Chapter 7 — Blood of a Tengu, Blood of a Fool (Part 1)

In mid-December, Shimogamo Yasaburō vanished from Kyoto like a wisp of smoke.

According to Nanzenji Gyokuran, who came to visit my hidey-hole on Christmas Eve, my whereabouts remained a complete secret, and there were even rumors going around that I was dead.

I had fled to Lake Biwa.

Benten’s hometown was on the shores of Lake Biwa. Perhaps she hated the past that she had bottled up there on the other side of the Ōsaka no Seki checkpoint, for she rarely went near the place. Lake Biwa is very close to Kyoto, but as far as Benten was concerned it might as well have been on the far side of the moon, which made it the perfect hideout.

The night I fled Kyoto I paid a call to Ayameike’s residence.

I hadn’t visited since that night in July, and the sight of the thin carved wooden nameplate at the stone gate and the orange light glowing through the sliding door called forth a wave of nostalgia in me.

“Well now, fancy seeing you here.” Ayameike and his wife greeted me warmly, and though I’d only intended to stop by and say hello, before I knew what was going on I was sitting at their table enjoying dinner, and afterwards as I lay in a food coma they informed me that the bath was ready. After enjoying a soak in there I came out to find a beer waiting for me and Ayameike buried in the kotatsu urging me, “Come in, come in!” As I drank my beer there and chewed on chilled persimmons, white powdery sugar covering their skins, one thought surged into my mind and refused to leave: I’d love to stay here.

Could there be any safehouse out there as wonderful as this? No, there could not.

And so I decided to hide out at Ayameike’s house.

　　　　　　　◯

My life on the lam was laidback and pleasant.

At night I would sleep on the veranda, and during the day I would join Ayameike in sorting piles of raked leaves, drawing pictures of pumpkins, digging up bugs to look at, and so on. Every day after my afternoon siesta I would have a plate of snacks before playing shogi with Ayameike.

We placed the board on top of the kotatsu and sat on opposite sides, but Ayameike was not concerned with winning or losing so much as he was getting his pieces into a formation that pleased his sense of aesthetics.

“Let us sit my gold general here, if he pleases,” he muttered to himself. “That will make the shape most intriguing.”

“Huh, you think so? Then have a look at this!”

“Oh my, but that is a rather clever move.”

Once the sun set, I would melt into the shadows and go on a stroll around Ōtsu. In the shopping arcade that lay past the residential district, aged apparel stores sat side by side with unruly pawn shops, but by the time I headed out on my walks the exterior shutters were already rolled down. From the chilly port, you could see the glow of the towns on the far side of the lake, as well as lights from the portholes of sightseeing boats cruising over the black waters.

Passing through the darkened streets in front of the former city hall, I came across the location where the Ōtsu Incident had taken place, when the crown prince who would go on to become Emperor Nicholas II of Russia had nearly been cut down by a saber-wielding assassin. Now it was a street corner that looked just like any other, but as I stood there I thought about the imperial crown prince and the entourage of rickshaws which had jogged along the lakeside long ago.

During the reign of the Meiji Emperor, the humans were set afluster by the waves of modernization that were sweeping over Japan, but the tanuki were flustered themselves, transforming into phantom trains and chugging along the tracks. This was the era during which the Heir, plucked by Master Akadama from the streets of Nagasaki, holed himself up in the mountains around Nyoigadake and reluctantly ascended the steps towards full tengudom. That ruddy-faced youth, still pining for his mother, surely never would have dreamed that he would one day cross the ocean, not to return for over a hundred years.

“Humans and tanuki and tengu sure all have come a long way,” I reflected to myself on my way back to Ayameike’s house.

During my life of leisure out here, I was frequently reminded of my family back at the Tadasu Forest. When we said our goodbyes that night beneath the shadows of the trees, Yaichirō had bitterly regretted ever involving me in these tengu affairs.

“How will it all end?” he had lamented until the very end.

“It’ll all work out somehow?” I had assured him, though I had no idea how.

　　　　　　　◯

The afternoon of the winter solstice, as Ayameike and I were playing a game of shogi, the sliding door rattled open and a voice cried out, “Hello there!” We went out to the foyer to find Professor Yodogawa standing there, bundled up snugly like a mountain climber out to summit a peak.

“Ah! I didn’t realize you’d be here!” the Professor cried happily.

“That’s quite a getup. You going mountain climbing or something?”

“The snow’s blowing something fierce out at the research station. If you’re not careful to bundle up, you’re sure to run into trouble. Say, why do you think humans aren’t furry like tanuki are? Evolution made a big mistake when it took away our fur, I should think...oh, but I daresay we humans have our ways of fixing that mistake!”

Professor Yodogawa curled up beneath the kotatsu, zoning out blissfully like a monkey pickling in a mountain hot spring. Out from his knapsack tumbled a gigantic bulbous kabocha and brightly colored yuzu.

“Goodness me, what lovely yuzu!” remarked Ayameike’s wife.

“It is the winter solstice, after all. You are never a whole person until you’ve taken a yuzu bath!”

“I dislike taking baths,” Ayameike said, looking chagrined. “Taking baths makes my head itchy.”

“He’s always been this way! He never would take one if you left him alone, you know.”

“But, Master Ayameike,” said Professor Yodogawa with a look of doubt, “Surely it would itch more not to take baths?”

“Once the initial itchiness has passed, it itches no more. So long as I do not enter a bathtub, there is no itching to be felt. As in other matters, it all comes down to the initial forbearance.”

“Oh, you dirty old man!” his wife scowled, wrinkling her nose.

“Hah, is that what it is? I had no idea. But then again, I love taking baths. Over at the research station I heat water in an oil drum and get in. Looking at the steam rising up, up through the snow falling over the pitch-black forest makes me feel grand, like I’m one with the universe. Brushing away the snow that piles up and pouring out for myself a glass of whisky, I can’t hardly tell whether I’m among the living or the dead!”

The Professor’s kitchen knife thunked on the cutting board as he chopped up the kabocha for simmering.

“They say that young ladies are made of sugar and spice. Well I’d say I’m plenty sweet and spicy, so what does that make me?”

“Kabocha’s very good for you know, got plenty of beta-carotene and vitamin C!”

“Deep in the heart of China, I came across people who lived in giant hollowed-out kabocha. I thought they’d been gobbled up by mutated gourd-beasts!”

We alternated between fits of laughter and sober contemplation as we listened to the Professor’s stories (some edifying, some less so), and after we’d finished the sweet simmered kabocha (mostly eaten up by the Professor himself) he said, “Well, I’d better be getting back to the mountain,” and started to bundle on his layers again.

I saw the Professor off at Miidera Station. The light of orange street lamps reflected on the dark surface of the silently flowing Biwa canals.

After glancing around the surroundings, Professor Yodogawa said in a low whisper, “The Friday Fellows’ year-end banquet is approaching. They must be getting worried by now.”

“Well, there’s no way I’m preparing a tanuki for them, nohow!”

“You had me worried when you joined the Friday Fellows, but I must say that was a brilliant stroke. If you can keep from being discovered, their plans will all be dashed!”

“Serves ‘em right, heh heh!”

“Ah, but knowing Jurōjin, he’ll likely have something else up his sleeve. I’m especially worried about that slimy Tenmaya.”

“You might be right.”

“If it comes down to it, I’ll be ready to charge in and save the poor tanuki!”

Professor Yodogawa grinned fearlessly in the light of the street lamps. There was a new resolve in his face, hardened by his ascetic life in the mountains, and his eyes burned with his love for tanuki. Looking at him I had no doubt that he was prepared to do exactly what he said he would.

　　　　　　　◯

Tanuki love Christmas. The holiday’s lack of purpose is what makes it so enjoyable.

On Christmas the Shimogamo clan usually eats fried chicken and admires our Yashirō-powered Christmas lights, but this year I couldn’t join the festivities, which left me feeling rather lonely. That’s why when I smelled the distinctive aroma of the Colonel’s secret recipe wafting from the front door on the afternoon of December 24th, my heart leapt with joy. Nanzenji Gyokuran had come to visit.

“I crossed the mountains so no one would see me. Your Mother asked me to check on you.” Gyokuran was wearing a muffler, red to match the one Yaichirō had, and had brought me a care package of fried chicken. After bowing and introducing herself to Ayameike, Gyokuran took one look at the shogi board on top of the kotatsu and exclaimed, “What in tarnation!? I’ve never seen a game quite like this before!”

“You must be very skilled at shogi.”

Hearing this gracious compliment from Ayameike, Gyokuran blushed pink.

The two of us went outside and talked as we strolled through the snowy garden.

Gyokuran told me that she had been invited to the Christmas party at the Tadasu Forest. Apparently Yashirō had strung together some components from the Faux Denki Bran distillery to create a truly spectacular Christmas light display.

“I hear that Ebisugawa Kureichirō will be there, too. He’s very kind, always helping Yaichirō with his work. I can scarcely believe that little crybaby I used to know has grown up into such a splendid tanuki.”

Gyokuran filled me in on what had happened in Kyoto since I had disappeared. Twin waves of resignation and relief had swept the city: resignation, that no one would ever see the unfortunate Yasaburō alive again; and relief, that since I was going to be eaten no one else had to worry about the Friday Fellows.

Yasaka Heitarō did ask about me, though in spite of that he still continued to pack his bags for Hawaii and had already vacated his office in Gion Nawate. As soon as Yaichirō and Gyokuran’s marriage ceremony at the beginning of the year was over, he intended to head straight for the airport.

“You can’t really blame him for being eager to retire, being that he never wanted to become Trick Magister in the first place.”

“Hardly anyone does, unless they’re weirdos like my brother.”

“And who was it that put his life on the line for that weirdo and ended up having to go on the run? If you ask me, you’re just as splendid a weirdo as he is. Pot calling the kettle black!”

“The whole Shimogamo clan is just a bunch of weirdos.”

“Ah, so you’re saying that I’m a weirdo who’s marrying into a clan of weirdos?” Gyokuran giggled, kicking up a pile of leaves.

Afterwards, she looked down at the ground, looking a little heavyhearted. “...Master Akadama’s expelled you.”

“Huh. Figured as much.” I’d been expecting this to happen, so I wasn’t terribly surprised. “Tengu have their pride to uphold, and we tanuki have our dignity.”

“And it was really him that was being so unreasonable, too...”

“I’ll bide my time until everything’s cooled off. He can hardly get by without me, anyways.”

Once upon a time Benten had goaded me into causing the incident with the Demon’s Perch, which resulted in me distancing myself from the Master. But that had a voluntary withdrawal on my part; this was the first time I had been handed down a genuine expulsion.

Looking up at the barren tree branches swaying in the wind, I thought of the Master, hunched over in his dark, dreary apartment: hugging a cold daruma in lieu of Benten’s behind, drinking Akadama port wine, smoking a tengu cigar in the gloom, alone.

“Gyokuran, mind taking an offering to the Master for me?”

“Already on it.”

Don’t forget the cotton swabs. If he doesn’t have cotton swabs his ears will get itchy and he’ll blow up a tengu whirlwind,” I reminded her. “Well, more like a gentle breeze.”

“Relax, I’ll take care of it.”

“That old tengu is a real handful. A honest-to-goodness pain in the butt.”

“...You really are fond of him, aren’t you?”

“Shh, don’t tell anyone. I’d never be able to show my face in public again.”

Hearing me say that, Gyokuran let out a hearty chuckle.

　　　　　　　◯

So the days rolled by for me at Ayameike’s house, and at last the day of the Trick Magister election drew nigh.

The night before, I was lying below the garden veranda, rolled up in an old blanket which exuded the sweet scent of Ayameike’s pipe tobacco. A little while ago the tanuki of Onjōji had been tramping all over the garden, but now they had gone from my sight. Having a hard time falling asleep, I counted the hairs on my front paws and waited for dreams to take me.

The winter’s night silently dragged on and on.

Passing the sleepless hours, I began to think the night Father had turned into stew. Perhaps my family back in the Tadasu Forest, and Yajirō lying somewhere beneath the stars, were thinking about him as well.

I’d heard the tale of his final moments from Professor Yodogawa during the autumn of the previous year. I pictured it all in my mind—that cold, cavernous tatami room; the lights of the city glittering on the other side of the Kamo River; my Father drawing himself up proudly in the cage—as vividly as if I had seen it with my own eyes. The night Professor Yodogawa told me of all this, he split with me a foil-wrapped onigiri, and in that cold rice I had tasted the onigiri that had been Father’s last meal.

Eventually I suppose I nodded off.

The silence of the sleeping garden was abruptly shattered by the sound of breaking glass deep in the woods. In a flash the trees were covered in frost. A chill that made my tailbone ache covered the ground, freezing the neatly swept piles of fallen leaves in pure white. Crawling out from beneath the veranda, I saw that every tree was laden with alabaster flowers of ice, like cherry blossoms in full bloom, delicate frozen petals falling through the air. A pale, mysterious light illuminated the scene.

Benten emerged from the trees.

Her cheeks were pale in the cruel chill that lingered about her body, making her look almost like a little girl. Her eyes were lonely, distant, as she watched the fluttering ice petals dance all around her. Perhaps she had looked just like this, on that long-ago day when Master Akadama had swooped down and carried her away as she stood on the banks of Lake Biwa watching the snow fall.

Her lips curved into a smile when she saw me there. Tears coursed down her porcelain cheeks.

“Why are you crying?”

“I feel sorry that you’re going to end up in my stomach,” she said.

With a jolt I opened my eyes, and found that all was still dim.

“Just a dream,” I thought to myself, and wriggled out from beneath the veranda. Between the trees, the crisp light of dawn was seeping into the cobalt sky.

I yawned and wandered around the garden, knocking off the frost that had gathered on a bucket. Breathing in the freezing morning air, I exhaled a puff of white vapour. “It’s morning,” I murmured.

That’s how the day of the Trick Magister election—

in other words, the anniversary of the death of our father—

in other words the day of the Friday Fellows’ banquet—

a wild, chaotic, momentous day—

quietly began.

　　　　　　　◯

Yaichirō also rose early in the morning that day.

Padding out of bed quietly so as not to wake Mother and Yashirō, he set off on a walk through the Tadasu Forest over the fallen leaves. A pale, chilly mist hung all throughout the wintry woods.

Yaichirō washed his face in the bitingly cold brook, and with Father’s shogi board before him went sank into contemplation. Gradually his mind cleared, and strength flooded into his limbs.

“So, at last this day has come,” he thought.

A little while later Mother came trotting over, preceded by little white clouds of vapour, and plopped down beside him.

“It’s finally here,” she said.

“It is finally here,” said Yaichirō.

And together they watched the Tadasu Forest fill with light.

Yashirō was first to leave that morning, heading off to the Faux Denki Bran distillery. He was attempting to decipher Professor Inazuma’s experiment logs, spending day after day in the lab. All he could produce right now was undrinkable swill, but he continued to insist excitedly, “I’m almost there!”

“Don’t do anything too crazy in there. Electricity is serious business!”

“Uh-huh, I’ll be careful. You be careful too, Yaichirō! I’ll bring the finished drink to the afterparty!” Wearing his book- and notes-laden backpack, Yashirō left the forest.

Yaichirō made ready to leave. After attending a pre-election celebration with Nanzenji Gyokuran and some other younger tanuki, he would go to the Heir’s mansion where the elders’ meeting would be held.

Mother saw him off, striking sparks onto him for good luck. “I’ve got everything prepared at the Scarlet Pane. Once the elders’ meeting is over head there straight away. I expect Yasaburō will be coming back from the forest tonight.”

She watched him climb onto the automaton rickshaw, her eyes bright. “Oh!” she cried suddenly, unable to hold back her emotion. “You’re finally becoming the Trick Magister!”

“...I hope Father is proud of me.”

“Of course Sō is proud of you. He’s chortling there on the other side, I just know he is!”

“Goodbye, Mother. Take heart, and await news of my victory!”

And so Yaichirō left the forest.

The automaton rickshaw raced down the shrine road towards Demachiyanagi. The pine trees lined the triangular strip of land that thrust into the Kamo River were wrapped with woven straw mats, and hawks wheeled lazily through the sky. The almost spring-like sunshine shone down gently on the banks of the Kamo; everything seemed perfectly at peace.

Yaichirō drove the rickshaw south along the river.

Happiness bubbled up within him each time he thought of how at last he would be stepping into Father’s shoes as the Trick Magister. No more would we be known as the pitiable brood that had squandered the great inheritance of Father’s bloodline. Father’s spirit would be pleased, Mother would be pleased, and Gyokuran would certainly be pleased. The Shimogamo clan would regain a little bit of glory, and the tanuki world would progress forward just a little bit under his direction. Maybe they would even erect a bronze statue of him which would bring him a little bit of glory. Maybe the cranes would leave little droppings on the nose.

As he lost himself in these daydreams, an unconscious smile spread across his face.

Yaichirō drove the rickshaw up to the Tōka Saikan at the west end of the Shijō Bridge. Slapping his cheeks to knock the silly smile from his face, he composed himself and entered the old-fashioned hand operated lift. Upstairs he found Gyokuran dressed in a formal kimono, waiting for him in the corridor.

“Everyone’s already here!” Taking his hand, she led him to the banquet hall. Round black tables were arranged on the wooden floorboards, where Nanzenji Seijirō and several other tanuki were waiting for him. Sunlight streamed in from the tall, narrow windows that overlooked the Kamo River, and through them could be seen people streaming across the Shijō Bridge as well as the great roof of the Minami-za on the other side.

Too impatient to wait for Yaichirō’s arrival, Nanzenji Seijirō already had a glass of Shaoxing wine in hand, and once he saw Yaichirō there he hastily covered it with his other hand.

“Seriously!?” Gyokuran reproved.

“Almost time, isn’t it Yaichirō?” Seijirō said with a chagrined chuckle. “Now all we do is wait.”

Black-clad Ebisugawa Kureichirō stood up, bowing his head. “I offer you my heartfelt congratulations.”

“”No, no, it’s too soon for congratulations, Kureichirō.”

“Surely such caution is unnecessary now, Yaichirō.”

All around Yaichirō the tanuki took their glasses in hand and stood, toasting to the new Trick Magister who would soon bear their fortunes on his shoulders, and to his little bit of glory.

Everyone was smiling and laughing, as if the election was already over and done with.

Yaichirō looked out through the window at the peaceful cityscape outside. He was lost in thoughts when Gyokuran came up to him. “You’re thinking about your brothers, aren’t you?”

“You read my mind,” he answered, startled.

“Of course I did. You’re always worrying about them,” she chuckled. “Yasaburō’s been enjoying his runaway lifestyle. I’m sure Yajirō is fine, too. He should be crossing Shikoku right about now, shouldn’t he?”

“...I suppose I am a worrywart.”

“I know you are. But why don’t you concentrate on yourself for once, just for today?”

　　　　　　　◯

At 10 in the morning on that same day, Yajirō got off the train at the JR Minami-Komatsushima Station.

Komatsushima is a city in Tokushima prefecture that lies on the Kii Channel, and since antiquity it has served as an important seaport linking Shikoku and Kansai. It is well known as the location of the Awa Tanuki War, and the descendants of the hero of that legend, Higaino Kinchō, have kept their furry bloodline in that city to this day.

“I’d better keep things formal. They’re a pretty noble family, after all.” In the bathroom at the station Yajirō transformed himself a pressed suit. Outside the station, taxis waited with their red vacant lights on, though there were only a few people walking around. In the corner of the plaza stood a small statue of a tanuki.

Yajirō started trudging through the streets of Komatsushima, heading for Kinchō Shrine. Along the way he passed banks and harbour offices, while warm, glorious sunshine beat down on the town. It seemed—and perhaps this was because he was by the sea—the sky was a slightly different colour than it was in Kyoto.

The ties between the Shimogamo clan of Kyoto and the Kinchō clan of the old province of Awa have existed for centuries. Legend had it that it was one of our old Shimogamo forebears in the Edo period who, by chance passing through the area, had lent his claws to the Kinchō cause during the Awa Tanuki War—though, since this legend was fabricated by that old blowhard Shimogamo Tetsutarō in the Meiji period, the likelihood of the story being true was nil. However, by all accounts it is true that our steady friendship with the esteemed Kinchō clan does indeed date back to the Edo period. My globetrotting grandfather used to stay at the Kinchō manse on his way around the 88 temples of the Shikoku Pilgrimage, and Father used to visit on occasion as well. The Shimogamo clan spared no expense in hosting whenever the Kinchō clan came to town, and their patriarch had often regaled us brothers with tales of the Awa Tanuki War. We were all so awed at the many dashing exploits of the very first Kinchō patriarch that we could hardly believe he had been a tanuki just like us.

Just past noon, Yajirō finally reached Kinchō Shrine.

Surrounding the shrine were winter-withered dandelions and residential buildings.

Passing underneath the black-stained stone torii, Yajirō entered the shrine grounds, where leaves lay strewn all over the stone tiles. With the purification fountain to his right, the main shrine building lay just ahead, and inside hung a great red lantern inscribed with the name of the clan. On the other side of the offertory box were large wooden casks and a mikoshi, and prominently displayed were the impressive words “Lord Tanuki”, the title which had been bestowed upon the first patriarch. The tanuki who constituted the bloodline of that great ancestor kept this shrine as their headquarters.

But there wasn’t a trace of tanuki anywhere in the shrine.

“I’m pretty sure this is the place…” Going around to the back of the shrine, Yajirō stopped in his tracks.

A little girl was leaning against the back of the shrine, waving a stalk of green foxtail grass. Though it was winter, she was wearing only an egg-yolk-yellow dress which was faded from too many turns in the wash. She was barefoot, and her unruly light brown hair shone in the midday sunshine. Though her appearance was coarse, her eyes were beautifully limpid as they stared back at Yajirō. Clearly she was a tanuki.

The girl wordlessly turned and jumped away, keeping a wary distance from Yajirō.

“Are you one of the Kinchō clan?” Yajirō asked. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. See…”

As he took a step forward, his foot went right through the ground, and his body was sucked in. Taken aback, Yajirō turned back into a frog, and when the dust had settled he found himself at the bottom of a hole.

Yajirō sullenly looked up at the sky. The girl peeked over the edge of the hole, and when she saw him her eyes widened in surprise.

“Thought you were a tanuki, but you’re a frog!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never seen a frog that could shapeshift before. You must be really famous in the frog world!”

“I’m a tanuki, not a frog!”

“Pooh-pooh! How could any tanuki be so smooth and shiny?”

“It’s true. I stayed transformed into a frog for a long time, and now whenever I lose my focus I turn back into a frog. I’ve really got fur, you know.”

“Oh, how odd! That is very odd!” The girl cocked her head to one side and grinned. “Whyever did you turn into a frog for so long? Was it because you thought frogs were cute? I turn into frogs a lot myself. Frogs are so wonderful! They hibernate in holes during the winter, so they must understand how wonderful being in holes is. I don’t much fancy eating bugs, though.” Leaving Yajirō to sit there looking befuddled, the girl kept blathering on and on. “I dug this hole myself. Father tells me not to dig holes, but I’d much rather be dead than not dig holes! I think I must have been born to dig holes. I’m so very contrary, and whenever people used to tell me to come out a hole I wouldn’t. It’s so peaceful at the bottom of a hole. But I’ve yet to dig my ideal hole yet, so I just keep a stiff upper lip whenever Father scolds me and persevere onwards.”

“You’re a real artist,” Yajirō finally managed to squeeze in.

“Yes, yes, yes! An artist! Holes are how I express myself!” the girl agreed wholeheartedly. “...But sometimes, an oaf comes lumbering along and blunders right into one of my holes.”

The girl suddenly shut her mouth as if something had surprised her, and squinted suspiciously down at Yajirō. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I can talk to you about anything.”

She reached her hand into the hole and picked Yajirō up. Cupping him in both hands, she put her face right up beside him and sniffed, then brightened up. “You’re one of the Shimogamo tanuki! You let me ride in the fake Eizan railcar. Don’t you remember?”

Yajirō thought back to the time when he had visited the Kinchō clan with Father. At Father’s urging, Yajirō had transformed into an Eizan railcar as entertainment. Loading the Kinchō tanuki on board he’d raced through the countryside, earning their great esteem. There had been a little girl in the driver’s seat, glued to the windshield and screaming with delight, “Amazing! Amazing!” The Kinchō head had been very thankful that his daughter had finally come out of her hole.

“So you’re that Shimogamo tanuki. I’ll take you straight to Father then.” The girl raised Yajirō high up in the air like he was an offering to heaven. Then she crawled beneath the floor of the shrine, singing, “Lalala, froggie frog frog!”

　　　　　　　◯

Around that time, I was sitting on the veranda at Ayameike’s house, smoking a pipe.

It was a little past noon, and the garden was bathed in tranquil sunshine. Ayameike and his wife had laid out their futons in the tatami room and were taking a pleasant afternoon nap.

Everything was so quiet that I could hear the cinders smouldering in the ashtray. Earlier in the afternoon when I was playing with Ayameike, I could hear bikes whirring past and children liberated for winter break shrieking in the street, but now everything was so still it was as if time itself had come to a halt. The only signs of motion came from the wisps of smoke from my pipe curling up through the transparent sunshine.

Yaichirō must be heading to the election right about now, I thought to myself.

As I dangled my feet from the veranda, my ears detected the sound of paws scurrying over fallen leaves, and a lone tanuki emerged from the trees. Hey, she’s pretty cute, I thought, but no sooner had the thought crossed my mind than my transformation came right off and the pipe fell to the ground with a clatter. I scrambled to douse the pipe with my tea.

“Don’t just pop out in front of me like that!” I chided her.

Ebisugawa Kaisei sat down in the garden and laughed. “I just came to see you, because you never come to see me!”

“Don’t be silly. I’m a wanted tanuki, you know.”

“It’s your fault for picking a fight with a half-baked tengu!”

“Come on. I’m putting my skin on the line for the good of the community.”

“Sure, like you’re not doing this for the thrill of it. If you end up going into a stew it’s your own fault!”

It wouldn’t do to be quarreling with my fiancée in the garden of a human’s residence, so I came down from the veranda and took Kaisei through the trees to the dried-up, leaf-filled pond.

I was surprised to hear her tell me that she had escaped from the Faux Denki Bran distillery.

“What do you mean, escaped?”

“My brother Kureichirō’s just being really weird.”

Since he had returned to Kyoto from his decade-long absence, Kureichirō had been so energetic you’d hardly believe that he had once renounced the world to live as a monk. With Yaichirō’s inauguration coming up, he had been assisting with the business of the tanuki world, accompanying Yaichirō around to greet the elders, and just all around making himself perfectly helpful. He was also proving to be a remarkably gifted manager at the Faux Denki Bran distillery, and before Kaisei had realized it he had lifted all of the duties that burdened her shoulders and placed them on his own. Thoroughly smitten by his charisma, Kinkaku and Ginkaku obeyed his every command without question.

“He’s just pushing himself because he’s head of the family, no?”

“Kureichirō was never that kind of tanuki.”

“It’s been ten years, he must have changed.”

“That’s not all. It gets even sketchier.”

What Kaisei told me next was pretty hard to ignore.

A few days ago, Kaisei had been moping around the distillery grounds, when she spotted a suspicious figure skulking about Inazuma Shrine, which was built around the grave of Professor Inazuma. That shrine was sacred ground to the Ebisugawa clan, and even distillery employees didn’t tread there lightly, let alone some unknown outsider.

She had been on the verge of shouting at him, when Ebisugawa Kureichirō swiftly came striding up and shook hands with the stranger. Kaisei hid in the shadows and observed as the pair entered the shrine and began a secret discussion.

“He was talking to that weirdo conjurer,” Kaisei confided.

“Hold up. You’re telling me Kureichirō was making a deal with Tenmaya?” I was taken aback. An image of pearly-white dentures flashed through my mind. “That is sketchy.”

Ever since then, Kaisei had been doing some sniffing around, but Kureichirō was not an easy tanuki to tail. And eventually, Kaisei realized that she herself was being watched. Wherever she went, the Ebisugawa Guard Corps followed. Interrogate them as she might, they would only play dumb, but the only thing she could think of was that Ebisugawa Kureichirō had put them up to it.

“Plus, I don’t think Kureichirō likes that we’re engaged again.”

“Didn’t he say to Yaichirō that they’d put out an official announcement next year?”

“That’s just what he says in front of Yaichirō. Waiting until Father’s mourning period is over is just an excuse. All I know is, something’s going on with Kureichirō.” Kaisei grinned. “So that’s why I left a note saying I’m eloping with you and got outta there. Bet Kureichirō won’t be expecting that!”

“You seriously...this is going to turn into a pain in the butt, isn’t it.”

“I’ll be a pain in your butt if you don’t grow a pair!”

“Eloping right after we’ve just gotten engaged...you are seriously out of order.”

Just as Kaisei opened her mouth to retort, she clammed up and darted her eyes towards the trees. Her wet nose sniffed the air, and she murmured, “Something doesn’t feel right.”

I turned around and scanned the trees, but all I saw were the withered branches of the forest.

“There isn’t a festival around here, is there?” Kaisei whispered uneasily. “I think I can hear the music…”

Suddenly from the depths of the forest came a dry bang, and I felt something cut through the air. Kaisei screamed and collapsed to the ground. I ran over to her. “What’s wrong!?” I shouted, shaking her, but her unfocused gaze only stared limply up at me. Her front paws twitched, and then her eyes closed.

“Ho ho ho!” The cheerful voice of Tenmaya rang through the grove. He stepped out from behind the trees, wearing a resplendent haori over his trademark red shirt, and shouldering the gleaming air rifle. He looked nothing so much like some nouveau riche out on safari. I didn’t understand how he had concealed his presence all this time.

I dragged Kaisei over, attempting to flee the advancing Tenmaya, but my unconscious fiancée was out like a sack of bricks. And now I couldn’t transform and pick her up. I could only gnash my teeth and bemoan the inconvenience of this four-legged form.

“Santa’s got another present for ya!” Tenmaya hollered.

I felt a sharp prick at the base of my neck, and then a burning sensation spread throughout my body. My vision started to swim, and everything looked very far away.

At the end of the black tunnel that enclosed my vision, I could just make out the furskin-wrapped figure of Tenmaya lumbering toward me. Swinging from his hand, gleaming in the wintry sunlight, was a large cage.

And then I blacked out.

Burned into my eyes until the very last was the sight of Tenmaya’s impossibly white teeth.