Spider, p.24
Spider, page 24
“You agreed you would release the men.” I controlled my temper with great effort. “That was part of the bargain.”
“Was it? I don’t recollect receiving any instructions from Akira about that. I got the impression that he wasn’t at all happy about Yo, although he did tell us not to harm him unless it was necessary. But he never said a word about the other two. For myself, I think it would be perfectly understandable if Yo decided to put up a fight, knowing you were here at last. And it would only be natural for the other two to want to gain their freedom but also to die in the battle.”
I set my teeth. Three good men were to die just to teach me humility? This yakuza had seen far too many kabuki tragedies!
“I don’t think so,” I said courteously.
Emon turned to his men with an exaggerated expression of amazement. They laughed smarmily, the messenger the loudest of all.
“Really? You are obviously fond of all three of them. It will no doubt be a great burden on your conscience that you have caused the death of them. That will be the first move in your training. The next part, I will enjoy greatly. When I have had my fill of you, I will turn you over to my men. Starting with the highest ranking, all of them who want you can play with you as much as they want until you fall to your knees and beg me to leave you in peace. Unfortunately for you, I am not a patient man. If that takes too long, then I will sell you to a lattice brothel. The cheapest one I can find. Not here—one does not foul one’s own doorstep—but in Kyoto. If you don’t obey your new owner, you will be beaten until you cry out for death to ease your pain.”
I forced a flash of fear to cross my face. I had seen a lattice brothel, when Isamu had taken me to the Floating World. He had laughed at my concern for the poor women imprisoned behind the slats, women who were forced to give themselves to any man who had a couple of coins each and every day until they were too old and worn out to be alluring. He had insisted that it was an easy life for them, that they enjoyed it. But I had seen the dull horror in their eyes, and I knew he was wrong. If it had been so bad for women who had never known respect or love or honor, what would it be like for me, a warrior woman of the samurai?
I would die first. And if I saved my men and accomplished the mission in the process, then my death would be all I could wish for.
Thirty-Five
The spider’s life is
Short, but every moment is
A thing of beauty
“You spoke of the honor of the yakuza brotherhood,” I said softly. “Tell me, does that really exist? How does condemning a single woman—a woman who has never harmed you in any way—fit in with your idea of honor?”
Emon flinched as if I had struck him. He scowled and finally shrugged his shoulders. “You know my name means Palace Guard?” I nodded. “I was named that because I was the firstborn son and my father hoped I would follow his profession. Perhaps I would have, if Father hadn’t upset one of the emperor’s minor concubines. It was a trivial matter. He had been on duty, even though he was ill with a fever that made his joints stiff and painful, and he had simply been unable to bow appropriately to the woman. She reported him to his superior and was immediately dismissed—and told he was fortunate not to be executed for good measure.
“After that, Father’s illness became worse and I was forced to become the man of the family. The only thing I knew how to do was fight, so I joined a yakuza organization. Now, I am oyabun. If one of my men is ill, he is taken care of. If he dies, then his family is given a pension for as long as necessary, and if any of their sons wish to join us, a place is made for them willingly. Now, tell me, samurai woman, how is it that the emperor’s honor is so much greater than that of a humble yakuza?”
“Not greater, only different.” I acknowledged. “But where is your honor when it comes to me?”
I was making Emon angry. His eyes were cold and his mouth was set in a straight line.
“I have already told you. My brother Akira has requested that we take your spirit and crush it as fine as matcha powder. You have offended our brother deeply. He has given me the honor of righting whatever wrong you have done to him.”
“Why you?” I demanded. Emon shook his head slightly, his expression confused. I pressed my advantage at once. “Hasn’t it occurred to you to wonder why he hasn’t punished me himself if I’ve dishonored him so deeply? It was Akira who asked you to send the note that lured me here. He is, without a doubt, the most feared man in Edo. Mothers use his name to make their children behave themselves. I have seen with my own eyes how respectable men bow to him as if he was samurai. Surely, this great man is capable of crushing a single woman?”
“Well? What about it?” Emon grumbled through gritted teeth. “He has his reasons. It’s not up to me to question his motives.”
“I don’t need to wonder. I know.” I thrust my head toward him insolently and it seemed to me that there was a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “Akira relied on my honor as a samurai warrior to send me here. No matter how angry he was with me, he knew he could not punish me himself because I had already beaten him in a fair fight. That was a question of honor.”
Emon drew his breath in with an audible hiss. We were speaking too quietly for his men to hear, but I could sense their confusion in the sideways glances they were giving each other.
“You expect me to believe that? You, a mere woman, beat Akira?” Emon was smiling now, almost laughing at me. “But even if I were to believe you, which I do not, tell me. What difference does that make to your future?”
“Because you could never be sure if I was speaking the truth or not. For the rest of your days you would wonder if Akira was too much of a coward to risk being beaten by a woman again. And if you decided that he was, you would also decide that the yakuza code of honor to a brother had been destroyed by his weakness. I know little about your code of honor, but if it is at all like the samurai code of bushido, that would mean you that you would have to confront Akira, to ask him if my words were honest. And when you saw in his eyes that I had spoken no more than the truth, then the only way you could atone for the wrong that Akira had done to you would be to challenge him to combat.”
I was breathing hard by the time I had finished speaking. I watched Emon’s face carefully. This was the only chance I had, not just to save my own life, but also the lives of my men.
“I don’t believe you,” he said finally. “You’re lying to me. Why? What are you trying to achieve by making me doubt Akira?” He did doubt him, then. I heard it in his words. I had my chance.
“I am not lying. I give you my word as onna-bugeisha that I have told you the truth.”
And so I had. But not quite all of it. I guessed that if I told Emon the whole story, that Akira could not punish me himself for the love he still felt for me, then he would be convinced. But that would surely destroy Akira. The story would spread to Edo in no time, and how his enemies would love the knowledge that the invincible yakuza had been conquered and brought low by a woman. His power would vanish. He would be nothing. For a flash of time, I wondered why I should care what happened to Akira, but I chose not to dwell on it.
“So? Truth or not, what are you up to? You can’t get escape.” Emon gestured with his hand at his men. “I have your lovers captive. What game are you playing, samurai woman?”
“I do not want to live a life of degradation. Instead, I want to die with honor.” I spoke loudly and clearly, to make sure all the other yakuza could hear me. “And I want to save the lives of my men. Surely that would be better for both of us. Your obligation to Akira would be finished, with honor, and I would die knowing that my mission in coming here had been achieved.
“I want to fight you, Emon. Using whatever weapon you choose. The stakes are simple. If you win, then you will give me a warrior’s death and set my men free, unharmed. If I win, then all four of us walk away unharmed.”
I could see his mind working. His men were whispering amongst themselves, their voices approving. Emon stared at me until finally his face broke into a huge grin.
“Either way, what am I supposed to tell Akira?”
“Tell him the truth,” I said crisply. “Tell him what I said to you. I promise, he will understand. And if I know him as well as I believe I do, I think he will be pleased it ended this way.”
Emon didn’t answer me directly, and I thought for a moment I had failed. Then I heard what he was shouting to his men and I knew I had succeeded. Under the lash of his voice, they pulled back into a crush of bodies, leaving us a decent space of beaten earth.
“Listen to me, all of you.” The hubbub of excitement died down to silence. “Keiko-san has convinced me that she is worthy of a samurai’s death. She will fight me, here and now. If I win, she is mine to do with as I please.”
I was startled; that had not been my bargain. Still, it didn’t matter. If I lost, I would kill myself before I allowed Emon to lay a hand on me.
“She will be my woman, and if she behaves herself to my liking, her men will be set free. If she wins—” He paused as the men gave a great shout of laughter. “—then she is honor-bound to kill me. I would not wish to live and bear the shame of losing a fair fight to a woman. In that case, you—” He nodded at the messenger who had escorted me here. “—will take her to the docks and release her men. All of them will be allowed to walk free.”
I spoke very softly, for Emon’s ears alone. “If you believe I took Akira in a fair fight, then you are a brave man to consider doing the same.”
“Oh, I believe you.” Emon’s gold teeth glinted in the torchlight. I wondered absently if they were there to prove his wealth or to frighten anybody he smiled at. Probably both. “But having spoken with you, I think I now understand why Akira is so determined to crush you. And also why he didn’t simply do it himself. He loves you, doesn’t he? He wants revenge on you, but he can’t bear to hurt you with his own hands. That’s why you were able to beat him. I’ve no doubt at all that he held back for fear he might have killed you. Now me, I’m different. I have no scruples at all about beating you. But I am already very grateful to you. Until tonight, I—like the rest of the world—thought Akira had no weaknesses. Now, I know differently. Once we have dealt with our business, I think I might pay a little visit to Edo and discuss the possibility of my yakuza joining forces with Akira.”
He was gloating. Both over me and Akira. I smiled to myself. A man with things on his mind other than fighting is vulnerable.
“The weapon?” I demanded abruptly. I was surprised when Emon answered promptly.
“Oh, swords, of course. I imagine that is the weapon you used to defeat Akira?” I remained silent. Akira had feared my katana; he would never have dared to face it. It appeared that Emon was less superstitious. Or was he? I wondered when he spoke loudly enough for his men to hear him. “It’s about time all the old legends about samurai swords were put to rest. I don’t fear anything on this earth. Your wonderful katana is no more than a piece of old metal. If it’s as old as you say it is, it will probably shatter as soon as it feels a blow from a superior swordsman.”
His men laughed, clapping and stomping their feet. Emon faced me and bowed courteously. I returned the honor, waiting until he had drawn his own sword before I slid my katana from its saya. I felt the power of it thrumming in my hands and I guessed that the watching yakuza also felt its spell as they were suddenly silent.
Emon and I circled each other like a pair of hungry dogs, ready to fight over a scrap of food. He moved first, slashing at me fluidly. Or rather, where I had been a moment before. His body had signaled his move and I evaded him effortlessly. I slid my katana beneath his guard before he could recover his balance, and the silk of his robe parted in a clean cut. He hissed angrily.
“A perfectly good robe ruined. I shall take its value out of your hide, you can be sure of that.”
“Don’t allow such a small thing to anger you.” I smiled. “You will be buried in a white gown. You have no further use for that one.”
He laughed, but it was forced. “A lucky stab, nothing more.”
He whirled and aimed for me with the point of his katana before he had finished speaking. I parried his blow easily enough. Like the bodily contact martial arts, the art of sword fighting lies not in the size or strength of the combatants, but in skill, and using a person’s weakness against him. Emon was intent on showing off to his men. He was an excellent swordsman, but his eagerness to beat me was his undoing.
He pressed forward, slashing with his blade. I waited until he was dangerously close—dangerous for him, not me—and then slid my katana beneath his guard and slashed a deep cut into the muscle of his upper arm. I expected him to drop his sword at once, but Emon seemed able to ignore the pain. He simply threw the sword to his other hand and came at me again.
I knew I was far superior to him. I could take him at any time. The code of bushido dictates that one must always be merciful. I had to give him the chance to admit defeat now. I danced out of his way and held my katana out before me, in the classic two-handed grip. My stance said clearly that I was prepared and ready. I saw the fear in his eyes and spoke quickly.
“Give in now, Emon, and you live. There is no dishonor in it. This contest was never equal. I am samurai. I was trained as onna-bugeisha by one of the great masters. If you persist, I will kill you.”
“You think I could live, having surrendered to a woman?” Emon threw back his head and literally howled with laughter. Still, I paused. I could have taken him then, when his guard was down, but I did not. I waited until he snapped his sword up and ran toward me, his intention to skewer me. I watched his face and saw the appeal in his eyes. He knew he was beaten and wanted me to kill him.
I swung my katana back over my shoulder and brought it down in an arc. The true blade bit into Emon’s neck and severed his spine effortlessly. There was a flash of astonishment in his eyes, and then his head was falling to the beaten earth. His body was erect for a brief moment, and then crumpled. He died so quickly and cleanly, I was certain I saw his spirit separate from his body and rise to its eternal journey. I did not regret killing him. I had given him every chance to change his mind. It had been a fair fight. For a heartbeat, I hoped his next reincarnation would give him the chance to atone for this life, then I swung around to face the rest of the yakuza.
Each of them was staring. It took me a moment to realize they were focused on my katana, not me. The jewel steel blade was sheened red with blood. The torchlight played tricks with the blade. Even I thought it was vibrating with life. I held it out in front of me, both arms grasping the hilt.
“You all heard the bargain I made with Emon,” I called strongly. “I am the victor. Now, release my men. Who is oyabun in Emon’s place?”
Heads turned to stare at a young man in the front of the crowd. He cleared his throat nervously and took a step forward.
“I was named as Emon’s successor.” His voice cracked and he paused, waiting for me to speak.
“Then you are now oyabun. You will carry out Emon’s wishes. If you try to betray his instructions, then I will kill you just as surely as I killed him. Take me to your prisoners.”
Give the young man his due, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he deliberately turned his back to me and spoke to the rest of the yakuza.
“You all know that Emon intended for me to take his place eventually.” There was a murmur of agreement. “The day has come far sooner than we anticipated. I am oyabun now, and I will honor Emon’s decision.”
He moved forward, and the men parted before him. Many bowed, all lowered their heads. I followed him through the channel, pausing as I came to the messenger.
“You,” I said crisply. “You will come with us.” His lizard eyes flicked from side to side and I knew I had been right to keep him where I could see him. Out of all the yakuza, he was the one who would try and make trouble. The new oyabun called to him to come with us.
“The rest of you, stay here. Prepare Emon’s body for burial. But do nothing else.”
There was a world of meaning in his last words, and I thought Emon had chosen his successor wisely.
It was still dark outside. I kept my katana unsheathed. Not because I expected to need to use it, but rather because I was unwilling to put it back in its saya with Emon’s blood soiling the blade. I saw the new oyabun glance at it fearfully, and I was pleased.
I had never visited this area of Kobe before. We were walking alongside the dock and some of the wild desire I had experienced before came back to me. The sea was gentle, barely moving against the moored ships. I tasted salt on my lips and a breeze sprang up, caressing me gently, calling to me with a voice that was sweeter than honey. More alluring than the touch of a lover. I felt a great content fill me.
The yakuza stopped abruptly in front of a low, ramshackle building. It didn’t look at all like a prison, and I tensed. Was this a trick? The new oyabun called out briskly,
“It is Mayu. Emon is dead. I am oyabun now. Let us in.”
The shoji rolled back to show an amazed face. The amazement turned to horror as the man saw my bloodied katana.
“Emon is truly dead?” the guard demanded. And then, with an intuitive leap that astonished me, “She killed him?”
“Yes,” Mayu snapped. “But none of that concerns you. Go to the headquarters. Are there any more guards with you?”
“No. No need. All three are kept safely.”
He glanced at my katana again and scurried off without a backward glance. Mayu stood back from the shoji and bowed me through courteously. I shook my head and gestured for him—and the messenger—to go first. I wiped Emon’s blood onto my robe as I sheathed my katana. The corridor before us was narrow, the blade would hamper my movements. It was still close enough to get to if I needed it quickly.
As soon as I was through the shoji, I understood that I had been wrong about this building. It was a prison within a house. No flimsy shoji here. The walls were solid. Even if my eyes hadn’t told me that, the sound of our footsteps echoing back would have confirmed it. Mayu took a cautious step forward, placing his feet with great care. The messenger followed in his footsteps, as did I. I guessed we were crossing a hinged floor and that a false step would cause the cunningly laid woodblocks to tilt alarmingly, throwing an unwary intruder off balance. Mayu finally paused at a solid, wooden door and pressed what looked like a natural flaw in the wood. The door opened gently. Mayu gazed at me and then shrugged, stepping through in front of me.
