Nightshade City

by Hilary Wagner

  As the evening progressed, the boys learned about the plans to attack the High Ministry. “We are rallying behind the memory of Julius, Barcus, and Minister Trilok,” said Juniper. “We will bring down Killdeer and Billycan once and for all. Our city is getting larger by the minute. Every day more families, entire clans, slip away from the Combs. We have a covert network of Loyalists, getting word to known followers of Trilok. Family by family, rat by rat, they trickle out of the Combs and into our city—”

  “Juniper,” said Cole, obliged to interrupt, “it’s almost time.”

  “That it is,” said Juniper.

  “Time for what?” asked Victor.

  “Time for a celebration,” said Juniper, his eyes flashing with mystery. “Boys, it seems your timing couldn’t be more fated. I don’t claim to be devout, but it’s as if your father and the Saints have intended our auspicious meeting. Our citizens have given me the great honor of naming our fair city. I’ve been racking my brain for a name that tells our citizens what we are all fighting for. We are having a naming celebration tonight—within moments. The guests, our new citizens, are scheduled to arrive—well—now!”

  Juniper sprang from the table, grabbing a lit torch. He swiftly paced around the circular hall, lighting the remaining torches, which lined the chamber. The firelight made his violet coat glow, backlighting his wild hair as if he were smoldering.

  Juniper ignited the final torch. “We’ll start the merriment after we reveal our city’s name.” Juniper leaped on top of the round table, standing purposefully in the center of the expansive hall. “Open the doors,” he said. Cole and Virden climbed atop the table on opposite sides of Juniper. Ulrich and Ragan went to the main entryway and slowly pulled opened the heavy wooden doors.

  A sea of eager rats flooded the room. There were hundreds, maybe a thousand, maybe more; the Nightshade brothers could not be sure. Cole waved the boys over to him. He crouched on the table. “Just stick by us,” he said, giving them a wink. “No need for panic.”

  The hall filled with muddled voices, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling. The citizens’ rumble hushed to a dull murmur as Juniper held up his paw for silence. Once all had quieted, he began. “Brave new citizens of our unnamed city, the Council thanks you for coming. We hope you are all enjoying your new home, and that it’s of great comfort to know you’ll never pay a single Ministry-mandated Stipend again. No more will you provide lavish feasts for Billycan, Killdeer, or their greedy majors while your own family starves. Consider it a favor to the High Minister, as Killdeer could surely stand to lessen his waistline!” The hall rumbled with laughter. “Friends, citizens, we have gathered here tonight for one particular reason, the naming of our burgeoning city, but due to unforeseen events, we are now here for two. Something has occurred tonight which I never in all my years thought possible. I once again saw the face of someone I’d lost long ago. I sadly witnessed the fire extinguished in one great rat, but tonight that fire has returned to us in two others.”

  Juniper looked down at Vincent and Victor. “Boys, come up here.” Vincent and Victor felt rather embarrassed being stared at by such a large audience, but they got up on the makeshift stage just the same, standing between Juniper and Cole.

  All eyes were upon the Nightshade brothers. The crowd’s faces turned from joyful to bewildered; the rowdy noise turned to deafening silence, then shifted to a low drone of whispers.

  The boys heard one rat say, “I saw them in the Combs. I swore they were ghosts!” Others said “Julius lives” or “Nightshade has returned!” The brothers were terrified and exhilarated. Who was their father?

  Juniper’s voice turned serious. “My friends, you are looking at the only two known survivors of the Nightshade Clan—two brothers—sons of our beloved Julius, our Citizen Minister. It is with great pleasure that I introduce Vincent and Victor Nightshade.” The crowd gasped. “At first, I was in disbelief myself, but fate is sometimes a remarkable thing. These two young rats have been surviving in the Catacombs, hidden in the populace and managing to avoid being drafted into the Kill Army. Choosing to make a bold escape, they started a search for a new home. Well, their search ends here—tonight! They have found that home! I welcome the Nightshades to our city!”

  The crowd clamored, “a Nightshade, no less two Nightshades—alive!” Children climbed on one another’s shoulders trying to catch a glimpse; their parents embraced, while the old ones wept.

  “You’ll all get to meet the boys momentarily,” said Juniper. “Now let’s address our original purpose. Good rats, you have asked me to name our city, and I have not taken the task lightly. After weeks of consideration, I have come up with what I think are a few good options.” Juniper’s voice surged through the hall. “Without further delay, the first choice is a good name, a strong name, a name that shows we will not be ruled by tyrants anymore! The first name that came to mind is—Loyalist City!” The crowd applauded, whooped, and whistled shrilly, all yelling in a vote of approval.

  The rats settled yet again. Juniper walked with his hands clasped behind his back, circling round the edge of the table, making sure everyone could see him. “Now, the second choice I’d say is even better. This name shows our loyalty to our fallen leader, a rat among rats, devoted in his day to each and every one of us.” Juniper smiled. “Are you all ready?” he asked, purposefully pausing, playfully teasing the eager crowd. The mass of rats shouted impatiently for the name.

  “All right, then,” his deep voice blared. “The second choice, good citizens—is Trilok’s City!” Applause and cheers resounded through the hall. Rats thumped their feet in endorsement, the old ones especially pleased with the name.

  As Juniper waited for a break in the noise, he nodded at Vincent and Victor, who looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. He continued. “Now for the third choice. This name, good citizens, in my opinion, is the finest name of all, rather a bolt from the dark, I’d say. This name is one that combines our resistance to the High Ministry with the knowledge of what the word ‘citizen’ really means. A name Trilok would be proud for us to choose, a name he would insist we choose over his own!”

  Juniper waited for silence, finally smacking his tail on the table, forcing the lingering voices to cease. No rat should chatter through this moment. Bostwick Hall fell completely still. “This is for our long-departed Citizen Minister, a rat who gave his life for everyone in this room! A name that meant everything to generations past and will mean even more to the generations of our future, standing for everything we hold dear—standing before you right now.” Motioning to Vincent and Victor, Juniper cleared his throat and bellowed with all the force his chest could push out, “From now on and until the end of days, we would be known as Nightshade City!”

  The room exploded in earsplitting screams of approval and hundreds of feet stomping in support. Juniper kept talking despite the noise, his commanding bass resounding over everyone. “We survive by cover of night. We live in the shadows, waiting for our redemption! Our name must symbolize our burning spirit, kept secret for eleven years, but no longer! This is for Julius! May his vision be our certainty! Tonight and forever, we are Nightshade City!”

  Juniper jumped down from the table. Vincent and Victor followed. A whirlwind of hugs and handshakes greeted them. Rats surrounded the boys, patting their backs and shaking their paws, the old ones touching their fur for luck. The boys were dizzy with the barrage of outstretched paws and new faces.

  Vincent, standing with Victor and Juniper, assessed the room, soaking it all in. He felt exceedingly—good. Strangely, the invisible cloud that had hung over him for so many years suddenly dissolved.

  The Council disappeared through various doors within Bostwick Hall, emerging with wooden barrels filled with Carro ale and Oshi wine, and rolled them towards the center of the room. Cole’s wife, Lali, and some helpers darted round the room, carrying out small wooden crates filled with mismatched mugs and dishes. They then dashed to the open kitchen, which lined the bac
k of the great hall, wielding heavy trays filled with salted meats, cheeses, and fresh-baked biscuits.

  A group of older rats gathered in the center of the room. One whistled, another struck a drum, and the rest began to sing a jaunty song, a melody revived from the days of Trilok. Onlookers were stomping to the rhythm as couples started dancing in time with the lively vocals. The children chased one another, whizzing around the hall, tackling one another, and landing in a heap of legs and tails, giggling riotously.

  A young female rat with pale blond fur and dark eyes approached Juniper, her gaze wandering toward Victor. “Why, Petra, how are you, my dear?” asked Juniper. She reached up to Juniper’s ear, so he bent down and met her halfway. She cupped her tiny paw around his ear and whispered something in a soft little chatter. “Well, why don’t we ask him?” Juniper looked in Victor’s direction. “Victor, Petra would like to know if you would be so kind as to have a dance with her.” Vincent snickered as he watched his baby brother turn to jelly, his charcoal skin turning a flushed indigo.

  “Well—yes,” he said, trying not to stammer. “I would like to dance. Petra, is it? I’m Victor.”

  “I know,” said Petra in a high little voice. She grabbed Victor’s paw quite confidently and pulled him out with the other dancing couples. Victor and Petra moved well together, despite the obvious size difference, her little blond head barely reaching his chin. Victor grinned from ear to ear.

  “Now, Vincent, come walk with me,” said Juniper. “There are a lot of important rats who want to meet you. Rats who knew your father well. Rats who will be expecting you to follow in his footsteps. Let’s do some introductions, and then I’ll give you a tour of our city. I should say Nightshade City, your father’s city—and yours.”

  It was late. Clover lay in her parents’ nest, agitated, twitching under the covers, unable to sleep after the distressing visit from Billycan. She’d lost all hope that Juniper could retrieve her before the Grand Speech. Her uncle had a whole city of rats counting on him, not just her.

  Her thoughts shifted to Killdeer. She imagined standing by his side at the speech, wondering what his hot breath would reek of. She shivered, revolted by the thought. She twisted and turned, trying to force herself into slumber. Clover beat the covers in frustration. The Collector’s threats echoed in her head, hounding her.

  Jerking herself up, she leaned limply against the wall. She stared at an etching of the late High Duchess Nomi, the wife of Minister Trilok, carved into the opposing wall. Deeply saddened by her passing, Clover’s mother had carved the picture as a memorial of sorts. They had been dear friends and confidantes. The aging duchess had no children of her own and showered affection on Clover, who was barely a toddler at the time of Nomi’s death.

  A rapid, determined knocking on the door startled Clover. Who could it be at this hour? She crept to the door, waiting for the scraping of Billycan’s club, but heard nothing. “Who’s there?” she whispered.

  The rat on the other side of the door responded brightly, in a cordial, almost operatic tone. “Hello, dear, it’s Mother Gallo, Mistress of the Robes to the High Ministry. I’ve been sent by Billycan to help spruce you up for the Grand Speech! Now, please, dear, let me in. I have my duties to attend to. I’m sorry to call at this hour, but as you know, the Ministry waits for no one when there is work to be done!”

  Clover knew she could not refuse a member of the High Ministry, and Mother Gallo seemed pleasant enough. She opened the door, quickly jumping out of Mother Gallo’s way as the plump Mistress of the Robes swooped in like a drunken pigeon, pushing an overloaded wheelbarrow, which she clumsily banged into the wall, rattling its contents. It was filled with ornaments and trinkets, a tangled mess of ribbons, piles of fabric, glass bottles filled with colored liquids, and a long, skinny mirror, which teetered precariously over the edge of the barrow. She plopped the rickety cart down and pulled out the mirror, leaning it against the wall. Rummaging feverishly through her supplies and mumbling to herself throughout the process, she eventually fished out a frayed measuring tape from somewhere near the bottom.

  Mother Gallo had a welcoming disposition that suited her ample proportions. Her fur was a soft ash gray, and there was a bold flicker in her eyes. Around her full waist, she wore a sash of royal blue, stuck with pins, scissors, and other tools of her trade.

  “All right, then, dear, let’s have a look at you, shall we?” Firmly grabbing Clover by her shoulders, she positioned her in front of the looking glass. She looked Clover up and down in the reflection, finally focusing on her face. “Well, my, my, you are a pretty little thing. No wonder why Killdeer is so taken with you. What a wonderful canvas I have to work with. You are as lovely as a budding flower, my dear. Now, let’s see if we can put you into full bloom.” She began measuring Clover from head to toe.

  As Mother Gallo measured, Clover thought she’d try to find out what the High Mistress knew. “If you don’t mind me asking, High Mistress, do you know why the High Minister would like me to stand with him during the Grand Speech?”

  “First things first,” said the seamstress. “Please don’t bother to call me High Mistress. I think the title snooty and ridiculous.” She twirled the tape measure around Clover’s waist. “Frankly, I prefer Mother Gallo. I have little ones of my own, not to mention no less than thirty-three godchildren spread throughout the Combs. I think I’ve earned that title much better than Mistress of the Robes, don’t you? For goodness’ sake, I merely have a knack for sewing and color, nothing more, nothing less.” She continued to measure Clover, wrapping the tape around her shoulders.

  “Now for your question, my dear, why would the High Minister want you to stand next to him during his Grand Speech?” Mother Gallo twisted and turned around Clover, assessing every inch of her. “Well, I think that answer should be obvious to everyone—everyone but you, it seems. Why, you’re stunning, my dear, plain and simple. You don’t seem the type to put on airs, and from what I hear from talk around the Ministry, you’re sharp-minded to boot. The real question should be why the Minister wouldn’t want you to stand next to him?” She patted Clover on the back reassuringly and flashed a quick smile at her in the mirror.

  Mother Gallo, surprisingly agile for her size, hopped over to the barrow and took out a wide ribbon the color of raspberries. She layered it around Clover’s waist and pulled one end up over her shoulder to form a lovely satin sash. Grabbing a needle and thread, Mother Gallo swiftly sewed portions of the ribbon together, hiding her handiwork with a perfectly sized bow and draping the two ends of the ribbon down the center of Clover’s slender back.

  Mother Gallo looked at Clover contentedly, quite pleased with the result. “Well, now, that’s just lovely, I would say; near perfect, I think. What do you think, my dear?”

  Clover regarded herself in the mirror. Nothing so fine had ever touched her small frame. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,” she said. Clover turned around and looked at the bow trailing down her back. As a slight smile emerged on her face, she looked almost happy.

  “I’m so glad you’re pleased,” said Mother Gallo. “Now let’s see how we can top that!” Mother Gallo went back to her wheelbarrow and pulled out some red and pink baubles. “No, no, none of these will do; too garish,” she said. She shook her head disapprovingly and dropped the items back into the barrow.

  She set one paw on her waist and tapped her chin with the other. “Those delicate golden eyes—so unique—what should we pair them with? You certainly don’t need much in the way of frippery. Your beauty speaks for itself.” Her eyes sparked in revelation. “I know!” She dove headfirst into her wheelbarrow, practically losing herself in it. “Here they are,” she said. Slightly out of breath, she retrieved some green stones. She polished them with the end of her sash. She repositioned Clover in front of the mirror and placed a sparkly emerald on a short silver chain around her neck. She then placed a delicate silver circlet adorned with more emeralds atop Clover’s head.

  “Ah, that’
s it,” said Mother Gallo. She sighed with satisfaction. “Now, that’s loveliness in its purest form, if I do say so myself. You know I found these stones locked away in an old storeroom of the Ministry? They had been sitting there for years, covered in layers of dust and grime. It took hours to polish them back to their full brilliance. These emeralds are rumored to have belonged to none other than Nomi, the High Duchess. They are perfection on you. Nomi would be proud. This is a great honor, my dear—treasure this moment always.”

  She looked at Clover fondly, but with a slight sadness. She had known the duchess well. Mother Gallo sighed deeply. “Back to business,” she said. “Now, my dear, what do you think of our finished creation?”

  Clover regarded her reflection in the looking glass. Even she could not help but notice the change in her appearance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the wall carving of Nomi, who seemed to be staring at her. Did the duchess approve? Did her parents approve, or were they looking down at her, shaking their heads in shame?

  Mother Gallo approached Clover and placed a soft paw on her shoulder. “What is it, my dear? What on earth could you have to be so sad about? This is a happy day for you. If Killdeer is pleased with you, your family will never go hungry again; your future children will never lack for anything. Most Chosen Ones are elated to have the chance to unite with the High Minister.”

  Clover balked at the mirror, abruptly crumbling into unrestrained tears. Mother Gallo hugged her close. It was then she noticed the carving of Nomi on the wall. Maybe the girl had a special fondness for the duchess, and all her ridiculous talk about what an honor she’d been granted had set the poor thing off. Perhaps the grandfather caused her distress; Billycan had mentioned he was deathly ill. That would certainly warrant the tears.

  “My darling, what could be so awful?” asked Mother Gallo. “You’re young, beautiful, and have just received the honor of a lifetime—one most will never know.” She smiled sympathetically and patted Clover’s cheek. “Now, dear, tell me what is bothering you?”