~~~

‘Of course, they were not okay, they were dead. And those seven lunatics were hovering on the cusp of it, so now we’re going to have the Owari narrators, battle chroniclers, propagandists giving them all the credit, when, as I told you earlier, all those seven opportunists did was stride forward accidentally, at the same moment that the bodyguards of my second and fifth generals were bending down, fixing their superiors’ zori, and…I told you, didn’t I? I saw it myself, with my own eyes, from two hundred yards away…strikes weren’t even clean, more like that of a blind woodsman…after his woodswoman has just left him…for an elderly beggar with no legs.’

Lord Imagawa paused, tapping his concubine’s hair pin on the low-lying table, eyes fixed on the flickering okiandon by the open window panel.

‘An edit, daimyō?’ asked the man kneeling beside him, a sheet of rice paper and a brush in both hands, plus a messy-looking inking stone balanced perilously close to the edge of the same table.

‘Leave that last line, I like it. Did you get all the rest?’

‘The main bulk of the narrative, yes.’

‘Good. Now, where was I? Blind woodsman, the seven frauds…yes, I remember that part very well, saw it directly from the slope. Which I may add, was a poor starting position and one I argued against vehemently, yet, you know Uncle Uji, always has to be in charge of initial troop set-up. Wah, I blame myself to some extent. Keeping things the same out of respect for the old man’s feelings, letting my own judgment be overruled…leading to this ridiculous stalemate that the Owari are already claiming is a firm defeat on our side when it is nothing of the sort…I’m still here, aren’t I? Fail to catch the big koi and you win nothing. Second and fifth ranking generals, okay, accepted, but that wasn’t any kind of tactical acumen on their part. People must be made aware of that fact, otherwise those seven frauds will become like…like golden bears…with hugely unrealistic katana skills and-…they’re already re-writing my first victory…those devious Later Hōjō Clan scholars and their lying brushes…pretending that it was inclement weather that forced them to turn back and not my superior-…wah, a knock at the door, it’s about time. Where the hell have those two been? Sado Island?’

Strangely, the question wasn’t directed at the door panel that was being slid open by the bodyguard outside, but the two concubines on the futon, one male, one female, both young, both having olive green cream smeared over their necks and faces by two silent attendants.

Neither of them answered Lord Imagawa, though the female concubine did flinch when she saw Tadachika stumble in, followed quickly by a piercing glare as Atta Noe glided serenely in after him.

‘What’s going on, were you two asleep?’ boomed Imagawa, his voice a shaky clone of an older daimyō’s bark, possibly his own father’s. Or one of those ancient warlords with far grander achievements and a mythically heroic death.

‘Strolling outside,’ replied Tadachika, moving straight to the wall on the left, leaning one hand against it to steady himself, then pretending to study the painting of a stone garden.

‘Together?’

‘No, no, no. No. I’m-…definitely not. It was by the cliff…not together.’

Imagawa squinted at the Sakai daimyō, who was only a couple of years younger than himself, and then switched to Atta Noe. ‘And your version?’

‘I was in my chamber, daimyō. Alone. Staring at the salt sacks in the passageway outside.’

Tadachika laughed, turning it quickly into a loud cough.

‘Really. You weren’t in bed together?’

‘Us?’

‘I do not have use for a bed,’ replied Atta Noe, her eyes drifting over to the two concubines on the futon, now having their hair clipped.

Sacrifice, she thought, detaching from the scene for a moment. The victims willingly offering their bodies for this…human child’s pleasure.

But no emotion to it. No joy. No fear. Just pure, ant servitude.

What a pathetic sight…

‘Ah, I forgot about that.’ continued Lord Imagawa, switching the hair pin to his other hand and hitting against the chronicler’s foot with it. ‘Must be the form you take, very distracting. Ethereal almost. Tell me, is your box ready to be moved? I have a chamber adjacent to this one that has been cleared for you.’

‘That is appreciated,’ Atta Noe answered, mentally coming back to the table, one eye on the very tired-looking man prodding a brush on the rice paper. ‘Are you dictating a journal?’

‘Yes, yes, that. A war campaign, the recent stalemate. A counterweight to the inevitable lies of the Owari. Now, the room next door, it is not as large or as decorative as this one, but it does have a similar view. Very pleasant for moon watching. I think you’ll enjoy it very much.’

‘Thank you, daimyō.’

‘And it will, of course, give us an excellent chance to spend more time together, to talk of war and love, life and poetry, sea and magical realism.’

‘Hope you like your arms,’ mumbled Tadachika to the painting that his nose was almost poking a hole in, adding a chuckle at the end. Then saying kuso when his head started to stab daggers at its interior again.

‘Tadachika, stop fondling that wall and get over here. I have news for you both.’

‘On my way…’ he slurred, straightening up and wincing as his head carried on with the banging, his legs somehow taking him over to Atta Noe and then, without any warning, calling it a night. The sudden loss of control sent him left, wobbling, then a sharp right to compensate, with both movements so erratic that he had no choice but to reach out a hand and clamp it on Atta Noe’s shoulder for support.

‘Nice yukata,’ he said, trying and failing to make it seem like a natural act, and quickly getting his reward as the demon’s eyes sparked bright purple and her own hands pushed him back towards the wall.

Unfortunately, the chronicler’s leg was in the way, the cap of his knee tripping the young Sakai daimyō and leading him down onto the futon. Into the female concubine’s lap, to be more precise.

‘Gods in Saitama,’ cried Imagawa, stabbing the blunt end of the hair pin into the tatami. ‘I’ve been prepping those two for an hour, their yukatas, their skin. Get off them, off there, before you ruin everything…’

Lifting his head up, Tadachika put one hand on the female concubine’s neck, and the other on the male concubine’s crotch, and pulled himself up. Then rolled off the futon and back over to the table, giving the chronicler’s knee a sly kick as he went.

‘I’ll remember that,’ the Sakai lord whispered, putting his face against the back of Atta Noe’s hair. ‘You beautiful, insane witch.’

In response, the purple demon did nothing.

Let him hang himself, she thought, watching the chronicler rub his kneecap, the two concubines rub nothing, and the other child daimyō stab what was probably his mother’s hair pin repeatedly into the floor.

‘Stop sniffing her hair, you clumsy dolt, and sit down. Both of you.’

‘Of course, Imagawa.’

‘That’ll be daimyō, or Lord Imagawa, if your shōchū-addled brain can remember titles. Now, lower yourself quickly, before my two concubines fall asleep.’

‘It is a very late hour to call on us,’ said Atta Noe, letting her legs disassemble into purple mist and then reform again in a sitting position on the tatami by the table.

‘Clearly, but this matter could not wait.’

‘What matter would that be?’

‘Another banquet?’ asked Tadachika, starting with a straight face then quickly losing it when his drunken brain showed him a re-run of Yoshihiro with his arm sliced off.

‘What the king of hell is wrong with you? Have you never drunk shōchū before? Control yourself.’

Tadachika nodded, cough-laughing his way back to normalcy. ‘Old memory,’ he muttered as a half explanation.

‘Well, I hope it’s not a habit, as I’m going to need you at your freshest next week. When you lead my revenge campaign into Owari Province.’

The chronicler stopped rubbing his knee, both concubines flinched, Tadachika ran back over the words that had just reached his brain, and Atta Noe stared down at the notes for the last campaign.

Fail to catch the big koi and you win nothing.

‘I can see by the stoic expressions on your faces that you’re intrigued, so let me go on. Next week, with the Sakai clan leading the way, my forces will march the coastal route back into Owari territory and take the most fortified castle outside of their home roost. Atta Noe, with her experience and aggressive attitude, will advise the young Sakai tadpole here. In fact, I am relieving my uncle Ujiteru of his duties and putting you in sole charge of campaign strategy. What do you say, Sakai, Noe? Speak.’

Despite the direct command, Atta Noe took a moment to breathe an unnecessary breath, waiting for Tadachika to stumble in first. And he did not disappoint.

‘Is this a joke?’

‘Is this a joke, daimyō. No, it is not. You have one week to prepare your soldiers for the assault.’

‘One week?’

‘I assume your forces are kept in optimum condition at all times, like most other clans. Therefore, one week is more than enough time.’

Lord Imagawa coughed, then reached out with the hair pin, poking the chronicler on his writing arm. ‘No need to record this part. Yet.’

The exhausted man stared back, his brush dropping on to the table, until finally, his yawn had been quelled and he was able to eke out a faint, ‘yes, daimyō.’

‘One week…’ Tadachika repeated, this time to the palm of Atta Noe’s hand as the demon herself cleared her throat to speak.

‘You have just returned from a…disappointing campaign…a stalemate in Owari Province, daimyō. Is it wise to attack again so soon?’

‘Ah, Noe…you do deliver doubt in a soothing voice. I appreciate that. But the truth is, I can’t sleep. The last few nights, coming back here after my uncle did his-…started with an odd formation. It aggravates me. Knowing what the Owari will be saying about it, the things I’ve already heard from spies. Losing…with a stalemate…when I should’ve won.’

‘As the defensive force, they will have seen your retreat as a victory. And their forces will have confidence because of it.’

The hair pin slammed point-first into the table, missing the chronicler’s hand by less than an inch. ‘Exactly. And because of that confidence…that arrogance…a swift return will be the last thing they expect.’

‘Not the last thing…’ said Tadachika, glancing at Atta Noe and gesturing with drunken eyes at his arm socket.

Stupid child, she thought reflexively, but that was only one part of her brain, and another more playful cortex was picturing the drunken fool in her chambers, staring at his own arm on the tatami, blood dripping out from the wound and…before she could put a leash on it, a laugh sneaked out.

Coupled with a smirk.

Which would have set off Tadachika too, if his head hadn’t started banging on the inside of his skull again.

‘One week…’ he mumbled, trying to keep it all in.

‘A single week,’ echoed Atta Noe, killing her own laugh dead.

Imagawa glared at them both, twisting the hair pin deeper into the table surface. ‘I have no idea what’s going on with you two…but you better get it out of your system fast. Failure…a second failure…will not be tolerated.’

‘Of course not, daimyō.’

Tadachika mouthed the same words, eyes on the hair pin. ‘Might be easier to avoid if we have a month before we-…’

‘One week. No debate. Training begins tomorrow morning at seven.’

‘Tomorrow…the next day tomorrow?’

‘In five hours.’

‘That is not ideal,’ said Atta Noe, face like a kabuki mask again. ‘I need at least six hours inside my box to recuperate from my-…from the activities of this night.’

‘Well, you’ll have to make do with five.’ Lord Imagawa took out the hair pin from the table and looked over at the two concubines, who were now almost doll-like in appearance and, judging by the bows of the attendants, ready to be serviced. ‘You can get seven hours tomorrow night to make up for it.’

‘Apologies, but that is still not ideal, daimyō.’

‘Well, it’s what I’ve already said. Accept it. And you, Tadachika…no hangover. I want you both fresh as a mountain spring. Understand?’

Atta Noe didn’t nod or bow, and neither did Tadachika. Instead, they both looked down at the tatami, at the daimyō’s tiny feet hidden under the table, then at the concubines on the futon, both the boy and the girl dressed up so tight in their ceremonial yukatas that it looked like they may suffocate before the actual fucking began.

‘You are both dismissed,’ said Lord Imagawa, pointing towards the open door panel, his yukata already peeled off one shoulder.