I bowed to the two men and obeyed, slipping out of the room and down the steps to the first floor.
I am to meet the daimyo of Kage, the leader of the Shadow Clan. A ripple of what might’ve been apprehension went through my stomach. Immediately, Hakaimono stirred, intrigued by that flicker of emotion, and I coldly crushed it, telling myself to feel nothing. Intellectually, I knew this was a great honor; few were called into Lady Hanshou’s presence, fewer could claim that the daimyo of the Shadow Clan had spoken to them face-to-face. My missions were passed to me through Ichiro and the other sensei; there was no reason the leader of the Kage would assign them to me in person. I’d heard of samurai earning rewards, recognition and honor through great deeds and acts of valor, but such opportunities were not granted to one such as I. I killed demons, monsters and yokai because that was the purpose of my existence. A weapon needed no praise or recognition to do its job.
So, why would Lady Hanshou want to see me?
A servant waited for me at the foot of the stairs, and I followed him into the small bath where, per normal, I was met by a pair of Shadow Clan healers. Dressed in ash-gray robes, they greeted me with the same clinical detachment they showed at every post-mission examination.
“Remove your weapons and clothes,” one told me in a bored tone, pointing to a stool in the middle of the room, “then sit. Let’s get this over with quickly.”
I obeyed, disarming myself of weapons—shuriken, grappling hook and the kunai throwing knives hidden in my bracers—before setting Kamigoroshi in the corner. The servant, as well as the two healers, stayed far away from the sword as I laid it down, as if it were some terrible beast that would savage them if given a chance. I knew they regarded me in much the same way. All Kage were aware of Kamigoroshi’s curse and interacted with me as little as possible to avoid prodding the demon. When I was a child, it had been terribly lonely, the way everyone recoiled like I had the plague. Now, it meant nothing to me.
After peeling off my soaked black suit, I sat on the stool while the pair examined me. One tilted my head up to look at my eyes, while the other prodded my side, eliciting a sharp twinge of pain.
“Hmm,” he muttered, digging his fingers into my skin, poking and pinching. I set my jaw and didn’t make a sound. “One cracked rib, and several deep bruises along his side, nothing broken.”
The other pulled down my eyelid, wrenching my head toward the light. “Traces of venom in his eyes, not enough to blind, fortunately. Did the jorogumo bite you?” he asked me.
“No.”
“So your innards aren’t turning to soup as we speak, good to hear. And you managed to keep most of your blood on the inside this time, well done. It becomes very tiresome when you continuously show up half-dead in the middle of the night.” He released my chin and turned to gesture to the servant. “We’re done here. Bathe him, bandage the cuts and send him to Master Ichiro when you’re finished.”
The servant bowed silently as the healers left the room, then picked up the bucket sitting beside the stool and dumped it over my head. The frigid water drenched my hair and seemed to rake talons of ice over my skin, but I didn’t move as the servant sluiced the dirt and grime from my body, scrubbing my wounds until the flesh around them turned pink. When I was clean, he sloshed another bucket of water over my head, bandaged the cuts and left without a word.
Standing, I gazed around and saw that another servant had left a change of clothes on the edge of the tub: a pair of hakama trousers, a dove-gray obi sash and a black haori jacket bearing a white crescent eclipsed by a dark moon—the crest of the Shadow Clan—on the back.
Ichiro and Masao waited for me in the next room, speaking quietly with a pair of sake cups between them. I didn’t see Ayame, but I knew she was close. My sensei only grunted as I knelt on tatami mats and bowed low, but I could feel Kage Masao watching me with an almost predatory smile as I touched my forehead to the floor.
“There you are,” Ichiro remarked as I raised my head. “Well, you look like a dog chewed on you, but at least you no longer resemble a drowned rat. Masao-san has a pair of kago waiting outside to take you across town. Are you ready?”
“Yes, sensei.”
“Excellent!” Masao-san rose in a fluttering of robes and fan. “Come then, little demonslayer. We mustn’t keep Hanshou-sama waiting.”
He swept out of the room. I rose to follow, but Ichiro grabbed my arm as I passed him, rough fingers digging into my flesh as he leaned close.
“Listen to me, boy,” he growled, as I went still in the grip of my sensei. “You are about to meet the most important person in the Kage, the leader of the Shadow Clan herself. Do not embarrass me. If you dishonor me in front of the lady, I assure you, the beating you took tonight will feel like a massage compared to what I will do to you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master Ichiro.”
“Remember what we taught you. Repeat it to me, now.”
“I am nothing,” I said automatically. “I am a weapon in the hands of the Kage. My life exists only to be the bearer of Kamigoroshi and to obey the orders of the Shadow Clan.”
“Good.” He nodded and released me. “See that you remember when speaking to the lady. Now go.”
Kage Masao stood on the covered veranda, gazing distastefully at the rain, a colorful parasol held over his head. A pair of kago—individual palanquins made of lacquered wood and carried by four trained bearers—waited at the bottom of the steps. I had never ridden in a kago; they were usually reserved for nobles and important individuals, not lowly assassins. But, glancing at Kage Masao and his flowing robes, I realized he had not traveled here by horse and certainly not on foot.
“What horrible weather.” He sighed, bringing his fan to his face, as if the rain itself offended him. “Fitting for this backwater little town. I shall be glad to be done with it.” Glancing at me, he offered a bright smile and gestured to a kago. “Well, Tatsumi-san? Shall we be off?”
The ride was fairly short, as the town wasn’t large, and soon the servants were sliding back the door of the kago, revealing a large, two-story ryokan—an inn—looming at the edge of the muddy road. Inside, I followed Masao up the stairs to a room at the end of a corridor and waited in the hall while he entered. A moment later, a servant slid back the door, releasing a few wisps of gray smoke, and beckoned me inside. The room beyond was cloaked in shadow and smelled of incense and tobacco. Cautiously, I stepped through the door and as it slid shut behind me, I dropped to my knees and pressed my forehead to the tatami mats.
“Kage Tatsumi,” Masao purred. “The demonslayer.”
“Come forward, boy,” a voice rasped, startling me with its harshness. “Come into the light. Let me see the bearer of the legendary Kamigoroshi.”
Blinking away smoke, I raised my head and inched forward on my knees, squinting to see past the lamp that burned on the edge of a low table. Sake bottles lined the polished surface like ranks of warriors protecting their general, and incense hung thick in the air, smelling of smoke and sandalwood.
Peering past the haze and the bottles, I caught a glimpse of the speaker and clenched my jaw to stop the sharp inhalation of breath. Only years of training and practice kept my features expressionless. It seemed as if Lady Hanshou’s face had been flayed, beaten and left out in the sun to burn before being set back on her sunken neck. Folds of skin hung from her sticklike arms; her hands were wizened bird’s claws, one of them clutching a long-handled pipe as if it was her lifeline to the living world. A few wispy white threads were still attached to her scalp, floating on the air like spider silk. One milky eye was half-shut, the other burned with such intensity that it bordered on madness.
Lady Hanshou smiled a wide, toothless grin at my silence. “Not quite what you were expecting, eh, demonslayer?” she cackled. “Keep staring, but this face isn’t going to get any prettier.” Immediately, I pressed my face to the tatami mats again, but Lady Hanshou let out a snort.