The Dragon's Flower Page 8
The princess’ brow furrowed and she tilted her head to one side. “How did you get the bruises on your ribs, then?”
Shichiro felt a faint heat begin to crawl across his cheekbones, but valiantly did his best to ignore it. “It was getting dark by then, and when I was nearly to the base of the tree I… slipped.”
“Oh.” Her pretty face twisted in sympathy, “I suppose that probably hurt.”
Hurt was not exactly the word Shichiro would have used to describe the agony of breathlessness he’d laid in, “Ah, just a little.” He admitted.
She smiled at him and to his astonishment, cut another finger and stirred it into the new poultice. He watched and she prayed over it again and scooted closer, smoothing the cool poultice over the aching skin and bone. “You did, however, appear to treat your ribs properly,” She murmured thoughtfully. “If I am permitted to venture a somewhat presumptuous guess… I would say you get into those rather… unusual situations a lot?”
Shichiro felt the scowl climbing onto his face. It couldn’t be that obvious that his luck was a thing of horror tales? He swallowed hard and said, “Don’t listen to what my brother has to say on the subject, he always makes it sound far worse than it actually is.”
Hanako carefully tucked in the edges of the bandages she had finishing winding about his torse and patted it gently in satisfaction, the smiled at him. “I will keep that in mind, Ronin-san.”
Shichiro felt a strange warmth in his chest where her hand had touched, and the smile seemed to fuddle his brain somehow. Still, he was focused enough to ask, “What was with you cutting your finger?”
If he hadn’t been as well-trained as he was, attuned to the body’s every movement so he could deem their next move in the fight, Shichiro might have missed the slight stiffening of his hostess at the question. Then she relaxed again and as she turned to smile at him, politely shielding her lips with her fan, he wondered if he had imagined it. “All healers have their own secrets, ronin-san, and this one happens to come from my mother. I’m afraid it’s not my secret to tell.”
Then she calmly went back to cleaning up, leaving a faintly brooding Shichiro alone on the floor. He knew she was hiding something, but he also knew she wouldn’t tell him, not if it was truly her mother’s secret. She was loyal and somewhat stubborn, and she wouldn’t give up easily.
He shrugged slightly, pleased at the complete lack of discomfort. It had made climbing the pagoda this time a rather painful affair. He’d stumble across the answer in time, most likely. All he would need would be to be patient… and wait.
----
“I wish you safe travels upon your journeys, Ronin-san,” The princess said, smiling and bowing prettily. Shichiro bowed back.
“With such a heartfelt blessing, I’m sure it will be quite uneventful.” He said, then paused, as if considering what to say next. “I… wish to thank you for your gifts. It was nice to have spare funds for once, and the hat did indeed keep off the rain. And as you can see, I was even able to buy new clothes.”
“Oh, good. I am very glad I could have been of service,” she said happily. “And speaking of gifts, I have prepared some more wares to give you. Not as much as last time, I am afraid, but I hope they will be of some help.”
She proceeded to pick up a bundle and present it with a bow. The ronin accepted the gift happily, wondering what sort of marvels were once again being given to him freely. “I assure you, Hanako-hime, if they are half as good as the ones you gave me last time, they will be of very great use.”
And with that, he turned to go, but the Princess suddenly cried out, “Wait, Ronin-san!”
Surprised, Shichiro turned back to look, and to his surprise saw the princess had begun to pull the pins from her long hair. With deft fingers, she removed what appeared to be a long braid of black hair and pulled it free from the mess of her hairstyle. She held it out to him, and Shichrio saw it was very long indeed.
“Here, Shichiro-san, is my last gift for you. I spun and braided this rope from black silk and hid it in my hair. I…” Hanako flushed, suddenly unsure in the face of her forwardness. “I remember how you told me how hard it was to climb up the pagoda, so I made you a rope. It is long enough for you to use to climb down one roof at a time, and it is light and small and will not cause you undue burden. It is my hope that it will be of use to you not only in climbing my pagoda, but be of great assistance in your wanderings.”
She held out her gift (which, all of a sudden, seemed rather sorry and pathetic) and bowed as deeply as her conscience allowed her (she was, after all, a princess). “I…” She felt as if her tongue was slipping around inside her mouth, and she sternly forced it to obey. “I hope you will accept this, but if you do not wish to, it is of no consequence.”
There was a period of silence, and the longer it dragged on, the harder Hanako bit her lip. But just as she was about to give up, she felt the slender weight of the silken rope being lifted from her fingers, and in shock, she glanced up to see the wanderer’s smiling face, and it was like the sun emerging again after the last of the summer storms. She quickly covered her lower face with a sleeve, lest she beam back at him in a distinctly unladylike manner.
Shichiro smiled at her and bowed back. “Thank you, Hanako-hime, for this very wonderful gift.”
“Ooh! It-it isn’t so very wonderful, Ronin-san! I mean, I…” Even though he enjoyed the sight of her fidgeting and her blushing face, Shichiro cut her off.
“No, it’s far more wonderful than you realize. All the other gifts were things you gave me to sell. But this, you made just for me, and… and it’s been a long time since I was given something as precious as that. So thank you, Princess Hanako of the Dragons.”
At that, she calmed, and her strangely familiar blue eyes became bright and peaceful, like a still pond reflecting the azure of a cloudless noonday sky. “It was a pleasure, Ronin Shichiro-san. May the Dragon and the Fox guard your steps.”
“And to you also, princess,” Shichiro responded. “Until we meet again.”
At that, she lifted her sleeve to cover her mouth, but her eyes shone bright. “Until we meet again, Shichiro-san.”
And with that, Shichiro stepped over the railing of the engawa and stepped carefully to the edge of the roof. Taking out his new rope, he tied a loop at one end, hooked it over a spar at the edge, and took ahold of the rope. He turned back to Hanako, lifted one hand in farewell, and disappeared over the edge of the roof. A minute later, the loop at the end was carefully flicked upwards and free, and all signs of the ronin were gone.
With a sigh, Hanako slid her shoji shut, and wondered when he would be coming again.
CHAPTER FIVE -- THE TEMPLE AND THE ARRANGEMENT
The river Ginshi ran through the fields and plains of Nagisa, like a long silver thread laid against a field of green and gold. And there, nestled between its two arms, was the city of Ginshi, and its crown j ewel was the palace of the Hamasaki Shogun.
Shichiro tipped his hat up and smiled at the sight it made—he would never grow tired of looking at Ginshi. He re-adjusted his chin straps and ignored the sideways looks at the strange ronin who wore a woman’s hat. He had learned to tune them out months ago.
The ferry man pulled his raft to bear and held out a hand for his payment. “First time visiting Ginshi, ronin-san?”
Shichiro shook his head quickly, tilting his hat down to hide his smile. “No. My brother lives here, you see. I come to visit him and his family from time to time.”
It was a simple matter to reach the palace—or so it appeared. Shichiro would lay good money on that blasted Ichiro spying on him from the moment he set food on land. He lifted his shoulder slightly. He could almost swear he felt Ichiro’s sharp, piercing gaze boring into his back that very moment.
He approached the gate guard and bowed politely. “If you would be so kind as to pass on a message for me, Guard-san?”
The Guard narrowed his eyes. “Depends on the message, I think,” he said.
‘The wandering sword
To the honorable crane
Gives forth his greetings.”
The guard seemed skeptical, but he left, leaving Shichiro to wait patiently at the gate. Some minutes later he returned, escorting a samurai. “This is Inoshishi Hirohito-sama, who has been instructed to escort you.”
The ronin smiled and bowed deeply. “My thanks, samurai-sama, for agreeing to assist such a humble one as I.”
The samurai eyed his rather bedraggled appearance, but said nothing and silently led Shichiro into the palace compound. At last the ronin was delivered to his intended destination and deposited in front of a pair of shoji in the midst of the palace, and there he was left alone.
After a moment, Shichiro tapped on the frame. A soft ‘Come in’ sounded, and he slid the door open to reveal Isao, dressed in formal kimono and sitting before a desk, brush poised over a scroll.
Shichiro stepped in and knelt before the desk, bowing politely in greeting. “Honored elder brother.”
Isao set aside his brush and grinned happily. “Ah, baby brother! I’m surprised you went so far out of your way—it would be easier for you to merely stop at the Inn of the Waning Tide. Or…” A sly expression slid across his face, “were you perhaps desperate to avoid meeting my faithful shinobi?”
Shichiro deigned not to answer. Isao busied himself in tidying up his desk. “If that was your aim, I’m afraid you are doomed to disappointment—Ichiro-san is currently in the castle.”
Shichiro cursed under his breath, and his brother had the gall to laugh.
“Did you order him to follow me?” Shichiro snapped. “He seems to be everywhere I turn!”
Isao shrugged. “No, I didn’t order him to follow you, but he’s very good at what he does. It’s like he can be in two places at once, so he’s always wherever he’s needed.” He chuckled slightly to himself, the way he did when he thought he was being ‘impressively clever’. “It’s not my fault if you and he keep crossing paths.”
Shichiro highly doubted that was the truth, but didn’t say anything.
“Anyway, how has your information gathering been going?”
The ronin frowned. “It… has not produced as many solid answers as I would have liked, elder brother. There is definitely an alliance of some sort in the works between Masaki and Akiyama, but of what sort, I am uncertain, thought I definitely have my suspicions.”
Isao shifted slightly, leaning one elbow on his desk and propping his chin in his hand. “And these suspicions would be?”
“A military alliance.” Shichiro said. Isao frowned.
“And what proof do you have towards that claim?”
The ronin reached into his sleeve and withdrew a rather hastily sketched map, spreading it out before the lord. “You see all the positions I’ve marked? They’ve started massively increasing recruitment, presumably as a ‘safety measure’. My gut tells me that’s wrong.”
The lord’s eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned in displeasure. “What does your gut say instead?”
“War.”
Isao didn’t move. He didn’t move for a long moment, before nodding in acceptance. “I see. It’s as I feared, then, though there is no obvious evidence. We will have to find out more as soon as we can, and we must tread carefully.”
“Yes, honored brother.” Shichrio said solemnly. “I will do my best.”
Isao sighed and rubbed his forehead in agitation. “Is there anything else of importance?”
Shichiro shifted uncomfortably. “Ahh, yes… there is. Um.”
The prince blinked at his brother, very confused. What on earth could have caused his little brother to act like that? “Well, spit it out then. What is it?”
“Ah, you see, when I was visiting the inn on the North-South Road, Tsutomu-san’s inn, I came across three messengers from Konohamiya, and I overheard rumors that… Masaki might be intending to restore the Imperial Throne?”
It was a good thing Isao had decided to eat lunch after Shichiro delivered his news, because otherwise, he just knew he’d have sprayed crumbs of food all over his important paperwork (though, he contemplated in retrospection, that might have not been so great a travesty after all). “I’m sorry, did you just say restore the Dragon’s-ever-loving Imperial Throne?”
Isao’s baby brother fidgeted under his heavy gaze. “Well, I didn’t say ‘the dragon’s ever loving Imperial Throne’. That was all you.”
Isao surged to his feet and said some things that probably shouldn’t be repeated in polite (especially in his son’s) company.
Shichiro looked somewhat ill, which made Isao feel ill, which was not a feeling he relished. “And… if Masaki manages to reinstate the Imperial Throne with a puppet Emperor or Empress, they will have essentially gained control of all the seven nations.”
Isao said some things about Masaki and its stupid shogun that would have most likely gotten him kicked out of Manami’s monastery (again).
“Calm down, Isao. Yelling won’t change anything.”
Isao was inclined to disagree, but he attempted to calm down anyway. He sat down and ran a hand through his hair, and he didn’t care if it messed up his hairstyle he needed stress relief!
“I need to get Ichiro to find out what’s behind these Emperor rumors. For something like that to be bandied about… it’s so absurd that there must be some grain of truth in it, somewhere. The question is, who on earth would they be planning to put on the Imperial Throne?”
Shichiro tapped the hilt of his katana thoughtfully. “It would have to be pretty impressive evidence—the Shoguns wouldn’t accept just anyone. The only option I can think of would be someone from Tatsuya’s clan…”
“Yes, but where would Shogun Nishimura get his slimy, treacherous hands on a member of the Miyamoto clan? They stick close, you know.” Isao hummed. “No, that doesn’t make any sense, so their supposed candidate must come from somewhere else…” He tapped his fingers on the desk impatiently. “Long ago, at the end of the Crownless Wars, the Great Dragon, Tamotsu Eiji, was said to have claimed that: These Lands rejected their emperor, and so the Imperial Throne will not be occupied until the Chosen Heir is ready and emerges to claim their birthright.”
“But the last emperor died.” Shichiro said. “Along with his wife and all his clan.”
Isao clapped three times, and they waited for a moment in silence. Shichiro knew he had signaled all his guards (save, perhaps, that slime Ichiro, who was doubtlessly lurking nearby) to back off and create a new perimeter out of earshot. Finally, Ichiro planted his palms on his desk and leaned forward. “What I am about to tell you is a secret, shared only among the Shoguns and their Heirs. Emperor Hanshin was indeed slaughtered, along with the Empress Nohime and all the clan of Miyatatsu. But there is more to the story. When Emperor Hanshin discovered what was happening, he sent his personal shinobi bodyguard, Hara Giri, to protect young Prince Hansuke.
Giri managed to escape safely with Hansuke and disappear, but the Emperor was dead and the seven kingdoms descended into Chaos and war. No one ever say Giri or the young Prince Hansuke again, even after the war was ended. But, if the deceitful dog of a Shogun has gotten his hand on a descendent of the long-vanished Imperial Prince…”
“It would not end well.” Shichiro said solemnly. For some reason, he felt as if there was the faintest of faint itches in his mind, as if there was something he ought to remember or put together. He focused on it for a moment, but the thought was barely a mist in his mind, too weak and not even remotely thought out, so he dismissed it.
Isao snorted. “That’s an understatement.” He dragged his hand down his face, sighed, and shook his head, before finally looking up with a weary smile. “That’s about as much borrowing trouble as I can take today. I promise little brother, you and I will go over your research in more detail… tomorrow. Today, we have more important things to do.”
Shichiro star
ed at his older brother in confusion. He’s cracked, he’s finally cracked. What on earth could be more important than the news that Masaki might be attempting to take over all seven realms and install a puppet on the Imperial Throne?
It was then he heard a loud ‘pat pat pat’ noise in the hallway and the soji was clumsily opened by a small boy with a little brown ponytail and big, dark eyes. He took one look at the room, squealed “UNCA RONIN YOU BACK!” And proceeded to rush across the floor and dive into his lap.
Ah. Shichiro said. Guess Isao’s correct for once and not irreparably cracked. Pity.
“Hey, Dai-chan, how’ve you been? You like my present?”
Dai nodded his face vigorously into Shichiro’s gi, emitted strangled, half-swallowed babble that Shichiro (with the long experience of an uncle) correctly translated into “I’m good, the horsie was awesome, thanks so much, I’m so glad you’re back Uncle Ronin, how long will you stay this time?” Accordingly, he tugged his nephew’s ponytail and responded, “I’m glad you liked it and you’re very welcome, I’m very glad to be back, and I won’t be staying for long, but I will make it as long as possible.”
This announcement was met with a grand cheer, and Daisuke popped his head up to wave happily at Isao. “Hi, Papa!”
Isao grinned back, looking like a sappy ididot. “Hi, Dai-chan! Where’s your mama?”
Daisuke pointed a fist at the door, saying, “Mama’s comin’ as fast’she can, but the Baby’s makin’ her super slow!”
“Ah, I see,” Isao said, and stood, sauntering over to the door in a feigned attempt at casualness in order to check on his wife. Just as he got there however, the door slid open to reveal the lady in question, who had a gently amused smile on her face. She bowed politely.
“Honored husband, I trust you have had an excellent day?”
Isao grinned back at her, “Perfectly excellent, now that you’re here, Aika! Here, the biggest pillow is there on the floor next to Shichiro, and I’ll go and assist you down.”