She pointed to an on-duty major, monitoring the crowd. “Now, get out of my sight before I call that sector major over. I’m sure he’d love to take part in our little conversation.”
Before she could say anything else, the portly rat and his long-legged companion flew out of sight, as if wings had sprouted from their backs. Though nauseating and rather pathetic, the incident gave Mother Gallo’s ego a slight boost. After all these years she could still turn heads, albeit drunken ones. After that, she effortlessly slipped behind the tavern, without so much as a questioning glance from the revelers.
The corridor stood intact, waiting for its next traveler. She and Juniper had sat in that corridor for hours on end, talking about their future together. She pushed under the rusted signs and decaying planking, revealing the cobwebbed hole. The sight gave her pause. Her world ended tonight, but new beginnings awaited the moment she stepped inside. She wasted no more time.
Mother Gallo found an old crate to give herself a leg up and groaned as she pulled herself into the musty tunnel. She sat down for a second, letting the strain on her muscles fade. “Bless the Saints. I’m just in terrible shape. What’s become of me? I must weigh as much as a barrel of Carro ale!”
“I wouldn’t say a full barrel, but you do feel fairly solid,” said a coarse, distant voice.
Fright swept over Mother Gallo. “Who is it? Who’s there?” she demanded. She frantically looked in all directions, ready to jump back inside the Catacombs.
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. “Don’t get your tail in a tizzy, madam,” said the voice. “What purpose sends you to my corridor?”
Mother Gallo searched the corridor, unable to see face or form of whatever had addressed her. “Who wants to know?” she asked.
The surly voice answered in a lazy, slightly pompous manner. “If you must know, my name is Oard. I run this corridor.”
“Why can’t I see you, Oard? Where are you?” Still afraid, she did not move from her spot.
“Well, my dear, you can’t see me because you’re sitting on me.”
“What?” Mother Gallo jumped to her feet, backing herself up the corridor, trying to escape. Looking down, she saw something moving under the dirt. The ground suddenly thinned out, and a tubular form took shape. The moving earth dissolved, revealing a substantial brown earthworm.
The worm spoke again. “Now, then, will you please explain to me what business you have in my corridor? We don’t like visitors, madam, especially uninvited ones.”
Mother Gallo had never spoken with an earthworm. Tormented by the Kill Army majors, the quaggy creatures kept themselves well hidden. “I’m a friend of Juniper Belancort’s, here on vital business for him,” she replied nervously.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” asked Oard brusquely.
“Because I’m a Ministry official, and if my intentions were dishonorable this corridor would be crawling with Billycan and his majors, all interrogating your tribesmen in search of Juniper and his city.”
Oard grunted. “I suppose you make sense.”
“Oard, Juniper’s niece is in a dire situation, and I must get word to him straightaway.”
Oard’s tone softened. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Juniper mentions little Clover often. I’ve been hoping to make her acquaintance one of these days. He said when things die down in her sector, he will be moving her to his city.” Oard pulled his whole body out from the soil and coiled himself up like a snake. He was quite large by earthworm standards.
“Yes, Clover said you and Juniper have an understanding,” said Mother Gallo.
Oard had a rough, scratchy voice, as if gravel were stuck in his throat. “Indeed we do, madam. In exchange for the use of my corridor and the earthworms’ help in excavation, Juniper has agreed to give our tribe our own sanctuary in the rich soil of his clandestine city. The dirt in the Catacombs has grown dead and dry. Much of our Topside food supply has been sacrificed for Trillium City parking lots and factories. Plant life is scarce, and without Juniper’s help my tribe will undoubtedly expire.”
“Well, Oard, I know firsthand Juniper is a rat of his word. If he promised you a new home, a new home you shall get.”
“Yes, I have faith in Juniper. He and I have been comrades since the Bloody Coup.” Oard slithered closer. “Madam, how may I address you?”
“I’m Mother Gallo, an old friend of Juniper’s. In fact, I only just learned he’s still alive. Providence led me to his young niece.”
“Speaking of his niece, you’d best get back to your mission. I’ll tell my tribe you’re traveling up and not to get in your way. We’ll get word to the worms manning the tunnel to Juniper’s city, letting them know who you are. Now, off you go, and do be careful. Topside can be a treacherous place.”
Earthworms were eyeless. They made their way by feeling vibrations and changes in the earth. Oard stopped for a moment after he started to slink away; he felt a faint rumble. “I can feel thunder up top, Mother Gallo. You may be in for a cold, wet trip to your destination. Take heed,” he said. He vanished back into the soil.
“Thank you, Oard. I will.”
Mother Gallo walked up the corridor at a steady pace, conserving her energy as she climbed to the surface. The earthworms kept out of her way, except to inform her of weather changes Topside. From what she gathered, the thunder had stopped, and a cold, wet muddle was all that remained. She could imagine the sopping muck that would stick to her feet and the biting cold that would ravage her bones, but she’d survived all these years in the Combs, so surely she could entertain foul weather for a short while.
She finally reached Topside. A young earthworm named Cherrytin, who had kept her company for part of the way, warned her profusely about the careless Topsiders, begging her not to get trampled. She had a high, squeaky voice. “You’ll come up in the grass, right next to the sidewalk. Please be on the lookout, Mother Gallo. Topside children on their bicycles and even on foot have flattened many of our family, plowing right through the grass.”
“My dear Cherrytin, I promise to be careful. Thank you for your help, and please thank your tribe for me. I’ll be sure to tell Juniper how cordial you all have been.” Mother Gallo smiled at the blind little worm. “Bye for now, Cherrytin. I hope to see you soon,” she said. She had reached the surface.
The violent storm had left the streets empty—the afternoon sun had all but disappeared behind the clouds. Mother Gallo stuck her head out Topside, with only her ears and eyes visible. The wintry muck had been a blessing in disguise. “Well, thank goodness for that,” she whispered to herself. She pulled herself up through the hole and into the gloom of Trillium City. She hurried on, pushing through the biting wind, trying to get a view of the corner street sign.
“Ashbury Lane,” she said. “Juniper, you’ve made this easy on me.” She braced herself as the wind picked up.
She studied the houses across from her, particularly the rooftops. There it stood—Juniper’s brownstone. The two stone gargoyles gazed down at her from above, like covert Saints taking on the form of otherworldly creatures—welcoming her in. Now if only she had a way.
She circled twice round the entire brownstone looking for a hole or crack she could push herself through, but the home was a fortress, with no gaps or fractures to be found. She would have to wait. Eventually the door would open.
So there she sat. A carved Hallowtide pumpkin roosted crookedly on the brownstone’s stoop. It looked blankly out onto the empty street with its hollowed, ghoulish grin. She stared at it, wondering why the Topsiders insisted on carving them every year, only to throw them away weeks later. For now it was her only companion, so, odd as it was, she was glad for the company.
Mother Gallo waited, for how long she did not know. She’d tucked herself away in a corner of the brownstone’s bricked-in porch, blocking herself from the hammering winds.
Suddenly, a nearby door slammed. She jumped to her feet and peered around the red bricks. A long, white ca
r idled in front of the brownstone. The driver, clad in a fitted black suit, jumped out and dashed towards the back of the car, opening a door. A tall Topsider got out. He had a lean build and wavy hair, the color of sweet potatoes. The Topsider stretched on the sidewalk as the driver hurriedly brought his bag up to the front door, whizzing by Mother Gallo’s head. The Topsider handed the driver some rolled-up bills. “Thanks, sir, appreciated, as always. Have a good weekend, what’s left of it, anyway.” The red-haired Topsider waved as the car drove off.
Trotting up the stairs, the Topsider rummaged through his overcoat pocket. As he fumbled, Mother Gallo positioned herself just under the doorsill, only inches away from his shiny wingtips. Finally retrieving his keys, he unlocked the door and pushed it open. He picked up his bag, banging it into the door, and entered the home. Mother Gallo entered, remaining hidden under the dangling suitcase.
They were in a small vestibule. With the suitcase still hanging precariously over Mother Gallo’s head, the Topsider pushed the inner door open with his foot. Setting down his keys and luggage, he stole up the stairs. “Honey, Ramsey, I’m home!” he called out. Mother Gallo dashed out of the vestibule and into the house.
“Daddy!” shouted a child’s voice from upstairs.
Mother Gallo immediately started her search for Juniper’s hole. She quickly found the room Clover had mentioned—the only one facing the street. She could see what little light the sky had to offer pushing under the door’s gap.
She eyed the width of the opening under the door. Having grown rounder in recent years, she was a bit worried, but she was no match to Juniper’s bulk. If he could manage his way under, so could she. She removed her blue sash, sucked in her belly, and pushed herself through the gap. Relieved, she took a deep breath; then, restoring her sash and dusting herself off, she scrutinized the room; artist’s paints and charcoals lay strewn about the floor, easels leaned here and there—an artist’s studio. One of four corners, she thought, heading towards the window Clover spoke of.
There it was—the hole. She felt the opening’s smooth edges, devoid of splinters, a near-perfect circle. “Juniper Belancort, I’d know your work anywhere,” she whispered to herself. Her spine shivered, and her skin rose in tiny goose bumps. She could smell Juniper in the air.
Vincent and Victor spent their first day in Nightshade City dead asleep. Virden and Cole had set them up with cots and bedding, but they would have gladly slept on the floor without complaint after dragging themselves to bed well after the sun had risen Topside.
Vincent’s sleep was deep and dreamless. The sound of his brother snoring finally woke him. He rolled on to his back and put his arms behind his head, not ready to leave his comfortable bed. He stared at his brother, still sound asleep. So young at the time of their parents’ deaths, Victor had few memories of them. Vincent had sworn Juniper to secrecy regarding the death of their family. He felt his brother would not yet be able to handle the facts behind their family’s murders. Juniper agreed.
Whimpering in his sleep, Victor’s pink tongue dangled out of his mouth, along with a spindly thread of drool, which had connected itself to his lower jaw, vibrating wildly every time he blew out a snore. It made Vincent laugh out loud, which woke Victor.
Victor stretched his long limbs, a goofy smile on his face. He had dreamed of the sparkly little Petra, with her blond fur and glittery eyes.
The boys happily relaxed in bed, until a far-too-energetic voice called from the corridor. “Boys, are you awake?” It was Juniper. “You’ve slept the day away. It’s late, and there’s plenty of work to be done.” Juniper had not been awake long himself. He opened the door and stuck his head inside, regarding both boys still in their cots. “Do I need to trudge to Lex County and drag back a rooster to wake you lazy rats up?” The boys chuckled, still too comfortable to move.
Juniper entered carrying a woven basket with a dotted blue cloth over the top and a large brown jug. The brothers sluggishly sat up. Victor let out a prolonged yawn, stretching his arms over his head.
“I see I’m not the only rat lagging today. The halls are all deserted. Rats are still recovering from last night’s merriment.” Juniper opened the basket, revealing honey biscuits and bitonberry corn bread. The boys eyed the food ravenously. “Ah, you’re hungry, I see! Well, c’mon, then, I’ve got fresh goat’s milk as well.” He uncorked the jug, plunking it on the wooden table. He took a seat and rubbed his paws together eagerly. “Now, boys, we’ve got many things to do before the day is done. Lunchtime has come and gone. These pastries are from Cole’s wife, Lali, who I think would be quite shocked to learn that her breakfast biscuits were being had for an early dinner—highly improper!”
The boys sat on opposite sides of Juniper, all three tearing into the biscuits like mad dogs. “All right, boys, let’s eat like we mean it, then we must go to the main hall—I mean Nightshade Passage,” he said, winking at Vincent.
“What’s going on?” asked Vincent.
“You’ll find out soon enough. First things first, just eat now,” said Juniper, stuffing a generous chunk of corn bread in his mouth.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Feast of Batiste
MOTHER GALLO HAD NO IDEA how far she had traveled. The tunnel felt like it went on forever, far deeper than the Catacombs.
She had always thought that if she ever saw Juniper Belancort again, it would be as a phantom haunting her dreams—what could have been. She tried to be angry with him, alive all this time, never getting word to her. In her heart she knew he did it to safeguard her. She would have surely followed him Topside. She would have followed him anywhere, no matter how dangerous. Trillium’s Topsiders exterminated rats by the hundreds. It amazed her that Juniper had survived all this time.
A few years after the Coup, she met Mr. Gallo and the pair wed and had a family. Life was hard in the Combs, but they had each other to lean on. She wondered what the last eleven years had been like for Juniper. Had he been lonely? He did have freedom Topside. In that way he was lucky. Freedom to choose means a great deal when you don’t have it.
The corridor started flattening out and widening. She heard voices overlapping, but was unable to make out their words. Her heart beat in time with her footsteps as she raced down the corridor. The dim light grew brighter with every stride. She stopped and caught her breath, listening to the now-audible conversations ahead of her—some sort of debate.
“The earthworms have agreed to the plan. We’ve set it in motion, and it’s already working,” said a male voice.
“Yes, it’s the only way of getting into the Combs for now,” agreed a female, loudly.
Another rat barked back at them harshly. “Killdeer and Billycan have all the entrances on lockdown. No one can go in or out without proper authority. All we have are the earthworm holes and the old corridor behind Ellington’s. There has to be another way! Things are moving too slowly. Until the earthworms dig more tunnels, we are at a standstill!”
“Now, everyone, we all need to calm down,” said a reassuring voice, coming from farther into the room. “The earthworms are excavating as fast as they can, much faster than we ever anticipated. They listen for the signal in the chosen Catacomb quarters and dig directly to it, burrowing a hole through the floor of each room and straight back to us. They have yet to miss a mark. If we push them too hard, they’ll become anxious and end up digging into the wrong quarters, putting everyone at risk. That will be our fault, not theirs. Now, the melody that Virden chose is ideal. The worms identify its tempo quickly, following it all the way from Nightshade to their precise location in the Combs. My friends, Loyalists of Trilok, just as it took time and perseverance for Killdeer and Billycan to steal what belonged to us, it will demand the same time and perseverance for us to take it back. The only difference is that time is on our side now.” The rats began to speak amongst themselves, discussing the pros and cons of their stratagem.
Mother Gallo quivered. “Juniper!” she whispered. She waited in the sh
adows of the tunnel, not sure how to make herself known. The crowd of rats faced away from her. She could see only tails, backs, and shoulders. Juniper stood on a platform, well above the others, the only rat facing in her direction, just as captivating as he’d been all those years ago. It was little wonder why he was leader.
She exited the shadows and walked into the light. No one noticed her. Juniper carried on with the discussion, answering questions and listening to proposals. The meeting was an open forum. “Any other thoughts?” Juniper asked the assembly. Mother Gallo seized the opportunity.
“Juniper!” she called out, almost choking on the name. “I’m afraid time is not on your side.” All heads turned towards her. “Minister Killdeer has moved up the Grand Speech. He knows something is afoot in the Combs. He has planned the speech for midnight—tonight—Rest Day. Killdeer is presenting your niece Clover to the Catacombs. She is to stand at his side. Afterwards, she is to carry out her Chosen One duties. You must get her out of the Combs tonight.” The sight of Juniper pressed on her chest like a brick. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. Try as she might to hold back tears, her eyes grew wet, burning as she and Juniper locked eyes.
Everyone stared at her in silence. Juniper’s confident expression dissolved. His mouth and ears dropped. His proud tail fell limply to the ground. He stood frozen on the platform. Looking towards the back of the room, he strained to see her. The assembled rats parted like cornstalks bending in the wind, all trying to catch a glimpse of the strange female rat.
“Madelina,” whispered Juniper. “Maddy … is that you?” Juniper walked to the edge of the platform, grabbing Victor’s shoulder for support as he bounded to the ground. He walked slowly to the back of the room. The fur on his neck bristled. He stopped just a step away from her, afraid to move any closer. “Madelina Bostwick, is it truly you?”
“Yes, Juniper—it’s Maddy—it’s me.” She timidly reached out and touched his arm, feeling his wiry coat. She never thought she’d touch his disheveled mahogany fur again. She studied his face, muddled with scars, the patch over his eye. She winced, imagining the suffering he must have endured.
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