Megumi’s yellow gave him a headache. He supposed it was a cheerful color, especially as compared to Tomoe’s, but they’d so often used a harsh, eye-straining yellow rather than the soft pastel in which he usually saw the lady herself portrayed in paintings and the like… how could anyone live in these religious neighborhoods?
Today’s know-it-all was actually two know-it-alls, and Sano had quickly decided this was the best way to go about things. The old man, a doctor as were not a few followers of the lady of life, and his daughter of a more researching (if still medical) bent, were both reds and both extremely chatty; Sano could throw out a subject and get them talking, sit back and listen until the information he wanted came up, then insinuate another idea in order to send the conversation in a new direction.
He didn’t make it onto the plaza until late afternoon. The cheerful father-daughter combination took charge of his morning and lunch — which they insisted he eat with them and several others in a dining room in one of the devoted quarters — and didn’t get around to giving him much of a tour until they’d thoroughly worn out his ears with all sorts of information, useful and otherwise.
The woman — little more than a girl, really, even younger than Sano — explained enthusiastically about the work she was doing and the things she was learning and the results she and her mentor strove for in their research. If Sano was any judge, ‘mentor’ would not for very long describe what the other researcher was to her; and the father didn’t even seem upset at the idea of his daughter leaving the family at the age of seventeen.
As interesting as were the marital prospects of this complete stranger — and Sano really was interested (or at least more interested in that than in the largely incomprehensible medical-research talk) — it wasn’t what he was here for. Throughout the day and the various topics that had been discussed in his presence — not a few of them introduced by himself with a subtlety that rather pleased him — he’d gotten a pretty strong impression of what the general attitude was around here toward the kingdom’s new leadership, and he thought he could guess what the official stance was… but he wasn’t about to take a guess back to Hajime.
An afternoon bell had just rung, and Sano and his guides had been standing in silence on the plaza listening with varying degrees of respect to an elderly second-wash reciting a ritual prayer in the shadow of the great statue of Megumi that stood in the center of the pentagonal area. Sano was glad when the tedious kuumaruaya was finished, but, though he didn’t much like having to give the ritual response at the end as a good devoted must, he couldn’t say he regretted listening: the woman had said something in her prayer about ‘guidance toward the good of the kingdom,’ and Sano doubted any better opening for what he wanted to talk about was likely present itself.
“So…” He turned thoughtfully to his companions as if suddenly struck. “What is the official word from the bosses on ‘the good of the kingdom?’ On the new king, I mean?” He still didn’t much like having to ask directly, but at least this time he had some excuse.
At first, though, he feared he’d been too direct, when the young woman and her father exchanged a look he didn’t understand. But when the girl said, “Of course you wouldn’t have heard,” Sano decided he was probably fine.
“The official word is that it’s none of our business, and to carry on as usual,” the man told Sano in a low tone.
“But it’s hard to believe that’s really what they mean,” the girl added.
“Of course we do what they’ve officially told us to do,” said the father hastily.
“Of course,” agreed the girl. “But we’re still curious what’s their real opinion.”
“Why?” Sano broke in, knowing from the day’s prior experience that they might go on talking about this nonstop without providing that crucial detail.
“Shougo and Sayo,” the father answered, still in that hushed, gossipy tone. “The last I heard, nobody’s seen them this time for over a week.”
The girl said, “I heard it was going on two.”
Sano had picked up the mentioned names a few times that day, and was fairly certain he remembered correctly that Shougo and Sayo were brother and sister, and both golds; he didn’t dare ask for confirmation, though.
“Ever since the government change–” this was the polite term for ‘usurpation’ the wary had adopted– “they’ve been acting strange.”
“It started just then. We can’t believe it’s a coincidence.”
“They disappear for half a day, or even days at a time, and when they are around they’re distant and worried about something.”
“None of us–” it was clear from the accompanying gesture that this meant ‘none of us at the red and first-wash level’– “know what’s going on, but we’re all curious.”
“And worried! What if they’re trying to take part in some resistance or something right under Gensai’s nose?”
Sano couldn’t help asking, “Do you think they would?”
“I have no idea! To read the journals, you’d get the impression the whole house is pretty evenly divided, and there are some good points on both sides… but who knows what Shougo and Sayo think?”
“There was one journal — by Hanabi from Lotsu, I think — that made a very good point about the myths people commonly believe about heredity…”
“And that’s one thing,” Sano told Hajime, “that I had no idea Megumi people did: they write these journals. All of them are always writing journals, I guess, and then they tack them up in the buildings, and they all read them and talk about them. It’s weird.”
He’d managed to relay not quite so much unnecessary detail this time, and was disappointed to note that Hajime seemed less invested in the story. Was that because Sano’s sparser narrative had been less interesting, or in appropriate professional response to Sano’s appropriate professional terseness? There were still a lot of things about Hajime Sano just couldn’t figure out.
“Anyway,” he went on, “except for that thing about Shougo and Sayo, it felt just the same as all those people sitting around debating at the inn I was staying at: a lot of talk that’s never gonna go anywhere. It’s like they feel like they’ve done everything they need to as soon as they’ve written a journal about it, and then they can go back to whatever they were doing before.”
“Did you try to contact those two golds?” asked Hajime in a frowning tone.
“I thought about it…” By this time Sano had lain back down and was looking at the ceiling again. “But I thought, if they are part of some resistance or something, they’re doing a really shitty job keeping it secret, and I should probably stay away from them unless I have no other choice.”
A long moment of silence tempted Sano to sit up and see what expression might be on Hajime’s face, but he forced himself to remain as he was. He’d made a specific decision for reasons he thought were perfectly rational, and was ready to argue his point if Hajime wanted to condemn him. But eventually Hajime said, “We’ll keep them in mind, though.”
“Yeah.” Sano was more pleased than he could express at this unspoken approval, and his next statement, incongruously, came out sounding quite cheerful: “So word from Misao was pretty much the same…”
This was positively unbelievable. Sano had been assaulted with any number of new sights and experiences over the last few days, but this was by far the most astonishing of all of them. He could barely even begin to give credence to what he saw, and had to work to keep himself from shaking his head at regular intervals trying to get at the truth rather than this impossibility his eyes seemed to be presenting him.
Misao’s neighborhood looked nice.
It wasn’t just that they obviously didn’t mind using other colors as accents against that of their lady; it wasn’t just that, instead of slapping up any and every hue indiscriminately as paint availability allowed, as the devoted in the other religious districts seemed to have done, they had instead carefully combined variations on the color to the best possible effect; it wasn’t just that they avoided too much eye-straining use of the brighter, glowing end of that variability, keeping rather to more restful pastels and well-blended gradients for larger spaces and saving the more intense shades for drawing attention to details; it wasn’t just that they’d even occasionally allowed the building materials — usually stone, but sometimes a nicely-treated wood — to retain their natural hues instead of slathering paint all over every available surface to blare out their devotion to their lady…
It was all of this, and in addition the fact that they seemed to be better at it than anyone from Kaoru, Tomoe, or Megumi. Everything here had been done more adroitly, with a better eye to its effect and greater care for both its individual appearance and its coordination with other structures nearby. Sano would never have been able to believe it of orange; he’d been expecting this area of town to be the absolute worst. It was only after examining and admiring everything around him for more time than his overwrought brain could keep track of that he remembered Misao’s status as lady of the visual arts.
That she was also the lady of thievery he was reminded by being the victim of three pseudo-robberies before he even managed to have one real conversation with anyone.
The first pickpocket, a red about Sano’s age, got his attention by dropping a few coins into his hand with the statement, in a tone of greeting, “You’re a little too easy.” This remark (and its various possible interpretations) was so unexpected and strange, especially given that the speaker had essentially said it in passing, and when combined with the apparent gift of money out of nowhere so utterly bizarre, that Sano was more or less stunned for a few moments. It took several moments longer for him to realize the coins were his, and this, at least, prodded him out of his stupor. The pickpocket had returned exactly as much as he’d taken, Sano determined with a quick count, but how he’d gotten at Sano’s belt pouch without alerting him even in the slightest, Sano didn’t know.
What the second had to say was, “You’re making yourself a target, you know,” as she offered him his very own sword with a cheeky grin. Having thought he’d used all his capacity for astonishment today, what he felt at discovering someone had managed to unsheathe the weapon he wore without his beginning to notice overwhelmed him such that he was unable to say a word in reply. He just took the keonblade and stared as the first-wash winked at him and continued on her way.
“You must be new around here,” was the friendly, sympathetic comment of the third, a man perhaps ten years his senior, as he held up Sano’s entire belt-pouch in a gesture similar to what he might have used to return something Sano had accidentally dropped rather than something he’d somehow deliberately taken from him.
Trying not to gape at the man and probably failing, Sano accepted his belonging and struggled for words. Finally he managed, “Yes! And nobody did this back home!”
The red devoted laughed and clapped Sano on the back, disrupting for a moment the process of re-fastening the pouch at his waist. “You’d better get used to it; it’s tradition around here!” And thence he proceeded to make it obvious that he would be today’s know-it-all.
So interested was Sano in this bizarre tradition, and the nimbleness of finger that allowed the followers of Misao to carry it out, he didn’t feel the tiniest bit guilty about pursuing the topic with his new companion before he even started thinking about maneuvering the guy around to talking about Nenji, Misao’s white devoted, and what he and the other higher-wash might have had to say about Soujirou.
As fascinating as this had been to Sano, at the moment he decided Hajime didn’t need to hear about it, and restrained himself with great force of will from recounting it. All he said was, “They don’t officially care, and if they care underneath they’re pretending not to. But at Yumi I totally got lucky.”
Green was by far the most soothing of the five lady colors, and as such Yumi’s part of town looked better than anyone else’s except Misao’s. Which was not to say it looked good, just that there was a certain automatic benefit offered to the decor by the combination of coolness and relative brightness of the color. The devoted shiiyao, though, in their spectrum of red bleached to orange and warm yellow, did look rather jarring against it; still, he had to wear one.
To come across a red devoted in the proper state of solitude and apparent likelihood to recover well from a knock on the head had taken most of the day, so Sano hadn’t found his way into the green corner of the city until the sun had already sunk past the great walls and thrown everything into shadow; perhaps that skewed his opinion of the colors, but objective assessment of the decorating skills of the devoted was not what he was here for.
Knowing Yumi for the lady of love, Sano had somewhat expected to find her followers an unusually romantic lot, but just walking through her neighborhood didn’t give him any sign of this; there weren’t even any couples kissing in doorways or anything. But he did find that the unforeseen amount of music floating from down alleys, out of doorways, and off balconies, giving the entire walk a pleasant, cheerful feeling and reminding him that Yumi was also the lady of the performing arts, made up for this vague and not terribly important disappointment.
This neighborhood broke the trend by not supplying a know-it-all, but that might have been because Sano had wandered into it so late in the day… or perhaps merely because he ended up spending so little time there and not needing one at all. For as he was about to enter the plaza to see what kind of flower beds and statuary they had (and whether they might not, perhaps, have couples kissing in there), he happened to have his eye and ear caught by movement and conversation out around the side of the temple.
So, instead of going through the opening into the space surrounded by the great building, he followed the path that led to the left. He moved quietly at first, just in case this area was off-limits to reds or something, but soon saw it could not be: a wagon full of crates and packages of various shapes and sizes, which had been brought around to a side or back door of the temple, was being unloaded by a few legitimate reds while none other than the white devoted and one of her golds looked on.
Not yet having been in the capital very long, and having spent the entirety of his adult life in an orchard town some distance from the kingdom’s cultural hotspots, Sano had only a vague idea of what might or might not be in fashion at any given moment; he was pretty sure, in fact, that Eloma had always been at least five years behind the times when it came to shiiya cuts and sleeves and hoods. But even he could see that Yumi’s fourth-wash was about as fashionable as someone limited to a preselected religious outfit could be. From the ornament in her artfully-face-framing burgundy hair to the pointed bareness of her shapely legs to the interesting metallic spiral pattern on the otherwise black staff she held carelessly in one manicured hand, the word ‘chic’ seemed apropos — and that wasn’t a description Sano frequently employed. ‘Attractive,’ even — and he wasn’t generally attracted to women.
Busy in conversation, she didn’t even glance at Sano; but her third-wash companion, a short, bald, yellow-toothed man much less worth examining than his superior and a much less likely-looking follower of the lady of beauty, took immediate notice of him. Gesturing to the wagon he ordered, “Come on; give them a hand with this.”
Obeying, Sano at first had to stifle his annoyance at the apparent assumption on the old man’s part that he was either here for this purpose or at least had nothing else pressing to do; but this annoyance quickly faded as he realized he was suddenly in a uniquely advantageous position to eavesdrop on the white devoted’s relatively private discourse and hopefully find out what he needed to know without bothering about the type of circumspection he’d been wearying himself with in all the other divine neighborhoods.
So he quickly discovered where the items were being deposited, and thereafter dawdled as much as possible in retrieving new ones off the wagon in order to hear what he could of what the white had to say. The first partial statement he managed to catch was, “…have more important things to do than make sure all the little people are behaving themselves.”
“And you think I don’t?” The ugly man sounded rather grumpy about this.
Next was, “…need to be staying out of anything even a little bit political, all right?” Her somewhat low and gravelly voice had a pouty, almost teasing-sounding tone that it was no wonder her subordinate didn’t seem to be taking entirely seriously. “It’s none of our business.”
And the third statement, apparently in response to something perhaps somewhat rude from the gold, was, “…just the same thing from another angle! We won’t be making a commotion on either side of the issue, so of course I’ll do what…”
When Sano next emerged, it was to the sound of the gold’s surly complaint, “…at the palace as much as possible so you can socialize.”
“I think you’re jealous,” the white replied pertly; evidently taking direct criticism from her lower-wash didn’t bother her much. “And anyway that has nothing to do with it. Usurper or not, the Devoted Council was a fabulous idea.”
At that moment her eyes lighted on the package wrapped in paper and string that Sano had just extracted from the wagon. “Ah, there it is!” she cried in delight, and ran forward to take it from him; obviously she’d only been waiting around out here for this, and the conversation had probably been intended merely to pass the time until what she wanted from the delivery was unearthed.
As the object was quite heavy for its size, Sano warned, “You’re gonna need two hands for this.”
She gave him a smile that managed to be both condescending and flirtatious at once, and said, “You must be new.” Then she took the parcel lightly in her free hand, spun it deftly a couple of times on two fingers, winked at the now-gaping Sano, and turned with swaying hips to walk away.
Sano didn’t actually narrate quite to the end of this scene, since that last bit had been a little embarrassing and definitely not important. And anyway, Hajime broke in, this time sounding somewhat frustrated, when Sano reached the last item of interest Yumi’s gold had mentioned: “What is this ‘Devoted Council?'”
“Almost there,” Sano said in reply. “I saved the best for last. Well, it happened last, too. Since I pretty much had exactly what I wanted to know just from that, I went back to the inn instead of wandering Yumi’s neighborhood. And while I was sitting there eating supper…”
The low, tense chatter filling the common room was growing downright frustrating. After six nights of keeping his ears pricked for any signs of actual resistance against the usurper and hearing only a lot of directionless and often very ill-informed back-and-forth, Sano was sick of listening. He would be glad to leave Elotica in the morning, even if the part of his report regarding the types of things being discussed in the common room of a large inn would be obnoxiously disappointing.
The one thing that could be said for the ongoing intense discussion was that it allowed a stranger disinterested in interaction at this venue to sit at the bar in solitude and eat his supper without being accosted by anyone for whatever reason. Or, at least, it had up until now. A hand on his shoulder was the first indication anyone here was paying attention to him, and it came almost in conjunction with the quiet statement from behind him, “I knew I’d be running into you pretty soon here.”
Startled, very worried about who could possibly have recognized him in the capital so far from home, Sano turned swiftly to see whose hand might soon need to be broken if it didn’t immediately vacate his shoulder. Hopefully they’d mistaken him for a friend and could be quickly turned away. But his growling reply died in his throat when he saw who it was, and no other sound replaced it there for a long moment.