An Unbroken Sword
Tsuruchi Munenori
Two men sat at a low table in a dimly lit room, a delicate tea set between them, hidden away from the eyes of the world. Their expressions were concealed behind masterfully crafted masks; the taller of the two wore a mask of carved teak, expertly lacquered and inlaid with gold leaf, while the shorter man’s mask was unadorned linen. They stared from beneath those masks for a long time until the taller man spoke.
“This is most irregular. And most inconvenient.” The taller man’s voice was flat and even. A highly trained ear would notice that he enunciated certain syllables very carefully, clipping the consonant sounds that might waft across a room to be overheard.
“But necessary. Information has come into my possession, and it requires that I have more. Twelve years ago, you were entrusted with the task of disposing of an inconvenient sword. I need to know the story of how it was done.” The second man’s voice was younger, and still had a perceptible edge of nervousness, not yet entirely trained away. The corner of the first man’s mouth turned up in the shadow of a smile.
“The whole story? Fine, I believe you understand the price of this particular cup of tea. Listen well, and learn how a problem ought to be solved.
“Tsuruchi Chosokabe was, unfortunately, quite good at his job. He uncovered forgeries. He captured smugglers. He exposed plots. Far too good at his job to escape the notice of his betters. And having noticed, we made a game for him to play. Word reached him of a much-loved blacksmith just across the border who had been murdered by bandits. Terrible tragedy. And the local authorities seemed to be uninterested in pursuing the matter! Again, quite a shame. The blacksmith sold his wares across clan lines, so the enterprising Chosokabe decided to take up the case.
“He followed clues, subtle leads only a man of his skill would be able to discern. And when he confronted the man who all the evidence and testimony pointed to, the man did not go quietly. Two yellow and black arrows pierced his heart. The town headman, with the blessing of the local governor, decided to host a small banquet in the triumphant magistrate’s honor. Chosokabe was cautious, of course, but the headman’s plea was so very sincere. Chosokabe was moved, and so he agreed to eat rice with us.
“Just before dinner was served, the blacksmith’s wife presented Chosokabe a gift to thank him for bringing her husband’s killer to justice. The last, and finest sword the smith had ever forged. She knew that Chosokabe’s family tradition prevented its use, but it was the only thing of value that she had to offer him. Chosokabe tried to protest, but the woman’s grief and gratitude were impossible to ignore. He thanked her graciously, and set the sword down at his left side.
“Not long after, a man burst into the dining hall. He claimed that the man Chosokabe had killed was his brother, an innocent man. He demanded a duel, as is proper for such an accusation. The local daimyo agreed. Chosokabe quickly realized the situation he was in, as he looked down to the gift he had accepted. He was a bushi, he bore a katana, and he had been correctly accused. He was an honorable man, poor Chosokabe. The duel was blessedly brief. And three of my problems disappeared in a single day.”
The taller man paused to sip his tea, a satisfied smile edging from under his mask.
The younger man’s displeasure was obvious. “It is much as I assumed, then. The man who the Wasp killed... I don’t care to know who he really was. But the sword? What happened to it?”
“Sent south, so that his boy had something to break when he came of age. I understand he had his gempukku two years ago now. The sword has been destroyed, per the disgusting tradition of the insects on our border. I find the irony to be a more delicate flavor than this tea. You brewed it too long, I think.”
The younger man bowed his head in a show of apology. “I thank you for the lesson in tea, sama. But there something I must share with you as well. Chosokabe’s son, Munenori, was taken in by a family loyal to the daimyo of Shaiga province, Tsuruchi Meiji. Meiji-sama has some philosophies that are quite controversial among others of his family. Since their acceptance into the Mantis, Meiji-sama has been advocating that the Tsuruchi set aside the Wasp Code, and accept the proper traditions of the Empire.”
“I don’t see the relevance.” The taller man did not bother to conceal his irritation.
“My apologies, sama, I will say it plainly. Two days ago, a man who bore the Tsuruchi mon killed a promising Bayushi bushi in a sanctioned duel. He did so with a sword, a sword whose tsuka was black rayskin, wrapped with red silk cord. The design on the kashira was unmistakable. The tsuba equally notable - the symbol of the Void, in matte black steel. Chosokabe’s son did not break the sword, sama. He seems to have found a different use for it.”
The taller man showed no outward emotion, but after a long pause set his teacup down on the table, much too hard. The air filled with the unmistakable sound of cracking porcelain. Another tense moment passed. When the taller man spoke again, his voice was just as even, just as crisp as before. “For the teacup, you have my apologies. The mess will be taken care of.” He rose without hesitation, and walked out into the night.
