Suddenly aware of bells ringing in the night, Itsuro sat up, staring toward the sound. As he listened another bell joined in, and another — bells from many temples being struck ceaselessly. Minoru, unbelievably, was still snoring. Itsuro jumped up and started flinging on his clothes. “Wake up, baka!” Minoru did, with a start, looking confused. Understandable enough, at his age, but a samurai needed to wake quickly. “What?” “It’s a fire!” In minutes the whole household was up, going out to the street to stare anxiously to the northwest, where an orange light licked the ankles of a tall column of roiling smoke. “Maybe Asakusa,” Itsuro said, he and Minoru having climbed the courtyard wall for a better view. “Or Yoshiwara,” Minoru said, causing Itsuro to give him a shove. “Hey!” the teenager cried, trying to regain his balance and failing, but ending more or less on his feet on the ground. “What was that for?” “Your impure thoughts.” But of course it was Itsuro’s thoughts that were impure, drawn irresistibly to recollections of a young woman’s smooth pale thighs, her breasts, her lips, her sex, like moths to a flame. The world is on fire, the Buddha said. Itsuro had first heard the phrase from the fireand-brimstone preachings of an old priest in the village of Kawanori Mura, but he’d heard it again when he’d mentioned to Ayaka how the priest’s description of hell had terrified him as a boy. Looking out at the maples in the courtyard of the geisha house, hearing their rattle in the wind, Ayaka had replied with a poem: The world is on fire Each vermilion leaf a life Crackling in the flames “Itsuro,” Lord Watanabe called, returning from the street and spying the young man. He jerked his head and Itsuro leapt off the wall to follow him toward the stables. Once they were inside Watanabe said, “I need you to do something for me.” “Ayaka?” Itsuro ventured, trying to keep his tone level, not giving a hint of his own feelings toward his lord’s favorite courtesan, or his repulsion that this old man should touch someone so young and beautiful. A lecher, is what he was. Mind like a bottom-feeding fish and face greasy as a frying pan. “Find her and make sure she’s safe. Take her to… I don’t know, find an inn outside the city and have her stay there until she can return. Here’s a few ryo.” “It might be crowded, my lord, with people fleeing the fire. It may cost more than usual.” Watanabe’s eyes narrowed, then he exhaled in irritation. “Fine. Here. But I want her in a decent place. If I put her in some dump I’ll never stop hearing about it. Now go.” “Hai.” Itsuro considered whether it was the best idea to take his horse, a spirited silver stallion named Kaze, into an area sure to be full of smoke and possibly fire, but he would be too slow on foot, and assuming he did find Ayaka, he could hardly carry her on his back. Well, maybe for a little while. He left with the household frantically preparing its firefighting efforts, carrying bucket after bucket of water from the canal. The breeze smelled strongly of smoke. The streets were full of activity, everyone running back and forth, yelling instructions over the ringing bells, wetting down building exteriors, racing to pack their belongings in the event the fire did cross the river. The Sumida was wide, but it had happened before, and happened quickly. The orange glow on the horizon lent a gut-felt urgency to their efforts. The crowds also made it hard to ride on the street, and horse and rider constantly had to veer around obstacles. Itsuro kept up a steady cry of “Make way!” but few paid heed. He went north through Ryogoku and then turned west toward the river. Though it was night, and the fire just started, every ferryman in the city seemed to already be at their vessels, some to make an easy buck, some just to help the thousands trying to cross. He continued along the riverbank with some difficulty, the path of packed earth jammed with residents. Most were headed east or south. “Where’s the fire?” he called out to some commoners. “Asakusa, but it’s spreading fast! This wind is a demon!” He crossed near Senso-ji, where there were usually many ferries, but still had to wait a damnable fifteen minutes, cursing internally even as he tried to calm his skittish steed. It seemed the whole eastern horizon was a wall of roiling smoke — and the wind was northward. Fires like this could spread immensely fast. He used one of the ryo to get the attention of a ferryman with a sturdy boat for horses — an exorbitant cost — and soon was riding on the wide road behind the temple complex. There was a hospital adjacent the temple, and as he passed he glanced inside a cart pulled by a furiously sweating cartman to see a young woman holding up two scorched hands like claws and crying out and writhing in her agony. Then he saw another cart — and another — all seeking what little succor the monks and nuns could provide. This also meant the fire must be close, as if the smothering smoke were not indication enough, but he still thought he could reach the courtesan house before the flames. Surely the geisha had already evacuated? No matter; it was his duty to check, and his desire — imagine how grateful Ayaka would be! The things she might do in her gratitude … At last he saw the fire itself — a battle line of raging flames, brightest toward Taito, but extending north and south so far as he could see. Crashes resounded across the landscape as teams of men and horses used ropes and grappling hooks to pull down buildings a few blocks 19
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