Yabona held the paddle as though she were at practice. She could feel Miyo's eyes on her back, and she straightened, smirking with the realization that she had now become too tense. Her eyes were closed, sunlight brushing her blood red lids. She breathed deep, and then sneezed. She opened her eyes and wiped some snot on the sleeve of her dress.

Gin's courtyard was stately. The grass was lush, there was a pond with fish (that you must “never, ever” eat) and a little bridge and dominating the whole space was a very impressive tree with a trunk so thick even the burly owner could not wrap his arms all around it. He was there before it now, gently examining branches. She was at some distance from the tree, along the outer walk way, standing before a mattress hung over the railing, thick wooden paddle in hand. She assumed her stance, paddle transformed into sword in her minds eye and she delivered a satisfying whack that sent dust particles swirling beautiful in the sunlight. She was pleased with the cloud she had made, with the power of her swing. She sneezed again. These futons hadn't been aired for months, they had been stacked in the shed a dozen high.

“Ya-bo-na,” a little girls voiced called sing-song, and then the owner of the voice was in the open entrance of the annex, a little hard to see for the shade. “You're going to miss lunch,” the girl said as she stepped out onto the walk way.

Yabona wiped sweat from her forehead, gazed up at the sky and shook her head. “I can't Eika, I still have work to do.” She gestured to the mattress slung over the rail, to the others stacked on the walk way.

Eika shrugged, stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry. She ran back inside to where voices at play could be heard. The clattering of bowls, laughter, loud talk.

Yabona went back to work. When she finished with the mattress she bundled the thing up in both of her arms, unable to see over the top, and waddled her way to the shed at the end of the court-yard. She was sweating and panting when she returned to repeat the process. Gin looked at her as she came back, thumb and pointer rubbing his chin. Her shoulders sunk in a little, as she noticed him, and returned to hammering the mattresses with much more effort, forgoing her pantomime of sword play. When she had finished with this one Gin had already left. She was scanning for him when a soft sound of displeasure brought her attention back around.

Azami stood on the walkway now, arms crossed, shaking her head. “Honestly,” she said.

Yabona looked down.

“You'll fall over in this heat girl, come inside now.”

It was no use arguing with the young woman, she would step into the yard and physically drag Yabona to the table if she had to, she had done it before. That had been too embarrassing to risk a repetition.

“I'm coming,” Yabona said, and she started for the steps.

Another sound of displeasure from Azami, this time not at all gentle. “Not like that you aren't, you go wash up first.”

Yabona raised her hands, looked at the dust on them, at the dust on her dress. She nodded and dashed off to a water trough tucked at the end of the annex, in a shaded spot next the white lacquered courtyard wall. She splashed her face, scrubbed her hands, smiled at the rough callouses forming on her palm. Miyo said they would stop hurting when the blisters first came in, and they have. She flexed her grip, went inside.

The room was divided into two by thin rice paper walls, in one half mattresses and blankets were neatly folded along the wall, and in the other seven people sat around a low and simple table. When Yabona made herself seen in the door way Azami gaze her an apprising look.

“Good enough,” Azami said with a nod. The young woman was particular about cleanliness, that was another thing Yabona had to learn – how to clean herself well enough to meet Azami's approval.

“Come and sit, come and sit,” Azami motioned to an unoccupied cushion as she knelt to portion out a bowl of fish stew. She was the oldest at the table by far. The rest could not say exactly how old they were, with the exception of Fumihito who very proudly announced that he had counted seven summers. He had crooked teeth but a bright smile, he was found of numbers. Often he would sneak off to play with the elderly Matron's abacus behind the front desk, silently counting the beads as he moved them from one side to the other, fouling whatever figure she had been working on. He thought he was sly, but his face always betrayed his intention to go and play with the device and he could hardly make up any excuse to sneak off but that he had to go to the bathroom.

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Eika was closest in age to Yabona, so far as Yabona could surmise. They were about the same size. Yabona, for her part, was fairly sure she had been alive to see the seasons change twelve times.

Junko was the youngest, though she could walk and talk and had some understanding of the world now, the pretense of her being an employee was as thin as rice paper. The little girl insisted on being given her own chores, which Azami dutifully made up. “See these?” Yabona had seen Azami say to little Junko, bending down to speak on level. Junko had nodded smiling. “They are weeds and they are very bad, can you see if you can find anymore in the yard?” That day Junko could not find any, though she had tried until the sun fell. She was disconsolate, and Azami had a futon made up in her private chamber for the little girl that night.

Kyou was surly, he was frowning even as he spooned soup into his thin mouth. He often shirked his duties, but he always made sure the fish in the pond outside were fed. He could often be found crouching by the bank and looking at the orange and white fish swim around. He was the one that told Yabona they weren't for eating, this was on her second day at the Inn. She was as yet too proud to ask for any food and thought she might be quick enough to catch them. They were pretty big.

Setsuko was the best at her work. She said her Mom and Dad used to run an Inn on a mountain path and that they had owned it forever and ever. It had burned down in an honest accident, a spark from the hearth catching some straw, everyone had made it out. Now her Mom and Dad worked for a factory and she was staying here because it was nicer than the bunkhouse. She ate her soup now with proper decorum, and was always very polite.

The meal passed as it had the last two weeks since Yabona was induced to join. With jokes and laughter and Azami doting on Junko and reprimanding Kyou for the sloppy way he ate.

Yabona ate quietly, uncomfortable. Eika tried to invite Yabona into conversation, to make her welcome, but it was hard going.

After lunch everyone contributed to the washing up, and Yabona with a pail of water and a rag made her way into the already immaculately clean foyer. She set to scrubbing the floorboards without prompting, her duties as given by Azami were already complete. Gin walked through the front door with a bundle draped over his thick forearm.

“Oaooh,” he said. “Imagine that!”

Yabona had straightened up and was head down in a bow when she had heard foot-steps outside, expecting a guest to come walking in. This etiquette was yet another thing she had learned in the last two weeks.

“Master Gin,” she said when she heard his voice, and she stood up straight.

“Bah, none of that. Is Hiromi trying to teach you manners? Hiromi is always trying to teach me manners. Here,” he said, holding out the bundle. “I was just looking for you.”

Yabona hesitated and Gin shook his arm. She took the bundle by the twine that held it together, it was a soft pink fabric. He made a motion of untying and she opened it. It was a new dress, and about her size. Her eyes went wide. “I can't,” she said.

Gin grinned. “Sure you can.”

Yabona shook her head and Gin sighed, he sat down on the front step, the entrance itself was lower to the ground to trap dirt. There were cubicles along the wall down there to store shoes. He pat the ground next to him. Yabona sat too, gingerly putting the dress on her lap.

He rubbed his chin, scratched the back of his head. “How to put this...”

Yabona tensed.

He snapped his finger and his pensive expression melted into his regular, easy grin.

“You are filthy.”

Yabona exhaled. She had to recognize truth. She nodded.

“I've been watching you, I think I know how you feel. I think I feel the same way.”

“What do you mean?”

“You're working very hard.”

“I'm just doing my chores.” She tried to make herself sound sure, but there were hints of guilt in the tone.

He shook his head. “You're doing more than that. I'm the same way. I'm doing a bit more than people expect. Because I think I don't deserve what I got.” He looked down at her. “Do you deserve what you have?”

“I think you are being very kind.” Yabona looked away from Gin, her voice was small. Thoughts of cold alleys and an empty stomach. Thoughts of a little straw doll with a ribbon. Thoughts of big dark empty roads and uncertainty. Her chest felt a little heavier.

“I am! And one day I was very suddenly rich. And now I am giving you some new clothes and you won't complain.” He clapped his hands and stood up. “And if you still feel oh so indebted you can run and set the second floor banquet hall, instead of polishing floors that already look like mirrors.”

Eager to be away Yabona stood and went straight for the stairs, nearly leaving behind her new clothes in her haste.

“And Yabona,” he said and she stopped to listen, holding her new clothes tight. “You must never do any work that you do not have to.” He folded his arms, set a stern expression on his face. “This is Gin's Golden Rule!” He held up an authoritative finger, smiling.

Yabona smiled back weakly. There were a few tears in her eyes, but she wasn't about to let them show. When she was on the second floor landing she rubbed at her eyes. Ridiculous. She was going to be a warrior, would a warrior cry because she got a new dress? Because she had a full meal? Because there were people that cared for her?

She took Gin's words literally. She ran to fetch the cushions. She ran to fetch the stools. The tea set. Her bare feet making a solid pitter-patter on the floor. Below was the parlour in which Gin often sat, and she heard the bass of his laugh come up through the floorboards. She tried to move quieter, imagining his laughter was directed at her. That he would come up and tell her to work less hard. That he'd welcome her even more.

When the room was set, and she could be certain there was absolutely nothing left to be done, she found some privacy in Azami's chambers and changed out of her beggars rags and into the soft pink garb. It fit her well. She examined herself in the polished brass that Azami kept on a dresser. The reflection wasn't very clear, but even had it been, she would have had a hard time recognizing herself. She felt self-conscious, tugging at the belt. It would be fine. There was no use in worrying what people would think. She was already late to practice, and so dashed out, waving good-bye to Eika on her way.