Tyr's Day Party

Jack tapped on the glass of his window above the snowy streets. He was mandated to attend the Holy Day festivities at his place of employment: the Imperial Library - specifically the stacks, where he was a vermin exterminator.

He stood and looked at himself in the mirror. He was in his finest coat, double breasted, along with the sharp little pants with the blue stripes down them. He reached for his falsetail on a hook on the wall and attached it to his backside. It was stiff, but non-foxes rarely knew.

He fluffed his headfur and made sure his ears were peaked and sharp. He had been practicing enchantments, so his blue eyes were big and refulgent. He stood up tall and gave a ravishing smile.

“One day, Jack,” he said to himself. He put on his custom boots and his jauntiest hat and braved the snow. He looked up into the white sky where the sun supposedly was and said a silent prayer to the moon for the kind weather. 

Other than a few snow hares who avoided Jack by blocks, very few animals were about. Very few species enjoyed the snow as much as Jack’s did, so he enjoyed a long, quiet walk. Long, quiet walks were good for reflection... and planning.

The Coins district had one gate working that hour - which is why Jack decided to leave at that time.

“Hello my little foxy fox!” The big bear in her big, gray uniform said as she looked down. Delicately, Jack offered his throat. The bear reached down and scratched his neckfur gently, and then petted his hat - tilting the obnoxiously long feather into a decidedly unjaunty angle.

“Thank you miss bear,” Jack squeaked as he flashed his badge for the library. The gate creaked open and all the riches of the Coins were open to him: Unfortunately, it was a poor time for thievery as most animals were inside their houses. Jack adjusted his hat and took a side route to his place of employment - down an alley full of twists and turns and lopsided houses.

He avoided the puddles of slush for the sake of his boots, although he figured the state of his clothes would hardly matter by the time he reached the “party.” The side of the immense building had buttresses, similar to a cathedral. Jack sideled up to the building and peered into one of the lonely, dark grates.

“Chowog?” He whispered, his keen eyes darting furtively across the crowded urban surrounding for any other creatures. 

Eventually, a small, raspy voice responded. “Mr. Nobody? Is that you, master?”

Jack was annoyed at the honorific, but he ignored it. For now. 

“Indeed. You are following the instructions?”

“Yes, mas-Mister Nobody. At the striking of ten, the staff will be too busy to look into our antics.”

“Good, Chowog, good.” Jack straightened his lapel. “Well, the festivities await.”

“Good luck, sir!”

Jack stifled a chuckle at the young voice’s impudence. “Thank you, Chowog. Now go!”

The snow was still falling gently, gathering upon the gargoyles near the second floor of the structure and near the doorways of the mice, hares, and rabbits that made this part of the city their home. They were probably all inside now: safe and warm, drinking to health and Tyr. Jack almost clenched his little fist.

The entrance to the library was not as grand as the sides. Jack skittered up the stone staircase, presented his card to a surly badger at the entrance who made him wait for confirmation. Jack’s supervisor, Abbot Molley, came to a little window and gave the all clear. Jack merely shook his head at the guard who - tired of being out on a Holy Day - sat back in his chair, folded his arms, and went back to sleep.

Abbot Molley came to collect Jack as soon as he was inside, walking beside him on the marble floor - her tiny feet slapping on the marble.

“I am glad you made it, Jack,” the mouse squeaked as she looked up at him, her tiny legs struggling to keep up. “In more ways than one. I was of the understanding that you, as a fox, would not want to come celebrate Tyr’s Ascension Day with us. Perhaps there is hope for your people yet.”

Jack coughed. “Perhaps, madam abbot,” Jack said, smiling sweetly.

“You’ve done good against the goblins, Jack. However - because of a few incidents in the stacks lately - we cannot fi-promote you, yet. Your contact will not be complete until all traces of them are gone.”

“Understood, madam,” Jack said, noticing tiny red faces darting in and out of the shelves from time to time. “I’ve got plans for them.”

Eventually, they reached the little party in the Abbot’s rather large guest room. The library only had a dozen full time employees, and Jack was at the bottom of that ladder.

“Well hello, fox,” Trancefield the Mystic said, bedecked in his shimmering red robes. “How kind of you to observe religions outside of your own.”

That damned hare was here, of course. “I try to educate myself, Sir Trancefield,” Jack said politely. Trance laughed.

“Try some wassail and maybe you’ll get a little of that education, fox.”

Jack took a spoonful and a cup. It was sweet and spicy. Not bad - an alcoholic applesauce. Then Abbot Molley took the pulpit.

“Hello friends and colleagues,” she said. Everyone raised a glass and offered a “Hail!”

Molley gave a rather dry speech about the season - very species-specific - and bade everyone drink and enjoy themselves. Jack made small talk, always making himself out to be meek when possible.

“Have you heard about this new thing?” Trance asked, leaning in after a few helpings of Wassail. He was a lightweight.

“Do tell,” Jack said, sipping.

“The abbot’s been hearing voices. Appears that ‘Nobody’s’ been stealing books. Directories. Odd internal things. Maps of the district.”

“Truly?” Jack asked.

“Hasn’t been reported yet - not too interesting. She hears voices late at night about ‘Mister Nobody’. I’ve given her balms and potions, but it hasn’t calmed her nerves.”

Jack sipped.

“And today is also Reynard’s Mass?” Trance continued.

“Indeed it is.”

“Any plans?”

“My family is scattered. I plan to sit and...” he had to think for a moment. What did hares think foxes did in their down time? “...play widgets with some old codgers down at the tavern.”

Trance laughed and slapped Jack on the back.

“You will beg my pardon, Sir Trance? A headcall.”

“Trancefield. Don’t go too far, fox,” Trance said. Jack raised a paw and weakly grinned.

In the long-neglected stone restroom, Jack found a grate. “Chowog?” He whispered.

This time the wait was shorter. “We’ve got the books, Master Nobody.”

Delights from the forbidden section. Jack smiled.

“Get Jethar to copy as much as he can and then be sure to return them before Tyrsday. That’s when they reopen to the public... and when Molley will be sober.”

“Yessir,” the voice said, disappearing down a lone pipe.

Jack rejoined the party and again, Trance was the only one who had not found a speaking partner. Jack sighed and met up with him, grabbing another goblet of wassail.

“You know, Jack?” Trance said, wobbling to and fro. “You’re a good friend.”

Jack smiled, flashing his sharp teeth, but briefly. “If you only knew.”