NONE SO VILE

07: Salted Earth

Albedo, Rennaire, 1802.

The short brown bear stared up at Alabaster dumbly, his big green eyes enlarged by thick spectacles. He wore a wrinkled vest with plain breeches tucked into his boots, tiny ink spots dotting the front of his shirt. The young man was a clerk, shoved deep into an office where he hardly saw the light of day – the King's scaled lamplighter visiting was probably the most exciting thing he'd seen all year.

“So yes, er, you mentioned… um… arrest reports?" The bear seemed to realise he was staring and bashfully looked down at his papers, shuffling them awkwardly.

“That is correct," Alabaster replied, idly studying the clerk's over-stuffed study. The Albedo Office of Records was located on the far side of the river, about fifteen minutes by carriage from the main palace. The office felt more like an effort of formality rather than practicality – with so many stacks of unlabelled ledgers, piles of loose scrolls, and documents scrawled out so hastily as to be left totally illegible, it was a wonder any information could be found at all. Alabaster was not an exceptionally broad man, but even he could hardly turn his shoulders without knocking over a different pile of irreverent paperwork.

“My apologies, my Lord," the bear muttered, rubbing at his neck as he scurried into the back room, voice echoing out from the musty gloom. “We see very few visitors coming to examine the records these days, and I… er…"

“I am not a lord," Alabaster cut him off, following the bear past the main desk.

“Oh," the clerk replied, sniffing as he stared back at the dragon. “Monsieur then, I suppose. R-regardless, the state of things leaves… much to be desired."

“I see that."

If things were messy at the desk, they were positively apocalyptic in the back. Alabaster could hardly breathe but for the dust thickening the air. There were no real windows or ventilation of any kind, and the cloying warmth swelled beneath his scales – he could only imagine how awful it must be for anyone with warm blood, and covered in fur to boot.

As for the records, there was no rhyme or reason. Years were scribbled onto spines, shelved in no particular order that he could discern. Half a dozen desks throughout the office backroom stood unusable, infested with papers and ink pots and books and more paper. To the far back hefty ledgers were simply laid on the ground, pushed up against a wall and put on top of one another until they touched the ceiling.

“What is the purpose of this place?" Alabaster asked, running his finger across the spine of a nearby dust jacket, examining the filth that he picked up.

The bear was hunkered down on his knees, busy sorting through an over-crowded cupboard. “Well, my lor– um, monsieur, this is the Rennairan Office of Records, of course!" Alabaster rolled his eyes. “I… that is, we, see to it that matters of state are recorded here, and kept safe in case anyone… er, needs them." He stood with his arms full of ledgers, dropping the stack on a desk nearby and crushing several other papers in the process. The bear sneezed, wiping his nose and glancing away bashfully. “It is just that… almost nobody ever does."

“You don't think it's worth it to keep things organised?" Alabaster asked, stepping up behind the bear. He was nearly a full head taller than the clerk, and he could feel the young man shrink a little before him. The two brown ears twitched. Fear? Or excitement?

“N-no… not at all monsieur, I dream of… fixing this place." The clerk pulled his glasses off, wiping them on his shirt before holding them up to the dim lamplight. “But we only have so many clerks, and with so much paperwork, so much of it poorly filled out… you can imagine the result." He threw his paws up, gesturing at the state of things.

Rennairan bureaucracy, Alabaster thought, clicking his tongue. It left a lot to be desired. Speaking of desire…

He leaned past the bear, reaching over him and plucking up the topmost book. He let his thin lips pause next to the clerk's ear. “Can you help me find something, monsieur?"

“Er, um, of course I… anything to help… you…" The bear stammered, his voice trailing off meekly. Alabaster didn't need to see his face to know the clerk was blushing beneath all that thick fur.

“I am looking for a man named Sarento," Alabaster explained, lifting the ledger and flicking through the pages. It was filled to the brim with arrest reports, half of them barely even filled out. “I believe he is a poisoner by trade. His arrest report may contain something of that nature…"

At the mention of the word poisoner the bear inhaled sharply, suddenly becoming very focused on staring at the desk before him.

“What?" Alabaster asked.

“I am very sorry to say… um, monsieur, that… I do not think we have… that is… anything like that at all. Not at all. Sorry."

“Really?" Alabaster curled around, his face inches from the bear's. He could practically feel the warmth radiating off the man. For his part, the clerk stared straight down, practically shaking himself to pieces as he wilted beneath Alabaster's stare. “Are you certain?"

“P-positive."

“What is your name, clerk?"

“Rene, monsieur," the bear replied, voice barely a whisper.

“I am Alabaster."

“I know wh-who you are. You work for the King."

“As do we all." He smiled. “Now Rene, I am a very perceptive man, it is my role to notice things about people. Do you know what I think of this situation? I think you do know where the report is for Sarento. I even think you might like to give it to me."

The bear tried to pull away. “N-no, monsieur, I am sorry, I do not know anything by that–"

Alabaster took hold of Rene's elbow, spinning him around and shoving him back into a bookshelf. The bear sucked in a tight breath, eyes bulging as they stared up at Alabaster.

“There are many ways of getting information out of people," he said softly, his free claw reaching up to gently caress the thick brown fur of Rene's chin. “There is torture, of course."

“T-torture?" Rene whimpered, shrinking slightly in the dragon's shadow.

Alabaster shrugged. “Personally, I have always found it distasteful. You hurt somebody enough, eventually they're going to tell you whatever they think you want to hear, whether it's true or not. Thankfully, there are… other methods." He grinned. “The dead cannot lie to me. But that option has its own… consequences, and it is very time consuming."

“M-my superior," Rene began. “He told me, that is a… a confidential report, monsieur… so… so… y-you understand… I cannot share it!"

“But you can," Alabaster cooed, leaning closer. “I think it is much easier to start by giving someone what they want, don't you, Rene?"

“I… what?"

“You've been looking at me," Alabaster whispered, leaning in. His claw drifted down from the bear's chin, fingers brushing over the clerk's neck. “I can see your thoughts swimming in your eyes, I know the forbidden desires you harbour in there, Rene. When people are at their most vulnerable, they are their most honest selves. Do you understand?"

Rene glanced to the side, the heat wafting off his face. “I am sure I do not. I am to be married, monsieur, to a good… a good woman, would you know."

“Let go," Alabaster whispered. He snapped his fingers and brought the bear's eyes back to his own. They locked, and he felt the clerk relax beneath him as the hypnosis sank in. Alabaster's claw drew the ancient sigil in the air beside his head, plucking at the threads of other in Rene's mind, intertwining them. “Go on, Rene, do it… do what you want…"

“I…." He blinked groggily, still half-fighting the hypnosis.

Alabaster looked down, grinning as he saw the bear's nervous paw reaching forwards, brushing over his crotch.

“You've always wanted to feel one, haven't you?"

“Yes…" Rene gasped, his finger pushing against Alabaster's trousers, finding the outline inside the fabric. The bear's eyes lit up, a stupid smile spreading over his features.

“The moment you saw me, you imagined it, am I correct?"

“Yes… yes that's right…" Rene was slurring his words slightly, but the urge was there. Alabaster was a skilled hypnotist, but even he could not force something that a person was utterly against. He pushed a bit harder, the bear's clumsy fingers felt good rubbing at him, Alabaster's own cock was already hard inside his trousers. He shifted himself forward, sensitivity running through him.

“You want it?" He asked, breathing getting heavier, careful to make sure their eyes stayed locked, to keep the hypnosis sealed. He could feel Rene mentally, like a numb extension of himself, and through that pipeline Alabaster could send suggestions, commands, even urges.

“Mmmf," the bear whimpered, nodding desperately. He was practically drooling, fingers grasping at the member through the pants. Perhaps it was unprofessional, but Alabaster had always loved to see an obedient servant begging for him.

Just take what you need and go. He glanced around the corner, saw the office was still empty. Nobody was here, and this whimpering bear was practically in heat. He bit his lip, sighing as Rene ran his paws over Alabaster's bulge. Taking the documents was the smarter move but, with such an eager boy right here… why shouldn't he enjoy himself?

“P-please, monsieur…" Rene whined, his nose inhaling Alabaster's scent.

“Take it out."

The bear sighed, shaking paws instantly going to Alabaster's waistband, nervously tugging the drawstrings apart and quickly sliding the pants down.

The dragon's cock popped up, fully erect. It was coloured deep red from tip to base, including the large smooth balls hanging just below. There was no hair, of course, and it was thicker than most men, sensitive to the touch. Alabaster did not have a knot like canines, but he did have several raised segments along his length, a protective layer of thin scaled hide bunched up over the most sensitive parts of his head.

“Oh…" Rene moaned, his paws seizing Alabaster's cock, clumsily exploring it. Alabaster grunted, leaning in with his hips, thrilled by the young man's eagerness. Even with both paws wrapped around his cock, Rene could not cover the entire length.

“That feels good," Alabaster whispered, grinning as the obedient bear stroked him. There was something about the hunger in Rene's face that just did it, the raw eagerness to serve. “Tell me how much you like it, boy."

“I have dreamed of this," Rene said woozily. “I never thought… I… thank you, monsieur." He pulled his thumb back and a shining strand of pre went with it. “But it is not allowed."

Alabaster took hold of the bear's wrist, lifting it up before Rene's face. “Open." The bear's jaw fell instantly, and Alabaster pushed the slick thumb onto his tongue. Rene quickly sucked at it, eyes still locked on Alabaster's. “I know you like it, boy."

“Yes, monsieur," Rene mumbled, pulling his thumb out again and licking at his lips. Excitement raced down Alabaster's spine. Anyone could walk in there and hear them, and then what would he say?

That I take whatever I want. He grinned at Rene, the bear clearly hard as steel in his own pants. And I want you.

“On your knees," Alabaster said, putting his claw on the clerk's shoulder and pushing him down. Rene gasped slightly as he sank easily, his breath washing over the red cock suddenly thrust into his face. “Now talk."

“It smells so good," Rene whined, leaning forward. He was fully given to the hypnosis now, his previously smothered urges suddenly bubbling up. Nervous paws tugged on Alabaster's balls, pinching at the base of his dick. “Please, monsieur… allow me…"

“Talk first," Alabaster said. He put a claw on the back of the bear's head, pulling him in and burying his nose in the crevice of his crotch. He was so hard, thick red dick quivering, every part of him alive with the sight of such an obedient servant.

You want me don't you? You want nothing more than to be my property, serving my every little whim. His cock tensed at just the thought, and he had to forcibly remind himself that he was here for a purpose beyond breeding this bear. But still… what a good boy.

“Tell me about the poisoner, and I'll give you what you want."

What we both want.

“The r-report came across my desk…" Rene mumbled, straining to look up at the dragon with his pleading yellow eyes. “My superior told me to shelve it… where nobody would see. C-close… but locked away."

“Why?"

“I don't know!" He turned his attention back towards Alabaster's cock, those nervous fingers sending tiny currents of pleasure racing through him. He tried lifting it towards his face, but Alabaster quickly stopped him with a claw on the top of his head.

“Not yet. Where is it, Rene?" He whispered. “Come now, I know you want to tell me… I know you want me too…"

“I do, monsieur, I truly do…" the bear swallowed, now staring intently at Alabaster's shuddering red cock. His words sounded like someone talking in a dream, slurry and delayed. “The p-poisoner was sent to La Tour de Sel, his report did… it did not say why."

Alabaster groaned inwardly. He could have guessed. La Tour de Sel – the Tower of Salt – was the largest prison in Albedo.

“The report, where is it?" Alabaster asked. He tugged Rene's head towards him, gently resting the very tip of his cock on the bear's full lips. Every shuddering exhale made resisting his maw harder, a shining strand of clear fluid dripping from Alabaster's tip, brushing over Rene's lip, and trailing down his chin.

What a cute little thing you are, he thought, thumb stroking down the side of the bear's face. If only I could keep you all for myself.

“In my drawer– my-my front drawer, at the very b-bottom," Rene said, stumbling as he rushed to get the words out, his own cock standing rigid in his breeches, a thick spot of leaking fluid darkening the front material. He reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a tiny key. “Here, monsieur, please, take it! Just… allow me… a taste…"

“Why of course," Alabaster said, snatching the key. “Come now, good boy."

The bear finally relented, and Alabaster couldn't suppress the moan as the virgin mouth swallowed his cock nearly halfway in one go. It was wet, warm, the bear's unsure fingers playing with his balls and taint. Alabaster helped guide him, allowing the man to lick and taste, finally indulging in the desire he'd kept hidden for so long.

“Feels good to let go, doesn't it?" He asked, thrusting forward. The bear grunted, rubbing himself through his own breeches. Teeth nicked at the edges of Alabaster's cock, and the bear's long tongue curled around his head, drawing out little grunts of pleasure from them both.

“Yes monsieur," Rene said, finally pulling himself off and panting. “Please let me be yours, I just want to obey."

“You're doing so well," Alabaster said, grinning as he guided his dick back inside the bear's mouth. He pushed himself deeper, holding Rene's head as he fucked his muzzle like it was an arse. For his part, Rene put both paws onto the dragon's hips and held on for dear life, grunting and huffing through his nostrils.

The tightness began to spread inside Alabaster's hips, drawing his balls up, the thin scaled membrane over the head of his cock finally retracting, allowing the bear's tongue to drag over his glans, the tiny nicks of the inexperienced boy's teeth only heightening the sensation.

Rene's eagerness spurred him on, the intensity quickening inside them both. It felt so good to use the boy, and have him love being used.

“You should, unf, never deny yourself," Alabaster grunted, pumping himself into the bear's maw. The urge within was strong, to breed this face, to bury his cock – but he knew Rene couldn't take it all. Not yet. “Open your mind to what is – ugh, possible, to what others would refuse you! Ah, you like that, don't you boy?"

“Yes monsieur!" Rene whined around his cock, fingers digging into Alabaster's side. The pressure was building, muscles in his groin tensing as waves of pleasure rolled through Alabaster. Rene could feel it too, and he tried licking and sucking even harder, desperate to get the thick dragon inside his mouth.

“Ah, yes!" Alabaster felt the orgasm spike within him and he gasped, shoving himself in, claws tightening around the back of Rene's head. He hissed, holding him in place as the pressure at his tip finally burst, relief flooding through him as a thick wad of cum shot forth, splashing onto his tongue and filling the bear's mouth.

“Swallow, just swallow now," Alabaster cooed, keeping his cock inside, one claw wrapped around Rene's muzzle to seal him up. “Yes, good boy," he mumbled, caressing the bear as he dutifully swallowed the last remnants.

It has been a time since I had one so eager, he thought, out of breath. It felt good, he could not deny it, both the orgasm but also in the knowledge that he had at least given Rene the first taste. Perhaps that push would encourage the bear, at least if any part of him remembered the hypnotic session.

The wash of bliss was interrupted as the front door to the Record Office opened up, slamming shut a moment later as someone came shuffling through.

Shit. Alabaster tugged his cock free, wiping the last bits of semen against the bear's cheek, Rene swaying drunkenly on his knees and grinning.

“Thank you, monsieur," he mumbled.

“Be quiet." Alabaster pushed his claw onto the bear's head, bracing himself right between his eyes. “Now, sleep."

Rene collapsed to the side like a sack of potatoes. Alabaster quickly did up his trousers, right in time to look over as Paul Vardé stepped into the back room, frowning deeply at the scene before him.

The lion stopped, plucking at his whiskers, unsure as to what he was looking at.

“What… the devil is this? Alabaster?" His powdered wig bounced comically as he glanced between Alabaster, the sleeping clerk, and back to Alabaster again. “Is he… I mean… is he asleep?!"

Alabaster turned, slipping a pewter flask from his robes and before bending over and pretending to snatch it from the ground. He spun back to Vardé, waggling the flask. “I suspect he grew a bit bored with the drudgery, Minister."

“Well," the lion sputtered, shifting in place. “I suppose you can't blame a man but… I mean… God, what have standards come to? And say, Alabaster, whatever are you doing here? How goes the… uh… the work…" His voice dropped to a conspiratory hush, despite the fact they were alone in the office. “...in regards to the General?"

“Why do you think I am here?" Alabaster asked, shoving past the lion. He returned to the stack of arrest reports on the desk, pretending to flick through them. “As I told the King, everyone has secrets… with a family like that you can never be sure of their past."

“Never…" Vardé clucked his tongue, shaking his head as if he couldn't agree more. “Never can be sure, of course, of course. Very good, Alabaster, I know the… uh… the King appreciates your work… very much."

“One can only hope." He paused, glancing back. “But what brings you here, Minister Vardé?"

The lion cleared his throat. “Well, this is the office of records and I… I check in, do the rounds… collect reports. Just… having a look."

There was something off about Vardé's demeanour. Alabaster couldn't quite place it… but he was acting as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.

The irony. If only he knew that Alabaster's cock had just been devoured by the poor boy now sleeping on the floor.

“You come to collect reports," he said flatly, staring the lion down. “A man as important as you? There's no pages or clerks you could send to do it for you?"

Vardé swallowed, contemplating a lie.

I wouldn't lie to me if I was you, Alabaster thought, watching the lion carefully. Could it have been you? You were always spineless, Vardé, maybe you thought sucking up to the King would be easier without me getting in your way?

“Minister?"

“Alabaster, we both want what is best for the King, so I will not deceive you…" Vardé chuckled nervously, leaning back against an over-filled desk. He sagged in place, head flopping forward as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “The treasury is empty." His voice had become very small.

“What?"

“Empty! Or close enough to it! The coffers of this country have been bled white. Taxes are too low, spending is too high. It's simple, it's… simple arithmetic. So simple a… a bloody child could do it."

“Empty?" Alabaster asked, inching forward. “How? Taxes are higher than they've ever been in the last fifty years! How is it possible that there is no money?"

Vardé shrugged. “The wars, what else? Not to mention the… the uh… the Queen's new western palace. The constant feasts! The reparations we still pay to Cielwen! Still! The King demands more, and I, like you… live only to serve his whims." He sniffed, shaking his head. “We just have to… figure it out. Somehow stop… spending. But I won't tell the King no, never… I do not say no to the King."

“If the treasury is empty, Vardé," Alabaster growled, creeping forward. “Then how do you say yes?"

“Money has to come from somewhere." Vardé sighed, adjusting his wig. He threw his paws up, gesturing to the arrest reports. “Seems you found your answer already. The people are… barely nobles… Alabaster. Yes, they own land but…" He waved a paw. “It doesn't matter, it doesn't."

“You mean to say the arrests aren't real?"

“Oh no, they are real!" Vardé corrected, laughing. “All too real. All of these men have been imprisoned, sent to colonies, some exiled even. A few… a few were even… hanged. Our blood for Rennaire. But… the reasons for… arresting them… and convicting them…" He trailed off, shrugging.

“Fake charges. So the Crown can seize their land. Their assets." The idea actually made Alabaster angry. So angry he was surprised even by himself, claws curling into shaking fists by his side, teeth grinding together in his jaw.

It was one thing to work your way up in the world, one thing to expect people to fight for themselves… but to do nothing wrong and have it all taken away anyway. That's life in the knife-pits. That's what they tried to do to me.

“That sounds like slavery to me," Alabaster whispered. “No rights. No justice."

“Oh don't be so immature, Alabaster," Vardé exclaimed, scoffing. “I expect pearl-clutching from Loïc, but never you. It isn't slavery it's just… just… the way of things."

Alabaster shoved the ledger into Vardé's chest, hard enough the lion stumbled back, knocking into the bookshelf behind him. “And how much of that money finds its way to your pockets, Minister?"

“We all serve in our own way!"

“You're a thief." All Alabaster saw in his mind were the owners in Urdo, locking collars around the necks of young boys, shoving knives into their claws, pushing them into the pit.

Fight amongst yourselves, or die. No chance. Rennaire was no different.

“And I suppose you have never taken any liberty with the King's favour?" Vardé snapped. “We all know about the horrid things you do, lamplighter. Infecting the palace like a rot, driving a wedge between the Church and the Crown, defiling the dead, peering into the future! What has it come to, when this great nation can be bent to the whims of some fucking foreign slave?!"

Alabaster lunged forward, drawing his dagger and holding the point to Vardé's neck. “I should gut you like the eel you are, Vardé. Or should I tell Leon and his army of furious peasants about what you've done?" He sneered, leaning in. “Think they'll take that well, Minister?"

Vardé laughed, shrugging. “Go ahead, then maybe you can try telling the King he's spent all his money."

Alabaster considered it, but finally lowered the blade, shoving Vardé back as he stepped away. The lion brushed his frock down, making eyebrows at the still-sleeping Rene.

“Favour of the Crown comes and goes like the tide," Vardé said. “The King adores you today… but… one or two failures and… well I am sure it will not come to that, of course, of course not." He smiled at the dragon, a wide, shit-eating grin. The problem with arguing with an idiot is they bring you down to their level.

“Is that a threat?"

“No, no, I would never… lower myself to threats. I just…" The lion wiggled in place, waving his paws. “Watch yourself, Alabaster. You might feel comfortable… but you do not belong here. Unlike you, I am a gentleman, and I am willing… to keep this discussion…" he waved his fat paws. “Between us, no?"

Alabaster's grip tightened around the hilt of his dagger, but he forced himself to release it. Killing Vardé would accomplish nothing, and despite the lion's bluster, he wasn't certain that he was the man behind the murder.

A week has passed, and I am no closer to answers. He sniffed, leaving Paul Vardé to his fake arrests and returning to the front of the office. Quickly checking to make sure the lion wasn't watching, Alabaster unlocked the lower drawer and scanned through the documents inside. Most seemed to be somewhat random, but at the very bottom was a small scrap of paper with hardly any ink scrawled across it.

Sarento.

Arrested Monday, sentenced Tuesday.

La Tour de Sel.

Judge Reinhardt.

Alabaster sighed, folding up the paper and dropping it into one of his pockets. It would have been too easy for one of the ministers to put their name on the report, he supposed. Unless I am to think some unknown judge is the architect of my death.

He stopped at the door on his way out, looking back into the chaotic records office. In the back room Vardé was shaking the sleeping Rene awake, berating him for drinking on the job. A twinge of guilt touched Alabaster's gut – he'd found the hypnotised bear quite… cute. And they'd certainly enjoyed themselves.

It was everything else that didn't sit right with him. The Crown ruining lives whenever they needed an extra franc or two, then what chance did anyone have? If things are really that dire, the King should have been delighted at the concessions General Valoisier wrung out of Danegard. But apparently his pride matters more than the nation's treasury.

Vardé was a sycophant, a backstabber, and a fool, but he also wasn't wrong.

How long until they turn on you? Alabaster wondered. The King was nothing if not fickle – so much had already proved that. Maybe they didn't need to poison me, to get me out of the picture. All they had to do was wait.

By the time Alabaster's carriage reached La Tour de Sel, the sun was already beginning to set. It cast an ominous dark glow around the gigantic limestone pillar, the shadows beneath the diverted ramparts dripping low like blood from a wound. La Tour de Sel – also known as the Tower of Salt – was famous for its harsh treatment of the inmates, a beacon of royal cruelty dominating the southern city skyline. It was named after the actions of the King who had it built – Philipe II. He'd wanted a monument that would represent Rennaire's intolerance of disloyalty, a hell-on-earth for traitors and turncoats. Phillipe II had ordered the prison be built upon salted ground, to ensure that nothing would ever grow there – not grass, nor plants, not even weeds.

And especially not hope.

“What now?" Alabaster growled, looking out his window as the carriage approached the front gate.

The sound came before he saw them, but still nothing could have prepared him for the sight. Dozens, even hundreds of peasants were gathered in the streets surrounding the tower. They warmed themselves by makeshift fires, sleeping beneath crudely erected tents. Large groups stood by the wrought-iron fencing, chanting slogans and waving flags and signs around.

Abolitionist flags, Alabaster noted, seeing the flash of red. There was even a flag of Kiberland being waved around. They were clearly eager for blood, but far more troubling than that – they were organised. He stared through the slits in his carriage window, trepidation rising inside. This is a tinderbox. The people out in the streets were filthy, they were angry, and they were armed. The wrong spark, at the right time, could set everything off here.

“Are we able to make it inside?" Alabaster called through the driver slat, not daring to show his face outside.

“I believe so, monsieur!" The driver replied, taking a turn towards the gate. “Would you prefer I turn back?"

For a moment Alabaster considered it, but he needed answers and fast. The sooner he found out who killed him, the sooner he could deal with Leon-fucking-Valoisier.

“No, no, let us go in."

The people on the street knew better than to stand in the way of a royal carriage, and they cleared away where they could. As the driver drew the horses up to the front of the prison compound, Alabaster realised there was a kind of military standoff near the front of it all. Soldiers had muskets raised and even small encampments built up, their bayonets fixed to their weapons, waving them back at the chanting peasants.

However they chose to manage it, it was enough for Alabaster's carriage to get through, and he breathed a small sigh of relief as the gates slammed shut behind them.

“Monsieur Alabaster!" An approaching wolf called as he descended the carriage steps. “So gracious of you to join us, not many would be so brave, considering!"

“Imagine that," Alabaster replied, watching the crowds. He did not know the Warden's name. “What do they want?"

One of them saw Alabaster, instantly pointing and crying out, his words lost to the crashing waves of overlapping cries. A current passed through the crowd, protestors pushing forward as their voices all rose in unison, raising spears with scarecrows in crowns impaled on their points, arcing burning torches in the air.

“Oh, what do you expect?" The Warden said, spitting onto the grassless dirt beneath their feet. “They want all of their friends released of course. Typical, filth sticks together, that's what my father always said, and I daresay he was quite right."

Alabaster watched the furious mob, pushing their luck now with the outnumbered soldiers barely holding position by the gate. They were fools, of course, you could not fight Rennaire. But… Alabaster now knew for a fact that many of the people locked inside La Tour de Sel were unjustly imprisoned. It was difficult to hate the commoners for raging against that kind of injustice, however fruitless their efforts would turn out to be.

You're getting soft, that inner voice warned him. Albedo is no different to the knife-pits in Urdo, nothing had changed. If you're not the have, you'll be the have-not.

“Take me inside," Alabaster said, unable to look at the frothing crowd any longer. “I would see to my business quickly."

“With pleasure!" The Warden replied, leading him towards the front office. The pudgy wolf seemed positively delighted at Alabaster's presence, even going so far as to waddle out a little dance as he led the dragon deeper in. “We do not receive many visitors from the palace, monsieur, I am sure you understand. For most people, the day they see me and my castle is the very worst day of their lives. Not much of interest for the likes of important men such as yourself. But how glad we are to have a royal visitor, and one so well respected and dutiful to the King, no less!"

They brushed through the front reception, entering into a nexus of curling stairways, each leading to different quadrants of the tower.

“Stop flaying yourself before me, Warden," Alabaster snapped, glaring at the man. He was dressed somewhat like a soldier – a double-breasted brown coat with unpolished silver buttons. Looked like a child though, playing dress-up. “I do not have time for sycophants. What do you want?"

“What do I want? Only what is best for–"

Alabaster glared at him, and the Warden clapped his muzzle shut. “I will give you one more chance to ask. Then I will go about my business."

The Warden sighed, his smile vanished. “Money. What else, monsieur? My men have not been paid, we are down to a half-guard already, and it will only get worse. The prisoners outnumber us three-to-one, we've had to resort to harsher penalties than ever before just to keep them in check!"

“There is no money, Warden," Alabaster replied flatly. “Take it up with Minister Vardé, if you wish."

“No…" The wolf's face fell. “No money? But… my men are waiting. We're all waiting."

Alabaster shrugged. “Such is the state of things. I suggest you go out and steal it. I hear that is all the rage these days."

“I… I… you can't be serious?!"

Alabaster turned away, casting his eyes towards the stairs. “I am looking for a prisoner named Sarento, a white fox. He was arrested two weeks ago."

“I…" The Warden was still reeling, but he shook his head, scurrying forward like the worm he was. “Yes. Very well. There is only one white fox in this tower, monsieur, if you would please… er… follow me."

He ran ahead, and Alabaster trailed behind, his cloak gliding over the limestone steps. The guards inside looked tired, and they watched him pass with hooded expressions. Even through all the stone that made up the walls, Alabaster heard the prisoners outside, chanting, screaming for blood. He caught a brief glimpse through a window, and realised they had finally forced the soldiers at the gate back inside, a massive bonfire now burning in the street.

I shouldn't have been so brazen. Seeing him had been the lynchpin to set them off. A foreigner elevated above almost every other native Rennairan in the land, a heretic too by all accounts. They hate you. Not in a specific way like they hate the King, either, but in a more general sense. They hate what you are. What you represent to them.

That didn't matter. Alabaster hated them too.

“A few more steps," the Warden puffed as they reached a new floor, circling around to a ward on the eastern side. “Due to the lower staffing, we aren't able to occupy some of these wards."

Alabaster frowned, watching as the warden unlocked the door. “So you just leave them locked up alone?"

“We bring food, of course," the wolf said hastily. He cracked the door, hinges squealing. “These people are beasts, monsieur. You understand."

Alabaster only grunted, pushing past the wolf and into the ward.

Cells lined the walls, iron bars hiding hungry eyes, emaciated fingers clinging to the locks. They moaned and whispered, begging for water or food, and one or two Alabaster even heard begging for death. The cells themselves were filthy, unwashed, buzzing with flies and often smeared with blood or heaven-knew-what over the walls. A single ray of light was allowed into each one through a tight grill in the wall, the oil lamps hanging on the walls clearly going unused for long periods of time.

How many of these men are innocent? Alabaster wondered. How many of them were here only so Paul Vardé could tell the King they had plenty of money for his wife's new palace? Careful now. Keep thinking like that and you'll start to sound like Leon.

Stupid boy. He would never understand.

“It's the last cell on the end," the Warden called, following a few steps behind.

Alabaster sucked in a breath of stale, stinking air as he reached the end. Finally, proper answers laid before him. The poisoner had ultimately been betrayed, but Raphael had told Alabaster that the 'client' had specifically requested Sarento.

He knows who did this. Excitement bubbled within him, an electric sensation shooting up his arms, nearly as good as the orgasm earlier. Vengeance was so close he could taste the blood on his tongue.

He reached the end of the hall, stopping so suddenly the Warden nearly crashed into him.

“Oh… well…" The wolf stuttered, trailing off quietly.

Alabaster said nothing. He felt nothing.

“It's unstaffed… usually… the door is locked?"

The poisoner was dead.

“Open it," he said.

“B-but–"

“Open it," Alabaster snarled, seizing the Warden by his collar and throwing him into the gate. The wolf nodded hastily, fumbling with his keys and sliding the prison doors apart.

Alabaster brushed by, descending on the bloody corpse like a bird of prey.

Fresh, he thought. The blood was still thin enough to flow, trickling through the seams in the bricks beneath the body, staining Sarento's white fur. They did this to stop me, he realised, studying the damage done to the arctic fox's face.

They'd started by slitting his throat, not just a cut, but a total evisceration of vocal cords and airways. They had also cut out Sarento's tongue and smashed his teeth to pieces. They did not want you talking to me, in life or death. So it's somebody who knows exactly what I am capable of.

Breathing heavily, Alabaster rose slowly.

“My apologies… Monsieur…" The Warden said, backing away.

Alabaster whirled on him. The wolf drew the pistol at his hip but the dragon easily knocked it from his paw. He slammed the warden into the cell door, claw wrapped tight around his larynx, pressing down firmly.

“P-please!" The wolf hissed, choking painfully.

“Who did this?!" Alabaster growled.

“I… don't… know!"

“You left him here!" Alabaster said, squeezing harder. He wanted to crush the life from this man like the juice from an orange. “You abandoned your charges! What fucking good is a worthless lowlife like you? You are worse than corrupt, you are incompetent!"

“I… I… am…" The wolf tore at Alabaster's claw uselessly, legs kicking, eyes rolling back. Alabaster crushed harder, baring his teeth. How was anything supposed to ever get done? Bastards like Loïc and Joachim, corrupt fools like Vardé, and useless suck-ups like this Warden, all of them standing in Alabaster's way again and again.

Half these men were probably fucking innocent, did you know? Would you have cared if you did?

“Incompetence," he whispered, as the strength faded from the wolf's grip, his body finally collapsing to the floor in a heap.

Alabaster breathed out slowly, stepping back into the ward. There was shouting coming from deeper inside the tower, and outside he heard the telltale puff-puff of musket volleys.

What now?

Moving to the tiny window at the end of the corridor, Alabaster looked out into the compound's entrance. His heart dropped as he saw the front gates to the prison hanging open, the furious crowds flowing into the courtyard like blood from a vein. Some of the tower guards began firing shots, but they were immediately overwhelmed by the peasants, hacking with cleavers, bashing with crude chunks of wood.

Torches found their way to Alabaster's carriage, setting it ablaze even as it was tipped over, the orange haze painfully bright in the dimming evening light. The horses squealed, rearing up as they burst free, running off into the chaos. The peasants paid them no mind, forcing themselves forward, pushing into the tower itself.

Alabaster left the window, returning to the tower staircase even as cries came echoing up the way. More gunshots went off, accompanied by the clangs of swords glancing against stone. Staring down, Alabaster saw the telltale sign of torches flickering as people began to rush up the stairs.

If they get to you, they will beat you and hang you, if you're lucky. He drew his dagger, returning to the ward. The other prisoners were on their feet now, rattling the gates and crying to be let out. Alabaster ignored them. A plan, a plan, you need a plan. He had to make a display for the commoners, they were taking the prison by force, and even with all the power of a sangoma, Alabaster wouldn't stand a chance against such numbers.

Back at Sarento's cell, he pushed his awareness out to the two corpses lying on the bricks. The other flickered and coiled, whipping like a wild snake as it lanced through their meat, dragging the recalcitrant traces of soul back into the flesh. The Warden's body was still warm, and his corpse clambered woozily to his feet with ease. Alabaster drew more ancient letters in the air, whispering words of the First Angels as he forced Sarento up, the white fox's broken jaw swinging loose beneath his face. Their eyes were faded and cold, and they shuffled stupidly.

We'll kill more, if they come they will die, and each body fallen is another for my army.

“Come," Alabaster commanded, turning back to the doorway as the commoners reached the door to the ward. He heard them shoving on it, the thin wood buckling already. “Protect me."

You're gonna run out of time, there isn't enough time, you're not an Angel. Pushing the fear from his head, Alabaster knelt down on the ground, holding a paw up as he began to recite his sorceries.

The door exploded, commoners scrambling to get through. Cheers of rebellion sounding their arrival, the prisoners clapping and jeering as their cells were unlocked one-by-one.

“LIBERTY!"

“FREEDOM!"

“JUSTICE!"

A small group spied Alabaster, hefting their weapons and running for him.

A fox raised a crude spear, charging at Alabaster. He remained kneeling, the strings on his undead puppet yanking as he pulled Sarento aside. The spearhead shot through the corpse, and the fox fell on the commoner with a gurgled cry. The Warden tried to keep them back too, but there were too many of them, more coming every second. The first spearman fell with a broken neck, and a moment later he'd clambered to his feet, grabbing hold of whoever he could, doing anything to slow them down.

Alabaster's scales prickled as he tried to multitask, casting a sorcery while simultaneously piloting his three corpses. Only another minute, nearly there–

“CORRUPTORS!" Bellowed a great ox, stoving in Sarento's head with a massive sledgehammer. Even the undead could not survive that, and the reanimated fox collapsed in a heap. Alabaster dove to the side as the ox swung at him, the stone head of the weapon clipping his shoulder, something snapping inside. Another wound.

He almost scrambled away but the ox caught his cloak, dragging him back and flinging him against the wall. Alabaster hit the bricks hard, his skull snapping back to slam into the cold stone.

White bled at the edges of his eyes and the ox swung again. Alabaster managed to duck the blow and swipe up with his dagger – he drew red from the ox's abdomen, but the shallow lacerations only seemed to piss him off.

Alabaster called to his servants, but each of them was busy grappling with a member of the mob. Blood flew, the stink of it filling the air.

It was in his teeth, and Alabaster spat red as the ox's fist crushed his ribs. Fingers squeezed his head, pushing in, bone crunching as it began to give way. “WE WILL NOT BE SLAVES ANY MORE!" The ox cried. “JUSTICE! LIBERTY!"

His tongue was shredded from biting down on it, but still Alabaster began to speak. He felt his eyes roll back, the power of the First Angels and their dead language rippling through him, raw other flowing down his limbs, reverberating pain shooting from his marrow. It curled his organs, these were powers that should not exist – darkness that belonged in another aspect of reality. But he would use it, as he used anything and everything.

You feel it too, don't you? It flowed from his claws into the ox, wrapping and coiling like venom, invisible to the naked eye but with an undeniable weight to its presence, dragging down the nearby reality with it. Give in, don't resist.

Strings of ligament and sinew began pulling out of the ox, his eyes bulging as the sclera popped, red pouring in. He screamed, limbs raised up as the thin shredded strands of his body floated weightlessly in every direction. The sight and sound of it filled the room, and the invading peasants slowed their freeing of the prisoners, some even praying, crying out, backing towards the door.

“Hhhhh-elp meeeee," the ox bleated, but his words were barely distinguishable.

Pressure racked through Alabaster's bones, and the atmosphere of the room only tightened as the ox was thinned out, stretched to pieces, bones ripping.

“Get. Away. From. Me." Alabaster snarled, tearing both claws back. The ox exploded before him, blood rain filling the room, spattering every surface as the commoners cried out, slipping in the gore in their haste to get away.

He stepped forward, the room suddenly empty. Cries still echoed deeper in the prison, and although nearly all of the cells had been emptied, one or two remained occupied – the prisoners cowered back against the wall, whimpering. Alabaster's fractured shoulder ached, but there was no time to repair it now.

He forced life back into the bodies on the floor, eight new corpses clambering up drunkenly, slipping in the blood.

“Now we wait," he breathed, all the energy sucked from his body. “For the cavalry."