by Lisa Fiedler
“You go play royal sidekick,” said Pinkie, stroking Pup’s still-quivering whiskers. “But I’m going down under to lead our tribe. And I’m taking Pup with me.”
By now several members of the Mūs army had made their way over to Pinkie. They were an intimidating bunch—small but powerful and, evidently, unwaveringly loyal to Pinkie. They lined up before her, awaiting her orders.
“We go now,” she boomed, throwing her head back proudly. “To proclaim to our village this glorious victory over Titus. Sage and Temperance and Christoph will have much to plan, and I intend to guide them in it.”
“As you say, Chosen One,” said the highest ranking of the Mūs soldiers. “We serve at your pleasure.”
At the soldier’s use of the title “Chosen One,” Pinkie shot Hopper a wicked grin. Take that!
“Please, Pinkie,” said Hopper, regretting the desperate catch in his voice. “Let Pup stay with me. You will see him again, I promise. Just, please, let me be his guardian.”
Pinkie curled her lip. “Why don’t we let Pup decide?” she suggested. “Pup, little one, would you rather go back to Atlantia—where they feed innocent rodents to vicious feral cats—or come live among your family in the Mūs village with me?”
Hopper dropped his head. With that kind of pitch he knew exactly who his brother would choose. He would go with the sibling who had once called him “runt” and “weakling.” He would go with the one who was wrapped in a robe of gold.
And all because Titus had made an unforgivable pact.
“I want to go with Pinkie,” Pup whispered. “I don’t like it here, Hopper. Please understand.”
Hopper nodded, but he could not raise his eyes to meet his brother’s face, or worse, the smug look he knew would be plastered across Pinkie’s.
“Take care of him, Pinkie,” Hopper said. He kept his gaze on the ground, but his words were firm. Not a favor, a command.
“Of course,” said Pinkie.
Then the Mūs officer clicked his heels and barked, “Hut, hut . . . march!”
With Pup in her arms Pinkie led her soldiers out of the camp and into the tunnels.
And out of Hopper’s life.
He felt the emptiness like a hole in his heart. All hope left him. He’d lost what he loved the most—again! How many times could one’s joy be taken, stolen, destroyed?
Hopper crumbled to his knees in the bloody dirt and wept.
Abandoned. Alone.
Again.
Again!
He had fought for everything, and he had won nothing.
But Pinkie . . . Pinkie had triumphed over all of it.
Hopper had no idea how long he crouched there, crying.
Forever would have been fine with him. But that was not to be.
Because someone was lifting him gently . . . picking him up from the dusty, tear-splattered earth where he knelt.
“Let’s go, kid.”
“Zucker?”
The prince nodded. “We have to get out of here,” he said firmly. “Now.”
“Why? It’s over.”
“It’s not over, not yet. The Rangers bring word from Atlantia. There’s unfinished business to see to there in the city, and I can’t do it without the Chosen One.”
Carefully Zucker settled Hopper over his shoulder. It made Hopper think of the soldiers carrying the wounded prince back from the rescue mission.
“Where’s Firren?”
“She went ahead to start the fight.” Zucker chuckled. “Typical, right?”
Hopper answered with a long, sad sigh.
As they wound upward through the tunnels back toward Atlantia, Hopper was aware of a great many rodents hurrying past in all directions.
“What’s happening?” Hopper asked. He was happy to feel a mild twinge of curiosity; it was a small start toward dispelling his heartache.
“It’s an exodus, kid. And they’re not just fleeing the camp,” Zucker explained. “They’re fleeing Atlantia, too.”
“Really?” Hopper wriggled down from the prince’s shoulder and fell into a brisk step beside him. “Why?”
“It’s an uproar. Felina is enraged, which pretty much puts an end to the so-called peace accord. The Atlantian citizens know they aren’t guaranteed safety anymore, so they’re no longer willing to stay. It’s out of control. There’s looting in the marketplace, and some of the angrier ones are attempting to storm the palace.”
The palace! Hopper gasped as the question only just occurred to him. “What’s going to happen to Titus?”
Zucker grinned. “He’s been secured.”
Atlantia was visible now. The gate once so poorly minded by Cyclops swung wide. Zucker took Hopper’s hand as they shouldered in against the flood of rats and mice who crowded out of the city, carrying bundles and bags and boxes stuffed full of their possessions. As they made their way through the city, Hopper was sickened to see broken windows, broken-down doors, and smoldering remains of small fires.
Zucker explained that Titus’s army had tried to lay siege to their own city and hold the citizens of Atlantia hostage. It was unclear whether Titus himself had called for or even approved such violent actions, but however it had come to happen, the result was that the rodents of Atlantia had risen up and rebelled. Ultimately Titus’s army had beaten a quick retreat.
As they tramped through the once-pleasant neighborhoods, Zucker and Hopper dodged the flow of rodents who had but one collective goal—to leave Atlantia behind them before Titus could rally and find a way to sacrifice them to Felina in an attempt to win back his own freedom. Their running feet and shouts and cries of fear and anguish created a din that echoed out of the city and into the dark tunnels toward which they raced.
But there was something else, some other sound reaching Hopper’s ears now. He pricked them up and listened.
Music?
Singing!
No . . .
Chirping!
As they rounded the bend that put them in view of the palace, Hopper stopped stock-still and stared. The once-exquisite palace seemed to be engulfed in some dark, writhing shadow. A cloak of movement and sound.
A swarm!
Zucker smiled. “Crickets, kid. I told you they could do some damage if their numbers were large enough.”
Hopper could only gape at the scene before him. The entire royal structure was covered, thick with who knew how many thousands of insects—bugs! Every door, every window, every possible escape route was sealed tight beneath a winged veil of chirping crickets. If Titus and his advisors were imprisoned inside, they surely would not be coming out anytime soon.
“Where did they come from?” Hopper breathed. “How did they know?”
“Firren enlisted them,” Zucker explained. “She remembered what you told her about their ability to swarm. So I suppose you’re partially to thank for this.”
A horrible thought struck Hopper. “Marcy!” he cried.
“She’s fine,” Zucker assured him. “In fact, she came with my soldiers to fight in the camps. She’s a tough little rat, I’ll tell you.”
Hopper relaxed, listening to the surprisingly happy song of the crickets. From a long way off, the smell of fading smoke from the fire in the camp singed the air, but that, too, brought Hopper a sense of joy and relief. The camps were liberated, the guards defeated.
Titus had been overthrown.
Hopper thought of the night he and the emperor had stood together high above Atlantia, and Titus had called him the Promised One and ruffled the fur between his ears. It had been plain that the emperor was not a rat used to showing affection, but there on that ledge overlooking the city, Hopper had sensed a clumsy gentleness that made him wonder if perhaps there’d been a time when Titus had been different. His words had been kind, his tone genuine, almost longing. It was as though the very emperor who’d been the architect of the evil—in that moment, at least—truly wished it could be different.
Hopper looked up at Zucker with wonder in his eyes, and as alw
ays, the prince seemed able to read his thoughts.
“We set it all to rights, kid. We made the tunnels safe—for real this time—and when we can, we will rebuild the city.”
Hopper could feel the magnitude of the task settle over him. It was exhausting even to think about. But he knew that it would be done.
And he would be a part of it. He had to be.
Now someone was clearing his throat behind them. Hopper and Zucker turned to see a chubby Mūs soldier.
“I am to deliver this to you and await your prompt reply.” The military mouse handed Hopper a scrap of paper that he recognized immediately. It was from the yellowed sheaf that made up part of the Sacred Book he’d seen in the locomotive in the Mūs village.
Chosen One,
There is still so much to be done. Have faith and be strong, for I shall come for you.
And it was signed:
La Rocha
Hopper read the note, folded it, and slipped it into the pocket of his tunic.
“You may tell him that I will eagerly await his arrival.”
The soldier saluted, then bowed.
As Hopper watched the soldier take his leave, it occurred to him that the missive that had been delivered to Garfield by the beggar mouse had been written on that very same sort of paper. He’d been too distracted by the imminent battle to make the connection then, but now he couldn’t believe he’d missed it. Did the beggar mouse serve La Rocha in some way? Was he working on the mystic’s behalf as some sort of Mūs spy? Or was it more likely that there were scraps of that brittle yellow paper fluttering all throughout the tunnels with the rest of the garbage?
Probably. And besides, Hopper just didn’t have the energy to contemplate such a coincidence right now. He was simply too exhausted.
“What was that all about?” Zucker asked, motioning after the departing soldier.
“It was about the future,” Hopper replied with a yawn. “It was about fulfilling the prophecy and making things right.”
“Oh, is that all?” Grinning, Zucker reached out to ruffle the fur between Hopper’s ears, then stopped himself, opting instead to offer his paw to shake. “Well, you let me know if I can help you out with that . . . Hopper.”
Hopper smiled sleepily as he shook paws with the prince. Then it hit him.
“Hey! You called me Hopper.”
Zucker’s eyes twinkled. “It’s your name, isn’t it? Or maybe you prefer Chosen One?”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that, well, you used to call me—”
“I know what I used to call ya.” Zucker chuckled, but his face was serious. He squared his shoulders, clicked his heels, and snapped Hopper a crisp salute.
Hopper flushed and saluted right back.
Then the prince excused himself to enter the palace; the crickets had orders from Firren that he was the only one to be allowed in until further notice.
Hopper was perfectly content to wait on the broad marble stairs.
He sat down and closed his eyes. Lulled by the cricket song, he must have dozed off for a moment, because he had a fleeting dream of the old cage in Keep’s shop. The aspen curls were crisp and clean beneath him, Pinkie and Pup were sleeping comfortably, and their mother beamed with joy over her newborn litter.
And again there was the presence of that kind and gentle but powerful stranger, the second warmth, the second heartbeat. The goodness. The love.
Something jolted him awake. Not a sound or a touch but a feeling.
He opened his eyes and jerked upright, his eyes scanning the steps of the palace and the sidewalk below them.
There! Motion!
Hopper caught only a glimpse . . . a flash of gray-brown fur and a tail, darting away to disappear around the corner.
Friend? Foe? Stranger? He could not tell. He stood but could not bring himself to chase whoever it was that had come and gone so quickly. He felt no threat, no fear. Just a tingle of wonder and the lingering warmth of his dream.
Above him, he knew, there was a world of pet shops and sidewalks and all manner of human mystery.
Beneath him the remains of the refugee camp smoldered to embers.
Behind him a swarm of crickets held an emperor captive.
And before him . . .
Well, Hopper did not know precisely what lay before him now.
Alone on the grand steps of the Atlantian palace, Hopper gazed out over the abandoned city. He raised his chin and opened his arms and spoke to no one . . . and to everyone.
“I will make it right,” he said in a clear, steady voice. “I promise to be steadfast and unfailing and worthy. And above all, I vow to make things right.”
How? The little mouse could not imagine.
But he did know that from this moment on, he would do all in his power to see it through.
He would see it through and make it right.
EPILOGUE
Some time ago, in the tunnels beneath Brooklyn, New York . . .
IT WAS HOURS BEFORE Zucker arrived at the entrance to Atlantia; it was well past dinnertime, and he was hungry, exhausted, and in a daze of confusion.
Cyclops opened the gate wordlessly. Zucker took in the bloody clump of bandage the cat pressed to his missing eye and walked past without comment.
He went directly to his father’s audience chamber, where the emperor was meeting with his most trusted advisors and the elegant Queen Felina. Her jeweled collar twinkled as she inclined her head to the young prince.
Zucker bowed to Titus. “I beg a word, Father.”
“Now?” Titus looked down his disfigured snout at his son. “I am engaged in royal business at present. You will have to wait.”
Zucker considered pressing the issue, but he knew Titus would never relent. To show any deference to his only child might make him appear weak to his ally, the feline queen.
“All right,” he said stiffly. “Later, then.”
Titus gave Zucker a fierce look. “You have forgotten to express your respect to our royal guest!” he barked, eyes flashing as he motioned to the white cat.
She was licking her chops, looking smug and satisfied.
Obediently Zucker gave the visitor his most gracious bow. “Good evening, Your Highness,” he said. “You are looking very”—well fed, he realized, with a stab of panic—“lovely.”
“Thank you,” Felina purred. “My soldiers and I have just come from a most wonderful”—she smiled slyly—“banquet, I suppose you might say, especially arranged by your royal father. I enjoyed the most wonderful meal. It was positively . . . queenly.”
“Well, that is suitable,” said Zucker.
“You have no idea,” the cat murmured.
“If you will excuse me, I am off to the royal apartments. I wish to speak with my mother, Empress Conselyea.”
Titus cleared his throat and shifted a look at the large white cat. “As it happens, your mother is not about at the moment.”
Zucker’s whole body tightened, his senses on alert. “Not about?” he repeated.
Titus shook his head. “She has only just this morning been dispatched with the newest wave of colonists. She decided that, as their empress, she wished to lead them in their efforts to establish a new village to the east of Atlantia.”
Zucker’s heart stopped beating. “What did you say?”
“I said that your noble mother has taken it upon herself to go off and be a part of the worthy and ambitious colonization of the tunnels.”
Felina flicked her snowy tail. “It was, shall we say, quite an enormous sacrifice for her.” She sighed contentedly. “Personally, I think allowing Conselyea to become a colonist was a positively delicious idea.”
It was as though all the blood drained from Zucker. He felt hollow, sick. Empty of everything but a sudden unquenchable rage.
His paw went to his sword. The sound of Felina’s rumbling purr thundered in his ears as her words settled in his guts.
And he knew . . .
He knew.
Dodger and Firren had been telling the truth. The truth about the treaty and the hunt and the evil deceit being perpetrated by Zucker’s own father, the emperor.
But even Dodger could have never imagined just how malicious Titus truly was.
Now, as his eyes darted from one malevolent monarch to the other, Zucker wondered:
Could he kill them both right now?
Was he quick enough, furious enough, to impale his father with his sword, then without so much as a second’s hesitation, swing the blade and slice the queen’s tongue right out of her mouth? Could he accomplish both of these gory deeds before his father’s guards even realized his intentions and moved to restrain him?
Could he avenge his kind and gentle and utterly unsuspecting mother, who had been sent to a violent doom to satisfy the wretched self-serving agenda of a rat emperor and the voracious appetite of a heartless feline queen?
His heart sank.
No.
He was outnumbered. Outsized and outweighed. He would be dead on the floor before the tip of his sword even found his father’s chest.
Besides, he was too numb with heartache, too stunned by the loss, to even find the strength to lift his weapon.
And furthermore, if he did attempt to assassinate these beasts and the guards killed him right here, right now, he would be surrendering any chance he might have to align with the rebels Firren and Dodger and put an end to this evil.
He could not bring back his mother.
But he could stay alive to fight in her honor. He could prevent this kind of atrocity from happening again. And again . . . and again.
“She went forth with such purpose,” Titus reported with a sigh. “So regal was she, leading her subjects into the promise of a new and wonderful world.” With a shaking hand the emperor covered his heart. . . .
Felina belched.
Keep it together, Zuck, the prince willed himself silently. If he lies, you have to lie harder. Let him think you believe him. Let him think he’s won.
But he hasn’t. He won’t.
Zucker squared his shoulders and managed to smile. “Well, then I am proud and wish her well,” he said. “Perhaps one day I shall visit her in her thriving new colony?”
