by Lisa Fiedler
“Because I am a loyal citizen of Atlantia and I consider any creature who would have a hand in destroying the Romanus way of life to be my greatest enemy.”
“But you are a female,” Cassius scoffed. “How do we know that you will not be soft on the hostage?”
“I assure you, I will not.”
Cassius snickered. “We would need proof.”
Without hesitation, Marcy marched across the hall, raised her arm, and slapped Hopper hard across his face, the force of the backhand blow knocking him to the floor.
“And there it is!” Cassius laughed. “All the proof we need.”
Marcy reached down and grabbed Hopper by the scruff of his neck. “I will not take my eyes off of him, Highness. I will see to it that Hopper is treated exactly as he deserves to be. And so that you and Cassius can begin planning for the attack posthaste, I will also take it upon myself to find an appropriate messenger to send word to the Mūs.”
“Excellent,” said Titus. “We thank you for your allegiance, little maid. You are quite the resourceful young lady.”
Again, Marcy batted her eyes. “Oh, Your Majesty. You have no idea.”
chapter twenty
WHEN THE BEDCHAMBER DOOR closed behind them, Marcy threw her arms around Hopper and hugged him.
“I’m so sorry I had to hit you,” she cried. “But it was the only way I could make them believe me.”
“Believe you?” Hopper rubbed the sting from his face.
“That was all just a ploy to get you away from Cassius.”
Hopper’s heavy heart seemed to rise up. “So you don’t want to see me strangled with my own tail, then?”
“Never!”
“And you aren’t going to send word to the Mūs about this hostage business?”
“Absolutely not. I just wanted to buy you some time to execute your plan.” She gave him a hopeful look. “You do have a plan, don’t you?”
Hopper began to pace.
“You should lie down,” Marcy coaxed. “You’ve been through a great trauma and you’ll need your rest if you’re going to put this all to rights.”
Hopper shook his head.
“Would you like some food? Or a drink?”
“No, thank you,” said Hopper.
Marcy glanced nervously toward the door, then stepped closer to Hopper. “Is this about the camps?” she whispered.
Hopper stopped pacing and stared at her in shock. He remembered how kind she’d been when she’d bandaged his wounded ear.
“I . . . I’ve heard things,” she confided.
“What kinds of things?”
“About the true purpose of the refugee camps.”
Hopper’s stomach turned to stone. “The true purpose? I thought Titus had created the camps to protect the lost ones. To provide shelter for the wanderers.”
“That’s what we’re supposed to think. But I’ve often heard Titus talking to his advisors. Servants have a way of being invisible, you see. The emperor is so used to our comings and goings that when we are around, he hardly knows we’re there. He speaks freely about things he shouldn’t.”
“What does he say?”
Marcy frowned in thought. “Well, he often talks of a place called the hunting ground. And of needing more lost rodents to appease Felina and her clan.”
Hopper didn’t like the sound of that.
“And I’ve overheard Zucker . . . I mean, His Royal Highness the Prince . . . in conference with his general. They, too, speak of this hunting ground, but it makes them very, very angry.”
Hopper let the words settle into his brain. He must have been pondering this for some time, because Marcy cleared her throat.
When he looked up at her, he saw great worry in her face.
“How badly is the prince wounded?” she asked softly.
Hopper felt tears prickle behind his eyes. “Pretty badly. The wound was deep, and he lost a lot of blood.”
Marcy looked away.
When Hopper spoke again, his voice was small and soft. “Marcy, do you believe Zucker has betrayed me? Do you think Titus speaks the truth when he says that all this time, the prince has seen me only as a hostage to use against the Mūs?”
“Not for a minute do I believe it,” said Marcy, her face flushing with the strength of her avowal. “Zucker loves you. If he pretended to agree with Titus, then he must have had a very good reason.”
Again, Hopper’s heart soared with relief. Marcy was right. Zucker was his friend.
“I wish I had told them about the trains,” Hopper said.
“Maybe I can help,” Marcy offered, her voice eager. “I can send my brothers. They’re young and strong. They can go out into the tunnels and find the prince’s battalion, and bring them a message.”
Hopper’s heart lightened. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
As Marcy went off to find her brothers, Hopper found some scraps of paper left over from his writing lessons with Zucker. He quickly wrote a note explaining to the prince that he had arrived safely at the palace, and that he had almost revealed everything about the Mūs invasion, but at the last minute something told him to keep the details to himself. Still, he wrote, he feared that the damage had been done and that the only way for Zucker and his soldiers to get back in time would be to ride the train, as Hopper had. He explained how Zucker would know which train to ride and added instructions advising him and his soldiers to hop onto the train’s metal stub of a tail.
Then he signed it:
I remain, as ever, your loyal servant, Hopper.
After a moment’s thought he crossed out “loyal servant” and wrote “devoted friend.”
Soon Marcy returned with her brothers. They were twins, Bartel and Pritchard, and were possibly the most robust and athletic-looking rats Hopper had ever seen.
“We are loyal to Prince Zucker,” said Bartel. “We plan to enlist in his elite corps when we come of age.”
“We are honored to have this opportunity to assist him,” said Pritchard. “Just tell us what you need.”
Hopper explained that he wanted the boys to go off into the tunnels and find Zucker and his troops. Their first order of business would be to see to the prince’s injury.
Hopper then sketched a map indicating the path Zucker and his soldiers would be traveling. Very carefully and as neatly as he could with his tiny chip of graphite, Hopper drew a circle with a 2 in the center.
“Tell them that they must board this train and this train only,” Hopper said. “No other. Do you understand?”
Bartel nodded.
“We understand,” said Pritchard.
Hopper gave Bartel the letter, and Marcy handed Pritchard a small sack filled with medical items.
“Be careful,” she called as they scampered out the door. “And send the prince my love.”
Hopper could see from the way she blushed that she hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“It’s okay,” he said with a grin. “He’s a lovable guy.”
Marcy smiled, and then her face grew serious. “When I went to fetch my brothers, I saw Queen Felina arriving. One of the footmen told me she had come for an urgent meeting with Titus.”
Hopper cocked his head. “And?”
“Well, I was thinking that perhaps you would want to hear what they were saying.”
Hopper’s eyes widened. “Is that possible?”
The next thing Hopper knew, he was following Marcy down a long, shadowy corridor that ended in a small, forgotten antechamber at the back of the throne room.
“You can hear everything from in there,” Marcy whispered. “Just remember to keep quiet.”
“What is Felina like?” asked Hopper.
“Like all cats,” Marcy replied. “Sly. And vicious. But the legend goes that she was not always a tunnel dweller. The evidence is the jeweled collar she wears, although after all this time below, it no longer sparkles like it once did. The story says that Felina was once the privileged house pet of a human family who d
oted on and spoiled her. And then one day they turned her out. She found her way here and rose to power, some say, on beauty and cruelty alone.”
“Great,” grumbled Hopper. “Another scary monarch.”
As he crept into the dark nook and pressed his ear to the long-unused door, he couldn’t help but wonder how, in such a short time, he had gone from being a simple pet-store mouse to being the Promised One who would insure the promise of a safe Atlantia, to being the Chosen One foretold of in Mūs legend.
And now from being the Chosen One to being a spy.
Felina was, in a word, gorgeous.
Pure white, with enormous tilted eyes—one gray-green, the other the clearest icy blue. This peculiarity was not off-putting; rather it only added to her mystique. The queen had a perfect little pink nose; her ears were proudly pointed, and her fur looked almost too soft to touch. The gem-studded band that encircled her throat was proof of her pampered background.
It was hard for Hopper to believe that this elegant creature was a member of the same species as that heinous-looking monster Cyclops. The other ferals had a roughness about them, but Felina was lithe and elegant.
And mean.
“You are failing me, rat,” she hissed through her glistening white teeth. “My subjects are hungry not only for food but entertainment. We were exceedingly disappointed by the last sacrifice.”
There was that word again: sacrifice. Hopper shivered.
“I assure you, Felina, I am doing all that I can.” Titus smiled his hideous smile at the beautiful queen. “The tunnels have been empty. My soldiers can only do so much.”
Felina responded with an ominous purr. “Our peace accord is based on my contentment.”
“I serve at your pleasure, Highness,” Titus croaked, growing jittery. “And believe me, I know verily well the conditions of our agreement.”
“Do you, Titus? Because it seems that you’ve forgotten. Do you still understand exactly what is keeping me from ripping your head from your body and sucking out your innards right this very minute?” She looked down her pert nose at the emperor. “Not that I imagine you would be especially tasty.”
Hopper was beginning to understand why her humans had turned her out.
Titus trembled as the color drained from his face; Hopper thought he looked ready to faint. “I assure you, you will be presented with a suitable number of refugees as per the conditions of our treaty. The delivery of said refugees will be on schedule—I guarantee it.”
“Small price to pay,” Felina purred, “for your life.”
“You think I worry only for myself?” the emperor replied, his voice quivering. “I carry out these conditions not only to ensure my own safety but for that of all the citizens of Atlantia. I worry for my subjects as well.” Titus swallowed hard.
“Of course you do,” Felina purred again. She let out a razor-sharp peal of laughter. “And those furry little idiots believe you are actually colonizing the tunnels.”
The sound of that laugh made Hopper want to upchuck.
“I must say,” Felina went on, “my subjects thoroughly enjoy their monthly sport of stalking these unsuspecting rodents you deliver to the hunting ground. Not that it’s much of a contest, of course.”
A shriek rose in Hopper’s throat; he fought it back, but his stomach lurched as he began to realize the nature of this treaty.
“Naturally it would be far more exciting and rewarding if we just attacked your precious Atlantia,” Felina cooed. “But I wouldn’t dare violate my side of the bargain, now, would I?”
Titus shook—in fear? Anger? Hopper couldn’t tell.
But then the emperor’s shoulders lost their strength, and the old rat hung his head, his body slumped as though in shame.
“We both win, Titus. Everybody wins,” Felina hissed joyfully, then tossed her head and smiled. “Well, everyone but the refugees, that is.”
Like a poisonous gas the words seeped into the tiny nook where Hopper hid. His eyes burned with tears, his head pounded, and his heart felt near to splitting in two. This “treaty,” this “arrangement,” was anything but peaceful—it was an agreement to murder, a regularly scheduled slaughter. And Titus had the audacity to call it peace.
Peace for some.
Death for others.
No wonder Firren wanted to liberate the camps! A hot wave of disgrace washed over Hopper as he thought of how he’d misjudged her. She was a hero, fighting for freedom, for justice. What had he done? How could he have been so stupid?
“Now,” Felina was saying as she whipped her tail so that it snapped dangerously close to the emperor’s ear. “What are these rumors I am hearing of a raid on your camp? That would greatly displease me, Titus—the loss of all those delicious little rodents.”
Delicious. The word almost made Hopper gag.
But Titus gave a dismissive wave. “You have nothing to worry about there, Felina. We have been told of this forthcoming invasion, and as you know, forewarned is forearmed. Which we are. And I believe that this time we shall put an end to their efforts for good.”
“Does your handsome son continue to remain true to the Romanus way of life?” Felina asked. “I have always wondered about him. He seems too liberal by half, and it was once believed that he had befriended the Mūs leader, Dodger, and was working with him to bring down our precious camps.”
“That is absurd,” cried Titus. “Those were rumors, falsehoods. Disparaging scuttlebutt perpetrated by those who would see me defeated. Zucker would never align with a Mūs or a rebel like Firren, not even in his misspent youth. And in this case, as in all others, he will abide by my wishes. He is irreverent and reckless, but he is not stupid.” A tone of dread crept into the emperor’s voice when he added, “Zucker knows that if he betrays me, the royal advisors will place a bounty on his head.”
Hopper went cold. The emperor would put a bounty on his own son? No. But his advisors would. And Titus would be obligated to allow it.
Felina meowed in amusement as she looked the emperor up and down. “Don’t tell me this treaty still pains you after all these years, Titus,” she said with a smile. “It’s a necessity, after all, not to mention the reason we get on so well together.” She crossed the throne room, her soft, padded paws as silent as ghosts on the gleaming floor. “Still, your reaction concerns me. Could it be that you’re finally discovering you have a conscience? Or worse . . . a soul?”
“A soul?” Titus shook his head. “No. I relinquished that long ago, the moment you and I first shook paws on this agreement and I opened the first camp. You have nothing to concern yourself with, Majesty. The refugees will be delivered. On schedule, as always.”
Felina narrowed her eyes. “I sense some hesitation. And I don’t like it at all. Which is why I suddenly find myself unwilling to give you a chance to reconsider. I am going to insist that we do not wait out the remainder of the month before enjoying the next sacrifice. On the chance that you are going soft, or that perhaps we have underestimated Firren and the Mūs, I would like to arrange a hunting party for . . .”
She paused, considering. The purr that came from deep in her throat was a threatening sound.
“The day after tomorrow,” she decided. “First thing in the morning. Oh, and I would like double the usual offerings. After all, you owe us from last time, and if those rebel invaders get lucky, there might not be a next time.” She swished her tail again, creating a breeze that caused Titus’s whiskers to quiver. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you that that would be the end of our peace treaty.”
Titus opened his mouth to answer her but only succeeded in making a pathetic wheezing noise.
“And it also goes without saying,” purred the beautiful white queen, “that you will be the first one to feel my wrath.”
With a swish of her luxurious tail she turned and strutted out of the throne room.
When she was gone, Titus crumbled into his throne, then pointed a knobby paw at one of the footmen. “Bring word to the camp g
uard immediately. There shall be an unscheduled delivery two mornings hence. We are to supply double the amount of quarry for Felina’s hunters. Instruct the guards to feed them well. The fatter the hunted, the fuller the hunters. Go now, make haste!”
Hopper remained huddled in the dusty alcove until the soldiers and attendants had all left the throne room and Titus was alone.
Then the enormous rat let out a whimper and dropped his scarred face into his gnarled paws.
Perhaps he laughed. Perhaps he wept. Perhaps he merely sat and thought about what might lie ahead for his empire.
Frankly, Hopper didn’t actually care what the emperor was feeling. His kindness had been a sham. He was as devilish as Firren had said. All Hopper could think of now was Pup, alone in that camp—the camp that Hopper had stupidly believed was a paradise but now knew was merely a holding cell where innocent rodents awaited certain death. His eyes stung with tears. He had to get Pup out of that vile place before something terrible happened. Teeth gritted, Hopper slipped out of the anteroom and ran back to his bedchamber as fast as he could. There was much to do.
And it had fallen to him to do it.
chapter twenty-one
“WELL, IT’S ABOUT TIME, kid. Where ya been?”
Hopper nearly tripped over his own paws at the sound of the voice coming from the bed on the far side of his room.
“Zucker! Are you okay?”
The prince grinned. “Well, I been better. But then again, I been worse. And keep yer voice down. Nobody knows I’m here, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Zucker was propped up on the pile of plush pillows that adorned Hopper’s bed. His chest was securely bandaged; other than a small bloom of red that seeped through the gauze, he looked well. Bartel and Pritchard stood beside the bed. Ketchum was posted near the door, and Marcy sat on a chair close to the prince, feeding him steaming broth.
“I’m so glad you made it back,” said Hopper, scurrying over to sit at the foot of the bed.
“Thanks to you,” said Zucker. “I would have never thought that crazy metal monster would take us to Atlantia so fast if you hadn’t figured it out. And I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have had the guts to ride it, until you went ahead and did it first.”
