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  Major Matt Mason


Part Thirty-one.



Tali:

After Ooo-er left the room (for which, read “stormed out” after giving me a wary nod), I called Matt in, and we talked for a while. That’s the thing about the Temporal Corps; there’s always enough hours in the day to do everything.

Well, at least in subjective time.

We agreed on a plan of action, with the emphasis on both of us staying at least within earshot of each other. Luckily, the weather looked nicely sunny, so I wouldn’t need a parasol.

On our way out the front of the shop I stopped and gawked a little. The tailor shop had been transformed; when Missy and I had first entered it looked a bit plain, but now it was freshly painted in bright, cool tones, and two mannequins in the windows were sporting dresses.

They hadn’t been there yesterday.

I glanced at the two Specialists, and Dorotea, the anteater, asked, “Do you see anything you like, Ma’am?” She was dressed in a very stylish knee-length frock with a bib front. The dress was cream color, trimmed in white lace. The reindeer femme, Lisbet, was wearing a similar outfit but in a very light green trimmed in yellow.

Quite flattering, if Matt’s appreciative whistle was any indication.

“Yes, I do,” I replied truthfully. They were both cute in Corps uniform; now they looked good enough to eat. “Are those camouflage?”

Lisbet shook her head. “No, Ma’am. Dorotea and I made these ourselves.”

I blinked. “But two days ago you said you were learning – “ My tail flicked. “What did you do?”

Dorotea looked diffident. “We decided last night that we needed to speed things up a little – “

“So we took a month last night, learned how to sew and - “ Lisbet said.

“And how to design dresses and mel’s clothes, too.” The phrase ‘hung dog expression’ really looks the part on an anteater’s face.

I turned and looked at one of the dresses on display. It had a nice skirt that ended just at the knee, and the sleeveless top left the midriff bare while crossing over the breasts and fastening behind the neck. Very nice for a culture dedicated to worshiping the Sun, I think.

And with their apparent penchant for dancing naked, having a dress that came off easily was a positive boon.

I turned back to them with a smile and said, “I like them. They’ll be the hit of the summer.” I wagged a finger. “But you really shouldn’t use Corps tech for that sort of thing,” and I winked, “unless you’re sure you can get away with it.” The two girls giggled and I slipped an arm around my mate’s waist. “We’ll be back tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do – but if you do, don’t get caught.”

As we crossed the threshold our camouflage triggered, leaving us dressed in civilian clothes that met the prevailing fashion. Matt glanced at me and said, “I think you were a little lenient on them.”

“Well, pot calling the kettle black and all that,” I said. “If I hadn’t taken an inadvertent vacation off the calendar, we wouldn’t have had Franq and Jesi.”


***


Winterbough:

It took part of the morning to find our way to the post-ball ground, and we reached it shortly before lunch. I am pleased to report that, thank the Lady, the fall of King Alastair had little to no effect on post-ball in Eastness.

The two teams that I watched with Michael and Fred, Eastness Union and Sundowners, seemed to be very good. Union didn’t seem to have lost a step since the time I was here, which was good. The Sundowners, an upstart side from the western part of the city, seemed like real contenders.

The grass on the ground was as lush as I recalled it, which showed that they were still getting enough rain to keep the grounds-crew busy. Eastness was wearing their home blue and white, while the Sundowners were wearing dark orange.

Fitting, when you recall the team name and their origin.

Another change from my first visit was the advertising; there was a lot more of it. The batting-screen was painted white, with a black-furred wolfess holding up a foaming glass of lager beer. Instead of Metropolitan Breweries’ product, though, she was advertising Wolf Queen Beer (“Do It Justice!” was the slogan).

[Note appended to the manuscript: “Grr . . . “]

[Note appended to the manuscript: “Opinion noted, wolfess.”]

There were a variety of billboards advertising various things around the perimeter of the ground, and the score-card bore several advertisements on them as well. One was rather prominent, and I felt very pleased that the Associated Temples of Eastness were back in business. I resolved to bring this back to show Princess Grace. She’d be quite happy at the regeneration of her home and former realm.

Michael, Fred, and I paid for our tickets and took our seats, relaxing as the two teams started doing their warmups. A breeze ruffled my fur and brought a scent to my nose that had me waving my score-card at the nearest concessionaire.

They had roasted corn being sold somewhere, or I’m a wolf.

Which I’ve been, once or twice.

The concessionaire was a squirrel, and he took my order (roasted corn, two ears, and a flagon of porter) before turning to the dog and the mink. “Can I interest you two in something, sirs? We have sizzling weasel on a stick.” This caused Michael to scowl, and the squirrel hurriedly listed the other carnivore items on the menu.

The two settled on fried chicken and two beers each (Michael had porter, Fred had lager), and the squirrel hustled off. “I’m surprised they’re allowed to sell beer,” the mink said.

Fred sighed. “Here we go . . . “

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“I’d heard they lost their opener,” Michael deadpanned.

The dog rolled his eyes. “Two hundred seventeen alternities we’ve gone to that have post-ball or similar, and he always makes that joke.”

“Two hundred nineteen,” Michael amended.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, I always forget about those two.”

We could hear temple bells in the distance, and a troupe of scantily clad femmes of a variety of species trotted out onto the ground. The players stopped what they were doing and either knelt or doffed their caps as the femmes began to dance while singing a hymn to the Brilliant Light. We doffed our caps out of respect, and all of the others in attendance followed suit.

With the noon devotions done, the umpire shouted “Play on!” and we all settled into our seats. Our food and beer arrived a few minutes into the match.

The roast corn was delicious, and Fred and Michael appeared to savor the chicken.

The match itself was fun. Union took a one-run lead by the end of the first innings, but Sundowners held them to that score, their bowler showing a very deft touch with the ball. Two innings later, and the score was tied.

“This porter’s quite tasty,” Michael remarked. I agreed.

Fred squinted at the lager in his flagon. “Not too bad. Slaps you across the face and demands you pay attention to it.”

The Sundowners had two runners at the pegs, second and third, and their strongest hitter was stepping up. The Union bowler hurled a blazing pitch straight at the bear, who smacked the ball hard enough to send it over the center fielder’s head to bounce against the far wall. It was 3-1 by the time the ball was collected.

Michael and I were noting things carefully on our score-cards. Fred had moved to a seat a few rows away and was talking to a few furs wearing scarves that matched the Sundowners’ uniforms.

"Good match,” Michael remarked.

“Yep,” I said. I glanced up and around as the next hitter was thrown out, leaving the heavy hitter at the peg as the sides changed.

The owner’s box seemed to have been remodeled. At least, it looked a little bigger than it had been when I saw it last. No guards, either.

I signaled for the concessionaire, and the squirrel gave Michael a wary eye as he loped up the steps to my seat. “Yes, sir?”

“Tell me, do the Metropolitans still play here? Didn’t this used to be their home ground?”

The steward took off his straw boater and fiddled with it. “Well, you see, sir, after, um, the Wolf Queen freed us, it seemed that the owner of the Blacks vanished.”

“I see." Of course, I knew where Fred Mealworm had fetched up. “The team folded?”

“Yes, sir. When the League reorganized, Union was moved to this ground.”

There was a cheer, and I glanced up as the home team now trailed by only one run. “I must say that they’re doing very well.” I pointed at the former owner’s box. “Who sits up there now?”

“Reserved for the State Council, sir. They haven’t been there lately – getting ready for the election, you see.”

“Thank you,” and I ordered another beer and more roasted corn.

The rest of the game was a real cracker, but Union managed to squeak by (thanks to a late hit by a mouse that brought a runner in) and win, four runs to three. There were pawshakes all around, and the crowd gave both teams a good round of applause for their efforts.

We got up to leave, and I noticed something.

“Where’s Fred?”

Michael glanced around before shrugging. “He does that from time to time. Gets an idea about something, and absolutely has to look into it. Between you and me, I think it’s why he hasn’t made Captain yet.”

“Hetaira’s Union?”

The mink stroked his chin as he thought. “Maybe.” He looked further down the stands, as the Sundowner supporters that the canine had been talking to were getting up to leave. He shrugged. “Eh, he’ll be all right.” He tucked his completed score-card into a pocket and smiled at me. “A souvenir.”

I nodded, having already put mine into my Elfintory.


***


Tessie:

So me and Ooo-er were out and about again, but this time we had a purpose. But I couldn’t help noticing that my otter friend was looking a bit sad and thoughtful.

It actually made me feel bad about cheering when Ooo-er shocked the ‘Sergeant.’

“Um . . . “

“Sorry, Tessie,” and Ooo-er tried to smile. “I just don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, too.” She glanced at me, and I said, “All this started when I took the Regalia.”

Ooo-er shrugged. “Whether you wanted it to happen or not, Tessie, it’s what that fellow Cellini says – ‘these are the conditions that obtain.’” She tried to copy the way Brother Cellini says it, and despite myself I giggled. “Still, it hasn’t been all bad. We’ve seen a lot of Faerie we’ve never seen before, you liberated a village – “

“You did it too, don’t forget.”

“But you’re the Raccoon Queen,” Ooo-er said, and my tail drooped. I was going to say something but her ears perked. “Hello!” she said. “What’s that about?” and she pointed.

Now, me and Ooo-er have seen that there are any number of femmes (and a couple mels) parading around dressed as the Wolf Queen. But this was . . . Different.

Strutting down the sidewalk like they owned the place was a vixen wearing scanty armor, accompanied by maybe a half-dozen tods dressed like an explosion in a paint store. They were walking down the sidewalk, taking up the whole thing and elbowing people off the pavement. They walked like they had a band behind them playing a tune.

“You recall what the Master was talking about?” Ooo-er said.

“Uh-huh. I think those are the folks we’re supposed to be watching.”

“They’re not being very polite.”

“Or quiet,” I said.

There was a fellow following them; I think it was that canine that we saw at the tailor shop. Me and Ooo-er looked at each other, and decided to tag along.

But at a distance.


***


Jhonni:

I left a message for Quill and dropped a note off at the Guard station nearest to the boarding house, describing what had happened and the concerns that Sergeant Sage and Corporal Winterbough had about these ‘Vulpitanians’ trying to pull a takeover of Eastness. Having been on the receiving end of the foxes’ hospitality, I thought there was a lot to their argument.

And that made me mad.

That, and knocking me out and tying me up. You don’t do that to Mrs. Dinar’s boy Jhonni.

Well, unless you’re a Union member, and it’s Full Moon Night.

Anyway, I headed for my local pub after dropping off my messages, wondering how I was going to get in touch with Sage and Winterbough.

I found out that I didn’t need to. The wolfess was sitting at my usual table, with about a dozen empty tankards in front of her and a thirteenth in her paw. It takes a lot of booze to lay out an Elf, so she seemed hardly buzzed. Still her ears were down and she looked like she’d been crying at some point.

I signaled to the barkeep as I walked past him, he nodded, and I took a seat at the table. Yes, where I could see the front door.

“Afternoon, Sarge,” I said after I got my beer and took a drink.

She glowered at me. “Dinar.” She drained her tankard and added it to the phalanx in front of her before gesturing for another. The barkeep raised a brow, and sent a couple barmaids to clear away the empties before it got too hard for to see her. “Mrs. Hackle said you weren’t home, so I came here.”

I nodded. “Spent part of the night as a guest of your Vulpitanian friends.”

That got her attention. Her ears perked and she blinked at me. “What?”

I explained what had happened, and how I managed to escape. That made her smile, something that I judged one saw only rarely. “It jibes with what the M – the Corporal says,” she mumbled. “They’re not too bright when they’re trying to be schneaky.”

“You mean ‘sneaky.’”

She raised a finger. “They call it ‘being schneaky und sly.’”

I gave her a shrug and took a drink. “After my visit with them, I decided to let the City Guard in on what they’re up to.”

She nodded. ‘Good thinking. We’ll be helping, but the festival’s the best place to catch them all in one place.”

“True.” We got started on fresh tankards, me on my second and she on her fourteenth.

The wolfess glanced around. “They sell food here?”

“Yeah.” I waved down a barmaid, and after a few minutes we each had a wooden stand bearing a quartet of fresh hot pretzels, with a choice of cheese or mustard. I stuck to the mustard, while the wolfess seemed to relish both.

She raised her tankard, but lowered it without drinking. “Oh, it’s you,” and I turned to see Winterbough walking over to the table.

“Yes, it’s me, Sergeant.”

“Get a beer,” she said, waving her tankard around and spilling a little. “We’re ahead of you.”

“Yes, I can see that,” and the roebuck went to get himself a drink.





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