The Good Must Associate

"The Good Must Associate" 	"The Good Must Associate"
 	
Cast 	Cast
Main Cast:*Amin Hotep*Archibald I*Azure Oldman*Bacon IV*Bentley II*Cottontail X*Daisy I*Diana Loudoun*Evangelina Connelly*Farress Nilia*Glaucous Oldman*Ham Mercury*Hamish McRory*Jacquetta Lazoy*Lana Loudoun*Lionel Lazoy*Macaw Lucia*Maximilian Walters*Minerva Taylor*Navarra II*Stag Barrow*Swan XXI*Thumper Connelly*Trent Mallon*Vincent I*Vixen VII	Supporting Cast:*Anya Mus *Bake Hamleigh *Carolina Oldman*Croix Psint-Annenburg-Volta*Grayson Oldman*Isadora Mallard*Jasiri Tatum *Mizzie Mercury *Monica Oll *Nicholas Porker *Roseanna Hamleigh*Tatyana Mus *Unella Holstein *Violetta Vixen Guest Cast: *Poppy Hamleigh*Victoria Vixen
Chronology 	Chronology
←Previous"In the Meadows of Sorrow" 	Next→"Bless My Homeland"
"The Good Must Associate" is the twenty-second episode of War and the 71st episode overall. 
The episode was published on May 23, 2021.
In the episode, as a complex plan to escape Cartonia is put in motion, the logistics of gathering the royal families prove a challenge. Meanwhile, an edict from Vulpus rocks the Summer Sun.
==Appendix==
22 The Good Must Associate.png|Episode Title Card
Slide22.png|A: Map of the War, 725
Bovo 725.png|B: Bovish Royal Family, 725
Canis 725.png|C: Canisian Royal Family, 725
Equine Isle 725 2.png|D: Equestrian Royal Family, 725
Eusuchia 725.png|E: Eusuchian Royal Family, 725
Felexa 725.png|F: Felexan Royal Family, 725
Leprolia 725.png|G: Leprolian Royal Family, 725
Mallardia 725.png|H: Mallardian Royal Family, 725
Porcinia 725.png|I: Porcinian Royal Family, 725
Psittancyna 725.png|J: Psittancynesian Royal Family, 725
Simeone 725.png|K: Simenese Republic, 725
Ursus 725.png|L: Ursinian Royal Family, 725
Vulpus 725 2.png|M: Vulpine Royal Family, 725
Willie 725.png|N: Willonian Royal Family, 725
Highland Castle.jpg|O: Highland Castle, West Terrier, Canis
Vinesteeple.jpg|P: Vinesteeple, Primatia, Simeone
Screen Shot 2020-04-16 at 2.27.59 PM.png|Q: The Pink Palace, Sowtown, Porcinia
Peles.jpg|R: The Canopy, Mount Altum, Psittancyna
==The Episode==
—Diary of Lana Loudoun—
-September 7, 725-
An Edict was issued by the Vulpus Foxes today. It was posted on all the shop windows, lampposts, kiosks, message boards, and homes of the occupied zones, and printed in every newspaper around Cartonia. I saw it first at breakfast. I’ll transcribe it here:
“As one of the first species of Creation and the first in Cartonia, it is known and validated as fact that the Skulk of Foxes is the most superior and intelligent of all the species. It is wise and therefore recommended that all other species submit themselves to the foxes as faithful servants. The Kingdom of Vulpus will stretch from the Vixen Cliffs to the Pinnacle Ice Sheet. The Kingdom of Vulpus rejects any leader of the Kingdoms that align themselves with the Granite Bloc and only recognizes the Vixen Queen as proper head. All other Kingdoms are moot and their leaders mere figureheads. The foxes will emerge supreme, the foxes will rise over the ashes of War, and the foxes will reign Cartonia from this day until the end of days. It is so delivered.”
Nicholas wonders if this will drive a wedge between the Vixen Queen and her allies, as this clearly puts them in a position subservient to the foxes. I, on the other hand, think that the Vixen Queen told them about this, and they may have even agreed to it. She’s had eighteen years to warp our minds, as well as theirs. No one could doubt the power of the Kingdom of Vulpus and its ownership of nearly half the continent. 
Also, the parrots have reached U Camp in the east. Our days are numbered. If the parrots do manage to invade O Camp, and Sergeant O cannot evacuate us someplace “safe,” then I will hide this diary. 
—Bucktooth Castle, Port Tamias, Scuridiae—
—Kingdom of the Chipmunks—
-September 9, 725-
Chequer Vincent listened as the Stag ranted over video call in frustration and ire about the Vixen Queen’s Edict. Barrow Elkton felt completely blindsided by the sudden public declaration that the foxes were the most superior species of creation. 
“She’s incorrigible,” Barrow scowled. 
“Oh, I absolutely agree,” the Chequer fired back, riled up himself. “She must be stopped.” 
“Soon,” Barrow muttered. “Not until this war is done. She has the largest army, and as long as it is mobilized, we won’t successfully be able to defeat her.”
Vincent shook his head, still in disbelief. If he wasn’t in so much debt to the Vixen Queen, he’d be more inclined to fight her on this Edict. 
“What do you think caused this?” he asked Barrow, drumming his claws on the table of his war chamber. “She obviously believes her own words. What radicalized her?” 
Barrow stuck his tongue in his cheek and lifted an eyebrow. 
“Ever hear of the Skulkisch Doktrin?” 
“No. Skulk like fox?”
Barrow nodded. 
“I don’t know what it says exactly, as the original text is lost. But in essence it predicts a dominant species will rise over Cartonia, and that the foxes are that species. I’m sure Valda was privy to a synopsis or even a transcription of the document. If she read it, bought into it, and pursued its prophecy, then her Edict suddenly makes sense.”
Barrow slammed his fist against the wall. “I hate it. I can’t trust her. None of us can.”
The Chequer didn’t say what he was really thinking, that he regretted ever aligning with her. Not even Barrow knew that the Vixen Queen was going to revert Scuridiae into a principality. 
“I know,” was all he said. 
“Can I count on your support when we make a run at the Vixen Queen?” 
“Of course,” the Chequer replied, though he knew the support he could offer would be minimal. “Once the war is over?”
Barrow nodded gravely. 
“When the war is won.” 
—The Canopy, Mount Altum, Psittancyna—
—September 10, 725—
-1 Day Later-
Macaw Lucia was unable to get ahold of the Vixen Queen, who was dodging her calls. Valda Vixen had deliberately shunned her own allies by declaring herself as the head of the superior species on the planet. It was disgusting. The implications in her Edict were widespread. If she was so superior, and didn’t tell her allies of this proclamation, then she believed she could win this war on her own now. If Psittancyna, Scuridiae, and Cervidium turned on her, she’d still expect to win.
Was that true? In the hours after the Edict, the three leaders of the Psittacorum, Scuridiae, and the UCCS video-called and discussed their options. While the Chequer and Lucia were willing to jump ship now and fight against her, Stag Barrow was not. He stated the irritably true point that Cartonia was extremely unstable, especially the areas controlled by the Psittacorum and the UCCS. And in the scenario in which Vulpus was defeated, the Summer Sun would still have the Granite Bloc nations to deal with. They’d ultimately have to revert to pre-war borders and the entire war would have been for null. Everyone’s best chance to take down the Vixen Queen was to win this war and fight her later. 
But that didn’t mean Lucia wasn’t royally pissed off. She had noticed that even her closest staffers were avoiding her like the plague, as she stomped around the palace in unadulterated fury. Lucia happened to wake up this morning even angrier, as she felt powerless. She was the Macaw of the Psittacorum and she did not have the resources, support, or money to fight a bitch who thinks she’s Queen of All Cartonia. 
Lucia seized the stack of maps on the war chamber table and angrily swiped them to the ground. She grabbed a mug of coffee and hurled it at the wall. No one was here, and she didn’t care if anyone heard her tantrum. 
The door opened a few minutes later, while Lucia was still seething, and an aide stuck her head inside. 
“Psou Magnivicanzso, you have a guest.” 
“Tell them to go away,” she snapped. “I’m seeing no one.” 
The aide hovered.
“It’s…his Highness. Psiz Prenceps.”
Lucia’s mouth fell open.
“Croix?” 
Her brother was here? He had not returned to the capital since his flight in 717—eight years ago. After she threatened to reveal his interspecies relationship with a chicken in the palace staff, he abdicated his role as Pserex and heir and joined the Order of Silans on the Macaw Delta. As the name suggested, it was a silent monastery. According to reports, Croix had not spoken at all since leaving Mount Altum. He sent letters periodically, including after their father was killed in single combat against King Archibald of Ursus. 
“Send him in,” Lucia commanded. The aide pushed opened the door and in walked a completely shaved monk, and Croix. His feathers were cut short, but he looked the same as he did when Lucia last saw him. The thing that struck her the most about him was that he appeared so…peaceful. He drifted across the war chamber with a light and airy gait, as if walking on a cloud. As if his actions today could do no harm, that the world was just spinning casually and no war was occurring. Lucia was self-conscious of her undoubtedly haggard appearance. 
“Croix,” Lucia gasped, feeling a mixture of guilt and dread. His decision to leave Mount Altum and his destiny as Pserex was directly because she threatened to expose his scandal. During her own time as Pserex, she never once regretted her decision. The regrets began once she became Macaw, and she realized it was not all it was cracked up to be. The stress was draining her. Sleep came only occasionally, and there were no breaks. The Psittacorum was not as great as it once was, and that was due entirely to the war. 
Croix Psint-Annenburg-Volta, her only brother, came to a halt in front of her. The monk accompanying him was holding a large hourglass. He set it on the war table and flipped it. Then, without a word, he left the room. As soon as the door closed, Croix cleared his throat. 
“Hello, Lucia.” 
He sounded different. Then again, he hadn’t used his voice in eight years.
“Hi.”
He smiled. During his years at the Canopy, Croix was one of the most well-dressed members of the royal family. His style was heavily reported by the media. The papers would go crazy to see him in this plain brown monkish smock. 
“We have an hour,” he said, gesturing at the hourglass. “The monks agreed to let me break my vow to speak to you.” 
“I’m glad to see you,” Lucia said truthfully. “I’m—“
The apology died in her throat. The old Croix would have finished her sentence, and brushed it off as no big deal. But the monk before her just watched and waited, completely still. He had a calm about him that Lucia did not understand. She would never know that. 
“I’m sorry,” she said finally, “for what I did to you.”
“I appreciate and accept your apology,” Croix deadpanned. “In many ways, I am grateful. My penance in the Order has given me great reflection on my life, and allowed me to see what is truly important in this world. I left here in bitterness but I return only in good spirits.” 
Lucia reached out and squeezed his wing. He bowed his head. 
“What about the chicken?” Lucia asked. She had to know. Croix didn’t even flinch.
“She came to the Order with me, but died in 720. The pox.” 
“Oh,” Lucia muttered. “And while she was still alive…were you and she…?”
“No, sister. We terminated our relationship upon taking our vows. The Order prohibits sexual contact.”
Lucia cringed as she remembered the night she climbed outside his window and viewed him and the chicken in flagrante. 
“Sorry she died,” she said without sincerity. The chicken didn’t mean much to her at all. “And thank you for forgiving me.”
Suddenly, a memory of Macaw Arini occurred to her. He had told her that if Croix ever renounced the Order of Silans and took his position as Pserex, he would become Macaw. Constitutionally, he could still unseat her. 
“Have you come back to take your throne?” Lucia asked quietly. Croix laughed, a simple “ha.” 
“No, I have not. I have come to talk to you about the war. The Vixen Queen’s Edict has reached even us on the Delta. It is most disturbing.” 
Of course. This is what he wanted to talk about. For a second, Lucia was thankful for the distraction but apparently everyone wanted to discuss the damn Edict. 
“What about it?” Lucia sneered, crossing her arms. Croix was still calm and quiet, his wings clasped in front of him. 
“I implore you to call of your troops, withdraw from Porcinia, and surrender to the Granite Bloc. Encourage Scuridiae and Cervidium to do the same. If all three of you turn on the Vixen Queen, and fight in tandem with the Granite Bloc, then there is hope for Cartonia. A better Cartonia. One without Vulpus tyranny. If you continue on this path, and take Porcinia, or Ursus, then you will be painting yourself a conqueror and no one will forgive you. The Psittacorum is a beautiful country in peace. We are not warlords. We should never have entered this war. Father was wrong to drag us into it, and I beg you not to follow down his path.” 
Lucia was appalled. Surrender? To the Granite Bloc?
“Absolutely not!” she cried. “If we surrender now, the Vixen Queen will conquer us too! We must maintain our power if we are to survive. Have you forgotten the importance of Psittancynesian sovereignty? Or would you rather see us cast into ruin in the name of purported peace?” 
Croix was unabashed. He cocked his head. 
“I am thinking of the greater good, sister. What is Psittancynesian sovereignty if the majority of Cartonians is enslaved?” 
“We are this close to taking Porcinia! Which, by the way, probably won’t actually happen because, since you missed it, Father drove this nation into absolute bankruptcy. The foxes have a vast amount of control over us because we need them to bail us out for our war debts. I am going to have to call Valda before this year is over to plead for a bailout or else we’ll completely collapse!”
Before Croix could respond, she went on, “And furthermore! Let’s say we do surrender, and we do work with the Granite Bloc, and we emerge victorious after another decade of war. Do you think any of them would forgive us for what we’ve done? Father and I shipped thousands of prisoners of war to Cervidium to undergo their experiments to restore the parrots’ ability to fly. Have you heard of those? I’ve heard only tales of brutality and categorical failure.” 
“I have heard of them,” Croix replied. “I pray for the victims. Will you at least consider my proposal?” 
“No!” Lucia shouted. “Because it’s nonsensical! And sorry, Croix, but I haven’t spoken to you in eight years. Your judgement is still questionable in my mind. Last I knew you, your morals were so low you were copulating with a chicken. My allies say you must be a BioFreak.” 
Croix laughed properly now. 
“Do you think I’m a BioFreak?” 
Lucia softened. 
“No…I don’t.”
Croix sighed. 
“Please at least consider what I’ve said. This Edict proves that the Vixen Queen is thinking only of herself. The Summer Sun was only a pretext to expand her own territory. This war was never about Victoria Vixen, or interspecies relationships, or Mallardia. This was a war of conquest, and we all bought into it.” 
Lucia nodded to appease him. 
“Okay, I will think about it.” 
They didn’t speak for a minute, just staring at each other. Brother and sister, Pserexes of the Psittacorum. Members of the great Psint-Annenburg-Volta dynasty. They’d always have that, even after the war. 
“Do you ever think about Ruba?” Lucia asked, referring to his ex-wife. When Croix joined the Order, he invalidated his marriage to Ruba Curacaire, the woman who would have become Macaw Consort and ruled by his side. They never had children. 
“All the time,” Croix said sadly. “Where is she now?”
“I don’t know,” Lucia replied truthfully. “I think she remarried. She’s never kept in touch.” 
The two continued to catch up for the rest of the hour. Talk of the war was pushed to the side as they regaled each other with stories from Mount Altum and the Macaw Delta. Lucia learned in detail the daily regiment of the monks, and how Croix found solitude and penitence in meditation. He recommended she try it. She told him of Father’s death and her ascension without a coronation due to cost constraints. He asked her about his old friends, and she filled him in on their lives. 
Soon, before she knew it, the sand was draining out of the glass. The hour was almost over. Croix glanced at it.
“May I pray with you before I go?” 
“If you’d like.”
Croix took her wings and bent his head. She mimicked his stance. She was surprised when he recited a prayer in Cartonian, not Psittanine. 
“O Bountiful Earth, O Radiant Sky, O Universe in Your Might, unwearied is your love for us, unblemished is your grace. Bless my sister, Lucia Psint-Annenburg-Volta, Macaw of the Psittacorum. Guide her through her trials, her struggles, and any strife. Gift her with wisdom, peace of mind, focus, and contentedness, if necessary at the expense of myself. In the name of those who determine our destinies, amen.”
Lucia’s heart beat faster as the door opened and the monk came to collect him. 
“Croix, thank you so much for coming. I’ve missed you so much. Please, please come again. And I’m sorry…again…”
The sand hit the bottom of the glass, and Croix just smiled at her. And that was it. He did not speak again. He gave her a hug, bowed royally, and exited with the monk. Lucia ran after him into the corridor. 
“Croix! Won’t you stay the night? Can we have more time together?” 
The bald monk shook his head. Croix placed both wings over his heart and grinned in her direction. He mimed writing, and she understood that she could still communicate with him through letters. She watched from the parapet of the Canopy as Croix Psint-Annenburg-Volta walked across the courtyard to a plain white car. Someone—not a monk—was in the driver’s seat. Croix did not turn around. He merely got in the car, and soon that was gone too. 
His visit left a profound impact on her. All these years, she thought she was the lucky one. She became Macaw, while he lived in silence without luxury away from the life he was born into. But she was in actuality the cursed sibling. Being Macaw was not what she had envisioned. Derailing Croix’s life had been a huge mistake on her part, but clearly it had benefited him quite well. He was content, satisfied with the zero things he owned, without words even, because he was at peace. The continent was at war, but there was a place where war did not exist. Yes, news may reach their walls, but the actions of soldiers did not impact their spirituality. They may even embolden it. 
Lucia returned to the war chamber and locked the door. She sunk to the floor, and recalled what he said about meditation. She crossed her legs, rested her wings on her knees, and closed her eyes. 
Clear your mind.
How the hell was one supposed to do that? All that ran through her head was the constant chatter of war, strategy, and loss. Her eyes flicked back open. She could not concentrate. She did not know how he did it. 
Croix was changed, for the better. She felt extreme happiness for him, and a jealousy for something she’d never have. If she followed him to the Order of the Silans…
Lucia hit her head against the wall. Nothing was stopping her. She was unmarried with no children. Her younger sister, Pzera, was next-in-line. Why not leave this wretched post behind and become an ascetic like Croix? Seeing him brought back a slew of childhood memories, when she was truly happy. What was this life? What was being Macaw? 
Duty. That’s what Father would say. This was a destiny she chose when she cast Croix out. If she abandoned her people now, she could never live with herself. No, she’d have to see this through. 
Lucia let out a long sigh. Perhaps, in the end, her father was right. 
She had flown too close to the sun. 
—Highland Castle, West Terrier, Canis—
—September 24, 725—
-2 Weeks Later-
“We’re all here,” Minerva Taylor said, counting the heads in the war chamber. Bentley Connelly had asked to see Maximilian Walters, Minerva Taylor, and Lionel Lazoy about the forthcoming expedition. He also had a question for Jacquetta Lazoy, who just entered. 
“Great,” Bentley muttered, putting down a news brief. “Can we count the passengers again?” 
Passengers was the term used to refer to those who were part of the expedition south, hopefully out of Cartonia. 
“Yes,” Max answered, placing a notebook on the war chamber’s massive table. “So far we have a rough total of 1,050 passengers. Which leaves us with…”
“150 spots,” Bentley finished, rubbing his chin. 
“Roughly,” Minerva added. 
Bentley could not forget the night of the twelfth of March, when Max Walters brought him a typed proposal of an escape from Cartonia. The idea had never occurred to him, and to see it itemized in such detail was enthralling. It was an exceedingly dangerous project, one that could result in the deaths of nearly every royal family in Cartonia. However, when the day of the Granite Bloc’s defeat comes, the Summer Sun would see to the extinction of all the royal families anyway. 
The spring and summer months that followed were intense with planning, coordination, and secrecy. Max, Lionel, and Minerva, the three architects of the project, worked to communicate with all twelve monarchs—deposed, exiled, or reigning—on whom from their nation would become a passenger. Members of the royal families were invited, as were their household staffs and allies. Because the expedition could very well lead to the establishment of a temporary colony beyond Cartonian borders, builders and laborers, as well as specialized workers, were also necessary. 
Space was limited, unfortunately. The smaller, the better, but it was a difficult task. Who was worthy of this slight chance at survival? Who was going to stay behind and watch as the final dominoes were toppled? 
Max determined using information available in the digitized Grand Library of Phantine that the waste receptacles at the Vulpus Dam were still in use as late as 711. A Vulpine ordinance passed in the 630s mandated that a minimum of two receptacles be available for immediate dumping. Using mathematicians and scientists, Max discovered the size of each receptacle and its maximum weight. Including supplies and a margin of error, Max estimated that the waste receptacles were capable of realistically holding 600 Cartonians plus supplies. Two would expand the maximum size of the expedition to 1,200 people. Dividing 1,200 by the twelve Kingdoms gave each monarch a passenger allocation of 100. 
The only Kingdom without a monarch, or any royal family, was Bovo. Their whole royal family was wiped out by the deer during the Battle of Bovo. But tons of cows were living in Canis in exile, and specialized laborers were being selected to round out the Bovish passenger roster. 
Some monarchs, like King Archibald and Bentley himself, immediately denied a place on the mission. Archibald altruistically gave his spot to a child in Carnarvon who had been orphaned over the summer as her young parents fought on the battlefields. 
Bentley’s story was different. He did not feel right leaving Cartonia under any circumstances, not when he was the one who helped light the flame of this war. Canis was not at the crux of the Vulpine ultimatum delivered so long ago, but Bentley had urged Willie, Eusuchia, and Mallardia to fight Vulpus. He wanted their support to avenge Victoria, and now all of Cartonia was on fire because of him. No, he had to stay behind and see this thing finished. Thumper and Evangelina insisted on staying with him, and so no one from the Connelly royal family was going south either. 
The exclusion of whole royal families from the expedition did not sit well with Max, Minerva, and Lionel. The whole point, they argued, was to preserve the lines of succession. Bentley refused to alter his own stance, and knew he could not do anything to persuade Evangelina and Thumper. 
“I’m told you’ve decided on a date,” Bentley remarked to the three organizers once they were finished listing the numbers of passengers provided so far by each Kingdom.
“November 3,” Minerva informed him. “That’s when we leave.”
“We’ll be ready,” Lionel chimed in. Jacquetta grinned at him. Bentley knew the Lazoys were excited. All four of them would be passengers, and they were thrilled at the prospect of leaving this hellscape behind. 
Bentley glanced at the large map of Cartonia on the wall. There was light yellow around the northeast, west, and south of Canis, indicating where the Summer Sun forces had broken through his borders. The Summer Sun controlled over three quarters of the continent now. Getting through enemy territory was one of the tougher legs of the journey. If they were caught along the way, they’d all be killed. 
“Jacquetta,” Bentley said with a look at the Madonna of Felexa, “have you heard anything from your friend in Vulpus?” 
Jacquetta Lazoy, who had sent a letter to someone in Vulpus asking for help, shook her head. 
“I told her not to write back for fear of it being intercepted. But I am confident her son will help us.” 
“Why her son?” Bentley asked. “You’ve never told us anything about this source. Are you sure we can trust a fox?” 
Jacquetta inclined her head. 
“Oh, most assuredly. He has risen high in the Vulpine army. He will be in a position to aid us. I am sure of it.”
Bentley was not keen on the idea of Jacquetta contacting somebody within Vulpus. The organizers thought having inside help would be a huge advantage. Bentley was less convinced. Someone high in the Vulpine army could still spill the secret, and that would spoil the whole plot. He trusted Jacquetta, and hoped that trust was not misplaced. 
“You told me we have one last friend in Vulpus,” Bentley sighed. “I really want to know who that is. Perhaps they can help us further.”
Everyone else was looking at Jacquetta too, focus rapt. Even Lionel. He was unaware of the identity of the source too. 
“Bentley…”
“Jacquie, I’ve been patient. I haven’t pried, not until now. I’m watching my citizens die on their own soil, and if there’s even a chance that somebody in Vulpus can do more beyond this expedition, I need to know.” 
Jacquetta exhaled tiredly. 
“Okay,” she muttered. “I’ll tell you.”
Max, Minerva, and Lionel leaned forward. 
“Well?” Bentley pressed. 
“It’s Vora Vixen.” 
A thundering silence exploded through the chamber. Bentley thought he might have choked on his own gasp. His throat closed up. 
“That’s Victoria’s mother,” he managed. “She’s dead.” 
“Uh,” Jacquetta stammered, “well…she’s not. I promise. We got her out.”
“But,” Max whispered, “where was she when Victoria was summoned to become Crown Princess?” 
Jacquetta took a deep breath. 
“It’s a really sad story. Essentially, on the night Victoria was born, she feared for the safety of her unborn child. Her own mother, the last Vixen Queen, threatened to have the baby killed if it wasn’t a girl. That was the last straw for Vora, and she asked us, her friends, to help her get out. It was me, Queen Henna of Gallix, Queen Catherine of Simeone, and the late Lady Libby Galloway.” 
Bentley wanted to throw up. His mother was in on this too? 
“We helped Vora, her husband Brock, and baby Victoria escape the hospital in the capital. It wasn’t necessarily difficult. It’s not like she was under lock and key. We were all there for some international event. We found her a place in a nice quiet village, and she never went back. Her vanishing was more of a nuisance to the Vixen Queen and the royal family, since it raised questions. But because she was beyond the immediate line of succession, no one really cared where she went. I maintained contact with her. I’m not sure about Libby. They were not really friends. Libby just happened to be there when Vora went into labor.”
Jacquetta took a few moments to compose herself. She was actually shaking. 
“Sorry,” she apologized. “I haven’t told anyone this in nearly forty years. But you’re right, Benny. This is something you should probably know.” 
Thirteen years of exile in Canis, and Jacquetta never mentioned a single word of this. Victoria’s own mother was alive, and Bentley never knew. No one told him, not even Victoria. 
“Vora Vixen became a name lost to history until Veronica and Vina Vixen killed each other in their duel. Then, there was no heir. Vora was next-in-line. Trust me, I was just as shocked as all of you when Vulpus announced Vora was dead and her nineteen-year-old daughter Victoria was now heir to the throne. I couldn’t even believe nineteen years had passed since that time I helped Vora in the hospital. Imagine my further shock when a letter from Vora arrived at Talonclaw Castle. She explained that Victoria was home alone when palace diplomats came to collect Vora after a lengthy investigation to locate her. Victoria herself spread the rumor of Vora’s death to protect her mother from returning to Vista. And so Victoria became Crown Princess, and Vora remained in ambiguity.” 
Bentley was incredulous. His expression was repeated on Max, Lionel, and Minerva’s faces. 
“And…she didn’t come to Victoria’s defense when this whole nation turned against her?” 
Jacquetta’s features softened. 
“Bentley…Vora was afraid of her family. And she was horrified that Victoria was caught up in it all, and no one would have thought that Victoria would die by bullet.” 
“Who’s the son? Victoria never mentioned a brother.” 
Jacquetta placed her paws together. 
“His name is Matthew Palmer. Vora and Brock adopted the Palmer surname when they went to live in the country. Victoria’s birth certificate will say Victoria Palmer.”
“Matthew Palmer?” Bentley repeated, the color draining from his face. “That was her page. I-I-I met him. He wasn’t her…he…she wouldn’t just…”
Jacquetta approached and rested her paws reassuringly on his shoulders as his stertorous breathing caused them to rise and fall. 
“Let’s talk later. I’m sorry to have disturbed you with this. I didn’t consider how this could affect you so.”
She propped open the war chamber door to let Max, Minerva, and Lionel go through. She followed, and Bentley was left alone. 
Not really. 
“You’re upset with me,” Victoria murmured. She was seated to his left, no longer in her white dress. Instead it was the same outfit she wore on the night they met at the Harmony Holiday Gala in 706. 
“You didn’t tell me about your mother, or Matthew being your brother. I don’t know why you lied to me.” 
“I did not lie. You merely believed what everyone else said. That Vora Vixen was dead, and I was her only child. I vowed to protect her, as she protected me for nineteen years. I kept a lot of secrets, even from you. Don’t forget our own relationship was a secret until that was discovered too. That’s the funny thing about secrets. They involve a concealment of the truth, and that can never stay hidden forever.”
Bentley started crying. 
“I always thought I knew you best,” he mumbled through his tears. “I thought I was the person that you could tell anything. Were we not lovers?”
Victoria smiled serenely. 
“Darling, you knew me for a year. Our time together was short and passionate, and I do love you. But one year cannot supersede nineteen with my family. Oh, you’d love them. And I intended for you to meet them. They would have supported us.”
“Matthew’s in the army now. That’s what Jacquetta said. He’s risen in the ranks.” 
Victoria rolled her eyes and laughed. 
“Matty is not a fighter. He hated Vulpus as much as I did. If he’s really high up in that army, he’s doing everything he can to bring them down from within.”
Bentley wiped his nose. 
“Do you check in on him, as you do with me?” 
“From time to time. He doesn’t see me like you do.”
“Do you regret not telling me about your family?”
“Sorry, but no.” 
Bentley felt like he was being punched in the gut. The one thing keeping him constant in this war was that his love for Victoria had been pure and good, and the war fought partially in her name was for a better Cartonia. Now he was learning she was not her whole self with him, as he had been with her. She had harbored a severe secret, one she took to her grave. 
“Benny,” she went on, “I never wanted to be Queen of Vulpus. My mother was terrified at the idea of returning to Vista and reuniting with her sister. The Vixen Queen turned out to be all the evil my mother described. I went in her place to save her.”
“You died because of it.” 
“No, I died because the Vixen Queen plotted to use my death as a pretext for war. She would have found a way without me. You know that.” 
He couldn’t look at her, but the apparition moved wherever his vision took him. 
“I’m sorry,” she said. “If that means anything. I’m sorry I did not tell you about my family.”
“I know.”
Bentley’s ears perked. He remembered something Jacquetta said. 
“My mother knew that Vora escaped. Libby helped her flee.”
“Yes,” Victoria said, thinking. “That’s correct. Libby knew Vora was alive, even after I told everyone she was dead.”
“That’s what she had over the Vixen Queen,” Bentley muttered. Before Lady Libby Galloway died of the plague, she had told Bentley that she had something over Queen Vixen, something that not even the Vixen Queen knew. It had been Vora Vixen living on. 
“Are you still angry with me?” Victoria inquired, folding her paws over the table. 
“No, I don’t think so,” Bentley replied. “I think I’m just upset in general. Everything is miserable. I’ll forever be remembered as the failed King of Canis who launched a war he could not win.”
“I disagree,” Victoria sang as she floated off the ground. “I think you’ll go down as one of the greatest Cartonia Kings.”
Bentley scoffed. 
“That’s ridiculous. What makes you think that?” 
“Because,” Victoria’s voice echoed through the chamber as it grew faint, her phantom fading, “history is written by the winners. In the end, the Vixen Queen won’t win.”
—Vinesteeple, Primatia, Simeone—
—Republic of the Monkeys—
-September 29, 725-
Ham Mercury, the Major of Simeone for the last fourteen years, gathered the royal families in exile in the Steeple. The Mallards of Mallardia, the Musses of Willie, and his own daughter Mizzie Mercury. There was something urgent he had to discuss with them. 
Lately, they’d been talking about lots of things. The planned escape from Cartonia would take a miracle to work, but Queen Swan XXI and Queen Daisy were adamant that they and their families be passengers. The alternative was to wait for the Vixen Queen and her evil armies to come kill them on live television. 
The main issue facing the ones in Simeone was getting to Canis to join the rest of the passengers. Phantine lay between Simeone and Canis, and Phantine was now part of the Kingdom of Vulpus; passing through there was akin to walking through enemy territory. Taking ships by sea was extremely dangerous, as foxes and chipmunks patrolled the waters around Eusuchia and Equine Isle. The parrots would catch them rounding the northern cape. The three organizers of the mission—Minerva Taylor, Maximilian Walters, and Lionel Lazoy—were trying to figure out a remedy to that problem. As of now, the primary idea was to have the Simeone party travel south separately and use their own cats-in-exile to disguise as foxes to lead them there.
The passengers from Eusuchia, Equine Isle, and Ursus—all residing in Ursus—were going to be arriving Simeone in October so that there were only two parties heading south: the Simeone group and the Canis group. 
Among preparations for their flight, the Simians were also facing the unspeakable: the expected collapse of Vinesteeple and Simeone. The foxes would be with them by Christmas. The trenches dug around the capital were deep enough to hold them off for a month, and so far they were fortunate in that they had not been reached. But they would be. That was undeniable. If there was any way to get the Simeone party to Canis before Vinesteeple was surrounded, they must do it. 
Ham chose to stay. He was not a leader-in-exile. He did not have the luxury of other monarchs to up and leave their nation to rot. Simeone was still alive, albeit on its last legs. He would continue to see this through until he was no longer constitutionally required to do so. Lately, he was thinking more often to those days following the sinking of the Pearl of Simeone that killed Queen Ana III and her father, the Regent. He refused the crown and instead converted Simeone into Cartonia’s first republic. No one really knew what that meant, and for all intents and purposes Ham ruled with the power of a king without the pomp and circumstance. 
“Well?” Queen Daisy asked, leaning against one of the Steeple’s pillars. “What’s going on?” 
Queen Swan XXI, better known to everyone as Bella Mallard, was standing beside her mother, Queen Isadora. Since coming to Simeone as a twelve-year-old Queen, Bella had married and had a child of her own. Her family remained close in exile, watching from afar as Mallardia devolved into a Vulpine colony. All of the Mallards would be passengers. 
“There is an important matter that I feel has been overlooked, by the organizers of this quest and my own government,” Ham said. His daughter cocked her head in confusion. 
“What do you mean?” she asked. 
“I mean the concept of Simian hope fueled by this expedition. The whole point of this mission, you’ll remember, is to preserve the royal families and their immediate lines of succession to reassure the people that their leaders are safe and free and trying to return with greater strength. It will be a secret among the people that the Summer Sun will never discover, and when we return to Cartonia with a vengeance they’ll be woefully unprepared.”
“Yes…” Daisy muttered. “That’s correct.” 
“Hmm,” Ham mumbled. “You see, I believe fervently in this mission. I really see its merit and I can understand how the people will have something to cling to if they knew that we managed to ferry ourselves out of Cartonia to potentially go somewhere safe. The only thing is that Simeone is not a monarchy. My position is not hereditary, and Mizzie is not going to succeed me. What good will it do our own morale if none of the Simian escapees are our leaders?”
Mizzie shook her head.
“That’s not fair, father. Several of your chancellors are going. They are in the government, they’re leaders.” 
Ham smiled. He removed a folder from within his suit jacket. 
“We never got to put the idea of the Simeone Republic to test. I’m afraid we never will. This morning, the Council of Chancellors voted unanimously to convert the Republic of Simeone back into the Sovereign State of Simeone. A monarchy. We are a monarchy once more.”
Daisy’s jaw dropped. Queen Isadora lifted her eyebrows in surprise. 
“So…” Bella said, “does that make you King?” 
Ham groaned. 
“Unfortunately. We haven’t made it public, and we probably won’t until after the escape.”
Mizzie raised her paw, one finger raised toward the apex of the Steeple. 
“Am I heir apparent?” 
Ham nodded. 
“Yes. We haven’t conferred upon you a title. I know you wouldn’t want one.” 
“You were accurate in that prediction.” 
Bella, Daisy, and Isadora exchanged glances. 
“I suppose your decision is logical,” Daisy thought aloud. “It doesn’t change much except the official name of your country and enhance the potential for a stronger rebellion if all tenets of our expedition succeed.”
“I never thought the monarchy of Simeone would be restored,” Isadora muttered, “but I approve. A republic would never work here.” 
Ham drew his eyebrows together at the Queen Mother’s comment. 
“I disagree, Isadora. I think the republic would have worked well had we not been stuck in war and too afraid of political instability to try it properly. Don’t forget the concept, for it may serve you well in your new world.” 
—Antlerstag, Lyme, Union of Cervidian Centralized States—
—October 1, 725—
-2 Days Later-
The door of Stag Barrow’s study burst open with such force and violence that the Stag dropped the book he was holding and reached instinctively for a sheathed sword on the desk. After his father was murdered in this very room by his own wife, Barrow took his own security seriously. 
“WHAT!” Barrow shouted at the frazzled messenger holding the doorknob as if it clutching it was the only thing keeping him alive.
“Majesty…” his babbled, “a terrorist bomb has detonated in the heart of Tabitha’s Cervidian district. Initial reports say that over one thousand deer and three cats have perished in the blast.” 
Barrow’s sword slipped through his fingers, nearly slicing his flesh. Ever since the conquests of Felexa, West Gallix, Leprolia, Bovo, and East Capricon, there had been many uprisings against the deer. Many attacks. Nothing as bad as this. One thousand…?
“The situation continues to worsen,” the messenger continued, “as I’m told by the Felexan Authority Patrol. Injuries are in the thousands.”
“Has anyone claimed responsibility?” Barrow asked, feeling numb. 
“Freelexa. The main resistance in Felexa. They demand the reinstatement of Queen Roxanne and the restoration of Felexan sovereignty.” 
Barrow shook his head in anger. 
“I need to go on television. I’m making an announcement.” 
“They’re preparing the studio downstairs for a statement,” the messenger said. “It’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” 
Barrow spent that small, precious amount of time planning what he was going to say. Of course, he knew what he would do. How to phrase it properly was the challenge. He didn’t care for the exact words, so long as his message got across. When the green light on the camera flicked on, and the live broadcast was available to air, Barrow stepped in front of the camera and addressed the nation. 
“Good evening,” Barrow began. “I am speaking to you from Antlerstag on a most dark night. In the Felexan State two hours ago, violent and hostile Felexan terrorists willfully, intentionally, and deliberately detonated an enormous bomb at the heart of a peaceful district in Tabitha. This wicked bombing senselessly murdered thousands of innocent citizens. Words cannot express how terribly sorry I am for their families and all that knew the victims. This sorrow is suppressed tenfold within me by the rage and fury I feel for the perpetrators. They are calling themselves Freelexa, a terrorist cell devoted to undermining the peace in the Felexan State and reinstating the tyrannical monarchy of the Kingdom of Felexa. I have been more than understanding with the cat species and have given them a say in our government. The Union of Cervidian Centralized States is designed to unite us together as one. As Cervidians. However, I now see that this will never be the case. This Union will not succeed.” 
He cleared his throat. “Effective midnight tonight, the Union of Cervidian Centralized States is dissolved. I hereby declare these States to be one entity: the Kingdom of Cervidium. All Authority Councils are thereby abolished. Only absolute control can maintain peace over this country. Martial law will be instated in Felexa until the situation is peaceful once more. The supreme power in the land rests with the Stag. Bite not the hand that feeds you, for it shall not be offered again.” 
—Highland Castle, West Terrier, Canis—
—October 6, 725—
-5 Days Later-
Glaucous Oldman and his wife, Carolina Oldman, tossed another stack of clothes into the “Do-Not-Pack” pile. Their belongings were plentiful, as they had come to Canis with advance warning, as opposed to Glaucous’s brother Sterling who had to rush to Canis in exile after Leprolia’s surrender. Many of the Oldman royal family did not escape the falling nation, and two of them had been murdered last March on live television. Glaucous’s brother Peter, and sister Hazel. Both were parents, and the fates of their children and spouses were unknown. 
It was no tough decision to join the expedition as passengers. Glaucous was an aging man, but did not want to die in this new Cartonia. He also had to think of his son, Azure, who he was shocked to learn was a BioFreak. Glaucous was known for his tough exterior and scant emotion. When Azure finally confessed his affliction, Glaucous broke down in tears. His son had suffered unbelievably, and Glaucous as a father had been unable to prevent the sorrow. It hurt him, to this day. 
Glaucous and his wife, Carolina, his brother Sterling (once known as King Cottontail X) and his son, Grayson, and Glaucous’s son Azure and wife Celeste were all going south. 
“Do you want this jacket?” Carolina asked Glaucous, pulling a thick brown winter coat from the closet. 
“Oh gosh,” Azure joked from the other side of the room, bent over his own suitcases, “that is ugly.” 
“Toss it,” Glaucous said with a shrug. “They say it’s warmer in the south.” 
“I hope not,” Azure muttered. 
The bedchamber door opened and Minerva Taylor and Lionel Lazoy entered. 
“Packing lightly we see,” Minerva quipped, eying the many bags the Oldmans were filling with their possessions. Besides being asked to pack “modestly,” there had been no firm limitations on what could and could not be brought along. Final cuts would be made at the Dam. If something couldn’t fit in the waste receptacle, it would be left behind. 
“I only have three bags,” Grayson Oldman, son of the King-in-exile, retorted. Minerva smiled. 
“Sorry to disturb you all,” she said. “We’re looking for Trent Mallon.”
“Through there,” Azure responded, pointing to one of the antechambers. Azure and Trent, both BioFreaks, were basically inseparable now. Glaucous could not recall anyone who had been as good of a friend to Azure as Trent Mallon. 
—
Minerva and Lionel found Trent lying on a couch, reading. As they approached, he dropped the book and Minerva saw only images of foxes. 
“What are you reading?” Lionel asked, glancing down at the pages.
“Studying,” Trent replied with a twinkle in his eyes. “Wanna see?” 
Minerva sat across from him. 
“Eagerly.” 
Trent closed his eyes for a few seconds, and Minerva watched in wonder as his light yellow fur turned brown, became coarse, and shrunk. His rabbit ears folded behind his head and became triangular. His nose jutted forth, and his cheeks widened. He transformed into a fox right in front of her. His eyes reopened and he posed. 
“Well?”
Lionel actually clapped. Trent held up the book with an image of a fox. The photograph and Trent were identical. 
“Who is that?” Minerva inquired. Trent shrugged as he read the caption. 
“I don’t know. This is just a book of images of Cartonians. Some edgy art piece, I think. I’ve been trying to memorize their appearances so I can change into a whole slew of different people.” 
Lionel whistled, impressed. 
“But what if someone recognizes the person you changed into?” Minerva asked. Trent flipped to the copyrighted section of the book.
“This was published over 100 years ago. I think I’m safe.” 
Minerva looked at Lionel, who nodded. They needed to get to the point of their visit.
“Trent,” Minerva began, “we need to ask if you’re willing to help us with something very important. You’ve already graciously volunteered to masquerade as a fox when we board the train and head south through enemy territory. You’ll have a whole team of cats dressed in fox disguises too, but we don’t know how well our friends in Simeone and Ursus will fare without someone with your…advantage.” 
Trent inclined his head.
“Oh, I’m intrigued. Go on.” 
“We were wondering,” Lionel picked up, “if you would be willing to take a team west through occupied Phantine to Simeone. You’ll go by truck, gather the hundreds of passengers in those western Kingdoms, and return here. Then we will all board the same train and head south together on November 3.” 
“Now, I recognize the dangers…” Minerva admitted before Trent cut her off.
“I’ll do it. When?”
Minerva was not surprised by Trent’s eagerness. He was a soldier, and a patriot. He had bravery matched by few. Nothing scared him. 
“In three days. October 9. We’ll get all the cats ready. The Canis National Theatre has prepared all the fox disguises.”
“Well first,” Lionel sighed, “we need to see if the Mallardians, Willonians, Eusuchians, Equestrians, and Ursinians are okay with getting here that way. They might rather go south and meet us in Capricon.” 
Trent shrugged and resumed reading his book. 
“Either way,” he said, “I’m in. Just tell me what I need to do, and your wish is my command.” 
As Minerva and Lionel left the room, Trent changed back into a light yellow rabbit.
—Tardisham Tower, Carnarvon, Ursus—
—October 7, 725—
-1 Day Later-
Queen-in-Exile Navarra Caligari watched as King Archibald signed his telegram and sent his reply back to Canis. They were asked if they were willing to be transported across Phantine by a team of fox-disguised cats and one BioFreak with the ability to change his appearance. Seeing no better alternative than to try heading south on their own, Navarra and Archibald both agreed it was worth the risk of going with the BioFreak named Trent Mallon.
After the telegram was sent, Archibald quickly walked out of the room. He was not pleased with Navarra. She was so quick to be a passenger on the expedition, even though the war was not over. Archibald knew he could never leave while he nation was still alive. 
“Archie,” Navarra called after him, “please, let’s not be hostile.”
“I’m not hostile,” Archibald replied bitterly. “I just think we have a moral duty to stay here and fight for our people. Fleeing is not the answer. Not for us.”
“This whole mission is designed for us,” Navarra rebuked. “The organizers want us out of Cartonia so we can be beacons of hope for the people we’re leaving behind!”
“How noble,” Archibald scowled. Navarra cocked her head.
“Archie, even the prospect of a better life for my family is worth it. I watched my brother be murdered on live television. I cannot stand around and hope that the Vixen Queen doesn’t do the same to me and my children.”
Archibald averted his gaze and frowned. When his daughter, Theodora, was murdered by the parrots, he did not run. He ran headfirst into battle and did not stop his ruthless pursuit of justice until the decapitated head of the Macaw of Psittancyna was mounted atop Tardisham Tower, where it still remained. If she had been alive now, maybe he would have agreed to be a passenger with her. 
“The world beyond the Cliffs might be worse than the one here,” Archibald murmured. Navarra rubbed her hoof against her arm. She was nervous. 
“I know, but this one isn’t getting any better. This one is dead. The one out there might be alive.” 
Archibald softened. 
“You better start packing. Trent Mallon needs everyone in Vinesteeple so he only has one stop. Some of the Eusuchian passengers are in Canis already but the rest are coming with you, as well as my bears and your horses. That’s a lot of people to prepare and organize.”
Navarra nodded and set off to begin the work. Archibald glanced around the hall in which he stood. In all of its years, Tardisham Tower had never successfully been taken by any invading force. His enemies now leeched around the edges of Ursus, heading for the capital. His military commanders predicted the battle for Tardisham Tower would occur sometime in December or January. 
They would be ready.
—Highland Castle, West Terrier, Canis—
—October 9, 725—
-2 Days Later-
Amin Hotep and Farress Nilia of Eusuchia surveyed from one of the tower windows as Trent Mallon and his party left Highland Castle, bound for the wasteland of Phantine and the bastion of Vinesteeple. Though they were sent off with fanfare and best wishes, the organizers revealed to Amin and Nilia that Trent’s odds of returning were very slim. The foxes were currently trying to establish absolute control over Phantine, and unlicensed vehicles would easily raise suspicion. The return cargo—hundreds and hundreds of passengers—were going to be hidden in special trucks. If they were discovered, the Vixen Queen would have an open season with royal families from the Granite Bloc. 
“Am I a bad Farress?” Nilia said suddenly from behind her black veil of mourning for her long-dead sons. “I’m abandoning Eusuchia in her darkest hour. That makes me a bad Farress.”
Amin shook his head and placed a scaly hand on hers. 
“It makes you a good mother. You’re leaving because I’m going too. We’ll die here if we stay.”
Nilia wiped away a few tears and nodded. 
“Okay,” she whispered. “I’m not going to lie to you, Amin. I’m very frightened. I don’t think we’re going to make it to the Dam.”
Amin weighed whether or not to tell her the truth, and opted to do so.
“I’m scared too. I think they’re going to catch us.”
—Vinesteeple, Primatia, Simeone—
—October 16, 725—
-1 Week Later-
“Phantine is spacious,” Trent Mallon spoke to an incredulous room of Kings and Queens, having just arrived at Vinesteeple from his journey through occupied Phantine. His team of cats, now out of their fox disguises, were eating in the Steeple with some of the other future passengers. “The marshes are depopulated enough that we were easily able to slip through. The foxes are concentrating their efforts on subjugating the former capital and the large cities. The Tatums gave us a series of routes that avoid all major population centers. The roads are relatively intact, though we encountered a few roadblocks. If we leave tomorrow, we can be back in Canis by next week.” 
Queen Bella Mallard took a long shaky breath. This was really happening. Her cases were packed, her family was ready, and liberty was closer to her grasp than ever before. 
“Are you really a BioFreak?” Bella asked, trying not to sound impertinent. She had never met one before. In response, Trent changed his fur color from yellow to green. 
“They say you came as a fox,” Queen Navarra of Equine Isle, who arrived a few days ago, pointed out. “Is that true?” 
“It is,” Trent replied as he transformed from a rabbit into a fox. 
“I’m obsessed,” Queen Daisy cheered in delight. “Can you turn into one of us?”
“It’s not a party trick,” Ham Mercury scolded. Nonetheless, Trent altered his appearance to become a duplicate of Queen Daisy. The only thing that didn’t change was his clothes. 
“Is it safe?” Bella pressed. “I have a daughter now. She’s only two. Will we make it to Canis alive?” 
Trent Mallon opened his mouth, but didn’t reply right away. 
“Majesty…” he muttered at last, “I cannot guarantee anything. I am able to appear as a fox to dispel any suspicion but I lack any other ability. I’m just one rabbit, trying to do what is right. The organizers and indeed the leaders of the Granite Bloc believe that your best chance of escaping is to come with me to Canis. That’s all I can say.” 
“Well, it’s well said,” Daisy remarked. “Me and the mice of Willie are ready. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Daisy left, and Bella turned to Trent. 
“I trust you, Mr. Mallon. I heard from my father of your compassion when you accepted Jacquetta, Lionel, and Zamora Lazoy into your trench when you were a soldier in Leprolia. If you managed to make it across Phantine without issue, then I have confidence that you can get us back.”
Trent bowed. 
“It is my honor, your Majesty.” 
—
When Anya and Tatyana Mus were forced from their home, they were seven and five respectively. Nine years passed since the fall of Willie, and now they were sixteen and fourteen. Teenagers living in exile with their mother and Uncle Donald. They were really too young to miss Musenzollern Castle and Willie, and had come to love and appreciate Vinesteeple as their new home. 
Both were reluctant to leave, and scared. Daisy found them in their bedroom, stripped bare of all their possessions. Anything they couldn’t pack became gifts for their monkey friends in Simeone. 
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Daisy said as she came into the room. Anya, leaning against her bedpost, crossed her arms. 
“If you leave,” Anya stated, “you are renouncing your throne. There will be no one left to pick up the crown. All of our relatives are dead.” 
Daisy inwardly groaned. This again. 
“Anya, dear, I am not renouncing anything. There is nothing to renounce. Willie has been under total Vulpine control for nine years.” 
“Mom,” Tatyana piped up, “we’re going to be traveling so far. What if we don’t make it? Will we ever come back?” 
Daisy sat on Tatyana’s bed, and the girls moved onto Anya’s. 
“Girls, you have to have faith that we will make it. We will survive. I picture this outcome every night. I manifest it into existence. And one day we will come back.”
“But how can you so easily leave?” Anya pressed. “You’re the Queen of Willie and as long as you’re here, you’re hope for Willie! If you’re gone, there’s nobody.”
Daisy sighed heavily.
“What is a Queen in exile? A Queen without a throne or a crown or power? A figurehead. I am a figurehead. For people to know that I escaped, that I am out there, alive, and can one day return, I become an icon. That is why we must go. We must escape so that the people will believe in our return.”
Daisy was lying to herself, and to her daughters. Willie was long-dead, and would never resurrect. This was her only chance to get herself and her family to safety. She was willing to accept the risk, for the alternative was far worse. If it were up to her, she would insist upon the permanent establishment of a new society beyond the Vixen Cliffs with an inherent vow to never venture north to Cartonia again.
—O Camp, Southern Porcinia—
—October 17, 725—
-1 Day Later-
All of the residents of O Camp were asked to gather in front of the administration building. With all the additional evacuees in the Camp, space was very cramped. Lana Loudoun stood with her mother, Diana, and her partner Nicholas. The exact population of O Camp, once closely regulated, was not known anymore. So many refugees arrived daily that supplies were dwindling. 
The gathering was presided over by the de facto leader of O Camp: Sergeant Monica Oll. Lana had a lot of respect for her. She once confided to Lana that despite many opportunities of promotion, Sergeant O turned them all down. She felt her duty was to O Camp, and there was no greater honor. 
“Hello, everyone,” Sergeant O spoke into a microphone. Her usual vigor was gone. “I regret to inform you that Q and R Camps have been burned and destroyed, on the heels of S and T Camps that went up in smoke last week. The parrots are fast-approaching us, and may be here as soon as next week. These invaders are sparing no life as they raze our resettlement camps. I have been asked to initiate evacuation procedures of our own, but we will not be able to mobilize everyone in time, and I fear we are simply delaying the inevitable. I will not stop anyone from trying to leave O Camp on their own volition, and we will provide whatever resources we can. However, I have ordered my soldiers here to activate our defenses. I will not surrender this Camp without a fight. If you flee, you will face this fight eventually. I am sorry that it has come to this, and I will be candid in saying that all my counterparts at A through N Camps are reluctant to evacuate, even to Canis. Leaving here may only delay the fight. The choice rests with each of you, and I’ll provide more information at breakfasttime tomorrow.” 
Lana listened with a hammering heart. Sergeant O was saying what Lana had long-feared: that she would die in her fight for survival against the parrots of Psittancyna. 
She would stay and help defend O Camp. She would defend her home, even though by now almost all hope was gone.
—Highland Castle, West Terrier, Canis—
—October 18, 725—
-1 Day Later-
Young Card Tatum was the heir to the throne of Phantine when Babar Nguvu, his father, was executed on live television by the Kingdom of Vulpus. However, the law dictated that one must be fifteen years old to become Babar. Card was only ten, and so Jasiri Tatum became acting Babar. 
It meant nothing to Jasiri, as Phantine was dead and this expedition would carry him and his family far away. This war took Jasiri’s parents, his twin brother, his wife…only his daughter Binti and his nephew Card remained. 
Jasiri knew this southern passage would fail. The foxes would catch them immediately and have them all executed, just like Nguvu. Nonetheless, the chance of success was worth the risk in order to give Binti and Card their only chance of a life in freedom.
—Occupied Phantine—
—October 19, 725—
-1 Day Later-
Desolate. 
Phantine was desolate. The trucks squelched through the sticky marshes, and Trent Mallon had seen more bodies rotting in the swampy water than he’d care to count. The royals and the other passengers, concealed in the beds of the armored trucks, were fortunate to be spared the sight. 
Each truck held 100 passengers. Conditions were cramped; this was not a luxurious voyage. Every few hours, Trent would order the convoy to stop so everyone could get out and stretch their legs. They only stopped in wide open fields, uninhabited and desolate. Trent would scan the horizon with a spyglass to ensure they were not being watched. 
Officially, the trucks were marked with fake Vulpine decals designed in Canis. The route they were taking circled around the country on the loneliest roads, preventing them from crossing checkpoints outside the cities. The most difficult portion of the trip would be reentering Canis and surmounting the trench lines. That’s where Trent’s fox disguise came into play.
As a rule, all the cats and Trent were always in disguise. They never took them off, to the point where Trent knew his team better in Vulpine form than Felexan. 
Most foxes were brown, tan, grey, or white. A few were light blue, black, or yellow, and it was rare for them to be any other color. The majority were brown, and so nearly all the cats had their furs dyed to that color. The dye was temporary; the costume team at the Canisian theaters said the color would wear off after a few months—enough time to get out of Cartonia. The rest of the ensemble was faux fur, clipped onto the edges of their faces to simulate a vulpine head. Their claws were cut down from their pronounced norm. Overall, it was an effective disguise. Trent felt confident that if they encountered real foxes on their journey back to Canis, they could successfully deceive them into thinking they were foxes too. 
There were still several days left before they’d reach Porcinia, and from there they would pass into Canis. 
—The Pink Palace, Sowtown, Porcinia—
—October 21, 725—
-2 Days Later-
Sowtown was surrounded. King Bacon IV saw no means of escape. Bentley Connelly had begged him to take his family to Highland Castle, but there hadn’t been time. The capital had been encircled for months. There was no way out. The Hamleighs were trapped, destined for surrender and defeat. Humiliation and murder. 
The passengers Bacon offered to Bentley for his quest were mostly civilians. He did not have any family outside of the capital except…
Diana Loudoun, and her daughter. 
The parrots in their invasion had made it a priority to sever communication lines where they could, and getting messages to the Camps was difficult, even for the King. Diana was hesitant of the mission, and didn’t know if leaving Cartonia was the solution she was hoping for. Bacon left it to Diana’s choice. He understood the fear. Many royals were petrified of passing through the Kingdom of Vulpus undisguised. Bacon was scared himself, but he didn’t have to choose whether to stay or leave. That choice was made for him. 
As the parrots got closer and closer, probably weeks away from the capital gates, Bacon saw he had one option left to preserve the monarchy. Funnily enough, it would also solve the issue he had long dreaded: Bake Hamleigh ascending to the throne. Bake’s behavior had only worsened over the years, and any honor completely eroded when Bake determined that Porcinia’s fate was sealed and he would likely never wear the crown. Bacon was confident that Porcinia’s monarchy would be abolished by the Vixen Queen or Macaw Lucia—whoever got there first. Bacon was hopeful, however, that a restoration was in the near future. Whoever was outlined in the law of succession would be that person bound to pick up the crown. 
Bacon summoned all of his family members to the private dining room in the Pink Palace, and they sat around a long table. Bacon was, naturally, at the head with Queen Roseanna by his side. 
“I have spoken with King Bentley this morning,” he informed his family, including his three children, their adult children, Bacon’s siblings, and their adult children. No one underage was here for this. Even his elderly Aunt Poppy was here in her wheelchair, resolute to the last breath. “I have asked him to aid me invoke the nuclear option to save our family from total ruin. I hope we’ve all come to terms with the fact that we’ll be dead before the end of the year.”
“If we’re so lucky,” Aunt Poppy remarked. Bacon was inclined to agree with her; he’d rather die quickly than live in captivity. 
“There are several members of our family residing outside the capital, but most are dead now. There is one that I know is alive, and has a daughter. She is a resident of O Camp, which is soon to be invaded by parrots. It is my plan to name her as the legal heir to the Kingdom of Porcinia. Bentley has agreed to send in a special battalion to liberate O Camp and send several of its occupants—including our new heir—south on his expedition.”
The Hamleighs stared. Bake appeared livid. 
“That’s not fair to Bake,” Winnie Hamleigh, Bake’s sister, commented. “He’s the true-born heir.”
“Yeah, what the hell, Dad?” Bake snapped. 
Bacon rolled his eyes.
“Didn’t we all just agree we’re going to be dead within months? Who cares who wears the crown then? There won’t be a Kingdom to rule! This expedition that Bentley and his team have organized is designed to protect and preserve the royal families of Cartonia. None of us can escape Porcinia. Diana is our only hope.”
“Who?” Winnie asked, cocking her head. 
“Diana Loudoun,” Bacon sighed. “She’s the daughter of Uncle Hammer. She got pregnant very young, and my father threw her out of court. She’s never returned. She lived in Ripper before we evacuated her to O Camp. She has a daughter named Lana.” 
Aunt Poppy let out an angry gasp.
“The whore?” 
Bacon’s heart stopped.
“Excuse me?”
“Diana, the slut,” Poppy emphasized. “The one who had that baby so young. My brother was furious. Cast her out of Sowtown. I thought she had died years and years ago, from drugs or something, and that’s why we never heard from her. I remember her well. Greedy, grubby, slutty child. Who was the father of the baby?”
Bacon shrugged. 
“I don’t know.”
“Some bloke named Loudoun,” Bake posited. “Just search the directory.”
Queen Roseanna rolled her eyes demonstratively. 
“She took the name Loudoun from the County, not a person. And she’s not a whore. She’s a perfectly fine woman.” 
Bake slunk in his chair. Poppy waved her trotter, unconvinced. She looked furious at the decision. 
“I have called you here today,” Bacon continued, “to inform you of this change of succession. Obviously, Diana Loudoun will likely never succeed to the throne. But there’s the chance that this expedition succeeds. A small chance, admittedly, but there is hope. If there is a restoration of the Porcinian monarchy, Diana and her heirs will have escaped, thereby preserving the line.”
“So,” Bake said after a prolonged period of silence, “when she dies…her daughter becomes heir?”
“Correct.”
“So…” Bake went on, visibly confused, “am I totally displaced from the line of succession?”
“Yes,” Bacon replied casually. “All of us are. And the decree has already been passed by Parliament.” 
The King’s sister gasped. 
“Bacon!” she cried. “That is tyrannical! Nonsensical! Diana is a pariah!”
King Bacon gripped the dining table with his trotters. 
“She is not a pariah, only to those stuck in the past and obsessed with her teenaged mistake. I ask you this: who cares? This is the end of the war! We must make decisive moves, and swiftly. Here is the decree.” 
He slid the paperwork down the table. “All of us must sign.”
Roseanna picked up the pen at once and put her name to paper. Bacon’s daughters went next. So on and so forth, down the table, until all the Hamleigh signatures were inked. Poppy went last, and with great reluctance. She uttered vile words under her breath.
“Very well,” King Bacon said, retrieving the document. “Copies of this will be sent to all the Kingdoms of the Granite Bloc, so that everyone knows our succession is secured. If we’re fortunate…this may also spare our lives.”
“How?” Aunt Poppy grumbled. 
“Because,” Queen Roseanna jumped in, “maybe the Vixen Queen will see that Diana and Lana escaped, and we’re no threat.” 
Bake laughed. 
“That’s not going to happen.” 
Bacon frowned. For once, his son was right.
—Highland Castle, West Terrier, Canis—
—October 23, 725—
-2 Days Later-
A phalanx of soldiers from Highland Castle’s defenses were leaving today for Porcinia, to liberate one of the temporary resettlement camps. Hamish McRory, the King’s valet, read the bulletin over breakfast. Apparently King Bacon IV had passed over his entire family to settle on a distant relative as heir to the throne, as she was the only one who could get out of Cartonia and be a passenger. As far as Hamish knew, the Hamleighs were the only royal family to do this. 
The departing soldiers were all volunteers, and were willing to pass extremely close to advancing Psittancynesians to liberate this place, called O Camp. Bentley and Thumper Connelly were going to be seeing them off in full military regalia. Hamish was called to help them get into uniform. The many latches, medals, and doodads were once daunting to Hamish, but he had deftly obtained a routine for fixating them to the royals without issue. 
Hamish dressed Thumper first, and was now doing the King. 
“How old are you?” Thumper asked suddenly, eyeing the valet. Before Hamish could answer, Bentley jumped in with,
“22. He’ll be 23 on November 2.” 
“That’s right, your Majesty.” 
Bentley beamed at Thumper though the mirror. Hamish grinned too. The King was always very interested in his life, and felt much more like a friend than an employer. 
“Are you sure,” Bentley said, “that you don’t want to be a passenger on the expedition? You’ll always have a spot.” 
Hamish shook his head. 
“No, your Majesty. I will stay here with you and the family. My duty is to Highland Castle and the Connelly family.” 
Bentley tilted his head. 
“That’s all very nice and good,” he responded, “but please don’t choose now to be noble. This might be your only chance to escape this place and live in freedom again.” 
Hamish shrugged. 
“Sorry, your Majesty. I…”
He stopped himself and went back to adjusting the lapels. 
“Speak your mind,” Bentley persuaded. Hamish let out a small sigh. 
“I don’t think this mission will be successful. I’d prefer the evil I know to the unknown.” 
Bentley was not bothered at all. 
“Sentinel Dane Mastiff will be going south. He’s the scariest, strongest person I know. He’ll protect you.” 
“No, thank you,” Hamish repeated. 
“It’s okay,” Thumper grinned. “You can join Evangelina and I for our End of the World Party. It’s going to be a real banger.” 
Hamish and Bentley both laughed. As they enjoyed the joke, Maximilian Walters slid into the bedchamber. He was wearing an army uniform as well, and looked extremely uncomfortable in it. 
“Minerva and Lionel are with the troops,” Max informed the King. “We’re ready when you are.” 
Thumper stood and straightened his jacket. Hamish finished adding the final pins, and handed the King his hat. 
“We’ll be right down.” 
Bentley fixated the cap to his head, and took the white gloves from Hamish’s outstretched paws. 
“Two convoys,” he mused, “converging in Porcinia. Hamish?”
“Yes, your Majesty?”
“Put in a prayer for them.”
—Southern Porcinia—
—October 25, 725—
-2 Days Later-
The train took Lionel, Max, and Minerva to the Porcinian border, where the tracks were cut to prevent the parrots from using them against Canis or vice versa. From there, they crossed the trench lines straddling the border and proceeded on foot and with limited vehicles toward O Camp. 
Yesterday, P Camp was obliterated. Straggling survivors fled west, many seriously injured. According to King Bacon and King Bentley, the power was cut in O Camp, and they were no longer able to communicate with the residents there. Bacon’s last message to the woman in command, named Monica Oll, was that help was on the way. 
They’d be at the Camp by eveningfall. As Lionel walked through the tall grass of rural Porcinia, due north toward the Camp, he could almost hear the sound of thousands of parrots marching from the other direction. 
—Diary of Lana Loudoun—
They’re almost upon us. I have chosen my hiding place for this diary, and if I survive, I’ll unearth it and carry my little chronicle to our next destination. Otherwise, I hope that whoever reads this will learn of the horrors of this war, and ensure they’re never repeated.
—
Lana yelped as the bell rang atop the administration building. She dropped the pen and raced to the window. Nicholas tripped over himself trying to do the same. 
“The bell!” he gasped. “They’re here!”
“No,” Lana muttered, “it only chimed once. That means the Granite Bloc is here.”
Nicholas withdrew, shaking his head.
“Can’t be.”
He was wearing all black, kitchen knives strapped to his belt. They were preparing to defend themselves as the parrots marched on O Camp. Anything and everything was to be used against them. Mom was booby-trapping her home to this end. Then, she was going to come over here and be with Lana and Nicholas at the end. 
If the Granite Bloc were really here…
Sounds of cheering burst around the house. Nicholas opened the front door.
“Hey!” he called to a pig doing a cartwheel in the street. “What’s going on?”
The pig stuck the landing and stood up triumphantly.
“We are saved!” she cried. “Canis has come to rescue us! An announcement is coming, but take what you can carry. We leave at once.”
Nicholas gazed in shock at Lana, whose eyes traveled back to her diary. She closed the cover, shoved it into her backpack, and began to gather her belongings. 
—
Diana Loudoun was on the porch of her cabin when Monica Oll approached with three people. She was on her way to Lana and Nicholas’s cabin, but Sergeant O stopped her.
“Diana,” she said, “these three need to have a word with you.”
“It’s true then,” Diana mumbled, staring in disbelief at the mouse, dog, and cat on her porch. “The Granite Bloc has saved us.”
“For now,” Sergeant O admitted. “This is Maximilian Walters, Royal Historian of Canis. And Minerva Taylor, former Royal Historian of Willie, and Lionel Lazoy, Prince of Felexa.”
Diana did not recognize anyone except Lionel, who she knew only by name. She shook their paws. 
“May we come in, Diana?” Max asked. She nodded. They went into her living room. 
“Careful of the tripwires,” she warned. They stepped likewise toward the couch. The three sat together, squishing onto the sofa.
“We understand that communication has been cut here,” Minerva Taylor said. Diana nodded. “Have you heard from King Bacon recently?”
Diana’s eyebrows went up. It was a very direct question. Most citizens would never even meet the King, and to ask if she had contacted the King in recent memory meant only one thing: they knew she was a Hamleigh. 
“Uh…about the expedition? I told him I’m not sure it’s safe.” 
Max wordlessly removed a scroll from the bag over his shoulder and unrolled it for her. Diana took it and read over the proclamation naming her as the heir to Porcinia. Her mouth fell all the way open. 
“This…can’t be. There are dozens of people ahead of me in the succession!”
“The King expects all those people to be dead before year’s end,” Lionel informed solemnly. Sergeant O took a shaky breath. “Sowtown is surrounded. Porcinia has days left. He may even surrender once he knows you’re out. We have been tasked by the King of Porcinia to rescue you and your daughter from O Camp. Indeed, we’re liberating this entire community. You will all travel with us into Canis. And Diana, you and your daughter have been selected for a special expedition out of Cartonia.” 
Diana listened in shock, and wonder, as her visitors outlined the detailed plan to ferry the royal heirs out of Cartonia. If it succeeded, a big if, she and Lana would be free.
“My daughter has a partner,” Diana said carefully, “may he join us as well? On this expedition, I mean?”
Minerva nodded.
“That should be alright.” 
“What about me?” Sergeant O asked bluntly. “I’d very much love to get the hell out of here too.” 
Max and Lionel exchanged glances. 
“We’ll…ask the King,” Max promised. “Please don’t share this with many others. We don’t have unlimited spaces on this mission.” 
Sergeant O agreed, but looked very hopeful. 
“Please,” Diana blurted, “don’t tell Lana. About this royal thing. I’ve never told her she’s a Hamleigh. I’ll tell her when I’m ready.” 
Max stood, and the other followed. 
“We can do that. Now, please pack. We’re leaving within the hour. Sergeant O, let’s make your announcement.” 
Sergeant O gave Diana a quick hug before rushing out the door. After they were gone, Diana gripped the countertop for stability. 
Heir to Porcinia? 
“Bacon,” she said aloud, “why me?”
—Highland Castle, West Terrier, Canis—
—November 1, 725—
-6 Days Later-
All the expedition’s passengers had taken residence in Highland Castle. Porcinia’s surrender was expected in the coming days, and Canis was being crushed from the northeast and southeast. West Terrier could be reached in a week’s time. Vulpus was putting every single resource into the Canisian invasion. Simeone and Ursus were enjoying a bit of a reprieve as Canis was sieged. 
The expedition was due to embark in two days time on November 3. Now that everyone was here, Max Walters and his fellow organizers, Minerva and Lionel, were asked to conduct an orientation of what to expect. Though the project was known by members of the Granite Bloc, it was still a secret mission. Not only was the threat of discovery by the Summer Sun great, but many Canisians would be angry to hear that there was a way out of Cartonia, and they were being left behind. It was something Max tried not to think about too much, that people would be left here to suffer and die while he potentially gamboled in freedom.
The meeting was held in a cavernous underground bunker, far beneath Highland Castle. All 1,218 passengers were in attendance. King Bentley, Thumper and Evangelina Connelly, and several other dignitaries choosing to stay behind were present too. 
Max approached the microphone on the stage. Everyone was seated, facing him. He was unaccustomed to speaking to large groups, but summoned the courage to read his notes.
“Hello, everyone. For those who don’t know me, I’m Maximilian Walters, the Royal Historian for Canis. Behind me are Minerva Taylor and Lionel Lazoy, both Historians as well for Willie and Felexa respectively. Lionel is also the Crown Prince of Felexa. The three of us are the organizers of this expedition south. We welcome you to Highland Castle.”
Minerva and Lionel waved. Max pressed his clicker to move the slideshow behind him to the next part. It depicted the four-stages of their plan.
“Tonight, I’m going to explain to everyone in detail what our plan is. Most of you probably know what this is, but I want to ensure we’re all on the same page before we leave in two days. This is one of the largest and most dangerous undertakings in Cartonian history. If we’re successful…this will be unprecedented. Let’s go through the four phases of our mission.”
Max gestured behind him. “Step 1: Gather the Passengers. We’ve done that, obviously. What is the purpose of this escape, you may ask? It is, plainly, to shepherd the monarchs, heirs, and royal families out of Cartonia to protect them from destruction. The Vixen Queen and her Summer Sun has made it clear that she will show no mercy to anyone with royal blood. Cartonia is nothing without monarchy and tradition. By getting you all out, we can one day bring you back. I don’t know when that is, unfortunately.
“Who else is here? I’ll get to that in a bit. All of you, we can safely say, are royalists and loyalists. You have all sworn to secrecy, and to the protection of our most precious cargo. In total, there are 1,218 of us.”
Max shone his laser pointer at the second tenet of the plan.
“Second, we must exit Canis and travel south to the Vixen Cliffs, specifically to the Vulpus Dam. Has anyone been there before?”
A few hands went up around the room. Max asked those to keep them raised, and Minerva went into the crowd to take names to ask questions to them later. They needed to know everything about the Dam. 
“Getting out of Canis will be exceptionally difficult. We are surrounded by our enemies. Allow me to introduce our Phase 2 Leaders.”
Pictures of Trent Mallon as a fox and his team of cats in costume appeared behind Max. Gasps rippled at the accuracy. 
“These are cats disguised as foxes. They will help us traverse enemy territory. Throughout the duration of our travels, we will be masquerading as Vulpine supply vehicles. If we are ever stopped by forces from Vulpus, we will use our disguises to our advantage. The first stage of our journey will be by train to the Canisian border. From there, we will move into armored trucks. For those of you coming from Simeone, you have already met Trent Mallon and his team, and have traveled through occupied Phantine safely. We believe that this may work, so long as we stick to the supply chains and no one knows to look for us.”
Max could see the wide eyes of those in the front rows. Bentley was along the side of the room, smiling. 
“Our journey by truck through the Summer Sun will take about a week. We’ll stop only in rural settings. The trucks may be uncomfortable, but we will have enough food and water to last a month. The supplies are being sent to the train station as we speak. Everyone has been asked to pack lightly, and I hope you took that to heart. If it does not fit, we will have to throw it out.”
Max showed them the map of their planned route through Cartonia. They would go through Phantine, Capricon, Felexa, Cervidium, and Vulpus. They would steer clear of all major cities and the capitals. They had no idea what had become of these places since their absorption into the Summer Sun, which was why the plan was only rigid to a point. Adaption and flexibility would be key to success. 
“Phase 3,” Max went on, “is exiting Cartonia. This is, without a doubt, the hardest and most improbable stage. If we have the fortune and providence to reach the Vulpus Dam, the real work will begin. No one has ever fled Cartonia for a reason. We know the Eastern Ocean is treacherous due to Hurricane Haven, that we’re blocked in the north by the Pinnacle Ice Sheet, and that the Western Ocean only leads to wasteland and more rocky seas. The south is protected by the Vixen Cliffs, with the Vulpus Dam the only opening to the rest of the continent. 
“The Dam actually consists of three dams. The complex is divided into three dams and two basins, all fed by the Vulpus Reservoir and Cartonian River. Each basin is kept intact by a dam. When the Vulpus Reservoir (or the Upper Basin) reaches capacity, the controllers open a series of spillways into the Middle Basin. A spillway is essentially a passage for excess water to drain to prevent overtopping the Dam and deterioration of the structure. Our ticket out is located in the Lower Basin: the bell-mouth spillway.”
Max pointed at the photograph of the bell-mouth spillway. When water was flowing down into the spillway, it gave the appearance of a whirlpool. 
“This spillway is always open, unlike the others. It is the last resort. If the Upper and Middle Basins are flooding, the bell-mouth spillway ensures that excess water is pushed out of Cartonia. That is only when the Lower Basin is at capacity. Now…”
Max paused, to let the information sink in. “Now, I must admit that this information is over a decade old. The Summer Sun censored all their documents in 711. Everything we’ve researched is based on reports and diagrams from 711 or before, taken from the Grand Library of Phantine. We’re very grateful for the Phantish librarians who digitized their records before Phantine fell.”
He returned to the bell-mouth diagram. 
“This spillway is enormous. It’s probably as wide as this room. It leads to a long vertical pipe that shoots down the length of the Vixen Cliffs, and emerges at the base. Millions of gallons of excess water drain through the spillway whenever the basin is at capacity. If anyone were to go through this spillway, they’d drown in seconds. So how do we get through?” 
Max put up a diagram of the entire Dam complex, next to an image of the waste receptacles. 
“These are the containers we are hoping will carry us out of Cartonia, through the bell-mouth spillway. They are called the waste receptacles. The Vulpus Mines use them to eject rocks, dirt, mining waste, and regular trash from the Kingdom and into the Expanse below. The chute was built specifically to projectile the receptacles from from the Cliffs, to prevent trash building up. Two receptacles are at the Dam at a time, and there may be more. When the Lower Basin is at capacity, the foxes load up the receptacles and let them fall into the bell-mouth. If we reach the Dam, we must take it by force and commandeer the waste receptacles, or what my colleagues call the ‘trash ships.’ This is…going to be very, very hard.” 
Max took a deep breath. He turned to the diagram of the Dams. 
“There’s a control room here, on the western bank of the Dam. It’s embedded into the rock, as is the entire Vulpus Dam Administration Center. The waste receptacles are dropped into the Lower Basin via a chute built into the side of the cliff. We’ll have to use the control room to release the receptacles. According to our dated research, only fifty or so employees work at the Dam. It is very likely we’ll have to incapacitate all of them. That is why many of you have military experience.”
The room ruffled with chatter about this stage of the plan. 
“If the Lower Basin is not at capacity,” Max continued, “then we must use the control room to open the Middle Dam’s spillways to fill it. We’ll load up the two receptacles with our supplies, and then ourselves. The passengers assigned to operate the control room will set up our escape before boarding their receptacle. Then, we drop into the spillway and rocket out of the Vixen Cliffs.”
A dog in the front raised her paw.
“Uh, is that safe?” 
“Not at all,” Max admitted honestly. “The waste receptacles are not designed to survive the plunge intact. They need only to exit the chute. The foxes never intended for anyone to occupy these ships. We all know that people have gone over the Cliffs before, usually by rappelling down. No one has left without Vulpine authority. Crossing the Cliffs is illegal. We will be providing helmets and other protection gear to cushion the impact of the fall. We’re also planning to allow a lot of water go through the bell-mouth to further protect us from…”
Max did not finish his sentence. 
“So…let’s say we manage to escape Canis, and cross Cartonia, reach the Dam, and successfully exit secretly through the bell-mouth spillway. What next? Well, we’ll be in the Expanse. A place we know to be unforgiving, treacherous, and uninhabitable. We take our supplies and we press south, as far as we can. Once the foxes discover we’ve escaped, they might scramble a team to follow us. This we cannot allow. We must not be followed. 
Once we have reached a safe distance from Cartonia, however far that may be, we must then establish a new temporary society. Most of you are skilled laborers. Builders, farmers, doctors, agriculturalists, scientists. You have all the necessary tools to forge a new home for us. In the name of practicality, let us discuss the exact details of Phase 4 if…when…if we escape Cartonia.”
Max fished a water bottle out from the podium off-stage and took a swig of water. He fielded a few questions, but there were surprisingly few. 
“This is the most dangerous thing any of us will ever do,” Max said in closing. “If we’re caught, we will all be killed by the Vixen Queen. There will be no mercy whatsoever. But if we stay, we will likely face a similar fate. By escaping, we can one day return. We may gain an advantage in our absence. There is the possibility that none of us ever return. You all know the dangers, and you all have taken on the risk. We are here together for a greater cause, as an investment in safeguarding the future of the place we once loved.”
The entire room was silent, watching Max speak. Minerva and Lionel were in his periphery, smiling encouragingly. Max held tight to his microphone and took center-stage. 
“In these last eighteen years of war, we have seen the blossoming of unspeakable evil in the midst of what we thought was unbreakable peace. All of us have fought some part of this war, and we have one last battle to fight. When bad forces combine, the good must associate, for evil needs nothing more to compass its ends than for good people to look on and do nothing. We pledge to do good, and ferry our leaders to freedom.”
Applause filled the bunker.
—Rook of Vulpus, Vista, Vulpus—
—November 2, 725—
-1 Day Later-
The Vixen Queen stared at her Chancellor in confusion. 
“What do you mean King Bacon changed his succession? Who did he choose?” 
“I don’t know her,” the faithful Chancellor Unella Holstein replied. “Diana Loudoun.” 
Queen Vixen stared, trying to make sense of it. 
“That son Bake of his was always a nuisance but…Porcinia is about to fall.” 
It didn’t make any logical sense. Why change his heir now? The parrots had them on the ropes. The entire country was surrounded. Regardless of who the heir to Porcinia was, the Vixen Queen ordered the assassination of all members of the Hamleigh family. They’d find this Diana woman and kill her too. 
“So arbitrary,” Violetta Vixen remarked. The Vixen Queen nodded in agreement.
“There’s something else going on.” 
—Highland Castle, West Terrier, Canis—
The night before the expedition was to depart, Evangelina Connelly felt a little sad. All the friends she had made among the exiles in West Terrier were about to leave. She had agreed to stay behind with Thumper Connelly and the King. That assuredly meant she would be dead before long. And yet, she had come to peace with that. Her life was dedicated to the war effort, being only three when it began. She had made strides for peace these last eighteen years, and she could die confident she had done as much good as possible to combat the evil of the Vixen Queen. 
“Evangelina?” a voice said behind her. She turned to see Uncle Bentley walking toward her. “Are you doing alright?”
“Yes,” Evangelina replied with unhidden sorrow. “I’ll miss Jacquetta, Azure, Trent, so many of them. I hope they make it out.”
“Me too,” Bentley sighed. “Me too…”
Evangelina had watched her uncle descend into a deep depression over the last year as the demise of Canis became a reality. She had realized long ago that she would never become Queen. The crown would not survive long enough to reach her head. 
“How about you, Uncle? Are you alright?” 
“No,” Bentley laughed with candor. “No, I’m having a rough go of it. I don’t suppose you could help me with something, actually?” 
Evangelina nodded eagerly. 
“Of course.” 
Bentley extended his arm.
“Come with me. We need to talk.”
==Production==
===Continuity and Story Arcs===
Lana Loudoun’s diary entry was previously quoted verbatim in the season 2 episode “Edicts of War.” This Edict, printed in the Diary of War, became the inspiration for Dr. Molecule's creation of the Cogs. 
Stag Barrow referenced the Skulkisch Doktrin, the manifesto that radicalized a young Valda Vixen in the 2020 Christmas Special “Hollow Crown.” The Skulkisch Doktrin prophesied that a superior species would one day reign over Cartonia, and that that species would be the foxes. In publishing her edict, the Vixen Queen essentially fulfilled that prophecy. 
Croix Psint-Annenburg-Volta, Macaw Lucia’s brother and once heir to the throne, returned for the first time since “Too Close to the Sun.”
The escape proposal delivered to Bentley Connelly in “Pro Patria Mori” was actualized. 
Bentley realized that Victoria Vixen and Matthew Palmer were related, and that Vora Vixen was still alive, none of which he knew.
In “Remnants of the People,” Libby Galloway implied that she had something over the Vixen Queen, which turned out to be the secret that Vora Vixen was still alive.
The Republic of Simeone was converted back into a monarchy in order for Mizzie Mercury to escape as heir to the throne. This would later ensure that her distant descendent Alice Carver was located as heir to Simeone. 
After only ten months, the Union of Cervidian Centralized States (UCCS) was dissolved after it failed to suppress the many uprisings against Cervidian rule. 
King Bacon IV altered the line of succession, naming Diana Loudoun as heir to the throne. Canis liberated O Camp, ensuring Diana and Lana’s spots on the expedition south.
===References===
Macaw Lucia references the thirteenth episode, “Too Close to the Sun” by its title when she reflects on her reign as Macaw: “…in the end, her father was right. She had flown too close to the sun.”
The liberation of O Camp is loosely based on the liberation of concentration camps after World War II. 
Maximilian Walters’ quote “When bad forces combine, the good must associate, for evil needs nothing more to compass its ends than for good people to look on and do nothing” is a combination of two quotes by Edmund Burke and John Stuart Mill: “when bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle” and “bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing.” The first quote, by Edmund Burke, was featured in the trailer for War and provided this episode with its title. 
==Trivia==
*The title of this episode comes from a quote from philosopher Edmund Burke: "when bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle." 
**The line was quoted by Maximilian Walters in his orientation to the passengers before they left on their expedition: "When bad forces combine, the good must associate, for evil needs nothing more to compass its ends than for good people to look on and do nothing."
**The original quote appeared in subtitles in the trailer for War.
**Burke's quotation is often misspoken as "the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." 
*At 15,586 words, this was the longest episode of Storytime at the time of publication, beating out "They Came From the North" by 1,122. 
**Its record would be immediately beaten by "Bless My Homeland" one week later.
**This remains the third longest episode, and the longest to not be a finale or premiere episode. 
*With 42 cast members, this episode has the largest cast of the season. It falls short of the series record 46 from "They Came From the North."
*This episode has the longest Appendix of the season, with eighteen entries. This does not include the diagrams and images that appear mid-episode.
*Prenceps, the title of “prince” for males of Psittancyna, is based on the Latin word for “Prince.” 
Category:Episodes
Category:War Episodes
Category:Long Episodes