The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

To quote Floridiana, all that was left to do after that was housekeeping. Thoroughly scripted housekeeping, of course.

Still on his stage, Katu gave the prostrate demons his sternest stare and demanded if they repented of their deeds and deserved the forgiveness of the Divine Intercessor. For their part, the demons groveled deeper into the dirt and replied in unison that they did not but hoped he would grant them his divine grace anyway.

I’d wondered if the foxling might balk at this public humiliation, but having committed to my plan, she followed through with passion. She must have viewed it as an act of subservience to me rather than to Heaven, because you rarely saw such a dramatic genuflection.

There was a slightly hairy (haha) moment when she vowed in a high, clear voice, “I shall eat no human flesh ever again, however many more millennia I shall live.”

At that, the wolf chieftain’s head jerked up. But the foxling turned her head just far enough to stare at him, and he gulped, ducked his shaggy head, and repeated the oath.

The sight of such a vast horde of demons swearing off human flesh for the rest of their existences made quite an impression on the residents of Goldhill. To be more precise, they went wild. With joy, this time.

Out came their festival clothing, their drums, their firecrackers. The bears shouldered Katu’s platform, and we marched the foxling and her chieftains into the city, where the crowd engulfed us. People screamed and cheered and belted out our modified hymn, “Praise to the Mighty Kitchen God.” Dragon dancers made their dragon undulate ahead of us, clearing our way. Lion dancers bounded in and out of our procession, nearly tripping Dusty a couple times until he snorted at them, blowing off half of one lion’s mane. After that, they kept a respectful distance.

Instead of taking the shortest path to the Temple, we paraded around Goldhill, passing as many of its residents – even the slum dwellers – as possible. After all, everyone was equal in the eyes of the Kitchen God (or so Katu claimed), which meant that everyone should get an equal chance to grab their offerings and fall in behind us.

The palace was our last stop. As we sang and danced towards the main gate, I felt a twinge of unease. Would Anthea do her part and bring the queen outside to pay her respects to the Kitchen God, as represented by the Voice of the Divine Intercessor? Or would Jullia dig in her embroidered slipper heels and refuse to acknowledge him?

She couldn’t shut us down now, any more than the Earl of Black Crag could retake his mansion. But if she used her power to harass us, she could make our lives – especially Katu’s and the priests’ lives – very unpleasant.

Splitting off from Stripey, I dipped down to ask Bobo, Do you see them? Are they coming out?

Bobo raised her long neck and swiveled it around. “Uh-huh! Yep! I sssee a palanquin coming out!”

Whew. Anthea had followed through with her part.

The dragon dancers were the first to catch sight of the red-and-gold palanquin. They danced their dragon off to a side, knelt, and made it bow its head. The rest of us non-priests followed suit. When the priests forgot their orders and began to bend their knees, I signaled them to stay upright.

Katu, with his flair for the theatrical, needed no such reminder. He simply folded his hands together inside the sleeves of his robes and gazed down at the palanquin.

From behind the heavy folds of silk came the queen’s cool voice. “Well met, High Priest of the Kitchen God.”

Katu inclined his head. “It is thanks to the grace of the Divine Intercessor, Your Majesty. I am but a conduit for his everlasting love.”

“Indeed. His love is most awesome.” This time, the queen’s voice was a tad warmer. I almost see Anthea sitting next to her, hissing at her to sound more welcoming of the heroes who saved the capital.

Katu raised his arms in benediction, accepting the queen’s admission.

Then came a pause that had not been part of my plan.

What’s going on now? I whispered to Bobo, who cocked her head and listened.

“They’re arguing,” she reported. “Anthea’s telling the Queen that ssshe ssshould ssstep out of the palanquin ssso everybody can sssee her. The Queen is sssaying that no monarch ssshows herssself ssso casssually to commoners.”

I suppressed a snort. She was happy enough to put herself on display at Lychee Grove. Without raising my voice, knowing that it would carry to Anthea’s furry ears regardless, I said, Anthea, stick to the plan. Jullia needs to demonstrate the Crown’s subservience to the Temple.

Another exasperating wait. The spectators were starting to whisper among themselves, wondering what was going on. If Anthea didn’t shove Jullia out of the palanquin soon, our audience was going to get bored and leave, taking their offerings with them.

Stripey swooped down next to us. Is it wise to push the Queen like that? I don’t know much about monarchs, but Baron Claymouth wouldn’t like it.

Next, Floridiana squeezed between the priests to murmur, “I think we should drop it. Everyone saw the Queen come out to thank us. If we keep pushing, she may think we’re setting up the Temple as the true power over South Serica.”

That was, of course, my intention. But I supposed that forcing Jullia to admit the political shift publicly was less important than the reality of it.

Anthea, I said. It’s all right. Don’t push it.

“They ssstopped arguing,” Bobo reported. “I think they’re going to go back in now.”

Oh no, they weren’t. Keep the palanquin there until Katu has left. Anthea, you come out and join us as the queen’s representative.

Another maddening wait before the curtain on the side of the palanquin stirred. A slender white hand emerged, making the crowd gasp. Then Anthea stepped out with a fake smile pasted on her lips. She swept a somewhat sarcastic bow at Katu and mounted up on Dusty. I waited for the horse to complain that The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind, Vanquisher of Invaders wasn’t a dray animal, but he just rolled his eyes. Maybe he thought that Anthea was more attractive than a sack of rice or something.

Well, whatever. It was his back. I flew up to tell Katu, Let’s go back to the Temple. The queen isn’t coming out.

As a commoner who rarely laid eyes on his monarch anyway, he was unbothered by this setback. “Friends!” he called to all the people packed into the street. “Let us hie to the Temple to give thanks to the Divine Intercessor! He who has saved the city this day! Let our praises of him resound in Heaven!”

The drummers started pounding out their rhythm again, the dancers leaped to their feet, and our procession marched away from the palace.

I alighted on Anthea’s shoulder. What was that all about?

She smiled and lifted a hand to acknowledge the crowd’s cheers. Out of the corner of her mouth, she muttered, “Jullie’s worried you’re setting up Len Katullus as a priest-king.”

Hmmmm, now there was a thought: a priest-king, rather than a High Priest behind a figurehead queen.

“Oh no, you don’t. Usurping her throne was not part of our agreement.”

Since when had she expected me to hold to the letter of my agreements?

“Piriiii? I warn you, I’m not going to tolerate you removing Jullie too.”

Is that a challenge? But I was mostly joking, and she must have realized it, because she hung onto her temper. Nope. Wasn’t planning to. I mean, can you see Katu as a king?

“As an effective king, you mean? I thought incompetent rulers who lose their thrones to massive revolts were just your cup of tea.”

I shrugged. Just that once. It would be so…pedestrian to reenact it, don’t you agree? I’ll leave rulers like that to you.

“Hey! What are you implying?”

Bobo’s voice startled us out of our friendly bickering. “The Fox Queen and the wolf demon – I mean, ssspirit – are betting on whether the two of you will end up dueling.”

The “conquered demon leaders” were marching behind Katu’s platform to demonstrate their subjugation to the Kitchen God. Apparently they’d gotten bored and started eavesdropping on our conversation.

Oh yeah?

“Yeah. The wolf sssays you have to duel over the ‘insssult to your missstress.’ The fox sssays it is ‘beneath the dignity of Lady Piri’s ssservant to engage in sssuch,’ um, I forgot the ressst of it.” Bobo cocked her head as if listening to something. “Oh, ssshe says it’s: ‘sssuch petty disssputes.’ And now the wolf sssays his name is Sssteelfang, not ‘the wolf,’ and will you pleassse just challenge the raccoon dog already?”

Demons! Anthea and I looked at each other, in accord for a rare moment.

“What are the stakes?” she asked.

Bobo’s mouth actually turned down at the corners. “Ten pounds of…flesssh.”

Yep, they were demons, all right. But so long as they weren’t wagering human flesh, I didn’t care.

Anthea, who’d never lived in the Wilds, shuddered. “No, we are not going to duel. Here in South Serica, we are civilized.”

Hmmmmmm. About that….

Bobo opened her mouth, probably to ask why the Earls of Black Crag and Yellow Flame had nearly gotten into a duel outside Lychee Grove, but I shook my head at her. If Anthea could convince these demons that violence was not an acceptable mode of conflict resolution, then South Serica would be a lot more peaceful.

The foxling’s tinkling laugh reached even my mortal ears. “You hear that, Steelfang? They’re not going to duel. You owe me!”

“It doesn’t count if they heard us. I’ll bet they changed their minds because they heard us,” growled the wolf.

Hush! I scolded. Don’t scare the nice onlookers.

Without being able to see the demons, I didn’t know how they took it, but if they grumbled, I didn’t hear.

In Heaven:

That Earth-inspired dumpling restaurant had long since shut down, after too many gods and goddesses lost their tempers at the surly service. Lady Fate awaited the Kitchen God outside its latest replacement, the Heavenly Perfume Night Market. It was based on the open-air markets on Earth where street vendors sold cheap snacks and people ate while standing up or, even more shockingly, walking.

She wasn’t sure why the Kitchen God preferred such a lowly, gimmicky “eatery” to one of the real restaurants in Heaven, but she supposed it had something to do with all the time he spent on Earth. Maybe he felt more at home in a night market than an elegant dining room. And since she was the one who had requested this meeting, she had felt compelled to let him select the location.

Whatever habits he’d picked up on Earth, punctuality wasn’t one of them. He was even later than the moon blocks had indicated.

“Ah, Lady Fate!” His voice boomed out behind her, startling poor Regia so much that the cat jumped straight up into the air. She hissed and swatted the hem of his robes.

“And Regia too! Hi there, kitty.”

Lady Fate hastily picked her up. “There, there, baby, it’s all right,” she crooned, and forced a smile for her dinner partner. “Good day, Kitchen God. Or do you go by Divine Intercessor these days?”

He waved it off. “Oh, either one’s fine. I don’t put much stock in names. Whatever you prefer to call me – what is that amazing smell?”

As distractible as always. Maintaining her smile, Lady Fate ushered him into the dining space. All the tables had vanished. The walls had been painted with run-down buildings. Packed earth had been spread across the parquet floor (specially treated earth, to avoid dirtying shoes and hems, of course) to simulate a common marketplace. Star sprites and imps stood behind rickety stalls, cooking and serving…braised duck tongues and chicken gizzards and pork blood cakes. Whatever did people eat on Earth?

The Kitchen God ambled from stall to stall. It took a while. Gods and goddesses kept stopping him to congratulate him on the success of his Temple.

“So, what’d you want to talk to me about?” he asked between one jealous well-wisher and the next. An entire skewer of candied hawthorn fruits vanished down his gullet.

“I believe a soul belonging to a certain golden snub-nosed monkey has recently returned to the Bureau of Reincarnation.”

The Kitchen God got a fried chicken steak as big as his face. Through a giant mouthful, he mumbled, “You’ll mumble mumble more specific than that.”

Was he being deliberately obtuse? There was only one golden snub-nosed monkey who mattered. “I am referring to the soul that was once the Star of Scholarly Song.”

“Oh! That one. Yes, he’s back in the archives. Bad luck, poor soul. Got eaten by a vulture demon in the fake battle.”

Lady Fate suppressed a shudder at the image of their former colleague getting torn apart by a vulture. “Well, his luck has turned. His time has come.”

The Kitchen God actually stopped gobbling down the fried chicken steak. “Oh! You mean it’s time for that already?”

“Yes – ”

She would have elaborated, but he started babbling about not knowing where the time had gone, the centuries just flew by faster and faster, and would you look at that pork collarbone soup?

At last, she gave up and talked over him. “Kitchen God. Reincarnate him as a human.”