Chapter Sixteen

The sound of typing echoed through a stony alcove, nearly drowning out the murmur and flow of a nearby underground stream. A skylight sent a long shaft of sun beaming down into the secluded grotto, dust motes dancing in its path as a bookish, intense mouse, just barely into his adult years, opened another leather-bound volume and looked over the spidery script inside. Nicodemus had left quite a few of the journals, and (to the young mouse's consternation) had also adopted the ancient art of calligraphy. The unfortunate reader squinted at one of the old rat's earlier efforts, and couldn't make heads or tails of it at first.

"June 26th, Year One After Escape," he slowly intoned. He had an eerie talent for imitating Nicodemus' voice, or so he was told--he'd just missed meeting him before the "accident" claimed his life. After Escape, thought the mouse. Numbered the years different, just to give me a headache, I bet. He sighed and returned to his task, paws flying across the miniature keyboard. This minor technological marvel was a conglomeration of circuitboard and craftily carved wooden keys, its lettering worn to near-invisibility by long use. Its connecting cord was a more patchwork affair--Gadget would have recognized it for the sort of spur-of-the-moment job you always intended to go back and finish, but then decided to leave well enough alone.

The long tedious hours of typing were all stored up on what would have been a small hand-held personal computer for a human, as a matter of fact a top-of-the-line Palm Pilot brought back to Thorn Valley at considerable risk and much debate. As it was the only computer for many long miles around, and he was the only one who could use it, 'Palm Pilot' was the nickname most of Thorn Valley called him by, unless they wanted something from him.

"Rats have always dwelled in the shadows, on the edges of things. My truest hope is that we might one day move out of the dark and into the light of free open living, drawing on our own talents and resources. Not stealing, not nibbling away, but working hard and enjoying the fruits of our labors."

Well, thought the amused mouse as he tapped and typed the words into his computer, we're almost there. Didn't expect mice in your Plan, did you?

From above, someone called him away from his work. "Timmy, sweetheart? Your mother and Justin are here!" The voice boomed through the workroom--an odd quality to its timbre and pitch would have told the average listener that its owner couldn't hear herself speak, but it sounded just like pure love to Timothy.

He reached up and pushed a button set cunningly into the stone wall with a brass plate, knowing that it would flash a light by the entrance above, where his girlfriend waited for him. "Thanks, Tina," he said quietly, and put a paw to the touch-screen of the small computer, saving his work. People always said he and Tina made an odd couple, but he thought they were pretty damn cute, himself.

Another touch of the paw, and the flat Palm Pilot computer swung on a mechanical arm, around to one side of his motorized wheelchair, locking into place. The chair swiveled automatically, starting on its pre-set course to the small hydraulic lift that would take him--chair, computer, and all--up to the main rooms of his hideaway. Bet you Mom's stopping by with another casserole, Timothy mused. He didn't mind her checking up on him, but it struck him as funny that "Madame President" would still take time out of her busy schedule to bring dinner to her full-grown son. It was even funnier since he was one of the two best cooks in Thorn Valley, and was all but engaged to the other one. Oh well, he sighed, the chair clicking to a stop at the top of the lift. She could have worse excuses to visit. If she starts in asking again when I'm going to marry Tina and give her some grandchildren, I'll just tell her "next Saturday", and let her chew on that for a while.

As he trundled down the hallway toward his living room, he trailed his fingers on a postcard that was propped against the wall. It was one of the reasons his mother never came too far into his quarters. The front was a night-time view of the Arc De Triomphe, but Timothy knew the back bore a message: "Greetings, Love, and best of Luck from Paris! Martin and Theresa." Timothy shuddered, recalling in a flash all the sad and strange events that had driven a wedge between his mother and his older siblings. Theresa had even started spelling her name with an 'h'. While he had been just as shocked and hurt as his mother at the choices they'd made, he still thought of them as his brother and sister.

Shaking off regrets, he moved ahead to greet his visitors. Tina was the first to greet him, just inside the entry-way. "Finally got you out of that dungeon you work in," Tina admonished him, trying to sound like she didn't mean any harm. She unconsciously rubbed a paw along the patch of stark white fur on the back of her head, standing out against her otherwise light-brown complexion.

She doesn't know I can hear the worry in her voice, Timothy thought, frowning. What's got her so upset? He reached up and took her paw gently, stopping its nervous motion. "What's wrong, Tina?" He tilted his head up, making sure she could read his lips and catch the words.

She gripped his paw tighter. "It shows, doesn't it?"

"You were fiddling with your scar again. You never do that unless you've got a lot on your mind," he reminded her. She nodded and pulled at his paw, urging him forward. He threw a lever on his wheelchair and got it moving again. "So," he ventured, "I take it this isn't just another friendly visit from Mom and the step-rat."

"No, she and Justin sound worried. They're freaking me out."

"It isn't just the inter-species marriage thing?"

Tina snorted. "If that bugged me, they would have driven me nuts by now. No, I take it they've got a problem, but I couldn't drag it out of them."

In the living room beyond, Justin and his wife sat fidgeting on an uncomfortable couch. It wasn't an ugly one; it just wasn't animal-friendly. A relic from before the Thorn Valley days, it didn't have that trademark gap between the seat and back, or even divided seat cushions, so guests ended up sitting on their tails.

"How do you think they'll take it?" whispered Elizabeth, rocking back and forth uncomfortably--not just because of the couch, but because she knew she was about to ask quite a bit of her son.

Justin harumphed. His tail was longer and less flexible, so the couch was more of a pain to him. His sword--more a symbol of office now, though he kept it (and his skills) as sharp as possible--was getting in the way too. He tried to keep his voice low, but it always carried. "Oh, I think he'll adapt. If there's one thing Timothy and I have both learned," he tapped his eye-patch, "it's how to live with difficulties."

"Does that include me?" Tina stepped into the room.

Justin startled, nearly jumping to his feet. "How do you do that?"

"Easy. I read lips at twenty paces. The walls sometimes quiver when you talk, and that helps me fill in the gaps."

Timothy trundled up behind her, waving as he approached. "Hey, Mom! And I see you brought your bodyguard. What's up, Justin?"

Justin grumbled. "I'm going to chop your damn uncomfortable couch into bits with my sword, that's what's up." Elizabeth brightened a bit, elbowing him in the stomach. "Ow! Okay, that's not what we came to talk about, but you are going to need some new furniture, I think--"

"--if you like our idea, that is," Elizabeth broke in. "We have a big favor to ask."

Timothy cocked his head. Nothing too ominous so far. "Hopefully something besides computer work or cooking. My kitchen staff is still groaning about the twins' birthday party last month."

Justin and Elizabeth looked at each other, he grimacing and she shaking her head wistfully. "I wish it were that simple. You see, we're about to get some visitors, and the situation is, um--" Elizabeth searched for a worthy word.

"--screwed," finished Justin, with his usual honesty and directness.

See what I have to live with? said the look Elizabeth gave Tina, loud and clear.

"We're stuck in a very nasty trap," Justin went on, "and these visitors could solve the problem or make it much, much worse."

"We'd like both of you to introduce them around and show them the ropes--but confidentially, we really need you to keep an eye on them." Elizabeth sighed, watching as Timothy and Tina glumly realized the ride they were in for. "There's a young squirrel named Runner--he's got a curious streak a mile wide, but he's a great little guy by all accounts. The other two are more trouble--they're from the Rescue Aid Society."

Tina did a doubletake. "Whoa," said Timothy, "All the way out here? Who died?"

"That's just it," Justin grimaced. "The Rescue Rangers did."

Artwork by Keith Elder

Tina squeaked involuntarily, putting a paw to her mouth. Timothy nearly forgot himself, pushing up with his arms and straining forward as if he might rocket out of the chair on his paralyzed legs. "All of them?" he gasped. "Dear God, what happened?"

"No one knows. But there's one ray of hope. Gadget Hackwrench is still alive," offered Elizabeth. Justin shuddered.

Haven't seen him do that in a long time, Timothy noted. He sank back in his wheelchair, Tina wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Gadget has been through a lot, but she's one of our visitors. Actually," Justin paused, "the word 'visitors' is a little misleading. They may be here for quite a while. And you have the extra space they need."

Timothy spread his paws. "My home is theirs. If Tina helps, we can get this place in shape post-haste."

"Sure thing." Tina straightened and began counting on her paws. "Three bedrooms, and Gadget will need some space for a workshop--that side cavern off the library would be just the thing--"

"--for that wine cellar Dr. Ages has been bugging me about," Timothy broke in. "But I suppose that can wait for now. I feel selfish even mentioning it. Poor Gadget..."

Tina patted his shoulder. "You're just thinking of your work, sweetheart. I know you'd do anything to help out."

"Right then, that's settled." Justin leapt out of his seat, glad to be free from the Couch of Torture. "We know you're taking on a lot at short notice, and we really appreciate it. I'm sure Gadget, Runner, and Devin will, too."

Tina moaned and put her head in her paws. "Devin? Not Devin Packard."

"Hide the good silver," Timothy grumbled.

"He's nothing like his parents. Bernard and Bianca assure us he's the soul of honesty and propriety." Elizabeth waved a calming paw at them. "We'd never ask you to do this if you had any little ones around here to take care of," she hinted, none-too-gently.

If you want grandchildren, you should visit the ones you've already got in France, Timothy thought, but he knew better than to say it out loud.

"All good things to those who wait," Tina said. "There's the little matter of a wedding to take care of."

"Details, details," Elizabeth fumed good-naturedly. "Let's just get the current crisis over first. Oh, and Timmy, dear?" she tacked on as an afterthought. "There's something you should do as soon as your guests get here."

"Name it."

"Be sure to show them the drop-off back there, the one that leads down to your library now."

Justin rested a paw on Timothy's wheelchair. "We certainly wouldn't want them finding it the same way you did."

Button images by Keith Elder