“But a third…” Shonto said, again looking at the board.
“Perhaps you can find it,” Myochin Ekun suggested. “Consider it while dinner is prepared.”
The board was brought closer for Shuyun and Lord Shonto. The pieces were already arranged for the classic problem, contrived, more than three hundred years earlier, by the gii master, Soto. Obviously the old man had been awaiting an opportunity to share his discovery.
Lord Shonto and his young advisor both stared at the board, but their companion had turned away, turned so that the small breeze, coming through the open screens, caressed his face.
“I could advance the foot-soldier in the fifth rank. This would put pressure on the keep.” Shonto suggested.
“Huh.” The old man considered this for a moment. “If I were defending, I would answer with the swordmaster to his own seventh file and you would be forced to retreat and cover. In the end this would cost you dearly in moves lost.”
Shonto moved the two pieces accordingly, that he might examine the new position. “I understand.” He said at last, and returned the pieces to their places.
“You must look deeper,” the gii master said in a whisper. “You will come to the disputed lands soon, will you not?” he asked suddenly.
“What? Oh, yes, yes, of course.”
“A puzzling situation,” the old man said, and Shuyun was not sure what he referred to. “The solution, if I may give you some indication, is entirely unconventional. It came to me like a revelation, something I’m sure you can appreciate, Brother.”
“Any obvious attack has been explored a thousand times,” Shonto said, thinking out loud.
“More, I would say, Motoru-sum.”
Suddenly Shonto looked up. “If I do not attack, what will you do?”
“An important consideration.” The gii master sat with his blind eyes closed, turning his face slowly from side to side, enjoying the feel of the breeze. “I am much like any other Emperor; it is my purpose to win.”
The two guests looked long at the board, hoping it would reveal its secret to them.
“We must attempt to draw you out of your keep, Master,” Shuyun said, “but your position there is strong.”
“That is true. I cannot be drawn out by a simple ruse.”
Shonto moved a piece. “We could sacrifice a dragon-ship.”
“I could refuse it.”
Shonto considered this. “Huh,” he said, and returned the piece to its position.
“A sacrifice is not effective unless your opponent has no choice but to take it.” Myochin quoted from Soto’s treatise on gii.
“It is a dangerous error to rely on your opponent’s stupidity,” Shuyun added, quoting the same source.
The gii master nodded agreement. “The Butto and the Hajiwara have reached an impasse, I understand,” the old man said, changing the subject again.
“So it would appear, Eku-sum.”
“Hmm. Good for them but not necessarily good for you.”
“How so, Eku-sum?”
“You step into a situation without momentum, yet movement will be required. It is easier to redirect something that is in motion than to move something which is still. Is this not true?”
“So you have always said, and I must admit it has proven to be so.”
Silence fell again and Shonto did not take his eyes from the gii board.
“Are you ready to give up now?” the old man asked suddenly, sounding somewhat annoyed.
Shonto laughed affectionately. “Give us a little more time, Eku-sum. Even you did not find the answer with only a few moments’ contemplation.”
“It is true, my lord. I grow less patient with others as I grow older. Ah, well.” He paused, seeming to contemplate his statement. “I have said that you must look deeper, but remember, it is not enough to look deeper into the game, you must look within, also. It is always there that you will find the resources needed.”
After a moment’s more contemplation, Shuyun said, “I would move my guard commander back to the first rank.”
The old man nodded again. He smiled. “An interesting thought.”
“But you would open your flank to the wing of his greatest strength, Brother,” Shonto said.
“Yes,” the monk answered.
“What will you do when he attacks?”
“I do not know, Sire.”
The old man laughed. “You see, Brother Shuyun, Lord Shonto has always played with his mind and never with his greater powers. He is a master of the game, certainly, but this is his limitation. You, on the other hand, have been taught all of your life to draw upon other strengths. What makes Lord Shonto unique is that he recognizes his weakness. For this reason it has been arranged that you serve him. Did your teachers tell you that, Brother?” When Shuyun did not respond, the old man said, “I thought not.
“You see, Motoru-sum. Our young Brother has made a leap beyond logic. He knows that there is a solution—I have told him so. He knows that he must draw me from my keep—upon that we agree. Once he has come that far, he has let his instinct dictate the next move, an instinct that he trusts implicitly. His move, by the way, is correct, though the rest of the series is equally difficult. Ten moves to forced surrender.” He rose slowly, but without assistance. “If you will excuse me, I must go out and feel the night for a moment, and then, if you will, we shall dine.”
The gii master, who had never in his life seen a gii board, walked out onto the porch, down the steps and into the garden. His white hair and robe could just be seen, fluttering in the breeze.
“Remarkable, yeh?” Shonto said, taking his eyes from the board.
Shuyun nodded. “I am honored that you would bring me to meet him, Lord Shonto.”
Shonto shrugged. “My instincts, which I have never been able to apply to the gii board, told me that it was important that the two of you meet. It gives me pleasure to watch someone who is truly able to appreciate what he has accomplished. Did you know that he was the Champion of all of Wa six times!”
Shuyun shook his head.
What is remarkable, the young monk thought, is that he accomplished this without Botahist training. Shuyun pictured the gii board in his mind, the pieces arranged for the Soto problem, and began to explore the possibilities of the first move he had made. He took the first step into chi-ten, and felt his sense of time begin to stretch. In his mind he moved the pieces through a hundred permutations, all at what seemed a normal speed. He held his focus and followed what came of it, move after move. In a matter of minutes he had found the third solution to the Soto problem. He opened his eyes to find Lord Shonto staring at him.
“Show me,” Shonto said simply.
He has had a Brother in his house before, Shuyun reminded himself and let no sign of surprise show at Shonto’s request.
He controlled his time sense now, but still, he moved the pieces through the solution too quickly. Shonto did not grasp it for a moment, it had been done so fast, but then his face lit up.
“Yes, yes! That is right, of course.” He nodded, a slight bow, to the monk. “It is sad that I could not have been trained in your way when I was young.”
“You cannot be a servant of the Perfect Master, Sire, and a lord also,” Shuyun said, but immediately he was reminded of Lady Nishima, practicing chi quan in her private garden. Did Lord Shonto know, he wondered? Was it Brother Satake who had taught her? Shuyun could not say.
Shonto shrugged. “It seems to be true.”
Myochin Ekun returned to the room. “You will have to take the problem of the third solution with you to Seh, Motoru-sum. I was going to show you, but it will give you something to do during the winter rains.” He chuckled. “Yes, that will keep you occupied. Ah, Leta, where is our dinner?”
The meal was served, accompanied by hot rice wine and spiced sauces. Warm robes were brought for the gii master and his guests, for the night grew cooler, yet no one wanted to shut its beauty out.
Talk turned again to the Sh
onto household, as was perhaps inevitable, and Shuyun was the willing audience of the older men’s favorite stories. Food and drink were accompanied by much laughter.
“You were an impossible student, sometimes, Motoru-sum, I have not forgotten. I often envied Brother Satake’s manner with you, I don’t know what his secret was, but you listened to him without your attention wandering all over the wide world.”
“He did have his way, didn’t he?”
“Yes. Yes, he did. It has been so long, how is Satake-sum?”
Shonto paused before answering quietly. “Brother Satake is gone, Eku-sum.”
The old man shook his head. “Of course, I…how could I forget?” He muttered something more, that Shuyun did not catch, and went back to his food. Lord Shonto gazed at the old man for a moment, sadness apparent in his face, then he, too, returned to his dinner. An attempt was made to resume the conversation, but it faltered and failed.
Shojis were set in place to create rooms for the night and beds were made, as was the custom, on the straw mats. Shuyun occupied the room in which the dinner had been eaten, but he did not sleep. He thought of the young Acolyte and the story she had told him. He thought of Sister Morima and the Sacred Scrolls.
It seemed odd to him that Myochin Ekun had forgotten the death of Brother Satake—a man who was still capable of finding a third solution to the Soto problem. It seemed very odd.
Outside the house, a large tulip tree surrendered to the increasing night breeze, and released its leaves to the wind. They fell in a slow rain, blowing into the house and scattering across the floor. Shuyun lay in this shower of leaves, entirely awake, until dawn slipped into the night sky. When he looked outside, the tulip tree was all but bare.
Fifteen
THERE WAS NO moon, though it would rise later, a waning disk floating in the morning sky. The quay and the cobbled square seemed to be made up of shades of gray, lines of black. Shapes that suggested things to the mind, things that moved and changed and flowed.
If Tanaka had not known the area, he would not have understood what it was he looked at. Across the square there was an inn, he knew it well, and to his left an Imperial customs house, its large doors darker rectangles in a dark wall. A line of ships rode quietly against the quay, tugging at their moorings—massive spice-traders and warships—single lights illuminating the quarter decks for the night watch.
Opposite the spice-traders, shops and the large Trading Houses stretched along the stone quay—the first building would belong to the Hashikara, and next to it, the Minikama, the Sadaku, and then the giant Sendai warehouses. None of these great families would allow their names to be attached to their trading concerns, but it did not matter, Tanaka knew them all, knew the vassal-merchants and which Houses each silently represented. Yankura was his city and little passed in it that he did not soon learn.
From the balcony of the inn, on which he waited, Tanaka could see all three roads entering the square, black mouths yawing, the glint of starlight on cobbles. Nothing moved there but a stray cat that searched along the wall of the inn, looking for a way to the food it no doubt smelled.
The old man who stood in the dark beside the merchant did not move. In fact, he hardly dared breathe, he was so frightened. It shocked him that he should react so. In his younger days he had served in the army of Lord Shonto Motoru’s father. Once, the great lord had given him the Dagger of Bravery for his part in a battle against the Yamaku’s allies. It was a memory he cherished, a story he had told his grandchildren a hundred times. But his days of being a warrior were long past, and tonight he felt fear as he could never remember feeling fear before. The apparent calmness of the vassal-merchant shamed him and made him determined to show none of what he felt. If only his stomach and bowels would cooperate! They churned and writhed like a dying serpent.
Neither man dared speak his thoughts, there in the shadow of the building which sheltered them. They remained as still as the shadows themselves. They listened.
Have I come on a fool’s errand? Tanaka asked himself. Has this old man fallen into a fantasy that he can again play a part in the struggles of the Empire? He felt pity for the old man if that were so. It was hard to imagine, looking at the old man now, but he had been a full captain once, a good and competent man. Long ago, he had served on Tanaka’s own guard. But tonight the merchant wondered if the retired captain was slipping into a sad state of senility. They had been standing in the dark for over three hours. The hour of the owl had just sounded. I believe I am wasting my time, Tanaka decided, and a certain relief accompanied that realization.
He was just about to put a hand on the old man’s shoulder and take his leave when he heard, or thought he heard, a sound. But then there was nothing and Tanaka wondered if he was beginning to suffer the same fate as the old man. Again! A sound, so familiar, a sound he had heard since childhood. The sound of armor—leather creaking, the muffled jangle of metal rings. Tanaka pushed himself closer to the wall behind him.
Now he regretted coming without guard. If the captain had not insisted he would never have considered it, but the old warrior had been adamant. Tanaka pushed back and felt the wall, solid against his taut muscles. He tried to wrap the shadow around him like a cloak. Breathe, Tanaka ordered himself, breathe.
The sound came again, and suddenly there, by the fountain in the middle of the square, there was a dark form—a man. Tanaka could see him turning slowly, searching the shadows with his eyes. How long had he been there? The merchant fought panic. We cannot be seen in this darkness, he told himself—breathe!
A second man came into view, silhouetted for an instant against the reflection on the fountain’s surface. The captain did not lie, Tanaka thought, they are Imperial Guardsmen. If we are found now, we are lost. Breathe, breathe slowly.
A third guard crossed the square almost silently, making his way toward the quay. He stopped before crossing the last stretch of cobbles, but when he was sure there was no activity along the waterfront he trotted directly to an Imperial Warship. The ship’s lone watchman did not offer challenge but instead lowered the gangway. Tanaka could hear the creak of the ropes and the dull “thump” as planks hit stone. On deck the light was extinguished.
Again there was a long silence. The merchant peered into the shadows until he thought he saw guards hovering everywhere. He felt completely trapped. There was nothing to do but remain still and pray to Botahara to hide them.
The black rectangle of the customs house door began to change shape suddenly, and Tanaka realized it had opened without a sound. The hinges had been greased, that was certain. More guards emerged—ten? twelve? more?—Tanaka could not be sure. It was then that he heard the breathing of someone below them. The scrape of a sandal on wood. Stairs led from the square to the balcony on Tanaka’s right. He turned that way, staring at the blackness.
If we cannot avoid discovery, he thought, I will smash through a screen into the inn and hope to lose myself in the confusion this act will cause. He braced himself and listened for a foot on the stairs.
The guards from the customs house hurried across the square. They could not hide their noise completely now; there were too many of them. And they carried something, Tanaka realized, a box the size of a traveling trunk. It hung between poles and guards carried it. Imperial Guards carried it!—not bearers. Tanaka almost stepped forward, such was his surprise. They struggled with it, too, he could see that even in the dark. Eight men struggled with this burden!
He swallowed in a dry throat, it had not been just a story, then. The old man’s nephew had indeed given him valuable information. The merchant wondered if the nephew could be among the guards below? Another reason that they should not be caught.
Tanaka glanced over at the dark form of his companion. The old man had shriveled into the wall, pulling his robe high to hide the lightness of his skin. The old warrior has not forgotten his Shonto training, Tanaka noted.
The stairs creaked! Or was it someone moving inside? Tanaka stare
d into the dark square of the stairwell until he could no longer discern anything at all. His muscles ached from the effort he made to be still.
Across the square, the guardsmen reached the Imperial Warship and began to load their burden. It went over the side quickly on tackle, but Tanaka could see nothing on the deck. There were more sounds, the sounds of men emerging from the ship’s belly. Then they moved back across the square, fanning out, searching the periphery of the area.
There were sounds on the stairs—footsteps!—but then they seemed to hesitate. Tanaka looked wildly around—where would he hide? It was then that he saw the old man was gone! It hit him like a blast of cold wind—I have been trapped, the merchant thought.
Tanaka began to edge along the balcony toward the nearest shoji. It was his only hope. The footsteps approached now. He could hear breathing and the sounds of armor—an Imperial Guardsman, undoubtedly. A shape appeared in the opening, dark against the darkness. Tanaka tensed, ready to spring, wondering if it was too late to reach the shoji now. The guard set a foot onto the balcony.
He looks right at me, Tanaka thought. It was in that instant that the merchant saw them—on the balcony behind the guard—two figures, seeming to take form out of the shadow. One held a knife. The merchant stood frozen, watching.
But then the two figures seemed to melt into one and slump into the darkness of the floor. The guard stopped, Tanaka could see the glint of light on his chin strap, he turned slowly about and then, almost silently, descended the stairs.
I have not been seen, Tanaka thought. Thank the darkness, thank Botahara!
In another instant the guards were gone. The Imperial Warship slipped its lines and began to recede into the darkness. Tanaka told himself to breathe again. But still he dared not move. Out of the black pool of the floor a figure rose, small, catlike in its movements. It faced him on the dark balcony. It spoke.
“Do nothing rash,” came the soft whisper. “He would have betrayed your presence.” The figure motioned to the floor. “He will awaken soon. Then you must go.”
The Initiate Brother Duology Page 24
