looked at him as if he’d just explained that water was wet.
“I want to know your impression of him.”
“Short. Frail. Slow.”
“Hm. I have the sneaking suspicion that you’re being less than honest. It’s almost as if you feel loyalty to the boy. But that couldn’t possibly be true, could it? You’re a mercenary—a shinobi of the Wind, no less. Your only loyalty is to clan and coin. Isn’t it?”
“Obvious.”
Shichio found it creepy that the man never seemed to blink. Rather than lock stares with him, the lord of House Kumanai smoothed his robe, reached for an ornately carved box of genuine Ming jade, and withdrew a golden ryo. The oblong coin held the oil lamp’s reflection, producing the illusion that it radiated orange heat from within. “Clan and coin,” he repeated. “So if you knew just how the whelp commandeered my ketch, or how he managed to run my blockade, or how he vanquished two full platoons, you’d be obligated to tell me—at least so long as I keep doling out the coins, neh?” With that he flicked the coin directly into the shinobi’s hirsute chest.
It struck with a padded thump and fell impotently to the tatami. His guest paid his antics no mind. I’ll throw the next one at your eye, Shichio thought. Maybe that will make you blink.
Summoning the last of his patience, he said, “You will tell me everything you know of the Bear Cub. I want to know how he thinks. Where does he go when he vanishes from the highways? How does he pass through towns and checkpoints unseen? Has he been stealing food or paying for it? Where does he sleep? How does he hide that limp of his, or that remarkable sword? You know his tricks; I would have you betray every one of them.”
* * *
By the time the shinobi was finished, the sun had long since risen and Shichio had twice waved away the maids bringing breakfast. Wada-sensei had gone, so Shichio would learn no more kenjutsu today. But that was of no concern; he’d discovered so much about the Bear Cub that his mind could scarcely hold anything else.
The whelp could no longer hide from him. Shichio knew his every secret. He would pass them along to his bear hunters, and from there it was just a matter of waiting. “Tell me one more thing,” he said. “Do you know what the boy has in store for me?”
“He means to kill you.”
“How? When?”
“Unknown.”
Shichio snorted and huffed. “You don’t know, or the Wind doesn’t know?”
“There is no place the Wind cannot reach.”
“That’s not—” He cut himself short. “So your masters do know. Why will you not tell me? Is it a matter of payment?” He seized the heavy jade box and slid it over to the shinobi with a mighty shove. “Tell me, damn you. Tell me what you know of the whelp’s plans to kill me.”
His guest pushed the box back toward him with a single iron-hard finger. “I know nothing.”
“Who, then? Who must I pay?”
Was that pity in the shinobi’s eyes, or merely contempt? Neither, Shichio thought; this one is incapable of human emotion. “Suit yourself,” he said. “Tell me this, at least: does the Wind track his movements?”
“There is no place—”
“Yes, yes, enough of that. Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
“But you could find out?”
“Stupid question.”
Shichio shoved the coin chest back toward him. “I want his head. Name your price.”
“I cannot kill him.”
“What? Why not?”
“Reasons are irrelevant. Concern yourself with facts.”
Shichio tossed the desk aside, scooted forward, and slid the chest far enough that it struck the shinobi in the knees. “Is he paying you? I’ll double it.”
“No.”
“Triple, then.”
A grumbling, growling sound welled up from deep within the shinobi’s chest. “You are worse than the boy. You do not hear. You do not think. You have the patience of a squalling infant.”
Furious, Shichio backhanded the man—or tried to. An instant later Shichio was on the floor, tasting the tatami. His wrist was a ball of stabbing, ice-cold pain. The bones in his hand ground against each other like teeth gnawing on rocks. Some abstract part of his mind understood the shinobi had him in a wristlock, but what Shichio felt in the moment was an angry bear chewing on his hand.
Release me, he attempted to say, but what came out was, “Reeessssssssss—”
“No,” said the shinobi.
“I am the master of this house,” Shichio whispered through gritted teeth. It all gushed out as a single sibilant word. “I can have