Initiation
#1 of Second Circle
In 1886, Shaftesbury Avenue was opened, a wide concourse leading from Picadilly Circus to New Oxford Road. Thousands of people walked the new street each day, and of course the list of merchants who had petitioned the Queen to locate their establishments there was far longer than the list of available spaces, so only the best were selected to line the thoroughfare.
About a third of the way down from the Circus, one of many small side streets led from Shaftesbury Avenue into a small cul-de-sac. No street sign named it; those who knew it knew it as Shaftesbury Court, and though there was no particular secret about it, they liked the fact that this information was not widely known.
Shaftesbury Court consisted of exactly seven buildings, only one of which need concern us here. It is number 9, a discreet brick edifice with marble cornices and an elegant and restrained wooden door, which gave the impression of wealth only to those who knew how to discern crystal from glass, or ebony from treated mahogany. The door was unmarked save for the number and a small knocker which appeared to be brass, in the shape of a fluffy tail, elegantly curved outward from the door.
Behind the ebony door with its crystal panes stood a smartly dressed dhole, his reddish pelt set off by his immaculate dark blue velvet suit. Hollingsworth attended the door faithfully every evening from five until eleven, and it was no good pretending to be on a mythical guest list, because Hollingsworth knew all the members of the club. If you lifted the knocker and let it fall without identifying yourself, you would hear his rich, accented voice say, "This is a private club, sir." There would be no more than that.
On the evening of March 25th, 1891, a chilly wind blew through the narrow court. A portly otter drew his fine woolen coat more tightly about him as he approached the door of number nine. Behind him, a slender fox, younger but with a similarly fine coat, lagged a few steps behind, stepping delicately over the cobblestones to keep his paws dry and trying to keep his tail off the ground.
The otter, whose paws were already wet, turned and gestured impatiently. "Come along, Elliston. There's a fine line between proper and dainty, you know."
"Begging your pardon, Mister Smythe," the fox replied, navigating a particularly large puddle and arriving at the otter's side, "but on the whole, I would rather you suffer the inconvenience of a few moments' wait than risk catching pneumonia or the ague."
"One catches the ague from being in the tropics, not from splashing through puddles," the otter grumbled. "Little water never hurt anyone."
"My aunt Belinda died from a grippe she caught as a direct result of slipping from a poorly seated stone and landing in a puddle," Reginald Elliston said, "and I have a second cousin who caught pneumonia from standing outside in a beastly wind like this one, so if you'd be so kind?"
"Deuced frail family you have," the otter said. "No Smythe ever died on account of weather. Hello, Hollingsworth," he called, lifting the knocker and dropping it to make a loud clack. "Smythe and guest."
The ebony door swung silently back to reveal the imperturbable dhole. "Good evening, Mister Smythe. And this would be young Master Elliston?"
"Yes," the otter said as the fox's ears flicked back. He looked at the dhole, but got no flicker of emotion in the return look.
"Pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir," Hollingsworth said, bowing slightly. "Best of luck in your application tonight."
"Thank you," the fox said as he followed Smythe into the anteroom.
"You see," Smythe rumbled as they wiped their paws on the thick carpet, "no need to worry about tracking water into the club."
Reginald handed his topcoat to Hollingsworth, who waited patiently for Smythe's. The otter unfastened it, but left it on as he pointed out various features of the room to the fox. "New electric lights throughout the building," he said. "No stink of gas. Fixtures are all Venetian glass, of course. Just installed last fall. Ah, I see you've noticed the original sketch by Constable. Look at the linework."
Reginald examined the picture. "I don't suppose most people comment on the linework first," he murmured. "He appears to have exaggerated the man's...finer qualities somewhat."
Smythe chuckled, shedding his coat and handing it to Hollingsworth. "Get used to it, m'boy."
The dhole took the coats and vanished through a door just behind his station. Reginald caught only a glimpse of a row of neatly hung identical blue topcoats before the door swung shut again. He nodded to himself, following the portly otter out of the small antechamber. Certainly everyone in the club appeared to keep up with the same fashions.
"The Tempest was built back in '53 as an actors' studio," Smythe said, waving a paw around the large circular room they emerged into. "It changed paws several times before the Society purchased it in '73."
Reginald looked around and stroked his chin. Five wooden columns, each carved to resemble a whirlwind, defined a crescent through the room, from where he stood to another door across the way. To his right, on the narrow side of the crescent, hanging electric lamps dotted the ceiling, though the dark patches above them showed that the lights had recently been candles.
On the other side, the ceiling was much higher, extending up to the second story at least. A soft murmur of speech arose from the couches and stuffed armchairs below the open space, arrayed with their backs to the columns to face a small wooden dais in the center of the area. Behind the dais, against the wall, a short dhole tended bar, serving a clear drink to a tall badger.
"Stage is original," Smythe said. "From the Old Vic, they say, a prop from some drama or another." He sniffed dismissively. "That's Chambers, behind the bar. Makes a capital martini. I recommend it. Let's see, that's Beddington sitting down with his gin and tonic. The two on the couch are Quince and Wilson. They're always like that."
The fox managed a slight smile at the two raccoons leaning against each other on the couch, one with his paw on the other's knee. The otter shrugged. "Second Circle is a harbor of sorts from the bonds of society," he said. "Besides, they're from the New World, you know." They walked along the columns, looking back at the chairs that had come into view. "Oh, good, Worthingsley-Hill is here. You know him, of course. From the Stratford Worthingsley-Hills."
"Of course," Reginald said. He inclined his head to the short red fox, who looked up from his conversation with a plump stoat to return the slight nod.
"And he's talking to the newest member, Lyman Sellers. He joined last month. Quite tip-top." He looked at Reginald with a raised eyebrow. "I wager you'll do just fine."
Reginald kept his ears up, despite the churning in his stomach. "Thank you, Smythe," he said.
"The president will be up on the balcony, probably with the vice president." Smythe waved up to the crescent-shaped section of ceiling, and Reginald saw stairs leading up to it. "But you'll meet them all in due time. And that other door back there, that's the necessary, and the private rooms." He gave a broad wink.
Reginald smiled nervously. "Jolly good," he said. "So, ah, when do the proceedings commence?"
"Oh, posh," Smythe said. "There's no proceedings. You get up when you're ready, tell your story, and we've enough members here to approve you. You will be approved, no fear. Just tell that story the way you told it the other night."
"Thank you," Reginald said. "Join me for a quick one before I start?"
Smythe chuckled deeply. "My boy, no Second Circle member would dream of embarking upon a presentation without the proper tongue-loosener. Martini?"
"Thank you," Reginald said again, smiling around at the other club members, who were just beginning to notice him now that he and Smythe were walking towards the bar. "How long does the story have to be?"
"As long as it is," Smythe said, and clapped the fox on the back. "You've no need to fret, boy. Chambers!" he called as they approached the bar. "Two martinis."
The dhole smiled. "Of course, Mister Smythe. Welcome, Master Elliston."
Reginald kept his ears fixed, but his whiskers twitched in surprise that the bartender knew his name too. He noticed that Smythe was watching him with a grin. Of course the staff would all have been told that he was applying for membership tonight. Certainly this was a change from the gentleman's clubs he was used to, where the staff remained mostly aloof. Unless you were the same species, they didn't even try to recognize you, just called you 'sir' and smiled.
Then again, the clubs he was used to frequenting were not, he admitted to himself, the more desirable clubs to belong to. But for a young gentleman, they were all he could afford, for now. Part of the allure of Second Circle was not only the particular affinities of its members and the startlingly low dues, but the class of member. Raccoons from the New World, for example--where else would he be able to meet them in such a casual setting?
Chambers set two martinis on the bar. Smythe picked up both and handed one to Reginald. He raised his glass. "Cheers."
"Your health, sir," Reginald said, lifting his glass to match. He noticed that except for the two raccoons, most of the people in the room were at least glancing in his direction. Beddington, the tall badger, was openly watching him. He could see some indistinct muzzles in the shadowy balcony, and the shine of a pair of eyes.
They drank at the same time. Reginald raised his eyebrows as he lowered the glass, the sharp and sour taste of the martini lingering on his tongue. "Superb," he said.
"Indeed." Smythe turned back to the dhole. "You use the same ingredients as the chaps down at the Cap and Killy, Chambers?"
The dhole showed teeth in a smile. "To my knowledge, sir."
"I don't know how you do it. First rate."
"Thank you, sir." The dhole bowed slightly.
"Come along, Elliston," Smythe said, leading him to a pair of unoccupied chairs. "Let's sit down a bit until you're ready, shall we?"
"Actually," Reginald said, taking another sip, "I'm ready now."
"Capital." Smythe cleared his throat, getting the attention of the raccoons and the overt attention of the other. "Fellow Second Circlers, Please allow me to present a young gentleman whom I'm certain will capture your...imagination. Master Reginald Elliston."
Polite applause filled the room. Smythe nodded toward the dais, and Reginald took a deep breath, then stepped up, glass held as casually as he could currently manage.
"Good evening, gentlemen," the fox said, and raised his glass to the balcony. "I would drink to your very good health."
Some of the people raised their glasses, others simply smiled. Reginald took another drink and let the liquor fill his muzzle before continuing. "I have recently returned from an expedition, scouting territories for my father in the depths of Africa, and I would regale you with a rather surprising experience I had while there.
"It was the heat of summer, and to one accustomed to our pleasant English summers, the brutal heat of Africa was nearly unbearable. In the town of Mgongo, the natives are a curious race of dark-furred pygmy foxes with great spreading ears and tan underbellies. Despite their dark coat, they trot about cheerfully in the midday sun as though it were no more than a springtime morning, whereas I found myself quite unable to move between the hours of eleven and one-thirty, as my chronograph measured the day.
"Now, in Mgongo, the natives go about barely covered at all, and after several days in the summer heat, my purser and secretary, as well as our two British servants, all fell out of the habit of wearing their shirts. Of course, I carried on as any gentleman would, doffing my clothes only to put on my dressing gown, so as I sat in the hut they had set aside for me and ate my lunch in the shade, I was treated to a lovely display of young native men parading past my window with their sleek muscles on display. From that distance, it was barely obvious that they rarely bathed."
He paused, and to his delight, the room filled with a soft chuckle. Emboldened, he went on. "I had been endeavoring to negotiate with the chief of the village to allow my father's company exclusive access to the river, and the concept of exclusive access was proving rather difficult to convey. The river that ran past Mgongo was shared by many tribes, although the Mgongo foxes did use their bend exclusively, as far as I could tell in my month there. So all I was trying to convince them to do was to make war on any foreign boat that didn't sport our particular insignia. A simple matter, you might think, but it was devilishly hard. He kept asking why they would go to war with other tribes they didn't know, that just because they wanted to sail down the river there was no reason for the Mgongo to stop them, it wasn't as though they were attacking, and so on.
"Truthfully, there were two other tribes I could have talked to, but the Mgongo foxes were also located at the base of a convenient trail into the mountains, which might well prove useful in the future. Also, the other tribes were both monkeys, and I felt it would be best to forge an alliance with other foxes, as strange as they might seem.
"And," he said with a grin, "I found it hard to leave all those attractive youngsters."
The crowd murmured again, and he saw smiles on the faces of those nearest him. His stomach was settling now that he was into the story. "About two weeks into my stay, I noted that all the young men in the village left one afternoon. I couldn't help noticing, as my lunchtime display was exceptionally dull that day."
"The younger cubs were fascinated by me and often came over to see what I was doing. I had several sweets which I gladly shared with them, and fortunately I'd kept some in reserve. When the first one showed his curious little snout, I tempted him with a Callard and Bowser toffee, and he found it irresistible. I asked where all the young men had gone, and he said they'd gone to the river, but that he wouldn't be allowed to go 'til he was older. It was some kind of togetherness ritual that the tribe practiced once a month."
He heard a snort and saw Beddington grinning widely at him. For a moment, he faltered, and then went on. "It turned out to be an initiation of sorts. None of the Mgongo foxes knew the exact date of their birth, but when a boy was considered of age, he joined the men of the tribe on the next monthly ceremony. If there were no new members, it appeared they would perform the ceremony anyway.
"I began to pursue a new tack with the chief. Could I join the tribe, I asked. As an honorary member, you know. If so, would they attack these other ships? Well, they had some difficulty with the 'honorary' part, but they were quite willing to take me into their tribe, and they eventually said that if I furnished them with descriptions of my enemies, they would fight them for me if need be.
"I was obliged to bestow all the gifts I'd brought on the chief and his family, but after a fortnight of sweltering heat broken only by fierce rainstorms, I succeeded in procuring an invitation to the next initiation ceremony. Traditionally, the father presented the son to the tribe, but they were not unfamiliar with the case in which a father was not present. The chief himself would present me.
"In the course of my negotiations, I'd seen rather a lot of the chief's son, a fox by the name of Anari. His father was old and dignified; he was young and dashed handsome, for all his three feet of height. When it became clear that his father would present me at the ceremony, Anari took to passing by my hut during the mid-day heat. My translator, being used to the tropical climes, went about his business while I rested, so I had no way to speak to Anari, but we made ourselves understood well enough."
Reginald paused for another drink and lifted his eyes as though looking away into that far-off jungle. He tried to picture the young pygmy fox in front of him, wearing nothing but a barely modest cloth around his waist, and described him for his listeners, as it was about time for the story to arouse a little interest. "The Mgongo had little understanding of modesty; the crude loincloths they wore served primarily to guard their privates from damage as they made their way through the brush. In the village, the cloths frequently slipped low, providing enticing glimpses of just the tips of the delicate valuables they were protecting.
"But of course, I was the perfect gentleman and never so much as glanced in their direction. For more than a second, anyway." A small ripple of laughter went through the room. "We communicated with pictures drawn on paper and in dirt, with gestures and sounds, and we both talked even though we couldn't understand the words each other said. I gathered that he was looking forward to having me along on hunts, and perhaps participating in some other activities as well.
"Although they had no concept of modesty in regards to exposing themselves, they did keep their, ah, play private. But once, when I turned quickly, I caught Anari with his paw beneath his loincloth. He removed it quickly, leaving a noticeable protrusion beneath, but when he saw my smile, he gave me a nice big one back.
"So it was no surprise that on the day of the ceremony, when I handed command of the expedition over to my second, Anari was at my side as the chief led me and the others down to the river. They had demanded that I dress myself after their fashion, but I refused to do so in sight of my men. Running around like a savage..." He chuckled to show how unthinkable that would be.
"Once we had left the village behind us, however, I realized that for the good of my father's trading practice, I would have to sacrifice the dignity of the British gentleman. Fortunately, I may not have mentioned that the cloths the Mgongo wore covered them only in front. After walking behind a large number of uncovered shapely derrieres, in the warmth of the tropical jungle, the aversion to removing my garments was somewhat less than it might normally have been, especially as I was provided a small clearing for the purpose.
"I waited for someone to provide a cloth to cover myself, but none was forthcoming. Eventually, through my Mgongo translator, the chief made it clear that I would not be given a cloth until after the ceremony, so I was obliged to walk down the path completely a poil. The considerate Mgongo surrounded me on all sides so I would not risk damage from plant or predator, but it became obvious that their motives were not completely altruistic, as several of them appeared to take inspiration from my explorer's mien and mounted expeditions of their own to uncharted areas under my tail and below my tum. Not that these expeditions were unwelcome, but I had no bally clue how to respond to them. They appeared not to expect any response, so I endured their touches with a smile and tried to remember which were the bolder ones, for later reference.
"We were walking away from the river, and presently the path wound upwards at a rather steep angle. The Mgongo hung back, letting the chief go first, followed by myself and Anari. Courteous of them, I thought, until a breeze caught the underside of my tail and I realized what view they were getting. I won't say I found the thought particularly unpleasant.
"At the top of the ridge, I had to stop and catch my breath. The chief had stopped anyway, and pointed down the other side. There was a beautiful waterfall a hundred feet below us, churning up the water of an otherwise sparkling pool. That, it appeared, was our destination.
"Had I not been worried about the beastly insects, I would have appreciated the view much more. Our ears seemed to be moving of their own accord at the sounds and brushing of the little flying devils, and soon enough we began descending into the ravine. The noise of the waterfall grew louder and louder, my fur getting damp from the mist as we drew closer, but at least the flies seemed to dislike the moisture.
"We reached the pool quickly and circled around the edge. I soon saw our destination: a wide rocky space clear of vegetation, large enough for the whole tribe to assemble. They did so, taking up seats on rocks with some small bickering over what I assumed were the choicest spots. Anari sat near the front, while his father drew me to the side of the pond and turned with me to face the tribe.
"I was still entirely unclothed, of course, and if I'd been mildly titillated at the thought of the tribe watching my tail, I now had to face the lot of them, staring without any pretense at my other...assets. I was somewhat nervous, truth be told, but I can't say I didn't enjoy the attention, and presently there was a bit more for them to stare at.
"One of the younger foxes trotted about the clearing picking some leaves, which he distributed to the group. The Mgongo chewed them with great enthusiasm, so I followed suit and found them to have a slightly bitter taste masking a sweet undertaste. Anari grinned at me and swallowed with great exaggeration, so I followed his lead.
"When everyone had gotten enough leaves to start chewing, the chief introduced me with a great fanfare in Mgongo, which I could not understand, as my translator was not permitted to speak to me during the ceremony. I'd been prepped with my responses, of which there were three, and I could still recite them for you now, though I see no Mgongo here to understand them."
The crowd chuckled, and Reginald saw that most of them were quite intent on him. All the ears he could see were cupped forward, all eyes fixed on him. It was not difficult, in those circumstances, to imagine himself being studied by a tribe of pygmy foxes. "When I'd properly given all three responses, the chief indicated I should jump into the water. It looked a bit chill, but an Elliston has never backed down from a challenge, so in I went." He saw Smythe cover his muzzle, no doubt remembering Reginald's distaste at getting wet earlier in the evening.
"The water was in fact surprisingly warm. I surfaced to the sound of paws on rocks, and within moments, splashes surrounded me as the Mgongo joined me in the pool. From this point, I didn't know what to expect, though I had an idea, and I looked to Anari for guidance. Even though my translator remained nearby, the roar of the waterfall seemed much louder than it had twenty feet above on the rocky ground, so he would not be much use to me.
"Anari beckoned me over, and I saw that about thirty feet further from the waterfall, some of the Mgongo were climbing up onto a rock ledge that extended about a foot below the water. I could see the water dripping off of their fur as they shook their lithe bodies and full, bushy tails. They'd removed their loincloths, and so this was my first chance to get a good look at how they stacked up to the fine British fox in certain areas, and I regret to say that the Mgongo compared not only favorably, but impressively, considering the size of the rest of their body. Indeed, a few of the chaps seemed to be specifically intent on displaying the extent of their, ah, endowment for me, without any shame, and upon viewing this show, my own pride was stirred...among other things...so that I, in return, showed them just what a good British fox was made of when I climbed onto the rock shelf to join them.
"Anari led me to his father, the chief, and pulled me down on all fours in front of him. Well, there was little doubt by this point what was intended, and my blood was quite warm with the idea of it. The warmth of the sun and water, the roar of the waterfall, the rich, moist scent of the jungle and the foxes, all this created a powerful surge that I felt unable to resist. I daresay those leaves had something to do with it, too.
"The chief settled himself behind me, placing his paws in quite inappropriate places for a gentleman of such short acquaintance, but I was past caring. I believe I made some entirely unseemly noises that were covered by the waterfall.
"Anari, meanwhile, had walked about to stand in front of me, and from the placement of his hips near my muzzle, it was quite clear what was expected of me next. I obliged happily, the feeling not unlike tasting some exotic tropical fruit. His father, in the meantime, was now resting both paws just above my tail, and something else just beneath. He pushed a little further, and I gained a new appreciation for the Mgongo physique.
"It wasn't terribly uncomfortable; actually, it became quite pleasant when combined with the activity my muzzle was engaged in, and presently it became even more than that. When I tried to move my paws to accommodate myself, Anari gently moved them back to the water. The way I was kneeling, as I rocked back and forth, the surface of the water was lapping where my paw could not, which simply enhanced the feeling.
"There was little question of when the chief had finished. He clutched my hips and rested his head against my tail and then barked something I heard even over the roar of the waterfall. I would later find out that it translated to "Welcome."
"Anari had definitely been waiting until his father finished, because it was only a few moments later that I heard his guttural barks and was presented with incontrovertible evidence that he, too, was finished.
"I licked the taste from my lips and had to shiver as the chief stepped back. The warm breeze on my tail didn't last long, as someone else stepped up to take the chief's place. I looked back in surprise and saw one of the other elders, and then I felt him--larger than the chief, even. He didn't acknowledge me, intent on his activity. When I looked back, Anari had moved to my side to make way for another young warrior, who smiled at me and presented himself for the same treatment.
"Anari let his paw caress my ribcage as I lowered my muzzle again. Beneath my tail, the other elder was grunting as he joined himself to me, and I fell into the rhythm again quickly, actually enjoying the press from behind and the taste in front.
"As soon as one finished, another stepped up to take his place. After the first few, however, I believe none of them actually finished with me. They made a few token moves to let me know them, then retreated and allowed another to take their place. I confess I lost count after a space, and as I looked around in between licks, I noticed that the ones who'd had their turn with me were now happily occupied with each other, while the ones I hadn't serviced in some way were patiently, or not so patiently, waiting their turn.
"I was quite worn by the end of it, and ready for my own turn, which was provided, finally, by Anari. He knelt below me and worked back to allow me access to him. I tried to be gentle, but I fear I'd built up rather a lot of tension. Fortunately for him, that also meant that it didn't last very long, and in no time I was having to make sure I didn't force his head beneath the water as I bore down on him.
"That seemed to signal my entry into the tribe. I played with a number of other Mgongo then, in a happy daze that I suspect was partly the result of the leaf I'd chewed. Its properties seemed to increase one's stamina as well, for the ceremony went on well into the late hours of the day.
"When we'd worn ourselves out, the foxes showed me how to catch the fish of the pool, by this time attracted by all the motion and unusual, ahem, additions to the water. We scooped them out, most more successfully than I, and clambered out onto the rocks to dry our fur in the late afternoon sun.
"Anari stayed close to me the whole time, and we talked in our language of gestures and expressions, though we did not touch once we left the water. He was happy I had joined the tribe, and he hoped I would stay, but he knew I would not. I told him in return that I would like to stay, but that I also owed allegiance to my father's tribe, and the concept of belonging to two tribes at once he understood, somewhat to my surprise.
"As the sun dropped in the sky, the Mgongo began to get up and fasten their cloths around their waist. Anari made me to understand that it was important that the women never see a gentleman's privates, because they would try to steal the man's essence and become a man themselves. I assured him that things were much the same in my homeland." The room was filled with chuckles once again.
"I did, however, feel rather left out, as I had no covering for my own well-used privates. Upon expressing this to Anari, he gazed quite openly at my midsection and grinned as he extended in his paw a cloth of the same sort he was wearing. Some thoughtful Mgongo had provided a much longer strap than usual, and the cloth fit snugly around me, revealing nothing from the front." He put down his now-empty glass, reached a paw inside his jacket, and drew out a folded piece of rough cloth. "I brought that back with me," he said as he unfolded it and held it out to the group.
There was an appreciative murmur, which lasted until he folded the cloth back up and replaced it in his pocket. "I walked back proudly clad only in this, a member of the Mgongo tribe."
"Model it for us, then," called Smythe, who'd clearly been waiting for this moment, and who got a laugh for his pains.
Reginald grinned at the otter and looked down at him, ears and muzzle held in mock hauteur. "Private shows only, old chap," he said. "Needless to say, I changed back to my proper clothing before rejoining my crew.
"Much as I would have liked to have remained for another month, duty and my other family called. I did assist the tribe in a hunt, but," he looked around the room and smiled, "that's a story for another time. I thank you all, gentlemen, for your kind attention to my words."
Smythe laughed and clapped his paws together. "Good show, Elliston," he said, and the others joined in his applause.
Reginald bowed and stepped off the dais. From above, he heard a smooth voice say, "Thank you, Elliston, for that charming tale. Please repair to the foyer while we consider your membership." After a pause, the voice continued, "I assure you that our entrance ceremony is not nearly as energetic as you may be accustomed to."
He laughed himself then, bowed again, and walked past Smythe's grinning whiskers back to the foyer.
Hollingsworth greeted him there with a slight bow of his own. "I quite enjoyed your story, Master Elliston," he said. "I have heard many tales in this club, and I confess I am quite unfamiliar with the habits of the Mgongo tribe."
Reginald grinned. "They have escaped notice for centuries," he said. "Pure luck we happened upon them, really. Secretive little blighters."
"Indeed, sir," Hollingsworth said, and Reginald thought he could detect just the faintest hint of a smile. For a few moments, he pictured Anari again, the savage's sweet smile and supple body, but even his imagination couldn't keep his tail from twitching nervously. "How long do they usually take, Hollingsworth?"
"After a story of that caliber, sir, no more than five or ten minutes. Ah, see, here comes Mister Smythe now."
The otter was striding up to Reginald with a large smile on his muzzle. He shook the fox's paw warmly. "Congratulations, my boy," he said, "you're in the Second Circle. May the Lord have mercy on your soul." He said the last part with a formal air and followed it with a wink.
Reginald grinned widely and clasped the otter's paw. "Thanks awfully, Smythe," he said. "Jolly decent of you."
"Think nothing of it," the otter said. "I merely got you past Hollingsworth. You earned your place."
"Righto," Reginald said happily, and raised a paw. "Good evening, Hollingsworth."
"Good evening, sir," the dhole said, and gave Reginald a mysterious smile before turning attentively to the door again, settling against the wall and looking for all the world like one of the souvenirs some member had brought back from a faraway land.
Smythe grinned at the fox. "Come on now.," he said, tugging Reginald's paw. "Let's go hear another story."