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(Meta note: this is an old story I wrote quite a while ago, not in my current story universe. It's more about brain than libido, so I will see what reaction it gets.)

Not In Our Stars

Anthony was starting to feel vaguely nauseous. This was his first time on a ship in the 19 years he had been alive, having been land-locked for all his formative years. He was doing his best to answer the question he had circulating in his head: why in the world would an undergraduate student at Tripaw college, having won no outstanding merit, be invited to the residence of the great Tyson Brahams?

"What you know 'bout him?" asked the large malamute rowing the small fishing boat, his thick accent barely understandable to the rat.

Anthony reviewed: the panther seemed to be legendary; he was mentioned for his outlandish proclamations about science, and the subject mostly of jokes by the professors at the institution whom Master Brahams loved to hate.

"Rumors," summarized Anthony, trying to avoid throwing up. But his shipmate didn't help, but instead tried to relate what he knew of the famous panther.

Anthony made out only the basics, for the grammatical embellishments were too difficult to follow: his father left him a large sum as a young man, which he grew modestly by investing in the booming overseas trade. But then, the luckiest-something-on-earth, according to the dog, then nearly doubled it.

Tyson pulled out of the trade while he was ahead, and since its collapse ten years earlier, has ever since been wringing large debts owed him by those less fortunate. The way he told the story, Anthony momentarily wondered if his companion was one of them, but upon a second thought, Anthony decided he could never have managed enough money to be more than an oarsman.

"You're in for a bash, you are," continued the dog, adding a rough wolfish grumble of a laugh. "Oh, for sure, what'er you do up 'er is nu'un 'fore 'is."

The description was hard to follow, especially with the splashing of the water, but Anthony got quite an impression: food and females of better quality than anywhere else in the Unified Kingdom -- or he thought that's what the last few words were.

The mention of girls, however, did get his imagination spiraling off. Having found very little to do but study, and being too nervous to desire to do anything else, he had yet to touch one in the way every male desires. Could he really be that lucky? And perhaps worse, what would he do if he could?

Letting the massive dog chatter on, in his way, and thinking of nothing but females, the rat was quite startled when the edge of the boat bumped up against the pier where they landed.

It was one four long docks, on a modest, private island bequeathed to Mr. Brahams by the government. Anthony was unloaded like a sack of flour by two large dock workers, one on each arm. The tigers seemed to know the malamute, and they got to talking while Anthony looked around the docks for anyone else as close to dressed up as himself.

Soon, he found one other rather tall, grey tabby cat getting off a much nicer boat. Not quite sure what he was doing, Anthony scrambled over to the stranger, nicening up his clothes as best he could, and thanking his lucky stars the water splashed from the oars did not get under his protective raincoat.

"Excuse me, my good man," he called with as much brashness as he could muster, taking off his raincoat to show his better clothes. The cat turned, looked at him rather curiously, and waited momentarily, as if for him to continue. "Could you kindly direct me to where I might meet Mr. Tyson Brahams?"

"So you've come for the party then, too?" asked the cat with more formality than politeness.

"Yes sir, it's the first time I've been here, and I'm not sure exactly what to do."

"What you do is wait until dark," he snapped, and walked off.

Anthony didn't get it, but dared not intrude more upon whatever business was not his to pry into. But in search of a clue, he moved past the supply shed, and walked toward the middle of the island, to see what else was there.

He soon found a large mansion of great proportion. It was a bright white building of classical design, with tremendous marble columns in the front which reflected the orange sunset well enough to make him shield his eyes. The building itself was four stories, capped with a dome, wide rooms on the first floor, and two more square stories atop each other above them.

Anthony thought it looked strange, but decided that Mr. Braham's money could buy anything he wanted.

Matching the mansion was the fact that it was well-attended. More dock workers and others in work clothes were trimming the lawn, polishing the already-bright marble, and others were carrying things into a large set of doors in the back of the building. The Tabby cat seemed to be supervising the latter group.

In fact, the tabby cat had acquired two five-pound sacks of something bulky and liquid and now carried them in the back door, which was opened for him by someone inside Anthony could not make out. But before he could wonder very much about it, a voice assaulted him from behind.

"Bit early, aren't you?" asked asked a sharp but gentle voice.

Anthony turned to find a wolf, probably a butler based upon his dress, looking levelly at Anthony. Anthony knew of no time to leave, and so chose to arrive in time for what dinner would be planned.

"I apologize," he replied without thinking, "I've never been here before."

"Well, the first rule is: do not show up early." he explained crisply. "You will remember that in future."

Anthony nodded submissively, trying to avoid contemplating the further effects of his first faux paws.

"But since you are here, I shall escort you to the dining room."

The wolf began walking west of the docs, Anthony following him at five or six paces toward the mansion. He got a better view of another set of docs -- this one in far better condition and decoration. Apparently, this was where Anthony was supposed to have gotten off the boat, if he had to guess.

The wolf walked all the way to these dock, down the pier, and turn around -- perhaps making Anthony redo his departure the right way. Then, he took the path obviously designed for guests instead of supplies. This one had an unobscured view of the front of the house, and an intentionally obscured view of the other docs by the large storage building.

Anthony saw no reason to make him do it -- except, perhaps, that someone was watching. He tried not to think about that.

The path from the pier to the house went through a rather large garden, built up like a large wall, which plants of light scents were embedded in winding masses of vines and tall rows of hedge. Anthony just took it all in, and tried his best to avoid wondering what the gentleman was carrying into the house.

At the end of about 50 feet of garden was the front door, two wide marble doors, whose two tigers in suits pulled open upon sight of him. The room which opened was a luxurious entryway, leading straight into a wide room with a dozen places to sit. All of the fabric was finer velvet or silk than Anthony had ever felt, and all of the decorations were of gold, marble, and crystal.

Once the wolf took his raincoat, the large chandelier above a couch made the entire room dazzle with flecks of light from the large skylight nearby, Such wealth had Anthony in silent awe; the mere visual array before him required some getting used to looking at.

He was escorted straight to a long, empty table, which in any other house, would have been full of dishes by this time.

"Mr. Brahams will not be making his appearance for nearly an hour," added the wolf, jerking Anthony back to his manners, "is there anything I can get you?"

"No thank you," he replied nervously.

"Very well," was all he replied as he half-bowed and left the room.

The rat was actually glad. He needed time to collect his thoughts for a moment, just to try and assemble all of the fragments of memory he had about Tyson Brahams. It seemed impossible for the same sophistic argument of an academic to be the hedonistic party giver the oarsman had described. But as he was still reconciling things, other guests arrived.

To his surprise, they were three other males, all his age. The wolf butler was issuing them to tables with a similar stern look, and Anthony would guess, similar lecture about being too early. They all chose their seats, far away from Anthony; he felt rather suddenly ostracized, but decided the best course of action was to wait for more guests to fill in the gap.

Over the next ten minutes or so, they did: bears, birds, weasels, skunks, cats, and dogs joined the table into quite a multitude. All were male, and based on guessing about suits and grey patches, Anthony concluded they were all either age 25 or 45.

Many of those his elder seemed to know each other, including the well-dressed delivery man who appeared from the kitchen to take his place three seats from the head of the table. He gave Anthony a brief glance, but nothing more, and seemed quite appropriate for a guest.

Only once everyone was seated -- dogs and cats mostly, but with two lizards and three birds standing out among them -- did the host appear. Mr. Brahams was recognizable from his demeanor even though Anthony had never seen him. The black panther, whose face was showing hints of grey, was unlike anyone Anthony had previously met. His face was stern, and his gaze was was intense, emphasized by sharp, bloodshot blue eyes and thin jowls around his muzzle.

His rather portly frame still moved smoothly toward the table without a word as his mere appearance commanded the silence of his wiser guests. The rest followed suit when then saw him

"Gentlemen," he began, leaning his arms on the back of his chair, "welcome."

Like his eyes, his voice was intense -- despite the fact it was also quite hoarse. But the gravity of his personality made its silence draw the concentration of the ear all the more.

"Many of you know of my obsession with the planets. Later tonight, just after the stroke of midnight, all of my measurements predict I shall have an announcement to make. It is one I wish particularly to be heard by the many students of Tripaw University I have brought here tonight."

His glance, drifting around the room, landed briefly upon Anthony as he finished the sentence, making his stomach knot momentarily.

"But for now, you young students, your job is to get into the right frame of mind. Relax, enjoy yourselves. And so, the first step, is to be well fed!"

He sat down, and pounded his fist on the table, making Anthony and several others jump, as half a dozen trays were immediately delivered by well-dressed servants from the kitchen. When the lids were removed, Anthony was astonished at the fare: fowl, beef, pork, and fish were the four primary meats, all of which were in thick sauces with far lighter vegetables.

Anthony watched as each member of the table seemed to follow his ancestors' predilections: the dogs took pork, cats took fish, the fowl took the vegetables, and the one lizard took the fowl. Anthony himself, also perhaps like his ancestors, chose some of each. However, his pondering of side dishes, spread over most of the table, was interrupted by an address from his right.

"Tripaw college, eh?" jovially growled a large bear to his left, whose suit seemed somewhat ill-fitting on his muscular frame.

"Yes sir, Mister --?"

"Henry James, world explorer," he replied quickly, grabbing a large spoonful of corn with little regard to the tablecloth between the two plates. "Frankly, I'm surprised you're invited at all," he continued boisterously, "what with Master Brahm's atomism, especially."

Anthony was only vaguely acquainted with the notion: atomists believed that self-replicating, self-transforming the atoms made up the universe. Of course, this was in stark contrast to the curriculum at Tripaw.

"It seems to me to be rather a difficult position to hold," Anthony cautiously remarked, "for the Great Creation performed by Shakallah has been so well studied."

"And you wouldn't think Mr. Brahams wouldn't hold a difficult position would you?" he gruffly joked with a toothy grin. "Besides, I once went to an island, tribal savages lived there. Y'know what they believed?" His voice rose unconsciously as his arms changed from loading his plate to loading his mouth. "Try this: we -- all of us -- aren't real -- but just invisible beings from another planet! They created the universe, put themselves in bodies, and forgot how to escape!"

Anthony tried to laugh as best he could along, ignoring the stares he was getting at the raised volume of Henry James. He had failed to take a single bite of his food all this time, but hadn't realized it until everyone's stares made him think about what his body was doing.

"Can you believe it!? We created ourselves!"

Anthony carefully stuffed his mouth full so as to have an excuse to be silent. It was just in time, for the attention of Mr. Brahams fell upon the bear.

"You're right," he agreed with a broad grin, his quiet voice made up by its harsh tone, "nothing can create itself!"

"Certainly not," shouted the bear to general consensus.

"Nothing," the panther repeated. "Not even Shakallah!"

"Come now, sir, not in front of the Tripaw students," soothed a much smoother leopard to his left.

"I merely was attempting to point out," reassured Master Brahams brashly, "that, in fact, things can spontaneously pop into existence. Surely, Shakallah would be included in such a description of 'anything'."

"So how do you get something out of nothing, then?" asked someone across the table.

"You never start with nothing. Tell me, young man, have you ever seen complete darkness?" asked the cat sagely, choosing a falcon Anthony's age at random from along the left side of the table.

"Complete?" he repeated, somewhat surprised to be selected.

"Complete," insisted the cat with a wide gesture. "No sun, no moon, no stars, no lamps, no light of any kind."

"Never," he replied nervously, seeking approval from his fellow students with wandering eyes, "such a thing is impossible."

"You are correct, my boy. There is always light somewhere, however small. Sometimes we can see it, sometimes we can't, but it's always there."

He smiled at the praise, even though it came from one whom Anthony could imagine no one would put on a pedestal.

"So, I ask you then," continued the cat, relentless in his logic, "why not so for matter? We see wood, it burns, it turns into smoke. We cannot see the smoke when it dilutes, but it still exists. The smoke, the wood it came from, the tree that came from, the soil that nourished it -- why couldn't it be that every speck in the Earth, in some form or another, have always existed?"

The bird found his mouth full of fish when the question was asked of him, and the pause did nothing but reinforce the panther's point. Anthony somewhat unnerved by its persuasiveness, considered saying something, but a ferret down the table beat him to it.

"Because, Master Brahams, Shakallah put it there. It made the dirt exist, and before It did, there was no dirt, no trees, no wood, no fire, and no smoke."

To this response, the cat merely smiled gently, without bluster or anger. "We shall see if you find that answer satisfying after tonight," he cryptically replied, and turned back to a much older wolf with whom he had been talking quietly before the laughter of Henry James stole his attention.

When the conversations around him likewise resumed, Anthony tried to grab a hold of his discussion with Henry James to avoid another such disturbance. "If I might ask," he began, putting his current bite of chicken in the corner of his mouth to speak clearly, "does this always happen at Master Brahams' gatherings?"

"This one is rather quite dull, so far," replied Henry, his voice returning to its pre-excitement level. "He doesn't usually serve a proper dinner, even, just goes for the girls. I do hope they're not cancelled," he growled with a knowing smile.

"Neither do I," nervously replied Anthony, trying to imitate it.

Dinner carried on for an hour, during which Anthony greatly enjoyed the best meal of his life. He chose to try everything, even beef which he always found too heavy a meat; it seemed nothing could go wrong. He was quite full, even before he stopped eating, a state he had very seldom entered.

But once more than satisfied -- in fact getting a mild pain from his stomach -- Anthony tried to speak to his fellow students at Tripaw college, injecting some wit into their round-and-round conversation when he could. But as the conversation veered into the difficulties of Professor Sharptooth, he found himself instead listening to the long yarns of the overbearing bear.

It was quite a while after that, after it seemed everyone had stopped eating and was entangled in one thread of conversation or another, that Master Brahams stood, and several of the regulars did as well, the students slowly got the message and followed suit.

"The hour nears, gentlemen," announced the panther, as servants appeared to clear the table. "I would advise you make yourselves as comfortable as possible to prepare."

He then stepped out into the kitchen as the wolf he spoke to led the crowd back into the sitting room. But even before they could get there, down the stairs came the next thing to occupy them.

It was a procession of young females, led by a very trim cheetress with deep, brown eyes. All of them wore next to nothing, showing off the entirety of their silky coats. Spots and stripes flexed and fluttered as they strutted down a flight of corner stairs.

All eyes drawn to them, and mouths dropping to silence, Anthony did his best to try and loose himself in those pools; until to his surprise, she sauntered right over, and sat down straight down in his lap with a purr. While the Tripaw students were quite impressed with him at first, cat after cat -- tigers, leopards, jaguars -- all took a male in a similar fashion.

Before long, manners went out the window; whispers, kisses, and quiet murmuring of voices filled the room. Anthony, almost absent-mindedly, went up the stairs at her gentle tug of his wrist by his female companion. He drifted through a long hall, stopping at one rooom of many.

It was ravishingly decorated, lit by nothing but dim candles for the dark window. The object foremost in it was an immense canopied bed, with sheets that made Anthony's palm tingle to brush. Indeed, it was quite similar to the feeling he got when, as they walked in he kissed her.

She slowly pushed him down onto the bed with gentle purrs. Her smell was floral, and the taste of her muzzle, while slightly sharp, did little more than make Anthony even more excited. Anthony, unable to resist the beauty of the sight, brought it from himself to undress, and the two of them mated several times.

Whatever remorse he felt at first was washed away by orgasm quickly, and the hours before sunset passed in between soft sheets with nothing but exchanged murmurs and purrs. She was attractive, but for Anthony, such a wonderful experience was as exhausting as it was pleasing. He found himself shortly with a desire, as much as much as he hated to admit it, to do nothing more than digest his dinner.

"Is there anything else I can do?" she asked, seeming to sense his tiredness.

"Just tell me why," he whispered with affection rather than accusation, "you stay here. A girl like you could make a fine mate for someone far more worthy of your affection than me."

She smiled coyly, her eyes for the first time shifting in a direction other than toward him. "I don't think so," she sighed, a smile on her face, but a frown in her voice.

"Of course you could," reassured the rat, running his hands through her fur for its down-like feel, "you seem so kind, generous -- and I know," he added, trying to imitate her smile, "you have a mind which exceeds your looks."

It was the best compliment he could think of; it was the one he most often wished he were paid. And it seemed to have a similar effect on her; her face stretched into a smile whose dimensions seemed quite genuine, and her eyes widened.

"Thank you," she replied softly, "but why tell me this?"

"Because, as I said, I am curious why a smart, kind cheetress like you should work for a crazy old man like that." Anothony didn't mean for it to be so sharp, but the contrast with Master Brahams just struck him at that moment.

"But he's not crazy," she whispered disdainfully, as if it were a failing of herself. "Really, he's the only male I would trust not to abuse me."

"That surprises me," replied Anthony, raising his eyebrows a little more than his emotions told him to. "Given everything I've heard about him, and now what I see of him, he seems quite bonkers."

"But he's also quiet. He's always asleep during the day, and working nights in his tower."

"Never a midnight prowl?" teased Anthony.

But her eyes hardened rather than softened. "Never," she replied flatly. "Besides, haven't you noticed his eyes?"

Before Anthony could ask about that, however, there was a quick rap at the door, after which a familiar, crisp voice announced, "Master Brahams will make his announcement in the tower. Two minutes, don't miss it."

Deciding it must be near midnight, Anthony just started walking toward the door. "I guess this is goodbye," he said awkwardly, feeling suddenly quite attached to her, "it was -- nice meeting you."

She nodded, and sat demurely on the bed. It was hard for him not to steal another glance as he walked through the door.

The tower room was up another set of stairs at the far end of the hall, which after going up one flight straight, began to spiral up. The eventual result was a room obviously designed for stargazing.

It was perfectly round, and had its focus on a large telescope in the center, under a massive, circular skylight. All of the furniture -- two bookcases and a desk -- seemed wrapped around the walls to leave room for the complex instrument, which seemed to focus the light not merely in the eye, but to an array of arcs drawn on the floor for several feet.

He caught the panther writing at the desk in a book, and guessed he was early once again. Trying to remain quiet and avoid making clear his second faux paws, Anthony looked at the bookshelves. Only the did he realize every single one of the hide-bound volumes was the same, differing only by a small number on the spine. His astonishing conclusion was that Mr. Brahams must have written in all of them; these must be his measurements.

The rat's mouth silently dropped open as he imagined the dedication of filling two and a half shelves of that size with data. It was full corroboration of the statements made by the cheetress; he would have had time for nothing else, for years.

The panther, eyes dimly reflected in the pale moonlight, seemed to have trouble concentrating. Anthony saw that his eyes were unfocused, despite the large pen scribbling a mere foot in front of his nose. He wrote at the speed of a child learning his first letters, weaving their lines onto the page with a gentle hand. Deciding that he should leave Master Brahams in his private moment, he turned to leave at last.

But his first footfall on the stair down broke the magical spell cast by the room.

"Stay, boy," rasped the panther, eyes narrowing on the page, "I'm almost done. And I will be ready to give you an offer of astonishing proportions," he added. Indeed, as the second and third of the guests came clunking up the stairs, he finished his last few marks.

Anthony watched him stand slowly and stretch, as if he were awakening from a nap, and then as he had done on the page, aligning his eyes on the gathering crowd behind the rat -- they were as unwilling to disturb the altar of celestial measurement as he was.

Only once all of the Tripaw students were assembled, and a few stragglers from the older crowd, he began with a strong voice, and a focus similar to that he had at dinner.

"My friends, I have come to announce to you something surely astonishing: there is no Shakallah!" He hung over the table, holding his eyes over the room a moment, before the powerful Henry James started chuckling.

This started a short-lived wave of laughter, but Brahams cut it off. "I wish I were joking," he continued, "for the ramifications must surely be extraordinary. I have irrefutable proof!"

"You can't prove it either way!" pointed out an astute student to Anthony's rear.

"Well, young man," he continued assuredly, "you see what you think of this. How many of you have studied astronomy?"

Silence. Anthony knew that subject was off the curriculum the first day he attended and had asked about it. None of them could even navigate a ship if they had to.

"Part of the reason I dislike your institution," continued Master Brahams, "is the fact they don't teach it. Too much like astrology, they say. Why care about the stars, they say. Everything important is down here, they say. Well, they're wrong!" he suddenly snarled, probably as close to a shout as he could get.

"The stars tell us about the intelligence of whatever created us! For surely, that which created us created them, yes? But look!"

Rather than to the sky, however, he drew their attention to a top bookshelf. He reached up above the two rows of volumes, and grabbed a several-foot wide scroll. He then spread it out on the floor, and unfurled what appeared to be an immense navigational chart of a perfectly round lake.

But when the light hit it, and Anthony's eyes adjusted, he could see it was a slice of sky, rotating around the axis of the seasons, over a dozen times. Mr. Brahams had been tracking the planets more meticulously than Anthony even thought was possible.

"Look!" repeated the panther. "Look at the odd angles, the swerves, the stops and starts, the back tracks, the ellipses, spirals, wheels within invisible wheels! They dance about! If there were a Shakallah, It was drunk when the planets were set in motion!"

The students had to take turns look over each other's shoulders, but each one seemed quite stunned by what the last had seen. It took several minutes of wondering, worrying, and wandering before someone had the gall to announce, "your measurements must be off!"

"Look through that telescope!" he growled, "and tell me where the moon is!"

A weasel stepped boldly forward... but when he examined the device, he didn't seem to know what to do with it. He started by putting his eye up to the lens, much to the panther's delight, and had to be explained how to read the optical angle system which reflected the light onto the floor.

"The most accurate system ever devised! Isn't that right?"

Several of the greyer audience members, including the skeptical Henry James, reinforced its accuracy with their own understandings of navigation.

Anthony finally found his voice, inspired by the daring ferret at dinner. "Shakallah's mind is too large for you," Anthony dared call, feeling a rush of adrenaline, "It created those patterns for a reason!"

"Why you blasphemer," retorted Mr. Brahams mockingly to the room, "it sounds to me like you subscribe to astrology! I can tell you just what the astrologer sees when he looks at those patterns: you shall be poor, and I shall be rich."

Laughter, led by Henry James, filled the room, and the rat shrunk to an inch high. His daring venture into a verbal challenge had been met with a resounding defeat. He was almost glad when Master Brahams continued.

"The astrologers are wrong," he continued, "but they are mere children who have chosen to deceive you over a very real fact. There are patterns. And that is why, if any of you brilliant Tripaw students can tell me in the universal language of mathematics what they are, I will pay your entire tuition, room and board, at any University of your choice."

The air seemed to leave the room at this announcement. The students were awed, and the elders were shocked.

"Every penny," added Mr. Brahams. "Even at your current institution."

Silence fell. Silence which the panther shattered like a dropped goblet.

"The data is all here!" he added -- but with his emphatic gesture, he suddenly tipped back onto the desk. There was a collective gasp as the wind seeming to fall from his sails all at once.

"The patterns, are all around you," he slurred, overcome by a wave of dizziness, "measured four times a day, year after year..."

The servant wolf and the well-dressed tabby cat Anthony had seen earlier rushed through the students, and dragged the panther from the room.

"You have until dawn, then all of you, get out," was the last call as Mr. Tyson Brahams, great observer, was dragged away.

Anthony was still too stunned to act when the students moved forward in a wave, fanning out toward the bookshelves. He had never seen someone so weak; from what disease did Mr. Brahams suffer? How was he still able to stay up all those nights to measure the stars? While the mathematical problem intrigued him, health issues seemed to pull stronger at his heart.

The students looked through the books -- which Anthony's side glances saw contained endless tables of numbers -- and the regulars examined the intricate telescope; but Anthony snuck down the stairs to find the benefactor who now ailed.

The rat found him in bed, the door swung open, with the wolf and the tabby cat from earlier arguing behind his bed.

"You agreed to a fair price," snapped the butler.

"And customs raised theirs, so I must as well."

"Then you will now take the loss. That's moral hazard."

"It would seem to me Master Brahams has more hazard than I."

"You don't give it to him, and see what happens to you!"

The stage whisper was enough to make Anthony's hair stand on end, but the tabby cat seemed used to it.

"You would deny him his medicine? He is your master!" threatened the cat.

"And so would you, for a price, as his doctor!"

Anthony had never seen such a callous attitude by a doctor before, and was about to announce his presence when -- of the three in the room -- Tyson beat him to it.

"I believe we have a visitor," he moaned weakly.

Both turned to the rat, and immediately placed great pressure on him to say something.

What came out was from the heart. "I'll buy it," he blurted.

The cat gave a wry half-smile. "You can't afford it," he tersely replied.

"If I find the equation for the planets, I will," Anthony boldly answered.

"And if you don't, you can't."

"But I will, so write me a letter of obligation, and I will find a way to pay you."

The wolf seemed disappointed, but the cat opened his pocket book, and wrote one out. The amount was indeed staggering: three months room and board, according to Anthony's last rate. But he swallowed hard, and watched the doctor perform the injection -- one which, from the look on his face, might have saved the panther's life.

The doctor quietly left, and the wolf looked at Anthony like a father down at a child.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said, -- and not in a kind, rhetorical way.

"It's hopeless, Sere," mumbled the Master happily, "you can't break me of it."

The wolf looked back at him momentarily before leaving the room. His face was indignant.

"What's your name?" murmured Master Brahams.

Anthony walked closer to make sure he could understand him. "Anthony, sir," he replied.

"You are too kind for your own good, Anthony," purred the panther, "you will be a pauper if you keep this up."

The rat wasn't sure how to respond, so simply waited for Mr. Brahams to continue. It took quite some time for his roving eyes to wander their way around the entire room, as if doing a complete survey of some invisible world surrounding him. Returning from his adventure, only then did he have a thought.

"Would you like to know a secret, Anthony?" he asked with a vague conspiratorial air.

Anthony wasn't sure he did, but before he could answer, he was told.

"There is a Shakallah up there, or something like It. You need offer to me no more proof than It touching me right now."

Anthony was quite stunned to hear that statement. Not only did the great skeptic appear to have reversed himself, but the reason he did choose to believe seemed entirely foolish and wrong. Anthony actually wanted to argue Brahams out of such reasoning, for the reason to believe in Shakallah was as important as the fact of belief, and this reason seemed one which set a terrible precedent.

Even more than that, Anthony wished to deny the power of this drug, which he now suspected was the exotic Morphine. What he knew of it, like the cat himself before he arrived, was based upon rumor. If among its powers was reducing a skeptic to a dime-store believer, and turning an otherwise astute observer into a bed-ridden wreck, it was a power to be feared rather than respected.

But unfortunately, he had no time to say any of this. As the first question in his logic was exiting his mouth, the wolf returned.

As if he were master of the house, he calmly announced, "it's time for you to leave."

The way he said it, like the power of the voice of his now-decrepit master, compelled Anthony to obey. The rat walked out the door, and declining the invitations of his former consort who shortly appeared, chose an empty room next door to sleep in.

Looking out the window at the stars, two or three of which could be seen out the window from his bed, he let the vision of the complex diagram carry him slowly into sleep, certain the pattern would come to him.

The End.