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them. They say they stopped many places, but it was not until they got to the swamp that the rats seemed at ease again. Back inTrillium, the rest of the rats took to hiding, driven underground to save their own lives.”
    â€œIndeed,” said Virden, “the scientists stole away to the swamp so they could do their research in peace and safety. They built the manor themselves, turning it into one giant home for the scientists and their families.”
    Vincent smiled. “Like us.”
    â€œThe diaries go back nearly a hundred years,” added Carn, “and all are filled with the scientists’ observations, such as how we share physical traits with humans—we sweat, our eyes make tears, things normal rats cannot do.”
    â€œNormal rats don’t sweat?” asked Victor. “They don’t shed tears?”
    Suttor nudged him and covered his nose. “There have been many times when I wished you didn’t sweat.”
    â€œOne of the entries details how we communicated with the scientists through some sort of sign language,” said Carn.
    â€œThough we couldn’t speak to them, we all understood each other,” added Oleander.
    Mother Gallo thought of little Ramsey, the Topsider boy who helped them the night Nightshade City was officially born. How easily he’d understood her.
    Oleander got up from her chair and flipped through the journal on the Council table until she found a particular page. “Our ancestors used to sneak into the manor parlor, wanting to learn with the human children. They thought no one knew.” She tapped a claw on the parchment. “Here, listen.”
    We’ve let the rats out on their own, giving them full run of the manor. They seem in no hurry to leave our company, but still curious to explore the new world around them. Almost every day, during the children’s lessons, the rats slink into the parlor andsilently gather under the davenport. They think we don’t take notice of them, but we do—all twenty of them listening intently. Since we’ve let them roam as they please, their personalities are blossoming, each one as unique as our own children. With the help of an open window, Tar has taken to the roof, slipping in and out by way of the attic. Always staring up at the sky, he sits up there for hours. Coriander, well, she’s quite the mischievous one. Cook has discovered her time and time again rummaging through the cupboards, cleverly mixing spices together, tasting each new concoction as if she’s trying out recipes. Of course Cook has her doubts, but I deem any day now Coriander will waltz out of the kitchen carrying roast mutton and plum pudding with a most triumphant grin upon her face! Then there’s wise Garrick, constantly searching the library, always with his nose sandwiched between pages of a book. Following a small illustration, he built a birdhouse out of twigs and stones he’d found in the yard. The house was remarkable, just like the one in the picture, yet my praise did come with a scolding. He knows he and the others are not allowed in the yard. The snakes would make a feast of them. I’m afraid one of these days we will lose one of our precious rats, their thirst for knowledge getting the better of them, but I dare not think about that right now. I simply cannot
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    â€œWe’re still piecing things together,” said Cole. “We have the swamp diaries, and they mention more diaries in the museum archives, but Virden and I were nearly caught trying to find them.” He shook his head. “It’s all a puzzle, especially the diary entry that claims we came from inside a volcano.”
    â€œWe lived in an above-ground city back then,” said Suttor. He glanced at the torches affixed to the wall. “I can’t imagine living with constant daylight.”
    Virden nodded. “Well, when Trillium was still calledBrimstone, just a small, budding city,