He led them out of the shadows of the great smoking stacks and over to the round door.
Ingot rapped very hard on the metal. It echoed somewhere inside.
Once more, the door opened, and the rat’s nose popped out. He looked very surprised to see a grizzled squirrel, a glowering hedgehog, and a grim-looking raccoon on his doorstep. “What is this?” he demanded.
Ingot’s voice was firm. “We’re here to see Whizzer.”
“No one sees Whizzer unless Whizzer wants to see them. Read the sign.” He pointed to an ornate sign tacked to the side of the building before popping his nose back inside and clanging the door shut.
Marcel adjusted his glasses and read aloud the looping letters:
OZYMANDIUS POTT’S POPCORN EMPORIUM,
SUPPLIER OF ALL YOUR POPCORN NEEDS
(SPECIALIZING IN CARNIVAL AND MOVIE-THEATER SALES)
NO TRESPASSERS ALLOWED.
Ingot rapped on the door again, harder this time.
The door opened once more. “WHAT?” squeaked the rat.
“I am Ingot Graytail, governor of the southern forest!” shouted Ingot.
Marcel gasped. He couldn’t help it. Ingot sounded so princely. Marcel stood straighter.
Tuffy, concentrating hard on looking tough, barely registered a reaction.
Ingot’s shoulders were firm, and his voice shook with anger. “You will take us to see Whizzer, or I can assure you, you will lose your tail, sir!”
The rat blinked at them, unmoved. “If I fell for that every time, I woulda lost more than my tail a long time ago.” He looked the three of them over. “Whizzer meets with fiends and friends, and neither apply. Good day!”
“Wait!”
Marcel had not expected to speak. He’d planned not to, in fact.
And yet here he found himself with three pairs of eyes waiting to see what he’d say next.
“I… I…” He was a jumble of thoughts. He only knew he had one chance to get past the door. One shot to save his friend.
There could be no messing this up.
The gatekeeper.
The thought popped into his head. The gatekeeper for the Emerald City—he remembered it now. But how had Dorothy and the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion gotten past?
It was the mention of the ruby slippers.
His Fruit Gems!
Marcel tore the sack off his back and pulled out the last candies from inside. “Here! Look here! We have these! And…” His mind was racing. “And we know where to get more! We want to make an… an agreement!” He stole the seagull’s words.
The rat’s eyes grew wide.
Marcel held up the candies a short distance from the rat’s long, pointy nose.
The rat sniffed at the limes with unrestrained interest. “I… uh… yes. Waits here.” He slammed the hatch closed.
The three travelers waited anxiously.
But their worries were soon allayed. The door swung wide and the rat bade them enter. “Come in, come in! You should’ve said you were looking to deal! Whizzer is pleased to meet with hawkers of all kinds.”
They followed the rat through the hole and the tunnel beyond. “This way! This way!” urged the rat.
They passed single file out of the tunnel and into the factory, climbing four stories of metal piping and crossing grated bridges with a million holes you could see through to the bottom. The factory was quiet now, but at the foreman’s whistle the vats would be bubbling, machinery chugging. Soon what seemed like all the corn in the world would fly through sorting machines, pop in great circular ovens, and be boxed and bagged along every imaginable sort of slide.
They climbed higher still.
At last, high above it all and far away from peeping eyes, in an area of the factory left to gather dust, they passed down a hallway. Around a corner and just beyond a forest of retired file cabinets left littering the hall, they reached a wooden door. Beside the door there was a loose slat in the wall. The rat knocked three times.
“Enter!” called a deep voice from behind the wall.
The rat pushed the wooden slat aside and stepped back. “Go ahead,” he said. “Whizzer will see you now.”
“This isn’t a trick, is it?” growled Ingot.
“Now, what good would there be in that?” the rat said. “What do we need three extra mouths for?”
Marcel, still holding his Fruit Gems, swallowed, but Ingot nodded to him, and the hedgehog stepped inside.
It appeared, Marcel thought, to be a room frozen in time, a room where long-ago tools and machines came to die. Everywhere you looked, on the sloped shelves, the wooden tables, and strewn about the floor, there were rusty old parts, nuts and bolts in varying sizes, wrenches thick with grease. Dust floated through the air, and the smell was all turpentine, wood, motor oil, and of course, popcorn.
A mischief of rats guarded the room on every side. Sneering, sniggering rats.
“Welcome” came a slick voice at the far end. “So, you’ve come to ol’ Whizzer to make a deal. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Marcel, Ingot, and Tuffy followed the voice to where a pile of old machinery sat stacked into a sort of throne.
The fattest rat Marcel had ever seen sat atop the great chair, his enormous belly lopping over his knees. He looked to have been fashioned almost without legs, only feet. Tiny feet.
“I am Whizzer. The great and powerful,” boomed the rat.
“And I’m Ingot. The old and unimpressed,” Ingot said under his breath.
“And who might we have here?”
Introductions were made. “Well, well,” said Whizzer to Ingot. “I’ve heard of you, squirrel. You disappeared from the southern forest, let’s see… years ago, wasn’t it? Everyone guessed you were dead. It is a surprise, you coming here to grovel to me.”
Ingot stepped forward. “We’re just here to make a trade,” he said. “You have something we want, and we’ve got something you want.” He grabbed the candy from Marcel’s hands. “These! We’ve got an unending supply, and we’ve heard how fond you are of trades.”
Whizzer eased off his seat and stood. Marcel tried not to gawk. The rat looked impossibly rounder now. Like a furry watermelon with a tail. Whizzer held out his hands.
Ingot placed the lime candies in each of the rat’s paws.
Whizzer bent his head to give them a deep and thorough sniff. “Very nice, very nice,” he said. “And you say you have more?”
“Tons more. Boxes and boxes more,” answered Ingot. He shifted his feet, and Marcel noticed the ragged grass bandage on Ingot’s leg was bloodstained. Hopefully, Whizzer hadn’t noticed.
The enormous rat narrowed his eyes and considered Ingot’s words.
“Hmm,” he said after a minute. “You said there was something you wanted from me.” He tossed the two Gems onto the throne behind him. “What is it?”
“Your prisoner!” Ingot said sharply. “We’ll trade you the secret of our stash for your prisoner.”
The rat smiled wide, and a poisonous look crossed his face. “My prisoner—and what would you know about that?”
“She was one of our party,” Ingot said quickly. “She was taken by the seagulls and we followed them here. Hand her over and we’ll tell you where to find your candy. Take the deal. One prisoner for a lifetime of sweets.” Marcel felt Tuffy grab his hand and quickly let go.
(The raccoon must have remembered he needed to look menacing.)
The rat smiled again and regarded his visitors. “I will take your offer. Follow me.”
The travelers traded worried glances as they fell into step with the rats.
Whizzer led them out a broken window, and then they were outside, high above the factory. Below, the grass was white with snow. A grid of metal ramps and bridges led to eight enormous silver silos hunkering in a row. They crossed the slippery metalwork single file and passed the towering silos one by one.
The wind threatened to toss them over the edge, but they braced themselves agains
t it. With each gust, metal pipes screeched and strained against their moorings. A bolt broke loose, and they watched as the seagull’s corn spout began to swing as if pushed by an invisible hand.
At last they reached the final silo. The bridges ended in a small deck where there huddled another group of rats, smaller in size but no less mean-looking. Whizzer led them through the whiskery mass of tails and teeth.
The rats parted to reveal Scamp on the other side, tied to a railing overlooking a forty-foot drop.
“Here we are,” said Whizzer. He waved his arm with flourish. “Your prisoner.”
The pack of rats giggled and cheered.
“Untie her,” growled Ingot.
Whizzer lowered his hand. The rats went silent. An evil grin was pinned to Whizzer’s face. “Now, why would I do a thing like that?”
Suddenly, vermin on every side took hold of Marcel, Ingot, and Tuffy. Sharp claws bit into their fur as Ingot and Marcel struggled to get free. Tuffy, looking woozy, squeezed his eyes shut.
“We made a deal!” shouted Ingot.
“Did we?” said Whizzer, feigning innocence. “I don’t recall.”
“Let us go!” the squirrel ordered.
The huge rat laughed. The bulge of his belly wobbled.
The rats began to tie them to the railing next to Scamp.
“Ah, my friends, I’m afraid it’s much too late for that,” said Whizzer. He pointed a claw toward the sky, where a small winged dot was taking shape in the blowing snow. He grinned. “From here on out, you can take it up with her.”
The dot grew bigger, the wings, wider.
“My God,” said Ingot, when the thing came into view.
Ingot said nothing more; there wasn’t need. For this, Marcel knew, could be only one thing, the witch they’d managed to elude for so long.
Here, now, was Wickedwing.
CHAPTER 19 The Largest Smallest Rescue
AS THE GREAT OWL SPIRALED down, Whizzer explained the details of the agreement. It seemed to please him.
“The forest, the farmhouse, the factory—those are the boundaries. After the mice poisoned the old settlement yonder, the witch began to hunt here. Picked off a bunch of our own before I ventured a deal.” He leaned close. “See now, the owl had herself too many of those chipmunks and rabbits who’d sipped that poison water. They were all well and fine after—a few sips never hurt anybody, and word of poison water gets out fast. But the owl…”
Whizzer sat back, looking very proud. “She can’t sniff it out. She’s got eyes, but her sniffer…” He tapped his nose and grinned. “There’s poison running through her blood. Real and actual poison. One more bite could kill her. So, we bring her a nice poison-free meal every day and she agrees to leave our kind alone. No hunting on factory grounds—that’s the deal.”
“What happens when she gets a hankering for rat again?” Ingot growled.
“Oh.” Whizzer stepped close to Ingot. “I don’t think she will. Half of us got rat poison running through our veins too. We rats can build a tolerance. Nicky and Patsy there were basically raised on the stuff.”
Everyone looked over to the two rats from earlier, who were pushing each other a little too close to the edge and giggling like fools.
Whizzer walked over to Scamp. The little mouse’s eyes were wide as she remained tied to the railing. The rat wiggled the kernel of corn, making sure it was wedged tight in her mouth. He leaned in and seemed to muse to himself. “I wouldn’t put it past the old girl to nip us just for spite, but one little offering and she leaves us alone. You know, it’s never too hard to find a lone straggler snooping around in hopes of snatching a kernel or two—but look!” He whirled around to face the others. “Today we’ve brought four!”
The rats on every side cheered. Marcel shuddered. Ingot looked fierce and ready for a fight. Only Tuffy was undisturbed. The poor thing had fainted dead away.
They hadn’t even bothered to tie him up.
Whizzer went on. “Once the seagulls heard about our little agreement, they wanted in on the deal. Offered to supply us a few tasty tidbits a week if we let them partake of our corn. Less work for us.”
So that was it. The gulls had carried off Scamp as a trade. Marcel felt his insides set to a rolling boil for possibly the first time in his entire hedgehog life.
Whizzer drew closer to Scamp and sniffed. “Seems like we got ourselves a tainted mouse here. Guess we won’t be offering the owl four after all. This one will be our little snack.”
Above them, the mighty owl-witch began to descend, and the sea of rats flattened out, a shivering wave of rat fur with tails tucked beneath them.
Only four figures stood above the crowd: Whizzer, Ingot, Marcel, and Scamp. Tuffy lay like a lump on the metal grating.
The owl’s wings were eerily silent. Not a whisper, not a shush. There was only the trembling of a hundred rats and a warning on the wind.
Clank. Clank.
The sound of the owl’s talons made Marcel’s knees go weak as she landed on a pipe not far away.
Whizzer straightened himself and sucked in his belly. “Your Highness!” he shouted. “I daresay we’ve brought you here a smorgasbord of delights this morning! Take your pick; don’t be shy! Take one, take all—it’s entirely up to you.” He leaned closer. “But if you do take more than one, consider it a deposit. We’ve got a few days’ worth of credit right here.”
The owl’s eyes bored into him, and she clicked her beak once. Sharply.
“Of course, if you’re needing a bit extra…” Whizzer’s eyes danced from the owl to the bridge to the far-away door to the factory, a trace of nervousness in his voice. It seemed the rat was searching for a place to escape—if he happened to need it.
Marcel’s heart raced. They were tied up, trapped. There was no way out. The only possible escape, Marcel noted, was the forty-foot drop to the frozen ground below.
“Which would you like first?” asked Whizzer. “I’ve got a fat little raccoon right here, or how about this squirrel?” He stepped over to Ingot. “Meat’s a bit tough, I’ll bet. There’s a well-fed hedgehog there. Just need to get around all the sharp parts first.”
The rat went over to where Scamp stood tied to the iron bars. He grinned. His long yellow teeth gleamed. He made a special point of winking at Ingot as he offered up Scamp next. “How about this little appetizer?”
The owl clicked her beak again and flew from the far railing to a spot closer to where the three animals stood pinned to the rail. One much, much too close for comfort. She took a step toward Scamp.
“Ah!” said Whizzer. “I see you’ve made your choice. And an excellent one at that!”
Whizzer leaned over to Ingot. “Doubt there’s enough poison in that mouthful to hurt her much. I guess we’ll see!” he squealed.
Ingot strained against his bindings. “Get away from her!” he shouted to the owl.
Marcel wiggled wildly, trying to loosen his fastenings.
Tuffy remained blissfully unaware in his current state of unconsciousness. Marcel envied him.
Wickedwing took a step closer. She was massive, and so near, Marcel could smell the sweet scent of blood on her breath.
“Won’t take more than a second,” Whizzer called over to Ingot and Marcel. He smiled at the witch, who was now just inches from Scamp. “She likes ’em in one bite.”
Zing.
Something shot past the owl’s head, missing her by mere inches.
Zing, zing, zing, zing, zing, zing, zing!
Corn kernels and pebbles flew in every direction. Whizzer ducked. The owl’s head swiveled about, trying to spy whatever it was that was interrupting her meal.
The missiles kept coming. Zing! Thwing! Thwack! Ping! They began to hit their targets. First a rat. Then another. Soon, rats on every side were springing up and holding heads, sides, arms, and noses.
“I’m hit!”
“Oh, I’m bleeding!”
Marcel, Ingot, and Scamp could only try to get as small as
they could manage, tied up and in the direct line of fire like they were. Tuffy, poor Tuffy, lay in his heap, unaware.
Zing! Thwack! Ping! Smack! POP! The last sound had an air of finality about it, and the owl-witch rose up, flapping frantically and screeching.
And suddenly everything went very silent except for the owl’s pained, exquisite cries.
Marcel squeezed his eyes shut. He was either about to be lunch, or about to be shot, and neither possibility afforded him any comfort. He felt Toto wriggle against his chest and the sharp edge of the wind as it sliced a cold blade between each and every one of his quills. He counted the seconds.
One… two… three…
A familiar voice bellowed from somewhere below them. “Whizzer of Ozymandius Pott’s Popcorn Emporium, unhand them!”
Marcel’s eyes popped open. The owl was flapping high above. Straining to see through the one broken lens of his glasses, Marcel scanned the ground, and there below, standing firm in the whipping wind…
Was the whole tribe of Mousekinland.
Mice men, women, and mouselings. Every one of them wielding a sling-shooter trained on the owl, Whizzer, and his lackeys.
The rats of the Emporium were scuttling down to a lower bridge, which ended in a metal staircase that zigzagged toward the ground. They froze near the middle of the pass at the sound of the mouse mayor’s voice.
Mayor Mortodellus Mousekin, stepping away from the rest of the townsmice, addressed the rat leader. “Unhand them, Whizzer, or prepare to meet your fate!”
Scamp at last managed to spit out the corn kernel that had gagged her. “Papa!” she screamed.
“Scarlet!” The mayor ran forward, trying to lay eyes on his daughter. The rest of Mousekinland stretched their sling-shooters farther and perfected their aim. “Scarlet, where are you?”
“I’m here, Papa!” Scamp yelled. “I’m all right!”
The mayor’s eyes circled back to Whizzer. “Do it,” he ordered. “Do it now!”
The rat king sneered and bared his teeth. “It’s a hungry day at the Emporium that I listen to the likes of you!”
While the mouse and rat leaders traded barbs, up on deck, Tuffy stirred.
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