Mouseheart

  Once inside, they immediately went in search of Pup. Hopper’s misguided alert had compelled the guards to confine all the refugees to their barracks. Hopper and Zucker made quick work of peeking in windows until Hopper spotted his tiny brother, curled up on a rickety old cot in one of the dormitories.

  Zucker boosted Hopper up through the window, then climbed in himself.

  The refugees stared in wonder but, thankfully, did not sound an alarm.

  “No need to be afraid, folks,” said Zucker calmly. “We bring news.”

  Hopper, his heart full near to bursting at the sight of his brother, had gone immediately to Pup, who blinked up at him.

  “Hopper?” the tiny mouse asked in his wispy voice. “Is it really you?”

  “It’s really me,” Hopper promised, wrapping him in a crushing hug.

  “Hopper, you’ll never believe what happened after I fell! I was—”

  “You can tell me later, Pup. I’m here to save you.”

  “Save me? From what? It’s lovely here.”

  He turned a quizzical look to Zucker, who was under the curious scrutiny of the entire barracks. None of the refugees recognized the Atlantian prince, of course. To them he appeared to be just another disenfranchised rodent, enjoying the kind and generous hospitality of the Romanus, eagerly awaiting the good fortune of possibly being chosen as a colonist.

  In a steady voice Zucker explained to the wide-eyed refugees the truth about Titus, the peace accord, and the true purpose of the camps. As he spoke, one old female mouse cried out in horror, wringing her paws on her apron; a young, powerful-looking squirrel snorted with disgust, as though he had suspected as much all along. But to Hopper’s shock, the overall response was one of disbelief.

  A male rat, who shared a cot with his mate and their young litter, stood up. “Why are you saying such frightening things?” he demanded. “Isn’t it bad enough that we have to worry about those infernal rebels who threaten to attack? Now you tell us that Titus, too, is our enemy?”

  “Titus is the only enemy,” Zucker clarified. “The rebels are fighting to free you.”

  “Why would we want to be freed?” a female chipmunk asked. “This hunting ground is just an old wives’ tale. It’s a story told to keep unruly children in line when they misbehave. ‘Be good or be hunted,’ they say. And it works!”

  “If Titus were planning to dispose of us,” the father rat reasoned, “why would he feed us so well?”

  “To make you more appetizing to the cats,” Hopper cried. “Scrawny, starving rodents can be found all over the tunnels. Felina only keeps her end of the bargain with Titus because he provides fat, healthy rodents for her and her ferals to feast upon.”

  “We’re telling you the truth,” said Zucker. “If you want to save yourselves, you have to listen and do what we tell you. Even as we speak, my soldiers are planting weapons all along the outer perimeter of the camp.”

  “Your soldiers?” asked the powerful-looking squirrel. “Who are you that you have soldiers?”

  Zucker sighed. “That’s a long story.”

  Suddenly the sound of a bell tolling shattered the uneasy silence outside the barracks.

  “What’s that?” Hopper asked Pup.

  “It means they’re going to be choosing a new batch of colonists!”

  Or an unscheduled hunt . . . with double the prey! Hopper whipped his head around to meet Zucker’s gaze.

  Clearly the prince was thinking the same thing.

  One of the refugees ran to the window. “They’re coming this way!” he cried gleefully. “They’re entering the barracks right next door.”

  A cheer rose up, although the old mouse and young squirrel looked worried.

  Hopper had to make them understand. Mind reeling, he turned his desperate eyes to Zucker.

  “We have to stop the hunt,” the prince said gravely. “We can’t wait for Firren and the Rangers and the Mūs army—who knows how far off they are? I have to bring in my soldiers now.”

  Before Hopper could protest, Zucker leaped over a cot, sprung through the window, and hit the ground running. Hopper flew to the open window and leaned out as far as he dared, watching as Zucker reached the fence and frantically searched for the hidden exit Firren had made. His paw connected with the opening, and Hopper’s heart soared—until he noticed a hulking presence looming behind the prince.

  General Cassius! Hopper recognized him even at this distance; his booming words echoed across the camp.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Slowly Zucker turned away from the fence and came face-to-face with his father’s most revered officer.

  Hopper felt a chill as he saw the expression of hatred that darkened Zucker’s face. Of all Titus’s advisors, Hopper knew, Zucker despised Cassius the most.

  “I’ve long suspected that you never truly abandoned your youthful ideals,” the general hissed. “I will take great pleasure in telling my liege that I have been right about you all along.” He eyed Zucker with a sneer. “Much as I once took similar pleasure in doing away with that mangy Mūs friend of yours.” The general’s paw went to the hilt of his heavy sword as he added in a deep, rasping voice, “You remember, do you not, my young lord?”

  “Oh, I remember. I remember it every day.”

  “Good. Because it would be a shame if I should have to do the same to you.”

  The panic rose in Hopper’s throat as he watched Zucker’s eyes harden. He imagined a million different thoughts churning in Zucker’s mind.

  But Hopper knew the only one that made sense would be the one Zucker hated most.

  Eyes flashing, teeth grinding, the royal heir to the Romanus throne let out a long rush of breath. Then he raised both his arms above his head and lowered himself to his knees in the dirt.

  “I surrender,” he said.

  chapter twenty-four

  AT THAT VERY MOMENT the barracks door burst open.

  “No!” cried Hopper, shielding Pup with his body. Two heavily armed rat guards stood smiling in a menacing manner. One had a series of daggers tucked into his belt; the other had a broad sword at his hip and a club propped casually upon his shoulder.

  “Congratulations, rodents,” said the one with the daggers. “You have all been selected to go forth and establish a new colony in the name of Emperor Titus of the Romanus, and for the greater glory of Atlantia!”

  A cheer went up that rattled the barracks windows. Hopper looked from the smiling guards to Pup’s joyful face to the celebrating rodents.

  The hunt was happening. Now. And they were the ones who were about to be the hunted.

  As the guards marched the newly elected “colonists” through the quiet camp, Hopper made sure to lag toward the back of the line. He held fast to Pup and kept his head low so as not to call attention to his unmistakable white marking. Several other lines of rodents trudged ahead of them. More were being led out of their barracks to join the march.

  “Psst.”

  Hopper glanced up to see the strong young squirrel marching beside him.

  “The name’s Driggs,” said the squirrel. “And I want you to know I believe what you and your friend were saying back there. So does the old lady, you know, the mouse.” He shook his head sadly. “Seemed to me right from the start this whole camp and colony thing was too good to be true.”

  Hopper felt the relief wash over him. “Do you think you can convince any of the others?”

  “Sure,” said Driggs. “I’ve got friends in some of the other barracks. A couple of tough rats and a bunch of wiry mice. They’d be great in a fight. I can spread the word about the rebels and those hidden weapons, but only if I can get out of this line without the guards noticing.”

  By now the old lady mouse had slowed her pace and was lagging along beside them. “I can help there,” she said.

  “How?” asked Hopper.

  In a sweet but determined voice the old lady whispered her plan.

  Hopper nodded.

  “Okay,”
he decided. “Let’s try it.”

  They continued their march toward the main entrance. When they were a few yards from the front gate, Hopper gave the old mouse a silent signal.

  On cue she tripped, let out a squeal, and went sprawling into the dirt.

  “Ohhhh!” she wailed. “Oh no. My hind paw! I think I’ve hurt it!”

  As her barracks-mates gathered around, fussing and fretting and trying to help, Hopper pointed to Driggs; the squirrel ducked low and scampered out of line just as the guards appeared from the front of the line to see what the commotion was about.

  “Someone’s been hurt!” cried Pup.

  The guards did not look as though they welcomed such a complication. One of them stooped to examine the old mouse’s paw while his partner urged the others to stand back and give her breathing room.

  “What if I can’t march anymore?” the old mouse cried.

  The guard touched her ankle, which, of course, was perfectly fine. When she howled out in pain, Hopper bit back a smile.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” said the guard. “Maybe next time.”

  “Oh, please,” she implored, reaching out and encircling his waist with her arms. “Can’t you carry me?”

  “Against regulations,” the guard sputtered, trying to shake out of her grip. But she held fast, clinging to him with all her might. Finally his fellow guard had to step in and give the old mouse a firm tug. She came away from the first guard and collapsed into a sobbing heap.

  “Leave her here,” said the second guard. “We’re going to be late, and Titus will not be pleased. One of the other guards will have to bring her back to her barracks.”

  His partner nodded his agreement. “Let’s move it!” he cried to the refugees, waving them back into line. “Hut, two, three, four . . .”

  As the guards scampered back to the front of the line, Hopper watched with a frown; something was different. Something was missing . . .

  Missing from the first guard’s belt!

  And now the old mouse was smiling up at him. She reached into her apron pocket and offered him the dagger she’d just swiped.

  “Nicely done,” Hopper whispered, quickly slipping the blade into his coat.

  “Good luck,” she whispered back. “We’re counting on you.”

  Hopper leaned down and looked her right in the eye. “I won’t let you down,” he promised.

  Then he took Pup’s paw and followed the others.

  To the hunting ground.

  chapter twenty-five

  THE ARENA WAS MOSTLY a barren wasteland, dotted with a few random human objects—an old shoe; an empty box; a strange silver-lined cup or mug of some sort.

  Hiding places, thought Hopper. To give the hungry cats at least some sense of the thrill of the chase.

  The odds were stacked severely. The cats would win, always.

  The colonists, who were at last beginning to see that the accusations Zucker had made back in the barracks were all true, stood in a trembling knot in the center of the arena.

  The sickening scent of fear assaulted Hopper.

  Including his own.

  But he did not freeze. He did not hesitate or deliberate. He grabbed Pup’s tiny paw and ran, practically dragging his small brother along in the dirt behind him. He ran for the silver-lined cup, which lay on its side like a manmade metal and plastic cave.

  “Get in!” he cried, lifting Pup and tossing him inside. “Now stay here and be still!” Dread filled Hopper as he realized that those were the very same words he’d said to Pinkie when he’d forced her to hide behind the gravel mound when Zucker’s soldiers ambushed Firren and the Mūs contingent.

  And he hadn’t laid eyes on Pinkie since.

  “Hopper, I’m scared!” cried Pup, his eyes shining with tears, his whiskers quivering.

  “I know, Pup, but you have to be brave. I won’t let them hurt you, I promise.”

  Even as Pup reached out and gave his paw a trusting squeeze, Hopper hoped he could fulfill that promise. The knot of doubt strangling his throat only amplified his own fear.

  When the other refugees—including the ones from other barracks who hadn’t heard Zucker’s explanation—saw what Hopper had done, they, too, began to seek shelter for themselves. The father rat carried all four of his babies over to the metal-lined cup, and Hopper helped him lift them into it to cuddle up against Pup. The tiny mice trembled in terror, and as Hopper watched, unable to help, his veneer of courage began to crack.

  “What’s going to happen?” asked a chipmunk, his protruding teeth beginning to chatter. “What’s going on!”

  All eyes fell on Hopper. He was going to have to tell them the truth. The cats would arrive soon, and there simply weren’t enough places for everyone to hide.

  “We are being sacrificed,” he announced dully. “Titus purchases peace from the queen with our lives.”

  A murmur of disbelief rippled through the arena, and that soon turned to anger and fear.

  “Is there any way out?” asked the father rat.

  “Can we fight?” asked his mate.

  “We can fight,” said Hopper, drawing the dagger from his coat. “All of you, look around . . . see if you can find anything you might use to defend yourself. Anything that might serve as a weapon.”

  The rodents did as they were told, scurrying about in a frenzy, plucking up stones and sticks to use in battle.

  And then . . . a bell rang.

  Tolling, echoing . . . a death knell.

  “The cats,” Hopper whispered, raising the blade.

  From a shadowy corner of the arena a door slid open.

  A hot gust of feline scent polluted the air, mingling with the rodents’ own terror. There were so many of them! Hopper hadn’t imagined there would be such numbers. And each of them knew, judging by their smug expressions, that victory was already theirs. The slaughter was guaranteed. The rodents in the arena were no match for these beasts.

  Every small creature there was about to die. Including Hopper.

  He recognized one as the gray female he and Zucker had ridden the day they first visited the camps.

  His glittering black eyes met her upturned glowing ones—he’d petted her, thanked her for the ride, and she’d nuzzled against him—but that was then and this was a different time, a different place, a different purpose. Her teeth glistened, her eyes shone, and Hopper saw no flicker of familiarity or compassion in those yellow-green slits.

  The gray cat reached out with one huge paw and swung it at him.

  Hopper went toppling sideways, head over haunches. His vision blurred, his mind fogged.

  In an instant the area filled with the spitting and hissing of the ferals and the squeals of fighting rodents.

  The noise of the assault was a brutal cacophony of screaming, wailing, sputtering.

  Hopper tried to get to his feet, but the universe was spinning. He could not get his bearings. Where was the silver-lined cup?

  “Pup!” he called, but he was not sure if the word took the form of sound.

  He blinked to clear the haze that veiled his eyes, but his head was heavy and his limbs were like lead.

  The arena went in and out of focus: tails and ears and teeth and claws . . .

  And then—was he dreaming?—a snatch of gold! A flash of motion robed in sparkling golden cloth. Pinkie!

  A tiny explosion of white—a crisp tunic with red-and-blue stripes!

  And he heard it—the horn fashioned of bone, blaring boldly, proudly announcing that the ally had arrived!

  “Aye, aye, aye! Aye, aye, aye!” It was a war cry, but it was the most beautiful sound Hopper had ever heard. Rangers began dropping into the hunting ground from above. Hopper looked up and saw dozens of tiny holes had been dug in the upper walls and ceiling. He gaped at the strange and beautiful sight—it seemed to be raining Ranger rats.

  “Hopper! Hopper, can you hear me?” The familiar voice echoed across the cavernous space like thunder.

  “Firren! You’re h
ere!” Hopper cried as she appeared in front of him and helped him to his feet.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Can you fight?”

  “I can fight!” In the distance he saw Pinkie barreling toward a fat calico who was about to gobble a young rat. Filled with a sense of heartaching pride, he watched as she raised her sword and plunged it into the villain’s furry shoulder.

  The cat howled and dropped the rat, who bit the calico’s paw.

  Hopper smiled. Atta girl, Pinkie! he thought.

  “Listen to me,” said Firren, picking up Hopper’s dagger from the dust. “The Rangers and Pinkie and I are taking over here. The Mūs army is on its way to the camps. Some of my Rangers went ahead and got word of our impending rescue to the refugees. Wasn’t easy, since Titus seems to have tripled his security.”

  Hot guilt nearly paralyzed Hopper. “That’s my fault—” he began, but Firren interrupted with a stern look.

  “Doesn’t matter now, Hopper. The important thing is that the refugees are armed and waiting, ready to fight!”

  “You got Zucker’s message, then?”

  “Yes. He left a warning in the runes that Titus was expecting us.”

  Hopper smiled at his friend’s cunning. “And you know he was never a traitor?”

  Firren nodded. Then she looked around. “Where is he?”

  “General Cassius has him in the camp.”

  Firren scowled. “We will see to his safety once we have earned a victory here.” She held out the dagger for Hopper to take. “There is nothing we can do to help Zucker right now.”

  Hopper knew she was right. And besides, this is how Zucker would want it to be done. He would want them to save these innocents first and aid him later.

  With a heavy heart he nodded.

  “Good,” said Firren. “Now we fight.”

  Together they entered the fray.

  chapter twenty-six

  THEY WERE ALL DEAD.

  All but one.

  The hunting ground was littered with the hulking bodies of the ferals. Sadly, two of the refugees had been lost to the violent appetites of the quicker cats, and more than a few were injured.