“So,” said Master Soma one day, “you disobey your father and take up the way of the sword after all.”

Hachiro nearly dropped his broom.  “B-but it is only play, Master.  I’m not a student.”

“I think you had better have a name tag and a sword of your own,” said Soma.  “You have long since entered the Way and there is no going back for you.  I could wish that we did not have to keep your father in the dark about it, but that decision I will leave to you.  You can work off the cost of the lessons by doing what you have done, cleaning the dojo and tutoring the weaker students.”

And so Hachiro studied sword fighting.

Death of a Cat

The illness came on gradually with a slight queasiness after a meal.  But this worsened over a number of days until Toshiko took to her bed and was violently ill for three days, vomiting up everything she ate or drank.  By the time the vomiting stopped, she was too weak to rise from her bed.  She would lie still, looking mindlessly for hours at the dust motes that danced in the rays of sunlight filtering through the shutters, then fall asleep in a shower of stars.

No one bothered her.  Her maid crept in a few times to stare at her and to change the stale water in the flask.  Now and then one of the ladies would peer in and disappear again.  Toshiko gradually became very thirsty but was afraid to drink in case the horrible cramping and purging would start again.  It had been so bad that she had brought up blood and fainted after one bout.

On the fourth day, she woke to the sounds of packing and voices, both male and female, and the heavier tread of male porters.  They were taking away furnishings and trunks filled with the clothing of the other women.  Everyone was moving to the new palace.  Perhaps she would be left to die alone here.  Illness of any sort frightened people. What if this was the beginning of smallpox?  All but the oldest of the palace women must fear the scarring and pitting of their faces more than death itself.

On the evening of the third day, her maid brought a bowl of rice gruel.  Toshiko looked at it without interest.  On the whole, starvation was not painful.  She felt a pleasant languor and lightness she took for the first signs of approaching death.  She welcomed this gentle death.  Only her thirst troubled her.

The sounds of moving receded that night, and it became quiet.  She slept fitfully and, as the first gray light of morning began to fill the room, she woke to find Shojo-ben by her side.

“Toshiko?” Shojo-ben whispered when Toshiko opened her eyes.  “Can you hear me?”

Toshiko tried to speak but found her mouth was so dry that her tongue did not move.  She managed a soft croak.

“I’m so glad you are better,” Shojo-ben continued, trying to sound cheerful, but her eyes were full of tears.  “They will surely send a doctor to have a look at you.  We are to leave today, so I came to say good-bye.  I promise to prepare a nice room for you in the new palace.  As soon as you can travel, you will come.”

Toshiko croaked again, then managed to mutter, “Fresh water?”

Shojo-ben went out to refill the flask and then supported her so she could sip.  The water was wonderful and soothed her parched mouth and throat.

“Thank you,” Toshiko said, sounding more like herself, but falling back weakly on her bedding.

“You are a little better, aren’t you?” Shojo-ben asked timidly.  “I’ve been so worried.”

This contradicted Shojo-ben’s earlier optimism, but Toshiko tried to smile.  “A little,” she said.

The water stayed down.

“Do you want some more food?”  Shojo-ben eyed the bowl of gruel.  “You did not eat much.”

Toshiko made the effort to turn her head and look at the bowl.  She did not remember eating any of it, but it was half-empty.  Very strange.  She looked away, murmuring, “No.  I’m not hungry.”

They were silent for a little, then Shojo-ben said, “You must try to eat to get better.  I want you to be well before I leave His Majesty’s service.”

“You are leaving?”

Shojo-ben nodded, smiled.  “I am to be married.”

The light was getting brighter in her room with the rising sun, and Toshiko saw the happiness on her friend’s face.  “I did not know,” she said wonderingly.  “How did you manage it?”  She remembered the clandestine visits, but it took parental and imperial consent to release a young woman from her service in the palace.

Shojo-ben looked down at her folded hands and blushed.  “My husband-to-be will take up his post as governor of Izumi soon and wants me to go with him.  He went to my father, and together they went to His Majesty.”  She looked up and said earnestly, “His Majesty never had any interest in me.  He made no difficulties.  It is you he prefers.”

The knowledge that her misery was due to the emperor’s fickle desire for her made Toshiko turn her head away, trying not to weep.  “I am happy for you, but I shall miss you so much,” she murmured and then could not stop her tears.  She felt very weak.  Her only friend was leaving and there was no hope for her.  It was best to die quickly.

Shojo-ben embraced her and held her.

Outside the eave chamber, someone wailed loudly.  Shojo-ben looked toward the door as other voices were raised.  “That was Lady Dainagon,” she said, releasing Toshiko and getting up.  “I wonder what happened.  I’ll be back in a moment.”

Toshiko did not much care.  On the whole she was glad to be left alone, though she supposed that she should be happier for Shojo-ben.  She dried her face and groped for the water flask, pouring another cup.  It was even more refreshing than the first, and she drank a third cup before Shojo-ben returned, looking distressed.

“Mikan is dead.  Lady Dainagon just found him,” she said, sitting back down.  “Apparently he died during the night.  You can imagine how upset she is.  She loved that cat.  He must have eaten something that did not agree with him because he vomited before he died.”

Toshiko’s eyes flew to the bowl of gruel.  She struggled into a sitting position.  “The cat’s vomit,” she asked, “was it rice gruel?”

Shojo-ben looked at the bowl and gasped.  “Oh, you think the cat . . . that there was something in your gruel?  Oh, Toshiko, are you feeling ill again?”

“No.  I did not eat any gruel.”

“Oh, thank heaven.  That is all right then.”

“No,” said Toshiko.  “It is not all right.  The gruel was intended for me.  And I ate gruel before I became so ill.  Someone here wants me to die.”

Shojo-ben’s eyes widened in horror.  “Are you sure?  I cannot believe . . .”

Just then, Lady Sanjo put her head in at the door and said, “Time to get ready, Lady Shojo-ben.  Ah, I see you are feeling better, Lady Toshiko.  Will you be able to travel with us?”

Toshiko’s heart beat wildly.  “N . . . no, Lady Sanjo.  I’m too weak and feel very sick again.”

“Ah.”  Lady Sanjo nodded.  “I shall inform His Majesty.  Perhaps he will wish you to return to your family.”  She bustled off.

“I think she did it,” said Toshiko, glaring after her.  “I shall not eat anything served to me in the future.”  She turned to her friend.  “Before you leave, would you find me some food, rice cakes or such, something that was meant for the others?”

Shojo-ben looked scandalized.  “Oh, you cannot think . . . she would never dare . . . His Majesty would have her exiled.  Along with her husband and family.”  But she saw Toshiko’s exhausted face and added, “I shall get you food, but I pray that you are wrong about this.”  Then she dashed off.

Toshiko did not think she was wrong.  The woman hated her, had hated her from the beginning.  She did not know why, but everything that had gone wrong for her had been Lady Sanjo’s doing.  The woman had failed with her plots in the past, but this was too much.  Now she was desperate enough to murder her.