“Well, you saw one yourself, when Ishibashi tried to kill me.”
“Any others?”
“Aren’t three attempts to kill me in a few weeks enough?” Hishigawa said indignantly. “First a swordsman kills my yojimbo, then bandits kill my escort and their chief tries to kill me, and now a ninja tries to sneak into my house to assassinate me.”
“I would say three attempts in a short period of time were obviously not enough, Hishigawa-san, because you have survived them all,” Kaze said.
The excitement in the household had died down. Enomoto had doubled the guards patrolling outside the house and this presented a small annoyance, but not an obstacle, to Kaze’s slipping away from the villa to go to the place on the grounds that he had spotted earlier.
He had taken the trouble to get a wooden spade from the shed where the gardener stored his tools, and in the pale moonlight it was easy to get back to the location he sought. He squatted for a moment, looking at the ground in the faint light with a hunter’s eye. It was definitely disturbed, but its appearance troubled him because it didn’t look fresh. He stood and stuck the spade in the ground.
The ground had settled, but it was relatively easy to dig. He had only gone down a few hand spans when the square nose of the spade struck something.
Kaze got to his knees and cleared away the dirt at the bottom of the hole with his hands. In the flat silver moonlight, gleaming white bones started emerging from the dark soil.
CHAPTER 21
Honor. Trust. Duty.
All are fragile soap bubbles,
popped too easily.
Enomoto stood before the straw practice dummy, focusing his energy on his blade. As a samurai, Enomoto had the right to commit “practice murder” or “sword-testing killing.” He could cut down a heimin, a commoner, for the simple pleasure of trying his blade on a living body. In practice, a samurai who indulged this right too often soon got a bad reputation. Killing too many peasants could hurt rice production.
To avoid this, some samurai tested their blades on the corpses of criminals. Others indulged themselves only when some real or imagined slight gave them justification for cutting down a heimin, especially if they were away from their home prefecture. Still others, like Enomoto, used straw dummies to practice their cuts.
Enomoto brought the blade up over his head, then returned it to the point-at-the-eye position. The polished blade stretched before him, a slightly curved piece of steel less than three shaku long that represented all that Enomoto still believed in. His sword was the one constant in an ever-changing world.
Like most samurai boys, Enomoto was given his first sword before he was five years old. This mamori-gatana, or charm sword, was worn until Enomoto’s gempuku, the ceremony that marked his entry into manhood, when he was given his first real sword and his first armor and had his hair dressed in an adult style for the first time.
As a young man, Enomoto dedicated himself to the sword. Early on, Enomoto realized that he had exceptional talent with the katana. Other boys looked clumsy and awkward when practicing their cuts, but to Enomoto using the katana seemed natural and easy. This caused him to redouble his efforts to master its use. He found a Sensei who would train him and then he practiced what the Sensei taught him for endless hours. Soon the sword was an extension of his body and, eventually, it became an extension of his spirit.
Filled with the principles of bushido, the code of the warrior, Enomoto was anxious to put his skills to use in a great war. Hideyoshi, the Taiko, obliged him.
When Hideyoshi had subdued all the daimyo, the Lords of Japan, he immediately embarked on a foreign adventure. He decided to conquer Korea and, after that, he boasted about conquering China itself. The Koreans and Chinese had other ideas.
Hideyoshi mobilized up to one hundred and fifty thousand men for his expedition, and initially his invasion of the Korean peninsula met with great success. At first the Korean army was no match for the fierce Japanese samurai, tempered by hundreds of years of internal clan warfare. From Pusan on the southern tip of Korea the Japanese forces surged northward, capturing Seoul, Pyongyang, and even Wonsan, on Korea’s eastern coast.
As a teenager, Enomoto joined the first Korean campaign with enthusiasm. Enomoto’s Lord was a great supporter of Hideyoshi, and he committed the bulk of his fighting men to the effort. But even in victory, Enomoto learned that war is not the pageantry of martial display and drumbeats described by storytellers. It was pain, suffering, blood, lopped-off limbs, and exposed viscera.
Still, in the time compression that war causes, Enomoto was able to quickly rise to command a small squad of men, and he happily participated in gathering the severed noses of slain enemies to send back to Hideyoshi to show him how well the campaign was going.
Soon, however, the campaign was not going well. Korean Admiral Yi Sun-sin created a fleet of fierce “turtle boats,” warcraft with a covered deck armored with wicker, wood, and even steel plates. The Korean ships played havoc with the Japanese efforts to reinforce and supply their invading army. The Korean army started fighting with the help of Chinese troops, and soon the Japanese were at a stalemate.
When Enomoto was told that Hideyoshi had signed a truce after a year of hard fighting, he could not believe it. When Hideyoshi renewed the war in Korea three years later, it was a disillusioned Enomoto who was sent by his Lord to fight in Korea once more. This time, many of the daimyo tried to avoid sending masses of troops to Korea. Tokugawa Ieyasu was especially successful at keeping his troops in Japan, a fact that gave him a great advantage a few years later at Sekigahara.
The second time in Korea, Enomoto had no childish dreams about the nature of war. What few illusions he had about the nature of honor also dissolved. Enomoto saw officers looting and enriching themselves like common pirates. The noses of Korean women and children were mixed with the noses of warriors to make it look as though battles were bigger and more successful than they really were. The fighting with the Koreans bogged down into an indecisive stale-mate almost from the beginning. It was a relief to Enomoto when Hideyoshi died and the Korean expedition was recalled.
Enomoto’s last thoughts of honor in war were eliminated at Sekigahara, when highborn daimyo turned traitors to the Toyotomi cause and joined Ieyasu’s side for money. Enomoto’s Lord was defeated and stripped of his territory, turning Enomoto and the other survivors of Sekigahara into ronin. Lucky to escape with his life, Enomoto decided that the new order of things revolved around money, not antiquated notions of honor, so he happily joined Hishigawa’s household when the opportunity presented itself.
Now Enomoto contemplated the problem of this new ronin, Matsuyama Kaze. Enomoto had not seen him handle a sword, but from his bearing and movement, Enomoto was convinced that he was a master swordsman. Matsuyama claimed that his crippling of the ninja in the rooftop battle was just an accident, but Enomoto was convinced that the ronin had done exactly what he wanted to with the ninja, crippling him but not killing him. Only the ninja’s suicide had thwarted an attempt to get more information.
Enomoto wondered how good Kaze was with a sword. Was Matsuyama better than Enomoto? Dueling had become increasingly popular, to show the superior skill of one swordsman over another. The question of whose skill was superior to the other could easily be settled by challenging the ronin to a duel. But if he did that, Enomoto was not sure it would enhance his reputation. Killing an unknown ronin was not the same thing as defeating a well-known swordsman or the head of a school of fencing. That kind of killing could translate to a good position with an important daimyo, which would mean money. Still, Enomoto was satisfied with the money he was making with Hishigawa, so there was no need to take a risky course of action with the ronin.
Concentrating his power in his blade, Enomoto pictured the face of the ronin on the straw dummy. Shouting “haup!” for power, Enomoto brought his blade around in a swift arc that caught the straw dummy squarely on the neck, cleanly severing its head with one blow.
> “Superb!”
Enomoto turned to see the ronin watching him. Enomoto was perturbed that the man could walk up on him so silently. Even if he couldn’t hear him, Enomoto would have expected to feel the presence of a swordsman at his back.
He didn’t know if the ronin was able to come upon him unawares because of a lapse in his instincts or if the ronin had the skill to negate those instincts. Either possibility was unnerving. Enomoto said nothing and simply got back into his stance. He expected the ronin to say something more, but instead he remained silent. For some reason, this irritated Enomoto more than if he had said something. Putting a smile on his face, Enomoto relaxed his guard and turned to face the ronin.
“Would you like to try it?” Enomoto said, indicating the straw dummy.
“No, thank you,” Kaze said politely.
“Don’t you practice?” Enomoto taunted. “Or have you progressed past that point?”
“We both know that no one progresses past the point of practice.”
Enomoto laughed. “You’re a weird one,” he said. “Would you be interested in sparring with me?”
“Your sword looks like a dangerous toy. I think it’s best not to play with it. Too much chance for an accident.”
“Then why not use bokken, wooden swords?”
“Bokken can kill and maim, too.” Kaze smiled. “I still have use for these tired limbs and this poor head.”
“But aren’t you curious to see how your skill matches mine?”
“I could see you were a superb swordsman the moment I laid eyes on you. Your demonstration of prowess with the practice dummy simply confirmed my initial assessment of you.” Kaze bowed. “You are an exceptional swordsman, Enomoto-san.”
Surprised, Enomoto reflexively returned the bow. When he straightened up, the ronin turned on his heel and left. Enomoto turned his sword so the cutting edge was facing upward and sheathed it. He was no longer interested in practice.
Ando was supervising the final touches on the food tray. She placed a young maple leaf artfully next to a cube of silken tofu. She held the leaf with a pair of chopsticks and skillfully turned the leaf slightly so it was resting against the tofu at an angle, forming a delicate, decorative garnish.
“That looks beautiful,” a voice said behind her.
Ando gave a small start. She turned around and saw that pesky ronin standing behind her. His ability to move about silently was unnerving. She turned her attention back to the food tray.
“The Master insists that everything always be of the highest refinement where his wife is concerned,” Ando said. She continued fussing with the tray with exaggerated concern. She hoped the ronin would go away. He didn’t.
“Hishigawa-san’s concern for his wife is admirable,” Kaze said. “Is he afraid she might be caught up in the danger he finds himself in?”
Talk of danger to the Young Master caused Ando’s ears to prick up. She stopped working on the tray.
“He said he had several attempts on his life,” Kaze continued. “At least one was because of his wife. Were the other attempts because of Yuchan, too?”
“We live in a violent age,” Ando said vaguely, “so who can tell what is the cause of crazy actions?” She picked up the tray. “Please excuse me, Samurai, because I must deliver this tray to the Master’s wife.” Ando gave a perfunctory bow and left, holding the tray.
Kaze stood watching her. All Japanese households have secrets. He wondered what were the secrets of this household that caused its inhabitants to remain so closemouthed.
CHAPTER 22
Too proud to cook rice.
Aspire to momentous acts.
Dignity of youth.
Kaze arrived at the temple and found Elder Grandma’s grandson, Nagatoki, alone, tending camp. He was watching a kettle of rice boiling on the fire, waiting for the proper moment to put the heavy wooden cover on the pot to let the rice steam. He seemed embarrassed that Kaze had caught him engaging in such a domestic duty, as if it diminished him as a warrior in the older man’s eyes. Kaze took the cover out of the young man’s hands and placed it on the pot.
“You’re letting too much water boil away,” Kaze remarked casually. “When you’re on a campaign in war, knowing how to feed your men is a critical skill. Hungry men can’t fight.”
Having rice-making characterized as a martial art seemed to ease Nagatoki’s embarrassment.
Kaze had come to tell Elder Grandma that he had made no progress in finding information about Mototane. Finding time on his hands, however, he thought of the Japanese proverb chiri tsumotte, yama to naru—dust amassed will make a mountain. He decided to talk to Nagatoki to see if he could learn more details about Mototane.
“I would like to talk to you about Mototane,” Kaze said.
“Have you found him?” A touch of excitement entered the young man’s voice.
“No, and I’m not likely to unless I learn more about him and his character. What can you tell me about him?”
“Well, he’s my cousin.”
“Yes.”
“Ah, my older cousin.” Nagatoki inhaled sharply, making a hissing sound that indicated he was a bit flustered by Kaze’s questions.
“Relax. This is not an inquisition. I just want to know more about him as a man, to see if that provides me with any clues about where he is.”
“Well, he was a superb swordsman. Not as good as you, Samurai-san, but still excellent. I admired him for his skill.”
“Did he have any weaknesses?”
“Weaknesses?”
“Women. Drink. Something that would cause him to abandon his duties.”
Nagatoki seemed horrified that Kaze would suggest that his older cousin, whom he obviously idolized, could have a human fault. “Oh, no, Samurai-san! Mototane would never have such vices! Elder Grandma would have never allowed that.”
That was something that Kaze could certainly believe. He decided to steer the conversation back to safer ground, to draw out information more gradually.
“You say he was a good fencer?”
“Excellent! Very strong and fearless. Not too many men could hold their own against him in the dojo”
“And what do you think happened to him? Why isn’t he here?”
Nagatoki bit his lip. Hesitantly, he said, “I can think of no reason he isn’t here, unless he’s dead. Still, I don’t like to think…” Nagatoki hung his head, and tears formed on his face. He savagely poked at the rice fire with a small branch. The fire crackled, and a small cloud of red sparks swirled into the air, forming a miniature universe of short-lived suns that flickered into black ash in moments.
Kaze pretended he didn’t see Nagatoki’s emotion. Instead he said, “If you follow the path of the warrior, death is always a possibility. But if you think of it, death is the final result of all life. If Mototane is dead, he will come back in another life. From your description of him, his next life will certainly be one of honor and possibility. A man so honorable should have no fear of death. It would be sad if such a promising life ended so soon, but all time is relative, and a short, honorable life is preferable to a long, miserable life.”
Nagatoki said nothing, but Kaze’s words seemed to comfort him. After a few minutes of sitting in silence, Nagatoki said, “Thank you for letting me have your bed at that teahouse. It was, it was … well, it was my first time.” It was a reference to their first meeting, when Kaze let Nagatoki swap beds with him because Kaze was trying to avoid an amorous maid.
Kaze laughed.
Nagatoki looked startled, then looked at Kaze’s face and blushed. Soon, however, he realized the ronin was not laughing at him, and Nagatoki started laughing too. His melancholy over the possible fate of Mototane was dispersed by the shared secret he had with this strange ronin.
“What is the cause of all this merriment?” Elder Grandma asked as she entered the abandoned temple.
Kaze looked at Nagatoki and said, “Just talk of important military maneuvers and the victories that re
sult.” Nagatoki giggled.
Elder Grandma scowled. She didn’t like to be excluded. “Have you any news of Mototane?” she said gruffly, trying to regain command of the situation.
“No, Elder Grandma, I’m afraid I don’t.”
Elder Grandma pursed her lips, clearly displeased. Kaze knew he had tried his best to this point, so her displeasure had no effect on him. It would only be meaningful if he had not done his best.
“Has Hishigawa told you anything?”
“That presents a hard problem,” he said. “Getting Hishigawa to trust me will be difficult. I know he wants me to work for him, but that won’t release the lock on his tongue. I’ll have to wait and see if there’s something I can do to gain his confidence. In the meantime, I can try to contact Yuchan for you. The Jade Palace is guarded, but it’s hardly a fortress. I think I can sneak in to see her. She seems to be living in absolute splendor and luxury, so perhaps she’s happy with the current situation. If she is, you’re wasting your time trying to rescue someone who doesn’t want to be rescued.”
Kaze waited in the boughs of a tree, watching the Jade Palace. The moon was high in the sky; its pale light made observation of the island and the structure on it easy. Kaze had just about decided it was time to enter the water and swim to the island when he saw someone walk out on the veranda that encircled the building. Enomoto.
A building guarded by a sleepy sentry was a simple matter, but a building with Enomoto inside was another proposition. Enomoto was no fool, and it would be infinitely more dangerous to go to the island with him on it.
Kaze didn’t understand Enomoto. He was obviously a quality swordsman and made of somewhat the same cloth as Kaze himself. Yet Enomoto could offer his sword and loyalty to a man like Hishigawa. Kaze could not imagine what would make a master fencer work for a man like Hishigawa.
Kaze heard a rustling below him. A figure was making its way through the villa grounds, moving toward the lake and the palace. Kaze gave a small sigh of exasperation because he was sure it was Elder Grandma or one of the other two doing some reconnoitering on their own. The villa was still not tightly guarded, but that would change if it were discovered that intruders were entering.
Jade Palace Vendetta (Samurai Mysteries) Page 17
