1. The Firetrunks of Toxotes

Dawn came early that day around the jeweler’s shop. A small bird left her comfortable rooftop at the first sign of it. She landed on a far less comfortable rooftop elsewhere, then yelled across the street. This was heard by a raccoon, who reluctantly abandoned his delicious trash and whistled to a house on the corner. A firelight turned on behind the glass windows. The wolf living inside drowsily kicked open the front door and ran up the hill.

Once at the top, he spoke the secret codeword—something that does not bear repeating in a fairy tale like this, followed by the word gods—to a priest. They pressed a button, which lowered a pulley, which pressed another button, which tickled a bear, which tightened a rope, which displaced everyone’s bed, which rang out a specific melody on the church bells.

Finally, this incredibly efficient network of messaging reached its intended target.

Two elephants, one huge, one small, woke up. They lived as far away from the city center as elephantly possible. They’d be mad to stay there with all the criminals enjoying free reign. Also, this location gave them access to an aqueduct. Without paying the fee.

“The alarm!” trumpeted the smaller one, already on his feet.

What alarm? The fire alarm.

Where? They had no idea. It was an obvious flaw in their primitive messaging system.

Fortunately, from their spot atop the outer hill, they had a nice view of the entire city. The beautiful heart of the world, or so many wanted it to be, called Amor.

With the sun yet reluctant to rise, the fire and smoke was easy to spot.

“Oh no, no no,” said the larger elephant. “That’s the Richersoul district. Hurry, Ollimo! Before any valuables have burned! Angry rich wolves are the worst.”

“If their money has burned … don’t they stop being rich?” asked Ollimo, as he inspected the wooden tires.

“Until-recently-rich wolves are even worse,” said Olfaman.

To say they had their own fire truck would not technically be a lie. They worked hard to always keep the massive wooden barrels filled. Even now, Olfaman and Ollimo used their trunk to suck water from the aqueduct and spit it back out into the barrels. Very disciplined, very practiced.

But the heavy barrels themselves were attached to wooden planks with nuts, bolts, hope, and prayers, which loosely rested on some logs that could be called round only if you had never seen a square before.

They jumped on their truck, holding a lid on top of the barrels to prevent spilling, and rolled down the hill towards the fire at the Richersoul district.

Olfaman looked truly frightened for what they might find. He pushed their truck to go even faster, putting all his weight at the front.

Ollimo could only admire his father and his selfless passion. So much so that he gaped and nearly fell of the truck. Father had never explained why he started the very first fire brigade, only revealed scars and many warning tales about fire.

As they entered Richersoul, the sun rose. Commerce was starting, stalls were built, and all their arrogant rich tails refused to sweep aside. Olfaman swerved and adjusted skillfully, every heartbeat, tongue licking trunk. These maneuvers emptied the outer barrels and threw accidental waterfalls over a grumpy raccoon.

They came to save them—they only met obstacles and curses.

Ollimo had to remind himself of the oath he’d taken: to help anyone in need, even if they were rich and treated you like garbage otherwise.

A chameleon who couldn’t decide on a single name leaned on an aqueduct. It started far away and high on the hills, where rain and waterfalls refreshed its supply. Using massive stone bridges, the water was shepherded into Amor.

Gravity made this happen automatically: the aqueducts were slightly slanted downward. The water automatically made its way to the outer districts of Amor, moving over buildings or slithering through alleys, entering the inner districts of Amor, before finally being collected at its lowest point. In this case, a large reservoir owned by the two consuls running the Amori Republic.

The chameleon stood about halfway and placed object after object in the water.

“It’s going to work! Believe me! It will be great! Before long, my friend, we will be rich.”

A rat eyed the work skeptically. And took notes.

The rat flipped to an earlier papyrus page to read back the statement. “But you just said you did it for the good of Amor and for pursuit of knowledge?”

The chameleon flashed red. This prompted a bystander, a boar, to stop in surprise.

“Yes! You there! Have you ever wanted to send a message to someone? But they live so far away, and you don’t feel like traveling for days?”

“No?” said the boar.

“Oh.” The chameleon flashed a different color. “Forget that! But think of this: have you ever wanted to send a message to someone … but didn’t want them to know it was you? A love letter, mayhaps? An onoma,” said the chameleon more formally, using the tongue of the godchildren to say without name.

The boar grinned. “My colorful friend, what an interesting idea. So … I can threaten someone and they never knew it was me?”

“Well, erm, I don’t know—”

The boar stepped up to the aqueduct. The chameleon had selected one of the few points that did not require a perilous climb to reach inside the water.

He quickly understood. The chameleon had been writing messages on a new invention called papyrus, then placing them inside clay or wooden containers and throwing them in the water. Many of these secret messages had already floated downstream. The first one was snatched out of the water in the Richerhouse district by a curious child.

“See! Communication will be much easier now! Just drop your message in, say, a glass bottle, and then drop it in the right aqueduct! What an invention!” said the chameleon about his own work. “Only one gold coin per message, good sir—”

“Thanks for the explanation.”

The boar pushed his tusks underneath the chameleon and threw him in the water too. He stole the remaining containers, papyrus and ink. Then he walked away, laughing, putting them all in some canvas bag that was already overstuffed.

The boar could not send his threat yet, though, for something downstream had suddenly emptied this part of the aqueduct.

Two elephants had realized they brought insufficient water.

Ollimo had worked tirelessly, using his trunk to suck in water temporarily and replenish the reserves, while Olfaman used his trunk to douse the fire.

By afternoon, the jeweler’s shop was black, caved-in, and covered in water. But the fire was out, and it, bless all who trumpet, had not spread to any other homes.

The jeweler himself, an animal so decked out in gold and fine silk that you had to guess the species below, cried, and moaned, and demanded justice from random passers-by.

A small platoon of soldiers investigated. It was not much of a police force, but then again, Ollimo thought that public services were not living their glory days right now.

They stomped through the ash. They kicked aside some wooden beams and collected shards of shattered glass for reuse. The home had been damaged so badly that they initially couldn’t figure out where the front entrance had been.

“Accident,” they ruled. They only recovered only a handful of large gold coins, given to the jeweler as a pity prize.

“Accident? I took all the necessary precautions! All my … my jewelry … my …”

“Look, fires are always a risk. You can thank the Toxotes you have any shop left. We’re sorry, we can’t give you money for ashes and dust.”

The jeweler stepped up to the soldier, considering a hit in the face. “But when gods wage war in our beautiful town, fires start a little more easily, don’t they?”

“What do you want us to do? Just let Ardex walk in without a fight?”

Far away, on the city walls, fighting had broken out again. It was such a constant presence that Ollimo barely registered it anymore. Amor was growing too powerful, Amor resisted the rule of the godchildren, Amor was able and very willing to fight back.

On the positive side, the Toxotes Firetrunks wouldn’t be out of a job soon.

Olfaman spoke with the jeweler, comforting him, telling him that the soldier was wrong.

“Water does not damage gold and silver. You sold diamonds, right? Those are tougher than saltstone. All your valuables are simply buried under the ash, believe me.”

“Well, look for it then! Find it!” demanded the jeweler.

“Ever heard of thank you?” said Ollimo, louder than he intended.

His father shook his massive head at him, and the two of them started clean-up. With their trunks, they could move the large beams easily or blow the ashes off the floor. They kept digging, and cleaning, and removing any debris until the sun set.

And still they found no diamonds.

“Thieves!” yelled the jeweler. “I knew it! This was no accident!”

A rat with a notebook had watched the proceedings from a distance. The next day, a rumor had spread all over Amor.

New gang of criminals has arrived in our beloved Amor! They use fire on purpose to cover their thievery!

Most everyone dismissed the rumor. Surely, it was too dangerous? Obviously, this was below even the lowest of criminals?

Olfaman and his son knew the lowest of criminals could be pretty low. Underground, even. They made a mountain out of a molehill. They immediately started the investigation.