By Royal Decree

Chapter 4: The Romp
In which there is a pollinating dryad, otters, and even more persistent reflections on clotted cream.

Definitely T - for, among other things, very naughty language and more (see above). You have been warned. And warned again. And yet, again.

Better repeat this, given what is to follow although the content really removes any doubt: while I own pets, a car, and property, and many lay claim to me, I do not own nor lay claim to any this.


Even Jalur could not criticise. Edmund had been the good, obedient Just King and spent hours and hours slogging his way through Subtitles A, B, and C of the Lone Islands Tax Code. He had hoped that the provisions regarding excise taxes on weapons and other destructive devices might provide some modicum of relief from the tedium. It had not, other than to better inform his developing understanding that they had a serious problem in the Lone Islands and that merely tweaking the Tax Code was not going to solve it.

Evil-Banker-Not-A-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch did not return. Edmund had to concede quite privately and without the knowing commentary of too-perceptive Tigers, that her absence was for the best. He was irritated that she had not explained herself more thoroughly, and even more irritated at himself for not treating the whole matter with greater care. He had simply never thought that small, self-sufficient Narnia would ever attract the attention of the great banking syndicates. Narnia was not wealthy by the standards of the great Empires, but there was no need for it. They had enough, they were free, the land rich, plentiful, and unspoiled, and Aslan blessed them. Yet, these things also made Narnia a tasty morsel others would happily gobble up given the opportunity.

Not all wars are fought with swords; not all were lost on battlefields.

Struggling alone through the Code, he really would have preferred to have found a confidant in the intelligent, if cool, Evil-Banker-Not-A-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch. Everything he knew was self-taught; he had very good teachers, but it wasn't as if Pliny and Fidrian, their Centaur tutors, had ever dealt with merchant counting houses or foreign taxation. Susan was very good, but she had no more education in it than he. It would have been near relief to discuss these matters with someone who had been trained to it.

Nor was it helping that he had to push aside as Most Decidedly Not Relevant the occasionally intruding considerations of private dining occasions featuring clotted cream and what might be under a gown of indeterminate green if not a corset.

Gah. Back to taxes on foreign corporations and non-resident aliens. What in blazes was a nonresident alien anyway? How could a Narnian be a foreign corporation when the Lone Islands belonged to Her?

In the case of foreign corporations subject to taxation under this subtitle, there shall be deducted and withheld at the source in the same manner and on the same items of income as is provided in section 1441 a tax equal to 45 percent thereof. For purposes of the preceding sentence, the references in section 1441 (b) to sections 871 (a)(1)(C) and (D)

Edmund turned to section 871, remembering to subtract 300, and put a bookmark in that page.

shall be treated as referring to sections 881 (a)(3) and (4),

Edmund turned to section 881, remembering to subtract 300, and put a bookmark in that page.

the reference in section 1441 (c)(1) to section 871 (b)(2) shall be treated as referring to section 842 or section 882 (a)(2), as the case may be,

Edmund turned to section 842 and 882, remembering to subtract 300 each time, and put a bookmark in those pages.

and the references in section 1441 (c)(12) to sections 871 (a) and 871 (k) shall be treated as referring to sections 881 (a) and 881 (e) (except that for purposes of applying subparagraph (A) of section 1441 (c)(12), as so modified, clause (ii) of section 881 (e)(1)(B) shall not apply to any dividend unless the regulated investment company knows that such dividend is a dividend referred to in such clause….

"You have not turned a page this quarter hour your Majesty."

"Jalur, I am really not in a mood to hear your censure! This is bloody hard so just shut it, would you!"

Edmund sunk his pounding head on his arms, resting the whole on top of TITLE 26; Subtitle A; CHAPTER 3; Subchapter A; Section 1442, Taxation of Foreign Corporations, knowing that it was important, that something of significant consequence to Narnia was secreted here, that he simply did not have the wit to see it, and that there was no one who could help him and Narnia to unravel it.

He immediately regretted the indulgent self-pity as he inhaled a noseful of mold and dust from the volume. Jerking back, he sneezed right into Jalur's face. Somehow, the Tiger had snuck up on him.

"Oh! Jalur, I am sorry!" He just felt miserable. "I should have never spoken to you so."

"Your Majesty, forgive me, I did not mean criticism." The Tiger spoke so gently, it could break him. "You have laboured as hard as any today." Jalur pushed the hateful Code away with his nose, and then spoke directly to him, veritably eye to eye. "You gave your only food to the Rat, you have had naught but tea, and it is time to stop."

Edmund felt himself wilt. A Tiger's breath was not the same as the Lion's, but it was good, and warm on his face, and he was loved.

"May I, Friend?"

"You may, my King Edmund."

Edmund wrapped his arms around the Tiger's neck, buried his face into the rich fur, and remembered that this was why he would persevere through even the ignoble Lone Islands Tax Code.

"I promised you a swim, didn't I?"

"And Otters, King Edmund. I was promised Otters."

That shamefully self-indulgent episode over, Edmund snagged a towel from his room and a snack from the kitchens (Cook yelled at him for missing lunch and tea and said something about a Dwarf invasion, but she was probably still upset about the puppy invasion of that morning).

On the way out, he overheard trilling (Dim and Even More Dim) and noises of what sounded to be a more substantive conversation between Lucy and Evil-Banker-Not-A-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch. He didn't want to see her now. She probably didn't even like clotted cream. Edmund actually wasn't sure that he liked clotted cream. It was the potential application that was intriguing. He pushed the intruding thoughts aside. Not relevant.

Together, he and Jalur headed down the south path to the Pond. It was late, but still warm, bright, very green, and tomorrow it would all be covered again in yellow dust. For the moment though it felt wonderful to be outside, bare feet, grass between the toes, no breeze to carry yet more pollen, and best of all, the detestable books somewhere else for the rest of the day. Edmund waved to the Moles rooting around in the gardens and paid no attention at all to the squabbling Songbirds. The Mischief would have already made the report of the problem couples to Peter and it was liberating to know that he did not, in fact, have to see personally to every single detail in the Realm.

As they were climbing the hill, Jalur sniffed, "the High King is here, and His Guard."

"I thought they would have left already, although Cook was complaining about invading Dwarfs."

They climbed a bit further and heard taunts and catcalls rising up from the bowl on the other side of the hill.

"I don't effing Adam and Eve it! Look what the dog dragged in!"

Jalur growled.

"It's the fuckwitted fleabag housecats."

"Would pussy like some milk?"

This growl was more intense than the last, like thunder rumbling in the distance, waiting to explode into a violent storm.

"You got a face like a bulldog chewing on a wasp, you effing toad."

"Oi, shut your claptrap you buggering sod. I was talkin to him, the pussy pussy."

"Yeah, well you got face like busted Dwarf ass."

"Ahh," Edmund sighed, knowing all was indeed so very right with the Aslan's Good Creation. "The sweet music of the Otter Romp."

They crested the rise and sure enough, Fooh and Beehn were chasing the Otters around in the dell below, although unquestionably and as their wont, the little weasels had the better of the Cheetahs.

Jalur was shaking with rage and eagerness.

"Just hold a moment, Friend; help me find my Bro.."

Oh. Jalur's ear twitched backward hearing his King utter an unaccustomed, most Otter-like, oath as Edmund spied Peter on the other side of the dell.

Good thing I didn't arrive any earlier. Oi. It had happened before, it would happen again, but repetition did not make the intrusion any less comfortable.

"Jalur!" he hissed, "you should have told me!"

"I did!" the Tiger snapped, near prancing with impatience to savage the Otters who had grabbed on to Beehn's tail.

"You told me Peter was here. You neglected to mention the Dryad!"

The Tiger glared at him with absolute and utter feline disdain. "Only humans could take something so very simple, and make it so ridiculously complex."

With that, Jalur bounded off with an ear shattering roar, scattering the Otters in all directions, like leaves in the wind.

"Buggering hell!" an Otter shrieked.

"Oi! It's that dickwad Tiger!"

"What absolute gobshite, you fucktard! RUN!"

"Run where, you arseface?"

"Ah, you couldn' manage a piss-up in a brewery, you arse-hat."

"Arseface am I? Yeah, well you're a arse-hole."

Edmund saw Jalur bowl the four Otters as if they were balls and send them rolling back into the woods, fortunately away from Peter and the Dryad. An advantage the Cats would have was that Jalur, Fooh, and Beehn could act cooperatively against a common foe. The Otters were as likely to quarrel amongst themselves as any other.

But, with the ruckus, there was also no way he was going to be able to slink off quietly away, somewhere, anywhere else.

"Hullo Ed!" his brother called, in a cheerful, lazy voice.

Nothing for it then.

Edmund slowly walked down the slope into the dell, toward the grove where the afternoon's other lawn sports not involving Otter bowling were winding down. At as respectful a distance as he could manage, "hello, Peter." Edmund executed a short, polite bow, "Lady Dryad. Sorry to intrude. I didn't know you were here, and Jalur neglected to mention it."

The High King was in quite the un-state, undone, untied, unfastened, unloosened, unwound, unconcerned, and sitting on the ground, reclining, back against the Silver Birch Dryad, she, more or less, in her tree form at this stage of the proceedings. They were shrouded in a fog of yellow pollen so thick, it made Edmund's eyes water just looking at it. Which, he really wished he wasn't. Looking at it at all, that is. The Dryad had twined her long, slim branches possessively across Peter's chest and waist; another branch toyed with his hair. Her roots were tangled sinuously around his legs.

This was especially not conducive to his continuing efforts to push clotted cream aside as not relevant. Edmund had not previously considered its potential applications insofar as toes were concerned.

"Not a worry, Ed. I'll join you shortly."

In Edmund's view, that was overly optimistic. This not being the first time, and knowing Peter as he did, his brother wouldn't quite be ready for the exertion of even getting vertical in the very near term. It further assumed the Silver Birch would let him go before she was ready to do so.

The supposition was proven out when a rain of catkins fell from the slighted Dryad's branches. Edmund had to throw up his arms to shield his head. "Lady! I go! I did not come to take your King away!"

"Oh my Lady," he regrettably overheard Peter say very softly. "None of that now." Edmund turned away quickly but not before he saw Peter's hands caress one of the branches wrapped about him. The Tree quivered in response to the gentle touch, spewing more pollen.

"I'm just off to the Pond now!" Edmund managed to choke out, edging away, and very carefully avoiding the tree roots writhing about on the ground. He would not put it past the Lady to trip him into the water by throwing up a branch.

"Don't worry about a thing!" he called, not looking back. "If there are any marauding giants in the next hour, I'll handle it!"

Edmund bolted as fast as he could away from the scene, toward the rumble in the dell.

Jalur, Fooh and Beehn had corralled the Otters against a rock.

"What a load a cack!"

"Bog off you effing pussys!"

"Bog off yourself, you fucktard."

"Bugger me blind, you rats, let us go!"

"You sod."

"Yeah, well you can just sod off."

"Jalur, Fooh, Beehn, to Me!" Edmund ordered. "Leave them."

As the Cats turned away from the cornered Otters, one shouted, "Oi! Look at the baby King! All mouth and no trousers!"

The insult was too much for Jalur. He spun back around and roared so fiercely, the trees shook, unleashing yet more pollen to drift serenely down on top of them all like flecks of yellow snow.

Three of the Otters did scamper off.

The fourth however, was not so easily cowed. "I'll give you what for if you don't shut your pie hole, you fuckwit."

With a swipe of Jalur's velveted paw, the Otter went tumbling across the dell and nearly into the Pond.

"I really should reprimand you for that, Jalur," Edmund scolded.

"But you will not."

Snapping his fingers, Edmund directed the bulk of his irritation over the really ludicrous situation where it belonged. "You two, Fooh and Beehn, I have words for you." He growled at them much as his own Guard did. "Given the business of the High King, you should have never allowed us down here."

Both Cubs, on hearing the sharp reprimand, crouched down, ears flat against their heads, eyes upraised. "We're sorry, King Edmund," Fooh said in a small voice.

"We didn't know," Beehn added. "Should we go apologize to the High King now?"

"No!"

The Cheetahs scrunched down even further, making themselves very small indeed.

Oh Aslan. He'd forgotten how young the cubs were. They probably were not mature enough to have even been through their first courtship season. Edmund scrubbed his hand across his face and immediately regretted it, for it felt he was rubbing sand into his eyes. The pollen was everywhere. He sneezed, and still remembered that the corporate tax rate was forty-five percent. Wait, wasn't that rather high for a Narnian?

"What should we do, King Edmund?" Beehn asked.

He seized on a fantastic idea. "Jalur! Just the Cat for the job!"

Having divined his intent, the Tiger looked at him with the equivalent of feline horror. "You cannot be serious."

"I think reviewing the protocol might be useful for you as well, my Friend." Jalur should have told him. Having to explain it to Fooh and Beehn would reinforce the point.

"Fooh and Beehn, please go up to the top of the dell where the two of you will stay until the High King leaves, or he otherwise gives you a different order. No one else comes down here without My or His permission, understood?"

"Yes, King Edmund."

"Jalur will join you briefly to explain a bit more about some of the duties of a Palace Guard with which you may not yet be familiar, won't you Good Tiger?"

"Nothing would give me greater… pleasure."

Edmund could have sworn he heard "displeasure" in there, but Jalur spoke in such a huff it was hard to tell. "After that, Friend, you are welcome to enjoy the Pond."

With great dignity and some snapping at the heels of the Cheetahs, Jalur turned and herded the Cubs back up the hill.

The four Otters were glaring at him from just under the eaves of a Tree. Edmund heartily wished the spirit within would batter the beasts with seed pods, but the Tree was silent. He really wanted to let loose with a torrent of his own obscenity at the Otters, but that would just give them a new target. If he said nothing, they would turn on themselves. As he headed at last toward the Pond, shucking his clothes as he went, sure enough,

"Blimey, who floated the air biscuit!"

"Bloody hell. Sod off!"

"Me sod off! You sod off, you dick breath."

"Bugger yourself, you dick head."

"Dickfuck!"

"Dickweed!"

Plunging into the water was the cure for all, for the filthy Otters, for the clinging pollen, for the underlying tension of an entire day too preoccupied with things physical and intellectual beyond his reach. He dove down to the bottom, then up, swimming hard, scattering fish, willing his body to a more productive exercise. He needed something that would tire him in a meaningful way and hopefully refresh the soul and clear the mind. There had been a perpetual edge to the day of pollinating dryads, princesses, corset-bursting cleavage, cream, and attractive, intelligent, evil Bankers in gowns of indeterminate green. While providing ample opportunity to display his rapier wit and astounding intellect, the effort required to respond to the unfolding situations was both exhausting and never fully satisfying. Wholly unlike what his brother had been enjoying.

Gah. Too much thinking.

From the middle of the Pond, he paused, treading water and saw Jalur racing down the hill. Evidently, the Tiger had, in some form or another, completed his instruction of the Facts of Human Sexual Activity And How It Is Inexplicably Unlike Anything Remotely Normal You Will Otherwise Encounter Ever. Oh to be a Rat in the room for that discussion! The questions! How could a Tiger possibly answer them when a man himself could not? Jalur paused for a truly fearsome roar in the direction of the Otters and then, with the wild abandonment of his kind, crashed into the water. His massive body hit the Pond with huge force, sending a wall of water up and back, drenching the Otters on the shore. Edmund dove again to avoid hearing the Otters' indignant, disgusting response.

He concentrated on swimming hard, letting the rhythm of the breathing and movement drive away the other distractions. Jalur undoubtedly needed some solitude as much as he did and, for the moment, Edmund neither wanted nor expected the Tiger to join him. They understood each other well enough.

Eventually, many, many laps across the Pond later, Edmund found something more like equilibrium returning. He swam a bit closer to shore, able to touch bottom and saw Peter wading toward him. Edmund decided he would stay where he was; given all that pollen, he wasn't going near Peter until his brother had thoroughly rinsed off.

His brother had a thoroughly satisfied grin plastered on his face, and was moving with the unconcerned languor of one who had enjoyed simply the very best day of his life and eagerly anticipated the next as even better than the last. The contented peace, naturalism, and vigor the High King embodied were all so very Narninan. Peter embraced (metaphorically and literally) the whole of and the very best of their Country, who loved him deeply in return. Edmund, who had toiled the day away in very un-Narnian pursuits, felt a fresh burst of irritation. Elimination of corsets was a most Narnian goal, he reasoned. If I had spent the day doing that service to our Country, I would be feeling very well pleased too. Maybe not quite as pleased as Peter, concededly, as there had been no clotted cream nor dresses of indeterminate green flung on to canopy tops. He shoved the intruding thoughts aside, finding it required an extra push of mental effort. Not relevant.

If he says "It's good to be King," I shall pummel him senseless.

And, if he says "It's good to be High King," I'll murder him, hide the body and no Narnian will ever blame me for it.

The High King took his time, finally diving under and surfacing next to him.

"Hullo Brother," Peter finally said, turning himself over to float lazily on his back. "Beautiful day, isn't it? It's good to…"

"ARRGHH!" Edmund screamed, and reaching under the water, grabbed his brother around the torso, lifted him up, and threw him into deeper water.

As Peter surfaced, sputtering with a few almost Otter-like oaths of his own, Edmund sprayed and splashed with all his might, then threw himself at his brother, knocking him down and sending him underwater again.

Peter, confound him, came up laughing, infuriatingly out of reach. He was still the taller and could touch bottom where Edmund could not. "Feeling better now, Ed?"

"You lazy, thick-witted…" Wait. "What?"

His brother just laughed again, and resumed floating on his back, but now in the deeper water. "I was going to say that it's good to see you out here, instead of the Library."

"You are the one who gave me only ten days to figure the Lone Islands Tax Code," Edmund shot back.

"And you know I said that to make sure Susan helped you. That Code has been there for well over a hundred years. If it takes Us, by which I mean You, a few months to work it out, so be it."

"Oh." The anger and frustration of a very trying day trickled out of him, rather like that juice down Even More Dim's too tight bodice. Well I am the brute. Edmund realized he'd said that aloud.

"Sometimes," Peter agreed mildly. "Though you have had more than enough cause lately. With the allergies, you cannot enjoy what is otherwise a really lovely part of Spring, and worse still, know that the rest of us are. You were so irate from the overt manipulation of a Princess that you dumped a pitcher down her front and are proposing to ban corsets forever. You have locked yourself in the Library all day pouring over something that I have come to understand is fiendishly difficult."

And in my self-absorption, I really did not think you would have noticed. But, Peter always did. A man who cares so much about a Fledgling's life and tolerates the vapidity of a Princess for the good of his Country certainly attends to my petty troubles as well.

The mud and muck at the pond's bottom were feeling a bit too squishy; Edmund launched off to join Peter in the middle of the pond, treading and bobbing as Peter floated about like a cork. With a kick, Peter moved further away. "I am not letting you come near if you intend to try to drown me again."

"No. I am sorry about that. Why are you here, anyway? I thought you would have left."

"Oh, the usual dust up. Turns out that two of the Dwarfs in the party are Mrs. Furner's sons and there was no way she was going to let them go off without a night under her roof."

"So we are now entertaining a score of Dwarfs, two Princesses and an Evil Banker? Mr. Hoberry and Cook must be hysterical. Come to think, when I stopped in the kitchens, Cook was hysterical."

"Susan locked Mr. Hoberry, Mrs. Furner and Cook in a room and told them to work that out. The result is that the Dwarfs shall camp on the tilting field for the night, which suits everyone very well." Peter splashed his way a bit closer. "And who is the Evil Banker? Do you mean Lady Morgan?"

"Evil Banker-Not-A-Lady Morgan is of the merchant banking House of Linch, which, with the Houses of Stanleh, Sterns, and Meryll, is wealthy enough to buy Narnia outright with change left over for a substantial investment in Calormen as well."

"I see." Peter flipped over, plunged down and surfaced, now standing. "Well, that certainly explains some of luncheon then."

So, Susan, Lucy, Evil-Banker-Not-A-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch and Peter enjoyed luncheon in the Conservatory while Edmund slaved away on taxes. There would have been too much pollen for him to have withstood it. Most certainly. Probably. Maybe.

"Was there clotted cream on the menu?" Oh Aslan, did I really just say that?

Peter frowned, almost, but not quite a Most Royal Frown. "Should I have understood what you just said?"

"Never mind." Edmund took another dive down, touched some lovely slime, and came back up, more grounded. "So what happened?"

"Lucy has taken quite the liking to Lady Morgan."

Uh oh.

"They were in the thick of it, with Lucy explaining all about the Telmar River Beaver lodge situation. And Evil Banker or no, Lady Morgan provided far more intelligent conversation than we have had with a guest in a while."

Under no circumstances am I telling him about her thigh circumference measures.

"And Susan?"

"The usual. Asking all those polite questions that were really all about the Lone Islands business."

"Of which Evil Banker Morgan was extremely knowledgeable."

"Quite. Now granted, I think this is for the most part because Lucy is as thoroughly fed up with Princesses as you, but she offered, and Lady Morgan accepted, and in the next day or so the two of them will be off to the Telmar River together."

Edmund had been trying to stay relaxed, floating, thinking of pond slime and how it was not the least bit like clotted cream. This brought him up floundering and sputtering. "What? Lucy can't do that!"

This one was a true MRF. "To paraphrase what I believe you said to Susan earlier today, Our Valiant Sister most certainly can and may chose the company she keeps and if you wish to talk her out of it, you will need better argument than that."

If Peter had an MRF, the Just King had his own Most Fierce Scowl and he now unleashed it on the High King. He had tempted fate today, and it had come back and bitten him hard. He had not thought the month could get any worse, and it had. Pollen, Princesses, Taxes, and now a Most Beloved Sister consorting with an Evil Banker.

Peter shrugged, no more affected by the MFS than Edmund was by the MRF, and started wading toward shore.

"Regardless, once that was decided and Lucy and Morgan began plotting their adventure, luncheon took a turn for the peculiar, even by Narnian standards. Harah swooped in, bobbed her head twice, squawked, 'Shiny! Shiny!,' stole the Lady Morgan's knife out of her hand and flew off with it."

Edmund laughed, as well and as hard as he had all day. "Good for her! And Susan chased Harah out of the room?"

"In one. At that point, even I knew something was afoot, although I certainly had not assumed it was an Evil Banker who poses what you believe to be some threat to Narnia, but which I admit I am hard pressed to understand myself."

"Well, Evil Banker Morgan is by nature of a more subtle type. It is not as if she has stated outright that her purposes are to Usurp Our Crown, Incite Insurrection, Commit Heinous Offenses, and/or Attempt Seduction of one or more of the Monarchs."

Peter flung back his arm and sent a wave of water arcing back in Edmund's face. "You must rehearse these lines in the mirror, Brother. There is no other explanation."

Edmund blew pond water out his nose, finding it actually rather relieving of the pollen. "I do not need to rehearse, High King. My rapier wit and astounding intellect suffice."

He got another faceful of water for that one. Jalur was also paddling back to shore, a striped shark in the water, making a beeline toward the Otters who were wrestling in the mud.

"You are such a wanker, wanker!"

"Oi. Piss-arse you wankshaft, get your effing arse out of my face."

"Boggin wanktard, let go you dickfuck!"

Peter glanced over at the Otter pit with disgust. "Jalur!" he shouted to the swimming Tiger, "you have Our Permission!" For what exactly was unclear, but Peter trusted Jalur to take his authority to the full extent allowed of the Palace Guard, and perhaps a step or two beyond. The Tiger sped up in the water, nearly creating a wake, Otters in his sights.

"To her considerable credit," Peter continued, "Lady Morgan took the theft of her silverware in very good humour. When Susan came back with Harah, she accepted the apology, told Harah that the knife was not really hers to give, but promised something else should she find it on the trip to the Telmar basin. Susan tried to hint that wouldn't Lady Morgan rather stay here than go off with Lucy, but the two of them would not be dissuaded. Harah for her part went on about the pretty silver thread in Lady Morgan's green gown, which of course the rest of us could not see, and admired her shiny hair."

Edmund turned right back around, made a shallow dive into the pond, blowing out bubbles of extreme aggravation as he surfaced. I really did not need to hear that. Pulling himself up, and slogging toward Peter, he was now thoroughly resigned to the fact that the oozing mud between his toes probably bore very little resemblance to clotted cream and that it was the closest he would come to the sensation any time soon.

"You're a chuffing wankerfuckwit, you are."

"Effing wanksplat."

"Quit biting you wankstain."

"Bleeding Hell!" an Otter screeched. "It's that effing Tiger!"

Jalur surged out of the water like a golden tidal wave.

"Oi, you fuckwits! RUN!"

With an ear piercing split whistle from Peter, Fooh and Beehn bolted from their posts at the top of the dell, and raced down into the bowl on an intercept course with the fleeing Otters. The Otters turned, and trapped between the Tiger on one side and the Cheetahs on the other, scampered into the woods. Most Blessed Peace fell.

Jalur shook himself very thoroughly, showering the Cheetahs with spray from his water-logged coat.

The Cats all bounded forward in high, damp spirits and it was impossible to feel anything but joy at their vanquishing of the dreaded Otter foe.


A word about those otters. Yes, I know they are cute. I like them too. They are however of the Family Mustelidae, from which also come the weasels, the tenacious badger and the ornery wolverine. At our local zoo, keepers will go into the cheetah enclosure, but not the one with the Asian otters if the animals are present. A trio of brother otters from Singapore killed and ate a python that had wandered into their enclosure and when the brothers themselves were en route to the U.S., they escaped their cargo containers on the airplane, wreaking havoc.

In which a Narnian occasion is planned, a Queen manages a situation, and a Raven instructs His King.

Thank you for all the reviews and alerts and things. I'm very flattered and am glad you are enjoying it.


Chapter 5: Management to follow