“I’m a servant of the Itō family, tono,” Torishi answered with a trained, studied bow.
“What accent is that?” The keen-eared official tilted his head. “Not Nagoya, that’s for sure.”
“He comes from Kiyō,” explained Nagomi. “I’m sure you have that information somewhere in your documents.”
The official’s face turned red. He was a man perfect for his position: a stiff bureaucrat, who didn’t like his authority questioned by anyone. Nagomi tried her best smile, but it worked little.
She now wished she could disguise herself as a man, like Satō. Since their control had started, half a dozen male travellers had passed her by with nary a glance from the guardsmen at their travel documents.
The official browsed through a pile of papers on his desk with increased irritation.
“There’s nothing here. We’ll have to contact your family,” he said, even more grumpily than before.
“But they are already on the ship to Edo!”
“Well then, you’ll have to wait until they’re back. Now, go away…”
Nagomi put her hands on the table.
“I have to leave — ”
Another samurai came up to the official with another, much shorter list of names. He whispered into the official’s ear, and they both gave Nagomi a look which made her shiver. They whispered some more; Nagomi heard only bits of their conversation: “…Suwa…Kiyō…treason…”
The other samurai walked away, and the official snapped his fingers. Two spearmen appeared immediately at Nagomi’s side.
“What’s going on?” asked Torishi.
The official ignored him. “You will go to the women’s inspection room,” he ordered Nagomi. “It’s just a routine procedure.”
Nagomi hesitated, but the spearman bumped her on the shoulder to hurry up.
Dark, cold, bamboo cage, of ropes and chains.
Grim light reflecting off the executioner’s sword.
Dirt in the wide-opened eyes.
She squeezed Torishi’s hand.
“Run away,” she whispered, “now.”
“Huh?” the bear-man looked at her perplexed, but then nodded sharply and turned to flee. A spearman blocked his path.
“You too — ” the man started. One swipe was enough to crash both him and the official’s table upon which he fell against the wall. Shoving another guard aside, Torishi hurried back outside towards the traveller-filled courtyard. He parted the crowd before him like a ship in the sea, and not one of the guards dared to stop him.
Hurriedly, the guards led Nagomi to a small, windowless room at the back of the gate office. A woman in a green kimono, looking almost as grumpy as the official before, waited until the men left them alone.
“Undress,” she ordered sharply without looking up from a document she was writing.
Nagomi took off her clothes slowly and put them in a neat pile on a rectangle of packed straw by the door. It was the kind of humiliating inspection she knew most women travelling alone were subject to, and which she had hoped, being a priestess, she would have avoided.
“How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
The woman studied Nagomi’s body for a while, then stood up, and walked closer. She poked the sickle scar between Nagomi’s breasts, then ran her yellowed nail along the white line on Nagomi’s left forearm.
“Your body is scarred like that of a seasoned warrior,” she said.
“I was… prone to accidents in childhood.”
“Accidents with swords?”
Nagomi didn’t know how to answer her. The woman leaned closer to smell her hair, and then with a swift move of a hand, she pinched a handful.
“Ow!”
“Why do you dye your hair?” the woman asked, narrowing her eyes.
“I… I don’t want people to mock me in the street,” Nagomi answered. She started to shiver, even though it was a hot summer’s day outside.
“The description on your tegata says your hair is red.”
“I’m sorry, I forgot…”
The woman waved her hand. “It doesn’t matter. You’re wanted for far more serious crimes than not fitting your description. I just needed to make sure you are you.”
Nagomi raised her head.
“Wanted…?”
“Don’t play innocent with me, girl.” The woman smirked. “You should have stayed in Nagoya. Now put your clothes back on before those spearmen return. Unless you want them to see you like that.”
Nagomi rubbed her shoulders. They were still sore from the firm grip of the prison guards. She thanked the Gods for choosing her to serve them. The men had handled her roughly, but were still wary of bringing a priestess to any real harm. They even allowed her to keep the jade necklace, refusing to touch it as if it was cursed.
The door of the bamboo cage squeaked open and a hand slid in a bowl of gruel. Nagomi grabbed the hand.
“How much more of this?” she whispered.
The hand struggled briefly, but then surrendered, and a face appeared in the opening — a pock-marked and wrinkled face of a man with a small moustache and scarce hair greying at the ends.
“They are taking you to Edo tomorrow, priestess-sama,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Edo. So that’s how this ends.
She remembered the stories of the Taikun’s own executioners in Edo repeated like dreadful fairy tales by the people of Nagoya. So close to the capital, the shadow of the Taikun’s castle hung long over the thoughts of the townsfolk.
“Wait, please. Don’t I know you?”
The man’s eyes darted to the sides. “Yes, your honoured father saved my family from the pox.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Nagomi said with a gentle smile.
His lips trembled. “Priestess-sama, we are all here… guards, servants… your father’s work — I wish we could help, but there’s nothing — ”
“Shh,” she silenced him. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry,” the man repeated, and disappeared.
She slurped the gruel in grim silence. She had long lost count of the hours in the cage. A night had passed since her imprisonment, and another day was coming to an end.
What should I do?
There was nothing she could do. Only a miracle could save her now — but she felt she had long ago used up her share of miracles… and if the Spirits could affect politics, Lady Kazuko would still be alive. She could only hope her crimes were not severe enough to warrant the worst punishments. But that was a feeble hope.
Who am I kidding, she thought, playing with the necklace, the Taikun does not show mercy to traitors.
The door of the cage opened again. The same man showed in the gap, holding something in his hands.
“We thought…” he whispered, “…you might want to send a message to your family.”
“Oh, thank you!”
He disappeared, leaving Nagomi with her own racing thoughts. She knew how much he risked. Is that my miracle? One chance, just one letter. Warn her father about the danger of arrest? Say her farewells? Ask them to pass the message over to Satō…?
In the end, she chose none of those things. By the time the old man returned, she had the letter ready.
“Find the man named Torishi,” she said, “you’ll know him — he’s taller than any Yamato, and has long hair and a big beard… Give it to him before tomorrow.”
The wagon squeaked to a halt; Nagomi bumped into the wall.
She stood up on tiptoes and looked through the narrow air vent. The leafy forest around stood still, stuffy, breeze-less.
“Can you see anything?” asked one of the other two prisoners in the wagon.
They were both in chains, unlike Nagomi, who had freedom of movement within the confines of the iron box. Not that it mattered. The wagon was locked shut, and escorted by a troop of armed men.
“The woods are quiet,” she said, frowning.
“Oh, woods are quiet. I’m sure that’s important
.”
“Give her a break,” the other prisoner said, “she’s just a kid.”
“I don’t need advice from a Satsuma dog,” snarled the first one.
“Trust a Chōfu bumpkin to be rude to a lady.”
“Quiet, both of you!” Nagomi snapped. The two men fell silent in bewilderment. There was something in the air; something that had stopped all noise. She listened.
“One of the guards is coming … he looks nervous.”
The guard rapped on the iron wall with the butt of his spear. “Sit down! Don’t try anything!”
“Don’t try what?” replied the Satsuma prisoner. “What’s going on out there?”
“Just — just don’t move!”
“Bandits?” the man from Chōfu guessed.
“Not so close to Nagoya,” the other one said with a grin. “Maybe Shimazu men are coming to my rescue, after all.”
“Shimazu? Pah! It’s the Mori retainers coming to rescue me.”
Nagomi said nothing. The guard disappeared from her sight, then another appeared for just a moment, then vanished. Somebody was shouting orders at the front of the convoy; men were running about in confusion.
A sudden roar stopped all this commotion.
“Come back here, you cowards!” she heard the commander call. “It’s just a damn bear!”
A second later the guards ran past the wagon, slipping in the mud, dropping their spears and losing their black tin helmets. Then the commander himself appeared in her field of view, backing up slowly, his sword raised in a trembling hand.
“Nagoya scum,” he mumbled, “never mind, I’ll deal with it myself.”
He yelled and charged forward; the next thing Nagomi heard was a swipe and a sickening crack of bones. She strained her neck to see further, but managed to see only the bristling, hairy back of the beast as it blurred past the side of the wagon, leaving behind the fading growl and stench of wet fur.
Both prisoners jumped to their feet, and pressed their faces to the bars.
“What the — ”
A moment later, a series of mighty blows on the back door sent the two men into a panicked frenzy; they retreated as far into the back of the wagon as their chains allowed. One more blow and the door burst into splinters. The muzzle of a giant black bear showed in the opening.
“Torishi-sama!” Nagomi cried, throwing herself on the animal’s neck.
Nagomi knelt down, put her hand on the dead samurai’s eyes, and whispered a quick prayer. Torishi stood by, scratching the back of his neck.
“He charged at me…”
“I understand,” she said softly.
The commander wore a kimono embroidered with the symbols of hollyhock and the character “Ai”. He was a servant of Edo — an enemy, as she now understood.
Killing a bandit or a rōnin in a fight was one thing, but now a government official was dead. There was no turning back.
Now I really am a traitor, she realized, strangely calm.
“We should move on,” Torishi said, looking at the road. “The other guards may come back at any moment.”
“Just a minute.”
She searched his body and found a pair of square-shaped wooden keys. She returned to the wagon and threw the keys at the two prisoners.
“Wait,” said one of them as she turned to leave. “Where will you go? We should stick together for now.”
“Little priestess,” Torishi pressed, “we have to run into the mountains.”
“No, we must be at the — wait…” She looked at the two prisoners who now stood on the muddy ground getting rid of their remaining chains, “isn’t one of you from Chōfu?”
The nearer of the prisoners had already unshackled himself and was now rubbing his wrists, wincing.
“That’s me,” he said. The other man was still struggling with the key.
“Can you take us there?”
He nodded. “I know people who can help us. We just need to get to the sea.”
“Then let’s go,” said Torishi, “and fast.”
“What about you?” Nagomi asked the other man. His rusted chain finally let go. “Are you coming with us?”
“To Chōfu?” He spat. “I’d rather go straight to Edo.”
He jumped out of the wagon, glanced around, and, with a quick “thank you” thrown at Nagomi, disappeared into the woods.
Nagomi picked up Torishi’s bow and quiver from the ground. She walked up to the edge of a bluff and looked at the nameless harbour town below. A few fishing boats bobbed on the waves, and a large flat-bottomed ferry rowed between them across the narrow bay. It didn’t seem like the kind of place that had ships fit to take them all the way to Chōfu.
She turned back towards the tiny lumberjack shack that their new friend had found; a place where they could hide. Meanwhile, he went down to the town to seek safe passage. “It’s best if I do it alone,” he had said, “you two are not exactly… inconspicuous.”
She had to agree. Her hair was now a mess of dirty red and washed-up indigo, and Torishi’s bulky frame would have made it all too easy for the Edo agents to track them down.
She strung the bow with some effort, nocked an arrow, and aimed at a nearby birch tree. The released missile grazed its bark and vanished into the forest. She nocked another one. She wasn’t sure if being able to shoot the bow would ever be useful, but she found the practice soothing. It demanded focus and emptying one’s mind, almost like a prayer.
Torishi stepped out of the hut and studied her stance.
“Put your elbows closer. This isn’t a Yamato bow,” he said. The Kumaso bow was much shorter and more curved than the ones she had seen the samurai use at the shrine contests. This was a hunting tool, rather than a weapon.
She let the arrow fly and it missed the birch by a good inch. It didn’t really matter.
“Do you think he’ll come back?” asked Torishi, returning with the two arrows from the forest. He handed them to Nagomi who put them back into the deerskin quiver.
“I don’t want to worry about it now,” she replied, brushing the hair across her forehead. “If he doesn’t, we’ll think of something.”
Torishi looked down, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. “Is that our boat?” he asked.
Nagomi stepped as close to the edge of the bluff as she could. The flat-bottomed ferry had just moored up at the pier. She expected the usual commotion of travellers lining up to enter the boat, but something else was happening. The pier was empty, cut-off from the rest of the harbour by a thin line of guards. Men poured forth from the ferry in small, neat groups, each carrying a rectangular banner bearing the same “Ai” design Nagomi had seen on the clothes of the dead official. Thirty, maybe forty warriors trotted towards the small square in front of the pier. Only when their muster was over, were the queuing passengers allowed to enter the boat.
“What do you think is happening?” asked Torishi.
“Is it because of… us?” Nagomi asked.
“No. They’re garrisoning the entire coast,” came an answer. The man from Chōfu emerged out of the forest, grey-faced and tired. “All the ports from here to Edo now have a military presence. These are Aizu troops,” he pointed down to the town, “but other provinces are sending soldiers as well.”
He called himself Takasugi, but that was all he was willing to divulge.
“The war,” said Nagomi, “the one everyone’s been talking about.”
“It’s all Satsuma’s fault,” Takasugi said, shaking his fist. “They act too rashly. Taking over Kumamoto, openly dealing with the Bataavians… They will draw Edo’s wrath. We’ll all be doomed because of their impatience.”
“Can we still get on the boat?” Torishi asked.
“Not this one, but we will get out of here. I have a fishing boat coming for us after dark. That should at least take us to the other side of the bay. Trust me, I need to get to Chōfu just as much as you do.”
The only light on the beach was coming from a small campfire
around which the fishing nets were draped on bamboo racks. As she got closer, Nagomi made out the shape of the shallow boat in the darkness, drawn out halfway onto the sand, lapped by the glimmering waves, and the shadows of two fishermen sitting quietly and unmoving in their bamboo hats.
Not far to the north, the harbour light flickered from the end of the pier. But the town itself was asleep; even the noises of revelry coming from the inn where the Aizu soldiers were stationed had by now quietened. Nothing disturbed the silence of the night except the crackling of the campfire, the rush of the waves, and the occasional hooting of an owl coming from the forest.
“Where did you find those fishermen?” Nagomi whispered as they approached the boat.
“In the town, at the tavern,” replied Takasugi.
“Can we trust them?”
“They’re just some commoners looking for a quick profit,” he whispered back. “I don’t think we have to worry about them.”
Nagomi gave Torishi a warning look. The bear-man returned her stare, but said nothing. The three of them passed by the drying nets — the type used to trawl for the small shirasu fish, Nagomi noted – and emerged into the light of the campfire. The fishermen stirred at their entrance. The older one stood up to welcome them, while the younger went to prepare the boat for departure.
“As agreed, payment after passage,” said Takasugi. The fisherman nodded.
“Come now, that is hardly a fair deal,” said Nagomi, smiling, “what if we run away without paying?”
“I’m sure there’s no need — ” the fisherman started, but Nagomi interrupted him.
“Torishi-sama, can I have some money?”
Torishi reached into the bundle containing a few of Nagomi’s and his own belongings, and handed her a few copper coins. Nagomi took the fisherman’s hand and pressed the cash into his palm.
A dagger glinting in the night.
A splash of blood on the wood.
“I don’t like when things aren’t settled properly,” she explained, putting on her most innocent expression. “It’s just the way I am.”
The Chrysanthemum Seal (The Year of the Dragon, Book 5) Page 12