Lords of Trillium (17 page)

Rat after rat tumbled gracelessly into the water, each one slightly stunned and gasping for breath as they broke the surface. Oleander seemed at home, though, hitting the water head-first in an elegant, twisting dive. Having lived in the swamp all her life, water—polluted or otherwise—felt like home. The stench didn't bother her much, either. The odor of the fetid water was familiar, almost welcoming. She laughed as Carn choked and wheezed, sticking his tongue out in disgust. He spewed a mouthful of dirty water into the air, clumsily making his way to the edge.

“What's so funny?” he asked peevishly, wiping his mouth.

“Oh, nothing,” she replied, with a familiar twinkle in her eye, “but if you start drowning, I'll be sure to rescue you.”

“I can swim!” he said.

She giggled and pushed his shoulder. “Whatever you say,
Corn
.”

He couldn't help but grin. Rats were natural swimmers, but he was clumsy in the water. “Don't start
that
again. I was just beginning to live down the legend of Corn the Snake Killer.”

“You'll never live that down,” said Suttor, lending him his paw and pulling him onto the narrow shoreline.

Duncan plunged into the water, slapping the surface with an impressive belly flop, splashing everyone. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head free of water.

“I just dried off!” protested Suttor, wiping the water from his whiskers.

“Ignore your brother's grousing,” said Cole. “We'd never have found a way inside without you.”

Juniper crouched on the shoreline, wringing water from his cloak. “We best get on our way. If Victor did make it inside, we need to find him before he gets himself into trouble.”

“Trouble does seem to find my brother,” said Vincent.

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

They traveled down the winding sewer tunnel for about an hour. Oleander stayed at the back of the line. As the fastest swimmer, she could quickly dive in and save any rat who might accidentally fall in and need help. Clover, the least capable swimmer, walked in front of her. Juniper wanted his niece near Oleander, just in case.

Clover glanced over her shoulder and then up at the ceiling as odd, echoing howls swept over their heads and crept up from behind them. “Duncan,” she asked uneasily, “how much farther?”

“There's an old stone staircase,” he replied, pointing in front of him, “just around the turn a few yards ahead. It leads up into the museum.” He smiled. “I remember that the door opened up to the back of the caveman exhibit. I squeezed under the gap and there was a hairy Topsider foot right in front of me! I thought I was done for until I realized it was just a statue.”

Glancing down at the murky water, Clover stopped short, causing Oleander to jerk back. “Sorry,” she said, squinting through the dark. “I thought I saw something.”

“Don't fret,” Oleander replied, patting Clover's shoulder. “Back in the swamp, there's always something lurking in the water. The snakes have kept their word and stayed out of our territory, but still we're always on our guard. Luckily we have Dresden and his colony. The bats patrol our grounds regularly.” She looked at the back of Billycan's head, a ghostly white blur at the front of the line. “I hate to admit it, but he really
has
changed, hasn't he?”

“Well,” whispered Clover, “Billycan could have let Hecate and her cohorts kill us all, but he didn't. If he's got something else planned for us, he's surely taking his own sweet time—”

Before Clover could finish, the tunnel swiftly filled with a bloodcurdling scream, followed by a splash. “Oleander!” shouted Clover, whipping around.

She was gone.

“Oleander!” she yelled again into the dark. A choked shriek came from the water, followed by thrashing and then silence.

“Everyone, stay together!” commanded Cole.

Juniper tossed his satchel and cloak to the ground and dived into the water along with Billycan and Vincent. Carn was about to dive in, but Cole blocked his path. “No, Carn. Let them go.”

“I've got to help them. It's Oleander! I can't leave her to die!”

“Vincent's a proven swimmer,” Cole reminded him. “He and Victor made it through the Great Flood. Besides, you're too
close to her. Your emotions might very well get in the way, and that could get someone killed.” Carn nodded his head in miserable agreement. He knew Cole was right.

Vincent shouted for Oleander in between dives under the surface. “I can't find even a trace of her,” he said as he came up for air a third time. “It's too dark! It's like she's vanished!”

“We'll find her,” said Billycan. He sucked in another deep breath and plunged back into the gloom. Trillium rats had advanced nocturnal vision, but even he could make out little in the gloom. He dived to the bottom of the sewer, clawing through the thick sand, pulling himself through the water. Where was Oleander? She was clever and quick. She didn't just fall in, something, or someone, had her. But who—or what?

He swam toward the far wall of the sewer, looking for any trace of her. Feeling the cold bricks under his digits, he stumbled upon a narrow break in the wall, something no one would have noticed in the dark. It was a slender entrance, leading into another part of the sewer. She
had
to be there. He heaved himself up to the surface. “Juniper, Vincent, this way!”

Clutching his dagger between his teeth, Vincent couldn't help but think of his family as he made his way across the sewer. How strange life had become, he thought as he bulleted toward Billycan,
willingly
following after the rat who had caused his family's demise. What an extraordinary plan the Saints had set before them. But where might it end?

Billycan put a claw to his lips as Juniper and Vincent entered through the narrow passageway. He mouthed the word
listen
and pointed down the tunnel.

Their ears perked at the sound of breathing—deep, heavy pants that sounded not like a rat but something else entirely, something wild and violent, something that might rip your heart out.

With no shoreline to cling to, they slowly waded through the water, making their way closer to the breathing. That was when Vincent smelled it—the scent. He knew that scent! It had changed, there was something strained and desperate about it, something feral . . . but he knew it.

A cutting pain sliced through his leg, tangling his thoughts. Dropping his dagger into the water, he grunted out loud, unable to keep quiet though the pain. Blood clouded the water. He shouted in agony as teeth plunged into his open wound. “It's got me!” He reached for the creature, pulling at its muzzle, trying to disengage its vise-like grip.

Juniper and Billycan pitched themselves at the creature, ripping at it with teeth and claws, desperately trying to pull it off Vincent. They couldn't see the assailant, but they could feel it. Its jaw was long and lean, its wet fur thin and wiry, and though it was skeletally thin, its strength challenged their own, hard muscle covering its bones.

Unable to pull the creature off Vincent, Billycan dived underneath it, doing the one thing he knew might loosen its grip. He bared his teeth, forcing them with every ounce of strength deep into the base of the creature's tail, ripping it out of its socket. The creature flailed, thrashing through the bloodied water as it finally released Vincent's leg. Its head broke the surface, an agonized wail pouring from its mouth.

Fighting against the pain, Vincent dived to the bottom of the sewer, feeling for his dagger. He found the hilt of it in the sand. Grabbing it, he groaned as he launched himself back up. He reached for the creature as it struggled with Billycan on the surface. He took his dagger and thrust it into its belly.

Juniper grabbed it by its neck, slamming it into the brick wall. “Where is the girl?” he demanded. “What have you done
with her?” Again he threw the writhing creature's head against the wall. “Answer me!”

“What makes you think I'll tell you,
Juniper
?” it hissed.

“How do you know my name?” The creature laughed wildly. With a final slam against the wall, it stopped moving long enough for Juniper to catch a glimpse of its face. He gasped. It was a rat—and not just any rat, but one he knew! It was one of the lost Hunters. “Topher?” he said, staring at his bulging eyes. The rat laughed psychotically, his whole body quaking with amusement. Juniper shook him by the shoulders. “Topher, what has happened? Why are you here? Have you been here all this time?”

“Time,” repeated Topher, his eyes darting erratically. “Time, time, time, it means nothing, you know, nothing at all.” He spat out a mouthful of blood—possibly Vincent's, possibly his own.

“Topher, please, tell me what happened when you left Nightshade.”

“Nightshade, Nightshade, so many moons ago . . . so many moons . . .” muttered Topher.

“Where's Oleander?” asked Juniper. “What did you do with her?”

“Ohhhh, the pretty, pretty brown rat . . . the one I stole, the one I took.” Topher smiled coyly. “So very pretty she was.”

“Yes, the pretty brown rat,” said Billycan, dragging Vincent over to the wall where a brick had broken, given him something to hang on to. “Where is she?”

“You!” said Topher, his hollow eyes widening. “You're one of them—from inside—aren't you?” Topher looked up at the ceiling, as though motioning to the museum over their heads. “You come from inside, like the others!”

“You mean from inside the museum?”

“Of course, from inside. There were many of you . . . you furry white devils.”

Billycan exchanged glances with Juniper. “Topher, is there a lab inside the museum? Is that where you were?”

“Yes! Yes!” replied Topher excitedly, as though he'd just remembered. “How did you know? The lab!”

“Who brought you there?” asked Juniper. “Can you tell me?” Topher's eyes fluttered, rolling back in his head. He seemed to be growing weaker, his body growing heavier in Juniper's grasp. He was fading, losing blood fast. “Please think.
Who
brought you to the lab?”

“We were in an alley.” Topher began to drool. His head swayed back and forth. “We saw food, fresh, beautiful food, meat, cheese, even candy—all there in the alley, of all places, ripe for the picking!”

“And what happened?”

Topher laughed again, but it was a wounded laugh, a laugh that transformed into a slow, mournful whimper. “I don't know.” Tears streamed down his face. “I don't know. We were arguing over it, so odd, so very odd to see food like that in an alley. Then they took us.” He looked up. “They took us inside.”

“You mean inside the lab?” asked Juniper. Topher nodded. “Think hard, now. Tell me what happened in the lab.”

Topher's voice dropped to an anguished whisper. “Unspeakable things . . . dreadful, horrible, unspeakable things.” He let out a ragged breath. “There were needles . . . many, many needles. Many, many rats, dead rats, bodies taken every day, on a trolley.” His eyes rolled back again. “Bleach . . . always, always the smell of bleach.”

The word—bleach—caused something to ignite within Billycan. His body quaked with rage. Vincent watched as his eyes
shifted, nearly glowing in the dark. Billycan gnashed his teeth, his rage building. It was all happening again. Silvius was right. The humans, they still wanted something from the rats, and would stop at nothing to find it. All his fears, his pain, the many years of agony in the lab resurfaced—the night when he met his mother, Lenore, the night he attacked the two men in the alley, saving her from their cages. How he longed to be back in that moment, slashing their foul, wrinkled faces all over again, showing them that they had no power over him
or
his kind. He panted in the water, his blood burning through his veins.

“It's all right,” Vincent whispered. He set a paw on Billycan's shoulder. “It's all right. We're here now. We can stop them once and for all.”

“Topher, where are the other Hunters?” asked Juniper.

“Oh, dead, dead as doornails,” said Topher indifferently. “All dead, I reason—except for Liam. He escaped with me. He escaped. Liam escaped.”

“Where is Liam now?”

Feebly, Topher motioned down the passageway with his snout. “With the pretty brown rat. The pretty brown . . .” He coughed up more blood, his wandering gaze finally catching Vincent's. “Your leg . . .” He laughed softly. “Sorry . . . so sorry. I bit you, did I? I think I'm sorry for that, at any rate. Did I bite you? Should I be sorry?” His eyes began to close.

“You've nothing to be sorry for,” said Vincent. “You didn't know.” His throat tightened as he spoke.

Topher's voice dropped to a barely audible murmur. “No, I didn't know. Maybe I knew . . . perhaps I knew.” He smiled a peaceful smile. “I'm just . . . not sure. The Saints know . . . they always know.” He let out a long breath and then fell silent.