Nightshade City (9 page)

Mother Gallo had a welcoming disposition that suited her ample proportions. Her fur was a soft ash gray, and there was a bold flicker in her eyes. Around her full waist, she wore a sash of royal blue, stuck with pins, scissors, and other tools of her trade.

“All right, then, dear, let’s have a look at you, shall we?” Firmly grabbing Clover by her shoulders, she positioned her in front of the looking glass. She looked Clover up and down in the reflection, finally focusing on her face. “Well, my, my, you
are
a pretty little thing. No wonder why Killdeer is so taken with you. What a wonderful canvas I have to work with. You are as lovely as a budding flower, my dear. Now, let’s see if we can put you into full bloom.” She began measuring Clover from head to toe.

As Mother Gallo measured, Clover thought she’d try to find out what the High Mistress knew. “If you don’t mind me asking, High Mistress, do you know why the High Minister would like me to stand with him during the Grand Speech?”

“First things first,” said the seamstress. “Please don’t bother to call me High Mistress. I think the title snooty and ridiculous.” She twirled the tape measure around Clover’s waist. “Frankly, I prefer Mother Gallo. I have little ones of my own, not to mention no less than thirty-three godchildren spread throughout the Combs. I think I’ve earned that title much better than Mistress of the Robes, don’t you? For goodness’ sake, I merely have a knack for sewing and color, nothing more, nothing less.” She continued to measure Clover, wrapping the tape around her shoulders.

“Now for your question, my dear, why would the High Minister
want you to stand next to him during his Grand Speech?” Mother Gallo twisted and turned around Clover, assessing every inch of her. “Well, I think that answer should be obvious to everyone—everyone but you, it seems. Why, you’re stunning, my dear, plain and simple. You don’t seem the type to put on airs, and from what I hear from talk around the Ministry, you’re sharp-minded to boot. The
real
question should be why the Minister
wouldn’t
want you to stand next to him?” She patted Clover on the back reassuringly and flashed a quick smile at her in the mirror.

Mother Gallo, surprisingly agile for her size, hopped over to the barrow and took out a wide ribbon the color of raspberries. She layered it around Clover’s waist and pulled one end up over her shoulder to form a lovely satin sash. Grabbing a needle and thread, Mother Gallo swiftly sewed portions of the ribbon together, hiding her handiwork with a perfectly sized bow and draping the two ends of the ribbon down the center of Clover’s slender back.

Mother Gallo looked at Clover contentedly, quite pleased with the result. “Well, now, that’s just lovely, I would say; near perfect, I think. What do
you
think, my dear?”

Clover regarded herself in the mirror. Nothing so fine had ever touched her small frame. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,” she said. Clover turned around and looked at the bow trailing down her back. As a slight smile emerged on her face, she looked almost happy.

“I’m so glad you’re pleased,” said Mother Gallo. “Now let’s see how we can top that!” Mother Gallo went back to her wheelbarrow and pulled out some red and pink baubles. “No, no, none of these will do; too garish,” she said. She shook her head disapprovingly and dropped the items back into the barrow.

She set one paw on her waist and tapped her chin with the other. “Those delicate golden eyes—so unique—what should we pair them
with? You certainly don’t need much in the way of frippery. Your beauty speaks for itself.” Her eyes sparked in revelation. “I know!” She dove headfirst into her wheelbarrow, practically losing herself in it. “Here they are,” she said. Slightly out of breath, she retrieved some green stones. She polished them with the end of her sash. She repositioned Clover in front of the mirror and placed a sparkly emerald on a short silver chain around her neck. She then placed a delicate silver circlet adorned with more emeralds atop Clover’s head.

“Ah, that’s it,” said Mother Gallo. She sighed with satisfaction. “Now, that’s loveliness in its purest form, if I do say so myself. You know I found these stones locked away in an old storeroom of the Ministry? They had been sitting there for years, covered in layers of dust and grime. It took hours to polish them back to their full brilliance. These emeralds are rumored to have belonged to none other than Nomi, the High Duchess. They are perfection on you. Nomi would be proud. This is a great honor, my dear—treasure this moment always.”

She looked at Clover fondly, but with a slight sadness. She had known the duchess well. Mother Gallo sighed deeply. “Back to business,” she said. “Now, my dear, what do you think of our finished creation?”

Clover regarded her reflection in the looking glass. Even she could not help but notice the change in her appearance. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the wall carving of Nomi, who seemed to be staring at her. Did the duchess approve? Did her parents approve, or were they looking down at her, shaking their heads in shame?

Mother Gallo approached Clover and placed a soft paw on her shoulder. “What is it, my dear? What on earth could you have to be so sad about? This is a happy day for you. If Killdeer is pleased with you, your family will never go hungry again; your future children will never
lack for anything. Most Chosen Ones are elated to have the chance to unite with the High Minister.”

Clover balked at the mirror, abruptly crumbling into unrestrained tears. Mother Gallo hugged her close. It was then she noticed the carving of Nomi on the wall. Maybe the girl had a special fondness for the duchess, and all her ridiculous talk about what an honor she’d been granted had set the poor thing off. Perhaps the grandfather caused her distress; Billycan had mentioned he was deathly ill. That would certainly warrant the tears.

“My darling, what could be so awful?” asked Mother Gallo. “You’re young, beautiful, and have just received the honor of a lifetime—one most will never know.” She smiled sympathetically and patted Clover’s cheek. “Now, dear, tell me what is bothering you?”

Clover whispered, scarcely audible. “I don’t want to be a Chosen One,” she mumbled.

“What did you say? I’m afraid I didn’t quite hear you.”

“I don’t want to be a Chosen One.” Clover’s voice grew louder, angry. “I don’t want to be with the High Minister, a rat old enough to be my father. Why did he pick me? What have I done to deserve such a revolting fate? Who have I offended?” She looked up defiantly. Regardless of the consequence her words might bring, it felt liberating to finally speak the truth.

“Quiet, dear. You must stay quiet,” whispered Mother Gallo. She looked around Clover’s quarters as if a Kill Army soldier might be hiding in a corner. Such slanders led to dire penalties. “Look at me,” she said sternly. She held Clover by the shoulders. “Clover, it is imperative that you answer me candidly. I may work for the Ministry, but that doesn’t mean I condone everything they do. Now, you must tell me again with certainty, lest you be making a grave error in
judgment.” Clover nodded. “Clover, are you telling me you do
not
want to be a Chosen One? You do
not
want to be with High Minister Killdeer?”

Stiffening her body, Clover looked into Mother Gallo’s eyes, answering without hesitation. “I do not.” She walked over to her parents’ bed and flopped down on it like a rag doll. She carefully removed Nomi’s tiara and necklace, and stared at the silver’s intricate floral pattern. “I wanted to say no, but I thought Billycan might cut my tongue out.”

Stunned, Mother Gallo sat down on the stool Clover kept by the fire pit. “Clover, you did the right thing by accepting. Billycan surely
would
have cut your tongue out—or worse. Here I thought you wanted this. I thought you were happy. All the others seemed to be so thrilled by the idea. It never occurred to me … I’m bewildered.” Mother Gallo tapped her foot nervously. “What to do? What to do?” she mumbled to herself. She needed to tread lightly. No one in the Ministry could be trusted. She’d always thought the Minister a bullying degenerate with the character of a cockroach—cockroaches not being known for their strong moral fiber. She’d known Killdeer as a boy, well before Trilok banished him from the Catacombs. Even as a lad, he was a detestable bounder who exuded an air of entitlement.

“My dear, what does your grandfather think of all this? Does he know of your unhappiness? Surely he wants the best for you.”

Clover shifted awkwardly. With no one else to turn to, she had to take a chance. For now she’d keep quiet about Juniper. She needed to be sure she could trust the seamstress first, without endangering her uncle or his hidden city. “Mother Gallo … my grandfather is long dead,” she said plainly. “He did take care of me at first, but he died a year after my parents. A family friend pretends to be my guardian, my grandfather Timeron, so the Ministry still thinks he’s alive, insuring I
won’t be sent to the Kill Army kitchens. For now, Billycan thinks my grandfather has gone Topside in search of a healer.”

“And this family friend?” asked Mother Gallo. “Has he been looking out for you all this time?”

“He occasionally walks through the Combs in my grandfather’s cloak. That way, at least others will see him, but mostly I take care of myself.”

“You’ve been alone all this time? My goodness, how did you manage to survive on your own for so long?”

Clover removed the sash from around her waist. “At the time my grandfather died, I didn’t know what to be scared of, so I suppose being so young was a good thing. Even the loneliness became ordinary, and I got used to looking after myself.”

Amazed and impressed, Mother Gallo began to gather her things. Any female clever enough to concoct a story that Billycan believed, or at least accepted, deserved her freedom. She headed towards the door, thinking how much better her children had it. Her title in the Ministry had given them an easier life, if such a thing existed in the Combs. With Mr. Gallo dead six years back, killed instantly when a corridor collapsed, she’d had no choice but to accept Killdeer’s offer to employ her. The well-being of her children forced her to stick with a job she loathed, working for the despicable Killdeer.

She touched Clover’s chin with the tips of her paw, and leaning in close, she spoke softly. “I need time to think. The Grand Speech is a day away, just barely. Hear me, now, we
will
find a way out of this. Clover, most would call this an impasse, but it’s simply a crossroads. We will find the right path. I promise you that.”

The party lingered on well into the morning hours. Rats were stuffed and happy, full and then some. Victor and Petra sat together on the
floor, worn out from dancing. They leaned against the wall of Bostwick Hall, deep in conversation. Wobbly at first, Victor shortly found his footing, handling his newfound romance surprisingly well.

Vincent reveled in his brother’s good fortune. He knew his time would come. His father always told him he’d know when love struck, for it would feel like the beginning and end of his world all in the same breath. He found Petra endearing but a bit too giddy for his taste, which made her a perfect choice for his excitable brother.

Juniper stood chatting with a group of old ones. When he noticed Vincent, he politely excused himself from the conversation. He put a paw on Vincent’s shoulder and navigated them through the noisy crowd, exiting Bostwick Hall down a snaky corridor. Vincent welcomed the silence.

Lined with doors, the passageway’s layout was identical to the Catacombs, but the doors were stained with various earthy tones and adorned with dried plants and other ornaments. Such décor was strictly forbidden in the Combs. There were chairs and stools along the length of the corridor, even a few children’s toys scattered here and there. A welcoming torch flickered every so often, giving the corridor a warm pumpkin hue, making Vincent’s eyes glow a sharp bottle green.

As they reached the middle of the corridor, Juniper stopped in front of a door freshly stained the color of stewed tomatoes. “I think it’s high time you and Victor had a proper place to live, no?” He opened the door, exposing a space of four dirt walls with a small wooden table, a cupboard, and a fire pit.

Vincent looked in. “Well, go ahead,” said Juniper. “It’s yours and Victor’s now.” Juniper sized up the space. “We’ll get you some bedding and necessary items for cooking and such. You two can do anything you want with the place, make it your own. We believe all creatures have a right to their own unique expression, unlike the High
Ministry, who think free expression will eventually lead to rebellion. In truth, it’s the lack of that freedom that leads to uprising. Your fire pit is over there, and a cupboard for your supplies is to the right of it. Ulrich and Ragan can get you some stain if you two want to color the place up a bit, unless of course you’re at home with these dirt-brown walls.” Juniper tapped a bare wall with his knuckle. “I dare say your time in the Combs has almost certainly made you sick of this particular shade of dry earth.”

Vincent didn’t know what to say. He twisted clumsily, embarrassed. Generosity was a hard thing to come by in the Catacombs. “Thank you, Juniper,” he said awkwardly. “It’s more than anything I could imagine. This whole day has been beyond words. Thank you for your charity.” Vincent turned in a full circle, admiring the room.

“It’s not charity I’m giving you—it’s your due. I feel like part of Julius has been brought back from the dead. I’m only giving you what would have rightfully belonged to him. Now it’s yours.” Vincent’s eerie likeness to his father still haunted Juniper. He hoped in the end the boy would meet with a happier fate.

“Let’s go,” said Juniper, pulling a small iron key on a leather loop from his rucksack and locking the door behind them. He placed it over Vincent’s head. “This is yours now.” Vincent stared down at the key. It felt comfortable on his chest. “A new key for a new beginning,” Juniper said.

They walked silently, passing more and more corridors, curving and coiling this way and that. The growing city had more new vacancies than residents, but not for long. With the help of the Council and their network of Loyalists inside the Combs, families were slipping out from under Killdeer’s control. The sector majors had grown lazy, not paying attention, which allowed families of rats to sneak away in the night. Nightshade City would soon be just that—a city.