Kinslayer

trigger was pulled on the Black Fox of Shima. She’d seen what it could do. What one little girl could do too.

That was where it had started.

“Give it here,” Yoshi said. “You’ll blow your foot off.”

She passed the weapon back with a scowl, mumbled a threat about Yoshi’s privates.

“Not sure why you insist on carrying that thing around with you,” Jurou mused.

“You try being a girl walking alone in this city at night,” she replied.

“We should sell it. Make a fortune.”

“There’s fortunes to be made without selling anything.” Yoshi fixed Jurou in a pointed stare. “Besides, what pawnman would be crazed enough to turn grist on the Shogun’s property?”

Her brother took a long pull from the bottle, glanced at her.

“So how was work?”

“Talk of clan war is all over the kitchens,” she shrugged. “Dragon clan are gearing up to attack the Foxes. Rumor has it the local bushimen are going to kick out all the gaijin merchants in Docktown today. Tell the round- eyes to sail back to Morcheba or have their ships burned into the bay.”

“Do you do anything in that place beside gossip?” Jurou smiled.

“I don’t gossip,” she pouted. “I just listen.”

Daken prowled up to the table, sharing his evil, piss-eyed glare with both boys, lamplight glittering in dirty yellow. The cat sniffed, as if objecting to the smell of the booze, then jumped up on the window ledge to stare out at the dawn, half-tail swishing.

Jurou held out the bottle; a lethal brand of brown rice wine the locals affectionately called “seppuku.”

“Drink?”

“You know that won’t happen.”

The boy shrugged, placed the bottle back on the table. In the distance, the trio heard six tolls upon an iron bell; an automated Guild crier trundling the streets on rubber tank tracks and ringing in the Hour of the Phoenix. No One leaned down and turned on their little soundbox, started trawling the shortwave frequencies.

“Izanagi’s balls, not the Kage again…” Yoshi moaned.

“They transmit once an hour, one day a week,” she growled. “And I have to listen to your serial melodramas every other day, so up with the shut.”

Yoshi adopted a mocking tone, spoke into his fist. “You’re on rrrrrradio Kage. We’ll be telling you how wonderful your lives are now the Shogun’s dead for the next five minutes, or until the Guild kicks in our door and we scatter like fleas when the dog comes scratching. Thanks for listeniiiing.”

“Least they’re doing something,” she muttered. “At least they stand for something. They’re fighting to change the world, Yoshi.”

“Girl, if you were any more full of shit, your eye would be brown.”

“I’m supposed to point out my eye is brown now, right?”

“Oh my gods, when did that happen?”

She met his lopsided grin with a sour glare.

“Oh, come on now, sister-mine.” Yoshi leaned over and gave her a hug, planted a noisy kiss on her cheek. “You know it’s just in fun.”

Jurou took the bottle from Yoshi. “Seriously, girl. The way you glue your ears to those broadcasts … You’ll be telling us you’re joining up with those fools next…”

“Mad though she is, she’s not quite mad enough for that,” Yoshi smirked.

No One pursed her lips, said nothing. After a long search on the radio, she found a scrabbling snatch of low-fidelity static. Eye narrowed with concentration, she adjusted the dial in tiny increments until she latched on to the signal.

The transmission was distorted, awash with faint white noise. Turning the volume down, she leaned close to the speaker. She didn’t recognize the voice—truthfully she hadn’t been with the Kage long enough for introductions to more than a few members, the one safe house on Kuro Street. Less risk that way. For them and her. None of the local cell even knew each other by name—everyone went by some kind of handle to lessen damage in the event of a capture. When Gray Wolf had asked her what she wanted to be called, she’d considered something romantic—something exotic or dangerous sounding. The name of a hero from some childhood story. But in the end, “No One” seemed to fit best.

She licked at dry lips, listened hard to the tiny voice.

“… curfew still in effect eight weeks after Yoritomo’s death. How long will this government continue to make its citizens prisoners in their own homes? Do they beat children and old women caught after dark without permits for the sake of your safety? Or because their slave state is crumbling? Because their fear of their own people is at last justified?

“Even now the Stormdancer is in council with Kage leadership, planning their next strike against the murderous regime that has strangled this nation for two centuries. She is the tempest to wash away the dregs of the Kazumitsu Dynasty, and give birth to a shining new…”

The sound of heavy iron boots and screams in the street outside made her flinch, and she turned the volume down to a whisper. Orders to halt in the name of the Daimyo were followed by scuffling and a wet crunch on cobblestones. A sharp cry of pain.

“Might want to turn that off for a bit,” Yoshi said. “Unless you want to invite the bushi’ up here for a drink?”

No One sighed, flipped a small switch and silenced the soundbox. She settled herself on the cushion next to her brother and Daken jumped down into her lap. The girl ran her fingers through the big tom’s smoky fur, across the nubs where his ears used to be, the scars crisscrossing his body. The cat closed his eyes and purred like a motor-rickshaw.

“He stinks of dead rat,” Yoshi scowled.

“Funny that.” She gave the cat an experimental sniff.

“He shit in our bed again last night.”

The girl laughed. “I know.”

Yoshi brandished the iron-thrower. “He does it again, he might find himself divorced of more than ears.”

“Don’t even joke like that.” She scowled daggers, held the cat close to her thin breast. Daken opened his eyes, stared directly at the boy. A low feline growl rumbled in his chest.

“You don’t scare me, friend.” Yoshi waggled the weapon under the tom’s nose.

She made a face. “Little boy with his big toy.”

“Been telling stories about me again, Jurou?” Yoshi raised an eyebrow at the other boy, took another belt of rice wine. No One watched her brother drink, lips pressed shut, radiating faint disapproval. Even with one eye, she could stare down with the best of them, and Yoshi avoided her gaze. Draping Daken over her shoulder, she stood with a sigh.

“I’m going to bed.”

“What?” Jurou cried. “You just got in!”

“I’d rather sleep than watch you two get drunk and slobber over each other.”

“Well, you should go out and find yourself a pretty man.” Jurou waggled his eyebrows. “Slobber over him instead.”

“I’ve already got a man, don’t I, Daken?” She planted a kiss on the cat’s cheek, shuffled toward her room. “Yes, I do, my big brave man.”

“Mreoooowl,” Daken said.

Yoshi stared at her back, a sour look on his face.

“Makes a fellow ponder gouging his eyes out just thinking on it.” He scowled at the cat flopped over his sister’s shoulder, waved the bottle in his direction. “I mean it, you little bastard. You shit our bed again, I’ll feed you to the corpse-rats.”

The big tom blinked once, a broken-glass glint dancing in his eyes. His thoughts were a purr inside the siblings’ heads, the whisper of black velvet on silken sheets.

… would not sleep with your mouth open tonight if i were you …