Year of the Demon

by Steve Bein

  “I’ll round up that old healer of yours. Poppy’s tears should keep her quiet.”

  Lord Inoue, having finally reached the ground, approached Daigoro with a bodyguard of eight samurai, all of them his sons. All were dressed in black and silver, and Inoue’s sideburns and thin mustache were also black traced through with silver. His darting eyes followed Katsushima, then flicked to Daigoro, then to the roof, the well, the shadows below the veranda. Daigoro had heard the man was paranoid, but the rumors hadn’t prepared him for this. He moved as if assassins lurked in every corner.

  At last Lord Inoue reached the short staircase leading up to the broad, shady veranda that surrounded the main house. He gave Daigoro a deep and graceful bow. “Okuma-sama. I do hope your mother is feeling better.”

  Daigoro willed his face to remain passive. How had Inoue heard of last week’s debacle with the Soras? His spy network was said to have eyes and ears everywhere, but Daigoro had taken steps to quarantine that information. He’d shut down the entire Okuma compound, allowing no one who had seen the duel with Sora Samanosuke to go beyond the gate. Surely the Soras had said nothing; not only did they stand to be hurt by the story, but they despised the Inoues. Who had talked?

  “Mother is quite well,” Daigoro said, bowing back. His right hand accidentally brushed against the leg of his hakama, shooting spears of pain through his broken fingers. “I thank you for your concern. Come, shall we sit? You’ve been on the road a long time.”

  They took their tea in a long tatami room overlooking the sea. The shoji were open, admitting a gentle breeze and the sedating smell of the camphor grove behind the compound. “Ahhh,” said Inoue, sipping his tea. “The sky is blue. The gulls are calling. What a beautiful day to talk about spies.”

  Daigoro gave a polite laugh, glossing over his guest’s faux pas. “It seems we’ve finished with the preliminaries. Of course you’re right, Inoue-sama. My family would benefit from allying with your intelligence network.”

  “As would everyone else. Even Toyotomi no Hideyoshi, the emperor’s new chief minister and regent, has been making inquiries. Tell me, Okuma-sama, what can you offer that even the likes of Toyotomi cannot?”

  Daigoro knew what Inoue was after. The cagey old daimyo was one of the first on the islands to see the tactical merit of the southern barbarians’ muskets and matchlocks. Inoue’s musketry battalions might have been what first prompted Lord Sora to develop a breastplate capable of deflecting musket balls. And since Inoue was paranoid, he could not set aside the fear of assassination by musket. He simply had to have Sora yoroi, and not just for himself. He had countless sons, and high-ranking officers too. All of them needed protection. But Sora would not trade with him. So long as only Sora commanders were safe from gunfire, the Soras had an advantage to counterbalance Inoue’s firepower.

  Lord Sora’s initial refusal to sell had swollen into open enmity, the kind that showered sparks all over the dry, grassy field that was Izu. Daigoro wanted to prevent a wildfire, and had he not failed with the Soras, he could have sold Sora armor to the Inoues. He could have forged a link between the two houses, protecting the Inoues while making the Soras rich. Everyone would win. But his mother had smashed it all to pieces. More importantly, Daigoro had failed to repair what she’d broken. He was sure his father would have found a solution, some answer Daigoro hadn’t been able to see himself.

  So Daigoro knew exactly what Lord Inoue was angling for, and Inoue was aware of that before coming here, and both of them knew full well that Daigoro could not afford to give up what Inoue would ask of him. I do hope your mother is feeling better. That was no social formality, no idle comment in passing. It was an announcement: you had negotiations with the Soras and your mother made a shambles of them. You tried to outflank me and you failed. And you still need what I know, so now I can ask anything I want from you.

  And Daigoro knew what Lord Inoue wanted. First and foremost he wanted the armor, but since he’d known he wouldn’t find that here, there was only one other thing the house of Okuma could offer, only one gift as valuable as the intelligence the Inoue spies could deliver. Daigoro knew what it was, and he knew his family couldn’t afford to part with it.

  He met Inoue’s gaze. Those darting eyes were as still as stones now. As dangerous as musket balls. They saw too much.

  “Lord Inoue, as long as we’re dispensing with the formalities, may I dare to venture a guess on what General Toyotomi has promised you?”

  Those eyes glistened. The slightest of smiles touched the corners of Inoue’s lips. He cocked his head, shifted on his cushion, and gave Daigoro an appraising look. “Does my young lord wish to compete with me in the field of information gathering?”

  “I do.”

  “Please. Regale me.”

  Daigoro swallowed. His pulse quickened, but he could no longer back down. “I think Toyotomi offered his own hand in marriage. He is already married, of course, but even a regent’s concubine is still an honorable station. I wouldn’t want to hazard a guess on which one of your daughters you offered, since you have so many—all beautiful and charming, no doubt, but I daresay you would offer someone young enough to promise many children. Am I far wrong?”

  Inoue’s eyes narrowed. His smile became a thin, flat line.

  “Aha,” said Daigoro. “Now, it’s been some years since I’ve had the honor of spending time with your daughters, but perhaps you’ll recall your Kameko was my grammar teacher. I remember how happy she was each time you gave her another brother or sister. As prolific as you’ve been, Lord Inoue, I can’t imagine you’re wanting for daughters of marriageable age. You’ll have a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old who’s perfect for the regent. She could provide him almost as many sons as you have.”

  That last was a gross exaggeration. Toyotomi would need an entire village of women to produce the sons Inoue Shigekazu had fathered. Behind the lord’s back, people joked that Inoue’s intelligence network was so vast because he had a son or daughter married into every house from here to China. Another facet of his paranoia, Daigoro supposed; who better as a bodyguard than your own flesh and blood? Who better to command your battalions, manage your grain stores, prepare your food? No little girl of Inoue’s could ever hope to outproduce her own father, the man who counted children the way most men counted rice.

  But certainly Inoue had offered one of them to Toyotomi. Daigoro could see it in his face. His black and silver eyebrows lowered ever so slightly; his gaze darted out to the horizon and back. Daigoro had struck the bull’s-eye dead center.

  And now he feared what came next. Because he’d botched the Sora negotiations, the most valuable thing the Okumas could offer House Inoue was a marriage. And in that discussion Inoue held all the cards. He had no shortage of daughters to marry off, and Daigoro could only offer his own hand.

  Only a few months ago, he would have been more than happy to submit to a marriage for his family’s political benefit. Back then, Ichiro was the clan’s prize. But now Ichiro was dead, leaving Daigoro as the eldest son of the Okumas. The costs and benefits of marriage were totally different now.

  Daigoro cleared his throat. “I believe we were discussing a prospective wedding between one of your daughters and the lord regent.”

  Inoue shrugged. “We were speculating idly about such possibilities, yes. But more pressing, my young lord, is whom you might marry. You’re the head of your house now. Shameful for such a powerful daimyo to be unwed, neh?”

  Not as shameful as squandering my family’s most valuable bargaining chip, Daigoro thought. “I’m sixteen, Lord Inoue. I still have a year or two before bachelorhood becomes unseemly.” And a year or two to draw other allies close with the possibility of marriage. As soon as I’m spoken for, my family loses its best asset.

  “Is that the fashion these days? Forgive me. I’m an old man; I do not see such affairs with the same eyes as you younger folk. Perhaps remaining unwed is not as shameful for you as it is for those of the older generations—mine,
for example, or even your mother’s.”

  Inoue’s narrow eyes twinkled. The lines around his mouth deepened, as if he were trying to restrain a smile. “Speak plainly,” Daigoro said.

  “As you wish. How long has your mother been without a husband? A year? Longer?”

  “What does it matter? She’s no dowager. The responsibility for House Okuma falls to me.”

  “So it does. So it does. But if my young lord wanted to leave his prospects for marriage open, he might well marry off his mother instead, neh? Think of what a weight it would lift from you, not having to worry about her any longer. She’s started feeling the effects of her years, I imagine. It was a long time ago that I was her age, but I remember well enough.”

  Daigoro thought of those wrinkles at her eyes, of how they’d multiplied in the last year. And he thought of how easily Lord Inoue could manipulate the Okumas if he managed to marry a son to their matriarch. Inoue was wrong: she wasn’t so old that her years were a heavy burden. The wrinkles came with worry, not age. Her grief was so heavy that it threatened to crush the life out of her. She was in no state to be married off, least of all to a bully from the Inoues.

  And that meant Daigoro’s hand became all the more valuable. Not only could he forge a much-needed alliance; he could also protect his mother against predatory suitors—above all the predators from the wolf pack called House Inoue.

  Lord Inoue’s eyes twinkled all the more brightly. “My young lord, I sense your hesitation. But as you said before, my sons are not the only ones seeking marriage; I have daughters too. You mentioned my Kameko, for instance. I daresay you know her well enough to remember how intelligent and graceful she is. An ideal wife for a bright young man such as yourself.”

  Daigoro remembered. Kameko was as gentle a soul as any man could hope to meet. And as busy as Daigoro was in learning how to govern his clan and maintain stability in Izu, he had no time for courtship. That made Inoue Kameko a sound choice. He knew her. She’d taught him to read and write, and later taught him poetry and calligraphy. She was patient, sweet, kind, and conscientious.

  And she was thirty years Daigoro’s senior. She would bear no sons, and the Okumas desperately needed sons.

  That shifted Daigoro’s thoughts in a different direction. The last time he’d seen Inoue Kameko was at his brother Ichiro’s funeral. With her was a younger sister, one whom Daigoro guessed to be close to his own age. Kameko had attended out of respect for Ichiro, also a former student of hers, and the little sister was there as her attendant. But what was her name?

  He could see her clearly in his mind’s eye. She’d worn white, with tiny red leaves woven into the silk. The leaves were red, aka, for aki, autumn. . . .

  “Akiko,” Daigoro said. “What of her? She came to my brother’s funeral. That was very generous of her. As I recall, she’s unmarried, neh?”

  Inoue’s eyes narrowed. Vertical lines furrowed between his eyebrows. He sipped his tea rather than speaking. There were only so many reasons for a reaction like that. Daigoro had backed him into a corner. But how?

  However he’d done it, it wouldn’t do to let up now. The girl was obviously precious, the brightest star in her father’s sky. And she was important for some reason. But Daigoro couldn’t see what it was. He struggled to keep the uncertainty out of his voice, to speak as congenially as if Inoue were his oldest friend. “How old is your Akiko? I’d have guessed she’s close to my age, but if I may speak frankly, her face is as pure and bright as it must have been on her first birthday. It’s hard to guess the age of a beautiful girl like her.”

  Lord Inoue finished his tea. Daigoro filled his cup for him, never taking his eyes off Inoue’s face. The wizened little daimyo studiously avoided his gaze. “Marriageable age for certain,” Daigoro said. “Unless you’ve got a husband in mind for her already. General Toyotomi, perhaps?”

  Inoue’s gaze darted to the floor, then the wall, the teacup, the tabletop. Aha, Daigoro thought. I’ve got you. “Well, no matter,” he said, his tone rosy and light. “If she’s spoken for, she’s spoken for. Still, I wonder how one so young could have angered her father so much that he’d be willing to toss her out like a mud-stained kimono.”

  That got Inoue to look up. “What do you mean?”

  “Come now, Inoue-sama. Even the regent must bow to the coin. Toyotomi presses the war far and wide, but he seldom fights. More often he treats, neh?”

  “You dare ask me? If it were not for me, no one in Izu would know the name Toyotomi, much less his exploits.”

  It was a gross exaggeration, but Daigoro was happy to see he’d struck a nerve. He bowed, and in his most apologetic tone he said, “Of course. I meant only to point out that this is a man who buys his victories by giving lands to those who concede defeat. He expands his empire without expanding his purse. It’s risky, neh?”

  “Risky?” Inoue scoffed. “It’s damned clever—and I thought you were bright enough to understand just how clever. Don’t you see? A defeated daimyo who retains his own territory thinks he’s won. He thinks mustering troops at Toyotomi’s command is no hardship, when in fact all the fool has done is to ensure that he’ll always be the one who pays to keep Toyotomi’s army fed. If the regent asks for ten thousand troops, then that is how many the local lord must assemble, and in the meantime the man has ten thousand bellies to fill.”

  “Begging your pardon, Lord Inoue, but the risk I spoke of isn’t Toyotomi’s. It belongs to his womenfolk. How many wives and concubines must he have by now? Imagine what it must cost to keep them clothed and housed in a style that befits the regent’s own household.” Daigoro paused for a moment, to let Inoue envision just how lavish that lifestyle must be. “It might not go so badly for your daughter if General Toyotomi were constantly expanding his personal wealth, but he isn’t. Akiko will be the smallest cub in a litter already starving for its mother’s milk. By this point those women must be clawing at each other for the smallest bauble. But no doubt you’ve foreseen all of this, which only leaves me to wonder how awful a daughter’s crime must be for her own father to throw her to the wolves.”

  “Hm.” Inoue smoothed his slender mustache with a thumb and fingertip. He was otherwise speechless for a long, pregnant moment.

  At last he said, “You see much for a boy of your years. You impress me. And I would not see my daughter become a discarded concubine living in a hovel.”

  “Like any loving father,” Daigoro said.

  “If I were to offer you Akiko’s hand in marriage, would you accept?”

  Daigoro blinked and looked out at the sky. Had he just outmaneuvered the great Inoue Shigekazu, or had Inoue outmaneuvered him? Daigoro’s first goal had been to gain the benefit of Inoue’s spy network. A marriage to the apple of his eye would accomplish that. But his next most important goal was to retain his family’s most powerful asset: his own bachelorhood, and with it the possibility of alliance through marriage. Now, rather than trying to avoid wedding a barren daughter, he’d pressured Inoue into offering him his most desirable daughter. Or had he? Perhaps Inoue played the fool all along, hoping to get Daigoro to push him to just this conclusion.

  Either way, Inoue had asked the question, and he’d asked it from a position of weakness. Had this been a duel, Inoue would have been on his back, disarmed and helpless. No man of honor could kill him in such a position. In effect, Inoue was begging him for mercy. And a true follower of bushido had no choice but to grant his wish.

  Father, I wish you were here, Daigoro thought. I wish you could tell me the right thing to do. He had no doubt that his family would be stronger with the countless eyes and ears of the Inoues. Nor did he have any doubt that the old man seated across from him would bully his new son-in-law whenever and however he could.

  Equally doubtless was the fact that if Daigoro said no to Akiko’s hand, Inoue would take it personally. He’d borne his silly grudge against the Soras for decades. No doubt he would use the full might of his spy network to hurt the Okumas. He might
even look for new ways to marry his children to Daigoro and Daigoro’s mother. Daigoro wasn’t even sure he’d outfoxed the old man this time around; he certainly didn’t know how many more times he could pull it off.

  And there was the last consideration: what Izu needed now, more than ever and more than anything, was stability. As lord protector of Izu, Daigoro knew his duty. A marriage between his clan and the Inoues would bring stability.

  What should I do, Father? Compromise our family’s position in order to stabilize Izu? Or compromise Izu in order to leave our family better positioned for the future?

  Daigoro had no idea what his father would say. He knew only that his father had an aphorism, one he’d repeated countless times through Daigoro’s childhood: A samurai makes every decision in the space of seven breaths. The path of bushido was not for the hesitant.

  • • •

  The feast that evening was a thing of beauty. The Okuma cooks truly outdid themselves: roasted sparrows so delicate that they almost melted in the mouth; soft tofu artfully sculpted and dyed; shrimp flecked with gold; sushi of every description: squid and octopus, lobster and roe, eel and egg. Sake flowed. Toasts were made. The scullery maids would be washing dishes until sunrise.

  Then came the musicians, and clapping and dancing, and after much prodding Lord Inoue stood up to sing. Even Daigoro’s mother seemed to be having a good time—owing in part to the poppy’s tears, no doubt, but only in part. Daigoro himself could have used some of her medicine; his broken fingers still felt like they were made of broken pottery. He watched his mother singing along and smiled. If anyone ever needed cause for celebration, it was her.

  An hour into the festivities, Daigoro finally allowed Katsushima to corner him. “I’m pleased to hear you’ll finally be dipping your wick,” Katsushima said, “but are you certain you’ve made the right choice?”

  Daigoro bent closer, the better to be heard over the shamisen and shakuhachi players. “No. But with Akiko as the dowry, Inoue could have bought a greater house than ours. He sacrificed and we sacrificed.”