Lords of Trillium (26 page)

“What is it, boy? What are you looking at?” Walter felt the front pocket of his lab coat. The only thing in it was a pen. Billycan jumped up and down. “Oh, my pen? You want it?” Billycan nodded.

He took the pen from Walter and retrieved a crumpled piece of paper stuck between the row of cages and the edge of the table. Getting down on his haunches and knees, he spread out the paper, took the pen, and began to write.

“Bless the Saints,” said Walter, mystified. “You can write.”

Standing back up, Billycan handed the paper to Walter. It had one letter and one number on it: C-4.

Billycan had remembered seeing the packages down by the volcano where the men were digging. He'd seen the same letter and number months before in the hot Toscan jungle. Bandits had been blasting away at an old mine, hoping to find precious stones still trapped inside. Nothing came of it, except a great deal of noise and destruction and one dimwitted man losing his arm in the blast. “C-4” was what was written on the crates they had with them.

After reading it, Walter exhaled a shaky breath. “You mean the volcano, don't you? You want to get rid of it, once and for all. You want me to help you.”

Billycan nodded.

Carrying Billycan in the crook of his arm, Walter walked toward a substantial metal cabinet on the edge of the circular walkway surrounding the crater. He unlocked it with a gold key. Inside the cabinet there was nothing but a small screen and keypad, which lit up a brilliant red as the doors swung open. He began punching in a long series of numbers on the keypad. He then
set his hand on the screen, and the color shifted from red to green. With a resounding snap the screen and keypad fell away, vanishing into some secret chamber within the cabinet.

Walter set Billycan down inside the cabinet. He retrieved another phone from his back pocket, his personal phone. He pressed a button and waited a moment. A faint voice came from it. “No, I'm not on my way,” he said. “Yes, I know it's late.” He hesitated before he spoke again. “What we've always talked about . . . it's happening. Abigail, we always knew this was a possibility. My research papers—destroy them. Prince must never get its hands on them. Yes, the safe in the closet.” Sobs came from the phone. “Please, you must keep your head.” He wiped his eyes. “I'll be fine. It's finally over. Call the children and get everyone to our secret place; that way no one from Prince will bother you about this. It's all paid for, just go. I promise . . . I'll be there soon. Abigail, I have to go now.” He put a hand on his forehead, covering his eyes. “I love you too. Yes, I'll be careful. See you shortly.”

The cabinet was filled with packages, each one wrapped neatly in brown paper, each no larger than a box of butter. Billycan read the black writing on the brown paper. There was a “C” and a “4” in block lettering.

Walter shoved the phone back into his pocket and quickly began removing packages from the cabinet, placing them in a wheelbarrow. Billycan helped as much he could, handing more packages to Walter each time he returned.

As soon as the barrow was filled, Walter rolled it over to the formation and began placing the packages all around the base of the massive rock. Billycan used Juniper's satchel to drag more packages toward Walter, who spoke to him as he frantically readied the explosives. “I should have stopped them years ago, but I was too afraid. Anyone who spoke out against
Prince . . . their careers were ruined or they seemed to disappear. I couldn't let that happen, but even back then, I knew what they were doing—what we were doing—was wrong.” He looked at Billycan's snout. “But look at you—you're a fighter, I can tell. You're strong, a survivor. You're not like me, Billycan. You're better.” He positioned the last block of C-4. “There. I think we're done.”

After he'd placed the last package, Walter went back to the cabinet, returning with an armful of wires, a box cutter, tape, and other miscellaneous items that Billycan could not identify. Working furiously. Walter laced the wires and explosives together. “We must make sure the blasting caps are in place and not a single wire comes loose.”

Groaning as he straightened up, Walter got to his feet, which somehow felt lighter than before. “We've got to get you out of here,” he said to Billycan. “I've watched an army of rats die in my time . . . by my own hand, I'm sorry to say. I don't want you to be the next . . . especially you.” He held out his hands to him. “C'mon, boy, I'll get you somewhere safe. I'm sure you have a home somewhere.”

The truth was that the Catacombs, the swamp, Tosca, none of them would ever be Billycan's home. Nightshade City held those he loved, but it, too, would never be home. It was his son's home, and that was good enough. If Billycan
did
have a home, it was the lab. After all these years it was what he knew best. He looked around the cave, saying good-bye to whatever lay in that volcano that had made him who he was.

Billycan looked at Walter one last time and ran off into the dark.

Dawn was coming. The bats had quickly departed, making the long journey back to the swamp to find a new home where
Topsiders could never find them, away from the chapel. The dock rats had left for the shores of the Hellgate, already plotting their revenge on the humans. The city rats raced back to their attics, basements, and alleyways.

All that remained were Cobweb and Montague, the Council, a few rats who didn't know how to find their way home, and the albinos—those who had never had a home outside the lab's sterile white walls. They gathered in the park. “My mother was a lab rat for a time,” Juniper told them. “Her other son, my brother, is an albino just like you. He was born in a lab, same as you all, but the difference is, he didn't know he had a family—you do. Nightshade City is made up of rats who have fought to stay together. Even through great loss and death, we have remained a family, not always by blood but a family by love for our fellow rat. What I'm saying is, you are welcome. You can stay a single night or until your dying day. The choice is yours.”

Before anyone could consider, a deafening blast pierced the air, an eruption so furious the ground shook under their feet. Every head turned to see a colossal ball of fire shoot skyward, dark plumes of smoke and debris following after it. Glass shattered and car alarms went off. Shouts and screams came from citizens as they looked out into the smoking gloom.

Clover took Vincent's paw. “The museum! Look!”

“Bless the Saints,” said Juniper, grabbing Victor's shoulder, his legs weakening at the sight. “Billycan!”

“After our mock attack, that look in Billycan's eyes,” said Cole. “You knew he was up to something.”

“But what about the other rats?” said Carn. “The ones that didn't get out . . . the Crazy Ones?”

“They're surely dead,” said Juniper. “May their souls rest with the Saints.” He bowed his head, thinking about Topher and
Liam. “I can't say I'm sorry about that. No rat—no creature—should ever have to live like that.”

“What about Billycan?” asked Clover. “Do you think he got out in time?”

“I'm beginning to think he's capable of escaping just about anything,” Juniper replied weakly. “Never have I known a rat who can disappear so quickly, and materialize when you least expect it.” His shoulders slumped. “I hope he got out alive. . . .” He thought of Lenore, their mother. Somehow he pictured her and Billycan together, but he didn't want that, not yet. He needed more time. His voice dropped to an inaudible whisper. “Please, Saints . . . see him through. Please.”

“Do you think we'll see him again?”

Juniper didn't answer. He stared blankly at the fire rising from the museum.

I
T HAD BEEN THREE MONTHS
since the explosion at the museum. Blaming it on the ancient sewer system, its water eroding the earth under the museum, city officials proclaimed the explosion to be the result of a sinkhole, the sheer impact of it causing anything combustible in the museum to explode.

What was left of the museum was to be permanently sealed off. The city health inspectors were worried an unknown substance—the curious black dust that coated the blast site and debris—might cause lung damage, cancer, even birth deformities. The government had barricaded the area, armed forces guarding it day and night from nosy onlookers and tourists who wanted to get a look at the sunken museum before it was lost to the world forever.

One death had been reported by the Trillium news stations. A scientist, Dr. Walter Lee Harris, had died in the explosion. No one knew what he was doing on museum property at such an early hour. Authorities reported that he might have
been out for an early morning stroll. His family, who had recently departed the country, were unavailable for comment, their whereabouts unknown. There was no mention of Prince Pharmaceuticals.

“Well?” said Clover, looking at her uncle in the mirror's reflection. “What do you think?”

“Why, you're just . . . 
you
. You've no sash, no ribbons or bows, no jewels around your neck or flowers behind your ears.” He sighed with satisfaction. “You're simply perfect.”

“I must say,” said Mother Gallo, joining her husband, “you are quite lovely. Besides, you never were one for my ribbons and bows.” She laughed. “I suppose I will just have to find a way to live with that.” Nomi pulled at her tail. Mother Gallo swooped her up in her arms and twirled her in a circle. “But I have you, little one. You love my ribbons and bows!” Nomi giggled. “C'mon, you, let's go find your brothers.” Mother Gallo patted Clover's shoulder. “Not too long, now, dear. Everyone's waiting.”

The room seemed very quiet after Mother Gallo and Nomi left. Juniper wasn't his normal jovial self. He hadn't been in some time. He sat vacantly in Council meetings or sat stoically by the fire. He'd finally accepted Billycan's death, but the pain was still there. Clover looked at him thoughtfully. “You're thinking about him again, aren't you? You miss him.”

“Such a clever niece you are,” he said, sitting down at the table. “You can always read me like a book. I think he would have enjoyed today. You are his niece, too, after all.”

“Uncle Billycan,” said Clover. “I do like the sound of it.”

Juniper smiled. “Truth be told, I miss him terribly. I feel there was so much about him I'll never know, and that he never lived the life he was meant to.”

Clover looked at Trilok's medal, resting on Juniper's chest.
“There's been so much death surrounding that medal, don't you think?”

“Yes,” said Juniper, nodding, “Billycan's included, but also so much happiness. When Trilok formed the Catacombs and was given this medal, it was done out of gratitude. So many rats were truly thankful for what he'd done. He'd given them a home, a place where they'd feel safe. And when we defeated Killdeer, when the citizens were freed from that nightmare, this medal was a symbol of that—of freedom. The death that looms around this medal is a reminder of our past, tragedy turning to triumph, something we all should revel in.”

“And Vincent wonders where I get my sunny outlook, as he likes to call it,” said Clover. “Clearly it runs in the family.”

There was a knock at the door. “Juniper, are you in there?”

“Yes, Carn, please come in.”

Carn and Oleander entered the Belancort quarters. In Carn's paws was a small burlap sack. “We have something for you.” He set it on the table. “It's from Tosca.”

“Tosca?”

“Yes,” said Oleander. “We went to the alley of the Brimstone Building, to check in with Dresden's colony, and Cotton and Telula had brought this.”

“How did they get this all the way from Tosca?”

“The Canyon Bats, who dwell in Tosca,” said Oleander, “are friends of the Toscan rats.”

“Billycan mentioned something about that. The Toscan rats' leader, Silvius—he was instrumental in forming that alliance.”