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Senator's Club

Being that it is, in all respects, a temporary position born under extreme circumstance, a Dictator must resign the moment their mandate has passed.

The morning breeze blew through the room, carrying the moist scent of canal filth into my bedroom, which my nose was quick to pick up. I woke up with a start, gagging and covering up the tip of my nose in a vain attempt to block whatever was invading my nostrils. Throwing the blue, linen sheets away, I leaped out of bed, nearly tripping over the hulking frame of Goliath, who laid in quiet slumber on the hardwood floor; and flung the wooden shutters open from the sole window and peered down into the streets below.

It was still early and the sky was still slightly pink from the recently risen sun. Below, I got an unflattering view of the alleyway and its few denizens: a naked brown fox with shaggy and disheveled fur lying unconscious next to an empty wooden mug, and a fox wearing a brown cloak with a matching tattered hood pushing a handcart piled with dung and sewage.

Despite living in a small camp that had more latrines than I could count on my paws and feet while on campaign, for some reason such smells became more offensive when bounced between narrow stone walls. Still, such jobs were necessary and, after all, Livio used to do this job before joining the military and he turned out alright.

There was a quiet tap-tap against the door and it creaked loudly open. An orange muzzle with a small black nose poked in, followed by the amber eyes of my sister, Sofia, though she quickly covered them up with a black paw.

"Brother! Your shame!"

I looked down at my naked body, covering up my sheath with my paws as I shuffled over to the cherry-wood dresser on the far side of the room, rifling through the drawers until I found a spare set of trousers.

"You're the one that opened the door, dear sister, not me!" I pointed a jet claw at her accusingly. With my other paw, I stepped into the silk, burgundy trousers, finding them tighter than I had remembered. "Whatever you do, don't look down!"

She pushed the door further open and disobeyed my order, peering down at Goliath, who was just as naked as I was just a second ago but had equipment that was, just like the rest of his body, large enough to be a wolves'. Her eyelids flew open and she gasped, pressing her paw to her muzzle ones again. Her other paw began to quiver hard enough to blow out the flame atop the candlestick she held.

"I told you not to look down!" I scolded her while I buttoned up a matching burgundy doublet. A fitting outfit for the occasion of my visit to Vulpezzia, not that Sofia noticed, for she was still in shock and moral outrage, though her eyes never left Goliath's body. "Canis, we'll never find you a mate if you're such a shrinking violet!"

"I am not!" she snarled, stomping her slippers on the floor and fluttering her white skirt, "I was...I've just never seen..."

Finally, I struggled into a pair of black, leather hunting boots that squeezed at the side of my feet, promising a very painful day and the need for a foot-bath at the end of it.

"Yes, he's a circus freak, okay? Now quit staring or I'll marry you two."

"Don't jest like that!"

"I wasn't."

She pouted her lips and wagged a finger, but said nothing more, content to change the subject with a weary sigh.

"Breakfast is almost ready."

With that, she stepped out and shut the door behind her, giving it a slight slam before closing it. Perhaps I went a little too far with that gaffe, Canis knows all the troubles we've had trying to find her a match thanks to her defeatist attitude.

I left the room, feeling safe enough in my home to not need Goliath's protection from the present company. I shut the door gently behind and stepped down the stairs, following the wafting scent of pork frying in a pan.

"It's going to burn!" Galip whimpered in Wolven.

Sofia, not knowing a word of Wolven, yelled back at him, "I told you not to turn it! Listen to me!" followed by the clattering of metal. "Just get the vegetables prepped."

A spatula thumped against the bottom of a pan, slid, and then I heard the cut of meat flip over, followed by the always satisfying sizzling noise. I took a deep sniff of the air as I landed on the ground floor and turned into the kitchen.

Huddled around the stone oven, tending to a pan lying amidst the flames shooting out of the hole in the top, was Sofia, wearing a white apron atop her black shift, hanging around her neck was a leather pouch of assorted herbs which, unfortunately, were not for cooking. Despite the fact that Galip was my slave, he was standing around nervously tugging at the white apron he was wearing, not sure what to do. His ear twitched in my direction and he turned, stammering nervously.

Sofia noticed my presence, turning and poking her muzzle back over her shoulder.

"Marco! Your slave is incompetent! Who did you buy him from!?"

"Caught him on the battlefield. He's a Kutlar."

"What!?" she exclaimed, suddenly returning to the pan, shoving around the cutlets of meat frying. "No wonder he doesn't know how to cut vegetables."

"He also can't understand Fox," I sighed and noticed Galip hunched over, peering up at me nervously. I rubbed the top of his head, scruffing up his fur and ordered him to go back to the basement, which he obeyed with a hop in his step.

Unfortunately for him, Sofia caught him by the tip of his ear and dragged him back into the kitchen, yelping in pain.

"You need to train him better! He can't even chop vegetables, what have you been using him for anyway!?"

"Canis be damned!" I stormed to the staircase and cupped my hands around my mouth and hollered. "Goliath, get your ass up now!"

From upstairs, muffled but still as deep and imposing as usual, Goliath groaned in acknowledgment.

"Get down here and help them out in the kitchen! Now!"

He muttered approval and the door flew open, shaking the supports as it slammed into the wall. As he spoke both languages in the house, he'd be able to coordinate between the two of them while I go to the dining room and put my feet up.

The dining room was small, not much larger than the bedrooms, but had enough room to fit its crown jewel: a square table that comfortably fit six, made of mahogany with a dark-brown varnish that shimmered like a lake on a summer afternoon. Lining the side of the board were intricate carvings of scenes from chimera, primarily fox, history, with each corner featuring Reynard in some of his most famous escapades. I couldn't help but notice that the corner I was sitting by featured Reynard hunched over and reaching around over the vertex to the other side of the corner, which had Ysengrim the wolf's wife kneeling on the ground, tail and skirt lifted by the amorous fox behind her. I could have sworn I remembered seeing Ysengrim himself, with his tail stuck in the bottom of the board, watching them, but I couldn't find it.

Father bought the table shortly after we fled to Vulpezzia. We didn't have a whole lot after getting driven out of Pest, having left behind most of our property and money behind, but when we first got a home here, Father went to the market and came back with this table. He never said how he paid for it or where he found it, whenever Mother asked about it he just said:

"We need something nice, everyone needs something nice. It doesn't matter if we're living like paupers, we need to own something nice to remember the good times with!"

The rest of the room was a shambles in comparison. The chairs were simple pine stools with a dark varnish that made them look more expensive than they were. Against the outside wall, you could see the narrow street that our house was on through a tall, square window with crisscrossing latices. A noble fox passed by, wearing a bright, yellow outfit with puffed pants, and slapped his slave, a scrawny fennec, across the head for some unseen slight.

Like all aspiring families, the dining room had bookshelves covering up any bare walls, covered almost entirely with fake books. It was a facade that was becoming a fad in Vulpezzia, to show off how well-read and rich you were. There were real books among the fake ones, but only the residents would know without rifling through them all and in our case, most of them were my sisters and reflected her tastes: divination and oracle books sandwiched between collections of poetry, usually the ones that focus on rugged, rough wolves seducing and riding away with a fair maiden. Not to my taste at all.

The scent of freshly cooked meat left the kitchen and wafted into the dining room. Galip soon followed, carrying two plates with golden-brown pork cutlets along with juicy, sliced tomatoes and sauteed white mushrooms. His wrists shook as he planted them on the table, one in front of my and the other on the opposite end. Goliath lumbered in with cutlery, having taken the responsibility of making sure my slave didn't have a potentially deadly weapon, and dropped them one by one in their places, caring not for decorum, not that I cared.

Goliath began leaving just as Sofia came in carrying two plates, one with the same portion that we, the owners of the household, had; while the other had only a few slices of carrots and a tiny portion of pork. Goliath grabbed the larger plate and slipped by Sofia out of the room. Sofia wagged her finger at Galip, who sat down on a wooden stool in the corner and looked up at my sister eagerly, tail thumping against the wall. She handed him the meager plate and he muttered thanks in Wolven before picking up the greasy piece of meat and began chewing at the thick bone attached to it.

"If he drops a crumb on the floor..."

"He'll clean it up," Sofia muttered, rolling her eyes and sitting down on the opposite end of the table, "he's so scrawny. You haven't been feeding him enough."

Galip growled as he chomped on the pork bone, crushing it in half with a crack. I cast him a sharp glare and he whimpered, tail tucking beneath the stool in submission.

"This might disappoint you, dear sister, but most wolves aren't brawny nomads who clutch you to their chest until they find a romantic part of the steppes and rut you like you were a mare in heat," I stared at her favorite book of wolven romance poetry with contempt, a glare that I had made many, many times in the past to express my disapproval of her literature choices.

She sliced off a chunk of meat, speared it and snapped it between her jaws.

"What if I told you, dear brother, that I had a liaison with a wolven sailor?"

"Sure you did..." I muttered with a wave of my paw.

"His ship sunk near the harbor of Vulpezzia and he escaped the town guard. I found him, fearful, and gave him sanctuary. He expressed concern about a vixen living alone and held me close, my face buried in his course chest-fur. Sea salt and old wood was his scent, and I felt safe, safe for the first time since you left. He took me upstairs and threw me on your bed and then we..." Her pupils narrowed and looked to the side. I knew she couldn't finish describing her fantasy.

"You fucked!" I laughed. She cringed at the last word. "That's a good one! Which book did you read this one in?"

"He promised to marry me when the war was over! He was a gentle soul and this was love! True love!"

"I've met a few wolven sailors and believe me, most of them don't ask when they see a vixen all by her lonesome and they certainly don't propose afterwards."

Sighing, Sofia shook her head, "Alas! This was all a mere fantasy!"

"Obviously!" I groaned, chewing on a thick slice of carrot, "You know, if you want to marry so badly, I could arrange a match with a good fox."

"Brother! How could you say such a thing!?" she clutched at the shoulder of her shirt nervously, "You know I'm..."

"Sister, how many times. do I have to..." I grumbled, dropping my fork onto the plate with a clatter, "that soothsayer was just trying to fuck you."

"He was not!"

"His snout was just about up your skirt when I came by."

"You didn't have to hurt him..."

I still get angry thinking about it. Seeing that slimy quack with his oiled, orange fur slicked back and scent so strong of lavender that I could smell him across the market square; sneaking up behind my sister and pressing his nose against the read of her skirt while she was bent over, picking up some divination herbs that he had "accidentally" spilled. Not just the prick himself, but at all the people who passed by and didn't think anything of it, just a harmless, horny little sleaze chasing some tail.

But then I get happy, damned near ecstatic when I remember hearing the sound of his flesh tearing as I slashed my claws across his face, followed by the thump of me kicking him in the gut and sending him crashing against his stall and spilling a lot more herbs than the small bit he used to take advantage of Sofia. I remember seeing him laying on the ground, dried peppers, herbs, and seeds sticking to the oil combed through his fur; his chin quivering as he looked up at me, ears folded back. His tail would've been tucked between his legs, but I'm pretty sure he broke it when he landed, at least I sure hope he did.

The worm learned his lesson and ran away. Sadly, Sofia never learned her lesson. The soothsayer had divined that she was barren, a fortune that would increase his chances of stealing her virtue, and she believed him. This belief became reinforced when she took up fortune telling and on performing her first divination, was greeted by the scent of pomegranate seeds, a portent of infertility according to her books.

"There's always politics," I sighed, reaching over the table and patting the top of her paw, "if you don't want to get married, you could run for office. Hell, how about we put some ducats aside and you can start up a bus-"

"Brother, I ran into someone the other day. That wolf, the one who's the rightful Alpha, Gundulf?" she twiddled the claws in her free hand idly, eyes casting away from mine. "Do you think...?"

"No."

"You didn't let me finish!"

"I don't want to hear whatever fantasy you invented with him. The answer is no."

"I just thought, since I can't..." she paused, licking her lips, "and wolves and foxes can't either...and one day he'll be back on the throne and he'll need wives and...he was nice to me the other day, you know?"

"He's not an Alpha, he's not nice, and I'm damned sure he's not a wolf. He'll never sit on any throne, just like his father and his grandfather, and his great..."

This was all true. Gundulf was the most notable wolf resident of Vulpezzia, having descended from the very last Wolven Alpha that we foxes had on a leash. He would never work as an effective puppet as he lacked leadership qualities and, most damning of all, his father and his grandfather were rumored to have used a dog slave as a surrogate mother, the same dog between both of them, I must emphasize, according to the most salacious of the rumors.

"I'm sorry, Sofia, but it wouldn't work out. I'll find you a good fox to marry, trust me," I peered out the window, at the light reflecting off the cobblestone road. I ate the last piece of meat and stood up. "Thank you for breakfast, but I must get moving..."

Her sad eyes were staring at the crumbs remaining on her plate. I put my paw on her shoulder, but she brushed it aside, ignoring me otherwise.

"Slave!" I whispered to Galip in Wolven. He jumped up, nearly dropping his empty plate on the ground in doing so, and hunched his back as soon as he realized he was momentarily standing taller than me.

"Yes, Alpha?" he whimpered, lowering his head.

I grabbed him by the cheek and leaned my face into his ear. I caught a whiff of that strange, rose-like scent of his that he emitted when he was being dominated.

"Keep my sister company and keep her comfortable. Do anything that she wants you to."

"A-anything!?"

I clutched his scruff tightly and he whined pitifully.

"Anything but that! If I find out that you did that with my sister..."

I made a triangle with my fingers, pinched his balls between them and squeezed.

"Understand?"

"Y-yes Alpha!"

"Good," I growled, slapping him on the shoulder, "she's sad. Give her a hug."

Galip sprang into action, nearly falling flat on his face after catching his foot on my ankle, and gently placed his paws on her shoulder, nuzzling his nose against her cheek in a friendly way. The earthy scent of amorous musk did not fill the room and if I caught a sniff of it when I returned, I'd make that slave pay.

I called Goliath and we exited the house onto the streets of Vulpezzia.

The forum of Prato della Vallewas packed, as it usually was during mid-day. The war having done nothing to slow down the tide of commerce on the round island it was built on, which nearly overflowed with merchants, both foxen and foreign. It was a feast, not only for the eyes, but also for the nose.

As soon as we entered, our noses were greeted by the smell of dry sand. Sniffing around, we found the source: a tall, metal pen with about twenty fennecs wearing nothing but collars sitting around, not exactly eager to advertise the merchandise, which was themselves of course. An obscenely fat fox wearing a buttoned shirt that looked like it was about to burst, stood up from his stool and began to tout his merchandise, promising that they were all trained to do any task I had in mind. I ignored him, moving past him and an empty lot next to his stand, where a pack of wolven merchants would have been during peacetime, selling humans. It didn't matter, I already had my slave.

"Spices! Fresh spices from past the Suez!"

A sharp series of smells assaulted my nose and we moved quickly past the pile of many-colored spices lining a stall run by a fox in a very fancy doublet.

"Paprika! The finest Carpathian paprika!"

I stopped and stepped back to the fox, who smiled eagerly as I approached. He motioned his paw towards a dark-red pile of dried spices in a wooden tray at his stall. I grabbed a scoop and brought a small dusting of it to the tip of my nose and sniffed. Frowning, I dropped the scoop back into the pile and walked away. I turned my head back to look at the merchant, who was staring at me silently.

"That's Iberian paprika. Don't lie."

Finally, we reached our destination: a white-stone tavern hiding in the shadows of the senate across the canal bridge on the far side of the forum. Two massive lions were standing on guard at the door, adorned with leather armor and with steel maces tied to their hips. The windows were tiny little squares cut into the stone and even though a cobblestone couldn't possibly be thrown through them, they had thin, metal bars lining the outside.

This was the Senator's Club. An exclusive tavern made only for politicians, generals, and the most wealthy of merchants. It was just about the safest place in town to mingle and discuss politics without a partisan stabbing you or getting a rock launched at your head. Much like animals in the wild form a sort of ceasefire around the local watering hole, the Club had a very strict no-violence rule that the lions guarding it were more than eager to enforce without any heed for political bias.

One of the lions waved me in, but Goliath was forced to wait outside, which he complied with without complaint.

You might be rather disappointed to find out that the inside of the Club was rather drab, compared to the mystique of the exterior. Oh yes, it had a dark mahogany bar with a rack at the back lined with fine wines and liquors from across the world; of course, the tables were all lacquered to a mirror sheen that shimmered from the tiny flames lining the silver chandeliers hanging from the ceiling; and a veritable army of human and fennec slaves were rushing around the place, preparing and serving drinks, and carrying around the necessary and disgusting evil for consuming wine: silver spittoons that pinged when foxes spat out their delicious poison after tasting it; but there was something simple about the place that made one think it was rather plain, perhaps it was the featureless walls and the lack of a view. If you really wanted to, you could press your muzzle against the tiny window to see what was on the streets, but you ran the risk of a lucky rock smashing against the window bars. There was even a rule at the Club, whoever hurts their nose doing this has to buy a round for the whole bar and your closest political rival has to lick the wound better.

In hindsight, perhaps the Club rituals were bizarre and a little bit creepy. Nothing compared to the rumors of Senators engaging in orgies, that only happened once about a hundred years ago and it's explicitly against the rules. That was what the humans and fennecs in the rooms below were for. What was true though, was that the tavern's air was a haze of exotic spices and perfumes to disguise the politician's intents and lies. This, however, did not make the building any more exotic to me, it just tended to give me a headache when I spent too much time in there.

Faces turned and eyes stared at me with surprise as I entered.

"It's General Marco!"

"What's he doing here?"

"I thought he was on campaign."

I spotted a familiar face at the bar, looking forlorn and muzzle inches away from drowning in his cup. The Senator of the Hansa.

"Bergland! Why so glum?"

I slapped the burly, brown fox on the back and he lifted his nose from the wine, forcing a nervous smile.

"M-Marco!? This is..."

"You look nervous, friend!" I sat on a stool next to him and immediately was given a lead goblet filled with brown ale. I leaned into his ear and whispered, "Our time is finally here."

"My son has eloped with an ursine warrior."

I lifted my paw from his shoulder and, sensing it was going to be one of those conversations, took a thick gulp of ale without even smelling or tasting it, despite it being a very fine brew.

"What does this mean?"

"A bodyguard for the iron merchants from the Ursine Confederacy. He seduced my son, my firstborn son! He stole him away!" Bergland downed his cup and wound his arm back, about to throw it but halted, opting merely to slam it on the counter and demand another. The tan-furred fennec behind the counter complied nervously, pouring a stream of ale into the cup until the foamy head nearly spilled onto the bar.

Growling, I pulled him by the scruff and hissed, "What does this mean for us!?"

Bergland whimpered, clutching his ears with his claws as if he was about to rip them off. A small clump of fur was torn away when he scratched his paws away and finally, he whispered:

"You have my vote, but the Northern League..." he paused, staring at the evaporating foam in his goblet, "They resent the trade with the ursines and how its benefiting the Hansa above them. They claim ursine pirates are raiding their coasts, but there's no evidence and..."

"Get to the point!"

"I've had a talk with Senatora Matilde and I think I still have Pommerania's vote, but I'm not sure. As for the others, I can't..."

"Damn!" I snapped, "Damn the Northern League! I'll win without them and when I do..."

I was just about to explode, but I took a deep breath and calmed myself down, doing some mental math. I still had enough allies to win, but I'd have to make sure their spoken oaths were as valid as their written ones.

"Are any of the Italian Senators here?"

Bergland licked his lips and motioned towards an arched doorway, "Amadeo and Luce are in there, but..."

He trailed off, once again staring at his drink.

"But what!?"

He shook his head, pushing the cup aside, "Nothing. I'm sorry, I'm just lost in thought..."

"Stay strong," I patted him on the shoulder, grabbed my drink and left the bar, shouldering a short human out of the way as I went through the doorway.

I ignored the rest of the room, which was filled with Senators and other such politicians, many of which were guaranteed to not support me. The ones from Francia and Iberia, especially, had never supported this war and if anyone proposed a quick end to it, which I certainly was not, they'd support them without question. I didn't pay any attention to the hereditary Senators from republics that were not under fox control either, for they'd support anyone who could promise the return of their ancestral land and I had already proven that I could do that with Carpathia. I zeroed in on the two foxes in the corner, who were joined by something that could pass for a wolf.

"There he is!" Gundulf exclaimed, pointing his dull, black claw at me. His voice was low and guttural, like most wolves, but having grown up in fox territory, he had a perfect grasp of the language. It was legitimately uncomfortable looking at the so-called wolf, at first glance he looked like a normal wolf, having a coat of thick, gray fur, but when you looked further you noticed things that stood out.

The first noticable thing that was off about him was that he stood up and embraced me in a hug, but made sure to keep his unusually shiny, black nose away from my cheek and he did this to everyone. This was likely to avoid having the boot polish he used to paint his pink nose rub off on my fur.

The second was that his wolfish fur seemed to curl violently if it wasn't constantly groomed. His human slave, a thin man in a white servant's outfit, combed him constantly with a hand-brush.

The third and most disturbing part of his appearance was his left ear. While the right one was pointed strong and tall like any normal fox or wolf, his right one was also standing erect, but it seemed like it was about to flop at the slightest breeze. Looking closely, you would see that ear was being held up by a series of thin, long earrings running on the inside of his ear from one end to another.

There was no doubt that the wolf claimant that we hosted had dog heritage and it was extremely likely that this heritage was not of a high pedigree, which the dog nobles were obsessed with. What we had here was a mongrel living on the foxen dime and only because his ancestor was the last Alpha who bent over and lifted his tail for his rightful foxen overlords.

"Gundulf!" I exclaimed, forcing a smile and holding my breath to avoid his scent, which, true to his nomadic ancestry, smelled a little bit like a horse's rear. "It's good to see you!"

"And you as well! I'll buy you a drink, one for each Kutlarist tail you brought back!"

I broke away from the foul-smelling wolf and took a seat at the table, "I've killed many-a wolf, but brought back one tail and the wolf wearing it still lives."

"Aye," he grinned wildly, showing off his teeth. He had a bad habit of doing this without heed for how aggressive it looked, but most foxes thought he was a little simple and just didn't realize. I, on the other hand, saw it as a domination tactic, or at least a failed attempt at one, "I've heard about the one you've turned into your concubine. The whole damned family will lose their fur once they hear about that!"

"He's from a cadet branch, mind you."

"A cadet branch of a pretender's family, yes."

"If you're just about finished talking about _wolven_matters," Luce growled, black ears folding back in irritation, "I think the good General here would like to talk with us about _foxen_matters."

Gundulf whistled and nudged Amadeo in the shoulder, who leered at him with hatred burning in his eyes, but he kept his teeth hidden and his ears erect, "Vixens, huh? As fiery as their fur! You know, when I make my return to Lupercal, I think the first thing I'll do is replace the human harem with a vixen harem! Wouldn't that be a great metaphor for Wolf-Foxen friendship?"

"Aisha was asking for you, Gundulf," Amadeo finally spat out between his teeth. His sandy-yellow fur was starting to bristle at the back of his scruff. Much like me, he was a kit during Romulus's invasion and in his case, he was unable to escape the wolven invasion of Syracuse and witnessed the most brutal application of Wolf-Foxen "Friendship" during the entire war. He wouldn't have been a Senator here if it weren't for his father leading the resistance and the quick liberation of the island by the Republic, hell, if that hadn't happened, the wolves would have been able to launch a land invasion of Italia.

The disgusting wolf panted, tongue lolling out lecherously before hiding it back in his maw, "It would seem we have business in the bed-chambers downstairs. Those sand-vixens can't say no to a big wolf, huh?"

His human followed behind him as he left, stepping very quickly to keep up with him and never stopping his brushing for a moment. Finally, his tail darted around the corner and we were finally alone to discuss meaningful politics among those who actually held power.

"General Marco," Amadeo took a sip from his cup, purple wine staining the white fur around his lips, and spat into a spittoon being hauled around by a sweaty human, "you still have my vote for you-know-what if you promise me you'll have that wolf flayed in the forum alive."

"He has our hospitality and protection. We can't do that," I took a slow sip of ale, feeling the bitter, hoppy taste run down my tongue, "but I suppose we can sever his family's pension and reallocate the funds to Syracusian reconstruction funds, hm?"

"A jest, but an appreciated one," he spat another glob of wine, missing and hitting the human square in the face, eliciting yaps and laughs from across the room. Amadeo didn't seem to care, wiping away the purple spit from his lips casually.

"It was no jest."

Amadeo's pupils narrowed to paper-thin slits as he stared at me in shock. His maw hung open, bottom jaw wiggling impotently as he tried to say something. It would seem that sincerity, spoken simply, was as rare as platinum in the Fox Republic.

"Political promises," Luce interrupted, dipping her nose into her cup. Splashes echoed inside the bowl of her cup as she forwent tact and decorum and opted to lap up the ale inside with her tongue, "those are Syracusian business, but what will you promise Napoli?"

"An end to wolven military might benefits us all."

"Even the Doge won't allow a wolven invasion of Napoli."

"Senatora, I'm surprised!" I exclaimed incredulously. "Your letters were very supportive of my aspirations. What has caused this change?"

Luce withdrew a wooden smoking pipe from the leather satchel slung across her hip and opened up a paper envelope, carefully tipping in a few grams of tobacco into the cup of the pipe. She growled for service and a fennec, very young and trembling, brought a tinder box to her. The fennec wrapped the firesteel around her thin paw and struck the flint against it until the sparks fell upon the tinder in the container and it started smoking. She then took a thin stick and dipped it in until the tip got lit and then brought it to Luce's pipe. The Senatora began puffing until thick clouds of smoke began wafting out and she waved the fennec away.

"An expensive habit, Senatora," I muttered idly. The wolves have a virtual monopoly on tobacco, controlling the major growing areas around the Bulgarian and Grecian coasts.

"A smelly one," Amadeo wrinkled his muzzle.

"If we were to take back the Eastern Republics, tobacco wouldn't be so scarce," I smiled widely.

"Enough, Marco," Luce groaned, twirling the long stem of her pipe between her fingers, "you already have my support."

"Napoli could grow tobacco, you know," I said while swirling the brown ale in my cup, "same temperature, same weather. Could make a killing, especially since the war will cause collateral damage to the farmers in the East. A few seeds and captive farmers sent back to Napoli and you might just have a new business venture."

She kept her cool and her lips sealed tight. Her amber eyes did not betray her thoughts, but she was clearly deep in them.

"Fascinating. But surely the Bulgarian Senator won't like that."

"He'll support me and the war no matter what," I lowered my voice to a whisper, "Besides, when we reclaim the Bulgarian Republic, he'll lose his hereditary seat and will face an election the year after. If he continues to sob and pout over the lost tobacco crops instead of rebuilding, he'll lose."

"It's a shame..." Amadeo muttered wistfully, eyes staring at the last drop of wine in his goblet.

"It's politics."

Amadeo laughed and threw the last puddle of wine over his shoulder, splashing a fennec in the face whose fur was now stained blood red. The fennec bowed and thanked the Senator, before shuffling off."

"Indeed, General."

It was a productive afternoon, that was for sure. Amadeo and Luce gave me their words and said they would get a reaffirmation of the other Italian Senators intentions to vote for me. The rest of the afternoon was full of nothing but shallow gulps of ale and menial conversations with minor politicians.

The only other thing of note was the Senator of Champagne reeling back in pain after a rock hit the window he had his nose pressed up against. As according to tradition, he bought a round of drinks for everyone and did a romantic slow-dance with the politician he won his seat over, with the rival leading. At the end, his rival dipped him and they kissed with they tongues, before the Senator declared his love for him.

The worm would latter deny this fact and he never had any intention of voting for me, so I decided to write this anecdote down. He's still alive now, I'll make sure to send him a copy of this passage, assuming his cataracts haven't clouded his pupils.

On the whole though, I was optimistic and not a single soul in the tavern asked about the disastrous Triumph. Perhaps I had gotten lucky and the incident was localized by the harbor. I sure hoped to Canis at least.

Goliath lurked behind me as I pulled the knob to my house and slipped inside. Immediately, something was off. The air was cloudy and smelled of thick perfume, the kind that was rampant in fox society when covering up emotions or lust. Worse yet, underneath all that, I smelled rosewater.

"That little shit!" I stormed down the hallway, chasing the source of the scent with my nose, thinking the whole while just what I would do to that wolf when I caught him. If I found them in the act, I'd kill him right then and there.

It led me to the dining room and when I entered, my rage quickly abated.

Galip was sitting on the chair closest to the entrance, the same one I rested upon at breakfast, staring eagerly at my sister who looked like she hadn't left the table all day. Resting in the center of the table, that expensive luxury my father had bought long ago, was a round, metal dish with a thin cloud of smoke wisping from a pile of smoldering herbs.

"The session has concluded and rose petals has joined the scent," Sofia whispered, flipping through a small, leather-bound book, "the rose is a symbol of love, but it is also a symbol of mourning. Mixed with the tansy from earlier, by far the most hostile of all herbs in the divination, I'm afraid I can't give an optimistic fortune, wolf. Anyone who expresses affection for you will likely have ulterior motives, fatal ones at that."

Galip was surprised to see me, nearly flinching at the sight of me standing in the doorway. Cautiously, he spoke, "Alpha, I can't understand what she's saying. She's scaring me and her herbs are giving me a headache!"

"She's saying to go to bed, now."

"Yes, Alpha!" he got out of the chair, brushed off the seat, and shuffled out of the room, opening the trapdoor to the basement and climbing down the ladder. I didn't need to go and check on him at this point.

I took my seat across from Sofia as she snuffed out the weak flame on the herbs and brushed them into a waste-bucket for disposal. She took the bucket into the other room and, must to my annoyance, returned with a burning stick and reached into the pouch hanging from her neck and flung a bundle of assorted dried herbs and flowers onto the dish, lighting it with the twig.

"No, sister. Not now."

"Brother, you received a messenger from the Doge. He's calling the Senate to order tomorrow and would like to see you privately beforehand."

"What!?" I exclaimed, leaning across the table wide-eyed and crazed. "Sofia! This is great news!"

"You need a divination!"

"Sofia, I don't need any of this superstitious malarkey! Are you a wolf or a fox?"

She pointed up to the ceiling, "The gods and stars watch over us all, heedless of our species or station in life. Even your slave deserved a look into the future, as bleak as it was. Alpha Romulus used divination many times in his reign to effectively cultivate his domain and reap the fruits!"

"He was probably using it so he could learn which branches of the Kutlar family tree to prune..."

There was no stopping her. As much as she was a slave to the cosmos, she was one hell of a devoted one and I really didn't want to hurt her feelings like I did earlier. She was my sister and I loved her, no matter what happened, no matter who she did or didn't marry. When push came to shove, as much as I hated the smell of her herbs and the vague statements she spouted when divining, I had to humor it.

"The first scent is being revealed," she closed her eyes and lowered her nose, nose twitching as she inhaled.

I followed suit. Whatever it was at the top of that bundle of herbs, it was subtle, barely noticeable. Slightly, very slightly, sweet, but not much else. It was the kind of smell that a lesser species, like a human, wouldn't be able to detect.

"Hollyhock!" Sofia exclaimed, clapping her paws together. "Ambition is at the forefront of your future! Great ambitions!"

I couldn't help but smile. I had avoided including her in my political dealings, but she wasn't stupid, she knew I had plans.

"The scent is shifting fast!" a seed popped violently in the pile, shooting an ember onto the top of my father's table, which I stubbed out with my thumb.

A sharper sweetness wafted in the room, one that was instantly recognizable and I plugged my nostrils.

"Sofia, that's wolfsbane. You want to kill us both? Who the hell did you buy this divining pouch from!?"

"It's only a little!" she snapped, pulling my wrist and yanking my fingers from my nose. "With the quick shift, it could mean a great threat to your enemies, the wolves, of course. It will happen very fast and it will hasten your ambitions."

Beyond the sweet death of the wolfbane was a tiny amount of bitterness.

"Coffee is also a minor herb in this part! You will fulfill your ambitions at a young age and still virile!"

I couldn't help but imagine myself sitting on the wolven throne in Lupercal, ordering groveling wolves to do my bidding and then marching my way to the legendary wolven harem and making love to their most beautiful she-wolves. I imagined every wolf bowing their heads when seeing a fox pass them in the streets and thinking of me.

"We're moving into the third part! The scent is shifting!" she whispered harshly, sniffing once at the smoke, which intensified once again. I didn't have a chance to smell it before she shrieked. "Cereus! Canis!"

"What's the matter!?"

"Canis, oh Canis. Felis, Ursus, please..." she took out tiny, wooden idols of the three primary gods and planted them in a circle around the dish. Her chest heaved in and out violently.

"Calm down! What's the matter!?"

She took a deep breath and began to slow her breathing, finally speaking.

"Cereus is a symbol of a short life. I-I think it's referring to your ambitions, I hope it is, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! But it could also mean..."

"Spit it out!"

"That you don't have long to live."

The room went silent. I didn't believe anything she said for a moment.

"Sofia, we should stop this," I put my paw on her palm, accidentally tipping over the lioness-like idol of Felis and sending it rolling to the ground.

"No!" she screamed, scooping up the Felis idol and planting it on the table. The tip of Felis's stubby, left ear was chipped from the fall. "We can't stop now! Felis will curse us both!"

"I don't take much stock in feline goddesses, Sofia! Canis is already silent enough!"

"We must, brother, we must!"

She was panicking, licking and chewing at her lips so fiercely that I was afraid she'd rip them right off. I didn't want to humor her anymore, but there was no calming her down unless we finished it.

"Go on, Sofia," I whispered, reaching for the top of her hand and making sure I didn't tip over Felis or any of the others, and rubbing it gently. I touched the side of her muzzle with my other paw and made her look at me, "but I need you to stay calm, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered, brushing my hands aside and reaching for the book again. She didn't notice, but her elbow brushed against Canis and he wobbled a bit but did not fall down. The pages flapped wildly as she scanned them, "I don't know what your transgression against Felis means, I'm sorry! It might mean that a feline will cut your ambitions short! It also fell on its head, which could be seen as a reversal and that changes everything! It could mean that your ambitions will last a long time, but they'll be suddenly destroyed by a feline! I'm sorry, I don't..."

"The scent is changing," I whispered, "lets focus on that for now."

"Right, yes, the final part," she whispered, calming down. She leaned down and sniffed at the bowl.

Her black nose twitched wildly and her eyes flashed open. She leaned in forward and continued snuffling, until she just about kissed the smoldering herbs with her nose. I joined her and tried smelling as well, but all I caught was her scent. Whatever it was, it was subtle, and overpowered by the previous herb and my sister's scent of lilac. I leaned back and left it to the master, but then she finally confirmed my suspicions.

"Nothing."

She lowered her head, clutching her skill in her palms. I put my paw on her shoulder.

"There's no final part. Brother, I don't..."

I got up from the table and hugged her from behind.

"The book says nothing about this..." she choked, angrily flinging the book across the room and slamming it against the wall.

"Please don't leave me..."

"Please..."