NONE SO VILE

05: Vultures Above, Lions Below

Albedo, Rennaire, 1802.

The sun vanished as the gondola passed beneath the bridge, a millennia worth of layered strata rippling past, shadows sinking into the filthy water as they left the light behind. Alabaster stood at the front of the small boat, the hood of his cloak pulled low, arms crossed. The water lapped lazily at the edge of the canal, his stomach turning as they descended further. The competing sounds of the city slowly died, replaced with echoing groans of the earth, the sloshing of the boatman's oar, and the pulsing of Alabaster's own blood. His heart beat quickly, anxiety spiking within him. The Undercity was mysterious, shrouded in rumour, but it held the answers he was searching for. 

“Soon," he whispered. Soon I will know everything.

He knelt down, stroking Bellamy's back, the vulture shifting uncomfortably on the gondola deck. The bird had always hated tight places. “I am told it opens up deeper in, my friend," Alabaster whispered, one finger scratching the vulture's neck. 

The sewer passages continued to twist ahead of them, blazing firepits placed sparsely along the shores lighting their way. What good samaritan is it that keeps these stoked? Alabaster did not know much about how the Undercity functioned, but he knew it remained relatively separate to the streets above.

Albedo was an old city, dating back to a time when Rennaire was barely more than a random collection of warring states. Even then, it was known to be a place filled with beautiful buildings, attracting famous architects from all over the world. 

The Undercity was the inevitable conclusion. Everyone wanted to build, and nobody wanted to bother clearing the past away before they did. Over the dozens of centuries that the city had stood for, it had simply been built on top of itself, the old ruins sinking deeper with every decade. As time went on the complexities of the sprawl were only compounded, the ugliness swept away and buried beneath new streets and more fucking bridges. 

The vast majority of Albedo's population lived in the light, but for those that desired it, the Undercity offered a different way of life. 

“Nearly there, monsieur," the boatman croaked from the back of the gondola. 

“Time to see what we've been missing, my friend," he whispered to Bellamy. The vulture cawed again, his hollow screech bouncing off the sewer walls. 

As promised, the narrow walls of the subterranean canal eventually opened up, the ceiling peeling away from them as they drifted in. The cavern of the Undercity was unfathomably large, and the sudden gigantic space made Alabaster catch his breath. How far down did we travel? Darkness seemed to stretch on forever, the deep shadows interrupted by mossy pillars and crumbled buildings, bridges that led to nowhere, and fires dotting the ruinous streets. 

“High enough to fly?" Alabaster asked the bird, gesturing for him to take off. Bellamy squawked once more, flapping his wings and launching off the edge of the gondola, sweeping low over the oil black water, curling up to glide between the strange leaning fixtures of the city. 

The gondola slid to a practised halt by a rickety pier, and Alabaster dropped a franc into the boatman's paw. “My thanks." 

“Luck to you, monsieur," replied the ferret, doffing his bicorn. “Don't worry, you'll adjust to the light soon enough."

He smirked. “I assure you, I am more than comfortable in the dark." Alabaster left the pier behind, stomach settling as his body finally realised they'd found solid ground. 

Where to even start? He wondered, studying the various buildings and hovels crammed around the streets. To call the Undercity built-up would be a misnomer, but to call it ruins would be equally untrue. Instead the reality was somewhere in-between, the locals transforming the crumbling bones of the old city into their homes, reinforcing what they could, carving out where they had to. 

The roads were natural, chipped away by constant traffic and busy but not crowded. As he slipped down a narrow side-street, Alabaster was surprised by the peaceful atmosphere. The denizens kept to themselves, most carrying small oil lamps or other light sources.

As he traversed the streets, Alabaster caught sight of several young men camped out around the junctions. They appeared typical loiterers at first, but then he saw they all wore familiar outfits; with baker-caps and long oilskin coats, pistols at their hips and hammers by their paws. Vigilante justice, the only kind that can truly be depended upon. Kings had tried to tax and police the Undercity before, but it never took. Modern regimes had decided it was far easier to just ignore the Undercity, and leave the denizens to their own business.

As he hiked through the wending streets, carefully examining the small homes and businesses erected throughout, Alabaster began to feel foolish. A broken clock was hardly much to go on. 

A broken clock. Of all the memories a corpse could have of his meeting, that was the one which stuck out the most. Corpses could not lie, but they had different priorities. Deciding that he wasn't likely to simply stumble across it, Alabaster left the main thoroughfare and slipped into a narrow alley. 

Wedging himself into the dusty alcove of a crumbling manor, he held his claw up flat before his face. Words from the First Angels fell from his lips, drawing in the ancient sorceries. His free claw slipped into a pocket, fingers finding a bone charm and squeezing the curved rune. A quivering bleed rippled through Alabaster's body, widening his veins and releasing the boundaries of his awareness. His eyes rolled white into the back of his skull, and as his vision cleared he was in the sky, staring down into the Undercity. 

Bellamy flapped his wings, soaring over a warm rise as the current buffeted him to the right. The world was balanced oddly, his gaze trailing like a telescopic lens, sliding over the streets below with razor-sharp clarity. There were so many nooks and crannies to examine, rats scurrying over rooftops, children running this way and that. The Undercity was full of life, and the streets shifted and turned with no real sense of purpose to them. There was very little colour in his eyes, and Bellamy blinked in shades of grey, yellow, and amber. He spied carrion hidden between the rubble, the wafting vapours of rotten flesh sharp in the gloom of the interior. It was unmolested by predators, the fur fallen away, the meat slipping off the bones with ease…

Focus, and enjoy your meal later. Alabaster wrestled to separate himself from the vulture's mind, trying to regain a sense of control without allowing his mind to fully articulate the difference between them. The threads of other linked them, sorcery binding their perception together – but it was a fragile thing, and too much disturbance would fracture the connection.

Bellamy pulled his wings in, slipping between the gap in two currents of air, dropping closer to the street. The vulture soared between the pillars and dilapidated towers, beating his wings as Alabaster searched the fronts of buildings. Was it a literal broken clock? Or a place that goes by that name? 

For all he knew it could be a pocketwatch stuffed in some low-life's pocket. 

Bellamy jack-knifed in the air, darting suddenly through a shattered crack in the wall and gliding down a well-lit hall. 

Voices cried out in alarm as he burst into a dining room, the foxes gathered around the table suddenly leaping up with alarm, waving their arms about dramatically. With Bellamy's ears and mind Alabaster couldn't understand their words, but it was clear from the furious gesticulations how they felt about it. 

Get out of there, you fool! Someone threw a knife and Alabaster's stomach turned as Bellamy darted out of the way, the blade bouncing harmlessly against the brickwork. The vulture found a window and burst back out into the tepid air of the Undercity, beating his wings as he rose higher into the closed sky. Bellamy's heart raced, faded memories of his death bubbling to the surface; the killers bursting through Alabaster's door, stinking of poison, growling brutishly as they attacked. There was nowhere to go, he couldn't fly out, Alabaster wasn't there and Bellamy was trapped. He tried to get away but they grabbed hold of him, the tip of the blade flashing in the light. The panic hit a crescendo, then the pain burst through his centre.

Calm down, you're not hurt, you're safe and in the air, you're safe. Alabaster flexed his talons, trying to exert control and keep them both calm. I won't let them hurt you my friend, never again. Bellamy beat his wings, spreading out to coast over another rise as the flashback simmered down, the fear receding like a pot taken off the boil. We'll search keenly, but keep your distance.

They settled back into a rhythm, circling around a pillar and drifting further north. Nothing in the dim landscape jumped out at him. He was about to release the bird when Bellamy rolled to the side, the north-west region opening up in his layered vision. 

There! What is that? They flapped on, dropping deeper into the currents to pick up speed. Alabaster saw a narrow bridge, leading to a built-up area illuminated by a ring of small, controlled fires. One building dominated the centre of the district, a once-great tower that had crumbled long ago, standing now in a pyramid of reinforced ruin. Lookouts sat around it, perched across varying sight-lines with muskets resting in their arms. 

Bellamy circled the district, coasting smoothly to give the best look. 

Alabaster felt a thrill of excitement shoot through him; wedged into the moss-ridden concrete at the front of the pyramid was a huge clock, a massive crack running down the face, dust caked over the hands and numerals. 

There you are. He tried to move in closer, the current of hot air rustling his feathers. The world shook, tilting on axis. Alabaster felt himself dragged back, sinking deeper, fingers digging into his shoulders. The body map in his mind was all around, numb arms and tensing wings. He was half with Bellamy, half back in the alley, blinking groggily, the vulture squawking in confusion. 

“Gotta have somethin', don't hold out on me now nodder," said a sharp voice, muttering mostly to itself. Alabaster blinked, shifting against the wall. A dark-furred lion crouched over him, a scar running across one lip, his paws rummaging through the dragon's pockets. 

“Bones?" The lion exclaimed, face twisting in disgust as he pulled back a palmful of knucklebone charms. “Is this some sort of joke? Bones?" Growling, he seized the front of Alabaster's robes, shaking fiercely. “C'mon you nodding bastard, there's gotta be something good in there!"

Alabaster threw himself forward, still reeling from the switch with Bellamy. His legs were jelly, and as he shoved the thief back his knee buckled, throwing them both into the dirt. “Oh there's nothing good in me," he growled, digging into the lion's throat.

“Get off me!" The lion bucked against him, trying to get his thumb up into Alabaster's eye. His teeth found the lion's fingers, joints crunching in his jaw. The thief howled in pain, and Alabaster shoved his claw between them, ripping his dagger from its sheath and arcing it out in one smooth motion, the curved edge slicing open the lion's brow, blood spurting down into his eyes. Not leaving any time for the thief to get his bearings, Alabaster hauled the lion up by his throat, slamming him into the wall and pressing the tip of his blade to the base of the thief's jaw.

You fucking animal. A single moment of weakness, a single misstep and he could have lost it all. You're getting weak. Slow. The old fear was there, a familiar rope tightening around his neck, choking the air from his lungs. The memory of true hunger, of real fear. 

“What do you know about fear?" 

“Just let me go, I am sorry, I'm sorry!" The lion mewled, trying to flatten himself under Alabaster's grip.

“Look into my eyes!" Alabaster snarled, twisting the point of his dagger. I am dangerous. I am the knife, the quick death and the slow, carved by violence and hate. He would never go hungry again. Nobody would ever take what was his. “I won't be your slave!" 

“W-what?" The lion flinched, bottom lip trembling. 

Alabaster's arm shook, muscles clenched. How sweet it would be to gut this squirming fish, to see the colour drain from his face, the sinking realisation in his eyes that this was the end… 

“P-please…" The thief mumbled. 

He only wanted your money. Alabaster relaxed his fingers, letting out a tight sigh. Killing this fool accomplishes nothing. He lowered his dagger, still keeping a firm grip on the thief. But never throw away what could be useful.

“So make yourself useful then," Alabaster hissed. “Tell me about the pyramid with the broken clock."

“The… what?" The lion cracked a bloodshot eye, panting heavily. “You do not want to be going there, monsieur." 

“It's my mistake to make. Tell me what it is, if you want to keep your organs." 

“That's Raphael's place. Everyone knows Raphael, you do not go there without money… or a deathwish." 

Alabaster grinned. The Undercity isn't all that different to the surface after all. Powerful men take what they want, no matter where you go. Just like everywhere else, the only hope for people like Alabaster was to be on the side of the powerful men.

“So tell me what Raphael does in his little empire?"

“He is a broker! Everyone knows you stay clear of them unless you can pay!" 

“A broker for what?"

“I don't know! Whatever people want! Whatever they'll pay for! I stay clear of that kind of work, but I know people say you can get work, dark work, if you prove yourself. Really, I swear to you, I swear it on all of the One God's vengeance, this is all I know!" 

The thought of plunging his blade into the thief's neck surfaced briefly again, but the heat of the moment was gone. Alabaster had nothing to gain, and the man was only trying to feed himself. We both know what it's like to go hungry.

“Get out of my sight, worm," Alabaster snapped, shoving the lion away. He stumbled back, rubbing at his neck and coughing as he found his balance. He gave Alabaster a suspicious look, as if half-suspecting he would catch a knife in the back. When it seemed true he was free to go, the lion took off running, quickly vanishing around the corner. 

Bellamy squawked from his perch overhead. Alabaster smirked. “Even I have moments of weakness. Come, my friend."

They left the alley behind, slipping further north into the Undercity, Bellamy circling overhead. The memory of fear that had pierced the vulture still ached in his chest. His mind raced with thoughts of revenge, the blood quickening in his veins. Not killing him was the greatest mistake those people had ever made. If you try to shoot for me, fools, you'd best not miss.

Eventually he reached the edge of the canal, the hood on his robes pulled low as he regarded Raphael's crumbling fiefdom. The pyramid seemed larger from street level, and the lookouts were harder to spot. 

Every empire needs its servants, he thought, watching a small gaggle of visitors be admitted over the bridge. But where are his knights? Alabaster had no interest in toppling Raphael's little empire, but if the broker tried to keep him from the knowledge he required, he would not lose sleep over doing so.

He kept out of sight until a sizable new gaggle of visitors appeared, deftly tacking himself onto their rear as they made their way across the bridge. Judging from the snippets of conversation, they were mostly business owners, making their trade in shifting goods to and from the Undercity to Albedo proper. So Raphael has a paw over what comes and goes. People down here still need to eat, and you can't grow much in the dark.

Alabaster whispered a word of sight, a dull ache throbbing through his eyes as the other bloomed in his skull. All around him the people began to glow faintly, Raphael's hidden snipers emitting an orange aura that could be seen through the walls. Busier than I thought. He's comfortable, but not complacent.

Despite the dust and grime, Alabaster could tell a lot of money moved through this place. It gave off the same feeling as the knife-pits in Urdo – a cold shiver running down his spine.

As they drew closer to the main gate Alabaster peeled off from the crowd, darting into a nook around the side of the building. The sorcery in his eyes finally waned, and the glowing auras died out. It didn't matter. Raphael felt secure in his palace – the bulk of his force was concentrated outside, and they were mostly for show. Once Alabaster got through the walls, there would be precious little keeping him from the broker. 

And my answers. 

“There is nothing bloody out here," someone whined in a soft voice. Alabaster peered around the corner and saw two grey foxes sitting on the edge of the canal. Axes leant against the rear of their seats, but their focus was on the water, each one taking turns flicking pebbles out into the darkness.

“Enough belly-aching, Matea. We gotta prove ourselves, don't we?" said the companion, flicking a stone. It pinged off a chunk of metal wedged into some unknowable clump floating by. “Oh! You hear that? That is your mark!" 

“That is easy," said the first, hurling his own rock. It skipped over the water, clanging against the iron. “Idiot. How long do we have to spend out here? It stinks, does Raphael think Samman is going to rise up out of this putrid shit? Has anyone ever?" 

“No," said the first. “But soon enough they'll move us inside, that's where the money is, hey?"

Alabaster smirked, drawing closer. He almost wished he had come from the canal, if only to not disappoint them. His fingers found another bone charm in his pocket, drawing on the sorceries imbued within it. The air around them took a breath, an invisible bubble forming that would catch any errant sound waves before they travelled any farther. 

Just us now, boys.

“Keep your voice down, or someone will–" His words gurgled into nonsense as Alabaster pressed both claws to either side of his skull. 

“Now sleep," he commanded, the threads of other slipping from the man. He collapsed forward in his seat, folding against the parapet. 

“By God!" Cried the companion, shoving himself back, his chair toppling backwards. “Alert! Alert!" He cried, but the sound of his voice barely went anywhere, his face sinking at the realisation. 

“Just you and me," Alabaster hissed. 

The fox dove for his axe but Alabaster was faster, his kriss blade flicked, wrist pivoting as he lunged forward. The waved edge of the dagger caught the back of the fox's paw, opening up the veins and severing ligaments. 

“Bastard!" The fox cried, trying to grab at the handle and finding his fingers crippled. Abandoning the axe the man whirled, teeth bared, unsheathing a chipped knife from his belt.

Clumsy stance and a weak grip, non-dominant paw. The instincts from Alabaster's childhood came as easily as breathing. The fox gave a wide swipe, over-committing to the blow and leaving himself completely exposed. Metal screeched as Alabaster effortlessly riposted the blow, his open claw racing forward and squeezing hold of the fox's chest. He crushed muscle in his grip, injecting decay through his claws, the linen on the guard's shirt instantly rotting to shreds, the hide beneath liquifying under Alabaster's scales. The fox screamed, but he was silenced as Alabaster's blade sunk into the front of his throat, body toppling over backwards and splashing neatly into the canal. 

The world seemed to exhale as the charm's sorcery ended, popping Alabaster's ears. He wiped the dagger clean on his robes, deftly slipping into a back door built into the rubble. 

The pyramid was warm inside. Boilers beneath the floor burned hot, copper pipes pumping warmth into every room. Have to keep the clientele happy, don't we, Raphael? 

Alabaster stayed low, ears on keen alert as he stalked the lavishly decorated halls. The inside was still made of crude stone, but colourful paint had been sloshed over the brickwork, oil paintings and ceremonial weapons hung along each wall.

The sounds of laughter and cheering thrummed deeper inside, and Alabaster gave the source as wide a berth as possible. Gaming, gambling, and smuggling. What else do you do here? 

Alabaster made his way gingerly up a spiral staircase, mindful of his feet squeaking on the metal steps. He had spent a lot of time in places like this as a child. Oases of petty men nestled in a bed of filth. The halls of the slave-owners in Urdo had been dressed up just as richly, as if frilly curtains could hide the stink of slavery from their noses. 

I know the tastes of men like you, Raphael. Dress it up as much as you like, but you'll never keep the rats out.

Men like Raphael tried to hide their own vileness in comfort and luxury, dressing up their sins so they could forget it was there. By embracing his darkness Alabaster had found strength – in the disease, the decay, and the death of the world, all of it gave him power. 

Reaching the top floor of the pyramid, Alabaster skirted around the sounds of people, glasses clinking in private rooms, giggles following close. Raphael bought and sold everything, and his kingdom offered any vice one could want, so long as they paid. A servant passed only inches from Alabaster without even realising it, and the dragon went the way they'd come, slipping into a tiny service kitchen. Really it was a pantry and some crockery storage, but that was all he needed.

He cracked the pantry door, inching inside. So much tapestry and decor, yet you people have no idea what's hiding in your walls. He reached down, pushing a claw between the sacks of grain and scooping up a squirming rat in one easy motion. The vermin squealed up at him, wriggling fiercely in his grip. They said no matter where you went in Albedo, you were never more than three strides from a rat. Something to hold their attention while I work.

“A moment of displeasure, little one," he whispered, drawing a bone charm from his pocket. The rat squealed again at him, and as it opened its jowls he shoved the charm inside, stroking the creature's throat until it swallowed the small knucklebone whole. As soon as it passed down his gullet the squirming grew still. Alabaster felt the threads of other pouring off it, the other rats about the building responding in kind. 

Already, rats throughout the district felt the call, the magical summons pulsing through Alabaster's new ally like a relay.

Discard nothing. Fayez's words echoed in his head as he released the rat back into the kitchen. Everything is useful. What others abhor we use as tools. Their vermin, their corpses, whatever is close. 

Cries of horror began to sound deeper within the pyramid as people started noticing the emboldened rats. Alabaster extricated himself from the pantry, making his way back into the hall. As he moved the rats flooded in, drawn to his charm. Through windows and drain pipes, wriggling beneath the gaps in doors they came, two-by-two and four-by-four, crawling over one another, squeaking and clicking in a thick river of diseased fur. 

The chaos rose downstairs as they climbed over tables, bit ankles, stole food off plates. The herd made a thick scratching noise, and Alabaster laughed as he heard gunshots start to fire, patrons and guards alike scrambling to escape the sudden infestation.

The door at the end of the hall made no illusions of humility. It was large, ordained with bronze and silver, sporting a great behemoth of a lock. More importantly, it now stood unguarded.

Raphael's throne awaits. Alabaster tried the handle, and it clicked in near-perfect silence, the well-oiled parts gliding against one another. 

He nudged the door inwards, and it swung open to reveal a splendid office. Square in shape and lined with bookshelves and mounted duelling pistols, a ridiculously large desk placed dead centre in the room, piled high with candles and stacks of ledgers. 

Raphael stood with his back to the door, leaning over a small inner balcony and shouting down into the floor below. He was a lean zebra, dressed in a scaled green tailcoat, a small treasury-worth of rings glittering on his striped fingers. 

“Carve it out! Use shovels if you must!" The zebra waved his arms dramatically, and Alabaster caught sight of the scene below. Card tables and bars swarming with rats, men kicking out and grimacing, women shrieking as they pulled their dresses high. “Get them out I say! What the devil is this madness?!" 

“The devil is right," Alabaster whispered, seizing Raphael by the collar and yanking him down into his seat. The zebra cried out in shock, blinking in disbelief at the ivory dragon suddenly towering over him. 

Not used to people putting their claws on you? 

“Who do you think you are?" Raphael snapped. A jewel-encrusted ring was punched through his nose, and it bounced against his upper lip as he spoke. 

“I admire this," Alabaster said, tapping the ring. “Anyone else would think it far too gaudy for a man of your station. But you make it work." 

“This is preposterous!" It hadn't quite dawned on Raphael what was happening, and he frowned deeply, as if unable to comprehend why this upstart lizard was teasing him. He craned his neck towards the door and Alabaster shook his head regretfully. 

“You'll have to make do with just me."

“You have but one second to explain yourself, you damnable curr, or you'll regret intruding here! Regret it most highly!"

He went to push himself up from the seat, but Alabaster quickly shoved him back down. “Do you think talking like that hides who you are?" He asked, cocking his head, dagger held casually to one side. “Tell me, Raphael, who is it supposed to fool?"

The zebra licked his lips, eyes darting to the blade, and then the door. “I… I have men all throughout this building!" 

“Aren't they busy with your rat problem?" Alabaster leaned in, lips curling back to show his pointed teeth. The sudden fear swelling in Raphael's face sent a rise of joy through his chest. “Men like you disgust me. You crave strength, build yourself up, but inside you're no more than an insecure little boy, so desperate for the approval of your betters."

“Who are you?"

“You helped kill me." 

The zebra's expression was blank. “That does not narrow it down, you fool!" Outside, more shots were going off, the cries of the guards growing more confident as they began to fight back the tide of furious rats. Raphael snorted. “You have made the last mistake of your life in coming here. You think rats will stop my men, rats?! I'm going to have them hold you down and turn those lovely white scales into a fucking coat!"

Alabaster held a claw up to the zebra's face, fingers pinching into an ancient symbol. “Stay." Raphael's eyes bulged as his muscles locked up, clenching against the chair as Alabaster returned to the door. He slammed it shut, racking the bolt to lock it.

“I'll have as long as I need," he said, drawing a seal on the floor just inside the room. “But I cannot say the same for you." 

“Just tell me what you bloody well want!" Raphael hissed, his jaw barely cooperating. “Money? I have it!" 

Alabaster rounded the desk, grinning. “Two foxes, and a goat. They were sent to dispose of a body and search a room in the royal palace. They were hardly the scheming types. You connected them with someone in the aristocracy. Tell me who."

“Bugger your questions!" Raphael bucked, the hypnotic command slowly decaying around his muscles. “I connect many, I have no need for this!" 

“It is your decision," Alabaster said, shrugging. “But if you won't tell me alive, you can always tell me dead." 

The zebra frowned, staring at Alabaster with renewed focus, recognition slowly coming to his eyes. This was a man who played with nobles, he was not unaware of the King's closest advisors. 

“The necromancer," he gasped, trying to squirm back. His feet and fingers could wiggle now, but only slightly. “You! But… but I heard you were dead! Damn it, my men buried you!" 

“Not much can hold me, least of all the grave," Alabaster sniffed. Out in the hall, Raphael's men had finally come. They cried out as they tried the lock, throwing their weight into the gigantic door.

“Break it down you bloody idiots!" The zebra howled, craning his neck. 

Alabaster bent over, meeting his eyes over the desk, kriss blade held loosely beneath Raphael's chin. “Do you suppose they can get to me, before I get to you?" 

“You're a dead man walking!" 

“Keep it up Raphael, you'll be a dead man talking." 

Lesser men would torture. They'd cut and bludgeon until he did what he wanted. Alabaster knew there was no need – this man knew who he was, his imagination would do the rest.

The zebra shook, eyes raging. He seemed to consider his options, and finally relented, sighing deeply. “That job… that was secret. They worked through intermediaries."

“Don't lie." 

“I am not lying!" He spat, chair rocking as he threw himself, hypnotic locks loosening his muscles further every second. Outside, the guards were kicking and tugging on the door, trying to break it apart. “I do not know the name of the client, he used clerks! This is common practice, understood?! Common. Practice."

Alabaster held up his free claw, smoke rising from his fingers as he burnt the grime smeared across his scales.

Raphael wiggled. “B-b-but… there is a poisoner, yes, a poisoner we used. The one who concocted it. The client was very specific in the kind of man he wanted."

Alabaster snarled, the men were making progress on the door, and Raphael's bonds were nearly spent.

“Give me a name, Raphael, a fucking name!" 

“Sarento!" The zebra cried, huffing. “Sarento is his name! Some foreigner from Koringrad! He was arrested, last I heard."

“For what?"

Raphael sighed. “Poisoning." 

Sarento. That'll have to do. 

The hypnotic bonds snapped, and Raphael threw himself forward. He seized a letter-opener from his desk, diving at Alabaster. The dragon slipped aside as he came stumbling past, putting a claw to Raphael's back and shoving him towards his door. 

“Now!" The door burst open in a hail of splinters, revealing a gaggle of five men, two armed with pistols and the rest with swords. 

Raphael whirled towards them, catching the door frame as his foot came down on the sigil Alabaster had placed on the floor. Electric red light lanced upwards, bathing the room in a murderous red glow. The smell of sizzling meat filled the air as the light dissipated instantly, the zebra's body falling into two neatly divided halves, each piece smouldering. 

The men screamed at the bifurcated remains of their employer. 

“Samman's men!" Someone cried. Alabaster ran for the balcony window, two shots going off behind him. The first exploded harmlessly into the wall, blowing dust and brickwork out across his face. The second shot ripped into his side, the momentum throwing him around as he crashed into the railing, crying out as he flipped over into the air. 

Alabaster went weightless for a moment, before crashing down into a card table, the wood shattering beneath him as chips and paper exploded into the air. Rats were still scurrying about on the floor, though they made room to part around him as he clambered to his knees, dragging himself forward as the men cried out above. Pain burned through his side, shimmering down his leg and stabbing into his organs. Do not stop, nothing vital, it is only the weakness of the flesh. 

“Hey now!" Said a wolf at the door, stepping forward, eyes shooting between Alabaster and the balcony he'd fallen from. 

“Stop him! Stop!" The men shouted from Raphael's office. The wolf frowned in puzzlement and Alabaster shanked him in the gut, doubling the guard over as he pushed by. More shots were fired, the imprecise lead balls from their pistols blowing apart the ground around him. 

Outside the chaos was even worse. The inhabitants of the pyramid had all streamed into the street, and they stood dumbfounded, cries and questions erupting with every new shot. Alabaster shoved through them, the pursuing cries of the guards chasing down in the distance.

“Move!" He snarled, shoving a woman aside as he reached the bridge out. The opposite side was blocked off by more of Raphael's men, and he cursed the poor exit.

Alabaster whirled, seeing the guards from inside the pyramid breaking through the crowd. His side was agony, each breath sending ricochets of agony bouncing up his side. 

He eyed the canal, the filthy, sewage-filled water streaming by. It would be like taking a bath in disease.

Discard no option, no matter how vile. He cursed Fayez beneath his breath, and just as the guards made it through the crowd – Alabaster hurled himself off the bridge and into the water.