Deadly Flowers

by Sarah L. Thomson

  But there was another window, here in this very room. Minutes later the three of us were scrambling out of it.

  I swung myself up to the roof, two stories above the ground, and then lay flat, stretching out my hand to the boy. He took it and got himself up without too much effort, his bare feet giving him purchase on the slippery tiles.

  Saiko’s kimono dragged at her when she tried to follow; the thing weighed more than a heavy child. I groaned silently, gripped her wrists, and tried to haul her up by my own strength. The boy wiggled closer to grab at the shoulder of her kimono and help as best he could.

  Between the three of us, we managed it at last, but we slipped and slid on the tiles of the roof, and the operation was not quiet. A latch lifted below us and a window screen slid open. “Who’s there?” asked a voice, slurred with sleep and rice wine.

  We stayed frozen on the roof, listening. Seconds slid by, slow as blood seeping through a bandage. If we were seen …

  Well, I could run. But the two of them? Never. I’d have to leave them behind, and my mission would be more of a failure than it already was.

  The voice grunted and the window slid shut.

  I lifted a hand in warning. We held still while I counted slowly to fifty. Then I drew my knife from my belt.

  I heard the faintest gasp in the darkness before I sliced through Saiko’s obi and yanked the heavy green silk off her back. Her under-robe was plain, and the silk was much lighter; hopefully it would not weigh her down. We left her outer kimono in a crumpled heap, with her socks on top. Bare feet would keep her from slipping. I hoped.

  I didn’t like it, leaving belongings behind, like a banner announcing the way we’d gone. But we had no choice. I beckoned, and we fled.

  Oh, the two of them were slow. And loud. It was like dragging two enormous boulders behind me. But we managed to get across the roof, to the northeast corner, where we’d have the shortest distance to cover before we were once more in the trees.

  I swung myself to the ground, and Saiko followed. The boy hesitated. We didn’t have time for hesitation. I gestured angrily at him to come down.

  He slid over the edge awkwardly, dangling from one hand. Little Ozu would have done it better. Then his fingers slipped, and he fell.

  I shoved Saiko aside and caught him in midair. He wasn’t that heavy, but enough to knock us both sprawling in the soft dirt. At least he knew enough not to make a sound.

  Even so, I clamped a hand over his mouth and waited until I could be sure his incompetence had attracted no attention. Then I pushed him off and rose to my feet. Crouching, we made it to the tall grass, and then into the trees. Under the shelter of their branches I drew in my first full breath in what seemed like years.

  If I’d only had myself to worry about, I could simply have run downhill until I met the wall, climbed it, and vanished into the dark. But there was no hope that Saiko and the boy would be able to scale a wall. We’d need that beech tree.

  I just had to find the cursed thing.

  I crawled through bushes, skirted ponds, dodged boulders, paused and backtracked and walked in circles, Saiko and the boy stumbling at my heels. And I found nothing, nothing, that looked familiar.

  The sun would come up and the three of us would still be wandering here. Oh, Lord Whoever-You-Are, we were admiring the elegant bridge over this pond, the one that idiot boy just stumbled into up to his knees …

  The idiot boy, standing stupefied in the water, made a choked, gulping sound, as if something was stuck in his throat.

  When I turned to tell him to keep his mouth shut, I saw what he was looking at.

  Her kimono was white. Her face was white, too, and she seemed to glimmer against a stand of smoky dark cypress, as if she’d been shaped out of cloud and would soon drift apart and blow away.

  At first I knew she would scream, and we would be lost. Then I knew she was a ghost, and we were worse than lost—we were cursed.

  But when she walked a few steps toward us, I saw her feet in sandals and neat white socks just under the skirt of her kimono. Then I knew she was no ghost. But I didn’t trust that she was human either.

  I’d never seen a face like hers. Saiko was beautiful, but next to this woman, she looked as plain as—well, as plain as me.

  Her eyes were narrow and elegant and black. Her eyebrows lifted over them like graceful wings, and they made her whole face seem light and daring, as if at any moment she could dart away into the sky. Her red lips opened, and her teeth were even as a row of pearls. Why had I expected them to be filed to sharp points, like a hungry animal’s?

  It did not occur to me, then, to wonder how I could see so many details of her face, there in the dark of the garden, away from any fire or lantern.

  My sword was in my hand, as if her beauty were something to fight. But she did not step back or put up her hands for mercy. She only stretched out one arm and pointed. The long sleeve of her kimono swung like a white wave in the black air.

  “That way,” she said simply. Her voice was not what I had expected—low and warm and somehow rough, as though she might have growled as easily as she had spoken. Once the words left her mouth, she stepped between two tree trunks, and in a moment she was gone.

  Saiko started to move in the direction the woman had pointed. The boy sloshed to the edge of the pool and climbed out.

  “Wait!” I whispered.

  “She said this way.” Saiko glanced back at me.

  “And you believed her?” Why should we obey directions from a mysterious woman in white, haunting a nighttime garden? Why would she help us? Why should we trust her?

  Saiko’s voice was calm, but she shrugged my hand off her arm. “You’re lost. And we must go some way. This is as good as any other.”

  Then we heard the noise.

  I didn’t know if someone had seen the cut I’d left in the door screen and checked the boy’s room, or if someone had found Saiko’s kimono on the roof, or if the woman in white had set pursuers on us. All I knew was that, from uphill, voices shouted. And I glimpsed lantern light bobbing between the trees.

  The hunt was on.

  Ninjas should not curse. I cursed. Then I dropped to my knees, and dug inside my pockets. The fickle moon was my ally for the moment, giving enough light that I could see what to do. Later on it might betray us all.

  “Go,” I whispered at Saiko. “Look for a beech tree by the wall, and wait there. I’ll find you.”

  She went, the boy following, in the direction the woman in white had told us.

  Small wooden boxes, five of them, strung on a waxed cord—my fingers found them, and I pulled them out and laid them in the soft grass, stretching the cord between each one to its full length.

  Everything was damp from my swim through the moat. But not so damp that this would not work.

  I hoped.

  I fished another box from inside my jacket. My fingers slid over the slick surface and found the catch. Lacquer and wax on the outside of the box had kept water from the chunk of flint and piece of steel inside.

  I took the knife from my sleeve and quickly frayed one end of the cord. The soft heart of the silk was still dry enough to catch the spark that leapt onto it when I struck my flint with my steel.

  I waited while the spark grew into a tiny flame, even as the voices uphill grew louder. Then I ran after Saiko and the boy.

  They were at the base of the tree. So the stranger in the white kimono had been trustworthy after all—so far, at least. I’d caught up to them when the first of my gunpowder boxes exploded.

  The boy nearly jumped out of his skin. I had no time to explain. “Follow!” I ordered, and was up the tree before he’d turned to stare.

  As my second box exploded, I leaned down to grab the boy’s hand and pull him up. We made it to the fork in the tree where the branch stretched out toward the wall, about two stories above the ground, and waited while Saiko struggled up below. She made the tree shake as if a bear were climbing it. But the noise and con
fusion in the garden below would hide a great deal. With luck we’d be over the wall and away before anyone inside the castle realized they’d been tricked.

  Luck had been lacking from this mission for some time, however.

  “I’ll go first,” I murmured. “Then you.” I touched the boy’s arm. “Saiko, you last. Lie flat on this branch and crawl for as long as you can stay on it. Then swing from your hands. I’ll help as much as I can. Saiko, make sure he’s on the wall before you start. The branch won’t hold two.”

  “I don’t know if I can hold on,” the boy said humbly.

  Those were his first words to me. He sounded ashamed, as if he hated to be causing trouble, but just couldn’t help it.

  “Haven’t you ever climbed a tree before?” I asked impatiently.

  The boy held out his right hand. The palm was black with blood in the moonlight, and a gash was still oozing.

  “I cut it on a broken tile on the roof. I’m sorry,” he said.

  It was a bad cut, and he hadn’t made a sound at the time. I began to have a glimmer of respect for him, even as I wondered if he’d left a trail of blood all over that roof. Was that how our pursuers had tracked us? Right now was not the moment to wonder about it. Right now I had to get the boy over to the wall.

  I was already untying the wide cotton belt around my waist as the third explosion cracked the night open, and the yelling in the garden below doubled in volume. My belt was more than a belt, actually—wide enough to be a cloak or a hood, strong enough to tie up an enemy, long enough to help me climb a wall or mount a roof.

  I tied the cloth quickly around the boy’s chest, just under his arms, and slipped the loop on the free end over my wrist.

  “Lie flat on the branch, and don’t move until I’m across,” I instructed in a low voice. “When I’m on the wall, crawl out as far as you can go. When you can’t crawl any more, slide off. I’ll pull you up. Use your hands and feet to help me. Understand?” He nodded. His eyes were wide, his face solemn. He was frightened. Good. A frightened boy would listen. He would follow my commands.

  I made it across, twisted the cloth loose from my wrist, and gripped it tightly in both hands. Then I knelt, so the boy’s weight would not (I hoped) pull me off balance.

  He crept out along the tree limb. Cautiously. Too cautiously. How much time did we have? I didn’t know. I could only hope every guard along the wall had run to investigate the sound of my gunpowder boxes exploding. If they had not, we were all dead.

  The boy tried to crawl a little quicker. But when the branch began to wobble under him, he slowed again.

  I saw him slip, tightened my grip, and braced myself for his weight. He swung from the tree and toward the wall. Please, let no one be watching from below …

  He had the sense to use his feet to break the force of his impact against the wall, but still he hung breathless for a few moments while I began to haul him up.

  It was not easy. He helped as much as he could, but the injured hand made him clumsy.

  Saiko began to creep out along the tree branch. Hopefully, she could manage for herself. Dragging one person up this wall was work enough.

  The fourth box exploded. The boy was closer. I hauled again, wedged the slack cloth under my knee, got a fresh grip.

  His left hand appeared over the edge. I grabbed it with my right, leaned over, and looked down into the boy’s relieved smile.

  The smile melted into a look of horror.

  His hand was slick with sweat, as was mine. My grip was slipping.

  Frantically the boy kicked and dug at the wall with his toes, making himself swing. I hissed at him to be still, or he’d have us both over.

  At that moment, I could have let his hand slide free. I could have let him go. This wall was higher than a house; he would not have been likely to survive the fall.

  My belt was still tied around his chest, but I did not have to grab the free end. I could have claimed to Saiko that it had been an accident, that he’d been gone before I could save him.

  It was what I’d been sent to do. It was what I’d been trained to do. And I never once thought of doing it.

  As his left hand slid farther through mine, the boy scrabbled at his neck with his right. Was he choking? On what? Why now?

  He pulled something over his head and thrust it at me. “Take it!” he gasped, terrified.

  “Get my other hand!” I was flat on the wall now, reaching for him with my left hand while clinging as hard as I could with my right.

  “Take it!” It was a whisper and a scream, and as I got a grip on his free hand I felt something between our palms, something small and round and hard.

  Then I heaved with all the strength in both my arms, and he was on top of the wall. Saiko landed beside us, dropping to her knees to grab at the boy’s shoulders. He was quivering like a rabbit. I heard him bite back a sob.

  She could deal with him now. It was entirely her fault that he was here at all.

  SEVEN

  On the top of the castle wall, I shoved whatever the boy had given me into a pocket so I could have both hands free to tie knots in my belt, one every two feet. I heard my fifth and last gunpowder box blow, drove one of my iron stakes into a crack between two stones, and dropped the loop of the belt over it.

  “Slide down. Go,” I whispered.

  Saiko peered into the watery blackness. “I can’t swim.”

  Of course she couldn’t. “Can you?” I demanded of the boy.

  He nodded.

  “Then you go down first. Swim for the opposite side. Saiko, you climb down next and wait till I come. Hold onto the belt. I’ll get you across.” If I didn’t leave her to drown as she richly deserved for turning my simple mission into this—I didn’t even have a word for it, what the three of us were in the middle of. This—this mess.

  The boy went over. I didn’t hear the splash. But I did feel the rope go slack.

  Then Saiko.

  And then me.

  The water of the moat felt cool on the aching muscles in my arms. I whispered to Saiko to float on her back. She had both hands still locked around my dangling belt, and she didn’t obey. I could feel her shaking.

  “Drowning is a better death than being hit by an arrow,” I growled at her. “Let go!”

  With a gasp, she did so, and I pulled her onto her back and set out to drag her across with me. She gripped my forearm, across her chest, with both hands as tightly as a samurai grips his sword. She was terrified.

  Well, she deserved to be. She should be peacefully asleep on a soft futon inside the castle at this moment. She was supposed to be there. She was not supposed to be clinging to my arm, slowing down my escape.

  And the boy … the boy was supposed to be dead.

  “It’s all right,” I gasped, and spat out a mouthful of water and scum. “I won’t let you drown.”

  I wouldn’t swear not to strangle her once we reached the shore. But I supposed I could promise not to let the water have her. We’d gotten to the other side of the moat when a soldier found my belt hanging from the wall.

  One day some genius of a ninja will invent a rope that unknots itself and comes when you call it, one that you don’t have to leave hanging behind to announce how and where you escaped.

  The guards would never have spotted me, all in black, like my ally the night. But Saiko was in white silk, and the boy in undyed cotton. Arrows came humming through the air like maddened bees. All we could do was run.

  They would not follow us down the wall; soldiers were trained for fighting, not for climbing. Not in full armor, certainly, and carrying weapons and shields to weigh them down. They’d have to run along the wall to the stairs and then find a gate. We had a few minutes.

  Maybe two.

  At least one.

  We headed uphill, for the forest where I had watched the sun go down. Fortunately, I hadn’t been idle while I was waiting.

  “Get in!” I gasped, sliding to my knees beside the muddy hole I’d dug under
the shelter of a little overhang along a small ridge of rock. The boy understood, and slithered in. Saiko gave a gasp of horror. I knew what she was thinking. Dirt, spiders, centipedes, worms …

  I shoved her in, piled dead leaves and branches over both of them, and leaped for a limb of the pine tree overhead.

  I had only dug one hole. I hadn’t thought I’d need to hide anyone but myself.

  One last effort from my tired arms, and I was up. But not high enough. There was another, wider branch above me that I had my eye on. I made it just before the first of the soldiers burst into the wood.

  I lay flat and still, pressing my face against the tree’s rough bark. The living sap inside the wood sent back a faint echo of my heartbeat.

  This is how to stay invisible: Be where no one will look.

  When people are searching a wood at night, they look behind trees. They poke spears into bushes. They shout “There you are!” to startle their quarry into movement.

  But they do not expect their prey to turn into a badger or a mole, and burrow into the earth. Or into an owl, taking refuge among branches and leaves. They rarely look down. And they rarely look up.

  Rarely, of course, does not mean never.

  One of the soldiers stopped beneath my tree.

  Once, when I was younger, I’d held my breath when I was hiding, until I could not hold it anymore. My gasp for air led the instructor right to me. I remembered the crack of bamboo across my shoulders.

  So I did not hold my breath now. I let it ease out slowly between my lips. Moving air in the nose may squeak or hum. Moving air in the mouth is silent.

  I welded myself to the branch. It was broad enough to stay steady beneath me.

  He could not have heard me. He could not have seen me.

  But he didn’t go.

  I stared down at his helmet. His shoulders. The dark lumpish shape of him in the shadow.