Blossom of the Samurai Page 6

  “Please, don’t worry. I will see you tomorrow.”

  The sound of a throat clearing pulled Aoki’s attention.

  Sozaemon stood in the opening where the shoji had been slid aside. “Are you ready, Aoki-san?”

  Aoki’s heart thumped, the sensation a mixture of anticipation and disappointment. As much as he’d enjoyed being with Sozaemon these past months, he found himself wishing Toho were coming back with him. Just the simple pleasure of Toho’s company, his enthusiasm, sweetness…. “Ready, my dear.” With a quick smile to Toho, Aoki turned, as Sozaemon bowed to Toho and wished him a good night.

  Aoki walked with Sozaemon back to his villa, his heart fluttering. How long he had waited to find a companion. He wished it hadn’t meant Toho’s having to stay elsewhere. Life never seemed to work out quite the way one needed. “I’m so glad you were able to return this soon,” he said.

  “So am I, Aoki-san. I didn’t expect to finish up my intended task so quickly, but I did. And just as soon came back to see you.”

  Aoki’s cheeks warmed, and he smiled. Perhaps he truly had found the right man at last.

  Back in his villa, he found a meal of rice balls, pickled daikon radishes, and sake waiting next to his futon, unrolled and prepared for sleeping. He had instructed Peony to set these things out ahead of time and retire for her own rest. The dear girl worked so hard and took such good care of him, he didn’t want her waiting up. Now, especially that Sozaemon was here, he was glad for the extra privacy.

  Quickly he set an extra futon against his before serving the late fare to his guest. He took a tiny portion for himself, leaving the larger share to Sozaemon, who certainly needed the extra nourishment.

  As always, the conversation lasted only a few minutes. After all, how much could he talk about the theater and its intricacies to someone for whom such details meant nothing? And Sozaemon, well, his work was some kind of secret. Even so, Aoki found himself comparing the combination of sweet chatter and laughter with heartfelt exchanges he and Toho had these last couple of days. Just as if no time had passed with no separation.

  Aoki watched Sozaemon finish a cup of sake and then ask for more. He poured the second cup while a strange feeling niggled at him. Sozaemon seemed odd, pulled in on himself in a way he hadn’t ever been before.

  “One more, Aoki-san.” Sozaemon bent one knee and draped his arm over it, elbow on knee.

  Aoki poured the sake for him, squelching the impulse to question. Sozaemon was usually quite temperate when it came to spirits.

  Sozaemon picked up the cup and downed it again. When he set it back down on the tatami, his eyes appeared glazed, darkened. “Aoki-san,” he said after several moments, “I never knew you had such distinguished connections as the Morimasa clan.”

  For some reason, an odd chill passed through him. He schooled his features to affect a charming smile. “Well, that is something you know about me now.”

  “Is he the same boy whose parents were slain by ronin?”

  Aoki’s teeth began to chatter. He forced his jaw to remain firm. “Yes.” There was no use denying it, seeing as Toho had told Sozaemon about his being orphaned and brought up by Aoki.

  Sozaemon gestured. “Surely you had heard the murderers turned out to be those same five ronin who were all cut down in a sword fight some years ago? Right outside town, in a meadow. Their killer, or killers, were never found. But by all accounts, the cuts on their bodies were masterfully done. One stroke each. One was beheaded. Only the greatest of swordsmen could have accomplished this task. Yet whoever it was seems to have vanished into thin air.”

  A strange topic of conversation. But Sozaemon was now clearly in his cups and planning to go deeper, as he picked up his empty cup and thrust it toward Aoki.

  Wordlessly, Aoki refilled it, finding himself wishing the heavy drink would cause Sozaemon to sleep and end this exchange in which he appeared to be fishing for some sort of information. “Oh yes, I certainly did hear about it, but not such details as you report.” He left out the fact that those very men had been slain by Sho and Hirata months later. A secret Aoki planned to take to his grave.

  “Then surely you heard the rumors that it was Zatoichi the Blind Swordsman himself who slew them. Ichi-san is one of the only swordsmen who could ever have taken them all down at once like that.”

  Aoki took as deep a breath as he could without appearing to do so. Though Sho had never spoken of a connection to the legendary Zatoichi, the connection was obvious now. Someone had to have taught Sho to fight the way he did. “Ah, yes. I remember. The police closed the investigation, believing that whoever killed them did so in self-defense.”

  Sozaemon raised an eyebrow. His face looked heavy and fleshy in the lantern light now. What a transformation drink had wrought in him. “No doubt,” he said, his voice slurred. “I’d have thought you’d heard. Seeing as you’ve gotten to know so many people in your lifetime. Teahouses are hotbeds of gossip, I would think.”

  Aoki sat quietly, hands demurely on his thighs. This bizarre behavior was most unexpected. And frightening. “Not in my experience, Sozaemon-san.”

  Sozaemon chuckled. “I’m making you uncomfortable, Aoki-san. Forgive me.”

  “Not at all.” He sought to distract Sozaemon and began to reach for his shamisen, propped against the nearby wall. “Would you like some music, my dear?”

  Sozaemon’s face darkened again. “No. It reminds me of your former profession. I’m not one of your customers.”

  Aoki felt his face pale. His cheeks burned. What a thing to say! “I know that, Sozaemon-san. You’re my… companion.”

  “Then act like you know it.”

  Aoki saw a hand flash, followed by a hard slap. His head snapped to the side. He cupped his cheek as tears sprang to his eyes. He’d been maltreated in his life before, but never struck. “Sozaemon-san, what are you—”

  Slap! Again, this time higher up on his cheekbone. The impact made him fall over. He supported his weight with his hands, avoiding the ronin’s eyes.

  “Filthy whore,” Sozaemon muttered. “I knew it would come out sooner or later. Play some music for me now.”

  “Sozaemon-san, please.”

  In one movement, the larger man pushed Aoki onto his stomach. Sozaemon fisted Aoki’s hair and squeezed, pushing the side of his face hard against the tatami. “You dirty little liar. Pretending you’re some kind of parent to that boy. I saw you two walking up to the theater together, looking like lovers.”

  “Oh dear! You’ve misunderstood! I’m telling the truth.”

  Sozaemon bent low, close to his ear. “Whores don’t know how to tell the truth,” he muttered, blowing sake-scented breath into the close air between them. “They only know how to flatter.” With that, Sozaemon yanked up Aoki’s kimono. Aoki had already removed his loincloth before settling in to serve the meal earlier, so the movement only exposed his bareness. Aoki could feel Sozaemon’s movements against his back and realized he was pulling away his own loincloth. “This is all you’re good for,” he muttered and poked his hard member against Aoki’s back hole, not yet properly lubricated.

  Sozaemon ground Aoki’s head harder against the mat as he violently pushed his way in with jerking thrusts, grunting, mindless. Not at all the charming lover he’d been in the past.

  Aoki squeezed his eyes shut, not daring to cry for help. If Peony came running to his aid, he feared Sozaemon would hurt her too, or worse. So he bore the forceful pain. The man on top of him was heavy, pushing his ribcage against the hard floor in crushing bursts. An excruciating pain blossomed in his side and his lip and cheek throbbed.

  Sozaemon thrust hard and fast into him, until he had satisfied himself and Aoki felt the other man’s release pour into him. Sozaemon grunted again, pulled out hard, and collapsed on top of him.

  The impact took Aoki’s breath away. Pain like he’d never known before radiated through his ribcage, especially with the pressure from Sozaemon’s heavy breathing against his back. Surel
y a bone was broken there. Tears slipped freely down his cheeks onto the tatami matting. Time seemed to slow to a torturous crawl.

  Finally, Sozaemon lifted himself up and off Aoki.

  Aoki avoided looking at him, but could tell he was doing up his loincloth.

  Aoki caught his breath. What if Sozaemon decided to unsheathe his sword and drive it through him? In his current state, such an action seemed completely possible. Terror roiled through every inch of him, blinding him with the fear of death.

  “You’re a traitorous piece of shit,” Sozaemon spat. “Don’t even utter my name.” He kicked Aoki’s buttock and then staggered to the door, violently sliding the shoji open.

  Aoki squeezed his eyes shut again and held his breath, listening. He heard Sozaemon lift his weapons from the stand by the front door, slide that open with a loud clatter, and leave.

  For what felt like hours, Aoki didn’t move, afraid, in case Sozaemon was still nearby, waiting for him to show himself. But eventually, as dawn began to lighten the sky and Sozaemon proved to be gone, Aoki struggled to rise and clean up the mess so Peony would not see the evidence of what had happened. He closed his shoji door and did his best to roll up the extra futon and stuff it away, horrid pain jabbing his ribcage with every movement and his bottom hole feeling as if a swarm of poisonous insects had stung him there.

  Finally, he was able to lie down on his own futon and find a position in which he could remain without pain each time he inhaled.

  “Sempai?” Peony’s voice came from the other side of the shoji.

  “Don’t come in, Peony,” Aoki managed to say. “I… fell ill during the night and don’t want you to catch anything.”

  “Oh! I will make you tea.”

  “Please, Peony, no. I don’t want anything. Please just go to the theater and tell them I am ill, that I won’t be able to perform. They will need to put in my understudy.”

  “Yes, sempai.”

  He heard Peony retreat and took as deep a breath as he could. He could never let Toho see him like this or know how he had been violated. More importantly, if Sozaemon was fishing for some kind of information about Toho’s family or connection to Zatoichi, perhaps they were in some kind of trouble. Better if Toho returned to the safety of his fathers’ home. How he would convince Toho to go back to Edo, he didn’t know. But he had to find a way.

  Chapter Five

  AOKI WAS never late.

  Toho paced the dressing room. Even Genji was beginning to look worried.

  “I’m going over there,” Toho said.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Toho followed Genji to the back entrance of the theater. His heart lurched when he saw Aoki’s housemaid coming down the little dirt lane, a worried look on her pale round face.

  Peony stopped before them and bowed. “My master sends word that he has fallen ill during the night and can’t perform today.”

  “Ill?” Genji said. “Aoki never gets ill. What’s wrong with him?”

  She shook her head. “He just said ill. Perhaps a fever.”

  Toho’s heart began to pound. “Is Sozaemon still there?”

  Again, Peony shook her head. “He left sometime during the night. I was in my quarters and never saw him myself.” She bowed again and started to turn.

  Toho followed her, as did Genji.

  Peony turned and bowed. “The master is afraid of anyone catching his illness if they come near him.”

  Toho exchanged a look with Genji, who raised an eyebrow.

  “Is he now?” Genji said. “That’s all right. We want to check on him anyway.”

  Peony gave a brief nod and continued on.

  “Genji-san,” Toho said, “I’m worried.”

  “So am I.”

  Once inside Aoki’s house, Toho hurriedly left his sandals and weapons at the door with Peony. Genji slipped off his sandals and followed Toho to Aoki’s bedchamber. The door was slid shut.

  “Aoki-san? It’s Toho. Are you all right? Genji is with me.”

  “To-chan, I don’t want you to catch what I have. You’re better off going back to Edo.”

  Toho’s blood chilled. Back to Edo? “What? I’m not leaving.”

  “Please. You must go home.”

  Toho looked at Genji, who advanced to the door. “A-chan, dear, we’re going to come in now. We want to make sure you’re all right.”

  “Please, don’t!”

  Toho swallowed hard. Why was Aoki so anxious for him to leave? Each plea only made him more determined. He grasped the handle on the door, expecting to find it locked. But when he tugged, the door slid open easily.

  Aoki lay on his futon in the fetal position, his back to them. He didn’t turn over. His hair was loose and looked very mussed.

  “Aoki,” Genji said gently, “are you in pain?”

  “No. I’m fine. Just not well. I’ll be all right. Please.”

  Genji exchanged another look with Toho, and then they both carefully advanced toward Aoki. As they loomed over him, Toho noticed Aoki’s hands were covering his face.

  Genji knelt first, a delicate hand on Aoki’s shoulder. “A-chan, dear, let me see your face.”

  “No, Genji. Please, leave me be. I’ll be fine.”

  Toho knelt next to Genji. “Aoki-san, I’m so worried now. I beg you.”

  Genji carefully closed his hand around one of Aoki’s wrists and urged him to uncover his face.

  Toho gasped, his sound of shock in unison with Genji’s. “Aoki-san!”

  “A-chan!” Genji breathed. “Oh! You poor dear.”

  Along with bruises and swelling of Aoki’s lip, cheek, and eye, tear tracks stained his rice-powdered cheeks, making horrible-looking furrows from eye to jawline. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

  “Did Sozaemon do this to you?” Genji asked, his voice shaky and heavy now.

  Aoki nodded, a barely perceptible tip of his head.

  Toho saw the movement. Anger began to rise in him, squelched by something else. The urgent need to attend to Aoki’s injuries. Years of training under Sho’s stringent tutelage had taught him to respond. He had the same qualifications for healing as any anma who’d been apprenticed for nine years in the Blind Men’s Guild that had provided his father’s training.

  Toho had Genji release his grasp on Aoki’s wrist so he could press his own fingertips to the pulses. Closing his eyes, he listened as Sho had taught him. For many moments, he listened to what the light throb of Aoki’s pulses told him of his condition. Thankfully, whatever Sozaemon had done to Aoki hadn’t injured any of his internal organs, yet he did hear of a disturbance in the bones of the ribcage. “Aoki-san,” he said gently, the healer’s instincts having taken over any panic he’d felt at seeing Aoki’s face. “I need to check your ribs. I think a bone may have been fractured.”

  “Yes,” Aoki whispered. “It hurts when I breathe.”

  “All right, don’t move. I’ll just feel it. I need to know where it is. May I?”

  “Yes.”

  Genji helped get Aoki’s kimono opened enough for Toho to slip his hand under and, as lightly as he could, dapple his touch over Aoki’s ribs. When Aoki winced, he knew of course he’d reached the spot. The bone was completely broken.

  Toho looked up and saw Peony standing nearby. He ordered her to make a plaster of taro potatoes right away and bring it in.

  She nodded and immediately hurried out.

  A short while later, Toho applied the plaster and put smaller ones on Aoki’s facial bruising. There wasn’t much else that could be done. Once the plasters had promoted enough healing, he could have Aoki sit up so that he could bind his ribcage.

  “Thank you, To-chan.” Aoki took a breath, which made him wince.

  Aoki’s head rested in Genji’s lap. Genji stroked his hair while Toho looked over his work.

  “There’s nothing to thank me for,” Toho said, not breaking his concentration. Aoki’s healing was all that mattered in the entire world.

  “I di
dn’t want you to see me like this.”

  “Shh, A-chan,” Genji soothed. “We all have our low moments. The ones who can look on us and help us are our true friends.”

  Aoki sniffled, and a fresh tear slid from his eye down his bruised cheek. “I know.”

  “How many times have you been there for each one of us?” Genji’s hand continued to pass over Aoki’s hair as he spoke. “So many at this point we can’t count. Now it’s your turn to be cared for.”

  “That’s right, Aoki-san,” Toho added.

  A tiny drop of a smile flashed over Aoki’s lips, then was gone as if it had been a ghost. “Sho trained you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  Aoki took a breath. His mouth was obviously dry, and Genji lifted a cup of water to his lips and bade him take a sip.

  When Genji set the glass down, Aoki’s gaze turned up to Toho. “To-chan, Sozaemon was asking me strange questions, before he—”

  “Don’t talk, Aoki-san. It’s all right.”

  “No, it’s not. He was curious about you. About….” Aoki swallowed again before continuing. “He seemed to be looking for Zatoichi.”

  Toho’s heart thumped. “Ichi-san? He was asking about Ichi-san?”

  “Yes. It made me nervous. I think you should go back to Edo. I don’t want you here if Sozaemon comes back.”

  Toho watched more tears slip down Aoki’s cheeks. Just then, a flash ignited in his mind. Associations came without even the process of thought. Sozaemon… years ago at his father’s school…. Hirata and Sho arguing about one of the dojo students having violated Hirata…. Sozaemon with Aoki…. Aoki being attacked. A chill ran through him. Had Sozaemon violated Aoki in the same way? If so, then Aoki should definitely not be here in case that violent beast should return! “You should come with me, Aoki-san! I don’t want you here either if he comes back. He can’t hurt you there.”

  “I don’t matter. I want you to be safe.”

  Aoki’s words hurt so badly. Toho looked at Genji in appeal.

  Genji gave a quick nod. “Aoki, please don’t say such things. You need to be safe too.”