Risuko: A Kunoichi Tale (Seasons of the Sword #1)(9)

The old innkeeper bowed rustily. “Yes, honorable lady.”

Kuniko, who had just come back from stabling the horses, leaned in to whisper to Lady Chiyome. She smirked and said, “My maid informs me that the stables are barely habitable for the horses. My servants will stay in the dining room.”

“Yes, honorable lady.”





5—The Mount Fuji Inn


There were three rooms downstairs besides the dining room and kitchen, but the two closest to the front door were both closed off. The doors were edged with black soot. Lady Chiyome had the Little Brothers carry her chest to the rear room.

Mieko and Kuniko led Toumi, Emi and me to the dining room. I was surprised that Mieko left her own bedroll there in the room with us; I had expected her to spend the night with the lady, but she stayed with us and quietly took charge of the servants’ quarters.

Once we had arranged our sleeping mats on one side of the large space, we filed over to the low tables on the other side. The tables seemed to have been made of fine wood, once upon a time, and what remained of the tapestries that hung on the walls showed that they had been lovely. Now, however, they were dingy and moth-eaten.

Dinner was a greasy stew of some sort of meat and a portion of rice that seemed as if it been cooked too quickly—one half was raw and the other half burnt. Yet we all ate it—even Lady Chiyome. We were starving after our long march. As we finished up, the old couple shuffled out to take our bowls, but Lady Chiyome held up her tiny, regal hand. “My servants will clean.”

For a moment I was caught thinking what a kind, surprising gesture that was, when it suddenly occurred to me that I was one of the servants that Chiyome-sama expected to do the work. I looked around, and noticed that Aimaru and Emi had already stood and were beginning to gather bowls and chopsticks, and that even Toumi had begun to get up and clear the table with a look of angry determination.

I took my bowl and those of the Little Brothers, who were sitting to one side of me. Balancing them carefully, I joined the other girls and Aimaru carrying them toward the kitchen. The old woman waved her hands to stop us from going in. “Eeee, there is no need...”

“It is our pleasure,” said Aimaru, with a quick bow of his head, and we walked through the patched curtain into the tiny kitchen.

There we found stacks of chipped and shattered bowls on cobwebbed shelves. The fire was smoldering, fading as we watched. The remains of the wood seemed clearly to have been shards of fine old furniture, and some unburned wisps of decorated fabric remained; a scrap of tapestry had clearly been used to start the flame. They had literally used their last resource to prepare our meal: the inn itself.

Emi grabbed a bucket and went outside to draw some water from the town well.

We began to clear away the cooking implements—a battered black wok, a frayed wooden spoon, and an extremely fragile-looking rice pot. “Pathetic,” Toumi grumbled.

“Did any of us come from better circumstances?” Aimaru asked placidly.

Toumi bit her lip, and then muttered, “Maybe not, but better birthright.” Then she set aggressively to scraping the food scraps from our bowls in the pot.

Emi came back. “At least the water’s clean,” she chirped, with a cheerfulness that as usual wasn’t reflected in her face.

With a snort, Toumi picked up the pot full of burnt rice and small bones, to carry it out to the offal pit. “Unlike some of you, I wasn’t born to this kind of filth.”

“What do you know about what the rest of us were born to?” I said. Without thinking about it, I had stepped right behind her. She whirled around, and for an eye’s-blink I was convinced that she was going to attack me with the pot. My hands rose to my face.

Very deliberately, with a knife-thin smile, Toumi lifted the pot over my head and emptied the greasy contents on me. I shrieked and was about to sink my nails into Toumi’s face—which was probably what she wanted me to do—when I heard Mieko’s quiet, calm voice from the doorway: “Clean it up. All four of you. Now.”

Toumi and I locked eyes for a moment, each waiting for the other to start first. In that moment, I was beyond caring about anything that Otō-san had taught us about doing no harm; I wanted to kill. I could see-soaked rice dripping from my bangs. It was fortunate that the innkeepers were poor, and we were hungry: there had been little left in the pot.

Slowly, we each bent to clean the mess. Emi and Aimaru helped clean away the last of the dinner. Later, I washed my head in what was left of the clean water, relieved that my new clothing had not been noticeably stained. I was sure Lady Chiyome would not have approved.

When we were done, we all went to bed. I wanted to talk to Emi, to ask her so many questions. But she was snoring before I had even climbed beneath my covers.

I had to fight to keep silent, because I was weeping. Thinking of Usako and Mother. Of Okā-san having sold me. Of Usako wandering around in the woods without me.

Of the fact that, even were I to slip away that night, I wasn’t altogether certain that I could find my way home, or whether I would be welcome if I did.

Before I was able to even try to calm myself enough to sleep, I heard a steady step coming across the tatami. “Kano Murasaki.” It was Kuniko, her voice low. “Come now. The lady wishes to see you.”

I stumbled out of my bedroll, suddenly very aware of how sore and tired my legs were, and how sticky my hair still was.