Thunder rolled outside; the sound ponderously unraveling its low heavy grinding like teeth at a bone.

"I want to go home!" Exclaimed Twig, who had simply reached his limit. The City might still be a place of wondrous high adventure, but for the small mouse he wanted nothing more than the savory tedium of warm mash and the spiced corn cider of Home. These things were probably steaming away on the potbelly stove right now; the same tonight as they would have been last night, and again tomorrow. He missed his scratchy old scarf and his paper pirate hat. He missed his Mama.

Twig sank to the rubbled floor and burst into great sobs. At this, Stem crouched low beside his younger brother, removed Twig's gaudy cityfolk cap, and stroked his ears gently - ears canted back to the sounds of the storm beyond the walls.

"There, there, Twiggy. You know we have to find Pollen, first. The Crow said she would have been taken this way and I can't believe it's much further. Once we're all together again, then.. Well, then we can figure out how to get out of this awful place." Twig sniffled against Stem's fine strange jacket and shook with emotion, burrowing his muzzle into his brother's arms. The receding, wailing, small face of their baby sister blotted out all else in his mind.

"Oh Pollen! I'm so sorry Stem, I didn't mean what I said! I didn't mean it! I wish she were back, and I wish we were home-"

"Hush. Shhh, that doesn't matter now," said Stem, and the brave mouse stood up, pulling Twig with him to his feet. He threw aside the boy's jangling cap and quickly shucked the velvet coat from his shoulders. "None of this does now. This place clouded our heads, even Polly's. I don't blame you for what happened, but if we're all going to see home again, then I'm going to need you to be steady and keen." Stem squared the smaller mouse's shoulders and faced him nose to nose, "Can I count on you, squire?"

At this, Twig's fur bristled nose to tail and he swallowed thickly, his eyes blinking and intent though still red with wet tears. He rubbed his nose with the back of his paw and offered a salute. "Aye-aye, Cap'n Sire Sir!" Stem held his gaze long enough to steel his brother and then they embraced as a small hard kernel of unassailable Family.

"Bravo!" Exclaimed a gruff voice from the surrounding shadows. The two mice startled, but then Stem quickly stooped to gather a sizable pebble of fallen plaster into his fist. Twig put his back to his brother's and together they scanned the gloom.

"Who said that?" cried Stem.

"Sh-show yourself!" ordered Twig. Although moonlight poured in through the jagged leaking holes in the ceiling and around the haphazardly nailed boards in the windows, the abandoned museum was still largely cast in darkness. Strange shapes in strange paintings hung at strange angles from the walls, confronting them with inscrutable menace. The two mice spun around slowly, for the first time trying to make sense of their surroundings. Somewhere in the vast hall, rubble crashed and skittered. The scratching of claws on the stone floor echoed about them, coming closer though seemingly from all around.

"...Stem?" whispered Twig, his tail curling about his brother's.
"Stay close, fine squire." Stem raised his hunk of plaster.

"Who goes there? We are Stem and Twig of the Smallpaw Knights from the fair land of Plenty. We are on a righteous quest and we are unafraid!"

To which the scuttling claws scratched to a halt and again the gruff voice reverberated, close enough to flicker their whiskers. The stranger chuckled, "Well met, good sirs.. tally-ho and whathaveyou.. Stay your hand there, son." Twig squinted and made out what looked to be several gleaming eyes looming from a shadowy figure. He reached for Stem's paw and tugged, "Stem.. Look there!"

Into their small pool of moonlight stepped a rat, and not just any rat, but the swaggering pomp of the Rat King.

"It's him!" blurted Stem. And indeed it was, though from what the Crow had described, the boys were expecting something frankly bigger and more kingly. As he came closer, it was seen that the rat's famed many eyes were none other than a queer set of multi-lensed spectacles. His grand harpoon, with which the Crow had sworn "'Pon his pinions" that the King could use to bring down the stars was nothing more nor less than a fantastic writing stylus like they'd already seen. Jostling about the rat's person were bulging pockets and pouches of tools and gadgets, and slung around his neck was a domino mask of peculiar design; perhaps spectacles as well. In fact, though the rat before them fit the bird's exaggerated description, he inspired not so much fearsome awe as bemused curiosity. Stem lowered his missile.

"You're the Rat King!" said Twig, his fears forgotten and a broad toothy smile spreading across his face. He clapped giddily and dashed over and around the man, almost tripping over the rat's thick tail. Slung across his back by a sturdy strap was a sleek black cylinder, metallic and engraved with symbols. Twig twittered,

"Ooh! And this is your Sun Cannon! We've heard of you! Stem it's really him! Now he can rescue Pollen for us, destroy the Dragon, drive back the roaches, release Percy from his curse, and - and - and we can go home!" Twig hopped about from one foot to the other, dancing a little happy jig. Beset by the small mouse's sudden enthusiasm, the rat wobbled about, almost tripping over him.

"Hey now, easy there, fireball! What's this? Dragon? Wha-?" He gently pushed Twig to arm's length away with a long finger to the mouse's forehead. He sat down on his haunches to look levelly at the two boys and rubbed his jaw in appraisal.

"Excuse my brother, sir." Stem approached and pulled the grinning Twig to his side, "Are you indeed the Rat King?" The rat raised an eyebrow and glanced around briefly, then set down his polearm and, with a grunt, unshouldered the heavy black cylinder from his back. He sniffed and knuckled his glasses up his snout.

"I've been called a great many things, little man; some more deserved than others. I take it you've been chatting with crows or pigeons or somesuch, the birds tend to exaggerate. Now supposing I am this Rat King, what may I do for you two stray souls?" He put both hands on the end of his black device and turned slowly. The cylinder's glass eye lit up, casting a beam of warm dusty light up to the far reaches of the ceiling. He had them all settle in its glow and fed them with cracker crumbs and bits of licorice from his own rations. The rat addressed them as young equals, not merely children, and his reassuring, grown-up presence did much to soothe their tired spirits after so much tragedy and anxious excitement.

Stem (with Twig's occasional interruptions until his brother finally drifted to sleep, slumped against the rat) recounted their whole twisting tale from the Forest to the River, from the River to the Sewer, and from the Sewer up through the City itself. The Rat King listened attentively, rubbing his whiskers, exclaiming in surprise at the plight of the roaches, and in distress at the pending fate of poor Pollen. When at long last Stem mentioned their stumbling out of the storm and into the museum, the stoic little mouse seemed on the verge of exhaustion and tears. After he had finished, the Rat King sat in thoughtful silence for a long time, gnawing at his licorice. Then,

"I think, Mr. Stem, that you should rest... There'll be time enough to decide what can be done in the morming, under clearer skies."

While it wasn't his mother, having someone tell him to go to bed was the most welcome, normal thing that the boy could've hoped for, and he nodded, curling up next to his brother under the watchful eye of not only their new friend but the grotesqueries of once modern art; flickering on dimly lit walls, many in tatters wet from the rain.