Shinju

around the stove in their one-room house in the poorest section of Nihonbashi and sew the dolls’ clothes by lamplight. O-hisa could picture them now. Her mother, face tired, still kindly and patiently teaching her small daughter how to cut and stitch. Her blind grandmother, smiling encouragement as her deft hands miraculously fashioned garments she couldn’t see. For all of them, O-hisa’s tenth and last festival, just before she left home to take her first job, had held a particular poignancy.

“Don’t cry, O-hisa,” her grandmother had said. “You’ll come back for visits on New Year’s Day, when all servants are allowed to go home.”

“Be a brave, obedient girl,” her mother had said, bowing her head to hide her own tears.

Now O-hisa felt a stab of homesickness. She sighed, saddened by the comparison between past and present. The fabric in her hands was silk, instead of the cotton scraps her mother had saved from various sewing jobs. The dolls would be fine porcelain, not wood or straw. But they were for the daimyo’s daughters, not her. And her present companions robbed the familiar ritual of all pleasure.

Yasue’s gnarled, arthritic fingers could no longer hold a needle. She kept her position because she had once served Lady Niu’s family and had come to Edo when her mistress married. O-hisa knew that her real job now was making sure Lady Niu knew everything that went on in the women’s quarters.

Beside Yasue sat the maid O-aki. Stout, unsmiling, with large hands that looked strong enough to wring an ox’s neck. Shunned by the other servants as an informer who would report their mistakes, gossip, petty thefts, and bad attitudes to Lady Niu. Once she’d caught a cook’s helper stealing rice from the pantry. She’d broken the man’s arm before taking him to Lady Niu.

“Your stitches are much, much too long.” Yasue scowled in fierce disapproval at O-hisa’s work. “Make them smaller. What a worthless girl! Did your mother teach you nothing?”

“So sorry, Yasue-san.”

The room where they sat was an oasis of quiet in the bustling mansion. Although Miss Yukiko’s death and the customary mourning period lent restraint to the holiday atmosphere, Setsubun preparations were well under way. O-hisa had returned from the villa to find the household in a state of subdued chaos.

She could still hear the other servants rushing to finish the pre-New Year housecleaning. Overexcited children shouted as they chased one another up and down the corridors. Twittery laughter came from the women’s quarters, where the daimyo’s daughters and concubines, and their ladies-in-waiting, tried on the clothes they would wear to parties at the other lords’ houses tonight. Harried maids dashed about attending to their needs: heating baths, arranging hair, bringing still more clothes from storerooms, administering massages, serving tea and snacks. Good smells wafted from the kitchens as the cooks prepared enough food to feed the household tomorrow. O-hisa had thought that, in the general confusion, she could sneak out to keep her rendezvous with Sano. Now, though, it appeared that she was to have no share in the Setsubun preparations, and no chance to leave anytime soon. How long would he wait for her? How would she find him if he didn’t? If only she had spoken to him sooner!

But when and how could she have done so? Although Lord Niu had never spoken to her or given any sign that he knew she’d witnessed the murder, a careful watch had been kept over her since Miss Yukiko’s death. Many times she’d walked down the mansion’s corridors and heard doors open and close behind her as unseen observers noted her progress. She’d gone on errands alone, only to have one of the other maids catch up with and accompany her. O-aki had moved into the room O-hisa shared with three other maids. And as soon as she’d returned from the villa, the net of surveillance had tightened. Yasue and O-aki had greeted her at the door, and they wouldn’t let her out of their sight.

O-hisa cast a nervous glance at them. What would happen if she got up and ran? Would O-aki break her arm? Or would Yasue simply notify Lord Niu? Maybe he would have her killed. She was almost tempted to give up and let him. After all, she deserved to die. But she’d dreamed of Miss Yukiko again last night. Dark, beseeching eyes in a dead white face. Thin fingers, already nibbled by scavengers, reaching out in entreaty. Long black hair swirling in the turbulent water. If Sano thought she could lay that sorrowful ghost to rest by helping him bring young Lord Niu to justice, then she was willing to try. And he’d convinced her that this was the only way to protect her family from Lord Niu’s wrath. The part of her that wanted to live hoped Sano was right, and that she could think of some way to escape her jailers.

“O-hisa!” Yasue’s harsh voice broke into her thoughts. “You have just sewed that sleeve shut. In the future, watch what you are doing.”

“Yes, Yasue-san. So sorry.” O-hisa meekly bent her head to the task of ripping out the stitches. When she began to sew again, her hands trembled so badly that the needle slipped and jabbed her finger. The pain brought tears to her eyes; they spilled over as her despair increased. Sucking the blood from her fingertip, she mourned her lost childhood. She imagined Sano walking away from the swordmaker’s shop.

From the corridor came the voices of two passing maids:

“Did you clean the north garden pavilion?”

“No. I thought you were going to.”

“Well, we’d better do it now. Lady Niu will be angry otherwise.

The north garden wasn’t far from the back gate. “Maybe I should go and help,” O-hisa suggested timidly.

Yasue frowned. “You will stay here.”

Catching O-aki’s smug nod, O-hisa felt her spirits plummet. Then a brilliant idea came to her. Standing, she bowed and arranged her face in an innocent, apologetic smile.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Yasue demanded.

“To the place of relief, please,” O-hisa said, referring to the privy with the polite term used by the household.

Yasue pursed her lips, obviously annoyed and not wanting to disobey orders, but unable to deny such a request. “Well, see that you do not take longer than necessary. O-aki, go with her.”

Shadowed by her grim escort, O-hisa walked to the maids’ privy, a tiny building set tastefully apart from the rest of the house, reached by way of a narrow corridor and a flight of steps. Once inside the windowless room, she shut the door and offered a brief, silent prayer. Then, her stomach churning with disgust at what she must do, she hiked up her skirts and tied them around her waist so they wouldn’t get in her way. If only she had her shoes! But it was better to escape barefoot than not at all. Steeling herself, she knelt before the privy slot.

Despite frequent cleaning and the liberal use of fragrant herbs, the wide slot emitted a strong odor of feces and urine. O-hisa, peering into the dim compartment below the privy’s raised floor, could see the partially full catch basin. She fought nausea as she sat down and gingerly lowered her legs into the slot.

The space between the slot and the floor of the compartment was less than her own height. Arms braced against the rim of the slot, O-hisa held her breath as she felt with her toe for the basin. She found it, then swung backward as she dropped, to avoid stepping in it. But she misjudged. When she landed, her foot struck and tipped the basin. Warm, slimy filth splattered her legs and drenched her socks. At the same time, her need for air forced her to breathe. The stench assailed her, and she retched. Crouching in the cramped, fetid compartment, she clapped a hand over her mouth, praying that O-aki hadn’t heard and wouldn’t open the door. The darkness disoriented her. Where was the hatch that the servants used to remove and clean the basin?

Her groping hands found the small trap door and pushed it open. Sickness and panic overcame caution, and she squeezed through it without remembering to make sure no one was watching. Free! She lay on the ground for a moment and gulped the clean, fresh air with relief. Then she struggled to her feet, letting down her kimono as she ran. Fear weakened her muscles and made her heart flutter in her chest. But O-hisa found strength and courage in the thought of her mother and grandmother. After she and Sano had seen the Council of Elders, she would go home for good. She would never return to the Nius.

Each of the mansion’s many wings held potential dangers. O-hisa avoided the busy women’s quarters and kitchens. Instead she scurried through the gate leading to the vacant men’s apartments, where the daimyo, his elder sons, and their closest advisers lived when they were in Edo. There she would be safe from young Lord Niu, who had rooms in a separate wing, and from the watchful eyes of the servants.

She paused to get her bearings. She’d never been in this part of the yashiki before, and the unfamiliar complex of shuttered buildings and deserted gardens confused her. Which way to the back gate?

O-hisa struck off in a likely direction. She had no time to lose. At any moment O-aki would open the privy