Greetings! I actually had what's going to be chapter 20 now ready much earlier, but after looking at it as a potential chapter 19, I decided a couple of things needed covering before we saw the police reaction; namely, the much-pondered question of what Vanya was doing anyway. So before we move on to tomorrow, let's take a look at the city… with evil on the rise.
Proofread by JrRangerScout and Hawktooth
"Prepare if you can, (creatures of) Redwall. Cluny is coming, and no mouse – alive or otherwise – is going to stop him."
Cluny the Scourge, Redwall: The Animated Series
"In the latest news, the city is in turmoil over a Night Howler attack that occurred just three hours ago. For those just tuning in, the nightmare unfolded at the Zootopia Community Center when civic and business leader Regis Killrahb, making ready for the much anticipated Unity Concert, was darted with the infamous plant extract. We have now confirmed the rumor that, at the time of his darting, he was close to an electrical system being prepared for the event. Consequently, his rampage has been officially identified as the cause of the fire."
The broadcast cut to a clip from earlier of the building in question, seen from a helicopter. There were few flames to be seen, but thick black smoke still billowed from every window, and there was a sizable hole in one side of the building.
"The fire is still burning, but we have word from the fire department that it is now under control and should soon be out. No word yet if the building will be salvageable or not."
The screen returned to the snow leopard and her anchor, who picked up the narrative.
"The police have not yet released any official statement, but it seems as though this is some new element in the recent Bellwether Conspiracy. With the plot against predators exposed, the motive for these new crimes remains un-"
Judy closed her browser, cutting off the rest of the news broadcast. It had been depressing enough the first time, and by now she had lost count of how many rehashes the story had endured.
Her own side of the story was, if possible, even worse.
After the flop at the Community Center, and failing to get in touch with Chief Bogo, Judy had briefly informed Officer Higgins that they had nothing to report as to who might have committed the crime. The consternation stirred up by their brief brush with Vanya had only made things worse.
For want of any better plan, she and Nick had retreated back to her apartment – and then to Nick's after an argument broke out between the neighbors over what kind of job the police were (or weren't) doing to handle the crisis.
To Judy's surprise and unease, Nick hadn't even made a wisecrack about her moving out of the dump. That was the other thing that was bothering her. It would have been bad enough that the city had been attacked on her watch, that she'd been helpless to stop it, and that her top suspect was literally taunting her to her face. Seeing how it all got to Nick, though... that just about did her in.
"Any idea how we can stop her?" she asked. There was no need to say whom she meant.
He shook his head. "She's good; the best Mr. Big has." Knowing what must be on her mind, he added, "That's kind of how she and I met. Mr. Big put us in touch; probably hoped that she'd help, uh, secure my loyalty."
Judy could guess what he meant. She knew that in old times, royalty would give their daughters to other royalty as a way of ensuring peace between territories. It probably shouldn't have surprised her so much that a crime boss in the present would do something so similar with his staff, but it still made her feel sick. Even with them now being sort-of family (once or twice removed), it was a tough thing to stomach.
She looked at her phone again, wondering when Mr. Big would answer her message... and if Vanya would realize they had complained. If that happened, she could only imagine the kind of trouble the white vixen would give them next.
Over in TundraTown, the self-same vixen leaned over Mr. Big's desk and kissed the shrew's tiny ring. The dim light and dark fixtures harmonized to the uttermost with the dark nature of their business.
"Did everything go as planned?" asked the shrew, steepling his fingers.
The smile decorating Vanya's pallid visage was all her own: sinister, salacious, and thoroughly pleased. "I could not have asked for better," she purred. "The Cloven Hoof's manager never saw half of what Amelia and I have to offer, and he hired us both without a thought." The nature of the half the manager hadn't seen needed no discussion.
"I trust you will not mind being waitresses for a while," Mr. Big ventured. "I know it's below your usual standing." This comment was, of course, purely in sport. They both knew very well that Vanya would endure many indignities – even revel in some – as long as she was able to rip someone down from a seemingly impregnable perch at the end of it. It was the moment of dawning realization she loved best about her job; the sudden epiphany on the part of her chosen victim that they had been well and thoroughly betrayed.
"Just doing my job," she replied, curtsying. "If those sheep are hiding there, we'll have them soon. I promise."
"Correction," came the nasal answer. "The authorities will have them. We do nothing unless I say otherwise. If we take out the sheep, the search will go on and risk leading to us, and whether the sheep are criminals or not our... unsavory history might be exposed. If the authorities do it, the sheep still get theirs... and, should I ever need to use it, the police will owe me a favor."
Vanya suppressed a scowl. It was one thing to play subservience to someone while plotting their ruin; to tally up one indignity after another while plotting how to repay each and every one a dozen fold. It was quite another, however, when her boss – the one mammal besides her 'sisters' whom she respected enough to fear – talked about working in cooperation with the law. I knew he was going soft when he married his little Fru-Fru off to an honest shrew, she mused. Though she officially minded her own business and did her job, she knew everything that went on in that house. Everything.
Mr. Big regarded her warily. "I understand you were at the little incident in Savannah Central," he added gravely.
"You sent me to get information about missing sheep with Night Howler darts," she answered calmly – and yet, perhaps, a tad defensively. "Mass chaos seemed like a can't-miss, and now we know it was Night Howlers."
The shrew eyed her distrustfully from under his thick brow. "And your old flame Wilde had nothing to do with it?"
Vanya could feel her blood pressure spike. The only ones who would even know to report that to her boss were Amelia, Nick, and that bunny. She would have laid down any odds someone cared to name against Nick bringing such a complaint to Mr. Big, and Amelia would cut her own tongue out before snitching on any of the sisters. Pesky rabbit, she thought with disgust and annoyance.
"I didn't even know Nick would be there," she answered coldly.
It was clear enough that the shrew was not convinced. "I want you to stay away from Wilde," he said point-blank, aiming a warning claw at her. "Things are strictly business between you two now. You had your chance, Vanya. Move along."
The meeting concluded, and as Vanya left the room she glanced around for polar bears before letting her body express itself. The moment she was satisfied of the massive mammals' absence, her fur puffed out in anger and her ears snapped flat against her head. Her paws curled tight as the very blood in her veins seemed to turn to fire. It had been bad enough when Nick had turned her down. Nobody – nobody! – turned her down. Now, to have that miserable rabbit reporting to Mr. Big if she stepped out of line and had a little fun…
No. No cop was going to get in her way. Hopps wasn't the first to come sniffing around her trail, looking to pin her to the wall. However, all former comers had boiled down to strict business. This time, it was revenge.
And I think I know just how to do it, she mused, trailing her claws over a stray patch of ice on the wall and smiling cruelly at the grating sound. She had neglected to mention something in her report to Mr. Big: that there had been telltale signs of another fox in the Cloven Hoof. Vanya would bet every strand of fur on her body that it was Nick's old friend Finnick. She had no particular grievance against him, but she filed the information away in her mind for later reference. His investigation of the place could be useful to her own, and his closeness to Nick... oh yes, that could be very useful.
Once more in the lonely office, Obearon brooded over the fiasco which had unfolded.
Fools, thought the planner. I'm surrounded by fools! The attack had been meant to throw the police on the defensive and cripple Killrahb, not destroy the community center!
In a fit of rage, Obearon's fist came down on the table. "I needed that building intact!"
Close at hand, a confidant spoke. "The schedule will be changed," he reasoned, "but surely events-"
"Take care," Obearon warned in a low, angry voice. "This is my play; my stage. I do not tolerate changes in the program. None, do you hear me?!"
The unfortunate mammal backed down at once. "Understood. Erm, what do you want to do now?"
With a firm effort, Obearon put anger aside and gave precious thought to the question. As simple as it was, it was also deadly serious. These kinds of situations called for two things: improvisation, and readiness. Fortunately, the former was in ample supply and the latter was easily arranged.
"Get me Faust."
Doug was not in the best of moods. His good moods were about as common as a jackalope to begin with, but being dragged from a rare bit of down-time to have another faceless chat with Obearon was a sure way to get him in worse spirits than usual.
"Tell me, Faust, how are your reserves?"
Doug did a few mental calculations. "About two dozen of the darts." He'd had a lot more time to work with since going underground and abandoning his day job and personal life, though he was hardly pleased with the trade. "And if I re-concentrate the new formula, I can make at least fifty more."
"No, no, nothing of the sort. Dismantle most of the darts. We'll settle for half a dozen as reserves."
The chemist was stunned. "What?! But boss, we're not even sure if Formula Three will work!"
"All the more reason for you to maximize your materials for researching it. Don't try to tell me how to terrorize. Theatricality is what I do best, and nothing bores the public more than watching the same play over and over. We'll keep enough of the darts to keep them guessing, and we can always make more at a pinch. We have enough of the flowers for that. However, I want you focused on the main plan. Do you understand me?"
Doug sighed and grumbled. He didn't like being out of the loop, and although he knew what Obearon wanted the new formula to do, the who, where, and when of the matter were as much a mystery to him as the how was to the boss.
Still, he hardly had much of a choice. "Yeah, I got you."
"Good. I'll expect the changes to be made promptly."
Once Doug was back in his lab, he checked around for hidden cameras and went to work dismantling the darts as instructed. Wearing heavy gloves which went clear up to his elbows, he pricked the spheres one by one and squeezed them into a collection of beakers. He had to be careful not to let even a tiny drop of the formula touch him.
The whole time, he grumbled to himself about that imperious buffoon, Obearon. There was one thing, however, which the mastermind didn't know: he had lied about the number of extra darts.
Taking one last look for signs of surveillance, he took six of the spheres and slipped them whole into a beaker. Stopping up the top, he pocketed the vial and went back to his work, as ordered, with the rest. Now he had an arsenal of his own, and he could match that blowhard shot for shot.
Obearon wasn't the only one who knew how to prepare and improvise.
Some hours later at the Poisson Mansion, a mantle of gloom lay thick and stifling over the house staff as Olivia Poisson returned home. Lillian was waiting for her as usual, flanked by the ever-present Barracus.
"Miss Poisson," greeted the former, "did all go well today?"
Miss Poisson looked as if she had just found an eggshell in a thirty-dollar omelet; an entire eggshell. She did, however, maintain some composure. "Except for the news reports of the attack," she replied calmly. "And the ruined Community Center."
"I'm sure the police will find whoever did it," Barracus remarked.
The lady of the house huffed. "Perhaps it will get them to stop sending officers to bother a busy woman," she answered airily. "No, it's the concert I'm worried about."
Guessing that Olivia's concerns had to do with the time and money which had gone into making the concert possible, Lillian bit her lip and removed a note from her clipboard. "You got a call about that," said she. "Regis Killrahb's secretary said there's to be an emergency meeting about the arrangements."
Olivia scanned the notice, and her expression seemed to lighten – or at least give way to thinking instead of fuming. "Very well. I will have to cancel some appointments."
"I will go see to it," offered Barracus. "By your leave, of course, miss."
She nodded. "So be it. Then you may go home. I am sure your wife will be most anxious about these events."
For some reason this did not seem to please the hyena very much as he departed.
Olivia, hardly concerned with Barracus' dissatisfaction, went on her own way and signaled with a paw for Lillian to come with her. "I have some things to attend to for which I will want your able assistance," said she, smoothly as oil.
No further words passed between them until they were alone. Then, at last, Olivia spoke freely. "You seem troubled, Lillian. Has the news upset you so much?"
The younger skunk shook her head. "It's a shock," she admitted, "but I guess I'm sort of used to things like this now. If I may speak honestly, though..."
"Of course. You know I always welcome your thoughts."
Lillian took a deep breath. "It's you that I'm worried about. You seem much too calm about this – and to be honest, I'm guessing it was mostly about the numbers. Mammals were probably killed today."
It would be unfair to say that no pang passed through the elder skunk at that accusation, but unjust to say that she let it stay her. "Without the concert," she pointed out without any pause, "there will be much less help for those still living. Delays and re-thinking can only cut into the profits, which can only harm all concerned."
"Yes, but... well, I can't help thinking that your father would handle it differently. His first concern was always about people, not plans or money. I'm sure he wouldn't like you being investigated by the police or taking it the way you are. It just seems wrong, and I don't like it. You may be doing what you think is best, but I don't like it."
If there was one person in the world who could strike guilt into the heart of Olivia D. Poisson, it was her chief maid and foremost companion. However, Olivia had her pride. She would not let even Lillian see her as troubled as she was in danger of becoming.
"I can manage myself tonight," said she, giving a small wave of her paw. "You should go home. Your parents may worry about you."
Lillian could not help worrying herself, but she knew it as useless to argue. "Yes, Olivia," she assented. Then she curtsied and took her leave.
Olivia retired to her bath, sitting in silence as the deodorizing soap soaked into her fur and pores. Even as the water, Lillian's words soaked into her mind. There was indeed no question that she had fallen, as the saying went, quite far from the tree. Certainly a good deal farther than her father would have supposed. Even as a much younger skunk she had often resorted to questionable means to bring home money for her family. It was all for the best, but it was certainly not her father's way or Lillian's.
Lillian is naïve, she mused. She had been rather dismayed when the young lady had shown no interest in pursuing finance or any kind of management beyond the mansion's household affairs, but perhaps it was for the best. She is too direct and too innocent for the drama of high industry, she reflected.
Yet Lillian's plea had sparked something in her mind; a chain of thoughts and fancies like a trail of gunpowder, leading all the way to a sudden burst of inspiration.
The situation at paw, unfortunate as it was, could have certain... possibilities.
So, there you all have it. Judy and Nick bracing themselves, and Vanya, Doug, Obearon, and Olivia all rolling up their sleeves for... what? Who is going to win these battles? Mr. Big versus Vanya? Obearon versus Doug? Poisson versus Lillian? Most of all, who's going to get caught in the crossfire?
I wish to add a personal note to my readers here. In light of recent terrorist activity, I want to offer my deepest sympathies to those who have looked into the face of evil. You might have guessed already that some scenes in this story later on will be hard to stomach for that reason, and I can only hope that perhaps the way I handle it in my own writing will at best make it easier for the inexperienced to grasp, and at worst do as little harm as possible. My prayers are with you all.
No Easter Egg hunt this time.