FSE

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*****

(G/* 7/21/2013)

I had a number of advantages over every other fur that surrounded the entrance to the Crypt. For one thing, I was probably a good deal younger than all but one or two of the monks. For another thing, I probably didn't indulge in the pleasures of the table nearly as much as the monks (or, for that matter, the Marshal) did.

Lastly, I already had my blood up, and I wanted to get the fur who tried to beat my skull in earlier.

I was thus a good few yards ahead of the rest of the field, and in a position to hear a furious clicking sound coming from the Old Chapel. I thought about snapping out the Blood Seal, but I wasn't in the line of sight and frankly, I didn't have the breath in me to call out an appropriate phrase. There was nothing for it, but to use the hooves.

There was a booming, triple metallic sound, followed by a loud creaking. After a short interval, the creaking resumed. I whirled around the doorway to the Old Chapel just in time to see a portion of the floor snap closed, followed by the same booming triple metallic sound.

I jumped out of the way just in time to see the tiles on the floor furiously re-arrange themselves, sliding over one another rapidly. The hidden door hadn't been closed and locked for more than a few seconds before the room was serene and quiet again, save for one rapidly panting roebuck that was pounding the doorjamb in frustration.

Very soon, the horde of monks reappeared, babbling confusedly. A few of them dragged away the unconscious figure of one of their own, the monk that the Marshal had bade guard the Old Chapel. Given the fact that he had a large swelling on the point of his jaw, he must have been doing his duty at some level. The chattering mob was soon parted by the huffing and puffing figure of the Marshal, who shoved them aside left and right with a will.

"Sir! Someone activated a kind of door! They're down there, now!"

"Did the floor reset?"

"Yes, Your Highness. The tiles shuffled themselves."

"Fuma's White, Shining and Spotless Teeth! I was afraid of that. Nothing to help it. Corporal, get out of there and get some order in the hallway, here. I have work to do."

I slipped out as the vast, lemon-coloured bulk of Prince Roland passed me going the other way. Within a few seconds, and with a somewhat pained grunt, he lowered himself to his knees, with his back to the Old Chapel's Altar, and started moving the tiles of the floor by paw.

For my part, I rapped the end of my short staff on the stone floor of the passageway, where it gave out a sharp, ringing tone. I repeated this a few times, accompanied by a sharp, shrill whistle produced by sticking the fingers of my right paw in my muzzle and blowing, in the time-honoured fashion of the little furs of Faerie.

"All right, PIPE DOWN, the lot of you. I've got some questions for you, and I need them answered, RIGHT NOW."

The High Bishop wasn't having any of this. "I object to your insolent attitude, you base-born varlet. If there is any fur that is going to be conducting an investigation in this Holy House, it is..."

I whirled on the ferret, flipped around my staff a few times in my left paw, transferred it to my right, and stuck one end under his chin.

"All right. You've got two choices, My Lord. You can either shut it right now, or you can shut it after I use the business end of this staff on your head about ten times, and frankly, I don't think that little party hat of yours is armoured, is it? So what'll it be?"

He shut it.

I turned back to the monks, who were looking slack-jawed at me in wonder. Given the mass of them that reached back in the hallway on both sides, it was pretty clear that we had nearly a full house from the Chapter's roster.

"All right, LISTEN UP! One of your Chapter was responsible for assaulting Brother Felix in here the other day, and I'm pretty sure that not only was it the same fur that assaulted me tonight, but it's the same fur that's just knocked out a second of you lot, and accessed a secret door in the Old Chapel."

The words "secret door" caused excited buzz among the monks, and a flurry of questions. I had to cut them off by rapping on the floor with my staff, again, and breaking out with some more whistles.

"I said, LISTEN UP! I don't care what you think of secret doors and what-not, but I want to know: which of the Chapter isn't here, right now, and which of the Chapter was excused Holy Office earlier tonight, around Midnight Service? And for Fuma's sake, if you want to speak, RAISE YOUR PAW FIRST!"

One of the monks, a mouse, raised his paw.

"Yes?"

"Brother Oscar, the Cellarer, isn't here. He's helping prepare the breakfast."

"Species?"

"Mole, Corporal."

"Probably not him, then. Too small, too near-sighted. Anyone else?"

A fox raised his paw. "Brother Hubert, of the Infirmary, and his assistant Brother John. Both of them sparrows."

"Thank you, doesn't fit. Next?"

"Brother Martin, the head of the kitchen, rat."

"Next."

"The two night watch-furs, Brothers Adso and Siegfried, dogs."

That seemed somewhat promising. "Are they here?"

Two black-furred paws shot up, immediately, and there was a snap of heels clicking together. "Jawohl, Herr Gefreiter!"

"All right, anyone else?"

There was a long pause.

"Look, is there an observatory here, or anyone who views the stars?"

A small, plump cat shook his head. "No, Corporal. Not in years. We rely on the Gazers of Fuma's Musk for that sort of thing. We get reports from their monastery in Mossford..."

"Right, I know about that, thank you. Treasury?"

The two dogs snapped their heels together again. "That is us, Herr Gefreiter! Our station is there."

Something occurred to me, and I had both of them come forward. They did so, clicked their heels together, and bowed. One of them had a long dueling scar down his cheek, and the other not only had a dueling scar, but sported a monocle as well.

I must have looked puzzled (which was certainly true), since one of them (Brother Monocle) straightened his shoulders and, looking straight ahead, informed me: "My kamerad and I are here for our many sins, Herr Gefrieter. It is by living in humility and simplicity that we will expiate our prior lives of drunken wenching and debauchery..."

Brother Scarface interrupted with "And gambling."

"Ja, and gambling."

"And the drinking."

"I said that, idiot."

"Did you mention the fighting?"

The one with the monocle promptly clapped his colleague on the back of the head with a firm paw, which made the latter desist from expanding his catalogue. Brother Monocle once again clicked and bowed at me.

"Did you fellows know that the Casket, the one used for the Holy Recreation, is missing from the Vestry?"

Brother Monocle's nose pad turned pale, and he glanced at the High Bishop, who continued to shut it, but left no doubt with his glare at the pooch that I was not kidding around. Brother Monocle audibly gulped.

"But...but Herr Gefreiter, I assure you..."

I decided to test something out, and approached nearly nose-to-nose with him, and yelled out a request for him to recite the list of all brothers who had night duty tonight. This was a repetition, to be sure, but I was curious.

Brother Monocle (and his colleague) immediately stood up straight, and began to recite all of the brothers of the Chapter who had duty. At one point, they recited a name I hadn't heard before.

"Wait, stop! HALT!"

The two canines immediately halted, and stood at attention.

"Brother Fenimore. Who is he? This has not been mentioned, before."

It was Brother Scarface who answered.

"A regrettable oversight, Herr Gefreiter. He is of the Scriptorum, Herr Gefreiter."

"Species?"

"It is what is called the whitetail deer, Herr Gefreiter."

Well, the fellow I had seen earlier in the night sure didn't sport the kind of rack I associate with those deer.

Brother Monocle decided to be helpful. "He is quite mad, you know. Like all furs from Elfhame..."

That was, in context, probably not the most tactful observation to make, and Brother Scarface gave him a vigorous elbow in the ribs to remind him of that fact. I was about to give these two idiots a piece of my mind, when another fur, a skinny and lanky cat, raised his paw and politely asked to be recognized.

Giving one last glare at the two dogs, and snarling at them to keep standing at attention, I turned to the cat. "Well?"

"I am Brother Rory, Corporal, also of the Scriptorum. I am one of the copyists there. I do not know if it will help, but Brother Fenimore has been behaving strangely of late."

"What do you mean, Brother?"

"Among other things, in an act of penitence, he cut off his antlers earlier today. They were still in velvet, so it was quite messy."

Speaking as a deer, this sounded less strange than totally bizarre. "Penitence for what, Brother?"

"He did not say, Corporal. I suspect he also has been punishing himself. I saw him, perhaps an hour ago, with one eye swollen shut."

"Wait, what? Was this fresh?"

"He did not have it when I saw him during the day, Corporal."

"What's his job?"

"He is not as skilled with his paws as some of us are," the cat observed, with a hint of pride. "But he does help keep the Scriptorum in order, and he has been one of the furs involved in the re-cataloging of the library. He is very diligent at that."

"Does that give him access to the entire library?"

Brother Rory began to look worried. I think he was catching on, as well as many of the other, quicker-witted brothers. "Yes, Corporal, I suppose that would be true."

"Including older manuscripts?"

"Yes, Corporal."

"And would he be able to read them during work-hours, or borrow them to bring back to his cell?"

Brother Rory looked aghast. "It is strictly against the rules, Corporal, to take volumes away from the Scripotorum or the Library."

"That's not what I asked. I asked: would he be able to do so?"

It was the cat's turn to get the evil eye from the High Bishop. He shrank down a few inches, and could only nod, which got an exasperated hiss from the ferret.

"What was his job tonight?"

"In the rota, Corporal, he was watch-fur for the Scriptorum and Library. He was to be on duty from dusk until dawn, to ensure that the volumes and works in progress were safe and not disturbed..." He bit his lip, indicating that he was starting to get the same level of doubt I had been about Brother Fenimore's attention to duty, as opposed to other things.

I turned and barked at the canines, the Brothers Monocle and Scarface, to make themselves useful and to get to Brother Fenimore's cell, and search it for any materials taken from the Scriptorum or Library. They snapped their heels together, and ran off at a fast pace.

The cat was next to get orders. He was to get moving and get a list of all the books and manuscripts that had been catalogued in the last month, and bring it back. If anything, he went off at an even faster pace.

I shouldered my way through the monks, and got to the doorway of the Old Chapel. The Marshal was huffing and puffing as he crawled about the floor on his paws and knees, slapping marble tiles left and right. It looked like he knew what he was doing, because if anything, he was moving faster as I saw him, and only pausing once or twice to inspect his work. At length, he paused, and looked up at me.

"Report."

I saluted. "Your Highness, I have reason to believe that the fur down there is named Brother Fenimore; apparently, he has full access to the Cathedral Library's holdings. From there, he might have obtained information..."

"And his duty tonight?"

"Watch-fur in the Scriptorum and Library. He was supposed to be there, but..."

The Marshal turned back to the floor, and reached with a loud grunt toward three last tiles. They moved aside for him with sharp "clicks." Even with the Marshal blocking a good portion of the floor's area, I could see and recognize a number of constellations of the night sky laid out in the pattern down there.

There was the same triple-booming click that I had heard before, and I walked up to the Marshal and assisted him up. Brushing at the knees of his pajama pants, he had me produce not only my staff, but the staff that had belonged, evidently, to Brother Fenimore. (The Marshal later confirmed that it was, in fact, Brother Fenimore's.) With the two staves as leverage, it was quite easy to open up the floor, which acted like the lid of a box. When fully pulled back, the floor revealed a flight of very rough stone steps leading down into an area that was not totally dark. There was a faint bluish glow, rather like the Elf-Light in the Coronation Chamber at the Hall of Ancestors. Not nearly as strong, but it was there.

I turned to Prince Roland. "My job, I think, Your Highness."

The old skunk nodded gravely. "Carry on, Corporal."

I descended into a passageway that was likely thousands of years old, and from the looks of the texture of the walls (revealed by the Elf-light), had been hewn by paw, using rough tools. It was warm, but by no means overwhelming, and I could hear the soft dripping of water from the ceiling.

I was walking west, toward the Crypt, I thought. I wasn't entirely sure, since the passageway was not totally straight, and not only dipped down, but curved slightly left and right. The only thing to be done was be guided by the Elf-light. That is, the Elf-light that seemed to be stronger at some point in front of me.

There was a brief pause while I stopped and whispered a quick Apologia to Fuma, requesting her indulgence for my sins (many, including those directed at Her servants, and not excepting those involving my thoughts about Meadow Grainmaster). I added a slightly longer Appeal, asking for inspiration and guidance from the Lady as to what I was about to undertake.

Having taken care of that business, I walked on. It was not more than about a minute later that the passageway opened up. It didn't just get wider. It opened down, out and all around. I was, in essence, standing on at one end of a bridge of rock that spanned a chasm. This I could see, because the Elf-light was slightly stronger here. It was still not as strong as in the Coronation Chamber, though.

The light did show something else. Namely, that I was not alone. Seated on a casket, as if waiting for his cue, was a large buck in a monk's habit. His cowl was thrown back, revealing a head from which two jagged stumps of antlers could be seen. The smile I was given was not a particularly nice one to see, and that wasn't just because of the large swollen black eye Brother Fenimore was sporting. No, there was something behind both that, and his greeting to me. Which was in the Elfhame dialect.

["Good morrow, little brother. I have waited for thee. Shall we begin?"]