Moltin Gold
© 2024 by Walter Reimer and E.O. Costello
A continuation of Cleanup Crew and Cleaning Up

Thumbnail art by  tegerio, color and Serfpro logo by  marmelmm


Two.



A hired coach picked all three up at the SerfPro shop on the afternoon of the party. Alys kept running her paws over the velvet brocade cushions and impishly trying to give the gray tabby and the doe static electric shocks until Marjorie threatened to muss up the arctic vixen’s headfur.

The invitations stressed that formal wear was ‘suggested,’ but each of the young femmes had dressed for the occasion. Alys wore a form-fitting black dress that ended a few finger-widths below her knees, while Marissa’s ankle-length gown was a deep, almost magenta red that incorporated a loose corset. Marjorie had opted to wear a white gown that reached to her ankles, with a matching jacket. The three chatted as the coachman drove the vehicle up into the mountains.

Marissa’s ears perked. “We’re stopping.”

“I didn’t think – oh, no,” Alys said.

“What?” Marjorie asked, looking out the window.

The coach had stopped at what appeared to be a small train platform, with a few small buildings clustered near it. A small enclosed rail car sat at the platform, waiting. “Oh, the funicular,” the doe said with a smile. “I read about it when it was dedicated. I’ve never been on it.”

The coach driver set the brake and came around to the passenger cabin. “Beggin’ your pardons,” the mel said, “but His Lordship doesn’t want you to take a wagon up the mountain.”

“Why not?” Alys asked.

“It’d take too long,” the driver said. “This way’s quicker, and wait till you see the view. Come on now, there’ll be another coach waiting for you – “ His ears flicked, and he glanced to his right as another coach came to a halt. “You’ll have company going up.”

The coach held a husband and wife, and the two canines waved at the young femmes as they headed for the platform. “Right, out you get,” the driver said with a smile as he opened the door. “Don’t want to be late.”

Marjorie stepped out and straightened her white jacket. “You heard him. Let’s go.” Marissa got out, and the doe asked, “Alys?”

The arctic fox vixen’s brush was partly bottled out. “Um, do – do we really have to go up that?” she asked, a slight quaver edging her voice.

“Yeah, if we don’t want to be late,” Marjorie said. “Come on, Alys.”

“Is – is it safe?” the vixen asked, her small ears flat against her head.

Marissa looked over at it while the other passengers embarked. “They wouldn’t be getting on it if it wasn’t safe,” the gray tabby said. “C’mon, Alys.” She reached out and grabbed the vixen by her upper arm. The vixen reluctantly followed her out of the coach, unwilling to get her dress wrinkled or torn.

Once out of the coach, her tail bottled out completely.

Marjorie gently moved Marissa aside and slipped an arm around Alys’ waist. Turning her so she didn’t look at the funicular the doe asked quietly, “Are you afraid of heights, Alys?” The vixen nodded. “Okay. It’s okay to be scared. Do you want to go back home?” A headshake. “Good. Tell you what, I want you to take a seat in the funicular – hang on a moment,” Marjorie said. “Don’t get your underthings in a knot. I’ll be sitting right next to you, with my paws over your eyes. You don’t have to worry about a thing.” She brought her muzzle to the arctic fox’s ear. “I won’t let you fall.”

“Y-You won’t?” Alys asked.

“I promise,” the deer said, and Marjorie put a paw over the vixen’s eyes and steered her toward the funicular. “Okay, step up . . . there you go. Now, take a seat,” and she sat down beside her on the leather-padded wooden bench. Marissa followed.

Marjorie gave the other furs in the funicular a look, and while the canine femme looked sympathetic, she and her husband kept silence. Satisfied that everyone was aboard, the operator closed the door and, with a slight jerk, the car began to move.

Alys flinched but stayed seated next to Marjorie. Her lips moved silently as the car began to ascend the mountain. After a few minutes, there was a tremor and the sound of machinery, and the vixen asked apprehensively, “What was that?”

“From what I read,” Marjorie replied, “the car always stays nice and level. Ever been on the streetcars downtown?”

“Uh huh.”

Marissa smiled as Marjorie replied, “The axles on this have gears that connect to a third rail, so it can climb really easily, no schmutter.”

“Really?” Marissa asked.

“It was in the paper,” the doe replied. “Don’t you read?”

“Sure I do,” the gray tabby replied, “but, well, usually the theater pages. I’m really sweet on Connie Murano.”

“Constantine Murano?” Alys asked, Marjorie’s paws still firmly over her eyes. “He’s dreamy.”

“He’s a tiger.”

“Who cares?”

All four femmes in the funicular car giggled, while the sole mel in the vehicle rolled his eyes.

There were a few more mechanical sounds, and the undercarriage rejoined the wagon as it leveled out and moved onward to the platform. “Alys.”

“Yes, Marjorie.”

“I’m going to take my paws away.”

“Are we there yet?”

There was a slight jerk as the car came to a halt, and the doors opened. “Yes, we are.”

“Okay.” Marjorie moved her paws, and the arctic fox vixen practically bolted out of the funicular, looking down at the concrete and paving stones beneath her shoes as the others disembarked. Two coaches were parked nearby, their drivers waiting.

“Hey, you two!” Marissa waved to Marjorie and Alys. “Come here and take a look at this,” the gray tabby urged, and the doe and the arctic vixen joined her a short distance from the funicular. “Wow.”

Spread out below them was the city, set into the valley between mountain ranges and already in shadow from the setting sun. Worthington Lake extended out of view to the south as lights could be seen coming on in the city. Beyond the valley to the west the sun was dipping behind the mountains, and the ice and snow on the highest peaks were bathed in golden light.

“That’s beautiful,” Marissa said, awestruck. Alys just gaped, while Marjorie savored the sight until one of the coach drivers honked his horn. The trio climbed in, and the coach started to move, going around a curve and heading for the foothills.

The foothills were part of Mount Sho, the mountain looming over them as the coach made its way to a semi-forested plateau. Smoke was gently winding its way from the chimneys of a large mansion of mixed wood and stone construction. Lights could be seen in its windows, and a short distance away stood a large tent.

Alys rapped on the voice tube connecting the coach’s passenger compartment with the driver. “Is that - ?” the vixen began to ask.

The driver chuckled. “Yes, lass, that’s Lord Ruther’s estate.” There was a pause. “And near enough right on time, too.”

The three women cheered.

A servant came out as the coach pulled to a stop near the entrance, and Lord Ruther himself came out to greet the trio and the two canines. The wolf was dressed formally in black tie, with a small constellation of medals over his heart and a mauve sash bright against his white shirt. “Good evening,” he said cheerfully after shaking paws with the canine mel and bowing over the paws of the four femmes in turn. “Sybil was very pleased that you three could make it.” His smile broadened. “So was I.”

“We’re happy we could come, my Lord,” Alys said just before Marissa could express the same sentiments. The vixen seemed to have gotten over her brief fit of nerves.

He smiled. “You are all welcome,” and the wolf gestured at the open door behind him. “There are refreshments inside, and more at the tent. Sybil’s there, along with some friends.”

“Too large already?” Marjorie asked.

Ruther’s smile grew a little wistful, almost melancholy. “I’m afraid so. I’ll miss her.”

“You’ll still be able to visit, won’t you?” Marissa asked.

The noble wolf nodded. “The family fostering her aren’t very far away, but it’s for the best. She’s a dragon, and this is her third molt. She’ll be learning how to be a dragon.” He shook himself. “Help yourselves to the refreshments,” he said again. “There’s music in the great hall, with dancing starting at ten o’clock.” He smiled at the trio again before walking over to another coach that had just pulled up.

The driver opened the coach door, and a very tall, very wide, and imperious-looking tapir femme wearing an evening gown alighted. Lord Ruther bowed over her outstretched paw and, arm in arm, the wolf escorted Marie Elefant, a senior member of the State Council, into the mansion.

The top of the doorway barely brushed the top of the tapiress’ head.

Marjorie glanced at Alys and Marissa. “So, want to get something before we visit the guest of honor?” the doe asked. The arctic vixen and the gray tabby both nodded, and the trio entered the mansion.

The place was euphemistically called a hunting lodge, but apart from being constructed of logs and stone it was quite a bit more. The roofs were steeply pitched to shed rain and snow, and the mullioned windows were clear leaded crystal.

Alys and Marissa looked wide-eyed at the size of the main hall and its furnishings before Marjorie steered them toward the refreshment tables, and all three accepted mugs of spiced wine from the servant superintending the punchbowl. After some cheese and canapes to fortify themselves, the young femmes headed back outside to the tent.

When they had first met Sybil months ago, the dragoness stood seven feet tall if she sat on her haunches. She was nearly ten feet tall now, stooping slightly as she greeted a group of friends from the school she’d attended years earlier. A short distance beyond the tent was a broad expanse of meadow.

The dragon femme’s muzzle creased in a wide smile. “Hello, my friends!” she exclaimed, offering her paws to the trio. “I’m so glad you three could make it!”

Alys and Marissa shook paws, while Marjorie gave the dragoness a companionable hug before the doe said, “We had to come, Sybil.”

“It’s an honor,” Alys added.

Sybil smiled. Her hide was still a mottled green and brown on her back and limbs, and cream scales adorned her belly, but the colors looked slightly duller than usual. Her wings were tucked against her back, and she was wearing a white cotton robe. “I’m happy – and honored – that you’re here. This is a big step.”

Marissa nodded. “Are there any more dragons coming?”

“Oh, yes. There’ll be a member of the Dragon Parliament, and,” and Sybil paused as her third eyelids fluttered, a sign of emotional distress, “my foster parents.”

“Lord Ruther said he’ll miss you,” Alys said as the trio moved in to comfort the dragoness.

Sybil nodded. “I’ve learned so much living with him.” She sniffled as every ear in the tent perked and the huge expanse of canvas luffed like a sail in a contrary wind. The whoosh was followed by several heavy thuds. “That’ll be more guests,” the dragoness said. “Come on out with me to greet them?” They all nodded and followed her outside, with other guests trailing behind them.

Lights were coming on around the meadow so the assembled furs wouldn’t trip, and the glow from the bulbs illuminated the bulk of a large black dragon. Two more, a male and female, were a short distance behind him.

Lord Ruther and Councillor Elefant emerged from the lodge and approached the lead dragon. He settled back on his haunches and bowed to the wolf and the tapir. “Greetings, my friends,” he rumbled.

The wolf bowed. “My Lord Forgecleaver.”

Elefant approached and placed her paw on his outstretched finger. “Stedanko.”

Stedanko Forgecleaver, Sergeant-at-Arms of the Dragon Parliament, smiled. “Marie. It’s wonderful to see you. May I present Yohan and Darina Stoneburner,” and he gestured toward the other two dragons, who bowed slightly and turned to see Sybil. Forgecleaver also looked, and bowed slightly, rumbling a few words in Draconic.

Sybil clasped her forepaws together and replied in the same tongue, looking rather self-conscious as she paused mid-word before pronouncing it correctly. Lord Ruther and her foster parents smiled at her encouragingly.

Six more dragons, all female, came to a landing at the far end of the meadow and ambled forward to greet the rest of the gathering. They all wore gold bands at the bases of their horns, signifying that they were priestesses, and more dragons arrived soon afterward.

“So, when does this start?” Marissa asked sometime later to Sybil. The gray tabby had disdained a refill of wine; a flagon of small beer was in one paw, and a small meat pasty in the other. She had been pacing herself.

The dragoness lowered her own glass and replied, “When the Moon rises.” She eyed the mountains to the east critically. “Another hour perhaps.”

There was a sudden gust of wind and a heavy impact as a dragon landed. “Sorry, everyone!” Capability Pinque caroled as he shook himself and tucked his wings. “I had to wait for the dye to set – Stedanko, you scamp! Have you eaten all the cream cakes?”




[url=]<NEXT>[/url]

<PREVIOUS>

<FIRST>