Vincent reached up and touched the mark, tracing Killdeer’s crude insignia with his claw. The Minister had sentenced many a youth to death for offenses substantially less serious than dodging the Kill Army. Vincent could only imagine what their penalty would be.
He heard a loud, whiplike crack. Everything went black.
CHAPTER TWO
Nightshade City
VINCENT AWOKE to a soft orange light. He tried to focus on the small torch affixed to the wall. With his head still buzzing from the blow, tiny flecks of white and gold swirled about his blurred vision. As his sight returned, he remembered what had happened. He and Victor had unwittingly returned to the Catacombs.
Bound to an iron ring protruding from the wall, Vincent twisted his limbs awkwardly. The ring dug into his spine as he tried in vain to writhe free from his shackles, contorting his body in every conceivable position. Pressing his feet against the wall for leverage, he clenched his teeth, straining, as he tried to wrench the metal ring from the wall. His efforts proved useless.
He listened intently for his brother’s voice but heard nothing. He could smell other rats now, hundreds of scents overlapping, a jumble of males, but no one he could identify. They must be Kill Army majors, he thought.
Once again he picked up the pungent scent of the rat he’d smelled earlier. He must have been wrong about it. His father would never have associated with a Kill Army major.
His ears perked. Heavy footsteps neared the room, perhaps one of the majors, or possibly the High Collector. The tales of Billycan flooded his mind. Could they be true—could they? The stories had always been so hard for Vincent to swallow: the excessive malice, the unwarranted torture, incomprehensible even for the most savage of rats. Vincent’s coat grew soaked with brackish sweat.
The door opened with a hollow groan. Vincent tried to gather himself, inhaling a deep breath and slowly releasing it. He would be steadfast, at least in the eyes of his executioner, as were all the Nightshades who had met an untimely demise.
A figure stood in the darkened doorway. “Vincent Nightshade,” said a deep voice. “Vincent, don’t be frightened, son. First off, your brother—he is all right. I didn’t know who you were back there, and I simply can’t take any chances with our city’s safety. I am a friend. I knew you when you were a child. I knew your father—Julius.” The rat entered the room, ducking under the small doorway.
Raising his sore head, Vincent sized up the substantial rat before him. His fur was dense, like steel wool the tint of blackberries—An unusual color, thought Vincent. He was not old but not young either; Vincent guessed him to be somewhere around his father’s age. His head nearly touched the ceiling of the tiny cell. The rat dragged in a small crate and sat on it. As his face became clearer, Vincent noticed a ragged leather patch over his left eye, under which lay a profoundly scarred muzzle. The rat’s visible amber eye looked distinctively friendly, almost merry.
The rat took a seat on the wooden crate and smiled gently at Vincent, who, though terrified, desperately tried to hide it. “I followed you boys the whole way down that tunnel from the Topsiders’ brownstone,” said the rat. “I could only guess you were Kill Army soldiers sent to find our location. I figured you were trackers from the High Ministry. I couldn’t risk you reporting back. I’m sorry for striking you.”
Vincent sat in stoic silence, not sure if this rat could be believed. The rat pulled the crate closer so he could get a better look. “Victor is fine, by the way, just fine. In fact, we can’t get him to shut up!” The rat chuckled.
Vincent stared at his captor without expression or response. “Vincent, you don’t remember me, do you? You were far too young, I suspect. Now I’m going to free you and bring you to your brother.” The rat scratched around the edge of his eye patch. “I’m Juniper Belancort. Does that name ring any bells with you? Do you remember my clan—Belancort? My older brother, Barcus, was close with Julius, your father, as was I. You used to play with Clover, my little niece. Do you remember her? I don’t see how you could—you were just a child.” Vincent’s face remained blank.
Bending forward, Juniper released a heavy sigh. “Vincent, we are deep in the ground, far deeper than the Catacombs. We are under the Reserve—miles under the hole you and Victor found. The High Ministry has no idea we exist, and for now, that’s how it will stay. We are building up our city as fast as we can. Through our small group of Loyalists, rats are escaping the Combs every day.” Juniper’s voice grew in enthusiasm and his broad face brightened. “As soon as our numbers are strong, we are going to crush the High Ministry and the Kill Army majors. No further blood will be shed by Killdeer or Billycan. We are bringing back the days of Trilok. Killdeer’s reign will come to an end. The unfortunate boys recruited into the Kill Army and the blameless girls they compel into servitude need to be freed, as do all the Ministry’s subjects, harassed and petrified by Billycan and his loathsome majors for his blasted Stipend. Your father and Barcus would never have allowed any of this to happen if they were still alive.”
Vincent looked at Juniper. Cocking his head, he studied the rat’s unusual face, trying to remember. He thought of his father, trying to recall the secret corridor and his father’s friends. He remembered the little things, the things that made him laugh and the things that made him feel safe. He thought of everyone he’d ever seen his parents welcome into their home with a warm smile and a fresh pot of tea. He remembered his seventh birthday, recalling a family party for him and his brothers and sisters. A tall, woolly rat came to mind: a high-spirited fellow who’d throw them all into the air till they almost lost their cake. His hackles suddenly tingled. He recalled riding atop the rat’s shoulders and holding on to the rat’s bushy fur … a funny purplish color. That rat had arrived with …“Wait,” he blurted. “Your brother is—Uncle Barcus?”
Juniper smiled, glad to hear the boy finally speak. He stomped his foot on the ground. “Yes, lad, that’s my brother, Uncle Barcus! I forgot you children called him that. He and your father were like family, like brothers, as close as you and Victor. As close as black is to night, we used to say!”
Vincent’s grave face suddenly lightened. “I remember you now—I do. You would carry me and my brothers and sisters on your shoulders and toss us into the air till we all felt sick. I even remember your berry fur. I do remember you!” Vincent’s body relaxed. He felt safe, at least for the moment.
“Yes, your mother scolded me many a time for roughhousing with you children! I was always at the heels of Barcus and your father, traipsing after them everywhere. Those two led the way in those days.
Did you know they were both close friends of the Mighty Trilok? They had audiences with him weekly, along with me, when I was finally old enough. Trilok had great admiration and respect for your father and Barcus. He attended your parents’ nuptials. He and Duchess Nomi held you the day you were born. That’s how much your family meant to Trilok, in fact to the entire Combs. Your father spoke for the Catacombs. He served as the voice for its citizens. The Citizen Minister, that’s what they called him. They loved him. We all did.”
“I remember people calling him that,” said Vincent, “Citizen Minister. I had no idea what it meant. I didn’t know he was held in such high regard, or any regard for that matter. He was simply Father to me.”
“That’s how all children think of their parents,” said Juniper, chuckling, “Mother and Father, no identities other than that. Why, I was shocked the day I realized my parents had first names!”
Thoughts of his father and his family made Vincent’s eyes well. He hadn’t shed a tear in years and was not about to start in front of a grown male. He wiped his face on his shoulder. “Juniper, would you mind freeing me from these chains? My arms are getting sore.”
“Oh, yes, let’s get those off you, lad. Thoughts of the old days seem to take me away sometimes.”
Juniper reached for the chains behind Vincent’s back, taking the opportunity to discreetly check the boy’s head for a
ny serious injuries. A significant egg-shaped knob poked through Vincent’s black fur. Not so bad, thought Juniper. The boy would heal fast.
Juniper took a key, one of many, from around his neck. He continued to speak as he unlocked the chains. “When I lost Barcus, I never thought I’d get past it, but here I stand. I’m glad you and Victor have one another. You should be proud of yourself. I know Julius would be. You’ve done an admirable job with your younger brother. Victor needs to grow a bit, but he’ll be a fine leader someday.
“I see Julius in both of you. You, my boy, are the spitting image of him. I suppose I should have taken a closer look before walloping you on the head. I never could have missed the resemblance, even with those green eyes of yours. I remember them being much darker when you were a child. Eyes the tint of fresh clover—I’ve never seen that on a rat. I’ve only seen Topsiders with that shade, maybe a few of the more exotic cats, but never a rat—never.” They exited the cell and began to walk.
Vincent stretched his sore arms as they traveled down the twisting prison corridor. “No one knows where my eyes came from,” said Vincent. “A mutation of some sort, I suppose.”
“Mutation,” said Juniper, almost indignantly. “I’d dare say. Vincent, those eyes make you singular, like my strange coat, the color of wine and the texture of goat! Being different is a reward, not an affliction. You’ll see. The Saints always have a plan for us. In fact, I think they planned our reunion tonight, the son of Julius Nightshade and the brother of Barcus Belancort. The Saints are watching over us—even when it doesn’t feel that way.”
Juniper reached out and put a solid paw on Vincent’s shoulder, steering him down another corridor. The paw felt heavy and warm, just like his father’s had.
Juniper pointed to a rounded doorway accented by torchlight. “Now let’s go meet the others, shall we? And let’s see about that grumbling stomach, which sounds to be in great need of some supper. I think you’ll find making yourself useful comes easy around here, but not on an empty belly. C’mon, then.”
Clover sat in the corner of her quarters on a tattered straw mat, her slender arms wrapped tightly around her legs, as she quietly rocked back and forth. She stared blankly at her parents’ vacant nest where she usually slept. But sleep eluded her.
Until she left the Catacombs for good, officially out of Killdeer’s reach, she would have no peace. She loved and trusted her uncle but questioned his ability to rescue her in time. She could never be sure where Juniper was—forever roving between the Catacombs and the world of the Topsiders—or even if he was still alive. For all she knew, he’d already been captured. Billycan could easily have been hiding in the dark, just outside her door, waiting and watching.
Juniper had intended to steal her out of the Catacombs much earlier but couldn’t take the chance of being caught. If captured, not only would the last two survivors of the Belancort Clan be put to death, but it would surely compromise his promising city’s success. On top of that, Clover’s sector, commanded by Major Lithgo, had been vigorously patrolled of late. The soldiers on guard had doubled, and Juniper took a great risk every time he set foot in the Combs. After this last incident of nearly being discovered by Billycan, Clover worried her uncle had little time left on this earth. She knew that Billycan had his suspicions about her, and with good reason.
Clover spotted a piece of mirrored glass in her mother’s sewing basket. She picked it up and gazed at her reflection. Her golden eyes stared back at her. A Chosen One, she thought. How pathetic, how sadly funny. She did see one bright spot. Her ghastly predicament wouldn’t last long. Killdeer would quickly grow tired of her, as he did with all the Chosen Ones, and would promptly move on to another. Killdeer lacked loyalty in both politics and matters of the heart.
She tossed the mirror back in the basket and shoved it away. Think like a rat, she told herself angrily. Stop sniveling! Deciding she must eat something despite her lack of appetite, she forced herself up on her feet. If the Saints were listening, Juniper would be at her door sooner rather than later, and she needed to be fit to travel when they finally made their escape.
She lit the fire pit in the center of her small chamber, then rummaged through her supplies and retrieved a small piece of waterchip root. It was tangy and sour, and she adored its vinegary taste. Picking up the razor blade that Juniper had found her Topside, she began to scrape off the root’s tough exterior. As she peeled away the leathery skin, she remembered helping her mother prepare the family dinners. Life had changed so much. A large clan had dwindled down to just her and Juniper.
As the bare waterchip browned over the flames, she noticed a shadow under the door. Clover instinctively froze. Her insides knotted as she heard the frosty sound of Billycan’s club scraping systematically against the boards of her door. Her heart pounded as Billycan’s craggy nails poked through the flimsy planking, his bristly white fur pushing through the cracks.
He leaned against the door. “Oh, dear Clover,” he whispered. He spoke in a peculiar singsong manner, more frightening to Clover than his moments of shrieking rage. He rested his head on the decaying door. “Billycan is here to see you, dear. I come with word from your beloved High Minister. Open, open. I won’t be made to wait.”
Clover refused to let him spook her this time. She wasn’t ignorant like the other females. She would not let him dominate her. She remembered the words of her late father. He told her liars and cowards never look you in the eyes. With that in mind, she opened the door and looked at Billycan directly, telling herself his eyes were no more powerful than her own. “Good evening, High Collector. What can I do for you?”
Her newfound confidence went unnoticed. He brushed past her and skulked into her quarters, poring over its contents. “Billycan thinks the more appropriate question would be what can I do for you?”
“Yes, do come in, Collector,” she said, ignoring his strange comment. Billycan continued to sniff about her things, contorting his snout in disgust. “Sir, would you like some waterchip root? I’ve just smoked some over the fire.”
“So, that’s the horrid smell. Waterchip is a repugnant creation. Billycan does not take well to it, not well at all. Its scent could wake the dead, and its taste could kill them all over again. The root repulses me,” he said. He waved his rangy arms, trying to force the odor out into the corridor.
Billycan nosed through the room some more. He checked every corner, making sure no more shrouded rats were hiding in the shadows. “Where is that mangy grandfather of yours? I want to speak to him now.”
“I regret to say my grandfather has taken a turn for the worse. He left a short while ago. He went to a healer that lives Topside, somewhere in an alley of the Battery District. I asked him to stay so I could take care of him, but he’s worried for my well being, not wanting me to take ill. He told me his trek will take at least three days or more. I fear he may die on his journey.”
Billycan giggled, secretly glad for his absence. “I see. What a shame. My deepest of deepest sympathies. Well, let’s change unpleasant subjects to happy ones.” He smiled with ghoulish satisfaction. “I have more good news for you, my dear, very good indeed. It is with great pleasure that Billycan invites you to attend the next Grand Speech in Catacomb Hall, this very Rest Day. Why—that’s tomorrow, isn’t it? The gracious Minister is eager to address the Catacomb rats and has moved up the date for his Grand Speech, asking me to personally invite you.”
Clover crinkled her brow and tilted her head in confusion. “Collector, I would never miss a Grand Speech. I am flattered by the Minister’s invitation, but you needn’t have wasted your valuable time coming here yet again to tell me.”
“But you’re wrong about that, little one. Billycan never wastes his costly time.” He waved a skeletal digit in the air. “I come with purpose!” Overwhelmed with fiendish delight, he became giddy. “You, my dear, have the distinct honor of standing at our inspiring Minister’s side during the speech! You will be the highlight of the whole affair!
You are expected to be clean and well groomed, making every effort to represent the High Ministry to the very best of your charming ability.”
Clover’s face twisted in panic. “High Collector, I don’t know what to say. I—don’t. May I please ask why the High Minister would bestow such an honor on me? I am an ordinary daughter of an ordinary clan. I have nothing special to offer the High Minister.” For once, she need not pretend. Why would Killdeer want her by his side? Surely a Chosen One he had children with or, at any rate, one he already knew would be a more appropriate choice.
“My cherished little one,” he said mockingly, “Billycan worries for you. You are not slow of mind, are you?” He grinned sharply, baring his ruddy gums and discolored yellow teeth. He bent down and picked up the piece of mirror Clover had been gazing at earlier. He knelt behind her on one knee, still towering over her. Holding up the mirror in front of her, he spoke in a low, throaty tone. “Do you see what I see in this reflecting glass, my dear? Do you see the diamond shape of your face, the contour of your subtle saffron eyes, the high bones of your cheeks? This is what the male rats of the Catacombs see every day as you walk down the corridors of our underground world. They see you in all your youthful perfection, like the freshest of cream. You have no idea, do you? What a pity, a pity indeed.” He paused, examining their two faces in the mirror, gazing in silence, lost in his own twisted mind.
Clover did not wince or recoil. She would not make her discomfort evident. Her eyes reddened as she forced back tears. The more fear she gave away, the more torment she would receive. “Collector, surely you compliment me. I could only wish to be as striking as you imply. I do not see myself that way.”
As if snapping out of a trance, he quickly returned to a full stand. He idly tossed the mirror to the ground. He spoke plainly. “That, my dear, is of no consequence to me. The High Minister does see you that way. Killdeer, chivalrous as he is, has waited till you were of an appropriate age, and now you are.” The white rat squinted and stared coolly at Clover’s face, as if mentally dissecting it. “You’re quite the pretty little riddle, aren’t you? Billycan sees something else in you, something that’s lacking in the other female dullards. You have something in your diminutive head—a brain, perhaps?”
Nightshade City Page 4