I couldn't help it. I squeaked.
"It's all right, little fishy. Dooooon't worry. Everything's all right," singsonged the dragon. So much for his regal act. Raising me to eye level, he studied me through his claws. "Aren't you a pweedy weedle fish?"
No, no, I really wasn't. I was scrawny and had bulbous eyes and an oversized jaw, and on top of that, I was still stuck to a yolk sac. But then again, the dragon was on the weedy side himself, with bulging eyes and gnarled, yellowish horns like a hag's fingernails. His scales weren't the gleaming black of polished jade, either, but the dull, greasy shade of a peasant's unwashed hair.
"It really does look like a completely normal catfish fry," he mused. Still coiled up on the ground, Nagi practically quivered for him to solicit her opinion, but instead, he asked me, "Do you have a name, little fishy?"
Well, I certainly wasn't telling him "Piri." Even if the Goddess of Life hadn't banned me from discussing her boon, I couldn't see any advantage in letting other spirits know who I was. I was, after all, notorious. No, Your Majesty. It would be an honor if You were to bestow one upon me.
His eyes lit up. Up close, the rings of red and blue around the black pupils reminded me of archery targets. "Awww, who's a cute weedle fishy? Who's a cute weedle fishy? Yes you are!"
Great.
"Hmmmm, what should I name you? What's a good name for a fish?" He gazed across the audience chamber as he consulted his mental archives. "Fishy? No, no, that's too boring." (But appropriate. There was something odd about me.) "You're a catfish so...Cat? Catty? Kitty?"
Well, I supposed I had eaten my fair share of fish.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Nagi spoke up. "Perhaps a name that is more dignified, Your Majesty? A name that is worthy of the Dragon King of Black Sand Creek?"
The dragon blinked. "A dignified name. Uh.... Let's see.... Are there any good poems about Black Sand Creek?"
Poems, almost certainly. Good ones, most likely not. As I'd seen in Cassius' court, humans loved to attend garden-viewing parties where they would compose poems on the sunset over the mountains or the wind that rustled the willows or other such worn-out imagery. And then they'd recite them to one another. For hours.
I'd banned these parties on and off, mostly for the sake of my ears, but also because reform-minded scholars sometimes hid political protests in their verses. Inconsistent censorship kept them in a useful state of ferment.
Anyway, Flicker had mentioned a baron in a castle on the banks of Black Sand Creek, which meant that the local nobles would have generated their fair share of "poetry." I'd bet a lot of it centered on the moon's reflection in the river.
And indeed, the next sentence that came out of the dragon's mouth was: "Isn't there that one poem about the moon breaking through the clouds and reflecting on the river?" Clearing his throat and lifting his chin, he declaimed, "A strip of moonlight breaks through the clouds/And spreads across the surface of the water/Half the river is silver, the other half black/I love the fifteenth of the Harvest Moon."
Oh, this kept getting better. This wasn't just a bad poem – it was a bad plagiarism of one of Marcius' poems. The dragon, however, did not seem to be aware of that.
"Moonlight...clouds.... Got it! Mooncloud! Your name will be Mooncloud!"
Shockingly, that wasn't such a bad name. I bobbed my head before he could come up with something worse. I love it, Your Majesty.
YOU ARE READING
The True Confessions of a Nine-Tailed Fox
FantasyAfter Piri the nine-tailed fox follows an order from Heaven to destroy a dynasty, she finds herself on trial in Heaven for that very act. Executed by the gods for the "crime," she is cast into the cycle of reincarnation, starting at the very bottom...
