Year of the Rabbit - Part 2

Bright, churning orange liquid whooshed around her. This stuff might look like a glass of Tang being stirred up really, really fast, but it was actually raw plasma. It should incinerate her instantly. The fact that it didn’t was still a wonder she hadn’t quite gotten over.   On the other side of the tunnel was a grey, overcast sky, just as she’d expected. She hoped it wasn’t raining. On the other hand, Sable mused, it would probably be warm rain.   Kitoypoy stepped through the portal. “Good morning,” he said in a cheery tone, which sounded like it was coming from a great distance from inside the portal. “Gong hay fat choy! Sable-rah will be following shortly. Please stand clear.”   Sable gave it a moment more, to allow people to step back to a sufficient distance for Kit to feel comfortable, and then she stepped through the portal, dropping the force field as she did so. “Xīn nián hǎo!” she greeted whomever was on the other side, having carefully practiced the Mandarin New Year salutation over the past week or so. She was still having trouble seeing more than vague shapes and outlines as she blinked away the brightness of the portal, but thankfully, no, it was not raining.   Moments later, Tempest was behind her, and the portal closed with an audible reverberating pop.   “Your Majesty,” said one of the shapes, a masculine voice, and he came forward to shake her hand, even as he offered the more traditional neck bow. His golden brown hand was small, only barely covering her furry glove. “Welcome back to Vancouver. Is this your first time in Chinatown, ma’am?”   His face came into focus. Ah yes, this was the mayor. She remembered that he was Chinese Canadian, and had vowed to revitalize Vancouver’s Chinatown – an idea she supported. “Mr. Sim. Good to meet you in person at last. No, not my first time, but I admit, I was a child when my cousins brought me here and I barely remember it.”   Her maternal cousins were from Burnaby. They’d visited the Lower Mainland a lot when Sable was small, riding down overnight on the Greyhound. That had stopped as tensions rose between Sable’s mother and uncle.   She had fond memories, though. It was too bad that only Sonja had made it through the First Word War. She couldn’t say she grieved, exactly; the distance through the lens of time was too great. But she was sad all of a sudden. You really ought to introduce Sonja and Tempest while you’re here, she chided herself.   Suddenly, for the first time in a while, she missed her brother. That was real grief, not just the shadow of it. She sighed.   The mayor frowned. Can’t keep your emotions off your face, even now, can you? Sable grumbled at herself. Better keep talking; you don’t want him to think you’re displeased with him somehow. “Sorry, I was woolgathering,” she explained. “Remembering family who are no longer with us. You’ve already met Commander Kitoypoy, I see –” Kit shook his hand – “and this is my sibling, Prinx Tempest.”   “Your Royal Highness,” Mayor Sim said politely, offering his hand to Tempest too.   Tempest shook it, blinking. “Hi,” they blurted awkwardly.   Sable tried not to grin. Yes, that’s the proper form of address, Torch, she thought affectionately. Maybe she ought to get people at the Warren to call them that more often. Clearly, they needed to get used to it.   She turned to take in the rest of the politicians and their entourage, and smiled when she saw a face she recognized. “Mr. Eby. Good to see you again.” She shook hands with the current BC Premier. She liked him, despite the fact that he was a lawyer. A bit stuffy, but he was a dedicated New Democrat, and she couldn’t help but appreciate someone who’d taken on election corruption, money laundering in casinos, Big Pharma in the opioid crisis, and reintroduced no fault driving insurance in the province during his career as Attorney General. She had personal reasons to care about all of those things.   And he’d also written a book on rights for people who were arrested in Canada. He’d confided he was working on a new one for the Lapin Protectorate when they’d chatted at the last function they’d both been at. She seemed to recall it had been some benefit for the BC Cancer Society.   “Your Majesty,” he said, returning her genuine smile with one of his own.   “How’s that book coming?”   He laughed. “Slowly,” he admitted. “Maybe you could give me some pointers on increasing writing speed, ma’am. You’re a Defender of the Realm, after all.”   Sable grinned. “Write on your phone during your lunch break and commute,” she said immediately. “I wrote about half of my first novel that way.”   “I never even thought of that,” he said. “I tend to use that time to weed my email, but… yes, that’s a great idea, ma’am, thank you.”   She was distracted by a gaggle of young girls, all in pink traditional Chinese costume, running away from the Millennium Gate, ahead of an irritated middle-aged woman who shouted at them in Cantonese. Sable spoke neither of the major Chinese dialects, but it was plain to see that she was exhorting them to hurry.   “Aren’t we supposed to be starting soon?” Sable asked, fighting her excitement and impatience. “I know we didn’t have much time when we arrived.”   “Aren’t you going to sit in the observation station, Your Majesty?” asked one of the various politicians in the entourage. “We’ve set one up for you on the corner of Quebec Street and Keefer Street, at the tennis courts there.”   Sable grinned impishly. “I thought I would march in the parade with you, if you don’t mind.”   Kitoypoy levelled a long-suffering look in Sable’s direction. This had not been part of his plan.   Nor had it been part of Tempest’s. “I knew I should have made you wear the vest,” they hissed quietly in Sable’s ear.   But Sable had been betting that Tempest’s natural enthusiasm and sense of fun would turn the tide in her favour. She saw the resistance collapse in her sibling’s face, proving she had not been wrong. “It’s been years since I’ve been in a parade, though,” they murmured wistfully.   Seeing he had lost the battle, Kitoypoy improvised. “Isn’t it about time we brought in the Headhunters, Sable-rah?”   Kit had made his counteroffer: Okay, I’ll compromise, but you’re accepting a full guard compliment. Well, that was fair enough. And since part of their training and practice was traditional Filipino dancing – long used as a cover for martial training under Colonial rule – they would fit right in.   “Yes, I believe you’re right, Commander,” Sable said amiably.   “Right; second Tang portal coming up,” Tempest said, now only slightly grumpy. Sable figured the temptation of being in a parade would soothe their sibling’s ruffled fur. Besides, she could tell that Tempest’s natural inclination to be contradictory for the sake of it was amused by Kit’s frustration.   Eyes were drawn by the appearance of the second Tang portal. Sable hadn’t yet seen the destination end, except for the brief moments when Tempest occasionally stepped through it, but she guessed it wasn’t nearly as bright as the entry point. Sable could see a Sikh family pointing over in their direction, while a few more people on the street around them laid an awning over their eyes with a hand to see more clearly.   Sable moved into the Tang tunnel. “See you in a minute, Kit.”   Kitoypoy hopped through, casting Sable a stern glare as he did so. “Give me ten minutes and then you can reopen the portal. Tempest, you’ve got the watch.”   “You got it, Commander,” Tempest said, this time with no hint of resistance in their voice.   The Premier and the Mayor introduced the rest of the faces around them. Sable filed their names firmly into the “short term focus” folder in her brain, and made sure to repeat each name as it was given, so it would stick in her brain as long as it needed to. She knew by tomorrow she’d have flushed the works. She’d never been the best at remembering names, although this was a skill she’d been practicing, complete with mnemonic tricks, since the Protectorate’s founding.   She saw the Premier speak to someone out of the corner of her eye, and a few minutes later, a unit of British Columbia Dragoons had rolled up behind them with a tactical armoured vehicle, replacing the marching band that had been there before.   Sable couldn’t help but smile. Clearly, the Premier was concerned for her safety, too. Had he asked for volunteers to guard the Queen from the military units in the parade?   After the Battle of Kin Beach, she had won absolute loyalty from the Dragoons. She didn’t feel she deserved it. Destroying a couple of battalions of zombies with a massive "Turn Undead" explosion had been the result of her emotional reaction, and a set of magical circumstances she was sure was unique. Honestly, she didn’t even remember doing it – although she remembered Monkey's death readily enough. She shuddered at the recollection, so vivid she could even smell the blood.   But since then, the Dragoons would probably literally march on the gates of Hell if she asked them to. They were calling her by the title she’d picked up from the Second Word War now; the “Holy Queen of Buns.” Frankly, the whole thing made her acutely uncomfortable. “Holy” was something she was definitely not. She had to dissuade them of this somehow.   When ten minutes had passed, Tempest reopened the portal, and Kitoypoy and his elite “dance troupe” moved past Sable to come through. Although they were dressed in Yakan dance costume – basically, black shalwar kamiz with bright red corsairish sashes and bandanas – the spears they carried were functional. And most of them had been blooded at least once, now. The Headhunters took up a position in front of the dignitaries, shields at the ready.   Surprisingly, Flubb pushed through behind them. As she passed Sable in the portal, she waved a camp-sized frying pan at her threateningly. “Nice stunt, Sable-rah. I do believe I’ll be joining them to keep an eye on you.” She continued muttering to herself as she passed by. “If they burn the charlotte, I’ll kill them.”   She was followed by Gwenefre and James in his tiger form. Neither one of them said a word, but they both gave her a long look. The full complement of Owsla were now on the scene.   Well, not the full complement. She bit her lip as she thought about Commander Stretch, still in recovery. Poor bastard’s been through hell, she thought, and ground her teeth and curled her hands unconsciously into fists as she remembered, once again, the evils of the Company.   You should just go to the observation station, Sable chided herself. All these people, willing to get shot for you. You’re being a bit of an asshole.   She opened her mouth to tell them she had changed her mind, but someone in a yellow safety vest came by at that moment, shouting through a bullhorn. “Get ready! We start in two minutes!”   Filk, too late now. Sable cast a sunny smile at the other dignitaries. “So how do you typically choose who you’ll give your Hong Bao to?” She’d watched some footage of previous years’ parades so she would know what to expect and not make too big of an idiot out of herself and the Protectorate. The politicians always handed red envelopes to people in the crowd.   “I don’t know; it’s my first year, too,” Premier Eby said with a smile.   Sable laughed. “Right, of course it is.”   The Mayor smiled at her. “I intend to pick older people in the community. Or people who look like they’re excited.”   Sable nodded. She would hand them to people who looked like they needed it, then.   A raised flatbed pulled up behind them. This was as close as the Lunar New Year parade got to a “float.” It was all done up in Lapin colours; that unique reddish pink, white, and some black trim. The Lapin banner was fluttering above a podium, about a third of the way down.   AttorraRu was at the head of the flatbed in full dragon-bunny form. The gems embedded in her purple scales gleamed, and Sable was sure she’d done something to highlight the red ones. Her ears and nose twitched. “Sable-rah!” she called, waving cheerfully. “Are you going to join us on the Lapin float?”   Again, Sable couldn’t help but laugh. Of course Ru would have set something up for this. She should have known. And damned if that Scottish dragon-bunny hadn’t recruited a highlander infantry unit to march behind them. Sable approved. She loved bagpipes too. Maybe they called to the Scottish in her own genes.   “I’d rather walk, if that’s okay,” Sable called back. “Makes it easier to hand out the red envelopes.”   Ru nodded and held up a red envelope of her own. “I’m handing out some of my coins!”   Oh dear. Sable put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. That would create some chaos. If Ru was sharing some of her hoard… there were some ancient coins in there. Fortunes might change forever today.   Did Ru know that? She wasn’t sure. When you were a several centuries-old dragon, and most of the people you knew were literomancers, what would you actually know about modern economic systems?   I don’t understand modern economic systems, Sable admitted to herself.   “Do you mind if I walk beside you, Sable-rah?” Flubb asked her.   Sable looked over at Flubb, and suddenly realized she was wearing an especially well-made set of smoke-grey rabbit ears over her cat ears. They had been fitted so perfectly that they twitched when Flubb’s own ears did. “Of course not,” she said to Flubb immediately. “You’re my friend. I’d enjoy your company.”   It continued to surprise her how Tome Knights never seemed to realize their own significance. Well, maybe not all of them. Ru obviously didn’t have that problem. But she supposed that Flubb had a right to feel a little off-base, after the complete disappearance of her House.   “Good,” said Flubb, “because I’m going to make you eat!” The frying pan was now pinned on to her belt with a carabiner, but her hand flexed in its direction.   “Fair enough,” Sable agreed.   “And you as well,” she added, glaring at Tempest and shaking a finger.   Tempest looked elsewhere, pretending they hadn’t heard in the noise of the crowd. Sable snorted.   “All right, wait for my signal to start,” said the man in the safety vest. “Are you all lined up?”   It was like watching a time lapse of a black hole sucking in planets, watching the Owsla take up a diamond of protection around them, the Headhunters take up a V in the front, and the Dragoons and the Highlanders surging around and behind. The driver of the flatbed fired up the engine again. Sable realized with a grin that the man – or, should she say, the wereleopard – behind the wheel was Cheetya, Ru’s husband. She waved and he waved back.   “Let’s go!” said the parade director.   A unit of Vancouver police on police bikes briefly fired up their sirens as a signal to clear the street, and they rolled forward. The Headhunters began to dance as they stepped up behind – but in such a way that Sable could see that someone’s eyes were scanning the crowd at all angles the whole time.   The rattling Highlander snares started up. The pipers began to inflate their pipes, and a low drone rumbled to life. It seemed incongruent with the energetic dance the Yakan dance troupe was doing, but somehow they made it work.   Here we go, Sable thought. Let’s hope no one tries to kill me today.   She stepped forward with the rest of the dignitaries as the full swell of the Highlander march began. Behind them, a moment later, the float lurched into motion.