Across the Nightingale Floor

by Lian Hearn

  They continued to play Go until late into the night. I could not bear to watch the slow annihilation of the white player, but I could not sleep, either, my mind full of what lay ahead of me, and plagued, too, by suspicions of Kenji. The next morning he went out early, and while he was away Shizuka came, bringing wedding gifts from Lady Maruyama. Concealed in the wrapping were two small scrolls. One was a letter, which Shizuka passed to Lord Shigeru.

  He read it, his face closed and lined with fatigue. He did not tell us what was in it, but folded it and put it in the sleeve of his robe. He took the other scroll and, after glancing at it, passed it to me. The words were cryptic, but after a few moments I grasped their meaning. It was a description of the interior of the residence, and clearly showed where Iida slept.

  “Better to burn them, Lord Otori,” Shizuka whispered.

  “I will. What other news?”

  “May I come closer?” she asked, and spoke into his ear so quietly that only he and I could hear. “Arai is sweeping through the southwest. He has defeated the Noguchi and is within reach of Inuyama.”

  “Iida knows this?”

  “If not, he soon will. He has more spies than we do.”

  “And Terayama? Have you heard from there?”

  “They are confident they can take Yamagata without a struggle, once Iida—”

  Shigeru held up a hand, but she had already stopped speaking.

  “Tonight, then,” he said briefly.

  “Lord Otori.” Shizuka bowed.

  “Is Lady Shirakawa well?” he said in a normal voice, moving away from her.

  “I wish she were better,” Shizuka replied quietly. “She does not eat or sleep.”

  My heart had stopped beating for a moment when Shigeru had said tonight. Then it had taken on a rapid but measured rate, sending the blood powering through my veins. I looked once more at the plan in my hand, writing its message into my brain. The thought of Kaede, her pale face, the fragile bones of her wrists, the black mass of her hair, made my heart falter again. I stood up and went to the door to hide my emotion.

  “I deeply regret the harm I am doing her,” Shigeru said.

  “She fears to bring harm to you,” Shizuka replied, and added in a low voice, “among all her other fears. I must return to her. I am afraid to leave her alone.”

  “What do you mean?” I exclaimed, making them both look at me.

  Shizuka hesitated. “She often speaks of death,” she said finally.

  I wanted to send some message to Kaede. I wanted to run to the castle and pluck her out of it—take her away somewhere where we would be safe. But I knew there was no such place, and never would be, until all this was over. . . .

  I also wanted to ask Shizuka about Kenji—what he was up to, what the Tribe had in mind—but maids came bringing the midday meal, and there was no further opportunity to speak in private before she left.

  We spoke briefly of the arrangements for the afternoon’s visit while we ate. Afterwards, Shigeru wrote letters while I studied my sketches of the castle. I was aware of his gaze often on me, and felt there were many things he still wished to say to me, but he did not say them. I sat quietly on the floor, looking out onto the garden, letting my breathing slow, retreating into the dark silent self that dwelled within me, setting it loose so that it took over every muscle, sinew, and nerve. My hearing seemed sharper than ever. I could hear the whole town, its cacophony of human and animal life, joy, desire, pain, grief. I longed for silence, to be free of it all. I longed for night to come.

  Kenji returned, saying nothing of where he had been. He watched silently as we dressed ourselves in formal robes with the Otori crest on the back. He spoke once to suggest that it might be wiser for me not to go to the castle, but Shigeru pointed out I would draw more attention to myself if I stayed behind. He did not add that I needed to see the castle one more time. I was also aware that I needed to see Iida again. The only image I had of him was of the terrifying figure I had seen in Mino a year ago: the black armor, the antlered helmet, the sword that had so nearly ended my life. So huge and powerful had this image become in my mind that to see him in the flesh, out of armor, was a shock.

  We rode with all twenty of the Otori men. They waited in the first bailey with the horses while Shigeru and I went on with Abe. As we stepped out of our sandals onto the nightingale floor, I held my breath, listening for the birdsong beneath my feet. The residence was dazzlingly decorated in the modern style, the paintings so exquisite that they almost distracted me from my dark purpose. They were not quiet and restrained, like the Sesshus at Terayama, but gilded and flamboyant, full of life and power. In the antechamber, where we waited for over half an hour, the doors and screens were decorated with cranes in snowy willow trees. Shigeru admired them, and under Abe’s sardonic eye we spoke in low voices of painting and of the artist.

  “To my mind, these are far superior to Sesshu,” the Tohan lord said. “The colors are richer and brighter, and the scale is more ambitious.”

  Shigeru murmured something that was neither agreement nor disagreement. I said nothing. A few moments later an elderly man came in, bowed to the floor, and spoke to Abe. “Lord Iida is ready to receive his guests.”

  We rose and stepped out again onto the nightingale floor, following Abe to the Great Hall. Here Lord Shigeru knelt at the entrance, and I imitated him. Abe gestured to us to step inside, where we knelt again, bowing right to the ground. I caught a glimpse of Iida Sadamu sitting at the far end of the hall on a raised platform, his cream and gold robes spread out around him, a red and gold fan in his right hand, a small black formal hat on his head. He was smaller than I remembered but no less imposing. He seemed eight or ten years older than Shigeru and was about a head shorter. His features were ordinary, apart from the fine shaped eyes that betrayed his fierce intelligence. He was not a handsome man, but he had a powerful, compelling presence. My old terror leaped fully awake inside me.

  There were about twenty retainers in the room, all prostrate on the floor. Only Iida and the little page boy on his left sat upright. There was a long silence. It was approaching the hour of the Monkey. There were no doors open, and the heat was oppressive. Beneath the perfumed robes lay the rank smell of male sweat. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the lines of concealed closets, and from them I heard the breathing of the hidden guards, the faint creak as they shifted position. My mouth was dry.

  Lord Iida spoke at last. “Welcome, Lord Otori. This is a happy occasion: a marriage, an alliance.”

  His voice was rough and perfunctory, making the polite forms of speech sound incongruous in his mouth.

  Shigeru raised his head and sat unhurriedly. He replied equally formally, conveyed greetings from his uncles and the entire Otori clan. “I am happy that I may be of service to two great houses.”

  It was a subtle reminder to Iida that they were of equal rank, by birth and blood.

  Iida smiled entirely mirthlessly and replied, “Yes, we must have peace between us. We do not want to see a repeat of Yaegahara.”

  Shigeru inclined his head. “What is past is past.”

  I was still on the floor, but I could see his face in profile. His gaze was clear and straightforward, his features steady and cheerful. No one would guess that he was anything other than what he appeared: a young bridegroom, grateful for the favor of an older lord.

  They spoke for a while, exchanging pleasantries. Then tea was brought and served to the two of them.

  “The young man is your adopted son, I hear,” Iida said as the tea was poured. “He may drink with us.”

  I had to sit up then, although I would have preferred not to. I bowed again to Iida and shuffled forward on my knees, willing my fingers not to tremble as I took the bowl. I could feel his gaze on me, but I did not dare meet his eyes, so I had no way of knowing if he recognized me as the boy who had burned his horse’s flank and landed him on the ground in Mino.

  I studied the tea bowl. Its glaze was a gleaming iron gray, f
illed with red lights, such as I had never seen before.

  “He is a distant cousin of my late mother’s,” Lord Shigeru was explaining. “It was her desire that he be adopted into our family, and after her death I carried out her wishes.”

  “His name?” Iida’s eyes did not leave my face as he drank noisily from his bowl.

  “He has taken the name of Otori,” Shigeru replied. “We call him Takeo.”

  He did not say after my brother, but I felt Takeshi’s name hang in the air, as though his ghost had drifted into the hall.

  Iida grunted. Despite the heat in the room, the atmosphere became chillier and more dangerous. I knew Shigeru was aware of it. I felt his body tense, though his face was still smiling. Beneath the pleasantries lay years of mutual dislike, compounded by the legacy of Yaegahara, Iida’s jealousy, and Shigeru’s grief and his desire for revenge.

  I tried to become Takeo, the studious artist, introverted and clumsy, gazing in confusion at the ground.

  “He has been with you how long?”

  “About a year,” Shigeru replied.

  “There is a certain family resemblance,” Iida said. “Ando, would you not agree?”

  He was addressing one of the retainers who knelt sideways to us. The man raised his head and looked at me. Our eyes met, and I knew him at once. I recognized the long, wolfish face with its high, pale brow and deep-set eyes. His right side was hidden from me, but I did not need to see it to know that his right arm was missing, lopped off by Jato in Otori Shigeru’s hand.

  “A very strong resemblance,” the man, Ando, said. “I thought that the first time I saw the young lord.” He paused, and then added: “In Hagi.”

  I bowed humbly to him. “Forgive me, Lord Ando, I did not think we had had the pleasure of meeting.”

  “No, we did not meet,” he agreed. “I merely saw you with Lord Otori, and thought how much you resembled . . . the family.”

  “He is, after all, a relative,” Shigeru said, sounding not in the least perturbed by these cat-and-mouse exchanges. I was no longer in any doubt. Iida and Ando knew exactly who I was. They knew it was Shigeru who had rescued me. I fully expected them to order our arrest immediately, or to have the guards kill us where we sat, among the tea utensils.

  Shigeru moved very slightly, and I knew he was prepared to leap to his feet, sword in hand, if it came to that. But he would not throw away the months of preparation lightly. The tension mounted in the room as the silence deepened.

  Iida’s lips curved in a smile. I could sense the pleasure he took in the situation. He would not go for the kill yet: He would toy with us a little longer. There was nowhere we could escape to, deep in Tohan territory, constantly under watch, with only twenty men. I had no doubt he planned to eliminate both of us, but he was going to savor the delight of having his old enemy in his power.

  He moved on to discuss the wedding. Beneath the cursory politeness I could hear contempt and jealousy. “Lady Shirakawa has been a ward of Lord Noguchi, my oldest and most trusted ally.”

  He said nothing of Noguchi’s defeat by Arai. Had he not heard of it, or did he think we did not yet know?

  “Lord Iida does me great honor,” Shigeru replied.

  “Well, it was time we made peace with the Otori.” Iida paused for a while and then said, “She’s a beautiful girl. Her reputation has been unfortunate. I hope this does not alarm you.”

  There was the slightest ripple from the retainers—not quite laughter, just an easing of facial muscles into knowing smiles.

  “I believe her reputation is unwarranted,” Shigeru replied evenly. “And while I am here as Lord Iida’s guest, I am in no way alarmed.”

  Iida’s smile had faded and he was scowling. I guessed he was eaten up by jealousy. Politeness and his own self-esteem should have prevented him from what he said next, but they did not. “There are rumors about you,” he said bluntly.

  Shigeru raised his eyebrows, saying nothing.

  “A long-standing attachment, a secret marriage,” Iida began to bluster.

  “Lord Iida astonishes me,” Shigeru replied coolly. “I am not young. It is natural I should have known many women.”

  Iida regained control of himself and grunted a reply, but his eyes burned with malevolence. We were dismissed with perfunctory courtesy, Iida saying no more than “I look forward to our meeting in three days’ time, at the marriage ceremony.”

  When we rejoined the men, they were tense and bad-tempered, having had to put up with the taunts and threats of the Tohan. Neither Shigeru nor I said anything as we rode down the stepped street and through the first gate. I was absorbed in memorizing as much as I could of the castle layout, and my heart was smoldering with hatred and rage against Iida. I would kill him, for revenge for the past, for his insolent treatment of Lord Otori—and because if I did not kill him that night, he would kill us both.

  The sun was a watery orb in the west as we rode back to the lodging house, where Kenji awaited us. There was a slight smell of burning in the room. He had destroyed the messages from Lady Maruyama while we were away. He studied our faces.

  “Takeo was recognized?” he said.

  Shigeru was taking off the formal robes. “I need a bath,” he said, and smiled as if releasing himself a little from the iron self-control he had been exerting. “Can we speak freely, Takeo?”

  From the kitchens came the sounds of the servants preparing the evening meal. Steps crossed the walkway from time to time, but the garden was empty. I could hear the guards at the main gate. I heard a girl approach them with bowls of rice and soup.

  “If we whisper,” I replied.

  “We must speak quickly. Come close, Kenji. Yes, he was recognized. Iida is full of suspicions and fears. He will strike at any moment.”

  Kenji said, “I’ll take him away at once. I can hide him within the city.”

  “No!” I said. “Tonight I go to the castle.”

  “It will be our only chance,” Shigeru whispered. “We must strike first.”

  Kenji looked at each of us. He sighed deeply. “Then I will come with you.”

  “You’ve been a good friend to me,” Shigeru said quietly. “You do not have to risk your life.”

  “It’s not for you, Shigeru. It’s to keep an eye on Takeo,” Kenji replied. To me he said, “You’d better look at the walls and the moat again, before curfew. I’ll walk down with you. Bring your drawing materials. There will be an interesting play of light on the water.”

  I gathered my things together and we left. But at the door, just before he stepped outside, Kenji surprised me by turning again to Shigeru and bowing deeply. “Lord Otori,” he said. I thought he was being ironic; only later did I realize it was a farewell.

  I made no farewells beyond the usual bow, which Shigeru acknowledged. The evening light from the garden was behind him and I could not see his face.

  THE CLOUD COVER had thickened. It was damp but not raining, a little cooler now that the sun had set, but still heavy and muggy. The streets were filled with people taking advantage of the hour between sunset and curfew. They kept bumping into me, making me anxious and uneasy. I saw spies and assassins everywhere. The meeting with Iida had unnerved me, turning me once again into Tomasu, into the terrified boy who had fled from the ruins of Mino. Did I really think I could climb into Inuyama Castle and assassinate the powerful lord I had just seen, who knew I was one of the Hidden, the only one from my village to escape him before? I might pretend to be Lord Otori Takeo, or Kikuta—one of the Tribe—but the truth was, I was neither. I was one of the Hidden, one of the hunted.

  We walked westwards, along the southern side of the castle. As it grew dark I was thankful that there would be no moon and no stars. Torches flared from the castle gate, and the shops were lit by candles and oil lamps. There was a smell of sesame and soy, rice wine and grilling fish. Despite everything, I was hungry. I thought to stop and buy something, but Kenji suggested going a little farther. The street became darker and emptier.
I could hear some wheeled vehicle rumbling over cobblestones, and then the sounds of a flute. There was something unspeakably eerie about it. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up in warning.

  “Let’s go back,” I said, and at that moment a small procession emerged from an alley in front of us. I took them for street performers of some sort. An old man wheeled a cart with decorations and pictures on it. A girl was playing the flute, but she let it fall when she saw us. Two young men came out of the shadows holding tops, one spinning, one flying. In the half-light they seemed magical, possessed by spirits. I stopped. Kenji stood right behind me. Another girl stepped towards us, saying, “Come and look, lord.”

  I recognized her voice, but it was a couple of moments before I placed her. Then I jumped backwards, evading Kenji and leaving my second self by the cart. It was the girl from the inn at Yamagata, the girl of whom Kenji had said, “She’s one of us.”

  To my surprise one of the young men followed me, taking no notice of my image. I went invisible, but he guessed where I was. I knew for certain then. These were Tribe, come to claim me, as Kenji had said, had known they would. I dropped to the ground, rolled, slid beneath the cart, but my teacher was on the other side. I tried to bite his hand, but his other one came up to my jaw, forcing it away. I kicked him instead, went limp in his grasp, tried to slide through his fingers, but all the tricks I knew he had taught me.

  “Be quiet, Takeo,” he hissed. “Stop struggling. No one’s going to hurt you.”

  “All right,” I said, and went still. He loosened his grip and in that moment I got away from him. I pulled my knife from my sash. But the five of them were fighting in earnest now. One of the young men feinted at me, making me back up to the cart. I slashed out at him and felt the knife strike bone. Then I cut one of the girls. The other had gone invisible, and I felt her drop like a monkey from the top of the cart, her legs around my shoulders, one hand over my mouth, the other at my neck. I knew of course the place she was going for, and twisted violently, losing my balance. The man I’d cut got my wrist, and I felt it bend backwards until I lost my grip on the knife. The girl and I fell together to the ground. Her hands were still at my throat.