Chapter Seven: Arabian Nights and Japanese Gardens
The twirling of the bloom ceased abruptly, and he lifted his head, observing the expanse of land before him. He barked a short laugh, devoid of humor. "Demon. Well now... She would not be too far off, now, would she?" His lips twisted faintly as he smoothed his thumb across the petals, pinching one between his long fingers and plucking it away from the rest of the bloom. Letting the delicate petal flutter to the ground, he plucked free another. Beast. Living Corpse. Thing. It. Now Demon. Why, Erik..., he mused quietly, bitterly, You're making your way up the food chain. "I seek bolts of cloth, as well as stylus materials, mostly colored charcoal, the paper-wrapped type."
She winced at his voice; so dead, lifeless, devoid of all feeling. The utter lack of emotion somehow frightened her more than his anger would have. With a weak nod, she followed him into the hubbub of the market, voices ringing about them in a cacophony of sound. He strode ahead of her. She picked up the edges of her kimono and jogged to catch up, his long legs eating up the distance though he moved with languid grace. A boy on a small pony galloped past, and she was whirled about, a clod of mud striking her on the cheek. She turned back, searching for Erik's black silk clad back, only to find he was no longer in sight. Cursing under her breath, she ran ahead, standing on tiptoe until she saw his head, far above those around him, bald scalp pale in the glare of the sun. She hurried to his side and wrapped a hand about his wrist under his sleeve. "You might wish to wait for me, sir! It is easy to get lost in such a place!"
Why, every one here is shorter than I. He found it odd, the differences between Europeans and those of the East. Ever observant, he took in the various sights around him. Curiously peering over a selection of roasted foods, he ignored the hawking voices of the vendors around him. They were speaking so swiftly that he couldn't catch what they said anyhow. He started to wander again, until he felt the hand slide around his wrist. He tensed briefly, his eyes flashing in her direction with a cool regard as he shook off her hold, then brushed the cloth down to conceal his alabaster flesh. She had a point. Turning upon one heel, he continued through the market, steeling himself against the brushes of people here and there.
As Erik selected the items he wanted, Anna stared longingly at brightly colored silks, jewels, hair combs - and especially the books. At one point, while he turned away to peruse a selection of charcoals and colors, she turned her head toward the next booth. Her mouth nearly watered: row after row of books were stacked there. She approached slowly. The man behind the booth raised his eyes to her, scanning her up and down, then grunted around the pipe held between his teeth, dismissing her as below his notice. He turned his attention back to the book in his hands. Anna reached out and stroked a leather cover lovingly before picking it up with reverent hands, opening it carefully. She smiled as she read the title in Japanese - Arabian Nights. She cast a glance back at her companion, still engrossed in his charcoals. An odd moment to read, but one must make do! She bent her head and flipped the pages open to the Adventures of Sinbad. Soon she was lost, a smile playing on her lips, her eyes wide with wonder.
Choosing a delicate box with a nightingale and a rose carved upon its lid, he brushed his fingers over it, recalling a tale he had once heard in his travels. Collecting select colors, he lined the bottom of the box with charcoals, choosing two, sometimes three of certain hues. Rubbing his index finger and thumb together, distractedly balling up the remainder of the flower, he let the knotted stem drop to the ground as he closed the lid. His attention was caught by a collection of large, leather-bound books. Raising a brow, he opened one, looking upon the blank leaves. Perfect. He collected two of them; one for his sketching and the other for his music, even if he never transcribed the notes onto paper. Placing the tomes within the bend of his arm and resting the box upon the top, he drew closer to the reading books and collected one. From right to left these people read; the back of a book would be the beginning. Cracking one open near the middle, he stroked his finger against the calligraphy. The writing was just beautiful, something he wanted to learn... once he was able to grasp the language more firmly. "Anna," he murmured quietly, flipping to the next page with his hidden brows knitted.
The skeletons soldiers were closing in upon her, their drawn swords winking wickedly in the sun. Her heart pounded in her ears, but she raised her chin defiantly, daring them to attempt to defeat her. One hissed a scream of wrath and lunged at her..."Oh!" Her head snapped up, and she blinked at Erik, who had just softly murmured her name. She pressed the book to her breast and blinked over at him, her cheeks reddening furiously. Some things never change, she mused. It shouldn't surprise her that at the age of four-and-twenty, she could still completely lose herself in a story. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and straightened, clearing her throat with embarrassment. "Yes?"
"You can speak and read Japanese; do you know how to write it?" He tapped the book with the tip of a finger, carried his items over to where the pipe-smoker sat. "Come along, and bring that book with you as well." Placing the two leather-bound tomes upon the table, he set the box of charcoal pencils down and glanced back to her. This was the other reason why he had wanted her to come along: he had little knowledge of Japanese currency, and she could indicate to him whether or not these people were taking advantage of him. It was the same everywhere he went – because of his ignorance, people tried to steal away what money he had.
"Yes, I can write it. Mistress Kyomi taught me very early in my service to her household." She approached his side, Arabian Nights still clutched to her chest. She looked down at it, then back up at him, biting her lower lip. Does he mean to buy it for me? The expectant, impatient look in his eyes said just that, and she hesitantly laid it alongside his items. She ran a finger over the carved box, admiring the beauty of the fine wood, then turned to the man behind the table and pushed the goods toward him, signaling they were ready to pay. The merchant, his pipe still clenched between his teeth, peered insolently at her through narrow, almond-shaped eyes. His attention then flicked to Erik, passing over his pale, foreign skin, his Arabic robe, and his mask. Between his teeth, the man he quoted a ridiculous sum, obviously passing them both off as ignorant outlanders. At once the demeanor of a servant dropped from her shoulders. Placing a hand on her hip, she raised a disdainful brow and told him in rapid, flawless Japanese what a great fool he was, her voice sharp and authoritative. The merchants eyes flicked from her to the solemn gentleman, belatedly realizing his mistake. He visibly paled, nodded, and named a more reasonable sum. She turned her head to Erik and gave him the price in English.
Glancing down to the books, he nodded softly. The price seemed fair enough. Brushing back the Persian robe, he took up the pouch of coins. Holding the leather thongs hooked upon one finger, he held it out to her so she could pluck out the proper amount and pay for his items, then indicated she should keep the pouch for now. Meanwhile, he collected his things, resting them in the crook of his arm before he turned around and approached the edge of the bustling street. Waiting patiently for her, he glanced down as she approached, then drew in a breath and stepped out into the crowd. "Where can I find silk? I grow tired of wearing that borrowed kimono." So tired that he was simply going to make one of his own. He wouldn't have to worry about someone getting close enough to measure him – too close – then.
She furrowed her brows and glanced up and down the street, then sighted what she was looking for: a small booth run by an older lady, a procurer of the some of the finest materials available. "Follow me," she murmured, and led him down the busy street. As they walked, she tipped her head up and looked up at him. "You must learn to speak the language, sir. That man quoted you a price seven times what you ended up paying him. Would... would you like me to teach you? Teach you to speak it fluently, that is, and to write it? I believe I owe you my thanks for the lovely book."
"Who said I was purchasing the book for you?", he mentioned pointedly, in an offhand tone. His attention caught by the song of birds even over the din of the market, he glanced over to a nearby tree, watching a pair of sparrows twitter about. After a moment he lost interest and turned forward again, lifting a hand to scratch along his jaw beneath the rim of the mask. "I had wagered a guess that he would attempt to trick me out of my money. The look of undisguised greed in his eyes guaranteed it." Tucking his arms behind him again, he clasped his wrists loosely, saying nothing about the book, willing to let her ponder whether he had purchased it for himself or for her. Maintaining a suitable distance behind her, he slowed down now and again to glance over one thing or another, as easily taken in by the sights of foreign items as a child in a houseful of fascinating new toys.
Feeling very ashamed of herself and her assumption, and like nothing more than the servant that she was, she blinked back her hurt with a whispered "I'm sorry" as she walked ahead. The path to the silk merchant was clear of traffic and she sped up, wishing now to be away from him and his icy demeanor. She arrived there first and promptly turned on her heel and waited for him to pass, pointedly ignoring him. She was angry, but not at him - he had truly done nothing wrong - but at herself, for believing that he could be kind. She turned her attention to a bolt of soft mint-colored silk, wishing he would hurry and make his purchases so she could be away from him for the rest of the day. The woman who ran the booth smiled up at her with a gap-toothed grin and began a conversation, remarking on the silk. Anna let the tension drop from her shoulders and smiled in turn, making conversation with the peddler.
The question remained on just what colors he should purchase. Adjusting his hold upon the books, he set them aside and brushed his fingers slowly over a deep burgundy silk. Picking up one corner, he rubbed the material between a thumb and index finger, then turned his attention to the crowd again, checking the colors they were wearing. He had always been partial to the deeper shades: dark purples, reds and blues. Black most of all. Sighing heavily, he tsked softly at himself, and collected several folded lengths – their cost was sure to be dear. He even gathered a 'servant' gray, as well as metallic silver. Something caught his eye: an embroidery kit. With a soft sound of pleasure in his throat, he collected it, opening it to look upon its contents: wide-eyed needles, rainbows of floss, bits of leather. Perfect. Spirits lightening a bit, he piled the kit - along with ten or twelve bolts of silk - upon the books, carrying them over to the merchant. With a brief touch of cool fingers to Anna's elbow, he motioned her to pay for the items.
She turned, collecting his items and laying them before the kind-faced peddler. The woman gave her a fair price immediately, without quibbling, and Anna paid for the goods, then picked them up, sliding them into Erik's arms before turning away and leading him back out into the street. The crowds had thinned and the air had cooled slightly. Evening was nearing, and soon the horizon would turn a breathtaking shade of soft lilac and gentle gold. The breeze would carry throughout the house, and the birds' songs would change, growing low and sweet as the sun sank into the ocean. It was one of her favorite times. Perhaps if she was lucky, she would be able to escape and complete her bathing before the sun disappeared completely. Night could be unsafe in this country. A sword flashed in her memory, and she shuddered, the warmth of the sunbaked street forgotten. Swallowing back old memories, she raised a hand to her throat and turned to Erik. "Shall we return now, sir?"
"I believe I have everything." Though he could have had her carry the items, he chose to keep them within his grasp. Shifting the weight, he opened one of the books and slid half of the silk within. Doing the same to the other, he trapped the bottom of the books against the side of his chest with the embroidery kit and box of pencils settled on top. Stepping past her, he took up the lead again as they started off to the house. His pace was a bit slower this time, allowing him to study the buildings they passed. He noted the similarity of their shapes. Not only that – everything about them was the same, the yards, the general appearance of the entire area – each was basically a mirror of the others. A small frown crossed his lips; he did so dislike making carbon copies. His employer had seemed satisfied enough with the ideas that he'd presented, so he decided to stick with them. The house wasn't too far off when he paused and moved to the side of the road, stepping onto the graveled walkway in the yard of one home. Something about the house caught his attention - he peered up curiously at the mirror catching the sunlight. Turning his head, he gazed from roof to roof, noticing others he had missed before. He shrugged inwardly and continued on to the steps of the manor.
At the entrance, Anna stepped around him, brushing brusquely past. She knew such insolence might get her punished, but after a day spent in his icy company, she was eager to be away from him. With quick steps, she disappeared to her room, removing her scarf and changing into a serviceable gray kimono. As she stepped out of her room, sliding the screen shut adjusting her sash, Mistress Kyomi caught her eye, standing in the hallway near the kitchen. The older woman gave a sharp gesture, and Anna moved quickly to her side. Eyes lowered, she received her tasks for the evening: finish the floors, cut fresh flowers from the garden, and the dinner which consisted of tuna sashimi, spring rolls, rice, and salted beans. Inwardly lamenting the lack of time and the impromptu trip to the marketplace, Anna set about her duties. She finished the floors first, leaving them gleaming, then carried a basket outside for fresh flowers. As she clipped several low hanging branches of white orchids, she raised an eye to the horizon with a low sound of disappointment. She would only have time for a quick bath while the family dined. Food or a bath? Not for the first time, she envied those who did not have to make such a choice.
Erik found the coming night far too beautiful to spend it indoors. Carrying out a few sheets of parchment, as well as one of the smooth books he had purchased, he settled on the steps with the open box of pencils. Absently, he watched the sky, studying the mingling colors, bringing his eyes down and taking those very same shades to the first page of the book. He was almost disappointed that he hadn't purchased something like this some time ago. He would've been able to draw pictures of each place he'd visited. They were still fresh in his mind; perhaps he could get to them later, once he was finished with this. Blending the colors with his left hand, he reached down and picked up his pipe with the other, filled this time with a sweet-smelling tobacco – nearly the last of it that he had. Drawing in a lung-full of aromatic smoke, he set the pipe aside and regarded the picture with a faint tilt of his head, breathing the smoke out slowly from his nostrils. So enraptured in his drawing, he didn't see Kito standing not far off, eyeing both him and the book with ill-concealed distaste.
Kito's cold obsidian eyes watched the macabre creature as it sketched, its disturbing spidery fingers dancing over the page. Drawing! Such an unworthy pursuit for a man. His father, the old fool, seemed to find the repulsive bag of bones an invaluable tool. Kito snorted disdainfully under his breath. He supposed the houses his father had commissioned would bring a fortune from the men who would buy just them to have bragging rights of the finest dwellings, but surely he could have picked someone else to design them besides this insolent corpse! Erik, as he was called, had already got on Kito's bad side. He had disrespected the rules of the house - rules that, had they had been broken by anyone else, would have resulted in swift reproof and punishment. Yet he had received only condescension! The girl's punishment last night should have been his, not this thing's! He certainly would have given her more than a trifling bruise on the cheek. He had advised his father on who should have been given the commissions - and had been rebuffed, as he usually was. He scoffed softly in the back of his throat. The old man put too much trust in outsiders. It was his honor-bound duty to serve his own countrymen, to give his son responsibility over his holdings. If that creature was trusted with what should be his... With a contemptuous sniff, he turned on his heel and stalked off in the opposite direction, towards the gardens where he had last seen Anna. He needed a bath drawn before dinner.
It was the grinding crunch of gravel that caught his attention, and from behind a thin wall of smoke he glanced over toward the retreating back. Resting the pipe aside again, he faintly pressed his lips thin, then glanced back to the picture. The setting of the sun was captured forever upon the smooth parchment, and within its waning light were the houses on this very street. Not too terrible of a job. Sighing heavily, he lifted a hand, rubbing slowly at his scalp. He took up the pipe, tapping out the contents and snuffing out the glowing embers with the thick heel of a bare foot. The singe was nothing, not for someone who'd walked over searing coals more than once. It was nothing compared to the pain he had experienced in his life. He gazed upon his hands quietly, turning them slowly to examine the heel of his palms and along the line of his pinky. Curling his fingers slowly, he closed the book and tucked the pipe into his robe's pocket, putting away the charcoal pencils and closing the lid. Rising to stand, he made his way into the house into his room.
Anna placed slender branches of delicate white orchids about the house in narrow, calligraphed vases. After drawing Master Kito his bath, mercifully released from assisting him, she arranged the flowers carefully, then began the preparations for dinner. The time spent in the gardens, the serene sunset before her, had left her relaxed and contented, her mind clear. She hummed softly as she sliced the firm, red tuna steaks into thin strips, draping them over balls of rice flavored with vinegar and horseradish. Salted, blanched green bean pods were already set aside in a serving bowl, the spring rolls already fried in oil and resting on the tray. She set four bowls of steamed rice and a plate of the sashimi with the other items, and set out tea and saki for those who wished to indulge, then carried the heavy tray carefully into the sunroom, now open to the evening air.
Moving with graceful precision, she bowed to the room and gave the tray over to the mistress to serve. Her newest master had once again not deigned to appear for dinner. With a last bow, she softly whispered her plans to bathe to her mistress, who stiffly nodded permission. Anna hurried from the room, running to gather a towel and her robe. Several minutes later she was immersed in the small pond, scrubbing at her hair and body with coarse soap. The water was chilly, the night dark, but she had long ago grown accustomed to bathing in the small glade after sundown. She hummed happily in her throat as she rinsed her hair. It was with great reluctance that she finally left the pond and shrugged into her robe.
Erik knew he had undoubtedly irritated the family again by not being prompt for dinner, and he did not care. He had broken away from his drawing to go off to the sunroom, glancing briefly into the garden in passing, semi lost in thought. He paused and glanced back again to the dark garden, swearing he had seen something. He had, in fact, and it made his blood run cold through his veins. While his mind attempted to convince him to just turn around and go to dinner, his body made a different decision altogether, and he inched closer to the wall separating him from the outside.
Hidden, he dampened his throat with a slow swallow while gazing on the moonlit pond and its unknowing occupant, all the while trying to ignore the cry of protest his better sense gave him. Turn around - move your feet - go, he kept repeating to himself, but he wouldn't listen. It wasn't until she had shrugged back into her robe that the 'spell' broke, and he turned, resting his back to the wall and sliding slowly down its surface. His thin arms wrapped about his waist as a familiar demon of an ache gripped at his insides, and he exhaled slowly - a breath that never made its complete exit as a faint snicker caught his attention. He glanced up sharply, noticing for the second time that day the departing back of the eldest son. The corner of Erik's mouth curled in something far more disdainful than a smile.
The grass tickling her bare feet as she sauntered slowly to the house, Anna continued to hum softly in the back of her throat. She worked her fingers through her heavy, damp hair, tangled down to her waist. One snarl in particular grabbed at her hand, and she tugged at it until the wet ends slid apart. She tossed the long mass of her hair over one shoulder and stepped into the warm air of the garden entryway, knotting the sash of her robe tighter about her abdomen. She took a deep breath, inhaling the soft fragrance of apple blossom soap with a smile. She never felt as well as she did after leaving a bath. If only I could enjoy a warm one on occasion! With a small shrug for things not worth worrying over, she turned into the hall - and ran into Master Kito, coming out of the rear garden room. With a gasp, she pressed herself against a wood panel as he leered at her. She averted her eyes as he reached out a finger and traced the line of her still damp throat. "Enjoy your bath, Anna?", he asked quietly, moving the hand into her hair, winding the damp strands about his short, stubby fingers. She nodded, moving as far away from him as she could. He twisted his wrist, hard, and jerked her back to him. A sound of pain escaped her.
"Be careful, Anna. You weren't the only one enjoying your little swim." With that, he released her abruptly, sending her back against the panel with a clatter. Her eyes squeezed closed, and she pulled deep breaths into her searing lungs.
How I hate him!