Clover whispered, scarcely audible. “I don’t want to be a Chosen One,” she mumbled.
“What did you say? I’m afraid I didn’t quite hear you.”
“I don’t want to be a Chosen One.” Clover’s voice grew louder, angry. “I don’t want to be with the High Minister, a rat old enough to be my father. Why did he pick me? What have I done to deserve such a revolting fate? Who have I offended?” She looked up defiantly. Regardless of the consequence her words might bring, it felt liberating to finally speak the truth.
“Quiet, dear. You must stay quiet,” whispered Mother Gallo. She looked around Clover’s quarters as if a Kill Army soldier might be hiding in a corner. Such slanders led to dire penalties. “Look at me,” she said sternly. She held Clover by the shoulders. “Clover, it is imperative that you answer me candidly. I may work for the Ministry, but that doesn’t mean I condone everything they do. Now, you must tell me again with certainty, lest you be making a grave error in judgment.” Clover nodded. “Clover, are you telling me you do not want to be a Chosen One? You do not want to be with High Minister Killdeer?”
Stiffening her body, Clover looked into Mother Gallo’s eyes, answering without hesitation. “I do not.” She walked over to her parents’ bed and flopped down on it like a rag doll. She carefully removed Nomi’s tiara and necklace, and stared at the silver’s intricate floral pattern. “I wanted to say no, but I thought Billycan might cut my tongue out.”
Stunned, Mother Gallo sat down on the stool Clover kept by the fire pit. “Clover, you did the right thing by accepting. Billycan surely would have cut your tongue out—or worse. Here I thought you wanted this. I thought you were happy. All the others seemed to be so thrilled by the idea. It never occurred to me … I’m bewildered.” Mother Gallo tapped her foot nervously. “What to do? What to do?” she mumbled to herself. She needed to tread lightly. No one in the Ministry could be trusted. She’d always thought the Minister a bullying degenerate with the character of a cockroach—cockroaches not being known for their strong moral fiber. She’d known Killdeer as a boy, well before Trilok banished him from the Catacombs. Even as a lad, he was a detestable bounder who exuded an air of entitlement.
“My dear, what does your grandfather think of all this? Does he know of your unhappiness? Surely he wants the best for you.”
Clover shifted awkwardly. With no one else to turn to, she had to take a chance. For now she’d keep quiet about Juniper. She needed to be sure she could trust the seamstress first, without endangering her uncle or his hidden city. “Mother Gallo … my grandfather is long dead,” she said plainly. “He did take care of me at first, but he died a year after my parents. A family friend pretends to be my guardian, my grandfather Timeron, so the Ministry still thinks he’s alive, insuring I won’t be sent to the Kill Army kitchens. For now, Billycan thinks my grandfather has gone Topside in search of a healer.”
“And this family friend?” asked Mother Gallo. “Has he been looking out for you all this time?”
“He occasionally walks through the Combs in my grandfather’s cloak. That way, at least others will see him, but mostly I take care of myself.”
“You’ve been alone all this time? My goodness, how did you manage to survive on your own for so long?”
Clover removed the sash from around her waist. “At the time my grandfather died, I didn’t know what to be scared of, so I suppose being so young was a good thing. Even the loneliness became ordinary, and I got used to looking after myself.”
Amazed and impressed, Mother Gallo began to gather her things. Any female clever enough to concoct a story that Billycan believed, or at least accepted, deserved her freedom. She headed towards the door, thinking how much better her children had it. Her title in the Ministry had given them an easier life, if such a thing existed in the Combs. With Mr. Gallo dead six years back, killed instantly when a corridor collapsed, she’d had no choice but to accept Killdeer’s offer to employ her. The well-being of her children forced her to stick with a job she loathed, working for the despicable Killdeer.
She touched Clover’s chin with the tips of her paw, and leaning in close, she spoke softly. “I need time to think. The Grand Speech is a day away, just barely. Hear me, now, we will find a way out of this. Clover, most would call this an impasse, but it’s simply a crossroads. We will find the right path. I promise you that.”
The party lingered on well into the morning hours. Rats were stuffed and happy, full and then some. Victor and Petra sat together on the floor, worn out from dancing. They leaned against the wall of Bostwick Hall, deep in conversation. Wobbly at first, Victor shortly found his footing, handling his newfound romance surprisingly well.
Vincent reveled in his brother’s good fortune. He knew his time would come. His father always told him he’d know when love struck, for it would feel like the beginning and end of his world all in the same breath. He found Petra endearing but a bit too giddy for his taste, which made her a perfect choice for his excitable brother.
Juniper stood chatting with a group of old ones. When he noticed Vincent, he politely excused himself from the conversation. He put a paw on Vincent’s shoulder and navigated them through the noisy crowd, exiting Bostwick Hall down a snaky corridor. Vincent welcomed the silence.
Lined with doors, the passageway’s layout was identical to the Catacombs, but the doors were stained with various earthy tones and adorned with dried plants and other ornaments. Such décor was strictly forbidden in the Combs. There were chairs and stools along the length of the corridor, even a few children’s toys scattered here and there. A welcoming torch flickered every so often, giving the corridor a warm pumpkin hue, making Vincent’s eyes glow a sharp bottle green.
As they reached the middle of the corridor, Juniper stopped in front of a door freshly stained the color of stewed tomatoes. “I think it’s high time you and Victor had a proper place to live, no?” He opened the door, exposing a space of four dirt walls with a small wooden table, a cupboard, and a fire pit.
Vincent looked in. “Well, go ahead,” said Juniper. “It’s yours and Victor’s now.” Juniper sized up the space. “We’ll get you some bedding and necessary items for cooking and such. You two can do anything you want with the place, make it your own. We believe all creatures have a right to their own unique expression, unlike the High Ministry, who think free expression will eventually lead to rebellion. In truth, it’s the lack of that freedom that leads to uprising. Your fire pit is over there, and a cupboard for your supplies is to the right of it. Ulrich and Ragan can get you some stain if you two want to color the place up a bit, unless of course you’re at home with these dirt-brown walls.” Juniper tapped a bare wall with his knuckle. “I dare say your time in the Combs has almost certainly made you sick of this particular shade of dry earth.”
Vincent didn’t know what to say. He twisted clumsily, embarrassed. Generosity was a hard thing to come by in the Catacombs. “Thank you, Juniper,” he said awkwardly. “It’s more than anything I could imagine. This whole day has been beyond words. Thank you for your charity.” Vincent turned in a full circle, admiring the room.
“It’s not charity I’m giving you—it’s your due. I feel like part of Julius has been brought back from the dead. I’m only giving you what would have rightfully belonged to him. Now it’s yours.” Vincent’s eerie likeness to his father still haunted Juniper. He hoped in the end the boy would meet with a happier fate.
“Let’s go,” said Juniper, pulling a small iron key on a leather loop from his rucksack and locking the door behind them. He placed it over Vincent’s head. “This is yours now.” Vincent stared down at the key. It felt comfortable on his chest. “A new key for a new beginning,” Juniper said.
They walked silently, passing more and more corridors, curving and coiling this way and that. The growing city had more new vacancies than residents, but not for long. With the help of the Council and their network of Loyalists inside the Combs, families were slipping out from unde
r Killdeer’s control. The sector majors had grown lazy, not paying attention, which allowed families of rats to sneak away in the night. Nightshade City would soon be just that—a city.
As the two walked, Vincent took in the enormity of Nightshade. He couldn’t believe how much Juniper and the Council had accomplished already. He felt so comfortable in Juniper’s company that he thought it all right to ask him a delicate question, one that had been nagging at him since they met. “Juniper, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what happened to your eye?”
“I don’t mind at all,” said Juniper. “It’s rather a timely story, I suppose.” They walked into the hall that Vincent and Victor had first come through, the rotunda with the three entrances and the unusual symbols.
“What is this place called?” Vincent asked.
“We were going to name it after the city, it being our main gateway and all, so I assume it will be Nightshade something or other,” said Juniper. “What would you call this place?”
“Well,” said Vincent, looking thoughtfully around the hall, “how about Nightshade Passage?”
“He’s a genius, just like his father!” said Juniper. He gave Vincent a good-natured slap on the back. “I like it!”
“I like it too,” said Vincent, studying the room. “The symbols posted at each archway, what do they mean?”
“As you can see, each symbol is different. If you look at the carving by the entry you boys first came through, you’ll see it looks like a Topsider’s house—a bit crude, mind you, but a house all the same. It indicates the Topside corridor. Now, this entrance, the one you and I just came from, has the mark of Mighty Trilok, an M with the T centered through it. It honors the original Ministry and marks the passageway to our fair city. Last but not least,” said Juniper, walking towards the third entrance, “this is the mark of Killdeer, those three jagged scratch marks, rather childish for a grown rat, if you ask me. His infamous mark obviously represents the Catacombs.”
Juniper gazed down the unfinished corridor, then went on. “The Catacomb tunnel is not yet complete. That will be done the day of the invasion. When the time is right, we’ll swiftly excavate the remainder of the corridor that leads to the many quarters of our supporters still in the Combs. With the Ministry and its army none the wiser, we’ll break through the ground of these quarters, which lie scattered all over the Catacombs. I’m hoping for one mind-boggling surprise. I want that crusty white rat’s mouth to drop,” he said firmly. “It won’t be long now.”
His voice lightened. “I believe I cracked you on the cranium at this very doorway,” he said, regarding the scuffle marks on the floor. “I followed you boys the whole way down from the Reserve.”
“I knew I smelled someone familiar,” said Vincent, “someone from Father’s time.”
“That you did! Now about my eye. That, my boy, is a classic. Come sit with me on this hard and uncomfortable floor, and I’ll let you in on the particulars.” They sat in the center of the rotunda. “Well, now,” he said, “just so you’re aware my eye is not damaged, dead, nor simply crossed, the fact is, it’s gone, carved unceremoniously out of my head and coldly splattered against the wall of some dark, lonely corridor in the Catacombs some eleven years back now. This happened just days before the Bloody Coup, staged by Killdeer, Billycan, and their unseemly band of miscreants, who, apart from Billycan—who was a Topside lab rat—had all been expelled from the Combs, banished years prior by Trilok.”
“Why were they cast out of the Combs?” asked Vincent.
“Many, including Killdeer, had committed murder. Trilok banished the lot of them for terrorizing citizens. He thought banishing them Topside would be enough of a punishment, even though we all pushed for imprisonment. Ragan and Ulrich predicted they’d be back to claim their revenge, and—of course—they were.
“Your father, Julius, my brother, Barcus, and I fought constantly to keep Killdeer and his growing splinter-group at bay. Not counting a few broken ribs and a scratch or two, Julius and Barcus got out unscathed, at first anyway. I, on the other hand, did not. The three of us had been planting booby traps in and around the entrances of the Combs, basically anywhere we thought Killdeer or someone from his circle might try to slip in. Trilok had the entire Catacombs on lockdown, nobody in or out. We had stockpiled food so no one needed to leave nor risk getting killed by the teeth of our deadly traps.
“As it turned out, we had a traitor in our camp, a saboteur—Jazeer Newcastle. Jazeer told Billycan of everyone’s whereabouts, what sectors of the Catacombs we patrolled, and that I had constructed the deadly traps. It seems Billycan had promised Jazeer a title in the new regime, but instead he killed him as soon as he had the information he needed and, from what we know, the entire Newcastle Clan.”
“So that’s what Cole meant,” said Vincent. “When he spoke Father’s secret corridor, he said it was away from traitorous ears, ‘or so we thought.’ He was speaking of Jazeer. And Ragan mentioned that he and Ulrich had only been wrong about one rat—Jazeer Newcastle—that’s who he meant.”
“Yes,” said Juniper, nodding. “We believe Jazeer snuck Billycan in to kill me. With me dead, Killdeer and their troops could easily gain access.”
“But even if you were out of the way, wouldn’t the traps still be waiting at every entrance?”
“Jazeer was intelligent. He showed Billycan how to deactivate the traps, allowing their troops to invade from all sides. The Bloody Coup took place in concert with the first wave of the flood. With so many of our citizens trapped Topside, fighting for their lives in the Great Flood, we never stood a chance.” Juniper sighed. “Your father was especially heartbroken about Jazeer. Never once had we been so wrong about another. Jazeer had been a good friend to all of us. He and I were especially close friends. He knew you as a child, same as me. In fact, you played with his children.”
Vincent tried to remember back. He remembered the unusual name—Jazeer. “He was a tall brown, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. It’s remarkable you remember that. The entire Newcastle Clan was dark brown from head to tail.” Again Juniper sighed. “You can never really know someone, I guess.” Juniper looked tired.
“Do you still want to talk about your eye?” Vincent asked. “You don’t have to—”
“Of course I do! That’s the meat of our tale. Every fellow loves a good gruesome yarn!” Juniper readjusted on the floor. “That night, Billycan lay in wait like a specter, tucking himself in the shadows of the sector I patrolled. He jumped me as I came round a turn, striking me square in the throat, rendering me unconscious. When I came to, Billycan was thrashing me in the face with his claws and his blasted billy club. My nose gushed with blood, coating my eyes, so I was blind to his rage. I reached up and dug into his face as he dug into mine. Regrettably, I only caught the corner of his eye with my claw. I gouged in as hard as I could, hooking my nail under his skin. I ripped the flesh from the corner of his eye, across his muzzle, finally ending at his mouth, where my claw broke free, which is how he got that striking black scar he’s so proud of.
“Blood gushed from his wounded face, soaking his white fur. The demented ghoul laughed at the sight of his bloodied coat. He started cursing me and struck my face with such power I cannot describe. Billycan was a ferocious opponent, his attack sadistic, his fury primeval. The most disturbing thing about the encounter was his demeanor. He wasn’t just trying to kill the enemy; without a doubt, he reveled in my agony. To this day I will never forget the crazed delight, the laughter.
“That’s when he dropped his club and went straight for my eye with those needle-sharp nails. He sliced my skin to ribbons, as if carving out a Hallowtide pumpkin. He threw my eye against the wall of the Combs with such force it splattered everywhere. I was so jolted, I didn’t even feel the pain. That would come later. I raised my arms and clasped my paws around his bony throat. I dug my claws in deep, squeezing as hard as I could. Billycan started to struggle, so I just kept pressing, rallying all the strength I had l
eft. That’s when I saw it—I saw the fear, even through the cloud of blood. I saw his terror. Though it was brief, I saw it—sheer terror.
“After that, I thought I was done for, so far gone I kept fading in and out. Sometime during the scuffle, a citizen saw the attack and alerted Ragan and Ulrich. They made it to me just before Billycan bashed my skull in with that hellish club of his. As they raced to my aid, he fled down a corridor, disappearing before anyone could catch him.”
Juniper looked exhausted. “Now, that, my boy, is why I wear this fetching patch, so as not to frighten little children or sicken other rats from finishing their meals.”
Vincent scratched his head. Something had been bothering him since Juniper’s speech. “Can I ask you one last thing? It’s about something you said earlier.”
“Certainly. What is it, son?”
“When you were giving the speech tonight about Nightshade, you said you witnessed the fire of one great rat put out and brought back in two others—myself and Victor. Who did you mean just then—’one great rat’? Did you mean my father? Did you see him die?”
Juniper furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why, yes, I meant your father.” Juniper thought the reference to Julius was quite clear. “But Vincent, I didn’t see Julius or any of your family die. I had barely come around from my own injuries. The Coup and the flood happened simultaneously. During the takeover, Ragan and Ulrich took me Topside, out of harm’s way, and the others went in search of survivors from the flood. Virden and Cole found the remains of your family. The nature of their deaths changed us all forever.”
Vincent’s ears wilted. “So, you’re saying the Council found my family Topside after they drowned in the Great Flood? Victor and I had always hoped there was a chance our father and the rest of our clan had made it through the flood, lost somewhere Topside, unable to find their way home. I always knew deep down that they drowned. It’s about time I accepted it—Victor too.”
Nightshade City Page 7
