Nightshade City (19 page)

“You won’t be needing this anymore,” said Mother Gallo. She took the sash she had given Clover to wear for the Grand Speech and blotted Suttor’s swelling wound. The pink fabric quickly turned a murky crimson.

“Here,” said Clover. She retrieved the remainder of her waterchip root, unwrapping it from a piece of burlap.

Mother Gallo waved it under Suttor’s nose. Its pungent, vinegary smell served as a remedy used to revive the faint or wounded. Suttor slowly came to and opened his bleary eyes. He sneezed at the strong scent, which caused his head to pound. He sat up and felt a tender bump.

“My head,” he said throatily. “Where am I?”

“Suttor, it’s Mother Gallo. You’re in Clover’s quarters. We found you bleeding outside the door. Do you remember anything?”

Suttor began to focus. Seeing Clover and Mother Gallo staring at him, he quickly sat up as straight as he could, clearly pretending he wasn’t in pain.

“Suttor, relax, dear—no need for that military nonsense,” said Mother Gallo. “We know it must hurt. Now, try and remember what happened.”

Suttor, far too drained to feign strength, gladly leaned back on the coverlet. “I was standing in front of the door, wondering how I was going to sit through the Grand Speech without falling asleep. That’s all I remember. Now I’m here.”

Mother Gallo patted his leg. “Suttor, I think you fell asleep on your feet. Sit here and rest for a moment. If Billycan comes looking for you, I’ll tell him I needed your assistance, which is why you are in here now. You’re simply overtired, dear. Nothing bad will come of this. I’ll see to that.”

Clover had given him the remainder of her Ministry-provided rations. “Here, eat this while you rest,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said softly, a bit humiliated over the incident. What she must think of him, he thought. He began to eat. It felt good to be off his feet, even for a few moments.

“How does your head feel?” asked Mother Gallo.

“It feels a little sore. Once I get some sleep, I’m sure I’ll be as good as new.” He slowly rose to his feet. “I should be getting back to my post. You two have been of great help, thank you, but I’m sure I’ve wasted enough of your valuable time.”

Suttor bowed to Mother Gallo. As he bent down, the blood rushed to his head. He staggered, then fell to the ground. Mother Gallo tried rousing him again, but the waterchip proved useless. He was immobile.

They felt a disturbance below their feet. The ground started to rumble. Clover’s fire pit sank into the earth, disappearing altogether. Suttor lay near the door, undisturbed by the noise. Two burly, dark paws appeared from where the fire pit had been, hastily ripping down more chunks of hardened dirt.

Juniper pulled himself up through the opening and spotted his niece. “There’s my girl!” he said, relieved. He whisked Clover up off her feet, hugging her tightly as he balanced her on his arm.

“Uncle, you’re filthy,” she giggled.

“I suppose I am,” he said, laughing quietly. He stepped towards Mother Gallo, Clover still sitting on his arm. “Thank you, Maddy. Thank you for this.” He nodded towards Clover.

“I think this one was worth the trouble,” she said, squeezing Clover’s foot. Clover smiled happily for what seemed like the first time since Mother Gallo had met her.

Juniper set Clover on her feet and peered at Suttor, out cold on the floor. “Who’s this poor fellow?”

“This is Suttor,” said Mother Gallo. “I knew his late parents.

He’s a Kill Army soldier, but a good boy just trying to raise his two brothers. His youngest brother is still a baby, the same age as my son Hob. Suttor was posted to guard Clover’s door, but he fell in the corridor, hitting his head. We revived him once already, but now he’s down for the count.”

Juniper examined him. “That’s a sizable cut he’s got, but his breathing is strong, as is his heartbeat. I think he’s more asleep than unconscious.”

“Our plan has put him in harm’s way, and I don’t know how to keep him safe,” said Mother Gallo. “If we leave him here, I’m afraid he will meet a terrible end. He will be blamed for this. Suttor is ambitious, that I know, but only for the sake of his brothers. He’s just another misplaced boy, trying to make sense of his circumstances.”

Juniper scratched his chin and regarded the fallen rat. He glanced at his niece. It was clear what had to be done. “No one will be harmed this evening. Tonight, our population grows by two.”

T
HE GRAND STAGE
was set up at the end of Catacomb Hall in front of the horseshoe of establishments, including Ellington’s Tavern.

Billycan meticulously examined the hall, making sure the laborers had done as instructed for the approaching Grand Speech. He had soldiers posted throughout the hall to ensure that none of the workforce were lackluster in their duties.

The laborers had been working since early morning and were just finishing up with the decoration. They chatted amongst themselves as they worked, discussing rumors of a big announcement. Billycan strolled from group to group, inspecting their handiwork and eavesdropping on their conversations.

“Well, you heard the rumor, didn’t ya?” said a lanky, undernourished rat to his much smaller, equally scrawny associate.

“No, what’s the gossip?” said the other, not looking up from his work.

“Rumor from the troops is Killdeer is announcing a new High Duchess.”

“You don’t say. A new High Duchess? Well, I’ll be! So, who is this mystery girl? Who is to be our new esteemed duchess? Don’t leave me standing here, holding my tail!”

“That’s the kicker,” said the taller rat. He smiled with a pinched grin of crumbling teeth. “You won’t believe who it is!”

“Well, out with it, then,” said the other.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you!” The short rat looked crossly at his friend, who finally gave in. “All right, all right, I’ll tell you. It’s ol’ Barcus’s daughter, Clover. She’s to be the new High Duchess. The Minister is announcing it tonight!”

“You mean the daughter of Barcus
Belancort
—the niece of Juniper?”

“One and the same,” said the tall rat with a fiendish giggle.

“Well, what do ya know? I wonder what those dead buggers might think of all this?”

The tall one scratched his head. “What about the rest of the Belancort clan? They must be dumbfounded by the pending nuptials!”

The small rat finished tacking up his end of the swag. “Who’s to say? No one’s heard hide nor hair of the Belancorts in years. Not since Julius Nightshade got his, anyway.”

“Barcus, Juniper, and Julius Nightshade—all three must be rolling over in their graves. A Belancort, daughter of a Loyalist, betrothed to Killdeer! What a tasty scandal!”

The short one lowered his voice. “Now, listen here, I don’t deem it to be true, but I heard another juicy tidbit. This one concerns Juniper himself.”

Drool dribbled from the tall one’s mouth. “Now what’d ya hear about ol’ Juniper?”

“I was at Ellington’s last night, and some tipsy old ones were insisting that the ghost of Juniper Belancort has taken to lurking in the corridors of the Combs, seeking revenge against the Ministry. The ol’ codger floats around in a grubby black shroud—looks like the grim reaper himself, they say, giving Batiste a run for his money.”

The tall rat shuddered. “If I were the High Minister, I’d watch my back, I would. He’s gone quite soft in the belly. He wouldn’t be able to outrun Juniper. No one outruns the undead, especially when the undead has a bone to pick!”

“Well, Juniper’s lucky he can’t die twice, for it’ll take him another lifetime to find a bone on our roly-poly High Minister!”

The two rats laughed wildly, spraying spittle on one another. The pair separated and went about finishing their duties, each with a grimace of ghoulish glee.

Billycan seethed, his entire body clenched in anger. He thought Killdeer’s words to Clover were merely a drunken ploy, a meaningless ruse to lure her into submission. Could Killdeer have meant what he said: Clover Belancort—daughter of a dirty Loyalist—was to be the High Duchess to the Ministry? Did that tartish schemer have that tight a grasp on Killdeer?

The grandfather! The girl couldn’t pull off such a stunt alone, weaseling her way into the Minister’s heart! Yes, Timeron had to be involved, feeding her words to persuade Killdeer—treacherous Loyalist filth. Billycan’s suspicions were not unfounded! He knew there was something afoot all along!

Billycan flashed back to his first meeting with Clover and how she had steered him away from her ailing grandfather. That scent—it wasn’t death he smelled. It was something—
someone
else!

His mind raced back eleven years to his bloody confrontation with Juniper. He remembered his skin tingling with pleasure as Juniper moaned in agony, his eye splattered in the dirt. How he effortlessly tore at Juniper, ripping his flesh down to the muscle. Billycan’s eyes flashed with sickening satisfaction as he recalled his white coat soaked in Juniper’s blood and the smell of hot viscera as he tore into Juniper’s torso. The attack would have been seamless if he hadn’t gotten tangled in the strap of that cursed satchel, allowing Juniper to slice his snout from stem to stern. That infernal satchel—Juniper wore the tattered bag as if it were a uniform.

“The satchel!” he shouted. The laborers stopped working and stared at the High Collector. He stomped back and forth. He grabbed his head, pulling wildly at his ears, humiliated at his own stupidity. How could he have been so foolish? That stale sack, it did not belong to the grandfather—it belonged to Juniper! There was no shrouded ghost in the Catacombs. It had been Juniper all along. Timeron
was
Juniper! Juniper was
alive!

How could he not remember that pungent scent? Of all the rats to forget! He had left him for dead. He
was
dead! How could Juniper—anyone—live through that assault? Juniper’s blood coated the walls of the corridor. How could he possibly have survived?

Billycan went back to that night, into details he didn’t care to think about, hadn’t thought about for eleven years. Before he fled the scene, before Ragan and Ulrich had come running, Juniper had grabbed hold of his neck. Through all his suffering, the violet rat managed to fight back one final time, squeezing resolutely around Billycan’s throat, constricting it like a slowly closing vise, Juniper’s black nails piercing his colorless flesh. Billycan remembered his fiery eyes starting to bulge as he gasped for breath and tore at Juniper’s paws, slicing them to shreds. It was the first and only time Billycan had been
afraid—afraid he would die. Had his fear blocked his memory? Had his oxygen-starved brain destroyed his recollection of that scent, the scent of the one—the only one—who could have killed him?

Everything made sense now. It was Juniper who had been stealing the Catacombs’ subjects. Juniper was the instigator behind all the upheaval in the Combs. He and his guileful, rotten little niece!

“The Jezebel liar! The traitor shrew!” Billycan roared, his wrathful shrieks growing louder with every word. “Toxic little viper—tricky, tricky girl!”

Billycan leaped on the stage, kicking its wood podium, punting it like a pumpkin, smashing it to dust. He tore down the garland and swag lining the back wall, leaving deep claw marks in his wake. The soldiers standing guard and the gaping laborers looked on, their eyes fixed on Billycan in silent shock.

“Clean this mess up!” he hollered. The laborers were paralyzed with fright, unable to move. “Quit staring, you toothless imbeciles, and get back to work!” White foam seeped from Billycan’s snarling mouth. “Back to work—
now!”
He bounded off the stage and lurched towards the nearest rat, his spiny claws protracted. The panicked laborer jumped out of his path and scurried onto the stage, picking up the torn garland as fast as he could. Everyone started back to work, lest they end up a cold corpse.

Billycan flared his teeth, deadly yellow blades dripping with saliva. “No one leaves this place,” he shouted at the guards, “no one!” He stormed out of Catacomb Hall, tearing down a tapestry as he left, back to the Kill Army barracks to gather more of his troops.

Behind him, the laborers stood befuddled but thankful to be alive. Even the soldiers were shaken; one of them looked as though he might be sick.