Nightshade City
THE NIGHTSHADE CHRONICLES
BOOK I
Nightshade City
BOOK II
The White Assassin
BOOK I OF THE NIGHTSHADE CHRONICLES
Nightshade
City
HILARY
WAGNER
Holiday House / New York
Text copyright © 2010 by Hilary Wagner
Illustrations copyright © 2010 by Omar Rayyan
All Rights Reserved
HOLIDAY HOUSE is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.
www.holidayhouse.com
ISBN 978-0-8234-2450-4 (ebook)w
ISBN 978-0-8234-2686-7 (ebook)r
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Wagner, Hilary.
Nightshade City / Hilary Wagner.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: Eleven years after the cruel Killdeer took over the Catacombs far beneath the human’s Trillium City, Juniper Belancourt, assisted by Vincent and Victor Nightshade, leads a maverick band of rats to escape and establish their own city.
ISBN 978-0-8234-2285-2 (hardcover)
[1. Fantasy. 2. Rats—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.W12417Nig 2010
[Fic]—dc22
2010002474
ISBN 978-0-8234-2387-3 (paperback)
To my husband,
Eric
Contents
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One: The Catacombs
Chapter Two: Nightshade City
Chapter Three: Hard-Core Beliefs
Chapter Four: The Feast of Batiste
Chapter Five: Alive!
Chapter Six: More Flies with Honey
Chapter Seven: A City of Devils
Chapter Eight: Most Evil of Creatures
Chapter Nine: Home
Acknowledgments
THIS BOOK IS FOR MY husband, Eric, the man who dared me to write this story! He put up with my craziness and found his way through the early drafts, giving brilliant insight along with unwavering love and support. There would be no Nightshade City without him.
This book was inspired by my son, Vincent—my smart, funny, and strong-minded boy, who is the essence of Vincent Nightshade, and by his sister, Nomi, my clever little girl, who was with me the entire time I wrote Nightshade City, born the week the novel was finished.
I am forever grateful to Marietta Zacker and Nancy Gallt. Marietta and Nancy stood behind this book and were absolutely vital in making it happen. From day one, Marietta has championed my writing; she has been nothing short of an inspiration. I could not ask for a better agent or friend and do not know what I’d do without her to keep me sane!
Many, many thanks go to everyone at Holiday House. Julie Amper, my extraordinary editor, did unqualified wonders with the book, not to mention that she taught me a great deal. I know I’m a better writer for it, and I can only hope to work with her in the future.
Last, but by no means least, this book is for Craig Virden. He called me on a Tuesday, forever changing my life. He took a chance on my book, and he took a chance on me. Without a doubt, a small part of his spirit dwells within the corridors of Nightshade City, burning brightly for one and all to see.
Prologue
JUNIPER SLEPT like the dead, his infant son curled next to him, murmuring peacefully. The boy’s miniature tail and feet were snugly tucked under Juniper’s dense winter fur. The fire smoldered softly, infusing the room with a warm caramel glow, the ideal setting for a midday nap. Juniper had earned his rest. The battle was over, and for the first time in a long time, life underground was calm.
A noise interrupted Juniper’s sleep—a dull scraping against the planking of his chamber door. “Who is it?” he called out. Juniper sluggishly looked up from the rocking chair, hoping that the anonymous knocker would go away and that his much-needed nap could continue. He listened for a reply; no answer. It appeared that the stranger at the door had given up. Letting his muscles once again relax, Juniper settled back into his slumber, his substantial arm cradling the tiny boy.
A low, raspy voice whispered, “Juniper. Juniper, wake up.”
Juniper half opened his eye and for a second time looked towards the door, now a bit bothered. “Whoever is there, please come back tomorrow. I’ll be more than happy to talk to you first thing in the morning. I promise you will have my undivided attention.” He waited for a response; again no answer. The stranger had gone. “Thank the Saints,” Juniper said. The room was silent, apart from the baby, who squeaked softly as Juniper shifted in the chair and once again drifted off.
“Juniper!” railed the voice, jolting him from his tranquil state. Juniper bolted from his chair, and plucking up his son, he reached into the fire pit for the hot poker, but it had vanished. He looked frantically for a weapon, quickly grabbing a knife off the table. Trying to follow the voice, he blindly swung the dull blade into the shadows.
There was a crash. Juniper jerked around. His leather satchel had been ripped from its hook and had fallen to the hard dirt floor, its contents sprawled everywhere. Unable to see in the hidden corners, he spun wildly in a confused circle. He hollered angrily into the dark. “Come out! Come out and face me, coward! I know why you’ve come!”
Finding a match, Juniper swiftly lit the wall torches, illuminating all things unseen, and still clutching his sleeping boy, he scoured the room.
No one was there.
CHAPTER ONE
The Catacombs
THE TWO BLACK RATS kept running. The Nightshade brothers coiled swiftly around a dimly lit corner as a tenpenny nail grazed Vincent’s ear. It only nicked the tip but burned like hot coal. He shook his head, ignoring the searing sting, and kept running. Major Lithgo and two senior lieutenants thundered behind them, leaving a cloud of powdered earth in their wake.
As they galloped through the dark winding corridors of the Catacombs, Vincent wondered how High Major Lithgo could move so swiftly. He could actually hear the stout major’s ample belly skidding through the dirt. Even through his panic, Vincent couldn’t help but find this amazing. Belly or not, Major Lithgo grunted madly at their heels, intent on catching them.
“Another!” said Lithgo, commanding a soldier to hurl a second tenpenny.
“Catacomb Hall,” huffed Vincent to his brother, “father’s corridor behind Ellington’s.”
“Agreed,” said Victor. The tenpenny impaled the dirt wall, just missing Victor’s flank, as they took a sudden turn.
The Nightshades deftly took a sharp left, knocking an old toothless rat to the ground, his bag of candlenuts tossed into the air and scattered about the corridor. A lieutenant promptly stumbled over a nut, forcing the other soldier and Major Lithgo to skid violently through the dirt, landing atop one another in a muddled heap of tails, claws, and ears.
Lithgo scrambled to his feet and peered down the empty corridor. Nothing but gloom; no sign of the Nightshades. “They’re gone! They could be anywhere by now!” Picking up a candlenut, he whipped it at the old rat’s head, who cowered and shook, blocking his face from the blow. Lithgo growled contemptuously, “Useless old one, I should kill you for interfering with Kill Army business! I’m within my rights if I so please!” He stomped the ground like an overgrown child, kicking dirt at his lieutenants. “We should have finished off the last of the Nightshade Clan long ago—when we had the chance!”
Lithgo dropped to the ground, grunting loudly. His chest felt as if it might burst, and vomit rose in his throat. The soldiers stood silent as he gathered himself.
The old rat left his candlenuts and softly scuttled out of sight, hiding a shriveled grin. He was dumbfounded that he was alive.
Lamenting his large dinner,
Lithgo leaned against the wall for support as sweat trickled down his thick russet brow and steam wafted from his now-filthy coat. The two young lieutenants stood without a sound, waiting for the major’s orders. All that could be heard in the dusky corridor was Lithgo’s weighty breathing.
The Nightshade brothers kept up their fevered pace, racing side by side through the Catacombs, their limbs ablaze. Lithgo and his soldiers were gone from both sight and sound, but that meant little. Deep beneath the congested metropolis of Trillium City, the Catacombs went on for miles, a swarming maze of hollowed dirt corridors. Kill Army soldiers could be hiding anywhere within its bleary depths.
Vincent and Victor reached Catacomb Hall, the epicenter of the Catacombs, an expansive public square. After long hours of drinking at the Ministry-run pubs, the only rats about were a few inebriated males, still on the prowl for female company. Stumbling about the cobbles in a stupor, they paid the brothers no mind.
The pair made their way to Ellington’s Tavern, a decrepit old pub at the end of the horseshoe-shaped Catacomb Hall. Behind the tavern, hidden by trash and rusted signs, was an abandoned corridor. The brothers quickly squeezed under the debris, pulling themselves up into the arcane hole, which stank of toadstools and insect leavings.
Their father, Julius Nightshade, had taken Vincent there as a child and had met with assorted rats in the hidden passageway. Vincent didn’t know what the meetings were about; he just remembered that the voices were always hushed and deadly serious. “Run as fast as you can,” he told Victor. “Don’t stop until we’ve hit Topside, all right?” Victor grunted in response, heaving his tired body up the steep tunnel.
The brothers’ gait did not slow, and they panted harder as they neared the city’s surface. With each stride, Vincent grew more troubled. Once they were Topside, they’d be able to disappear into Trillium’s confused labyrinth of alleys and sewers, finally free from the grips of the Kill Army but still facing great danger. Rats were not welcome in the world of the Topsiders—the world of the humans—but Vincent and Victor could not risk one more second in the Catacombs. Their guardian had died, making them wards of High Minister Killdeer’s Kill Army. It was the Kill Army’s right to take them, and Major Lithgo had come to collect them.
Glancing Victor’s way, Vincent smiled confidently at his brother. Victor need not be worried about the Topsiders just yet. That would come soon enough.
They heard a sharp yelp as they clambered up toward the surface. One of them had stepped on an earthworm. The neglected corridor was overrun with them.
Lazily picking a scrap of roast hen off his distended stomach, Killdeer idly flicked the oily meat across his den. The mammoth rat slumped down further in his silver-chalice throne, only his limbs, potbelly, and snout visible to an onlooker. He had been the self-appointed High Minister of the Catacombs for eleven long years. Life had become unexciting and mundane.
Staring blankly at the ceiling of his den, Killdeer rolled his eyes in absolute boredom, crudely scratching his huge abdomen. His legs draped over his silver throne like mounds of heavy velvet, leaving his immense feet hanging over the side like two dead gray rabbits.
Massively built, Killdeer resembled more of an overfed house cat than a rat. Trillium’s unusual rats were known for their extraordinary size, but Killdeer’s proportions had grown considerably in recent years. The indolent Minister delegated most of his duties to Billycan, his second-in-command, which left the High Minister with nothing much to do but indulge his vices: eating, drinking, sleeping, and mating.
Incredibly, despite his ever-widening waistline and at times questionable hygiene, Killdeer proved entrancing to females. His smoky gray coat shimmered. His slanted eyes, black as pitch, gleamed like polished onyx. Pointed white teeth glistened in a smarmy smile that oozed confidence and dripped charisma. Catacomb females pursued him, drawn to his power and intrigued by his rogue nature. Eager females fought to be chosen by the great High Minister.
He wore a heavy silver medallion around his neck. It had belonged to the Mighty Trilok, the original High Minister of the Catacombs and, if not for fear of losing their tongues, most rats would say the only true High Minister. Killdeer had taken over during the Bloody Coup, the conquest that changed the course of the Catacomb rats’ history. Enraged and humiliated by his banishment years before, Killdeer ambushed the Minister, assaulting the aging Trilok with primordial fury, slashing his jugular and tearing off his silver pendant, proclaiming himself the new High Minister.
With lucky timing, he seized control during Trillium’s Great Flood, using it as cover for murder, snuffing out Trilok’s key defenders—the leaders of the Trilok Loyalists—claiming they had drowned. Most of the adult Catacomb rats had been searching for food Topside in Trillium City when the flood struck. Water levels reached the rooftops, and while the resilient rats treaded the muddy water for days, many perished, leaving scores of young rats orphaned in the Combs. Killdeer then artfully solidified his position by creating the Kill Army. Rounding up the stray children of the Catacombs, he and his faction sent males to the Kill Army and females to its kitchens.
Killdeer reached into the bedding of his throne and pulled out his bottle of Oshi berry wine. Predictably, the bottle was empty. “Texi!” he yelled. “Texi, come here!” His voice thundered down the halls of his den. “My Oshi is empty again!” Moments later, he heard his half sister scurrying down the hall.
Despite Killdeer’s obvious foul temper, Texi arrived cheerful but out of breath. “Yes, Killdeer?” she asked, panting. Texi came into the world dull of mind, utterly devoid of trickery. She easily forgave her older brother his sins, unlike the rest of her sisters, who hated him with every shred of their beings, secretly wishing him an agonizing death at every opportunity.
“Where is my Oshi, Texi?” he asked crossly.
Texi spoke in a high-pitched, childlike voice. “It should be where it always is. I replaced the bottle while you were sleeping.”
“Well, it’s empty.” He sneered at her, waving the bottle scornfully.
She grew confused, her face crumpling as she thought about the day’s events. “I do remember swapping it for the empty one. Perhaps you forgot you drank it?” Texi suddenly gasped and covered her mouth, realizing what she’d said. Even Texi knew never to question Killdeer. Only Billycan could get away with that.
Killdeer flung the bottle against a wall, shattering it. He bounded off his throne and pounced on Texi, grabbing her by the throat and pinning her to the wall. Her tiny feet dangled above the ground like small fish flopping in distress. Killdeer glared viciously at his half sister, poking her in the face with his huge snout. She could smell his sour breath. It reeked of Oshi and sardines. “Are you questioning me, cherished sister?” Killdeer snarled, pressing his face into hers. “Is it you who commands the Catacombs? Are you the new High Duchess? Should I bow down to you?” Spittle dripped from Killdeer’s teeth onto Texi’s ginger fur.
She tried to break his gaze, but he locked her head in place as he tightened his hold. “No, Killdeer,” she said. She began to shake. “You are right. I am mistaken.” Texi tried not to sob. “I’m very sorry.”
He kept his face pressed to hers and lowered his voice to a controlled rumble. “Understand, dear sister, the only reason I allow you to live another day is because you’re feebleminded. You are dense, and I pity you. Any of your sisters would be long since dead.”
He released her from his grasp, dropping her carelessly to the ground. He squalled at the top of his lungs as white froth spewed from his mouth. “Now, get my Oshi!” Texi picked herself up and darted out of the den. Tears streamed down her face. In her foolish heart, she knew she’d replaced the bottle. Killdeer knew it too, but tormenting her amused him.
The growing pressure between Killdeer’s ears intensified. He let out a moan and climbed back onto his throne. He rolled on his side and pulled his wine-stained bedding over his aching head.
Vincent and Victor Nightshade finally reached Topside�
�the city of Trillium. They sprang up through the hole like bullets. Victor, unable to stop, slid across the boggy grass, drenched with autumn rain, and skidded through a puddle onto the sidewalk. Vincent quickly grabbed him by the tail and wrenched him back onto the grass, just before a chubby-cheeked Topsider could squash him under her rain boot.
“Of all the terrible luck,” said Vincent, taking in their surroundings.
It was Hallowtide night. There were small Topsiders everywhere, clad in colorful costumes and painted faces, roaming the streets for Pennies-or-Pranking, stuffing as much candy as would fit into their pillowcases and buckets. The older children raced from door to door, their fathers chasing them down with umbrellas, while the little ones clenched their mothers tightly with one hand and their sweets with the other.
Vincent helped his brother back to his feet. “Steady, now,” he said. “The Topsiders are too busy running after their children and trying to stay dry. They won’t notice us in the dark.” Victor nervously inspected the swarm of Topsiders invading the nighttime streets, so big compared to them. They sat in silence, not certain what course to take. The wind picked up. The rain pounded their licorice coats.
Looking from one side of the street to the other, Vincent regarded the colossal brownstones that lined it like brick sentinels. He noticed a particularly oversized one directly across from them. Two granite gargoyles loomed on its roof. They glared down at him with a look of disapproval.
The front door of the brownstone opened, casting an ocher glow. A red-haired Topsider, clearly female, stepped out and greeted her neighbors with a bowl of candy. She handed the bowl to the children, who greedily rooted through it like a pack of country buzzards as she settled against the doorway and chatted with their parents.
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