advantage: the ability to parry. That was no easy skill, Wada-sensei insisted. It was so hard to tell the difference between a feint and a genuine attack, and trying to block a feint was exactly what the opponent wanted. Wada preferred to teach counterstriking instead, but the mask gave Shichio preternatural awareness of what his enemy’s sword would do.
Wada chopped lazily at Shichio’s shoulder with his bokken. Steel rang against white oak. Shichio brought his katana back to center. Another chop, faster this time, and again Shichio recovered. A third strike and a fourth, strong enough to rattle Shichio’s shoulders in their sockets, and again he brought his katana back to the sword master’s throat. “Better!” said Wada. “Did you feel it that time? Strong spirit and strong form. They’ll carry you through against anyone who isn’t trained.”
But the whelp is trained, Shichio thought. And he comes for me; I must be ready.
He lowered his weapon and stepped away. “Let’s take a rest.”
“Shichio-sama, we’ve only just begun—”
“I said we’ll rest. Oh, and call me Lord Kumanai henceforth. I’ve finally settled on a surname.”
“Yes, Kumanai-dono.”
Wada kneeled, bowed, and stayed low until his lord and master left the dojo. Shichio stepped out onto the veranda, away from the smells of tatami fiber and sweat, into the cool predawn air. His new estate sprawled before him. House Urakami was every bit as wealthy as Nene had promised, if wealth could be measured in mosquitoes. The village of Kanagawa-juku was a festering swamp. At least the Urakamis had the presence of mind to build on a hill, but that protected the manor from flooding, not from the heat. The only respite came early in the morning and late at night, hence Shichio’s training sessions at this ungodly hour.
House Urakami no longer, he thought. This was House Kumanai now. He was quite pleased with the name he’d chosen for himself. Kuma, meaning “bear,” was the second character in the name Okuma. Nai was the ancient reading of mu, the Buddhist doctrine of absolute negation. Thus kuma-nai meant “no bears,” and with just a touch of poetic license, “no Okumas.” Shichio meant to make good on his name and hunt House Okuma to extinction.
It was a pleasant meditation to begin the day, but now his sweat began to distract him. Beads of it gathered on his scalp and trickled into his eye. Once again he missed his hair. Damn that woman, he thought. Damn this topknot, damn these swords, damn Hashiba for giving them to me—but above all, damn that woman for making him do it.
He wondered if there was some way he could talk Hashiba into fucking his wife. It was a ridiculous thought. No man ought to need convincing. Nene was comely enough—past her prime, to be sure, but Hashiba was too. Not that he’d lost his libido. His taste for women was a match for any teenager’s. So why not bed this one?
How many of Shichio’s woes would disappear if only Nene behaved like a proper wife? If her only problem with Shichio was jealousy, Hashiba could have laughed it off. I’m the regent, he could say; I’ll stick my cock wherever I like. It would be so easy to convince him of that. Just saying it aloud would make him feel powerful. But Nene didn’t care where he spent his nights. Her love for him was a sisterly concern for his well-being, not a catty, possessive need. Hashiba had to take her seriously.
“General Shichio?”
It wasn’t Wada-sensei’s voice. Shichio turned around to see his adjutant, Jun, the only one of his original servants he’d been allowed to keep when he took up residence in House Urakami’s compound. All the rest of his attendants were still in Kyoto, absorbed into the Jurakudai’s staff. Jun was as meek as a feather on the wind and weighed little more. The man was so skinny he threatened to slip between the floorboards. He huddled over his knees, a portrait of obsequiousness, his forehead and palms pressed to the veranda.
“It’s Lord Kumanai now. Or General Kumanai, if that’s easier for you to remember.”
“Very good, sir. General Kumanai?”
“Yes, Jun?”
“You have a visitor.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir. Waiting for you.”
“Yes, I gathered that, since as you can see”—he stretched his empty palms at the equally empty surroundings—“there is no visitor standing next to me. Perhaps you’d like to tell me where this person is?”
“In your study, sir.” Jun bowed so low he seemed to shrink.
“You might also consider telling me his name, Jun.”