After
work on Friday Mrs. Brisby went straight to Owl’s apartment building. It was
the tallest building around, probably twenty stories, and to the extreme
distress of the acrophobic Mrs. Brisby, Owl lived on the very top floor. That
wasn’t her first dilemma though. Before she could get up to the twentieth
floor, she had to get through the front door which she found locked. She was
about to start pressing random buzzers on the chance that someone would buzz
her in (Owl never answered his buzzer or his phone, she’d been told) when
suddenly the door opened and Jeremy strutted out, dancing almost in time with
the music from the boombox on his shoulder. His eyes were closed and he nearly
ran into Mrs. Brisby again.

“Jeremy!”
she called, beyond relieved to see a familiar face.

“Hey,
it’s Ms Briz!” he said, turning the music down to a low hum. “What are you
doing here? Did ya come to visit me?”

“Not
exactly. I need to talk to Owl--I have kind of an emergency and I need his
advice--but the door was locked. Do you live here? Can you let me in?”

“Sure
thing.” He dug through one of his baggy pockets, pulled out his keychain, and
unlocked the front door. “I can even take you up to his place. I know him, you
know. I bring him groceries once a week. He’ll talk to you for sure if you’re
with me.”

“Oh
Jeremy, that would be wonderful!”

“No
problem, come on in.”

Though
Owl seemed to be respected by everyone, he was very picky about who he talked
to. He was more of a hermit even than Mr. Ages. Sometimes he could be persuaded
to give a person advice if they brought him a present; sometimes, if he didn’t
like the present, he’d toss it off his balcony and tell the person never to
come back. Mrs. Brisby didn’t want to take that chance. The only potential gift
she could think of was one of the greasy burgers from The Burger Factory, and
she could already picture it dropping twenty stories through the air, wilted
lettuce and soggy pickles flapping in the wind and flying everywhere.

After
a jolting ride up in the old elevator, Jeremy knocked and opened Owl’s door
without waiting for an answer, then led Mrs. Brisby through the dark living
room to the balcony where Owl spent most of his time. She’d never met Owl
before and had always thought his nickname came from how wise he was, but when
she saw the old man sitting on a barstool wearing gigantic round spectacles
that looked like two magnifying glasses, she guessed his name had a different
origin.

“Owl,
this is my friend Ms Briz. She needs to ask you a question,” Jeremy said
quietly.

“Has
she brought me anything?” the old man asked, his gaze never leaving the distant
haze of the city.

“No,”
Jeremy replied, “but she’s a really nice lady. She helped me hide from Dragon
last night.”

“I
see... Well, tell her to come in.”

Jeremy
waved Mrs. Brisby forward and she hesitated at the boundary of the balcony,
unable to see anything except sky around her. Her knees trembled and she
grasped the wall for support, praying that if she fainted she’d fall backward
into the apartment instead of toward the too-short railing in front of her. As
she peeked around the corner, Owl turned his comically magnified eyes toward
her.

“H-h-hello,”
stuttered Mrs. Brisby. She might have shaken Owl’s hand but nothing could have
made her release her grip on the wall.

“What
is your question?” Owl asked in his deep boom of a voice.

“Um...
I... You see, my four children and I got evicted last night, and...” she took a
deep breath and closed her eyes as her vision began to blur. “And we have to be
out by Monday but we have nowhere to go. My son Timothy has pneumonia and he
can’t even go outside for three weeks, so even if we had the money to move, and
even if we had a car to move our belongings in, and even if I could find an
apartment not owned by the Fitzgibbons...”

“You
must move anyway. Find someplace. If you try to stay, the Fitzgibbons will
surely have you put in jail. What use would you be to your children then?”

She
thought briefly of Jonathan and felt a wave of nausea overtake her. With
another deep breath and a hard swallow, she managed to continue: “But if we
move now, Timothy’s illness could get worse. He could even die.”

“Lose
one child, or lose them all. Certainly you can find somewhere to stay, even if
only for a few weeks. Stay with a friend.”

“I-I
don’t really have any friends,” she said meekly. “I mean, with work and taking
care of the children and everything--”

“Then
move to a hotel for a couple of weeks while you search for a new apartment. You
have to move somewhere, or you’ll be living out on the street.” Owl sounded
like he was losing his patience for her, and Mrs. Brisby’s desperation started
to grow.

“Please,
you don’t understand. Timothy can’t go outside at all. I have no money, I can’t
even afford groceries this week. And I don’t know anyone who could take in all
five of us for as long as I’d need to gather the money--”

Jeremy
interrupted: “Yeah, I’d totally let you stay with us, but I got eight brothers
and sisters and my parents would have a fit if I brought you guys home.”

“I
am sorry for your predicament, but I’m afraid that’s the only advice I can give
you. Take it or leave it,” Owl said, his stoic stare returning to the pink
horizon.

Mrs.
Brisby sighed, her mouth slumping into a frown. “All right, I understand. Thank
you for your time, Mr. Owl.”

“And
good night to you, Mrs... I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“Mrs.
Brisby,” she said, turning back toward the apartment to leave.

“You
mean Mrs. Jonathan Brisby?” Owl asked with the first trace of emotion in his
voice.

“Yes,
Jonathan is--was--my husband. Do you know him?”

“I
never met him but I’ve heard of him, and I do know some friends of his. Come
back outside.” Mrs. Brisby’s heart leapt and she even forgot about her
acrophobia for a few seconds as she ran back to Owl. “You never knew Jonathan’s
friends, did you?” he asked kindly.

“Who
do you mean? The Walkers? Jonathan would go play cards with them sometimes--”

“No,
no, of course he wouldn’t have told you about them. Listen, Mrs. Brisby, I
think I know of a way you can move your family safely, but you must promise to
ask me no questions about it now and to simply do as I say.”

“Yes,
I promise, please tell me.”

“You
must go to the Rats, first thing tomorrow morning, and tell them of your
problem. They’ll know a way to help you, and if you tell them you’re Jonathan’s
wife I’m certain they’ll agree to do it.”

“I
know this is a question, but I can’t do what you say unless I ask it. Who are
the Rats? Where are the Rats?”

“They
live in the Rosebush.”

“Oh...
them.” She’d never heard them called the Rats before but that was what they
seemed like, skulking about at nighttime as they often did. But she knew
precisely who Owl meant: in a supposedly abandoned apartment building near the
edge of the Fitzgibbons’ lot, once called the Rosebush for the beautiful plants
that grew around its walls, a group of people now lived in hiding. She’d
assumed they were merely a family of homeless people taking refuge in what
would otherwise be an empty building. But years ago, driving out of town past
the old building, she had often seen them looking quite a bit busier than
homeless people should be--carrying things into and out of the building,
driving cars through the iron gates--and only at nighttime. They were a strange
crowd, but she couldn’t afford to be choosy. Help was help, no matter who it
came from.

“The
front gate will be locked,” Owl continued, “and it may look rusted shut, but it
isn’t. If you look through the rose vines to the right of the gate, you’ll
notice a key pad. The combination to it is 2-1-3-9. This unlocks the gate. Once
inside, there will be a pathway winding through some trees, and you should
follow this pathway to the front door where you’ll be met by a guard named
Justin. Tell him you’re Jonathan’s wife and ask him to take you to Nicodemus.
Then you can tell your story, and I’m sure they’ll offer you assistance. Tell
them I sent you, and that I think they should move you to Lee. Do you
understand?”

“Key
pad to the right of the gate. 2-1-3-9. Justin. Nicodemus. Lee. Got it. But why
Lee?”

“For
someone who isn’t supposed to ask questions, you ask a lot of them.”

“I’m
sorry,” she said, bowing her head.

Owl
motioned for her to come closer. “Look out there. Do you see those hills at the
horizon?” She saw them, distant and beautiful covered in all the pinks and
oranges of sunset. “Right behind those hills is Lee. It isn’t a city like this,
it’s only a little town. The Fitzgibbons own nothing there, and no matter where
you live I am certain you’ll find yourself welcome... I myself grew up in Lee,
many years ago. It is everything that this city is not. Nicodemus too came from
Lee. He will understand why I told you to move there. You must make sure to
tell him this, first thing in the morning.”

She
noticed Owl had repeated this twice, and now wondered why it was so important.
“But shouldn’t I go tonight instead of waiting until the morning? I get evicted
in two days. I don’t have any time to spare.”

“No.
Go early in the morning. Six-thirty, seven. That will give you enough time.”

“But
why? Oh I’m sorry, that’s another question isn’t it.”

“The
Rats have... business to attend to during the night. Nicodemus can explain this
to you if he chooses. If you go to them now when they’re busy with something
else, you’ll just be a nuisance. They might not be so eager to help you.
Besides...” He peered down at the ground through his thick glasses. Mrs. Brisby
suspected he could probably see ants on the sidewalk through those things.
“Besides, Brutus will still be on duty for a few more hours before Justin’s
shift. If you go now you’ll run into Brutus and won’t make it past the front
door.”

“Who’s
Br--” she whisked her hands over her mouth when she realized this was her
fourth question.

Owl
didn’t seem to mind though. He beckoned her forward again and put one of his
wiry arms around her while pointing toward the ground with the other. She
didn’t know what she was supposed to be seeing; from this height, everything
below looked like it belonged in Cynthia’s dollhouse. “See that green square
surrounded by a gray square?” She squinted at what appeared to be a building
containing a very lush courtyard and nodded her head. “That is the Rosebush.
See that dark figure right in front of the gray square?” Although she had no
idea what Owl was referring to, she nodded anyway. “That is Brutus. He’s not
the most quick-witted creature on the planet. You’ll want to try to avoid him.”

She
wondered how in the world Owl could distinguish Brutus from anyone else, or
even from all the trees and other objects below, but she dared not ask another
question. Owl, however, seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, making
her wonder if the old man really was psychic... or just perceptive. “I
can tell it’s Brutus because he wears a black hat and Justin wears a beige one.
And Brutus carries that rifle he has in his hand now, or sometimes a handgun,
but Justin carries no weapon. I’ve lived on this balcony for twenty years. When
you watch the world as much as I have, you learn to pick up on things... Now do
you remember the things I told you?”

“Yes,
I remember--2-1-3-9, Lee, Nicodemus, no Brutus, Justin. Thank you so much, Mr.
Owl. I don’t know how I can repay you--”

“There
is one more thing. Don’t let Nicodemus offer you anything to eat when you speak
with him. If he does, politely refuse it.”

“Oh,
I see...” she said as if she really did.

“He’s
a nice fellow, a good friend of mine from years back... Just take my word for
it.”

“I
will, thank you. Good night.” Mrs. Brisby waited for a ‘good night’ from Owl,
but he just stared down at the ground, his enormous eyes darting across the
neighborhoods below. She gradually stepped back and left the apartment with
Jeremy.

“Pleeease
can I go with you?” Jeremy begged, skipping along behind Mrs. Brisby as she
hurried toward the Rosebush the next morning.

“No!”
she scolded. “Go home!”

“I
won’t cause any trouble, I swear.”

“You’re
making too much noise. Dragon’s still on duty. If he hears us over here, then
what’ll I do?”

“I’ll
protect you!” Jeremy almost shouted.

“Sssshhhh!
Jeremy, for heaven’s sake, be quiet!”

“But
you can’t go in the Rosebush alone. Those Rats... they’re weirdoes. You need a
big strong man to protect--”

Mrs.
Brisby reached up and put her hand over Jeremy’s mouth. Someone was coming
toward them from the end of the block, and for a second she thought it was
Dragon. She tugged Jeremy into a small crevice between two buildings and peeked
her head out. Just a homeless man pulling a shopping cart full of soda cans.
She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped back onto the sidewalk, suddenly
having a clever idea as to how to get rid of Jeremy. “Jeremy, you’re right. I
do need a big strong man--to watch my children while I’m gone. Will you do it?”

He
thought about it, his face twisted in deliberation for a moment before he
smiled hugely. “Yeah! You’re right! Someone needs to be with the kids in case
there’s another fire like on Thursday. Besides, chicks dig a guy who’s good
with kids, right?”

“Oh
yes, we dig it a lot. Now get going, quick, before anything happens to them.”

He
started to run back toward her apartment, then turned around. “Wait a minute, I
don’t know where you live.”

“In
Building G, room 305. Just knock and tell Teresa I sent you, and she’ll let you
in.” Jeremy trotted off and Mrs. Brisby continued on her way, laughing at how
simple it was to get rid of him. Never mind that Auntie Shrew was already
watching the kids.

The
gate to the Rosebush was just how Owl said it would be. Mrs. Brisby had driven
by it many times before but had never given it more than a passing glance.
She’d never noticed the rugged beauty of it--the thick, unruly rose vines that
wound around the rusted bars of the gate, the little forest inside that already
was green with leaves thought it wasn’t yet spring. Looking to the right of the
gate as Owl instructed, she poked around through the leaves for a few minutes
before discovering the keypad hidden in a thorny cage of dead vines. The keys
were difficult to press but she managed to punch in the combination and the
gate began to swing open with a terrible shriek of rusty metal parts grinding
together. She stepped inside and followed the pathway, which was barely visible
through the wild grass and unkempt garden plants that flourished along its
edges. A minute later the trees thinned and she reached the Rosebush--a
two-story apartment building that truly looked abandoned with its boarded-up
windows and its ancient layer of flaking white paint. She could see the front
entrance--two large wooden doors that were propped open with stones and framed
by a vine-covered archway--but where was Justin? No one stood by the doors as
Owl said they would. Through the open doors Mrs. Brisby could see a short
tunnel and, past the tunnel’s shadows, something bright. Maybe that was the
front door? She warily crept forward out of the shelter of the trees and
through the tunnel, and when she came upon its end she stopped in her tracks.
Before her was the most beautiful garden she’d ever seen--especially in
wintertime. Like the front lawn, the courtyard’s vegetation probably hadn’t
been trimmed in decades. All over the ground grew a thick carpet of wild grass,
clover, and dandelions; around the edges, towering oaks and magnolias whose
trunks were obscured by flowering vines. Bushes, also inexplicably in bloom,
dotted the interior with every color imaginable. In one corner sat a wooden
bench, overrun with vines, and in another corner a fountain bubbled water from
a vine-covered spout.

So
enchanted by the scene was Mrs. Brisby that she didn’t even notice the man who
had walked up behind her until it was too late. Suddenly she felt her head jerk
back and she looked upward into the snarling face of the tallest man she’d ever
seen. With one hand he held her by the hair and with the other he pressed the
barrel of a handgun into her neck. In the crisp air of early morning, the metal
of the gun felt cold against her skin and she shivered involuntarily, unable to
speak because of the angle at which the man held her.

“Who
are you? What are you doing here?”

Mrs.
Brisby made a coughing sound and tried ineffectively to wriggle free of his
powerful grasp. He let her up a little, enough so she could speak, but he kept
the gun pressed hard against her throat. “My name is Mrs. Brisby. I came to
see--”

“I
don’t care. How did you get in here?”

“Owl
told me the combo to the gate.”

“I
don’t know any Owl. And I don’t know you. So unless you want me to bust a cap
in your--”

“Please,”
she interrupted, her entire body trembling. “I have to speak with Nicodemus. My
son Timothy is sick and Owl said Nicodemus could help us. I have to see him,
please let me in.” The man released her and pushed her back a little toward the
door she’d come in through. As soon as his grip loosened from her hair, she
could feel the pain of her ponytail having been pulled on so tightly for so
long. She rubbed the back of her head. Now that she was able to get a closer
look at her assailant, she realized what the problem was. This, she guessed,
was Brutus. Beneath his black baseball cap stood over seven massive feet of
fat, muscle, and baggy black FUBU clothing. Despite his size, he had small
narrowly spaced eyes that made him look not too bright. Over his ears were
headphones that connected to a Walkman hanging from his belt, and even across
the distance between them Mrs. Brisby could hear the music he was listening
to--a song by Naughty By Nature that she recognized from among Martin’s
collection of tapes. She wondered how Brutus had heard what she’d said to him,
or if he’d even heard her at all.

“Leave,
now. Forget you ever saw this place. And don’t ever come back here,” Brutus
said, gesturing at the exit with the gun.

“Are
you Brutus?” she asked more confidently than she felt.

“Bitch,
how’d you know my name?” he yelled, charging at her and grabbing her shoulder
so hard that it throbbed with pain.

Once
again she found the gun pointed at her and she put up her arms as a shield.
“Owl told me,” she cried in a trembling voice. “He said either Brutus or Justin
would be at the entrance.”

Suddenly
Brutus relinquished his hold of her and stuck the gun behind his belt. With his
hefty hands he smoothed out the wrinkles his assault had left in her shirt. A
goofy smile spread across his face. “Oh, you’re one of Justin’s girlfriends.
Why didn’t you say so? You’re a bit older than most of them so I didn’t
realize.”

“No,
I’m not, I don’t know Justin. Owl just told me--”

When
Brutus pulled the gun out again, Mrs. Brisby rolled her eyes at her mistake.
She’d probably have been better off telling Brutus what he wanted to hear, but
too late for that now. “You’re confusing me. Get out of here. Go on. And don’t
come back because if I see you again I’m gonna shoot you.”

Mrs.
Brisby hesitated for a second, opening her mouth to try once more to explain.

“Go!”
shouted Brutus. “Now!”

He
took a step toward her, and she didn’t wait around to see what he’d do next.
She sprinted back through the tunnel, through the archway, and into the trees,
no longer on the pathway but not caring much about that. Halfway between the
building and the gate, she stopped and looked behind her. Brutus hadn’t followed.
Crying and out of breath, she dropped to the grass and leaned against the
gnarled trunk of an oak tree, burying her burning face in her arms.

After
all she’d gone through, to be chased away by some teenage gangster-wannabe. She
wondered why Owl had sent her to this place, what connection, if any, Jonathan
had with it. Had Owl said the Rats were Jonathan’s friends? She couldn’t
imagine him having been friends with the likes of Brutus, but then again there
remained quite a few things she didn’t know about her husband. He’d always been
a secretive man; kind and loving, but still highly valuing of his privacy. That
was why Mrs. Brisby really had no one to turn to now--Jonathan went out for an
occasional poker game with the neighbors, and of course there were his visits
with Mr. Ages, but generally he never cared much for being social. As her tears
subsided, Mrs. Brisby pondered all of Jonathan’s possible relationships with
the Rats. Perhaps, she thought, they had done some sort of business with him;
Jonathan had been an accountant, he’d met lots of people in his job. Or maybe
he only knew them as neighbors. Either way, Owl had certainly been impressed by
the mention of Jonathan Brisby. Why hadn’t Brutus been too?

She
decided she wasn’t quite finished with the Rats yet--already it was Saturday
morning, and at the moment they were her last hope. She couldn’t risk going
back to the front entrance, but perhaps she could sneak around the back and
find another way in. Brutus wasn’t likely to be observant enough to take
notice, and she was certain that if she could only get inside then someone
would listen to her. Just as she built up enough courage to stand up, she heard
the slow shuffle of footsteps along the path. Brutus! she thought, and
backed up against the tree to hide herself. But as the sound grew nearer, she
could distinguish that its source had come from the gate and not from the
building. Poking her head out, she was amazed to see Mr. Ages limping along on
crutches with a splint tied around his right ankle. She must have let out a
gasp, for suddenly the old man turned toward her looking as surprised as she
did.

“Mrs.
Brisby?” he asked in obvious confusion.

“Mr.
Ages?” she echoed.

They
stood there staring at each other for a few seconds until Mr. Ages collected his
thoughts. “What are you doing here? I didn’t realize you knew about... What are
you doing here?” He sounded annoyed, but at least he didn’t have a gun like
Brutus.

“Oh,
Mr. Ages, I’m so glad it’s you. I have to talk to Nicodemus, but Brutus chased
me away and said he’d shoot me if I came back.”

“Well...
but how did you know about this place? How do you know Nicodemus?”

“Owl
told me. I went to see him last night. We--my children and I--got evicted for
setting off the smoke alarm, and we have nowhere to go now. Besides, we can’t
move now anyway, since Timmy can’t go outside. Owl said Nicodemus would know a
way to help.”

“You
should have dismantled your smoke alarms long ago. That’s what I did,” he said,
then scratched his chin in thought. “I suppose if Owl told you, it’ll be all
right. Yes, yes, come with me. I can take you to Nicodemus.”

“You
will? Oh, thank you, Mr. Ages. But--Brutus--”

“Never
mind him. He has a big mouth but he’s really quite harmless. He’s only sixteen,
you know.”

Sixteen
or not, he still had a gun. And her shoulder still ached from where he had
grabbed it. But Mrs. Brisby didn’t object as she followed Mr. Ages up the
pathway toward the front door. She might have asked about his injury--if not
about why he had come to the Rosebush--but she thought it best not to
annoy anyone who could help her.

They
ambled along at Mr. Ages’s sluggish pace and finally reached the tunnel and the
courtyard, where, to Mrs. Brisby’s intense relief, there was no sign of Brutus.
She had just let her guard down when she heard a couple quick footsteps behind
her and saw the blur of someone pouncing out from behind an oak tree. He nearly
snatched Mr. Ages off his feet, and Mrs. Brisby’s heart pounded until she
realized that this man was not Brutus--and that he was laughing instead of
scowling.

“Reveal
thy name!” the man commanded in a whisper, holding his hands (which were
covered in grease and oil, as if from fixing a car) over Mr. Ages’s eyes from
behind.

Mr.
Ages struggled for a second, to no avail. “Justin! You jackass! Let go of me,”
he growled.

Justin
released his prisoner, and Mr. Ages turned around and hit him in the arm with
one of the crutches.

“All
right, all right. Only a joke,” Justin laughed. “I was just on my way to get
you. I would’ve driven you over here, you didn’t have to walk.”

“The
way you drive? I’ll take my chances walking, thank you,” Mr. Ages
grumbled, wiping off the black fingerprints Justin had left on his glasses.

Justin
started to say something in return but then abruptly turned his head toward
Mrs. Brisby, apparently not having noticed her earlier. “Oh, who are you?” he
asked casually, flashing her a charming smile.

“Ummm...”
she mumbled as she stared up at him, finding herself suddenly speechless. When
he jumped out at them a moment before, she expected another foolish-faced
gun-toting teenager instead of the young man that stood in front of her now.
Justin was tall but not nearly as huge and bulky as Brutus; he had the strong,
lean build of a basketball player. A beige cowboy hat dipped down over his
face, nearly covering his dark eyes. Other than that, he wore only blue jeans
and a thin white t-shirt, and Mrs. Brisby wondered how he wasn’t cold. He had a
very short mustache and goatee shaved close to his face; his skin was a medium
tan, the same color as hers, but from his face she couldn’t tell what race or
races he belonged to.

“This
is Mrs. Brisby,” Mr. Ages answered for her.

“Yes...”
she said inattentively, her wide eyes locked on his disarmingly handsome face.
The second of silence that followed shook her from her daze, and her cheeks
flushed bright red. “Oh! Yes, I’m Mrs. Brisby, nice to meet you.”

“Jonny’s
wife?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes,
I was his wife.”

“As
if there was another Mrs. Brisby,” Mr. Ages said sarcastically.

Justin
bowed formally, removing his hat and revealing dark brown hair twisted into
short dreadlocks. “Mrs. Brisby, it’s truly an honor to meet you.” She giggled
girlishly despite her attempts to remain collected.

“Mrs.
Brisby, this is Justin, Captain of the Jackasses,” Mr. Ages said snidely, and
Justin reached over and smeared his fingers across the old man’s glasses again.

When
Justin put his hat back on, Mrs. Brisby took another look and suddenly
recognized him. “That was you the night before last! With Mrs.
Fitzgibbons’s car! I saw you out my window.”

He
grinned smugly and nodded his head despite a disapproving glare from Mr. Ages.
“You should see the car now. It’s really one of our better efforts.”

“What
did you boys do?” Mr. Ages scolded.

Justin
turned toward Mrs. Brisby so as to block Mr. Ages out of the conversation.
“See, it’s such a nice car and she never even drives it, so we just thought
we’d take it out where more people could see it, that’s all.”

“Oh,”
Mrs. Brisby said, confused and moderately disappointed, hoping to hear
something more exciting. “But I saw you pushing it down the street...”

“Yeah...
well I’d swear Mr. Fitzgibbons can hear that engine a mile away, so we just
pushed it over here Wednesday night, Brutus and me. Then we spent all day
yesterday thinking of something good to do with it. I can show you what we
decided on, if you want.”

Mr.
Ages interrupted: “Mrs. Brisby has some urgent business with Nicodemus, and I
have to get to that meeting, so if you don’t mind...”

“We
disassembled the whole thing and brought all the pieces into that miniature
golf place, then we put the car back together inside the clown’s mouth at the
ninth hole. Took us all night, but it’s really something to see. We just
finished a few hours ago,” Justin explained quickly, showing her his
grease-stained hands.

“What in the world did you do that for?” Mrs.
Brisby asked, laughing. She would have liked to see the car, but Mr. Ages was
right--she didn’t really have that much time to spare.

“For
laughs. Well, and Mrs. Fitzgibbons cost us a few hundred bucks last weekend,
but I don’t know how much I can tell you about that... Plus,” Justin said,
sticking out his foot and pulling up his jeans to reveal shiny new steel-toed
combat boots, “She had enough cash in her glove compartment to finance these.”

“All
right, can we get going already?” Mr. Ages grumbled.

“But
what about Brutus?” asked Mrs. Brisby. “He said he’d shoot me if I came back
inside.”

“Don’t
worry about Brutus. He’s never shot anyone in his life. Besides, the gun isn’t
even loaded. He just carries it for looks,” Justin explained. Mrs. Brisby found
herself hoping she could move out of Rocklin before her own children decided to
adopt this fashion.

Mr.
Ages began making his steady way toward a door at the other end of the
courtyard and Justin and Mrs. Brisby followed, walking side by side through the
overgrowth of flowers and vines. As Justin held back the long, yellow-flowered
branch of a rosebush that jutted out across the path, Mrs. Brisby looked up at
him to say thank you but ended up blurting out “How beautiful!” in a breathy
voice.

“Yeah,”
Justin said smartly, “I know.”

“The-the
flowers. The garden,” Mrs. Brisby corrected herself. “There’s so many flowers,
for March.”

“Oh,
that. Yeah, I guess they get shielded from the cold by the building or
something.”

They
entered the apartments and Mrs. Brisby gasped in surprise at how clean and
modern the interior appeared. Not only that, but the electricity seemed to be
working even though the building had been abandoned for decades. After passing
through the lobby, they turned down a long blue-carpeted hallway that
culminated in large room filled with tables and chairs. She could hear loud
voices coming from within the room but there were too many of them talking at
once for her to distinguish what they were saying. They sounded angry though,
so she allowed herself to fall a few steps behind as they approached the open
door. When Mr. Ages entered the room the conversation within ceased abruptly
and a tall burly man in a black cape turned around, looking angry until he
noticed Mrs. Brisby’s face peeking out from behind Justin.

“Mr.
Ages, Justin,” the man greeted in a suspiciously polite tone, flipping the cape
over his shoulder. “We, uh... we were just talking about you.”

“That’s
refreshing, Jenner, usually you’re bitching about us,” Justin said, and some of
the people sitting at the center table laughed.

Ignoring
Justin, Jenner focused his eerie green-eyed stare on Mrs. Brisby and looked her
over for a moment before speaking. “Mrs. Brisby--Jonathan’s wife, aren’t you?”

She
didn’t know why but something about this man Jenner bothered her--perhaps
simply how unusual he appeared, as if he contrasted with himself. Though his
hair and his long goatee were jet black, his skin was so white that she
wondered if he’d ever been outside in daylight in his entire life. Kind of
Michael-Jackson-ish, she thought, which disturbed her even more. His attire
too was odd--under the cape he wore a bright purple shirt, shiny black pants,
and a dozen gold necklaces, and he carried a fancy white cane though he didn’t
appear to need it and wore a white hat with a long feather stuck in it. When he
smiled, she noticed a row of gold teeth. But beyond that was the rather
sinister air Jenner had about him; he reminded Mrs. Brisby of the stereotypical
badguy in old Western movies. “How--how did you know who I am?” she asked
quietly.

“Jonathan
showed me a photo of you years ago. I’d never forget such a pretty face,”
Jenner purred, black eyebrows arching deviously.

Justin
stepped in between him and Mrs. Brisby, peering into the meeting room. “Is
Nicodemus in there? Mrs. Brisby needs to talk to him.”

“Since
when does Nicodemus ever go to meetings?” asked Sullivan, a short chubby man
standing at Jenner’s side. “Anyway, can’t it wait? This is important business
and I don’t think it’s really appropriate for outsiders to be listening to.”

With
a wave of his arm, Jenner batted Sullivan out of the way and took Mrs. Brisby
by the hand, leading her back down the hallway. “Ignore him. I’ll take you to
Nicodemus. His office is right this way.” Jenner was almost tugging her as she
looked back to Justin and Mr. Ages for approval... or for help.

“Yes,
it’s apartment 116,” Mr. Ages called to her. “Sullivan is right, this meeting
is rather important, but I’ll find you again afterward... Oh, and Mrs.
Brisby--take care that you don’t eat anything in Nicodemus’s office, okay?”

Thoroughly
confused, Mrs. Brisby allowed herself to be pulled along like a toddler while
she considered why two people now had warned her of that. And, of course, what
any of these people had to do with Jonathan. She hoped Nicodemus wouldn’t treat
her like an ‘outsider,’ that he’d explain everything to her or at very least
tell her how she’d be able to move her family in the less than two days
remaining. Jenner pushed open the door to 116 without knocking and ushered Mrs.
Brisby into the lightless room.

“Go
through that second door in the back, and that’s where you’ll find Nicodemus,”
he told her.

“Okay,
thank you,” she said, waiting for him to leave; she wasn’t about to walk into a
dark room with Jenner right behind her. He seemed to get her message but that
only confirmed his desire to stay where he was, so eventually she had no choice
but to proceed into the darkness. After only one step forward she felt a firm
slap on her behind and she broke into a sprint toward Nicodemus’s door without
looking back.

The
back room was lit only by a single candle flame which waved and jumped on its
wick in the disturbance Mrs. Brisby’s entrance made in the air. The shadows
swaying across the walls looked ghostly, but anything was better than being
around Jenner.

“Is
that... Mrs. Brisby?” a quiet voice asked from the far corner.

She
tried to make out Nicodemus’s face as the candlelight flickered over him but
all she could identify was wrinkled hands and a long white beard. “Nicodemus?”
she said uncertainly. “Owl told me to come to you... We need your help. See, my
family and I are kind of in trouble...”

A
bony arm waved her forward from the shadows and she reluctantly obeyed. “Mrs.
Brisby... I thought you’d find us one of these days, but I didn’t expect so
soon. Here, sit down.” He gestured toward a chair opposite his own, beside a desk
cluttered with, among other things, a large disco ball mounted like a globe.

“Thank
you,” said Mrs. Brisby, sitting nervously on the chair’s edge.

“I’m
very sorry to hear that things aren’t going well for your family. Of course
we’ll help you in any way we can. Please, tell me all about your troubles. But
first, have some cookies. They’re chocolate chip, just baked a half hour ago.”
He reached for a plate on his desk and leaned forward to hand it to Mrs.
Brisby, and for the first time she was able to get a good look at him. He
seemed to be about ninety years old, if not older, but that wasn’t the most
remarkable thing about him, nor was his white beard that nearly reached the
floor. What truly astonished Mrs. Brisby was the outfit Nicodemus wore--with the
tall, embroidered, pointed hat on his head and the matching cape and shoes, he
looked like he’d dressed up for Halloween as a wizard...and had never removed
the costume. He even held a wand in his hand, though it was really just a thin
tree branch that had been sanded smooth. So entranced was Mrs. Brisby by his
appearance that she forgot the advice given to her by Owl and Mr. Ages and she
took several of the cookies. They were still warm and soft, and after she’d
crammed them into her mouth she reached for a couple more; in her rush that
morning, she hadn’t bothered to eat breakfast.

“Oh,
thank you, they’re delicious,” she said through a mouthful of food.

Nicodemus
gobbled down the rest of the cookies on the plate and handed the very last one
to Mrs. Brisby before he asked her to proceed with her story. Feeling full and
a bit more relaxed, she was able to calmly tell him of her problems with the
smoke alarm, her eviction, Timothy’s illness, her visit with Owl, and her
current financial predicament that had left her unable to afford a new
apartment even if she could have moved to one with a sick child and no car.
Nicodemus sat through this looking thoughtful but not worried, and when she was
finished he immediately came up with the answer she was hoping for.

“Mrs.
Brisby, I know just the way to help you.”

“You
do? You can help us move to Lee by Monday?”

“Yes,
and actually we’ll move you tonight. By Monday, you and your children will be
safe and happy in your very own house in Lee.”

“A house?
But how?” she asked, so happy that tears were beginning to well at the corners
of her eyes.

“Well,
the short answer is this: many years ago, I came across a large sum of money.
It’s more than an old man like me knows what to do with, and were it not for
your husband I might not have it anyway, so I’d be more than happy to give some
of it to you. It will be more than enough to pay for the house and also for
expenses as you get settled and look for work. Jonathan would’ve left you
money, if he’d had any left. Anyway, as for the house--my grandson is in real
estate in Lee and one phone call will have a brand new house waiting for you.
We’ll load all your belongings in one of our cars and drive you out there
tonight. There’s more to the story than that, and I will tell it to you, but
first I thought I’d give you something.” He picked up a dusty box from the
bookshelf and used his cape to brush off some of the dust layers, then handed
the box to Mrs. Brisby. “Jonathan meant for you to have this, but I suppose he
didn’t quite know how to give it to you. I’ve been keeping it safe for him
these last three years, waiting for the right time.”

When
she noticed what sat inside--a necklace made from the largest ruby she’d ever
seen--she almost dropped the box on the floor in utter amazement. The stone was
large enough for the necklace to have an engraving on the back of it! She held
it close to the candle to read what it said: “You can open any door, if you can
only pick the lock,” she read. Turning to Nicodemus, she asked: “What does that
mean?” Right then she got an odd feeling in her stomach but dismissed it at
first, assuming it was the usual wave of sadness and anguish she felt whenever
she thought too deeply about Jonathan. But the feeling was more of a tingle
than a pain and it seemed to spread throughout her body, making her head light
and airy and her vision a colorful amorphous blur.

“Look
over here,” Nicodemus instructed, and she could vaguely make out his hand
pointing toward a large round object on his desk. “Closer. Come closer.”

She
moved her face directly in front of where he pointed and watched him give the
object a swift spin, and suddenly there were colors everywhere. From the center
of the circular object blue light radiated in all directions, intermingled with
golds and reds and oranges that leapt out at her and seemed to seep into her
body and pulse through her veins. Her eyelids went wide and her eyes glossed
over as Nicodemus began to talk, and each word he spoke became visible to her
like a movie within the shimmering confines of the crystal ball.

“Twenty
years ago, back in Nashville, I lived as a common thief. It was how I’d lived
all of my life--stealing ladies purses, breaking into cars, pocketing things in
every store I entered. It paid the bills, but after a while I started dreaming
of something bigger. My final job. I wanted it to be something huge, something
that would finance whatever I chose to do for the rest of my life, but I knew I
couldn’t pull off something like that on my own. So I enlisted some help, some friends
and neighbors who I knew I could trust and depend on. There were five of us in
all. Your husband was one of them.

“It
took a while for us to decide what our target would be, but finally we chose a
few different things--a jewelry store, which is where that necklace came from;
a video arcade, because Jenner always wanted his very own arcade games; and a
bank because... well, because that’s just what people did. We put on masks and
disguises and robbed all three places clean. In all, we got away with several
million dollars in cash, plus a huge pinball game, pounds of jewelry, and more
quarters than we could count. Well, I shouldn’t say we ‘got away’ with it.
Wouldn’t you know it, they busted us for the pinball game. They had no idea
about all the money and jewelry we stole, but they caught us redhanded with
that blasted game and sentenced us to ten years in jail for it. Luckily
Jonathan and I had decided to hide all the loot a week before, so the police
never found it. The place we were sent to, NIMH, wasn’t really a ‘prison.’ It
was one of those minimum security country-club jails where you get to go
outside and use the gym and everything. It wasn’t really a bad life so much as
it was just monotonous. And after five years, I couldn’t take another day of it
even though my parole hearing was coming up in only a few months. That was when
the plan to escape took root.

“Jonathan
and I weren’t cell mates, nor were any of the five who’d originally done the
robberies. We all had our own cell mates, so you can imagine that they wanted
in on the escape too. Plus a repairman who we bribed to help us, and that made
eleven of us. It was a risky plan, but to us it was worth it--outside there was
freedom, women, and a few million dollars waiting for us to spend it. So we
came up with a plan to escape through the ventilation system. The
repairman--his name is Arthur--was immensely helpful here because he knew
exactly where all the pipes went. The ones we took started in the cafeteria, so
one night a few of us created a disturbance at dinner time and before you knew
it there was food, tables, and chairs flying everywhere. We climbed into the
pipes, which led to the roof, and at their end we came upon a metal grating
that covered the exit. Arthur hadn’t known about this, as it had only recently
been installed. At that point, we were so close to freedom that we probably
would’ve tried to gnaw our way out, but Jonathan saved the day by being able to
reach through the grating and unlatch it. His were the only arms small and agile
enough to do it. Otherwise, we might have tried kicking the grating out or
cutting through the pipes or something, but we probably would’ve been heard and
captured again. Then we were on the roof at the edge of the property and all we
had to do was jump down into a dumpster, wait for the security guards at the
entrance to be called inside to help control the riot, and run out the front
gate--which Justin had blocked open for us. And then we were free. You can’t
even imagine how beautiful that night sky looked, seeing it for the first time
without bars around or above us. After that, we ran off together--all twelve of
us. We got the loot we’d buried, stole as many cars as we needed, and drove as
far as we could that night, which was here. I used to live in Lee before I
moved to Nashville so I knew this city pretty well and knew about this
abandoned building, which turned out to be perfect for us. We might have
continued traveling, or even split up, but on the news that next morning were
all of our pictures so we thought we’d better go into hiding for a while.

“Well
it was fifteen years ago that we moved in here. I guess we just got used to
each other and to this place. Well, a few of us like Jonathan and Mr. Ages
moved into the surrounding apartments for their own reasons, but we still all
stuck together. At first we all thought we’d continue living our lives as
thieves, but we realized quickly that we had enough money to take it easy for a
while. A few of us pulled a couple of little jobs over the years, just for
entertainment, and of course there’s the electricity we divert from the
Fitzgibbons’s mansion, but other than that we decided to give up stealing all
together. You see, we came to realize how lucky we were--not getting
recaptured, not even having to work, spending our days lounging around,
watching television, having our friends and our girlfriends and our children...
I suppose we started to feel guilty for stealing unnecessarily. That’s what The
Plan is about--ending this lifestyle of theft and danger. The statute of
limitations has run out on our robberies, but if we get caught we’ll still have
to finish our original sentence, I believe, along with whatever else they can
pin on us for what we’ve done since we’ve been here. So what we’re going to do
is move away from the city where we can live like normal people and not have to
hide any more. Out in the country, in Thorn Valley where we’re headed to, no one
will know us, no one will recognize us. We’ll be able to get jobs and own
houses and do things legally for once in our lives...

“It
was in helping with The Plan that Jonathan was recaptured three years ago.
Whenever we need to ‘borrow’ something from the Fitzgibbons or get equipment
for the move to Thorn Valley,
we have to drug Dragon so he doesn’t see us coming in and out of this place.
Otherwise, our cover would be blown. Anyway, Jonathan was usually the one to do
it--he’d run up to Dragon’s booth and slip a sleeping powder in his coffee--but
this one night I guess he missed the coffee pot and dumped the powder all over
Dragon’s desk. He ended up having to stuff the powder in the center of one of
Dragon’s jelly donuts, but while he was trying to clean it up, Dragon came back
and caught him. He recognized Jonathan from that birthmark on his neck as one
of the escaped fugitives from twelve years back and, well, you know the rest...

“Mrs.
Brisby, I am sorry about Jonathan. We shouldn’t have put him in danger, knowing
he had a wife and children to take care of, but the truth is he wanted to help
us. He was planning on moving to Thorn Valley with us--of course bringing
you and the children too--so he was as much a part of The Plan as anyone. He
was going to tell you about his past someday, I know he was. And I know he has
been distant from you these past three years, but he’s only doing it to protect
you from his past. Perhaps once he gets out of jail again he...”

Mrs.
Brisby couldn’t listen any longer. Her eyelids drooped and her mind was reduced
to a dizzy whir, and the last thing she remembered was staring through the
nearly blinding colors to see a young Jonathan Brisby reaching through the
metal grating at NIMH to free his friends.