by Lisa Fiedler
He’d brought Hope’s diamond tiara with him as a wedding gift. Carroll would wear it today, not as a crown, but as a beautiful accessory to her formal wedding ensemble. Like the new Atlantia, the government of City Hall station would be a democratic one, so she would not need it afterward. And because it had first belonged to Zucker’s mother, the brave and selfish Conselyea, the tiara would remain forever after on display as part of the Atlantian history exhibit in the city’s soon-to-be-built museum. Hope would be entrusted with the crown immediately following the speaking of the vows, over which La Rocha would officiate.
The wedding party included Pup, Hacklemesh, and all the royal heirs, who would be carried up the steps in style, riding on Ace’s back. Hope would be Carroll’s maid of honor, and Dodger would have the pleasure of giving away the bride.
Pinkie, sadly, would not be in attendance, being that she was off on her biggest exploration campaign yet. . . . She had gone out in search of a legendary kingdom called Grand Central Station. She’d sent her regrets, along with a wedding gift: a collection of hundreds and hundreds of book pages she’d uncovered in her recent travels, all torn from human books long-lost in the tunnels. Hopper could not have asked for a better present. He planned to use these to start the Ira and Fiorello Memorial Lending Library, which would also house pages from a book called The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire. At Firren’s suggestion, the front door of the library would be made of silver.
“We’re ready to begin the ceremony,” La Rocha whispered from the shadows of the hooded cloak.
Hopper grinned and whispered back, “Thanks, Marcy.”
He turned to his best man, Zucker, who was dressed just as he’d been for his own royal wedding—in his best purple tunic with the blue gemstone-studded chain around his neck. Not because it was a royal occasion, but because it was a special one.
The chain reminded Hopper of something. He reached into his pocket and took out the drawing Mamie had given him . . . the drawing his own grandmother Myrtle had made so long ago of Hopper’s grandfather, smiling with Titus and Conselyea. In the portrait Conselyea was wearing the chain.
“Remember the prophecy?” he asked Zucker. “There shall appear One who will lead them, small of stature but brave of heart?”
“How could I forget it?” Zucker’s eyes twinkled with humor. “You dropped out of the daylight world and set everything in motion.”
“That’s not entirely true,” said Hopper. “It was in motion long before I escaped from my cage.”
He showed Zucker the drawing of their ancestors, explaining that Ebbets was Dodger’s father. “I want you to have it,” he said. “Hang it in your new museum. This is our history, mine and yours. It’s the moment when Atlantia and the Mūs village became possible.”
Zucker was amazed. His eyes shone with tears as he gazed at the image of his lost mother, and at Titus, who at the time still had so many dreams in his young heart . . . dreams that were as yet untainted by fear and desperation. Hopper hoped this would be the way Zucker would remember the father who had ultimately given his own life to spare his son’s.
Hopper admired the way Myrtle had so deftly captured the keen intelligence in young Titus’s eyes—the same keen intelligence he now saw reflected in Zucker’s. And the white circle of fur distinctively marking the gentle, hopeful face of his own grandfather, Ebbets, which still lived on in Hopper.
“Zuck-meister?”
“Yeah, kid? I mean . . . Mayor.”
“I believe we were always destined to be friends, you and I.”
“I believe it too.”
Suddenly the station was filled with the beautiful sounds of cricket song. Ace was carrying the wedding party up the steps. At the bottom of the steps Dodger was taking Carroll’s arm.
Carroll. The chosen one of the Chosen One.
Hopper’s future.
It was a future he would face with confidence, commitment, and most of all, courage. He knew this from the tops of his ears to the tip of his tail, to the deepest most joyful place in his fluttering little heart.
His Mouseheart.
A BONUS TALE
of
HISTORICAL IMPORT
Reprinted here
by special permission of
the noble Mūs elders from their Sacred Book:
The Lost Pages
AS INSCRIBED AND FAITHFULLY RECOUNTED FROM MEMORY BY ONE WHO WAS THERE
ATLANTIA RISING: HOW IT ALL BEGAN
A VERY LONG TIME AGO, before Atlantia, in the cellar of the Brooklyn Public Library . . .
These rats had no names.
There were two of them; they were not friends in the traditional sense, but both were young, healthy, and united in their common desire to stay alive. They’d banded together because being alone was dangerous, and there was at least some small degree of might in being a duo. Of the pair, only one of them could be considered smart, and what the smart rat knew best was that he did not know enough. He also knew that he could learn.
He and his mean-spirited companion had burrowed their way into the underground room of an enormous structure and there made themselves a temporary home. The location was not accidental.
The place was dank, dusty, and cavernous; it smelled of drying paper and old ink (which was not unpleasant) and mold (which was). But it was warmer than being out in the gutters, and here humans appeared only occasionally; they mostly came to drop off large black bags, the contents of which would be spilled into the incinerator at the end of each week by a human called Custodian. These bags were not difficult to chew through and yielded more delectable sustenance than the rats could ever hope to gather living in the streets.
This had pleased the mean rat, and he’d taken full advantage. He’d been scrawny when they arrived in the cellar, but after months of living off the bounty of human refuse, he’d become bulky and solid. And, truth be told, a bit cocky.
But in the eyes of the smarter rat, what was even better than the constant supply of food was the fact that this cellar was a storage place, or perhaps a dumping ground, for all the books that had been deemed no longer useful to the humans who frequented the upper levels of this magnificent place called the “Library.” The smart rat had purposely chosen the basement of this building, not only for shelter but also because here he could acquire the knowledge he so desperately sought. Somehow he understood that knowing and thinking could prove to be exceedingly helpful in keeping a rat safe. Possibly even happy.
At present he was poring over a thick, dusty old volume that must have been relegated to the basement years before. The words on the book’s tattered spine read The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire. As usual, the rat who was not so smart was busy with the garbage bags, relishing the half-eaten lunches and open sugar packets.
As his companion rummaged through the trash, the smart rat used his teeth and claws to turn the book’s broad pages, reading what he could. It was a skill he had only recently acquired, and certain words were easier for him to decipher than others. There was one in particular he liked: “peace.” And another word: “power.” He liked the way these words sounded when he spoke them aloud in his rodent voice, and he liked how they looked printed in bold letters alongside the other less-intriguing words on the page.
The bright-but-nameless rat had just come to a section about emperors when there arose a terrible commotion on the cellar stairs.
“Help me! Please, someone! Help!”
The smart rat’s hungry companion immediately dove into the torn trash bag he’d been plundering. But the shouted pleas ignited a sense of duty in the smart rat, who dashed for the stairs. There he saw the loveliest female rodent upon whom he’d ever laid his glittering black eyes. She was frantically making her way downward, leaping from step to step, her whiskers quivering with terror. In a moment, the smart rat learned why: The female was being chased by a screeching human woman, an upstairs employee known as the librarian. This librarian was swinging a broom, poking and stabbing it in the
direction of the fleeing female. Luckily, the human’s aim was poor and the female rat was able to dodge the blows.
“This way,” the smart rat called.
The female’s eyes were filled with horror, but she did not question his instructions. She flung herself behind him; he could feel the warmth of her coarse fur bristling against his as she trembled.
The librarian galloped down the stairs, her broomstick flailing in front of her. Oddly, she looked as frightened as the female rat, but even in her fear she seemed determined.
“I won’t stand for rat droppings in my library!” she shouted. “There’ll be no disease-ridden pestilence slinking around in my stacks.”
The smart rat did not know these words, but he did rightly take them for insults. The librarian spotted him now and let out a long, shrill shriek. She gripped her stick and swung it up over her head, preparing to bring it down mercilessly on both of the rodents at once.
But before the librarian could swing the weapon, the smart rat leaped forward, baring his claws and sinking his knifelike teeth into the human’s fleshy ankle; he came away with the metallic taste of blood on his tongue.
The scream that ripped from her throat seemed to shake the entire library. Still the rat did not back down; he went up on his hind paws, ready to attack again, but the librarian had gone deathly pale. Her weapon clattered to the concrete floor as her hands clasped around her bleeding limb. The smart rat lurched toward her a second time and as she swatted him away, something jangling and sparkly slipped from her wrist. Sobbing, she turned and hobbled back up the stairs, screeching the word “rabies” over and over.
The rat spit the blood from his mouth, then turned to take hold of the female’s front paw.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “Did she get you with that stick?”
“No,” the female replied in a shaky voice. “But she would have, if you hadn’t come to my rescue so bravely.” She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and smiled. “Thank you.”
The rat felt an unfamiliar fluttering of his heart. “Glad I could help.”
Then he leaned down to pick up the sparkling object the librarian had lost and saw that it was a chain fashioned of golden links, dotted with glittering stones of the deepest blue.
“What is it?” the female breathed, her eyes dancing at the sight of such a pretty bauble.
“Jewelry, I think. Humans treasure it.” Feeling bold, he draped the jangly chain around her neck and smiled when he saw how the color of the gemstones complemented her gray coat. “For you.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “My name is Conselyea.”
The smart rat repeated her name; it sounded like music to him. “I don’t have a name,” he confessed.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Until the smart rat’s nasty companion stuck his head out from the trash bag, startling them both.
“That was a close one,” he observed, munching into a pretzel. “Hope we’ve seen the last of her.”
The smart rat was just about to say he doubted it very much when again, he heard noise on the stairs. This time the footsteps came fast and heavy. He turned to his friend with wide eyes.
“Custodian!” they said together.
The three rats scurried into the shadows just as the custodian reached the bottom step.
But today the familiar human in the blue uniform did not come bearing bulging bags of treats and nourishment. This time he carried a shovel! And a box with ominous-looking words printed on it in big red letters:
RAT POISON.
The smart rat understood immediately that their time in the cozy basement with the endless supply of food and knowledge had come to a close.
“Hey, you stinkin’ rats!” the custodian barked, banging the floor with his shovel. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
The noise of the metal shovel was a clattering, clanging din that made Conselyea cover her delicate, rounded ears and press her face into the smart rat’s chest.
He had to admit, he kind of liked that.
The custodian set about pouring small piles of a grainy green substance from the box. The hungry rat’s nose immediately began to twitch with interest.
“Eat up, pests.” The custodian chuckled. “Feast! And tomorrow morning I’ll be shoveling your flea-bitten carcasses into the incinerator with the rest of the trash.”
Conselyea gasped. The custodian laughed and stomped back up the stairs.
The minute he disappeared, the not-so-intelligent rat made to scamper toward the closest pile of mysterious grain.
“No!” the smart rat roared.
“But it smells so good,” his friend argued. “I just want to taste it.”
“It will kill you,” the smart rat promised. “Now that they know we’re here, they won’t stop until we’re dead. That stuff will likely boil the blood in our veins if we so much as take one nibble. If that doesn’t work, they’ll set out those vicious torture devices they call traps. Either way, we can’t stay here.”
Conselyea looked at him as though she were sizing him up, taking his measure. Apparently, she found him worthy because after a moment she said simply, “I trust you. If you say we must go, then we must.”
A tremor of joy filled him. Sad as he was to be leaving behind the warmth and the books, he knew he could live happily without those things for the rest of his life . . . as long as he had her trust, as long as she was by his side.
He had no idea where he would lead her, but the elation he felt, just knowing she would follow, was indescribable. And for her trust, he would reward her with his devotion. His protection. He would do whatever was required of him to keep her safe.
His mean, hungry companion would come along too, of course, and this would make them that much stronger. They would fight for one another, against whatever enemy they might meet.
The hungry rat slid one more longing glance toward the poison. “When do we leave?”
The smart one looked upward, toward one of the cellar’s high windows. Beyond the grimy bit of glass, the brilliance of the day was fading to evening gloom.
“At first light,” he decided. “We’ll tunnel out the way we came.”
“Where will we go?”
The rat had no answer just yet. But he’d once read a book about a sailor called Columbus who’d set out on a great ocean voyage and discovered a new world. The idea of a sailing adventure appealed to the rat. He’d heard Brooklyn was close to the water. All he would have to do was find it.
“You two get some rest,” the smart rat suggested. “I’ll stay awake and keep an eye out for Librarian and Custodian with their sticks and shovels.”
Obediently the mean rat and Conselyea closed their eyes.
The smart rat went back to his book, The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire, and read through the night. He read of strong leaders and proud cities, and wicked enemies who were conquered bravely and gloriously in the name of prosperity and peace. He let the words and their lessons take hold, drinking in their wisdom, forming his own new plan. He read of soldiers and senators from Rome, of orators and of emperors who had made history, and of the one elusive thing they wanted and fought for above all else: power.
Power, he realized, was what kept the shovels and the poison at bay. Power meant safety, and safety meant freedom. And although power could occasionally be won with brute force, he discovered that it could only be maintained with cunning and intellect.
Luckily, he was possessed of both.
As the night wore on, the smart rat read and studied and debated silently with himself on matters moral and points political. Rome and the Romans fascinated and enlightened him. He only wished he were large enough to take the entire heavy volume with him to whatever new place he’d be going in the morning. But since he could not do that, he tore out as many of the glossy pages as he could carry. Then, to be safe, he tore several sections from a book called Latin: A Primer in case any of the vocabulary on the glossy pages gave him trouble. He d
id this quietly, so as not to awaken his sleeping friends.
All night long the smart rat read. He read, and he learned.
And by the time the high windows had begun to glow with the first pale rays of daylight, he had chosen for himself a destiny.
And a name:
From this day forward, he would be called Titus. And he would be strong.
Titus christened his companion “Cassius.” It was a name he’d found in the pages of his book about Rome, and it sounded sufficiently intimidating. Titus told the mean, hungry rat his new name as they crept out through the same short tunnel they’d dug to enter the library.
“I want to be more than Cassius,” the mean rat snarled. “I’d like a title.”
“Fine. General Cassius, then.”
General Cassius smiled. “I like it.” He had taken an armful of food from the plastic trash bags and was cradling it close to him. Titus had his tail rolled snugly around the pages he’d torn from the books, and Conselyea wore the elegant golden chain of blue stones around her neck.
“That suits you,” Titus observed. “You look like an empress.”
Conselyea did not know what an empress was, but she took it for the compliment it was.
They emerged from the library into the predawn light and found themselves on a thoroughfare called Flatbush Avenue. At this early hour they saw almost no humans. A stray dog roamed the sidewalks, and some squirrels skittered down the trunk of a scraggly tree. The rats followed this path for a great distance.
As they scuttled along, Titus would occasionally lift his snout into the air and sniff deeply.
“Why do you do that?” Conselyea asked.
“I’m trying to find the river,” Titus explained. “I have heard that rats can prosper along the docks.” What he didn’t tell her was that he was seeking an adventure—for all three of them. If they could get to the river, perhaps they could board a ship that would take them far away. Titus imagined a great ocean crossing, an epic sailing trip into the warm waters of a place called Italy, the birthplace of Rome. There they could make their new home in the eternal city he’d read about and admired. Surely a rat as smart and determined as Titus would be welcome in there; he might even find a way to live in luxury, prosperity, and peace, just like the Roman emperors once had.