In that one brief moment, everything seems to fall into place, and you are forced to limit your reaction as much as you can for fear of disgracing yourself with overt displays of emotion. Even so it appears that Doji Mariko is a sufficiently fine courtier as to pick up on what little reaction you do display, looking at you and raising an eyebrow. Thinking quickly, you weave what you hope is a coherent narrative out of what an appropriately sincere samurai should know.
"A letter? Just a letter?" You say quietly, seeking clarification. "For such a bizarre change of instructions?"
"Delivered by an official courier from Kyuden Doji, yes." Mariko responds cautiously. "I had thought it strange, but my Champion is highly involved in the reconstruction works. I can only presume he came into possession of new information at a late moment, and had to rely upon such methods to contact those who had already begun their assigned journeys."
You are on dangerous ground here, for the peril that could result from an incautious word would be dire indeed. And yet, every instinct you have tells you that there are great rewards available here, if you can but navigate the delicate path between such troubled waters. Choosing your words with great care, you press on.
"Doji-san, are you sure your instructions are to the benefit of your lord?" You say, pitching your voice so that it does not carry much further than the two of you. "There are... many things that can be done with letters."
You would have expected Doji Mariko to react with shock and outrage to the merest suggestion of such a thing, or at the very least incredulous disbelief, but she controls herself perfectly. No, that is not quite right. It is not that those emotions are controlled, it is that they are not present at all. Indeed, if anything you would say that the Crane looks... resigned.
"I am a samurai. I serve at the command and pleasure of my lord. My life and death are his to do with as he wishes." She says quietly, still walking at a calm and measured pace. "It is not my place to doubt, or to question his motives. If I am given instruction and have no reason to doubt its authenticity, then it is my duty to carry it out."
She falls silent at that, and you find you have no words. Suddenly, you understand why your Clan has always scorned the more restrictive and limiting aspects of custom and etiquette, why they have embraced the shadows and all of their crafts with such dedication. A Scorpion would be able to admit the possibility that their orders were faked, that someone was attempting to exploit their loyalty. To you, there is no shame in such thinking, for your sensei made sure you were aware of such options even if you never learned to employ them personally.
But Mariko is a Crane. Not only would her training have made little to no mention of such tactics, she has likely been brought up to believe that even displaying knowledge of them or thinking of them as a possibility is dishonourable. If the letter does not appear obviously fraudulent (and the chances are delicate correspondence such as this would have been written in a genuine Clan cipher), then she has no viable way to pursue the investigation. Who could she ask to authenticate a letter from the Clan Champion? Who could she confess her doubts to without appearing disloyal? And even if there was such an avenue available, you suspect it would take time to pursue, and if it arrived while she was already en route to Shiro Matsu... well, no wonder she feels resigned. Able to see the trap around her, but denied any means of escaping it.
Except, perhaps, through you.
Slowly, you nod. "I see. An unfortunate situation, Doji-san."
"Indeed." She says quietly. "And one I do not much wish to reflect upon. For now... ah, this must be the theater? Let us set aside such dire thoughts, and focus on appreciating the performance."
-/-
It takes only a little effort to arrange seats for yourself and Doji Mariko at the next play. As you expected, Strong Birch is absolutely delighted to be of service, and his attitude appears to have spread throughout the rest of the theater's staff - all heimin, but well presented and apparently rather well spoken people all the same. They escort you into the audience chamber with all speed, and quickly find you a spot with a fine view of the stage and comfortable cushions to support you as you kneel. You begin to make enquiries about payment, but are informed that such things are waived during the festival - a lie, you are quite sure, but one you are willing to accept.
As is perhaps to be expected in the lands of the Lion, the Five Arches specializes in the controlled and stylized form of acting known as noh. It is a sharp contrast to the more energetic and lively kabuki traditionally favored by the Scorpion, but you suppose it is probably a much better fit for the exceptionally strict and disciplined Lion. Indeed, as you look around the audience you can see at least a couple of dozen samurai from the Lion who have taken the time to attend the performance, in addition to a large number of peasants who come from the more refined and intellectual portions of society (all of whom have left plenty of space between themselves and the nearest samurai). If there are any attendees from the other delegations here, you do not spot them before the lanterns are extinguished and the play begins.
It begins in darkness, with the lights turned down and all of the audience waiting in silence. Then a single candle is lit, cradled in the hands of a single actor in the middle of the stage. He is dressed in robes of the deepest black, and on his face is one of the masks common to noh performances. Where most such masks would have a stylized and exaggerated expression on them, however, this one is perfectly smooth and blank. Aside from the two small slits for eyes and another for the mouth, it is utterly featureless.
"In the beginning, there was Nothing." The actor says slowly, his voice deep and smooth, almost like that of one still half-asleep. "No time or space. No light or darkness. No fire or earth or water or air. Not even the void. There was only I, and I was Nothing."
You recognize the story instantly. This is how the world came to be, as relayed to mankind by the Fortunes themselves, and it is a story that every Rokugani is taught at least once. Still, most plays that touch upon the subject would have cast one of the Fortunes themselves in the narrators role. To cast what appears to be a representation of something which does not exist is an unusual, even unprecedented step.
"It was then that I became aware of myself, and perceived that there was Nothing." The actor says, touching one hand lightly to his chest. "I was perfectly alone, for there was nothing but I and I was Nothing. In that moment, I knew Fear."
In the darkness around the actor there is a flurry of movement, and dim light of the candle picking out a myriad of plains and edges, lending shape to the previously formless shadows. Clearly, the actor is no longer alone upon the stage.
"Afraid of my own isolation, I wished to change it. I wanted for a companion, that my fear might be assuaged and my loneliness ended. And so, I knew Desire."
All around the stage, other candles and lanterns are ignited, small pools of light illuminating the darkness and revealing the growing number of other actors moving onto the stage, each richly attired in sharp contrast to the somber garb of the main narrator.
"It was then that I understood my mistake. I was Nothing, but from my Fear and my Desire had been created Something. My perfect stillness, my very existence was to be undone, for where there is something there cannot be Nothing. In that moment, that first moment, I knew Regret."
Now the lights are brought back up in full, revealing the full cast of the play in all their magnificent finery, thronging around and moving past each other in a carefully controlled dance of absolute anarchy. The stage is all but filled by them, and the pressure of their presence forces the original narrator towards the edges of the stage. But instead of exiting entirely, he pauses there on the threshold and turns to face the audience once more.
"Thus was the world created, born from accident and sin."
All at once, the actors all lift their lanterns and extinguish them once more, plunging the stage into darkness as the introductory scene is concluded.
Doji Mariko takes the opportunity presented by the brief pause to learn over and whisper in your ear, her breath warm against your skin.
"An unusual choice of play, Soshi-san. The manager is quite inspired. How did you come to know him?"
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