A hissing started in the Chamber. His uncle leaned forward, his eyes bulging.
“WHAT?”
Fin said quickly, “I know that’s not true…and…I’m here to prove that. I know that Council cares for everyone.”
Balthazar chuckled again. He called up to Papa. “Your nephew is here to save you, Beloved Chairman. He’s here to save us all.” Balthazar bowed to Fin.
Fin said, “No! Don’t do that! I’m not here to—
But the old one had disappeared back into the shadows. Fin swirled to plead with his uncle. “Papa, you know I—”
“Who said it?” said Papa. “Who is this Wrecker? Who? Tell me!”
Zumi’s face rose before Fin. She had saved him. “I…I can’t tell,” he said.
His uncle stared at him. A hush fell upon the Chamber. Fin’s breath stuck in his chest, his eyes pleading for Papa to understand.
“Can’t tell, or won’t tell?” Papa glowered at him but shook his head. “I understand. You are young, and you don’t know how cruel this world is. So, now you will learn—you will learn why it is we fight. And when you do, and only when you do, you will join Council.”
Papa nodded to Bothwell. “You know what to do.”
The Counselor of the ARM barked, “Right, my crew! Line ’er up and let’s go!”
Fin was jostled into one of the rows of squad members. As the squad moved out, he caught sight of Balthazar. The old rat’s white eyes gazed at him.
***
The fishmonger was alarmed by the vandalism to his stall, in particular the small dead rat that had been positioned and left to stiffen on his table. It had taken a good deal of scrubbing with a strong bleach solution before he could use that table again.
He’d gone over the possibilities a million times in his mind, but he couldn’t figure out how the hooligans had gotten in. After all, a steel grid curtain was lowered after the market closed to keep such things from happening.
“Rotten kids!” he muttered. Still, he looked over his shoulder more after that, uncertain and wary.
FIFTEEN
“Listen to what has happened and tears will flow from your eyes.”
Gabriele de’ Mussis, 1348
They plunged down the tunnel like one body with many feet, Bothwell’s band of enforcers. Fin was at the very back, following the shadowy tails and legs that slithered in front of him in the dark tunnel.
“Come on, you lot!” bellowed Bothwell over his shoulder as he bounded down the drainpipe. According to the Councillor, they were investigating a two-leg Killing Chamber. To Fin, the accounts of Killing Chambers seemed as far-fetched as Collections.
Fin gritted his teeth against the throb in his foot and pushed himself forward, straining to keep pace with the hulking louts that loped in front of him. Even the smaller females dwarfed him in size. Up. Down. Squeezing through dripping holes and plowing into murky troughs filled with lumpy sludge. Running. Running. Sludge in his eyes, up his nose, through his fur. Running blind, just following the shadow tails and legs always in front of him.
The small tunnels began to change into drier, square metal ducts that were impossible to get any traction on. Fin’s claws scrabbled against the smooth surface. Once he slipped and overshot a corner, smashing into the duct wall with a reverberating gong.
“Quiet!” Bothwell barked. For the next while, except for the pinging of their claws on the metal, they ran in complete silence. Suddenly Bothwell stopped. The rest of the squad came to an immediate halt except Fin. He sailed headlong into the rump of a thick-necked brute called Squid.
“Oi!” The giant sneered down at him. “Wotch it!”
Bothwell was immediately upon them, snarling. “Shaddap, you great dumb oaf! Show some respect for the Chairman’s nephew!”
Squid looked crushed. “Sorry,” he mumbled to Fin. “I forgot.”
The patrol had stopped in front of a fan that blocked the tunnel. Slats hung over it, but they were broken and hung askew. A hum vibrated through the metal under Fin’s paws. The ARM Councillor sat on his haunches, whiskers working. Sweeping the air back and forth with his nose, he stiffened, took a few more sniffs, and then nodded.
“Right,” he said. “We’re here.” He pulled back his lips into what was supposed to be a smile and leered at them. “Anyone feeling brave today?”
No one spoke.
Bothwell tilted his head toward Squid. “How about you—you that’s all ready for a fight. You brave enough to go in and have a look?” The hulking rat stared at the floor. Bothwell guffawed. “I’m just havin’ you on, Squid, you old dope! I’m thinking our Beloved Chairman wants Mister Fin here to go.”
Fin’s heart thumped. “He…he does?”
“That’s right, Mister Fin, I believe he does.” Bothwell smirked, his one eye winking at him.
“Oh, that’s fine,” said Fin. “Fine. Good. So, here I go.” The rest of the patrol watched him.
Nosing up to a slat, he squeezed through. He flattened himself just as a whirring fan blade skimmed his ears.
Bothwell’s voice floated over the humming. “Oh, and mind the fan!”
“Thanks for the warning,” muttered Fin. He eased himself through the slats on the other side. As he pulled through his tail, the fan blade nicked it.
Fin was in a dark passage—another square metal tunnel. Light streamed around a corner ahead. He crept with his belly close to the ground. Rounding the corner, he stopped. Another duct fan. His tail was bleeding from the last one.
Light strobed from behind it. Fin slid under the fan—this time he knew to expect it—flattened himself against the opening, and looked down. He was at the top of a large room.
Rows and rows of cages crisscrossed the floor. Cages filled with rats.
What were they doing here?
Between the rows, a two-leg peered into the cages. It walked down the aisle and disappeared.
Fin wriggled through the slats and leaped down to the table below. Blood from his cut tail left a splotch on the surface. Before Fin could think of what to do, he heard clomping. The two-leg was coming.
Fin dived behind a pile of thin, leaf-like things as the two-leg reached the table. A trail of blood led to his hiding place. The two-leg reached down, its claw-like paw groping toward him. Had it spotted him?
Time slurred into slow motion.
The huge claw came at him—pale, blind, groping. It brushed ever so slightly against him. He trembled.
But the hooks passed by. They fumbled around a straight yellow stick that lay beside Fin. The two-leg grabbed the stick and leaned over the table, the stick clutched in its great paw, scratching marks onto one of the thin leaves. It hadn’t seen him.
Fin backed away. He leaped to the floor, leaving another bloody mark, and bolted to a nearby row of cages. They rested on a metal stand with legs that had small holes all the way up. Placing his feet into the holes, Fin began to climb.
He peered into the first cage. A young white rat lay curled on his side; he looked identical to Scratch. Fin looked around at the stark, barren cage. Yellow, gravel-like material covered the floor. Water dripped from a plastic bottle hanging from the side—and obviously had for some time—dampening the gravel beneath into a damp sludge. A flaking block with a foul odour appeared to be the rat’s only form of food. There was no soft nesting, no bits of delicious sausage, scrambled egg, or buttery biscuit in this barren cage. Pity welled in him.
“Hey!” Fin whispered. “Hey!”
The little one twitched. “Yeah? Who’s there?”
“I’m Fin—sent by the Tunnel Council. We heard there was a Killing Chamber, but I didn’t believe…” Fin’s voice trailed off. For a moment all he could hear was the laboured breathing of the caged pup. “Why’s that two-leg keeping you locked up?”
“Who knows?” said the rat pup. “Who can understand a two
-leg? All I know is I’m trying to sleep.”
“Wait!” whispered Fin urgently. “Just tell me how to open the cage, and I’ll get you out of here!” Gripping the bars between his teeth, Fin gnawed furiously. But the bars remained unbroken, unmoved. Fin tried again, even more vigorously. “Come on,” he growled, “open!”
“No use,” sighed the pup. “We’ve all tried. But thanks…friend.” Curling himself tightly into a ball, he wrapped his tail around his body and closed his eyes. Within moments he was asleep.
Fin wasn’t giving up. Clambering over the young male’s cage, Fin reached the one next to him. In it was a white rat, just like the first. Same with the next cage, and the next. The entire section of cages contained white rats. He’d thought Scratch was the only one.
Metal shelves stretched in both directions for as far as Fin could see, all covered with cages. The two-leg remained hunched over its table, making those funny scratches on the flat leaf.
It was a tall, gangly two-leg. It wore a white coat over its clothing and had a frowsy tangle of mouse-brown hair on its crown. Round pieces of glass hung before its eyes in a frame of metal that slipped down its pointy pinched nose, which the two-leg then pushed up with a long finger. Hideous, even for a two-leg. But it was too intent upon its own scratchings. It did not notice Fin.
Cautiously, Fin nosed headfirst down a shelf leg and onto the hard floor. The floor smelled of something nasty and unnatural. It burned his nostrils and made the bottoms of his paws itch.
From the floor everything looked overwhelming. Where to look? Where to go? The Killing Chamber was huge. Crawling under the shelves, he reached the far wall. The cages, crammed from one end of the wall to the other, looked identical to the ones he’d just come from. He shinnied up the leg of one of the shelves and peered into a cage. On its floor lay a mass of white fur covered with strange fleshy lumps. He thought it might be a rat, but it looked like something from Fin’s nightmares.
The fur twitched. A delicate face with red eyes looked out at him. A female.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I…I’m Fin. Council sent me.”
“Council?”
“The Tunnel Council. I’m a member, or I want to be anyway.”
“Why do you want to be a member?” she asked.
“Because I…I… Look, I’m not here to talk about myself.”
“Why are you here?” Her pink eyes watched him, waiting.
He looked away. “I want to help.”
“You can’t help us,” she said. “No one can.”
A feeling rose within Fin, a feeling he didn’t recognize. His heart felt squeezed. He couldn’t breathe—the smells, the sounds—he had to get out. Climbing down, he ran to one side of the room and looked down the aisle. No table, no fan. “Where’s the fan?” he called.
“Dunno,” came a reply from one of the cages.
“What’s a fan?” said another.
Racing under the shelves he reached the other side—it had to be over here. But rows of cages lined the wall. He sat up on his haunches and sniffed the air, waving his nose back and forth to catch the scent. The nasty stink of the floor was all he could smell.
Clink.
What was that?
Clink. Clink.
His ears rotated toward the sound. Honing in on it, he crawled toward it, under the long row of shelves, until finally he came to the row of cages with the young rats. Beyond them was the table with the fan overhead. But at the table sat the two-leg.
It was leaning over something. Fin slipped closer and hid behind a shelf leg. The two-leg was hunched over a metal pan, shining blades flashing in its claws. What was it doing? How was Fin ever going to reach the fan without being spotted?
At that moment the two-leg dropped something on the floor near where Fin was hiding. It reached down to retrieve it.
They locked eyes.
The two-leg bellowed. Its chair clattered backwards against the floor. It took off its shoe and came at Fin, circling him. Memories of the stomping boot came crushing down, but suddenly that feeling, that strange new one, electrified Fin.
He lunged at the two-leg. Digging into its leg with his claws, Fin bit into its flesh until he tasted blood. The two-leg shrieked and slapped at him. Fin lost his hold. He tumbled off. Landing on his back, Fin pedalled the air frantically, twisting his body back onto his paws. Blood smeared the floor from the reopened gash on his tail.
The two-leg gripped the shoe in its claws. It bared its teeth. As it pounced, Fin coiled his legs under himself and jumped. With his claws outspread, he flew at the two-leg’s hairless face, at its blue fish eyes, and raked his nails across its flesh. The two-leg stumbled backwards and crashed into some cages.
The two-leg lay on the floor, a low groan issuing from its mouth. Fin took his chance to escape. He climbed up the wall toward the fan, digging in his claws. He climbed to the same level as the metal pan the two-leg had crouched over. Curiosity overcame him. He crawled to the edge and looked in.
A rat was lying on its back, tied to the pan by its paws. A purple gash ran down the length of its body.
It was dead.
Below, a cage clattered to the floor as the two-leg sat up. Fin climbed to the fan and slipped through. Finally—the duct to outside.
The new, strange feeling burned inside him, making him gasp for air. As if running underwater, he saw his paws moving in slow motion. No air!
The feeling claimed him, overwhelmed him. He approached the group. Plowed through them, oblivious. Their shouts pinged off the tunnels. He did not look back.
This feeling. This new way.
It was hate.
SIXTEEN
“Sometimes history books must be changed and corrected.”
Josef Stalin
Ananda looked out her bedroom window, chewing her lip. She’d heard the distinctive rattle of her dad’s car and knew he was home. He emerged from his silver SUV, his briefcase packed with a million papers. His eyebrows were so clenched together that from where she stood they looked like a single dark, stormy thundercloud.
Whatever had upset him wouldn’t be improved by Ananda’s news.
Her mother said nothing about what had happened at school as the family sat down to dinner. They ate silently for a few minutes. Ananda’s mouth was so dry it was hard to swallow.
Then Perrin set down her knife and fork and said, “So how was your day, Tom?” Her eyes slid to Ananda’s.
Her dad’s answer surprised them both. It gave Ananda an unexpected reprieve.
“It was awful.” He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “A wild rat attacked me. It somehow found a way into the lab.”
Perrin’s mouth dropped open. “That’s disgusting!”
“It was identical to that one we saw at the market. Identical. It jumped at my face. It attacked me.” Tom closed his eyes and took deep breaths in and out. His jaw muscles clenched on and off like he was chewing gum. “It ruined experiments I’ve been working on for months.”
Ananda stared at him. She and start rabies shots,” said Tom. He pulled up his sleeve and frowned at the bandage on his arm.
Perrin snorted in disgust. “What is it going to take for these universities to do something? At the last one it was cockroaches. Here it’s wild rats? What are these people waiting for? For something to carry you off? They keep crying about funding, but this is ridiculous!”
Tom didn’t seem to hear.
“It stared at me,” he said. “It actually stared at me.”
Ananda felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She and her mother glanced at each other, their eyes round.
“It stared at me,” he went on. “Like…like it was…” but he didn’t finish his sentence. He wiped his glasses on his shirttail then put them back on, pushing them up his nose. He gave hi
s head a shake and looked at Perrin and Ananda, blinking. For a moment no one spoke.
Perrin raised her eyebrows.
“Ananda’s news won’t make you feel any better.” She turned to Ananda. “Tell your father why you’re suspended from school for a week.”
***
As Ananda lay in bed that night, shadows from the trees outside her window pitched across her ceiling. Wind rattled the windowpane, clattering to come in; a storm was coming. The first fat drops of rain splattered against the house.
Scenes from the day played in her mind like a closed loop, over, and over, and over. The press of the circle of guys around her. The feeling of being threatened. Chris’s face leering down. And an out-of-body shot of her own face, frozen in a cry. The book fading below the surface. And the eyes of the man on the cover, like two black holes.
The look of disappointment on her father’s face when he heard what she’d done.
She lay awake a long time before slipping into a restless sleep plagued by dreams of eyes as dark as bruises.
SEVENTEEN
“Their greediness, their scorn and malice were asking to be punished.”
John of Reading, chronicling period of 1346–67
Fin reached the Council Chamber moments before Bothwell came bounding in, the rest of the squad behind him. Councillor Bothwell cast a dangerous look in Fin’s direction, but Fin didn’t care.
“I must speak!” Fin said.
He stood panting before the other Councillors: Tiv, Julian, Sergo, Balthazar, and of course, Papa.
“That was fast,” said Tiv, dryly.
Julian squinted at Fin. “Didn’t we just send him out?”
“I must—”
“Silence!” Papa commanded. “Councillor Bothwell. Your report.”
Bothwell stepped in front of Fin. “We’re back…quick as…if we’d…sprouted wings…” he panted. “Thanks to young Fin, who set a…remarkable pace…”
The Great & the Small Page 6
