"Oh don't tell them, Roger!" (Patreon)

Venatrix protested.  "They'll ruin everything!  Mac will want to build a temple here, and Al will want to hold his detestable orgies in it."

"Al is a bit of a cad, I admit," Barkingthwaite admitted.

"And Art will want to write a book about it all," Venatrix continued.

"That's not so bad, is it?" Barkingthwaite countered.  "It was a book that led us here, after all.  And what about Bill?"

"Bill's all right," Venatrix declared.  "He's a poet."

"What are you two talking about?" I demanded.  "What's an Orderly Golden Dome?"

"The Mystic Order of the Golden Dawn," Barkingthwaite started to explain.  "A group of scholars of ancient lore, would-be sorcerors and magicians ..."

"Come into the circle where we can talk more comfortably," I insisted.  "No need to cower in the bushes.  On my word as an elf, you won't be harmed and you can leave whenever you wish."

"They don't lie, Roger," Venatrix pointed out.  "All of the literature agrees on that point."

The two of them emerged from the undergrowth, and I yelped and jumped back when I saw that Pellia Venatrix was a spider!  Dreadful long-forgotten memories of Sheila na Gig rose to the surface of my mind!

"Really, Your Lordship," Venatrix snorted.  "That is uncalled-for."

"Bad form, old boy," Barkingthwaite added, with a stern puff of his pipe.

"My apologies," I gasped as I willed my heart to stop racing.  "Spider-folk are uncommon among the elves, very rare, and once upon a time I had a bad experience with one long ago."

"Ah, understandable then," Barkingthwaite puffed.

"You must overcome your old-fashioned prejudice," Venatrix scowled.  "It's an enlightened age now."

"Quite right!" Barkingthwaite declared ethusiastically.  "Britannia rules the waves!  The sun never sets on the British Empire!  Steam power and telegraphs!  You can travel anywhere on the globe in six weeks or less, and get the world's news the day after it happened!"

"Horses are all but banished from the streets of London," Venatrix stated proudly.

"Seriously?" I retorted.  "And you dare call ME prejudiced?  In Faerie, horses are free to go wherever they please."

"She means feral horses," Barkingthwaite explained.  "Mere beasts of burden.  You forget, Pellia, my dear, that here in Eire they still use ants."

"Barbarians," Venatrix muttered.  "Animals should not be enslaved for any reason.  That's why we have replaced their labor with mighty steam!"

Who taught these lowfolk the Gramarye they would need in order to ride around on clouds of steam?

"Where is the Duchess?" I demanded.

"Which one, Milord?" Venatrix responded.  "We have several."

"Duchess Catherine O'Daisies," I elaborated.  "A skunk.  Very Unseelie.  She was in the weapon-making business last I heard of her."

"I've no idea," Venatrix shrugged.

"Wasn't there an O'Daisies among Napoleon's entourage?" Barkingthwaite mused thoughtfully.  "I can't recall offhand, but I'm sure I know nothing about any nobility by that name now."

"What about Rebecca?" I continued, deciding that if these lowfolk hadn't heard of the Duchess then she must not be a major threat.  "You said she went wild in the woods?  And you mentioned Mother Didelphis?"

"Ah yes, a quaint little legend," Barkingthwaite chuckled.

"Which I have every reason to believe is FACT," Venatrix interjected.  "The tale goes that they tamed the notorious Raccoon Monster and formed a Sisterhood in the northern woods."

I didn't like the sound of that, but it would all have to wait until I was free from this circle of stones.

"Your manner of dress is strange to me," I stated, as a plan began to form in my mind.  "Tell me all about the fashions of your modern lowfolk world."

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