Return of the Forgotten

by Lisa Fiedler

  “Bling,” Hope corrected. “And speak for yourself! I like my bling!”

  “It’s not yours, it’s grandmamma’s, dumb-dumb!” said Go-go.

  Furious, Hope flung out a paw and pointed accusingly at her siblings. “They were fighting, Daddy!” she reported.

  “Were they, now?” Zucker tried to frown but couldn’t quite manage it. Hopper knew the emperor was never happier than when he was in the presence of his family—even if they were misbehaving. Sometimes Hopper thought his friend was secretly amused when the children showed their mischievous streak. After all, the Zuck-meister had always been something of a misbehaver himself.

  “You know your mother and I don’t approve of fighting in the classroom,” said Zucker.

  “We’re sorry, Pop,” mumbled Fiske, tossing Hope a withering look. “Tattletale!”

  “She’s only telling the truth,” Verrazano pointed out. “You were breaking the rules.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell on them?” Hope asked.

  “Well . . .” Raz squirmed. “Because I’m not a tattletale. Nobody likes a tattletale.”

  Hope stuck out her tongue.

  “Oh, that’s nice,” scoffed Raz. “Way to not act like a princess!”

  “Even so . . . ,” Zucker went on, his gaze sweeping over the classroom. “Perhaps an extra-long and difficult lesson in sword craft is in order today.” He suggested this in a reproachful tone that, to Hopper, sounded incredibly forced. “Ya know . . . as punishment for your shenanigans.”

  A grumble of misery rolled through the room. Only Raz looked pleased.

  “That would be punishment for everyone but Verrazano,” Hope reminded her father.

  “Then Raz will get an extra-long and difficult lesson in tunnel geography,” Zucker pronounced.

  Raz gave Hope a look of pure fury.

  “And another thing, Daddy,” Hope added. “Go-go sent a love letter to a boy she met last week at one of mother’s speeches at the new school site. And guess what else! Brighton helped her write it and Fiske delivered it for her because—”

  “All right, little one,” said Zucker, placing a gentle paw to Hope’s lips. “I know you’re trying to be helpful, but I agree with Raz. Nobody likes a tattletale.”

  “But I wasn’t being a tattletale,” she said, waylaid by the accusation. “I was just being a truth teller.”

  “Same thing,” Fiske huffed under his breath.

  “Not exactly,” said Raz, taking pity on Hope. “But it’s still annoying.”

  “Hope’s a baby,” Go-go whispered to Fiske. “A big hopeless baby. I wish she’d just go away and leave us alone.”

  Hopper felt the words pierce his heart like the point of a dagger. His own sister, Pinkie, used to say similarly cruel things to him.

  Lip trembling, Hope pressed her face into Zucker’s shoulder.

  “That was unkind, Gowanus,” Zucker said sternly.

  “I’m sorry,” Go-go mumbled. “But that little runt is always getting us in trouble!”

  “She’s so annoying!” Brighton agreed.

  With Hope’s face still buried in her father’s fur, her shoulders began to shake.

  “She always sneaks around and hides and watches us,” Fiske complained, “and we don’t notice because she’s so much littler than we are. Then she goes back and tells you and Mother what we’ve been doing.”

  “She’s practically a spy!” Brighton confirmed.

  “Well, then,” said Zucker, “perhaps one day our little Hope can put her espionage talents to good use as a member of the Atlantian Intelligence Agency, like my pal Ketchum.”

  Hope’s head popped up from Zucker’s shoulder, her eyes wide. “Really, Father?” she asked, wiping the tears from her sweet, furry face. “I can work for Uncle Ketch and be a secret agent? I can be a spy?”

  “You can’t be anything,” Brighton interrupted, “if you don’t study. So can we all please quiet down and get on with our assignments?”

  “That sounds like an excellent idea,” said Hopper, hoping to be helpful.

  At that moment, the stooped and quivery old rat who was their tutor toddled into the room.

  As Raz had instructed, the students stood up and offered a polite greeting.

  Zucker placed Hope back on her feet and gave her a gentle nudge toward the one empty desk. “Go along, now,” he said softly.

  And don’t let them push you around, Hopper added silently as his godchild scampered to her seat.

  Now Zucker turned a serious look to the Chosen One. “Let’s go, kid,” the emperor said. “You and I have an appointment in the Strategic Planning Area.”

  “We do?” This was the first Hopper was hearing of it. “An appointment with whom?”

  Zucker let out a long sigh. “A certain testy, golden-caped leader of the Mūs, that’s who.” He gave Hopper’s shoulder a comforting pat. “Also known as . . . your sister.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I ARRIVE AT THE FOOT of the palace steps with a note of great significance—a message for the Chosen One with important news about his brother. I would go in, but my comings and goings about the palace are complicated now, to say the least, and lately I am forced to time my visits carefully to avoid suspicion. So I wait, clutching my letter and hoping that an opportunity to deliver it will present itself.

  This note explains what I have only recently learned: that the outlaw Pup is nearby and prepared to make a move. The particular details of this move I have outlined with great care, as I want the Chosen One and the Emperor to be very clear about Pup’s present frame of mind. Much depends on it.

  I do not have to wait long. Soon a contingent of four pink-clad Mūs soldiers march up, their leader being the honorable General DeKalb. There is a female soldier among them, and she carries a sketch (for reference and comparison, I would imagine) of the one I myself coined the “tiny villain.” The black marking around his eye is visible in the drawing, the one I described in that same prophecy as the “circle of doom.”

  The Mūs presence here indicates that the powers that be have at last decided to double their efforts with regard to Pup’s threat. All the more reason for me to bring my new intelligence to their attention (oh, how I wish I could do it in person, but that is too risky). While they have been patiently waiting for Pup to make his intentions known, I have taken a more proactive (albeit surreptitious) approach. I have been tailing him. And I have been listening.

  It is all explained in my letter, and as the Mūs soldiers mount the stairs, I realize that my timing could not have been better. I pull my hooded cloak close around me and approach the last soldier in line—one who is slightly darker in color than the others, and who has a most determined expression on his face.

  “If you please, Private,” I say, disguising my voice out of habit. “Are you here to see the emperor and empress of Atlantia?”

  “I am.”

  “Might I impose upon you, then, to deliver this missive? It is of a dire nature, to be sure, and I know I can trust you to deliver it safely into their paws. The Chosen One, too, will take an interest in the contents of this note, so please do see to it that he is made aware of it.”

  The Mūs soldier eyes me with great interest, attempting to peer into the shadow of my hood. Then he unfolds my note and reads it but shows no emotion. I can’t quite translate his reaction; he appears to be thinking. After a moment, he tucks the note into the breast pocket of his pink uniform jacket.

  “Thank you,” he says. “This information will be more useful than you know.”

  With that, he hurries to follow his compatriots into the palace.

  I linger there at the foot of the steps, anxious to see what, if anything, will come of the news.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WHEN THEY ARRIVED AT THE Strategic Planning Area—a room in the palace dedicated to military concerns—Hopper was pleasantly surprised to see that Pinkie had not come to Atlantia alone. She’d brought their father, the bold and virtuous Dodger, along
with her.

  “Father!” Hopper ran to accept a hug from the mouse who, like Hopper, boasted a pure white circle of fur around his right eye. Pinkie had a white marking as well, though hers encircled her left eye. It was a unique family trait that announced them to the world as a trio of very special rodents.

  Hopper glanced beyond his father to where his sister sat, strumming her claws on the arm of a chair. As Zucker had mentioned, her shoulders were draped in a shimmering gold cape. To Hopper’s surprise (and amusement), she was also wearing a round woolen hat perched between her ears at a jaunty angle. In addition, a gilded chain hung around her neck and from it dangled a burnished charm.

  Pinkie had never been one to accessorize before. But what was even stranger to Hopper was her overall bearing. There was something different about Pinkie. . . . She seemed more . . . worldly, somehow. Seasoned. As though she was seeing the world in a whole new light.

  “Hi, Pinkie.”

  “Greetings, Hopper.”

  “I like your hat.”

  “Merci beaucoup. It’s called a beret, and I had it made for myself after I saw a drawing of one in an old human book I found on one of my recent trips.”

  “Trips?”

  Pinkie nodded.

  So she was taking trips now? The bossy little mouse who’d seemed so content to ensconce herself behind the big gray wall of the Mūs village and lord it over the tribe had suddenly developed a yen for travel.

  “I’ve been riding the slithering subway beast far and wide,” she informed her brother. “You can’t imagine the great distances those monsters are able to travel. Now that Father is helping me oversee the village, I have a little extra time on my paws. So I’ve been exploring the tunnels. Searching.”

  “Searching for hats?” Hopper eyed the chain around her neck. “And trinkets?”

  “Searching for Pup,” Pinkie corrected. “The trinkets are just a bonus.” Her paw went to the pendant. “I found this amulet buried deep in a tunnel that runs beneath a borough called Queens.”

  “Queens, huh?” The only queen Hopper was familiar with was Felina. He imagined an entire city filled with evil white cats and shuddered.

  “I have concluded that ancient travelers once believed this to be a lucky charm,” Pinkie explained. “An amulet, or a coin, that they offered up to the Great Spirits of Transportation every time they set out on a journey.”

  “Neat,” said Hopper.

  “Yeah,” said Pinkie, nodding.

  But Hopper knew this meeting had nothing to do with Pinkie’s new penchant for jewelry and headwear.

  He felt a sudden pang of worry as the emperor took a step toward Pinkie, but his concern subsided quickly enough. Although Pinkie and Zucker were once bitter enemies, they had buried the hatchet and were now allies—friends, in fact. Sometimes Hopper still had to remind himself that since reuniting with their father, his sister had become almost likable.

  “Have you discovered anything regarding Pup’s whereabouts?” Zucker asked.

  Pinkie shook her head. “No. Which is why I have decided to send out a search party.” Her eyes shot briefly to the solemn Dodger. “The party will be led by General DeKalb, and will include three of my most promising soldiers.”

  Pinkie clapped her paws once; in the next second the general and his mice were marching into the room. A vision in pink they were, and Hopper had to bite down hard to keep from giggling at the sight of their pastel uniforms. He remembered DeKalb from his first visit to the Mūs village, long before Pinkie redesigned the military regalia to reflect her own colorful name.

  The other three soldiers were unfamiliar to Hopper, but for the most part they were all built just like he was: small of stature and plump around their middles with large oval ears and long tails.

  Zucker nodded at DeKalb. “Welcome to Atlantia.”

  “Thank you,” said the general, who, being a Mūs, barely came up to Zucker’s shoulder. “It will be an honor to serve you.”

  “Hmmm.” Zucker bent a grin at his guest and patted his own chest, where (Hopper knew) a jagged scar lay hidden beneath the indigo-colored jerkin. “That’s good to hear, considering the last time we met, you guys tried to kill me.”

  That was a battle Hopper would never forget. Firren, along with DeKalb and a contingent of Mūs soldiers, had been leading the Chosen One back to Atlantia when Zucker and his soldiers had ambushed them. Zucker had nearly died from the wound he had received.

  “A misunderstanding, to be sure,” said DeKalb, a slight chuckle in his voice.

  “To be sure,” echoed Zucker. “I’m just glad to have you on my side this time.”

  The rat liege and the Mūs general shook paws and laughed.

  “I should mention that I have given General DeKalb and his team very specific orders for this mission,” said Pinkie, her voice grim.

  “Specific?” Hopper gulped. “How specific?” A knot of dread was beginning to form in his stomach.

  “I have ordered them to comb every inch of these tunnels in pursuit of Pup. They have my permission to detain any wandering creature for questioning, and anyone who has knowledge of the outlaw’s whereabouts or worse, admits to aiding and abetting said outlaw, will be taken into custody for further interrogation.”

  “That ‘outlaw’ you speak of happens to be our brother,” Hopper reminded her.

  “I know that,” said Pinkie calmly. “Which is why I have directed the soldiers to refrain from causing him harm.” She paused. “Unless absolutely necessary.”

  “And if it should become ‘absolutely necessary,’ as you say?” Dodger asked, sounding more sad than angry. “If Pup puts up a fight?”

  Hopper could tell that Pinkie took no joy in what she said next:

  “Their orders are to bring him back to Atlantia,” she said quietly. “Dead or alive.”

  The room fell silent. Hopper took a step closer to Dodger. He so very much wanted to voice his disapproval, to squeak his complete disagreement with Pinkie’s grave directive.

  Dead or alive. The words seemed to rumble in the air like thunder.

  But deep down, Hopper knew that Pinkie’s instructions were sound. If Pup had allowed his soul to harden to ice, if his only objective was to destroy the peace and safety of Atlantia and the Mūs village, then he would have to be stopped by any means necessary.

  Hopper felt queasy just thinking about it.

  Dodger broke the silence with a heavy sigh. “It pains me to say it, but this is the most appropriate course of action.”

  “But only if Pup resists,” Hopper clarified. “You will take him alive if you possibly can, right, General?”

  The Mūs officer gave Hopper a kind smile. “I promise, Chosen One, that I will do everything in my power to bring your brother back to you unharmed.”

  The sincerity of DeKalb’s promise calmed Hopper a bit. But only a bit.

  Now Pinkie introduced the other three soldiers, pointing to each in turn. “This is Pitkin,” she announced, indicating the first in line.

  Pitkin was slightly burlier than the others; he had a thicker neck and arms. His bulk strained at the seams of his pink military jacket. To Hopper he looked solid and strong, which of course is a very desirable quality in a soldier . . . unless that soldier is going out after one’s little brother.

  “And this is Wyona,” Pinkie continued.

  Wyona stood proudly, shoulders pushed back, hind paws firmly planted, her sword shining in its sheath. Hopper liked the way her whiskers curled up at the ends. There was a courageous air about her that made him think of Carroll, and a confidence that rivaled Firren’s.

  At that moment, as if just thinking about the warrior empress had the power to conjure her, Firren strode into the room.

  “Good day to you all,” she said as everyone (even Pinkie) bowed to her majesty.

  “It is an honor to see you again, Highness,” said DeKalb, holding his bow.

  “Oh,” said Firren with a smile and an embarrassed little wave. “You don�
�t have to do that. Really. I’m fine with just a friendly hello.”

  Hopper thought he noticed the third soldier, who had yet to be introduced, stiffen slightly at Firren’s arrival; his bow was more of a sudden jerky movement than a graceful show of actual respect. Perhaps he was just nervous, likely having never been in the presence of an empress before, even one who didn’t care much for bowing.

  “Good day, my darling,” said Zucker, kissing the back of Firren’s paw. “Pinkie was just filling us in on her plan to send out a search-and-rescue party for Pup.”

  Hopper knew his friend had chosen to add the word “rescue” for his benefit, and he was grateful.

  Zucker held out a chair for his wife. When Firren was settled in her seat, Pinkie nodded toward the third and final soldier.

  “Last but not least is Devon. He goes by Dev, and he is the newest member of my personal guard.”

  Devon stepped forward, beaming under the praise of his leader. “I am most humbled to be here in the esteemed presence of your father, the great Dodger, his friend the emperor Zucker, and most of all . . .” Devon turned slowly until his eyes locked on Firren’s. “The legendary and incomparable warrior Firren.”

  Hopper thought he noticed Wyona roll her eyes. He had to admit, it did sound a bit schmaltzy. Clearly, Dev was something of a suck-up.

  “Thank you, Private Devon,” said Firren. “That’s very nice of you to say.” She was smiling, but Hopper noticed how her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the young solider.

  Hopper, too, gave the soldier a closer look. The first thing he noted were his sharp, intelligent eyes, sparking with intensity. Like the others, Devon was small and roundish, but his ears were different. While Pitkin’s and Wyona’s (and Hopper’s own) tilted outward and up, Devon’s ears seemed to droop a bit. And his fur was a slightly darker brown. Of course, Hopper didn’t think much of this variance in pelt color, since he and his family had become practically synonymous with the highly unusual white markings in their own fur.

  When Firren spoke again, her curious gaze was still focused on Devon. “I’m sorry, soldier, but . . . do I . . . know you?”