The Samurai's Daughter (43 page)

He still hadn’t seen any salt flats or a sand mountain and certainly no huge graveyard when he came to a narrow street lined with small wooden houses jammed together side by side. Smells of hair oil and perfume mingled with the dust and sewage. Without people the road was desolate, the houses faded and shabby in the afternoon light. Outside nearly every house was a lantern and he sensed people behind the closed doors. The stubborn old battleaxes who ran the place wouldn’t be so easily separated from their livelihoods.

He checked the nameplates but none read ‘Kitaoka’. Of course, Kitaoka was far too grand a name to splash across the door of a geisha house. If Fujino was here, she probably went under her professional name, but he didn’t know what that was. Once again he was banging his head against a stone wall.

He stared at the little plants pushing up through the black volcanic silt that dusted the ground. A cat sidled up to him, purring, and wrapped itself around his legs and he bent down to pat it. It was hopeless. She probably wasn’t even here. He should just give up and go back to his fellow soldiers and forget this absurd quest.

Then a bird swooped across the tiled roofs with a flash of white and landed on a willow tree, setting the leaves rustling. Nobu
recognized
the long iridescent tail, like a folded fan, and the white breast and black and blue plumage. A magpie, a bird of good omen.

It spread its wings, revealing its white underbelly and wing tips, and swooped down and hopped along the street. He thought of the kind-hearted magpies in the Tanabata story who put their wings together once a year to form a bridge across the River of Heaven so that the weaver princess and the cowherd could meet, and wondered idly if it had come to lead him to his own weaver princess.

The magpie paused outside a house with no lantern and no nameplate. The rain doors were bolted shut, like a blind eye in the street. It cocked its head, looked at him with a beady eye and let out a caw. Nobu had run straight past the house. Now he looked again. No lantern: so it was not a geisha house, not open for business. It was a private residence. He gasped. The scales seemed to drop from his eyes and he wondered, with a lurch of the heart, if this could be the place.

He’d stretched out his hand to knock when the magpie flapped its wings and flew away. The movement shook him awake, as if from a dream. He started and looked around and saw, as if for the first time, where he was and what he was doing and shuddered with horror. Here he was, in the uniform of His Imperial Majesty’s Army, in the geisha district of all places, about to rap on the door of a house of ill repute.

Voices clamoured in his head. He remembered how excited and proud he’d been when he left Tokyo, determined to bring their sworn enemies to heel, how he’d taken the train to Yokohama and boarded the ship shoulder to shoulder with thousands of his fellow soldiers, all with the same mission, fired with the same zeal. The time had come for revenge – and by an extraordinary stroke of luck, the revenge of the Aizu clan coincided with the welfare of their country. It was their patriotic duty to attack their enemies.

He thought of his father, living like a peasant, grubbing around
just
to stay alive, when he should have been enjoying a prosperous old age, and of his brothers, in the mountains fighting, maybe wounded or dead. He thought of his mother and his sisters and his grandmother, of his city reduced to rubble and his people living in destitution. He owed it to all of them to destroy the enemy who’d ruined his family and his clan.

Whatever wild impulse had brought him here, it was against all his better judgement. He’d had a moment of madness but now, thank the gods, he’d come to his senses. There was work to be done. It was time to go – get back to his unit, get on with unearthing the last nests of rebels.

But he couldn’t bear to leave. He stood rooted to the spot, squeezed his hands into fists and screwed his eyes tight shut. He knew what was right, he knew what he had to do but it wrenched his soul to do it.

He took a breath, summoned up all his willpower and turned to go. But then the wind rattled the door and he caught a whiff of aloe and musk, of
kyara
and myrrh. In a heartbeat he was back in Tokyo, kneeling on a veranda, reading aloud while a small white hand pointed out the words, character by character. He was walking with a slender girl in the woods of her estate, collecting horsetail shoots; in a garden on a sultry summer evening with a soft sweet-smelling body nestling against his, feeling her hair brush his cheek.

Before he could stop himself he’d knocked. He held his breath and listened, half hoping there’d be no one there. He would just go, he told himself, he’d leave in peace. But there was someone there, he heard a faint noise.

He knocked again more loudly. There was silence now but he was beyond caring. The door was old and wobbly, it stuck in its grooves, but he wiggled it impatiently and it opened a crack. That scent wafted out.

33

CROUCHING ON THE
stairs in the darkness, Taka held her breath, her heart thundering, staring mesmerized at the thread of light framing the door as it wavered and broke, then flickered into view again. A pebble clattered somewhere nearby. There was someone there. There was definitely someone outside.

Normally there’d have been women gossiping, geishas chatting in bird-like coos, men shuffling around in clogs, talking and laughing at the top of their voices. But now there was just the cawing of crows, the wind rustling in the trees, the murmur of the ocean and, far away, like distant thunder, the rumble and roar of the advancing army. Dogs barked and a fox let out an unearthly wail.

She’d been rummaging through the trunk in the upstairs room, pulling out musty books, perfumed hair ornaments sticky with oil, faded letters from her father, things her mother wouldn’t want to leave behind. She’d hoped against hope she might find something there to remind her of Nobu but the only thing she’d had was the amulet and she’d given that to Kuninosuké. She hoped at least it was keeping him safe, keeping all of them safe.

Then she’d heard footsteps in the silence. She sat back on her heels and listened, wondering who could be abroad in this city of ghosts. It was not the crunch of straw sandals or the patter of clogs but boots, pounding along the street. She’d crept to the balcony and peeked out just long enough to see a figure all in black, with a rifle slung on his shoulder, coming towards the
house
. She could tell by the clothes and the cap it was not a looter. It was something much more frightening – an enemy soldier.

The boots passed by and she let out a sigh of relief, then her heart began to thump again as the footsteps turned and came back and stopped right outside her door.

Suddenly she remembered with a shock of horror that the door wasn’t locked. She’d thought she’d be safe from looters or soldiers in this run-down neighbourhood. Not that a lock would be much use against soldiers’ boots. They probably wouldn’t even stop to check if it was locked or not. She sat silent as a mouse, expecting to hear a deafening crash and the splinter of wood. There was a long silence, then a knock that sent a shudder of fear along her spine.

She summoned up her courage. Her mother had stood up to the soldiers when they broke into their house in Kyoto. She had to be as strong as her. Her halberd was downstairs, not far from the door. If she could get to it, she’d show him what a Satsuma woman was worth. She stood up, edged to the stairs and crept down step by step.

The intruder hammered again, then began to shake the door. Panting in terror, hardly daring to breathe, she huddled in the shadows, wondering why, of all the houses on the street, he’d chosen this one. How could he have known there was anyone here? She watched, frozen, as the pale thread grew wider and daylight flooded in, speckled with dust and flies. A tall figure stepped inside edged with a fuzz of brightness, like a demon in a halo of flames, smelling of starch and boot polish and gun metal.

She stared transfixed at the dark silhouette, wondering if she could make it back up the stairs. There were iron kettles and heavy vases up there she could throw at him or she could try to upend the trunk and heave it. But she was shaking so much her limbs simply refused to move.

Then she made out features emerging from the shadows – a chiselled cheek, a fine, rather aristocratic nose, the curve of a full mouth – and realized with a shock it was not a demon
at
all. She knew that face. She’d seen it so often in her dreams.

He’d come, her beloved Nobu, after all this time. Or was she seeing things? Could it possibly be him? Rooted to the spot, she clasped her hands and peered eagerly into the darkness.

She was about to jump up, race down the stairs, fling herself into his arms and shout, ‘You! It’s you!’ But then she saw an army uniform, a pair of white spats, the glint of buttons and the unmistakable shape of a rifle.

Trembling, she fell back against the wall and clenched her fists, her head spinning. The young man she had prayed would come back to her had been a dreamer whose leggings and baggy cotton jackets never quite seemed to fit him. This was an enemy soldier. It wasn’t him at all. The gods had granted her prayer but they’d put a terrible sting in the tail.

The intruder shut the door and darkness fell again like the sudden coming of night.

‘Taka.’ That voice, the beloved voice with its northern burr, the voice she’d so longed to hear. But it didn’t matter who he was, he was the enemy.

She stumbled to her feet, leaning against the wall to steady herself, and felt for the dagger tucked in her obi. She would kill him and herself too. It was the only thing left to do.

She opened her mouth but no sound came. She licked her lips. ‘Don’t come near me,’ she whispered.

He was bending, fumbling with his spats. ‘Taka, Taka, I can’t believe it. Is it really you?’ His voice was shaking. She could hear his breathing, fast and shallow, loud in the silence. He was as shocked as she was.

‘Get out.’ Her voice was a croak. ‘You don’t belong here. We’re enemies. Get out.’

She’d never felt such despair. She closed her hand around the silken binding of the hilt, slid the dagger from its scabbard and almost fell as she took a step towards him. She raised her arm. She would strike him and that would be the end of it.

He looked at her steadily.

‘I never thought I’d find you.’ In the darkness his eyes were blazing. ‘I thank the gods you’re safe.’

She lowered her arm and thrust the dagger back into her obi. Her knees gave way and she sank down on the stairs. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she tasted salt as she wiped them away with her hands. ‘I waited for you, I prayed you’d come and you never sent a word, not a word,’ she wailed. ‘And now you come, now when we’re at war, when you’re fighting my father and my brother. It’s too late, can’t you see that? Too late.’

With the door shut it was hot and airless. She felt grimy and clammy with sweat.

‘Our clans may be enemies but we’re not, not you and me. We belong together. You’re only half Satsuma, remember that. Your mother is pure Kyoto.’ He’d said that once before, when he’d crept into their garden and they’d sat together under the stars. It was the last time she could remember feeling happy. ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to shock you, but we have to leave quickly. There may be fighting. The army’s going to burn down the city to build fortifications. You’re like a fox in a trap here. Let me take you somewhere safe.’

‘Burn down my city?’ she gasped. ‘Take me somewhere safe?’

He put down his rifle and dropped to his knees. ‘What are you doing here all alone? Where are your mother and Okatsu?’

Taka peered at him in the darkness, more alarmed than ever. He could take her captive, hold her hostage if he wanted, but she would never betray her mother. If she let slip even a hint of where she was, she might betray Madame Kitaoka too. That was unthinkable.

She tried to see his face, scrutinizing it for treachery. Maybe he was a fox spirit who had taken on human form – it was him who was the fox, not her. Or perhaps he was a demon, with Nobu’s features but the body of an enemy, conjured up by her own loneliness and yearning. Surely he couldn’t have come all this way just to deceive her?

She put her hands over her face and gave a long shuddering groan.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ His tone was gentle. ‘We have to go. Soldiers will be searching the neighbourhood soon. There are good men in the army but bad ones too, who will want to take you as a prize. You don’t have to believe me but please see that.’

‘I’m not a fool,’ she said through her fingers. ‘I’m General Kitaoka’s daughter. I know how valuable I could be. How do I know you haven’t been sent here to capture me because you think I’ll trust you?’

‘No one’s sent me, no one knows I’m here. I’m on my own. I heard you were in Kagoshima, I had to find you. I can’t prove anything to you, I can’t prove I’m telling the truth except … except … what I owe your family, your mother’s kindness and … and my feelings towards you. How can you not know that?’

‘When I heard nothing from you for so long?’

He looked at her, wild-eyed. ‘I can explain everything but later, later. Please trust me. I swear to you by everything I hold dear, I swear on my mother’s grave, I’d never do you harm.’

She backed away, trembling. His voice, his words cast a spell over her, lulling her fears, making her forget her suspicions, drawing her towards him with a force so powerful it frightened her. She wanted more than anything to run to him and let him take her in his arms. But even if she trusted and believed him, even if his intentions were sincere, it made no difference. It was too late. She could never be with him now.

Suddenly a commotion broke into her thoughts. There was a crash that sounded like a door being kicked in and the sound of feet running up and down outside. She had been so caught up in Nobu and their talk, she hadn’t even noticed. Soldiers, in their neighbourhood already. Nobu had found her just in time. If he was really going to help her escape, he’d have to lie to his own men, maybe fight them. He might end up being court-martialled, even executed for her. He was taking a terrible risk.