Across the Nightingale Floor (21 page)

From my position under the willows
I could smell the stagnant waters of the moat, and beneath that another stench:
of human corruption, of living bodies rotting slowly.

At the water's edge were flowering
grasses and a few late irises. Frogs croaked and crickets shrilled. The warm
air of the night caressed my face. Two swans, unbelievably white, drifted into
the path of the moon.

I filled my lungs with air and
slipped into the water, swimming close to the bottom and aiming slightly
downstream so that I surfaced under the shadow of the bridge. The huge stones
of the moat wall gave natural footholds, my main concern here was being seen
against the pale stone. I could not maintain invisibility for more than a
couple of minutes at a time. Time that had gone so slowly before now speeded
up. I moved fast, going up the wall like a monkey. At the first gate I heard
voices, the guards coming back from their circular patrol. I flattened myself
against a drainpipe, went invisible, and used the sound of their steps to mask
the grapple as I threw it up over the massive overhang of the wall.

I swung myself up and, staying on
the tiled roof, ran around to the south bailey. The baskets with the dying men
in them were almost directly over my head. One was calling over and over for
water, one moaned wordlessly, and one was repeating the name of the secret god
in a rapid monotone that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The
fourth was completely silent. The smell of blood, piss, and shit was terrible.
I tried to close my nostrils to it, and my ears to the sounds. I looked at my
hands in the moonlight. I had to cross above the gatehouse. I could hear the
guards within it, making tea and chatting. As the kettle clinked on the iron
chain, I used the grapples to climb the keep to the parapet that the baskets
were slung from.

They were suspended by ropes, about
forty feet above the ground, each one just large enough to hold a man forced
down on his knees, head bent forward, arms tied behind his back. The ropes
seemed strong enough to bear my weight, but when I tested one from the parapet,
the basket lurched and the man within cried out sharply in fear. It seemed to
shatter the night. I froze. He sobbed for a few minutes, then whispered again,
“Water! Water!”

There was no answering sound apart
from a dog barking far in the distance. The moon was close to the mountains,
about to disappear behind them. The town lay sleeping, calm.

When the moon had set, I checked
the hold of the grapple on the parapet, took out the poison capsules, and held
them in my mouth. Then I climbed down the wall, using my own rope and feeling
for each foothold on the stone.

At the first basket I took off my
headband, still wet from the river, and could just reach through the weave to hold
it to the man's face. I heard him suck and say something incoherent.

“I can't save you,” I whispered,
“but I have poison. It will give you a quick death.”

He pressed his face to the mesh and
opened his mouth for it.

The next man could not hear me, but
I could reach the carotid artery where his head was slumped against the side of
the basket, and so I silenced his groans with no pain to him.

I then had to climb again to the
parapet to reposition my rope, for I could not reach the other baskets. My arms
were aching, and I was all too aware of the flagstones of the yard below. When
I reached the third man, the one who had been praying, he was alert, watching
me with dark eyes. I murmured one of the prayers of the Hidden and held out the
poison capsule.

He said, “It is forbidden.”

“Let any sin be on me,” I
whispered. “You are innocent. You will be forgiven.”

As I pushed the capsule into his
mouth, with his tongue he traced the sign of the Hidden against my palm. I
heard him pray, and then he went silent forever.

I could feel no pulse at the throat
of the fourth, and thought he was already dead, but just to be sure I used the
garrote, tightening it around his neck and holding it while I counted the
minutes away under my breath.

I heard the first cock crow. As I
climbed back to the parapet the silence of the night was profound. I had
stilled the groans and the screams. I thought the contrasting quiet was sure to
wake the guards. I could hear my own pulse beat crashing like a drum.

I went back the way I had come, not
using the grapple, but dropping from the walls to the ground, moving even
faster than before. Another cock crowed and a third answered. The town would
soon be waking. Sweat was pouring from me, and the waters of the moat felt icy.
My breath barely held for the swim back, and I surfaced well short of the
willow trees, startling the swans. I breathed and dived again.

I came up on the bank and headed
for the willows, meaning to sit there for a few moments to get my breath back.
The sky was lightening. I was exhausted. I could feel my concentration and
focus slipping. I could hardly believe what I had done.

To my horror I heard someone
already there. It was not a soldier but some outcaste, I thought, a leather
worker perhaps, judging by the smell of the tannery that clung to him. Before I
could recover my strength enough to go invisible, he saw me, and in that flash
of a look I realized he knew what I had done.

Now I shall have to kill again , I
thought, sickened that this time it would not be release but murder. I could
smell blood and death on my own hands. I decided to let him live, left my
second self beneath the tree, and in an instant was on the other side of the
street.

I listened for a moment, and heard
the man speak to my image before it faded.

“Sir,” he said hesitantly, “forgive
me. I've been listening to my brother suffer for three days. Thank you. May the
secret one be with you and bless you.”

Then my second self vanished and he
cried out in shock and amazement. “An angel!”

I could hear his rough breathing,
almost sobbing, as I ran from doorway to doorway. I hoped the patrols did not
catch up with him, hoped he would not speak of what he had seen, trusted that
he was one of the Hidden, who take their secrets to the grave.

The wall around the inn was low
enough to leap up. I went back to the privy and the cistern, where I spat out
the remaining capsules, and washed my face and hands as if I had just risen.
The guard was half awake when I passed him. He mumbled, “Is it day already?”

“An hour away, still,” I replied.

“You look pale, Lord Takeo. Have
you been unwell?”

“A touch of the gripes, that's
all.”

“This damn Tohan food,” he
muttered, and we both laughed.

“Will you have some tea?” he asked.
“I'll wake the maids.”

“Later. I'll try and sleep for a while.”

I slid the door open and stepped
into the room. The darkness was just giving way to gray. I could tell by his
breathing that Kenji was awake.

“Where've you been?” he whispered.

“In the privy. I didn't feel well.”

“Since midnight?” he said, incredulous.

I was pulling off my wet clothes
and hiding the weapons under the mattress at the same time. “Not that long. You
were asleep.”

He reached out and felt my
undergarment. “This is soaking! Have you been in the river?”

“I told you, I didn't feel well.
Maybe I couldn't get to the privy in time.”

Kenji thwacked me hard on the
shoulder, and I heard Shigeru wake. “What is it?” he whispered.

“Takeo's been out all night. I was
worried about him.”

“I couldn't sleep,” I said. “I just
went out for a while. I've done it before, in Hagi and Tsuwano.”

“I know you have,” Kenji said. “But
that was Otori country. It's a lot more dangerous here.”

“Well, I'm back now.” I slipped
under the quilt and pulled it over my head, and almost immediately fell into a
sleep as deep and dreamless as death.

When I woke, it was to the sound of
the crows. I had only slept for about three hours, but I felt rested and
peaceful. I did not think about the previous night. Indeed, I had no clear
memory of it, as though I had acted in a trance. It was one of those rare days
of late summer when the sky is a clear light blue and the air soft and warm,
with no stickiness. A maid came into the room with a tray of food and tea and,
after bowing to the floor and pouring the tea, said quietly, “Lord Otori is
waiting for you in the stables. He asks you to join him as soon as possible.
And your teacher wishes you to bring drawing materials.”

I nodded, my mouth full.

She said, “I will dry your clothes
for you.”

“Get them later,” I told her, not
wanting her to find the weapons, and when she left I jumped up, got dressed,
and hid the grapples and the garrote in the false bottom of the traveling chest
where Kenji had packed them. I took up the pouch with my brushes, and the
lacquer box that contained the ink stone, and wrapped them in a carrying cloth.
I put my sword in my belt, thought myself into being Takeo, the studious
artist, and went out to the stable yard.

As I passed the kitchen I heard one
of the maids whisper, “They all died in the night. People are saying an angel
of Death came. . . .”

I walked on, my eyes lowered,
adjusting my gait so that I seemed a little clumsy. The ladies were already on
horseback. Shigeru stood in conversation with Abe, who I realized was to
accompany us. A young Tohan man stood beside them, holding two horses. A groom
held Shigeru's Kyu and my Raku.

“Come along, come along,” Abe
exclaimed when he saw me. “We can't wait all day while you laze in bed.”

“Apologize to Lord Abe,” Shigeru
said with a sigh.

“I am very sorry; there is no excuse
at all,” I babbled, bowing low to Abe and to the ladies, trying not to look at
Kaede. “I was studying late.”

Then I turned to Kenji and said
deferentially, “I have brought the drawing materials, sir.”

“Yes, good,” he replied. “You will
see some fine works at Terayama, and may even copy them if we have time.”

Shigeru and Abe mounted, and the
groom brought Raku to me. My horse was pleased to see me: He dropped his nose
to my shoulder and nuzzled me. I let the movement push me off balance, so that
I stumbled slightly. I went to Raku's right side and pretended to find mounting
somewhat of a problem.

“Let's hope his drawing skills are
greater than his horsemanship,” Abe said derisively.

“Unfortunately, they are nothing
out of the ordinary.” I did not think Kenji's annoyance with me was feigned.

I made no reply to either of them,
just contented myself with studying Abe's thick neck as he rode in front of me,
imagining how it would feel to tighten the garrote around it or to slide a
knife into his solid flesh.

These dark thoughts occupied me
until we were over the bridge and out of the town. Then the beauty of the day
began to work its magic on me. The land was healing itself after the ravages of
the storm. Morning-glory flowers had opened, brilliant blue, even where the
vines were torn down in the mud. Kingfishers flashed across the river, and
egrets and herons stood in the shallows. A dozen different dragonflies hovered
about us, and orange-brown and yellow butterflies flew up from around the
horses' feet.

On the flat land of the river plain
we rode between bright green rice fields, the plants flattened by the storm but
already pushing themselves upright again. Everywhere people were hard at work;
even they seemed cheerful despite the storm's destruction all around them. They
reminded me of the people of my village, their indomitable spirit in the face
of disaster, their unshakable belief that no matter what might befall them,
life was basically good and the world benign. I wondered how many more years of
Tohan rule would it take to gouge that belief from their hearts.

The paddy fields gave way to
terraced vegetable gardens, and then, as the path became steeper, to bamboo
groves, closing around us with their dim, silver-green light. The bamboo in its
turn gave way to pines and cedars, the thick needles underfoot muffling the
horses' tread.

Around us stretched the
impenetrable forest. Occasionally we passed pilgrims on the path, making the
arduous journey to the holy mountain. We rode in single file, so conversation
was difficult. I knew Kenji was longing to question me about the previous
night, but I did not want to talk about it or even to think about it.

After nearly three hours we came to
the small cluster of buildings around the outer gate of the temple. There was a
lodging house here for visitors. The horses were taken away to be fed and
watered, and we ate the midday meal, simple vegetable dishes prepared by the
monks.

“I am a little tired,” Lady
Maruyama said when we had finished eating. “Lord Abe, will you stay here with
Lady Shirakawa and myself while we rest for a while?”

He could not refuse, though he
seemed reluctant to let Shigeru out of his sight.

Shigeru gave the wooden box to me,
asking me to carry it up the hill, and I also took my own pack of brushes and
ink. The young Tohan man came with us, scowling a little, as though he
distrusted the whole excursion, but it must have seemed harmless enough, even
to the suspicious. Shigeru could hardly pass by so close to Terayama without
visiting his brother's grave, especially a year after his death and at the time
of the Festival of the Dead.

We began to climb the steep stone
steps. The temple was built on the side of the mountain, next to a shrine of
great antiquity. The trees in the sacred grove must have been four or five
hundred years old, their huge trunks rising up into the canopy, their gnarled
roots clinging to the mossy ground like forest spirits. In the distance I could
hear monks chanting and the boom of gongs and bells, and beneath these sounds the
voice of the forest, the min-min, the splash of the waterfall, the wind in the
cedars, birds calling. My high spirits at the beauty of the day gave way to
another, deeper feeling; a sense of awe and expectancy, as if some great and
wonderful secret were about to be revealed to me.