Holiday Art and Thank-You to Readers
This has been a different and sadder holiday season, but also one full of love and gratitude. Early in the morning of December 16th, my grandpa passed away at the age of 97. He was born in 1926 and grew up in Hong Kong and Shanghai before moving to Taiwan at the end of the 1940s. His final move was to Canada after retirement, and his and my grandma's home there was where I spent all my summers as a kid.

While my grandma used to tell me about life during World War II, my grandpa would regale me with a mix of fairy tales (both Chinese and Western) and childhood exploits. He was quite the rascal, and many of his stories ended with, "And then I got beaten"! My grandma instilled in me a love of history, which you have probably guessed from the settings of Confessions. My grandpa's stories, on the other hand, form the backdrop of daily life in Serica. The character Taila, while not based explicitly on him, certainly shares traits with his childhood self!

In recent years, Alzheimer's gradually eroded my grandpa's personality, but he never ceased to love us. I have so many happy memories of him and my grandma, and I feel so grateful to have had them as my "Gong-Gong" and "Po-Po." Although they are both gone now, they live on in my heart and in the stories that it is now my turn to tell.

This has been a more sober post than usual, so let me wrap it up (pun intended) by thanking all of you for reading my stories: for following Piri and her friends and not-friends on their adventures, for sharing your thoughts on them, for even going so far as to back me financially so that I might write more about them. I am so very grateful to you all, and I hope that all of you are having a happy, healthy holiday season.


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Link if you can't see it.
 
Chapter 124: The Day the Empire Fell
Chapter 124: The Day the Empire Fell

A mob. A mob. A mob outside her gates in Goldhill. What was this – the City of Dawn Song all over again?

No, this was a nightmare. This had to be a nightmare.

Anthea was padding towards the door that led to the kitchens and her patron god's altar. Two feet from it, she turned on her heel and padded back the other way. Turn and pace. Turn and pace. She wasn't nearly calm enough to call upon the Kitchen God – assuming he even answered.

At the far end of the hallway, her retinue quivered in a clump of silk and dangly hair ornaments. They'd have paced right after her, like a line of ducklings, if she'd let them.

She hadn't let them.

"Oh, my lady, whatever will we do?" quavered one lady-in-waiting. "Whatever will become of us?"

A chorus of teary questions, all variations on the same theme, echoed hers. They weren't helping to calm Anthea down.

It was all too much like the City of Dawn Song, five hundred and twelve years ago.


Anthea hadn't been in the palace on the day the Empire fell.

She'd long since been driven out by Piri, banished to a shabby mansion insultingly close to the West Market. (Her previous, opulent estate right off Imperial Way, a gift from Empress Aurelia, had been confiscated and awarded to one of the fox demon's sycophants.) If you were the optimistic sort – or the twisted sort – you might call Anthea's disgrace a blessing in disguise, because it meant that she'd been holed up indoors when Cassius burned down his palace around himself and the city went mad.

It had been nighttime. She'd heard an odd, dull roar outside, and she'd pattered upstairs to peek out a window. Through the lattice, she'd seen firelight from torches: some raised in fists, some clutched in beaks. All manner of humans and spirits were crammed into the boulevard that ran past her gates, just like on a festival day after a parade. They were even shouting something about Cassius.

Except these weren't the usual happy shouts of "Long live the Son of Heaven!"

"Down with the false emperor!" shrieked a voice, so cracked and mad with rage that she couldn't tell whether it belonged to a man or a woman.

"Down with the false emperor!" those around the person roared, in a ragged chorus that spread in a wave throughout the mob.

Up ahead at the intersection, a Golden Bird Guard patrol of eight golden pheasant spirits stood their ground. With their bright yellow crests, vermillion breasts, and long, speckled tails, they made for an impressive sight. Their captain opened his beak wide and bellowed, "Citizens! Cease this madness! Go home!"

All of the guards leveled their spears.

For a moment, confronted with authority and the habit of obedience to it, the front edge of the mob wavered. Stillness rippled back down the boulevard. Anthea realized that she'd forgotten to breathe, and she sucked in a short, shaky breath.

"Go home, citizens!" the captain repeated. "Treason will not be tolerated!"

For a heartbeat, Anthea thought it had worked. Some people at the front stepped back.

Then the same cracked voice from before shrieked, "Down with the false emperor!"

Others nearby took up the shout, "Down with the false emperor! Down with the false emperor!"

The captain's beak moved again, but the roar drowned him out.

The mob rippled again. Then, in the space of a blink, it was surging forward, screaming and howling. Most of the Golden Bird Guards pumped their wings and shot up into the air above the bird spirits, but two weren't fast enough. The mob engulfed them and knocked them to the ground – not even on purpose, from what Anthea could tell – and then their golden crests were vanishing beneath the crush of bodies.

The remaining Golden Bird Guards circled overhead. Anthea thought they might dive down and attack the mob to disperse it, but then the captain signaled, and they wheeled and flew towards the palace, trying to reach it before the mob.

Down below, the fringes of the mob were slowing before the mansions that lined the boulevard. For no reason that she could discern, they started to pound on the wooden gates, and to leap or fly over the garden walls.

Aristocratic residences weren't built as fortresses. The undulating creamy walls topped with blue-grey tiles that surrounded their gardens were more for aesthetics than defense. And their guards were more to deter burglary than any more serious crime.

Through her window, Anthea screamed after the Golden Bird Guards, "Come back! Come back! You can't just leave us like this!"

They paid no attention.

Anthea's guards aimed their bows at the mob, but there were too many to stop. A hawk spirit dodged an arrow and unbarred her gates from the inside.

Inside the mansion, a couple rooms over, Anthea heard furniture crash. A maid raced down the hallway, arms wrapped around a fine bronze vessel, necklaces tumbling out of her pockets.

"Stop! Thief!" Anthea screeched.

A footman tackled the maid, but then porcelain shattered downstairs.

Tossing a command at the footman to hold the maid, Anthea brushed past them and ran down the main staircase. Halfway down, she jerked to a stop so fast that she had to clutch the banister to steady herself.

The mob hadn't broken through the front door yet, but her home was already destroyed. Her steward and chef were shouting at maids and footmen who were looting her treasures. Right before her eyes, her steward tussled with a maid over a piece of jade that had been sculpted to resemble a leaping fish. A second maid came up behind him and bashed him over the head with a bronze brazier. Incense dust and stubby ends of used incense sticks flew everywhere. He dropped to the plush carpet, blood pooling around his head.

"No…." Anthea's voice came out as a whimper. "No…."

Then the front doors burst open, and the mob poured in. Wailing, her staff fled, scattering treasures as they went.

"There she is!" shouted someone, and she felt the mob's attention turn on her.

"She was at court!"

"She served the false emperor!"

"Get her! Punish her! In the name of Heaven!"

And the mob rushed at her.

For a split second, Anthea couldn't move. Then she stumbled back up the stairs, tripping over her own embroidered slippers, half sobbing, half moaning as she kicked them off. Not fast enough! She wasn't fast enough on two legs!

Between one stride and the next, she transformed into a raccoon dog and scampered away, pumping her four legs as hard as she could. The mob chased her down the hallways, hunting her like the nobles did game in the Imperial Preserve.

She searched frantically for the door to the servants' passages. There! It stood ajar – something that was never allowed under normal circumstances, but now it was her salvation, because she ducked into the dark stairwell a moment before the mob rounded the corner. The rioters thundered on down the hall while she bounded down the stairs, taking them four at a time, running and running until she thought her heart would burst.

At last she reached the kitchen, with its altar to the Kitchen God. Leaping over the fruits on the offering table, she cowered at the image's golden feet and prayed harder than she ever had in her life. "Please save me, please save me, please save me. Heavenly Lord, please hear my prayer. Save me save me save me!"

The kitchen door crashed open. "There it is!" someone yelled. "Get the statue! It's solid gold!"

"Save me! Please!" Anthea shrieked.

Just as grasping hands and claws ripped her off the altar, golden light blazed.

Blinded, the looters dropped her and reeled back, covering their eyes. Anthea curled into a ball under the table and wound her tail over her head.

"HOW DARE YOU LAY YOUR HANDS ON MY ANNIE!" thundered the divine voice. "DIE, AND REINCARNATE AS WORMS!"

The golden light scythed out, and her attackers' cries cut off. Dull thumps followed. When Anthea opened her eyes and uncurled herself, she was surrounded by dead looters, all wearing identical expressions of shock.

"Are you all right, Annie?" asked the Kitchen God in a more normal tone. He bent down and picked her up, under the forelegs like a raccoon dog pup, and held her up to examine her.

Although she was trembling too hard to speak, she was physically unharmed.

"Good. I will take you far, far away from here. You will not want to be anywhere near the palace tonight."

"W-w-w-why?" she managed to quaver.

"Because tonight, the dynasty ends."

And then, borne on clouds and mist, he had carried her away from her ruined mansion, away from the City of Dawn Song, all the way south across the Snowy Mountains, where he had left her in a provincial town, in the shade of an ancient lychee tree.

And that was how Anthea had ended up living in South Serica.


"Oh, please, my lady, what do we do?" pleaded a teary voice.

Anthea blinked. She was in Goldhill, not the City of Dawn Song, and it was five hundred and twelve years after the Empire fell. Five hundred and twelve years after a certain nine-tailed fox demon had caused the Empire to fall.

In a flash, Anthea's despair and panic changed to anger. This was all Piri's fault. If Piri hadn't ended Cassius' dynasty in such a bloody, melodramatic manner, the empire wouldn't have collapsed along with it. Sure, they'd be living under a different dynasty, but it would still be the Empire, with all the continuity and comfort afforded by stable institutions and stolid career bureaucrats.

But no, Piri had had to go over-the-top dramatic. She'd had to burn everything to the ground. And now the Empire was shattered into so many tiny, warring pieces, with no safety to be found anywhere, not even in the capital of the kingdom where her own patron god had brought her.

"I've had enough of this!" Anthea's voice came out as such a ferocious snarl that her retinue jumped and squeaked.

Then they were falling to their knees to plead for the great lady's forgiveness for interrupting her thoughts.

"Not you. Get up," she snapped.

She had no time for melodrama right now. She had a kingdom to save.

And she knew exactly whom she was going to delegate to save it.


After putting down our first priestly revolt, I pondered Jullia's military and political disaster. If Katu's rants back in Lychee Grove were any indication, it had been a long time in the making. Doomed quests and lost wars were romantic enough in ballads, but you didn't want to be the people suffering through them.

The humans suffering through them, in particular.

I had to put an end to this one – but how? I didn't even really know what was going on in the west, and now Katu, my source of political intelligence, was trapped in Anthea's mansion, separated from me by an angry mob.

Back and forth across the room I flew, thinking and thinking but coming up with no solutions.

"Piri!"

Yet again, Anthea's voice brayed my true name for all in the mansion to hear. (Well, that was probably all right. I trusted most of them, and the others could be bribed with rice.) Trust her to show up, though, when the member of her household I wanted was her poet!

I executed a graceful swoop and turn. Anthea, I believe I have indicated to you on multiple occasions that it is not wise for you use my true name –

I cut off at the sight of her. She was in human form, but just barely. Triangular ears stabbed out through disheveled hair, patches of fur sprouted on her face, and her striped tail dragged behind her. She clenched her fists to hide how furry and stubby her fingers were, and she bared pointy teeth up at me.

"It's Piri I need right now. Not this devout, kind-hearted 'Pip' sham you've been putting on."

Oh my, little Anthea. After so many centuries, have you finally realized that you need me? That you simply cannot navigate court politics on your own? My tone dripped condescension.

"No," she snapped back. "I am fed up with living in this mess that you made, and then died and left us to clean up. Well, guess what? It's been five hundred and twelve years, and it's still a mess, and now you're back. So, congratulations – you're going to clean up your own mess this time!"

A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Blacklark57, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Hookshyu, Lindsey, Michael, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
 
Annie?
Hunh.

A part of me wonders if the Kitchen God has been slowly getting fed up with Anthea's not cooking and personally baking him his offerings but then again she had servants back then sooo…?
Because he sounded like he was leaving her to hang but he DID come to her aid back then…
Oooor…
Maybe it's more he's going to have his hands tied and a warning is all he can do.
But yeah, when the law falls apart things go south.
 
Annie?
Hunh.

A part of me wonders if the Kitchen God has been slowly getting fed up with Anthea's not cooking and personally baking him his offerings but then again she had servants back then sooo…?
Because he sounded like he was leaving her to hang but he DID come to her aid back then…
Oooor…
Maybe it's more he's going to have his hands tied and a warning is all he can do.
But yeah, when the law falls apart things go south.

I picture the Kitchen God as an irresponsible pet owner who only sometimes remembers to take care of his pet
(i.e. Anthea). He's too focused on collecting offerings all over Serica to keep that close an eye on her welfare.

Haha, things (such as Anthea) literally went south.

Aww. Poor Anthea. I love her.

Aww, I'm glad. I love Anthea too. Raccoon dogs are just so adorable.
 
Chapter 125: A Rioting Mob, Just Like Old Times
Chapter 125: A Rioting Mob, Just Like Old Times

My own mess? What did Anthea mean by "my own mess"? Was she blaming me for everything that had happened in Serica both before and after the day I'd died?

Because if that were the case, did I have news for her! Not even Heavenly bureaucrats continued to track your influence after your death. (At least, not for the purposes of your karma total, and who cared about anything else?)

Except I couldn't fling that back in her face, because I wasn't telling her about the karma system.

I'd have given anything to smile my old, poisonous smile, the one that always drove her to stamp her feet and start shrilling at me while I stared back imperiously – but beaks just didn't curl the right way.

Well, no matter. After I finished setting up the Temple to the Kitchen God, the Heavenly Accountants would have to award me so much positive karma that it would catapult me past all the other types of birds right into the middle of Black Tier where all the cute mammals (i.e. foxes) were! After that, once I reincarnated as a fox, all I had to do was stay alive for a hundred years, and I'd be a fox spirit again! And after that, I just had to make sure that I stayed alive for another nine hundred years, to accumulate all my tails….

"Hello? Piri? Why in the names of all the gods are you attempting to trill? You're not a songbird! It doesn't sound good. And if that's supposed to be happy humming, stop!"

Anthea's rude voice yanked me back to the present.

Even if I could no longer manage poisonous smiles, I was more than capable of filling my tone with saccharine malice. But little one, I'm just so happy that you've sought me out for advice. It's just like old times, isn't it? Doesn't it bring back all those delightful memories?

From the way her half-human, half-racoon dog face contorted, it did.

In my magnanimity, I left it at that. I didn't push further, to find her breaking point, as I might once have done. Would once have done.

And anyway, I'd just been thinking that I needed someone who was familiar with the political currents at court. That most patently was not Anthea, but maybe I could extract some intelligence from that addlebrained head of hers anyway.

So – you've come here to implore me for help because you're in over your head in court politics again, are you? Do elaborate on the circumstances.

Anthea clenched her fists – not well, because her claws got in the way of really balling up her hands – and gnashed her teeth, and then breathed in and out several times until most of the fur had sunk back into her skin. It was a gruesome sight.

Good thing Lodia wasn't around to see it. The girl might have fainted, or abandoned all her pretty fantasies about her employer.

Once Anthea was mostly human shaped again, apart from the dirty-grey ears and bushy striped tail, she grated out, "Piri – "

Will you stop calling me that! I've already told you that it's not safe for either of us if you do that.

"Who's here to hear?" she asked, looking pointedly around the empty room. "And don't worry, nobody's eavesdropping at the doors either. I'd hear their breathing if they were."

Wow, just rub it in that I'm no longer a spirit, why don't you? But I didn't give any outward signs that I was seething. Instead, I cocked my head back and stared upwards.

"No one's hiding in the ceiling rafters either, Piri. Maybe the room's too dark for your eyes, but I'd see them if they were."

The dense creature. Did I have to spell everything out for her?

Heaven has eyes and ears everywhere, you know.

S
he, of all people, should know that. Her patron god was literally Heaven's eyes and ears on Earth.

"I'm sure the Kitchen God already knows about you. If he hasn't done anything, it's because he believes you're a useful tool. Thus far."

Unfortunately, she was right – absentminded and absentee Director of Reincarnation though he might be, the Kitchen God had gone back up to Heaven multiple times since the Goddess of Life had compensated me for Cassius' meddling by granting me the right to keep my mind when I reincarnated. No one else on Earth had that right –

Wait.

Stripey.

Our promise to meet again at Honeysuckle Croft when he awakened.

But wherever and whatever he was now, he hadn't kept his memories when he reincarnated.

Which meant that he would only remember our promise for the brief moments after he died and woke in the Bureau of Reincarnation, and before he reincarnated again. Even when he awakened as a spirit, he wouldn't recover the memories from his past lives. He'd never return to Honeysuckle Croft, because he wouldn't have any of the memories that made him Stripey….

Bobo and I would never see him again.

No.

If the Heavenly bureaucracy could make an exception for me, it could cursed well make one for Stripey. I just needed the correct leverage.

And I knew exactly how to put the Kitchen God so far in my debt that he was going to have to give me whatever I wanted.

From the mouths of babes, I sighed, shaking my head in mock wonder.

"What do you mean, 'from the mouths of babes'?" snapped Anthea.

Haven't you heard the proverb? It's a reference to how little kids are so innocent and honest that you get the truth from them –

"I know what the proverb means, Piri!"

There, there. I'm sure you do.

I flew forward and petted her on the top of her head, just as if she were a raccoon dog pup. I was sure that she needed me too much to knock me away and crush all my bones in the process, and I was right.

She endured it. With gnashing teeth, true, but she endured it.

I meant that you were absolutely correct. Serica must be restored to its former glory, and I am the only one who can do it.


Whoosh! Snap! Crunch! Kick!

Another owl spirit rioter came flying over the wall that surrounded the Temple premises, but The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind was ready. He spun on his back hooves, crouched, and sprang into the air with one mighty heave of his hindquarters, with his neck outstretched and his jaws open wide.

Whoosh!

The owl hooted in panic and tried to fly higher, but it was too late.

Snap!

The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind's teeth closed on the tip of the bird's wing, and as he dropped back down, he whipped his head to fling the owl onto the courtyard paving stones.

Crunch!

The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind dropped to all four hooves next to the intruder, spun again, and lashed out with his back hooves.

Kick!

The broken body of the vanquished owl spirit went sailing through the air, tracing an arc over the wall and down towards the landbound mob that was trying to break down the front gate. Good thing the first thing Piri had ordered when she renovated the mansion was to fortify the gate and walls both physically and magically. At the time, the Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind hadn't understood why defensibility mattered when the Temple wasn't even a castle, like the Baron of Claymouth's castle, but now he was awed by her foresight.

The ancient mind inside the tiny, drab, weak sparrow body must have foreseen the possibility that one day, these Goldhillers would turn into an angry mob that would attack everyone and everything in sight, and had prepared against that possibility. The sturdy gate and walls meant that regular old humans couldn't break in, and as for spirits –

Thump. Thump thump thump.

The gate shook under the impact. On his leaps into the air, The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind had caught glimpses of the rioters. The pangolin spirits among them were attempting to beat down the gate with their club-like tails. The seal stamps on the doors and frame glowed bright orange, holding up under the blows.

"Good luck!" he snorted. "I'd like to see anyone break through that!"

A dull thud.

He whirled. A serow spirit, a deer-like creature that Mage Flori had said was good at climbing cliffs, had cleared the wall. She landed on her hooves in the courtyard, shook herself off, and hesitated, as if bewildered by her own success.

The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind didn't hesitate. He lowered his head and charged.

With a squeak, the serow fled in leaps and bounds, clearing the planters with their tidy rows of kitchen herbs. He didn't think she was circling around to attack the Temple from the back. The coward was just running away in a mindless panic. So he blew a powerful breath after her to panic her and speed her along.

Encouraged by the serow's success, however, a flock of sparrow spirits came charging over the wall into his airspace next. Crouching, The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind leapt into the air to bring them all down.


Serica must be restored to its former glory, and I am the only one who can do it, I had just declared when a brown shape like a fat, horned deer went crashing past the window next to me.

Anthea's eyes opened so wide that I could see the whites in a ring all around her irises, and her teeth lengthened into points. "They're getting in!" she screeched. "They broke in! We have to run!"

With a pop, she was in raccoon dog form, scampering for the door as fast as her stubby legs could carry her. Abandoning me.

Coward! Get back here!

I pumped my wings and flew after her, but my mortal sparrow body couldn't keep up with a spirit, however ungainly and awkward that spirit might be.

What are you scared of – a single serow spirit? I taunted.

Her bushy, striped tail rounded a corner.

Okay! Fine! Run away! Abandon Goldhill! Let South Serica fall! Watch your friend Jullia die!

I flapped around the corner and nearly crashed into Anthea's chest. She was back in human form.

"What did you say?" she hissed.

I said, abandon Goldhill and let the kingdom fall. Let your friend Jullia die. You're good at running away, aren't you?

"I did not abandon the City of Dawn Song! There was nothing left to abandon!"

I shrugged my wings – no mean feat when I was hovering midair. Perhaps. But you came here to beg me to save Goldhill and South Serica and Jullia's throne, did you not? Have you changed your mind? Is it hopeless after all?

She opened her mouth to contradict me, but no sound came out. She shut her mouth again and ground her teeth. "What are you plotting?"

I'm thinking that we kill two birds with one stone. And by kill, I mean "not kill." Definitely don't kill anyone.

Anthea made an impatient "hurry up and tell me already" gesture with her hand.

I drew a deep breath, awed by the audacity and awesomeness of the quest I was about to embark on, even if I were the one who had conceived of the plan. Sometimes, I amazed even myself.

We are going to stop the riot, calm the capital, save Jullia's throne, and bolster the authority of the Temple to the Kitchen God all at the same time.

She wasn't nearly as impressed as she should have been. "Yes, but how? You're still not saying how we're doing any of that!"

Hoofbeats clopped past the windows. Having failed to find an exit at the back of the gardens, the panicky serow spirit was running back the other way.

Get Katu here. I'm going to need my High Priest.

"Get Len Katullus – here? Are you mad? How are we going to get him through that mob?"

How did you get yourself here?

"But that's different! I'm a spirit! He's a human!"

Yes. I nodded sagaciously, only partly to annoy her. Exactly.

Then I flew out the window after the serow.

Hey, spirit! It's okay! You're safe now! Want to come inside?

A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Blacklark57, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Hookshyu, Lindsey, Michael, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
 
Chapter 126: How to Appease an Angry Mob
Chapter 126: How to Appease an Angry Mob

Out of the jade-green artificial lake behind the Temple jutted a craggy ornamental boulder. It was a very tall, tapering boulder, a good ten feet high, in which my landscape architect took particular pride. He'd dredged it out of some lake in the middle of nowhere and had it hauled all the way to the capital without so much as an extra chip or crack. According to him, it resembled some famous mountain in the west, a beloved haunt of artists and poets – and nobles who fancied themselves both – before the demons overran it.

Maybe because my boulder resembled the mountain so closely, it had acquired its very own demonic wildlife. By the time we caught up to the serow rioter, she was teetering on the very tip of the boulder.

And by "we," I meant I; Floridiana, who'd grabbed her sketchbook when she heard there was a serow to be seen; and Bobo, who of course had come along to back me up. Anthea had flat-out refused to leave the safety of the Temple proper.

Floridiana and Bobo stopped at the edge of the lake, but I flew across it and right into the face of the chunky, brown, vaguely goat-like creature. Oddly cowardly for the one rioter who'd gotten past our defenses, the serow flinched, cowered, and nearly lost her balance. Her split hooves scrabbled and scraped the rock, making unsightly scratches (my landscape architect was going to scream when I ordered him to find a replacement).

Before I needed to say a word about property damage, she squeaked, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll leave! I promise! I just – I don't know what came over me! I was on my way to work and – "

It's all right, spirit, I cooed. We mean you no harm. This is the Temple of the Kitchen God, after all. All who pass through our doors – (or over them) – are welcome here. (So long as they paid for a big-enough offering.)

"The Temple – ? This is the Temple?" The serow's fuzzy chin came up, and she surveyed the gardens with her big, dark eyes, as if suddenly curious about her surroundings.

Aha. Got her.

Why yes, indeed, this is the Temple to the Kitchen God. Have you heard of us, by chance?

Her chin bobbed up and down. "Yes, yes, I have! We were talking about it at work just the other day. There's a – a festival coming up, or something, isn't there?"

Indeed there is. I am humbly grateful that word of it has spread.

"Yes, yes, it has! I was planning to attend, just for a bit, if I could get time off…." She trailed off as she recalled her literal position, as a rioter who'd invaded the sacred precincts.

I gave her a moment, to let it sink in that she was a trespasser on the grounds of not just any old noble, but a god. Any reasonable noble would have her beaten, perhaps even killed, and we both knew it.

When I opened my beak again, she flinched so hard that she did topple off the boulder. Bobo yelped, but the fall took long enough that I had time to fly higher, so that when the splash came, not a drop of water touched my feathers.

The serow surfaced, water streaming down her cheeks and the sides of her neck, paddling frantically to stay afloat.

"Fascinating," Floridiana muttered to herself, scribbling in her sketchbook. "Shape like a cross between a goat and a deer, color like a brown bear, split hooves to grip the stone better, an amazing ability to climb…."

I glided down low enough to address the serow, but not low enough to get splashed. Poor dear! You'll catch your death of a cold! Do come into the Temple! We'll get you dried off in no time, get you a nice cup of tea, perhaps some snacks – have you had breakfast? No? Don't you fret, we'll fix that right away.

With me fluttering about her head and assaulting her with kindness, she swam to the edge of the lake and walked out onto solid ground. She nearly forgot and shook herself off all over me, but she stopped in time. She stood there, a bedraggled mess, head hanging almost to the grass.

Bobo slithered over at once, tongue flicking in and out in genuine distress. "Oh, no, you're all wet now!"

Perfect.

Bobo, I leave our guest in your capable hands. (I said that without an ounce of sarcasm. I know, I was proud of myself too.) Please do see that she gets dried off before she catches a cold. (And before she tracked dirty water all over the Temple.) Floridiana, if you would please come with me to inform the steward that we have a guest?

The mage looked torn between observing the serow-drying process and monitoring my actions, but in the end, she obeyed.

As we entered the Temple, I heard the serow ask all of a sudden, "Wait. Was that a spirit?" and Bobo answer in a panicky way, "Um, ssshe's sssort of…um…ssspecial! It's complicated, but you'll sssee! Ssshe's very ssspecial!"

Well, of course I was.

But it was all right to start letting outsiders know about me and my unique existence. I had a plan.


Ka-thunk!

The latest invader raised the most satisfying dust storm when The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind gripped the scruff of the bear's neck in his teeth, swung his head around, and flung the bear to the ground.

Craaaaack!

The impact pulverized the paving stones where the bear landed. "Ooooooooh. Oooooooh," he moaned.

The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind planted his hooves, tossed his flowing mane, and whinnied his triumph to the heavens. A mountain bamboo partridge spirit who'd just flown above the wall immediately dropped down on the other side.

Oh boy, did he hope Piri was watching! Then she'd have to acknowledge his awesome heroic might, and she'd finally treat him with the respect that he deserved!

"Take THAT! THAT'S what you happens when you invade MY territory!" he bellowed at the bear.

The bear groaned some more. He seemed inclined to agree.

Now, now, Dusty, chided the most gentle, the most tender, the absolutely most loving voice he had ever heard, both before or after he awakened. Is that the way we treat our guests?

The voice – it came from Piri. Or at least, from the sparrow that looked exactly like Piri. But it couldn't be Piri, could it? She never sounded like that!

She stroked his forelock with one soft wingtip, no hint of her usual condescension in the gesture. There, now, everything is all right. You don't need to fight anymore. You've worked very hard and done very well to protect everyone in this Temple, but everything is all right now.

At her words, all his tension and aggression drained out of him. He found himself leaning into the caress. He had worked very hard, and he had protected everyone in the Temple, and, truth be told, he'd been scared and confused, but now the adults were here to manage the situation and he could relax.

Behind Piri was Bobo, one loop of her coils draped comfortingly over the withers of – oh hey, it was that serow who'd jumped into the garden earlier. He narrowed his eyes and blew at her, and she trembled most satisfyingly.

Further back, closer to the front door, Mage Flori was herding the priests into a line. They'd donned their fancy silk robes, and they actually looked pretty good. Like a bunch of colorful butterflies.

While The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind had been assessing the situation, Piri had landed on the smashed paving stones next to the bear's head. One eye cracked open to regard her, but the rest of the bear didn't move.

Under normal circumstances, The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind would have expected her to start screaming about damage to the intricate pattern she'd selected for the paving stones, but she said instead, Oh dear, you're injured, aren't you? Poor dear. Can you sit up?

"Unggggh?" asked the bear and The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind in unison.

Can you sit up, dear? Is anything broken? she repeated, with a great deal more patience than she ever used on any of them. Bobo, do help him up.

"Ngggggh." With Bobo's help, the bear hauled himself up into a sitting position. His black fur was matted with blood and sweat, and the cream crescent moon across his chest was so dirty that it was barely visible.

Oh dear, you are hurt! Mage Floridiana, do heal him, please.

From the sidelong glance Mage Flori slid in Piri's direction, she had also noted the complete change in demeanor. Still, she left the priests and came forward, seal in hand.

Dusty dear, do be a dear and open the gates, would you please?

The Valiant Prince of the Victorious Whirlwind was so thrown off by all the kindness and courtesy that he was halfway to the gates before he registered what she'd just ordered him to do.

"You want me to do WHAAAAT?"


Whether Dusty got it or not, I had a plan.

Dusty dear, do open the gates, would you please? I repeated.

The horse actually looked past me at Floridiana for confirmation!

Most gates and exterior doors I'd seen in Goldhill opened inward, which I thought was an everlastingly idiotic idea. Why would you want a door that opened in the same direction that an angry mob would go? No, when I'd remodeled the Black Crag mansion into the Temple, I'd ordered the direction of all the doors to be reversed. They opened outward now. It was the better direction for escaping a burning building, anyway. I'd heard tales about servants who got trapped in the palace with Cassius when he turned it into the world's most opulent funeral pyre.

As instructed, the serow put her nose to the crack between the doors and called, "Hey, everyone! It's okay! We're opening the gates now, so please step back so we can open them!"

She had to repeat that several times, but from my vantage point high in the air, I could see her words penetrate the roar of the mob. The rioters at the very front stopped trying to beat down the gate or jump or scale the walls. They didn't have room to step back yet, but a wave of calm slowly rippled outward.

"We're going to open the gates! Please step back so we have room to open the gates!" called the serow again.

At Floridiana's nod, Dusty unbarred the gates and pushed them out just a tiny bit, not enough to hit anyone, but enough for the crowd to see what was happening and back up. It took a while, because the street was packed with people who all had to rearrange themselves.

There was a nasty moment when the opening between the doors was wide enough for one person to shove through, and I thought that a human man would try. He took one step forward – but when no one followed, he stopped.

Framed by the gates, the serow called, "Friends! It's all right! It's safe in here!"

A few tentative cheers drifted up from the crowd, plus a lone, suspicious, "It's a lie!" that was shushed.

Now it was Bobo's turn to slither up and call, "Yep! It's ssscary and dangerous out there! You ssshould all come in! We'll keep you sssafe!"

A smattering of voices shouted, "Down with the Queen!" but they lacked conviction. Very few of these people actually wanted to go storm the palace and get shot on the spot or hunted down and executed in creative ways later. They just needed time and clear heads to realize that.

Bobo slithered to one side and the serow to the other, letting the crowd see that the priests were arrayed by the front door like servants welcoming guests to a ball.

"Come in!" Bobo urged the rioters. "We have food and tea for everybody! I'll bet you're all hungry!"

The "food and tea" part was what got them. The human man who'd considered shoving his way in earlier was the first to cross the threshold, a pangolin woman on his heels. When nothing bad happened to them, the rest of the crowd flowed forward. Following Floridiana's instructions, the priests guided the guests around the side of the Temple, spreading them out throughout the gardens so we could accommodate as many as possible.

In the bustle, I alighted on the serow's head, behind her short, curved horns. All right. Time to go.

Then, remembering the persona I was playing, I added, That was very well done, dear. That was very brave of you.

She was quivering from nervous tension, but she still thanked me, as was my due.

I accepted it graciously, then looked around for my steed. Dusty! Come on! It's time to go get Katu!

A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Blacklark57, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Hookshyu, Lindsey, Michael, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
 
A moment of wisdom verging on transcendent, almost for Piri here.
I suppose that's why she was calm enough to trade barbs with Anthea.
 
A moment of wisdom verging on transcendent, almost for Piri here.
I suppose that's why she was calm enough to trade barbs with Anthea.

Piri does know how to act and manipulate people when she wants to!

I mentioned over on SpaceBattles that I drew inspiration from something that happened to my grandpa when he was young. He was walking on the street one day when he got swept up by a mob of protestors and found himself screaming and beating on the gates of an embassy without any idea of what they were protesting! I figure that if that's how people end up in a mob, if you calm them down, things will be okay.
 
Chapter 127: My Newest Weapon, Embroidery
Chapter 127: My Newest Weapon, Embroidery

Dusty's big, long nose jerked up, and his ears flinched back. "We're going out?" he asked, in a tone that maybe he thought sounded neutral.

Well, yes – I began before I took another look at the baby horse spirit.

His sides were streaked with sweat. His matted, tangled mane straggled down his neck. Even that long, proud tail of his, which he normally kept swishing into people's eyes, drooped to the paving stones.

Right. He had fought off the rioters for a while before I invited them in for tea and snacks, hadn't he? And he was a baby spirit. Those did tend to tire more easily.

I had a vague memory of Anthea falling asleep all over the place when she first came to Cassius' palace. You'd be strolling down a covered gallery, glance into the gardens – and there she'd be, curled up on a bench next to the peonies, sound asleep. Or you'd enter a sitting room, sweep towards your favorite carved rosewood chair – and there she'd be, sprawled across the cushion belly up, snoring away. The magnificence of the City of Dawn Song had overwhelmed her at first.

Plus I'd swept her along in my wake, as the newest member of my retinue, and she'd lacked the stamina to keep up. (Not any more, though. Now she was over five hundred years old. She could keep up with the body of a mortal sparrow – if not with my mind.)

Never mind, Dusty. Stay here and help Bobo and Floridiana, I told the baby horse spirit. Recalling that the serow was listening, I tacked on an affectionate-sounding, Dear. You've already done your part. Stay here and rest, dear.

The horse sagged with such relief that I thought his knees might buckle. But he stayed on his hooves and scanned the courtyard for Floridiana.

At the moment, the mage was admonishing the youngest priests to circulate with their trays and offer refreshments to the guests– instead of stopping in the middle of the crowd to cram cakes into their own mouths.

At least the erstwhile rioters didn't seem to think anything was amiss with my – er, the Temple's – staff's manners. If anything, they seemed to find the mini-priests cute.

Well, this was the Temple to the Kitchen God. Maybe people thought the priests here should eat a lot. Hmmm. This had possibilities for recruitment….

Future recruitment. Right now, I needed to retrieve my Head Priest.

I zipped into the Temple, calling, Anthea! Anthea! Where are you?


Anthea, with her own semi-honed instinct for showmanship, had transformed fully into human shape and was kneeling on a cushion (stolen from my sitting room) before the Kitchen God image in the Main Hall. She was holding her hands together at chest height, a stick of lit incense in her fingertips, and bowing her head over it in an attitude of prayer.

Her carriage, I had to confess, was much more graceful than Floridiana's. Perhaps I should get her to give lessons to the priests. They were (sort of) her priests too, after all.

I landed on the offering table, next to the bronze brazier filled with grey dust and burned-out ends of incense sticks. (Actually, only the top layer was incense dust. The rest was dirt from the garden. We hadn't burned enough sticks to fill a whole brazier yet: Incense was expensive.)

Anthea, Anthea.

My voice was soft and gentle. It wasn't wise to disrespect the Kitchen God's protégée in front of his own image.

The raccoon dog's human-style ears twitched in a very inhuman way. "What do you want now, Piri?"

Oh, so much. So, so much.

You will be pleased to hear that my plan worked. The rioters have been neutralized and converted into guests who are even now taking in the splendors of the Temple to the Kitchen God.

She hadn't believed I could do it, hence why she was holed up indoors.

I anticipate return visitors from among them, who will make offerings to thank the Kitchen God for protecting them on this perilous day. We have a captive audience for a sermon, and this is the perfect opportunity for our Head Priest to practice his public speaking. However, for that to happen, we need our Head Priest to be here.

I thought that was enough of a hint, but Anthea didn't budge from my cushion. Typical. "And you need me for what? To write a note to my steward to let you in?"

No, I need you to accompany me to get Katu. I'm stuck in a mortal sparrow's body, remember? I need an escort to get through this mob.

Her lips peeled back from her teeth, also in a very inhuman manner. "What do I look like? A Queen's Household Guard?"

You're not nearly handsome enough to qualify for the post, dear.

A small snarl escaped her at that. "Get a more qualified spirit to take you then. I'm sure you can find someone handsome enough."

Well, I already had one escort, the serow spirit, but I'd wanted an extra bodyguard. Still, if Anthea didn't want to go, I didn't have time to waste on arguing. I had another use for her anyway.

All right, I will, I said, so agreeably that her eyebrows shot up. But I need someone to hold down the fort here, so to speak. Play gracious hostess to all those potential offering-dedicators in the courtyard.

Recognizing my wisdom, she was already rising from my cushion. Her knees had squashed it and left big dents, I noted, but I sighed and let it go.

As Anthea swept and I flew towards the front doors, I gave her a stream of instructions: Make them feel welcome. Make them feel at home. Talk about the mercy of the Kitchen God.

"I know."

Do you?

She stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, forcing a priest to swerve around her, and bared her teeth at me. Their tips had gone pointy again. "Yes, dear. I learned from the best, didn't I?"

If she meant to insult me, it didn't work.

Just so long as you know it. And I petted her on the head.

I was pretty sure she'd have snapped at me (with her teeth, not her vocal cords) if there hadn't been other people around.


"Oh, Pip! You're here! Is Lady Anthea safe?"

Lodia pattered up to me as soon as Anthea's steward cracked open the front door. During the commotion we'd made when the serow scaled the walls, I'd already seen Lodia's pale face peek out the lattice of a second-floor window, so I'd been expecting her to meet me.

Yep, she's fine. She's at the Temple. She has instructions for you, I told the steward, who was trying to shut the door on the serow's nose. Miss – huh, I'd never asked the serow for her name, had I? – my friend there has the letter.

The steward (another camphor tree spirit) let the serow in, and she offered him the slightly wet, folded sheet of paper in her mouth. While he read it and confirmed that his mistress did indeed want him to send her pet poet out into the mob, I asked Lodia, Where's Katu? Are his robes ready?

"Katu's…out back. He's, um, busy. The robes, uh, they're, well…."

Show me.

Leaving the steward to entertain the serow, I rode Lodia's shoulder to her chambers. It looked like a typhoon had swept through a seamstress' workshop. Large pieces of partially embroidered silk lay across every flat surface. I recognized some of the thicker silks and bold, geometric designs as future priest robes. The fine gauze with the delicate chrysanthemum blossoms was probably destined for Anthea's autumn wardrobe. The key point was that not a single piece looked done.

Why are you working on so many things at the same time? I asked, hunting for anything that might be a component of Katu's High Priest robes.

"Oh…. I, um, I just – I get tired – I mean, my brain gets tired of working on the same thing for too long, so I switch between projects…."

At last, under a piece of silk destined for a child-priest's sleeve, I found a basted-together robe that resembled the design for the High Priest's costume that I'd approved eons ago. It had the crimson base and the bold, black panels on the sides that I remembered, and I recognized some of the stylized fruits and grains that were embroidered on the sky-blue cuffs in red, white, black, green, and gold thread – but that was it.

Every square inch of the front of the robes had been covered with scenes depicting life on Earth, from the river that flowed along the hem, to the rice paddies and farmers and water buffalo above it, to the orchards of lychees and other fruit above them, to the houses and open-air markets with shoppers and laborers and street performers that filled the cloth from ankle to waist. Above the waist, she'd embroidered serene gods and goddesses drifting on clouds. The Jade Emperor on His throne took up the whole right side of the chest, but Kitchen God was nearly as big, on the left side over the heart.

Lodia's art reminded me so much of the carved ceiling in the Bureau of Reincarnation, in the audience chamber where I'd been awarded my right to keep my mind. I'd mentioned it once at most in Lodia's hearing, but she'd remembered it. And she'd embroidered her own version of it. I perched on the back of a chair and stared at it for a long, long time.

It's beautiful, I said at last. How long did it take you?

Embarrassed by the praise, she squirmed. "Mmm, I don't really know. I didn't time myself. I just sort of did a bit every day…."

Why didn't you show it to me earlier?

She'd never reported that Katu's robes were complete, or made any attempt to deliver them.

"Oh, it's not done yet."

Are you serious?!

I scanned the fabric again. I didn't see anywhere she could fit more embroidery. But she very carefully turned the robes over to show me the back, where she'd begun an equally intricate scene that depicted the Kitchen God's origins.

The tale I'd heard was an ignominious affair: A human man abandoned his wife for a lover, went blind, got abandoned in turn, and turned to begging to survive. He happened to beg at the house of his ex-wife without realizing it one day. Generous woman that she was, she served him a fine meal anyway, after which Heaven restored his vision so he could see his benefactor's face. Overcome by shame, he flung himself into the hearth and burned himself to death. After that, his overly devoted ex-wife set up an altar to memorialize him above her hearth, and eventually Heaven took pity on him and deified him as the Kitchen God.

(Don't ask me why.)

I opened my beak to tell Lodia that the Kitchen God might not want that sordid tale spread around – and then I shut it.

Because her embroidery told a very different story. It wasn't complete, because she was jumping from scene to scene, but what she'd sketched out was a tragic love story. In the South Serican version of the tale, the bad-tempered future Kitchen God cast out his wife in a fit of rage. She remarried but still loved her first husband, who, meanwhile, turned to begging and searched everywhere for her until he came to her new home. While he was eating the meal she served him, her new husband came home. To preserve her happiness, the first husband flung himself into the hearth and burned himself to death in an act of self-sacrifice. However, his heartbroken ex-wife leapt into the flames after him and burned herself to death too, whereupon the heartbroken new husband leapt into the flames after her and burned himself to death too. And then the Jade Emperor in His Infinite Mercy deified all three of them.

Huh. Star-crossed love and a triple suicide. I guessed it was better than the tale I'd heard?

I didn't know which version of the Kitchen God's origins was true – I didn't plan to ask the god myself, and I doubted I could convince Anthea to do it either – but in the end, it didn't matter.

What mattered was that worshippers felt a connection to the god who had once been a fallible human himself and hence understood human failings (or so they believed), and that they felt moved to dedicate offerings to him.

This could work.

Armed with Floridiana's official text, Katu's song cycle and dramatic sermons, and Lodia's genius for artistic celebration of the Kitchen God (oh, and Anthea's money too), I could make this work.

It was a shame that the embroidered tale wasn't close to complete. The rioters weren't going to wait a month for Lodia the perfectionist to deem it adequate.

I considered it for a moment, then came to a decision.

All right. I know the robes aren't done yet, but can you baste a cape or something to hide the back? Because we need Katu to play High Priest right NOW.

A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Blacklark57, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Hookshyu, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
 
Chapter 128: Invented Theology
Chapter 128: Invented Theology

"Right now?" Lodia's voice came out as a barely comprehensible squeak.

Unfortunately, yes, I told her.

"Oh, but I – I don't – I can't – " The girl was twisting her fingers into one another and wringing her hands again, just like she always did when confronted by the existence of an outside world.

This wouldn't do. I needed the Lodia I'd seen the night of the Battle of Lychee Grove, the one who pulled herself together in a crisis and acted. Now, how had I gotten her to do that again? Let's see….

I'd woken her up from a sound sleep. Then I'd told her that there was an army in the forest, poised to attack her home and kill everyone she loved. It really wasn't so different from our current situation.

Look, Lodia, an angry mob is converging on the palace.

She bit her lip, looked down at her fingers, and started fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve. "I know…. Lady Anthea – she went to…to assist Her Majesty. In managing the mob…."

Oh, was that what Anthea called panicking and running straight to me?

I know. She came to me for assistance.

To my everlasting gratification, Lodia's whole face lit up. Well, I had saved her hometown, after all.

I don't know if Anthea ever told you this, but the two of us used to live in the City of Dawn Song. We were there when the dynasty fell. (Sort of, anyway. I, at least, had stayed almost to the end.) So we've seen angry mobs before, and we can tell when one of them is…angry enough to threaten a government.

The girl's lips parted, but no sound came out, not even a strangled squeak.

But precisely because the two of us have seen this situation before, we are in a unique position to recognize it and reverse it. My plan is to use the Temple to pacify everyone.

"The Temple?" Lodia's voice quavered, but her eyes focused on me, and I could tell she was beginning to think logically. "How will you use the Temple to calm them down?"

She pointed at the window, through which we could hear the din of the mob. Based on the deep, dull, reverberating thuds, pangolin spirits were trying to beat down Anthea's gates too. But based on the way the gates held, she, too, had hired a mage to reinforce them.

As a matter of fact, I've already pacified the rioters around the Temple. We even invited them in for tea and cakes.

"For tea and cakes?"

I couldn't blame Lodia for her disbelief. Across the street, a wave of humans and spirits had engulfed a mansion and were howling for torches to burn it to the ground. Terrified servants were clinging to the roof and pleading for mercy.

Yep. For tea and cakes, I confirmed. The last missing piece now is for Katu to give his sermon, to inspire them.

(And also to entertain them and distract them from the issues that had triggered the riot in the first place. As one of the Imperial philosophers used to say all the time, "Rice and circuses, rice and circuses.")

For that, Katu's going to need to look the part of the High Priest, which means he needs his robes. They don't have to be perfect. They don't even have to be complete! They just have to look good enough from a distance. After things settle down, you can finish that gorgeous embroidery! I added when Lodia's face crumpled.

"Oh…I see. I see…."

To my everlasting relief, the girl didn't protest that the robes had to be perfect for their first public appearance. Instead, she picked them up by the shoulders, held them up at arms' length, and scowled at them. No, squinted. She really spent too much time cooped up indoors, sewing in poor light. We had to do something about her vision. I'd discuss it with Floridiana – once we were no longer on the cusp of being bludgeoned or burned to death by an angry mob.

"I haven't lined it yet, but that's okay…," Lodia was mumbling to herself. "I could add a cape – if it drapes like that, it would hide most of the back – maybe I should just finish the embroidery at the waist – ?"

No, no, the embroidery's fine, I told her before she could succumb to perfectionism again. Katu will be standing on a platform, so no one's going to get close enough to see the details.

"Mmmm, yes, I suppose if they're far away, they can't tell it's not done…. Oh! But there's no sash! I hadn't decided yet what color to use for the sash!"

If we had to wait for her to pick a color, decide on the width of the sash, cut the silk, and then sew it, Jullia's government would fall first.

Scanning the room, I spotted a scarlet belt sewn with disks of gold. That! We can use that for now!

"That one? But that's for Lady Anthea's next banquet…." She pursed her lips and held the sash against the robes, assessing the colors and patterns. "I don't know…. Does it really match?"

No, but from a distance, it would suffice. (Wow, was I really saying that?) It was okay. All I needed it to do was to suffice for the space of one single sermon.

Yes, of course! The gold disks will look gorgeous in the sun! It doesn't have to be perfect, remember. It only needs to look good enough for now.

I nearly added, Time is of the essence, but I bit it back. If I pressured her more, she might fall apart.

"Yes, yes, you're right. All right, I'll just sew on a cape really fast and, um…." Her voice trailed off again, but this time it was because she was already too absorbed in her work to finish the sentence.

Perfect! I chirped. I'll just go talk to Katu while you're finishing up here.

"Mmhmm…."

I didn't think she heard a word I said, but that was as it should have been.


So where was Katu in all of this mess, you might be asking? Why hadn't he rushed to the front door to demand the news and spew a stream of unsolicited opinions on what had led to the riot, what the government had done wrong and was continuing to do wrong, and what it needed to do to fix the kingdom?

I got my answers when I flew past a sitting room (not the nicest one, which was reserved for higher-ranking visitors) and spotted a maid serving tea to a trembling serow spirit.

"Oh! There you are!" cried the serow, nearly knocking the tea-bowl over in her relief.

I gave her a quick nod, then asked the maid, Where's Len Katullus?

The maid's tense expression bloomed into full-on panic. "Oh, please, spirit, if you could stop Master Katullus! He's going to get himself killed!"

Yep, that sounded like our Katu.

What's he doing now to get himself killed?

" 'Now'…?" she faltered, before she pulled herself together. "He's arguing with the rioters! Out back. I'll take you. Please, spirits, you have to stop him. The steward forbade the Back Gatekeeper from opening the doors, but Master Katullus is, um, he's talking to them. From the top of the gate."

And indeed he was.

If I'd been a spirit, I'd have heard him from the front of the mansion, because he wasn't making any attempt to not be heard by everyone in all directions. Quite the opposite, in fact.

" – Absolutely correct! But this isn't the right way to go about it!" I heard him shout.

Katu, as the maid had warned, was poised atop the tiled roof of the gate, his long, glossy black hair and wide silk sleeves billowing in the wind. And where was this wind coming from? From all the butterfly spirits who were flapping their wings to stay aloft as they listened to him.

Oh, Katu. Always ready to preach to any audience.

Soaring higher myself, I got a good view of the humans and spirits who were packed into the alley behind the mansion. Some were listening warily to him, while others were screaming curses up at him. But at least none of them were attacking the back gate.

"We must make our views known in a peaceful manner! That is the only way they will take us seriously! Violence is not the solution!" he called, unperturbed by their boos and jeers.

I supposed that all those arguments with the Lychee Grove gran'pas and grannies stood him in good stead now. While this audience was happy to hurl insults about his lineage and his legitimacy and the legal standing of his mother, at least none of them were poking him with canes.

"A pox on the Council!"

"Down with the Council!"

On the bright side, at least they weren't chanting "Down with the Queen!" yet. Treason would be more inconvenient to deal with.

If only I'd brought Bobo with me. I needed to talk to Katu, but I didn't want to do it in full view of the mob and earshot of all those spirits. And I didn't want to explain to the serow spirit why I needed her to put on a ventriloquist act.

The white-faced maid, who was cringing back against the door, was my best option. She'd assume that I was far too grand to fetch a mere poet myself.

Miss, I said to her, keeping up the pretense of courtesy for the serow's benefit, if you would please inform the High Priest that he is needed urgently at the Temple to the Kitchen God?

As I'd expected, the maid didn't think anything of my request. Indeed, my politeness made her even more willing to obey. She tiptoed a few steps away from the door towards the gate, and called, "Honored High Priest! Your presence is requested urgently at the Temple to the Kitchen God!"

Startled, Katu lost his balance. For a terrifying moment, I thought he was going to fall off the gate and break his neck, but then the butterfly spirits swooped forward. They surrounded him, supported him with their bodies, and beat their wings to hold him up until he regained his footing. He swept them a deep bow, his tunic fluttering in counterpoint to their wings.

Some of the jeers turned into cheers and applause.

Aha. I could incorporate butterflies into the imagery of the Kitchen God! "The emissaries of the Kitchen God," perhaps. The creatures were pretty enough, and they were such a standard motif that Lodia had included them in the priest robes' embroidery. Now I had a more satisfying explanation for why there were butterflies on the robes besides: "Our costume designer likes them."

While I was busy inventing theology, Katu swept a deep bow to the butterfly spirits. Then he pressed his palms together in front of his chest, as if he were praying before an altar. "I wish I could continue our debate – " only Katu would call yelling at a mob a debate – "but I must go to the Temple to the Kitchen God now!" Perhaps remembering the song cycle he'd written and all its descriptions of the god's infinite compassion, he shouted, "All who wish to follow me are welcome!"

The serow spirit, showing more courage than I'd given her credit for, called up to him, "The Temple let in lots of people for food and drinks too!"

Surprise flashed across Katu's face, but he recovered swiftly and flung his arms wide as if to embrace the mob. "The Temple hath thrown open its gates to all who seek shelter! Come, good people of Goldhill! Let us hie to the Temple! I vow to you all, before He Who Intercedes, that you will be heard! I, the Voice of the Divine Intercessor, will make your voices heard!"

And then, carried away by his own rhetoric, he leaped off the gate into the middle of the angry mob.

A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Blacklark57, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Hookshyu, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
 
Piri is in the unique position of having been a villainess now begrudgingly on the side of good. What this means is that she now has access to the power of Idiocy-powered Shonen Protag BSery.

She's not happy about it, but... fuck it. If it works, it works.
 
*Stares*
Well assuming the butterflies actually catch him AGAIN, that will be quite the impressive display.
I'm pretty sure even if they do he still has a robe from Lodia to pick up, Dangit!

That's what will go through Piri's head as soon as she stops panicking that he finally got himself killed!

Piri is in the unique position of having been a villainess now begrudgingly on the side of good. What this means is that she now has access to the power of Idiocy-powered Shonen Protag BSery.

She's not happy about it, but... fuck it. If it works, it works.

Haha, very much so! She's got a goal in mind, and she'll take whatever help she can get!
 
Chapter 129: He Who Intercedes (and Provides Free Food and Drink)
Chapter 129: He Who Intercedes (and Provides Free Food and Drink)

I gave a strangled shriek. That idiot! Who held the high ground and then jumped off it into the middle of an angry mob? Was Katu trying to get himself killed?

But apparently the mob was just as shocked as I was, because before it could trample or tear him to pieces – or just stand back and let him break his neck – the butterfly spirits dove after him. They surrounded him midair, beating their multi-colored wings to slow his fall, so that when he landed, it wasn't too heavily. It could have been more graceful – he did pitch forward before the butterflies steadied him and pushed him back on his feet – but it worked.

And no one mobbed him. Maybe the rioters weren't sure what to make of this idiot poet either.

Katu threw back his head, flung his arms into the air, and shouted, "Come, good people of Goldhill! Let us seek the aid of the Divine Intercessor! Let us hie to the Temple!" He set off down the alley, trailing butterflies. The spirits seemed to have decided that here was a human who needed adopting.

His way was blocked by masses of people, but he strode at them as if he expected them to part for him – and they did. Then, miraculously, they fell in behind him.

I gaped after him, my thoughts in a churn. This wasn't how I envisioned the High Priest's arrival at the Temple, but it was working. I couldn't break his momentum. Who knew what would happen if I broke the (non-magical) spell he'd cast over the mob? But his robes! He needed his High Priest robes!

I zipped back through the air to the serow. He led them away! He's leading them to the Temple! Quick, we have to get his robes and meet him there!

We dashed to Lodia's workroom, where – mercy of mercies – she'd cut and hemmed a cape and was now basting it onto the robes. (Even her "basting stitches" were straight and even and for anyone else would have counted as normal stitches.)

Lodia, Lodia, we have to get to the Temple right now!

"Now? But I'm not done! I need five more minutes!"

(For her, that meant at least ten. Maybe an hour, even.)

There's no time! Katu's leading the mob to the Temple right now! We have to get there before he does so we can get him into his robes and fill him in on what's happening. He's winging the whole thing.

"He's leading them to the Temple? Katu left? He's outside?" With every question, Lodia's voice lifted higher into a shriek.

As abruptly as Katu had jumped off the gate, she leaped to her feet and started bundling up the robe and her sewing box.

"We have to go after him!"

What? No! You're not coming! It's too dangerous out there. Just finish the robe and we'll take it!

Lodia's chin jutted mulishly, the way it had that time right before she cut up her own embroidery. "No. If it's safe enough for Katu to be on the streets, it's safe enough for me to be on the streets."

That does not make any sense whatsoev–

"And besides, I have you."

Well.

After that, how could I deny her?


And that was how the three of us returned to the Temple, with me clinging to the serow's horns, and Lodia clinging to the serow's neck, and the robes, which had come loose during the wild run, flapping behind us like a warlord's banner. It must have been quite a sight, because as the serow bounded across the tops of gates and garden walls, rioters stopped to stare, point, and shout. Hands reached out to grab her legs, but she kicked them away, and we arrived safe and sound, if somewhat windblown and frazzled.

In my absence, someone, probably Floridiana, had conscripted the brawnier ex-rioters into guarding the Temple gates. They'd started up a security checkpoint of sorts.

"Here now, you can't take that inside," one of them was telling a human who clutched a rusty spear. "Put it there." And he pointed at a pile of makeshift weaponry that ranged from pitchforks to rolling pins.

"But it was me grandda's!" the human was protesting. "What if someone steals it?"

"We'll keep an eye on it."

"But – "

"Put it there, or don't go in. Your choice."

The man dithered, but in the end, he carefully, carefully propped the spear against the wall and went through the gates. Free food: It got them every time.

The serow was about to jump down into the street to join the line of people entering the Temple, but I stopped her. It's all right, we're Temple personnel, we don't have to check in. Just go over the wall.

As we leaped from the neighbor's wall onto ours, the clatter attracted the guards' attention. One shouted, but another told him, "It's all right, it's Miss Caprina."

Oh good, finally I'd learned the serow's name.

Katu's coming with more guests! I called to Floridiana and Bobo. He'll be here soon!

"Lodia! What are you doing here?" cried Floridiana, before she turned on me. "Why in the names of all the gods – I mean, in the name of the Kitchen God – did you drag Lodia here? All you needed were the robes!"

The girl was already tumbling off Miss Caprina's back, clutching the robes to her chest to make sure the sleeves didn't drag on the ground. "It's not Pip's fault, I insisted. May I borrow your desk?" Without waiting for an answer, she trotted towards our workroom.

I petted the serow on the forehead, just in front of her horns. Thank you for your assistance, Miss Caprina. We couldn't have done it without you. Camphorus Unus, do be a dear and get her refreshments, please?

As the steward led her away, Anthea came slinking out of whatever hole she'd been hiding in. "Where's Katu?"

No thanks or even an attempt to express any kind of thanks, I noted. With Miss Caprina out of earshot, I dropped my act.

On his way. Leading a horde of rioters who were attacking your back gate, I might add. You owe him thanks for saving your house.

She simply nodded, accepting that as her due. Seriously, did the raccoon dog expect her household to run suicidal risks to save her property and movable goods? I certainly didn't ask anything close to so unreasonable of my staff.

"Good," Anthea proclaimed, as smug as if she had directed these operations. "Oh, Camphorus Septimus! I mean, Unus. Go make sure the guards let in Katu, okay? He'll be here any minute now."

I whirled to find my steward already back from my previous instructions.

Ordering my staff around now? I asked icily.

Floridiana's eyes darted between my face and Anthea's. The mage muttered something about inventorying the spices in the pantry and fled.

Anthea, however, met my glare head on. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you become High Priestess of this Temple when I wasn't paying attention? Last time I checked, this is my Temple and everyone here is in my employ. Including you."

Whaaaaaaaat?!

"I hired you to establish this Temple for me, didn't I? And you subcontracted to all these people on my behalf."

Was that how her worldview worked?

"Let me remind you: The funding for all of this comes from my coffers."

I was flapping my wings and bobbing up and down in fury, but that stopped me short. It was true. Anthea was bankrolling this entire operation. Did that make her – my boss?

No.

Definitely not.

I did not work for Anthea.

I was more like a – a minstrel. Or a freelance painter. I had no boss. I merely, um, took commissions, which I could pick and choose at will, and executed my artistic vision to the glorification of those patrons who had the discernment to appreciate and sponsor my fine work.

Yes. That was definitely it. That was what any objective observer would say.

But hey, if Anthea wanted to believe that she was in charge, and if that delusion kept the funding coming so I could execute my plans – that was what mattered, wasn't it? I could swallow my pride when I had to, and shine when I had to.

Somehow, though, it felt like I'd been swallowing my pride a lot more than shining lately.


Katu, on the other hand, glittered like a minor god when he strode out the front doors of the Temple. The sunlight struck the gold plates on his sash and reflected off the glossy silk. The riot of colors dazzled the eye. Around his head and shoulders fluttered the butterflies, their wings generating a breeze that stirred his hair and attire and made them wave gently.

"There he is!" shouted one of the erstwhile rioters. "The High Priest himself!"

A hush spread through the courtyard. People lowered their teacups or froze with teacakes crammed halfway into their mouths. (Said people included my child priests, who had apparently reverted to form in my absence.)

Under my claws, I felt Katu's shoulder stiffen. You can do this. Just pretend you're in Lychee Grove, I whispered in his ear before taking off.

After an instant of hesitation, Katu raised his arms in that gesture he'd used after leaping off Anthea's back gate. His voice boomed with confidence. "Welcome, friends! Well met in the Temple to the Kitchen God, before the altar of He Who Intercedes!"

He met the eyes of random people in the crowd and smiled at them, as if he were addressing each one personally. Those chosen individuals stood up straighter, proud to be singled out, curious what he would say next.

I, too, wanted to know how he'd segue to the sermon that he'd been drafting and tearing up. As I scanned his audience, I noticed Lodia hovering in the shadows just inside the front door, hands twisted into her skirts.

I flew over to perch on her shoulder and rubbed the crown of my head against her neck to reassure her. It's all right. He knows what he's doing.

"Does he?" she whispered, barely moving her lips. "What if he says something wrong? What if they turn on him? What if they attack him?"

They won't. Trust him. Trust the image he projects, that you helped him project. He's captured their imaginations now. It'll be fine. You'll see.

Katu was supposed to stand on the platform for his sermon, but he seemed to have decided to stay on the top step. Although he would have been visible to more people on the platform, the Temple façade formed an impressive backdrop, and the wide-open doors behind him sent their own message.

Katu lowered his arms and extended them towards the crowd, as if to embrace them. "Tell me, friends, of all the places in the capital where we could have sought help, why did we come to the Temple? Why did we seek sanctuary here?"

Perhaps he meant his questions to be rhetorical, but his audience was not so learned, or reverent.

"'Cuz there's free food here!" some wit shouted back.

Lodia winced. Floridiana smiled thinly. Chuckles rose from the audience, and Katu laughed along with them.

Silken footsteps moved past me, and without looking, I put out a wing to stop Anthea. Don't meddle. You'll ruin his momentum.

"The rudeness! The disrespect!" she fumed.

He has it under control. Just watch.

And indeed, Katu responded swiftly to the joke. "Yes! Because the Kitchen God provides for us all! Not just free food and tea, but also shelter and safety: These he grants to all, even to those who trespass upon his generosity."

Taking his meaning, his audience looked down and shuffled their feet.

"His mercy is infinite! His compassion knows no bounds! All hail the Divine Intercessor!"

Katu moved a few steps out, raised his arms above his head once more, and let the sunlight fall full upon the gold and embroidery and glittery butterfly wings about him, and the crowd burst into cheers. "All hail the Divine Intercessor! All hail the Divine Intercessor!" they roared.

If you can get your god to show up, now would be a very good time, I joked at Anthea, expecting a retort that gods didn't pop up like mushrooms on pine roots.

Instead, I got dead silence.

That was a joke, Anthea. Anthea?

When I turned, she was frozen. Not a single fur on her ears twitched. I followed her gaze across the foyer, through the doorway into the main hall, and all the way across the main hall to the image of the Kitchen God on the altar.

It had begun to glow gold.

Uh-oh.

A/N: Thanks to my awesome Patreon backers, Autocharth, BananaBobert, Blacklark57, Celia, Charlotte, Edward, Hookshyu, Ike, Lindsey, Michael, TheLunaticCo, and Anonymous!
 

She simply nodded, accepting that as her due. Seriously, did the raccoon dog expect her household to run suicidal risks to save her property and movable goods? I certainly didn't ask anything close to so unreasonable of my staff.
I call bullshit.
If you can get your god to show up, now would be a very good time, I joked at Anthea, expecting a retort that gods didn't pop up like mushrooms on pine roots.

Instead, I got dead silence.

That was a joke, Anthea. Anthea?

When I turned, she was frozen. Not a single fur on her ears twitched. I followed her gaze across the foyer, through the doorway into the main hall, and all the way across the main hall to the image of the Kitchen God on the altar.

It had begun to glow gold.

Uh-oh.
Dammit Piri, how has a joke like that not bitten you in the ass back when it was fluffy?
 
Well.
I have to say, Katu might have more showmanship then sense but he seems to have done the job, and even gotten the Kitchen God's attention.
What I would like to ask is why Piri is going 'uh-oh'. He's not about to torpedo what Piri's got going on here right…?
 
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