Mouseheart

by Lisa Fiedler

  Zucker’s face contorted in pain. “Really, kid, this isn’t the time for jokes.”

  “I’m not joking. And I’m not crazy.” Hopper smiled. “We can ride a train back to Atlantia!”

  The soldiers looked at him as though he’d gone soft in the head. Even Zucker, in his semiconscious state, looked stunned.

  “Those silver things that speed around are called subway trains,” Hopper explained.

  “We know what they are,” snapped one of the soldiers. “We aren’t the ones who are new around here.”

  “Oh.” Hopper felt his cheeks tingle with embarrassment. “Right.”

  “But we don’t know much else about them,” another admitted.

  Hopper brightened. “Well, then you probably don’t know that they follow these tracks, with a purpose and not just willy-nilly.”

  “Did he say ‘willy-nilly’?” whispered the first guard.

  “They follow a pattern,” Hopper clarified. “I know because I saw a map. Certain trains stop at certain places. That’s what the circles and letters are all about. They tell the humans which trains go to which places.”

  “You’re suggesting we actually ride one of those devils?” said Ketchum. “It’s madness!”

  “Madness,” the second guard agreed.

  Hopper felt his desperation rising. “I know it’s risky. But it will get us to Atlantia in minutes instead of days.” Hopper closed his eyes and pictured the map on the table in the engine room. He saw it, with all its lines and swerves and circles imprinted with letters and numbers. “Red circle with a two or a three in it. That’s the one we need.”

  Zucker grimaced as another jolt of pain slammed through him. “C’mon, kid. This isn’t a game.”

  The soldiers exchanged glances. Hopper thought that for all their muscles and silver Zs and swords, they looked a little bit nervous. Maybe even scared.

  Hopper wasn’t scared.

  He was petrified.

  He knew in his heart that jumping on that moving monster was the only way they could get to Atlantia in time to prepare for the raid. But the thought of riding that train as it barreled through the tunnels was nearly too frightening to bear.

  It is the mouse who feels fear but takes action in spite of it who is the most heroic of them all!

  A wise thought and inspiring words.

  Zucker’s cloudy eyes met Hopper’s as he summoned his most powerful, royal voice. “I forbid you from riding the train!” he wheezed.

  It was the last thing Zucker would say for quite some time. In the next second his eyes fluttered, and the prince slipped into oblivion.

  chapter nineteen

  THE SOLDIERS BEGAN THEIR march toward Atlantia.

  Ketchum and the others took turns carrying Zucker, who, even from the depths of his unconscious state, would occasionally groan out in pain.

  Hopper scampered along behind, his mind reeling.

  Zucker wanted to arrive at Atlantia before the palace guards did. Probably because he didn’t trust that stuffy old colonel of Titus’s to fortify the camps against Firren’s attack. This was a job for Zucker’s soldiers. They were younger and stronger.

  And besides, the Mūs wouldn’t be far behind. Hopper didn’t know much about the military, but he did know that Atlantia would be at a much greater advantage if they had more time to organize, prepare. They needed to know that Firren was on the warpath, and they needed to know now.

  It wasn’t long before the small band of soldiers had to again slam themselves into the wall to dodge a speeding subway train. As it screamed past, Hopper squinted into the light in search of the colored circle branded on the monster’s forehead.

  F.

  No.

  He sighed.

  As the train disappeared, Hopper caught a glimpse of its hindquarters. Jutting out from the bottom was a metal nub, like a stubby tail.

  Sturdy. And just big enough for a determined little mouse to hitch a ride on.

  Hopper felt his pulse quicken.

  Could he . . . ?

  Should he? The prince had forbidden it. But Zucker was worsening with every step, every jostle, every movement of this long, difficult hike. Hopper could see from the deep crimson stains seeping into the fur and vests of the prince’s loyal guards who carried Zucker that he had lost a great deal of blood. Zucker needed to get back to Atlantia fast, back to the infirmary. If they couldn’t get him there in time . . . well, Hopper didn’t even want to think about what could happen. Every time Zucker cringed or winced, Hopper felt as if he himself were being stabbed . . . right in the heart.

  Real bravery is doing what needs to be done, even if what needs to be done terrifies you to the depths of your soul.

  Minutes later, when the far-off rumble began, Hopper came to a decision.

  Zucker had saved him once. Now it was up to Hopper to save Zucker.

  And Pup.

  And all the helpless rodents back in the camps who, in days, would be senselessly slaughtered if someone did not get to Titus in time to warn him of Firren’s approach.

  The light bloomed in the distance, and the roar grew. He heard the sound of metal rattling metal and the growl from the subway’s belly.

  But this time, when the soldiers flattened themselves safely against the wall, Hopper did not cower; instead he took a deep breath and prepared to leap.

  “Hey, get away from there!” shouted Ketchum.

  Hopper didn’t budge from the edge of the track. He stared into the light, searching and hoping that the symbol emblazoned on the front would be the one Hopper needed, the one that identified this as the train.

  And there it was.

  A circle, plainly visible on the face of the train.

  Like a birthmark.

  Like a white circle naming the Chosen One. And just as Hopper’s unique marking had told Titus and Zucker and Firren and the Tribunal who he was, this red circle with a bold, white number 2 in the heart of it told Hopper what he needed to know: I will take you to Atlantia, and I will take you there fast!

  The train sailed past in a silver blur.

  Behind him Hopper was aware of motion—one of the soldiers was coming to snatch him away from the rails.

  The train cars clattered past. And then the last car.

  Timing would count; timing and strength and grace.

  And courage. With a little madness mixed in.

  Now Hopper saw the rusted metal shelf extending outward at the bottom of the car.

  Behind him the soldier’s paws were reaching to pull him back. . . .

  But Hopper leaped.

  Leaped into the wind and the speed and the danger.

  “Nooo!” screamed the guard, but his voice vanished as the train swept past.

  Thud.

  Hopper landed on the chunk of metal, scampering frantically to get his footing. But the train swerved and he was thrown! He slid toward the edge, scratching and flailing, sure he would be hurled to the rusty rails to meet his own tragic end.

  There was a sharp tug around his shoulders, and he stopped slipping.

  The hood of his golden robe had caught on some metal outcropping attached to the stub!

  The train sped on with Hopper swinging madly as he dangled by his hood.

  Again the train took a turn, and this time the momentum swung him closer to the shelf. He reached, grasping, and managed to grab hold of a large bolt; he wrapped his paws around it and hung on tight, panting, sweating.

  Twice he tried to sweep his body upward onto the shelf, but the wind sucked at him and kept him from getting enough momentum. Finally he resigned himself to traveling the rest of the way suspended by his hood and clutching the jagged bolt.

  It was a miserable way to take a ride.

  But it was a ride. And it would get him back to Atlantia in time.

  That, as far as Hopper was concerned, was all that mattered.

  The ride was mere minutes, but they were filled with thrill and terror, whipping and winding through the labyrinth
of tunnels. When at last the train pulled into the station Hopper needed—ATLANTIC AVENUE/BARCLAYS CENTER, the sign read—the noise was a deafening shriek of metal grinding against metal. Speed to stillness, and then a windy huff as the doors opened and the humans were expelled.

  Hopper was able to disengage his hood and jump to the platform, where he scampered along among the foot traffic, which reminded him of the upland sidewalk, but this path was paved in smooth squares. He forced all thoughts of being stomped or crushed or kicked out of his mind and ran. For once, his stature worked to his benefit. No one noticed the brown mouse dressed in gold hurrying across the sticky, grimy tile floor.

  Hopper, on the other hand, noticed plenty. The light from overhead was pale but fierce enough to illuminate a veritable minefield of garbage and lost articles. It was just as Zucker had described—the humans were careless with their belongings and sloppy about their castoffs. Hopper hurdled over plastic forks, broken glass, and half-used packs of matches. On many occasions he was forced to scuttle around or over hefty pieces of baggage the humans had rested unguarded on the floor beside their feet. Many of these cases had been left to gape open, threatening to spill their contents everywhere. Hopper only just avoided one catastrophe—he’d scaled the slippery leather outer wall of a ladies’ handbag, but his tiny claw had caught on the zipper and he’d toppled inside.

  Once he’d managed to free himself, he made a frenzied dash to the far wall of the tunnel and kept close until he found what he needed.

  A gap! It was the tiniest fissure, where the floor failed to meet the base of the wall; it was all Hopper needed. With a deep breath and a quick prayer, he squeezed through.

  And again he was falling.

  He landed with a thud in the silence of the Great Beyond, the walls of Atlantia just mere yards away.

  He got to his feet and brushed the grime of the human upland from his fur.

  And he ran.

  He barely paused to acknowledge Clops, who regarded him with a cold look as he opened the gate.

  “You,” the cat sneered. “Thought you were a goner for sure.”

  Hopper scuttled past the guard station, then flew through the marketplace, ignoring the hawkers and the shoppers who paused in their tasks to stare at the little mouse in the elegant golden robe.

  He went directly to the palace and entered the great hall. As it happened, Titus was passing through the grand space at that moment; the sight of Hopper made the emperor stop in his tracks.

  His eyes glittered. “Promised One! You have come back to us.”

  “Titus. You have to listen to me.”

  Titus looked over Hopper’s head to the broad door behind him. “Where are the others? The colonel, my troops, Zucker and his battalion?”

  “Delayed, Majesty. They should be back in three days. Zucker was badly injured and—”

  “Three days?”

  Hopper nodded. A small crowd of servants and palace officials had gathered, even a few Atlantian townsfolk, curious at this excited exchange between their emperor and the royal guest in his elegant golden attire.

  “I don’t understand.” Titus scowled down at Hopper. “How is it possible that you have arrived so far in advance?”

  Hopper shrugged. “I took the two train.”

  “You took a train?” Titus blanched. “That is very reckless, Promised One.”

  “Uh, well . . .” Hopper gulped. “I was in kind of a hurry.”

  Titus studied him. “You appear unharmed,” he said, sounding relieved as he reached out to stroke the embroidered cuff of Hopper’s robe. “What urgency demanded you travel so quickly?”

  “Firren has formed an alliance with the Mūs, and I suspect they are marching forth even as we speak. It will take them the whole of three days to get here, according to Officer Ketchum, but I think if we start organizing the Romanus army immediately, we will be ready for them.”

  “Excellent advice.” Titus patted Hopper’s head with a gnarled paw. “It would appear that you are the Chosen One for good reason.”

  This brought Hopper up short. “You knew?” His voice was a gasp of disbelief. “Even when you called me Atlantia’s Promise, you knew the Mūs awaited me as their Chosen?”

  “I am the emperor,” Titus said simply. “It is my job to know.”

  Hopper had no idea why Titus would keep such crucial information from him, but now was not the time to ask.

  “There’s more,” Hopper piped up. “I listened to the rebels talking, so I know much of their plan.” He caught himself, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m sure there’s something else you’d rather know first.”

  Titus frowned. “What could possibly be more important than hearing what you have to say about defeating the Mūs?”

  Zucker’s condition, of course. It was wrong, Hopper realized, that Titus was not worried for Zucker, his own son. It was a sign, an indication . . . of something. A cold tingle pricked Hopper’s spine.

  And then there was Firren’s voice whispering far back in his mind: Pay attention to your instincts . . . a feeling in your gut . . . trust it . . .

  Abruptly Hopper bowed to the emperor. “Pardon me, Your Highness, but I feel a bit weak. I think I should lie down for a bit.” When he straightened, he saw the emperor’s eyes glint with fury.

  “I wish to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, and on behalf of all of Atlantia, for your most courageous actions. You put the greater good ahead of your own safety. I can only imagine what it must have taken out of you, and I want you to know how very, very much we appreciate such sacrifice.”

  Hopper froze; the word shot into his ear like a poison arrow.

  Sacrifice.

  His chest tightened, and the sensation of alarm coursed through him.

  Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. And Hopper suddenly had the very unsettling feeling that he was to blame.

  “Summon Cassius immediately,” Titus barked to a young rat soldier standing near. “Tell him we have a hostage.”

  The word snapped out of the emperor’s mouth and hit Hopper like a whip. “Hostage?”

  “Of course.” Titus’s voice was as hot as embers. “You are the Chosen One. The Mūs have been awaiting you with bated breath. You are the answer to all. And that is why I kept you. Didn’t you find it odd that, but for you, there was not a single mouse in the entire city of Atlantia?”

  No, I didn’t, thought Hopper. Because I was too wrapped up in my own importance and the mission to save Pup to even notice.

  “That rule was instated so that no Mūs spy could ever get behind these walls. So you can imagine my surprise when my own son deposited the Chosen One right at my feet. He didn’t know it at the time, you’ll recall, but the revelation of that white marking was undeniable.”

  “And he agreed to keep me here,” Hopper rasped, “as a hostage.”

  “He’s the prince. It was his duty.”

  The sense of betrayal caused Hopper’s knees to buckle. Zucker had been lying to him all along, playing him for a fool. A chosen fool.

  Cassius strode into the entry hall, eyes glittering. His excitement over Hopper’s capture caused his oily gray fur to give off a faint but sickening musk. Hopper felt instantly ill. “Your plan to broker an armistice with the Chosen One’s life has come to fruition, I see.”

  “Yes,” Titus drawled. “And you know what we must do now.”

  Cassius nodded. “I will send word to the enemy that the Chosen One is being held prisoner. If they are smart, and I think they are, they will retreat immediately.” The general’s filmy eyes bore into Hopper’s. “After all, it is the only way to ensure that I will not sever the Chosen One’s tail from his body and strangle him with it.”

  At that, Titus frowned. “Now, Cassius, there is no need for such violent talk. The important thing is that the Mūs army will stand down. And then . . .” He paused and shrugged. “Well, we will address that issue when we come to it.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Cassius huf
fed, then added, so only Hopper could hear, “We will address it with my dagger across this Mūs’s throat and my sword through the prince’s belly.”

  Hopper began to quake.

  “Oh, don’t be overly frightened, Hopper,” the emperor said breezily. “I’m certain your tribe will be reasonable. They have great concern for your well being, even if that irksome little rebel, Firren, doesn’t give a rat’s . . . well, you know.” He flicked his paw at Cassius. “Now get this mouse out of my sight. You, Cassius, will guard him personally. And send a royal messenger to the Mūs village with word that a highly valuable hostage is currently in our possession.”

  “Wait.”

  Titus, Cassius, and Hopper turned to see the maid, Marcy, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “If I may, Majesty?” she asked, dipping a ladylike curtsy.

  “By all means, pretty one.” Titus waved her over, flashing his sinister smile. “You have something to say?”

  “Yes, I do. I heard what you just said, and I applaud you on your keen military instincts.”

  Titus beamed. “Thank you. I try.”

  “However . . .” Marcy batted her eyelashes, then shook her head. “No. Never mind. I’m sorry. I fear I overstep myself.”

  “Nonsense,” said Cassius, his musky stink growing stronger. “Speak your mind.”

  “All right.” Marcy tilted her head and lifted her shoulders in a dainty shrug. “I know I am but a lowly chambermaid, but it seems to me that the general’s military prowess might be better employed. Surely his gifts for warcraft and his ease with violence would be wasted guarding such a pathetic little mouse.”

  Cassius stroked his pointy snout and looked at Titus. “She has a point.”

  “Which is why I propose you allow the general to direct his undivided attention toward the impending battle and let someone else act as jailer to the captive.”

  Hopper couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Marcy, who had been so kind and gentle, who blushed whenever Zucker smiled at her, was offering to oversee his imprisonment. He could have wept.

  “That is a brave and dutiful offer, miss,” said Titus, his eyes narrowing. “But how do I know that you are worthy of such a crucial task?”