However impressive the prince may have looked, the instant he opened his mouth he demolished any sense of awe his costume might have built up. He cut into Satoshi’s formal thanks for the gift of Akemi in a way hardly consistent with pride in good manners. “It is most unfair,” the prince said, and his voice was the shrill screech of some insignificant small bird, “that my house is accused of malingering. It is not that we refuse to pay taxes. We are unable to.”
“The harvest in Yamanokage has utterly failed, has it?” The comment was meant as a sour joke, so it was with some shock that Satoshi saw the prince solemnly nod his head, as though the dead rice had been his personal possession. Satoshi found himself looking more closely at the prince. He didn’t much enjoy being ordered about by his brother as if he were some household servant, but he found himself enjoying this old man even less. “The nôshi you are wearing,” he said, “looks rather new for a loyal servant who claims to be unable to pay a single koku in taxes.”
“The peasants in Yamanokage are starving. Is that not suffering enough?” The prince sniffed and ate a tiny rice ball — having offered nothing to his guests.
“Perhaps it isn’t,” Satoshi said. “Tell me more about your problem with the rice harvest.”
“I’m not a farmer,” the prince said, pronouncing the word as if naming a species of pest. “I can’t tell you anything other than that rice does not come in.”
Satoshi looked away from the prince. Hideki was rolling his eyes, not even trying to disguise his contempt. “Allow me to remind you,” Satoshi said, still not looking at the prince, “that farmers feed us. They may not be as favoured by heaven, but they still deserve our — your — respect.” He got to his feet. “Please excuse us,” he said, using words and intonation that were as far from respectful as it was possible to be, “but it is time for us to be going.”
Hideki got up, taking care to knock over his teacup as he rose.
“You should have told him to enjoy his new nôshi,” Hideki said as they walked away from the prince. “It’s likely to be the last he can afford for a long time.”
“I’d rather leave him wondering what I’m going to do,” Satoshi said. “Gives me more options.”
“My lord,” Prince Isao whined from behind them, “I wish you will hurry up and get this problem solved. It reflects so badly on me. The headman and the villagers haven’t given me any answers at all about the crop failure.”
Satoshi turned around; the prince was clearly upset — it showed in his face as well as in the way he’d used an honorific in addressing Satoshi. Nothing at all? he wondered. That’s odd. Aloud he said, “I cannot imagine why they would be so reluctant.”
“But how am I to feed my household?”
“Live more frugally,” Satoshi said. More quietly, he said to Hideki, “We have to go to Yamanokage and see what’s going on.”
“This is not my idea of a good time,” Hideki said after his horse had slipped for a third time on the muddy turf that some dared call a road into the hills. “So of course your brother would call this a vacation.”
After looking over his shoulder to ensure that Akemi was safe and the pack animals and servants still moving well, Satoshi turned to grin at his friend. “You could have it a lot worse, you know. Masa could have come with us.”
Hideki choked in theatrical fashion. “I take your point.”
“At least this way there’s a chance you and I can get a bit of drinking in while we work.” Satoshi looked ahead. The road, or what he could see of it, was getting worse the further they got from Lake Biwa. “How much farther do we have to go, do you think?” This was their second day out from Heian-kyo, and nearly the end of that day, too. Last night’s accommodation had been primitive enough; if the condition of the road was any indication, tonight might find them sleeping in the open.
“We’ll have to stop soon no matter where we are,” Hideki said. “Sun’s going down soon.” He kicked his horse into a canter. “I’ll see what’s beyond this hill,” he said as he passed Satoshi.
Hideki disappeared into the trees that loomed over the road like the beams of some enormous roof. For a moment Satoshi just sat, listening as the sound of the horse’s footfalls were swallowed up by the forest. Then he nudged his own horse back into movement, waving the others forward after him.
He rejoined Hideki at the crest of the hill, from which the trees had largely been cut down. “We’re here, I think,” Hideki said. He pointed down the hill, to a town — more a village, really — wreathed in smoke and drowsy with autumn stillness. “Nikawa, right?”
Satoshi reined in his horse and looked a moment. The late afternoon sun turned the red-and-gold trees to lanterns and glinted on the two rivers that gave the town its name. Overlooking the rivers’ confluence at the outskirts was an old castle, not a grand residence but a businesslike fortification that had fallen greatly into disrepair and looked only fitfully maintained. Farther along the river lay the graceful building that Satoshi thought the town’s best feature: a tavern, locally famous for the high quality of its shochu.
“Yes,” he said to Hideki. “This is Nikawa.” He sighed. “I’d much rather we just stopped there at the River House. Wonder if I’d make a good tavern keeper?”
Hideki grinned, his good humour evidently restored by the end of the journey. “They have to work awfully hard, brother,” he said. “It’s not a job that appeals to me.”
Satoshi made a disgusted sound and was about to reply when something fell on his head. He brushed it off; it was a plum pit. He looked up, then pointed for his companions to look as well. Balanced on a tree branch above them, a fat raccoon dog was eating late plums, not very neatly.
“He’s getting ready for his winter sleep,” said Akemi. “Lucky fellow, to have found his own plum tree.”
“I think I was born into the wrong species,” said Satoshi. “I’d have made a great tanuki.”
Hideki’s laugh, Satoshi thought, had a nervous edge to it. Maybe he thinks I’m losing my mind. “You want to be a raccoon dog?” said Hideki. “You want to eat seeds and frogs, and live in a hole?”
“No, not that kind of tanuki. A youkai tanuki. You know — the shape-changing kind. The ones who spend their time pretending to be humans: lying around, drinking sake, playing tricks on people. They enjoy life. What’s wrong with that?”
Hideki was frowning now. “I really can’t see you as a trickster,” he said. “You have too much regard for other people’s feelings. Not to mention their well-being.”
Satoshi snorted. “Well, now that we’re here let’s get on with it. If I don’t resolve this tax-shortfall business, Masa’s going to put my well-being in a sling.”
“I think perhaps we could ride a trifle more quickly, Hirota-san,” said Akemi, with a faint smile.
“You ride out in front, then, my lady,” said Satoshi, amused. “No doubt you’ll be a more welcome sight than the rest of us.”
Akemi cocked an eyebrow at him. “I am sometimes dangerous, when I have free reign,” she said. “You should be careful.” She urged her horse to motion, setting a brisk pace along the road. Watching her, Satoshi found himself shifting in his saddle. He bit his lower lip.
“What’s Masahiro’s problem, anyway?” asked Hideki in an undertone, as the two men urged their horses along the road behind Akemi. “I mean, no disrespect intended or anything, but why’s your brother always riding you?”
Satoshi was silent for a moment, running a few memories through his mind. “It’s himself Masa’s riding, I think,” he said, quietly. “Our father’s shoes were pretty big. And he let Masa know that he expected them filled.”
“Not easy to deal with,” said Hideki. “Not easy at all.” But he was only contemplative for a moment or two, and then Satoshi saw him grin again. “Your brother needs to drink more sake, you know. Then he’d relax more. It
’s healthy.”
Satoshi forced a chuckle. “You suggest it to him, then. If I tried, he’d take my head off.” And then he fell silent, remembering his dream.
They caught up with Akemi and rode briskly the rest of the way. The three tethered their horses in front of the village headman’s spacious residence. Bunya Yukio was lowly as samurai went — not much more than a farmer himself. But he understood duty: aware of their arrival, he was waiting for them with refreshments — hot tea and a few little round mochi cakes filled with sweet bean paste, served in a pretty tatami room that Satoshi guessed was reserved for visiting officials. After bows and introductions and courtesies had been exchanged and Akemi had been shown to another guest room, Satoshi brought the subject round to the problem at hand. “Is it really the harvest, Bunya-san? Or do you think someone’s hoarding?”
Bunya shook his round head; Satoshi sensed that only the man’s innate good manners kept him from scratching it. “It’s a mystery, Hirota-sama,” Bunya said. “But it’s not hoarding, that I know for certain. Last winter I thought as you have asked, because harvests here have always been good. But I checked and found no hoards. Even Nikawa’s rice merchant had next to nothing put away when he died. His sons are suffering now, same as the rest of us.”
Bunya took a slow sip of tea. “The farmers in this district have good land, and they know what they’re doing. They can’t understand what’s wrong any more than I can. They’ve been setting the rice plants just as usual, the soil absorbs the fertilizer quickly, irrigation is fine — but the crop yields have been just terrible again this year. They’ve tried using more fertilizer, and even that didn’t help. I’m sorry that the prince has been troubled with this matter, but it’s lean times. Believe me, Hirota-sama, we haven’t been holding back the daimyo’s due. We just don’t have it. We aren’t really able to feed ourselves now.”
Hideki paused in the act of reaching for a mochi cake, then drew back his hand. Smiling at his friend, Satoshi turned and studied the headman. Bunya blinked at him.
“Bunya-san,” said Satoshi, softly, “there’s something else, isn’t there?”
He was aware of Hideki’s eyes on him, as Bunya lowered his gaze.
“I don’t know,” he said. “No-one does. I expect that is why you and Arai-san have been called here, to find out.”
What are you hiding from me? Satoshi thought. Or are you so unsure of your own suspicions that you don’t want to risk telling me? He pursed his lips but said nothing.
“Now then,” said Bunya, “I’ve made ready a guest room for you and your concubine, and another one for you, Araisan. Be pleased to relax there and get settled for a bit, while my wife prepares dinner, and then we’ll have a meal together. I’ll show you over the fields first thing next morning. You can talk with the farmers then if you wish.”
Satoshi nodded, rising to his feet. “Thank you for your hospitality, Bunya-san,” he said. “I trust we shall be able to discover what is troubling your town.”
“Oh, I am sure you will, gentlemen,” said Bunya, with a polite smile; but Satoshi could see that the headman doubted it.
Hideki waited until the shoji door closed and Bunya’s footsteps faded. “I have to tell you, it’s going to take more than a little drinking to make this even remotely enjoyable.”
“To tell you the truth, Hideki,” Satoshi said, “I’m already enjoying myself. This is turning into so much more than the boring delivery-boy task I thought I’d been given. This is becoming a challenge.” He watched the delightful sway as Akemi walked ahead of him. “Crops that fail for no obvious reason. Uncomfortable silences. Tell me this doesn’t intrigue you, my friend.”
“You forgot to mention the nightmare and the vision that you won’t describe to me,” Hideki said. “That, I confess, intrigues me.”
Satoshi looked back to find Hideki looking at him in a way that seemed almost feral. “No, I’m still not ready to talk about it.” He gestured ahead, to where Akemi had disappeared into their bedroom. “Why can’t you be more like her? She doesn’t press me for details of my dreams. Even when she knows they’re about her.” He smiled, but Hideki didn’t return the smile. After a moment, Satoshi sighed. “Later, Hideki.”
It’s just a bad dream, Satoshi told himself. It’s not worth fighting with a friend over. Then he wondered, So why is Hideki so interested?
“I wonder, is Bunya-san telling the truth?” Satoshi whispered to the ceiling, but Akemi, evidently not asleep after all, rolled over to face him.
“Of course he isn’t,” she said. “Your real question, Hirota-san, is ‘What is his lie hiding?’”
“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he said, tracing her cheek with a finger. “You make a good point, though. What is happening here, that Bunya-san feels compelled to lie about it? Nobody seems to be hoarding rice: the only logical suspect would be the local rice merchant, and he’s dead and his sons wouldn’t dare: they’re still new at managing the business. I can’t see Bunya-san secretly hoarding rice either. He doesn’t look that stupid.”
“No, he looks like a good man who is confused and maybe even frightened,” she said. “What is happening here may well be beyond his ability or wisdom.”
“If so, he may not be the only one. Masahiro—” Satoshi swallowed the rest of the sentence. After a moment he felt a soft, smooth hand brush against his arm. “What?” he said.
“You’ve got the futon in a death grip, Hirota-san,” Akemi said. “Let it go and relax.”
Satoshi looked down. His hand was bunched around the fabric; now that his focus had been broken he could feel how tightly he’d been clenching his fists. He let go, expelling his breath in a rush. “I’m never going to get to sleep if I stay like this.”
“I can help you with that,” Akemi said. She should have laughed — her laughter was wicked, her voice deep and thick with desire, when they were in bed or talking of sex — but tonight she sounded distressingly matter-of-fact. Like a monk prescribing sutras, he realized.
“You have to help me help you, though,” she added. “You are unhappy with your brother. I understand, my lord: it is unfair of him, even cruel, to ask you to do something he likely could not do himself. But if you dwell on that injustice you will be awake all night, and nothing I can do will help you.”
“I’m not angry with my brother,” he said. “It’s just that I—” He took a deep breath, unable to finish the sentence. Am I angry? I’m not. I just want Masa to appreciate what I do for him. That’s not anger, and it’s not disrespect. So why can’t I say this to Akemi?
“You would have to be a fool, my lord, not to see that the wrong Hirota is head of the family.” Akemi’s finger moved unerringly in between the folds of his sleep kimono. “And you are no fool.” The finger drew a delicate, tickling line over his belly. “But your karma is to be your brother’s loyal vassal, my lord. So please try — for me if not for any other reason — to not think of what has been done to you. Think instead of what I can do for you.” Her finger found its target, and he felt her hand wrapping around him. Her strength was a pleasant surprise.
“I will try, Akemi,” he said, unable to resist a smile. “It’s the least I can do for you, given all you’re trying to do for me.”
Satoshi stood in the field. The golden stalks of rice, ripe for harvest, blew in the wind all around him. An odd creature, red-haired and naked and bloated, caught the corner of his eye. He noticed it bend down to pick something up from between the rows of grain, like some famished peasant gleaning another’s land.
His attention was distracted by the figure kneeling before him, head bent. It wore the armour of a high-ranking Samurai, and Satoshi thought the colours looked familiar, but he couldn’t place them. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask the man who he was, what was his family name; but instead he lashed out with the blade in his hand, cleaving the man’s head cleanly from hi
s shoulders. Blood fountained from the neck stump as the body fell limp to the ground, staining the rice bright red.
Satoshi picked up the head by its hair — red spattered on black, suggesting the silk cords that tied the black-lacquered armour together — and turned it, trembling, to look into the face of the man he had just murdered.
As his mind flew to wakefulness, a cry of horror on his lips, he carried with him the coherent thought of how greatly he had feared to see that face — so greatly that he had awakened himself rather than look.
“Hirota-san?”
He could barely see her outlines in the pale, new dawn. “Akemi,” he said, and saw that he was clutching at her. “I — I am sorry. I had a nightmare—”
“Again? This is not natural, my lord. Should I call for a priest?”
He heard genuine concern in her voice, and swallowed. “It’s alright,” he said. “It’s nothing.”
“Tell me.”
I don’t dare. Something evil has hold of me, Akemi. I will not — I cannot — put you at risk by exposing you to whatever it is. Hideki had thought it might be a spell; perhaps he was right. Whether it was a spell, or karma suddenly gone wrong, keeping Akemi safe had somehow become important.
Still, he ought to tell her something. Could he make up some sort of story that would persuade?
You don’t have to make up anything. There was one thing about this dream you can tell anyone.
He smiled at her, hoping she would see it as indulgence rather than the relief he felt. “There was a horrible little creature in a field,” he said. Now that he was thinking about it, in at least one way that creature was the worst part of the dream. Cruel though they were, battle and killing were natural parts of a samurai’s life; something this grotesque, even trapped in a dream, was vile. “It had red hair and a hideous face. And it looked like it was starving. Do demons starve? Is there anyone in this han who isn’t short of food?” It came to him that he ought to feel vulnerable, or even unmanned, to be pouring out his fears to his concubine in the dark; but he didn’t.
Tesseracts Twelve: New Novellas of Canadian Fantastic Fiction Page 5
