Gloria Oliver (4 page)

He gazed at nothing, a shiver moving through him, as he remembered the implied threat he thought he’d seen in that one crewman’s red eyes.

“Let me fix that for you,” Miko said.

He heard the rustle of silk as the geisha stood up and moved behind him. He saw her reach for the fallen leather band. As her skeletal hand rose, it finally dawned on him what she meant to do. With frightened eyes, he jerked away before she could touch his hair.

“No!”

He turned on the geisha in a half-crouch, waiting for her to try to come after him. Instead, he found her sitting perfectly still, her hand half-raised in the air.

“What’s wrong?” Miko leaned forward. He scooted away from her. “I was only going to tie your hair. I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

He watched her suspiciously, even as she harmlessly held out the leather band for him to see.

“No, that’s all right, thank you,” he said quickly. “I would prefer to do it myself.”

Miko turned her head to stare at him at a curious angle. To his amazement, she suddenly bowed before him, her forehead touching the floor.

“Please forgive my thoughtlessness, Chizuson-san. I had forgotten that all you’ve had from us so far was the paralyzing touch. I had not meant to frighten you.”

He felt foolish, seeing her apologizing to him. He was just a peasant boy; she was a geisha and a demon.

That wasn’t the way things were supposed to happen in the world.

“I just thought…”

Miko’s white mask looked up as he hesitated. “Of course. You had no reason to believe otherwise. But it isn’t true. When we touch others, it doesn’t have to be the paralyzing touch they feel. We can make our touch warm, if we like. Almost as warm as a living human’s.” Miko sat up. “Won’t you let me show you?” With a fleshless hand, she gestured to the floor right before her.

His misgivings showing on his face, he slowly nodded and then inched toward her. Turning his back to her, he knelt on the floor. Despite what she had told him, he bit his bottom lip, waiting for her cold touch to creep into his skin.

He tensed as a comb gently sifted through his hair. He hardly dared breathe as the small comb descended past his shoulder, stopping once to painlessly take care of a tangle. Miko continued to comb his hair, her soft silk kimono occasionally brushing against his arm.

He stiffened more as he felt her gather his hair. The burst of cold he had expected as her hand brushed past his neck, however, never came.

“There, I’m finished. It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Her voice was close.

He shook his head as he gingerly turned to face her again. “Why … why are you being so kind to me?”

Miko stopped in the middle of placing her small comb back into her hair. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be?”

He stared at his coarse blanket, not knowing what to do with the unexpected rebuttal.

“No. Well, yes,” he said. “I’m not a noble or a samurai. I’m a peasant, a lowlife. You shouldn’t be wasting your time on someone like me. You are geisha! You are of art, of beauty, of dance, all those things. Why waste your time on one such as me?”

He dared not mention that spirits and demons weren’t known for their kindness, either. While his babbling could get him into trouble, he still had no wish to offend Miko, in case her thoughtfulness was, for whatever bizarre reason, genuine.

The geisha laughed out loud. It was a soft and gentle laugh.

“Oh, dear Toshi-san, where do you think geishas come from? While some may like to forget their humble origins once a wealthy lord has bought their contract, their past is still the same. I, like you and countless others, was sold as a child to a merchant who favored me and trained in the arts of the geisha since I was three. I have been lucky compared to those who’ve ended up in the red lantern districts, and I’ve never forgotten it. Every evening I send a prayer of thanks to the gods.” Her eyes glowed. “You and I have more in common than I do with any of the nobles and samurai I have served during my life, Toshi-san. Do not belittle yourself.”

“But, Akiuji-san, you have no idea of what I’m like.” He stared at his hands, not sure why he was saying these things to her. “I could be evil or vicious, maybe even a pervert.”

Miko’s eyes shone a bright blue. “I don’t think I have to worry about keeping my virtue intact anymore, do you?”

Realizing he’d yet again made a fool of himself, he nevertheless grinned as Miko’s sweet laughter once more filled the room.

“Even if I had to, I wouldn’t worry while in your presence.” Miko leaned toward him for a moment. “I’ve always had good instincts for people, and it has rarely failed me. I like you very much already.”

He blushed at the flattery and turned away so she wouldn’t see. Before he could think of something to say, a bell sounded just outside the door.

“I’m sorry, Toshi-san, but I must go now.” Miko’s hand rested for a moment on his arm. “Try to get some rest. Asaka-sama will want to test your skills this evening, once it is safe for us to rise above water.”

“But—”

“I’ll meet with you again before then with your meal. Perhaps you would enjoy some music as well?”

Without waiting for his answer, Miko stood and silently slipped past him toward the door.

“Rise above water?” He stared at her, perplexed.

Miko turned back to face him for a moment. “It would be wise if you didn’t try to go above during the daytime.” With a rustling of silk, she left the room. A cold shiver coursed through him as he forced himself to sit back down.

Alone, with nothing else to do, he examined his room. Other than the small table in the corner with its half-filled teapot, his cup and an empty plate, the glowing room contained nothing else but him, his blanket and two empty buckets sitting against the far wall.

He stared at the closed and possibly unlocked door of his room as the weight of his predicament once more settled down around him. For a moment, he thought of trying to escape again, yet Miko’s parting words and his own recollection of the ship as it rose from beneath the water made him realize there was nothing he could do, except maybe die. It was amazing he wasn’t dead already. The concept of being underwater, yet still able to breathe, seemed more than he could ponder. And he had other problems besides those. He was to be tested by the samurai that night. He shuddered at the thought. In the unfamiliar silence of his room, he wondered what would happen to him should he fail the test. He doubted Asaka would be gracious enough to return him home. His mind easily pictured his most likely reward.

Now colder than when he had awakened, he curled up in his blanket and returned to his corner.

“Toshi-san. It’s time to get up. Toshi-san.”

His heavy eyelids flickered open as he felt himself shaken by the shoulder. A bright silver kimono with glowing gold and red flowers filled his field of vision as Miko knelt at his side. Smiling slightly, glad she was there, he let his eyes close again.

“Toshi-san, it’s time to eat. Asaka-sama will be coming for you shortly.”

The demon’s name brought him fully awake. With a grimace, he opened his eyes and pushed up into a sitting position. Rubbing his face, he gradually became more alert as the scent of freshly brewed tea wove into his nostrils.

“That’s much better,” Miko said. “Now, come, let me serve you. We haven’t much time.”

He draped his blanket about himself and rose groggily to his feet before sidling over to the small table in the corner of the room. Serving him tea, Miko also placed in front of him a plate filled with dried fish and rice cakes. To his delight, he also noted she’d brought him a couple of sweet cakes.

As he ate, he watched the geisha as she rose from the table and headed to the door. Sitting beside it, propped against the wall, was a
koto
. He watched with some awakening interest as she picked up the long, gently curving wooden instrument and set it on the floor before her. Miko bowed to him then picked up a small pick after sliding small wooden blocks beneath each of the strings over the main body and setting them up in a specific pattern. Long, lonely notes filled the room as she wove her music for him.

Downing a second cup of hot tea as fast as his throat would tolerate, he listened. With a bit of surprise, he found he was caught up in the music as it turned from sweet melancholy to a brash, more upbeat pace.

He became fascinated just watching her play. He slid his plate from the table to set it before him so he wouldn’t have to look away to eat. Miko’s movements were so fluid, so precise, her fleshless fingers handling the instrument almost as if it were a part of her.

While he sat there, he dared to try and imagine how the geisha might have looked in life. That a spirit could create such beauty dazzled him. He wondered if she were trying to imprison him in some sort of spell. He found that, at the moment, he didn’t care if she was.

He continued to eat, lost in the music, until a sudden knock on the door reverberated through the room.

Miko stopped playing. The door to the room opened.

Toshi felt his throat go dry as the still-armored samurai stepped into the doorway. He swallowed hard as he bowed.

“Come, boy,” the samurai said.

Toshi darted a glance toward Miko and saw her nod. Hiding in his blanket, he stood up and shivered, wondering if he would feel the samurai’s cold touch tonight.

“Leave it.” A bony hand pointed at his blanket.

Toshi released a heavy sigh. He let the only warmth he’d had fall off behind him and walked to the door as the samurai moved from the doorway.

Asaka walked down the hall, leaving him to follow. The samurai stopped, blocking the way to the exterior door, as splashing sounds rang faintly beyond. They stood there for almost a full minute before the samurai reached to open the door.

A blast of night air smashed into the boy’s shivering body as the door was momentarily ripped from Asaka’s grasp. As the latter stepped outside, Toshi grabbed for the doorway when the ship abruptly rocked to the left. Nervously, he stared out at the wet, glowing deck. Two columns of skeletal men sat toward the bow of the ship, all holding long oars they were using to move the flat-bottomed vessel. He looked away from them and their fleshless bodies, a shiver crawling up his spine.

Stepping out onto the deck, he noticed the overcast night sky. The blowing wind slapped his face. The ship shifted to the right, and he felt his filled stomach knot up. Doing his best to ignore it, he carefully climbed the ladder next to the doorway, following Asaka. The ship tilted again, but he held on, his stomach knotting up a little more. Reaching the top, he stood uneasily on the glowing deck and waited for the samurai to tell him what to do.

“You’ll now determine our present position. Do not attempt to lie, for I already know the answer.”

Hating the fear growing inside him at the words, he glanced behind the samurai as a stooped skeleton approached them at Asaka’s signal. Stopping before the boy, the retainer offered him the map Asaka had taken from Master Shun’s store and a number of gaijin instruments.

Trying to keep his footing as the rocking of the ship grew worse, Toshi took the map, avoiding any contact with the skeleton’s hand. His gaze swam for a moment. The map’s contents seemed to move with the tilting of the ship.

Attempting to ignore his sudden dizziness, he returned the map and took a heavy coil of measuring rope with a weight at one end and a round cork on the other. Leaning against the rail, he dropped the weighted end into the rolling waves below. He dared not look at the moving water, which strove to make his dizziness worse, as he tried to get a depth measurement as quickly as possible. The choppy water wouldn’t allow an accurate assessment, but he was sure the samurai wouldn’t care for the excuse. As soon as he thought the bottom had been reached, he noted the marked depth of three fathoms on the rope where the cork bobbed and began to carefully coil the rope up again. He hurried as much as was prudent, his dizziness making his stomach knot up worse than before. Due to the roughness of the water, he decided he wouldn’t try for a speed reading.

Returning the coil of rope to the waiting skeleton, he next took a large compass. The small bowl-like contraption had a colorful card face showing all the major directions that was submerged in liquid to keep it still. Quickly looking it over to make sure it was in working order, he stood as still as possible to get a directional reading from the bulky instrument. When he was done, he traded it for a cross-staff. With that, he looked up into the cloud-crowded sky, trying to catch sight of the North Star. Finally spotting it as a bank of clouds broke for a moment, he lifted the cross-staff in its direction. He felt his dizziness worsen as he put the long bar of the cross-staff against his eye, his gaze following the rod upward to the North Star. The ship kept shifting, making the star weave in and out of his sight. He stubbornly fought to keep it in view. He slid the crosspiece over the scale to align it against the star and the horizon to find the angle of their latitude, just as Captain Valez had taught him.

The North Star wavered again in his vision, and his stomach rumbled. The swirling wind whipped his ponytail up into his face as he handed the cross-staff back. Taking the map again and a few of the other tools, as well as an empty logbook, he sat on the ice-cold deck. He tried to recall all the necessary computations and, though lightheaded, tried to do them as best he could.

He became aware of Asaka’s green stare raking over him.

After several minutes, Toshi came up with what might be a close answer. He was about to give it to Asaka when his tortured stomach gave up and heaved with all its might. Clamping his hands over his mouth, he tried to keep in the lumpy, burning mess that suddenly rose from inside him. Forgetting everything but his screaming stomach, he ran for the ship’s rail.

Almost falling overboard in his eagerness to get there, he clung to the railing as his stomach heaved again. Not able to hold back anymore, he opened his mouth and let the burning torrent empty to the sea.

The acrid smell of vomit filled his nose as his throat burned. His stomach continued to heave long past the point at which it was empty.