Risuko: A Kunoichi Tale (Seasons of the Sword #1)(52)

Like Fuyudori, most of the remaining handful of women still left were glum and silent.

Mieko-san certainly seemed pleased, smiling as I had not seen her do since we had arrived at the Full Moon. Whether it was Fuyudori’s silence or Masugu’s absence that had cheered her up or whether her good mood was due to something else entirely I couldn’t tell, but Lady Chiyome noticed as well.

“Stop grinning, Mieko,” the old lady snapped. “You’re ruining my appetite.”

“This humble servant apologizes, lady,” said Mieko, bowing her head demurely. The smile disappeared from her face, but somehow she managed to look just as pleased.

As I began to bring several empty platters back to the kitchen, Toumi squawked, and the tray that she was carrying clattered to the ground. She stood, knees bent and pressed together, looking as if she were trying hard not to make water.

The table closest to her burst into laughter—the first that I had heard in the hall in days. “Come on,” brayed Sachi, who had returned from what she’d called a hunting trip the night before. “Let’s get you to the Retreat.”

“Retreat?” Toumi said the word with the same bewildered tone that I had that morning. Still bent over, covering her lap with her hands, she didn’t move; her eyes were perfect circles of shock, and her ears burned red.

“Yes, the Retreat. It looks as if all of that bean curd that Kee Sun’s been feeding you has actually done you some good. Come on, I might as well go too. You’ll have lots of company there. No. Not through the kitchen. Kee Sun would have to wash the whole place down,” Sachi giggled, grabbing Toumi’s elbow and leading her through the main doors.

Moon time, I realized. Toumi too had reached her first moon time. I was going to be alone.

“Pick up the girl’s tray,” barked Lady Chiyome to the girls nearest to her. “Help the squirrel here bring our food before you disappear too.”

It was a mark of the authority and fear in which all of the women held Chiyome-sama that they didn’t even hesitate in following her order.

As I started back toward the kitchen to refill the serving platters, the door to the hall opened again. Aimaru poked his snow-covered head in and peered around.

As he began to leave again, Lady Chiyome snapped, “Well, boy? What is it? Why have you let a draft in and turned our tea to ice?”

“Pardon, my lady,” Aimaru said, eyes downcast. “I was looking for the lieutenant. I saddled his horse as he asked last night for us to do—usually he’s up before we are, so I thought he must be in here.”

“Probably sleeping in,” the lady growled, and for some reason flashed an angry glance at Mieko, who was sipping her tea, the very portrait of studied innocence. “Go wake him!”

“Yes, my lady,” Aimaru said, bowing through the barely-open door.

“And shut the door!” Chiyome-sama yelled. “It’s freezing in here!”

Wisely, Aimaru closed the door rather than answer again.

Kee Sun, whom I had almost never seen outside of his kitchen, met me outside of its entrance and exchanged my empty platters for a steaming metal tea pot. “For the lady,” he whispered, and disappeared back into his domain.

I scurried up to the head table and refilled Chiyome-sama’s cup. She put both hands around the cup and grunted, “Leave the pot.” It seemed as if that were the best response I could hope for.

As I turned to Mieko-san, who seemed to have finished the rather large helping that I had given her, the door flew open again.

Lady Chiyome took a deep breath, ready to shout at whoever had, once again, let in the cold, but the two Little Brothers had entered at a dead run, closing the door behind them. Their swords were drawn.

Even Lady Chiyome didn’t seem to have anything to say about that.

The smaller of the pair ran to take up a place behind her, looming menacingly there with his sword. I instinctively scampered out of the way to give the larger one room as he moved directly in front of her and knelt.

“Lieutenant Masugu has been poisoned,” he said.

The low rumble of his voice seemed to wash over the hall like an enormous ocean wave. All of the women leapt to their feet. “Masugu!” shouted Fuyudori and started to run toward the door.

“STOP!” yelled Lady Chiyome. It hardly mattered whether the order was aimed at Fuyudori, who was poised to sprint to the door, or at the smaller of the Little Brothers, who had begun to move to intercept her, his sword raised high: all motion in the hall stopped.

Chiyome-sama stood, her arms extended, her face a mirror of the dismay that had clutched me.

Mieko stood as still as a snake before it strikes. Her face was a neutral, lovely mask as always, but there was a fierce concentration in her eyes that I had seen once before: at the Mount Fuji Inn.

Lady Chiyome lowered her arms, which I noticed were shaking. “How do you know he was poisoned?”

The Little Brother before her turned again and knelt, even as the other took up a position just inside of the door. “He is unconscious. His pulse is very slow. There was a jar of rice wine by his bed, and it smelled of poppy juice.”

“Poppy juice?” snapped Mieko-san, and Lady Chiyome turned toward her, her face twisted both with shock and annoyance that her usually deferential maid was suddenly so outspoken. “He hates it. He won’t allow his soldiers to use it, even in the greatest pain. He would never touch it knowingly.”