Samurai Son (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

The samurai spent most of the day helping the peasants extinguish the fires in Yutsui.
 
Not all the town had burned, and although many were homeless, there was enough room to bring those without roofs into the Takeshi estate.
 
Akira and Rokuro made certain the guards provided the peasants with enough supplies to make shelters for themselves and enough rice to eat.

Akira returned home, sweaty and dirty.
 
His clothes stank of smoke and were muddy from his helping the peasants move to their new, temporary homes.
 
At one point, he had helped a peasant family pitch one of the tents when it was obvious they had no idea how to do it.
 
Jiro and Kasumi had been with him the entire time, and he had endured Jiro’s constant jibes and insults when he had pitched the peasants’ tent and carried their things in.

“Look at the great future daimyo!”
 
Jiro laughed, pointing at Akira.
 
“Wallowing in the mud with the pigs and peasants.”

“That’s not funny,” Kasumi said, and much to Akira’s surprise, she took some buckets from the hands of an old peasant woman, despite her protests, and carried them inside the tent.

#

After Akira washed and changed into clean clothes, he walked into the dining room, where they had tea earlier that day.
 
The shattered cups were gone, replaced by a new teapot and cups with a pale green glaze.
 
Akira looked around.
 
Seated at the low-slung table were Kasumi and Jiro, but Ikumi, Rokuro, and all the other samurai were not present.
 
He bowed to them in greeting.
 
Kasumi and Jiro stood and bowed, though Jiro’s bow was not much more than a head nod.

“Where’s Ikumi?” he asked as he seated himself at the end of the table.

Kasumi nodded.
 
“Ikumi-sama said that she had some things she had to do.
 
She made certain that the servants brought us dinner.”

The servant woman bowed to Akira, poured miso soup into a bowl, and handed him a tray of rice cakes.
 
She then offered slices of fish with pieces of pickled ginger to him.
 
Akira thanked her then realized the woman serving him was one of the peasants whose home had burned.
 
He had helped pitch a tent for her.
 
At one time, she might have been pretty, but the years of hard labor and age had crept up on her.
 
Akira guessed she was maybe his mother’s age.

“Thank you for helping us, Takeshi-sama,” she said.

Akira blinked.
 
He had seldom heard anyone use his family house as his name, nor had he ever been addressed as “Lord.”
 
He was speechless but nodded when she poured more tea then slipped out of the room.

“She recognizes you,” Kasumi said, and she smiled as Akira looked up.

“Peasants,” Jiro scoffed.
 
“You ruined a good set of clothing with them.”

Akira shrugged.
 
“It seems little when others suffer.”
 
He drank his soup and began eating his rice with his chopsticks, taking bits of fish and ginger to mix with it.

“When will Takeshi return?” Kasumi asked, changing the subject.
 
“Surely he would be notified of the dragon?”

“Rokuro sent a messenger,” Akira said.
 
“He’s with Shogun Kyogi, which means it will take the better part of a fortnight for him to return.”

“What can he do?” Jiro said.

“Jiro!”
 
Kasumi turned to her brother.

“What?”

“That’s not polite!”
 
Kasumi frowned and Akira watched the interaction between brother and sister curiously.
 
“You apologize to Akira-san.”

“Why should I?” Jiro said.
 
“Akira shook in his sandals behind Rokuro, letting an old man take on the dragon when he should’ve.”

Kasumi inhaled sharply and was about to speak when Akira raised his hand.
 
“So, Jiro, you have fought dragons before?” he asked mildly.

“I have,” Jiro said.

“It was a small one, and he had a number of retainers with him,” Kasumi said.

“But it was a dragon, and it actually killed several of my ashigaru before I slew it with my katana,” Jiro said.

Akira frowned.
 
Jiro had fought and killed a dragon?
 
He considered Jiro thoughtfully.
 
Jiro didn’t look like a dragon slayer, and even if it were only a small one, it would’ve still been dangerous.

“Have you ever slain a dragon?”

The words broke Akira from his reverie.
 
“Have I what?”

“Slain a dragon,” Jiro said.
 
“Surely you’ve seen dragons in this backwater place?”

“No,” said Akira and now wondered why.
 
He ignored the slight on his home because the question was valid.
 
In his seventeen years, he had never seen a dragon, even though sailors from other lands said dragons lurked in the waters outside Tsuitori and in the volcanic mountains in the center of the island.
 
But Akira had never seen them.

“Maybe the gods and tutelary spirits here keep the dragons away,” Kasumi offered.

“Bah!”
 
Jiro laughed.
 
“Next you’ll be telling me there are Tengu here.”

“There are Tengu,” said Akira.
 
He felt anger well deep in his chest.
 
Jiro was obviously a fool who spoke about things he knew nothing about.

“I’ve never seen them,” Jiro said.

“Just because you can’t see a spirit doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” Kasumi said.

“Well, if there are, they do a bad job keeping the dragons away.
 
Too bad you have no dragon slayers here.”

“I’ll kill the dragon,” Akira said.

“You?”
 
Jiro’s gaze narrowed.
 
“You’ll kill the dragon?”

“I am samurai and I’m one of the best fighters in the islands,” Akira said.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Akira, don’t—” Kasumi said.

Akira raised his hand.
 
“I can do it.”

“With how many ashigaru?
 
I brought twenty.”

“None.”

Jiro fell silent.
 
His narrow gaze widened.
 
“Really?”

“I’ll kill that dragon,” Akira said.
 
I’ll show you what the son of a daimyo can do.

Kasumi stared.
 
“Are you crazy?
 
That dragon will kill you.”

Akira felt a small thrill course through him.
 
Did she care about him? he wondered.
 
“It’ll be dangerous,” he said, “but danger is not unknown to samurai.”

“He’s bluffing, Kasumi,” Jiro said.
 
“He won’t really do it.”

Akira felt his face flush.
 
“You’re wrong.
 
I’ll take on that dragon; you’ll see.”

“I wonder what Ikumi or Rokuro would have to say about that,” Kasumi said.

Akira felt a lump in his throat.
 
He hadn’t thought it all out, but if Ikumi or Rokuro heard of his boast, they would put an end to it.
 
He was still under age, even if he was the son of a daimyo.

“You can go to them,” Jiro said.
 
“That would give him an excuse to not fight the dragon.”
 
He laughed.

Akira found he had lost his appetite.
 
He smiled coldly.
 
“You’ll regret your words, Jiro.
 
I will make the dragon leave Tsuitori.”
 
With that, he stood up and walked out, not bowing to either of them.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Akira returned to his room, pulled out a thicker coat, and strapped on what little armor he had.
 
He wasn’t tired, despite the late hour.
 
The conversation with Jiro angered him.
 
How dare a lower-ranking samurai insult his bravery?
 
If he had been of age, he might have been able to challenge Jiro to a duel or call him in front of the daimyo, where his father could mete out justice.

But the reality was that Jiro was from another house and served another daimyo, namely Nanashi.
 
Nanashi was equal to Takeshi in power, and a duel between his messenger samurai and Akira would bring political ramifications.
 
A samurai could kill a peasant without repercussions, but a samurai killing another samurai outside of war would be judged in court.
 
Often the emperor’s judges chose death by seppuku for the unfortunate accused.
 
While Akira had been taught to not be afraid of death in his samurai training, he didn’t want to lose his life over such a worm as Jiro.

There was also the problem of his duty to his father, Takeshi daimyo.
 
Takeshi had no other heir, and without Akira to continue the family line, the emperor would divide the lands to whichever vassals he saw fit.
 
The name of Takeshi would be gone for all eternity.

Yet the same thing would occur if the dragon killed Akira.
 
Akira pondered this as he wrapped a few rice cakes he had stowed away during dinner in thin paper.
 
Was he being rash by fighting the dragon?
 
Would he burn in the dragon’s flames?

He decided it could not be helped.
 
He had, perhaps foolishly, boasted to Jiro and Kasumi that he could kill the dragon, and if he backed down, he would lose face.
 
Even worse, he could see Kasumi going to his mother and alerting Ikumi.
 
He didn’t need his mother finding out his plan, so he needed to leave now.

Akira opened the chest beside his futon and gazed inside.
 
Within was an ivory Shinto talisman in the shape of a hawk.
 
A Shinto priest had given him the talisman, telling him it would keep Akira safe.
 
Akira looked at the hawk.
 
The bird’s wings were closed, as though it sat on a tree or rooftop.
 
The ivory’s off-white color was dark where the artist had painstakingly carved the feathers.
 
A Shinto priest had blessed the amulet, but Akira had heard that a more powerful shaman or maybe a wizard had imbued special powers into it.
 
Akira didn’t know if it would really keep him safe, but he decided it wouldn’t hurt.
 
He pulled the leather cord over his head and thrust the talisman under his shirt next to his skin.

He knew it might take hours to find the dragon, and he would need something to drink as well as eat.
 
He pulled out a small bottle of sake he owned.
 
He would’ve preferred tea to the rice wine, but tea required a fire and a kettle.
 
While he liked sake very much, he drank from this flask on only special occasions.
 
He wrapped the flask in a cloth and laid it gently in the pack.
 
It would help keep him warm through the night.

Once he had packed everything, he opened the door.
 
Akira had always had sensitive ears and good eyesight, so he used that to his advantage as he quietly walked toward the main hall, which led outside.
 
Akira thought about trying to slide out of one of the side doors but decided against it for fear of attracting more attention.
 
He wasn’t sure if Kasumi would alert Ikumi, in which case, Ikumi wouldn’t expect him to leave by the front door.

Akira listened as he padded quietly along the smooth
cherrywood
floors.
 
He paused at the room where he knew Ikumi slept and listened but heard nothing.
 
He continued, glancing down another hall, where he knew Kasumi and Jiro stayed in the guest quarters.
 
A few more steps, and he made it to the front door.

He slipped outside, taking a slow breath of the cool, humid air.
 
The night breeze tugged on his silken clothing; already, he was glad he had brought his warmer coat.
 
It wasn’t quite autumn, but the sea breeze spoke of colder weather coming from the north.
 
As he stood quietly for a moment, he could see the flicker of torches along the wall and gate.

Akira cursed himself.
 
He hadn’t really thought this plan through.
 
He had wanted to get his bow from the armory, but he doubted he would be lucky enough to get past the guards there.
 
All he had to fight the dragon were his katana and wakizashi.
 
What’s more, there would be guards along the gate, and they would be loath to let out the daimyo’s only son, especially at night.

He walked slowly toward the gate, keeping his senses alert for anything.
 
As he walked silently, he avoided the light.
 
There were more guards posted around the compound than usual.
 
Rokuro had no doubt doubled the guard because of the dragon.
 
For all Akira knew, Rokuro could be out on one of the walls or giving orders to the guards at the main gate.

Akira crept in the shadows carefully.
 
Once or twice, he heard a twig snap, and he turned around, hand on his katana.
 
But nothing moved, although he thought he caught a glimpse of a little cat as it bounded after something in the dark.

He was almost at the guard station when he heard another soft noise and turned around.
 
This time he felt something rub against his feet.
 
Akira almost jumped until he looked down and saw a calico cat rubbing against him.

“Little Neko,” he whispered, and he bent down to pet her.
 
He wondered where she had come from because he had never seen a pretty calico around home.
 
She had beautiful, sleek fur and was a healthy weight, so he suspected she probably had a name other than the generic “cat” he had called her.
 
Surely her owners would be looking for her,
he thought.
 
The cat butted him with her head and began purring as he ran his cold fingers through her fur.
 
“It is not a night for little kittens.
 
Go back home.
 
I have work to do.”

The calico simply purred louder.
 
She reached her paws up and grasped his coat sleeve with her sharp claws and stretched on him.
 
Akira was both amused and annoyed at the little creature’s antics.

“Little Neko, go home.”
 
He gently removed the claws from his coat and set her once again on the ground.
 
He inspected the sleeve for tears, but the cat had done no damage.
 
He stood up and walked forward.
 
Maybe the cat was a sign from the gods.
 
They often meant good luck.

He turned and looked at the guards’ station.
 
The torches shone brightly, and there was a metal drum filled with burning coal next to the station so the guards could keep warm.
 
Two guards were on duty, but they weren’t at attention.
 
They were kneeling down, playing dice.
 
Akira frowned.

He walked up to them while they were engrossed in play.
 
One man, skinny and young—barely older than Akira—with not even a bit of stubble on his face, knelt down and tossed the dice in a ring they had made in the sandy dirt.
 
A small pile of coins lay just inside the little circle.

“Look!
 
I win again!” he said, his voice triumphant.
 
An ashigaru, he wore the body armor with the crest of Takeshi daimyo—a flying hawk.

“You cheated,” said the other ashigaru, an older man with a thick mustache and round face.
 
His armor was more complete but battered, as though he had seen many battles before.
 
“Let me see those dice.”
 
He reached out to grasp them, but the younger ashigaru snatched them away.

“They’re good!” the younger guard said.

Akira frowned.
 
“Should you be playing dice?”

Both men jumped.
 
The older one scrambled to his feet and grasped his naginata while the younger one scooped up the winnings.

“Takeshi-sama!” gasped the younger man.
 
Both guards bowed low.

“No, it’s all right,” Akira said.
 
While he was indeed the son of the daimyo, both Ikumi and Rokuro had been given custody of the estate since he was not of age yet.
 
“Please be quiet.
 
I need to leave the estate for a while.”

Both guards stood up and looked at each other.
 
Then the younger one smiled.
 
“What for?”

“None of your business,” Akira said, but his tone had none of the well-practiced haughtiness he had heard in Jiro’s voice.
 
“Listen,” he said.
 
“It’s just for a short while.”

“Rokuro said no one is to enter or leave without his knowledge,” the older guard said.

“Hmm.”
 
Akira knew his orders would not supersede Rokuro’s.
 
Unless...
 
“It’s pretty cold out here, isn’t it?”

The two guards nodded slowly.

“Do you have anything to drink?”
 
Akira guessed Rokuro wouldn’t allow his guards to have sake, but Akira didn’t care right now.

“No.
 
We’re not even allowed tea.”

“Shame,” said Akira.
 
“Look, I just so happen to have a flask of fine sake I might give you, and I might forget you were playing dice while on duty if you let me out for a while and tell no one.”

The ashigaru looked unsure.
 
They turned and spoke softly to each other.
 
Akira waited what seemed several long minutes before they turned to him.

“Takeshi-sama, we accept,” the older guard said.
 
“Sake?”

Akira dug out the flask.
 
With some reluctance, he handed it over to the guards.
 
The younger guard motioned him to the smaller door cut into the gate.
 
“Hurry, Takeshi-sama,” he whispered as he opened it.

Akira slipped out and felt fur once again at his ankles.
 
He looked down to see the little calico beside him.
 
Before he could turn and tell the guards to wait and let the cat back in, the guards had shut the door.

Akira knew he had no time before one of the other guards saw him from the wall walk.
 
He picked up the little cat and dashed into the woods.