Black Arrow by I. J. Parker Page B

reminded himself that it was still early in the day, and that the scene would surely change at night. The lute music seemed to come from the largest house in the middle of the block. At the end of the street, he recognized a wineshop by its painted door curtain and decided that this was as good a place as any to ask about outcast women.
     
    The prospect was unnerving to Hitomaro, who had, since his brief and tragic marriage, steadfastly avoided female company of any sort.
     
    He had almost reached the large house, when the music stopped. As he looked, the door opened and a slender young woman in a cream-colored silk gown appeared. She carried a lute wrapped in a brocade cover and was speaking over her shoulder to a middle-aged, sharp-nosed female in black. Fascinated, Hitomaro stopped. The young woman passed something to the older one and turned to leave.
     
    When he saw her face, he gasped, “Mitsu?”
     
    The young woman paused. She looked him over carefully, smiling a little, while Hitomaro hid his shaking hands and stammered, “Forgive me. I thought for a moment.. .” He faltered, as his eyes traced her features and his heart nearly burst with mingled grief and joy.
     
    She laughed softly, hiding her mouth with her sleeve, and he was lost. Just so had his young wife laughed up at him. Mitsu, who had hanged herself after their neighbor had raped her. The face of her beautiful look-alike receded into a fog of black despair.
     
    “I hope she is pretty,” the young woman murmured with a sidelong glance. “She is a lucky person to have so handsome an admirer.”
     
    With an effort Hitomaro came back to the present. He realized that this woman was flirting with him in public, and since she was very beautiful and had come from a house of assignation, he decided she must be one of the famous hinin courtesans. Perhaps she had entertained a customer and passed the auntie her fee before going home. The old woman still stood in the door, watching them, her head cocked and her pointed nose twitching.
     
    He turned his eyes back to the enchanting girl. “Yes, she was beautiful,” he said, his voice shaking a little, “as beautiful as you. Could I... would you allow me to...” He flushed at his awkwardness and pulled a string of coppers from his sleeve. Seeing her eyebrows rise, he delved into his sleeve again and came up with a silver bar. “Is this enough?” he asked, extending it to her.
     
    She looked at the silver and started to laugh. “Naughty man,” she murmured. “If you wish an introduction, you must ask permission of my aunt, Mrs. Omeya.” She nodded toward the older woman, bowed, and walked away quickly.
     
    Ah, so that’s the way to do the business, Hitomaro thought and turned to the auntie. “How much and when should I return?”
     
    Old Sharpnose stared after the young woman. Her mouth twitched. Then she snatched the silver out of Hitomaro’s hand. “This will do, and come back tomorrow, same time.” She slipped back into the house and slammed the door in his face.
     
    “Wait! What’s her name?” Too late; the old one was gone and so was the only woman who had set his blood racing in years. He stood for another moment, a bemused smile on his face, and then walked off toward the wineshop at the end of the road. Suddenly he felt like drinking.
     
    The wineshop was no more than a single room. Two walls on either side were lined with low wooden seating platforms, the third with large wine barrels, a rack of shelves holding earthenware cups, and another curtained doorway. It was empty, but an oil lamp flickered on a sake barrel, and the straw mats on the platforms were reasonably clean. Hitomaro sat down and shouted, “Oy!”
     
    A young woman appeared through the doorway. She was small and pert and had unusually curly hair and snapping black eyes which lingered on Hitomaro after the first glance, but Hitomaro’s mind was on a pale goddess he hoped to hold in his arms the next day. It had