Marchosias sighed, a long, weary exhalation, and hauled Zac to his feet with one hand. "Why didn't the Aspidochelone eat you?"
Zac shrugged, wiping a streak of mud from his cheek. "Leo is a good boy."
March groaned, looking from the human to the massive snapping turtle, who was currently trying to eat a rock. "Did you use your silver tongue on him? Did you lie to him and make him think he was your pet dog?"
Zac shrugged again. "I thought you said my badass magic didn't work on things without brains."
"Reptiles are quite intelligent," Bune interjected from the gate, adjusting his cuffs. "Aspidochelones trap their food by mimicking islands. That requires higher reasoning and patience."
"We don't have time for the philosophy of the mind!" Marchosias barked, cutting off the lecture. "There is a war going on, and the Avatar is filthy."
Zac looked down at his very mud-caked pajamas. Then he looked up at Marchosias's very mud-caked uniform. He grinned.
"You look like you need your back scrubbed, Captain."
Marchosias looked down at himself and huffed in defeat. He turned slowly to Bune. "I will be right back. I expect everyone to be getting ready by the time I return."
Bune looked between March and Zac, his heads tilting in tandem. "Are you sure, Captain? I can bring the Avatar to the showers. I do not mind."
"No," March growled. "If one of us is not here, then the others will get distracted, or slack off, or murder each other. We have orders."
Zac stretched, his back popping loudly, and wobbled toward the gate. "Is something finally happening? I thought this was one of those Big Brother, just-hang-out-in-the-keep-and-see-what-wacky-situations-happen-when-a-bunch-of-hormonal-bachelors-are-forced-into-close-proximity-for-an-extended-period-of-time situations."
Marchosias and Bune looked at each other.
March turned and grabbed Zac by the scruff of his muddy onesie. "This is why I'm not letting him out of my sight again," he said to the dragon butler. "He is totally insane."
"Oh, he's just at that age," Bune said, looking down and winking at Zac with his Left Head. "If you try to hold on to him too tightly, he will just rebel against you."
Marchosias lifted Zac off the ground and began to walk toward the exit, Zac dangling like a prize from a claw machine. "I'd like to see him try."
Zac smiled and gave a cheerful little wave to Bune as Marchosias carried him out of the room. The dragon butler, looking relieved that the crisis had been averted, offered a fond smile and waved back with one of his right hands.
Marchosias exited the cavernous stables and stepped into the gothic stone hallway of the keep. Zac swayed back and forth in the wolf's iron grip, perfectly content to be carried like a misbehaving duffel bag.
Marchosias didn't even break stride. He reached out with his free hand, grasped the iron ring of the door directly across the corridor, and pulled it open to reveal the pristine, black marble and polished silver of the bathroom.
Zac's jaw dropped. "Oh, so when you want to use the shitter, the keep just gives it to you on the first try?" he complained, crossing his arms as he dangled. "I had to threaten pooping in one of the suits of armor!"
"What?" Marchosias asked, his brow furrowing in deep concern as he gently set Zac down on the tiled floor.
"You know," Zac said, waving a dismissive hand at the walls. "Your creepy House of Usher doesn't respect me like it respects you. I've got to be a bit more assertive to get what I want around here."
Marchosias shook his head, too exhausted to unpack whatever fresh insanity the human was spouting. He walked heavily toward one of the polished silver sinks and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His usually immaculate midnight greatcoat was caked in thick, foul-smelling turtle mud, and his silver-threaded fur was matted and stained. His tail sagged pitifully toward the floor.
"This keep was given to me by President Malphas," Marchosias murmured, his voice heavy with a profound, structural weariness. "If only the lieutenants assigned to me had half of his work ethic, this war might be over by now."
"Who's Malphas?" Zac questioned, padding over to stand at the sink right next to the Captain. "Is he related to Halphas? Their names are really similar."
Zac reached up and pulled his fleece hood back, letting the floppy cat ears fall behind his shoulders. He inspected his own reflection. Even covered in stable muck and dried pool water, he looked remarkably like his usual self. There were a few fresh, purple bruises blooming on his neck and collarbone from being tossed around by the various demons over the past few days. Zac tilted his head, tracing one of the marks with a finger. I really wish these were hickeys, he thought with a wistful sigh. Such a waste of perfectly good skin discoloration.
"We are all related, in a sense," Marchosias said, running a hand under the faucet and wiping a thick lump of dirt off his scarred muzzle. "But Malphas is the second-in-command to Lucifer himself. He is the architect of the Pit."
Zac looked over at the wolf, genuinely surprised. "I thought Baal or Belial, or at least one of the Kings, would be second-in-command. Aren't Presidents one of the lower ranks for royalty?"
Marchosias reached up to his collar and began to unbutton his ruined greatcoat. "Rank is just related to one's raw power," the wolf explained. "But without Malphas's architecture, the Kings would have no castles to live in. They would rule over empty dirt. Lucifer understands the importance of those with actual skills and work ethic."
Marchosias slipped the heavy coat off his broad shoulders. Even completely ruined, his military discipline held firm; he began to meticulously fold the muddy garment before setting it on the marble counter. "The Kings," he added with a soft, derisive snort, "just enjoy giving orders."
Zac stared at the undressing wolfman, momentarily distracted by the broad, muscular expanse of March's chest revealed beneath the coat. "I thought you were all royalty. And you didn't answer my question."
"We are only 'royalty' such that we all have legions to command," March growled, pulling off his gauntlets with a metallic clatter. "None of us here are Kings, nor are we Princes. Even Duke Bune is expected to acquiesce to them."
"Okay," Zac said, leaning against the counter. "That kind of makes sense. Now, Malphas and Halphas… are they, like, twins?"
Marchosias paused, raising a scarred eyebrow. "No. Malphas is a crow."
Zac cocked his head to the side. "I know Halphas isn't an eagle now, if you didn't know. Aren't pigeons and crows basically, like, both flying garbage disposals?"
Marchosias nearly fell over while unlacing a heavy combat boot. He caught himself on the sink, looking at Zac with profound exasperation. "No. They are nothing alike. One is grey, and one is black."
Zac just shook his head. He was no ornithologist, but it appeared that the demonic wolf knew even less about birds than he did.
But despite the bizarre avian taxonomy, Zac did think it was sweet. Lucifer had Malphas, and Marchosias had Halphas. And after hearing March say that the ruler of the Pit (the twink-in-charge, Satan himself) had chosen his second-in-command due to the black bird's skills and work ethic, Zac suddenly understood. Halphas hadn't been chosen as the second-in-command to the wolf because he was a big, bad eagle. He was chosen for the exact same reasons.