The Way of the Fox (40 page)

Sura heaved a sigh, then pulled back away from the shoreline crowd. She turned to look along the straggling village
, regarding the place with a professional eye. Red Kenta apparently had a house up on a nearby hill – a garish place with whale jaws at the gate.

“
Right! Now lets go find a decent inn and reserve some space.” She pointed off to the far end of the village, where the buildings were far more plain. “No one seems to have found that end of the place yet.”

The fi
sher-folk had been standing in a straggling group further down the beach, watching the whalers setting forth with a strange, anxious, haunted air. They moved listlessly back into their village streets, some sitting down to gaze at the sea, and others vanishing back into their homes. Sura looked the place over, tail waving softly, alert to a story hidden somewhere in the air.

“Yep. Come on – hey, maybe we can find shells on the beach! I’d love one of those big conch trumpet things some day! Can you imagine me blowing on one of those
things all day long?”

She walked off towards the rows of boats drawn high up onto the
shore. Kuno looked to Chiri, and solemnly put his hands together in prayer.

“Amida Butsu – in your infinite mercy, we pray
never
let it happen.”

On they walked – off towards the far end of the bay.

Sura dallied in the surf, chasing down to the edge of the waves, and running back out of reach as the next line of foam came chasing up the sand. She had never seen the surf before: it totally delighted her. The fox called something eagerly out to her friends, pointing at the water, but the wind snatched the words away. She finally made her way back up the beach, looking thoroughly happy, with wet sand clinging to her fur.

They walked onwards through a cold sea breeze
to where sand dunes gave some shelter.

Not all of the whale boats had gon
e forth on the hunt. One of the vessels had been drawn high up past the tide line, where it had been hoisted up on logs to undergo repairs. Further up towards the houses, a group of whalers were sitting at a fire: apparently wounded men, although they were still fit to drink and amuse themselves with a merry swarm of prostitutes. Tonbo and Sura walked along together watching the noble’s palanquin moving grandly back off towards the village, discussing the ins and outs of the court. Chiri – a rather riverine rat – peeled away to approach the great, lean whale boat to inspect it. Kuno came along beside her, interested to learn the details of such a craft.

The vessel was extremely long, to fit as many rowers as possible compared to the mass of the craft. A narrow boat, with the prow end curling high. Some of the side planks had been damaged, and had been carefully cut away. Fresh planks lay amongst a mass of shavings, ready to be fitted into place.
Daitanishi and Bifuuko crept out from Chiri’s hair and floated over to the damaged planks, poking about in interest, delighted by the wood shavings.

A whaler – a man with a stripe
d head band, loincloth and gaudy red robes lounged in the dunes nearby, drinking with his friends. He put away his bottle and wiped his mouth, weaving forward to shoo Chiri back away from the edges of the boat.

“No no – back! You may hurt yourselves!” The man waved his bottle at the shattered planks lying on the sand. “Sharp edges,
neh
? Eh samurai? Quite a love-tap, hey?” The man bowed casually to Kuno, feeling well pleased. “Those are no sardines we hunt! This is a job for a man!”

The whaler was uncouth, but undoubtedly courageous. Kuno gave the man a precise and graceful bow.

“My respects to you, whaler. Yours is indeed a dangerous calling.”

Chiri was still looking at the missing planks. Three of the heavy wooden boards had been cracked, and what had once been the boats side railing had been hacked and splintered clean in two. She was most astonished.

“All this from a whale?”

The drunken whaler
slapped at his boat in affection. “A nudge! Just a nudge! Sometimes the prey gets frisky!” He waved a bottle towards the prostitutes waiting for him by the fire. “But worth the pay!”

“Indeed.” Chiri bowed to the man. “My thanks to you. I wish you safety in your calling.”

The man laughed and staggered back to his friends, who welcomed him with a fresh bottle tossed into his hands. Even here on the beach, the men carried a motley of knives and swords. Harpoons stood stacked against the huts nearby.

Chiri saw that Tonbo and Sura had walked far ahead. She hastened after them with her elementals whirring at her side.
Kuno followed after her, walking around piles of boards and tools to the prow of the boat. He ducked his head and passed beneath the prow, and then frowned, turning to look at something that had just caught at the very edge of sight.

A short metal shank jutted from the wood of the boat – a little piece of metal no longer than
a finger’s breadth. Leaning closer, Kuno blew sand away from his find and examined it carefully.

It was the shank of an arrow.

A steel arrow head, well made, had pierced right into the timbers of the boat, burying itself almost completely. It had clearly been fired from a powerful bow. The arrow shaft had broken away, leaving nothing by the tang of the arrow behind it.

Asodo Kuno glanced at the whalers drinking by their fire. He narrowed his eyes in thought, then walked on his way, following in Chiri’s footprints.

Behind him, the whalers drank and laughed.

The fishing end of the village had many nets hung up to dry – some of them looking unused and shabby. Boats lay in ragged rows, overturned upon the sands. The festival goers had not yet spread this far down the shore in search of accommodation. Sura’s practiced eye spied the broad shape of an inn – well
-made and set back from the cold wind of the shore. She made her way up a step and in through the door, stamping the sand out of her sandals. The fox sat down to untie her footwear just inside, looking back out through the deserted room behind her.

“Innkeeper! Ha! You have guests!
Hungry, hungry guests!”

Tonbo walked in, stamping half the beach out of his sandals. He was followed by Chiri, Kuno and the elementals. They looked about the great, broad inn room – a place that displayed some trophies of sea life such as shark jaws and a
little carved wooden statue of
Ryūjin
, the dragon god of the oceans. The inn echoed to the sound of Sura’s footsteps as she walked on into the room. “Innkeeper! Hello?”

There were tables in plenty –
but no patrons to be seen. Sura took Daitanishi on her wrist and led him past the kitchen door. “Daitanishi, old cobble! We are going to have a hot bath tonight! It really brings out the colours in your striations.” The fox chose a prime table and sat down. “Let’s order a proper lunch! Those whalers will be lucky if they drag anything in before nightfall. I’m starving!”

Sura
rubbed at her head. The sea wind had made her ears cold – she had no idea how unfurred humans could stand it. She propped her spear beside her, set aside her silly hat, and made space for her friends.

Kuno unhooked his breastplate and shoulder guards,
sitting them neatly on the floor beside him. Tonbo, however, rarely bothered to remove his face-hardened shell. He sat down with a great clank and clatter, planting his helmet on the table beside him.

Chiri’s hair had been much blown about by the winds. Bifuuko was fussing
around her, combing the long, glorious white strands back into place. Chiri sat stiffly upon a seat, letting Bifuuko go about her activities. She looked about herself at the empty inn, feeling a sudden, awful twinge of uncertainty.

“
Sura san – Are you quite certain that this inn is open?”

“
Open?” Kuno looked about, somewhat pained. “Is it even inhabited?”

“Sure it is!” Sura motioned idly to a tea pot sitting on a nearby bench. Steam rose slightly from the spout: the pot was obviously still warm. “Relax! You city folk have to adjust to the ways of we affable sea-siders!”

“Hmmm.” Tonbo considered Sura – who had yet to wet herself in the ocean deeper than her ankles. “Indeed.”

A wan little man suddenly came hastening
out from the kitchen. The man wore a plain hemp robe – tough and faded, but still good. An apron hung down at the front, slightly askew. He bobbed and bowed, somewhat alarmed by the armour and weapons on display.

“I am sorry. So sorry!” The man was quite pale with fright.
“This is not a whaling inn! No no – not whaling. Just fisher folk here. Only fisher folk.”

The fox gave a
n easy-going wave. “Nope – not whalers! I’m a priestess! We’re travelling Spirit Hunters, here to investigate local legends and pay our respects to the gods of the sea!” Sura rubbed her hands together. “We would like room at the inn, if you please! And seafood! I should love to taste fresh seafood!”

“
Oh yes! Ah – yes! By all means.” The innkeeper leaned through a curtain into the kitchen and called to a woman at the stove. Bottles rattled and plates crashed. A tray of sakē bottles sitting in dishes of hot water were passed through. “You shall have it, travellers!” The man came hurriedly over with the bottles, and looked at Sura in amazement. “Forgive me, Kitsune san – you are a priestess?”

“I am ind
eed!” Sura brushed back her whiskers and fluffed out her tail. “Here to startle spirits, be unkind to monsters and to spread the pure joy of the Tao!”

Kuno set his backpack and helmet aside. “How exactly does eating sea creatures spread the joy of the Tao?”

“Well
I’ll
be enjoying myself – and I am the Tao! It’s perfect!”

“Hmmm – I am not certain that your interpretation of ‘
forgoing all distinctions’
would stand up to close examination.”

“Oh shush! This will be great!”
Sura eagerly accepted several hot bottles of sakē from the innkeeper. “Excellent! You are a nautical hero, innkeeper san. Well done!” She called back to the kitchen as the man flitted away. “Hey! Is your seafood fresh?”

“
Yes, Kitsune san! We are somewhat poor – but I shall bring you the freshest! The absolute freshest there can be!”

“Excellent!” Sura lounged back and poured out the sake. “
The day is finally going our way!”

The innkeeper hastened
off to organise lunch. Sura tossed back a drink, then mulled over a second, enjoying the peace after the sounds of wind and sea. Despite its emptiness and poor décor, the inn seemed a good choice. They could rest their feet and discuss the day, then lay plans for the afternoon.

The innkeeper – assisted by a nervous grey wife – came running to the table with bowls, trays and platters. Sura blinked a
s the whole weird mess was placed upon the table with great pleasure and display.

There were
hideous sea cucumbers, their tentacles splayed out like hellish broccoli, all floating in pickle juice. There were small sea snails – raw and apparently alive – small cockle shells, and a fish that had been sliced into dozens of raw slivers. The head and tail were still in place: it was a goggle-eyed nightmare, all lips, horns and spines, with an expression of sheer insanity on its face. Sura’s jaw sagged.

The centre piece came last of all: a large
wooden bowl that contained great fist-sized horny balls entirely covered in spikes – the spikes all waving amidst a forest of tubular feet. The fox sat back, looking confused, and rather ill.

“
Oh sweet mother of monkey milk…”

Chiri leaned in to peer at one of the spiky balls. It moved slowly over its companions
, as if seeking the edge of the bowl. The rat backed away, her elementals recoiling with her.

“It… alive!”

Sura leaned forward and prodded at the spiky ball with a chopstick. “I... I think so. I guess that means it’s fresh…” Foxes had never been fans of sashimi – most of their food was cooked, and decidedly had
feet
. “Where’s the head?”

“I… I do
not think it has one, Sura san.”

“Well this thing is sure going to feel spiky going down!” Sura turned to Kuno. “Kuno
, have you ever seen anything like it?”

Kuno
looked rather pained. His eyes moved from the spiky balls down to the snails.

“I am sure this is all perfectly edible, tradition
al fare.” He gestured to Sura. “By all means – after you.”

The fox pushed the spiky balls towards Kuno.
“No no – warriors first! You need your strength.”

“As a priestess, surely you must take precedence!”

“But since it is a festival, I must bow to the needs of the secular public!” Sura turned to Chiri. “Chiri! You look secular! Have a spiky ball thingummy!”

Chiri
gazed unhappily at the nearest ball with countless tube feet waving amidst its spines. She looked as though she might be sick.