“Nonsense,’ said Flumpt. “It’s more than that. You’re an inspiration to these animals. You are seen as the driving force behind the colossal and monumental change that’s required to defend this world.”

“Me?” she turned to him in horror. “Why me? Why not Oscar? He’s more qualified than I could ever be!”

“Perhaps, but not nearly so photogenic. You’re all over the Daily Spoon.”

“This is too much.” It was also whispered and she sagged to the ground. The grass was soft and she wanted to lie on its bed of green and count clouds, despite there being none, and not get up until the sun went down.

“It only seems that way, Miss Lydia—”

“No, it doesn’t!” she cried. “It is all too much, and too much, too soon!” She pushed away ears that wind blew across her face. “You said it yourself, Flumpt: I’ve had a lifetime of speaking to no one, so how am I supposed to manage this sort of pressure?”

“Because it is not all on you. It is on the Echelon, Mironaelk, the Boeviss, Kilerete: they are the ones overseeing proceedings.”

She pointed hard. “I’m on the fluffing flags, Flumpt!”

He sighed as others continued past them toward the pavilion. “Look, Miss Lydia, I know it seems overwhelming now that the moment has arrived, but you—perhaps more than any of us—understand the biblical effort required to cultivate the violence, fury and unadulterated prejudice that these animals must learn in order to ensure that everything here stays lovely.”

She gave him a withering look and folded her paws. “Do you want to reflect on that sentence for a moment?”

“I’ve reflected for long enough already. We all have. It’s why I realise that hiding arguments and sarcasm is no longer an option.” He rummaged about in a coat and pulled out a paper, which he unfolded. “You’re taking too much on board,” he said while turning it around. “Your genius was in proposing the idea, Mironaelk’s in designing it and the armies for instigating it.”

“What’s that?”

“The program. I’m just checking when Arguments and Sarcasm was scheduled. I was certain it was Thursday.”

They continued on to the pavillion.

It rivalled the palace in size, though had more curves and a strange tilt that hinted at berthed boat. An enormous stadium, its crest blistering in flags that waved in the wind rising from the sea. Although reluctant to be a part of it, Lydia had to admit that, while its construction had been in haste, the finished product had such an air of professional festivity about it that commanded an austerity not befitting the sort of streamer waving, skipping and hurrahs that Fghrei-Plint ran ahead with, an enthusiasm that was shared with those skipping with him.

As they neared, its size became overwhelming, leaving Lydia to peer up at walls that were more decoration than brick. It had the air of massive colosseum that, like the beast fermenting in the bay, had simply arrived on a hillside above cliffs overlooking the sea, and she couldn’t help but be impressed that the Echelon had constructed something so enormous, so quickly. It seemed the armies of this world had skills after all, and she wondered whether, as Flumpt had suggested, such abilities might be harnessed to afford some means to fight. With a little flutter that all was not lost, her previous determination flared—although it withered again when realising that Fghrei-Plint and those with him had become so excited that waving streamers frantically and shouting hurrah no longer sufficed, leaving them to engage in a frenzy of somersaults as a means of venting lest they popped something important.

The pavilion had a magnificence that was courted by a periodic thunderous roar of those inside. It was scribed in blues and whites, and as ocean wind careered up cliffs, the flags danced majestically in a slow motion befitting their size, and for a moment, she was disappointed the stylised representation of her on them was hard to discern.

“It’s enormous,” she said.

“Yes,” said Flumpt. “The animals of this world certainly know how to throw a party.”

“Let’s just hope they end up having something to celebrate.”

Despite more thunderous roars of cheers suggesting it was already full, animals still queued at numerous entrances. No tickets were exchanged, however, though hugs certainly were, which only added to the overall atmosphere of frivolity.

Flumpt looked at his paper again. “Not this side, Miss Lydia. We’re to enter over there.” He pointed at more pavilions.

They left the somersaulting animals, one of which had brought up some breakfast, which, despite some resultant slipperiness, resulted in hugs and some inadvertent sharing of its lumps.

More queues appeared beside additional entrances along its perimeter. When Lydia asked how they expected to fit within the thing, despite its size, Flumpt told her to look more carefully. When doing so, it became apparent that the queues were self-inflicted. Although the ticket collectors—or more correctly, hug collectors—stepped aside to allow animals access, no progress was made because those at the front of queues stepped aside to allow the animal behind them to enter first, which was met with a hug, refusal and insistence that they go first, with the cycle repeating into the sort of stalemate that, while breeding queues, didn’t traditionally breed hugs.

Lydia watched in bewilderment, again overwhelmed at the amount of work ahead of them. Her steps slowed, and when she looked at Flumpt he had stopped admiring the pavilion and was looking across the sea instead. He had paws on hips as though trying to make more room in lungs for air, which was beautifully scented with warm grass.

She went to him and looked also.

He was taking deep breaths and releasing them slowly.

The horizon was deep blue, despite a low line of cloud rising from depths beyond it, while above, it was paler, still being morning. The thunder of sea against cliff could be felt, though not heard, above the wind rising from below. Around them, grass swirled and danced with its invisible partner.

“That’s a lot of water,” said Flumpt, pointing at some of it. “It’s rather difficult to imagine any world being burnt to a crisp when there’s that much water sloshing all over it.”

“On the surface, perhaps,” said Lydia, “but don’t forget that there’s far more lava sloshing around underneath.”

They thought about this for a time, which only highlighted the magnitude of what they were attempting to counter.

“Do you really think we can do this?” she said.

Still gazing, he shrugged. “Ultimately, Miss Lydia, I don’t think it really matters. All that does matter is trying. But, if I’m honest, I do have concerns, considering yours: you have met this animal, the Ardath-Irr, and I’m inclined to consider your educated opinion over my fanciful one. Mister Dooven has met him also, of course, and his flippancy over the situation leaves me less concerned. However, Mironaelk and the Returned Poet know him also, and their advice leaves me determined to do my utmost to help. And, with all due respect, Miss Lydia, their wisdom does rather trump our insanity.”

She turned to look at the pavilion again. The queues had grown and a fight had broken out, which meant participants were trying to hug each other.

“Oscar’s flippancy is denial,” said Lydia. “He’s so obsessed with writing a theatre production that he refuses to consider the reality. Oddly, to some extent I understand why: if he’s going to die he wants to live his dream first. He’s a poet first and Velvet Paw second. But that means he knows both poetry and the Ardath-Irr, and the hopelessness of the situation is why he doesn’t want any involvement in trying to stop it. Nevertheless, I keep reminding myself that the Returned Poet knows the Ardath-Irr better, and certainly knows poetry, so that gives me hope.”

Flumpt said nothing for a time and turned to watch with her.

“That is my concern also,” he said. “Mister Dooven is a Velvet Paw while the Returned Poet is not. I fear that trumps everything.”

“You’re supposed to be encouraging me.”

He smiled. “As I said, Miss Lydia, all that matters is trying.” He indicated the pavilion. “The construction of this alone indicates a momentum that is unstoppable: an enthusiasm that neither you or I can comprehend, considering the cynicism of our world. The question is whether it can be channelled appropriately, which is where my faith in Mironaelk resides.”

“Should they really be piled up like that?” she asked, watching the fight with interest. Having become six animals high and too broad to render hugs practical, some participants were using its outer contours as a slippery dip instead.

“I’m hoping that by the end of this week they’ll be piled up even higher and laying on some solid thumping.” He continued onwards. “Come on, Miss Lydia, we’ve got lectures to give!”

Rather than entering via queues of animals, Flumpt led them to an unofficial entrance guarded by guards that looked like they could do with a hug after having been ordered to turn other patrons away. Beyond it were a large number of beautiful tents that were the administrative arm of proceedings, according to Flumpt. Lydia was again impressed: there was extraordinary precision in the animals hurrying between them with so many clipboards that she suspected most of the tents were packed with the things. It felt like a tent city within an enormous tent city. The pavilion’s walls, which towered above everything, were secured to the ground with masses of ropes that afforded a sense of spiderweb delicacy and expertise. Above them, like spires, flags provided a slow thump more apparent now that everything had become confined. It had a professionalism and stance that she had not expected, especially for something constructed in just over a week.

These animals certainly knew what they were doing: an absence of war and ignorance of battle had honed extraordinary skills, nonetheless, and again, enthisuasm returned.

They were greeted by a cat and dog in uniforms that Lydia didn't recognise, and whose salute appeared to mimic blowing up balloons and tying streamers. They were led to a tent only marginally more lavish than those surrounding it. Inside, it was tastefully fitted out with soft furnishings and a cold buffet, the latter attended by animals with various uniforms, some of which she recognised as belonging to the palace. There was a great deal of talking and discussion on the other side of the tent, which, although housing tables also, was covered in piles of official-looking papers, rather than pumpkin soup and curries, and surrounded by dignitaries, none of which she recognised.

In addition to buffets on one side and well-organised tables on another, cushions were everywhere. Huge ones with intricate patterns and tiny sewn-in mirrors that gave the appearance of glitter among velvet, and smaller ones that were arranged such that they created larger ones with oddly segmented structures, and many of which were piled in a corner as though having been laid there by something large and ominous. They looked soft and wonderful, and Lydia fought an urge to flop down on them, suspecting that they’d be so comfortable that she’d fall asleep for weeks before eventually waking up in Liebe.

Before she could think any more about it, Flumpt tugged her paw. Their escort had left and they waited while dignitaries finished looking at brought clipboards and signing the pages on them and looked at them instead.

One of them stepped forward with a smile and hugged them both.

He was a large dog decorated with layers of velvet clothing trimmed in ruffled white. Complicated straps to his attire suggested an imperial robustness alongside a certainty that getting dressed each morning might take weeks. While this was impressive, it was rather undermined by having shoulder pads and a breastplate apparently comprised of clipboards.

Despite it still being morning of the first day, he looked enthusiastically exhausted, as though he’d done this sort of thing for years and was now suddenly tired of it all—a fatigue that Lydia had never seen in this world before, which is why his arrival seemed so peculiar. Nevertheless, after saying something to Flumpt with a smile even larger than the one he’d approached with, he turned to Lydia expectantly.