Dream of a Spring Night (Hollow Reed series) (29 page)

But the next day his brother, the emperor, heard the tale and stopped by to tease him.
 
His Majesty’s attendants dutifully laughed as Sutoku, himself only thirteen at the time, made fun of his little brother.
 
This had so enraged him that he had turned his sword against Sutoku.
 
Only the presence of Lady Kii had saved His Majesty from receiving a serious wound.

The incident had painful repercussions.
 
For a subject to raise a sword against the emperor was the ultimate sacrilege.
 
Only the fact that he was a small child saved him.
 
The question of exile was raised and rejected.
 
In the end, it was decided that Prince Masahito must be possessed and would undergo formal exorcism.

Four ladies-in-waiting pinned him to the floor by kneeling on his arms and legs, while the abbot of the Ninna Temple and various celebrated clerics prayed over him.
 

They reported later that the spirit had spoken through the prince’s lips.
 
It had said, “I hate all of you.
 
I hate my brothers and sisters.
 
I hate the emperor,” and uttered many dreadful threats.
 
Eventually, the abbot had managed to subdue the demon.
 

The incident was not forgotten, but things returned more or less to normal afterward.
 
Lady Kii wisely locked the ceremonial sword away, the brothers saw each other only rarely, and then only in the presence of others.
 
But he was not made Crown Prince.
 
His mother found the incident irritating but trivial, but his father expressed his first serious worries about Prince Masahito’s intelligence.

He had learned from all this that evil spirits emanated from people, who were as hollow as the dolls, and he believed that he would be safe only as long as he controlled them.
 
Experience had proven him right.
 

Blaming Lady Sanjo for his glum mood, he rose and walked to his office.
 
His secretary, Tameyazu, jumped up and prostrated himself.
 
The emperor gave him the barest nod and sat down behind his desk.
 
He looked at the arrangement of the furnishings, and wondered where Shinzei would fit in.
 
Then he decided he did not want Shinzei here, not yet, maybe never again.
 
Shinzei had counseled him to bed the girl, as had Otomae.
 
And Kiyomori.
 
He would never be anyone’s puppet again.

The maid snored.

Toshiko had been aware of the irritating habit for weeks.
 
It was probably the reason why this woman, of all the servants, had been left behind to look after her.

Tonight she greeted the rasping sound with relief.
 
As long as she heard it, she was safe.
 
She began by applying her make-up, making it thicker and more garish than usual because she wanted to be taken for one of the professional entertainers.
 
Then she dressed in her shirabyoshi costume, adding the small drum, the sword, and the hat.
 
Because she had no one to help her, she was soon out of breath and weak-kneed and had to sit down to rest.

Blessedly, the snoring in the distance continued unabated.
 
Faintly, from outside, came the muffled twanging of the bowstrings of the guards.
 
The sound, meant to scare away criminals and evil spirits, was followed by the calling out of the hour: the hour of the rat.
 
A moment later the temple bell rang, too.

It was time.
 
She got up and took a final sip of water.
 
Then she tied on the tall hat, put the sword through her sash, and slipped the drum cord over her shoulder.
 
She slid open the door to the interior of the hall by tiny increments.
 
The track was well-oiled, but she could not risk the smallest noise.
 
The snoring was louder now.
 
Good.
 
It would cover the whispering of her silk trousers as she glided across to the southern veranda.

She had almost reached the outer doors when the snoring stopped abruptly.
 
Taking the next few steps quickly, she froze with her hand on the shutter.
 
All was silent.
 
Was the woman awake and listening?
 
Toshiko’s heart beat so loudly that she was afraid she would not hear her coming.
 
She was about to sink down on trembling knees when the snoring started up again, softly at first, then gaining full power.
 
With a sigh of relief, Toshiko lifted the shutter.
 
It seemed heavy, but she had lost much of her strength during the past days.
 
Gritting her teeth, she managed to raise it enough to slip out and lower it again.
 
The effort left her gasping for breath.

The night was very dark, and a light rain was falling.
 
With a shiver, she pulled the collar of her jacket up around her neck and set off in the direction of the north gate.
 
Her slippers were soon soaked and the hems of her full trousers heavy with moisture.
 

The unfamiliar grounds of the palace lay empty and silent.
 
She passed several dark buildings she knew nothing about.
 
In the stables were lights, and she could hear and smell the horses inside.
 
Panic returned.
 
Where there were horses, there were grooms.
 
She hurried past.
 
The raised and curving roofline of the north gate hove into
sight,
and with it more lights and the guards’ barracks.
 
Sounds of raucous singing came from the barracks.
 
The thought of being caught by men like those inside almost frightened her into turning around.
  

The massive outer gate was closed and barred for the night.
 
She must leave that way or not at all.
 
The most dangerous moment had come.
 
She rested a little to gather her courage and strength,
then
walked quickly toward the gate house.
  

Iron cressets hung suspended from the eaves of the massive gate.
 
They held burning pine branches to light the area and sputtered and smoked in the drizzle.
 

The door to the guard house stood open and light fell on the wet gravel outside.
 
Toshiko crept up.
 
Two soldiers in the uniforms of the outer palace guards sat on the floor, playing go and drinking warmed wine.
 
The wine pitcher rested on a small brazier.
 
When one of the men turned to refill his cup he saw her outside the door.
 
His eyes widened.
 
He scrambled up.
 
“What have we here?” he said, smiling broadly.
 
His companion joined him in the doorway.

Toshiko looked uncertainly at their wine-flushed, grinning faces.
 
Apprehension knotted her stomach.
  
“Please let me out, honorable officers,” she asked, bowing.
 

“Not so fast, my pretty,” said the first guard.
 
“Come in out of the rain.
 
We can use a little company.”

Toshiko took a breath and bowed again, with a little flourish, just as a shirabyoshi did after her performance.
 
“Begging your pardon, but not tonight, my brave officers,” she said, trying to sound regretful.
 
“I’m exhausted.
 
They’ve have kept me dancing for hours.
 
Please let me out.”

“I bet that’s not all they kept you for,” said the second guard.
 
His companion guffawed.

Toshiko offered, “I’ll be back tomorrow.
 
Maybe then?”
 
She smiled and performed another small dance movement.

The second guard shook his head and returned to the game.
 
The first man stepped outside.
 
“A promise?
 
I’ll be waiting.
 
Just ask for Corporal Mori at the barracks.
 
I bet I can make you dance all night, and not on your feet either.”
 
He laughed.

She hid her disgust.
 
He sauntered to the gate and lifted the heavy bar.
 
Pulling one wing of the gate open just far enough for her to slip through, he waited until she stepped forward, then he snatched her, pressing her against the closed section with his body.
 
He pushed his face into hers.
 
She gagged on the sour fumes of wine.
 
Inserting a hand into her jacket, he squeezed one of her breasts.
 
“Sure you won’t stay a little, sweetheart?” he murmured against her lips.

She gasped and slapped his face.

For a moment he looked angry, but then he stepped aside with a chuckle.
 
“Oh, all right, all right,” he said.
 
“I can see you’re bushed.
 
Tomorrow then.
 
Don’t forget.”

She did not give him time to change his mind but slipped through the opening and ran.
 

The road took her straight to the bridge into the city.
 
When she was out of sight of the palace, she slowed a little to catch her breath.
 
The rain still drizzled, but over the mountains to the east the sky was clearing.
 
Moon and stars appeared briefly between ragged clouds and were hidden again.
 
It was no longer so dark now that she was in the open.
 
Ahead lay the city, not quite asleep because lights glimmered here and there.
 
But the road was empty, and even on the bridge were only a few late stragglers.
 
They walked hunched into their clothes against the misting rain and paid no attention to her.
 
The water lapped against the bridge supports and muffled the sound of steps on the wooden planks.

An odd feeling of lightheadedness seized her.
 
She was free — she was truly free.
 
Nobody would find her now.
 
Nobody could ever again force her will and use her body without her permission.

In the city, the storefronts were shuttered and few lights showed in houses.
 
She needed directions to Sumei-mon but there was no one to ask.
 
And there was soon another problem: her costume was a familiar and inviting sight to the night crawlers of the city.

A drunk appeared suddenly out of the darkness and propositioned her, reaching with greedy hands for her sleeves and making obscene demands.
 
She ran, diving into an alley, where she stumbled about and fell over unseen obstacles.
 
A dog charged at her, barking and growling through some broken fencing.
 
She tripped over her sword.
 
When the drum caught on a fencepost, jerking her off her feet into the mud, she tore it off, throwing it, the sword, and the hat into someone’s garden before running on.
  

Her rain-soaked clothing was heavy, and she was out of strength quickly.
 
When the moon came out again, she was alone in a dank corner filled with refuse and broken furniture.
 
She leaned against a wall to rest,
then
let herself slide down, her legs too weak to hold her.

But the cold and wet soaked through her clothes, and her clammy jacket clung to her body, chilling her to the bone.
 
Teeth chattering, she got up.
 
She must find the doctor or perish in this darkness.
 

Walking more slowly now and stumbling often, she took her direction by a glimpse of a distant pagoda.
 
Where there was a pagoda, there was a temple, and in a temple, there must be good people who followed the Buddha’s way, people who would help her.

Even as she thought this, she stumbled over a sleeping monk.
 

He was one of those who had taken vows of poverty and wandered the country begging for their food.
 
This one had found a doorway to sleep in, his wide straw hat covering his head against the drizzle, and his bare legs sticking out into the alleyway.
 
Because his legs were so dirty that it was hard to tell them from the mud, Toshiko had stepped on them.

Her heart stopped when the mud-colored creature scrambled up with a curse.
 
It was as if the earth had opened up to spit out an angry goblin.
 
Then she saw the shaven head and the monk’s robe, and relief flooded through her.
 
“”Oh, thank heaven,” she cried, “forgive me, reverend sir.
 
I did not see you there.”

He stopped ranting and peered at her from bleary eyes.
 
“Watch where you’re going next time,” he grumbled, rubbing his leg.
 

“Yes, it was my fault,” she said meekly.
 
“I am very sorry.”
 
Then she asked, “Please, could you direct me?
 
I am looking for Doctor Yamada.
 
He lives near the Sumei-mon, I think.”

“You’re lost?” the monk asked, his eyes roaming over her shivering figure.
 
“New in town?
 
You look pretty young to be on the game.”

Confused, she backed away.
 
He followed, smiling now.
 
Even in the murk, she saw that his teeth were long and yellow and he was no longer young.
 
She could smell onions on his breath and sweat and dirt on his body.

“Come, don’t be shy, girl,” he said, pushing his face into hers and reached into his robe.
 
He brought out a few coins and rattled them in his hand.
 
“It’s your lucky night.
 
I’m in funds.”

She swallowed hard and took another step back, bumping into an empty barrel and losing her balance when it toppled.
 
He caught her and tried to kiss her.
 
His onion breath was hot in her face, and his fumbling hand was at her trouser bands.

“No,” she screamed, pushing at him.
 
He laughed.
 
“Please,” she begged with a gulp, “you’re mistaken . . . .”
 
But even though he was a monk, she knew this was no mistake and felt the sour bile rising in her throat.
 
She retched.
 
He loosened his hold and eyed her suspiciously.
 
“What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m sick,” she mumbled, a hand over her mouth.

“Sick?”
 
He stepped away.
 
“How dare you accost people in your condition?”
 
He spat and abandoned her quickly.

Toshiko gulped in cold, wet air to settle her stomach,
then
limped away herself.