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Chapter 4

I knock on the stranger's door. Asking to sleep in his room would only be mildly less disturbing. I don't wish to spend the night there either. If I can work things into my favour, I'd rather sleep under the open skies. Back in Nawesh, I couldn't imagine anything nicer than the comforting blanket of the night sky.

"Enter." The stranger's voice comes through the door when I knock. As I stick my muzzle through the opening inquisitively, his voice comes again. "All the way inside, fox. You're letting the heat out."

"Sorry sir." I hurry inside and close the door behind me.

The stranger's cabin is a large and comfortable accommodation, twice or maybe thrice the size of Kit's kitchen. Bookshelves stand to attention along one wall, and a large bed with white pillows and blue covers stands along the other. By the foot of it, there's a large chest, as wide as the bed, and in front of that, a table flanked by two chairs. Across it, a large picture, green on blue is spread out on the table. It takes me a while to realise. I've never seen a painted map before, it must have cost a fortune. But, since it is laying across half of the only table in the room, I place the stranger's meal besides it.

"Come and sit with me," the stranger tells me with a calm and patient voice.

"Y-yes, sir," I stammer. That's two for two, and I'm still not sure what I've done to deserve it. Somehow the slightest suggestion emanating from this dog has a way of insinuating itself into my will, and weaken my knees too. He seats himself on one of the chairs and beckons me to sit on the other. Then he breaks some of the bread off, and hands it to me. As if we are equals. That is a step too far for me, but I nibble on it so as to not seem impolite. This day just gets stranger and stranger.

"Are you settling in well?" The stranger asks me as I'm finishing up my meal. "Have you any questions about your work on board? This is the time for those questions."

"I haven't been given anything to do," I tell him, and lower my ears. "But I have no immediate questions. Uhm..."

I fidget, trying to work out how best to ask the question.

"Go on, fox. We only have twelve hours or so before the sun sets."

"I wish to beg of you a favour, if I may, sir."

"What is this favour, then?"

"May I ask for a spare blanket, please?" I make sure to keep my muzzle pointed firmly at the floorboards and my ears folded as far back as possible. "I had no time to bring my old one when we left... and I... I believe I require rather a thicker coat than the Gods have granted me, judging from what the kitchen... from what Kit tells me. I don't mean to make any undue demand of you, sir. But that is how things stand."

"Not undue at all," the stranger says with that same calm voice he seems to use for everything. "But I seem to recall the mess boy had access to rather a comfortable looking bed, is that not so?"

"There is indeed a bed as you say, sir," I agree. "It is, however, occupied."

"By one other person?"

"Yes sir." I have a bad feeling about the way this conversation is going. "And he's not a mess boy, he's a-"

"Then I'm sure he will find some room for you. No blanket can beat a nice warm bed like that. Right?"

"I'd rather... I mean..." It's too much. I can't bring myself to argue. It goes against every instinct I've got. "Never mind. Pardon me. You're correct, sir."

I guess I'll just make due somehow. The dog looks me up and down, before returning to his meal with mild disinterest. As he finishes, he begins writing on a piece of paper. "I'm sure you have other, more satiating questions for me than that," he says blandly, not even looking at me for confirmation.

"Yes sir... I... I wondered... Why- Why are you... granting me freedom, out of all the slaves in the city?"

"Why you, indeed."

The dog seems to give the question some thought. He puts away his writing, smooths the colourful map down, and places a box on top of it full of small, carved figures made from what looks like whale bone and ebony wood.

"Do you understand the rules of chess?"

"I don't. Sorry." I splay my ears for good measure.

"I will show you then." The stranger picks up a piece, seemingly at random, as if I'd not asked anything of him. "This is the queen." He turns the piece in his paw. "It is a very strong piece. The strongest. Very important. But she isn't what the game is about."

"It's a very pretty piece, sir," I observe. It's a carving of ebony wood of a canine in a long, flowing dress to cover her tail and some kind of hat-cum-veil arrangement over her ears.

"It's many men's favourite piece, and not just for their desires. There's a king piece too, but this one is more effective. More powerful." The stranger puts the piece down on his side of the board, more or less in the middle. "As it happens, I do not free you from that place just for you to serve me my wine, or whatever it is you might have expected. When I saw you in that cesspit, I knew I had a potential candidate."

I feel my heart beating quicker again. I've not dared to entertain the idea that this stranger might be the very thing I thought I'd escaped from, but that doesn't mean the idea hasn't crossed my mind. "I'm not sure I'm good for much more than serving and cooking... sir."

The stranger places another, identical queen in the middle of my side of the board. His is white, mine is black.

"I disagree." He leans back in his chair and our eyes meet. The coldness in there betray nothing, but I look away too quickly to read them any closer.

"The queen can move in all directions," he continues. "She can strike across the whole board, quickly, and effortlessly. You'll see why this is so important in another moment."

The stranger holds up another piece. A regal looking wolf on an ornate chair, with sceptre and crown.

"If she's the queen, then that is her king?" I ask.

"Correct."

He places the king down on the board next to my queen, and put his own king down similarly.

"The king has very limited movement. For the most part, he serves no real function in the game, other than to perhaps obfuscate one's intentions. It is not he who will win the day. However, without him, the game ceases. He is the brain, and without a brain, we cannot exist." The stranger taps his own head. "Therefore, everything lingers on his continued survival. This is why all the attention is focused on him. A curse, and a boon." The stranger clears his throat after that, and assumes an even clearer tone. He places a finger on the queen.

"I'm Reis Alfonse Cattaro Cisare Di Tomasi. First admiral of the Dalmatian navy." He places two new pieces down on the table in either corner. "Brother to his Majesty, prince Mateo of Dalmatia, of the capital city in the Dalmatian League."

I don't nod, I don't shake my head, I don't lower my ears. I do exactly what one absolutely must not do to those of noble birth. I stare. I stare, muzzle agape with ears rudely perked. My mind slowly starts piecing together what I see now that I truly look. The ruby ring on the spotted dog's finger. The fine interior of his private quarters, on an otherwise relatively small ship. The vast wealth of what is to him random items. Ebony, silver, gold, silks, jewellery, everywhere I look.

"D-d-duk-"

The spotted dog holds up a paw "Yes, why not. I have kept my name a secret from everyone else, so you best do too. Call me Duck. Simple and common, and that's all they need to know."

"Duck?" I can only mouth the monosyllabic word quietly as the stranger, this true, real life noble, addresses me as if I'm worthy of his attention. I'd have struck myself for my insolence, if I wasn't too busy being shocked out of my mind.

"Think of the king and queen before you as my brother and me." The duke chuckles at his own remark. "Not in that way. Consider what they, and we, can and cannot do."

I don't dare to take my eyes from the spotted dog, nor do I dare to meet his eyes, so I end up staring at his bejewelled paws. He has one ring in particular which stands out to me. I swear he didn't wear it earlier today; a curious, smooth cut ruby ring on a thin gold band which to me seems strangely familiar. I've seen an identical one on another paw, very recently.

The duke only continues placing pieces on the board. One in the shape of a guardsman, another in the shape of a rider.

"The Dalmatian League is a proud, but passing small empire, made up of city states which share a common ancestry. These city states all share the power on a grand council. Between them, they can command a generously proportioned navy, situated on some of the best ocean territory in the world, on the border between east and west, north and south. Everyone who's going anywhere far will first have to pass through the Dalmatian empire's waters. I am the supreme commander of our navy. In a sense, this gives me vast power, far beyond my regal brother. The queen to end all other queens." Duck chuckles again. "Pardon me, but I find the analogy particularly amusing. However, despite the power I wield, I have come here in secret. Hiding from everyone in the guise of a minor dignitary on some... irrelevant errand for the foreign ministry. Nobody must know who I truly am. Or why I'm here. Thankfully, to recognize my spots as mine requires far more scrutiny and education than is available to the general populous. One would have to own a portrait of me. And a portrait of me does not exist. To you, I am only Duck. That'll be simple enough to remember?"

"Your Grace, I never- "

"You don't call me that," Duck interrupts sharply, which makes me flinch and almost cover my face with my paws. "You call me sir, because that is what they expect. Or Duck, if you must. Understood?"

"Sorry sir. I'm just confused. You haven't... you... my pardons, sir, but I'm confused."

"I will explain, be patient," Duck says. "Do you remember what happened prior to us boarding the ship. At around four in the morning? We had just gone through the divide between the merchant's district and the poorer quarters. Remember?"

I nod. It's all slowly returning to me. I've been trying to not think of it since it happened. But even now, my heart is pounding in my chest, I hear the sound of roaring in my ears, the clatters of steel, the cries of pain and anguish.

"There was a fight," I recall. "And you told me to keep a lookout while you took something from him. I haven't told a soul. I swear I haven't."

"That tiger..." Duck sighs. "A forsworn member of my order, not unlike a deserter."

"Your order?"

"One thing at a time," Duck says calmly. "Patience is a virtue. Why do you suppose the queen can move so much, and the king cannot? In truth, things should be opposite, correct? The king would have not only the power of a ruler, but the authority which comes with being born male as well. Wouldn't you agree?"

The way his conversation jumps from one subject to the next means I'm always having to concentrate on what he's saying. Though I'm really tired, I do my best.

"I've known women who are far stronger than men," I tell him uncertainly. "They can hurt you just as badly."

"Nobody is more powerful than a queen. Do you know why?"

I shake my head.

"Because in real life, nobody expects her." Duck tapped the game board with a forceful finger. "The king is watched by all and can merely gesture at what he wishes done. He cannot sally out of the gates in times of war, those days are long gone. He must be protected. Each of his orders go through ten servants before they reach his armies. Who knows what might happen to those words before they reach their targets? How slow these words might travel? But a queen isn't expected to talk to His Grace's commanders, she is not even considered a target of military interest. She is afforded all the politeness a man is capable of, by the power of the legends and stories we've formed around her. But just as Kings are no longer necessarily great warriors, queens are by no means merely innocent flowers. Not one bit. If she so desired, she could gain access to every level of the army's command, because who would ever refuse a queen? And who would suspect her of ill intent? You see what I mean? When it comes to my brother and me, his qualities are shared with the King, whereas I hold more power in truth. I am not seen by the commons. There are no portraits of me, I don't have my likeness on any coins, and save for the books of lineage, nobody has noted down my patterns. In short, nobody knows who Duke Reis of Dalmatia truly is. Not the real one, at least. They know me as an admiral of great renown, which means they won't think I'm anything else. Nobody understands the influence and power I wield, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"So, you're like the paw that acts, and your brother is the head that thinks?"

"Rest assured, my brothers head does not always think as much as it should," Duck comments with a faint smile. "There are several layers to this. Some places, even I cannot go. Places where someone like my guards and retainers might go instead. And then there are places where even they can't go." Duck starts putting down identical pieces in a row before the assembly thus arranged. As he finishes, he studies me with his cold grey eyes. "I needed to see how you would react. When I killed that tiger, I needed to see what you were made of, and I saw."

"You killed him... to test me?" I ask, stunned.

"He was slated to die all the same. I could've spared you the sight, but I needed to know some things which couldn't be found out any other way. If you panicked, I might not have had a use for you. But if you remained... even though I could see you didn't want to... There was hope."

"You gave me a command sir," I tell him. "I would've been whipped if anyone learned I'd disobeyed you."

"But I didn't command you, Kieran." Duck stares at me intently. "I didn't command you to do anything that night. Every single time, I asked. I was very careful in my wording."

I have to shake my head. "When I am asked... it means I'm commanded. There is no middle path. The collar-"

"I worried about that, I'll admit." The duke tilts his head at me curiously. "But I can tell one thing. You're not broken to that collar, are you? You've not been born into this slavery."

"I wasn't?" I ask. I have to ask, because I honestly don't know for certain myself. "I think... I don't think I am. But I'm not sure. I suppose you could be correct."

I think back to the box locked firmly in Kit's ship chest. And I think about the betrayal I felt when I woke up that day and felt the weight of copper around my neck. Deep inside, I knew, even then, that I'd been robbed of something I once had, but no longer have.

"Trust me when I say you weren't born to that life. But on account of just who you were born as, as well as your actions last night, you can become something far greater."

"I seem to recall I was sick, sir."

"Some sickness will occur the first time. It is with killing as it is with sailing."

"Well... You told me it was safest by your side," I recall, "and I... I had nothing to lose if it wasn't. If you were someone who... I mean, if you mean to... to use me... I mean... I wasn't afraid to die. I don't think I am... That's not something I've feared for myself."

"Indeed," Duck intones gravely. "And what have you to say about the killing?"

"He was a bad person," I tell him automatically. It feels like the right thing to say, and it's not strictly speaking a lie either. "And anyways, he attacked first, didn't he? I don't know exactly why, but he did attack first, that much I saw."

"He clearly recognized me as a threat to his life, as I have zero tolerance for desertion," Duck explains. "But how do you feel? Are you angry at me? Sad? Frustrated? It is imperative that you understand what I'm asking here, and answer me truthfully."

"I'm... I'm not sure I understand the question then," I tell him. "He had to die, you said so. I trust you know these things better than me. It was not pleasant to look at, I suppose."

Duck nods contemplatively. At this point I'm certain I've answered wrong.

"These feelings can be difficult to contemplate on the spot," Duck says simply. "I would like you to give me a proper answer to that question, sometime in the future when you have thought it through. Your honesty, Kieran, is never going to be an inconvenience to me. When I ask for it, I hope you realise that I am prepared to hear what you have to say. No repercussions will result from what you tell me. Remember that."

I swallow and nod, but I still can't work out exactly what he wants me to say, so I look away from his eyes again. The small pieces which makes up the front lines on the chess board stand in array facing each other. Duck picks up one of the black ones and hands it to me.

"'Mercenari' to Dalmatians, though in your native country, I believe they are named 'slaves'," Duck tells me. "The Castellanians, who were once a feudal society, call them pawns, or peasants. It comes to the same in the end. Dispensable pieces to be used as the player sees fit, to gain some advantage or obscure one's movement. They are not very effectual on their own."

Duck takes one such piece from my side of the board, and places it on the map. Right next to a deep blue spot. An ocean narrowing to a finger, running between a large landmass and a peninsula. All around that ocean, a cluster of black spots, each with a curly word next to it, form what I assume is probably the Dalmatian's home, based on his description of it. My piece stands in the middle of these spots.

"But..." Duck pauses for a long time. "But not always. If one makes it all the way across to the other side of the board, it can be promoted far beyond any peasant's prospects."

I look across the board to Duck's side, at what is undoubtably meant to represent an opposing army, and see that such a task is quite a feat for a single piece on its own.

"I think I'm beginning to see," I say slowly, "But, I don't understand what all of this has to do with my question... I'm very sorry to keep bothering you about this, sir, but that's the honest truth."

"We have all day, and several more like this ahead of us. I will get to the point, fox. But first, the rules."

I try my best to bite down on my impatience and curiosity, and obediently absorb the information about the game instead. Its slowly dawning on me that even now, like he probably did the other night, he's testing me in some way. It's like everything he does, he does to see how I act and react. For what end, though?

Following a few false moves, I attain a decent grasp of what the various pieces can do. I quite like the castle, bowling ahead and smashing everything in its path like a great, merciless wave of righteous force. But as the game wears on, I'm not so much smashing through as scrabbling desperately for safe squares where I might leave a piece without it being in the path of one of Duck's white ones. The game is easy enough to grasp, just like how letters are easy enough to understand on their own. But just like what happened when I try to put letters together into words, the game's façade of simplicity quickly deteriorates as the rounds wear on. I forget that Duck's horse has drawn sight on mine, and that Duck's queen can reach my knight no matter where I move him. Soon, even my queen has to yield to the Dalmatian's offense, and that leaves my king open and undefended.

"I think you've beaten me, sir."

"I do believe I have," Duck responds. "Some creativity did arise from your utter lack of experience, which was amusing to witness, but in the end, experience beats ingenuity nine in every ten times. However, it's that tenth time I'm curious about. That's part of the reason why you are here."

"I'm pleased to have given a little pleasure, at least," I mutter, straining against my impatience at this point. I feel very uncomfortable in here. I've not been ordered to do anything, and I'm not sure what to make of it, so my mind is running away from me. I don't know how I fit into all of this, and the dog's apparent refusal to get to the point is a quality I now find abrasive. My impatience reaches a peak, having grown imperceptibly all throughout the game.

"Am I here to entertain you with my lacking skills?"

"Was it not entertaining?"

"I suppose." I hesitate, before deciding that I might as well risk it, and ask another bold question. "I was hoping you'd perhaps answer me in more... direct terms. Maybe you already did, and I didn't pay much attention, for which I'm sorry. Forgive me." My apology somehow conspires to come out rather icily, for which I would've been punished had I still been a slave. But clearly, whatever I am to this Duke, that's not it. So I dare to continue. "I find it difficult to concentrate on the game when so much has happened in such a short time. This concerns my life and death, sir. I just hoped you could explain it to me... a bit simpler, if you would be so kind. In a way that makes sense."

"Well, much like your position on the board, I am hard pressed." Duck flicks my king down and lets it lay on the board, defeated. "All the best members of my order have died. Only a few remain to me. I have, however, a pawn." He picks up one of my black pawns which he'd claimed earlier in the game, and holds it up in front of my eyes. "I have a pawn whom none of my enemies knows about, who is currently moving across the board without anyone looking."

"Are you turning me... into a..." I'm not sure that I've misunderstood at some point. "A queen?"

"In a sense," Duck says, his lips twitching the merest eighth of an inch.

I feel my anxiety bubble up as the dog speaks.

"This doesn't-" I blurt out inadvertently, an exasperated noise escapes from my throat, halfway between my mounting confusion and my instinctual courtesy. "Sir... Please, will you tell me what this all means. What is this order you speak of? What is it you intend to do? Why me?"

"You have a gift," Duck answers finally. "Or several, to be specific."

"A gift?" I ask pointedly. "I own nothing of value, I'm just some fox with a collar on."

"A gift you were born with." Duck leans across the game board, turning both those hard, cold eyes on me with their full power. "A collection of seemingly random characteristics which in and of themselves are not remarkable, but together they are worth noting upon. First of all, has anyone told you that you're exceedingly quick to learn? Do you know it takes some men a whole week to learn this game well enough to play against an adept for as long as you did?"

"But you explained the rules, I just did what you said and-"

"And you didn't forget half of them immediately," Duck finished for me. "Good memory. You're observant too. You told me you were distracted with the events of today, which I suppose would be overwhelming. From what I can tell, you haven't slept in a day and a night. And you're still present enough in mind to persist in your questioning, despite your obvious reluctance to contest or encroach upon my authority. Good mental rigour. An ability to adapt and learn, even when placed outside of your comfort zone. You're not exceedingly clever, but you're not ignorant either, despite your lacking education. I believe your mind is still young enough to be malleable and receptive, so we can fill in the gaps where you're left wanting. And, with no family name or lands, you have nothing to hold you back from achieving true greatness." Duck starts putting the pieces back in their box, and I help him, scooping the few ones I'd claimed from him in there too.

"I didn't know what state you were in when I paid your price," he continues. "Maybe your body had atrophied in that brothel? Maybe you were simple minded? Maybe you were a coward? Maybe you had a damaged spirit or soul, or morals, from your captivity? I chose to risk it either way because you had the best claim, in terms of mere physical characteristics. Night eyes. Black coat. Good snout and sharp ears. Even if I couldn't teach you anything new, you'd be able to serve excellently. And beyond just that, something of even greater importance, Kieran. You're a member of the vulpine family. Yours is a race often overlooked in our high societies due to your lack of that which binds us canines together; that sense of instinctual unity. And yet, canine society begrudgingly accept you foxes, because you are nearer canine than you are anything else. They might not consider you as worthy as them, but you're still one of us in the grand scheme of things_._ That'll afford you access to a society others might never be able to partake in. A society I'm certainly not welcome in." Duck smiles at me, a genuine accommodating smile. "Thirdly, consider the person you grew up to be as a result of your circumstances. As a black fox, you are passing rare, naturally. But in my experiences, it's just as rare to find a fox who takes care of his coat. One who grooms and cleans regularly, and doesn't shed like a cotton mill, and knows his courtesies as well. That's a result of such an intricate combination of factors, and are qualities which are so difficult to teach adults. I'm prepared to claim you are the only fox in the world to fit this description. You do not suffer from any illnesses, I don't sense any ticks or fleas about you, I don't smell any alcohol on your breath. You're not just unique, you're so unlike everything they believe a fox to be. That's good, that's quite excellent, in fact."

Duck picks up my queen, and holds it up for my inspection. When I look closer, I see that she is no wolf or dog at all. Her muzzle is too narrow. Her husband's tail is too bushy and his ears are too small. The white pieces are subtly different. Larger, more densely built. They are true wolves. But my pieces. The black ones. They are foxes. The king, the queen, and everyone down.

"I propose to place you where I cannot go myself. To deal with the problems I cannot be seen dealing with." Duck recovers the piece from my limp fingers, and places it on the map, turning it to face me.

"So, I become some servant or other?" I asked. "Is that it?"

"A servant?" Duck laughs with a strange, quiet and confident laughter. "No. A coltellino_:_ my class of agents of the crown. You might recognize the title if I attach the Castellanian name to it. An assassin."

This has to be some hidden joke. A part of the ritual of beating your opponent in chess. I'm being toyed with, even now. Assassins only exist in stories told by drunken sailors. They only exist in fantasy, like knights and dragons. An old fable from the old kingdoms long since ground to dust by the desert sands that surround them, or so I've always been told.

"You're saying... excuse me if I'm getting this wrong, but your order... is an order of assassins?"

I don't know if I'd rather be scolded for being such a cublike fool, or be commended for being correct. Duck only shrugs, and looks deeper into my eyes, steepling his fingers.

"Does this bother you, truly?"

"Y-Yes, it does." I almost raise my voice. "I'm no killer. I'm not. I've never wanted to... I never killed anyone." Then I remember that the one I'm speaking to is not just one of an order of said killers, but someone of royal blood too, who could quite simply kill me here and now with no repercussions. I lower my gaze, and pull my flicking tail into my lap defensively. "I'm not the one you seek. I can't be. I'm sorry."

"Would you rather be in an order of those who die every day with nothing to their names?" Duck talks so bluntly that I perk my ears despite myself. What kind of a question is that? Is it a threat? Taking a leaf out of Kit's book, keeping quiet and accepting the answers I get is no longer an option. I have to press for the clarification I seek, not meekly accept what I'm being told.

"Why... I have never wanted to harm anyone."

"I can tell when you lie, Kieran," Duck tells me. "The truth is printed across your eyes in bold letters, for anyone who cares to read you."

My ears fold down. Not even matron could discern something like that. This dog is clearly of a different hue than she was, in more ways than one.

"Matron. But she's evil right down to the bone. She's a slave owner. Maybe... if it stood on my life... I could see to her." Even after all I've been given, her continued existence serves as constant ache in my soul. "But I'm no killer! I swear I'm not. I'm just unlucky to have been given my lot in life. That's all."

"A scorned cub, lashing out at an unfair world full of suffering?" Duck doesn't seem all too convinced. "Do you pretend not to have any greater dreams about this world? Some vision for a better future? Even if it is only for yourself?"

Kit's words resurface then, and I realise how powerfully they resonate with me. I owe it to this dog to be honest. I owe it to myself. He's been honest, in his own round-about way. Now it's my turn.

"At one point, I wanted to escape this world entirely," I admit to him. "But now that my fate is no longer certain... There are things I want in life. There are goals. Matron deserves it... and there are others like her too. And they deserve it. I want to make the world better for people like me... But... I don't thirst for blood. I'm not particularly brave. I'm not the one to carve the rot out of this world."

"I would love nothing better than to wake one day and find that there was no need to, as you say, carve the rot from this world." Duck returns to the paper he was writing on earlier, turns it over to its blank backside, and begins writing at the top. "I'd like to send my coltellinos back to their homes, to tend to their own households and live their lives in peace. But such a day has not come once in a thousand years, and it will not come in my time. My coltellinos take no pleasure in this. I don't take any pleasure in this. I would never hire someone who thirsts for blood. Such cannot be trusted. I don't, and never did, suspect you of being that."

"I just said I want to kill... I want Matron and her ilk dead. Doesn't that disqualify me?"

"Not at all," Duck proclaims calmly. "You've been a prisoner and slave of this Matron for a long time. It's justice you want, am I right? A desire for evil not to spread, to create a better world for those who come after us? To prevent the mistakes of the past from occurring again. Does this sound more correct to you when worded as such?"

Despite myself, I let my head bob in agreement with this cold-eyed murderer.

"You know why that is, Kieran." Duck looks up from his paper and locks eyes with me. "You're a good fox. You're a decent fox. I'd like a decent fox such as you in my order."

"A decent fox?" My disbelief is thick in my voice. I forget entirely to whom I'm talking for a moment. "Decent people do not kill. Decent people do not wish anyone dead. There are no decent assassin, just like there are no decent slave owners. The tiger you slew would hardly thank you for being decent in your other dealings."

"My, where did that boldness come from all the sudden?" Duck asks, the ghost of a faint smile visible on his muzzle. "Killing does not preclude decency. In some cases, indeed, in the case you outline, killing seems the only decent thing to do. I used to think like you, once. I'd read all the stories, and figured what my predecessors did wrong was to fill the order with uncouth commoners who I perceived were far too... blunt. At a glance, because I was yet young and didn't speak much to them, I figured them decidedly indecent. I wanted what I believed to be decent people, but I didn't know what made men decent. So I sought out the noble and gentle born, those whom I had been brought up to respect. Well, more fool me. Few of those picked men remain with me today. They turned their cloaks, or died in the quest for honour and glory, or were caught. They were at times corrupt and lazy. But those uncouth commoners survived them all, and made the sacrifices necessary that Dalmatia and her allies could enjoy the safety I'd almost squandered. They knew their work was more important than their own moral convictions. They were truly decent, because they weren't selfish. They are now my best agents. All of them are good people in their own way. And I'll see all of them in hell, I'm sure. But that's between them and God. I only know what I have seen them do. They have a saved a hundred times more lives in their service than they have taken. If that's not decent, then I don't know what is." He reaches across the table and taps my chest lightly. "And yes, they are assassins. But they strive night and day to make their own jobs obsolete. Are you following what I'm saying?"

"I think so," I tell him. "But you still pay them, do you not? To kill. What is the money for then, if not to awake a desire to gain more of it? Why would I trust a man who kills for coin any more than one who uses that coin to buy the lives of others?"

I ought to smack myself for that too. How can I still have my head on my shoulders or a tongue in my muzzle to voice my frankly insulting concerns. Duck seems in no hurry to remove it, he merely smiles his confident smile, and nods slowly as I speak.

"My men are all discerning citizens of not insignificant means. Those of them who desired have been bestowed with nobility. Those who needed coin have been given that. Those who wanted offices have been granted that. They have all they could need. And still, they are able to do as I ask them, when their service is required. I couldn't pay them enough to sway them now, if they didn't believe in the cause. My order does not work towards personal gain, because the person already has what they need. In order to protect what they value, be it their offices, or their lands or their families, they will serve me. Because we have our eyes on a far greater goal than money or lands or status."

"What is that?" I ask him.

"We are the walls which protect the Dalmatian states from those who seek to subjugate us with military might. Those who want an unjust share in our wealth, or seek to expand their empires across our borders. We act with gold and diplomacy first and foremost, and steel as a last resort, to protect the lives of every man, woman and child in Dalmatia. No expenses spared. That is what many great kings and emperors these days have forgotten, as they count their ill-gotten wealth from the subjugation of their own peoples."

"Wars? You prevent wars and... and slavery?"

"Wars to Dalmatia," Duck confirms, "and in some rare cases, wars to nations which are great friends of Dalmatia. And indeed, we seek to eradicate slavery too, as one of our many goals. This has gained us some dangerous enemies. Slavery is far too lucrative for the great empires. There are no limits to what these empires will do to stop our efforts. Idealy, if you show promise, I could put you on that detail. You could help us make not only Dalmatia, but the world a safer place for your kin."

Now there's a thought which does resonate with me. In amongst all this murder and blood, and political games, there's a very simple ideal I can't help but feel drawn to. Not only wanting to end slavery. But actually doing something. Agency, that's the word I'm looking for.

"And from a series of events rooted in this explanation," Duck continues, "we wind up here at this table. The Dalmatian league haven't many men to fight in battles, but we have our wits, and we have our will. You could be a part of that."

"Put an end to slavery," I reiterate, distantly.

"Your eyes betray you, fox," Duck says. "Perhaps it's time to be honest with yourself."

"I know nothing of Dalmatia," I hurry to say before another part of me makes a decision for me. This is certainly tempting, but not something one should rush into. I might have been given freedom, but can I give it up again, to serve this Duke? "Wishing no offense. I'm very sorry sir. I need to think about this. Your nation is admirable, but to me, right now, it is just another nation in a hundred, which I know nothing about. Whose to say this life you propose to grant me is the best life for a free fox, if indeed you are freeing me."

"I am granting you your freedom," Duck explains. "That promise was made before any words had been said. I will stand by it. From this point onward, your choices are your own, fox."

He tosses a letter down on the chess board.

"There would be room for you at our table, in our city, and in our society. You will be provided with whatever you require, and be paid well on top of that. We would of course have to train you rigorously before that time. But I believe you can prosper."

"Sir, I'm very grateful for this offer to me. But you're... you're not freeing me, truly. You are simply taking me from one owner, and giving me to another. To the Dalmatian crown. To your order."

"You are free as anyone can be," The dalmatian insists. "I'm simply opening a door for you to walk through, should you so choose. But consider in what position you are, Kieran."

I have to shake my head; I can't crawl back to that place I'd been, not in spirit or in body. I have to be absolutely sure, and that means asking questions. Demanding answers. Never settling before I receive a reply I can make sense of.

"How is that a choice?" I ask him. "What other doors do I have? Windows, even? You're offering me a generous deal, indeed. But... I have nothing. I don't know where else I can go, or what I might do. I have no knowledge of the world you're taking me to. It's not right to ask this of me... it's- "

"-a better world than the one who condemned you to ten years of slavery? You know only Nawesh, to hear you tell it. Have you not had enough of that place, or places like that? Is that where you want to go? After ten years, I assumed you probably sought a different shore, is that not so? For what other reason could you have attempted an escape, as you told me?"

"Ten years?" I swallow, shifting my concentration for a moment. "That's... how long I was a slave? How do you know this?"

"It is given to me to know things, that's what I do, Kieran... but this was mentioned in your Matron's ledgers, which I had the occasion to glance at."

"Who sold me?"

"That I don't know," Duck seems genuinely apologetic in his tone. "It didn't say."

"Well, what did it say?" I ask. "What do you know?"

"Not much. You're Kieran, that's the only name you have. You've seen twenty rainy seasons I believe, though the language was unclear in its translation. You were born in Nawesh, and there are no mentions of your family."

"I need to know more," I groan. "There's a black spot in my head. A... a void where all this information should be... sorry sir, but I must know."

"How do you propose to find out?" he asks. "You're a slave in their eyes still. If you return to Nawesh, you'd be put in chains again."

"Not if you free me, I wouldn't" I tell him. "Free foxes have just as many rights as other freed men in that port. I've seen them."

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Duck replies. "Slavery is illegal."

"Not in Nawesh- "

"In Nawesh, as per the law of the nations on whose lands the colonies are settled, slavery is not permitted. It is not permitted in the four main religions of the area. Nor mine. Ostensibly, slavery is also forbidden under Castellanian law. So why are there slaves in many of these Castellanian colonies?"

"Why?"

"Corruption," Duck says, his teeth flashing in a moment at the word. "Because it's cheaper to bribe Castellanian governors and officials, and spin wild stories to explain away the obvious signs, than it is to hire and pay every slave a fair wage, not to mention the obvious reparations which would be required to place the slave class on equal footing with the general populous. This is a vast task, and it takes not only money but a sense of decency and shame too. A commodity quite rare to said Castellanians. Believe me, if they recognized you as a former slave in a vulnerable position, you'd get around five minutes before you were chained to some ox cart going to a market somewhere. That's just the truth of it. You have no protection, no authority to back up that paper I gave you. The seal is unfamiliar to them, likely as not. But in Dalmatia, such a document would be respected. That is, unfortunately, the limit of my power."

I slump in my chair. "But surely, there are other places I can go? Aren't there other countries where I could find some trade? Some harmless trade?"

"Of course," Duck says. "Hundreds. Big and Small. Peaceful and Warlike. Ruled by canids and felid, and any species you care to mention. You could try your luck in the Bulwark States which nestle up against the vast Siberian wilderness to the north and east of Dalmatia. They require caravaners who would dare to venture overland to the far east. There you can live out your life. Comfortable it is not, but it is a life and I'm sure it's very exciting. Or you could become a temple attendant in the theocratic empire of Helena, right next to Dalmatia. I can have the captain sail us there on our way. I know about a priest there who regularly requires unspoilt virgin acolytes. Perhaps not to your taste. Or you could be a sailor aboard this very ship and carry on after we reach Dalmatia. You could do all these things, and you'd still only be one fox, with the power and influence of one fox, and the prospects of one fox, and the capacity to change the world of one fox. In other words, you could be nobody if you want to. Or you could be somebody-"

"Your servant," I complete the explanation for him. I still feel almost unforgivably discourteous in my speech, and it troubles me that I haven't been struck yet. If I had, at least I would know where the border lies between inappropriately rude, and unforgivably so. The Duke's eyes shimmer in the candlelight, but they remain fixed. Permanent. Stable. I might go so far as to call them understanding, though I doubt he could ever understand where I come from. "You are turning me out onto the street then? If I don't want to be a murderer. I had no choice when I came aboard this ship which took me away from my home. You hold more power over me than any other free fox in this world. Are there no other options for me than to serve or suffer?"

"I might be able to procure a citizenship for you in a dozen other countries instead of Dalmatia, with whom we have favourable diplomatic ties, if that's what you want. But I cannot guarantee anything beyond that, because authority and influence over law effectively end at the Dalmatian border. I hate to tell you this, but freedom isn't what you perhaps think it is. You are as free as any other man of my empire right now. But you and I are equally bound to this ship by powers beyond our control, and should we step over that bond and try to be free, we'd succeed only in freeing ourselves from our mortal coil. Nobody enjoys complete freedom, as in freedom from any kind of subjugation, safety from danger or comfort against suffering. Just because you're free in the eyes of one nation's government, that doesn't mean you're free from the burdens of living under that government, or the responsibilities of my employ, should you accept it. Even the nomads of far flung Siberia or in the deserts of Arkay, which some hail as truly free peoples, live in hierarchical groups with laws and customs which must be followed, and leaders who decide what must be done. Drifters and wanderers of no nation are still subject to their poverty, and the dangers of the road and weather. And wherever you drift, you will be subject to some empire's laws or another. Most likely that empire wouldn't want you drifting around in their lands."

"That doesn't mean I can't try," I mumble under my breath. "I can seek my own luck, perhaps. Wander until I find a place I like, and seek employ with some kind soul? I'm sure there are someone out there who'd help me, and wouldn't require me to do what you ask."

Even as I say it, I feel dishonest. It's not that I don't want a life of peace and quiet comfort. It's that I want so much more than that, when I actually let the possibilities into my mind. What Duck told me won't easily let go from my mind.

"Please listen to what I'm offering you, Kieran. What I can get you is the closest thing you will ever experience to true freedom. All these boons are not meant to tempt you. It's the value I place on the labour I ask of you. They represent that labours importance, and how important you would be to me. How important I consider your well-being." Duck gestures to the copper hoop. "And true, you could certainly survive on your own, perhaps even prosper enough to make a reasonably comfortable life for yourself, comparable to what I'll give you outright. But, unlikely as that is, you'd still only be a pawn in the world; ineffectual as a single raindrop in the ocean." Duck hammers the statement home by poking the paper on the game board in front of us with a loud tap. "More likely than not, you will never reach that goal, so why risk it? Why risk a life in relative poverty, where you can do nothing about the world? And even if, by some miracle, you gained enough wealth to seek out your past, you'll need more than money to find the truths you seek. My brothers are men whose industry is to uncover mysteries. These men cannot be hired, regardless how much you are willing to pay. They work directly for me, and only for me. I can give you their help. But not if you're going to turn around and leave me with nought but expenses on your behalf."

"You can help, then?" I say cautiously, trying to process it all. "These men you speak of, can you-"

"They are my coltellinos, Kieran. Brothers. If you don't want to be a brother to them, they will be nothing to you either."

Duck folds his arms and leans back in his chair. "I believe I'm being far more charitable than you have any reason to demand from me. This is because I dearly want someone like you in my service. Someone like you command a high price on the marketplace where I barter, and I'd rather not see that potential go to waste... or go somewhere else." Duck pauses, and assumes an even more serious tone. "And on that subject, if you think to sell this information, or any information I've told you, to anyone, then you will not live a long, comfortable life. The same goes should you chose to enlist with any army or organisation working against Dalmatia's interest. No. I would take that as a personal offense."

The room grows much colder as he finishes. I haven't even considered selling the knowledge. In fact, I have barely any idea what to do with all of this information. As I search the dog's eyes for answers, I see that the threat is spoken in absolute earnestness. Duck sighs. "I'm sorry, Kieran, but that's how the world works. I require your honesty, and your honest opinion in all this. Think very carefully about what we've spoken about, and come to me with an answer when you are done."

I struggle to find the words I want to say. It's an immense gift. A mindboggling gift. A frightful and horrible gift. A cursed, poisonous gift. And yet, when all is said and done, it's still a gift, and I've never received any gifts before. I don't feel comfortable being given all of this just like that. It feels wrong, somehow, to squander all that trust in me, when I've got such a tenuous grasp on life as it is.

I've never considered myself worthy of a future. And now I'm doing twenty seasons' worth of considering, with my overworked, sleep addled mind. It's enough to make my head spin. All my life, such thoughts had always been bookended by trying to think up the quickest and easiest way to make sure I'd never see it. Overindulge in the poppied wine, or throw myself from a tall window. Perhaps steal a knife and open a vein. Which one would be less painful? Which one would be less scary? Such frightful thoughts have been all but banished by the ideas the spotted dog sowed in my mind.

I can almost see it for myself. A life with dignity and pride, with the means to take care of myself, and maybe even a family, who knows? Maybe one day I can extend some generosity to other people in need. I have the possibility to achieve something. Making a difference. I might still die if I'm not fox enough for the task. I'm mortal after all. I can end it, should the burden grow too great, that is my choice, free or slave. But I no longer envision my own demise quite so vividly. There are options now, less unpleasant alternatives. And should I ever reach for that option, I will have gotten further than any Nawesh-born slave ever did.

I could save those in need, I could protect a city where slavery isn't legal, where nobody wears collars. Where young foxes aren't taken from their homes and pressed into service for unknown reasons. A good place, if ever such a place exists. That's when I know I'm starting down the path Duck wants to put me on, and I have to take a mental step back. Because he will still have a say over my life and death. Can I live with that?

While I sit there in silence while studying the map in front of me, a memory comes into my mind. It comes unbidden and I can't stop it, and once it comes, it occupies everything. But the really strange thing is that I have no prior recollection of it. It's like an idea filled with distant feelings I've felt before. A faint echo of the past, like a vision, but only in my ears and my mind. I can hear a woman's voice somehow. The clarity comes not from the sound of her voice, but how I remember it. She's reading from a book, a story about heroes, villains, love and death, written in Naweshi. Pup stories. I can't repeat a single line of them, nor say the name of the characters or the stories, but I know them like old friends. The exact details are still wreathed in the same darkness behind which all my other old memories hide. But my feelings about them have been unveiled. That's what I'm feeling now, as real as any memory I've ever had, and I know in my heart who that woman's voice belongs to.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the feeling, or dream, or memory, or whatever, vanishes. I'm pushed, almost forcefully, back into reality, where I still sit in front of Duck's chess board. Some of the warmth of his cabin leaves the same way the dream went to hide, and the last of my ability to think clearly goes with it.

"I have to think about this," I say finally, striving to keep my wits about me as another storm of questions blow through my mind. "May I be excused? I would like to draw some fresh air."

"Naturally." Duck gets up from his chair and hands me the paper I've forgotten on the chess board. "This is yours."

I study the letter. At the bottom there's a red wax seal has been pressed into the paper, in the shape of a rose.

"I'm truly free now?"

Duck nods. "You are as free as any citizen of Dalmatia can be."

I've daydreamed about this moment for a long time. To hold such a paper in my paw. To see the seal and the stamped insignia which I always imagined such an important communication would hold. And yet, I still feel like same old Kieran. I thought it'd be different.

###

I spend the rest of the day in some sort of mindless trance, completely oblivious to the goings on around me. Or, I wish it was mindless. But eventually, I succumb to my fatigue, and seek out a spot of relative calm and quiet atop the forecastle, where I can catch a few moments of sleep. But even then, my mind won't stop bothering me.

Sanjay, the watchman from the eastern guardhouse who sometimes visited Matron's pillow house, encounters us in a narrow alley. It seems he's expecting us, because he's blocking our only exit. Duck tells me to stay back, and keep an eye out, and obediently, I do. If there is a way I can avoid Sanjay, I'm more than happy to.

He puts up a fight, but he can't land a single strike with his sabre. With a slender needle of a sword, the spotted dog plants a whole field of slowly blossoming roses across his chest and belly. They grow rapidly, and soon overtake the white, and the yellow and black, leaving everything bathed in red petals. Red roses where ever I look. The stench of sickness, my trembling knees, my silent plea for it all to end. It's all vivid in my memory. And yet, it's all drowned out in an ocean as red as the sunset.

And indeed, as the sun sets, I find myself clearer of mind than I have been all day. I see roses again on the letter I've been given, which I hold up before my face. The red wax looks as black as my coat in the low light.

I want to say yes. That's what scares me the most. I know, consciously, that I must resist voices in my head, and think for myself, even if it's my own mother speaking them. She could be a figment of my imagination, for all I know. She could be just some vision brought on by stress and sleep deprivation. If so, what is my mind trying to tell me?