Chapter 7 — Blood of a Tengu, Blood of a Fool (Part 3)

Around this time, Mother and Yashirō were in a warehouse on the grounds of the Faux Denki Bran distillery.

Around them were jumbled piles of worn out machinery and the concrete floor was very cold. Only the faint red glow of an electric heater lit the surroundings.

“Goodness, trapped in a cage again. This is just like last year!”

“My butt feels really cold.”

“And I’m famished. I was supposed to be waiting for Yaichirō at the Scarlet Pane, but now thanks to those Ebisugawa idiots, what a fine year-end party this is turning out to be!”

The door of the warehouse opened, and Ginkaku came walking in.

“‘Scure me, I’m here with your dinner. I’ll put in an egg for you.”

Ginkaku cracked a raw egg on top of the bowl of gyūdon and placed it inside the cage, then poured miso soup from a thermos into a small bowl. Ginkaku had prepared it with fried tofu strips and chopped green onions, and to Mother’s gratification it was much more delicious than she had been expecting. The gyūdon and the miso soup warmed their bellies, and Mother and Yashirō began to feel a bit calmer.

“This heater isn’t helping much,” frowned Ginkaku, fiddling with the control.

“Say, Ginkaku,” Mother called. “You don’t really believe that we killed your father, do you?”

“Umm, I don’t know what you expect me to say!”

“But, these are my sons we’re talking about!”

“Parents always say that,” said Ginkaku, holding his hands in front of the heater. “Our dad always used to say that. My children couldn’t possibly be so stupid!”

“Well, anyone would say that, looking at you two…” Mother sighed. “I recall your mother was always worried.”

“I don’t want to talk about Mother,” said Ginkaku. “It makes me sad.”

Ebisugawa Sōun’s wife, the mother of Ginkaku and Kinkaku, had died shortly after giving birth to Kaisei following a sudden illness. Having been prized and sheltered during her Ebisugawa upbringing, she could be prissy and self-centered, but as Mother told it, there was no doubt that she had been a good mother to her children.

“It must have been so hard for you two, losing your mother so early in life.”

Hearing those words from Mother, Ginkaku said nothing and stared into the red glow of the heater.

“I knew she must still be very worried about you. No matter how old their children get, tanuki mums and dads always worry. And that goes double, when our children are fools. I know deep down you’re a kind tanuki, and you must love your mother very much. You must get lonely sometimes on cold nights. And I don’t think that’s anything to be ashamed of, at all.”

“I’m not lonely,” muttered Ginkaku, sounding lonely.

Mother continued to plead with him to open the cage, but Ginkaku just kept shaking his head. “I can’t,” he told her. “My brothers’ll get mad at me.”

“I know you, though, you’re a good boy.”

“...Am I?”

At last Ginkaku stood up and made to leave the warehouse, but reaching out his hand to open the door he stopped and thought for a while. “I can’t let you out of the cage,” he mumbled. “But I might be able to ask Kaisei.”

“Yes, you do that. We’ll be waiting right here.”

Mother put all her hopes on Kaisei and waited for Ginkaku to return.

Sounding as if he was about to cry, Yashirō asked, “Is Yaichirō not gonna be Trick Magister anymore?”

“Well, things have gotten rather tangled up.”

“...Yasaburō’s gonna figure something out, I bet.”

“Will he? He doesn’t know what’s happening here.”

But it was Mother and Yashirō who didn’t know that I was teetering on the edge of the pot; they weren’t aware that Yaichirō had already renounced the Trick Magistership and stormed out of the conclave; and they certainly had no idea that Yajirō was heading back to Kyoto from Tokushima in the company of a second Kureichirō.

A while later Ginkaku came back and gave them some surprising news.

“What do I do? Kaisei’s not in her room! I’m in a whole lot of trouble!”

“What do you mean?”

“...I found this letter. What does ‘elope’ mean?”

Mother read the letter and sniffed. “Dear me...now what in the world is going on?”

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While I pretended to be asleep, I eventually fell asleep for real.

When I woke up I was in what appeared to be a dim, chilly hallway. Red velvet chairs and wooden tables were lined up along the wall all the way along into the murky, unseen depths of the corridor. Here and there were burning old-fashioned stoves.

This is the Scarlet Pane, I realized.

The Scarlet Pane on Teramachi Street is a favorite haunt of tanuki from all over Kyoto, and people said that no matter how many tanuki packed its confines there were always more seats waiting to be filled. The interior stretched on without end, and no matter the time of year it was always wintry cold inside. The rumor was that the corridor led to the land of the dead. Perhaps I was even now about to cross the border between the living and the dead.

Faintly I heard the sounds of a festival coming from the lightless depths of the corridor. Alone, I sat at a table and listened to that strange sound. It sounded to me like a farewell. Resting my head on my hands, my breath froze into clouds of frost. It reminded me of when Father and I had walked along the brook in the Tadasu Forest one wintry morning.

Before I knew it, Father was sitting on top of the table in his tanuki form.

For some reason, I wasn’t surprised.

“Father, have I already fallen into the stewpot?”

“No, you have not. You are only sleeping. This is a dream of yours.”

“How come you’re still in your tanuki form?”

“...Because my body may no longer change its form.”

“But it’s a dream; you can transform into whatever you like.”

“You cannot always do everything you like, even in a dream.”

For a moment I stared back into Father’s kindly eyes, and then I blurted out, “You’re an awful tanuki.” Father had picked fights with tengu, courted the enmity of Ebisugawa Sōun, and then fallen into a stewpot leaving his family alone in the world. Father might have been prepared for that to happen, but it was a shock for all of us he left behind. The bonds of our family had been strengthened, but only after going through great suffering.

“I am sorry,” said Father. “It’s just my fool’s blood talking.”

“We always blame everything on our fool’s blood.”

“Are you talking about me, or you?”

“Yeah, you got me.”

“The apple never falls from the tree, and the same is true of furballs.” Father studied his furry forepaws. “Yasaburō, are you living a fun life?”

“Sure am,” I said, before remembering that I was about to be made into tanuki stew. “I’m having so much fun that I’m about to take a dive right into a stewpot.”

“I will be there to greet you when you do.”

“Thank you, Father...but I can’t afford to do that just yet.” I said, shaking my head. “I always thought that when the time came I’d go down laughing, just like you, but I can’t drag Kaisei in with me, and there’s still so many things left for me to do.”

“Fine, fine!” Father laughed. “Everyone walks this road eventually. There is no need to rush into it.”

I let out an incredulous sigh. “How can you still be laughing when your own kid is about to turn into soup?”

“That is not very like you to say, Yasaburō.” Father regarded me with kindly eyes. “We are tanuki. There is never a time when we should not be laughing.”

Up to this point I’d been talking quite calmly, but now my eyes filled with tears, to the point that I could no longer see Father. From far away I heard the sound of that farewell. I tried to call out to him, but the words wouldn’t come. The darkness of the corridor closed in until nothing could be seen.

“Take care of Master Akadama for me,” I heard Father’s dear voice say. “There is still much you have to do.”

When I opened my eyes, I was still in the cage.

While I was out, the cage had been brought up to the third floor of the train and placed in a corner of the changing room. Kaisei was still sleeping peacefully beside me.

I suddenly sat up in shock.

A strange figure had appeared and was quickly tiptoeing towards the cage. It was wearing the black cape of a Taishō period schoolboy, and a flimsy paper tanuki mask.

“Ponpoko Ranger is here to save the day!” Professor Yodogawa declared.

　　　　　　　◯

“Of the Thirty-Six Stratagems, fleeing is best, my furry friends!” Professor Yodogawa reached out with his hairy hands from the folds of the cloak and picked up the cage.

But just as he did, jolly voices began to come up the stairs from the banquet room. The Friday Fellows had come to say goodbye to the stew-bound tanuki.

“We’ve got two tonight, two!”

“Tenmaya’s certainly on his game. I don’t think we could finish two entire tanuki, though!”

“Jurōjin seems to be of a mind to make up for last year’s fiasco.”

“Ooh, just the sound of it gives me indigestion!”

The voices approached us, and four of the Friday Fellows—Daikoku, Bishamon, Yebisu, and Fukurokuju—appeared at the top of the staircase. Their conversation died when they saw this stranger holding the tanuki cage, and they stopped in their tracks.

“Hey, who do you think you are?”

“Oh, look! He’s making off with the tanuki!”

But none of them were foolhardy enough to leap on the masked intruder. The Friday Fellows and Ponpoko Ranger stared each other down there in the changing room, scattered hampers lying around them on the floorboards.

“So? Who are you?” Bishamon asked.

Professor Yodogawa puffed his chest out proudly. “I am Ponpoko Ranger, friend of all tanuki everywhere!”

No sooner had they heard that voice than the Friday Fellows all rolled their eyes.

“Oh, it’s just Yodogawa. Silly me, letting myself be surprised.”

“Don’t you feel ashamed of yourself, a college professor in a getup like that!”

“What you’re doing here is trespassing!”

But Professor Yodogawa didn’t back down.

“Heaven and Earth and Humanity are calling me, calling me to save the tanuki! The laws of man are null and void in the face of my love for tanuki! There’s not a statute in the books that can hold me back! Sophistry is the new law of the land, and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

“Alright, alright, Yodogawa. We get it already.”

“What an incurable character. Pin him down!”

But the professor scattered a handful of oddly shaped cockleburs on the floor, preventing the Friday Fellows from approaching. “There’s poison in those thorns,” he shouted, sending the Friday Fellows shrieking and tumbling down the stairs to the second floor in a hasty retreat. The professor tossed hampers and dressers into the stairway to block it, then carried the cage up to the rooftop.

But it was too late: the three-storied locomotive was ascending into the sky.

The rooftop bamboo grove rustled in the wind, and beyond it the pond lapped and rippled. Rising into the dark blue sky the train turned and slowly moved off, skimming the tops of the buildings like an airplane.

The professor clung to a stalk of green bamboo and looked chagrined at the lights flying past below. “I wasn’t expecting them to fly right through the center of the city…”

Here the Friday Fellows made their return, wielding wicker baskets and yukata obi.

“We don’t want to hurt you! Come quietly!” shouted Daikoku.

“You can go, but leave the tanuki!” added Bishamon.

The Friday Fellows chased the professor around the bamboo grove. There in the floating train these men, so distinguished and honourable in the world below, fought each other over a couple of tanuki. Daikoku took a shove from Professor Yodogawa and fell into the water, while Ebisu simply stood at the edge of the fray, too intimidated to go in himself. In the end it was the burly Bishamon who showed off some mail-order kung-fu techniques to corner Professor Yodogawa at the edge of the lake.

“You’re not just a professor, are you?”

“Of course I am not a professor. I’m Ponpoko Ranger!”

“Still on about that? Well, I’ll admit that you’ve got spirit!”

Fukurokuju came lunging out of the bamboo and grabbed hold of Professor Yodogawa’s black cape. Sure, the professor may have been in disguise, but that cape was definitely a baffling choice. While the professor was staggered, Bishamon and Daikoku swiftly threw themselves on him, finally bringing him down.

The Friday Fellows attempted to wrestle the cage away, but Professor Yodogawa stubbornly clung on to it like a kid whose attempt to sneak a stray dog into the house has just been discovered.

“Just let me go!” he wept.

As his hot tears rained down on me, I thought to myself that if his struggle didn’t pay off and I ended up turning into stew, I’d have to visit his bedside one night and express my thanks to him as a furry ghost.

Tenmaya abruptly showed up in the bamboo grove, grinning that grin of his.

“What’s this now, what’s all the commotion?”

His face glowed pale and the German air rifle glinted in the city lights. “Now, Professor Yodogawa, you can’t be hogging the tanuki all to yourself!”

Even Ponpoko Ranger couldn’t stand up to that air rifle.

Just when I was thinking it was all over, I heard a loud beast-like howl from the neighbouring building. The Friday Fellows looked up to see what it was and were immediately petrified at the spectacle of two tigers bounding their way along the rooftops in hot pursuit of the train.

“Now just a moment!” Bishamon groaned. “Why did there have to be tigers again this year?”

The two tigers roared and leapt towards the train.

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A cloud of gloom hung over the Heir’s villa.

After Yaichirō’s dramatic exit, the rest of the tanuki sat there forlornly on the Persian rug like a group of children who had been suddenly abandoned on a picnic.

The Heir sat up on his sofa and looked down at the tanuki. “What a predicament, to be sure. Now, I am terribly sorry, but I am a busy man. Might I ask you to finish things up?”

“Could you give us a moment?” Yasaka Heitarō murmured faintly.

The Trick Magister’s despondency was painful to witness. Everything was set for his flight to Hawaii. His office in Gion Nawate lay empty, his Hawaiian knicknacks disposed of. The only thing he had retained was the charm from Hawaii Izumo Taisha that he had bought during his vacation with Shimogamo Sōichirō and the former Nanzenji head. “My Hawaii…” He let out a soft moan.

It was Kinkaku who broke the unbearable silence.

“A suggestion, if I may.”

“What is it, Kinkaku?” groaned Yasaka Heitarō. “Out with it.”

“How about we make my brother Kureichirō the interim Trick Magister? If a dependable Trick Magister were to be installed, you could go on your merry way off to the islands. The elders would decide whether to officially install him at a later date, of course.”

“...You were the last tanuki I was expecting to come up with a plan,” Yasaka frowned.

The tanuki began to whisper amongst themselves, and gradually the mood brightened. Since his return to Kyoto, Ebisugawa Kureichirō had made a name for himself as an upstanding, hardworking tanuki, and as the inheritor of the renowned Faux Denki Bran distillery, tanuki put faith in him. He wasn’t a problem child like Kinkaku or Ginkaku. Could he not serve as the Trick Magister, at least provisionally? the elders murmured.

Ebisugawa Kureichirō nodded solemnly and said, “I, Ebisugawa Kureichirō, humbly accept the position of provisional Trick Magister. I solemnly vow to do my utmost to serve the tanuki community.”

The tanuki crowd milled into a semblance of rows, sat on their haunches, and bowed to the Heir seated above.

“By your leave, sir.”

“Goodness, is it over already?” The Heir floated down to the floor. “Now, my air rifle.”

Kinkaku offered the glittering golden air rifle to the Heir reverentially, but after inspecting it the Heir quizzically cocked his head to the side.

“This is a fake.You couldn’t kill a goldfish with this toy. It doesn’t even fire. What is the meaning of this?”

“Surely that—” Kinkaku waffled wordlessly, while the tanuki crowd gasped.

“A strange development, wouldn’t you say, Kureichirō?” The Heir’s voice was genial, but his eyes were stony.

Kureichirō’s face drained of color, and he hemmed and hawed, “I ask your pardon, sir, but that cannot be the case.”

“I tell you it is a fake.”

“That cannot…” Kureichirō’s voice faltered and trailed off.

Yasaka Heitarō looked on anxiously at this distressing sequence of events. The other tanuki held their breaths, watching Kureichirō and the Heir.

Just then a strange monk opened the doors facing the garden and wandered inside.

“Who in the world?” everyone wondered in astonishment.

The monk was wearing a large rock around his neck which looked a bit like a turban shell, and he was carrying a grubby sack on his back. His body exuded the scent of brine, the scent of many days and nights spent by the sea at Cape Misaki. In his hands he held a large bowl, boorishly shoveling rice into his mouth as he walked. And on top of his freshly shaven head rode a small frog.

Seeing the frog, Yasaka Heitarō jumped to his feet. “Shimogamo Yajirō! I thought you’d left on a journey!”

“I’ve come back posthaste from Shikoku, because there’s something I had to inform you of,” said Yajirō, picking up his webbed feet and putting them down on his smooth perch. After crossing the Kii Channel on the Nankai Ferry, he’d transferred from the Nankai Electric Railway to the Midōsuji line to the Hankyu line and ridden it up to Karasuma and then made his way here.

“Ah, is that him? Is that my impersonator?” the strange monk exclaimed, crossing the room and pushing the tanuki aside. He munched on his rice and stared down at Kureichirō. Then without warning, he burst into a fit of laughter, spraying rice grains all over Kureichirō’s face.”

“Oh, how very amusing. And you all thought this was Kureichirō?”

“How dare you! Who are you, anyways?” Yasaka Heitarō demanded.

“I am Ebisugawa Kureichirō.”

“Preposterous! Ebisugawa Kureichirō is sitting right in front of you!”

“Are your noses all clogged up? This tanuki sitting in front of you all is Ebisugawa Sōun.”

Every tanuki in the room turned to stare in shock.

Kureichirō stared back in defiance and scorn, painstakingly wiping off the grains of rice that were stuck to his face.

At this point Yasaka Heitarō finally lost his voice and gave up. He closed his eyes, and prayed for someone, anyone, to come and put an end to the madness.

　　　　　　　◯

Jurōjin’s three-story train floated in the skies above the city.

The two tigers who had thrown themselves from the rooftops pulled themselves out of the pond and shook off the water, then lunged at Professor Yodogawa and snatched away the cage. Tangled up in his cape the professor tumbled over and fell helplessly into the pond like an acorn. I felt bad for him since he’d gone to such lengths to save my life, but to be fair to Yaichirō, the way things had been going it was hard to tell friend from foe.

“Yaichirō, watch out for the air rifle!” I shouted.

Yaichirō dodged Tenmaya’s hastily loosed shot just in the nick of time, and before Tenmaya had a time to load a second shot the tiger was upon him, sending the conjurer flying into the pond. Crimson with rage, Tenmaya tried to crawl out of the water, but with Professor Yodogawa wrapped around him all he could do was wriggle around.

The Friday Fellows fled into the bamboo thicket, scattering like baby spiders.

Finally free, I transformed into a human and stretched my arms and legs.

Gyokuran shook the cage with Kaisei sleeping inside. “Kaisei won’t open her eyes!” she cried.

Making sure not to look directly at the sleeping Kaisei, I told her, “Tenmaya shot her with a sleeping dart!”

“How terrible!” Gyokuran’s voice quivered with indignation. “How did all this happen?”

There was so much we wanted to ask one another, but Tenmaya had shaken off Professor Yodogawa and was pulling himself up. First things first, we needed to get out of here.

We hurried along the little path through the bamboo.

“Hey! The train is ascending!” warned Yaichirō. “How do we escape?”

“We’ll hijack the train!” I declared.

At the end of the path was the bathhouse chimney, and beside it was the entrance to the staircase leading to the lower floor. Bishamon was peeking out, fearfully surveying the situation. Yaichirō let out an earth-shaking howl and charged straight for him. “They’re coming!” shrieked Bishamon, pulling his head inside.

With Yaichirō leading the way, we descended the spiral staircase.

“Tiger! Tiger! Tiger!” squealed the Friday Fellows, tripping over themselves as they fled. Round and round the spiral staircase we went, and soon enough we found ourselves in the study on the ground floor. Yaichirō went on a rampage through the curios, picking up the fleeing Friday Fellows in his mouth and tossing them aside. The scrolls hanging from the ceiling were ripped asunder, and pottery-laden shelves went toppling with almighty crashes.

“What clamour is this!”

Jurōjin turned around in the driver’s seat, his eyes blazing.

Here I leapt forward and attempted to wrest Jurōjin out of the seat, but he clung for dear life to the yoke, bellowing, “Insolent fool!” During the tug-of-war over the yoke, the train lurched this way and that, sending antiques and passengers alike flying around the room. Wails of “We’re going to crash!” echoed around the walls. Jurōjin was preternaturally strong for someone who was about to hit his 120th birthday, and refused to give up the yoke.

“The skies of Kyoto are mine!” he hissed.

“The skies of Kyoto belong to the tengu!” I retorted. “You cheeky human!”

I pulled Jurōjin’s white beard. Grunting in pain, he pulled his head away, and Yaichirō used that moment to seize hold of his collar and peel him away from the seat.

I immediately jumped in to replace him and took hold of the stick, grabbing a bottle of Akadama port wine beside me. Dumping its contents into the chagama engine, I pulled up on the yoke with all my might and held on for dear life. The train rocketed upwards into the sky, the chassis tilting and sending everything, myself excluded, tumbling to the back.

From the driver’s seat I could see the whole city sparkling below me. In front of me were the glittering Kyoto Tower, the lights of Shijō Avenue stretching over the Kamo River, the resplendent glow of Yasaka Shrine in Gion, the towering black peaks of the Higashiyama Sanjuroppō mountains. I brought the train around and scanned the earth for a place to land.

Suddenly a fragrance wafted into my nose from behind, and a white arm came snaking around my neck, yanking me away from the yoke. Another cheek placed itself against mine, smooth and cold.

“That’s quite enough, Yasaburō,” whispered Benten.

“...Ah, if it isn’t Lady Benten.”

“You don’t know when to call it quits, do you, you naughty tanuki? Your father went into his pot so obediently.”

“I’ve still got so much left to do.”

Here I finally spotted the pinprick of light I had been looking for and cried out with joy.

There—at last—was the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Lady Benten, what would you say about ramming our way straight in there?” I pointed at the lights of the Heir’s villa. “I’m sure that will give the Heir quite a shock.”

For a moment Benten was unable to speak, craning her neck and glowering at that pinprick. Then, an unblemished smile spread across the face of that conflicted goddess, like she’d just received a new toy to play with on her birthday. And if anyone was going to smash the toy to smithereens, it was going to be the birthday girl herself.

Benten slapped me on the back. “Oh, Yasaburō, you naughty boy!”

And now, there was no one to stand in my way.

　　　　　　　◯

I aimed for the twinkling gas lamp and set the train plunging through the sky.

The train landed on the roof, its wheels shrieking, barreling straight at the Heir’s villa. In ecstasy I blasted the horn, over and over again.

The train crushed the white picket fence, toppled over the gas lamp, smashed through trees. As the headlights splashed over the veranda, I spotted the tanuki popping back into their furball forms one after another and falling over each other like an avalanche, fleeing to the other side of the house.

The train leapt straight over the veranda and smashed into the villa. The French doors were obliterated, the roof tumbled down upon itself. The train came to rest, its back half sticking out of the villa.

“Brilliant!” Benten picked herself up and clapped her hands, going to the rear of the train to check on the Friday Fellows. Her queries were met by a chorus of groans.

While Benten was at the back, Yaichirō and Gyokuran came up to the front.

“I thought we were done for, Yasaburō,” Yaichirō moaned.

I went out the front exit, and surveying the scene even I had to feel a little twinge of regret.

The Heir’s proud villa was utterly destroyed. The roof was caved in, and in the gap between it and the train the stars were peeking through. The floor was strewn with the remains of the chandelier and what had once been furniture. Thick clouds of dust and splinters drifted through the headlight beams.

The tanuki were piled up against the far wall, holding their breaths. In their midst sat Ebisugawa Sōun, his eyes flashing.

“So you live, Yasaburō,” said he, glaring at me.

“And I thought you were on your way to the next life, Uncle,” I replied.

“It seems we both were too loath to depart from this life.”

“Now it all makes sense. You planned all this from the start!”

Sōun no longer bothered to hide his true identity, sitting there in his real form proudly and openly. He’d been caught by the tail under the Heir’s questioning, and with the return of the real Kureichirō from Tokushima, he had been forced to return to his true form. Now that his nephew, who should have been bubbling in a stewpot, had come crashing in on the three-storied train, he must have realized that it was all over. But rather than shrink and cower, his eyes gleamed with stubborn defiance, looking even more alive than before.

It wasn’t anger that welled up within me, or surprise. It was a feeling of admiration: this guy is really something. From his staged death at Arima hot springs to his return as the fake Kureichirō, everything had been a pack of lies, but Ebisugawa Sōun had fooled the entire tanuki world. Here was a tricky tanuki if there ever had been one, a villainous master of deception, and it had all been so splendidly ambitious that all you could do was laugh.

But once he saw Kaisei curled up in Gyokuran’s arms, even Sōun was aghast.

“Kaisei was shot by Tenmaya,” I informed him.

“What...?”

“That’s what all your scheming has gotten you. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

From the darkness something hopped onto my shoulder.

“As reckless as ever, I see,” croaked Yajirō. “I was almost trampled to death there.”

“Oh, Yajirō. What’re you doing here?”

“I think there’s something else we’d better focus on first.”

I turned around.

The Friday Fellows were crawling out of the train. In the dazzling headlights Jurōjin got to his feet uncertainly. Cold rage seethed from every inch of him. Beside the fearsome doyen of the Friday Fellows stood Tenmaya, shouldering the German air rifle. Tenmaya looked at the crowd of tanuki and whistled.

“Now that’s a sight if I’ve ever seen one. We’ll have our fill of stew tonight!”

“Tenmaya, I want you to take every tanuki here and cook it!”

“That’s a pretty tall order!”

Hearing this the tanuki began to squeak piteously.

“Ho, Yasaburō. You’re a real scamp!” Tenmaya laughed at me.

“Don’t shoot them, Tenmaya,” I said.

“No can do, now that I’m someone’s dog again. I still wouldn’t mind teaming up with you, though...even if you are a little bit furrier than I realized.”

Yaichirō jumped in their way and roared, but Jurōjin and Tenmaya didn’t seem impressed in the least.

“He’s only a paper tiger. See if I don’t make a rug out of you!” Jurōjin rebuked him.

Ponpoko Ranger, also known as Professor Yodogawa, suddenly appeared out of the shadows and stood in front of them with his arms outstretched. His now-tattered cape flapped around him like he was a swamp creature covered in seaweed, and the remains of his mask teetered precariously on the tip of his nose. But his love for tanuki remained strong and unwavering, in the face of a gun.

“I won’t let you have a single one. If you want to shoot the tanuki, you’ll have to shoot me first!”

“A real troublemaker, you are,” Tenmaya chuckled drily.

“Ignore the fool. Tenmaya, shoot them all!”

Tenmaya leveled the rifle at him.

But before he could pull the trigger, Ebisugawa Sōun came flying out of the crowd, racing over the floor. Tenmaya tried to kick him away, but Sōun latched onto his leg, scurried up his torso, and sank his fangs into Tenmaya’s ear. Tenmaya let out a bloodcurdling scream and flung himself around.

“You ruined everything!” screeched Sōun, tearing at Tenmaya’s face with his claws. “This is why humans are so…!” Sōun’s voice was desperate. Not only had Tenmaya sold him a fake gun, he’d used the real one to shoot his beloved daughter, and now all he could think of was wreaking vengeance. We all watched Sōun’s apoplectic frenzy in horror.

Out of nowhere, a tremendous bellow shook the villa.

“TENMAAYAAA!”

The voice seemed as if it reverberated up from the bowels of hell, and everyone in the room flinched and shrank away. Even Tenmaya was seized with fear, and in the midst of attempting to fend off the half-crazed Sōun he froze like a statue.

“I’VE COME FOR YOUUUUUU!”

The very next moment, the windshield of the train shattered, and a squall of laughter rang out. A massive, thick ogre’s arm came thrusting out of the opening; the bristles sprouting from it were thick as bamboo shoots, and the skin was as red as a boiled octopus. Quick as a cobra strike, the hand darted out to snatch up Tenmaya and Sōun both, and then disappeared back into the train.

It all happened so quickly, like the two had been suddenly swept out to sea. The unexpected fright had knocked the humans to their knees, made Yaichirō revert into a furball, and left the tanuki quivering uncontrollably.

I cautiously peered through the broken glass of the windshield.

Benten was smiling to herself beside the diptych of Hell. In the depths of the picture I could see flickering tongues of flame, and a foul wind emanated forth. Floating in on that wind from Hell, Benten quietly touched down onto the ground.

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Bringing a chill with her, Benten casually stepped into the Heir’s villa and crossed the sitting room. Stopping in the middle of the room, she took off the dragonstone that hung from her neck.

She looked up at the ceiling and opened her mouth, then tossed the dragonstone up in the air. Her throat worked as she swallowed the stone. With that font of tengu power sitting in her stomach, her cheeks turned pale and white, and icicles dangled from her hair.

Benten picked up the sofa with one hand, then approached the mass of tanuki by the wall.

“Come out, you coward.” The freezing wind which emanated from her caused the tanuki to scatter, revealing to my surprise the Heir at the bottom of the pile. Disrespectful as it is, up until that point I’d completely forgotten he existed.

He was sitting against the wall with his knees drawn up like a resentful youth. His elegant garments were covered in tanuki hair, and his hair was tousled and disheveled. His eyes were lethargic as he looked around at his villa, overrun by tanuki and humans, and he took great desperate gulps from a bottle of Akadama port wine.

Benten placed her hands on her hips and looked down upon him, sneering. “So this is where you’ve been sulking, you pathetic excuse for a tengu!”

“Shut up. I am not a tengu.”

“...You really are despicable.”

Benten hurled the sofa at him, which the Heir deflected with a raised arm.

“All around me are impertinent fools!” raged the Heir, bringing down the bottle of Akadama port wine and smashing it. “You disgust me, all of you! How can this be so! How can tengu and tanuki and humans all be such fools! Fools, everywhere I look!”

His temper having reached its breaking point, the Heir looked fit to burst. Flames erupted from his body, sending flickering light over the ruined room, leaping to the broken furniture and dancing merrily. Benten looked at him with an air of amusement, seemingly having anticipated this happening.

Tanuki are powerless in the face of tengu rage.

“The Heir of Yakushibō of Nyoigadake has come forth!” I yelled, hastily gathering the elders into my arms. “All forces, retreat!”

At my signal, humans and tanuki fled the scene.

As I raced onto the rooftop, the roof of the villa went flying, and I saw Benten and the Heir rise up into the air.

In the confrontation that followed, both Benten and the Heir went for the kill.

They leaped from building to building, sending tengu gales at each other, hurling tiles, ripping telephone poles from the ground and smashing them together with great showers of sparks. The Heir wielded high-voltage power lines like a lash, while Benten froze the jets of water that were gushing from a water tank and attempted to impale the Heir. Each time the rampaging pair set foot on a building every window in the structure exploded, sending people in the streets below screaming and running for cover.

We could only look on at the awesome battle taking place above our heads.

“When will it end!?” Yaichirō shouted.

“Do you see anyone here who can stop it?” I shouted back.

The Heir’s villa was consumed by hellfire now, all of his European accoutrements turning to ash. The towering flames singed the heavens black. Above the billowing smoke, I noticed the black-suited Kurama tengu wheeling overhead in the night sky like ominous birds of prey, watching the duel play out between the Heir and Benten. The smoke rose up in a column, like a beacon signaling another impending tengu war.

By now the two combatants were battered and bruised, and having exhausted the limits of their strength as well as their tengu majesty, the pair now resorted to grappling with each other like two children having it out. Round and round the pillar of smoke they went, visages of demons, pulling at one another’s hair: Benten’s once-elegant hairdo now more resembled the scraggle of a mountain-dwelling hag.

The Heir suddenly caught her in an embrace, and brought his face close until it looked like he was kissing her hair. Stunned, Benten tried to writhe free, but all of a sudden her hair burst into flame like dry hay that had been set ablaze, illuminating that corner of the sky.

Benten let out a wordless, agonized scream and pushed away the Heir, streaking towards the earth helplessly, trailing a bright blaze after her like a falling star.

The Heir was breathing hard, watching as she fell, yet making no motion to follow after her.

　　　　　　　◯

We watched breathlessly as the Heir floated down to the rooftop. His once-immaculate attire was ripped and torn, to the point that he was almost half-naked. His eyes flashed with pique. The tengu whirlwinds that raged around him blew his hair this way and that, and small fires smouldered all over his body.

He looked his way, making tanuki and humans shrink back. Then he walked towards his villa. He stood in front of the blazing house, not moving to put out the conflagration. Each time he blew up another tengu gale in a fit of pique, the column of flame rumbled like it was being fed by a giant bellows. Thick smoke weaved in and out with the crimson flames, like the undulating belly of a dragon soaring up into the heavens. The heat was so intense that I felt dizzy even here at the far end of the roof. Around me, the tanuki watched the Heir, glistening in the light like fur-ridden gumballs.

I didn’t have the slightest clue how I was going to pacify the raging Heir.

A sudden clap of thunder split the sky, and all the tanuki squeaked and curled into little balls.

In an instant the firmament was obscured with clouds.

Lightning flashed between the brooding storm clouds. The wind had picked up along with that clap of thunder, and large raindrops came splattering down. The flaming villa snarled and hissed, but gradually the fire was tamed. The searing wind turned into a warm zephyr.

With a clap of thunder, Master Akadama—Yakushibō of Nyoigadake—appeared on the roof.

Heedless of the downpour, he glowered at the huddled tanuki. In his hand he held the Fūjin Raijin fan.

“Yasaburō!” he called, spotting me in the crowd. I pulled myself out of the furry mass and prostrated myself.

“Shimogamo Yasaburō, at your service.”

The Master looked at me solemnly. “Yasaburō, I commend you for your splendid efforts.”

“You honor me with your words.”

“Hmph.” Master Akadama nodded, then headed through the pelting rain towards the Heir. His drenched beard plastered itself to his face.

His back to the dying flames, the Heir glared at Master Akadama. A rivulet of blood trickled down his pale cheek, washed away by the falling rain. All pretensions of the English gentleman had been stripped away, and on his face I saw now many others: the boy who had been snatched away as he lay on a sofa; the youth who had spent all his days training on Nyoigadake; the young man who had quarreled with his father over his first love and shaken Kyoto for three days and three nights in a desperate duel. And finally, the failure who had dragged his injured body away down a dark alley, pelted by the rain and Master Akadama’s tengu laughter. Ah, but ‘twixt Heaven and Earth, still none was worthy but him. He was greater than his father. That was what lay at the heart of the Heir’s fierce tengu nature.

It was as if the continuation of that duel a century ago was playing out before our very eyes.

But Master Akadama tossed aside the Fūjin Raijin fan and continued unarmed.

“The Master’s tossed away his fan!” the tanuki whispered amongst themselves. “He’ll be killed!”

I started to get up, but I felt someone touch me softly on the arm. “Don’t move, Yasaburō,” I heard someone say. “The Master has his own plans.”

Surprised, I looked beside me, and saw Mother reaching out a tiny paw, carried in Yashirō’s arms. They had managed to convince Ginkaku to let them out of the distillery, and had only just arrived on the roof.

Obeying her words, I pulled back my arm.

I looked at the Master, and saw then that though he could not fly, though he had no weapons, he looked so much more grand. He had seemed a wizened old man facing off against the Heir only moments ago, but now it was the Heir who looked no more than an indecisive boy. There now was the child who had only just begun to reluctantly climb the ladder to tengudom. He stared at his father, and did not move.

The conflagration was by now extinguished, and the rain continued to fall on the bleak rooftop.

The Heir suddenly staggered, and put his balled-up fists to his face. And mixed with the sound of the falling rain, we heard the Heir begin to cry. We all stood there silently, watching him cry like a child.

“Are you frustrated?” asked Master Akadama, filled with majesty. “If you are frustrated, become stronger.”