by Lisa Fiedler
Pup felt a lump form in his throat. “What are you saying?”
“Just that you might want to rethink a few things, that’s all.”
Pup was about to ask what the soldier was getting at when another subway train rocketed past, shaking the walls so that a drizzle of dust rained down from above. He felt the tunnel’s gloom closing in on him, despite the glow cast by the train’s headlight. Out of the corner of his eye he again saw the trembling prisms splash across the wall, but this time he ignored them. He had to focus. For all he knew, Pinkie was already putting together a second search party with the same orders she had given DeKalb:
Kill Pup on sight.
When the train had passed, a voice seemed to come out of nowhere, a pretty little voice, filled with conviction and innocence. “I have a great idea!” it said.
Pup recognized it instantly by its sweet musical squeak. It was the voice of the tiny ratling who’d been talking to Hopper on the ledge. But what in the world was she doing way out here, so far from Atlantia? Perhaps she was lost.
She bounded across the gravelly expanse toward them.
“I know what you have to do!” she cried, skidding to a halt, just inches before colliding with the tip of Dev’s blade.
Instinctively Pup’s arms reached out to pull her back before she impaled herself.
“What is this fluffy little piece of nothing?” Dev demanded.
Her tiny chest was still heaving from her wild sprint, and her eyes were bright with excitement. “My name is Hope,” she answered. “And I’m a spy.”
CHAPTER NINE
“SO WHERE’S THE WHIRLIGIG?”
Hopper looked up from his writing desk to find Zucker leaning casually against the doorframe of his bedchamber.
“Huh?”
“I asked where the whirligig was,” Zucker repeated. “You said you were going out to get one for Hope.” He glanced purposefully around the room, but of course, there was no spinning toy to be found. “Were they out of them in the market square?”
Hopper gulped, thinking fast. “Uh, yes,” he blurted. “Yes they were. All sold out. But don’t worry. I’ve placed an order for a custom one to be made especially for her. The merchant said it should be ready later in the week. I ordered it with sparkles if they could arrange it. I also asked that it be made to spin extra fast because I thought she’d enjoy that.” The Chosen One finished his less-than-honest ramble with another loud gulp, giving the emperor a wobbly smile.
“Sparkles, huh?” Zucker folded his arms and grinned. “How long you gonna keep this up, kid?”
“Keep what up?”
“The lying. Because frankly, you ain’t all that good at it. In fact, you’re basically incapable of telling so much as a fib. And I know you plenty well enough to know that you would never leave the Conflict Room—”
“Strategic Planning Area.”
“Whatever. I know you well enough to know that you wouldn’t have left such an important meeting for something as trivial as a pinwheel, even if it were for Hope. So why don’t you come clean and tell me what’s what?”
Hopper let out a long rush of breath. Zucker was right. He couldn’t lie to save his life. Especially not to his best friend.
“I went out to see if Pup was, as my father had suggested, already in Atlantia. Lying in wait, you might say. In hiding. Because I thought if I could find him before Pinkie’s soldiers did, I might be able to talk some sense into him.”
“Didn’t you try that already?” Zucker pointed out gently. “In that old shoe?”
“I did, and I failed miserably,” Hopper admitted. “But I’m not ready to give up on him yet. And you heard what Pinkie said: dead or alive.”
“Personally,” said Zucker, “I’m hoping for alive.”
“Me too!” cried Hopper. “Which is why I went searching the city. But there was no sign of Pup anywhere.”
“I’m sorry, kid.”
“Has there been any word yet from Pinkie’s search party?”
“Sorry again.”
Hopper slumped low in his chair as Zucker stepped into the room that had once been his own royal sleeping quarters.
“So . . . ,” Zucker began in a lighthearted tone. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
Hopper smiled in spite of himself. He knew his friend was trying to cheer him up by changing the subject. “Thanks. I really like having your old desk. It reminds me of when you taught me to read and write.”
“Good times,” said Zucker with a nod. “Well, sort of.”
Hopper laughed. “Yeah. Titus’s evil treaty and Felina and the refugee camps did put a bit of a damper on our fun, didn’t they?”
“Sure did. But it all worked out.” Zucker dropped onto the foot of the bed and stretched out his legs. “Just like this whole Pup problem is gonna work out. You’ll see.”
There was a pause as both the rat and mouse tried to make themselves believe it.
“You’ve done some redecorating, I see.”
“Redecorating?” Hopper glanced around the chamber. A chalk portrait that Firren had drawn of himself, Dodger, and Pinkie hung on the wall above his bed; his purple jerkin with the silver Z embroidered over the heart was draped from a hook near the door; and his newest and most favorite sword, fashioned in an emergency out of a lost human key, glittered proudly in its glass display case atop Hopper’s dresser. “My room is the same as it’s always been.”
“Not exactly,” said Zucker. “The blanket’s gone. The one you stitched together from Beverly’s apron and that old Dodgers pennant and those other scraps you gathered. It’s usually right here”— Zucker patted the place beside him—“folded at the end of your bed.”
“Oh, right. Hope took it.”
“What for?”
“I have no idea,” said Hopper. “But I’m sure she’ll bring it back when she’s done with it. She knows how I treasure it.”
The room went quiet and Hopper bent over his desk to read the words he’d just inscribed. He felt a tad silly, composing something so frivolous as a love letter at a time like this, but frankly, it was the only thing he could think to do that would lighten his miserable mood.
“Whatcha writin’ there?” Zucker asked.
“A letter. To Carroll.” Hopper felt his cheeks grow warm; just saying the upland mouse’s name out loud tended to have that effect on him. “I’m inviting her for a visit. She’s never seen the tunnels and I’d really like to show her around. Of course, I wouldn’t have her come until after all this business with Pup has been settled.”
“Wise choice,” said Zucker.
“I thought so.” Hopper surprised himself with a grin. “Maybe sometime you and I can take a trip aboveground so I can show you around Brooklyn.”
“No way, kid.” Zucker shook his head and waved his paws. “Forget about it. I’m a tunnel rat, born and raised, and I have no interest in visiting the daylight world.”
Hopper laughed. “So you really do like it down here in the muck and mire?”
“I like it a lot. And nothing in this world could ever get me to go topside.”
“Oh, fine,” said Hopper, rolling his eyes. “But you really don’t know what you’re missing. There’s this stuff called eggplant parmigiana that would make your mouth water.”
“According to you, there are also vicious alley cats and a giant bridge, neither of which sound like things I’d put at the top of my to-do list.”
Hopper turned back to the letter on his desk. He was just about to sign it—Much Love, Hopper, or possibly Hope to see you soon, Hopper—when a sudden uproar arose outside, just beneath his window.
His first thought was that Pup had decided to show himself, and the wary citizens had taken matters into their own paws. He sprung from his chair and bolted for the window; Zucker was right beside him.
But what he saw was not his brother bound and gagged, being hauled up the palace steps by a mob of rodent vigilantes.
What he saw was the old schoolma
ster, hobbling up the broad staircase with a panicked look on his wrinkled face. Hurrying alongside him were the royal heirs—Go-go weeping, Fiske shouting, and Brighton struck dumb by abject terror. Raz looked more frightened than Hopper had ever seen him. Hopper’s pulse raced as he looked from one child to the next, silently ticking off their names in his head:
Brighton, Gowanus . . .
Raz, Fiske . . .
“What’s going on?” Zucker demanded. “Why are all of my children so frightened?”
It was then that Hopper realized what was wrong. His heart seemed to freeze in his chest. As the hysterical children stumbled through the palace doors, he did another quick head count. The number hit him like a subway train.
Four.
“Zucker,” he choked, turning away from the window. “Those aren’t all of your children.”
“What are you talking about?” Eyes wild, Zucker thrust his head out the window to look for himself, but the children were inside now, out of view. He whirled back to Hopper with a look of pure horror. “What do you mean?”
“I mean . . . one of them is . . . missing.”
The words felt like fire on Hopper’s tongue; their meaning made his fur stand on end.
“Missing? Which one? Who’s missing?”
Hopper could only shake his head in reply. He wanted to crumble into a million heartsick pieces. He felt the wind go out of him as he dropped onto the foot of his bed, onto the place where his blanket should have been. “I just saw her!” he cried. “I saw her with my own two eyes, out in the city, just a little while ago. I should have asked her why she was alone . . . I should have told her to come home. Oh, Zucker! It’s all my fault. She was alone. She was all alone!”
“Who was alone?” Zucker prompted, his voice rising to a fever pitch. “Hopper, who’s missing?”
“She said she was going to join the others. I should have realized something was wrong . . . but I was so preoccupied with looking for Pup!”
In two long strides the emperor came to stand before Hopper and placed both of his trembling paws on the Chosen One’s shoulders.
“Hopper, listen to me!” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “You’ve got to get it together, kid. I know you’re upset, but I need to know . . . who did you see in the city? Which one of my children is missing?”
Hopper’s shoulders sagged; his legs felt as if they’d turned to jelly. With a jerk he lifted his face to Zucker’s and saw his own incomprehensible fear mirrored on the emperor’s face. “It’s Hope, Zucker. Our Hope . . . is gone.”
CHAPTER TEN
“A SPY,” SNEERED DEVON, CONFOUNDED by the sight of this tiny stranger in her fancy dress and bejeweled crown who had just materialized out of the gloom. “That’s absurd. You’re nothing but a child.” He lifted an eyebrow and looked down his snout at the jewel-encrusted tiara she wore perched between her ears. “A ridiculously overdressed child, but still . . . a child.”
Pup, too, was shocked by the sudden inexplicable appearance of a royal princess. She was dusty and her dress was torn, probably from her long trek through the tunnels, and for some reason she was carrying a patchwork quilt like a bedroll. She looked more like a wanderer than a royal.
“I think I can help you,” she said.
Around her, what pale light remained in the wake of the train danced upon the tile walls in a splatter of translucent color. It was a moment before Pup realized that this was the result of the light bouncing off her tiara. She was like her own miniature fireworks display.
For the life of him, though, Pup still couldn’t figure out what she was doing here.
“I don’t understand what you mean by ‘spy,’ ” he said.
“Are you sure you mean ‘spy’ and not ‘thief’?” scoffed Devon, still eyeing her crown. “That’s quite a pricey little hat you’re sporting. I doubt a waif like yourself could come by such jewels honestly.”
“I’m not a thief or a beggar,” Hope assured him. “I’m a spy. And I’ve been watching you right from the beginning. I saw all of it, and I bet you didn’t even know I was there. My brothers and sisters always said I was a good spy. I guess they were right!”
She looked so pleased with herself that Pup didn’t have the heart to tell her that her flashy little tiara had nearly given her away.
“You saw all of it?” Dev repeated slowly. “You mean you saw Pup murder these three Mūs soldiers in cold blood?”
Pup frowned. “What?!”
“No . . .” Hope calmly shook her head at Devon. “I saw you kill them.”
The soldier responded with a scathing look that made Pup’s fur bristle.
“And is that what you would tell the authorities if they asked you, little spy?” Devon’s paw was suddenly tightening around the pommel of his sword. “That I killed the soldiers?”
Hope nodded. “Isn’t that what I should tell them? The truth?”
“Not necessarily,” Dev muttered.
“Why would you want her to lie?” asked Pup, a tremor of alarm shooting from the tips of his ears to the point of his tail. “You killed them because they were traitors and conspirators.” He slid a step closer to Hope, feeling compelled to maneuver himself so that he was standing between the tiny rat princess and the Mūs soldier, shielding her from his steady glare. “Didn’t you?”
Devon said nothing—he merely continued to stare at Hope. A cold tingle crept up Pup’s spine; he was beginning to get a bad feeling about this soldier.
“Don’t you want to hear my brilliant idea?” Hope gushed, clutching her patchwork blanket excitedly.
“Oh, by all means,” drawled Dev.
“Okay.” Hope turned a beaming smile to Pup. “This soldier can go back to Atlantia and sneak into the palace. He can go directly to my daddy and Uncle Hopper before Pinkie sees that he’s returned, and he can tell them the truth about you wanting to apologize and the Mūs general’s nasty plan and he can explain why he—not you—had to kill him and the others. That way, Pinkie can’t turn the story around to suit herself.”
Dev gave her an impatient look. “I will say this: you do think like a spy.”
“But how do we ensure that Pinkie won’t spot Dev before he gets to Hopper and the emperor?” Pup asked. “More importantly, how can we be certain that they’ll even believe Dev when he explains that I’m innocent?”
“Proof,” says Hope. “Dev would have to prove to Daddy and Uncle Hopper that you’re good again. If you were really a villain, you wouldn’t have just killed the other three soldiers, you would have killed this one too, right? So if he can prove that he saw you and you didn’t do away with him, they’ll have to believe him. The proof will be a secret code.”
“A secret code?” Dev repeated dryly.
Hope shrugged. “It’s a spy thing.”
“Of course.”
“What kind of secret code?” Pup asked. The plan was sounding awfully good to him.
“Something Dev can tell them that only you could have told him. This will prove that he spoke with you and lived to tell the tale.”
Dev twitched his tail. “Seems like a lot of bother to me.”
“Saving my life seems like a bother?” Pup was growing more wary of this soldier by the second.
Dev ignored the question. “The problem remains,” he huffed. “If I can’t get to Hopper and Zucker without first crossing paths with Pinkie, she’s bound to spin this incident to her own advantage. Which is why, little scamp, before you so rudely interrupted us, I was going to propose that Pup and I—”
“But you can get to them!” Hope informed him. “That’s the brilliant part! You see, there’s a secret passageway.”
This got Dev’s attention. Pup’s too.
“What secret passageway?” Pup asked.
“My brother Raz found it once. I followed him, so that’s how I know about it. It’s a long, dark corridor with doors on each end, but the doors are built to look like part of the wall, so they’re almost invisible. It leads t
o a forgotten little cubbyhole near the throne room. My daddy and Hopper have important meetings there all the time. So if this soldier takes the passageway, he can avoid being spotted by Pinkie and get to Daddy and Uncle Hopper to tell them you surrender.”
“Amazing!” cried Pup. “That will work perfectly.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “All right, I know exactly what the code should be . . . what Dev should say to Hopper when you see him, to prove I’m on his side now.” He cleared his throat. “Say this:
We lived in a cage that was cozy and clean
But then Mama was taken and Pinkie was mean
Just when we thought we’d had all we could take
We were forced to escape from the jaws of a snake
I took quite a fall, but I went right on livin’
Now I want to come home . . . please say all is forgiven.”
“Wow,” said Hope. “That’s perfect. La Rocha couldn’t have said it better. When all this is over, you should write it down because the library has a whole collection of rodent verse.”
“Thanks.” Pup felt his cheeks turn warm. “I guess it was kind of inspired, huh?”
“It was downright lyrical,” Dev said in a mocking tone. “But before I set off for Atlantia to perform this delightful little poetry recitation, I have one question.” He narrowed his eyes at Hope. “How is it you know so much about the palace? You’re only a child!”
“A royal child,” Hope informed him, tossing her tail proudly. “I am Princess Hope of the House of Romanus.”
There was an immediate shift in the soldier’s bearing as every muscle in his body seemed to tighten at once. Pup watched as a storm of emotions passed over Devon’s face—shock, happiness, even a flash of disgust. Why the soldier would have such a complex reaction to hearing that Hope was a princess was beyond him.
“A royal heir,” he said at last. “A princess. The daughter of Firren herself.”
Hope nodded. “And don’t forget . . . spy.”
“Well.” Dev chuckled. “This changes everything.” His next word came out in a growl. “Everything!”