Oard sped through the soil.
The brothers ignored their throbbing arms and backs and wiped away the itchy dirt that assaulted their ears and nostrils. Victor paused for a moment. A tiny pebble had lodged under his claw, making its digit swell. He leaned against the wall of the corridor, trying to pick it out. Oard popped his head out of the wall, nearly knocking into Victor, who flew backward in surprise, slamming himself against the opposing wall.
Oard was straightforward as always. “Did I startle you? I’m sorry. Apparently, I have a habit of doing that. Which one are you, Vincent or Victor?” Victor stared curiously at the earthworm. He’d never seen one before, and such a meaty one at that.
“I’m Victor,” he replied guardedly. “Who are you?”
“Victor, I am Oard, tribal leader of the earthworms. I knew your late father. I’m glad to hear your voice. It reminds me of his. We all miss him very much.”
“I wish I could remember him the way everyone else seems to,” said Victor.
“It must be difficult for you, but if anyone can tell you stories about your father, it’s Juniper. By the way, I’m curious as to how you found him,” said Oard.
“Dumb luck,” said Victor. “We found the entrance to the city by mistake. We thought maybe it was an abandoned hole, somewhere we could live.”
“Interesting,” said Oard. “It seems our most pivotal moments happen by mere coincidence—some would call that fate. You’ll have to excuse me, Victor—I ramble off-point. There is much to be done. We can get philosophical on the subject another day. Time is of the essence for Juniper’s niece. Now, where is that brother of yours, Vincent, is it? I’d like to meet him—always smart to know your team.”
“Vincent,” shouted Victor up the corridor, “can you come here for a moment?”
“In a minute,” answered Vincent. “The earth is getting a bit harder up here.” He grunted as he jerked out a considerable clump of soil.
Vincent marched down the corridor. “What is it?” he asked, out of breath. Victor stayed silent, looking at his brother mischievously. Vincent quickly noticed something moving from the wall. He slowly turned and saw Oard’s coppery head sticking out. He jolted, turning to his brother in alarm.
Victor broke out in a toothy grin, snickering. “Vincent,” said Victor, trying hard to hold his laughter in, “this is Oard. He is the leader of the earthworms and is going to be heading up the rest of the dig.”
“Oh, yes—Oard,” said Vincent, glaring at his chuckling brother. “Juniper told us all about you.”
“He knew Father,” said Victor.
“Vincent, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Oard’s voice echoed through the corridor. “Your father was special, an exceptional rat. He did a lot for you rats, and for my tribe as well.”
Vincent wiped the sweat from his eyes. He quickly changed the subject. “Thank you, Oard, but we must get back to digging.”
“Not right now, you won’t,” said Oard firmly. “I want you boys to get some rest, have something to eat. My tribe can take over. We’ll send word when we need you. That’s an order.” He paused before fading back into the wall. “By the way, boys, Nightshade is a fine name for our new city—the best of the lot.”
The earthworm corridor was silent, as Mother Gallo made her way back to the Catacombs. On her way Topside, she had heard Oard’s tribe talking and moving through the soil. Now she heard nothing. “They must be to Juniper by now,” she said to herself.
“I’m not,” said a faint voice.
Mother Gallo recognized the squeaky pitch. “Cherrytin, is that you?”
“Yes,” she answered in a crestfallen sigh. “They wouldn’t allow me to go.”
“I’m sure it’s for the best, dear. They were probably just worried about you. It’s a long trip, and I’m sure Oard and the rest of your family didn’t want you to get lost or hurt. Are any of your brothers and sisters here with you?”
“A few, but they are mad at me,” replied Cherrytin.
“Mad—at you? Why would they be mad at you?”
“They said if I were bigger they would have gotten to help, but instead they’re stuck here with me.” Mother Gallo swore she heard Cherrytin sniffle. She didn’t think earthworms could sniffle, but who knew for sure?
“Well, Cherrytin, sometimes brothers and sisters don’t understand how hard it is being the smallest. For now, don’t you worry about it. You’ll grow,” she said reassuringly. “Now, Cherrytin, I’ve got to hurry back to Catacomb Hall. Would you like to accompany me? I would love to have someone to talk to, especially you. We can talk about anything you like.”
Cherrytin’s demeanor shifted. “Can we talk about our new home?”
“Why, of course we can. I’ll tell you all about Nightshade City.”
“Nightshade City,” Cherrytin repeated. “I like that name! Everyone will call me Cherrytin of Nightshade.”
Mother Gallo laughed. “C’mon then, Cherrytin of Nightshade, we’ve a long way to go.”
The earthworms were making short time of the dig, plowing through the earth at a healthy speed. Teams of rats carried full wheel barrows of dirt out of the corridor, while Virden, Cole, and a crew of big-shouldered fellows packed as much soil as they could into the newly-formed tunnel, strengthening its walls.
Oard directed his tribe, his gruff voice bouncing off the corridor walls. “Forge through the soil!” he shouted. “Forget your training, no time for exactness, no need for symmetry. Momentum is the key. Our velocity cannot wane! Drill through, worms—drill through!”
Vincent and Victor joined Ulrich and Ragan at a table, all four taking their mandated rest, as the others worked the tunnel. Both sets of brothers were encrusted with dirt and were as hungry as they were filthy. Thankfully, Cole’s wife, Lali, had baked a slew of egg custards for the occasion.
“How does Lali find the time to do all this?” asked Vincent, cramming his mouth with an oversized spoonful of custard. “Never in my life have I seen so much pastry.”
“Well, she sleeps only a few hours a night,” said Ragan. “She hasn’t always been that way. You see … her and Cole, they will never be blessed with family—mind you, not for lack of trying. That’s the reason she never sleeps. She is brokenhearted over the matter. Cole always wanted little ones, children he could raise properly, in a real family, something he never had after his parents passed on. When Cole dwells on the topic, he turns dark and gloomy—won’t talk to anyone.”
Ulrich nodded in Lali’s direction. “Our Lali is quite the opposite. She rushes about, doing a hundred chores in a day. She turns her sorrow outward—into this,” he said, holding up his ramekin of custard.
Mother Gallo had reached the Catacombs. “Cherrytin, it looks as though you’ve seen me through. I can’t thank you enough for your company. Now, listen closely. I need you to track down one of your siblings to send to Nightshade. I need to let Juniper know I’ve arrived safely and am on my way to Clover’s quarters. Do you think you can do that for me?”
“Yes, Mother Gallo,” Cherrytin replied. “I’ll find Quip, my oldest brother. He’s the fastest of us.”
“Off you go. Ask Quip to go as fast as he can! Cherrytin, I must leave you now.”
“Good-bye, Mother Gallo. Be careful,” said Cherrytin.
Mother Gallo dropped from the hole into the alley behind Ellington’s and crept around the tavern. Catacomb Hall was quiet, apart from a group of laborers decorating for the Grand Speech, now just a few hours away.
The laborers were hanging rich fabric swags in Ministry colors, crimson and navy, intertwined with shiny silver garland. Killdeer’s mark was sewn in the center of each drapery. How ironic, she thought, staring up at them. She had done the stitching herself.
After leaving the hall, Mother Gallo raced through the maze of corridors, finally making her way to Clover’s sector, all the while singing the earthworms’ song to herself in a whisper. “ ‘Batiste was killed on Hallowtide Night, while searching Topside for sweet�
��’ ”
Turning a corner, she smacked right into Billycan, banging her nose into his rock-hard torso. She winced in pain. “Collector, you scared me half to death,” she said, clutching her nose. “Your chest is like cast iron.”
Billycan had no misgivings when it came to the High Mistress of the Robes. She did as ordered and did it well. “High Mistress, let me check that for you,” he said. He took her muzzle in the tips of his claws. Pointing her jaw upwards, he examined her nose, poking it with a yellowed nail. His eyes churned, folding into different shades of red, as he inspected her injury. His face was so close, she could feel his dank breath intermingling with hers, assaulting her senses.
He released her. “You’ll be fine, High Mistress. Maybe a lingering twinge, no more than that.”
“I suppose I need to slow down,” she said, trying to act at ease. “It’s just that I’ve been in such a harried state today. I’ve been rushing all over, making sure all is perfect for the Grand Speech. I suppose I haven’t been paying much attention to where I’m going. Right now, I’m on my way to the see the Belancort girl to double-check her garments before I escort her to the speech. You know how the young ones are, careless when it comes to their appearance.”
“Ah, yes, our little Chosen One. The Minister visited his new beloved just a few hours back, as a matter of fact. Miss Clover has already modeled her attire for him. He was impressed with your choices, those emeralds especially.”
Billycan’s statement disturbed her. She knew too well of Killdeer and his visits. She kept her poise. “How wonderful for her. I’m sure it thrilled her to no end.”
A subtle smirk branched across the Collector’s face. “Yes, something like that,” he said with a satisfied air. He motioned down Clover’s corridor with a spidery digit. “Run along, Mistress. Billycan does not want to keep you from your duties.”
About to turn the corner, he abruptly doubled back. “Wait,” he commanded. He eyed Juniper’s satchel, cocking his head as he scrutinized it. “Where did you get that?”
“Oh, this horrid old thing?” she answered nonchalantly. “It belongs to Clover’s grandfather, that sickly old one, Timeron. I’m afraid things look grim for him, and Clover fears he won’t be coming back from the healer alive. The dear asked me if I could fix his satchel for her. The strap had broken a while back, and she begged me to mend it. She would like to wear it in his memory. It’s all she has left of him. How could I refuse?”
Billycan lifted the bag to his snout as it hung from Mother Gallo’s neck. He inhaled. “The scent eludes me,” he said crossly. “Billycan has smelled this exact odor before, and not from the old one, Timeron. It’s someone else entirely. I have the niggling feeling someone is mocking me.” His chin stiffened, cracking with a hollow pop.
“Who would dare mock you—the little girl, the old one? No one would chance provocation from a Ministry official, especially you, High Collector.” She gently took the bag from him. “These items tend to change owners many times over. You know how it works in Catacomb Hall. Clover’s grandfather might have traded it with some fellow or purchased it from a peddler. Maybe you did know the rat who once owned this satchel. Scents are tricky things. They overlap and mingle, changing over time.”
“Perhaps you make sense,” he said, peering at the bag once more. “I have no doubt I will soon remember. Off with you, then. Your girl is waiting.” He wiggled a claw at her. “Mistress, do mind where you’re going and stop your singing. The Minister would be most upset to learn that his seamstress suffered injury on account of Batiste.” He sauntered around a corner and out of sight.
Mother Gallo leaned against the corridor wall for support, feeling she might faint dead away from the encounter.
Suttor stood aslant at Clover’s door, so tired that he dared not crouch on his heels or sit on his stool. He would surely nod off, a serious offense if spotted. Unable to stand much longer, his spine throbbed. While he was supposed to be resting, he stayed up with his brothers and the other soldiers instead, telling one and all about his auspicious meeting with Killdeer. Now in pain, he twisted and squirmed uncomfortably, trying in vain to realign his vertebrae. His once-easy task had become torturous.
Mother Gallo came rushing down the corridor. Suttor moaned in agony under his breath as he compelled himself to uncurl, reclaiming proper military stance. “Good evening, High Mistress,” he said hoarsely.
She mustered up a merry smile. “Now, Suttor, what did I tell you about addressing me? Please, let’s stop with these silly formalities.”
“Sorry, Mother Gallo,” he replied dimly. He swayed a little, still trying to stand straight.
“That’s all right, lad. How are you today? You’re looking worn, rather peaked around the eyes.” Mother Gallo retrieved a piece of cheese from Juniper’s bag. She placed it in Suttor’s paw. “Eat this, please. I know it’s no substitution for rest, but it’s better than nothing at all.”
“Thank you, Mother Gallo. I could really use something to eat.” He dropped back against the wall for a moment. “I have not had any sleep.”
“That’s certainly plain to see. Billycan had you here all this time, with no other soldier to relieve you?”
“The High Minister came round dinnertime, and he and the Collector sent me on my way. My fatigue is of my own doing. I was told to sleep, but couldn’t do so after meeting the Minister—too excited, I suppose. Mother Gallo, Minister Killdeer spoke to me. He said my name.”
“Suttor, you do realize Killdeer is just a rat, just like everyone else? In the grand scheme of life, he’s no more valuable than you or I.”
“It sure doesn’t feel that way,” he said with a yawn, opening Clover’s door for her.
“I know, boy. It never does.”
Clover huddled in her parents’ bed, buried under her mother’s coverlet. Mother Gallo would have thought the room empty if she hadn’t spotted the tip of Clover’s creamy tail peeking out from under the covers.
She leaned over Clover, speaking in a whisper. “Clover, are you all right?” She sat on the edge of the bed and gently lifted the blanket off Clover’s face. Clover sat up and hugged her, unable to speak just yet. “Dear, it’s all right now. It’s all right. We have a way out. Everything is going to be fine. I promise.” Mother Gallo adjusted the fur on Clover’s head, smoothing it out as her mother had done for her. “What happened here?”
Clover wiped her eyes. “Thankfully nothing—Billycan came to my aid, if you can believe it. He pulled me away from the Minister just in time. Of all the rats—at first I thought the Saints had come to rescue me, but it was him, of all the rats, who helped me.”
“Billycan or not, we’d best thank our lucky stars. Billycan will do anything to avoid a scandal. The Ministry’s reputation is far too fragile. Now, listen closely. I found Juniper. He is doing everything within his power to get you out. The rats and the earthworms are tunneling through. Time is precious, so listen well. As we speak, a corridor is being dug right to your quarters—right up through the ground. Once they’ve broken through, you’ll be on your way to your new home.”
Mother Gallo pulled out the mallet from Juniper’s satchel. “A Council member, Virden, has taught me a tune I’m to pound on the ground with this mallet. It’s from an old children’s song—’The Feast of Batiste.’ It’s a nasty little jingle from the old ones’ era, but it’s witty and quick, easy for the worms to pick up through the soil. You and I will pound out the beat. Now take this.” She handed Clover Juniper’s leather satchel. “Put the few things you can’t live without inside it. I’m afraid everything else must stay put. I’ll start the signal, which you’ll need to learn, so listen closely as you pack your things. My arms will only last so long.”
Mother Gallo sang softly as she began to beat the earth with the mallet. Clover listened to the morbidly clever words. She placed the few small mementos she had left of her parents and brothers in Juniper’s bag. She wondered if there was any truth to the grisly tale of Batiste.
The dig had been at a standstill. Oard surmised they had gone as far as they could without wasting precious time and energy digging in an unknown direction. Juniper worked in the tunnel with Oard, waiting for word. No longer able to hide his dread, he paced the unfinished corridor, cursing under his breath.
“I should have gone with her myself,” groaned Juniper. “I should have sent someone with her. She could be trapped in that house, or worse. I knew it was a bad decision to send her alone. They are both lost to me now. It’s too late! I know it to be true.”
Oard could hear Juniper panting, his rat heart racing. The earthworm spoke bluntly. “Juniper, if I could shake you by your shoulders, I would. Calm yourself—you must! All will be well. Mother Gallo is perfectly competent. She found a way out. I’m sure of it. You need to get hold of your emotions or you’re no good to any of us.”
Juniper growled and sat down in the corridor. Frustrated, he put his paws on his knees, exhaling long and hard. He closed his eyes and prayed.
Oard felt rapid movement in the wall as one of his tribesmen raced toward them through the soil. “Someone’s coming, hopefully with word.”
Noc, Oard’s second-in-command, poked his head through the dirt. “Oard, Quip has reported Mother Gallo to be back in the Combs. She is with the girl. We have picked up her signal farther ahead. We need to keep digging east until we can decipher the exact coordinates.”
“Juniper, call out to your teams,” shouted Oard. “Let’s get this dig back under way!”
The worms and rats moved quickly through the dry earth, grinding through the chalky dirt of the Catacombs with renewed vitality. Rats had broken claws and sprained limbs, swollen eyes and nostrils inflamed with dust, but still no one showed signs of slowing down.
Clover pummeled the ground with such resolve that Mother Gallo was afraid she might injure herself.
Mother Gallo rubbed her arms and paws, aching from the many jarring blows with the mallet. She peered vigilantly under the door’s gap. All she could see were Suttor’s black and white feet. If they were discovered after the Nightshade rats had broken through, one and all would surely be killed. Nightshade City would easily be found, straight down the tunnel, and all hope would be lost.
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