Poison River

by Josh Reynolds

  “One story, then. Told many times, by many different mouths.” Kuma looked him up and down. They stroked the frog with a gentle finger. “Did you truly leap from the uppermost window of the House of Blue Leaves to escape an angry husband?”

  Shin hesitated. “I admit, there is some truth to that one.” He smiled widely. “It’s really a funny story, if you’d like to hear it…?”

  “No, thank you,” Kuma said, quickly. They smiled and continued. “Upon your arrival, I took it upon myself to see whom the Crane had sent to replace your predecessor. Imagine my curiosity when I learned of you.”

  “I have been told that I am fascinating.”

  Kuma’s smile didn’t waver. “Yes. Though perhaps not for the reasons you think. You are known for being licentious and self-indulgent. You bring shame to your family by being so unsuitable to bear their name. Where they are dour, you are lazy. Where they speak little, you fear silence. Where they abstain, you engage in all manner of vice.”

  “You speak as if all Daidoji are stamped from a mould. As if we are tools, hammered and shaped for purpose by an artisan.” Shin reached out as if to touch the frog, and Kuma made a slight motion, pulling it out of reach. “Or perhaps you are testing me. Do you wish to know the limits of my tolerance? I assure you, it’s quite high.”

  Kuma was silent for long moments. “We are all tools, in one fashion or another,” they said, finally. “We are shaped to serve our families, and our families are shaped to serve the clan. But something went wrong with you.” He sank down and let the frog depart.

  Shin watched it go. Another insult. And not a subtle one. Kuma was attempting to provoke him now, rather than distract him. “What was it, I wonder?” Kuma continued. “Perhaps you are simply a fledgling struggling to leave the nest.”

  “Perhaps I simply see no reason to abstain from pleasure. Life is difficult enough, why make it more so?”

  Kuma nodded, as if considering this. “Or maybe you are nothing more than a wastrel.” Their smile was a sharp slash. “Why are you here, wastrel?”

  “To talk.”

  “We are talking.”

  “I wish to speak of other matters.”

  “Such as?”

  “Rice.”

  “Ah, yes. The rice.” Kuma looked away. “We had nothing to do with it, of course.”

  “Of course. The suggestion never crossed my mind.”

  “Then you are not much of an investigator.”

  “Or I am an excellent one.”

  “If our innocence is assured in your mind, why are you here?”

  “To see what you know.”

  “And who says we know anything? A shipment of rice is an innocuous thing. Hundreds of similar shipments arrive and depart daily from the wharfs along the eastern and western banks.”

  “Tetsua seemed to think that you might be able to help.”

  At mention of the governor, Kuma paused. “Tetsua is… optimistic. In truth, I do not concern myself with the city or what goes on in it, and thus can be of little help.”

  “That I find hard to believe,” Shin said. “The Dragonfly maintain several wharfs.”

  “A necessity. Commerce has never been our strength. I leave such matters to those of our clan who are best suited for them.” The way Kuma said ‘commerce’ made it clear how they felt about it. Like many samurai, they regarded it as a necessary evil and a pollutant. To deal in trade was to dirty one’s hands and lessen one’s spirit. It was no wonder they spent all their time at the shrine. Kuma smiled thinly. “Why does this matter concern you?”

  “I’m sure you know the answer to that, at least.”

  “Tetsua.”

  “Of course. As you said, I am a wastrel. Much like yourself, I have no interest in the world outside my humble pleasures – my games, my books, my women.”

  “We are nothing alike,” Kuma said. Again, their voice was mild, but Shin nonetheless detected an edge to the words, and felt the temperature drop as Kuma spoke. It was a subtle thing, but Shin had been taught to notice subtle things. “True knowledge comes not from books, but from experience,” Kuma continued.

  “And what has your experience been, my lord?”

  Kuma turned. “You would not understand, I fear. Your perceptions are limited.”

  The insult was sudden and sharp. Like the jab of a hidden blade. Shin decided to go on the offensive. “You say you have no interest in the city, and yet here you are. One cannot help but assemble a hypothesis. The Dragon have a reputation for strange behavior, and the Dragonfly act as a buffer between them and the rest of the empire. They rarely come down from the mountains, and even then, only with great purpose – though what that purpose might be, they rarely share. That they saw fit to send fifty men – as paltry a number as that might be – is telling. Even more so is the location those men have chosen to garrison…”

  Kuma was silent, their gaze betraying nothing. Shin pressed his attack. “And then there is you, Tonbo Kuma. A shugenja of great ability and greater mystery. You are commander of the shrine garrison, the voice of the Dragon in the city, and representative of the Dragonfly. That is a great deal of responsibility. You bear it well.”

  Kuma sketched the slightest of bows. Shin smiled and went on. “As I said, I have formed a hypothesis. Would you like to hear it?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  Kuma was not smiling now. “No. What you think you know is of little interest to me.”

  “I am sure it is not,” Shin said. He could read annoyance in the shugenja’s posture. A tension that had not been there a moment earlier. “My apologies, my lord. Sometimes the reach of my wit exceeds my grasp.”

  Kuma held his gaze for several seconds before nodding. “It is nothing.” They paused. “Are you satisfied, then?”

  “Before I even set foot in this holy space, my lord.” Shin bowed. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “Think nothing of it. I trust a resolution will be swift in coming.” Kuma turned away. “I trust you can see yourself out, Lord Shin. I have duties which require my attentions.”

  Shin bowed low and retreated without argument.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Merchants

  “Welcome, Ito. Please, sit.” Shin gestured to the cushion across from him. The receiving room had been opened to the midday breeze, and the chimes hanging above the doors clinked pleasingly as Ito situated himself.

  Shin barely noticed. Something about his talk with Kuma had set his mind to buzzing. Perhaps it was simply due to the shugenja’s dismissive attitude. Or maybe it was something else. Something he’d seen or heard, but hadn’t yet understood. He dismissed the thought and tried to focus his attentions on his guest.

  “I must say, my lord, I was somewhat surprised to receive your invitation.” Despite his words, the Crane merchant seemed quite pleased to be invited to his superior’s residence. “I thought our business for the week was concluded.”

  “It was, but I thought you might enjoy lunch.” Shin poured his guest a cup of tea, and then one for himself. As he did so, he indicated the bowls of rice and steamed dumplings. It was not common to eat in a receiving room, but Shin preferred it when he mixed business with pleasure. “We so rarely speak outside of our regular meetings.”

  “I was told you liked your privacy, my lord.”

  “By whom?” Shin asked as he poked at his rice.

  Ito smiled weakly. “We happy vassals do talk about our betters, my lord. Shameful as it might be.” A deft sidestep of the question. Humble, apologetic, but containing no real information. Shin decided not to press the issue.

  “No matter. Eat, please.”

  Ito bent obediently and they ate in polite silence. The merchant tossed the occasional nervous glance Shin’s way, but said nothing. At last, however, he could restrain himself no longer. Ito set his bowl dow
n, and said, “Why am I here, my lord? Have I offended you in some way?”

  Shin paused. “If you had, would I have invited you to lunch?”

  Ito’s smile was a sad thing. “Some bushi find it amusing to deliver bad news over rice and dumplings.”

  “I am not them, though I feel I must admit that I did have an ulterior motive.” Shin paused. “I have recently come across a matter which you may be able to help me with.” As he spoke, he examined the merchant as he had never bothered to do before. Ito was a round man, endeavoring to look soft and succeeding admirably. But it was simply a mask. Beneath it, he was something else entirely.

  Ito frowned and sat back. “I will, of course, help you in any way that I might – though I fear that, unless it concerns tariffs, I’m a bit at a loss.”

  Shin smiled. “Oh, I think your knowledge runs a fair bit deeper than that, Ito. It has seemed to me for some time that you are not quite what you appear to be.” He paused. “Am I correct in that assumption?”

  Ito frowned. “That depends entirely on what you think me to be, my lord.”

  Shin smiled. “Let us leave it for now. A question, first – why might one transfer rice from barrels to sacks?”

  “Two reasons spring immediately to mind, my lord. Ease of transport is the first. A barrel might be too large or unwieldy for the amount in question. If it is being taken to a temple, or an individual buyer, you might transfer it to a bag or sack. Space in a ship’s hold might be at a premium. Sacks take up less room than barrels, in theory.”

  “And the second?”

  Ito smiled thinly. “If you wished to hide the identity of the original owner. Rice barrels are often stamped with the insignia of the clan or trader who produced it. Even the way they’re assembled or the materials they’re made from can be an identifier. If a shipment is stolen, the first thing a smart thief will do is transfer the rice and destroy the barrels.”

  Shin nodded in satisfaction. “As I thought. Thank you.”

  “Is that why you asked me here, my lord?”

  “Partially. I am also in need of an introduction to a certain man. A merchant.”

  “A merchant, my lord?”

  “Yes. A fellow by the name of Saiga. Do you know him?”

  Ito paused again, as if considering how best to answer. His gregarious expression had shifted into something harder. This was the real Ito, Shin realized. Not the simpering busybody of their last meeting, but someone much more difficult to read. “I… do, my lord. Might I ask why you need to speak to him?”

  “Something troubles you, Ito?”

  “This Saiga has something of a reputation as a man not concerned with the niceties of ownership, my lord.”

  “He is a thief, you mean.”

  Ito frowned. “Though it pains me to say it, theft is common on the waterfront, my lord. Gangs steal whatever they can from one merchant, and sell it on to a competitor. Saiga is rumored to act as a facilitator for these transactions.” He looked at Shin, his gaze sharp. “I ask again – why do you need to speak to him?”

  “I wish to ask him about a certain shipment of stolen rice.”

  “He would be the man to ask,” Ito said, somewhat hesitantly. He rubbed his chin. “I… may have made use of his service myself, once or twice.”

  Shin raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Ito flushed. “Well, sometimes demand outstrips supply, my lord. One must provide regardless. And Saiga was good at providing.”

  “Is he now?”

  “Only when the need was great, I assure you,” Ito added quickly. “I would never knowingly bring shame upon the Crane…”

  Shin waved his explanations aside. “I understand all too well, Ito. Your secret is safe with me.” He paused. “I am to take it, then, that you could introduce me to this man?”

  As Ito pushed himself up, a sly look crossed his friendly features. “Am I right, my lord, that this concerns the recent case of sabotage reported on the Lion docks?”

  “You heard about that then?” Shin said, feigning surprise.

  “Oh indeed, my lord. The city is abuzz with the news. Every merchant of my acquaintance is battening down the hatches in preparation for the coming conflict.”

  “Is it deemed a certainty, then?” Shin took a sip of tea.

  “As certain as such things can be. It has been brewing for years, and flare-ups are not uncommon. Iuchi Shichiro is old, and Akodo Minami is young and full of wrath. That she should seek to sharpen her claws on the Unicorn’s flank is not unexpected. Indeed, there were some – weak men, I assure you – who placed wagers on the likelihood of this very event.”

  “Really. How much did you win?”

  Ito hesitated. Then, with a guilty smile, he said, “Nothing, my lord. The storm has not yet broken, after all.”

  Shin nodded. “Of course. What do these weak men say of the Dragonfly?”

  Ito scratched his chin. “Little enough, and all of it contradictory. They have few men in the city – barely enough to oversee their wharfs and guard the shrine. They take little part in day to day business. Why, we have more of a presence in the city than they do. Tonbo Kuma is not interested in exploiting the Dragonfly’s fortune, it seems. They maintain their foothold, but not much else.” He took a swallow of tea and added, “Though, given the Lion’s belligerence towards them in the past, I have no doubt that they would support the Unicorn in any conflict that arose.”

  Shin nodded. “That was much my guess as well.” He paused, considering his next question carefully. “Lady Minami spoke to me of certain acts of sabotage perpetrated against the Lion of late, of which this business with the rice was but the latest. And I have reason to believe that those acts might be the work of a shinobi…”

  Ito paled. “A shinobi, my lord?”

  “Or several.”

  Ito shook his head. “I know of no shinobi in the city, my lord.” He hesitated. “Though that does not mean that they are not here.” He set his tea down. “You think someone hired them to sabotage the Lion?”

  “A working theory,” Shin said.

  “Someone like Saiga,” Ito pressed.

  Shin smiled. “Would that surprise you?”

  Ito sat back and was silent for several moments. Then, “No. If such folk were in the city, Saiga would be the one to know them.” He paused again. “You know of the black market, my lord?”

  “I do.” A shadow economy existed in the city, though few would admit to it. Stolen or banned goods were bartered and sold in back rooms, or floated down river in the dead of night. Criminal gangs trafficked in opium or black hashish from al-Zawira, and hid it among more innocuous cargoes in order to escape the eyes of the customs agents who prowled the wharfs.

  “This city is a haven for smugglers. Mostly petty ones. Saiga is the brain that guides their hands. One of them, at least.”

  “He is their master?”

  “He is their quartermaster,” Ito corrected. “And that is far worse. Saiga is a conduit for illicit cargo and sabotage. He arranges things, he buys and sells. Not just goods, but information. I believe he is responsible for the majority of pirate attacks along the rivers. He trades information about a shipment for a cut of the plunder and then sells it back to its original owners for a tidy salvage fee.”

  “A dangerous man, in his own way,” Shin said.

  “Yes, which is why I hesitated when you asked to meet him.” Ito shook his head. “He is not the sort of man you should be seen talking to.”

  “Have no fear, Ito, my reputation is long since buried,” Shin said. “Now, can you arrange a meeting with this man? As soon as possible, preferably.”

  “I can, yes. Though possibly not immediately.”

  “I will endeavor to show patience,” Shin said. “You have my thanks, Ito. You are a useful sort of man to have around.”

  Ito bowed l
ow, nearly pressing his face to the floor. “I am but a humble feather in your wings, my lord.”

  •••

  Kitano Daichi scratched at the leather cap protecting the stump of his finger, and considered his fortune of late as he threaded through the crowded street. The cap was the best he could afford for the moment. Once he had completed his business with the Crane lord and his vicious retainer, he might be able to procure a prosthetic – one of wood, or perhaps ivory.

  Or maybe he’d just spend the money on shōchū and women. That sounded like a much better plan, all things considered. When the Crane had paid him, he’d considered just taking the money and vanishing. There were always ships looking for crew, and places along the river that a man like him could hide.

  He doubted the Crane would bother following him. His sort always had more money than they knew what to do with, but the thought of that woman hunting him down wasn’t a pleasant one. And she would, too. He knew, it as sure as he knew she’d make his last moments painful ones. He flexed his injured hand, feeling the pull of the wax and honey that had been used to seal the wound.

  A lucky escape, all things considered. He’d always had good luck, even as a riverman. But on the river, you had to win every time and the river only had to win once. Being a gambler was easier, especially if you didn’t mind giving luck a nudge every so often. If Daikoku, the Fortune of Wealth, was looking out for you, your opponents were none the wiser, even as they cursed your skill.

  But, sometimes, the dice turned against you. He looked at his wounded hand, trying not to think about it. When dice went soft in your hand, you had to pay your debts – but only if you couldn’t get out from under them somehow. No shame in that. All part of the game. Every gambler knew that. Luck wasn’t just about winning at the table, it was about getting away with it.

  Kitano frowned and spat off the wharf. The only way to get away from the Crane’s table, it seemed, was to do what he was told. He didn’t care for the feeling. Nor did he care for the work. Finding Lun was proving harder than he’d imagined.

  He’d spent a night, and most of the day, trawling every waterfront dive and opium den for information on the one-eyed captain and her crew. Lun had a certain reputation, and Kitano had gambled with her bosun, Torun, often enough. The fat bastard was bad at everything but paying his debts. But nothing. It was possible they’d already left the city. He would’ve, in their place.