The White Assassin (11 page)

Juniper motioned to Cole and Suttor, who crept off to investigate the kitchen and dining room while he and Vincent silently entered the parlor.

The shades had been pulled. Except for a slender beam of light slicing across the Oriental rug, the room was black. Vincent halted, motioning at the broken vase scattered about the rug. He pointed to his ear. “Listen,” he mouthed to Juniper. They waited in silence. Then there it was—shallow, hoarse gasps coming from under the settee, so faint they were scarcely audible. Vincent recoiled at a cold, wet feeling under his feet. Blood.

“Billycan,” Juniper called out. “For your own good come out, you will surely be dead by sunset if you do not.” Cole and Suttor entered the parlor. Juniper nodded to them, and they took positions around the settee. “You’re surrounded. There will be no escape this time.”

The breathing halted. Then “Leave me to die,” came from beneath the settee. The words oozed out of Billycan’s throat like air escaping from a balloon.

His voice was so feeble, Juniper knew that if he bided his time his mortal enemy would be dead. Not knowing whether Billycan was armed, he had to goad him out from under the couch before it was too late, but what could he say? What would anger Billycan enough to lure him out?

“Billycan, you must come out. There is something you need to know.”

“Billycan knows all he wants or cares to know. Leave me be.”

“I cannot.”

A throaty snort came from under the settee. “Well, then, what is it I need to know, Chief Citizen? Please do tell.” Billycan coughed out a laugh. “I’m all pins and needles.”

“You need to know about your son.”

The Councilmen glanced at each other, unsure how Billycan would respond. They stood in momentary silence, then laughter—loud, strident laughter—erupted from under the settee.

A stabbing pain jolted through Billycan’s chest. He looked down at his gaping wound. He crawled along the floor, finally pulling himself out from under the settee. “The boy!” he growled. “You think I care about him, that my fragile heart might break at the mere mention of him? Ha! You’ve no doubt turned him into a sweet, sappy, pathetic excuse for a rat. He is of no use to me now. No longer my son! He is foul and useless!”

“He looks just like you,” said Juniper calmly. “Young Julius is the spitting image of his father, down to his snow-white fur.”

“Julius?”
scoffed Billycan. “You couldn’t even give him a proper name, could you?” He boiled with rage. He held his aching chest and forced himself to his feet, teeth bared. Weapons raised, everyone stepped closer. Billycan eyed Vincent. “You named him after the father of this mongrel, didn’t you, with his filthy Nightshade blood!”

Vincent sprang forward. “Serves you right!” he sneered. “Your son is nothing like you and he knows
nothing
of you, but he’s heard all the stories of his namesake. In fact, his spirit burns bright with the memory of my father,
Julius
Nightshade!”

“It’s all right, Vincent,” said Juniper. “Billycan, this is about you and me, not Vincent or little Julius. This is about doing the right thing. In the lab, you were bred purely for testing, given a drug that I believe made you into something you were not born to be—something wicked. I simply cannot accept that you were born as cold and pitiless as you’ve become. I cannot kill you—not even you.” Juniper revealed the syringe, already filled with an orange solution.

Billycan laughed out loud, forcing himself not to scream in pain as more blood trickled from his wound. “You think I was born his wound. “You think I was born
good?
Oh, that’s rich, even for you! I’ll have you know, I’m quite fond of my wickedness! I savor my kills! I relish their agony, their screams for mercy, the finality of their deaths! I commanded an army! I am the White Assassin! I led the High Ministry, and now I am leader once more—a lord, a king!

“You are a king of nothing!” Juniper snarled angrily. He lunged at Billycan with the needle.

Trying to push past them, Billycan charged Cole and Suttor. Cole threw his spear to the ground, grabbing Billycan around the neck in a choke hold. A bright light flashed in Cole’s eyes, blinding him. His arm became drenched in hot blood, his skin stinging in pain. Billycan was tearing at Cole’s arm with a shard from the broken vase, but Cole refused to let go. He yelled furiously as Billycan slashed his flesh. “Juniper, do it now!”

Cole hurled himself backward, pulling Billycan to the ground as Juniper swiftly plunged the syringe into Billycan’s neck.

Suddenly Billycan stopped clawing. He began to twist and thrash on the ground. Cole released him as Vincent and Suttor ran to Cole’s aid.

A choking murmur escaped from Billycan’s throat. His body shook uncontrollably. His eyes bulged as a gush of matted black muck poured from his mouth, sticking to his chest. With his last scrap of strength, he pulled himself to his feet. Wobbling, staggering, he veered toward Juniper, grabbing him by the shoulders. He looked at him strangely, as if he’d never seen him before. Billycan took hold of Juniper’s face, pulling weakly at his fur with trembling paws he could no longer control. “What have you done?” he whispered. He dropped to the floor. He did not move. His body made no sound.

Bending over him, Juniper checked for a pulse. He looked up at the others. “It’s over. We leave tonight.”

V
OICES WOKE BILLYCAN
. Some he thought he recognized, but he could not put a single name or face to them. It was dark, but he knew he was in some sort of truck. He could hear its motor and smell the stinking chickens, their constant squawking jolting his brain like electric shocks. He tried to lift his head but was too weak. He grunted in agony. With every bump in the road, his whole body jerked in pain.

He was strapped to something, tied down—downright overkill, so many knots. Even if he had the strength, there’d be no escaping these ropes. His chest and shoulder throbbed. He was injured—badly—but how? He couldn’t remember anything.

Billycan tried to make out the scents of his captors through those of the chickens—nothing. Whoever they were, they were happy. He could hear them chatting and laughing merrily. At times their noise even drowned out the chickens.

He turned his head toward the laughter, his eyes blurring in and out of focus. He couldn’t make anyone out. A fuzzy pair of feet
suddenly moved toward him, a large tail dragging behind. He quickly shut his eyes, pretending to still be asleep.

The rat stopped and stood over him, staring at him in silence. Billycan’s heart raced in his chest. It couldn’t be a good rat. Good rats didn’t tie you up and leave you injured and bloody. That much he
did
know. He could hear another set of footsteps approach.

“He’s still out cold,” said the first rat.

“How he’s still alive, I’ll never understand,” said the other. “Maybe the old ones’ claims are correct after all.” The rat snorted. “Maybe he does have magical powers.”

The other rat let out a heavy sigh. “Nothing supernatural about him. I believe whatever took place in that lab, whatever drug he was given for all those years, has made him stronger than even a Trillium rat—more resilient.”

“Do you really think the serum will work?”

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

The other rat lowered his voice. “When are you going to tell the others the truth?”

“I don’t know. For now, we keep it between us.”

“Agreed. The younger ones, I’m most worried about their reactions, Vincent, Victor, and Carn especially, with all they’ve lost.”

“If I keep it to myself, they’ll never be the wiser. It may save everyone a lot of pain.”

“You and I have been friends for as long as I can remember, and in that time never once have you acted selfishly. You’ve sacrificed much of your life trying to make others’ lives better. Perhaps most of the Council
would
oppose your decision to do this, but in my estimation you needed to decide—alone. You’ll no longer wonder What
if?
You’ve a right to this, whether anyone likes it or not. There is no shame in the truth, but I leave it up to you to decide when or even if you reveal it.”

“You are a good friend.”

The second rat chuckled. “I won’t disagree with you on that. We should rejoin the others.”

Billycan’s mind reeled. Who
were
these rats? It was maddening. He
knew
their voices. Where were they taking him? And what was this serum?

The only thing that made sense was the lab. That place … he knew it well. He drifted back to sleep, back to those days in the lab. To all the time spent in cage number 111 and the haunting smell of bleach.

“Why, that’s correct,” said Dorf. “You’re absolutely right! Billy, I’ll never understand how at your tender age you solved the equation, but you did it—wonderful stuff, just wonderful!”

The small white rat beamed through the slender window at Dorf, his teacher and friend, caged next to him. “Thank you,” he said in a voice as tiny as he was. “I was practicing all night.”

“I can see that. Any mother would be proud to have a son as bright as you.”

Billy’s face crumpled. “Do I have a mother?”

“Oh dear,” said Dorf under his breath. “Well, Billy, we
all
have mothers, every creature does.”

Stepping to the wire door of his cage, Billy looked out across the lab. There was a group of
females caged across from him. A dark rat, the color of chestnuts, halted in her tracks as he caught her gaze. Their eyes locked. She cocked her head and looked at him curiously. “Dorf, what’s a mother like?”

“Well,” said Dorf, clearing his throat, “if I can be honest, most are rather lovely creatures. They care for you when you’re sick or feeling sad, and they always love you, no matter what.”

“No matter what?”

“Yes, mothers love you always. Most creatures have a family, a father of course, brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles and so on, but in my estimation mothers are the heart of any family. I’m sure you have a family, too,
and
a mother. You’ve just never met them—they don’t allow that sort of thing here.”

Billy had heard other rats, the ones not born in the lab, chattering from their cages about their families, how they missed them. “Dorf, can we be family?”

“Why, yes, Billy, I suppose we can. Not a family like I spoke of—not true blood relations, mind you—but a
sort
of family all the same. I care for you very much, and that’s what families do. They care about each other. They love one another.”

“So you love me, then?” said Billy.

Dorf smiled. “Yes, my boy. I do.”

The lab technician watched as the long, lanky rat slipped through the maze. There was a lump of dried liver at the end of the unsolvable labyrinth. The test was used to establish what the rats would do when they were unable to get what they wanted. The drug, Serena, was supposed to keep them calm, coolheaded—able to control themselves.

The rat reached the end of the maze, a thick pine door lying between him and his prize of liver. He sniffed the air, so close to what he wanted! Suddenly the white rat threw his body forward, hitting the door with his shoulder and chest. The lab tech’s face went slack as he watched the wood give way, cracking down the center. The rat promptly plucked the liver into his mouth, crushing it with razor-sharp teeth.