He was bored, despite his protestations. And, as Kitano had said, that was dangerous. A bored Shin was a Shin who went looking for trouble. She did not know what she hoped for more, that the matter was already settled when they arrived, or that it was not, and required Shin’s particular attentions.
One thing was certain either way – if there was trouble to be had, Shin would find it. And that meant she would have to be ready to get him out of it.
Kasami carefully sheathed her sword and laid it across her knees.
Chapter Four
Hisatu-Kesu
Iuchi Batu sighed softly as his servant announced his visitor. The clan magistrate set aside the letter he’d been writing and sat back to receive the newcomer. “Welcome, my lord Shijan,” he said, in mild tones. “It feels as if it has only been a few scant hours since we last saw one another.”
Zeshi Shijan was a slim man of moderate years, and fashionable by the standards of Hisatu-Kesu. While he might not have made much of an impact at the Winter Court, in the mountains he cut quite the dashing figure. Worse, he knew it.
Shijan was the current head of the Zeshi faction family in Hisatu-Kesu. Ever since the disappearance of his uncle Hisato, the younger man had diligently applied himself to his responsibilities. Though he had let his position go to his head somewhat, Batu thought.
He bowed low, though not so low as he should have. Though the Zeshi were a vassal family to the Iuchi, Shijan had a high opinion of himself and acted accordingly. Batu, keenly aware of the practical limits of his authority, let it pass. Shijan was a bad enemy to have, and things were tense enough as it was. “I would not have come save that it has been brought to my attention that we are to have a guest.”
Batu, who knew full well what Shijan was referring to, decided to play dumb. “A guest? And who might this guest be?”
“You tell me.” Shijan knelt in front of Batu.
Batu gave him a few moments to stew before he replied. “I might ask how you came to be informed of such a thing.”
“The Zeshi are not without ears,” Shijan said, stiffly.
“Or perhaps you received the same missive I did, informing you of the imminent arrival of a special representative.” Batu was rewarded by a flinch. Though Shijan prided himself on his poise, he was not so composed as he imagined.
“The Iuchi have taken an interest,” he continued, carefully. Gently. “The Shiko are vassals to the Ide, and the Iuchi wish to make certain that this matter is handled with the utmost consideration and discretion. Surely you understand?”
Shijan flushed. “I am not a fool, Batu. Provincial, perhaps, but not an idiot.”
“Forgive me. I merely wished to impress the seriousness of this matter upon you.”
“I am well aware of the seriousness of the situation. It is my family’s fortunes that are on the line here, not yours. If this matter is not settled soon and to the satisfaction of both families, things will go poorly for everyone.”
Batu tensed. “I would ask that you counsel the others to avoid any rash action.”
Shijan frowned. “It is not the Zeshi you should be concerned about, Batu. It is the Shiko who are the cause of all this trouble, and you well know it. Hisatu-Kesu has always belonged to the Zeshi. That these upstarts think to take it for themselves…”
“They are vassals of the Unicorn, the same as your family,” Batu said, firmly. “In public, you will accord them the respect due them, whatever feelings you might express in private. Out of my hearing.”
Shijan ducked his head, visibly abashed. His mouth often got him into trouble, especially when he was upset. “Forgive me, Lord Batu. I forget myself sometimes, despite my best efforts.”
“I have noticed,” Batu said, drily. He was rewarded by a twitch of Shijan’s cheek muscles. Otherwise, the man gave no sign he’d noticed the chastisement. “The representative will arrive tomorrow. I am meeting them in Two Step Village myself. Once I have made the facts of the matter clear to them, they will no doubt leave, satisfied.”
Shijan took a deep breath. “That would be for the best, I think. The Shiko are looking for any excuse to cause trouble. The less opportunity we give them, the better.” He paused. “Once they’ve left… what then?”
Batu was silent for a moment. “I have not yet made any decisions in that regard.”
“I should have thought the answer would be obvious. The ronin must die.”
“I have not yet made my decision,” Batu repeated, more firmly.
“You can only avoid your responsibility in this matter for so long, Batu. If this is to be settled amicably, a certain amount of blood must be shed – better hers than ours. After all, she is no one. A hundred such can be had for a few koku in any major port. What is one less in the world?”
Batu’s expression hardened. The role of magistrate required a certain amount of callousness, but there was a fine line between knowing a thing and speaking it out loud. His hands curled into fists on his writing desk. Carefully, he set it aside and rose, gathering his authority about himself as he did so.
“I will take that under consideration, my lord Shijan. As I hope you and the rest of the Zeshi will consider this – I am clan magistrate for this part of the province. I speak with the voice of the Iuchi, and the Unicorn. I will not be rushed into any decision, regardless of the reason. Now, if you will excuse me…” He gestured to the door.
Shijan stared at him for a moment, his expression tight and his cheeks flushed. Then, he stood and bowed – again, not as low as he ought to have – and departed. Batu released a long, slow breath as his servant slid the door shut.
He sank back onto his cushion, a familiar pressure building behind his eyes. The headaches had been with him since childhood. They came without warning, and left him out of sorts for days. He rubbed his temples and called for tea.
In a way, the headaches were to blame for his current situation. They prevented him from riding a horse for an extended period, as well as other activities expected of a bushi. But he could sit and listen, and make considered decisions. He could weigh a situation on the edge of a knife, and cut it correctly – or as correctly as circumstances allowed. The Unicorn were a pragmatic folk, and never let anything go to waste if they could help it.
Thus, he was a magistrate – but not a provincial magistrate, no. He had only a city to his name, but sometimes he thought even that was too much for him. Hisatu-Kesu was an ugly little onion of a city, with more layers than one could take in at a glance.
Shijan had been right, in a sense. The city had always belonged to the Zeshi. They were one of the preeminent forge families of the Unicorn, famed for their leatherworking skills. They provided the bulk of the clan’s riding armor, as well as tack and harness. As such, they had a certain amount of quiet influence, as well as the wealth to back it up.
Unfortunately, so did the Shiko. The Shiko were also a forge family, though smaller. Like the Zeshi, they made their fortunes in leatherwork – a distasteful occupation, but a necessary one. The families acted as patrons for numerous low-caste leatherworkers and tanners, making a profit on their hard labor.
But where the Zeshi made armor for men, the Shiko made it almost exclusively for horses. Even so, they were firm rivals and always had been. But in the city, that rivalry had recently erupted into something fiercer.
The Shiko had come to Hisatu-Kesu looking to use the waters of the hot springs for their leatherworking. Batu supposed that the vast amounts of heated water allowed for the easy mass boiling of leather, though, like most right-thinking people, he had an instinctive distaste for anything that involved dead flesh.
Despite his aversion to the process, it seemed only sensible to Batu that both families make use of the hot springs to the greater advantage of the Unicorn. The issue was that the provinces of the Ide were traditionally on the other side of Iuchi Pass, and that some – the Zeshi in p
articular – saw the city and its surroundings as wholly the property of the Iuchi, and by extension, themselves.
Of course, the matter was not so simple as that. In point of fact, the border had drifted back and forth across the mountains for centuries. At one time or another, both the Ide and the Iuchi had laid claim to Hisatu-Kesu, whether in part or in whole.
The Zeshi and the Shiko had all but gone to war over the matter. The Iuchi and the Ide had done their best to ameliorate the situation in the most expedient manner, but, for their vassals, the fire still burned. Violence was only one misstep away. Indeed, only luck had prevented it from breaking out already. Especially here, at the focal point.
The negotiations over water rights, import duties, and the like had been going on for years. Almost since the first month of his arrival. Just when things seemed to be settled, some new disagreement would crop up. The Zeshi would accuse the Shiko of undercutting their efforts to purchase unworked leather, or the Shiko would complain that the Zeshi had hired all the carts in the city – on and on. A new problem every week.
Not to mention the brawls between servants and hangers-on. Fights in the street, or worse, in the bath houses, which led to gossip. Gossip which inevitably got back to the Ide and the Iuchi, who then wondered – pointedly – what Batu was doing to keep the matter under control.
The recent incident had almost been the spark that set everything alight. Had he not acted as swiftly as he had… well. He hesitated to think of the consequences. Even so, perhaps he had not acted quickly enough. If he had, Gen might still be alive. Batu frowned.
His eyes fell on the letter he’d been composing – a formal protest. That the Iuchi had decided to send a special representative to investigate the matter, despite his assurances, could only be seen as an insult. Perhaps it had not been intended as such, but there it was. And if one did not answer an insult, how could one call oneself a samurai?
He paused. Yet perhaps there was an opportunity here. One he had not considered initially. Whatever decision he made in this matter would have consequences. Why not let someone else suffer them? He smiled, despite the dull ache now throbbing in his temples.
Batu carefully shredded the unfinished letter and fed it into a nearby brazier.
•••
Shijan stood outside Batu’s home and gnawed on a thumbnail. His servant coughed discreetly, and Shijan jerked his thumb out of his mouth guiltily. Such displays were indecorous in a man of his rank. Thankfully, he could always count on the ever-faithful Yo to correct him in a polite and respectful manner.
He cut his eyes to the man, and saw that Yo’s gaze was downcast, as was only proper. Yo was slim and effete, a bland slip of nothing. The perfect servant; invisible and all-seeing. Shijan turned and looked up at the gabled tile roof of the magistrate’s house.
It was a tradesman’s home. Little more than a farmhouse, though perhaps a good deal larger than the average commoner could ever afford. And his servants were even worse – only two of them, and neither were particularly well trained. The one who’d collected his sword at the door had barely seemed to know what to do with it.
“It is a poor sort of home for a magistrate,” he murmured. Then, Batu was a poor sort of magistrate. Everyone knew that the Iuchi had not so much assigned him to the city as banished him. He could not even ride a horse. What sort of Unicorn samurai couldn’t ride a horse?
That he had to show respect to such a man aggravated him to no end. Batu himself seemed to feel no need for any displays of courtesy. He hadn’t even offered Shijan tea. Shijan sighed and smoothed his kimono. “Come, Yo. Let us return home and see if my recalcitrant cousin has come to her senses yet.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Yo murmured softly, unfurling a sunshade to protect his master’s fair skin from the harsh mountain sun as they made for the street. The quartet of purple-armored ashigaru that served as Shijan’s escort fell into step with their master. Shijan paid them little heed. Like the sword thrust through his sash, they were more ceremonial than practical. A reminder to any commoners who might be watching of the strength of the Zeshi.
Batu resided at the heart of Hisatu-Kesu, rather than at a remove, as one ought. Another sign of his unsuitability, as far as Shijan was concerned. The air here stank of tanneries and smoke. There was too much noise, and not even enough room for a horse to trot. What sort of place was this for a nobleman?
Shijan extracted a scented handkerchief from inside his sleeve and pressed it to his mouth and nose, somewhat moderating the stink of boiling fat. The handkerchief was left overnight in rosewater to absorb a more pleasing scent. He found it to be a necessity in this part of the city, with all its putrid odors.
In its layout, Hisatu-Kesu tended towards chaos. It had grown from a minor trading post into a village, then a town, then finally a city. Each successive generation added a new layer to the onion, expanding the reach of the city up into the heights and down into the foothills. Unlike many cities, however, the central district was still much the same rancid trading post it had always been, however large it had grown.
The noble district was farther up in the mountains, where access was more easily controlled and the residents could avoid the worst odors thrown up from the tanneries. Below, in the foothills, were the entertainment districts and commoner districts. The local population jestingly referred to the expanse as “Northern Owari”, as if the rundown sake dens and geisha houses were any patch on the illicit pleasures of Ryoko Owari, the City of Lies.
Shijan, who only rarely descended into the foothills, suspected that there would come a day when someone – not himself, of course – would take a torch to it and cleanse Hisatu-Kesu of its infestation. Then, and only then, might the city begin to take its place among the great urban centers of Rokugan.
He flinched as the sudden bellow of a heimin merchant echoed through the tangled street. A hinin urchin scampered into an alleyway, clutching something – likely stolen. The streets were becoming crowded as Lady Sun continued her stately promenade across the sky. The spicy aroma of noodles mingled with the gut-churning stench of the tanneries.
Higher up, the air was cleaner and the streets wider. Here, near the foothills, the city was all but a tangled slum – cramped and ugly. An affront to every sense a man possessed. He wouldn’t come down here at all, save that it was necessary.
Yo coughed lightly, and rang the bell he carried. Ahead of them, a heimin peddler hurried to haul his cart from Shijan’s path. At Shijan’s gesture, one of his guards hurried forward to lend the peddler some stout encouragement. The cart toppled with a crash, and fowl squawked in their wicker cages. Shijan picked his way through the detritus, eyes firmly fixed on the street. Behind him, Yo dug a zeni from his purse and compensated the peddler. Shijan pretended not to notice.
It was all Aimi’s fault, of course. If she had merely done as was expected of her all could have been avoided. Instead, she had made a mess of it, as usual. She had always been troublesome, even as a child. It was why her parents had brought her to the mountains, hoping that life in Hisatu-Kesu might break her of her unruliness.
Once, he’d found that rowdiness attractive. Nowadays, it was less so. It was true what they said – the more responsibilities one bore, the less entertaining one found disruption and disobedience. And Shijan bore many responsibilities indeed.
For many years, the Zeshi contingent of Hisatu-Kesu had been led by Aimi’s father, Hisato. But he had vanished some weeks ago, on an annual trip to Shiro Iuchi. Though Batu had dispatched riders, no sign of the man was to be found. Though no one wished to say it, the truth of the matter was plain: Hisato was dead, the victim of bandits or worse.
Shijan frowned at the thought. He had warned Hisato, had offered to make the trip in his place, but the man hadn’t listened. None of them ever listened. Or they hadn’t. Now they had little choice. In Hisato’s absence, his responsibilities had fallen to Shijan.
/>
The prospect was not as pleasing as it might once have been. He had always longed for some important duty, but he was beginning to feel as if he were stuck in the sand with the tide was coming in. He was holding on, but barely. If the situation in Hisatu-Kesu deteriorated any further, the Zeshi daimyo might send someone to replace him. As frustrating as the current state of affairs was, it was infinitely preferable to such a disgrace.
Another discreet cough from Yo pierced his reverie. Shijan glanced at his servant in annoyance, and then followed the man’s gaze. Another party of soldiers in Zeshi heraldry was heading towards them, escorting someone. Shijan signaled for his group to halt, curious as to who might be out and about without his knowledge.
When he caught sight of the individual in question, his eyes widened. “What are you doing out, girl?” he barked, shoving past his ashigaru to confront the newcomers. They crashed to a halt in the face of his anger, and parted before him. “Well? Answer me, cousin.” he demanded, glaring at the small form before him. He gestured sharply as he spoke.
“I wished to visit Ruri,” Zeshi Aimi replied carefully, her eyes fixed on his mouth and fingers. His cousin was short and willowy, but with a certain leanness of muscle that bespoke constant, hard training. Aimi had always been diligent about such matters; more so than Shijan. She gestured in a similar fashion to himself as she spoke, speaking more quickly with her hands than she could her mouth.
She had been partially deaf since birth – enough to make communication difficult, though not impossible. She could read lips, but her voice lacked inflection when she spoke. Fortunately, her hands made up for it.
“And how would that look? The Shiko have spies everywhere. What if they were to see you? What might they think?” He gesticulated, ensuring she caught every word of his chastisement.
Her eyes flashed, and her fingers stabbed at the air. I do not care what they think.
“You should,” Shijan said, fighting to keep his voice level and the motion of his hands steady. “Because of you – because of that worthless ronin – relations between the two families are worse than they have ever been.”
Death's Kiss Page 4