by Walt Mussell
Nobuhiro ran his hand over his scalp. “Omi? Now I’m confused. Omi’s a servant. She’s as meek as Sen. What protection can she offer?”
Toshi flashed his smirk. “Sakichi, have you forgotten? Not all castle defenses are as obvious as floors that squeak on purpose. In the event an assassin may attempt to enter through the women’s quarters, several of the women are not the timid flowers they appear.”
Nobuhiro’s forehead tightened as realization struck him like a bright light in darkness. “She’s a—”
“One of the best female samurai I’ve ever seen,” Toshi said. “She almost gave it away in there when she caught the plate. As you may have noticed, she’s quick.”
“I noticed,” Nobuhiro said. He should have ascertained then the truth about Omi. His nervousness about Sen clouded his faculties. “Does Sen know?”
Uji shook his head. “Not yet, but she should be told, and then told to keep it silent.”
“I understand, but why didn’t Omi do something when we were attacked at the castle?”
“She was going to,” Toshi said, “but then you decided to face a masked archer with a cloth-covered sword. How noble of you.”
He ignored Toshi’s sarcasm as Nobuhiro let out the breath he’d been holding. Omi was a samurai? Had he met her years ago when he lived here? Or would she have been cloistered and trained elsewhere to protect her anonymity until it was time to fulfill her duty? He probably met her once when he was younger. He should remember such things.
“Is she really that good?” he asked.
“She could stun both Uji and Matsubara without working hard,” Toshi replied. “After all, she should be good.”
“Why is that?” Nobuhiro asked.
Toshi’s jovial look turned serious as his gaze strayed behind Nobuhiro. Uji did the same.
“So, why is she one of the best samurai?” Nobuhiro repeated, but both his brothers were now looking through him. The hair on his neck stood up as a slow march of footsteps grew louder, combined with the same touch of musk he’d noticed earlier. Their conversation was no longer private. Like Toshi had done at the workshop, someone had snuck up on him. His brothers weren’t moving their hands to their swords. That meant one thing.
“Because I trained her,” his father’s voice said from behind him.
Chapter Seven
Sen glanced at the door and then back at Omi, who tapped her knee in a silent drumming motion. Was she thinking the same thing? The look on Ujihiro’s face suggested that the afternoon was about to end. Maybe it was. Maybe it was her nerves. She barely knew Nobuhiro or his family. His father had already warned her that talking to his family was above her station.
Her fingers stiffened and she pulled at them, trying to ease away the tension. It didn’t help. She blew on her palms, but they remained damp. She couldn’t believe anything except that something was wrong. Omi’s face remained impassive. Nothing disturbed her. Even after the attack at the castle, she acted composed. Could she emulate Omi’s demeanor?
“The men have been gone for a long time, haven’t they?” Sen asked. “What could they be doing?”
Omi rolled her eyes. “Men always lose track of time. It’s a talent they’re born with. My mother always said that my father took an hour to complete tasks that should only take thirty minutes. He refused to do things the easiest way.”
Sen laughed. “My mother often made similar comments about my father when I was growing up. She said men never do things like they should.”
The smile disappeared from Omi’s face and she pursed her lips. “Since it seems they may be gone awhile, can I ask you something?”
“Yes, please do.” Sen’s mind filled with curiosity.
Omi leaned in as her gaze flitted left and right. “I want to ask you about Christians,” she said in a hushed tone.
Sen’s eyes and mouth flew open and she stared. She never expected interest within the castle walls. Could she trust Omi? Sen had only been in the castle for a few weeks. Omi had looked out for her since Sen had arrived, but Sen still didn’t know her that well.
The brothers spoke for her. She must be fine.
Sen glanced around. People appeared engrossed in their own conversations. No one was close enough to hear them. Sen rubbed her fingers across her neck and attempted to relax again. Lord Akamatsu had advised her to be cautious. Time to trust in faith. “Why do you think I would know?”
Omi raised an eyebrow and displayed the playful sarcastic smile that Sen had seen her use on men. “You served Lord Akamatsu for many years. However, your favorite spot on the grounds has nothing to do with what the sunlight does to the view. It’s that cross, isn’t it?”
Sen managed only a sheepish grin. It had taken Nobuhiro one glance to notice the cross. Omi reasoned out the same after a few weeks. Lord Akamatsu would have been disappointed. Sen needed to vary her habits or else the whole castle would know.
St. Peter’s story again rose in her thoughts. Denial was not an option.
“Yes, it’s the cross. I’m a Christian.”
“I thought so.” Omi’s eyes opened wide. “Are your parents Christian or did you become one when you lived in Haibara?”
Sen mulled it over. A question about her as much as a question about faith. Was her interest genuine? What could she tell Omi? She could tell her a bit about herself and her life. That would be a start.
God, I place my trust in you.
“In Haibara. Lord Akamatsu believed in Christ, a faith he learned from his father. However, I didn’t become a Christian immediately. It took time.”
Omi’s glance to the right made Sen turn her head. Were the men returning? Instead, it was just a waitress, refilling the tea. Omi waved her off and waited for her to move to the next group.
A few seconds passed. Omi’s intense gaze conveyed that she wanted to hear more. “Was it hard? What made you decide to become a Christian?”
Sen paused. The words didn’t come quickly. She took a deep breath. “It was difficult. I wasn’t raised this way. My parents took me to the local festivals and I followed the rituals, but I was just there for family. But when I first heard about Christ, I felt drawn.”
“Why?”
Sen listened for footsteps as she took a sip of tea. “I found it brought me peace. Life is hard sometimes. My faith calms me. When I’m troubled, I pray for help and Christ counsels me.”
Omi stared. “He talks to you?”
Sen chuckled and tipped her head. “Not like that. But I tell Him my problems, put them in His hands. I know that whatever happens is always the best for me.”
“How did you learn?” Omi asked.
A slide of wood grating on wood drew Sen’s attention. She paused and looked back at the entrance. Two men walked in. They weren’t samurai, as neither wore a sword, but their beige kimonos sported intricate brown lines and cubes. Fine work. They must have been wealthy merchants. The men still hadn’t returned. Would she and Omi be asked to move?
Not likely. If the brothers returned, the restaurant owner would be shamed for his insult to samurai. Such shame wouldn’t be remedied easily. The proprietor, dressed in a white kimono, appeared from the kitchen and strolled over to the entrance, passing behind the wooden post that rose in the middle of the room. He greeted the men and showed them to a place close to where Sen and Omi were sitting. Could they hear the conversation from that distance? The restaurant was half full. Was anyone watching? Was anyone listening?
“What is it?” Omi asked.
“I thought I heard the men coming back.” Sen’s remarks were muted. She wanted to talk openly with Omi, but Nobuhiro’s father had already warned her once. He wouldn’t approve of her conversation with Omi. Would duty require the brothers to tell their father if they suspected anything? They had already shown Sen kindness that she couldn’t repay. Their father’s comments suggested as much. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful.
Omi shook her head. “Like I mentioned earlier, they’re probably going to be a while. You know ho
w men are.”
“I know. I know.” Sen’s reticence surprised her. A quick glance around confirmed that no one was paying them any attention. She could continue.
Sen took another deep breath to slow the flutter in her heart. “You asked how I learned. At first, I just asked questions of other servants. A few missionaries visited Haibara and I asked them questions. The missionaries read from this book and we discussed its teachings.”
“That sounds nice.”
Sen pressed the neckline of her kimono against her neck. The scars warmed and sent heat through her body. The last service she’d attended was the day the samurai had visited. Just thinking about it brought back pain.
And guilt.
She had survived when her friends had died. The Lord had spared her life so she could help her family. Did every word threaten that now?
She balled her hands into fists and then spread her fingers. “Yes, it was. We often met in people’s homes or in places like this, just to talk.”
“And you weren’t afraid?”
“This was before the edict. There were many Christians in Haibara. No one thought poorly of it.”
Omi turned her hands up. “And do you do that here? Do you meet other Christians?”
Sen bit her lower lip. “Not since the edict.”
“I heard these missionaries carry big books around.”
Sen rubbed her fingers against her palms, remembering the last time she’d held the missionary’s book in her hands. “It’s called a Bible. Lord Akamatsu had one. A gift from a missionary.”
“Do you wish you had a Bible?” Omi asked.
Sen grinned and raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know what good it would do. The writing is in a different language. I can’t read it. I just know the stories.”
A grin grew on Omi’s face. “Is it true what they say? Do the missionaries really drink animal blood?”
Sen winced but also tried not to laugh. Many of the Buddhist sects spread rumors to mock the new religion. She had heard this one before. “They call it milk and they do drink it.”
“It’s disgusting.”
“Don’t worry. Drinking it is not required.”
Omi’s eyes turned sad. “Do you miss it?”
Sen pulled at her collar. “Yes, I do.”
###
Nobuhiro’s father walked around him, adding extra pressure to each step as he circled. “Tell me, my sons,” he said with a measured precision that added the weight of an anvil to each syllable. “Why are you discussing castle business with this outsider?”
His angry breath on the back of Nobuhiro’s neck provided a bellows to the fire within Nobuhiro’s belly. He froze and tried not to let his father bait him. People in the street began to stare as they passed. To them, it looked like three samurai questioning a tradesman. No one would ever dare approach.
After a few moments, Uji broke the silence. “Father, we need him. Nobuhiro works for the Goami family. He can be of great service to us.”
Nobuhiro’s father completed the circle and stopped to face him, his eyes boring into Nobuhiro like falling stalactites. Initially, Nobuhiro wavered under the assault, but then recalled his childhood. This was his father’s typical tactic with subordinates. Many men had wilted under this assault. But Nobuhiro crossed his arms and stared back as he straightened to get in his father’s face.
I am not the child you once knew.
“How can he help?” his father asked without looking at either of his older sons.
“Goami may seek to find Christians in the area,” Uji said. “Whoever’s targeting Christians may realize that. If any Christians contact her, they will likely do so away from the castle, maybe when she’s visiting her family. Nobuhiro might know about such things before we do.”
Nobuhiro’s father scratched his chin. “You think she might ignore my advice about avoiding her former life?”
“I don’t know, Father,” Toshi responded. “However, Christians show their devotion to their God the same way we show devotion to our duty. If local Christians try to find her, then we need to know that, for their sake as well as hers.”
My father dropped his glare and looked toward Uji. “Why were you watching her today?”
Nobuhiro glanced at both of his brothers. Toshi’s eyes were fixed on Uji, who lifted his shoulders slightly. Likely, he knew about the date. Had Toshi talked him into something that their father wouldn’t have approved?
Nobuhiro’s father crossed his arms. “Ujihiro, we’re waiting.”
Uji swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “When Goami left the grounds this afternoon, Funaki and Michiba suddenly found reasons to also depart. Matsubara is watching them.”
Nobuhiro’s father maintained his intense focus on Uji. Sweat formed on Uji’s brow and appeared poised to trickle down his face. Nobuhiro’s heartbeat doubled its speed. His oldest brother feared little. However, their father struck fear in everyone. His discipline made him a formidable foe, regardless of the situation. And somehow, he remained impassive.
His father tilted his head. “Was Goami meeting other Christians today? I see that Moto is with her. Is she trying to include Moto in those meetings?”
Toshi inched in, as if to provide Uji with a break from their father’s glare. “No, the two of them were just out for the afternoon. I saw Nobuhiro in the marketplace while I was observing the women. I knew Matsubara was also following, so I decided to put myself more directly into the situation.”
That answered one question. His father didn’t know about Toshi’s arranged date. If he did know, though, Nobuhiro wouldn’t have been surprised.
“I see,” his father said. His eyebrows rose and pinched the skin above his nose. His shoulders flinched in Nobuhiro’s direction. A lump formed in his throat. “So, what brings a swordsmith’s apprentice into the market? Shouldn’t you be honing your craft?”
Needle-like pain traversed from the base of Nobuhiro’s spine to his brain. His father knew his whereabouts. Nobuhiro should have expected this after the meeting at the castle but had hoped that his father was too busy to notice. Nobuhiro had planned for this day. Still, planning did not always beget execution.
And his father was an expert in execution.
“M . . . my master’s wife is ill. He asked that I make the daily trip for her to acquire food for tonight and tomorrow morning.” Nobuhiro’s thoughts shifted to concern for his adopted family. His father had a long memory and an even longer reach. “How long have you known that I work for Master Goami?”
His father lifted his chin and looked down his nose at Nobuhiro. “When you visited the castle with the sword, I realized it. Goami is a master craftsman. He takes no chances with his work. He would not trust the delivery of such a valuable object to the fleet-of-foot express.” He paused to look Nobuhiro up and down, his eyes burning disdain into Nobuhiro’s skin. “Nor would you be employed for such work.”
Nobuhiro inhaled, catching the salty taste of perspiration on his lips. Did his father approve of the choice Nobuhiro had made? Or did he demean it the same way he demeaned everything else Nobuhiro did? His father’s simmering look rose to a boil, searing Nobuhiro’s cheeks. He wanted to ask more questions, but now wasn’t the time. His father’s arrogance would eventually provide an answer.
His father shook his head. “Well, it’s good that you made something of yourself instead of living on the street, since you didn’t have the fortitude to remain with us.”
Nobuhiro struggled to keep his mouth shut, choosing to let his father finish his rant.
His father took another breath. “I suppose I should be relieved. A tradesman is at least preferable to other possible occupations. You could have been a novelty act in a traveling sumo exhibition, fighting half-naked female wrestlers.”
Nobuhiro’s blood pulsed with rage as his father’s insults found their mark. He could ignore the novelty act comment, but the implied insult that working for a swordsmith was barely above such work was inexcusable. Mas
ter Goami was the most accomplished swordsmith in the area. A swordsmith’s workshop was hallowed ground. The equivalent of a shrine, even to a samurai. He considered a response but held his tongue. He represented the family he worked for. An ill response would provide ample support for a rebuke.
One day, old man. One day. You will wake up and understand why I left and why I’m better off without you.
His father turned toward his brothers, and a small sigh escaped his lips. Nobuhiro’s head and shoulders sagged, welcoming the release of tension. His father tilted his head back as if he had heard Nobuhiro’s muscles move. His father’s body then tightened immediately.
Nobuhiro wanted to remove the cocky grin he knew must be there.
“We should return to the castle,” his father announced. “After Matsubara returns, we can discuss our next steps in this investigation. Toshihiro, fetch the young women.”
“Hai.” Toshi disappeared, returning shortly with both Sen and Omi. Sen carried the basket Nobuhiro had brought with him to the marketplace. His father acknowledged their presence with a nod. His father then stared at Sen, whose eyes flew open as she recoiled from the attention.
“Goami,” my father said. “I’ve learned your mother is ill. You will return home and look after her.”
Nobuhiro shook his head. Did he hear that correctly? His father made a kind gesture? What was he doing?
Sen’s mouth dropped open as wide as her eyes, both of which manifested the surprise Nobuhiro felt. “But my duty at the castle, I—”
“I will arrange things with your mistress,” his father said in a gruff voice that restored Nobuhiro’s opinion of him, but which was at odds with the favor Sen had received. “Return to your duties when she improves.”
“Hai, thank you.” Sen bowed low.
“And you,” his father said, turning to stare at Nobuhiro. “Escort Goami home. Can you perform this simple task without error?”
“Hai,” he said, bowing more out of reflex than respect. His father spun in the other direction without reply, leaving Nobuhiro to stare at his father and brothers as they walked away.
