“If my lords will pardon the rudeness of their servant, she will go in and prepare the morning bath for them,” said Kohana, and before I could protest against such rashness, she hastened up across the veranda, into the house.
“Tomo!” I exclaimed, “you let her go, when the house may fall any moment! It must be shattered! That little wriggle was a cataclysm.”
“The shock was sharper than the usual weekly tremor,” he admitted. “But the house is built to withstand all but the heaviest quakes. The massive roof takes up the vibration of the shock, which is already broken at the loose post joints.”
Following his gesture, I looked under the house, through the open lattice-work, and saw that the house posts rested each with its hollow foot perched upon the round point of a half-embedded boulder. He nodded reassuringly, and led the way back into the house. Within I found the mortised beams and panelled woodwork unharmed by the earthquake. Thanks to the absence of plaster and standing furniture, the only result of the shocks had been to fill the rooms with dust and upset the vase with the jasmine spray in the tokonoma of the guest chamber.
Yoritomo smiled and pointed to the undisturbed bronze kitten. “It is hard to disconcert a geisha or her god. Kohana will soon have the bath heated. After that, breakfast and a morning of delight. No other geisha in Dai Nippon can dance as dances Kohana.”
“Morning?” I repeated. “But the feigned attack of Keiki upon the daughter of the Shogun?”
“There is ample time, and the more we refresh ourselves the better.”
“Tell me more of the plot. Is it possible the government spies can be deceived by such a farce?”
“Death?”