Ken’ishi took a deep breath and settled himself. Then he stood, bokken hanging from his left hand. “You talk too much.”
Hage whispered, “What are you doing?”
Three sets of dark, hard eyes focused on Ken’ishi. Yuto sucked more rice from his teeth. “Back off, stranger. You’re not from around here.”
“You’ve disturbed my meal. Leave now.”
“Interesting. That’s what I was going to say to you.” Yuto glanced at his associates. The three of them stood, fingering their weapons.
Hage put down his chopsticks and bowl. “Oho! Now this could be interesting.”
The big one reached behind his back and pulled out the sickles. Sneering, he pointed at Ken’ishi’s wooden sword with one. “What are you going to do with that? Let the old man use it as a walking stick?”
“I’m going to use it to break both of your arms if you don’t leave now.”
The man’s face flared red. “Idiot!”
Yuto’s voice was low and oily. “You clearly don’t know who we work for. If you continue this, you’ll only wish you were dead.”
Ken’ishi took a deep breath, released it, and switched his bokken to his right hand.
The big man raised a sickle and charged like an ox.
Ken’ishi side-stepped the hissing blade and brought his wooden sword down across the man’s forearm. A loud, meaty snap tore a howl from the man’s throat. The sickle fell to the earth. The howl shifted to a roar of anger, and he swung the other sickle at Ken’ishi’s face. Ken’ishi caught the wooden sickle handle on his wooden blade, and with a twist, jerked it out of the man’s hand, sending it flying in a high arc. Ken’ishi’s bokken swept down across the extended forearm. A sound like a splintered sapling, the warm spurt of blood from the spear of bone tearing free of flesh. The second sickle landed several paces away.
A collective gasp rippled through onlookers, filling the moment of silence before the man screamed.
The glint of sun-brightened steel flashed in Ken’ishi’s eyes and drove him back three steps.
Yuto and his other companion stepped around the wailing sickle wielder, katanas raised. They lunged toward Ken’ishi. Yuto stumbled over Hage’s out-thrust walking stick and fell to his hands and knees, but the other man still came forward.
Between instants, Ken’ishi could see the rust spots sullying the glimmer of the oncoming blade. He easily batted the ill-trained stroke aside, and his return stroke slashed across the man’s face. More splintering bone. The man’s eye burst from its shattered socket, hanging on his cheek.
Hage swept his walking stick around and clubbed Yuto in the back of the head.
Ken’ishi’s assailant dropped his sword, and his shrieks formed a horrid chorus with the sickle man’s. Blood gushed from the man’s face.
Yuto rolled away from Hage with surprising deftness, slashing blindly through a deluge of tears and stunned bewilderment. Hage’s eyes bulged, and he dodged back. The whishing tip of Yuto’s blade flashed past the old man’s face.
Ken’ishi leaped forward and slashed down across the spine of Yuto’s blade, driving the hilt out of his grip.
The second swordsman gingerly cradled his dangling eyeball in his palm, his scream becoming a crazed gurgling.
The big sickle man staggered back to his feet, both arms hanging at grotesque angles, a bloody splinter of bone protruding from one.
Ken’ishi kicked Yuto in the face, sending him sprawling onto his back. He stood over Yuto and lowered the point of his bokken to Yuto’s face as the man glared up at him with hatred and fear.
A crowd of whispers and eyes had formed a wide circle around them.
Ken’ishi pressed the point of his bokken into Yuto’s throat. “If I hear that you have given this tavern keeper any more trouble, I will find you.”
Yuto spat blood from pulped lips, gurgling. “Then you had better kill me now.”
“As I look around this crowd of good townspeople, I see many faces who want to do just that.” It was true. The shock and curiosity of the crowd was quickly giving way to anger and threat. Eyes simmered with old hatred, glimmered with opportunity, like the desire to finish off a pack of wounded wolves. “Now, go. But leave your weapons.” He allowed Yuto to stagger to his feet.
“Who are you?” Yuto said. “Who’s your master?”
“I have no name.”
“My master will find you.”
Ken’ishi raised his bokken to strike, and Yuto spun and fled through the crowd.
The throng parted to let the two wounded, whimpering men stumble after him, then cheered and hallooed and threw taunts after them.
Ken’ishi stepped up to the counter and laid down a coin for his meal.
The tavern keeper’s wife glared at him with mixed horror and anger. “What have you done, you fool?” she hissed. “Those men work for Green Tiger!”
“Green Tiger?”
“Lord of the Underworld!” she snapped. “Don’t you know anything? He’ll kill us for sure! Or burn down our place!”
The tavern keeper stepped around his wife, mumbling, “Shut up, woman!” He bowed to Ken’ishi. “Honorable sir, please accept our thanks.” He grinned feebly. “Our troubles were none of your concern, but …” He scooped up the bundled coins and bowed again.
Hage placed another purse on the counter with the heavy clink of many coins. “Think nothing of it. Perhaps this will assuage the pain of your troubles today.”
The tavern keeper’s eyes devoured the purse. The wife snatched it up and clutched it to her chest, her frown melting into tears.
Hage slid off the bench. “Let’s be moving on, old sot, lest our departed friends send reinforcements.”
Ken’ishi bowed to the tavern keeper, then picked up his things and shouldered them.
Hage said, “Aren’t you going to take the weapons? You could certainly use a real sword.”
Ken’ishi shook his head. “Those swords are sullied by the evil of the men who bore them. A sword should be granted, not stolen as spoils. As for the sickles, I’m not a gardener.”
Hage shrugged, and they walked through the crowd, the people bowing to them as they passed. Hage said, “You are much less pragmatic than me.”
Ken’ishi waited until they were out of the crowd’s earshot, then frowned. “And somewhat less amoral as well. You stole his money.”
“I thought it only fair to steal from a thief.”
They walked through the streets for a while, away from the marketplace. They started across a bridge over a wide, gurgling river. The gentle arch of the bridge felt good against Ken’ishi’s feet and raised him high enough to see over the roofs of the town’s houses. The noon sun was hot on his head, the river bright in his eyes, the breeze cool on his flesh.
Green Tiger, the woman had said. Three years ago, he had slain a spy in Aoka village pretending to be an itinerant monk, and the spy had been preparing to send a message to an unknown master. The spy, Yellow Tiger, had been looking for Ken’ishi. He had always wondered if the spy had been working for Lord Nishimuta no Jiro—Kazuko’s father. Perhaps Lord Nishimuta had decided that banishing Ken’ishi was not enough. This town was nearer to Nishimuta lands.
So many tigers. Could the theft of Silver Crane be connected somehow?
Hage poked him with his walking stick. “Do you know which direction?”
Ken’ishi took a deep breath, reaching out his awareness for the invisible tug. But he felt nothing. “I … I don’t know.”
Hage’s cheeks puffed. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’ve been so certain!”
Ken’ishi threw up his hands. “I’m saying the sword could be in this town, within a hundred paces, and I would not know. How can I follow it this way?”
“A question you should have asked before you set out. What did you expect to do? Go house to house asking if people had seen it?”
“No, I … I trusted that destiny would bring it back to me, or else that I would die in the search.”
“That’s a high cost for failure, old sot.”
“Without it, I may as well be dead.” Ken’ishi leaned over the rail and put his head in his hands.
“You did pretty well back there with your polished stick. Now, quit whining. We’ll keep going, even if it’s the wrong way. An immobile stone has no destiny but to never move.”
Ken’ishi’s eyes were drawn to a flash of white movement near the riverbank. Three cranes leaped into the air and with a few beats of their wings lofted over the bridge and turned toward the west. His gaze followed them until they disappeared into the west. “That way.” The rightness of his words rang like a silent bell in his mind.
Hage nodded. “Glad to hear it. I just knew this would be a fun journey, old sot!” He reached up to stroke his beard and jumped with surprise. His beard now hung square-cut a finger’s breadth below his chin.
“It would have been less ‘fun’ without your head.”
Hage dabbed at the glisten of sweat on his forehead. “Indeed.”
“But before we leave town, we should ask a few questions about this Green Tiger. I want to know who we’re dealing with.”
Now I glimpse her face,
the old woman, abandoned,
with only the moon for company
— Basho
Yasutoki held Yuto’s note in the candle flame and watched it blacken, ignite, and curl into ash. Anger flared in tandem with the burgeoning flame. Yuto would survive the brawl, but his henchmen might not. They had received a serious beating, Yuto said, and the interlopers had not only prevented the collection of the protection money, but also made off with the rest of the day’s collection, a substantial sum.
The heat from the candle grew on his fingertips, but he withstood it, focusing his will. His fingertips blackened with the smoke and soot from the burning paper. This incident was a serious insult to Green Tiger’s power. There must be retribution.
According to Yuto’s note, five men had attacked without warning. Was another gang moving into his territory? A rival oyabun? Green Tiger had formed a tenuous cessation of hostilities with the Chinese White Lotus gang and their opium trade in Hakata, and the Scorpion Gambling Alliance in Kumamoto. Other smaller gangs operated in the nooks and crannies of the underworld, but they all knew better than to cross him.
In any case, his operation in Oita town had been weakened. Always it seemed that the upper world, the visible world, chipped at the edges of his empire, like rats nibbling into a sack of rice. Nothing ran smoothly for long. He would not only have to track down the perpetrators and punish them, he would also have to send a pointed message to Oita town’s merchants that Green Tiger was not to be trifled with.
When the paper burned to a mere scrap, he released the rest of it into the flame, and a few final embers puffed and settled to the table. Yasutoki rubbed his blackened fingertips together. He would be much more irritated now if Silver Crane was not safely vaulted in Lord Tsunetomo’s treasure room in the bowels of the castle, hidden in a nondescript wooden box with Yasutoki’s personal seal. None but Yasutoki and Tsunetomo himself had access to the room, and Tsunetomo never bothered to visit it. Not even his brother, Tsunemori, was allowed access.
Tsunetomo trusted Yasutoki to handle the domain’s financial affairs, and Yasutoki handled them with meticulous care; he had never stolen a sliver of copper from his lord. Silver Crane would be safe there. And if the sword was discovered by some unlikely happenstance, Yasutoki was entitled to a “family treasure” kept in safekeeping. Tsunetomo would have no inkling of the sword’s true significance.
His chamber door shadowed with a presence in the hallway. “Are you in there?”
Yasutoki sighed at the sound of Hatsumi’s voice. Despite his best efforts, he had not been able to maintain his illusion of interest in an affair with her. Coupling with her was like bedding a day-old tuna. Even after almost three years of their erstwhile liaisons, her body was so stiff and unresponsive that he could no longer put aside her horse-faced ugliness. For weeks he had been trying to put her off with niceties and little gifts, distractions from the fact that he did not want to see her, but she had been growing ever more insistent. It would be troublesome to have her meet with some sort of accident—she was still a useful tool in Lady Kazuko’s confidence—but if her attentions became too odious, he would have to deal with them.
He mustered as much pleasantness as he could. “I am here, Hatsumi, my sweet. Do come in.”
The door slid open, and Hatsumi shuffled inside, eyes modestly downcast.
Yasutoki gave her his best smile. “So lovely to see you. Please come and sit. Would you like some tea?”
Hatsumi crossed the room in a horse’s caricature of a maiden’s dainty walk, her thick lips quirked into a courtesan’s smile that demurely concealed her carefully blackened teeth. She sat beside him. “A lovely morning, is it not?”
“I would assume so, with the pleasant breeze coming through the window, but alas, I have been ensconced here, working on my lord’s business since early this morning. While I am away in Hakata, untended business here accumulates.”
“You are such a busy man. Can you not take a bit of time for some enjoyment? It has been so long since … we have had any private time together.”
“I am sorry, my sweet. It has been too long. The necessities of life in my lord’s service, I’m afraid.”
She nodded and reached over to stroke his thigh. “Perhaps you’d like to go for a walk in the garden?”
“Alas, my sweet, no. There are duties I must perform before afternoon, or our lord will be unhappy with me.”
Hatsumi squeezed his thigh. “Please, I’ve been so lonely.” She laid her head on his shoulder.
He took her hand in his and lifted it off his thigh, squeezing. “No, I cannot today.”
“Perhaps tomorrow?”
“Perhaps, if you leave me to my work today.”
She stiffened and drew back. “Perhaps you would be more interested if I said we should walk to the Roasted Acorn.”
Yasutoki’s teeth clenched at the pregnancy of her tone. “What do you mean?”
“I saw you the other night leaving the Roasted Acorn, with your basket hat.”
“Have you been spying on me?” An edge of menace found its way into a tone that he had intended to be playful.
“My lady and I were passing by, and I recognized your walk. I know you too well, dear, for you to hide from me.” She pulled her hand free of his and stroked his groin. “I could recognize your little man, too, even in the dark.”
“A man must have a bit of saké now and then. You should mind your own business!” His hand closed over her wrist and squeezed hard.
She gasped and tried to pull it away, but his strength far exceeded hers. “Why are you so secretive?”
“It is not your place to ask such questions.” He dragged out each word, boring his eyes into hers, his lips drawing tight.
Hatsumi’s voice shrilled like a dissonant biwa string. “You’ve been dipping your brush in some whore’s ink!” She tore her hand free, drew back, and laid a stinging slap across his face.
He spurned her and leaped to his feet. “You dare!”
Her eyes brimmed with tears and rage. “You’ve found another servant girl who makes your little man stand at attention! Some little whore!” She rose up off the floor as if jerked upright by the claws reaching for his face. Rage boiled from her eyes like molten fire.
He caught her wrists, holding her at bay as she loosed a guttural shriek of anguish. Tears streamed down her face. She twisted her wrists and fought against his grip, but he held them fast. A deft twist of her wrists and a quick ankle-sweep sent her to the floor with a jarring thud, and he knelt on her chest, wrists still firmly in his grip. Her sour breath whooshed into his face. His words dripped with venom. “Now, my sweet. You will calm yourself and listen to me.”
The door whished open again, and Kazuko stood there, chest heaving, wearing a man’s practice ro
be and trousers. Sweat sheened her face and stained her clothes, soaked her white headband. “Hatsumi! Lord Yasutoki, what is going on?”
The faces of several wide-eyed servants peeked around the edges of the open door.
Yasutoki eased back, but did not release her wrists. “A bit of a quarrel. Nothing to concern my lady. Or the household!” He turned a pointed gaze on the servants outside, and they faded like squirrels from sight.
Hatsumi burst into harsh, wracking sobs, and the angry strength melted out of her arms.
Kazuko stalked into the room, her porcelain-smooth cheeks flushing pink that was not from exertion. “Release her!”
Yasutoki’s eyes narrowed, but he released Hatsumi’s wrists and slid back and to his feet in one motion.
Hatsumi lay in a sobbing pile. Kazuko came forward and took her arm, helping her to her feet, glaring coldly at Yasutoki. Hatsumi let herself be led toward the door.
Kazuko glanced back. “I’ll thank you, sir, to never lay hands upon my servant again. Keep your attentions to yourself, or my husband will hear of it.”
Yasutoki bit down upon his cheek at her presumption of command. True, she held higher station than him, but she was, after all, just a woman. He bowed low. “As my lady wishes. Please accept my sincere apologies.”
She helped Hatsumi into the corridor and slammed the door.
In the silence, he took a deep breath and calmed himself.
Hatsumi’s burst of fury had surprised him. She was becoming more volatile than he cared to tolerate. If she caused any more trouble like today, his reputation could be sullied. Lord Tsunetomo was a practical man who trusted Yasutoki, but he would not approve of anything in his court that smacked of impropriety.
Yasutoki rubbed his chin. It would be less trouble perhaps to just kill her and be done, but she might yet be useful. Perhaps he should contrive some reason to return to his house in Hakata for a while, until this Hatsumi problem subsided. He often directly oversaw the acquisition of building materials and supplies for Tsunetomo’s ever-expanding holdings, new fortifications and field improvements. Such simple lies around his activities and whereabouts were his stock in trade.
Sword of the Ronin (The Ronin Trilogy) Page 12
