Free The Sword That Cut the Burning Grass by Dorothy Hoobler

it was comfortable here, and as long as no one was going to appear . . .
    The door to the room slid open and Amaterasu was there, holding a candle. This time, though, Seikei could see that she was only a girl, a year or two younger than he was—too young yet to have her hair drawn up and pinned in a woman’s style. Instead, it hung down on either side of her face, making it seem as round as the moon.
    “I thought I heard something,” she said. “Are you feeling better?”
    “Yes,” Seikei said. “But I’m hungry.” All at once he realized that he had a terribly empty feeling in his stomach.
    “I can’t get you anything until morning except some pickled daikon root,” the girl said.
    “Whatever you have will be fine,” replied Seikei.
    The girl nodded and disappeared. When she returned, bringing the sliced daikon root, Seikei found its tartness delicious. “I am sorry we have so little to give you,” the girl said. “The kitchen fire has been banked for the night.”
    Seikei found her apology strange. “Where am I?” he asked.
    “This is the house of Moriyama Yasuo,” she replied. “A rice merchant.”
    “Why did he treat me so generously?”
    “Oh, he doesn’t know anything about you,” she said. “He is away on a business trip.”
    Seikei blinked. “Well, then . . .”
    “I found you in the barrel,” the girl explained. “And of course I knew at once who you were.”
    “You did?”
    “Well, of course I knew, because you had that scroll.”
    “The scroll, yes. Where is it?”
    “It’s in the cabinet by the wall here. Along with your clothes. I cleaned them myself. Well, Araori helped. She’s the other servant. I’m sleeping in her room. This one was mine.”
    There was something about the conversation that puzzled Seikei. He was still thinking slowly, even after the fever had gone down. “You say you know who I am? Because of the scroll?”
    “Well, that wasn’t the only reason. Everyone has heard you were missing. And the scroll has a chrysanthemum seal on it.” She bowed her head. “I could guess where that came from.”
    Seikei nodded slowly. The chrysanthemum was the symbol of the emperor, and this girl must have known he took the scroll from the imperial library. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?” Seikei asked anxiously. If the girl knew he was missing, Yabuta must be hunting for him.
    “Just Araori. I couldn’t hide you from her. But the rest of the household—it’s only the merchant’s wife and mother—they don’t know. As long as we keep the house clean and serve them their meals on time, they take no interest in us. But when the master comes home . . .” She lowered her head.
    “When will that be?” asked Seikei.
    “Not for several days,” replied the girl. “We can be gone by then.”
    We?
    “Oh,” she continued, ignoring Seikei’s startled look. “That reminds me. Here is your headband.” She took it from the sleeve of her kimono. “I protected it, for I knew you would want it.”
    She tied it around Seikei’s forehead. “This was another way I knew who you were,” she said, sitting back and giving him an admiring look.
    “I see,” said Seikei, wondering how he could subtly ask who she thought he was. “What’s your name?” he said.
    “Hato,” she answered. “Pigeon. As you know, the pigeon is always a faithful servant of the hero in many stories. She flies ahead and warns him of danger.”
    “Yes,” Seikei said. “Well, of course I wouldn’t want to put you in danger. And besides, your master needs you here.”
    “He beats me,” she said.
    “He does? I can hardly believe—” Seikei stopped because Hato had turned away from him and lowered her kimono. Ugly bruises and welts marked the skin on her back.
    “He shouldn’t be allowed to do that,” Seikei said.
    Hato rearranged her clothing and faced him. “He can do anything he wishes,” she said. “For I have no other place to go.”
    Seikei knew this must be true. “But