by Walt Mussell
“Will the regent change his mind?”
Master gripped the hilt of his sword and squeezed it. The answer troubled him. “He is soft unfortunately. These barbarians who claim to be from a land half a world away, they should not be intermediaries between us and the Chinese. We should not be on our knees, grateful for their service. Yet, the money from their trade has the regent dependent on these foul outsiders. We have the power to force the Chinese to trade with us directly. Send the Christians into hiding. Make them the source of any problems. One day, being a Christian will truly mean banishment from society, instead of the regent’s empty proclamations.”
Kaiken smiled. “I will welcome that day.”
Master nodded. “So will I. Eventually the people will turn away from this foreign infestation, these strange-looking men.” He laughed and shook his head as his eyebrows arched. “Some of these yabanjins even have blue eyes like the monsters in children’s stories. They are an abomination.”
Kaiken’s stomach roiled. “My team and I will continue to serve you.”
“You should have no more problems. Remember, your role is part of a larger agenda. There are many groups in many cities. All groups must perform their duties well.”
Kaiken rose and stared into the master’s eyes, eyes that sparkled like jewels. One day the master would lead, and then the master would be known and feared throughout the sixty-six provinces. “Master, will we meet again before you return to Kyoto?”
“It is best that we not. One meeting can be innocent. Two meetings and people will suspect conspiracy or other adventures. In addition, I must return to the castle. Lord Kinoshita may wonder where I have gone and he may suspect me.”
Kaiken knelt and bowed before the master again, placing forearms on the floor. Duty. Responsibility. Glory. Sheathed for now, but ready when needed.
And the possibility of failure.
Boar snouts!
There was no failure. Threats had been eliminated before. They would be again.
Else, Kaiken would die.
###
Nobuhiro laid his hammer on his work bench and then grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He then grabbed a cup and took a sip of water. The heat from the forge radiated out, bringing more perspiration with it. It would only get worse as summer approached. The one benefit of winter was that it was easy to cool off, though Master Goami had warned him years ago that he would get sick if he cooled off too quickly. He rubbed his stomach, feeling the loincloth underneath that was kept tight to maintain health. Normally, his stomach was quiet, but today it churned with something other than hunger.
Nobuhiro rubbed his shoulders and then his chest, as if some balance between them and his stomach had broken. No change.
“You seem tense,” Master Goami said. “Is something troubling you?”
Nobuhiro turned to look at Master Goami, who was dressed in one of the fine robes required for this work. He owned several, proof of his abilities and accomplishments. Nobuhiro hoped to be half as successful. He might never be the old man’s equal as a craftsman, but he at least had an opportunity. That was inspiration enough.
“I can’t explain it,” Nobuhiro said. “I feel different.”
Master Goami smiled. “Your techniques have continued to improve. Maybe you’re finally becoming one with the blade. Craftsman. Forge. Hammer. All are necessary for creating the best blade.” The old man paused, as if the next words carried extra weight. “Your brother Toshihiro would be proud. You’re becoming more aware of your surroundings.”
Nobuhiro glanced to the ground as shame enveloped him. A samurai must be aware of his surroundings. Toshi’s words from that morning conversation a month ago resounded in Nobuhiro’s head. He bowed low. “You sound just like Toshi.” Nobuhiro inhaled. “My apologies again, Master. I should have told you about my brothers’ visits. I have—”
“Yes. Yes. Yes, I know. Your brothers have visited several times over the years. When I think about it now, the times I thought I heard conversations in this room, I left you alone. Maybe I knew. Then again—” Master Goami smiled “maybe I walk in my sleep.”
Nobuhiro laughed and the tightness in his chest dissipated. Still, a shift in the air remained. He couldn’t place it, but it did not worry him. An answer would arise soon.
###
Sen pulled the last of the weeds from the rock garden and viewed the discarded greenery that lay along the garden edges. Hard work. Yet it only took care of half the job. Raking the pebbles until smooth was next. From there, she or her parents could choose a design.
She wiped her brow with the sleeve of her kimono and then grabbed the rake. Light strokes to smooth the holes left by the weeds and then use of a brush to even it out.
Glancing at the workshop, she listened hard for the clinks from earlier. None came. Were they taking a rest? If there was a time to disturb them, this was it.
She put away the rake and made straight for the workshop, stepping around the rope and then heading to the door. Stepping inside, she found both Nobuhiro and her father dressed in red and yellow robes that were cinched at the waist with a sash. Both were drinking something. Hopefully, it wasn’t barley water. That couldn’t be good at a time like this. How did they not melt away in those clothes? Her mother always complained about the smell of those robes after a hard day.
“Excuse me,” she said.
Both men looked up. Her father’s face erupted into a smile. Nobuhiro’s face went blank and he dropped his cup.
“S . . . s . . . sorry about that, Master.” He picked up the cup. “I’ll clean up the mess. It will only take a moment.”
Sen looked at the floor. Barley water. Warm drinks to go with the hot robes? It made no sense. Nobuhiro looked handsome in his robes. She wouldn’t mind cleaning them.
“Nobuhiro, wait,” her father said. “At least say hello.”
He pursed his lips but maintained his blank expression. “Hello, Sen. It is good to see you again.”
“Hello, Father. Nobuhiro. Sorry to surprise you.”
Nobuhiro glanced back and forth between Sen and her father, his eyes wide. Her father stared at her and then walked over, touching her temple. Pinpricks of pain shot through Sen.
The cuts from the attack.
Sen’s face grew hot. She hadn’t looked at herself in a mirror since the attack. Then the dirt and sweat from her time in the garden. She must look horrible.
Her father gave her a hug and then stepped back, holding her hands in his. “I’m happy to see you, my daughter, but what brings you here and what happened to you?”
Sen sighed, glancing at her father and then Nobuhiro. Where should she begin? Her father pointed to the raised platform at the back of the shop. Nobuhiro grabbed a bench and took it to the platform, the muscles rippling in his arms. He motioned for her to sit. She gasped.
“You did that for me? I am unworthy. You are samurai.”
Nobuhiro’s face reddened. She’d embarrassed him again.
“As I have mentioned before, I am not samurai. Not anymore. And you are Master’s daughter. You sit on the platform.”
Sen seated herself and nodded as her father and Nobuhiro joined her. Her chest heaved as her hands sank to her lap.
She took several deep breaths. Her father leaned forward, his hands on his knees. Nobuhiro stroked his chin.
She retold her story.
Her father’s eyes flew open and his mouth dropped before he closed it again. Was he recalling Haru’s death? Nobuhiro’s face grew taut and his lips compressed. Was he blaming her faith?
Sen’s father’s eyes narrowed as he looked directly at her. “So, why aren’t you taking that good samurai’s advice and getting some rest, especially if you don’t have to return until tomorrow?”
“I just don’t feel like resting. I’m not tired.”
“Well then, maybe assisting your mother would be a good idea. You could help her in the house.”
Sen smiled. Her mother had decline
d her help once. Still, she could try again. It would rest her mind.
But only for a short while. She had been given time off until tomorrow. And now she had a mission. She had to return to that church.
But this was no longer about finding local Christians. There might be clues there as to who killed her sister. Clues she would notice that non-Christians might miss. But what if she were discovered?
Did it matter by whom? There were more dangerous things to fear.
If the man who had imprisoned her and Omi in the church found her, she could be killed.
Which option scared her more? Death or dishonor? Did it matter? She had to know what happened to Haru.
And what if Sen’s search brought death? She had been shot at by an archer. She had been imprisoned. Her family had been attacked. Death, it seemed, was already seeking her.
She had been lucky so far. If her efforts brought death, it was still preferable to dishonor. Seeking the church and the truth about her sister was the only path to honor and survival. To wait for death, when it wasn’t inevitable, was the decision of a coward.
And she was not a coward.
Chapter Eighteen
Nobuhiro stood in the small grassy area behind the house later that day and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. A few hours remained to work and the humidity was already unbearable. The time left would be worse.
Sen’s question still resonated in his head. What to say?
She paced in front of him, then stopped and looked into his eyes again. “You offered to help, Nobuhiro. I’m asking.”
He glanced at the rock garden. The weeds were gone. The surface was smooth. Had Sen or her mother tended it today? Living here, he had always loved the tranquil garden. It soothed his nerves. His master’s wife and Haru had tended it over the years. However, his master’s wife had not touched the garden since Haru’s death. Weeds had overrun the garden. Wind, rain, and neglect had left it in disarray.
He had planned to work on it himself, to restore some of the happiness of this place. His efforts in the front yard had restored some flowers, but there had been no time for the rock garden.
He studied the dirt marks on Sen’s face and the scratches on her hands. Her bruises from the attack were a day old. The dirt was fresh. She had tended the garden.
She did understand something of her duty to her family.
She had declined his first offer of help. Now she sought it. He stared at her. “It’s still madness . . . going back to this church.”
She stared back. “I have to go.”
He bit his lower lip. Sen’s wrists had red streaks from her bonds to go along with the welt on her temple. “You had a nasty injury. Your second one in a month. You should rest.”
Sen shifted her weight back and forth and rubbed her hands together. “I can’t rest.”
“You just escaped from that place. Someone beat you and tied you up. You could have died. Now you want to go back? Why?”
Sen clenched her jaw. “This isn’t just about me. It’s about my sister as well.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. It provided a break and another chance to dissuade her. “I’m certain my father and Toshi searched the place. They are thorough and would have noticed anything important.”
Her eyes smoldered. “They did search. They found nothing.”
He looked toward town. Twice he had protected her. Twice he had been fortunate. Twice she had been fortunate. Only fools continually tested the favor of the gods. “At least let me get my brothers’ assistance.”
She shook her head. “There’s no time. It must be us. We only have today. Tomorrow, I return to the castle. I want to find Haru’s killers as much as I want to find the church. Don’t you want to know what happened to Jiro?”
His stomach tightened as if cut across the belly. He had as much reason to look as she.
A door slid open and Master Goami stepped outside. His gaunt eyes appeared red. He licked his lips but left his mouth open. “Excuse me, children. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Nobuhiro stiffened and opened his hands. Finding the killers would lift his master’s burden. What burden could he lift from his master’s shoulders? He looked at Sen, who had straightened. “How can I help you?”
Master Goami smiled and his gaze darted between them. “My daughter, your mother mentioned that she might work on the flowers this afternoon. She noticed some of the blooms had spruced up recently and she praised the rain. She could use your assistance. You will probably finish in an hour, maybe less.”
Sen nodded. “Hai.”
The sound of feet spinning on the ground followed by the shuffle of footsteps faded. A sparrow trilled in the tree above the garden. Two men carrying a palanquin approached along the road and then passed. This was a serene place. Sen’s actions would bring more danger.
Master Goami rubbed his eyes with his fingers. “She will go by herself if you don’t go with her. You know that, don’t you?”
Nobuhiro inhaled. She was still his master’s daughter. He debated his words. “Forgive my impertinence, but she is stubborn and invites trouble.”
The old man pursed his lips and nodded. “Yes, she inherited that trait from her grandmother. One day, I will tell you a story. Regardless, she is my only remaining daughter. I can’t bear to lose her.” His eyes misted. “Please go with her and protect her. It is preferable to the alternative.”
Nobuhiro looked at Master Goami. His cheeks sunken. “I will do as you ask.”
Master Goami stepped forward and slapped Nobuhiro’s shoulder. “Very good. However, there is one task I need your assistance with in the workshop.” He paused and smiled. “It will take an hour, maybe less.”
###
The walk back to the place where Haru had died was short.
The silence between Sen and Nobuhiro stretched the minutes.
She was happy to have Nobuhiro join her, whether he approved of her actions or not, but his stern face voiced his displeasure.
Sen ran her fingers through her hair, hoping to alleviate the tightness in her joints. Nothing soothed the stiff feeling that spread through her body. Between the rock garden earlier today and helping Mother, she had finally been the daughter duty required for the first time since returning to Himeji. The time with Mother had passed quickly. She had not mentioned her faith but would do so again soon. She rubbed her finger in the cotton of her kimono, pressing it against one of her scars. Her parents still didn’t know she had chosen duty to God over duty to them.
Sen studied the rice paddies along the road. The flooded paddies stretched back into the distance. Numerous small paths built up through the area provided access to all the farmed plots. Women in straw hats shaped like large upside down bowls worked in ankle-deep water, planting the cultivated seedlings. Neat rows of thin green plants rose from the water in nearly half of the plots. There was still much work to accomplish.
I should be living at home and helping in my village, not hiding at the castle.
“So, where is this church?” Nobuhiro asked.
“Jiro never told you?”
Nobuhiro shook his head. “No, he didn’t. After the magistrates announced the edict, they moved meetings to a secret location. I . . . I didn’t want to know.”
His eyes misted and a daikon-sized hollowness formed in her stomach. How much had Jiro’s death affected Nobuhiro? He had served Sen’s father and devoted himself to her parents. Since becoming an apprentice, he had worked every day with Jiro. Nobuhiro’s pain was as great as her own.
The number of people on the street grew as they approached the market area. The crowd was larger than she expected. Of course: the sumo exhibition. She had forgotten all about it. That would help. With more people around, it would be more difficult for anyone to notice their movements. They could blend in with the crowd.
The Buddhist temple came into sight. Two monks clothed in black with hats covering most of their faces stood at the entrance. They chanted constantly,
each shaking a small jingling cup in one hand, asking for donations. Their voices both soothed and annoyed her.
She wiped the sweat from the nape of her neck and glanced down the road, looking beyond lines of vendors. The bakery was there. She still needed to visit and thank the man again for his assistance to her family. The debt needed acknowledgement.
Nobuhiro scratched his nose. “You are certain that you wish to search this place?”
Sen rubbed her palms together. “Yes, I have to do this. Why?”
He exhaled and glanced down. “This p . . . place carries painful memories. It is best not to stoke them.”
“Then you know this place?”
His eyebrows arched but he said nothing, pausing to look around. A passerby bumped him and he bobbed his head in contrition. Then, he came to a stop. “I’ve seen it before.”
Sen’s knees wobbled. His few words carried tones of harsh rebuke but masked his concern. He must have come here after the fire. She had only heard about the deaths. Did he see Haru’s and Jiro’s bodies? No wonder he didn’t want to be here. Sen wiped her hands on her kimono. Nobuhiro’s face begged reason. She wasn’t ready to be reasonable. She needed answers.
They arrived at the building. Her pulse quickened and she breathed deeply to slow it down. Nobuhiro’s chest rose and fell like waves washing ashore. He held out his hand to stop her, proceeding to the door first and then motioning her inside. He protected her again like his father had done.
Sunlight provided the visibility she hadn’t had the first time she was taken captive. The fire had gutted the place, and what she thought were broken windows were instead holes in various walls, some clear through and some held together with thin strands of wood that appeared ready to disintegrate.
“You were here?” Nobuhiro asked.
“Omi and I were tied up against one of the support beams.”
