FSE

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*****

The early part of December brought with it, on the surface, a good deal of Solstice cheer. Some of this came courtesy of GHQ in Persoc Tor, which took special care with the delivery of rations and pay to the Mossford garrison. In spite of the generally rainy weather outside, the squaddies seemed in good spirits, and a number were practicing the staff-sling. None were as good as Aethelwulf, though at least two could reliably hit targets from up to 100 yards.

The Gazers of Fuma's Musk were having a bit of a hard time fulfilling their sky-watching obligations, owing to the inclement weather, so most of them were engaged in the pleasant tasks of decorating the monastery for the holiday. The decorations were quite elaborate, and I had to say, well-organized. I was continuing to have an uncanny feeling about the monks, but I still couldn't place it, even after watching them closely.

Efforts to station a squaddie on the roof of the monastery for observation purposes were gently sidetracked by the Abbot, who pled the press of other business. I had the distinct feeling that he was giving me the run-around, not for any particularly unpatriotic or bloody-minded reason. Rather, it seemed that he simply wasn't under any pressure to make a decision, and I couldn't force him to do so.

Mossford itself continued to be rather sleepy, at least on the surface. The hamlet's temple was also decorated (on a smaller scale that the Gazers did), and I continued my off-and-on efforts to fix the organ; slow progress was being made in that quarter. For the most part, the various older male Burrows continued to have quiet conversations with me, asking questions on the one paw and dispensing observations they made when they themselves had crossed the Mill River going over to Lark's Rise.

I myself had practiced moving from the field fortifications, to the ford, to the environs of Lark's Rise, and I got to the point where in light order, with single-stick, bow and arrows, I could make it in about twenty minutes, even in the dark. After a number of visits, in low light and in no light at all, I was able to move around the area with confidence that I knew where I was.

Visiting Lark's Rise also brought me information about the situation in Sainted Oaks, which was slowly deteriorating. More merchants were getting beaten up and robbed, and there were occasional outbreaks of arson. Making matters worse, a few of the criminals were rounded up, and turned out to be some of the wolves from the border area with the Grand Duchy. Piers Hollow, the chipmunk who had guided me to Sainted Oaks that night, told me that the Imperial and Royal Embassy was locked down tight, but that the retinue of the Ambassador was providing invaluable support to the Council. He couldn't say much more than that, but I got the impression that the support being given and the criminals being captured were linked.

On two different occasions, I traveled most of the way down the road from the junction of the Sainted Oaks and Lark's Rise Road, toward the main border area with Flourford (in other words, going north, then northwest, then southwest from the Mossford area). I didn't cross the border at the area of Flourford, as it was guarded on both sides and would have engendered too many questions. However, it did give me an impression that an enemy could bring a fairly substantial force through the road and the border, and make life hot for Flourford.

I got little in the way of direct response to my reports to GHQ in Persoc Tor, even allowing for the length of time it took to get messages back there, King's Messenger priority or no. My communications were tersely acknowledged, with orders to carry on. Of course, the quality of the rations and the timeliness of the pay might not have been coincidental.

Lt. Kedgeay came back from his leave, or at least came back in whatever sense you can see he was in Mossford. At some level, he was, since there were Solstice packages arriving for him at the Mossford post office, and a wreath appeared on his barracks-room door one day, origin unknown. I was left a small basket of sweet persimmons, which were carefully tested with Gramerye before they were consumed.

Speaking of which, Gramerye was taking up as many moments as I could spare during the day, and many times through the night when I wasn't on recce. I did make one interesting discovery, which I'm sure thousands had made before me: if I rapidly repeated a formulation and held my paws steady, a slow but noticeable cumulative effect could be produced. This bit of enlightenment came one particularly rainy afternoon, when I slipped and slammed my paws into a large patch of mud to prevent myself from doing a full muzzle-plant. I said about twenty repetitions of a drying oath in about fifteen seconds, out of sheer irritation, and when I opened my eyes to heave myself up, I found that the ground around me for about ten paces was as dry as if we'd had a week of sunshine. The negative part of this was that my paws were very hot and dry, and I had to stick them in another mud puddle to cool them off.

Another bit of experimentation, and one that I could do while supervising the squaddies' training with the staff-sling, spear and sword, was the manipulation of solids. I had the idea after watching Aethelwulf and a few other squaddies have a leisurely argument over the relative merits of lead balls versus lead ovals versus stone ovals. I found that it was not terribly difficult to turn even shards of obsidian soft and pliable.

Some of the stone artwork you see in the larger cities is quite stunning, with intensely realistic expressions and very delicate representations even of fur and claws. I had always wondered how it could be done, the marrying of bits of stone like obsidian with marble forms. I now realized that it could be done as easily as if one were making the kind of gingerbread cookies I used to see the bakers back in Elfhame make, the ones with the studded pieces of fruit.

I was, on a rare dry afternoon, sitting by the ford working on some pieces of stone. I was fitting a small iron nail into a model paw, to serve as an iron staff, when a familiar chuckle broke out behind me, causing me to jump and drop the doll.

"My, my, my. Making images of me, are you?"

This was true. The doll was in the form of a fox, with a mixture of flint for the fur, and clear quartz for the brush-tip and headfur. The staff I had given the doll was a figment of my imagination, but Silverbrush looked at it with an art critic's eyes.

"Hmmmm. Not bad. A bit off-model there with my noble profile..." He thereupon took finger and thumb, and delicately lengthened the muzzle.

"Have you ever given thought to being a god among the lowfolk, Corporal?"

I blinked rather stupidly at the old tod, who was fluffing up his alter-ego's brush.

"You really should, y'know. It has its advantages. Pick of maidens (or mels, if you prefer), the best of the harvest, and if you're really browned off at some fur, a snap of your fingers, and there he goes! And your portrait everywhere, though of course you're at the mercy of the skill of the local artisans..."

He asked me for a few fragments of quartz, which I handed him. He thereupon added some eyebrows to the doll.

"Now, I'll grant you, it isn't all fun and games. A lot of times, you have to listen to a whole lot of prayers. Oh, great god, give me this, that or the other. And preferably without having to work for it. Or, oh, great god, strike down my enemies. Even if the enemies happen to be better furs. Gets awfully sticky, too, if you've got one of the Fair Folk running the same racket on the same side of the street."

"So why aren't you still a god?"

"Hmmm? Oh, got bored with it after a time. Also, you don't run into as many pantheistic furs as you used to. Monotheism is all the rage in the Lowfolk country these days. And you'll even get some furs who don't believe in gods at all, would you believe it?"

He set the doll upon a stone, and admired it. "Used to make these sort of things myself, when I was starting out. I'm sure there's whole sections of Lowfolk country that are littered with the things. Last time I was in one of their museums, I found a collection of my own work on display. "Secrets of the Savages," I ask you. Savage, indeed. Well, at least they referred to it as "priceless."

I got a raised eyebrow. "Speaking of starting out, I've noticed that you've figured out a few of the really useful tricks, like the Rapid Cycle."

"You've been watching me?"

"Not as such. I can, however, sense when you are using Gramerye and get a good idea, especially if you are using a Rapid Cycle, of what you're trying to accomplish. You do realize that can be done, can't you?"

I nodded at that. The wolfess at Pte. Flood's trial showed me that could be done.

"Oh, certainly, I'm sure your Army instructor was good, at his own level, but what I'm not sure he or she had in mind was the fact that if you're up against another chap using Gramerye, things can get, well, a bit hairy. Some don't take kindly to being found out, hmmm?"

I felt very uncomfortable, knowing that he was right. If I closed my eyes, I could see that wolf aiming the stranglewort arrow right at my head.

"Of course, there are other things you can find out from an unshielded mind, too. For instance..."

I looked up, and found that I was confronting one of those harem-dancers you read about in the stories set in the Southlands. And, as a matter of fact, I'd been reading a scroll I'd borrowed from a squaddie the previous night. I had, a few feet from me, a reasonable facsimile of, ahem, one of the features of the story I'd perused, from the gold earrings, to the toe-rings, and right down to the little bell on the point of the tail.

And yes, for the record, my imagination had exaggerated a few prominent features, which had been picked up on.

The smokey-grey wolfess batted her eyes at me and gave a generous jiggle. "What say you to this, effendi?"

I folded my arms and glowered.

"Silk of the silken-worm

Cotton of the bush

Linen of the flaxen plant

Wool from ram's tush

_ _

Return to the caterpillar,

Hide and the field

Dissolve into nothingness

So all is revealed"

There was a brief snapping sound, followed by a series of multi-coloured vapours being produced around the wolfess' form. I studiously looked elsewhere just as soon I saw the wolfess start to cover herself with just two paws. Which meant, of course, that I missed seeing the vigorous slap across the muzzle that I collected a second later. Still, it was worth it, especially when I heard Silverbrush, in his own voice, grumble into existence some new clothing.

He wagged a finger at me. "You naughty, naughty boy. You've been reading up on that lovely spell, haven't you?"

"Actually, no, I made that one up just now."

"Did you? Jolly good. Mark you, I've heard similar variations through the years, so it's not original, though I'll give you marks for covering (so to speak) all the types of material your average femme might wear." He followed up this praise with a soft clap, and then a wiggle of his eyebrows, before he vanished with a musical "pook!"

Came a voice from the air: "Oh, and I see you did in fact enjoy the show!"

I looked down, and found that I was without my trousers. It took me the better part of an hour to figure out how the hell to conjure something even remotely resembling uniform pants, and at that I had to sneak past the sentries on duty.