staying with the flicker of bluish wings. Was its owner aboard the
Row Maru
? I hoped so. If he was, I might get the chance to see the unusual creature again.
Shortly afterward, Terayama-san returned to the carriage to tell us it was time to board. There was an air of tension about him — a tension that came not from anger but, I thought, from excitement. When he took Mother’s arm to help her step up onto the gangplank, she winced, as though his fingers squeezed too tight.
One of the household men walked beside me, ready to catch me if I looked likely to tip off either edge of the narrow boarding plank.
“It is an incredible coincidence that they’re taking this ship, too.” Terayama-san was speaking to my mother up ahead, his voice low and quick. “I am told they come from a country on the continent, and that their ruler has already been a guest at the Moon Prince’s palace. There is to be a trade agreement — they have incredible amounts of gold but want timber and livestock from us. If I can make their acquaintance before anyone else at court, it will be a tremendous opportunity, not just in terms of money but also influence.”
So that was why he was excited. Was this really a coincidence? Or were the foreigners the true reason we were taking the
Row Maru
instead of a proper passenger ship? I had read in one of Father’s books that a man cannot be faulted for ambition — and Father had always said that his friend had enough for both of them.
I wobbled a little as one of my sandals caught in a rough place on the gangplank, and grabbed at the servant to keep my balance. Suddenly that coppery foam below seemed far too close. I teetered for a moment, then drew in a breath of relief as I steadied.
Only then did I notice that the household man was not looking at me. In fact, although I was clutching his shoulder hard enough to bruise, he hadn’t lifted a hand to help me.
His attention was riveted above me — over the heads of my mother and Terayama-san, who had both frozen, too. As the shortest of the group, I had the worst view of the men they were all staring at.
I could see them only from the shoulders upward as they walked slowly past the boarding area, but that was interesting enough. Their skin was
dark.
Not dirty dark, or tanned dark, but the deep brown color of a piece of fine cherrywood. Their faces were shaped differently, too, with prominent cheek- and jawbones and full lips.
Their hair was long and black, like everyone’s I knew, but it was fluffy — no — fuzzy, like lambswool, and gathered into sort of ropes that fell down from knots or braids at the back of their heads. Golden ornaments, bells, charms, and beads clinked and tinkled in those ropes of hair as they moved.
But the most interesting thing about the men — to me, anyway — was their scars. Each man had a pattern of scars on his face. On the closest, I could just make out dots and whirls and long, straight lines that scored foreheads and cheeks and glowed dark blue against warm brown skin.
These must be Terayama-san’s rich foreigners; and they really were foreign, the strangest people I had ever seen. The men did not glance down at us. A sign of masterly self-control, since they must have felt our astonished stares.
Only one of them broke rank and turned his head. He was the youngest and the smallest. I could only just see him over Mother’s shoulder. The marks on his cheeks were like storm clouds.
His eyes flickered over us all with what seemed like impersonal interest, but when his gaze met mine, his expression changed. I could not have named any one emotion that crossed his strange, beautiful face. A sort of recognition, perhaps? I felt I ought to respond, but did not know how. Then a tiny smile twitched at one corner of his mouth, and I was unable to contain the answering smile that crossed my lips.
One of the other men looked back and said something in a language I did not understand. The boy, for he was no more
Row Maru
? I hoped so. If he was, I might get the chance to see the unusual creature again.
Shortly afterward, Terayama-san returned to the carriage to tell us it was time to board. There was an air of tension about him — a tension that came not from anger but, I thought, from excitement. When he took Mother’s arm to help her step up onto the gangplank, she winced, as though his fingers squeezed too tight.
One of the household men walked beside me, ready to catch me if I looked likely to tip off either edge of the narrow boarding plank.
“It is an incredible coincidence that they’re taking this ship, too.” Terayama-san was speaking to my mother up ahead, his voice low and quick. “I am told they come from a country on the continent, and that their ruler has already been a guest at the Moon Prince’s palace. There is to be a trade agreement — they have incredible amounts of gold but want timber and livestock from us. If I can make their acquaintance before anyone else at court, it will be a tremendous opportunity, not just in terms of money but also influence.”
So that was why he was excited. Was this really a coincidence? Or were the foreigners the true reason we were taking the
Row Maru
instead of a proper passenger ship? I had read in one of Father’s books that a man cannot be faulted for ambition — and Father had always said that his friend had enough for both of them.
I wobbled a little as one of my sandals caught in a rough place on the gangplank, and grabbed at the servant to keep my balance. Suddenly that coppery foam below seemed far too close. I teetered for a moment, then drew in a breath of relief as I steadied.
Only then did I notice that the household man was not looking at me. In fact, although I was clutching his shoulder hard enough to bruise, he hadn’t lifted a hand to help me.
His attention was riveted above me — over the heads of my mother and Terayama-san, who had both frozen, too. As the shortest of the group, I had the worst view of the men they were all staring at.
I could see them only from the shoulders upward as they walked slowly past the boarding area, but that was interesting enough. Their skin was
dark.
Not dirty dark, or tanned dark, but the deep brown color of a piece of fine cherrywood. Their faces were shaped differently, too, with prominent cheek- and jawbones and full lips.
Their hair was long and black, like everyone’s I knew, but it was fluffy — no — fuzzy, like lambswool, and gathered into sort of ropes that fell down from knots or braids at the back of their heads. Golden ornaments, bells, charms, and beads clinked and tinkled in those ropes of hair as they moved.
But the most interesting thing about the men — to me, anyway — was their scars. Each man had a pattern of scars on his face. On the closest, I could just make out dots and whirls and long, straight lines that scored foreheads and cheeks and glowed dark blue against warm brown skin.
These must be Terayama-san’s rich foreigners; and they really were foreign, the strangest people I had ever seen. The men did not glance down at us. A sign of masterly self-control, since they must have felt our astonished stares.
Only one of them broke rank and turned his head. He was the youngest and the smallest. I could only just see him over Mother’s shoulder. The marks on his cheeks were like storm clouds.
His eyes flickered over us all with what seemed like impersonal interest, but when his gaze met mine, his expression changed. I could not have named any one emotion that crossed his strange, beautiful face. A sort of recognition, perhaps? I felt I ought to respond, but did not know how. Then a tiny smile twitched at one corner of his mouth, and I was unable to contain the answering smile that crossed my lips.
One of the other men looked back and said something in a language I did not understand. The boy, for he was no more
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