Chapter Thirty-Five

"No," Timothy said, and he would have put his foot down if he could move his legs.

"You know why Elizabeth had me ask you," Tina smirked. "You have a hard time saying ‘no’ to me. You just did it, but I’m sure that wasn’t a final ‘no’."

"Do you have any idea how hard it would be to get a wheelchair onto one of those Albatross Air flights?"

"They could haul you up on a rope," Tina reasoned. She always had a practical answer to Timothy’s excuses, which was another reason Elizabeth had asked her to work on him. "Or they could send two seagulls—one could pick you up and put you in the other one’s seat. There are going to be enough passengers for two anyway—Thorn Valley isn’t a very safe place to be these days."

Timothy grunted. "Just like, well—rats leaving a sinking ship. If it’s going down, I’d rather be here when it happens."

"We're going for help, really," Tina pointed out. "Thorn Valley needs a voice for the outside world, if it's going to be a part of bigger things."

Timothy's eyes wandered to the tapestry on one wall, Justin's work, showing a Timothy from long ago, whose legs still worked. "You'd think," he replied glumly, "they'd choose someone fully functional who didn't take so much looking after."

"That's why I'm going with you, Timothy," she said, without hesitating. "They aren't just sending a body. They wanted a heart and a brain, too, someone stubborn enough to look out for everybody. And don't underestimate the power your name still carries--when people hear 'Brisby', they think about fighters and survivors."

"And, of course, my brother Martin, who happened to marry my sister." Timmy looked at the tapestry again. Hmpf. Justin really did have Martin and Teresa hold hands. A touch of prophecy there, methinks…

"That's not the first thing they think of, Timmy. At least we know you and I aren't blood relatives--we checked the lab records." She smiled and touched his arm lightly. "Brisby is a name I'll be proud to share, one of these days, and sooner rather than later."

"That's the plan, lady," Timothy flashed one of his rare smiles. "I'd rather marry you in peace-time, though, when none of us are on the move or on the run."

"You don't have that kind of patience," she reminded him.

"Tibby dosn' hab much payzunch at all," Runner chimed in. He'd been listening through a nearly-closed door, grinning--the two older animals were happy to see that. He hadn't smiled much since finding out about Gadget and Devin.

"Well, come on in, hero," Timothy called.

"What, was Runner listening in?" Tina, of course, was more vulnerable to eavesdroppers because she never heard them, whether they were being sneaky or not.

"He knows us pretty well by now, I think," nodded Timothy. "Divided loyalties, murder, betrayal, incest, you know, all the usual."

"And yoor moobing again, dat's prebby usual my now." growled Runner, popping out of the door. "Seebs like ebrybody jus' gets seddled before subthing habbens."

Tina nodded. "Nobody around here gets much of a chance to rest. First the fire, now Timmy's new assignment…"

"They didn't assign anybody anywhere," Timmy gripped the armrests of his wheelchair hard enough to leave clawmarks, "they asked me for a favor."

"Asked us for a favor," warned Tina, shaking a paw at him. "We come as a package deal."

"Are you two done threbening each other?"

They looked at him blankly. Runner hated that. "Threb--" they started in unison.

"Threbening! Jeez! Gwowling and bistling ab each udder."

"Gwowling and Bistling," whistled Timothy. "Sounds like a law firm."

"Oh, leave him alone," Tina interrupted. "We have serious business."

"This is serious," Timothy deadpanned, leaning forward and jabbing a paw at Runner. "Poking fun is a respectable art."

"Respebbacle?" sputtered Runner haughtily, paws clenched.

Timothy winced. "Well, you've got a point."

"I mean," Tina continued, undaunted, "since we've been chosen to represent Thorn Valley at Rescue Aid, Runner needs to decide whether he's coming with us or not."

"Well, what about it, kid?" Timmy settled back in his chair. "I promise, I'll hold myself down to three Runner jokes a day, no matter what."

Runner was genuinely touched. He knew that reigning in his overactive tongue was a true sacrifice on Timothy's part. It was almost enough to make him say yes, but he shook his head. "Can'd. Soubs like a lobba fun, but somenun's got to keeb an eye on Amgela."

Timothy and Tina 'hmm'ed and nodded in agreement.

"That was an awfully close thing, Runner. If you hadn't gone to check, Angela might have died down there."

Runner shivered. He remembered calling out for Devin and Gadget, and what he'd found, instead… and how Angela had latched a paw onto his cast and bubbled those words through blood-streaked teeth, "Tell them--tell them Turner did this…" before collapsing back and trickling red foam onto the floor. To his credit, Runner trusted Turner more than Angela, without ever having met him. He'd kept his mouth shut and told everyone Angela had been unconscious when he found her.

"I'm sure she'll want to thank you in person when she wakes up." Timothy wheeled over to a low bookcase and flipped through a random book, then grinned and tossed it at Tina, who caught it without looking. "Those reflexes are scary! I love it when you do that," marveled Timothy, as Tina shook her head at him.

"Has it ever occurred to you, Mister Brisby," Tina said frostily, "that you take extreme pleasure in the weird things people do without thinking?"

Timothy spread his arms wide. "Hey, look at the company I keep." Turning back to Runner, he shrugged. "Too bad you don't feel like coming, kid. Hey, I suppose you were just starting to get used to Thorn Valley. It's a big place, don't hang around the Institute all day."

"Angela's in good paws, Runner," Tina reassured him. "I'm sure you'll want to keep an eye on her--"

More than you know, thought Runner grimly.

"--but move around, meet some people, have a little fun."

"Hawd to welax with ebrybody so jumpy." Runner sighed. "An' I really miss Debbin and Gaddit."

"Wherever they are, they're together," Tina tried to sound sure of herself. "And I'm sure they'll be all right."

"The best thing you can do for them," Timothy added, "is to keep an ear to the ground. Next time you're listening in on a conversation, don't let anyone know you're there." Timothy looked at his own paw for a moment and counted off a few pawpads. "There are a few rats and mice here you can trust without a second thought. Justin and Mom are two, but never tell anything to one of them that you don't want the other one to know. Roger the boat-keeper can keep his mouth shut, but he's also one of the best sources of outside news you'll find. Don't trust anything you read in the Thorn Valley Sentinel, unless it's in the gossip column, which is right half the time."

"I can'd reed too good."

"That's all right. Find someone to read it to you." Timothy counted on his pawpads again. "Okay, so much for basic survival tips."

Tina crossed the room and threw her arms around his neck from behind, leaning over to give him a kiss on the forehead. "Silly mouse. No wonder you were Justin and Elizabeth's first choice. And you said you didn't know a thing about politics."

"That wasn't what I said," protested Timothy. "I said I didn't want to know."

"I think I know what pawaticks is," Runner murmured, noticing a bloodstain on the side of his cast for the first time. He picked at it with a sour expression, remembering now how Angela had left it there. "Pawaticks is like a gabe where sumbuddy always gets hurdt on purbose."

***************

It was probably a wise--and definitely a cautious--decision that Runner had made, by not telling anyone his suspicions about Angela. She was not a direct threat to him, or to anyone else, in her current state. One punctured lung, severe internal bleeding, and a broken arm had seen to that, courtesy of Turner and Devin. As such--a critical patient unable to move about or put up a fight--she was treated just like any other badly mangled specimen who might pass through the Institute's massive doors. After tremendous lifesaving surgical efforts, she was put in the intensive care unit, and would have instantly recognized her suitemate.

Arthur was still recovering from his heart transplant, but he was more energetic than he'd been in quite a while, and was none too pleased with the company. Angela had been a thorn in his side for quite a while--always slinking about with her camera, taking pictures of anything and nothing, sometimes taking pictures just to appear busy. Arthur did not like Angela, simply because she was a snoop and often in the way during delicate construction projects and assembly of machinery--had he known her true nature, he would have dropped a house on her. Heaven knows he had the equipment to do it with, and he'd dropped one before (not that it was his fault).

Arthur, unable to sleep due to one of the dozen or so medications he was on--and frustration at being confined to bed while others strengthened defenses--merely sat there in the dark and watched her breathe. Her breath came in fits and starts now and then--a nurse came and checked her, every fifteen minutes, for precisely that problem, though it didn't look as though her breathing would go ahead and stop.

She looks absolutely innocent lying there, thought Arthur. Not surprised in the least to see that one here--looks like all her prowling and shutterbugging finally caught up to her. Arthur sighed and flipped on a reading light, pulling out a few blueprints from a stack propped up against his bed. "Defensive Positions--Reinforcement" was the one he settled on, pulling his stitches a bit as he retrieved his glasses. The sound of Angela's breathing, coming now and then in staccato gasps, was a bit too distracting, so he gave up after a few minutes and put the blueprints aside. He checked the clock on the wall and nodded. Every quarter-hour she has a breathing problem. Great attention-getter, Angela. You've got my attention.

He waited long enough to be sure, and then called out to her. "You've been awake a while, Snappy," he needled.

"Don't call me that," came the whisper of a voice that still dripped venom.

"Why don't you come over here and make me stop?" chortled Arthur. "Oh, all right, I'll be fair. Get some sleep and you'll be back to faking pictures of two-headed babies in no time, for that horrible rag of a newspaper."

"You're one to talk. Then again, if I were you I wouldn't talk at all, it would probably hurt. Did you know you're missing an ear?"

"Photo lab…accident…" Angela spat.

"Ah," said Arthur, brightening a little more. "So that's why all your pictures turn out so badly."

An angry hissing like a sack full of snakes was his only reply. Satisfied and more at peace with himself, Arthur turned off the light and settled into a blissful sleep. The metaphorical sack of serpents did not fade, however, and followed him into the realm of dreams.

As he furrowed his brow, behind closed eyelids he dreamed that Angela wriggled apart into a sliding, scaly mass of vipers, freeing themselves from the bloody medical gauze and flimsy gown. A couple of them twined around an I.V. pole by Angela's bed, doing an impersonation of the Thorn Valley Institute's caduceus logo. For the most part, however, they thudded and slapped onto the clean linoleum tile of the hospital room, coiling and raking their bodies in his direction, glossy eyes fixing him with their stare.

They welled up around the base of his bed, a dark flood--they crept, tongues flickering, beneath the bedsheets and rustled them off, his surgical incision itching in the chill night air. Like a pair of giant needle-clawed hands, they mobbed around his fear-frozen body and sank their fangs to either side of the stitches. Pulling away with inexorable slow strength, they snapped the stitches apart bloodlessly, unzipping him, as it were, spreading his ribs until his newly sutured heart lay glistening and pounding, all defenses stripped away.

The largest of the reptilian brood stretched out upon his chest, and calmly began swallowing his heart whole.

Button images by Keith Elder