by Lisa Fiedler
“I think for now we’ll just call him”—Dodger’s eyes twinkled—“the Zuck-meister.”
The girl rat’s eyes went round with surprise as Dodger turned to Zucker. “Is that name okay with you?”
Zucker nodded, grinning. “I like it.”
“Have the others gathered?” Dodger asked.
“Aye.”
“Let’s go, then.”
“Wait,” said Zucker. “You were going to tell me about the colonies.”
“Come along with us,” said Dodger. “If you really want to learn something.”
Zucker did want to learn something. He wanted to learn everything.
Most of all, the pretty rat’s name.
They had come to a spot in the tunnel that seemed to be a sort of makeshift meeting place. There were several sturdy stones set in a wide circle around a scorched spot on the ground—the site of repeated campfires, Zucker surmised.
A handful of young and rugged-looking rats perched on these stones, eyes filled with interest and anticipation.
Zucker took a seat, and Dodger thanked the other rats for coming. He introduced himself as the leader of the Mūs tribe, and this sent a shudder through the prince. The Mūs, according to his father, were a band of diabolical little beasts who had but one goal: to overthrow the peaceful reign of Romanus.
Zucker sprung to his feet, not sure whether he wanted to bolt into the tunnel or strike out at Dodger.
“I know what you’re thinking, Highness,” Dodger said, grinning easily. “You’ve heard horrible things about my brethren. But I promise you, it is nothing but propaganda designed to vilify us. In truth, we are good souls and would never harm anyone unless duly provoked.”
Something in his expression told Zucker to trust him. Slowly he returned to his seat on the rock.
Dodger motioned to the girl rat and told the gathering that she was Firren.
She nodded at the small assemblage, then turned to the wall and began to sketch something with a sharply pointed stone.
Firren; just thinking her name caused a fizzy sensation in Zucker’s brain.
Dodger explained to the burly rats that he and Firren had summoned them in the hope to draft an elite unit to patrol the tunnels against the insidious Romanus scouts.
Zucker tried to listen to the mouse’s eloquent speech, but he was mesmerized by Firren scratching the drawing into the stones of the wall. Her back was to them, and Zucker could not see what she was working on, but the scraping sound of her stone was steady, determined, and intriguing.
He noticed that there were other drawings stretching out along the wall: intricately detailed renderings of battle scenes featuring bold armies of mice and rats engaged in combat.
“It will be a dangerous undertaking,” Dodger was telling the recruits, “but never before has there been a more worthy cause. You have heard the rumors and the gruesome tales of what the Atlantian emperor is doing . . . and I am here to confirm for you that even the grisliest of those reports are true. And so I urge you now to go back to your nests and consider what Firren and I are asking of you. I am in the process of convincing the Mūs to assemble an army, and if they agree, I will bring Firren in to explain to them precisely what needs to be done. If the Mūs will not agree to meet with her, then I will go upland to the Lighted World to seek more assistance.”
The scraping sound stopped abruptly. Zucker watched as Firren whirled, gaping at Dodger.
“You aren’t serious.”
“I’m very serious,” he assured her. “We’ll need all the help we can get, and if it means leaving the tunnels to recruit more soldiers, then that is what I’ll have to do.”
Zucker was amazed. He knew little of the world above the tunnels. Mostly he’d heard that it was unforgiving and dangerous. And yet Dodger would go there willingly in service of his cause. Zucker realized this was a testament to either his new friend’s great courage or his incredible stupidity.
“We will reconvene here in two days’ time,” Dodger told the group, “and if at that time you remain inclined to join us, we will be proud and happy to sign you up.”
As the rats took their leave, Zucker stood and made his way to where Firren remained drawing on the stone wall. He motioned to the mural-like scenes that stretched outward from where she stood.
“Did you sketch all of those?” Zucker asked.
Firren nodded. “These are battles I see and long for in my dreams.”
“I thought pretty girls dreamed of fancy weddings.”
Firren rolled her eyes and let out a snort of disgust.
“Not this pretty girl,” laughed Dodger. “She’s a warrior, through and through. It was her idea to recruit the others and form an elite corps to go up against your father’s scouts. She herself plans to lead them.”
“Lead them where?” Zucker asked.
“To your father’s camps,” Firren informed him, still focused on her drawing. “For now we’ll just try to protect the lost ones who wander the tunnels, and we’ll stem the flow of rodents into the camps. But once we’ve enlisted and trained enough soldiers, we’re going to attack. We’re going to fight! We’re going to free all those poor imprisoned refugees.”
Zucker turned a puzzled expression to Dodger.
“She’s feisty,” he replied with an indulgent grin.
“I prefer the word ‘rebel,’ ” Firren corrected, bending to pick up a fresh stone from the rubble.
Now Dodger reached beneath one of the sitting stones and dragged out a parcel of bound papers. “This is kind of her inspiration.”
“What is it?” asked Zucker, taking the pages.
“A sacred book. One of many. We find them scattered around down here. I believe they come to us from some greater power, some source of infinite knowledge and wisdom beyond these passageways. This one tells the story of a mighty human army called the Rangers. According to the words printed here, they’re the conquering heroes honored with a silver treasure from someone called Stanley.”
Zucker looked at the red-and-blue uniforms the soldiers wore. They did look intimidating. “But I still don’t understand the problem with the camps. Why would you wanna destroy them?”
Admittedly he’d never taken much interest in his father’s philanthropy, but as far as he knew, the refugee camps were exactly what they appeared to be. Temporary housing for unfortunate rodents who’d wound up lost in the tunnels and who would eventually be sent out to build new towns and villages in the name of the Romanus empire.
“You mean other than the fact that they are vicious and evil?” hissed Firren. “And a complete and utter abuse of your father’s power?”
“What are you talking about?” Zucker shot back. “The camps aren’t evil.”
Dodger placed a calming paw on the prince’s shoulder. “Clearly you’ve been kept in the dark about the reality of Titus’s peace accord.”
“Okay, so gimme the details. I’m listening.”
Dodger’s voice was gentle and patient. “Firren . . . ?”
It was a long moment before Firren began to speak. When she did, her voice was level, but her tone was a mixture of sadness and fury. She did not turn away from her work but continued to draw as she spoke.
“My mother and father and I were captured by Romanus scouts and held in the camps.”
A sour taste filled Zucker’s mouth at her use of the word “captured.”
Firren kept her eyes firmly on her artwork. “When it was our turn to go off to the so-called colonies, we were so excited. Right up until the minute they let loose the hungry cats into the hunting ground, a place we thought to be our new home, a place we believed was safe and wonderful. But that was not so. The cats were particularly hungry that day, and my mother and father were gone in a matter of seconds.” Her voice caught in her throat and she paused. “I hid—a broken cup lined in silver metal. I was so tiny back then, I think the ferals missed me entirely, or else the metal lining of the cup must have masked my scent. Whatever the reason,
I stayed crouched until long after the slaughter was over. Then I rolled out of my cup, vomited in the dirt, and cried until I had no tears left to shed. In pitch-darkness I burrowed out of that horrible place. I was tiny and weak, but do you know where I found the strength? By remembering the screams, and the pleas for mercy, and the sound of teeth gnashing and bones snapping in two—”
“Stop it!” cried Zucker, the bile rising in his throat.
Now Firren stepped away from her artwork, turning to face him. Tears had welled up in her eyes, but her jaw was set. “That’s exactly what I intend to do,” she said in a quiet voice. “Stop it.”
Zucker did not know what to believe. The story was so outrageous, but her tears seemed undeniably real. A hunting ground? Sacrificial rodents? It couldn’t be true.
At last Firren moved away from her drawing, and the prince could see that she had sketched a face. It was a pleasant, proud face with wise eyes and a gentle aspect. Brown and furry with small oval ears and a bristle of whiskers.
It was a face filled with goodness and purpose. It was Dodger’s face.
But something was missing.
Zucker stood and walked toward the portrait. Silently he bent and selected a chalky white rock from the pebbles on the ground.
With a steady hand he drew a perfect white circle around the right eye.
“Still listening,” he said softly.
And so for the next hour Dodger and Firren explained everything to Zucker: Dodger was a member of the Mūs tribe—a proud and intelligent clan of mice who valued peace and fairness above all else. Dodger, though young, held a highly respected position in the tribe. He worked closely with their governing body, the Tribunal, and was gifted at interpreting the writings of La Rocha and the mysteries contained in the Sacred Book.
“Who is La Rocha?” Zucker asked.
“That’s a story for another time,” Dodger told him. “The point is, my kind is a strong breed. If Firren can assemble a company of Rangers to assist her, and I can convince the Mūs military to join with her, we will begin the process of bringing down the camps.”
“And bringing down your father,” Firren said pointedly. “Are you with us?”
Zucker was paralyzed by indecision. He waited for a sense of anger to overtake him. He waited for some feeling or instinct that would compel him to defend his father to these strangers. But no such feeling came. What this mouse and this pretty rat were telling him was simply unbelievable. He didn’t think they were lying, but perhaps they misunderstood the purpose of the camps and the conditions of Titus’s treaty. Titus had a responsibility to all who entered the gates of Atlantia. Atlantian citizens were safe. Titus cared about his subjects. Surely he would not—could not—do what these two were accusing him of.
Finally Zucker shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
Firren opened her mouth to shout at him, but Dodger raised his paw, silencing her. He seemed utterly unsurprised.
“This is a sign of character,” he said. “I would have been disappointed if the prince had simply taken our word for this. These are serious crimes we are pinning on his father, and we have offered no real proof of them. He is right to be wary.”
“But we speak the truth!” Firren insisted, stomping one paw in the dirt. “I know. I was there!”
“He will need to find out for himself,” Dodger said, and smiled a genuine smile at Zucker. “I applaud your loyalty, Your Highness. And although I wish it were not the case, I believe that when you have investigated, you will find out that we tell you no falsehoods. It is a well-guarded secret, a matter of royal security, to be certain. But if you look for the signs, you will find the answers. Even if you don’t want to accept them.”
“Is there any way you could be mistaken?” Zucker prodded. “I mean, sure, my old man can be cold and arrogant and self-involved, but what you’re describing is genocide. And my mother, the empress. She’s gentle and kind. She would never allow this kind of stuff to go on in Atlantia. She’d have definitely done something about it.” The words “if she knew” came unbidden to his mind, but he dared not speak them aloud. Instead he shook his head and reiterated, “You’ve got to be mistaken.”
Firren’s eyes flashed with loathing. “We are not mistaken.”
“No.” Dodger shook his head, confirming her words. “We are not.”
A charged silence passed between the three of them.
At last Zucker sighed. “So I guess this is where we go our separate ways, then, huh?”
“For now,” said Dodger with a slow nod. “For now.”
Zucker turned to Firren, but before he could meet her eyes, she’d snapped her head away. This saddened him more than he cared to admit.
But there was nothing to be done about it.
He was the scion of the royal house, the only heir to Titus’s throne. Without more compelling evidence he was duty-bound by blood and custom to remain loyal to his family, to defend his exalted emperor.
No matter how much it hurt him to do it.
“So long, Dodger. Firren.”
Dodger sighed. “Farewell, Zuck-meister.”
Without another word Prince Zucker turned away from his new friends and made his long, slow way back to Atlantia.
chapter twenty-two
WITH A FULL HEART, Hopper led his fellow rodents up to platforms in search of viable weapons.
chapter twenty-three
IT WAS LATE THE next morning when Hopper and Zucker ventured out of the palace.
Marcy had unbound Zucker’s chest and applied a salve to the wound, which, Hopper was happy to note, had stopped bleeding at last. Then she had bandaged him up again, muttering all the while about how he should really stay behind to rest.
Thanks to Marcy’s handiwork, they were both disguised as servants, out for a simple stroll through the marketplace.
But there was a nervous energy in the city that made Hopper’s fur stand on end. Many of the merchants had closed their stalls, and the few citizens who hurried along the streets seemed eager to get home, or at least indoors.
Word of the impending violence must have trickled out among the masses. It was apparent to Hopper that no one knew where or how this trouble would manifest, but still they were wary.
Afraid.
And worse, no one really knew why. The city was enjoying its usual comfort and prosperity, and below, the emperor’s greatest charity project—his camp for homeless rodents—was a thriving entity where lost souls found solace and refuge.
Still, something was not right, and the pampered citizens of Atlantia sensed its approach like a storm in the air.
As Hopper and Zucker made their way to the refugee camp, Hopper snuck glances at Zucker to see how he was holding up. The prince’s wound was still fresh. He really should have been back in the palace, under the care of a royal physician.
But of course, there was no time for such a luxury.
“So tell me about your little scavenger hunt,” Zucker prompted as he and Hopper meandered through the gritty industrial district of the city. “Good haul?”
“Exceptional,” said Hopper, pleased and proud. The soldiers had managed to retrieve a sizable arsenal of human items that, while not technically designed to function as weapons, could easily be of use against the camp guards and Titus’s army. Zucker’s soldiers, Firren’s Rangers, and the soon-to-be-recruited refugees would have to use their imagination to turn these unfamiliar upland discards into viable weapons, but if they worked together, there was hope.
Always hope.
Hopper’s only fears were that Firren would not realize in time that Zucker was working with her and not against her, and that she couldn’t possibly be expecting the captive rodents to join in the fight. This could create a great deal of confusion when the rebels stormed the camp.
And there was the issue of the hunt. If Firren and her army didn’t arrive before the sacrifice, many of the rodents would be lost to the ferals.
Hopper knew that at that very moment, Ketc
hum and the twins and several others from Zucker’s personal army were stockpiling the found weapons at the portals he’d heard Firren describing to General DeKalb and the Tribunal. His and Zucker’s job would be to rally the refugees and enlist their help in hiding the weapons inside the camp to be used against guards when the rebels finally arrived. Hopefully before the “colonists” were removed and transported to the hunting ground.
As they reached the mouth of the pipe that would carry them downward to the camp, Hopper expressed this concern to Zucker. “Firren’s not going to be prepared for the refugees to fight. That could present a major complication.”
“That’s a good point, kid,” said Zucker seriously. Then he bent a grin at Hopper. “Thought so myself when it came to me last night.”
“Last night?”
Zucker nodded. “Which is why I snuck out of the palace and into the tunnels to warn her.”
“You snuck out? Injured and alone?” Hopper was stunned. “When?”
“The minute you took off on your weapons mission.”
Hopper sighed. He didn’t even want to think about what could have happened to his wounded pal out there in the passages. “Well, did you find her? Did you tell her our plan?”
“Nope. But I did leave her a message.”
Now Zucker chuckled and gave Hopper a nudge into the pipe. “C’mon, kid. One thing at a time. We’ve got to focus on our part of this grand design before we can worry about Firren’s role. For now let’s just go find your brother and get this thing rolling.”
Together they crept down the rusted pipe.
They avoided the main entry to camp.
Not surprisingly, extra guards had been posted. But the sentries were, at that very moment, being briefed by Titus’s most favored general, Cassius, about the potential invasion; they had their backs to the pipe’s opening.
“How’s that for irony?” Zucker whispered.
The prince and the Chosen One kept to the shadows and made their way to one of the concealed entrances Hopper recalled Firren mentioning.
Zucker was impressed. “The girl’s got the touch,” he observed as they pushed through an all but undetectable cut section of the wire fence.