The Way of the Fox (8 page)

“They are most excellent. I thank you.” The rat blushed. “I have rarely tasted better.”

“Dig in!”
Sura shook the sakē bottle, finding it to be tragically empty. “So hey – you’ve been on the roads around here. Any rumours of bandits? Thugs? Wandering stranglers? Anything like that?”

“
None that I have heard of, Sura san. But I am a wanderer. I had only been in this area for a day.”

“Hmmm – but all the wanderers come
here
…” Sura watched maids heading into the kitchens. She arose and headed off on the maid’s trail. “You guys stay here. I’m just going to make a few inquiries…”

Off she went, her nose pointed
towards prey. Chiri watched her in admiration, carefully cradling her pet rock.

“She is most determined.”

Kuno gave scowl. “She is very annoying.”

“But most sincere, in her way.” Chiri
set her rock quietly in place upon the table. “She is indeed an extraordinary soul.”

T
hat extraordinary soul followed her nose into the kitchen. There, amidst the steam, boiling noodle pots and sizzling skillets, Sura discovered the little innkeeper and his large and merry wife. The maid collected fresh bottles of heated sakē from a pan of water. The innkeeper’s wife saw what she was doing and raised a cry of protest.

“Not more? No – it can’t be
more!”

“They are getting noisier!” The maid seemed distraught. “Perhaps if they drink more, they will have to sleep it off?”

“Yes yes yes – but I will take it. Not you – not Kiko! I will do it.” The innkeeper’s wife suddenly saw Sura in the doorway, and instantly beamed. “A kitsune! Oh – it is a kitsune! We have not had the pleasure of a fox’s company in many months.” The woman waved a hand to her husband. “The duck! She will want the roasted duck! Crispy skinned. Oh – and the fried crayfish!”

The innkeeper
flicked a glance at Sura, and whispered loudly to his wife.

“Wife – Kiko said that the fox is a priestess! Meat might be unseemly!”

“Oh – oh! A priestess?” The wife looked again at Sura, seeing her robes. “Oh – you are not a Buddhist priestess, are you? I forget whether foxes are Buddhists?”

Sura
was happily intrigued to see so much food being prepared. Dumplings sizzled and fish fried. She felt herself absolutely salivate. “No no. Not a Buddhist. A Taoist with sort of Zuang-Zhi leanings. It’s a fox thing…” She smelled a delicious scent coming from the oven. “Oooh – did you say duck?”

The innkeeper
’s wife bustled swiftly out through the curtains. “Yes yes – I shall bring you duck. Oooh – and terrapin! Our hotpots are famous!”

The woman whisked off, passing yet another maid – presumably ‘Kiko’
. This girl also seemed greatly harassed. She looked into an earthenware pot, and shook her head.

“There are no more plums.”

“No pickled plums? None?” The innkeeper looked up from across a sizzling pan of dumplings. “How do they eat them in such quantity?”

“I don’t know?” The waitress spied Sura. “Oh! Oh priestess! We have plum wine. I will bring you some. We make it ourselves.”

Sura looked at the girl, noting the angry flush to her cheeks. She thieved a dumpling from a nearby tray.

“
What seems to be the problem?”

The innkeeper threw something into a pan,
causing a sudden great deafening sizzle. He shouted to be heard above the noise.

“Ah, priestess!
The sword school students are loud and uncouth. But they are frequent visitors and big spenders – so somehow it must be borne.” The innkeeper energetically flipped frying fish with long chopsticks. “But they have brought their senior student. A bad egg, that one! A very bad egg. Even if he is from a wealthy family, he never should have been chosen!” The man put his hand over his mouth. “I say too much. But priestess – it is hard to bear! We have a reputation to uphold. And my girls – I must protect my girls from their attentions.”

The first waitress came bustling into the kitchens ag
ain. She sat herself on a bench, as close to Sura as she dared.

“Priestess! I
s it true? Is the village head-man truly dead?”

“I’m afraid so.” Sura peeked into a pot.
“All of your guests – have they been here all evening?”

“Yes,
Kitsune san.” The man was adamant. “The monk has been on the porch, forever ringing his bell. The samurai lady and the merchants have all been in their rooms, or in the dining room.”

“What of
these sword students?”

“They come and go!” The maid seemed a tad ragged. “There are too many of them to keep track of. I wish they would go for good!”

Sura waved her fluffy tail. “Tell me – have there been weird events? Any strange deaths or disappearances in the area?”

The innkeeper flipped his frying fish with impressive speed.

“No – no, Kitsune san! This village is a place of utter peace.”

The innkeeper’s wife came bustling
into the room, quite irritated by the rowdy youths outside. She called across to her husband, quite incredulous.

“Dolt!
You are going senile! Where has your memory gone?” The woman addressed Sura with great confidence. “Last year, before the big tournament. A traveller was found dead at a camp site just down the road.”

The innkeeper waved a hand, dismissing the whole affair. “
Well that’s not in the village! It was no one we knew!”

“Dolt! That is not what she asked. She quite clearly asked about any strange deaths in the area.”

“How am I to know what happens out there on the roads. Roads are imperial territory. She should ask an imperial deputy!”

“She is
working
with an imperial deputy, and they are trying to find out about murders!” The wife positively stamped her foot. “Do pay attention!”

The innkeeper grumbled and muttered
, irritably flipping his fish. Sura lifted a finger to try and still the domestic squabble.

“Excuse me! Sorry – so there was
a dead body last year? Do you remember how they died?”

The wife
carried a stack of empty cups and plunged them into a tub of water. “The head-man fetched in the body. He was so covered in filth he had to bathe – we had to change the water twice!” She tapped at her head, trying to remember. “Strangled. Yes yes – the poor woman had been strangled. A terrible disgrace!” A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Oh! Koichi san’s poor wife! Husband, we must send her sakē immediately – and rice! Give it to one of the girls!” The wife turned to the maid. “Kiko dear – do run across to her now. But be quick – I shall visit her properly in the morning.” She called to her husband. “Now more fish for the merchants. They have an appetite.”

The kitchen flew into chaos as yet more fish was fried – other meals were arranged on plates, and dumplings were clapped atop a steamer. Sura raised one hand
in blessing.

“
Well thank you! That’s all useful. Please accept our sympathy for your troubled times.” She spied a short, thick bottle marked in painted letters. “Oooh – is that black plum wine?”

The innkeeper’s wife bustled past, and absently planted the bottle in Sura’s hands. “
Yes. Yes indeed. Here!” The woman hastened off to fetch more dishes. “I shall bring out the duck! And a terrapin hotpot for our bold investigators!”

S
ura absconded with a platter of hot dumplings and headed back to her table. The fox dropped the food into the middle of the table, then poured out wine for all and sundry – serving herself twice. She had only just finished her dumplings when the duck arrived, crispy skinned and sizzling hot, with a hotpot and more noodles for Tonbo. Sura made certain that Chiri’s plate was constantly refilled. She urged the best pieces of duck onto the rat girl, pouring her dark plum wine and filling the room with cheer.

She
began regaling Chiri with one of her youthful triumphs – steeping a rival’s bathwater with green dye just before a temple dance. The other girl – a white fox, most
horribly
snooty – had turned an utterly charming shade of green: a shade she had failed to notice until she had begun to dress. Sura tried to describe the scene in detail as the other girl had burst screeching out into the temple halls, but she had to raise her voice louder and louder simply to be heard. The raucous calls, jeers and coarse laughter coming from the young samurai in the garden were making conversation almost impossible.

At the far end of the inn, villagers were sitting about a table, grief stricken and grave.
With their head-man dead, they were trying to organise their village’s affairs. But a chunk of fruit came bouncing in across the floor beside them – then another and another. Harsh youthful voices called out insults to a passing maid.

The maid came racing past, stiff faced. The villagers at the nearby table tried to bear yet another fruit barrage. Chiri looked at their distress, and her heart went out to them. Kuno saw their fortitude, and was impressed.

The noise from outside was unseemly. It was unworthy of samurai to act in public without decorum. Kuno arose, threaded his longsword through his belt, and bowed to the villagers. He strode forth towards the garden – a picture of rectitude and righteousness.

Tonbo rose to his feet: it was possible that back-up might be needed. Sura took one look at Kuno, tossed down her drink, and scrabbled to her feet.

“Oh for Kwannon’s sake…” Sura reached for her travel pack. “Tonbo – pass me my pack.”

Chiri put out a hand and summoned her little floating rock. With her air elemental peeking out from behind her hair, the rat spirit hastened after Kuno
, threading her
kama
through her belt.

Forthright
, noble and dignified, Kuno quietly made his way out into the gardens. The large party of young samurai were drinking and eating beneath a plum tree. On the porch nearby, the basket-headed monk pointedly held his vigil, the low tones of his bell failing to chastise the unruly men.

A dozen
young samurai were paying court to their leader – a young man dressed in high style, who held an ornate sword unsheathed in his hand. The men tossed pickled plums to their leader, who made a game of cutting the fruit in two as they flew. Cut fruit were flung at the villagers, or hurtled at the porch. The swordsman was deeply and arrogantly proud of his skills.

Sitting to one side, well separated from the entire affair, was another man: dressed in the
cloud-printed robes worn by his companions, but far more silent and sour. Tall and cadaverously thin, he carefully sliced a pickled plum with a long, thin bladed knife – a
kodzuka
that slotted into the sheath of his short sword.

One of the young men bawled towards the inn, demanding more fruit. He caught sight of Kuno’s approach, and nudged at his fellows. The group parted, and Kuno walked calmly in amongst them. He walked up to the arrogant young man with the sword and gave a perfect bow.

“I am Asodo Kuno. May I have the honour of knowing your name?”

The young man whipped his sword clean, and sheathed it. He made a vague sketch of a bow.

“Hamada Bunji! Senior student of the Seven Winds school of swordsmanship!” The man waved a hand at his compatriots. “These are the star students of the Seven Winds school.”

“I am honoured to make your acquaintance.” K
uno tuned to indicate the grief-stricken villagers. “Please forgive me, Hamada san, but the people of this village are in mourning. Now that you are aware of it, I am sure that you will wish to give the villagers a little peace.”

Hamada Bunji gave a contemptuous jerk of his chin.

“We have money! We have sakē! We are here for a good time!”

“
Indeed, Hamada san. But I am sure that you will now agree that you should perhaps do so more quietly.” Kuno bowed to one and all – perfect in his etiquette. “Good evening to you all.”

Kuno turned away, and walked back towa
rds the inn. Behind him, Hamada Bunji weighed a pickled plum in his hand. The man with the
kodzuka
glared at him, rising – taking hold of Bunji’s shoulder and warning him not to start trouble. Bunji threw off the restraining hand, then hurtled the plum at the back of Kuno’s head.

Kuno moved one half step aside, without breaking his stride.
He caught the plum in mid flight, and stopped, examining it. Unruffled, he put the fruit into his sleeve.

“
Thank you, Hamada san. A pickled plum would be most refreshing.” He bowed once again. “I bid you a good night.”

The fencing students half ro
se, some reaching for nearby swords. Hamada Bunji angrily put his hand to his sword hilt.

“There you all are! Good evening to you, gentlemen!”

Walking into the light came a wondrous sight. Sura appeared, dressed in full priestly splendour, a vision of furry magnificence. A great, tall lacquered
eboshi
cap sat grandly on her head. Over her peach-printed robes, she wore a gorgeous white silk
suikan
– a formal court robe exquisitely embroidered with nine-tailed foxes. The long train trailed out behind her, sweeping majestically along the floorboards. In one hand she carried a magnificently painted fan. Sura shone with a cheer and an inner serenity that took the sword students utterly aback. She sailed into the gardens, and pointed at the sword students with her fan.