Poison River

by Josh Reynolds

  There were better ways to make a living than dying for a piece of blue cloth.

  The teahouse was all but empty this early – or this late. The proprietor, a fat little man with half a nose and a kimono that looked as if it should have been buried rather than worn, barely acknowledged her. She returned the favor by ignoring him and striding to the back. The wooden floors creaked under her feet as she made her way down a tight corridor to what would normally have been a supply room.

  The merchant, Saiga, was waiting for her in his office. It was a small room, and cramped. Crates and sacks of what she knew to be illicitly obtained cargo were piled along the patched and tattered walls.

  Saiga’s desk sat opposite the door, in front of low shelves burdened with ledgers and papers. The desk was the nicest thing in the room, Saiga included. He was short and bulky, with a soldier’s build under homespun robes that didn’t quite fit him. His face was round, like a sling bullet, solid and smooth but not soft. Nothing about Saiga was soft.

  He knelt before his desk, a ledger open before him. He’d been making notes when she entered. “Ah, Captain. As punctual as ever. Sit, please. Tea?” He gestured to the tea set beside his elbow, but she shook her head.

  “No tea.”

  Saiga nodded. “Just the money, then?”

  Lun sat, but didn’t reply. Saiga sighed and reached into his robes. He produced a pouch and began extracting coins. “That’s why I like you, Lun. Right to business. None of this false courtesy.”

  “Courtesy is for samurai.”

  Saiga laughed. “How right you are.” He stacked coins on his desk. “No problems, then? With the delivery, I mean.” Saiga had hired her vessel to deliver a load of rice to the Lion docks the previous morning. It had likely been stolen from another shipment, but Lun didn’t worry about such niceties. She hadn’t stolen it, and knew nothing other than what the paperwork said.

  “The usual. The Lion are on edge.”

  Saiga chuckled. “The Lion are always on edge.”

  “They like to complain, the Lion. Said the shipment was short.”

  Saiga frowned and paused. “I hope you showed them the papers. They got what they paid for, not a grain more or less.”

  “I did.”

  “And?” Saiga asked, as he resumed his stacking.

  “They still complained.”

  He sighed. “Of course they did.” He smiled ingratiatingly as he pushed the coins towards her. “A most adequate job, Captain. You exceeded my expectations.”

  “You hired me to deliver rice, Saiga. Let’s not make it something other than what it was.” Lun reached out and scooped the coins into her own pouch. She fixed him with her good eye. “That said, if you should wish to hire us again, I’m at your service.”

  Saiga sat back. His smile didn’t waver. “I may well require your services in the future. But for the moment, enjoy your largesse.” He paused. “You are berthed at the Unicorn docks?”

  “For the moment.”

  “I ask only on the off chance I should need you.”

  Lun considered this. She didn’t trust Saiga. He was oily, even for a merchant. But he was no cheat. He’d always dealt fairly with her, which made him practically a saint in her eyes. “Willow Quay,” she said, flatly. “You know it?”

  Saiga arched an eyebrow. Lun laughed and stood. “Yeah, I figured you knew it. That’s where I’ll be. If you decide you require my services, you can find me there.”

  “Good to know,” he said. He made to continue when the sound of a floorboard creaking made him pause. “Did someone come with you?”

  “No,” Lun’s hand fell to her sword. “A raid?”

  “I’m all paid up for the season,” Saiga said. “Who’s out there?” he called.

  “Me,” a male voice replied. “I need to speak to you.”

  Saiga grimaced. He looked at Lun. “I can trust you to keep your mouth shut, yes?”

  She stared at him without replying. He snorted. “Stupid question. My apologies.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Come in, I’m just concluding some business.”

  The man who entered looked nervous. He shied away as Lun made for the door. “Who’s she?” the newcomer demanded.

  “No one,” Saiga said. “Lun, close the door behind you.”

  Lun did, weighing the coin pouch on her palm as she did so. She paused in the corridor, tempted to eavesdrop. Saiga had been tense, and the other man had seemed downright afraid. She shook her head and kept walking.

  Whatever was going on, it was no business of hers.

  •••

  Eito Saiga relaxed when he heard the creak of the boards signaling Lun’s departure. He sat back and looked at his guest. “You are a fool,” he said, bluntly. The noise from the teahouse was muted back here in his rundown little office. Crates and sacks of unclaimed or newly purchased cargo were stacked against the walls, further muffling the sounds from elsewhere in the building. The office was small, but it had served him well enough for a number of years. It was close to the wharfs where most of his business originated, and well hidden from prying eyes.

  “Watch how you speak to me, merchant,” the other man said. He was tall and dressed like a rich man’s idea of a poor man, meaning he looked like a rather prosperous merchant. Saiga, in contrast, looked like a poor merchant in rough homespun.

  For all intents and purposes, a poor merchant was what he was. A known buyer and seller of black market goods. A thief and a fence. That was the mask that he presented to the world, and sometimes he thought it was who he would always be.

  But in his quieter moments, he hoped not. He hoped, someday, that his loyalty would be rewarded and he would be allowed to serve his clan in the open. Even if it wasn’t the likely end for a man like him.

  “I will speak to you how I wish, given the situation you have put us in,” Saiga snapped, annoyed by his guest’s tone. He knocked a fist against the surface of the small writing desk set before him. “How did she find you?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “And how would I know that?”

  “She only came looking for me because you refused to pay her!”

  Saiga paused. “Ah.” That put a new light on things. “She said that?”

  “Not directly, no. She left a note pinned to my desk where anyone might have seen it.”

  “No need to raise your voice. I understand that this is upsetting.”

  “Why did you not pay her?” His guest was becoming more agitated. He was not used to this, and it showed. If Saiga did not placate him, his nerves might well get the best of him.

  Saiga frowned. “I intended to. But she decided to be foolish. She wanted more money than such a task was worth. I assumed we were haggling. It appears I was mistaken.” He shook his head, annoyed at himself. He’d known better, but the shinobi’s manner had irritated him, and he’d allowed himself to act spitefully – and foolishly. “I warned you about hiring such a person. There are people in the city who would have done it for less… Chobei, for instance. He and his cadre could have undertaken this task with no difficulty…”

  His guest frowned. “The whole point was to hire someone with no ties to the city, and a pressing reason to be elsewhere soon after the deed was done. Which, you assured me, she was.”

  Saiga sighed. As far as he’d been aware the shinobi had been perfect for the task at hand. Over his years of service he had developed a number of contacts, experienced in determining such things on his behalf. One of them had recommended a renegade daughter of the Cat – Nekoma Okuni. Saiga had not delved into the whys and wherefores of her exile, or the circumstances that had brought her to such a state, but had duly extended an offer through the appropriate channels.

  Even so, he had been against hiring the shinobi from the start, but his guest had been adamant. They’d insisted that it was a necess
ary component of their scheme. A scheme that Saiga privately found to be overly intricate and far too complex for its result. Then, that was the danger of dealing with an amateur. Especially one who thought himself a strategist.

  “What do you intend to do?” he asked, finally.

  “She wants to meet. At dusk.”

  Saiga frowned. “Well, you certainly can’t do that.”

  “I don’t see that I have any choice.”

  “You could not go. That is a choice.”

  “And what if she tells someone? Our whole plan will come unraveled.” There was a hint of fear in his voice.

  “Your plan,” Saiga said.

  “You helped me!”

  “A fact that I am starting to regret.” Saiga looked away. “I was a fool, and I allowed you to exploit my foolishness…”

  “Your loyalty, you mean.” A pause. “Or was I mistaken?”

  Saiga’s gaze snapped around and his guest shrank back. “I am loyal. But not to you. To the clan. Do not forget that.”

  “And you should not forget what is at stake,” his guest said, rallying slightly. He straightened, chin up and chest out, trying for a bravado he obviously didn’t feel. “You agreed with me that this was a necessary thing – the best thing – for the clan. If our deception should be discovered, we will come to ruin and our efforts will be for naught.”

  Saiga bit back a sharp reply. The other man was right, of course. And it was something he had planned for. But there was no reason to tell his guest that. “Where are you meeting her?”

  “Three Duck Street, wherever that is.”

  “Near the Foxfire Theater,” Saiga said, idly. Which made sense, given their shinobi’s double-life. He shook his head. Another needless complication, in his opinion. “Are you to meet her alone?”

  “Of course. No one will recognize me there of all places.” The way he said it made clear his feelings on both the theater and those who patronized it.

  “Yes, well, I urge you again not to do so. Let me handle it.”

  “I left you to handle it, and you bungled it. So, I must do it myself. I will see what she wants, and then confer with you.” His guest rose, face set in a grimace of determination. “Do nothing until you hear from me. Is that understood?”

  Saiga hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Good. Now, I must get back. Is there a way out of here without being seen?”

  “The way you came in.” Saiga smiled at the expression on his guest’s face. “I assure you, no one is paying attention to you. They know better.”

  His guest frowned in distaste. “Even so, I will be glad when this is over and I can pretend that we have never met.”

  “As will I.” Saiga watched the other man go and silently cursed the day he’d made the fellow’s acquaintance. Despite himself, he’d found that he agreed with his reluctant partner on a number of subjects – including those related to the current political quagmire that grasped the city.

  It was time for a change. Sudden or gradual, it didn’t matter – so long as the change brought benefit to Saiga’s masters. But he was starting to see that they’d made a mistake. Ambition had blinded him to the real consequences of this scheme.

  He’d thought to upset the balance of the city, but never considered that his own was just as vulnerable. His identity – the life he’d made for himself – was all at risk because of a single, wayward shinobi.

  He sat back on his cushion and tried to shake the sudden sense of weariness that gripped him. Then he picked up a new sheet of paper and a bottle of ink. There was no choice now. He had to let his master know what had happened – and accept the consequences. Whatever they might be.

  His hand was shaking as he started to write.

  Chapter Three

  An Afternoon’s Entertainment

  “What were you thinking?” Kasami growled. Her voice echoed through the private box and nearby patrons of the Foxfire Theater turned, startled by the sudden noise. Shin sighed and readied himself for the tirade to come. It wasn’t the first he had endured today, and it almost certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  If he were being honest with himself, he found that he enjoyed it. It was rare that anyone bothered to take him to task, especially these days. The novelty of Kasami’s opprobrium had yet to wear thin, especially when her fury overrode her diction and her accent roughened ever so slightly. He knew she was truly angry when certain rural invectives, common to the Uebe Marshes, crept into her speech.

  Idly, he smoothed his kimono. After returning home he had bathed and slept, but only for a few hours. He needed no more than that; he’d found that too much dulled his perceptions. Awakening refreshed, he’d dressed for the day’s entertainment. His kimono was of the finest blue silk, and emblazoned with a pattern designed to draw the eye. His white hair was drawn back from his narrow features. He cut a handsome figure, he thought, though modesty prevented him from saying as much.

  “I asked you a question.” Kasami made a slicing gesture, cutting off his reply even as he opened his mouth. “No. The answer is – you weren’t.” She pointed an accusing finger at him. “Or rather, you were thinking only of your own pleasure, as always.”

  “Not entirely,” Shin said. He waved his fan apologetically at their neighbors as he spoke. She wasn’t speaking loudly enough to be heard, but one could not help but notice her gesticulations. “I thought you might enjoy a night free of your burden. Was I wrong in that?”

  “Your generosity is appreciated. But next time you will do me the courtesy of letting me know. Or better yet – not going to some back-alley gambling den at all. Are you that much of a fool? Have you learned nothing since the last time?”

  “I have, as a matter of fact. I’m much better at dice, for one thing. And in any event, that was a year ago, and in another city. We are here now and I intend to enjoy myself to the fullest extent of this city’s hospitality.”

  “By which you mean gambling, drinking, whoring and making a spectacle of yourself,” Kasami said, bluntly. “The very things that got you – and me – in this mess in the first place.”

  “This mess, as you call it, is a great opportunity for both of us,” Shin said. “The City of the Rich Frog is far from the prying eyes of the Crane, or the politicking of the Winter Court. We can both relax here, serene in the knowledge that our responsibilities are minimal and no one cares about us in the least.”

  As he spoke, he let his eyes roam the playhouse. It was a sturdy affair, small in the way of such places, and tucked into an out of the way street just off the main thoroughfare leading from the docks. Orange lanterns lit the exterior, advertising the performance. Inside, it looked like a hundred other playhouses he’d patronized in his time.

  The stage occupied the majority of the space, stretching across the far wall and jutting pugnaciously into the audience. The flower path extended through the ground floor benches, bisecting the space at intervals. From this walkway the actors would strut and preen amongst the audience, or else make a dramatic exit.

  There were three levels of seating. The lowest level, on the ground floor, was for the poorest patrons. They were closer to the stage, but had only rough benches to sit on, if that. Slightly above this was a level of public boxes, set aside for well-to-do tradesmen and merchants. And above them were the private boxes of the nobility. Shin had rented one such box for himself and Kasami. It was a somewhat cramped affair, but the benches were cushioned and one could recline however slightly.

  The air was stultifying, however. The playhouse was too warm, even for spring. There was condensation on the beams and sweat beaded on his forehead. But such discomforts were a minor price to pay for entertainment. A bit of sweat never hurt anyone, after all. And it was well worth it.

  Kabuki was another of his passions. Nowhere else could one find such a diverse crowd gathered under one roof, united in their enjoyment. It was
a place to see and be seen, and he spied a number of notable faces in the boxes opposite his, including Iuchi Konomi, daughter of the Unicorn representative Iuchi Shichiro, and Kaeru Azuma, one of the more highly ranked ronin in Governor Tetsua’s service.

  He saw others like himself as well – representatives of clans that had no claim on the city, but an interest in trade regardless. One box even held a group of masked and veiled Scorpion dignitaries. Shin raised his fan in polite greeting, and received not so much as a nod in return. Then, the Scorpion had a peculiar notion of courtesy.

  Shin snapped his fan open and attempted to stir the stuffy air of the box. The outer spokes of it were made from sharpened steel, and it could be employed as a weapon should it become necessary.

  He preferred the war-fan to the sword, even going so far as to learn the iron fan technique from a courtier of his acquaintance. She herself had supposedly learned that art, among others, from a tengu in the Shinomen Forest, though Shin wasn’t sure he believed that particular claim.

  He fancied he was reasonably skilled with the fan, though he doubted he could match a trained swordsman in open combat. Still, that was what he had Kasami for. And, failing that, he was something of a swordsman himself – though he much preferred to humble his opponents with discourse rather than decapitation.

  “I don’t see why you have to be so… so…” Kasami groped for the correct invective.

  “Charming?” Shin offered. “Interesting? Entertaining?”

  “Frustrating,” she said, with a glare.

  Shin hid his smile behind his fan. “I am what I wish to be.”

  “And that is selfish.” She sat back, arms folded. “You are selfish.” She plucked at her kimono as she spoke, clearly uncomfortable – though whether that was due to her clothing or the accusation, he could not say. Shin watched her fidget for a moment. It was rare to see her dressed in anything less than full armor. She faced each day as if preparing for war.