Risuko: A Kunoichi Tale (Seasons of the Sword #1)(28)

Before the swirls of dust had even settled, Chiyome-sama and her ladies turned and withdrew into the great hall. Fuyudori, Mai, and Shino joined them—though Fuyudori seemed to be emphatically not looking at Lieutenant Masugu in that funny way that older girls have. As if he would notice.

I thought she didn’t like soldiers, I mused.

As I began to shuffle behind Emi and Toumi toward the kitchen to begin helping with the midday meal, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I saw Masugu-san; he had touched me with the cylinder I had seen him with the day before. It was a metal tube, I realized, capped at both ends. A letter case, such as I had seen my father use when sending or receiving work from the castle. It was sealed, I noticed, not with the four diamonds of the Takeda, but with a crest of three wide ginger leaves in a circle.

“How are you, Murasaki-san?” he asked, his open face bent in a smile. “Are you finding your place here?”

I began to answer him, but then saw Toumi standing by the kitchen door, watching me. Unsure what to do, I looked down.

“Not supposed to talk to me?” Masugu-san sighed, and lowered his voice. “Ah, well. Listen, I just wanted to thank you for yesterday. You saved lives. Perhaps mine. And...” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I wanted to say, what I told you about your father? About the other girls?”

Still looking at the gravel, I gave a small nod.

“Don’t take it too seriously. I think I may have been over-reacting. The other girls probably know nothing about it. It’s best if you don’t mention anything. Understand?”

Again I nodded. Toumi was still waiting.

“Listen,” he continued, “I know you’re only supposed to talk to us at dinner time. But if you need help, I’ll be very happy to do anything I can.”

Still looking down so that Toumi wouldn’t see my lips move, I said, “Thank you, Masugu-san.”

“It is my pleasure, Murasaki-san,” he said, a grin in his voice. He strode away in the direction of the storehouse, whistling and tapping the scroll on his shoulder.

As I began to shuffle over to toward the kitchen door, I sniffed, sensing a sour wind coming over the mountain. Snow was coming soon.

Toumi was smiling as I reached the door. “I saw you talking to him.”

“Are you going to tell?” I asked, trying to look unconcerned.

“No, no, I can’t bother with something as puny as that.” She leaned close and whispered into my ear. “I haven’t forgotten, Kano Mouse. One day, in front of Lady Chiyome and all the rest, I will show them all who you really are.”

Smiling predatorily, she turned and went into the kitchen.

I followed.





16—Blades


As I entered Kee Sun’s kitchen, I kept my face down so as not to catch Toumi’s eye, or Emi’s. I didn’t want either of them to see that I was upset. I took a stack of bowls and began to walk toward the dining hall to get ready for the mid-day meal, but Kee Sun stopped me. “No, girlie,” he chortled, his scar twisting, “Not to go in there this morning. Yeh don’t go in there while Lady Chiyome is running her ladies through their paces unless yeh want yehr head handed back to yeh in one of those bowls.”

I looked at him blankly.

“There’s classes yeh three aren’t welcome to join till yeh’re initiated,” he said with something like a smirk, “so we get ready in here and then run like wood demons to serve out the meal once they’re done. Now, set yehr little squirrel fingers to work.”

Toumi was sidling over toward the door, her face empty even of its usual anger.

Kee Sun didn’t even have to look up to stop her. “What they’re doing in there,” the cook said with a look halfway between a grin and a scowl, “is not for little girlies, yeh hear me? Now, yeh two, there, yehr gonna help Bright-eyes, here.”

Toumi bristled, and Emi frowned. But then, Emi always seemed to be frowning.

“What exactly are we doing, Kee Sun-san?” I asked.

Now the cook grinned—and it was definitely a grin this time. “Well, Bright-eyes,” he said, “are yeh any good with a blade?”

“A knife?” I asked.

Toumi suddenly looked much more interested in the conversation. Emi was still frowning.

“Think yeh’re up to attacking these long beans?” He gestured to a mound of long, thin bean pods.

“Beans?” Toumi spat.

“Beans,” said Kee Sun, his scar bending as his smile broadened. “I want yeh girlies to take this pile of beans, reduce its resistance, chop it into submission.”

Now Toumi could only snort.

“You ever handle a blade, Falcon-girlie?”

Her narrow eyes flickered.

“Come over here, all three of you,” he said, pointing to the cutting table, “and learn.”

Now, I wasn’t going to tell them that Okā-san had taught me how to chop vegetables, that I’d learned how to handle her long, lovingly sharpened kitchen knife years earlier, that I’d even started teaching my sister to use it. I didn’t want Toumi resenting me any more than she already did.

When Kee Sun brought out three gleaming curved blades, each no longer than my hand, even I didn’t need to pretend to gasp. The steel was polished to a high gleam. The edges were un-nicked and fine. Otō-san’s swords never looked more beautiful or more deadly.