Red Chrysanthemum

29

“We decided that Lady Mori should invite you to dinner that night,” Ukon said. “I put a potion in the wine I served you.”

“What kind of potion?” Reiko asked.

“Coptis, lotus, and biota seeds, longan berries, white peony buds, belladonna, and opium.”

Reiko was aghast to hear that she’d been drugged with such a potent concoction. No wonder she’d lost her memory, had mental lapses, and thought she was going insane: It had played havoc with her mind. She was lucky to be alive, glad to know at last what had happened.

“We waited for you to fall asleep,” Ukon said. “When you sneaked out of the party, we followed you.”

Reiko pictured herself stealing through the estate, trailed by the two women. No wonder she’d felt as if she were being watched.

“How convenient for us that you ended up at Lord Mori’s private chambers.” Ukon snickered. “You saved us the trouble of carrying you there. And how convenient that you passed out right on his doorstep.”

“So that’s how you got me under your control,” Reiko said. “But what about Lord Mori? He wasn’t unconscious and helpless.”

“Oh, yes, he was. Earlier in the evening, I’d put the same potion in his wine as yours.” Ukon preened at her own cleverness. Reiko remembered the decanter she’d seen in Lord Mori’s room. “And he’d dismissed his guards. By the time you fainted, he was all alone and too sleepy to mind very much when we dragged you into his room.”

Sudden dizziness washed over Reiko. Time whirled backward. For a moment she was in Lord Mori’s room. He was in the bed. He blinked in confusion and mumbled, “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Her vision had been a real memory, a fragment of what had occurred. Now it expanded to include the hazy figures of Ukon and Lady Mori, who were with him.

“We undressed Lord Mori. It was hard because even though he didn’t fight us, he was big and heavy,” Ukon said.

Reiko frowned, assailed by another flash of memory. The two women struggled to remove Lord Mori’s robe from his inert body. Their voices echoed through her semiconsciousness.

“Then we undressed you.”

Their hands roughly tugged off her clothes, turned her, and stripped her naked as she lay limp and unable to resist.

“We’d planned to kill Lord Mori with his sword,” Ukon said. But we found a dagger strapped to your arm. We decided to use that, the better to make it look as if you’d killed him. It was a little harder to decide which one of us should do it.“

Lady Mori, who’d been sitting in crushed, miserable silence, now said, “I had so looked forward to killing him, but when the time came, I lost my courage.”

With Lord Mori’s nude, drowsing bulk in front of them, Ukon gave the dagger to Lady Mori. Reiko was amazed by how much information her mind had subconsciously recorded, how the women’s confession had triggered a flood of memories. Lady Mori cried, “No! I can’t!”

“ ‘You do it,” I begged her.“ Lady Mori pantomimed pressing the dagger on Ukon.

“I said, ”He hurt your son, he’s your problem, you should be the one to punish him,“ ” Ukon continued.

The dagger passed back to Lady Mori, while tides of sleep wafted Reiko in and out of darkness.

“She made me,” Lady Mori said.

A flurry of motion; cries; a scuffle. Ukon pushed Lady Mori to her knees he-side Lord Mori. “I’ll help you.”

“She put her hands over mine on the dagger. We raised it up over him.” Lady Mori placed her fists one atop the other and lifted them above her head. “And then…” She closed her eyes, turned her face, and winced.

The two women plunged the dagger into Lord Mori’s stomach. Blood spurted. Reiko watched, dazed and numb.

“I thought one stab would be enough.” Lady Mori’s voice penetrated Reiko’s memory. “I thought he would die right away.”

A howl burst from Lord Mori as pain roused him. His arms and legs thrashed.

“He wasn’t supposed to wake up. I guess he didn’t drink all his wine,” Ukon said. “He gave us quite a fright.”

As the two women fell backward, they pulled the dagger out of him. Ukon’s shout mingled with Lady Mori’s shrill, hysterical laughter. Reiko gasped as past and present collided.

“He tried to get away from us,” Ukon said.

Lord Mori was on his knees, his face a picture of terror and bewilderment. Dripping blood onto the floor, he crawled away from the women, from Reiko. He fell, then dragged himself across the room while Lady Mori screamed and screamed.

“We needed to finish him off, but she was a useless wreck.” Ukon flicked a disgusted glance at Lady Mori, whose eyes stared with the panic she’d felt that night, her hands clapped over her mouth as if to stifle the screams. “So I went after him.”

Lord Mori cried, “No! I beg you! Stop!” Reiko had mistakenly thought he was talking to her, that she’d stabbed him. Ukon brandished the dagger. Her mouth twisted with murderous intent, she slashed at Lord Mori. The blade cut his torso as he rolled on the floor and sobbed.

“Have mercy!”

His hands, knees, and feet scrabbled in the blood that spilled from him as he struggled to escape, as his wife doubled over in the corner and vomited.

Lady Mori retched, spewing vomit onto the floor, sickened by what she’d seen that night. Reiko thought how fallible memory was, how the gaps in hers had led her to think herself guilty of murder.

“Finally he died,” Ukon said.

But how to explain the other memories, in which Reiko had coupled with Lord Mori then stabbed him?

“No more!” Lady Mori frantically waved one hand to silence Ukon while the other clasped her stomach and her body heaved. Bile dripped from her mouth. “Please…”

“Please, let’s get out of here!”

“Not yet,” Ukon said. “We’ve still got work to do.”

The chamber revolved around Reiko; the lanterns blurred above her. Ukon appeared in her field of view, her face ugly with hatred as she stared down at Reiko. “It’s not enough that you’ll be blamed for killing him. Execution is too good for you.” She turned to Lady Mori, who was moaning in the background. “Come here. Help me lift her.”

“I want her to hear,” Ukon insisted.

As her consciousness waxed and waned, Reiko heard Lady Mori say, “No, I don’t want to,” and Ukon snap, “You have to. I helped you. Now it’s your turn to help me. It’s only fair.”

“We dragged you onto the bed,” Ukon said, “then we put Lord Mori on top of you.”

His face was above hers, so close that she could smell the sour breath from his open, drooling mouth. Reiko had only thought it was breath; it had been the reek of decay. His eyes were half-closed, his expression blank. Because he was dead.

“We wrapped your arms and legs around him,” Ukon said. “I sat on his back and bounced up and down.”

His body humped against hers with repeated thuds. Reiko felt herself gasping, the slickness of their sweat. But she’d only thought it was sweat, when it was really blood from his wounds.

“It was hilarious.” Ukon clapped her hands and chortled. She rode Lord Mori like a horse, laughing gleefully. “How does it feel to know you made love with a dead man?”

“It was disgraceful,” Lady Mori moaned. “You are so vulgar, so filthy, so disgusting!”

Lieutenant Asukai, who’d listened in shocked silence until now, said, “You should be ashamed of yourself for treating Lady Reiko that way!

Reiko sank to her knees in relief that she hadn’t been Lord Mori’s mistress. Yet she gasped in horror at the image of Ukon playing with them as if they were puppets made of flesh.

“It was no more than you deserved.” Ukon’s malicious cheer was undiminished by her audience’s reaction. “I decided that as long as you were going to die for Lord Mori’s murder, you should share in the fun.”

Enlightenment flashed through Reiko. “You sat me up. You tied my hands around the dagger. Then you threw us at each other,” she said, appalled.

Lord Mori emerged from a blur of light and motion before her. His mouth was open as if in a wordless plea, his arms flung wide. A mighty lunge propelled her toward him. Reiko revised the scene in her mind. Lady Mori held her upright. Ukon shoved Lord Mori toward her. The blade of her dagger sank deep into his stomach. He howled. No, not him, but Ukon. She bayed in triumph as she danced around Reiko and Lord Mori, whooping like a madwoman.

Her laughter rang out harsh, maniacal, and chilling now. “That was the best part,” she said. “Afterward, we laid you beside Lord Mori’s body and we cleaned up the room. We left you there. We took away the chrysanthemums and the painted screen and burned them in the woods. Then we went back to the women’s quarters to wait for the news that Lord Mori was dead and you’d murdered him.”

Reiko’s satisfaction at knowing the truth at last mixed with fury at the two women. But she also had a question.

“Just one thing,” Reiko said. “There was a big step from you wanting to get even with me, Lady Mori wanting to get even with her husband, and what you did about it. Whose idea was it to kill Lord Mori and frame me?”

Ever since Captain Torai had dragged him and Sano out of the palanquin, Hirata had been directing his spiritual energy at their captors. All the while he’d knelt by the pit and listened to Sano argue with Police Commissioner Hoshina, he’d tried to attack his enemies’ shields, the auras of mental and bodily energy they radiated. But they didn’t seem to feel a thing. Hirata felt like a child shooting make-believe arrows while his last moments slipped away.

Now Torai strode up to Hirata, grinning because it was finally time for action. He made a mock bow to Sano, who looked on in helpless horror while straining at his ropes. Hoshina stayed beside Sano, watching with an anticipation almost carnal. Hirata felt Torai’s shield throb with confident power, while despair weakened his own. Torai posed near Hirata and swung up his sword. Hirata’s neck prickled in anticipation of the cut that would extinguish his life. He hurled one last, parting shot of energy toward Torai…

… and felt something flex inside him, some strange combination of muscles and will he’d never known he had. His perceptions altered. The rendering factory, the other people in it, and the entire world seemed shockingly immediate, the colors so intense and details so intricate they dazzled his eyes. He could hear his companions breathing and the noise from the distant city. Through the tannery stink he smelled the ocean far away. The energy exploded out from a deep place at his very core, like steam from a geyser.

Torai’s body jerked as if skewered by lightning. He hesitated with the sword paused at its zenith. His stance shifted. The triumph on his face dissolved into confusion as Hirata’s energy struck him and his mind warned his body that it was under attack despite a lack of any visible sign.

“What are you waiting for?” Hoshina demanded.

Hirata lunged at Torai. A roar burst from his throat, so loud that all his sinews vibrated. They snapped the rope that tethered his wrist and ankle bonds. His feet sprang off the ground. He hit Torai with tremendous force. Torai exclaimed in surprise. As they crashed to the dirt, the sword flew out of Torai’s hand. Hirata arched his back, thrust his feet through the circle of his arms, and brought his hands in front of him. The energy coursing through him made his muscles as fluid as water. He flowed over Torai, who squirmed beneath him. He grabbed for the weapon with his bound hands.

Hoshina said, “What in the-?”

Hirata’s vision splintered like a magic mirror that showed him everything around him even as it focused on the sword. He saw Sano whip his right hand loose from his bonds. Sano grabbed Hoshina’s ankle. Hoshina yelped, kicked free, but lost his balance and fell. Torai jumped on Hirata. His knees pounded Hirata’s back, pressing him onto the ground. He seized the hilt of the sword at the same time Hirata did.

They grappled, thrashed, and rolled over and over. Hirata lost his grasp on the sword. While on the bottom, Torai shoved his foot against Hirata’s stomach. Hirata flipped backward, landed on his feet. Torai sprang up, raising the sword to lash at Hirata.

Hirata’s awareness extended into the future. He saw a shimmering, transparent image of Torai burst from the flesh-and-blood man. For a split instant he watched the image wield its sword, noted how the blade carved through the air. Acting on reflex, he thrust his hands into the blade’s path.

Present and future merged. Torai swung the sword just as Hirata had foreseen. The blade whistled between Hirata’s hands. Its slick, cold, steel sides grazed his fingertips and palms before its blade sliced the ropes around his wrists. His hands were free. Torai gaped. He swung the sword again.

Again Hirata saw the shimmering ghost of Torai in the next instant, divined the path the sword would take. Hirata leaped, corkscrewing his body sideways. Torai’s blade cut the ropes from his ankles. Hirata twisted in midair and landed on both feet like a cat. Torai shouted to his men, who stood staring in dumbfounded amazement: “Don’t let him get away!”

While they and Torai charged at Hirata, Sano and Hoshina fought on the ground. Hoshina tried to jerk his sword out of its scabbard while Sano held onto his wrist. Cursing, he punched Sano’s face while Sano struggled against the ropes that still trussed him. Two of Hoshina’s men ran toward them, brandishing swords at Sano.

Hirata’s kaleidoscopic vision zeroed in on a butcher knife that lay beside a heap of bones. He dove for the knife. It was in his hand almost before he reached it. He flew in front of Hoshina’s men, blocking their way to Sano. He slashed one man’s throat, whirled, and cut the rope that leashed Sano’s tied hand to his bound ankles. Sano locked both hands on the hilt of Hoshina’s sword. Hoshina bucked under Sano as he clawed at Sano’s fingers. Sano bashed his forehead against Hoshina’s nose. Hoshina let go of the sword. Sano gained possession of it. He clambered to his feet, used the blade to cut away the ropes from them, and faced down Hoshina.

“Somebody give me a sword!” Hoshina shouted, frantic.

A sword flew through the air. Hoshina caught it. As he and Sano begin slashing at each other, troops rushed to defend Hoshina. Hirata planted himself near Sano, back to back. Although he couldn’t see Sano or Hoshina, their energy fields created a sensory picture in his mind. He moved with them, guarding Sano’s rear, as Torai and the troops converged on them.

The men assailed Hirata in a tornado of whirring blades. But their ghostly future-images were always a step ahead of them. Hirata dodged the iridescent arcs their swords would follow. He flung up his knife to parry each strike before it neared him. He was fighting the battle in an extra dimension, and he was the only person aware of it. Exhilaration filled him, stoking his energy higher. While Sano and Hoshina battled, circling the pit, Hirata flowed along with them like Sano’s shadow. He felt Hoshina slice at Sano’s head and Sano duck. Hirata ducked, too, avoiding the tip of Hoshina’s sword as he hacked his butcher knife where the ghosts appeared.

It sliced real flesh when the men appeared there an instant later. They seemed to hurl themselves at his blade. It was an extension of himself, guided by his mind as if fused with his muscle and bone. Four men dropped, howling in agony, spurting blood from mortal wounds between the plates of their armor. Hirata drove the remaining four, including Torai, away from Sano, who was still fighting Hoshina. One more impaled himself on Hirata’s knife and fell dead. Their battle spilled out of the rendering factory, into a street lined with shacks.

People scattered. Hirata whirled amid flashing sword arcs, glided behind his opponents and their ghosts, until the last two soldiers turned and ran for their lives.

“Cowards!” Torai shouted after them. “But who needs you?” Panting and sweating, he faced Hirata, his expression crazed with his determination to fight until he won. The best swordsman of his gang, he’d managed to avoid Hirata’s precise, deadly strikes; there wasn’t a scratch on him. Maybe he had a touch of mystical power. “I can take you by myself.”

Hirata felt his strength flagging. Not even the mystical power mat pulsed in him could burn away the poisons that fatigue spread through his blood. His bad leg ached. As he and Torai warily circled each other, he realized that such a huge expenditure of energy couldn’t go on forever. He sensed an equally huge tidal wave of exhaustion rushing toward him. He had to win this battle in the next few moments before it hit.

When Torai lunged, Hirata could barely see his ghost; he dodged barely soon enough to miss a fatal gash to the neck. Now, as they fought, Torai began to match Hirata’s expertise. Now Hirata noticed the disadvantage he was at because Torai’s sword was twice as long as his knife. Hirata parried every strike but landed none. Torai’s ghost faded. The extra dimension vanished. Torai gained strength as Hirata lost it. Torai’s blade cut his shoulder. Hirata felt pain sting and warm blood flow. Torai laughed.

“Now I’ve got you!” He moved in closer, lunging and slashing more fiercely as his confidence grew.

Hirata began to limp, a bad sign. He recalled the last lesson Ozuno tried to teach him. While frantically plying his knife with his right hand, he raised his left and swept it away from his body. Torai’s gaze involuntarily followed it. Distracted, he paused just long enough for Hirata to launch a cut at his head. Torai regained concentration in time to parry, but Hirata’s strike knocked him off balance. He stumbled. Hirata lashed out again, but the wave of exhaustion loomed closer. His cut missed Torai by a full hand’s breadth. Torai recovered and came charging after him. The knife was heavy in Hirata’s grasp. His whole body felt weighted down. He raised his left hand and moved it around, aiming bursts of energy toward different points on Torai’s body.

Torai flinched as if hit on his chest, legs, and shoulders. His eyes skittered, trying to see what ailed him. He swung his sword wildly, the blade coming nowhere near Hirata. His face took on a look of terror because Hirata had seized control of his mind. The no-hit technique reduced him to a mass of twitches. He and Hirata were partners in a strange dance in which Hirata’s hand commanded every spastic move Torai made. Torai’s next swing carried his whole body with its momentum. He went reeling past Hirata, who backhanded the knife across his side. Torai shrieked.

Blood gushed from his wound. He crumpled onto the filthy street, moaned, and thrashed once. The savage light went out of his eyes as he glared up at Hirata.

The wave of exhaustion broke upon Hirata with overpowering force. Bones and muscles turned to sludge. His racing heartbeat slowed as his body demanded rest. The knife fell from his hand; his eyes closed; his knees folded. Slumber as deep as death claimed him before he collapsed on the ground beside Torai, his partner in combat, who’d joined forces with him to achieve this victory.

His last thought was that he could no longer help Sano.