The Great & the Small

by Andrea Torrey (A. T. ) Balsara

  Fin shrugged. “No. I forget the dream as soon as I wake up.” He limped over to stand before his uncle. “Thank you for your present, Papa. I want you to know that I love you. No matter what.”

  Papa frowned. “No matter what?”

  “I appreciate your gift. Really.”

  They stood in silence for a moment. Papa sighed, and then motioned with his head for Fin to follow. The snow-covered bench was outlined in moonlight as they walked by.

  “Nephew,” said Papa, “you trusted me in the past to know what was best, and you must trust me again.” He stopped and faced Fin. “Will you trust me, Nephew? With one more push we can tip the war in our favour. Then, no more war, no more death, no more ugly two-legs.”

  Fin chewed his lip.

  Papa frowned, searching Fin’s eyes. “Don’t worry! I forgive you for your moment of doubt. It is gone! Forgotten! My nephew has returned from the dead. It is a sign from the Old Ones. The Tunnels need you.” His voice quavered. “I need you.”

  Fin bowed his head. Tears spilled from his eyes and fell on the cobblestones. “Oh, Papa.”

  “My boy.” Papa’s voice was thick. “You have no idea what I have suffered in your absence! There are Wreckers everywhere. Everywhere! Thank the Old Ones, you have returned.” Nudging up Fin’s face with his nose, his uncle stared into his eyes. Tears dampened the Chairman’s furry cheeks. “Dear Nephew, tell me. Can I trust you? Will it be ‘Papa and Fin’ once again?”

  Tears streamed from his eyes, but Fin held his uncle’s gaze evenly. “Yes, Papa,” he said. “I promise.”

  Papa held Fin to himself. Fin could feel his uncle’s heart beating against his own. Then his uncle pulled back. His eyes darted up and down the alley.

  “There is no time to lose,” Papa whispered. “I received a report before I found you with that albino. There is another Wrecker! Someone close to us! Rebellion is brewing again. Someone is organizing the Lowers! Turning them against us!”

  The Chairman’s eyes searched the alley as if Wreckers were crouching in the shadows. “I cannot root out this evil without your help. I am too visible—every rat knows the Beloved Chairman!” His eyes bore into Fin’s. “Nephew, now is the time to pay me back for all I have done for you. Find the dirty Wrecker.”

  FIFTY-FIVE

  “Where did our friends go? Those ones so dear to us? Did the sky open up and take them? Did the earth open and pull them in?”

  Petrarch, 1350

  The visitor clings to the shadows as he moves silently along the Lowers. He hears another rat coming along the passage. He slips into an empty burrow until it passes.

  When the passage is clear, the visitor continues until he stops at the old rat’s burrow, his ears swivelling at every sound. A final glance, a sniff for danger, and he steals down the entrance hole.

  “Hobbs!” he whispers. “Are you here?”

  A shuffling, and then a pale nose appears in the gloom. “I’m here. You sure about this, young feller?”

  “I’m sure. Are you ready?”

  Hobbs chuckles. “I was ready the day you first met me. You know that.”

  The visitor smiles sadly. “Yes.”

  They speak quickly, urgently, in hushed tones. “Don’t forget what I told you,” says the visitor.

  Hobbs moves to the bolt hole and turns. “I won’t. May the Old Ones bless you, young feller.”

  “And you. Go now, friend.”

  Hobbs nods and ducks out. The visitor slips out the front as Hobbs scurries toward the burrow near the warehouses.

  ***

  The group hunkers down in the tunnel, waiting. Their eyes flit nervously to each other and to the small female leading the ambush. She meets their eyes and nods. Hobbs had been clear about the ARM squad’s route.

  Ears quivering, she listens.

  They are coming. The ARM members move stealthily, but they are not quiet enough: the hunters are now the hunted.

  The female nods again.

  As the squad passes, the rebels slip from their hiding nooks and crevices, fanning out, filling the passageway, blocking any hope of escape.

  They launch their attack.

  In the squealing frenzy of claws and teeth, most of the ARM squad flounders and panics, but a few stand their ground. The squad Captain, a rat named Mink, sees the small female, sees that she is the leader.

  Jumping behind her, he sinks his teeth deep into her neck.

  FIFTY-SIX

  “Waiting among the dead for death to come, I leave parchment for continuing this record in case anyone survives this pestilence.”

  Brother John Clynn, 1349

  Papa?” Fin called. “You in there?” He stood outside Papa’s burrow with news he knew his uncle would not like: there had been another ambush on an ARM squad. Fin didn’t know the details—the squad captain hadn’t come back yet.

  He opened his mouth to call again, when he heard Papa cry out.

  “Agh! Nia! Niaaa! Leave me alooone!”

  “Papa!” Fin plunged into the nest with his teeth bared, expecting to see someone attacking his uncle. But when he got inside he saw it was empty. Empty except for Papa. Hunched in a far corner, he sat transfixed, his eyes bugged out and glassy, staring at the bare floor in front of him. His teeth chattered.

  Fin nosed him. “Papa?”

  Gasping, Papa’s eyes blinked rapidly, focusing on Fin. “Ah! My boy!” he panted. “Good to see you! Yes, yes, good to see you!”

  Fin sniffed his uncle up and down. He reeked of fear. “What is going on?” asked Fin.

  Papa looked away. “Ha! Nothing! Nothing! Just an old rat’s dreams.”

  “A dream?” said Fin. “More like a nightmare! And I thought I heard my mother’s name.”

  “Didn’t I tell you before?” said Papa. “Dreams are the stuff of nonsense! Let us forget it.” He bustled to his cache of food. “Come, eat. They found me cheese yesterday and a tasty biscuit.”

  The cheese had bitter green mould on it, and the “tasty biscuit” was little more than a crumb. Fin said nothing but took it and chewed, watching his uncle. Papa’s large paws shook as he held the cheese to his mouth.

  “Tell me about your dream,” Fin said softly.

  Papa dropped the cheese and turned his face away. “No. We shall not speak of it again.” His only movement was the in and out of his ribcage. “What did you want to see me about?”

  “There’s been another attack.”

  “I see. Casualties?”

  “I’m not sure. When I hear more, I’ll tell you.”

  “Ah.” Papa bowed his head. “I am tired, Nephew. Tired of being the only one who still believes. Oh, I’m sorry—I know that you are a good Tunnel Rat. I don’t mean you. But the others. Sometimes I lose hope. Yes, even me. I can’t tell you how much it means to have you here beside me.”

  Fin nuzzled his uncle. “Rest. I will take care of everything.”

  His uncle nodded but then looked at Fin with eyes wide with terror. “But what if I…I dream?”

  “Dreams don’t mean anything, remember? Forget them and sleep. I’ll be right outside.” Fin helped Papa settle into his nesting, like a mother tucking in her pup. His uncle looked at him for a moment, uncertainty clouding his face.

  Fin nodded. “It’s okay. Sleep.”

  The uncertainty in Papa’s eyes changed to trust. He smiled, and his eyes drifted closed. “Thank you, my boy,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

  Fin stationed himself outside the burrow entrance. Cold sunlight cut its way through the twists and turns of the outer tunnel, casting shadows where he stood. An icy draft off the harbour whirled through, picking up dirt from the floor, and riffled through Fin’s coat. He hunkered down, ears back, and wrapped his tail around himself.

  There was a slight change in the blowing draft. Fin’s ears pricked up—som
eone was coming, and fast. A rat burst around the corner. It was Captain Mink, Fin’s former squad mate.

  “News!” puffed Mink. “I got news for the Chairman!”

  “The Chairman is sleeping,” said Fin. “Tell me your news.”

  Mink hesitated. “Well, it’s about that ugly Wrecker, Hobbs. It’s just for the Beloved Chairman!” He frowned. “But…you are the Chairman’s nephew.”

  “That’s right, Mink,” said Fin. “I am the Chairman’s nephew. Any news for the Chairman is news for me. Right?”

  The big rat mulled this over, and grunted. “Right! Well, Hobbs is dead.” Nodding knowingly, he whispered, “Hobbs was the Wrecker. He was the spy!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure, I’m sure. After the Wreckers tried to attack us, I found him sneaking back from the docks. The dumb Wrecker made it back to his burrow, but I nabbed him there. One bite! That’s all it took!” Mink thrust out his chest.

  “Oh?” Fin asked. “One bite? That’s impressive. I heard about the attack. What happened? Were you ambushed?”

  “Yeah, but we got ’em,” said Mink. “I bit the leader myself. Once she was down, the rest ran off like mice from a cat.”

  “She? The leader was female?”

  “Yeah,” said Mink. “A little brown job the size of a mouse. Come to think of it, maybe she was a mouse. Ha, ha!”

  Fin smiled. “Thank you, Mink. I’ll make sure the Chairman hears about this.”

  The big rat writhed with joy. “Thanks, Fin! And you’ll say my name? You’ll say Mink did it?”

  “Of course.”

  As Mink bounded away, Fin stared after him.

  ***

  The dirt in front of the old rat’s burrow is black with dried blood. A tuft of fur stands upright in it, glued into place.

  “Hobbs!” the visitor whispers. “Hobbs! Are you in there?” But the burrow is silent. So it is true. Hobbs is dead.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  “Better that ten innocent people should suffer than one spy get away. When you chop wood, chips fly.”

  Nikolai Yetzhov, Commissar-General of State Security, USSR

  Fire roars through the girl’s veins, burns her lungs with each breath. It consumes every thought, every memory, every bond.

  Rising up, rising from bed, from the body stretched out upon it, she regards the figure with curiosity. Its purplish necklace of swollen lumps. Its pale, translucent skin. Is it important to her, this thing lying here? She cannot remember. All she knows is that the pain is gone.

  “Ananda!”

  Like a nail driven through her, that voice yanks her back. No! She will not go back! Shaking free, she walks to the edge stretched before her.

  Only one step farther…

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  “Go, you who will die…roam the land and sea trying find riches you can’t keep, glory that won’t last.”

  Petrarch, 1350

  Hurrying in from the passage, Fin sniffed the air inside his burrow and then sagged with relief. Scratch was here. Thank the Old Ones!

  Curled on a nest of rags, Scratch had wound his tail around himself as he slept. His ribs moved raggedly in and out. Except for that, the burrow was still.

  “Scratch,” whispered Fin. Scratch twitched and drew a paw over one eye before falling still again.

  “Scratch!” said Fin again. Grunting, Scratch groped around the rags, then dropped back. Fin shouted in his ear, “SCRATCH!”

  Scratch’s red eyes flew open. “Aagh! Wh-what’s wrong? Oh…Fin! It’s just you!” He scowled and, rolling over, tucked his tail back in. “Go away! It’s still daylight. I’m sleeping!”

  “Get up! I need you,” said Fin.

  Scratch grumbled, “Okay, okay.” He pulled himself up to look at Fin. “Well?”

  “Scratch…” Fin said, choking back tears. “Oh, Scratch. Hobbs is dead…they killed him!”

  Scratch squinted at Fin. “Who’s Hobbs?”

  “Hobbs. I…told him…well, he was carrying information to…to the Resistance.”

  “He was a Wrecker? They got him? The Beloved Chairman must be so happy!” Scratch bobbed his head up and down with glee. “Oh! They got the dirty Wrecker, the dirty Wrecker is dead…”

  “Shut up!” said Fin, and nipped Scratch’s ear.

  Scratch squealed and glared at him. “That hurt!”

  “I…I’m sorry,” said Fin. “But…but I think Zumi may be dead.” He started to weep. “I think Zumi’s dead, Scratch.”

  Scratch’s eyes narrowed. “Hold on, hold on, hold on! First it’s Hobbs, and now it’s my sister? You’re making no sense, Fin, no sense at all. You wake me up, you bite me, and now you make no sense!”

  Fin swallowed hard. “Scratch, I swear I wouldn’t ask you this if there was any other way, but I need you to go to Zumi. To see if she’s okay. Her burrow is far down the wharf, near the warehouses. Please, Scratch!”

  “Why? What do you care? And what’s my sister got to do with…?” Scratch froze, his mouth open. “You…and Zumi. And Hobbs.” He backed away from Fin. “You…but…oh Fin….” He began to whimper softly. “You’re a Wrecker.”

  “It’s not what it seems,” said Fin. “I’m doing this for the Tunnels. I would never do anything to hurt you, or Papa—”

  “Papa!” shrieked Scratch. “What’s the Beloved Chairman going to say? Oh…oh my!”

  “Papa isn’t going to find out,” said Fin. “At least not until I’m ready. All I need you to do is to go see Zumi. I can’t go myself. If I got caught the Resistance would be over, and this war would never end. I just need to make sure she’s…” He began to cry.

  Scratch said nothing. He stared at Fin with wide red eyes.

  “Please,” begged Fin. “She’s your sister. And I’m your best friend.” Scratch turned away. “If you won’t do it for me, then do it for Papa!”

  Scratch stiffened.

  “Do it for Papa, Scratch! Do it because you love him! This is for his own good. The war has to stop! It’s killing him, like it’s killing everything. You’ve got to believe me, Scratch. I’m doing this for him too.”

  Scratch looked back at Fin. His eyes had begun to tear up. His lip trembled.

  “I…I’m so sorry, Scratch,” said Fin. His voice broke, overtaken by sobs. “I never meant to hurt you. I wanted everything to be perfect for you now… That’s why I wanted you to move here with me. I wanted you to feel safe after being abandoned. But…but I have no one else I can trust.”

  A tear dripped down Scratch’s nose.

  “Please!” sobbed Fin. “I won’t ask anything from you again. You’ll never have to worry about anything. You can stay in my burrow forever, just—”

  “You think I’m so easy?” screamed Scratch. “You think, Scratch will do it! Scratch does what he’s told! He’s a nobody, but I am Fin! Scratch can’t say no to me!”

  “Scratch, no! That’s not what I meant!”

  “Well, let me tell you something. When you had your paw crushed, the Chairman needed me. Me! I was the one who pointed out that ugly fishmonger when you couldn’t show him, because you were too scared! And when the ARM collected that ugly outsider rat to leave in the stall, the Chairman let me kill it! The Beloved Chairman needed me!”

  Fin remembered being carried by his scruff to look out over the market. Papa had wanted to find the two-leg who had crushed Fin’s paw. He remembered hearing the crash from the fish stall the night he went to visit Scratch so long ago…remembered his friend’s odd behaviour. “You killed someone? My uncle used you to kill someone?”

  “Used? Used? Who is using who, Mister Fin of the Tunnels?” shrieked Scratch.

  Fin began to shake. “I…I am not using you!”

  “Just a lowly rat,” snarled Scratch, “ugly and small! Of course he will go to save his sister, even though she i
s nothing but trouble, trouble, TROUBLE! Of course he will go, because Scratch is so very useful to me.”

  Fin moved toward him. “Scratch, no! That’s not—”

  “No! Don’t move, Mister Fin of the Council, Mister Chairman’s nephew! Stay! Be comfortable! Be comfortable while Scratch goes out into the cruel alley! Be comfortable while Scratch cleans up after Mister Fin! While Scratch cleans up your mess…AGAIN!”

  “Scratch, I’m sorry!” Fin called after him as Scratch disappeared into the outer Tunnel. There was no answer.

  The wind pounded Scratch like an invisible fist, and the glaring winter sun burned his eyes. He squinted and hunkered behind a brick wall. His fur was still damp from where tears had fallen, and he shivered uncontrollably. Too cold! Too cold!

  ***

  It was a long way to the docks, a very long way. Once there, he would have to sniff and sniff and sniff to find his Wrecker sister’s burrow. Fresh tears welled up in his eyes. He didn’t want to go to the docks! He was tired of Zumi, tired of Fin.

  He stopped. Tired of Fin? Yes! Tired of cheating, of lying, of sneaking.

  All for Fin.

  Tears tumbled down his cheeks. What to do? What to do?

  The face of the Beloved Chairman rose before him…his midnight fur so black, his eyes so sharp, his words so clear. The Chairman had needed Scratch before. It hadn’t been the Beloved Chairman’s fault that Scratch had been dumped and forgotten like a piece of mouldy cheese. It was Fin’s fault. It was all Fin’s fault.

  Scratch was tired of being used. This time, he would think for himself.

  He was going to tell the Chairman.

  FIFTY-NINE

  “Some victims were covered with boils that were so hard and dry that barely any liquid seeped out. Others had little black pustules that erupted all over their bodies.”

  Geoffrey le Baker, clerk, 1348, Oxfordshire, England