The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox

Chapter 120: The Raccoon Dog's Tantrum

While Floridiana and Dusty had been off recruiting priests in the slum, I'd been having a much less pleasant afternoon. The cause, as you probably guessed, was Anthea. Specifically, with a summons from that raccoon dog. A summons. As if she were my superior, and I a mere underling at her beck and call!

I ignored it, of course. I had more important things to do. Such as inspecting and critiquing Lodia's embroidery, lest she waste too much time on a robe I would ultimately have to reject. (And it was a good thing I checked too, because the shade of red thread she'd selected was waaaay too subtle. I mean, it bordered on coral. I knew from all the time I'd spent in Heaven that the gods favored a florid vermillion.)

Also, Katu required supervision. Any time Lodia came over on any kind of business, Temple or otherwise, he'd drop his brush to play bodyguard. Something about how there were too many strange workmen here, as if they might be more interested in harassing one young woman than in renovating my Temple. As I told Katu over and over, keeping the builders in line was the steward's job, not his. His job was to produce that gods-cursed song cycle honoring the Kitchen God – of which he had yet to finish a single song. Something about how nothing he composed was suitable to dedicate to a god.

Every time the steward spotted another basket of crumpled papers covered in blacked-out scribbles, Camphorus Unus' brows would knit in a worried frown. I was glad someone shared my concern that the poet would never finish.

Speaking of the renovations, they, too, required much attention. I'd commissioned the foremost carpentry workshop in Goldhill to create the altar and the carvings for the walls and pillars. However, just because these carpenters made furniture for the royal household didn't mean that their craftsmanship was up to my standards, and more often than not, the materials they sourced were simply subpar. Every couple days, Bobo and I went through our ventriloquism routine as we inspected their handiwork in what would be the Main Hall of the Temple.

This was, in fact, what we were doing when the first "summons" from Anthea arrived.

That portion needs to be covered in gold leaf, I was informing the master carpenter through Bobo. Gold leaf, hear. No ssslapping sssome yellow paint on it and calling it a day. Remember, this is a HOLY BUILDING dedicated to the god who lives among us.

Unfortunately, the carpenters had heard it so many times that they'd desensitized to the divine.

"Yes, spirit, I know," replied the head carpenter with exasperation, "but the goldsmith is behind on his delivery, so we simply do not have enough gold leaf to finish right now."

A whiff of camphor preceded the arrival of the steward. Keeping my intelligence a secret from Camphorus Unus would have been impossible, so I hadn't bothered to try. Shortly after we moved in, I'd told him that I was a mind trapped in the body of a mortal animal, and the old tree had accepted it at once. Unless you were threatening to burn down their trees, tree spirits were hard to ruffle.

Now he advanced towards us, and, keeping up the charade, bowed to Bobo. "Spirit, a message from Lady Anthea." And he stepped aside to reveal a young boy in Anthea's livery.

The messenger boy, too, bowed to Bobo. "Respectful greetings, spirit. Lady Anthea requests the pleasure of your company for tea."

I waited for him to state the date and time.

And then I waited some more.

I waited so long that Bobo twisted her neck to look at me for instructions.

Through her, I prompted, And on what day does ssshe anticipate the pleasssure of my company?

At my sarcastic tone, the boy blanched, but Anthea had trained him adequately. He bowed again. "Begging your pardon, spirit, but she requests the pleasure of your company right now."