Chapter 8: Hot Pot for Everyone

Genzo was the first to find his voice.

"This is assault," he said. "I'll take it to the Council, Saint. I'll take it to the magistrate."

"The magistrate's paper says stolen recipes," Tomoe said.

She had put the knife back in the roll.

She walked past the fallen chair, up to Genzo, and held out her hand.

"Let me see it."

He hesitated.

Then he handed her the paper, because there were two porters and a rice-seller watching, and because his hand had begun to shake.

The old rice-seller stood at the gate with his cart, wide-eyed, a witness who had come up with a delivery and stayed for a war.

Tomoe opened her notebook on top of the paper, in the snow.

"Clear clam soup with ginger oil," she said.

"Written here nine years ago, in my mother's kitchen. You hired me six years ago, Master Mori. Your own register says so."

"A notebook can be written any day."

"Then you can make the soup yourself," Tomoe said. "Right now. There's a stove in the kitchen, and a pot."

"I don't cook," Genzo said. "I'm the owner."

"You said it was your dish."

"I..."

"Say it was mine."

The wind blew.

"Say it," Shiori said, from behind her, very quietly.

Genzo looked at the sword in the saint's hand, still a finger out of its sheath.

"It was yours," he said.

"Louder."

"It was Kisaragi's. They were all Kisaragi's." He wiped his face. "I'll tear up the paper."

Tomoe tore the magistrate's paper into long strips and let the wind take them.

"And you'll pay me the wages you docked, all twelve months. Silver, on the gate post, by the thaw. The rice-seller will carry it."

"That's..."

"Write it down." She turned to the old man. "You heard him, didn't you? In front of two witnesses?"

"I heard," the rice-seller said, in a trembling voice. "I'll carry it. I'll carry it myself."

Genzo Mori climbed back into his dented chair without another word.

The porters lifted it and went down the mountain much faster than they had come up.

When the lanterns had disappeared into the trees, Tomoe felt the strain of six years ease.

Then her knees gave way and Shiori caught her.

"You were very good," the saint said.

"I was terrified."

"You did not show it."

"I'm a cook. I do everything while terrified." Tomoe laughed into her shoulder, a wet shaky laugh.

"Gods. Did you hear what you said to him?"

"I remember."

"You told him you'd touched me twice."

Shiori's ears went pink.

"It was the truth," she said. "You do not like it?"

"I like it a great deal." Tomoe pulled back to look at her.

"The old man heard it too, you know. By tomorrow all of Fumoto will have it."

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