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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-five.
Winterbough:
Yes, Dinar was there at his usual table in the pub.
But he wasn’t alone. I recognized Maylon Flowers immediately, but wondered where Mr. Parrott was. I guess he wasn’t much for nightlife.
The other two furs with the giraffe, a beagle and a short ptarmigan, had looks on them that screamed Red Caps, and I almost went for my short-staff when Matt put a paw on my shoulder. “Here,” the bear said, “let me.” He raised his voice at the bartender. “Hey! A round for me and all my friends there,” and he pointed at the corner table. “You have anything to eat?”
“We got pretzels,” the barkeep replied.
“Soft, with mustard?”
“Yeah.”
The bear’s muzzle split into a wide grin. “Excellent!” We walked over to the table and he lowered his voice. “Sometimes, Master, it’s good to come bearing gifts when entering a possibly tense situation. Disarms and confuses potential adversaries.”
“Learned that when you were courting Tali?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Only once or twice,” and we were both chuckling as we reached the table. “Hi, fellows! Name’s Mason, but you can call me Matt. While we wait for the beer – I’m buying, by the way – I think we should introduce ourselves.”
We all got around to it, and when we were done Matt stroked his beard. “So, I’m glad we have the City Guard here, as well as someone from the Eastness government. I’ve wanted to meet with you.”
“Why?” the beagle, who identified himself as Deputy Inspector Les Dater, asked.
“Because this conspiracy affects Eastness’ people,” I replied. “I’ve seen this place under Alastair,” and Flowers and Fletcher shuddered slightly. “I don’t want to see it abused again – and I’m sure Princess Grace wouldn’t like to hear of it.”
That caused a collective swiveling of ears. Finally Flowers said, “Princess Grace, of – of Sulfrox, is that?” I nodded and he said, “My grandfather told me about her. Said she’d been killed before the Ospreys took over.”
“Your grandfather was correct,” I said, “but she’s not quite dead.” I quickly explained that I had been the Wolf Queen’s squire during her fateful mission to Eastness (something that they all remembered) and that I had taken the horcrux containing her essence to my home country.
“Why?” Dinar asked.
“She asked,” I said. “I placed her in a garden spot, and the Brilliant Light shines upon her still.” Elves Don’t Lie, and they all looked rather impressed. “She tells me she’s happy there.”
“That’s good,” Flowers said. “Would you allow a delegation to visit her?”
I nodded. “Of course. After all this is over,” I reminded him. “Which leads me back to what I was saying. I don’t know why the Vulpitanians are backing Byrde’s bid, but it probably doesn’t mean anything good.”
Dater gave me a look. “And that leads me to you lot. Why are you here, and what are you planning?”
“His mate,” and I jerked a thumb at Matt, who had his muzzle buried in a tankard of beer, “and several members of my household went missing. Matt, two of his associates – “
“Twits,” the bear said, lowering the mug and licking foam from his upper lip.
“ – and I went after them, and we ended up here, where we learned of the Vulpitanian presence. I’m a soldier in the Imperial and Royal Army of Faerie, and if the Vulps are up to something, it is of direct interest to my sovereign.”
Elves Don’t Lie, and in hindsight I was glad that Matt let me do most of the talking.
I felt a shadow fall over me, and we all stopped talking as I turned in my seat and looked up.
And up.
The cadaverously thin canine, Malvert, was looking down at me. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
“Nothing, Malvert,” Jhonni said.
“Oh. Well, I’ll be off then,” and the canine sort of gangled away.
As he moved away, I caught a scent. “What’s that?”
“He keeps cheese in his small-clothes at times,” Dinar said, “to attract feral mice.”
I didn’t want to know that.
***
Missy:
Hissssss . . .
The sound the whetstone made as I ran it along the edge of the sword reminded me of the vipers that I’d encounter at times in the desert around Artemisiaford. I found out, much later, that the locals called it a “two-step snake,” meaning that if it bit you, the most you could manage was two steps before you died.
Hissssss . . .
The blade Tali loaned to me was a beautiful thing - single-edged, with a wavy pattern to the slightly curved steel blade that could remind me of clouds, or waves, or mountains, or dunes. The design told me that it was good for slashing or stabbing, and the hilt was long enough for either one or two paws. Very well-balanced, too.
Hissssss . . .
There was a tradition in Artemisiaford, where those pledged to guard and protect the community would spend some time in reflection before taking up the duty. Before I was invested as Chief Constable, I spent the entire night in a chapel to the Pantheon with my weapons, studying them and praying that I’d be worthy of them.
I recall that I almost fell asleep during the feast that followed my investiture, and Zenobia had been very kind to me that night.
Hissssss . . .
I set the whetstone aside, gave the blade a gentle wipe with an oiled rag, and I sat back. I put a paw to my headfur, selected a single strand, and yanked it free. Holding the blade edge up, I let the strand of hair fall.
The hair drifted down, made contact with the blade – and fell away in two pieces.
“Satisfactory,” I whispered.
The blade was carefully placed in front of me and I sat cross-legged on the bed, studying it again. In a way, I was standing vigil again, but this time it was a rededication.
Since taking up the Regalia as the Wolf Queen, I had fought for justice. I no longer wore the armor or wielded Sun-and-Moon, but I held out the hope that Fuma was testing me, and that the Regalia would be returned to me. Whether that happened or not, I would not waver.
For the first time since I discovered that the Regalia had passed to Tessie Ring, my path was clear before me.
I would fight for Justice, and for the Seelie.
No matter what.
***
Ooo-er:
“What’s wrong, Ooo-er?” Tessie asked me.
Mother of the Seas, what a question.
“I – I tried to talk to her, in Elf-mind,” I said. “But she only told me that she had something to do.”
“She is correct,” and Tessie’s voice got that tone that told me that the Regalia was talking. “She is being tested, and must fight for justice.” She suddenly paused and blinked. “Really? . . . Are you sure? . . . Well, all right.”
“What?” I asked.
“The, uh, Regalia,” Tessie said in her normal voice, “wants me to tell Sergeant tomorrow morning where we have Kora and Veyt stabled.”
“Hmm.”
‘Tested,’ huh? She may be being tested to see if she’s still worthy to wear her armor, but what about us? I know it may sound selfish, but she was MY mate, after everything had flowed past. “Can – can you use your ring to tell me what she’s doing? Right now?” I asked.
My raccoon friend thought a moment and brought her paw up to her forehead. The big cat’s-eye stone in the ring gleamed a little and Tessie said, “She’s . . . she’s still at the tailor’s shop . . . sitting in a room, and sharpening a sword.”
“Is that what they’re calling it now?”
Tessie lowered her paw and looked at me with a smile on her face. “I thought she didn’t like mels,” she said, “but she’s got a sword – you know, the hack-slash kind?”
“Ah. I guess she borrowed one.”
“Probably.” We walked on for a few minutes, headed back to the inn we were staying at, and Tessie said, “You know, these furs the Master’s taken up with have a lot of stuff we don’t.”
“It does look that way.”
“But hey,” and she put an arm around my shoulders, “we’re Elves, and this is the Shining Land. With Fuma’s help, there’s nothing we can’t do!” She grinned at me.
I grinned back, although secretly I hoped that Fuma had been listening.
***
Tali:
Oh, for the love of . . .
Michael and Fred had been busy during the night, from the look of things.
How do I know?
Was it the red-eyed, bleary expression on their faces when the mink and the dog showed up for breakfast?
No.
Was it Dorotea and Lisbet reporting to me – before dawn – that practically every bare surface in this half of Eastness had at least one poster stuck to it, extolling the virtues of Byrde’s opponent and rubbishing him at every opportunity?
Maybe.
For some reason, they had decided that posting bills that read “BYRDE IS TOO FLIGHTY FOR THE JOB” or “BYRDE IS A YENTOR” would be comprehensible to Elves, while “VOTE FOR GREENE – BUTTERY MALES!” was actually pretty opaque, even to me – at least, at first. I’ve been to Alternity BGI-1492, much as I’d love to forget it.
So it was with an air of forced cheerfulness I said loudly, “Good morning!” to the two of them. Michael just glowered, while Fred winced. “What have you two gotten up to?”
Michael jerked a thumb at Fred, who was busily spooning sugar into his coffee. “He got drunk after we finished, and got thrown out of the Hetaira’s Union.” The German Shepherd growled at him, but then gave all his attention to his beverage.
“How’d you manage that?” I asked. Morbid curiosity, mainly.
“Can’t recall,” Fred replied.
Michael smirked. “He started singing Scotland’s Depraved, and they thought he was making too many demands. From what one of the girls said, he demanded a Bengal Lancer dressed like a belly dancer.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“The tiger was quite annoyed, according to the girl,” the mink said gleefully. “He didn’t appreciate being dressed in filmy silks.”
I confess I was intrigued. It was quite a nice mental image, actually. “Were you in there with him?”
Michael shook his head. “I chatted up the hat-check girl. She was the one who threw him out, and,” and here he smirked, “she liked my boater.”
Fred grumbled something in Old Martian – or gargled his coffee; hard to tell, really – and mumbled, “Hick burgs . . . no real appeal for the dedicated deviant.”
"Chain mail. It's a privilege, not a right, you know,” Michael reminded him. "We offered to assist Byrde's opponent."
That would be Emmeline Greene, a rather pleasant-looking bovine. "And?"
Fred mumbled, "She slugged us."
“There is an advantage to not being an Elf, but folks thinking you're one.” Michael said.
“Didn't work with those femmes you tried the ‘Ancient Elvish Secrets’ line on.” Fred replied, and refilled his coffee.
“Now, how was I supposed to know there's a Geddit on that?”
I raised a paw. If I didn’t stop this, these two would go on for weeks. “Did you also talk to people, or just decide that rampant littering was enough?”
“Talked to a lot of folks,” Fred replied. “We didn't get anyone to change their votes, but Michael and I received offers from three theatrical agents. Best comedy act they've seen in years, they said.”
Michael added, “When you think that was in the middle of an election, that's saying something.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
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 MasonPart Thirty-five.
Winterbough:
Yes, Dinar was there at his usual table in the pub.
But he wasn’t alone. I recognized Maylon Flowers immediately, but wondered where Mr. Parrott was. I guess he wasn’t much for nightlife.
The other two furs with the giraffe, a beagle and a short ptarmigan, had looks on them that screamed Red Caps, and I almost went for my short-staff when Matt put a paw on my shoulder. “Here,” the bear said, “let me.” He raised his voice at the bartender. “Hey! A round for me and all my friends there,” and he pointed at the corner table. “You have anything to eat?”
“We got pretzels,” the barkeep replied.
“Soft, with mustard?”
“Yeah.”
The bear’s muzzle split into a wide grin. “Excellent!” We walked over to the table and he lowered his voice. “Sometimes, Master, it’s good to come bearing gifts when entering a possibly tense situation. Disarms and confuses potential adversaries.”
“Learned that when you were courting Tali?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Only once or twice,” and we were both chuckling as we reached the table. “Hi, fellows! Name’s Mason, but you can call me Matt. While we wait for the beer – I’m buying, by the way – I think we should introduce ourselves.”
We all got around to it, and when we were done Matt stroked his beard. “So, I’m glad we have the City Guard here, as well as someone from the Eastness government. I’ve wanted to meet with you.”
“Why?” the beagle, who identified himself as Deputy Inspector Les Dater, asked.
“Because this conspiracy affects Eastness’ people,” I replied. “I’ve seen this place under Alastair,” and Flowers and Fletcher shuddered slightly. “I don’t want to see it abused again – and I’m sure Princess Grace wouldn’t like to hear of it.”
That caused a collective swiveling of ears. Finally Flowers said, “Princess Grace, of – of Sulfrox, is that?” I nodded and he said, “My grandfather told me about her. Said she’d been killed before the Ospreys took over.”
“Your grandfather was correct,” I said, “but she’s not quite dead.” I quickly explained that I had been the Wolf Queen’s squire during her fateful mission to Eastness (something that they all remembered) and that I had taken the horcrux containing her essence to my home country.
“Why?” Dinar asked.
“She asked,” I said. “I placed her in a garden spot, and the Brilliant Light shines upon her still.” Elves Don’t Lie, and they all looked rather impressed. “She tells me she’s happy there.”
“That’s good,” Flowers said. “Would you allow a delegation to visit her?”
I nodded. “Of course. After all this is over,” I reminded him. “Which leads me back to what I was saying. I don’t know why the Vulpitanians are backing Byrde’s bid, but it probably doesn’t mean anything good.”
Dater gave me a look. “And that leads me to you lot. Why are you here, and what are you planning?”
“His mate,” and I jerked a thumb at Matt, who had his muzzle buried in a tankard of beer, “and several members of my household went missing. Matt, two of his associates – “
“Twits,” the bear said, lowering the mug and licking foam from his upper lip.
“ – and I went after them, and we ended up here, where we learned of the Vulpitanian presence. I’m a soldier in the Imperial and Royal Army of Faerie, and if the Vulps are up to something, it is of direct interest to my sovereign.”
Elves Don’t Lie, and in hindsight I was glad that Matt let me do most of the talking.
I felt a shadow fall over me, and we all stopped talking as I turned in my seat and looked up.
And up.
The cadaverously thin canine, Malvert, was looking down at me. “What’s going on here?” he asked.
“Nothing, Malvert,” Jhonni said.
“Oh. Well, I’ll be off then,” and the canine sort of gangled away.
As he moved away, I caught a scent. “What’s that?”
“He keeps cheese in his small-clothes at times,” Dinar said, “to attract feral mice.”
I didn’t want to know that.
***
Missy:
Hissssss . . .
The sound the whetstone made as I ran it along the edge of the sword reminded me of the vipers that I’d encounter at times in the desert around Artemisiaford. I found out, much later, that the locals called it a “two-step snake,” meaning that if it bit you, the most you could manage was two steps before you died.
Hissssss . . .
The blade Tali loaned to me was a beautiful thing - single-edged, with a wavy pattern to the slightly curved steel blade that could remind me of clouds, or waves, or mountains, or dunes. The design told me that it was good for slashing or stabbing, and the hilt was long enough for either one or two paws. Very well-balanced, too.
Hissssss . . .
There was a tradition in Artemisiaford, where those pledged to guard and protect the community would spend some time in reflection before taking up the duty. Before I was invested as Chief Constable, I spent the entire night in a chapel to the Pantheon with my weapons, studying them and praying that I’d be worthy of them.
I recall that I almost fell asleep during the feast that followed my investiture, and Zenobia had been very kind to me that night.
Hissssss . . .
I set the whetstone aside, gave the blade a gentle wipe with an oiled rag, and I sat back. I put a paw to my headfur, selected a single strand, and yanked it free. Holding the blade edge up, I let the strand of hair fall.
The hair drifted down, made contact with the blade – and fell away in two pieces.
“Satisfactory,” I whispered.
The blade was carefully placed in front of me and I sat cross-legged on the bed, studying it again. In a way, I was standing vigil again, but this time it was a rededication.
Since taking up the Regalia as the Wolf Queen, I had fought for justice. I no longer wore the armor or wielded Sun-and-Moon, but I held out the hope that Fuma was testing me, and that the Regalia would be returned to me. Whether that happened or not, I would not waver.
For the first time since I discovered that the Regalia had passed to Tessie Ring, my path was clear before me.
I would fight for Justice, and for the Seelie.
No matter what.
***
Ooo-er:
“What’s wrong, Ooo-er?” Tessie asked me.
Mother of the Seas, what a question.
“I – I tried to talk to her, in Elf-mind,” I said. “But she only told me that she had something to do.”
“She is correct,” and Tessie’s voice got that tone that told me that the Regalia was talking. “She is being tested, and must fight for justice.” She suddenly paused and blinked. “Really? . . . Are you sure? . . . Well, all right.”
“What?” I asked.
“The, uh, Regalia,” Tessie said in her normal voice, “wants me to tell Sergeant tomorrow morning where we have Kora and Veyt stabled.”
“Hmm.”
‘Tested,’ huh? She may be being tested to see if she’s still worthy to wear her armor, but what about us? I know it may sound selfish, but she was MY mate, after everything had flowed past. “Can – can you use your ring to tell me what she’s doing? Right now?” I asked.
My raccoon friend thought a moment and brought her paw up to her forehead. The big cat’s-eye stone in the ring gleamed a little and Tessie said, “She’s . . . she’s still at the tailor’s shop . . . sitting in a room, and sharpening a sword.”
“Is that what they’re calling it now?”
Tessie lowered her paw and looked at me with a smile on her face. “I thought she didn’t like mels,” she said, “but she’s got a sword – you know, the hack-slash kind?”
“Ah. I guess she borrowed one.”
“Probably.” We walked on for a few minutes, headed back to the inn we were staying at, and Tessie said, “You know, these furs the Master’s taken up with have a lot of stuff we don’t.”
“It does look that way.”
“But hey,” and she put an arm around my shoulders, “we’re Elves, and this is the Shining Land. With Fuma’s help, there’s nothing we can’t do!” She grinned at me.
I grinned back, although secretly I hoped that Fuma had been listening.
***
Tali:
Oh, for the love of . . .
Michael and Fred had been busy during the night, from the look of things.
How do I know?
Was it the red-eyed, bleary expression on their faces when the mink and the dog showed up for breakfast?
No.
Was it Dorotea and Lisbet reporting to me – before dawn – that practically every bare surface in this half of Eastness had at least one poster stuck to it, extolling the virtues of Byrde’s opponent and rubbishing him at every opportunity?
Maybe.
For some reason, they had decided that posting bills that read “BYRDE IS TOO FLIGHTY FOR THE JOB” or “BYRDE IS A YENTOR” would be comprehensible to Elves, while “VOTE FOR GREENE – BUTTERY MALES!” was actually pretty opaque, even to me – at least, at first. I’ve been to Alternity BGI-1492, much as I’d love to forget it.
So it was with an air of forced cheerfulness I said loudly, “Good morning!” to the two of them. Michael just glowered, while Fred winced. “What have you two gotten up to?”
Michael jerked a thumb at Fred, who was busily spooning sugar into his coffee. “He got drunk after we finished, and got thrown out of the Hetaira’s Union.” The German Shepherd growled at him, but then gave all his attention to his beverage.
“How’d you manage that?” I asked. Morbid curiosity, mainly.
“Can’t recall,” Fred replied.
Michael smirked. “He started singing Scotland’s Depraved, and they thought he was making too many demands. From what one of the girls said, he demanded a Bengal Lancer dressed like a belly dancer.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“The tiger was quite annoyed, according to the girl,” the mink said gleefully. “He didn’t appreciate being dressed in filmy silks.”
I confess I was intrigued. It was quite a nice mental image, actually. “Were you in there with him?”
Michael shook his head. “I chatted up the hat-check girl. She was the one who threw him out, and,” and here he smirked, “she liked my boater.”
Fred grumbled something in Old Martian – or gargled his coffee; hard to tell, really – and mumbled, “Hick burgs . . . no real appeal for the dedicated deviant.”
"Chain mail. It's a privilege, not a right, you know,” Michael reminded him. "We offered to assist Byrde's opponent."
That would be Emmeline Greene, a rather pleasant-looking bovine. "And?"
Fred mumbled, "She slugged us."
“There is an advantage to not being an Elf, but folks thinking you're one.” Michael said.
“Didn't work with those femmes you tried the ‘Ancient Elvish Secrets’ line on.” Fred replied, and refilled his coffee.
“Now, how was I supposed to know there's a Geddit on that?”
I raised a paw. If I didn’t stop this, these two would go on for weeks. “Did you also talk to people, or just decide that rampant littering was enough?”
“Talked to a lot of folks,” Fred replied. “We didn't get anyone to change their votes, but Michael and I received offers from three theatrical agents. Best comedy act they've seen in years, they said.”
Michael added, “When you think that was in the middle of an election, that's saying something.”
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Wolf
Size 524 x 628px
File Size 285.4 kB
Listed in Folders
The hair drifted down, made contact with the blade – and fell away in two pieces>
Ohh, Fredric would throw a fit! "No, no, a sharp edge is what you don't want on a sword!" (That's because it makes it more prone to chipping!)
Ohh, Fredric would throw a fit! "No, no, a sharp edge is what you don't want on a sword!" (That's because it makes it more prone to chipping!)
“There is an advantage to not being an Elf, but folks thinking you're one.” Michael said.
“Didn't work with...
Fine details aside, this passage was reassuring to me. The whole Faerie crossover thing would have been carrying a big Pleasantville sort of risk, otherwise. (Or even Karno's Program Switch, although fortunately the Elves clearly need no outside help when it comes to venery!)
“Didn't work with...
Fine details aside, this passage was reassuring to me. The whole Faerie crossover thing would have been carrying a big Pleasantville sort of risk, otherwise. (Or even Karno's Program Switch, although fortunately the Elves clearly need no outside help when it comes to venery!)
He chuckled. “Only once or twice,” and we were both chuckling as we reached the table. “Hi, fellows! Name’s Mason, but you can call me Matt. While we wait for the beer – I’m buying, by the way – I think we should introduce ourselves.”
Funnily enow, I heard this in John Astin's voice. :D
Funnily enow, I heard this in John Astin's voice. :D
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