Dale Furutani - Jade Palace Vendetta

His first nurse, Ando, was barely older than he, yet she insisted on carrying him about on her back, his legs around her waist and a wide piece of cloth strapping him in place. This continued until Hishigawa was almost as big as Ando, so Ando would stagger around with the burden, a burden she seemed to relish. Ando was still with him, and as a reward for her loyalty, Hishigawa had given her more responsibility than a servant and a woman usually had.

Hishigawa wished she was with him now, to tend to his comfort. Instead, he was being sent to scour the countryside for help while the strange ronin was supposed to be guarding his gold. Gold. Until he met Yuchan, his entire life was motivated by the need to acquire more and more wealth. Now his life had two driving objectives.

His father had given up the life of a samurai to enter commerce. Hishigawa still wore the swords of a samurai and claimed two names, maintaining the fiction that he was a samurai, but he had never received training in the use of swords and knew that technically he was not entitled to wear them. Still, the ability to wear the two swords was just one of the privileges that wealth brought, so he guarded his wealth closely, insisting on personal involvement when large amounts of it were at risk, such as during this transfer of gold from Kyoto.

His apprehension over what the ronin might be doing with that gold added quickness to his step. He ignored the aches that pushing the cart and a night in the rain had brought to him. Curse that ronin! Why couldn’t he have let them find a nice temple or farmhouse to spend the night in, away from the rain?

Goro and Hanzo were arguing. That was the natural condition for the two men. They lived in the same small farmhouse and shared a farm that was currently too muddy to work, so instead of bickering in the fields, they bickered in the home.

“Those must have been soldiers,” Goro said.

“They didn’t look like soldiers. They looked like bandits,” Hanzo answered.

“What do bandits look like? You’ve never really seen a bandit because you have nothing worth stealing!”

“I have seen what soldiers look like, and they didn’t look like them. And, if I had a better partner in this farm, I’d have plenty worth stealing.”

“I’m the one that does all the work!”

“If you did all the work-”

“ Oi! You! Is someone home in there?” Hearing the abrupt greeting “oi” rather than the polite “sumimasen,” both Goro and Hanzo froze. Despite their bluster, they had been scared by the group of armed men who had stopped at their hut the night before, searching for a party with a pushcart.

“Do you think they’re back?” Goro whispered, a quaver in his voice.

“I don’t know. I don’t recognize the voice,” Hanzo whispered back.

“What should we do?”

“I don’t know. Should we open the door?”

“I don’t know, either. If we don’t open the door, they can break it down.”

“I think we better open it.”

“Okay,” Goro said. He looked around and grabbed a rake leaning against the wall, holding it like a weapon. “You go ahead and open it.”

“I don’t want to open it!”

“We just said we should open it. If you-”

“Oi!” The voice was more insistent and angry. “I hear you whispering in there. Open the door!”

The two peasants looked at each other. Hanzo finally went to the door, removed the stick that functioned as a lock, and slid the wooden farmhouse door back. Standing before them was a potbellied middle-aged man, dressed like a merchant but wearing two swords. He was bedraggled and smeared with mud from head to foot. It spotted his hair, streaked his kimono, daubed his legs, and encrusted his sandals. He looked like he was half clay and half flesh. His filthy appearance made a comic counterpoint to his bearing. He was standing with a hand on the hilt of his katana, his weight on one foot, staring down his nose at them like he was the greatest daimyo in the land. Relieved, the two peasants burst out in laughter.

Hishigawa couldn’t understand what the two louts were laughing at and shouted “ Yakamashii! Shut up!” at them. The two peasants sobered up at the command, and Hishigawa invited himself into the relative warmth of the crude farmhouse, demanding that they serve him breakfast.

“Please come in, Samurai-sama,” Goro said, bowing low. He went to the cook fire in the hut to stir the breakfast soup, where he was joined by Hanzo.

“Do you think we should have let him in?” Hanzo whispered.

“What choice do we have? He’s wearing the two swords.”

“Yes, but he’s covered in mud. He doesn’t look like any samurai I’ve ever seen. He looks more like a merchant. In fact, I’m not even sure he’s human. He might be a kappa . He’s covered with mud, like he just crawled out of a pond.” Kappa were creatures who lived under bridges and in ponds who drowned children.

“What are you whispering about?” Hishigawa shouted. “Where is my breakfast!”

“Coming, coming, Samurai-sama,” Goro said soothingly. Then, whispering to Hanzo, he said, “How can we tell if he’s human or kappa?”

“Kappa have little saucers of water in the top of their heads. They have to be near water or they grow weak, so they always carry water with them. If we knock him down so the water spills out, he’ll be helpless.”

“A saucer in his head?”

“Yes. Made of flesh.”

“I’ll check,” Goro said.

He took the bowl of miso soup and walked over to Hishigawa. Hishigawa reached up for the bowl, but Goro, intent on peering at the top of Hishigawa’s head, kept moving the bowl as Hishigawa reached for it. The merchant made a couple of ineffective grabs for the soup bowl, but Goro unintentionally moved it each time as he shuffled to the side to get a better view, just to make sure a fleshy saucer of water wasn’t hidden in the man’s thinning hair.

Finally, in exasperation, Hishigawa shouted, “What is wrong with you?”

Snapping to attention, Goro said, “Oh, nothing, nothing, Samurai-sama. Gomen nasai , excuse me. Here is the breakfast soup. It is humble, but please enjoy it.” He gave the bowl to Hishigawa and scurried back to the fire and Hanzo.

“Well?”

“He’s going bald, but I didn’t see any saucer on his head. He doesn’t have lice,” Goro added helpfully.

Hishigawa drained the soup and held out the bowl for another helping. Goro gave it to him, scraping the bottom of the pot in the process. When he had finished the second bowl, Hishigawa asked, “Is there a village near here?”

“About two ri away, Samurai-sama.”

Hishigawa moaned. That was too far to walk. “Are there porters or samurai at the village?”

“No, Samurai-sama. It’s just a small village. Nothing but poor farmers.”

Hishigawa sighed. “I have need of porters and fighting men.” He looked the two scrawny peasants over and decided they were better than nothing. “How about you two? Do you want to earn some money? I’ll give you four coppers to go to Kamakura.”

“Kamakura?”

“Yes. I have a pushcart that I need moved to Kamakura. With this mud, I need help.”

The mention of a pushcart raised alarm bells in the two peasants. The men who came by the night before were searching for a party with a pushcart.

“But we have our farm to tend. In a few days the fields will be dry enough for us to work them.”

“All right, six coppers,” Hishigawa said.

Normally six coppers would have gotten their cooperation, but the memory of the men made the peasants hesitate. “But all the way to Kamakura! We’ve never been to Kamakura,” Hanzo said.