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Chapter 256: The Ethics of Vengeance

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"I have a question about the thralls," said Danny.

"Oh, with that tone it sounds more like an accusation," said Nephthys.

Clockwork tapped her with the end of his staff. "Let him ask his question."

"I have a question, too," said Skulker, raising one of his mechanical hands.

Nephthys snorted. "No, you can't leave. How do you expect to get better at this?" She gestured at the skeleton thrall.

Wow, Danny was, as always, surprised by how expressive Skulker's 'face' could be.

"I've been looking things up, because some things about the thralls bothered me."

"Good practice."

"Okay, well, I found out that, traditionally, when people are sentenced to be thralls, the sentence is read as 'Their souls shall be bound to their bones, even as their flesh rots, and they shall be buried beneath the Black Castle until they have repaid their debts and redeemed themselves.'"

"Yes, and?"

"That sounds a whole lot different from 'lights on, no one home' and 'their souls are long gone.' Which is what you guys told me before."

"Well, you see," said Clockwork, touching his fingertips together and then drawing them apart, "they're both true."

"How can they both be true?"

"Well," said Nephthys, "this guy has no soul." She shook the thrall. "Also, he's missing some bones. Well, some of them are replaced with strictly ectoplasmic constructs, but same difference."

"Oh my gosh," said Danny. "That is an incredibly tiny loophole. They—" he inhaled deeply, "—the thralls don't have souls, but, what, the people they were made from, they're still buried under Pariah's Keep? Their souls or whatever? In the missing bones?"

"The thralls have to be powered somehow, assuming they aren't inhabited. The Black Castle is actually something more of an antenna, distributing power. Ha! Do you remember that one guy? The Serbian? His face when he found out!"

"Not particularly."

"He was active in Method for a while there, the more American section. Had a rivalry with another guy."

"Not ringing a bell."

"The other guy was his boss when they were alive. It was so funny."

"Clearly not that funny."

"Okay, okay," said Danny. "Can we go back to how you lied to me about the thralls?"

Nephthys crossed her arms. "We didn't, really."

"Creatively omitted information, then. Don't you see that this is kind of a messed up punishment for people? How long do people usually stay buried under the keep?"

Nephthys looked at Clockwork.

"That's under your jurisdiction as much as mine," said Clockwork, in protest, holding his staff close.

"Sure, but I don't keep track of how lone it takes for things to change."

"Well?" asked Danny.

Clockwork made a face. "A while."

"Guys…"

Nephthys sighed and sat down in the air. "You think the punishment is terrible and immoral and that we're being horrible for wanting you to use its product."

"Well, yeah," said Danny.

Nephthys frowned at him, contemplative. "We've already gone over how what they've done is worse."

Danny nodded.

"And you know it's not actually slavery. You're not making them do anything. They're just imprisoned."

Danny's nod was more hesitant this time.

"Those should be the two main issues. But you're still having trouble with this." It was said as a statement, not a question.

"It's just..." He shook his head. "It just seems cruel to do to anyone. Couldn't we just, I don't know, execute them?"

"Daniel," said Clockwork. "We're ghosts. Surely you see the issues inherent in that."

"But wouldn't their hate of ghosts rip them apart from the inside? They can't become ghosts, right?" That's what he'd always believed would happen, anyway.

"Maybe," said Nephthys. "If they really hate ghosts that much rather than just being generally awful and wanting to hurt people. Or if they aren't full of double-think and cognitive dissonance. But is that a risk you want to take?"

"Aren't there ways to keep them from becoming ghosts? Can't you stop them from becoming ghosts? You're the Master of Death."

"Yeah, this." She pointed at the practice thrall.

"Other than this."

"Arguably nastier than this."

"Let's try this from a different angle," said Clockwork, stepping forward. "Daniel, would you say Nephthys and I are bad people?"

"Excuse me," interrupted Skulker, "but can I leave?"

Clockwork fixed him with a baleful gaze. "Please do."

Skulker made himself scarce.

"You're going to have to get him back," said Nephthys.

"No, of course I don't think you're bad people," said Danny, folding his arms uncomfortably.

"By modern human moral standards-"

"And they have changed over time," interjected Nephthys.

"-we would most likely be judged irredeemable monsters."

"The Grim Reaper thing isn't always a joke," said Nephthys, helpfully. "I've killed and ended more people than I could even begin to count."

"I have allowed countless tragedies to take place that I could easily have prevented."

"And he's also killed and ended people."

"That is true."

Danny looked between the two of them. "What's the point here?"

"Just let me continue for a little longer," said Clockwork. "What do you think of the concept of hell?"

"I'm… Honestly, I always thought it was a extreme, for most people. Even really bad people."

"Most people, but not all."

"I'm not a god, grandfather."

"No, and being held in thrall isn't hell. It ends, for one thing, and the processes used by Libra to determine sentencing aren't arbitrarily decided by a single being."

"What about the people condemned by Lady Ereshkigal?"

"Are you going to hold yourself responsible for the acts of the Core?"

Danny blanched slightly. "No," he said. That was close to… well, not sacrilege, since that was a legal definition in the Realms, but it was something along the lines of claiming to be responsible for acts of god… which was sort of the point, Danny supposed.

"Then don't worry about it. The Lady Ereshkigal essentially is a god. Do you condemn mushrooms for growing on corpses?"

"No," said Danny. "But… Isn't this different from just… coming across misfortune by chance and benefiting from it?" He grimaced. That didn't sound quite right, either.

"We don't want to dictate your feelings to you, Daniel," said Clockwork, softly, "However… The crimes being discussed here are not human-scale crimes, and we ghosts require different reassurances than humans when it comes to justice and revenge. If not emotionally, perhaps you can approach this from an intellectual standpoint?"

Danny shrugged. "I don't actually mind if you are trying to tell me how to feel. That's sort of... that's how people learn how to feel about things, a lot of the time. You don't come into existence with morals, right? They have to be taught."

"Eh," said Nephthys, "it depends, actually."

Danny sat down. "It's just - I do want them to be punished. I want them to be punished so much. And - More than that. More than just punishment, I want to make sure they can never hurt my people ever again."

(Unnoticed by Danny, the skies of the Realms grew darker. The ever-present mists contracted and zinged with electric power. Then the moment was over.)

"What if, to do that, I go too far? Isn't this too far? What if I decide-?"

"Daniel," interrupted Clockwork. "I think you're overlooking that you aren't the one deciding what happens to these people. The Court of Libra, the general proceedings of which you do not control, is."

"But I'm letting it happen and then benefitting from it. Isn't that just as bad?"

"You've argued at every opportunity to have them not be made into thralls. That's hardly letting it happen."

"Wait," said Nephthys, floating into an upright position, "just backing up a moment. Are you feeling guilty about not feeling guilty?"

Danny opened his mouth to argue and found he couldn't.

"Also, a few days ago, you were trying to convince us to reduce your powers as monarch, and now you're wanting to stick your nose into the business of the courts? That's weird, dude."

Danny dropped his hands from his head into his lap and alternated between looking at them and glaring at Nephthys. "There's something wrong with that argument," he said, finally. "I don't know what it is, but there's definitely something wrong."

"Yes, but yours is full of holes, too, so I win!"

"I don't think that's how that works…"

"Yes, it is."

"It really isn't."

Danny watched the two Ancients bicker with one another, and decided that in this case, there probably wasn't an absolute moral right. He'd still agonize about it.

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Meanwhile, Dmitri was agonizing about something completely different.

He'd been riding on top of the car for quite some time, now. It had been going well, he thought. They hadn't noticed him. But now they had pulled into a small military airport and were loading up onto an airplane. He didn't know if he should get on the airplane, too. He was fairly confident he could find his way back to the city and the embassy from here, but if he got on the plane? Maybe not so much. And he was getting tired.

He didn't know what would happen if he ran out of energy. Would he 'revert' to human form like Danny did? Or would he stay a ghost? Would he get bigger? Would he stay naturally small? He didn't know. He'd made sure to go to sleep at normal, respectable times.

In retrospect, he really hadn't prepared for this very well. He should have listened to Jazz. He was going to be in so much trouble when he slinked back home…

It was then that he realized he had decided to turn around and give up. His shoulders slumped. That was kind of lame of him. If Danny was in his place, would he go forward? Would that be the smart thing? The brave thing?

He had no idea.

Quietly, he flew away from the cars. The least he could do was not give himself away and make the humans suspicious of them. No diplomatic incidents here, no sir, no ma'am, no Sam.

Wait. Was that a pun?

He paused, contemplating. It was, at least, pun adjacent.

He wilted. A pun… and no one here to torment with it.

He sighed, the sound tiny in the comparatively vast space in the field between the runways. If he was going to feel sorry for himself, he might as well apply that feeling to everything.

There was enough room along the side of the road to travel comfortably without worrying about running into cars, and Dmitri prepared himself for a long journey back home.

A wisp of mist slipped from between his lips, and he frowned. Wasn't that-?

He lost track of the thought as he was attacked.

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Lydia had been following at a distance. Freakshow wanted this, but there was always a chance that things weren't going perfectly to plan, that this was a shell game of sorts. Politicians were famous for them.

She, of course, noticed the small ghost riding along on top of Freakshow's car. She had contemplated capturing it for later use by Freakshow – even if it was weak, it would still have abilities far beyond those of humans – but if it was smarter or stronger than expected, the fight could attract unwanted attention. Attention Freakshow wouldn't like.

So, she watched and waited.

And, eventually, the little ghost left the cars, left the dubious safety they provided.

She waited for it to get to the road, far enough away that humans would be hard-pressed to see it or her. Or, she should say, her tattoos.

She didn't like fighting directly if she could help it.

The little ghost let out a tiny eep as her bat sideswiped it and pinned it down. The snake wrapped around it, but it hardly seemed necessary. She let herself smile, softly, smugly.

Something hit her shoulder, and she found herself pinned down in much the same way.

"Lydia, I presume," rumbled Sojourn. "Release my son, or I will make you regret ever having formed."