Page 4 of The Tainted and the Tamed
“Is something wrong?” Ms. Tanabe asked, eyeing her sidelong.
“No, nothing at all. Only—” She couldn’t very well ask if they were infested by mice. She despised mice, having woken far too many times as a girl to their little feet pattering over her ankles or chest—
“I wonder, is it possible to meet with the doctor here? Not today, of course,” she added hastily.
Ms. Tanabe’s frown vanished so quickly, Murasaki might have imagined it. “Ah, yes, your condition.” She raised a brow. “I trust it will not prevent you from working until an appointment can be arranged?”
“Of course not. I’m perfectly fit to work.”For now.
“Good.” Ms. Tanabe seemed to deflate, as though letting go of an unheard sigh. Her voice was suddenly louder. “I’m sure you heard earlier. One of our maids has disappeared on us. No notice, and she didn’t even take her things with her—it’s as if she vanished into thin air.”
Was she that angry, to speak so loudly? It was as though she said it for someone else’s benefit. Why was Murasaki so sure the warning wasn’t meant for her?
“Please dress quickly,” Ms. Tanabe said. “When you’re ready, head for the room straight down that hall.”
With another bow, Murasaki slid the shoji screen shut.Girls vanishing, her mind immediately prompted.
One, she corrected herself.Just one girl. Maybe she ran off with a fellow. You did the same thing, once.
Though it is sort of creepy here.
It’s just the mist. Anywhere would look that way in this weather. Besides, you have to worksomewhere.
At last, Murasaki’s mind relented.I suppose I have to stay long enough to see this wonderful doctor. And perhaps to glimpse a chairman or two…Ms. Tanabe won’t be rid of me so easily.
As Murasaki turned to face the uniforms, she began to work on the knot of her obijime, and told herself to stop worrying and just breathe.
There’s no going back now anyway.
A sudden noise—like something heavy toppling over—resounded from the next room. Murasaki straightened her kimono with shaking hands.
“Is someone there?” she asked.
No one replied.
Slowly, cautiously, she reached for the painted fusuma screen, curling her fingers around the edge of the frame. As Murasaki slid it open a fraction, a large, slumped figure appeared, seeming to stretch as it stood.
She gasped.
A broad-shouldered man stood in the neighboring room, combing his fingers back through his hair. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust and identify the disheveled ponytail resting on his shoulder—a styling that surprised her, as if none of the modern trends had reached Fusae. A neatly trimmed beard framed his generous mouth.
She almost giggled. Something about him reminded her of portraits of old samurai and their lords. Yet he looked younger than her—and dressed rather well for a servant.
“Excuse me, is everything alright?” she asked. As she slid the door open a sliver more, the man knelt.
But his eyes snapped up to hers, meeting her gaze through that narrow gap.
It wasn’t the attractiveness of his face that stunned her—not initially, anyway.
It was the haunted look in his eyes.
Chapter 3
Haruki
Chairman Asami Haruki was falling from the rafters, straight through a painful beam of sunlight and into the maids’ quarters.
At the last second, he tucked his limbs close to his body, using all of the strength in his core to twist. Instead of crash-landing beside the changing maid, he was headed for the wide room beside her.
