White Serpent Castle. Lensey Namioka

be his successor. One of the strongest contestants was a cousin who was only a distant relative. But he was a powerful man with many supporters, and he decided to strengthen his position further by marrying the daughter. However, she was still beside herself with grief for her father, and she hated this cruel, ugly suitor. Nevertheless, preparations for the marriage went on despite her protests. “Then on the night before the wedding, she sent away her attendants and shut herself in her room. As time passed, the attendants began to worry, and they decided to look in. They found the room empty. Her clothes were in a heap on the floor, but the girl had disappeared. It was thought at first that the desperate girl had thrown herself into the moat, but several witnesses saw something very long and white crawl away from the moat into the trees. They claimed that it looked like a huge white snake.”

      Matsuzo shifted his position uneasily. He knew it was only a story, but told in Ume’s low, hoarse voice, it made uncomfortable hearing.

      “The ghost was seen in the castle soon afterwards,” Ume went on. “It was always a long, white slithering shape accompanied by eerie flute music. People remembered that the daughter had been an accomplished player of the horizontal flute. As for the cruel suitor, his fate was a terrible one. He began to feel icy things crawling across his neck at night, and he was dead within a month. Some say he died of fright, some say he was strangled.”

      Matsuzo’s hand involuntarily went to his throat and he swallowed. He glanced at Zenta and saw that he was listening to the story with a faint smile.

      “Since that time,” continued the old woman, “the ghost has appeared several times in this region. In each case, it was at a time when a girl was forced into marriage soon after the death of her father. You can see an obvious parallel between the old legend and Lady Tama’s situation. That’s why the appearance of the ghost now is enough to frighten the chamberlain.”

      “And it is clear why the appearance of the ghost must be very welcome to Lady Tama,” remarked Zenta.

      “Are there many ladies here who play the bamboo flute?” asked Matsuzo with a grin, anxious to prove that the ghost story had not frightened him in the least. “Lady Tama is probably an expert player at this instrument.” Ume looked furious. “So! You dare to accuse us of arranging a fake ghost! Just wait, you skeptics. There are horrible stories about people who refuse to believe in ghosts!”

      Zenta laughed. “When I feel icy things on my neck, my last doubt will vanish!”

      The old woman’s face suddenly became blank. She bowed without a word, and sliding open the door she quietly left the room.

      Chapter 5

      Zenta could see that his companion had a question on the tip of his tongue. As soon as the door closed behind the old woman, Matsuzo asked, “Do you think that Shigeteru will try to get in touch with Ume?”

      “Why does everyone assume that Shigeteru and his men are coming?” said Zenta.

      “Well, the chamberlain and Jihei seemed to expect his coming,” said Matsuzo. “Perhaps they have some definite news.”

      “Shigeteru would be a stupid fool to come here and attempt to take over the castle by force,” said Zenta. “He would be an even greater fool to reveal his identity to that gossipy old woman.”

      “He might not have any choice about revealing his identity,” Matsuzo pointed out. “I think she would recognize him.”

      “I doubt it,” said Zenta. “You heard what Ume said: Shigeteru was only a boy when he left. Ten years, at his stage of growth, can change his looks completely.”

      “I still think Ume knows something,” insisted Matsuzo.

      Zenta didn’t bother to answer. Ume was stupid and thought herself cunning, a disastrous combination in a conspirator. He wanted no part of her dangerous plots. Taking out his two swords, he sat down on a straw cushion and began a minute examination of the blades. Then from a little pouch attached to his sash he took out a small jar of oil and some rags. With these he polished his swords, his hands caressing the beautiful grain of the blades.

      It had been said that a samurai’s sword was his soul. For Zenta, his swords were also his only constant companions in his lonely, wandering life. They had been given to him by a grateful warlord. For a while his future at the court of this warlord had looked bright, but he had left that job, just as he had left so many other promising jobs.