The Dwarf

“What did you do to her?” Kiyohime demanded, her voice sharp with accusation, her earlier vulnerability gone, replaced by righteous fury. “Why was she screaming like that? I told you not to upset her. She’s so fragile already, and you still managed to provoke her!”

Haruka forced himself not to look at Momozawa Ai, who was watching from the periphery of the crowd, a silent, assessing presence. “I didn’t say anything,” he replied calmly. “She asked me a few questions, and then she… she just had an episode.”

Kiyohime looked betrayed, her face a mask of wounded anger. “From just a few questions? Don’t lie to me. You must have said something…”

“Now, now, Second Young Mistress, let’s all take a breath,” Momozawa Ai said, stepping out from the group of servants, her voice a soothing balm on the tense atmosphere. “Let’s not get emotional. We simply need to understand what was said.” She turned her flawless face to Haruka. “Young Master, what did the Old Mistress ask you?”

Haruka stared intently at Momozawa Ai’s face, searching for any flicker of a reaction. The shadow he had seen in the corner behind the gauze screen was clearly hers. Even though it was just a fleeting glimpse, he was certain. But he could find no trace of it on her perfect, composed face. She was forever unchanging, a beautiful shell painted with eyebrows and red lips, a demon wearing the skin of a beautiful woman.

“She asked for my name,” Haruka said, lowering his head, playing the part of a cowed child.

“And how did you answer?” Momozawa Ai pressed gently.

“Truthfully,” Haruka said. “I answered whatever she asked.”

“Very good,” Momozawa Ai said, giving him a long, deep look. “And after you told her your name, how did she react?”

“She became very angry.”

“So it was the question about your name that caused this?”

“I’m not sure,” Haruka said, shaking his head. “It may have been a trigger. But she was only angry at first. The screaming came later.”

“What did she say? Why was she angry?”

“She demanded to know whose surname ‘Yukishiro’ was,” Haruka said, his head still bowed. “It may be improper for me, as a junior, to repeat some of what was said…”

“Speak,” Momozawa Ai commanded, her voice soft but absolute. She glanced around the room. The maids and bodyguards stood respectfully silent. Kiyohime’s face was still a mask of blame. “Tell everyone what you heard.”

“Her… her state of mind was very unstable,” Haruka began carefully, his words chosen with the precision of a surgeon. “I think the pain of her illness has affected her mind, making her irritable.” He skillfully shifted the focus to Kiyohime. “She adores the Second Young Mistress more than anyone, yet she wouldn’t even speak a few words to her. She sent her away. It’s possible her mind was already… confused… even before I went in.”

Kiyohime’s expression softened, her anger slowly being replaced by a look of sad understanding. So that’s why Grandmother wouldn’t talk to me, she thought. She was already not herself.

Everyone knew how much the Old Mistress cherished the Second Young Mistress. For her to refuse to speak to Kiyohime, yet allow an “outsider” to her bedside… it could only mean the Old Mistress was truly not in her right mind. Seeing that Kiyohime was silent and did not object, everyone assumed Haruka was telling the truth.

“Continue,” Momozawa Ai said, her expression unreadable. “How did you answer her question about your name?”

“That’s when she started speaking nonsense,” Haruka said. “I told her I took my mother’s surname. The Old Mistress became agitated and said, how could I take my mother’s name? And then… then she said my mother wasn’t my mother, that her mother should be her mother, and my mother should be her mother… It was all very confusing. I don’t think she knew what she was saying.”

The room was filled with bewildered silence. If Haruka hadn’t so cleverly planted the seed of the Old Mistress’s dementia by using Kiyohime as an example, they would have thought he was mocking them. Instead, a murmur of pity went through the staff. The Old Mistress’s mind is truly gone. It’s only natural she would say such mad things.

Momozawa Ai’s brow furrowed, her gaze suddenly sharp as a shard of glass as she stared at him. “You’re lying.”

The room fell utterly silent. The air became thin, tense, delicate enough to shatter.

“Just kidding,” Momozawa Ai said suddenly, her features relaxing into a disarming smile. The shift was jarring, terrifying. “The Old Mistress has been bedridden for so long. To say such outlandish things… it sounds like a joke even to me.”

The air in the room began to move again. Haruka let out a silent, heartfelt sigh of relief, the muscles in his back unclenching.

Momozawa Ai then did something strange. She bent down, speaking to what Haruka thought was empty air beside her. “Miko-sama, as you can see, the Old Mistress is no longer lucid. If we don’t perform the ritual soon, I’m afraid she…”

The sight was so unsettling that Haruka took a half-step back. It was only then that he saw her, a dwarf who stood no higher than Momozawa Ai’s waist, previously hidden by the folds of the head butler’s dress.

“Do not worry,” the dwarf said, her voice like the grating sound of two stones being rubbed together. As she spoke, she stepped forward into the light.

For the first time, Haruka saw her clearly. It was the old woman from the exorcism, the one who looked to be in her seventies or eighties, her face a mask of wrinkles like a rough rock wall. She wore the red and white robes of a miko, but they were ancient, imbued with the faint, musty smell of decay, as if they had existed for a century.

The miko simply looked up at him, her eyes cloudy and white, and Haruka felt a profound sense of unease, a chilling certainty that his every thought was being laid bare before her.

“This is the revered Miko from the Ise Grand Shrine,” Momozawa Ai introduced her to Haruka, her tone filled with a deep, theatrical respect.

Everyone in the room bowed to her, even the notoriously rebellious Kiyohime, who bent at the waist in a shallow, grudging bow. Haruka was too rational to believe in gods and ghosts, but out of a sense of self-preservation, he also offered a small bow.

The miko had no reaction, her cloudy white eyes simply staring at him, through him.

“Is… is Miko-sama here to pray for the Old Mistress’s recovery?” Haruka asked, feeling deeply unsettled. He assumed it was some ancient custom of the noble Fujiwara family.

“No,” Momozawa Ai said. “Miko-sama is here to cure the Old Mistress.”

“Cure her? You’re saying she is going to cure her?”

“That’s right,” Momozawa Ai said, her smile serene. “Miko-sama will cure her by exorcising the demon youkai.”

Haruka looked at Momozawa Ai’s serious face, at the servants who took this as a matter of course, at the impassive, bored expression on Kiyohime’s face. Finally, his gaze fell upon the tiny, ancient dwarf. “Is this… the kind of ‘exorcising demon youkai’ that I’m imagining?”

“Yes.” Momozawa Ai suddenly grabbed Haruka’s hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “And you are the one who is going to do it.”

Haruka’s face changed. He suddenly felt a profound, dizzying sense of dislocation. He had fallen into a world of madmen, and they were all speaking a language he could never hope to understand.