“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning, sir,” she said.
He sat up beside her, took her arm, and pulled her to him. She came to him willingly, without resistance. He kissed her, and she kissed him back. His desire rose to a boil, and he clutched her to him. Part of him was surprised at the fervor of his need, but she accepted it, welcomed it, and clutched him onto her, into her. As he entered her soft, moist heat, the flash of another face intruded in his mind, and closing his eyes would not drive the image away. Enough! The ghostly countenance, beautiful beyond compare, faded into the mists of his memory.
The mounting cries of their passion filtered through the rice-paper walls, but they did not care. The shuddering convulsions of their ecstasy drove away all thoughts of modesty or decorum. When it was over and their frenzied breathing began to slow, she looked into his eyes, smiling, biting her lip. She plaintively touched his face, and said, “Again?” So he obliged her with fresh fervor.
* * *
Outside the inn, Ken’ishi sat down on the veranda, dangling his feet over the ground. He held a small wooden box filled with rice and pickled plums, a small bowl of fish soup, and three rice cakes sweetened with red bean paste and wrapped in moist leaves. Tetta had given him all this food free of charge, leftover from the New Year celebration that had been cut short. Before long, a familiar rusty-brown shape poked between his legs from under the veranda and looked up at him with bright brown eyes.
Ken’ishi scratched his ears. “Have you eaten today? You smell of fish.”
“Fishing village. So, smell of fish. Yes, found some fish to eat. Rice ball?”
Ken’ishi scooped up half of his rice with his hands, squeezed it into a ball, and handed it to Akao. The dog gobbled it down in one bite, then licked the sticky kernels from Ken’ishi’s hands.
Ken’ishi opened the leaf around one of the sticky rice cakes and thrust the whole thing into his mouth. He was hungry.
Akao sat down beside him. “Leaving today?”
“No,” Ken’ishi said. “Staying today.”
“Leaving tomorrow.”
“I don’t know. We’ll see.”
“You smell of female. You are shameless.” The dog grinned, tongue lolling, laughing silently.
At that moment, Kiosé stepped out of the inn with a pot of hot tea. Wordlessly, she poured him a cup, set the teapot down, and went back inside.
The dog laughed again. “Smell like her!”
Ken’ishi smiled and said nothing. Norikage approached them. The small man’s face was cheery, but somehow the mirth did not reach his eyes. “Ken’ishi, good morning.”
“Good morning.”
“I am happy to find you awake.” He eyed Akao for a moment. “Is this your dog?”
“You can call him Akao.”
Norikage nodded slowly, appraising Ken’ishi’s words. “Shall I show you to your house?”
“My house?” His eyebrows rose.
“Yes. The village constable’s house.”
Ken’ishi let the pleasure of this revelation sink in. “Very well. We will go as soon as I finish.” Ken’ishi scooped the last lump of rice into his mouth.
“As you wish.” Norikage waited while Ken’ishi continued his meal.
Kiosé came out and brought Norikage a cup and poured him tea from the pot. He drank the tea while Ken’ishi finished the soup and rice cakes.
Norikage said, “You already have an admirer, I see.”
Ken’ishi looked up from his bowl. “What? Admirer?”
“Kiosé. I saw it by the way she looked at you. And she came by the door twice since she brought the tea, just to look at you.”
Ken’ishi said nothing, sipping his tea.
Norikage smiled wryly and sipped his own tea.
* * *
Ken’ishi’s house was a small but comfortable one near the constable’s office. Norikage showed Ken’ishi around. “I already had Masahige’s belongings moved out, with arrangements made to send them back to his family. Yes, I know the place feels empty, but you can buy a futon and such with your salary.”
“I receive a salary?” Ken’ishi said, hardly able to contain his surprise.
“Yes, of course! I receive both of our salaries from the village taxes, and we each get a monthly sum. Obviously you have never had such an arrangement before.”
“I have not. But I am grateful.” He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice.
“You are a good man, Ken’ishi. And you will serve this village well, I think.”
“I will try.”
Then was a soft knock on the front door, and a woman’s voice. “Ken’ishi-sama. Norikage-sama. Are you home?”
Norikage gave Ken’ishi a devilish smile. “Your admirer.”
Ken’ishi’s face betrayed no emotion, but he was pleased that she had come. He called out, “Enter!”
The door slid open, and Kiosé bowed. “I am being rude. Master Tetta sent me to give you this.” In her hands, she held a covered basket.
“Very well,” Ken’ishi said. “Bring it in.”
She stepped inside tentatively, taking off her zori, and handed the basket up to Ken’ishi. “Thank you,” he said.
“It was no trouble, sir. If ever you need anything, please call me.” She bowed deeply, and there was a strange tone in her voice that he could not identify.
He bowed in return.
“Please excuse me,” she said, “I have much work to do.” With that, she turned, put her sandals back on, and departed.
“Indeed!” Norikage said, grinning at Ken’ishi. “‘If you need anything,’ she said.”
“Do not make fun of me,” Ken’ishi said. “Or of her.”
“Ah, Ken’ishi, don’t be so serious! There is nothing wrong with amusing banter among men! In truth, she looks better today than she has of late. I have never seen her smile before. I wonder why she smiles today.”
“I can’t hazard a guess.”
“Very well. But I should warn you. Keeping a secret in a village such as this is impossible.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
“One other thing I should tell you. Cavorting with a whore is one thing. Everybody does it. It is expected. But do not make the mistake of believing she will ever be anything else to the people of this village.”
Ken’ishi’s brow furrowed and his fists clenched.
“My apologies. I am merely trying to help you.”
“Thank you for your concern. Now, if you will forgive me, I must practice.”
“Very well. Afterwards, please come to my office. I have much to teach you.”
* * *
After Norikage departed, Ken’ishi spent an hour practicing sword drills, the formulaic practice movements that Kaa had taught him. He would soon have to arrange for himself a proper practice ground. Perhaps, with enough money, someday he could even have his own training hall. After he was finished with his practice, he looked in the basket Kiosé brought him. Inside were several small packages, rice balls, pickled fish, a bundle of dried seaweed leaves, a jar of sake, and a bag of uncooked rice. A fine gift. He would thank Tetta later.
When he stepped outside and walked toward the constabulary, the passing villagers looked at him with a mixture of wonder, curiosity, and apprehension. Doubtless, all of them had heard accounts of last night’s events. In fact, many of the village men had been there to witness the whole thing.
Norikage stepped outside to greet him as he approached the constabulary. The thin, rodent-like man ushered Ken’ishi into his office and offered him some tea. Then he said, “So, Ken’ishi, are you ready to begin your education?”
Ken’ishi’s teacup halted a finger’s breadth from his lips. “Education?”
“Yes. You want to learn how to read and write, do you not?”
“Yes.”
“Then it is a simple matter of beginning, is it not? ‘The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,’ as they say.”
Ken’ishi nodded. “I suppose so.”
“Good! Henceforth, we will have lessons every day at this time.”
“Every day?”
“Yes. A proper education takes time!”
Ken’ishi sighed. “Very well. I’ll come every day after weapon practice. Perhaps you require some lessons.”
“Me? Whatever for?”
“Learn to use the sword and the bow!”
Norikage laughed. “Me? Use the sword and bow? That’s a good jest! I am a weakling! I can hardly lift a sword, much less draw a bow.”
Ken’ishi scowled. “Practice makes you stronger.”
“Nonsense! My young friend, strength is why I have you to fight for me.” He laughed again.
Ken’ishi’s scowl softened. “Perhaps some people aren’t born to use a warrior’s weapons.”
“Indeed.” Norikage then pulled out several sheets of paper, an inkpot, and two brushes. “These are the tools of a scholar and a gentleman, Ken’ishi. With diligent study, you will learn to use them. Now, let’s begin.”
* * *
That night, after a long, full day, Ken’ishi lay back on his futon, staring up into the dark rafters. He could not remember ever living in a house before this. The shadows cast into the underbelly of the roof by the brazier of coals beside him danced and shifted, creating dream-like, half-formed shapes and voids. He contemplated the events that led him to this turn of fortune, the path his life had taken since leaving the north.
The day had been a full one, a succession of new and wondrous experiences, meeting some of the people around the village, familiarizing himself with the village and its environs, and the most mind-boggling experience, the new journey to literacy. He returned from his lessons with Norikage to find his house freshly cleaned and tidied. He suspected only one person.
He thought about Kiosé. Kiosé was so different from . . . her. She was so weak and vulnerable, soft, but with the same sort of kind spirit. And he sensed her fervent desire for something better in life than the lot she had been given. What crimes had she committed in previous lives to sentence her to the life of a common prostitute? He should protect her, help her, even though there was little he could do to improve her place in life. Tetta owned her, and Ken’ishi did not have enough money to buy her contract. He could not deliver her from the life of servitude in which she was trapped. He had known so few women that he could make no comparisons. Why would a man sell his own daughter to be a whore? Were daughters such a burden? Then he thought about the many courtesans he had seen in the capital, so beautiful, so graceful, with their beautiful clothes and immaculate appearance, like painted, porcelain goddesses. Did all of those women come from such unpleasant origins? Were all of them slaves?
The wind rose and began to caress the roof, to whisper through the eaves and cracks in the walls. He shivered and scooted closer to the coals. Then something heavy struck the wall of the house, thudding against his leg with a blunt sting against his leg. A fist-sized stone bounced onto the tatami mats.
Outside his house, a man’s voice cried out above the wind. “Get out of here, you base coward! Get out or we’ll finish you!”
Ken’ishi leaped to his feet and ran to the door, whipping it open. He heard running footsteps quickly receding, swallowed by the wind. He looked over at the ragged hole torn in the rice-paper wall by the stone. The paper fluttered as the wind whispered through the hole.
His eyes searched the darkness, and his shoulders tensed with the urge to chase his cowardly assailant through the night and punish him. But he resisted. Another death so soon would only make more enemies for him. He had to befriend the people of this village. The thought of enemies waiting to stab him in the back or spread poisonous words in closed rooms only stoked his anger, but he pushed it back down. He would just have to be more vigilant and act when the time was right.
Five
“You cannot tell whether a person is good or evil by his vicissitudes in life. Good and bad fortune are matters of fate. Good and bad actions are Man’s Way.”
—Hagakure
A knock at the door of his office drew Yasutoki from his reverie. He had been thinking about Silver Crane again, the famous blade that had been gone from the world for over thirty years. Gone from the world, but not from memory. A weapon prized by the Taira clan during the long war with the Minamoto clan. The rediscovery of such a weapon might be enough to galvanize the scattered remnants of his kinsmen, reunite them, bring them back to power, once the Minamoto clan and their allies had been cast down by the Mongol invaders. The door slid open, revealing one of the house servants. “I am sorry, Yasutoki-sama. I am being rude. There is someone to see you. He says you are expecting him. His name is Akihiro.”
Yasutoki had not been expecting this man so soon. “See him to my office. And bring some hot sake as well.”
“As you wish, Yasutoki-sama. Excuse me.” The servant shut the door again.
Yasutoki suppressed a surge of excitement. His months of preparation might begin to pay off. He hoped that this man had been worth his effort. He did not suffer disappointment with a pleasant nature. In the meantime, he made sure several of his poison-tipped shuriken were prepared. A servant brought warm sake and two cups. When the door opened, he was waiting behind his desk.
“Greetings, Akihiro,” Yasutoki said cordially.
The man stepped into the room, and the servant slid the door shut behind him. He was dressed in the dusty robes of an itinerant merchant. The man bowed and seated himself across the desk from Yasutoki. “Greetings, Yasutoki-sama.”
“How is the sake trade?” Yasutoki asked, loud enough to be heard in the hallway. “Would you care to sample some of our own local brew?”
“Business is terrible,” the man replied. “Let us sample your sake.”
Yasutoki studied his face. Was this the same man he had met on Mount Ono? He had not seen the man’s face in decades. His face was remarkable in that it was completely unremarkable. He was so nondescript that Yasutoki wondered if he would remember the man’s appearance a few days from now. It was the perfect face for someone of his profession, a porcelain mask, betraying no emotion. Yasutoki wondered if some sort of shadow charm or magic was at work here, manipulating his perception of the man’s features. There were tales of such abilities, and Yasutoki wouldn’t have put it past Kage to have discovered them.
Yasutoki offered him a cup, which he took, and poured some sake for him. “So, Kage,” he said, his voice little more than an imperceptible mutter. “I have been looking forward to your visit for some time.”
“I’m sure you have,” Kage said, in a similar voice. “I have accomplished much.”
“I hope it is worth the price.”
“First,” Kage said, “payment.”
Yasutoki stiffened, but kept his composure at the man’s abrupt manner. “Very well.” He pulled a silk purse from his sleeve, heavy with the weight of coins and precious stones, and placed it in front of him on the desk. Kage unslung a satchel from his shoulder and placed it upon the table, then he reached for the purse. “Wait,” Yasutoki said, laying his left hand on the purse.
Kage’s hand froze, but his mask-like countenance betrayed no emotion.
Yasutoki said, “First, you must tell me what I can expect to find in here.”
Kage’s voice was dispassionate, and his hand remained poised above the table. “Detailed observations of the fighting strength of every Nishimuta and Otomo lord in the north. Information on the lesser families and clans of the central provinces will be coming soon.”
“What about the Shimazu clan in the south?”
“Soon enough. I thought it best to concentrate on the most important forces first.”
Yasutoki nodded. “Very good. Excellent.” He took his hand off the purse.
Kage’s hand resumed its forward motion, picked up the pouch, and withdrew with it.
Yasutoki said, “I trust the amount is sufficient to our bargain.”
The purse disa
ppeared into Kage’s robes. “If it is not, I will return for the rest.”
Yasutoki ignored the comment. “The rest of your payment will come when I receive the information about the remaining fiefs. Our business here is concluded then.”
“So it is.” The man known as Kage bowed to Yasutoki, stood up and left the room with the sound of a shadow.
Yasutoki picked up the satchel, untied the flap, and looked inside. There were dozens of small, tightly wrapped scrolls. He picked one at random and opened it. With a grin, he found it concerned the fief of Lord Nishimuta no Jiro, Lord Tsunetomo’s father-in-law. Two hundred able-bodied samurai, potential conscripts numbering over a thousand, four hundred horses, two master swordsmiths, four apprentice swordsmiths, four armorers, four bowyers. . . . He put a lid on the bubbling pot of his inner glee. Kage had indeed been thorough.
He put the scroll back into the satchel and stuffed the satchel inside a secret compartment in the rear of his writing desk. If this were found, it would cost Yasutoki his head. Already his mind was swirling about how best to compile the information and relay it to the Khan. He would have to travel to Hakozaki on some imaginary errand and send word to the Khan’s spies there. This information was the key to the Great Khan’s conquest, and he knew the Golden Horde would put it to the best possible use.
All that remained for him was to uncover the same information from Lord Tsunetomo’s fief. Tsunemori was secretive, as if he could sense the danger in allowing it to Yasutoki. If Yasutoki made any direct inquiries and observations around the castle, Tsunemori’s suspicions would be even more aroused. No, only in Tsunemori’s complacency could Yasutoki operate at will. Yasutoki would have to undertake this task personally.
While his mind was on the subject of spies, he wondered again what happened to the spies he dispatched so long ago to find the ronin, Ken’ishi. Yasutoki had many other things occupying his attention lately, but the ronin and his stolen treasure were never far from his mind. He was a curiosity, an unusual tool. Of course, there was no question that Silver Crane would be wrested from him eventually. The ronin could not be allowed to keep it, but he seemed to have been swallowed by the earth. Nevertheless, the men Yasutoki had hired to find him were skilled and resourceful. They would succeed, of that he had no doubt.
Heart of the Ronin Page 25