Saturday Short: The Tea House at the Crossroads

photograph of rock path in Japanese tea garden through a wooden gate flanked by two stone statues, one of a figure and one of a pagoda

“I don’t want any trouble.”

“Neither do I,” the assassin said studying the whorls in the tabletop before her. Her hands were folded on her lap, where the tea mistress could easily see them.

“The Rule at the Crossroads—”

“I know the Rule and I know your duty. Do you?”

The tea mistress’ cheeks flamed red, but not as red as the strand of hair that had escaped from the scarf covering the assassin’s head. The few other patrons in the tea house pretended not to listen, though each had edged closer to the door. They were not so foolish as to antagonize an assassin, even within the protections of the tea house. Rules had been broken before.

“Of course, I know my duty—”

“Then I would like some tea and the house special, please.”

The tea mistress huffed away, muttering under her breath as the assassin feigned indifference to everyone in the room. Service had been more professional the last time she had been here, but that had been a long time ago. Before there was a touch of snow in her hair, before she had a scar that could only be seen in the moonlight.

She truly didn’t want any trouble. But with the north wind might want to blow trouble her way with the darkening of the Path in the doorway. Her tea and meal arrived without another word from the tea mistress. The assassin ate her meal without haste, but also without pause. It was better to have a full stomach when trouble came than not.