Risuko: A Kunoichi Tale (Seasons of the Sword #1)(40)

“We apologize, Aimaru-san,” I said finally with a giggle, bowing as deeply as I could without spilling the chicken offal onto his feet.

“Fine! Fine! I’ve wanted to talk to you two for days! But if you’re having such a lovely time, clearly you don’t need to talk to me,” Aimaru grumbled, and I tried to settle myself as much as I could. Emi was scowling so fiercely that I was certain that she was biting her cheeks. He peered into our baskets. “What are you doing?”

“Well,” I grumbled, “now that we’ve butchered these lovely chicken carcasses so that you can have some stew tonight, we’re taking the bits that even Kee Sun can’t figure out how to make edible out to the offal pit.”

Aimaru frowned—the expression seemed wrong on his face.

“Would you like some feather soup, Aimaru?” Emi asked. “I’m sure Murasaki and I could whip some up for you in no time.”

He snorted, the frown gone again. “Not just now, thank you.”

Emi scowled—at least, I think she did—and said, “What a shame. I was looking forward to seeing if you really would eat anything.”

Sighing, Aimaru said, “Close enough. The Little Brothers have me working and training so hard, I’m ready for the mid-day meal before the sun has cleared the horizon.”

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Oh, working with a spear and on my strength. It’s mostly pretty boring.”

I giggled. “Really?”

He shrugged as much as he could in all of that clothing. “We do hours of meditation, just like when I was at the monastery. They have been taking me out on their rounds, though.”

“Rounds?” I asked.

“Yes, the Little Brothers serve as Lady Mochizuki’s bailiffs, making sure that her farmers are all well, and collecting...” Suddenly, Aimaru grew thoughtful, his brows contracting toward the center of his usually smooth face.

“What are the villagers like?” I had hardly thought about the outside world in weeks, except as a map covered with pebbles and pins; it seemed odd to think that there were farmers and tanners and scribes down in the valley, living very much as my family had always done in the shadow of the Imagawa castle. “What do they think of Lady Chiyome?”

“Fine. Very respectful.” He was staring down at the guts and feather in our baskets.

“You didn’t change you mind about the soup, did you?” Emi asked. She held the basket up as if to let him smell.

“No,” Aimaru said, no smirk at all this time. “No, I was thinking. You’ve been butchering chickens?”

“Yes,” I said. “We just told you. And pigs. And the cow the other day. That was horrible.”

“Yes,” he said, but I couldn’t tell what he was agreeing with. “The thing is, the farmers usually butcher the animals before presenting them to us. I hadn’t even thought about why they were presenting them to us unprepared.”

“Well,” I said, shrugging, “it could be the storms?”

“Butchering is indoor work,” Emi muttered, “and not exactly cold. I’d think we’d want the meat separated from the offal as soon after the animal was slaughtered as possible.”

“I suppose,” I said, though I knew that they were right. “Maybe it’s just Kee Sun?”

“Maybe,” answered Emi, wrinkling her nose.

After a moment of silence in which all three of us stared into the nauseating stuff in the baskets, I asked, “Why would they care so much about us doing the butchering?”

Another moment of silence followed.

“Perhaps they want to train us as cooks,” Emi said, chewing on her lip.

Aimaru shook his head. “Murasaki, Chiyome-sama told you that she wanted you to be a... what was it? A...?”

“A kunoichi.”

“Yes. Isn’t that what the older women are?”

“Yes,” Emi said firmly.

“Huh.” He patted his stiff, padded arms against his body to warm himself.

Another silence followed, this one even longer. I tried to imagine Mieko-san plucking, gutting or boning a chicken. I couldn’t.

“It was nice to see you yesterday morning at the dance lesson,” said Emi.

Aimaru nodded and shuffled his feet. “That’s why I wanted to talk with you. I thought we were just going to clear out the stable. I had no idea we were going to join you....”

Emi scowled at him; it seemed almost a relief to watch her face return to its normal expression. “So you don’t have any idea what the point of that lesson was?”

“None!” he answered, eyes wide. “Is that what you’ve been learning?”

We both shook our heads. Emi grumbled, “Oh, no. We’ve been learning to play bad music and pour cold tea.”

“That sounds... interesting,” he said, looking perplexed again.

I laughed. “Hardly. And it isn’t as bad as Emi is making it sound—at least it’s better than skinning cows and plucking chickens.”

Aimaru favored us with a smile. “Well, I suppose that’s true. Though at least, in the kitchen, you get to stay warm!”

Emi and I joined his smile, but she shivered, and I became aware of the chill.

At last I sighed. “We need to get back. Tonight’s mizutaki won’t cook itself, yeh know!” I said in something vaguely like Kee Sun’s sharp-edged accent.