Though his own glands generated panic, Yoshi felt the life go out of the man. And the sudden weight of the body against him. But he did not let go until he was completely sure the man was truly dead. Even then he allowed other hands to pull the corpse away and let it fall.
Blood covered him. He discovered quickly that it was not his. His good fortune did not dissipate his fury at the men nearby who had failed to be alert, failed to move into a protective screen, leaving him to do the fighting. He cursed them, ordering the whole troop inside, on their knees, their swords broken, except the two who had helped him. Then, panting, he looked around. The busy street was almost empty.
When the shouting, milling skirmish surrounding the lone attacker was seen to be what it was, and in seconds Yoshi's hat torn off and he was recognized, a hum of astonishment had gone through the common folk. At once, two or three sidled away, heads averted. Others followed.
The cautious dribble became a floodtide, no one wanting to be held as a witness or even accused of being an accomplice.
Izuru was one of the first to leave when he saw there was no reasonable expectation a second attack would succeed. Rushan mishandled the attack, he thought, walking down the predetermined side street, well shielded by departing crowds. The fool should have hacked the head off one of the first two as a diversion, then on the recovery used the same fluid, brutal force to swing back on the prime target, waist-high. No likelihood of Yoshi escaping that blow. None. Katsumata would be furious, he demonstrated it enough times, told us enough times. A unique opportunity wasted! And as for allowing Yoshi to catch his hilt and parry the belly thrust...
Rushan deserved to be captured alive and used for sword practice! Wait, perhaps it was better this way. If Rushan was so inept in his supreme duel, he probably would have broken and given away our safe houses, the ones he knew about. You can't trust Tosa people, shishi or not!
But why was Toranaga Yoshi taking such a risk?
There were shouts behind him. Soldiers were chasing the last of the crowds to catch some as witnesses. No chance that he would be caught, no need to hurry.
Rain began again. The wind picked up. He pulled his cloak around him, glad for it and his hat. Down another puddled alley, into another, across a bridge, the wooden slats slippery.
Soon he was safe in a maze of slippery little streets that led to a back entrance in the wall of a great dwelling. The guard recognized him, let him pass, waving him toward the secret shishi safe house lost in the vast gardens. The man's uniform carried the insignia of Lord Chancellor Wakura.
In the street of the Toranaga Headquarters the stall keeper was being hustled to the guard house, loudly protesting that he knew nothing, was nothing and begged to be allowed to go--he had dared not vanish with the others as he was too well known there. A few stragglers who had been caught were shoved after him. The awning of the stall flapped miserably in the wind and rain.
Koiko was putting the final touches to her makeup helped by a hand mirror of polished steel. Her fingers shook slightly. Again she made a conscious effort to empty her mind and compartmentalize her fears, for Yoshi and because of him, for herself and because of herself. The other two women, Teko, her maiko--apprentice--and Sumomo watched intently. The room was small and functional, like the rest of the suite adjoining Yoshi's quarters, sufficient for her when she slept alone, and one maid. Other quarters, for her attendants, were further away.
As she finished she stared at her reflection.
She could detect no worry lines and when she tried a smile the skin of her face crinkled only in the correct places, her eyes were white where they should be white, dark where they should be dark and showed none of the depth of her concern. This pleased her. Then she caught a glimpse of Sumomo. Not aware she was observed, Sumomo's face was momentarily open.
Koiko's stomach twisted, seeing so many conflicts there.
Training training training, she thought, what would we do without it, and turned to face them. Teko, little more than a child, took the mirror without being asked, deftly touched a vagrant lock into place with a tiny hand.
"It's beautiful, Lady Koiko,"
Sumomo said, bewitched. This was the first time she had been allowed into Koiko's private quarters.
The secrets of the beauty process had been a revelation, beyond her whole experience.
"Yes, it is," Koiko said, thinking she meant the mirror, the perfection of its surface making it almost priceless. "And it is a kind mirror too. Few are kind, Sumomo-- vital in this life for a woman to have a kind mirror to look into."
"Oh, I meant the whole picture you make, not that," Sumomo said, embarrassed. "From your kimono to your hairstyle, your choice of colors and how you make up your lips and eyebrows, everything. Thank you for allowing me to witness it."
Koiko laughed. "I hope that with, or without, the effect is not too different!"
"Oh, you are the most beautiful person I have ever seen," Sumomo burst out. Compared to Koiko she felt like a country person, unsophisticated, inept, bovine, all fingers and elbows and big feet, for the first time in her life conscious of a lack of femininity. What can my beloved Hiraga see in me, she asked herself dismayed. I'm nothing, unattractive, nothing, not even a Choshu like him. I bring him no face, no lands, no prestige and no money, I'm sure in truth his parents disapprove of me. "You are the, the most beautiful I'm ever likely to see!" she said and she was thinking, Are all Ladies of the Floating World like you? Even the maiko will be stunning when she is grown though not like her Mistress! No wonder men marry women like me just to control their houses and bear their children, because it is so easy for them to worship elsewhere, to enjoy beauty elsewhere and oh so much more.
With the sincerity Koiko saw the unhappiness and envy that could not be hidden. "You are beautiful too, Sumomo," she said, long aware she had this effect on many women. "Teko-chan, you may go now but prepare everything for later... and make sure we are not disturbed, Sumomo and I."
"Yes, Mistress." Teko was eleven. As with Koiko, her contract had been concluded with the mama-san of the House of Wisteria by her farmer parents when she was seven. Her earning life would begin when she was fourteen or fifteen. Till then, and as long as the mama-san wanted, the contract made the mama-san responsible for keeping her, clothing her, and training her for a life in the Floating World, and, if she developed the aptitude, in its various arts: as musician or dancer or poet or conversationalist, or all of them. If the maiko proved untrainable or difficult, the mama-san could resell the contract at her whim, but if her choice had been wise, as with Koiko, the mama-san's considerable financial outlay and gamble would be repaid abundantly in money and reputation. Not all mama-sans were considerate, or kind, or patient.
"Run along now and practice your scales," Koiko said.
"Yes Mistress." Teko knew she had been blessed to be apprenticed to Koiko whom she adored and worked very hard to please. She bowed perfectly and, adorned by an irrepressible charm, went away.
"S." Koiko looked at Sumomo, uneasily fascinated by her, her direct look and manner and strength. Since she had agreed to allow her to stay five days ago, there had been almost no opportunity to talk alone. Now it was time. She opened a mental compartment: Katsumata.
Oh my friend, what have you done to me?
He had waylaid her during her visit to the Kyoto mama-san who had, at the instigation of Meikin, her own mama-san in Yedo, arranged maids, hairdresser, masseuses while she was here. Only Teko and a maid had travelled with her from Yedo.