Having already hugged, Lydia didn’t know quite know what to do, so attempted a curtsy.

The animal gasped, before asking whether it was a new dance of sorts.

Bewildered, Lydia looked at Flumpt in case it was.

“Where we are from, Boeviss,” Flumpt said, “such a bow is a sign of great respect.”

The dog frowned. “The hug didn’t suffice?”

“Forgive us, but hugs aren’t as prevalent where we are from as they are here. Perhaps Mironaelk mentioned this?”

There was a humph. “She may have done, though I don’t recall because of all the clipboards.”

“Boeviss?” said Lydia, not recognising him at all.

“Not of Bisarah,” Flumpt explained, “but of Urethra, a beautiful and mountainous country in the north.”

“Urethra?”

“Yes. It has lots of trees.”

“And clipboards,” said the Boeviss.

“And clipboards, yes,” agreed Flumpt.

“Made from trees.” He tapped his breast plate proudly, which was a clipboard. “It’s our primary export.”

“The Boeviss is in charge of administering the program’s overall schedule,” said Flumpt.

“Is he,” said Lydia, realising that this sort of revelation was probably going to happen all week.

“Yes. He has also brought his own battalion.”

“Would you excuse us?” She pulled Flumpt aside to hiss more effectively at him. “What is going on? I’m already confused: why are there so many cushions and a buffet? I though that I was going to give a talk on spontaneous violence in a room with a blackboard.”

“Oh, you will, Miss Lydia. I’m just wanting to find out where it is.”

“I thought you had a program.”

“A preliminary one, yes,” he said, “but this sort of thing is really spur-of-the-moment stuff. It can change without warning. You know: adapt to animals’ reception. It’s a very dynamic and flexible approach.”

There was a thunderous roar of cheer from somewhere outside, with was deafening now that they were inside the pavilion.

“How can this sort of thing be flexible?” said Lydia, concerned that she was teetering on the edge again. “‘A series of lectures on thumping snouts’, Mironaelk said. That’s all. I’ve just got to teach them how to punch each other. It’s shouldn’t be that hard. But all this—” She indicated the buffet and cushions and barrage of clipboards. “This is all looking a bit over-engineered to me!”

“Listen,” said Flumpt, “these animals are experts at throwing festivals, and this is certainly the largest one that’s ever been thrown—”

“But it’s not a festival! It’s supposed to be a fluffing training ground!”

“Yes, which is why armies and generals from all over the world have coalesced here to learn exactly how to do so.”

Another roar of cheer had Flumpt stop. He indicated it with a raised paw. “You hear that? Thousands of animals are already getting into the spirit!”

“They’re learning how to punch each other?”

“Well, no. It’s more a warm up act, but—”

“What sort of warm up act?”

“What?”

She folded her paws. “Well, presumably Mironaelk has organised something to get them in the mood for violence, revenge and extreme prejudice, so what has she arranged as a warm up act?”

There was a swallow from Flumpt and a glance at the Boeviss, who was scribbling on brought clipboards. “Well,” he said, with a reluctance that couldn't be adequately hidden, “admittedly it has to be something that everyone’s familiar with.”

“Yes?” She was tapping a paw also.

“Well, hugs, obviously, but—”

“Hugs?”

“Festivals here traditionally start with a sort of hug extravaganza—”

“A hug ext—Flumpt, having everyone hug is not exactly getting them in the mood for snout punching, is it?”

“But that’s the point: they don’t know what that mood is. They've never experienced anything like it before. They know nothing of what we need to teach them. You were saying the same only a moment ago outside.”

“So how the fluff will hugging help?”

He sighed. “Because of the way that they’re conducted. As a sort of game. The national sport, in fact, which affords a sort of standard baseline—”

“I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous!”

Efforts at placating her stopped. “Now, wait a minute, Miss Lydia. None of this has gone ahead without consulting the greatest minds of logistics and celebratory expertise. And quite apart from anything else, I think this is a festival, actually, because it’s ultimately going to celebrate violence as a means for defending everything that this world holds dear.” He pointed at the ceiling as a means of indicating the pavilion in general. “Building this in a week is an extraordinary achievement. You were amazed yourself at how quickly it went up. Don’t dismiss these animals because you feel they are less than those in our world. On the contrary: consider them to be a great deal more. There is potential here for these animals to rise together in a way that our world could never achieve. Remember that they put each other before themselves, and that results in a solidarity that neither of us can truly appreciate.”

She fell silent. While she had been amazed at how quickly the pavilion had been assembled, the extent to which it had come alive with animals had been more impressive still. As though cementing the point, another roar of thunderous enthusiasm shuddered through everything and made tent poles rattle.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just so used to being overwhelmed with everything that I become immediately defensive.”

Flumpt smiled. “Yes, I can understand that. Certainly it’s a cultural thing.”

He brought her back to the Boeviss as he finished with another clipboard that was whisked away by an official as though doing so was a competitive event.

“Boeviss, may I introduce Miss Lydia. She is the one who suggested all this in the first place.” Again, he indicated the ceiling.

After a short stare of realisation, the Boeviss lunged forward and hugged her with such severity that she made gurgling noises. Upon release, he said something about his gratitude and her genius, and things about Mironaelk, Letherin and the Boeviss of Bisarah that held similar sentiments. She didn’t hear details, however, overwhelmed by the hug. It left her warm and fuzzy, and distinctly Spring-like.

“Are you all right, Miss Lydia?” said Flumpt, peering at her.

“Oh, yes,” she said, sniffling back a tear and smiling as though her face had split. “I’m fine, thank you. I think it was the hug.”

Concern evaporated. “Ah, yes,” he said. “They tend to do that. It’s rather pleasant, is it not?”

She nodded and wiped at a tear.

The Boeviss peered also, though his concern remained. Accustomed to hugs, he found the reaction peculiar and suggested she lie down in the cushions until she felt better.

“I’m fine thank you.”

Satisfied, he banged huge paws together in enthusiasm. “Well, then,” he said, “let us find Mironaelk and start getting educated!”

When he turned to leave, officials hurried to him. While he barked orders, the frenzy of scribbling on clipboards resulted in smoke from some. Flumpt hurried after him, gesturing madly at Lydia to follow. The Boeviss marched with the sort of imperial authority that generals are renowned for, and forced those scribbling in his wake to run.

They left the tent and weaved between others. The sun was higher and they were no longer in the shadow of wall. Air was full of scented smoke, confetti and organisational shouts. Ranks of animals with halberds and cakes marched past, while others skipped along in a tight choreography that gave their frivolity a peculiar credence, despite the streamers on their helmets and buns on their toes. They passed large blue hexagonal tents that were secured with a fan of ropes suggesting that they’d survive a hurricane, behind which were long, heavy duty beige ones that would survive several. Others had large awnings with wide openings revealing plush interiors that wouldn’t be out of place in hotels. When they came across three storey tents with suspension bridges between them, Lydia stopped to stare. Not only had she never seen anything like it, but the sheer number of ropes involved rendered them beautiful architectural weavings.

She didn’t realise she’d stopped until Flumpt grabbed her paw, insisting that with all the animals hurrying about the place they risked losing the Boeviss if they stopped for sightseeing.

Lydia said nothing, but stumbled after him, staring at everything in growing bewilderment while he managed steering.

There was a sense of the regimental that she had not expected in the least, which left her increasingly convinced that these animals, despite their wanton hugs, cutlery obsession and appalling taste in jumpers, had something extraordinary that could be harnessed, after all.

“Am I right in believing,” she said, trying to keep up with him, “that this display of logistical tenting prowess has arisen from mere fete organisation?”

“That’s right,” said Flumpt. “They really have a knack for it.”

“But this is like a city!” she cried. “It’s like a giant tent city inside a massive tent that’s big enough to be an actual city!”

“Yes. Fetes are taken very seriously here. It’s hardly surprising in a world where there’s never been war or conflict.”

“But that’s what I mean!” she said. “This is like some extraordinary military barracks!”

“You should see the merry-go-round.”