The Great & the Small

by Andrea Torrey (A. T. ) Balsara

  “Oh, Fin.” Zumi’s voice was soft. She nuzzled away a tear that had escaped down his nose.

  He began to weep. “After…after I saw you in the Tunnel that day, when I…and those pups…you know.”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, I went to Council and I quit. I told them that my fight was with the two-legs, not with other Tunnel Rats. Let the Council deal with Wreckers!” He looked at Zumi, the defiance and liberation he’d felt standing up to Council strengthening him for a moment. “So Papa said I could have my own Plague Rat squad after I finished that day’s work. I only had a few more Wreckers to collect. But I found out you were one of them. I sent Scratch to warn you.”

  There was silence. Zumi stared at him. “So, it’s true? Council is using collected rats as Plague Rats?”

  Fin chewed his lip. “I don’t know. Some volunteer, but others…I don’t know.”

  She nodded, but her brows were furrowed.

  “I…I thought I was done with…with feeling so guilty!” said Fin. “But it’s worse than ever.” He climbed out of the rags and paced fretfully. “After you and I argued in the Forbidden Gardens, I joined Council to see the truth for myself. For my first assignment I was sent to investigate a Killing Chamber.”

  “Oh!”

  “Yeah…I saw a two-leg there who…who was so cruel.” Tears washed down his face. “I swore I’d kill the two-leg for what it had done.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I was assigned my Plague Rats, and before the mission I went back to the Killing Chamber. I hid in a box, and the two-leg drove me to its tall nest. It was easy. Next moonrise, I led the squad right to it. I chewed a hole in a window frame so the Plague Rats could get through.”

  “Why?”

  “They were supposed to climb into the tall nest and infect the two-legs…and then die. That was their mission.” He’d pushed aside the pity he’d felt for the miserable, dying rats because it was easier. Shame suddenly choked Fin. “But that’s not what happened. My orders were to leave and let the death squad do their work, but I didn’t. I wanted to see where the two-leg would die. So I went in, but my leg got stuck in the hole and I fell into its nest. I fell a long way. At the bottom, huge metal jaws bit my leg and broke it.

  “Oh, Fin!”

  “I thought I was dead. But then something happened that I can’t explain.” Fin’s fur stuck out in wet tufts on his cheeks. “A little…a little two-leg saved me,” he finally said.

  “Oh!”

  “It should have killed me!” said Fin. “After all, I was there to kill it. But it didn’t. It saved me and hid me, and every moonrise and sunrise it came and fed me.”

  “Weren’t you scared?” asked Zumi.

  “I was at first. But then…then…I grew to love it.”

  Zumi’s mouth dropped open.

  “I love the little two-leg,” Fin said, gulping. A fresh rain of tears spilled from his eyes, down his cheeks. “The little one was good to me. I almost stayed, but I couldn’t. Not with…with what I had tried to do. But I couldn’t go back to Papa, either. I’ve been hiding out, trying to figure out what to do.” He looked at her. “I’m lost, Zumi. I don’t belong anywhere.”

  “Yes, you do. You belong with me!” she said, nuzzling him. “And you and I are going to fight this Plague War and stop it. You’ve got to go to your uncle, Fin! You’re the only one who can tell him to stop the war!”

  “No! No way!” Fin’s head pounded.

  “What do you mean, no? You just told me that you love a little two-leg. An innocent little two-leg who saved your life! Your uncle is back in the Tunnels trying his best to kill every last one of them. Including the one you love.”

  “Zumi! It’s not that simple.” Fin pulled away and began pacing. The doubt and worry that had been festering in the back of Fin’s mind now clamoured at him. “It’s not like I can just stroll in and tell him to stop!”

  “Why not? You’re his nephew. You’re the only one who can stop him!”

  “You didn’t see the Killing Chamber!” cried Fin. “You didn’t see the rat with no name, covered with lumps!”

  “You mean the Killing Chamber where my mother was?” said Zumi. “Why do you think Scratch is albino? Our mother escaped from a Killing Chamber, so if anyone has the right to hate the two-legs, it’s me, not you!”

  “Then why don’t you?” said Fin.

  “Because hate doesn’t change anything!”

  Fin ground his teeth. “Zumi, the two-legs have been killing us, torturing us since the days of the Old Ones! And now, just because I—”

  “Just because you love one of them.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say.” Tears choked Fin’s voice. “This has nothing to do with my feelings.”

  “Then what does it have to do with?”

  Fin took a breath. “Zumi, we have a chance to be happy. You and I. I’m no Balthazar. I just want to be left alone to live my life. Let’s find him and get him to stop the war.”

  Zumi stared at him. “Balthazar is dead. You saw him die.”

  Fin shook his head. “No. Papa said that Balthazar asked to leave, and Council let him. We just have to find him.”

  Zumi shouted, “Your uncle lied to you! He’s lied to you about everything! Balthazar is dead!”

  “No! Papa wouldn’t lie to me,” said Fin. “Just because you hate him doesn’t mean I have to hate him too! He’s my uncle!”

  “He lied. He’s not like you, Fin. Your uncle is evil.”

  “Evil? Now you sound like you did in the Forbidden Garden. I don’t want to fight you, Zumi. I love you. We have each other. Why isn’t that enough for you?”

  “What about your little two-leg?” asked Zumi.

  Fin froze. His mouth opened and closed as he struggled to speak. A wave of red surged over his eyes. He screamed, “I. Said. I’m. Not. Going!” He charged at Zumi, running at her, his teeth bared. Zumi stumbled back and gaped at him.

  Fin stopped himself. Remorse struck him like a crushing boot. “Oh…Zumi, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He tried to nuzzle her.

  She shrank back, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Go—go back to your uncle! Kill all the two-legs! Get every last one! And when they are all dead, and when the Lowers are dead, and the market is dead, YOU WILL STILL HAVE EACH OTHER!”

  Fin crept toward her. “But Zumi, I love you…”

  With a cry she pushed by him and scrabbled out of the nest, out the drainage pipe, into the bleak sunlight, away from him.

  A gaping hole split open inside Fin. An emptiness that swallowed any good thing he had ever tried to do, any good feeling or intention he’d ever had.

  He was a monster.

  Blindly, Fin staggered through the pipe and into the glaring light. As he ran, trying to outpace the despair that lapped at him, shapes danced, dark smudges in the sun. He kept on, not knowing, not caring which way he went.

  He ran until he couldn’t run anymore and then collapsed to the ground. He dropped into a feverish sleep. Immediately, nightmares leaped up, clawing at him.

  ***

  She is there, warm. Her body curved around his. But now Fin knows what is coming. He tries to sit up, to warn his mother. But sleep is too heavy on him, and he cannot move.

  A brushing sound—he shudders. His mother shudders too. Rearing up, Nia lunges at the intruder, but the voice speaks to him, mocking him.

  Fin shakes his head, no—no—no.

  Nia screams, “Listen, Pip! Can’t you hear?”

  The voice laughs. “Fin is deaf.”

  “Open your eyes, Pip!”

  “Fin is blind,” laughs the voice.

  Struggling to open his eyes, Fin finally opens them a small slit. His mother lies with her back to him, a crimson ribbon of blood flowing from her neck, staining the dirt.


  She is dead. But before he can cry out, her head turns and stares at him. It is not his mother now. Eyes that are brown stare at him, pierce him. The two-leg.

  Lumps the size of apples circle her neck, swell her face. She tries to speak from pale, bloodless lips, but the crimson river spews from her mouth, her nose, her eyes.

  When Fin awoke, it was moonrise. Snow filtered down from the dark sky, settling on the bench over top of him and tracing an outline on the cobbled ground. The winged statue stood nearby, head bowed, so like Balthazar. Just ahead he could see the fishmonger’s stall, its steel curtain lowered.

  The market. He had found his way home, without knowing how he’d gotten here. But as he gazed around, he realized why he was here.

  There was work to do.

  FORTY-NINE

  “Let us discuss the things we have seen, and show the terrible judgment of God.”

  Gabriele de’ Mussis, 1348

  The Chairman paced back and forth in the Council Chamber. Sergo sat stiffly, his eyes not leaving Papa. Bothwell was hunched over a chicken wing that he’d filched from a dumpster. It was just the three of them.

  “Ah, Julian,” sighed Papa. “What to do? And now dear Tiv.”

  Sergo’s eyes met his. Sergo opened his mouth to say something, but Bothwell interrupted.

  He crunched noisily. “Well, I’m just sayin’, we’re runnin’ low on Councillors, ain’t we? I mean, first, there’s old Balthazar, then Julian, and now Tiv! I’m watchin’ me back,” he said with a nod. “That’s all I can say!” Bothwell sucked through his teeth and picked at them with a claw.

  Sergo stared at him, his lip curling. “Yes,” he muttered. “Never know what happens in dark tunnel.”

  Bothwell took another bite, fixing his good eye on Sergo. “Some might take that as a threat, my lad.”

  Papa smiled. “Now, now. Councillor Bothwell, you raise an excellent point. We can’t be too careful. Wreckers are everywhere, right, loyal Sergo?” The Beloved Chairman’s gaze rested on the large rat.

  Bothwell snickered. “Sergo’s loyal all right. As loyal as a flipping dog—and as ugly!”

  “Idiot!” said Sergo. He lunged at Bothwell and bit his ear. A drop of blood appeared.

  Bothwell sniffed the blood. He snarled. Throwing down his chicken wing, he faced Sergo. “You’ll pay for that, you will! You’ll bloody pay for that!” He dived at Sergo’s haunch. Sergo was too swift, and the ARM Councillor’s jaws snapped the air.

  Bothwell reared up on his hind legs, his teeth bared. “By the Old Ones,” he hissed. “You’ve been askin’ for this a long time!” He lunged again, but missed. He snarled, circling Sergo.

  “Ha! Ha!” taunted Sergo. “You missed me, little Mouse-Captain! Maybe I stand still for you, huh? Then maybe you catch me?”

  Bothwell hissed at him. The two rats circled each other, panting, their eyes locked.

  Papa said nothing, just watched.

  Bothwell thrust his head forward one way, then bobbed the other. The manoeuvre threw Sergo off balance. Bothwell bit deep into Sergo’s shoulder, then darted out of reach.

  “Aaggh!” roared Sergo. “Buffoon! Idiot! You are joke to Council! Papa does not ask BUFFOON for special favour! Only Sergo! We do not need buffoon Captain!”

  “I’m a buffoon, am I? And what ‘special favour’?”

  “Tell him, dear Papa! Why don’t you tell him! Tell buffoon Cap—!” But as Sergo spoke, Papa lunged forward. He threw Sergo to the ground and drove his curved incisors deep into Sergo’s hip.

  Sergo screamed. Blood began to spurt from the wound. Papa stood over him, blood dripping from his mouth.

  Bothwell jumped back. His eyes blinked rapidly at the dark red bloom growing in Sergo’s fur. Then he blinked at the blood around the Chairman’s mouth.

  Sergo’s mouth opened and closed without a sound. He stared up at Papa. His eyes were as round as a pup’s.

  “Right…” said Bothwell. Edging behind Papa and Sergo, he paused before the entrance. His eyes darted between them. He turned and ran out.

  Papa and Sergo were alone.

  The Chairman stood over Sergo. “Wrecker,” he said.

  “What? But why…?” groaned the other rat. “Ohhhh…”

  “There are many ways of Wrecking. Many.”

  “But…”

  “All I ask is loyalty!”

  Sergo began to protest. “But…but Sergo is loyal…”

  “SILENCE! Leaking secrets! Spreading lies! Who else did you tell? Eh?” Papa thrust his face into Sergo’s.

  “No one,” gasped Sergo. “I told…no one!” His blood puddled around him, tears flowed down his cheeks. “Papa…does not…trust Sergo?” choked the huge rat.

  The Chairman’s eyes were as cold as two stones.

  Sergo exploded into sobs.

  “Loyalty,” said Papa.

  “No…!” choked Sergo before bursting into a fresh flurry of weeping. Struggling to get up, he collapsed. Front paws scrabbling at the dirt floor, he dragged himself toward Papa’s feet.

  The Chairman stepped back, his brows drawn together, his jaw hard. Walking to the entrance, he paused without looking back.

  “Goodbye, Sergo.” He climbed through the hole and was gone.

  The large rat pulls himself through the tunnel with his forelegs; he can see the light from the market ahead.

  Squeezing between the gap separating the Tunnels from the world of the two-legs, he hauls himself onto the snowy street. He is in the alley below the market, but it is deserted. Perhaps there are two-legs in the market above.

  He claws himself up the icy stairs, leaving a steaming trail of blood behind him.

  There must be at least one two-leg left. One who can do this last act of mercy. Suddenly there is a shout, the thud of boots.

  A shadow blots out the sun. Smashes down.

  And then, silence.

  FIFTY

  “When God made his creation he never imagined it would come to this.”

  Gabriele de’ Mussis, 1348

  Papa trudged along the alley. It wasn’t a long walk from the Council Chamber back to the Uppers, but he was tired. The meeting to elect new councillors for the Organs of Council had been short. A list of candidates had been given to Papa, and he had decided yes or no—that wasn’t the problem.

  The problem was age. It was catching up to him.

  He crawled into his burrow, sighing deeply. He couldn’t even remember the new councillors. They all looked so young! Like that new Councillor of the ARM, which, on top of everything else, he’d had to find. Blast Bothwell!

  After seeing Sergo’s punishment, Bothwell had vanished. Papa had sent the ARM after him, an irony that even the dull-witted Bothwell would have appreciated—if he’d lived long enough. The coward’s body had been dragged back for all to see. An example, as Sergo was an example, to show that no one was immune from justice.

  Papa’s heaped nest of feathers and soft rags looked inviting. He ambled over and yawned, nosing the layers of cloth. The cloth was soft, wonderfully soft. Stolen for him by new Councillor What’s-his-name. Smart of the young pup to bring it. The recent rash of councillor deaths made everyone eager to please the Beloved Chairman.

  Fear is good. Fear is useful.

  Papa circled until he found a good spot then collapsed with a sigh, his tail curling around his body. Sleep beckoned. But just as he was nodding off, he heard a scuffling.

  Someone was in the burrow.

  He threw off the nesting. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

  There was no one.

  Lowering his head, Papa’s ears remained pricked and alert. But soon, his eyelids began to droop.

  “Papa,” said a voice behind him.

  He jumped straight into the air. As he did, he twisted his body around. He landed facing the other way, t
eeth and claws drawn.

  There was no one.

  “What is this trickery?” he bellowed. His eyes darted around the room.

  “Papa.” The voice was loud in his ear.

  He whirled. There was only the dirt floor. “Show yourself! Or are you a coward?” The only sound was his breathing.

  Someone giggled in his other ear.

  He bellowed and reeled around. Again, no one.

  The Chairman licked his lips, his eyes flicking around the nest. That voice. It was familiar. A thought struck him. Was it Fin? Had Fin returned? He wasn’t dead! It would be just like Fin to play a joke on his old uncle!

  “Fin!” he called. “Fin! Is that you? Fin?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Papa saw the bedding twitch. His fur prickled as the mound of nesting began to move. A scream grew in his throat.

  The lump wormed its way under the rags. It was coming toward him.

  He stumbled back. “Who is there?” His voice rose to a shriek. “Come out, you devil!” Lunging forward, he ripped the rags away with his teeth.

  Underneath, nothing.

  He staggered to keep his balance. “What is this? Who are you?”

  Another giggle behind his ear.

  Papa spun around but now his legs were as wobbly as a pup’s. He tripped. Floundering on his back, his paws pedalled the air.

  “Ha, ha.”

  Heaving himself upright, the Chairman roared, “Show yourself!” Then, whirling around, he stood nose to nose with her. Nia.

  “Hello, brother,” she said.

  Papa shrieked. He jumped upwards and back so violently that he crashed high against the burrow wall. His claws scrabbled at the dirt wall as he tried to stop himself from sliding.

  Nia waited at the bottom.

  Her lidless eyes glittered as she grinned at him. Her fleshless jaws opened wide.

  Still shrieking, Papa fell into her mouth. Felt her teeth close, sever his neck. Blood spurted onto the burrow wall. Puddled on the floor. He sank to the ground. Head so heavy. Can’t hold it… His head snapped free from his neck and rolled from his body. It bounced across the dirt floor…