32—Chicken SoupSnow began to fall again—light, tiny flakes that seemed to appear from nowhere. I struggled to keep the soup from sloshing out of the tureen and the bowls clattered and threatened to fall every time my feet slid on the slick gravel, but I managed. Soon I was at the Retreat. I knocked on the door.
A familiar whisper answered. “Yes?”
“Emi!”
She sighed. “Hello, Murasaki. Do you have our meal?”
“Yes! It’s chicken soup.”
I heard several of the women inside groan with hunger.
“Open the door,” I whispered, “and I can help you serve it out.”
“Oh,” Emi said, sounding uncertain. “I think you’re just supposed to leave it.”
I kept my voice low; I didn’t want anyone but Emi to hear. “But I need to bring the tureen to the guesthouse to feed Aimaru and Masugu-san.”
“Oh.” I heard m
