The Hell- Bound Mistress (STORY) 5: The Toast

“Oh this is good enough for the Emperor of China. I thank you.”

But the Mistress took a few second before she huffed in her reply. From her long manicured fingers, she unfastened the cork of the small bottle and then doused out the clear wine into the drinking bowls. Despite the great tenseness she felt within her, she maintained a perfect well-practiced pose of serenity as the small spill reached their fill in the glazed bowls.

“...was it because of the baby?” she said.

It sounded like a whisper, but the Mistress had every look of a woman who knew she would be not walking out of that gild paneled room, nor escape this special night.

The spicy aroma of imported premium sorghum wine- worth of several whole family's annual incomes of koku, wafted in the gold paneled room between the two of them. The spot where the Mistress selected for her final appointment.

“Yes.”

“Lord Yoshikage is a perennially merciful sovereign.” proclaimed the unappeasable voice, “but he still cannot forgive the grievous wounds that had been done...to his blood.”

“Even if he had never met such a child in person.” Seeing the hard brows of the Mistress knit up in inquiry, the voice explained in a more personal tone. “He must do this in principle. My Master's true heart belonged to the Hidden God. To the white South Sea-Barbarian's one true Lord, who once died on the cross then lived again in miracle.”

The patient voice, the voice which mirrored the voice's own master explained in confidence knowing that this revelation, which normally warranted a capital punishment under the grim Shogunate's law, would not leave this room tonight. “The white one true Lord then transcended even beyond the heights of Buddhahood, to become a veritable God who still- watches and bless this wayward world. All of the world is at His divine mercy, all of the world is subjugated to his scrutiny, even the Shogun Ienari- sama himself.”

“Thus to him,” the voice clarified, “To Lord Yoshikage, the slaying of his fresh born child cannot be forgiven, for the White God who is omnipotent had doubtlessly saw this unnatural deed, which is utterly unforgivable. And His Lordship must avenge this evil.”

The Mistress did not respond this time. After all, none of this was either new nor surprising, at least for Nagasaki that is. Nanban ways, strange foreign men who came from strange ships, that strange Kirishitan religion. Given how this was once where the strange white men's religion took hold for centuries before being expunged. ...But obviously not in full. And she pushed aside Yoshikage's naked body and flaccid mottled skin from her memories. Pushing aside his strange foreign justice too. Instead, half scowling with pursed and unfriendly lips, she began to pour a large bowl for herself.

“How did he knew it was his?”

“He assumed that you only had him these months.”

Instead, with disinterested eyes, the proud woman drank the whole glazed bowl in one draught, then without missing a single plucked note of a shamisen, poured herself another. 

It felt like a stream of liquid fire and like a spear, lanced through her visceras. The draught of hell- bound women. But she merely poured herself another and sank back, lazily folding out her long white legs.

“All of them do.” The Mistress spat out mockingly.

“But I'm afraid...” the voice continued, “He would still merit out the same blow.”

“For any who was slain thusly.”

“...even if by his mother's hands.”

At this the Mistress said nothing, instead, letting the wisp of scalding wine fumes blow out of her inflamed nostrils. There was so much wine in her, along with all of the opium already within her to embalm her whole from the inside out. Instead, she let the awkwardness drag, mocking the time with her seething pride.

Instead, drunkenly, with swaying head, she began to chuckle, but there was no sound.

“How excited was she when she told you?”

“I'm sorry?” The voice replied.

Annoyed, the Mistress coldly turned her head to her would- be judge and executioner.

“I saw her.” Her painted lips twisted into a hideous snarl, but her accusing eyes were cruel and hard like a demons. “I saw her getting curious around the bloody bundle. That little Piss Pot was sniffing around the garden and I saw her circle around it.”

“Ah” replied the voice.

“Wasn't her I'm afraid”

Strangely, at this, the room's seething tension popped like that of a prismatic soap bubble.

The Mistress's eyes were so wide they looked like they would have popped out of her head.

“I've already seen you place that bundle under the toilet stall's side boards” the executioner confessed.

The executioner shrugged, after all, a ninja was supposed to maintain watch even when no one knew they were there. In this respect, it was a skill that was much more legendary that those conjured by the popular imagination.

“Clever. It will cover up the rotting smell for weeks.” “But why did you went back to it?”

“Because I want to...look at her again.” The Mistress croaked. The rims of her eyes were wet and her eyeballs bloodshot with something strong. Like a dying beast's hateful glare.

“Her?”

“Yes.”

“And after those looks, you placed her bone bundle in the gardens. Under those wet lichen covered boulders.”

“Yes”

“Hoping that she would be imbued with the Earth's mud smell.”

“Yes.”

“To be disposed off later?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

“This is why you cannot forgive her.” Assessed the voice, “You cannot forgive her because she took her away.”

The Mistress closed her bloodshot eyes and her proud frame was silent. Her face looked so tense that if she was nudged she would shatter into porcelain shards. She was convulsing. A weak breath held within her for minutes, choking her whole.

“Even though you killed...her.” “You still wanted to bury her.”

“Yes.” A defeated whisper.

“Doubtlessly you thought your maid ran straight to someone like me, or the law.”

“Yes” a spear of hot burning tear streaked off the Mistress's proud eyes. Though she had been thoroughly painted by wild men's dirty cum that night, her blushing cheeks burned like crackling coal.

“I'm afraid she didn't do that.” the executioner sighed.

“I mean she should have come to me, after all, she was actually under my pay.”

The Mistress was choking.

“I'm afraid she took those bones to the mossy hillock shrine and burned it~ her” the voice corrected, “cremated her and buried her ashes on the headstones among the Buddhas.”

Hissing, the Mistress convulsed in a groan, as if she was being attacked.

She broke. At this the proud Mistress began to sob. And then there was only sobbing.

And minutes stretched like hours.