The White Assassin (5 page)

Thicket awoke. “Corn, what you doing?” she asked groggily. “Ain’t you sleeping yet?”

“Can’t sleep,” he said, grabbing the opportunity. “I be eaten alive by mosquitoes—going to the pond to wash off. Maybe then the mosquitoes go and bother someone else.”

“I’ll go, too,” she said, about to arise.

“No, no,” said Carn, “you stay with Stono.” He grinned shyly. “I wants to go find Oleander. She told me she may be at the pond tonight. I can’t stop thinking ’bout her.”

Thicket sat on her haunches, smirking mischievously. “I knew it! You likes her, too! All right then, I stays put. Go gets yourself to the pond.” She tossed a clump of dirt at him. “You be looking grungy, so takes yourself a bath before you find Oleander. Now that Stono be clean, you stink worse than him!”

Carn smiled. Despite Thicket’s lack of anything even mildly resembling etiquette, there was an uncomplicated sweetness about her. “I be back soon.” He quickly got to his feet and trotted out of sight before Thicket had a chance to change her mind and follow.

Carn sped toward the gate, hoping no one had followed. He spotted the old willow Oleander had mentioned. It stood just outside the perimeter of the plantation, beyond the marked borders Telula had shown him—snake territory. If a snake spotted him, it would think him a swamp rat, devouring him before he’d even have a chance to explain he was on
it’s
side.

The tree looked deserted. He saw no signs of Oleander or anyone. Maybe it was a ruse, and Oleander a lure sent by Billycan to lead him into a trap. Carn sniffed the air. After eleven years in the Kill Army, he was a veritable expert on the white rat’s scent, an odd fusion of black mushrooms and cane molasses.

His chest heaving, Carn neared the ancient willow. It was a huge, knotted thing, wider than any tree he’d ever seen in Trillium. Its trunk looked as if it might come to life, swallowing him whole. Lumpy and puckered, its twisted exterior resembled a mass of knotted wooden mouths, poised to strike, ready to devour his flimsy rat bones.

He slipped through the corroded bars of the gate. An owl screeched. Carn leaped in fright. It seemed the hazards of the swamp were endless. How he longed for Trillium and its self-absorbed
Topsiders. Its cats and dogs, the maddening pigeons, the cars careening down the overcrowded streets—he would give anything to be faced with the enemy he knew.

“Over here,” whispered a giggly voice from the other side of the tree. “Cat got your tongue?” It was Oleander. She bounced into view as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Her shiny coat and pointed teeth gleamed in the moonlight.

“Keep your voice down,” pleaded Carn. “Billycan could be anywhere!”

“Don’t be silly. We watch him day and night. Our guards say he’s stomping around the manor right now, brooding over something or other. Now, first things first. Please tell me your name is
not
Corn. Such a ridiculous name, it can’t be real!”

Carn’s cover was already blown, so what would it matter if he revealed his name? “I didn’t have much time to think about it. My real name is Carn.”

“Well now, Carn, that’s much better!” she said brightly. “ ‘Corn’ is a little
too
backwoods, even for us.” She giggled again.

Insulted, Carn felt his cheeks grow hot. “No one else seemed to question it.”

“I’m only teasing. It was a fine choice for a name—really. I’m just happy to meet another rat like myself.”

Carn crinkled his nose, peeved he had not disguised himself better. “How did you figure me out?”

“It was easy!” she said excitedly. “First off, you talk to yourself—a lot. Once, when Stono and Thicket were off eating dinner, I spotted you sitting in the grass, grumbling to yourself about Nightshade, how you missed it so—the same city Billycan speaks of. He says it belongs to him, which I’ve doubted from the start. Other things gave you away, too, things the horde never would have noticed. You haven’t
eaten your rations in two days. Even ill, a member of the horde would have gobbled them up without a second thought. And you don’t walk like a swamp rat, all slack and droopy. You walk with purpose, like a soldier.”

“I
was
a soldier,” admitted Carn. He looked at Oleander curiously. She seemed so smart. “Why aren’t you like the others? I thought all the swamp rats were a bit slow-minded—no offense, of course.”

“None taken. For the most part we are exactly that—slow-minded.” Oleander sighed. “The horde has existed for over a hundred years. Our lineage has plenty of dreadful qualities, which I suppose eventually overwhelmed all the good ones—aggression, bad judgment, the need to fight, not to mention an utter lack of common sense.”

“But you seem as smart as me.”

“I’d say smarter!” she said with a smirk. “As it turns out, every so often one of us pops out right, just like you, or Montague and Cobweb. Where you’re from, I’m sure very few rats come out inferior; in my world it works the other way around.”

“But who’s been teaching you? How did you learn to speak—well—like me?”

“There’s a small group of us. The elders of our group pass on their knowledge to the next generation. The original members of our little faction learned from the humans who built the manor. Tar, one of our forefathers, used to hide in the parlor and listen to every lesson the humans taught their children. They were a smart group, several families of scientists all living together, raising their children while doing some kind of research. The scientists left this place lifetimes ago, but since then each new generation of our kind has taught the next. Those crazy snake worshipers who bought the manor years later were all bitten by their own snakes. They didn’t last too long!” She laughed.

Carn looked perplexed. “Why do you pretend to be like the others? Maybe you and your group could help the rest of the horde.”

Oleander’s cheery face turned dismal. “The ones who’ve tried were driven out. Years back, a few even got killed for it. The horde didn’t understand that they were being offered help, and a couple of rats—well, they didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but they did.” She paused for a moment. “It’s hard being different.”

“What about the seconds, Cobweb and Montague? Why were they accepted into the horde?”

Oleander stared at the sleeping horde, a dark mass of limbs and fur. “I suppose it’s easier to fit in as an outsider. Cobweb and Montague were only boys when they were found wandering in the swamp, starving to death. The horde would never cast off children. Not to mention that before Billycan came along, they were the only ones to keep the snakes at bay. So they were accepted—somewhat accepted, in any case.”

“From the outside, they seem like nice enough fellows. Are they really aligned with Billycan? Do they know you or your group exists?”

“The elders of our group have never been sure of the gray rats, not being family and all, so they’ve never breathed a word. I’ve proposed we tell Cobweb and Montague the truth, maybe we can help each other, but they said no—both of them working for Billycan and all. The elders are rather set in their ways. I doubt they’ll ever recognize Cobweb and Montague as members of the horde.”

“If the horde is so set against outsiders, why would they accept Billycan?”

“Oh, he made a big show of things, saving the lives of three rats about to get pounced on by water moccasins. The horde thought he must have been sent to them, this white rat with red eyes. They believed him to be their savior. The elders knew straight off he was not what he
seemed, but we were outnumbered. There was nothing we could do to keep him out.”

Oleander sat at the base of the tree and leaned against its trunk. Carn sat next to her. “Your elders are right about Billycan,” he said. “Let there be no doubt, he’s vicious and depraved in every way, a murderer. He should be in Nightshade’s prison corridor. He’s set on revenge and will use your family to carry it out, leading everyone to their death if necessary.”

“So Nightshade City
wasn’t
taken from him as he claims. We suspected as much,” said Oleander.

Carn scoffed. “The Catacombs were our original home, taken over by Billycan and a monster of a rat named Killdeer in a brutal battle known as the Bloody Coup. Eleven years later the Loyalists, good rats, freed the citizens of the Catacombs. Killdeer wound up dead and Billycan escaped like a coward, afraid to answer for his crimes. Nightshade’s Chief Citizen, Juniper Belancort, was the one who headed up the cause. He is the reason we are all free today. Billycan is dead set on revenge, which is why he’s planning on taking the horde to Nightshade.”

“I see,” said Oleander. “So you’ve met him. You
know
Billycan, then?”

Carn suddenly felt exhausted, as if the act of speaking had drained him completely. “Working as his aide for eleven years in the Catacombs, following each and every order he ever muttered—yes, I know him well.”

In the dark hours of morning, Oleander and Carn crept back into the heart of the horde. They awoke next to Thicket and Stono, acting as if they were now together, a couple, claiming to have met at the pond during the night. Thicket could not have been happier to have Carn
court her favorite cousin, and gladly welcomed Oleander into their group.

Carn’s main objective was to finally get to Telula. It had been several days now, and the Council must be thinking the worst. He had to get them the news.

Oleander and her small faction had been hoping to devise a plan to get rid of Billycan. Carn thought they could join forces with the others—rats, bats, and snakes—all fighting as one.

They had just finished breakfast, a mealy muck of dried fish and tadpoles. A feeble excuse for a meal, but Carn was glad to have food of any kind. He needed to think clearly, so many new revelations were whirling about in his head. As the foursome sat in the sun, digesting their shabby rations, Montague and Cobweb approached.

“Ah,” said Cobweb, looking at Thicket and Stono, “there you are. Billycan wants to see you two directly. He has devised a final plan for the attack, and you two need to learn your directives.”

Stono let out an unpleasant belch. The dried fish, most likely gone bad, was not agreeing with him. “He wants us to be learning
what?
” he asked.

“Your directives,” said Montague. “You know, Stono. What you’re supposed to do, your orders for the attack on Nightshade.”

“Oh,” said Stono as another rolling burp escaped his mouth, this time with an equally disgusting scent attached.

Thicket jumped up impatiently. She grabbed Carn’s paw, yanked him to his feet, and dragged him in front of Cobweb and Montague. “What ’bout him?” she asked. “Don’t Billycan want to see Corn the snake killer?”

“Tomorrow, Thicket,” said Cobweb. “Billycan will meet your friend tomorrow night. Our lord and leader has a special night planned
for you and the rest of the horde. We’ve dug a pit for a lone boar spotted roaming the area. We are to have a bonfire feast tomorrow night, and then we’ll go to Nightshade the following day, all with bellies full of roast boar—a reward from Billycan.”

Stono clapped his paws in delighted anticipation.

“Billycan said he’d meet with Corn during the feast,” said Montague. “He’s certainly intrigued.” He patted Carn on the shoulder approvingly. “He’s very interested in meeting you, Corn.” He looked over at Oleander, who deliberately clung to Carn’s arm. “And Oleander as well, I see.”

“Yep,” said Thicket happily. “They be thick as thieves!”

“Well, then, the four of you have quite an honor in store. Billycan has requested the three of you to dine by his side during the feast. Oleander, you’ll attend with Corn, then,” said Cobweb.

“Come along, you two,” said Montague, “Billycan is waiting.”

The two seconds, along with Thicket and Stono, left for the manor. Carn exhaled anxiously. “What am I going to do?” he asked Oleander. “Billycan will kill me on sight!”

“Hush, now,” whispered Oleander. “Things will be fine. We’ll meet your bat friend tonight, and later I’ll introduce you to my father, Mannux, Chief Elder of our group. We’ll figure this out, I promise. Everything will turn out all right.”

“How do you know that?” asked Carn gloomily.

“Because it can’t end any other way. It just can’t.”

The sun had set. The horde slept comfortably in the grass. It was cool, a welcome relief from the normally sticky night air. Carn was eager to meet with Telula.

Oleander giggled in the grass. Thicket sat up and looked at her
cousin. “What you laughing ’bout?” she asked. Oleander cupped a paw over Thicket’s ear and whispered something. The two started cackling like old crones, and Thicket slapped her cousin’s knee.

Stono frowned at them, jerked awake by their snickering. “What be wrong with you two? I’m trying to sleep. Now hush up!” he snapped grumpily.

“Aw, Stono,” said Thicket, “these two want to talk in private, is all.”

“They want privacy, then give it to them,” he said crossly. He nodded at Carn. “Corn, go over to the cypress by the pond, no one go there but me and Thicket. That be our place.”

Carn stood up and grabbed Oleander’s paw, pulling her up with him. “Let’s get to the pond, then,” he said impatiently, worried that they would miss Telula.

Stono chuckled. “Take your time, Corn. You got the rest of your life for that courting nonsense. Other things be more important now.” Stono smiled fondly at Thicket, patting her on the shoulder. She curled up next to him, wrapping her tail around his middle.

Carn studied Stono. Every time Carn thought he was just as bumbling as could be, he’d say something meaningful, utterly insightful.

“Night, you two,” said Stono, watching the pair run off.

“Night,” called Carn as they disappeared into the dark.