Unbelievably, it is empty of humans. Indeed, judging by the relative cleanliness, I surmise that there have not been humans here in years. Perhaps decades. Maybe even longer.
There is a hush, a reverent silence that seems appropriate to the grandeur of the place. After the din of the train, I am grateful for it. The peacefulness is almost welcoming.
Almost.
But I know that Dev has not brought us here to enjoy the beauty of what, under other circumstances, I would say is the most elegant place I have ever seen.
The point of this journey was not for us to admire the aesthetics of this forgotten, magnificent station called City Hall. Nor was it to protect us from a vengeful Pup, hell-bent on destroying us. I know that now.
Yes, City Hall is without doubt a stunning spectacle, but with every passing heartbeat, I feel its beauty vanishing, draining away like blood from a fatal gash. Slowly I turn to Dev, to look into his glassy, unfeeling eyes, where everything seems to be reflected back to me. And it is there that I see City Hall for exactly what it is:
A prison.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“CIAO, PICCOLI.”
Hope let out a squeak of shock. Pup quickly stepped in front of her, spreading his arms wide to shield the little princess from the strange beast that had just sauntered into the room.
“Who are you?” Pup demanded. “What are you?”
The creature let out a sound that might have been a chuckle. “I am Capone,” the animal said. “Bulldog. And you?”
Pup puffed out his chest. “I am Pup. Hopper’s brother.”
“Are you, now?” The dog’s face turned grim. “Would that be the same brother who ran away and terrorized the tunnels? The brother who broke his heart?”
“Yeah.” Pup cast his eyes downward and sighed. “That’d be me.”
“But he’s a good mouse now!” Hope piped, peeking out from behind him. “He was going to apologize for all of it, but the bad soldier tried to kill me and we had to run away.”
Capone studied them a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t know if I should believe you. When Ace came back from the tunnels, he told me that Hopper had tried to reason with you while you were holed up in some old . . . combat boot, was it?”
“Dress shoe,” Pup grumbled. “Close enough.”
“Ace said that it didn’t go well.”
Pup reached up to touch his torn ear. “It didn’t.”
“But that was before,” Hope persisted, stepping out of Pup’s shadow to smile at the gargantuan canine before them. “He’s had a change of heart since then.”
“You have to believe me, Mr. Capone,” Pup pleaded. “I was out of my mind with anger and confusion, and it caused me to make some very bad choices. But I’ve worked through that, and there’s nothing I want more than to patch things up with my family.”
Capone took some time to consider Pup’s story. “I do believe you, topo,” he said at last, giving Pup a sympathetic look. “I was once a fugitive myself, so I know that it is possible for one who has strayed to see the error of his ways and want to make things right.”
“We’re looking for Ace,” explained Pup. “He still lives here, doesn’t he?”
“Oh yes.” The dog nodded, causing the folds of his chin to wag. “He does. But he is at work right now.”
“Work?” Hope gave Capone a quizzical look. “I thought his job was relocating mice and other rodents.”
“It still is,” Capone assured her with a drooly grin. “Only now he commutes.”
“Can we talk to him?” Pup asked. “We really need his help.”
“Sure,” said Capone. “He’ll back in a few hours. Benito gives him a ride.”
Pup’s heart sank. He had no idea who or what a Benito might be, but he understood what “a few hours” meant. He honestly didn’t think he could wait that long to ask for the cat’s assistance in returning them safely to the tunnels, and possibly convincing Hopper to forgive him. “Please, Mr. Capone. We’ve come such a long distance, and I really think Ace might be able to help us. Isn’t there a way we can see him now?”
“Hmmm.” Capone considered the request. “I think maybe I can help you out. Follow me.”
The dog waddled to the back door and pushed it open effortlessly with his big head. “Ace’s workplace is a ways from here, though. I’d carry you there myself, but I’m not allowed on the sidewalks without a leash.”
“Then how are we going to get there?”
Again, the dog’s face broke into a sloppy smile. “How do you feel about bicycles?”
Ace, it seemed, had branched out. Not only did he relocate rodents from the houses and establishments up and down Atlantic Avenue, but now he was also working part-time at a place called the New York Transit Authority Museum on Boerum Place.
According to Capone, the exceptional cat had gotten the job by sheer luck. One of the museum’s tour guides was in the habit of indulging herself every Friday at noon with a takeout meal from her favorite delicatessen—Bellissimo’s. Every Friday morning she would call and speak to either Vito or Guido to order what she called her “usual”—a small antipasto salad, a meatball sub with roasted peppers and extra cheese, and a serving of tiramisu for dessert—all to be delivered.
The brothers would prepare the meal, and then one of them would whistle out the back door to their third, much younger brother, Benito, who’d come screaming up on his bicycle, which had a deep wire basket attached to the handlebars.
The tour guide’s meal would be placed carefully in the basket and off Benny would go, careening through the streets of Brooklyn, dodging pedestrians and taxicabs, to deliver the food. One day Benny arrived to find the tour guide looking pale and very shaken up.
What’sa matta? Benny had asked.
Trembling, she told him she’d seen a mouse in the museum and it had frightened her so badly, she’d nearly lost her appetite; she’d almost decided to skip her customary Friday luncheon.
Benny had told her that it was a darn good thing she hadn’t, because he was pretty sure he could help her rectify this rodent problem. As it happened, he and his brothers were the owners of a tuxedo cat who held the title of Best Mouser in all of Brooklyn.
“Is there really such a title?” Hope asked.
“Nah,” said Capone. “Benny likes to exaggerate. But the point is, the very next day he put ol’ Ace in his wire basket and peddled him to the transit museum, where our feline friend was able to successfully relocate not only the mouse but three squirrels and a rat as well. The museum folks were so happy, they decided to make it a regular gig. And now, every Friday morning, the tour guide swings by on her way to work and picks him up in her car. In the afternoon, when Benny finishes his deliveries, he swings back by the museum and brings il gatto home with him on the bike. Pretty classy, no?”
“Very,” Pup agreed.
“That’s all very interesting,” said Hope. “But what does it have to do with us?”
Capone chuckled and motioned to an odd-looking two-wheeled machine propped against the wall of the back alley. “Today’s Friday,” he said. “Guess who’s ridin’ with the meatballs?”
Capone boosted them into the basket. Hope was so tiny, she had to cling to the wires to keep from falling through the holes. Then the dog covered them with a white paper napkin that had the BELLISSIMO’S DELICATESSEN logo emblazoned on it in red and green letters.
Just as Capone finished tucking in the corners to conceal them, the back door of the deli opened and Vito—or perhaps Guido—came out and whistled.
“Stay low,” Capone whispered. “And hold on tight.” Then the dog trotted away, barking a friendly greeting to his owner.
“Yo, Benny! Vieni qui!”
Pup heard a scuffling sound. He peered out from beneath the edge of the napkin and saw a human in torn blue jeans and a BELLISSIMO’S T-shirt jogging toward the bike. He was glad to see that this boy, unlike Bo the Snake’s scrawny, mean-spirited owner, had a cheerful face and no rept
ile companions.
“Museum order’s ready to go. Now move it, before them meatballs get cold. And remember ya gotta bring Acey back wit’cha.”
“Don’t I always remember? Jeesh.”
There was a crunch of gravel, then a skidding sensation as Pup felt the bike lurch forward.
They were off.
Pup gave up peeking out after the first five minutes of the ride.
It was simply too terrifying to watch. The world flew by in a blur as Benny weaved and darted in and out of the paths of huge yellow creatures with round black feet and shrill honking voices. Other similar creatures in duller hues cut in and out as well, but Benny didn’t seem to mind. He merely steered his rolling vehicle sharply out of the way and kept right on pedaling.
“This is fun!” cried Hope.
Pup strongly disagreed with that assessment. His only comfort was the warmth emanating from the white paper bag perched beside him in the basket. He pressed himself against it, trying to imagine how wonderful its deliciously scented contents would taste. He was tempted to nibble through the paper and help himself to a bite, but with the way Benny’s bike was lurching and swerving, Pup was pretty sure anything he put into his stomach would not remain there for long.
Fortunately, Benny managed to make it to the museum without incident. Hope peeked out from her side of the napkin.
“We’re here!”
The bike wobbled as Benny dismounted and leaned it against a tall post.
“Wait until he takes the bag out,” Pup directed. “Then we can climb down and follow him inside.”
Hope nodded. A moment later, the bag was lifted out of the basket. Pup waited until the delivery boy had turned away, and then he took Hope by the paw. They pressed themselves through the square holes in the wire basket and made their way down to the sidewalk. Running as quickly as they could, they reached the door right as Benny disappeared inside and slipped in just before it closed.
Pup blinked.
For one mad second he thought he was back in the subway tunnels.
“This place is so cool!” breathed Hope, taking it in with eager eyes. “It reminds me of home.”
She was right, of course. The museum seemed to be a cleaner, better-lit replica of the tunnel world below. An upland twin. A mirror image.
This made him think of Pinkie and Hopper, with their white markings and wounded ears, and his heart hurt in his chest. The sooner they could find Ace, the better. He was Pup’s best—perhaps only—chance of convincing his brother to forgive him.
Again, he took Hope’s hand and guided her out of the flow of foot traffic, which luckily, was minimal. Only a few humans were to be found wandering around, exploring and posing with big smiles near the older train cars and turnstiles on display. The tour guide, Pup imagined, was probably halfway through her antipasto right about now.
The walls were adorned with all sorts of memorabilia pertaining to public transit. Old advertisements, maps, artwork, and photographs.
“I get the feeling the humans are very proud of their subway system,” Hope observed, pausing to gaze up at a black-and-white rendering of a bustling station from the recent past—a photograph, Pup thought it was called; he’d seen a few affixed to pages of the Sacred Book when he’d lived in the locomotive with Pinkie. They were marvelous, he realized now, studying the much-enlarged image on the wall. A photograph, essentially, was a way to freeze reality, to capture humans exactly as they were at any particular moment in time.
Pup blinked. Make that humans and (unless Pup’s eyes were deceiving him) rodents!
There in the corner of the enormous photograph, he saw the most astonishing thing. Three rodents . . . rats, judging by the size of them, crouching close to the wall. Two were burly, clearly male, but the third had a kind of feminine grace about her. She wore what appeared to be a necklace, fashioned of shining gemstones and filigreed metal. Pup wished the photo wasn’t black and white; he had a feeling those stones would be beautiful in color.
“Hey,” said Hope, taking note of Pup’s steady gaze and following it to the photo. “The lady rat in that picture is wearing a chain just like the one my daddy wears for special royal occasions.”
“Really?” Pup turned to the little princess, who nodded exuberantly.
“It belonged to his mother. I don’t know the whole story, but I think Grandfather Titus gave it to her as a gift when they were courting, long before he was emperor, long before the founding of Atlantia.”
This revelation caused Pup’s fur to prickle and actually stand on end. Could it be? Could he really be looking at what he thought he was looking at?
He whipped his head around to examine the photo again. He was sure the human who took it—the human who had the magical power to freeze time into a single image—probably hadn’t even known the three rats were in the picture. Something about the posture of the two male rodents—the position of their paws, the hunch of their backs—seemed to indicate that they were burrowing, digging, creating a hole in the slim crevice where the base of the wall met the floor.
It made perfect sense. The portal he and Hope had climbed through . . . the jeweled necklace . . .
Pup was about to point out his amazing discovery to Hope when he felt a presence behind him. Heart pounding, he turned slowly to look over his shoulder and saw a large, handsome cat. Like the photograph, the cat was a study in black and white, his dark ears contrasting with the dazzlingly white fur of his chest.
When Pup’s eyes met the feline’s clear green ones, the rhythm of Pup’s heart changed from a fearful pounding to a rapid flutter.
A flutter of absolute joy.
“Hello, Ace,” he said, extending a paw to shake. “I’m Pup. And I’m hoping you can help me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
FIRREN HELD THE NOTE AS though it were burning her paw. Zucker reached out, gently took the scrap of paper from her, and read it to himself.
“What does it say?” asked Hopper.
“Not much,” said Zucker. “Looks like she wrote it in a hurry. But the gist of it is that Devon is not to be trusted.”
“Devon . . . ,” Hopper said, his mouth going dry. “Devon who we left behind to protect the children?”
Zucker nodded. “Yeah,” he said, his muscles tightening. “Him. We need to get back there, right now.”
“Wait,” cried Hopper. “We can’t all go back. What about Hope? She’s gone upland, obviously. And believe me, that place can be hazardous.” He pointed to the message on the wall, the one that hinted at Pup’s forthcoming apology. “Even if Pup hasn’t taken her away in anger, even if they’ve becomes allies somehow, she’s still in danger.” He looked at the note in Zucker’s fist and struggled to make sense of it. “I don’t understand what La Rocha . . . I mean, Marcy . . . means about Dev being untrustworthy. When I left her with him, she didn’t seem worried at all. She didn’t even seem to recognize him.”
Zucker turned to Firren, his expression desperate. “Tell me what you want to do,” he said. “I’ll do whatever you say.”
Firren was perfectly still. Hopper knew her heart was breaking with worry for her children. It was bad enough when they’d thought only Hope was in peril, but now, to know the whole litter was at risk . . .
“Hopper,” she said at last, her voice strained but steady, “you and Zucker go to the daylight world. You are the only one among us who knows the lay of the land up there. You have the best chance of finding Hope.” She turned to nod at Dodger. “You and I, old friend, we will make our way back to the palace . . .” She drew her sword and held it above her shoulder, twirling it slowly. “And we’ll see what this Devon has to say for himself.”
“There’s no point in that.”
The four friends spun as one in the direction of the voice, but it was Hopper who recognized the soldier first.
“Wyona!” he cried, running to her just in time to catch her before her legs gave out. “What happened?”
“Devon attacked us,” Wyona
reported. “DeKalb and Pitkin and me.” Her voice broke when she added, “They’re dead. But I only pretended to be.” Her paw went to her head, where the fur was bloody and matted. “I suppose I came pretty close. I’ve been on my way back to Atlantia, but the pain has made it slowgoing. Then I spotted pawprints heading in this direction, so I followed them.”
“You are an intrepid warrior,” Dodger noted. “And for that we are grateful. Now, what do you know of Hope’s disappearance? And Pup?”
“They got away. Pup acted with exceptional valor. He distracted Devon with the princess’s tiara, then bit him and took the princess away.”
“So he did kidnap her?” Zucker growled.
“No,” said Wyona, shaking her head, then grimacing at the pain it caused her. “He saved her. When we found him, Pup was prepared to come peacefully. Devon murdered the general and Pitkin and clobbered me, and then he launched into some elaborate lie about DeKalb and the rest of us being traitors, and about how Pinkie was furious with him for shaming her. He tried to get Pup on his side by saying Pinkie would find a way to blame the murders on Pup if he ever showed his face in Atlantia again. But then Hope arrived and when Dev realized that the child was actually one of the royal litter, he changed his plan completely. He held his sword to her throat. I believe he had every intention of . . . well . . .” She flicked a glance at Firren. “You know.”
“But they got away?” Firren asked anxiously. “Yes? You said they got away.”
Wyona nodded, wincing once more. “The bite Pup gave Devon was pretty bad. It kept him from chasing after them. Devon had to wrap it before he could walk, and while he did, he went off on a wild, crazy rant. I was right there, faking my own death as it were, so I heard all of it.”
“A rant?” said Hopper. “What do you mean?”
“A tirade. Yelling and screaming—vowing he would destroy Atlantia and the Mūs village entirely, and raving about how he wouldn’t rest until Hope and every one of her siblings had been . . . slain.”