Sargasso Skies by Allan Jones Page B

Volekyries’—that’s got a really good bit of music to it! Stirring stuff. And you’ve put the coronation of the king right at the end, just where it ought to be!” Jack slapped Trundle on the shoulder. “You’re quite the editor, my lad.” He beamed. “This is splendid work!”
    Without any warning, two huge white paws came clamping down on their shoulders. If the weight hadn’t held him down, Trundle might well have leaped clear out of his prickles with the shock.
    â€œIt is splendid, indeed!” boomed the count. “This here is my most wonderful work! With it, will I tour the Worlds!”
    And with that, the count reached past them and grabbed up the chart and the pile of papers that represented the fruits of all Trundle’s labors.

    Â 
    Twilight of the Dogs
    An Epic Opera in Three Acts
    Words and Music by Count Leopold of Umbrill
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    â€œExcellent, excellent,” said the count, striding to the door and disappearing through it. “A genius am I!”
    â€œIt drives me crazy, the way they can creep up behind you without a sound,” said Jack. “How do they do that?”
    Trundle stared after the vanished count. “Thanks for all your help, Trundle,” he murmured under his breath. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Trundle.” He sighed. “Oh, don’t mention it, count. It was my pleasure!”
    Roaring with laughter, Jack slapped him on the back. “Never you mind, Trundle old lad,” he said. “Editors never get the appreciation they deserve!”

J ack and Trundle descended from the high tower room and came out into the auditorium. The transformation that had taken place in the opera house was amazing. Order had been created out of chaos. The place looked almost ready for an audience to arrive and take their seats. Brightly painted scenery was being moved into position on stage, and around the walls, animals on carefully held ladders were gilding a final few ornaments and polishing up the last of the woodwork. Trundle was also quite pleased to see Sheila the stoat, up near the ceiling, looking none the worse for wear, hooked into a safety harness and roped up to two stout bears, flicking with a feather duster at the huge chandelier.
    Esmeralda was sitting midstage on a papier-mâché throne, checking props and costumes that were being presented for her approval by an orderly procession of albino animals. Beneath her feet was the completed revolving stage, from under the edges of which spouted the odd wisp of steam and from beneath which echoed the odd clank, rumble, and clang.
    Trundle and Jack approached their friend. “Hmmm,” she was saying to a raccoon who was standing patiently at her side with several glittery props in his arms. “The silver paper on the crown looks fine, Rocky, but you need to give the orb a bit of a polish.” She clapped her hands. “Everything else looks perfect. Well done, everyone!” She spotted Trundle and Jack and grinned at them. “Hello, boys,” she said. “The count came bounding down in great spirits a few moments ago shouting that ‘It is all in best order and finished.’” She pointed down to the orchestra pit. “He’s busy giving his instructions to the conductor. Looks like you did a first-rate job there, Trun.”
    â€œYou, too,” said Trundle, gazing around admiringly.
    â€œI seem to have a natural talent for motivating people,” said Esmeralda.
    â€œYes, it’s called being a bossyboots.” Jack grinned.
    Esmeralda stuck out her tongue at him and then laughed.
    Trundle was gazing down into the orchestra pit. The chinchilla conductor was standing on his tall plinth in his tail suit and white tie, nodding and pointing while the count loomed over him. Trundle’s opera chart was spread on the podium, and the count was talking rapidly and making wide gestures with both