~~~

A fresh barrage of sunlight struck the balcony and lit up the room inside, making a passing wasp think, ah, maybe it’s worth investigating after all.

Buzzing through a gap too tiny for humans to care about, the bold, little insect went beyond the sliding panel and, sticking to the parts of the room that were lit up by the sun, eventually landed on the yellow part of a painting.

Not a flower was its last thought as, out of nowhere, the tip of a long and curved blade burst through its body and pinned it to the wall.

‘Kuso,’ said, Akira, his forehead drenched in sweat yet his katana hand impressively steady.

Pulling back the blade [with half the wasp’s body still impaled on the tip], he looked around the rest of the room, checking for larger intruders or potential assassins.

Seems to be clear, he thought, sheathing his katana. For now. Though I suspect that weird boy with a girl’s name is around here somewhere. Waiting to be reimbursed for his generosity.

‘Kuso,’ he said again, this time with a bitter cough.

He bent down next to the futon and picked the cup off the floor. There was still some of the medicine left, not much, but it was better than not having it.

‘To not being dead…’

Wiping his yukata sleeve across his forehead, he downed the dregs. The taste was repulsive, which probably meant it was effective. Slowly effective. He was still a bit wobbly on his feet. And his head too. Felt like there was a mini-typhoon swirling around up there, constantly flinging furniture at the walls of his skull.

If those two ashigaru dogs burst in then, right at that moment, looking for him…

He wiped more sweat off his head and moved out onto the balcony. There was no sign of them outside. No sign of anyone. The whole area, the courtyard with both real and fake chickens, the crooked bridge, the forests on the mountain slope…it looked more like a painting than an actual, real place.

A breeze of early winter air cruised down from high up and made him cough again.

Deserted and chilly, perfect place for a murder, crossed his addled mind, and sent him back inside to the futon. Putting on his dōbuku over the yukata, he picked up his katana cord, started tying it to his waist…then changed his mind and headed straight for the door, keeping his only form of viable defence tight in his best hand.

~~~

‘Are you certain I can’t persuade you to stay longer?’

‘No, thank you. It is decided.’

‘Ten per cent off on all meals?’

‘We are expected back in Nagano, and must get moving before winter sets in.’

‘Fifteen per cent?’

‘I’m sorry, but we really must leave. Now. Goodbye.’

The man with the dark red scarf tied around his neck, who had been posing by the tree topless the previous day, and his female companion in the pale blue yukata, who had been painting him, picked up a case each and walked side by side to the door.

Himiko watched them go, too annoyed to even laugh as the man struggled to slide the door panel across, then tripped over his girlfriend’s foot when he finally got out.

She’d offered fifteen per cent off and they’d still fled. Fifteen per cent. The first time she’d ever gone that low. Not that she could blame them really. They’d both been harassed by those two thugs the day before, and then leered at during lunch. And, even though she’d assured them the ashigaru dogs had signed out that morning, they still wanted to get the hell out of there.

Which meant the ryokan now had a total of three guests: the injured ashigaru, the idiot boy who somehow managed to get suckered by a belt merchant, and the quiet gentleman trying to write his Yuki Onna story.

She staggered out a long sigh and walked over to the entrance, sliding the door panel open a little bit more to let in some mountain air.

Gonna be a windy afternoon, she thought, feeling the slight breeze against her neck. Sachiko and frog face might get cold on the way back if they’d forgotten to take their dōbuku again.

Silly little girls, always prancing about as if it were permanent summer.

Another breeze ran through the open door, shaking her green necklace.

Behind her, there were footsteps, erratic, as if someone with no rhythm was attempting a tap dance.

Turning back to the lobby and producing her best attempt at a sympathetic nurse face, she asked Akira if he was feeling better.

‘The two men…ashigaru…where?’

‘You mean your friends?’

‘Are they here?’

Himiko looked at the diagonal slant of Akira’s standing position, the beads of sweat on his forehead and the katana in his hand that, if it hadn’t been gloved, would’ve been stabbing a hole in her tatami. ‘If you put away your weapon, I will tell you.’

Akira gave a grunt then took his hand away from the guard, letting the katana [and scabbard] drop to the floor.

‘I believe they left this morning,’ replied Himiko, pulling her yukata in tighter around the shoulders.

‘Believe? Don’t you run this place?’

‘Co-run.’

‘So they’re gone then?’

‘Yes.’

Akira started to sway on the spot, and put a hand out towards the wall to steady himself. Unfortunately, he didn’t see what he was putting his hand on, and ripped right through the canvas of a painting of Lake Suwa.

‘I’ll add that to your expenses,’ said Himiko, her nurse face slipping for an instant before swiftly reasserting itself.

‘Which direction did they go? Kōfu? Suwa?’

Himiko took a circular route back round to the reception desk, ducking down for a moment then reappearing with a patterned cup.

‘Did you actually see them leave?’

Walking closer to him, she reached out a hand towards his shoulder, but was pushed away with surprisingly deft skill for someone in such a weakened state. Straightening up to full height, she held out the cup and gestured towards the futon sofa nearby.

‘I think you should rest for a while.’

‘No time.’

‘Drink some more natural remedy.’

‘I have to leave, get out of this place before…’ He paused, rubbing his head and falling back against the wall. As before, the painting took the brunt of it. ‘I can’t stay here.’

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Himiko set herself down on the futon and stared at the damaged art. ‘In that case, you will need to settle the bill.’

‘Take it up with the boy, he brought me here.’

‘I’m afraid the boy has no coin.’

‘What?’

‘He is working off his part of the debt, here in the ryokan.’

‘Why the hell would he check in if-…wait, he didn’t have any money?’

‘It is a sad tale. And quite humiliating. I think it is not my place to tell it.’

Akira hit his head again, looking over at the window as some random chickens danced around one of the fake ones in the courtyard outside, making annoyingly loud clucking noises.

‘So, your part of the bill…’

‘I’m not paying.’

‘Well…in that case…’

‘He signed in, not me. I was unconscious, zonked, completely out of it. Not my responsibility.’

‘That is irrelevant.’

The tone in her voice was colder that time and, despite his weakened state, Akira picked up on it. He crouched down and lifted up the katana, placing it on the table. Just a warning. Didn’t have to be more than that.

Outside, the chickens stopped clucking.

Himiko stood up, looking down at the contents within the cup, the little white swirls cascading on the surface.

‘Is there a problem here?’ broke in a new voice, apparently from the figure in the dark green yukata standing by the entrance, but, based solely on the sound itself, more like half a mile away.

‘A guest refusing to pay the bill,’ replied Himiko, keeping her eyes fixed on Akira.

‘Is that so?’

‘Don’t worry, he’s too unwell to cause any real trouble.’

The man in the green yukata turned his face towards the torn painting. It was hard to tell how he felt about it as his whole form was almost completely covered in shadow.

‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Akira, putting one hand on the scabbard of his katana, wiping his forehead with the other.

‘Co-manager.’

‘That means co-owner?’

‘If you like.’

Akira pushed his head forward, squinting like an elderly person. ‘Why are there six of you?’

The man in the green yukata stared back, maybe smiling, maybe not.

‘No, eight…’ added Akira, his hand dropping from the scabbard of his katana and the rest of him tumbling forward onto the floor. Luckily, he missed the edge of the low table by the width of a mosquito’s wing, which meant at some point he would probably wake up again.

‘Looks like the drink is working,’ said Himiko, walking over and nudging Akira’s head with her foot.

‘Should be ripe in a couple of days,’ replied the man in the green yukata, stepping deeper into the lobby yet, somehow, still maintaining a vague shadowy appearance around his face.

‘Extremely deserved, too, this one. Rude as it gets.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Almost as bad as those other two.’

‘Yes. Perhaps.’

Himiko moved over to the wall and poked at what was left of Lake Suwa. It wasn’t her favourite painting in the whole ryokan, but it definitely made the top three. And this barbarian had just mauled it to death.

‘Ashigaru dog…’ she whispered, stroking the tiny, golden shrine in the painting, her voice just loud enough to carry through the wall and to the ears of the person hiding on the other side.

Don’t rock the boat, don’t rock the boat, don’t rock the boat, Aya told herself over and over, trying not to breathe or cough, and praying to all the gods that Miho didn’t walk in and say, ‘hey Aya, why are you pinned to that wall?’

She’d only known him for half a day, but it seemed exactly like the kind of thing he’d do.

And then they’d both be in trouble.

She pictured the green yukata man’s shadowed face, the few times she’d seen him, and shuddered.

Big trouble.

~~~

Sniffing a trail along the forest floor, the black-tailed fox rejected everything in its path until it finally got to something that looked like a crooked worm.

Ah, lunch at long last, it thought, pouncing on the poor creature teeth-first.

Then spitting it out when it realised the poor creature was actually a weirdly-shaped twig.

Before it could start cursing, another twig dropped from above and landed on its head.

Nearby, a human shouted something.

The fox froze on the spot, sniffing the air erratically. It couldn’t be a human, their scent was unmissable, but then its eyes captured the figure of a…

A streak of purple whizzed past the fox, slashing its side and forcing it into a wild sprint out of there.

The purple circled round and chased it as far as the second tree, swirled in a mini-loop then returned to its original position and shape; an incredibly bored, and quite tired, Japanese woman in a bone-white yukata.

Can’t even be bothered killing anything, Atta Noe complained to herself internally, staring down onto the clearing below.

Apart from that ashigaru.

And the idiot boy.

And those two incompetent box carriers who were probably sitting in a gutter somewhere, too drunk to recognise their own legs.

Leaving her out in the middle of nowhere like this, for almost a whole day. Not being around to put the lid back on her box so she could recharge properly without fear of some bandit passing by and-…

Atta Noe’s thoughts stopped abruptly, her head phasing to its purple state and then back again.

Gods, this was intolerable.

She couldn’t function this way.

Even if those two useless louts had gone astray, Shingen should’ve sent back up men to fetch her. Unless…

She checked the trees behind her, lowering the noise of her natural internal swirling.

Would Atta Ka Yukio really do something that bold? That paranoid?

A bureaucrat like him?

The faint sound of human voices flowed up from the path below, making Atta Noe’s head turn so fast that any observer would’ve called it the devil’s work.

‘Ah, finally,’ she said, soft as the breeze lifting her up onto her feet.

Intensifying the swirls inside, she stepped forward and threw herself face first down the slope. Normally, she would’ve cushioned the blows from each rock she hit on the way down with purple suppression pockets, but she couldn’t risk the two humans catching sight of that. And she didn’t want to make the same mistake she’d made with the boy; walking down with a sad face and a whimper, relying on his chivalric code.

No, this time she would make it impossible not to help.

Reaching the bottom of the slope, she tumbled an extra metre then dragged herself to her feet, staggered as close as she could to the edge of the path without bothering the barrier and then collapsed again.

It was an impressive performance, especially the dazed walking lost routine at the end, and the two young women in brown yukatas walking along the nearby path had no choice but to stop and say, ‘wah.’

‘Attacked…’ slurred Atta Noe, holding out an arm to them then drawing back in pain.

‘It’s okay, we’re coming,’ said the shorter of the two women, nicknamed Frog Face, who dropped her basket and rushed forward.

‘Wait,’ cautioned Sachiko, grabbing her friend’s arm and pulling it back.

‘Sachi-chan, she’s hurt.’

‘Is she?’

Frog face pointed both arms at the bedraggled form of Atta Noe, shaking them dramatically.

‘How do we know she didn’t do it herself?’

‘You’re crazy! She just fell down that slope. We both saw it.’

‘Could be a trick. Bandits. She might be one of them.’

‘Bandits…’ repeated Atta Noe, followed by a series of whimpering noises. ‘Up there…beat me…touched me…’

Frog Face shot a fierce look to Sachiko that said SEE! then wriggled out of her friend’s grip and ran over to the injured woman. Falling to her knees, she took Atta Noe’s hand and asked her where exactly she was hurt.

‘In my chest,’ she replied, turning the hand that wasn’t being squeezed to purple and spearing a hole through the young woman’s brown yukata.

The action was so fast that Frog Face didn’t know what had happened to her, and opened her mouth to say which part of your chest? However, instead of words, there was a huge glob of blood.

‘… … … …’ screamed Atta Noe in her native tongue, taking half of it on her face.

‘What’s going on, Frog?’ asked Sachiko, taking two steps closer.

‘She’s sick, get her off me,’ said Atta Noe, keeping the corpse of Frog Face propped up with her purple spear hand.

‘Frog?’

‘Quickly, her face is turning blue.’

Still sceptical, Sachiko looked up towards the top of the slope, checking for random bandit faces peeking out from behind rocks or trees, then came back to the injured woman.

A bird screeched somewhere in the distance, forcing her hand onto a small blade tucked in the belt of her yukata.

‘Frog,’ she tried again, taking a wide approach towards her friend. ‘Say something.’

‘That will be difficult,’ answered Atta Noe, finally letting go of the body and wiping the blood off her face.

‘You witch!’ shouted Sachiko, taking out her blade. ‘What did you do to her?’

‘Killed her. Obviously.’

Sachiko’s eyes went supernova and rage carried her forward, the knife lowered into a slashing position.

It didn’t matter.

One swipe of purple and she was on the ground, staring at an unsympathetic blade of grass, the dark of her own blood staining its side.

‘You are truly a heartless wretch,’ said Atta Noe, swirling into a kneeling position by Sachiko’s ear. ‘Letting a poor woman of virtue lie injured on the ground and not rushing to help.’

Sachiko made a croaking noise, her hand edging forward a millimetre at a time towards her blade.

‘Still, I must admit, yours does appear to be the more capable body.’

Another swish of purple and the struggle was over.

In the distance, another bird screeched.

The corpses of Sachiko and Frog Face lay still for a few seconds then, the fresher of the two, and apparently more capable, jerked her right arm. Then her left arm. Then the rest of her limbs. Satisfied, she pressed both palms into the dirt and pushed herself up onto her knees. With her eyes glowing purple, Atta Noe, in the guise of the heartless Sachiko wretch, scanned the path in both directions, ahead and back.

The rational choice is to return to Shingen, she thought, examining the wounds on her new body. Alert him, send more men, retrieve the box. That’s what Atta Ka Yukio would suggest.

The same Atta Ka Yukio who’d probably stranded her out here.

Her fingers stretched out, the purple inside unable to evacuate and swirl in annoyance.

No, that traitor could wait.

This body was relatively durable, not too damaged. Should be more than enough to make it to the ryokan and then back to Kōfu. Hopefully with two quick stabbings in between.

The bird screeched again, this time slightly off key.

Taking it as a cue, Atta Noe directed her new vessel onto its feet, picked up the blade the girl had dropped and started off along the path to the right.

A quick revenge, she told herself, covering the neck wound with the collar of the girl’s yukata. Then back to Shingen.