The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

And it wasn’t. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a gods-cursed good idea. After all that damage to human pride and human profit, killing the catfish demon might be only way the duck demons could make a dent in their negative karma.

After I’d spun an elaborate tale of how we would win over and unify all the powers-that-be in the vicinity of Black Sand Creek and cooperate in a joint operation against our common foe, even Stripey had to agree that it just miiiiight work. It didn’t stop him from feeling cheated – although it did stop him from snatching the three silvers and storming out.

Bobo, though…. Bobo was another issue.

Oh, it wasn’t that she blamed me for proposing an idea that might get her best friend killed. In fact, I wasn’t sure that she believed the duck demon could be killed. She had too much faith in him for that. The problem was that now that he’d accepted the deal, she wanted to do everything within her power to make it work.

And since she herself had absolutely no idea where to start, she kept harassing me to come up with a plan.

I’d be teaching Taila about deponent verbs (you try coming up with a better explanation for why some verbs have passive endings but active meanings than, “I don’t know! They just do! Now memorize them!”), and out of the corner of my eye, I’d glimpse scaly green coils twisting impatiently. As soon as I reached a break in the lesson, Bobo would pounce. “Rosssie! Ssso what’s our plan? How’re we going to do it?”

Or I’d be lumbering towards Caltrop Pond after work, and she’d slither out of her bamboo grove to intercept me with a cry of: “Didja come up with any ideas yet? No? That’s okay! Come brainssstorm at my placcce. It’s very quiet here. I’ll help you think!”

Or we’d be bobbing and swaying on the dance floor, and out of nowhere, she’d thrust a flagon of ale at me and insist tipsily, “Here, Rossshie! Try ssshome o’ this! It’ll help – hic – you think! About you-know-what!”

By mutual agreement, we’d decided to keep the plot a secret until we had a concrete proposal to present to concrete allies. But I always knew what Bobo was referring to when she said “it” or “you-know-what.” There was only one thing on her mind these days – and it wasn’t the rent she didn’t have for next Settling Day.

Left to my own devices, I’d have procrastinated on attacking Lord Silurus until Taila was older and better trained and safely apprenticed to someone in a profession that would take her far away from Black Sand Creek. Namely, until I’d extracted every possible point of karma from my deal with Aurelia and could end this life without regrets. But Bobo’s constant nagging kept the catfish demon in my mind and, more to the point, at the forefront of Stripey’s.

Technically, I’d upheld my end of the deal. I’d told him how to earn positive karma. I’d never promised to throw in a detailed roadmap.

But the duck demon wasn’t going to let me off with just fulfilling the letter of the agreement. Not if I wanted to preserve his goodwill towards the Jeks and, more to the point, his willingness to cover future shortfalls in their finances.

(In case you were wondering, a shame-faced and empty-handed Flicker did show up the night before the three silvers were due. He apologized that he’d tried everything he could think of but could not gain access to the treasury without a whole chain of permissions and seal stamps. He was starting to raise so many questions about why a third-class clerk in the Bureau of Reincarnation needed East Serican currency that Aurelia had ordered him to stop.)

So anyway, here I was, juggling my teaching obligations, partying obligations (on the rare occasions that I was too tired and tried to beg off, Bobo was so crestfallen that it was just easier to go to Caltrop Pond), dancing obligations (yes, I had a regular partner and set for the Dawn Dance, and believe me, they’d be annoyed if I missed a night and they had to, Heaven forbid, replace me with someone who didn’t know the choreography) – and now, on top of everything else, I had to strategize an elaborate military operation!

Would it surprise you to know that military strategy wasn’t among my fortes? Oh, I could spew the appropriate jargon, and I had aplomb aplenty for convincing courtiers of my tactical brilliance, but I was no field marshal. Back in the Wilds, I’d once served a demon king who actually understood how to leverage my talents: Toss me into the mix to sow chaos and distraction, while the people who enjoyed subtlety and planning executed their subtle plans.

Chaos was what I excelled at – but now everyone looked at me as if they expected me to come up with a clever plan.

How did I get myself into such a mess? Why did I always get myself into such messes?

“Why the long face?” yelled a voice overhead. “Arntcha having fun?”

It was a very familiar voice. Goodness knew I heard it often enough, shouting things like: “Yes! Yes! That’s the stuff!” and “Let’s. Get. This Party. STAAAARTED!”

A corner of my mind wondered which guest the Dragon King of Caltrop Pond was harassing now, but I ignored it. As I maintained a perfunctory sway to the music, I continued to fret. How was I supposed to devise a clever plan for Stripey and the duck demons to kill Lord Silurus? Okay, fine, I had come up with one for myself when I was a catfish…but it had failed, hadn’t it? Why had it failed?

Because I hadn’t known that a demon’s throat lining could be so tough, plus I’d lacked the physical strength and the type of weapon required to puncture it. So…as a first step…I should assign someone to gather more information about Lord Silurus and his strengths and weaknesses –

“Rosie! I’m talking to you!” yelled the voice, straight through the skin that covered my ear this time.

I jumped, or rather, bobbed. Right in my face was a shiny snout and a pair of bright amber eyes framed by an artfully disheveled mane.

I bent my forelegs and bowed at once. Your Majesty! I beg your forgiveness! I didn’t realize you were addressing me.

The Dragon King of Caltrop Pond straightened and waved a dismissive three-clawed hand. “Naaaw, don’t worry about it!” he called above the pounding drumbeat. “What’s the matter? Why the long face?”

It’s nothing, Your Majesty. I forced the corners of my mouth to curve up in a sweet turtle smile.

“Of course it’s something! You’re standing in the middle of the dance floor looking like someone just ate your last mooncake! C’mon! You’re killing my vibe! Tell me what’s wrong. Are you hungry? Are you thirsty? Is the music too loud?”

Wow, just how bored was he tonight? I’d never seen him show so much solicitude towards any of his guests before.

Huh. Come to think of it, how bored was he in general?

It was true that he filled his time with partying and sleeping off hangovers and occasionally attending banquets in the Black Sand Creek Water Court and, once a year, putting in an appearance at the Meeting of the Dragon Host up in Heaven. But none of that involved any real work, and none of that led to any real accomplishments, unless you counted such a mastery of the intricate figures of the Dawn Dance that he could execute them dead drunk.

Maybe he was bored of not having any real work to do. Maybe what he needed was a good, challenging puzzle to solve, something that would push him to his limits and provide him with a sense of pride and achievement.

Yes. A project like that would be good for him. A project like that was just what he needed. And luckily for him, I had just the right project in mind.

Not Operation: Tell the Duck Demons How to Kill Lord Silurus, of course. I needed to start him off small, test his abilities and attention span, let him develop confidence in his own judgement.

Actually, Your Majesty, there is something I’ve been worrying about. Could I beg an audience of you?

His ears and horns shot up in surprise. That probably wasn’t a question he heard very often.

“An audience, huh? An audience. Yeah,” he marveled. “Yeah!”

He arched his neck to make his seed pearl gleam, the way he had the first time I saw him at the Meeting of the Dragon Host, when he was trying to impress a clerk.

“Ahem. Yes, of course I will grant you an audience. How about – I mean, come here tomorrow afternoon when the shadows fall across the easternmost boulder by the pond. You shall have your audience then.”

Tomorrow afternoon? But I had to teach in the afternoon – well, never mind. I could assign Taila some math drills and have Bobo supervise her.

I bowed again. Thank you, Your Majesty.

He returned a deep, gracious nod. Then, with a swoosh, he launched himself back across the dance floor to his throne.

There was definitely extra pride in the way he held himself.

“So, Rosie, on what matter of great import do you seek my aid?”

It was late the next afternoon, when the shadows of the trees fell all the way across the pond to touch the easternmost boulder. The Dragon King of Caltrop Pond had gotten up early for this audience, and dragged his courtiers out of bed for it too. Two lines of bleary-eyed rice paddy snake spirits floated on either side of the throne. It was a commendable effort.

I sank to all four knees in front of the throne. Your Majesty, I have been set an impossible task, and I would like to beg your assistance in discharging it.

“An impossible task,” intoned the dragon in his faux-regal voice. “And what is this impossible task of which you speak?”

I’d already decided to tell him that I was on a secret mission for a goddess. He’d spent enough time at those dragon conferences to have firsthand experience of the treachery of Heavenly politics. If he had a rice grain’s worth of common sense, he wouldn’t betray or even blackmail me until he’d investigated all the other players involved and determined the best side to back. And since he only went up to Heaven once a year, that gave me at least a few years to work with.

As Your Majesty is aware, I am not a spirit but a mortal creature granted special dispensation by Heaven to keep my mind and memories when I reincarnate.

The lack of surprise among the dragon and his courtiers at the first part of the statement showed that I’d guessed right. They’d long since figured out that I was one weird turtle, but none of them were the sort to pry. And the dragon didn’t inquire further about the second part of the statement either, even though I’d expected him to.

I was sent to the Claymouth Barony by a most compassionate goddess in her immeasurable mercy to ameliorate the living conditions of a chosen child, and to guide her education so that she may achieve her full potential. (The hungover rice paddy snakes were going glassy-eyed by the end of the sentence.) I, however, am but a young and inexperienced turtle, and such matters are beyond my ken. If Your Majesty in your infinite wisdom would share insights into how I might accomplish this impossible task, I would be eternally grateful.

“Yes, yes, of course.” The dragon was also getting bored with his regal performance and my flowery language. “Just spit it out. What exactly is this impossible task?”

I need to keep one little girl alive long enough for her to grow up, get a good job, and move away from Black Sand Creek.