FSE

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*****

I got up at one point during the early morning hours to go into the kitchen. While extreme even by the standards of Faerie, I did perform a quick check with Gramerye on that icebox to see if anything Eldritch was present. Nothing Eldritch, though something rather musty that would require attention sooner rather than later.

Seeing that it was near Mid-summer's Eve, the light did come early, which was probably just as well, since I still had a ghastly list of things to accomplish, even if Lieutenant Chitterleigh was sleeping the sleep of the just and the highly refreshed.

The guard-house near the parade ground was the first stop. Checking the duty roster showed that the fur who had made up the rota was either kind-hearted or realistic: the Lieutenant was not scheduled to do his turn in the orderly room until much later in the day. Wicker and Banks, the other A.D.C.s, were likewise scheduled for an afternoon shift, which made me think it was a case of realism. It was catching, too. The officer-on-duty, without comment, handed me Chitterleigh's map case, which he had left behind the previous night.

The fur on guard duty, after I gave him a light for his sneaked pipe, helpfully gave me directions to the city's main market. At this early hour of the day, it was probably the busiest part of town, with a number of servants, and a few other batmen, doing the early shopping.

Armed with a bag containing the recovered coins from the day before, I made my first stop at the ice merchant, who, perceiving I was a new batman, immediately pointed a large, meaty paw at the chalkboard listing quite publicly those to whom credit had been extended. The sum next to Chitterleigh's name indicated that unless some sort of down-payment were made, I was more likely to get a hoof applied to my backside than an order of ice.

Negotiations, after a few minutes, got to the point where, in essence, cash on the barrel-head got me a week's worth of ice, to be delivered late in the morning. This could be viewed as something approaching progress, since even if Albric Tor was cooler than most other parts of Faerie in summer, there wasn't much that was going to keep without ice. The line of furs behind me proved that point.

Bargaining with a number of other merchants that had a little bit more flexibility than the ice-seller (who was less flexible than he was muscle-bound) got me more orders, at least sufficient to finish the cleaning job and restock some of the kitchen. It did make me wonder how, by Fuma, Chitterleigh got anything to eat. Liquid refreshment didn't seem to be a problem.

I had saved up most of the gold pieces and the remaining silver and copper for my final visit, which I guessed both from reputation and from an examination of the laundry was going to be the most difficult. Namely, the tailor's.

The violent explosion of wrath that I received when I introduced myself told me most of what I needed to know about the state of affairs there. A sheaf of bills and letters was waved in my face, followed by prolonged, angry squeaking. Even if this was one of the few furs that I could actually best in height, the way the mouse was waving around his scissors dropped a hint that a placating approach might be best.

Sorting through the bills, and finding the older, smaller ones to pay off gradually made things simmer down, at least to the point where the scissors were expertly hurled at the far wall. (Of note: there were quite a few holes in the wall in that spot. Obviously, he had had practice.) I was informed that if the rest of the bills were not paid off in good order, there would be reports made.

I got home in time to wipe out the icebox in advance of the ice delivery. The thumping, banging and crashing this produced worried me, until a quick peek into the bedroom showed the Lieutenant still at peace with the world, and happily curled up around a pillow.

The other deliveries came in short order after that, and I had still had time to fill the lamps and tackle some of the other minor jobs before lunch-time. It might well have been the smell of the tea in the early afternoon that caused a rather bleary, blood-shot squirrel, clad in a (freshly laundered) robe, to pad into the kitchen and sit down heavily at the table.

He blinked at the mug of tea placed in front of him, as if it had been conjured up by some species of Dark Arts. He sniffed at it, poked at it with a finger, and gave it a tentative sip. With no act of polymorphism resulting, he slowly drained the mug, very gently placing it back on the table so as not to make any noise. I refilled it for him (quietly), and he drank that off as well. After gently pushing the mug away, he looked up, blinked, and tried to gather his thoughts together for a minute.

"Please don't think me rude, but who in the blazes are you, and where in the blazes am I?"

"Good afternoon, sir. I'm Pte. Winterbough, your new batman."

It took time for this to sink in.

"But I have a batman."

"I'm led to believe, sir, he's in gaol."

Chitterleigh ran this through his mind for a bit. "Whatever for?"

"Drunk and disorderly, sir. He also attempted to gamble away your hat."

Light dawned. "Ah. Ah." He looked around.

"So. Where am I?"

"You are in your bungalow, sir."

A brief look of disbelief, followed by a look around. "Are you certain?"

"Yes, sir. Your name is on the front door."

Light dawned again. "Ah. Ah."

There was a long pause after this, as the conversation stalled.

"Would you like some lunch, sir?"

This offer was met with a drawn-out groan, which I took to be a "no." He got up, using the chair and then the walls for support. In a minute, I could hear the sound of the taps running. I made his bed and laid out a uniform tunic and linen for him while he took his bath, which was a very lengthy one.

Some time later, I peered around the door to check on him. He was standing, mostly dressed, in front of the looking glass attached to his armoire. He was staring not at his reflection, but at the racks of clothes that I had barely been able to squeeze into the closet.

"By Fuma...er...um...sorry, what was...?"

"Winterbough, sir."

"Winterbough. Winterbough. Winterbough. Right, got it. Um, Winterbough, where did all these clothes come from?"

"From the laundry, sir."

"From what?"

"The laundry, sir."

"Good heavens, you mean those indefinites finally found it?"

"Found, sir?"

"Yes, found. They kept losing my uniforms, blast them. My batman...sorry, my former batman, told me so. Kept having to buy new ones. Can't imagine what the tailor must think of me."

I, on the other paw, had a very good idea, but did not feel it was diplomatic right then and there to let him know.

"Sir? I did find two of your hats." I handed him one. He looked relieved.

"Ah! Well, that's a break. I keep getting gigged for not having a hat. Dashed particular about them, y'know. Especially the Marshal. Where did you find this one?"

"That one, sir, was in the rafters. The other one was underneath your bed."

"The rafters?"

"Yes, sir. I had to knock it down with a stick."

Chitterleigh looked up at the ceiling with a puzzled air, and then shook his head. "Probably after a staff meeting, then. Funny thing, y'know, they always seem to lay on a good spread after for us A.D.C.s. Must cost them a fortune."

Another chance to hold my tongue, while Chitterleigh looked over at a table, where I had laid out his kit. There was quite a lot of it, including many duplicates, a few in triplicate, and four spy-glasses. Some of it was still in the wrappers from the shops.

"Rafters, Winterbough?"

"No, sir. Underneath laundry, on top of the armoire, and you had one of the spyglasses behind the W.C."

The Lieutenant ran a paw through his headfur and chittered nervously. He invoked Fuma again as he glanced back and forth between the armoire and the table.

"Would you like me to try to sort things out with the merchants, sir?"

"D'ye think that'll work, Winterbough?"

"Well, sir, it did this morning."

"Eh?"

"You had some coins, sir, in the pockets of your laundry."

For the first time, I saw Chitterleigh brighten and smile. "What a stroke of luck! How much?" I told him.

"Hmm! Any left over?"

I handed him four coppers, upon which he bestowed a mournful look.

"The tailor, sir..."

"You'd think he'd have more knowledge and mercy, Winterbough. Ah, well, I suppose it's the nature of the beast." He did pocket the coppers.

"The extra kit, sir...?"

"I suppose you'd better see what you can do about that. Am I missing anything?"

I showed him the list. Remarkably, he was missing a pawful of items, mostly required scrolls.

"There was also this, sir..." I produced a tooled leather scabbard, from which produced the handle of a longsword. Chitterleigh made a quick grab for it, and hurriedly extracted the blade. It was, as I had seen last night, one of superb work, with delicate engravings, and probably antique. He exhaled slowly and deeply.

"By Fuma's quivering whiskers, Winterbough, I'd been dreading talking to the old man about this. Thought I'd lost it somewhere. Where was it?"

"In the kitchen, sir. I believe it had been used to slice fish. I did clean the blade, sir."

This only slightly lessened the horror of things, and he buckled on the sword with great care. He did up the rest of his uniform tunic, and put on his hat.

"You are on the late afternoon and early evening guard duty, sir."

"Checked the rota, eh? Good lad. Did you see who's the O.O.D.?"

"A Major Greenscale, sir."

That produced a wince. "Just as well you found my hat and sword, Winterbough. He's one of the old school. Gigged me left and right the last time I was on when he was O.O.D. Had to pull overnight guard duty." A further wince, evidencing the unpleasantness he felt. I applied a brush to his tunic as he shot his sleeves and checked his cravat in the looking-glass.

"About the kit, sir...?"

He waved a paw. "I'll leave it to you, Winterbough. You seem to do all right." He checked the angle of his hat in the glass. "Well, this will give old Greenscale a shock, being on time. Serve the old blister right."

I handed him his swagger stick and his map-case, and he went off, at a much more measured pace than he had the night before.

The table, which looked set for me to go into business as a merchant, I admit baffled me. My bafflement was interrupted by the sound of clinking and pouring come from the kitchen.