A ROAR of crowd was like enormous sea pounding massive rock, and they were still some way from the pavilion. They closer they got, however, the more Lydia’s already brittle hope began crumbling into the sort of thing that biscuit factories were invented for. Beside her, Flumpt held no such qualms and expressed an eagerness not unsurprising for an insane baker who had recently been granted unlimited permission to explore the potential of experimental heavy artillery flans in the palace’s legendary Kitchen Thirteen. In comparison to her own insanity, his had tertiary qualifications. She glanced at Fghrei-Plint, who virtually buzzed with a thrill marred only by a bewilderment understandable for an animal about to be introduced to the sort of concepts that intensive care units and field hospitals were made for. He waved a stick with a streamer attached. When he’d asked her about what colour streamer would be suitable shortly after breakfast, she’d wanted to cry. She craned past others to see if Oscar had joined them. He hadn’t, and his continued absence worsened her despondence. She fought a growing conviction that he was right: that this pending education bonanza was utterly futile, despite it having been marketed as the greatest festival in Bisarah’s history and officially titled the Festival of Violence, Revenge and Extreme Prejudice. Nothing could counter the Ardath-Irr, especially in a world where the closest thing to assault was inadvertent bruising from a poorly aimed hug. If anything, it would only highlight the sort of clinical ineptitude that this world seemed to specialise in, and she wondered whether the Ardath-Irr might actually be doing them all a favour.

“It will be fine, Miss Lydia,” said Flumpt. “Really, you needn’t worry.”

“Are you mad?” she said, before regretting the question. “This entire thing is a huge mistake!”

His smile was unperturbed. “While I am aware of your concerns,” he said, “having heard them often enough, I am equally aware of Mironaelk’s wisdom and Letherin’s prowess. That both helped orchestrate such an extraordinary gathering leaves me more than confident that great things will come of it.”

“Great things?” She scoffed, the abject ludicrousness of what was about to be unleashed all too apparent. “This whole thing is ridiculous!” She indicated Fhrei-Plint, who was waving his stick around with the sort of unbridled joy that suggested he’d never seen one before. “These animals couldn’t learn what is required to counter a broken breadstick, let alone the Ardath-Irr!” She craned past others again. “And where is Oscar? I need Oscar! He was right: this entire thing is a complete waste of time!”

Flumpt stopped and watched her until she noticed he’d halted.

She hadn’t seen him glare since Vierleme.

“The animals of this world deserve better than that,” he said, “and so do you, Miss Lydia.”

She returned to him, her panic having matured into conviction. “You don’t understand,” she said, taking his paw in the hope it would help. “You haven’t met the Ardath-Irr. Everything that we’ve battled here arises because of him. Those beasts are merely games of tease, yet they’ve devastated towns and cities all over the place!”

“Devastated them?” There was a humph. “Are you certain of that?”

“Of course!” She indicated the direction they were headed. “What do you think all this is in aid of?”

“Certainly not because of devastation, Miss Lydia.”

She stared at him, wondering whether she’d met her match in madness. “How can you say that?” It was whispered, and she fought more panic that everyone was six times more insane than she, which meant that this entire world was simply off the scale.

“You saw their reaction to the destruction,” he said. “In Vierleme, they revelled in it, while here is Bisarah there were parties everywhere and more curries than could be stomached. And the fires. Did you see the fires? They were encouraged to burn! Any excuse for celebration, you see.”

“Even when there’s nothing to celebrate?”

“Especially when there’s nothing to celebrate, not least because it calls for celebration.”

She looked for Oscar again, desperate for his arrival so she had some sense of normality. “This is not going to work, Flumpt. It can’t. The entire thing is just ludicrous.”

He patted her paw and the smile returned. “It’s quite normal to have doubts, Miss Lydia, but remember, it was your idea—”

“That’s really not helping! I don’t want to be responsible for any of what unfolds out there!” She stabbed a paw toward another dull roar of cheer that had a volume suggesting the crowd responsible was roughly the size of a planet.

“You are worrying unnecessarily,” he said. “You have done wonderfully by proposing such means in the first place. It was genius, if I may say so, albeit a bit mad, and it has given opportunity to help these animals save their world. And ours. Just look forward to the extraordinary results this festival will herald.”

“But there won’t be any results!” she said. “And there never will be! This is all delusion!”

He continued onwards, his paw on hers to ensure she followed. Behind them, Fghrei-Plint continued waving his stick and narrowly missed taking someone’s eye out. “Delusion is not a bad thing,” he said. “It has, however, been given a bad name by those not understanding its place. Delusion, Miss Lydia, like its cousin, denial, are particularly useful.”

“Yes, but not here! Not against the Ardath-Irr!”

When he stopped again, Fghrei-Plint almost stabbed them, before continuing to wave madly at nothing.

“This morning,” said Flumpt, “you were insisting that it was Mister Dooven who was in denial.”

“Well, I was wrong,” she said. “He’s not and I am. He’s right and all of this is wrong!”

“We have to fight, Miss Lydia. That’s what you have been insisting on all along, and mironaelk agrees.”

“How can you even say that after your insisted Oscar and I not argue in front of them?”

“Because I now realise there is no choice but to.”

“You’re only saying that because Mironaelk says the same!”

“Yes,” he agreed, “as does Prince Letherin and Princess Kilerette, and the Boeviss and the entire Echelon. Indeed, all the animals of this world who now, like me, understand that we need to defend this beautiful place.”

“Beauti—but it will be nothing like it is now after what we intend teaching them!”

“Perhaps, but at least it won’t be on fire.”

She grabbed his shoulders and shook them. “But it will be! Oscar was right: the Ardath-Irr cannot be defeated! And I should know: I’ve already met him! I might have punched him in the face, but that was before realising the sort of fluff he gets up to here! He’s clearly beyond us all. He made the sun disappear, for fluff’s sake! He throws beasts around like confetti—and that’s before war’s been declared! Imagine what he and his minions will throw at us once it is! Don’t you see? This is pointless! We don’t stand a chance! None of us!”

Again, he removed her paws, though held them gently. “Miss Lydia, although I hear your concerns, I must confess to having had similar misgivings prior to demonstrating my first explosive olive bread. It’s normal to have doubts when on the brink of cultural shift.”

“Cultural shi—this is far beyond shifting cultures, Flumpt!”

“Miss Lydia, I can’t help but point out that these doubts are somewhat at odds with what you said in the early hours of this morning, so I am inclined to suspect that they arise because of Mister Dooven’s absence—”

“But he agrees with me!”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you actually remember what you said this morning?”

She fought to stop trembling. “I don’t even remember last night.”

“That’s because you didn’t sleep.” He patted her paws, “which isn’t helping your state of mind now. This is a difficult time, certainly, but one that we will get through, even if only to discover that there’s nothing on the other side. We will fight, Miss Lydia, however, that might transpire. We will teach them and in doing so, give them a chance. You know that, for they are your words.”

“But that was then and this is now!” She pulled free. “I thought I was insane, but you lot are off the fluffing scale!”

“It is uncharted territory, I agree,” he said. “But you must composure yourself, for certainly your doubts will disappear when you see what wonders arise this day.”

Another muffled joyous roar arose, leaving Fghrei-Plint to seizure in excitement behind them like an epileptic allergic to sticks and streamers and waving.

“You must remember what you've achieved since arriving here,” Flumpt continued. “After a lifetime of speaking to no one you have already met royalty, addressed an Echelon and convinced a world that they need to learn how to defend it. That’s a remarkable achievement for anyone, let alone someone insane-of-the-mind.”

She had no response to this.

“And, if I may speak frankly, Miss Lydia, I suspect that there is another reason for your doubts.”

“There is?”

He nodded. “You’re reluctant to teach them violence because of what violence has done to you. It has left you alienated and alone your entire young life, and part of you is reluctant to impart that to others.”

She wilted at this. Although the notion of teaching violence afforded a sense of purpose she’d never known before, it also left her overwhelmed with guilt.

“So you see that despite your doubts we must carry on in order to give these animals a chance of keeping their world, regardless of how slim that chance might be.” A squeeze of paw. “And even if there is no chance at all, still we must try. You know that well enough.”

Having said the same to Oscar ever since their arrival, she fell silent. She looked back the way they’d come, hoping to see him, but only saw Fghrei-Plint looking sadly at a torn streamer. Another animal tried helping him repair it, which, after doing so, resulted in hugs and a mad bout of waving that caused several splinters and a nasty scratch.

They left the shade of palace and stepped into bright sunshine on a cloudless morning.

When they rounded a corner, Lydia gasped.

Although she’d seen the construction of Pavillion, there was something about seeing it alive with flags, banners and masses of animals that afforded an odd illumination of carcass by soul, and left her muttering the sorts of things that narrative conveniently avoids.

It had been built on a gentle hillside a distance from the palace that overlooked vertical white cliffs above the sea. In the sun, everything shone white and red, green and blue, with a breeze that rendered flags into slow dancers.

“It is impressive, isn’t it?’ said Flumpt, noticing her astonishment. “You have to remember these animals’ talent for emergency festival management: it may be that they have talents that can be exploited in this fight after all.”

“It’s magnificent!”

He pointed out some flags at the northern end. “Some of those were only knitted last night.”

Fghrei-Plint joined them with his streamer and pointed at them also. “Do you like them? I chose the colour! Can you see the pattern on them?”

The wind made it hard to discern.

“They are you, Miss Lydia!” he said, with a sudden impassioned wave that required dodging. “We decided they should be you because you’ve been so instrumental in encouraging these festivities!”

Lydia felt ill and looked at Flumpt in despair. “But I don’t want to be associated with any of this. I’m happy to help, but not to be associated with it!”

He looked amused. “Again, Miss Lydia, I think you are worrying unnecessarily. Certainly Mironaelk thought it appropriate.”

She stared again, grateful that the wind distended any likeness. “But this isn’t about me,” she whispered. “None of this is! I don’t want any attention, I never have. Mironaelk has mistaken my eagerness for involvement for actual involvement! I want to be behind the scenes, not at the centre of them!”