“We should go down to Toshiro,” I said. “I want to take my time with this, and I don’t want anyone interrupting.”
She bit her lower lip and let out a groan. “I want you now, Leo, but I fear you’re right. If we’re to spend hours upon hours lovemaking, then we won’t want to be interrupted.”
Chapter Ten
The afternoon was passing as Cara and I descended the stairs to the ground floor again. We walked closer together than ever before, and I could feel the heat of Cara’s body whenever she brushed against me. My body ached to take her, but we would have time enough for that in the evening. We had waited this long; we could wait a few more hours.
When we reached the garden at the back of the house, the shade had deepened. It might still have been a bright afternoon outside the valley, but here a cool dusk was taking hold already. As we moved through the main hall, men were lighting lamps and hanging them throughout the house.
Outside, lamps were also being lit. They were made from paper and threw a soft, warm light on the little garden scene.
Toshiro had made himself comfortable on one of the chairs, and food and plates laid on the table.
He smiled warmly at us and gestured to the seats. We joined him and quickly settled down to our meal, having worked up quite the hunger. The food was strange to my palate; salty fish, steamed greens, pickled vegetables, and white, fluffy rice. Toshiro had provided us with wide ceramic spoons to eat with, but for himself he used a pair of sticks as long as his hand, which he held between his thumb and forefingers and deftly used to lift the food to his mouth.
He saw that I was watching this feat with interest, and gestured to me with the sticks. “Chopsticks,” he explained. “The traditional way of eating here in Yamato. I guessed you would prefer the spoon, which seems most widespread in all other lands I’ve visited.”
“It’s certainly what I’m used to,” I said, “but I’d like to experience eating with the sticks.”
Toshiro chuckled and spoke to a hovering servant, who went away and returned shortly afterward with two more pairs of chopsticks. Cara and I both gave it a try, copying Toshiro’s technique. It was harder than it looked—much harder, in fact—but after a few tries, we both found ourselves able to work our way through the food with ease.
Toshiro clapped his hands, delighted at our efforts.
“Very good!” he said. “The people of Saxe learn fast!”
When we had finished our meal, the servant took the dishes away and returned with a tall ceramic bottle and small cups. These he laid out on the table before us. Toshiro thanked him reflexively, and the servant bowed and retreated to the house. I glanced after him, and as I did so, I saw that every window on the house was now glowing with the warm, soft light of the lanterns. Lamps had been lit and hung outside the windows right up to the third floor, so the whole building was illuminated.
Our host poured for us. “This is saké, the traditional drink of Yamato. It’s brewed from rice to make a sweet, fragrant drink; not too strong, but not too weak either. The saké of Otara is some of the best in Yamato. Win tells me that since my retirement, I have gotten too much of a taste for it, but I suspect that he just does not feel quite content unless he has something to berate me about.”
I took a sip of the clear liquid. It was as he had said, sweet and sharp at the same time, very different from the rough grape and apple wines I’d been used to in Saxe. It burned pleasantly on the way down, and I felt the warm flush of the alcohol settle into my system. Cara let out a contented sigh, settling back into her chair with the wine in her hand. When I glanced at her, she met my eyes and gave me a secret smile, and the promise in her eyes of what would come later this evening made my heart beat a little faster.
Toshiro drained his glass and refilled it immediately, then sat back, as if waiting for one of us to break the silence.
“You said, ‘since your retirement,’” I prompted him. “What profession did you retire from?”
“Ah,” he said slowly, and there was a regretful look in his eyes. “I was a warrior. A killer, if you will. I took the lives of men with my sword, that was my profession. I was a Samurai in the service of the Shogun, the military ruler of Yamato. For many years,” he added, nodding sadly to himself. He knocked his cup back, swallowed, and refilled it a third time. I wondered for a moment if the old servant Win was correct that Toshiro had gained an unhealthily large taste for the drink. Tasty as it was, I was still only halfway down my first cup.
“Why did you leave the service of the Shogun?” Cara asked him gently. He had lapsed into silence again, but he gave himself a little shake and glanced around at us.
“It was the Kanosuru that ended my career as a Samurai. The evil that you call the Festering. I trust you both, and I’m going to tell you that which few people but my old manservant Win have heard before. You, I saw you destroy the Festering-corrupted spirit at the shrine. You seem unaffected by the terror that it gives out, the horror and evil which are the hallmarks of the Festering. In all my days as a wandering Samurai after I left the Shogun’s service, I saw the Festering in many lands, and in many forms, but I never saw anyone willing or even able to
