Lords of Trillium (5 page)

“A very noble reason, young rat, but why did you come
here
? There are scores of places in the world where rats' lives are less than tolerable. Why did you choose this place over all others? What got you to this
precise
location?”

Billycan pondered the question. There
were
many other places he could have gone, and done just as much good, places much closer and easier to get to. “I—I don't know. Something just
drew
me here. I cannot explain it.”

“All these rats”—Silvius nodded at Ajax, snoring softly in his chair—“the rats who so freely allowed you to lead them, just
as they did me, they are descended from Trillium rats. Only they don't know it. Just as you were, their forefathers were driven to this island. Something inborn
impelled
them here, a compulsion they could not control.”

“But what?” asked Billycan.

“That's what I'm trying to determine. Sadly, much of Tosca's history is lost. The tropical environment, the constant humidity have rotted away much of their written words. We tried our best to preserve what we could over the years, but our archives are nearly destroyed.” Reaching into a wooden cask next to his chair, Silvius retrieved a large rolled-up parchment. “Here, take the other end.”

Unrolling it together, he and Billycan gazed upon a faded map. The map depicted a portion of the vast Hellgate Sea, with three coastlines around it. “Here is the coast of Tosca,” said Silvius, tapping it. He ran his claw all the way to the other side of the map. “And here is the coast of Mastiff County, the swamp you ended up in.”

Billycan studied the center coastline. “Is this . . . Trillium?” Silvius nodded. “I never realized it was midway between Tosca and the swamp.”

“Did you know Trillium sits on an ancient volcano?”

“Yes, I've heard that before.”

Silvius pulled out another map from the cask, a smaller one. Unrolling it on top of the other, he tapped on the three coastlines of the Hellgate Sea and pointed to three red dots, one in Trillium, another in the swamp, and the last in Tosca. “Each red dot represents a volcano.” He revealed more dots, farther away. “As you can see, volcanoes, extinct and otherwise, exist throughout our world, but Tosca's and Mastiff's volcanoes are the closet to Trillium.”

“What does that matter to us?”

“I found an early Toscan document, something written by the Trillium rats who originally landed here.” He pointed to a browned parchment pinned to the wall. “According to its translation, we once lived in the center of Trillium's extinct volcano. I think we're chasing something from that volcano. Something we can no longer find in Trillium—something hidden from us.”

“But what?”

Silvius looked down at the map on his lap, tracing the small drawing of Trillium's City Museum with his claw. “The City Museum is built in the center of Trillium, the exact center of the volcano. And do you know what was next to the museum?” Billycan shook his head. “Our former home.”

His ears perking, Billycan sat up in his chair. “You mean . . . the
lab
?”

Silvius smiled. “Good, lad. You're catching on. Not only was the lab next door, the buildings were connected—one and the same. The blaze was put out before it reached the museum.”

“You said the Topsiders took something from you in the lab. What was it?”

Lifting his left leg, Silvius revealed a massive scar running along the inside, an area of his flesh that went concave as though carved out with a knife. “They took my flesh. They took my blood. Remarkably, they didn't take my soul, thank the Saints for that. Whatever changed us—made us bigger, stronger, better—they wanted it.”

“But what was it? What were they after?”

Silvius traced a circle around the drawing of the museum. “Whatever makes a rat like me, a creature that should live no more than four or five years, live to over one hundred—that's what they were after, and I reason that if they haven't yet found it, they're still searching. The humans will always want more than they have. If whatever lies in the heart of that volcano is the reason for our extended lives, our strength and intelligence, just
think
of what it could do for a human.”

“They could live forever,” said Billycan.

Silvius's claw landed in the center of the map. “Whatever the answer is, I believe it is hidden in the museum.”

T
HE
C
OUNCIL HAD GATHERED
over tea, trying to make sense of several diary entries. “When they found the above-ground city our ancestors had built, the scientists clearly knew we weren't ordinary rats,” said Juniper. “Lucky for us that they were the ones who found us. As we all know, the Topsiders' world is full of those who hate rats.”

“It seems the scientists were driven out of Trillium by the city's founders,” said Virden. “According to this journal entry, they had gone to the then new government and tried to tell Trillium's leaders of our uniqueness, but politicians knew most humans would never want to live in a city of baffling, super-intelligent rats, so they forced the scientists out, denouncing them and threatening their lives.”

“So the scientists fled,” said Cole, setting down the last page of the journal, “taking cages full of Trillium rats with them. They say they stopped many places, but it was not until they got to the swamp that the rats seemed at ease again. Back in
Trillium, the rest of the rats took to hiding, driven underground to save their own lives.”

“Indeed,” said Virden, “the scientists stole away to the swamp so they could do their research in peace and safety. They built the manor themselves, turning it into one giant home for the scientists and their families.”

Vincent smiled. “Like us.”

“The diaries go back nearly a hundred years,” added Carn, “and all are filled with the scientists' observations, such as how we share physical traits with humans—we sweat, our eyes make tears, things normal rats cannot do.”

“Normal rats don't sweat?” asked Victor. “They don't shed tears?”

Suttor nudged him and covered his nose. “There have been many times when I wished you didn't sweat.”

“One of the entries details how we communicated with the scientists through some sort of sign language,” said Carn.

“Though we couldn't speak to them, we all understood each other,” added Oleander.

Mother Gallo thought of little Ramsey, the Topsider boy who helped them the night Nightshade City was officially born. How easily he'd understood her.

Oleander got up from her chair and flipped through the journal on the Council table until she found a particular page. “Our ancestors used to sneak into the manor parlor, wanting to learn with the human children. They thought no one knew.” She tapped a claw on the parchment. “Here, listen.”

We've let the rats out on their own, giving them full run of the manor. They seem in no hurry to leave our company, but still curious to explore the new world around them. Almost every day, during the children's lessons, the rats slink into the parlor and
silently gather under the davenport. They think we don't take notice of them, but we do—all twenty of them listening intently. Since we've let them roam as they please, their personalities are blossoming, each one as unique as our own children. With the help of an open window, Tar has taken to the roof, slipping in and out by way of the attic. Always staring up at the sky, he sits up there for hours. Coriander, well, she's quite the mischievous one. Cook has discovered her time and time again rummaging through the cupboards, cleverly mixing spices together, tasting each new concoction as if she's trying out recipes. Of course Cook has her doubts, but I deem any day now Coriander will waltz out of the kitchen carrying roast mutton and plum pudding with a most triumphant grin upon her face! Then there's wise Garrick, constantly searching the library, always with his nose sandwiched between pages of a book. Following a small illustration, he built a birdhouse out of twigs and stones he'd found in the yard. The house was remarkable, just like the one in the picture, yet my praise did come with a scolding. He knows he and the others are not allowed in the yard. The snakes would make a feast of them. I'm afraid one of these days we will lose one of our precious rats, their thirst for knowledge getting the better of them, but I dare not think about that right now. I simply cannot
.

“We're still piecing things together,” said Cole. “We have the swamp diaries, and they mention more diaries in the museum archives, but Virden and I were nearly caught trying to find them.” He shook his head. “It's all a puzzle, especially the diary entry that claims we came from inside a volcano.”

“We lived in an above-ground city back then,” said Suttor. He glanced at the torches affixed to the wall. “I can't imagine living with constant daylight.”

Virden nodded. “Well, when Trillium was still called
Brimstone, just a small, budding city, that's exactly what we did.”

“I like the sound of that . . . ‘Brimstone,' very mysterious,” said Oleander.

“Brimstone, otherwise known as sulfur, is a product of volcanoes,” said Virden. “The name was quite fitting at the time.”

“It's all so remarkable,” said Juniper. “The secrets of who we are, finally unfolding.” He glanced at the Council. “Elvi, are you all right? You look like you're miles away.”

Elvi shook her head as though coming out of a trance. “Oh,” she said, “I was just thinking of a rat I used to know in Tosca. He would be very interested in our recent discoveries.”

“Really, and who was that?”

“Just another ignorant Toscan with outlandish ideas. By now he's quite insane.” A wisp of smile formed on her lips. “When I left Tosca things did not look good for him.”

“What a pity,” said Mother Gallo, patting Elvi's paw.

Clover cocked her head. “Are you sure, Elvi, that all the Toscans are as ignorant as you've always said?” She gazed thoughtfully at Oleander. “The bats always believed the swamp rats were that way, but plainly that was not the case.”

“I suppose some could have
normal
intelligence,” Elvi replied with a sniff, “but nothing like us.” All eyes on her, she shifted awkwardly in her seat. She smiled around the table. “I do see your point, but I lived in Tosca for a good part of my life. I
know
the Toscan rats. They are
nothing
like us.”

“We believe you, dear,” offered Mother Gallo. “Our Clover likes to see the good in everyone.”

Elvi raised a curious eyebrow. “Even Billycan?” she asked. “Do you see the good in him?”

“Yes,” said Clover, nodding her head resolutely. “I do. That night in the Catacombs, when we were surrounded by
Killdeer's loathsome sisters, the old Billycan would have killed us without hesitation, as the first step in regaining control . . . but he didn't.” She glanced at Vincent and Victor. “As far back as any of us can remember, Billycan hated everything about Julius Nightshade. And now I have Billycan to thank for keeping Julius Nightshade's and Uncle's dream alive . . . for keeping
all
of us alive.”

“Well said, my dear,” said Juniper.

Rolling her eyes, Elvi muttered under her breath, “Next thing you know she'll be calling him
Uncle
Billycan.”

Mother Gallo's ears perked up at the remark.

There was a knock at the door. “It's him,” said Suttor, rising to his feet.

Suttor opened the door to a sizable rat with fur the color of carrots. Once a chubby fellow, Suttor's little brother had thinned out. He was now a strapping young rat with a strong, square jaw, broad shoulders, and muscles to spare.

“Duncan,” said Juniper, “thank you for coming.” Juniper had a fondness for Duncan. After all, it was he who had told the Council about the Topside chimneys that led down to the Kill Army kitchen in the Catacombs—an instrumental part in Nightshade's victory.