Chapter Three

‘What is the meaning of this, Reiko? Have you forgotten the pity we took in placing one such as you among our clan?’

Several hours had passed since my fateful encounter with Saori. Leaving her unconscious and bleeding on the sodden earth outside the drawing room, I had since retired to the dining room for my afternoon meal of Negro brains and pudding. I was only halfway finished with the former when Shizuka approached me. Her eyes shone with malice as she spoke.

Shizuka, it is worth mentioning, was not at all like Saori. Where Saori exuded puerility and impertinence, her sister displayed maturity and deference. Like a wily Jew, Shizuka was patient and calculating, and always willing to do whatever necessary to secure her advantage. With the sole exception of her mother, she was the most dangerous woman I have ever known.

I met her gaze defiantly. I was afraid of Shizuka, but I would not cower before her as a seal cowers beneath the club of a noble Eskimo. To show her weakness of any sort would only stoke the fires of her already considerable confidence. I had to display my resolve.

‘I am wife to Shunsuke, eldest son of the Tsubakikoji family,’ said I in a voice clear and even. ‘This house is my rightful inheritance, and I will claim that right by any means necessary.’

Shizuka’s mouth curled into a contemptuous sneer. ‘Hah! The feeble aspirations of a gutter wench. As eldest daughter, I remind you that the house will go to my husband, as befits his noble birth! Begone, tramp!’

Her hand shot out with the speed of a dreaded African spring snake, and immediately I felt the sting of her strike upon my cheek. To my surprise, the pain was pronounced; clearly Shizuka had foreseen that slaps would come to pass and had prepared accordingly. But while her technique was impeccable, her lack of experience was obvious. Her blow reminded me of the adventurous bluestockings who would occasionally come into the slums of Scumington looking to test their mettle against one of the local street-slappers. Silly little society girls emboldened by a few lectures on the latest advances in self-defence science, they would arrive full of vigour and confidence, and leave with a handful of teeth. Thus it would be with Shizuka.

Dabbing a napkin upon my mouth, I arose and – adopting one of Madame Smack’s patented Offensive Postures – let fly with a left-handed blushmaker that struck Shizuka’s cheek with the force of a Spaniard’s canon. She stumbled backwards, her bosoms quivering with the force of my assault.  Even after witnessing the aftermath of my wrath in the drawing room, she had plainly not expected such powerful retaliation. Her composure was completely shattered.

‘You are ... you ... how?’ she blustered as blood and spittle snaked their way down the side of her mouth and around her chin.  By way of reply, I swung my right arm in an upward arc and drove my index finger into her exposed nostril. Honking and squealing like an enraged goose, her head snapped back with a sickening crack as my fingertip broke through her sinus membrane and pressed upward toward her now dangerously unguarded brain matter. Upon withdrawing my hand, a geyser of blood and other bodily humours erupted from Shizuka's nose, much of which deposited itself on my hand and forearm. She howled with agony while I wiped myself clean on her dress.

‘Your noble husband guarantees you nothing. This is a fight between women, Shizuka. And you have been defeated.’

As she ran bawling from the room, I sat down again and ate the rest of my Negro brains, happy in the knowledge that soon ... very soon ... my rightful inheritance would at last be mine. 

I would be the lady of House Tsubakikoji.