二十Part 20 (Urameshiya)

The air grew cooler as they passed the port of Hyogo. They avoided the developed areas of the harbor, keeping to the foot of the mountain range as they neared their destination. Even without going into the port itself, Shichi could see distant docks and the sails of ships. Absently, he wondered what other lands they might be going to. It reminded him that, despite going through an arduous journey, he had barely experienced a sliver of the world around him. He had never seen a city as large as Osaka and could only imagine what it might look like once they arrived.

The tengu’s imagination proved to be a poor substitute for reality. It was evening when they reached the city. He found himself breathless as they passed the northern entrance, unable to suppress his reactions. There were buildings as far as the eye could see, their roofs an endless field of tiles. Even at night, the streets of Osaka were full of commotion, busy with the comings and goings of locals. The walled alleys were bustling with merchants and travelers, their forms flowing through the city’s veins. His senses were overwhelmed, bombarded by scents and sounds—of cooking food and playing children, of salesman calling their wares and the clatter of sake carts. The street was lined with restaurants—with dark, salty smoke, and the sizzle of fire. Colors competed for his attention from every angle, of glowing lamps and kimono the color of the setting sun.

The city was crisscrossed with canals, overlaid by hundreds of wooden bridges. Rows of lanterns reflected off of the shallow water, the yellow spots rippling beneath the crossing. He paused halfway over the bridge, his eyes drawn toward the east. Over the rows of buildings was the tallest structure he had ever seen, peeking over the distant rooftops like an ivory summit.

“Is that . . . a castle?” he asked, unable to remove his eyes from it.

“Yes,” Chiyo said, looking considerably less impressed in her human form. “Stop gawking, you look like a country boy.”

“Ah, I’m sorry.” Shichi rubbed the top of his head. He was certain she was right—nobody around them took notice of their surroundings, simply going on with their business. His face grew hot as he attempted to keep his eyes forward, ignoring the tempting sights and smells around him.

“I’m hungry.” Chiyo looked sideways as they passed another restaurant. “All of these shops smell so good. Why don’t we have some real food for once?”

“I’d love to.” As much as he hated agreeing with her complaints, he was also starting to get tired of raw, dried vegetables. Outside of his childhood village, he had never been in an actual restaurant before. The concept fascinated him—having a meal prepared just for you, without having to clean up afterward. It sounded selfish and wonderful.

“Ah, but I still don’t have any money.” He suddenly remembered that restaurants weren’t free.

“It’s all right,” Chiyo said. “You just spent a week carrying me around on your shoulder. I owe you one.”

Shichi paused, surprised to hear such a selfless statement from the kitsune. She seemed to catch on to his thoughts, and folded her arms defensively.

“What? I can be nice, too.”

“Of course you can.”

Soon, they came to a large noodle shop, its doors bustling with the traffic of customers. A divine smell drifted through the air, carrying hints of buckwheat and rice wine. The restaurant’s interior was noisy, filled with the chatter of diners and clinking bowls.

Chiyo caught the eyes of a staff member. “Are there any seats a—”

“No animals,” he said, blocking their path with his wide body.

“What?” Her eyes burned red as she fisted both hands. “How dare you! I’ll—”

Shichi placed a hand on her shoulder. “Chiyo, let it go.”

“But he—”

“I’d rather eat where we’re welcome,” he said. “Wouldn’t you?”

Chiyo took in a long breath through her nose, her eyes piercing through the man at the door. His expression remained flat, showing no signs of changing his mind. Finally, she exhaled, giving the human a snort before following Shichi away from the shop.

“Their soba was probably terrible, anyway,” she said between her teeth.

“I’m sorry,” Shichi said as they continued down the street. “That was my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“It was. I don’t even look slightly human. Maybe, if you tried going in alone, you could—”

“Don’t you dare.” She shook her head firmly. “We’ll find a place where we can both eat. Got it?”

Shichi nodded, his eyes softening at her words.

“Hey,” came a voice from the side, just loud enough to catch their attention. They turned toward the alley on the right, where a figure was crouched beside the earthen wall. Though it was dark, Shichi could make out the unmistakable hairline of a kappa. It ran in a crown around an otherwise bald head, dark and stringy against his green skin. There was a thin pipe in his hand, waggling as he toyed with the handle.

“Yes?” Shichi was relieved to see another yokai—even one who was lurking in the shadows.

“I saw what happened at the soba shop. Don’t bother with human restaurants,” the kappa said, his words low and hoarse.

“We figured that out,” Chiyo said. Shichi elbowed her.

He paid no mind to Chiyo’s attitude. “There’s one place you can go. Urameshiya.”

Shichi tilted his head. “Urameshiya?”

“Cross two bridges, then turn into the alley with the broken statue. If you follow the path long enough, you’ll find it,” he said. “You’ll be welcome there.”

“I see,” Shichi replied with a bow. “Thank you.”

The old yokai nodded, returning his attention to his pipe. Shichi wasn’t sure what to think as they continued down the street. The kappa hadn’t explained what the place was, only that they would be “welcome.” Still, it was the first sign of kindness they’d seen since arriving in the city. Something told him that he would regret ignoring the gesture.

Soon, they came across the broken statue. It was an enormous tanuki—a raccoon dog that was taller than Shichi and twice as wide. Much of the left side had crumbled, leaving its face and arm in poor condition. Words had been painted in red across its bulging belly, though most of the characters were faded beyond legibility.

“I suppose this is it.” Shichi tried to ignore the ominous air emanating from the statue. “Well, we don’t have much to lose.”

Chiyo scratched her side, her tone less than enthusiastic. “Just our lives.”

“Good thing we have a big, strong kitsune with us.”

“If we get robbed, you’re on your own.”

Shichi laughed at the idea, especially at the thought of a thief unfortunate enough to rob a penniless monk. They continued down the alley, their forms lit by rows of old, dim lanterns. The walls were high and partially crumbled; the city had clearly not prioritized maintaining this part of town. They passed abandoned homes with torn paper windows—weeds grew through cracks in the walls and stray cats darted over the faded rooftops. Still, the paper lanterns continued to light the street, guiding them farther down the twisting alley.

As they turned a corner, light and noise spilled across the path. They both froze at the sight before them, taken by surprise at the size of the building.

A large inn dominated the left side of the street, rising three stories above them in beams of painted wood. The bottom floor was bright and lively, lit warmly from the inside and covered in strings of cloth banners. Dozens of red lanterns rose to the roof, each painted with a single eye in black ink. The top two floors were lined entirely with balcony ledges. There were screened paper windows, some lit with activity, and others dark. The building was surprisingly well-kept, standing out amidst the dilapidated structures they had passed in the alley. Above the front door was a large plank of wood on which three characters were carved—Urameshiya.

“Well, then,” Chiyo said, hands on her hips. “It looks like we—”

She stopped in mid-step, staring at the entrance—or, more specifically, the two beasts that guarded it. Shichi had never seen such animals before, having only noticed their likeness in paintings or in books. They were enormous, their heads reaching his waist and their claws as long as knives. Their bodies looked to be a mixture of dog and lion, with great curled manes hugging their faces. One had its mouth open, exposing its white, curved teeth. In spite of their ferocious appearances, neither animal seemed to pay the two any mind. They sat quietly on either side of the door, looking surprisingly docile.

“Again with the dogs.” Chiyo groaned, making sure to stay one step behind her companion.

“I don’t think they’ll hurt us,” Shichi said as one of beasts let out a sleepy yawn.

“Then why don’t you go first.” She pushed Shichi’s back as she followed behind. Sure enough, the dogs didn’t budge as they passed through. Pushing the cloth curtain aside, they stepped in.

Though the exterior of the inn had surprised Shichi, the inside left him speechless. The open area was covered in low tables, each filled with more yokai than Shichi even knew existed. At one table sat a group of oni, their great heads towering over the other customers. They were covered in layers of striped animal pelts, their skin in varying shades of crimson and blue. Pointed teeth flashed as they laughed, giving them a jovial air in spite of their blunt, demonic horns. They chattered raucously, pouring drinks for one another from ceramic bottles. Shichi’s eyes caught a pair of tanuki, both in much better shape than the statue that had led them there. There were even other tengu seated in the corner, each of them caught up in the storytelling of their companion. The walls were lined with slips of paper advertising the available dishes, many of them foods Shichi had never heard of.

“Welcome!” came a woman’s voice, just as warm as the air in the room. They looked toward the source, surprised to see a human woman near the back of the dining area. It was only when she approached did they realize that she wasn’t human at all.

Rather than come forth with her body, it was only her head that moved to greet them at the entrance. Her neck stretched, sweeping over the heads of her customers. She was a rokurokubi, yokai nearly identical to humans with necks that could extend across an entire room. Shichi had never seen one in person before. He and Chiyo tensed as her face swept closer, both leaning back ever so slightly.

“Ah, you’re new! We’re happy to have you. Are you here for a room, or perhaps a drink?” she asked. Her lips were set in a perpetual smile, full and painted in red. Long, black hair sat neatly on top of her head, held back with a tortoiseshell comb.

“Both,” Chiyo answered. “How much is a room?”

“Fifty mon for two beds,” the woman said, then paused to consider her guests. “Or would you both like to share a single?”

“No,” they replied in blunt unison, drawing forth a laugh from their hostess.

“I see! Well then, sit wherever you’d like and I’ll have your room prepared right away.”

Soon, they were seated near the edge of the dining area, their table covered in bottles and plates. It was here that Chiyo’s lack of manners really shined, evident in her noisy, hurried eating. In contrast, the tengu ate methodically, consuming his food in absolute silence. Having a hot meal was a blessing, with each bite tasting better than the last.

There was something different about the taste of the food; it was more flavorful than his temple’s cooking, with richer, more generous seasonings. The sake was hot as well, perfect for the winter and his aching bones. He paused to close his eyes, taking a moment to appreciate the evening. It was only a few weeks ago that he’d nearly starved to death, alone and freezing in the pine forest. Now, he was sharing a meal with a friend—the air was warm and there wasn’t a soul around to hunt him.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Chiyo said, pouring him another cup.

“Ah, sorry,” he said. “I’m still getting used to eating and talking.”

“Do monks eat in silence?”

“We try to focus on one thing at a time.” Shichi sipped from his cup, noticing the drink was already heating his body. He gave a pleased sigh.

“I know that acting like a normal person can be challenging, but I’m proud of you for trying.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Shichi said, setting his cup down. Chiyo only laughed.

“So you’re here to help people, right?” she said. “How exactly do you plan on doing that?”

Shichi was quiet for a moment, stalling for time by taking another drink. “I don’t actually have a plan.”

“Well, drink up. It’ll help you think of something,” she said, her face already red from the previous bottle.

“Yes.” Shichi tilted his head back to empty his cup. “I certainly hope so.”