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Chapter One

Top of the World!

The Canis Rex Society

London, England

December, 1892

Lycanthris sat in a lush, velvet armchair in the corner of one the rooms in the halls of the Canis Rex Society, quietly reading Jules Verne's The Purchase of the North Pole. The Canis Rex Society claimed to have its lineage stretch back to the very days of King Arthur, supposedly having been founded by Sir Lucan. Of course, Lycanthris knew that the society was not _quite_that old, having been there at its formation by King William I in 1071. In a little more than nine hundred years of associating with the organization, Lycanthris had never quite figured out what exactly the society was for, other than to promote the prominence of canines among the British ruling-class.

He enjoyed this room because it was designated a non-smoking room, and so his powerful canine nostrils were not assailed by the nauseating aroma of tobacco. How any of his fellow canines in the society could stand the foul habit was beyond him. He reached for his pint glass of ale, sitting on an end table to his right, and drained the last small bit remaining in the glass. He set the glass down and sighed, knowing it would be the last of his favorite brew until he left London, and finished his journey back to his ancestral homeland on the Isle of Mann. Then, a fresh glass was set down beside him, and he looked up at the servant who had brought it to him.

"What sort of brew is this, then, Trevor?" he asked.

"It's another pint of Okells', just as your Lordship likes," the young mutt smiled.

"But I thought we had finished off the last barrel the club had," Lycanthris asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"We did, sir," Trevor explained, "But, I went 'round and telegraphed this morning ta the brewery, letting them know that your Lordship was staying at the Society's premises whilst in London, and that we'd run ourselves dry of his favorite bitter."

"But, surely they couldn't have sent another barrel down in just a day?"

"No, sir. But, they put me on ta a pub o'er ta the East End, what had ordered a barrel from them as well. So I went 'round ta 'em and bought up the barrel on your Lordship's behalf," he smiled, obviously a bit proud of his resourcefulness.

"That's very thoughtful of you, my lad," Lycanthris smiled and took an appreciative draught of the cool Manx bitter. "How's the wife and pups, doing?" he asked as he licked the remnants of the foamy head from his muzzle appreciatively.

"Oh, quite well, sir! Me lil'est one spoke her first word just t'other day," he said proudly.

"That's great," Lycanthris smiled and reached out to shake the servant's hand, surreptitiously slipping him a hundred-pound note. "See that they have a happy Christmas," he added with a wink.

"Indeed, your Lordship!" Trevor smiled and bowed his leave to Lycanthris. It was this sort of overly-generous tipping and interest in the lives of the staff at the Canis Rex Society that earned Lycanthris such preferential treatment.

He took another appreciative draught of his ale, and resumed reading his book. Or, at least he tried to resume reading it. Normally this room was one of the quieter ones in the halls of the society, but a pompous little dog was pacing in front of the room's fireplace, pontificating in a blustery manner to an audience of other society members.

"Top of the world!" Lord Pugsley Puggington of Uppercrustwichshire blathered on, "We say it all the time... But what does it mean, my lads?" he paused in front of the fire, letting his words sink in, as if he had made some sort of profound point. His prominent lower chin was purposely stuck-out in an even more prominent, pompous manner, and his hand was tucked smartly into his smoking jacket, just below his ascot.

"W... whatever are you on about, Puggington?" an older golden retriever asked him.

"The top of the world! Everest, my dear canine!" Puggington replied.

"What about it?" a spaniel in his mid-twenties asked.

"I propose an expedition!" Puggington exclaimed. "An expedition to the top of the world! We shall scale the world's tallest mountain! For the Queen! For the British Empire! For canines everywhere!"

The group chortled their approval at the notion. Lycanthris, sitting in his corner, shook his head to himself.

"Now, what say you, fellows? Who shall join me on this glorious expedition?!" Puggington's look; bulging eyes, bulging even wider with excitement, jaw hanging agape, and tongue lolling out as he panted from his exuberant diatribe; was absolutely priceless, and only out-done by the crestfallen look that replaced it as the minutes ticked by, and no volunteers arose. "F... fellows? W... what say you?"

The old golden retriever coughed and tugged at the collar of his shirt. "Too old, don't you know," he muttered.

"Mumsy would be ever so upset with me," the young spaniel muttered.

"But surely, my lads... Surely there must be some among you with stout hearts and constitutions?" Scanning about the room for some hope, his bulging eyes fell upon the six-foot-eight, broad-shouldered wolf sitting, reading in the corner. "You, sir! A big, stout wolf such as yourself! Surely, you must be no stranger to bravery and adventure!"

"I've had enough for several lifetimes," Lycanthris said, not looking up. "Like your friends, I have no desire to commit suicide, which is what an attempt on the summit of Chomolungma would be."

"Ch... ch... chachomoma?" Puggington sputtered an attempt at the strange word.

"It's what the Tibetans call the mountain," Lycanthris explained, still not looking up as he turned a page in his book, and took another sip of his ale.

"You're familiar with the region, then?" Pugginton asked hopefully. The rest of the crowd had all turned in their chairs to give their rapt attention to the mysterious wolf.

"I've spent a bit of time in the Orient, yes," Lycanthris refrained from elaborating.

"How is it that a colonist is a member of our society?" the old golden retriever interrupted.

"I'm not American; I'm Manx. I've just spent enough time there to pick-up the accent," Lycanthris again refrained from revealing too much of his past.

"Manx... I didn't realize there were still wolves on the Isle of Mann," the old retriever pondered. "Overrun with cats, don't you know," he added in an aside to an old Scotch terrier seated near him, who nodded in agreement.

"I happen to like cats," Lycanthris scowled at the slight. Indeed, more than several of his past lovers and wives over the centuries had been felines of one sort or another. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen; I think I'll retire to my rooms to read my book," he drained his glass and made to get-up out of his chair.

"But wait, my dear boy!" Puggington rushed over to him, blocking his path. The sight of the diminutive pug standing there with his arms splayed as if he had any serious hope of stopping the gigantic wolf's exit was as comical as his facial expressions. "We meant no offense! You're just the sort I need! A big, strapping lad, with knowledge of the area! We'll be the perfect team!"

"We'll be dead," Lycanthris frowned down at him. "Besides, the Nepalese don't like foreigners entering the country, and getting to the Tibetan side would be an even more arduous journey."

"No, no! That's all changed, don't you know!"

"How so?" Lycanthris raised an eyebrow. The last time he had been to the Far East, he had inadvertently stumbled into Nepalese territory, and barely made it back out of the small, mountain kingdom with his pelt intact. Of course, deflowering that snow leopardess from the royal court probably had something to do with his expulsion too...

"The king of Nepal has signed a new treaty with the Empire, allowing us access to Nepal and the mountain for the first time!" Puggington explained excitedly.

Lycanthris shook his head, "Even so, attempting the summit would be suicide. The air is far too thin at that height, and it's below freezing, even in the middle of summer."

"But surely..." Puggington began to say, but Lycanthris side-stepped the diminutive dog, and headed out of the room.

"Not interested," he said as he left.

"Well, at least sleep on it, old boy!" Puggington called after the giant wolf.

Lycanthris merely shook his head and climbed the stairs toward his suite of rooms on the uppermost floor. When he reached his door, Lycanthris found a note tucked in against the doorknob.

Lord MacMurchada, I procured something else that I thought might be to your Lordship's liking whist I was over in the East End. Enjoy with my compliments.

Cheers,

~Trevor

Lycanthris cocked his head quizzically at the note as he fished in his trouser pocket for his room key, wondering what surprise was in store for him. A rare bottle of wine? An even more delicious brew than his beloved Okells? One thing was for sure; there was no underestimating the resourcefulness of the Society's best footman.

The door creaked as Lycanthris opened it, and stepped into the main room of his chambers. Some movement in front of the cozy fire that was already crackling in the fireplace caught his eye. Lycanthris reached over, and adjusted one of the gas lamps on the wall, bringing up the light in the room.

A woman with long, orange-red hair, that had been lying on the rug in front of the fire, stirred and arched her back in an unmistakeably feline manner. She stood up and turned around to face him, blinking her large, green eyes at the suddenly bright lighting. Lycanthris felt a stirring in his loins at the sight of the breathtaking young woman before him. Her vibrant green eyes, and bright red hair were contrasted by her exceptionally pale, almost-white, orange-cream fur. She had a light dusting of dark orange spots across her cheeks and the bridge of her muzzle, and her tail, curled shyly about her legs, was likewise banded with dark orange stripes. An emerald corset that matched her eyes hugged her slender frame and tried in vain to produce some cleavage from her tiny breasts. She wore a similarly colored skirt, that by Victorian standards, was extremely short.

"G...g...good even...ning m'Lord," she stammered in an Irish accent with a sweet, musical lilt to her voice. She stumbled a bit as she attempted to curtsey before him. "T...Trevor sent me to k...keep you c...company."

"Oh, Trevor... You've certainly earned that Christmas bonus, m'lad," Lycanthris muttered to himself.