Across the Nightingale Floor Page 6

  The man merely groaned again, his breath coming in loud, rasping snores.

  “Get a light,” Lord Shigeru said to me. I thought the household would be awake by now, but the skirmish had happened so quickly and silently that they all slept on. Dripping water and leaves, I ran to the maids’ room.

  “Chiyo!” I called. “Bring lights, wake the men!”

  “Who’s that?” she replied sleepily, not knowing my voice.

  “It’s me, Takeo! Wake up! Someone tried to kill Lord Shigeru!”

  I took a light that still burned in one of the candle stands and carried it back to the garden.

  The man had slipped further into unconsciousness. Lord Shigeru stood staring down at him. I held the light over him. The intruder was dressed in black, with no crest or marking on his clothes. He was of medium height and build, his hair cut short. There was nothing to distinguish him.

  Behind us we heard the clamor of the household coming awake, screams as two guards were discovered garroted, three dogs poisoned.

  Ichiro came out, pale and shaking. “Who would dare do this?” he said. “In your own house, in the heart of Hagi? It’s an insult to the whole clan!”

  “Unless the clan ordered it,” Lord Shigeru replied quietly.

  “It’s more likely to be Iida,” Ichiro said. He saw the knife in my hand and took it from me. He slashed the black cloth from neck to waist, exposing the man’s back. There was a hideous scar from an old sword wound across the shoulder blade, and the backbone was tattooed in a delicate pattern. It flickered like a snake in the lamplight.

  “He’s a hired assassin,” Lord Shigeru said, “from the Tribe. He could have been paid by anyone.”

  “Then it must be Iida! He must know you have the boy! Now will you get rid of him?”

  “If it hadn’t been for the boy, the assassin would have succeeded,” the lord replied. “It was he who woke me in time. . . . He spoke to me,” he cried as realization dawned. “He spoke in my ear and woke me up!”

  Ichiro was not particularly impressed by this. “Has it occurred to you that he might have been the target, not you?”

  “Lord Otori,” I said, my voice thick and husky from weeks of disuse. “I’ve brought nothing but danger to you. Let me go, send me away.” But even as I spoke, I knew he would not. I had saved his life now, as he had saved mine, and the bond between us was stronger than ever.

  Ichiro was nodding in agreement, but Chiyo spoke up: “Forgive me, Lord Shigeru. I know it’s nothing to do with me and that I’m just a foolish old woman. But it’s not true that Takeo has brought you nothing but danger. Before you returned with him, you were half crazed with sorrow. Now you are recovered. He has brought joy and hope as well as danger. And who dares enjoy one and escape the other?”

  “How should I of all people not know this?” Lord Shigeru replied. “There is some destiny that binds our lives together. I cannot fight that, Ichiro.”

  “Maybe his brains will have returned with his tongue,” Ichiro said scathingly.

  The assassin died without regaining consciousness. It turned out he’d had a poison pellet in his mouth and had crushed it as he fell. No one knew his identity, though there were plenty of rumors. The dead guards were buried in a solemn ceremony, and mourned, and the dogs were mourned by me, at least. I wondered what pact they had made, what fealty they had sworn, to be caught up in the feuds of men, and to pay with their lives. I did not voice these thoughts: There were plenty more dogs. New ones were acquired and trained to take food from one man only, so they could not be poisoned. There were any number of men, too, for that matter. Lord Shigeru lived simply, with few armed retainers, but it seemed many among the Otori clan would have happily come to serve him—enough to form an army, if he’d so desired.

  The attack did not seem to have alarmed or depressed him in any way. If anything, he was invigorated by it, his delight in the pleasures of life sharpened by his escape from death. He floated, as he had done after the meeting with Lady Maruyama. He was delighted by my newly recovered speech and by the sharpness of my hearing.

  Maybe Ichiro was right, or maybe his own attitude towards me softened. Whatever the reason, from the night of the assassination attempt on, learning became easier. Slowly the characters began to unlock their meaning and retain their place in my brain. I even began to enjoy them, the different shapes that flowed like water, or perched solid and squat like black crows in winter. I wouldn’t admit it to Ichiro, but drawing them gave me a deep pleasure.

  Ichiro was an acknowledged master, well known for the beauty of his writing and the depth of his learning. He was really far too good a teacher for me. I did not have the mind of a natural student. But what we both discovered was that I could mimic. I could present a passable copy of a student, just as I could copy the way he’d draw from the shoulder, not the wrist, with boldness and concentration. I knew I was just mimicking him, but the results were adequate.

  The same thing happened when Lord Shigeru taught me the use of the sword. I was strong and agile enough, probably more than average for my height, but I had missed the boyhood years when the sons of warriors practice endlessly at sword, bow, and horsemanship. I knew I would never make them up.

  Riding came easily enough. I watched Lord Shigeru and the other men, and realized it was mainly a matter of balance. I simply copied what I saw them do and the horse responded. I realized, too, that the horse was shyer and more nervous than I was. To the horse I had to act like a lord, hide my own feelings for his sake, and pretend I was perfectly in control and knew exactly what was going on. Then the horse would relax beneath me and be happy.

  I was given a pale gray horse with a black mane and tail, called Raku, and we got on well together. I did not take to archery at all, but in using the sword again I copied what I saw Lord Shigeru do, and the results were passable. I was given a long sword of my own, and wore it in the sash of my new clothes as any warrior’s son would. But despite the sword and the clothes I knew I was only an imitation warrior.

  So the weeks went by. The household accepted that Lord Otori intended to adopt me, and little by little their attitude towards me changed. They spoiled, teased, and scolded me in equal measures. Between the studying and training I had little spare time and I was not supposed to go out alone, but I still had my restless love of roaming, and whenever I could I slipped away and explored the city of Hagi. I liked to go down to the port, where the castle in the west and the old volcano crater in the east held the bay like a cup in their two hands. I’d stare out to sea and think of all the fabled lands that lay beyond the horizon and envy the sailors and fishermen.

  There was one boat that I always looked for. A boy about my own age worked on it. I knew he was called Terada Fumio. His father was from a low-rank warrior family who had taken up trade and fishing rather than die of starvation. Chiyo knew all about them, and I got this information at first from her. I admired Fumio enormously. He had actually been to the mainland. He knew the sea and the rivers in all their moods. At that time I could not even swim. At first we just nodded at each other, but as the weeks went by we became friends. I’d go aboard and we’d sit and eat persimmons, spitting the pips into the water, and talk about the things boys talk about. Sooner or later we would get on to the Otori lords; the Terada hated them for their arrogance and greed. They suffered from the ever-increasing taxes that the castle imposed, and from the restrictions placed on trade. When we talked about these things it was in whispers, on the seaward side of the boat, for the castle, it was said, had spies everywhere.

  I was hurrying home late one afternoon after one of these excursions. Ichiro had been called to settle an account with a merchant. I’d waited for ten minutes and then decided he was not coming back and made my escape. It was well into the tenth month. The air was cool and filled with the smell of burning rice straw. The smoke hung over the fields between the river and the mountains, turning the landscape silver and gold. Fumio had been teaching me to swim, and my hair was we
t, making me shiver a little. I was thinking about hot water and wondering if I could get something to eat from Chiyo before the evening meal, and whether Ichiro would be in a bad enough temper to beat me, and at the same time I was listening, as I always did, for the moment when I would begin to hear the distinct song of the house from the street.

  I thought I heard something else, something that made me stop and look twice at the corner of the wall, just before our gate. I did not think there was anyone there, then almost in the same instant I saw there was someone, a man squatting on his heels in the shadow of the tile roof.

  I was only a few yards from him, on the opposite side of the street. I knew he’d seen me. After a few moments he stood up slowly as if waiting for me to approach him.

  He was the most ordinary-looking person I’d ever seen, average height and build, hair going a little gray, face pale rather than brown, with unmemorable features, the sort that you can never be sure of recognizing again. Even as I studied him, trying to work him out, his features seemed to change shape before my eyes. And yet, beneath the very ordinariness lay something extraordinary, something deft and quick that slipped away when I tried to pinpoint it.

  He was wearing faded blue-gray clothes and carrying no visible weapon. He did not look like a workman, a merchant, or a warrior. I could not place him in any way, but some inner sense warned me that he was very dangerous.

  At the same time there was something about him that fascinated me. I could not pass by without acknowledging him. But I stayed on the far side of the street, and was already judging how far it was to the gate, the guards, and the dogs.

  He gave me a nod and a smile, almost of approval. “Good day, young lord!” he called, in a voice that held mockery just below the surface. “You’re right not to trust me. I’ve heard you’re clever like that. But I’ll never harm you, I promise you.”

  I felt his speech was as slippery as his appearance, and I did not count his promise for much.

  “I want to talk to you,” he said, “and to Shigeru too.”

  I was astonished to hear him speak of the lord in that familiar way. “What do you have to say to me?”

  “I can’t shout it to you from here,” he replied with a laugh. “Walk with me to the gate and I’ll tell you.”

  “You can walk to the gate on that side of the road and I’ll walk on this side,” I said, watching his hands to catch the first movement towards a hidden weapon. “Then I’ll speak to Lord Otori and he can decide if you are to meet him or not.”

  The man smiled to himself and shrugged, and we walked separately to the gate, he as calmly as if he were taking an evening stroll, me as jumpy as a cat before a storm. When we got to the gate and the guards greeted us, he seemed to have grown older and more faded. He looked like such a harmless old man, I was almost ashamed of my mistrust.

  “You’re in trouble, Takeo,” one of the men said. “Master Ichiro has been looking for you for an hour!”

  “Hey, Grandpa,” the other called to the old man. “What are you after, a bowl of noodles or something?”

  Indeed, the old man did look as if he needed a square meal. He waited humbly, saying nothing, just outside the gate sill.

  “Where’d you pick him up, Takeo? You’re too softhearted, that’s your trouble! Get rid of him!”

  “I said I would tell Lord Otori he was here, and I will,” I replied. “But watch his every movement, and whatever you do, don’t let him into the garden.”

  I turned to the stranger to say “Wait here” and caught a flash of something from him. He was dangerous, all right, but it was almost as if he were letting me see a side of him that he kept hidden from the guards. I wondered if I should leave him with them. Still, there were two of them armed to the teeth. They should be able to deal with one old man.

  I tore through the garden, kicked off my sandals, and climbed the stairs in a couple of bounds. Lord Shigeru was sitting in the upstairs room, gazing out over the garden.

  “Takeo,” he said, “I’ve been thinking, a tea room over the garden would be perfect.”

  “Lord . . .” I began, then was transfixed by a movement in the garden below. I thought it was the heron, it stood so still and gray, then I saw it was the man I had left at the gate.

  “What?” Lord Shigeru said, seeing my face.

  I was gripped by terror that the assassination attempt was to be repeated. “There’s a stranger in the garden,” I cried. “Watch him!” My next fear was for the guards. I ran back down the stairs and out of the house. My heart was pounding as I came to the gate. The dogs were all right. They stirred when they heard me, tails wagging. I shouted; the men came out, astonished.

  “What’s wrong, Takeo?”

  “ ’You let him in!” I said in a fury. “The old man, he’s in the garden.”

  “No, he’s out there in the street where you left him.”

  My eyes followed the man’s gesture, and for a moment I, too, was fooled. I did see him, sitting outside in the shade of the roofed wall, humble, patient, harmless. Then my vision cleared. The street was empty.

  “You fools!” I said. “Didn’t I tell you he was dangerous? Didn’t I tell you on no account to let him in? What useless idiots are you, and you call yourselves men of the Otori clan? Go back to your farms and guard your hens, and may the foxes eat every one of them!”

  They gaped at me. I don’t think anyone in the household had ever heard me speak so many words at once. My rage was greater because I felt responsible for them. But they had to obey me. I could only protect them if they obeyed me.

  “You are lucky to be alive,” I said, drawing my sword from my belt and racing back to find the intruder.

  He was gone from the garden, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d seen another mirage, when I heard voices from the upstairs room. Lord Shigeru called my name. He did not sound in any danger—more as if he were laughing. When I went into the room and bowed, the man was sitting next to him as if they were old friends, and they were both chuckling away. The stranger no longer looked so ancient. I could see he was a few years older than Lord Shigeru, and his face now was open and warm.

  “He wouldn’t walk on the same side of the street, eh?” the lord said.

  “That’s right, and he made me sit outside and wait.” They both roared with laughter and slapped the matting with open palms. “By the way, Shigeru, you should train your guards better. Takeo was right to be angry with them.”

  “He was right all along,” Lord Shigeru said, a note of pride in his voice.

  “He’s one in a thousand—the sort that’s born, not made. He has to be from the Tribe. Sit up, Takeo, let me look at you.”

  I lifted my head from the floor and sat back on my heels. My face was burning. I felt the man had tricked me after all. He said nothing, just studied me quietly.

  Lord Shigeru said, “This is Muto Kenji, an old friend of mine.”

  “Lord Muto,” I said, polite but cold, determined not to let my feelings show.

  “You don’t have to call me lord,” Kenji said. “I am not a lord, though I number a few among my friends.” He leaned towards me. “Show me your hands.”

  He took each hand in turn, looking at the back and then at the palm.

  “We think him like Takeshi,” Lord Shigeru said.

  “Unnh. He has a look of the Otori about him.” Kenji moved back to his original position and gazed over the garden. The last of the color had leached from it. Only the maples still glowed red. “The news of your loss saddened me,” he said.

  “I thought I no longer wanted to live,” Lord Shigeru replied. “But the weeks pass and I find that I do. I am not made for despair.”

  “No, indeed,” Kenji agreed, with affection. They both looked out through the open windows. The air was chill with autumn, a gust of wind shook the maples, and leaves fell into the stream, turning darker red in the water before they were swept into the river.

  I thought longingly of the hot bath, and shivered.


  Kenji broke the silence. “Why is this boy who looks like Takeshi, but is obviously from the Tribe, living in your household, Shigeru?”

  “Why have you come all this way to ask me?” he replied, smiling slightly.

  “I don’t mind telling you. News on the wind was that someone heard an intruder climbing into your house. As a result, one of the most dangerous assassins in the Three Countries is dead.”

  “We have tried to keep it secret,” Lord Shigeru said.

  “It’s our business to find out such secrets. What was Shintaro doing in your house?”

  “Presumably he came to kill me,” Lord Shigeru replied. “So it was Shintaro. I had my suspicions, but we had no proof.” After a moment he added, “Someone must truly desire my death. Was he hired by Iida?”

  “He had worked for the Tohan for some time. But I don’t think Iida would have you assassinated in secret. By all accounts he would rather watch the event with his own eyes. Who else wants you dead?”

  “I can think of one or two,” the lord answered.

  “It was hard to believe Shintaro failed,” Kenji went on. “We had to find out who the boy was. Where did you find him?”

  “What do you hear on the wind?” Lord Shigeru countered, still smiling.

  “The official story, of course: that he’s a distant relative of your mother’s; from the superstitious, that you took leave of your senses and believe he’s your brother returned to you; from the cynical, that he’s your son, got with some peasant woman in the East.”

  Lord Shigeru laughed. “I am not even twice his age. I would have had to have fathered him at twelve. He is not my son.”

  “No, obviously, and despite his looks, I don’t believe he’s a relative or a revenant. Anyway, he has to be from the Tribe. Where did you find him?”