Risuko: A Kunoichi Tale (Seasons of the Sword #1)(46)

Though the shortest of the three, Aimaro looked twice as wide. As they approached, we could see that he carried a load of open boxes that were hung from a pole across his shoulders. Cages. There were birds inside—chickens.

“Oh, good,” said Sachi, “the morning’s entertainment isn’t over.”

Some of the older women laughed, the tension leaking from the assembly like water from a punctured tarp.

We stood there in two files as they entered. Aimaru looked to the chickens, who were complaining in their confinement, and then to Emi and to me, as if to say, Now what?

I shrugged. Emi frowned down at the snow-muffled gravel.

Chiyome-sama gave her own mirthless chuckle. “Welcome back, gentlemen! Masugu has gotten rid of the rascals he was chasing, so we know about that. What’s the rest of the news from the valley?”

The elder of the Little Brothers nodded deferentially. “We checked with most of the farms here in the center of the valley. All of them survived the blizzard intact, though a few animals wandered off into the snow.”

“Their bodies will probably be found once the spring thaws come,” added the younger Little Brother, “so not too much was lost.”

The elder pursed his lips, and the younger lapsed back into their habitual silence.

Aimaru cleared his throat. “Masugu-san rode up as far as where the valley narrows. He said that he heard tell of some fighting down by the garrison.”

Chiyome-sama grunted. “There is always fighting down by the garrison.”

“It must be all of those soldiers,” said Mieko. If it had been anyone but she, I’d have sworn it was a joke. The other women chuckled, but they stopped when Chiyome-sama glared at them.

The older Little Brother said, “Masugu-san was told that the garrison had caught and killed several more of the band of raiders that we met on the way in.”

After pursing her lips for a moment, Lady Chiyome nodded at the Little Brother, and then walked toward Aimaru. “I like my food fresh,” she said, pointing to the caged chickens, “but I must say, I generally prefer not to eat it live.”

“Er, no, my lady,” answered Aimaru. “The farmer said that he’d been told not to slaughter them.”

“Told?” said Lady Chiyome, voice raised but grinning. Aimaru looked as if he might faint. “What an odd thing to tell the man. Who would do such a thing?”

Again a giggle passed among the women; this time Chiyome did not stop it.

Aimaru gulped. “I... I do not know, my lady.”

I could see Emi across from me, still frowning down at the ground. Her lips were moving silently.

Lady Chiyome gave her dry, rasping chuckle. “Well, I suppose someone will have to slaughter the things. Novices.”

“Yes, Chiyome-sama,” we all three said together, far more in concert than we ever managed to be in Sachi-sensei’s music lessons.

“Relieve this young gentlemen of his burden and get these chickens ready for Kee Sun.”

“But—?” I found myself saying. After that morning, after watching the battle, after watching two men die, I couldn’t imagine plucking chickens.

“Do it. Now.”

“Yes, Chiyome-sama,” I said. Emi and Toumi echoed me. We all approached Aimaru; he seemed as if he were about to say something, but I shook my head. Emi and Toumi picked the pole up over his shoulders and we began to walk back toward the kitchen.

“Oh, no,” said Lady Chiyome. “Kee Sun is very superstitious about never slaughtering anything in the kitchen. He always insists that it be killed outside. Something to do with the animals’ spirits cursing the food or some such silliness.”

I looked at the other two girls. Toumi was grimly not looking at me—or at anyone else, I think. Her lips were pressed together so hard they were white.

Emi nodded for a moment and then turned back to Lady Chiyome. “Should we slaughter them out here, my lady?”

“An excellent idea,” said Chiyome. “Certainly no chance of some angry chicken spirit haunting the kitchens from here.”

“Yes, my lady,” said Emi, her mouth bending downward.

I looked into the closest of the cages, which was just below Emi’s fingers. The hen was glaring at me with reptilian, golden eyes. I thought of the blood that I had already seen that day. My stomach churned.

“Do it, girls.” Lady Chiyome continued to smile. Her expression did not help. “Have you never killed a chicken before?”

Once again we all answered with one thin voice. “No, my lady.”

“Well, then,” she said with another chuckle, “this should be entertaining.”

The women around us all laughed—even the initiates. Suddenly all eyes were on the three of us, standing there in the snowy courtyard, gawking uncertainly at a dozen chickens in cages.

I don’t know about the other two, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from that chicken’s gaze.

With a snarl, Toumi dropped her end of the pole, setting the stack of suspended cages on the ground. She reached out and flicked the latch to the top cage.

“Toumi, no—!” I said, but she was too quick—she flung open the door to the cage and went to reach in.

What I’d been trying to say, as any girl not raised on city streets would know, was that quick as Toumi’s hands might have been, a chicken that senses escape is even quicker. It gave Toumi’s reaching palm a vicious peck with its beak, and when Toumi flinched back it exploded into the air, an irate fury of feathers and useless wings.