Prologue
Two foxes, both standing, staring at each other. That is what the onlookers see. Two foxes, their gazes locked, their arms at their sides. The guns in their hands just loaded and checked. The doctor turned around for deniability. A duel, a manner of settling a slight of one fox by another. One fox an experienced duelist with dozens of successes under his belt, the other a fox scorned. One a fox of influence and power, the other a mere tailor. Their seconds look at each other, and began their count.
"One."
The powerful fox muses. I have imagined death so often it feels to me like a friend I've yet to meet. Shall I finally get to meet him, or will this man have the pleasure before me?
The other simply regrets having challenged.
"Two."
The tailor wonders. Will I take this man's life? Will he take mine? Which is worse?
The other smirks.
"Three."
The fox of influence doubts. If I am given the honor of meeting death, however, will it be worth it?
The other continues to fear.
"Four."
The scorned fox hopes. Maybe we'll both miss. Then I'll claim I am satisfied, and I can go on with life.
The other sighs.
"Five."
The experienced duelist continues to doubt. Will meeting death be worth never seeing her again?
The other continues to hope.
"Six."
The clothier thinks. But what if he doesn't miss? I'll never see my wife or daughter again.
The other thinks as well.
"Seven."
The successful fox fears. I have imagined death so often it feels to me like a friend I've yet to meet. Is this where he takes me? Will this be my legacy? A death at the hand of a tailor, a marriage devoid of the love that previously filled it, a daughter orphaned as I was?
The other fears as well.
"Eight."
The inexperienced fox tightens his grip on his pistol. I'm a terrible shot. All my fellow soldiers in the army would agree. I'll never hit him, I'll die here. I'll… I'll never see them again.
The other's grip tightens as well.
"Nine."
Both foxes think. This fox will not make an orphan of my daughter.
They begin to raise their guns. Whether to the sky or each other, neither is quite sure.
"Ten."
Click. Fizz. Boom. The two guns fire simultaneously. Dust and smoke envelope both of the duelists, shrouding them after their shots. And as the dust settles, the three onlookers, the duelists' respective seconds, and the doctor who turned around after hearing the shots, watch as the scene unfurls before their eyes.
Two foxes, one sprawled over the dirt, a pool of blood gathering around him. The other, shaking. He drops his gun, his hands trembling, his mind wondering, What have I done? What. Have. I. Done? The seconds drag him away as he trembles, the doctor rushes to the other fox. One has died, the other has lived, and an innocent wife and daughter have become an innocent widow and orphan.
Chapter One
Ten years earlier.
A ship slowly trails up the coast, and a single mammal, standing on the bow looks out over the harbor they are entering and sees the coastline of a city across it. The buildings are not large, many only being houses and shops, and the majority being less than three stories, but they were packed together and numbered at least in the hundreds.
Dozens of spires and bell towers from churches rose up from the stunted skyline, and the mammal's face morphs into a small smile. A new city, in which he could be a new mammal. A realm of possibilities stretching as far as his eyes could see. A city where he wouldn't experience the ignominious reputation for which he was known on that hellish isle of his birth. The bastard son of a whorish woman and an unsuccessful plantation owner who left when the young mammal was only nine years of age, for fear of debtor's prison he fled the isle, leaving his son and paramour behind.. His father had left, and his mother was dead. He was an orphan in Sainte-Renard, but here in Zootopia City, he could be anything. He could rise up over his stunted youth, like the spires and bell towers over a stunted skyline.
The ship docked, and the mammal stepped down, climbing the ladder down to the dock, and upon his paws hitting the ground, he looked around, straightened his tricorne hat, and sauntered off the dock into the city. After a few hours of wandering, learning the layout of the city, he came to the infamous red district, where his destination, Queen's College, was located. He tried to shut out the hollering of the various mammals along either side of the thin street, advertising their services to him, and he pulled his hat down closer to his eyes. He came out the other end of the alley, into a large, graveled common square. A large statue stood in the center, brass gilded over lead, in a likeness of King Leo IV, standing at least twenty feet tall, clad in the robes of a roman emperor, a golden wreath atop his mane. His right arm held out, bent at the elbow, in a roman salute, his right holding a massive flagpole, flying the Union Jack. Soldiers in red uniforms marched through the square, performing their midday drills, rifles over their shoulders, bayonets already fixed. The mammal couldn't help but look on in awe.
"Thinkin' of stealin' that statue, fox? Keep movin'!" shouted another soldier from behind him. The fox kept his head high, refusing to bow to such a prejudiced soldier. He moved along though, knowing the line between disrespect and insubordination was near. He crossed the square, coming to a large, walled in compound. Another flagpole was inside the gate, flying the Union Jack, and below it, the flag of Queen's College. He walked through the large gate and found himself on a grassy yard, with other young mammals milling about, and he crossed the yard to the main building, crossing the threshold into the lobby and being greeted by yet another sight of overwhelming beauty. The room was lined with stone columns, a tile floor, and a vaulted ceiling. It reminded him of the paintings of castles he'd seen in his bosses' offices. At the far end of the room was a desk with a young male wolf. The fox walks up to the desk.
"Hello. Nick Wilde, here to see the headmaster Aaron Bear." said the fox, and the wolf didn't look up from the letter he was writing, just pointing to a door on the side of the room. Nick walked over to it, opening it slowly.
"Excuse me, are you Aaron Bear, sir?" Nick asked as he entered the room.
"Well that depends. Who's asking?" replied the bear sitting at his desk, spectacles dangling from his nose.
"Oh, well sure, sir. I'm Nick Wilde, a new student here at Queen's College, sir."
"I see. What are you going to study?"
"Law, sir."
"Hum… Law? I've never heard of a fox wanting to study the law for any good reason. You aren't just interested in skirting the law, are you, Mr. Wilde?"
"No, sir. I'm interested in becoming a solicitor, sir."
"Why, that would be a first. A fox solicitor. Why not try for governor while you're at it?"
"Sir, if you don't think I'm fit for the law, that's fine. Let me prove you wrong, sir."
"Fine." said the bear, letting out a sigh. "You'll get a shot at it, but if you make one mistake, break the college's rules one time, you're out. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Nick walked into the inn, and up to the small bar, behind which stood an elderly armadillo.
"What do you want, fox?"
"Just a room. And… three boiled eggs, please."
"That'll be a crown and tanner, fox."
Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out five shilling coins and a sixpence coin and handed them to the armadillo, who looked over each coin as if checking to see they were real. He then handed Nick a key and wrapped three boiled eggs in a piece of cloth.
"Room 105, fox."
Nick made his way to the room and set down his suitcase, breathing in the scent of the room. By Zootopian standards, it was terrible. The paint was peeling from the walls, it was undersized, and the bed, if you could even call it that, was horrendous. But Nick was used to life in Sainte-Renard as a peasant, and while it was somewhat better than the life of a Sainte-Renardian slave, that was of little comfort to the peasants. Nick was just happy to have his own walls for the paint to peel from. Where he was from, most peasants lived six or eight to a room, not much larger than the ones at this inn. He unpacked his case, hanging his only other suit and his two other shirts on the clothes valet in the corner, placing his additional neckcloths, his sole luxury, of which he had seven plus the one he wore, all of beautiful china silk, patterned in paisleys and swirls. Each neckcloth had cost him a half sovereign, or ten shillings.\
He exited the room, locked the door, and went back down to the tavern portion of the inn. A group of mammals sat at one table, loudly discussing the crop blight in the Burrows and the losses it was inflicting on trade with the region. At another table were two soldiers, playing checkers, and at yet another table was what looked like a crazy man, but was more likely just a drunkard. Nick left the building, deciding it would be better to take a walk about town. He headed toward the college, thinking there would be some sort of event occurring, such as a game of cricket or a foot race to watch. As he approached the square, however, he heard shouting. As he got closer, he saw a donkey standing on a wooden pedestal, yelling to a small crowd of onlookers.
"Why should Leo here be allowed to quarter his men in our homes?! Why should he get to do that, and still tax our property, our paper, our food, our drink, and everything else we own?! No more! Rise up, Zootopia! Rise up!" As the donkey said this, five soldiers ran up to the pedestal, guns aimed forward.
"Get down, you ass!" yelled one, and the donkey brayed.
"No! I will not yield! Down with King Leo IV, Up with Zootopia!" he shouted as one of the soldiers' bayonets penetrated his suit. Blood leaked out of the donkey's mouth as another bayonet pierced his side, and the crowd's shouting grew louder. They descended on the soldiers, the three who hadn't stabbed the donkey fired a volley into the crowd and then bayoneted several others in the mob. The other two then fired into the crowd as well, as one of the mob split open a soldier's head with a rock. Ten other soldiers ran into the square, and arrested the crowd. As the mob was dragged away, kicking and screaming, Nick saw the dead strewn about the southern quarter of the square, one soldier and at least ten civilians, as well as the donkey slumped over his pedestal. A soldier approached Nick, gun aimed at him.
"You one of those crowd?" he barked at Nick. Nick's hands slowly rose into a position of surrender.
"Long live King Leo IV, sir. I'm merely a student at Queen's, sir." Nick replied, and was surprised when the soldier just grunted and walked away. Given the carnage he'd just witnessed, Nick was sure he'd be arrested or killed, if only to shut him up. He thought open displays of violence were a thing of the West Indian Islands. Perhaps Zootopia wasn't quite so different from Sainte-Renard after all.
