James Clavell - Gai-Jin

"Agreed." At once the girl reached into her sleeve for the purse in a secret pocket.

Noriko sucked in her breath seeing the gold coins. "Here are ten oban. You will give me a receipt and his detailed account, the balance of the half we have agreed, when we leave. Where can Ori-san be safe?"

Noriko cursed herself for being so hasty, but having agreed, now it was a matter of face. As she considered what to do she studied the girl in front of her, Sumomo Anato, younger sister of Shorin Anato, the shishi, the Wild One--the boy she had initiated into the world of men so many years ago. Eeee, what lust, what vigor for one so young, she thought with a pleasant though untoward ache. And what a memorable courtesan this girl would make. Together we could earn a fortune, in a year or two she would marry a daimyo, and if she's still virgin what a pillow price I could get! She's every bit as beautiful as Shorin had said, classical Satsuma--according to him samurai in every way. Every bit as beautiful.

"How old are you, Lady?"

Sumomo was startled. "Sixteen."

"Do you know how Shorin died?"

"Yes. I will be revenged."

"Hiraga told you?"

"You ask too many questions," Sumomo said sharply.

Noriko was amused. "In the game we play, you and I, though you are samurai and me mama-san, we're sisters."

"Oh?"

"Oh yes, so sorry, the very serious game of trying to cover for our men, to shield them from their bravery, or stupidity, depending on which side you are, risking our lives to protect them from themselves merits trust on both sides. Trust of blood sisters. So, Hiraga told you about Shorin?"

Sumomo knew that her position was tenuous.

"Yes."

"Hiraga is your lover?"

Sumomo's eyes slitted. "Hiraga is, was affianced to me before he... before he left to serve sonno-joi."

The mama-san blinked. "A Satsuma samurai allows his daughter to be betrothed to a Choshu samurai--whether shishi or not, ronin or not?"

"My father, my father did not approve. Nor my mother though Shorin did. I did not approve their choice for me."

"Ah, so sorry." Noriko was saddened, knowing too well that that meant continual pressure, confinement in their house, or even worse: "Are you outcast from your family?"

Sumomo stayed motionless, her voice remained calm. "A few months ago I decided to follow my brother, and Hiraga-san, to spare my father that shame. Now I am ronin."

"Are you mad? Women cannot become ronin."

"Noriko," Sumomo said, gambling. "I agree we should be blood sisters." A stiletto appeared in her hand.

Noriko blinked, not having seen where it had appeared from. She watched as Sumomo pricked her finger and offered her the knife. Without hesitation she did the same and they touched fingers, mixing their blood, then bowed gravely. "I am honored. Thank you, Sumomo-san." Smiling the mama-san returned the knife. "Now I am a tiny tiny bit samurai, yes?"

The knife slid back into the sleeve sheath.

"When the Emperor regains all his power, HE will make those deserving it, samurai. We will petition for you, Hiraga-san, Ori and I."

Again Noriko bowed her thanks, loving that idea but sure it was beyond possibility and that she would never live to see the unthinkable happen: the day the Toranaga Shogunate ceased to be. "On behalf of all my line, thank you. Now sak`e!"

"No thank you, so sorry, but Sensei Katsumata made women in his class forswear sak`e, telling us it would forever blunt our skills and spoil our aim. Please, where is Hiraga-san?"

Noriko watched her, hiding her smile.

"Katsumata, the great Sensei? You studied under him? Shorin told us you could use sword, knife and shuriken. Is that true?"

With dazzling speed Sumomo's hand went into her obi, came out with a shuriken and hurtled the small, razor-sharp, five-bladed circle of steel across the room to thwakkk viciously into the exact center of a post. She had hardly moved.

"Please, where is Hiraga-san?" she asked gently.

YEDO That night Hiraga led the silent charge up and over the stockade of a daimyo's palace in the second ring outside the castle walls and rushed through the gardens for the back entrance of the mansion, the night lit by a halfhearted moon. All six men wore the same short, black, night-fighting kimonos without armor for speed and quiet. All had swords, knives and garrotes. All were Choshu ronin Hiraga had summoned urgently from Kanagawa for tonight's raid.

Around the mansion the sprawling compound of barracks, stables and servants' quarters that would normally house five hundred warriors and the daimyo's family and servants was eerily empty. Only two sleepy sentries were at the back door. These men saw the raiders too late to sound an alarm and died. Akimoto stripped one of his uniform and put it on, then dragged the bodies into the undergrowth and rejoined the others on the veranda. They waited, motionless, listening intently. No warning shouts or they would have abandoned the attack at once.

"If we have to retreat, never mind,"

Hiraga had said at dusk when the others had arrived in Yedo. "It's enough that we can penetrate so close to the castle. Tonight's purpose is terror, to kill and spread terror, to make them believe no one and no place is beyond reach of us or our spies. Terror, in and out quickly, maximum surprise and no casualties.

Tonight's a rare opportunity." He smiled.

"When Anjo and the Elders cancelled sankin-kotai, they dug the Shogunate's grave."

"We fire the palace, Cousin?"' Akimoto asked happily.

"After the kill."

"And he is?"' "He's old, grey hair and little of it, thin and small, Utani, the roju Elder."

They all gasped. "Daimyo of Watasa?"' "Yes. Unfortunately I've never seen him. Anyone?"' "I think I'd recognize him," the eighteen-year-old youth said, a bad scar running down the side of his face. "He's scrawny, like a diseased chicken. I saw him once in Kyoto. So tonight we send an Elder onwards, eh, a daimyo, eh? Good!" He grinned and scratched at the scar, a legacy from the unsuccessful Choshu attempt to seize the Palace Gates in Kyoto last spring.

"Utani won't be running anywhere after tonight.

He's mad to sleep outside the walls and let it be known! And without guards? Stupid!"

Joun, a seventeen-year-old, always the cautious one, said, "Excuse me, Hiraga-san, but are you sure this isn't a trap baited with false information? Yoshi is called the Fox, Anjo worse. We've heavy prices on our heads, eh? I agree with my brother, how could Utani be so stupid?"' "Because he has a secret assignation. He's a pederast."

They stared at him blankly. "Why should he want to keep that secret?"' "The youth is one of Anjo's intimates."

"So ka!" Joun's eyes glittered.

"Then I think I would keep that secret too.

But why should a pretty boy give himself to someone like Utani when he already has a powerful patron?"' Hiraga shrugged. "Pay, what else?

Nori's a miser, Utani lavish--aren't his peasants the most taxed in all Nippon?

Aren't his debts to the sky? Isn't he known for consuming gold oban like grains of rice? Soon, one way or another, Anjo will leave this earth.

Perhaps this pretty boy thinks Utani will survive and the risk is worth it--Utani has influence at Court, eh? Koku! Why not, his family's probably destitute and drowning in debt--aren't almost all samurai, below hirazamurai rank, at poverty level?"' "True," they all agreed.

"That's been true since the fourth Shogun," the eighteen-year-old said bitterly, "almost two hundred years. Daimyos take all the taxes, sell samurai status to stinking merchants, more and more every year, and still they cut our pay. Daimyos have betrayed us, their loyal retainers!"

"You're right," Akimoto said angrily.

"My father has to hire himself out as a farm laborer to feed the rest of my brothers and sisters ..."