“Sinnessteuersymphonie”  
A tale of mad science in six movements, with coda 
© E.O. Costello, 2008	
*****
MOVEMENT FIRST: Misterioso
	I had never seen a storm come so fast, so hard…and so black before.
        	I’ve got more than a few thousand hours logged as a pilot, but nothing I had ever experienced could have prepared me for what hit my plane.  And judging from the lightning strikes, “what hit my plane” is the right phrase.  I had thought: even if I managed to somehow make it through the storm, I had no idea where I was.  For all I knew, I had been blown hundreds of miles off course, far from the nearest speck of land that had any water or food.
       	 I was nearly blinded by a brilliant flash, which was followed by a brief interval of silence, which meant that I had no power.  I had no idea if a controlled crash was possible, but at least the effort had to be made.
        	I knew, when I hit the water with a bone-jarring smash, followed by the rapid influx of water into the plane, that I had failed, and that I was going to die.
        	Which is why, when I woke up in a rather ornate bed, I was completely confused.
        	Checking over my fur, I could feel some small bandages, and a twinge in my ankle when I tried to move it.  Which was probably the proof I needed that I was not, in fact, dead.
        	My unknown benefactor or benefactors had taken care to dress me in a negligee, which I suppose was appropriate, since my luggage was…well, heaven knows where.  A rather nice negligee, if I was any judge.  It was certainly about two or three grades above what I could afford on my salary.
        	As for the room, this certainly was no flophouse.  There was a Turkish carpet on the wood floor, mahogany and brass on the walls, and the window that was letting some milky grey light into the room (through tasteful silk curtains) revealed a rather lush garden.
        	My first thought was appropriate for a femmefur of my age and (precarious and dangerous) employment status:  I wonder if he’s married?
        	Getting up proved to be a little less hazardous than I thought; perhaps I had been out for some time.  Looking around, I found that the clothes closets and drawers (cedar-lined) were empty, but the bathroom well-stocked.  Careful examination revealed a small porcelain bell-push labeled “slave.”  Some fur’s idea of odd humour, I suppose.  I pushed the button.
        	A minute or so later, I got a violent shock.  The door opened, revealing a large bull.  His sole item of clothing was a large collar around his neck, and a small brass tag with a number stamped on it.  He shuffled into the room, and stood quietly at attention, looking at the floor and not at me.
        	There was silence for a good bit, as I wasn’t quite sure what I was supposed to say, or how I was supposed to act.  I decided to take things coolly.   It didn’t work.
        	“I…could you, I mean, where can I…the bathroom.  I sort of need…well, a bath…and I don’t have any clothes…and…well, who’s your boss, because I really want to…”
	I was making zero sense, and what’s more, I was hunched over like one of those statues you see in museums, covering myself.  I could feel that my whole face was hot, and my ears were burning.
        	After what seemed like an eternity, the bull looked up, gave a brief and solemn nod, and shuffled off to the bathroom.  In a few moments, I heard the taps running.  He was obviously on the ball far more than I was.  He also didn’t seem to notice that I was standing in the light, and my negligee wasn’t that opaque.  Well, there’s training for you.
        	He shuffled out of the bathroom after the water was turned off, and bowed to me.  I walked in and tested the water.  The heating plant was as elaborate as the decoration scheme – the bathwater was nice and warm.  I recognized the brand of fur soap as one that was pretty expensive.  The assorted fur brushes laid out for me were silver-and-ivory backed.
        	The bather was puzzled and curious.  And a little scared of touching anything.  You break it, you bought it.  So I really didn’t get to enjoy things much (though my ankle got better, and I found I didn’t need the bandages).  I did hear some fur in the room moving around, so I stayed put until they were gone.  I peeked out (dripping wet), and saw that the bed had been made (that was fast!) and stuff had been laid out for me to wear.
        	Whoever picked out my clothes had a rather prim taste.  I’m a lot more used to flying suits and khaki things, which sometimes made the laundry bag, and sometimes didn’t.  What I saw laid out on the bed was something that I might have worn to visit a stern and cranky old aunt.  And none of the boots I normally wear,  just a pair of slingbacks.
        	As I was finishing up, there was a knock on the door, and the bull shuffled in again, solemnly holding a silver salver.  There was a small envelope on it, as well as a menu.
        	The message was simple.
“Miss Hunter –
I will ask both your indulgence and your forgiveness of my manners in not greeting you in furson.  I have been occupied in the last stages of a research matter today, which cannot possibly be left to conclude on its own.  The kitchen will provide you with brunch from the menu, though if there is something you would like that is not on the menu, give Number Four written instructions, and he will convey them.
I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you in furson, soon.  I am
Your obedient servant,
L.D. Forrester”
        	Well, this was somefur familiar with his Emily Post.  Heavy notepaper, fountain-pen ink (green).  The notepaper was embossed at the top with the simple word: “Research.”
	Number Four, that was the bull, offered the salver again with the other item on it.
        	The menu had a number of appealing things, but I limited myself to a plate of kippers, toast, and a pot of tea with cream.  I found it curious that nearly everything on the menu was designed to whet the appetite of a feline like me.  The menu, by the way, was on heavy cardstock, with the name “Forrester Research” embossed up top (along with a pair of scales), and today’s date, August 19, 1937, embossed in the lower right corner.
	I finished dressing and looked in the mirror.  Damnit.  Stockings were a little crooked in the back-seam.  I could never get those to be straight, which is the reason I almost never wear them.  That, and I keep getting runs in them.  Hopefully, no fur would notice.  And it took me three tries to get the ruffles on the shirt to line up like they were supposed to.
        	Another polite knock, and Number Four shuffled into the room with a tray.  A small side-table was set with linen, china and silver, and brunch was served.  The tea was piping hot, the bread was fresh (and had not been allowed to get cold, like in a lot of hotels that use toast racks), and the kippers were spicy.  Whoever Mr. Forrester was, he would get at least a star from the Guide Michelin.  I ate while enjoying the scenery.  And yes, that did include Number Four, who didn’t appear to take notice that he was being carefully observed.
        	After the tray was cleared, Number Four returned with another note:
“If it is convenient for you, can you please allow Number Four to escort you to the Day Room at one in the afternoon?  I would be pleased to make your acquaintance then.
LDF”
        	Well, my social calendar was a little light that morning, so I indicated to Number Four that I would do so.  After a delay, but without a change in expression (or posture), he shuffled off to do my bidding.
*****

	The mansion (I suppose that is the best way to describe it) had one sensation that I couldn’t put a finger on at first, but after standing still near the window for about half an hour, it came to me.  It was very quiet, outside of something that I couldn’t put a claw on right away.  I could hear occasional click of claws or hooves in the halls, but aside from that, it could well have been a hospital for all the noise, or lack of it.  One thing that struck me was that the room, unlike practically every room I’ve seen in the Pacific, had no ceiling fan, yet the temperature was rather pleasant.   And on a mid-August day, too.

	My window looked out on a garden, a very well-planned one.  There were flagstone paths that meandered among circular beds of flowers, and I could see a cast-iron bench that surrounded the base of some kind of massive tree like a clamshell.  There were three furs in the garden that I could see, a smallish goat mel, an equally smallish canine mel, and an older ram that was supervising them both.  I wasn’t in any particular doubt as to their status, since the only thing that each of them was wearing was a collar, rather like Number Four’s.  It made for some pretty interesting scenery.  The garden was enclosed by a high stone wall.  I was just high enough, from my vantage point, to see that the top of the wall had nothing on it, except for an unusual decorative pattern.  Well, that certainly beat shards of broken glass.  The vegetation beyond the wall was dark green, dense, and unmoving, even though some of the flowers in the garden stirred in a breeze.

	I did not know where my watch was, though I imagined it had probably either been shattered in the crash, or ruined in the water.  There was an inset panel in the wall that glowed with a soft pulse, and I could make out that the top half of the pulse was growing smaller, and the bottom half larger.  My host had a taste for the abstract that would have made him popular in many cosmopolitan places, though I wondered about his guests.  Or his staff, if this theme was carried on throughout the mansion.

	There was a small metronome on the desk next to the window.  For the lack of anything else to do, and to get a little cheerful noise, I started it up.  Yep.  Only takes a few seconds for my tail to start moving in time.  Same thing used to happen as a kitten, when I had piano lessons.

	It was then that I heard the first really sustained noise since I woke up.  It seemed to come from deep within the house, and spread a deep, basso profundo rumble everywhere.  It sounded, in a way, like a fur striking notes at random on a huge theatre organ.  More abstract art?  Perhaps not.  The furs in the garden seemed to understand; the noise must have carried outside the house.  They stopped work, gathered their tools neatly, and proceeded indoors, somewhere.

	I tried to get a sense from where the sun was whether it was noon or close to it, but there seemed to be both a haze and a poor angle that prevented me from doing so.

	And yet, there was sufficient light in the room.  Odd.

	There was a heavy tread outside the door, followed by a gentle knock.

	“Come in.”  I’d like to say I said that crisply, but that would be a lie.  It came out in a high squeak.  So much for panache, hanh?

	It was Number Four, again.  He held the door open, and stood still.  And when I mean still, he hardly even blinked, which was pretty amazing.

	“Oh!”  Damnit, forgotten it.  “Is it one o’clock…er, Number Four?”

	The bull did not answer, but remained at attention.  I figured he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t time for my appointment with my host, so I walked to the door.  Number Four slowly turned around, and began to trudge through the hallways.

	His pace was slow enough that I could get a pretty good look at some of the rooms.  Yay for museum-class rubbernecking.  I was in what appeared to be a guest wing, as we first passed a few rooms that were similar to mine.  At the end of the hallway, we reached the top of a long, curving staircase with marble steps overlaid with a long runner.  I could well imagine any kitten worth his or her salt sliding down the invitingly large and slick mahogany banister.  Hell, I would have done it, except it would have done for my stockings.

	I wondered, though,  when was the last time there was a kitten, or indeed any small fur, that was in the house.  Didn’t have that sense.

	At the foot of the stairs, once we reached it, there was a large reception area.  Directly in front of me, I could see a dining room through a massive pair of French doors.   To my right, there was a massive door, which I took to be the front door.  To my left, the marble floor continued on.  It took a little bit of hustle on my part to catch up with Number Four, who did not seem to notice that I was dawdling.  And looking slack-jawed up at the skylights, which let in light all over the hallway.  Yeah, real sophisticated.  Good thing I didn’t have a camera.

	There was a slight twang of chlorine as we passed by a large room with a huge pool, done in Roman fashion.  A little beyond that, on the opposite side of the hall, was a large library.  A very slender Irish setter femme was polishing a large wooden table.  Her uniform was different.  She was wearing gloves.  She took no notice of us as she leaned over the table, buffing an already gleaming table with careful, practiced motions.

	Ahead of that, once again on the opposite side, was another large room.  This one had a few neatly racked musical instruments within sight.  I could see a series of slender (and highly polished) brass pipes descending into the floor, which seemed fairly odd for a music room.

	At the end of the corridor, there was a pair of massive wooden doors that reached to the ceiling.  Number Four shambled to a stop, stooped, and reached for a small ivory bell-push.  I could hear a faint, rhythmic chime sound, followed by the clicking of the door.

	Number Four grasped one of the brass handles on the door, and pulled it open.  Like the rest of the house, the door was noiseless.

	I walked through the door, but didn’t get far beyond it.  I was dazzled.

	The walls of the room were made of glass, as was the ceiling.  The view from the room of the sea was heart-stopping.

	This, principally, because the floor was made of glass as well, and we were projected out over a cliff.

	I was struggling to comprehend this as I looked down, when a voice broke in on my thoughts.

	“The panels are reversible, Miss Hunter, that is how we clean them.”

	Which was, in fact, the question that was on my mind.  I looked up to find my host striding across the room.

	“Welcome to Forrester Research, Miss Hunter.”

	My host was a whitetail buck.  He was dressed in a lab coat that was cut in a way that sort of looked like a hunting jacket, an effect that was emphasized by the cavalry breeches he wore.  Everything on him was just so, down to the gleam on the buckle of his Sam Browne belt, and the knot on his tie.  The one oddity was that he was wearing a pair of glasses, or rather goggles, with red lenses that wrapped around part of his head.  

	“Oh!  I….well…how do you do, Doctor Forrester.”

	The buck smiled, and bowed.

	“You are in error, Miss Hunter, though I am deeply flattered by it.  I am merely an amateur, engaged in my studies.”

	“I am sorry I have caused you much trouble, Mr. Forrester.  Your note said that you were engaged in an experiment…?”

	“Which concluded to my satisfaction, thank you for asking.  And pray do not mention it.  It is my pleasure to be your host.”

	“How did you know my name?”

	“Ah!  Perceptive.  We were able to recover a few small items from the wreck of your craft.  I have had Beta bring them here to the Day Room.  Beta?”

	“Master.”  This voice came from behind me.  I turned around, rather quickly.

	Beta, as it turned out, was a brown-furred, lepine femme, and there wasn’t any particular question about that.  She was wearing something that was like a toga, at least in the way it was wrapped, though the material was very fine and thin.  She was a good, stiff breeze away from ending up like the rest of her colleagues.  She wore something around her neck, as well: a crimson ribbon from which hung a large, red crystal, engraved with a Greek letter in gold.  It went rather well with her hair, which was long, red and flowed down past her shoulders.

	The only thing out of place was the look she was giving me, and it was not a particularly friendly one.  

	She held out a silver tray in both paws, upon which was a purse.  Which, interestingly, matched my outfit.

	“You will find, Miss Hunter, that we were able to retrieve your log-book and your identification.  They were near you when you were found.  I regret that the rest of your possessions were swept out to sea in the storm.”

	I looked at my papers.  If you looked closely, you could see a little water damage around the edges, but other than that, they were legible and largely intact.  Nothing missing.

	“I am a collector of manuscripts, Miss Hunter.  Document preservation and restoration is thus something quite familiar to me.”

	“I…well, I’m n-not sure what to say, Mr. Forrester.  You…well, you’ve been to an awful lot of trouble, and…oh, I’ve said that, well, I…”

	Forrester waved a paw dismissively.  “A refreshing departure from routine, nothing more.  I crave stimulus.”

	Judging from the way Beta was dressed, I could believe that.

	“Um.  Have you reported the crash, Mr. Forrester?”

	“Hmmm?  Oh, we have no telegraph here, Miss Hunter.  And communications with the nearby islands are…erratic.  Rest assured, however, that I will take steps appropriate to the situation.”

	“Thank you.”

	“Pray think nothing of it.”

	There was a slightly awkward silence, which I broke with some conversation.  “I liked the brunch very much, it was delicious.  The chef…well, if you have a chef…of course you must…well… will you give them my thanks?”

	Forrester bowed.  “I will tell Twenty-Seven personally.  It pleases me to know that he is up to standard.”

	There was another small, awkward silence.  I shifted my eyes slightly right, and met Beta’s eyes.  She was trying, it seemed, to look right through me.  Like with a death-ray or something.

	To the left and behind me, there was a hesitant click of claws.  Forrester looked over my shoulder, and scowled.

	“Omega!  Come here!”

	At first, I thought this was a genuine pet, a non-anthrop, but then I realized what I was seeing was a wolfess crawling on her paws like one.  She was wearing a heavy collar, much heavier than the one worn by Number Four, who was bigger.  And that, for her, was it.

	“Omega!  COME!”

	The wolfess slunk forward, her tail between her legs.  I shifted my eyes right again, and I could see that Beta had turned her eye-beams on the canine.  It’s amazing how much loathing you can express while remaining poker-faced.

	The wolfess stopped, and leaned down near Forrester’s hooves.  He stamped them with irritation.

	“Never mind that!  Who told you to enter the Day Room?!  Who gave you leave to do so?!”

	Omega gave a plaintive whimper.

	“Do not turn this place into a house of lies!”

	Another, higher-pitched whimper.

	“Enough!  Beta.  Take care of Omega.”

	“Master.”

	Beta carried out this order on the double.  In two strides, she had Omega by the collar, and was dragging her rapidly across the glass floor.  The doors, which had been open, closed behind them, and a few seconds later, there was a high-pitched pair of yelps that cut off suddenly.

	“My apologies, Miss Hunter.  What was I going to…ah, yes.  Dinner will be at eight, this evening.  I trust you can attend?”

	I blinked for a moment.  The question was pretty strange.  I mean, it wasn’t as if I could see a Horn & Hardart down the street.

	“But I’d be putting you out, I…”

	Forrester resumed his good humour.  “No, certainly not.  Far from it.  I will have Number Four escort you to the fitting room.”

	“Wait, what…fitting room?”

	“Why, yes.  Number Eleven and his assistants are working on some things for you, both for tonight, and for the party tomorrow night.”

	Now I really blinked.  “Party?”  Lovely impression I was making.  Only thing that would make it worse is if I were a blonde.

	Forrester seemed to ignore the fact that even if I wasn’t a blonde, I was acting like one.  “But naturally.  There is an invitation in your room.  You may respondez s’il vous plait at dinner.  But Number Eleven does need to refine a few things to ensure a proper fit.  He made that outfit for you that you are presently wearing.”

	I looked down.  The outfit, with tailoring, would have run me at least nine months’ salary, if I could have even gotten through the doors of a place that did such work, and if I had recognized quality material.  My stuff usually came from Bullock’s, and on sale at that.

	“Forgive the liberty.  While you were being treated, we took measurements.”

	I wasn’t quite sure how to take that bit of news, but it did explain why my negligee fit so well.

	“Oh, well…that’s quite all right.”

	“Splendid, splendid.  I will have Thirty-Six bring you a selection from the library, as well.  Or perhaps you would like to visit it?”

	“Was that the room I saw on the way here?”

	“What an observant young lady you are.  Yes.  I will tell her that you are permitted to browse.  Will there be anything else?”

	“No…no, Mr. Forrester, thank you.”

	“Splendid.  Cocktails are at seven-thirty in the library.  I shall see you then.”

	He walked over to a small glass table, and pressed a button.  The doors clicked open, and Number Four stood in the hallway.  I suppose with his weight, he might have gone through the glass floor.

	“Escort Miss Hunter to Number Eleven.  I shall give Number Eleven instructions, myself.”

	Forrester bowed to me.  I bowed back, thanked him, and followed Number Four through the hallways.  Forrester himself strode at a rapid pace, and entered the music room.

	We were nearly at the stairs when a staccato series of notes could be heard echoing throughout the house.  There was no tune to them, but there was a certain pattern that I could detect.  But that was about all I could get out of it.

*****

	Number Four led me at his usual (or so it seemed to me) lugubrious pace.  This part of the mansion was rather more functional, with the floors made of linoleum and the walls of a cheaper wood.  For all that, it was completely spotless.  Antiseptic, even.

	I was led into a small room.  Well, it seemed small, because there must have been dozens of bolts of all kinds of fabric, from the thickest woolen to bolts of silk fabric that you could have passed through a wedding ring.  The bolts were on shelves stacked to the ceiling, with ladders on wheels circling the room.  Furs of various species were climbing up and down the ladders, and feeding material to a bank of yet more furs working sewing machines.

	A beaver, wearing only a collar with a brass tag reading “11,” marched stiffly toward me.  With a motion like a toy puppet, he pointed at a circular pedestal raised a little off the floor, surrounded on three sides by full-length mirrors.

	I was pondering what was going to happen next, when what happened next, happened.  Five sets of paws reached out, and in a twinkling my jacket was off, my skirt was down around my ankles, and my blouse was open and sliding off.

	Well, if that was the way it was going to be, I thought, they were going to have to pay quite a price, and I bared my claws.  Which was easy to do, as my blouse was carried away, along with my jacket.  A smallish mouse stood by with an armful of silk swatches, and the beaver began holding them up against me, one by one.  He took no notice of the fact that my tailfur was bottled, or my claws extended.  In fact, it seemed I was the only fur in the room who did notice this.  Which made it less embarrassing for me to step out of my skirt (which was efficiently carried away), and patiently stand up straight while the beaver checked my colouration.  Which was red in quite a few spots.

	For the next hour or so, I was repeatedly dressed up and stripped down again as different clothes were tried on.  Skirts of varying (but tasteful) length, some light cotton blouses, some khaki work-clothes (I wanted to keep those on, but in light of the fact that I was wearing the high heels and stockings from my original outfit, I suppose that would have been silly), and what looked like some rough drafts of evening clothes.  The beaver with a small piece of chalk made a number of mysterious markings on each item, and then had his assistants whisk them off me.

	During a break in the action, I sat down on a chair and looked in the mirrors.  I saw a feline, American, in her late 20s, smokey grey fur, nice jet-black head-fur (authentic, thank you very much), and considering at the moment I was in a pair of high heels, black stockings, garter belt and lingerie…well, look, so I’m not Hollywood-class.  I’m still a damned good-looking femmefur, and I think any mel (let alone any feline mel) who saw me like this would certainly smile and give me the once-over.  Maybe even the twice-over.

	Some of the assistants were lined up, awaiting orders, staring straight at me.  Okeh, boys.  Here’s something to stare at.  I swished my tail, batted my eyes, and made a few completely unnecessary adjustments to my stocking tops, smoothing out the stockings after that was done.

	They didn’t move a muscle.  Any muscle.  It was as if I wasn’t there.  I didn’t quite know whether to be creeped out, or bottle-tailfur mad.  I kicked the chair aside, and stood up on the platform, pouting.

	Not that anyfur noticed.

	What’s the use of having a wardrobe that would have run me a high five figures if it wasn’t going to get a reaction?

	I wanted to wear the khakis again, and pointed at them repeatedly.  Number Eleven kept holding up a skirt-suit and blouse, and eventually I gave up and put them on.  It was pretty obvious I wasn’t calling the tune here.

	I was not in a cheery frame of mind as Number Four began escorting me back up to Marble-and-Mahogany Country again.  I didn’t like this Little China Doll garbage one bit, and I wasn’t in any mood for smooth talk from any fur, no matter how good the chat.  The bull seemed to be leading me to the library, and if some fur was going to foist Little Women or some old numbers of St. Nicholas on me, there was going to be hell to pay.

	The librarian turned out to be a mephit femme.  And, wouldn’t you know it, she had librarian glasses on.  Which was all – ah, hell, you know the drill by now.

	She gave me a little bow, and indicated a small side-table near a chair.  I was about three feet from starting to throw books when I saw what was laid out on the table.

	Popular Mechanics.  Jane’s All the World’s Aircraft.  Granted, the other item was a spare-parts catalog from some outfit in San Francisco, but it showed the right spirit.  The magazine was even comparatively new, only two months old, and I hadn’t seen it.  My blood pressure lowered, especially after the skunkie left a tray of tea and cookies next to me.  She wasn’t one of THOSE types of closed-stack dictators, I guess.

	An hour and a half later, fortified by my afternoon snack, and thinking of the cost of my next plane, when and if the insurance company paid off, I got up to stretch a bit.  I strolled over to the bookcases to have a look-see at what Forrester read.

	It sure as hell wasn’t Snappy Stories, Thrilling Detective, or even the Spontoon Mirror.  Some of the books were big enough to have their own telephone exchange, I bet.  The big leather-bound ones had titles like “Proceedings of the American Institute of Pathological Psychology,” “Jahrbuch fur Psychoanalytik,”  and something that looked pretty promising until I took it down and flipped through a few pages.  “The Study of Blood-Stains.”  Well, whoever F.J. Stagg was, he sure as hell wasn’t going to get rich from his writing.  It needed a grabbing illustration on the cover.  Or a femmefur getting grabbed.

	A few other book-cases had older books.  The New-Gate Calendar.  Jonathan Wild and His Crimes.  Stuff that was in Russian, German and Italian.  A whole lot of stuff in French, and I could see some book-marks inserted in those.

	Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull buck, and I could see Forrester did, in fact, relax.  With a good murder mystery.  There was a bookcase from floor to ceiling, about twenty feet up, that I swear must have had every murder mystery put out in the last fifteen years.  I’d have borrowed one or two, except I noticed these books were flagged, too, with various colour-coded slips.  I checked one book.  Nope, wasn’t the type to write whodunit on the first page.  He was the type, though, to write lots of comments in the margins.  I wondered if this was relaxation or more of the same.  He certainly seemed to have a nose for crime.

	The other super-tall bookcase held a lot of sheet music.  No swing stuff.  All Opus this, and Opus that.  Sure, I could read it, but it had been a pretty long time since my last recital.  Probably could play some of this stuff, given a bit of warm-up.  Like, say, a week.

	There was a metronome in here, and it was ticking away happily.  There’s a reason my blood pressure was down.

	The skunkie returned, with a few slim paper-bound books in her paw.  P.G. Wodechuck.  A little light-hearted country house reading.  I thanked the mephitess.  She blinked slowly, and then bowed.  Slightly faster on the uptake that ol’ Number Four.

	I rang the slave bell (running gag?) on the main table.  While I waited for my escort, I had a look at a newspaper that was on the table.

	Well, I’m not sure it was a newspaper.  It was four pages, printed on very glossy paper stock, and had a few photos where the register seemed to be off, like they had printed a colour image three times.  The text was in some sort of type font I didn’t recognize, either.  Puzzle paper?  Maybe, but that did look like Forrester on one of the pages.  Probably a crossword maven.

	Number Four led me back to my room in the guest wing.  Sure enough, on the desk was a sealed envelope, stuck with a heavy red seal on the back (a set of scales).

	Contents:

“The pleasure of your company is requested for a dinner to be held at Forrester Research at eight o’clock in the evening on August 20, 1937.  Formal attire, to the extent consistent with mechanical impediments or supervening orders, is required.  Please respondez s’il vous plait by letter, messenger or telepathic service by August 19, 1937.

L.D. Forrester and Beta”

	I’m not sure what the hell telepathic service meant – probably some kind of typo or weird in-joke – but I was raised by my Mom to write letters.  Somefur had filled the stationery rack, and there was even pen and ink (expensive gold-tipped Parker) provided.

“Mr. Forrester:

I have received your invitation to dinner on the night of the 20th, and I would be pleased to come.

Sincerely yours,

Alatheia Hunter”

All right, L.D. Forrester and Beta, two (three?) can play the High Society Game.

	Having sent Number Four to rumble along and deliver the letter to his master, I then proceeded to try to figure out that stupid clock-like thing in the wall.  Doing the old “One Mississippi” thing (which was damned stupid, since I had the metronome handy, and I’d forgotten that) showed that the pulses were one second apart, and by marking off the panel on a sheet of paper, and watching for about ten minutes, I could make a By Guess and By God calculation as to what the time was, based on the arrangement of light.  Abstract version of a sand-timer, is all.  Time for a few chapters of light-hearted English writing, and then maybe a bath.  Both of which were under my control.

*****

	The house was still very quiet, though after a while, I did detect something I hadn’t noticed before, a very faint noise that was repeated in a cycle.  It actually was quite pleasant – I found that my heartbeat, and not just my tail, synced up to it in no time.  I was also reading a bit faster, too.  Occasionally, this background music would be overridden by the rumbling of the organ.  Some of the opening notes were the same, others different.  I recognized the same opening that Forrester had played as I was going down to the tailor’s workshop.

	I’d read for about an hour (I was getting better at reading that whacky panel) when there was a soft tapping at the door.  Now, I could have gotten up, but luxury is a bit infectious, so I stayed on the bed.

	“Come on in.”  I was tempted to add “I command it,” but I held off.  Joking only goes so far.

	Number Four was outside, hefting a number of draped hangars.  He lumbered in, followed by a pair of Irish setters, one of whom I’m sure was the one I saw earlier.  They padded softly in, carrying a large trunk between them, on top of which rested an (empty) leather overnight bag.

	The furs who whine over their teacups that “it’s so hard to get good help nowadays” would drop their multiple chins at what I saw.  Drawers, armoires and shoe-trees were opened or extended, and quick as a blink, I saw dresses, shirts, stockings, high-heels and under-things being put away.  Even little hanging sachets were installed.  It would have taken me hours to do the same, and I’d have gotten everything in a mess.  There wasn’t a wrinkle to be seen.

	Number Four, and the Numbers Thirty-Five A and Thirty-Five B, after their performance (and that’s what it was, and bravura, too), lined up next to the door.

	This time, I got up, and bowed to each of them.  I went over to the stationery rack, and dashed off a quick note of praise to Forrester, and handed it to Number Four.

	“I am very pleased by your work.  I have written your master to tell him so.  You are dismissed.”

	I have no idea where those words came from.  They just popped out.  The servants, if they were surprised, didn’t show it.  Number Four bowed back (he was getting faster on the uptake with me), and took the envelope.  The twin canines gave a curtsey, swished their tails, and padded off, followed by the bull.

	I admired the view as the duo walked down the hall.  I’ve been told about a place on Casino Island where femmefurs of That Type hang their hat (and other things), and what I saw would have pleased them.

	Actually, that did strike me.  Those were very healthy furs.  In fact, all of the slaves I’d seen were fit and healthy.  Well, there was Omega.  But even she only looked a little underfed, and the way she slunk around didn’t help much for her looks.

	I went back, and looked through the closets and drawers, trying not to wrinkle and muss things up.  No question about it: this stuff would have cost eyes out of the head, even if I knew where I could get it.  There was a lot there, too.  I wondered about the laundry, or even if a laundry was needed, with all that material present downstairs.  Even if there wasn’t one, Forrester had set me up for a few weeks, without even the need to wear anything twice.

	Was I going to get off the island later, rather than sooner?

*****

	A short while later, I rang the “slave” bell again.  The setter lasses returned, and gave me the curtsey thing again.  One of them handed me a note.

“Miss Hunter –

Your note afforded me great pleasure.  I have taken the liberty of assigning you Thirty-Five A and Thirty-Five B as your personal maids for your stay, in light of your praise of their skill.  They will be staying in the connecting room, so they will be close to paw.  They have been given instructions…”

Yeah, that would be right.  I’d heard them, not long after they left, probably when the note was delivered.

“…in how to attend to your needs.  They are trained in fur and claw care, and know how to look after your clothes.  If you need your headfur done, please advise Number Four, and suitable arrangements will be made.

Your obedient servant,

LDF.”

	Not one, but two personal maids.  If only my mother could see me now.  She said being a plane jockey would never get me anywhere.

	“Thirty-Five A, lay out the white silk dress with the long sleeves and…those shoes right there.  I’ll also need the usual stockings and undergarments.  Thirty-Five B, draw my bath for me, and also look after my paw and toe claws while I’m in the tub.”

	There was a brief pause, and both of the canines gave me a curtsey.  Hee!  Take that, Mom!

	It was a good, long, delicious soak in a hot bath.  The luxury of having my claws done made it even better.  And Thirty-Five B did a very good job of it, too.  You’d never have thought that a week before, those nails had been caked with gummed-up engine oil, and scratched up from being used as screwdrivers and tweezers.

	Getting rubbed down with extra-thick towels, and then having my fur brushed to a gleam was the topper, and purr-inducing.  Well, if I was only going to be here for a few days, might as well get my money’s worth, so to speak.

	Some flowers had arrived while I was in the bath, and Thirty-Five A was finishing up the arrangement of them in silver bowls.  Orchids of different colours, and of a size and fragrance that would make Nero Wuff seethe with jealousy.  My (!) maid had set aside one of them, a pure white specimen, and had tied it with watered ribbon as a corsage.

	Boy, was I going to HATE having to get up at o-dark-thirty and dress myself by flashlight, a few weeks from now.  Getting strapped in, strapped up, strapped down, and zipped in by two pairs of practiced paws?  A girl can get used to that.  A bit worrying, that thought, but I put it out of mind.  Live for the moment.

	Thirty-Five B wheeled in a full-length mirror, and I gave myself a leisurely once-over.  I wish I’d looked like this on prom night, I’d have had more fun.  The only comparison was that I was just as nervous now as I was then.

	A glance at the panel showed it was just a few minutes short of cocktail time.  I checked my head-fur one last time, and walked at a measured pace to the grand staircase.

*****

MOVEMENT SECOND: Con slancio

	My timing was pretty much spot on.  Number Four, with one eye on a discreet time-panel at the foot of the stairs, had a set of chimes in his paw.

	G-C-G-E, E-G-C-G.  G-C-G-E, E-G-C-G.

	“Ah!  Of course an aeroplane pilot would be on time!  Good evening, Miss Hunter.”

	I paused, still about a dozen steps from the bottom.  L.D. Forrester was, as you could have guessed, in white tie and tails.  For some reason, he was wearing his red goggles, which made him into a bit of a cross between a race-car driver and the conductor of the Philharmonic.  For all that, it added a bit of spice.

	Rather more spice was added by Beta, who was on his arm.  She was wearing her head-fur up, and her outfit consisted of what looked like two great interleaved lengths of very thin black silk wound around her from top to bottom in a sheath, and pinned in place with a red rose.  Went well with her ornate red crystal tag I’ve mentioned before.  The only thing spoiling the effect was the look in her eyes.  From yards off, I could sense the truth of the old adage that “two’s company, three’s a crowd,” and she was pretty damn sure who the third wheel was.

	“Good evening, Mr. Forrester.  Good evening, Beta.”

	Sulky nod from the latter.  Briefly noticed by Forrester, who furrowed his brow a bit, and gave his companion a gentle tug with his elbow.

	“We can watch the sunset from the library window.  Quite spectacular, and stimulating for the appetite.”

	A large wheeled cart had been placed in the library, behind which stood a Kerry Blue.  Didn’t look much like any Irish bartender I’d ever seen – he sure wasn’t jolly.  Not even a facial twitch.  But those paws!

	Forrester’s martini was mixed in a flash.  One thing I thought was interesting was the use of lab glassware, something I’ll bet they never thought of at the Oak Bar.  Mein Host’s glass was kept chilled in some sort of container that brought forth a vapor that smelled of juniper berries, a touch I bet they wish they’d thought of at the Oak Bar.

	Beta had her drink ordered for her by her companion.  A “Dagenham,” which turned out to be a V-8 and London dry gin.

	I ordered up a Bronx.  Chilled just right, and probably the first cocktail I’d ever had which could be described as “tasty.”  I made it last, though.  I could see downing a few of these after outdoor tennis, though.  I wondered if they had a court?

	Much small talk about flowers, starting with the arrangement in my room.  Orchids, no surprise, were something close to this deer’s heart.  And probably his stomach, too.

	One of the other interesting touches was the music.  This was live music, not recorded, and was coming from the Music Room down the hall.  This set Forrester off on another tangent when I commented on it, describing an amusing story of an adventure he had had trying to get tickets one night to the Prussian State Opera, and being the only fur in his section not in dress uniform.

	Beta confined herself to an occasional nod and interjection of “Master,” accompanied by giving me a penetrating and rather nasty stare when her beau wasn’t looking.  The hell with her.  I gave them both a pleasant smile, and kept up my end of the conversation.  I wasn’t going to let any bad-tempered hussy spoil my evening.  

	Hussy?  Where the hell did that come from?

*****

	The dining room, being on the short end of the “L” from the Day Room, carried over the glass theme, though apparently on solid ground.  The long table paralleled the skylights above, and the far end looked out over the ocean front,  while the right-paw side looked out over where some of the gardens started.  From there, in the distance, the estate’s front gate, which must have been metal, glowed in the moonlight.  Well, I think it was the moonlight, anyway.  I could be wrong.

	Behind the seat at the head of the table, and behind the seats flanking that one, stood a slave at attention.  We were seated with grave courtesy, and the candelabras were lit.

	Number Four himself waddled in, and showed a bottle to Forrester, who nodded and then supervised its opening.  Satisfied with a taste, he permitted each of us a glass.

	“It’s a beautiful mansion, Mr. Forrester.  There are so many nice things in it.”

	Forrester looked up from his glass and smiled.  “Ah?”

	“It must have been a lot of hard work to reach this point.”

	“Oh, indeed.  But rather prosaic, really.  Have you ever read Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds?”

	I blinked, then smiled.  Lucky cat!  Thank the Radcliffe reading list.

	“A question of reading which way the mass of furs investing is going, and then sensing when you’re supposed to do the opposite, like the South Sea Bubble or the wentletrap?”

	“So you have read it.”

	“And I remember my father talking about how things were right after the Great War.  He knew a fur who’d shot himself betting wrong on Cuban sugar in ‘21.”

	“Yes, yes.  The years after the war were very good for a fur skilled in reading crowds.  Of course, there are other things that know no season, and apply the same techniques.”

	“No limit Texas hold ‘em?”

	Forrester raised an eyebrow.  “I’m afraid that is not in my within my ken, no.  But the principle is much the same if you know baccarat.”

	“Plus, if you count cards, you shave points from the other guy’s advantage.”

	Forrester raised the other eyebrow.  “You know of such things?”

	“Knew a girl in college who paid her way by busting two of her daddy’s friends in blackjack one night.  They do things in a big way in Beaumont.”

	“Perhaps Beaumont thinks so.  I prefer Cairo, myself.  The casino proprietors make the introductions, and from then on, it is player beware.  Losses are to be paid promptly, and without threats.”

	Forrester turned slightly, and gave a soft, tuneful whistle, which made one of the slaves march from the room.  In a few minutes, chamber music could be heard from the hall outside.  Soft horns and cellos.  This was a sort of signal too, since one of the other slaves came in with a large silver tray.  With a silver tongs, he served oval shaped pieces of bread laced with tomato, cheese and herbs.  Obviously a favourite of Beta’s, since I saw her eyes light up for the first time.  Good.  Keeps her busy, I thought.

	“There were two things that allowed me to retire from trade, Miss Hunter.  One was the Crash, of course.  That was predictable.  The other involved a rather reckless Chinese warlord who did not believe in the standard odds on baccarat when standing with a four.  It was quite fortunate that he had so many hard-working peasants in his realm.”

	“And so you could take up your experiments full time.”

	“Indeed.”

	I thought I would be clever, so I chanced it.  “On criminal detection?”

	Forrester shook his head.  “A worthy effort, Miss Hunter, no doubt gleaned from the selection in my library.  Crime does not interest me nearly as much as criminals interest me.”

	One of the slaves came in to clear the hors d’oeuvres plates.  He was followed in by a slinking form that was quite familiar.  Forrester scowled, but he pointed to a spot behind his chair and to the left, and threw a bread crust there.  Omega hungrily reached for the scrap, and crammed it into her mouth.

	“Do you believe in nature or nurture, Miss Hunter?”

	“You mean, what makes a criminal a criminal?”

	“Yes.”

	“Some are born criminal, some achieve criminality, and some have crime thrust upon ‘em.”

	My host leaned back with a smile, while the table was set for soup.  Another Beta-driven choice: cream of asparagus.  Well, maybe that’s not fair, because Forrester was eating his with vim.

	“Well, what I mean is, you can have the raw material for a criminal, and what the trigger is to make them a bad guy…I guess it could vary, depending on the bad guy and what he faces.”

	“An interesting starting point.  Indeed, that was the first question I asked myself.  To what extent could one predict a fur turning to crime?”

	“It wouldn’t be easy, would it?  The same fur could have his nine-to-five job one day with his kids, and something out of the blue could upset the whole thing.  And you don’t know what.”

	“Yes, quite.”  Forrester nodded.

	“So if the nature versus nurture thing doesn’t work, what do you do?  Look at what turns out?”

	“Ah!”  It must have taken a bit for him to turn his attention away from the soup, but I managed to do it.  “You’ve touched it with a needle, Miss Hunter.  Yes.  If you can’t correlate the input, perhaps you can correlate the output.  Which required a whole new angle.  The study of the criminal brain.”

	“Talking to criminals?”

	“No, examining their brains.”

	I stopped, spoon half-way.  Beta was looking at me with interest, seeing if I was going to get sick.  I wasn’t going to give her the pleasure.  I had the mouthful, and asked the obvious question.

	“How did you get…well, the raw material?”

	“Well, fortunately, there are those jurisdictions who believe in the ultimate sanction, providing a ready source to study.  Some nations, of course, used the sanction for other ends, which spoiled my data.”  Here, Forrester turned, and scowled at Omega, who cringed.  Beta curled her lip.  She liked that.  So far, dinner was fun for her.

	“With world conditions being what they were, a certain…honorarium…was sufficient to acquire what you gracefully put as the raw material for my studies.  It was not long, however, before I realized I was at another dead end, scientifically speaking.”

	I had some more soup, and thought it over.  The topic was a bit gruesome, and yet…hey, let’s face it, it’s no worse than you see in some of the Hearst papers on a Sunday.

	“But all that study of the brain would have told you a lot of things, you know, about how every fur’s brain works.”

	“Yes-s-s, indeed.  But further data was necessary, which required observations that were, unhappily, not possible at home.”

	“What kind of observations?”

	“Oh, of the live brain, of course.”

	Forrester looked at me closely when he said this, and I could even see his eyes through the goggles.  My stomach gave a flip, but after fighting the urge to shiver, I got a lot calmer.

	“So, you needed a place where furs didn’t ask questions, or write their Congressfur?”

	Forrester leaned back, satisfied.  Beta scowled, unsatisfied.

	“Yes.  It took a great deal of research, time and trouble, but I found a satisfactory venue at last.  Here, on Cranium Island.”

	Cranium Island?!  Jiminy, that’s where I ended up?  They’ve got a big red border around that part of the charts of the Nimitz Sea.  Yeah, he’s right.  Communication with other islands is “erratic.”  And a lot of furs like it that way.

	“Folks don’t ask questions, and if they do bother, they’re friendly ones, right?”

	“In a way.  For the most part, few here study quite the same thing.  Science is such a broad realm that one can quite happily embark on a course of study, and never cross paths with a colleague.  Unless one wishes to, of course.”

	The soup was finished, and there was a soft whine from behind the buck.  He gave a quick, sharp series of whistled notes, and the noise stopped, pronto.  The slaves were able to clear the soup plates.  I saw, with some interest, that the room had a dumb-waiter connected down below.  That must be where the kitchen was, and all the other support areas.  Not bad to know.

	“Of course, it doesn’t do to foul one’s own nest, so I had to import my experimental subjects.   You know of Krupmark Island?”

	“Lively place, only the strong and the quick survive.”

	“A cogent summary.  The weak and the slow, however, provide for a ready source of material, provided that one trains one’s hunters to bring them back alive, as it were.”

	There was a smell that made my nose twitch and my ears perk.  The slave who was serving me placed a covered dish in front of me, and whisked off the lid.  It was a poached salmon, a pretty pale pink.  The vegetarians were served something that was moulded in the shape of a fish, for appearences’ sake.

	“You said you weren’t a doctor, though, so you probably had some help?”

	“Yes, indeed.  Fine gentlefur, trained in Budapest.  They were not appreciative of some of his more revolutionary theories, and there was the matter of certain peasants on his estate disappearing.  No matter.  It was he, in the course of my initial researches here, who helped me map the anthrop brain.  I flatter myself to say that I know more about that little collection of tissue and nerve than any fur alive today.”

	“How much of the map is “here there be tigers and monsters?””

	“Far too much for my taste, Miss Hunter.  Terra Incognita vexes me.  I continue to push my researches to this day.  Nevertheless, I can tell you, with a fair degree of accuracy, what part of your mind stores what kind of memory.  For example, the different parts where you retain your skills as a pilot, and the part that evidences your table manners were instilled in you by somefur who knew her business.”

	That caused a blush.  It’s lucky Mom was a stickler on that point.  Rough living grabbing sandwiches and coffee, I guess, hadn’t knocked it completely out of me.  Even with fish, which I had done justice to, very quickly.  Forrester tossed a large spoonful of his mold toward Omega, who lapped it from the floor.  Beta looked like she wanted to toss a spoonful too.  At me.

	“Well, wait a minute.  Then your earlier research…you know, looking at the brains of bad guys… wasn’t really a dead end, was it?  I mean, if you knew where criminal skills were located in the brain, couldn’t you do something about it?”

	Forrester turned from Omega, and gave me a crafty smile.  “Yes, you anticipate my story.  That was my next hypothesis.  Locate what made a criminal, a criminal.  And then, eliminate it.  But how?”

	Each of us was served a small chilled silver cup, in which a perfect sphere of sorbet nestled on a bed of ice.

	“I’ll bet you can’t operate on it.  No room for error.”

	“As I found out in my first efforts.  Can you think of what else I might have tried?”

	My host leaned back, forming a tent with his paws.  Pop quiz time.

	It had been a long time since freshman biology, and it took nearly the entire serving of sorbet, before I could answer.

	“There are a lot of nerve cells in the brain, and nerve cells require electricity.  So, somehow, you’d have to use electricity to override the areas you don’t want, and target only those areas.”

	Forrester took up his spoon with a smile.  “For somefur standing outside of science, an admirable answer, which I will accept.  Yes, indeed, one requires electricity to override the nervous system.  And it must be done well, ere you end up with a palimpsest.”

	“The criminal underwriting still detectable on the parchment.”  Crossword maven, that’s me.

	“Correct.”  He sounded just like one of my professors.  “So, naturally, I had to find the starting point.  How much of the brain to completely and safely, so to speak, erase.  Alas, the methods I had were crude, and required most of the higher functions of the brain to be wiped clean.  The result was a fur that was alive, but only biologically speaking.”

	“So you had to find the missing building blocks to rebuild what you wiped clean.”

	Forrester looked up as the sorbet was cleared.  “I find it interesting that you are making these guesses, Miss Hunter.  What was your major in college – you are clearly a college graduate.”

	“Major in Engineering.  Minor in Fine Arts.”

	The deer thought long about that answer, rubbing his chin.  “Intriguing,” he muttered.  “Most intriguing.”

	He was still lost in thought, and Number Four had to present the bottle of red wine twice.  It passed muster, and I was given a glass for the meat course, which was thinly sliced, even shaved pieces of filet mignon on a bed of rice.

	“The building blocks, as you say, would have taken me years to develop, were it not for my colleagues here on the Island.  Many of them had undertaken researches, for their own purposes, on the anthrop brain, and they were willing to share.”

	“Not academics.”

	“Oh, no.  Here on Cranium Island, Progress and Science go paw in paw.  We do not let petty selfishness get in the way of Discovery.  In any event, it was an eclectic series of data I was given.  Most were the practical things, such how to walk, move arms, process visual and aural stimuli, and so forth.  The late Dr. Schwarztush had developed a highly useful database of knowledge useful in the practical arts.  He was attempting to develop a series of robots that could perform routine work.  Unhappily, they were susceptible to electrical storms, which caused their programming to…well.  It was fortunate, I think, his death was a quick one.  But I was allowed to copy the relevant sections of his lab books.  The final piece of the puzzle.  It was then that I embarked on Treatment A.”

	Beta at this point put her fork down, and stopped eating.  Omega was a little reluctant to eat, but a tossed baby carrot overcame any fears she had.

	“A modest success, but sufficient to show that I was on the right track.  The subject lived for four weeks, and could weave baskets.  Treatment B produced a subject that lived for two months, and could do simple carpentry.  Treatment C produced a subject that lived for three months, and could read simple instructions.  Each of these treatments ran concurrently, until I reached…Treatment I.”

	Omega, upon hearing this, gave a prolonged whimper, causing a sharp retort from Forrester.

	“By sacrificing the skills needed to write and speak coherently, which are among the most sophisticated skills in the brain, and by judiciously arranging the skills vital for the sustaining of life, enough room was created so that a concentrated skill could be implanted into an anthrop mind.”

	I thought about this.  “So you could make somefur an expert, even a genius, in their field, if you had the right building block and data to go into it.”

	“Exactly.”

	“And more to the point, you’d have gotten rid of whatever building blocks made them bad.  The perfect reformed criminal.  And so you’re full circle.”

	My host paused, and smiled broadly.  “Yes, Miss Hunter.  You have seen my circle of thought.  The perfect reformed criminal.  Incapable of recidivism, because their criminal tendencies no longer exist.  And yet, productive members of society.”

	“But you’d have to keep them from developing new criminal tendencies.  Sort of like weeding a garden.  How do you keep new weeds from sprouting up?”

	“An interesting image.  To use it, the same way a gardener uses herbicide to keep an area clear of weeds, and not incidentally, to allow desired growth without competition.  Something that can be done constantly, yet with subtlety.”

	Something clicked in my head when I heard that word.  I put my fork down.

	“The melody.”

	Forrester leaned in.  “Go on.”

	“I’ve heard it.  There’s a constant, faint melody that you can hear throughout the house.  And you must have some way to broadcast it where you want, for when furs are outside of the house.  It sounds…well…like this…”

	I hummed a few bars of it.  Beta hissed and put her paws to her ears, and Omega howled.  Forrester quickly whistled the melody, loudly, and the noise stopped.

	“Very close, Miss Hunter, in execution.  And correct in theory.  Bravo!”  He clapped his paws softly, and smiled.  “One must be careful with the Control Melody, as it must be precise to achieve the desired effect.”

	Beta furrowed her brows, and scowled.

	“But doesn’t that mean, Mr. Forrester, that all of these furs…”  I indicated in particular the fur who was clearing the meat course, and the one setting things up for what looked like a fruit mousse.

	“Criminals all, Miss Hunter.  Criminals all.  Pardon me for a moment, will you?”

	He got up and went over to a small cabinet, and removed a file folder and what looked like a photo album.

	“Number Four is the first entry there.”

	Number Four had a very nasty-looking mug shot, which featured prominently in a wanted poster.  Chicago Mob, thought to have killed a dozen furs with his bare paws.  And I’d seen those paws hand me an envelope as meek as you please.

	Number Eleven, the meek little tailor?  So that’s what happened to Moe the Needle, labor racketeer and terror of the Lower East Side.  There was a bit of poetic justice.

	I flipped through the rest of the album, my rice pudding untouched.  Arsonists, bank robbers, a pair of Irish bombers (maybe that setter I’d seen in the library), the Muncie Strangler (the canine gardener I’d seen, it seems), and one ex-Fillydelphia City Council President, who was in charge of the septic system.  Quite a collection.   But not complete.

	“These furs are all numbered.  But you have two lettered furs, don’t you?  And one of them can speak.”

	Beta proved this, by turning to Forrester.  “Master!”  The voice was urgent and pleading.  Her master ignored her.

	“My experiments continue, as I try to refine the process and eliminate wastage.  Beta, here, is my most successful experiment to date in slaves that can vocalize.  Alas, she can only speak one word, which limits conversation.  But it is a start.  For the record, by the way, she killed three husbands for the insurance money.”

	Lovely.  Given the way he treats her, though, I wondered if he was running some sort of risk for #4.  It looks like he had her on a tight leash, though.  She understood what was said, and looked down at her rice pudding, before shoving it away with her paw.

	“She remembers?”

	“The gravity of her crime, yes.  A refinement for Treatment J.  One should not, after all, wipe all evidence of the crime away.  If you did, there would be no penance.

	I could sense movement behind me.  So did Forrester.

	“Omega!”

	I turned.  Omega, tail between legs, was trying, it seemed, to crawl under the floor.  At least that’s how it looked.

	“Come!”

	Omega shivered, but otherwise stayed put.

	“Omega…I command you to come!”

	Omega swallowed, and turned to face her master, who was leafing through his file.

	“Do you know what the OGPU is, Miss Hunter?”

	“Russian secret police, aren’t they?”

	“Past tense.  The name has changed, in part owing to purges of personnel.  Such as Olga Petrovna Vilkov.  Or, I should say, Colonel Vilkov, should I not, Omega?”

	The wolf was shivering violently, eyes closed.

	“Her Treatment J was special.  She was not to forget her crimes.  How many of those you called “kulaks” did you send to the camps to die, Omega?  How many boxcars of Ukrainians died before the final destination was reached, Omega?”

	Omega turned her head away.

	“She has not had that portion of her mind wiped, Miss Hunter.  Nor should it be.  She has been conditioned to remember it, with the same screams that she had ignored with such disdain.  Omega!  Look!”

	The buck removed a photograph from the file, and held it in front of Omega, who kept her eyes shut.

	“Omega!  You are commanded to look!  Obey!”

	Omega opened her eyes for a fraction of a second, enough to take in the photograph held an inch from her face.  Tears flowed, and she began to yelp.

	I reached over, and closed the file.  Forrester looked at me, eyebrow raised.

	“You disagree with the treatment?”

	Truth be told, I had mixed feelings about the demonstration.  “You have made your point, Mr. Forrester.  Very clearly.  She will never forget what she has done, and how it has made her what she is today.”

	The chamber music, which had been played throughout the meal, quietly came to a stop.

	Forrester furrowed his brow, and then took the photograph and replaced it in the file.  Retrieving the album from me, he got up, and put both of them back where they came from.

	“We shall take our coffee in the Music Room, Number Four.  Have the full orchestra present in five minutes.”

	He assisted first Beta, and then myself, out of our chairs, and led us down the hall, as the slaves cleared the last of the plates, and extinguished the candles.  I could hear Omega whimpering and crying as the dining room doors were closed behind us.

*****

	The walk down the hallway was carried out in silence, save for the click of hooves and heels against the marble floor.  Looking up ahead, though, I could see a number of the slaves filing into the Music Room, some of whom I recognized and some of whom I didn’t.
        	Turning into the room, I stopped at the doorway, awestruck.
        	The far wall, the one opposite the door to the Music Room, was yet more glass.  The lawn and gardens outside were lit by dozens of soft, glowing glass spheres that I hadn’t noticed during the day, giving a vivid splash of colour in the background.
        	In front of the window, on a raised platform, stood row upon row of seats on tiers.  What seemed like the entire complement of slaves in the house were seated, each with an instrument in front of them.  There must have been nearly eighty seated there, staring straight ahead, muzzles expressionless masks while they tuned their instruments.
        	The floor was highly polished parquet, and there were a few isolated plush sofas that faced the orchestra from some distance.  In between, there was a broad space that must have served as a dance floor.
        	But what really stopped me in my tracks was against the right-paw wall.
        	It was an electric organ, one of the biggest I had ever seen, and I’d been at Radio City and the Roxy any number of times.  Massive, shining brass pipes, some as thick as battleship cannon, some as slender as a reed, stretched from the console skyward.  And I’m not joking.  Those pipes were easily three stories tall, so big there was a glass dome above to take it all, lit by rings of small white lights.
        	The console itself was glowing, the light from it fading and getting brighter.  The light was synced up to what Forrester called the Control Melody.  You could hear it more clearly in this room than in any of the other rooms I’d been in.  The keys, dials and levers of the organ were all lit softly from a lamp hanging above the console.
        	“Magnificent.”
        	“Ah.  You have a keen eye, Miss Hunter.”  Forrester had padded over to where I was standing, probably slack-jawed and glassy-eyed.  “It is quite different from what you are used to, is it not?”
        	“I…I’ve felt it.”
        	“Hmm?”
        	“The music.  When you play it every so often.  It’s how you give orders to your slaves, isn’t it?”
        	“Quite so.”
        	“It’s…it’s like a code machine.  That’s how you do it.  You’ve got a stereotyped opening for each slave, like a “to” line in a memo.  That’s why what you played when I was going down to the tailor’s, and what you played just before my clothes were delivered…that’s why they started off the same.  You were addressing the tailor, and then giving him instructions.”
        	Now, the obvious question is: how the hell did I know this?  I wouldn’t know a code machine from an Underwood.  But going on what I’d known, and what I’d seen and heard…and just looking at the machine, I felt it.  I could even feel it through my shoes, beneath me.  I could feel it inside my body, inside my head.
        	Forrester strode over to the console.  He placed his paws over the keys, and played a series of notes.  Number Eleven, the tailor, lifted his head and turned it toward the organ.  A short series of notes were played, and the beaver set aside his oboe, stood up, and bowed to me.  He then sat down, and readied his oboe again.
        	Yes!  I was right!  It’s so simple!
        	“Bravo, Miss Hunter.  You are very sensitive.”
        	It took me a bit to realize he was talking to me.  “That’s how I fly a plane.  You have to listen to the engines, the way the engines sound.  After a while, you can tell if an engine is out of tune, or if it needs oil, or if it’s about to fail.  It becomes second nature.  You don’t even have to think about it.”
        	My host’s voice dropped to a whisper.  “Intriguing.  And yet, perfectly logical.”
        	I managed to turn away from the console, and its softly fading and glowing lights.
        	“Oh!  I’m sorry, you must have had some other reason for bringing me here.”
        	“Indeed, Miss Hunter.  Shall we dance?”
        	I looked at him.  He bowed to me, and offered me a paw.  A quick glance over at Beta, who was seated on the sofa, showed the surprise, hurt and anger in her eyes.  I was clearly treading on her turf, and both of us knew it.
        	“Come now, you are my guest.  It is your privilege to have the first dance of the evening.  What do you wish?”
        	I looked down at myself.  I sure wasn’t dressed for the Roseland Ballroom.  Daddy would have known the answer, of course.  He sent me to charm school to learn good posture, how to set a table, and how to dance.  I could even hear his voice.
        	No young femme should go through life without knowing how to waltz.
       	But the other boys step on my feet.  Why do I have to learn it, Daddy?
        	You’ll find out when the time comes, kitten.  Those mels won’t always be awkward.
Daddy was a Wall Street lawyer.  He had all the answers, and damned if he wasn’t right again.
        	“A waltz, please.”
        	This was met with a broad smile.  Turning to the orchestra, he gave a simple command:
        	“Lava-Ströme, Opus 74.”
        	With that, he held me, and we started to dance to an explosion of music.  Forrester was evidently well-trained.  I didn’t even have to think about the steps.  They simply happened.  Or so it seemed to me, anyway.
        	Superb!  To think that such an orchestra exists here, and for one’s own amusement!
        	It’s funny.  Even when I’ve danced with good-looking mels to the beat of a really hot swing band, I’d never been caught up in the moment.  Forrester knew his stuff.  Host with the most.
        	“Miss Hunter?”
        	Oh.  The music.  It had stopped.  I was standing in the middle of the dance floor..  Forrester was looking over me with an amused expression.  More slack-jawed wonder.  Very swift, Allie.  Way to show your sophistication.
        	“I…need to sit down, Mr. Forrester.”
        	“Of course, Miss Hunter.  You are obviously moved by the music.”
        	In ways that I couldn’t begin to describe.  I had to find the sofa with a shaking paw.
        	“Beta, will you have this dance with me?”
        	There was a long silence, and I looked over.  Beta had not moved from her sofa, and she had her paws firmly in her lap.
        	“I am sorry, Beta, I must not have spoken clearly.  Please have this dance with me.”
        	Beta was staring straight head.
        	“Beta, do not be stubborn.  Come here.”
        	No movement.
        	Forrester put his paws behind his back and frowned.  “Beta, come here at once.  I command it.”
        	The rabbit looked up briefly, as if acknowledging the order, but stayed seated.
        	“I am growing impatient with you, Beta.  This is no way to act in front of a guest.  I command you to come.”
        	Beta folded her paws across her chest.
        	“Command 7246.”
        	Beta stood straight up, and then fell to her knees, her lepine ears flattening.  Her eyes quivered, but held steady.
        	“Command 7246.”
        	She began to shake and she threw back her shoulders, but she still didn’t move.  Forrester drew in his breath.
        	“Command 7246.”
        	With a gasp, Beta staggered to her feet.
        	“Master!”
        	She stumbled over to where the deer stood.
        	“You embarrass me, Beta.  I am greatly displeased.  Begone.  We shall discuss this in the Day Room tomorrow morning.”
        	“Master…”
        	“I hear you, Beta.  But we shall discuss this tomorrow.  Until then.”
        	Beta turned away from her master, and padded softly from the room.  I think it was the first time I’d seen her anything but proud.
        	Forrester walked over to the console, and played a few short notes.  The orchestra members put away their instruments and filed out.  In a few minutes, we were all alone.
        	“You played the dismissal.  Please, I’m sorry, Mr. Forrester.  I didn’t mean to upset Beta and…”
        	Forrester held up a paw.  “Your conduct has been without reproach, Miss Hunter.  I am sure your family would have been pleased.  I am pleased.”
        	Wonderful!
        	Yeah, but…why do I feel like that?
        	Call it the gear-jockey in me, but I couldn’t stop looking at the console.
        	“What do those pipes, the ones leading down to the floor, do?”
        	“Ah!  Those lead down to the Babbage Engine and the Tesla Sphere.  Come, have a look.”
        	There was a trap door in the floor, and Forrester turned on a worklight and lifted the panel.  Peering down, I could see that the pipes ran down the wall, and then connected to some tall brass boxes.  The boxes had glass fronts, and inside, I could see huge steel gears turning slowly, surrounded by smaller steel gears and flywheels.  From the top of the box, thin glowing wires that pulsed like the console snaked away to the ceiling.  I could see all of this clearly, because there was a large blue, spinning globe that cast a brilliant light.
        	Hey!  I wonder if I could rig one of those up in a plane!
        	A paw was laid gently on my shoulder.  “Do be careful how far you lean in.  And mind your dress.”
        	Oh.  Yeah.  More sophistication from the great Allie.  Good thing there wasn’t a wrench to paw, I’d have been down there taking things apart to see how they work.
        	“You have never seen a Babbage Engine?”
        	“Not like that, no.  How small can you make one of those…what is it, Tesla Sphere, you said?”
        	“Oh, one as small as an orange will power a motor car.  Though a dampener would be required.  Knowledge from a failed experiment that I saw earlier this year.  Not far off shore, you will find a rather damp Dusenberg.  My colleague was frightfully upset by the matter.  It’s very hard to get a quality Tesla Sphere that small.   $2 million, and that’s if you can find the materials.  But I disappoint you.”
        	“No, no.  I’m just, well...”
        	“You are intrigued by machinery.  And, I think, have an innate grasp of their mysteries.  Here, come and have a seat at the console.  Don’t be afraid.  Come.  There.”
        	“This brings back memories.  There’s even a metronome.”
        	“Sentimentality on my part.”  He set it in motion.  “I promise I won’t rap your knuckles.”
        	I looked at the various layers of keys, and the multiple pedals and knobs.  They bore labels, all right, but most of them were abstract symbols.
        	“You hesitate.”
        	I looked up at Forrester.  He was looking at me keenly through his tinted goggles.
        	“Something I was taught in flying school.  If you don’t know how a machine works, don’t operate it.  This…well, it’s hooked up to everything and everyfur in the mansion, isn’t it?”
        	“All but two, Miss Hunter.  The two of us.”
        	I paused again.
        	Go on, a few bars won’t hurt you.
        	“You’re afraid you might hurt a slave, even accidentally.”
        	I nodded.  Couldn’t look him in the eye, even if it was the truth.  He put a paw on my shoulder.
        	“It is quite all right, Miss Hunter.  It is a just motive.  Will you move over, slightly?”
        	I did, and the buck sat down next to me.  I could feel his bulk a fraction of inch from me.  He flicked a few switches, and placed his paws on the console.
        	The massive pipe system, far from deafening me, produced a soft thrumming noise.  It took only a few bars to recognize the tune.
        	“Tea for Two.” 
        	Somewhere, a Red Sox fan is screaming.
        	Forrester had such a delicate touch.  He hardly seemed to press down on the keys, and they sprang to life.  A mere flex of the knee, and the pedals did his bidding.  No hesitation, no pauses. 
        	No missed notes.
        	The last time I’d felt this way was a party I was at, where a fur passed around some rare old cognac.  Funny, though.  The music went straight to my head, and not anywhere else. 
        	It was gentle and warm, and I could feel my body relax.  My brain was whirring.  I could even see the notes spinning in front of me.  How…that’s it.  Just like the news “zipper” on the Times Building.  One note after another, following in logical progression. 
        	Naturally.  Logical.  Orderly.  Unlike so much.  Too much.
As the notes died away, I opened my eyes.  I was holding out my paws just as my piano teacher had taught me years ago.  Old reflex action.  Very old, I hadn’t done that in years.
        	My host smiled, and flipped the switches again.  Soon, the only sound was the Control Melody murmuring in the background.
        	“I am glad, Miss Hunter, that you will able to join us for dinner tomorrow night.  I have every reason to believe my companions will find you…fascinating.  As much as I do.”
        	Where I expected a blush, only a smile and a slight toss of the head-fur.
        	“Likewise, Mr. Forrester.  I have much to learn from you and your companions.”
        	Wait, what?
        	“Perhaps.  You will excuse me, Miss Hunter.  I must update my log books with some fresh data.”
        	“Of course, I would not dream of detaining you.  Tomorrow morning, then?”
       	“Indeed.”
        	We both got up, and I held out my paw.  Forrester kissed it, smiled, and then walked away, leaving the room.
        	I used the same paw he kissed to caress the gleaming metal and wood of the organ.  Warm to the touch, just as if it were alive and breathing.
        	No one had touched the biscuits left with the cheese and wine, so I took a few with me.  As I left, the room automatically darkened, leaving only the pulsing, living glow of the mighty instrument, watching me.

*****

	The little panel at the base of the stairs showed this it was about half-past ten.  Well, I didn’t want to find out if my gown would turn into rags.  No glass slippers, either.

	The lights had been turned off, except for some indirect lighting along the base of the wall.  From where I stood, far down the hall, I could see the Day Room.  Locked, I remembered.  Pity.  I wonder what Cranium Island looks like at night?

	It was actually pretty lonely, with the only sound being the Control Melody that I could hear.  I’d gotten a lot better at picking it out.  It was actually quite pleasant.  If I focused on it, I got a little burst of warmth.  And it was getting easier and easier to focus on it.

	I paused mid-way up the Grand Staircase, and looked up at the skylights.  It was amazing, the sheer amount of glass that Forrester had put in his mansion.  It cut against every stereotype of Mads that you see in the movies, with dark, gloomy mansions.  This place, on the other paw, was like a magnificent ocean liner, and I’ll bet the boys at Canard would absolutely kill for the chance to show off something like this.

	Was Forrester lonely?  He certainly let me talk a lot at dinner.  But he also talked a lot, and about things that would have gotten him sent up the river in a shot had he been home in Hartford.  Not even Daddy’s firm would have been able to get him off.

	But I knew a lot, now.  It’s like the Weimerarner Bros. pictures.  “She knows too much…take her…for a ride.”  That made me shiver all over.  I had to focus on the Melody to take the chill away.

	A party.  In a way, it sounds like fun.  And I have pretty things to wear, too.  Maybe if I’m nice, he won’t hurt me.

	Right?

	The top of the Grand Staircase was a little bit dark, so it took me a second to pick out the form that was there.  There, in the hallway corner, was a bright yellow eye-shine, catching the light from the skylight up and away.  There was probably only one fur that would be here at this hour, and crouched like that.

	“Hello, Omega.”

	Omega backed into the corner.  I could just make out that her hackles were up, but her teeth weren’t bared.  I crouched down a little.

	“It’s all right, I won’t yell at you.”

	Her ears flattened, and she turned her head a little away, but she could still see me quite clearly.

	I had the biscuits I’d taken from the Music Room in my paw, and I held out one.

	“Are you hungry, Omega?  Here…”

	I could definitely pick out an intake of breath, and her nostrils did flare.  She could see the biscuit, and smell it.  But she still didn’t go for it.

	“Look, it’s good.  See?”

	I broke off a corner and ate it in front of her.  She watched me swallow it, and lifted a paw from the floor, hesitantly.

	“I have a few of these.  Come on, it’s all right…”

	Omega raised her ears and swiveled them around, trying to detect any sounds other than the ones the two of us were making.   I guess she didn’t hear any, because she raised her paw slowly.  At the last second, she snatched the biscuit from my paw, and crammed it into her mouth, gobbling it.

	I waited until she was finished, and held out a second biscuit.  She didn’t sniff at this, but merely lifted a paw and looked at me.

	“Sure, you can have it.  It’s okeh.”

	The second biscuit went the way of the first, at speed.  I moved in a step or two closer, and offered a third biscuit.  This time, she didn’t grab it, but reached out for it.  I put it in her paw, and she closed her grasp.  This one went more slowly.

	“Last one, Omega, I’m sorry.  I wish I had brought more for you.”

	I was close enough to see Omega’s face now, and her eyes turned a little moist.  I handed her the biscuit, and she turned away from me while eating it.

	I reached out with my paw, and she started, suddenly.  I think it’s one of the few times in my life that I’ve seen real terror and fear in an anthrop.  It told me a lot about what she’d gone through.  I had mixed emotions.  Even if everything that Forrester had told me was true about her past – and let’s face it, the Soviet Secret Police isn’t like our guys back home with their silly campaign hats and white gloves – it seemed a pretty miserable existence.  Not just going around with nothing on but a collar, and a slave collar at that, but being bullied by even another slave, like I’d seen that morning in the Day Room, when Omega had been yanked out by her collar.  It didn’t take much to imagine what had prompted the yelps I’d heard.

	I’d known a lot of types like that, having gone to boarding school and Radcliffe.  Give somefur on the low end of the totem pole a little power, and just watch what happens to those at the bottom.  Beta probably takes everything she gets, whatever humiliation she feels, and gives it to Omega, probably in spades.

	Don’t get me wrong.  Sob-sister stuff bores me stiff.  But you know, I hated those little bitches that I saw swaggering around, and whacking furs from lower forms with hockey sticks just because they could.  Beta was starting to remind me of them, down to the nasty little glares and petty jealousy.  What would she have thought of me giving Omega a little sympathy and comfort?

	Who cares?

	I didn’t move my paw,  just held it there.  Omega, after looking at the paw, realized it wasn’t going to reach out and slap her, or grab her collar and yank.  She didn’t move a muscle when my paw stretched out slowly, and reached for her headfur and ears.

	And stroked them.

	God only knows when was the last time she had had that feeling.  My guess was between Beta, Forrester and her ex-employers, it had been years, and pretty hellish ones at that.  This place had more marble, brass and mahogany, but it was still a Lubianka for all that.

	Omega closed her eyes as I moved my paw.  She leaned in a little, trying to get everything she could out of it.  Sort of like a fur dying of thirst lapping up every drop.  It may have been only two or three minutes out of my evening, but who knows how long it felt for her?

	I got up, and moved toward my room.  Looking back after a few steps, I could see Omega looking at me.  She was, of course, on all fours, with one paw slightly in the air, as if she wanted to take a step toward me, but was hesitating.  I stopped, and waited.

	Omega put her paw down, and crawled a step.

	I continued to wait, and she crawled another step.  Only when she was at my heels, did I start walking again, slowly, so she could keep up.

	Thirty-Four A and Thirty-Four B were seated patiently in my room when I entered.  They stood, and curtsied to me.  If they noticed Omega, or were able to notice her, they didn’t give any evidence of it.

	Thirty-Four B went to heat some water, and I stood in front of Thirty-Four A, who began to unzip my dress and remove it.  I looked over and saw Omega, who was all curiousity, head tilted and ears perked.  That caused a blush, from ear tip down to throat.  I started to cover myself.  Omega lowered her head on her paws and closed her eyes.  

	Which proved that perhaps the borders of her conditioning were a bit elastic…or had never been tried.

	Thirty-Four A removed the rest of my things, and I was given a sponge-bath by Thirty-Four B, which actually felt very nice.  God, how many nights I wish I had had this, after dealing with some damn infernal THING out of Pratt & Whitney.

	Of course, listening to the Control Melody in the background helped, too.  I was as warm on the inside from that, as the sponge bath from the outside.  I barely noticed as one of the Thirty-Fours slipped my negligee on, and the other started brushing my head-fur.

	I was feeling very good when I opened my eyes, so when I saw that Omega was still lying on the hard floor (but peeking with one eye), I could do only one thing: I laughed.

	“Thirty-Four A, fetch two spare blankets and a spare pillow, and spread them on the floor there.”

	Omega looked up, startled, to hear that.  Thirty-Four A merely curtsied, left the room, and returned a minute later with the things I had ordered.  She spread them mechanically.  Maybe she thought I was going to sleep there, I don’t know.

	The two setters stood, paws folded in front of them, feathery tails swishing slowly.

	“Thank you.  Your work was satisfactory.  You are dismissed.”

	Say…hunh?  I don’t think Mom ever talked like that, and we did have a maid or two…

	The two curtsied in unison, and left, closing the door behind them.

	Omega had gathered the blankets about, making a sort of bunched nest.  Her neck was slightly stretched out and rested on the pillow.

	The bed itself was quite inviting, having been turned down just so.  I thought about reading a little more Wodechuck, but the evening had been a pretty eventful one.  I kept coming back to the point where I was sitting next to Forrester while he played the organ.

	Beautiful, delicate fingers.  And how they moved across the keys so gently, pressing softly…

	I realized Omega had lifted her head, and was staring at me curiously.   I thought it best to reach my paw out toward the small sphere that was shedding light.  Just as I reached it, it slowly faded, putting the room in soft darkness.

	“Good night, Omega.  Sleep well.”

*****
MOVEMENT THIRD:  Insistendo
        	I’ll be honest with you.  When I have a day off, you can’t get me out of bed before early afternoon even if you have a crowbar and nitro.  Being a plane jockey takes a lot out of you, especially when you have to be up at all sorts of insane hours of the morning to file flight plans and such, or staggering in from a late night with an engine that seems hell-bent on making your life miserable.
        	So:  I’m in a beautiful mansion, with a wonderfully soft bed, and a staff of furs that I’m actually allowed to make requests of.  I don’t have to lift a toe-claw if I don’t want to.  Question for you.  Where am I, then, at about six-thirty in the morning?
        	Doing brisk laps in the pool, that’s what I’m doing.
        	But I’m slightly ahead of myself.  I didn’t even have any sort of alarm clock, and no servant woke me up.  My eyes simply snapped open.  And I had a feeling that normally takes me at least four cups of coffee and my first two cigarettes of the day to achieve.
        	And that’s another thing.  I’d been without a smoke for a few days now…I realized it when I was getting up.  My response?
        	Boy, I'd kill for a Lucky, right now. 
        	Sticking burning leaves in your mouth?  Primitive and childish.  Only a fool or the weak-minded could believe that was sophistication.  Manipulation by small-minded furs of no importance on Madison Avenue.
        	But I want a smoke.
        	Nothing of the sort.  Filthy.  You are not having one.
        	My footpads hit the floor with a bounce, and I was on the point of clapping my paws, when I caught myself.  Okeh, that was taking things a bit far.  I don’t know what kind of hours my maids kept, but it was pretty early.  A quick glance at the panel on the wall told me it was 6.24.
	The spot where Omega had been was empty.  She must have left, or had been summoned.  Or maybe she was just an earlier riser.
	Hrmph.  Middle-class sentimentality.
        	Near the flower bowls, there was a small silver bell, like you see on hotel front desks.  I put paw to bell, and gave it two brisk rings.
        	Clapping paws.  Really.  Vulgar and shallow.  You have seen entirely too many bad cinema pictures.
        	But how else was I supposed to…? 
          	By using your brains, woman.
        	Thirty-Five A and Thirty-Five B came padding in.  I needn’t have worried.  They looked as fresh and unhurried as when I had dismissed them the night before.
        	“I desire a swim this morning.  Please…”
        	A slight difference.  Instead of staring straight ahead when I talked to them (or at the floor when I first saw Number Four), they now stared straight at me.  Or through me, perhaps more accurately.  Another difference: unlike when I had first come to, and had asked Number Four to draw my bath, they seemed to anticipate what I was going to ask.  A little strange, until I realized the obvious answer that they had received their musical marching orders at some point or another, while I was asleep.
        	Sleep.  I don’t know when I’d last had a sleep like I had just had.  A good, deep one, untroubled by anything.  No crick in the neck from sleeping funny on a beaten-up sofa in some rat-hole of an airport in the sticks, and no having to sleep in a funny position on a Murphy bed.
	Ugh.  I request that you cease these HORRID descriptions.
        	Thirty-Four B undressed me, while Thirty-Four A held out a very thick cotton robe for me to slip into.  There followed a procession down the Grand Staircase to the natatorium.
        	I had the pool, a very large one, all to myself.  It had been a long time since I had had a good, long swim, but soon I was doing laps like I used to as a kitten, back and forth across the length of the pool.  And I wasn’t even getting tired.  I had a good rhythm in my head, which translated into my stroke.  I got out of the pool with as much energy as I had had going in.
        	I also had an audience.  Beta was standing stiffly at attention in the doorway, watching me intently as A and B toweled me off and helped me into my robe.
        	“Good morning, Beta.  Are you well this morning?”
        	I gave her a look square in the eyes.  I did mean the question, as I was starting to get pretty interested as to how Beta was feeling.  Beta merely swiveled her ears, turned right around like a Guards soldier, and marched off.
        	Gee, she seems awfully sore.  I wonder if I should...
        	Impertinent little hussy.  Putting on airs far above her station.  Ignore her.
        	I’d tried that at boarding school.  Didn’t always work.
	When I was back at my dressing table, I selected something nice and conservative in a skirt-suit, something suitable for chewing up Josslyn Buckhorn and spitting out the bones.  While B was combing my head-fur, and A was putting on my shoes, the sun was coming through the window.  It seemed like an excellent day to have breakfast out of doors.  Which I did.
        	A light breeze and a mild sun makes an excellent side-dish.  When I was offered my menu by one of the furs in the dining room, I merely pointed out of doors, and in a few minutes, I could enjoy a broad vista from a terrace overlooking the garden, behind the glass end of the dining room.  If I turned my head, I could even see one of the fishing boats at work not too far away, sliding along on a glassy ocean just barely rippled.  With my maids in attendance, all was proper and correct.
        	The French door to the dining room opened, and Forrester joined me.  A fur poured him a cup of coffee.
        	“I am sorry for the trouble, Mr. Forrester, but it would seem sinful not to enjoy the weather.”
        	He sipped at his coffee, which must have looked like wine through his goggles.  “I quite understand, Miss Hunter.”  He gave me a long, searching look, up and down.  Which felt both flattering and marvelous.  “You seem in fine fettle this morning.”
        	“I’m in a mood to show Tesla a thing or two about broadcast power.”
        	An amused eyebrow raise.  “We already have that.”
        	“Hrmph.  I’ll take on your machines, and spot them two megawatts.  Any takers?”
        	“I dare not bet, Miss Hunter, given the evidence before my eyes.  The Island…it agrees with you?”
        	“It’s either the setting…or the host.”
        	There was a long pause, while Forrester considered what I said.  I also considered what I said. 
        	What the hell am I thinking?
        	You are being polite and flattering to your host.  It is called manners.  Little wonder you do not recognize it, with all of those horrid mechanics you swap filthy jokes with.
        	I think it's something else.
        	Nothing of the sort.  Now sit up straight and smile at him.
        	“I get very few chances, Miss Hunter, to have such convivial company for an extended period.  Society here on the Island tends to be a hit-or-miss affair, as many of my colleagues are often busy with…well, their own projects.”
        	“Ah, but you have a party tonight, of course.”
        	“Indeed.”
        	“I’m very much looking forward to it.  Who is on the guest list?  Other than myself, of course.”
        	“Hmm?  Oh, well, there’s the Freiherr von *&^%$$”  Here, Forrester made a series of clicking and whistling sounds.  “Marvelous fellow, experimenting with echo-location devices.  Then there’s Brother Dominic, the botanist from the monastery.  Ah, you can even see it this morning, over there.”  He pointed to a large, dust-coloured building hugging a hillside some distance away.  “Normally the mists hide things.  Hmm.  Oh, yes, Doctor Maldemort.  He’s rather new to Society, he moved here with his clinic about two years ago, but he’s already made a name for himself as a surgeon.  Wonderful fur for a trepanning.  And lastly, there’s Carmelita.  Herbalist by profession, mage by choice.”
        	“A mage?  How unusual.”
        	“Oh, yes.  Don’t let her fool you with her little tricks.  She only does that to make fun of Freiherr von *&^%$$, who has views on the eldritch.  I, personally, think he should broaden his mind on the subject.  Carmelita makes a particular study of the effect of herbs on fur-tone.  Try not to let Brother Dominic and Carmelita dominate the conversation, as they usually do.”
        	I had no idea how I would even be able to get an intelligent word in edge-wise, let alone stop two obviously intelligent furs from having a good, old-fashioned academic argument, but I let it pass for the moment.
	Nonsense.  Be yourself.
	I’m starting to wonder if that’s possible.
	Impertinent.
        	“Is there anything I can do to help for the dinner party preparations, Mr. Forrester?”
        	He seemed slightly startled by the question.
        	“Oh…oh, no, Miss Hunter.  Beta has those well in paw.  She has handled these before, and she is, after all, the hostess.”
        	“Ah.  Well, I don’t wish to step on any feet, then.”
        	Forrester gave me a long, searching look.  “You misunderstand, Miss Hunter.  Your initiative and energy are…highly praiseworthy.  They are noted.”
        	“It’s the fresh air.  Or maybe the bed.”
        	Forrester pondered that, and nodded.
        	“You’re certain, Mr. Forrester?”  Something inside me asked why I was smiling and swishing my tail when I said this.
        	Could I be ANY more…
       	 If you interrupt again, I will punish you severely.  Silence.
        	Another long pause, while Forrester had his cup refilled.  “I will check if Beta overlooks anything.  But Miss Hunter, do enjoy such a beautiful day.  We get so few days like today.  I do not blame you for having such vitality.  Indeed, the way you look this morning, only a fool would bet against you in your match with a Tesla device.”
        	Forrester bowed, and strode inside the mansion, pausing only briefly to give me a sidelong glance at the doorway.
        	I was watching the gardeners at work down below when there was a shuffling noise.  Peering out from behind a large planter was one grey ear, folded down, and one worried yellow eye.
        	“Omega.  Come.”
        	The head vanished in an instant.
        	“Omega.  Do come.  Have some breakfast.”
        	With some hurried looks from side to side, Omega slipped rapidly to where she was next to the table, but couldn’t be seen from the house.  She looked rather expectantly at the table, then me, and then at the table again.
        	A spoonful of strawberry jam on a toast-point vanished quite quickly, followed by another.  A saucer of milky tea did likewise.
        	My reward, such as it was, was Omega curling up in the sun, next to my shoes.
        	Spoiling a slave?  Really.
        	Lookit, it isn't right to treat her like Beta has been doing.
        	It is.  She is an inferior.  Very well, if you insist on this sentimental nonsense, I suppose it is your lookout.
        	You bet it is, sister.
        	I was lost in thought when I heard a short, sharp hissing noise.  Omega had heard it first, and was off like a shot out of the terrace.  Standing opposite me was Beta, who looked like she threw something on, and almost missed.
        	I took the last bit of toast, and spread some honey on it.  I nibbled at it, wiped my paws on a damask napkin, and smiled at her serenely.
        	Beta quivered, and then reached out with both paws.  In an instant, there was a sound of smashing china and glassware and clattering silver as the table went over with a crash. 
        	“Ah.  You seem to have much energy this morning, Beta.  I am sure your planning for the party will be…exceptional?”
        	Another little smile was bestowed upon my friend as her eyes widened, and her breathing staggered.  Luckily for me, at that moment, there was a sound of organ music from inside the mansion, a short, brief burst.
        	Beta remained rooted in her spot, flexing the fingers on her paws.
        	The music repeated itself, louder.  Much louder.
        	Beta looked to me, the house, and then at me again.  She hissed again, with a hint of a sneer.
        	“Mistress.”
        	And then stalked off.
	Forrester was wrong.  She knows two words.
        	You shouldn’t treat your hostess like that. 
       	 What of it?  A slave is a slave, no matter the title.  I am a free fur, and her superior.  In every way.
        	“Thirty-Five A and Thirty-Five B.  There is a mess here.  Put things straight.”
        	My maids gave me a curtsey, and complied instantly.

*****

	“Mr. Forrester – 

	I recall that you had invited me to make use of one of the staff to dress my head-fur, and I intend to enjoy the offer of that hospitality.  If it is not an imposition, can you tell me if there is a fur trained in massage as well?  If so, where would be the best place to make such arrangements?

	Thanking you in advance for the consideration you are showing, I am

Yours,

Alatheia”

	“Miss Hunter –

	Your request is by no means an imposition.  Number Eighty-Seven has been trained in massage, and I shall have him report to the Day Room after Twelve has finished dressing your head-fur.

	I shall make some additional arrangements that I view as appropriate for your needs.  I remain

Your obedient servant,

LDF”

	Among other things, the “additional arrangements” included a tod-fox playing the piano at one end of the Day Room.  It competed quite admirably with the strength of the musteline paws on my back and shoulders for relaxation and pleasure.

	The weather, for its part, continued to cooperate, flooding the Day Room, through its glass walls, with a bath of sunshine.  If I chose to open my eyes, which I did occasionally, I was met with a vast swath of cobalt-blue sea.

	Put together, it was as if every cell of my being was being taken apart, polished, and put back into place in the correct order.  I was starting to think that the stories I had heard about Cranium Island were grossly exaggerated…or perhaps spread in an effort to keep the hoi polloi out.  If the latter, I readily understood and was in complete agreement with the policy.

	I stretched out a paw, and broke off a small piece of cheese from the platter of cheddar and fruit that had been brought after the head-fur treatment.  I brought my paw down toward the floor, and it was met with a nibble careful not to nip my fingers.

	Omega’s head emerged slightly.  She was still in the habit of hiding, this time under the massage table, but it was easy to get her to come out.  I ordered Twelve to give Omega’s head-fur a rinse and shampoo, and one of the Thirty-Fours, at my request, had brought down a long loop of black silk material.  There was little material, but wound criss-cross twice, it restored to her at least a modicum of modesty.  Judging from the way she held her tail, her morale was improving.  I was glad to see a happy, friendly face.

	The fact that in all likelihood it would make that lepine bitch furious?  A pleasing bonus.

	The tod at the piano (I recognized him from the orchestra the night before) was not only well-trained, he was widely trained.  Most of what he played was light classical pieces, but right now, he was playing some Scott Joplin (“Bink’s Waltz,” to be exact) that was harmonizing delightfully with the Control Melody.

	As for the mink, he had finally located an errant tight muscle just above my tail base, and some expert pressure from a thumb was finally teaching it a lesson.

	A click of claws indicated that Omega had emerged from her hiding place, and she padded around the table, circling it once, before stopping at the head of the table, facing me.  It required a good rinse (it may have been two) to show that she actually had rather pleasant blonde head-fur, which contrasted nicely with her salt-and-pepper fur.  She was watching my masseur move his paws around my ribcage and sides.  With great interest.

	“Do have a bit more of the cheese, Omega.  I have to fit into my dress tonight.”

	Omega looked from side to side, seeing if any fur was looking.  I palmed a decent-sized morsel, and held it out.  She stuck out her tongue, and gently retrieved it from my paw.  It was obviously good cheddar, since she licked her lips, and her tail was wagging slowly.

	The mink had just finished, when there was a padding outside, and the doors to the Day Room opened at a brisk command.  The piano player stopped, and I could see out of the corner of my eye that the mink had come to attention.

	“Good afternoon, Mr. Forrester.”

	“Ah.  Good afternoon, Miss Hunter.  I beg your pardon, I have interrupted you.  I shall…”

	“Oh, no!  Please don’t go.  I have seen so little of you, Mr. Forrester.  Please, if you can spare a few minutes.”

	There was a bit of silence, and then I could see a pair of hooves cross my vision, as the buck fetched a chair.  The mink left the room, but the tod resumed playing.

	Omega, for her part, looked fearful.  I reached down and stroked her ears, which made her lie down quietly, eyeing her master.

	I sat up, and carefully held my towel against me.

	“I regret to say, Miss Hunter, that I am experiencing…difficulties…in arranging for your transportation off the island.”

	“Oh?”

	“Yes.  I am sorry for that, I realize you wish to get on with your job, and that being cut off is an imposition on you.”

	I smiled and tossed my head-fur, which incidentally showed off the fact that Twelve’s skill with hot-oil treatments was top-notch.

	“But Mr. Forrester, surely any imposition is on you.  After all, you and your staff must take time out to attend to my needs.”

	Forrester shook his head, and raised his paw.  “Really, the household is designed to accommodate far more furs than are usually present.  In any event, the slaves do not notice any additional burdens.”

	He paused, and looked down where Omega was crouched.

	“It would appear, indeed, that some have benefited from your presence.”

	“I’m sorry if that upsets the routine of the house, Mr. Forrester.”

	“No, no.  Omega plays no part in the running of the household.  Her condition is largely irrelevant to me.”

	Omega dipped her tail, and slunk under the table at that.

	“Well, if I have not mentioned it before, Mr. Forrester, I would like to say that I find this house wonderfully run.  It’s like…well, an orchestra.”

	Forrester gave me a dry smile.  “I take it that choice of words was deliberate.”

	I adjusted my towel slightly, and swished my tail.  “Of course it is.  Will the orchestra be playing tonight?”

	“I have not seen Beta’s final preparations for the party.”

	“Ah.  How are they going?”

	“Beta seems to be pursuing them with great vigour, even more so than usual.  I find that…interesting.”

	Another toss of my headfur.  Forrester moved his head slightly, so I know he was watching the way it moved.

	“She clearly wishes to impress me with her skill.  It is quite obvious that she has the talent for it.”

	“Hmmm.  Yes.”

	My towel slipped slightly, but I caught it in good enough time.  “Your work must require keen vision in the dark.”

	“Ah.  You know of such matters?”

	“I’ve worn goggles like that for night-flying.  Makes it easier to adjust to dim light.”

	“You are correct.  I choose to work in the dark, because my work involves very special frequencies.”

	“Compensation?”

	“Precisely.”  He tilted his head slightly.  “Forgive my poor memory, Miss Hunter, but what did you say your education was?”

	“Engineering and Fine Arts.”

	“You seem to have a quick grasp of concepts.  Most surprising for an outsider, if you will forgive my calling you that.”

	I gave him a warm smile.   “How flattering of you to say so, Mr. Forrester.  It would be very hard to maintain a conversation at your level, I would imagine.”

	My host made a tent of fingers in front of his nose, and thought.

	“My opportunities for conversation are fairly limited, Miss Hunter, so perhaps I am not the best judge.  I will say, however, that you are showing me things that greatly intrigue me.”

	That earned him another warm smile.  I hoped the comment was double-edged.  “Well, perhaps it’s all as well that I shall be here a little while longer.  I know that I am having a wonderful time, and if there is anything you would like of me in return, Mr. Forrester, you merely have to name it.”

	There was a long pause after this.  I wondered if I had taken things a bit too far.

	But no, he merely got up and bowed to me.

	“A pity I do not know your family, Miss Hunter.  I was raised in a culture that placed a high value on manners.  Any training you received in those arts were very obviously taken to heart.  It would be interesting to see how this developed.”

	He took a few steps toward the door.

	“And, perhaps, whether it is a predictor.”

	The doors clicked open at his vocal command.

	“I shall see you for cocktails at 7.30, of course.”

	“Of course, Mr. Forrester.  Until then.”

	“Until then, Miss Hunter.”

	The doors moved silently behind him, gently closing.  For my part, it was rather more than the sun and the massage that was making me tingle.  I dismissed the tod at the piano, thanking him, and then called for my companion as I shrugged on a silk robe.

	“Come, Omega.  I want to visit the library.  There’s a little reading I would like to do for tonight.”

	Omega perked her ears, and trotted after me obediently.  The doors clicked open for me…

	…and revealed Beta, dressed in a skirt suit.  Very tasteful.

	“Ah.  The fur of business this afternoon, Beta.”

	Beta glared at me, and then looked down at Omega, and her eyes widened.  The wolfess, for her part, looked own at herself and realized that, in all probability, Beta considered her overdressed.  Probably an accurate guess, as an angry brown paw reached out for Omega and her collar.

	I stepped slightly to the side, blocking Beta.  

	“Yes?”

	Beta stepped slightly to the side to get at Omega again, and I matched her.

	“I would think, Beta, that you have other tasks on your mind.  Such a busy evening in store.  I, of course, look forward to seeing a demonstration of your perfection in these matters.  For now, some light reading.  Omega is with me, of course.  You will not be needing her, I presume?”

	I looked her right in the eye, and unsheathed my claws very subtly.  Beta got the message, and didn’t like it one bit.

	“Until 7.30, then.  You will be on time, won’t you?  Don’t be late.  Come, Omega.”

	Omega gave a fearful glance at Beta, and kept very close to my heels.  I hated to turn my back on my hostess, but I wasn’t going to show one ounce of fear to her.  That’s the only way to deal with those kinds of femmes.

*****

	The mephitess in the library was brisk and efficient, as one would expect from a fur in such a responsible position.  I was able to collect the pawful of textbooks, numbers of Jane’s Defence Weekly (showing that Forrester was well aware of the dangerous area he was in), and a few selected novels.

	One might ask what on Earth I was up to, but I did, in fact, have a plan, which involved cramming.  Rather like the oral exams I once had to take, in fact, though the stakes, in my view, were rather higher this time around (no matter what my father, the payer of tuition, would have said).

	Omega eyed the bed, and it was fairly obvious that she wanted to try it out.  I gave her the eye, and wagged a finger gently, which sufficed to remind her of her position.  However, she readily accepted a pile of blankets near my feet, and left me to my reading.

	Hmmm.  This is easier than I remembered.

	Yes, and if you had been intelligent, and not sampling the fleshpots of Boston, you would have done better.

	Hey, I made Dean’s List!

	By the skin of your teeth.  But I do concede your point: this seems familiar.  Or, at any event, logical on a quick skim.

	What the hell is this all about, anyway?

	Well, I’m sure that the Baron and the others aren’t interested in assorted, exciting tales of airframe corrosion or the like.

	You never know.

	I rather doubt it.  Now, please allow me to concentrate.

	I did have one eye on the clock, calculating when I would have to summon my maids to prepare me so that, as Mr. Forrester said, I would appear like a pilot, exactly on time.  It is elemental manners, in any event.

	There was a fairly constant buzz of orders being given by the organ, but it provided mere background, consisting as it did largely of last-second checks regarding the arrangements for the guests’ chauffeurs, progress on the menu, and so forth.

	Huh?

	Don’t be obtuse.  You said yourself at dinner last night how it worked, and that was correct.

	But…

	It’s really quite simple, but I am rather pre-occupied, and I do not have the time to explain things to you.  If you cannot keep up, remain silent.

	A glance at the panel told me that it was time to put away my preparation of one kind, and commence the other kind of preparation.  For what I had in mind, this would be of equal importance.

	I’ll bet.

	Desist.

	The Thirty-Fours, as before, drew some hot water and gave me a careful sponge-bath.  The bathroom door had been closed, but upon hearing some whining, I relented and let Omega come in and observe.

	Hey!

	What IS it?!

	Are you going to…you know…

	Pray do not bore me with your middle-class foibles.  In fact, you are boring me altogether.  

	But…hey, you were the who told me I was spoiling Omega, how come you’ve…

	Quiet.  Now.  I command it.

	A careful ration of scented talc, and then the undergarments.  Omega continued to watch over me, like a good wolf.  It was thus that she heard the pawsteps in the hall first.

	Luckily for her, it was merely one of the other members of the staff, who held out a velvet box and a note from my host.  I bade him to wait, and opened the box first.

	I gave a small gasp when I saw the contents.  It was a necklace of tasteful and elegant design, consisting largely of two thinly braided wires of gold that ran through a series of circular stones of varying sizes.  They were too big to be diamonds, but nevertheless they were faceted with obvious precision.  Quartz, from the feel, which was deliciously warm to the touch.

	“Miss Hunter –

	I take the decided liberty of requesting that you wear the enclosed necklace tonight.  One of my many interests is design, and from what I saw this afternoon in the Day Room, I believe that only you can do justice to this particular piece of worksfurship.  It is my own creation, crude as it is.

	One should never dictate to a femmefur what to wear for a party, but I hope you will excuse this lapse in the observation of (prudent) tradition for my sake.  I remain

Your obedient servant,

LDF”

	This required an immediate response.

	“Dear Mr. Forrester!

	I am THRILLED with both your taste and your thoughtfulness in allowing me to wear your creation.  If I give you one-tenth of the pleasure that you are giving me with this gesture, I will count myself very fortunate indeed.

Your obedient servant,

Alatheia”

The messenger, having been given the reply, was dismissed.

	“Look, Omega!  Isn’t it simply wonderful?”  I held the necklace up against myself for her inspection.

	Omega put her paw on my knee and sniffed at the necklace.  Her ears twitched, and then drooped a bit.  I stroked them.

	“Now, don’t be sad, Omega.  This is only because I am one of dear Mr. Forrester’s guests, I’m sure.  Come now, perk up your ears and tell me which dress will show it off best.”

	I went through the rack of dresses, and held them up against me for the inspection of both Omega and myself.  One of them made her tail wag.

	“What, the Prussian Blue?  Hmmm.  Well, it’s right for my hair…it’s right for my stockings…ah, and yes, it’s strapless.  Yes, that will show the necklace off delightfully.  Yes, I agree.”  I leaned down and gave Omega a smooch on the nose.

	Omega blinked, startled, and then seemed quite lost in her thoughts.  No matter.

	The Thirty-Fours helped me on with my dress and my shoes, but the privilege of putting on the Necklace I reserved for myself.  How right that wonderful buck was!  It did flatter me, and was not the slightest bit vulgar.  It was the finishing touch, and it made me excited and impatient to start the evening.  The last-minute brushing of my head-fur was accompanied by some very cheerful humming, indeed.

	“Thirty-Four A and Thirty-Four B, you may be dismissed for the evening, I shan’t need you later.  I am pleased with your service.”

	My maids gave their synchronized curtsey, and departed.

	“Omega, you may stay here.  And don’t be naughty and climb on the bed, hmmm?”

	Omega paid little attention to what I said, as she was lost in her own thoughts.  She did look at me once or twice, tilting her head.  Or, rather, she was looking at the Necklace.

	7.26 and thirty-five seconds.  Time for a stately entrance.

*****

MOVEMENT FOURTH: Molto espressione

	60 steps.  Take one every three seconds and…

	“Ah, good evening, Miss Hunter.”

	There was a small light-globe near the bottom of the stairs, and I paused near enough so that the Necklace caught the light.  My host could not have failed to notice it, and his smile was accompanied by a pair of flag-waves from his tail.

	Beta did her very best to control herself, especially since she sensed that Forrester was watching her closely.

	“Good evening, Beta.  You look very nice.”

	Truth be told, she did.  A green silk, off-the-shoulder dress with a circular gold brooch that matched her collar, down to the stone.

	It took her about a half-second too long to respond to my compliment, but any gesture on the buck’s part was probably cut short by the presence of the first guest.

	“Alatheia Hunter, may I present to you the Senior Mage Carmelita, of the Polydimensional Institute.”

	“How do you do.”

	Carmelita was dressed rather curiously for a Senior Mage.  In fact, a cow like her would not have been out of place in Greenwich Village.  She was dressed in a mannish pant-suit with a tie, and sported a rimless monocle in one eye.  She carried a long cigarette-holder in one paw, from which issued a thin stream of aromatic smoke.

	“Carmelita, this is Miss Hunter, the young lady I was telling you about.”

	Carmelita turned to me slowly, and pressed the side of her monocle, which changed color from clear to yellow.  She gave a slight bow.

	“Verrrrry charrrrrmed, Miss Hunterrrrr.  I am most interrrested to meet you.”

	She offered me her paw to shake, which I did.  Very business-like.  After examining me through her monocle from headfur to shoes, she gave another bow, and clicked her monocle back to clear.

	“Langforrrrrd, arrrrrrre the gentlefurrrrrs late, as usual?”

	“Now, Carmelita, you know how hard it is for Brother Dominic to get away from his duties.  There’s always something from his Abo at the last minute.”

	Carmelita gave an amused chuckle.  “You arrrrre always his defenderrr, Langforrrrrd.”

	At this point, the front door chimes sounded.  (Rich, mellow tones, beautifully tuned.  Very pleasing to hear.)  Number Four lumbered ponderously to the door, and opened it.

	Two of my fellow guests strolled in.  Or, rather, one canine bounded in and the other, a dolphin rolled in on rubberized tracks, contained in what appeared to be most of a diving suit, filled with circulating water that hissed and bubbled.

	“Ah!  Doctor Maldemort, Freiherr von *&^%$$!  Welcome!”  (Forrester put some extra effort into pronouncing his name.)

	The canine shrugged off his silk cloak with a flourish, and tossed both it and his silk hat, without a look, to Number Four.  Whether it was luck or training, Number Four caught both, and waddled to put them away.

	“Bon soir, mon chere, ma cherie!”  Dr. Maldemort, all smiles, bestowed two kisses each upon Forrester and Beta (Beta shooting me a little look of triumph), and offered a kiss to Carmelita.  She frowned.

	“Unhygenic.”

	“Ciel.  You have always the excuses.  Ah!  Oh?!  Who is this, whom you magically produce, my dear Forrester?”  The good doctor had noticed my presence, with both surprise and glee.

	“Eager as always, Doctor.”

	“Fewer comments, more introductions!”

	“If you insist, my eager friend.  Honore Maldemort, this is Miss Alatheia Hunter, a guest of the house.”

	He clicked his heels, and kissed my paw delightedly.

	“Ah, quelle bonne surprise!  I had no idea!  Enchante, mamzelle!”

	“A pleasure to meet you, Doctor.”

	“()^###+-%$@.”

	“Yes, the Baron says that he agrees with the Doctor.”  A series of pops, clicks and whistles were uttered by Forrester.  The machine rumbled up to the Grand Staircase, and a mechanical paw – there was one on the machine -- was ponderously extended.  I gently squeezed it, and the paw, which must have had very fine motor control, gently squeezed back.

	“(){**&]\@@.”

	Maldemort laughed.  “He says it is well that there is more than one seafood fancier for once.”

	I gave the Baron a warm smile, which he was able to see by twisting his head.  “I hope to keep you company on that score, Baron.  I am happy to meet you.”

	Carmelita waved her cigarette holder in the air and muttered something.  Two small glowing circles of smoke appeared.  “Hm.  Late as usual.”

	“Our carriage passed his wagon not far from here, Carmelita, he should be here very shortly.”

	The cow didn’t look convinced, but shrugged her shoulders.  “If he has not stopped to collect a specimen.”

	“Be that as it may.  Carmelita, Baron, Doctor…and Miss Hunter.  Shall we go to the library?”

	I joined the group, and looked at Beta out of the corner of my eye.  Beta shot me a glare filled with the kind of venom that might have afforded the Doctor scope for study.  It looks like two of us had noticed that the Baron had overlooked her.

	As with the previous night, the library had a bar set up, though this time, there seemed to be more implements, including a bubbling beaker suspended over a Bunsen burner.

	“Ladies first, hien?”

	“Of course.”  The buck turned to his two lady guests.

	I stepped back slightly, and nodded to Carmelita, who turned to Beta.

	“You have the materrrrials, yes?”

	Beta didn’t hide the look of triumph she shot at me, as she walked over, and opened a small jar of leaves.

	Which she then dropped on the floor.

	She froze for a moment, and then swallowed. Carmelita picked up the jar.

	“Therrrre arrrrre sufficient for one infusion, at least.”

	I saw that Beta’s ears were burning red, which is impossible to hide in her species.  The bartender took the jar, and began the careful application of hot water and spices.

	“Miss Hunter?”

	“I believe that is Veuve Cliquot, in the bucket?”

	Maldemort couldn’t restrain himself.  “Permettez-moi.  I should like the pleasure of making the opening myself.”

	“No cavalry sabre tonight, Doctor?”  “***&^%%%%$!”

	“Ecoutez, Baron.  It is not so dangerous as you think, the cavalryfur’s method.  Nevertheless, the conventional open it shall be.”

	The canine carefully scrutinized the bottle and the cork, and expertly opened it, with only a slight wisp of vapour.  With a flourish, he poured a glass and presented it to me.

	“Beta?  You wish a glass?”

	The rabbit nodded, and accepted her glass with a slightly shaking paw.  Maldemort poured a glass for himself, my host, and then carefully poured some champagne into a particular compartment of the Baron’s suit.

	As the bartender handed a small steaming cup to Carmelita, I raised my glass.

	“May I propose a toast?”

	“***^” “Certainly.” “Mais certainment.”  Carmelita tapped her monocle, which changed to violet.  Beta’s eyes flashed red.

	“Nam et ipsa scientia potestas est”

	The glasses and cup clinked.  The Baron bowed his head, and slowly clicked a few times.

	Beta, who was glaring at me, probably should have paid a little more attention, as a little of her champagne spilled onto her dress, leaving a small wet spot.  It was studiously and carefully ignored by the rest of us.

	The chimes from the front door sounded, releasing Beta from her awkwardness.  A few moments later, a cowled figure quietly padded into the room.

	“You need not remind me, Carmelita.  Yes, I am late, and yes, it is because I found a specimen of razor fungus not far from here.”

	Carmelita clicked her monocle back to clear, and gave a look of serene satisfaction to Forrester, who gently wagged a finger at her.

	“Good evening, Brother Dominic.  I am pleased you could take time out from your busy affairs.  Was it much trouble getting permission from Abo?”

	“No more than usual.  He thinks these parties decadent and worldly.  It takes much convincing to make him realize the need to exchange information.  Good evening, Beta.  Good evening, Doctor.  Ah, Baron, back from that test run, I see.  I want to speak with you, later, about some seaweed specimens I need.”

	The cowl turned to me.  From it protruded only a pink nose and a patchy grey chin, the only indications of species.  I caught a faint and peculiar odour from him, that suggested something slightly contradictory.

	“You, I am not familiar with.”

	“Permit me, Brother.  The lady is Miss Alatheia Hunter.  She was plane-wrecked off the Island five days ago, during the storm.”

	The cowl turned to Forrester.  “An off-Islander?”  The cowl turned back.  “How very unusual.  You are quite rare, Miss Hunter, but then…I have a keen interest in the rare.  I am Brother Dominic, of the Mt. Cerebus Monastery.  I am the chief herbalist there, and in charge of the greenhouses.”

	“How do you do, Brother.”

	There was an interval of silence, while the cowl moved up and down, interrupted by a few rapid clicks and whistles.

	“No, I am mindful of my vows, Baron, not that it matters.  I am sure others of my Order would have less willpower.”

	“What will you have, Brother?  We do have mead.”

	“A small tankard, then.”

	I smiled at the cleric.  “Will it be difficult to keep your razor fungus fresh until you get back to your cell?  Since there is so much light here, and it is probably too dry and warm.”

	The cowl tilted slightly, and then turned to my host.  “The young lady anticipates my request, Forrester.  I will need a small, dark, moist and chilled container for my specimen and earth.”

	“I’m sure we can press one of the beakers here into service, with some chemical ice.”

	“Yes…yes, that will suffice.”

	Carmelita frowned.  “And wash your paws thorrrroughly, lest you poison us all.”

	The cowl didn’t even flinch.  “I wore gloves in collecting the specimen, Carmelita.  Do you take me for a fool?”

	“No.  Absent-minded, yes.”

	The Doctor forestalled the fireworks, turning to me.  “Razor fungus, to my knowledge, does not exist outside of Cranium Island, Miss Hunter.  Yet, you know of it?”

	I was on my guard for this, and felt that the best defence was a good offence.

	“I requested some books from the library on the flora of the Island, and read them.”

	The cowl nodded.  “Well-prepared.  Perhaps you would be interested to see some interesting specimens of star-lilies, Miss Hunter?”

	“Wouldn’t that require a time machine, Brother?”

	Carmelita didn’t try to hide her laugh.  “Trrrrrrricksterrrrr trrrrricked.”

	“Thank you, Carmelita, for pointing out the obvious.”

	I swished my tail.  “Of course, given the star-lily’s medicinal value for curing fur diseases, I’m sure that neither you nor Carmelita have spared any effort to find preserved seed pods.  Especially in the bogs a few miles from here.”

	Carmelita’s response was to tap her monocle, and give me a searching yellow look.  Brother Dominic merely gave a faintly echoing chuckle.  

	“Yes, I saw Carmelita there only the other morning, probing with a stick.  We find many interesting things in the bogs, Miss Hunter.  Don’t we, Carmelita?”

	This was obviously something from previous conversations, so the Baron gave some pops and creaks, which turned the subject (quickly) to the unusual weather of the day.  Evidently, another neighbour was claiming credit for it, on somewhat dubious grounds.  Forrester waved a paw gently.

	“Well, I suppose it will all come out when he presents his paper.  If he dares.”

	“++)(*&%%%@?”

	I was listening closely to the Baron, trying to get a feel for how he spoke.  Brother Dominic helpfully translated.  “He was saying, Miss Hunter, that he hoped it was not a case of intellectual theft.  On an island as devoted to Science as this…”  He shrugged his shoulders.

	Number Four came to the door, and ponderously sounded the dinner chimes.

	“Ah, thank you, Number Four.  Now, then.  Carmelita, will you take my arm?”

	The bovine shrugged her shoulders.  “I yield to yourrrr silly, if gracious trrrradition, Langforrrrd.”  But she did take his arm.

	The Doctor was about to turn to me, when Beta stepped forward, and bowed rather pointedly to him.  The Doctor took the gesture in humour.

	“Eh bien,  it is imperative to obey les femmes, n’est-ce pas?”

	I nodded.  Of course, it would have been a good time to point out that in walking up to the Doctor to head me off, Beta had a small part of the hem of her dress caught in the right tread of the Baron’s machine.  But then, it was not my responsibility as a guest to point this out.

	I walked up to the Baron.  “May I have the honour, sir?”

	The Baron turned his head to look at me, gave two soft whistles, and click-beeped a short phrase, gently manipulating what he had on the left side, a type of arm with a flat surface at the end, so it formed a sideways “V.”

	Brother Dominic translated in an undertone: “He said: ‘permit me.’”

	Beta advanced, her head held high.  The Baron moved his machine slightly to let her pass, and there was a small, faint tearing sound as a portion of the fabric tore away.  Only a small piece, but enough to be noticed.

	Beta looked down, and saw that I was standing on the other side of the machine, and thus could not have done anything.  Well, except point it out, of course.  This time, her entire face flashed red, and her jaw tightened.  But in proper ladylike fashion, she carried on, leading the Doctor out to the Entrance Hall, followed by my host and Carmelita, and then the Baron and myself.  Brother Dominic tactfully picked up the scrap of green velvet, and disposed of it in a nearby bin.

*****

	The dining room was much as it was last night, except that the table bore two candelabra, instead of one, and there were eight place settings.

	Forrester took his seat at the head of the table, his back to the glass, after seating Carmelita to his left.  The Doctor seated Beta at the foot of the table, and then made way for Brother Dominic, who was to sit in between them; the Doctor was seated next to Carmelita to keep the two herbalist combatants separate.

	The Baron wheeled himself to the table, and one of the servants set the tray on his machine (absent a knife).  I bowed to the empty seat to the Baron’s right, and seated myself.

	Only Carmelita saw that action.  The open seat, I know, is reserved for the Spirit of Science, which is always present at any formal gathering of scientists on the Island.  Etiquette guides should be standard reading.

	“Oh, Doctor?  We’ve laid out your testing apparatus on the sideboard…”

	“Ah!  Ca, c’est bien bon.  D’accord.”

	I turned slightly behind me.  Unlike last night, there was a small lab set-up, which reminded me a bit of a crepe station.  Carmelita frowned.

	“Testing durrrrrring dinner.  Rrrrreally.”

	“Alors.  You are knowing perfectly well that ca, c’est necessaire parce que mon condition.”

	Brother Dominic turned.  “Oh, dear, another flare-up?”

	“Ca ne faire rien.  It is a precaution, nothing more.”

	“Hrmph.  You will be more carrrrreful next time, yes, with the urrrrchin venom?”

	My host explained.  “Doctor Maldemort needs to test his meals in case of a reaction to the medicine he takes.  Anti-toxin for sea urchin venom.”

	Beta watched very carefully as the staff brought in the first course.  The large, misshapen khaki shells indicated that the carnivores were being served the lump meat of Uca Ecclsi, the Backward Walking Crab.  The herbivores had a plate of seaweed salad.

	“(), /;””}?”

	“The Baron noted that it was said of you that you were plane-wrecked.”

	“Thank you, Brother.  Yes, Baron, I ran into a storm on my way to the Spontoons, and it blew me far off course.  I was forced to ditch my plane.  Mr. Forrester’s staff was brave enough to rescue me.”

	Carmelita peered at me through a yellow lens.  “Ah, so.  You fly heavierrrrr than airrrrrr vehicles?”

	“Yes, that’s right.”

	“Aerrrrrrodynamics and such, they arrrrre part of yourrrr trrraining?”

	“Well, I had some of my training at university, and then a great deal of practical training when qualifying.”

	“Comment.  While we are the furs of science, the training we have had (except for you, Baron), it is in the science biologiques.  It is hazy, this manner of the heavier than air craft.”  The Doctor flicked at a test-tube, watching it change colour, before he nodded and bowed to Forrester, and began to eat his crab.

	“Certainly, Doctor.  There are a few fundamental principles that guide powered flight…”

	A brief overview of what you are taught in the first few weeks of flight school carried us through most of the course.  The Baron was the most active in the conversation, asking a number of questions about aircraft speed.  I had a suspicion where this was leading.

	“Well, of course, it was one of your own countryfurs that filed the first patents for using radio waves to detect ships, over thirty years ago.  And Tesla himself worked on primitive radar units.  There are even luxury liners today with sets.  The British patented a system suitable for air defence a few years ago.  It remains to be seen what will be done with that.  From what I understand, though, your research is in water-borne analogues…”

	The Baron waved his lobster fork in the air, and began a rapid-fire series of clickings, whistles and beeps as he warmed to the subject.  He barely even noticed that his plate was cleared.  Fortunately, my host gave me a running translation.

	Doctor Maldemort got up to test the next course, which was a fish broth with mushrooms and chives.  Brother Dominic shook his cowl.

	“Honore, have you still not found a way to clear your system?”

	“Non.  But researches, they continue.”

	I asked Brother Dominic what his specialty was.

	“My main project involves the bogberry.  We are trying, at the monastery, to produce a more refined breed that eliminates some of the negative aspects of raising and refining them.”

	“Well, you have a lot of different species to work with, with all the micro-climates on the Island.”

	“Quite.  Which multiplies the possible combinations, making things difficult to select.”

	“I would imagine that developing a more potent bogberry, and a hardier one, would have interesting ramifications.  What kind of research has been done on the active ingredient in bogberries for stimulating heart-muscle, for example?”

	A slow nose-twitch from the cowl.  “And what brings that to mind, if I may ask, Miss Hunter?”

	“Well, if the bogberry, in its natural state, acts by making the muscles of the stomach repeatedly and violently contract, it would stand to reason that one of the most practical uses of a more potent variety would be to inject it into a muscle that needed stimulation to contract and expand.  A heart, for example.”

	A spoon vanished and reappeared from the cowl a few times, before being put down.

	“In point of fact, Miss Hunter, the Order is pursuing that very line of research, though we have not published any papers on it, and to my knowledge, there has been no public discussion of the matter.  Any results are pending work on refining, as you say, the active ingredient, and on my work in breeding specimens that will yield more of this active ingredient.”

	He picked up the spoon again.  “Your studies included medicine at your University?”

	“Not medicine, no, Brother.  Botany, zoology and comparative anthrop anatomy were the required courses.”

	“Hmmm.”  There was a sidelong shift of the cowl at my host, before the Baron interjected what appeared to be a question.

	“No, Baron, I wish there was a treatment using bogberries for exorcisms.  That is what made me late tonight, by the way.  Some young fool, mucking about with pentagrams, again.”

	Forrester frowned.  “Oh, no.  Major demon?  Like last month?”

	“Nothing like that, please God.  No, just a common demon, but latched in like a wood tick.  Some herbs from my greenhouse were needed to power the censer.  Oh, the young fellow will be all right.  No wiser for the experience, but possibly better informed.  You can be sure the parents are going to get a stiff bill from Abo.  Three shifts of monks, plus materials.  Adds up, you know.”

	I cautiously shifted my eye down the table.  Beta was sitting with her paws in her lap, frowning.  None of the other guests were looking at her.  Only Forrester (and myself, of course) had kept an eye on her.

	The Baron, Brother Dominic and Doctor Maldemort began a spirited three-way conversation, which I gathered was on the shameful way the authorities were not cracking down on the young furs on the Island engaging in unsanctioned experiments.  Some of the examples cited required a certain level of current events knowledge, so I watched instead as the staff began to serve the next course, a type of lasagna.

	Beta had been distracted by something that Brother Dominic, seated next to her, had said, so she didn’t notice something I, of course, noticed.  The portion of lasagna served to the Baron had not been cut up.  The Baron’s mechanical paw, as I knew from shaking it, had very fine motor control, but with a left paw being a mechanical surface, it would be very laborious to cut his lasagna, even with a fork.  And he had not been provided with a knife.  

	I readied my knife subtly, while the others were served.  The three continued their denunciations, while the rest of his started.  My host raised an eyebrow when he saw that I was rapidly cutting my lasagna into small pieces.

	It was only then that Baron, turning to his main course, stared at what was on his plate, confused.  The others looked up, and saw that a faux pas had been committed.

	I put down my silverware, and shifted to my right, slightly.

	“*&^%;;, Baron.”

	I quietly exchanged my plate for his.

	The Baron blinked, confused.  The other guests were looking at me, greatly puzzled.  

	Beta was trying to avoid the stern look she was receiving from her master.

	It was the Baron, who in turning to me and addressing me, broke the silence with a few soft clicks and whistles.  My host was grateful for the move.

	“The Baron says that you need work on your accent and tense structure, Miss Hunter.  I am sure I am not the only fur in this room who finds it curious that you have suddenly developed a talent for Dolphin.”

	I had some of the lasagna.  It was delicious, as were the small garlic and onion buns served with it.

	“It is mere mimicry, nothing more.  The Baron had said “permit me” to me in the library, translated by Brother Dominic.  I tried to remember the particular sequence of sounds the Baron had used.”

	My host raised an eyebrow and smiled.  “Ah.  Magicians should never reveal their secrets, Miss Hunter.  Spoils the illusion.”

	Doctor Maldemort told a very amusing story about when he first began to learn Dolphin, and a near-disaster that happened when he addressed a young dolphin femme.  Instead of asking her for directions, he asked her for something else, which would have resulted in almost certain scandal had it not been for some timely apologies and a father dolphin with a sense of humour.

	Beta, I could tell from the grip she had on her flatware, was taking the social mishap badly, even if the Baron, judging from the way he was leaning back and merrily clicking, was having a good time.

	Carmelita, for her part, continued to examine me through her monocle, though now she had switched to a green colour, and was tilting her head.

	“An interrrrrresting and highly developed specimen, Langforrrrrrrd.”

	“Hmmm?  Well…good heavens, Carmelita, change that setting!”

	“Why?  I only obserrrrrrve that young Miss Hunterrrr is verrrrrry well developed.  Strrrrrong capillarrrry strrrrructure feeding the head and chest arrrrea.”

	In spite of myself, I blushed.

	“See?  I am rrrright.  Notice the blood flow to the earrrrs…”

	A frown and an undertone of comments in French ensued next to her.  Brother Dominic shook his cowl.  

	“Carmelita, is there any particular reason that you are examining the young lady’s body?”

	“Rrrrrrresearrrrch.”

	There was much waving of cervine ears, which weren’t as hot as mine were.  “Now, Carmelita, there’s a time and a place for that, and you really should have had Miss Hunter’s permission.  I am sure she would have granted it…”

	I had to recover a bit, but I decided that there wasn’t any venom in what the cow was doing, merely curiousity, if taken a bit far.

	“It’s quite all right, Mr. Forrester.  After all, one must take one’s opportunities for data when one can get them.”

	A shake of the cowl.  “Generous, Miss Hunter, but there is a time and a place for that, as Langford said.”

	“I have alrrrrready examined you, Brrrrrother.”

	“Yes, and my unhappy condition remains, so put that in your lab book.”

	I gently steered the conversation back to Dolphin, and trying to learn it from the use of plaintext translations.  This led to a discussion of codes, and whether certain species had a knack for them.  Deer, like our host, were conceded a small advantage, owing to their secretive and sensitive nature.  It got things through the rest of the course without further mishaps.

	Small dishes of unsweetened mango sorbet were served in silver bowls as a palate cleanser.

	The Doctor turned to Forrester.  “Langford, have you heard anything about those radio-photograph…?”

	He didn’t quite finish the question, because there was an explosion of noise from the end of the table.  A tremendous belch, to be precise.  The initial suspect, judging from Carmelita’s reaction, was Brother Dominic, but the look of dismay on my host’s face made it clear who had been the owner.

	Beta had her paw in front of her muzzle, and her eyes were opened wide.  Quite an eloquent confession, not requiring any of her limited vocabulary.

	Tossing aside her napkin, she bolted from the dining room, and was gone in a flash, before anyfur could even rise from their chair.

	The Bananas Foster (which was scrumptious) followed as the next course, and was consumed in a rather pained silence.

*****

	The party had retired to the Music Room, and things continued to be a bit subdued, interrupted only by the clink of the port decanter and the puffing from the Doctor’s cigar.  (Carmelita, for the first time, was drawing on her cigarette holder – remarkably, it seemed like it was the same cigarette that had been burning since cocktails.)

	I, for one, felt simply marvelous.  Some of it was decided schadenfreude over Beta’s humiliation.  All the more delicious since it was self-inflicted, and I did not have to move a single toe-claw to effect it.

	The Organ was glowing softly, its light throbbing in synchronicity with my heart.  I had never quite realized how sophisticated the Control Melody really was.  There were at least three layers of it, braided together in a sophisticated harmony.  Silly of me not to notice before; it is so obviously logical as method of soothing and restraining brain functions that are otherwise missing.  In fact, the Organ is a brain unto itself, now that I think of it, its electric nerves reaching throughout the mansion and the grounds.  With a glowing blue heart and gleaming brass and steel skull beneath my footpads.

	Small talk could not lift the spirits of the poor dears, nor could a soft smile and a toss of the head-fur, not even on Doctor Maldemort, though I could sense I did get a small reaction from him.  A French mel is a French mel, of course!

	I stood up, stretched one of my legs, and slowly walked over to where the orchestra had left their instruments.  Beautiful instruments.  The brass was gleaming, and the cellos’ and violins’ varnish glowed in the light shed by the room’s candles.

	It was the piano that drew me near.  Yes, of course.  How could it be anything but a Schweinway?  And anything but a Philharmonic Concert Grand?  Only a half-dozen made every year, and a waiting list to put Bugatti to shame.  Dear, dear Langford!  Nothing but the best will do, and there’s so little of that!

	Hmmm.  This needs something.  Of course.  The candelabra hasn’t been lit.  Easily remedied.  There are some spills over there…

	There.  That brings out the full beauty of the piano.  Mmmmmm.  Catches the light on the Necklace, too.  Purely coincidental, I’m sure.

	Hmmm.  It’s been so long since those lessons with Madame.  And those recitals!  Weeks and weeks of practice, for a mere ten minutes.  But it did please Daddy, and what’s a young femme kitten to do if she wants to impress her father?

	Sitting here brings back so many memories.  Those long, long, long winter afternoons.  Perhaps if I had had more heart, more soul.  I did not appreciate such things then, but I suppose that’s a failing of kittens everywhere, isn’t it?

	Such a pity I let things slide.  Perhaps some handsome young cat would have preferred the elegance of a musical evening.  

	How much do I remember…  Think, my dear Alatheia, think…of course.  It is as Madame always said: proper posture, elbows in the position.  Orient the paws.

	Begin.

	C-sharp major triad, moving to the C-sharp minor home key.  The Lassan has the dramatic introduction.  Remember to keep the contrast between the dark and somber segments separate from those capricious contrasts…

	Ah!  You never forget!  How simple it all is, really.  Just pay attention to what you see before you in your mind.  The parade of notes…

	Hmmm.  Yes, the Friska.  Open in F-sharp minor…move to C-sharp major, repeat the Lassan theme…

	Ah, this is a segment I always loved.  The alternation of the dominant and tonic harmonies…like lovers, they are.  Yes.  Build the momentum.  Build!

	Pay attention to the dominant and the lowered mediant (A major)…

	Now, the soft bit of calm, the F-sharp major.  Wait for it!

	The cadenza ad lib!  

	YES!  Wonderful!  More!  I must have more!  Faster!  Faster!  More!

	Prestissimo!

	Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.  Wonderful.  It’s been a long time.

	Too long.

	Such a beautiful piano.  So responsive to my touch.

	Ah.  It would appear the audience approves.  Doctor Maldemort is on his feet, applauding madly.  Of course he would.  Such an impetuous canine, bless him.  Brother Dominic is applauding, too.  The Baron cannot applaud, he must merely vocalize.

	What a peculiar sigil Carmelita has cast, and how intent her look is!  What could it mean?  

	And Langford…Langford?  Langford?

	“Mille tonneres!  Mon vieux, you have not fallen ill?”

	Langford is sitting very still.  Even through his goggles, I can tell that his eyes are closed, and his mouth is open slightly.

	“&^%?  &^%?”

	It is Brother Dominic who has the presence of mind to remember the brandy, and press it into Langford’s paw.

	“Eh?”

	“Are you well, Langford?”

	Things came into slightly more focus for me, as there was another long pause.  “What?  What?  Oh.  Oh, dear, I’m sorry.  I do apologize, all of you.  And to you especially, Miss Hunter.  Above all, to you.  I was awash in…in a memory…”

	Carmelita, having finished seeing whatever she was Seeing, waved away the sigil, which dissolved in a blue haze.  “A memorrrrry, you say?”

	Langford sipped at his brandy.  “It was a long time ago.  I can never hear that piece without reflecting on Esterhazy.  And such a vivid recital…”

	Maldemort nodded.  “Yes.  So tragic the colic took him so early.  Vingt ans et demie.”

	“****, {}_+)(*&^%.”

	“Yes, Baron, a great tragedy there are so few recordings.  Right after the War, of course, and furs had their minds on other things.”

	“&&$#@!~/,;”

	“The Royal Hall recital?  My dear Baron, I was there for that performance.”

	Brother Dominic’s cowl snapped up.  “Great heavens, you can’t mean it.”

	“December 17, 1920.  Absolutely bitterly cold that night, as only Pest can be.  The river was frozen over.  I had to call in nearly every favour I could muster to get my one ticket.”

	“I wonder if Esterhazy knew he was going to be dead in two weeks.  He threw everything he had – or so we thought – into the first part of the programme.  There had been an intermission scheduled, but he smashed right through that, and not one of us could move a muscle.”

	“``’[“

	“Yes, Baron.  And then.  The Hungarian Rhapsody Number Two.  No, Baron, in fact, you understate things:  it is a criminal oversight that there was no recording apparatus there that night.  There was hardly a breath drawn during the performance, lest we upset the delicate balance.”

	“And when he concluded…”

	“Sheer, utter chaos.  One fur dropped dead on the spot while the last note lingered.  Four others had to be hospitalized.  Furs weeping uncontrollably everywhere, and by no means am I ashamed to say I was one of them.  It took a massive force of gendarmes to restore order, and things were within a hoof’s-breadth of a complete and total riot that would have pulled the Royal Hall down, brick from brick.”

	“I remember the critic for the Pester Lloyd had a succinct review in the next morning’s paper, consisting solely of the phrase: ‘None of you would understand, so why bother?’  Pithy.  My sentiments exactly.”

	“And his last performance.”

	“Yes.”

	I sat on the edge of the piano bench, fascinated.  I had never heard the full details of this event.  Certainly, it is part of popular culture, and I’ve even seen vulgar animated burlesques of it…but to hear it from a fur that was there!

	My host turned to me slowly, after taking a long pull at his snifter.

	“No fur could ever hope to match such a performance, Miss Hunter.  You could assemble today’s masters, and have them play for a week straight, and no performance could touch it.  To even capture a tiny fragment of that performance, to recall a fragrant memory…”

	Langford’s voice trailed off, and he closed his eyes again, and sighed.

	The other furs finished their drinks in deep thought.  I pressed the bell for Number Four, who appeared at the door.

	“Number Four, call the carriage for the Doctor and the Baron.  And please see to it that the conveyances for Carmelita and the Brother are readied for them.”

	The party slowly made its way to the Entrance Hall, where Number Four appeared with the Doctor’s cape and hat.  He opened the front door.  A gleaming black metal carriage, pulled by two massive black horses with fiery orange eyes, stood at the door.

	Honore seemed to be struggling for words.  He could only bend over my paw, kiss it, and murmur.  “Votre servant, maitress.”

	“No, Doctor.  I am your servant.”

	The Baron bowed gravely to me, and addressed a series of quiet whistles and pops.  I leaned down, and kissed him on each cheek.

	A deep bow of a cowl and a small sign, and Brother Dominic also crossed the portal.

	Carmelita was the last to leave.  She clicked through an entire palette with her monocle, before offering me her paw, and shaking it firmly.

	“You know not, what you arrrrrre having, my dear Langforrrrd.”

	And with that, the doors of the mansion swung behind the last of our guests.

*****

	Langford watched the doors close, his paws clenched tightly behind his back.

	“Is something the…”

	“Music Room.  Now.”  He whirled, and pointed a finger down the Long Gallery.

	“But…but what have I done…have I offended you?”

	“Now.”

	There was a tone in his voice that indicated that discussion, let alone argument, was unthinkable.  I complied, of course, with his demand, and we were shortly standing near the piano upon which I had played.

	He was rapidly flagging up and down, his paws clenching and unclenching.

	“Please…tell me what I’ve done wrong…I don’t…”

	He whirled on me, nostrils flaring.

	“WHY DID YOU CONCEAL FROM ME YOUR SKILL AS A PIANIST?”

	The shouted question drove me back a step.

	“I…I…”

	“WHY?!”

	“Please!  Please!  I made no effort to hide it from you!  How could I?  I haven’t played the piano in ages.”

	“Do you expect me to believe that?!  I heard you play.  So did the others.  Impossible!”

	“But…I haven’t practiced…”

	A long, drawn-out snort.  “No practice?”

	“It…it just happened…when I came in here with you and the others, I…”

	In a flash, both of my wrists were seized in grip of iron, and I was pinned, spread-eagled, against the piano top.

	“Langford!  You’re hurting me….”

	He lowered his muzzle an inch from mine.  I could see into his goggles quite clearly, and his eyes were wide open and burning.

	“Omit.  Nothing.  Tell me.  Everything.”

	I could only swallow and nod.  “Yes.  I’ll do as you say, Langford.  I’ll do anything…”

	“Speak.”

	“It has been happening ever since I woke up here.  Something filling inside of me…”

	“Where?!”

	“All…all over my body…b-b-but mostly my head.”

	“Your head.”

	“Yes.”

	“Continue.  Leave out nothing.”

	“It’s like…something is clearing inside my head, that somefur has taken their paw, and cleaned away the grime and the dirt inside my eyes.  I hear things, I sense things.  The Control Melody…”

	“What about it?”

	“There are three distinct harmonies, each of which is separated by a minute.  Their running time overlaps, so that at no period are any less than two harmonies acting upon the brain.  In an anthrop brain that has had its higher functions removed, it would serve as a dampener, calming them, clearing their brain for orders.”

	He leaned in, closer.

	“Go on.”

	I closed my eyes, and swallowed hard, feeling him looming over me.  “I…I can do things.  Things I had thought I had forgotten.  I can read books, books I’ve never seen before, and know their contents…”

	“What is on page 129 of the Flora Isla Crania?”

	“A colour plate of the Flame Nightshade bush, with an inset showing its flower, and another inset showing its seed pod.  Intact and in cross-section.”

	His grip on my wrists tightened.  It made me breathe harder.

	“And yes, yes, the piano playing.  Please believe me, I haven’t played a piano in years, not since boarding school.  But when I sat down tonight, I remembered.  It was clear.  I could see the notes…”

	“How?  How?!”

	“L-l-like a parade, like an electronic sign.  I needed no sheet music, I saw it in my mind, moving as quickly or as slowly as needed.”

	“Why did you play?”

	“It…it felt good.  I wanted to play.  The more I played, the faster I played, the better it was.  Inside.  All over.  I had to have more.  My mind was going down a tunnel.  I was focused on one point…”

	A long pause, he breathed heavily.  “And?”

	“The piece…ended.  Things gradually opened up, and there you were, with the others.  What does it mean, Langford?”

	He looked down, where the Necklace was on my neck.  I could feel where it was warming me, and I squirmed involuntarily.

	I was let go, and he turned to lean on the organ with both paws.

	“What does it mean, you ask?  It means I’ve been a fool, a blind fool!”  He slammed the bench with the flat of one paw, making a sound like a gunshot.  “And still yet, I cannot see!  What is it?!  It’s balanced on one edge of my consciousness, and just the gentlest nudge would tip it into full view.  I must have a record somewhere, somewhere…”

	I got up from where I had been pressed against the Schweinway.  “I’ve ruined your evening, haven’t I?  Oh, Langford, I’m so sorry…”

	He looked up.  And laughed.

	“Ruined?  My dear Miss Hunter, do you know what it was that the Baron said to me as he left?  Do you?”

	I shook my head.

	“It was an invitation to call on him in his grotto.  For both of us.”

	“That’s very gracious of him.”

	“Gracious?”  Another laugh.  “He never extends social invitations.  He’s notorious for it.  Not to mention the fact that usually our dinner parties here end with the Baron rolling off in a fury over something Carmelita or Brother Dominic has said.  Ruined?  There are possibilities here.  Possibilities!  If I can just…damnation!”

	He sat down on the bench, and held his head in his paws, gritting his teeth, as if trying to reach in and pull the piece of data he was looking for from inside his head.  After a while, he sighed.

	“It is no use.  I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”  He looked up at me.  “But I see no reason for you to suffer…Alatheia.  No.  Quite the contrary.  You deserve to be rewarded for what you have done tonight.  You have demonstrated that you are a young lady of rare talents and charm.”

	Hunh.  Odd.

	What IS it?

	He called you Alatheia.

	Well, good heavens, it’s…

	…my first name, I know.  But he hasn’t used it before.

	…

	Has he?

	How very…observant of you.  Yes…yes, you’re quite right.

	I wonder what he’s got in mind.  It’s hard to tell with those goggles, sometimes.

	Hmmm.  He has very strong paws.

	You liked that?  That hurt!

	A mere transitory fright.  Excitement and all.

	He’s turning toward the organ.  What’s he doing?

	Langford began to play a complex series of notes on the organ, which sounded throughout the mansion, echoing.  He repeated the same notes twice more.  He half-turned to me when he finished.

	“You summoned the entire staff to the Entrance Hall.”

	“It would appear that cervines are not the only furs who know codes.  Yes, barring Beta and Omega.  Excepting them, they shall all be present in a minute or so.  Let us give them time…”

	He examined his gold wrist-watch, and after letting a short time pass, he stood up, and offered me his elbow.

	I took his arm.  He did not object.

	It was a slow walk down the Long Gallery to the Entrance Hall.  Lined up in four ranks were all of the staff…

	Slaves, you mean.

	…were all of the staff of the mansion, standing to attention.  Langford let me go, and gently urged me forward, to a spot in front of them.

	I reached a spot in front of them, and turned to face their ranks.  As one, they slowly sank to their knees and bowed their heads before me.

	Oh.  My.  God.  What’s happening?  I can’t be…

	“Langford…how flattering of you to request of them that they do this.”

	“I did not, Alatheia.  They did it of their own accord.  Fascinating.”

	I walked up and down the various ranks.  So many different species…

	“They are all impressive, Langford.”

	“And for tonight, one of them is yours.”

	“Really?”

	“Really.”

	“Why Langford, how wonderful!”

	Wait, WHAT?!

	“The conditioning implanting expertise in the slaves took many forms, Alatheia.  I foresaw that it was possible some house guests might have certain requests that needed to be…fulfilled.  Accordingly, they are familiar with what you would expect.  Japanese woodblock prints, the ancient Indian texts, Burton’s translation of The Perfumed Garden, and so forth.  At least the younger furs.”

	You mean…ohhh, EWWWWW.

	What?

	He can’t possibly…he wouldn’t…you couldn’t…

	It is the height of impoliteness to refuse a host’s generous offer.

	EWWWWWW.  No!

	Do not be so drearily Hartford on me.

	Hmmm.  The mink from this afternoon, he has strong paws…hmmm, skunk?  Perhaps.  That roe deer over there, there are possibilities.  Ah, I’ve never seen…

	EWWWWWWWWW.

	What?  

	She’s a tigress!

	And your point is…?

	But…oh, no…I…

	I would have thought boarding school would have opened your eyes, but apparently not.  Very well, I shall pass over the exotic for…hello…

	“Ah, yes.  That is Number Sixty, Alatheia.”

	I trust you have no objection to mountain lions?

	Hunh?  I…

	Yes, you clearly have no objections.

	But…

	What’s the old expression?  Oh, yes.  “Tawny and brawny.”  How appropriate.

	“What gives him such a physique, Langford?”

	“Ah, he operates the fishing boat that supplies us with our seafood.  In point of fact, it was he who brought you in when you crashed.  We do train a few furs in rescues.”

	“Is he my reward, or am I his?”

	Uhhhh…

	“I suppose that would depend, would it not?”

	“Quite.  How very generous of you, Langford.”

	“I will dismiss the others.  Number Sixty!”

	The mountain turned his vacant gaze toward my benefactor.

	“The young lady…obey her.”

	He turned slowly to me, and then back to Langford.  He nodded, slowly.

	“Thank you, Langford.”

	“Very well.  I shall see you tomorrow…afternoon?”

	I had no answer to that, other than a smile.

	“Number Sixty, I am tired.  Bring me to my room.”

	In a twinkling, a heavily muscled pair of arms and a large pair of paws scooped my feet off the floor, and I was tucked safely against a massive chest.

	“Slowly, Number Sixty.  Slowly.”

	He took the stairs one at a time, like a good kitten.  So the trip lasted quite some time.  Even so, it ended far too soon.  No matter.

	Omega (who had been napping on the bed, naughty thing) was startled by what came through the door, and she bolted behind a chair, peering out cautiously.

	“Number Sixty, stop.  Place me carefully on the ground.”

	Light as a feather, I was put back on my footpads.

	“Your master let me have him for the night, Omega.  Isn’t he delicious?”

	Omega whined a bit, and flattened her ears.

	“Now, don’t sulk.  I won’t throw you out.  Just make yourself comfortable…as for you, Number Sixty…stand at ease.”

	He stood at ease, his tail swishing to the Control Melody.

	There were all sorts of wonderful possibilities in store…and an entire morning ahead.  And dear, considerate Langford.  He’s playing such romantic music.  Hardly necessary, but delightful all the same.  I must remember to write him a note.

	I sat down on a chair in front of the dressing table.  “Number Sixty, my footpads ache.  Remove my shoes.”  I stretched out my legs to make the job easier for him.  He complied quite slowly, his paws almost covering my feet.

	Now, now, my dear.  Take your time.  There’s no reason to have your heart racing like that, even if Langford is playing such spirited music.  Such insight he has…

	Oh, drat.  I shan’t mess up the pretty Necklace.  I can send everything else down to the beaver belowstairs, but Langford will be very cross with me if I damage his work.  As well he should.  There.  A pity to shut it up in its box.  How pretty it is, the way it catches the light and…

	…glows…

	…

	What is he playing?  Ah.  “Polovetsian Dances.”

	What’s going on…

	Shhh.

	But…

	Shhhh…!

	Look, this is scary, I don’t…

	This is a particularly fine recording.  No distortion.

	What’s happening?  Why can’t I see anything?

	Moderato alla breve, 2/2.  And the b’ theme.  This could only be the Gliding Dance of the Maidens.  

	God, I need to pull out.  This dive is way too fast.  It’s pressing me against…

	Let go.  

	Yes, I shall.

	No!  Let GO.  The Necklace.

	I will let myself go.  

	No, I’m not going to let you.  What the hell? Is that me?

	έκ-στασις

	No, I’m not going to let this happen!  Drop it.  DROP it.

	There it is.  I can faintly hear it.  Just a little.

	DROP IT.

	Ahhhhhh.

	--*--

	I came to, banging against a solid object, which turned out to be Sixty’s chest.  I had to heave to get some air in my lungs.  That’s when I realized a few things.  

	In order of recognition: Number one, the Necklace was on the floor.  Intact and not glowing.  Number two, my paw stung a bit from where I’d whacked it against the bedpost.  Number three, Omega’s hackles were up, and she had a terrified look in her eyes.  Number four, I’d pulled my dress half-off in whatever state I was in.  Number five…holy smoke!  I don’t think I’d seen anything like Sixty outside of a few nature magazines.

	Last but not least, some part of me was in pain inside.

	You little WRETCH!  How could you?!

	Shaddap.

	How could you?

	I said shaddap.  I have to do some thinking.  I don’t know what the hell just happened, but whatever it was, it’s a damned good thing…

	You little WRETCH!

	I heard you the first time.  And stop crying.

	But I was so close!  I could FEEL it.

	Feel what?

	It!

	I don’t have time for vaudeville routines.  What did you feel?

	How could you do this to me?

	Wonderful.

Okeh.  Slow the breathing down and think, Allie.  Kick Sixty out on his tail?  Ixnay.  Could be viewed as an insult, and even if I got him out no problem, all it would take is an overriding order, and I’m back where I started.

	Has he got any programming that I wouldn’t like?  Well, maybe not.  Maybe the order Forrester gave paints that over.  Hmmm.

	“Sixty.”

	The big cat stared straight ahead.  Oh, oh.

	“Sixty.  Go to the bed and lie down.”

	It was an awful long ten seconds, but I saw him climb on the bed, and lie face up.

	“Sixty.  Sleep.”

	He folded his paws across his chest, and slowly shut his eyes.  After a minute, I could see he was breathing deeply and regularly.

	Omega, for her part, refused to come out from behind the lounge chair.  I guessed it was the Necklace, so I took the fountain pen from the desk, picked up the Necklace with it, and laid it in its velvet box.  Small brass snap on it, but I don’t think even the vaults of the Hartford National would make me feel totally safe.

	I slipped off the rest of the gown.  Boy, that was some fugue state, if you’ll pardon the expression.  I tossed it into the bottom of the armoire, and flooped into the chaise.  I thought about putting on a dressing gown, but the hell with it.  I left on the stockings and underthings.

	Omega circled out from behind it, crawled in front of me, and put her paw on my knee.

	“I hear you, kiddo.  Listen.  Whatever is going to happen tonight, I don’t want to have happen to you as well.  I don’t care what Forrester says what you did,  however long ago, you’ve been good to me…”

	Omega briefly thumped her tail.

	“You can take off if you want to, or you can stay here.  Might be two on one, and not in a good way, either.  What do you say?”

	Omega’s response was to slide up into the chaise, and claim one half of it for herself.  Except for her head, which she put against my chest.

	“Well, leave me some room, okeh?”

	There was a linked light-sphere near the chaise, so I could turn the lights down without disturbing Omega.  Or going near Sixty.

	It wasn’t like the night before, where I’d dropped off without a care.  A lot of flashback dreams, including the dormitory at my old boarding school.  It was pretty vivid.  Even some of the night-time sounds came through.

	“Mrrrgh.  Stop fidgeting, Omega.  Your elbow’s jabbing me.”

	Omega gave a quiet, drawn-out whimper, and then stopped.

	Just before dawn, there was a rumble of organ music.  The bed gave a long creak, and Sixty stood, marched to the door, and left the room.  That’s one time I was glad a mel didn’t leave behind a note.

*****

	Omega, being the former secret policefemme she was, probably could have told me the best hours to scare the hell out of somefur by knocking on the door.  Whatever it was, the knock was sufficient to send my heart bouncing off my ribs.

	As it was, it turned out to be the Thirty-Fours, armed with an automatic towel, fresh motorized bed-sheets (hah!) and a four-edged breakfast menu.  8.30 on the dot.

	No note.  All for the better, I wasn’t in the mood for correspondence.  Wasn’t in the mood for much more than a cup of coffee and a hot shower.  Alone and unattended.  Given that I was nursing a pretty nasty hangover, both seemed like good ideas.  Outside of the glossy head-fur, it wasn’t a terribly glamorous kitty that stared out at me from the mirror.

	It was going to be business this morning, all business.  And the weather matched it, as there was rain beating against the window in a fierce drumming.  Skirt suit today, Thirty-Four A.  Ponytail, Thirty-Four B.  And while you’re at it, a new length of black silk for Omega, she’s torn hers.

	No matter how hard I tried to, my heart kept syncing to the Control Melody.  Each time I willed it, it slipped right back when I caught a breath.

	I went over and over what happened last night.  It was Forrester’s reaction to my piano playing that puzzled me.  Both when he was slack-jawed, and later why he wanted to know exactly how I felt during it.  Why would he care?  I was just another lab rat, to be sacrificed in the cause of Science.

	I had to admit, that story of his about the concert was pretty funny.  I mean, think of a lot of High Society furs screaming over a concert of piano music.  And they say young furs and jazz music are causing the collapse of Civilization.  What the hell could drive a bunch of old furs (even some young furs, like I guess Forrester was, then) insane with joy?

	“Tiny fragment.”  Hard to say if that was a compliment frontways, or back-pawed.

	Nope, heart still syncs.  Can’t pick out the different strands, though.  I could only do that really clearly last night.  During my little concert.

	Odd.  I wasn’t even focusing on the Control Melody, and it came to me, how Forrester set it up.  Even trying now, really trying to pick it out, I could only get snatches of that interwoven thing.  And DAMN, it made my hangover hurt.

	The bathroom did come stocked with aspirins, which I at least hoped were as advertised, and not some freaky thing cooked up by Brother Dominic.

	Focus, focus, focus.  It’s what my instructor told me to do whenever you got in a jam with a stall.  I’ve always hated, and been scared of, those blackouts in a dive, when the G-forces slam you against the seat, and your vision slims down to next to nothing, just one pinpoint, in which you have to focus your brain to get the necessary info.  Focus, focus…

	…

	Damn.

	Damn!

	That’s it.

	Clever bastard.

	Where’s the damn pen…here it is.  Let’s have a look.

	Yes.  So that’s it.  How many?  Yes.  Yes…

	So that’s it.  It all makes perfect sense.  Clever, clever bastard!

	Another knock on the door.  It’s Number Four.  And with the note.

	“Miss Hunter – [Oh, back to that, are we?]

	“If you are not otherwise occupied [HA!], I would deem it a great favour if you would call upon me in the Day Room.

	LDF”

	Well, Mr. Langford Forrester, of Forrester Labs, you’re about to find out that you aren’t the only game in town.  And I don’t need any fancy gizmoes to keep me sharp.

***** 

MOVEMENT FIFTH:  Attacca
 
	I needed no escort to the Day Room.  I knew my own way by now.
        	The clicking of my stiletto heels against the marble floor of the Long Gallery competed against the pounding of the rain on the skylights above.  Fast-scudding, dark clouds flew rapidly over the windows, casting dark shadows that raced alongside me.
        	I reached the great wooden doors at the end of the hallway, and I paused.
        	Did I need to knock?  How had Forrester set things.
        	“I command you to open.”
        	The doors, both of them, gave a soft click at my voice, and swung open toward me.  I waited until the room was fully revealed.
        	Forrester stood with his back to me, flagging slowly as he watched the squall beat against the glass above him, around him, and beneath him.
        	It was a matter of only a few brisk strides to cross the floor and place the velvet box on the glass table.
        	“The Silver Note.”
        	Forrester stopped in mid-flag, and turned around slowly.  He was wearing his red goggles, so it was hard to see the expression in his eyes.
        	“It’s the stuff of legend, of tall stories.  Of dreams and longing.  Maybe it’s a darkened hall in Buenos Aires, in the midst of a tango.  Maybe it’s in Bayreuth, during the final act of the Twilight of the Gods.  Or maybe…it’s in a cold concert hall in Budapest, December, 1920.”
        	Forrester twitched his ears, listening intently.
        	“There are those who attend concerts for years, decades, a lifetime…searching for that one experience that will take them out of the realm of the ordinary, that outsiders can’t comprehend.  ‘None of you would understand, so why bother?’ as the fur said, right?  And it’s not found above, nor outside, Mr. Forrester.  Inside.  Deep inside.  A singular place hidden deep within every anthrop, in the valleys and folds of our brain.  The mental equivalent of Cibola, of Shangri-La.  A place unmapped and found on no charts.”
        	“Except for yours, Mr. Forrester.  The charts you’ve drawn up of the anthrop mind all these years…and supplemented by your own personal observations.”
        	Forrester betrayed no emotion, except for his eyes.  Even behind the ruby tint, I could see them glowing.
        	“The selection of Number Sixty last night, hell, Number Sixty himself…that was just a sham, window dressing.  He wasn’t the reward.  He was never meant to be the reward.  Whether or not he followed orders to please me?  What kind of orders I gave him?  Totally irrelevant.”
        	I ran my paw over the top of the flat velvet case.
        	“This was my reward.  And perhaps more importantly, your reward.  Confirmation of your theories, theories you couldn’t test on Beta or Omega, let alone your slaves.”
        	Forrester’s breathing began to grow deeper.  “Go on, Miss Hunter.  You’re doing splendidly.”
        	“These aren’t jewels, they’re crystals.  Quartz, to be exact.  I didn’t figure out why that was so important when I first saw the Necklace.  I was wondering why they were cut so strangely when I first saw them.  No, they’re not cut strangely.  They’re cut to a design, a very exacting design.  Look at the shape, and how each of them comes to a point.  They’re designed to capture a certain frequency.  A certain micro-frequency.  And when it has captured it?  Focus it.”
        	“Yes.”
        	“The gold chain that links together each crystal isn’t just for decoration.  It conducts the energy between each crystal, making the power grow and grow.”
        	“Yes.”
        	“Whoever wears this necklace will feel the power of the music.  Magnified.  What might be a one-in-a billion chance?  The odds get dropped.  Significantly.  Instead of a once in a lifetime performance, a merely extraordinary performance will do.”
	“Yes.”
	“Some anthrops by nature have brains that can sort things out, note by note.  That sheet music in your library.  You’ve got a gigantic bookcase full of it.  Strange, though.  It’s not worn.  But that’s because you know it off by heart, don’t you?”
	“Yes.”
	“So let’s go back to December, 1920.  Esterhazy is concluding his performance.  The furs in the audience haven’t dared to breathe.  Their minds are slowly pushing in.”
        	“Yes.”
        	“Their consciousness shrinks down to a tiny point, living the music, reveling in it, and when it finds that mysterious valley in the mind, when Esterhazy hits that one final chord…”
        	Forrester’s breathing grew slower and deeper.
        	“YES?!”
        	“That’s when you heard the Silver Note for the first time, wasn’t it?  It changed your brain forever.  The once in a lifetime feeling, for only a few lucky furs in the right place at the right time, as you and those other furs were.  A sensation that furs would beg for.  And a gift that would give power to those who could reproduce it on demand.”
        	“Power not to punish, Mr. Forrester, but to reward, on command.  The ultimate promise for a reformed fur, or even a fur promising to stay on the straight and narrow – a life-fulfilling experience, all contained in a little square velvet case like this.  No need for the crude erasing of a fur’s higher brain sensations.  No need for collars, or chains, or iron bars.  No barbed wire, no prison camps, no machine gun nests.  No poison gas, no speeches from balconies, no razing of cities from airplanes.  Just a promise, to be given or withheld.  One lifetime of total obedience, for one hour of rapture.  Of ecstasy, I think the word is.”
        	“And all that power in one set of paws.  Yours, Mr. Forrester.”
        	The buck’s breathing stopped, and only slowly restarted.
        	“You have made only one mistake in your narrative, Miss Hunter.  Not my paws.”
       	“Ours.”
        	My blood ran cold at the way he said that.  Perhaps he sensed it.
        	“Don’t you see, Miss Hunter?  It has to be in our paws!  No one understands my work!  The work I’ve put countless hours in since that night in Budapest! No one who was not there can understand!”
        	Forrester caught himself just as he was about to lose control of his emotions, and pointed a shaking finger at me.
        	“But you.  You understand, Miss Hunter.  It was chance, a one-in-a-trillion chance, that placed a femme fur of your…your qualities within my reach.”
        	“You have Beta.”
        	“Beta?  Beta?!  A failed experiment!  A dead end.  She is nothing to me.  A fur of no self-control.  You saw here last night.  You saw her!  She is not capable!  She cannot comprehend the matter!”
        	Forrester paced around the room as the squall intensified.
        	“But you!  You have been here for mere hours, and you dazzle me with your insight…”
        	Here, he paused and stripped off his red goggles.  He had very blue eyes, ice cold.  But ice can burn.
        	“…and your overwhelming charms.  I shall have you.  I must have you!  It is essential!”
        	“Every king needs his queen?”
        	“Exactly.  Exactly!”
        	“I would make a very poor slave, Mr. Forrester.”
        	“Slave?  Slave?!  Never!  You said it yourself – you would be a queen!  An empress!  Think of it, Miss Hunter!  Think of it!!  Tens, hundreds of millions of furs hanging on your every word, your every gesture.  You, a slave?  The world would be your slave, Miss Hunter.”
        	“Power corrupts, Mr. Forrester.”
        	He narrowed his eyes.  “I think not, Miss Hunter.  I know you better.”
	“Do you?”
	“Yes.”
        	He strode the door, and raised his voice so that it echoed almost as boomingly as the organ.
        	“Omega!  I command you to come!”
        	Forrester stood by, as within a minute or so, a soft padding could be heard.  Omega paused at the doorway, cowering in fear.  Forrester’s muzzle was like a mask.  Omega began to shiver convulsively.
        	I bent down.  “Omega.  Please come here.  It’s all right.”
        	The wolfess looked up at the tone of my voice in addressing her.  I was amazed it even carried over to her.  With a fearful glance at Forrester, Omega at first slunk over, and then with a rush threw herself at my footpads, whimpering and clutching them.
        	“There can be no justice, Miss Hunter, without mercy.  Even to those who are undeserving of it, such as Omega.  In her former life, would she have shown a kulak, an oppositionist, the kindness you did?  Only, perhaps, as part of scheme of cruel manipulation, for her own twisted ends.”
        	“I am incapable of such feelings, anymore.  But then, I have studied crime and criminals for far too long.  You, however, approach the matter with a tabula rasa, a clean slate.”
        	“You have beauty, you have talent, and you have mercy.  Think of it, Miss Hunter.  Think of it.”
        	“And what of Beta?”
        	“Indeed.  What of Beta?”
        	“What will become of her?”
        	“A minor detail I will attend to, by and by, once our arrangements are finalized.  She will not factor into any aspect of this house.”
        	“Oh.”
        	“But I overwhelm you.  Think of what I lay at your feet, Miss Hunter.  I will expect an answer from you at dinner tonight.  Until then…”
        	The buck walked out of the glass room, leaving me to the driving rain drumming against the panes, and the flowing tears I could feel against my ankles.

*****

	One of the things they teach pilots is the value of the pre-flight checklist, where you’re supposed to mark off that you’ve looked over everything you’re going to need on your journey.

	Item #1:  Convince a genius whose specialty is erasing higher brain functions to let you off the island that contains his residence, in spite of the fact that he has confided in you a pretty good summary of a morally dubious and pretty insidious plot to enslave millions of furs.

	This, I put it to you, makes an Item #2 or Item #3 superfluous.

	Play the cards you’re dealt with and no tears, that’s the old adage.

	I wish somefur had told Omega that.

	I’d taken the overnight bag out of the armoire and had begun to pack it.  Log book and identification materials in inside pocket.  Supplies from the bathroom medicine cabinet next, since the aspirin was obviously not some class of poison that would turn me into a razor fungus or such.  Water flask for outside pocket.

	It felt pretty stupid packing the bag with a bunch of silk things…but damnit, if I was going to get out of this place in one piece (and that included my brain), why the hell shouldn’t I have some nice things?

	Made by slaves.

	Oh, you’re back.  Goody.

	Oh, you’re a hypocrite.  Goody.

	I don’t have much choice, do I?

	Perhaps.  They did not, after all, prepare any hairshirts for you.  Perhaps we can stop by the monastery and visit Brother Dominic.

	Very funny.

	Omega was watching me pack, and it was clear she saw that something was up.  She kept putting a paw on top of the bag, blocking me.

	“Come on, Omega.  Cut it out.”

	You have plenty of time.  It is 2.15 and one-quarter.

	Thank you, Western Union.  Spare me the count-down, would you?

	You are worried.

	Hell, yes, I’m worried.  Did you see the look in Forrester’s eyes?  Especially once he removed those goggles of his?

	“Omega!  Stop!”

	Crazy wolfess.

	Not so crazy.  You’re leaving her to the tender mercies of Beta.

	Assuming Beta’s going to be any shape to slap her around.

	The wheel of fortune…

	…turns round and round, and where it stops, nobody knows.  What, you think I don’t listen to Major Bowes?

	I am alarmingly familiar with what you listen to.

	So sorry.  I promise I’ll listen to more NBC-Blue when we get home.  Let’s see, khaki stuff on top, use that when I get the hell out of here…

	Why leave?

	Why?  I…

	“Omega, come on, this isn’t easy for me either.  If I let you on the bed, will you stop acting up?!”

	Why leave?  Listen, I don’t want any part of some crazy scheme that mixes Benny Goodmink and Simon Legree, thank you very much.

	Crazy.  Why do you think it’s crazy?

	Look, outside of the furs that believe what they read in the Hearst Sunday magazines, who’s going to believe any sort of story about crystals and mystical musical passages?

	Hardly that class.  It’s true, and you know it.  You said it was legend, but you yourself told Langford of the possibilities.

	Which comes from reading Hearst Sunday magazines, and most stuff lying around airport mechanics’ rooms.

	You should read newspapers.

	Most of the ones I see are pretty old…

	“Omega…Omega come on, don’t cry.  Look, please don’t do that, this is hard enough as it is…”

	Guernica.

	Come again?

	Guernica.  Town in northern Spain.  Basque country.

	Why does that sound familiar?

	Possibly because you actually sat through a news-reel, instead of buying a Hershey bar.

	Oh.  Wait.  Yeah.  The Krauts and Eye-ties plastered up that place to hell.

	There are many such places.  How about those areas of China?  Or Russia.

	Ask Omega about Russia, she’s the expert.

	Perhaps, though they seem to have carried on quite well without her.  Intriguing how they keep finding spies, 20 years on.  And then, of course, there’s the Jews in Germany, assorted furs all over India, Jerusalem…

	Okeh, H.V. Kaltenborn, is this leading somewhere?

	Indeed.  Have you considered what Langford has said?

	Yes.  And the answer is a big, flat, ixnay.

	I would really prefer…

	If I spoke like a Hartford matron, yes, I know.  Why do you think I left that town?

	To seek adventure, perhaps to do good.

	Some of that, yes.

	“Omega, you’ve got to trust me.  Look, I promise I’ll do what I can to try to take you with me.  Okeh?  You’re silent, you can’t spill the beans on him, and I’m going to promise to keep silent.”

	Oh, indeed.  But why?  What he proposes is eminently sensible.

	You’re joking.  Slavery?

	Compared to…?

	Well…compared to America.

	Where the poor fur has the same right as the rich fur to sleep under a bridge.

	Come on, that’s not fair.

	Do you deny the breadlines?

	No…

	Aren’t you angry by them?  Don’t you wish there was something you could do about it?  Make furs happy?

	Happy and dumb.  Like Sixty.

	How do you know?

	Well, come on!  Look at his eyes!

	You’ve developed mind-reading as a talent.  Shall I drop a line to Mr. Ripley?

	Yeah, funny.

	For all you know, Sixty might well have enjoyed it.  You are not familiar with his programming.  Who is to say there is no free will?  Are you familiar with Omega’s programming?

	Well…

	Look into her eyes.

	I…I’d rather not.

	Guilt.  You raised her up, only to dash her spirits.

	But…

	If you insist, we shall move on.  My point is made.  

	This is leading up to an ends-justify-the-means argument, isn’t it?

	Not as such.  Though I would suggest that if you compare the various means being employed in the world today, is Langford’s programme so terrible?  Did Sixty bear the scars of any whip or manacles, and did he have a gunshot wound to his head?

	Heh, his kind of treatment doesn’t leave a scar.

	All the more reason to consider it.  Less pain, less suffering.

	I’m not buying it.  No way.

	You’re afraid of Langford.

	I don’t know what the hell he’s got up his sleeve.  I mean, if he can dump Beta, who’s to say he can’t dump me?

	He’s afraid of you.

	Yeah, because I know too much.

	You’re also the key.

	A nice blank one, after he gets through with me.

	You miss the point.  You are NOT blank.  That is the difference between you and Beta, or Omega.

	“Shhhhhh.  Omega, please.  This is hard for me too, and I…well, am I going to come out of this?”

	No.  No, my mind’s made up.  I can’t go through with it.  I just can’t.  It’s not me.

	Yes, it is me.  The me that should be.

	That’s who I’m afraid of.

	I rang for Thirty-Four A and Thirty-Four B.  They arrived as usual, in perfect tandem.

	“I’m going to dress myself this evening.  The two of you are dismissed.  Await further orders…further orders from your master.  Thank you.  You did a good job.”

	The two setters paused for a long time, and gave a slow curtsey each before padding off.

	The time is 4.19 and one half.

	I finished packing, and set the bag aside.  It was still raining outside, even if it had slacked off.

	The time is 4.53 and one-quarter.

	I didn’t have any place to go, and the library was pretty pointless.  I tried reading the P.G. Wodechuck novel, but when I found I was reading the same page for the eleventh time, I gave it up.

	The time is 5.26 and three-quarters.

	How long can I possibly stretch out a bath?

	At the tone, the time will be 6.00.  Exactly.

	What’s good to wear…what’s...well, this is appropriate.  Black velvet.  Nice, simple and funereal.

	The time is 6.24 and one-quarter.

	Are my stockings on straight?  If I adjust them, will that kill another few minutes.  Damn, wrong word choice…

	The time is 6.47 and three-quarters.

	Mr. Forrester, I’ve given due consideration to your proposal…oh, crap!

	The time is 7.09.  Exactly.

	Mr. Forrester, please try to understand, I simply…damnit!

	The time is 7.24 and one half.

	I ring the bell.  Number Four answers.  As it began.

	“Number Four, will you take my bag please to…to…”

	The Music Room, I should think.  A more relaxed setting than the library, and the Day Room is likely too dark.

	Yeah…

	“…the Music Room, please.”

	“Good-bye, Omega.  Wish me luck.”

	I left the door open for her.  And me, I hope.

	*****

	Take them one step at a time, Allie.  If I’m going to walk the Final Mile, at least I look nice.  Maybe if I cry?  Show a little leg?  No, stupid.  Stick to playing it straight.

	Indeed.

	Look…

	You are too nervous.  You are going to make Langford angry.

	Like Forrester isn’t going to blow a fuse already?

	Put your paw on the banister.  It will steady it, and you.  Plenty of space between you and Number Four.  Tuck the velvet case securely under your other arm.  There is an internal bolster, it will not slide around or make a noise.

	I don’t want to die.  I don’t want to die.  Please don’t let me die.

	You will not die, Alatheia.  Keep calm.  You didn’t die from the crash, did you?

	N-no.

	Of course you didn’t.  You took steps to control the crash, and you lived.  Paw on the banister, one step at a time.  Breathe in, breathe out.

	O-okeh.  I don’t want to die.

	You won’t die.  Just relax.  You have everything under control.

	Am I…?

	Yes.  That was the last step.  It is just now 7.30.  You are on time.  Open your eyes.

	Oh, God!  Oh, God, he’s seen the bag…he’s seen...

	Shhhhhhh.  Calm yourself.  Steady your tail, that’s right.

	“May I speak with you in the Music Room, Mr. Forrester?”

	There was a very cold look that was given me.  It was a very long, searching stare through those goggles of his.

	Look him squarely in the eyes.  Do not flinch.

	“As you wish, Miss Hunter.”

	He…he didn’t offer me his arm.

	Don’t worry.  It is only a short walk.  Firm grip on the case.

	I don’t want to die.

	I know you don’t.  One step in front of the other.

	He’s flagging.  He’s very angry.  He’s very angry with me.  He’s going to kill me.

	No.  He will not.  Do not be afraid.  We are at the door.

	Why has he stopped?

	He is waiting for you to enter first, of course.

	Oh.

	“Thank you.”

	“Of course.”

	I’m cold.

	No, you are not.  Breathe in, breathe out.  It will be finished in just a few minutes.  Don’t you want to get on with this?

	“Number Four, tell those in the dining room and the library to retire belowstairs.  And retire there yourself.  There will be no need of your services tonight.”

	I don’t want to die.  I want to live.

	You will, Alatheia.  Trust yourself.  Trust yourself.

	“I see you have made…preparations, Miss Hunter.”

	“Well…I have to be prepared for any contingency, Mr. Forrester.”

	“Quite.”

	He’s looking at the velvet case.  What do I do?

	Take out the necklace…and give it to him…

	I…I can do that?

	It’s what you want, is it not?

	Y-yes.  Yes, it’s what I want to do.

	There.  Now go over to the sofa.  Compose yourself.  That’s right.  Now just breathe in and out.  Relax.  A few questions, and then business.

	“You considered, then, what I said to you in the Day Room today?”

	“Yes.  Yes, I did, Mr. Forrester.”

	Relax.  Breathe in and out.  There.  Your heart rate is slowing.  See how easy it is?  He is a gentlefur, after all.

	“There is more I could say and that I wish to say, Miss Hunter.  But I will hold my peace.”

	He’s angry.

	No, Alatheia, he is just sad.  Breathe in and out.  This is a good room, a room of Art.

	“I understand, Mr. Forrester.”

	You gave him such a wonderful performance here, Alatheia.  Fill yourself with courage from that.  You can do it.

	“Your decision is final?”

	You are strong.

	“Yes, Mr. Forrester.”

	You are very strong.

	“I see.”

	It is your will that shall prevail, Alatheia.  Yours.

	“May I ask, then, what it is?”

	Close your eyes.  One last, deep breath.

	“Mr. Forrester, the Necklace…take it…”

	“Yes…?”

	Now, look him in the eyes!

	“Take the Necklace, and place it about my neck.  This I command.  This…I desire.”

	A slight opening of the mouth, and a twitching of the ears.  But then…the smile.

	“I…I hear you and obey, my mistress…my…my Alpha!”

	*****

MOVEMENT SIXTH: Allegro con fuoco

	Dear, dear Langford.  You almost dropped the Necklace!

	It was only a matter of a few hoof-steps, and he was beside me, and behind me, on the sofa.  The Necklace was warm to the touch as he slid it on, and then fastened it on the nape of my neck.

	“How does that feel?”

	“Heavenly.”

	“It suits you, my dear.”

	“You have, I’m sure, an idea how.”

	“Of course.  It is to your brain what a pair of glasses is to a fur with myopia.  But better!  You will get stronger and stronger every day, every hour.  Soon, you will have no need for it.”

	“Oh, dear.  What a pity.  And it is so beautiful.  I love it.”

	“I’ve been a fool, and a complete fool.”

	“Langford!  Nothing of the sort.  It took hundreds of experiments to get something even as pathetically simple as a light-bulb to work, let alone something of the breath-taking scope of your work.  The details of your journey are not important.  You have…arrived!”

	“But there is still so much work to be done, so many refinements to make!”

	“Hmmmm.  Perhaps.  Fewer than you might imagine.”

	“How do you see that?”

	“It is a mere matter of reaching the tipping-point.  I would suggest, for example, gathering a few furs from a bread-line.”

	“A bread-line?  But what do they know of the Silver Note?”

	“Nothing…at first.  You start them off with some kindness.  Clean clothes, a hot meal, a soft bed.  The traditional things.”

	“And a fur singing hymns, and preaching to them?”

	“In a manner of speaking.  Nothing oppressive and dreary.  Short, practical and to the point.  When their minds are receptive – and a few dropouts here and there do not matter – you gather them together for a wonderful evening.  Dinner, followed by a concert.  In a hall carefully and strategically decorated in the best of taste.  With the proper acoustics, of course, you would see to that.”

	“And that is when…?”

	“Yes, darling.  We receive our first recruits.  Recruits that bear no marks, inside or out.  Clean, presentable furs.  Fully functional.  The kind of furs who will cheerfully do one’s bidding in return for an occasional treat.  One whose dispensation is in your paws.”

	“Our paws.”

	“Mmmmm.  How can I refuse?  Yes, our paws.  Our very safe paws.”

	“It sounds like slow progress, though.”

	“Oh?  In these times?  With furs hunched about their radios, fearful of where the bombs will fall next?  No, no, I think something that gets results will have an immediate appeal.  And results we shall get!  Recruits to do our bidding, building on the work of their fellows.  Ballet, not bullets.  A theatre of art, not a theatre of war.  There is no armour that can stop an idea, once it has achieved momentum.  We can achieve a great symphony all of the furs in the world, each playing a part in harmony.  A great symphony where minds are at the command of the maestro.  A symphony of mind control.”

	“Slaves, yoked by kindness.  Is it possible?  I…confound it!”

	“What? What is the matter?”

	“Omega has slunk into the room.  Pardon me, I shall deal with her impertinence and presumption and…”

	“Wait.”

	“Hmmm?”

	“No…no, in fact, her timing could not possibly be better.  Oh, Langford, darling, I must ask you something.  Say that you won’t refuse me.”

	“Refuse you, my mistress?  How could I refuse you?  What is it you wish?”

	“It is something very simple, but it demonstrates a point.  I want you to give me Omega.  For my very own.”

	“You…you want Omega?  Whatever for?  She’s a failed experiment.”

	“Is she?”

	“But she lacks some of the most elemental…ah.  I see the look in your eyes.  Very well, Omega is yours to dispose of as you see fit.”

	“Mmmmmmm, thank you, Langford.  Now do watch…”

	A mere matter of a paw, stretched out, fingers dangling.

	“Omega!  Come!”

	A clatter of paws, and a yellow gleam of eyes.

	“Who is your mistress, Omega?  Who do you serve?”

	The result I of course expected.

	“Fascinating…”

	“Yes, I think we can say that the way she is kissing my paw and wagging her tail is sufficient answer, do you not think so, Langford?”

	Indeed, my paw is being well-washed, and I am very pleased with the expression of worship in her eyes.

	“And to your point…?”

	“Ah, yes.  My point.  It is the furs that are most without hope, whom life has forsaken, that are the most fertile ground for change.  I believe any fur in Moscow, New Haven, Munich, Rome or any of a thousand cafes where revolutionaries gather would agree.  But you see, it is not necessary to break another fur, to crush them, to win over your target fur.  And then, that other fur in its turn becomes your target.  And so on.”

	A gentle lean forward, a stroke of the headfur, and a kiss willingly given to a loyal slave.

	“You are the first to kneel in front of me, Omega: you shall not be the last.  But only you, out of all of the millions of furs, will be part of me.  You cannot have an Alpha without an Omega.  Show that you love your mistress, Omega.”

	And she did, willingly, with a kiss in return.

	“I am very pleased with you, Omega.  We will discuss the particulars of your service later.  For now, seat yourself at that sofa, and watch your mistress.”

	My order was complied with instantly, and soon she was curled up a few feet away, watching me with glowing and eager eyes.

	“I yield the point to you, my dear.”

	“Mmmmm.  The proper scientific mind.  Willing to change the theory when fresh data comes in.”

	“But all of what you say requires long journeys…”

	“Heavens, no!  Why, there are the Spontoons nearby.  I know they have a perfectly ghastly avian there who owns a rather powerful radio-transmitter.  More to the point, they have their own symphony orchestra.  It would be kind to call it a work in progress.”

	“In the Spontoons?  I had not the slightest idea.”

	“I am sure reason, and a substantial cheque, can smooth things out quite nicely.  As well as make the necessary improvements.  Why, you only need an intermediary or two.  One of the local lawyers will do.  And there is so much traffic there in and out.  I can speak to that point.  Our acolytes can cycle in and out with ease, spreading the music to the four winds.”

	“You do not sound eager to travel for yourself, Alatheia.”

	A nice, leisurely, languid stretch.  “But, Langford, why on Earth would anyfur wish to leave this wonderful place?  You have all the facilities you need for your research, plus colleagues willing to help you.”

	“But what of you, hmmm?”

	“What of me?  Hmmm…well, all I need is within paw’s reach.  A well-trained staff of slaves, stimulating friends, beautiful clothes, delicious meals…”

	“Your facilities sound far more interesting than mine.”

	Langford has such a lovely chest.  Firm support.  Broad shoulders.  Soft ears.

	“Perhaps.”

	A turn of the head, and the raising of the paw.

	“You don’t need these, for example.”

	Langford, like a good little fawn, let me unsnap and remove his goggles.  Such pretty blue eyes he has.  Cool and inviting, like a lake.

	“What else do I not require when experimenting in your facilities, then?”

	Such strong paws, too.  He wants to know more, too.

	“You do not require a name, other than…’Master.’”

	There was no sound in the room, since everything had slowed to a complete stop.  

	Which is why the shriek had such an explosive impact.

*****

	Langford and I turned to the source of the noise. 
 
        	There, standing in the doorway of the Music Room, was Beta.  Dressed for a dinner that would be hers neither tonight, nor ever again.  She knew it, as all of us did.  The proof of it was before her eyes, and her impotent rage was apparent. 
 
        	She shrieked again, shaking from ear to foot, her long red head-fur trembling and tossing.. 
 
        	Langford gently put me aside, and scrambled to his hooves in a fury. 
 
        	“How dare you, Beta!  How DARE you!  You defy my order to remain sequestered…” 
 
        	*SHRIEK* 
 
        	“…and you dare not only spy upon me, but actively seek to disrupt…” 
 
        	*SHRIEK* 
 
        	“…affairs that have not the SLIGHTEST relevance to you…” 
 
       	*SHRIEK* 
 
        	“Stop this infernal noise at once, do you hear?” 
 
        	*SHRIEK* 
 
        	“Beta, I warn you for the last time, you will be severely punished…!” 
 
        	The buck took a step to rein in Beta, who had lost all semblance of self-control.  Langford, by contrast, was a pillar of coolness, only his flagging tail and raised voice giving vent to his entirely justifiable anger. 
 
        	Beta stormed ahead, evading his grasp, and went to the orchestral platform.  She began to flail her paws about, knocking over chairs, grasping instruments, and smashing them to the floor. 
 
        	“COMMAND 7246!” 
 
        	If there was any effect on Beta it was only to goad her to fresh heights of anger.  She seized a large cello, and with blows from her foot shattered into matchwood. 
 
        	I turned my eyes.  Omega, my precious, had not forgotten my orders to her.  Her eyes were flicking from me to Beta, watching as the lepine engaged in her whirlwind of pointless destruction. 
 
        	“COMMAND 7246!” 
 
        	Beta tilted her head back, her eyes rolling, and heaved a tremendous scream that filled the room.  It was sufficient to drive her to tear apart the kettle drum, shredding the skins and bending the metal with a shriek scarcely less violent than her own. 
 
        	Omega crouched, hackles raised and tail lowered.  I held my own paw out, flat, to signal her.  I did not want to interfere with whatever Langford was deciding to do with his recalcitrant slave.  Omega saw my signal (wonderful intelligence!) and remained poised. 
 
        	Langford stood opposite Beta.  He pointed a finger in the direction of her chest, which was heaving frantically and spasmodically. 
 
        	“You give me no alternative, Beta.  I have warned you repeatedly that this is unacceptable.  I shall summon your colleagues.  You have passed the point of no return.  This is the end.  I am sorry, Beta.  Truly sorry.” 
 
        	Beta slowed her breathing, and crouched slightly.  Her lips peeled back from her teeth. 
 
        	It was clear that there was going to be the tocsin, produced by the Organ.  Indeed, it could not be otherwise, and Beta knew it.  He had already turned to seal her fate. 
 
        	That is why she grabbed the heavy, cast-iron conductor’s stand, and with a strength that belied her femininity, but was born of shattered dreams, she hurled it at Langford. 
 
        	He heard her yell of exertion, and reflexively dropped to the side, the heavy object missing his body by scant inches. 
 
        	The stand struck the floor, leaving a gaping wound in the wood.  Spinning from the strength of the throw, it flew upward and beyond. 
 
        	It then struck the Organ, producing a blue flash, and a shower of red and yellow sparks, which lit up Langford’s face, revealing a look of horror. 
 
        	The same lights lit up Beta’s face.  A look of unholy glee twisted it, distorting it nearly beyond recognition.  A mad scream of laughter erupted, indicating that she knew full well what she had done. 
 
        	And then, after she had finished her unearthly exultation, her eyes turned to me. 
 
       	 It was clear what she wanted, and who she blamed for all her troubles. 
 
        	She tensed, and leaped, her fingers outstretched and crooked to grasp my throat and tear it apart, sinew from sinew. 
 
        	Her snarl was met by another snarl, as Omega herself leaped, and smashed into the rabbit just as the outstretched fingers grazed my throat.  The force of the collision carried the duo to the sofa, crushing it into pieces and hurling the two to the floor, where they were locked into struggle. 
 
        	A struggle to the Death, between bravery and courage on the one paw, and maddened, frustrated lust and rage on the other.  Teeth were bared, claws flashed, and eyes blazed.  
 
        	I dared not intervene, as I had no way of knowing whether a struck blow would hit friend or foe.  My place was with my darling. 
 
        	“Langford!” 
 
        	“Keep clear, Alatheia!  No, wait!  The trapdoor!  Open it and tell me what you see!” 
 
        	I did as he commanded, and looked.  The Tesla Sphere was spinning and glowing as I had seen it before, but the Babbage Engine was operating under stresses it had not been designed for.  The gears were spinning in a blur, and there was a wisp of smoke issuing from one of the upper corners.  I relayed this. 
 
        	“Tell me all you see, Alatheia.  I must relieve the stress.  Let Omega do her work!  What do you see?” 
 
        	My darling knew that machine better than any other fur, and he was turning dials and moving switches with paws that were mere blurs.  I could only have confidence that he knew what he was doing.  It gave me heart, so I continued to describe how the Babbage Engine stood the strain.  The gears were shrieking like a locomotive in a high-speed curve, competing with the noises from behind me. 
 
        	“Alatheia!  Come here at once and hold this light-sphere!” 
 
        	I rushed to his side, and held it as he wished, while he pulled socket wires and reconnected them, rerouting the power.  The Organ’s lights were starting to flicker, but it was still holding, still putting out its steady heart-beat of the Control Melody. 
 
        	“So much damage…perfidy, complete perfidy!  If I can just divert…Darling, the seventh switch on the console…” 
 
        	“Marked ‘Tone Compensator,’ coloured green.” 
 
        	“Exactly.  Throw the switch twice…yes, yes…good.  Once more.  Very good.  Now, quickly, the switch next to it…good.” 
 
        	He extricated himself from underneath the Organ, and took the light-sphere from my paw. 
 
        	“We shall see if that will hold.  I dislike improvisation.  On the other paw, when there is another set of paws to assist…paws that are capable…” 
 
        	He could have struck me with a live wire, the way he said those words.  Wonderful…but why is it so…? 
 
        	There was silence from the opposite side of the room, from beyond the shattered remains of the sofa.  Langford followed my gaze…and then followed my form, as I hurried over. 
 
        	Beta was dead, lying sprawled and face-down like a broken and discarded doll, with her neck at an unnatural angle. 
 
        	Justice delayed, but not denied. 
 
        	Omega was also face down, but her tail was slowly moving. 
 
        	“Omega!  Omega!  Come to your mistress!  Let your mistress see you!” 
 
        	She did not obey.  I could not believe that this would be of her own volition.  My Omega would NEVER disobey her mistress.  I knelt beside her and turned her over. 
 
        	A thin trickle of blood was seeping from the corner of her mouth, sliding down the line of her jaw to her throat. 
 
        	It was then that I saw that that fiend had taken a piece of brass, and had driven into my Omega’s body, with a last act of treachery, malice and envy. 
 
       	 It was all I could do to gather her in my arms, and put her head on my lap.  I knew that stroking her ears and headfur could do nothing, but anything was better than simply watching mutely. 
 
        	Her lips were moving soundlessly.  I bent down closer. 
 
        	“Speak, Omega.  Please speak to your mistress.” 
 
        	Through half-closed eyes, she swallowed and opened her mouth..  From somewhere deep within her, she summoned strength. 
 
        	“Mistress…” 
 
        	There was a small, fresh surge of blood through her lips.  I had little time, but there was only one thing that I could do, only one way I could show my love. 
 
        	“Omega.  I give you your freedom.  Take this gift.” 
 
        	There was one last effort from her.  She squeezed my paw. 
 
        	“Mistress.” 
 
        	And there was no more.  She did not, and could not, have heard my wail of grief, or felt my tears.

*****

	How long it was that I was there, and held Omega against me, I could not say.  It doesn’t matter.

	I felt a paw on my shoulder.

	“Come away, Alatheia.  Let her sleep.  You have done everything that could decently be expected of a fur.”

	I looked up at Langford, and then down again at Omega.

	What had I done for Omega?

	“If it is of any importance, you should know this: for all my hauteur and hubris, I would not have thought to allow Omega to draw a last breath as a free fur.  I stand shamed.”

	I looked up again.  “Oh, Langford, she’s gone…”

	“I know.  Come away.  There is much of importance to discuss.”

	I laid Omega on the floor, straightened her and crossed her paws over her chest.  The cover for the cello had been torn away in Beta’s rage, but there was a proper purpose for it in the end.  Omega would have her modesty.

	Langford let me complete this task, and then gently led me away by the arm.

	“My dear, what has happened here tonight has put an end to our dreams, our plans.  They cannot be.”

	It was an effort not to burst into tears again.  “No.  No, Langford.  More than ever, it makes me want to go forward.  There must never be another Beta.  Ever.  What we wish, we can accomplish.  Through science.”

	“What we wish, my dear, will never be accomplished.”

	I looked up, surprised at this tone of voice.  “Does…no, did Omega affect you that much?”

	He looked down at his hooves.  “I feel remorse for my actions, do not mistake that.  That she chose to die defending you, and not me, is indictment enough.  And I am guilty.”

	“Then…then why…?”

	“Listen.”

	I did.  “Langford, I don’t hear anything.”

	“Listen…and think.”

	“But darling, there’s nothing to listen to here…”

	“…”

	I could feel my stomach clench, and the bile rise in my throat.

	“No.”

	“Yes.”

	I moved him aside, and took some running steps forward.

	The Organ was dark and silent.  The glowing dials, the underlit keyboard.  All staring back, dead.

	“Cascading gear failure in the Babbage Engine.  The stress of compensating for fluctuating power flows and blocked relays in the Organ was too much.  I did not wish to interrupt your mourning for something that, in the final analysis, is not as important.”

	“The Control Melody!”

	A sad shrug of the shoulders.  “There is nothing that can be done, my dear.”

	I tore open the trapdoor, and looked down.  The Tesla Sphere still glowed, and it showed scorch marks on the surface of the Babbage Engine.  The glowing wires leading from it were dark.

	“Tools.  TOOLS!  Langford, I can fix this.  I can strip down aircraft engines!  I’ve repaired engines in places forsaken by any shard of civilization.  Give me tools, please!”

	“Tools, we have.  Spare parts, we have.”

	“Then what is the obstacle?!”

	From below my feet, faintly at first, but growing louder in volume, came a roar. 

	It must have been like the sound a fur would have heard in the gladiatorial arenas of Rome.  Pent-up rage, hatred, and…lust for blood.

	“Had we sufficient time, Alatheia, I would have been content to bear a tray of tools for you.  But that is one luxury that this house does not possess.”

	The roar was accompanied by the sound of stamping and smashing.

	“Weapons?”

	“None.  Nor command words.  Even if there were command words for the dozens of furs belowstairs, you yourself have seen twice that they are of little effect.  One fur I could control, perhaps.  Two?  Maybe.  But the entire mass, that is impossible.”

	I looked around the room, focusing on the piano.

	“It would require three pianists of consummate skill to even duplicate the Control Melody.  And there would still be the problem of broadcasting it.”

	There were louder sounds, indicating that whatever was belowstairs was being destroyed in a passion.

	“Your foresight, incidentally, in sending away your maids was admirable.”

	“We can call for help…”

	“I am afraid the mixture of distance, narrow roads, and above all, self-interest on the part of any would-be rescuers makes that possibility unavailable.”

	I couldn’t think of anything else for the moment.  “Darling…how long…how long do we have?”

	“Well, the building still has power, of course, so I have deployed the emergency fire and asbestos gates.  The area belowstairs is sealed off.  For now.”

	“For now?”

	A rhythmic pounding soon manifested itself.

	“That, I believe, indicates that some of the staff has encountered the first level of doors.”

	“But how long do we have?”

	“I would estimate that I have something in the range of twenty minutes at the low end, forty minutes at the upper end.”

	“…”

	“You find fault in my calculations?”

	“I find fault in the conclusion drawn from them.  I distinctly asked you how long do we have.”
	
	“There is no error in the conclusion.  I will die, and you will live.”

	He stated this so calmly that it staggered me, and I had to brace myself against the dead Organ.

	“No.”

	“If you will allow me…”

	“NO.”

	“Alatheia…”

	I do not conceal the fact that my own self-control was lost.  Not in anger or in rage, but in the madness of longing.

	“No!!!  You can’t send me away, Langford!  Not now!  You can’t!”

	“It must be, Alatheia…”

	I got on my knees in front of him.  “I can’t let you die alone, darling!  I won’t let you.  Let me be with you…we can go down together, side by side, at the end…please, Langford, don’t refuse me!”

	For the first time, I saw something cross his face.  His jaw shook, and his first words, after a long silence, came through in a strained voice.

	“For the second time, Alatheia, you shame me.  To refuse an offer such as that is indecent.  But refuse it I must.  I have my reasons.  Please.  Don’t fall to your knees.  Come here.”

	He took me by my arms and lifted me up, gently, and then held me to him.

	“I bear responsibility for all that has happened.  The furs that are coming were my creations, my work.  I, and I alone, must bear responsibility for when they run amok.  To flee like a coward would spell the end of everything.  I will sacrifice pride.  I will sacrifice dignity.  I will even sacrifice life.  I will not sacrifice honour.”

	He reached up, and stroked my head-fur, and the backs of my ears.

	“And I won’t sacrifice you, my dear.  I hold you at the same level I hold my honour.”

	“But we had so few hours together...how could that be?”

	“How long does it take, Alatheia, to realize you have heard the Silver Note?”

	“It’s…well…it’s just there.  It is.  When I felt it last night, when I was holding…holding the Necklace.”  I brought my paw up to it and touched it.

	“Just so.  I had initially written you off, Alatheia, as just another unlucky off-islander, an ordinary fur.  How fortunate I was that my initial impressions were so wrong.  A unique combination.  When I spoke this morning of the quality of mercy you have, I underestimated things.  It is clear to me that deep within yourself, you have something that I lack, and will never have.  Your gesture to Omega is confirmation of that.”

	He gently reached down and lifted my chin.

	“If there is any creation I can claim credit for…even if it is only being lucky enough to have engineered the right conditions…it is you.”

	A gentle nuzzle.  Under other circumstances…circumstances without the rhythmic “DOOM” of a mob crashing against doors…it would be heaven.

	“Forget our discussion earlier, about grandiose, bombastic plans.  Slaves, mind control symphonies, everything.  Castles in Spain, the lot of it.  It is, as all plans of that ilk should be, doomed to failure.  I see it now.  The penalty for playing at one of the Gods, is to be struck down by those whose company you desire in your foolishness to join.”

	“You are better than that, and I’m sure you will prove it.  I want to give you that chance.  Please, please take it.  You gave Omega her freedom.  Please let me give you yours.”

	I put my face into his chest and began to cry again.

	“Darling, please.  I will turn the question on you.  Are you going to refuse me?”

	“I know you are brave.  You were of two minds when you came down tonight.  But you stayed to see it through.  It would inspire me, I’m sure, in the end.  But two against a hundred is little better than one against a hundred, and to waste a young life, full of promise, is another.”

	Langford let me go, and walked over to my overnight bag.  He held it out to me.

	“Sixty’s fishing boat is at the dock, around the terrace, and down the hill.  It is a standard fishing boat, with nothing eldritch, nothing in it that would frighten another fisherfur.  Little beyond the radio receiver from he receives…received…the Control Melody.  You can take it safely, and there are islands within range that are reachable.”

	“But you must hurry.  What is beyond the garden…it can sense things.  Just like a predator knows the weakest of the herd will soon fall behind and be alone, they will sense things here.  The glyphs at the top of the wall will not hold it back.  It seeks warmth.  Once you leave, you must not stop.  Not for one instant, not for anything.  Don’t look back.”

	I could only see him through a blur of tears.  I could nod, and I could take the bag, both of which I did, but my heart was not in it.

	There was no convincing him, I could see.  And I had no argument that could counteract his unshakeable logic.  He was, of course, right.

	But the truth can be so painful.  For both of us.

	There was a long silence between us, broken by a large crash and the roar of a mob.  The first obstacle breached.

	My darling thought deeply, flagging, and then opened his eyes.

	“Alatheia?  Come over to the piano.”

	I blinked through the haze of tears, and he beckoned to me.  I followed as he picked through the debris on the floor, and retrieved a metronome.  He set it upon the Schweinway, and gently set it in motion.  

	Tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick.

	“My dear, what I would like you to do is close your eyes.  Follow along with your mind.”

	He sat next to me, and I could feel one of his arms brush me.  There was a brief pause, and then he began to play.

	It was an unfamiliar melody, but that was not the only reason it was refreshing.  No, it was not a Silver Note, but it put me in mind of the Day Room, with the sun streaming in and soft ragtime music.

	“Now, you play it.”

	He held my paws, and placed them over the keys.  I could see the notes in my mind, as I had done last night, passing more slowly this time.  I followed along in their wake, repeating their message.  It drowned out all of the other noises in the room.  But not the sensation that there was somefur next to me.

	The notes ran out, and the melody came to an end.

	“There will be times, Alatheia, when you will awake in the middle of the night, and there is no one there.  Or there will be disappointment, even injustice, that you are going to have to suffer.  It’s the lot of every fur.  When you feel those sensations, don’t let the rage or sorrow eat away at you.  Find an instrument.  If you cannot find an instrument, play the music inside your head.  I will be beside you then, as I am beside you now.  As long as you can hear the melody, I will be there.”

	He reached out, and stilled the metronome.

	Tick-tick, tick-.

	He got up from beside me on the piano bench.  He walked over to the sofa debris, and from it, he picked out his goggles.  He fastened them around his head, hiding his eyes.

	I don’t think he wanted me to see them.

	He held his shoulders and rack erect, and walked from the room without looking back, turning left toward the Day Room.

	It was time for me to go.

*****

	The trouble was, while I had some idea of how the grounds were laid out, I had omitted to ask Langford precisely the route to use.  And his warning regarding the flora…or perhaps fauna… seemed particularly ominous.

	Though not as ominous as the increasingly louder pounding that I was hearing.

	The terrace, as I recalled from yesterday morning, was through the dining room.  Which seemed fairly convenient, as it was straight ahead.  The shortest distance between two points…

	I had almost left the dining room, when I realized that I was overlooking something potentially important.  The sideboard was there.  While it was bare on top, the inside had possibilities.  Which came to fruition, as the cutlery drawer was there.  One steak knife for the paw, two others for the bag, as well as a fork and a spoon.  The cabinet beneath held an unopened jar of Buckhorn’s Original Dill Pickles, and some bars of Swiss chocolate.

	I am sure Langford would not mind.

	On a small stand near the door to the terrace lay a light-sphere.  This required some juggling to keep knife and bag in one paw, and sphere in the other, but it was soon accomplished.  Perhaps just in time.

	At that moment, the lights in the mansion failed.  Some faint lights came up where the walls met the floor, but the lights in the garden were now dark.

	While leaving the mansion by the terrace door was a good first step, it was the only step that was clearly indicated.

	Wouldn’t it be a better idea if you let me take over, now?

	Oh.  Oh, it’s you.

	Yeah.  Nice con job you pulled on me back there, sport.  

	I’m…I’m sorry.

	Infirm of purpose, give me the god-damned wheel.

	Yes, yes of course.  Please.  Take charge.

	Okeh.  There was the sound of the ocean off to my left, and off to my right, I could see the gate, which was still glowing, but flickering in a way that I didn’t particularly like, and was not about to find out particulars regarding, thank you.

	I saw the area where I had eaten breakfast, and knew that one way was the garden path.  So the other was probably the ocean path.  The stairs were broad, though that was perhaps how they started.  Dunno how they were going to end.

	Keep moving, keep moving.  That’s what Mr. Forrester said, and I was pretty convinced that was a damn good idea.  It would have been better had I taken the time to change into khakis, instead of running around in a black velvet dress, but maybe it would help hide me in the dark.

	And whistling past graveyards works too, I hear.

	The steps slowly curved around the side of the mansion, and now, I was guessing, I was pretty much under the library windows.  Not much time to get bearings, but keeping moving and shifting my head helped.

	I heard a loud splintering, followed by hissing, that came around from the front of the house, which I hoped to hell meant that it was just a gas leak somewhere.

	Keep moving, Allie, keep moving.

	I was down a little further, when I could see it.  The windows on the main level were beginning to shake, and when a few of the panels busted, you could hear it loud and clear.

	A good, hard, thumping, like a big heavy weight against another big heavy weight.

	Keep moving, for God’s sake…

	Just my luck, the path branched off in two directions, and I really would like to have killed the guy who planned this.  I did stutter steps in both directions, and kept my ears twitching.

	Hissing and booming, neither of which helped.  

	I ran like hell down one path, making a guess, which turned out to be the wrong one.  It ended about twenty yards down, with a little bench.  Rest?  No way, not now.

	I was losing time, and I knew it.  Back to the crossroads, but at least I knew where I was going.

	I had just gotten there when there was a huge crash, and a pane of glass came flying through the air and landed somewhere in the bushes.  I looked up, in spite of myself.

	Most of what I could see was the library, and there were furs running around through it.  With torches in their paws, setting fire to everything.  And that library had a lot of nice fuel in it.  It didn’t take long before there was smoke curling out the shattered panes, whose numbers were growing as furniture was defenestrated.

	I had just turned down what I hoped was the right path when I felt it.

	A little tickle around my ankle.  I thought it was my hem, and if it had been, I would have been a lot better off.

	It was when something reached for the light-sphere in my paw, that I realized I was in trouble.

	It had found me.

	It got a hold of the light sphere, and yanked hard, grabbing it away.  Just before it vanished, I could see that it was being swallowed by something that looked a lot like a bush.

	A few seconds later, I could feel more of it, sliding over my legs.  I could still move, but it kept tripping me, and making a grab for me.

	It finally got me a few steps later, by the tip of my tail and my right ankle, and lifted me up in the air like I weighed nothing, holding me dangling.

	More tendrils began to snake over me, and I soon realized they were searching for a way to get in.  Frustrated by the dress, they decided there was only one thing to do.

	Get rid of it.

	The thing made one mistake…two, actually.

	One was that it was hell-bent on stripping me naked to get at what, I really didn’t want to know.

	The other was that it didn’t go for my wrists and paws.

	I was interested to know that steak knives work quite well on motorized vegetables, too.  Something that my little friend found out as well.  It had too many tendrils tangled up in velvet material (or what was left of it), and not enough tendrils on offence.

	It was touch and go for about a minute, but then I was saved, of all things, by the rebellion above me.  

	The dining room, which jutted out toward the sea, was in a mass of flames, bright orange flames that were curling through the glass, and sending up dark smoke into the sky.

	The thing must have weighed the relative merits of my warmth versus this warmth, and broke off the attack.

	I was minus a light-sphere, one high-heel, and my dress.  But I still had my bag, my knife, and my dignity, not necessarily in that order.  I kicked the other high-heel away (no Parthian shots at the thing), and took off down the path.

	Thankfully, Capability Brown or whoever didn’t leave any more tricks for me.  A nice path, only a few curves, and there was the dock in front of me.

	Sixty was a trusting soul.  The boat was tied up, but the key was in the ignition.  Well, I have enough trouble finding my keys, and half my brain hasn’t been erased, least not as far as I can tell. Running like hell back and forth on the dock allowed me to collar a ten-gallon can of what I hoped was gas, and some coiled rope.  And a towel.  You should never be without a towel.

	I considered the justice of this when I looked down and found myself dressed in just a bra, panties, garter belt and stockings, which seemed like a pretty stupid outfit for sailing.  I threw on the khaki shorts and the khaki shirt, slapped my footpads into boots, and prayed that I wouldn’t run into anyfur from Women’s Wear Daily on the trip out.  Which I wanted to start, fast.

	“Come on…come on…come on…”

	The engine didn’t want to turn over, and I was keeping one eye on the dock, in case my friend decided to get thirsty or bored with the riot above, which seemed to be in full swing.

	I did chance a look up.  I could see the Day Room at the end, and there was just one point of light in there.  It was standing still, and it was near the window, on a glass wall side facing the dock area.

	That put a lump in my throat, and made me pray all the harder.

	“Come on…for God’s sake…”

	KAROOOOOOOOOOOM!

	THUD-FUD-FUD-THUD-FUD-FUD-THUD-FUD-FUD

	Sixty, luckily, was not only trusting, he believed in simple knots, and I cast off.

	Without any charts handy, it was going to be by guess and by God as to how I was going to get away.  I wasn’t even sure what side of Cranium Island I was on.  But “away” sounded like a good direction.  I figured a run of about five minutes would get me a mile or so away.

	As it turned out, I couldn’t bring myself to run that far.  I put the wheel around, and slowed to a stop at a point where I could still make out the features of the mansion pretty clearly.

	The fire was pretty well advanced by now.  The dome that formed the ceiling of the Music Room was still pretty much intact, but there was a reddish glow inside it, and I could see the roof was sagging in parts.  The dining room, on what was the far left from my point of view, had already collapsed.

	The Day Room, on the far right, was hanging in there, though I bet it was taking a hell of a beating.  I could see chunks of glass glinting as they dropped off it, and it was shaking.  

	The slaves weren’t waiting to hear the door-click.

	There was still the one point of light that I could barely make out.  It was now in the back of the Day Room, against the far wall.

	There was one last shudder, and then I could see the Day Room flooded with light from dozens of torches.  I could see Forrester standing there, his rack clearly picked out by the light, and he was standing there, arms folded across his chest, glaring at the slaves.

	The roar carried across the water, and I could see the sea of flame lunge toward him.

	It was soon drowned out by a loud shrieking noise.  No, not like Beta’s.  It’s a sound no pilot likes to hear.

	The sound of metal, failing.

	The Day Room jerked downward, violently, and as the contents of the Day Room fell forward, it jerked downward again.

	It bounced once off the cliff face, about a third of the way up, and then again about half-way down, sending bits of flame and material everywhere.  With one, final, resounding crash, it plunged to the rocks below.

	I didn’t feel any heat on my face, not at that distance, but I did feel a peculiar sensation of air being sucked in, and the fishing boat slew a few yards toward the shore.

	It felt like a good moment to duck, and I dropped to the deck and kept my head down.  There was a brilliant flash, and I could see the inside of my eyelids, even as they were covered by my paws.

	The weird thing was that there was no noise.  And I hadn’t lost my hearing, because I could hear the water slapping against the side of the boat, and my own breathing.

	I counted Five Mississippi, and when the light had grown less intense, I looked over the side.

	The part of the mansion that had been above-ground, wasn’t.  All there was, was a bright electric ring of fire that was shooting toward the sky, faster than the pillar of brilliant blue fire that stabbed up into the night sky.  I watched, and after about a minute, the ring faded into the night, and the pillar of light collapsed like the water in a fountain.

	Soon, there was nothing to see, but the occasional flicker of orange fire from the rocks, and nothing to hear but the occasional fall of metal or glass into the sea.

	Not counting, of course, the sound of one cat crying.

*****

CODA:  Con dolore

	The Sponsor’s Booth is ideal for watching a broadcast.  It overlooks the stage, allowing you to see everything, and yet the facilities inside allow you to hear things just as the audience is hearing them.

	Strictly speaking, I am not the sponsor, but there were few who would question my right to be here.

	The young femmefur who sits there alone on the darkened stage is, more’s the pity, not my own discovery.  Senor de Ciervos has that honour, though that is indeed what I pay him for, as head of the Music Department of Mirror Broadcasting.

	Even if the vast majority of the audience are in no position to appreciate it, I think the lighting on stage is quite striking.  Completely dark, save for a muted spotlight that shines on her head-fur, bent over the keys.  You can just catch a glimpse of her necklace against her dress, there.  Beautiful, what you would hope any soloist would be, with a slight hint of mystery and melancholy.

	A look of studious concentration.  Closed-eyed, too, not that is matters, for there is no sheet music in front of her.  A most unusual quirk, but given that I’ve seen conductors use their paws and not their batons, I suppose not unique.

	The audience, as in all her appearances, is rapt.  Usually, there is some inconsiderate fur who insists on coughing or rattling his programme.  But they never fail to be respectful to her, to allow the music to speak, uninterrupted.

	It is the last piece, and she closes this performance as she does all others.  A beautiful and haunting melody, which is extremely difficult to play, I’m told.  There are no less than three separate leitmotifs, which gracefully twirl around each other, repeating themselves, but in very subtle variations.  And all come to a close together.

	A long pause, and then the audience response.  A warm, sustained wave of applause, and richly deserved, too.  I wonder if she hears it.  Her paws are in her lap, and she’s so sad.  She should be triumphant.

	Hmm.  Bang on time, too.  Here’s the announcer.

	“That was ‘Alpha and Omega,’ as performed by its author, Alatheia Hunter.  And that concludes this week’s broadcast of the ‘The Composition Room,’ brought to you each week at this time by Pan-Nimitz Airways, the Wings of Friendship, with non-stop flights from the Spontoons to Honolulu and San Francisco, and connecting flights to Tillamooka, Rain Island, the Gilbert & Sullivans, and other Pacific destinations.  For complete itineraries, please see your travel agent, or telegraph Pan-Nimitz Airways.  I am your announcer, Walter Reimer. Thank you for joining us in ‘The Composition Room.’  This has been a production of radio station L-Y-R-C, Casino Island.  We return you now to the studio.  Good evening.”

	Click.

	“You are misty-eyed, Carlos.”

	“Si, es veridad, Senor Crane.  Beautiful music always moves me.”

	“And her signature tune especially.”

	“But of course.  How could any fur have the cold heart enough to resist a melody that are joined together, at start and the ending, like the letters of it namesake, in the manner that is…err…that is…Diablo, what is it, this word that I am seeking?”

	“Compelling?”

	“Ah!  Si!  That is precisely the word Carlos de Ciervos seek.  Compelling!”

New York, New York
November 21-December 2, 2008