FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Benedict Spenser, crimson dragon, literature professor, all-too-merry prankster, was enjoying the comparative quiet of The Extra Credit café in the later morning hours of Boxing Day, occasionally chortling to himself at what he'd done to his Saluki lover not an hour ago. It was a mean trick, all in all, but too tempting to pass up. When Eoin hadn't wakened when he first began plaiting the pup's fur, Benedict knew that he had the upper claw to keep going and make a fair mess of things. He wasn't too worried; the knots weren't strong, and the young grad student could sort it out easily enough. But oh what a joke, what a joke...!

The drake caught the eye of the lean and energetic cheetah at the front counter, raised his mug in one foreclaw and twiddled two fingers of his other foreclaw in the air. The feline nodded, grinning, and set about his task. Benedict wasn't all that fond of television in the States, glad that more wit, mystery, drama, and delightful absurdity had crossed the pond in recent years. (He was old enough to remember all of the Doctors, children's show though it was in its infancy.) He did, however, keep up with local popular culture enough to understand the reference to a place "where everybody knows your name." Here, at least, he was known well enough by all the staff that his usual wants were easily satisfied by the gestures he'd made.

As he waited, still a grin on his muzzle about Eoin, he realized what he should have noticed when he first walked in the door: Royal was nowhere to be seen. It wasn't like the deep brown-furred skunk to be away from the front of his shop for this long. In the back baking, perhaps, or even tending to the company books, come to that... but not for this long at a stretch. Royal should be here, preparing coffees, being among his clientele, enjoying his café as much as he did his life. This just wasn't like him.

The young cheetah padded quietly up to Benedict's table, smile on muzzle, mug in paw, proffering the beverage as one might offer a chalice to a prince. "Fresh Pitch Blend, two dollops of Cornish cream. Anything else I can get for you, professor?"

"Only one thing could equal the magnificence of this second dosage of the blackened bean, and I don't seem to notice his particularly elegant and expressive tail anywhere in the establishment. Is Royal not in today?"

"He's in his office. Shall I...?"

"If you'd be so kind, dear Nathaniel."

The cheetah sketched a bow and, clearing away the now-empty first cup, he moved toward the back of the establishment with all the grace of his speedy species. Not for the first time, Benedict wondered how it would feel to let his tongue play Connect the Dots. He sated his tongue, for the moment at least, with a sip of his sweetly softened coffee.The first for flavor; the second for satisfaction.

Only moments later, Nathaniel stepped up to the dragon, a worried look on his face. "He wants to see you, but in his office. It's just round the back there..."

Benedict felt the frown crease his forehead. "Are you quite all right?"

"I am, but I'm not sure Royal is." The lean feline placed a forepaw to the professor's shoulder. "Tell him we've got the front taken care of. Whatever it is, help him."

Nathaniel padded quickly back to the counter as several new customers entered at once. He had his game face back on, a smile for everyone, names for the regulars he recognized, and he and a few assistants had everything under control. The dragon rose, taking his mug with him, and with as much stealth as a very large crimson dragon could manage, made his way back to the office. The corridor was clearly never meant to serve anyone of his size (with or without the addition of the gargantuan ego), so he found himself feeling a little claustrophobic by the time he got to the office door.

Royal's head whipped up so quickly, Benedict was afraid that it might actually fly off. "Benedict. Please. Come in. Close the door."

The dragon obeyed the instructions as swiftly as he could manage in the comparatively cramped space. "Royal, by all the gods..."

"Sit down."

Again, he did as he was bid, taking a swift mental inventory that added up to a terrible conclusion. The skunk's eyes were haggard, his muzzle twitching very slightly, and his usual natty attire replaced by clothing that looked as if he'd slept in them two nights running. To anyone with a nose unstinted by the smell of coffee beans, or one as sensitive and well-trained as the drake's, the usually fastidious mustelid reeked of raw terror.

"Royal, how long have you been awake?"

"I'm not sure." He took a deep breath, tried to calm himself. "I didn't sleep much Christmas Eve, and nightmares kept me up for most of last night. Benedict, something happened here on Christmas Eve, and I don't remember completely what it was. No one else remembers anything happening either, except that someone left a hundred in the tip jar."

"You mean, in a single bill?"

"Yes."

"Has that ever happened before?"

"Never." Royal took a pull from a mug that had some sort of tea in it. When the water moved in the shaking paw, the agitation released enough aroma for the dragon to recognize the scent of chamomile, over-steeped. "We've had grateful patrons leave twenties before, and we've had nearly a hundred in low-value gift cards for each of the waitstaff, but never a single bill like that."

"Did you see who left it?"

"Yes." Royal turned his bloodshot eyes to the dragon's face. "But I can't remember him. Not clearly. Just something like a presence."

Even the old drake could still feel a shudder that spelled_recognition._ "Royal, did you drive here today?"

"No. Walked. Too jittery, didn't trust..."

"Can Nathaniel close?"

"Yes."

Benedict rose. "I'm going to tell him he's in charge. Can you get to my car on your own, or do you need help?"

* * * * * * * * * *

The changing of the guard was swift. Benedict reassured the cheetah quickly; he was told only that Royal was feeling poorly, and that Benedict would take him home and see to him. The drive to the skunk's house took only a few minutes on largely empty streets. The dragon took the keys from his passenger, opened the front door, and returned to the car to carry Royal bodily into his home, his bedroom, and lay him down on his bed, clothes and all. Swiftly, Benedict told the skunk what he wanted to do and, after only a moment's hesitation, the exhausted café owner consented. Benedict had long ago earned Royal's trust; he just wasn't sure it would work, but he was ready to try anything at this point.

The trick to inducing hypnosis on an exhausted subject was keeping him hovering in the twilight between consciousness and unconsciousness, not letting him slip into actual sleep. They had agreed that, when the memories were properly accessed, Royal would be allowed to slip into a genuinely restful sleep. When he awoke, the skunk would be able to remember without feeling the ill effects of the encounter that had put him into this state. Benedict knelt next to the bed, the induction having taken less than ten minutes.

"Royal, can you hear me? You can answer normally."

"Yes."

"Lock this in: The houses are quincunx. Repeat, please."

"The houses are quincunx."

"Correct." The trigger phrase wouldn't be heard outside of an in-depth discussion of an astrological chart, and it wouldn't be effective without the ring. Benedict felt better, knowing he could help Royal put a lock on things if necessary. He breathed slowly through his nose. "Royal, I want you to become only an observer of memories. Whatever you remember will be clear, but they will not affect you or hurt you in any way. I want you to think back on Christmas Eve. Do you recall opening the café that morning?"

"Yes."

"Beautiful day... your regular customers... can you see them?"

"Yes."

"Let's move forward a little. You closed early in the afternoon. Had to get everything ready..."

"Yes. Baking. Preparing. Nathaniel is leading the decorating."

"He did a fine job. You can see it all. Everyone had dinner before re-opening?"

"Yes. Good pot luck. Laughing. Happy."

"It's reopening time, Royal. Are you ready to open?"

"Yes. Everyone is coming in. Good crowd. Very happy."

"That's good. Just let the memories flow gently, as slowly or quickly as you wish. We're just observing, looking for anything unusual, different. Tell me of anything that seemed different to you."

"Nunc per ludum, dorsum nudum fero tui sceleris."

_ I hope you won't find it necessary for me to sing the O Fortuna._

Benedict felt his teeth grind, but he spoke softly. "Royal, can you tell me what you see?"

"New customer. Haven't seen him here before. Komodo dragon. Black scales. Black, slick like oil..." Eyes still closed, the skunk's body seemed to twitch a little. "Not what he seems."

"Explain that, Royal. Why is he not what he seems?"

"Voice. Wrong voice for his size." The skunk's breathing quickened slightly. "Much larger. He's really much larger, this is a disguise, this is not who he is, his voice is--"

"My voice, Royal, focus on my voice. Only on my voice. The other voice is fading now, getting softer... fading, getting softer, getting smaller... softer... smaller... it's gone now. Only my voice. Only us here. You're safe here."

After several moments, the hypnotized skunk was still, breathing slowly again.

"Royal, listen to me. I'm going to let you sleep soon. You need rest, and you will be able to fall into a sweet, natural sleep. Right now, I want you to think of the nicest moment of Christmas Eve. Find the nicest moment that you remember, the happiest, the warmest moment. Do you have that moment, Royal?"

"Yes."

"I want you to carry that moment with you all through your sleep. I'm going to count down from five to zero, and as I count down, you are going to hold that beautiful moment in your thoughts, feeling warmer, softer, sweeter, as you fall into a gentle, restful sleep. Five ... beautiful memory ... four ... so soft, so warm ... three ... a delicate, happy dream to hold ... two ... almost asleep now ... one ... drifting softly, sweetly, beautiful moment ... zero."

The skunk moved to roll onto his side, one forepaw crawling up under the pillow below his head, a quiet sigh accompanying what looked to Benedict like complete relaxation. He willed himself to feel, to control, every muscle in his body, rising is as near silence as he could. Carefully, he leaned over the skunk and kissed his eartip softly. "Mark against evil," he whispered.

He made it back out to his car, locking up the house behind him. He'd have felt better if someone had been with Royal to watch over him, but truthfully, the skunk was in no immediate danger. He knew to call Benedict as soon as he woke up, and the damned black lizard hadn't put too much of a claw into his brain after all. It was only a pawn's gambit, just a little something for Benedict to know that the game, to use the parlance of modern youth, was on.

The best part of driving a Tesla Motor, part of the drake's mind observed, was that there was no noisy gunning of the motor to start it up. He backed out of Royal's driveway with little more than a whisper, and he drove back through town with barely the trace of a sigh. Even as the engine was silent, his mind was screaming, hurling curses in multiple languages (some of them old enough to be true curses, calling up unspoken evils to reign down upon the object of their focus). There was no doubt, of course. There was also no telling what the old bastard was up to. He wouldn't be stupid enough to try any direct threats either to Parker or to Eoin; the former would be purposeless to whatever game he was playing, and the latter would get the black dragon killed by Benedict's own teeth and claws.

The drake pulled into his parking space at the university and nearly broke down the front doors of the English department building as he entered. He moved up the stairs three at a time to the third floor, through the main office doors, down the hallways to his office. There, he paused, considering just how much noise he'd made getting up here. It didn't matter; if Konstantin was here, he wouldn't run simply for being discovered. Not enough fun in that. If he wanted a showdown, he'd have one, here and now. Even in chess, the black drake was an aggressive player, all but broadcasting his moves. Benedict remembered an early game between them, when the bugger moved a knight and calmly proclaimed, "Mate in ten." It was the only time that Benedict made the mistake of appearing flustered in front of the dragon. There were, of course, far too many permutations in the score of exchanges that would make for the allegedly certain checkmate. It had the desired effect, of course - Benedict tried to second-guess all his choices, and mate was, in fact, had only seven moves later, through sheer blundering. It was not a mistake that the crimson drake made ever again, in chess or any other situation with Konstantin. It was why they were so good at the jobs they undertook together; it wasn't so much a matter of mutual trust as it was mutual assurance that neither would make a blunder capable of scuttling the project.

The door to his office was unlocked. Because of "forgetful professor syndrome," all the office doors were secured by a dead-bolt - you had to have your key in paw, purposefully locking up the room when you left, so that you didn't accidentally lock yourself out. On the plus side, fewer calls to Maintenance to open a locked door, and fewer sets of emergency keys left in, say, secretary or assistant desks. On the minus side, it's too easy to leave a door unlocked. In theory, patrolling security during the semester was supposed to rattle the locks on the various doors; any left unlocked were buttoned up by a master key, and the guard called in the office number so that a note could be sent via U-Net internal email with the usual finger-shaking warning, reminding professors of the dangers of losing an answer key to quizzes and other such academic balderdash. This electronic heckling, in the long run, did little... but it was at least something to remind the classic Absent-Minded Professor about security.

Benedict was anything but absent-minded.

He opened the office door slowly, let it swing all the way inside to ensure that no one was standing behind it. He cast a scrutinizing eye around the room, remembered to look up (no one ever does that, not in video games, not in movies), neither saw nor felt any presence in the room other than his own. He returned his keys to his jacket pocket, began perusing the office more carefully. An unlocked door, in his case, meant that someone had at least managed to get the door open, one way and another; that doesn't necessarily mean that someone had been inside. He sniffed, trying to get a whiff of an intruder. He did notice a slight hint of clove, but little else.

The drake considered. Konstantin was a game-player; the only question was, what game was he playing, and which variation? If the black dragon wanted information, there were a great many more ways to get it than breaking into Benedict's office. More than that, the unlocked door was not the old bastard's technique at all. His usual ploy would be to slip into the office and shift, ever so slightly, several key items in the room - a book pulled partly out of its space in the shelves, a desk drawer not quite fully closed, subtle hints that someone had been there. It would not be to seek information but to prove vulnerability. A different ploy, for the less astute targets, would be to trash the place as if a storm had blown through - an indirect threat not merely of vulnerability but of violence to the individual. This gambit is also one designed to cause the victim to worry about what the intruder had been looking for, and worse, to wonder if he'd found it. The very act of cleaning up the mess was almost as traumatic as finding it.

Neither was the case here, so far as Benedict could tell. Nothing appeared out of place, even slightly. Coming round to the business side of his desk, he confirmed that nothing seemed to have been moved, nothing jostled, nothing missing. Had he not leaned upon the desk's surface, he might never had noticed at all. One foreclaw and landed near the back of his ever-so-slightly antiquated desktop computer. It was warm. Not by much, but some.

He activated the system and, thanks to his remarkable memory allowing him to store virtually limitless information in his fertile brain, he opened a command window and ran several diagnostic checks to see when the system was last booted, when the drives were last accessed, and whether or not his firewalls and security protocols had been breached. He had apparently just missed his chance with the intruder, according to the time stamps, but unless the hacker had skills surpassing his own (a feat few could accomplish), some trace would have been left. A thumb drive had been inserted into one of the USB ports - the records indicated its presence - but no files had been uploaded to or downloaded from the device. Benedict released his electronic hounds to sniff and fetch while he rose to check his door once more.

Examining the door lock more closely, he determined that calling Maintenance to have the lock changed was likely to be a waste of time. Little damage was evident, but it swiftly became clear that no key, duplicate or master, had been used. Someone in this electronic age knew a bit about picking a good old-fashioned lock. This, too, matched Konstantin's style, in that the black drake knew quite a lot about mechanical locks and had more than enough dexterity to finagle his way past a simple pin-set lock in less time than it takes to tell. What didn't fit, however, was the clumsily direct attempt to access Benedict's computer. Quite apart from the "why" of it, the old bastard could hack his way in from anywhere, assuming that the computer was connected to the Net. Depending upon a variety of factors, even a machine that was powered down could be brought out of its sleep by long distance. The only secure way to keep an enterprising saurian like Konstantin out of your electronic headfur was to disconnect both the Ethernet cable and the power cord. No, whoever attempted this bit of hijacking had physically entered the room in hope of... sowing or reaping, the dragon wondered?

A small wisp of smoke curled from the dragon's nostril, and he found himself frustrated by his own cliché. There was no audience to perform for here, no show to put on. The building, unless he missed his guess, was completely empty of anything living, save for himself and the possibility of a few feral mice in the wainscoting (no university building would be complete without them, especially dormitory cafeterias). He did take the precaution of disconnecting both power cord and Ethernet cabling, feeling rather as though the barn was being locked after the horse had been stolen. Besides, anyone physically breaking in could reconnect everything in seconds, but somehow, the action made him feel slightly better.

Taking out his cell phone, Benedict used a speed dial number and was only vaguely surprised that it went to voice mail. "Eoin," he said, after the tone, "keep an eye on Zachary till I get back. We might best have him stay more days, just in case. If he wants to get more things from his apartment, go with him. Don't leave his side. I'll explain more later."

He disconnected, thought for a moment, decided against calling Dean Williamson. It was a bit premature to alert him. Time enough later, if and when disaster struck.That's the thing with Konstantin,_he thought. _By the time you're on to him, he's usually already gone. The wheels will already be set in motion...

It was that thought alone that gave the drake a new line of thinking. These wheels had been set in motion years ago. Konstantin shouldn't be anywhere near this potential train wreck. Unless...

The negotiator in Pimpri-Chinchwad.

Benedict reconnected his computer and booted it up. He sat patiently while everything loaded as it should. He opened his email client, scanned through, found nothing in particular to catch his attention. He opened a new email and began typing:

FROM:[email protected] <Benedict Spenser> TO:[email protected]<> SUBJECT: The Pup

Message received. Let's leave Royal out of it; he's not involved. Neither is Eoin. Nelson doesn't have to be, either. That spots you two pawns and a bishop. Your move.

Benedict

It took less than ten minutes for the reply to appear:

FROM:[email protected] <> TO:[email protected] <Benedict Spenser> SUBJECT: The Pup

The answer to your riddle is "pride." Mine is not at stake, nor have I any pieces to spot you. The game is far older. Place your stones, secure the territory.

-K

FROM:[email protected] <Benedict Spenser> TO:[email protected]<> SUBJECT: The Pup

Territory breeched, but secrets secure. Not your doing; not your style. Who else is playing?

Benedict

The wait was shorter:

FROM:[email protected] <> TO:[email protected] <Benedict Spenser> SUBJECT: The Pup

Can't confirm. Qui bene?

-K

FROM:[email protected] <Benedict Spenser> TO:[email protected]<> SUBJECT: The Pup

None I can see. Can you help?

Benedict

FROM:[email protected] <> TO:[email protected] <Benedict Spenser> SUBJECT: The Pup

Non sum quails eram. I shall explore, but on your head be it, you sentimental old fool.

-K

FROM:[email protected] <Benedict Spenser> TO:[email protected]<> SUBJECT: The Pup

Who is the greater fool: The fool, or the fool who follows him?

Benedict

The last email to be received contained only a picture of an angry baboon, made up as a clown, and sticking its tongue out at the viewer. Benedict smiled, powered down his computer, unhooked it, and leaned back in his chair. Eyes closed, he entered his memory palace and began looking at the evidence... such as it was. This madness might require an entirely new room.