After Hours

THE paper lanterns swung as cold air gusted from the open door. A group of traders bundled in furs hurried into the sake-house. Flakes of snow swirled around them. Azami noted the lack of excited chatter and boisterous calls to Gilga-san, the owner of the establishment. Concerned, she stuffed her bar rag into her kimono and helped the men remove their heavy coats and leather boots.

She caught Saburo’s gaze. Usually so quick with his smile, his lips were pressed tight. His movements were stiff with tension as he shrugged off his fur. His fellow traders kept their somber expressions as they ordered sake and shabu stew.

“Two traders have died and Toshi’s caravan is missing. I’ll tell you more later,” he said as he joined the men around a low table, dropping onto a cushion as if defeated.

Gilga-san, always alert to the mood of his customers, crossed the room with a seasoned fighter’s grace. He managed to fold his tall body into an open space at the table. Even sitting he towered over the traders.

As she served bowls of steaming stew and cups of sake, Azami heard snippets of the traders’ conversation.

Each word caused her greater alarm. Besides being horrified for the men and their families, these strange happenings might bring the samurai to town. And if they came, Azami would need to flee.

When the night grew late and only a few customers remained, Gilga-san assisted in the clean up despite her protests.

Gilga-san enjoyed regaling his customers with stories that put the best Rakugo to shame. But tonight he seemed preoccupied, and his gray-green eyes peered through her. “Not tonight. No one is in the mood for frivolous stories.”

“Yes. The first two disappeared three days ago from Yukio’s caravan while they traveled around Lake Biwa. A fisherman found their bodies today, washed up on shore.”

Azami’s hand went to her neck as she glanced at Saburo. Since the snows had closed the mountain passes, his caravan also passed the lake. He remained at the table with three others. The rest had gone home.

A year? Already? She had taken the job in his sake-house to earn enough money to leave Hokuga. Azami needed to increase the distance between her and her former life. The small fishing village of Hokuga had just been a temporary stop. Except Gilga-san treated her as an equal, and his bookkeeping had been an utter mess until she had taken it over. Then there was Saburo with his kind heart, good intentions, and sweet smile.

As if he could read her thoughts, Gilga-san said, “Saburo won’t let you go home tonight unaccompanied. But he has no fighting skills.”

Azami searched his expression. Most men would forbid her to carry a weapon. Did he suspect her former identity? He must, otherwise he would send along another protector who could defend them both.

Aware of her assessment, he waited. His foreignness used to unnerve her. With his oval eyes, black curly hair, pale skin and muscular build, he stood out among the locals who were mostly thin with straight black hair, olive-colored skin and brown slanted eyes. Like her.

She glanced away, stacking clean cups under the bar. “Why didn’t you mention my kaiken before?”

He gestured to the room. “Men inebriated by sake plus a beautiful serving girl equals trouble.”

Gilga-san lived upstairs and had never been seen outside the building. Azami stifled the desire to question him. He hadn’t pried into her past so she would respect his privacy as well.

Saburo, on the other hand, had been curious. She had told him a fire killed her family and she wished to start a new life someplace else. As Gilga-san had predicted, Saburo insisted on walking her the few short blocks to the room she had rented. They bundled in heavy coats before muscling their way through the icy wind. No others walked the streets of Hokuga, which was odd, considering the town was a popular stop-over for caravans traveling to the western sea ports.

She kept her tongue as frustration boiled. Years of tradition could not be undone by one outburst. Women were wives and mothers. They were protected and cared for. As Saburo talked of other topics, Azami realized if she truly desired independence she would need to disguise herself as a man.

It was a prospect she had toyed with this past year, but it galled her to no end. She had been taught how to fight and defend herself. Yet her skills could only be used to serve another—her future husband. To keep his house and children safe when he was away from home.

Azami hated the need to be connected to a man—a father or a husband—in order to be accepted as a member of their society. Women without a family had no rights. They were frequently arrested and sent to be yūjo in the walled pleasure cities.

But she didn’t hate men. In fact, some, like Saburo, treated her almost as an independent person. He also didn’t act stoic and emotionless, mimicking a samurai. She wished she could spend more time with him.

Two days later, the five missing men surfaced in Lake Biwa. Their bloodless corpses and shredded throats matched the first victims. To add to the general panic, Saburo’s caravan had been attacked in broad daylight. A few traders had been injured and others taken, but no one who came into the sake-house could name them.

When she heard the news, her chest felt as if she’d been skewered by a katana. Time slowed and each breath she pulled hurt.

Azami kept busy, serving stew and sake to customers. The hushed conversations had turned from speculation of robbers and murders to the belief that a malevolent water spirit had taken up residence in the lake.

This last comment stopped Azami. Did they really believe a kappa haunted the lake? Gilga-san had told tales about the creature before. She glanced at the far corner of the sake-house. Gilga-san had drawn the screens around his biggest table. The town leaders had assembled to discuss the situation.

She fretted about Saburo until he strode through the door late into the evening. He sported a deep gash and a nasty bump on his forehead.

The tightness in her heart eased and she rushed to him in relief. She remembered her place, stopping short and stifling the desire to crush him to her. Instead she bowed politely and took his coat. They locked gazes for a moment.

Near closing-time, Gilga-san gestured for Azami to follow him. He pushed open the screen and offered to bring the leaders fresh food. They declined.

“We will appeal to the daimyo and request help from his samurai,” Moyama, the oldest and therefore wisest man of Hokuga, said. “We cannot fight a kappa.”

“What do you know of fighting a kappa?” Moyama asked, but he didn’t wait for a reply. “You’re gaijin. And too afraid to leave your sake-house. Let the samurai deal with it.”

Gilga-san bowed to the men and retreated. Azami collected the used stoneware and carried them to the kitchen to wash. Once again, Gilga-san helped her, but his sour mood and frequent outbursts about the stubbornly traditional locals made her wish he had chosen to brood in his office.

Azami had to leave Hokuga. The only way to avoid the incoming samurai would be to head west—past the water vampire. If it existed. Yet Saburo and the survivors of the attack had been convinced a kappa haunted the lake. Azami couldn’t risk leaving now. That was the reason she clung to, and not because of her reaction to seeing Saburo alive. She would endeavor to blend in and hope the samurai wouldn’t recognize her. They shouldn’t as they lived in another district than her hometown.

Despite his injuries, Saburo walked her to the inn that night. Azami’s kimono flapped in the cold wind. The night sky sparkled and a three-quarters moon illuminated Hokuga’s wooden buildings. The weathered structures huddled together like lost children.

When they neared the Ryokan, Saburo paused. “Azami, I. . . .” He played with the toggles on his coat. “The attack made me worry about the future. I’d always assumed I had more time.”

He turned to face her, taking her hands and pulling her close. Her heart thumped against her chest.

Saburo’s intense gaze met hers. “Today I learned the future could be gone without warning. Time has become precious and I do not wish to waste it. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She had known he cared for her, but respectable traders didn’t marry kojis. Or liars either. They married the daughters of other traders. These thoughts weren’t helping her sort out her chaotic feelings, but they gave her a place to start. “Your family—”

Shock silenced her. Then fury at her boss’s presumption warred with affection for the meddling man. She pushed those emotions away. Marriage had been the reason she ran away in the first place. Granted it was a different type of union, but still.

He stiffened as if she’d slapped him and dropped her hands. “You’d rather be a serving girl than a respectable member of this community?” His harsh tone cut through her.

The desire to run after him and explain pulsed in her chest. However if she told him the truth, he would no doubt report her to the daimyo, his honesty another admirable quality. Deep down, she’d always known nothing could come of their relationship. But it had been nice to delude herself for a little while.

The samurai’s’ arrival injected hope back into the terrified townspeople. The sake-house filled with relieved traders, fishermen, farmers and a company of samurai. Saburo wasn’t among the customers. No surprise.

“The boy’s an idiot,” was Gilga-san’s only comment to her regarding the marriage proposal and he ignored her questions about the dowry.

Azami wove her way through the crowded tables, but kept clear of the warriors. Gilga-san waited on them. They livened the mood with their boisterous laughter and confident manner. And the best part was, she didn’t recognize any of them.

But they lingered until the other customers had gone. Gilga-san told her to go home; he could handle a dozen men. Before she left, the door swung open and the rest of the samurais entered. Azami returned to the kitchen with dread pushing up her throat. They were the warrior elite and by law the sake-house would remain open until they chose to leave.

Thirty men gathered. They kept her and Gilga-san busy with orders. Their conversation focused on the village’s rumors and the survivors’ stories, comparing information to create a plan of attack.

Azami suspected he was being polite for her. This was his place and if he wished to speak his opinion, he could.

“The water vampire is strong and quick. Before engaging him, I suggest you show him the proper respect and bow to him. The lower the better.”

Late into the night, the samurai meeting finally ended. As the warriors filed out, Gilga-san asked his chef to accompany Azami back to her room. The predawn silence chilled her more than the air. The wind had died. An ill omen.

Azami thanked the chef and entered the quiet inn, surprising since the samurais filled every room except hers. Too bad they didn’t pay for their lodging or their meals. Then again, they had come to help. And if she had thought about it beforehand, she should have spent the night in the sake-house. Now who was the idiot?

She crept up the stairs, slipped into her room and shut the door without incident. The floor creaked behind her. She spun, pulling her kaiken.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice you? A beautiful koji? Our brothers in the north had sent us a message months ago to keep an eye out for you. We will return you to your proper home when our business with the kappa is finished.”

With a ring of metal, he drew his katana. The sharp blade reflected the weak moonlight. “Do you think you can refuse me?”

If she had her naginata, her odds of beating him would be much higher. The long pole and curved blade would keep his katana from reaching her.

“No.” She returned her dagger to her belt. Azami had been forced to train in tantojutsu, the skill of the knife. The intended wife of a samurai needed to protect his home and children from his enemies. Educated as well, she’d been taught how to run a household and, in the process, how to think for herself. Unfortunate since she realized she had no desire to become a samurai’s wife. To be, in essence, owned by another.

The samurai pointed to the floor with his katana. “You will remain here. There will be a guard at your door.” Confident she would obey, he didn’t wait for a reply. He left and ordered a colleague to stand watch.

No need to confiscate her weapon. She had earned the right to carry it, and it was useless against a skilled warrior. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she considered her options. Azami had prepared for an escape, but her plans hadn’t included an evil spirit. She would bide her time. For now.

The next morning the warriors talked and laughed as if they faced a kappa every day. When they left to hunt it down, Azami didn’t waste a moment. She pulled a box from under the bed. Emergency escape supplies had been packed inside.

She changed into the loose pants and tunic that the local fishermen wore, tucked her kaiken into the belt, and wrapped her hair in a tight bun. Donning a fur hat, she grabbed a heavy coat.

The inn’s owner had been asked to provide a guard outside her door. However, she didn’t plan to use it.

Taking the rope from the box, she secured one end to the sturdy bed frame and tossed the other out the window. Azami removed the last item from the box—a satchel already filled with all she would need on the road. She dropped the bag and coat out the window. They landed with a soft thud.

Not waiting to see if the guard noticed the noise, she climbed out the window sill and wrapped her legs around the rope, sliding to the ground. She collected her belongings and ran to Gilga-san’s sake-house.

Slipping in through the back entrance, Azami surprised the chef, who ordered her to leave. Gilga-san, though, recognized her right away. He brought her to his office and closed the door.

Exotic antiques and strange metallic objects filled the shelves of the room. Keys of all shapes, sizes, and metals—gold, silver, iron—littered every surface.

As she perched on the edge of the chair facing his desk, Azami marveled. The room shouldn’t be big enough to hold the massive collection, yet it did.

Gilga-san half-sat on the edge of his desk. He tugged his braided beard while she explained her predicament.

Icy fingers of fear stroked her back, but she considered the alternative. “I would rather lose my life than my freedom.”

Gilga-san sobered and stared at the red clay tablet that hung on the wall opposite his desk. Pictures had been scratched on it and it appeared as if someone had used a chopstick to poke round dents into the clay before it had hardened. According to Gilga-san, it was an old drink recipe. No one was permitted to touch it.

He played with the braid hanging from his chin. Then he surged to his feet. “I agree. Losing your freedom is a hardship you do not deserve. Before you go, I have something for you. Wait here.”

Unable to remain sitting, she paced. She hoped to leave before the samurai returned. If they were busy fighting the kappa, they wouldn’t notice a fishing boat leaving the dock. And if the kappa remained engaged in battle, it wouldn’t bother chasing after her.

Gilga-san returned with a plain white cup. He handed it to her. She sniffed the warm contents. It smelled like jasmine tea but resembled milk.

“Your features are too elegant to pass for a man,” he said. “If you truly wish to live as a man, drink the . . . tea and you shall be transformed. However, once done, it cannot be undone.”

Azami’s hand shook. An impossible offer. A jest? She had never known him to play pranks. No. Deep down in her heart, she felt it. He meant it. She sank into her chair and clutched the cup with both hands, resting it in her lap.

Azami’s thoughts swirled. To transform into a man. To have the freedom and the privileges men enjoyed. To no longer be afraid someone would force her to marry and bear children. She could walk among the samurai in the sake-house without worry. Her problems solved.

Then her musings went deeper. Would her personality change? Would she desire women? Or would she still desire men?

It had been easy to wish, but making a choice wouldn’t be as straightforward. Gilga-san slipped into the room. His expression troubled.

“Poor consolation, considering the cost.” He eyed the cup in her lap. “They’re searching for you. If you become a man, you can stay here and work for me. Otherwise, I’ll hide you.”

She stared at the white liquid. Hiding was another form of imprisonment and it didn’t sit well with her. Transforming felt wrong as well. As if she cheated.

“A partner.” The words popped out without censure and kept coming. “Someone I can share my life with and who won’t direct my life. Someone who treats me as an equal despite my gender.” Like Gilga-san did. Why? Because she had worked hard for him, sorted out his messy bookkeeping, and helped create a few new drink recipes. She had earned his respect and friendship.

Sudden understanding zipped through Azami, energizing her. She thrust the cup into his hands. “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t deserve it. And I’m not hiding any longer.”

A strange expression crossed his face. Not quite amusement, although gladness did spark in his eyes. He seemed proud and that added to her determination.

Her bravado and determination leaked from her as she crept from shadow to shadow, heading west through Hokuga. The idea she could prevail when the samurai could not seemed ridiculous in the cold darkness. Doubt and terror swirled in her chest.

She scanned the small town, committing its quirks—Toshi’s half completed fence, fishing nets hanging from Futsu’s back door, and the family of cats living under Oda’s bamboo hut—to memory. Fondness for these people pulsed in her heart. She would have been content to serve customers and listen to Gilga-san’s stories until the end of her days.

When she reached the last building, she gauged the distance to the thin cover of the winter woods. Could she do this? She considered the alternative—dragged back to Yamakage, punished and forced to marry.

As she dashed to the tree line, hurried footsteps sounded behind her. She spun in time to see a figure running after her, hissing her name in a loud whisper. Drawing her kaiken, she slid her feet into a fighting stance. But the man skidded to a stop and held his hands out, showing he was unarmed.

“No. I lied to you about everything. I’m not koji. I ran away from Yamakage because I did not wish to marry a samurai. Now they have found me, I need to leave.”

That explained it. “Did he give you a special drink?” Meddling again, Gilga-san was worse than the local matchmaker.

He sucked in a deep breath. “I considered the reasons why I love you. You are independent, intelligent, and brave. If I had done this before asking for your hand, I would have realized my error. Rather than lose you, I wish to accompany you.”

He rested a cold finger on her lips, silencing her. “You are all that matters.” He cupped her chin and drew her toward him for a kiss.

Heat spread from her lips and she pressed against Saburo, deepening the kiss and tangling her fingers in his long hair. Her heart beat its approval.

With six dead and ten injured, she hoped the warriors wouldn’t follow them right away. Hoped they’d assume the kappa wouldn’t let them escape. A smart assumption.

Moonlight lit the trail, and, while glad to be able to see, Azami worried they would be visible to the samurai.

They ran until the sounds of pursuit died. When her breath no longer huffed so loud in her ears, the crash of the waves reached her. Arriving at the lake, they paused. Silver moonlight flashed and danced on the water. The surface undulated as if restless and irritated. Foaming curls of water rushed and pounded on the shore.

“All those windy days combined with a big moon have increased the tide,” Saburo explained. “I hope the northern path is not underwater.”

By his nervous glances toward the lake, Azami knew he didn’t voice his true fear. Hand in hand they followed the road that ringed the vast lake, keeping away from the surf.

Jerking to a stop, he peered at her in utter astonishment. “But . . . you will . . . it. . . .” He drew in a deep breath. “You’ll die. It’s jisatsu!”

“And I cannot leave the people of Hokuga to the mercy of the kappa,” she said, and meant it. “The samurai are unable to see past their code of honor. They will continue to die.”

The gradual infusion of color into the black sky announced the dawn’s arrival. As sunlight swept across the lake, the pressure in Azami’s chest relaxed a bit. Until she spotted a child playing in the rough surf.

Terrified for his safety, she waded into the chilly water, calling and gesturing for him to leave the water before he drowned. The young boy laughed, but he walked to the bank and sat on the edge, waving her over.

Saburo caught up to her as she neared the child. She stopped a few feet away and gaped. Not because delight shown on the boy’s face, but because he had greenish-yellow scales instead of skin. And he had a dent on the top of his misshapen head that was filled with a white liquid. Fear’s icy teeth bit into her.

“Oh, what a glorious morning! No longer boring.” It splashed its webbed toes in the water. “I smell love in the blood. Yummy!”

Azami sorted through the story Gilga-san had told months ago, when he had been entertaining guests. Her frantic pulse calmed. “No.” She pulled her kaiken, wishing again for the long reach of her naginata.

To her relief, he nodded and backed away. Azami joined the kappa on the narrow bank. They faced each other. At five feet five inches in height, she never considered herself tall, but compared to the four foot kappa she towered over the creature. The height difference was all part of its game, luring its opponents into a false sense of security. It also waited for her to make the first move.

“Oh, a proper warrior.” It returned the bow. As it dipped its head, the white liquid poured from the indentation and pooled onto the ground. When the kappa straightened, it didn’t appear to be concerned about its loss.

Azami prayed Gilga-san’s story had been accurate. Their lives depended on it. She lunged at the kappa, slicing at its neck with her kaiken. The blade narrowly missed as it jumped back. She advanced, thrusting the tip toward the kappa’s chest.

It retreated a step, but then blocked the next jab. The blow was hard, but not strong enough to dislodge her grip on the kaiken. Confidence flowed through her veins, energizing her. Without the white liquid, the kappa’s supernatural strength and speed were gone. For now. It would regain its powers in time. Already a small amount of fluid had returned.

She increased the intensity of her attack, striking and slicing without giving the kappa a chance to get close to her. It blocked and dodged. When she swung her dagger a little too wide, it darted in and latched onto her forearm—the one holding the kaiken.

It dug its claws deep into her flesh as it pressed close. A burning agony sizzled on her skin. A snap vibrated through her bones. Pain exploded in her arm. The kappa squealed with joy. With one hand, it raked its claws, slashing cuts. Then the kappa clamped its mouth over the bloody wounds. The level of white liquid inside its dent rose at a faster pace as it sucked her blood.

The horrifying noise galvanized Azami into action. She stomped on its foot and slammed the edge of her free hand into its temple. It jerked with the blows, but hung on. She transferred her weapon to her left hand and jabbed the tip of the blade into the kappa’s ribs. It let go, staggering back.

Hugging her injured arm to her stomach, Azami changed tactics and kicked it in the chest. It stumbled. She kept after it, using a variety of kicks. So used to being faster and stronger, the kappa couldn’t adapt to this new attack. When its gaze slid to the water, she knew it considered escape.

Feinting left, she shuffled forward and to the right, hooking the kappa around the neck with her uninjured arm. Azami pressed the edge of the blade against its throat. The scales felt thick, but red blood welled under her knife.

Gilga-san had also been correct about another one of the kappa’s unique powers. The spirit was skilled in mending broken bones, and in reattaching severed limbs without leaving a scar.

When asked, it healed Azami’s arm. Once she regained her energy, the three of them headed back to Hokuga. It didn’t take long to encounter the samurai.

“Remember, do not kill anyone,” Azami said to the kappa as fourteen warriors surrounded them with their weapons drawn.

It perked up. “Protect now? Fun? Make men run?” The white liquid completely filled the kappa’s dent.

“Only if they attack us.” She took the kappa’s hand in hers. Then she turned in a slow circle and met each samurai’s gaze, holding it until the warrior acknowledged her with a nod and sheathed his katana.