Chapter Thirty-Three
Behold, in Darkness
The rising moon cast its pale light upon the shadows and cold sands of the desert earth. The black spike of the Lord's Royal Tower glowed faintly like a ghostly apparition in the cold, blue light. Through the high, black doors, which operated on the backs of large, castiron hinges, laid an intertwined and complex system of narrow halls and labyrinthine corridors.
The design of the Tower — its tall and narrow construction — had prevented its long-forgotten builders from carving rooms of any great width or depth, hence the rooms were small, yet many. The ceilings were tall enough for mammals of any size, and often carved in peculiar shapes to allow other halls and corridors to fit neatly beside them, without breaking into an opposing room or, worse still, chipping an unfixable gap in the side of the tower.
The corridors of this Tower were long and winding — with slopes and spiral staircases — which slipped like serpents between rooms and other corridors, an unmappable, complex maze of chambers and stairways. Few could navigate their way from point A to point B without becoming lost. Only one knew the layout of the whole place by heart.
The craftsmen, who built the tower over an age ago, had been faultless in their construction. In over a thousand occasions, the slightest of errors on the part of the builder would have spoiled the overall effect — two corridors may not have joined up, the floor of a room may have been tilted off-center, the hall of one room may have come too close to the hall of another and broken through — yet all was designed to perfection.
The Lord's Royal Tower was, at one time, alive and busy with the comings and goings of the Republic of the City Council, who once administrated the city of Zistopia... before He had come, before the dark times had befell, before 'The Master' took matters into his own two paws.
The gray-clad figure's foot came upon the last, black step of a long, black staircase. He reached out a soft paw and parted the tall, black doors with a single push. The doors swept back without complaint, accepting without question the will of its master's paw. The Lord of Zistopia stepped from the cold of the corridor and into the warm, steamy air of the Royal Tower's bath chamber, while Sir Appleby — secretary, valet and butler to Zistopia's Lord and all his domestic affairs — nodded to Him in acknowledgment, and then poured another bucket of steaming water into the wide, circular bathtub which had been carved into a piece of elevated rock many eons ago.
The tall, male badger stepped back respectfully from the full bathtub to allow his Master to enter, hence wordlessly informing Him that his bath was ready. The Lord liked Appleby: he knew his place and he kept to himself. He would obey any order given and was always apt and efficient in his doing of the task, and would glide noiselessly out of the room to perform it. The very calmness and infallible logic, with which his mind worked in, had always been of credit to the Lord's own sharp mind. But what He liked most was that there was far more to the badger than met the eye. Further, he always kept neat and clean, dressing each day in what would be best described as the traditional valet's outfit: dark suit, spotless white shirt, crisply pressed trousers, and he never allowed a spot of dislike to linger anywhere in the surroundings for long.
But one of the finest things about Sir Appleby was that he always seemed to know exactly what was going on. There was a time when the Lord had been disturbed by this, and had taken precautionary steps to have him... 'erased'. But as the years passed on, He came to understand, Sir Appleby's loyalty lay with the Lord of Zistopia and the Lord of Zistopia only.
Zistopia's lord stepped towards the steaming pool of water, slipped his moonlight-gray bathrobe from his shoulders and handed it over to Appleby, who folded it with expert ease — unabashed by the fact his master was now naked before him. No, that old badger had seen worse things over the years and was far too much a professional to so much as bat an eyelid anyway.
The sleek body of Zistopia's lord was toned and shimmered in the soft light. His jet-black fur was as smooth as his own voice while his lips opened to reveal his reflective-alabaster teeth. His eyes were bright and shone with the glittering color of gold. His paws were swift and dexterous. He was a panther, his fur black as Death itself.
He walked and moved with a kind of sophisticated charm, and held the manner and air of one who knew he could never be bested, one who knew He held all the cards. The Lord of Zistopia breathed contentedly, as he stepped into the watery heat. He sat, ran the pad of a black paw across one arm and grimaced at the numerous grains of sand which dislodged from his usually smooth fur. Reaching out, he picked up a scrubbing brush and started roughing the filth away from his natural coat.
"Sir," said Appleby, his voice not precisely humorless, yet dry and perfectly logical, "Mister Nyilas is now available for communication."
The Lord's gaze slowly rose. "It's over twenty minutes since I asked, isn't it?"
"Quite, Sir. He has, indeed, been most tardy in responding."
"Very well," the Lord said, returning to his scrubbing, "put him through."
"Very good, Sir." Appleby drifted from the room, pacing silently into another, opposite from which he returned a moment later, carrying a laptop computer. He walked to stand directly in front of his Lordship and opened the laptop, revealing a moving image of Victor Nyilas. The badger remained motionlessly holding the laptop in his master's direction as He spoke, obediently and patiently waiting for his master to be done.
The image of Victor Nyilas, spoke, "My Lord," he started, "it's good to see—"
"Less of a delay is required next time, I think."
"I, I couldn't just leave! I was giving my students a lectu—"
"Come again?" His soft gaze rose to meet the Professor's. Victor was a billy goat past his prime, who sat nervously upon an office chair and behind a large desk. His fur was mostly a brownish-gray, but for several patches of offish-white, and he had two tan horns which formed curls just above his flat ears.
The goat stuttered, his focus failing and lowering to his desk a moment later. "N-n-nothing, your Lordship."
"That's better," the Lord nodded and then smiled as he relaxed back into his wide, circular bathtub, making a low groaning sound as the soft heat further enveloped his fur and skin. Nyilas sat silently while he waited for what he knew was to come. It did. "Now, this matter of our most recent drug-shipment—"
"I did all I could, your Lordship," Nyilas pleaded, "but what happened was out of my power! I couldn't—"
"You should have been able to detain one old shiphand in his late sixties," the Lord cut in, his usually musical tone of voice replaced with one of iron will, one that had the strength to make all who'd hear it flinch. "And your failure to do this simple task surgeons to me that you intentionally allowed this dog… this Shuck, to escape."
"My Lord, I would never—"
"And we know what happens to turncoats, don't we?"
Victor Nyilas shuffled further into his seat, as though unconsciously trying to hide beneath his desk's cover. The Lord of Zistopia appeared to have lost interest in speaking with him as his gaze fell away, and his leg became exposed from beneath the water and onto the edge of the luxurious bathtub. He took back his brush and then started purifying the jet-black fur of his limb.
Nyilas picked up the courage to speak, "Sir, I... I entrusted the coyote, George, to protect the shipment. I wasn't even there! This is his fault that—"
"George the Coyote is an idiot," He said without looking up, "that's why he's useful. You should have known full well it would be unwise to trust him with something of importance."
"My... my Lord, I do, humbly, beg your forgiveness!"
"Begging is of no use to our cause though, is it? What is of use to our cause is money— and lots of it. Money," He continued, tersely, "provided by our vast network of drug trafficking."
"Surely you have enough by now."
"Not quite," the Lord said, simply. "But soon, very soon, we will have gathered enough to initiate stage two. And then... well..." he chuckled, dryly, "like a line of dominoes, the rest will just come tumbling down on its own accord."
"God," the goat muttered to himself, "if but they knew of the future that awaits them."
The Lord's now-piercing gaze rose once again. "But of course, they're not going to know, are they?"
Once again, fear grew in the billy goat's mind, and his eyes scurried away onto the desk. "Certainly not, my Lord."
The Lord smiled, but it was one full of deceit. "Tonight... there will be another shipment of drugs t—"
"B-but, my Lord, the guards!"
"The guards will not be there." Victor was fully flummoxed, the Lord continued, "For six o'clock tonight, Chief Bogo, the head of the Zootopia Police Department, has organized a police raid on... on one of our hives. When this happens, he will order all officers to attend, leaving the docks free for another shipment to enter... seeing as how the last shipload was cut short."
"Wouldn't it be better to take precautionary steps against them?"
"Your job is to follow orders, Nyilas, not to think. And anyway, if we took precautionary steps to disallow officers' access to the building, then they may be reassigned to the post of guarding the docks, hence we may, yet again, be foiled."
"So the Hive being found out is—"
"A necessary sacrifice, yes."
The goat frowned. "How do you know what the police are planning?"
The Lord's gaze rose to meet the goat's. "That is not your concern. All you need know is that Officers Judy Hopps and Nick Wilde will be attempting to sneak into the premises of Erkin Electrical at some point this afternoon. They must be allowed to do this. They must find proof of foul play."
"Hopps and Wilde? You wanted them dead, didn't you?"
"No," he shot, sitting forwards through disdain, "only the rabbit should die. You hear me? The fox lives!" The goat watched nervously as his master slowly retreated back in the bath. The Lord smiled, a thin grin spreading quickly across the length of his black muzzle. "The fox lives. But leave the rabbit to me," He said, "I have..." a number of short, mocking little laughs escaped his lips.
"I have another operative working on her. Your job, is to oversee tonight's shipment personally, and—"
"— but my Lord—"
"— and to ensure nothing comes between me and success. Understand?"
Victor's gaze faltered, but he managed to hold it with the Lord's own. "I... I understand perfectly, my Lord."
"And this time, Mister Nyilas, you will not fail me."
"N-not at all, M-Master."
The Lord scrubbed dirt absently from beneath his claws. "Because you know what will happen if you fail, don't you?" he asked. "By your paw or by mine: it will happen." The Lord of Zistopia watched Nyilas from the corner of his eye, as the goat stuttered silently and shrank back within himself. The Lord leaned forwards, a wry smile growing on his lips. "Well," he said as he reached for the 'end call' button, "I'm glad we understood one another. Be seeing you." And then, with a click, the image of Victor Nyilas vanished into black.
The Lord of Zistopia smiled, and his eyes fell closed as he relaxed sat low in the steamy warmth of his comforts. He chuckled a couple of times, then one of his eyes half-opened. "You are dismissed, Secretary Appleby."
"Thank you, Sir," replied the stony badger. He bowed, closed the laptop, turned and glided steadily from the room, the high black door of the jutting stone tower closing with a recurring clunk, which echoed around the polished stone walls, ceiling and floor.
The black panther chuckled once more as his paws came to rest behind his head, sitting back further into the soft heat and leering out through the high, glass windows that were cut expertly into the side of the black tower...
He looked upon the shining-white of the moon as it whispered upon the squalor of Zistopia's streets and the ethereally glowing grandeur of its Royal Tower.
…
Author's notes:
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Grooms decision thus chosen blind.
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