“Yes,” he said. “And have you… heard from her at all?” He paused. “Okuni, I mean,” he added, more artlessly than he’d intended. Okuni was the lead actress of the Three Flower Troupe, as well as a shinobi of no small skill. She had been at the center of the incident in question, and Shin had only managed to resolve it with her aid. She’d vanished in the aftermath, a wise decision given all that had gone on.
Sanemon didn’t meet his gaze. “Not for some months. I believe she’s returned home.”
“Ah.” Shin forced a smile. “A shame. What is a troupe without its principal actress?”
“I wanted to ask you about that, my lord.” Sanemon licked his lips nervously. “Might we… undertake auditions for a replacement?”
Shin glanced at him. “You don’t think she’s coming back.”
Sanemon shrugged. “I know nothing, save we that we need a lead actress.”
“I’m sure Nao would disagree,” Shin said, referring to the company’s lead actor.
“Nao overestimates himself.”
Shin chuckled softly. “Perhaps, though I will not be the one to say it.” He stopped and turned to face Sanemon. “Very well. Hold your auditions, with my compliments.”
“Would you like to attend them, my lord?”
Shin briefly considered, then dismissed the idea. “I think not, Master Sanemon. You are the master of the troupe, and it must be your decision.” He allowed himself a small smile. “Else what am I paying you for, after all?”
Sanemon blanched slightly, but mustered an appreciative laugh. He was still unsure of his new patron, and Shin often had to restrain his more playful urges. Changing the subject, Sanemon said, “I showed the lady into Nao’s dressing room – he’s out, for the moment – as I thought it would give you the most privacy.”
“Well done, Master Sanemon. Your forethought does you credit.”
Ahead of them, a pair of bodyguards in the livery of the Unicorn occupied the narrow corridor. Both were armed, though they wore no armor, and their swords were peace-knotted to show that their intentions were peaceful. Sanemon paused. “I’ll just leave you to it, shall I, my lord?”
Shin nodded absently. “Yes. Oh – and Master Sanemon?”
“My lord?”
“There’s a gentleman in my box, attempting to unravel the theater’s finances. Would you send someone to see to his needs? Not immediately, but by and by. I’d hate for him to think that we’d forgotten him.”
Sanemon bowed low. “Of course, my lord.” He retreated with as much speed as dignity allowed, and Shin watched him go with a smile.
“He’s getting better,” he murmured.
“Still too jumpy for my liking,” Kasami said. She looked at him. “He knows more than he’s saying. About Okuni.”
“Of course he does. But I see no reason to press the matter. When she is ready, she will return – or not, as fortune wills.”
“But you hope she does.”
“We need a lead actress.”
“And that’s the only reason, obviously.”
Shin ignored the insinuation and said, “Two guards. She’s practically travelling incognito.” He indicated the bodyguards with a jerk of his chin. Kasami studied them for a moment before replying.
“She doesn’t want to draw attention to herself.”
“Interesting, don’t you agree?”
“Dangerous,” Kasami said.
“She is a friend, you know.”
“Even worse.” Kasami frowned. “Why do you think she’s here?”
“Maybe she wishes to chat.”
Kasami peered at him. Shin fluttered his fan dismissively. “Fine, yes, she probably wants something.” He tapped his chin with the fan. “Still, we won’t find out what it is by standing here, will we? Come on.”
The taller of the two bodyguards, a woman, bowed shallowly as Shin approached. She kicked her companion in the ankle and he hastily followed suit. Shin inclined his head politely, acknowledging their greeting. “Kasami – wait here, if you please.”
Wordlessly, Kasami took up a position opposite the two bushi. Shin was relieved to see that she kept her hand away from her swords, instead folding her arms over her chest. Shin snapped his fan shut, and the first bodyguard slid open the dressing room door. Shin entered to find that he was late to the conversation.
Iuchi Konomi sat demurely on a hard bench across from a tall, effete man, clad in an ornate kimono the color of sunset. The man was in the midst of telling an amusing story, and Konomi was giggling raucously behind her fan. They fell silent as Shin entered, and both pairs of eyes swiveled towards him.
“Lady Konomi,” Shin said, with a polite bow. He inclined his head to the room’s other occupant. “And Master Nao. I’d heard you were out for the day.”
“I was. But I returned to find her ladyship ensconced in my poor excuse for a dressing room.” He clucked his tongue in disappointment. “Sanemon has no sense of decorum. To leave a lady such as this here, and with no company to entertain her…”
“You have performed in that regard remarkably well, Master Nao,” Konomi interjected. She was a tall woman, and sturdily built. The sort of woman made for arduous rides in full armor across hostile terrain. Shin had heard that she’d once stabbed a particularly obnoxious suitor with a paring knife, though he was not so gauche as to ask her about the incident. She gave a polite twitch of her lips. “We have been having a most fascinating conversation while we waited for you, Lord Shin.”
Nao tittered. The actor was, for the moment, the most skilled member of the Three Flower Troupe. He often played multiple parts in plays, and had achieved some small celebrity for his aptitude for shifting from one role to the next in full view of the audience, as well as his ability to transition seamlessly from the more popular bombastic style of acting to a gentler, more realistic performance.
Shin, who had spent many hours in conversation with Nao over the preceding months, found him good company. Though he made no claim to noble birth, the actor was clearly more than familiar with the rules – enough, at least, to flout them in a most charming fashion. “You flatter me, my lady,” he said. “I am but a humble thespian, doing his best to entertain his betters.”
“There’s something I never thought to hear – you referring to anyone as your better,” Shin said. Nao glanced at him, eyes narrowing slightly. Shin’s smile did not slip, and Nao looked away, the picture of insulted dignity.
The actor rose and, straightening his kimono, made for the door. “On that note I shall take my leave, my lord and lady… with your permission, of course.”
“And with my compliments,” Shin said, taking over Nao’s seat. Nao gave a sharp laugh and slid the door shut behind himself, leaving Shin and Konomi alone. They sat in silence for several moments. Shin studied her, and she returned the favor. He restrained a smile. Conversation with Konomi was often much like a duel – it began slowly, with a wary circling of the participants. Whoever spoke first was often at a disadvantage.
Finally, Konomi broke the stalemate. “It has been some time since last we spoke,” she murmured, softly, her mouth hidden behind her fan.
Shin leaned forward, so as to better hear her. “I regret that my responsibilities have kept me from fulfilling my social obligations of late, my lady. Now that you have reminded me, I shall endeavor to correct my failing.”
Konomi gave a throaty chuckle. “It was not a criticism, Shin. Merely an observation. And you may dispense with formality, unless it pleases you to do otherwise.”
Shin grinned. “I forget sometimes the value you Unicorns place on plain speaking.”
“It depends entirely on who’s doing the talking.” Konomi snapped her fan closed and made a show of looking around. “I like what you’re doing with the place.”
“I’m pleased it meets with your approval.”
“I look forward to attending the first performance.”
“I shall ensure your customary box is waiting for you.”
Konomi inclined her head in thanks. “Still, it must be quite arduous, overseeing all of this. I’ve heard it said that theaters are but cities in miniature, with their own laws and factions.”
Shin scratched his chin. “There are frustrations, to be sure. For instance, at the moment we are lacking a manager – which means that I, myself, must play the role, unfit as I am for a position of such responsibility.”
“Could you not simply delegate the more onerous duties to some trustworthy individual?” she asked, and Shin detected a second, unspoken question shadowing the first. He paused before replying.
“It is possible, though it would require such an individual to be found.”
“A not insurmountable task, for one as resourceful as yourself.”
“No, not insurmountable. Though I would have to have good reason, I fear.” He tapped his chin with his fan. “And while an escape from tedium is an excuse, it is not a reason.” He studied her openly, waiting for her to make the next move.
“Just why did you buy a theater, Shin?”
The question took him aback for a moment. “A good investment,” he began.
Konomi twitched a finger. “A terrible investment, whatever the context. Theaters do not fill purses, they empty them. Even the meanest hinin knows this. I find it strange that you would burden yourself thus.”
“Perhaps I like a challenge.”
“That I believe. I also believe that you are bored.”
“And why might that be?”
“When was the last time Tetsua called for you?”
Shin frowned. “A few weeks ago. A small matter of a stolen jade shipment.”
Konomi nodded, and from her expression Shin knew that she was fully aware of the incident in question. There was little in the city that escaped her notice. Her spies were, if not superior to Master Ito, then certainly more numerous. “And since?”
Shin sighed. “You are correct. Of late the city has been somewhat… quiet.”
“Boring, you mean.”
“Not the word I’d use.” Shin gestured. “Sedate, I’d say. Calm.”
“Peaceful?”
Shin laughed. “Never that.” The City of the Rich Frog was theoretically a tripartite assemblage. Three clans – the Unicorn, the Lion, and the Dragon – claimed mastery of it, and had divided it between themselves, using the Three Sides River and the Drowned Merchant River as natural borders. The other clans had their representatives, of course, but mostly kept out of the affairs of the city, where possible. An imperial governor, Miya Tetsua, had been installed by the Emperor to keep the peace, where possible. So far, despite a few hiccups, the city had not drowned in blood.
Shin had made himself indispensable to the governor on several occasions. Mostly the sort of innocuous puzzles that any major city provided to the observant. Though some had been rather less harmless than he cared to recall – the affair of the poisoned rice, for instance. Or that rather ghastly incident involving a missing delivery of sake barrels and a dissected corpse. He pushed the thought aside.
“I admit,” he went on, “my recent ventures might have been somewhat motivated by a certain… boredom. But some might say that boring is good. Especially in this city.”
“You are not some.”
Shin acknowledged the point with a dip of his head. “That is very true, though modesty prevents me from saying so myself.”
Konomi did him the courtesy of laughing – a real laugh. It was an interesting laugh. Low and jolly, with a great warmth to it. She twitched her fan as if to chide him, and took a deep breath. Shin waited until she had regained her equilibrium and said, “Very well. You have me. I am bored. But are you here to relieve my tedium, O daughter of the Unicorn?”
Konomi ducked her head. “That depends entirely on you.” She did not quite meet his gaze. “Would you say that I was of some help to you, in that unfortunate matter that led to our introduction?” They’d met during the same affair that had led him to make the acquaintance of Sanemon and the Three Flower Troupe. Konomi’s information had led, if somewhat indirectly, to the successful resolution of the matter.
Shin sat back, somewhat surprised by the question. It was fairly blunt, even for Konomi. “I… would, yes. Yes, you were of great help to me.”
She gave a small smile. “Then you will not think me impertinent to ask for a favor in return.”
“A favor?”
“A small one.”
“What sort of favor?”
“I require your services.”
“In what manner?” he asked, intrigued.
“As an investigator.”
His smile sharpened. “Ah. And what am I to investigate?”
“Then you will do it?” she asked.
“As you said, I owe you a favor.” He grinned. “And I’m bored. So what am I investigating? Something interesting, I hope.”
“I believe so.” She lowered her fan. “Hisatu-Kesu,” she said. “You know it?”
Shin frowned. The name rang a bell, though only dimly. A city, he thought. Somewhere in Kaihi Province. “There’s a rather nice hot spring there, I believe.”
“Even so.”
“It is also in Unicorn lands.” Kaihi Province was under the control of the Iuchi family, and was, to his knowledge, mostly rice fields and mountains.
“That as well.”
Shin leaned forward. “What about it?”
“I wish you to go there.”
He raised an eyebrow. “With you?”
“No. As my – our – representative.”
Shin tilted his head. “Our?”
“The Iuchi.”
Shin paused as he digested this new information. “And why might I be taking this unscheduled trip? You still haven’t mentioned exactly what I’m supposed to be investigating.”
Konomi smiled.
“It seems, my Lord Shin, that there has been a murder.”
Chapter Three
Rivers and Mountains
The three-masted sloop made its way laboriously upriver, accompanied by the creak of oars and the rustle of the folded blue sail. The crew bent to their arduous task with commendable good humor. Shin suspected that was partially due to the bonus he’d promised their captain on the assurance of an uneventful trip.
Shin sat on a stool on the upper deck, well out of the way of the crew as they went about their duties. He fanned himself gently as he took in the sights. They were a day out from the city, and closer to their destination than they might otherwise have been, had they taken the trade-road. He congratulated himself on his foresight.
At the time, Kasami had complained of the expense. But they had shaved many pointless hours off their journey. Besides which, it was so much more pleasant to travel by boat. While he could ride a horse as well as any bushi, he found them largely disagreeable beasts, prone to biting and bouts of flatulence. Much like some samurai he could name.
He smiled at the thought, and turned his attentions to the river. It was little more than a tributary of the Three Sides River, and small enough that no one had bothered to name it – at least officially. It didn’t even appear on most maps, and he’d been somewhat surprised when the vessel’s captain had known of its existence. Then again, Lun was a former river pirate.
The boat rocked slightly and the deck twitched beneath him in a disconcerting fashion. He swallowed a sudden, familiar rush of bile. “Smell that river breeze,” he said, inhaling sharply to cover his sudden discomfort. “There’s nothing like it.” He gestured loosely. “It’s as if the air is somehow cleaner here, away from the city.”
“It is,” Kasami said. She sat on another stool nearby, running a whetstone carefully along the length of her katana.
“The city smells of fish and dung. The river just smells of fish.” She looked up. “This is a mistake. Getting involved in the affairs of another clan–”
“Is what the Crane excel at,” Shin interjected.
Kasami shook her head. “Surely they have their own magistrates in Hisatu-Kesu.”
“Oh, I’m certain that they do. But this particular situation calls for an outside party – one not aligned with either faction, and with no stake in the solution.”
“And what is this particular situation?” Kasami peered down the length of her sword, then went back to sharpening it. “You mentioned something about murder.”
“A murder,” he clarified. “Singular.” He sat back. “On the face of it, it is an exceedingly dull affair. One Zeshi Aimi was to wed one Shiko Gen, thus strengthening the fraying bonds between the two families – and by extension, the bonds between the Iuchi and the Ide.”
Kasami paused and looked out over the river. “I know one of those names. The Shiko; they’re a forge family, aren’t they?”
“Yes. Both families are Juhin-Kenzoku.” The forge families, as they were more commonly known, were tasked with crafting the weapons and armor of the clans. Without the resources they provided, a clan’s ability to wage war was curtailed. Most were quite wealthy, though often not well known outside of the lands of their patrons, so it was no surprise Kasami had not heard of the Zeshi. “For some reason, Gen took it into his head to accost his bride-to-be while she was out one evening, and subsequently provoked her devoted yojimbo, Katai Ruri, into defending her. Ruri killed Gen.”
“As is to be expected,” Kasami said, not looking up.
“Yes, well, it’s what happened next that upset the rice barrel. Ruri attempted to abscond the district and was caught by the local magistrate.”
Kasami grunted. “Why did she attempt to flee?”
“Likely because she did not wish to take her own life – which is the penance the Shiko demanded, as is their right as the aggrieved party.”
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