#A Single Fan
zn04 closing story · seriousness ★☆ · pure Scent (fiction). No rules or numbers appear.
The gatekeeper was tall, and quick to read people. Both were bad news for me.
"Leave your weapons here."
I unfastened the sword at my waist and laid it in his hand. Scabbard and all, politely. Next the small knife from my robe, then the slender needle case from inside my sleeve. One at a time, without reluctance. Pretending to have no reluctance is the key. Begrudge them and you're suspected; hand them over too smoothly and you're suspected too. With a face just a touch wistful.
"Is this everything?"
"What more would a woman go about carrying?"
I gave the fan in my hand a light, swaying wave. A plum blossom painted over lacquer — a common fan sold everywhere. He glanced at it. I did not hold my breath. Holding your breath is what gives you away most.
"The fan… you'll be warm, so do keep it with you."
Through.
Iron ribs, this fan. Every single rib is iron. Heavy. So I fan myself a little more gracefully than usual, with my wrist loose. There's nothing like the wrist for feigning lightness.
The tea gathering was held in a small room. Four and a half mats. Water boiled over the brazier, and the host was whisking tea. And across from me — today's mark, Hori Danjo. Copying out the storehouse ledgers of the domain is my work, and the key to those ledgers hangs at that man's waist.
The trouble was that there were three other guests in the room besides me.
"Where did you say you'd come from?"
Hori asked. A smile whose eyes did not smile. I opened the fan and hid the area around my mouth. A lie is best told with the mouth hidden. You can conceal half of your expression that way.
"From Kyoto. A daughter of a distant branch of the Umegae house."
"Umegae, is it. A daughter of that house would know something of tea, then."
A trap. I don't know tea. To be exact, not as much as a daughter of the Umegae house ought to know.
The tea bowl came before me. Everyone was watching. I took up the bowl and — snapped the fan shut.
"Oh my, my hands are cold. One moment."
And while pretending to warm my empty hand toward the brazier, out of the corner of my eye I watched everything — how the host turned the bowl, where the other guests put their lips. Three beats. Turn, drink, wipe. Buy time with the fan and the eyes do the work.
"That's a little better now."
I did just as I had seen. Precisely, gracefully. Hori's eyes loosened ever so slightly.
The trouble came after the tea was finished.
"Forgive me," Hori leaned in. "That fan looks heavy."
The air in the room stopped. I smiled. To look as if I were smiling from the heart.
"Heavy, you say? It's a woman's fan."
"Let me have a look."
The hand held out. Refuse and it's over; hand it over and it's over too. The weight of iron ribs gives itself away the moment it touches your hand.
I did not — hand the fan to him. Instead I spread it wide open and fanned slowly before his face. The plum blossom design swayed right under his nose.
"Like this. You're warm, aren't you?"
Scent burst out and spread. The deep aloeswood incense I had quietly transferred onto my sleeve a moment ago, beside the brazier. Hori blinked. One beat. That one beat was what I had been aiming for.
"The scent is quite fine, isn't it? It's a secret of the Umegae house. Touch it and the scent soaks into your hand, and won't fade for three days. Will you still take hold of it?"
Hori's hand hesitated. From beside him the host lent a hand. "Ha ha, Lord Danjo. Grab a woman's fan carelessly and the rumors turn nasty."
Laughter broke out. The air loosened. Hori, too, awkwardly drew back his hand.
"…Indeed. My apologies."
I folded the fan and set it neatly on my knee. The weight of the iron ribs pressed on my knee, but my expression was as light as a plum blossom.
The ledger key I retrieved that night, while Hori had passed out drunk. That's another story, and it wasn't particularly hard.
On the way out of the tea gathering, I had the gatekeeper return everything — sword, needle case, and all. With the heavy armaments fastened to my body once more, it felt awkward instead. And yet the very thing that had saved me today was the single fan he hadn't even suspected.
"Was it a good gathering?" the gatekeeper asked.
"Thanks to you." I gave the fan a soft sway. "I'll come again."
Around the alley, once I'd reached a place with no one about, I finally lifted the fan for real. It was heavy. The iron ribs sat reassuringly in my palm.
A place you cannot enter unless you surrender your weapons. The armament that walks most proudly into such a place is you, I greeted the fan inwardly. The sword stops at the gate, but you come in with me to the very end.
The plum blossom design glinted once in the moonlight.
(End)