"Where's home, then?" asked the Rat King. He asked over his shoulder, glancing back at the three children. They trailed behind him, picking their way carefully through the the rooftop rubble, one after the other like little ducklings. It had been a long, full day, and the young mice were clearly exhausted. The excitement of their reunion wore off quickly when it became clear that they were all still quite deep in dangerous territory. It was already late twilight, and before they could rest safely. There was much ground still left to cover by nightfall. The King kept up a steady chatter as a means of distraction.

"Nowhere near here," Twig muttered, and his older brother cut in.

"In the woods, sir. In a forest with great big tall trees."

"Like those there?" The rat nodded to the side. From their vantage atop whatever building this was, they could see a patch of swaying green branches among a range of peaked roofs. The rat paused and leaned on his flashlight, taking a break. The eldest boy could likely keep going at this pace, but his two siblings were in need of a rest. The rat slung down his pack and started to fumble with the knots, speaking, "We've got trees here too. Tame, behaved things, and we call them 'parks'."

"My feet," whimpered Pollen, tugging at Stem's shirtsleeve. He stooped and hugged her. From his bag, the rat fished out something wrapped in newspaper and handed it to the little girl. "Here, Miss Pollen. It might be a little bruised, but it'll do you. Mind your dress."

"Fankoo," she took it with a meek smile and flopped down with it in her lap like Christmas morning. It was a small blueberry.

Twig snorted and kicked a pebble off the ledge, "Our trees at home are big as giants, with acorns they toss like boulders on windy days."

"You don't say," The rat flicked his ears and rummaged out another parcel. He handed it to Twig with a grunt, "I think that's the dried cake. You can share it with your brother, though you might want to save some for later."

While they ate, the Rat King slung his flashlight across his back and scrambled up a drooping clothesline. He scanned the horizon, particularly in the direction of the park.

"And are there any birds in your forest, Mister Twig?"

"Of course! Hawks that blot out the sun in passing; and at night, owls as big as dragons!"

Stem jabbed his elbow into Twig's side. Twig stuck out his tongue. Meanwhile, Pollen had not only finished her berry, but she had successfully managed to stain her entire muzzle, her hands up to each elbow, most of her dress and all of her toes.

"Done done!" she proclaimed with a clap.

Twig snorted, "Polly you look like a raccoon!" She blinked and only then seemed to notice her mess.

"And the King looks like a monkey!"

Above them, the rat had twined the clothesline around himself and his flashlight securely. He kicked and swung about, working the switch on and off and spinning round and round in a most curious manner.

Though engrossed in this task, he lashed his tail and pressed his crooked crown firmly onto his head.

"That's King Monkey to you, Mister Twig... for you shall... shortly see..."

He huffed and wobbled precariously, twisting about, "...what mastery I have over... the creatures in... my dominion."

"What's he mean by that?" Twig snorted. And then Pollen, who had been trying diligently to lick her fingers clean, stood up and pointed with a giddy squeal. Up from the green island of the park rose a smudge against the dim sky that blebbed and flowed smoothly through the air. It seemed to drift as smoke briefly before banking in a sharp turn directly towards them. Rushing closer, the shape resolved into several dozen pigeons, the flock of which moved as a single beast. They erupted over the rooftop, low enough so that the children felt the wake of their wings. Pollen hopped up and down giggling and clapping.

They quickly gathered their belongings and met the flock as it landed in a clearing of sorts, surrounded by chimneys, stacked flowerpots, empty beer bottles and other forgotten things. The pigeons perched every where they could fit and shouldered up against each other, rustling about softly. They were sleek, fat birds, in mottled greys and occasionally streaked with green or blue. In moments all were profoundly silent.

The Rat King strode into the middle of their gathering and met with one of them that was particularly distinguished looking. It bobbed its head this way and that, turning it from side to side to watch his approach. At about a pace away, the rat stopped and bowed deeply. The bird curtsied in return and addressed him in low tones like an old, dusky, wooden flute.

"King Rat of The Grey Gutter, He of The Clever and Cunning Hands, Gardener of Secrets and Patron to All Who Traffic in Escape, Hope, and Solace in This Age of Concrete... You have summoned us."

The rat responded, "Beautiful Columba Livia, Merciful Dove and The Zephyr of God, Demure and Swiftly Fleeting Herald to The Urban Eschaton in This, Our Age of Concrete... I am blessed by your reply."

They both genuflected again, then suddenly rushed to embrace each other like old friends, chortling and laughing loudly. The bird dipped her head and nipped at his crown, in return he buried his face into her plumage and embraced her affectionately. The other birds relaxed from their somber audience and began to groom themselves, or hop about, pecking at grit and cooing musically.

"Livia! You old biddy, how long has it been? It feels like I haven't seen you in months!" He slung his arm around her and guided her over to the three little mice. She fluffed and tugged at his whiskers with her beak, giggling.

"Oh, Ratty, you devil! It's been simply forever, hasn't it? Well, I've been so busy lately. 'The early bird catches the worm' and all that."

"As long as that's all you catch!" He replied, pointing to her.

"Any worm in a storm!" She blurted, and they fell into each other laughing again, almost teary-eyed.

Stem cleared his throat and gamely offered a smile. Twig rolled his eyes. Pollen was more or less satisfied that her hands were more or less clean, if tasty.

Eventually the two adults calmed down and the rat gestured to his charges, "Livia, I'd like you to meet some new friends of mine. These mice are from the Woods." He nodded meaningfully to the bird and she stepped closer, working her neck around to see them all closer.

"What adorable little chicks you all are!"

"I'm Stem, Missus Columba Livia. And this is my brother, Twig, and our sister, Pollen."

"Hi!" said Pollen, stained from ears to tail.

"Tsk, why you're as ruddy as a ruby, dear! And is that blueberry juice? Ratty, are you taking care of these children or making them into pies for the Cats?" She smirked at him and he blushed, visibly flustered.

"Heh heh, very funny Livia; I would never. Actually, I'm trying to get them home." The pigeon looked at him blankly. He tried again, "As in: out of the city. Today, if possible. Before it gets any darker and it comes to things like cats."

"I'm not afraid of any cats!" interjected Twig.

"You've never met any cats," his older brother quipped, "None of us have."

The bird looked them all over again with more serious appraisal, "I see. Well, don't you worry dears, you're in good hands with Ratty. And I think we can help you back to your arboretum or whatever it is."

The rat grinned and winked to Twig, "What'd I tell you... Stick with The King, eh?" The pigeon turned to him slyly, "Oh really? Well, your Majesty... I'm assuming the usual fee is in order, mmm?"

"Aha!" The Rat King held up a finger for her to wait. He curled his tongue over his nose and dug around in his sack, searching vigorously until a knowing smile marked his success. He withdrew a ball of wadded pink tissue paper. At the sight of this, the bird became particularly agitated and she tried to peck it from his hand.

"Ratty! Give it to me! Open it for me, quickly!" He shushed her soothingly while slowly unfolding the wad. This revealed a rather mashed, fragrant, lumpy object which he jostled enticingly in the middle of its crinkling pink nest. He then presented this to her gravely, as though bearing divine mana within rare rose petals. She greedily snapped it up and lept into the air with a flourish, quickly drawing the other pigeons after her.

"What was that?" asked Stem.

The rat tossed the paper back into his bag, "Her weakness, Mister Stem. And your ticket out of here: popcorn from the Bayside Omniplex Theater. Nine screens, real butter, powdered cheese, kosher salt."

He could see that his words meant nothing to the boy and he ruffled his headfur playfully, "I'll take you there, one day. Look out, here they come."

It was that liquid cloud of churning dull feathers, and it circled the building before pouring down onto them in a torrent. One by one, rat and mice were caught up into careful talons and whisked away into the dizzying heights above the streets, the pavement.