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*****

To my surprise, when I got back to the bungalow in BOQ Row, I was met not by Chitterleigh, but by Lieutenant Rivers, who was pacing back and forth on our verandah.

"By Fuma's eyes, there you are! Now, look, come along to my bungalow, there's a good fellow. Your officer said I could borrow you for the day, and every minute of it's going to be needed."

He grabbed me by my elbow, and began to half push, half drag me into his bungalow. Now, it did look like Bagoum kept his place fairly well, but it was a little difficult to tell.

The principal reason for this was a gigantic roll of stitched-together parchment segments, standing upright. The top of it reached nearly to the ceiling of the dwelling. Surrounding it were a variety of small stacks of parchment leaves, set out in what looked like some logical, if inscrutable fashion.

Rivers began chewing on his whiskers in agitation. "Daunting, isn't it, Private?"

"Sir? What is it?"

The otter reached out and tapped the roll, which gently swayed a bit as he did so. "This, lad, is the Master Map."

"I apologize, sir: Master Map of what?"

"Eh? Oh, sorry. Thought it was obvious. Master Map of the realms ruled and in congress with His Majesty. This is the one they keep in the Statecraft Chamber of the Royal Palace, and for some reason, they've got the Army looking after it."

"Shouldn't this be in GHQ, then?"

Rivers snorted. "That, lad, is asking too many logical questions. I came back this morning and found an entire messenger platoon in my bungalow, thank you very much, neatly laying out all of this bumf. Orders for me to update it, and the sooner the better. Fuma guide us, it look a two-ant team just to haul the thing here."

I scratched my head. "But why here?"

"Secrecy, lad."

"Secrecy, sir?"

"Yes, some bright fur has figured if they got some A.D.C. to update the map, it'll keep furs from popping in and out of the Statecraft Chamber, asking what's going on and making comments and borrowing leaves and critiquing the work and so forth and so on. Anyway, orders from the Marshal himself, so that's an end to those kinds of questions, my lad."

I looked at the roll, which was easily twice my height, and that's with my antlers.

"Wouldn't your man Bagoum be better for this? I mean, he is larger than I am."

Rivers rolled his eyes. "He's also clumsy, slow-witted, and would probably spend half his time trotting back and forth to the kitchen for snacks, dribbling food all over the map. The last thing I need is for His Majesty to discover some new entity is in fact a piece of dried-up carrot. Never hear the end of it. Besides, Bagoum says you're a dab paw with a needle, and you can see..."

Yes, I could see. Each of the stacked leaves was carefully numbered, lettered and pre-punched with holes that obviously connected one sheet of parchment to another. It was thus a question of figuring out what needed updating, unpicking the sheet, and sewing in new sheets the right way.

In spite of the illogic of the whole process, someone had had the foresight to supply us with not only the requisite stout needles and stiff thread, but foot and hoof coverings as well, since it was probable we were going to have to actually walk on the map. Talk about your seven-league hooves.

Rivers had me go to one side of the roll, while he went to the other. By a little trial and error, we managed to figure out which end of the realm was up, and slowly unrolled the map.

Both of us, officer and private alike, whistled when the whole thing was laid out to view. It was a work of art in and of itself.

The scale of the map was sufficient that you could not only pick out the obvious realms - King Adler's demesne was coloured a dark red, and spread over the map like a gigantic fall maple leaf - but you could pick out a dizzying variety of other realms, including subsidiary duchies, principalities and baronies coloured a lighter red that the key said were realms tied by law to His Majesty, realms in blue that owed fealty in one form or another, realms in yellow that were protectorates, realms in green that were the subject of treaties, realms in orange that were independent and unaffiliated entities, a handful of purple splotches that were bishoprics (or so the key said), and realms coloured black with which His Majesty was at war. At least on the map that was unfurled, there were no such realms. I pointed that out to the Lieutenant, who nodded.

"Would have been no end of a job updating this thing back a few generations ago, when the Rising of the Barons happened." He leaned down, and gently tapped one parchment panel in particular. "Most of that lot are now the light red over here. Once the Risers were put down, well..."

He put his paws on his hips. "Probably those stupid knight-shires again. Hardly worth showing on a blasted map, no matter what the scale. Let's see...yes, here were are. Shown in white. Hrmph. Damnit, scattered all over the map. Well, nothing for it, Private, let's get cracking...looking for your home area?"

I was. I pointed it out. Elfhame was picked out in dark red, with a thin black border. It was labeled "D. Eylfhame."

"Hmmm. Probably one of His Majesty's subsidiary titles. On formal occasions, it's quite impressive. Thirty or forty, and that's just the grand duchies, duchies and principalities. Time was, the brothers and sons of the High King used to carry some of the titles. Don't think the Marshal's ever bothered with that, nor the Crown Prince. Study much geography, Private?"

"Some, sir. But not at this level."

"Hmmm. You've gone to school, though. You certainly don't talk like an Elfhamer. Or the average squaddie."

"No, sir. I was home-schooled." Which was true. A succession of neighbours taught me my numbers and letters, and in general I had access to a fairly decent selection of reading material. "Have you known many Elfhamers, sir?"

Rivers didn't appear to hear the question. Or maybe he did, I don't know. In any event, he began to lay out the replacement leaves on top of the map, to see how our job was.

There didn't appear to be any changes in the leaves that were exclusively dark or light red. However, beyond that, nearly every leaf had some change or other. Maddeningly, you'd have an unchanged leaf in the middle of leaves that had swirled around remarkably, meaning there were no short-cuts you could take. Out came the scissors, and I began to take apart the Master Map and attach the revised map-pieces.

There was a master-scroll, which Rivers began to check off as I replaced the leaves, accounting for each new and old leaf in its turn.

He was right: a lot of the changes seemed to be triggered by knights being created, dying off, having divorces, picking fights (and losing) with neighbouring realms, picking fights (and, amazingly, winning) with same, and so forth.

Rivers whistled as once leaf was replaced. "Odd. They didn't announce that treaty." He pointed to a small republic that straddled a mountain pass, near a number of independent orange kingdoms. Once orange, it was now green. "I wonder why. Well, that's what I get for not studying Statecraft. Some other fur earned his room and board at the Palace."

It took us hours of neck-straining, eye-straining and back-straining work, but eventually we were able to roll the damn thing together, looking as if nothing had changed. Rivers locked away the now-discarded leaves in a chest, and then sat down on it, heavily, his long tail curling around his feet.

"Well, thank Fuma that nonsense is done. I'll have Bagoum trot down to GHQ and tell 'em to send a team to pick this blasted thing up."

"Oh, no, sir, I'll do that."

"Eh? Awfully decent of you, Private, but haven't you done enough for a day? I mean, good job on the work and all, but, dash it, not necessary."

"Well, it's like this, sir. I'm rather keen on getting something from the FAFI..."

Rivers burst out laughing, and slapped his knee. "Now, then! Just when I thought you were some sort of construct, there you go, showing you're flesh and blood after all. FAFI, eh?" He reached into his pocket, and flipped me a few silver pieces. "There you are, lad. Dare say you've earned your bread and ale, or whatever you deer chappies like to nosh on of a night. I ought to see what that indefinite batman of mine has left me. D'ye know Bagoum eats fish? Ate me out of a week's supply of salted tunny, he did. In one sitting!"

I had little problem believing that, and I left the Lieutenant rummaging in his kitchen. Last I saw, he was sticking nearly his entire head into the icebox, trying to find something.

Sergeant Wing, as before, was at his desk in the corner of GHQ. He didn't seem surprised that Rivers had asked me for help with the map, and had his brother go over to the Palace to have the ant-team sent out.

"How are they going to keep that quiet, sir?"

"Same way 'ey sent it in, lad. Put a' bit of weavin' on it, make it look like a carpet." He winked broadly. It was a little hard to tell if he was kidding.

His smile faded away, and he cocked an eyebrow as I eyed a chair. I sat down, and told him about Lord Twelveoaks' visit, and the outcome. I didn't leave out the arrangement I'd made with Meadow.

Throughout my report, the Sergeant chirruped absently, tapping the leading edge of a feather against his desk. When I finished, he gave the surface a final tap.

"'scuse me, lad."

He got up, hopped over to the door that marked the entrance to the Marshal's chamber, and gave it a smart rap with his beak. From behind the door came an indistinct noise that was a cross between a growl and a yawn; apparently, the Sergeant was able to interpret it, because he opened the door, slipped into it, and closed it behind him.

I sat there, twirling my hat in my paws, for some time, wishing that I'd stopped at the FAFI first. It did make me think of Pte. Flood's unfortunate run-in with Article Four; I hadn't heard when my officer was going to appear in court for that, and indeed, I really hadn't heard what his strategy was for that. Something to bear in mind.

The door opened, and Wing slipped out again, hopping back to his desk. He picked up his hat and swagger-stick.

"Fancy a pint, then?"

A pint, at that moment, sounded like a very good idea, so I followed him out of the office and out of GHQ. A few streets away, he turned into a building that wasn't a FAFI, nor was it a sergeant's club. It was a small, comfortable public house, the Pool and Fairy Shrimp.

The place was dimly lit, most of the light coming from the titular pool in the main room, where a school of fairy shrimp slowly moved about, occasionally bobbing to the surface as a patron threw a small morsel of bread to them, causing a brief ripple in the water and a pulse of light.

Wing had a wide, narrow dish of bitter poured for him, and I was handed a blessedly cool mug of cider. Both of us got a pawful (or wingful) of seeded bread-sticks, and found a table away from the shrimp, but near a smaller fountain whose noise easily drowned us out.

The Sergeant said nothing, but he rather pointedly tapped the edge of my cider-mug with a breadstick and gave a quick nod. I nodded back, getting what I think the message was, and nibbled on my dinner. Wing stirred his bitter with a breadstick.

Once my eyes got used to the light, I could see that there were an assortment of crests scattered about. Judging from the weapons, they looked to be regimental crests. I got up and looked at a few of them. The one that was nearest happened to be the Thirty-Ninth Regiment (the Silver Foresters), whose heraldic symbol was a Wodehouse. Put a pipe in its paw, it could pass for Schweink, indeed.

Wing was looking at one crest with a brooding expression, so I joined him.

The crest showed a pair of recurved bows tied together with a short-staff to form a tripod. Running over this, and down both sides, was a long list of place-names that I didn't recognize. A scroll at the bottom stated: "To The Last Arrow We Stand for King and Realm."

Wing turned and returned to our seat, picking up another breadstick. I joined him. He stirred his bitter for a while, and then turned to me.

"Lived by that, yer family 'as."

"You mean...?"

He nodded. "Finally disbanded not long 'go. No more lads from Elfhame t' answer th' call anymore." He shook his head. "Laid up th' flags in th' Hall of Ancestors."

He finished his dish, fetched another one for himself and another cider for me (and more breadsticks), and settled back. "Ever bin there, lad?"

"The Hall of Ancestors, you mean?"

"Aye."

"Well, I've never been out of Elfhame, Sergeant, until I joined the Army."

"Right, right, right." He said this rather absently, though I thought he'd already known this. He dipped his beak in the bitter. "Should go there, lad. Pay yer respects. Few do, these days. No respect fer th' past."

The conversation petered out after that, as we each finished our second round. He left, but not before clapping a wing on my shoulder, smiling, and tipping the bill of his cap with his swagger stick.

"Carry on, lad. Keep at it."

After he left, I walked over to the crest of the Elfhame Rangers again, and read over the roster of place-names. I borrowed a scrap of paper and a reed from the wench behind the bar, and wrote down the names, tucking the list in a pocket. Perhaps one of Chitterleigh's scrolls had something to shed on this.

I smacked my forehead, and trotted out of the pub at a smart pace to get back to the bungalow. I probably should have reported into the Lieutenant sooner, but given the clamp on his social life at the moment, maybe it didn't make much difference.