I bowed formally and then kneeled in front of the woman. I noted the rightmost warrior’s quick glance at my sleeve and how he inched almost imperceptibly closer, all the while not appearing to have noticed or moved at all. The man was even more formidable than I had suspected, but now my attention was on the woman.
Her kimono was very simple, as befitted a servant. Two shades of blue at most, though impeccably appropriate for the time of year. She wore a boshi with a long veil that circled the brim and hid her features. Naturally, she did not remove it. She merely bowed again from her seated position and held out a scroll resting on the palms of her small hands.
I took the offered scroll, all the while careful to make no sudden movements, and unrolled it to read:
The Peony bows
to no avail; the March wind
is fierce, unceasing.
Caught like a rabbit in a snare. And so damn easily. Just the first three lines of a tanka. The poem was not yet complete, of course; the rest was up to me.
I looked at the shadow of the woman’s face, hidden behind the veil. “Are you instructed to await my reply?”
Again she bowed without speaking. The escort on her right produced a pen case and ink. I considered for a few moments, then added the following two lines:
The donkey kneels down to rest.
In his shadow, flowers grow.
My poetic skills—never more than adequate—were a little rusty and the result wasn’t better than passable. Yet the form was correct and the meaning, like that of the first segment, more than clear to the one who would read it. The woman took the message from me, bowed again, then rose as one with her escort and withdrew quickly without further ceremony. The Widow Tamahara watched all this from the discreet distance of the veranda encircling the courtyard.
“Is this work?” she asked when I passed her on the way back to my room. “Will you be paid?”
“ ‘Yes’ seems the likely answer to both,” I said, though that was mostly to placate the old woman. I was fairly certain that I would be the one paying, one way or the other.
Later that evening I didn’t bother to prepare my bedding. I waited, fully clothed and in the darkness of my room, for my inevitable visitor. The summons was clear and urgent, but I couldn’t simply answer it. The matter was much more complicated than that.
The full moon cast the man’s shadow across the thin screen that was my doorway. It wasn’t a mistake; he wanted me to know he was there. I pulled the screen aside, but I was pretty sure I knew who would be waiting.
He kneeled on the veranda, the hilt of his sword clearly visible. “Lord Yamada? My name is Kanemore.”
“Lord” was technically correct but a little jarring to hear applied to me again. Especially coming from a man who was the son of an emperor. I finally realized who he was. “Prince Kanemore. You were named after the poet, Taira no Kanemore, weren’t you?” I asked.
He smiled then, or perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight. “My mother thought that having a famous poet for a namesake might gentle my nature. In that I fear she was mistaken. So, you remember me.”
“I do. Even when you were not at Court, your sister, Princess Teiko, always spoke highly of you.”
He smiled faintly. “And so back to the matter at hand: Lord Yamada, I am charged to bring you safely to the Imperial compound.”
The light was poor, but I used what there was to study the man a little more closely than I’d had time to do at our meeting earlier in the day. He was somewhat younger than I, perhaps thirty or so, and quite handsome except for a fresh scar that began on his left cheek and reached his jawline. He studied me just as intently; I didn’t want to speculate on what his conclusions might be. Whether caused by my involvement or the situation itself—and I still didn’t have any idea what that was—Kanemore was not happy. His face betrayed nothing, but his entire being was as tense as a bow at full draw.
“I am ready, Prince Kanemore.”
“Just ‘Kanemore,’ please. With the Emperor’s permission, I will renounce my title and found a new clan, since it is neither my destiny nor wish to ascend the throne.”
“I am Goji. Lead on then.”
The streets were dark and poorly lit. I saw the flare of an onibi down an alleyway and knew the ghosts were about. At this time of evening demons were a possibility too, but one of the beauties of Kyoto was that the multitude of temples and shrines tended to make the atmosphere uncomfortable for most of the fiercer demons and monsters. The rest, like that moth-demon, were used to skulking about the niches and small spaces of the city, unnoticed and deliberately so—being vulnerable to both exorcism and common steel.
We reached the Kamo River without incident and crossed at the Shijo Bridge. The full moon was high now, reflecting off the water. Farther downstream I saw an entire procession of ghost lights floating above the water. I’m not sure that Kanemore saw the onibi at all. His attention was focused on the moon’s reflection as he paused for a second or two to admire it. I found this oddly reassuring. A man who did not pause to view a full moon at opportunity had no soul. But the fact that his moon-viewing amounted to little more than a hesitation on Shijo Bridge showed his attention to duty. I already knew I did not want Kanemore as my enemy. Now I wondered if we could be friends.
“Do you know what this is about?” I asked.
“Explanations are best left to my sister,” he said. “My understanding is far from complete.”
“At this point I would be glad of scraps. I only know that Princess Teiko is in difficulty—”
He corrected me instantly. “It is her son Takahito that concerns my sister most. She always thinks of him first.”
I didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “Is Takahito unwell?”
“He is healthy,” Kanemore said. “And still his half-brother’s heir, at present.”
That was far too ominous. “Kanemore-san, it was my understanding that the late Emperor only allowed the current Emperor to ascend on the condition that Takahito be named heir after him, and that Takahito in turn take his royal grandfather’s nickname, Sanjo, upon his eventual ascent. Is Emperor Reizei thinking of defying his father’s wishes?”
Kanemore looked uncomfortable. “There have been complications. Plus, the Fujiwara favor another candidate, Prince Norihira. He is considered more agreeable. I will say no more at present.”
More agreeable because, unlike Princess Teiko, Norihira’s mother was Fujiwara. I considered this. If the Fujiwara Clan supported another candidate, then this was bad news for Teiko’s son. As the Taira and Minamoto and other military families were the might of the Emperor, so were the Fujiwara his administration. Court ministers and minor officials alike were drawn primarily from their ranks. All power was the Emperor’s in theory, but in practice his role was mostly ceremonial. It was the Fujiwara who kept the government in motion.
Still, the politics of the Imperial Court and the machinations of the Fujiwara were both subjects I had happily abandoned years ago. Now it appeared that I needed to renew my understanding, and quickly. Despite my desire to question him further, I knew that Kanemore had said all he was going to say on the matter for now. I changed the subject.
“Did you see much fighting while you were in the north?”
“A bit,” he admitted. “The Abe Clan is contained, but not yet defeated . . . ” He trailed off, then stopped and turned toward me. “Goji-san, are you a seer in addition to your other rumored talents? How did you know I had been in the north?”
I tried to keep from smiling. “That scar on your jaw is from a blade and fairly new. Even if you were inclined to brawling—which I seriously doubt—I don’t believe the average drunken samuru could so much as touch you. That leaves the northern campaigns as the only reasonable conclusion. It was an educated guess. No more.”
He rubbed his scar, thoughtfully. “Impressive, even so. But the hour grows late and I think we should be on our way.”
We had taken no more th
an a few steps when two bushi staggered out of a nearby drinking establishment. One collided with me and muttered a slurred curse and reached for his sword. I didn’t give the fool time to draw it. I struck him with my open palm square on the chin and his head snapped back and collided with a very hard lintel post. Fortunately for him, since Kanemore’s tachi was already clear of its scabbard and poised for the blow swordsmen liked to call ‘the pear splitter,’ because that’s what the victim’s bisected head would resemble once the blow was completed. I have no doubt that Kanemore would have demonstrated this classic technique on that drunken lout had I not been in the path of his sword. The drunk’s equally inebriated companion had his own sword half-drawn, but took a long look at Kanemore and thought better of it. He sheathed his sword, bowed in a rather grudging apology, and helped his addled friend to his feet. Together they staggered off into the night.
Kanemore watched them disappear before he put his sword away. “That, too, was impressive. But pointless. You should have let me kill him. One less provincial thug swaggering about the city. Who would miss him?”
I sighed. “His lord, for a start. Who would demand an explanation, and the man’s companion would say one thing and we would say another and justice ministers would become involved and there would be time spent away from the matter at hand that I don’t think we can afford. Or am I mistaken?”
Kanemore smiled. “I must again concede that you are not. I’m beginning to see why my honored sister has summoned you. May your lack of error continue, for all our sakes.”
The South Gate to the Imperial compound was closest, but Kanemore led me to the East Gate, which was guarded by bushi in the red and black Taira colors, one of whom I recognized as the messenger’s other escort. They stood aside for Kanemore and no questions were asked.
We weren’t going to the Palace proper. The Imperial Compound covered a large area in the city and there were many smaller buildings of various function spread out through the grounds, including houses for the Emperor’s wives and favorites. Considering our destination, it was clear we needed to attract as little attention as possible; Kanemore led me through some of the more obscure garden paths. At least, they had been obscure to other people. I remembered most of them from my time at Court. Losing access to the gardens was one of two regrets I had about leaving the Court.
Princess Teiko was the other.
Kanemore escorted me to a fine large house. A small palace, actually, and quite suitable for the widow of an Emperor. A group of very well-dressed and important-looking visitors was leaving as we arrived, and we stepped aside on the walkway to let them pass. There was only one I recognized in the lamplight before I kneeled as courtesy demanded: Fujiwara no Sentaro. It seemed only fitting—my one visit to the compound in close to fifteen years and I would encounter my least-favorite person at the Imperial Court. The coldness of Kanemore’s demeanor as they walked by wasn’t exactly lost on me either.
If Sentaro recognized me, he gave no sign. Possibly he’d have forgotten me by now, but then a good politician did not forget an enemy while the enemy still drew breath.
“I gather Lord Sentaro is not in your favor?” I asked after they had gone.
“To call him a pig would be an insult to pigs,” Kanemore said bluntly. “But he is the Minister of Justice, a skilled administrator, and has our Emperor’s confidence. The gods may decree that he becomes Chancellor after Lord Yorimichi, as luck seems to favor the man. My sister, for some reason I cannot fathom, bears his company from time to time.”
I started to say something about the realities of court life, but thought better of it. While the saints teach us that life is an illusion, Sentaro’s presence indicated that, sadly, some aspects of life did not change, illusion or not. We climbed the steps to the veranda.
“Teiko-hime is expecting us,” Kanemore said to the bushi flanking the doorway, but clearly they already knew that and stepped back as we approached. A servant-girl pulled the screen aside, and we stepped into a large open room, impeccably furnished with bright silk cushions and flowers in artful arrangements and lit by several paper lanterns. There was a dais on the far wall, curtained-off, and doubtless a sliding screen behind it that would allow someone to enter the room without being seen. I had hoped to at least get a glimpse of Teiko, but of course that wasn’t proper. I knew the rules, even if I didn’t always follow them. Kanemore kneeled on a cushion near the dais, and I followed his example.
“My sister has been informed—” he started to say, but didn’t get to finish.
“Your older sister is here, Kanemore-kun.”
Two more maids impeccably dressed in layered yellow and blue kimono entered the room and pulled back the curtain. A veil remained in front of the dais, translucent but not fully transparent. I could see the ghostly form of a woman kneeling there, her long black hair down loose and flowing over her shoulders. I didn’t need to see her clearly to know it was the same woman who had brought the message to me in the courtyard and whose face I had not seen then, either. No need—the way she moved, the elegance of a gesture, both betrayed her. Now I heard Teiko’s voice again, and that was more than enough.
Kanemore and I both bowed low.
There was silence, and then that beautiful voice again, chiding me. “A donkey, Lord Yamada? Honestly . . . ”
I tried not to smile, but it was hard. “My poetry is somewhat . . . untrained, Teiko-hime.”
“Teiko. Please. We are old friends.”
At this Kanemore gave me a hard glance, but I ignored him. He was no longer the most dangerous person in my vicinity, and I needed all my attention for the one who was.
“I think there is something you wish to discuss with me,” I said. “Is this possible?” It was the most polite way I knew to phrase the question, but Teiko waved it aside.
“There is no one within hearing,” she said, “who has not already heard. You may speak plainly, Lord Yamada. I will do the same—I need your help.”
“You have read my answer,” I said.
“True, but you have not heard my trouble,” Teiko said, softly. “Listen, and then tell me what you will or will not do. Now then—do you remember a young Fujiwara named Kiyoshi?”
That was a name I had not heard in a long time. Kiyoshi was about my age when I came to the Court as a very minor official of the household. Since he was handsome, bright, and a Fujiwara, his destiny seemed fixed. Like Kanemore he chose the bushi path instead and died fighting the northern barbarians. He was one of the few of that clan I could tolerate, and I sincerely mourned his death.
“I do remember him,” I said.
“There is a rumor going around the Court that Kiyoshi was my lover, and that my son Takahito is his issue, not my late husband’s.”
For a moment I could not speak. This matter was beyond serious. Gossip was close to the rule of law at Court. If this particular gossip was not silenced, both Takahito’s and Teiko’s positions at court were in peril, and that was just for a start.
“Do you know who is responsible for the slander?”
“No. While it’s true that Kiyoshi was very dear to me, we grew up together at court and our affections to each other were as brother and sister, as was well understood at the time. You know this to be true.”
I did. If I knew anything. “And you wish for me to discover the culprit? That will be . . . difficult.”
She laughed softly then, decorously covering her face with her fan even through the veils prevented me from seeing her face clearly. “Lord Yamada, even if I knew who started the rumors it would do little good. People repeat the gossip without even knowing who they heard it from. What I require now is tangible and very public proof that the rumors are false.”
I considered. “I think that will be difficult as well. The only one who could swear to your innocence died fifteen years ago. Or am I to pursue his ghost?”
She laughed again. The sound was enchanting, but then everything about her was enchanting to me. There was a reason Pri
ncess Teiko was the most dangerous person in that room. I found myself feeling grateful that the screen was in place as I forced myself to concentrate on the business at hand.
“Nothing so distasteful,” she said. “Besides, Kiyoshi died in loving service to my husband the late Emperor, and on the path he himself chose. If he left a ghost behind I would be quite surprised. No, Lord Yamada, Kiyoshi left something far more reliable—a letter. He sent it to me when he was in the north, just before . . . his final battle. It was intended for his favorite and was accompanied by a second letter for me.”
I frowned. “Why didn’t he send this letter to the lady directly?”
She sighed then. “Lord Yamada, are you a donkey after all? He couldn’t very well do so without compromising her. My friendship with Kiyoshi was well-known; no one would think twice if I received a letter from him, in those days. In his favorite’s case the situation was quite different. You know the penalty for a Lady of the Court who takes a lover openly.”
I bowed again. I did know, and vividly. Banishment, or worse. Yet for someone born for the Court and knowing no other life, there probably was nothing worse. “Then clearly we need to acquire this letter. If it still exists, I imagine the lady in question will be reluctant to part with it.”
“The letter was never delivered to her.” Teiko raised her hand to silence me before I even began. “Do not think so ill of me, Lord Yamada. News of Kiyoshi’s death reached us months before his letter did. By then my husband had given the wretched girl in marriage to the daimyo of a western province as reward for some service or other, so her romantic history is no longer at issue. Since Kiyoshi’s letter was not intended for me I never opened it. I should have destroyed it, I know, but I could not.”
“Perhaps foolish, but potentially fortunate. Yet I presume there is a problem still or I would not be here.”
“The letter is missing, Lord Yamada. Without it I have no hope of saving my reputation and my son’s future from the crush of gossip.”
Yamada Monogatari: Demon Hunter Page 4