Moonlight danced across the ripples spreading out along the lake. A chorus of crickets, the occasional bullfrog’s bellow, and the draw and splash of water contended for volume over the desperately racing heartbeat pounding inside Amie’s ears. Her dark eyes darted across the shimmering surface, looking for any sign of aquatic movement.
With a lethargic slurp of water, followed by soft plips and the clunk of the wooden oars being drawn in, Amie knew there was no turning back now. Her fur bristled, whiskers inched back and forth, and her tiny paws fiddled with the ceremonial shawl over her head.
The rodent rower inclined his large head closer, tilting slightly to include the dark bag sitting between them in the boat, and said softly, “We’re in position. Can you help lift without upsetting the boat, little one?”
Amie nodded, not trusting her voice. She inched for the bag, holding out her tail for balance. She pressed her paw against the cloth. For appearance’s sake, she bowed her head and let out a mournful-sounding squeak.
The bag moved under her. She froze. Did the shore guards see that?
Her companion noticed too and balanced his way to the other side of the sack, gripping the middle and whispering something she couldn’t make out. His large rat body loomed in the night, more than twice as big as Amie herself, and his lighter underside seemed to capture the moonlight’s glow for itself.
“Ready? Heave.” Her companion lifted the cloth.
Amie struggled to match the rat’s height and strength. Under their pull, the ceremonial bag unfurled, and the contents splashed into the sacred waters. She released the cloth and scanned the water again, peering between the flowers and wooden carved effigies floating in the wake. Please, she inwardly pleaded, don’t let the fish wake up.
Rolling up the fabric with a practiced, slow manner, the rat said softly, “I’ve heard that you mice sing. Do you have a song to devote to ‘my dear brother’?”
Blood rushed to her ears and her fur fluffed at the mere thought. She turned more fully to her companion, desperately trying to keep her voice low and body language calm. “Thatch, really! Only males sing, and when they do it’s to serenade their wives.”
Thatch lifted his whiskers and small ears in bemusement. “So, you do not have dirges?”
“No, we mourn in other ways.” Amie brushed her fur absently. “Vigils and fasts, mainly.”
“Very well. Then I shall hum a tune. That will help time to pass.” He tucked the fabric in the middle of the carved boat, then turned his long, oval face to the moon and let loose a low, guttural tone.
The yearling mouse whipped her tail back and forth. Did Thatch not understand how odd it was to hear another rodent-kind singing, a male with a female in a secluded place no less? She forced herself to stop fretting. The rat guards on the shore would probably expect a song or other odd rat-like practices. Thatch knew what he was doing, and she had to accept that.
The dirge eased around a few low notes but contained no words. Amie lowered her ears to her head and let the solemn notes carry her to a distant place. For a moment, she didn’t have to think about fish, their mission, discovery, or even other rodents. Just quiet grief.
Water shifted, then released a swimmer from the depths. Impressively, only his mouth and nose surfaced, keeping the splashing to a minimum. The rodent panted quietly before whispering, “Got it.”
Thatch finished his tune and hung his head, acting the part perfectly. “Excellent work, Bindle.”
“There’s a lot of cool things down there, no wonder they guard this lake religiously.” The diver inched out of the water, revealing his bulging cheek. While completely drenched, the young squirrel looked rat-like and thin as a stick bug.
“You didn’t fall to temptation, did you?” Thatch murmured.
“What? No, that would compromise us and the like, right?”
“Did you see the fish?” Amie couldn’t help but ask.
“Yeah, but they seemed to be in a sleep-trance, just as predicted,” chattered Bindle.
“Were they big?”
“Giant, especially for such a little thing like you. I’m glad that Thatch didn’t make you do the swimming, Amie.”
Thatch hoisted the oars back into the water, bringing their chat to an end with a splash. Bindle paddled along, keeping carefully on the hidden side of the boat.
Amie’s skin prickled. Now would come the trickiest part, hiding the fact that the ‘body’ that they dumped had not been an offering of the deceased to the lake dwellers. With each paddle, the expansive, open shore approached. Thatch checked his trajectory and aimed for a pile of rocks and a clump of dried algae. She doubted that such cover would work for long. Her tiny mouse heart began pounding in her ears again.
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Two rat guards waited for their return from the sacred waters, one midnight black and the other a paler blue. They approached, offering to help shore up the boat. Nearly jittering now, Amie prepared for her ruse.
The boat ground into the soft sand and stones, and the rat guards gripped the front of the boat and began to heave.
As Thatch pulled in the oars, the mouse tried scrambling out the side, carefully letting her hind claws snag into the burial cloth. The effect was more spectacular than she intended. Where she planned on only tripping and sprawling out, the weight of the fabric proved too great. Her world flipped upside-down and she bopped her head against the hull while hanging suspended. The resulting squeak of surprise and pain was genuine.
Her companion jumped to her snagged foot and called, “Are you alright, little one?”
The black rat skittered around. His large, but gentle paws lifted Amie’s head and shoulders level. “Woah there, mousey. No rush to leave the lake like that.”
Amie whimpered, playing up the embarrassment. She glanced over at the other guard, satisfied that he too was examining her. She shook her hind claws free of the cloth and let herself be guided to the sand. Flattening her ears and pulling the shawl over her eyes, she made herself as small as possible.
The rats all had a little chuckle, muttering placating things about such a small creature needed so much help. Amie let the comments bounce off her. Her mind could only wonder if her humiliating dangle had bought Bindle enough time to reach the tree line. She couldn’t check now.
It was Thatch’s turn to distract. His voice sank back to a pained, mournful tone, “Thank you for your generous accommodations, sirs. My brother had always dreamed of visiting Clear Lake. He would have loved this unfettered beauty.”
Black rat mirrored the mourning pose. “Many a rodent-folk wish to inter in our lovely lake, it’s not as uncommon as you might believe.”
“May he return to the Cycle.” Blue rat agreed, “He will nourish the lake life by giving his essence to the fish, frogs, insects, and algae, and we in turn benefit from those creatures in roofing and food. All benefiting each other for the greater good.”
The odd ideology made Amie’s ears twitch. Who in their right minds would want to eat a fish that ate rodents? Seemed like cannibalism with an extra step. And with a lofty ideal as that, they didn’t explain why gifts and tokens for the dead were expected to sit at the bottom of the lake and guarded like treasure, or how anything that slipped into the waters was expected to stay, as if the forces of nature had deemed it destiny? Rat ideas were so peculiar.
A small clatter of stone sounded far to Amie’s left. Black rat raised his ears, suddenly alert. No one was allowed to the shore without an escort.
No! They had gotten so far already; they couldn’t risk discovery. She dug her claws into the stony beach to replicate the sound while Amie raised her voice and let out a long, weeping howl. She squeezed her eyes shut and threw her body into wracking shivers. “For-forgive me, b-but I just remembered…” Amie took a few more stuttering attempts at a sentence before finally choking out, “When I was but a pup, Tangle saved me from drowning. And now he’s… now he’s in the water instead of me. I owe him so much…”
Thatch approached her side and laid his paw on her back and muttered some placating words, completing the act.
She had to make sure her grief didn’t drag on too long or end abruptly. She let her staggered breathing naturally slow and calm. Sitting up, she rubbed her shawl over her eyes and whimpered an apology for the break in civility.
Both guards again had answered her call of distress, intensely focusing on her. Black rat nearly brushed whiskers with her, too close for her comfort. “The Clear Lake will put his spirit to rest, little miss. No one will drown in his new home; he’ll make sure of that.”
Such a sentiment made tears cascade down her fur again, even if Tangle and his heroics were imaginary. Amie nodded and rubbed at her eyes. “Thank you.”
“Perhaps we can arrange a nest in view of the lake for tonight? It may help…” Thatch left off on a forlorn note.
“Of course, sir,” Blue rat inclined his head, “follow us.”
They picked their way back into grassy terrain, checking in with a few other patrolling guards that faced towards civilization as they passed. Amie scrambled to keep up with the rats’ long strides but voiced no complaint.
The destination was a towering stump that had been painstakingly hollowed out with the many teeth of carpenter rodents. It had a few winding tunnels, like an underground burrow, that led to little alcoves big enough for a rodent couple to stay. The stump was empty of visitors, so they had no problem claiming the top room.
Wood polished and smooth under her paws, the young mouse felt like she’d stepped into some kind of luxury den. The room had a little window bitten out that faced the lake, just as Thatch had requested. Two boxes holding dried algae and roughage, along with some dandelion puffs sat near the window –their beds for the night. Wood rings undulated up the carved walls and became a bullseye on the ceiling, natural but somehow artistic.
The guards bid them a farewell and parting condolences. Amie shed her shawl and folded it neatly by the left-side box, then climbed into the cozy, earthy bedding. Thatch stared out of the window, ears twitching with alertness. It would be impossible at this distance to determine how Bindle was faring outside of any commotion a discovery would bring.
“You were excellent, Amie,” Thatch whispered.
She lifted her head, thoughts of sleeping abandoned. Her ears leapt upright, and her eyes scanned her leader. His fur pattern, hooded cinnamon with white underneath, told of a stable upbringing in a town or civilization of sorts. But when not playing a role for a job, he acted in a primal, hungry manner. Now that they didn’t have an audience, that intensity was free to return in full force. And Amie hadn’t gotten over the instinctual fear of being so close to a forceful-mannered giant.
The rat’s eyes twinkled in the moonlight and his tail twitched back and forth across the smoothed ground. “You had the guards securely in your paws at each squeak. Your feminine fragility on top of your small size are perfect tools, and you utilized them expertly. You’ve cemented yourself as an invaluable member of the crew, Amie. Forgive me for underestimating your usefulness.”
Her fur bristled in spite of herself. The undertone of craving sent shivers across her body. “Thank you.”
If he was disappointed in her timid response, he didn’t show it. Thatch curled into his separate box and said, “We’ll reconnect with Bindle in the morning and meet with our client, then we must trade for a few supplies before our next assignment. Are you ready, little one?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered quietly, defaulting to rat formality.
“Wonderful. Now, get some shut eye, my little Amie.”
She gulped, then sank into the bedding. Maybe if she burrowed in deep enough, her shaking wouldn’t be so noticeable. The mouse closed her eyes and tried to focus on sleep. Instead, waves of grief for a different loss filled her mind and eyes with tears. Whimpering quietly, she slowly but surely lost herself to sleep.