Nightshade City (17 page)

A male voice yelled from the second floor. “Ramsey,” it said cheerfully, “time to go. Come upstairs and wash your hands and face.” The
boy didn’t move. “C’mon, Ramsey, get off the couch, lazy bones. We’re going to Marbagold’s to buy some gifts for Saints’ Day. They’re open late tonight for all the last-minute shoppers. If we hurry, we might have time to stop by the toy department!” Hearing the last part, the boy, Ramsey, leaped off the couch and dashed up the stairs.

Mother Gallo listened carefully. She heard muffled voices and footsteps, the floorboards creaking above her. She poked her head under the door. It looked and sounded as though all the Topsiders were upstairs. She swiftly took off her sash and Juniper’s bag and once again squeezed under the door’s gap. She re-dressed and dashed to the house’s main entrance.

Hiding behind a white pillar nearest the front door, she saw the boy bounding down the stairs and diving back onto the couch to watch some more television.

Again, the father shouted down the stairs, this time a little irritated. “Ramsey, I told you, no more TV! Turn it off and get your boots on. Your mother put them in the vestibule. If you don’t do what you’re told, you can forget about the toy department!” Ramsey made a sour face in the direction of the stairs and begrudgingly shut off the television.

He sluggishly walked towards the front door. Wasting no time, Mother Gallo seized the opportunity to take her leave. The boy grabbed the doorknob leading out to the vestibule and pulled hard. The door creaked open, and the child tiptoed into the small foyer to grab his shoes. As he bent down for his boots, Mother Gallo darted in behind him. She ducked under the doorsill and out of sight. The boy snatched his shoes and hopped back into the main house.

A female voice called down this time. “Ramsey, can you get my umbrella? They say more rain.”

Mother Gallo heard the boy’s feet drumming against the marble
floor, racing back in her direction. He popped back into the drafty foyer, grabbed his mother’s umbrella off the floor, and quickly whirled around. Still only in his socks, he slipped on the tile floor, falling on his belly, now eye level with the doorsill—eye level with Mother Gallo.

Their eyes locked. The boy gawked at the plump gray rat. His carroty hair, a mess of curls, matched his ginger freckles. His blue eyes stayed glued to her. He held his breath, as if exhaling might set off an attack.

Mother Gallo stayed calm.
He’s just a little one,
she told herself, putting aside the fact that he outweighed her at least tenfold. She thought of her own little boys at home in the Catacombs. How different could little boys be? She smiled at him, not sure if a Topsider could pick up on a rat’s smile, but she smiled just the same. She held out the edges of her blue sash and curtsied.

Ramsey’s eyes widened. He stared in awe, then whispered to himself, “An underground rat—it must be! The Trillium legend is true. Dad was wrong!”

Ramsey had recently watched what was, to him, a gripping documentary about the alleged super rats that lived deep under Trillium in a web of secret tunnels. The creepy host interviewed several eccentric-looking Topsiders. All claimed the myth of the Trillium rats to be no myth at all. Ramsey was especially taken by a chisel-chinned archaeologist who dressed as if on safari, looking more like an action hero than a man who dug in the dirt. He swore the rats were real—a booming metropolis of vermin with humanlike intellect, directly under Trillium citizens’ feet. Ramsey’s father said it was just a ridiculous urban legend and that the so-called witnesses were nothing more than a bunch of crackpots and charlatans. Ramsey couldn’t wait to tell his father how wrong he was.

Ramsey sat up on his knees and cautiously studied Mother Gallo,
scrutinizing every inch of her. Mother Gallo edged towards the main door; long, narrow windows bordered each side. She rapped on a window and pointed to the outside.

“The window, what about the window?” asked Ramsey. Mother Gallo tapped on the window again, pointing animatedly out to the street. “Outside, is that what you’re pointing to?” Mother Gallo jumped up and down. “You want to go out there?” She nodded. Ramsey scratched his head with a slight look of disappointment. “Will you come back if I let you out?”

Mother Gallo nodded yes, and then she reached into Juniper’s satchel. She pulled out a tiny piece of cheese and held it out to the boy. He gingerly took it from her small paw. “Cheese!” he said elatedly. “I knew rats loved cheese! Thank you.”

She tapped on the door, clicking it lightly with a claw. “Oh,” he said, “the door! Let me help you with that!”

He turned the dead bolt and cracked open the door. The cold night air rushed in through the small opening, stealing Mother Gallo’s breath for a moment. With no time to waste, she waved to the boy and darted down the stairs and across the street, pushing against the blustery gust. She heard the boy run into his house, yelling up the stairs, “Mom, Dad—you’ll never believe me—never!” His voice faded as Mother Gallo crossed the street.

A blue moth followed her to the entrance of the Combs. It spun around her head, trying to get her to pay it some attention. With the sudden cold, she was surprised to see it still alive, let alone so energetic. She shooed it away. Moths were sweet, dumb creatures, but she didn’t have time for pleasant exchanges. The deadline was looming.

Oard and his earthworm tribe had arrived to finish the job. Ragan and Ulrich doggedly moved the earth out of the corridor and directed
the others, while Vincent and Victor kept digging, the vitality of youth on their side. All four were caked with a thick coating of dirt.

Ulrich trudged down the corridor with a full wheelbarrow. Oard suddenly poked his head through the wall. “Hello, there,” he said in his raspy tone. Ulrich jumped in fright, knocking over the wheelbarrow and falling face first into the tilled earth.

“Oard,” shouted Ulrich, “don’t do that! I nearly leaped out of my skin!” He got up and shook the dirt from his head.

“Sorry about that, old boy. Are you all right?”

Ulrich laughed in spite of himself. “Yes, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, what’s left of it, anyway! We’re all just a bit on edge and getting sore.”

“Well, the entire tribe is here now, ready to take over. So everyone can breathe easier for a while. From what I sensed on the way over, you’ve done quite a bit of excavation, much more than we expected. This should save us a good deal of time.”

“You have Vincent and Victor to thank for that,” said Ulrich. “I’ve never seen two rats dig like that.”

“Vincent and Victor—who might they be?” asked Oard.

“Oh, I suppose you haven’t heard. Those two lads are the last known members of Clan Nightshade—sons of Julius. They’re the reason that I’m not flat on my back right now.”

“The sons of Julius,” said Oard, “how extraordinary. Point me in their direction. I would like to meet them.”

“Go up a ways. Trust me, you’ll hear them, still digging away. Those boys must be about to break. I’m sure they’ll be happy for your tribe’s help.”

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.”