The Wind Listener

The lantern light flickered across Hideo's bent neck. Shadows stretched and shrank like breathing things. The tatami beneath his knees had grown smooth from countless hours of this exact pose.

His client tonight wore two swords. A samurai, then. Hideo's shoulders hunched instinctively. He bowed lower until his forehead nearly touched the floor.

The samurai shifted above him. Silk rustled. The sharp scent of sandalwood cut through the usual smell of incense and sweat.

"I am told you possess a unique talent," the samurai said.

Hideo's cheeks burned. He kept his eyes on the woven reeds beneath him. "It is... a humble thing, honored one. One might say it hardly bears mentioning."

The samurai laughed. The sound bounced off the paper screens.

"I require your interpretation tonight. My body has been making the most peculiar sounds of late."

Hideo pressed his left palm over his ear. The samurai's robe settled. The usual rumblings began. A gurgle from the stomach. The shifting of gas through intestines. All normal.

Beneath it all, something else whispered.

Hideo froze. His fingers dug into his own thigh.

The body sounds carried words. Not in Japanese. In a tongue that sounded Dutch, perhaps. Words about ships. About treaties. About opening Japan's borders after two centuries of silence.

The samurai's stomach rumbled again. But the sound beneath it—clear as a bell to Hideo's ears—said: "The shogun will never know."

Hideo's breath caught in his throat. The paper lantern above cast mocking shadows across the floor. His father's disgrace flashed through his mind. The public humiliation. The laughter.

He was nothing. A lowly interpreter of farts. Who would believe him?

The screen door slid open. Silk whispered across wooden floorboards.

Hideo didn't look up. He knew that sound. Everyone in Yoshiwara knew that sound.

Lady Yuki.

"My lord," she said. Her voice carried the practiced elegance of her station. "You look unwell. Perhaps some tea would settle your stomach."

The samurai's body shifted again. The treasonous whispers vanished beneath the sudden movement.

"Perhaps you are right," the samurai said. "This heat has been oppressive."

Yuki's fan snapped open. A painted scene of cherry blossoms hid her expression. But Hideo heard the sharp intake of her breath. She had seen something.

"Allow my attendant to show you out," Yuki said. "I will prepare something to ease your discomfort."

The samurai stood. Swords clinked at his hip. Footsteps faded across the wooden corridor. The screen door slid shut.

Hideo remained frozen. His heart hammered against his ribs.

Yuki's fan folded shut with a soft click. She did not look at him. Instead, she gestured toward the interior of her tea house with her pinky finger extended.

The signal.

"Attend me," she said. "Now."

Hideo scrambled to his feet. His legs wobbled. He bowed deeply, nearly tipping over.

"Yes, honored one. At once."

She turned without waiting for his response. The paper lantern light caught the embroidered cranes on her silk kimono. Hideo followed, his head still bowed, his left ear still covered by his palm.

The tea house smelled of cinnamon and secrets. Yuki sank onto a cushion behind a low table. She poured tea with movements so fluid they seemed rehearsed a thousand times.

She did not offer him a cup.

"What did you hear?" she asked.

Hideo's throat went dry. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I... it seems... one might have misheard..."

The fan snapped open again. Yuki's eyes fixed on him from above the painted blossoms. Her smile didn't reach them.

"Do not insult my intelligence," she said softly. "I have watched you for weeks, Hideo-san. Your gift is no accident."

Hideo's knees trembled. He sank to the floor without thinking.

"I heard... whispers," he whispered. "About ships. About opening the borders. About the shogun never knowing."

Yuki's fan lowered slowly. The first genuine emotion he had seen from her crossed her face. Not fear. Recognition.

"Foreign agents," she said. "Here. In Yoshiwara."

She set the fan down. Her fingers traced the rim of her tea cup. The pinky finger extended again. That signal he had seen but not understood until now.

"You have heard something that threatens the realm itself," she said. "And I believe you may be the only one who can help me stop it."

Hideo stared at her. The shame still burned in his cheeks. But something else stirred beneath it. Something he hadn't felt in years.

Purpose.

"Me?" he squeaked. "But I am only..."

"A wind listener," she said. "One who hears what others cannot. There is power in that, Hideo-san. If you have the courage to use it."

She poured a second cup of tea. Slid it across the table toward him.

"Will you listen with me?"