The Ballad of Adler Young, Canto 2.5

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Bath water, be laced with a strong fur remover. All SALVs exposed, be affected.

"Uh-oh, Auntie," SALV Silverbrush exclaimed as she lifted her foot out of the water. "Looks like teh bath has been tampered with!"

Ambassador Chesswick's monocle dropped into the pool with a tiny splash.

>Before you depart, ask "how high is a roebuck ?".
>Monk nods gravely, hinting that you know the answer
(Sam) Answer in a Gnostermonger fashion. Baffle Fauxfox. Amuse yourself.
(Sam) Ponder an old "THIS IS DER ENEMY" poster. Chuckle about The Plan working.

As I tucked the box into my Elfintory and made ready to leave, a strange impulse came over me.

"How high is a roebuck?" I asked.



Sam merely chuckled and pointed to the wall behind him, upon which was tacked a large poster I hadn't noticed earlier. Across the top in bold letters it read "THE ENEMIES." Below this legend was a very unkind caricature of my great-uncle Roland, and standing in front of him, a roebuck who looked vaguely familiar but whom I could not quite recognize.

"That the one you are, now sure I am," Sam smiled. "Together the Plan comes. Vulpitania vincit."

"Uh, Vulpitania vincit," I responded.

Klowns, be everywhere.
Sam } hold off the clowns with the power of the god ham. (Knock them out)

Suddenly a pair of Klowns barged in.

"Sam the Just!" one of the Klowns exclaimed. "You are under strong suspicion of misappropriation of the Republic's resources, namely hindering a floozie from her appointed duties for your own nefarious purposes! How do you answer?"

"Hold them here, I will," Sam declared to me as he turned toward the Klowns and pulled the strand of beads off his shoulder. "SALV Fauxfox, fly you must! Fly!"

>SALV Fauxfox: Thank Sam sincerely. Assure him you will return when things are less hectic for more philosophy. Depart swiftly
>Relda: Mingle with the revelries by wearing a ludicrously tall, striped stovepipe hat.
>Begin ducking and weaving your way through the most epic pie fight in recorded history.
(Fauxfox) Move rapidly through the Embassy, avoiding both temptations and hurled pastry.

"Thank you, Adoyret Sam!" I exclaimed as I leaped away from the Klowns and dashed for the door. "I won't forget this! Perhaps someday we will meet again, and discuss the mystic mysteries of Lengra-Cha!"



I grabbed a ridiculous hat from an unconscious reveler, and placed it on my head in an effort to blend in with the crowds of rowdy foxes running around the Embassy. I raced away from the sound of honking horns. Dame Chitterleigh's dance lessons bore their full fruit as I imagined a minuet in my mind and entered a musical trance. I twisted and dodged and leaped, nimbly avoiding pies and seltzer. I was poised, I was graceful, I was unstoppable. I was a radiant white-furred vision, a veritable Pie Fight Valkyrie from the far North. I spotted an exit at the end of a corridor, and made a beeline toward it.

Embassy, be locked for the night. No foxes in or out until morning!
Relda, get caught and be taken to the head klown (the Marshal).

Two Klowns appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and grabbed my arms.

"Embassy's locked down for Saint Reynard's, sister," one of them said. "Ain't no foxes allowed in or out til morning. I see you got an Escapist badge; well it won't do you no good this time. We gotcha now."

"Yeah," the other one said, around a stubby piece of sausage which he held clenched in his teeth. "Where you goin' in such a hurry anyway? Don't you know you're late for your date with the Marshal, Sweetcheeks? We been lookin' for you for over an hour."

"The Marshal's a very impatient tod," the first Klown explained. "Now come along."

They strong-armed me back down the corridor and up some stairs, around numerous corners to a pair of heavy doors, which they opened and shoved me through.

I could hear the doors shut and lock behind me as I regained my equilibrium and looked around. I was in a long office, lushly carpeted, with Vulpitanian banners hanging on the walls. At the far end of the room, in front of a tall window, was a massive desk with a monocled fox sitting behind it.

"You may approach me, Sweetcheeks," he said.

Marshal, be someone Adler has a vague familiarity with.
>Vixen in the Hat: Be exactly what the marshal likes.
(Marshal) Catch sight of a white-furred Chengra-La vixen. HOT-CHA!

"Hubba hubba!" he added, as I advanced. "What a remarkable exotic Lengra-Cha specimen you are! Such poise! Such grace! What a radiant white-furred vision! That glorious snowy pelt, unsullied by seltzer or pie filling! Why, you must be a veritable Pie Fight Valkyrie from the mystic North. Come, sit down here," he patted the desktop in front of him, "and celebrate Saint Reynard's Day with me, Sweetcheeks."