Nightshade City

by Hilary Wagner

  Billycan looked at him, disgusted. He held himself back from carving out the Minister’s heart. He could effortlessly kill Killdeer right now and declare himself High Minister. Then he would find Juniper, rip out the one-eyed rat’s heart, and butcher his little niece—destroying the Belancort bloodline forever.

  Billycan violently kicked Killdeer in the side. He did not move. Bitter bile climbed in Billycan’s throat. He snarled, “Wake up, Killdeer!” Killdeer lay as stiff as a cadaver gone into rigor. Billycan’s entire body shook. He got as close as he could to the foul smell. He screamed in Killdeer’s face. “Killdeer—wake up!”

  Killdeer sprang into a sitting position. He looked around, disoriented: “What—what on earth is wrong?” Killdeer shouted back at him.

  Billycan seethed with contempt. He positioned his teeth to attack. Killdeer catapulted to his feet, still bewildered. The Collector came towards him, set to maul him. Killdeer held his paws in front of him, trying to keep Billycan at a distance.

  Killdeer spoke calmly. “Billycan, what’s got you in such an uproar? What has happened? Tell me, old friend. Talk to me.” He had never been the focus of one of Billycan’s eruptions before, but he knew to take it seriously.

  Billycan held himself back, certain he would murder the Minister if he did not let his anger abate. In Killdeer’s current shape, it would be an effortless kill. Billycan did not want to do it—not yet, not until he was absolutely sure it was necessary. Killdeer had taught him how to function in the world—how to survive—how to win. For that, Billycan would grant him one final chance.

  Billycan threw himself down into a chair across from Killdeer’s throne, exhausted and frustrated. Killdeer, still puzzled at Billycan’s outburst, climbed into his throne and waited silently for the white rat to speak.

  Billycan spoke coolly. “Killdeer, do you remember the Bloody Coup?”

  Killdeer thought Billycan might be losing his grasp on reality—the whole business with Juniper. He thought it best to keep things cordial. “How could I forget one of the most gratifying days of my life? We planned our attack perfectly. With you at my side, there was no way we could lose.”

  Billycan leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Don’t you fancy that glory any longer? Don’t you wish to relish that sensation yet again?” Killdeer looked at him strangely, not following his questions.

  Billycan turned his eyes to Killdeer, his gaze glacial, his voice plain. “It seems to be the opinion of the Catacombs that you’ve lost all respect for your title. Our subjects grumble of your noticeable lack of interest. It appears to most that you are more interested in females and Oshi than in your duties to the Combs. As you learned last night, Juniper is very much alive. With him and his Loyalist cohorts now back in the picture, you may lose your throne, possibly your life. As for your dignity, that’s already lost.”

  Killdeer stayed slumped in his usual lackluster position. He looked down at Billycan from his lofty throne, his expression aloof, his tone superior. “Do you have any idea who you are speaking to? We may be close associates, but I’m the leader of the Catacombs, the High Minister, not you. Have you forgotten that, Collector?” Killdeer picked up his tail, admiring its lustrous skin. “Have you forgotten what I’m capable of? Has your rank made you think you are worth more to the High Ministry than the army you command?” Killdeer raised an eyebrow as he spotted a flake of dead skin on his tail. He carelessly flicked it off and stretched in his throne, as if Billycan were no longer in the room.

  Billycan abruptly vaulted from his chair. He grabbed onto the lip of Killdeer’s goblet throne, thrusting himself up. His claws shot out from his skinny digits. He shoved them under Killdeer’s chin, poking his fleshy folds as he lurched over the Minister, his mouth twisting into a menacing leer.

  Billycan sneered as Killdeer recoiled. “Your question—do I think I’m worth more than I am? I know what I’m worth. I have single-handedly built the Kill Army. I have controlled the Ministry, while you sit idly by.” He pushed his claws in harder, on the verge of drawing Killdeer’s blood. “The real question is, how much are you worth? You sprawl lazily in your throne day after wasteful day. You fill your bloated belly with food and wine. You prey on the frightened females with your Chosen One decrees. You leave the running of this so-called Ministry to me and my majors—and let me assure you, Minister, they are my majors. They are loyal to me.

  “You are a laughingstock to the Kill Army—comic relief. Only the young ones look up to you now. They don’t know the real you. They have yet to see their Minister stumble into Catacomb Hall, drunk and unintelligible. They have yet to watch you harass the females and torment the old ones, throwing your soft frame around as if it were a weapon. You are obese and foul—a disgrace to the throne—a disgrace to rats.” Billycan wiped away the frothy white foam that had started to seep from the corners of his mouth. “And as for your first question, do I know who I’m talking to? Unequivocally, yes—I do. I know exactly the worthless lump that sits before me. I can forecast his drunkenness, his lechery, his gluttony. I can smell his putrid liability from miles away. You are the burden anchored around my neck.”

  Billycan shoved his snout against Killdeer’s and pressed his claws in deeper, forcing a thin trail of blood down Killdeer’s neck. “Mark my words, Killdeer, if you do not make a change for the better, starting right now, you will be eliminated from the equation. You merely serve as packaging for the entity that is the High Ministry. You are my marionette. Do not think yourself anything more than that—do not dare think it.”

  Billycan’s claws retracted. He released Killdeer. “There is a meeting in the War Room in three hours. If you are not in attendance and are not acting the role of a High Minister, I will hunt you down and deal with you myself.” Billycan reached over Killdeer and grabbed the bottle of Oshi he kept stashed in his throne, then viciously smashed it on the dirt floor, spattering his white feet with red droplets. “I have been tolerant of you, Killdeer. I felt I owed you for all you did for me years ago, but those years are long since gone, and I have reached the end of my tether. Do not attempt to push back. That would be a deadly mistake. The majors back me. At my command, they will end you. Redeem yourself or die.”

  Billycan leaped to the ground and exited the room. Texi scurried down the corridor from the opposite direction. Billycan spoke to her as he passed, not bothering to stop or look at her. “Get your brother some breakfast—now! No sweets, no lard, and absolutely no wine or ale. If I find out you brought him any of those things, I will slaughter you and every last one of your imbecilic sisters.”

  Texi halted in the corridor, watching as Billycan’s white coat disappeared into the dark. What had her brother done now?

  Vincent and Victor gently turned the wheelbarrow through the doorway and brought the still-sleeping Suttor into their quarters. Vincent wasn’t certain what he would say to his old friend, but he wasn’t too worried. He had heard the horror stories about the Kill Army changing otherwise fine rats into callous assassins, but he just couldn’t see his childhood playmate mutating into a coldhearted killer. Growing up, Suttor was always good. He never got into trouble and was devoted and caring to his two little brothers.

  That brought up another problem—his brothers. Vincent knew Suttor would be near frantic once he realized they were so far out of his reach. Vincent had all the faith in the world that Juniper would get them out somehow, but for now he had no words to ease Suttor’s mind. Vincent needed to get the hard conversation over with, and he figured there was no time like the present. Suttor had been asleep for hours.

  “Suttor,” Vincent said. He softly pushed on the sleeping rat’s shoulder. “Suttor, wake up. It’s Vincent Nightshade.” Suttor started to move. “You bumped your head, but you’re all right. You just needed some rest. Suttor, do you hear me?”

  Suttor slowly opened his eyes and stretched his lanky arms, splotched with black and white. He had a partial smile on his face, and he smacked his lips together as his fuzzy eye
s adjusted.

  Vincent stood over him cautiously, hoping he wouldn’t startle him. “Suttor, don’t be alarmed. It’s Vincent—Vincent Nightshade—and my little brother, Victor. You remember us, don’t you?” Suttor idly rolled over on his belly and pushed up on his elbows. He slowly focused on Vincent’s face, and, recognizing him, his lethargy instantly faded.

  Suttor sat up with a jerk and looked down at his bed of dirt on top of the wheelbarrow. “Vincent Nightshade!” he blurted in amazement. “What are you doing here? I heard you escaped this ghastly place. Why on earth would you come back?”

  Vincent grinned. “Here, let me help you down,” he said. He took one of Suttor’s arms, Victor the other, and they helped him out of the wheelbarrow.

  Suttor stood upright, wobbling on his feet. “It’s been a long time, Nightshade! Where have you been?” Suttor looked at Victor, taller than both he and Vincent. “And Victor, you’re huge! Last time I saw you, I could pick you up with one arm!”

  “Hello, Suttor,” said Victor. “Sorry to say I don’t remember you too well. I don’t remember much of anything from those days.”

  “No worries,” said Suttor cheerfully. “You could barely talk back then. Now that you’re both back in the Combs, we can get to know each other all over again, just like old times! How did I end up in your quarters? Does anyone know I’m here? I could be in serious trouble with the Ministry. I was supposed to be guarding the Chosen One. Did Mistress Gallo bring me here?”

  “Well, I suppose, yes, Mother Gallo did bring you here,” said Vincent, helping Suttor over to the table where Lali had left a basket of biscuits. “The Ministry knows you’re here, and everything is fine.”

  Suttor eyed the biscuits. “Would you mind if I—”

  “Oh, go right ahead,” said Vincent. “Have as many as you like.” Suttor bit into a thick butter biscuit. It tasted like nothing he’d ever had before. “This biscuit—it’s amazing,” he said with a full mouth. “Who made it?”

  “A female named Lali. She seems to keep everyone fed around here.”

  “Well, give her my compliments. I’m surprised I’ve never heard of her. I’ve been around your sector enough times. What clan does Lali hail from? The name does not ring familiar.”

  “I’m actually not sure what her clan name is. We only just met her ourselves.”

  “She should talk to the Ministry about a station. High Cook Longtooth could take a few lessons from her. The cook’s pastry is as dry and tasteless as she is!” he said with a snicker. “So, how did you two get back in without being punished? I hate to sound morbid, but after your stunt, I’m surprised to see you alive. Major Lithgo wanted your heads!”

  Vincent glanced at Victor. He wasn’t sure where to start.

  Victor shrugged his shoulders. “Just tell him the truth,” he said.

  “Tell me what?”

  “Well, that’s the thing, Suttor,” said Vincent delicately. “Victor and I never did go back to the Catacombs. Lithgo would have killed us. We can never go back.”

  Suttor smiled as he gnawed his biscuit. “Ah, still the clever one, I see,” he said, thinking Vincent was teasing him, “always telling a good yarn!”

  Vincent crinkled his forehead, thinking of another approach. “Suttor, do you know anything about Clover Belancort, the Chosen One you were guarding?”

  “Not really. She’s a Chosen One—what else do I need to know?” asked Suttor, taking another bite of biscuit.

  “Suttor, Clover is the daughter of Barcus Belancort and the niece of Juniper Belancort, both important members of the Loyalists who fought against Killdeer during the Bloody Coup.”

  Suttor seemed more interested in eating than listening to Vincent’s history lesson. “Well, I knew all that, but that was years ago. Besides, they’re dead. So what does it matter now?”

  Vincent flashed Suttor a deadly serious look, forcing eye contact. “Suttor, listen to me carefully. There is much you don’t know about Clover’s uncle—Juniper.”

  “Well, I know he was a vocal Trilok Loyalist, getting himself killed by Billycan because of it. I hear tales about it in the barracks all the time. That fight is legendary. Billycan ripped Juniper to shreds. What else could I possibly need to know?”

  “What you’ve heard, it’s not true. Suttor, the rat lives. Juniper is very much alive.”

  Suttor looked confused. “How do you know this? Where is your proof?” he demanded. “Even if it is true, what does it have to do with anything and why did you say you can never go back to the Combs? We are in the Catacombs right now! This joke has gone too far!”

  “Suttor, this is no joke! You passed out a second time in Clover’s quarters, moments before we dug through her floor to rescue her—taking her out of the Catacombs for good. Juniper saved your life. Billycan and a dozen troops were seconds away. If we had left you there, you would have been blamed for everything. Guilty or not, they would have punished you for it, just to prove to their subjects they had caught the perpetrator. The Ministry does not take kindly to treason. They would have strung you up in Catacomb Hall for all to see. You know it to be true!”

  Suttor threw his biscuit to the floor and jumped up from the table. “I’m not in the Catacombs?” He bounded to the door and ran out into the hall. The colors and decorations made him halt in his tracks. There were no sector guards to be seen. The corridors were fully lit—welcoming. He was surely not in the Combs. He staggered back into the room and stood in front of Vincent—mystified. “So … where am I?”

  Suttor looked about to crumple. Vincent helped him back to his chair. “Suttor, do you remember my father?”

  Suttor nodded weakly. “Of course I do. Everyone remembers Julius Nightshade—the Citizen Minister. Your father is a legend. My parents loved him. Everyone did.” Suttor looked around the room. “Where are we, anyway?”

  Vincent smiled. “We are in my father’s city.”

  Billycan entered the War Room, a narrow, egg-shaped hall. Maps and blueprints were tacked over every inch of wall, meticulously detailing everything Topside of Trillium City all the way to the internal workings of the Kill Army kitchens. No area that involved the Catacombs or the area above it was left undocumented.

  All Kill Army majors were present and awaiting Commander Billycan. They bolted from their chairs as Billycan entered, standing at full attention. High Majors Lithgo, Schnauss, and Foiber stood at the front of the room, facing the crowd of majors, standing just behind Billycan. The three high majors, next in command to Billycan, had all been members of Killdeer’s original Topside faction, all banished to the surface by Minister Trilok, charged with malevolent harm to citizens, thievery, skullduggery, and murder.

  Major Lithgo was a heavy brown rat with an oversized belly. He had a pleasant, open face and an outwardly jovial nature, making him extremely successful in securing new recruits. He used his welcoming features and notable manipulation techniques to lure young rats into the Kill Army, preventing Topside escapes. He would give the youths a tender hug, a pat of fatherly love on the head, convincing them that he looked out for their best interests. In actuality, he slowly squeezed the will from them, killing their fragile spirits.

  Major Schnauss was nearly ancient. He was built similarly to Billycan, tall and bony, but even more emaciated, reminiscent of a mummified corpse. He was the color of oil with dashes of ivory sprinkled throughout, his skin a dry cinder. He had two graying snaggleteeth that hung over his lower lip, pressing it back, as if in a perpetual snarl. His grizzled nose and upper lip turned skyward, making him look as though he smelled something foul. Adding to Schnauss’s repellency, one eye glowed a gauzy blue, the other—a dead eye of ghostly whitewash, which bobbled aimlessly around its socket like a sickly fish.

  A hairless rat, Major Foiber was short and fleshy, with skin the texture of dried corn and bulbous eyes like two rotting pumpkins. Creased and desiccated, his casing draped in folds around his belly, haunches, and chest as if several sizes too large. Foiber was eternall
y cursed with red, scaly rashes, concentrated around his joints and neck, irritating the foul-tempered rat no end.

  Foiber and Schnauss, masters of torture, worked in concert, interrogating the soldiers when deemed necessary. Whenever a major called a soldier’s devotion into question, the pair exposed the truth, at least their version of it. They could smell fear on the young ones and sense deceit, and they had a talent for making even the older boys cry. The boys would squirm and lather at just a glimpse of Schnauss’s wandering eye or a whiff of Foiber’s infected skin.

  The Ministry believed that Lieutenant Suttor had been kidnapped by Juniper and his cohorts. They knew only one thing about Juniper’s alleged city: It had to be somewhere under the Reserve. The freshly tilled earth made it the perfect place to build. Any other area of polluted Trillium was as lifeless as the Catacombs. Of late, several corridors had fallen in on themselves; the Catacombs were crumbling, taking scores of rats with them.

  Billycan’s faith in the Ministry and its army renewed as he inspected his majors. The lot stood strong and firm, imperial and intimidating. Cleaned and pressed, his navy and crimson sash held fast against his inflexible chest, his billy club dangling at his side. He walked front and center, standing before the large throng of majors, his paws clasped behind his back.

  “At ease, majors, at ease; take your seats. Billycan is glad to see you all here together. I don’t know what you may know of the past day’s events.” Billycan began to pace. “The Kill Army has controlled the Catacombs for some time now. Several of you have been here since the beginning and took part in the victorious battle we waged on the old regime—and have the scars to prove it,” he said, tapping his disfigured muzzle. “All of you have been promoted through the ranks because you showed the Kill Army and your Ministry that you have what it takes to be leaders. You have the drive, the tenacity to keep the Catacombs in our power, because you know that without that power …we are nothing.”