Chapter 15
Nicodemus and the Secret of NIMH
After saying farewell to Isabella, Chris and Mrs. Brisby followed a hobbling Mr. Ages through a few corridors. They would finally see the one and only Nicodemus upon whom the Great Owl told them to seek out. To say that Chris was feeling confident about this was an understatement, as it felt like he was instead heading toward a job interview that would determine if he was qualified for it or not. He knew he wanted to make an excellent first impression, and he hoped that all would be well.
They were now in a vast, dimly lit cavern, with the tunnel they had just walked out of built upon bricks. Different colored bulbs were scattered throughout—which was not surprising at this point—the light source flickering with shadows passing over the slick walls and ground. A veil of water twinkling like diamonds from the lights poured down by the path the trio was taking to the depths, occasionally with water spraying their faces. Chris repressed a satisfying sigh as it was cooling him off a little.
"Now, don't tire him out," Mr. Ages told them.
"No," Mrs. Brisby understood as she and Chris were listening.
"Be brief."
"Yes."
"Say what you want, then leave."
"Don't tire him out, be brief, and say what we want, then leave," Chris recited. "Yeah, I think we got it."
"For your sake and Mrs. Brisby's, I hope you do, Mr. Fitzgibbons," Mr. Ages responded somberly.
"We won't be a bother," Mrs. Brisby reassured the old mouse.
Mr. Ages emitted a sigh. "Justin bothers him enough with all his silly nonsense."
Chris and Mrs. Brisby glanced at each other, but neither of them replied to that statement.
Within a few more footsteps, the trio eventually came across a cobblestoned structure. Intricate roots clawed over parts of it, looking like scraggly bones in the light of an orange bulb embedded above a doorway. Exactly eight large stones rainbowed over a large wooden door made of wood with a silver door handle and a bit of wrought iron. A handmade red velvet rug laid before it and a decorative marble sphere was nestled on a stand next to the doorway.
Only thing that's missing is a fortune teller, Chris joked a little to himself as he gazed at the furnishings.
"Here we are," Mr. Ages said, mostly speaking to himself as he, Chris, and Mrs. Brisby came to a halt at the structure.
"Thank you, Mr. Ages," Mrs. Brisby spoke up, showing her appreciation.
Mr. Ages stroked his beard in thought and mumbled, "I don't know what Nicodemus sees in that boy."
Chris fought the urge to smirk as he replayed Justin's little prank in his mind's eye, and it was clear that it wasn't the first time that the old mouse had to deal with something like that from him. "Still not so forgiving of what Justin did to you a while ago?" He guessed.
Mr. Ages waved his hand dismissively at what the shrunk human said. "Never mind that."
Chris simply shrugged his shoulders, deciding not to poke the bear any further, even though the old mouse had been the one who brought up the topic on Justin.
Seeing that he had nothing else to add, Mr. Ages plowed onward with his words. "I'll come back for you both." His crutch then carried him away as he hopped on his good foot, leaving the duo to continue on their own, but before he did, he turned his head to them and quickly reminded them, "Brief!"
"Brief," Mrs. Brisby echoed softly.
Chris silently gave the old mouse the thumbs up.
Mr. Ages continued on his way when he got the message that they wouldn't waste Nicodemus's time, and he was eventually out of sight. It was now just Chris and Mrs. Brisby, who would soon rest their eyes on Nicodemus himself.
The two faced the doorway, daring not to breathe so much as if their breaths would blow down the door. Should they knock? Should they try to open it? Should they call out and make their presence known? All Chris knew was that his insides were coiling tight like a snake.
He and Mrs. Brisby looked at each other. "You ready for this?" Chris asked.
"I hope so," Mrs. Brisby truthfully responded.
The tiny human nodded before taking a breath. He raised a fist, about to knock it against the door, when suddenly the handle squeaked. Neither Chris nor Mrs. Brisby had laid a finger on it as it moved on its own accord. Then suddenly, the door slowly swung open, and a strong gust of wind bellowed from the entrance. The duo jumped out of the way and ducked for cover as the door sprang open more, and a tunnel of light spilled out, looking like a space warp as red sparks crackled and zipped through the air. Chris covered Mrs. Brisby with his body, trying to protect her from the strange and unexpected phenomenon as they braced themselves for the worst, digging their fingers into the ground so they wouldn't get blown away like napkins. Then, the light imploded, making the duo squeeze their eyes shut. Things began to calm, though (with what looked like a few white star tails shooting through the air for the grand finale), and it all eventually died down, a hush descending upon the area.
Chris's breath stole from his body, his ears ringing as shock numbed him. What the hell was that? He questioned, absolutely puzzled and at a loss for what just happened.
He felt something shift under him, realizing he was still on top of Mrs. Brisby. A flush stained Chris's cheeks when the field mouse's sapphire blue eyes found his. "Umm… hi," he awkwardly said.
"Hello," his friend said in a sweet voice, and it looked like she was trying not to laugh.
Concern suddenly marked Chris's features. "You okay?"
Mrs. Brisby nodded.
A sigh of relief rushed past the tiny human's lips, and it was at that moment he realized his face was inches from the field mouse's. If they had just turned their heads at a certain angle, they would've been at a kissing distance. Chris quelled the butterflies trying to take flight in his stomach, and he quickly pushed himself to his feet.
Focus! He reprimanded himself.
Chris lent a helping hand to Mrs. Brisby—which she kindly took—and helped her to her feet. Their eyes then flitted to the mouth of the doorway when they heard what sounded like wood creaking. They briefly gazed at each other before they summoned what courage they had and strode toward the entrance. And then they found themselves on the other side.
The duo scanned their surroundings, only to see they were in a mystifying-looking chamber. It was very roomy, with rows of carved pillars, the insides of their bases shedding a purple glow as faint wisps of fog lingered. The floor was made of stone, and the rug from the doorway stretched on as if it were a very long tongue toward a raised podium with a throne on top that looked like the pillars, where a rat figure—that was hard to make out from where Mrs. Brisby and Chris were standing—sat upon it, under a few joined pillars shaped like a dome.
"Come closer," the rat gently said to the duo. "Don't be frightened."
Chris swallowed a little of his saliva before querying, "Are you… Nicodemus?"
The rat nodded once.
After all this time, Chris and Mrs. Brisby were finally before Nicodemus, the leader of the rats. Together, they approached him, and as they did, Mrs. Brisby was the next to speak, her voice sounding a bit nervous. "Sir… the Great Owl sent us to you."
"Oh, did he? He is a dear comrade."
They know each other? Chris thought, not quite expecting that. Well, that now explains why the Great Owl suggested that we seek out Nicodemus and the rats.
The shrunk human and field mouse came to a standstill at the podium, unsure what to do next.
"Closer," Nicodemus kindly encouraged them.
Mrs. Brisby had been a little jumpy while Chris was trying to keep himself together, and even so, they obeyed him. As they drew near, the tiny human wondered what Mr. Ages had been fussing about. Nicodemus seemed very composed and patient. Not only that, Chris started to feel some kind of aura surrounding the rat, something mystical, and as he got a better look at him, his eyes goggled.
Nicodemus's appearance looked like the Great Owl's: the warty hands, long claws, bushy white eyebrows, the white mustache and beard, and, of course, yellow eyes that glowed like the sun, vacant of any pupils. He was clad in a black and purple robe, the outer lining white with purple ovals, and had on brown footwear.
"Ahhh, Mrs. Jonathan Brisby and Christopher Fitzgibbons," Nicodemus spoke again in that same tone. "What an honor this is."
Chris blinked his eyes a few times but then managed to utter, "You are not bothered that I'm… a human?"
"Not at all, young man. Human or not, you are welcome here as much as Mrs. Brisby is."
Chris was slightly surprised but showed his appreciation by bowing a little. He wasn't entirely sure if that was what he was supposed to do, but he was grateful that Nicodemus didn't overreact that he was a human like most of the rats did a while ago when they first saw him. "Thank you."
"Y–Yes, thank you," Mrs. Brisby stammered. "But how… how is it that everyone kn–know–knows Jonathan?"
"He was a great friend to the rats of NIMH," Nicodemus explained. "He himself came from NIMH."
"NIMH?" Chris repeated. "You all came from NIMH?"
"Yes."
Chris raked his hand through his brown hair. So that's why NIMH keeps getting mentioned… but there are still some things I don't understand… And Elizabeth's husband was from NIMH? Then that means… Mr. Ages must've come from there, too, right? Considering those two were friends, like Elizabeth said.
"Your Majesty," Mrs. Brisby hesitantly began after she processed that information while Chris was still doing that, "I did not know that you knew my husband. But I'm glad to hear it, for you see, my family is…"
"I know of your needs," Nicodemus politely spoke. "If we can help you, we will." He then pointed toward something. "There is a book there."
Chris and Mrs. Brisby's gazes collided on a slant-front desk with a stool, which was made of the same thing as Nicodemus's throne, with a candle, a quill in an ink pot, and a few books on it. But the book that Nicodemus was referring to was as big as the Bible, resting on top of a green velvet desk cloth with gold threads.
"Read the words."
Read what exactly? Chris wanted to ask but kept his mouth clamped shut at that.
"Yeah, sure," Chris answered, treading toward the desk with Mrs. Brisby.
"I can read a little," Mrs. Brisby said honestly. "Jonathan taught me." She chuckled a little. "The children are better…" Mrs. Brisby trailed off when the specified book… was floating in the air, with no one touching it. "...then I am…"
The book leafed through its pages as if the wind were blowing through it, light streaming out of it and casting a strong yellow glare, sparkling like shafts of mercury. The book eventually stopped at a particular page and levitated back onto the desk.
Chris and Mrs. Brisby were agape. How did it do that? And that was when Chris thought of something as what happened a bit ago came rushing back to him. He looked over his shoulder at Nicodemus and suddenly understood why he felt that alien-like aura coming from him. The leader of the rats had magic. But how was that possible?
"Read," Nicodemus vaguely said.
As if they hadn't done it enough, Chris and Mrs. Brisby slid their gazes to each other but obeyed him. They approached the desk—with Mrs. Brisby having to resort to standing on the stool so she could see the words—and they began to peruse what was written on the right page.
"Jonathan… Brisby…" Mrs. Brisby slowly read out loud, "made… possible… the rats' escape… from the t… terrible cruelty of NIMH." An amazed smile reached her face, but as soon as it came, perplexion rippled across her features as she looked over at Nicodemus. "Jonathan?"
A line appeared between Chris's brow. It seemed there was much more to Jonathan than he and Mrs. Brisby ever realized. But it still didn't explain how he and the others here got involved with NIMH in the first place.
Chris read the other half of the page aloud. "He was ki…" The word paused in his throat, knowing how much this was sensitive to his friend, but he made an effort to try and spew it out. "Killed today… while drugging the farmer's cat, Dragon."
His eyes landed on Mrs. Brisby's in time to see her eyes were glistening, and she sighed wistfully. "Oh, I… I never knew… just what happened," she managed to say without sobbing. "All I knew was that he didn't come back. But I never knew what happened."
A pang of guilt stabbed at Chris's chest like a knife, and while he wasn't at fault here, he wished not to see her like this. Mrs. Brisby had not been prepared for the inevitable of losing her husband like this, and Chris cursed at Dragon in his mind. However, he knew that even if he wanted to teach that damn cat a lesson, it would not solve anything or bring back Jonathan. It was not like he knew about this back then, but even so, there was one thing he could do for his friend that she needed.
Without hesitating, Chris gingerly wrapped his arms around Mrs. Brisby. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he consoled, his warm breath brushing the shell of the field mouse's ear.
A few beats of silence passed, but Mrs. Brisby returned the gesture and ducked her head in the crook of Chris's shoulder and neck. "It's not your fault," she delicately said. "You didn't know either." A slight pause fell between them like a cloth preserving the moment until Mrs. Brisby added: "Thank you…"
Chris slowly nodded against her head, giving her whatever time she needed to grieve and regain her composure.
After a few moments had passed, Chris and Mrs. Brisby lightly tore away from their embrace, managing to direct their attention back on Nicodemus—who had been waiting forbearingly and never once interrupted what they were doing. "Why did he never tell me about any of you?" Mrs. Brisby questioned. "Why?"
"He had a reason, a good one," Nicodemus elucidated, showing sympathy to her. "Still, he worried about it a lot, and he might have told you in the end. But then it was too late."
"What was the reason?" Chris queried, having a bit of an idea of the answer.
"To answer that, I would have to tell you both quite a long story—the whole story about us, and NIMH, and Jonathan, and how we came here." Nicodemus's gaze then cut to Mrs. Brisby's. "And when I'm finished, I think you will see why he felt he could not tell you himself." He then dragged his eyes to Chris's. "You play a part in this story as well."
Confusion knitted the tiny human's brow. "M–Me? I don't quite understand."
"You will." Nicodemus then gestured to something a few paces away from the podium. "Go! Look there!"
Chris and Mrs. Brisby's gazes skipped from Nicodemus's to a large, curious-looking device on another podium. They stepped toward it, and as they did, Chris took the time to study it. It was a gold bracelet adorned with a few colored jewels, standing upright and planted on the podium. Inside it, there were four medical-grade stainless steel scraping massage tools attached to two small parts used as a support that looked like knobs—one on the inner part of the bracelet and the other in the middle of the podium. It looked like a handmade replica globe, only there wasn't a sphere with a map of the world.
"What is that supposed to be?" Chris inquired.
"It is called the Spinner," Nicodemus replied. "It allows you to see any event you wish."
Oh, kind of like the magic mirror from Snow White, Chris thought to himself.
Before he and Mrs. Brisby knew it, the device began to spin slowly, and then the speed began to increase until suddenly, a magenta color blinked to life in the middle of the device. A strong wind began to pick up as the color then switched to static—a blue color—then back again. The colors kept going back and forth, and Chris and Mrs. Brisby had to shield their faces from the wind that wildly stirred their hair/fur and attire and the bright lights flashing in their eyes. With every effort they made, though, they managed to pry their eyes open toward the device, their breaths caught as their hearts pounded against their ears.
More colors took place: red, yellow, green, etc., and they were now coming from the colored jewels, scintillating and jumping to different colors like those LED bulb signs. The magenta color and the static blue—that was now gyrating faster—in the middle of the Spinner came together, morphing into more blue static and a single jolt of magenta electricity that looked like a lightning bolt until the blue static was then overpowered by the magenta with the static now that color. Sparks then hissed and spat out of the Spinner like sparklers and fireworks, the colors now at war with each other for the spotlight, as the device now revolved at mega speed, going on and on and on, matching the pace of Chris and Mrs. Brisby's heart rates.
Then, the war of colors was over, with the neon green one claiming victory, and the Spinner calmed down. Electricity zigzagged through the neon green in the middle of the device. As Chris and Mrs. Brisby stared at it, they noticed something materializing as the green slowly dissipated: an image. It was like the duo was about to watch a movie at the theater.
"In the beginning, we were ordinary street rats," Nicodemus began the story, with the remaining green light smudging the moving images before finally melting away, with the occasional crackles discharging from the Spinner, "stealing our daily bread and living off the efforts of man's work."
Many rats scurried through a sewer and ascended a passage to an opening, where they all began making their journey to a specific area—a quest for food.
"We lived near this market, underground in a big pipe that had once been part of a storm sewer but was no longer used. There were hundreds of other rats in the neighborhood. It was a rough life, but not so hard as you may think, because of the market."
The rats finally arrived at the market called the Farmers' Market, which was now like a ghost town. It was on the edge of a big city, the shape of it a large square with part of a roof and free of walls. The rats scattered out to grab whatever they could for the taking. There were no humans to bother them, and every time the humans were gone and left their garbage behind, the rats would waste no time rummaging through all of it, living in paradise as they filled their bellies with goodies and brought their findings to their friends and families—who chose to remain behind in the sewer—and would often have a feast.
"Every evening at five o'clock, the farmers and the fisherman would close up their stalls, pack their trucks, and go home. At night, hours later, the cleanup men would arrive with brooms and hoses. But in between, the market was ours. The food the farmers left behind! Peas and beans that fell from the trucks, tomatoes and squashes, pieces of meat and fish trimmed as waste—they lay on the sidewalks and in the gutters; they filled great cans that were supposed to be covered but seldom were. There were always ten times more than we could eat, and so there was never any need for fighting over it."
The rats were then having loads of fun, conversing among themselves, telling jokes, relaxing, playing games, and all in all, just having a good time, having nothing to worry about at that moment. They were at peace, thriving as equals, as friends and family.
"Fighting? Quite the contrary, the marketplace was a perfect place for playing, and so we did, the young rats at least, and so we did, the young rats at least, as soon as we had finished eating. There were empty boxes for hide-and-seek and sledding down hills of human objects, and there were walls to climb, tin cans to roll, and pieces of twine to tie and swing on. There was even, in the middle of the square, a fountain to swim in when the weather was hot."
As the rats were enjoying themselves, a rat suddenly sounded an alarm. The cleanup crew was nearby, the sounds of their cleaning supplies echoing through the area like a cannon. Panicked, the rats gathered what they could and retreated to the sewer before the cleanup crew spotted them.
"Then, at the first clang of the cleanup men in the distance, one of the older rats would sound a warning, and everyone would pick up as much food as they could to carry home. All of us kept a reserve supply because some days—Sundays and holidays—the market would be closed, and we were never quite sure when this would happen."
The Spinner then showed some of the same rats about to do their same routine: take their leave from the sewer to travel to the market—not along the streets but through the narrow walkways between the buildings, primarily commercial warehouses and garages, that bordered the square—pluck out food, gorge on them, etc. Unbeknownst to them, their whole lives were about to change.
"One evening in early fall, we took our usual route to the market, and we were joined by more rats—at that time of day, they converged on the marketplace from all directions. When we reached the square, I noticed that there was a white truck of an odd, square shape parked on the street bordering it, perhaps a block away. I say I noticed—I did not pay any particular attention to it, for trucks were common enough in that part of town. But if I had, I would have noticed that printed on each side of it were four small letters: NIMH. I would not have known what they were, of course, for at that time, neither I nor any of the other rats knew how to read."
The group, swollen with more rats, made their way to their destination, and, as they were, some slightly perceived an ominous white truck but did not think much of it. At the time, though, if they realized what was about to happen, they would've turned around as they were now being watched by people from within the darkness, gripping traps in their hands and waiting for the right moment to strike.
"It was growing dark when we reached the market, but through the dusk, we could see that there was an unusually large supply of food—a great mound of it—near the center of the square, away from the roofed-over portion. Back then, we joyfully thought that we would have the biggest feast in our lives, but we never anticipated that it was meant to be bait."
The rats charged toward the mountain of food, hunger, and delight plastering their faces. However, when they were within arm's length of the pile, lights broke through the darkness, shining on the rats and food, and there came the shouters from humans—with some wearing white uniforms—as they emerged from their blind spots, closing in on the rats. Fear had settled over the rats like a cold chill, and they dispersed, trying to escape. The humans had the upper hand, though, and began catching many of them with their traps or herding them toward the traps and then transporting them to the white truck.
"We all ran—straight toward the men with the nets. There was no other way to run. They had us encircled. The nets flailed down, scooped, and flailed again. I suppose some rats made it through, slipping between the men and past the lights, but as for the rest of us, we were captured, put in cages, and taken to NIMH."
A laboratory was produced in the Spinner, filled with prisoned animals—rats, mice, rabbits, monkeys, dogs, etc.—in cages and lab equipment. There were no windows, so there was no telling the animals if it was daytime, nighttime, or what the weather was like. They were basically clueless, gloomy, and frightened to the core. It was like they were in Hell.
"There were many animals there in cages. They were put through the most unspeakable tortures to satisfy some scientific curiosity. Often, at night, I would hear them crying out in anguish."
Caps were removed from needles and stuck into small vials, turning them upside down, and the liquid would then slowly be pulled into the syringes. Once that was complete, the air bubbles were clinked out. Human hands then reached out in cages, seizing a rat or mouse, and the rodents would screech, terrified and bemused by what was happening. The needles of the syringes were then plunged into their stomachs, the contents emptying into them.
"Twenty rats and eleven mice were given injections... Our world began changing."
The injected rats and mice could feel that something wasn't right, and before they knew it, they were clutching at their hearts, feeling like their organs would burst like bubbles. In their minds, they were falling into oblivion toward who knew where, never once a light to be seen or something they'd at least be colliding with. In reality, though, they were suffering, the chemical liquids making them lose their minds, and it felt as though their insides were splitting apart, the pain searing through their bodies, fast and angry.
Badum–badum–badum–badum, the rodents' hearts went, throwing themselves against their ribs in hard, rapid movements, pumping so much blood.
The chemical liquids migrated to the DNA, which were like tapestries, readying to launch their secret weapon. They opened fire, and the chemical liquids absorbed themselves into the rodents' DNA, making extensive alterations. Explosions popped like firecrackers, electricity running and connecting all over, doing what seemed scientifically impossible.
The rats and mice were evolving into something extraordinary.
"Then, one night, I looked upon the words under the cage door and understood them."
The Spinner presented one of the conjoined cages and zoomed in on a sign that said: TO OPEN DOOR LIFT LATCH. A hand—Nicodemus's—stretched out toward the latch and did just that, pulling it out of the lock before opening the door.
"We had become intelligent. We could read. The miracle was kept secret from the scientists, and in the quiet of the night, we escaped through the ventilation system."
Rats flung open their doors with success (reading the instructions first, of course), managing to slip out of their cages and then went to help free the mice from theirs before attempting to unscrew the baseboard of the ventilation system with a screwdriver they discovered and then using thread from a spool—they also found—as their way of pulling themselves up through the labyrinth of the ventilation system.
"Then all of a sudden, there came a blast of air like a sudden whistling gale and the mice were blown away like dead leaves."
Mice were shrieking, trying to hang on for dear life on the thread, or were clawing uselessly at the smooth metal beneath them. It was to no avail, though, and they were sucked down the dark air shafts like a vacuum to their deaths.
"They were never heard from again; death had taken them away too soon… all except two."
The Spinner revealed two mice who managed to pull through the monstrous draft were now clambering up their threads attached to more of it and a knotted spool to an opening up top, with the help of the rats, and they made it out alive.
"Jonathan and Mr. Ages."
The rats and the two remaining mice found that a gate of some sort was barricading their way out. However, all hope was not lost as Jonathan was the smallest of the escape party and squeezed through it like he was covered from head to toe in oil and managed to unlatch it. The grate-like frame crashed to the ground, no longer serving a purpose. With the mouse's quick thinking, the rest of the group managed to escape, tasting their freedom. With a relieved smile, Jonathan wiped his forehead with his forearm.
"We were trapped by a locked door on the roof. It was Jonathan who made possible the unlocking of the door."
A/N- Woo! That was a fun chapter I wrote out! I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it! And don't worry, Nicodemus's story is not over just yet, oh no. He's still got plenty of ways to go with it, especially since he mentioned that Chris plays a part in the story, so stay tuned for the next chapter, y'all ;)
Time for me to get on with replying to your guys's reviews, but before I do, I have a few things to say. One: I will be taking a break from writing as I do plan to binge-read some books I'd like to get to/finish, but I do plan to get back to this fanfic soon enough. Two: I am going to have to kindly ask those of you giving me ideas for my fanfic to refrain from doing that in the future because I already know what I want to write out and already have my ideas set in mind. It gets kind of annoying when someone tries to throw out fanfic ideas to me, so please respect my wishes. Three: I added a little something in the first chapter of this fanfic, and if you'd like to go check it out by all means, please do! Alright, time for review replies (and please do forgive me if I missed someone)! Thank you all for reading chapter 15, and I will see you all soon in the next chapter!
William RP: Lol, perhaps they are, who knows XD. Thank you so much; I'm happy that the library scene was to your liking, and yeah, the last chapter was a little short, but hey, I managed to write more in this chapter, which I'm pleased about!
Lelouch-Strife: Haha!
Fan Boy 101: Yup, this story will still be going on for sure, and I'm glad to know that you like how I wrote out Isabella!
Guest: Here's the next chapter, and I hope you liked it!
ric castle: Lol, I'm happy to hear, and don't worry, more chapters will be coming soon!
godzillafan1: Yes, you are correct. Isabella is from the book, and as far as I know, I don't think she and Justin get together in the second book. Lol, I have yet to read the sequel, but I do know a few things about it, so yeah ^^;
Brilliko5 (I believe you are also known as Coltrondik10 and Briploxith, but I could be wrong): I'm happy to hear you're enjoying it, and yes, I do plan on writing a sequel to this ^^
Guest: Thanks, I'm happy to know that you're enjoying it :D
Nedeejik: Gracias, I'm glad this story is to your liking!
Guest: Ed ecco il prossimo capitolo, spero vi sia piaciuta!
Chance Green G King: Thank you for your fantastic reviews for the chapters I have thus far, and it makes me very glad to know that you are enjoying it a lot!