Doctor Petronius was duly summoned.
This stout old satyr with brindled fleece and hair trotted in carrying his medicine bag and examined both Tobermory and the rat carefully. Poor Tobermory's tongue was almost frozen to the petrified flesh. He had to have warm water trickled around his mouth in order to help him remove his tongue and extract his teeth and palette from the mouthful of petrified fur, skin and flesh.
The poor feline had suffered what you know very well after you have eaten an ice treat too quickly and he had to be gathered up and have warm towels wrapped around his head and be given warm broth to restore himself. His head swam and he felt nauseous, but he held back as much as possible. He knew that cat vomit on the Queen's rug would be something he would never live down, so he held on, breathing steadily and closed his eyes letting the Queen's staff look after him.
Once this was proceeding satisfactorily, the surgeon next squatted down on his haunches to examine the rat further, which had been left exactly where it was. It looked like intricately detailed dark jade and it was cold just like marble.
"Dear me" he tut-tutted to himself and stroked the surface of the stone rat with interested fingers. There was really nothing to indicate that it was anything other than a cleverly executed carving, except that it was far too perfect in every detail of hair, claw and scale to be possible. This was clearly the work of some deadly unknown magic.
Even the whiskers were stone and along with some of the fine hairs were splintering into pieces with the slightest disturbance.
A shiver went through Dr Petronius as he stood up and for a moment his vision went black and he leaned heavily on a nearby courtier, gasping and clutching with tense white fingers. " but if th th th thi can happen to on creature, how many others are there?" he asked to the room in general?" It was a question no one could answer but everyone looked a little panicked.
Esme's inner apartments were now in a state of chaos. Fauns, humans and talking beasts and birds were coming and going, murmuring and exclaiming, some with horror and anxiety, others with annoyance and impatience.
Even a few of the messenger birds had poked their heads into the open window, taken a look and were now flying off, telling all and sundry Aslan knew what! Esme could hear the blackbirds twittering their hysterical concerns widely already and a few of the doves who'd poked their heads in beginning to coo and boom what they had seen with the innuendo that only doves can manage.
"This is getting out of hand. It has to stop! Trade delegation be damned, we need to get to the bottom of this sorcery and conspiracy before it's too late." Esme said to herself. She had been looking a little stunned but now began issuing instruction to her servants.
She stood up fully on her desk and called, "Attend to me!" and clapped her hands loudly for silence.
"Those pesky messenger birds must be brought back here at once. Every one! They will be silenced. Who can go after them?
She looked meaningfully at Greyfeather, but Greyfeather had retreated into herself and was sitting with closed eyes and feathers ruffled. It was then that a large white and tawny barn owl spoke. She had heard the commotion and swung in through the window on silent wings and had been sitting quietly observing the activity with wide eyes. "Too much, too little, too early, too late it seems. Certainly your Majesty." She bobbed and swivelled her head and looked over her shoulder at Esme. "I will call the birds in… if it please your majesty… for what it is worth", she added.
"They must come back here at once and swear to keep their twittering beaks shut, otherwise they will be charged with treason!" Esme shouted, again loosing her cool as a cucumber.
Esme forced herself to breathe for a few moments to gather her thoughts further.
"We meet in the full Council room in two hours," she called. "Fram, all other appointments in my schedule are cancelled. All members of the privy council or their proxies must attend. Greyfeather! The local seniors in the spy network will be meeting and making a full report before the full council meeting. Ronin, I want the Terebinthian, Narnian and Calormene embassies contacted at once, and their ambassadors and secretaries summoned to join us after the mid-afternoon bell. Luncheon will have to wait!"
Spymaster Greyfeather looked put out by the affair. She had hopped up onto the back of the settee and ruffled her feathers, staring beadily into the mid-distance, ruminating; silent. The scattering of flat grey feathers across her body amongst the normal beetle black could now be seen in the even light which was streaming in through a high louvre; the reason for her name becoming obvious.
Esme cast her eyes around the room, making sure that everyone was on to their tasks. She looked at the Raven again and this time noticed her looking darkly at Tobermory, her feathers still ruffled. She narrowed her eyes and then noticed Tobermory looking helplessly at her and she realised that he was seeking some protection from the Spymaster.
"Greyfeather! I thank you for your assistance just now, but you simply must snap out of your bad mood! I want you to confer with your staff including the cat that just saved us from possible worse disaster. I want answers. My Uncle Lord Idris and Loremaster Lombard will be joining you. See to it that you behave yourself."
After about one hour of recovery, Tobermory Thincoat (or Cloudstreak as we might like to remember him), feeling wary, was escorted by Fram out of the inner apartment and across an anteroom, into a corridor and past several doorways into a small bare audience chamber. There was a small window that presently had its shutters open. The room had no hangings. A heavy oak door was held ajar by a young fire-fleeced satyr in a brown tunic, his cool blue eyes giving nothing away, his glance aloof. Three lamps had to be lit to provide enough light for writing. Otherwise, no doubt, the interview that was to come could have been conducted in complete darkness. There were to be no outside witnesses.
Master Lombard, a man of middle height and middle years with normally laughing eyes, a ruddy complexion and a long pointy beard flecked with grey had just taken his seat and was toying with paper and a pen, looking flustered. His assistant was busy filling quills with brown ink at a table in the corner, getting ready for the meeting to begin, her own eyes darting with anxiety. Another courtier stalked in looking grave, his shoulder adorned by the form of the great Raven who clutched the padded shoulders of his tabard, wordlessly, looking grim and withdrawn still. She still had not spoken directly to Tobermory nor to anyone and thankfully was now avoiding his gaze too.
Three high stools with leather padding, that stood on a level with the table were already in place, one on the left, one at the far end, one on the right, with ordinary backed chairs stationed around the table, about 10 in total. Tobermory was directed to the stool on the left, next to Master Lombard. He leapt up with some effort after his recent ordeal and sat low, his tail wrapped around his paws, trembling slightly. His eyes just open a slit. Spymaster Raven Greyfeather was directed to perch on the one on padded stool at the far end. She did not move from the courtier's shoulder at once, and looked at her escort sidelong in the way that birds look at prey, seeming to dare him to order her off. The courtier flicked his gaze quickly at the eye so close to his own, went dull eyed for a moment before the Raven hopped down. Tobermory's eyes widened with dismay. What did she think she was doing trying the Eye of Tash on a courtier? Was it some kind of reminder? Or a warning, or just trying to test his responses? Tobermory would certainly be telling his story in the full as much as time allowed and would be avoiding Greyfeather's gaze at all costs. That close encounter over the rat had been unnerving and he had studiously kept his eyes tightly shut throughout.
The Queen Mother's cousin, Lord Idris, the Archen Chief Negotiator and Inquisitor stalked into the room hurriedly and took his seat at the head of the table. He looked tense and did not speak.
Once he was settled, three humans whom Tobermory was sure he had met before in his work also sidled into the room, the second and third completely breathless. The first, swathed from head to toe in a hooded robe of brown homespun, which he removed once in the room, was a strikingly handsome blonde young man. He was in a state of considerable dishevelment, hair tousled, skin flushed, sleep still in his eyes, his body odour strong, some reddish marks just in evidence on his neck. His name was Caddoc. In this part of Archenland he had a reputation for being very popular and affectionate; the recipient of much pillow talk, so in spy circles was highly valued.
Tobermory had tried to see him only a few days before but had been unable to find him. But someone else obviously had in a hurry. Caddoc smirked slightly and winked at Master Lombard before schooling his features to a neutral bored expression. The other two were a middle aged human couple, Mother and Father Moss. They were apple cheeked keepers of a popular wayside inn from the far western end of Armouthe, about ten miles away. They were both flushed and breathless. Evidently they had ridden hard as soon as a messenger bird had reached him. They smelled of horse, hops and fermenting barley. They took seats on either side of Greyfeather.
Tobermory could see that the third seat for a talking beast or bird was vacant and wondered who it could be. Moments later he heard the scratch and clatter of claws on the stone floor and then the strong musky smell of the creature assaulted him as it slithered into the room. A thickset dark brown and black shape with shaggy fur clambered up onto the stool and sat upright, dark eyes looking down a long snout. He had also seen her before but he had to fight his natural instincts and not squall. It was Quickhatch the wolverine.
"You called for me, Lord Idris?" she rasped in an undertone. Her lips curled superciliously to reveal a mouthful of fanged jagged teeth. Idris stared back, expressionless.
The courtiers then withdrew clicking the door shut firmly behind them. The satyr trotted smartly to the shutters and closed them firmly before he also sat down to the left of Lord Idris. They heard the sound of several sentries shuffling into position outside the door and the sound of a key being turned into the lock and then being withdrawn.
The cold white-washed room was in silence. Lord Idris looked down the table coldly at each of them in turn, his nostrils flaring. Momentarily he held a pocket handkerchief drenched in lavender to his nose and took a deep breath.
"This meeting is of the utmost urgency", he said is a deep sonorous voice. "You are required to give your reports with the greatest efficiency and accuracy. The Queen was spied upon by an enemy in her chambers this very morn. It was largely prevented from carrying out its diabolical purposes, whatever they were, by Master Tobermory here. We must take this as a threat not just on her life, but on the security of this castle and the wider realm. We must identify how long this security breach may have been going on and what you each know of wider events that may impinge this matter."
He paused considering a moment, looking uncomfortable, his jaw working, then in a higher harsher voice he bawled out, "And why, if our spy network is so effective and widespread as you have so often reassured us Spymaster Greyfeather, it was possible for you to not have informed the Queen or myself of any concerns before now?!"
Tobermory flicked his eyes down the table momentarily. Spymaster Raven Greyfeather was still hunched with puffed feathers. She was not looking ready to speak yet. He then looked to his right across Lord Idris's nose and was in time to see Quickhatch hide a pleased look. Something was going on here and whatever it was, it was bound to get interesting.