Chapter 88

1 Bang! The doors to the storyteller’s hut burst open, and in strode a furious woman—the embattled governor herself. “Young?! Inexperienced?! Incompetent?! Who do you think you are?! You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to keep the peace! Wait until I get my hands on you! You’ll be telling your tall tales to the devil himself!” The rakugo raconteuse cursed her rotten luck; she could not possibly have expected the very subject of her impertinent punch lines to be sitting in the audience. Pawoo Nekoyanagi had a somewhat gentler air about her today. The workaholic governor had abandoned her stuffy suit, donning instead a yukata patterned with a Pipe Snake design. Her bundled hair was fastened at the side with a flower pin that brought out the natural beauty of her raven locks, and it was clear to see that she had been intending to spend a quiet, relaxing evening enjoying Byoshoten’s festival. …Until a few seconds ago, at least. Her rage was evidenced by the incessant Bam! Bam! Bam! her festive water balloon made as she bounced it up and down on its elastic thread. It made everyone in the crowd turn and stare. Cries of “What’s going on?” and “It’s an air raid!” were heard. “Slow down, Pawoo! Where the hell did you—? Ah, there you are!” Into the hut a few seconds later came Bisco. He settled payment with the horrified doorman, then ran over to Pawoo. “What’s got you so worked up?” he asked. “We can’t leave now; the story’s just getting good!” “But they’re being mean! I came here to enjoy a nice story, not stress out about work!” “Yeah, but Yokan’s always talkin’ shit about authority; that’s the whole point! It’s just a joke!” At this, Pawoo’s long black hair coiled as if it had a life of its own. “You mean to say…,” she growled, “…this storyteller is poking fun at my government every time she tells this tale?” “N-no! …I mean, maybe?” “That’s it! Anyone caught telling cat stories in Imihama will have their taxes doubled!” You’re a tyrant! “Anyway! I’ve had my fill of this place. Let’s move on.” Capriciousness ran in the Nekoyanagi family, it seemed. In a flash, Pawoo twirled her candied starfish and pointed it between her husband’s eyes. “Today is the Cat Ceremony,” she said. “And I intend for us to enjoy the festival together. Don’t you?” Well, I was enjoying the story…, thought Bisco, but he didn’t dare say so out loud. Yokan’s final battle against Geppei Amakusa was well known among Mushroom Keepers, and it had even been turned into a kids’ book. It was a story Bisco had heard many times, and yet… It’s almost like she was there… The tale was fiction, of course, and pretty absurd at that. But the way the woman told it had almost managed to convince Bisco she was recounting an old memory. Bisco was a little saddened that his favorite tale had upset his wife. He scratched his tattoo and took one last look over his shoulder at the storyteller’s hut…before Pawoo’s monstrous strength wrenched him away toward the festive sounds of Karakusa Street. CAT CEREMONY! GIVE THANKS TO OUR FLUFFY FRIENDS! ALL TOOLS AND METALS 20%–70% OFF! Balloons floated in the clear sky, advertising their stores’ discounts. An iguana rider, his steed adorned with a pair of false cat ears, distributed treats to excited children. Itinerant monks curiously eyed the wares on offer, and sellers of ritual tools hawked their wares over each other, fighting for business in the busy street. Once upon a time, before the Tokyo Disaster, humans would keep cats in their homes. They would feed them, raise them, and it wasn’t unusual to see them roaming the city streets. However, the Rust Wind hit feline-kind much harder than it did humanity. Those who did not evolve died out, and what species remained were hardly tamable. Domesticated cats became practically extinct. In the centuries that followed, many religious sects that revered cats as gods sprang up, and even one of the Eighteen was a cat god: Byoshoten, the god of freedom and financial good fortune, depicted as a beckoning cat statue. The Cat Ceremony was a ritual to soothe the souls of all those dearly departed felines. Stories like the one just told were meant to allow the memory of cats to live on in oral tradition. However, the one taking place in Imihama was ever so slightly different… “It was Tirol’s suggestion,” explained Pawoo. “She said we should turn Imihama’s Cat Ceremony into a festive affair. Get the whole prefecture involved.” She tugged on her husband’s arm. Owing to the Pipe Snake design that continued up her costume’s sleeve, it looked like Bisco was being pulled along by the creature’s teeth. “People were beginning to talk, you see. The new governor can’t keep her people under control! She never gets a moment to relax! But look! Even tourists from neighboring prefectures are here, and the money is rolling in!” “Sure…” “…” Pawoo frowned. Bisco’s eyes were unfocused, and he didn’t seem to be following along at all. “I’ve got some good news that’ll cheer you up,” she said. “I’m in talks with the Kyoto government to get your bounties rescinded!” “I didn’t even know they were scinded,” Bisco replied. “It means you won’t be a wanted man anymore!” Pawoo put her hands on her hips and puffed out her chest, as if to say, “How do you like that?!” “It’s been so long since you left Imihama,” she continued. “And our honeymoon went up in smoke. But now you’ll be able to travel the country again! Isn’t that great? The government finally recognizes your freedom!” They recognize my freedom?? “It was a lot of work,” Pawoo continued, “but I bet you’re happy about that, aren’t you?” “Hmm?” “Come on! What’s gotten into you?!” Pawoo flicked her husband’s forehead. But the force of a flick from her fingers nearly cracked his skull. Bisco bent over backward, clutching his head in pain, before running to catch up with his furious spouse. Bisco was in a less-than-inspiring state. No longer did his bow match the ferocity of the wind. He was in a slump, out of sorts, and even his jade-green eyes had lost their luster. You might even say he was…bored. Pawoo turned and glared daggers at his calm, dopey expression. She was a woman who, once she made up her mind to do something, could never be dissuaded from that course, and ensuring Bisco’s happiness was no different. However, everything she’d tried so far hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped. He wasn’t all there. It felt like if she took her eyes off him, he would just vanish into thin air. She had to find some way to reach him, no matter the cost. “What have I done to annoy you this time?” asked Bisco, oblivious. “You’ve been on the warpath lately!” “I’ve been trying to make you happy, but nothing I do seems to work! What is it that you want?” “What do I want…?” “Just name it! I’m the governor of Imihama; I can get you anything! Is there something you don’t like about the festival? Just say the word, and I’ll change it!” “Hmm…” Nothing came to mind. It wasn’t so much the festival itself that was getting Bisco down but the radically different approach to festivities the common folk typically adopted. To Mushroom Keepers, the Cat Ceremony was a far more solemn affair. It wasn’t celebrated on a given day each year, but instead arose naturally, such as when a member of the tribe took down some powerful prey. At those times, the Mushroom Keepers would congregate and hold a ceremony as thanks to the god of the hunt for blessing them. But that wasn’t even the main issue. What Bisco saw before his very eyes offended his ingrained sensibilities even more. He could look past the cotton candy. He could look past the chocolate-covered bananas and iguana sausages on sticks. What Bisco couldn’t ignore was… “…That.” “Hmm?” He pointed toward the prefectural bureau and the enormous TV monitor mounted to its side. There on the screen were three young ladies sporting cat ears and tails, prancing and twirling to a driving and irresistibly catchy beat. “Is that supposed to be a ritual dance?” Bisco asked. “What the hell are they wearing?” The girls’ short skirts and cropped tops left little to the imagination. That wasn’t to say there weren’t other priestess garbs guilty of the same sin, but Bisco couldn’t help feeling that this was a different matter entirely. “That?” replied Pawoo. “It’s cosplay. They’re dressed up like Byoshoten.” “Huh?! You’re kiddin’, right…?!” Bisco paused to calculate the probability of a divine thunderbolt reducing the city to ash before the night was through. Pawoo, meanwhile, seemed to figure something out. “Hmm, I see,” she said. “So that’s more your style…” “Huh?” “Wait right there, Bisco. I’ll go change. Won’t be a moment!” “Whaat?! No, wai—! Mmph!” Pawoo silenced her talkative husband with the candy starfish in her hands before leaping atop a food cart and out of sight. Bisco stood there in shock for a second before figuring he might as well not let the sugary treat go to waste. “Om-nom.” He took a look around the crowded street as he did so. He saw priests putting cat makeup on a group of excited tourists. Heard the curious intonations of the Shimobuki folk bartering for metals and animals. Over at a shooting gallery, he watched as a bunch of Mushroom Keeper kids ran away with the top prize. Everyone was smiling, enjoying the festive atmosphere. Then he felt a breeze. A chill wind that bristled the hairs on his neck. I don’t belong here, he thought. If there was one constant in Bisco’s troubled life, it was that he was always traveling. He was destined to wander, his heart pounding in search of the unknown. Lately, Bisco had found his jade-green gaze returning to the road, even if he didn’t quite understand why. I know Milo will be with me no matter what I do, but what about Pawoo? What’ll she do if I go off on another adventure? Bisco knew that his wife wanted nothing more than to settle down. It would just be him, Pawoo, Milo, and perhaps a new member of the family if it was in the cards. Bisco couldn’t deny her that life, even if he wanted to. But does that mean…? He stood alone in the crowd, listening to the wind go by. …I’m lying to myself? Am I denying the god that lives within me? “Yoo-hoo.” A voice cut through the wind, drawing Bisco’s gaze toward a dark alley.