Poison River

by Josh Reynolds

  When she’d judged that he’d waited long enough, she retrieved one of a handful of loose stones piled up near her foot and tossed it over his head. It rattled against the street and he spun with a curse, peering into the darkness.

  “Behind you,” she said, throwing her voice expertly. He whirled back around, hand clutching convulsively at the hilt of his wakizashi. He was no swordsman though, and did not unsheathe his blade. Instead, he looked around nervously, seeking some sign of her.

  She was not anywhere close to where he was looking, of course. She was to his left, huddled in a doorway, where she had a good view of both him and the alley. The spot he now stood on was illuminated by the light from a nearby window, and she studied him intently. He’d taken the precaution of wearing a disguise of sorts – a rough cloak and the rude garments of a sailor – but left his face uncovered.

  “This is highly irregular,” he said, and she almost laughed. He obviously knew nothing about how this sort of business was conducted.

  “Is it? And are you an expert in such matters?”

  “What do you want?” he demanded.

  “I am owed a fee.”

  “Saiga was to have paid you.”

  “He has not.”

  He hesitated at this. “I gave him the money. It was all arranged.”

  “The arrangement has fallen through. A common occurrence, sadly.”

  “Then why not demand it of him?” he asked. “Why am I here? For that matter, how did you even find me?”

  “If I were not skilled, you would not have had Saiga hire me. As to your other question, I find that in these situations it is always best to go to the source. Dealing with go-betweens is a tedious business, and I have little patience for it.” She watched his face as she spoke. His expression flickered rapidly from haughty disgruntlement to worry and then, finally, to fear. He had not prepared for this. An amateur, then, as she’d suspected.

  She felt a flicker of pity for the fool. She wondered if he truly understood what he’d set in motion – and, if so, what he hoped to gain. She dismissed the thought even as it occurred. It did not matter what his intentions were, or what happened next.

  He grunted and tapped the hilt of his wakizashi. His thoughts might as well have been stamped on his features. He was considering killing her. She sighed. They always did. Most of them thought better of it, but he was an amateur.

  But instead he said, “I can get you the money.”

  She paused. “A wise decision. When?”

  “A week from now.”

  “I am due to leave the city in four days.” The Three Flower Troupe’s run at the Foxfire Theater would be ended by then, and they would be seeking a new audience.

  “Four days, then.” He took a deep breath and turned. She realized that he’d finally caught on to her deception. He knew she was hiding close by, but he hadn’t spotted her yet. He was cleverer than she’d thought. “And how can I be sure you will not come again, seeking more, now that you know who I am?”

  Okuni was startled. “Do you think it wise to insult me?” she asked, annoyed. “I am a professional. I take only what I am owed – no more, no less.”

  He laughed. “Do your sort have honor, then?”

  Annoyance turned to anger. That she had been forced to take such a job was bad enough. Now, to be insulted for it? That was a step too far. She picked up another stone and flicked it at him. It bounced off his arm with stinging force, and he yelped. “Next time,” she said, “it will be something sharp.”

  Rubbing his arm, he nodded jerkily. “I- I apologize. I meant no disrespect.”

  “You did, or you would not have spoken so freely.” She paused, calming herself. “But it is of no importance. You have one day. Bring my payment here tomorrow, at this time.”

  “Here?”

  “Would you prefer I came to your place of business?” she asked, archly.

  “No! No.” He swallowed. “I will be here.”

  But even as he spoke, she heard the distinctive shuffle of feet on the thatch of the roof above. It was a familiar sound to one who spent as much time on rooftops as she did. A moment later, this was followed by the shivery hum of thrown metal. She leapt aside as something small and sharp embedded itself in a doorpost to her left.

  A shuriken. The exposed edges gleamed with an oily residue. Poisoned.

  She hesitated, and it almost cost her. Another shuriken sank into a nearby barrel, causing the rainwater inside to spurt out. She ran. As she did, she reached into her robes, fingers seeking the knives sheathed against her stomach. The blades were long and flat, and each was made from a single piece of steel. The hilts were wrapped in silk, and the pommels were weighted rings, allowing for her to draw them at the same time. Instead of unsheathing them, she extracted a small pouch of smoke powder. She’d made a habit of carrying one in her youth – smoke and shadows were a shinobi’s best friend.

  But even as she extracted it, she felt something bite her side. She shouted in pain and spun, hurling the pouch against the far wall. It burst on impact and smoke billowed, filling the alleyway.

  Okuni staggered back against the wall and looked down. Blood soaked through her robes, and she could feel something sharp in her side. She clawed for it, but found nothing. It was buried too deep in the wound for her to reach with trembling fingers. If it was poisoned as well… but she had no time to try and extract it. She looked back and saw vague shapes moving through the smoke. She didn’t know who they were, but their intent was obvious.

  She had to get away. But she couldn’t just run back to the theater, not without risking the others. That left only one option.

  She turned and ran for the river, one hand pressed to the wound in her side.

  Chapter Seven

  The First Move

  “A fine report, Master Ito,” Shin said, tapping the bundled stack of parchment before him. “As thorough and detailed as ever.” He stifled a yawn behind his fan, and his guest politely pretended not to notice. Trying to cover his momentary inattention, he looked around the receiving room, with its carved columns and beams depicting scenes from the Crane’s storied history. This room, more than any other in the manor, was meant to remind guests of the might and majesty of the Crane.

  His residence lay on the edge of the violet-roofed noble district, closer to the heart of the commerce. There was no compelling reason for him to reside in the district proper – the Crane had no real influence in the city, despite their myriad business interests. Square and tall, the house was separated from the noise of the street by a thick masonry wall around the perimeter. Screened windows overlooked a tidy garden. The privacy of it suited Shin.

  “Thank you, my lord.” Ito bowed low, nearly banging his bald head against the floor. Shin resisted the urge to sigh at the merchant’s obsequious display. Ito was good at making money. If that meant putting up with a bit of ostentatious sycophancy, it was his duty to smile and bear it.

  Smiling was, in fact, the whole of his duty. Ostensibly, Shin was a representative of the Daidoji Trading Council. In reality, he had neither the authority nor the ambition to make anything of his position. He existed solely to deliver the orders of the council to the merchants who made up his minuscule fiefdom.

  There were three of them, of whom Ito was the most successful and the only one he saw with any regularity. Of the others, one was a dealer exclusively in fish, and the other a purveyor of iron, he thought, though he was not certain. Neither was especially interesting, and they required little oversight. Ito, on the other hand, dealt in paper, which was interesting but only because of what it could be made into.

  All three paid a portion of their profits to the Crane in return for protection. They were not family but were considered vassals, and therefore an insult to them was an insult to the clan. This gave them some advantages when it came to import fees, annual tithes and the like. An
d, of course, they could come to him in the event something went wrong.

  Thus far, none of them, not even Ito, had bothered him with their troubles, for which he was grateful. It gave him more time to enjoy himself. Though Ito did insist on making these periodic reports in person. He was a dutiful sort.

  Shin liked the merchant, despite his embarrassing behavior. He suspected Ito was a spy for his grandfather. Whether the man was keeping an eye on Shin or the city, or both, Shin wasn’t sure. But Ito was entirely too ridiculous to be believed. He bowed like weights were attached to his ears, and fumbled for words.

  But he also compiled detailed and precise reports about the flow of trade through the city. Shin rarely did more than skim them, but his meeting with Tetsua had stoked the embers of his interest. If he was going to investigate anything, it might be wise to first know the lay of the land. Who sold what, where, and to who. Potentially vital information when one was attempting to untangle a mystery such as the one before him.

  Shin allowed the merchant’s performance to continue for a few moments, and then gestured with his fan. “Enough, please, Master Ito. You humble me with this display of gratitude. Especially when it is I who should be thanking you. Your efforts on behalf of the Crane in this city have been positively heroic.” As he spoke, Kasami slid the door open a fraction of an inch and made a meaningful gesture. Someone had come to call. He felt a sudden bristle of anticipation.

  Ito gabbled profuse inanities, and made to resume his servile posturing. Shin stopped him before he could get started. “My apologies, Master Ito, but I have other matters demanding my attention. Kasami will show you out. But know that you go with the most heartfelt thanks of the Daidoji, and the Crane.”

  Ito bobbed and bowed even as he retreated to Kasami’s side. Shin watched him leave with some amusement. Their conversation had returned more than once to Shin’s visit with the governor, though Ito had been careful not to ask any direct questions.

  Moments later, there was a rap at the frame and Kasami slid the door open again. She gestured, and he recognized the symbol for ‘Lion’. He twirled his finger, indicating that he wanted to keep them waiting. She rolled her eyes and nodded, closing the door. Shin smiled.

  It was petty, perhaps, but a little pettiness never hurt when it came to these matters. He began to count the moments silently, and kept time by plucking the strings of the battered biwa he lifted from beside his cushion.

  The instrument was a coarse thing, made from driftwood and catgut. While most Daidoji favored the shakuhachi – the bamboo flute – Shin was fond of the biwa despite its ugliness, or perhaps because of it. He’d won it in a dice game – his first dice game, as a matter of fact. He’d taught himself how to play, though he was by no means skilled. Music was not among his gifts, though his tutors had tried their best. Or so he’d led them to believe.

  It was an old game, and one Shin had always excelled at, even as a boy. A true courtier was always in control of the impression they made; how one dressed, the tone of voice used, even the food one chose to eat in public… all brushstrokes on the canvas. A flash of temper at the right time could swing an argument in your favor, if you were willing.

  Shin had spent years painting the portrait of himself he wished others to see. The louche layabout, feckless and useless – but not disloyal. It had not been difficult. There were so many rules, more than one man could break in his lifetime.

  The life he had thus crafted for himself was a satisfying one, free of responsibility and the burden of duty. Unfortunately, it was also somewhat boring, more so than he had anticipated. His mind rebelled at stagnation and sought new avenues of inquiry – he had taught himself many things that no proper samurai ought to know. He could shoe a horse and till a field. He could identify birds by their song and hoist a sail.

  All useless. But now he was being given the opportunity to put some of what he’d learned into practice. To truly test himself, in a manner he found acceptable.

  He paused, stilling the strings with the flat of his palm. That was enough stalling. He loudly cleared his throat and set his biwa aside. Kasami slid the door open again. “A messenger, my lord,” she said, as another figure all but pushed past her into the room.

  “Ah, do come in,” Shin said, as Kasami closed the door behind the newcomer.

  The man was broad and well built, a warrior. He wore armor, and was armed as if riding to battle. He looked about himself disdainfully, and the curve of his lip spoke to a barely suppressed sneer. He looked down his nose at Shin expectantly.

  Shin did not rise to meet him. Instead, he remained seated, eventually forcing the impatient messenger to do the same. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. “I bring a message from my lady, Akodo Minami,” he said, as he removed his sword and set it to his left – a sign of distrust, if not hostility. Shin made no comment on this insult. If the Lion wished to provoke him, they would have to try harder than that.

  Shin hid a smile. “By all means, share it.”

  The messenger frowned. “You are welcome at our gates this afternoon at sunset. That welcome will be rescinded should you not appear in a timely fashion.” The tone was clipped, the words blunt, just shy of insulting.

  Shin nodded politely. Sunset wasn’t far away. He’d spent most of the day waiting for the Lion representative to show up. Minami had deliberately left little time, likely hoping that he would be unable – or unwilling – to come. He waited a few moments before responding. “That will be satisfactory, I suppose. Inform Lady Minami that I look forward to our meeting.”

  The messenger grunted and levered himself to his feet. “You may leave now,” Shin said, and dismissed him with a casual gesture. He was rewarded by a flash of anger in the other man’s eyes. Another point scored, though he likely hadn’t endeared himself to either the messenger or his mistress.

  Kasami returned after showing the man out. “Impolite,” she said.

  “Him or me?”

  “Him. The Lion lack courtesy.”

  “Some might say the same of you.” Shin rose to his feet, Ito’s reports in his hand, and wandered about the room. He knew the basics, but Ito had provided a detailed economic breakdown of the city’s three districts.

  The Lion mostly traded in foodstuffs and textiles. They were on a perpetual war footing, scraping the fields of their peasants clean in order to buy raw materials that could be put towards construction or the forging of arms. The Unicorn, on the other hand, were more interested in lumber and coal. And the Dragonfly bought a little of everything.

  The noble districts were the spokes of the wheel, and the city revolved around them. Traffic flowed in steady streams to and from the docks and warehouses. It was a city of tradesmen, and the most common sound was the clink of coins exchanging hands.

  Officially, business in the city was conducted by clan merchants, and cargoes were delivered by clan vessels, but there was an extensive, if largely unacknowledged, network of private entrepreneurs beneath the concealing shroud of officialdom. Free wharfs of varying sizes clung to either bank, and warehouses of dubious merit sprung up like mushrooms. Merchants of all sorts infested the city, looking to profit from the labor of others.

  Shin looked up from the pages. Facts turned in his mind like cogwheels. He heard Kasami approach. “We shall soon enter the Lion’s den,” he said, without turning. “Keep your sword close, and a tight rein on your tongue.”

  “It’s not my tongue I’m worried about.”

  Shin decided not to laugh. It would only encourage her.

  •••

  Okuni surfaced slowly, carefully. Water streamed from her shivering limbs as she hauled herself onto the stone floor of the river shrine. The shrine was one of several on the western riverbank. They were built into the bank below the water level and out of sight of anyone who didn’t know what to look for. She’d used it before, when setting out to intercept the ri
ce shipment. It was largely forgotten and, as far as she knew, she was the first person to visit it in years.

  She clambered across the rough floor, agony dancing through her with every inch. She’d torn one of her sleeves off and used it to fashion a crude bandage for the wound in her side, but she’d lost a great deal of blood in the interim. And the swimming hadn’t helped.

  At least her luck was holding. The sliver hadn’t carried any poison with it. If it had, she’d have already been dead, rather than in pain. She rolled onto her back and took several deep breaths, trying to control the spasms that ran through her. As a child, she’d been taught how to regulate her involuntary reactions. To control her heart rate and breathing, to force herself past the limits of the flesh. A shinobi had to be able to sit motionless for hours, swim like a fish and endure temperatures that would crack the reserve of anyone else.

  That she’d managed to do so with a wound in her side would no doubt impress her old teachers. She closed her eyes, and fought back the sudden swell of exhaustion that threatened to send her tumbling into oblivion. She had snatched rest where she could, but it wasn’t enough. She needed somewhere to hide, and for the moment the shrine was it.

  Okuni had always been good at hiding. Even as a child, she had been adept at concealing her presence from those around her. Later, she found that her talents extended to hiding in plain sight – or in playing a role. She could sing and dance, and play a variety of instruments with acceptable, if not great, skill. Becoming an actress had seemed only natural. And it was amusing to pretend to be someone who themselves pretended to be other people. It was like wearing two masks at once.

  She wished dearly that she were on stage now, instead of here. She rolled back onto her stomach and levered herself carefully upright, one hand pressed protectively to her wound. Her pursuers were dogged hunters. They knew the city better than she did and had anticipated her every move till she’d taken to the river. Wherever she went they were there, or close enough. She had no doubt that they would find this place as well, but hopefully not for a few hours.