Cold Blood Read online

  “Ah?” Inu’s breath caught in his throat. Immediately he spun his head to where she pointed, but then he exhaled slowly as he turned back to her with a satisfied expression. “Ahhh!” Inu scoffed politely, waving the so-called stranger forward. “Have you forgotten him? That’s Ryuma!”

  Ryuma? Her memory flashed back four years to the willowy stable boy she had known. If this were truly he, that boy had filled out and grown handsome—virile in fact, though she could still see the boyish face behind the mask of the man he had become.

  Inu bowed to acknowledge Ryuma’s presence. “I suppose he’s grown since you were last here, but then, if I am permitted to say, so have you. He’s now become, how shall I say this, an assistant.”

  “Assistant? Assistant of what?”

  “Oh,” Inu began vaguely, “he’s helpful where a young man’s strength’s needed. Say that someone comes to the inn and becomes violent. Or, say that a guest decides not to pay. Ryuma helps them remember the rules.”

  “He’s your hatchet man then, is he?”

  “At least that,” Old Inu said, and added slyly, “and he performs other duties as well. Come. No need to stand here. The sun has already begun to set.” Inu bowed low.

  Yamabuki inclined her head. “My mount.”

  “Ryuma,” said Inu. “Her horse.”

  Ryuma stepped further out onto the veranda and met Yamabuki’s eyes. For a moment an expression of something unspoken flitted across his face.

  She held his gaze for as long as protocol required, but he turned his eyes away before it was time and bowed.

  Why is he so dour?

  “Take her horse to the back,” Inu commanded in a light tone.

  “His name is Mochizuki,” she said waiting to see if Ryuma would look at her again.

  He passed her without glancing at her. “His name, then, is Full Moon?” Ryuma muttered barely above a whisper.

  “Just under two years old and still half wild. Can you manage him?” Yamabuki chided gently with a smile. “Don’t be afraid to ask for help, if you need it. Mochizuki can be a handful.”

  “I can,” he said. “Not my first encounter with half-wild things,” he breathed, his back to her. Confidently he took Mochizuki’s reins and, still not looking at Yamabuki, led the mount to the back.

  Yamabuki, her eyes narrowed, watched Ryuma walk away.

  “Come.” Inu stepped onto the veranda, beckoning her spiritedly. “I’ll get everything prepared,” he said, after which he disappeared inside.

  She followed him through the entry.

  Just inside, two fetching female attendants waited with gracious smiles. Several years younger than she, the girls were dressed in fine silk kimonos: one in peach, the other in straw green. The two girls bowed politely, and then straightaway started to remove Yamabuki’s battle gear, untying its disparate fastenings. The two girls were well aware of the protocol and the stacking of arms, which they accomplished with a minimum of conversation. Efficiently they slipped off her shoulder plates, untied her corselet armor, and lifted away her sleeve protectors, placing all the pieces just inside the door on a small stand that had been built for just this purpose.

  They took her tachi, which she had named Tiger Claw, and placed it, scabbard and all, on a weapons rack, but not her shorter personal sword, Tiger Cub, which they left with her. The final piece of her armor to come off was, as custom would have it, her kabuto; but when they loosened its binding cords from her chin and lifted the helmet free, Yamabuki’s hair immediately spread out and fell to her shoulders.

  “Oh, so long,” whispered the girl in peach, stressing her words to show her awe.

  The girl in the straw-green kimono tittered.

  “You are pretty!” exclaimed the girl in peach, her eyes dancing in genuine surprise as they met Yamabuki’s.

  “I trust you will keep that a secret,” Yamabuki replied under her breath. “What is your name?”

  “I’m Ishi-tsuki.”

  “And you?” Yamabuki asked the girl in straw green.

  “I’m Chi-ye.”

  “Ah. Stone Moon and Thousand Blessings.”

  Yamabuki stood in her own dark-green outer kimono with its embroidered gold turtle-back pattern, and her matching hakama, a split-trouser riding-skirt usually worn only by the upper class. She slipped Tiger Cub through her kimono’s cobalt-blue waist sash.

  “My lady,” Ishi-tsuki said with some astonishment. “You’re still dressed like a samurai.”

  Yamabuki replied, “That’s good.” She paused. “Because I am a samurai.”

  Ishi-tsuki blushed, and her hands shot to her cheeks to cover the fact.

  No longer able to keep a straight face, Yamabuki laughed. Chi-ye joined in.

  Old Inu reappeared at the entry. “Come. Food. Saké. Songs. Dancing.”

  Inu bowed, leading Yamabuki further inside Wakatake where he bade her sit. She took her place, that of honor, before a low table, placing Tiger Cub on the floor to her right, in easy reach.

  The staff had readied cold, strong saké and steaming white rice mixed with seaweed, as well as a plate of slow-cooked young boar. She had not eaten this well in several days, and as the old saying went, “Every food is delicious to a hungry man”; yet she knew the difference: Inu’s rice and seaweed was superb, the boar succulent, and his cold saké strong and pure.

  Inu slipped away for a brief moment, then returned bearing a black-lacquered bamboo serving plate with raw, freshly cleaned fish elegantly laid out down to the tiniest detail.

  “Fugu.” Inu grinned as he moved his arm in a flourish, inviting her to partake. “A delicacy from these waters.”

  “Fugu?” She looked askance, for puffer fish had a dubious reputation. If properly cleaned and prepared, it was said to be exquisite. However, since many parts of the puffer were highly poisonous, if the fish were ineptly cleaned, ingesting even the slightest trace was a death sentence.

  Six:

  Raw Courage

  Yamabuki was no more than six years of age when she had unwillingly witnessed the fugu toxin at work. During her second stay in Heian-kyō, one of her father’s bodyguards, his name was Giichi, touched his tongue to a piece of puffer. His death had been almost immediate. There was a great commotion among the retinue, but no one could do anything for him, for there was no antidote.

  From that day forward, fugu was banned from the Take compound. No one was allowed to partake of it. Strictly forbidden! There were more meaningful reasons to die.

  She now looked into Inu’s hopeful face and then at the colorless fish. “I don’t believe that I’ve ever had the pleasure.”

  “Hai, fugu. Fresh.” Inu bowed. “I prepared it myself. Very good.”

  Yamabuki paused for the briefest of moments. Has Inu been informed of my father’s decree about Taka not eating fugu?

  Inu, in what in any other circumstances would have been a severe breach of etiquette when serving a guest, especially of her rank, plucked a piece of fugu from the platter and put the morsel into his mouth. “Hmmm.” He pressed his lips closed, expressing his enjoyment.

  “You have the courage of a samurai . . . and the graciousness of a scrupulous host,” she said softly, ready to take a small portion of fugu for herself. The fish was sliced so thin, she could almost see through it.

  For a brief moment, her memory again drifted back to what had happened when the tainted fugu had hardly touched Giichi’s lips. It was not as if Giichi was just one of her father’s numerous guards. She had liked him the way a child likes a beloved uncle, and so it was terrifying to witness Giichi’s crash to the floor. She remembered the alarm that had filled his eyes as his breath caught in his throat. Moments later his heart no longer pumped. Giichi’s eyes remained wide to the end. All these years later, her own shrieks of horror still rang in her ears.

  She took a deep breath. With two
wooden hashi sticks, she lifted a piece of fish, holding it against the light. It looked like a wafer of ice with the consistency of the most-finely cut radish. She politely placed the piece into her mouth. Her lips closed, her tongue touching the flesh, her teeth biting into the meat.

  Immediately an unfamiliar taste filled her mouth. Not what she expected. Not poison, but a delicacy it was not. Bland, in fact. It did not taste nearly as good as her favorite, buri, which always tantalized her palate.

  Fugu: Tough. Chewy. Like jellyfish.

  “Haaaa. Good! Delicious, no?” Inu nodded vigorously, smiling in the triumph of his culinary skills.

  Yamabuki mused to herself. Perhaps the only reason to eat raw fugu was to show raw courage.

  She exhaled. “Delicious!”

  She indicated with her hand that she wished to share it with everyone. “A delicacy,” she repeated, and the serving staff, after the polite ritual of several perfunctory refusals required of those with good manners, eagerly partook. Only Ryuma, hatchet man that he was, forbore, keeping his eye on the entries to the room.

  After the puffer fish was eaten down to the last bite, seven more young women, all comely, entered the room to serve Yamabuki, bringing her more food bowls, this time filled with an assortment of pickled vegetables, and, of course, more saké flasks.

  Though the young women served food and drink, their real purpose was to provide the evening’s entertainment: Two of their number brought in string instruments. One carried a drum. And to Yamabuki’s surprise, one even played a flute, though the latter was considered the province of men. Three of the other girls were singers.

  It was then that Ishi-tsuki and Chi-ye moved to the center of the room.

  Seven:

  In the Battlefield or in Dancing; A Master of Movement

  All at once the music began. There may have been only four instruments and three singers, but the room filled with music as grand as at the Taka compound.

  Old Inu joined the three singers in an unfamiliar melody. Ishi-tsuki and Chi-ye displayed energy and elegance; their arms and legs moved fluidly in time to the rhythm of the song.

  Watching what appeared to be effortless gliding and leaping, Yamabuki could not help but be pleased. She knew the strength and stamina it took to make it look simple.

  They performed dance after dance—some animated, some quiet, others with bawdy refrains, but always with feminine grace, even when the steps grew wild and driving.

  The last time Yamabuki had been entertained at Wakatake, she was hardly twelve springs; and she had been seated in the second row of the Taka, and then in a separate room at that, for with the retinue of overflowing numbers, several rooms were needed to delight and feed so many.

  And it was the retainers who enjoyed the most salacious of the dances.

  She, on the other hand, as always, had found herself relegated to the room where girls’ songs were sung to the well-bred young ladies. Since girls’ songs were mostly soft, at the time she had sometimes caught some of the more raucous refrains and coarse lyrics coming from afar.

  But tonight she was the only guest and everyone sat in the same room. She was the focus of everything.

  Either because of this newfound freedom, or because she was under sway of the saké—which Ryuma now served while the young women danced—a plan began to form.

  Yamabuki declared, “The dances of the Chikuzen District are filled with such energy.”

  “Oh no,” all the girls corrected almost at once, “these are the toi dances. Not even of Kita, but of the local fishing settlements.”

  Yamabuki rose. “Unknown dances of toi? Then you shall have to teach them to me so I may show everyone in Great Bay. So they can realize that the Kita girls’ performances are the most magnificent.”

  Everyone squealed their delight as Yamabuki took her place next to Ishi-tsuki and Chi-ye. They showed her one dance, then another, and another, until she had memorized five in all.

  All the while, Yamabuki’s saké and food bowls were filled and then refilled to overflowing.

  “You might be dressed like a samurai, but you dance like a lady,” said Ishi-tsuki. Chi-ye and the others nodded in hearty agreement.

  Inu slapped the floor. “Ha! See how a samurai moves—in the battlefield or in dancing, she’s a master of movement!”

  The chamber erupted with approving laughter.

  Ishi-tsuki wondered aloud, “Are these dances all so different from Great Bay Province’s?”

  Yamabuki answered, “They are similar, but they are not exactly the same.”

  Soon everyone began to beg Yamabuki, “Would you show us the dances of Great Bay Province, then?”

  Yamabuki paused thoughtfully, then answered deliberately. “Under two conditions.”

  All eyes stayed fixed on her.

  “First, you have to join in and learn the steps.”

  Everyone eagerly agreed.

  “Then,” she continued, “please find me a silk kimono that will fit someone as tall as me!”

  “Hai!” Chi-ye bolted up. “I know right where there’s one.” She immediately returned, handing Yamabuki an elegant kimono of vivid blue heavy silk with finely stitched red cranes and a yellow fine silk inner lining.

  Yamabuki unabashedly slipped out of her warrior’s garb and into the costume of a lady.

  “And now for the music.” Yamabuki’s face grew serious, yet still cheerful. She hummed a tune.

  “Ha. Ha!” the four musicians exclaimed. They knew the song. They began to play the instruments, and the three singers joined in with verses about soft fragrant spring blossoms.

  Yamabuki waved her hands. “No. No. We have different words for this song. You just play,” she said to the musicians. “You? Clap along,” she said to the singers. “And I,” she paused, “shall sing the verses.”

  “Do you need a fan?” Chi-ye asked.

  With a small smile Yamabuki shook her head as she reached into her warrior’s tunic, which had been set aside.

  “I shall use mine.”

  With the snap of her wrist (that of a fancy lady, or was it of a swordsman?) Yamabuki opened her personal tessen. Its significance was not lost on anyone in the room. Not only was this her personal iron-ribbed fan, it was also her war fan. Its seventeen folds denoted her rank. Lower ranks had fewer ribs. The Mikado’s was twenty-five, the highest allowed in the empire. No one dared carry a fan of more ribs than their rank allowed.

  Her tessen, besides doubling as a weapon, was also a symbol of her authority, which meant that despite her youth, she was allowed to command troops in the field. It was said that all she had to do was to raise it in battle and the Taka would rally to her.

  Now all anyone needed to do was to politely watch her dance.

  Moments later she dropped her noble born manner of speech and began to sing in the thick and all-but-incomprehensible accent that was spoken by the common people of Great Bay, and which few outsiders of any social class could fathom. This made the song sound all the more glamorous.

  Yamabuki could not help but notice that Ryuma kept his eyes on her almost every moment.

  Is it that he is charmed by me, she wondered to herself, or is he after something else?

  She smiled enigmatically.

  Then with the most gentle, subtle, slow, and soft motions of her arms and hands, she depicted the ocean waves. It was a dance and song about the tide coming in and covering everything that had once been visible, and yet it was a song as much about fate as it was about the sea.

  Moments before, everyone had been laughing raucously, but now a hush fell over the room. Only the music, Yamabuki’s singing, and the rustle of the kimono could be heard. The sound of the silk was as much a part of the song as were the strings and her voice. Hishhh. Hishhh. The silks of the kimono brushed against one another, making the hissing sound of waves coming to
shore.

  Ascending overhead, over the south

  The Sun Goddess shimmers within the sea

  The Wind God fetches the breeze

  The Sea God drives the waves

  In awe we ride the ripples of our fleeting lives

  In this world of woe

  Tears formed in the corners of Yamabuki’s eyes and in the eyes of her audience.

  When the last note was plucked, everyone softly murmured, “Good. Very good. How beautiful.”

  Inu choked back his emotions, forcing a congenial smile. “Ahhh! Lady Taka made us all promise we would learn the dance, too.” He leapt to his feet, slapped his knee, which created a more festive mood, commanding, “We must not disappoint!”

  With that, Inu, the singers, and the dancers moved forward to join in step—all but the musicians, who continued to play, and Ryuma, who saw to it that Yamabuki’s saké bowl stayed full.

  She danced, exchanging a glance or two with Ryuma. But she did not permit herself any more eye contact than that. Her focus had to stay fixed on the precise dance steps and the three scrolls she had carefully slipped into her silk kimono sleeve, hidden along with her dagger.

  Eight:

  Someone of the Sex of Her Choosing

  A coastal front blew in, and the night grew darker and cooler. Yamabuki announced, given all the food, dancing, singing, that it finally was time for her to retire. Everyone expressed disappointment, moaning that the lovely evening was coming to an end far too soon.

  Holding an oil brazier, Inu led Yamabuki along the dim hallway, then up a stair ladder. He stopped just outside a chamber that faced the front street.

  “Our best room. The backside rooms?” He shook his head. “Too close to the stables.”

  He slid the screen aside and then, in a voice not much more than a whisper, said, “You will be leaving for the Main Isle tomorrow. Perhaps you would like some companionship, someone to pleasure you on your last night on the Isle of Unknown Fires.”

  When she raised a brow at the thought of a bed companion, Inu clarified that it would be someone of the sex of her choosing, for the Inn of Young Bamboo knew samurai’s pleasures were varied. His inn was in Kita, a crossroads, where any accommodation she desired would be met.