Heart of the Ronin (47 page)

Even the sullen, sometimes spiteful Hatsumi appeared to enjoy herself. She smiled and giggled, and Kazuko could almost believe she was her old self again. Hatsumi traded coy, meaningful glances with Yasutoki, glances pregnant with the knowledge of shared secrets. Kazuko allowed Hatsumi to think that her affair with Yasutoki was still a secret within the palace walls, even though nothing could be further from the truth. Hatsumi seemed to need the illusion that her liaisons with Yasutoki were hidden, secret trysts. But then, part of the allure of such affairs, Kazuko knew, was their secret nature.

The party formed the beginning of Kazuko’s realization that perhaps the bleeding rift in her belly had begun to heal. She had found solace in applying herself to naginata training. She discovered that it helped lift her spirits more than ever. The weight of the weapon and her growing strength with it gave her comfort. Her husband retained one of the most renowned naginata masters on Kyushu especially to teach her. Taking advantage of the man’s services to train his troops, of course, was an afterthought. Her husband was nothing if not pragmatic.

Lord Tsunetomo even commissioned for her a special suit of armor. He had surprised her with it a few days after the party. It was uncommon, but not unheard of, for samurai lords to present their wives with armor. In the old days of warfare and strife, women had often been called to fight. She had been truly pleased, and her reaction had pleased her husband as well. It was as beautiful as it was functional, made in the haramaki style, with small, black lacquered steel plates, bound together by silk cords of deep red, with lovely yellow and orange accents. The yellow faded into orange and then deep red and made the armor look as if it were aflame. It was light and flexible, smaller and less bulky than o-yoroi, great armor. It was made to fit only her, and designed to be used with the naginata. When she tried it on, it was comfortable and well fitted, and it gave her a feeling of strength and deep satisfaction. For a moment she remembered the thrill she had felt after she and . . . Ken’ishi had defeated the oni. She felt invincible.

Master Higuchi beamed at her, exposing his gap-toothed gums as she entered the practice yard wearing her armor for the first time. “Good morning, my lady,” he said as she bowed to him. “You look like a fierce, exquisite flame this morning.”

“You flatter me, sensei,” she said. But her heart swelled with pride, and her limbs vibrated with excitement.

Together they turned toward the yard’s guardian shrine, knelt, and bowed their respect to the guardian kami of the practice yard and the castle. After they finished the necessary rituals, she began her practice routine.

Master Higuchi watched her with a sharp eye. “You see now why I have you practice in your armor. It changes your balance and weighs you down.”

“Yes, sensei, it is more difficult than I expected,” she said, her breath huffing as he lunged and stepped and twirled and struck. The naginata grew heavy sooner, and her steps were not as quick or as sure.

“But fear not, before long, the armor will become like a second skin. You will not mind the chafing. When you get used to wearing armor, you begin to feel naked without it. Nothing can hurt you when you wear it. Maybe you will want to wear your armor all the time!” Then he laughed.

“Yes, sensei,” she said. In a strange moment, she wished she could put armor around her heart, so that nothing could hurt her there ever again. No more pain of remembering the look of a ronin’s face and the feel of his hands on her. No more bouts of stabbing sorrow.

“Harder!” Master Higuchi scolded. “Your movements are already growing weak!”

Perhaps, with practice, she could indeed armor her heart. With that silent resolve in her mind, the strength returned to her naginata blows and the precision to her movements.

Seventeen

“Looked for, they cannot be seen; listened for, they cannot be heard; felt for, they cannot be touched.”

—
Old Ninja Legend

Yasutoki welcomed the earlier departure of the sun on these autumn days. He was more comfortable in the dark, in the shadows. Only after the sun had set would Kage appear. Yasutoki received Kage’s message one evening at the local sake house. The message had been written in the bottom of a sake cup in ink that dissolved once the sake was poured.

“One last time. Payment due,” the message said.

The man known as Kage was nothing if not ingenious.

So Yasutoki waited in the same sake house, one day and one hour later, as was their predetermined arrangement. Even though it was autumn, the air was warm and thick and heavy, with no breeze. He fanned himself aggressively, keeping his eyes open. The windows of the sake house were flung open wide, but no breeze came through them, only mosquitoes, drawn by the smell of blood. So many succulent, drunken targets, Yasutoki mused. Such easy marks. The smell of burning incense made to drive away the mosquitoes was pungent in the air. Yasutoki waved his fan at a tiny, shrill buzzing in one ear.

Despite his outward demeanor, his guts were a swirling tumult of suppressed excitement, for two reasons. One was that all of the spies he sent in search of the ronin with Silver Crane reported no success, and all of them reported on schedule, except one. That one had not reported at all. He did not employ men who missed appointed times. Something had happened to that man. Perhaps the man’s disappearance was significant, perhaps it was only a quirk of fortune, but it warranted further investigation. It was a clue he could follow.

The second reason for his excitement was that this meeting with Kage should be the last. After this, Yasutoki would be able to send his information to the Great Khan. The Great Khan would be pleased. Yasutoki remembered the one and only time he had been in the presence of the Khubilai Khan. That one time had been enough for the young man called Yasutoki to recognize a true power in the world. Khubilai Khan, grandson of the Great Khan Genghis, who had conquered nearly the entire world, would be the man who could exact vengeance on those who had slaughtered Yasutoki’s ancestors. Some men were drawn to power, and some men liked to accumulate power for themselves. Yasutoki was both. The empire of the Golden Horde reached to the far corners of the known world, and it was only a matter of time before his own country fell under the Golden Horde’s dominion. Only the difficulty of crossing the sea had kept them at bay this long. The Mongols knew nothing about sailing the high seas. They had to rely on the recalcitrant Koryu people for that. But now, the Great Khan had set his sights on the palace of the Emperor in Kyoto, and nothing would stop him now.

Yasutoki had been little more than a boy when his father took him on a journey across the sea. Even then, his family had been scheming against the Shogunate, looking for allies abroad to help bring down the hated Minamoto and Hojo families. He and his father had traveled in the guise of simple merchants. With a wry smile, Yasutoki realized that was indeed what they had been. They were selling their homeland to the Great Khan. And the price was vengeance.

Yasutoki had seen much of these tribal barbarians during that journey. He had seen their uncouth, almost demonic customs, heard their barbarous songs, eaten their almost unbearable food, and smelled their overpowering stench. They reeked of horseshit and the dust of the steppes. But more importantly, he had seen their vast numbers, and the matchless power and speed of their armies. Samurai were tough, potent warriors, formidable swordsmen, and skilled archers, but they could not hope to stand against huge units of Mongol horsebowmen that moved with the speed and precision of a flock of birds, in perfect unison.

Samurai fought battles largely as individuals, seeking opponents of renown to face in single combat, to heap honor and glory onto their own names. The Mongols fought with their entire army acting as a single entity. This unity had driven all enemies before them like chaff in a great wind, and the same would happen to the Shogun’s samurai.

Yasutoki noticed the serving woman and turned his attention to her. She was the wife of the owner of the Plum Blossom Sake House, and just as much in Yasutoki’s direct, secret employ as her husband.

She stopped beside his table, bowed deeply, and said, “Yasutoki-sama, there is a message for you.”

“What is it? Who sent it?”

“A man named Akihiro reserved a private room, my lord.”

“Excellent. I will go immediately.”

“He is not there, my lord. He said that you had something for him and that you should give it to me.”

Yasutoki frowned. He suddenly felt the weight of the pouch in his sleeve. The pouch contained the last of Kage’s payment.

“I am sorry if this displeases you, my lord.” Her voice began to quaver.

“Where is he?”
 

“I do not know, my lord. But he left something in the room for you.”

Yasutoki nodded. “Very well, but you will accompany me. Only after I see what he left will I give you what is his.”

“As you say, my lord. I am sorry.” She bowed several times. “Very sorry.”

She showed him to the private room at the rear of the establishment. Inside, the satchel rested in the center of the table. He kept his movements calm and measured in spite of his desire to rush across the room and seize it. He opened the satchel and revealed another nest of precious scrolls. He opened one of them and skimmed the detailed report of the fighting strength of the Shimazu clan, a powerful samurai family in the south of Kyushu. A sigh of relief escaped him, a sigh so profound it surprised him.

He reached into his sleeve and withdrew the pouch full of coins and precious stones. He opened the pouch, extracted a small handful of coins, then retied the pouch.

He handed the coins to the innkeeper’s wife. As her hand closed around them, he seized her wrist and squeezed so hard she gasped with pain. Then with his other hand, he snatched a handful of her hair and jerked her head back. She choked in surprise, her eyes bulging with fear.

His voice was cold and deadly, and he glared into her eyes. “This is to remind that you work for
me!
No one else! Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” she stammered. “I understand! I am sorry for your trouble!”

“Good.” He released her hand, then gave her the pouch. “You can give this to the man called Akihiro.”

“Yes, my lord!” He released her hair, and she bowed again several times, her eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you, my lord, thank you!”

“You may go.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She departed quickly, fear lending quickness to her step.

Yasutoki turned back to the table, with the satchel. He had a great deal of interesting reading to do. And quickly. His carefully laid plan was finally coming together.

So ends the Second Scroll