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*****

There was, in fact, a good reason why I had a faceful of mashed potato that had been administered to me by some of the squaddies.

For generations, there is a tradition that in Army, the Solstice Night dinner is an excuse for topsy-turvy discipline, where the superiors have to serve the lower ranks. And tolerate assorted hijinks directed at them. As far as I know, it runs throughout the Army, though I honestly wonder how much anyone dares direct at the Marshal. I know I wouldn't try anything.

In any event, the squaddies of Thorn Platoon had clubbed up and had ordered an entire barrel of rather good wine, and were in the process of launching a mighty attack on it. Hence the faceful of potato.

Also, hence, the fact that at the moment, Millwright and Hedgeton were toting a bed on which reposed a sleeping Captain O'Bloom. Frankly, I was amazed that the two of them could lift the whole thing, but it is amazing the strength that four or five large ceramic mugs of wine can give you. The duo vanished into the night to deposit the Captain, I knew not where. Nor, for that matter, cared all that much.

Just short of midnight, the last of the squaddies had either collapsed into their bed, under a handy table, or in one or two cases, were leaning against a pillar in a startlingly uncomfortable fashion. I therefore felt free to wash assorted bits of produce out of my headfur and change into my "A" uniform.

Mossford was completely dark, with a few exceptions. One was the barracks, where a few lights still gleamed. The other was the Temple, which had a warm glow, imparted in some measure by the fact that a number of furs were approaching it with lit tapers, and some were already inside.

I would have expected to hear snatches of the old traditional songs of the season, but for some reason, the crowd was quiet. It was only when I approached, my own candle lit, that I saw that the crowd was looking up in hushed awe at the sky.

I could see why they would be in awe. The night sky was lit up by a star whose tail fanned out behind it, and the tail itself was forked. It looked, for all the world, like the tail of a skunk, given that it had alternating black and white stripes. It was very bright, and on a night with a waning crescent moon, it had little competition as queen of the sky. Since this night had been one of the first clear nights in a few weeks, it had been something of a surprise to us all, with the possible exception of the Gazers on their hilltop.

The Temple's congregation had spread out past the pews, and through the benches, the better to light the inside. Normally, as I say, you hear the songs of the season sung, but all was silence. It was very noticeable that everyone was using only one paw to hold a candle, and was holding someone else's paw with the other, and not a family member's paw, either. I know, because I was one of them.

The traditional greeting of the longer days and the blessing of the worshipers was omitted, but I do not think anyone noticed. The one traditional part of the service that was retained was the sign of peace, which somehow was morphed into some very close hugs. Many, especially the pawful of small children present, found this quite comforting.

The service ended, and most of the congregants went home. However, a number of us, myself included, along with Auld Tom, Boy Tom, and some of the other senior residents of Mossford, gathered in the home of the curate. We were joined, in a sense that was both unexpected and expected, by one of the brothers from the monastery.

All of the farmers turned to him, and questioned him in silence. He nodded back to them, and there were a number of simultaneous grim looks. I was somewhat baffled, but the curate took pity on me and gave me some enlightenment.

"It's the Star of Fuma's Tail, Corporal." Ah, so I wasn't by any means alone in imagining that it looked like a skunk's tail. I also remembered that when I had visited the monastery, the Gazers had been on the watch for a comet, one that appeared roughly every 78 years, and foretold disaster and battle.

A nearby scroll-case was consulted, and I was handed a manuscript on Fuma's Tail, which purported to show a lengthy list of famines, royal deaths and wars that had occurred coincidental with the appearance of the great star. It was said to be a warning from the Lady to those who would listen, so that they could prepare.

As I rolled up the scroll and inserted it back into its tube, I found that everyone in the room was looking directly at me. Auld Tom emphasized this by pointedly striking a match and lighting his pipe.

I folded my paws before me, cleared my throat, and spoke.

"Well, there are two choices. We have enough time to carry out an orderly evacuation of Mossford, and have you many miles away with most of your possessions intact by the time any trouble starts. As a soldier of the King, I do have the responsibility to look after you as best I can."

I looked around at all of the farmers, who had their arms crossed and were looking at me with grim expressions.

"The alternative would be to swear into service those that have the ability and the knowledge to use weapons. There is a strong argument to be made that there is a lot of knowledge of the terrain here, as well as prevailing weather conditions, that any enemy would not have."

"Now, all of this, of course, is pre-supposing that we have an enemy. I know that there is trouble brewing in the United Cities, and I'm sure many of you know it as well, with your connections in Lark's Rise. The enemy could stop miles away, it could stop at Lark's Rise, or it could press forward across the Mill River."

"I think either course would be acceptable to my superiors, and both have their points in favour and against."

There was some silence, and then Auld Tom spoke.

"Wouldst tha do, young 'un?"

I thought about that answer for a good few minutes, and the farmers showed a great deal of patience while waiting for me.

"In all honesty, sir, I'd prefer to have as many furs here as I can. I've got a decent feel for the terrain around here, but that's no substitute for having lived here all during one's life. I don't have anything more than a gut feeling that I'm going to need all the help I can get, but it's a strong feeling."

I leaned forward, and pointed at them all.

"I can't, in good conscience, force you to take either action, and I won't. I don't think you'd want that, and I've been here long enough to know that you are all furs of character and judgement. That, and you love your homes and families."

"Since we're not under any immediate pressure, I propose that any final decision be deferred, but that we all take a thorough inventory of what supplies we have, and try to clear out as much as will get in our way as possible. If any of you hear anything, report to me immediately, and I'll pass anything that I hear along to you. If you think you need anything that I might be able to get from the Regiment or further back, let's talk about it."

This was met with thoughtful silence, broken by the occasional grunt. Auld Tom took a silent poll with his eyes, and then tapped out his pipe.

"Aye, young 'un. 'tis sense."

We all shook paws on it, and the meeting broke up.

Before walking back to the barracks, I took a detour to the field fortifications, proposing to have a look at the sky from them. I saw that it was quite crowded there, in a sense. For one thing, Captain O'Bloom was busily snoring in his bed, oblivious to the fact that he was sleeping in fresh air for probably the first time in Fuma knew how long. For another, perched on the edge of the bed and slowly swishing his tail was Estvan Silverbrush. He was looking at the Star of Fuma's Tail with great interest. He noticed my approach, and pointed up.

"The thirty-sixth time I've seen this comet, Corporal, but I never tire of it. How unlucky the Lowfolk are! At best, they'll only see this comet twice in a lifetime. Spectacular, isn't it?"

"Even the elves in the hamlet with disturbed by it, sir."

"Yes, well, I suppose that even our race isn't immune to that sort of thing. Fuma's Tail does have quite a history of things happening in its wake. A historian of great knowledge and small imagination would say that Great Events happen with or without the intervention of comets, and given how often King Adler's ancestors liked to engage in wars, small wonder there wasn't something or other going on during an appearance, eh?"

"Correlation does not imply causation?"

The old tod raised an eyebrow at me. "You are, I would wager, one of the few corporals in His Majesty's service who would say that. I suspect that most, these days, are more interested in football statistics, or the vital statistics of Jane, the Lowfolk Femme. (Mind you, her statistics are compelling.)"

I looked up at the sky, and fancied that I could see very faint movement from Fuma's Tail.

"Are you worried, Corporal?"

"Yes and no."

"Ah. That is more the voice of the average soldier. Vague answers avoid responsibility."

"Well, yes in that I know something is going to happen, soon, and the unknown is always something that's going to scare a fur. No, in the sense I'm going to do what I can. What about you, sir?"

Silverbrush shrugged. "You will, I hope, forgive me. If you've seen one war, in many ways you have seen them all, and frankly even your beloved Imperial and Royal Army isn't as interesting as the armies I saw when I was a young elf. Far few banners, and gaudy armour. Ever seen an elf-maiden in armour? Not very practical, the type most wear, but deeply inspirational. Nevertheless, I don't take any particular joy in combat, Corporal. I may be as mad as March hare, but that does not mean I'm a blood-thirsty monster. I lost my taste for this sort of thing generations ago. Well, except maybe for the elf-maidens in armour."

He turned as Captain O'Bloom began murmuring in his sleep, ordering something to drink. Perhaps the reference to thirst had inspired him.

"Look at him. Thank Fuma he isn't in elf-maiden armour. The great survivor of the elven race, as opposed to those whose bones are hidden beneath the turf all around us."

"Yes, you'd said there'd been battles here before. Including one where the monastery is, now."

"Quite." He paused for a long time. "Not trying to convince me to fight for King and Empire, Corporal?"

"I doubt I have the ability to influence your decision, sir."

He smiled, nodded, and looked up along with me at Fuma's Tail.

"Do remember one thing, Corporal. It is very rare that this hairy star foretells doom for both sides. It's all in how you view it, hmmm?"

It was quite some time before I went to sleep, since that last thought was something of great interest. Silverbrush did have a point, and one that I thought was overlooked by others in Mossford. It would be of great interest to see how the Grand Duchy viewed the star. After all, they were as likely to see it as I was.

Once I was able to roust both myself and a few of the less headache-wracked squaddies, I had them bring in Captain O'Bloom's bed. The old fraud was still sound asleep, even through the pained groans of hung-over squaddies that had a great deal of difficulty moving the bed up the stairs.

I helped supervise the replacement of the bed, observing in the meantime that my original orders were still, astoundingly enough, sealed in their original tube. What in the name of Fuma's fur he did all day was a complete mystery.

Well, let me correct myself. I know something he does. Namely, complain. I had hardly closed the door on his room when I was called back in and given a querulous lecture on my failures to heat the barracks properly, indicating that he had nearly perished from the cold in his bedroom. He indicated that he would write a stern letter of reprimand to me.

As soon, of course, as he could find a stylus and some paper. Did I, by any chance, have any on my furson?