Lords of Trillium (14 page)

Hesitantly, Vincent followed Billycan into the dim chamber. He'd learned to be afraid of little, but death always unnerved
him, the finality of it all. He believed in the Saints, but sometimes he wondered if they were real.

His eyes adjusting to the dark, he spotted Victor's dark frame sitting on the ground, leaning back against the wall. He seemed to be looking at nothing. “Victor,” he whispered, crouching down. “Why are you here, by yourself? This is no place for you. It's no place for anyone.”

Listlessly, Victor turned his attention to his brother. “I should have done more.”

Vincent forced himself to look at the many shrouded bodies, all alive and happy just hours ago, attending
his
wedding. There were thirty, maybe more. “Victor, there was nothing you or anyone could do. We were ambushed.” Glancing over at Billycan, who waited near the door, he lowered his voice. “It seems there will always be tragedy wherever we go. From now on, we must trust no one. We must concentrate on staying alive, just like we did in the Catacombs.”

“You make it all sound so grim,” said Victor.

Vincent exhaled and glanced around the chamber. “It is.”

“I need to do something,” said Victor. “I need to make a difference.”

“There's nothing any of us can do right now but mourn our dead and carry on as best we can.” Vincent shook his head glumly. “As we always have.”

“No!” said Victor, springing to his feet. “No!” He pushed Vincent in the chest. “You, of all rats, to sound so defeated. What's happened to you? When did you become such a broken rat, always expecting the worst?”

Vincent growled. “Mind your words, brother.”

“I'm sick to death of minding my words. I'm sick to death of it!” He shoved past Vincent.

“Where are you going?” Vincent demanded.

“To do something!”

“To do what?”

“Something important!”

“Victor, stop!”

“Out of my way,” commanded Victor, glaring at Billycan.

“Wait,” said Billycan, blocking Victor's path. “Leaving in this state can lead to nothing but trouble.”

“You, of all rats, have no right to stop me from doing
anything
!” said Victor, growling contemptuously. “Now move!”

Suddenly Billycan snarled. His yellow teeth bared, he shouted, “I have more right than anyone!” Vincent came forward, his sword ready to strike. “I know the terror my temper brought upon many a rat!” said Billycan. “I live with it every day! I dream of it every night!” He pushed Victor back farther into the darkened chamber, his eyes aglow with red fury. “I must live with the horrors of my past. The blood that lies squarely on my claws—your family's blood, the blood of your father, my son's namesake! Never tell me I have
no right
! I know personally how destructive rage and wrath can be!” Billycan's chest heaved, white froth bubbling from his mouth.

Victor reached for his brother, clutching his shoulder as hard as he could. Panting, he asked, “If you really care . . . tell me what you'd do to bring back our father? What would you do to bring back Julius Nightshade?”

Taking a long breath, Billycan stepped back. “Your father . . . had he not been killed—by me—there would have never been a High Ministry. He wouldn't have allowed it, that I am sure of. If I could bring him back, I would condemn myself to the most ghastly torture you could dream of—a torture so profound I would beg for death, but never receive it.”

“Why . . . why did you despise him so much?” asked Victor.

“I suppose because he was everything I was not. He was
generous, principled, honorable. He was good.” Billycan's smile vanished. “He was beloved.”

Vincent stood speechless at the thought that Billycan might actually be telling . . . the
truth
. If the former High Collector had wanted any Nightshade rat dead, they'd have died last year back in the Catacombs, when Killdeer's crazed sisters tried to reclaim control. Billycan wouldn't have journeyed to Tosca, and he surely wouldn't have stopped Hecate and the former high majors from regaining control. Naturally it could be some twisted ruse; Billycan was as smart as he was deadly. But to what end? He had had two recent opportunities to see
all
of Nightshade's leaders dead—Loyalist filth, as he used to call them—but here they all were, alive and well.

Vincent turned to his brother, who still clutched his shoulder. He could feel Victor's paw shaking, his claws digging into his skin. He didn't know if it was from anger, fear, or a combination of the two, but his brother's whole body trembled. “It's all right, Victor,” he said softly. “You've nothing to be afraid of.”

“I'm not afraid,” said Victor.

“Then . . . what is it?”

“You've always told me that Father said our lives need to mean something,” said Victor. “And the only way to change our fate is to change our lives.”

“Yes,” replied Vincent. “Father never gave up, not even in the darkest of hours. He was a firm believer in fate.”

“Well then, there's no more to be said.” With that, Victor pushed past Billycan and bolted from the room.

Billycan woke with a start, drenched in sweat. He grabbed his head. “No,” he muttered, “please. Make it stop!”

He had been dreaming, an endless nightmare of blood and death he couldn't pull himself out of. Visions of needles and cages filled with dead rats. Rats screaming in agony. Rats screaming his name, begging for mercy.

He pulled himself off the long cot he'd been given to sleep on, hidden away in a vacant quarters where the still fearful citizens wouldn't come across him. He dragged himself to a shard of mirror, leaning against the wall, all the while pulling at his ears, hoping it might send the horrible thoughts out of his head. Slowly he raised his head and looked at himself. He dropped to his knees. His eyes were a brilliant, torrid orange—a hue he'd not seen in a very long time.

Turning away from the mirror, he noticed his door was ajar. Cautiously he stepped into the dim corridor. Deep claw marks traveled from his door all the way down the corridor. The word “KILL” was scrawled above them in crooked capital letters. He followed the claw marks to a set of stairs that led up to Nightshade Passage. Bits of paper covered the stairwell, as though someone had furiously shredded it.

Billycan picked up a scrap of paper and studied it. It was a page from one of the scientists' diaries. He picked up another piece, trying to read the words. All he could make out were the words “rats,” “intellect,” and “human-like.”

He froze. He smelled a rat at the top of the stairs. He could hear its shaky breaths. “Who's there?” he called out.

No one answered. He heard only footsteps running away.

He looked down at his claws. They were covered in earth, and several were bleeding. He stretched out his digits and fitted them into the claw marks on the dirt wall—a perfect match.

Vincent, Virden, and Juniper sat in the Council Chamber, listening to Billycan's news of Silvius's findings.

“Silvius believes the volcano holds the secret of who we are,” continued Billycan. “And that's what the Topsiders have been after all this time.”

Virden did the math in his head, and then yanked the quill pen from behind his ear, furiously scribbling numbers in his notebook. He dropped the pen onto the notebook. “Why, humans could live over a thousand years!”

“Bless the Saints,” said Juniper. “Do you know how precious a commodity that would be? They'd pay anything—risk anything—to get it.”

Billycan nodded. “All those years I spent in the lab, there was more going on than just the testing of the drug I was given. Silvius was never given any injections. Instead, he and many more were all but butchered—the Topsiders took their blood, their flesh, to find out what makes Trillium rats tick.”

“In the diaries we found from the scientists, they state how our traits are in many ways more like humans than rats,” said Juniper.

The door to the Council Chamber suddenly rattled.

“Who's there?” asked Juniper, rising from his chair.

“It's Petra,” said a meek voice from the other side of the door.

“Petra?” said Vincent. He scratched his head, wondering why Victor's sweetheart would be knocking on the door.

Juniper, just as curious, opened the door, and the little blond rat stepped inside, her face creased with worry. “My dear, what are you doing here? Is Victor all right?”

Petra talked so rapidly no one could make out any more than the words “Victor” and “good-bye.”

“You must slow down,” said Vincent soothingly. He got up from his chair and crouched in front of her. “Catch your breath, then talk. Tell us what happened to Victor.”

Trembling, Petra gulped in a breath of air and blew it out, doing this two more times before she could talk. “I'm—I'm not sure what happened,” she finally got out. “He came to our quarters to say
good-bye
! He said he had to do something brave—to change fate—like his father did. He said he would find the missing Hunters, pledged to bring them back alive!”

“The missing . . .” repeated Juniper. “The missing Hunters—he's gone to find them. He's gone Topside!”

“Petra, was anyone with him?” asked Vincent. “Do you know where he was headed Topside?”

She shook her head. “He was alone. He left so quickly. I'm sorry.”

“Did he say anything else?” asked Juniper. “Anything at all?”

“Well . . . yes,” said Petra, “but I didn't really understand it.” Her brow knitted as she tried to remember the exact wording. “He said something about Duncan, what he'd told him, about a museum. I'm not sure I can remember exactly. It all happened so fast.”

“Try!” barked Billycan, bolting up in his chair, jolted by the mention of the museum.

Jumping, Petra gave a small yelp, and grabbed Vincent's arm.

Billycan lowered his voice. “Please,
try
to remember what he said. It's most important.”

“It's all right,” whispered Vincent, patting her paw. “He might be able to help.” He glanced at Juniper. “Juniper says Billycan has a talent for this sort of thing—tracking down rats. He can help us find Victor.”

“Of course,” said Petra stiffly. “He . . . he kept bringing up The Lords of Trillium. Duncan said it was some display in the museum—about the great leaders of Trillium and how they worked to build the city.”

Billycan's flesh rose in goose bumps as his mind flashed back to the lab—to his only friend, Dorf. The little spotted rat had tried to explain to him that Trillium's great leaders were not great at all; they were criminals, stealing the land from the weak, leaving them to suffer and die. “Why would Victor be so interested in this particular display?”

“He said Duncan had lived in the museum once,” said Petra, “that he'd heard other rats there, smelled them, too, in the museum, and their scents led him to The Lords of Trillium. Duncan said he was drawn to that spot in the museum, even before he sensed the other rats.”

“But what would make him think the Hunters could be there?”

“He said he read something in one of the diaries,” said Petra. “The ones the bats just brought us.”

“He must have discovered the same thing Silvius did,” said Vincent, “that the museum and the lab were connected. He always suspected the humans were to blame for the Hunters' disappearance. What better place to start looking for them?”

“Juniper, how do your Hunters journey to the surface?” asked Billycan.

“The south tunnel. They always start there, and fan out in teams once they reach Topside.” Juniper eyed his brother. Both of them were thinking the same thing. “Petra, did you see which way Victor went?”

“Yes, I tried to go after him, but he was too fast. He took a left down our corridor. He never goes that way.”

“Petra's corridor heads directly to the south tunnel,” said Vincent.

“Where does it lead?” asked Billycan.

“Right to the heart of Trillium City.”

“Well then, that's where we start,” said Juniper. He looked at Vincent. “Gather the Council—Duncan, too.”