All the Prophet’s Men
Dear Arctic Fox,
Without taking leave to wait for you return of message, events oblige me to take up pen again; and in the beaten way of friendship, and the need to recount my thoughts to add clarity to them, I write once more of these turbulent Ministry winds and the storms that brew within these stony walls.
You will remember, that only yesterday, I swore loyalty and allegiance to Alpha Wolf; and promised to be his agent in the search for the invisible enemy within that haunts him; an enemy who has thus far eluded all his many cronies, hacks and quislings. Once I had bought his trust with false fealty, I set about finding the agents of The Prophet; but not, as he imagined, to ensnare them in his own tangled web; but rather to win their trust and enlist myself in their own network. I am the faux friend; the fox that promises all to everyone, but will deliver nothing.
I wish to become, in fact, a double agent, but also a free agent. I will be all things to all factions; and in so doing, I will place myself in a position to wield influence; and turn the tides of history to my own advantage. This may seem, to a cautious fox like yourself, a perilous path to take; but in truth, either of the other options is equally, if not more, dangerous: to fight for Alpha is to be driven to the stake if he should fall from power; and conversely, to champion the Prophet is to court disaster if his rebellion should fail. If one must risk death and destruction, then better, I say, to fight for oneself; and with a little scheming, attempt to secure a prize worth having. Why die for the glory of others?
Timing, they say, is everything. The threat of the Mind Worms of the genetic alchemists must bring the Prophet’s forces to action soon; for with ever hour that passes; and with every dead soul that is added to their quarry; his hour of discovery comes closer. He is forced from the shadows by the light of these night worms; and I must contact him presently, as he must surely contact me.
As night fell and ambitions rose to meet it, I skulked down to the basement where I had heard the black mass of Wolfmen; but the cellar was deserted, and the lacks of scents told me it had been so for several days. The many nocturnal disappearances of late must have revealed the location of this lair, or perhaps they fear that it will soon be discovered; and they must now meet, if they dare to meet at all, in a different location. I tarried a while in the baseness of the basement; enjoying the darkness and the solitude, until an eerie chill left me uncomfortable; and in the blackness that enveloped me, I could sense something of the spirits that man had left behind; sour memories of dominion lost. And I remembered that all we mammals inhabited a world that was not ours by right. We interlopers lived in a stolen world; but I did not dally long enough to hear the dread voices of the spectres of man. I did apprehended then, perhaps for the first time, the insanity that had gripped the prophet and his wolverine witches. They had looked too long into the darkness, and it was claiming them for their own. Even Alpha, the wolf of science and poisoned reasoni, had committed a similar crime and was suffering the same fate. Those who live by man will die by man, as my uncle once said; and he lectured one and all to avoid the dead cities, even as his health failed him; but to no avail. We left the Eden of the forest, and cannot return to unsullied innocence.
On climbing out of the cellar, I noticed, with that sixth sense we share, that I was being watched. I pretended not to be aware of my observer, and instead sat down and licked a paw; taking advantage of this diversion and the sweeps of head and tongue to spy all around me. A wolf was in a corner of the large but disused room, behind a dusty and forgotten filing cabinet, but its nasal protuberance allowed my eyes to sniff it out. It was a delicate aquiline nose, and belonged to a wolf of some breeding. A memory I could not touch told me that I had met this wolf before, but a nose is not much to go on, and how many of us could identify someone from this feature alone.
Pressed by time and aware of the rare absence of spybats and cameras, I decided to speak to the wolf-in-waiting.
— Stranger, I call on you to show yourself, and mark your form as friend or foe.
— SAS DEL Fox, I have been waiting for you for a long time — the wolf said, and then emerged into open ground.
It was Emerald, the wolf I had spoken to at a training session just after my arrival in the Ministry; shortly before the rise of the wolves and the Night of the Long Teeth. Time had not aged her; and in truth, it had only been six months; but that half year had stolen decades from my life and turned me old and cold; like most of the other ragged mammals of misery; imbibing the rank stolid vapours of death in every stifled breath.
— Your green eyes have not betrayed your name, Emerald Wolf; and the sheen of your coat holds youth fast to it. I pray that your spirit be as exalted as your bodily form — I said, dropping religious references like a rabbit drops dung pellets.
— You are very kind, brother Fox; and I do ask you to pray for my health; and the health of the Ministry. — she said, as she walked slowly and purposefully towards me. Her steps were measured and her manner guarded; as if she feared something.
— There can be no better prayer. — I returned, and offered her my paw; and we shook in the manner of man, rather than saluted, as was currently the Ministry fashion.
— Do you remember the last time we spoke privately, Mr Fox? —she asked, with a certain lyricism in her voice; something most unusual for a wolf, who growl or howl, and are not disposed to explore tonalities between the two extremes.
— Eyes that shine like yours are not easily forgotten, young Emerald; and a voice more sweet there cannot be among all the wolves of the Minsitry. — I said, and tried to forget how her beauty masked a brutal ambition; and then I wondered why she had risen far in the ranks of the Alpha Wolf soviet; and why her early promise had not been fulfilled.
— You remember my words too, no doubt, which were not sweet. You remember my threats too, I fear. You remember the choice I gave you to side with the Soviets or be eliminated.
— It had slipped my mind, good lady — I said, and then laughed, and she laughed too; and in that mirth there was the beginning of forgiveness: real on her part; feigned on mine.
— And can you forgive a misguided soul who trespassed against you? — she asked.
— As long as I am not led into temptation and delivered from evil — I answered; vomiting up lines from the prayers that these Wolfmen have taken to reciting.
— The revolution was betrayed. The Soviets grew corrupt and evil. — she said sadly; knowing that she had played an important part in the overthrow of the Council of Creatures.
— Its sins are many. — I returned; also saddened by the knowledge that my conscience was also stained; not by action, but by inaction.
This guilt of yesteryear steadied my resolve to act with a steely determination this time. In the Final Act, when this Ministry’s business will be resolved; I will secretly direct the other actors to play the parts I set for them; and this green-eyed semidemigod, who had once plucked my strings so brutally, will be the first player in the tragedy of treason.
To be continued
Tags: ambition, fox, funny, humor, humour, letters from the ministry, Ministry of Mammals, phillip donnelly, revenge, tragegy, wolf
