FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

*****

(B/* 7/16/2013)

"Sergeant!! Where in the Netherhells is my lunch, and where in the Netherhells is Winterbough?!"

Note the order of importance, there.

Sergeant-Major Wing, to whom I had just reported in, gave a soft chirrup under his breath, and fluttered over to the doorway leading into Marshal Roland's office.

"Just saw yer lunch bein' wheeled out of th' mess, Yer 'ighness, an' th' Corporal were just reportin' in now."

"Winterbough!!!!"

I obeyed the bellowed summons, walking past the bemused sparrow, who fluttered off again to supervise the delivery of the prince's meal. I stepped before the Marshal's desk, and saluted. This required the old skunk to put down the bottle of wine that he was opening, and return my salute, which may not have improved his humour.

"Good morning, Your Highness."

"Afternoon," he snapped, with military precision. He pointed first, emphatically, at the sundial out in the courtyard, and then at one of the cluttered chairs next to his desk. I chose a large wicker one that was parallel to his own chair, and shifted a pile of scrolls to the floor.

The timely arrival of a wheeled cart bearing a liberal number of covered dishes forestalled the inevitable bawling-out that I was on the verge of receiving. A hot poached salmon with fruit sauce allowed his temper to cool just a bit. He had added potatoes and vegetables to his platter when he finally turned, and growled a repetition of the earlier enquiry, viz., where in the Netherhells I'd been.

"Ironically enough, sir, I was at the Cathedral all morning. Rather the opposite of the Netherhells, when you think about it..."

"I don't." The Marshal, other than Church Parade on Holy Day, doesn't tend to deal with Fuma a great deal, if you except the numerous invocations on a daily basis.

Over a mouthful of fish, he asked me whether I was planning on switching professions.

"No, sir." I reached into my tunic, and took out my chap-book and my pencil. "I stumbled across something when I went into the Cathedral to do my morning prayers. Literally. One of the brothers of the Cathedral chapter was stretched out before one of the chapel altars, out cold."

The Marshal paused in the act of drinking some wine, and lifted an eyebrow.

"Out cold how?"

"Blow to the back of the head, sir. Behind the left ear. It was still bleeding when I got there."

"What did y'do?" The Marshal was still eating his lunch, but he was now focused on what I was saying. I explained to him that I had first checked to make sure the monk was alive, and not in any danger, and then called out for help.

"Why didn't you go for help yourself?"

"Didn't know, sir, if the fur who had done this was still around. Might have come back to finish the job."

The Marshal nodded, and I continued. "Two of the other brothers came, and among the three of us, we gave the wounded brother -- his name is Felix, by the way, a wolverine -- we gave him first aid."

"Must have been a fierce knock to lay out a wolverine. No other blows?"

"None that we could find, sir, and we checked Brother Felix over thoroughly, in case he had other wounds."

The Marshal grunted, leaned in, and shoved a basket of rolls toward me with his thumb, indicating that while I had sinned in not showing up for work at my appointed time, I was forgiven. Nice bread, too: GHQ gets the best flour, of course.

Leaning back, and tearing at the roll, I resumed. "Brother Felix didn't appear to be missing any possessions, though outside of a wooden pectoral symbol, he really didn't have anything. Here's what's odd. After dawn service, one of the brothers goes around to each of the chapels, and empties the offering box, making a note in a journal of the proceeds. The coins are in a little sack. After the collecting brother is done, the coins are delivered to the sexton, to be placed in the Cathedral treasury."

"Anything missing?"

"Brother Felix was pretty meticulous. The coins in his bag matched exactly what he had noted taking from the collection boxes, up until the point he'd reached the chapel where I found him. So, nothing missing there. And the collection box in the chapel still had coins in it."

"So, robbery not likely?"

"Well, it's possible, but yes, I'm likely to think that wasn't the reason for the attack."

"So was this Brother sober?" An ironic question, since the Marshal was draining a glass of wine just after he asked this. Granted, I've seen Prince Roland polish off an entire bottle of wine without missing a beat. Sergeant Wing says he actually thinks faster after three bottles of wine, and I'm not sure he's kidding.

"Checked his breath, sir. Stereotypical image of monks aside, and morning breath further aside, sober."

"Dizzy spell?"

"Checked over all the surfaces in the chapel, sir. Granted, everything in there is rough stone, but no sign of a gash, or a pool of blood other than on the floor where Brother Felix's head lay when I found him."

A raised eyebrow. "Rough stone?"

"Yes, Your Highness. I forgot to mention, this is the Old Chapel, the one in the very back of the Cathedral..."

He waved a paw. "Yes, yes, I know that one. I had my name day ceremony there, long ago. Place looks a bit like a menhir, still?"

"Fair description."

He tilted his head. "What were you doing there, Corporal?"

"It's my favourite chapel there, sir. Reminds me a bit of home."

The Marshal resumed his consumption of the salmon, and also resumed quizzing me. "This Brother Felix. Popular? Unpopular? Enemies?"

I consulted my chap-book. "Well, I didn't survey everyone in the Chapter, though I got a fair slice of it. No real opinions one way or the other. Felix isn't all that ambitious, so he hasn't stepped on any toes. He's actually the brother in charge of sanitary duties in the chapter, so it's not likely he's got any pending accusations of favouritism or graft. No real opportunities, I'll bet."

"But he was on the collection duty this morning."

"Rotates among all the brothers of the chapter. It was his turn today. Comes up once every four months, give or take."

"Public knowledge, this rotation?"

"In the chapter, yes. Outside the chapter, not impossible, but unlikely. Maybe a few of the layfurs. Still, with robbery and grudges being unlikely, not sure what knowing that Felix would be there that morning would do."

The Marshal mopped up some sauce with a roll, and frowned.

"So did you learn anything at all about the assault?"

"I can make some guesses."

"Such as?"

"The Old Chapel is pretty small. You can get maybe four or five adult furs in there, that's about it." The Marshal nodded in agreement at that, so I continued. "Not a whole lot of room in there. And Brother Felix is a fairly tall fur, I'd guess about six feet two or so. Hit square behind the left ear, with maybe a slight angle."

"Was he bent over, as if he was about to open the collection box?"

"Don't think so, Your Highness. Not, at least, from the way the wound looked. I'd say a blunt instrument of some kind, not an edged weapon. With Felix standing a little left of centre in the Old Chapel, to get at the collection box, it's hard to imagine that any fur would have attacked him from behind and to the right, like this..."

I arranged a salt cellar and a pepper-mill on his desk to represent Brother Felix and his purported attacker.

"I think the fur who hit him was left-pawed, and attacked him from the left side. The way the wound is slanted behind the left ear a little like this..." I demonstrated.

The Marshal put aside his empty fish-plate, and began attacking a bowl of trifle. "I remember the Old Chapel being not all that well lit."

"That's correct, sir. Candles in the area of the altar, but there are dark spots off to the side, including one on the left."

Prince Roland grunted, and chewed his dessert thoughtfully. "Fierce knock. Probably tall fellow, too?"

"That's my guess."

"You didn't see anyone?"

"No, sir. On the other paw, I wasn't trying to sneak around, and my hooves were making quite a bit of noise off the marble floors."

"So, y'could have spooked him."

"Possible, sir."

He dug at the edges of his pudding-bowl with a spoon. "They still lock the north and south great doors, right?"

"Yes, sir. Very large and heavy bolts on the inside, three of them, on each door. Not a quick exit."

A last lick to get every crumb of cake, jam and custard, and then the dishes were put aside with a rattle.

"But a lot of places to hide in there. I remember Adler and I used to play hide-and-seek there. The old Archbishop, I remember, said it was Fuma's house, and we were Her children, so it was all right. He did draw the line on sliding on the marble floors, though." A nostalgic look crossed his face, to be replaced by a sigh. He turned to me.

"So, we've got an assault right in the middle of the Cathedral, and we've got no clear motives, no witnesses, and little in the way of evidence. Hmm. Wait. Brother Felix come to?"

"He did, not too long before I set off for here, Your Highness. Doesn't remember a thing after entering the chapel and giving himself a Benedicto Interphalangeal."

The Marshal raised a finger. "Hang on. Is Brother Felix right pawed?"

I looked at my notebook. "Don't know, sir, didn't ask."

He lowered the finger at me. "If Brother Felix was giving himself the Benedicto with his right paw just at the point he was struck by his assailant, that goes a way toward confirming he was struck from the left side. An attack from the right might have been blocked by his own paw. Give yourself a Benedicto, and see."

I did, and I did.

"Doesn't go directly to the point of whether the fur was left or right pawed, of course, Your Highness. It would depend on where the fur was standing."

The Marshal grunted, nodding. "Who knows about this, Corporal?"

"Well, I'm sure the entire chapter knows about it by now, and I imagine word has leaked out to the layfurs, which means it'll be all about Albric Tor by sundown."

"Can't be helped, I suppose. Might have been worse if Brother Felix had been there for a while, or Fuma save us, if he'd died."

I nodded. "What now, sir? I mean, is the Cathedral anywhere near our jurisdiction?"

Prince Roland drummed his finger-claws against the surface of his desk in thought. "Mine, no. I'm strictly Army, not anything civilian like the Church would be. That's my brother's matter, as the Sovereign Lord of the Church. I mean, granted, it's not like the days when they rode out of here with a sword in one paw and a holy symbol of Fuma in the other, but I know my brother still takes his role seriously. He goes there every Holy Day when he's feeling well, and sits in the Royal Pew up front. You ever go to Holy Day services at the Cathedral, Corporal?"

"No, sir. Just the end of the dawn services."

"Mmmm. Not quite what it was when our father was the Church's Sovereign Lord. He was a keen one for music. Composed hymns in his spare time. But that's neither here nor there. Sergeant!!!"

The Marshal had turned, and had bellowed at the open door. In a few seconds, the form of Sergeant-Major Wing fluttered in with a book in his feathers.

"When's the next time I'm meeting with His Majesty?"

"You 'ave breakfast with 'im tomorrow morning, Yer 'ighness, before the Statecraft Chamber meeting."

"Thank you. That's all." Sergeant Wing fluttered away, and Prince Roland turned back to me.

"Write up your notes and conclusions, Corporal, and give them to me before you go home. I'll take this up with my brother tomorrow morning, and see what he wants done about it."

"Yes, Your Highness."

He raised a finger. "Oh, and also, Corporal? Get up a little bit early tomorrow, yourself. I'd rather like it if you caught all of the dawn service, from start to finish, tomorrow."

I raised an eyebrow. "Worried for my soul, sir?"

He shook his head. "Worried for another fur's soul, Corporal."