Remnants of the People

**"Remnants of the People"**is the ninth episode of *War* and the 58th episode overall.

The episode was published on February 21, 2021.

In the episode, a terrible discovery in the trenches of Ursus has deadly consequences for the rest of Cartonia. As the war slows to a standstill under horrific circumstances, the court of Canis reaches a boiling point.

## Appendix

Episode Title Card**A:** Map of the War, 713**B:** Canisian Royal Family, 713**C:** Eusuchian Royal Family, 713**D:** Mallardian Royal Family, 713**E:** Capricovian Royal Family, 713**F:** Highland Castle, West Terrier, Canis
**A:** Note the Summer Sun occupation of Felexa.
**E:** Eddie Hornover is merely heir apparent to the Capricovian dynasty, as the throne and kingdom are now defunct.

## The Episode

—The Ursine Trenches, Southern Psittancyna—

-October 5, 712-

The parrots unleashed a torrent of bombs upon the trenches in their unrelenting pursuit of overcoming the Granite Bloc’s trenches and advancing into their territory. The bears held strong, and would not surrender. The bombs inflicted occasional injury, and the wounded were moved to an infirmary deep down the trench line.

Dr. Loring Clement tended to a few of these soldiers now, dressing their wounds. Before the war, Dr. Clement had been a specialist in diseases, but now there was no distinction between physicians. Anyone with a medical background was dispatched indiscriminately to the trenches. If the injured could be helped, a doctor was quick to their side.

“Dr. Clement!” a captain called, entering the dark subterranean infirmary and moving around the hospital beds. “Are you preoccupied?”

The doctor wiped his hands on a cloth and shook his head.

“No, what is it?”

“There’s a sick man in the barracks. He cannot move. Would you see him?”

Dr. Clement felt almost a thrill at being able to use his proper expertise, such a rare experience at the frontline. Those who fell ill usually just soldiered through it, or were given whatever antibiotics they could find. The doctors were ordered to prioritize those wounded in battle.

The captain led Dr. Clement to the barracks of the company that had just returned from battle with the parrots in no-man’s-land between the trench lines. Half the soldiers were asleep, eager for rest. A good chunk of them were actually in the infirmary from whence the doctor came, injured in their fights. Those that were awake and here were clustered around one bed. Dr. Clement pushed through them to see the afflicted bear.

He was young, and intact—meaning he did not have any loss of limbs or features. He was sweating profusely, and his eyes were squeezed shut. His paw was wrapped around a fellow soldier’s, shaking.

“Good evening,” Dr. Clement muttered gently, pulling up a chair and pulling his stethoscope from his bag. “My name is Dr. Loring Clement. And you are?”

The soldier opened his eyes and shuddered.

“Private Gitchell Padden.”

Dr. Clement listened to a rapid heartbeat, and noted Padden’s frequent shivers. He had chills, and a horrifically high temperature.

“When did you first fall ill?” Dr. Clement asked.

“A few hours ago,” Padden croaked. Clement frowned. He wondered what could have caused such severe onset symptoms.

Clement carried out the rest of his physical examination, searching for any other abnormalities. His paws stopped when he reached the abdomen. Lifting the private’s shirt, he observed large pustules across his stomach. They were black.

“Have you ever seen this before, doctor?” one of the other soldiers inquired.

Dr. Clement promised himself he would never lie to the soldiers in the trenches.

“I have not. And I’m worried. I’ll do what I can to treat this, but I must send a telegram to the King.”

*—Diary of Lana Loudoun—*

*-December 9, 712-*

*As if this world was not suffering enough, nature has seen fit to send down to us a terrible pestilence. We know not with certainty from where it originated, either in Psittancyna or Ursus, but it is spreading across the north of the continent. Today’s newspaper heralded the decimation of villages and trenches. This new contagious virus is deadly, and inexplicably impacts the young and healthy just as violently as it ravages the sick and elderly. A nationwide call for scientists has been issued, as the educated flock to Sowtown to research a vaccine.*

*I have not written of this yet because I did not realize the severity. The first reported outbreak was last October in the trenches of Psittancyna and Ursus.*

*King Bacon has released a list of tips to avoid contracting the virus, which essentially includes frequent hand washing, proper sanitation, wearing a mask, physical distancing, and avoiding large gatherings. Unfortunately, these guidelines can only be applied to civilians, as those on the front do not have the flexibility to abide by the terms. They say the symptoms come quickly, without warning, and death can follow within days. The first known patient was named Gitchell Padden, and he died only four days after being diagnosed. May his soul find eternal rest beyond this world.*

*I pray the virus will not spread beyond the northern regions. I dare not imagine what hell would be torn from the underworld and unleashed upon the living should it spread as a pandemic.*

—Central Mallardia—

—Kingdom of the Ducks—

-February 27, 713-

Despite the epidemic warnings, Martial Redgar Klaus of Vulpus led his troops closer to Anatoidea. The Vixen Queen was firm that no virus was going to preclude her from capturing the duck capital and ending this war. Martial Klaus himself was appointed to lead the final charge.

Anatoidea was over 100 miles away from the Vulpine trench lines, but with the country on lockdown due to the epidemic, Klaus knew it was a golden opportunity to rush from the trenches and make advancements. Standing between him and ultimate victory was the Castle Severn, held by King Swan XX’s uncle Richard Mallard. Klaus still found it amusing that Richard had attempted to overthrow his nephew in the war’s nascent days. Surely he realized that such a folly was only a detriment to his country’s war effort?

Klaus’s army was prepared to siege Castle Severn, and capture its location. The foxes would establish their first major outpost in Mallardia, and turn the war in their favor. Klaus was sick of this six-year stalemate. He wanted glory, and he wanted it soon.

Thousands of foxes had joined Klaus on his crusade, and so far they encountered little resistance. The fields were empty, the trenches evacuated, all ducks sheltering away from the virus. It was all just panic, Klaus thought. They heard the word “epidemic” and fled.

After another hour of trekking across the countryside, the Castle Severn emerged over the hillside. Klaus sent one of his fastest soldiers to approach the front entrance and demand an audience with Richard Mallard. There, the terms of the siege would be outlined. The soldier returned quickly.

“Sir!” he gasped. “They’re all dead.”

Klaus stared, then pulled the soldier away from the rest of the pack.

“Repeat.”

The soldier cleared his throat to catch his breath.

“I knocked on the door and no one answered. It was ajar, so I opened it and saw that all the occupants were lying dead in the foyer.”

“A trap,” Klaus scoffed. “Prepare…”

“No, sir,” the soldier insisted. “They were dead. The pestilence got them, including Richard Mallard.”

Klaus clapped his paws in delight.

“Then we have won! Soldiers! To the castle!”

—

*Emergency Medical Taskforce of the Granite Bloc to Eradicate the Plague*

*March 11, 713*

*URGENT COMMUNICATION*

*To the citizens of the Granite Bloc,*

*We the united nations of our great alliance have vowed to ceasefire where possible to focus the war effort on discovering a cure, vaccine, or treatment for the vile plague that has swept across the continent. All the best medical minds have been summoned to their nation’s capital to join the medical taskforce charged with this labor. This virus is especially deadly, and novel, for its ability to affect all species equally.*

*Due to the rapid spread of the virus, designated the War Plague by the media and officially known as UNVI-712, the Emergency Medical Taskforce has declared a pandemic situation. This has increased the severity of lockdown restrictions and other methods implemented by the governments to prevent the spread of the disease.*

*The monarchs of the Granite Bloc have requested a temporary truce with the Summer Sun during the pandemic’s peak times, but this request has been unilaterally denied.*

*Effective tonight at midnight, the following international restrictions will be enacted:*

*-All non-essential businesses will be required to close, unless they are able to somehow impact the war effort or inoculation effort*

*-Mandatory curfews will begin at 10pm and lift at 7am, and will only apply to civilians*

*-Masks must be worn in public at all times*

*-Rationing of essential goods will begin, and panic buying is strictly prohibited*

*-All borders are closed*

*-All parks and public gathering spots will be closed*

*These restrictions will remain in place until the virus has subsided or treatment can be discovered. We are living in unprecedented times, and acknowledge this will cause severe socioeconomic disruption and financial distress to many in Cartonia. This is intended to maximize the survival of our species.*

*In an age of war and premature death, we pray every Cartonian and their loved ones survive this pandemic.*

*Sincerely,*

*The Signatories of the Emergency Medical Taskforce to Eradicate the Plague*

*& The Monarchs of the Granite Bloc*

—The Rook of Vulpus, Vista, Vulpus—

—Kingdom of the Foxes—

-March 14, 713-

An urgent telegram was delivered to the Vixen Queen from Chancellor Unella Holstein. She requested an immediate audience, which the Queen granted. When the Chancellor arrived, she was wearing a face mask.

“What is it, Unella?” the Vixen Queen asked casually, pouring herself a glass of water.

“The outbreak at Castle Severn has worsened, and nearly all of our occupants has died. Martial Klaus included. The survivors are begging for permission to leave and return to the trenches.”

The Vixen Queen threw her glass at the wall. It shattered upon impact.

“Damn this plague!” she shouted. “It doesn’t matter what I do, does it? If they stay, they die. If they leave, they’ll likely die en route back to the trenches. All my plans…”

She lowered her head.

“We must find a cure to this disease,” she scowled. “At any cost.”

The Chancellor voiced her agreement.

“What shall I say to the soldiers at Castle Severn?”

The Vixen Queen looked up.

“How many are left?”

“At the last telegram, only fourteen.”

“In that case,” the Vixen Queen intoned, “they can do whatever they bloody well like.”

—The Grand Dowager House, Anatoidea, Mallardia—

—Kingdom of the Ducks—

-March 17, 713-

It was hot and stuffy in the Grand Dowager House, as Emmeline of Capet shivered from the affects of the War Plague. The fireplace was roaring, and a heating pad was under her covers. The 106-year-old former Queen was not likely to survive the virus. Her condition had increasingly worsened over the week since she was diagnosed on the same day the Granite Bloc declared a pandemic.

Earlier this morning, an envoy sent to Castle Severn was shocked to find that the silence of the past few weeks had been due to the virus taking hold of the compound and slaughtering all that lived there. A handful of foxes were discovered living amongst the carnage, afflicted with the virus. The Vulpine army had apparently arrived to an empty castle, and intended to occupy it as a stronghold until they too succumbed.

King Swan XX was the one to tell Emmeline that her son, Richard Mallard, had died. She reacted calmly, but whimpered all the same. Swan felt guilty for having been overcome with a sense of relief to learn that his once-rival was now gone. After the coup had ended in 708, all with Emmeline’s help, Swan knew that he would never feel at peace from the threat until it was eliminated. Today, the virus had achieved that end.

Unfortunately, it appeared he would lose an enemy and an ally all in one day. He was wearing a mask, and sitting far from Emmeline’s bed, so as not to contract the virus. His only child, the Princess Bella Mallard, wanted to be with her great-grandmother if she passed.

“Do you want to hear a story?” Emmeline suddenly asked, her voice weak.

“Yes,” Swan and Bella said together. Those gathered in the hallway, having heard Emmeline speak, stuck their heads through the doorway. Swan’s wife, Queen Isadora, was among them.

“When I was seventeen,” Emmeline narrated, gazing straight up at the ceiling, “I was betrothed to Crown Prince Finneas Mallard. We had never met before, but he did not want me to arrive in Anatoidea not knowing my future husband.”

Swan smiled; he had heard this story before. The noblewoman from Capet plucked from among her seven sisters and elevated to Queen of Mallardia. Ancestress to all future monarchs of the Kingdom.

“He wrote me letters,” Emmeline continued, “and sent me a beautiful silk dress. Baby blue, brushed with white strokes. He told me to wear it to my coronation, and I did.”

Swan could picture the published images from Emmeline’s coronation, the new Queen resplendent in blue, white, and gold. He would have loved to be there, had he been alive.

“I wore that dress as often as I could,” Emmeline sighed, “as it became a symbol of the love I bore to my husband. I’ve never parted with it. One day, I made the decision that if the world was willing, I’d choose to die in that dress.”

Bella shed a tear and laid her head against her father. In Swan’s lifetime, he had lost both his parents, his grandfather, and now his uncle and grandmother. It was the natural cycle of life, and always painful.

“Do you want us to fetch you that dress?” Isadora asked from the doorframe. Emmeline chuckled and lifted her arm from beneath the covers. The sleeve was baby blue silk with white streaks.

“There is no need, my dear. I have made the necessary preparations.”

*She knows it’s coming*.

“I love you, grandmother,” Swan choked, his throat too tight from sorrow to speak properly.

“I love you all,” Emmeline whispered. “The future of Mallardia is safeguarded in your care.”

Emmeline of Capet, Mallardia’s greatest treasure and one of the most famous people in Cartonia, died at exactly 1:00 in the afternoon.

—Highland Castle, West Terrier, Canis—

—Kingdom of the Dogs—

-May 2, 713-

Thumper Connelly ascended the staircase to the Queen’s Promenade, an upper portion of Highland Castle that Bentley had allocated to their mother, Queen Libby. The name took on new connotations now that Libby was confined to her quarters on order of the King. She still retained her staff and the luxuries befitting a former Queen, but she dined alone, lived alone, and spent much of her time in isolation. Bentley occasionally visited, but always left her presence fuming.

Thumper understood the testy relationship between his brother and mother, stemming entirely from Victoria Vixen. He wished dearly to reconcile them, but that was an arduous task. Thumper maintained his own relationship with Libby, for his and Evangelina’s sakes. He was partial to his brother however, as Libby had a habit of meddling far beyond the point of necessity.

She was reading in her parlor, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting. They were reading the same book.

“Book club?” Thumper asked. Libby glanced up.

“Yes, my lad. We’re almost finished.”

Thumper lifted an eyebrow.

“I can come back…”

Libby sighed and shut the cover. With a wave, she dismissed her ladies.

“I’m glad you’re here. I have an idea.”

Thumper did not like her ideas, as they usually involved Bentley. This one, of course, was no different.

“This plague is a cry by providence to change the way we live, and that may mean changing our government. Your brother has absolutely unraveled our nation and urinated upon the shreds.”

Thumper barked a laugh.

“He *what!*”

“Hush,” Libby scorned. “I am serious. I don’t know why you are so resistant to the idea, but it is plain to me and others that you are a better fit for the throne.”

“Mother,” Thumper warned, “be careful. For the last time, I have no intention of unseating Benny.”

Libby shook her finger in his face.

“No, no. Not unseat. I have a plan to force Bentley to abdicate, thus allowing you…”

“NO!” Thumper shouted, as if scolding a pet. “No! Drop this.”

Libby’s face clouded.

“Your father would be so disappointed in you. Not only do you refuse to fulfill the destiny that I believe you have been called to, but you also refuse to remarry and have more children.”

Thumper was openmouthed. Why was he continuing to have this conversation?

“I don’t want to make Evangelina’s life unnecessarily complicated by introducing a stepmother.”

Libby was displeased with the answer, and dropped her book on the table with a loud thump.

“What if something were to happen to her? And you? Where would the crown pass next?”

Thumper ran a paw through his fur.

“I don’t know, Mother. Someone next on the list. Father had siblings…”

Libby groaned.

“The Duke of Shepherd still has eligible daughters willing to marry into the royal family…”

“I’ll consider it,” Thumper mumbled reluctantly to end the discussion, his face turning dark red, “after Evangelina reaches the age of maturity.”

Libby was about to retort, when Thumper suddenly coughed. It came out of nowhere, and shocked both of them. He covered his mouth, and coughed again. Something ebbed at his neck, and he reached up to feel it. There was something there. Racing to mirror at the end of the hall, he saw a black pustule growing on his skin.

*The plague*.

—Valley of the Beloved, Sobek City, Eusuchia—

—Kingdom of the Crocodiles—

-August 5, 713-

Many health professionals believed that the War Plague would dissipate with the arrival of warmer weather. They were wrong. As one of the hottest summers dawned over Eusuchia, cases neither spiked nor decreased, but remained steady.

Nature did not discriminate, and affected old, young, common, and royal alike. Farress Nilia discovered this firsthand in the worst way imaginable.

Her eldest and youngest sons, Tut and Seti, died within days of each other. They were nineteen and fourteen, far too young. The grief was unfathomable, exacerbated by the distance she had to keep from them and everyone to avoid contracting the War Plague herself. Tut had died quietly, resolved to his fate. Seti went in extreme pain and terror. His screams were embedded in the corners of Nilia’s brain, never to go away.

Her middle and final child, Amin Hotep, was now Crown Prince and heir apparent, soon to become Faro of Eusuchia. The Vicars of Eusuchia touted this as some significant change, but Nilia had become indifferent to monarchical politics in the midst of the war. Surely no one thought they’d truly survive this? This plague was proof of it. The Gods were irate, ever so vengeful. They saw fit to pull Tut and Seti from this world, and would likely take Amin and Nilia herself in time.

As was tradition upon the achievement of the age of maturity (fifteen) in a member of the royal family, a pyramid mausoleum was constructed in the Valley of the Beloved. Tut’s was completed, but Seti’s never even began. He died five months shy of his fifteenth birthday. Nilia commanded that they be buried together in the same pyramid.

She was wearing black in spite of the intense desert heat, a dark veil shielding her face. She was much like the Reaper God himself, waiting at the entrance of the tomb to receive the souls of the departed. Amin was one of the pallbearers, and helped lift Tut’s coffin into the darkness of the tomb. They returned for Seti’s and repeated.

For the first time in Eusuchian history, the funeral of a prince was not attended by the public due to the plague. It was instead televised, both in the Eusuchian and Cartonian languages.

The Vicar of Heaven recited the requiem benediction, after which the bells atop the pyramid were rung. Amin and the other pallbearers emerged from the tomb, having said their final farewells. The Farress proceeded down the steps alone. She would be the last person to enter the crypt.

Once she reached the bottom, she removed her veil. The crypt was lit with candles, illuminating the two coffins side-by-side on the tiled floors. The far wall was meticulously painted with murals of Crown Prince Tut’s life. The others were bare, as he never lived long enough to have his lifetime accomplishments depicted. Nilia outstretched her webbed hands to rest one on either coffin.

“My sons,” she wept in Eusuchian, “may you rest forever in the sanctity of heaven, and be finally free from this wretched world. I shall see you again upon the final stroke of my clock.”

She took one last look at the crypt, ingraining the image to her mind. There were no photographs, sketches, or otherwise. Once the tomb was sealed, it would remain so forever. Kicking her tail behind her and replacing the veil over her head, she climbed the stairs to the surface.

The Vicar of Heaven read the pre-approved concluding prayer.

“Heaven has accepted the souls of Tut Hotep and Seti Hotep, Princes of Eusuchia, and Sons of the Gods. Bless and pray for the Farress. May she keep our earthly souls intact until we join the Princes at the Arch of Eternity.”

Nilia stood ten feet apart from Amin. They would not be able to hug or mourn together. Instead, the Farress had arranged for Amin to be confined to a decontaminated room in the Pyramid. With the Gods as her witness, she would not allow her third son to die.

—Highland Castle, West Terrier, Canis—

—Kingdom of the Dogs—

-November 9, 713-

Maximilian Walters never thought Cartonia’s perdition could worsen, but alas. The War Plague had ravaged the masses. Yes, many survived, such as Prince Thumper. He fell ill for a few days but miraculously recovered. Doctors now recommended immediately lancing all pustules to drain the infection and patch over with aloe vera. Max heard a cure or vaccine was close to becoming available. The number of reported cases was on the decline, but the threat was still very alive.

The Granite Bloc, a few months ago, began to suspect that the Summer Sun was actually responsible for creating and unleashing the virus. This was mostly outlandish conjecturing, but it was worth looking into. Several of the plague’s symptoms were unnoticeable or mild, such as fever and chills. It was possible that the virus had already spread before it was discovered in the Ursine trenches. King Bentley was extremely distrustful of the Summer Sun and therefore asked Max to look into the claims.

Max had served as Royal Historian for two decades, and was never busier than this year alone. He was trying to document the current events of the war, the King, his family, the isolation of Queen Libby, the life of Evangelina Connelly (who was more than likely to one day become Queen of Canis), the Plague. In addition, he was responsible for corresponding with other nations and historians to compare and contrast notes. He was still investigating the suspicious telegram that asserted conspirators to assassinate Victoria Vixen were from Canis, and now he was poring over transportation logs to determine if anyone had traveled to the area where the virus was first reported.

Max was exhausted, but forced himself to keep going. Lionel Lazoy, his Felexan friend in exile, was beside him. His leg dangled over the edge of an armchair. When he fled Felexa, there was no time to gather any of his works. Lionel was constantly worried that the Summer Sun would use his writings to their advantage. Talonclaw Castle remained under Summer Sun occupation, with Queen Roxanne’s husband still a prisoner.

“What month do you have there?” Max asked, pressing his paws against his eyes. He was beginning to lose track. Weeks of monotony were wearing on him.

“Uh,” Lionel checked the cover of the Canisian Transport Log, “this is September-December 707.”

Max yawned.

“Anything interesting?”

Lionel scanned the page he was on.

“Did Bentley visit Victoria before the 707 Harmony Holiday Gala?”

“No,” Max said at once, “she came here to Canis. Early December. King Ewan had her deported back to Vulpus, and they never saw each other again before her death.”

Lionel tossed the log to Max.

“Well someone in the royal household visited Vulpus on December 14, 707.”

Max froze mid-yawn. He glanced down at the transportation logs. Indeed, a royal car had taken someone to the train station in West Terrier, where three tickets to Vista were purchased with royal funds. They returned two days later.

Max went to his private bookshelf and dug out his diary from that year. He skimmed over December. He had marked all the days that Ewan was cognizant with a green star. The three days in early December when he condemned Bentley’s planned marriage to Victoria were marked, and one day at the end of the month. During the Vixen Queen’s ultimatum to Mallardia. The King was unconscious when the tickets to Vista were purchased, and obviously did not go himself. It was unlikely he sanctioned the visit.

On December 14, the day the car left Canis, Max had written about a chess game he played with Bentley, and the next morning was the Princes’ archery contest. Neither Thumper nor Bentley had left the castle.

The words of the anonymous telegram from Vulpus danced before his eyes.

*Leevey Foster had co-conspirators in the assassination of Victoria Vixen.Some are in your Kingdom. Beware.*

Had the co-conspirators gone to Vulpus to meet with the Vixen Queen and plan the assassination? If so, who were they? Anyone in Highland Castle with clearance had access to the royal cars, and the travel fund was available to more than just the royal family.

Victoria was extremely unpopular in Canis at the time, and Bentley’s popularity was never lower than during the six months his relationship with her was public knowledge. There were undoubtedly many that wished her harm. After all, Victoria’s death freed Bentley to take the throne without reserve, and Canis was extremely fortunate to have Bentley at the helm during this war.

Max grabbed the phone off his desk and dialed the West Terrier train station. He asked for the Conductor and demanded that she scan her records for a name of the purchaser from December 14, 707. Max was put on hold, and waited with Lionel until the Conductor returned after a full, agonizing hour.

“Mr. Walters,” she said calmly, “I was able to locate the information you seek. Three one-way tickets to Vista were purchased on December 14 at 11:01 in the morning. All three were paid on one credit deduction from His Majesty’s Travel Fund, and one Mr. Wells signed for the purchase. I do not know the names of Mr. Wells’s fellow passengers, as he made all three in his name. It appears their tickets were punched and recorded aboard the train at 11:50, twelve minutes after departure. They sat in coach. We would not have records of a return voyage, as the train was likely to be Vulpine in origin.”

Max was barely breathing. Scott Wells was his royal secretary. A humble civil servant. No travel to Vulpus had been approved in mid-December. Max was Scott’s direct supervisor and would be mandated to approve any such expenses.

Moreover, Scott reported being sick those days. Max had noted that down in his diary!

“Thank you,” he breathed into the phone and hung up. He gazed at Lionel. “This is bad.”

Lionel raised his eyebrows.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Scott is my secretary,” Max explained. “He’s someone that I trust completely, but he lied to me. Look…see my diary entry from December 13? Scott called out sick for the fourteenth. He told me he had canine flu. He was out for about a week. Now I have it on good report that he was purchasing train tickets and going to Vulpus ten days before the Victoria Vixen assassination!”

Max told Lionel about the telegram sent from Vulpus two years ago. Without any information, it was extremely difficult to investigate properly. Bentley also did not want to divert too much of the war effort to the search, and so Max was alone. He hadn’t even told Scott, for which he was now extraordinarily grateful.

“I was starting to believe it was false,” Max muttered. “I thought maybe this telegram was just a ploy from the Vixen Queen to send Bentley into a fit, distracting him from the war. But Scott knows something.”

Bentley’s words rang in his head. *Scrape until you reach the bottom of the barrel*.

Max retrieved his phone from the desk. He pressed the bottommost button.

“Palace Security,” the voice announced.

“This is Maximilian Walters. I need you to arrest Scott Wells on suspicion of subterfuge.”

—Goatmore Cottage, Baahaa—

—Leprolian-Occupied Capricon—

-November 10, 713-

“Harald!” Eva Hornover cried, bursting into the former Prince’s bedroom. Harald Hornover groggily opened his eyes.

“What!” he mumbled into the pillow. Eva wavered by the doorway.

“They’re dead,” she whispered.

Harald sat up quickly.

“Who’s dead?”

Eva was sobbing.

“Edward, Philippa, and Marguerite. All of them, in their beds.”

“Did you touch them?” Harald demanded. Eva shook her head.

King Edward XIV, Queen Philippa, and Princess Marguerite. The plague snatched them as quickly as it came.

“Goatmore is not safe,” Eva exclaimed. “We must be moved somewhere else.”

“I agree,” Harald sighed, barely recognizing his own need to mourn. Edward was his last surviving brother. Last week, there were ten people alive in this cabin. Now, there were four. Marguerite’s husband died first, followed by their daughters. Now Edward, Philippa, and Marguerite too.

“Eddie is the rightful King of Capricon,” Eva muttered, speaking of Edward and Philippa’s two-year-old son. He was still sleeping.

“No one cares,” Harald said truthfully. “I’ll call King Cottontail and ask that we be moved to the Jewel where we can distance and treat ourselves.”

Harald went to the phone in the hall. The doors of the deceased’s rooms were open. His last sister, Shiree, was holding Eddie in Edward’s doorway.

“Oh…” she whimpered. “Harald, what are we going to do?”

He dialed the number given to them, which eventually connected him to King Cottontail in Leprolia. Their captor.

“They’re all dead,” Harald deadpanned. “It’s only me, Eva, Shiree, and Eddie left.”

Cottontail was silent on the other line.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “That’s horrible. I was hoping it wouldn’t be so deadly.”

“This cottage is tiny,” Harald spat. “You could have done far more than hope. We’ll catch it from their corpses and die too if we’re not moved. Encage us in the dungeons of the Jewel for all I care, just get us out of here!”

Cottontail was silent for a minute.

“So be it,” he said at last. “The dungeons in the Jewel. I’ll give the order to move you this afternoon.”

Harald did not thank him. He hung up promptly. Seconds later, Shiree screamed. Eva burst out of the bedroom and raced to the origin of the noise. Shiree was holding Eddie away from her. She had taken off his shirt to change him.

Black pustules were blistering across his chest.

“Leave him,” Harald commanded. “Wash your hands, and your clothes. Disinfect everything. Lock him in the room with his parents.”

“Harald…” Eva pleaded. He rounded on her.

“He’s dead already. *Leave him*.”

—Highland Castle, West Terrier, Canis—

—Kingdom of the Dogs—

Bentley was horrified when he heard what Max had found. Scott Wells was a trusted member of the royal household, and his possible deceit was a great blow. The arrest was conducted quietly so as not to alarm the media. Scott was incarcerated in one of the nicer cells of the dungeons, complete with heat and plush furniture. The presumption of innocence dictated that he not be mistreated.

Max had done his job: the investigation of the telegram’s claim. Now he could pass the baton to His Majesty’s Sentinel, the head of the royal palace guard. Sentinel Dane Mastiff was one of the friendliest people Max had ever met, but he was downright terrifying. He literally held the record in Canis for tallest ever living dog. A special house had to be constructed for him on palace grounds so he could live comfortably and not duck through doors when off-duty.

Now, Dane was sitting in an oversized chair, legs crossed, across from Scott in a quiet room below the castle. Max was present as a witness. The entire conversation was being recorded. None of the three were wearing masks, so that they could see each other plainly.

“Do you know why we have arrested you?” Dane asked in his deep tenor voice. Scott shook his head.

“We’ll need you to answer each question verbally,” Max requested. “For the record.”

“I do not know why I have been arrested,” Scott squeaked. Dane folded his large hands over the table.

“How long have you worked at Highland Castle?”

Scott glanced at Max.

“Ten years.”

“How long have you served as royal secretary?”

“Seven.”

“You were arrested on the grounds of subterfuge. Can you imagine why?”

Scott looked at both men in turn.

“I don’t.”

Dane shrugged.

“Alright. We’ll fill you in. Where were you on December 14, 707?”

Scott lifted an eyebrow.

“Before the war? How is that relevant now?”

“It is quite relevant,” Dane replied. “Especially to His Majesty, who commissioned this interview.”

Scott avoided eye contact with Max.

“I was sick.”

“Oh no,” Dane moaned. “Canine flu?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see a doctor?”

“No…no I self-treated.”

“At the train station?”

Scott coughed. He recovered himself and stared at Dane with confusion.

“The train station…?”

Dane aimed a remote control at the wall and played an overhead projector’s reel of security footage from West Terrier’s train platform. Scott was onscreen in a traveling cloak purchasing tickets at the booth with two cloaked figures behind him. While Scott had removed his hood, the other two were obscured.

“Who’s in your posse?”

“Friends,” Scott responded.

“*Tsk*,” Dane gasped. “You used royal travel funds for you and your *friends*?”

Max almost smiled. Dane was adroit.

“No!” Scott cried. “No, sorry. Those are…colleagues.”

“Mmhmm.”

Dane pulled a tiny notepad from his pocket and peeled back a few pages with his stocky fingers. “Which colleagues?”

Scott was silent.

“Why are you interrogating me?” he sniffled. Dane appeared taken aback.

“I don’t interrogate,” he defended. “I ask questions. It only becomes an interrogation when I have to forcefully drag information word by word from the accused’s mouth.”

He leaned forward. “I am prepared to turn this into an interrogation if you do not cooperate. Do you understand?”

Scott nervously nodded.

“Good. Now, who were the two people in your company?”

Scott exhaled.

“Please, sir. I cannot say.”

Max bit his tongue. They were heading toward the point of no return. He could feel it.

“Why not?”

“It’s treason,” Scott whispered.

“Treason!” Dane thundered. “It is treason to withhold information that is desired by the King! You lied to your supervisor and snuck away from the castle using royal transportation and funds to travel to Vulpus only ten days before the Victoria Vixen assassination! Why did you go there?”

Scott shook his head. He placed his paws underneath his legs and clamped his mouth shut. Dane’s eyes widened.

“Mr. Wells, are you going to cooperate?”

Silence. Dane glanced at the paused video footage from the train station.

“Max? Would you say that circumstantial evidence gives credence to the theory that Mr. Wells and his two accomplices had something to do with the Victoria Vixen assassination?”

Max agreed. Dane crossed his thick arms over his chest.

“Do you want to be pinned as a co-conspirator in the Vixen assassination, Mr. Wells?”

Scott clucked his tongue.

“That happened outside Canisian jurisdiction, didn’t it? How can I be tried for any involvement in that?”

Dane smiled.

“Look who found his voice! You are correct. But we could have you expatriated to Vulpus to stand trial before the Vixen Queen.”

Scott’s face clouded in horror. It was the ultimate scare tactic. Everyone was afraid of the Vixen Queen.

“Please…”

“Tell us who accompanied you to the train station!”

Scott closed his eyes, took a few seconds, and then,

“Angus Burke.”

Dane and Max stared.

“Angus…?” Dane repeated, his pen poised over the paper. Of course they both recognized the name. He was a member of the palace guard. He died in battle at some point during the war. His name was now inscribed among the list of the dead on the temporary memorial in Highland Castle’s gardens.

“Do you remember if Angus was here during that time?” Max asked the Sentinel, who was thinking.

“I’ll have to check. Why did you withhold that from us, Mr. Wells?”

Scott did not reply. Dane slammed his paw against the table. Max was certain it was going to crack.

“He was my friend!” Scott cried. “He died for our country. His name should not be a part of this.”

“A part of *what?”* Dane demanded. “Who is the other figure?”

Scott kept shaking his head, as if the questions would dissipate.

“Who’s idea was it to go to the train station?”

“Mine.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you want to go to Vulpus?”

“Business.”

“What business?”

“Um…”

“Was it the King’s business?”

Scott suddenly looked up. Dane cocked his head.

“Did the King order you to go to Vulpus?”

Max was incredulous at Dane’s line of questioning. King Ewan would never have secretly condoned a visit to Vulpus! He was openly in communication with the Vixen Queen about how best to dissolve the union between Victoria and Bentley without extreme ramifications. Ewan wanted Bentley to ascend the throne, even if Queen Libby didn’t.

“No, sir.”

“The King did not order you to go to Vulpus?”

“No.”

“What about the Queen?” Max asked. Dane shot him a look. Scott did not answer. Dane regarded Scott quietly.

“Answer his question.”

“I…” Scott scrambled for words. Max jumped to his paws.

“Did Queen Libby order you to go to Vulpus?”

He stole a glance at the security footage. The third cloaked figure. Was that her?

“It’s treason,” Scott murmured again. Dane straightened.

“Do you mean to say that it is treason to speak against the Queen and the task she asked you to do?”

Scott was shaking.

“I need immunity,” he gasped. “You need to promise I’ll be protected.”

Max sat back down. This was Dane’s territory. He could arrange a plea deal.

“Alright,” he agreed. “You will be granted immunity if you testify the truth at the discretion of the King.”

“It’s true, Scott,” Max said with reassurance.

Scott removed his paws from underneath his thighs and laid them flat on the table.

“Queen Libby ordered Angus and I accompany her to Vista, and to tell no one. She said it was urgent family business, and that King Ewan approved the expenses. We wore cloaks to conceal ourselves, and traveled in economy class to avoid detection. When we arrived in Vulpus, an envoy of the Vixen Queen met Queen Libby and took her to the Rook of Vulpus. Angus and I waited in the courtyard. The Queen did not conclude her business, so we stayed a couple of nights, then returned together on the train. She never told us what was discussed, and we were forbidden from telling anybody. She said it would be treason, and we’d be executed.”

Dane and Max were completely silent, stunned. His confession hung in the air like an anvil. At any moment, it would crash down upon the Connelly family.

“Did…did you think” Max stammered, “later, I mean…that she had gone there to plot the assassination of Victoria Vixen?”

Scott shrugged.

“So what if she did? That *whore* Victoria almost ruined our country. I’d say the Queen was a hero for ensuring her demise.”

That’s why Libby chose Scott. He was anti-Victoria. Anti-interspecies love. Which, in this court, meant he was against the King.

“Have you and the Queen continued to plot against King Bentley?”

Scott blinked.

“I serve His Royal Majesty the King.”

“Shame on you,” Dane spat. “Your actions contributed to the war.”

Scott turned his paws over.

“I’m sorry if you’re upset,” he sighed.

“What is your problem?” Dane hissed. “Minutes ago you were a sniveling mess, although I suppose that is because you were more afraid of betraying the Dowager Queen’s trust than you were of facing His Majesty’s judgement.”

“She said I’d be executed,” Scott said in his defense, “but now I have immunity…”

“Fuck your immunity!” Dane exploded. “The Dowager Queen lost all power and influence upon the death of King Ewan. King Bentley is in control of your fate now, and I don’t think he’ll be pleased with the role you played in Victoria’s death.”

Scott swallowed hard.

“She was just a slut…”

“You’re wrong,” Dane scoffed. “She was the woman for whom Bentley was prepared to throw away his throne. She’s the martyr who dug a thousand trenches. Have you any guilt for your involvement in the genesis of war?”

Scott returned to silence. Dane stood and gestured at Max to follow him. They went into the hallway, where Dane had to duck his head. Max craned his neck to gaze up at him.

“I cannot order the arrest of Dowager Queen Libby,” Dane muttered. “Only the monarch can do that.”

“We’ll have to tell Bentley,” Max replied. Dane barked a laugh.

“After you.”

—The Sanctuary, Highland Castle—

Thumper and nine-year-old Evangelina were playing in the empty Sanctuary. Of late, her favorite game was tag. She was swift and fierce like a hound. She was tuckering out her father and Uncle Benny.

“Tag! You’re it!” she cried as she slapped Bentley’s arm. He bent over, panting.

“Alright, here I come!”

He made a beeline sprint toward Thumper.

“Aw, come on!”

As Bentley made a swing at his brother, the doors of the Sanctuary opened. The looming figure of the giant Dane Mastiff strode inside, with Maximilian at his waist.

“Hello!” Evangelina screamed from the altar upon which Bentley was coronated. “We’re playing tag!”

There was no way in hell that Thumper was about to play tag with Dane Mastiff. The dog could cross the room in ten strides.

“Majesty,” Max said in a hushed whisper in Bentley’s direction, “we must discuss Scott Wells’s interview.”

“Daddy!” Evangelina cried, “why aren’t you running? Now you’re it!”

Thumper waved his paw at his daughter, signaling her to quiet down. She got the message and sat at the altar, drawing circles in the carpet.

“What is it?” Bentley asked. Dane immediately looked down at Max, who gave him some sort of glare.

“Scott Wells has confessed to traveling to Vista, Vulpus, ten days before the assassination that claimed Victoria Vixen. He was accompanied by the late Angus Burke…”

“Rest in peace,” Bentley quietly interjected. Max did not continue right away, but took a few deep breaths.

“A third went with the two men to Vulpus, the person who ordered the trip in the first place. We believe that this person went to Vulpus to conspire with the Vixen Queen to rid them both of Victoria Vixen.”

Bentley’s eyes were wide, and Thumper felt ill.

“Who?” the King asked. Dane cleared his throat. Max appeared to exhale in relief.

“Your Majesty,” Dane boomed, “we believe it was the Dowager Queen Libby.”

Everything went still. Thumper’s face was locked in perpetual shock. Bentley had not moved a muscle. Max and Dane were staring into his face, waiting for the reaction.

“You’re certain?” Thumper gasped.

“The footage cannot confirm,” Max admitted, “and with Angus Burke dead we only have Scott Wells’s word. However, the Queen is unaccounted for on the days in question.”

Thumper looked at Benny. His jaw was trembling.

“Majesty?” Max uttered. “What would you like us to do?”

Bentley shut his eyes and inhaled. His breath flowed out smoothly. His face scrunched up on the second deep breath in. He began to hyperventilate through his nose. Thumper reached out.

“Benny…?”

The King suddenly yelled in agony and anguish, startling all present. Evangelina shrieked from the altar, and Max quickly leapt backward. Bentley ripped his jacket off and stormed from the room. His yells echoed across the main hall. Thumper hurried after him, but Dane blocked him with a gentle paw.

“No, your Highness. I would not want to track after him. He’ll be seeking out your mother.”

“Let go of me,” Thumper seethed. The Sentinel immediately backed off. Thumper raced into the hall.

—

*Mother*.

It was *Mother.*

Bentley’s heart was breaking all over again. That sinking sensation from the day of Victoria’s death was back, taking hold of his legs and pulling him down. He was an accursed soul, destined to suffer.

He wasn’t even surprised. Queen Libby had been the most hostile toward Victoria and Bentley. She had become such a nuisance and blatant opponent to Bentley’s rule that he had her confined to her own quarters in the castle. All of her ladies-in-waitings were his spies, and reported everything she plotted back to him. She was hell bent on removing Bentley from the throne and replacing him with Thumper.

His feet carried him up the stairs to the Queen’s Promenade. He was plucking at his clothing, feeling hot. His anger was boiling inside him like a virulent volcano, about to erupt.

Victoria was at the door of the Promenade, sorrow etched upon her wispy brow.

“Don’t,” she cautioned. Bentley ignored the phantom and burst through the doorway. Dowager Queen Libby was stitching a quilt with her ladies-in-waiting, wearing plague masks. They all glanced up in shock at Bentley’s sudden entrance.

“OUT!” he screamed. The room cleared in less than a minute. Libby’s eyebrows went up over her mask.

“Ben—“

“You fucking snake.”

She gasped. Bentley strode toward her, each step accompanied by a word. “Cancerous, vile, miserable, foul, *bitch*!”

He was now inches from her, breathing hotly into her face. He wrenched her mask off. She pulled away. Bentley wanted to hit her, something he had never experienced in his entire life. His moral compass steered him away from the urge, but he remained absolutely furious.

“You’re apoplectic!” Libby cried.

“Damn right I’m apoplectic!” Bentley shouted. “You’re a conspirator. Scott Wells, your *minion*, admitted to it. You went to Vista, Vulpus, ten days before Victoria died. You met with the Vixen Queen. You planned the whole thing. Didn’t you?”

Libby was standing still, her hands clasped over her stomach.

“DIDN’T YOU!”

Libby sniffed. Footsteps rapidly approached, and Bentley turned to see Thumper emerge on the landing.

“Benny!” he called, but the King marched to the entrance and slammed the door, locking it shut. Libby and Bentley were now alone. Thumper pounded on the door, but Bentley ignored him. Libby pursed her lips.

“You need to calm down. Kings do not behave—“

“Oh, shut up! The last thing I need is one of your lectures. You have ten seconds to answer my question or so help me I will push you from this tower.”

Libby’s eyes traveled over to the window. One strong push was indeed all it would take.

“What was the question?”

Bentley pressed his paws on either side of his head. Slowly, he repeated,

“Did. You. Conspire. To. Assassinate. Victoria?”

Libby angled her head in Bentley’s direction. She hesitated for a moment, before sighing.

“Yes.”

An unintelligible noise escaped Bentley’s throat, somewhere between a cry and a whimper.

“Why?”

He knew the answer. It was the same platitudes repeated over and over again.

*She was a whore.*

*She was a witch.*

*She was a temptation.*

“I am a servant of Canis,” Libby stated. “When you put that crown upon your head, as King or Queen, you inherit a duty to protect this country. Victoria was a threat to this country…”

“She was not.”

“Yes, she was,” Libby scowled. “Because you were intent on renouncing your throne in order to marry her. Do you deny that?”

“No—“

“Precisely. You were about to toss this country into chaos. Interspecies love was the catalyst for the last war, and lo and behold it became the catalyst for this one as well. You both became obstacles to peace. The Vixen Queen did not view Victoria as a suitable successor and made plans to remove her.”

Bentley was fuming.

“But she didn’t even *want* the throne! She was prepared to renounce her crown as well! Why couldn’t the Vixen Queen accept that?”

Libby shrugged.

“Her mind was made up.”

“You’re a goddamn idiot, Mother. Can’t you see that she wanted this war? Victoria’s assassination armed her with a *casus belli*! And you willingly played into her scheme!”

Libby was taken aback.

“I had no intention of sparking a war! And if you had listened to me in the first place and kept your nose out of Mallardia and Vulpus’s business, we wouldn’t be in it!”

“How can you say that!” Bentley shouted. “You know Mallardia was not responsible for the attack! You *plotted with the Vixen Queen!*”

Libby was stolid.

“Your father was insistent that you take the throne, even though I thought and still think that Thumper is far more apt. Ewan would not listen to my pleas, and refused to change his will and alter the succession. The Vixen Queen told me of her plans to assassinate Victoria, but made no mention of a war with Mallardia. That was beyond my knowledge.”

“It’s sickening,” Bentley mumbled. “I can’t believe you did this…”

“I have no stomach for war,” Libby continued. “I told her the assassination of Victoria would achieve half of my goals, but what of you? You needed to be removed from the succession. I agreed to financially support the hitman’s purpose if she and her allies demanded your abdication if I was unable to convince Ewan to change his will. She agreed.”

Bentley’s world was spinning rapidly, everything jumbled in his mind.

“Unfortunately,” Libby growled, “you involved Canis in the war. She threatened to expose me to you, oh many times, but by doing so she would reveal the conspiracy to all of Cartonia. Besides, I have something else over her. Something about her family that has secured me.”

Bentley stared at her with unadulterated fury.

“What do you have over her?”

Libby shrugged one shoulder.

“That’s for me to know and…”

Bentley finally did it. He slapped her. She cried out, and Thumper’s knocking persisted louder. Libby raised a paw to her reddening cheek. Her eyes were drawn together in matched anger.

“Ungrateful child!”

“Someone in Vulpus sent us a telegram warning us that a conspirator was within our walls! Who else knew of the assassination before it happened?”

Libby crossed her arms.

“Why should I—“

Bentley raised his paw over his shoulder, ready to strike again. Something in him had become unhinged, and wrath propelled him forward. Libby cowered.

“Valencia Vixen!” she screamed. “The Chequer!”

Bentley gaped.

“The Chequer of Scuridiae?”

Libby nodded.

“Who else?”

“Some other foxes…the Mallardian hitman obviously. Your father…did not know.”

Bentley’s heart was throbbing. Something about this betrayal eclipsed the loss of Victoria itself.

“The Vixen Queen ratted you out,” Bentley muttered, which probably wasn’t true. The anonymous telegram of doubtful origin and authenticity was so vague and unhelpful that it took two years to unmask Libby as a conspirator. “She has backstabbed you after all. What is this secret you know about her?”

Libby rolled her eyes.

“It won’t help the war effort, if that’s what you’re hoping.”

“It might.”

The Dowager Queen sucked in her cheeks.

“What are you going to do to me, Bentley? Throw me in the dungeons? Torture me? Announce to the entire court that I am an untrustworthy wench and illegitimate Queen? I have long resigned myself to the fate of watching as Canis burns around me. There is no one left willing to help me restore Canisian greatness. The Vixen Queen will never know what I know about her sister, and neither will you.”

Bentley stared. Which sister?

“The Vixen Queen doesn’t know what you know?”

Libby smiled.

“Sort of.”

Bentley flew into a rage. He tossed an end table at the window, shattering it. Thumper began throwing his weight against the door, shouting incessantly. Bentley let out an ear-shattering yell. Libby scrambled away from him.

“Bentley!” she cried. “You need to calm down! The past is in the past! Why can’t you just forget her?”

“Forget her?” Bentley hollered. “Do you still think that I can do that, Mother? After six years I cannot go one day without thinking about her. I see her everywhere, in everything. She’s with me at every moment. You could never expunge her from me.”

He exhaled. “You never loved me if you still won’t accept us.”

“Victoria is dead,” Libby deadpanned. “There’s nothing to accept.”

“She’s dead,” Bentley spat, “because of you.”

The doors burst open, Thumper toppling in holding a wooden bat, the lock lying in pieces on the wooden floors. Sentinel Dane and Max Walters were behind him. A shocked Victoria was watching wistfully among the crowd.

“Oy, Benny!” Thumper exclaimed. “Have you gone off the rails?”

Bentley pointed at Libby.

“She’s admitted to it. She helped plan the assassination of Victoria. She’s a traitor to the Crown and an enemy of the state.”

He rounded on her.

“You are banished from court. You will go to Galloway House, your ancestral home. You were born there and you will die there. You will never return to Highland Castle, to West Terrier, or to my side. I never want to see you again.”

Libby gasped, and clutched at her neck.

“Benny—?” Thumper pleaded.

“Say goodbye to your mother, Thumper. You and Evangelina are forbidden from visiting and communicating with her.”

Libby fell to her knees.

“Benny! Please! The plague is out there!””

“I am Your Majesty,” Bentley scowled. “You will do well to remember that. As for the plague, I believe your heart is so poisoned from your own pestilence of hatred that you are immune from other earthly viruses.”

Bentley glared at Thumper and cocked his head in Mother’s direction.

“Well? Say your farewells. Sentinel Mastiff, you will take the Dowager Queen from her rooms at once.”

The Sentinel bowed.

“Majesty.”

“Benny,” Thumper beseeched, “you don’t—“

Bentley stalked over to Libby, still on her knees, and now crying.

“Goodbye, Lady Libby Galloway. From now on, that is all you will be. You are stripped of your Queenly titles, your prerogatives, and the Connelly surname. If you ever leave Galloway Estate, you will be executed on Highland Hill.”

Bentley walked away, nodding at Dane Mastiff. The Sentinel lifted the Lady Libby to her feet. Bentley pulled Max Walters aside.

“Come with me. We need to write a report on what my mother has told me. The war was instigated by the Vixen Queen, and the Chequer knew about it. All of Cartonia must know this. It might turn Cervidium and Psittancyna against her.”

“Mother!” Thumper was crying, clinging to her side. Bentley rolled his eyes. He went over and pried his brother away. As the Sentinel dragged Lady Libby down the Promenade, Bentley pulled Thumper through the broken doors and out of sight.

—Antlerstag, Lyme, Cervidium—

—November 30, 713—

“Did you know about this?” Stag Ellis asked Macaw Arini over video call, holding up the Granite Bloc report about the Victoria Vixen assassination. Arini shook his head.

“No clue. I’m not surprised. The lone Mallardian hitman theory never sat well with me.”

“Oh so you believe it?”

Arini’s eyebrows went up.

“Ah, the Vixen Queen denies it doesn’t she?”

“Of course!” Ellis cried. “This is hogwash! Bentley just hates his mother so much that he’s looking for any excuse to banish her from his court. I don’t know why he’s making such a spectacle and publishing these lies.”

Macaw Arini nodded, but didn’t appear to be convinced. Ellis narrowed his eyes. “You have doubts?”

The leader of the parrots clucked his beak.

“If there was a conspiracy, it doesn’t change anything about our position in the Summer Sun and the war as a whole. I care more about this plague and my nation’s victory than I do about who shot that harlot Victoria Vixen six years ago. The whole continent has moved on, except for Bentley Connelly.”

“Indeed,” Stag Ellis muttered. “So your loyalties haven’t changed?”

The Macaw was insulted.

“No, Ellis, they have not. I do not appreciate the question. Psittancyna remains as ever loyal to the Summer Sun. Are you?”

Stag Ellis sneered his response before terminating the video call.

—Highland Castle, West Terrier, Canis—

—January 31, 714—

-Two Months Later-

The day after his twenty-ninth birthday, Thumper came into Bentley’s study holding a black telegram.

“Mother died today,” he murmured. “She had the plague.”

Bentley glanced up from behind his face mask, then resumed writing.

“I don’t care.”

—Carnarvon, Ursus—

—August 3, 714—

-6 Months Later-

The door of the hospital burst open with ferocity, and a palace aide in his recognizable uniform sprinted past the hospital beds filled with patients dying of the plague.

“Dr. Clement!” he cried, out of breath when he reached the morgue. The doctor turned from a corpse he was dissecting. He was wearing a long black cloak lined with wax to prevent germs from sticking to the fabric. He wore a heavy mask that obscured his face, and a long-brimmed hat topped his head. He was commonly seen walking the streets of the capital, tending to the sick. He was often carrying a lantern to inspect fallen bodies littering the streets. His menacing appearance usually meant not the arrival of healing, but rather a herald of death. Nonetheless, he was the most reputable physician in Ursus when it came to the war plague. He was working on developing a vaccine through research on the cadavers.

“Stay back. The corpses may still be contagious. How can I help?”

“It’s the Queen, Dr. Clement. Queen Grace. She has the pestilence.”

Dr. Clement nodded, his beaked face bobbing up and down.

“Make her comfortable. And hope for the best.”

The aide stared, baffled.

“What? Aren’t you coming to the castle?”

Dr. Clement shook his head.

“There is no use. The plague will claim its victims at will. There is no cure, and no treatment. Nothing can be done, except to make her comfortable.”

The aide stood his ground.

“It. Is. The. *Queen*.”

Dr. Clement sighed. He removed his hat.

“This great mortality does not discriminate. It cares not whether one is rich or poor, old or young, frail or virile. May there be mercy upon the Queen’s soul. And yours as well.”

*—Diary of Lana Loudoun—*

*-October 5, 714-*

*As the sun sets over Cartonia this evening, two entire years have passed since the War Plague was first discovered in the trenches of Ursus. We have since suffered an incalculable loss. War and strife have invaded our utopia and plunged us into the deepest annals of hell. The vaccine remains in testing, and treatment is scarce. We have barricaded our house as looters pass through the countryside. I would be lying if I did not confess that I fear this may be the end of our species, of all species.*

*Perhaps this plague is punishment after all for our war. If there is a divine being watching over us, they are wrathful. Should it please this entity, the plague will continue to infect every home, every trench, every body, and every spirit until nothing survives, nothing except the remnants of the people.*

## Production

### Continuity and Story Arcs

A mysterious virus was discovered in the trenches of Ursus, quickly spreading across the continent as a pandemic. The war slowed to a standstill as nations desperately attempted to halt the spread of the highly fatal disease.

Victims of the War Plague included Prince Richard Mallard, Grand Dowager Queen Emmeline of Capet, Queen Libby Connelly, Edward XIV, Philippa Hornover, Eddie Hornover, and Queen Grace of Ursus.

Maximilian Walters’ investigation into the anonymous telegram from “Fall As Lucifer Fell” revealed that Libby Connelly had conspired with the Vixen Queen to assassinate Victoria Vixen. Bentley Connelly immediately stripped her of her royal titles and banished her. She later died from the War Plague.

Queen Libby Connelly was in possession of some secret about one of the Vixen Queen’s sisters, but did not impart this knowledge onto anyone before she died.

### References

The War Plague is based primarily on the Black Death and subsequent bubonic plague outbreaks. Other inspirations were the 1918 Influenza Pandemic and COVID-19 Pandemic.

The virus’s tendency to affect young and healthy people as savagely as old and sick was a hallmark of the 1918 Influenza Pandemic (also known as Spanish Flu).

The plague’s scientific name, UNVI-712, is based on the name COVID-19. The name means Unknown Virus 712 (the year the virus was discovered).

The erroneous belief that the War Plague would go away in warmer weather reflects attitudes toward COVID-19 before the summer of 2020.

Much of Eusuchia is based on Ancient Egypt.

Victoria’s nickname, *the martyr who dug a thousand trenches*, is a reference to Helen of Troy as *the face that launched a thousand ships*.

Dr. Clement refers to the War Plage as the "great mortality," which was one of the names for the Black Death.

## Trivia

* The title of this episode comes from a 1349 graffitied inscription at St Mary's Church in Ashwell, Hertfordshire, during the Black Death: "wretched, destructive year, the **remnants of the people** alone remain."
	+ The line was quoted by Lana Loudoun in her diary in 714: "...t*he plague will continue to infect every home, every trench, every body, and every spirit until nothing survives, nothing except the **remnants of the people**."*
* This is only one of three *War* episodes not to open with a diary entry from Lana Loudoun, following “Winter of Discontent” and preceding “Where the Anomaly Lay.” The other two do not have entries at all.
* Though a plague episode was always planned to be based on the Black Death, the COVID-19 Pandemic greatly influenced the final product.
* Dr. Loring Clement is named after Pope Clement VI, who reigned during the first visitation of the Black Death in the 1340s, and Dr. Loring Miner, who was the first to report the 1918 influenza outbreak to the US Public Health Service’s academic journal.
	+ Dr. Clement's costume is modeled after the Renaissance plague doctors.
* Gitchell Padden is named after Albert Gitchell, who was the first patient diagnosed with Spanish Flu in March 1918. Padden is supposed to evoke the word ‘pandemic.’
* Seti and Tut, Princes of Eusuchia, are named after Pharaohs of Ancient Egypt.
* Farress Nilia is named after the Nile River.
* Amin Hotep is named after Pharaoh Amenhotep.