Gonji: The Soul Within the Steel. T. C. Rypel
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that she was sure. She crossed herself and lipped a curt prayer to fortify her certainty.
Her last warm thought was reserved for Wilf. Darling Wilf. So strong, so stubborn. The only man she knew who had ever kept her thoughts from other men; the only one whose pride couldn’t be budged. How I miss you, my love! A whole week apart! But soon we’ll be together, and we’ll leave this mess, and Papa Garth won’t be able to do a thing about it—No, that’s wrong. I don’t want it to be like that. I do so want Herr Gundersen’s approval and love. There are those rare men like him, the ones whose expressed distrust of feminine wiles is genuine. They’re the hardest to win over. But—
Footsteps echoed along the corridor. She leaned over the saltcellar’s canopy and examined her bodice, adjusting its strings minutely to reveal the merest hint of titillating curvature. She experienced a pang of guilt at her shamelessness. She shut her eyes and pursed her lips a second, then crossed herself and pushed the cart forward toward the great hall.
I’m sorry, Lord, but that’s me. I need to feel in command. It must all work out—it must. It will. And as usual I’ll get what I wish.
CHAPTER TWO
Gonji Sabatake emerged from the tailor shop into the rain-slicked cobblestone lane, suppressing a grin of self-satisfaction. He was freshly scrubbed and shaven. His topknot was tied just so. And he sported the new sleeveless tunic and breeches he had recently commissioned, plus thick woolen socks for under his sandals to replace his worn tabi.
He adjusted his swords in his obi, the wide sash cinched about his waist, in such a way that they rode nearly horizontally, snug but comfortable as they always must be. He rubbed his stinging face pensively and glanced about in the humid morning air. The day would be hot and thick; murky clouds sagged from horizon to horizon. A good day for an indoor banquet.
He smiled and made off down the street, leading Tora by the reins the short distance to the tanner’s. His leather goods—the cuirass, pauldrons and vambraces, and riding boots he had ordered—were not ready; so he mounted and clopped off toward the marketplace at an easy gait. No hurry. Little to do this day until the banquet. But then—hah! A first-hand look at storied Castle Lenska! And at long last a meeting with the mystery king and his sorcerer.
This would be a day marked in memory; of that he was certain.
He had risen early to find Garth Gundersen already gone on some business at the foundry. Wilf had been pressed into service at the forge. Sullen and irritable, Gonji’s closest friend among the Gundersens was again brooding about the fate of his Genya at the castle; so the samurai had decided it was just as well to be free of his company this day. Strom, the shepherd son, and Lorenz, the Executor of the Exchequer, had been none too gracious in their invitation to breakfast. Gonji had eschewed it in favor of a short practice session in the hills.
Judging by the Gundersens’ mixed hospitality, he decided he’d best find lodgings elsewhere soon.
The marketplace was alive and healthy this misty morning, the moist air bearing the sundry sounds and scents of commerce. There was an aura of normality about Vedun, even the soldiers now unwittingly taking their place in the mundane order.
Gonji sated his empty belly with fish and ale, which he consumed languidly on a stone bench near the stalls. The bell tower sounded ten bells, and the shallower timbre of the chapel bell called some to a worship service.
A few of the people Gonji had met at Michael Benedetto’s house the night of the memorable boxing matches passed by and greeted him. Among these were Stefan Berenyi and Nikolai Nagy—he couldn’t recall which man was which, followed shortly by Monetto, the biller; and Gerhard, the hunter and fletcher, a longbow slung over his back. They carried between them a large sack of small game that evinced the latter’s prowess with the bow. Monetto steered them toward Gonji and began to make small talk, but they resumed their course to the stalls at Gerhard’s insistence. His concern over the freshness of the game precipitated the usual argument between them that could be heard long after they had departed.
Then Gonji thought he spotted a blonde head that might have belonged to Lydia Benedetto. He craned his neck to peer into the crowd, but from the spot he watched there emerged two Llorm footmen, who suspiciously returned his gaze. He rose then, his thoughts turning to military concerns...in a manner of speaking.
Let’s see what’s on their minds.
He took Tora by the reins and walked down an alley. Turning into the first intersection, he waited. The pack that followed him approached his vantage a minute later, whispering and muting their stealthy steps.
“Eeyah!” Gonji cried, leaping out at them, his scabbarded Sagami’s pommel pointing into their midst.
The children screamed as one and stumbled backward. Then they laughed with relief, and Eduardo, their leader, came forward, flashing a hand in greeting.
“All right, you scamps,” Gonji said sternly, “what do you want with me?”
A tiny girl clung to the back of Eduardo’s breeches, regarding Gonji with big terrified eyes as the boy spoke.
“We just wanted to see what you were getting into. My papa says that where you go trouble will follow. I didn’t want to miss anything.”
“So?” Gonji replied, affecting petulance. “And he was right, neh? Look what’s followed me.” He waved a hand over them, and they tittered.
“You look molto buono with your new clothes,” Eduardo said, appending a hand gesture that Gonji took to mean youthful approval.
“Arigato,” Gonji replied. “Now that I have your seal I can proceed with confidence.” He watched with raised eyebrows and folded arms as the boy walked around him appraisingly, the little girl traipsing behind like a shadow.
“Is that your sister?”
“No, that’s Tiva. She has no mother, and I get paid for watching her.”
“Do you do a good job?” Gonji bent toward the girl and spoke gently. “Does Eduardo watch out for you?”
The boys all laughed. “She doesn’t speak Italian,” someone said.
She was the most adorable child in Gonji’s recent memory and could scarcely have been more than four. When he reached down to lift her up, her large brown eyes seemed to engulf her face. She held a half-eaten roll in one sticky fist.
Eduardo translated what Gonji had asked.
“Nah!” she said in a tiny, piping voice. The boys laughed again.
“He doesn’t, eh?” Gonji said. “Well, we’ll see about that.”
“She says no to everything,” Eduardo explained.
Tiva offered Gonji a bite of the roll, and he pantomimed a full belly, but she persisted. He bowed and smiled, taking a small mouthful. “Domo, little blossom.”
He set her down. “You boys take care of her or—” He raised a threatening fist. “Now be off with you.”
“When are you going to teach me the sword? You promised,” Eduardo pleaded.
“I did no such thing,” Gonji said. “I said we’d have to take it up with your father sometime. What would a ragamuffin like you do with a sword anyway?”
“Kill the soldiers who killed Signor Koski,” Eduardo said matter-of-factly, bending to lace a shoe.
The simple poignancy of the statement stung Gonji. “Why would you do that?”
“Because Signora Koski’s been crying all the time since he died.”
Gonji worked his lower jaw thoughtfully, recalling the dead man, struck down by mercenaries on the day of the city’s occupation. “Doesn’t your father teach you that killing is evil?”
“Usually. But he’s not sure anymore.”
Gonji snapped his fingers. “Begone with you now. And watch out