Nightshade City (13 page)

Clover grabbed Mother Gallo’s paws. “Mother Gallo, just having you around makes all this almost bearable. I understand you want to help, but you have a family that needs you, and I couldn’t ask you to put yourself in jeopardy.”

Mother Gallo spoke firmly. “Clover, let there be no further doubts. I work for the Ministry. I must. It sets my family free of Stipend and puts food on our table, food I could not provide alone. That being said, I’m not a supporter of our esteemed Ministry. They have beaten down the rats of the Catacombs. Now you tell me about Juniper’s plans—giving us the possibility that all of this can change, a singular opportunity to take back what Killdeer and his followers stole from us long ago.

“Just knowing Juniper’s alive gives me new hope for our future, my children’s future—your future, dear. When your uncle and I were young, we had the Catacombs at our feet. Anything was possible. Your father, Julius Nightshade and Juniper were trusted advisers to Trilok and his Ministry. When they died, it seemed everything dear to us died with them. When the key players of the Loyalist cause were silenced, it silenced us all.”

Mother Gallo gazed thoughtfully at the wall carving of Duchess Nomi. “This stagnant existence is the way most rats think life will always be. Clover, I firmly believe that we weren’t put on this earth merely to endure its many trials and tragedies. The Saints did not design things that way. There is much more to life. We were meant to feel the joy of new babies, the festivity of birthdays and holidays, and the uncontained wooziness of newfound love. It’s all right to ask for help. We all need to do so from time to time.” She smiled softly and gently tapped the tip of Clover’s nose. “My dear, today is
your
time.”

“Thank you, Mother Gallo,” said Clover, summoning a smile.

“Don’t thank me yet—there is much to be done. Do you know
anything about this secret corridor your uncle uses to get in and out—any notion where it might be?”

“I’m not really sure. Uncle said it’s a secret place where he and his friends used to meet, making sure no one could hear them—for fear that there could be traitors living among them. He said they could never be too careful when it came to protecting the corridor. I think only the Council knew of its existence.”

Mother Gallo suddenly put her paw to heart. “Clover, do you recall if it’s anywhere near Catacomb Hall?”

“Yes,” said Clover. “Uncle said it’s behind some falling-down pub.”

Mother Gallo’s lavender skin turned a rosy pink, and her voice fluttered slightly. “The corridor behind Ellington’s Tavern—I’m sure of it! Your uncle and I used to steal away to that very corridor when we were courting. It would have been quite disastrous had Papa Bostwick found out! The tunnel is directly behind the tavern, covered up with rubbish and such. You would never notice it unless you knew it existed. Thank the Saints our Juniper is the sentimental sort!”

Mother Gallo gave Clover a firm hug and headed towards the door. “Now, Clover, you must do your part,” she said. “Play it safe and smart. Act as if all is well and you are the happiest girl in the Catacombs. I will be back before I am to escort you to the speech. We have little time. I must depart.”

“Please be careful, Mother Gallo, and good luck.”

“No need for luck. Nothing could keep me from my course!”

Mother Gallo wove hastily through the bustling crowd in Catacomb Hall, finally making her way to Ellington’s Tavern. She remembered how, in her youth, she would sneak away from her father’s watchful
eye and go to the tavern, staying up until dawn, always on the arm of Juniper Belancort. What good times those were, laughing riotously at Juniper’s and Virden’s comical stories, the boisterous pair finding a reason to toast just about anything, and Ragan and Ulrich endlessly telling their ridiculous jokes to stoic Cole, until he’d finally break into wild laughter.

It was nearly lunchtime, and the tavern was starting to fill. The pub’s once-evergreen stain had worn away, revealing its rotting wood frame, which tilted precariously to the left, held up only by the buildings stacked on either side of it. But there it stood, more ramshackle than ever—the secret corridor waiting patiently behind it.

Remaining unseen might be easier than Mother Gallo originally thought. Rats seemed too busy with themselves to bother with her. As she headed towards the rear of Ellington’s, a chubby Kill Army soldier and his gangly companion abruptly stopped her. The portly one sprayed her with a fine mist of spittle as he tried to engage her without slurring his words from one too many glasses of ale. “Good day, madam. Care for a nip of ale with me and my boy?”

“No, sir, but thank you kindly,” replied Mother Gallo. She attempted to make her exit, but the soldier placed a fleshy paw on her shoulder.

“Now, wait a minute, missus,” he said, leaning on his friend. “I’m an assistant major in the Kill Army. Do you really think it’s wise to turn me down? I find you fair of face, and I do like a female with curves on her—more to hang on to!” Laughing heartily, he sprayed the air again, the rancid scent of half-digested Carro ale escaping from his throat.

Mother Gallo took the end of her sash and wiped the droplets of saliva from her coat. “Do you have any idea
who
you are speaking to?
Are you aware I’m the High Mistress of the Robes, reporting directly to High Collector and Commander Billycan? Do you think he would be pleased to know that a drunken underling, who is old enough to be a sector major but obviously too incompetent to move up from a mere assistant, harassed one of his key staff members tonight? Do you think he would throw a parade in your honor, perhaps grant a promotion in rank? Now, tell me your name and what sector major you report to, soldier.” Mother Gallo boiled with rage.

The assistant major’s face contorted in fear. He began to stutter, pleading desperately. “Now, High Mistress, there’s no need for all that! We are sorry—dreadfully sorry—to have disturbed you. We were just having a bit of fun is all. Please do accept our deepest apologies. There is no need to mention this to the High Collector. It won’t happen again.” The soldier stood as straight as he could in his pickled condition, while his scrawny friend tried to keep him from toppling over. Mother Gallo laughed to herself at the ridiculous sight.

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.