Nightshade City (8 page)

“Absolutely,” said Victor, gazing proudly at his brother.

Vincent’s eyes wandered over to Juniper. He wondered why Juniper’s eye was covered with that patch, and what sort of creature could make such deep scars. He inspected the others, Juniper’s Council. All four rats were about Juniper’s age. They seemed rugged, tough, and strong of heart—just like Juniper. They too were friends of Julius Nightshade. It seemed to Vincent that everyone was.

“It’s a lot to take in,” said Juniper, sensing Vincent’s puzzlement. “I know you boys must be overwhelmed—all this history.”

Vincent glanced at his brother. He always told Victor stories about their father. He tried to teach Victor what Julius Nightshade had taught him. “I knew our father was involved in Trilok’s Ministry, but I had no idea how important he was. I’m beginning to feel like I never really knew him at all.”

“You
did
know him, son,” said Juniper, “just not this part. Julius tried to shield you children from politics, at least until you were old enough to decide things for yourselves, and I believe that time has come. Julius wanted you children to make your own choices, not follow blindly in his footsteps.”

“A year or so back, I tried a few times to talk to rats in the
Catacombs,” said Vincent, “asking why we never rose up against Killdeer, taking back what is ours. I was told to hold my tongue, or Billycan himself would have it. For Victor’s sake, I stopped asking. I wish I could have met you sooner—someone not afraid to fight back.”

“Well, then,” said Juniper. “It seems you’ve already made your choice. Julius and Trilok, along with my brother Barcus and later myself, did our best to make the Combs a safe place to live. We instituted laws voted upon by the citizens and systematically banished rats who chose to break those laws, which included Killdeer and his disgraceful mob of majors ….”

As the evening progressed, the boys learned about the plans to attack the High Ministry. “We are rallying behind the memory of Julius, Barcus, and Minister Trilok,” said Juniper. “We will bring down Killdeer and Billycan once and for all. Our city is getting larger by the minute. Every day more families, entire clans, slip away from the Combs. We have a covert network of Loyalists, getting word to known followers of Trilok. Family by family, rat by rat, they trickle out of the Combs and into our city—”

“Juniper,” said Cole, obliged to interrupt, “it’s almost time.”

“That it is,” said Juniper.

“Time for what?” asked Victor.

“Time for a celebration,” said Juniper, his eyes flashing with mystery. “Boys, it seems your timing couldn’t be more fated. I don’t claim to be devout, but it’s as if your father and the Saints have intended our auspicious meeting. Our citizens have given me the great honor of naming our fair city. I’ve been racking my brain for a name that tells our citizens what we are all fighting for. We are having a naming celebration tonight—within moments. The guests, our new citizens, are scheduled to arrive—well—now!”

Juniper sprang from the table, grabbing a lit torch. He swiftly paced around the circular hall, lighting the remaining torches, which lined the chamber. The firelight made his violet coat glow, backlighting his wild hair as if he were smoldering.

Juniper ignited the final torch. “We’ll start the merriment after we reveal our city’s name.” Juniper leaped on top of the round table, standing purposefully in the center of the expansive hall. “Open the doors,” he said. Cole and Virden climbed atop the table on opposite sides of Juniper. Ulrich and Ragan went to the main entryway and slowly pulled opened the heavy wooden doors.

A sea of eager rats flooded the room. There were hundreds, maybe a thousand, maybe more; the Nightshade brothers could not be sure. Cole waved the boys over to him. He crouched on the table. “Just stick by us,” he said, giving them a wink. “No need for panic.”

The hall filled with muddled voices, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling. The citizens’ rumble hushed to a dull murmur as Juniper held up his paw for silence. Once all had quieted, he began. “Brave new citizens of our unnamed city, the Council thanks you for coming. We hope you are all enjoying your new home, and that it’s of great comfort to know you’ll never pay a single Ministry-mandated Stipend again. No more will you provide lavish feasts for Billycan, Killdeer, or their greedy majors while your own family starves. Consider it a favor to the High Minister, as Killdeer could surely stand to lessen his waistline!” The hall rumbled with laughter. “Friends, citizens, we have gathered here tonight for one particular reason, the naming of our burgeoning city, but due to unforeseen events, we are now here for two. Something has occurred tonight which I never in all my years thought possible. I once again saw the face of someone I’d lost long ago. I sadly witnessed the fire extinguished in one great rat, but tonight that fire has returned to us in two others.”

Juniper looked down at Vincent and Victor. “Boys, come up here.” Vincent and Victor felt rather embarrassed being stared at by such a large audience, but they got up on the makeshift stage just the same, standing between Juniper and Cole.

All eyes were upon the Nightshade brothers. The crowd’s faces turned from joyful to bewildered; the rowdy noise turned to deafening silence, then shifted to a low drone of whispers.

The boys heard one rat say, “I saw them in the Combs. I swore they were ghosts!” Others said “Julius lives” or “Nightshade has returned!” The brothers were terrified and exhilarated. Who
was
their father?

Juniper’s voice turned serious. “My friends, you are looking at the only two known survivors of the Nightshade Clan—two brothers—sons of our beloved Julius, our Citizen Minister. It is with great pleasure that I introduce Vincent and Victor Nightshade.” The crowd gasped. “At first, I was in disbelief myself, but fate is sometimes a remarkable thing. These two young rats have been surviving in the Catacombs, hidden in the populace and managing to avoid being drafted into the Kill Army. Choosing to make a bold escape, they started a search for a new home. Well, their search ends here—tonight! They have found that home! I welcome the Nightshades to our city!”

The crowd clamored, “a Nightshade, no less two Nightshades—alive!” Children climbed on one another’s shoulders trying to catch a glimpse; their parents embraced, while the old ones wept.

“You’ll all get to meet the boys momentarily,” said Juniper. “Now let’s address our original purpose. Good rats, you have asked me to name our city, and I have not taken the task lightly. After weeks of consideration, I have come up with what I think are a few good options.” Juniper’s voice surged through the hall. “Without further delay, the first choice is a good name, a strong name, a name that
shows we will not be ruled by tyrants anymore! The first name that came to mind is—Loyalist City!” The crowd applauded, whooped, and whistled shrilly, all yelling in a vote of approval.

The rats settled yet again. Juniper walked with his hands clasped behind his back, circling round the edge of the table, making sure everyone could see him. “Now, the second choice I’d say is even better. This name shows our loyalty to our fallen leader, a rat among rats, devoted in his day to each and every one of us.” Juniper smiled. “Are you all ready?” he asked, purposefully pausing, playfully teasing the eager crowd. The mass of rats shouted impatiently for the name.

“All right, then,” his deep voice blared. “The second choice, good citizens—is Trilok’s City!” Applause and cheers resounded through the hall. Rats thumped their feet in endorsement, the old ones especially pleased with the name.

As Juniper waited for a break in the noise, he nodded at Vincent and Victor, who looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. He continued. “Now for the third choice. This name, good citizens, in my opinion, is the finest name of all, rather a bolt from the dark, I’d say. This name is one that combines our resistance to the High Ministry with the knowledge of what the word ‘citizen’ really means. A name Trilok would be proud for us to choose, a name he would
insist
we choose over his own!”

Juniper waited for silence, finally smacking his tail on the table, forcing the lingering voices to cease. No rat should chatter through this moment. Bostwick Hall fell completely still. “This is for our long-departed Citizen Minister, a rat who gave his life for everyone in this room! A name that meant everything to generations past and will mean even more to the generations of our future, standing for everything we hold dear—standing before you right now.” Motioning to
Vincent and Victor, Juniper cleared his throat and bellowed with all the force his chest could push out, “From now on and until the end of days, we would be known as Nightshade City!”

The room exploded in earsplitting screams of approval and hundreds of feet stomping in support. Juniper kept talking despite the noise, his commanding bass resounding over everyone. “We survive by cover of night. We live in the shadows, waiting for our redemption! Our name must symbolize our burning spirit, kept secret for eleven years, but no longer! This is for Julius! May his vision be our certainty! Tonight and forever, we are Nightshade City!”

Juniper jumped down from the table. Vincent and Victor followed. A whirlwind of hugs and handshakes greeted them. Rats surrounded the boys, patting their backs and shaking their paws, the old ones touching their fur for luck. The boys were dizzy with the barrage of outstretched paws and new faces.

Vincent, standing with Victor and Juniper, assessed the room, soaking it all in. He felt exceedingly—good. Strangely, the invisible cloud that had hung over him for so many years suddenly dissolved.

The Council disappeared through various doors within Bostwick Hall, emerging with wooden barrels filled with Carro ale and Oshi wine, and rolled them towards the center of the room. Cole’s wife, Lali, and some helpers darted round the room, carrying out small wooden crates filled with mismatched mugs and dishes. They then dashed to the open kitchen, which lined the back of the great hall, wielding heavy trays filled with salted meats, cheeses, and fresh-baked biscuits.

A group of older rats gathered in the center of the room. One whistled, another struck a drum, and the rest began to sing a jaunty song, a melody revived from the days of Trilok. Onlookers were
stomping to the rhythm as couples started dancing in time with the lively vocals. The children chased one another, whizzing around the hall, tackling one another, and landing in a heap of legs and tails, giggling riotously.

A young female rat with pale blond fur and dark eyes approached Juniper, her gaze wandering toward Victor. “Why, Petra, how are you, my dear?” asked Juniper. She reached up to Juniper’s ear, so he bent down and met her halfway. She cupped her tiny paw around his ear and whispered something in a soft little chatter. “Well, why don’t we ask him?” Juniper looked in Victor’s direction. “Victor, Petra would like to know if you would be so kind as to have a dance with her.” Vincent snickered as he watched his baby brother turn to jelly, his charcoal skin turning a flushed indigo.

“Well—yes,” he said, trying not to stammer. “I
would
like to dance. Petra, is it? I’m Victor.”

“I know,” said Petra in a high little voice. She grabbed Victor’s paw quite confidently and pulled him out with the other dancing couples. Victor and Petra moved well together, despite the obvious size difference, her little blond head barely reaching his chin. Victor grinned from ear to ear.

“Now, Vincent, come walk with me,” said Juniper. “There are a lot of important rats who want to meet you. Rats who knew your father well. Rats who will be expecting
you
to follow in his footsteps. Let’s do some introductions, and then I’ll give you a tour of our city. I
should
say Nightshade City, your father’s city—and yours.”

It was late. Clover lay in her parents’ nest, agitated, twitching under the covers, unable to sleep after the distressing visit from Billycan. She’d lost all hope that Juniper could retrieve her before the Grand Speech. Her uncle had a whole city of rats counting on him, not just her.

Her thoughts shifted to Killdeer. She imagined standing by his side at the speech, wondering what his hot breath would reek of. She shivered, revolted by the thought. She twisted and turned, trying to force herself into slumber. Clover beat the covers in frustration. The Collector’s threats echoed in her head, hounding her.

Jerking herself up, she leaned limply against the wall. She stared at an etching of the late High Duchess Nomi, the wife of Minister Trilok, carved into the opposing wall. Deeply saddened by her passing, Clover’s mother had carved the picture as a memorial of sorts. They had been dear friends and confidantes. The aging duchess had no children of her own and showered affection on Clover, who was barely a toddler at the time of Nomi’s death.

A rapid, determined knocking on the door startled Clover. Who could it be at this hour? She crept to the door, waiting for the scraping of Billycan’s club, but heard nothing. “Who’s there?” she whispered.

The rat on the other side of the door responded brightly, in a cordial, almost operatic tone. “Hello, dear, it’s Mother Gallo, Mistress of the Robes to the High Ministry. I’ve been sent by Billycan to help spruce you up for the Grand Speech! Now, please, dear, let me in. I have my duties to attend to. I’m sorry to call at this hour, but as you know, the Ministry waits for no one when there is work to be done!”

Clover knew she could not refuse a member of the High Ministry, and Mother Gallo seemed pleasant enough. She opened the door, quickly jumping out of Mother Gallo’s way as the plump Mistress of the Robes swooped in like a drunken pigeon, pushing an overloaded wheelbarrow, which she clumsily banged into the wall, rattling its contents. It was filled with ornaments and trinkets, a tangled mess of ribbons, piles of fabric, glass bottles filled with colored liquids, and a long, skinny mirror, which teetered precariously over the edge of the
barrow. She plopped the rickety cart down and pulled out the mirror, leaning it against the wall. Rummaging feverishly through her supplies and mumbling to herself throughout the process, she eventually fished out a frayed measuring tape from somewhere near the bottom.