The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

For my extravagant follies? For MY extravagant follies? And on whose behalf had I launched this extensive, expensive project in the first place?!

Clenching my beak, I let Anthea rant until she exhausted herself. Then, while her shoulders heaved in the most unbecoming manner, I said coldly, Ungrateful child. You do realize that everything I have done has been to save YOUR furry neck, don’t you?

“My. Furry. NECK?”

For a moment, I thought Anthea was going to fling the inkstone at me, and I ducked behind the stack of books. If that inkstone struck, it would crush my sparrow body.

As I peeked back out, some modicum of sanity returned to Anthea. She gripped the sides of her skirts, crumpling the fine silk beyond salvation, and she breathed in and out, in and out.

Taking advantage of her silence, I went on, Why do you think I’ve been working my wingtips TO THE BONE to establish this Kitchen God Temple? It was YOUR patron god who demanded that you increase the amount of offerings he receives, remember? It was YOU who had no idea how to accomplish that, remember? It was YOU who came begging me for help, remember?

Anthea’s teeth were clenched as tightly as my beak had been. “What I remember is that ‘twas YOU who came begging me to rescue your friends. ‘Twas YOU who was so desperate that you were willing to swear an official oath to secure MY assistance.”

Maybe that was true, but I trilled a light, bird’s song of a laugh. Oh, no, no, dear Anthea, you mistake me. I never beg for anything. And are you not profiting handsomely off the oath we both swore?

Deliberately, I made her sound like the lowest merchant. I also omitted the part where I was amassing a mountain’s worth of positive karma for myself and my friends from the project.

“Profiting?” she asked, incredulously.

Yes, profiting. You, I believe, thought only in terms of convincing Jullia to increase the amount of offerings that she personally makes to the Kitchen God. How disappointingly small in scope, although I suppose that is only to be expected. I, on the other hand, am building you an entire system that will stretch all over Serica, that exists solely for the purpose of dedicating offerings to the Kitchen God. When I am done, for as long as you live, every time he receives an offering from one of those temples, he will think of you.

(He wouldn’t. He was a god. Divine memory was short, and divine gratitude short-lived.)

However, Anthea understood my logic and accepted the reality that I’d always had more vision than she. “Fine. I’ll give you that. But you came up with the idea already. I don’t need you to bankrupt me under the guise of implementing it.”

That accusation came as a genuine surprise. My dear Anthea, you cannot possibly believe that I think about you so often as that.

“Ugh! Fine! So maybe you’re not deliberately sabotaging me! But you are still on track to bankrupt me, on purpose or not. And let me assure you, that’s not in your best interest either.”

No, unfortunately, it was not. As much as I’d have liked to fling her words back into her bared teeth, I didn’t have another funding source lined up. I could find one, of course, given enough time. It would be a challenge, since I’d have to work through and puppeteer my friends, but I was confident I could do it. It would just be gods-cursed inconvenient.

Especially now, when Floridiana and Dusty were in the middle of recruiting slum humans who would need to be fed and clothed and whatever else Camphorus Unus would need to do to make them presentable.

Hating every moment of it, I inclined my head to acknowledge Anthea’s point. Bankrupting her now would be mutually disadvantageous. (Bankrupting her in the future, after she had served her purpose, though….)

Equally inconvenient would be if Floridiana and Dusty’s wagon returned from the slum and started disgorging slum humans while Anthea was still here. She wouldn’t appreciate seeing or smelling them, and without knowing Heaven’s karma system – which I had no intention of explaining to her – she couldn’t understand why they would be my priests. I needed to get rid of her as fast as possible, and for more reasons than the usual.

I take your point, I said with fake humbleness that didn’t fool her. (I wasn’t trying particularly hard to fool her. That was perhaps the only upside to interacting with Anthea – I didn’t have to pretend to be anything else.) If you will send your steward to confer with my steward about – I waved a languid wing – pecuniary matters, then I am sure we can avoid such misunderstandings in the future.

“Misunderstandings – !”

For a moment, I thought I’d goaded her into losing her temper again, but several centuries had taught her a modicum of self-control. Her mouth and cheeks and chin contorted in highly entertaining ways, but at last, she forced the corners of her lips up into what she maybe thought approximated a smile. It looked more like a raccoon dog pup peeling its lips back in a snarl, i.e. unattractive but harmless, except to my eyeballs.

“Fine,” she snapped. “But I’m setting a budget for you, and you’d better stick to it.”

And, before I could respond, she flounced out.

A budget. She was setting a budget. A BUDGET?!

So that’s why we can’t afford to hire any more priests, human or not, at the moment, I finished explaining to Floridiana and Dusty, who hung their heads. We’ll be hard pressed to house, clothe, and feed these priests, as it is.

Anthea, proving that she had an attention span and could move fast when it was inconvenient for me, had already sent over her steward to discuss the budget with my steward. As things stood, Camphorus Unus had reported afterwards, we barely had enough to cover Temple bills and our own household expenses. Thank goodness Lodia and Katu counted as part of Anthea’s household, so she was paying for their upkeep.

A budget. What a ridiculous concept. Whoever heard of such a thing?

Well, Stripey, I supposed. He must have made one for the duck demons, to know when to refuse to lend me any more money. So how would he have handled this crisis? What would Stripey do?

I opened my mouth to ask Bobo, then shut it again. She’d look so sad at the mention of our friend, and she probably wouldn’t know the answer anyway.

“Oh!” Floridiana gave an uncharacteristic yelp. “I – please, Piri, you have to find funding for a stipend – I promised them a stipend – ”

A stipend? Don’t worry, we don’t have to pay Lodia and Katu a stipend. That’s Anthea’s problem.

Dusty corrected me, “No, no, the priests. She told them they’d get paid for serving as priests. Money to save or to send home. No way Lady Anthea will say no to that, right?” His dark eyes were big and hopeful. “Not if she wants to earn good karma too?”

That would have been an effective clinching argument to use on the selfish creature – if I’d told her about the karma system. Which I hadn’t. And still had no intention of doing.

Floridiana was the one who explained, “We can’t go around telling everyone how the karma system works, Dusty. We’ll get in trouble with Heaven.” She slid a sidelong glance at me. “And I, for one, do not want to get in trouble with Heaven.”

I wholeheartedly agreed. I, too, did not want her to get in trouble with Heaven. Just think of the trouble it would then cause me to get her out of it!

Don’t worry, I promised the two of them. They’ll get their stipends. I’ll find a way.

They nodded, reassured, and went off to check on our new priests.

Now I just had to find a way to keep my promise.

In Anthea’s kitchen:

“My lady, His Heavenly Lord the Kitchen God to see you.”

Anthea’s steward bowed to her, stone-faced. He should be stone-faced, as he was that rarest of spirits, a piece of carved jade that had awakened, but he’d been even stonier than usual lately. (Piri, even when you didn’t know it was her specifically, had that effect on people.) At least Piri’s steward had agreed to stay within the bounds of the budget. Anthea didn’t expect him to succeed, of course, so her true budget for the Temple was thrice that amount. She’d take it as a win if Piri stayed within that.

“The Kitchen God wishes to see me? Oh dear, do I look presentable?”

Surrounded by a cloud of ladies-in-waiting who adjusted her hair and tweaked her gown and jewelry and who, irritatingly, did not include her new Junior Wardrobe Mistress because the dratted girl was off working on Piri’s projects again, Anthea sailed towards her kitchens. Both the passage that led there and the kitchens themselves were even more lavish than the front of her home. After all, it wouldn’t do to disrespect her patron god by entertaining him in less style than she did mere nobility.

Of course, that only held true when he visited her on one of her own estates. The royal court was so migratory that both she and he had seen far too many dark, greasy, foul-smelling kitchens, even in the Goldhill palace. (Despite hints and wheedling, Jullie still hadn’t diverted money from her military campaigns to renovate her kitchens.)

Leaving her entourage cooing over her beauty at the door, Anthea entered her kitchens. Her cooks knew the drill: As soon as the Kitchen God had arrived, they’d cleaned up and made themselves scarce. By the time she swept in, the tables and floors were sparkling. Vermillion tapers burned with a clear, steady light. One whole wall was taken up by a gilded altar to the Kitchen God, with an image carved from precious rosewood and set with jade and pearls. Her cooks kept the offering table before the image laden with foods and drinks of all varieties, day and night.

Right now, the Kitchen God was lounging next to it, sampling a dish of cakes. They were similar in flavor to the triangular pieces of white sugar rice cakes that he’d eaten in the Lychee Grove Earth Court’s kitchen. Anthea, however, had tweaked her version to be prettier. The batter was dyed shades of pastel pink and green and orange and yellow, shaped into dainty balls, and sprinkled with sesame salt.

She bowed low, hearing silk whisper over the tiles. In her own kitchens, she didn’t need to worry about rancid grease destroying her embroidered silk slippers or the hem of her gown.

“Ah, Annie! Great to see you again! Such fluffy rice cake-balls! You know, yours are the best, the ones other people dedicate to me just can’t compare.” As usual, the Kitchen God rambled on as if they were already in the middle of a conversation, not just starting one.

Now that he’d addressed her, she straightened from her bow. “I’m honored to hear you say so, Heavenly Lord.”

“Only the truth, only the truth. Credit where credit’s due, hey?” He moved on to a plate of lychees and started peeling one. “Now, what’s this I’ve been hearing about a temple to me?”

Anthea wasn’t surprised he already knew. The builders and the silk merchant must have gossiped at home, next to their own Kitchen God altars.

“If it so please you, Heavenly Lord, the temple is a way to increase the number of offerings to you,” she said cautiously, just in case he decided to be offended that she hadn’t consulted him first. (Of course, if she had consulted him first, there was an equal chance that he’d have been offended about being troubled with details when he’d already issued his instructions. With gods, you never knew.) “If it pleases you not, Heavenly Lord, we shall halt the project at once.”

He waved a hand, his fingers completely clean of lychee juice. “Oh, no need, no need. Capital plan, that, if you can pull it off. There’s never been a formal temple to me before. Or to any of the gods. Hmm. Even the Jade Emperor.” His lips curved upward.

“I shall ensure its success.” Now that she knew he approved of the plan, she was happy to take credit. “I intend to turn it into an entire system of temples to you, all over Serica. Of course, that may take some time,” she added, buying herself some leeway in case he expected his temples to spring up all over Serica overnight like mushrooms. “I shall have to – ”

He waved his hand again. Now it held a leg of roast duck, the skin crisped to a perfect deep red-brown. “Oh, no need for details, Annie! I trust your judgment! Let’s surprise me with the results, hey?”

He winked.

Somehow, that didn’t sound as reassuring as it should have. It felt more like him giving her leeway to earn an appointment with the Heavenly executioner. And not to command someone else’s execution, either.

But what else could she say but, “Of course, Heavenly Lord. I promise the results will prove a happy surprise to you.”