The tunnel continued past a large wooden foyer, which they entered. Layers of stringed bulbs around its perimeter gave everything a sense of earthy, amber, underground festivity. At its centre was a large platform upon which animals fussed and fiddled with ropes, pulleys and ladders over apparent theatre scenery. Beside it was a large table covered in papers, around which animals gave orders, perused clipboards and pointed at things on huge rolled out pages with corners weighted with stones.

When several realised a Boeviss had arrived, the flurry of self-hugging that arise resulted in the inadvertent collapse of two ladders and some nasty rope burn. Amidst the rectificational hug frenzy that followed, Tabby recognised Mironaelk among those around the table.

“This platform is part of the rigging for the stage above,” said Jeffemeries, while they waited for a lull in table-perusing.

“Above?”

“Yes, where they’re currently playing hug-a-side.”

Tabby glared at him. “Every time you say that I want to punch you.”

“Well, that should come in useful.” He indicated the scenery. “It’s used to swap props around, you see. You know, for theatre performances and the like.”

“Is there anywhere that I can have a very serious lie down?”

He ignored this. “For some productions—not this time, obviously—this sort of mechanical maladary can get very elaborate. I have heard of performances that had thirteen of these things fitted underneath triple-vamped stages. This one is rather more straightforward, it seems, considering education, rather than entertainment, is the main agenda.”

Tabby looked around at the fact that they were underground. “And all this had all been constructed in the past week?”

“That’s right.”

“What, all this was dug out?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Jeffemeries, “they’ll fill it in again afterwards and cover it with flowers.” He thought for a moment. “Provided there is an afterwards, of course. That’s one reason why everyone has gone to so much effort. As the Boeviss said, this is unprecedented. An all-out finale lest things don’t go according to plan.”

“But the effort required to dig this bunker out is extraordinary!” She stabbed a paw upwards. “And what about the seating?”

“What about it?”

“How was that assembled in a just week? And this room dug out? It would takes months, and I only saw it start going up on Thursday!”

“Yes, and somewhat behind closed doors, Tabby Miss Cakes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The outside walls went up first, then all this within them.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s standard procedure.”

“You call all this standard procedure?”

“Of course. It limits their exuberance while affording convenient security.”

She folded her paws and waited. He didn’t notice, however, keen to catch Mironaelk’s attention during a lull in general pestering. “I’m waiting, Jeffemeries.”

“So am I.” He tried a wave.

“Jeffemeries!”

He looked at her and realised further explanation was required. “It limits their exuberance by virtue of having an initial perimeter within which to work. Without the outer walls they could get completely carried away with the idea of massive festivals that they could potentially begin contructing a pavilion that doesn’t physically end.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not at all. It’s the very reason that standard operating procedures were implemented. The lack of them almost bankrupted the city of Tupri Asterntu in 1923 when the pavilion turned out to be physically larger than the city it was held in. It played havoc with postcodes.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“And also,” he continued, “it allows pavilions to be constructed without anyone knowing what they will look like, and surprise is an important part of the excitement of any festival.”

“You are actually joking.”

“Tabby Miss Cakes, if you couldn’t see what was going on in here, then certainly the Ardath-Irr would not have.”

Her paws stayed folded. “You don’t think he may have spies?” Jeffemeries’ smile fell, having not considered the possibility.

She shook her head, unsurprised. “What about all this earth then?” she said, indicating the bunker.

“Where’s it all gone?”

“To make the arena embankment: dig it out here and pile it up there. It’s essentially a massive sandcastle anyway, and everyone likes sandcastles, don’t they?”

She stared at him, mildly disappointed that this made sense: it certainly explained the pending avalanche effect of spectators.

After another strategic wave, Mironaelk noticed their arrival and approached, clearly relieved to leave the frenetic table-perusing. Although she appeared relatively composed, there was an air of drowning about her, as though being completely out of her depth. Nevertheless, her arrival was like medicine for an upset tummy and Tabby wondered whether she could stay beside her for the next three hundred pages. There were only four animals from own her world here at all, of which Mironaelk was the most sensible.

Mironaelk gave a smile which settled things further. Her demeanour of reflective wisdom had gone and in its place was a necessary practicality. She asked Jeffemeries about ramparts and flan stability and seemed satisfied with his response. When she asked Tabby what sized chalkboards she might require, Tabby stared blankly. “chalkboards?”

“Yes. Considering the number of lectures we have planned, we’ve organised an assortment of sizes to cover all eventualities.”

Tabby glanced at Jeffemeries, who seemed equally intrigued. “Well, I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, it depends how many will be in the class, which will presumably be fewer than up there.” She indicated the ceiling. “To be honest, I wasn’t thinking of writing much. It was going to be more of a practical demonstration.”

“It’s a very practical subject,” Jeffemeries agreed.

The enormity of the crowd suddenly became very real, and the practicality of educating it even more so. “Er, how are you actually proposing to educate that many animals?” She indicated the ceiling again. “There’s no way I can address a crowd of that size. Speaking in front of the Echelon was confronting enough, but I had no idea things had been organised on this scale.” She looked at Jeffemeries for help. “Jeffemeries said I wouldn’t have to speak to that lot up there—there’s no way I can speak to that lot up there!”

Mironaelk raised her paws to placate. “You will not be addressing them, Tabby. Do not worry. Your lectures will be to those who lead, not those following: generals, official trestle-table manoeuvrers and balloon-squadron leaders, who will, in turn, train their ranks. It must be a top down approach, otherwise it will an impossible task, considering the numbers involved. Educating an entire world requires a cascade of scholastic hierarchy, which is why the choice of chalkboard is so important.”

Tabby suggested a medium sized one, despite doubts that decisions regarding chalkboard size could even remotely prevent the end of the world.

Mironaelk returned to the table and took some papers, which she gave to Jeffemeries and Tabby.

They were programmes, apparently, with designated hall numbers and lists of lecture topics. Mironaelk explained an overview. “Once the match has finished—”

“Match?”

“Up there. The Hug-a-side. Once it’s finished, we’ll be addressing the Echelon again, along with a combined rank of soldiers from various cities with which we’ll demonstrate the overarching concepts of generic insult, punching and the basics of explosive bun artillery—”

“Flans,” corrected Jeffemeries.

“Flans, yes, which I’m hoping will set the scene nicely for what follows, which will be a rotational series of talks across five venues, each with ample buns.”

“For eating,” explained Jeffemeries. “Not detonating.”

“Pity,” said Tabby, “considering explosive ones would really get the point across.”

Jeffemeries looked at Mironaelk with interest. “She has a point,” he said. “I hadn’t considered that.”

Mironaelk ignored this. “It goes without saying that you’ll be demonstrating the concept of punching.”

“Obviously.”

“And you’re clear on the approach agreed upon?”

“Yes: a very sudden hug that misses.”

”Good. We were initially swamped with volunteers upon which to demonstrate,” she continued, “though I am uncertain whether their eagerness arises from a desire to learn about foreign things or because of your fame in the Daily Spoon.”

“Well,” said Tabby, “I don’t really think it matters, considering they’ll be regretting it almost immediately.”

Mironaelk nodded. “So your prior reluctance to punch anyone in the face remains at bay?”

“It is for their greater good and mine.”

“It may be difficult at the moment of demonstration.”

“Not really. I’ll just picture Oscar’s face.”

Being an acceptable proposition, Mironaelk looked at Jeffemeries. “Initial briefings have gone well. Letherin’s idea to present it as a great festival and package these concepts as variations on what is already known—hugs that miss, for example—appear to have helped convey much of the overall gist, and certainly our practical demonstrations will cement them. Although we don’t have much time, we do have extraordinary organisational skills, which will make the most of what time we have, providing we’re not interrupted again disappearing suns or more beasts.”

“Who’s in charge of security?” asked Tabby.

“No one,” said Mironaelk.

“No one?”

“Security was to be Oscar’s portfolio, but his refusal for involvement has made that untenable.”

“So there’s no security at all?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Tabby mentioned the possibility of spies,” said Jeffemeries.

Mironaelk nodded. “A very real possibility, but we’ve had no choice but to relent on that front: animals here have no idea about secrets or the principles behind keeping them, so, other than Oscar, there is no one capable of helping. Asking anyone else to manage security would have resulted in a veritable public broadcast of what’s occurring here.”

“But all these animals already know what’s occurring here,” said Tabby. “All those upstairs watching that stupid game!”

“They know only of Hug-a-side at this stage,” said Mironaelk, “and nothing of what follows. To some extent, everyone’s ignorance is security enough.”

“And anyway,” said Jeffemeries, “Hug-a-side’s a wonderful game, albeit an odd one. And now that we’re got the programs we should go upstairs and watch its final quarter.”

When Tabby gave him a withering look, Mironaelk said, “Animals may have arrived to see the game, Tabby, but will leave educated in ways they couldn’t possibly imagine. It seemed a prudent, albeit somewhat subversive approach, under the circumstances.”

“But you said the lectures will be on a much smaller scale,” said Tabby. “That educating those in charge would allow them to educate their subordinates, and so on. How can you possibly educate the number of animals up there before they leave?”

“Because today is the first of a week, and although we need the general population to understand these new concepts, it’s their armies that we’re repurposing. It is armies that need to be turned into battle-ready killing machines, not the populous waving flags in the background.”

“But still: trying to get any of them to fight when the best they can muster are hugs is a huge challenge, surely?”

“Of course it is. We three know that particularly well.”

“So how can you possibly hope to even begin educating those waving streamers upstairs?”

A smile from Jeffemeries as he took her paw. “I think, Tabby Miss Cakes, that it’s time you saw this game.”