Lords of Trillium (15 page)

F
OG, SLITHERING CLAWS OF CINDER
, weaved its way through the streets and alleys of Trillium City, encasing everything in a tombstone gray.

Vincent and the other young rats, along with the original Council members except for Virden and the twins, who stayed back to attend to the wounded, trekked the long distance up the south tunnel into Trillium. They were armed with weapons recovered from Hecate's majors.

Despite anyone's doubts about his motives, Juniper knew the fastest way to track Victor was to follow the best huntsman he knew, a rat who could sniff out a wayward Kill Army recruit well before all others. He watched his brother intently as he sniffed the air.

“The heart,” whispered Billycan, staring up at the Brimstone Building. Once he had stood in this very alley with his mother, Lenore, after she'd rescued him from the lab. She'd said the Topsiders called the Brimstone Building the heart of
Trillium City. He remembered how angry it had made him at the time—how he hated the Topsiders for controlling the rats and how he hated his own kind for allowing it to happen. He didn't feel angry now. He felt only a deep and hollow sadness. He sniffed the air, somehow thinking he might just catch a trace of his mother. Instead, he smelled something else entirely. He walked toward the Dumpster. “Blood . . . and Victor. He was here.”

“Blood!” said Vincent nervously.

“It's not his,” said Billycan. “It's not even rat—this blood is raccoon. I'm sure of it.” Raccoons were despicable creatures, but their flesh was tender. He salivated as he touched the side of the Dumpster, rubbing the powdery dried blood between his digits.

“Even if it's not Victor's blood, he could still be hurt,” said Vincent, thinking of the strong, lethal claws of a famished raccoon.

“This blood is old. Your brother and this fellow weren't here at the same time,” said Billycan.

“I'm afraid we're responsible for that,” said Juniper, looking at Vincent. “We came here searching for the Hunters, but met with an agitated raccoon instead.”

Vincent sighed with relief, only now remembering the incident, which seemed so long ago. “Yes, with his rotten apples.”

Billycan was impressed. A raccoon, in particular an irritated one, could be quite a challenge. “And what became of him?”

“You'll be disappointed to know that he escaped with his life,” said Juniper. “If that's what you're asking.”

“Just checking,” Billycan replied with the barest hint of a smile. He sniffed the air and pointed down the alley. “Victor's scent leads this way.”

Wrinkling his nose, Vincent sniffed the air. He could smell his brother, but the scent seemed to lead nowhere, evaporating within seconds.

“It's different with those closest to us,” said Juniper, sensing his frustration. “Our fears tend to cloud our ability to track a scent clearly. When Julius went missing last year, I seemed to smell him everywhere and nowhere.”

“Well, it's maddening,” said Vincent, kicking an aluminum can. “Why would Victor do something so brash? Even for him, this was a foolish move.”

“Your father was much like Victor, you know,” said Juniper. “In his youth, he wasn't always one to think things through.”

“The legendary Julius Nightshade was like Victor?” asked Suttor, astonished.

“Yes,” added Cole, smirking, “there was many a time when Barcus had to hold Julius back from doing something reckless, from reacting before thinking.”

“Indeed, my older brother had his hands full being best friends with Julius,” Juniper added. “He outgrew it, of course, but knowing Julius in his younger days, Victor's behavior doesn't surprise me . . . not at all.”

As the moon rose and the shadows climbed up the skyscrapers, the rats made their way unseen to the busiest street in the Battery District, the oldest and dirtiest part of Trillium. Watching as the massive cars and trucks blew past them, horns blaring, splashing dirty water, blinding them with flashing lights, Carn wondered if they were simply wandering. He was frustrated—not happy to be led by Billycan, of all rats, but more importantly, annoyed that no one
but
Billycan knew how to navigate the city. It made him feel helpless and beholden to the rat he'd grown up serving in the Catacombs. “We'll never find it,” he
said, batting a lump of broken asphalt with his sword. “Where do we even start?”

Running a paw over his face, Billycan let out a defeated sigh. “I thought we could make it there on foot, but it's taking far too much time.”

“Well, I don't suppose you have an
alternative
?” asked Carn peevishly.

“Indeed I do,” said Billycan, “though it may not be your preferred mode of transportation.”

“Transportation,” repeated Cole, not liking where this was going.

Billycan scratched his chin, pondering. “If anyone would still be alive,” he muttered to himself, “it would have to be . . . the old geezer. He's got to be a fossil by now. . . .”

“What are you going on about?” asked Oleander, who was not at all at home in the city, wishing desperately they were searching for Victor back in the swamp, a place she knew.

Billycan's eyes glinted, taking in all the confused faces. “Words of advice: follow instructions to the letter, mind your tails, and above all, hold on to your stomachs.”

Vincent's nose twitched, the smell of gasoline, exhaust, and grease invading his sinuses. It was a noisy city garage, with humans dashing about, working on cars, gassing up their grubby yellow cabs, cursing and shouting at each other.

“Stay to the wall,” whispered Billycan as they made their way single file behind a rusted wall of shelving, stacked to the ceiling with tires, all crusted with dirt and salt. Billycan stopped as they reached another part of the garage, where taxicabs were pouring out into the street or careening back into the garage at breakneck speed.

Oleander shuddered. “No wonder you stay underground,”
she whispered to Clover. “You'd be lucky to live past childhood in such a hazardous place.”

“You deal with deadly snakes on a daily basis,” Clover pointed out.

“I'll take snakes over this any day.”

“Listen, everyone, you must run on my signal—very, very fast,” hissed Billycan. “You risk dying if you don't.” Everyone's ears perked, their bodies ready for flight. Billycan snapped his head around. “Now!”

Just as a taxi pulled out into the street, he shot across the busy garage, the others racing behind.

Juniper, at the rear end of the line, watched in awe as a taxi came flying into the garage, missing Billycan's tail by just inches. How did he time it so perfectly? How often had he come to this place? It made Juniper wonder how much more there was to his brother than he'd ever know.

They raced after Billycan, who dived through an opening in a painted orange guardrail and dashed down a ramp. Panting, he came to a fast stop, the others nearly piling on top of one another as they came to a halt.

Vincent and Juniper rushed to Billycan's side. Vincent looked at the panting white rat, watching his face as it broke into . . . a smile. Not a sly smile or a cruel smile, but a
real
smile. Billycan didn't acknowledge him or Juniper. He merely looked down the ramp with what could only be happiness. Vincent followed his gaze, down the ramp to a yellow-lined curb of the garage. He was staring at a grizzled old rat. Suddenly the rat turned. His eyes met Billycan's. The rat's face went slack and his ragged ears drooped. He was timeworn and bony, but agile. His head snapped this way and that, quickly taking in all the rats gathering behind Billycan. His shocked face cracked into a wide smile of broken teeth. He waved hurriedly from across the garage, leaping up and down as he beckoned Billycan over.

“How do you know that rat?” asked Juniper.

“I knew him in my younger days . . . before the Catacombs,” whispered Billycan.

“Who is he?”

“That's Fitspur.”

T
HE RAT FITSPUR BEGAN TO SHAKE
when Billycan neared. At first glance one might have thought he was frightened, but a closer look showed he wasn't afraid in the least. He was over the moon. “Billycan, it really
is
you!” he shouted.

As Billycan hopped onto the curb, Fitspur snapped up his paw and shook it briskly. He spoke as fast as he moved. “And look at you — all grown up! You're a sight for sore eyes, to be sure.” He shook his head, rebuking himself. “What am I doing, shaking your paw? This calls for a hug of epic proportions!” As old and skeletal as he was, Fitspur grabbed Billycan and squeezed him tightly. Billycan laughed out loud. The younger rats exchanged glances, looking at the odd scene in silence. This couldn't be happening—a rat, other than little Julius, actually happy to see . . . 
Billycan
?

Juniper cleared his throat, getting Billycan's attention.

“Fitspur,” said Billycan, “it's so good to see you, truly, but we're in a rush.” He set a paw on Fitspur's shoulder. “I'll come
back to see you soon, but a young rat is missing. We think he's gone to the City Museum, and I was hoping to enlist your services. Getting there on foot, without proper directions—well, we may be too late by the time we find him.”

“My dear boy,” said Fitspur, “no need to explain, none at all!”

“
Dear boy
,” muttered Suttor. “He's got to be joking.”

“Fitspur, this is my brother, Juniper.”

Fitspur's crooked eyes looked as if they were about to pop from their sockets. “You mean—your
real
brother, your flesh and blood? You found family?” He grabbed Juniper's paw and shook it firmly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, indeed!” His eyes darted between Juniper and Billycan. “Why, you're exactly the same size, aren't you? How did you two meet? You must tell me everything!”

“Well, that's a long story,” said Juniper.

“Very long, to be sure,” said Billycan. “Fitspur, we really do need—”

“Yes, yes, of course!” said Fitspur. He glanced at the Nightshade rats surrounding Juniper and Billycan. “Ah . . . you're groundlings, then, aren't you?”

“
Groundlings
?” asked Juniper.

“Yes, groundlings. You live underground—in those tunnels. Why, I can spot a groundling a mile away. You all have that nervous, jittery look about you. Dead giveaway.” He shuddered. “Too confining, if you ask me. I'd go a little wonky not being able to hear the noise of the city or breathe the fresh air.”

Suttor elbowed Carn. “Has he smelled this place?”

Juniper smiled. He'd never thought of himself as a
groundling
. Other than the dock rats, there were few rats who lived above ground and made it to Fitspur's age. Clearly this rat was a tough old bird.

Fitspur let out a long, shrill whistle. Within seconds a slender gray rat dashed around a corner. All Fitspur said to her was “City Museum.” She nodded her head and darted back the other way. “C'mon, then,” he said, giving the Nightshade rats a crafty grin. His eyes glinted. “Let's get this show on the
road
.”

Fitspur led them around a sharp turn. There before them stood a procession of idling yellow cabs, waiting to spill into the bustling streets of Trillium. Fitspur's rats zipped under them, unafraid of the huge metal vehicles that could crush them in seconds. They seemed to be sharing information with one another. The rat stationed at the front of the line, closest to the open door leading to the street, raced over to another, chattered with him a bit, and then that one went to the next rat, and so on, creating a chain of information.

Juniper was astonished by the flurry of activity before him. He'd seen Topside rats before—that was not unusual—but the sheer number before him was staggering. Across the way, on the opposite curb, a line of rats waited patiently in the shadows. There were no fewer than fifty, possibly more. He nudged Fitspur. “How many of you live Topside?”