Shorogajo: The Weeping Maid
by Nene Adams © 2002 - All rights reserved

PROLOGUE - A Woman at the Well

In the town of Sakashita, the seventh station on the Chrysanthemum Road
Shihasu, the Month of Poor Looking Winter (December)
2 a.m., the first Hour of the Ox

The garden was thick with weeds and untended ferns. Long tendrils of dying pampas grass rippled in the evening breeze. Broken stones, bearded with moss, broke through drifts of brittle leaves. In the center of the devastation was an abandoned well.

Tangled masses of wild orchids nearly hid the mouth of the well - a wide-gaping hole that moonlight could not penetrate. The rounded rocks around the opening were covered in black, slimy mold that was faintly luminescent, and smelled sickly sweet, like rotting flesh. A weeping willow bent its branches protectively over the crumbling structure.

Protected on three sides by a well-kept house, and on the fourth by a bamboo wall, it was strange that this garden was in such a state of decay. Lamps made golden points of light through the paper-paned walls of the dwelling, and from within could be heard the faint piping of a flute. Dark shadows crossed from room to room. Colorful kimonos had been hung out to air on the verandah rails. An odor of charcoal fires and burning incense floated on the air.

A full moon danced high among the clouds, shimmering roundness set in smoky tendrils that grasped and uncurled around the stars. It illuminated a bronze guardian lion, his muzzle drawn back in a snarl, neck hung about with fluttering Shinto charms and withered sheaves of rice.

Suddenly, an icy wind whipped through the garden in spirals of invisible force, flattening the grasses and throwing up a blizzard of leaves. From the depths of the well came a soft sound, almost like a sob. Inside the house, the flute player broke off with an unmusical squawk and put aside his instrument. Scuffling figures paused. The night held its breath.

The sobbing grew louder and louder until the house shook on its foundations. It was as though Nai-no-Kami, the Catfish god who carried the Floating World upon his back, was shuddering and the earth quaked with his throes. A roof tile slid away and shattered on the bronze lion's back. Two shoji doors jumped out of their tracks. Someone screamed a prayer to the gods.

After a few moments, the deafening roar cut off abruptly, and the earthquake ceased. A stillness more profound than death engulfed the garden as the mouth of the old well began to glow. Rays of blue light shone up through the dark opening, and tiny sparks of fire glittered where it met the moon. Slowly, the ghostly outline of a woman drew together in the center of the sapphire aura, and snowflakes began to fall.

She wept as though her heart was broken. Tears streamed down her plump cheeks, dripped from her chin, soaked the sleeves of her simple robe. She was pretty, but her long hair hung in a tangled mass across her shoulders, and her skin was pocked with moxa scars. Her body was translucent, all colors faded and tinged with blue. Floating in midair, this sad spirit seemed the very essence of tragedy.

"Ichi," she gasped, wringing her hands together and continuing to cry. "Ni... san... shi..."

One, two, three, four...

The apparition continued counting until she reached kyu - nine. Then she let out a thin, blood-curdling wail that went on and on, gaining in strength until the house was shaken again. More tiles popped off the roof. Several kimonos slipped into the dirt. One of the pillar posts that supported the verandah roof began to warp, the solid wood twisting until it snapped in half.

The blue light flickered, the sound cut off, and the girl disappeared. The garden was plunged into darkness and silence once more.

After a long moment, a shoji slid open, and a samurai came out onto the verandah, his face screwed into a hideous scowl. The sash of his yukata robe was unfastened, revealing the powerful physique of a trained warrior. A naked sword was in his hand.

Behind him, several women's voices were raised in either protest or prayer. The samurai ignored them. He walked down the steps and paused, his foot held just above the weedy ground.

The samurai's eyes narrowed. He gulped a lungful of air, then another. Veins throbbed in his forehead as he shouted in rage, "Okiku! I order you to go back to Hell! Do you hear me, Okiku? Go to Hell!"

There was no reply. The moon beamed down serenely on a ruined garden where nothing moved. Snow continued to fall.

The samurai huffed and went back up the stairs..

Not once had his naked foot ever touched the garden ground.

CHAPTER ONE - Riding the Knee-Mare

Outside the town of Minakuchi, fifth station on the Chrysanthemum Road
8 a.m., the first Hour of the Dragon

For a hardened samurai, Ayumi's tone was curiously gentle. "Are you certain, my lady?"

"Hai." Kimiko sounded firm, but also a little nervous. "We have waited long enough. It is past time this thing was done. Do you not agree?"

The two women were kneeling close together beneath the dubious shelter of a gnarled pine tree. A few snowflakes had littered the earth, but they were already beginning to melt in the morning sun. Their breakfast - soup flavored with miso and dried salmon flakes - bubbled in a small iron pot buried in the coals of the fire.

Ayumi bit her lip and hesitated. "I am not forcing you into a disagreeable act?"

"You are not. Please, Yumi-san, I want this with all my heart." The glance that Kimiko gave her samurai was very appealing. "Do it." She pulled the kimono off her shoulders, which left her bare from the waist up. In the chill air, her nipples puckered, and goosebumps formed on her skin.

"You are bajin, a virgin still," Ayumi replied, ignoring the diminutive as she usually did. Kimiko had begun calling her 'Yumi' almost immediately after their flight. This did not suit her dignity, and she wished her lady would desist - although the samurai would never voice this objection out loud.

Ayumi continued, "Once it is done, there will be no turning back."

"Overturned water returns not to the tray." Kimiko quoted the familiar proverb with a shaky smile. She was not as confident as she appeared.

Ayumi heaved a great sigh. She was so close to the other woman that the outblown breath fluttered a lock of Kimiko's hair. "What if you wish to marry in years to come? Your husband will not thank me."

"I have no desire to marry," Kimiko answered, turning pale. The bad memories of her almost-marriage to an evil lord had not yet been exorcised. She would never forget the way his first wife had begged for death. Aiding Ryoku's honorable suicide had gotten rid of a murderous hannya, but the aftermath had split her apart from the samurai that she loved.

The next weeks spent alone in the brothel quarter, except for the company of a (then unknown) courtesan spider, had been a nightmare. She had nearly lost her life, and would have met a fate worse than death if Ayumi had not miraculously appeared. She would never be parted from her samurai again. Kimiko would rather have the living heart cut from her body than endure another moment separated from Ayumi.

She laid her hand on the warrior's arm. Hard muscle flexed beneath her fingers. "You know how much I love and trust you. Must I truly beg?"

Ayumi could not meet the lady's gaze. Her pulse began to pound. She loved Kimiko, but that first declaration of her affection had been made when she thought they were both going to die. Now that the bird was out of the cage, she was having trouble reconciling love and duty. Ayumi was the lady's sworn retainer, and, as a samurai, giri had to be her priority. Romantic obligations were something she had no experience with, and it was hard to know how to act or what to say.

The impropriety of their relationship was driven home every day by Kimiko, who delighted in this new facet of their relationship. Ayumi coped as well as she could. Sometimes, though, she couldn't help wishing that the gods would get fatal constipation.

"Are you certain?" Ayumi repeated.

"Instead of asking, I could just order you to do it," Kimiko said. "It would be your duty to obey."

This was undeniably true. Ayumi was relieved. Orders from a superior were something she knew how to deal with. "Very well. Let me build up the fire first, and then I will..." She could not finish the sentence.

Kimiko nodded. As the samurai went about her task, she frowned, suddenly troubled. "Will you... will your love for me be unchanged... after?"

Ayumi grunted. "Can you doubt me?" She realized that she sounded too gruff, and added in a softer tone, "No matter what happens, you will never be less than perfect in my eyes."

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, the samurai smiled. This romantic soft-stuff is not so difficult, after all. The smile became a frown. But if she starts reciting bad poetry, I will fall on my sword.

It was not quite the torrid declaration of desire that Kimiko longed to hear, but it would suffice. She gave the warrior an approving nod. Getting Ayumi to speak aloud about her feelings was like trying to move Mount Fuji - impossible by brute force, and only accomplished through divine intervention or the passage of time. Schooling herself to patience, she sat back and waited for the samurai to return.

Ayumi was back quickly. "It would be better if we had some incense." A hand squeezed Kimiko's naked shoulder. "Perhaps we should wait..."

The young lady let out a strangled cough. "Iye! Absolutely not!" She looked into Ayumi's face, and thought once again about how adorable the woman's crooked nose was. "I will not wait another moment. Do it now!"

Since Kimiko was so resolute, Ayumi surrendered without further quibbling. She caressed her lady's shoulder once more, then dared to press her lips to the hollow of Kimiko's collarbone. It was a bold gesture, and Ayumi was nervous. She handled Kimiko as if she were made of delicate porcelain, terrified that precious flesh might be bruised or torn.

Kimiko flushed hotly, a blush of scarlet that spread down to her breasts. This is more like it, she thought with a mental purr, pleasure coursing through her veins.

As her mistress trembled in her arms, Ayumi gathered the long, black length of Kimiko's hair in her hand. It was warm and yielding, heavy as a length of fine satin. When unbound, as it was now, it reached past the lady's heels. A bewitching scent of jasmine wafted from the silky locks. Ayumi steeled herself to act. "Gomen nasai," she whispered.

There was a sound like ripping silk, and Kimiko pulled away. Despite her resolve, tears shimmered on her lashes. The pain of loss was nearly physical. "Oh!"

Ayumi looked at the iron shears she held, and at the dismay on Kimiko's face. In her other hand was the bundle of hair she had just cut away. "It will never grow that long again," the samurai said ruefully. "Only nuns have shorn heads."

"Apprentice warriors do not grow hair to their ankles," Kimiko said, touching her now short hair. It barely reached her shoulders. Her head was oddly light, as if it might float away. "This feels strange."

"We will both get used to it. This is going to stink when it burns, but we can't leave it here. An enemy could use your hair to make curses against you." She touched Kimiko's cheek. "Are you crying?"

"No." Kimiko put on a tough face and shrugged, although she did feel like mourning. A woman's hair was considered her greatest glory, and no lady of the court did more than trim the ends once or twice a year. Losing her hair felt like losing her beauty. "Kiss me to prove that you still love me, even if I look like a boy."

Ayumi obeyed without stopping to think about it. After a breathless moment, she pulled away, suddenly embarrassed. The samurai became all business to cover her emotions. "You were right about cutting your hair," she said briskly. "We've been courting danger, trying to hide you beneath a hat. The first checkpoint at Seki is coming soon, and if we were discovered..."

"It will mean death." Kimiko knew that her uncle, the Regent of Wa, would stop at nothing to kill her and her retainer. They were also being sought by vengeful mountain priests, and possibly by a ninja clan. Whether or not they were also being targeted by the gods was a continuing source of debate between herself and Ayumi.

Since leaving Heian-kyo by the Sanjo Bridge, they had managed to pass four stations or towns that lined the great Chrysanthemum Road. Progress had been slow because Kimiko was unusued to the rigors of travel, and the half-healed weal on her hip was still very tender. Ayumi had massaged the lady's aching legs every night, insisted on frequent rest stops, and tried to stretch their meager supply of coins to supply what comforts she could.

Another reason for the delay had to do with Kimiko's fashionably shaven eyebrows. Until they grew back in, her face betrayed her noble origins, as well as her sex.

To the samurai's surprise, Kimiko adapted quickly. The young woman's former life had consisted mainly of gentle ceremony and being waited on hand-and-foot, yet she never complained. Her muscles grew strong, her skin toughened, and Kimiko learned to emulate a swaggering boy's strut. The furnace of physical hardship was not destroying the court butterfly, but transforming her into hardened steel.

Ayumi now intended to step up the pace. A horseback rider could complete the entire route in two weeks. It would take them at least two months on foot to finish their journey.

There were still forty-eight stations to go before they reached Edo. The guard presence on the road had been doubled. There was sure to be extra vigilence at the first official checkpoint in Seki - only three towns away. The other two checkpoints were at Arai and Hakone.

Unless they obtained travel permits, however, they would never be able to get through Seki, much less Arai and Hakone. Identity papers were always scrutinized carefully, and those without permits were arrested. That was something that would have to be dealt with when they got there.

Without further comment, Ayumi went to the fire and tossed the heavy sheaf of hair on the flames. The bundle caught immediately, and the stench made her sneeze. Behind her, Kimiko choked.

"Merciful Buddha!"

Ayumi looked up, hand going automatically to the hilt of her katana. She saw nothing, and glanced around wildly for the source of the alarm. Getting up on a knee, she half-drew the sword from its sheath. They had camped several yards away from the road, but she had a clear view and could see no travelers.

Kimiko raised a hand to her mouth. "In the smoke," she whispered.

Scowling, Ayumi backed up a pace. The smoke from the fire had thickened, turning into a swirling ball of black filaments shot through with ash. A man's face peered back at her from the midst of the supernatural cloud. "Gaki!" Ayumi spat.

"Which kind?" There were many insatiably hungry spirits condemned to wander the earth. Some were dangerous, like blood or flesh gaki which sucked the life from their human prey. Incense, tea or tattoo gaki were more or less harmless - they devoured vapor and ink. Kimiko hoped this one was the less deadly variety.

Ayumi shook her head. "I don't know." Her sword was raised so that the chisel tip was pointed at the gaki's grinning face. More of its body appeared in the smoke. The spirit resembled a short, fat monk with a shaved head and elongated earlobes. "Get a writing brush and some salt."

Kimiko hastened to comply. Their travel basket lay to one side of the tree, so she circled the fire to stay out of the gaki's reach. "What are you going to do? We have no sutras or demon-quelling herbs."

The smoke-spirit's grin grew wider. It unfolded its arms, put its hands together and bowed politely. When it spoke, the voice was breathy and high. "Gomen nasai. I apologize for frightening you. Please do not exorcise me. I am sent with a message from honorable Snow Fairy."

Kimiko sat back on her heels with mingled astonishment and relief. The writing brush and pouch of salt dangled from her hand. Snow Fairy was the Shinto priestess who had helped them, and she had not thought to hear from the woman so soon.

"Speak, then, or be destroyed" Ayumi snapped, walking backwards with her sword still aimed at the gaki. When she reached Kimiko, she stopped. "Dip the brush in salt and give it to me." She held out her free hand, and the lady put the instrument into it.

Ayumi spit on her thumb and wiped it along the edge of her katana, leaving a thin line of blood and saliva. This was followed by the brush. Powdery white salt crystals caked the cutting edge of her sword - it was an old folk charm used to exorcise evil. The samurai was a seasoned traveler, and well-versed in the necessary lore.

"Such a disagreeable welcome!" the gaki scolded. "Is this how you treat all your guests?"

"Deliver your message and leave us in peace," Ayumi replied resolutely, "or I will send you screaming back to Hell."

The gaki pouted. "If you insist," it said. A brief gust of wind blurred the spirit's outline. "Honorable Snow Fairy says thus: in Minakuchi can be found a puppet master named Hikaru. He is loyal to Shinto. If a rude samurai and a pretty boy-maiden wish to pass the checkpoint at Seki, they should join Hikaru. If not, crows will feast on their eyes."

During the recitation, Ayumi had not moved but stayed alert for treachery. Kimiko peered around her legs. "Is that all?" the lady asked.

"Hai. I have fulfilled my obligation," the gaki said, looking smug.

"Is that the full message?" Ayumi asked. "I doubt Snow Fairy would insult me or my lady, so I suspect you are not fully bound to obedience."

"Some level of independence is required, otherwise I would have never found you." Soft billows of smoke trickled away from the spirit's torso and bloated its skull. Soon, a huge monk's head hovered above them. Blind eyes focused on the two women. "Perhaps I have held something back. Perhaps not. Or perhaps I have lied and there is an ambush waiting. Would you care to commit suicide now? Hell is not so bad, and I know many games we could play together."

"When I see that priestess again, I'm going to kick her buttocks until her teeth fall out," Ayumi grumbled. "Only a fool uses tricky gaki to send important messages. Why didn't she write a letter and post it to Minakuchi?"

"Probably because anything written down can be intercepted," Kimiko said evenly, "and Snow Fairy did not know exactly where we are." She wrinkled her nose. "Now what?"

"I say we kill the creature." Ayumi paced forward until the salt-laden katana was within inches of the gaki's brow. "Perhaps in its next incarnation, it will learn not to play games with rude, angry samurai."

The spirit shrank back, evidently fearing Ayumi's charmed sword. "You should show kindness and pity to gain karmic merit," it replied nervously.

"The same kindness and pity you have given us?" Kimiko stood up and spoke boldly. "Swear by Shoki-sama, Destroyer of Demons, and by Black Emma, Lord of Hell, that you have spoken the truth and not twisted Snow Fairy's words. If you do not, my samurai will end your miserable existence. Perhaps if the gods are merciful, you will be reborn as a cockroach."

The gaki hesitated. Such an oath could not be foresworn by any supernatural being. Under the threat of destruction, however, it decided that life as a hungry spirit was better than the unknown fate of rebirth. "I vow by Lord Emma-O and Shoki-sama that I have delivered the message which I was given, save only for a few insignificant words which I added to insult and annoy you. Honorable Snow Fairy has said that if you join Hikaru's players, you can pass the checkpoint safely. No instruction was omitted. If I lie, may I be banished to the Hell of Screaming Sinners for all time."

They waited a moment, and nothing happened. Ayumi gave her lady a questioning glance. Kimiko put on her noble manners and said haughtily to the gaki, "You are dismissed." Her attitude suggested that she meant to be obeyed without question.

The spirit nodded and let out a sly chuckle. A blast of cold wind blew through the smoke, shredding the gaki's form until it disappeared into the air. Tattered rags of black vapor lingered for a moment, then were gone. The only trace left of the fire was a heap of sizzling embers, and a small iron pot that had been knocked over by the spiteful entity.

"Oh! That little kisama ruined our breakfast!" Kimiko cried, stamping her foot.

Ayumi pulled a paper handkerchief from the breast pocket of her robe and used it to wipe down her sword before returning it to the scabbard. "If you will get dressed, my lady," she said, staring pointedly at Kimiko's exposed breasts, "we will go into Minakuchi. I'm sure we will find something there to satisfy your appetite."

"But not all my appetites," Kimiko drawled with a wicked glitter in her eyes. The gaki was dismissed from her thoughts for now, as was their spilled soup. She had been trying to seduce Ayumi without much success. The samurai avoided sharing her pillow, instead dispensing shy, hesitant caresses, going no further. It was ridiculous and frustrating. If Kimiko had her way, things were going to change very soon.

She deliberately flaunted her nakedness by taking a paper ribbon out of the basket, raising her arms, and taking a great deal of time to put up her shorn hair, while Ayumi pretended not to watch. Kimiko's sleek torso gleamed like polished ivory in the sun, with contrasting patches of tanned skin on her arms and throat. The loosened robe around her waist slipped over her hips, revealing the bright pink scar where she'd nearly been killed by Cobweb, the courtesan spider in Hanamachi. She spread her legs apart to keep the kimono from falling to the ground.

Finally, Kimiko decided she had teased long enough. With a few twists, she secured a topknot at the crown of her head. Then she hitched up her dove-gray kimono and tied it shut with a yellow- and-black tiled obi before pulling on a padded jacket. Of all the luxuries she had left behind, Kimiko really missed the sensuous feel of fine silk next to her skin. The robe she had put on was second grade cotton, and seemed rough as hemp. Ribbed cotton trousers, fresh tabi socks and straw zori completed her costume.

I wish we could travel openly, she thought. It would be much nicer to go to Edo in style and comfort, instead of riding the knee-mare like retainers of a miserly lord. A glance at her hands - callusus were already forming on her palms - and she added with a mental shrug, I could have stayed with my uncle and obeyed him. He would have let me choke on luxury and palace games until my soul rotted, or my life was forfeit. This path that I've chosen may mean death, but at least it will be a death with honor. I follow where my duty leads me. Shigata ga nai.

In the meantime, Ayumi scrubbed out the pot with a handful of leaves, and repacked the travel basket. A few well-placed kicks scattered dirt over the remains of the campfire.

The samurai waited until her mistress was ready. Hefting the basket onto her shoulders, she turned her steps to the Chrysanthemum Road. Kimiko followed behind, sandals slapping on the compacted soil. The only burdens she carried were a round straw hat, an oilpaper umbrella, and a deerskin bag that contained their food supply.

Together, they set out to find Minakuchi, and the bunraku master Hikaru.

CHAPTER TWO - Pulling the Strings

The town of Minakuchi, fifth station on the Chrysanthemum Road
10 a.m., the first Hour of the Snake

Like many stations that lined the great Chrysanthemum Road, Minakuchi was dedicated to serving the interests of travelers. Tea houses, inns, temples and shrines, public baths and shops lined the main avenue that led through town. There was also the usual complement of gambling dens, brothels and warehouses.

Minakuchi sat at the mouth of the Yokata River, where the Road left the mountains and fell into the Kansai plains. A stone castle on a crag loomed over the bustling streets, for the lord of this province had made himself rich on taxes from the famous Minakuchi cane-works. Cane weaving was the local specialty, the "name-thing" that gave the station its reputation. Outside the gateway stood a bobana, or long-nose pole that marked the entrance. The name of the station was written on its side in big black brushstrokes.

Ayumi approached the gate with a frown. Armed warriors came and went frequently, usually on errands for their lords. No one would question another samurai. The majority of the populace considered samurai dangerously unstable, highly volatile and likely to erupt in violence over the slightest trouble. Temper tantrums usually resulted in lost heads. People kept their distance. Still, Ayumi was cautious.

The guard wore an Imperial dragon badge on his bamboo breastplate. He was clearly one of the Regent's men. As she came closer, he bowed with perfect correctness. "Konnichiwa, sir. Welcome to Minakuchi. I regret the inconvenience but to enter, it is required that you lodge your name, family clan and affiliation with me."

Ayumi gave him a return bow. "Thank you for the greeting. I am Yoshio of the Long Eyebrow clan. My lord is Egami Ikuo." This was a daimyo with a hundred-koku domain in Kyushu province - too insignificant to be well known, and too far away to confirm credentials.

The guard frowned. "You are incognito, Yoshio-san."

"My lord has commanded me to wear unmarked robes," Ayumi answered. Unlike most samurai working garb, there were no badges on the shoulders and back of her plain kimono. "The mission is a delicate one, regarding precious jade, clouds and rain." She winked at him, and the man relaxed.

"A matter of the ladies, eh?" He chuckled. "Eeee! Our lords take the most beautiful blossoms, and leave us with the withered vines! Tell me..." His voice lowered to a confidential whisper. "Is the lucky lady married?"

Ayumi nodded and rolled her eyes, bringing another good-natured laugh from the guard. "Who accompanies you?" he asked, pointing at her companion.

Ayumi made a gesture that brought Kimiko scuttling to her side. She patted the lady's backside with a proprietorial air. "A beautiful flute player. His music helps while away the hours when I go about Ikuo-sama's business."

"When a man cannot have cherries, he must settle for ripe peaches," the guard replied. "This boy's peaches look very ripe, indeed!" The jest was crude, but Ayumi joined in the laughter.

At last, the guard was satisfied. "I will not detain you any further. Enjoy your stay! If you go to the Gourd Vine Inn and mention Sato, you will receive a discount. "

"Thank you very much," Ayumi said, wishing she could punch this grinning idiot in the face. No doubt he received a kick-back from the innkeeper for referring guests to a flea-riddled, rat infested cesspit where hospitality was given at the point of a knife.

She led Kimiko through the gate. The lady immediately took a ragged piece of rice paper from her robe, tore a bit off and put it in her mouth. She offered some to Ayumi, who shook her head. Kimiko chewed vigorously, then spat a wet wad of paper towards a statue that stood to one side of the gate. It was red-painted granite in the form of Chimata-sama - god of roads, paths and highways. The god's serene face was peppered with pellets, and many dried scraps littered his carved sandals.

Good luck came to the pilgrim who observed this ritual, and Kimiko was not loathe to ask for fortune wherever she could get it.

"Are you sure Chimata-sama is going to give you good fortune instead of a face full of shit?" Ayumi asked when the lady had finished. They moved on as others came to spit their offering to the god.

Kimiko shrugged. Before she could answer, she was distracted by the sight of a food stall. "Inari-zushi!" she called happily.

Ayumi fingered the near-empty money pouch in her sleeve. They did not have much to live on, and she estimated that if they stayed on short rations, they might get by for another three days. She followed Kimiko to the wooden stand, where a middle-aged man with a huge wart beside his nose was simmering tofu packets in sweetened soy sauce.

The triangles were stuffed with vinegared rice, and shaped like a fox's ear. The delicious smell made Ayumi's mouth water. A thin towel tied around the man's head proclaimed, Twice-Blessed by the Rice God! in uneven calligraphy, and his kimono was printed with running foxes. At his feet was a child, a boy about four years old, who fanned the flames beneath his father's iron pot with a little fan.

Kimiko stuck her hands into the sash of her robe, and put a tough expression on her face. It was amazing to Ayumi how she managed to swagger while standing still. "Konnichiwa," she said to get the man's attention. "How much?"

He looked up and did not see the samurai behind her. His gaze dropped back down to the ladle in his hands. "More than you can afford," he grunted impatiently, noticing that the youth was not wearing swords and was poorly dressed. Besides, he had a bad tooth, which made him very testy. Another indolent peasant boy trying to ape his betters, he thought.

"If you're hungry, go home and suck your mother's teat," he suggested, hiding a wince as the rotten tooth throbbed.

Kimiko was completely mortified. Her face burned. She had never been spoken to so rudely in her life. Her first impulse was to slink away, but after a moment, indignation replaced shame. Ayumi was standing closely at her heels. With one command, her samurai would chop this insolent man into dog meat without hesitation.

Did she really want him dead? No. She would not orphan the little boy who was staring at her in childish curiosity. But it was her face, her dignity, that had been offended. People were watching curiously, waiting to see what would happen. Kimiko had to react appropriately, or risk being unmasked.

She snapped a hand up and caught hold of the long hair that grew out of the man's wart. He squealed and dropped his ladle. "Do you dare insult me, dungeater?" Kimiko hissed. She put on a demonic grimace, which she'd learned from watching Ayumi, and swelled her chest to appear more threatening.

"Baka!" she shouted, giving the hair a jerk that made the stall owner squeal again. "You stupid turtlehead! How dare you talk to me as if I was a filthy eta!" Kimiko rolled her eyes in rage that was only half pretense. She was angry, but the terrified look on the man's face was giving her a twinge of guilty pleasure.

Although the young woman's grip was painful, the stall owner finally caught a glimpse of Ayumi. The bandy-legged samurai scowled back at him, and a hand drifted to the sword at her side. This was what caused his heart to stutter in pure fright.

He had made a dreadful miscalculation. The pretty boy screaming insults at him was not a peasant, but an apprentice samurai whose bandy-legged, broken-nosed master was standing right there. There could be no doubt of their class now. No one outside the nobility had such arrogance. Judging from the cruel expression on the master's face, the best he could hope for was a swift death.

He tore his head away, ripping the hair out by the root. It hurt, but pain was nothing. Frightful visions of his head rolling in the dirt made his liver contract into a shriveled ball. His children would be orphaned, his wife made a widow, his parents become homeless. Oh, why had he ever opened his mouth? The man started bowing and apologizing breathlessly.

"Sumimasen!" he whimpered. "Please forgive me, your worship! I am a fool!" A silver of best quality incense to Merciful Kwannon if she deigns to deliver me! Aloud, he continued, "I beg you, your worship, have mercy upon me. Some devil must have entered my brain, or a demon clouded my vision. Woe! Woe! A thousand miseries may I suffer, for the crime of harming your honor!"

Kimiko had to bite down on a smile. "Enough!" she commanded gruffly. She stepped back a pace and pretended to consider, all the while making frightful faces at the man.

Ayumi tapped Kimiko on the shoulder. Leaning close, she whispered, "Do not overdo it, my lady. He is already on the verge of soiling his loincloth."

She was pleased at Kimiko's handling of the situation. The lady was playing the part of a proud-prickly boy apprentice with great skill. Junior samurai were not yet permitted to wear daisho, but what they lacked in weaponry, they made up for in sheer attitude. Kimiko had absorbed her lessons so well, it was almost uncanny.

Ayumi was also aware that the stall owner was terrified of her, not Kimiko, but she decided not to tell her that. It wouldn't be fair to spoil her mistress' fun.

"What can I do to atone for my regrettable mistake, your worship?" the man stammered.

"This food smells dreadful," Kimiko answered with a sniff. "Blessed by the rice god - ha!"

The stall owner let out a nervous chuckle. He was beginning to think that he might survive after all. "Hai, I am a very inferior cook," he said. Actually, his inari-zushi were famous in Minakuchi, but it was considered impolite to praise one's accomplishments. "Nevertheless, perhaps your worship will honor me by accepting this pitiful offering?"

From a pile next to his pot, he took a pair of bamboo leaves that had been split and intricately folded to make shallow dishes. Using a new ladle, he deftly scooped out tofu triangles onto each plate, and offered them to Kimiko with a bow.

She took both dishes, passing one to Ayumi. "We will probably be poisoned," she complained with mock severity, inhaling the fragrant steam. Her stomach rumbled audibly.

"I am deeply ashamed," the man replied, keeping an eye on the master. When the samurai appeared to be pleased, he exhaled in relief. His karma was better than he deserved; he was not going to die today. "The poor offerings of this miserable worm cannot possibly atone for my rude behavior."

"You are correct," Kimiko said. She plucked two pairs of chopsticks from a container on the narrow counter. "But letting you live is an act of kindness to everyone in Wa. Since you eat this terrible stuff yourself, your corpse would probably pollute the rice fields from here to Edo. Also, if I kill you, I will be forced to fill out paperwork until the Petrified Monkey is worn away to a pebble, so I have decided that you're not worth the trouble."

"Domo arigato gozaimasu!" the man said in gratitude. "Thank you, your worship. Thank you!"

She gave him a nod, and walked away with a flat-footed stomp. Kimiko was proud of her imitation boy's strut. It was a far cry from the graceful glide that had been drilled into her from childhood. She stuck her elbows out, slapped her sandals against the ground, and followed her "master" through the busy crowd.

Ayumi accepted the chopsticks that Kimiko gave her. "You should bully shopkeepers more often," she commented, squatting in the shadow of a restaurant verandah. "I think you have a talent for it."

In the middle of taking a bite, Kimiko giggled and began to choke. Ayumi helpfully slapped her on the back until she recovered. "Ma! Did you see the look on his face?" the lady wheezed. "Like he'd swallowed a live carp! Oh, that felt good!"

The samurai chewed a few more bits of food before she asked, "What do you mean, my lady?" Her tone was casual, but Ayumi was a bit alarmed by her lady's exuberance.

"I mean this freedom!" Kimiko bit into a triangle, letting creamy bean curd melt on her tongue, followed by the sharpness of vinegar rice, and then soya sweetness. Delicious!

She swallowed, and continued in a quieter voice, "At court, there were so many rules, so many strictures and intrigues, so many traps to avoid. Even when I lived at home, I was a dutiful, obedient daughter. Until we met, I did not know that I was caged. I could not see the shackles. I've learned better. All this - traveling, sleeping under the stars with a grass pillow, being with you in the real world - is a freedom I've never experienced. I like it!"

"The freedom to insult a peasant?" Ayumi put down her chopsticks. "Have you never scolded a gardener or maid servant? What an unusual mistress you are!"

"You misunderstand, and I think you do so deliberately." Kimiko stopped eating, too. "I wasn't only referring to that impolite peasant. What are you trying to say?"

"Do not be carried away by enthusiasm," the samurai said bluntly. "True, you no longer have to crawl on your belly to the Son of Heaven every day. You wear the simple robes of a warrior, instead of costly silks. Protocol no longer rules your days. You can move, and breathe, and walk the Chrysanthemum Road, and yell at dungeaters, and cut off their heads all day if it pleases you."

Kimiko nodded in agreement.

"But..." Ayumi pointed a long finger at her lady and adopted a stern expression. "The obligations of a samurai are just as binding as that of a noblewoman. We all serve as we are bid, and have little will of our own - even the Emperor has to answer to the gods. All worlds are hazardous in their own ways, and no world is without rules. Therefore freedom is a dangerous illusion. You are still required to do your duty, as I am required to do mine. Gomen nasai, Kimiko-sama, but this needs to be said - don't let an illusion go to your head."

"I know." Kimiko finished her breakfast and laid the bamboo leaf dish aside. It was just a light snack, though, and she was still hungry. "This sense of liberation is just exchanging one cage for another. If I seem giddy, you must blame love, not thoughtlessness. My mind understands, and I have not forgotten my purpose. My obligations have changed, but giri is still giri." She grinned. "Nevertheless, men do have more freedom than women, eh?"

"Being able to piss while standing up is certainly an advantage," Ayumi replied, with a rare answering grin of her own. "You enjoy playing the boy very much, but I advise you not to take the role too far. If you start picking your nose in public, farting in the bathwater, or pinching waitress' bottoms, I'll disown you!"

She rose and stretched while Kimiko giggled some more. A mendicant nun in ragged robes was sitting cross-legged across the lane. Ayumi wandered over and placed the remains of her breakfast in the bikune's begging bowl. The nun's droning prayers never ceased, so Ayumi gave her a polite bow and walked back.

"Priests gossip like old women at a well-side conference," she said to Kimiko, "and I'm sure someone at a temple will have heard about bunraku players in Minakuchi. Shall we see if we can find this Hikaru, my lady?"

"I should take an offering for my father." Kimiko stood up. "It has been too long since I offered incense to his spirit. I will also pray for Izumi, who died bravely for my sake." She had not forgotten the sacrifice of her loyal maid, who had committed seppuku in protest against the Regent's actions.

The two women bought ripe persimmons and bundles of Blossom Showering incense before entering the small temple. Ayumi did not begrudge the cost, although it reduced their tiny resources even further. Honoring the dead was too important to quibble over a few coins.

Inside, the gloomy atmosphere was so thick with scented smoke that it was hard to breathe. A statue of Kwannon, goddess of mercy, held pride of place on an altar scattered with offerings. The gilt figure was very tall, her crowned head coming within inches of the blackened roof beams. In Kwannon's upraised palm was a lotus flower.

The samurai and her lady rinsed their mouths out with water, and washed their hands in a chipped pottery bowl set aside for that purpose. Now ritually cleansed, Kimiko laid the persimmons down on the altar, then lit her bundles of incense in a flaming brazier. Thrusting them securely into a sand pot, she folded her hands before her face and began to pray.

Ayumi noticed a saffron-robed priest lurking in the shadows. She excused herself quietly and went over to talk to him. Kimiko registered the absence without comment and continued praying. After several minutes, she opened her eyes.

The familiar ritual did not bring her the usual sense of peace. Until she avenged her father's dishonorable murder at the hands of his own brother, until her duty was fulfilled, her soul would remain troubled.

The future seemed impossible to fulfill. Her uncle, the Kanpuko, was an evil man, but as Regent he held the reins of power throughout the Floating World. With all the might of the Empire against her, how could she expect victory? Would any daimyos join her cause? Could she persuade her father's old chief retainer to help? Thus far, the only allies she had were a Shinto priestess, a single warrior, and the dubious assistance of the kami.

Some might have despaired, knowing their quest was futile, but it was not in Kimiko's nature to surrender so easily. I will not give up on seducing my shy samurai, either, she thought. I refuse to die before our sleeves have touched! The rest is up to the gods. Shigata ga nai.

A touch on her shoulder made her start. It was Ayumi. "I thought the old man would never stop talking," the warrior said wryly. "Ask a simple question, get the entire history of the city in return."

"Did you find out anything about Hikaru?"

"There are bunraku players at the Golden Teacup inn," Ayumi replied. "Please excuse me, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"I was finished praying, but your presence always disturbs me," Kimiko said, flashing the samurai a passionate glance. Her voice lowered. "Particularly, my jade gate trembles whenever you are near."

"Please, my lady. We are on holy ground." Ayumi was embarrassed as usual by her mistress' not-so-subtle affection. It was bad enough in private, but unbearable in public. "And that priest might be blind, but I'll wager he has ears like a fox."

Kimiko began humming under her breath. Ayumi actually blushed when she realized it was a popular folk song, "Sipping Dew from Jade Petals." She wondered where Kimiko had heard such a bawdy tune.

"Might your humble servant suggest that such melodies are more appropriate at drunken orgies than in temples?" Ayumi said, trying to scowl but failing miserably.

Kimiko laughed. She loved teasing the reticent samurai. "I could sing the verses, if you wish. They're very instructive."

"Iye! You act like a monkey in heat! Great Buddha, have you been possessed by a lust demon?" Ayumi eased the straps of the heavy basket on her shoulders.

"No, but I wouldn't mind being possessed by you." Kimiko fluttered her eyelashes, earning a groan from Ayumi.

"I am not possessing anyone today. I am going to the Golden Teacup to find Hikaru," Ayumi said firmly.

"I will follow your footsteps," Kimiko said, giving the samurai a bow and a wink. "Especially if they lead to the path of Clouds and Rain."

Ayumi growled in frustration. She knew that Kimiko wanted to pillow with her. That fact was made painfully obvious every single day. If the truth was to be admitted, Ayumi could hardly control her desire to make love to the beautiful woman that she served.

There is a time and a place for everything, she scolded herself. Right now, we need no further distractions. Survival must come before all else. Playing love games is not a priority. No matter how tempting, you must stay focused.

Logically, her decision made sense. Emotionally, however, Ayumi was still caught between the mountains and the sea. Didn't Kimiko realize how difficult it was, not to snatch her up and silence her flirting with a hard wet kiss?

The old priest glided up to them, his wrinkled face screwed up into a grotesque leer. "I believe you are gentlemen of the world, eh? May I interest your honors in some very special, very unusual pillow books? A modest donation ensures your future encounters will be lively and more satisfying than ever!"

He cackled and pulled a folded picture book from his bright saffron tobe, displaying an extremely graphic illustration of two men under a mosquito net. What they were doing would have taxed the greatest Karan contortionists. Ayumi felt her eyes bugging out. Kimiko covered the lower half of her face with her sleeve, but her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

Gritting her teeth, Ayumi took hold of Kimiko's sash and pulled her out of the temple.

CHAPTER THREE - Seven Herbs

The town of Minakuchi, fifth station on the Chrysanthemum Road
11 a.m., the second Hour of the Snake

The Golden Teacup Inn was so busy, customers were leaning against the verandah rails, slurping noodles and chatting. The doors that made up the entire front of the structure had been slid all the way back on their rails, affording an excellent view of the interior and making the bustling restaurant seem less crowded. A staircase led to the upper floor, where private rooms were located. Off to one side was the kitchen, where a fat cook was juggling pans over a brazier and yelling comments at waitresses and patrons alike.

Ayumi and Kimiko gave their zori to the doorkeeper. The old man would clean the sandals while they were inside. In return, they received a wooden claim tag which Ayumi put into the breast of her kimono. She left their travel box with him as well, but did not remove her swords.

A waitress bustled up to them, her face wreathed in a smile. Her hair was covered by a towel, fastened with a knot beside her ear. "Irasshaimase!" she chirped in a high-pitched voice. "Welcome, your honors! How may I serve you?"

"We seek a bunraku player named Hikaru," Ayumi said. She had no idea what the man looked like, and hoped someone in the Golden Teacup might know him.

The waitress' smile slipped a little. "I hope there will be no trouble," she said. 

"Oh?" Kimiko leaned closer. "What sort of trouble?"

"Just last week, a pair of female impersonators were apprehended by Imperial guards!" The waitress lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. She thought the older samurai rather foreboding, but the younger was very handsome. "The oyama were killed when they resisted arrest, and the soldiers were punished for their error. I've heard they are seeking two women traveling together - Ma! No female is safe! And the Emperor's soldiers are worse than rampaging barbarians. They are idle most of the time, so they demand free sake, free food, free girls... it's a real disgrace!" 

"Hai, I agree." Kimiko noticed that the young woman was making eyes at her. 

The waitress giggled. "I am called Miss Seven Herbs. My sister and I are related to the innkeeper, so we stay here at night. It can be so lonely, sharing a futon without a man to help keep us warm."

Kimiko was surprised. Was the waitress flirting with her? She wasn't sure how to respond. 

"Will you gentlemen be requiring a room for tonight?" Miss Seven Herbs asked. "My sister would be grateful to ease your master's devil-eye horn," she said to Kimiko with a broad wink. "You and I can be together, should you find the idea pleasing. If your honorable jade pestle is as well-formed as the rest of your parts, then we will have much pleasure, I'm sure." 

Ayumi ground her teeth together. She was on the verge of kicking Miss Seven Herbs across the room when she heard Kimiko say, "That depends on whether or not our friend Hikaru is here. If he is not, pressing business requires us elsewhere." 

After some hesitation, Kimiko had decided to try responding to the waitress' overtures. What could it hurt? And she thought it would be a good test of her boy's disguise. 

Miss Seven Herbs giggled again, all aflutter. "Ah, Hikaru-san is a favored patron of the innkeeper, since he always stages a free show here whenever he's in town. It's good for business." 

Kimiko gave her a soulful look. "Take us to Hikaru, please, before my grumpy master decides to leave. Afterwards..." She let the word trail off and moistened her bottom lip suggestively with her tongue, thinking that perhaps she was going too far. To her gratification, however, it worked. 

"Hai! At once, your honor!" Miss Seven Herbs bowed. As she turned to lead them into the inn, she whispered to Kimiko, "I will save a place in my futon for you, sir." The waitress deliberately brushed her ample breasts against Kimiko's arm. 

Ayumi quelled her immediate response to the provocative exchange; tearing Miss Seven Herbs into a thousand pieces with her bare hands would be too conspicuous. Instead, as they approached an occupied table, she hissed in Kimiko's ear, "My lady, I definitely think you've been polluted by a lust demon! After we find Hikaru, I'm taking you to an exorcist." 

Kimiko merely winked and sauntered away, leaving the astonished samurai staring after her.

Ayumi growled and hastened to catch up.

Miss Seven Herbs bowed to the middle-aged man kneeling at the table. In spite of the crowded conditions, he was alone. "Hikaru-san, here are two friends eager to join you."

The bunraku master gazed at them with hooded eyes. "Please, will you sit and take tea with me?" His manner was carefully neutral. The women knelt opposite him, with the samurai on the outside, to be between Kimiko and any potential threats.

Ayumi snatched at the waitress' sleeve before she could disappear. "Bring three pipes, tobacco and a firepot along with the tea," she ordered.

"Hai, your worship." Miss Seven Herbs melted into the crowd, skillfully bumping customers out of the way with her hips.

When she had gone, Hikaru said, "Gomen nasai, but how do I know you are the ones I'm waiting for?" He was very skinny, with a mop of unruly hair that hung to his shoulders. An old burn scar began under his right ear, looped over his jaw and disappeared into the collar of his dark red kimono. Several patches of silvery skin with the texture of badly cured leather dotted the backs of his hands.

"When a crazy Shinto priestess sets her pink eyes on a goal, she stops at nothing to achieve it, including using gaki as messengers," Ayumi said softly.

He instantly recognized her description of the albino priestess, and let out a sigh of relief. "In these perilous days, a man must be careful, even when it gives offense. Thank you." Hikaru fell silent as Miss Seven Herbs returned, bearing a tray which was carried high over her head, to avoid contaminating it with her breath. 

The waitress fussed with the tea and other things, using any excuse to flirt with Kimiko, until Ayumi's temper was frayed to the breaking point. Miss Seven Herbs had pulled down the collar of her kimono in the back, in order to display her most erotic part - the soft and tender flesh at the nape of her neck. The skin was pale, freshly shaved and and powdered. She lost no opportunity to twist and turn in order to present the tantalizing sight. 

Finally, the samurai snapped at the waitress, "Stop acting like a fifth rank whore, you shameless woman, and leave my apprentice alone! If you hitch your robe back any further, you'll be bare to the ankles!" 

Miss Seven Herbs sniffed, pulled up her kimono, and marched off, but not before giving a few erotic wriggles for Kimiko's benefit. The noble lady spluttered at the fierce glare she received from Ayumi. 

"It was only a game!" Kimiko protested, trying not to raise her voice. "If I hadn't pretended to like her, we wouldn't have met Hikaru. Or would you rather have shouted his name in front of all these people, and made a spectacle of yourself? I thought we were trying to avoid unncessary attention." And it was good practice, she added silently. Subtle seductions aren't working on you, Ayumi-san. I may have to be more blatant in the future.

Ayumi inhaled deeply, counted slowly to ten, and at last said calmly to Hikaru, "I apologize for the interruption. You were saying that these are perilous times?" 

"Hai." Hikaru picked at one of the scars on his hand. "But I am a loyal servant of the kami. A thousand-shrine priest gave me a message several days ago, and I've been commanded to aid you. I do not know your names, or why you require my help to pass the checkpoint at Seki, or why you have no travel permits of your own. I don't need to know any details. I assume you must be wanted for something by the authorities, and what I'm undertaking is very dangerous. Still, I will obey - up to a point." 

Kimiko poured tea, while Ayumi picked up a clay pipe and put a pinch of tobacco in it. Using bronze tongs, the samurai picked up a piece of glowing charcoal from the firepot and lit her pipe. Three puffs, and the tobacco was spent. 

"Before we go any further," Ayumi said, toying with her cup of tea, "perhaps you might share news with us. We have been traveling for a while, and have had no opportunity to hear what is going on in the world." 

Hikaru took a sip of tea. "Honorable Snow Fairy has begun some kind of religious movement. All Shinto priests have deserted their shrines and become wanderers. No one can guess at their purpose. Many believe this is a sign from Heaven, signaling the kami's displeasure with the Emperor. It's causing some unrest, particularly in the provinces." 

Hikaru went on to tell them about Ono Narahira's withdrawal from Heian-kyo back to his northern fief in Fukushima. "What this portends, no one can say. Rumors fly as thick and fast as raindrops in a summer storm. Some believe there will be war between Narahira-sama and the Emperor. Others think that it means nothing. Whether it is connected with the sudden increase of soldiers on the Chrysanthemum Road, or the search for the Regent's niece, I do not know." 

"What have you heard about the Kanpuko's niece?" Kimiko asked. Ayumi nudged her, but the hint was ignored. 

Hikaru shrugged. "A spoiled monkey-sama who ran away from her family. Nothing to tell, really. Who cares? She must be a little mad, because she was unfilial enough to accuse Saneyoshi-sama of hiring ninja to kill his brother. Chigau!" He rolled his eyes. "As if our divine Emperor and the gods would allow such a dishonorable person to represent them on Earth! Ridiculous!" 

He ordered three bowls of noodles from a passing waitress, and continued to his guests, "Lowborns like me have little to do with the upper classes. We don't really care what the nobility does. All we want is to live our lives peacefully, eat our daily rice, and raise our children. That's what the Fujiwara girl should do. Stop causing trouble, get married, and have babies!" 

Before Kimiko could angrily refute this statement, Ayumi pinched her arm hard enough to leave a bruise. She stifled a yelp and turned hot eyes on the samurai, who gave her a warning glance.

"Hai, I understand your views perfectly," Ayumi said to him. "Each man must hold his own beliefs, according to his rank and his place under Heaven." 

"Exactly!" Hikaru agreed. "You cannot expect a peasant to worry about the lofty concerns of noble monkey-samas. That's as far above me as wind-blown clouds on Fuji-yama." 

Their noodles arrived, and Kimiko stared at hers for a long moment, still seething about the man's comments. The dish was kitsune-udon, one of her favorites: thick, chewy wheat noodles sprinkled with fried bean curd and silvers of green onion.

Ayumi leaned over and said, "A warrior knows to fill his belly at any opportunity, for meals may be few and far between." She picked up her bowl by hooking her thumb over the rim - a habit meant to prevent an attacker from slamming the dish's edge into her nose. She used the chopsticks in her other hand to shovel noodles into her mouth.

Kimiko shook her head. Marry and make babies, eh? What a bakahito! Has he no concept of honor at all?

Seeing that the lady was not eating, Ayumi murmured, "Remember what I told you earlier about all worlds having rules? If you do not understand now, I will make it clear later. In the meantime, please enjoy your meal. Hikaru will be insulted if you refuse his hospitality." 

Annoyed, Kimiko cleaned her bowl. 

When they had finished, Hikaru belched politely and said, "I have sent two of my scenery changers home, and you will be their replacements. The people in my troupe know that you will be leaving us after Seki, but I have not told them why. They will not ask questions. Please do not involve them any more than necessary."

"We are grateful for your assistance," Ayumi replied. She rubbed the side of her crooked nose. "You said before that you would obey Snow Fairy's wishes to a point. How far does your willingness extend?"

The bunraku master settled back on his heels. "Please understand... I'm a simple man who does not wish to offend. I honor the kami and respect their priestly representatives. Nevertheless, I have a requirement - a payment, if you will - in return for providing shelter and the necessary papers."

"Wakarimashita. I understand. Please continue." Ayumi thought he might demand money. Let him ask. He cannot squeeze blood from a stone, and my purse is nearly empty.

Kimiko would have liked to tell the man to go to Hell and kiss Black Emma's backside, but she held her peace. Although she disliked him, she still needed his help, and trusted that Ayumi would keep their best interests at heart. 

Hikaru took his time filling and lighting a pipe before he answered. His face flushed scarlet, making the grotesque facial scars stand out in pale streakl. "I had a daughter once, named Okiku. A sweet girl - not the brightest blossom on the tree, but she had no malice in her. She worked for a family in the town of Sakashita." 

He paused, and Ayumi urged, "Go on, please." Outside, it began to snow.

"My little Okiku died last year. She was just seventeen. The family told me it was suicide, but I do not believe she died by her own hand." Hikaru's fingers tightened on the pipe stem, and it cracked in half. The pieces fell unnoticed to the table. "I believe Okiku was murdered. I've had such terrible dreams! My child cannot rest until her unjust death is avenged."

"What do you require?" Ayumi asked. She had a sinking feeling in her liver. 

The bunraku master stared at her. Finally, he blinked. "I want you to kill General Heike Jiro," he stated flatly. 

Kimiko's mouth dropped open in astonishment.

CHAPTER FOUR - Clapping Hands Together

The town of Minakuchi, fifth station on the Chrysanthemum Road
11 a.m., the second Hour of the Snake

Ayumi let out a short bark of laughter. "You want me to kill Old Fire Yam?" That was the general's nickname. He preferred drinking shochu, or sweet potato spirits, to more civilized rice wine. The evidence of his coarse, peasant-like nature did not make the daimyo very popular at court, although he was greatly respected by most samurai.

"Absolutely not!" Kimiko interjected. She did not want her samurai involved in a duel with the legendary general. Ayumi might be killed!

Hikaru looked surprised at her commanding attitude, so Kimiko continued more humbly, "I mean, my master will refuse your request, of course. Jiro-sama is a great man. He would never act outside the dictates of bushido." 

"You mean Old Fire Yam is such an honorable person that if he did kill my daughter, he had a lawful reason?" Hikaru replied angrily. "Baka! Go ahead and chop me to pieces if you want. I'm just another good-for-nothing dungeater. I do not deserve to live. That's what you think, is it not? What's the harm if there is one less peasant, eh? I know what you call us... maggots! A waste of rice! Okiku was not a waste!" 

"Take care," Ayumi warned. "Grief speaks with the tongue of madness, so I will forgive your impetuous speech this once. Control yourself, Hikaru. Remember who you are, and remember who I am." She deliberately showed him the scabbard of her katana - a potent reminder of her rank.

"Please listen to me," the bunraku master said, forcing himself to calm down. "I have had many dreams about Okiku. She weeps and sobs so terribly, the earth itself is torn apart. Her sadness rips at my soul. Help her find peace, and I will do everything in my power to aid you." 

He turned to Kimiko. "I am aware that a samurai may kill any member of the lower classes with impunity. In fact, my former wife - who was somewhat deaf - was cut in half one morning when she was out gathering firewood, because she couldn't hear a samurai commanding her out of his lord's way. Shigata ga nai. I do not dispute the law. My life may be forfeit at any hour, on any day. Such is the will of Heaven. However, I love my daughter. I want her spirit to be at peace, instead of remaining tormented on Earth." He sighed. "Do not forget, your honor - even a worm an inch long has a half-inch soul." 

Kimiko had not meant for her words to be taken that way. True, Hikaru was a peasant, and therefore below her station, but he was also a father in mourning for a beloved daughter. Her anger towards him trickled away. 

Ayumi cleared her throat. "While I admire Old Yam, I have no objection to sparing him the shame of dying in bed. However, are you certain that this killing will accomplish your purpose? If Jiro-sama is not the focus of Okiku's discontent, then his death means nothing, and your dreams are only shadows without substance."

Hikaru ran both hands through his disordered mop of hair. "It is difficult to find out any facts in the case. I have had to rely on Jiro-sama - or rather, the general's steward, an oily turtle-head named Makoto. I was told that Okiku threw herself into a disused well and drowned."

"Forgive me, but suicide is common, particularly when love affairs go wrong," Ayumi said. 

"My father's heart tells me that Okiku did not take her own life." Hikaru would not be swayed from this point. 

Kimiko had an idea. "Have you consulted an itako?" she asked him. 

"A witch?" Hikaru grimaced. Itako were blind spiritual mediums, always female, who performed the difficult ceremony of speaking to the dead. "They were outlawed by the Regent three years ago." 

Ayumi shrugged. "It is not as easy to regulate such matters in the country as in the capital. Saneyoshi-sama disapproves of fortune-tellers, too, but they are still to be found throughout the Floating World." 

"I wouldn't know where to look. If there is a witch in Minakuchi, she won't be practicing beside the station gate. She'll be well hidden from strangers." 

"Excuse me," Kimiko said, "but I may know someone who can help." Her gaze swept out over the crowded tea house, settling on the figure of Miss Seven Herbs, who was chatting with a customer. 

Ayumi followed her lady's line of sight. "Iye! Absolutely not. I forbid it." She folded her arms across her chest and thrust out her jaw pugnaciously. 

"You forbid me?" Kimiko scoffed. "Do you have a better idea?" 

"I could beat it out of her." Ayumi's expression made it clear that she would not regard it as a chore, but a pleasure. 

"In that case, Miss Seven Herbs would probably die of fright. Please excuse me." Kimiko got up and squeezed past Ayumi, who refused to stand. "I will return shortly." She made her way to the waitress, with the samurai staring after her. 

Hikaru cleared his throat. "Your apprentice is young, but his intentions are good. I beg you not to punish him too harshly for disobedience." It was an incredibly bold suggestion. Interfering in the master-apprentice relationship was dangerous. Ayumi would have been well within her rights to turn on him. 

Instead, she set her shoulders and turned her face away from the spectacle of Kimiko flirting with Miss Seven Herbs. She could hear their giggles. A worm of jealousy was gnawing on her heart. "It is nothing," she said harshly. Hikaru bowed his head and drank more tea. 

Kimiko is free to love where she pleases, Ayumi thought. Our sleeves have not touched. The samurai poured herself a cup of tea, pleased that her hand was steady. Shigata ga nai. What will be, will be. What has not been ordained, will not come to pass. For once, the words brought no comfort. She was angry, both at herself, the waitress and her mistress. She did not show it, though. Ayumi remained stoic, outwardly calm. Inside, she seethed. 

"Kiss me to prove that you still love me..." She remembered Kimiko saying that, this morning when she had cut her hair. The worm in her heart bit more deeply, until she felt breathless, choking on helpless anger and pain.

After a few moments, Kimiko returned, flushed with triumph. "There is an itako who lives beside a rice warehouse near the signpost." 

"With what coin did you pay for this information?" Ayumi asked, her eyes hooded and distant. 

Kimiko pursed her lips. "Empty promises," she said, hands on hips, "and a few coppers." What is wrong with her? she thought. Can she truly be jealous of that waitress? Ma! Wait until I get you alone, 'Yumi-san!

Hikaru shook his head. "Even if the itako can raise my daughter's spirit, what good will that do? I know who killed her." 

"I will not promise to challenge Old Yam to a death duel unless I'm sure he is responsible." Ayumi pushed her tea cup to one side. 

"Please be reasonable," Kimiko coaxed. 

"Reasonable!" The bunraku master picked at the wide scar on his neck until it bled. "Okiku is dead. Revenge is not reasonable, your honor. Whoever killed my daughter must pay - that is my price. If you do not wish to pay it, then we have nothing else to dicuss." 

"You will come with us to the itako." Ayumi's tone made it clear that this was an order, not a suggestion. "If Okiku's spirit names her killer, I will deal with him myself. If not, I will certainly question Jiro-sama. If he proves guilty, I will avenge her. You have my oath on it." 

"Do you swear?" 

"I vow it so. May Hachiman the war-god hear my words and act as witness."

"Good. And I swear to ensure that you and your apprentice pass the Seki checkpoint safely." Hikaru clapped twice to show his satisfaction with their deal.

Kimiko murmured, "Please excuse me. It is time to return the tea." 

"There is a 'short-visit' house in the garden," Hikaru said. 

"Gomen nasai, I will accompany my apprentice. My back teeth are swimming. Please go ahead and we will join you in the street." Ayumi got up and escorted Kimiko away, while Hikaru called for the reckoning.

The toilet facility was small but scrupulously clean, screened by a thick mat of leafless wisteria vines that were powdered with snow. Inside the woven bamboo structure was a deep hole, with wooden blocks on either side to aid balance. Ayumi stood guard outside while Kimiko went in.

She pulled down her hakama, squatted and did her business mechanically. Like all travelers, she kept a supply of soft paper in the breast of her kimono. When she'd finished, Kimiko stayed there a moment, thinking. Soft snowflakes drifted down between the roof slats, settling on her shoulders and shorn hair. 

Ayumi loves me. She knows I love her. Why would she believe me so shallow, that I would abandon her for someone like Miss Seven Herbs? Baka!

The door opened and Kimiko stood up hastily, snatching at her trousers. It was Ayumi, and she relaxed. "Am I taking too long?" she asked, pulling up her hakama and knotting the waist string. The samurai shut the door.

"I must speak to you briefly," Ayumi announced. She held herself rigid, a hand clutching the hilt of her katana.

"Yes?" Kimiko stepped away from the hole and moved close to the other woman. "What do you wish to say, Yumi-san? Is this about Miss Seven Herbs?"

The name brought a flush to Ayumi's cheeks. "Is it your intention to play hummingbird in the waitress' spring garden?" she asked bluntly.

"And if I want to sip dew from her jade petals?" Kimiko replied with an airy gesture. Hah! I smell jealousy! Let us see how deeply it bites. "What is that to you? You say you love me, yet you stay aloof. You refuse to touch my sleeve, share my pillow - you kiss me like you find it disgusting. Why shouldn't I take advantage of other lovers, if my loyal samurai refuses to take what I've been offering?"

Disgusting? Couldn't she understand? Ayumi alternately burned and froze in a personal hell. It was wrong, so very wrong of her to love Kimiko this way. The feeling went against tradition and custom, flew in the face of bushido. How could she dare love her mistress, crave to hold her, to pleasure her? She was a broken-nosed, bandy legged samurai of no particular worth. If their ranks had been equal, Ayumi would have had no doubts, no fears, no hesitation.

Seeing Kimiko's interaction with Miss Seven Herbs had brought the truth of her situation glaringly into the light. She could command no loyalty from Kimiko, nor did she have the right to expect any such thing. Her mistress was free to make her own choices. It was not Ayumi's place to give love and desire it in return. Her only duty was to serve.

Kimiko watched and waited for an answer. Ayumi stood there, dumb as a beast, her face more mask-like than ever. Finally, the lady could stand no more. She grabbed a handful of Ayumi's hair and hauled her down for a kiss.

Ayumi was too startled to fight. She felt Kimiko's mouth upon her own, lips opening like a flower. The taste was sweet. Arms snaking around her neck, her hands of their own volition going to circle Kimiko's reed-slender waist. Warm and wet, the kiss deepened until they were melting, aching with need.

Kimiko pulled away to say huskily, "Do you think I want another? All my life has been spent waiting for you."

The samurai made a token protest. Her defenses were weakening beneath an onslaught of soft flesh pressing close to her, thin layers of clothing the only barrier between them. "I am a servant, lady. Beneath you..."

"When we are alone, you can be beneath me, on top of me, side-by-side... I don't care. You are mine, Ichijo Ayumi!" Kimiko's gaze was fierce. "And I am yours. Say it."

"You are mine..." The words spilled out, pulled directly from her soul. "I am yours." You can't fight fate. Shigata ga nai. Accept the inevitable. There was joy and freedom in knowing that your life was not your own. Ayumi's fears were gone, replaced by calm acquiescence. Love might be wrong, but it was unavoidable. Accept the inevitable. The samurai surrendered without much of a struggle. Her resolution, once made, was unshakable. She would never doubt again.

"Good. Now remember that the next time you think your liver is turning green." Kimiko shook her head. "Stupid woman!"

"Hai. I will not forget."

"You must not be afraid to touch me, Yumi-san," Kimiko continued, a light of mischief in her eyes. "I'm not made of sugar, and I won't melt in the heat!"

"I will not forget that, either," Ayumi replied with one of her rare smiles. Abruptly, the expression was wiped away and she was serious once more. "Will you permit me to practice, my lady?"

Kimiko frowned. "Practice? Practice what?"

"This..." Ayumi pulled her close and kissed her again. Kimiko started to laugh, but the samurai's insistent embrace soon changed the muffled giggle into a moan. Emboldened, Ayumi slid her fingertips inside the other woman's kimono, brushing the backs of her nails against Kimiko's breast. The young lady jumped slightly, then pressed herself more tightly against Ayumi.

A sudden loud knock made both of them leap away from each other.

"Hey!" a voice shouted from outside. "Other people need to make a short visit! What are you two doing in there?"

Another cried, "It's wrestling moves!"

"Oh, is that what you call it?" some wag asked. "I thought I heard the sound of peaches being split with a jade sword!"

When Ayumi and Kimiko emerged together, there was a line of about twenty people waiting. Most of them were laughing behind their sleeves. 

The samurai rolled her eyes, muttering, "More chamberpots!"

Kimiko pulled the edges of her over-robe back together, tightened her obi, and went to reclaim their zori and travel box from the porter. Her cheeks were flaming, but she looked neither left nor right.

Ayumi followed behind, her rooster-strut stomp more emphasized than usual. She put all thoughts of flesh and fancy behind her. Later, she promised silently. Later, you and I will play the Clouds and Rain.

As if she heard these thoughts, Kimiko turned around and flashed a grin before disappearing into the inn. Hikaru glanced from samurai to apprentice, shrugged, and went back to picking at his scars.

CHAPTER FIVE - Incense Smoke

The town of Minakuchi, fifth station on the Chrysanthemum Road
11 a.m., the second Hour of the Snake

The itako's house was hardly more than a battered lean-to, shoved in a narrow alley between a rice warehouse and a gambling den. A soiled curtain across the front was painted with badly drawn characters that read: Lady Doctor, Birth Charts, Exorcisms.

Hikaru made a face. "She doesn't look very successful to me."

"If a dove dwells among hawks, does he not seek to hide his nature?" Ayumi retorted. "If she lived in a palace, she would be too big a target to miss."

Kimiko went and squatted next to the curtain. "Ano!" she coughed politely, to get the occupant's attention. There was no response, and she remembered what the palace maids used to say when entering someone's rooms. "Gomen kudasai? Excuse me, may we come inside?"

A voice from within said, "Enter, if you seek my help. If not, move on."

Holding back the curtain (and wrinkling her nose at the rank smell coming from the dark interior), Kimiko motioned Hikaru inside. He was followed by Ayumi, with Kimiko going last. The curtain rippled closed behind her. The lean-to was very dark; the only light came from weak sunshine filtering in through cracks in the old board walls.

Someone lit an oil lamp. Kimiko blinked. The itako was revealed as a middle-aged woman dressed in clean white garments, her hair twisted inside a white towel - the color of death and mourning. Her eyes, too, were white from corner to corner, covered by the milky sheen of cataracts. Like all shamans, she was blind. "What is your will, your honors?" the itako asked.

"We desire to speak to the dead," Ayumi replied.

The shaman drew back as if surprised. "I am an astrologer and exorcist, trained in the use of Karan medicine techniques."

"You are a witch," Hikaru countered angrily. He was clearly ill-at-ease. "Some people think that you have the power to bring the dead back from Hell."

"Perhaps." The itako sniffed, head cocked to one side. "A bunraku man accompanied by two... samurai. How very interesting."

The hesitation was not lost on Ayumi. She'd heard it said that the blind sometimes develop extra sensitivity in other senses, to make up for the loss of vision. Could this woman know that she and Kimiko were female? It was possible. If a threat came, she would deal with it. "We are not police or Imperial guards. We don't care what laws you might have broken. Can you speak to the dead, or not?"

"I can." The white-clad woman smiled. Her teeth were tiny and stunted, like a toddler's set in adult gums. "But do you want to speak to the dead, or do you want the dead to speak to you? There is a difference."

Hikaru ran an impatient hand through his wild mop of hair. "My daughter... it is said that she committed suicide. I believe she was murdered." His mouth clamped shut with an audible click.

The itako stared blankly in Ayumi's direction. Her thin hands were folded together in her lap. "Normally, I enter a trance, using special music and sutras. Thus can dead souls speak through me and give messages to the living. But I think Mr. Bunraku has doubts. Hai, his disbelief is clear! Do you think I am a fraud?" She lifted a hand, rattling the Buddhist beads wound around her wrist. "In my own way, I am a better priest than those who shave their heads and eat no meat in public, but gorge on flesh in private."

"What can you do?" Kimiko spoke up. "There are false priests, and there are those who serve with a whole heart. How can we judge, other than by your deeds?"

"Please sit down, your honors." The sightless woman's attitude became brisk and business-like. "Your need is clear. I am bidden to do all within my power to help you."

"Bidden by whom?" Ayumi was suspicious.

"By those whose interests I serve with all my heart." The itako grinned again. "I am called Oya. This is my apprentice, Gourd."

Someone stirred behind the shaman. It was a young girl about twelve years old, who came creeping into the circle of lantern light. She was skinny and sullen, a rash of pimples dotting her cheeks. Her eyelids were red and swollen, lashes matted with yellow discharge. If she wasn't blind now, she would probably lose her sight soon, Ayumi thought. Gourd said nothing, merely dragged a drum between her legs and waited.

Oya picked up a bronze bell, laying it on the tattered staw mat in front of her. Next, she stirred the coals in a nearby firepot, and reaching into the shadows, withdrew a ceremonial bow. It was made of catalpa wood, strung with silk. Gourd began beating the drum, a slow pulse-rhythm punctuated by slaps on the rim with her palms.

Hikaru reluctantly knelt; Ayumi and Kimiko followed suit. The dwelling's small size meant that they were shoulder to shoulder. The samurai cleared her throat and nudged Hikaru. It was vulgar for one of her class to talk about money, but in this case, necessary. "Ask her how much," she whispered.

The itako plucked the bowstring, creating an eerie resonance in counterpoint to the drum. "You need not pay until you're satisfied," she said. "And then you will give me what you think the message is worth."

Hikaru opened his mouth, then closed it again. Oya nodded. "You will see what will be seen. You will hear what will be heard."

She continued to pluck the bowstring, and began droning the Heart Sutra through her nose. Her eyes fluttered shut. For a while, there was no other sound in the lean-to except drum and bow and voice monotonously reciting the Buddhist prayer.

Ayumi composed herself, hands on her knees, facing straight ahead. Beside her, Kimiko watched avidly, wondering if this was going to be as good a show as an imperial exorcism. Hikaru shifted, sighed, and toyed with the ragged end of his obi.

Finally, Oya reached for a box on a sloping shelf. Gourd's drumming continued. "This is Hangon-ko," she said. "Spirit Recalling Incense, made in the Karan district of Tso-Chan." She pushed the box towards Hikaru. "You must cast a handful of Hangon-ko into the burner and concentrate your memory on your daughter's face and form. Remember how much you loved her. Recall her voice, her way of walking, her laughter. Form a desire to see her again. Keep this firmly in your mind."

Hikaru took a pinch of powder from the box and smelled it. He made a face. "This is dung!" he cried.

Oya shrugged, the bow lowered into her lap. "It is whatever you imagine it to be."

Ayumi leaned over and smelled it, too. "Sandalwood," she opined. Kimiko did the same, but her judgment was, "Lotus and pine."

"Okiku is dead!" Hikaru insisted, wiping his scarred hand on the mat in disgust. He thought the two samurai must be as crazy as the witch. "None of this matters."

"Do it," Ayumi ordered. "What do you have to lose?"

With a violent gesture, Hikaru scooped up some incense and flung it into the charcoal burner. Immediately, a choking cloud of smoke arose. It was both acrid and sweet, with a sour plum edge that caught the back of the throat. Kimiko found herself nearly gagging on the strong scent. Instead of dissipating, however, the cloud remained stationary, rotating in space, gathered to itself until it formed a bubble.

Ayumi was reminded of the gaki who had appeared in their campfire that morning, manifesting in the smoke. She discreetly loosened her katana in its scabbard, ready to draw and strike, if necessary.

Hikaru sneered. "It stinks of corruption."

"Your daughter's flesh is no more, but her spirit struggles to enter this place." The itako's fingers were curved like talons; again and again, she twanged the catalpa bow's string. "Focus on Okiku. Call her to you."

Deep within the misty ball, a tiny figure was growing. At first, it was fuzzy, the outline unclear. Hikaru said half-heartedly, "Okiku!" He was sure this was a cruel deception. If the samurai were not there, he would have left. He had seen better conjuring by magicians at cheap country festivals.

Oya swayed, shoulders moving to the beat of Gourd's drum. The image in the smoke wavered. "Call her!" came the shaman's imperious command. "Your daughter is bound by filial duty to obey. Summon her now, for I cannot hold the curtain back for long."

Torn between disbelief, grief, and the overwhelming desire to see his daughter again, Hikaru wanted to kill the woman. How dare she mock his loss? Well, he would show the witch that he wasn't some naive peasant to be fooled by clever games. "Okiku! I order you to appear!" he snapped, fully expecting some trick he could expose.

Instead, the image snapped into focus. Kimiko gasped. Standing in the incense smoke was a tiny young woman. Perfectly formed, exquisitely doll-like, yet so real she almost reached out a hand to touch it. Hikaru was the most affected. His face went as white as the itako's robe. "Okiku?"

The little figure answered, "Father?" in a piping tone. Hikaru obviously recognized his beloved daughter's voice. He reared up on his knees, shock mingling with hope.

Gourd stopped pounding her drum. Oya made a convulsive gesture. "Speak to her, ask what you will, but quickly. When the smoke fades, her soul must return."

Okiku was pretty, if pale, her long black locks disarranged and hanging loose down her back. Moxa scars marred her face. "One, two, three, four..." she said sadly. "Father, there are only nine."

Hikaru ignored the statement, but Ayumi was taking note of everything the spirit pronounced.

"Are you with your mother, child?" he asked.

"Mother isn't here. I can't go to her. I'm caught." Okiku hung her head. Her hands wrung together constantly, fingers rubbing and knotting together. "There are only nine."

Hikaru bit his lip so hard it bled. "Who did this to you?"

"The green dragon took one away. I didn't break it. Five, six, seven, eight... there are only nine." Okiku wept, crystal tears dripping down her chin. "The green dragon."

Her father was clearly at a loss. Frustration and rage at his own helplessness made him turn to the itako. "What does she mean?"

"That is for you to decide," the shaman said calmly. "Make haste. The time is nearly done."

Kimiko saw the smoke was starting to thin. "Why?" she blurted to the spirit.

For one second, naked animosity gleamed through Okiku's tears. "I saw him in the courtyard, I saw him by the well. The well! Now there are only nine. The dragon shouldn't have taken it. He came to me, and I remember flying..." Her words trailed off. The spirit faded, color draining away until she was gray as the smoke.

"Iye! No, stay with me! Okiku, come back!" Hikaru begged. He snatched at the box, ready to dump more incense into the burner. Oya leaned over and held his wrist. "Let her go."

Tears were in his eyes. Okiku's spirit blurred again. "The well... the dragon..." Her voice faded. The bubble in which she stood suddenly blew apart into feebly roiling vapor, and was gone. All that was left was a lingering scent of cold ashes.

"Bring her back!" Hikaru demanded. "I must see her again."

Oya released him, shaking her head. "It is done." She put the bow back into its place. Reverently, the itako picked up the box of Hangon-ko and closed the lid, cradling the magic incense in her hands. "Okiku has returned to the Grey Shores."

"Witch! I command you to..." he began, and stopped when Ayumi whipped up an arm like an iron bar across his chest. "Enough," she said, not unkindly. "It is done."

Hikaru glared at the samurai, then lowered his eyes. "Hai, my daughter's existence is over. But what of my revenge?"

"May I suggest we continue this conversation outside?" Kimiko asked diffidently. Gourd, the apprentice with the crusty eyes, held out a hand for payment. When Hikaru made no move, only knelt and glared at Oya, Ayumi pulled out her money pouch.

She gave a couple of precious silver coins to the girl, not bothering to wrap them in paper as she might for a more legitimate merchant. Hikaru finally sighed, his fingers going absently to pick at the scars on his neck. "Arigato," he told the shaman. "I loved Okiku very much. She was all I had left of her mother."

"This life is a vale of tears; every moment of joy must be repaid with a lifetime of misery," Oya replied. Her cataract-blinded gaze turned to Kimiko. "Do you wish to speak with a lost soul? I sense a burden on your heart, a giri yet to be fulfilled."

Kimiko was speechless. For a moment, as the implication turned over in her mind, she was sorely tempted. The itako was offering to raise the spirit of her dead father, killed by the Regent's treachery. Until she avenged his dishonorable death, Masanori-san would never be reborn. His spirit would be trapped in Hell for eternity.

The opportunity to talk to him again, see his face, hear that beloved voice... then Kimiko remembered how Okiku's soul had looked. Pale, tormented, drenched in tears. Is that how I wish to remember my father? No, she decided. Let him find what comfort he can in the afterlife. I won't add to his unrest. If karma permits, the Regent will be dead, and Masanori-san will fly to Buddha-hood. From Heaven, he can see that I fulfilled my duty.

She declined the shaman's offer politely. Ayumi had been watching out of the corner of her eye, and was impressed by her lady's self-control.

Oya let out a startling cackle. "As you wish, your honor. Remember old Oya, should you change your mind." Her broad smile revealed those too tiny teeth, and Kimiko shuddered in sudden, atavistic revulsion.

On their way to the gate, Ayumi and Kimiko dropped behind Hikaru, to have a private conversation. "About General Jiro-sama," the lady asked, "are you really going to fight him?"

"If it proves necessary. The Heike and Ichijo clans are closely related, although the Heike prefer sea battles to land. Jiro-sama's wife is my great-aunt. I should have no difficulty paying a visit, even if I haven't been to Sakashita since I was a baby."

"He will not betray you?" 

"Old Fire Yam has no great love for Saneyoshi, and he owes me the courtesy of kin. At the very least, he would not summon Imperial guards until I left his house." 

Kimiko scowled. "I wish you wouldn't get involved. It's too dangerous."

"Would you rather watch me be crucified by the Regent's men? We need travel permits to pass three checkpoints, not just the one at Seki. Hikaru is our only option. Besides, it may not come to actual fighting. Seventeen-year-old girls are overly romantic, and think love suicide is the answer to all their petty problems."

"What about the green dragon and the well?" Kimiko wasn't sure what Okiku's words meant. "Do spirits lie?"

"You know as much as I do about that." Ayumi screwed her face into a horrible grimace and shouldered a pair of town toughs out of her way. The men started to protest, noticed her well-used scabbard, and slunk away, unwilling to pick a fight with such a dangerous samurai. "I'll visit my uncle's house and take a look around. The purpose is two-fold."

"Oh?"

"I told you that Old Yam has no love for the Regent. He might be persuaded to join your cause. If the Heike clan spurns Saneyoshi, other daimyo will follow. At first in secret, then in open revolt as our strength increases."

"Shigata ga nai," Kimiko said. "Do what you can, 'Yumi." She missed Masanori. The day of her father's death was among the worst in her life. And my uncle is to blame.

"Hai." Ayumi looked left and right, to be sure they were not overheard. "Remember, we fight not a single man, but against an empire. We must be prepared for war, or we will perish before our goal is accomplished."

"You will do what you can, and I will do what I must." Kimiko permitted herself a tiny smile. "But I hope it won't come to open warfare. If we show a hand of strength, he may back down without a fight."

Wishful thinking, the samurai thought privately. The Regent's the type to hang onto power with his teeth and toenails, plotting all the way to Hell. I wouldn't believe that one was dead until I saw the body, and even then I'd have my doubts.

Before she could reply, Kimiko pointed. "That must be the troupe. Well, it's a long walk to the next station, eh? A journey of a thousand ri begins with a single step," she quoted.

Ayumi believed that they had already come a long way on their personal journey... but they had an even longer way to go before the end - good or ill.

CHAPTER SIX - Paper Deception

The town of Minakuchi, fifth station on the Chrysanthemum Road, to Tsuchiyama, sixth station
Noon, the first Hour of the Horse

The members of Hikaru's bunraku troupe were sitting near the town's rear gate. One of them, an elderly man with a thin silver beard, held the reins of a placid ox hitched to a loaded cart. "We are ready to depart," he called when Hikaru came into sight. "If the gods permit, we'll reach Tsuchiyama by nightfall."

The scarred master waved at Ayumi and Kimiko. "These gentlemen will be accompanying us to Seki as scenery changers."

Everyone bowed as courtesy demanded. There were fifteen men in the group, and no women - like kabuki theater, bunraku puppet plays allowed no female members. Ayumi was impressed with Hikaru's command of his people; no one asked questions or blinked an eye at what must have been a decidedly odd occurrence.

"My feet are itching for the road," the old man said to Kimiko. Despite his age, he looked healthy and strong, if scrawny. He wore a shaggy straw cloak against the cold, as did most of his fellows. "Chiyo is my name. Shall we talk while we walk, young sir?"

He did not wait for permission, but led the ox to the road outside the gate. The rest of the troupe shouldered bundles wrapped in colorful cloth and followed him, walking easily on their wooden geta. A few spared a glance at the two strangers, but most simply walked past without comment. Kimiko paced beside Chiyo, knowing her samurai retainer was at her back.

Hikaru fell into step beside Ayumi and said, "I have a place to hide your swords. Obviously, you cannot travel openly as a samurai. There would be too many questions."

Ayumi grunted an agreement. "It had better be a safe place. I do not like giving up my katana, and will want to get at it quickly if an emergency arises."

The ox cart rumbled on the packed earth track. On either side of the road, trees began to give way to the tea plantations that made the area around Tsuchiyama famous. The sky was steely gray, sun covered by tattered clouds. Snow fell lightly, melting moments after it hit the ground. Thankfully, there was little wind, and few other travelers to slow their progress.

As they walked, Chiyo began to explain the art of bunraku to Kimiko. She had, of course, seen puppet plays before, but the inner workings were a mystery. Three operators were required for each puppet: an omozukai, who operated the body, head and right arm; a hidanzukai for the left arm and props; and an ashizukai for the legs. Bunraku puppets were about three feet tall, crafted by experts with a lifetime's experience. The manipulators were so skilled, they could make these dolls apparently come to life. 

"Simple people think it is magic," Chioy said with a cackle. "Not so, young sir! Hikaru, our chief omozukai, has been studying the art since he was a babe. Not many can match him. The real magic lies in subtle movements of hand, fingers and arm. Observe!" 

He tucked his free hand into his sleeve and gathered the fabric into his palm. Kimiko smiled. This was like a child's toy, a simple puppet made from a tabi slipped over the hand that could be made to talk.

Chiyo moved his fingers and knuckles, and suddenly the crude puppet became a lovely woman's face. Kimiko could see the eyes, nose and mouth, the smooth cheeks and delicate chin, created from folds of cloth. The woman smiled, and transformed into a hideous oni devil with horns. An ancient peasant, a proud warrior and an effete nobleman rapidly followed.

"Ma!" she exclaimed. "That's amazing!"

Chiyo shrugged, although he beamed with pride, and shook out his sleeve. "A trick that all apprentices learned in my day. Now your task with us is much simpler. The scenery pieces slot together in order, and can be put up or taken back down rapidly. We will be performing 'Invincible Sword Fairy' tomorrow afternoon, so you'll have plenty of time for practice. Just do as I say, young sir, and all will be well."

Hikaru called a halt. Pulling a big trunk down from the back of the cart, he gave Kimiko and Ayumi each a padded cotton jacket with his name written on the back in large characters - a way of advertising his troupe. They also received geta, wide-brimmed hats, fingerless gloves and short straw cloaks. When they had finished donning the garments, he called Ayumi over to him.

"Sometimes, even I need a discreet place to hide things," the scarred man said. He tapped the trunk hard in a certain place, and a concealed drawer slid out of the bottom. The space was just big enough to hold Ayumi's two swords. "No one will find your daisho there."

"Show me," the samurai commanded. Hikaru indicated the secret spot, and watched while Ayumi tapped it several times until she was satisfied that she knew the exact location. Then she put her weapons inside. "Good. Guard that trunk with your life, Hikaru. If anything happens to my swords, I'll tear your throat out with my teeth." 

"This miserable worm would never dare neglect your worship's honor," Hikaru said, sliding the drawer closed. He heaved the trunk back into the cart, and took a set of folded papers from the breast of his kimono. "Here are your travel permits. They will be sufficient to allow you to pass the Seki checkpoint, and my people will not betray you. I have your word; you have mine. If you avenge Okiku's death, I may be able to get counterfeit passes that'll take you all the way to Edo."

Kimiko drifted back to Ayumi's side. She had tied the cord of her hat beneath her lower lip in a jaunty butterfly knot. This made her seem younger than ever. "Let me see," she said, and her eyes widened when the samurai opened one of the permits. "Oh!"

"What is it?" Ayumi looked closely at the thick white paper. It seemed authentic to her, right down to the temple seal affixed to the bottom. Any common person wishing to travel beyond the boundaries of their home province had to obtain permission from either their local lord, daimyo or temple abbot.

"I know that handwriting," Kimiko whispered. She turned to Hikaru. "Where did you get these?" she demanded.

Hikaru bristled. "There is nothing wrong with them. Do you question my sincerity?"

"Tell me!" Kimiko shouted, her face mottled with crimson. "Where did these come from?"

Sensing trouble, the rest of the troupe, except Chiyo, moved behind their master. A couple of the younger men pulled short clubs from their cloaks. The clubs were made from heavy knots of cypress - a peasant's weapon, since they were forbidden to possess steel.

Ayumi let the travel basket slide off her back. "What is wrong?" she asked Kimiko. Keeping her eyes on the group, she carefully moved to interpose her body between the hostile players and her mistress. Unfortunately, the bunraku-men were between her and the ox cart. She could not reach her sword.

Kimiko did not answer her. Instead, she glared at Hikaru. "Answer my question, or I will have your head!"

Ayumi started to sweat. Her eyes darted from man to man, and she unconsciously positioned herself to meet an attack. "So much for compassion," she said out of the corner of her mouth. "My lady, why did you start a pissing match after I put away my katana?"

The players began to mutter, and one young man cried, "Don't you dare threaten our master! We will defend him to the death!"

"Don't be stupid!" Chiyo said loudly. "Stop this right now before someone gets hurt!"

Hikaru realized that, even unarmed, the samurai was capable of killing quite a few of his people. He took a deep breath and waved for silence. "There will be no killing today," he announced. To Kimiko, he said, "I obtained the permits from a friend."

"What is his name?" Kimiko was still angry. The bunraku-men backed off a pace, but Ayumi did not relax.

"He is the oyabun of oyabun, highest chief of the bakuto factions," Hikaru explained. "I know him as Oishi."

"Usatsuki!" Kimiko spat. Ayumi groped for the hilt of her nonexistent sword. Calling someone a liar was one of the deadliest insults in Wa.

Hikaru remained calm, but his lips were set into a thin, straight line. Chiyo restrained a hotter-headed member of the troupe by tripping him up and sitting on him.

Ayumi said to Kimiko quietly, "If I'm going to die trying to save you from being ripped into five separate parts by an angry mob, I would like to know why." 

Bakuto were criminals organized into gangs under the control of a single leader. They dealt in prostitution, gambling, smuggling, money lending and other unsavory activities. Ayumi did not know why the mention of an oyabun named Oishi would make her lady so upset.

"You dare accuse him of turning into a criminal lord?" Kimiko tore off her hat and hurled it to the ground. "Usatsuki!"

"I speak the truth. In the last few years, Oishi and his followers have virtually taken over all bakuto operations throughout the Floating World. He is a ronin, but I know nothing of his past. I met him in Edo. Sometimes he asks me to transport things secretly to avoid Imperial customs. I do favors for him, he does favors for me." Hikaru flushed, and the scars stood out in silvery contrast. "The permits are forged but they will pass inspection. Last month, two of my men had their papers confiscated because of a drunken brawl. Oishi was kind enough to provide me with replacements."

He glanced at Ayumi. "What accusation is your apprentice trying to make? I've done nothing wrong."

Ayumi shrugged. "I have no idea."

Kimiko was breathing hard. Finally, she covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.

Hikaru let out a pungent oath. "First witches, then hysterical children! Bah! Go ahead and cut off my head. It would be less painful."

Ayumi said, "Please excuse us. No one is accusing you of being unworthy or a liar. You know how emotional young boys can be, eh? They have not learned to let head rule over heart. Let me talk to him while you go on. We'll catch up."

"Very well." Hikaru turned his back on the samurai and growled at his group, "Hayaku! What are all you gaping idiots waiting for, a personal invitation from the Son of Heaven? I said, hayaku! Chiyo, stop resting your withered buttocks on that man's head and get the cart rolling!"

He stamped off down the road, shedding bits of straw with every step. 

Ayumi picked up Kimiko's hat and shook her head. "Now tell me, my lady, what is happening here? Why are you so angry? Hikaru is no threat to you. If he was, I'd kill him myself."

Kimiko's cheeks were wet. "I told you, I recognize the handwriting. This oyabun Oishi, who is nothing more than a common thug... he is really Kuranosuke Oishi."

"Your father's chief retainer?" Ayumi was so astonished, she had to sit down on a nearby log. "Not the one they used to call 'Seven Virtues!'"

"The very same," Kimiko replied bitterly. "When I knew him, he was like a god. Benevolent, honorable, courteous, intelligent, sincere, loyal and pious - Oishi-san was the essence of bushido. The perfect samurai."

"Yet he chose not to follow your father into death."

"Why would such a man refuse to do his duty? He even persuaded forty-six others to become ronin rather than commit seppuku. I had hoped..."

Ayumi turned the hat over in her hands. She knew her lady's mind well. "You hoped Oishi-san was plotting revenge. Why, Kimiko-sama? As far as he knew, Fujiwara Masanori died of an illness. That is what the rest of the world believed." 

"I thought that my mother told him the truth." Kimiko patted the front of her kimono, frowned, and began to wipe her wet face with her sleeve. Ayumi handed her several soft sheets of paper. "It was the only explanation that made sense to me, the only reason why Oishi-san would want to surrender all face and live as a ronin. If Mother told him the real cause of Father's death, he would want to see the stain on Masanori's honor wiped out with the Regent's blood." 

"Hmph. If your honored mother knew the truth, and if she confided in her husband's most loyal retainer, then I suppose Seven Virtues might delay his suicide long enough to try and cut the Saneyoshi's throat. And you were going to ask him to join you." 

"Hai. Who better to lead our cause than Oishi-san, the Perfection of Bushido?"

"I agree. He had an excellent reputation, and many samurai respected him as a true hero. But since he has sunk so far into depravity, there's no use trying to contact him."

Kimiko blew her nose. "My cause was his, or so I thought. I was counting on Oishi-san to fight for us. He would have given confidence to the daimyos and their armies, and brought some to our side."

"Heaven has ordained otherwise," Ayumi replied. She stood up and handed the hat back to its owner. "His downfall is regrettable, but there's nothing to be done. We must not let our vision stray too far into the future. Only the gods know what has been fated to be. Stay focused and all else will fall into its proper place at the proper time." She shrugged.

"Shigata ga nai - how I hate those words!"

Ayumi wished she could take her lady's pain away. "Believe me, it does no good to rail against the gods. I've tried it, and all I got was a lightning bolt for my pains."

"Ah so desu ka?" Kimiko put the cord around her neck, and let the hat hang down her back. Despite the sickening disappointment, she would struggle on. The river of life rarely runs smoothly, she thought, and said aloud, "Well, tell me about it while we add more road dust to our geta."

"Do you want to discuss Oishi-san anymore?"

"No. Forget the Seven Virtues. They have lost their beauty and become Seven Sins instead. Let's hope Old Fire Yam will agree to strike against the Regent... if you don't have to end his life to revenge Okiku's death. Ma! The ways of fortune and the gods are very strange." Kimiko resolutely walked in the direction Hikaru and his troupe had taken.

Ayumi walked beside her, and they quickly rejoined the bunraku players.

CHAPTER SEVEN - Ten Dishes

Tsuchiyama to Sakashita, seventh station on the Chrysanthemum Road
8 p.m., the first Hour of the Dog

The evening performance of "Invincible Sword Fairy" went very well. Everyone involved in the production wore black, close-fitting outfits that covered them from head to toe, including veils and hoods to obscure their faces. This rendered them "invisible" to the audience, who did not pay any attention to the kurogo at all. The only exception was Hikaru; as chief omozukai, he was permitted the distinction of leaving his head visible. 

Under Chiyo's direction, Ayumi and Kimiko built the set - a miniature but exquisite replica of the Pagoda Palace in mainland Kara, with backgrounds on sliding rails so that they could be changed quickly. During the periods when action was taking place, both women knelt to one side and enjoyed watching the masterful puppetry. All bunraku playwrights based their tales on old legends and myths. The classics were so well beloved, they had been performed for centuries without significant change. 

The next morning, after a night's rest in the second-best inn Tsuchiyama had to offer, Ayumi retrieved her swords and traveled to Sakashita alone. Kimiko would stay with Hikaru, and travel with the rest of the troupe that day. The samurai knew her mistress would be safe. She'd had a talk with Hikaru, and he harbored no strong resentments, promising to keep her 'apprentice' out of trouble until they joined her at the seventh station.

The general's house was situated in a pretty but quiet section of town, off the main thoroughfare. A high gate surrounded the dwelling, and a pair of samurai guards loitered out front. Frost covered the earth, and her geta crunched noisily down the unswept path.

Ayumi bowed. "I am Ichijo Ayumi," she announced clearly. "I wish to see my relation by marriage, Heike Jiro."

One of the samurai eyed her up and down in a skeptical fashion. The other picked his teeth with an ivory splinter. "One moment, please," the first one finally replied. He went inside, and shortly returned.

"Jiro-sama bids you enter," he said. His bow was much more shallow than convention demanded. 

Ayumi set her jaw, but did not want to kill him before her interview. The guard thought she was a poor relative, come to beg for favors, and his contempt for her impoverished condition was showing. She dismissed the impoliteness from her mind, and kicked off her geta on the verandah, placing them in a special rack beside the door. 

A servant showed her into the house, where Jiro was waiting in a small, musty room at the back. He was a powerfully built older man, with traces of silver in his otherwise dark hair. Like most warlords, he preferred to leave off elaborate Court attire at home, and was wearing a simple black-and-gold yukata. 

Jiro's eyes were set a touch too closely to his hooked nose. Deep lines carved into his forehead and around his mouth gave him a stern aspect. Ayumi knelt on a tatami in front of the man and kowtowed, touching her brow to the tattered mat.

"Ichijo Ayumi," Jiro said. His voice was a surprisingly light tenor. "I have not seen you in twenty years. Is your family in good health?" 

It was still fairly early in the day. His perfumed robe could not conceal the acrid fumes of shochu that lingered in the room. Ayumi pretended not to notice. "My mother and father are well," she answered. "How is the health of my great-aunt, Wisteria?" 

Jiro was silent for a few moments. At last, he roused himself to reply, "She spends her days copying the Lotus Sutra, writing letters and praying."

This did not sound like the vivacious, bustling woman that Ayumi remembered from her childhood. "Twenty years is a long time. I regret not having visited you sooner."

"Do you think I don't know why you're here? You are being sought as a traitor." The lines around Jiro's mouth tightened. "I've only agreed to see you because of our clan connection. Otherwise, I would cut off your head."

"Do you love the Regent so much, then?" Ayumi asked.

"I have no great affection for Lord Old Fart." Jiro shifted on his cushion. "However, to go against the Emperor is to defy Heaven."

"The Son of Heaven is a child, who is too young to don the trousers of manhood, much less rule the Floating World. We all know who controls the government, and Saneyoshi-sama is no saint."

"Nevertheless, I cannot help you. I have too many troubles of my own," Jiro said gruffly. "Return to your mistress. For the sake of the love between Wisteria and your mother, I will forget you came."

Ayumi stayed where she was, as immovable as a mountain. That answers one question. Old Yam has lost his fire, and will not join our cause. "Actually, I have a piece of business with you that cannot be delayed. It concerns a serving girl who committed suicide here last year. Her name was..."

"Okiku!" The general was instantly enraged. "She is the cause of all our woes! By Buddha, I wish I'd never allowed her to set a foot inside my door."

"I have an obligation to her father. I must determine how and why Okiku died. He is not satisfied with your steward's explanation."

"Damn that dungeater's impertinence!" Jiro reached to one side, drew out a ceramic bottle, and took several deep swallows of shochu. When the vessel was empty, he tossed it over his shoulder. "Okiku has ruined the Heike clan. She drowned herself in the back-garden well to pay for her crime. There is nothing more to tell."

Ayumi was puzzled. "How could a simple-minded peasant girl cause your downfall? You are not the richest or most powerful clan, but not the poorest, either."

"Do you not recall the great luck of my house? Ten gilded plates, given to the founder of the Heike by Benten-sama, the luck god. So long as those plates remained undamaged, our clan would prosper. If one was broken, our fortunes would be just as shattered." 

"And Okiku broke one of these plates," Ayumi guessed. 

"Hai." For a moment, the stern expression left his face, and he seemed almost sad. "I was fond of the girl. She was not the prettiest, or the most intelligent - her birth was very low as well - but she had a very sweet nature. I am not a young man anymore. Okiku would have suited me well, and I was going to raise her position in the household."

"You were thinking of making Okiku a lesser wife? Ma! How did Wisteria feel about that?"

"Your great-aunt is more concerned with Amida than worldly old sinners like myself. Besides, the girl was no threat to Wisteria's authority." Jiro sighed. "But then the stupid child decided to test my regard. She got some notion into her head that my affection was turning away from her. She deliberately smashed one of the Good Fortune plates. When I heard about it, I was angry. Okiku may have overheard me losing my temper. The next thing I knew, my steward came to tell me that she had drowned herself in the old well." 

Suddenly, he bared his teeth in a grimace. "Now my house is cursed. Every third evening, Okiku's spirit returns to the garden and shakes the house with her cries. Wisteria prays ever more hysterically. The servants only stay because they fear me more than a ghost. I have summoned the finest exorcists in the land, but they are useless. In the meantime, ill fortune dogs my steps. My neighbors mock me behind their sleeves. Soon, the Heike will be no more." 

Ayumi understood why Old Fire Yam had taken so heavily to drink. It was the only way the general could cope with this shameful haunting. "Have the exorcists proclaimed why Okiku's spirit lingers here?" 

"No, and I dare not confront the angry ghost myself. The first time she came, I went out into the garden to try and chase her away. The next day, one of the servants slipped and crushed his skull. Again, I stepped to the well. Our storehouses in Edo were destroyed in a fire. Now I stay within the house, only venturing as far as the verandah steps, although we grow poorer by the hour."

"Indeed, this is most unfortunate." Having experienced the destructive powers of the undead, Ayumi was sympathetic. "Before I leave, might I speak to your steward? He may have something to add which will satisfy Okiku's father." 

Jiro snorted. "You may speak to him all you wish, Ayumi-san. Buddha knows I rarely see the man; he is usually busy with clan business. His name is Makoto. When you are finished, please leave. Heike has problems enough without harboring a fugitive among them." 

Ayumi bowed her thanks, then went in search of the steward. She found the man in the kitchen, eating rice cakes flecked with dried seaweed and salt. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Ichijo Ayumi, great-niece to Lady Wisteria. Are you Makoto?" His hair was in a typical samurai tonsure, but he did not wear the two swords. Ayumi was unsure about his status. 

He sneered, showing a missing tooth. "I am Makoto-san." The steward stressed the honorific to show that he was of the samurai class, despite his shocking lack of daisho. "How may I serve you?" 

"I wish to ask you about the serving girl, Okiku, who died last year."

"A foolish dungeater." Makoto shrugged. "She deliberately broke a Good Fortune plate. I caught the wench red-handed, and told Jiro-sama. Then the girl drowned herself in a disused well behind the house."

"Did she tell you why she did it?"

"Oh, some feeble excuse about testing the general's affection. Shortly after informing Jiro-sama, I heard a cry and a splash. A younger gardener was lowered down on a rope, and he discovered the body."

"Was a funeral held?" 

"Of course!" Makoto put down the rice cake. "Are we barbarians? She was cremated with all the ceremony due her station. Good incense was burned, and prayers were commissioned. The remains are at Sakashita Temple. Jiro-sama laid out a fair amount of cash, considering Okiku was nothing more than a clanless peasant." 

Ayumi noticed the steward's garments for the first time. He wore multiple layers of fine silk in shades of deep plum-red and garnet. Jade buttons and gold brocade outlined his sleeves, and a costly jade bracelet adorned his wrist. Everything was done in the best possible taste, right down to his crisply starched lavender hakama. She had seen courtiers dressed less fashionably. It seemed strange that, with the fortunes of his clan in such disarray, Makoto should appear so prosperous.

"I have urged the general to leave this house," the steward sniffed. "His drinking never ceases. Why, he has begun to claim that Okiku's ghost is haunting him! I think he is delirious, and his behavior is influencing Lady Wisteria. He may even harm himself, or the lady, if he continues to drown himself in shochu. I pray to Buddha that the evil day never comes."

"Jiro-sama told me that Okiku's spirit visits every third evening, and she brings earthquakes with her."

"I have seen no such thing." Makoto rose, tweaking his kimonos into place. He was as fastidious about his appearance as any nobly bred fop. "As I said, the matter is very straightforward. Jiro-sama is not in his right mind. He is still my master, though, so I must continue to serve him as best I can. Now please excuse me. I have many duties to attend to."

He bowed and bustled away. Ayumi stood there for a moment, considering. A voice from behind made her whirl around. 

"Konnichiwa, Ayumi-san." The woman was in her forties, but looked a decade older. She had recently lost a great deal of weight, as evidenced by sagging jowels, and the looseness of her kimonos. Her long hair was held back with a sandalwood comb. "May Amida Buddha protect you from the ill omens that surround this house." 

"Good afternoon, Aunt Wisteria," Ayumi replied, bowing. "I hear you are not feeling well."

Wisteria tottered closer and snatched up one of the steward's abandoned rice cakes. "I would shave my head and become a nun, but my honorable husband needs me." She took a great bite, flecking her robes with crumbs. "Our fortunes have decreased since the clan was cursed. I can only afford asuko-ko incense to burn in offering to Buddha - the cheapest kind, suitable only for peasants and beggars! Oh, that the once great Heike are reduced to this!" She gobbled up the rest of the cake.

Ayumi wasn't sure how to respond to her relative's lament. In fact, she found such a self-pitying attitude acutely embarrassing.

Wisteria went on, "We've been reduced to eating radishes and unhusked rice. Is it any wonder I've lost my looks? And poor Jiro-sama..." Her voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper. "He drinks far too much shochu these days, but that's just as well. I was once embarrassed that a daimyo preferred sweet potato wine to sake. I thought it showed a coarseness of spirit, a lack of refinement. Now we couldn't afford sake anyway!"

"Hide-e!" Ayumi exclaimed to show her pity. "How terrible!" She picked up a rice cake and sniffed. It was fresh, so she stuck it into her sleeve for later. "I know it's considered vulgar to speak of money matters, Wisteria-san, but how has this happened? Heike weren't the richest clan in Wa, but they weren't the poorest, either."

Wisteria shrugged her heavy shoulders. "When the Good Fortune plate of Benten-sama was smashed, our luck poured out like rice through a torn sack. We've barely enough money to pay creditors, who grow bolder every day. If it weren't for Jiro-sama's daimyo status, those hungry rats would turn us out of our own home. He has appealed to the Regent without success. It is only a question of time, niece, before news of our ruin becomes generally known. My husband will commit seppuku, of course, to avoid dishonor. I will retire to a temple and atone for my sins."

The samurai's ears perked up. So, Saneyoshi has refused to aid Old Fire Yam! The general might yet be turned, but how? With this thought came others. Wisteria continued bemoaning her loss, but Ayumi didn't listen. Her mind was awhirl, knitting disjointed observations together into a coherent whole. Suddenly, she knew why the Heike were on the edge of disaster, why Okiku had died, and who murdered her. The theory would have to be proven. Ayumi believed she knew the perfect way to do it.

"Do not trust a skinny chef, a weeping woman, or a fat steward." She murmured the old quotation to herself. Wisteria frowned. "What did you say?"

"Please excuse me, aunt." Ayumi said. "I must speak to Jiro-sama again before taking my leave."

"Oh, go on!" Wisteria shook crumbs from her kimonos irritably. "I'm sure a young person like you has had enough of an old woman's foolishness."

The samurai bowed and hastened out of the kitchen.

"Ah, the manners of youth are disappearing," Wisteria muttered to herself. Spying the remaining rice cakes, she took them and tottered back to her own rooms.

Kimiko was sitting on the verandah of an inn in Sakashita with old Chiyo. "Are you and that broken-nosed samurai very close?" he asked, puffing on a pipe. The weather was clear and cold, but it had snowed earlier, so there was a charcoal brazier under the table between them.

"Hai," Kimiko replied absently. Her hands were resting in her lap. Without thinking, she rasped thumbs across the calluses on her palms, feeling roughness where once the flesh was lily smooth.

His eyes twinkled beneath bushy white brows. "Your master treats you well for a lowly apprentice," he observed. "He didn't even beat you for that temper tantrum on the trail yesterday."

"No, he is good to me."

Chiyo tapped spent ashes out of his long-stemmed pipe and refilled it, tamping down the pinch of tobacco with a finger. "Would he have made you a gift of Hikaru's head if you so desired? Or would he have considered that his duty?"

Abruptly, Kimiko realized she was on dangerous ground. The old man was casually probing for information, but what was his purpose? Warily, she answered, "I doubt it. My master loves me, but it is my duty to serve him, not the other way around."

Chiyo made a scoffing sound. "Admirable, if you were a real apprentice. We both know you are not."

"Has age softened your wits?" she retorted, trying to bluff him.

"I wish you no harm," he said. His voice lowered to a husky whisper. "You are the lady Fujiwara no Kimiko who travels with Ichijo Ayumi."

Kimiko felt her heart beating faster and faster, whirring wings that threatened to burst out of her ribcage. She covered momentary panic by pretending a coughing fit, then drinking some tea. While she held the cup to her lips, she studied Chiyo over the rim. He stared back at her solemnly.

"Why would you claim such insanity?" she finally asked. "Fujiwara no Kimiko is a fugitive."

He spread his hands apart. "There are many clues to be seen, if one has the eye. I've spent a lifetime studying faces and mannerisms among every class of people for my art. You may try to act like a boy - and the disguise is fairly good! - but I'm not deceived. When I look at you, I see a noble woman with a protective female samurai, a pair who evade Imperial security and have no papers. I've heard of the renegade Fujiwara girl. What else am I to conclude?"

Kimiko took a deep breath. "When did I betray myself to you?" She would not make a direct admission.

Chiyo chuckled. "When you were on the verge of ordering your samurai to kill Hikaru. Eeee! Such fire! Your spirit does not appreciate being hidden beneath humility. I suggest you practice more." He pointed the mouthpiece of the pipe at her. "Gomen nasai, my lady, if my advice is presumptuous. I thought you might like to know, in case you run into any more old villains like me during your journey."

He winked at her, and at that gesture Kimiko felt herself relax. Chiyo was not threatening, merely sharing his knowledge and opinion. "You won't tell the others?"

"Me? Of course not! A secret is kept by two only if one is dead. And I don't want to get Hikaru-san into trouble." He poured himself some tea. "Ah, speak of demons and they appear like flies on shit. Konnichiwa, Hikaru-san."

"Have you heard from your master yet?" the bunraku master asked Kimiko, ignoring Chiyo's greeting, as well as the rude comment that preceded it. "We will have to perform without him if he doesn't come back soon."

Ayumi had told Hikaru that she had some personal business in Sakashita, but not what that business entailed. Kimiko shook her head. "I'm sure my master will join us shortly."

Hikaru knelt down at the table. His unruly hair was more disheveled than ever. He rasped at his scars with a fingernail, then said abruptly, "Forgive me if I offended you regarding Oishi. I don't know what I did, but..."

"Please say nothing more." Kimiko put her cup down forcefully enough to make the sturdy clay vessel crack. "It is forgotten."

Chiyo put out a restraining hand. "Some matter of honor, perhaps. Leave it lie, Hikaru-san. It doesn't involve peasants like us."

"Very well." Hikaru peered outside, while Kimiko stared at the cracked cup. Seven Virtues becoming Seven Sins, she thought angrily. Oishi-san, in losing your honor, you betray my father's memory.

A pine branch was thrust over the railings towards Kimiko. "A message, your honor!" a boy said. There was a knotted piece of paper thrust into the fork at the end of the branch. He was shabby but clean, head shaved except for a child's side-lock.
 
Kimiko was surprised out of her contemplation of the traitor Oishi. She took the letter and called down, "Who is this from?"

The boy shrugged. "A samurai gave it to me. He wasn't very young, and had a broken nose."

"Are you supposed to return with a reply?" She glanced at the knotted paper. It was plain undyed mulberry, with ink scrubbed over the folds to show it had been unopened. Kimiko considered the implied symbolic meaning of the pine branch, the paper, and the youthful messenger. Taken together, they could say: Although our circumstances are poor, my newfound regard for you will never end.

With a snort, Kimiko abandoned this train of thought. Ayumi is not a courtier. She hasn't spent years studying classical poetry and the art of aesthetics in order to impress me with her erudition. This must be important.

Even as her fingers busied to unfold the letter, the boy said, "No reply, your honor."

She began to toss him a few coppers as a tip, and he shook his head. "You're as pretty as the samurai said you'd be. I wish my sister could see you. She'd fall in love!" He grinned, showing a gap where his front teeth should be. Before Kimiko could say anything, he skipped away, his geta kicking up rooster tails of muddy slush from the street.

"Terrible child," Chiyou muttered through the pipe stem clenched between his teeth.

"What is it?" Hikaru asked curiously.

Kimiko quickly scanned the message. Ayumi's hand was workmanlike, crisp and efficient, with none of the forced elegance she'd seen at court. It was said that one could judge another's character based on their calligraphic style. Her liver flopped over, her yin twitched, and her palms started to sweat. Despite the lack of passionate declarations, she seemed to discern Ayumi's desire in every line.

"What does it say?" Hikaru inched closer as if to read over her shoulder.

She pulled the letter closer to her face. Kimiko thought she could detect a slight whiff of her samurai's scent on the paper. With an effort, she pushed distractions aside and took in the import of the words. Involuntarily, she exclaimed, "Mother of Mercy!"

Hikaru sat back. "Love poetry, no doubt," he said to Chiyo. "The apprentice is pleasantly shocked at his master's passionate nature. Perhaps he's been instructed to buy a new copy of A Hundred Paths to the Peach Paradise."

"Or The Great Mirror of Manly Love," Chiyo replied, naming a more recent book of homoerotic stories and poetry.

"This is serious," Kimiko said. "Yumi... I mean, my master believes he knows who killed Okiku and why. It is not Heike Jiro, but a member of his household."

Hikaru grimaced and slammed his fist down on the table, making the teapot jump. "Who did it? Who killed my daughter? I'll send him to Hell with my own hands."

"Control yourself," Kimiko warned. "This man is of the samurai class. He cannot be accused of murder, since he killed a peasant. Gomen nasai, Hikaru, but you know it's true. If you seek revenge on your own, you will wind up crucified on the execution field."

"The boy makes a good point," Chiyo said.

"I don't care. Okiku will suffer eternally unless her death is avenged. How can I, her father, turn my back and do nothing?" The bunraku master was fairly vibrating with frustrated rage.

"Did I say we will do nothing?" Kimiko asked sharply. She hadn't considered the parallels before, but his situation reminded her of her own. "Listen to me, Hikaru. My master has a plan to expose the killer and make him betray other crimes he has committed. Crimes for which he can be brought to justice. Do you understand? Are you willing to help? The plan cannot succeed without you."

Hikaru stared at her for a long moment, black eyes brimming with a mixture of anger, denial and a hope long suppressed. Finally, he sighed, shoulders slumping. "I will do anything for Okiku. Tell me what your master desires. If it's within my power, it will be done."

"Here, then, is the plan..." Kimiko quickly outlined Ayumi's scheme.

Chiyo's pipe fell from his lips when the recitation was finished. "Ma!" he exclaimed in awe. "That's brilliantly diabolical."

"Do you agree, Hikaru?" Kimiko asked.

He nodded slowly, then with growing enthusiasm. "Hai! We'll roast that bastard in his own guilt. Chiyo, you'll need to outfit some dolls, while I coach the players and the narrator..."

The rest of the afternoon was a flurry of activity. By the time Ayumi joined them at the inn, they were ready to perform a brand new play.

The Green Dragon and the Well.

CHAPTER EIGHT - In a Garden

Sakashita, seventh station on the Chrysanthemum Road
The house of Heike Jiro, the General known as Old Fire Yam
8 p.m., the first Hour of the Dog 

Heike Jiro scowled and took another swallow from his jug of shochu. "I can't believe you talked me into this!" 

Ayumi was kneeling beside him on the rear verandah of the house. Below her, the unkept garden had been taken over by bunraku players. Torches burned here and there, but the men were nearly invisible in their head-to-toe clothing. Even Hikaru had elected to cover his face for this special performance. 

On the General's other side was his steward, Makoto. The man simpered and toyed with the costly jade bracelet he wore. Ayumi noticed Makoto was turning the bracelet around and around on his wrist. The piece was in the shape of a coiled dragon. "Why must I be present, Jiro-sama?" he complained. "Such entertainments are tedious at best. I should be working on your behalf instead of wasting my time." 

Ayumi gave him a poisonously sweet smile. "Makoto-san, your master has ordered you to attend. Do you find his command unworthy of obedience?" 

The steward sneered in her direction. His outer kimono was plain russet silk, but gold-embroidered robes peeped out from beneath. 

"Where is your companion?" Jiro asked Ayumi. 

"My apprentice is keeping Lady Wisteria company this evening." She glanced at Kimiko, who knelt to one side of her great-aunt. The young lady had a tanto knife up her sleeve, nearly eight inches of cold steel blade with a wooden hilt. Kimiko would use it to defend Wisteria or herself, if matters came to that. 

Jiro tossed aside the empty shochu jug. "Remind me again why I have puppet masters in my haunted garden." 

"I consulted a fortune-teller on your behalf," Ayumi replied smoothly. "She said that to lift the curse, Okiku's spirit must be pacified by the performance of a very special play. Your house retainers are required to attend in order to be cleansed." 

Makoto's sneer grew wider. "Superstitious nonsense. There is no curse, Jiro-sama. You're paying these beggars to swindle you." 

"Perhaps," Jiro said. He narrowed his eyes and stared straight ahead. "I've tried everything else. Why not this? It is my money, isn't it?" 

The steward shot an ugly glare at Ayumi before bowing his head to the General. "Of course, sire. I meant only to offer my advice." 

"It's been offered. Now be silent." Jiro continued to watch the preparations in his garden. 

Ayumi said nothing. Old Fire Yam knew the truth; she had explained her reasoning to him privately. Having experienced Okiku's supernatural presence himself, he was more than willing to believe in the itako's ghost-summoning. 

I hope this works, she thought, glancing at the steward. I've assumed so much, and the rest is merely a riddle from Hell. If her spirit finds satisfaction, if that thieving bakahito confesses his guilt, then the curse may be lifted. In that case, Old Yam will defy the Regent and join my lady. This was the deal between them. For Kimiko's sake, she prayed it would succeed. 

And as for you meddling gods... stay out of it! Or I'll put my sandal up your divine backsides!

Kimiko was nodding automatically throughout Wisteria's droning laments, although she scarcely registered a word. She was too busy watching Ayumi. 

The narrator and the shamisen player arrived on the verandah, each wearing dull green-and-black kimonos. Tsuji, the narrator, did not kneel on the floor. Instead, he crouched down, sitting on his heels, with a low stool behind for additional support. This posture freed his abdomen from pressure and aided his breathing. Tsuji would perform not only the accompanying narration, but all the dialogue and monologues as well. The shamisen player, Young Pheasant, sat near him in a cross-legged position, the instrument poised on his lap. Together, they would create the play's atmosphere through spoken word and music in harmony. 

Young Pheasant strummed a chord and began to play. All the watchers fell silent, eyes fixed on the garden. Tsuji let out a blood-chilling wail that wavered up and down the scale, breaking off just as Pheasant's jangling melody ended with a dramatic thump. 

"The Green Dragon and the Well," Tsuji intoned, using his best 'hollow voice from the underworld' vocal trick. The shamisen was a subtle accompaniment. "We are in a garden, at the house of an important daimyo. See! In the center of the garden stands an abandoned well." The evening was quite cool but clear; white vapor puffed from his lips as he spoke. 

One of the black-clad helpers brought a torch, pushing it into the earth near the old well. 

"In the house lives an honorable daimyo, a fine general, who has fallen in love with a pretty but simple serving girl." 

Hikaru now revealed his mastery of the art. All afternoon they had practiced this play without ceasing. Certain puppets had to be altered. Now Hikaru and his two assistants slowly raised a three-foot high doll, tilting its face so that it could be seen by everyone. Old Yam gasped; Wisteria clutched Kimiko's arm; and Makoto froze into shocked stillness. 

The puppet bore Okiku's face. 

Chiyo and two others played the General. This puppet resembled Jiro. The narrator spoke their dialogue, while the dolls moved and interacted in life-like fashion. Tsuji eerily captured Old Fire Yam's bluster, while his Okiku was achingly sweet. 

General: "I have decided to grant you the honor of becoming my minor wife. I'm old and rough, set in my ways, but I can take care of you... if you consent." 

Okiku: "The honor is overwhelming, sire. I am a peasant. You are a daimyo. Why not choose a worthier wife?" 

General: "You're pretty and pleasing, full of youth and innocence. Spring to my winter, yin to my yang, water to my fire. Will you consent? I swear, I'll never give you cause to regret your decision. When I'm gone, I'll make sure you're cared for. You won't lack for anything." 

Okiku: "My father will be pleased. But what of your honorable First Wife?" 

General: "Her mind is fixed on Buddha. She will be pleased to have a little sister in the house." 

Okiku: (bowing) "Then I accept, sire, with all my heart." 

Tsuji adopted his hollow voice again to continue his narration. "Thus the wheel of fate was set in motion. The young girl - innocent and trusting - would wed the daimyo general. Alas! Unaware, a serpent glided through the garden, full of poison and treachery." 

Chiyo put aside the General puppet and picked up another. This one was male, clad in gorgeous silk robes, a green dragon bracelet on its arm. As he raised it up, everyone saw it resembled Makoto. 

Ayumi watched the steward, waiting for his reaction. The man had stopped playing with his jade ornament, was staring straight ahead, beads of sweat dappling his brow. 

She detected a pale glow out of the corner of her eye and turned her head, then went rigid with surprise, hand groping automatically for the hilt of her sword. It wasn't there. She bit back a curse. Hikaru and his bunraku players weren't aware of her true identity, or her connection to Heike Jiro, and she'd wanted to keep it that way. Her katana was still locked up in the trunk on Hikaru's ox cart. 

Tsuji and Young Pheasant were outlined with a thin thread of blue fire. Both men appeared to be in a trance. Ayumi looked down into the garden, suddenly aware of an icy wind ruffling through her hair, clammy tendrils trailing across her cheeks. The bare branches of the willow tree near the old well began to slither and rub together, providing a counterpoint to the shamisen's plucked melody. 

Beside her, Jiro's mouth fell open. "It's her!" he choked. "It's Okiku!" 

Wisteria began to sob. Hikaru and his assistants fell backwards, too shocked to scream. The Okiku doll lifted from their hands of its own accord, standing in mid-air. "My daughter," Hikaru breathed. 

The doll's porcelain face took on a blue tinge. She did not acknowledge Hikaru, nor seem to be aware of anyone else in the garden. She moved, walking on air, until she reached the edge of the verandah, near the bronze guardian lion. Here Okiku waited, peeping out from behind the statue. 

"I saw the master's steward taking gold koban from a locked box in his room," Tsuji chanted in a girlish lilt. "I didn't mean to spy, but I wondered what it meant, so I followed him and watched." 

Ayumi gritted her teeth. "I hate spirits," she muttered. 

Kimiko discreetly left Wisteria, who was weeping into her sleeve, and settled behind Ayumi. She slid the tanto out and offered it to her samurai, knowing the other woman was unarmed. Ayumi took it just in time to stop Makoto, who was about to slink away. She half-rose and put the point of the dagger at the sweating man's throat. "Going for an exorcist?" she asked. 

Jiro barked, "Sit down, by Buddha's balls, or I'll have you bound in place!" Several of his watching retainers moved forward, ready to enforce their master's order. 

Clearly reluctant, Makoto knelt, grinding his forehead into the floor. "Please, sire, I beg you, do not give credence to this display of mountebanks..." 

"Silence!" Jiro's command was thunderous, rising above the shamisen music and the rising howl of the wind. 

There was more supernatural movement in the garden. The Makoto puppet had also taken on a blue-fire life of its own. Wind rippling across expensive robes, he minced over to the well, looking this way and that. Satisfied that no one was watching, he moved aside a rock, revealing a brightly gleaming treasure of gold and silver coins. Making a show of putting more koban inside, the doll replaced the rock and patted it with a proprietary air. 

Hikaru, Chiyo and the rest of the puppeteers had scrambled to the verandah steps, not daring to rise any further without permission. Meanwhile, Tsuji said in a precise imitation of Makoto's voice, "Greedy for gain, willing to lie and cheat for cash am I, the Green Dragon. My master is over proud, too much the samurai for business, and trusts me to supervise his dealings. If only he knew that I've been draining the clan's resources for years! Soon I will disappear and make a new life with the wealth that I've stolen." 

The Okiku puppet put a hand to her mouth in horror. She rose from hiding, apparently about to dash into the house. The Makoto doll whipped around, spotted her, and hurried over. Its mouth moved in cadence with Tsuji's words. "If the girl goes to my master, I am ruined. She must be silenced!" 

Ayumi grabbed a handful of the living steward's well-oiled hair, forcing him to face the eerie tableaux. His eyes remained squeezed shut. "Witness your sins," she growled, "or I'll cut your eyelids off." 

With a whimper, Makoto opened his eyes in time to see the puppet-steward drag the Okiku doll to the well, strangle her, and toss the body inside. Faint sobs began rising from the depths. 

Jiro leaned over, until he was practically nose-to-nose with Makoto. "You broke the Good Fortune plate to conceal Okiku's murder. Traitor! Oath-breaker!" 

An explosion of blue light spilled from the well, accompanied by a blast of wind that snuffed out all the torches. Okiku's spirit glided upward, tears dripping down her face. There was a smell of rotting flesh, so strong that several samurai gagged. 

Wisteria stopped weeping and clawed at her garments in a frenzy. Kimiko rushed over to the stricken woman. "What are you doing?" she shouted over the howling gale, trying to imprison Wisteria's hands before she could damage herself. 

"Help me! Help me get it out!" the general's wife panted. Her outer robe gaped open, and the inner kimonos had been thrust aside to reveal a bundle of rags tied around her torso. Wisteria scrabbled at the bindings. "Help me get it out!" she repeated. 

Kimiko glanced over her shoulder, but Ayumi was preoccupied with Makoto. At Wisteria's continued urging, she reluctantly aided the older woman, picking apart knots until the bundle could be pulled away. She cradled it in her palms while Wisteria unwrapped it, hissing between her teeth. When the final layer was raised, Kimiko saw the shattered remains of a gilded plate. A faint luminescence played around the jagged edges. 

Meanwhile, Jiro rose to his feet. He drew his sword in a smooth, supple motion. "Makoto, you betrayed me. I will not offer you the honor of seppuku. Instead, you will die like the traitorous dog you are." 

"Kill me!" the steward cried, baring his teeth in a snarl that was half-terror, half-rage. His eyes rolled in bruised sockets. "Kill me and be cursed forever! My soul will thirst for revenge!" 

The verandah began to tremble, vibrating like a plucked string. Okiku wept, sobbing loudly enough to rival the wind. 

Jiro's samurai retainers began muttering amongst themselves, clearly frightened by Makoto's threat. It was well known that if a person died bearing great resentment towards another, their soul could return to wreak vengeance. It was even possible that the steward could be transformed into an oni devil, or a vampire, or another type of monster. They had already experienced what mild Okiku could do as a spirit; no one wanted to deal with Makoto's evil. The men edged away, much to Jiro's disgust. The lines around his mouth deepened, giving him an extremely severe expression. 

Ayumi fought her way up and whispered in the General's ear, clutching his sleeve to keep from being blown over. Old Yam nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching, but when he turned back to Makoto, his face was stony. "I don't believe you!" he shouted. "A cringing thief won't have the stomach to defy Heaven and remain earth-bound. Hah! You always were a boasting fool." 

"I'll show you!" Makoto twisted the green jade bracelet from his wrist and tossed it away, narrowly missing the huddled players on the steps. "I've bowed to you for the last time, Old Yam! When next we meet, I will rain misery upon your house. I will not rest until the Heike clan is destroyed, root and branch!" 

"I don't believe you," Jiro said icily, looking down his nose at the crouching man. "It isn't easy to escape Hell's clutches. These are empty threats! My morning dung is more terrifying than a cowardly killer of girl-children." This last was said with all the disdain he could muster. 

"I'll show you!" Makoto vowed, nearly frothing at the mouth. "I'll show you!" 

In the garden, Okiku began to count. "One... two... three..." With each word, the wind rose higher, the verandah shook more fiercely. Kimiko clutched Wisteria, trying to support the older woman, while Jiro spread his legs and rode out the storm like the seasoned sailor he was. Ayumi was almost pitched over the railing; she dug the point of her tanto into a wall and hung on grimly. 

"Very well. Do you see that stepping stone?" Jiro used his sword to point into the garden. "After your head is cut off, if you can bite that stone, I'll believe that you'll return to haunt me." 

"Oh, you'll see, Old Yam!" The steward laughed, a hair-raising, staccato giggle. 

"Four... five... six..." Okiku counted mournfully, tears dripping from the sleeves of her translucent robe. A number of roof tiles slid off and smashed to the ground. 

Jiro grabbed the back of Makoto's collar and hauled him, stumbling and laughing, into the garden. When she saw what her husband was doing, Wisteria shouted, "No! Please return! Remember the curse!" 

The steward knelt, facing the stone. "I will bite it!" he gabbled, nearly incoherent. His eyes shone with the light of pure insanity. "I will bite it! I'll show you, then you'll believe!" 

Old Fire Yam wasted no time. He was still tough, wiry muscles not entirely softened by drink. Back went the katana over his shoulder; he brought it around in a sweep of glinting steel. There was a sound like shorn silk, then two great jets of blood pumped from Makoto's neck. His body slumped over. His head thumped to the ground, rolled, and suddenly bounded up, grasping the chosen stone between its teeth. It hung on with a desperate grimace, then let go and dropped off, stilled by death. 

The retainers let out gasps and shouts of horror. 

"Seven... eight... nine..." Okiku counted. 

The entire house was in danger of collapse. Support beams crackled, fissures appearing as they groaned beneath the terrible strain. More roof tiles shattered. The stairs separated from the verandah, bunraku players sprawling in the debris. It was like being caught in a terrible earthquake. Wisteria gasped prayers and clung to Kimiko. 

Ayumi let go of her dagger and vaulted over the rail, springing into the garden. She snatched the green dragon bracelet and hurled it into the well. "Ju'u!" she shouted. "Ten!" 

The quaking stopped. The wind died down to a whispery moan. From her position above the well, Okiku stopped weeping. "Ten," she agreed. The blue-white light grew thinner but brighter. A sizzling beam shot out, aimed at the broken plate near Wisteria's knees. Kimiko held her breath. 

One by one, the pieces slithered together, each to their proper place. As they were joined, the golden luminescence grew brighter and brighter, until Kimiko had to squeeze her eyes almost shut against the glare. It finally faded to a soft glow, a warmth that seemed to caress the weariness from her bones and lighten her heart. "Ma!" she said, blinking with astonishment. 

Wisteria gathered the newly mended plate to her bosom. "Domo arigato gozaimasu," she said, bowing to the peasant girl's ghost. "Thank you, Okiku-san. I will place your funeral tablet in my family's altar, and offer incense to it daily." 

Jiro also bowed to Okiku - an unprecedented honor from daimyo to lowborn. 

The ghost suddenly smiled and laughed. It was a tinkling, joyous sound. Blue-white changed to yellow, deepened to ochre and gold. Around the old well, wild orchids bloomed in defiance of winter. Hikaru sat up and watched with a white face. "My child," he whispered, "now you are at peace. Join your mother, and know that we will all reunite as fate decrees." 

Okiku beamed happily. She began to spin, gathering motes of light into herself until she glowed, surrounded by dancing stars. The ghost faded slowly, still laughing, until there was nothing left but a faint shimmer and the fainter echo of her laughter. 

Then that, too, was gone, and the garden was silent once more. 
 
 

Chapter Nine - Expect the Unexpected

Sakashita, seventh station on the Chrysanthemum Road
The house of Heike Jiro, the General known as Old Fire Yam
9 p.m., the second Hour of the Dog 

Jiro stood staring at the spot a moment. He finally flicked blood from his sword, pulled soft paper from his kimono and wiped it clean. "Remove that trash," he ordered, jerking his head at Makoto's body. "Put it on a garbage heap to be burned." 

One of his retainers knelt, banging his head against the verandah floor. "What of the steward's curse, sire?" he asked. 

The General snorted. "Hah!" He raised his voice so that everyone could hear. "It is well known that a person's spirit can return only if the resentful mind is focused on that purpose alone. Well, I tricked Makoto into focusing his purpose upon biting the stone, not returning as a vengeful ghost. As he was able to accomplish his goal, I think that's the last we'll ever see of that bakahito." 

The retainers murmured, impressed by their lord's cleverness. Old Fire Yam winked discreetly at Ayumi, who nodded her head slightly in reply. She wouldn't tell him that this trick was part of the Invincible Sword Fairy story that the bunraku players had performed. 

Chiyo approached Ayumi, brushing crumbs of dirt from his black clothing. "They say there is wisdom in old tales," he said casually, picking up the steward doll. It was now limp and lifeless. 

"Hai," Ayumi replied. "They also say there is wisdom in silence." 

"Who would believe an old man's foolishness?" Chiyo tweaked the doll's costume. "I saw nothing, I heard nothing, I say nothing." He wandered away to retrieve the rest of his props. 

Ayumi caught Hikaru's sleeve as he passed. "Are you satisfied?" she asked. 

"Hai. My daughter is avenged, her spirit is at peace." The scarred man bowed deeply to her. "The one responsible has been punished. I will keep my end of the bargain. Seki is the next station; we will see you safely past." 

"Good. My apprentice and I have some business with Jiro-sama. We will meet you at the inn later." Ayumi returned his bow with a nod, and Hikaru walked away. 

After Manoko's body had been dragged away by his retainers, Jiro invited Kimiko and her samurai into his house. A grateful Wisteria disappeared to fetch hot sake and food. 

"Your cleverness has rid me of a traitor and a curse," Old Yam said to Ayumi. He turned to Kimiko and continued, "Regard the Heike clan as your ally against the Regent. I put myself under your command." 

"Do nothing yet," Kimiko replied, trying to appear quietly confident, although her nerves were singing. "I must gather all my forces first, Jiro-san. Are there any other daimyos you can persuade to join us?" 

"Perhaps. I will certainly try." The General looked up as Wisteria returned, followed by maids with trays. His wife laid out the meal and discreetly disappeared. Jiro settled himself more firmly on his cushion. "Toyotomi Hideyoshi may be sympathetic. He's of royal blood, but too distantly connected to claim the throne." 

"Yes, he hates Lord Old Fart," Ayumi remarked. "The Regent once humiliated him in a poetry contest. Hideyoshi-san is too young and impetuous, though." 

"His mother is not. Miwako rules the Toyotomi with an iron fist," Kimiko said, drawing on the knowledge she had gained during her stay at the Imperial Court. "Her son may think he makes the decisions, but Miwako is the true head. If you approach her, Jiro-san, as one daimyo to another, she may listen." 

"What of Shoda, Someya and Sotomura?" Ayumi asked, naming three greater clans, none of which had any reason to love the Regent. 

"Again, perhaps." Jiro drew his hands apart and shrugged. "Here is news that you may not know - Ono Narahira has returned to his fief and is openly gathering an army. It's no secret that he intends to strike against Saneyoshi." 

"Ono-san was my father's friend!" Kimiko exclaimed. Her pulse quickened. "Can you get a message to him?" 

"Hai. I'll send it by official courier as soon as the ink's dried. Do you need money? Clothing? Supplies? I have no horses but I can have some purchased for you." 

Ayumi said, "Money, yes. My purse is empty as a dried gourd." 

Jiro pulled a fistful of coins from a box near his side; this was the stolen cash his retainers had retrieved from Makoto's hiding place in the well. He poured it into Ayumi's hands. "If you require more, leave a message at any road station near a seaport. I will have my captains check daily." 

He paused, considering, and glanced at Kimiko keenly. "If your goal is Edo, perhaps you'd care to sail there instead of walking. It would be a faster journey." 

Kimiko knotted her fingers together to control their sudden trembling. She knew that despite the older man's agreement, if she did not appear worthy of being served, he would abandon her without a second thought. That was the way of things. No one serves an inferior master unless he is inferior himself. It would take every scrap of her courage and cunning to make proud rulers like Jiro and his peers see past her youth and sex, and allow her to command them. 

I've chosen a difficult road, she thought, but... when eating poison, lick the plate! All or nothing. If I cannot convince Old Fire Yam that I'm more than a foolish girl, my cause is already lost.

"You know we're being pursued. It would be best not to leave messages at stations, in case they are intercepted. No doubt ships are being searched as well. However, the port of Ejiri may suit our purposes," she said finally. "Imperial inspectors there are notoriously slack and easily bribed. I've heard it's a smuggler's haven." Court gossip again, but nobles were usually correct in their recounted scandals. 

"It is," Jiro replied. He leaned back slightly, satisfied with her answer. "Ejiri is the thirty-fifth station. If you manage to get there on your own, I'll have a ship waiting. The Water Pearl, mastered by Wasaburo." 

Ayumi let out the breath she'd been holding. Old Yam's question had been a test of her mistress' determination and wisdom. Not one of the daimyos had gotten to their positions by relying on someone else. Kimiko needed to prove herself, and she'd gotten off to a good start. Jiro would keep his word. He would also recruit others. Heike might be a small clan, but it was well respected. Our enterprise is truly begun. 

"How will we stay in contact, if it becomes necessary?" he asked, reaching for a rice ball. 

"Shinto priests," Kimiko answered promptly. "They will act as messengers." 

Jiro hid his surprise with a grunt. "Very well. When I have news, I will send it to you. There are always a few cloud-and-water priests wandering the Chrysanthemum Road." 

Kimiko kept her expression neutral, although she wanted to run around the room, clapping her hands and grinning like an idiot. "My thanks, Jiro-san," she said with great dignity. 

At that moment, the shoji door slid back with a loud rattle. "Please excuse me, sire. There is trouble at the gate," said one of Jiro's samurai breathlessly. He knelt on the floor outside the room, his topknot askew. "Guards bearing the Imperial seal." 

Ayumi wasted no time. She grabbed Kimiko's sleeve in one hand, using the other to unsheathe her katana. Both women rose with more haste than grace. Heike Jiro lumbered to his feet. "Go. I will delay them as long as necessary." 

Kimiko reached over and snatched the tanto out of Ayumi's obi. She fancied the wooden hilt was still warm from the samurai's body heat. A roar from close by made her head snap up. There was the distinct ring of steel on steel. Old Fire Yam spat out a curse and kicked the kneeling retainer out of his way. 

A few slashes of her sword, and Ayumi tore through the wood-and-paper wall on the other side of the room. She leaped through the hole, dragging Kimiko with her. Kimiko had barely enough time to register several servants dressed in plain blue, cowering on the floor next to an altar, before they cut their way through to the kitchen. 

This may not have been the best route, Kimiko thought, gripping her knife. There were two soldiers here, their uniforms bearing the Imperial dragon mark on shoulders and back. The men were menacing Lady Wisteria, but their weapons had not been drawn. 

Ayumi released her sleeve, moving forward in a rush. One of the soldiers had time to whip out his katana and meet her sword in time to deflect a blow to the face. "I order you to submit to His Majesty's authority!" he shouted. Instead of obeying, she cut at him again, forcing him to scuttle backwards, away from Wisteria. 

The other soldier, who had glanced at Kimiko and dismissed her (an apparently weedy boy) as an opponent, got the shock of his life when she screamed shrilly and ran at him, tanto held professionally low. Simultaneously, Wisteria snatched an iron kettle from its nest of glowing charcoal and flung it at him. The kettle smashed into his nose and mouth with an ugly crunch, while boiling water drenched his chest. He reeled away, spitting blood and teeth. 

Kimiko followed, thrusting the knife between his ribs, but failed to reach his heart. He pulled out his sword, elbow striking her hard in the throat. Suddenly, she could not breathe. Gagging, eyes watering, she fell against Wisteria, her tanto still lodged in his flesh. 

Ayumi was watching from the corner of her eye. She blocked an inexpert cut, turned about on her heel, and hacked at the second soldier. The chisel tip of her katana slid through his arm, severing muscle and tendon, grating on bone, and emerging from the other side. She used the momentum to whirl around just as her opponent was aiming a slice at her head. 

Jodan no kamae... her sword went up and back, tip pointed towards the rear, leaving her exposed. This was a moment of mu shin - no mind, no intention. One does not wield the blade; steel chooses its own moment to strike. Time slowed. Ayumi focused on the soldier in front of her. She could see every detail of the man's face clearly. A mole on his cheek, the tuft of stray eyebrow on the bridge of his nose; yellowing teeth, big as funeral tablets, filling his wide open mouth.

Without her volition, her katana swept out in a glittering arc, arrested in mid-air, and darted downward towards his legs. The sword went deep into the inside of his thigh, ripped through, continuing its motion until it bit into his second thigh. There was a hissing sound. Ayumi yanked the katana away. The soldier's expression was puzzled, as if he could not grasp what had happened. His torn trousers were getting darker, wetter... the hissing turned into a loud splash as blood flooded out of severed arteries. He collapsed, splattering hot crimson fluid everwhere.

Meanwhile, Kimiko was still having difficulty catching her breath. She was on the floor, with Wisteria shielding her head, as the second soldier kicked them both, screaming imprecations. The oaths stopped abruptly when Ayumi hit him in the side of the neck with her clenched fist. He went down, skidding on the spreading pool of blood, and landed on the tanto. The soldier stiffened, clawed at his chest, and died.

Kimiko gasped, holding her throat. Ayumi knelt and pushed her hands away, feeling the injury carefully. If the larynx was dislocated... that happened sometimes, she'd seen it before... but it had to be treated immediately, or the victim's brain might be damaged. After a moment, the samurai sagged a little, relieved. "Bruised," she said. "Do not panic, my lady. That makes it worse. Try to breathe normally. Did you bite your tongue?" That could be a problem if it swelled.

Kimiko shook her head. Her mouth moved, but she was unable to make a sound.

"Hurry!" Wisteria said anxiously. "You must go now!"

Ayumi wiped her sword on the dead man's kimono before sliding it back into its sheathe. Then she hauled Kimiko to her feet. "Send me word, if you can. Jiro-san knows."

"Merciful Amida! Just go!"

Half-dragging, half-carrying her mistress, Ayumi fled. 

Later that evening, Ayumi sat in the inn, quietly drinking sake. The bunraku players were outside, betting on cockfights, along with a group of Imperial soldiers. Inside, a table full of merchants had gotten to the drunken stage where inhibitions disappeared. 

One of them wrapped a towel around his head, fluttered a fan, and minced around singing, "When I die, bury me beneath a sake barrel; with any luck, the cask will leak!" Another loudly extolled the talents at a local pleasure house. 

Kimiko came into the dining area, spotted Ayumi, and went to sit next to her. The samurai shifted over to give her room. Kimiko had a poultice wrapped around her throat. She made a noise and tried to smile. 

"Don't speak," Ayumi said. "You must allow your voice a chance to heal, unless you want to sound like a frog for the rest of your life." She signaled the waitress, who hurried over. "Rice soaked in green tea." Kimiko made another sound. Ayumi added, "With sweet bean jelly." 

As the waitress left, Ayumi asked, "How can you eat that?" She shuddered in disgust. 

Kimiko shrugged, but her smile grew wider. 

There was a brazier beneath the table. Kimiko warmed her hands over it while she waited. When her meal arrived, she scooped up the sloppy mixture with a ceramic spoon. It hurt to swallow, but she no longer felt so light-headed. Breathing was easier, too. 

"They could not have known we were there," Ayumi said finally. "If the Regent's men had come to Old Yam's house to arrest us, we would not be sitting here in peace while a dozen of them watch cockfights just outside." 

Kimiko nodded agreement. She opened her eyes very wide and raised her eyebrows. 

"I don't know why," Ayumi said, correctly interpreting her lady's expression, "but it has something to do with Saneyoshi." 

The waitress had returned to retrieve Kimiko's bowl. She inhaled sharply at this mention of the Regent's name. "Ma! You haven't heard then, your honor?" 

"Heard what?" Ayumi snapped. 

The answer made her turn white... as pale and colorless as the snow that was gently drifting down from a starless sky.

Chapter Ten - Dog Eats Dog

Katsura-no-miyo, the Imperial Palace of the Fragrant Trees, in Heian-kyo
to the Chrysanthemum Road, between Seki and Kameyama (8th and 9th stations)
The Pearl Chamber, in the presence of the Regent
8 p.m., the first Hour of the Dog

Saneyoshi smoothed the sleeve of his simple green robe. "Welcome, my lady," he said, making a polite obeisance to the Dowager Empress. The thick white coating of court make-up on his face was perfectly applied, and the tonsure on his head was newly plucked. "I regret that our meeting has been so unfortunately delayed. Gomen nasai, but matters of state have kept me from enjoying your divine presence." 

Lady Hisame, mother of the child Emperor, acknowledged the Regent with a curt nod. She was dressed in elaborate, multi-layered junihitoe, in combinations of brown, gold and deep plum. A padded Chinese jacket kept her warm. Because of her high rank, she knelt on the dais facing him, instead of being forced to stay on the floor below.

When she spoke, her black pearl false teeth clicked together slightly, lending an odd background to her words. "Ah so desu ka? Is that so? You have not yet captured your niece," she stated bluntly, disregarding the formalities. She was angry that he had been putting her off with excuses, and did not scruple to reveal it. "Letting her escape was a serious blunder."

"The girl will be found," Saneyoshi-sama said, equally blunt. He dropped a pellet of incense into the nearby charcoal brazier. In a moment, the acrid scent of Fires-of-Fuji filled the room. He knew that she preferred sweeter, gentler fragrances. This was his way of showing subtle displeasure at her attitude.

Hisame was no fool. Instead of complaining, she inhaled deeply and showed every evidence of enjoyment. "Your taste in incense is impeccable, my lord. Alas, you do not show as much delicacy when it comes to traitorous members of your own family!"

"And is your family so auspicious?" the Regent countered, showing a trace of the rage that consumed him. He decided that naked antagonism was preferable to two-faced courtesies and hidden meanings. For once, all knives would be out in the open. "Iye! Do not think me ignorant of your schemes."

The Dowager Empress let her mask drop as well. "Baka!" she spat. "You have shown yourself so weak that you cannot control one girl child. And did you think that news of your dishonor would be greeted with acclaim? If you had to kill your brother, you did not go about it very cleverly. Masanori-san did not care for court, but he had friends among the daimyo. Ono Narahira is mustering his army as we speak. Or do you believe that he has returned to his fief in order to count the rice harvest?"

"That letter is a tissue of lies written by a deluded young woman. No man of reason believes me capable of such a vile thing. Furthermore, I will not sit here and be insulted by a harpy who rose to nobility on her back!"

"My son is the chosen of Heaven, divine ruler of the Floating World!" Hisame balled her hands into fists. "I will not sit still and watch his empire be destroyed by civil war!"

"There will be no war," Saneyoshi replied coldly. He sat up straight, his expression calm. "I have already taken steps to ensure that any treasonous actions will not go unpunished."

The Dowager was suddenly suspicious. "What have you done, and why have I not been consulted?"

"I am the designated protector of the Son of Heaven. It is not necessary to obtain your blessing on every decision." Saneyoshi made a gesture. One of his hired soldiers, a common bushi, came forward from the corner of the room. Lady Hisame was startled. She had thought they were alone in the Regent's private apartments.

The bushi crawl-walked to the dais, and kowtowed three times to his master. He ignored the Dowager's presence - an unpardonable breach of manners.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded. A trickle of fear turned her spine to ice.

"I know you have been in contact with Narahira-san," Saneyoshi explained flatly. "I know you have been urging other daimyos to revolt against me. I know you plan to install a puppet Regent as soon as I am dead, and intend to take the reins of government yourself. The situation with my niece is just an excuse for rebellion."

Hisame bared her black pearl teeth in a hateful grimace. "The Fujiwara have oppressed the Empire for long enough! Once, you were law-givers who brought order to chaos, and helped unite the warring clans to build an empire. Your family was happy to serve the Mikado, and the only reward expected was the gratitude of a nation. How your honorable ancestors must weep to see their aims thus perverted!"

"Times change, and the wise man changes with them." His gaze was hard as stone. "Any move against the lawfully established government is considered treason."

"You do not dare!" The Dowager shivered in mingled fury and fright. "I am the mother of the Emperor!"

"High or low, the law must apply to all." Saneyoshi allowed a small smile to curve his lips. "For your own selfish reasons, you have plotted against me. This is nothing new, of course. Ordinarily, I would forgive you, because you are such a worthy opponent. I have greatly enjoyed the games we've played."

Hisame drew herself up proudly. She knew what was coming, and would not disgrace herself by begging for mercy. She thrust her hands into her sleeves to conceal their trembling.

Saneyoshi continued, "The empire is in crisis. I cannot permit anyone to openly defy me, not even you."

"Your problems will not be solved by my death," Hisame said. "Killing me will only encourage the daimyos to reject you. "

"Have you spoken to your co-conspirators recently? No? I thought not." Saneyoshi was almost purring in satisfaction. "The wives and offspring of all members of the daimyo class will be taken hostage by my orders. My edict has been publicly posted. Even now the women and children are being moved to Edo Castle, where they will be kept safe under the eyes of my personal retainers. Those who remain loyal to me have nothing to fear. But if a daimyo rebels, I will see to it that his family dies horribly."

"Disgusting! You will be vilified in the streets!"

"Ah, but at least I will keep the country from flying apart. You'll be given a fine funeral, and I will personally guide Emperor Kaika in his prayers for your soul." Saneyoshi nodded to the waiting bushi.

Hisame held herself quite still as the man came up behind her. He seized her hair, and let out an oath when the luxurious wig came off in his hands. Beneath it, her once black locks were thin and heavily peppered with gray. This final humiliation did not break the Dowager Empress. Instead, she raised her chin and stared defiantly at the Regent. "Fujiwara Saneyoshi, this deed will not go unpunished. I swear it, and call upon the gods to witness my oath!"

He made a face. "Do your duty, man!" the Regent barked.

The bushi drew a cord out of his kimono. Wrapping it several times around Hisame's throat, he put a knee in her back and pulled with all his strength. It was impious to spill a single drop of Imperial blood, so he was careful not to cut her neck. Her eyes bulged, her tongue protruded, but her fingers remained wrapped tightly around her wrists. Hisame did not try to fight or resist. In a few moments, the stench of releasing bowels and bladder overcame the strong incense fumes. Saneyoshi wrinkled his nose. The soldier kept up the pressure until he was certain that his victim was dead. 

"Take her body into the garden outside her quarters," the Kanpuko commanded. "Clean her, dress her in white robes, tie her legs together and cut her throat. Leave the dagger in her hand, to be sure it resembles a proper suicide."

The bushi bowed. "And afterward, my lord? Do I return here for my payment?"

Saneyoshi had promised the man five thousand gold koban in return for his services. The bushi did not know that a team of the Regent's samurai were waiting for him in the garden. There was no need to stage a suicide. They would kill him, and the story would be put about that Lady Hisame had been attacked and strangled by an unknown, insane assailant.

Such a terrible tragedy! the Regent thought, mentally rehearsing his reaction. It did not matter if anyone actually believed the story he'd concocted. As long as appearances were maintained, few would question where they might be overheard. 

"Hai," Saneyoshi replied aloud. "You do that. I will wait for your arrival."

When the Dowager's body was bundled up and carried away, he smiled widely, showing fashionably blackened teeth. The daimyo were under his thumb, Imperial forces were wiping out the ninja threat, and it would only be a short time before his niece was captured or killed. The scheming Dowager Empress was gone, leaving a child Emperor in his total control. At this moment, he was not just the Regent - he was the sole source of power in the Floating World.

Someone scratched the paper panes of the shoji-door, then it slid open a mere half-inch. "My lord," a servant said respectfully, "the daimyo are waiting for you in the Room of Lightning Dragons."

Saneyoshi grunted. It was time to inform the warlords that their throats were bared to his blade. 

He had a very busy evening ahead, but the Regent was well pleased at the way it had begun.

Ayumi plodded along, pausing only to shift the weight of the travel basket on her back. It was made heavier by the food she had purchased in Seki, just before parting company with Hikaru and his men.

Passing the checkpoint at dawn with the bunraku troop had been simple. The guards were barely glancing at travel permits. No one paid particular attention to them. Everyone was buzzing with the news that high-ranking prisoners were being taken to Edo. She had overheard that the old daimyo of Kameyama Castle had committed seppuku rather than surrender his family to the Regent's care. Ayumi suspected there would be many more protest suicides.

At least Old Yam and Aunt Wisteria escaped, she thought. The hastily written letter he'd sent to the inn last night was in her sleeve. Jiro-san had fled to the north, hoping to make contact with potential allies. And Old Lady Spider is dead. Ma! I'd have thought that Hell wouldn't have her. Emma-O is probably regretting her presence in his kingdom even now. I'll wager that Hisame's soul will be reborn very quickly.

A group of white-clad pilgrims passed them, making haste despite the steepness of the road. It led up to the Suzuka Mountain pass - a very difficult part of the journey - and there was a river to cross at the bottom. Ayumi hoped the ferries were still running. Getting across in winter would be nightmarish enough, and swimming was impossible. Although sweet Suzuku River water made excellent sake (not for nothing was it known as one of the 'Three Beautifuls'), it was a raging torrent even on the mildest spring days.

Kimiko tugged her sleeve. Ayumi turned her head and waited. At the lady's impatient signal, she stopped. After a second's hesitation, she pulled them both to one side of the road - it was common courtesy not to block the way for others.

An Imperial messenger thundered by on a horse, his brilliant costume of crimson and purple the only warning of his status. No one opposed his passage, on pain of death. The women turned their backs. Their straw cloaks were whipped by the wind of his passage. People scrambled to get out of the way before they were run down.

When the messenger had gone, Kimiko croaked, "Saneyoshi has gone too far."

Ayumi sighed. "Gomen nasai, my lady, but I'm just a common warrior. Your subtleties are beyond my simple brain's grasp. Could you please explain?" She stamped her feet against the cold and looked longingly up the path. In Kameyama, there would be an inn. Charcoal braziers, quilts, a bed, a hot tub. The prospect of a warm and naked Kimiko curled against her skin. She sighed again. More chamberpots. Why does life have to be so complicated?

"Do you not understand what this edict means?" Kimiko forced the words out through her bruised throat.

"The Regent has put a naked blade against the neck of every daimyo in the land." Ayumi scratched the side of her crooked nose, then continued bluntly, "Not only do they have to kiss his ass, they have to eat his shit, too. And loudly proclaim that it tastes of gold."

"He thinks he's won. He thinks they won't resist."

"Marriages are made for convenience and alliances, not for love, but no man wishes to risk the wrath of his in-laws by condeming his wife to torture. And heirs are not to be tossed on a dung heap, either. I don't see how the daimyos can resist."

Kimiko scrubbed her hands. Like Ayumi, she wore fingerless gloves made of ribbed cotton. "Some will spit in Saneyoshi's face. Others will bide their time. It doesn't matter. My uncle has signed his own death warrant." She blinked a snowflake out of her eye. "He has spared no one, not even his own supporters. And he's murdered the Dowager Empress - another mistake. Many nobles and warlords respected him only because he's the protector of the Mikado. Now the Emperor himself may not be safe."

"Perhaps you should speak plainly and to the point, my lady." Ayumi tried not to sound too impatient.

"Saneyoshi has alienated everyone, including his allies," Kimiko said. Her voice was improving slightly. "Our beloved Emperor is in the hands of a man who has murdered twice in underhanded fashion." She snorted. "No one will take the story of the 'madman in the garden' seriously. Everyone knows what really happened to Hisame. So... the moment Saneyoshi's threat is removed, he has no power over the daimyos. They will not respect him anymore. What will they do?"

Ayumi thought about this for a few minutes. "Yes, I see your point. It isn't wise to annoy powerful men with private armies. However... I think it is very possible that the daimyos will piss their strength away fighting amongst themselves. It's a good time to betray old enemies, pay back old grudges. All the Regent need do is pick his time and place, go in with Imperial troops, and mop up the survivors."

"I already know who will be Shogun." Kimiko gave the other woman an innocent smile.

"Shogun?" Ayumi's eyes bulged. "There hasn't been a supreme general in four hundred years!"

"I think you'll make a magnificent one," Kimiko said, patting the samurai's back. While Ayumi stared at her in horror, she continued, "All we have to do is go to Edo, break into the castle, and rescue the hostages. Surely this will convince the daimyos that you have Heaven's favor! They'll give you the title by popular acclaim, you'll lead their combined armies against Saneyoshi, and crush him like an insect." She beamed, very happy with her plan.

Ayumi didn't know where to start objecting first. "Edo Castle is the most heavily fortified fortress in Wa," she said finally. 

"We'll find a way around that," Kimiko replied.

"There will be hundreds of guards."

"I'm confident in our ability to handle them."

"I'm not a divine hero! Only a divine hero can be Shogun." Ayumi folded her arms across her chest.

"Heroism and divinity are a matter of interpretation. One need not claim ancestry with the gods." Kimiko mirrored her samurai's stubborn stance. "You only have to perform some deed impressive enough to convince the daimyos that you're supremely favored by Heaven. Rescuing hostages from Edo Castle sounds very impressive to me. Surely no ordinary mortal could do it."

"I am an ordinary mortal! I'm a common warrior, an efficient killer - nothing more."

"So was the first Shogun, Hosokaya. He wasn't of noble birth, yet he single-handedly defeated a hundred Karan soldiers at the Battle of Reed Moor. It was Hosokaya's bravery that turned the tide at Cloud Bridge, when most of the generals had been killed. He rallied the soldiers, turned defeat into victory when all had nearly been lost."

"Hosokaya didn't have to storm a fortified fortress with an army of one," Ayumi retorted. She knew history just as well as her mistress. "Nor did Fukuguchi, Takata, or Ushima," she said, naming the other three supreme generals.

"Are you afraid?" Kimiko asked coyly.

"Of course not! If you order it, my lady, I will attack Edo Castle with my bare hands." Ayumi set her jaw.

"I don't think that will be necessary. Remember, my clan's hereditary fief contains Edo. The castle was built by my great-great-great grandfather."

"With the help of oni devils he defeated in combat. The walls are supernaturally strong. The hallways contain traps. The moat is said to contain monsters that devour the uninvited."

"There is a bridge."

"There are also spikes where traitor's heads are displayed."

Kimiko set her jaw, too. "Ichijo Ayumi, I order you to rescue the hostages from Edo Castle!"

"Hai, my lady." Ayumi bowed low in assent, a hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

"What? No further argument?" Kimiko peered at her suspiciously.

"My mistress has commanded, therefore it will be done," Ayumi said with a perfectly neutral expression.

Kimiko was not sure if the samurai was secretly laughing at her or not. "So we will go to Edo as planned. To the Castle. And rescue the hostages."

"That was your desire." Ayumi stamped her feet again, knocking snow off her sandals. "Shall we continue on our way? Regrettably, we will have to walk to Edo, as I doubt Edo will come to us."

"Now you're mocking me." When Ayumi did not reply, Kimiko continued, "There are stories, legends passed down through the Fujiwara family. There is supposed to be a secret exit in the castle, from the lord's chamber to a place beyond the city walls. It was used in time of siege, in case the daimyo had to be smuggled out to safety."

"You know where this is?"

"Not exactly," Kimiko admitted reluctantly. She rallied. "But I'm sure we can find it!"

Ayumi had serious doubts about her mistress' plan. It sounded like something out of a romance, one of the cheaply printed books that idle noblewomen amused themselves with. However, in the short time she had known Kimiko - and grown to love her - they had been involved in a number of situations that seemed impossible to survive. Against the odds, they had.

Vengeful ghosts, demons, monsters, a jealous spirit, deadly machinations of the Imperial court and the Regent... Kimiko-san has the gods' own luck, she decided. Evil fortune sticks to her like dog shit on a geta, but good fortune washes bad away again.

"What are you thinking, 'Yumi-san?" Kimiko asked.

"If we live, we live. If we die, we die. Shigata ga nai."

Kimiko nodded. "Shigata ga nai." She glanced towards the sky. "More snow coming."

"Then we had better continue." Ayumi settled the travel basket on her shoulders, preparing to step back onto the road.

The younger woman stopped her with a hand on her sleeve. "I still love you."

Ayumi looked deep into Kimiko's eyes. "Success, defeat, life, death... these things do not matter. Our love exists now. Live in the moment, 'Miko-san. That is all we can do." She brushed her thumb across Kimiko's lips, then turned and walked away.

Kimiko blinked back another snowflake - or was it a tear? - and hastened to join her samurai.

Epilogue - Criminal Duty

The Chrysanthemum Road, Miya (14th station) 

"Forgive me for disturbing you, sire." The man kowtowed, knocking his forehead against the floor. "I have a message from Lady Cat."

Oishi, oyabun of oyabun, supreme leader of the criminal bakuto throughout Wa, said nothing. Sitting in the humid warmth of the bathhouse, he was nude, his exposed skin made colorful by the wealth of tattoos that covered him from neck to knees. Scarred hands rested on thighs illustrated with scrolling waves and demon faces.

The messenger kept his face pressed to the damp wooden planks. "Lady Cat sends word that the Dowager Empress is dead. Saneyoshi-sama has issued an edict, forcing all daimyos to surrender their families as hostages. They are being taken to Edo Castle." He waited, nearly trembling. The oyabun was not a man to be taken lightly. His ascension to the top leadership was the stuff of nightmares, even among the ultra-violent bakuto.

"And the Fujiwara girl?" Oishi's voice was deep, resonant.

"There has been no new information since her disappearance from Hanamachi. However..." he paused, swallowing.

Oishi made an impatient gesture. The messenger continued, "The minor daimyo, Heike Jiro, has fled to the north. It is said that several Imperial guards were killed by a samurai and his apprentice, but neither were in Jiro-san's employ."

"A ronin, perhaps, and his young lover."

"Iye, sire. The samurai was recognized by one of our people, a cook in the Heike household. It was Ichijo Ayumi."

The effect of these words on Oishi was electric. He leaned forward, staring intently. "Is this certain?"

"The cook is a loyal member of the Three Peony faction. She has worked for the Heike for years, but before that, she was a peasant on land owned by the Ichijos. She is familiar with the family. Gomen nasai, sire, but it is well known that Heike and Ichijo are related. Jiro-san is married to Ayumi-san's aunt."

Oishi nodded, drawing back. He understood the connection, and its possible significance. Ever since Fujiwara no Kimiko had lodged her accusing letter at Ise Shrine, the Floating World was in an upheaval. Rebellion was in the air. The girl and her retainer were being sought as traitors. Why shouldn't a samurai seek aid from her relatives? "And the apprentice?"

"Unknown, sire."

"Yet where a female samurai goes, is her mistress not close behind?" Oishi closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. The bathhouse smelled of white sandalwood. That had been Lord Masanori's favorite scent. He could see still Masanori in his mind's eye, mouth blackened and burned by ninja poison, his tall eboshi hat askew. He had smoothed the lord's tangled robes to order, giving Masanori back the dignity that death had taken away. I failed him. Now I dwell in Hell.

Oishi's eyes snapped open. "Send for Moonhawk and her sisters."

The messenger crawled away.

Time passed. The sun slowly sank behind the horizon. A servant entered to light oil lamps. Another brought sake and food. Oishi sat silently, patiently, until a shadow fell across his face.

"You sent for me, sire?" The female voice came from a corner of the room. Oishi had neither seen nor heard anyone enter. Ninja were famous for their ability to go where others could not.

"Moonhawk, you are to locate Ichijo Ayumi. She may be traveling disguised as a man. She will have a boy with her. The full resources of your Shadow-Wheel clan are needed. Use whatever means necessary to find them," Oishi said without turning his head.

"And then? A removal, perhaps?" This was a different woman's voice - highly sensual, the tones ripe and thrilling.

"Detain them." Oishi felt no inclination to glance over his shoulder. He had seen Moonhawk and her two sisters when they were not veiled by shadow. "Alert me at once when they've been captured. I will question them personally, so be sure they live long enough to answer." 

A third voice, chirping childishly: "The payment?"

Oishi grunted. "Our usual agreement."

The barest waft of breeze against his cheek indicated that the Ninjas were gone.

He whispered to himself, "A rock hinders and splits the stream
But the flow always joins again;
You and I will meet once more
Just like the waters of the stream."

Oishi got up, addressing a shrine in the corner. "Forgive me, master," he said. A funeral tablet and a bronze urn had incense burning before them. "Your daughter was ignorant of your true ending. That was to keep her safe. Now it seems little Kimiko-san is getting in the way of our revenge."

He bowed. "I will kill her gently, painlessly, with my own hands. It is my duty. I will not fail you again."

Incense smoke drifted up, mingling with steam. 

Here ends the first Tale of Giri. The story will continue in the next Tale of Giri: Kayouki - Madness
 

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