Siinji - Or, Ankūro and the City of the Golden Boughs

12

12

Hard to hide oneself,
When looked at so directly,
By inquiring eyes.
- Momiji.

Tuccé twisted and rolled his shoulders, adjusting the hang of the male version of the formal Nakura dress, the Nikima. He felt ridiculous and he knew it didn't suit him at all. Loaned to him by one of Misuka's sons, or one of her grandsons, the landlady had scowled at his protests, telling him that visiting a noble dressed in rags was the most dire of insults.

He felt a little less alone as he noted White Eye's obvious discomfort. The landlady had loaned the old woman one of her own dresses, swiftly adjusted for the old woman's lack of height, and had taken great amusement in dressing White Eye, against her regular grunts and fidgeting.

Once they had reached the noble's house, led through several corridors by an armed guard, Tuccé's discomfort melted away as he laid eyes upon the noble. Kōshitō-Nē was, Tuccé had to admit, not at all what he had expected. The corpulent, decadent person that Tuccé imagined was something, someone, altogether different.

Tall, willowy, with deep black hair fashioned into an intricate style, high upon the head, fastened by the most delicate carved bone hair sticks, Kōshitō caught both Tuccé's breath and his attention. Wearing make-up that paled her skin, Kōshitō appeared like a vision before Tuccé's eyes. A woman so beautiful, it made Tuccé's heart ache.

"A pleasure to see you again, Yurivno-Sē. And, I see, you are accompanied." Kōshitō gave each of them a bow, saving the deepest for Yurivno, but not as deep as most bows Tuccé had seen. "Welcome to my humble home. Please, sit and have Ka with me."

Pleasantries followed and Tuccé found himself enraptured by Kōshitō's grace and formality. He drank the bitter Ka without a single grimace and he tried his best to join in the innocent conversations without appearing like a stupid Gochin. Kōshitō, however, had eyes only for Yurivno and, strangely, White Eye.

The old woman sat to the side, in silence, and Tuccé could see her resisting the urge to make her usual scratches of various body parts. She appeared, and this surprised Tuccé more than anything, humbled in the presence of the beautiful noble, diminishing under the gaze of Kōshitō, as though wishing to clamber into the shadows in the corners of the room.

"Your hospitality is legendary, Kōshitō-Nē, but I never expected such a welcome for someone like myself." The Kannai had fallen in to the polite fashion of speech endemic to the entire island. Self-deprecating to a fault. "I can only imagine how you greet guests of a higher station."

"Today, there is no station. And, please, let us dispense with honorifics, Yurivno." Using both hands to place her cup to the side, Kōshitō held herself in a kneeling position that Tuccé could only describe as a stiff, relaxed fashion. She drew a closed fan from the sleeve of her dress and held it on her lap, her thin, delicate fingers resting upon it. "And now the formalities are out of the way, we can speak of business. So?"

It seemed clear that Kōshitō's main focus of attention rested upon Yurivno, yet Tuccé could see the noble's eyes float aside, every-so-often, to pass across White Eye, before returning to Yurivno. The old woman, for her part, sat as slumped as the formal kneeling position allowed, her hand making occasional moves towards her gnarled walking stick, laid beside her.

"Ah, yes, business!" Feeling left out, Tuccé leaned forward, trying to catch Kōshitō's eyes. "It would be our absolute pleasure if such a beautiful lady, as yourself, would allow us access to the catacombs beneath your exquisite home. I think I speak for everyone when I say it would be our honour to explore the ancient structure."

The fan snapped open and began wafting in front of Kōshitō's chest. She turned her eyes to him and Tuccé had never felt so cold in his entire life. He had spent many a night, beneath the stars in the vast stretches of the Shivering Desert, where temperatures tumbled once the Sun set. He had shivered and almost died from that chill, but it felt not nearly as cold as that unblinking gaze.