Yatagarasu Series
Volume 10:
The Raven's Autumn Full Moon
Author: Abe Chisato
Part 1:Tawara no Jō
Wood block prints depicting various scenes were scattered across the floor. The splashes of color were like the discarded kimonos of courtesans in the city’s pleasure district, gaudy and bright. The scene of a brawl in the pleasure quarter lay beside a serene depiction of the interior of a clock tower. A pastoral picture of commoners pounding rice cakes into shape half-obscured a painting of a religious ritual. The themes of the pictures closely matched the subjects of gossip that were common in the city that year.
Tawara no Jō picked his way over the cluttered floor with exceptional care. People often said that a name was reflected in the body, and that was certainly true of him. He had a rounded figure and was very short and squat. Once a passing child had shouted that he had a face like a toad’s. Tawara no Jō was fully aware that no one would ever call him handsome.
In a bizarre turn of events, a group of well-dressed merchants all had their eyes on him this year, their eyes as wide as saucers.
Suddenly, Tawara no Jō stopped before one of the pictures. He bent down and picked it up. It showed a group of Yamauchishu with their red-corded swords drawn. He picked up the picture and brought it close to a window, into the light.
“This one’s no good,” Tawara no Jō muttered as he looked the picture up and down.
The men behind him sighed in disappointment.
“No good? But it’s the artist’s best work,” one man complained.
Tawara no Jō flicked the picture in his hand. “I think it’s good; that’s the problem. It’s a little too good. We can’t print it.”
Spread across the wooden floor were preliminary sketches for glitter prints.
Glitter prints were a kind of woodblock print that had gained popularity in the city this year. The printing technique itself had come to Yamauchi from the human world, as most new technology did, and for a time the nobility kept it to themselves. But techniques like that rarely stayed contained. As forgers learned to copy an artist’s hand, the most beautiful prints earned fame and reputation that far outshone their shady or humble origins.
The major shops of the city all sold glitter prints and used them to promote their other products. A new fabric pattern might be slipped into a print of a famous courtesan. A particular hair ornament worn by the city’s reigning beauty might be advertised in the print itself. Glitter prints manufactured trends as easy as anything.
Glitter prints had started to take off because of common forgers, but the Imperial Court had started cracking down on them lately. Everything printed now required the Imperial Court’s seal of approval. Anything printed without it was contraband, and the publisher, regardless of how good the print might be, would pay for violating the law.
There was no profit in spending the labor to carve an entire set of wood print blocks only to have the finished print be confiscated, so publishers wanted to know in advance how something would be judged. They’d petitioned to have drafts checked before publication. It was a thankless job that no one wanted, so the role of checking these prints eventually fell upon Tawara no Jō, who was too poor and too low-ranked to refuse.
Tawara no Jō held a post in the Bureau of Books within the Imperial Scriptorium. Before he started checking prints, his days were occupied with looking after old books and paintings submitted to the palace. His primary job there was to ensure that no harm came to the texts and paintings in his care. It was a lonely post. Bookworms were his only friends, but he was generally well-regarded.
Tawara no Jō hadn’t minded that existence. He’d been born a commoner in the provinces. Out there, he’d have been lucky to see a single glitter print per year. When he was assigned to the Imperial Scriptorium, he was slightly disappointed, but then he saw the sheer volume of books that the Imperial Scriptorium contained. His disappointment had changed to joy in a moment. He could live forever and never run out of books to read and paintings to look at.
More than ten years had passed since then. He no longer thought of bookworms as his friends—they’d become his mortal enemies. There was no chance of earning glory in his post, but there was little chance that there would be some terrible disaster, either. He’d lived peacefully until the task of checking new prints was appointed to him.
Tawara no Jō had fumbled through it at first. No one had even known how to check the prints for publication; he’d had to create a process for it himself. Now everyone knew that they had to bring new prints to him to review in specific locations, and the checking itself had become routine.
He walked the rejected print over to a crestfallen man. “Orders from above. It’s no good if anyone can tell who it’s supposed to be. You know the rules. I’m sorry.”
“Not at all, sir,” the shop owner said. “Better to hear it now than after we’ve printed a hundred of them.”
“That’s good of you to say,” Tawara no Jō said.
The prints that the Imperial Court cared most about were ones that criticized the government, encouraged loose morals, or depicted real nobles. That last category had its own name—unjō-e, heavenly prints. The nobles in them were all supposed to be fictional. In practice, half of them were based on someone real, which was a problem.
There’d been a time when changing a real person’s name slightly had been enough to get a print past the censors. Not anymore. Now anything too obvious got rejected outright, regardless of the name of the print. A fair amount of resentment came Tawara no Jō’s way due to the sudden changes in printing practices. Tawara no Jō always expected trouble to come his way because of his experiences with so many bitter print makers.
Another publisher leaned over the rejected sketch. “It really is a fine piece, though. No question.”
“That’s exactly why it’s been rejected. Funny how that works.”
“The Yamauchishu are so popular right now, so naturally a print of them should look as realistic as possible.”
“They should draw someone else’s face over the real ones if they really want it to be published.”
“Fair point. The Yamauchishu are quite stylishly rendered. It’s a great pity that this one won’t be published.”
Tawara no Jō agreed, and that opened the door to twenty minutes of negotiation over exactly how much of a jawline had to be changed to get the print past the censors. They found a compromise eventually.
Then one of the shopkeepers groaned. “If it’s this much trouble to depict the Yamauchishu, it’s going to be even worse to try to make prints of the duchesses of the Four Families.”
Tawara no Jō laughed. “No, you’ll have far less trouble with that. Nobody’s ever actually seen the duchesses. You’re safe.”
The Rite of Ascension was about to begin in the Imperial Court. Each of the Four Families would send their duchess to Sakura Palace to compete to marry Emperor Nagihiko. Ordinarily, Nagihiko would have done this when he was the Crown Prince, but he’d become the emperor when he was still too young to wed. His attendants and loyal servants were eager to see him marry as soon as possible.
Every print maker in the city had published likenesses of the duchesses of the Four Families already, each trying to outdo every other print maker. None of the prints even remotely resembled the actual duchesses.
The publishers in the room became excited when Tawara no Jō told them that they’d have more creative freedom depicting the duchesses. The Rite of Ascension was attracting a lot of attention this year, even from commoners. They wanted to know exactly how much leeway they’d be given in their depictions of nobility.
“Anyway… Just don’t make them look like courtesans,” Tawara no Jō said.
“Of course not. These are pictures of nobility! We don’t want to ruin the appeal of them by making them so tawdry and tasteless,” one publisher said.
“Tawara no Jō, have you ever seen the duchesses of the Four Families?” another publisher asked.
Tawara no Jō sighed heavily. “Of course not. Unless you’re family or His Imperial Majesty himself, you’ll never get an audience with them.”
“Such a shame,” the first publisher said. “Even just a glimpse of them would be magical.”
“No, no—it’s better if no one ever sees the real duchesses,” a publisher standing near the back of the room said. “Besides, what if they’re actually ugly in real life? Imagine the disappointment.”
“So we’re meant to imagine them all as peerless beauties from a dream?”
“From what I’ve heard, the duchesses at the last Rite of Ascension were all exceptionally beautiful.”
“That’s the kind of rumor that spreads no matter what they actually looked like,” Tawara no Jō said.
The publisher shook his head. “In this case, the rumors were true. I’ve seen Masuho no Susuki of Saike before.”
That got a reaction from the crowd. Several publishers wanted to know where this man had gotten the chance to see Masuho no Susuki. Over half the publishers in the room thought that he was lying.
“But she wasn’t chosen, was she?” a publisher asked.
That was true. Masuho no Susuki hadn’t been selected as Emperor Nazukihiko’s bride. She’d stayed in the Imperial Palace as Empress Hamayū’s personal attendant for many years. After the great war with the Kuisaru, she married Emperor Nazukihiko’s personal guard, Sumio, a war veteran with severe injuries. Afterward, she’d founded a hospital for the poor and the sick. She still worked there herself and was famous as a philanthropist.
“She must have been a real beauty in her day,” the man who claimed that he’d seen Masuho no Susuki said. “Speaking of which, I hear her daughter’s serving in the Imperial Court now. As a rakujō, of all things.”
Tawara no Jō was startled to hear this rumor.
A rakujō was a woman who gave up her legal status as a woman in exchange for permission to live as a man. In ancient times, the practice of creating rakujō had started when the men of a family were wiped out by war or disease so that a woman could continue her family line.
These days, women became rakujō primarily so that they would be permitted to work in the imperial government. Only men could hold official roles in the Imperial Court. Rakujō counted as men, so they were allowed to become government officials. They’d never been common. A noble lady from one of the Four Families becoming one was practically a scandal.
“And I hear she’s a beauty too, just like her mother.”
“They say the first time she came to the Imperial Court, the whole room went quiet and stared at her.”
“I even heard someone call her the Rakujō Enchantress.’”
Every man in the room turned to look at Tawara no Jō.
“Is any of that true, Tawara no Jō?” one publisher asked.
“No one has nicknamed the lady the Rakujō Enchantress,” Tawara no Jō said firmly. “It is true that Duchess Masuho no Susuki’s daughter has become a rakujō. You shouldn’t spread silly rumors about nicknames. You know how touchy the nobles can be.”
The publishers—none of them young men—complained at the same time.
“Oh, come on, what’s the harm in a little embellishment?”
“A beautiful woman dressed as a man—that’s a print that sells itself!”
“And unlike the duchesses, we might be able to see her in person!”
“Couldn’t you arrange an audience with her? Just a peek?”
Tawara no Jō put on his most threatening face. “Cut it out. She’s not a sideshow attraction. Rakujō or not, she was born a duchess. If something goes wrong, we won’t be the only ones who are punished for it.”
“So that’s a no, then.”
The publishers all sighed together.
“Would’ve made a great print, though,” one of them muttered.
Idiots, the lot of them, Tawara no Jō thought, not for the first time. This isn’t a fairy tale.
***
Leaving the publishers to their gossip, Tawara no Jō walked back to the street where he’d left his horse near the Central Gate.
The city was always so lively during the day. Banners advertised shows outside of theaters. Hawkers called out to the crowd, displaying their dubious merchandise. Acrobats turned cartwheels and collected coins that people tossed at their feet. Flute players and drummers were playing somewhere, but Tawara no Jō couldn’t see them.
It was early spring, so the flower sellers were out in force selling bouquets that had been picked that morning. Greengrocers showed off their best greens and potatoes. Candy stores, pharmacies, drapers, and bathhouses lined the prosperous street. Wealthier merchants had set up shop a few streets further down; they specialized in importing goods from the human world, including raw cotton that was sold by the cartload.
The city was a trade hub for all of the provinces. There were people who said that you could find anything worth having in the city somewhere. That was more true this year than it had ever been. Tawara no Jō remembered that there was a time when the Yatagarasu had little contact with the human world. Yamauchi’s newfound prosperity came primarily from their new trading partners.
The Yellow Raven had decided to open Yamauchi’s gates to human world trade. He’d once been the trusted personal attendant of the late Emperor Nazukihiko. In the upheaval that followed the emperor’s death, he’d become the real power behind the imperial throne. He’d thrown himself into the work of governance with a zeal nobody had expected from a trained swordsman and military strategist. He protected artisans who kept old traditions alive and created new posts for chronically underemployed musicians. Under his leadership, art and culture became tools of the Imperial Court.
A single command from the Yellow Raven had changed printing—once left entirely to poor commoners—into a government enterprise. Imperial proclamations, once nailed to wooden boards and left to weather, now came printed as broadsheets that were distributed widely on the street. Even the teaching texts for temple schools were printed by the Imperial Court now and handed out for free.
Most people would say that Yamauchi was modernizing and making many things more convenient. Tawara no Jō resented the Yellow Raven’s power because his proclamation had saddled him with the company of complaining publishers for the remainder of his days.
Also, with printing being so popular and cheap now, Tawara no Jō’s work never ended. There was to be a new play soon about the upcoming Rite of Ascension. Several shops were already printing advertisements for it. His superiors would certainly want him to check those prints twice.
***
When Tawara no Jō returned to the Imperial Court, he found a crowd gathered in front of the Imperial Scriptorium.
Flattery poured toward a beautiful young woman from a dozen officials at once. She turned it all aside with a light laugh. There was color in her cheeks. Her hair was glossy and as black as jet. It used to be long enough to nearly brush her feet when kept loose, but now it was chopped short. A few strands tickled the nape of her neck. She wore the pale blue uniform typical of Iow-ranked Imperial Court attendants. That same color was often worn by commoners who just barely passed the civil service examination. Wealthy noble families sent their children to the Imperial Court decked out in full ceremonial garb. Low-ranked nobles provided their children with practical clothing that was well-made; they weren’t entitled to step foot in the Imperial Hall, so it made no sense for them to put on airs.
The common blue imperial court uniform commanded no one’s respect. It was the clothing of poor officials who had no other wardrobe choices.
Somehow, the young woman made that detested imperial court uniform look like the height of fashion. One of her admirers said as much, a little too enthusiastically.
The young woman batted her eyelashes and smiled. Then her gaze landed on Tawara no Jō. She bowed.
“Tawara no Jō!”
He didn’t even have time to flinch before she’d crossed the distance between them, light on her feet.
“You met with the publishers today, right? I begged you to take me along. Why didn’t you?” she asked. She sounded like a sulking child.
“Uh, well…”
The men around Tawara no Jō gave him envious glares that he did his best to ignore. He’d have traded places with any of them in a heartbeat.
This girl—nicknamed the Imperial Capital’s Rakujō—treated him like they’d been joined at the hip. There was no way for him to escape from her for long. He didn’t feel lucky or worthy of envy. He felt like he’d been cursed.
***
The Imperial Capital’s Rakujō was named Sumio.
The claim that all sound stopped when she entered a room was nonsense. Her presence invited whispers and gossip. Some admired her. Some were terrified of her. Some were simply dazzled by her presence. She bore an uncanny resemblance to the previous true Golden Raven, Emperor Nazukihiko.
It wasn’t strange for Sumio to resemble the former emperor so much. Her mother and Emperor Nazukihiko were first cousins, so some family resemblance was to be expected. But Masuho no Susuki had been Empress Hamayū’s personal attendant for many years before marrying her husband. There were rumors that her daughter was actually Emperor Nazukihiko’s child.
It was remarkable that a rakujō wanted to serve as a government official at all, but Sumio had gone further. She’d refused to make use of the shadow rank system to assign herself a better role. She was determined to earn her place on sheer merit.
When the Yellow Raven himself had asked her why, she had said, “Because I am a woman. Yamauchi is not an easy place for women to live. I have heard that you, Lord Sessai, wish to make things better. I am confident that I can help with that.”
Officials who passed the civil service examination but had no sponsor or set role became floating staff. They were couriers and errand runners for the most part, and in this capacity they learned the functions of the Imperial Court and its general locations. Sumio followed precedent and became an errand runner. Unlike her common-born compatriots, the Lord of Saike had escorted her to various ministries and offices on her first day. He introduced her as his attendant and asked others to treat her well on his behalf.
This was the kind of treatment usually reserved for noble sons being groomed for a higher government office. Saike’s fortunes had fallen some in recent years, but a fallen family was still more powerful than most people. No one in their right mind would treat the Lord of Saike’s niece cruelly.
Sumio was strange girl. She feared no one and nothing, not even the Yellow Raven. People expected her to act like a spoiled and selfish aristocrat, but she never did. After she started working on her own each day, she was usually quiet and unobtrusive. She went around offering to help with this or that, and if anyone refused her help, she excused herself and moved on.
Perhaps Sumio would have had an easier time if she’d decided to cause trouble. As things were, her meekness and her beauty were a beacon to men who saw nothing wrong with interrupting a woman at work. More and more men invented reasons to approach her with each passing day. After exchanging a few words with her, a man might brag to his friends that she smiled at him, and from there rumors of her easygoing kindness spread.
Day after day, men fawned over Sumio. They offered to carry whatever she was holding and followed her from place to place. As a newly minted government official of the lowest rank, she was responsible for doing almost everyone else’s fetching and carrying, so in some ways it was a good thing that she had so many volunteers to lift things.
It was also a problem. Men who weren’t selected to carry things for her fought amongst themselves—or worse, they fought the men who were actively carrying things. Some of them looked ready to fight for the privilege of carrying her dirty chopsticks after lunchtime.
Young men weren’t Sumio’s only admirers. Young and old officials all flocked to her. She was the Lord of Saike’s niece, so there was a prevailing desire to indulge her and not make her suffer any indignity or hardship. Everywhere she went, she was greeted with friendly enthusiasm. Sometimes officials would press her to accept tea and sweets before she went off on her next errand, which hampered her work efficiency.
Anyone else might have found all this bewildering. Sumio accepted it as though it were her due. A bright smile and a light comment were sufficient to pacify her many admirers. A single nod was usually enough to satisfy whichever official was eager to teach her the unwritten rules of court life next. She repaid every favor, however excessive, with nothing more than a polite, “Thank you.” She conducted herself with such grace and skill that more than one onlooker commented that she’d have done well as the city’s most high-class courtesan.
Sumio wore the blue imperial attendant uniform, but she was the Lord of Saike’s niece. No one expected her to do any actual work. Most people she met fell over themselves to please her.
And yet, she could not marry. She was a government official. Yamauchi’s laws treated her as a man. It wasn’t right for everyone to treat her as a pampered noblewoman. Most people knew that, but if they didn’t treat her that way, they had no idea how she should be treated.
Not everyone welcomed her. The Imperial Court wasn’t a playground. Those who took their jobs seriously saw Sumio as nothing but a nuisance, but they never dared to say such a thing aloud. Nobody valued their clout enough to test it against the wrath of the Lord of Saike.
Tawara no Jō counted himself among the officials who saw Sumio as a nuisance. He didn’t care if her father was the previous emperor; he wanted nothing to do with her. The fact that she’d talked her way into the Imperial Court so that she could work struck him as proof that she lacked common sense. Besides, he’d already decided—somewhat unfairly—that no one so beautiful could also be genuinely modest.
Worse than any of that, though, was the fact that she seemed to believe a smile was all it took to make a man do whatever she wanted.
Go enjoy yourself with everyone who’s in love with you, he thought. Just leave me out of it.
Reality, as usual, didn’t care what he wanted.
Tawara no Jō started sorting through the prints he’d brought back from the city. He picked one up and scrutinized it.
“Are you throwing that one away?” Sumio asked from behind him.
Tawara no Jō almost jumped out of his skin. She was standing way too close! Her eyes were on the print in his hands.
“N-no. I asked for the blocks to be corrected. I keep the originals for the record.” He managed to say this without his voice cracking, which felt like its own small victory. He had no idea how to act around her, but he was determined not to be rude.
“Ah. I’m glad to hear it.” She said it would have been such a waste to throw away something so finely made and then lifted the print carefully from his hands. “This must be the work of a famous artist, right? I simply adore beautiful things.” She smiled at him.
He grimaced back. “Do you?”
“This is such a lovely print.” Sumio sighed. “What could possibly be wrong with it?”
Tawara no Jō was halfway through his explanation of the Imperial Court’s printing standards when his superior approached, rubbing his hands together.
“Well, well—our young lady of Saike! Are my people treating you well?” Tawara no Jō’s superior asked.
Sumio bowed gracefully before he could finish speaking, then tilted her head up at him. “Forgive my interruption. My uncle wants me to learn a little of everything, and I’ve taken a particular interest in glitter prints. Might I come here more often, for the sake of my education?”
Tell her no, Tawara no Jō begged silently. Tell her she’s in the way. Refuse her.
Tawara no Jō’s superior was flushed red as a boy with his first crush. He didn’t so much as glance at his poor subordinate.
“By all means. Come as often as you like.”
“Thank you so much.”
Tawara no Jō nearly bit through his own tongue.
His superior kept talking. “In fact, this one barely does any real work as it is. Make use of him however you please.”
Don’t volunteer me to prepare tea and sweets just because you forgot to do it! Tawara no Jō fumed silently.
Sumio answered with an easy, untroubled smile. “How kind. Thank you.”
No—that’s not—you’re supposed to argue with him! Say something like, “That’s not true; he does fine work.” Anything!
It was fortunate that his superior couldn’t hear Tawara no Jō’s thoughts. Even so, his expression must have given some of what he felt away, because his superior gave him a sharp glare a moment later.
“You have no objection, I trust?”
Tawara no Jō had objections stacked to the ceiling, but he voiced none of them. His position didn’t allow him the luxury of complaints.
That single exchange caused a flood of later visits by that wretched girl. Whenever she had a free hour, she would come and bother him. She sat next to him no matter what he was doing and asked him endless questions.
“What’s this?”
“What’s that?”
“Your work really does connect to glitter prints in every direction, doesn’t it, Tawara no Jō?”
The questions never ended. Most of his afternoons were taken up by answering her.
“Aren’t you meant to be the Lord of Saike’s attendant? Shouldn’t you be at his side?” Tawara no Jō asked her on a day when he was particularly busy.
Sumio told him that she split her time between half a dozen different offices around the Imperial Court, the Scriptorium being only one of them.
From Tawara no Jō’s perspective, Sumio had just confessed that she was never where she was supposed to be. He pondered how to tell her tactfully that she should return to her real duties.
“My uncle’s household has more people than they need,” Sumio said breezily. “They’ll send for me if they need me. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
Tawara no Jō smiled, relieved, and said, “Very well.”
The flash of disappointment on her face in response to these words should have warned him that something was wrong.
The next day, Sumio brought the Lord of Saike to see him in person.
Tawara no Jō swore to never ask Sumio a question about her duties or her work ever again.
“So you’re Tawara no Jō,” the Lord of Saike said. He was the youngest of the Lords of the Four Families and had a reputation as a handsome man. Tawara no Jō had never expected to meet him. The Lord of Saike was a distant concept in his mind, like a magic man standing among the clouds. Having the Lord of Saike speak to him like this felt like an aberration. The laws of nature should not have permitted them to be in the same place at the same time.
The Lord of Saike never went anywhere without his glittering retinue.
Tawara no Jō’s superiors lined up and bowed as Tawara no Jō kept his face to the floor, trembling from head to toe. When he heard his name called, he briefly entertained the idea of fainting on the spot. Perhaps he’d be permitted to leave early?
The Lord of Saike paid no attention to how small Tawara no Jō was trying to make himself.
“I’m sorry to trouble you, but my niece is fond of pretty things. Prints, plays, art, and whatnot. Would you teach her what you know?”
Tawara no Jō couldn’t possibly refuse. Refusing the Lord of Saike anything meant death.
“Yes. Gladly,” Tawara no Jō said. He bowed again.
“You were worried I might be neglecting my duties, weren’t you, Tawara no Jō?” Sumio asked, her tone perfectly pleasant. “I thought it best for my uncle tell you himself that all is well.”
Tawara no Jō would never ask her a question about anything ever again, period end of sentence.
Now he’d been commanded by a Lord of the Four Families to cater to Sumio’s whims. None of this was fair, but at least things couldn’t get worse now, right?
Tawara no Jō should have known better. Things could always get worse.
***
Tawara no Jō rented a small residence on the outskirts of the Yamanote district. The area was famed for its many temples. High-ranking nobles who lived nearby passed overhead in flying carriages. They would land before the Imperial Court’s Grand Gate, which was not quite visible from Tawara no Jō’s home.
Middle- and lower-ranking nobles couldn’t afford to take carriages everywhere; they used their own horses or hired palanquins.
Nobles of a rank high enough to ride in flying carriages would arrive at the Imperial Court in great style, landing their vehicles directly before the Grand Gate.
Lower- and middle-ranking nobles, who used horses or palanquins, made use of the carriage yard beside the Grand Gate. Those of lower rank took care not to run into nobles.
Tawara no Jō borrowed a government horse when he was on duty, but he hired a palanquin at the end of each day when he went home. As usual, he got out in front of a familiar temple and was just about to walk home and cook some soba noodles for supper when he heard someone call out to him from behind.
“You are Lord Tawara no Jō of the Imperial Scriptorium, are you not?”
Tawara no Jō felt a premonition of horror move through him as he turned around. He found a young man in a feather robe standing there. The young man’s feather robe was distinct enough in style for Tawara no Jō to surmise that he was a temple attendant.
But the man didn’t carry himself like a temple attendant. He carried nothing that could pass for a weapon, but his posture gave him away. This was a trained warrior or a guard, not a worshiper of the mountain god.
“What does a Yamauchishu want with me at this time of night?” Tawara no Jō asked.
He must be exhausted; he would usually never voice such an impertinent question aloud.
The man stepped closer, neither confirming nor denying anything. “My master wishes to speak with you, Lord Tawara no Jō. He requests a moment of your time.”
Tawara no Jō knew that the word “request” was a polite fiction in this context. He had no choice but to accompany the man to his master. He followed the man, half-convinced that he’d be dead before the night was over.
When the man entered a nearby temple, Tawara no Jō relaxed a little.
The man led him all the way to the back of the hall that housed guests and pilgrims. He knelt in front of a closed door and called out, “I’ve brought him.”
A voice answered from inside, and the door slid open. The man gestured for Tawara no Jō to enter.
Tawara no Jō looked inside the room. Someone was sitting on the rice mat floor, awaiting his arrival patiently.
“Lord Haruma.” Tawara no Jō’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
“I apologize for summoning you so suddenly,” Haruma said. “Please sit down.”
Tawara no Jō was familiar with Lord Haruma. He forced himself to smile as he took a seat. It wouldn’t do to be impolite to the Yellow Raven’s right-hand man. Some people whispered that Lord Haruma should seek a more powerful position within the Imperial Court than the Yellow Raven’s secretary, but Tawara no Jō thought those people were fools. Lord Haruma had been born a commoner, and he was content to serve the Yellow Raven. He was mild-mannered, but Tawara no Jō knew that he had a keen mind and that he was proficient at seeing through deception.
Lord Haruma was the Yellow Raven’s representative. Tawara no Jō would never be important enough to speak to the Yellow Raven in person.
He sat there, terrified and wondering what business could possibly bring Lord Haruma here. He hated that he could probably guess.
Haruma said his name again quietly and smiled. “Good, good. I hear you’ve become quite familiar with the young lady of Saike.”
Tawara no Jō’s shoulders slumped. So it’s as I feared. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “She’s quite taken with glitter prints. My presence near her every day is incidental.”
Haruma laughed.
Tawara no Jō had absolutely no idea why Sumio insisted on spending so much time with him. There were plenty of other officials in the Imperial Scriptorium, and every one of them wanted Sumio’s favor above all else. Tawara no Jō was blunt to the point of rudeness in comparison to them. He kept trying to drive Sumio away so that she would come to dislike him, but she was entirely unbothered by his brusqueness. How infuriating.
“Whether she likes you or your work hardly matters,” Haruma said. “What matters is that you are currently close to her. Closer than anyone else in the Imperial Court, in fact.” His mild smile vanished.
The temperature in the room felt like it had dropped several degrees.
“The Yellow Raven is deeply troubled by moral disorder within the Imperial Court,” Haruma said.
“Moral disorder, sir?”
“Yes. Whatever her own intentions may be, the rakujō of Saike is a beautiful distraction to many people.” He said this without any particular warmth, as if Sumio’s beauty was a problem to be solved and not a quality to admire.
“If we wait until something happens, it will be too late. While she is at court, see to it that Sumio is never left alone with anyone aside from yourself. Give this task precedence over your other duties.”
Tawara no Jō was at a loss. “Forgive me, but I have no training in martial arts. I don’t know how much use I could be if—”
“I’m not asking you to fight anyone,” Haruma said primly. “Simply ensure that she is never unaccompanied. I know that you’re unmarried, that you treat her with courtesy, and that you know your own position. I believe that you are the right person for this task.”
Tawara no Jō had behaved in a way that he’d hoped would make Sumio dislike him. It had never occurred to him that she might take his standoffish attitude as courtesy.
Whatever I do backfires, Tawara no Jō thought. He would have clawed at his head if Haruma were not present.
“Just carry on as you have been. We can’t give her special treatment publicly, so this will have to be handled quietly. I give you my word that your work performance will not be held against you while you are performing this task.”
Tawara no Jō didn’t need to accept the task formally. He was in no position to refuse to do the bidding of the Yellow Raven’s secretary. He nodded and then said, “Very well.”
Haruma smiled again. “I am so pleased to have your assistance. I’m sorry for contacting you during your off hours. You may go.”
Tawara no Jō bowed deeply and reached for the sliding door.
“Oh—one more thing,” Haruma said.
Tawara no Jō turned back.
Haruma’s smiling face swam out of the dim lamplight. “Have you ever asked Sumio why she chose to become a rakujō?”
“No. I’ve only heard the rumor that she said it was in order to be of service to the Yellow Raven.”
“That was her answer when the Yellow Raven questioned her at the civil service examination. I wouldn’t expect her to give any other answer in that setting.” He was smiling, but his eyes were not. “She traveled through the provinces as a child, and something she witnessed on her travels convinced her that she herself had to become a rakujō. I have great expectations for her. In fact, I find myself wanting to know what drove her to come to the Imperial Court. What does she believe that she must do here?”
In addition to being a bodyguard, it seemed that Tawara no Jō was also being suborned as a spy.
“If someone in my position were to ask her such questions, she would not give me an honest answer. But she might tell you what she actually thinks.”
Haruma let the silence do its work and watched Tawara no Jō squirm.
Tawara no Jō nodded. “I have been wondering myself why she went to such lengths to come to the Imperial Court. Out of purely personal curiosity, I will ask about her motives.”
Haruma smiled with evident satisfaction. “Just as I thought, you seem quite capable. Come and tell me what you learn.”
***
Tawara no Jō was irked by how troublesome his work situation was becoming. Couldn’t he just have a normal day?
The following morning, he went to work as usual and turned over his problems in his mind. Lord Haruma—and the Yellow Raven—obviously had opinions regarding Sumio’s presence in the Imperial Court. If he handled this situation well, he might get a promotion or a reward. If he handed this badly, he could be demoted or dismissed as useless.
The reward for success felt far less urgent than the fear of failure. He must never let Sumio know that Lord Haruma had approached him for any reason.
Sumio was waiting for Tawara no Jō when he entered the Imperial Scriptorium. “Good morning, Tawara no Jō. What do you plan to do today?” she asked.
She had no idea about his circumstances. Her smile was as guileless as ever. Tawara no Jō wanted to grind his teeth.
“Good morning. The weather is fine today, so I intend to check on the glitter prints that are in storage. We have to make sure insects don’t get in and ruin them, you see.”
Proper airing to prevent insect infestation was usually done in autumn and winter, but the Imperial Scriptorium held so many prints and documents that airing them all at once would take up too much space. As there was no one else managing them—no one but Tawara no Jō—he aired prints whenever conditions were favorable, regardless of season.
“Are there glitter prints in storage that are no longer sold?” Sumio asked.
“There are. Some were banned before the current regulations even existed.”
Sumio’s eyes lit up. She clapped both hands together like an excited child. “Splendid. Those are precisely the works I’ve been wanting to see. Please allow me to help you. I simply must view them!”
Tawara no Jō hesitated. Perhaps if he showed her what she wanted, she would be quiet for a little while. As things were, he’d consider that to be a fair trade.
He unlocked the storage room where the prints were kept and pulled out lacquered boxes full of stacked glitter prints. Blank sheets of high-quality paper were placed between each print to protect them from wear and dust.
“I’ll carry those,” Sumio said brightly.
Tawara no Jō grunted. “You can carry some, but not all of them. If you do all my work, young lady, I’ll soon be out of a job.”
She giggled. “How silly.” She lifted only one of the lacquered boxes from his hands. She was quite a bit taller than him, so once she had it, there was no easy way for Tawara no Jō to get it back.
They walked together to a well-ventilated place. People stared at them as they passed. Tawara no Jō had chosen a location near a hallway that got good air circulation and never received direct sunlight. There was no wind today, and that would make the task of airing out the prints far easier. This place would be packed with people around noon since it was a popular spot to eat lunch, but there was almost no one else here at the moment.
Tawara no Jō spread a clean cloth over the wooden floor, weighed the corners down with paperweights, and laid the prints out one by one. He’d taken some care to avoid bringing out anything that was outright erotic, but these were banned glitter prints; many featured generous amounts of exposed skin or scenes of blood and violence.
He glanced sideways, half-expecting Sumio to blush and look away. But her expression didn’t shift in the slightest. She examined the prints with the same quality of attentiveness that she’d bring to refined paintings or calligraphy.
“I don’t know a lot of these pseudonyms or artists,” Sumio said.
“Regulations have tightened considerably in recent years. Some painters who made names for themselves in the past dislike that. They’ve left the capital.”
Sumio was quiet as she looked over all the prints.
Tawara no Jō kept working. After all the prints were laid out on the cloth, Sumio said, “I like these better than the official prints, I think. Art made freely and without censorship is more pleasing to the eye.”
Tawara no Jō flinched. Why was this foolish girl determined to cause trouble? He looked around, but there was no one close enough to overhear them.
He thought of the Saike family, who placed particular importance on artisans and their craft. Some fields had modernized and developed for the better because of the Yellow Raven’s cultural policies, but other, more traditional forms of art had suffered from the Imperial Court’s severe restrictions. Perhaps Sumio knew about that firsthand.
“Purely in terms of the quality of the pictures,” Tawara no Jō said hesitantly, “it is obvious that art made without regulations will be more refined and expressive. But you are neglecting the reason why so many regulations exist. The Imperial Court seeks to correct moral disorder and to stop people from profiting off of the likenesses of nobles, you see.”
She looked up. “Did complaints come from somewhere? Do people object to having their likeness sold?”
“The person in Yamauchi most inconvenienced by having his likeness drawn at others’ whim is the Yellow Raven. When he commanded the artists to stop painting him, they complied.”
He picked a glitter print up from the floor and handed it to her. It was a relatively new glitter print titled, Flourishing.
In his youth, the Yellow Raven had served as Yamauchi’s military strategist. The true Golden Raven had put him in charge of Yamauchi’s armies. He’d commanded the final battle against the Kuisaru and defended Yamauchi from invasion. The musical play Flourishing was based on those events. There were dozens of glitter prints on the floor that were based on the musical or on the great war with the Kuisaru.
Sumio stared at the image. It depicted a young warrior trampling a demonic Kuisaru. Blood sprayed as the Kuisaru writhed beneath the warrior’s feet. The warrior’s sword was raised high. The ends of the red cord wrapped around the sword’s hilt waved in the wind.
“This warrior is considerably more handsome than the Yellow Raven,” Sumio said. “I can’t understand why this image would be banned.”
Tawara no Jō’s face turned bright red. “I don’t know the Yellow Raven’s face well enough to verify your claim. The problem with this print is that there is too much blood shown.”
“Oh, really? I wonder if that’s true.”
Tawara no Jō sensed a faint note of surprise in her voice. He took the print from her and set it back down on the floor.
“Honestly, I also like art that’s not censored or restricted,” Tawara no Jō said in a confidential whisper. “But the regulations get stricter every year. If I approve something and it gets banned after it’s already printed, all of the effort of the artist, the craftsmen, and the merchants that sell the art is wasted. So if there’s any doubt at all about a print’s compliance with the rules, I can’t approve it for publication.”
Sumio’s large, dark eyes moved between his face and the print. She nodded. “I think I understand. You have no choice.” She looked at him like she’d never seen him before—like she’d just understood something very important.
“Learning that prints are generally better before they’re forced to comply with regulations only makes me more curious. The next time you go to check a print, could you take me along?”
Tawara no Jō didn’t trust himself to speak.
“The other day, you didn’t take me along,” Sumio said, all but pouting. “Why not? Is there a reason?”
“I will ask you to be aware of your own reputation,” Tawara no Jō said. “You are a rakujō and the Lord of Saike’s niece. Those who make prints love beautiful things—and beautiful people. Your presence among them would cause an uproar.”
Sumio considered these words carefully. “So you think I am like a clueless princess who will trample all over the work that men do. Is that right?”
“What? Not at all.”
“I swear that I won’t be in the way,” she said.
“That’s not the problem,” Tawara no Jō said.
“Oh! So you think I’m delusional. Maybe you think I’m here so that I can sneak into the city and pose as a courtesan?”
“Where are these questions coming from?” Tawara no Jō asked, alarmed. Sumio could pass for a very high-class courtesan if she desired to, but he’d never accused her of any such thing.
“Sorry. I was being mean.” She smiled, and it was like her usual smile, but there was a slightly sharper edge to it. “I know the rumors about me. I have ears,” she said. “I’m aware that the most capable people in the Imperial Court are never acknowledged for their efforts. Successful officials are made that way because of who they know, not what they know. I don’t think gender has much to do with that.”
Tawara no Jō had no idea what to say.
“I want to be capable,” Sumio said. “I also want to be successful. But how can I laugh off rumors about me being a courtesan? No one takes me seriously.” Another near-pout.
“Well… Isn’t it an honor to be compared to a high-class courtesan?” He meant to suggest, obliquely, that she had neither pride nor self-respect.
She laughed. “Most men in the Imperial Court only know their wives, courtesans, and their family members. They’re comparing me to what they know, is all. They don’t see women as equals or as friends.”
Tawara no Jō’s face twisted in a frown.
Sumio shrugged. “Don’t misunderstand me, though. When I protest, I do it quietly. I respect the warriors and guards who defend us all from violence, and I also respect the officials who do their jobs well. When I offer criticism, I choose the time and place carefully. I’m not here because I want to fight.”
Tawara no Jō realized that this was a perfect opening to ask a question. “Then why are you here? Why did you decide to become a rakujō?”
“I thought I might be able to assist the Yellow Raven,” she said.
“Is that really why?” Tawara no Jō asked. “Or is that just the reason you tell people?”
She gave him a wry grin. “I believe that the Yellow Raven exhausts himself for the sake of Yamauchi. I also feel that his governance is by no means perfect. I thought that I might be able to improve things in my own way.”
This differed little from the answer she’d reportedly given the Yellow Raven at her civil service examination.
“With your rank, you could have entered the Imperial Court through the Shadow Rank system. There was no need for you to pass the civil service exam. There is no reason for you to be an imperial attendant. Why not take whatever position you like and assist the Yellow Raven that way?” Tawara no Jō asked.
“Because I am a woman, I thought that even if I used the Shadow Rank system, I would only be dismissed. I hoped that if I demonstrated that I had genuine ability, my situation might change.” Her smile was bitter. “My efforts so far have been in vain. I am treated as a guest at best and a distraction at worst.” She smoothed the sleeves of her light blue robe and lowered her gaze to the glitter prints spread at her feet.
“And yet there are many things I would never have understood if I hadn’t come to the Imperial Court. After I’m formally appointed to a post, I won’t be able to wander freely like this. While I’m still allowed to float around, I intend to learn as much as possible.”
Tawara no Jō said nothing.
Sumio turned her sharp eyes on him. “Please—if there’s anything I can actually do, just tell me. Will you help me, Tawara no Jō? All of this is so new to me.”
She spoke soothingly, like a mother speaking to an agitated child. She made it clear that she was speaking from a position of strength even though she was asking him for help. Whether this came from her upbringing or from a strange attempt to win him over, he genuinely could not tell.
In any case, what he had to do didn’t change. If he refused her now, she might stop coming here altogether. Part of him found that thought appealing, but he couldn’t risk disobeying Haruma’s orders.
“Allow me to escort you to the next review of new glitter prints,” Tawara no Jō said.
Her face lit up. “Really? Thank you very much!”
“There is going to be a grand play modeled on the Rite of Ascension in a few weeks’ time. Before the actual performance, painters and print shop owners are scheduled to attend the rehearsal, and I’ve been invited to come if I’m free. You would know far more about the duchesses than I do. Perhaps you could advise them and answer some of their questions.”
“How fortuitous,” she said. “The Saike duchess is my cousin. My younger sister is accompanying her to Sakura Palace as a lady-in-waiting.” She said this matter-of-factly, like her family was any other family.
Tawara no Jō’s jaw was on the floor. It was easy to forget that this girl-turned-rakujō was a highly ranked noble lady. “Uh… perfect. Please give the shop owners what guidance you can.” His tone was flat and his voice sounded awkward.
Sumio beamed. “Of course! I’ll help as much as I can.”
***
One of the policies of the Yellow Raven created positions for musicians who served the imperial government. These musicians performed the news in song form on grand stages built all over Yamauchi.
Touke Territory in the east was famed for its musicians. Because there was never a shortage of them, professional musicians had been chronically underemployed before the Yellow Raven’s policies had created these new posts for them. In addition to traveling and performing the daily news, these court musicians also performed plays and musicals that were approved by the imperial government.
When asked, the Yellow Raven claimed that he had enacted these policies so that even poor illiterate commoners could be well-informed. Musicians who performed for the imperial government were called public performers.
Public performers employed in Yamauchi’s capital had slightly different duties than those who lived and worked in the provinces, mainly because they were expected to be actors as well as musicians. The capital boasted many theaters and opera houses. Most of them were clustered along the shore of a deep mountain lake. The largest theater in the city was called the Majestic Mountain Theater; only the most famous and esteemed actors and musicians were permitted to perform there.
The Majestic Mountain Theater had once been independently owned and operated, but it was now under the direct management of the Imperial Court and the Yellow Raven. All of the actors employed there were public performers.
The provinces suffered devastation during the great war with the Kuisaru. The Yellow Raven employed public performers to spread urgent news, but also to lift people’s spirits. Both these purposes served to improve the Imperial Court’s image. All public performers either worked in the capital or traveled through it regularly to learn new approved scripts to perform for the public.
The newest play facing scrutiny was called “The Rite of Ascension in Sakura Palace.” Gossip on the street claimed that there would be extravagant dances by the four performers in the most prominent roles. The rehearsal was to be as close to the real performance as possible. The only difference was that the audience would be mostly public performers, sketchers and painters paid to advertise the play, publishing houses, and a few Imperial Court officials like Tawara no Jō. The rehearsal was not open to the general public.
There were already glitter prints of the four duchesses in the play circulating around the city. They were depicted generically and in traditional style as goddesses of the four seasons. A set of glitter prints containing images of all four duchesses was scheduled to be released on the same night as the play’s first official performance.
Right now, the only images of the four duchesses in circulation were based on artists’ imaginations. The set that would be sold to mark the play’s opening night would show the four duchesses using their actresses as models.
The plays staged by the Majestic Mountain Theater were all thinly disguised propaganda in favor of the Imperial Court. The depiction of the actresses in the play as real noble duchesses had the potential to influence public impressions of real people, so Tawara no Jō was summoned to give his opinion on the glitter print set that would be sold by the theater.
Tawara no Jō’s attendance at the play’s dress rehearsal was not mandatory, but it was expected. He wore his official dress uniform so that everyone would know that he was attending on Imperial Court business.
How to introduce Sumio, though? If he brought her to the play’s rehearsal as he’d promised, her presence would cause a commotion in the theater. Perhaps she could disguise herself by dressing in common clothes, but that was risky; she was a highly recognizable figure in the Imperial Court. If she was recognized while wearing commoner clothing, it would be a scandal.
No, if she was going to go with him, she should go as an Imperial Court official wearing her light blue uniform.
Tawara no Jō anticipated her causing a scene, but the reactions she caused were beyond all expectations.
Sumio the rakujō was gawped at by nearly everyone they passed on the way to the theater. They had borrowed mounts from the Imperial Court’s stable to make the journey. Men and women, young and old all stopped and stared at Sumio as she passed them by.
Tawara no Jō was not accustomed to being the center of attention. The weight of all those gazes on his back made him think about the experience of courtesans in the city. Did they have to travel this way all the time? And was Sumio being stared at because people knew who she was, or simply because she was beautiful?
As for Sumio herself, she was accustomed to being stared at and didn’t mind it in the least.
“I have seen provincial plays before, but this is my first time at the Majestic Mountain Theater,” she said to Tawara no Jō as they traveled.
“Oh,” Tawara no Jō said.
The Majestic Mountain Theater was easy to find. Tawara no Jō and Sumio dismounted and then walked up the avenue to the large building side by side. This irritated Tawara no Jō somewhat, but he said nothing. The difference in their heights meant that it was difficult for him to keep up with her. She noticed and slowed her pace, which irked him more.
The theater’s ushers were not on duty for this rehearsal performance. Imperial Court attendants stood at the doors of the theater to take tickets and guide people to their seats. Tawara no Jō was of the lowest possible rank in the Imperial Court, but today he was treated with great consideration, as were all the guests. Such deferential treatment made him supremely self-conscious.
“Greetings, Lord Tawara no Jō of the Imperial Scriptorium! We are most grateful that you have taken the trouble to attend this humble play tonight, sir,” one of the attendants at the door said. He bowed with a flourish, looked up…
…and saw Sumio. His mouth fell open and his eyes bulged.
Tawara no Jō pressed his fingers to his temples.
Sumio smiled. “Thank you for your greeting. Would you be so kind as to show Lord Tawara no Jō to his seat?”
“What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course!” The attendant led them inside. His face was the color of a ripe plum.
This is going to be worse than I thought. But it was too late for him to turn around and go home now.
“Lord Tawara no Jō!” A bookstore owner that Tawara no Jō knew in passing rose to his feet and waved. His eyes passed over Sumio, and he gasped. “The Imperial Capital’s Rakujō! She’s here!”
These words were the match that sparked a wildfire. Several merchants who’d been coming to greet Tawara no Jō froze in their tracks and then rushed over like startled rabbits.
“She’s really here?”
“Is that actually her?”
“Lord Tawara no Jō, did you bring her here for us?”
“Well, well—I never imagined I would be granted an audience in a place like this!”
“It is an honor to meet you, my lady. I run a bookstore called Treasures in the city. Do you have much interest in the theater?”
“Where did Tō Ri go? Someone fetch the painter from out front! Where is he?!”
“Stop it!” Tawara no Jō shouted far louder than he intended to. “This woman is indeed a rakujō, but I did not bring her here to answer your questions. She is here to watch the play, as are we all. So give her some space and be respectful. Your behavior is unseemly. Don’t fetch painters in here, either, as that’s equally rude to the artist. Honestly, you should be ashamed of yourselves.”
The merchants all protested simultaneously. He could no longer distinguish one voice from another.
“I think they are welcoming me,” Sumio said.
Silence fell the instant she spoke. Every gaze in the room turned toward her. She glanced briefly around the theater and then smiled. “I would very much like to speak with all of you. However, today is a special day for the theater. Might I ask that we arrange a separate occasion to exchange greetings?”
The shopkeepers shouted their agreement in unison.
“Of course!”
“As my lady commands.”
“That’s all right with you, isn’t it, Lord Tawara no Jō?”
Tawara no Jō felt bitter and said nothing. These bastards never listen to a word I say, he thought.
When pressed, he agreed to introduce Sumio to the artist they’d mentioned. The merchants retreated to their seats after that, appearing quietly satisfied.
“No one ever listens to me,” Tawara no Jō grumbled under his breath.
“They like you,” Sumio said. “You don’t scare them. To be so respected by commoners is quite rare for a man of your position. It speaks well of your character.”
Tawara no Jō snorted. If this was what they acted like when they supposedly respected him, he’d hate to see what their disrespect looked like. “Thanks, I suppose,” he said through gritted teeth.
He would rather possess her power to silence a room than whatever familiar fondness the merchants had toward him. She hadn’t done that with her beauty alone. She was aware of how she looked and who she was, and she took full advantage of her many gifts.
A chill went up Tawara no Jō’s spine as he took his seat next to Sumio. He exchanged perfunctory pleasantries with the theater manager until the show started. The Imperial Court officials all sat down, and then the curtain rose.
***
“The Rite of Ascension in Sakura Palace” was themed around the four duchesses of Touke, Saike, Nanke, and Hokke. The show’s set pieces were the extravagant dances performed by the actresses depicting the four duchesses.
Everyone knew that one of the duchesses would be chosen by the emperor to be his bride, so it wouldn’t be proper to show them bickering or politicking. The playwright had chosen to have each duchess express her character’s traits and motivations through an interpretive dance.
The dances were splendid, of course. Each was different, but they were all equally graceful. The Nanke duchess was dignified and weighty. The Touke duchess was lovely and charming. The Hokke duchess’s movements were warlike and heroic. The Saike duchess danced as delicately as the silver filigreed broach on her costume.
And the costumes! They were magnificent. Cloth-of gold and cloth-of-silver were used in abundance to create the wardrobes of each duchess. Their hairpins were so encrusted with gems that they had to be heavy. Tawara no Jō wondered if they gave the actresses headaches. The sets were as lavish as the costumes; no expense had been spared.
Tawara no Jō preferred plays with more action and more male characters. Even so, the sheer spectacle drew him in. The actors of Majestic Mountain Theater were all beautiful works of art in and of themselves. He could honestly say that he’d never seen so many pretty people up close before.
He wondered with mild sympathy how the public performers in the provinces were supposed to reproduce this play on their own stages. He knew that they were permitted to adapt the essential points of plays to suit local conditions. In practice, this probably meant skimping on the production budget for the hairpins and costumes and hoping no one noticed.
After the four dances concluded, the audience was permitted a brief meeting with the cast. The public performers in the provinces would begin their technical consultations afterward. Tawara no Jō was called shortly after these consultations were over, so he wasn’t kept waiting for very long.
The four lead actresses stood together in their full costumes. The effect was genuinely impressive. These were skilled artists who’d spent their lives commanding stages. They smiled with the precise degree of warmth their profession required.
As skilled as they were, none of the actresses quite managed to conceal their surprise at Sumio’s presence. Tawara no Jō felt a headache coming on. He cleared his throat and drew their attention back to himself.
“An excellent performance. I will note that the hairpins were quite gaudy, making some scenes appear like they might be set in the city’s pleasure district. But that is simply a matter of staging, and the authorities are unlikely to take issue with it.”
He delivered this assessment in his official capacity. The theater manager and all four lead actresses smiled and bowed.
“We are most grateful for your valuable opinion.”
He glanced toward Sumio to see if she had anything to add.
Sumio grinned broadly. “The play was so lovely,” she said, sighing. “My mother participated in the Rite of Ascension. I remembered her descriptions of that time when I saw you all dancing. It’s all so vibrant and gorgeous.”
The theater manager and the actresses stifled gasps of surprise.
“We are most deeply humbled to have a noble lady of your rank view our play,” the theater manager said.
“I am merely a low-ranking official,” Sumio said.
“You are a noble, and have walked in their world, as we have not,” the actress who played the Nanke duchess said. “For us, that world exists only in the realm of the imagination. We always fear that we are falling short of the mark.
“It is most presumptuous of me, but there is something about the real Rite of Ascension ceremony that piques my interest. If it would not trouble you, might I ask a few questions for future reference?”
“If it is something that I know, I will answer anything.”
The questions began, and Sumio answered them with her customary ease. There was no condescension whatsoever in her tone.
Tawara no Jō stepped back and watched.
The theater manager materialized at his elbow almost immediately.
“She is quite extraordinary, is she not?”
“Sure,” Tawara no Jō said. “She’s beautiful.”
“That isn’t what I mean,” the theater manager said. “I admire her poise. Nobility never tries to impress us or to fit in. Usually the positions are reversed, and me and my actors are the ones trying to make a good impression.”
Tawara no Jō considered this. From the actress’ perspective, a high-ranking noble willing to come to a theater and speak to them was a rare opportunity. She could answer questions about their roles, and she might even become a theater patron. If Sumio had noticed this power imbalance at all, she showed no sign of it concerning her.
The questions paused briefly as the actress playing the Hokke duchess stepped forward. “Noble ladies truly are different from us. You possess a refinement that those of us born without a noble rank could never hope to reproduce.”
Sumio blinked. “I spent my childhood teaching poor children who could not afford medicine how to read.”
There was a pause.
“I was raised surrounded by palace ravens, I suppose,” Sumio added, seriously considering her past experiences. “But the person who cared for me when I was small also worked as a horse. He had a rather loose arrangement with my father and was permitted to return to human form whenever he wished. I was terribly embarrassed to learn that this was not at all typical, but even now I think of him as a parent. If there is any refinement in me, it is not due to my upbringing, I assure you. It is due to the patience and kindness of those who raised me to be as I am.”
Sumio’s gazed passed over the four actresses. “I don’t believe that dignity has anything to do with being a noble. You four are far more beautiful and elegant than many nobles I have met who have only their bloodline to recommend them. I believe that you all understand where true refinement comes from. That is to say, it takes effort and hard work.” Smiling softly, she added, “I express my respect and fondest regards to you, who are first-rate performers. I pray for happiness and success for you all in the future.”
***
“You certainly have a way of wrapping men around your finger.”
“Oh my, you make me sound so vulgar.” Sumio sniffed.
Tawara no Jō laughed.
They were riding back to the Imperial Court after the performance. The actors and the theater manager had invited Sumio to come back anytime.
“You don’t even need to pay for the performance,” the theater manager had said. “I feel like you are the first palace raven I have met who is truly noble.”
Tawara no Jō had watched her charm them all. As they rode, he asked, “Is that story about the horse who helped raise you true?”
“It is,” she said.
There were two ways for a Yatagarasu to become a horse. The first was the most common: criminals could be punished by having their third legs cut off, dooming them to remain in raven form forever. The second was less common, but more humane: some people took on the work of horses voluntarily. They signed a contract with an employer who could choose when they were allowed to return to human form. Their third legs were bound, but not cut off.
“Your horse was a servant, though, and not a criminal,” Tawara no Jō said. “Otherwise he’d never be able to talk to you.”
Sumio nodded. “Yes, though I was unaware of the significance of that at the time. He never said much, but he was very learned and reliable. From him I learned that people can still think while remaining silent.” She frowned slightly. “That is why the situation in the Valley concerns me so much.”
This was a dangerous thing to say. She realized that moments too late, but the words were already out of her mouth.
About six years ago, the Yellow Raven had culled the Valley on the pretext of preserving public order and safety. Before that, the Valley had been a refuge for Yamauchi’s criminals and impoverished commoners. The details of the culling were secret, but everyone knew that the city was suddenly flooded with two-legged horses after the culling was over.
From what Tawara no Jō had pieced together, many of the Valley’s criminals had been captured by force and compelled to either serve or die. It wasn’t something people talked about. Everyone feared the Yellow Raven’s spies.
Tawara no Jō checked their surroundings to make sure that Sumio hadn’t been overheard by anyone.
“He called it culling, but that dulls the violence of what was done. It was slaughter. It was war. Now many of the victims serve as horses, voiceless forever. They must hate that, surely. I don’t understand how the Imperial Court remains so calm with such a restless and angry labor force working for them.”
“Well, uh…” Tawara no Jō had opinions, but he had never felt safe enough to express them.
“Are you afraid?” Sumio asked. Her gaze sharpened on him. “I’m not. I say that the Yellow Raven acted too hastily and too recklessly. We are supposed to be noble. That means we are obligated to rule fairly and justly for the sake of the common people. If he suppresses dissent, his rule will become less secure, not more. Only a fool refuses to listen to their opposition. And besides, I am terrible at remaining silent.” Her voice took on an obstinate stubbornness. “We are all allowed to express our opinions. Speaking one’s thoughts aloud isn’t against the law.”
Tawara no Jō had a brief flash of realization. “You intend to assist the Yellow Raven by expressing dissent. By making your opinions known.”
“Correct.” She nodded. “My mother always taught me that those who see the need should work to meet it. If I don’t do what I can, then it’s my fault if a bad situation doesn’t change.”
“I see.” Tawara no Jō smiled again. “I believe you’ve applied your mother’s teachings in a rather extreme way. Many women could become rakujō, but very few actually do it.” He wondered if Sumio’s mother knew what she would do, and if she approved.
Sumio pursed her lips. “Are you mocking me?”
“Your scope is flawed,” he said. “You are clever enough to pass the civil service examination, and you have backing from your family and their supporters. You are determined not to be crushed by spiteful gossip and you have high hopes for the future. All of that is well and good, but it is a mistake to think that you have done what you’ve done solely to meet a need. You’ve had help—you haven’t done this on your own. And there is more than one need that must be addressed.”
Sumio pouted like a little child.
“Your confidence is admirable,” Tawara no Jō said. “I believe that you will succeed at achieving your goals, whatever they may be.”
Her motivations were simpler than he’d thought.
“Come to think of it, your mother is in the capital now, isn’t she?” Tawara no Jō asked.
“Yes,” Sumio said. “She’s here with my youngest brother to help heal the sick and feed the poor.”
“Youngest? How many siblings do you have?”
“I have one younger sister and two younger brothers. The elder of my brothers is a cadet at the Keisōin, and he is to appear as a leading archer at the horse racing ceremony during the next Boys’ Day Festival.”
“Impressive,” Tawara no Jō said.
The archers in the horse race shot at earthenware deer to reenact the hunt that was held the previous day on the imperial family’s hunting grounds. A leading archer must combine high status with real skill, or he wouldn’t be appointed to the role.
“He’s talented, then.”
“I’m proud of him.”
If her brother was anything like she was, he was probably stunning.
Tawara no Jō wasn’t jealous. Nobles like her lived different lives than people like him.
“I’m most worried about my sister,” Sumio said. “She’s going to Sakura Palace.”
“She’s going as a lady-in-waiting, right?”
“Yes. A cousin on my mother’s side is Saike’s candidate this year. My sister will accompany her as a lady-in-waiting.”
To Tawara no Jō, the Rite of Ascension was like a fairy tale: something far removed from daily life. To Sumio, the Rite of Ascension was real. Her family was caught up in it. It concerned her.
“I’ve heard various things from my mother about past Rites of Ascension. It is always a difficult experience for the women involved, and I fear that this time will be no exception.” Still frowning, she said, “No one would ever turn the real Rite of Ascension into a play. It would be far too terrifying. I hope my sister comes back home at the end of the year.”
Sumio looked up at Sakura Palace and wondered what would happen next.
Translator's Notes
Tawara means “straw bag.” No means “of” and is a possessive particle. Jō means “help” or “assistance.”
Kirae is rendered “glitter prints.” Kira in this context means “fancy clothes.”
Tō Ri means “climbing carp.” There is an affix “tei” in the original Japanese denoting that this is a pseudonym for the artist being referred to.
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