Deadly Flowers

by Sarah L. Thomson

  In any castle, it’s always fairly easy to find the kitchen. Most of the servants are headed there. You simply pick one to follow. My first led me to the laundry, which was not helpful, but then I caught sight of a skinny boy lugging a heavy basket of radishes and greens across an inner courtyard. It wasn’t hard to bump into him and knock him sprawling.

  “Clumsy pig! Look what you’ve done!” he shouted.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry,” I whimpered, and dropped down to crawl after an errant radish. “I’ll help. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to!” We scooped up the slightly bruised vegetables and piled them back into the basket. “Let me,” I panted, and seized one of the handles. “You take that one.”

  He only grunted, but he was glad enough of the help, and it gave me an excellent excuse to enter the kitchen.

  There, everyone was too busy to notice me at all. Fish were being skinned and boned by knives far deadlier than anything in Madame Chiyome’s armory. Rice was steaming and bear paws soaked in honey were simmering. And apparently the pitchers of rice wine could not be filled fast enough.

  When a maid thumped a full one down on the table, I snatched it up. By the time she turned her head to look for it, I was following two more servants back outside the kitchen and across a courtyard to the mansion and its banquet chamber.

  The guests were all kneeling around low tables or leaning back on bright cushions. Servants knelt to fill wine cups and offer trays of sharp little pickles, or cakes oozing sweet bean paste, or sliced fish arranged to look like flowers in full bloom.

  It was not easy to spot Lord Yoshisane through the crowd. Did he look like his two brothers, the ones I’d seen in the vision? I could not be sure. As I knelt to pour wine into cups thrust toward me, I sent my gaze darting about the room.

  The music that had been dancing over our heads finished with a sweet swirl of notes, and I saw the tall young man from the actors’ troupe take his wooden flute from his lips and bow humbly before a man wearing a white sleeveless robe over a long black kimono. On the white silk, a silver dragonfly fluttered its wings with the man’s every breath.

  A hand in a brown sleeve thrust a cup at me, and I splashed the wine in carelessly, my eyes on the man in black. Some of the pale liquid sloshed over the rim.

  “Forgive me, master,” I whispered, cringing. Stupid and careless of me. Now the samurai, whoever he was, would probably kick me. It wouldn’t be in character for me to dodge, and certainly not to break his leg.

  But there was something odd about that sake. Instead of dripping off the man’s hand, the liquid began to bubble on his skin. It sizzled like water on a hot pan, and then vanished into the air with a little plume of steam.

  As I stared, not quite believing my eyes, the man whose sake I’d spilled, instead of kicking me, reached over to take a firm grasp on my hair.

  I gasped. His hand was hot, and the skin on the back of my neck ached as it would after a long day in the sun.

  He had a bloodstained bandage on one ear.

  Frowning, he turned my head slowly from side to side, as if he were studying my face or the arrangement of my hair. His eyes were black, like any human eyes, but something red flickered over their surface, a reflection of flame. Something inside him was burning.

  I’d spilled sake on Saiko’s uncle. And Saiko had been wrong about him. The problem wasn’t that he had no heart. The truth was, he had no soul—at least, no human soul.

  Kashihara Hikosane was a demon.

  I’d have to kill him. It was my only chance. But his own samurai were seated all around him. I might stab him through the heart with my sharp steel rod or the knife I’d stolen from the kitchen and hidden in my sleeve, but what were my chances of getting out of the room afterward?

  Not good.

  Lord Hikosane’s hand tightened at the back of my neck, and I felt the skin there about to burn. Then something across the room seemed to catch his attention. I strained my eyes sideways and saw that he was looking at a man wearing a black kimono, and at a girl in a bright orange-red robe kneeling at his feet.

  Hikosane rose, flinging me aside harder than should have been possible, so that I tumbled across the floor, sprawling in a litter of broken pottery and spilt rice wine. He stood up and took a step toward Saiko.

  He did it clumsily, as though walking were something he was not used to doing.

  I rolled to my knees, drew my kitchen knife from my sleeve, and threw it. But it was not balanced like the throwing knife I was used to, the one Hikosane’s men had taken from me, and my aim was off. The knife sang through the air inches from Lord Hikosane’s head and forced two guests behind him to dodge, before it tore through a paper screen and vanished.

  “Saiko!” I shouted, over the panic that was starting to fill the hall. “Don’t let him touch you!”

  Good advice. Hikosane had flinched from my knife, stumbled, and fallen. Where his hands touched the polished bamboo slats of the floor, two black, smoldering patches appeared. Whatever was inside him was coming to the surface, his human façade burning away like a wisp of silk in the fire.

  Saiko screamed and scrambled back as the demon that had once been her uncle heaved himself up and reached for her throat. Or, rather, for the necklace hanging there.

  Hikosane’s neck was lengthening. His hair was falling out. All around, people were screaming, cursing, running, crying. No one had any weapons, of course; no one would have insulted Lord Yoshisane by coming armed into his banquet hall.

  Someone tripped over me and fell, headlong, while I sat on the floor, staring openmouthed, as if I had never seen a demon before. But this one—this one was worse than all the rest.

  A monstrous snakelike creature writhed out of Lord Hikosane’s kimono, leaving a puddle of brown silk on the floor. A mouth gaped; yellow fangs seemed to grow by the second. I’d wrestled a giant centipede, I’d punched a double-mouthed woman in the teeth, I’d fought off a nue—but this? I’d never been trained to fight a snake three times as large as me.

  Lord Yoshisane had staggered to his feet and was shouting for his men. Armed soldiers poured into the room. Arrows flew at the demon, but they burst into flame in midair.

  Bamboo, teak, paper, lacquer—this banquet hall would be burning like a torch within a moment.

  My knife was gone. My garrote was useless. The steel rod in my sleeve would do as much damage to this creature as a mosquito’s bite. But what about fire? Could I fight this demon with its own weapon?

  I leaped up and ran, heading for a lantern hanging from a wall as the demon reared up to strike at Saiko. She dodged and screamed. The snake snarled, a sound that might have been a laugh.

  Lord Yoshisane shouted again.

  My hand closed around the lantern.

  The snake’s tail lashed, toppling Lord Yoshisane like a doll.

  I flung the lantern at the demon’s head, splattering burning oil onto its face.

  The snake hissed, snapping its head around to look at me and giving Saiko a few seconds to back away. A black tongue flickered from its mouth, licking hungrily at the flames.

  Well, perhaps fire was not the right weapon …

  “Kata!” Saiko shrieked. “Catch!”

  And she flung the pearl at me. Even the demon was startled, I think. It snapped at the jewel in midair, like a dog trying to catch a bothersome wasp, but it missed.

  Before my hand had even closed around the pearl, I’d wished.

  TWENTY

  Mist swirled around me and knit itself into a shape. It was hard to look at, brighter than fire. I shielded my eyes and squeezed them closed, but the light from the thing still burned my skin.

  The snake-demon squealed in panic.

  I heard words, perhaps not with my ears. They were slick and oily, seeming to slide into my mind, chuckling with delight at their own evil.

  Ah, it’s been a long time. Laughter that made me cringe. I haven’t had a good fight in too many years. Shall I take care of this snakeling for you?

  I m
anaged to nod, my eyes still shut tight.

  Easily done. And then, little one, we’ll see …

  There was a shriek, and a grinding, splintering crash.

  Now look. I will not harm your eyes.

  Cautiously I peeled my hand away from my face and opened my eyes.

  He was beautiful, my demon. He had soft, shadowy wings and a samurai’s two swords. He had a cat’s sleepy golden eyes. He had Ryoichi’s soft, gentle face.

  Ryoichi’s face?

  And then the demon laughed, again, and flesh peeled and fell from the face to reveal moldy bone underneath. I bit back my scream. I would not cower. If this thing wanted my soul, it would take it. But it would not have my honor as well.

  I heard a voice in my head again, and it was not the demon’s. It was an instructor’s from long ago, a man whose name I’d never known.

  Never throw your last knife.

  With the hand that was not holding a pearl on a chain, I reached inside my jacket to draw the second knife I’d stolen from the kitchen. The skull facing me grinned even wider. What did I think I’d do to a demon like this with a knife meant for scaling fish?

  I turned the knife toward myself, resting the point just below my breastbone, where the ribs came together.

  Was it possible that the empty eye sockets of the skull had widened?

  One quick thrust. That would be all it would take.

  When a samurai took the honorable path to ending his own life, a companion usually stood by with a sword to quickly strike off his head. But a ninja was not likely to have a friend close by to end her suffering. I’d have to wait out the minutes until my soul escaped with my blood.

  But once my soul was in the underworld, I doubted that any demon could fetch it back. From the way this one was hesitating, it doubted as well.

  Oh, no, not yet, the skull said, grinning at me.

  The face rebuilt itself, and to my shame, I flinched. My hand twitched, the knife pulled away from my skin, and I took a step back without realizing it. When my foot came down on a chunk of broken pottery, I fell in a clumsy heap.

  Now it was Madame who peered down at me, disgust on her face. She tipped her head to one side, considering what to do with such a useless girl. Not yet, she told me. Your soul … it isn’t quite finished. I look forward to seeing what becomes of it.

  And she was gone. I sat there, dazed, in the middle of a ruined banquet hall, my knife in one hand, a pearl necklace in the other. I pulled the chain over my head and tucked the jewel away inside my jacket, fingering the thin gold ring.

  Lord Yoshisane was getting unsteadily to his feet, holding up his black sleeve to blot the blood that was dripping down his cheek. On the other side of the room, Saiko, on the floor like me, pushed her hair back from her face and stared.

  Between us lay the charred body of a man in a deep brown kimono, his soul devoured a long time ago.

  It all took a considerable amount of explaining. Luckily that was Saiko’s task, not mine. Lord Yoshisane, once he’d grasped that the demon who had so rudely interrupted his banquet was truly gone, had quickly and quietly taken charge. His startled guests were bidden farewell. His brother’s body, what was left of it, was removed. Servants were ordered to set the hall to rights. Saiko was whisked away to make it clear to him why we were in his castle, how we had gotten here, why his family treasure was in the possession of a young, grubby, tired, and female ninja, and incidentally, what had become of his nephew.

  I was brought to another room to wait.

  This time I was not in a cell. I had a small, windowless room to myself. There were fresh, clean mats on the floor and an elegant piece of calligraphy on a wall. But I thought that, if I tried to leave, I was likely to find out that this was also a prison.

  I could have gotten out anyway. I’d been twelve years old the last time a lock had defeated me. But I found I didn’t want to try. I had been running for—how long? It was impossible to remember. Since the night I’d crept into Ichiro’s room and knelt by his bed with a knife?

  Or since a time long before that?

  Enough. I’d reached my destination. I thought I would stay here for at least a few hours.

  Besides, servants kept entering and bowing and leaving food on the low table beside me, and I discovered that I was ravenous. Confronting a demon, or two, seemed to leave me shaky and hollow inside. I ate salmon and sea bream with sharp ginger, rice, pickles and radishes, melon and pear and fried cakes both sweet and savory. I drank cup after cup of tea, but let the wine sit untouched. I might need my wits about me later.

  It turned out that my wits did not help me much.

  I had lifted the last sweet cake to my lips when the door slid open and Lord Yoshisane came in. Behind him was Madame Chiyome.

  The cake plopped back to the plate, but my chopsticks stayed poised in midair.

  Like a pot with a tight lid, Madame looked serene but she was bubbling with rage. I could tell by looking at her smile. And there was no one in the room but me to be her target.

  “Bow, child,” she said mildly. “This lord will think I have taught you no manners.”

  I dropped my chopsticks and pressed my face to the mat, although every inch of skin on my back prickled as I made myself so vulnerable.

  Then I rose to my knees as Lord Yoshisane settled himself on the mat beside the table and gestured for Madame to do the same.

  One exit to the room, behind him. I doubted I could reach it. And even if I did, what then? How far would I get in a castle where every servant and soldier and samurai would be hunting me down?

  If you get free, don’t come back, Masako had told me. I’d done the first, but not the second. I’d be back at the school by nightfall. And I’d never get a second chance to escape. Madame would see to that.

  She was a ninja, too.

  “My niece, Saiko, has told me a remarkable story,” Lord Yoshisane was saying politely to Madame. “Wine? Please, honor me by tasting a little.” Madame took the cup with her eyes still on me. “It is, hmmm, surprising that these two were able to come so far, and bearing what they have borne. Two girls. I would not have thought it possible.” He poured his own wine and rolled the small, smooth cup gently between his palms. “Some of the credit must go to their teacher, of course.” He gave Madame a little bow. “Still, I must say it again. Remarkable.”

  He set the cup down without sipping from it and turned to me. “You could, of course, simply hand the pearl back to me. One little cut with a knife, and you would be free of the burden. But I don’t imagine that would be to your liking. No, I thought not.”

  “You could be made to, girl,” Madame hissed suddenly, leaning forward, her eyes as cold and unblinking as a snake’s.

  Yes, I could be made to hand the pearl over. I had no doubt. If Madame preferred not to kill me herself, she had no shortage of hired knives. It could be quick if she felt merciful.

  I could not remember a time when Madame had felt merciful.

  “I would not dream of putting you to such trouble simply to retrieve a family bauble,” Yoshisane told her politely. “No, indeed. Instead, allow me to take a problem off your hands. How much would you ask for such a rebellious and troublesome agent?”

  Madame was more startled than I was.

  “You wish to hire Kata? For a mission?” Madame covered the surprise on her face with a smile. “Well, she is one of my most skilled girls, of course, so the fee—”

  “Of course,” Yoshisane replied. “But—forgive me, you misunderstand. I do not wish to hire her. I wish to buy her. She would be permanently in my service.”

  “Well.” Madame sipped rice wine and patted her lips dry. “Well. It’s hard to estimate the value of a girl like Kata. Years of training, you know. She’s been in my care since she could barely talk. More like a daughter of my own than a pupil. So difficult to put a price on that.”

  “All mothers, sadly, must part with their daughters one day,” Yoshisane said with sympathy. “Even such a disobed
ient daughter as this one. She actually ran away from your house, did she not? After failing entirely in her first mission?”

  “Failing?” Madame laughed. “To bring your cherished niece and nephew to safety? To protect them from every threat? You call that failure?” There was not the slightest hint in her voice or on her face that two of those threats had been in her pay and under her command.

  “But it was not what she had been hired to do,” Yoshisane pointed out. “If my brother was not unfortunately—mmm—unavailable, I believe you’d be returning his fee to him. Perhaps we should consider what he gave you to be a down payment on Kata’s services to me.”

  More laughter. “I hardly think—”

  “No,” I whispered.

  For the first time since they had started their bargaining, they both turned to look at me.

  “You wish to return to the school?” Lord Yoshisane asked, his eyebrows rising slightly.

  “No.” The word came from my mouth a second time, husky and faint, like the speech of a ghost.

  I didn’t want to go back, not at all. And here was Saiko’s uncle, offering to keep me and the pearl I owned out of Madame’s clutches. What kind of a fool would object to that?

  If you get free, don’t come back, Masako had said.

  She had not said, If you get free, stay free.

  But that might have been what she meant. And it was what I wanted.

  Not to be bought or sold like a sack of rice. Not to be a knife in someone else’s hand. To be free like a village with no warlord, like a band of thieves who rode where they chose. Perhaps even like a monk who had finally found a worthy opponent, even if that opponent was himself.

  Madame’s hand against my cheek knocked me sprawling. Before my head cleared, she had a handful of my hair and her face was inches from mine.

  “Do you think you have a word to say here?” she hissed. Lord Yoshisane was courteously pretending that he could not see or hear us. “You are worth something, girl. But that does not make you important.” She dropped her voice even further. “And every word out of your mouth now lowers your value. So let there be no more.”