by Lisa Fiedler
At this, Zucker laughed. “Oh, I seriously doubt she has any intention of doing that,” he said, dismissing the emperor’s worries with a derisive snort.
“I suppose not, now that she doesn’t have that wily Roger to band with.”
“His name was Dodger,” Zucker corrected. “And besides, even if Firren could talk the Mūs into laying siege, they’d be no threat to us. I mean, c’mon. An army of mice fighting the soldiers of Romanus? It’d be a joke.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” drawled Titus. “They may be small in stature, but they are great in number. With a sufficient arsenal and adequate leadership they could do significant damage. Perhaps I would be wise to mobilize our forces.”
“Okay,” Zucker agreed with a casual shrug. “Go ahead and mobilize ’em. I mean, if you’re scared of a bunch of little, itty-bitty mice, well, then who am I to—”
“Scared?!” Titus’s face contorted in fury. “I am not scared, I am merely being cautious . . .”
“Right.” Zucker gave the emperor an easy smile. “Tomato, to-mahto . . .”
The emperor glared at his son and fumed for a long moment; then he took a steadying breath.
“On second thought, Prince Zucker, I am inclined to agree with you. An army of mice holding their own against the mighty rats of Romanus is preposterous. The Mūs do not present a viable threat. Do you hear me? No threat!” His voice thundered across the throne room.
“If you say so, sire.” Zucker nodded. “Father knows best.”
“Now . . .” The emperor settled back in his jeweled throne. “It has come to my attention that you have brought into our midst a diminutive visitor.”
“Yes, I have. A foundling, I guess you’d call him. Little guy. Out of his element.”
Titus rolled his beady eyes. “You say that like it’s something new.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Zucker took a deep breath. “What’s new about it is that I feel kind of protective toward this one.”
“Why?”
The question seemed to catch the prince off guard.
“Because I saved him from being splattered all over the tunnels by one of those screaming metal serpents.”
“Is that all? Surely you have more motivation than that for bringing home a stray mouse.” Titus eyed Hopper with disdain. “Mice are not welcome here. So why bring this one?”
Zucker shrugged. “There’s just something about him, I guess. Something that makes me want to see to his welfare personally. Which is why I was hoping you’d let him stay here. I’d make sure he didn’t get underfoot, and it’s not like one little mouse is going to make much of a difference to your . . . cause.”
Titus lowered one brow. “I suppose not.” He drummed his claws on the arm of his throne. “Bring him forth. Let me have a look at him.”
Zucker turned to where Hopper was peeking in from the antechamber. With an encouraging nod he waved the little mouse inside.
The next thing Hopper knew, he was standing alone in the middle of the floor and looking up into the grim face of Zucker’s father.
The Emperor of Atlantia.
chapter eleven
HOPPER COULDN’T STOP STARING.
He was frightened, no question—trembling, in fact. But despite his terror he simply could not pull his eyes from the remarkable rodent who occupied the opulent throne that stood on an elevated platform in the center of the sumptuous audience chamber.
Perhaps the emperor rat had been debonair in his youth, but Hopper could see that in this regard Titus’s best days were far behind him. His eyes lacked the mischievous sparkle of Zucker’s, and he did not seem to be acquainted with the concept of laughter. He, like Zucker, had battle scars, but whereas Zucker’s scars were proof that he was resilient, hardy, and heroic, Titus’s scars had the very opposite effect: they made him look ruined—defective, even—giving him an unapproachable, sinister quality.
In a word, Titus was frightening.
And never so much as when he smiled.
This was due to a long, weltlike scar that stretched jaggedly from below his left eye, down his snout, and across his mouth. It was this pinkish-white slash that eerily transformed what once may have been a dashing smile into a truly fiendish sneer. It was that sickening grin that was unnerving Hopper right this very minute.
“Where do you hail from, mouse?” the emperor asked in a voice like hot oil.
Hopper opened his mouth to answer; unfortunately no sound came out.
The emperor Titus was not used to being ignored. He strummed his claws on the arm of his throne and glared at Hopper. “Answer your emperor!”
“P-p-pet shop,” Hopper stammered. “Upland.”
“And you have come here alone?”
“Alone,” Hopper squeaked. “All alone.”
Titus considered this for a long moment. “Very well. Ordinarily you would be housed with others of your ilk in a special locale that this court has established for the purpose of sheltering the underserved and disenfranchised.”
Hopper had no idea what that meant, but he wasn’t about to ask. Titus went on coolly.
“However, the prince has requested that I make an exception and allow you to remain in Atlantia under his personal guardianship. Getting in touch with his inner ‘big brother,’ I suppose.” At this comment Titus’s eyes clouded a bit, but he quickly cleared his throat and continued. “As I am a father who is fond of indulging my only child, I will allow it, but understand that this is a probationary period. Should you do anything to abuse this privilege, you will be relocated to the refugee camp. Do you understand?”
Hopper didn’t, but he nodded anyway. “Y-yes, sir.”
“Good. Now then . . . bow to your liege!”
Hopper genuflected, but in his zeal to obey the emperor he whipped his head downward too quickly, and the bandage over his ear unraveled, revealing his torn ear and his right eye.
Zucker, who’d been sitting, tense and frowning, upon an upholstered bench at the base of Titus’s throne, leaped to his feet. His eyes were wide and filled with shock. But before Zucker could speak, Titus, who was also gaping at Hopper, shot out a paw to silence him.
Hopper shrank in embarrassment. His wound must have looked vile and disgusting amid the lushness of the palace. Feeling their wondering gazes upon him, he quickly scooped up the length of gauze from the marble tile and turned toward the door.
Without warning, Titus raised his voice to a harsh, bellowing command. “You!” the emperor bellowed. “Do not move so much as a muscle, do you hear?”
Zucker stepped forward fast, placing himself between the emperor and the mouse. “Easy, Highness,” he said in a solicitous tone. “Just calm down.”
“Calm down?” Titus screeched. “How can I calm down? Do you not see what I see?”
Zucker slid a glance at Hopper, then nodded at the emperor. “Oh, I see it all right.”
“And do you know what it means?”
“Sure do.” Zucker leaned forward conspiratorially, lowered his voice, and whispered something into Titus’s ear.
Titus considered his son’s words with a scowl. “That is certainly in our favor.”
Zucker reached down to give Hopper a reassuring pat between the ears. “Our little friend here has a lot of potential.”
Titus gave a definitive nod. “It is decided,” he said loftily. “Until further notice this diminutive visitor shall be your ward. Of course, he must never be out of your sight. I will also assign a guard.”
Zucker stiffened. “Don’t trust me, eh?”
Titus’s laughter was an unnatural sound that crackled through the audience chamber like breaking glass. “Well, one can never be too careful,” he drawled. He again turned his ruined smile to Hopper. “Henceforth, you may consider yourself an honored guest of the royal court. And as such, I shall see to your every comfort.”
“Th-th-thank you,” Hopper stammered. “But . . . why?”
Titus lifted one gnarled paw to his pockmarked sno
ut and stroked it thoughtfully. “Let’s just say that I see something in you. Something unique, something special, someone full of promise.”
Hopper could not for the life of him imagine what it was the emperor thought he saw, but he was nonetheless flattered to hear it. He quit cowering and stepped out from behind Zucker to return the emperor’s smile. Then he hazarded a glance at the prince, whose expression was unreadable.
“Peace and prosperity will be guaranteed in my domain,” Titus said quietly, “for as long as you are here . . . Promised One.”
“Promised One?” Hopper repeated with reverence. “Me?” He’s never had a title before; it was quite a heady feeling.
Zucker frowned but held his tongue.
“Now then . . .” The emperor crossed his legs and tapped his chin with one jagged claw. “Tell me, little mouse stranger . . . what is your name?”
“It’s Hopper.”
Titus arched one scraggly eyebrow and wrinkled his nose. “That is a ridiculous name.”
“Sorry.” Hopper lowered his eyes. “But it’s the only one I’ve got.”
“Very well.” Again the emperor’s face contorted into that hideous grin. “So it shall be.” He flicked a paw in Zucker’s direction. “You may go now, and report your findings to General Cassius.”
On cue a hulking rat in military attire stepped into the throne room. Zucker gave him a stony look, to which the brutish general replied with an icy smile.
“I hate this guy,” Zucker ground out between his teeth so only Hopper could hear. “I mean, I really hate this guy.”
Hopper couldn’t blame him. General Cassius was even more wicked-looking than Titus. His fur had a greasy sheen, and in places tufts of it were missing, showing mottled flesh beneath. It seemed to Hopper that Cassius was none too fond of Zucker either. And when Cassius at last bothered to glance at Hopper, he did a double take.
“Sire, this mouse has the same—”
Titus quickly held up a paw and silenced his general with a few clicks of his tongue. “We are well aware of this development. It appears that he is not. Rest assured that we have already found a means by which to use this to our advantage.” He turned to Zucker and continued with a wave of his paw. “Go now. Cassius will take you to the Conflict Room, where you can brief him on these recent developments.”
Zucker flung a glance at Hopper, as though trying to decide if he should commend the mouse into the hands of the big rat. But it was quite clear to Hopper that Emperor Titus did not make suggestions—he gave orders. No matter how much he might want to stay, Zucker would have to go.
Turning away from the emperor, Hopper offered Zucker a brave smile.
After a moment’s wavering Zucker inclined his head to the emperor and took his leave behind the haughty General Cassius.
Titus waited until the echo of his son’s footsteps had faded from the audience chamber before he rose from his gilded throne. To Hopper he looked like a moving mountain as he made his way slowly down the four wide steps of the throne platform and lumbered across the floor. His shadow fell across Hopper like a dark cloud.
“Tonight there shall be a grand celebration in your honor,” the emperor declared. “We shall welcome you to our wondrous city and claim you as one of our brethren.”
The giant rat reached down to trace the white circle around Hopper’s eye.
“Come, let us observe the city,” the emperor intoned. “I shall introduce you to our precious way of life, the one we fight for every day.”
Hopper wasn’t sure what Titus meant by that. On his walk through the market square with Zucker he hadn’t seen any fighting at all.
The emperor pointed to Hopper as though he were choosing him for some magnificent mission. When the tip of his claw came to rest on the fur of Hopper’s chest, Hopper flinched. The knifelike point did not pierce the skin over Hopper’s fluttering heart, but it could have.
“Whether you know it or not,” the emperor whispered, “your presence here shall help decide the future. Yours and ours.”
Then Titus rested his heavy paw on Hopper’s shoulder and said, “Come with me, dear Hopper.”
For the first time in his life, Hopper wasn’t sure he liked the sound of his own name.
They stood on a ledge far above the city, with Atlantia sparkling below. Hopper could see all of the metropolis spread out, safe and secure inside its wall. He could also see that the city was enclosed within larger, higher walls that stretched in all directions, disappearing into the darkness of the tunnels. These towering walls were surely of human making, for they were far too broad and high for even a million rodents to construct.
On one of these walls was a sign.
As always, the mystery of the symbols, colors, and squiggles gnawed at Hopper.
Below the sign loomed nothing but vast space.
“What do you call that place?” Hopper asked Titus.
“Forbidden,” Titus said curtly. “There is nothing out there except for some odd objects and artifacts left from before the human exodus, from before the Abandonment.”
“Oh,” said Hopper.
“All that rests outside the wall is dangerous,” Titus explained in his slick voice. “We call it the Great Beyond, and only my bravest soldiers are permitted to roam there. I do not allow my subjects to journey out where they might encounter harm. The power of the Romanus is unparalleled, make no mistake about it, but once a reckless citizen ventures into the Great Beyond, I can no longer guarantee his or her protection.”
Hopper nodded, understanding. He remembered vividly that feeling of protectiveness for Pinkie and Pup.
In the excitement of seeing Atlantia and meeting the emperor, he’d been so distracted that he hadn’t had time to think of his siblings. Now the guilt kicked him in the chest; the thought of them took the wind right out of Hopper’s lungs. And the fact that he’d almost forgotten his failure to protect them made it all the worse. The emotion was unnamable, soul-crushing.
But in the midst of it, there was suddenly an overwhelming sense of hope. The fact of the matter was that he really didn’t know for sure what had happened to his siblings. He’d assumed the worst, but Pinkie was so tough, so tenacious. Perhaps when they’d lost each other in the raging river, she’d been able to swim to safety and was now searching for him on the sidewalks of Brooklyn. And Pup—it was possible that his fall had not been fatal. For all Hopper knew, his tiny brother was still alive and well, back in the pet shop. Maybe Zucker could assemble a party of scouts to undertake an upland expedition, a mission to rescue Pup. Surely Keep would be no match for an entire troop of Atlantian soldiers.
Buoyant with this new outlook, Hopper looked down on the vibrant city and pictured himself, Pinkie, and Pup living happily among its populace. If they were alive, all he had to do was find them, and with the emperor on his side that shouldn’t be too difficult. He was just about to ask Titus for his assistance in locating his siblings when the giant rat patted him on the head.
“Promised One, there is something you must know,” Titus said gravely.
Hopper looked up into the gray face of the emperor. “What is it?”
Titus let out a long sigh, his sour breath swirling up a small tornado of dust from the ledge on which they stood. “I believe you bring the promise of safety and peace, but there are those who would see this all destroyed.”
Hopper blinked in disbelief. Destroy Atlantia? It was unthinkable!
“Who would want to do that?” he asked. “Why?”
Titus curled his lip and shrugged. “Why, I cannot really say. We assume it is because our enemies are a backward, savage tribe who envy our lifestyle and wish to usurp us, taking our wealth and luxuries for themselves.” He shook his head. “They believe they have mystical guidance and justification because they follow the teachings of the one called La Rocha, but their faith is misplaced. La Rocha is evil. La Rocha is the end!”
He paused, allowing this dark truth to sink in. Then he swept his arm over the
city as though to bless it.
“And as for ‘who’ . . . well, there is only one answer. They are the ones who loathe us and seek to bring our world to ruin. They are the hatemongers, the rabble-rousers, the most wicked of all rodents. Once they were led by a diminutive monster called Dodger, the most malevolent of them all. He is gone now, but they honor his memory. They are uncivilized and violent, they thirst for Romanus blood, and they shall not surrender until they have seen every last drop of it spilled from our veins.”
“Who are they?” Hopper asked again.
Titus made an odious face, then spat the word into the dust of the ledge: “The Mūs.”
chapter twelve
HOPPER FELT THE BILE rise in his throat.
Vicious, bloodletting hatemongers? It couldn’t be.
His mother had urged him to find the Mūs. Why would she encourage her son to seek out monsters such as the one Titus described?
And what of the rune, the face on the wall—so like his face, with its white circle of fur? Zucker had said that it was the face of someone he knew. The face of a Mūs.
Titus had to be confused.
Or misinformed.
Or lying.
Lip trembling, Hopper looked up into the proud face of the emperor and felt his knees buckle. “I’m afraid,” he confessed.
Titus lifted one eyebrow as though perhaps he didn’t believe it. But when he laid his large paw on Hopper’s shoulder and felt him shaking, something in the old rat’s demeanor shifted.
“You are frightened,” he said, a lilt of surprise in his gruff voice. “You truly are.”
Hopper nodded hard, dragging an arm across his face to wipe the tear that trickled through the white fur around his eye.
“There, there,” Titus hushed. “There, Hopper. It’s all right.”
The emperor knelt down so that they were eye to eye. “It has been quite a grueling journey for you, has it not?”