CHAPTER TWO
ADJUSTMENTS
Hiroki feared the worst, but when Lord Naitō spoke next — which was not until they were safely outside the compound of the arms master’s mansion mansion and walking east to the temple — it was to say, “This was a most successful day. I believe our lord will have cause to be pleased with us.”
Seeing the look of surprise on Hiroki’s face, Lord Matsukata smiled. “It is true, Hiroki. Arms Master Lord Miyoshi talks much and it would be a lie to say we made any practical progress today. But it is clear to us both that he is interested in our lord’s situation.”
“And so may be convinced to help,” Lord Naitō concluded. “We are to meet with him again in the morning. I predict serious negotiations will begin then.” They turned south, onto Muromachi Street.
“What do you require of us?” Hiroki began. He stopped, hearing the shouting at the same instant he realized the street ahead of them had emptied of people. He held up a hand to halt the others, as Tetsuo turned back to look at him. He did not have to look back to know that Shiro would have his right hand resting on the hilt of his katana, as Tetsuo did.
“Bastards!” A man, his forehead bleeding profusely, ran shouting into the broad avenue from a narrow cross-street just ahead of Hiroki and his companions. The man carried a lance, one-handed; Hiroki saw a line of red at the edge of the blade.
“Stay watchful,” Hiroki told him.,“but do nothing yet.” He heard Shiro’s impatient snort but said nothing, keeping his eyes on the running man.
Who turned and saw them. “You,” he gasped. “Are you with Yanagimoto? Or Miyoshi?”
“Who?” Lord Naitō asked, his voice curt.
“Neither,” Hiroki told him. “What is the matter?”
The matter was the half-dozen armed men who erupted onto the avenue at that moment. They stumbled clumsily around their quarry, a forest of waving lances, pikes and swords, only stopping when they had him completely encircled.
The solitary warrior was exhausted, and even when he gripped the shaft with both hands his lance wavered. “This is unworthy,” Shiro muttered. “It stinks as badly as this city does.” Hiroki had almost got accustomed to the heavy bitter tang of wood-smoke, the symptom of the recent fighting in the streets of the capital, but clearly Shiro had not.
“It’s not our fight,” Hiroki reminded him.
The fight, whoever it concerned, ended quickly. The warrior made no sound as he died; his opponents, however, cheered themselves and preened over the body, in the manner of very young boys. They were not that young.
Not true warriors, either, Hiroki realized, as a man with a sword removed the dead man’s head. These were armed peasants, the ashigaru: “light-foot” warriors. He had encountered a lot of these rough ashigaru in the past decade. Some of them were even worthy of respect.
“You!” a new voice shouted. “Fighting in the streets is forbidden! Who is your captain?”
Startled by the power in what sounded like a boy’s voice, Hiroki looked down the avenue, beyond the ashigaru gang. He was shocked to recognize the attractive young man running toward the gang. It was Lord Hosokawa, to whom they had just said good-bye at the gates of the arms master’s mansion. Brandishing a fan as if it were a weapon, Lord Hosokawa didn’t stop until he was just outside of the reach of the pike-armed men.
The ashigaru must have been drinking, because the one of them challenged the boy. “Who are you to tell us how to do our jobs, you pompous little shitworm?” Perhaps this was the captain; at any rate he carried a sword, which he now raised.
“I think this has just become our fight,” Hiroki said. He told Lord Naitō, “That boy is a friend of the arms master, or at least of his sister.” Wishing he had brought his wooden staff today, he loosened his katana in its scabbard. Ahead, Tetsuo drew his sword; from behind him Hiroki heard the shish as Shiro did the same.
Not all of the ashigaru seemed eager to fight the boy, and the approach of three well-armed strangers from the opposite direction didn’t do anything to encourage them. “We should go,” one of the lance-bearers said. Yes, why don’t you? Hiroki asked silently. He gestured to Tetsuo and Shiro to let the cowardly man depart, then advanced on the five who remained, drawing his sword as he did.
“This person is Yoshino Hiroki,” he said aloud, beginning the challenge that was supposed to precede a fight.
Before he could finish, Lord Hosokawa laughed. “A formal challenge isn’t necessary to these shits,” he said. Before he’d finished speaking he’d thrown his fan at the ashigaru captain, drawn his katana and, in the same fluid movement, separated the man from his entrails.
Shiro howled with glee and charged the ashigaru, katana held high. Tetsuo followed, yelling his war-cry and holding a sword in each hand, the long katana in his right and the short wakizashi in his left. Hiroko chose as his target one of the men charging the boy; the man was holding a lance, which gave him a longer reach and an unfair advantage.
Unlike his companions Hiroki said nothing, so he should have been able to reach his target before the man became aware of him. However, a different lance-fighter saw him, screamed a name and set his feet wide apart, lance thrusting outward, to block Hiroki’s approach.
Mindfulness deserted him, as it always did during a fight. Hiroki was aware of nothing beyond the shock of impact as the flat of his sword-blade crashed into the shaft of his opponent’s lance, the arc of the lance as the man withdrew it, spun in a circle and tried to swing it around to pierce Hiroki’s side. The dull sound as he blocked the attack with the spine of his sword.
And the satisfying crack as he stepped forward and crashed the hilt of his sword into the side of the man’s skull.
His opponent was only on the ground for a moment, but when he got up again he wasn’t carrying his lance, and he was running—staggering, really—down the side-street and away from the fight.
Hiroki stepped onto the lance, to prevent anyone else picking it up, and looked around for another man. There were no others: three were on the ground, blood puddling around them and flowing together on the frozen ground; two were a hundred paces away and still running.
Shiro, screaming invective, was following them. Alone.
“Tetsuo,” he said, feeling tired, “go and fetch him.”
“Yes,” Tetsuo said, from behind a tight smile.
Next Characters Chapter 1 Chapter 2
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