Risuko

by David Kudler

  Down onto Aimaru’s head. The Key of Heaven.

  The stick snapped, leaving me holding just a stump.

  I can’t tell you who was more astonished, Aimaru or me. “I... I’m so sorry!”

  “I’m all right!” Aimaru said, falling to his knees. “I’m all right! You didn’t hurt me.” He touched his hand to the top of his head, where a dark bruise was already starting to rise. He shook his head and added with a grin, “Well, not too much.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I repeated, clutching the shattered end of my erstwhile sword to my chest.

  “What...?”

  “I didn’t... I was thinking about the dance, Mieko’s dance, and my father’s sword exercises, and, and I am so sorry, Aimaru!”

  He dismissed that apology with a wave of his hand and staggered to his feet. “I’ll make sure never to sneak up on you.”

  “I could have hurt you!”

  “With this head?” He grinned at me a bit blearily and looked down. At first I thought he didn’t want to look me in the eye, but then I realized that he was staring at my new sash. “You’re... an initiate.”

  “Yes, I’m an initiate. So you can talk to me.” I took a breath, trying to block out the thought of what I had just done. “I’m sorry.” I tossed the bit of stick away. “I... I have to make the mid-day meal for everyone.”

  “I know,” he said. “Kee Sun asked me to help you.”

  “Great.” I tried to think what jobs I could give him. The small barrel by the stove that held rice was nearly empty. “Do you think you could get us some rice from the storeroom?”

  He frowned. It still wasn’t an expression that I was used to seeing on his open face, but had been seeing more and more.

  “That’s all right,” I sighed. “Here. If you can watch the fire and make sure that it stays hot enough to boil that big pot of water, I’ll go get the rice.”

  Now he smiled. “I can do that, Murasaki-san.”

  I picked up the longest shard of the stick that had broken over Aimaru’s head and ran to the storeroom by the stables. As always, there were rats in the stores, glaring at me as if I were the intruder. I slashed at the closest with the broken stick (Key of Heaven...), and they all scattered, gone before I could pull back the stick for another swing.

  “We should have a cat,” I grumbled, trying to still my trembling. There was a half-empty sack of rice against the right-hand wall, and I grabbed it. It was only once I’d lifted the sack to my back and was almost back to the kitchen that I realized that it had taken all three of us to carry a full sack on the day of our arrival at the Full Moon.

  I suppose all that rock-carrying is good for something after all, I thought.

  —

  As we prepared the meal, Aimaru told me what little there was to tell about Masugu—which wasn’t anything I didn’t already know. He asked me how I had earned the sash, and I had to admit that I didn’t have the slightest idea.

  And of course neither of us had any idea who could have poisoned the lieutenant—though I told him about Mieko’s suspicious behavior. He seemed more relieved that Lady Chiyome didn’t suspect me than anything else. “Someone must have been looking for... something.”

  “Yes,” I murmured, “but what?”

  Aimaru shrugged and prodded the fire. “Well, they searched there before. And the stables.”

  I had forgotten about that. “And maybe in Lady Chiyome’s rooms. Though why they’d want to do that, I have no idea.” It seemed like a good way to ensure a very painful death.

  “Well,” he mused cheerfully, “whoever it is can’t have found anything, or they wouldn’t have almost killed Masugu-san.”

  He was very quiet when I told him what I had realized about the nature of the kunoichi. That they were nothing but killers.

  “Oh,” he said, ladling out the rice. “I thought it might be something like that.”

  “I won’t do it. I’d rather die.”

  He smiled at me—that sunny, open smile. “All that lives, dies, Murasaki-san.”

  “I know that. People keep telling me that. And... Just Murasaki. Or Risuko. Please, Aimaru.”

  He nodded, the smile undiminished.

  We distributed the meal around the compound. Only Chiyome-sama and the Little Brothers ate in the great hall. Kee Sun was with Masugu-san, and the rest of the Full Moon’s inhabitants were in the Retreat. The red of their robes, which I had always associated with good luck, now seemed instead to be the stain of blood.

  —

  As we were cleaning up after the meal, Kee Sun returned, looking even more tattered and grumpy than usual. “Got one of those Little Brothers sitting with him now,” he said in answer to the question that neither Aimaru nor I had voiced. “He’s past the worst of it—he’s sweatin’ the poppy juice out at this point, and the tonic’ll help that.”

  He must have seen my relief, because he added, “Mind, he’s goin’ to be weak as a puppy till after the New Year, I shouldn’t think. No goin’ around kissin’ young ladies for him!”

  Aimaru blushed, even as he smiled his usual smile. “We served the meal to everyone, Kee Sun-san.”

  “So I noticed,” chuckled the cook. “And nobody else poisoned that I’ve heard tell! Yeh’ll do, yeh’ll do. Now get outa my kitchen with yeh, Moon-cake. The other of them Little Brothers is waitin’ to give yeh a lesson.”

  Aimaru obeyed immediately, bowing to Kee Sun so that the bruise on the top of his head showed and smiling at me for just an instant before disappearing out the door.

  “Did yeh break the rat-chasing thingee, Bright-eyes?”

  “I...” I picked up the remains of the stick I’d broken over Aimaru’s head

  “And would yeh breakin’ it have anythin’ to do with the lovely bruise atop Moon-cake’s head?”

  “I can’t,” I whispered.

  “Can’t?”

  “Can’t...” I waved the stub of my pretend sword. “Can’t.”

  “Huh.” Kee Sun plucked the handle from my hands and tossed it into the fire. I watched the pine smolder and then catch flame.

  My eyes filled as I watched the sword handle burn. “My father...” I choked down the thickness in my throat. “My father... last thing... he said to me... ‘Do no harm.’”

  “Huh.”

  “When Lord Imagawa... wanted him... to be a samurai... again.”

  Sharpening and wrapping his swords, then putting them away. Putting on his best scribe’s robes. Bowing to Okā-san, who was trying not to weep, then to my sister, and finally to me. He had turned and left, but I had run after him. He stopped, just past the old cherry tree that grows over the little shrine to the forest spirit. I had wanted him to turn, but he had not. I had wanted to touch him, to pull him back to the house, but I could not. ‘Otō-san!’ I had called.

  His back straight, his feet at shoulder width—The Two Fields. Then—in the quietest voice imaginable, Father had said, ‘Do not follow me. Do not follow my path.’ He had begun to walk again, but before he had taken three steps he had stopped again, his face still away from mine, and had said, in a terrible sob, ‘Do no harm, Murasaki. No harm.’ And then he had walked away.

  While this scene played itself out in my memory, Kee Sun cut up ginger for the soup. The scent was sharp and sweet and hot, and I found myself thinking that perhaps smells could be like herbs, balancing our elements; I know that I felt dark and sour in that moment, and the smell of the ginger was like a tonic.

  I watched the flame licking at the stick so that it looked like a snake.

  “I met yehr father,” said Kee Sun.

  “I know. Lady Chiyome said.”

  “I saw him fight. Saw him fight the Old Soldier at Midriver Island. He was a warrior, yehr daddy.” Kee Sun dropped mushrooms and slices of radish into the soup. He gave a thoughtful grunt. “Now yeh know, seems to
me, just walking across a field, yeh do harm—to the grass and the ants and such.”

  I sighed. “I know.”

  “And I’d’ve thought, if a body had a blade and the way of usin’ it proper,” he went on, measuring handfuls of dried onion greens into the broth, and then stirring with his long-handled spoon, “that protecting folks that didn’t have swords and such from bandits and the like would be doin’ less harm then standin’ aside and doin’ nothin’.”

  I stood there, crying, wiping my eyes and my nose with the sleeves of my jacket. “But... The kunoichi...”

  “It’s true. They kill now and again. Serpent-girlie?” He whistled. “Yeh’d be dead and yeh wouldn’t even know it, and she’d be out o’ the house with a smile and not a hair outa place and no one the wiser till yeh hit the ground. But some? Some of ‘em have the talent o’ findin’ things out. Take Flower-girl that teaches yeh the music.” He gave a snort. “Not a killer, that one. But she’s very good at makin’ menfolk very happy and talky, so’s they tell her all the things they’re not supposed to, and when she’s gone, all they can remember is how much she made ‘em laugh.”

  “But she... Sachi said her hunting...?”

  “There’s huntin’, yeh see,” said Kee Sun, lifting an eyebrow suggestively. “An’ then there’s huntin’.”

  “Oh.”

  “And some of ‘em are good at keeping folk from gettin’ hurt. Dressed up like a serving girl if they want, or a cook, or a lady’s maid, or a nun, and no bandit watchin’ some silky lady go by in her little box is goin’ t’think that our girlie is ever a bodyguard, but that she is, and a good one.”

  “Oh.”

  I walked over and peered into the pot.

  Kee Sun leaned down and took a deep whiff of the steam from the now-simmering soup. “Yeh’ll be glad t’hear that Masugu was askin’ about yeh.”

  “He was?” I sniffled.

  “Ayup. Durin’ one of the times when he wasn’t sleepin’. Seemed quite put out that yeh’d been snoopin’ on him and Serpent-girlie from atop the Retreat.” Kee Sun turned and winked. Seeing my face, he sobered and turned back to the soup. “Kept talkin’ about the chimney. I think he was worried yeh’d fall.”

  I actually laughed at that.

  “And as I was walkin’ back to strain the soup before yeh got back, I ran into Ghostie-girlie tryin’ to sneak in to see him. All flustered and pink she got, too, when I caught her. Told me it wasn’t her moon time yet, and she just wanted t’see that the good lieutenant was all right.” He snorted. “Told her he was sleepin’ fine, and that she was too late anyway—he’d already asked yeh to marry him.” He chuckled, and I tittered along with him, even though I had already heard too many jokes on that subject.

  I walked over and looked into the enormous pot. The vegetables looked delicious—red, brown, white and green in the clear, golden broth. Perfect. I took a deep whiff. “Kee Sun?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Doesn’t it smell a little... bitter?”

  He grunted and took a sniff. “Huh. Perhaps. A bit. Must’ve overcooked the stock. A bit o’ garlic’ll take care o’ that. Mince some up for us, Bright-eyes.”

  Without even thinking about it, I went over and found a garlic bulb and the small chopping knife. I had that garlic reduced to fine bits in no time—and I wasn’t even feeling sorry for myself as I did it. I brought him the bowl into which I’d scooped the garlic.

  He took it from me and poured it into the pot. He inhaled deeply. “There yeh go.” He motioned me closer. “Take a sniff now.”

  I did. “Mmm.”

  “Right!” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Grab us the big tureen there, and all o’ the bowls.” Quickly, he transferred most of the soup into the big serving bowl—the tureen, as he always called it—and covered it with its flat lid. The bowls stacked easily on the lid. “Now, let’s see if all o’ that rock carryin’ has done yeh any good. Can yeh pick that up without droppin’ it?”

  Carefully I lifted the big bowl, and all of the crockery.

  He hung a huge serving spoon from one of the handles. “There yeh are. Now bring that out to the Retreat and to the guesthouse. I’ll serve the lady and the Little Brothers.” He gave me a smile, his scars twisting, and opened the door to the outside, letting in a blast of chill wind. “Get on with yeh! Don’t let that soup get cold! And I’ll wait t’ eat till yeh’re back. A body shouldn’t eat alone.”

  “Hai, Kee Sun-san,” I said, and carefully made my way out into the rapidly gathering gloom of the winter evening.

  32—Chicken Soup

  Snow began to fall again—light, tiny flakes that seemed to appear from nowhere. I struggled to keep the soup from sloshing out of the tureen and the bowls clattered and threatened to fall every time my feet slid on the slick gravel, but I managed. Soon I was at the Retreat. I knocked on the door.

  A familiar whisper answered. “Yes?”

  “Emi!”

  She sighed. “Hello, Murasaki. Do you have our meal?”

  “Yes! It’s chicken soup.”

  I heard several of the women inside groan with hunger.

  “Open the door,” I whispered, “and I can help you serve it out.”

  “Oh,” Emi said, sounding uncertain. “I think you’re just supposed to leave it.”

  I kept my voice low; I didn’t want anyone but Emi to hear. “But I need to bring the tureen to the guesthouse to feed Aimaru and Masugu-san.”

  “Oh.” I heard movement inside, and the door opened—just a crack. The air inside was hot and stale. I saw a dozen grumpy faces looking toward me. Emi stepped out, finishing wrapping herself in a jacket to to keep out the chill. The women began to press toward the door.

  “Stop pushing, ladies. Line up!” said Mieko, and line up they did.

  Emi and I knelt. I spooned out the steaming soup into a bowl, and Emi passed each in to one of waiting women inside.

  “So,” I whispered, “what is it like?”

  “Like?” Emi grumbled.

  “The Retreat?”

  She was silent for a moment. “Boring.”

  “Oh.”

  Then she turned toward me and her eyes sparkled. “Anything exciting happening out there?”

  “Uh,” I gulped, spilling a bit of broth onto the step that was serving as our serving table, “I hit Aimaru over the head with a stick.”

  Emi laughed—bright and happy, like a dog’s welcoming bark. “I wish I could have seen that!”

  “But—!” I spluttered. Toumi was scowling from the barely-open doorway, waiting for her meal. I filled the bowl that Emi was holding, and she passed it up to Toumi, who took it with a grunt and began slurping the soup, still watching us as she walked away. I lowered my voice again. “I thought you... liked him.”

  “Shh!” Emi’s face fell, not into its usual frown, but into a grimace of shock.

  She handed a bowl out, then sighed. “Anyway... What were you doing with a stick?”

  “It was the one we use to chase rats. I was... pretending it was a sword.”

  “Oh.” Emi’s eyes narrowed. “Murasaki?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Your sash.”

  Not wanting to say the words, I lifted the red and white silk.

  Now Emi’s eyes got wide. “How—?”

  “I think,” I whispered, looking past her into the room full of women dressed in red and white, “that I got it because I told Mieko-san what kunoichi were. That they are—” Assassins. Killers. “—soldiers.”

  Emi nodded, passing a bowl up to one of the women. “That makes sense,” she murmured quietly. “That’s why they have us doing all of the slaughtering and butchering.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. The teachers had said that what we had learned from Kee Sun would help us as kunoichi. My stomach contracted.

  Emi gru
nted. “But what about the dancing and singing and writing and such?”

  Laughter bubbled through the doorway. It appeared the Horseradish girls were teasing Toumi.

  “I think,” I whispered, “that we’re going to be spies too, some of us. Gathering information.”

  “Oh!” Emi nodded. “That’s why we dress as miko! So we can go anywhere and no one notices us!”

  That too made sense. Shino pushed her way in front of Fuyudori and demanded another bowl. I was going to refuse, but Emi shook her head. “I’m stuck in here with her for the next few days. It’s not worth aggravating her.”

  Next Fuyudori came forward. “Good evening, Risuko-chan.” She smiled her too-sweet smile. “Do not feel too badly. You will be here with us soon enough.”

  Emi, who was facing away from Fuyudori, crossed her eyes; it was all I could do not to laugh as I poured the head initiate’s soup into the bowl that Emi was holding. “Yes, Fuyudori-senpai,” I managed to say.

  “Lovely,” said Fuyudori, taking the bowl. She peered down into the soup. “Turnips?”

  “Radishes,” I answered apologetically.

  “Oh.” Her shoulders drooped, and she walked away, sniffing at her bowl.

  I poked at Emi with the ladle, and she actually smiled. “Fine,” I whispered, spooning out her bowlful of soup.

  “She’s been impossible all day, wringing her hands and weeping about the lieutenant. I thought Mieko was going to strangle her.” Emi’s brow furrowed. “Actually, from what you’re telling me, that might have made for a much more useful lesson than playing music badly.”

  I considered that for a moment. I think that Emi meant it as a joke, but somehow, it didn’t seem terribly funny at the time. “Kee Sun said that he had to send Fuyudori away from the lieutenant’s rooms.”

  “Oh!” said Emi, her voice excited even as her face remained glum. “She was so worried about Lieutenant Masugu that she snuck out not long after you brought the rice this afternoon. Sachi actually had to hold Mieko back, or Mieko would have skinned her.”

  “Huh.” I put the lid back on the tureen.

  “Wait,” Emi said, lifting her bowl to her lips. “You could stay and have your meal with me.”