Ananda was desperate to escape. She had to get out of the house or she’d go crazy. She stood at her mother’s open office door. “Mom, I need to go to the library.”
Her mother didn’t look up from her computer. “No. Do your chores.”
Ananda played her ace card. “But it’s for school.”
“School?” Perrin stopped typing and looked at her.
“Yes, I have a big History assignment. It’s due the week after I get back from my…you know.”
The walk to the library was heavenly.
The walk back was torture.
Ananda had five heavy books that got heavier with every step.
She was nearing home when she heard George call to her. Ananda turned around and smiled. George separated from the group of girls she was walking with and jogged over to her.
“Hey! How are you doing?”
“My life as a convict is going great so far,” she joked. “No chain gangs yet, though, or murder acquittals, so my biography will have to wait.” Ananda laughed.
George looked at her, mystified.
Ananda blushed. “I mean, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
George shook her head so that her blonde hair swirled around her. “You’re so weird, Ananda,” she laughed, and began chattering about the news at school. Ananda nodded at the right times, but George’s off-hand comment had stung. Weird?
By the time they reached her house and had said goodbye, Ananda was exhausted.
She dumped the books on her desk.
Ananda knew she didn’t fit in at school; it didn’t take Einstein to figure that out, but weird? Mind you, George had said it with a smile. Maybe weird was good.
When was weird ever good?
“Stop it,” she said out loud. George was nice. Period. Of course she hadn’t meant anything by it! Pushing it from her mind, she sat down at the desk.
She had brought home books on the plague that had happened during the 1300s. She’d dumped the idea of reporting on Stalin after the pond incident with Chris. It’d be hard enough to do her report without that grinning fool smirking at her lost book on top of it.
Besides, enough time had passed that Ananda felt silly about her overreaction to the current outbreak of plague. Of course it wasn’t her fault. It had spread from India to a bunch of countries and was in the news a lot. She’d tie it in to the outbreak of the Middle Ages.
Ananda looked at the first book: From the Brink of Chaos. A skeleton grinned on the cover, a golden crown on his head. His abdomen had rotted away, leaving a moldering cavern where his guts had been. It was disgusting, even by modern standards.
She would need fortification if she was going to study a book with a cover that ugly.
Ananda ambled out to the kitchen and made herself a peanut butter and jam sandwich. She brought it back to her desk. Taking a bite, she opened the book:
Here begins a chronicle of the pestilence which occurred in 1348, as written by Gabriele de’ Mussis of Piacenza…. In 1346, from the East, a deadly pestilence struck down countless numbers. Death was instant. Soon, countries were stripped of their people. Villages, towns, and magnificent cities were left abandoned, all within either dead or having fled for their lives…
Listen to me, listen to the story of what I have seen…things so horrible it will make tears flow from your eyes. For God has said He will destroy man, take him off the face of the Earth, turn him back into dust from which he was created. So sayeth the Lord, ‘I bid you weep…’
Ananda put her sandwich down. This was an eyewitness account?
As one person became ill and died, so often did the pestilence poison his entire family, too. Those preparing the body of their loved one, died themselves, leaving all to be buried together…
Death struck suddenly, and without mercy. It emptied cities and towns. It seeped through the windows and under doors…
The afternoon shadows lengthened, but Ananda kept reading.
At dinner, she was quiet. The stories of those who’d lived so long ago swirled in her head. The man who’d seen the bodies of his loved ones dug up and dragged away by dogs. The heaps of the dead thrown into pits for mass burial. The monk who’d thought it was the end of the world but had left parchment in case anyone was left alive to write about it once he was dead.
Her parents tried to pull her into a conversation but soon gave up, and they ate in silence.
As soon as dinner was done, she went back into her room and read.
***
Down the hill of the harbour city, within walking distance of the market, a freighter slipped into port. It was loaded to the gunwales with cargo: textiles, spices, and foodstuffs, even automobiles.
But there was another cargo it carried.
A colony of rats had inhabited the ship’s hold for generations, for as long as the aging freighter had taken to the seas. Now, every member of the colony lay dead—struck down by an ancient foe.
All but one, that is.
The lone surviving rat dragged herself to the mooring rope and inched her way down to the dock below, seeking refuge. It did not take long for the ARM to discover her.
The Gift had been found.
TWENTY-ONE
“Because Man is made of flesh and bone, let him become ashes and dust.”
Gabriele de’ Mussis, 1348
Papa burst into the nest. His eyes glinted with a strange light. “Come! You must come, Nephew!”
“But Papa, I’m—”
“Now!”
Fin obeyed. His dinner—delicious sausage pilfered from the corner deli—was left uneaten. He struggled to keep up with his uncle, who plunged down the alley. The moon was high and the alley empty of two-legs. They darted through the shuttered-up market and down the stairs to the lower alley.
Papa loped toward the Council Chamber, toward the Forbidden Garden.
“Papa…wait! I can’t…keep up…”
“Hurry!”
Fin saw movement at the perimeter of the Forbidden Garden. As he approached, he saw it was a roiling mass of rats. The entire Tunnel Colony flowed under the iron fence, a grey river of whiskers, tails, and ears.
ARM patrols stood by, watching them enter.
“Nephew! Come!” Fin was jerked out of his thoughts. Papa was on the other side of the fence, his eyes wide. “Come!” He seemed larger than ever, and his black fur gleamed in the moonlight.
“Yes, Papa! I’m coming!” said Fin. The air tingled. What was going on? Everyone seemed to feel it. Every face displayed the same wonder and excitement that he felt.
Papa leaped onto the stone bench that jutted out from the small hill. Fin stood behind him, along with some of the ARM and members of Council. Tiv, Julian, Sergo, Bothwell…and Balthazar. The ancient one sat off to the side behind Fin, hunched, his limbs as thin and frail as leafless twigs.
Balthazar did not look at the crowd, or even at the Council, but as Fin got into place behind Papa, he could feel the old rat’s white marble eyes on him. Finally Balthazar turned his face forward, staring sightlessly into the throng.
Standing before the entire colony, Fin saw rats of every age—from suckling pups to toothless elders. As Papa drew himself tall and held open his arms, the crowd jostled in tighter. Mothers shushed their pups, a few receiving sharp nips on the ear.
“Good Tunnel Rats!” cried Papa to the throng below him. Hundreds of rats in the Forbidden Garden fell silent. The Chairman’s gaze moved across the multitude. “You are here to witness the beginning of a new age!”
There was a scuffling beside Fin. Scratch slid in next to him, whispering, “I’m here, Captain Fin, I’m here! Here at your side, doing my duty!”
Fin nodded but said nothing. Zumi was in the crowd. Their eyes locked for a moment before her glance flickered between Fin and her brother in growing horror. Now Zumi knew Scratch was in the ARM
. And she knew who was responsible. Fin looked away, but her eyes stabbed into him.
Scratch elbowed him and nodded about something Papa was saying. Scratch gazed at the Beloved Chairman, his eyes half-closed, swaying his nose back and forth to catch every morsel of sound, every whiff of action with his trembling whiskers.
Papa cried, “You may well ask why, after generations, the Forbidden Garden is open. Because we are celebrating!” Papa pulled himself to his full height, and his velvety black fur rippled in the starlight. He threw back his head and laughed. It was loud and startling. The gathered rats looked hesitantly at each other but then broke out into laughter too.
“Yes, good Tunnel Rats!” said the Chairman. “Yes! The world has changed! And do you know who changed it?” He stared at the audience with wide eyes. “Do you know? He did. My nephew.” Papa pointed to Fin. Every eye in the Forbidden Garden turned to stare.
Fin’s mouth dropped open. Papa’s gaze was on him too. Fin forced a smile. He nodded, his ears so hot they felt on fire.
Papa called to the crowd, “Do you know how he changed it?”
A few rats yelled back, “How?”
“Tell ’em, Boss!” called Bothwell.
“This good Tunnel Rat,” Papa shouted, “this Hero of the Common Good, my nephew, had the courage to say ‘Enough!’ Had the courage to say, ‘Kill them all! Kill the ugly two-legs!’”
A number of rats cheered and shouted Fin’s name. He kept smiling, but his teeth were gritted. Had he said that? He’d been so upset after the Killing Chamber, he hardly knew. The campaign, Disruption and Harassment of Two-Legs, had been in force for nights and nights, but it hadn’t just been Fin’s idea, had it? And no one had died.
He glanced over the crowd, stumbled over Zumi’s dark gaze. Fin pulled his eyes away. His back leg began to throb. Shifting his paws, he pressed his curled paw tight against his belly.
Papa hushed the crowd, then nodded to Julian. Councillor Julian stepped forward, clearing his throat. Leering at the gathering, he smiled, showing his long, yellow teeth. “Every rat is equal! Every nest for all!”
The gathering answered, “Every rat is equal! Every nest for all!”
“Dark days lie ahead, good Tunnel Rats!” cried Julian. “Wreckers will batter against us from within! Two-legs will fight us from without!”
Councillor Tiv stepped forward and cried, “Sacrifice, good Tunnel Rats! Sacrifice! Wreckers must be rooted out, traitors brought to justice. I am a good Tunnel Rat, and I am also a mother,” she stared out at the rats, “but I would turn in my own pup if it betrayed the Common Good!”
The cheering crowd went silent.
Papa smiled, gazing out over the assemblage. Tiv looked at him then raised her paw and shouted, “Sacrifice! Sacrifice for the Common Good!”
Sergo strode up beside her and, shaking his clenched paw in the air, bellowed, “The Common Good! Sacrifice!”
“The Common Good!” cried Bothwell, stamping his feet. “The Common Good! The Common Good!” Like an orchestra conductor, he waved at ARM patrol members, who took up the chant. ARM members wove through the crowds. “The Common Good! The Common Good! The Common Good!”
The excitement was infectious. Rats shrieked and stamped their feet. Fin shouted and stamped his feet too. Behind him Scratch’s piercing squeal could be heard over all. Papa walked back and forth on the bench, listening, smiling. Then, he turned to the gathering, arms open, and waited.
The crowd settled into a mumbled hush. Still, the Chairman stood, silent, his arms outstretched.
In the distance, a seagull squawked, its voice growing faint. A salty gust from the harbour tousled the trees rimming the garden. Water gurgled from the fountain where Fin and Zumi had swum not too long ago. Every rat in the Forbidden Garden leaned forward, their eyes riveted on their Beloved Chairman.
He spoke. “Good Tunnel Rats. The history of our beloved Tunnels would make a stone weep. We all know this history. It is whispered to pups as they play, sung in their lullabies as they sleep; it is fed to them in their mother’s milk so that in the very marrow of our bones we may never forget what the two-legs have done to us. They have trapped us, poisoned us, tortured us, reviled us.” With each word, Papa’s arms jerked wider, as if he himself were experiencing all of those things in front of them. At the end he pulled his fists into himself and hunched over them, his breath ragged.
Sobs broke out in the gathering. A few pups began to wail. Someone shouted, “Those ugly, ugly two-legs!”
Papa slowly pulled himself upright. “Yes, friend, they are indeed ugly.”
He began to pace again. “But there is an older story—much older—that is our history too; a time when rats ruled the earth and the two-legs were cut down like sheaves of wheat in a field. The Old Ones called it ‘the Great Dying.’”
Fin gasped. Exclamations of alarm whisked through the throng. No one talked about that. The time when almost every living thing had been wiped off the earth from a sickness carried by rats. As far back as Fin could remember, a crushing sense of shame had overshadowed the history of his kind. Yes, the two-legs were cruel, and yes, rats were reviled and persecuted by every living creature…but all that was because of the Great Dying. The shadow of it hung over every rat like a suffocating shroud. The Great Dying was what had driven rats into the shadows, the dripping dark of tunnels, the rancid underbelly of civilization where they’d been forced to dwell.
Fin glanced quickly at the Councillors, expecting to see the same shock on their faces as on those of the crowd before him. But none showed surprise. They had known Papa was going to talk about this? The only Council member who was not watching Papa and nodding with agreement was Balthazar. He was asleep, his grizzled chin resting on his chest.
“Why should we not claim this history too?” asked Papa, his voice rising. “Why?” He walked slowly across the front of the park bench, gazing at each rat who sat below him. “Are we ashamed? Are we ashamed that we once walked side by side with Death? That we were its partners in bringing down the two-legs?” He walked back the other way. “Are we? Are you? What about you?” he asked, staring at one young rat at the front.
“No…no…I’m not ashamed, I guess…” the rat murmured, glancing at his neighbours. No one met Papa’s eyes.
“Are you?” shouted the Chairman. “I don’t hear you!”
“Papa, over here!” squealed Scratch, stepping forward. “I’m not ashamed at all! Not one bit! Not one little bit!”
“Scratch!” shouted Zumi, but her cry was muffled by the swarm around her.
Fin pulled Scratch back. “Come on, Scratch. Knock it off.”
Scratch wrenched himself away and thrust a small fist in the air. His white fur glowed in the moonlight. “I’m not ashamed! I’m glad, Beloved Chairman! Yes, I’m glad the Old Ones almost got them all! All those ugly, ugly two-legs!”
“Ah,” chuckled Papa, “the loyal friend.” Scratch beamed, bobbing his head.
Council members nodded with approval, smiling at Scratch as one might smile at a beloved pup.
“Who else?” shouted Papa. “Who else is a good Tunnel Rat like this loyal friend?”
“I am! I am, Chairman!” Shouts began to thrum in the Forbidden Garden. “I am not ashamed! I am not ashamed!”
More and more rats joined in. They streamed toward the bench and swarmed on the grass below Papa. The Chairman’s grin grew wide. As the mash of rats churned below him, clawing over one another to get nearer to their leader, tails became tangled.
The squealing knot of rats rolled and surged as one, careening through the crowd. For a moment it was chaos. Pups screamed, and mothers shrieked. Like flood waters, panic rose in the crowd. Rats began nipping at each other and shouting.
But as quickly as the situation had arisen, Papa calmed it down. He nodded to Bothwell, who, in his turn, nodded to the squad Captains. ARM patrols dive
d into the scrum, untangling tails, heaving rats back, biting to clear the throng.
Order was restored. Papa laughed. “Yes! Yes! Very good! Who else?”
Fin shook his head. How did his uncle do that? He made it look so easy, calming the chaos. How could one who commanded such devotion and adoration be related to a scrawny little rat like Fin?
He would make Papa proud if it took the last breath in his body.
He thrust his nose up. He was the nephew of the Chairman, a Hero. His uncle had said so. “I am not ashamed, Papa,” he called. “I am not ashamed!”
The throb in his foot didn’t matter. Whatever problem Zumi had with him didn’t matter. This was his family. These were his brothers and sisters. And the two-legs? They had Killing Chambers and traps. They poisoned and tormented his brothers and sisters.
Stepping forward next to Papa, Fin shouted, “Kill them all! Kill the two-leg monsters!” The multitude roared with him, moving and rippling in unison like some giant beast.
“Ha, ha! Yes, Fin,” chuckled Papa. “Yes, my boy.”
Seeing his uncle laugh was wonderful. Fin laughed too; his heart felt like it could fly. Papa nuzzled him and nipped his ear, causing the hordes to cheer, “Papa and Fin! Papa and Fin! Papa and Fin!”
Fin stepped back next to Scratch, his ears burning with pleasure.
Scratch shouted with the crowds, “Papa and Fin! Papa and Fin!” Then he added shrilly, “And Fin is my best friend!” Rats who heard him laughed.
Papa raised his paws for silence. The cheering died. “Good Tunnel Rats! We have with us our former Chairman, Balthazar.” Fin knew his uncle well enough to catch the hint of disdain in his voice.
“As Councillor of Preservation, it is his duty to tell you about the Old Ones and their sacrifice. He will tell you about the Great Dying. And teach us why we Tunnel Rats must be proud!”
Papa paused. “Proud enough to give the ultimate sacrifice again. For some of you will need to become Plague Rats.” A few cheers went up before the words sank in, and then there was shocked silence.
The Great & the Small Page 8
