The Rise of the Raccoon Queen
Or The Big Grey Fluffy Butt Matter

A Story of Faerie
© 2020 by M. Mitchell Marmel

(Additional characters by E.O. Costello and W.D. Reimer.)
Thumbnail art by  tegerio, color by  marmelmm


Part Twenty-seven.



Winterbough:

The Wolf Queen – pardon me, Sergeant Missy Sage – and I now had someone to talk to, so after settling the bill that Dinar had left for us we headed for the City Clerk’s office.

[Note appended to manuscript: “Hey! What about me?”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “What, Ooo-er?”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “I wasn’t done yet.”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “You weren’t?”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Nope.”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Oh. I thought you were, sorry.”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “I hadn’t finished where me and Tessie made some friends and had lunch.”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Yes, and what about Naomi?”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Naomi? What are you on about, Matt?”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Oh, you want to know about Naomi? Well, she was a fine figure of a collie. Took a tramp off into the woods, many years ago, and was never seen again. We always thought she might’ve been a little crazy to take a tramp with her, but that was her business. If you’ll give me a bit of brandy, Master, I’ll be happy – OW!”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Wolfess?! What the ______?”]

[Note appended to manuscript: "That's for the 'Shirley Shrine' you served me back at Antecor. Be grateful it was only a wedgie.”]

[Note appended to manuscript: "Well, with that chest, you looked under - AWP!"]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Wolfess, please? Later? Thank you. Ooo-er? Would you like to wait, and take it up later?”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Hmm, okay.”]

I was reasonably certain, although I didn’t mention it to Missy, that Tessie and Ooo-er were having a jolly time so far in Eastness.

[Note appended to manuscript: “We were.”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Tessie?”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Yes, Master?”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Hush.”]

Most of the government buildings in Eastness had been destroyed as we were leaving the city, as I recall. The ones that mattered were either rebuilt or relocated, so it took a few questions to find the right place.

A neatly-dressed secretary in the anteroom smiled as we walked in. “May I help you?” the rabbit doe asked.

“Yes,” the Sergeant said, “we’d like to speak with Mr. Flowers, please.”

“He’s not seeing anyone right now,” and she stood up. “I’ll see if he’ll speak with you.” She gave the wolfess a measuring glance and flicked her flag at her before she knocked on the inner door and slipped inside.

Missy flicked her ears and said to me in Elf-mind, “Nice tailfur, but I’m in enough trouble. Business before pleasure.” She glared at me, as if daring me to take the piss. I just nodded.

She appeared only slightly disappointed.

The doe stepped out of the office. “Mister Flowers will see you.”

Like Dinar said, Flowers was a squirrel, dressed in a light gray tweed suit accentuated by a bright red cravat. He sat back from his scroll-piled desk and folded his paws over his stomach. “Good afternoon!” he said cheerfully. “I’m Maylon Flowers. How can I help you?” He gestured for us to sit down.

I made the introductions and said, “We’d like to talk to you about the upcoming elections. Specifically, who the candidates are.”

“Splendid!” the rodent said, “But I’m afraid that I’m not the one to talk to about that.” He looked left and right, and his voice gets conspiratorial. "You'll have to talk to Mr. Parrott." He reached down to his left, and came up with a sock puppet of a bird on his left paw.

The sock was gray, but it had to be admitted that it had beautiful plumage.

Missy and I exchanged a look. “Er – “ I started to say.

The sock puppet grimaced. “My associate said that you have some questions for me,” it said in a thin, reedy voice. Mr. Flowers was back at his paperwork, and appeared oblivious to us. “Questions about the election?”

Flowers’ lips never moved.

“Um, er, that is – “

“We’d like to know who the candidates are,” Missy said. She hadn’t so much as stirred a hair at the notion of talking to a sock puppet.

Parrott said, “Ah, yes. We have certain criteria that have to be met, not the least of which is that a prospect must have no connection whatever to the reign of the last King. Most of the candidates passed and are on the ballot, but there has been a late entrant.”

All the while Parrott was talking, Flowers had been drinking from a glass of water and absorbedly reading.

“A late entry?” I asked. “Is that usual?”

“It doesn’t happen too often, no, but Mister Byrde met all of the criteria.”

A functionary slipped into the office and he and Flowers were having a low-voiced conversation as I asked, “Byrde? An avian, I guess?”

“Oh yes!” Parrott replied at the same time Flowers was talking. “Kindred soul, as it were. A hawk, if I remember rightly. He had strong financial backing, and was accompanied by his advisor, a Mister Fatskweeks,” he added as the functionary walked out and Flowers had started humming a tune. “He’ll also have a lute band with him.” A dry chuckle. “Anything to attract attention and get the voters to listen to you. Makes Deliverance Day a fun occasion.”

The last name indicated a Lower Vulpitanian, which was confirmation enough for me. Missy asked, “Isn’t ‘Fatskweeks’ an unusual name for this area?”

“Yes, it is,” the sock puppet replied. “But we get people coming in from all over nowadays. Eastness is getting stronger and better now that the Light shines on us again.”

“I see.” Missy got to her feet. “Thank you very much, Mr. Parrott.”

Parrott looked up at her. “No problem at all, Miss Sage.”

I got to my hooves and followed the wolfess to the door. She suddenly paused and said, “Oh, just one more thing, sir: Do you know where this Mister Byrde is staying?”

“Oh, well . . . ah.” The squirrel leaned in and whispered to the sock puppet. “Thank you, Flowers. Mister Byrde is staying at Mrs. Miggins’ Boarding House, on Griffin Street.”

Missy smiled. “Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome. Seriously, Flowers, you talk too much . . . “ The sock puppet started talking to the owner of the paw as we closed the office door.

I locked my Elf-mind down tightly, and from the look on her face Missy had done the same. We were headed for the door when the secretary waved at us to come closer. As soon as we were across the desk from her she beckoned to us to lean in closer and said sotto voce, “He had you talk to Mr. Parrott, did he? Poor Mr. Flowers,” she said when we nodded.

“What’s wrong with him?” the wolfess asked.

The rabbit glanced at the closed door before replying, “His father was a blacksmith, and accidentally hit him with a hammer when he was young. He’s literally of two minds about things.” She looked thoughtful. “But it does have a few good things about it. He’s his own assistant, and he knows the difference between butter and a dead crab.”

We thanked her for this budget of information and left the building. It wasn’t until we were two blocks away when Missy broke her silence.

“Twits. I think they’re spreading, and soon the whole of the Shining Land will be hip-deep in them.”

“By the Lady, I hope not.”

“So. Griffin Street.” She glanced at me. “Your thoughts?”

“Mine? You’re the Sergeant.”

She glowered at me. “All right, then. We try to find out what they’re planning, as opposed to kicking the door down and sending them all to the Netherhells.”

“Good idea,” I said. “We sort out how to get that information when we get there?”

“Yes.”


***


Tali:

Yes, things were going predictably.

This is to say that Matt and I had a little success with the list of names. One or two furs had looked suspiciously at us until I explained that Dorotea and Lisbet had asked us to help, and they opened up. This ‘Elves Don’t Lie’ dictum seems to be a thing no matter where you go in Faerie.

Or it could just be the path of least resistance – honesty is the best policy, after all.

One of the people was a nice young mouse femme, a housewife who talked to us while she fussed over her two infant children. Matt talked to her while I kept an eye on my mate. Bear or not, mouse-femmes are a weakness of his, and one notable mission ended with him in the hospital as a result of running afoul of a sneaky little so-and-so.

I never did find out where she had been keeping that pistol.

Matt stroked his short beard and asked, “So you’re saying that you’ve heard this ‘Byrde’ fellow talking?”

“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Musine said earnestly. “He had a meeting in one of the public houses here in the district. He said that the Council wasn’t effective because there so many different furs on it, and so many different interests. You know, the North-by-Southwest District does ask for more money all the time . . . anyway, Mr. Byrde said that he had a really simple plan.”

“Did he?”

The mouse nodded as she tucked her second little one in. The first one was already asleep. She lowered her voice and gently shooed us into the next room before saying, “He said that he’d lower taxes, and that Eastness still had some problems, even after the – “ and here she dropped her voice almost to a whisper “ – Ospreys, and only he could fix them.”

“Did he?” Matt asked. My mate is always polite, and a great listener. He glanced at me, and I gave a flip of my tail, sort of a nod.

We courteously took our leave of Mrs. Musine and headed south (I think; Elvish directions can be tricky) to the location of our next contact. “You heard, of course,” Matt said.

I nodded. “When I start hearing single furs seeking political office claiming that they’re the only ones who can fix things, I feel the urge to get the hell out of the alternity.”

“So we agree? We run a Number Six on Mister Byrde?” I outrank him in two directions (active vs. retired, wife vs. husband), so he’s deferring to my judgment.

See why I love him?

“I think we should wait on the heavy artillery, for now,” I said. Yes, I’m learning restraint in my old age. “Sage and Winterbough are working another angle, and I want to see how it all links together.” Matt nodded, and we went on our way.

We tracked down the next person at a district Temple of the Brilliant Light, and this time Matt kept an eye on me. The priestess was a feline, with jet black fur, bright gold eyes and curves in every one of the right places, and not a stitch on. It took an effort, but I was a good girl.

I’d take it out on Matt later.

The priestess basically confirmed what Mrs. Musine had told us, but as we said our good-byes she turned to face the sun for a moment and said quietly, “There is a shadow.”

“A ‘shadow?’” I asked.

She nodded and turned to face us. “The Light is cleansing Eastness, but . . . there are still shadows,” she said, “and those who wish to cultivate them.” She wouldn’t say any more after that.

I just love it when furs go all cryptic and oracular on a girl.

It was starting to get on towards suppertime, so we decided to head back to DelFurrio’s. “We’ve gotten about halfway through the list,” Matt remarked. He looked at me. “Tell me.”

“What?”

“The Wolf Queen.” He showed his teeth in a grin. “How was she?”

“A lady never tells.”

The grin widened. “I’m not asking a lady.”

“Ooh, you’re going to get it when we get back to the shop,” I said. “And even if I told you, you’ll never get past first base. She doesn’t like boys,” I reminded him.

“Nertz.”

After about a quarter-hour I said, “She was great,” and we both started laughing.

The first sign something was up at DelFurrio’s was the sight of Lisbet and Dorotea leaning against the counter with long-suffering expressions on their faces and rolling their eyes.

The second sign was the sound of mustelid rage (and pain?) mixed with canine invective.

“They’ve been at it for an hour now, Commander,” Dorotea said.

“Fighting?” I asked.

Lisbet shook her head. “You’ll see.” See above, about being cryptic, so Matt and me went into the back of the shop.

“OW!”

“Hold still!”

Michael was sitting in a chair, his jumpsuit spattered with grime, blood and what looked like various condiments (no mayonnaise, though) and fussing while Fred tended to a cut over the mink’s eye. Michael’s straw boater had seen much better days, and his eyeglasses were a total loss. Fred, on the other paw, looked fresh as a daisy.

“Hi, Commander,” Fred said as he suddenly grabbed his compatriot by the ear with a gloved paw to steady him while he dabbed at the cut in Michael’s left eyebrow. “I said, hold still so I can clean this.” He was smiling, but talking through bared teeth.

“I could use the autodoc – ow!”

“I just recertified on my Combat Medic training,” the canine growled, “so I’m taking advantage.” He spared me and Matt a glance. “I decided to go over to the post-ball field.”

“Strike out at the Hetaira’s Union?” Matt asked.

Fred grinned and his tail wagged. “Nope, business before pleasure you know? I spent some of the time talking, and a lot more listening.” He winked as he finished cleaning the cut. “I’ll be headed over there tonight, though.”

“So, the postball?” I prompted.

“Yeah. I get over there, and there’s a near riot in progress, with Michael here in the middle of it.”

"Should’ve seen the other half-dozen guys. How was I supposed to know you don't put ketchup on hot dogs, here?" the mink asked.

“Heh, yeah, right. After getting things sorted out I found out he started it by insulting their star batman.”

“Oh?” Matt asked.

Fred nodded as he stripped his gloves off. “They had a poster of him and his girlfriend – a bit skinny, but no accounting for taste, eh? – and I’m told that he looks it up and down and then says, "She needs a good lunch, and he needs a hitting game."

“Well, anyone could see that it's pretty clear he doesn't recognize a curve when he sees one," the mink said defensively.

“That caused an argument,” Fred remarked. “What triggered the near-riot was him suddenly declaring that no post-ball hitter could equal Will Flambleberry.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Will Flambleberry,” Michael said, scowling at Fred. “He hit 80 runs in a single game, was so poor he lived in a kettle, and used to clean the stadium after games by himself.” He huffed a breath and added, “With a toothbrush.”

“Fascinating,” I said in a deadpan voice. “Go and get yourself cleaned up. Sage and Winterbough back yet?” I asked Lisbet.

“Not yet, Ma’am.”

“Okay. We’ll wait for them to get back, and go over things while we have dinner.” I turned to Matt and plucked the beret from his head. “In the meantime, you and I have things to do.”

Matt smiled and stroked his beard.


***


Ooo-er:

"What are those small bits of paper floating on the surface?" I asked a lupine mel who was having his lunch beside the river.

Yes, we’d obviously found it.

He took his pipe out of his mouth and said, "Those are the notices that bathing is forbidden." He squinted up at me and Tessie, and his smile said that he very much liked what he saw. “If you come down to the river, you can bet you’re gonna find some people who live. We don’t hold much with folk telling Elves they can’t do something.” He eyed Tessie again. “You two here for the fair?”

“I suppose, yes,” Tessie replied.

The wolf chuckled. “You two are dressed for it, like as not.” He threw a bit of bread into the river, and there was a swirl in the clear brown water.

Yes, it’s called the Blue Onoob, but it’s brown. No one knows why it’s called ‘Blue.’

“We were told to stay away from the Yellow Onoob,” Tessie said.

“There’s a reason it’s yellow.”

“Yes.”

“Tanneries.”

Tessie said, “Ew.”

She explained it to me, and I said “Ew.”

We thanked the wolf, and Tessie and I moved a ways downstream. “Are you going in?” I asked while tucking my pearls into my Elfintory.

Tessie shook her head. “I want to have a talk with the Regalia,” she said, “and then we need to need to see about dinner and a place to spend the night.”

“Gotcha. I just want to get wet,” and with that I plunged into the river.

Mother of the Sea, the water felt terrific! I twisted and circled and played catch-you-catch-me with my tail and with a small fish (not even a mouthful, so I just played), and I was just having fun until I heard a series of chirps. Yes, sound can travel in the water.

I twisted around and saw a mel otter, nice-looking guy too. He held a fish-spear in one paw and had a net bag full of fish hanging from his belt.

“{friend[stranger] / [greetings] / understanding[query][polite]}” I ventured, speaking Wetspeak.

“{friend[stranger][beautiful] / [greetings][polite] / understanding[clear]}” he replied. His accent was a little strange to me, but I could understand him. “{purpose[query][you] / river[query][curiosity]}”

[Note appended to manuscript: “This is fascinating.”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Wetspeak has so much more nuance than Standard, but I’m going to relate it in Standard from now on.”]

“May I fish here?” I asked. It’s courteous to ask.

He nodded. “There’s plenty of fish in the river, and enough for everyone,” he replied. “I’m just getting more for my parent’s restaurant.”

“Really?” Tessie would love it.





<NEXT>

<PREVIOUS>

<FIRST>