▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ Chapter 3: Kabuki House Drama 歌舞伎の家のドラマ ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

Why did we have to be in Yamato?

In any other city, I could have escaped and been well on my way downriver before morning broke. I never thought I’d miss alleyways you had to squeeze through sideways or sewers you had to trudge through knee-deep in muck.

But this was the home of the Imperial Palace. There were no pathways that could not fit five armored soldiers abreast, and no underground waste tunnels either. Instead, royal shit was carted off discreetly. Their feces were prized as ‘night soil’, and sold to the highest bidder.

I wish I was joking.

The kid was upset with me but the feeling was mutual. No doubt Masami was filled to the brim with angst, having been denied an opportunity to use her magic scrolls earlier. I was a young man about a lifetime ago, but I still knew the desire every adolescent had. Not that desire—mind you—but the desire to prove one’s own worth.

All I had managed to prove was that dead fish could fly. I bested that samurai in combat, and true enough he yielded with honor. But I wasn’t stupid enough to think the battle was over. He had just eaten a faceful of his spiritual grandaddy, and lost to a nameless ronin to boot. There were only two options left for honor-bound men like him.

He could either kill himself, or have me killed. Guess which one he was going to pick. Bounties and increased guard patrols were the least we could expect. Getting out of this city was not going to be easy.

While there were paper lanterns at every street corner, Yamato was a ghost town at night. This may be due to a curfew, or a simple lack of disreputable fellows like me about. Either way, guards were sure to find a man skulking around with a girl at midnight questionable.

I needed a strategy should we come across one of these patrols.

if I’ve learned anything from this world, it’s the power of sharpened steel by your side. A talented warrior cut his own path in life—be it for women, ryō, or fame. At least that’s the idea. I considered myself a skilled swordsman; so why was I alone, destitute, and habitually disrespected?

I cracked my neck and a smile at the thought. Maybe I haven’t learned anything after all.

“Kid. If we run into any guards, I’ll dispose of them. Save your magic tricks for tomorrow’s stir fry.” While these city watchmen were better trained than most, I can’t imagine that they’ve dealt with anything worse than drunken samurai well past their prime. They wouldn’t have a chance against a clear-headed ronin at his best.

Masami brushed her bangs from her eyes to reveal a stern glare. Her cheeks puffed out as well, a childish but incredibly cute habit. “Dispose? I’ve more than half the mind to dispose of your services entirely! You’re no more than a violent cutthroat!” The shugenja placed her hands atop her hips and stopped following me.

The kid’s frustration gave way to an idea. One of her better ones. “It’s obvious to methat we have matters to discuss. This establishment across the street, with the posters on display. It should be deserted this time of night.” I followed Masami’s eyes to a series of large illustrations hung over an odd wooden building. The illustrations showed ridiculous-looking men and women in white facepaint and impossibly colorful kimonos.

Me and my orange haori should fit right in. The front entrance was unlocked and slid right open. Hyugan doors were impossible to secure from the outside—the best you could do was place a bar from the inside to prevent the frame from sliding altogether. Most folk from safer communities didn’t even bother, which certainly made my assassinations easier.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it sure wasn’t this.

Balconies overlooked a series of raised walkways, which mingled in and around seating areas covered in luxurious rugs and pillows. The walkways joined towards the end of the chamber, where some sort of miniature shrine stood in extravagance. It lacked any walls and any purpose, from what I could tell.

My puzzlement did not go unnoticed. “Care to speculate, Sjato?”

I knew Masami was grinning like a childish devil without even looking. Since our two weeks of traveling together, she’s made it a habit to boast her trivial knowledge whenever at all possible. Sometimes I could get lucky on a hunch...

...probably not this time, though

It’s a brothel. The girls strut along the aisle.”

This was how I turned the tables on the know-it-all scholar. Masami couldn’t handle this area of expertise well, as shown by the blush building on her cheeks. But aside from teasing the kid, my guess had some merit. Sauntering along these elevated walkways would give spectators a perfect view.

Anger blended with embarrassment in her response. “Y-your vulgarities have no limit! This is a kabuki theater—stylistic dance-drama in its purest form! Genius choreography depicting historic battles and romance, of warring families and forbidden love! It is no house of ill repute!”

Masami’s passion bled through her words like a heart hemorrhage. It was good to see her get enthusiastic about something besides scrolls for once, but being a hopeless romantic...

Well, there was more than one way a heart could break.

The best course of action was to hide out here for a moment while the guards prowled the nearby streets. It gave me and a kid a chance to talk, and not about clowns who danced with masks on.

“Masami Hashimoto. You and I have much to discuss.” This was the first time I had ever addressed her so officially. Names hold a certain kind of power, but only if you used them sparingly. Like a spice, they can change the flavor of a sentence entirely.

And this dish was tasting bitter. But this matter had to be addressed.

“I’m your bodyguard. You tried running out on me while I slept. Why?” My eyes met hers and prepared for a staredown, but that wasn’t necessary. Her eyes looked away towards the front entrance, as if willing the body to follow. Why was she so desperate to avoid this question?

Masami’s hands clenched into fists. “Worried that I would abscond on your payment?! Of course! That’s all you ever seem to care about!” She pulled out a pouch from inside her kimono and slammed it against the stage floor. The jingling of coins preceded a scatter of ryō, the shining glints of gold unmistakable even in this faint light.

“There! Take your ryō you...you scoundrel.” The shugenja turned away from me with shoulders that raised with rapid breaths. She sniffed the air, though not to catch a scent. Masami was holding back a cry, and it was entirely my fault

Don’t ever throw money at me.”

I stared at the scattered ryō in disgust. Disgust from the urge inside of me, the instinct to go and pocket what Masami tossed away like it was trash. I’d get on my hands and knees, while this child would look down upon me in both meanings of the phrase. There was no other gesture the shugenja could have made to emphasize how different we truly were.

The impulse subsided, so I continued. “I’m not...I’m not a slave for money. You have no right to judge me for what I’ve done—what I’ve had to become to survive. You can’t even imagine the ways I’ve had to suffer!” My voice started shaking, my calm facade breaking like shattered porcelain.

I was furious, but not at the kid. No, I’d need a mirror to reveal who angered me the most.

After a long silence the young woman in the red kimono replied, though with her back still turned. “You’re right. What does a wealthy juvenile know of hardship? I scarcely know your name, let alone your grief!” Masami spun on her heels to face me, with her anger more composed than before. “How can I permit you as my protector if you won’t even tell me who you really are?!”

Who I really was? I was exactly what you think: a no-good, vagrant swordsman for hire. Or maybe she wanted to know about my past as a street urchin who stole from hardworking farmhands. Who beat up on the smaller kids until they bruised all over just for fistful of stale rice.

Or maybe she wanted to know about the ungrateful student of a sympathetic samurai, who betrayed his master for a bit of chump change. Forsaking the man who was the closest thing to a father he would ever have. What a horrible human being.

My life made for a piss-poor story no kabuki house wanted to dance to. Masami had the curious mind of any good scholar, but this was one tale she wouldn’t want to hear. And aside from that...

She’d never see her “Apricot Ronin” the same way again.

You keep asking about me like that kid, and a guy might start to get the wrong idea.”

I playfully winked and teased Masami out of that dangerous line of questioning. I couldn’t satisfy her curiosity, but I could distract her imagination in other ways. The kid didn’t know it, but the less she knew about this vagrant ronin the better. I’d rather she think of me as a shameless flirt than a heartless killer.

Though I certainly fit the bill for both.

Although the shugenja looked shaken up and embarrassed, she gritted her teeth and stared me down with a determined look. “Flatter yourself as you may, I shall not be dissuaded.” Her gaze intensified, and it was my turn to look away towards the door. I might have underestimated the kid’s resolve, or I might just have to step up my game.

Either way, I play to win.

I was about to follow up on my original question when Masami bombarded me with queries of her own. While I was glad that they weren’t about my past, they were about as pointed as razor-tipped shuriken.

“Why must you continually disparage my expertise? Had I used my shugenja arts, the horrendous carnage of that majestic koi fish would have been prevented!” She turned her nose upwards in an attempt to look down at me, even if it was a physical impossibility. She then started giving orders.

“Your methods sicken me. I hereby forbid the desecration of animals from this time forth! Treat them with the respect you would your fellow man!” I visibly flinched, holding back an irrational outburst the kid didn’t deserve. There was more than a little merit to Masami’s criticism, but that didn’t change the fact that Sjato took orders from no one. That overstuffed fish made for a damn good meal as well as a pivotal distraction in battle.

That is to say, it had been far more useful in death than it had ever been in life. All I did was spare it another century or so. My methods are questionable—and rightfully so. But they were mine and I took pride in them. Didn’t have much else to, really. So the kid would have to deal with an upset stomach here and there.

Go purchase a samurai if you want to give someone orders. I do my job my own way.”

If you thought about it, Hyugans loved being dull: following orders, setting schedules and partaking in regular tea breaks. There was a comfort there, to have a daily and rigid schedule. You didn’t need to think much as your days blurred into weeks, weeks into seasons and so on.

And then you died. No, I think I’ll forgo the lukewarm oolong tea. I’d rather drink saké that burned the roof of my mouth than live that sort of life. No one told me what to do, not even a shugenja.

The kid wanted to know why I stopped her from using magic earlier. So I told her.

“Don’t use your magic unless you need to. It creates as many problems as it solves—a ronin attracts less trouble than a shugenja ever could.” And it was true. With my katana, I could kill a squadron of soldiers. Maybe more, if they each took their turn. But from what I knew of shugenja, Masami could kill an army. She could carve out her own province, start a rebellion and challenge the Emperor.

There was one more point I wanted to make, but I couldn’t bring myself to voice it out loud. If Masami started using magic to solve our problems, I’d start relying on her. And I couldn’t afford to rely on anyone. I would end up hesitating at that crucial moment: when I held out hope that there was a trick in that knapsack of hers when there really wasn’t.

That would be the moment I became weak, and the moment I died.

Masami sighed. “I suppose I cannot hide this any longer.” With shoulders slumped in a display of resignation, she pulled out a letter from her knapsack. But what drew my attention was the giant red seal atop it, a wad of dried wax that rivaled a geisha’s lipstick. Stamps on official documents were not uncommon, but this one was in a league of its own.

“Well? Go ahead and read it.” The kid hassled me onward. Sweat dripped from my brow, and it wasn’t from the humidity. I looked down at the elegant lines of chicken scratch. Shit.

“I can’t read.”

There was no reason to be ashamed of it. So what if a group of old monks made up a series of strokes and called it a language? That just meant they had too much free time on their hands. As for me, I worked with my hands for a living—more specifically my sword—and had no reason to waste precious time on complicated nonsense.

Masami gasped in a dramatic fashion, causing me to shift uneasily. So what if I wasn’t literate? I’d made it this far without it being an issue. Not every child in Hyuga had access to teachers, especially not the ones who lacked parents in the first place. I had been more concerned about my next meal than memorizing silly symbols. Still was.

So why was I being so defensive?

The shugenja couldn’t let the topic drop. Her mind still staggered from the fact that not everyone was as well-read on satirical poetry as she was. “Being illiterate—is horrendous! There are countless legends to experience, innumerable insights to grasp! By delving into one’s imagination, one could vicariously live a hundred lives! No, a thousand!”

I wasn’t entirely sure what ‘vicariously’ meant, but one life was more than enough for me. I’d rather Masami speed up this lecture so she could tell me why this piece of paper was so important.

“Save the lesson for when we’re out of the city. I want to know why this thing caused you to sneak off in the middle of the night. Without your bodyguard.” It felt like she had managed to avoid this question for an hour or more, and my voice was starting to grow hoarse from our spirited conversation.

This kabuki house drama was about to end

Failing to enlighten me on the wonders of the written word, Masami spoke up in a rejected tone. “It is a royal summons, Sjato. That seal is the Emperor’s own mark—and was in our chambers at the Sleeping Duck when I first arrived. It requests my presence at a particular temple, after midnight when the moon begins its decline.”

This didn’t make sense. I made damn sure that nobody knew of our destination during our two-week travel to Yamato—I even avoided the main roads and backtracked in case we were being tailed. And here I thought I was being needlessly cautious, when we’d been expected this whole time?

The kid’s next remark threw my mind into a flurry. “It’s addressed by a woman named Toshie. I don’t recall the name from—Sjato?” My shock didn’t go unnoticed upon hearing the all-too-familiar name. Masami gave it a good guess. “Are you and her acquaintances, perchance?”

“Something like that.” It was a name that belonged to someone I was trying to forget, a dishonest bride-to-be who used me and didn’t even have the decency to pay up afterwards. A shinobi ringleader who I wanted as far away from the kid as possible.

I was feeling several emotions right about now, but the strongest by far was that of being seriously pissed off. This invitation had “trap” written over it more than a Jijinto loan shark.

Must I protect you from yourself as well?”

My exasperated sigh let out my pent-up frustration in a giant exhale. The humid air of this stuffy kabuki theater wasn’t doing me any favors, forcing me to remember just how tired I was. We were being hunted in the most highly-guarded, most samurai-saturated city in Hyuga. Keeping the kid safe from all that was next to impossible.

Especially when she had a death wish. “Y-you’ve thus far only served in endangering me further! What good is an escort who attracts more danger than he dissuades?” The words stung because they had a ring of truth to them. But only a ring. Masami was oblivious, but on our journey to the capital city we had passed a duo of pickpockets, a caravan of stolen merchandise, and a traveling troupe of tramps.

Each group had looked at the kid like a hawk did a mouse. Until they saw the katana at my hip, that is.

I knew enough about my miniature shugenja to know that arguing any further was a waste of time. And time was a luxury we didn’t have much of—we had already spent far too much time chattering. My voice was growing hoarse, but I still had one more question to ask.

The question I couldn’t help but obsess over ever since we entered this theater.

“Why didn’t you take me with you

I could have sworn that my voice echoed against the walls of this empty, wooden chamber. It resounded into a delicate whisper, admitting the empathy that I had tried so hard to conceal. I was a jaded old man—or at least I felt like one—who knew all too well that compassion ultimately led to one misery after another.

But I still asked. And I waited patiently for Masami’s response. Eventually it came in the form of an embarrassed mumble. “Because I...wanted to prove that I’m not just a helpless kid. I wanted you to see me as...” She trailed off into silence, but her words caused me to smile.

I picked up a nearby ryō that was on the floor, and stared at my golden reflection before tossing it back to my employer.

“You paid for a bodyguard. Might as well get your money’s worth.

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