Black Arrow (13 page)

“They’re good people. You saw what they’re like. This wrestling match is about the only thing they have to look forward to. Their sons are sent to war with the Ezo, and taxes have made them poor. They work too hard to have time for plotting.”

Hitomaro said, “Tora’s working on a murder case, but you and I are to report anything that will help the master get control. I’m off to become acquainted with the
hinin
women.”

Genba raised his brows. “Better you than me, brother. Not my kind of training. Come to think of it, it’s not much in your line either. Tora should make that sacrifice.” He chortled.

Hitomaro did not smile. “Well, I have no choice. It’s a good way to get information. If you have some more news, we’ll meet at the shrine near the hour of the boar. I’m to report to the master tonight.”

Genba nodded and ducked back inside.

Walking quickly back to the market, Hitomaro dodged the muffled housewives with their baskets near the vegetable stalls, found the pharmacy, and turned down a narrow alley. The deep eaves of adjoining houses almost met overhead. He had been told that the city streets would become tunnels underneath mountains of snow, but at the moment he saw gray sky above. The small Shinto shrine in the next block lay deserted under its pines. He passed it and found another street of small, tidy houses.

Hitomaro hardly knew what to expect of the local pleasure quarter, but it was not this quiet line of modest houses behind bamboo fences. Neither garish banners nor paper lanterns marked this street as special. There were no painted women calling from windows, nor male touts running up and down the street looking for customers. And for music there was only the solitary sound of a single lute. He passed a fan and comb shop without customers and saw only one other person on the street but reminded himself that it was still early in the day, and that the scene would surely change at night. The lute music seemed to come from the largest house in the middle of the block. At the end of the street, he recognized a wineshop by its painted door curtain and decided that this was as good a place as any to ask about outcast women.

The prospect was unnerving to Hitomaro, who had, since his brief and tragic marriage, steadfastly avoided female company of any sort.

He had almost reached the large house, when the music stopped. As he looked, the door opened and a slender young woman in a cream-colored silk gown appeared. She carried a lute wrapped in a brocade cover and was speaking over her shoulder to a middle-aged, sharp-nosed female in black. Fascinated, Hitomaro stopped. The young woman passed something to the older one and turned to leave.

When he saw her face, he gasped, “Mitsu?”

The young woman paused. She looked him over carefully, smiling a little, while Hitomaro hid his shaking hands and stammered, “Forgive me. I thought for a moment.. .” He faltered, as his eyes traced her features and his heart nearly burst with mingled grief and joy.

She laughed softly, hiding her mouth with her sleeve, and he was lost. Just so had his young wife laughed up at him. Mitsu, who had hanged herself after their neighbor had raped her. The face of her beautiful look-alike receded into a fog of black despair.

“I hope she is pretty,” the young woman murmured with a sidelong glance. “She is a lucky person to have so handsome an admirer.”

With an effort Hitomaro came back to the present. He realized that this woman was flirting with him in public, and since she was very beautiful and had come from a house of assignation, he decided she must be one of the famous
hinin
courtesans. Perhaps she had entertained a customer and passed the auntie her fee before going home. The old woman still stood in the door, watching them, her head cocked and her pointed nose twitching.

He turned his eyes back to the enchanting girl. “Yes, she was beautiful,” he said, his voice shaking a little, “as beautiful as you. Could I... would you allow me to...” He flushed at his awkwardness and pulled a string of coppers from his sleeve. Seeing her eyebrows rise, he delved into his sleeve again and came up with a silver bar. “Is this enough?” he asked, extending it to her.

She looked at the silver and started to laugh. “Naughty man,” she murmured. “If you wish an introduction, you must ask permission of my aunt, Mrs. Omeya.” She nodded toward the older woman, bowed, and walked away quickly.

Ah, so that’s the way to do the business, Hitomaro thought and turned to the auntie. “How much and when should I return?”

Old Sharpnose stared after the young woman. Her mouth twitched. Then she snatched the silver out of Hitomaro’s hand. “This will do, and come back tomorrow, same time.” She slipped back into the house and slammed the door in his face.

“Wait! What’s her name?” Too late; the old one was gone and so was the only woman who had set his blood racing in years. He stood for another moment, a bemused smile on his face, and then walked off toward the wineshop at the end of the road. Suddenly he felt like drinking.

The wineshop was no more than a single room. Two walls on either side were lined with low wooden seating platforms, the third with large wine barrels, a rack of shelves holding earthenware cups, and another curtained doorway. It was empty, but an oil lamp flickered on a sake barrel, and the straw mats on the platforms were reasonably clean. Hitomaro sat down and shouted, “Oy!”

A young woman appeared through the doorway. She was small and pert and had unusually curly hair and snapping black eyes which lingered on Hitomaro after the first glance, but Hitomaro’s mind was on a pale goddess he hoped to hold in his arms the next day. It had been too long. To think that such a perfect creature was a prostitute—an outcast who sold her body to any man with money.

Absentmindedly he ordered the wine, then remembered that his report was due tonight and that he might not be able to return tomorrow.

The waitress brought a flask and cup just as he hit his head with the palm of his hand and cried, “I’m a fool!”

She giggled. “Not at all, sir. The wine is excellent here.”

“Oh. Sorry. It’s just that I forgot something I have to do.” Taking notice of her for the first time, he blurted out, “I like your hair. I’ve never seen hair curl like that. What do you do to it?”

Her smile froze. “Nothing. I was born with it. And I don’t like it when people make fun of me.”

He was bewildered. “No, I really like it. It’s very attractive. But I guess they used to tease you in school.”

“School? Hardly. I’m an outcast. An untouchable.”

Hitomaro greeted that with pleased surprise. “Oh? Are you really? Well, that explains it. I was told all outcast women are beautiful. I see it’s true.”

There was a pause, then she asked, “You’re not from here?” When he shook his head, she said bitterly, “Most people think of us as animals. They only treat our women decently when they want their bodies. Untouchable! Pah! They can’t get enough of touching us in bed.” Her voice shook with anger.

Hitomaro was sorry and said so.

She tossed her head. “Don’t be! We make them pay.”

Remembering the silver bar, he said awkwardly, “Let me buy you dinner tonight.” Seeing her flush, he added quickly, “No strings attached. I’d like to make up for mentioning your hair.”

She chuckled at that. “I was wrong about you. I tell you what. You can be
my
guest. I’m Yasuko. We have a beautiful salmon at home, and if you don’t mind eating with outcasts, I can promise you a fine meal.”

Hitomaro accepted eagerly. Before he left the wineshop, he got directions to her village. The intervening hours he passed talking to market vendors about the three convicts.

♦

Shortly after sunset he was walking rapidly along the country road in the gathering dusk. He carried a gift of rice cakes stuffed with sweet bean paste, and felt a general sense of satisfaction with his day. His master would be especially pleased to hear that he had already made friends with two of the
hinin.

Because Hitomaro was preoccupied with the genealogy that had produced two such extraordinary women as his curly-haired hostess and the pale goddess he had met earlier, he was unprepared for an ambush.

At a bend in the narrow road, near a stand of pines surrounding a small shrine to the fox spirit, a band of rough men, their faces covered with black cloth below their eyes, fell upon him with cudgels and staffs. Dropping his packages, he went into a defensive stance, ducking and fending off the blows, but he was unarmed and badly outnumbered. He took them for a band of robbers at first, but since he was wearing old clothes, they could hardly have expected to enrich themselves.

When he realized who they were, he fought back with renewed fury though he was at a disadvantage against so many cudgels, wielded with such expertise. At first they struck at his arms and legs and his lower back. He landed a few kicks to a groin or two and put his fist into a few faces, but then a well-placed hit to the side of his head sent him reeling. Flashes of red-hot pain exploded behind his eyes and his knees buckled. He collapsed in the roadway.

When he came to he was still lying down. Every part of his body hurt, but mostly his head. He tried to push the pain aside to concentrate on where he was. Odd sounds of rummaging and murmuring meant he was among people, and he opened his eyes a slit. He seemed to be lying on a dirt floor, looking up at an opening in a strange conical roof. Firelight flickered across beams and rafters that were tied together with vines. Nets, woven from sedge and holding various household goods, hung suspended from them. The flickering light and a certain warmth on one side of his body told him that he lay next to a fire. Its smoke spiraled up toward a patch of starry sky.

He turned his head painfully and verified that the fire was contained in a sunken pit. Beyond he saw dim shapes—people— seated or standing in the outer gloom that the firelight did not reach. He grunted experimentally, and one of the shapes approached and became Yasuko, the waitress from the wineshop.

“Oh, it’s you,” he mumbled. “I don’t remember getting here.” He grimaced and felt his scalp gingerly, wincing again at the sharp pain in his shoulder and arm. He noticed blood on his hand and sleeve, and his hand looked bruised and swollen. Memory returned suddenly, and he jerked upright with a string of bloodcurdling curses.

“Lie down!” instructed a deep, commanding voice. Hitomaro obeyed because pain and a sudden dizziness made the room spin crazily. When his head cleared, he looked up at an old man with a silken mane of white hair and a long beard. The old man was bending over him to apply a cool and fragrant compress to his head. Hitomaro sighed with relief and closed his eyes again.

Then Yasuko began to wash the blood from his hands and face and he looked at her. She smiled. “You are in good hands,” she said. “The master himself was visiting our village when Kaoru brought you home.”

She was very gentle with him. Hitomaro murmured, “Oh. Much obliged. I was waylaid near a fox shrine.” When she was done, he raised himself again, more carefully, and looked around. “I had some rice dumplings I meant to give you, but I must’ve dropped them when those bastards jumped me. At first, I thought it was a hell of a thing to do to a fellow for a few dumplings ... Who’s Kaoru?”

“I am.” Slim and muscular, the young man wore the traditional garb of a woodsman. Like Hitomaro, he had a short beard and mustache but his hair was long and loose. He came closer and looked down at Hitomaro. “I doubt it was the dumplings,” he said. “Those men were set on giving you a beating, maybe even killing you. It was hard to get their attention.” He smiled, his teeth very white against the brown skin.

Hitomaro smiled back, painfully since his lip was split and swollen. “No, it wasn’t the dumplings. You’re the one who brought me here?” he asked. “Thanks, friend. I won’t forget the favor. How did you manage it by yourself?”

“Oh, I was not alone.” Kaoru smiled again, and, reaching for a large, beautifully made bow, said, “Meet my assistant, Dragon Flash.” He whistled softly, “And my best friend, White Bear.” A large, shaggy white dog appeared. The dog leaned against the woodsman’s leg and looked down at Hitomaro. Yawning largely, he revealed a set of ferocious teeth, then let his tongue loll out to give Hitomaro a friendly greeting.

“You managed to incapacitate two of them. I wounded four,” the woodsman said. “White Bear savaged the legs and buttocks of four more, and the rest decided to run for it, carrying off their wounded. There were twelve altogether, I think.”