Nightshade City (18 page)

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.

Without warning, an earthworm’s head popped up through the floor, so near to Clover that she almost flattened it with the mallet. Startled, she stopped hammering and scrambled backward, letting out a short yelp. The earthworm shook his head like a wet canine, showering Mother Gallo and Clover with small clumps of earth.

The worm spoke politely, his tone refined: “I’m dreadfully sorry if I frightened you. Did I strike you with dirt? It gets in my mouth. It makes it difficult to speak properly, so please do excuse me. Miss Clover, is it?”

“Yes, I’m Clover.”

“Very good. I am Noc, Oard’s second-in-command. I bring word from Juniper. We should be through to you in under an hour’s time.” He turned. “Mother Gallo, I presume you are here as well?”

“Yes, Noc, a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

“Thank you, Mother Gallo. Now, ladies, I would love nothing more than to stay and chat, but regrettably we all need to get back to our duties. Now that we’ve found your coordinates, you two need no longer strike the ground. Clover, please have yourself ready for departure. Good-bye for now.” His russet head dissolved back into the ground, and his voice faded down the tunnel. “I’ll be back before long.”

As they waited, Mother Gallo prepared herself for questioning. She would be the last one to see Clover in the Combs. She would need to account for her actions and whereabouts. Billycan would undoubtedly interrogate her. How would she explain things? The most logical choice was to tell Billycan she left Clover ready for the Grand Speech and the girl escaped before she came back to escort her at midnight. She then realized she hadn’t taken Suttor into account. He would be the scapegoat, blamed for the Chosen One’s exodus, or even worse, found to be a guilty party, involved in a plot to help her escape. Without a doubt, execution would be his punishment. She racked her brain for a solution.

They heard a sudden thud outside Clover’s door, and then dead silence. Mother Gallo put a claw to her lips. Clover stood motionless. Mother Gallo listened at the door. She heard nothing. She crouched down and looked through the gap. Suttor lay unconscious, sprawled out on the floor, his limp body pressing against the door.

Mother Gallo opened the door. “Clover, we must get him inside—quickly, child! You grab one arm, I the other.”

Suttor had collapsed, no longer able to fight his fatigue. He’d cut his head on the stool, and a lump was forming there as well. Blood trickled down the side of his face. They dragged the rat into Clover’s quarters and shut the door. Clover grabbed her mother’s coverlet and balled it under Suttor’s head.