Chapter Three: Little Ghost
The first few weeks aren't as bad as she had anticipated. Things go boringly but without incident. Hisana is good at cleaning, good at following directions, and she's fan-fucking-tastic at snooping. However, her access to useful information is very limited.
First, she has eight rooms under her charge, only one of which, the Small Study, contains anything that could be considered remotely useful. The other seven rooms are long on pretentious names—like the Flowering Lotus on the Anguished Waters of Tranquil Mountain room—but are mostly empty spaces reserved for hosting parties or meetings in the East Wing.
Exploring outside of working hours is severely curtailed since… well… Hisana technically is not allowed to go anywhere that isn't her room, which she shares with four other maids, or somewhere open to the servants of the Main House.
The Main House is really two houses in a sense. One house contains all the halls, rooms, and entrances one would expect of a home. The second house is a house within a house, containing narrow, cramped hidden corridors and passages for the servants. Interior rooms located deep in the heart of the Main House are used for servants to eat, launder their own clothes, and undertake the rest of their quotidian tasks far from the view of the family.
It isn't surprising, even if it is shocking at times.
The amount of effort to create and hide the servants' passages is awe-inspiring. But, it does send a message, loud and clear: Servants should never be seen or heard. They are ghosts.
Oddly, Hisana finds this aspect of her job comforting. There's something exciting about cleaning a space while being unseen. Her heart jumps whenever she has to escape into a dark passage just in the nick of time before a family member or some noble so-and-so can stumble upon her.
And, she's very good at becoming a wraith. It's probably the only part of the job for which she has substantive experience.
These moments, however, are few and far between. The Main House is often dead as it houses only the Captain, the Lieutenant, and the lordling, all of whom are often away attending to their duties as Shinigami or training.
Every other Wednesday, one of Hisana's rooms—the Wavering Willow Reaching for the Steadfast Wisteria—must be deep-cleaned and prepared for the lordling's omiai. It is always a production. A senseless, futile production.
Hisana doesn't understand it, quite frankly.
It's cleaning a damn room. The same damn room. And, yet, the Housekeeper, Ms. Yoshisaburō, a woman in her middle years with graying hair and a stout build, is insistent that each clean be better than the next.
Hisana thinks it's because the staff would like to welcome a future noble lady into the mix since there are no women in the Main House. The female relatives, Hisana has been informed, reside mostly in the Flower Quarters. It tracks, she thinks, since that's technically where the female servants also reside.
Where the hell the other male members of the family live? Hisana hasn't the foggiest idea. Probably somewhere on the estate. It's certainly big enough based on her survey walking the servant's trails when she is summoned to fetch water or hang linens and clothes on occasion.
Signs of fancy oil paintings, however, are nowhere to be found. The rooms that Hisana keeps have vibrant fusuma, which often correspond with the room's namesake, and there is an occasional scroll, but nothing that relates to what her client is after.
It'll take time. You're here for when that time comes.
This thought deflates Hisana. It feels like a platitude.
You can't afford to think like that. The reward is finding your sister. The risk? You're stuck in House Kuchiki. Forever.
She exhales a long breath through her nose. It is late. It has been weeks. She is due for a good spiral.
"Hisana!"
Hisana blinks.
It's Yone, a suspicion that is confirmed two seconds later when the girl's head pokes out from the servants' passage. Besides Hisana, Yone has the least seniority, having been a maid for only twenty years.
"Yes, Yone?" asks Hisana, straightening from her position scrubbing the dirt from the engawa.
"Shimo called out, and I was wondering if you might fill in and help take care of some of her rooms."
"Which rooms?"
"The lord's room?" Yone smiles awkwardly, and her voice pitches high.
"The lord's room?"
In Hisana's experience, the servants generally differentiate between all the Lord Kuchikis as follows: The head of the family is "Lord Captain," or "His Lordship." Hisana has never seen the captain nor would she ever be asked to serve him. Such is the duty of only the senior staff. Then, there is "Lord Kuchiki" or "the lord," which more often than not refers to the Lieutenant; although, sometimes it can mean the lordling. The lordling, however, is more commonly called the "young" master or lord or "Master Kuchiki."
"Mmhmm," says Yona. "I'd do it, but the lord is particular, and the last time I set his futon, he was displeased."
Hisana blinks. "What are the particulars?"
Yona shrugs. "He didn't like the smell of my perfume on his sheets. He's very sensitive to those things."
Probably because of his respiratory issues, Hisana thinks. Her father was the same. Certain smells sent him into coughing fits.
"He also is very particular about his items being set perfectly in place. I don't have an eye for it." Yona's gaze scatters to the tatami as she says this, and, nervously, she taps the heels of her socked feet together. "I can take the other rooms, if you'll do me this favor."
Oh, Hisana sees how it is. Yona was the one tasked with Shimo's duties. Now, Yona is making it a favor to do those rooms if Hisana takes the lord's chambers.
Things really aren't so different here, are they?
Hisana sighs. "Sure. I'll strip and set the futon and tidy up."
"Thank you!"
"What time?"
"The lord is usually late returning to the estate, if he returns at all. But, to be safe, I'd attend to his room before you complete the last of your duties."
Hisana nods and watches as Yona disappears into the darkness of the corridor.
Judging by the sky, twilight is soon to break. So…. Might as well take the plunge into the West Wing.
Hisana is rarely allowed in the West Wing. Not that there's anything really stopping her like locked doors or seals or barriers. It's just… the other servants would question her presence. And, she's new. There is also the added complication that the other maids and attendants are very territorial, especially those who more regularly serve the family members.
The fewer the fuck-ups now, the more rope she'll have for later, when she needs it.
She imagines she will need a lot of rope when the time comes.
"Requesting permission to take over Shimo's duty for the lord," says Hisana, finding Ms. Yoshisaburō gabbing with another maid.
"Yona." Ms. Yoshisaburō gives a slow shake of her head. "That girl really needs to toughen up."
Just as Hisana suspected but she waits.
"Alright, then. Just be quick. The lord can be unpleasant if he finds a maid in his room when he wishes to occupy it, and he is set to be back at the estate tonight."
Hisana's brows pull together. How odd. The lord seemed perfectly agreeable when we met.
She shakes these thoughts away and grabs a set of clean bedding and leaves.
The lord's room is… sparse. No fusuma. No scrolls. No color. Just beige. There is a small writing desk that brings a splash of warmth into the room. On one side of the desk are leatherbound books—some old and fraying, some new—in an assortment of colors. The books are all poetry from Bashō, Kyorai, and Kigin. Next to the books are attempts at calligraphy, all beautiful, but all unfinished verses.
Unable to help herself, Hisana picks up the copy of Seven Anthologies of Bashō, heart pounding in her chest. It's the same edition her family owned so long ago. She inhales a deep breath. Her eyes slip shut.
She can almost hear her mother's voice—so soft and gentle and clear—reading her the verses.
Immediately, Hisana flips open the book to A Spring Day. The weight of the binding and the pages feels alive and intimately familiar. Only when she finds the linked verse that she loves so much does she realize that she's been holding her breath. Greedily, she devours the page, then the next, and then….
The breath leaks out of her when she discovers the next page has been torn out of the book.
Panic floods her veins, turning her blood into ice water.
How? How is that possible? It can't be.
Snapping the book shut, Hisana rotates it in her hand, examining it closely. The binding is in perfect repair, unlike her family's book. It is a lovely blue, unlike the dingy brownish-blue that she loved. There are no frayed edges, no gaps in the spine, no unsightly creases.
And yet….
The same page is missing.
It's the page her auntie tore out of the book one night in retaliation for some perceived slight or another. Hisana would've had to "earn" back the page from her aunt, something that Hisana refused to do partly because she was willful, even as a child, and partly because she had read the page so many times that the lines were forever etched in her memory. She even drew the little illustration of wisteria that had been painted in the corner of the page.
Even now, she remembers.
Hisana returns the book to the stack, hand trembling, and glances over at the half-completed calligraphy. They're lines from Wasteland.
'One early-winter day. The sky was not clear. I felt like a leaf whirling—'
Each of the pieces stops at "whirling." Maybe he is trying to memorize it? she wonders.
Possibly. Memorization was critical to doing well on the tests at the Academy. The incantations for the spells were poems, after all. Even in the World of the Living, her schoolteachers and her mother were adamant that memorizing the greats was critical to the development of a steady mind. Maybe his tutors feel similarly?
It's wrong, she thinks. He'll likely complain if Yona is to be believed. But, she can't help herself.
With a hand far less skillful than his, she completes the verse.
'One early-winter day. The sky was not clear. I felt like a leaf whirling in the wind.'
It's a little wabi-sabi, she thinks before deciding to set one of the perfectly aligned pens askew on his desk for good measure.
He could use a little more wabi-sabi.
Also, the straight lines and antiseptic tidiness of the room are driving her nuts.
Satisfied with her efforts, Hisana moves to the tasks at hand: cleaning and setting the futon.
When both are finished, she opens the servant passage. Glancing over her shoulder—eyes lingering on the writing desk—she whispers a quiet goodbye and leaves.
The next day, when Hisana reports for duty, Yona finds her with a look of excitement. "You did a good job!" she says, sounding almost breathless in her disbelief.
Hisana tilts her head at this exuberance. "At what?"
"The lord has requested your services again."
Fear slits her. "What?" she wheezes. This can't be good.
Yona nods. "Yes. Apparently, he was pleased."
"How could you tell?"
"Well." Yona's shoulders rise up to her jaw. "I wasn't there. But, I overheard Ms. Yoshisaburō speaking to Mr. Nobutsune, and she sounded happy."
"Happy?" Hisana can't imagine what a happy Ms. Yoshisaburō would even sound like. The woman is a walking storm cloud.
Yona's brows raise. "Happy-happy. She said that he requested you for tonight."
Now, Hisana isn't stupid enough to be flattered. All she can think of is the trap being set and how it might spring up and crush her. "Why?"
"C'mon, Hisana." Yona rolls her eyes and bumps Hisana's arm with her elbow. "Take the compliment. The lord is notoriously difficult to please."
"Really?" asks Hisana. Just as she can't imagine Ms. Yoshisaburō's happiness, she can't imagine the Lieutenant as prickly.
Yona nods. "They all are, really. He's just more direct about his preferences. Doesn't make it easier to be on the receiving end of his criticism, though." She gives a nervous chuckle and palms the back of her neck.
"Do you think Shimo will be sore about it?" ask Hisana, wondering if this is the trap—pitting her against a more senior maid.
Yona shrugs. "Shimo's possessive of her rooms, sure. But, I don't think anyone likes being assigned to the lords' personal spaces. I doubt she'll say anything. She's pretty nice, actually."
Hisana forces an uneasy smile. "Well, I haven't heard from Ms. Yoshisaburō yet so—"
Right on cue, Ms. Yoshisaburō pulls back the door, a frown firmly carved into her face. "Hisana, a moment."
Here we go.
Yona gives Hisana a big grin and a little thumbs up.
It doesn't make her feel any better as she slips into the adjoining room, closing the door behind her.
"Lord Kuchiki has requested that you attend to his room for the rest of the week."
"Really?" Hisana's voice comes out high and squeaky.
Ms. Yoshisaburō's frown deepens. "I mean, he doesn't know which maid tended to his room last night. He only requested it be the same one."
Hisana exhales a slow breath. That's good. Real good. Any trap will be less specific to her, and more specific to her… meddling. "Did he say why?"
"He needn't say why to express his wish, girl. And, far be it from me or anyone who serves this house to question his wish once so stated. You'll do well to learn this."
"I just wanted to make sure that I didn't do something—"
Ms. Yoshisaburō chuckles darkly. "You misunderstand. Just as the lord hasn't the time to explain himself or his wishes, he also does not have the time to waste on poor service."
Hisana nods.
"If you're looking for a pat on the head, you're going to have to do a lot more than get a week-long request."
"Understood. Thank you, Ms. Yoshisaburō." Hisana bows low.
"You're dismissed."
Hisana hates being dismissed. She hates it on a molecular level. Her blood boils. Her blood pressure rises. Her nails dig into the meat of her palm, threatening to draw blood.
"Hisana—" begins Ms. Yoshisaburō before Hisana has the chance to escape, "set the lord's bedding first before you set to cleaning the Wavering Willow room for tonight's event."
"Of course, ma'am." Hisana tries not to think too deeply about how the order of those tasks may be related.
Hisana sets about her chores: sweeping, scrubbing, callously murdering dust bunnies, and organizing. When it comes time to clean the lord's room and set his bedding, Hisana finds the room more or less the same as the night before.
The books on his writing desk have changed. Instead of poetry, there are tales and novels: The Tale of Yoshitsune, The Tale of the Heike, and a collection of short stories from Shiga Naoya.
Hisana isn't familiar with Naoya, but the others… she knows well.
Glancing down at the sheets of calligraphy, she grins.
'Reel it, reel it, reel the wheel of time once and once again'
It's Lady Shizka's song of defiance from The Tale of Yoshitsune. She loves it. Feels it. Much of her wishes that she, too, could reel the wheel of time and undo… everything.
The other sheet of calligraphy begins the first part of the song—'Reel it, reel it'—but stops short.
Shaking her head, she can't resist completing the verse, but not with the missing words from the first piece of calligraphy—'Bring me back the days gone, please.' No, she uses the line from a linked verse in Wasteland.
'Reel it, reel it, and there are many bales of wheat on the shrine verandah.'
This will probably make the lord reconsider his request that she tend to his room for the remainder of the week. But, there it is. In ink.
And, so, this wrinkle begins a routine.
Hisana cleans the room, sets the bed, and converses with the lord through poetry and song.
It's a lovely diversion. The hours of labor fly faster when her head is full of the words of poets and bards instead of her internal monologue of how this is all a horrible idea and what is she even doing?
Three weeks pass and winter's frost is on the vine. The few leaves that once clung for dear life to their branches scatter away, leaving the trees skeletal and barren.
At least the snow hasn't fallen yet.
But, it's coming.
Hisana frowns when the air's chill forces her to close the door to the engawa as she finishes cleaning the Heron Standing Upon the Still Waters of the Fallen City room. What a horrible name.
But, painted in watery colors are herons, and they indeed stand in still waters, and the city behind them is on fire. So…. It tracks.
She loosens a sigh before retreating to the Small Study. The Small Study is in no way small. It is a huge interior room. The walls are lined with bookcases that are stuffed full of books. Lantern light glows dimly, almost intimately in a way that is more befitting of an untoward dalliance than that of scholarly pursuits.
If this room hasn't seen its fair share of trysts, Hisana will eat the book that she is currently sorting, which happens to be a copy of the play, The Courier for Hell. She rolls her eyes.
At least the lord hasn't given her lines from Chikamatsu Monzaemon's plays about star-crossed lovers to complete or subvert. If he dared, she might never engage with his calligraphy again. Not that she thinks he would.
Although… maybe the little lordling reads such drivel. He must, especially given the number of rich noble ladies who have been paraded through House Kuchiki during the Wednesday omiai. There's no way that he hasn't taken a fancy to at least one of them. He probably pines over her to the detriment of his taste in art.
Gag.
"You can read?"
Hisana jerks her head up, heart in her throat, and finds the little lordling standing next to her. She has no idea how she didn't notice him enter the room, let alone let him get so close.
A faint sneer tugs at the corner of his mouth as he reads the book in her hand.
She sighs and slides the book onto the shelf between two more of Monzaemon's plays. "Every class at the Academy has required reading."
"Even for the remedial track?" he asks, reaching over her head to slot a book into a space on the top shelf.
Her eyes narrow. "Did you attend the Academy?"
"No," he says, fingers nudging a book out of line. It slips from his grasp and comes crashing down toward her head.
Hisana catches it before it can strike her and hands it to him. Holding his gaze, she smiles sweetly. "That makes sense."
The lordling pulls away, eyes slightly wider than before.
Good, she thinks with a scowl.
True, Byakuya Kuchiki hasn't said anything about the Academy that was factually wrong, but he doesn't know that for certain. He also looks like the type of man who will ruminate on accusations of his ignorance. She imagines he will replay every conversation they had to see if he can spot his error.
Indeed, he appears to be doing that exact thing when she turns on her heel.
This brings her immense happiness.
And, so, with a fire in her step, she leaves him.
That night, after setting the lord's futon, Hisana crosses the floor to the little writing desk. The copy of Seven Anthologies of Bashō has returned to the rotation alongside The Book of Five Rings and Hagakure. The lines tonight come from Hagakure.
'A real man does not think of victory or defeat. He plunges recklessly towards an irrational death.'
Hisana grins to herself.
Men are idiots.
But, as has become custom, she provides an additional line, 'By doing this, you will awaken from your dreams.'
After dutifully completing the calligraphy, Hisana takes a piece of blank paper and does something that falls outside the rhythm of the game they have created. The ink flows as smoothly across the page as the words spill forth. She hasn't forgotten a single one after all these years.
Once complete, Hisana smiles. No, her calligraphy will never be as beautiful as the lord's, not even if she practiced for a thousand years. But, she hopes her gift, as small as it will likely seem to him, will express the gratitude she has for this little ritual.
She has been meaning to do this very thing for a while, but the lordling's casual cruelty today in the Small Study reminded her not to take other's kindness for granted.
So, here she is. Heart swelling with a smidgeon of pride that she remembered all the lines of the missing page from A Spring Day.
Graciously, she bows before the desk and leaves.
The next night, Hisana is dragging. The exhaustion from work and her miles' long nightly treks along the servants' trails in search of storage units that might house a prized art collection finally catch up with her. She may have lasted a while longer had she not also been haunting the stacks of the Small Study until daybreak in order to blunt the sting of her own impotence.
Although, Hisana's whole life has been spent dancing on the edge of exhaustion since she arrived at Soul Society, and she has very little to show for these efforts. It's no wonder why she is always running short on energy.
And, energy is something she going to need tonight since the Wavering Willow room needs to be readied for the dreadful lordling's date.
At this thought, Hisana wants to cry. She probably would've, too, had she not seen the little writing desk. How quickly terror defeats dread.
Her heart stops. Dead. The world feels tilted and strange.
There's a note attached to a piece of the calligraphy.
She reads it again. And again. And again.
The words don't change no matter how many times she sees the words: 'For the little ghost.'
Summoning enough courage to place the note to the side, she reads the flowing calligraphy underneath. Her heart gives a hard squeeze, and she cups her mouth.
'Being buried in blossoms, I should like to pass away in a dream.'
It's one of the lines from the missing page, and one of the lines that she dearly loves.
"Thank you," she whispers before folding the paper and tucking it securely in her obi.
Flustered, Hisana forgets to leave via the servant's passage and runs straight into Lord Kuchiki.
"I am so sorry—" she begins, but he cuts her off with a smile and a wave of his hand.
"No worries, Miss Hisana."
"I didn't—I wasn't—" She really wants to dissolve into a puddle and slip between the slats of the floorboards.
"It's not a problem." He places a hand on her shoulder, as if that could possibly make her any less nervous. He then goes to hand her a piece of paper, but stops short, and grins slyly.
"What is it?" Panicked, her hands fly to her obi. The gift is no longer there, which means that he's holding the calligraphy that she had tucked away.
"You're the little ghost, eh? I knew it."
Heat stings her cheeks.
"Byakuya knows it, too, I suppose." His grin widens into a big smile. "I will say, we have all appreciated you diverting Byakuya's attention to quieter subjects for the last month."
All the air rushes out of her lungs. "Lord Byakuya." Hisana swears a piece of her soul leaves her.
"Yes. We thought he might've been in love at first."
"Oh?" she wheezes, heart spasming uncontrollably.
"And maybe he is, a little. Especially, after you produced the linked verses on that missing page of poetry."
She wants to die. Briefly, she wonders if it's possible for embarrassment and regret to become potent enough to kill a woman.
"I can burn it," she says, very much wanting to walk back into the room and burn her reproduced page.
Lord Kuchiki gapes. "Don't do that, Miss Hisana. It would crush Byakuya."
She flinches.
"That page holds special significance to him," the lord continues.
She blinks, not understanding.
"His mother tore that page out of the book before he was born because she loved it so dearly. She passed when he was still a child. I have searched for it for over a century to give to Byakuya. When you reproduced the missing verses, it was the happiest I've seen Byakuya in a long while."
Great, I gave the lordling some sort of sign.
Hisana stifles the urge to roll her eyes, instead saying, "I wouldn't want to distract the lord from his courtship."
A lie.
What she really means is that she doesn't want to get fired after wasting so much time on this job, and she knows that the family would toss her to the wolves at the slightest whiff of impropriety.
The lord sucks a breath in through his teeth.
The omiai must be a sore subject.
"I might have cautioned you if belligerent disinterest had not already diverted my son from this duty."
"Shimo used to be assigned to Lord Kuchiki's room. Perhaps—"
The lord cuts her off with a shake of his head. "No. You may continue. We all enjoy the peace."
Hisana bows politely, bile in her throat. "Of course, milord."
"If you need more poetic inspiration, you have my permission to make use of the family library here in the West Wing. Ask Ms. Yoshisaburō for the key if you need to use it during your off-hours."
"Thank you, milord."
He gives a small nod of his head, but, before leaving, he turns to her. "I knew our first meeting was an auspicious one."
And, so begins a new custom….
Hisana performs her assigned tasks in Byakuya's room, but she ignores the calligraphy on the writing desk. For two weeks, she freshens the room, sets the futon, and leaves. Then, she surveys the property from the servant's trails.
She thinks whatever little ritual they developed has been successfully squelched, and that she is free until the lordling answers her callous disregard with petty obstinance.
Byakuya is a lord of the estate, after all.
His desire carries the weight of rule from where she sits.
He can change the game, raise the stakes, and ruin her day—all with careless ease.
And, he proceeds to do just that.
It is Wednesday, and, as usual, Hisana traces her way through the servants' passages to the lordling's quarters. Her mind is blank, empty. Cold winter has entered her bones and turned her thoughts as dark as the starless sky.
Thoughtlessly, her fingers graze the catch in the door to his room, but her body snaps back. It feels like she just took a header into a stone wall. Blood thunders in her ears, and her heart rattles against her ribs.
Caution forces her to peer through the small gap between the door and the frame, where she sees the lordling sitting at his writing desk. His lines are straight, too straight for him to have been working for any length of time.
Although… if there ever were someone insufferable enough to sit perfect seiza for hours on end, it would be Byakuya Kuchiki.
She heaves a heavy breath, letting it filter through her nose, and sucks in her cheeks.
He knows she's trapped. Hisana can just sense it. Sweet confirmation comes moments later when she feels his reiatsu tap against hers. She pulls away from him, coiling her reiatsu tight to her core. Before he can rush into the space left by her retreat, Hisana casts a low-level seal against reiatsu sensing on the door.
The instant he runs into the wall of her seal, he glances over at the door, a faint grin on his lips.
Hisana quickly fortifies the seal with as many twists and turns as she can manage before he rallies to tear it to shreds. They volley between seal-making and breaking. Each time he breaks one, she creates one more intricate than the last.
He's just about to break her last one when a knock at the door rips his attention away.
"Lady Akutagawa awaits your presence, milord." The woman's voice that enters his room is one that Hisana doesn't recognize. But, since the woman uses the main corridor, Hisana guesses that she must be a family member, handmaiden, or high-ranking servant.
"Understood," he responds.
Fear tangles Hisana's breath. She had not been able to complete the deep clean of the Wavering Willow room because… well… she's here, waiting for the lordling to leave….
It's not like the Wavering Willow room hasn't been thoroughly cleaned. Hisana cleans it after every use. Fortunately for her, neither the lordling nor his potential lady-love ever linger there for very long.
Maybe tonight will be different?
The lordling stands and shrugs on a deep blue haori. His hand finds the catch in the door, and he slides it back.
Just when Hisana thinks she might be in the clear, the lordling pauses long enough to break her remaining seal. Then, he leaves.
Not a stupid woman, Hisana waits a few minutes before emerging from the cramped passageway. Once she can't feel a trace of him in any direction, she steps into the room and completes her tasks in record time, knowing that the lordling could reappear at the door any second.
Before leaving, she stops at the writing desk. While she does not correspond with the lordling as she once did, she still reads his work.
'On the path in the desolate field
The shadows overlapped
And parted.'
Hisana tries to fight this new normal. She hates being trapped in the passageway with things to do for an indefinite amount of time while he harasses her with spell-binding and -breaking until a servant or better calls upon him.
One night she waited at least an hour and a half before he had to leave the room for some reason or another. She thought she was going to die.
Today, however, she is reclaiming her time.
She cleans his room and sets his bed in the afternoon, when he is gone doing whatever young lordlings do. This new strategy spares her the lordling's attention for a spell.
But, Hisana can't shake the sinking feeling that this is only a temporary fix.