by Lian Hearn
“Could you make such a floor?” Lord Shigeru inquired.
Shiro grinned at me. “I can make a floor so quiet, even Takeo can’t hear it. I reckon I can make one that would sing.”
“Takeo will help you,” the lord announced. “He needs to know exactly how it is constructed.”
I did not dare ask why then. I already had a fair idea, but I did not want to put it into words. The discussion moved on to the tea room, and while Shiro directed its building, he made a small singing floor, a boardwalk that replaced the verandas of the house, and I watched every board laid, every joist and every peg.
Chiyo complained that the squeaking gave her a headache, and that it sounded more like mice than any bird. But eventually the household grew used to it, and the noises became part of the everyday song of the house.
The floor amused Kenji to no end: He thought it would keep me inside. Lord Shigeru said no more about why I had to know how the floor was made, but I imagine he knew the pull it would have on me. I listened to it all day long. I knew exactly who was walking on it by their tread. I could predict the next note of the floor’s song. I tried to walk on it without awakening the birds. It was hard—Shiro had done his job well—but not impossible. I had watched the floor being made. I knew there was nothing enchanted about it. It was just a matter of time before I mastered it. With the almost fanatical patience that I knew now was a trait of the Tribe, I practiced crossing the floor.
The rains began. One night the air was so hot and humid, I could not sleep. I went to get a drink from the cistern and then stood in the doorway, looking at the floor stretching away from me. I knew I was going to cross it without waking anyone.
I moved swiftly, my feet knowing where to step and with how much pressure. The birds remained silent. I felt the deep pleasure, no kin to elation, that acquiring the skills of the Tribe brings, until I heard the sound of breathing, and turned to see Lord Shigeru watching me.
“You heard me,” I said, disappointed.
“No, I was already awake. Can you do it again?”
I stayed crouched where I was for a moment, retreating into myself in the way of the Tribe, letting everything drain from me except my awareness of the noises of the night. Then I ran back across the nightingale floor. The birds slept on.
I thought about Iida lying awake in Inuyama, listening for the singing birds. I imagined myself creeping across the floor towards him, completely silent, completely undetected.
If Lord Shigeru was thinking the same thing, he did not mention it. All he said now was, “I’m disappointed in Shiro. I thought his floor would outwit you.”
Neither of us said, But will Iida’s? Nevertheless the question lay between us, in the heavy night air of the sixth month.
THE TEAHOUSE WAS ALSO FINISHED, and we often shared tea there in the evenings, reminding me of the first time I had tasted the expensive green brew prepared by Lady Maruyama. I felt Lord Shigeru had built it with her in mind, but he never mentioned it. At the door of the tea room grew a twin-trunked camellia; maybe it was this symbol of married love that started everyone talking about the desirability of marriage. Ichiro in particular urged the lord to set about finding another wife. “Your mother’s death, and Takeshi’s, have been an excuse for some time. But you have been unmarried for nearly ten years now, and have no children. It’s unheard of!”
The servants gossiped about it, forgetting that I could hear them clearly from every part of the house. The general opinion among them was in fact close to the truth, although they did not really believe it themselves. They decided Lord Shigeru must be in love with some unsuitable or unobtainable woman. They must have sworn fidelity to each other, the girls sighed, since to their regret he had never invited any of them to share his bed. The older women, more realistic, pointed out that these things might occur in songs but had no bearing on the everyday life of the warrior class. “Maybe he prefers boys,” Haruka, the boldest of the girls, replied, adding in a fit of giggles. “Ask Takeo!” Whereupon Chiyo said preferring boys was one thing, and marriage was another. The two had nothing to do with each other.
Lord Shigeru evaded all these questions of marriage, saying he was more concerned with the process of my adoption. For months nothing had been heard from the clan, except that the subject was still under deliberation. The Otori had more pressing concerns to attend to. Iida had started his summer campaign in the East, and fief after fief had either joined the Tohan or been conquered and annihilated. Soon he would turn his attention again to the Middle Country. The Otori had grown used to peace. Lord Shigeru’s uncles were disinclined to confront Iida and plunge the fief into war again. Yet, the idea of submitting to the Tohan rankled with most of the clan.
Hagi was rife with rumors, and tense. Kenji was uneasy. He watched me all the time, and the constant supervision made me irritable.
“There are more Tohan spies in town every week,” he said. “Sooner or later one of them is going to recognize Takeo. Let me take him away.”
“Once he is legally adopted and under the protection of the clan, Iida will think twice about touching him,” Lord Shigeru replied.
“I think you underestimate him. He will dare anything.”
“Maybe in the East. But not in the Middle Country.”
They often argued about it, Kenji pressing the lord to let me go away with him, Lord Shigeru evading him, refusing to take the danger seriously, holding that once I was adopted I would be safer in Hagi than anywhere.
I caught Kenji’s mood. I was on guard all the time, always alert, always watching. The only time I found peace was when I was absorbed in learning new skills. I became obsessive about honing my talents.
Finally the message came at the end of the seventh month: Lord Shigeru was to bring me to the castle the next day, where his uncles would receive me and a decision would be given.
Chiyo scrubbed me, washed and trimmed my hair, and brought out clothes that were new but subdued in color. Ichiro went over and over all the etiquette and the courtesies, the language I should use, how low I should bow. “Don’t let us down,” he hissed at me as we left. “After all he has done for you, don’t let Lord Shigeru down.”
Kenji did not come with us but said he would follow us as far as the castle gate. “Just keep your ears open,” he told me—as if it were possible for me to do anything else.
I was on Raku, the pale gray horse with the black mane and tail. Lord Shigeru rode ahead of me on his black horse, Kyu, with five or six retainers. As we approached the castle I was seized by panic. Its power as it loomed ahead of us, its complete dominance over the town, unnerved me. What was I doing, pretending to be a lord, a warrior? The Otori lords would take one look at me and see me for what I was: the son of a peasant woman and an assassin. Worse, I felt horribly exposed, riding through the crowded street. I imagined that everyone was looking at me.
Raku felt the panic and tensed. A sudden movement in the crowd made him shy slightly. Without thinking, I let my breathing slow and softened my body. He quieted immediately. But his action had spun us around, and as I turned his head back I caught sight of a man in the street. I only saw his face for a moment, but I knew him at once. I saw the empty sleeve on his right-hand side. I had drawn his likeness for Lord Shigeru and Kenji. It was the man who had pursued me up the mountain path, whose right arm Jato had sliced through.
He did not appear to be watching me, and I had no way of knowing if he had recognized me. I drew the horse back and rode on. I don’t believe I gave the slightest sign I had noticed him. The entire episode lasted no more than a minute.
Strangely, it calmed me. This is real, I thought. Not a game. Maybe I am pretending to be something I’m not, but if I fail in it, it means death. And then I thought, I am Kikuta. I am of the Tribe. I am a match for anyone.
As we crossed the moat I spotted Kenji in the crowd, an old man in a faded robe. Then the main gates were opened to us, and we rode through into the first courtyard.
Here we dismo
unted. The men stayed with the horses, and Lord Shigeru and I were met by an elderly man, the steward, who took us to the residence.
It was an imposing and gracious building on the seaward side of the castle, protected by a smaller bailey. A moat surrounded it all the way to the seawall, and inside the moat was a large, beautifully designed garden. A small, densely wooded hill rose behind the castle; above the trees rose the curved roof of a shrine.
The sun had come out briefly, and the stones steamed in the heat. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead and in my armpits. I could hear the sea hissing at the rocks below the wall. I wished I were swimming in it.
We took off our sandals, and maids came with cool water to wash our feet. The steward led us into the house. It seemed to go on forever, room after room stretching away, each one lavishly and expensively decorated. Finally we came to an antechamber where he asked us to wait for a little while. We sat on the floor for what seemed like an hour at least. At first I was outraged—at the insult to Lord Shigeru, at the extravagant luxury of the house, which I knew came from the taxes imposed on the farmers. I wanted to tell Lord Shigeru about my sighting of Iida’s man in Hagi, but I did not dare speak. He seemed engrossed in the painting on the doors: a gray heron stood in a teal-green river, gazing at a pink and gold mountain.
Finally I remembered Kenji’s advice and spent the rest of the time listening to the house. It did not sing of the river, like Lord Shigeru’s, but had a deeper and graver note, underpinned by the constant surge of the sea. I counted how many different footsteps I could hear, and decided there were fifty-three people in the household. I could hear three children in the garden, playing with two puppies. I heard the ladies talking about a boat trip they were hoping to make if the weather held.
Then from deep inside the house I heard two men talking quietly. I heard Shigeru’s name mentioned. I realized I was listening to his uncles uttering things they would let no one but each other hear.
“The main thing is to get Shigeru to agree to the marriage,” said one. His was the older voice, I thought, stronger and more opinionated. I frowned, wondering what he meant. Hadn’t we come to discuss adoption?
“He’s always resisted marrying again,” said the other, slightly deferential, presumably younger. “And to marry to seal the Tohan alliance, when he has always opposed it . . . It may simply bring him out in the open.”
“We are at a very dangerous time,” the older man said. “News came yesterday about the situation in the West. It seems the Seishuu are preparing to challenge Iida. Arai, the lord of Kumamoto, considers himself offended by the Noguchi, and is raising an army to fight them and the Tohan before winter.”
“Is Shigeru in contact with him? It could give him the opportunity he needs. . . .”
“You don’t need to spell it out,” his brother replied. “I’m only too aware of Shigeru’s popularity with the clan. If he is in alliance with Arai, together they could take on Iida.”
“Unless we . . . shall we say, disarm him.”
“The marriage would answer very well. It would take Shigeru to Inuyama, where he’ll be under Iida’s eye for a while. And the lady in question, Shirakawa Kaede, has a certain very useful reputation.”
“You’re not suggesting . . . ?”
“Two men have already died in connection with her. It would be regrettable if Shigeru were the third, but hardly our fault.”
The younger man laughed quietly in a way that made me want to kill him. I breathed deeply, trying to calm my fury.
“What if he continues to refuse to marry?” he asked.
“We make it a condition of this adoption whim of his. I can’t see how it will do us any harm.”
“I’ve been trying to trace the boy,” the younger man said, his voice taking on the pedantic tone of an archivist. “I don’t see how he can be related to Shigeru’s late mother. There is no sign of him in the genealogies.”
“I suppose he is illegitimate,” the older man said. “I’ve heard he looks like Takeshi.”
“Yes, his looks make it hard to argue against any Otori blood, but if we were to adopt all our illegitimate children . . .”
“Ordinarily of course it would be out of the question. But just now . . .”
“I agree.”
I heard the floor creak slightly as they stood.
“One last thing,” the older brother said. “You assured me Shintaro would not fail. What went wrong?”
“I’ve been trying to find out. Apparently this boy heard him and woke Shigeru. Shintaro took poison.”
“He heard him? Is he also from the Tribe?”
“It’s possible. A Muto Kenji turned up at Shigeru’s last year: Some kind of tutor is the official story, but I don’t think he is giving the usual kind of instruction.” Again the younger brother laughed, making my flesh crawl. But I also felt a deep scorn for them. They had been told of my acute hearing, yet they did not imagine it could apply to them, here in their own house.
The slight tremor of their footsteps moved from the inner room, where this secret conversation had been taking place, into the room behind the painted doors.
A few moments later the elderly man came back, slid the doors open gently, and indicated that we should enter the audience chamber. The two lords sat side by side on low chairs. Several men knelt along each side of the room. Lord Shigeru immediately bowed to the ground, and I did the same, but not before I had taken a quick look at these two brothers, against whom my heart was already bitter in the extreme.
The older one, Lord Otori Shoichi, was tall but not particularly muscular. His face was lean and gaunt; he wore a small mustache and beard, and his hair was already going gray. The younger one, Masahiro, was shorter and squatter. He held himself very erect, as small men do. He had no beard; his face was sallow in color, and spotted with several large black moles. His hair was still black, but thin. In both of them, the distinctive Otori features, the prominent cheekbones and curved nose, were marred by the defects of character that made them both cruel and weak.
“Lord Shigeru—nephew—you are very welcome,” Shoichi said graciously.
Lord Shigeru sat up, but I remained with my forehead on the floor.
“You have been much in our thoughts,” Masahiro said. “We have been very concerned for you. Your brother’s passing away, coming so soon after your mother’s death and your own illness, has been a heavy burden to you.”
The words sounded kindly, but I knew they were spoken by the second tongue.
“I thank you for your concern,” Shigeru replied, “but you must allow me to correct you in one thing. My brother did not pass away. He was murdered.”
He said it without emotion, as if simply stating a fact. No one in the room made any reaction. A deep silence followed.
Lord Shoichi broke it by saying, with feigned cheerfulness, “And this is your young charge? He is also welcome. What is his name?”
“We call him Takeo,” Shigeru replied.
“Apparently he has very sharp hearing?” Masahiro leaned forward a little.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Shigeru said. “We all have sharp hearing when we are young.”
“Sit up, young man,” Masahiro said to me. When I did so, he studied my face for a few moments and then asked, “Who is in the garden?”
I furrowed my brow as if the idea of counting them had only just occurred to me. “Two children and a dog,” I hazarded. “A gardener by the wall?”
“And how many people in the household would you estimate?”
I shrugged slightly, then thought it was very impolite and tried to turn it into a bow. “Upwards of forty-five? Forgive me, Lord Otori, I have no great talents.”
“How many are there, brother?” Lord Shoichi asked.
“Fifty-three, I believe.”
“Impressive,” the older brother said, but I heard his sigh of relief.
I bowed to the floor again and, feeling safer there, stayed low.
“We ha
ve delayed in this matter of adoption for so long, Shigeru, because of our uncertainty as to your state of mind. Grief seemed to have made you very unstable.”
“There is no uncertainty in my mind,” Shigeru replied. “I have no living children, and now that Takeshi is dead, I have no heir. I have obligations to this boy, and he to me, that must be fulfilled. He is already accepted by my household and has made his home with us. I ask that this situation be formalized and that he be adopted into the Otori clan.”
“What does the boy say?”
“Speak, Takeo,” Lord Shigeru prompted me.
I sat up, swallowing hard, suddenly overwhelmed by a deep emotion. I thought of the horse, shying as my heart shied now. “I owe my life to Lord Otori. He owes me nothing. The honor he is bestowing is far too great for me, but if it is his—and your lordships’—will, I accept with all my heart. I will serve the Otori clan faithfully all my life.”
“Then it may be so,” Lord Shoichi said.
“The documents are prepared,” Lord Masahiro added. “We will sign them immediately.”
“My uncles are very gracious and kind,” Shigeru said. “I thank you.”
“There is another matter, Shigeru, in which we seek your co-operation.”
I had dropped to the floor again. My heart lurched in my throat. I wanted to warn him in some way, but of course I could not speak.
“You are aware of our negotiations with the Tohan. We feel alliance is preferable to war. We know your opinion. You are still young enough to be rash. . . .”
“At nearly thirty years, I can no longer be called young.” Again Shigeru stated this fact calmly, as though there could be no arguing with it. “And I have no desire for war for its own sake. It is not the alliance that I object to as such: It is the current nature and conduct of the Tohan.”
His uncles made no response to this remark, but the atmosphere in the room chilled a little. Shigeru also said nothing more. He had made his viewpoint clear enough—too clear for his uncles’ liking. Lord Masahiro made a sign to the steward, who clapped his hands quietly, and a few moments later tea appeared, brought by a maid who might have been invisible. The three Otori lords drank. I was not offered any.
