by Paul Kidd
“Perpetual war? Perpetual bloodshed? Is that moral?” The magistrate bowed to the emperor. “Is it not the sacred duty of the court to preserve the peace of the land?”
Horigawa turned.
“Do not presume to tell the emperor his duty!” The prince wrung his billet of office slowly between thin, clenched hands. His voice brimmed full of hate. “The samurai are beasts! Let them wallow in their own blood!”
A firm, gentle presence made its presence known. The old Minister of the Right stared sadly at the floor. He spoke quietly and softly, reciting a poem from the ancient Middle Kingdom.
“Frontier war drums disrupt all men’s travels.
I am fortunate enough to have brothers, but all are scattered.
There is no longer a home at which I can ask if they are dead, or alive.
How terrible that the fighting cannot stop…”
The old man kept his eyes upon the polished floor.
“I am saddened by such total disregard for the teachings of the Buddha. Truly, these are the latter days of Buddha’s law…”
The emperor bowed to the old man.
“My Lord Minister of the Right speaks with the wisdom of compassion.” The boy looked firmly out to his ministers. “Were we to encourage war between the clans, we would be murderers indeed. Each death would be upon our own heads.”
Horigawa seemed disgusted. Magistrate Masura watched the man closely. For his part, the Minister of the Left waved his hands as though trying to quiet a restless sea. He looked back and forth, hoping to placate one and all with nervous smiles.
“Imperial Majesty – fellow counsellors. Please be calm! There is no need for conflict amongst ourselves! The struggle between the clans is already endemic, despite our best efforts! But this does not effect the emperor or the imperial throne.”
Magistrate Masura was terse.
“My apologies to the esteemed Minister of the Left, but despite our best efforts, that may not remain the case. An imbalance is quite possible.”
Magistrate Zuniochi faced the emperor and bowed. His voice was stern and dire.
“Imperial Majesty. There is another, even greater threat. It has come to my attention that the older, smaller samurai clans might trigger a conflict. Allied to a larger, more powerful clan, they can make a deadly meld of blood and steel.”
The emperor frowned.
“Blood and steel, Zuniochi?”
“Imperial blood. Samurai steel.”
Magistrate Zuniochi scowled. His scar gleamed in the filtered light of the Serene and Perfect Hall.
“Imperial Majesty. Long ago, when barbarians threatened the lands, the emperors created the office of military commander in chief – Shogun. This was to allow one general to command the troops of many different clans in battle. The shoguns were given vice regal powers. This appointment is still a legal one, but it has not been activated in centuries. It may only be carried by one related to the imperial family by blood.”
The man flexed his massive hands.
“There have recently been clandestine inquiries into the imperial archives regarding the position of shogun. Several minor clans have definite links to the imperial line. We believe that if a new, powerful clan were to ally with an older clan, they might then have the leader of the smaller clan appointed shogun. With the shogun’s official powers, they could change trade concessions and rice land holdings to their favour. Smaller clans would flock to them for the benefits. This would create the large power block we have feared. Under the banner of a shogun, this power block would destroy their rival clans and dominate the sacred islands.”
The Minister of the Left could only shrug. He turned to the senior magistrate.
“Forgive me, Magistrate Masura – but would that not mean an end to war? Surely this would be a good thing!”
“Forgive me, Honourable Minister of the Left, but you are wrong.” Masura’s voice was firm and unwavering – his intent absolutely sincere. “With a shogun acting as dictator, all power would be in the hands of the military. Military virtues are not the ruler’s virtues. I believe the nation would be crushed beneath a harsh regime. We would see the end of the imperial crown as an effective voice in government.”
Masura bowed.
“I believe we owe the descendants of the Kami – the sacred rulers of our land – a deeper respect than to turn them into empty puppets. Mere men of straw.”
There was a moment’s silence. But Prince Horigawa gave a snort and flicked the entire notion aside.
“Alarmism! How would this alliance of samurai force our emperor into giving them the shogunal appointment?”
Masura turned.
“By removing our emperor and replacing him with a more malleable candidate.”
Horigawa levelled a finger, pointing it at Masura.
“Blasphemy!”
“Fact! It is my duty to warn the emperor of all dangers to the realm!” Magistrate Masura looked to the emperor – a dragon, ever ready to protect the realm. “We believe that minds are already moving in this direction. We respectfully request the emperor’s permission to act in this matter.”
Horigawa and the Minister of the Left were prepared to argue, but the emperor suddenly clapped his hands. The noise brought instant silence.
The emperor spread his fan. The old war banner of the first emperor had been painted there – the symbol for unity, painted upon a backing of the ideographs for human, fox, rat, tanuki, wolf, bear, rabbit, bee, wasp…
“The joyous loyalty of the fox. The humble tenacity of the rat. The tireless vigilance of the boar and wolf. The wasp’s industry. The quiet unity of the rabbit. The human need for fellowship and wonder…” The emperor quietly folded his fan. “These are the foundations of the sacred isles. These and many others.”
The boy was silent for a while. When he spoke, it was with an unquiet, troubled heart.
“My ancestors were warriors who rescued this land from the claws of demons. I appreciate a warrior’s virtues. Courage, discipline and control. Strength in adversity.
“My family have lived within the court for many generations. In them, I have seen the courtly virtues. Intelligence. Mediation. Respect for tradition.
“For my part, I have tried to study the virtues of the sage. Compassion. Understanding. A love of integrity above all other things.”
The emperor felt strangely hollow. “It was my hope that one day I might be called upon to be a great man.”
The boy sighed, weighed down with an unseen burden. He closed his eyes, and tried to think like an emperor – like a sage.
Like a fox.
He remembered, and slowly nodded his head.
“The best swords are made from a blend of steel. The best governments from a blend of virtues. Military dictatorship would overbalance the yin and yang.”
The emperor pointed his fan towards his ministers. “For now, we must preserve the balance. I authorize the imperial magistrates to investigate this matter.”
His voice fell and he spoke almost to himself.
“There must be a better way. But I have not been given a vision of it.”
Disappointed and troubled, the emperor arose. The inner council all bowed, and the young emperor turned and walked away.
Servants opened the door into the emperor’s private chambers. Ladies-in-waiting were there, ready to serve him, along with equerries and servants, guards and grooms. The boy turned and found his wooden practice sword leaning quietly against a wall. He took and looked at it sadly, then walked on into the palace depths.
Outside the Serene and Perfect hall, the quiet, solemn palace life was in full flow. Magistrate Masura strode from the meeting in a stiff, silent mood. Zuniochi and Kuroda conferred with him quietly and intently, then both took their leave, each heading back to his district of command.
Masura walked away. He moved past court officials all dressed in black, and splendid nobles dressed in trailing robes. The court women were dressed in layered silks like flower
s nested within flowers. Masura bowed to the one or two who came near, but did not linger. He made his way to the stables, found his escort, and grimly rode the long, curving path down the palace hill and out towards the gates.
They made their way into the main city, away from the palace walls and guards. The broad streets of the capital thronged with pedestrians. Tanuki spirits came in from the countryside pulling carts filled with fragrant mountain herbs. Buddhist monks carried a palanquin along the centre of the street, escorted by fifty sohei warriors armed with long bladed naginatas. Magistrate Masura and his escort of armoured samurai moved past them all, finally heading off towards the southern gate.
A stream passed through the capital, splashing and foaming over great rocks. Lord Masura and his men made their way towards the wooden bridge that carried on towards the gate, but detoured to stand their horses by a willow tree and watch the splash and bubble of the water passing at their feet.
A crow spirit and a haughty female crane were waiting by the water. They arose and bowed, looking attentively to Lord Masura.
The magistrate nodded. The two bird spirits immediately bowed – then in flash, changed into their animal forms. Crane and crow emerged from discarded clothing and flapped up into the sky, circling over the gate and then speeding off down to the north – towards the mountains and the shores beyond.
Samurai retrieved the cast-off clothing. They remounted and joined Magistrate Masura, fanning out to protect his flanks and sides.
Resuming their journey, the horsemen slowly headed across the bridge towards the gate.
Chapter 2
The seaside town of Genjimachi was celebrating the beautiful autumn moon. At night the streets were bright with hundreds of coloured paper lanterns. People thronged in their festival finery, eating at booths that lined the broad sandy roads. Out at the shore, fishing boats were drawn high up on the sand surrounding bonfires where the fishermen sang and danced. And high above it all, shimmered a great golden moon.
The harvests were in, and winter crops had been planted. Townsfolk had money in their pockets and there was finally time to relax. Sakē flowed – millet wine and barley liquor were served at sakē shacks, inns and stalls. Yet more booths sold fresh fried fish, crab cakes and sizzling sea beasts on a stick. The air was filled with delicious scents, music and laughter from the passing crowds.
The town sat at the base of a castle hill. The fortifications were extensive, climbing in four stages from the rocky shore. Its residences were newly refurbished and expanded. The Ishigi banner flew above the palisades – yellow banners, rather than the more usual mellow green. There was a considerable garrison, with many high ranking young officers, their expensive wives and families. And so the town catered to the needs of the soldiers, ladies, lords and samurai. There were clothing stores, armourers, horse merchants, sword makers – everything that a rising samurai might need.
Tonbo and Kuno sat on a wooden bench to one side of the town’s main street. Both men were polished to a high state of magnificence, with brand new formal kashimono robes, neatly folded caps, and their hair oiled and ordered. They sat back and enjoyed the fine display of dancing just across the street, where a trio of frog spirits performed a leaping, strutting high-footed jig to the great delight of the gathered crowds.
Sura came walking out of the throng, delighted by the festival. She was dressed in astonishing high style in a sheer silk kimono and obi belt, with her russet hair and tail brushed to a shine. She was even wearing makeup – accentuating the foxy shading of her face. The only incongruity was her kodachi, ‘Little Brush’, stuck jauntily through her belt.
The fox struck a pose, lifting one hand into the air. She was extremely pleased with her new finery.
“Well? Suitable for a lord’s banquet?”
Kuno smiled and nodded in approval. For his part, Tonbo beamed. Sura turned about for him, showing the elegant back of her attire – tail swishing, hips waggling. Tonbo applauded heartily.
“Excellent.”
Sura had an even better trick to share. She moved closer and spread her fan, hiding the nearby street from Tonbo and Kuno’s view. Like a conjurer performing an illusion, she waved her hand back and forth above the fan.
“Ah! Ah, wait…!”
She whisked the fan away, and whirled aside.
Nezumi Chiri had come shyly from the outfitter’s store. She wore a magnificently embroidered kimono, with an obi belt of cherry-blossom pink. Her long white hair hung unbound, shimmering like a silver waterfall in the moonlight. Her face had the slightest touch of makeup. Her robes were delicately patterned with images of a rat gazing from a tree bough at the moon. She blushed, self-conscious in her finery – but moved with elegance.
Chiri had been schooled in etiquette and deportment: it was clear from her quiet, unstudied grace. The rat never spoke of her upbringing, but had clearly worn such clothing before. She bowed demurely to her friends.
Kuno was on his feet – quite speechless. Unable to take his eyes off her, he bowed in amazement.
Sura slid past him. Face hidden behind her fan, she whispered into Kuno’s ear.
“Of course, no underwear is worn beneath a true formal robe.” She tapped at Kuno’s shoulder with her fan. “It ruins the lines…”
Bifuuko and Daitanishi floated along beside Chiri as she joined her friends.
They all turned and looked towards the castle above the town. It stood upon a fine, rocky height overlooking the bay. The festival was also being celebrated in the castle, and strings of coloured lanterns lined the roadway up through the castle gates. Lamp light shimmered from inside buildings and gardens, like multi-coloured flowers beneath the clear light of the moon.
The four Spirit Hunters moved out onto the road, and began the walk towards the castle heights.
Ishigi couriers had met the Spirit Hunters early in the morning, inviting them to attend the festival in nearby Genjimachi. It had been a morning spent ambling along the road, and an afternoon of careful shopping: Kuno was insistent that the best possible impression should be made. As they wandered up the busy street, Sura shrugged her shoulders, missing the familiar feel of a weapon in her hands.
“I want my spear! I feel naked without my spear!”
Kuno walked serenely, enjoying the bright life of the streets. “It would look very much out of place at the banquet. As it is, the kodachi is an interesting addition.”
“Hey – I’m a Spirit Hunter. Ghosts know no downtime!” Sura strode happily along, enjoying the fine, mild air. “So what happens at this ‘do’ again?”
Chiri was quite excited. She was terribly interested in the night to come.
“It is a water banquet, Sura san! We are the guests of Lord Ishigi’s eldest son. His heir, Ieyesu.” The rat was quite amazed at the honour being granted to them. “Ieyesu-sama has invited his hatamoto – his inner retainers. There will also be nobles and high priests. They will recite poetry while we all gaze upon the beauty of the moon.”
Sura flexed her tail. “Sounds great!” She waved a hand at Kuno. “We’re gagging Kuno – right?”
The samurai gave a cool sniff, refusing to look at the fox.
“I fail to understand just what you mean.”
Chiri suddenly grew nervous, glancing up towards the castle and flicking her long pink tail.
“We will be the only strangers! Everyone will be watching us!” The rat put a hand against her heart. “Oh! What if they want me to recite a poem?” The thought instantly brought on hiccups. She croaked and tried to press knuckles into her diaphragm. “Oh dear!”
Sura leaned over and pinched Chiri’s right ear – a pressure point that had worked in the past. The fox held the pressure as she walked, suddenly swishing her tail and giving a thoughtful frown.
“Lord Ishigi’s heir… What are his motives for inviting us?”
Kuno slid a sideways glance at the fox, pondering carefully.
“You will be decorous, I trust. This is a very, very great
honour we are being accorded. Any improprieties would cause our host great loss of face.”
Sura waved a hand in protest. “I will be proprietal! I’ve been polite, I’m keen… Hey, I chose our outfits myself! Is there any cause for complaint?”
Kuno grudgingly cleared his throat.
“Indeed not. You are both superb.”
“Excellent. Then let’s go!”
The pathway to the castle was about five hundred paces of hill slope. Kuno stood for a moment and pondered the lower gatehouse, thoughtfully scratching at his chin.
“Should we perhaps arrive in palanquins? Would that make a better impression?”
Sura flicked a glance across at the man.
“Kuno – we’re monster fighters. We don’t pay other people to do the walking for us.” She swiped at his backside with her tail. “Come on! Up we go! Oooh – I hope there’s dinner involved in all of this! I swear I could eat a baby’s backside through a bamboo fence!”
Bifuuko settled into Chiri’s hair like a jewelled ornament. Daitanishi nestled down upon her shoulder. Chiri set everything to rights, smoothed down her kimono, and looked up towards the castle light.
“Do you think we will make an impression, Sura san?”
“Absolutely! They’ll love us!” The fox settled throwing knives and a pepper-egg into her sleeve. “Trust me – I’m a fox!”
The Spirit Hunters made their way up the steeply sloping pathway. Ishigi foot soldiers at the gate greeted them. The guard commander had been expecting them. Samurai arrived to bow and escort the visitors onward, moving through the outer bailey with its barracks and stables. A higher path led past flanking walls and towers, moving up through another gate house and on into the second bailey, where higher ranking families had their homes.
Discrete, fashionable servants met the newcomers, leading them along with lanterns through gardens beautiful with autumn plants. Stone lanterns glowed: subtle music drifted through the trees, and there was the sound of voices in amongst the murmur of a stream.