I launched myself at the rustling bush, colliding with a soft yet solid mass. There was a dark, prickly struggle. Twigs snapped. Branches bent, then slapped back at anything in their way. I jabbed my elbow into something and heard a painful whoosh of breath. Fastening my hand in a mass of short hair, I wrestled my watcher out of the greenery and threw her full length on the ground by the fire.
“How many more?” I dropped to my knees to seize the hair again, yanking my opponent’s head back, drawing my blade and setting it to her throat—
—except that it was his throat. Wide eyes blinked up at me from a familiar face, blackened with dirt for better concealment. A voice I knew croaked out, “Kata—stop! Please! It’s me!”
I was startled, but not enough to drop the knife or let him go. Jinnai? Jinnai, spying on me from the bushes? Spying on me for Ishikawa? For Madame?
Under the surprise came a jolt of disappointment. We’d worked together, and worked well. Master Sakuma had not been the only merchant the two of us had robbed. Over time, I’d come to trust that he would at least keep his end of a bargain.
Our bargain had merely called for him to get word to Masako if anything should happen to me. It had not included stalking me through the wilderness.
“How many more?” I repeated, pinning his head more firmly to the ground.
“Just me,” he whispered hoarsely. “Truth. On my honor.”
“On your honor as a thief?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “As the best thief Master Ishikawa owns. Come, Kata. Let me go.”
“Why should I?” I demanded, my back prickling with vulnerability. Was anyone going to come to his aid? Or would his companions let me cut his throat as penance for being fool enough to be caught?
Now one of Jinnai’s eyebrows quirked along with his lips. “Because if you kill me, I can’t tell you why I’m here.”
Curiosity is a good servant, but a bad master.
I knew better than to let a desire for information rule me. Was Jinnai more of a risk alive or dead? That was all that should be in my mind.
“You can always kill me later,” Jinnai pointed out. “But if I’m dead, I can’t answer any questions. Not one.”
I let my breath out slowly between my teeth. If Jinnai had confederates hidden in the woods, they did not seem inclined to leap to his defense. So perhaps it would be safe to hear whatever he had to say.
I moved my knife an inch away from his skin.
“Can I sit up?” he asked.
I moved the knife farther away, though I kept the tip pointed in his direction. He eyed it warily as he maneuvered himself slowly into a sitting position and winced.
“I knew you were fast, Kata, but I didn’t know you could move like a hungry snake. Next time I’ll stay farther back.”
Next time? Did he imagine he’d get any opportunity to do this again? “Why are you here?” I asked impatiently. Maybe if I cut off one of his ears he’d get to the point faster.
In our scuffle, a branch had caught him across the face, leaving a swollen weal that was beginning to trickle blood. He patted it gingerly with his fingertips. “I was worried about you.”
I could feel my face stiffen in astonishment.
“I wanted to help you at Master Ishikawa’s, but there was nothing I could do. So I got word to your friend. As you asked.”
“That was all I asked,” I reminded him.
“And then I followed her.”
Masako must have been out of practice, letting this oaf of a thief creep along a road behind her.
“The river gave me a little trouble, it’s true, but luckily I caught sight of you and your friend in a market town nearby. And earlier today, I was under an old bridge when
I spotted three Katas heading off in different directions. None of them looked quite right, though. So I waited until you came along. I’ve been behind you ever since.”
I scowled at him. “You did all that because you were worried about me?” Skepticism dripped off each word.
“Well.” He looked a little sheepish, as if I’d caught him in a lie he’d never expected to work. “And I wondered why you were worth so much. I saw the jewels on Master Ishikawa’s table.”
Now that sounded more plausible.
“Did you steal something?” He leaned forward. “Something you weren’t supposed to, I mean. And Master Ishikawa found out? That’s why he sold you to—whoever took you?”
“No,” I said coldly, which was true, at least in part. I had stolen from our master—and he must know it, since Fuku had knocked that jewel out of my mouth like a loose tooth—but that was not why he’d sold me.
The eager interest in Jinnai’s face made me think he might be speaking the truth. If he had honestly wanted to know why I was so valuable, he might well be here in the woods alone. He wouldn’t have wanted to share his find.
I sat back a little farther, creating more space between my blade and his heart.
To my considerable surprise, he smiled at me, a wide grin that lit his narrow, dirty, clever face. “And, of course, I’m in love with you,” he said cheerfully.
A few hours later, in the gray light of dawn, I had a decision to make.
“Kata?” Jinnai asked plaintively from the other side of the clearing. “You’re not going to leave me here, are you?”
Early on, Master Ishikawa had assigned Jinnai to work with me. I had not, at first, been pleased. A risk shared is a risk doubled. I’d been taught that working alone was safest.
But I’d quickly come to see how well Jinnai’s skills meshed with my own.
I could leave him on his back after the quickest of sparring matches, but he could pick a lock faster than me. I’d mastered every weapon; he’d memorized every winding lane and wandering alley of the Takedas’ city. I knew how to make myself all but invisible; he knew how to make himself popular.
No one knew me. Everybody knew Jinnai.
A smile here, a nod there. A favor done, a gift given. The beggars greeted him. The fishermen waved to him. Their wives giggled at him from behind their hands. Even those as despicable as butchers and tanners dared to speak to him; outcasts hauling filth from latrines to the river didn’t scuttle aside too far as he passed them. The very guard dogs wagged their tails at him.
And no one thought of him when screens were slit, when locks were picked, when coins were missing. Because everyone liked him.
I’d never thought of charm as a weapon before I met Jinnai.
Last night, after his ridiculous declaration, I’d tied his hands (in front of him, so he would not be in pain), attached the end of the cord to a sapling to keep him in one place, and returned to my fire, alone.
Around me, the forest had settled back into peace. The soft rasping, trilling, fluting calls of insects and birds drifted through the trees, the flutter of wings and the patter of small feet echoing so that they seemed as if they were made by beasts much larger than mice or voles or frogs or nightingales.
From Jinnai’s anxious breathing, I’d guessed that he might be thinking the same thing. How many nights had this city-born boy spent in a forest? To him, the tiny creatures of the darkness probably sounded like stealthy wolves or ravenous bears.
Among all the sounds that wove together to make up the nighttime hush, I had heard no hint of anything human. Jinnai had likely been telling the truth, at least when he’d said he was alone.
I’d also heard no hint of anything inhuman. No ghostly whispers, no demon laughter. Nothing to suggest that the pearl in my pocket had stirred the local bakemono to life, unless a few of the rustling wings belonged to curious tengu. But if so, they were keeping their distance. I could only hope that the calm would last.
As for Jinnai’s other words—of course I knew them to be false. He was simply trying to use his charm on me, as I’d seen him use it so often before. He must have hoped that a claim of something as absurd as love would confuse me. Distract me. Keep me from remembering why he was truly here.
He believed I had something of value. He’d followed me to steal it. He was a thief. It was all he knew how to do.
“Didn’t you guess? You must have guessed,” he said now, leaning against his tree trunk and eyeing me curiously.
I snorted and busied myself kicking apart the ashes of my fire. With a sharpened stick, I dug into the dirt beneath it to retrieve a bundle of cloth. I’d soaked it in water last night and wrapped it around a handful of rice. Now the rice, though cool, was soft enough to eat.
“You notice everything. I’ve never seen you miss a detail. Close your eyes and tell me what I’m wearing.”
I didn’t close my eyes, but I didn’t look up from my meal. “Indigo jacket. Gray trousers. Socks that aren’t white anymore. Sandals. The right one’s been mended twice. Brass earring in your ear—your left ear. Ivory amulet under the jacket that you should keep better hidden.”
“See? And you tell me you never noticed the way I looked at you?”
If I’d never noticed such a thing, it meant there was nothing to notice. I swallowed the last of the rice, leaving none for my captive—if he wanted food, he should have carried it himself. Next I picked up my round straw hat, tied the strings to secure it under my chin, and let it hang down my back.
Then I got to my feet.
“Kata?” Jinnai sat up straight. The bruise I’d left on his face four days ago had faded to brown and yellow, and the red weal made by the branch in our struggle last night cut across it, straight as if drawn with a brush. His clothes were muddy from our tussle and from whatever sleep he’d gotten among the roots of his tree. “You wouldn’t,” he said, clearly unconvinced by his own words. “You wouldn’t actually …”
Leave him there? Of course I shouldn’t leave him there. What I ought to do was kill him.
I had a mission. He was a threat to it. Every threat to your mission must be eliminated.
Jinnai’s confusion was slowly giving way to alarm.
The kind thing, in fact, would be to cut his throat quickly. It would be less cruel than leaving him where he was, at the mercy of hunger and thirst and predators. Oh, maybe he’d attract the attention of some charcoal burner or hunter or old wife gathering roots and herbs, and maybe whoever found him would set him free instead of killing him for his earring and his amulet and whatever coins might be in his pockets. But maybe not. In any case, he’d face a long, cold, hungry wait for a rescue that might never come.
To hesitate was weak, but I did not like the thought. I’d dodged Takeda guards with Jinnai. I’d stood on his shoulders to scale walls. I’d relied on him to distract dogs while I worked my way through hedges. Must I leave him to what would likely be a lingering death simply because he’d plotted to steal from me?
I’d been living among thieves for two years, and I knew that any one of them would have done the same. Jinnai had been faithful to his training; that was all.
He’d be faithful to that training no matter what, I thought. And that meant I didn’t need to kill him—or leave him. There was another way.
I slid my knife from its sheath along my forearm.
“Kata? I really think you ought to listen to me now,” Jinnai said, wide-eyed, twisting his hands in his bonds as apprehension quivered in every word. “I can see I was in the wrong to follow you. I won’t make that mistake again. But you don’t give a man many chances to declare his devotion. You must realize that. And of course I knew you’d never believe me. But I think you’ll regret—”
In three steps I was beside his tree. I dropped to one knee, brought the knife swiftly down, and slashed the cords with which I’d tied his hands.
With a groan, Jinnai flopped onto his back among a litter of twigs and dead leaves. “Don’t do that to a man,” he said feebly. “I won’t have any heart left to love you with if you make it burst with terror.”
I rose to my feet. “Just—,” I started to say, but stopped.
He quirked an eyebrow at me from where he lay. “Just what?”
Just remember I could have killed you, I thought.
“Just don’t slow me down,” I said as I turned and strode off between two trees.
He followed me, as I’d known he would. He wouldn’t leave me, not as long as he still thought I had something he could steal.