Rats? I’d only ever thought of them as vermin. Dirty, destructive, breeding faster than anything but cockroaches, faster than any cat could catch them. Beyond that, they weren’t worth a second thought. They’d barely crossed my mind, save for the rare craving when they were just… dinner.
On NOAH 1, they were scarce, but in Floating City, every street vendor seemed to have them—fried, grilled, rotisserie, any way you wanted. The smell of roasting meat teased my senses, made my whiskers tremble, my mouth water.
Never did I imagine I’d be here, desperate for rats to save my life, turning to the very creatures my kind had hunted for sport and food. But here I was, racing alongside Lee with Flynn clutching onto his back as if his life depended on it. We wove through thick crowds, veered around rickshaw wheels, and sprinted across the swaying, rickety bridge toward Floating City’s shadowed borough —the Big Yard.
Lee eased his pace as we neared a sign with rough, scratched lettering that read, “BIG YARD - scraps for grab.” Not many humans lived out here; mostly, it was just rats burrowing into heaps of metal and plastic waste. Now and then, a small crowd of people would arrive, wheeling carts and rummaging through the junk piles for scraps — whatever they could find that'd be useful.
The Shelter, tucked in a far corner of Big Yard near the water, was what Lee feared most. The Warden sometimes made his rounds here, on the lookout for escaped strays. He usually only apprehended cats and dogs if complaints surfaced about disturbances, unruly behavior, or theft from vendors.
Lee hesitated at the edge of Big Yard, worried the Warden might be around. Flynn, however, was confident, saying the Warden was probably off fishing, as he did whenever the day stretched out in boredom. But today was anything but that. The explosion at the apothecary had drawn a crowd, and word had spread quickly. Chances were, the Warden had abandoned his post to join the scene.
Flynn leapt from Lee’s back and led us up three tiers of stacked, black rubber tires. When we reached the top, I glanced down the opening to see a thick mat of barbed wire hiding something underneath. Flynn went first, landing to the side to avoid the steel thorns, then eased the wire fence aside to reveal a round metal door.
He knocked twice, paused, then tapped three more times.
A loud, sharp clang resounded from behind the door, which then shuddered open with the low groan of rusty hinges. Flynn stepped back to avoid the tangle of barbed wire clinging to the door’s surface, its jagged points ready to scratch and bleed anyone who ventured too close. A rat peeked out with a spear in his hands, his whiskers twitching, eyes darting cautiously before widening in startled delight upon spotting Flynn.
“Flynn! You're alive!” The exclamation burst from the rat, pure joy in his voice—until his eyes found us above, watching from the top of the stacked tires.
“P-predators!” He raised the spear, pointing it at me and Lee. “They’re up there!”
“Flynn, get inside! Quickly!”
“Nigel, it’s alright,” Flynn replied. “They’re with me. They won’t hurt you.” He shot us a glance, a silent request to speak up, to let the rat know he was safe.
I spoke up first. “There’s danger, and we need your help! Now’s the time for us to work together, regardless of our differences.”
This seemed to calm Nigel somewhat, but he still denied us entry, permitting only Flynn to proceed.
“You’ll have to speak with the Wise Keepers, Flynn,” Nigel said. “You know the rules — no one outside our kind can enter the nest without explicit approval from them.”
Flynn glanced up at us, apology in his eyes. “He’s right. Wait here; I’ll speak with the elders,” he said before disappearing into the entrance. Nigel gave us one last wary look and shut the door. The clang echoed, louder and more resolute than before.
Minutes dragged on, the sky still bright, the day deceptively young. But my patience was wearing thin. Who knew how much time I had left? An uneasy feeling crept in. My window of opportunity was closing, shrinking with every passing second.
Lee, too, was growing impatient, his worry mounting. His body tensed, ready to spring, eyes wide and alert as they scanned the grounds for any sign of the Warden’s return from his fishing trip.
“I don’t want to go back to the Shelter!” he protested, voice breaking.
“You won’t,” I promised, dropping down into the tires’ opening. I landed atop the barbed wire below, but the thorns passed harmlessly through me as if I were smoke.
“What are you doing?” Lee’s voice quivered with unease.
“I have an idea. Funny it didn’t occur to me sooner.”
“What is it?”
“I can move through walls. I’ll slip inside, see what those rats are up to… if they’re going to help me at all.”
Lee's face sank, eyes fraught with worry. “And what about me? What should I do?”
“Wait here.”
“Here? B-but…the Warden could be back any second!”
“Try to keep out of sight. Find a spot to hide nearby—I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
***
The first time I witnessed a specter pass through walls was the afternoon Jimmy didn’t wake from his nap. I’d crept into his cabin, where he bunked with three other stewards, hoping to snag a treat—and truthfully, his company too. Sometimes he’d save a starfish or a pouch of grilled mussels from Floating City to share. He’d taught me much about the Great Wrath, painting vivid pictures of a world that once was, a world that felt like a myth. He was one of the last human archives, a keeper of memories no one else remembered.
Jimmy, though he was old, preferred the top bunk, and each morning he’d jump down with the spirit of a younger man. A tune always on his lips, ready to greet the day. But as I climbed the ladder that afternoon, there was an odd heaviness settled around me. I edged onto the bed beside him, noticing the unnatural stillness of his chest. I leaned closer, listening for the faintest hint of breath or heartbeat. There was nothing.
But a strange feeling told me I wasn’t alone. There, standing before the mirror, was Jimmy, buttoning his peacoat and humming a light-hearted tune. A faint golden light cloaked him, yet when he looked at himself in the mirror, his reflection was missing, replaced by clusters of tiny golden lights that floated and shimmered where he should have been.
He turned to me with a playful wink before passing through the wall. And sometimes, even now, I still sensed him nearby—a darkened shadow gliding up the stairwell or a trace of mist lingering on the main deck, always just at the edge of sight.
***
I became smoke, my form unraveling into tendrils that slipped through the solid metal door. Nigel was slumped near the entrance, fast asleep with his spear beside him, his tiny hands resting over his belly, mouth open as he let out the softest snores.
I moved silently through the twisting tunnels, where branching corridors led to chambers and stairs bathed in the bluish-green light of glass orbs hanging above. I was surprised by the rats’ ingenuity and artistry; I had imagined them dwelling in filthy burrows, scurrying about in squalor, rather than establishing their own city beneath Big Yard.
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I crept into one of the chambers, hugging the ground as I made my way to a darkened corner. The room was alive with the quiet squeaks of rats, their tears flowing freely. They crowded around a long table, where a grand feast was spread in celebration of their rescue. In an adjacent room, a few rats busied themselves, slicing raw fish and vegetables I recognized from Little Eden.
In another room, rats gathered solemnly around a table with hand-drawn portraits of their fallen kin—the ones who hadn’t made it out of the apothecary. Among them was Wynn’s portrait. One by one, the rats stepped forward, touching a picture, and tears slipped silently down their faces. Some stood with hands clasped and heads bowed in silent prayer. I lingered, watching their ritual with quiet fascination.
“Do you feel that?” a rat asked softly, lifting her head and casting a glance over her shoulder.
“Feel what?” came a sniffled reply, as another rat wiped his eyes with a small, tattered handkerchief.
“I can’t explain it… but there’s something in here with us.”
“I don’t feel anything strange.”
“Oh, but I’m getting that tingle, the one I get when a cat’s close by!”
“Calm yourself,” a third rat scoffed, looking around the room. “You're being silly! Do you see a cat anywhere? If one had broken into the nest and slipped past the guard, believe me, we’d know.”
“There! In the corner!” the first rat exclaimed, scrambling back in a frenzy, shoving her way to the far wall to put as much distance between herself and me as possible. Her sudden outburst jolted the others from their mourning. They looked around wildly, their heads swiveling, whiskers twitching with alarm.
Time to move on, and I sank into the wall tumbling into a room that was larger than the other chambers I'd come across. It was illuminated by an extraordinary chandelier that caught my eye. Gazing up more intently, I realized it was a jellyfish, encased in a clear glass bottle filled with water. As it glided through its aquatic prison, the jellyfish emitted a vivid orange light.
Seated on chairs cobbled from tin cans and scrap metal, seven rats–the Wise Keepers, if I remembered Nigel's words correctly–gathered in solemn silence, each with a thimble on their head, like a mock crown. Their beady eyes were directed toward Flynn, who stood confidently before them, like a plaintiff before judges. Behind him, Rusty shuffled his feet, his gaze lowered in quiet humility.
The Wise Keeper in the middle scowled, making a sound of disgust and anger. “With all due respect, Healer Flynn, do you even hear yourself? Why should we bother to help the cat? Cats are not our allies.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the others, heads nodding as they echoed, “Cats are not our allies.”
“I understand, Your Wiseness,” Flynn replied, “but this situation is different... I believe this cat could help us secure protection against the blob.”
“What makes you think he’ll keep his promise?”
“I…” Flynn faltered. “I can’t say for certain—”
The Wise Keepers interrupted him with disapproving sounds, shaking their heads and narrowing their eyes.
“But I’ve never known a cat to lie,” he continued. “Cats do have a reputation for keeping their word.”
“Not always,” said the Wise Keeper on the left side of the first speaker, “they'll find a way to circumvent an agreement with us because their loyalty is only with humans.”
“So,” spoke the Wise Keeper on the right, “it’s decided then that we will not help the cat, despite it being Wynn’s last request. We cannot, in good conscience, assist a predator.”
The others nodded in agreement, expressing their approval.
“Healer Flynn, instruct the cat and dog to vacate the premises,” commanded the middle one. “Should they refuse, our most capable guards will ensure their departure, armed and prepared to use force if necessary. Make that clear!”
Flynn hung his head in defeat, mumbling, “Yes, Your Wiseness.”
I was on the verge of revealing myself, ready to confront the Not-So-Wise Keepers and tell them that they were making a grave mistake, when Rusty cleared his throat and stepped out from behind Flynn.
The middle Wise Keeper, who had begun to rise, slouched back down in his seat, the thimble on his head tilting askew. He reached up to steady it.
“What is it that you have to say, Rusty?” He grumbled. “The decision stands.”
“Yes, I understand that, but I think Your Wiseness should consider an important point.”
“Which is?”
“The threat posed by the blob may be far more serious than we first assumed.”
“What do you mean? Please, elaborate.”
“I mean the danger is growing,” Rusty continued. “It’s spreading to other species, including the cats. Moreover, the masked stranger intended to target the humans next. If that’s true, the entire city could be at risk.”
“Exactly,” Flynn interjected. “This could be the end for all of us!”
“Who knows what grander scheme the masked stranger had in mind? He surely wasn’t acting alone; there may be others involved, a large group. What I know for certain is that it’s not good.”
Flynn nodded in agreement. “The masked stranger may be dead, but the danger is far from over.”
Two of the Wise Keepers sitting on either side of the middle shared a silent, concerned glance. Another on the left looked entirely bored, while the one beside him on the far left was in his own world fidgeting with the thimble on his head. On the far right, another sat like an empty vessel, his thoughts clearly absent, as he looked to the rat seated in the middle for direction.
“Flynn, Rusty, first of all,” the middle Wise Keeper started, “we are truly relieved that you both returned safely and managed to save so many along the way.”
“You’ve done a tremendous service,” a few of the Wise Keepers echoed.
“That said, there’s little good in getting caught up in what might be. The idea that the masked stranger’s plans were part of something larger is nothing more than speculation.”
“Mmhmm, exactly so!” one of the others added.
“Anyway, our decision is final. Let’s put these worries behind us and celebrate—a grand feast has been prepared for us all!”
The Wise Keepers rose in unison, adjusting the thimbles on their heads as they moved toward the door. But I wasn’t about to let them leave, certainly not when my very life hung in the balance.
One of them paused, his eyes drifting to the glowing glass bottle suspended high above. His brow furrowed, suspicion darkening his face.
“What’s wrong?” another asked, noticing his hesitation.
“The light bottle… It’s moving.”
The others followed his gaze, and sure enough, the bottle gently rocked back and forth. There was no wind, and the jellyfish inside was far too weak to stir it on its own.
The jellyfish drifted aimlessly, its bioluminescence flickering in and out. Then, suddenly, all the light vanished. Everything plunged into darkness.
“Look—over there!” a voice shrieked, urgent and sharp.
“Eyes... glowing yellow eyes!”
“Those look like cat's eyes!”
“They are cat's eyes!”
“And teeth...it has teeth!”
More screams erupted. Fear spread. Screams echoed as the rats flailed, knocking into chairs, tables, and each other in a blind stampede toward the door. Footsteps tripped and tails tangled! Bodies collided in the dark.
“You fools, every last one of you!” My voice thundered through the room. “Can't you see? This threat surpasses anything you imagine—it endangers us all.”
Silence filled the space, broken only by the rats' shaky, uneven breathing.
“I-It’s you!” Flynn’s hesitant voice squeaked through the darkness.
“Healer Flynn, do you know this cat?” came another voice, trembling.
“Know him? Not exactly a friend,” Flynn stammered. “More of… an acquaintance, perhaps—though, to be honest, we never had time for formal introductions, given the circumstances when we first met.”
“Who are you to barge in and threaten us with your very presence, cat?”
“I am Page,” I answered. “Steward of the great ship NOAH 1.”
“Page, steward of NOAH 1, leave this nest, or we’ll gladly remove you ourselves—and it won’t be pleasant.”
“Where are the guards?” a Wise Keeper whispered in panic.
“Probably at the feast already.”
“And Nigel?”
“You rats!” I shouted. “Heed me well: if Floating City falls, we all face extinction. Save me, and you save yourselves.”
The light flickered back to life as the jellyfish in its bottle resumed its tranquil drift. I faded into the air, invisible yet present, watching the rats. The Wise Keepers lay sprawled on the floor, petrified, their fallen thimbles rolling in small circles across the floor.