Poison River Page 4

  He grimaced. “You don’t have to remind me.”

  “Are you certain?” She poked him in the chest. “I found you in the gutter, Sanemon. And I can put you right back there if you outlive your usefulness to me.”

  He glared at her. “You’re not that good an actress, you know,” he said after a moment. “And you don’t have to threaten me, anyway. I know what I owe you.”

  Okuni stepped back. “Good. I’ll be out tonight. Don’t wait up for me.”

  “I will.”

  “I know,” she said. She turned away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get my costume back from Nao. I don’t want to miss the climax.” She paused. “Don’t worry, Sanemon. I have it under control.”

  “That’s what you said last time,” he called out after her.

  •••

  Nekoma Okuni slid the door to her dressing room shut. Only then did she allow herself to relax. A soft sigh escaped her as she sank down onto a cushion and stripped off the wrappings around her legs. She began to knead her calves, trying to ease the persistent ache that came with roof-running. Sore muscles were common in her profession.

  Both professions, in fact.

  She had only herself to blame, really. She had done her best to excel in both paths. Even when that meant going against the wishes of her clan and striking out on her own.

  She dismissed the thought, and the sudden pang of regret that accompanied it. Once, her troupe had been her family. Cousins, siblings… parents.

  Now, her fellow actors were all castoffs and strays of the acting community – of the twelve, half were drunks, one or two were mad and the others were spiteful misanthropes. Few ever stayed with the Three Flower Troupe long, seeking greener pastures elsewhere. The money she earned as a shinobi was the only thing keeping them afloat most months.

  Sometimes she wondered why she bothered. Why she’d chosen so difficult a path. But no answer was forthcoming. Maybe she just enjoyed the stage too much to give it up. Maybe she was simply too stubborn, as her mother had often complained.

  If she went back to her family now, would they forgive her? Even as the question occurred to her, she pushed it aside. She would not abase herself, whatever the cost. For better or worse, this was the path she had chosen, and she would not veer from it now.

  She stretched. Something in her back realigned itself and she groaned softly. Too much time spent crouching on rooftops and in doorways, eavesdropping on people trying to cheat her.

  She crossed her legs, placed her palms flat on the floor, and pushed herself up. She held herself suspended for several moments, and then slowly lowered herself back to the cushion. Her muscles and joints complained but she ignored them. Refusing to stretch after prolonged exertion led to aches and pains, as well as stiffness.

  As she stretched, she considered the problem before her. She’d followed Saiga’s partner to the teahouse, hoping to confirm what she suspected. Saiga was clever, and too well-protected to approach unawares. The teahouse was more than it seemed – nightingale floors and reinforced partitions were the least of its surprises. The roof had been rigged as well, with slippery slates and loose thatch.

  Luckily, she’d been prepared for such tricks. Once she’d identified them, avoiding them had been child’s play for someone as well-trained as herself. She had spent much of her childhood learning how to spot unpleasant surprises – and how to deal with those she couldn’t avoid. She’d managed to hear most of what was said in Saiga’s office – enough, at least, to know that Saiga’s partner intended to do as she had requested.

  The thought brought some satisfaction. Saiga had tried to haggle – an insult. The best punishment was to force him to pay what was owed. That she’d had to threaten his partner was an unfortunate complication, but a necessary one.

  Loosing a light breath, she rolled forward and stood on her head, stretching her toes towards the ceiling. Something cracked in the small of her back and she grunted in relief. An old injury, one of many. Her skin was a map of scars.

  For a shinobi, every scar was a lesson learned. That was what she had been taught as a child. Whatever didn’t kill you made you stronger. Smarter. At least in theory. A shinobi had to be smart – pragmatic. To know when a thing could not be accomplished was as important as succeeding in your task.

  Knowing when to admit defeat was considered a virtue by her clan, but it was not one Okuni indulged in with any regularity. There was always more than one way to accomplish a goal. One just had to be willing to seize the opportunities when they presented themselves.

  The door slipped open, and a blue-clad figure stepped in. Okuni bent until her toes touched the floor and righted herself. “Get out of my dressing room, Nao.”

  Nao pulled off the wig he was wearing. “Oh. You’re back. How wonderful. I just came in to check my makeup.”

  Okuni smiled mockingly. “You’re improving. I almost felt the sincerity that time. My wig, please.” Nao tossed the wig at her, and she snatched it out of the air. “I’ll need you to fill in for me this evening, as well. After the intermission.”

  “Oh?” Nao frowned in puzzlement. “Something wrong?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “This is a small room and you reek of tension.”

  “Is that your way of telling me I need a bath?” Okuni gave herself a discrete sniff. She smelled of sweat and the city.

  “Or better perfume.” Nao waved his fan in front of his face. “What’s got you all coiled up this time?”

  She looked at him. “None of your concern. Take off my kimono please.”

  He sighed and slipped out of the kimono. “We should really trade roles. Blue doesn’t suit you at all.”

  “I quite like blue,” Okuni said. “Speaking of which, why was there a Crane samurai sneaking around backstage?”

  “Sneaking? More like stomping.” Nao finished undressing and handed Okuni the kimono. “And I have no idea. One of the crew mentioned a Crane nobleman in the audience. Maybe she belonged to him. Maybe she was passing on his regards.”

  “Maybe she was complaining about your performance.” Okuni settled herself on a cushion in front of her mirror. It was one of her most prized possessions, purchased at no little expense from an Ide trader. Nao coveted it, and borrowed it at every opportunity. Nao coveted a great many things of hers, including her position. If he were anyone else she might have encouraged him to find a new troupe. But good actors were hard to come by.

  “Cruel girl,” Nao said.

  “Cats have claws,” she reminded him.

  “I am well aware. And you ought to think before you unsheathe yours.” He raised his fan as if to swat her on the head, but thought better of it and retreated. “Remember Tsuma? You drew your pretty knives and nearly lost your head.”

  Okuni frowned. “I remember.” She began to clean her face with a damp rag, resting atop a stone bowl nearby. Normally, the rag was used to wipe away greasepaint, but it worked on dirt as well.

  “Are you certain?” Nao gestured with his fan. “Because I am starting to see similarities in that incident and our current situation.”

  “You are mistaken,” Okuni said. Despite her words, when she’d spied the bushi talking to Sanemon, she’d felt a momentary flicker of panic. The Crane weren’t the sort to forgive and forget but, as far as she knew, she hadn’t angered the Daidoji.

  “Mmm.” Nao crossed his arms over his bare chest and studied her. “It’s not like you to miss a performance. Even for your hobby.”

  “My hobby, as you call it, is what pays our bills.” She turned to look at him. “And that is what I was doing – making sure we could pay our bills.”

  “For which we are eternally grateful, I assure you. Down to the meanest stagehand. But you cannot spend money if you are dead.”

  “If you are scared, Nao, you should feel free to find employment elsew
here.”

  Nao met her glare coolly. “Just make sure we have plenty of warning when it all goes wrong this time. I was forced to abandon a perfectly delightful wardrobe in Tsuma. I’d hate to lose anything else.”

  “Speaking of which, perhaps you should go get dressed. We’re on stage in a bit.” Okuni turned to the mirror and pulled on her wig. She watched Nao’s reflection depart and then took a deep breath.

  It was time to take off one mask, and put on another.

  Chapter Five

  The House of the Frog

  Rokugan was a land of wonders. Generations of scholars had attested to this fact. As a consequence, Shin thought that his countrymen were prone to make much of little. A mountain was a mountain, and a river was a river.

  But even Shin, jaded as he was, had to admit that Saibanshoki was not just a willow tree. Or, rather, it was the epitome of a willow tree. It was a vast presence that dominated the intersection of the two rivers, and the shade of its branches reached the edges of either shore. A quintet of imperial docks nestled among the great tree’s roots, emerging from the base like the spokes of some immense wheel. The tree’s trunk was more than twenty yards across, and decorated with strange carvings.

  If one listened to those who knew about such things, the carvings were centuries old and had greeted the first fishermen to take up residence along the shore. Shin longed to study them, if for no other reason than to satisfy his own curiosity, but doubted the governor would look kindly on such a delay. So he kept his eyes and hands on himself as he climbed out of the flatboat and onto the dock.

  Kasami followed, her keen gaze fixed on the faces of their escort. The Kaeru soldiers were technically ronin – masterless mercenaries, loyal only to the coin. But their years of service to the imperial governor had earned them a family name of sorts, as well as some small amount of influence in the affairs of the city.

  “Stop glaring at them,” Shin murmured from behind his fan. “They might take it amiss and react accordingly.”

  “Let them,” she said.

  As if he’d heard, one of their escorts glanced at them, eyes narrowed. Kasami met his gaze challengingly. Shin pretended not to notice, confident she knew better than to start something here. Instead, he scrutinized the manor house that hung over the river. It was a beautiful structure, crafted so as to blend in with the boughs of the tree. In the light of late afternoon the pale wood was painted in shades of pink and orange.

  At the base of the structure was a small, intimate courtroom, and the offices of the governor’s agents were just above. On a series of small balconies, men and women used signal flags to communicate with parties on the other side of the river. Shin watched them as he and Kasami were escorted up the steps that ascended the tree’s massive trunk, idly trying to translate the messages flying back and forth.

  They stopped on a broad landing midway up the tree. One of the Kaeru held up a hand. “Wait here, my lord,” he said, respectfully but firmly. Shin nodded agreeably and turned to face the river.

  “What do you think the governor wants?” Kasami asked, watching the remaining ronin. They, in turn, studiously ignored her.

  “Be patient. We shall soon find out,” Shin said. Below them, the river was blanketed in a wide variety of craft; everything, from small skiffs to large grain ships, crowded the wharfs on either side of the two rivers. Some carried passengers, most simply cargo. There were fishing boats as well, often all but hidden by the larger vessels. The two rivers were densely populated at this time of year, between the cold grasp of winter and the unbearable heat of summer. Every major clan, and many of the minor ones, sailed these waters.

  Officially, the City of the Rich Frog was a tripartite assemblage. Three clans claimed mastery of it, and had divided it between themselves. The western bank of the Three Sides River belonged to the Unicorn. The Lion claimed the eastern bank, as well as everything south of the Drowned Merchant River.

  In contrast, the Dragon appeared to have no interest in trade at all. Instead, they’d ceded their claim to a minor clan – the Dragonfly – and contented themselves with the island-shrines that rose at the junction of the two rivers. The Unicorn and the Lion were more than happy to leave them to it. So was Shin, for that matter. The Crane had no claim on the city, and no interest in forcing the issue.

  He fanned himself, listening to the raucous sounds of the afternoon traffic – jeers and catcalls, orders, curses, shouts and songs. Hundreds of voices, all competing against themselves and the steady roar of the flowing waters. He spied the Crane vessels among all the confusion easily enough. Most of them were smaller vessels, bearing the lightest of cargos – paper.

  While many cities had their own paper makers, the quality of Crane paper was incomparable. It went for high prices wherever there was a substantial population of bureaucrats or priests. The City of the Rich Frog had plenty of both. Technically, that was his whole reason for being here – to oversee the trade in paper. But most of that was handled by other, more experienced individuals.

  In truth, Shin was nothing more than a figurehead. A pretty face to see and be seen, to reassure the other clans that the Crane were present and accounted for. It was supposed to be a punishment. An unimportant post for a wayward fledgling, meant to teach him a lesson. So far, all he had learned was the locations of the better sort of gambling dens.

  Kasami nudged him, and he turned. The ronin had returned, accompanied by a familiar face – Kaeru Azuma, one of Governor Tetsua’s closest advisors. The latter nodded politely to Shin and said, “I will escort them to the governor. The rest of you are dismissed.”

  The ronin trooped away, leaving Shin, Kasami and Azuma alone. Azuma joined Shin at the edge of the landing. “The governor will see you in a moment, my lord. He thanks you for coming so quickly.”

  “I wasn’t aware I was allowed to do otherwise.” He glanced at Azuma. “I’m sorry you’re missing the performance.”

  Azuma frowned in apparent confusion. “The play, my lord,” Shin clarified. “The Foxfire Theater. I noticed you there earlier.”

  “Ah. Yes.” Azuma looked nonplussed and turned away. Shin realized that he was embarrassed, and decided to change the subject.

  “Tell me – why does our illustrious governor wish to see me?”

  “A matter of importance,” Azuma said, not looking at him. “That is all I know.”

  Shin doubted that, but did not argue. He took stock of the man beside him. Azuma was tall and whip-thin, with hard features and hair that was going silver. He stood like a swordsman in his imperial livery, balanced on the balls of his feet even with no enemy in sight. Ready to move at a moment’s notice.

  It was said that Azuma had been adopted into the Kaeru at a young age, after proving himself against a certain band of pirates infamous at the time. Looking at him, Shin could imagine him leading a charge across a blood-soaked deck, sword in hand.

  “Well, I am honored either way.”

  “Good. That is as it should be.” Azuma looked at him. Shin knew the man was taking his measure. He wondered if he would be found wanting. He hoped so. It was always best to be underestimated by a man like Azuma. Otherwise he might well be dangerous. Abruptly, as if he’d come to a decision, Azuma turned towards the door. “You may go in now. Your companion must stay outside.”

  For a wonder, Kasami didn’t protest. Perhaps she realized that her presence was tolerated only as a courtesy. Azuma slid the door back and Shin entered.

  The receiving room was small and sparsely decorated. The only notable item of furniture was a small, low table set in the center of the room. Atop the table was an intricately carved Go board, complete with two sets of stones – one group white, the other black – in their kitani bowls. A man in dark robes knelt before it, studying the bare board intently, as if preparing a strategy for a game to come. He was innocuous in appearance and bearing, and might have been a scribe o
r priest – but he was anything but.

  “You are Daidoji Shin,” he said, without looking up.

  “And you are Governor Miya Tetsua,” Shin said, bowing respectfully. “I am honored to meet you, my lord.”

  “I should hope so,” Tetsua said, smiling slightly. He gestured to the mat on the other side of the Go table. “Please – sit.”

  Shin sat. There were no servants in evidence. Tetsua obviously wished for their meeting to have no witnesses. He gave the board a cursory glance. “I wasn’t sure whether to bring a gift or not. Etiquette is vague on the matter – does this count as a home?”

  Tetsua dismissed the question with a gesture. “It is of no matter. Do you play?” It was a simple question, on the surface. Even so, Shin paused before replying.

  “A bit, my lord.”

  Tetsua gestured to the stones. “White or black?”

  “Are we playing a game then?”

  “I find it helps facilitate honest conversation.”

  Shin made to answer that, then stopped himself. “White, please.”

  “Black goes first.”

  “White,” Shin repeated, tapping the bowl. Tetsua nodded and took the bowl containing the black stones for himself.

  “A defensive player, then.”

  “Cautious,” Shin corrected mildly, as he arranged his pieces. He was careful to keep connections between them, preventing an early defeat. Tetsua watched him carefully, even as he saw to his own pieces with the alacrity of an experienced player.

  “I have not seen you since you first arrived,” he said. “That was almost four months ago. The height of winter, as I recall. There was ice on the river.”

  “I am afraid that I have been most busy,” Shin said, apologetically. Tetsua nodded.

  “So I am given to understand. Since your first night, you have availed yourself of the city’s entertainments. Occasionally not without consequence.”

  Shin hesitated. “Ah,” he said, finally.

  Tetsua looked at him steadily. “Yes. There is a saying I am fond of… do not confuse the slack of the rope for true freedom.”