As he spoke, he spied Shijan’s servant watching them from the front steps. Without a word, or a change of expression, the man turned on his heel and went back inside. He looked back at the servant. “Let Lady Aimi know that I am at her disposal, whenever she wishes.”
Chapter Fifteen
Small Lord
The Shrine of the Small Lord was modest, nestled safely above a mountain fumarole. For most of the day, it was hidden by the thick clouds of gas and steam that vented from the mountain’s belly. It could only be reached by a winding path of wooden steps that rose from the uppermost district of the city into the wild, rocky heights.
The upper reaches of the mountain were densely forested, and the steam hung thick amid the trees, like a crowd of silent ghosts. Or so Emiko imagined, for she could not see it. She could feel it on her cheeks and the backs of her hands – a sharp dampness that stung the sinuses when one inhaled too deeply.
She could hear the tinny chiming of the bells strung in the lowest branches. The closer one got to the shrine, the more bells there were and the greater the noise. Like the clamoring of strange birds. It was not pretty, or comforting. Rather the sound was an eerie one – fitting, perhaps, given its purpose.
From what little she knew of such things, the bells were meant to confuse and misdirect the gaki that were said to wander the mountains – the hungry ghosts of lost travelers, or those slain by brigands. She wondered if the ghosts of the men she’d slain in the foothills were among them. The thought made her smile.
She flicked a loose stone from her path with her cane and continued up the steps. The smell of sulfur grew stronger – a sign she was nearing the shrine. She often made the climb, finding it good exercise and an easy way to obtain peace from the raucous crowds that filled the streets of the city in late afternoon. The shrine wardens were quiet sorts, and few in number. They mostly kept to themselves, sweeping the shrine and blessing the grounds.
The shrine itself was not large – Tashiro had described it to her, once. A handful of wooden outbuildings, set atop a walkway of bister-stained beech planks that wound about the fumarole like the coils of a snake. There was no grand worship hall or torii arch, no purification basins – only a large stone sitting beneath a lantern pole. According to Tashiro, the stone was carved to resemble a lord’s palace in miniature.
Legend held that the stone had once blocked the fumarole. A passing traveler had heard a muffled voice call from below, and had somehow levered the stone free. The traveler had been rewarded by the kami of the hot springs, though the legend did not go into the particulars.
Emiko often wondered what might happen if one were to, say, put the stone back. Would the kami be angry? Would it make the mountain shake, and spill sulfur into the clean waters? Would it, perhaps, shrug Hisatu-Kesu from its flanks, like a dog shaking off dirt? The thought gave her some amusement.
She had even suggested that they make the attempt, but the others had not been inclined to give her proposal any sort of consideration. Some of them were afraid, others perhaps hiding a secret reverence, and a few, like her, believed the kami was nothing more than a legend cooked up to lend a sheen of credibility to the city.
Regardless, the shrine made for an ideal meeting place. Few pilgrims visited this time of year, and the outer coils of the walkway were well hidden from casual observers by the dense growth of trees and jutting rocks – not to mention the steam venting into the air. As she made her way along the outer coil, she listened for the tell-tale hiss of brooms. When it had receded, and the smell of sulfur had grown overpowering, she knew she was close – and when she could smell him, she knew she had arrived.
She stopped and hugged her cane to her. “You smell of jasmine and rosewater, my lord,” she said. A waft of hot air momentarily enveloped her. The wind had shifted, blowing the steam south. The individual she was meeting grunted.
“I know you.” He spoke softly, as if trying to disguise his voice. She wondered if he was wearing a mask. She hoped he wasn’t too disappointed that she could not appreciate it. Men often took pride in their theatricality. Especially men of this sort.
“Yes, I should hope so. Else we are both in the wrong place.”
“No, I mean I have seen you before. In the gambling houses.” The words were laced with suspicion. “The blind musician.” She could hear the sneer in his words. He was revolted by her. Nauseated to even look at her.
“I am a musician, and I am blind, yes.”
“Why were you there?” he demanded. Arrogant, like all his kind. He gave no thought to issuing commands to his perceived inferiors. She was used to it, and the words ran like rain down her back. Even so, she felt a flicker of familiar anger. The same anger that had set her feet on this path in the first place. As always, she tamped it down.
“Why do you think?”
He grunted. “You were spying on me.”
Emiko smiled. “No. And yes.”
“I will not have it. Is it not enough that you blackmail me? Must you invade my every waking moment as well?”
Emiko tilted her head. She could hear the hiss of steam billowing into the warm, humid air. She could taste sulfur and other, less identifiable things. Beneath her feet, the wood of the walkway was damp but firm. “What you call blackmail, I call reminding you of your debts. I know you are unfamiliar with such, being of noble birth.”
“You insult me.”
“Yes. As you have insulted me. We have insulted each other. With the preliminaries completed, let us now proceed to business.” She felt for the rail and ran her fingers along the rough wood. “You have made a request. We deny it.”
“You…?” He made a sound that might have been a laugh. “Why?”
“The Crane will find out nothing that troubles us. An attempt on his life this soon after his arrival would only cast light on our shadows. Therefore, he will live.”
“He is dangerous. He suspects something.”
“That is your problem.”
A moment of silence. Had she not heard him breathing, she might have thought he’d left. “I could make it your problem,” he said, harshly. “I could tell Batu everything.”
Emiko smiled, though she wanted to bare her teeth at him. “Then what?”
“What?”
“After you tell him, what then? Do you think he will thank you, my lord?” She turned her face up. She could feel the warmth of the sun, though only faintly. The fire in her swelled. Arrogant, demanding fool. Just like all of them. Even now, he thought he could bully his way to victory. “More, do you think he will believe you?”
A palpable hesitation. “He might.”
“You know better than that. Just as you know that you can still get out of this with your reputation intact. Even if the Crane discovers your part in events, what does it matter?”
“He will wonder why I did it.”
“So tell him.” She shrugged. “Tell him you were jealous, or concerned, or anything, really. It does not change the facts of the matter. It does not change the end result.”
“And once she – the ronin – is dead? What then?”
“Then we will pick up where we left off.” She turned her face towards the trees, seeking some relief from the smell of the fumarole. “What we do is not the swift strike, but the slow poison. Little by little, we draw closer to our goal.”
“Your goal, not mine.”
She shook her head. “You are with us, or you are against us. To pretend otherwise insults us both. We have given you much, and, in return, you help us. A fine partnership.”
His laugh was strained – awkward. A strangled sound. She paused, considering what it might mean. She could hear the tension in his voice, the accusation – the suspicion. He was nearing the limits of his cooperation. All men had their limits. For some, that limit was death. But for others, it was fear. Fear for others, fear for themselves. It did
not matter. Once it took hold in them, their usefulness was diminished.
She ran her thumb along the faint line that marked the hilt of her blade. Two steps would take her close enough, she judged. She took the first, and could tell that he had not noticed. She could not tell if he was armed, but imagined he was. It did not worry her. Bushi carried swords the way children carried dolls.
But no. Not yet. His death would help nothing. She lowered her cane and waited. Finally, he said, “So you will not help me, then?”
“We have helped you. We are helping you. But in this matter – no. Leave it. Let justice be done, so that we might carry on our work unhindered.”
“Very well. It will be as you say.”
She heard the lie in his words, but did not remark on it. If he proved foolish, he would pay the price. Then, perhaps his foolishness might well engender new opportunities. Only time would tell. She smiled. “I am glad to hear it. Now, if there is nothing else…”
“There is one thing.”
She frowned. “Yes?”
“Money.”
“What about it?”
“I need it. Debts, you understand. With this business – the dowry – I need more.”
“You have been paid enough. Your debts are no concern of ours.”
“And what happens when those I owe come for me?”
She paused, considering. “Send them to us. We hold your marker.”
Another harsh laugh. “Will they believe that?”
“We have someone who will ensure that they do.”
“And you will pay them?”
“We will come to some arrangement, yes.”
Another pause. Then the rustle of a fine kimono. “Very well. I shall just have to trust you.” She could hear the derision in his voice. The frustration at having to lower himself to speak to the likes of her. As if he were polluting himself just by breathing the same air.
Emiko took the second step. The smell of him filled her nose. The cane clicked – with a hiss the blade came free. She heard him gasp and let her arm follow the sound. He gave a choked cry as she put the edge of her blade to his throat.
“You should not trust me,” she said, softly. “You should fear me. This is not a game of equals. I have you in my hand, and I can crush you at a moment’s notice.”
“You… You need me…”
“No. We need someone like you. Bushi are not in short supply, sadly. You can be replaced. As can I – though you more easily than me, I think.” She tilted her head, listening to the rapid hiss of his breath. She fancied she could almost hear his heart thudding fearfully. She smiled. “Good. Good. You are a slow learner, but you will eventually come to grasp the lessons we teach. As all your kind will come to understand the truth – there is no order under heaven. Only a thing of artifice, erected by the few on the backs of the many.”
“You are mad,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“No. But I am angry. And anger is the fire that will light our way forward.” She stepped back and sheathed her blade. “Your anger is not hot enough yet. It is a little fire. But with our help, it will swell up and consume all those that deny you.”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. I will.”
“You will what?”
“I will… I will do as you say.”
“Good. When they contact you, send them to us. Your debts will be settled… again.” She let a note of warning creep into her words. “But this will be the last time. After this, if you wish to gamble away your money, best to ensure that you have the funds to cover your losses. That is what the heimin do, after all. Can you do any less?”
She heard his grunt, and knew her words had struck home. She heard his footsteps on the planks and listened as he departed. When he’d gone, she took a deep breath and shook her head. She’d come close to making a mistake of her own. Killing him would have served no purpose. It had been fortunate that she’d been able to pull the strike at the last moment – to merely graze his throat, instead of opening it.
For now, he had been frightened into obedience. But the day was coming where his fear for himself would outweigh his fear of her. On that day, she would not pull her blow. She smiled at the thought and gave a soft sigh of satisfaction.
That would be a good day indeed.
Chapter Sixteen
Northern Owari
Lady Sun had set by the time Kitano found the men he was looking for. Lord Shin had sent him out that afternoon, with strict orders to run the trio to ground. Their trail had, unsurprisingly, led him directly into Northern Owari.
This part of the city was a red lantern district. The crimson light lent it a raw sheen that fit well with the rough goings on. Above him, on the second floors of the nondescript houses to either side of the street, kneeling ranks of courtesans looked down from behind bamboo screens, and touts invited passersby into these houses of ill-repute. Drunks spilled out of sake houses and disreputable onsen, singing raucous songs that echoed through the steamy streets, and somewhere close by a scream ended abruptly.
Kitano smiled. It was like coming home. He wandered down cramped alleyways, his prosthetic finger tapping against the pommel of the knife thrust through his sash. It had taken him most of the day to pick up their trail.
Totara Ikki and his two friends ran through Northern Owari like the flux. The Totara were a minor – very minor – aristocratic family, and their only claim to influence was a daughter married into the Shiko. But Ikki acted as if he was a Shiko himself, to be accorded all due respect. Mostly this meant he left stacks of unpaid bills everywhere he went and that he was barred from most of the larger gambling establishments.
Kitano had dealt with similar louts in his previous career – indeed, such men had been his fish and rice. As a rule, they wagered heavily and played badly. So long as you had enough muscle to convince them to pay their debts, they were a professional gambler’s dream. He himself felt the itch to take them for all they were worth.
He tracked them down to the Jade Hare, a bawdy house that offered a bit of everything to the discerning customer. It was a tall building, leaning tipsily against its closest neighbor. Upstairs, courtesans waited for the well-to-do heimin, while prostitutes of a more common vintage circulated through the crowd on the ground floor, selecting their quarry for the evening with unerring accuracy.
The ground floor was given over to games of chance, like dice and hanafuda. Kitano threaded the edges of the evening crowd, looking for Ikki. When he spied him, a rueful grunt slipped his lips. They were amidst a game, and losing heavily by the looks of it. He took up a position nearby and bought a drink.
As he took a sip of the rice wine, his eyes remained fixed on Ikki’s table. The samurai were dressed in rich robes that had seen better days, and armed. That wasn’t so surprising – most everyone in the Jade Hare was armed. Ikki was muscular and feral looking. His hair was clipped short on the sides, with the rest bound back in a loose knot. He was unshaven, and scratched at his chest with one hand. He had a jug of sake in the other, and took sloppy swallows from it as he glared at the dice.
His companions were a study in contrasts. One was short and muscular, but already running to fat. The other was a long, lean man, with a face that drooped dolorously. The unfortunate object of their attentions gave the dice a tentative roll – and received a blow across his jaw from Ikki for his trouble. Ikki laughed harshly as the gambler fell from his stool, one hand pressed to his face. “I win,” he growled, an ugly glint in his eye. The gambler, no fool, bowed and scrambled away.
That was the danger of gambling with bushi – especially drunk ones. They didn’t cheat, because they didn’t have to. They could just declare themselves the winners, and unless you had armed men at your back it was wise to let them do so.
Even so, it rankled. Lord Shin, slippery as he was, hadn’t resorted to such tactics. He’d cheated, of course, but
skillfully and professionally. Kitano hadn’t realized it at the time, but it had been a sign of respect in some ways. Shin had beaten him at his own game. Fools like these only won by luck, or because they bullied their opponents into giving up.
He paused. Then a slow smile spread across his face. He made his way towards the table and took over the empty seat. Ikki glared at him. “Who said you could sit down?”
Kitano bowed his head, as if chastened. “I bring you greetings from my master, my lord. He is eager to speak with you.”
Ikki snorted. “Who is your master, then?”
“Daidoji Shin.”
Ikki took a slug from the sake jug. “Never heard of him.”
“He is only recently arrived in the city.”
The heavyset man frowned, wrinkles forming on his wide face. “The Crane. The one the Iuchi sent? Is that who you’re talking about?”
Ikki slammed down the jug. “The Iuchi provocateur, you mean?”
Again, Kitano shrugged. The shrug was the greatest weapon in the peasant’s arsenal. It conveyed whatever a highborn questioner wished it to convey. The fat man looked at the others. “Maybe we should speak with him.”
Ikki snorted. “Why? We already spoke to that fool, Batu.”
They talked amongst themselves as if Kitano weren’t there. They always did. He listened, as Shin had taught him. They might say something of use, which would be advantageous if they refused to come. “There might be consequences if we don’t,” the one with the long face muttered.
“Consequences?” a new voice interjected. “Never heard of it.” Kitano glanced up and saw a youngish man in a garish kimono saunter towards the table. He grinned at Ikki and the others. “Started without me, then?”
“What are you doing here, Reiji?” Ikki growled. He made as if to rise, but the fat one stopped him. “We’ve no time for you, fool.”
“That’s a shame. I came with money.”
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