Tanaka blinked, trying to focus. The figure evaporated, the merchant watched it happen, but his eyes would not believe it. He shook his head to clear it, but nothing changed. There was a sound now. In the darkness on the floor, something stirred. He heard a soft moan.
Tanaka went immediately to the sound. The old captain lay on the rough planks, his dagger by his head. The merchant put his fingers to the man’s lips. “Make no sound. You are safe.”
He propped the man’s head up in his hand and listened, waiting for the old one’s breathing to become regular. He felt the old man touch his arm and nod. Helping him to rise, Tanaka returned the captain’s blade, and steered him toward the back stairs.
When they were around the side of the inn, the old man put his mouth close to Tanaka’s ear. “What happened?”
“We were saved,” Tanaka answered and said no more. When they reached the alley, the man who had once been a warrior reached into his sleeve and removed a small leather bag and placed it in Tanaka’s hand.
The merchant hefted it once, then leaned close to speak. “I will tell our lord.” He lifted the bag again. “This will not be forgotten.”
The two men parted, going silently through the streets of the Floating City. Tanaka felt more exhausted than he would have thought possible. His head spun with the significance of what he had just witnessed.
As soon as he had entered his own residence and assured his guard that he was, indeed, well, Tanaka pulled open the knot that closed the leather bag. Whatever was inside, had come from the trunk carried by the Imperial Guard. By the light of a single lamp he emptied the contents onto a table.
The merchant sank back on his heels. “May Botahara save us,” he muttered. Before him, glinting in the lamplight, lay five square gold coins, unmarked but for a hole in the center of each. They bore no stamp of official coinage, yet, clearly, they were newly minted.
“My lord does not imagine his danger,” Tanaka said to the room. “I must warn him.”
As he reached for his brush and ink, the merchant recalled the figure in the dark—his savior. Tanaka smiled to himself. He had never known praying to Botahara to have such a direct effect, for unless his age had overtaken him entirely, what Tanaka had seen in the dark was an Initiate of the Botahist Order.
“Impossible,” he whispered. “Impossible. The Botahist Brothers endanger their Order for no one!” He could fashion no explanation for what had occurred, though something told him it was not Tanaka the Brothers wished to save, nor even the Lord Shonto Motoru—no, he was sure, it was a young monk they were concerned with. A young monk who Tanaka had seen perform an impossible feat. Yes, he thought, Lord Shonto must be warned.
Sixteen
The smoke-flowers turn,
Deep purple.
And the dew lies upon them
Like cold tears.
It is said the Emperor
Is entertained by a young Sonsa.
Does she dance well
I wonder?
From “The Palace Book”
Lady Nikko
AGONG SOUNDED—THREE TIMES, a pause of two beats, and then a fourth deep ring. The sound echoed through the Palace of the Emperor, down long hallways and among the many courtyards. Then all was quiet again, all was still. In the cycle of the lengthening and shortening of the days, the hour of the owl never saw the light of the sun, and perhaps in balance, it never missed the moonlight. The autumn moon waned toward its last quarter, now, and its light seemed to take on the coldness and purity of the night air.
Jaku Tadamoto walked silently down an empty corridor, his sandaled feet making no sound on the marble floor. He wore the black uniform of the Imperial Guard, though without the insignia of a colonel on the breast, and he carried in his hand a bronze lantern.
It was not unusual for a colonel of the Imperial Guard to be walking the palace at night; security was, after all, their duty, but it was somewhat less common that a colonel would not display his rank. It indicated that he had other purposes, purposes of his own—perhaps a test of security—and did not want his rank seen. Perhaps, too, he went on an errand for his famous brother.
The truth was that Jaku Tadamoto wanted to reduce the chances of being recognized, yet he wanted the freedom to roam the palace that the black uniform would provide.
He walked on, confident that his knowledge would allow him to avoid the guards on their rounds. Coming to a junction in the halls, the young colonel stopped to light his lantern from a hanging lamp. Once sure that it had been lit and would not die, he closed the lantern so that no light could be seen. He removed a single iron key from his sleeve and, without hesitation, crossed to a large, hinged door.
The lock turned without sound and Jaku Tadamoto was immediately inside a darkened room. It was a cluttered place, he knew, one that he would not attempt to negotiate in the darkness. Opening the lantern for a brief second, Tadamoto examined his surroundings. He was in the Hall of Historical Truth, which in fact, was made up of twenty rooms of similar size. It was here that the scholars labored on their great work, the history and assessment of the Hanama Dynasty. Tadamoto knew much about this because the work fascinated him, and he came here often to speak with the historians.
Closing the lamp, he crossed the room, by memory, to the far shoji. The screens opened onto a balcony, lit only by light from the waning moon. Staying back in the shadows, Tadamoto went silently to the balcony’s end parapet where he stopped to let his eyes adjust to the night. Far below, in a lantern-lit courtyard, the Palace Guard was changing. Tadamoto could hear the sound of muffled armor. Somehow this made him aware of the madness of what he did, yet the pounding of his heart was not from fear. The thought of Osha waiting for him caused a thrill to course through him.
We will not be found, he told himself, and wondered if his judgment was entirely clouded by his passion.
When his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, Tadamoto leaned over the parapet, gauging the distance to the next balcony. Two arm’s lengths, he decided—he did not even consider the distance to the stone courtyard—the darkness below him seemed endless. There are safer ways, Tadamoto told himself, but I might be seen, and that would not do. I must cross here—it is an easy jump, a child could do it. It is only the thought of height that makes it difficult.
He climbed up onto the parapet’s wide top and balanced himself in the darkness. But still he hesitated. He bent his knees, flexing them for the leap, but then he straightened again. His palm, against the cool bronze of the lantern, was slippery with sweat.
Katta is the adventurer in our family, he told himself. So, he thought, perhaps I could have him come and carry me across to my assignation with the Emperor’s mistress! He took a deep breath then, and jumped into the darkness. His foot landed squarely on the parapet of the next balcony and he let the momentum carry him farther. Landing on his feet on the tiled floor, he let out a low laugh and shook his head. It had been ridiculously easy, as he had known it would be.
“The mind must control the fears,” he whispered to the night, and he turned to the nearest shoji. On an “inspection tour” earlier that day, he had left it unlatched and he found that it had not been discovered.
The east wing of the Imperial Palace had contained the private apartments of the Hanama before their fall, but now it was inhabited only by the royal ghosts. No one went there if it was not required of them.
Tadamoto did not let the fear of spirits overcome his very rational mind. He stepped into the room and pulled the screen closed behind him. Feeling his way, he crossed the wide floor before he dared let even a slight glow escape from his lamp. He breathed deeply to calm himself, but his lungs were assaulted by the mustiness of the unused rooms. The air seemed to smell of the past.
He opened a screen onto a large hallway, anxious to be moving, to leave the presence of the Hanama behind. His lamp picked out the wall paintings and the fine carvings in both stone and wood. The Hanama had exhibited much more refined tastes than their
successors. Their art had been simple and elegant, with a subtle use of color, yet the court painters of the Yamaku were not required to execute such cultivated work.
Tadamoto came to a wide flight of stone stairs which rose up into landings on the next three floors. He stopped to listen for a moment but all was silent, all was dark.
He went up, his thoughts turning now to the Sonsa dancer. How had she come to this place? Had she been seen? Was she not afraid? A vision of her filled his mind, a memory of her hand on his arm.
At the second landing he turned down the hall, his lantern casting a warm glow over the floor and walls. Finally, at the end of the hall, he came to a set of large doors, ornately carved, painted with gilt. Depicted in this relief, were the Door Wardens—the giants who guarded the sanctuary within from entry by the spirits of evil. The door on the right was slightly ajar. Tadamoto reached out and grasped the bronze handle and pulled it toward him. It started to move, but then came to a stop. He pulled harder; it gave but then stopped again.
“Who dares disturb the sleep of royalty?” a voice hissed from the dark.
Tadamoto let the door go and it closed with a bump.
A voice came to him again, a woman’s voice. “Tadamoto-sum?”
He almost laughed with relief. “Yes. Osha-sum?”
The door swung open now, and in the light from his lamp Tadamoto could see the lovely Sonsa step back into the shrine.
“I…I was afraid you would not come,” she said in a whisper.
“I would not miss an opportunity to see you,” Tadamoto answered, and with that he opened the cover of his lantern. Osha wore an elegant kimono of the finest silk, blue like the morning sky, with a pattern of clouds. Her sash and inner robe were of gold. Around her, the gold of the ornate Botahist shrine seemed to take up the colors of her dress and reflect them, as though she were part of this sacred place—a priestess, an Initiate of the Way. She moved back across the floor, seeming to glide in her steps, coming to a stop in the center of a septilateral set within a circle on the floor.
“It is said that the Brothers dance in patterns such as this and that it is the secret of their power,” she said suddenly. And then she began to move—flowing, effortless movement like the Brothers performed in their defense, yet unlike this. Osha danced. She turned slowly in the half light, her hands suggesting the movements of resistance, yet they enticed, they called to Tadamoto’s senses as he had never felt before. In a final lithe motion, Osha sank to her knees, eyes cast down, and she remained thus for a long moment, unmoving.
At last she spoke in a forced calm. “I am no longer the favorite of our Emperor, Tadamoto-sum.”
The young colonel did not know what to answer. He began a step toward her, but she looked up and something in her gaze stopped him.
“Is it justice that I will never dance again?” she asked.
“Why do you say this? You are the foremost Sonsa of our time.”
“It means nothing, if to have me dance is to risk the displeasure of the Son of Heaven.” She said this without bitterness, a mere statement of the obvious.
“Displeasure? Our Emperor shows nothing but the highest pleasure whenever you perform.”
She sighed at this. “I fear that this will no longer be so, Tadamoto-sum. And there is the new favorite—she will not wish to see me, that is certain.”
Yes, Tadamoto thought, that may be true. But the Emperor seemed to express so much care for her, for her happiness, would he not wish her to dance if that is what created her happiness? “The Emperor is too pleased by your…dancing to wish that you stop. And if that were not true, which I’m sure it is, there are places, other than the Imperial Palace where one may dance.”
“If it were only the palace, I would not be concerned, but it is the capital we speak of, the capital and perhaps all the inner provinces. I would be exiled to the north or to the west….” She shook her head. “After all my years of training, how could I accept this?” She looked down at the pattern around her. “It is not right that this should happen to me!”
Jaku Tadamoto sank to his knees before her. “It need not be as you say, Osha-sum. The Emperor is fair to those who are loyal, the Jaku know this.” He reached out tentatively and took her hands. She returned his touch. “If I do not presume too much, when the time is right I would speak to the Son of Heaven on your behalf.”
She looked up now and held his eyes. He felt her take both of his hands between hers and, with a pressure so slight he may have imagined it, she drew him toward her. She kissed his hand. “You are a man of honor, Jaku Tadamoto-sum. I was a young fool to allow myself to be ensnared by the Emperor and his promises.”
She raised his hands and the warmth of her cheek against his fingers thrilled him. Jaku felt weak as his desire grew stronger. He bent down to her and their lips met in the most tentative kiss. Her breath was sweet, warm. Their lips brushed again, more certainly. He traced the curve of Osha’s neck with a finger and she sighed and pushed her face into his chest. He held her there, close to him, certain that she could feel the pounding of his heart.
“Come with me,” she said rising and drawing him to his feet. She swept the lantern up off the floor and turned, not releasing his hand, to lead him back into the small shrine. A hidden screen opened into a hall that ended in a flight of seven stairs. Osha led him up, hurrying now, and then through another screen into a dark room. In the lamplight Tadamoto could see the form of a large, low bed under a protective cotton cover; the room seemed to contain nothing else.
Osha turned now and kissed him, with longing, with promise. But then broke away, and, going to the far wall, unlatched a shoji, opening it wide to the night. And the moonlight fell upon her like a caress.
“The chamber of the Empress Jenna,” she whispered, and laughed, a warm laugh. “What could be more fitting?”
“You are not as she,” Tadamoto said.
“In my actions, no, I am much more circumspect. But in my soul?” Again she seemed to glide toward him. “In my soul, I am reborn the Yellow Empress Jenna.” Taking his hands, she pulled him lightly toward the bed.
They removed the cotton cover and under it found rich quilts and pillows of the finest quality.
Kneeling on the bed, they kissed again, touching gently. With patience, Tadamoto unwound Osha’s long sash and opened her silk robes. Her outer robe slipped from her shoulders and she was left with the thin, gold fabric of her inner kimono clinging to her skin. He kissed her breasts shyly, the beauty of her dancer’s form stirring him. A shiver ran through Osha’s body and she pushed him down into the quilts, falling lightly on top of him. She untied his sash and he felt her skin soft against his own.
They made love until the sky showed signs of morning, each bringing all of their skills to their tryst, each bringing a strong passion. If anyone passing below had heard, they would have been certain it was the moans, and sighs of the Hanama ghosts who were known to walk the halls still; ever restless, ever dissatisfied.
Seventeen
THE BRUSH WORK was rather plain, but strong and clear. Nishima took it up from the table and looked at it again. The mulberry paper was of the best quality, almost heavy, and colored a pale, pale yellow. An arrangement of green autumn grain had been attached to the poem, a symbol of growth, while yellow was one of the traditional colors of fall.
Autumn settles
Among the fall grains,
And they wait
Only for a sign of spring.
Lady Nishima set the letter on the table again and turned back to the view of the garden beyond her balcony. She wondered if Jaku Katta had written the poem himself. The brush work was his, no doubt, but the poem? This revealed another side of him if it was, indeed, his composition. The verse was not terribly sophisticated, but it was not marred by the overornamentation that Lady Nishima believed was the major flaw in the court verse of that time. It did contain the obligatory reference to a classical poem; in this case to “The Wind From Chou-san.”
> Her heart is as cold
As the wind from Chou-san,
Yet the fall grains appear
In the fields.
He is bold, Nishima thought, and she was not entirely displeased. The contradiction that was Jaku Katta confused her thoroughly—the incident on the canal still seemed odd to her. And yet it was possible that such a thing could happen.
It was Jaku Katta who saved my uncle, she told herself again. And it can never be forgotten that he has the ear of the Emperor. Perhaps this would prove important to the Shonto in the future.
She took up her brush and wet her inkstone for the fourth time.
Cold is the wind
That rattles my shoji,
Yet I am told the fall grains
Need little encouragement.
She set the smoke-gray paper down beside the letter from Jaku Katta and examined the brush work critically. As modest as she was, the lady could not deny the great contrast between their hands. He is a soldier, after all, she thought, but still, she could find little to admire in Jaku’s brush work once she had set it beside her own.
Lady Nishima read through her poem again and decided that it was exactly the tone she was looking for; discouraging, but not entirely so. She attached a small blossom of the twelve-petaled shinta flower to it—the symbol of the Shonto House. That would remind the general that the House of Fanisan was no more. She tapped a small gong to call a servant. The note must go off immediately, she had much to do to prepare for the Celebration of the Emperor’s Ascension.
* * *
The Lady Kitsura Omawara passed through the gate into the small garden attached to her father’s rooms. The sound of water was a subdued burble and, beyond the high wall, a breeze seemed to breathe through the last leaves of the golden lime trees. The young aristocrat was dressed in a formal robe of pale plum, with the hems of her four under kimonos in the most carefully chosen colors, revealed properly at the sleeve and the neck.
The Initiate Brother Duology Page 25
