Chapter 7: Kabuki House Drama

Why did we have to be in Yamato?

In any other city, I could have escaped and been well on my way downriver before morning broke. I never thought I'd miss alleyways you had to squeeze through sideways or sewers you had to trudge through knee-deep in muck.

But this was the home of the Imperial Palace. There were no pathways that could not fit five armored soldiers abreast, and no underground waste tunnels either. Instead, royal shit was carted off discreetly. Their feces were prized as 'night soil', and sold to the highest bidder.

I wish I was joking.

The kid was upset with me but the feeling was mutual. No doubt Masami had moral objections to holding little girls hostage—most folk did. I thought she would've realized by now that I was hired to protect her body, not her sensibilities. I might have to reinforce this with a loud voice later, but not now.

Now I was scared. Holding a blade to a samurai's daughter in a tea house was going to make for more than just great gossip. This wealthy world these civilians lived in had so little to be afraid of, so when something out of the ordinary happens—they'll line up to throw money at the problem.

Money in the form of bounties, increased patrols and shakedowns at every gate out of the city.

While there were paper lanterns at every street corner, Yamato was a ghost town at night. This may be due to a curfew, or a simple lack of disreputable fellows like me about. Either way, guards were sure to find a man skulking around with a girl at midnight questionable.

I needed a strategy should we come across one of these patrols.

If I've learned anything from this world, it's the power of sharpened steel by your side. A talented warrior cut his own path in life—be it for women, ryō, or fame. At least that's the idea. I considered myself a skilled swordsman; so why was I alone, destitute, and habitually disrespected?

I cracked my neck and a smile at the thought. Maybe I haven't learned anything after all.

"Kid. If we run into any guards, I'll dispose of them. Save your magic tricks for tomorrow's stir fry." While these city watchmen were better trained than most, I can't imagine that they've dealt with anything worse than drunken samurai well past their prime. They wouldn't have a chance against a clear-headed ronin at his best.

Masami brushed her bangs from her eyes to reveal a stern glare. Her cheeks puffed out as well, a childish but incredibly cute habit. "Dispose? I've more than half the mind to dispose of your services entirely! You're no more than a violent cutthroat!" The shugenja placed her hands atop her hips and stopped following me.

The kid's frustration gave way to an idea. One of her better ones. "It's obvious to me that we have matters to discuss. This establishment across the street, with the posters on display. It should be deserted this time of night." I followed Masami's eyes to a series of large illustrations hung over an odd wooden building. The illustrations showed ridiculous-looking men and women in white facepaint and impossibly colorful kimonos.

Me and my orange haori should fit right in. The front entrance was unlocked and slid right open. Hyugan doors were impossible to secure from the outside—the best you could do was place a bar from the inside to prevent the frame from sliding altogether. Most folk from safer communities didn't even bother, which certainly made my assassinations easier.

I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but it sure wasn't this.

Balconies overlooked a series of raised walkways, which mingled in and around seating areas covered in luxurious rugs and pillows. The walkways joined towards the end of the chamber, where some sort of miniature shrine stood in extravagance. It lacked any walls and any purpose, from what I could tell.

My puzzlement did not go unnoticed. "Care to speculate, Akio?"

I knew Masami was grinning like a childish devil without even looking. Since our two weeks of traveling together, she's made it a habit to boast her trivial knowledge whenever at all possible. Sometimes I could get lucky on a hunch...

...probably not this time, though.

"It's a brothel. The girls strut along the aisle."

This was how I turned the tables on the know-it-all scholar. Masami couldn't handle this area of expertise well, as shown by the blush building on her cheeks. But aside from teasing the kid, my guess had some merit. Sauntering along these elevated walkways would give spectators a perfect view.

Anger blended with embarrassment in her response. "Y-your vulgarities have no limit! This is a kabuki theater—stylistic dance-drama in its purest form! Genius choreography depicting historic battles and romance, of warring families and forbidden love! It is no house of ill repute!"

Masami's passion bled through her words like a heart hemorrhage. It was good to see her get enthusiastic about something besides scrolls for once, but being a hopeless romantic...

Well, there was more than one way a heart could break.

The best course of action was to hide out here for a moment while the guards prowled the nearby streets. It gave me and a kid a chance to talk, and not about clowns who danced with masks on.

"Masami Hashimoto. You and I have much to discuss." This was the first time I had ever addressed her so officially. Names hold a certain kind of power, but only if you used them sparingly. Like a spice, they can change the flavor of a sentence entirely.

And this dish was tasting bitter. But this matter had to be addressed.

"I'm your bodyguard. You tried running out on me while I slept. Why?" My eyes met hers and prepared for a staredown, but that wasn't necessary. Her eyes looked away towards the front entrance, as if willing the body to follow. Why was she so desperate to avoid this question?

Masami's hands clenched into fists. "Worried that I would abscond on your payment?! Of course! That's all you ever seem to care about!" She pulled out a pouch from inside her kimono and slammed it against the stage floor. The jingling of coins preceded a scatter of ryō, the shining glints of gold unmistakable even in this faint light.

"There! Take your ryō you...you scoundrel." The shugenja turned away from me with shoulders that raised with rapid breaths. She sniffed the air, though not to catch a scent. Masami was holding back a cry, and it was entirely my fault.

"Don't ever throw money at me."

I stared at the scattered ryō in disgust. Disgust from the urge inside of me, the instinct to go and pocket what Masami tossed away like it was trash. I'd get on my hands and knees, while this child would look down upon me in both meanings of the phrase. There was no other gesture the shugenja could have made to emphasize how different we truly were.

The impulse subsided, so I continued. "I'm not...I'm not a slave for money. You have no right to judge me for what I've done—what I've had to become to survive. You can't even imagine the ways I've had to suffer!" My voice started shaking, my calm facade breaking like shattered porcelain.

To be honest I didn't know what gotten into me.