by Paul Kidd
A young monk strode forward, beaming genially as he approached Kuno and Sura. He gave a supple bow.
“Honoured grandfather – honoured grandmother. Welcome to our shrine.”
Sura squinted at the man, looking puzzled. She cocked a hand to her ear.
“What? What’s that? We’re out of time? I thought we were getting here early!” Sura had a wonderfully aged wheeze to her voice. She struck at Kuno with the back of her hand. “You hear that? We’re late! If you didn’t dawdle about with your dickey bladder all morning long…”
The monk cleared his throat, and spoke loudly into Sura’s ear.
“No no! To our shrine! Welcome to our shrine!”
“What’s that? The shrine?” Sura waved vaguely towards the buildings. “Yes! Very nice.”
The monk sighed, determined to be genial and patient.
“How may we help you, honoured madam, honoured sir?”
Sura hobbled closer, cocking an ear closer to the monk. “What’s that?”
Kuno elbowed Sura subtly in the ribs: she was overplaying the part. The samurai cleared his throat, speaking in the huskiest, most aged voice he could muster.
“Just tell the man, dear.”
Sura relented. She moved forward and took the young monk’s arm.
“Young man – our son desires to marry a woman of this area. Before we give permission for the match, we wish to see whether they are a family of good repute! We wish no connection with scandal!”
“How may we assist, honoured grandmother?”
Kuno gave a cough. “Young man, we simply wish to peer through your registries of donations and assure ourselves that their family is both pious and dependable.”
The monk positively beamed.
“Of course, sir. And the name of the family in question?”
Sura waved a finger about in admonition. “Ha! We shall keep that to ourselves, young man.” The fox poked at the young man with her stick. “Gossip is an ugly thing, and it is best quashed by firm attendance to one’s own business!”
The monk stepped back, dusting at his robes. “But surely you will need assistance?”
Sura was already walking past. “That nice young monk we met here yesterday said he would be waiting for us.”
“Which monk might this be, honoured grandmother?”
The fox waved on hand vaguely about as she walked. “Yes yes! You know the man. No hair, a rosary – and a nose! I distinctly remember the nose!”
The monk blinked, feeling quite confused. “You mean monk Tenshi, honoured grandmother?”
“That’s the one!” Sura waved her stick and tottered onwards. “Now run along, young man! I’m sure you have work to do. No point wasting your time when one of your brothers is already waiting for us in there.”
The monk pointed Sura towards the correct building and bowed. He walked off, shaking his head. Sura linked arms with Kuno once again, and watched the monk through the corner of her eye.
Kuno scowled.
“I am forever disturbed by your ongoing delight in untruth!”
“So what’s untrue? These Buddhist guys believe everything about them is illusion, and that only enlightenment can pierce through the veil! So a disguise isn’t doing wrong if everything is illusion anyway! It’s all just more of the same!” The fox seemed delighted. “In a way I’m helping them! Putting different types of illusion in front of them gives them a chance to stretch their little faith muscles! A chance to make the plunge!” Sura held out her fingers and pinched them together. “I brought that kid this much closer to enlightenment! These people should be thanking me!”
Kuno glowered.
“I am uncomfortable with deceptions, even in a good cause. Two wrongs do not make a right.”
“Yes they do!”
“No they don’t!”
“Sure they do! Here, look – mathematical proof!” Sura ticked points off on her fingers. “Now deception is a negative thing – right? And all crimes multiply! Deceiving someone who is already deceiving you therefore makes a negative multiplied by a negative. And a negative times a negative equals a positive! Just ask any mathematician! So two wrongs equal a right. We’re in the clear.” She pointed the way onwards with her staff. “Let’s go!”
They hobbled together up the steps into the hall. Kuno looked sidewise at the fox and seethed.
“I have such an urge to spank you sometimes…”
Far back at the temple gate, Chiri and Tonbo made their way into the shrine. Chiri had been dressed as a woman of high birth. She wore fine new formal robes, bound about with a great broad obi belt. Her hair had been disguised with soot and oil, coloured black and tied in a long, slender pony tail that had been wrapped in white cloth. A veil trailing from her broad straw hat served to hide her pink eyes.
Tonbo plodded along behind her, dressed in a loincloth and a short workman’s tunic. Sura had worked her makeup magic upon him, giving the man great bags beneath his eyes and shadowed cheekbones. He looked like a powerful, muscular idiot. He trudged along bearing what looked like a box filled with important gifts for the shrine, and a long roll of cloth-wrapped matting that concealed his tetsubo.
Amongst the monks at the gate, there was one who was far, far more expensively dressed: his robes were of a finer cloth, and his rosary was made of jade. Carrying herself with an air of haughty privilege, Chiri swept over to the man, and waited for him to bow to her before she acknowledged.
“My good monk, we are here to view the statue. My meditations are private, and I do not wish to be disturbed.” Chiri placed a heavy purse into the monk’s hands. “This is for your good works.”
The monk folded the purse in his hands, and immediately bowed. He backed silkily away, leaving Chiri and Tonbo to continue off towards the statue garden on their own.
Chiri managed to keep her face stiff, haughty and severe. As they moved away from the other worshippers, the rat spirit clenched her fingers nervously together and whispered through her veil to Tonbo.
“Tonbo san – I am not sure I am really suited to deception.” The rat bit at her artfully reddened lip. “… And I think that purse Sura gave me was just filled with old shells and rocks.”
Tonbo grumbled, hitching up the ragged loincloth that was the mainstay of his disguise. It was made from rough woven hemp that apparently contained at least thirty percent metal filings and old rice husks. His usual stoicism had its limits. The man growled deep back in his throat and grumbled.
“Sura and her fine ideas!” Tonbo saw the gateway up ahead. “Come on. Let’s see what we can see.”
Chiri tried to suppress her hiccups. She flicked a nervous eye down at her fine new robes.
“Where did Sura san procure these robes I wear? Surely she did not steal them?”
“Best not to ask.”
“Oh dear!” Chiri’s hiccups erupted. “Oh no!”
She cast an eye back towards the temple’s main gates. Some armoured samurai had entered from the road. They were looking about the temple grounds and scowling. The rat moved to put a tree between herself and the main gate, and moved hurriedly along towards the statue yard.
In the temple’s archives, Sura tottered about, peering up at statues of various and myriad Buddhified gods. She was keeping a clandestine watch upon the compound, the halls and gardens, missing nothing with her sharp green eyes. She covered for Kuno as the man flicked through sheaves of temple archives. She had rummaged inside the deeper stacks to find him papers that had lain forgotten for twenty years. He was far, far deeper into the mounds of documents than any monk would allow: Sura ran interference, chasing the monks away with great waves of her stick and constant requests for foot rubs and tea.
Kuno had found a set of old records kept upon cheap paper. They were refreshingly clear and simple – a remnant of days when the temple had housed a single priest and half a dozen assistants. He brushed a page flat and read down a line of figures in satisfaction.
“Here we are – records from the
days before the statue shrine was here. A village priest must have kept them. Ceremonies paid for by donations. Births, deaths, marriages…”
Sura looked up at a garish wooden statue of a god. Her eyes kept flicking to the steps just outside. “Anything useful?”
“This was a small area. Very little really happened…” He carefully turned a long, rustling page. “Ah! Except here! A big donation. It’s for a prayer for the redemption of a samurai – Yoshitori Yukio.”
There were notes jotted at the side of the bequest. Kuno had to hold them up into the light to read the spindly, crabbed little characters.
“Yoshitori Yukio – banished as a ronin when his master betrayed the Raiden clan in battle.” Kuno set the paper thoughtfully aside. “Banished. But someone paid for prayers to be read…”
Sura pretended to be inspecting a railing for dust.
“Oooh! Was the ronin our guy?”
“No no. Here. He died. Buried here about thirty years ago. Again, someone paid for a memorial service.”
“No name for who paid?”
Kuno shook his head. “No – look – it’s been deliberately blacked out with ink.” He pushed the page aside. “Could the one who paid for those ceremonies have been our man?”
Sura came over and held the page up against a shaft of bright sunlight. There were a few reddish marks where one ink struggled to be seen through the strokes masking over the top – but it was too murky to show much detail.
“There’s two names – so it was a samurai…” She moved the paper about in the light. “Toh – something…I can’t make it out!” She handed back the page. “Gives us a name to ask about, anyway. The ronin Yoshitori Yukio.”
Kuno stroked thoughtfully at his moustache. “But it was long before the disgrace and death of our man.”
There were other papers nearby: an honour scroll of the great benefactors of the temple, their donations and the prayers that would be said in thankful celebration. Kuno drew out the elaborate scroll.
“Here – Lord Tado certainly pays for a great many prayers.” He unrolled the scroll section by section. “Adopted as a Tado eighteen years ago. Married seventeen years ago. Promoted sixteen years ago. Promoted fourteen years ago. Promoted ten years ago. Made lord of the fief eight years ago… The clerk writes: Much praise to his great honour. Much praise to his absolute loyalty to the liege.” Kuno shook his head.
“It seems Lord Tado has virtues that are not immediately apparent.”
A monk mounted up the steps into the building. Two armoured Raiden samurai came behind him, and all wore looks of icy ill-will. The monk pointed out Kuno, who looked up from the table filled with old papers. The samurai came over with their hands already on their swords.
“You there! What are you doing! Those are not for you to meddle with.”
Sura – using some weird instinct for duplicity – had managed to remove herself over to one side of the room. She came stumping over from inspecting the idols – bent and muttering like a dotard. She bobbed a creaking bow towards the two samurai.
“I’m sorry young man – but the monk at the front of the hall said he was too busy to help me. This gentleman has promised to assist me once he is done…”
One of the samurai flicked her a dismissive glance.
“Silence, old crone!” The man glared at Kuno, who now decidedly did not look like a doddering old man. “You! We see through your disguise! You are under arrest!”
Kuno arose – cool, controlled and dangerous.
“On what charge? Reading public records in a public shrine?”
The second samurai came forward with his hand tightening about his sword.
“You are insolent!”
“It is you who are offensive.” Kuno’s voice was stern. “For your own safety, I urge you to abandon all thought of using your swords.”
The first samurai gave a sneer.
“I am Hoji Kuroma, of the clan Raiden – son of Hoji Genjo, grandson of Hoji Ishida!” The man crashed a fist against his own armoured chest. “I see through your disguise. Draw if you dare! I am an Iaido master of the school of Iron Rain!”
Sura hobbled forward, squinting as if to see the samurai’s face. She ended up nose to nose with him, peering at him in amazement.
“A master of fast draw! And from such an illustrious family?” The fox nodded her grey head. “You young people are so clever these days. I heard that a master swordsman learns to bend like a reed in the wind.”
The samurai blinked, his attention divided between Kuno and Sura. “What? Yes!”
Sura kneed the man in the testicles, hammering home like a pile-driver. The samurai goggled and fell crashing to the ground. Sura shook her head.
“No – that was more like grass…”
The other samurai staggered backwards, then whipped out his blade. Kuno moved like lightning, lunging inward and drawing his short sword from beneath his robes. He twisted aside from his opponent’s blade, locking hilt-to-hilt with the man’s sword and seizing him in an elbow lock, propelling him backwards. He refrained from plunging his short sword home into the man’s throat.
“I wish you no harm! I urge you to withdraw!”
With great difficulty, the samurai wrenched free. He shook his twisted arm, then whipped up his sword, ready to attack. Kuno stood, sword lowered, ready to parry. He was saved the trouble as Sura slammed a small wooden table down over the man’s head from behind.
The samurai collapsed. The first man retched, trying to struggle back onto his feet. Sura gleefully kicked him in the crotch once more. Kuno seized her and dragged her out of the hall as shouts and yells began to ring out from the outside world.
The sermon had begun in the main hall, drawing most of the monks and visitors away. Tonbo heaved open the gate that led into the statue yard, and Chiri slipped quietly through. She rubbed at her diaphragm, holding her breath as she tried to make her hiccups go away. Tonbo came softly in through the gate, and patted the rat quietly on the shoulder.
“Are they stopping?”
Chiri gulped air, held it, and then finally let it go.
“I… I think so.” The girl moved forward, trying to act serene. “Tonbo san? Are we observed?”
“We’re clear.”
Chiri drew back her veil. The two friends picked their way through the countless stones littering the yard and approached the bronze statue.
The barrage of rocks over many long years had blurred and dented the facial features. Even so – there were many fine details still in evidence in places that were harder to hit. Tonbo stood before the statue and looked up towards the battered face.
“So this is our man.”
Chiri began to circle the statue. The dead man’s armour had been beautifully represented – even the patterns on his robes. The rear of the statue was utterly unharmed.
“Look here, Tonbo san. This statue was very accurate.”
“It has no face.”
“But in other ways, it is exact...” The rat climbed up onto the pedestal and looked at details that had been protected by the shelter of the statue’s arm. “Even the sword is detailed.”
Tonbo scowled. He stood moved up to join Chiri, and inspected the statue’s sword.
There was damage to the long sword, but the short sword was still perfect. Tonbo leaned in, with Bifuuko and Daitanishi peering over his shoulder.
“Look at the tsuba – the guard.”
Chiri blew some dust aside. “A Phoenix, and a little bird intertwined.” She carefully brushed some chips of stone aside. “What sort of bird is that?”
Tonbo gently touched the bronze tsuba. He nodded.
“A sparrow…”
Loud noises suddenly intruded on the peace and quiet: cracking timber, shouts and cries. Suddenly the fence over near the main temple building crashed apart as a monk was hurtled through the flimsy wood.
The shattered fence revealed a roiling brawl just out in the temple yard. Kuno caught a lunge from a monk’s staff,
spun into the man and threw him straight over his shoulder, stripping the man of his staff. The monk fell thudding to the ground like a sack of rice. As another monk leapt over his comrade, Kuno met the rush with a sharp jab of his captured stick. The monk fell to the ground, gagging in shock.
Sura was engaged against two monks armed with long staves. She used a bo-staff with gleeful speed, swatting one man’s weapon aside and thudding the point of her staff into his midriff. The second man made a wild swing at her, and she dodged the blow and whipped her staff down to smack the man in the shin. The monk hopped away, yammering and howling as he fell into a pond.
Three monks came rampaging towards Sura down the temple steps, staves levelled and teeth bared. The fox flung an egg stuffed full of pepper right into the face of the foremost man – one of many nasty little tricks the fox kept up her sleeve. The man dropped his weapon and clutched at his eyes as a cloud of pepper burst about his head. A second man reeled aside, coughing and helpless. Sura charged straight at the third, stepping aside at the last possible instant before she struck. She tripped him with her staff, and the man stumbled clean through the fence. The monk slammed into Tonbo, shook himself, and then wailed half a dozen punches into Tonbo’s middle. The huge man scowled, finally became irritated, and seized hold of the monk, tossing him at one of Sura’s other victims.