A Scandal in Edo

The small inn in the quiet neighbourhood was very discreet. Suzaku wondered if its sole purpose was to be a place of assignation. Arriving early, he met no-one while entering the courtyard and a single servant met him at the door to guide him to a room. There was no one in the corridor, but the rooms appeared occupied.

The room he was led to was elegantly simple. Which meant that it contained a neatly turned-down futon, one low table and a box-screen lamp. Customers obviously did not rent these rooms to play long, stimulating games of shougi.

Suzaku waved away the servant after declining the offer of having wine brought in. He settled down to wait, but sleazy as the intermediary was, he was also extremely punctual, arriving just at the appointed time with the girl.

Although Suzaku had come with his noble intentions and high-flying ideals, he was momentarily struck dumb by the sight of her as she entered the room. She was even more striking without the paint that the dancers wore. Her eyes were more pronouncedly violet than he remembered--or perhaps it was the effect of the very flattering kimono she wore.

She noticed that he was staring at her and looked down at the floor in embarrassment. Had he been that obvious?

The damned intermediary was still talking well past the introductions. Suzaku had to firmly dismiss him. And refrain from punching the man when he made a shallow jibe at the impatience of youth.

When he turned back after closing the door, she was seated demurely by the table, eyes downcast and hands folded inside her sleeves.

There was an awkward pause and Suzaku realised that he would have to break it because he was male. Where was Toudou-sensei when he was really needed?

"Luluko-san, was it?"

"Yes, Kururugi-sama?" Her voice was low yet feminine without being pitched artificially high in the current fashion.

"Well, there may have been a misunderstanding . . . Lord Jino arranged this for me and inconvenienced you somewhat--" Oh that was smooth, his inner critic jeered. "Inconvenienced" was such a ridiculous euphemism for what this girl had probably been put through.

Wincing mentally, he moved to sit down and the girl shifted ever so slightly. The movement exposed her hands for a moment and Suzaku's eyes were immediately drawn to the object she was clutching in her white-knuckled grip--

He was on her in a flash, pinning the wrist of the hand that clutched the blade to the floor.

On closer inspection, that blade was not a dagger but an antique kaiken. But why would she be carrying a--

“Are you an assassin?” he demanded. What if she had been expecting Jino instead? “Why are you using this blade?”

She could not answer him as she was obviously terrified out of her mind. Her posture was entire defensive. For the first time in seven years, Suzaku felt ashamed. Prying the kaiken from her fingers, he loosened his grip on her and sat back on his heels.

Thus freed, the girl scrambled away, hairpins falling left and right, and crouched against the wall furthest from him. Suzaku was effectively blocking the doorway and any possible routes of escape.

“Now will you tell me why you’re carrying this?” he asked, trying to sound reasonable.

“It’s--It’s my m-mother’s . . . Give it back!” she demanded with a sudden show of spirit that had been at odds with her meek demeanor.

This was no merchant’s child. She was a samurai’s daughter. The girl had obviously not wanted this. And she had been terrified that he would rape her.

She was a strange, contradictory woman. There were calluses on her hands--he had discovered them when he wrested the blade away from her--but they were not the ones attained from using the long spear or kaiken. She had looked classically beautiful and demure previously, but that wild look in her eyes at the moment told him that he would get well-clawed for his efforts if he dared go near her.

But she was not crying. Frightened as she was, she did not set up a wailing display to invoke pity.

“Perhaps later,” Suzaku said. The kaiken had been sheathed. If this woman was an assassin, then she was a very bad one. He sat down very slowly, sheathed blade in hand, as though he was facing a skittish wildcat. “How did you come by this?”

“I told you it’s my mother’s!”

“Then why are you here? Your family--”

“--are dead,” she spat out. “No close kin. No-one but a distant cousin of my father’s.”

Somewhat intrigued, Suzaku managed to coax her story out of her. Nothing was left of a once-proud lineage that the bearer of this dagger belonged to. Her parents were gone. Taken by a sickness that had plagued Kanazawa eight years ago. She had a younger sister who had come with her to Edo. A blind sister who could not walk. And she had agreed to do this because she wanted to stay with her sister rather than get married.

"No one would want a wife who came with a crippled sister," she said. The girl was not ashamed of having a cripple in the family--she seemed proud of it. "And I thought--I thought if I could just--"

"It's all right . . . Keep the money," Suzaku said, sick at heart now that he knew what had driven her into accepting such an offer. He had heard of this--of samurai who had fallen and families that had died out over the years. It was another thing to be faced with the direct result of such decay.

"But I--"

"The deal was concluded, see?" He picked up her mother's dagger--it was a real samurai weapon and well-cared for--and nicked his thumb so that a large drop of blood welled up and dripped onto the sheets of the futon. "Luluko-san, thank you for this night. If I might call on you again, I am sure that my uncle will be more than willing to compensate you for your time."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

In the room of the inn, Luluko had been surprised to see the young samurai. Then realisation dawned upon her that the nobleman had bought her for one of his retainers. The issue of who the man was became moot as her fear overwhelmed her. She should not have brought her mother’s dagger--

But still--to give in like this--to a man who had merely seen her once--

Unconsciously, she had reached for the kaiken.

He was fast. So fast that he had her hand pinioned when she had only been clutching at her kaiken seconds earlier. Shocked, then frightened, Luluko had panicked.

He had let her go even though he had the upper hand. But he thought she was an assassin. Why would he think that? Oh but carrying a dagger to an assignation was not suspicious at all . . .

Then she was afraid for her life. This man could gut her easily. Samurai had the right to take the heads of commoners who offended them. But she was not a commoner. She had to remember that--and he had her mother’s dagger!

In retrospect, Luluko thought she might have been out of her mind to speak to a high-ranking samurai like that. But he had been more interested in how she had come by the kaiken. Bristling, she had told him again--not very politely either. How dare he imply that it was not hers by right!

Then he had badgered her about how she had come to this. How the daughter of a samurai had fallen so low, she supposed. She had not known why she was telling a stranger her life story. But it was somewhat of a relief, to be able to let it out. He had asked after all.

Luluko did not understand what the samurai was saying until he used her mother's knife to cut himself and spoke as though the contract had been fulfilled. And then she could hardly believe it when he said that he was willing to pay to continue this sham relationship.
"Thank you, but I did not mean to beg for your charity," Luluko began, feeling wholly inadequate to the task of repaying such a massive favour.

"Samurai should be more frugal. My uncle could contribute a lot more to charity."

"But most of the money will end up with my aunt and uncle," Luluko said before she could stop herself. She sounded like an ungrateful child who begrudged her relatives even that much for taking in Nanari and herself.

The samurai did not seem to mind this. "So long as it means that they will let you and your sister be, right?"

"Kururugi-sama, this is too much. I cannot accept this without giving you something in return," she said, resolving to be beholden to no-one. For some reason, she did not want his pity or charity. And she had seen how he had stared at her after all . . . She stood and tried not to shake too much as she reached up to undo her obi. "So if it pleases you, the original terms of the contract--"

"You could call me by my name," he said, firmly preventing her from removing her obi with one hand on her arm.

For a moment, Luluko wondered if he was the sort who preferred boys. Then she looked down at his hand. "You're still bleeding, Kururugi-sama--"

"Suzaku. That’s my name if you’ve forgotten." He did not seem to be offended as she examined the cut.

“I didn’t tell you my story so that you would feel sorry for me,” she muttered as she took out the square of silk tucked up her sleeve and bound it over the small wound. “It’s not that I’m not grateful, but I cannot be indebted to you like this.”

“Then will you keep my secret in return? My uncle thinks I’ve finally started to settle down. He was actually this close to suggesting I go find some younger boys to bugger.” The samurai--Suzaku--smiled grimly. “Keeping a mistress is perfectly acceptable by his standards. It’s just another way of keeping me here in Edo.”

“But why would you want to do this?” Luluko looked away, ashamed by her own brazenness. “I didn’t mean to pry . . .”

“One story deserves another in return,” Suzaku replied, tacitly giving her leave to ask the same question he had.

Remembering all he had said, Luluko realised the glaring absence of what he had not mentioned. “Your parents . . .”

“My mother died when I was very young,” he said without much emotion. “I didn’t know her at all.

“My father’s death--”

* * * * * * * * * * * *