“Do not mention that Wrecker again, Nephew!”
“But Papa, he cried for the two-legs.”
Papa swung around and glowered at Fin. “Silence! Do not speak of it! Wreckers are liars, and anyone who talks about them is a liar too! Are you telling me that my own nephew is a Wrecker?”
Fin looked down so that his uncle couldn’t see the doubt in his eyes. “I was just wondering…”
“Just wondering?” said Papa. “Questioning, more like it. Questioning me!”
Fin nibbled a biscuit, his eyes fixed on it.
“Council asked Balthazar to do his duty,” continued Papa. “To tell the story of the Great Dying, for the Common Good! And that old carcass, that Wrecker, betrayed us! Betrayed us all! There are more Wreckers, m’boy. They shall be rooted out! Rooted out and exterminated like common vermin!”
The biscuit tasted like dust in Fin’s mouth. What little he’d had sat like a lump in his belly. “Let’s just forget it,” he said. “Let’s go down to the market—”
“Forget it?” Papa sputtered, licking his lips. “You ask questions like a Wrecker and we are to forget it? Who gives you such thoughts, eh? Maybe that ugly albino? White fur, bulging red eyes… Is he a Wrecker?”
“No,” said Fin. “No! Scratch is—”
“Well, then maybe his mousy sister, eh? What’s her name? Zumi, isn’t it?”
Fin’s ears burned and tears pricked his eyes. “No! I mean, yes, that’s her name but—”
“Oh, ho! It is her, isn’t it? When you came to Council and you wouldn’t tell us who your Wrecker friend was!” The corners of Papa’s mouth were damp with saliva. He took a step toward Fin. Jabbed a claw at him. “Could’ve had you there, m’boy!”
“Stop it!” choked Fin. Tears streamed down his face. “Stop it, Papa!”
His uncle stepped back like Fin had bitten him. He stood panting, licking his lips over and over again, his eyes wide and confused.
At that moment a voice called from the burrow’s opening. “Chairman? Is the Beloved Chairman there?”
Blinking rapidly, Papa said, “Yes? What is it? I am here.”
“Private message from Council, sir.”
“Yes, yes! Coming!” Papa swept his paws over his ears in a quick groom and, smoothing his fur, went out into the passage, leaving Fin alone in the nest.
The mutter of voices bounced off the tunnel walls, surging and receding. A deep weariness came over Fin, like the fog that rolled in every night from the harbour. Staggering to his mound of rags and feathers, he burrowed his way in between the layers and slept.
***
“Get up, Nephew, get up!” Papa crowed joyously. “Get up! Get up!”
With his fur still damp with tears, Fin sat up.
“It has started, my boy. Finally, it’s started.”
“What?” said Fin.
“Chtt! Chtt! Listen!” Eyes squeezed closed, Papa held up a paw to silence Fin. Music was playing—tinkling, whimsical music that wafted up from the two-leg eatery on the hill below their nest.
Papa began to sway. Eyes still shut, he swayed back and forth to the music. He popped one eye open to peer at Fin.
“Come! Come! Why so glum, Nephew? It’s finally started!”
His uncle’s glee shot through the nest like a shaft of sparkling night air, but Fin was having none of it. He turned his back. “No. Whatever’s started, I don’t care.”
Papa surprised him by leaping to his side. He nuzzled him, snuffling Fin’s ear. In a sorrow-filled voice, he murmured, “Forgive my temper, dear Nephew. Forget it…please. I cannot bear for you to be angry with me.”
Fin looked away.
Papa sighed. “Ah me. I can be an inconsiderate oaf. A big, horrible, offensive, brutish oaf.”
“You’re right,” said Fin. He still didn’t turn around.
“Nephew, I tell you what. You come to the Council meeting, and all shall be made clear. Please?”
“No!” Tears streamed fresh from Fin’s eyes. “You threatened my friends! You threatened me! I didn’t like what you said, Papa. I didn’t like it at all!”
But again his uncle surprised him. Instead of being angry at Fin’s challenge, he chuckled. “Yes, there is that fighting spirit. But come, Nephew, forget all. Yes? Can we not celebrate together?” He laughed, swaying back and forth to the music, and motioned for Fin to join him.
Fin stood frozen.
His uncle stopped dancing, and his shoulders drooped. “I tell you, dear Nephew, you must ignore the ravings of a tired old rat. Forgive your poor uncle.” The smile wiped from his face, he looked forlorn and weary. A few white hairs marked his cheeks. His eyes, glimmering with tears, did not leave Fin’s.
The anger that had felt so powerful to Fin just moments ago now seemed petty. It was a sign of greatness to admit one’s mistakes, wasn’t it? And who else had the love of the Beloved Chairman? Love and forgiveness radiated from Fin’s heart for his hot-tempered old uncle, his uncle who’d raised him from a pup.
With a smile tugging at him, Fin said, “As usual, you’re right. You are an oaf!”
They both laughed.
Fin took his place beside his uncle. The tinkling music swooped up and slid down. Around and around the burrow Fin and Papa danced, swirling, leaping, and gasping with laughter.
TWENTY-FIVE
“In the year of our lord, 1348, the great mortality struck our excellent city.”
Giovanni Boccaccio (1313–75)
Fin limped through the Lowers, his squad behind him. Council had given him the assignment of collecting Wreckers and bringing them in for investigation. It was a huge responsibility, and he didn’t want to mess it up. But his foot bothered him, he hadn’t slept well in ages, and he had no clue what he was doing. Trying to hide his discomfort, he called down into a nest opening.
Filth and raw sewage lay strewn about. “Hey! Is there a Hobbs here?” There was shuffling and then silence. “I know you’re in there!” called Fin. “Come out and make it easier on everybody.”
A squad member named Mink said, “Can I go in after him, Boss? Can I?” Mink’s eyes shone like those of a rat pup asking for a treat. The hulking brute’s whiskers twitched in eager anticipation.
Fin repressed a shudder. “No. Let me do this my way.” He shouted down into the nest. “Hobbs! Come out before you get hurt. Don’t force me to send the squad in after you!”
“No…no!” squeaked a voice. “I’m coming!” A small shape emerged from the nest opening. An elderly rat gazed up at Fin, worry wrinkling his patchy fur. His eyes bulged with dread.
“Nothing to worry about, if you cooperate,” said Fin with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. The terror in the rat’s eyes didn’t waver.
Fin’s smile dropped. “There are reports of extensive Wrecker activity in the Lowers, Mister Hobbs, reports that pinpoint this area. Council believes you are involved.”
“I… I dunno…” Hobbs muttered. “Can’t remember! I swear, I can’t remember!”
“Mister Hobbs, that’s not what I heard,” said Fin.
“I…I…” The grey-muzzled old rat chewed his lip. “I…can’t remember!” Tremors shook his body, making the ends of his whiskers dance.
Fin scowled, trying to hide the uncertainty that gripped him. Hobbs hadn’t confessed. Now what?
There was an uncomfortable silence. Everyone’s eyes were on him, waiting for him to take action.
The old rat’s eyes darted back and forth between Fin and the other squad members. He looked bewildered. One of the squad yawned and scratched her ear. Another sighed.
“Well,” began Hobbs, “if that’s all, young feller, I’ll just be gettin’ along—”
“Of course that’s not all!” snapped Fin. His mind raced. What would Papa do?
Screwing his face into a sneer, Fin leaned
in close. “You leave me no choice! My…my first priority is to ensure the safety of these tunnels. So…as sorry as I am for you, either tell me what you know, or…you know.” Fin wasn’t sure what “you know” would be. He hoped Hobbs wouldn’t want to find out.
It worked. To Fin’s surprise, Hobbs burst into tears. “I dunno! I dunno!” Hobbs sobbed. His teeth chattered so much that drool trickled down the side of his mouth.
Mink sidled alongside the suspect and thrust out his haunch in a fighting move. The frail rat slammed against the tunnel wall.
Hobbs squealed, “Agh! Don’t…don’t hurt me!”
Mink grinned and looked over at Fin, awaiting orders.
Fin could hardly breathe. He struggled to keep his face impassive. He couldn’t take the old rat’s screams anymore. “Let him go!” he gasped.
“Huh?” said Mink with a snort. “I don’t think so!”
“By order of Council, you big stupid oaf, let him go!” shouted Fin. “Let him go!” Rushing at Mink, he bit him hard on his neck.
“Yagh! Yes sir!” said Mink. “Sorry, sir!”
“Go! All of you!” Fin shrieked. The ARM squad fled, casting backward glances at Fin like they thought he was off his cheese.
Once Fin and Hobbs were alone in the tunnel, the old rat babbled, “Oh thank you, thank you, young feller! I knew you weren’t no thug like the rest of ’em…”
“Shut up!” Fin’s head pounded so hard it felt like it was going to shoot off his neck. He wanted to leave. Let the poor old rat go. But Papa was counting on him. The Killing Chamber rats were counting on him.
Fin choked out, “You’re…you’re just an ugly Wrecker! NO! Don’t deny it! Stir up any more trouble, and I’ll come back and finish what Mink started! Understand?”
The old rat stared at Fin, his eyes like glass marbles.
Tears pricked behind Fin’s eyes. “Do—you—understand—me?” he shrieked.
“Y-yes…yes…” Hobbs’s chin quivered uncontrollably. Tears clouded the old rat’s eyes. “I…I understand you.”
“Good! Now go!” Fin’s voice was shrill as it ricocheted off the walls. Hobbs scrambled down into his burrow.
As soon as he was alone, Fin burst into tears.
After he’d recovered himself a little, he dried his face and went to give his report to Council. Sticking out his chest, he gazed around at the Councillors with his eyes steady and managed to convince them that he’d planned the whole thing from the start. “And now the dirty old Wrecker will spread the word about the no-tolerance policy for Wrecking!”
Council believed him. He even fooled Papa. Not easy to do when you’re lying through your teeth.
***
After that first horrible experience, Fin went to Tiv, Councillor of Information, to get the background on suspected Wreckers before he collected them. That way, when the excuses started (and there were always excuses) he’d know the real story. He’d stay strong.
Scratch went with him on Collections now and was granted new quarters by Council. He had a nest in the Uppers, close to Fin’s. Scratch talked non-stop about his new life. “I could get used to this, I won’t lie! I could get used to this!”
It was nice to have his buddy by his side, but sometimes Fin worried about him. Scratch was so gullible, so easily led. Zumi had tried to tell Fin that a long time ago.
Zumi had refused to move with her brother and had stayed behind in the Lowers. She’d avoided them both since the Forbidden Garden.
Fin’s feelings for Zumi were a giant tangle. Zumi had saved his life. He’d saved hers. She was exasperating, but also honest. And whatever else she was, Zumi was brave. When Papa had accused Zumi of Wrecking, Fin knew why it had upset him so much—because he knew it was true.
As nights went by, Fin carried out Collections with greater and greater effectiveness. Questions didn’t trouble him while he was awake. There was too much to do, too much responsibility on his shoulders. But every sunrise, when he curled beside his uncle, dreams crowded his sleep.
***
Nia nuzzles his ear. Sighing, he tries to wriggle in closer, but suddenly she is gone. There is nothing there, and he is alone.
Whimpering, Fin noses around for her in the dark. She was there a moment ago, but her scent is cold. Where did she go?
From the shadows in the grey tunnel beyond, creatures emerge, ghostly and shimmering. Plague Rats. Their fur hangs in shredded strips. White bone glimmers.
Fin looks away. Where is Mother?
The Plague Rats slowly approach, bones creaking. One reaches for him, and he shrinks back until he recognizes her. “Pip,” says Nia. Her eyes glimmering, tears fall down her face and wet his fur.
TWENTY-SIX
“I closed my ears to the sound of children crying and women weeping… I believed I was doing what was necessary. What was right.”
Lev Kopelev, a young Soviet activist
It was Saturday afternoon. On Monday, Ananda would go back to school after her suspension. Every time she thought about it, she broke out in a cold sweat. She tried to push it out of her mind.
She hadn’t told anyone about what Litko and his goons had done to her, how they had humiliated her. And how every single person in that courtyard had watched them do it but had done nothing.
Nothing. Would she have helped if it were someone else being bullied? She liked to think she would. After all, wasn’t helping that rat escape in the market the same as helping someone who was being bullied? It seemed the rat incident had been the start of a series of events that were unravelling beyond control. But even if she was the instigator, the one who’d started it all off, Ananda wouldn’t change what she had done. She couldn’t have just stood by and watched.
Tears stung her eyes. She would never, ever just stand by.
Ananda sat on her bed, drawing, the sound of charcoal on paper rasping in her ear. Using a hand mirror, she was drawing a self-portrait. She had mapped out the “gesture” of her face. She was just starting to add shadow contour when her mom rapped on her door.
“Ananda, don’t forget you’ve got to clean the basement today.”
Sigh. “Yes, Mother.”
The floorboards creaked as her mother walked away.
The murmur of the television in the other room floated below the sound of the charcoal. Her mother’s voice broke through every so often, talking to someone on the phone—probably Ananda’s dad, who was at the lab.
Smudging the charcoal with her thumb, Ananda deepened the shadows around the bridge of her nose. She held up the mirror and studied herself. The drawing did look like her—kind of. Something was off, but she couldn’t tell what.
She was hesitating, her hand hovering over the paper, when she caught a few words that drifted in from the TV.
“Bubonic Plague…the city’s waterfront…public not to panic…”
Setting her sketchpad aside, she climbed off the bed and cracked open the door.
Her mom sat braced on the edge of the couch, her back to Ananda, watching the news. Perrin was pointing the remote at the TV with one hand and holding the phone with the other. Beyond her mother, Ananda saw the TV screen filled with shots of the wharf. “Tom, did you hear that? Yes, just downtown, near the docks or something…wait, wait, hold on!”
The image on the TV switched to a female reporter standing in front of a downtown hospital. In the background, people bustled around wearing surgical masks and protective gear. The reporter spoke to the camera.
“There are three confirmed deaths at this point from what appears to be an outbreak of plague. Health officials say it’s too soon to say if it’s the same strain that has been ripping through South Asia and parts of Europe. Although details will not be released until next of kin are notified, we know that two of the dead were members of the Golden Age Seniors’ travel group, visiting from the UK. I was just told t
hat a worker from a local tourist shop may be the third victim…”
The plague? The plague? It was here?
“Public health officials are investigating the case. As you can see behind me, containment procedures to stop the spread of contagion have been put into effect.
“Officials are acting quickly, determined to avoid another SARS or Ebola crisis. If you recall, in the case of the 2003 SARS and 2014 Ebola outbreaks, hospitals around the world scrambled to keep up.”
Her mom said into the phone, “Are you listening to this?”
“Although officials won’t say why the individuals died so suddenly, some experts are raising the specter of ‘super bugs’—pathogens resistant to drugs, pathogens that have the ability to mutate over time. That, along with the over-prescribing of antibiotics, has created what some experts are calling ‘a public health time bomb.’ One moment…”
The reporter held the earpiece closer to her ear. She nodded before continuing.
“We are receiving breaking news that five more people, again that is five other people, which my sources tell me includes a local high school student, have been admitted to hospital with very suspicious symptoms. It is not clear if they are infected, but health officials are—and I quote—‘acting with an abundance of caution.’”
“Oh my God, Tom! Don’t tell me not to panic! This is exactly what you were afraid of!”
The hair on Ananda’s arms and neck stood on end. Her eyes stayed locked on the reporter who dug into the deadly history of the plague with obvious relish.
“Nicknamed the ‘Black Death,’ the plague struck medieval Europe, killing an estimated one-third to one-half of the population. The highly contagious pestilence is believed to have originated in the East and was transported by trading vessels to Europe. Public officials have reportedly been considering whether this current pestilence was also transported to North America through international cargo ships in a true case of history repeating itself…”
“Three people already, and maybe five more!” said Perrin. “And one of them’s a teenager!”
The Great & the Small Page 10
