EIGHT
"From your kingdom of joy, watch over us and protect us from harm."
John Lydgate, fifteenth-century poet
The sun was high above the market when Papa nudged Fin awake. "Up! Let’s go! Up! Up!"
Fin blinked. "But it’s still daylight."
"Come!"
"Papa, I don’t want—" The look in his uncle’s eyes stopped him. Fin pulled himself up. Leaning heavily on his uncle, he limped to the alley. His paw already throbbed. "Papa, I can’t!"
Without a word, the Chairman gripped Fin by his scruff, lifting him off the ground, and padded across the open alley. He squeezed into a pipe that disappeared deep into a building. The Chairman’s nails pinged against metal. He trotted through a maze of pipes and ventilation ducts then climbed into a long, narrow drainage pipe. Water trickled along the bottom, heading toward a glowing circle of daylight. The circle grew larger and larger until it glimmered before them.
The Chairman set Fin down. Fin could smell the market, could hear it, even taste it. But all he could see was blinding light.
"Look down," ordered Papa.
Fin forced himself to peer out. The ground was dozens of tail-lengths below: a dizzying blur. He shrank back.
"You are a Tunnel Rat. Do not look away!"
Again, Fin crept forward. He allowed the market to flow over him. His ears swivelled toward sounds, deciphering them: two-legs shouting; bottles clinking; a horn blasting, another one responding; the squawk of seagulls nearby; the faint caw of crows….
Fanning his nose back and forth, Fin smelled the tang of blood. The fish stall. It was right below them. And something else—his fur prickled—the cruel two-leg. Its stench was loud and clear. Fin gagged. "Papa, I…I can’t…"
"Open your ears, and keep your nostrils wide! You are a brave Tunnel Rat!"
Fin shivered. The stink pressed against his nose.
"Show me," said the Chairman. "Show me the ugly two-leg who did this to you."
"I…" croaked Fin. The blinding sky spun, smearing the market and the two-leg’s stench together.
Fin swayed. The floor buckled. All went silent.
When he awoke, he was back in the nest. Papa was gone.
***
The squad scoured the Lowers for some time before they finally landed a good one: a solitary rat, a loner. Common enough in the Lowers and rarely missed.
"Stop resisting," hissed a rat into the struggling one’s ear. "Consider this your personal contribution to the Common Good."
Laughter. A muffled yelp.
"It’s strong for half-starved," puffed another rat who leaned heavily against the captive.
Out of the gloom, a huge rat appeared with a small, pale rat at his side. All fell silent. The squad shuffled out of their way.
The big rat nudged the pale one forward. "Kill it."
"Me?" The small one shrank back. "I don’t know…"
"Hold it still, boys," growled the big rat. He stared down at the little pale one. "Do it."
The small rat faced the prisoner, silver whiskers trembling.
The prisoner’s teeth chattered. "Please, no! Have mercy!"
The pale one stared at the prisoner, his brow furrowed. He looked up at the big rat. "Are you sure it’s okay?"
"Of course it’s okay. It’s your duty."
The small one bobbed his head and gulped. He sprang at the prisoner. It took many bites to the captive’s neck. Shrieks sliced the air. Finally, the struggling ceased.
"Now," said the big rat, "show us where it happened."
"Yes, yes!" The pale head bobbed up and down. "Follow me!"
The little rat scurried ahead through the tunnels. The squad followed, dragging the limp body behind them.
NINE
“Death solves all difficulties.”
Attributed to Stalin
Ananda sat on her bed, a sketchbook on her lap. The new art book lay open next to her; she was trying to draw her feet using a technique in the book called “continuous line.” Far from teaching her how to “see how things really are,” her feet looked like misshapen blobs of dough. She ripped off the page, balled it up, and threw it against the far wall.
She was too distracted to draw. Tears snaked down her cheeks until her face puckered together like a draw-string purse, and she burst into tears.
Why she was crying, she couldn’t even understand herself. Was it because she’d been targeted by Litko? Yes, but that was only part of it. The whole newspaper article thing played on her mind too.
Gulping in air, she wiped her eyes with her fists.
Maybe Litko was only part of the problem, but he was the part she could fight.
Ananda began to sketch. It was a strip cartoon of Chris Litko and his goons. She cartooned close-ups of their dim-eyed, slack-jawed faces, zooming in and out at different angles as they tried to puzzle out how to spell Neanderthal. She gave Chris an extra-large, bushy unibrow. His plump, drooping lower lip looked very Chris.
In the last panel, she drew them dancing around a fire like the apes out of 2001: A Space Odyssey, hooting their victory.
Ananda laughed. It was good. But that tight knot in her stomach was still there.
The newspaper article felt like a presence standing in the room with her. A malevolent presence, reminding her of how powerless she was. Of how even when she thought she was doing right, it turned out all wrong.
Shadows of early evening crept across her floor, reaching her bed. Ananda snapped on the light.
The shadows slid back into the corner.
There was a sudden rap at her door, making her heart catch.
“Dinner,” called her mom.
Ananda breathed out and gripped her head. Slowly, she climbed off her bed and shuffled into the dining room.
Her dad was already seated. He looked up at her and pushed his glasses up his nose. They hadn’t spoken of the Disaster at the Market. Ignoring it meant it hadn’t happened.
Ananda kept her eyes on her plate and picked at her food. Her insides still felt like a clenched fist.
“Is something wrong?” asked her mom.
Ananda raised her eyes and stared at her dad. “Ask him.”
Tom shrugged. “Your mom already knows.”
The casual shrug set Ananda off. She snapped, “So she knows you think I’m responsible for the coming apocalypse? Did you tell her you were embarrassed by me?”
Tom frowned. “Ananda, I never said—”
“You didn’t have to. It came through loud and clear. You’ll be pleased to know that my History teacher showed us the same article today. So you’re right! We’re all going to die, and according to you, it’s my fault!”
Ananda’s mouth quivered. She covered it with a shaking hand.
Her dad snorted and said, “I don’t think that. You are overreacting, Ananda. I don’t agree with what you did, but…” He leaned forward and clasped her hand.
“No!” She yanked it back. Her parents stared at her, round-eyed, mouths open.
“No,” she said again. “Don’t touch me.”
Ananda screeched her chair back from the table, ran to her room, and slammed the door. She threw herself onto her bed as sobs rolled through her like waves smashing against rocks.
There was a knock at the door. “Ananda?” It was her dad.
“Leave me alone!”
“Ananda! Please, let’s talk about this.”
“Go away!” Burying her face in her pillow, she sobbed like a lost child. Eventually, she heard him sigh, heard the creak of his shoes as he walked away.
Ananda cried herself dry.
Finally, she rolled onto her back. Her hair was plastered to her cheeks with dried snot. Things would be better tomorrow, isn’t that what everybody said?
Everybody was wrong.
>
Tomorrow, she’d have to go back to that damned school.
TEN
“No one from this city shall be allowed to travel to infected areas, and those from infected areas shall not be allowed in.”
Ordinance to restrict the spread of the plague, Italy, 1348
It was moonrise, and Fin was restless. The nest seemed to shrink smaller and smaller every moment he was in it. He wanted to go outside, to smell the air, get out of the burrow, but Papa had forbidden him to leave until he was completely healed.
Fin flexed his paw. His foot couldn’t open at all now—his toes had fused together as they’d healed. But though his paw was even uglier than before, it felt pretty good. Testing his weight on it, there was no pain. That decided it: Fin was going to visit Scratch. Papa was at Council and wasn’t there to stop him.
Fin limped along the old route, brushing his flank along the wall of the alley. Countless generations of Tunnel Rats had leaned against that wall to help them navigate down to the market, wearing the wall smooth.
A two-leg shuffled by. Fin flattened against the wall to make himself invisible as it passed.
It sang softly to itself, weaving back and forth as if the pavement were rolling. These kinds of two-legs were harmless—as long as one steered clear of their feet. It tottered around the corner and out of sight.
Fin scuttled across the street to the main market area, passing the statue. The creature’s wings glinted in the moonlight. He could see the faint outline of the fish stall from where he stood, but it was closed, thank the Old Ones. That ugly two-leg wouldn’t hurt him now.
A loud crash broke the silence. Fin froze. His fur prickled along his spine. Something was moving at the stall. The shapes were blurred, far away, but he heard whispers, a laugh, and a thunk.
Fin dived down the set of stairs that led to the lower alley. He pressed himself motionless against the wall, his ears swivelling to catch sound. But the market was silent.
He stayed hidden until his racing heart slowed.
The stairway up to the main market towered over him. His foot ached from running. Although the path he knew was at the top of the stairs, climbing them would be long and painful—and besides, he didn’t want to go anywhere near that noise. Fin decided to find a new path to Scratch.
He sniffed along the lower alley’s wall. He came to a rusted wire door that hung from one hinge. Behind it was a series of tunnels that crisscrossed under the market. Hot, moist air soaked his whiskers. Sewage. This was definitely the right way to the Lowers.
Fin squeezed through the opening. Inching down the crumbling brick wall, he dropped to a concrete slab below. A pipe snaked off from the slab, slanting lower and deeper into the belly of the hill. He caught the scent-markings of other rats in the air, hovering beneath the sewer smell.
He followed the markings like they were signposts and navigated the pitch-dark pipe by leaning against its curved wall as he walked. By fanning out his whiskers, he could “see” above and below himself. The scent markings became denser.
Fin emerged in a tunnel. Burrow openings dotted along it like hungry mouths. After sniffing around, Fin found Scratch’s scent trail and followed it to a small burrow. “Scratch?” he called down. “Scratch! You there?”
A brown nose poked out of the hole. Zumi. They stared at each other, nose to nose.
Fin said gruffly, “Is Scratch here?”
“Isn’t he with you?” she said. “That’s odd. I thought that’s what he said. But since you’re here, I…” Zumi picked up her tail and began to groom it, eyes lowered. “I’m sorry about your mother.” She examined something on her paw. “And I’m sorry that I was a little overprotective. Scratch is my only family. And he’s so…so gullible.” She let her tail drop and fell silent.
Fin cleared his throat. “Well, tell Scratch that—OOF!”
Scratch had barrelled down the tunnel, sending Fin sprawling in the dirt. Fin picked himself up. Scratch danced around him, chattering.
“Fin!” said Scratch. “Ha! Funny seeing you after what I did tonight!”
“Scratch,” said Zumi. “I’ve been so worried about you! You told me you were visiting Fin, and then he shows up here without you! Oh, stop dancing and get inside!”
“Yes, Sir!” said Scratch. “Yes, Sir!” He gave Zumi a salute then slipped down the hole.
Zumi stared after him, shaking her head. “Come on,” she said to Fin. She disappeared down the burrow, and Fin followed.
Inside, Scratch was grooming his belly. He looked up as they came in and laughed. “Zumi cracks me up! She’s always so worried.” Crinkling his forehead, Scratch stared hard at Fin. “Hi, I’m Zumi. I worry about everything. Is my tail clean? Oh no! There’s a speck of dirt! Ha, ha!”
Fin snickered. Scratch did a good imitation.
Zumi glared at her brother. “What have you been up to?”
Scratch smirked, his red eyes sparkling crescent moons. “Not telling, not telling! Ha, ha!”
“Not telling what?” asked Zumi.
His smirk deepened. “Just some Tunnel business.”
Fin snorted. “Tunnel business? Since when do you have Tunnel business?”
Scratch’s face stiffened. He pulled himself up, scowling. “I’ve got plenty!”
“What are you talking about?” laughed Fin. “What business could you—?”
Scratch bared his teeth and jumped at him. Fin stumbled back.
“Not everyone gets to play all day, Mister Fin!” Scratch snarled. “Not everyone gets to play games with ugly two-legs, maybe get squished, maybe not!”
“What?” said Fin. “You’re still mad about that fish thing? I’m the one who got a paw crushed, not you!”
“It’s not that, not that at all!” cried Scratch. “No Tunnel Rat Shall Go into Cruel and Ugly Two-Leg Territory Except During…During…Oh! I can’t remember, but it’s the law, Fin! The law! But then you…you just get a pat on the head! Not fair!” Scratch ground his teeth. “But now I am needed. Yes, poor ugly Scratch. Scratch from the Lowers. Scratch with fleas.” He swung his back to Fin and sat crouched, trembling with emotion.
Fin looked at Zumi, who shrugged, her eyes wide. Keeping his voice calm, he said, “Why are you so upset? And who needs you? Come on, you can tell me.”
Scratch shook his head. “Not telling, not telling, not telling!” He began to weep.
Zumi stepped up to her brother and nuzzled his ear. “Sh, sh, don’t cry. It’s okay, Brother. Don’t worry. Look, I saved the best bit of cheese for you. Why don’t you eat it? We’ll leave you to sleep.”
Scratch didn’t turn around. “Yes, leave! Go!”
Zumi motioned for Fin. Fin cast a long look back at his friend and then followed Zumi out into the long tunnel.
“What’s the matter with him?” he asked.
Zumi glanced up and down the passage marked with burrow holes. “I don’t know. But there are too many eyes in these walls.”
Fin agreed. “Do you know somewhere we could go?”
Zumi thought for a moment, and nodded. “Follow me.”
ELEVEN
“It is important to avoid the gaze of those who are sick with plague. The plague victim must cover his own eyes with a cloth so that the illness is not transmitted.”
A 1349 medical treatise on how plague is transmitted
They ran through the labyrinth of tunnels. At every cross-tunnel, Zumi stopped and sniffed, ears swivelling for danger. Fin said nothing. The image of Scratch weeping was playing over and over in his mind.
Zumi emerged onto an alley Fin recognized. The Council met farther down, under the foundations of a two-leg building—that’s where Papa would be right now. Dug into concrete, the Council Chamber was cold, the walls damp. Fin had visited once with his uncle. He had pretended to admire it, but what he’d really wanted to see was the beautiful wa
lled garden that faced it across the alley. His uncle had refused to let him go, saying, “The Forbidden Garden is only for Tunnel gatherings.” There hadn’t been a gathering of the entire colony since Fin was born.
A two-leg snored in a doorway, under a flickering street lamp. Other than that the alley was deserted. Zumi flitted from shadow to shadow.
“Where are you going?” Fin whispered. “We aren’t allowed in the Forbidden Garden, you know. And the only other thing down here is Council.”
As an answer, Zumi darted across the alley, swooped under the iron fence of the Forbidden Garden, and disappeared into the bushes.
“Hey!” whispered Fin. Glancing up and down the alley, he stood outside the iron bars. “Zumi! Come back here!” A smell wafted from within the garden that made Fin’s nose quiver. The scent of leaves, of fresh earth. It made him dizzy. Suddenly he wanted into that garden more than he’d wanted anything in his whole life.
He glanced at the Council Chamber opening. No one. No one in the alley either. He placed a paw tentatively on the soil. His heart pounded. With a final look to the dark alley, he left the paved road behind and slipped under the iron bars.
Leaves brushed against his fur. Over his head, a ceiling of interlacing branches. New smells leaped to his nose. Clear air! Sweet grass! Flowers! He emerged into the clearing, gasping aloud. The moon hung in the sky like a round glowing cheese. Stars dotted the black sky. Everything—the leaves, the blades of grass, the rocks—was outlined in silver.
Zumi motioned to him from under a stone bench. A large fountain burbled next to it, which looked like an upside-down umbrella in the moonlight. Fin was too overwhelmed to move.
Never in his life had he smelled so much green! So much life! The grass felt like velvet under his paws. Joy bubbled up from him, just like the fountain. He cried out ultrasonically, “This is beautiful! This is so beautiful!”
The Great & the Small Page 4