Nightshade City

by Hilary Wagner

  “I gladly accept your offer.” She smiled. “We would be honored to come to Nightshade when the time is right.”

  “Maddy, Nightshade would be honored to have you.” He gave a gentlemanly bow of his head. “Speaking of Nightshade.…” He looked over at the boys. “Vincent, Victor, come spare a few moments for Miss Bostwick.” The boys had been sitting at the table with Cole, who’d been explaining a map of the Catacombs to them. He showed them how Nightshade’s new corridors were silently intertwining with the Catacombs’. The brothers came over and stood next to Juniper, one on each side.

  Mother Gallo needed to correct Juniper out of respect for her dead husband. “It’s Gallo now, Juniper, not Bostwick. Everyone calls me Mother Gallo. I know it’s a little old-fashioned, but it does me just fine.”

  “I think it suits you well,” said Juniper. “May I still call you Maddy?”

  “Yes, of course you may.” She giggled.

  “Well, boys, it’s my pleasure to introduce Mother Gallo.” He put a shaggy arm around each boy. “Mother Gallo, this is Vincent Nightshade and Victor, his younger brother, the only two survivors of the Nightshade Clan, the sons of Julius, to be exact, and recent escapees of the Catacombs.”

  “As I live and breathe,” she exclaimed in astonishment, “I can’t believe my eyes. All this time, and I had no idea you two were in the Combs. I knew you had gone missing during the flood. I heard you two were never found. If only I had known. I could have helped you.”

  “It’s all right,” said Vincent. “We purposefully kept to ourselves, trying to go unnoticed, avoiding trouble—and the majors.”

  “Smart, like your father,” said Mother Gallo. “Just look at you.” She grabbed Vincent’s chin with her paw, turning his head from side to side, as if examining a fresh piece of produce. “Why, you’re the spitting image of him. And look at those emerald eyes. You’ll have all the girls flocking to you with those sparklers!” Vincent grinned shyly. “I knew your father well. He loved you children very much. And you, Victor, you have that same spark that Julius did. Your father always had that buzz about him that drew others to him. Use it wisely, my boy. It’s a powerful gift.” The boys smiled, pleased to know they each shared something of Julius.

  “All right, then, everyone pay attention!” said Juniper. The Council and the others gathered round their leader. “Virden, I need you to teach Mother Gallo the vibration to signal the earthworms. She must be on her way back to the Combs without delay. Ulrich and Ragan, Vincent and Victor, I want you four to lead the dig to Clover’s quarters. We can get a good start before the worms arrive. Start in the corridor leading up to the Combs. Cole, show them on the map where they need to start digging and which direction to follow. The last thing we need is a tunnel to collapse, killing the lot of us. Cole and I will solidify the details of the maneuver. Everyone, we must hurry. I won’t be the last of my clan. This cannot be the ending.”

  Everyone separated as instructed and got to their tasks. Juniper stood over the maps and blueprints Cole had laid out, scratching around the empty socket of his eye. His mounting anxiety caused him to perspire, irritating the scars under the patch. He always worked best under strain, but never had that strain been so dear to his heart.

  Not looking up from the table, Cole spoke in a steady voice as they studied the maps. “Juniper, don’t you worry,” he said quietly. “You won’t be the last of the Belancort Clan. There will be no ending tonight.”

  Virden worked with Mother Gallo on the signal for the earthworms. “Now, Maddy,” he said, “you remember that ghoulish old tune from our childhood, ‘The Feast of Batiste’?”

  “Oh, dear,” said Mother Gallo. “That ghastly rhyme, how could I forget? Why on earth did you choose something so morbid?”

  Virden laughed. “I chose it merely because it’s lively, clever, and simple to recall, although it did scare the tar out of me as a boy. My father told me if I didn’t keep up with my studies, Batiste would get me! Needless to say, I learned my ABCs on the double—best in my class. I could never forget that grisly jingle.”

  “Nor could I,” said Mother Gallo. “The ghostly rat named Batiste, who haunts the Catacombs, playing deadly tricks on its residents—positively chilling.” She remembered the gruesome song well.

  Batiste was killed on Hallowtide Night, while searching Topside for sweet delight.

  Batiste was killed at quarter past three, while searching for food in the Battery.

  Now he is lonely, now he is dead, now he pennies-and-pranks for your tail and your head!

  Virden gave Mother Gallo a heavy wooden mallet to pound out the song with. It seemed to pierce the soil the deepest, and the earthworms heard it sooner than other tools they’d tried. “Don’t worry about hitting the dry ground of the Combs,” he told her. “The worms will hear the sound, but rats cannot. The ground will absorb it, sending the signal directly to Oard’s tribe.”

  The time for the dig to commence had arrived. The two sets of brothers, Vincent and Victor, Ragan and Ulrich, were ready to lead the dig. The excavation would start in Nightshade Passage’s unfinished corridor, which led up to the Catacombs. They would begin digging through the east wall of the incomplete tunnel. Going by Virden’s maps and word from Oard’s tribesmen, Cole showed the foursome where to best initiate the dig to avoid a deadly cave-in.

  Vincent dove in first, swiftly burrowing through Nightshade’s soft, healthy soil. Victor followed his brother’s lead, pulling out mounds of dirt, gouging into the earth with his claws. Using their hind legs, Ragan and Ulrich started kicking the upturned soil down the length of the corridor at breakneck speed. More rats were positioned at the entrance, lined up with several wheelbarrows, ready to remove the earth from the corridor.

  For now the digging was effortless, the soil in Nightshade fresh and pliable. Much of the upturned earth could be pressed into the walls, helping to shape the newly formed corridor. The dirt of the Catacombs was dry and powdery, useless for rebuilding. Most of it would need to be removed, a time-consuming process. More teams of rats would soon join them to help in the effort. It would be a long, dirty dig.

  As the excavation progressed, Ragan and Ulrich’s slate-blue coats became solidly blackened with dirt, making it hard to tell the team of four apart, barring Vincent’s green eyes and Ulrich’s stubby tail.

  Virden brought Mother Gallo back to Juniper for further instruction. “Well, Juniper, I think our pupil knows what she’s doing,” Virden told him.

  “She always was a sharp one,” said Juniper.

  Virden, much larger than Mother Gallo, bent down and took her paw in his, patting it gently. “Maddy, I’m sure the Saints will guide you safely back to the Combs and then back to us.”

  “Of course they will,” she said. “How else am I to take part in one of your memorable Oshi toasts?”

  “It’s so good to have you back,” he said with a smile. With a quick bow of his head, Virden left her and Juniper alone.

  She looked over the room with everyone working feverishly. “Juniper, you have a good group here. You should be proud of all this, your Council, your city—it’s quite an accomplishment.”

  “I’m afraid we’re not finished yet. You’re right, though, I’ve been blessed in my friendships. There’s not a bad apple in the bunch.” Juniper exhaled heavily. He smiled briefly, trying to hide his dread. “Now, Maddy, may I suggest an escort back to Ashbury Lane? I think it would be best.”

  She adjusted her sash as she prepared for her departure. “I’m not as worried about my well-being as I am of getting out of that house. It’s built like a stronghold, a far cry from the ramshackle apartments in the Battery District.”

  “Don’t worry too much about that. This Topside family seems to go in and out at all hours, always with one errand or another.” Juniper looked at the hourglass again. “You shouldn’t have much trouble, but I would feel better if someone escorted you, at least until you arrive at the earthworms’ corridor. I would go myself, but I can�
�t risk the time away from the dig. I’ll send Cole or Virden with you.”

  “I can handle myself Topside, and I doubt you can spare either of them. I’m not that silly girl you remember. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’ll always be that silly girl to me,” he said tenderly.

  “Juniper, I’m a mother and a godmother. I can take care of myself—always have.”

  He chuckled as he inspected her sash adorned with needles and scissors. “All right, then, Maddy, you win. Off you go! Here is my satchel.” He gently put it over her head.

  She examined the ragged leather bag, a gift she had made for him. “I can’t believe you kept this. It’s practically falling to pieces—are you still so sentimental about this old thing?”

  “You gave it to me. I’ll wear it till it turns to dust! You can put that cumbersome mallet inside, and please take something to eat. I don’t want you wasting away on me.” He smiled at her. “Please be careful. I need to see you again.”

  She took his paw, squeezing it tight. “Now, Juniper, you’ll see me and that girl of yours soon—not to worry.”

  She grabbed a few chunks of cheese and put them in the satchel. The bag felt comforting across her frame, easily molding to her form. Its weathered exterior and fusty scent matched its owner, as if Juniper were traveling with her the whole way. She turned to go. Juniper abruptly grabbed her, and pulling her close, he embraced her firmly. She smelled his fur, burying her head in his shoulder. Neither uttered a word.

  She pulled away and headed up the corridor back into the house on Ashbury Lane. Juniper watched as she faded into the dark.

  Mother Gallo galloped most of the way Topside, reentering the brownstone through Juniper’s hole, and back into the art studio. Catching her breath, she scaled up the arm of a wing chair and looked out the window onto the lane. It couldn’t be too late in the evening, as cars were whizzing down the residential street, so she surmised she had made good time.

  She scurried over to the door, the same one she’d squeezed under earlier. Noises came from the other side, thunderous crashes and booms, intermixed with shouting. Her heart raced for a moment before she realized that the clamor came from a television. She laughed. She had forgotten about Topsiders and their televisions.

  She peered under the door. She couldn’t see any Topsiders in the darkened hallway. As she scanned what she could see of the family room, she quickly spotted a tuft of red hair hanging off the couch, nearly touching the floor. She strained to see more, fearing it might be a tabby or even a red collie, but to her relief the hair belonged to a small Topsider. She could see its freckled forehead and its blue eyes, staring at the television—upside down. She remembered the Topside man from last night and his wave of ruby hair. Must be his child, she thought.

  The child’s head sank closer to the floor. He watched cartoons, hanging upside down on the couch, his face getting ruddier with each passing second.

  A male voice yelled from the second floor. “Ramsey,” it said cheerfully, “time to go. Come upstairs and wash your hands and face.” The boy didn’t move. “C’mon, Ramsey, get off the couch, lazy bones. We’re going to Marbagold’s to buy some gifts for Saints’ Day. They’re open late tonight for all the last-minute shoppers. If we hurry, we might have time to stop by the toy department!” Hearing the last part, the boy, Ramsey, leaped off the couch and dashed up the stairs.

  Mother Gallo listened carefully. She heard muffled voices and footsteps, the floorboards creaking above her. She poked her head under the door. It looked and sounded as though all the Topsiders were upstairs. She swiftly took off her sash and Juniper’s bag and once again squeezed under the door’s gap. She re-dressed and dashed to the house’s main entrance.

  Hiding behind a white pillar nearest the front door, she saw the boy bounding down the stairs and diving back onto the couch to watch some more television.

  Again, the father shouted down the stairs, this time a little irritated. “Ramsey, I told you, no more TV! Turn it off and get your boots on. Your mother put them in the vestibule. If you don’t do what you’re told, you can forget about the toy department!” Ramsey made a sour face in the direction of the stairs and begrudgingly shut off the television.

  He sluggishly walked towards the front door. Wasting no time, Mother Gallo seized the opportunity to take her leave. The boy grabbed the doorknob leading out to the vestibule and pulled hard. The door creaked open, and the child tiptoed into the small foyer to grab his shoes. As he bent down for his boots, Mother Gallo darted in behind him. She ducked under the doorsill and out of sight. The boy snatched his shoes and hopped back into the main house.

  A female voice called down this time. “Ramsey, can you get my umbrella? They say more rain.”

  Mother Gallo heard the boy’s feet drumming against the marble floor, racing back in her direction. He popped back into the drafty foyer, grabbed his mother’s umbrella off the floor, and quickly whirled around. Still only in his socks, he slipped on the tile floor, falling on his belly, now eye level with the doorsill—eye level with Mother Gallo.

  Their eyes locked. The boy gawked at the plump gray rat. His carroty hair, a mess of curls, matched his ginger freckles. His blue eyes stayed glued to her. He held his breath, as if exhaling might set off an attack.

  Mother Gallo stayed calm. He’s just a little one, she told herself, putting aside the fact that he outweighed her at least tenfold. She thought of her own little boys at home in the Catacombs. How different could little boys be? She smiled at him, not sure if a Topsider could pick up on a rat’s smile, but she smiled just the same. She held out the edges of her blue sash and curtsied.

  Ramsey’s eyes widened. He stared in awe, then whispered to himself, “An underground rat—it must be! The Trillium legend is true. Dad was wrong!”

  Ramsey had recently watched what was, to him, a gripping documentary about the alleged super rats that lived deep under Trillium in a web of secret tunnels. The creepy host interviewed several eccentric-looking Topsiders. All claimed the myth of the Trillium rats to be no myth at all. Ramsey was especially taken by a chisel-chinned archaeologist who dressed as if on safari, looking more like an action hero than a man who dug in the dirt. He swore the rats were real—a booming metropolis of vermin with humanlike intellect, directly under Trillium citizens’ feet. Ramsey’s father said it was just a ridiculous urban legend and that the so-called witnesses were nothing more than a bunch of crackpots and charlatans. Ramsey couldn’t wait to tell his father how wrong he was.

  Ramsey sat up on his knees and cautiously studied Mother Gallo, scrutinizing every inch of her. Mother Gallo edged towards the main door; long, narrow windows bordered each side. She rapped on a window and pointed to the outside.

  “The window, what about the window?” asked Ramsey. Mother Gallo tapped on the window again, pointing animatedly out to the street. “Outside, is that what you’re pointing to?” Mother Gallo jumped up and down. “You want to go out there?” She nodded. Ramsey scratched his head with a slight look of disappointment. “Will you come back if I let you out?”

  Mother Gallo nodded yes, and then she reached into Juniper’s satchel. She pulled out a tiny piece of cheese and held it out to the boy. He gingerly took it from her small paw. “Cheese!” he said elatedly. “I knew rats loved cheese! Thank you.”

  She tapped on the door, clicking it lightly with a claw. “Oh,” he said, “the door! Let me help you with that!”

  He turned the dead bolt and cracked open the door. The cold night air rushed in through the small opening, stealing Mother Gallo’s breath for a moment. With no time to waste, she waved to the boy and darted down the stairs and across the street, pushing against the blustery gust. She heard the boy run into his house, yelling up the stairs, “Mom, Dad—you’ll never believe me—never!” His voice faded as Mother Gallo crossed the street.

  A blue moth followed her to the entrance of the Combs. It spun around her head, trying to get her to pay
it some attention. With the sudden cold, she was surprised to see it still alive, let alone so energetic. She shooed it away. Moths were sweet, dumb creatures, but she didn’t have time for pleasant exchanges. The deadline was looming.

  Oard and his earthworm tribe had arrived to finish the job. Ragan and Ulrich doggedly moved the earth out of the corridor and directed the others, while Vincent and Victor kept digging, the vitality of youth on their side. All four were caked with a thick coating of dirt.

  Ulrich trudged down the corridor with a full wheelbarrow. Oard suddenly poked his head through the wall. “Hello, there,” he said in his raspy tone. Ulrich jumped in fright, knocking over the wheelbarrow and falling face first into the tilled earth.

  “Oard,” shouted Ulrich, “don’t do that! I nearly leaped out of my skin!” He got up and shook the dirt from his head.

  “Sorry about that, old boy. Are you all right?”

  Ulrich laughed in spite of himself. “Yes, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, what’s left of it, anyway! We’re all just a bit on edge and getting sore.”

  “Well, the entire tribe is here now, ready to take over. So everyone can breathe easier for a while. From what I sensed on the way over, you’ve done quite a bit of excavation, much more than we expected. This should save us a good deal of time.”

  “You have Vincent and Victor to thank for that,” said Ulrich. “I’ve never seen two rats dig like that.”

  “Vincent and Victor—who might they be?” asked Oard.

  “Oh, I suppose you haven’t heard. Those two lads are the last known members of Clan Nightshade—sons of Julius. They’re the reason that I’m not flat on my back right now.”

  “The sons of Julius,” said Oard, “how extraordinary. Point me in their direction. I would like to meet them.”

  “Go up a ways. Trust me, you’ll hear them, still digging away. Those boys must be about to break. I’m sure they’ll be happy for your tribe’s help.”