Across the Nightingale Floor (24 page)

Abe reined his horse back so he was
alongside me. I'd become a favorite butt for his jokes and bullying humor.
“This is what power looks like, boy. You get it by being a warrior. Makes your
work with the brush look pretty feeble, eh?”

I didn't mind what Abe thought of me,
as long as he never suspected the truth. “It's the most impressive place I've
ever seen, Lord Abe. I wish I could study it closely, its architecture, its
works of art.”

“I'm sure that can be arranged,” he
said, ready enough to be patronizing now that he was safely back in his own
city.

“Sesshu's name still lives among
us,” I remarked, “while the warriors of his age have all been forgotten.”

He burst out laughing. “But you're
no Sesshu, are you?”

His contempt made the blood rise to
his face, but I meekly agreed with him. He knew nothing about me: It was the
only comfort I had.

We were escorted to a residence
close to the castle moat. It was spacious and beautiful. All the appearances
suggested that Iida was committed to the marriage and to the alliance with the
Otori. Certainly no fault could be found with the attention and honor paid to
Shigeru. The ladies were carried to the castle itself, where they would stay at
Iida's own residence, with the women of his household. Lady Maruyama's daughter
lived there.

I did not see Kaede's face, but as
she was carried away she let her hand appear briefly through the curtain of the
palanquin. In it she held the scroll I had given her, the painting of my little
mountain bird that she said made her think of freedom.

A soft evening rain was beginning
to fall, blurring the outlines of the castle, glistening on the tiles and the
cobblestones. Two geese flew overhead with a steady beating of wings. As they
disappeared from sight I could still hear their mournful cry.

Abe returned later to the residence
with wedding gifts and effusive messages of welcome from Lord Iida. I reminded
him of his promise to show me the castle, pestering him and putting up with his
banter, until he agreed to arrange it for the following day.

Kenji and I went with him in the
morning, and I dutifully listened and sketched while first Abe and then, when
he grew bored, one of his retainers took us around the castle. My hand drew
trees, gardens, and views, while eye and brain absorbed the layout of the castle,
the distance from the main gate to the second gate (the Diamond Gate, they
called it), from the Diamond Gate to the inner bailey, from the inner bailey to
the residence. The river flowed along the eastern side; all four sides were
moated. And while I drew I listened, placed the guards, both seen and hidden,
and counted them.

The castle was full of people:
warriors and foot soldiers, blacksmiths, fletchers and armorers, grooms, cooks,
maids, servants of all kinds. I wondered where they all went at night, and if
it ever became quiet.

The retainer was more talkative
than Abe, keen to boast about Iida, and naively impressed by my drawing. I
sketched him quickly and gave him the scroll. In those days few portraits were
made, and he held it as if it were a magic talisman. After that he showed us
more than he should have, including the hidden chambers where guards were
always stationed, the false windows of the watchtowers, and the route the
patrols took throughout the night.

Kenji said very little, beyond criticizing
my drawing and correcting a brush stroke now and then. I wondered if he was
planning to come with me when I went into the castle at night. One moment I
thought I could do nothing without his help; the next I knew I wanted to be
alone.

We came finally to the central keep
and were taken inside, introduced to the captain of the guard, and allowed to
climb the steep wooden steps to the highest floor. The massive pillars that
held up the main tower were at least seventy feet in height. I imagined them as
trees in the forest, how vast their canopy would be, how dense and dark their
shade. The crossbeams still held the twists they had grown with, as though they
longed to spring upwards and be living trees again. I felt the castle's power
as though it were a sentient being drawn up against me.

From the top platform, under the
curious eyes of the midday guards, we could see out over the whole city. To the
north rose the mountains I had crossed with Shigeru, and beyond them the plain
of Yaegahara. To the southeast lay my birthplace, Mino. The air was misty and
still, with hardly a breath of wind. Despite the heavy stone walls and the
cool, dark wood, it was stiflingly hot. The guards' faces shone with sweat,
their armor heavy and uncomfortable.

The southern windows of the main
keep looked down onto the second, lower keep, which Iida had transformed into
his residence. It was built above a huge fortification wall that rose almost
directly from the moat. Beyond the moat, on the eastern side, was a strip of
marshland, about a hundred yards or so in width, and then the river, flowing
deep and strong, swollen by the storms. Above the fortification wall ran a row
of small windows, but the doors of the residence were all on the western side.
Gracefully sloping roofs covered the verandas and gave onto a small garden,
surrounded by the walls of the second bailey. It would have been hidden from
the eye at ground level, but here we could peer down into it as eagles might.

On the opposite side the northwest
bailey housed the kitchens and other offices.

My eyes kept going from one side of
Iida's palace to the other. The western side was so beautiful, almost gentle,
the eastern side brutal in its austerity and power, and the brutality was
increased by the iron rings set in the walls below the lookout windows. These,
the guards told us, were used to hang Iida's enemies from, the victims'
suffering deepening and enhancing his enjoyment of his power and splendor.

As we descended the steps again I
could hear them mocking us, making the jokes I'd learned the Tohan always made
at Otori expense: that they prefer boys to girls in bed, they'd rather eat a
good meal than have a decent fight, that they were seriously weakened by their
addiction to hot springs, which they always pissed in. Their raucous laughter
floated after us. Embarrassed, our companion muttered an apology.

Assuring him we had taken no
offense, I stood for a moment in the gateway of the inner bailey, ostensibly
smitten by the beauty of the morning-glory flowers that straggled over the
stone walls of the kitchens. I could hear all the usual kitchen sounds: the
hiss of boiling water, the clatter of steel knives, a steady pounding as
someone made rice cakes, the shouts of the cooks and the servant girls'
high-pitched chatter. But beneath all that, from the other direction, from
within the garden wall, there was something else reaching into my ears.

After a moment I realized what it
was: the tread of people coming and going across Iida's nightingale floor.

“Can you hear that strange noise?”
I said innocently to Kenji.

He frowned. “What can it be?”

Our companion laughed. “That's the
nightingale floor.”

“The nightingale floor?” we
questioned together.

“It's a floor that sings. Nothing
can cross it, not even a cat, without the floor chirping like a bird.”

“It sounds like magic,” I said.

“Maybe it is,” the man replied,
laughing at my credulity. “Whatever it is, his lordship sleeps better at night
for its protection.”

“What a marvelous thing! I'd love
to see it,” I said.

The man, still smiling, obligingly
led us round the bailey to the southern side where the gate to the garden stood
open. The gate was not high, but it had a massive overhang, and the steps
through it were set on a steep angle so that they could be defended by one man.
We looked through the gate to the building beyond. The wooden shutters were all
open. I could see the massive gleaming floor that ran the whole length of the
building.

A procession of maids bringing
trays of food, for it was almost midday, stepped out of their sandals and onto
the floor. I listened to its song, and my heart failed me. I recalled running
so lightly and silently across the floor around the house in Hagi. This floor
was four times its size, its song infinitely more complex. There would be no opportunity
to practice. I would have one chance alone to outwit it.

I stayed as long as I plausibly
could, exclaiming and admiring while trying to map every sound, and from time
to time, remembering that Kaede was somewhere within that building, straining
my ears in vain to hear her voice.

Eventually Kenji said, “Come along,
come along! My stomach is empty. Lord Takeo will be able to see the floor again
tomorrow when he accompanies Lord Otori.”

“Do we come to the castle again
tomorrow?”

“Lord Otori will wait on Lord Iida
in the afternoon,” Kenji said. “I suppose Lord Takeo will accompany him.”

“How thrilling,” I replied, but my
heart was as heavy as stone at the prospect.

When we returned to our lodging
house, Lord Shigeru was looking at wedding robes. They were spread out over the
matting, sumptuous, brightly colored, embroidered with all the symbols of good
fortune and longevity: plum blossoms, white cranes, turtles.

“My uncles have sent these for me,”
he said. “What do you think of their graciousness, Takeo?”

“It is extreme,” I replied,
sickened by their duplicity.

“Which should I wear, in your
opinion?” He took up the plum-blossom robe and the man who had brought the
garments helped him put it on.

“That one is fine.” Kenji said.
“Now let's eat.”

Lord Shigeru, however, lingered for
a moment, passing his hands over the fine fabric, admiring the delicate
intricacy of the embroidery. He did not speak, but I thought I saw something in
his face: regret, perhaps, for the wedding that would never take place, and
maybe, when I recall it now, premonition of his own fate. “I will wear this
one,” he said, taking it off and handing it to the man.

“It is indeed becoming,” the man
murmured. “But few men are as handsome as Lord Otori.”

Shigeru smiled his openhearted smile
but made no other response, nor did he speak much during the meal. We were all
silent, too tense to speak of trivial matters, and too aware of possible spies
to speak of anything else.

I was tired but restless. The
afternoon heat kept me inside. Although the doors were all opened wide onto the
garden, not a breath of air came into the rooms. I dozed, trying to recall the
song of the nightingale floor. The sounds of the garden, the insects' droning,
the waterfall's splash, washed over me, half waking me, making me think I was
back in the house in Hagi.

Towards evening, rain began to fall
again and it became a little cooler. Kenji and Shigeru were engrossed in a game
of Go, Kenji being the black player. I must have fallen completely asleep, for
I was awakened by a tap on the door and heard one of the maids tell Kenji a
messenger had come for him.

He nodded, made his move, and got
up to leave the room. Shigeru watched him go, then studied the board, as though
absorbed only in the problems of the game. I stood, too, and looked at the
layout of the pieces. I had watched the two of them play many times, and always
Shigeru proved the stronger player, but this time I could tell the white pieces
were under threat.

I went to the cistern and splashed
water on my face and hands. Then, feeling trapped and suffocated inside, I
crossed the courtyard to the main door of the lodging house and stepped out
into the street.

Kenji stood on the opposite side of
the road, talking to a young man who was dressed in the running clothes of a
messenger. Before I could catch what they were saying, he spotted me, clapped
the young man on the shoulder, and bade him farewell. He crossed the street
towards me, dissembling, looking like my harmless old teacher. But he would not
look me in the eye, and in the moment before he'd seen me I felt that the true
Muto Kenji had been revealed, as it had been once before: the man beneath all
the disguises, as ruthless as Jato.

They continued to play Go until
late into the night. I could not bear to watch the slow annihilation of the
white player, but I could not sleep, either, my mind full of what lay ahead of
me, and plagued, too, by suspicions of Kenji. The next morning he went out
early, and while he was away Shizuka came, bringing wedding gifts from Lady
Maruyama. Concealed in the wrapping were two small scrolls. One was a letter,
which Shizuka passed to Lord Shigeru.

He read it, his face closed and
lined with fatigue. He did not tell us what was in it, but folded it and put it
in the sleeve of his robe. He took the other scroll and, after glancing at it,
passed it to me. The words were cryptic, but after a few moments I grasped
their meaning. It was a description of the interior of the residence, and
clearly showed where Iida slept.

“Better to burn them, Lord Otori,”
Shizuka whispered.

“I will. What other news?”

“May I come closer?” she asked, and
spoke into his ear so quietly that only he and I could hear. “Arai is sweeping
through the southwest. He has defeated the Noguchi and is within reach of Inuyama.”

“Iida knows this?”

“If not, he soon will. He has more
spies than we do.”

“And Terayama? Have you heard from
there?”

“They are confident they can take
Yamagata without a struggle, once Iida—”

Shigeru held up a hand, but she had
already stopped speaking.

“Tonight, then,” he said briefly.

“Lord Otori.” Shizuka bowed.

“Is Lady Shirakawa well?” he said
in a normal voice, moving away from her.

“I wish she were better,” Shizuka
replied quietly. “She does not eat or sleep.”

My heart had stopped beating for a
moment when Shigeru had said tonight. Then it had taken on a rapid but measured
rate, sending the blood powering through my veins. I looked once more at the
plan in my hand, writing its message into my brain. The thought of Kaede, her
pale face, the fragile bones of her wrists, the black mass of her hair, made my
heart falter again. I stood up and went to the door to hide my emotion.