Fin shook his ears as if he hadn’t heard right. Plague Rats?
Papa gazed at the crowd, his eyes wide and gleaming. “You will be glorious martyrs for the Common Good. Together, we will stand, haunch by haunch, tooth by tooth. Together!” He thundered, “TOGETHER!”
The crowd went crazy. “Pa-pa! Pa-pa! Pa-pa!”
“Every rat is equal! Every nest for all!” the Chairman cried.
The crowd answered, “Every rat is equal! Every nest for all!”
Turning away, Papa leaned over Balthazar. “Wake up! Wake up! For the sake of the Old Ones, wake up!” He bit his ear.
Balthazar jerked awake, smacking his lips. “Ah, yes, Koba, I’m ready. I was merely sleeping.”
“Sleep when you’re dead,” hissed Papa. “Council needs you. Do not let us down!”
TWENTY-TWO
“Death alone wakes us from our dreams. Why could not I wake before this?”
Petrarch, May–June 1349
Balthazar shuffled to the front of the park bench, his ribs heaving with each wheezing gasp he took. He sat, swaying on his haunches, nose twitching, and scanned the air.
The Forbidden Garden was silent. Reverence for the former Chairman shone on the faces of older Tunnel Rats. The pups, however, had never heard of him. They stared at the ancient rat swaying before them with fascinated horror.
Balthazar cleared his throat. “Friends, Council has instructed me to tell you a story. A true story. It was told to my mother and to her mother before her, and so on. Back through many, many lives. Ah…one moment.” Reaching up a long, boney leg, the former Chairman scratched slowly at his ear. “Ahh…yes!” He sat up, smacking his gums. He squinted into the vast garden.
“Balthazar!” hissed Papa.
The old rat waved a craggy paw in front of his face, as one would shoo an annoying gnat. “Yes, yes, young Koba! Patience!”
He looked out at the gathering, his white orbs seeming to see it all. “Long ago, when the Old Ones crept along the earth, the world was different. The Old Ones walked without fear. They were part of Nature’s Web and were assured of their place.
“Then, from over the mountains and across the sea there came a terrible scourge, a scourge that would deal death, not only to the Old Ones, but to all.” Balthazar raised his milk-white eyes to the heavens, his voice suddenly booming. “It was the power of Life and DEATH!”
Fin gulped and looked around.
“Death,” Balthazar went on softly, “death that we carried, became Earth’s doom. Rats who carried the scourge and died from it were called Plague Rats. Council wants you to honour those rats as martyrs.”
Tiv whispered something to the Chairman. He nodded and stepped forward to whisper in Balthazar’s ear. “The Streets of Plenty! Tell them about the Streets of Plenty!”
“Yes, yes! Patience!” Balthazar sighed and shook his head. “Streets that had rung with the clatter of crushing hooves and cruel boots were now still. Spoiling food lay strewn on market stalls. The streets overflowed with hams, sausages, cheeses, and barely moulding bread!”
He paused, leaning forward, gazing across the gathering. “There were hardly any two-legs to eat the food. There were hardly any two-legs to drive off the rats. The rats who survived, lived well. Not so for the two-legs.” He paused, then said, “It is told that the two-legs even wept.”
The crowd gasped, but Fin snorted in disgust. Even day-old pups knew that two-legs were incapable of feelings! He glanced at Papa, but his uncle hadn’t heard the old rat. Tiv was whispering something to him.
Balthazar went on. “The two-legs cast themselves out into the ocean of blood. Parents abandoned their young, husbands their wives, brother abandoned brother. The surviving Old Ones had their pick of two-leg nests. In some they even found little ones, crying and alone. But we do not care about the baby two-legs, do we? For little two-legs grow up to be big two-legs.”
Shouts of “Yeah!” and “That’s right!” came from Council and ARM members, even much of the crowd. But some rats were subdued. A few of the mothers pulled their pups closer. Fin had endured run-ins with little two-legs. They were loud, unpredictable, and they chased him on their stumpy legs. But Balthazar’s question niggled at him.
Fin’s uncle leaned forward and whispered something in Balthazar’s ear.
“Yes, Koba, yes. Give me time.”
Balthazar cleared his throat again. “Huge pits were dug. Pits dug to hold the two-leg dead, but it was not enough. Dogs dragged the corpses from graves to gnaw on their bones.”
Papa shouted, “And did they not deserve it, good Tunnel Rats?”
Cries of “Yes!” filled the air.
The old rat paused. With his head lowered, his breathing laboured, he was silent. Council members glanced at each other. A rat sneezed in the crowd, muttering, “Sorry.” A pup began to whine. A few more joined in. Still the former Chairman of the Tunnels was silent.
“Balthazar!” hissed Papa.
The old rat’s sides began to heave. A small cry escaped him. When he spoke, his voice sounded thick. “Do not weep for the two-legs. Do not think of their horror. After all, two-leg hearts are cut from stone. They do not feel as we feel. Or so says Council.”
Fin’s head jerked to attention. What had he said? Had Council told him to say that? Fin looked at Papa. Papa’s eyes bulged, his mouth opening and closing like a fish at the market. The other Councillors stared, speechless, at the former Chairman.
Balthazar was going against Council.
Balthazar was a Wrecker.
The ancient rat raised his face, tears streaming from his eyes. “So much suffering…for the Plague Rats, for the two-legs!” he wailed. “So much…! And Council wants to bring that doom again? I say NO!”
A sound rose up from the gathering, like a thousand hissing snakes. Shouts erupted from Council. Tiv shrieked words that Fin could not hear over the chaos. Julian’s jaw dropped open. Papa nodded to Bothwell and Sergo, flicking his head toward Balthazar. They crouched, legs coiled, and sprang. But the old rat was surprisingly nimble and stepped aside. Bothwell and Sergo overshot their mark and tumbled off the edge with a roar of frustration and scratching fury.
Balthazar cried, “Do not allow Council to wreak this doom! Do not let them unleash this scourge!”
ARM squads from the back pushed through the crowd and streamed toward the bench. Pups in the crowd wailed. Mothers screamed, clutching their babies close. Fin wanted to scream as well. His eyes found Zumi’s. Hers were round with terror.
Over the chaos Balthazar’s voice rang like a bell. “Do not their hearts beat like ours?” he shouted. Papa charged at him, but again Balthazar eluded capture. ARM squads leaped up the bench.
Scratch bounded across the bench to join the squads. “Scratch!” called Fin, but his voice was lost. The ARM surged toward Balthazar. Bothwell and Sergo clawed their way up the bench legs.
“Truth! Seek truth!” called Balthazar.
Fin’s fur stood on end. He stood frozen as the ARM surrounded the old rat. As Sergo lunged forward, his teeth bared, Bothwell leaped on Balthazar’s neck.
“… Council… Poison… Words are poison!” the old rat was struggling to be heard. “Do not believe their lie—!” Balthazar’s voice stopped as rats swarmed over him.
Over the crowd Fin heard Zumi wail, “No! Balthazar!”
He watched her swim through the mob and climb the bench leg where he stood. ARM squads swarmed below and surged over Zumi, covering her.
“Get off her!” he shouted. But she was buried. Without thinking, Fin launched himself off the bench. He threw rats off with his teeth, his bad leg trailing behind. He reached a large rat who was holding Zumi to the ground.
He bit into the rat’s haunch and pulled him off her, just as he was knocked backwards by fleeing rats. “Zu—!” A paw stepped in Fin’s open mouth. A claw scra
tched near his eye. He couldn’t catch his breath. “Stop! Get off of me…! Help!”
“Fin!” It was Zumi. Her voice was faint over the noise. “Fin!”
Over the chaos Papa thundered, “Fin! Where is Fin? Find him!”
Can’t breathe…!
“There! Get him!” Squad members hoisted him out of danger, back onto the bench, where he lay panting for air. By the time he was able to stand, Zumi was gone.
***
The rat that had escaped from the freighter was dead, killed by the Gift. But before she died, she infected the patrol that had found her. Now, the dying patrol members sat in isolation, waiting for their final orders.
They would not have long to wait.
Part Two
TWENTY-THREE
“Some believed that the way to keep free of the plague was to drink heavily, making merry all day and night.”
Giovanni Boccaccio, author and poet, Florence, Italy (1313–75)
Curled into her side, he is wakeful, his belly full, and he is warm. Yet he is restless.
He tucks his muzzle under her, squeezes his eyes shut.
“No, Pip,” says Nia. “You must see.”
Burrowing in deeper, he pretends not to hear.
“Open your eyes.”
Still he doesn’t move.
“Open them!” Her voice is insistent. He opens his eyes a sliver and when he does, he sees a shadow lunge and she is gone from his side—but he can still hear her.
She is shrieking.
Over and over she calls a name. Whose name? But before he can put the sounds together, make sense of them, she is silent.
The thick shadow blankets him. Fin squeals, struggles, and bites.
Teeth sink into his paw, biting clean through, and he is dragged from his nest.
***
The freighters hovered like floating mountains in the hot, shimmering heat. In the nights since the gathering in the Forbidden Garden, summer had come. Fin had been looking forward to the heat. He had never experienced summer before. But before Papa and Fin reached the railing overlooking the harbour, the thrill of the new experience was gone. Baking hot pavement roasted his feet, and his back paw became swollen and heavy.
Once they reached the walkway that cut below the market, his uncle leaped easily onto the railing. Fin jumped too but fell short. Smacking against the railing, he clung by his paws and tried heaving himself up. But the railing felt sizzling under his feet. He slid, plop! back onto the walkway. His uncle gave no sign that he had noticed.
Fin found a shady spot farther down the walkway. He rolled onto his back, lifting his feet so they could sweat and cool his body. Papa stood on the railing, watching the wharf below.
“What are we doing here in the daytime anyway?” asked Fin irritably.
“Surveillance, dear Nephew. You do remember that word, don’t you?”
Fin grunted. He was too hot to be teased.
Time passed. The Chairman’s coat shone in the afternoon light, jet black against the blue sky. He scanned the air with his nose.
Fin’s mind wandered back to the Forbidden Garden. So many questions. Had Zumi escaped? Was Balthazar okay? Where was he now? Why had there even been a meeting? To announce that they were at war with the two-legs? They were already at war with the two-legs! And Plague Rats…? It made Fin’s head spin. Plague Rats were from the Great Dying, not now.
Suddenly Papa bellowed, “Ha!”
“Agh!” said Fin. “You scared me!”
“Ha!” Papa bellowed again. “They made it in! Except the one—but the rest got in!”
“What? Who? Who’s in? What are you talking about?”
His uncle didn’t answer. Swivelling on the railing, Papa sprang toward the market, soaring through the air like a strange black bird, and landed at the mouth of a broken air duct. Slipping through the slats on the duct, he disappeared.
Fin stared after him, his mouth hanging. “Hey! Hey, wait a minute!”
But at that moment his uncle thrust his head back out between the slats, a wide grin on his face. With his velvet ears pinned under a slat and his nose poking through, the Beloved Chairman looked ridiculous!
Fin laughed. “What are you—?”
“Coming, slowpoke?” Papa leaped back out onto the pavement. To Fin’s delight, his uncle began to dance a jig. A couple of pigeons pecking at the ground raised their heads to gape at him.
Fin laughed until his stomach hurt. Clutching his belly, he gasped, “Goofball! My uncle is a goofball!”
“Ha! Ha! Don’t you know it, Nephew! Don’t you know it!” Papa swooped back into the duct and out of sight. Still laughing, Fin scrambled after him.
Throughout the night, as they foraged the corners and crevices of the closed market, Papa remained jovial. He wouldn’t reveal what he’d seen, but Fin was just glad to see him happy.
***
The death squad had honed in on their target—a small hole in the side of the building near the docks. Wriggling through, the Plague Rats had gone in, one after another, except for the last one. Sicker than the rest, the rat named Meena had been exposed to the pestilence earlier than the others as punishment for suspected Wrecking. Near death, she staggered blindly in front of the hole, blood frothing from her nose.
“Stop stalling, you ugly Wrecker!” hissed an ARM member. He and another member were watching from a distance. “Get in the hole, and do your flipping duty!” Reluctant to get any closer for fear of the pestilence, the two squad members hid behind a shrub and peered at the rat.
Meena collapsed on her back, her hind legs kicking the air, her whole body convulsing.
“Get in the hole before you die, you blinking moron!” the ARM member barked. “You’re no good outside of it!”
“She can’t hear you, stupid,” said the other.
“You’re stupid. There, go give her a bite. A sharp one, right on the tail to move her into that hole or we’re both in for it!”
“Me? Why should I do it? You do it!”
But neither of them needed to bother. Meena was already dead.
TWENTY-FOUR
“People make friends with sin and wrongdoing, while the children die for the sins of their parents.”
Anonymous fourteenth-century poem on the pestilence
Just before sunrise, Fin and his uncle returned to their nest. Papa fell asleep right away, but Fin lay awake. The questions had left him alone while he and Papa were out, but now the questions were back. The bedding felt scratchy and hot. Fin squirmed to get comfortable. When he finally slipped into sleep, the dream came.
Heat shimmers. Freighters float over the water. The Chairman stands against a hazy sky, on the railing overlooking the wharf. There is no shade for Fin. His thoughts run like a mouse on a wheel…must find shade…
The Chairman turns. But it is not Papa anymore. It is Balthazar. He looks at Fin, his eyes marble-white. “Come, young master,” he croaks. “Do not be afraid.” Grabbing Fin by his scruff, he leaps into the sky.
“No!” shouts Fin. “We’ll fall!”
But the old rat sprouts wings, grey and sturdy like the wings of a pigeon, and climbs high into the sky, his now-glossy fur fluttering in the wind. He holds Fin tight.
Fin struggles, his legs thrashing, until he notices his back leg—the curl in his paw is gone! Stretching it, he wriggles his toes. There is no pain.
Unafraid now, Fin gazes around. They are flying over the harbour. Seagulls wheel far below. He takes a gulp of air, and it is fresh and cold in his chest. Joy flashes through him like sunlight dancing on water.
At that moment, blood drops down on him from above. Fin looks up to see blood foaming from Balthazar’s mouth.
Their eyes meet. The old rat’s eyes are shining black, no longer white. His thick fur begins to peel back, away from his body, like sheets of
wax melting in the sun. Balthazar smiles as, layer after layer, he fades away until there is only sky.
Fin is alone. “Balthazar!”
Screaming, he falls. A black dot lies far below. As Fin plummets, the ground grows larger, rushing at him.
It is Papa.
***
Fin woke up gasping for air, feeling himself falling. Oh, thank the Old Ones, it was only a dream! He climbed out of the nest, still panting.
Papa was awake, hunched in the corner. He was finishing off a pastry from last night’s plunder. He licked his paws and rubbed them over his whiskers until they gleamed. “Finally awake, eh? Pleasant dreams?”
“No,” said Fin. “Horrible.”
His uncle stopped his grooming. “Eh? Tell me.”
But the images that had been so real evaporated like fog in the morning light. “I…I don’t remember,” said Fin.
Papa chuckled. He licked his paws again and began to groom his fur. “Pah! Another white strand of fur? Soon I’ll be like that old carcass Balthazar.”
“Balthazar!” cried Fin. “That’s right! It was Balthazar! He had wings, Papa! Just like the creature in the market! He looked just like it! He was flying, and he held my scruff between his teeth, and we…I flew in the sky, just like a bird! And then…there was blood, and then he disappeared and…I fell. I fell into you.”
His uncle stood frozen, paw in midair.
A feeling of dread buzzed in the pit of Fin’s stomach. “Where is he, Papa? Where’s Balthazar?”
Papa growled, “Why do you care?”
“Did he die, Papa?” Fin stepped toward him, searching his eyes. Papa turned away.
“The ugly Wrecker asked to leave the Tunnels,” Papa said. “Council is merciful and allowed it.”
The buzzing increased in Fin’s belly. “When he told the story of the Great Dying, he cried, Papa. Not just for the Old Ones, but…but for the two-legs.”
The Great & the Small Page 9