The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

Remember the last time I tried to organize a gala, to celebrate the completion of the Claymouth schoolhouse? And how Stripey shot down all my grand plans for lack of funding? Well, now I had a second chance! And this time, this time, nobody was going to tell me that I couldn’t hire entertainment and chefs from the capital – because we were literally living in the capital!

Take that, Stripey! I thought at him, wherever he was. If you want to rein in my spending, hurry up and awaken so we can meet again at Honeysuckle Croft.

I didn’t say any of that out loud, of course.

What I did say out loud, to an all-hands meeting at my Temple to the Kitchen God, was: We need musssicians for the fessstival.

By now, the staff roster included not only us four core conspirators – er, founders – but also the steward, Camphorus Unus, and our freshly-half-trained priests. Clean and clad in colorful silk robes, they were verging on presentable – so long as they didn’t move or talk. Etiquette was still a work in progress.

We need to hire the mossst famous and mossst talented musssicians and sssingers to perform the High Priessst’s sssong cycle in praissse of the Kitchen God, I told them.

After weeks of enduring an angsty poet and an even angstier composer whom Camphorus Unus had dug up somewhere, I had my song cycle at last. The lyrics were everything I’d envisioned, with lurid encomiums of the Divine Intercessor and His Divine Love for all who dwelled on Earth under His Loving Eye. The music swooped and soared, as if to depict the mightiest feats from the beginning of the world: Lord Pan splitting the miasma to create Heaven and Earth, or Lady Nu shaping the first humans from riverbed mud, or something on that level. Such comparisons to the Father of the World and the Mother of Mankind would stroke the ego of a god who just wasn’t that big of a deal.

I’d have loved for my priests to form the choir, but, well, let’s just say that I hadn’t told Floridiana and Dusty to filter for vocal talent. Just humanity. Our new priests were much more impressive mute.

Speaking of muteness, I needed to check on something that the priests would not be reading – at least, not until we fixed their enunciation. Oh, and taught them how to read.

Is the Official Text ready?

Clearing her throat and stepping out of the crowd, Floridiana rotated slowly to display the gigantic illuminated manuscript in her arms. “It is indeed.”

She raised it up on high, like a Prime Minister presenting the next Crown Prince or Princess to the adoring masses. Gasps rose from Lodia and Katu, who’d never seen such fine craftsmanship on a book cover before, and from the priests, who had never seen so much gold and so many gemstones before.

Ex-sssellent. Then I believe that all that remains is to finalize the guest list for the seats of honor, hire the performers, and draw up a menu for the chefs. Steward.

Camphorus Unus met Bobo’s eyes, keeping up our charade for the priests’ benefit. “Yes, spirit?”

I leave thossse arrangements in your sssolid, capable branches.

As usual, he showed no emotion. He merely bowed the precise, correct amount. “Very good, spirit.”

In Anthea’s mansion:

“A festival? A festival to the Kitchen God?” screeched Anthea, clutching the invitation so tightly that the fine paper crumpled into a ball. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”

Her steward, a brother of the Temple steward, bowed. “They have only slightly exceeded the higher budget you set, my lady. Shall I tell them to desist?”

Anthea gripped both sides of the invitation and jerked them apart so she could reread it. The program of events covered a full day of music, feasting, and performances in the courtyard of the Temple to the Kitchen God. The gardens would be thrown open to the public, with refreshments served to all who came. Select guests (herself included) were invited to attend a sermon delivered by the Voice of the Divine Intercessor (a.k.a. Katu) and a banquet in His Divine Name.

And, crucially, everyone was “invited” to honor Him with offerings.

There was no way around it: This program was calculated to flatter the Kitchen God, which would only redound to Anthea’s credit.

Gods, she hated it when Piri knew what she was doing!

Her steward was still awaiting her verdict. Regretfully, Anthea shook her head. “No, it’s all right. Let her carry on.”

In the palace:

“A festival? A festival to the Kitchen God?” exclaimed Jullie over breakfast, when her ladies-in-waiting brought her the invitation. Her newest pet, an adorable golden snub-nosed monkey, reached out from his perch on her shoulder to snatch the sheet of paper. She let him have it. “Why is this the first that We are hearing of it? Lady Anthea? Isn’t he your patron god?”

Ah, this was awkward. Inside her head, Anthea cursed Piri for not giving her advance notice so she could have alerted Jullie. Monarchs, in her experience, didn’t like surprises. Shouldn’t Piri, of all people, have known that?

Well, to be fair, she probably hadn’t ever noticed. Emperor Cassius had let her get away with pretty much whatever she pleased.

Unlike Empress Aurelia, who had very much not let Anthea get away with whatever she pleased.

Anthea bowed deeply to her current sovereign, mind racing for a way to salvage this situation. In the end, she settled on a respectful, yet slightly reproving tone, reminding all the aristocrats present that she was far older and hence wiser than any of them by far. “The Kitchen God is the patron god of all who dwell on Earth, Your Majesty. For it is he who intercedes on our behalf before the Jade Emperor’s throne. Is it not prudent, then, to show our gratitude for his ever-constant love?”

To her relief, the Queen looked mildly appeased. The monkey had clambered down into her lap and was happily ripping the invitation to pieces. He then proceeded to eat the pieces.

“’Tis not a festival of thanksgiving per se to which I object, Annie. I would appreciate being kept apprised of such developments.”

As would Anthea, who was fuming inwardly. “I do apologize for the zeal of the Kitchen God’s priests, Your Majesty. I shall endeavor to ensure that in the future, they do not let themselves get swept away by their desire to glorify the Kingdom of South Serica before the god’s eyes.”

The Queen waved a hand. “Yes, do. Zeal is all well and good, but they must remember that they are Our vassals and answer to Us first.”

Up in Heaven:

“A festival? A festival to the Kitchen God?”

Star glared at the vision cast by her seal. It showed the front of a mansion whose roof and pillars had been remodeled to mimic an Imperial mansion. Builders swarmed the front courtyard, erecting a stage. “What’s Pi– that dratted soul up to now?”

Flicker winced. He’d known, when she sent an urgent message asking him to come to her office, that something was very, very wrong. Normally, out of respect for his wishes, she was more discreet. Of course, he could have suggested that they meet under their usual willow instead, but her handwriting had been so messy and distraught that he’d opted to sneak into the Bureau of the Sky.

“Well, on the bright side,” he began, and winced at the accidental pun. “At least she isn’t constantly trying to fly back to Honeysuckle Croft anymore. That was what you hoped for, wasn’t it, Star?”

The night that the Star of Reflected Brightness had invited him to view the princess-of-the-night blossoms with her, she’d told him to drop the formality. He’d finally brought himself to stop addressing her as “Heavenly Lady,” but “Star of Reflected Brightness” was too long for normal conversation, and “Aurelia” felt wrong. “Star” was the best option they’d compromised on. It was a tad generic, given the number of stars in Heaven, but oh well. He was a clerk, not a poet. Unlike that Len Katullus whom Piri had swept into her orbit.

With a flick of Star’s fingers, the vision from her seal shifted to the Claymouth Barony. Down by the river, Taila and Nailus were dissecting a dead mortal frog under the supervision of a scholarly frog spirit. Star examined their handiwork with distaste – no Serican empress had ever dabbled in natural philosophy – and switched the vision back to Piri’s new Temple.

“Yes, I’m glad she’s stopped corrupting my Quarta, but what in the world is she plotting down south? Lady Fate’s been in a truly foul mood. She won’t say why, but it has to be related to Piri. I’d stake my divinity on it.”

“Don’t!” exclaimed Flicker before he could stop himself.

She smiled, the mischievous smile that she seemed to reserve for him. “Why? Worried they’d actually cast me out of Heaven if I lost?”

“Yes. I mean, no, they’d never do it – you’re too integral to the smooth functioning of Heaven – we couldn’t do without you – ”

At that, she actually laughed. “Oh, Flicker, any god or goddess is replaceable. But I appreciate your vote of confidence.”

Even as he stammered out something inane, he was thinking, You’re not replaceable to me. But he didn’t say it out loud.

At least he’d succeeded in distracting her from Piri’s plots, and lightened her mood, if only for now.

In Goldhill:

The week before the first-ever Festival to the Divine Intercessor was scheduled to occur, I got a surprise visitor: Anthea, in the furry flesh. The raccoon dog hadn’t visited in person since the day she threw a temper tantrum and set a budget.

Even more surprisingly, she wasn’t here to scream about how we’d exceeded aforementioned budget (Camphorus Unus had droned on and on about that), or how she refused to cover the extra amount, or anything that would interfere with our preparations.

The polar opposite, in fact.

“Piri.”

Her use of my true name cued me in that something was wrong. Say what you would about her intelligence (and I did), but she only slipped up like that when she was very upset.

She confirmed that by repeating my name, even though she already had my attention. “Piri. Is everything ready for the festival?”

Did she need to ask? Of course it wasn’t. Nothing ever went smoothly when you were organizing something on this scale, and you were always scrambling to put out fires (metaphorical ones, I hoped, given that it was the Kitchen God we were dealing with) right up until the very last second.

The fessstival will go off without a hitch, I assured her.

Anthea paced in a small circle, the hem of her gown whispering over the stone floor. I watched with interest to see if the delicate silk would fray. It didn’t.

“Good. Good. Piri.”

That was the third time she’d used my name. Now she was making me worried. Yes? Is something the matter?

“You have to make sure the festival is perfect, okay? He’s going to be watching. He’s expecting lavish offerings, a jump in his power. We can’t disappoint him.”

No, we couldn’t. But luckily, I was in charge of this festival, so no way was it going to disappoint him. The disapproving tilt of my head must have conveyed those sentiments to her, because she shook her head in wonder.

“I can’t believe I’m counting on you. But I am. Kitchen God help me, Jade Emperor help me, but I am.”

Her lack of faith made me puff out my chest indignantly. Do you really doubt my ability to throw a PARTY, of all things? Stop clipping my wings, and you’ll see a festival beyond even the Kitchen God’s divine imagination!

She stopped pacing, emitted a sound that was part gasp, part laugh, and maybe part sob. I was about to warn her that I had neither the time nor the patience for hysterics when she blurted out, “Something happened in the west. Something bad. I don’t know what – Jullie doesn’t want to talk about it, and I – I didn’t want to get tangled up in politics, like you, so I never established my own sources, and now I don’t know what’s going on, and I’m afraid it’s very, very bad….”

On a scale of “The demons have overrun the kingdom” to “We have to cancel the festival,” how bad are we talking?

“I don’t know. I don’t know. That’s the problem. I don’t know!”

I processed that. Then I shrugged it off. Even if Jullie wants to cancel the festival, it’s not her festival to cancel.

“I don’t know about that,” Anthea warned. “She is the Queen. We’re all her vassals and answer to her.”

Maybe you are and you do, but not me or Bobo or Floridiana or Dusty. And we’re the ones in charge of the festival. You just watch and see. We are going to put on this festival, come peasant revolt or demon invasion!