Yumi and the Nightmare Painter(59)

“But demonstration of what, honored scholars?” the mayor said, bowing again.

The lead scholar smiled. “Our machine,” he said, “for stacking stones.”





“It’s an abomination,” Yumi said, pacing through Painter’s room. “Worse, it’s blasphemy! A dead thing can’t summon the spirits. And if it did, it would be like lying. A deception. It… Why are you smiling?”

“Oh, no reason,” Painter said, leaning back on his altar. “Please continue the rant.”

“You disagree with me,” she said, stalking up to him, her eyes narrowed. She was so angry she hadn’t even changed out of the sleeping clothing, so they matched. “Out with it. Why do you disagree?”

“Well,” he said, “I just find it poignant. The way you describe stacking—always focused on the idea of precision—is so mechanical. You complained every time I injected emotion into it, and once said you’d be better if you were a machine. Now…here we are.”

She breathed out through her nose, then folded her arms. “I forbid you to find irony in this situation, Painter.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“But only in my world,” she added with a nod, “where my rules apply.” She stalked in the other direction, trying to sort through the host of emotions arrayed to assault her.

A machine. To stack stones.

A machine to…replace her.

If it worked, would that mean no more yoki-hijo? No more girls spending their lives trapped by the invisible walls of expectation and responsibility?

But it was an honor.

Would it be so bad if no one had to bear that honor?

The spirits are in pain, she thought. They want me to do something to save them.

“I’ll bet,” she said, turning toward Painter, “this is why the spirits asked me for help. It’s to stop that abomination.” She gasped softly. “That’s why they sent someone useless to hold my body… I needed to fail to stack…so these scholars would come and I could see their evil plan unfold!”

“I’ll ignore the wisecrack about me being useless,” Painter said. “I don’t think those scholars are evil, Yumi.”

“They are creating devices to replace the honest efforts of good people!” she said, spinning on him. “What if they made machines to harvest crops? To sew clothing? Soon no one would have anything useful to do with their lives! People would wither like fruit dropped to the ground.”

“Uh, Yumi,” he said, “where do you think those pajamas came from? The dresses you bought?”

She looked down at the clothing. She had noticed the incredibly precise stitches.

“We have the things you mention,” he said. “Machines to help with planting and harvesting crops. Machines to make clothing. That shower you love so much? Another machine. Same with the viewer. And guess what? People in my world still have useful things to do. Machines require workers to build and maintain them, along with others to cultivate and position the hion lines. Your people will be fine.”

“Your machines don’t replace a holy purpose,” she said. “The spirits will be offended.”

“If they are, won’t they just refuse to come to a machine’s stacks?”

Well. Probably.

Unless something was deeply wrong. Something that prevented them from seeking help anywhere else.

Free us…

“Wonder how they’re powering the thing,” Painter said, standing up and glancing toward the room’s light—which had a faint pair of twin colors leading to it, the ever-present hion. “Your people haven’t discovered hion yet, have they?”

“I doubt it exists on my world,” she said.

“Maybe they’ll use something more ancient. Do your people have coal engines?”

She stared at him blankly. Coal?

“Guess not,” he said.

“We’re not primitive,” she said, waving around the room, “merely because we can’t make faces appear in boxes on the wall. You don’t know how to make buildings float.”

He didn’t reply, so she moved a few stacks of painted bamboo and went about her morning routine. Once showered, combed, dressed, and the rest, she sat down with her ink and brush.

“I am ready for instruction, Master Teacher,” she said, bowing deeply.

“Do you call me that,” he asked, “because it annoys me?”

“Yes,” she said, bowing again.

“You admit it?”

“Why else would I call you names you dislike?” she said. “I mean, I thought it was obvious.”

He waved his hands and sat on his altar. “Isn’t annoying people against the…spiritual girl code or something?”

“Your world,” she said, raising her chin, “your rules. And from what I’ve seen, Painter, annoying people is basically a religion to you.”

She did feel mischievous saying such things to him, and it would have been proper for her to stop. But…why was he so amusing to tease? If he’d bowed his head, she would likely have felt guilty. Instead he raised his hands toward the heavens and shook his head dramatically.

“I,” he said, “don’t understand you at all.”