Family Matters
© 2022 by M. Mitch Marmel

Thumbnail art by  tegerio, color by  marmelmm


Part Twenty-eight


Winterbough:

This time, it was Belladonna's turn to go first, since Una Sawyer had gone first in the previous Challenge (and, you'll recall, buried her rolling pin in the turf). She did seem nervous, far more than you usually saw in the members of the [Doe-Moot]. I reflected that she was of a different kidney from the average doe, and I did start to wonder if she'd be as domineering over Sixth as I thought she might have been, prior to the Challenges.

In any event, she now had to use her wits and Talents to win out, not merely the threat of her sisters-in-kind backing her up, so it was in her paws. Literally, in this case, as a few other roe-does removed the screen in front of her.

It revealed that she was bearing a large oval platter, on top of which rested a silver-steel dome. Many "oooohs" and "aahhhhhs" from the crowd. [Little Toy], of course, couldn't express herself that way, but she passed me one of her sketches, with a dark black check mark of approval next to the depiction of the platter-and-dome.

Belladonna Sumac walked slowly and carefully over to the center table, and placed the platter in an open spot. She stepped back, as Sixth looked on with great interest, and Dotto adjusted his monocle. I could tell from the way Stormy's brush was madly twitching that she was intensely curious as to what was going to be revealed.

My heart sank a bit as the Challenger reached down, and whisked off the lid. A storm of applause, especially from the roebucks, greeted what was revealed.

Namely, what looked very much like a three-layer iced persimmon cake, with a dusting of berries of the field topping the confection.

Dotto flashed me a look of smug triumph, which was quite deserved, as he'd called it. And it was a very shrewd decision on Sumac's part to make the cake so big. Even with Sixth's ravenous appetite, having the dessert first was likely to take the edge off Sawyer's offering.

From her Elfintory, and with due ceremony, Sumac produced a wooden case, which might well have been the twin of the one that had contained the rolling-pin she'd used in the first Challenge. This case proved to have a very ornate knife with a carved wooden handle. That, of course, got Stormy's attention, as she was fascinated with cookery tools. As it wasn't her Challenge, she showed manners and let Sumac give the knife to Sixth.

Who, in turn, gave it to Stormy, showing that Sixth had a fine sense of what would make his siblings happy. Stormy whispered a request to Sumac, who swiveled her ears, and then nodded. She padded off to the side, and returned with a steaming bowl of what was probably water.

The snow-fox put the metal of the knife in the bowl, and waited for a minute or so. It took me about as long to realize what she was doing: she was heating the blade of the knife so that it would cut more cleanly through the cake. Hence the lack of objection from Sumac (or the [Doe-Moot], who likely knew the old trick).

With a great deal of care and respect for others' work, Stormy slipped the knife into the cake, and cut three pieces. Two enormous ones for her brothers, showing that she, too, had a fine sense of what would make her siblings happy. She didn't neglect to cut a (much smaller) piece for herself.

For his part, and with a flair for showfurship that would likely have met with the approval of his mad great-grandsire, Sixth turned his full plate around and around, admiring the cross-section of the dessert. Even at my distance from the table, I could see that it was an exemplar of its kind, with thick layers of persimmon frosting punctuating the deposits of cake.

Dotto had fixed his monocle in his eye, and was sniffing at his slice with great appreciation. He also gently prodded at the cake with a fork, testing its moistness.

Stormy, for her part, had started right in on her slice, and she was eating very slowly. She had her eyes half-closed, and her brush had slowed down in its movement, indicating deep thought.

Of course, this didn't last, and Sixth began to attack his slice with a great deal of vim and enjoyment. This sight made the members of the [Doe-Moot] glance at each other in triumph bordering on gloating. Evidently, they too had made the same calculations as Dotto had.

Sumac was flexing the fingers of her paws as they were held in front of her. She seemed both relieved and hopeful at the sight of her quarry enjoying his offering.

For his part, the portly little tod began to galumph his slice with great glee. There were ominous mutterings from next to me regarding the feelings for "elders and betters." I sympathized with Estvan, since at the rate things were going, there wasn't going to be any leftovers for me, let alone the old fox.

In the end, I suppose Dotto had about two-thirds of the cake, and Sixth one-quarter of the cake, which showed an interesting amount of restraint on the part of my buck-fawn. I wondered how many other furs noticed that. [Little Toy] certainly did, based on the sketch she passed me.

Sumac, with great presence of mind, cleared the table after the three furs had finished, and then came back with a crumber to make sure the table was totally clean. That got a smattering of applause from the roe-does, who knew what that was all about. Unlike, I'm sorry to say, the vast majority of the roe-bucks and the wolves.

After that, there was dead silence in the Temple for a few minutes. Sixth and his siblings looked over at the other screen, expectantly. From the galleries above and the roe-bucks below, the sound of rhythmic clapping could be heard by way of encouragement. I was on the verge of intervening when I heard the sound of loud clattering from behind the screen, and the sound of an emphatic grunt.

Una Sawyer (still in her riding outfit, for some reason) was slowly wheeling a vast cart. On the bottom shelf of the cart was a steaming tray. On the top shelf, a huge metal cylinder, likewise steaming, a large bowl, not steaming, and lastly, something cast iron sitting above an open magick-flame.

Stormy again had to suppress her eagerness to see what it was all about. Her siblings, with broad smiles, awaited further revelations.

Which were not long in coming. Una opened up the cast-iron implement, and then took up the bowl. After giving the contents a brief but vigorous stir, she poured some of that into the cast-iron implement, which caused a sizzling sound. Thereupon, she put down the bowl, closed the implement, and waited.

After a minute or so, she turned over the implement, and waited a bit more. Just before she took some final actions with respect to that, she put on a pair of gloves, reached into the lower compartments, and pulled out a hot, steaming plate, which she wiped down. To this, she added some flatware that had also been heated.

Many glances among the roe-does at that. It was obvious they thought Sawyer was making the most of her presentation, and there was grudging respect for that.

Sawyer, grim-faced, opened the cast-iron implement and took up a pair of tongs. She extracted what I now recognized was a waffle. I was wondering if this was dessert-against-dessert, which would have been a curious thing, but then I took a good, hard sniff, and realized that once again, Dotto had correctly called things.

My natural tod-son (I need to specify him thus, lest it imply that Sixth isn’t natural)

[Note appended to manuscript: “The [Doe-Moot] certainly think so.”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Sharrap.”]

glanced at me and wiggled his eyebrows. He had reached the same triumphant conclusion at the moment when Una Sawyer took the lid off the cylinder, inserted a ladle, and extracted a heaping helping of a rich-smelling, dark brown topping.

I'd seen that before, when I'd dined at Bonzo's Roadhouse with Dannel Bark, Jr. It was West Country style corn waffles with vegetarian chili. Something diametrically opposed to the cool, familiar tastes of Elfhamian iced persimmon cake, and certainly something that Sixth had never had before.

There was some animated, sotto voce discussion between two of my offspring as to which one of them would have the first plate, but this was resolved by Sawyer, who emphatically put it in front of Sixth, before going back to fill plates for the other two.

Sixth did have the presence of mind to wait until others were served. He'd glanced over at [Little Toy], who had wagged a finger back at him, rather pointedly. Only when all three were served, did they dig in.

Just in time, Sawyer deposited a clear glass carafe of what looked like milk (likely feral Elfhamian sheep's milk) in front of the tasters, who had tasted, and found that they needed to counterbalance something or other. Having done that, they returned to their plates and repeated the process.

And repeated it. And repeated it. And requested seconds.

And thirds.

I glanced over at Sumac, who had closed her eyes and lowered her head. The Challenges hadn't been much fun for her, so far. She sighed, but with good manners, walked over to Sawyer and offered a paw.

It was taken, with great gravity, by the other doe. I got up to announce, formally, the victor. Estvan got up as well to examine the cylinder that had been full of chili, and replaced the lid with a snort and a glare at his young protégé for denying him a light snack.

His umbrage, though, was stayed when I raised my paw.

"[Lend to me,]" I said, "[with the ears of your collective selves, for ruling my own small self shall make this minute. Know ye that outside the hall of the house of the Lady is the wyvern-friend of this small and sweet Vale, and bears she the text of the Third Challenge, set forth by the paw of myself. Know ye that the Challenge will be revealed to the eyes and ears of all immediately. And shall likewise commence the same.]"

This caught everyfur, from Anastasia on down to the smallest fawn capable of ratiocination, by surprise.

Good.


***


Roland:

“What do you propose?” I asked the bear.

Colonel Mason put his paws together, tapping the fingertips together. “The first option is to – I believe the word you use is ‘apport’ – all of you directly to the ship, and have you apported back to the Palace exactly one-tenth of a second after you leave.”

I frowned. “That quickly?”

Mason smiled. “It’s in our name. Temporal Corps. The original ambit of the organization was to patrol the timeline in its home alternity with the mission of stopping criminals who would manipulate time for their own ends. I believe that Elves are also capable of manipulating time, through magic.”

“Yes, that’s true.” Not every Elf can, and not every magic-user can, of course. Still, I couldn’t help but find this rather interesting. “And your second option?”

“A little more involved, a little slower, but perhaps more impressive.”

I steepled my own paws. “Tell me more.”



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