Rebel

by Rachel Manija Brown

  Kerry looked down, as if she were thinking it over, then nodded. “That’s fine. While we were in the Saigon Alliance, my brother Sean showed up.”

  Mr. Preston stiffened. His gaze darted around again, but this time to the surrounding area. She knew that scan: Is Sean here?

  “He’s a fisher now,” Kerry went on, pretending not to have noticed his reaction. What she would never tell him was that Sean had been to Las Anclas. “He lives in Catalina and trades with the Alliance. He saw the royal horses in a stable and went looking for me.”

  She gave him the full report. His eyes narrowed as he listened.

  “I’ve told the council that Voske will return,” Mr. Preston said when she finished. “I’ve told the entire town. Few seem to believe me.”

  “I do,” Kerry said fervently. “I know he’ll be back. Even before Sean told me.”

  “Thank you, Kerry. I’ll take care of it.” Mr. Preston gave her an approving nod, then strode toward his home.

  Now that Kerry had made her report and had been believed, her sense of urgency faded away. In fact, she felt more relaxed than she had in a long time. Father was still coming. But Las Anclas would be prepared.

  With an odd mixture of relief and dismay, Kerry realized that she actually trusted Mr. Preston. At least, she trusted him to defend Las Anclas. He might not officially be defense chief any more, but she was sure that wouldn’t stop him from doing his best.

  As she headed back down the path, she wondered about the election. She’d been so convinced it was a sham that she hadn’t bothered to vote.

  Had the election been real after all?

  If they are, I wonder if I could win one?

  She was the daughter of the town’s worst enemy. But she’d also helped bring down his empire. And by the time she’d be old enough to be a viable candidate—assuming Father hadn’t conquered Las Anclas by then—her opponents would also be people her own age. Like Jennie. Or Felicité.

  Kerry was still considering whether holding office was something she’d enjoy, or if it only intrigued her as a test of the system, a challenge to herself, and a way to humiliate and crush Felicité, when a woman’s voice called her name.

  Trainer Crow stood smiling at her, with two of her ever-present rats at her heels.

  “Hi, Trainer Crow,” Kerry said, then bent to offer her hand to the rats. “Hi, Al. Hi, Ren.”

  “Peach’s pups opened their eyes the day you left,” Trainer Crow said. “They’re old enough to bond now. Would you like to come meet them?”

  Kerry froze with her arm extended. Joy swept away the tiredness. “Of course!”

  In the excitement of Katana’s birth and then the trip, Kerry had forgotten her months-old request to the rat trainers for a pup. She’d had no idea that any of the rats had been pregnant. But rats had a short gestation period, and people in Las Anclas were superstitious about discussing pregnancies, preferring to wait for a healthy birth.

  As they headed for the trainers’ home, Kerry asked, “Are any already reserved, or do I get my pick?”

  Trainer Crow’s ironic smile reminded Kerry of her daughter’s. “None are reserved. And you don’t pick. The pup does. If you’re compatible, they’ll sense it. If none of them choose you, you’ll have to wait for the next litter and try again.”

  Kerry hadn’t heard anything about that before. “Aren’t all of yours bonded to you and Trainer Koslova?”

  The trainer made a tilting, yes-and-no gesture with her hand. “Some are. The rest obey us because we trained them, the way any working animal would, but we don’t have a connection like the one between Yuki and Kogatana or Felicité and Wu Zetian. They bond as a pack instead, like wild rats. But if a person is only going to have one rat, it isn’t fair for either of them to live together without that bond.”

  Kerry had known the rats of Las Anclas were special, like the royal horses of Gold Point, but she’d had no idea how special. She hadn’t even known that wild rats had a pack bond.

  I bet Sean knows, she couldn’t help thinking. He’d love a rat pup.

  If he were here instead of her, all the pups would probably want him. They’d have to fight for the honor. Or he’d get his very own pack, and spend the next five years paying the trainers. A rat cost almost as much as a horse. Luckily Kerry’s gold crown, which she had offered to Mr. Preston in exchange for the two horses she’d taken from Las Anclas and left in Gold Point, had been worth three horses and scrip to spare. Between that and the scrip she’d been earning as a patroller and in the stables, she could afford one rat.

  They reached the trainers’ home. Trainer Crow led Kerry to the room where her wife, Trainer Koslova, waited. Peach, a hooded rat with a black head, a white body, and a black stripe down her back, was curled up in a nest of soft cloth. The pups were on the floor, tussling or exploring.

  Trainer Koslova’s crown of white-blonde braids was bright in a shaft of sunlight from an open window. “Welcome, Kerry.”

  “What do I do?” It was all Kerry could do to stop her voice from shaking. Animals loved her, and she was never afraid to approach one. But this felt different. More important. Less straightforward. Exactly what had Trainer Crow meant by “compatible?”

  “Just sit down with them, as you would with a litter of kittens,” Trainer Koslova replied.

  “How will I know if one picks me?” Kerry asked.

  Trainer Crow smiled. “You’ll know.”

  Kerry settled down on the floor, taking a deep breath and forcing her mind to calm. If there was one thing she knew about animals, it was that they could sense anxiety and they didn’t like it. And besides, if Felicité could get a rat, anyone could.

  One pup was gray as smoke, moving with unusual grace as it explored the corners of the room. Another, drinking daintily from a water bowl, was the same brilliant gold as Wu Zetian. Kerry couldn’t decide if she’d rather have the smoky rat or the golden one; both were beautiful, and while she admired the fluid movements of the gray one, the idea of Felicité no longer owning the only golden rat in town—and Kerry having the other—tickled her enormously.

  Two pups were hooded like their mother, but one was a rare reverse-hood, with a white head and stripe against a black body, and the other’s hood and stripe were a rich chestnut. They were play-fighting, rolling and nipping in an impressive show of courage and strength for pups that young. Surely one of those was compatible with her . . . but which one?

  Kerry held out her hand, not to any particular pup but to the litter as a whole, and made a soft clicking noise with her tongue. The rats all looked up, Peach included.

  The golden rat tilted its head, blinked its long-lashed eyes, and went back to drinking. It was a clear rejection. Kerry wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or amused: a tiny Felicité! Anyway, she had a golden stallion. That was much more impressive than a golden rat.

  The smoky rat slipped up to her, its paws moving soundlessly across the floor, and sniffed her hand. Kerry held her breath. Was this the one?

  The rat gave her a brief lick, then wandered off to visit its mother.

  Kerry had been right. If she was to get any rat, it would be one of the hooded fighters. Both had stopped their sparring to approach her, their bright eyes curious. She noted more details as they came closer: the white-striped pup was male, with a thicker coat, and the chestnut one was female, with a few stray spots near her rump.

  Just before they reached her outstretched hand, the chestnut pup turned on her brother and nipped him, making him squeak and jump away. She stood in front of Kerry’s hand as if guarding it and watched, her pink tail lashing, until her brother edged all the way back to the water bowl, where he began to lap with an admirable display of unconcern. Only then did the chestnut pup turn back to Kerry, her competition vanquished.

  Kerry smiled. Now she understood what Trainer Crow had meant by “compatible.”

  “You’re a fighter,” she murmured. “Of course.”

  The pup sniffed her fingers, then l
icked them with a quick swipe of her rough pink tongue. Kerry petted her furry head.

  The pup shook herself, then went bounding away to the water bowl. As Kerry watched in disbelief, she proceeded to do the exact same thing with it that she’d done with Kerry’s hand: bite her brother and sister till they squeaked, guard the bowl until they retreated, and only then drink from it herself.

  “What?” Kerry’s words burst unbidden from her throat. “She’s nothing but a bully! And none of them want me?”

  Something soft nudged her hand. Not the one she still held outstretched, though her arm ached by now, but the one dangling at her side.

  She looked down. A rat pup was nuzzling her.

  He was undersized compared to the rest of the litter, his fur a plain light brown, like a wild rat. She’d seen herself how wild rats could be almost invisible against the desert sand. But the floor was polished black wood, so she had no idea how the pup had managed to get so close without her even noticing that he existed.

  “Hey, little guy,” Kerry said. “Where were you hiding?”

  The pup blinked his shining black eyes at her in an expression that she couldn’t help interpreting as a fake-innocent Who, me?

  He jumped into her lap. She scooped him up and cradled him to her chest. He was small enough to cup in her hands. His claws prickled her palms, and when she lifted him higher, he stretched out his neck to brush her chin with his whiskers. The pup made a series of whiffling noises so quiet that she could barely hear them, as if he were telling her a secret.

  “I’ll take it to my grave,” Kerry replied solemnly.

  The pup gave a soft snort, as if he understood her joke. The way the light shone in his eyes even made him look like he thought it was funny.

  Could he have understood? Just how smart are these rats, anyway?

  “Whisper,” Kerry said. “What do you think of that for a name?”

  Whisper licked her palm. If he did understand, he certainly didn’t seem to object. Then he curled up into a velvety ball, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

  Kerry didn’t know how long she sat holding him silently, marveling. She’d gotten very fond of Kogatana, and she’d been impressed with Wu Zetian’s beauty and intelligence. They were why she’d wanted a rat of her own. But Whisper was so much more than she’d ever imagined. She was so lucky that he’d chosen her!

  “I thought he might be the one,” Trainer Koslova said.

  Only Kerry’s years of training prevented her from jumping out of her skin. She’d completely forgotten that there were other people in the room. She did twitch enough to rouse Whisper, who glanced around, then yawned widely, displaying a rose-pink mouth and sharp white teeth, and went back to sleep.

  “He’s a throwback,” Trainer Crow said. “Looks just a wild rat, doesn’t he? And he’s stealthy like one, too. Very unusual. We haven’t had anything like him for three generations now.”

  “Why wouldn’t you breed to get more rats like him?” Kerry asked. “He’s perfect!”

  The trainers exchanged amused glances before Trainer Koslova replied, “Our rats are working animals. We don’t need them to be stealthy, we need them to be obedient. Besides, we don’t want our rats to be mistaken for wild ones. Those are dangerous, and lots of people think they’re vermin. Someone might shoot first and think later.”

  “We’ll give Whisper a collar, so people will know he’s trained,” Trainer Crow assured Kerry. “And just to make sure, we’ll spread the word that we have a throwback pup that looks like a wild rat. He’ll be fine.”

  But Kerry wasn’t worried. Bending her head to nuzzle Whisper, she murmured, “I’ll protect you. And no one will see you if you don’t want to be seen. I know someone like that. You’ll meet him some day. I think you’ll like each other.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Becky

  “You’re stupid!” bellowed Ed Willet. “Isn’t he? Jack is stupid!” He swayed. “He can’t cut me off. I’ve got scrip!”

  “Yeah,” his brother Rick echoed. “He’s got scrip.” He turned to face Ed. His feet tangled with each other, and he sprawled on the ground. “Hey, who pushed me?”

  Becky glanced at Sheriff Crow, who murmured, “Let’s give Jack a chance. He’s good at this.”

  “Go home, boys,” Jack said from the saloon doorway. “Sleep it off.”

  “You pushed me!” Rick yelled, stumbling to his feet.

  “You heard Jack,” Sheriff Crow said. “Knock it off.”

  Ed squared up, chest puffed out. “Nobody touches my brother. Only me!”

  Both brothers raised their fists.

  Sheriff Crow stepped forward. “Ed. Rick. You’ve got a choice. Sleep it off at home, or sleep it off in jail.”

  “Nobody tells my brother what to do,” Rick yelled. Now his fists were aimed at the sheriff.

  Becky’s stomach lurched. Sheriff Crow could easily fight off a pair of drunks, but Becky still tensed at the prospect of a fight.

  Sheriff Crow didn’t move an inch. She stared hard at Rick. “Jail it is. This way.” She lifted her hand slowly and pointed at the jail like she was aiming a gun.

  Rick swayed, his fists starting to move up, but the sheriff never broke eye contact. He dropped his fists and staggered toward the jail.

  Sheriff Crow turned to Becky. “You take Ed. Do it just like I did.”

  Becky stepped back, her breath tight in her throat. Ed was twice her size. He could knock her flat. She wasn’t strong like the sheriff.

  Sheriff Crow spoke softly. “Remember, Becky. Strength is here.” She touched her eyes, then her mouth.

  The gesture made Becky recall her voice tearing through her throat as she shouted, “LOOK AT ME!” Her whole body had seemed to vibrate. And everyone had obeyed.

  Becky stepped forward, bringing her shoulders down and her chin up. She stared into Ed’s bleary eyes and commanded, “Come with me. We’re going to the jail.”

  Her voice rang out like it had never occurred to her that he could say no. Apparently it didn’t occur to Ed, either. Becky forced herself to keep her amazement off her face as he dropped his fists. She strode toward the jail, and Ed obediently stumbled along beside her.

  Once they were inside, the brothers each shuffled into a cell and flopped down on the waiting cots.

  “They know the drill. Just like whistling for a dog.” Sheriff Crow locked them in, then smiled at Becky. “Good job. Your first arrest.”

  Becky felt warm inside, as if the sheriff’s smile were a bright fire on the hearth. Then she understood the words. “First?”

  “Could be.” Sheriff Crow led Becky to her room, where she sat on the bed and gestured to Becky to take a chair. “Have you thought about your apprenticeship with Dr. Lee?”

  “Yes. I haven’t changed my mind. I was going to talk to him, but . . .” Normally Becky wouldn’t have continued, but Sheriff Crow was so understanding. “I feel guilty.”

  “You do need to talk to him. But I think he already has another candidate.”

  Becky had been dreading the conversation she owed Dr. Lee, who had been so kind, patient, and encouraging. Now she brightened. “He does?”

  Sheriff Crow nodded. “As for the work here, you’ve got a knack for it. And it’s not just those fingers of yours. Most of this job is about understanding people, and you’ve learned a lot of that from Doc Lee. You’re observant, and you’ve got common sense.” Dryly, she added, “Well, we call it ‘common,’ but as I’m sure you’ve noticed, it can be sorely lacking in this town.”

  “But what if Ed and Rick had fought? And what if they hadn’t been drunk?”

  “That’s a good question. If this is what you want, you’ll need to learn to fight. I hear you’ve been training at the Vardams’ orchard. How’s it been going?”

  “I’m the worst one,” Becky admitted, her heart sinking. For a moment, she’d imagined a whole new life for herself. But obviously, it was impossible. She could never beat anyone in a fight. “The only one as terrible as me is Mi
a, and she’s even smaller than me. It was kind of you to think of me, Sheriff, but this is just like being a doctor. When it comes down to the one crucial thing, I can’t do it.”

  “It’s true that you couldn’t wrestle Ed Willet. Yet. But you won’t be stopping fights for a while. As one of my deputies—”

  “Me, a deputy?” Becky exclaimed.

  Sheriff Crow smiled, her snake eye crinkling. “If you want.”

  Much as Becky liked Dr. Lee, she’d enjoyed her brief time with the sheriff more than she had her entire two years in the infirmary. Like Sheriff Crow had said, each day was different. Becky had never once been bored. And everything she knew about the people in town, just from a lifetime of being quiet and paying attention, had suddenly become useful and valued.

  “Yes,” she murmured. Then louder, with intent, “Yes! I do want that. But do you really think I could fight?”

  “You’ve got the spirit.” Once again, Sheriff Crow drew a finger from her eyes to her mouth. “Ed Willet felt it, and that’s why he obeyed. You spent years believing that you were powerless. It takes time to think of yourself differently. Next time you train, watch Meredith. She’s almost as small as Mia, but I’d back her against the Willet brothers any day.”

  “That’s true,” Becky said. “She can throw Paco if she catches him right. Jennie, too, and they’re the strongest people I know. Except for you.”

  Sheriff Crow smiled. “So, you’ll work on that. In the meantime, you need some kind of equalizer. We’ll work on that. Maybe fighting sticks. Tomorrow, I’ll set time aside for the two of us to practice.”

  Us, Becky thought, marveling. Sheriff Crow . . . and me.

  Sheriff Crow peered at the window. “Day’s over. You’ve put in a good first day of work, Deputy.”

  Becky felt lighter than a cloud as she left the jail. Even Rick Willet bawling, “Ohhhh my darrrrling, ohhh my darrrling,” made her grin.

  She couldn’t believe it. She had a job. And not just any job—she was a sheriff’s deputy! She was going home to have dinner with Aunt Rosa. Maybe Brisa would be there. Aunt Rosa had said she was always welcome.