This is a sequel to Mont Rose, which is a sequel to Rajjan Tor. The stories are set in  tegerio's Realm of Faerie universe, as shown in his Zandar's Saga here on FA, and The Ballad of Adler Young.

Also check out  eocostello's Realm of Faerie stories:
The Thin Line
From Whom All Blessings Flow
Personal Diplomacy
The Font of Honour
It's Only Funny Until Someone Loses Their Dignity
. . . Is In Another Castle
The Coin of the Realm

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Blunt Objects
© 2014 Walter Reimer
Art by  tegerio

Part Seven.


The crew of the coach had yoked another pair of dray-ants to the vehicle after they and the fennecs had lunch. Jake looked up from his plate. “Why are they doing that?” he asked.

“We’ll be headed up into the mountains,” Ayyub explained, “so we need the extra ants to haul the coach.”

“Oh.” Jake looked off into the distance, where a broad smudge dominated the horizon. “There?”

“Yes, there,” his father said.

The distance was deceptive. The road started to curve into a series of switchback curves, heading ever upward as the grasslands and broad-leaved trees gave way to evergreens, with shaded upland meadows tucked into valleys. As the afternoon lengthened, the coach went higher up into the mountains.

Alys had taken a break from her embroidery and was looking out the window. She pointed suddenly. “What’s that?” she asked.

“What?” Lucy asked.

“Over there,” and the others craned to look where the vixen was pointing.

In the distance sat a large building with what looked like seven towers on it. Details were hard to make out, but it appeared to be quite a large structure. It was made of a creamy white stone and the towers appeared to be tipped with gold or some other metal that gleamed golden in the sunlight. The building sat on a small rise, surrounded by broad lawns and well laid out gardens.

Farukh knocked on the roof of the coach, and one of the crew opened the trap and peered in. “Yes, sir?”

“What’s that over there?” the fennec tod asked.

“What?” The badger looked, then gave a short laugh. “That’s the Viceroy’s Palace, that is,” he said, and sang a few lines, apparently from a ballad:

”Upon green grass, verdant and soft as velvet
Like a crown of ivory with golden gems beset
The Viceroy of the South there holds his state,
He sets a splendid table – you mustn’t be late!”

He grinned and touched a finger to his flat cap as the family applauded and laughed. “What song is that?” Jake asked.

“Oh, it’s a fine comic song about the Prince Guillaume,” the driver replied. “The old fellow’s been up there for centuries. Likes the tea, I fancy.”

“Tea?” Ayyub asked.

“When we get higher up, you’ll see it. Different color green than the grass,” and the driver drew back. The road was reaching another switchback curve, and a steady paw was needed to negotiate the bend without endangering the vehicle.

The badger was as good as his word; tea farms began to be seen, with terraced fields running up the mountainsides and small settlements in the valleys. As the coach crested a ridge Jake, leaning out the open window and looking ahead, gasped. “Look at that.” The others looked to see a broad range of snow-capped mountains in the distance, the glaciers tinted rose and salmon pink in the setting sun. The range extended north and south all the way to the horizon.

“Are we going up those?” the young tod asked.

His father shook his head. “Not this time, Jake. They’re quite a few days’ journey away.”

“Oh.”

The coach stopped at a roadside inn on the ridge, and Ayyub helped the crew get the ants fed and stabled for the night before joining the rest of the family for dinner.

The fare offered by the innkeeper and his wife consisted of a casserole containing minced beef, vegetables and sauce covered by a fluffy layer of whipped potatoes and topped with locally-made cheese. A pitcher of chilled cider was offered to drink, and the dessert was baked apples.

Jake was nodding over his dessert, and the decision was reached to turn in early.

The next day saw them up early and aboard the coach for the next leg of the trip, bypassing the mountain road for a more downhill, southwesterly path to the town of Woodbridge and the outlying villages of Ant’s Striving and Owlton. The badger lifted the roof trap and said, “There’s more of the tea farms, there on your right.”

The low bushes were a shade darker than the ones they had seen the previous day. “Different variety, I think,” Hannah remarked.

Farukh nodded. “I recall Cedric saying that a few of his relatives are tea farmers.”

Jake and the other three children were gazing out of the windows, watching the scenery go by. The air coming into the coach smelled of rich loam and pine needles and, just as an undertone, the scent of tea and cinnamon.

The road dipped a bit and curved to the left just about a quarter-mile from the junction, and a few structures came into view. There were stables for ants, a large two-story building with a steeply pitched roof to shed ice and snow, and a huge water cistern that appeared to have been carved from a single log. The tank was maybe ten feet across and six feet high, with pipes connecting it to a trough. Huge trees sheltered the building from the road and muffled the sound of the stream that fed the cistern.

“Shaded Repose Inn, folks,” the driver sang out as he started to rein the ants to a stop. Six pairs of antennae waved in unison, and a sudden spate of deep gronking noises accompanied a joint effort on the part of the ants to crowd toward the water trough. “Hey there! Easy, boys!” the badger laughed as he hauled hard on the reins. His fellow crewfur had already dismounted and walked over to a metal triangle. Grasping the stout piece of wood hanging nearby, he struck the triangle, eliciting a harsh ringing sound.

There was a splashing sound in the cistern, and a vulpine head popped up over the rim of the barrel. From the face and the long, wet headfur, the swimmer was a vixen. “Hey!” she called out, and two more heads, both vixens, popped up beside her.

“You didn’t say there’d be a coach!” the one on the right accused.

The one in the center protested, “I didn’t know!”

The third one just gaped, openmouthed.

”Gronk,” one of the ants said.

All three of the vixens suddenly reared up out of the water, revealing that they were wearing exactly what Fuma in Her Sublime Generosity had seen fit to give them at birth (and, in Ayyub’s estimation, She had been very generous indeed) and started to climb over the side of the cistern.

Three pairs of paws immediately clapped over Jake’s eyes. “Hey! I can’t see!”

“Hush,” Hannah said sternly. “You shouldn’t see this. Ayyub!”

“Yes, Mother?”

“You shouldn’t be looking either! You’re betrothed!” She gasped. “Farukh!”

“Sorry, my love, but you recall what your father said: ‘If a man’s too tired to look, push him over and bury him – he’ s forgotten he’s dead.’”

“Yes, and do you remember what my mother did to him?”

“Ah. Ahum, yes.”

The trio of soaked vixens ran off across the front porch and around the back of the inn, the water dripping from their fur splashing an elderly tod that had been sleeping in a rocking chair. He spluttered and sat up, brushing water from his homemade overalls and jerkin. “Fuma’s Whiskers! Will you three – oh! Guests!” He sat back, lacing his fingers together over his paunch. “Welcome to the Shaded Repose. Katerina! Kate! We got visitors!”

“What?” came a woman’s voice from the depths of the building, and presently a tall, dowdy vixen in a gingham dress appeared, rubbing her paws vigorously on her apron. “Welcome!” she called out to the family, who were stepping out of the coach. “Are you the Sharpears Family?”

“Farukh and Hannah, Ma’am,” Farukh said. “Our children Ayyub, Alys, Lucy and Jake.”

The woman beamed, running a paw over her head to smooth out her auburn headfur. She was a fennec, and her large ears twitched back and forth. “Fuma bless you all, you got here early!” She practically bounded down the stone-flagged steps and embraced Hannah. “So good to meet you all! I’m Katerina Broadlea, one of Isabeau’s aunts. Josef? Josef!” She released Hannah and looked back at the porch. “Get up, you lazy slugabed, and say hello!”

“I already did, woman,” the tod said as he settled back into his nap.

“We – we saw three young women earlier,” Hannah ventured.

“You did? Those are our daughters, Louisa May, Lisa May, and Linda May. Linda’s betrothed to a fine young fellow from Owlton. Where did you see them?”

“Getting out of the cistern,” Farukh replied.

Katerina rolled her eyes. “Typical. They’re supposed to be getting the place ready for you.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “We use that cistern to water the ants. They always seem to look forward to drinking from there.”

“I’m not surprised,” Ayyub muttered under his breath. He thought that ‘Linda May’ was a foregone conclusion.

If her beau was paying attention, it was probably ‘Linda Did.’

Katerina smiled again and took Hannah’s paw. “Why don’t you all come into the front parlor, and I’ll get the kettle on for some tea. Josef can bring in your luggage.” The group headed up the steps and the vixen aimed a kick at her husband’s knee. “Fuma’s tailfur, Josef! Get off your brush and bring the bags in!” She kicked him harder when he grumbled at her and refused to stir. “NOW, YOU SOD!”

Josef sat up and glared at his wife, then started to haul his bulky self from the comfortable rocker as she ushered the guests in. “Don’t know why I have to do this,” he grumbled, “I have three strong daughters . . . been moving kind of slow . . . my hip, my back . . . “

Ayyub gave him a smile. “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll bring our stuff in.”

“You will, eh?” The elderly tod seemed to cheer up a bit. “That’s very nice of you, lad. Here,” and he pressed a two-copper piece into Ayyub’s paw before resuming his seat, and his nap.