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Volpes’s Deal

This piece from Marsel-Defender in November of 2021 was the perfect compliment to an concept I had already been writing out, to help explain how an organization rooted in the slums, and opposing the wealthy, nonetheless has the funding necessary to run free clinics and organized crime.

Though as a title, “Volpes’s Deal” is probably one of my least successfully double meanings. It refers not just to the deal he’s making in the story, but also to the general question of “What’s Volpes’s whole deal anyway?”: A stretch to be sure.

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It was easily one of the most lavish estates Volpes has ever seen. Servants greeted him from the side entrance, just as he had requested, dressed in finery befitting their station. His nose could detect their nervous sweat, despite the citrus smell of the orange grove. With his ears, he picked up more sounds through the house: the steam of a kettle, the shallow breathing several floors above, and the nervous twitches of the estate’s master as he awaited a most important guest from the underground.

Guided by his host’s staff, the titan found himself rising to the roof of this building, confronted by a stunning countryside view. Dropping his hood, breathing in the fresh air, he sat in the comfortable caress of a cushioned chair, a cup of freshly-brewed tea on the table in front of him. The estate’s owner, an unassuming otterkin barely reaching half the titan’s height, dressed to the nines in a clear effort to leave a good impression, sat opposite him. Just like his servants, a nervous sweat was emanating from him, though Volpes knew he had a good reason why.

“I apologize for troubling you with these theatrics, but a man in my position has a need for discretion. I’m sure you understand, milord.” Without missing a beat, the titan had already eased into character, crossing his legs, disarming his newfound ‘client’ with a breezy grin. He could see the tension ease itself out of his host’s posture, hear his pulse dropping from previously elevated levels.

“Yes. As for why I arranged this, my Alex has been struggling with his illness all his life. We’ve seen all manner of specialists, paid them handsomely, but always the same. They say he has perhaps a year at most… That he won’t even see his 24th birthday.” The lord of the manor could only lower his head, stifling his tears.

“And as I said in my missive, I am skilled at what I do, helping people overcome the limitations of their bodies. Many owe their health and success to my efforts, but even a man of my talents needs resources… funding.” The otter didn’t need to be prompted in order to finish that thought.

“In exchange for that funding, you’re willing to save my son. But how do I know you’re not a charlatan like all the rest.” A familiar question to the fox, and one with a familiar answer.

“All relationships, especially ones of business, depend on trust. And yet, people like us are never ones to rest of the value of words alone.” He leaned forward as if to underscore the point, hands clasped together in front of him. “I remind you of the terms outlined in our previous discussion. Should the worst come to pass for your son, or should my methods prove ineffective, I won’t receive nor ask for anything. I have everything to lose and nothing to gain by failing to live up to the bargain, milord.” Volpes didn’t need to hear the follow-up: As the master raised his head, a glimmer of hope shimmering in his eyes, the titan knew that he had hit paydirt.

“Very well. Follow me. I’ll take you to Alex’s room.”

One floor down, the otterkin directed Volpes through an art gallery of a corridor, arriving at a double doorway several rooms down on the left-hand side. As a servant opened the doors for them, his gaze focused on the young man lying nearly dormant in his room. His fur had grown shaggy, and pallor had begun set in across his skin. Sunken eyes closed, atrophied limbs barely moving as shallow breaths escaped in a desperate bid to keep him alive during his slumber. The titan could hear the strained pumps of his still-beating heart as the sterile scent crossed his nostrils. Even for the great Volpes, who had grown used to reaching out to others at their worst moments, this was an unusually painful sight.

He breathed deeply, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was on the righteous path.

“Alex, my boy. Wake up, please. I found someone… someone who says he can help you.” As he opened his eyes, it was clear to Volpes that the light had not left them yet. The young man was still desperately clinging to life no matter how painful it was for him to do so. Taking his signature vial out from the pouch on his hip, the fox began to give his instructions.

“He’s obviously not well enough to consume this potion on his own, so he’ll need your help. Alex, I need you to listen to me carefully. I’m about to hand your father an elixir that should help your body cope with the symptoms of your malady. He’ll pour it into your mouth slowly, to avoid overwhelming your gag reflex. I need you to swallow every last drop, okay? Blink twice if and when you’re ready.”

Handing the vial to the older gentleman, Volpes observed as Alex mentally prepared himself for it, purposefully and deliberately blinking twice. His father began at once, uncorking the vial, slowly pouring its life-changing contents into his boy’s mouth, agape in anticipation. Swallowing gently, gradually, he finally consumed the complete contents of the vial. And once he did, his transformation had finally begun to set in….

A healthy sheen began to make itself known in his fur, as the color returned to the skin underneath. Haggard breathing and weakened heartbeat replace by a steady rhythm and thrumming pulse, power returning to the organ. Already, his good health was starting to show, but the serum had not yet completed its work.

The blanket covering him had begun to rise as mass packed itself upon his chest and back, protruding noticeably from his form. As vitality flowed into his arms, biceps and triceps jutting outward, they began to move, involuntarily flexing as they never could before: The young man experimentally testing limbs he never thought he would ever have the strength to move again.

Soon the effects spread to his lower extremities. Feet began to jut outward from his covers, no longer sufficient to protect his growing body. He couldn’t help but stretch his legs and wiggle his toes just to prove to himself that the movement he once thought lost had been completely restored.

Where once there a sickly young man on death’s door, a handsome otterkin lad with a physique to make an athlete jealous took his place. Cementing his ascension, his left eye had attained the same bright green glow of the man who has saved his life. Though the symptoms of his malady meant that he did not quite reach the heights and size of Volpes himself, the effects of the elixir had made themselves known. He was still an impressive specimen regardless. And yet, that wasn’t important, either to him or his father as they held each other in a warm embrace, tears freely flowing.

“I thought I was going to lose you, son. I… I can’t believe this day has finally come.”

“You never gave up on me, dad. It’s what gave me the strength to carry on.” Sensing the tenor of the room, Volpes took his leave, waiting outside the door to give them a quiet moment. Sooner than expected, the two of them came out to greet him. Exiting the room that had comprised his entire existence for far too long, Alex’s movements were tepid, unsure as he continued to reestablish his mind/body connection. Though his strength had returned in spades, he had to relearn and adapt to the use of his own body. He had fashioned his blanket into a makeshift toga, to compensate for the lack of adequately sized clothing. The scent of perspiration that had accompanied his transformation had not yet washed away the lingering smell of sterility that had defined his world up until now.

“It is clear that the two of you have much to catch up on, but before I go I must remind you that we had a deal. I honored my end of the bargain, and I expect you to hold up your end as well.” Smiling as if he was relearning the concept anew, the lord of the manor looked up to the master alchemist responsible for his son’s good fortune.

“And I shall. Whatever money or resources you need are yours. You have my word.” Smiling, the fox turned to his latest success story.

“And as for you, young Alex. You’ll eventually want to put that body of yours to good use. When you do, you are free to seek me out. I run a shop called The Fox’s Formulas, and you shall find me there.” He handed the young man his card.

“I might just do that, Mas… Mister. But for now, I just want to be with my father.” While taking the card with one hand, he began to wrap his other arm around his father. The lord merely placed his hands over Alex’s own, and closed his eyes, never losing his beaming visage.

“Of course. And with that, I take my leave.” Having memorized the route, it was a trivial effort to double back and exit through the same side entrance he used earlier that day. Exfiltrating the domain of the wealthy and powerful, Volpes returned to the comfort of his home in the slums.

And as always after a massive success, he allowed him to indulge in his signature grin. It’s not every day that one achieves multiple goals. Not only did he have a steady stream of funding and a new recruit ready to answer his call, but said recruit would serve as his eyes and ears in the world of the rich and powerful.

This was how he would succeed in his revolution. He would find the most vulnerable among the noble class and exploit them in the very same way he was exploited as a youth. Though he felt for Alex and his father, he knew he could not let that deter him. Sickly or not, their wealth was built on the backs of the underclass.

It was only a matter of time before they found themselves under the influence of Master Volpes.