entry points, and at the sound of the rebel horn, which Hopper now knew was a hollowed-out piece of bone that hung from a rope around one of the Ranger’s necks, the company would storm the camp.
Without warning, Hopper was filled with a strange sensation. His whiskers began to twitch and his fur stood on end. Something was about to happen. . . .
Firren knew it too. She lifted her nose into the air and sniffed.
Hopper remembered what she had said the first time he’d seen her: I can smell him.
It was as if merely thinking of him had magically conjured him. Hopper looked up just as Zucker appeared on a high mound of dirt and rubble.
Hopper had never been so glad to see anyone. Polhemus and Garfield and a handful of foot soldiers joined him, and the sight of the si
lver Z on their vests filled Hopper with joy and relief. In addition, there was a battalion of palace soldiers who wore the emperor’s livery.
And there were cats! Felina’s warriors had come along to aid Zucker and his troops.
Rapier drawn, Zucker leaped down from the dirt pile. Firren, too, sprung into action, her sword slicing through the air as she rallied her Rangers with a blood-chilling cry:
“Aye, aye, aye!”
These rebel shouts were answered with the screeching cats’ meowing. Their green-gold eyes seemed to light up the darkness as they surrounded the Mūs army.
Without thinking, Hopper grabbed Pinkie.
She fought him, of course, but he held fast, dragging her out of the melee.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.
“Keeping you safe!” Hopper answered, pushing her behind the pile of gravelly dirt.
“I want to fight!”
“Against an army of cats? Not even you’re tough enough to defeat a feline. Dagger or no dagger. Now stay here and be still!”
As Hopper scampered away from the dirt mound, one of Zucker’s soldiers, a powerful rat named Ketchum, caught him and pressed him against a wall, creating a shield with his body.
Hopper did not resist. He knew what this was. A rescue!
Now the sound of a multitude of swords clanking and warriors shouting out in fury and pain filled the tunnel.
The Mūs were no match for Zucker’s band. And the feral cats! They swatted at the tiny mice, batting them around as though they were playthings. Still, one of the burlier Mūs soldiers managed to plunge his sword into one of the cats’ paws, and the resulting howl seemed to shake the stone walls of the tunnel.
Undaunted, the Rangers attacked, advancing again and again. But they were outnumbered by the Atlantian soldiers. Zucker’s troops were skillful and agile. Titus’s soldiers were ruthless and well armed.
“Retreat!” DeKalb commanded.
Obediently the Mūs and the Rangers withdrew from the scuffle. Hopper saw Pinkie dart out from her hiding spot and hesitate as though she would ignore the general’s order and stay to fight. But she must have thought better of it, because in the next moment she turned and took flight with the others. This was not cowardice; it was good judgment. Hopper was just glad that Pinkie had escaped with her life.
Ketchum grabbed Hopper’s arm and began tugging him away.
But Hopper stopped short when he saw Zucker and Firren, toe-to-toe in the center of the tunnel. The Mūs and the Rangers had already disappeared into the darkness, and most of Zucker’s men and their feline counterparts had begun a sprint back toward Atlantia.
Firren raised her sword, twirling it in tiny circles above her shoulder.
Zucker swung his rapier in broad, graceful swishes.
Their eyes were trained on each other’s. Neither wavered; neither glanced away.
Firren stepped left; Zucker leaned right.
She snarled.
He growled.
They pounced! Each at the same time, colliding in midair with a bone-knocking thud.
Metal crashed on metal; Hopper swore he saw sparks.
Zucker dodged and parried; Firren thrust and swung.
Then he kicked out with his hind paw and tripped her! She stumbled and fell to the ground as Zucker lunged forward, his sword high above his head.
In one fell swoop he could have put an end to her.
Hopper held his breath. He watched Firren watch Zucker, who in turn watched his would-be victim with fire in his eyes.
Again he growled, low in his throat.
And then silence. The stillness was utter and complete. Even the dust motes swirling in the dank tabby, then helped Hopper to the air seemed to halt in their orbits as the rat prince hovered like a statue above his prey. Three seconds, four . . . five . . .
Hopper could not believe what happened next: Zucker stood down. Sword still aloft, teeth still clenched, eyes still flashing like flame, he stood down.
One step back, then another . . .
At last he tore his eyes from Firren’s.
“We ride!”
Ketchum swept Hopper into his arms as a tremendous tabby appeared. Zucker leaped onto the cat’s back. The soldier handed Hopper up to him, then clambered up himself.
“Yah, yah!” cried Zucker, spurring the cat forward. “To Atlantia! Yah!”
As the cat bounded forward, Hopper took one wild glance back over his shoulder.
Firren was rising from the ground, brushing the dirt from her tunic, shaking her head and scowling.
She did not give chase. Instead she merely stared after them until the tabby took a corner.
And then she was gone.
They found the rest of the rescue party waiting for them at a bend in the tunnel. There were tracks running down the center of it, so the rats and ferals were careful to keep to the edges.
Zucker swung down from the striped back of the tabby, then helped Hopper to the ground.
“Nice to see ya again, kid. How’ve ya been?”
Hopper looked up into Zucker’s grinning face in amazement.
“I’ve been better,” he grumbled.
Zucker casually examined the tip of his rapier, then returned it smoothly to its sheath. “Well, all things considered, you look okay to me.” He lowered one eyebrow. “Nice robe.”
Hopper couldn’t believe Zucker’s aplomb. He reached up and clutched the front of Zucker’s vest, shaking him with all his might. “They’re planning another raid. We need to get to Atlantia as fast as possible!”
“Easy, kid.” Zucker shot a quick glance at the tabby cat and the palace soldiers, who were listening intently. Then he lowered his voice so only Hopper could hear. “This ain’t the time or the place. Trust me.”
“But, Zucker, I can help you—”
“Trust me,” Zucker repeated in a tone that brooked no argument. Perplexed, Hopper let go of Zucker’s vest. His hands felt strangely wet, and as he examined them, he saw why; his hands were covered in blood.
“Zucker! You’re hurt.”
The prince smiled. “Just a scratch, kid.” But there was a waver in his voice, and his eyes were beginning to glaze over. With great effort he waved to the palace soldiers. “You and the cats go on ahead. Bring word to my father that the Promised One, or should I say, the Chosen One, is safe.”
The breath caught in Hopper’s throat. Zucker knew! He knew that Hopper was part of the Mūs legend! But how? And why had the prince been so kind to the chosen leader of Atlantia’s archrivals? For a fleeting moment he feared that Zucker’s friendship had all been a sham, that the rat had been using Hopper somehow, as a pawn in this baffling game of war. But the fear vanished as quickly as it had come. He knew in his heart and soul that Zucker cared for him. So there had to be another reason. Right now he was simply too overwhelmed to imagine what, but he would give Zucker the benefit of the doubt.
“I think we should hear what the mouse has to say,” said one of the soldiers.
“Well, sure,” said Zucker in his most amiable voice. “Of course. In fact, as soon as we get back to Atlantia, we’ll have a nice, cozy little summit meeting in the conflict room, and the kid can spill his guts over tea and crumpets.”
A high-ranking officer of Titus’s army stepped forward. “But Atlantia is days from here, even with the ferals to carry us.”
Zucker lowered himself to a sitting position on the ground; Hopper was sure this was to conceal the fact that he was beginning to sway. “C’mon, Colonel, have a heart, huh? The kid’s been through a pretty major ordeal here. I’d like to give him time to calm down before we start interrogating him.”
“But—”
“I promise I’ll bring him straight to the conflict room the minute we get back. Now, you and your troops go on ahead.”
The officer looked as though he might protest again, but Zucker lifted one eyebrow in a challenging expression. “You’ve just been given a direct command from the royal prin
ce, in case ya didn’t get that.”
The colonel frowned, but he obeyed. Titus’s men climbed onto the cats and took their leave, the ferals galloping off at a good clip.
Zucker’s guards remained behind with their prince; he motioned to Ketchum, who was at his side in a split second.
“How long before they reach Atlantia, Ketch?”
“Three days at the most,” Ketchum replied, then called over one of the soldiers to assist him. Together they carefully removed Zucker’s vest to reveal a deep stab wound, bleeding steadily.
Hopper reached a paw toward his friend. His limb shook with fear and fury. “Did Firren do that?”
“Nah. It was one of the Mūs soldiers. Hurts like crazy. Apparently those little guys have good aim.” He laughed, then winced. “We’ve got to get back there before Titus’s men do,” he continued between clenched teeth. “We’ve got to divert the palace army and prepare for the siege.”
Divert? Hopper still didn’t understand. Why would Zucker want to divert the Romanus troops? Perhaps the pain and the loss of blood were affecting the prince’s mind. Hopper was about to suggest this to Ketchum, but he was interrupted by a rumbling sensation under his feet.
“Look out!” cried one of the other soldiers.
Ketchum hoisted Zucker onto his shoulder and ran for the edge of the tunnel; the rest of the group dove from the tracks and pressed themselves to the cold stones of the wall.
As always, the light came first, then the train, filling the tunnel with explosive noise and rocking the whole world.
When it was gone, Hopper turned to Zucker, who seemed to be hovering close to unconsciousness.
“Forget those mangy ferals,” the prince grumbled, even as his eyes rolled back in his head. “That’s what we need. Speed.”
“You’re losing a lot of blood, sir,” Ketchum said grimly.
An idea hit Hopper like a lightning bolt.
“I can get you back to Atlantia in a matter of minutes,” he said. “Way before the palace guards, and in plenty of time to prepare for the Mūs invasion.”
