Return of the Forgotten

  Devon chuckled. “Oh, I think that is highly unlikely, Highness,” he said easily. “I would certainly remember crossing paths with royalty.”

  At this, Firren seemed to relax a bit. She even laughed. “Well, I wasn’t always royalty, you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Dev. He offered Firren a broad smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  Just then something outside the window caught Hopper’s eye. The old schoolmaster was leading Zucker and Firren’s royal brood down the palace steps toward the heart of Atlantia.

  Must be a class field trip, Hopper thought absently. He knew Firren was adamant about her children learning all they could about the city they would one day govern, so the occasional walking tour was an important part of their curriculum.

  “Now,” said Zucker, slapping a crumpled scrap of paper onto the center of the strategic planning table. “Let’s talk about Pup.”

  Hopper looked at the scrap: It was a note from La Rocha, a note Hopper had received right after his encounter with a bleeding Pup in an abandoned wingtip loafer, the day Felina met her tragic but befitting end. The ominous verse contained in the note had forewarned them all that Pup was a villain intent on destroying whatever peace might be restored to the tunnels. It was a prophecy, predicting that this new and vindictive Pup with the dark circle staining his face would surely do everything he could to steal away their hope.

  “We’ve all worked long and hard to get this city up and running again,” said Zucker. “We’ve promised our citizens prosperity and safety, and I for one am not about to go back on that promise. Pinkie has put a terrific strategy in motion with her plan to send these soldiers into the tunnels to find Pup. I only wish we knew where to start looking.” He turned to Hopper’s father. “Dodge, any ideas?”

  Dodger nodded. “A few. I suggest we go back to that smelly old shoe he’d commandeered the last time he was seen. A sweep of the subway tracks leading from the Mūs village would be wise as well. I would suggest checking the abandoned hunting ground, except the soldiers have done an admirable job of decimating it since the dissolution of Felina’s treaty.”

  At the mention of this, a look of grief flickered across Firren’s face. Hopper knew that the memory of hiding in the hunting ground was something that haunted her. As a very small rat she’d been held in the camps and delivered to the hunt as part of one of Titus’s so-called “colonization” projects. In reality, she and her family, and many other innocent and unsuspecting rodents, were being sacrificed to the feral cats. Mercifully, Firren had been saved by concealing herself in a silver cup, but sadly, her parents were lost to the appetites of the enemy cats. Hopper didn’t know any more than that, but from the depth of the pain he saw in Firren’s eyes now, he suspected there was a lot more to her story.

  “And another point . . .” Dodger stroked his whiskers thoughtfully and continued. “I don’t think we can rule out the possibility that Pup is already here, in the city, watching and waiting.”

  At this, Hopper’s ears pricked up. This had never even occurred to him. Could his tiny brother actually be that close, hiding among them, plotting his revenge? If that were the case, then perhaps Hopper could find him before DeKalb and Dev and the others did. . . . Perhaps violence could be avoided if Hopper had a chance to reason with Pup.

  He was about to suggest this to the others, but he caught himself. They would never consent to it—they all believed that Pup was out for blood and would surely forbid Hopper to approach him alone. Fine, then. He’d just have to do it in secret. And the sooner the better. Because somewhere deep in his heart, Hopper still had faith that he could change Pup’s mind. Of course, that hadn’t worked out too well when he had confronted Pup in the wingtip loafer. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t hope.

  Hope. The word, the name, gave him an idea. He had to get out of this meeting and into the city to search for his brother without letting anyone know what he was about, and Hope would be his alibi.

  “Pardon,” he said suddenly, “but I must leave.”

  Pinkie scrunched an eyebrow low and scowled at him. “What could you possibly have to do that’s more important than this?” she demanded. “We’re planning an enemy takedown here, Hopper, not a potluck supper.”

  Hopper gave his sister a glowing smile. “Actually, if we do find Pup, I think a potluck supper would be a lovely way to celebrate. For now, I have an errand to run in the city.”

  “An errand?” said Firren.

  Hopper nodded. “I made a promise to my godchild, and I’m not about to disappoint her.” He reached out to shake Zucker’s paw, then gave Dodger a hug. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I have to see a chipmunk about a whirligig.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  I HAVE LINGERED ABOUT THE palace steps for the better part of the morning, waiting to see if my note—with its crucial information—would inspire any immediate action. I am just preparing to leave when the palace doors open.

  But it is not a group of soldiers, spurred on by my letter, marching out on the hunt to locate Pup.

  It’s the royal heirs.

  I smile as I watch them taking to the streets of Atlantia with excitement and pride. This is their city and each has a vested interest in seeing it grow, thrive, and prosper. They are the future of this place. Each one is dear to my heart, and has been since the moment of their birth.

  They follow their tutor, and my eyes follow them until they disappear into Atlantia, scampering away in a disorderly but exuberant line.

  I glance up again to the window and see that Hopper, too, has spotted the children setting out. His eyes light with joy at the sight of them.

  But there is still no visible reaction to my news. Perhaps the meeting’s agenda is full and they have not gotten to it yet. Odd, since it is of such an important nature.

  Suddenly the Chosen One bursts excitedly through the palace doors and bounds down the steps. The glint in his eyes tells me he is on a mission.

  This leads me to believe that my information has been delivered after all! For what, besides the news contained in my note, could have inspired such zeal in Hopper?

  This development frees me to occupy myself with a far more entertaining pursuit.

  I will follow these darling children on their excursion.

  I keep to the shadows, as always, and watch as this most celebrated of litters explores the city. Verrazano marches with his head high, like the soldier he hopes one day to be. He holds his sword ever at the ready, not because he anticipates danger but simply because he loves the feel of it in his paw. He is most gifted when it comes to wielding a blade. Pretty Gowanus turns this way and that, batting her eyes at the smitten young rats who gaze at her with dreamy eyes and blush when she bestows a smile. Fiske is his usual comical self, pretending to stumble over things, barking out silly observations, and expertly juggling pebbles to the delight of his sisters. But when he is not being a clown, he studies his surroundings with the eye of a philosopher; perhaps I, La Rocha, will one day be looking to him for mystical insight and guidance. Brighton—oh, Brighton, our bespectacled little scholar—has her tiny pink nose in the guidebook her tutor has provided. She takes notes on his every word, eager to learn all there is to know about the history, architecture, and politics of our fair city.

  Tagging along at the end of the line comes Hope. My heart swells just to see her, small but healthy, determined to keep up with her siblings. Her entrance into this world was a difficult one and for this reason she will always hold a special place in my heart. She alone is dressed as a royal, in a cut-down version of an old ball gown, and her prized possession, the former empress Conselyea’s tiara.

  The tutor shows them the market square where not too long ago their grandfather Titus stood in chains, owning up to his evil deeds and offering his apology to a widely unforgiving crowd. When they pass by the library and the medical center, I realize that their schoolmaster is leading them to Fulton’s forge.

  Fulton has created every sword Zucker
has ever owned. He labors on the outskirts of Atlantia, for safety’s sake since his fires burn incessantly; to have his shop any closer to the buildings (some of which are fashioned of cardboard human castoffs) would be much too dangerous.

  I follow the class as they hurry toward the sound of heavy hammering, of hot metal hissing and spitting as it cools.

  Hissing and spitting. Funny how a newborn sword makes the same sounds as an angry cat.

  “Good afternoon, Fulton,” says the schoolmaster.

  The stocky swordsmith looks up from his anvil, his fur damp with sweat. “Young majesties!” he booms in a jovial voice. “Welcome to my forge!”

  Around him, flames blaze.

  “Hello, Uncle Fulton,” says Gowanus to the large, soot-stained rat.

  Fiske makes an elaborate show of dragging his paw across his forehead. “Hot enough for ya?” he quips. Then he observes, somewhat incongruently (but that is his nature), “If only we could conceive of a world in which we had no need for weaponry. Rats living in peace with all creatures. This should be our goal.”

  “It is,” Raz reminds him. “That’s what the emperor and empress are working toward.”

  “They don’t like to be called that,” Go-go reminds him.

  “Uncle Fulton,” says Brighton, motioning toward a fire pit. “Precisely what temperature is required to melt steel?” She makes this inquiry with her quill poised over her notebook, ready to add this information to her ever-growing store of knowledge.

  “Who cares?” says Raz. “As long as the sword comes out razor-sharp and pointy. Speaking of which, Uncle Fulton, my blade could use a sharpening.”

  “I don’t like swords,” says Hope. She is watching in wonder as the fabric tent above the smithy shop flutters and swells, billowing upward every time one of the fires flares up. “Why does that happen?” she asks. “There isn’t any breeze down here.”

  Brighton gives her sister a condescending sneer. “Because hot air is lighter than cool air, so when the flames increase, the increase in temperature causes the tent to lift.” She lets out a disgusted snort. “Everybody knows that!”

  “Everybody but Hopeless,” jokes Go-go. “She doesn’t know anything.”

  I wish I could scold her for her cruelty. Her tutor should reprimand her, but he hasn’t even heard Gowanus’s unkind comment, due to the fact that the old rat is rather hard of hearing. Clearly, he is also severely myopic. Because he doesn’t notice when Hope, sniffling and sad, slips quietly away from the group and dashes back toward the city.

  But I do.

  I follow the little princess all the way from the smithy shop to the palace, and still none of her siblings come looking for her. It isn’t any wonder, since they mostly just consider her to be a nuisance. And that half-blind old schoolmaster is not at all qualified to supervise five sprightly young royals.

  So from my anonymous distance, I see the youngest heir safely home. I watch as she stomps up the palace steps and slams the heavy door behind her. I suspect she will go straight to her bedchamber to fling herself onto her bed and sob into her royal pillow. And who could blame her? Her brothers and sisters treat her with such cruelty! My own two brothers were never unkind to me when we were growing up, and I have always been thankful for that. But Hope is not so lucky. Maybe she has gone to the kitchens to drown her sorrows in a plate of warm cookies fresh from the oven. She has been known to charm the royal chefs out of such treats on several occasions.

  Perhaps while I have been off following the heirs around the city, the soldiers in their whimsical pink uniforms have set out to begin their search for Pup. Or perhaps Hopper himself has located him. I suppose I will find out soon enough.

  I suppose we all will. I only hope the news will be good. For I have lived long enough in these tunnels to know that even when things seem to be going as hoped, obstacles, misunderstandings, and even intentional evil can scuttle the best-laid plans. I, for one, shall not rest until this situation has been brought to a satisfying conclusion.

  With Hope now safely back inside the castle, I decide that I am long overdue in paying a visit to the runes. The state of the tunnels improves daily, but the wandering rodents always welcome new words of inspiration to guide them. Today I know exactly what I shall write to calm their fears and give them hope. It will be the very same message I sent, via the soldier, to Hopper and the others.

  PUP IS NO LONGER A THREAT.

  HE IS TRULY SORRY AND WISHES

  TO COME HOME.

  THINK OF HIM NOT AS A VILLAIN

  BUT AS A FRIEND.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HOPPER SCOURED THE CITY. He searched every corner, every market stall, and every partially rebuilt building in search of his brother. He asked merchants and construction workers if they had seen an extra-small sand-colored mouse, with a marking like a storm cloud around his eye. But of course this only succeeded in frightening them.

  “Is this the ‘tiny villain’ you speak of?” asked a chipmunk, halting his hammer in mid-swing. “The one from La Rocha’s warning?”

  “Um, well . . . technically . . . yes,” Hopper sputtered. “But if I can just find him and talk to him . . .”

  The chipmunk was already packing up his tools. “I must alert my mate. We must bring our young ones to safety.”

  “No!” cried Hopper. “That’s not necessary at all. Believe me, I won’t let him hurt anyone. I just need to find him.”

  But the chipmunk was on the run, his tool belt jangling as he scampered for home.

  This simply would not do. If Hopper continued to ask about Pup, he would alarm the entire city. It would be chaos.

  He decided he would continue his search, but he would keep his questions to himself.

  As he made his way through the city, he heard snatches of conversations, whispers among the citizens that Pinkie had just sent out a small band of her most trusted soldiers to search for her wayward brother, in hopes of ending the threat and bringing him to justice.

  “Good news travels fast,” Hopper muttered to himself, listening as similar discussions swept from city worker to market vendor to mousewife. Some of these citizens seemed fearful of Pup’s wrath; others were comforted by the fact that an active military search was now underway. But one thing was certain: if DeKalb and his corps did manage to bring Pup back alive, no banquets would be thrown in his honor, as Titus had done for Hopper. Within the sturdy walls of Atlantia, Pup would surely be a most unwelcome guest.

  Hopper moved from street to street, searching the shops and parks, but found no sign of Pup. When he happened upon a field mouse and a gray squirrel outside the barber shop and overheard their heated debate about what should be done to Pup if, in fact, he were captured, he stopped to listen. He was so wrapped up in his eavesdropping that he didn’t even notice the tiny rat rushing past him until he had stepped on her tail.

  “Ouch!”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” cried Hopper. When he looked down, he was surprised to see that the tail in question belonged to Hope.

  “Uncle Hopper!” she squeaked, fumbling awkwardly with the hefty bundle she was carrying.

  “Hope? What are you doing here all by yourself? I thought you were with the schoolmaster, touring the city.”

  A guilty look flashed across Hope’s tiny face. “I . . . uh . . . I guess I wasn’t paying attention,” she confessed, “and I got separated from the group.” She lowered her head in shame, causing her tiara to slide slightly askew between her dainty ears.

  There was nothing unusual about the presence of the tiara, but that bundle she clutched so tightly gave Hopper pause. The way she’d folded it up made it look almost like a sleeping bag. It took Hopper a moment to realize that Hope had fashioned it out of the patchwork quilt he himself had sewn using scraps of fabric he’d collected as mementos. The Atlantian army had marched out under that flag on the day they’d defeated Queen Felina. How in the world Hope had come to have it, he couldn’t guess. And why had she turned it into a bedroll? And w
hat was with all her nervous squeaking?

  He would have asked, but at the moment, he was far too preoccupied with overhearing the grumbling field mouse and squirrel to completely process his concerns. The barber had come out of his shop to join them now, stating decisively that “hanging was too good for the likes of Pup.” The squirrel (whose whiskers were in serious need of a trim) seemed to be in full agreement, although the field mouse looked as though he possessed at least some small measure of sympathy for Pup.

  Hope’s voice interrupted his eavesdropping.

  “I’m going to find the schoolmaster right now!” she assured her uncle. “I think they’re over on the north side of the city, observing the construction of the new monument honoring those rodents who lost their lives during the Battle of the Camps. It’s a history lesson. Or maybe civics? Engineering, possibly. Whichever. I’m heading right over there.”

  Hopper, straining to hear the gray squirrel’s perspective on Pup’s punishment, merely nodded. “Good girl, Hope,” he said vaguely, still training his ears on the conversation outside the barber shop. “Be careful. Watch for speeding carts.”

  “Yes, Uncle Hopper,” said Hope, quickly adjusting her dainty crown and hoisting her patchwork bundle onto her shoulder. “Well, I’d better hurry before the schoolmaster notices I’m gone.”

  “Gone . . . right . . .” Hopper squinted at the barber, who was now flailing his arms in agitation while the field mouse shook his head and stomped his paws in disagreement.

  Suddenly Hope threw her arms around Hopper and squeezed with all her might. “I love you, Uncle Hopper,” she whispered against his midsection. “Don’t ever forget that.”

  Then the tiny rat let go and ran off as fast as her little legs could carry her.

  Hopper was about to call after her that she was heading the wrong way—east, toward the city’s main entrance with its immense iron gate. The battle memorial, as she herself had just mentioned, was being built on the north side of the city.