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 Thirty-seven.


Tali:

The blahs band was taking five. From the look of it, it took a lot of energy to play a baglute – if playing is the right word; it looked more like wrestling.

The lull in the music enabled my hearing to recover in time to hear a salesman hawking sweets. I walked over to take a look, with Missy trailing behind after glaring daggers at the boys in the band.

I grinned when I got to the booth, because the sweets were sculpted likenesses of the Wolf Queen, impaled on sticks. More than a few depicted her without armor, and in a variety of positions. I pointed at one of them as the salesman smiled. “How many licks does it take to get to the . . .” I let my voice trail off and wiggled my eyebrows at him.

The gray tabby feline replied, “The world would like to know. Especially me.” He leered. “The Wolf Queen’s likeness is our best seller."

That drew Missy’s attention, and from her expression I couldn’t tell whether she was going to get angry, or demand royalties. I decided to distract her by pointing at a certain spot. “I didn't know you could get pink sugar in these parts.” A beat. “Or those parts, as it were.”

Missy looked at me, her tail snapping back and forth, and faced the seller. “I’ll take two,” and she dropped a few copper coins on the counter. The sweets were given to her, and she passed one to me before taking an experimental lick.

Yes, there.

“Hmm,” she hummed judiciously, before taking another lick – not there – and smiled. “Surprisingly good,” she said.

I tried mine. Tasty.

Just then I heard a double click in one ear. Missy saw me stiffen and asked, “What?”

I grinned. “Showtime.”


***


Winterbough:

SALV Fatskweeks paused, his whistle to his lips.

I paused, one paw in my Elfintory and ready to draw my short-staff.

Matt paused, goggling up at the mink.

Byrde paused before asking, “What are you objecting to, young man?”

Clearly Michael hadn’t expected this. “Um . . . “ the mink dithered for a moment. He suddenly snapped to attention, pointed and shouted, “Elves Don’t Lie! You are seeking election with the help of a foreign power!”

The crowd’s attention swung from Byrde, to Michael, and back to Byrde.

The red-tailed hawk smirked.

I heard a loud whistle behind me, and I whirled and socked SALV Fatskweeks dead in the snout. With my fist; no need to sully my short-staff. But the damage had been done. I could hear the honking of Klown horns, and they started getting closer.

“♪Hyu FOOL! ♪” Fatskweeks gagged, each cough eliciting a whistling noise.

I was surprised. I thought he’d dropped it.

The fat tod gagged again and shouted, “♪KLOWNZ! ATTACK! ♪ Hy need a glass uff vater. ♪”

“No,” Michael said, “you need a tuning fork.”

Fred said, “Nice whistle.” The dog smiled and brandished a long, straight horn with a wide mouth. “Now try mine.” He drew a deep breath and put the horn to his lips.

“NO!” Matt yelped.

The note that came out of the horn was a sustained deep, low-toned blat. Maybe a second later about a half-dozen of the local voters clutched at their stomachs and raced for the outhouses suspended over the river. They hit the wooden booths simultaneously, and the outhouses wobbled, teetered, tilted, and fell into the Yellow Onoob River with a thunderous splash.

Matt stalked up to Fred. “Lieutenant?”

“Colonel?”

The bear stuck out a paw. “Hat.”

“Beret, Temporal Corps tactical, MilSpec 4682-322s, quantity one each,” the dog said promptly, whisking off his headgear and giving it to his superior officer.

Matt smacked Fred over the head with his own hat and thrust the beret out at the dog. “Your hat.”

“Thank you, SAH! And here is a badly-designed vuvuzela that, if played, produces the sound OW.” He replaced his headgear and asked, “Where’d Fatty get off to?”

“Him go thataway, Sahib,” Matt supplied, pointing toward where the tod and the local followers were headed away from us, while a half-dozen garishly costumed Klowns were running toward us, slapsticks at the ready. “About time for a deus ex machina.”

I didn’t have to wonder about what Matt said. I drew my short-staff and readied for the assault.

I heard a crackle, and my ears swiveled as I got a suggestion of growing heat behind me. I turned around to see Byrde’s paws were smoking as a fireball began to form between his palms, and I realized to my horror that my beloved mate Anastasia wasn’t the only Elf who knew fire-magics.

On the other side of the balance sheet, Byrde was nowhere near as attractive.

[Note appended to manuscript: “Thank you.”]

[Note appended to manuscript: “Elves Don’t Lie, beloved.”]

I suddenly heard a chuff! sound of displaced air, and from the corner of my eye I saw Missy standing on the stage, with Tali holding onto the wolfess’ upper arm. The feline sprang down beside her mate and drew the same type of baton she’d given Missy from under her coat. “Hi!” she said. “Am I late for the party?”

“Of course not,” and Matt leaned over and kissed her, a gesture that was returned enthusiastically. “We’re the good guys – “

“And they’re the bad guys,” she said.

“And they’ll make a most gratifying thump when they hit the ground,” Matt concluded.

“Here they come!” Fred said.

“Michael,” Matt said, “go help the Raccoon Queen.” The mink nodded and took off at a run.

The warmth I felt behind me faded, and we charged to meet the Klowns’ onrush.


***


Missy:

“Showtime.”

I quickly scanned the crowd and heard a whistle, followed by a horn-call. The crowd was very thick, but fortunately my height enabled me to see the stage.

Perfect.

“Grab hold of me,” I told Tali, and as soon as she gripped my arm I formulated the proper Gramerye. We pooked, and ended up exactly where I wanted to be. Tali jumped down off the stage and I drew my borrowed sword from my Elfintory. The blade was balanced for two paws, so that’s how I held it as I faced off against Byrde.

“Stop!” I howled.

“Wha – OUCH!” His concentration broken, the spell dissipated and left him with singed paws. He shook them before facing me and laughing. “You think you can stop me? My minions will take this city – and that’s just the start!”

“You mean your voters?” I sneered.

“Hah!” He drew a breath, and I quickly cast an amplification cantrip. “Those deluded fools are only the beginning! Once I’m in power, all Eastness will be mine!”

His voice boomed out over the festival ground. It wouldn’t have much effect on those he’d already enthralled, but the furs who hadn’t voted yet were listening. I fancied I could almost hear them changing their minds about who to vote for.

I stepped up to him quickly, and I let my blade speak for me.

Three quick strokes, and it was done.

We stood there, as a battle raged at our feet . . . until, with almost a sigh, Byrde’s suit and pants fell away and slumped to the stage, leaving him wearing only his small-clothes, embroidered with various sigils.

It was an unflattering sight to see, surely.

“Once again,” I growled, “I have cut an unworthy object.”

One of the Klowns mounted the stage and charged at me, bringing his slapstick up to strike at me. One almost off-pawed swing and he was left holding the handle. He looked at it, looked at me, and dropped the piece of wood, holding his paws up.

I spun him around, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and gave him ten of the best across his rear with the flat of my sword while shouting, “This is what you get for being a Klown!” I followed this up with a kick under his tail. “Go home to your mother!”

As he sobbed and scampered off, I turned to see that Byrde wasn’t there any longer.

“____.”

“Do you kiss your wife with that mouth?” Tali asked me with an impish smile. “We sent the Klowns running, but Byrde took off.”

“Who’s chasing him?” I asked, jumping off the stage.

“Matt, Fred and Winterbough. Come on; we’ll catch up to them.”

We started running to where we had the cart and ants waiting.


***


Raccoon Queen:

There was a bunch of Wolf Queen impersonators over by the Baker’s Guild stands, but Ooo-er was the only otter. Some of the others complimented her on her outfit. “At least she isn’t a bovine,” I overheard one wolfess say to a feline femme. Most of the furs in armor were congregating near a display of pies.

“Yeah,” the feline Wolf Queen sniffed. “We don’t need any Dairy Queens around here.”

“That wasn’t very nice,” the Regalia said in my mind. I nodded and kept an eye out. If I knew the Master, something was about to happen.

Ears perked at a whistling sound over the sound of the festival, followed by someone blowing a horn very badly.

“That must be it,” the Regalia said. “Let’s get going, girl.”

Furs came running past us, yelling about a fight over by the stage. I drew Sun-and-Moon, and the other Wolf Queens all drew their own weapons.

One big mel wolf brandished his spear (yeah, not a double-bardiche), and shouted “Come on! The Wolf Queen fights for – “

PLADGE!

He ended up ten feet away, flat on his back and out cold, covered in – whipped cream? – and with a pie tin molded to his muzzle.

We all looked at him, and looked up to see a smirking vixen in skimpy armor. A chess pie was spinning on the tip of one sooty finger.

“Goingk zomevhere, ladiez?” she taunted.

There was a concerted gasp by the others. Suddenly the mel lion Wolf Queen screamed, “She’s hit Buddy! Come on, girls!” and they all charged her.

Only to fall back, covered in pie filling and flaky crust. I’m sure that [Little Toy] would be utterly appalled by the waste and mess.

It was going to get worse, as one rabbit scooped a pie off the baker’s counter and hurled it at the vixen, who dodged it easily. “Tzo!” she said. “Hyu zeek to fight ze Pie-Fight Vixen vith her hown veapons! Hah! Haff at hyu!” and she started dodging pies while hurling her own at the Eastness furs, but with a lot better accuracy.

“Hi,” and I glanced behind me as the mink, Michael, came jogging up. “Have I missed – “ He reeled back as a pie caught him in the face. He paused, licked his lips and said, “Brandy!” He threw himself into the fight, yelling “MORE PIES! THROW MORE BRANDY!”

I dodged a thrown custard pie, and saw it hit Ooo-er right in the chest. The otteress hissed and dove for the pie stand.

I could hear the Regalia sigh. “This isn’t quite how I thought this fight would turn out,” it said as the pie fight started spreading all over the place.

“Me neither,” I said in Elf-mind. Without even thinking much about it I ducked, and a pie whizzed past me.

“Good reflexes.”

“Thanks,” I said. “So, do we join in?”

I saw the ‘Pie-Fight Vixen’ scattering all comers, even the City Guard who were starting to show up. The crowd were starting to join in, and I could hear Michael yelling “MORE PIES! THROW MORE – WHAT, RUM?! I NEVER MIX MY PIES!”

Two of the fake Wolf Queens were swimming together in a nearby fountain.

Ooo-er, her fur pretty stiff with pie filling, was grinding one fur’s face into a pile of meringue.

Faced with all this chaos, the Regalia said one word.

“Yes.”

Sun-and-Moon at the ready, I charged at the vixen. She launched a pie at me, and I deflected it with Moon.

She threw again, and Sun knocked it away.

A third pie came my way, and I ducked under it.

The vixen almost looked impressed. She easily dodged a thrown pie from Ooo-er and dodged again when I tried to hit her with Sun-and-Moon. “Tzo! Bringingk blades to a pie fight! Zat is CHEATINGK!”

“The Raccoon Queen will always fight for justice,” I said, dodged another pie, and charged.

The vixen grinned and flashed her brush at me. "She who fights und pooks avay, liffs to fight anozzer day!"

And she pooked.

“Dammit!” I said. All around me the City Guard, a lot of them wearing pie filling, were starting to restore order. Ooo-er was busily washing her face in the fountain, and had shed her fake armor. I turned around –

And caught a pie in the face.

I wiped away the mess to see Sergeant standing there. The wolfess had a wide smile on her face. “That was for stealing the Regalia,” she said. “I’d love to stay and play, but duty calls.” Before I could say anything, she ran off.

“I know where she’s going,” the Regalia said.

“Where you saw the Shadow,” I said.

“Got it in one.”

“Ooo-er!” I called out, and my otter chum caught sight of me. I wiped some more pie filling off my face and put Sun-and-Moon back in my Elfintory. “We have to go.”

“Right.” We started running for the bridge that connected the festival grounds to the rest of Eastness.





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