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[Continuing chapter 1]
The young man who appeared in the audience-room once they had settled themselves was plainly dressed but possessed of a sense of elegant self-control. His top-knot and short-sword proclaimed his samurai status, but Hiroki did not think he had the look of a warrior. “Good morning,” the new arrival said. “This person is Kanegawa Akihiro.” He bowed, as a subordinate. “I am secretary to the arms master. Am I to understand that you have a petition to present to my lord?”
“Not precisely,” Lord Naitō said, removing their papers from his sleeve. “This letter is from our lord of Kozuke province and explains the nature of our embassy.” He placed the papers on a low table and sat back as the secretary walked over to pick them up.
Kanegawa Akihiro looked to be of an age with Tetsuo, perhaps a year or two older. His eyes, though, did not have the wrinkles at the corners that Hiroki saw in Tetsuo's eyes — and that he knew he and Shiro also possessed. It was easy to believe, Hiroki decided, that the man had been bred to his clerkship. Certainly the shōgun's administration had, in Hiroki's youth, employed dozens of such men. There were entire clans whose service was administrative rather than military—though most low-ranking warriors would never meet such a person, or even know of his existence. Certainly the men of the provinces knew nothing of this sort of samurai.
When he turned back to look at Kanegawa, Hiroki found the secretary staring at him with what Hiroki could only think of as hunger. Nervous hunger, he decided. Starting, and then turning his gaze away, Kanegawa said, “Please be patient, gentlemen. I will take your request to my master and then bring his response back to you.” He got to his feet with a grace that belied his embarrassment, and left the room in a rustle of silk and paper. As he left the room his right hand reached for and gripped the hilt of the short-sword in his belt.
Tetsuo opened his mouth to speak, but before he'd managed more than, “Hiroki, what—” he was silenced by Lord Naitō’s stare. Which was correct, Hiroki knew: they were guests here, and might even be considered supplicants by a man of power. And the walls were thin.
A moment later the door to the room slid open again and a well-dressed woman entered, followed by a female servant carrying teapot and cups on a tray. “This person,” the woman said from behind the large sleeve with which she hid her face from them, “is Miyoshi Tomiko, and serves as hostess to her honoured brother the arms master.” Her voice was low, pleasant. She wore multiple layers of kimono in a style that owed something to noble dress but was less refined. “I believe my brother will be with you shortly,” Lady Tomiko said. “While you wait, please do me the honour of drinking tea.” She nodded to the servant, who set down the tray equidistant between Hiroki and his companions.
“Coming to see us?” Lord Naitō frowned. “Surely etiquette requires that we go to his audience-room.”
“My brother is not an over-proud man,” she said, “and you are not his retainers but rather honoured guests.” She smiled and added, “If you think you are being shown great favour, please don't be misled.” Then she bowed herself out of the room.
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