A noise interrupted Juniper's sleep, a dull scraping against the planking of his

chamber door.  "Who is it?" he called out wearily.  Juniper sluggishly looked

up from the rocking chair, hoping the anonymous knocker would go away and

his much needed nap could continue.  He listened for a reply, no answer.  It appeared the stranger at the door had given up.  Letting his muscles once again relax, he settled back into his slumber, his substantial arm cradling the tiny boy. 

A low, raspy voice whispered.  "Juniper," it said, "Juniper, wakeup."

Juniper half opened his eye and for a second time looked towards the door, now a bit bothered.  "Whoever is there, please come back tomorrow.  I'll be more than happy to talk to you first thing in the morning.  I promise you will have my undivided attention."  He waited for a response, again no answer.  The stranger had gone.  "Thank the Saints," he said.  The room was silent, apart from the baby, who squeaked softly as Juniper shifted in the chair and once again drifted off.

"Juniper!" railed the voice, jolting him from his tranquil state.  Juniper bolted from his chair, and plucking up his son, he reached for the hot poker, still in the fire pit, but it had vanished.  He looked frantically for a weapon, quickly grabbing a knife off the table.  Trying to follow the voice, he blindly swung the dull blade into the shadows.

There was a crash.  Juniper jerked around.  His leather satchel had been ripped from its hook, slapping the hard dirt floor, its contents sprawled everywhere.  Unable to see in the hidden corners, he spun wildly in a confused circle.  He hollered angrily into the dark.  "Come out!  Come out and face me, coward!  I know why you've come!"

Finding a match, Juniper swiftly lit the wall torches, illuminating all things unseen, and still clutching his sleeping boy, he scoured the room. 

No one was there.

Chapter One

The Catacombs

The two black rats kept running.  The Nightshade brothers coiled swiftly around a dimly lit corner, as a ten penny nail grazed Vincent's ear.  It only nicked the tip, but burned like hot coal.  He shook his head, ignoring the searing sting and kept running.  Major Lithgo and two senior lieutenants thundered behind them, leaving a cloud of powdered earth in their wake. 

As they galloped through the dark winding corridors of the Catacombs, Vincent wondered how High Major Lithgo could move so swiftly.  He could actually hear the stout major's ample belly skidding through the dirt.  Even through his panic, Vincent couldn't help but find this amazing.  Belly or not, Major Lithgo grunted madly at their heels, intent on catching them.

"Another!" said Lithgo, commanding a soldier to hurl a second ten penny.

"Catacomb Hall," huffed Vincent to his brother, "father's corridor behind Ellington's."

"Agreed," said Victor.  The ten penny impaled the dirt wall, just missing Victor's flank, as they took a sudden turn.

The Nightshades deftly took a sharp left, knocking an old toothless rat to the ground, his bag of candlenuts tossed into the air, and scattered about the corridor.   A lieutenant promptly stumbled over a nut, forcing the other soldier and Major Lithgo to skid violently through the dry soil, landing atop one another in a muddled heap of tails, claws and ears.

Lithgo scrambled to his feet and peered down the empty corridor.  Nothing but gloom, no sign of the Nightshades.  "They're gone!  They could be anywhere by now!"  Picking up a candlenut, he whipped it at the old rat's head, who cowered and shook, blocking his face from the blow.  Lithgo growled contemptuously, "Useless old one, I should kill you for interfering with Kill Army business!  I'm in my right if I please!"  He stomped the ground like an overgrown child, kicking dirt at his lieutenants.  "We should have finished off the last of the Nightshade Clan long ago--when we had the chance!"  Lithgo dropped to the ground, grunting loudly.  His chest felt as if it might burst and vomit rose in his throat.  The soldiers stood silent as he gathered himself. 

The old rat left his candlenuts and softly scuttled out of sight, hiding a shriveled grin.

He was dumbfounded to still be alive. 

Lamenting his large dinner, Lithgo leaned against the wall for support, as sweat trickled down his thick russet brow, and steam wafted from his now filthy coat.  The two young lieutenants stood without a sound, waiting for the major's orders.  All that could be heard in the dusky corridor was Lithgo's weighty breathing.

***

The Nightshade brothers kept up their fevered pace, racing side by side through the Catacombs, their limbs ablaze.  Lithgo and his soldiers were gone from both sight and sound, but that meant little.  Deep beneath the congested metropolis of Trillium City, the Catacombs went on for miles, a swarming maze of hollowed dirt corridors.  Kill Army soldiers could be hiding anywhere within its bleary depths.

Vincent and Victor reached Catacomb Hall, the epicenter of the Catacombs, an expansive public square.  After long hours of drinking at the Ministry-run pubs, the only rats about were a few inebriated males, still on the prowl for female company.  Stumbling about the cobbles in a stupor, they paid the brothers no mind.

The pair made their way to Ellington's Tavern, a decrepit, old pub at the end of the horseshoe shaped Catacomb Hall.  Behind the tavern, hidden by trash and rusted signs, was an abandoned corridor.  The brothers quickly squeezed under the debris, pulling themselves up into the arcane hole, which stank of truffles and insect leavings.

Their father, Julius Nightshade, had taken Vincent there as a child.  Julius had met with assorted rats in the hidden passageway.  Vincent didn't know what the meetings were about; he just remembered the voices were always hushed and deadly serious. "Run as fast as you can," he told Victor.  "Don't stop until we've hit Top Side, all right?"  Victor grunted in response, heaving his tired body up the steep tunnel.

The brothers' gait did not slow, and they panted harder as they neared the city's surface.   With each stride, Vincent grew more troubled. Once they were Top Side, they'd be able to disappear into Trillium's confused labyrinth of alleys and sewers, finally free from the grips of the Kill Army, but still facing great danger.  Rats were not welcome in the world of the Top Siders--the world of the humans--but Vincent and Victor could not risk one more second in the Catacombs.  Their guardian had died, making them wards of High Minister Killdeer's Kill Army.  It was the Kill Army's right to take them, and Major Lithgo had come to collect them. 

Swapping glances, Vincent smiled confidently at his brother.  Victor need not be worried about the Top Siders just yet.  That would come soon enough.

They heard a sharp yelp as they clambered up towards the surface.  One of them had stepped on an earthworm.  The neglected corridor was overrun with them.

***

Lazily picking a stringy piece of hen off his distended stomach, Killdeer idly flicked the oily meat across his den.  The mammoth rat slumped down further in his copious silver chalice throne, only his limbs, potbelly and snout visible to an onlooker.  He had been the self appointed High Minister of the Catacombs for eleven long years.  Life had become unexciting and mundane. 

Staring blankly at the ceiling of his den, Killdeer rolled his eyes in absolute boredom, crudely scratching his huge abdomen.  His legs draped over his silver throne like mounds of heavy velvet, leaving his feet hanging over the side like two dead, gray rabbits.

Massively built, Killdeer resembled more of an overfed housecat, than a rat.  Trillium's unusual rats were known for their extraordinary size, but Killdeer's proportions had grown considerably over recent years.  The indolent Minister delegated most of his duties to Billycan, his second in command, which left the High Minister with nothing much to do but indulge his vices: eating, drinking, sleeping and mating. 

Incredibly, despite his ever widening waistline, and at times questionable hygiene, Killdeer proved entrancing to females.  His gray coat shimmered.  His slanted eyes, black as pitch, gleamed like polished onyx.  Pointed white teeth glistened in a smarmy smile that oozed confidence and dripped charisma.  Catacomb females pursued him, drawn to his power and intrigued by his rogue nature and unrestrained dominance.  Eager females fought to be chosen by the great High Minister.

He wore a heavy silver medallion around his thick neck.  It had belonged to the Mighty Trilok, the original High Minister of the Catacombs, and if not for fear of losing their tongues, most rats would say--the only true High Minister.  Killdeer had taken over during the Bloody Coup, the conquest that changed the course of the Catacomb rats' history.  Enraged and humiliated by his banishment years before, Killdeer ambushed the Minister, assaulting the aging Trilok with primordial fury, slashing his jugular and tearing off his silver pendant, proclaiming himself the new High Minister.

With lucky timing, he seized control during Trillium's Great Flood, using it as cover for murder, snuffing out Trilok's key defenders--the leaders of the Trilok Loyalists, claiming they had drowned.  Most of the adult Catacomb rats had been searching for food Top Side in Trillium City when the flood struck.  Water levels reached the rooftops, and while the resilient rats treaded the muddy water for days, many perished, leaving thousands of young rats orphaned in the Combs.  Killdeer then artfully solidified his position by creating the Kill Army.  Rounding up the stray children of the Catacombs, he and his faction sent males to the Kill Army and females to its kitchens.    

***

Killdeer reached into the bedding of his throne and pulled out his bottle of Oshi berry wine.  Predictably, the bottle was empty.  "Texi!" he yelled.  "Texi, come here!"   His voice thundered down the halls of his den.  "My Oshi is empty again!"  Moments later, he heard his half sister scurrying down the hall. 

Despite Killdeer's obvious foul temper, Texi arrived cheerful, but out of breath.  "Yes, Killdeer?" she asked, panting.  Texi came into the world dull of mind, utterly devoid of trickery.   She easily forgave her older brother for his sins, unlike the rest of her sisters, who hated him with every shred of their beings, secretly wishing him an agonizing death at every opportunity.

"Where is my Oshi, Texi?" he asked crossly.

Texi spoke in a high pitched, childlike voice.  "It should be where it always is.  I replaced the bottle while you were sleeping." 

"Well, it's empty."  He sneered at her, waving the bottle scornfully.

She grew confused, her face crumpling as she thought about the day's events.  "I do remember swapping it for the empty one.  Perhaps you forgot you drank it?"  Texi suddenly gasped and covered her mouth, realizing what she'd said.  Even Texi knew never to question Killdeer.  Only Billycan could get away with that. 

Killdeer flung the bottle against a wall, shattering it.   He bounded off his throne and pounced on Texi, grabbing her by the throat and pinning her to the wall.  Her tiny feet dangled above the ground like small fish flopping in distress.  Killdeer glared viciously at his half sister, poking her in the face with his huge snout.  She could smell his hot, sour breath. It reeked of Oshi and sardines.  "Are you questioning me, cherished sister?"  Killdeer snarled, pressing his face into hers.  "Is it you who commands the Catacombs?  Are you the new High Duchess?  Should I bow down to you?"  Spittle dripped from Killdeer's teeth onto Texi's ginger fur.

She tried to break his gaze, but he locked her head in place as he tightened his hold.  "No Killdeer," she said.  She began to shake.  "You are right.  I am mistaken."  Texi tried not to sob.  "I'm very sorry." 

He kept his face pressed to hers and lowered his voice to a controlled rumble.  "Understand, dear sister, the only reason I allow you to live another day is because you're feeble minded.  You are dense and I pity you.  Any of your sisters would be long since d

ead."

He released her from his grasp, dropping her carelessly to the ground.  He squalled at the top of his lungs as white froth spewed from his mouth.  "Now get my Oshi!" 

Texi picked herself up and darted out of the den.  Tears streamed down her face.  In her foolish heart, she knew she'd replaced the bottle.  Killdeer knew it too, but tormenting her amused him.

The growing pressure between Killdeer's ears intensified.  He let out a moan and climbed back onto his throne.   He rolled on his side and pulled his wine stained bedding over his aching head.

***

Vincent and Victor Nightshade finally reached Top Side--the human city of Trillium.  They sprang up through the hole like bullets.  Victor, unable to stop, slid across the cold boggy grass, drenched with autumn rain, and skidded through a puddle onto the sidewalk.  Vincent quickly grabbed him by the tail and wrenched him back onto the grass, just before a chubby cheeked, blonde Top Sider blindly squashed him under her pink rain boot.

"Of all the terrible luck," said Vincent, taking in their surroundings.

It was Hallowtide night.  There were small Top Siders everywhere, clad in colorful costumes and painted faces, roaming the streets for Pennies-or-Pranking, stuffing as much candy as would fit into their pillowcases and buckets.  The older children raced from door to door, their fathers chasing them down with umbrellas, while the little ones clenched their mothers tightly with one hand, and their sweets with the other.

Vincent helped his brother back to his feet.  "Steady now," he said.  "The Top Siders are too busy racing after their children and trying to stay dry.  They won't notice us in the dark."  Victor nervously inspected the swarm of Top Siders invading the nighttime streets, so big compared to them.  They sat in the marshy grass, not certain what course to take.  The wind picked up.  The rain pounded their licorice coats. 

Looking from one side of the street to the other, Vincent regarded the colossal brownstones that lined it like brick sentinels.  He noticed a particularly oversized one directly across from them.  Two granite gargoyles loomed on its roof.  They glared down at him with a look of disapproval. 

The front door of the brownstone opened, casting a warm ocher glow.  A red haired Top Sider, clearly female, stepped out and greeted her neighbors with an overflowing bowl of candy.  She handed the bowl to the children, who greedily rooted through it like a pack of country buzzards, as she settled against the doorway and chatted with their parents.

Victor started to shiver, soaked to the bone.   Sitting up on his narrow haunches, he clenched his spindly tail for security, a habit he'd clung too since he was a baby.  "We should have just gone into the army," he said miserably.  "We'd be warm and have food.  Can't we just go back?"

Vincent grabbed his brother by the shoulders.  "No," he said firmly.  "We fled a Kill Army High Major.  Do you know what that means?"

"No," said Victor.

"It means we can never go back.  Fleeing the army is treason.  If they ever catch us, we'll pay

with our lives."

"Then what are we going to do?"

"Listen to me," said Vincent.  "The night of the flood, when the waves pulled us away from mother and father, I promised them I'd take care of you and haven't I always done that?"

"Yes," said Victor softly.

"We've always held out hope that our family survived the flood, swept away by the water, far from home, but I think we both know better--our family is dead--all of them.  I know you were too little to remember much of father, but he would never want us to be in that army.  Do you really want to be run day and night by rats like Major Lithgo?  Forced to bully citizens, serving rats that murdered High Minister Trilok, the ones who made our city the wretched place it is now?"

"No," replied Victor. 

"All right then," said Vincent.  "We've survived for eleven years in the Catacombs, taking better care of ourselves than old Missus Cromwell ever could, but now we need to do more than just survive.  Our lives need to mean something.  This is our chance!  Major Lithgo coming for us was a sign.  I know it.  Father firmly believed in fate.  He said Killdeer's sins would return to haunt him, whether in this world or the next.  He told me the only way to change our fate is to change our lives.  Only we can do that, Victor, no one else--then we'll find our true fate--just like father said.  Do you understand?" 

Victor nodded silently.  The two hadn't eaten in days.  Vincent watched his brother's ribs tremble under his wet raven coat.  "Victor," he said with authority, "pay attention.  I know you're cold, but I need you to listen to me.  You see that open door across the way?"  He pointed to the brownstone.  "You see it--the one with the Top Siders talking under the awning?"  Victor nodded stiffly.  "We are going to make our way inside it.  Top Siders or not, the house will be warm and dry."

"What if there's a cat or dog inside?" 

"We are soaked to the skin, rinsing us clean.  Our dismal circumstances are of benefit, at least for tonight.  It will be several hours before any creature can detect us.  By that time we'll be long gone."  Vincent grinned at his brother. 

Victor trembled in response, too frozen to return the smile.  "All right then, let's go," he stuttered, teeth chattering.  He let go of his tail and wiped his eyes.

The Nightshade brothers glided across the darkened street and up the cement stairs of the brownstone, right past the Top Siders.  The rats slipped into the house unseen, quickly disappearing behind a white pillar. 

Vincent sniffed the air for beasts.  He smelled nothing more than houseplants, not the smoky peppered smell of dogs, nor the briny pickled odor of cat.  Dumb luck, he thought.  "All clear," he whispered to Victor.  "Follow me."  The brothers skirted along the edge of the wall, their black nails clicking across the checkerboard tile. 

They came to a closed door.   Emaciated from days without food, they easily wriggled under it.  The room appeared to be some sort of studio, with easels, canvases and a desk, barely visible under the extensive assortment of paint tubes and brushes.  The room, covered with a fine layer of dust, had clearly gone unused for some time.  It was an ideal hiding place for the night.

A street light shone through the window, reflecting in Vincent's green eyes, turning them a gauzy white. Victor shook the water from his coat and headed under a leather wingchair in a dark corner.  Without warning, Vincent grabbed him, jerking him back.  Victor looked at his brother, bewildered.  Vincent stared, perplexed by something in the corner. 

"What is it?" asked Victor.

"It's a rat hole."  Sniffing, Vincent caught a rat's scent.  It quickly faded.  He smelled nothing.   

***

Billycan ambled down the corridor of Sector 337 leering broadly.  His red eyes flashed against the flickering torch light, making the towering snow white rat appear more maniacal than usual.  He swung his beloved billy club, as he raucously called for the High Ministry's weekly Stipend.  "Billycan thinks you should be more generous to your Ministry.  Don't try my patience, Billycan wants the Stipend paid now!" 

Billycan served his Ministry well, holding the dual title of High Collector of Stipend and Commander of the Kill Army.  He was dangerously clever and wicked to his core.  His depravity and sadistic persecution of Catacomb rats were legendary. 

Citizens claimed Billycan was possessed, supernatural even.   The old ones told how he once drove a rat to stab himself, mesmerizing him with his eyes.  The rat lived through the ordeal, claiming that Billycan's eyes glowed like galvanized rubies, two glass bulbs filled with a red vapory substance, commanding him to take his useless life.

The few rats that had dared to challenge the High Collector were either dead or missing their tongues, his favorite form of torture.   He had a raised, black scar running across his face--the result of one such challenge during the Bloody Coup.  The thick gash trailed from the corner of his left eye, over his long snout, and finally tapered off at the opposite corner of his mouth.  Billycan didn't mind the scar, in fact, he giggled every time he thought about his opponent's grisly fate.  A Trilok Loyalist had briefly gotten the upper hand, but not for long.  Left bleeding, the fearless rat lay dying, one eye splattered against the corridor's dirt wall.

Rumors circulated through the Combs regarding Billycan's damaged brain.  Everyone knew he had served as a lab-rat at the Top Sider pharmaceutical company, the infamous Prince Laboratories.  He alone survived the torturous experiments.  No other white rats existed in the Catacombs or all of Trillium for that matter.  Since his liberation from the lab, he'd never seen another of his kind.  Other than Billycan, the albinos were gone forever.

The Catacomb citizens assumed the drugs given to him in the Top Sider lab had eaten away part of his brain, leaving only the corrupt portions intact.  Years of inbreeding, forced on the rats by the lab personnel, combined with the mind altering injections were most likely the culprits, but gossip propagated throughout the Combs. 

The Top Siders' testing had caused Billycan's spine to grow coiled and elongated, making his neck and angled jaw jut out far in front of his body.  His milky coat ended at the base of his extended tail, which trailed behind him like a hairless garden snake, revealing flaky skin, a powdery, encrusted white, more reptilian than vermin. 

Cursed with a nagging and insatiable hunger, no matter how much he gorged and gobbled, Billycan could not keep weight on his bones, giving him a lean, cadaverous look, like a half stuffed scarecrow.

Stipends were collected weekly--one from each Catacomb citizen.  Stipend consisted of items useful to the Ministry--food, weapons, tools.  Food had to be edible.  Attempting to disguise compost as Stipend incurred a fatal consequence.  Once, a desperate young rat tried to palm off a rotting pear as Stipend.  Billycan chained him to a post in the center of Catacomb Hall, leaving him to die of hunger for all citizens to see.  The boy's parents wailed as their son took his final breath.  

"Stipends for Killdeer!" shouted Billycan.  "Stipends for Killdeer!  Everyone to their doors, quickly, quickly, do not test Billycan's patience."  With a piercing pitch, his voiced blasted through the corridors.  "Billycan's time will not be wasted.  Have them ready.  Billycan does not like to wait!"  The Collector sauntered down the corridor, followed by three hulking lieutenants, and his Kill Army aid, Senior Lieutenant Carn, all four pushing rusty wheelbarrows in single file. 

Billycan, with his hollow chest pushed out, looked like an underfed rooster.  He wore a crimson and navy blue sash, Kill Army colors, made specifically for his lanky frame by the High Mistress of the Robes.  It looked fitting across his broad, yet exceedingly lean chest. 

As he strolled, he swung his billy club from side to side, banging it on Catacomb doors, and scratching it against the flimsy planking with an eerie resonance.  The citizens knew the Stipend routine.  Don't speak unless spoken to, have all items ready and above all, don't look the High Collector in the eyes. 

"Billycan waits for no one!" he snapped, hammering his club on another door.  A sheepish gray rat opened the door, her eyes fixed to the floor as she timidly put her family's Stipend in a wheelbarrow.  "Quickly, quickly, my dear, Billycan need not use his club today if you hurry up.  Good, good, mark her off the list, Lieutenant Carn."

Carn marked her clan's number off the register.  He nodded his head at the girl.  "Thank you, miss," he said quietly. 

Billycan cocked his head and glared at Carn.  "Thank her for what, lieutenant?  She owes Stipend and Stipend she shall pay.  We do not thank our citizens for giving what they rightfully owe, is Billycan understood?"

The coffee colored Lieutenant looked vacantly at Billycan.  "Yes, Commander," was all he said.

Billycan shook his head.  "I swear, Lieutenant Carn, all these years serving Billycan and you still need correcting--useless, entirely useless.  Off you go," said Billycan, shoving the girl out of the way. 

Billycan and his soldiers made their way to the next set of doors, marked with sloppy whitewash numbers, indicating the clan that dwelled inside.  He stopped at door number 73.  Billycan regarded the number coolly.  He cracked his stiff jaw, scowling.  Time now for some personal business for High Minister Killdeer.  He disagreed with his assignment, but if nothing else the pale rawboned rat's loyalty remained steadfast, at least when it came to Killdeer.

***

Juniper slept like the dead.  His infant son curled next to him, murmuring peacefully.  The boy's miniature tail and feet snugly tucked under Juniper's dense winter fur.  The fire smoldered softly, infusing the room with a warm caramel glow, the ideal setting for a midday nap.  Juniper had earned his rest.  The battle was over, and for the first time in a long time, life underground was calm. 

Nightshade City