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(F/* 7/20/2013)

I leaned against the portal of the Old Chapel while the Marshal paced up and down the floor, examining the sliding marble tiles closely. At one point, with a significant grunt and some effort, he bent down and slid a tile with a forefinger, just as I had done. Most of what he was doing, though, was examining the patterns on the tiles themselves.

"I was going to say I saw a horsie and a duckie over there, but I know the planets aren't lined up right for those constellations."

Prince Roland straightened up and gave me a beetle-browed look of irritation. That same forefinger was pointed at me, and he was about to launch into something when he stopped rather suddenly. He lowered his paw, and began to murmur to himself. An abrupt about-face on his heel, and he began to look for something on the floor with determination. Eventually, he found it.

"Yesss...yes. Here they are."

I walked over and looked down. The Marshal took one of the staves from me, the one I had taken from my opponent, and used it as a pointer. I followed his gesture, and after looking at it closely, I saw what he meant.

There were two spots on the particular tile that corresponded exactly to the stars known as "Fuma's Eyes," or something a bit more crude, considering they're red-coloured stars. Every fur knows at least those two stars: it's how you tell time at night, depending on where they are in the night sky.

"Your Highness, are you sure you're right, though? I mean, all right, I'm not seeing these stars in the full context, in relation to all of the other tiles, but even here, things don't look quite right."

"To your eyes, Corporal, yes. And even to my eyes, not quite right. But that's not the relevant point of reference."

"I don't understand, sir."

"Are the stars fixed in the sky, Corporal?"

"Well, I mean, they move around in the seasons, sure, but..."

"So, you believe that if you looked at the sky, say, 3,000 years ago, versus the sky today, on the same day, you'd see the same arrangement of stars?"

I had to think about that for quite a bit.

"I honestly don't know, Your Highness."

He pointed the end of the staff at me. "I'm telling you, Corporal, as one who had to take astronomy and astrology as a kit -- in those days, it was viewed as part of the education of every gentlefur -- that the stars aren't fixed. They'll drift over time. But it would take a span even beyond the lifetime of the most venerable elf to fully appreciate how much things can change."

He indicated the floor. "How long do you think this floor has been here, then?"

"Well, it wasn't in that watercolour you showed me, from that ancient book."

"Point noted, Corporal. Anything else?"

"Was the floor like this on...what was it, your name day?"

"Yes, but that is, as things go, comparatively recent."

"So at the outset, this could have been placed here when they built the Second Cathedral, the one that Irenaeus wrecked, or it could have been placed here some time after this version, the Fourth Cathedral, was built."

"True. But take note that this area, and the Crypt, are two of the very few parts of the Cathedral that have consistently survived over the long years. I proved that to you with those tracings."

"What, could this have survived the fire that wrecked the Third Cathedral?"

"Let's take it as a working hypothesis, Corporal. Posited: this floor that we are standing on is a floor constructed thousands of years ago. One imagines with the skill and craftsfurship inherent in anything that old."

"Well, all right, but where does that get us?"

"Specialized knowledge, Corporal. Specialized knowledge. It wouldn't be enough to take a map of the skies as you know them today. You'd have to know what the skies looked like at the time the Old Chapel was built. Now that I think of it, that's a spark of genius in this arrangement. The longer it exists, the fewer the number of furs that could figure it out."

"Yes, well, the fur that tried to beat my skull in with that staff, and the fur that whacked Brother Felix on the side of the head, sure wasn't any venerable and ancient elf."

"Which reminds me..." The Marshal raised the ferrule of the staff, murmured under his breath, and traced a claw delicately up one side. Within seconds, there started to grow faint bluish splotches all along the pitted metal of the staff-end.

"Isn't that a tracking spell, Your Highness?"

"Yes, but it's adaptable to other uses, as you can see. At some point in time, recently, this staff came into contact with blood. And somefur wiped the staff, but forgot that the blood would accumulate in the pits of the metal. And there you are."

"Hunh. Doesn't prove anything, but..."

"Suggestive evidence, I think, Corporal. Now what we need to do is..."

"Explain what in Her Holy Name you think you're doing here, and at this time of night!"

A rather quavering, high pitched and not very happy voice broke in. Its owner followed suit, a thin, gangling and nervous to the point of hyperactive ferret. A pair of paws was nervously adjusting a white biretta on top of his head, and the way he had tied the sash around his waist indicated that he had been in a hurry to dress to impress. Or overbear. The latter seemed more likely as he started waving a finger at the Prince.

"And just what do you think you're doing, dressed like that?!"

The Marshal bowed. "My Lord, may I present a member of my staff?"

The prelate was caught up short and, fuming, bowed back.

"Thank you. My Lord, this is Corporal Westersloe Winterbough, who works for me on various matters. He was the fur that found the brother that had been assaulted here."

I got a somewhat perfunctory nod. "That's as may be, and I can assure you that the Church is perfectly capable of..."

"Corporal, may I present His Lordship the High Bishop of Faerie and Albric Tor?"

I assumed the proper kneeling position, and I was given the barest touch of knuckles on my scalp before the Bishop began to splutter at the Marshal, again.

"I am reliably informed that this fur, this underling of yours, was making a nuisance of himself earlier tonight."

"Pfui. Corporal Winterbough was operating under my orders in investigating this Chapel here, tonight. Corporal, report."

I stood up, and gave a very brief summary of my Vigil, and the assault that had been made on me, and the chase I'd given before it had gotten interrupted. The Bishop tapped his foot in impatient irritation throughout. I'd barely finished before he rounded on the Marshal once again.

"Conducting an investigation? In my Cathedral?!"

The Marshal put his paws behind his back. "The Cathedral, My Lord, belongs to the Lady..."

"I had no idea whatsoever that you had theology among your many talents, Your Highness."

At this point, I saw something that was later explained to me as possibly the most dangerous warning signal I could get regarding Prince Roland. His voice, which usually carries quite a bit (especially in large building like the Cathedral) dropped to almost a whisper, and he lowered his eyebrows until his eyes were only barely open.

"It is a pity, My Lord, that you neither number the law nor history, apparently, among your talents. If you did, you would know in the first place that it is the High King of Faerie that is the head of the Church. Not you. If any mortal fur can claim ownership of this building, it is he. Not you. Furthermore, you may recall that certain of your predecessors have had their tenures cut short by the Crown, by one means or another. Not in quite some time, of course, but there is precedent. Being a mere witling might not be enough justification, but I'm sure interfering with an investigation touching on the very nature of the status of the Crown and Church would qualify as grounds for removal of a fur derelict in his duty. You."

The Bishop boggled at this, not so much from the not-very veiled threat to his person, but from the notion that there was a threat. He managed to squeak out a high-pitched request for an explanation.

The Marshal pointed west, toward the entrance of the Cathedral. "Am I correct, My Lord, in stating that way lies the Crypt?"

The Bishop nodded. "I fail to see how that's relevant."

"I don't doubt, My Lord, that that is the case. What is in the Crypt?"

Now here was something that every member of the Mephitist Church knew, at some level. The Crypt contained the very place where Fuma gave birth to the world, the act that was commemorated in the Holy Recreation, with the Cup, Reagent and rocks. It was also, as that ancient text the Marshal had translated, the site of a fumarole that was essential to the legitimacy of both Church and Crown.

Little wonder the Bishop looked a mixture of puzzlement, fright and righteous indignation. He gave the standard answer that we all know in our catechism, the one I just mentioned.

The Marshal kept his voice at the quiet level. "And who, My Lord, has official and known access to the Crypt?"

The Bishop was puzzled by the way that question was phrased, which made two of us, because I was, too. He was able to answer.

"Myself, and myself alone, Your Highness."

"Are you certain?"

That question got the Bishop so mad, he began to stand on tip-toe. He thought better of it, since the Marshal was still speaking quietly, and he subsided. Through gritted teeth, he responded.

"It is part of the consecration ceremony of each High Bishop that we are blessed in front of the Crypt, there to be recognized by the Sign. You would know this, Your Highness, if you had attended any of these ceremonies."

"I do, in fact, know that, and how and where I choose to worship the Lady is my business, not yours, My Lord. Come with me, Corporal. My Lord, lead us to the Crypt. Have one of the brothers stand guard here in the Chapel."

The High Bishop didn't like one bit being given orders, but he followed them all the same. One of the monks was detailed off to stand in the doorway, while we walked past the Vestry and down the North Aisle. At the end of the North Aisle, and ironically enough near the point where I had collided with a monk and had lost the chase, there was the entrance to the Crypt.

The Marshal looked down the steps leading into the Crypt, paws behind back still. "Very well. My Lord, where is the Sign of which you spoke?"

It was pointed out. There was a design set in the floor. I thought it was interesting in that there was a motif of the night sky, only this one was more realistic than what you saw in the Old Chapel. Fuma's Eyes were picked out very brightly, and shown in stylized skunk-eye form.

"Corporal, attention!"

This was a little unexpected, but I snapped right to it.

"At the command, you will proceed down the stairs into the Crypt. There, you will slow march past the Sign. If you get past the Sign, halt, about-face, and come back up the stairs. Do you understand these orders?"

Well, I did, said like that. I wasn't quite sure what he had in mind with them. I saluted.

"Corporal, march!"

I walked down the steps at a slow march, and at the bottom, reached the Sign. I had barely stepped into the large circle around the depiction of the night sky when the eyes opened wide, and glowed red. A vigorous, stiff breeze erupted from nowhere, and swept me off my feet.

In a few moments, I was carried along on a brisk zephyr, and deposited gently, but very firmly, at the head of the stairs and at the footpads of the Marshal and the High Bishop. Prince Roland nodded.

"My Lord," he said in a more normal voice, "is that a normal reaction from the Sign, when somefur other than you attempts to enter?"

"Well, there hasn't been a fur mad enough to try in my time, Your Highness, but I've been told stories of furs treated more roughly, and some even thrown against the far wall."

I looked over, and to my great consternation, I saw the unmistakable outlines of the bodies of various furs that had been thrown against the thick stone wall facing the crypt. Thrown, I might add, with what appeared to be a great deal of force. A few of the outlines went inches deep into the rock.

"Just as well, Corporal, you had it within your heart to thank and praise the Lady tonight. Now, My Lord, will you kindly enter the Crypt yourself?"

The Bishop glowered at the Marshal, but did as he was asked. The only thing of note that occurred was that a concentrated breeze freshened as he passed the Eyes of Fuma, which blew up his cassock.

Of note: His Lordship the High Bishop of Faerie goes regimental.

Once he demonstrated he had lawful access to the Crypt, he marched back up the stairs with whatever dignity he had left, which was probably not much.

"Are you quite through, then, Your Highness? I will be presiding at the dawn services that will be starting shortly, and I must go the Vestry and robe..."

The Marshal was considering this question, when one of the monks ran up to the Bishop. The latter gave him the evil eye, which didn't deter the brother from blurting out the information that the Casket was missing from the Vestry.

The Bishop roared at the unfortunate monk as to when this had happened, which apparently had just happened, since the Casket had been put away carefully after midnight service.

"By the Holy Bowels of the Lady that gave birth to the World, FIND IT, you fool!"

The Marshal looked up, with a very worried expression on his muzzle.

"The Casket has not been misplaced, My Lord. It has been taken."

"Taken?! By whom?!"

"By a fur, My Lord, who has found another way into the Crypt, one not guarded by a ward of ancient craft and power. Quickly, all of us, back to the Old Chapel!"