26
Confusion

The biggest discomfort was thirst, and a thin sense of nausea that comes with overexertion over a long time with no food or water. This place could almost develop in a man claustrophobia that would not have existed before. And the most Saito had to show for his bout in the close confines of the tunnel were bruised ribs, brought on by a lucky staff under the arm of another swordsman. In the end, Saito had felled enough of those nearest to him that their bodies blocked the way of the ones behind them, and he was able to make a try for the very narrow tunnel where he had thrown Kenshin.

It was a tight squeeze. He had to wriggle some in a most undignified way where the rurouni had simply slid through. Halfway through, Saito heard Kenshin scream.

He nearly froze at the sound of it, and the volume from so thin a chest that made it, and then began to slither faster than before when he had been merely trying to outdistance the groping hands of the minotaurs reaching into the little hole after him.

His larger size made his exit easier than Kenshin's had been, and he did notice the skid marks and disturbed stones of the smaller man's rough landing. He barely paid it more than a glance. Another very short hesitation when he saw the mutilated woman's corpse, three or four days old to his distracted guess. He stepped over a wolf's corpse, the ragged animal lying in a pool of its own blood. What the hell were such animals doing here?

When he reached Kenshin, there was already someone there. A very large, broad-shouldered man with a long cloak thrown over his shoulders. Kenshin was clinging to him, sobbing with all the abandon of a child. The big man himself seemed almost as lost, the lines of his face tense with an unidentifiable emotion. Saito saw his right hand held the wooden hilt of a blooded sword--likely he was the one who had slaughtered the wolves. The left hand hovered for a moment over Kenshin, until it finally lowered and put gentle pressure on the weeping man's back.

"Who are you?" the man asked suddenly.

Saito blinked. For a moment, he thought he was speaking to Kenshin, though it seemed from the very familiar way they were acting they should have known each other. Then the man turned his head slightly, intense and piercing eyes glaring in a way that immediately put Saito in mind of the first time he had met the gaze of Hitokiri Battousai.

The realization that he was, in fact, the one being addressed came a beat later, and Saito's temper was instantly fouled. He was not accustomed to being made to feel stupid.

Still, he held onto his irritation, fished a cigarette from a pocket. He very briefly considered his alias of Fujita Goro; then, glancing over the man and the way he allowed the rurouni to cry against him, he instead answered simply, "Saito Hajime," and lit his cigarette with one of his few remaining matches.

The man blinked slowly, eyes lingering on Saito's face as if he couldn't believe it.

"Hiko Seijuro," he introduced himself shortly, then he turned back to the redhead, released his sword to lie close by his knee, and in slow, unhurried movement, he pressed Kenshin away from his chest.

Saito saw his face, red and puffy and tears still streaming down his face, though the sobs had tapered off. He also saw new, fresh wounds seeping through ripped and torn clothing. Kenshin did not meet the bigger man's eyes, keeping his head ducked. The two were still for a moment in this position before Hiko reached beneath his cloak. First, he came out with a sake jar, and then a small clay cup.

Kenshin's good hand was shaking too much to hold the cup, so it was taken from him and the man held it, carefully "feeding" the sake to him, his own hand large but steady and gentle under the cup and Kenshin managed to get the first cup down with nary a spill. Hiko filled the cup again and helped him drink it. Then again, and again until the hitch in the redhead's breathing stopped, the trembling ceased, and he began to look distinctly flushed and bleary.

The sake was set aside, and Saito watched as the man began to peel away the front of the ruined jacket, exposing shallow scores of wolf claws. None too deep or too serious but all bleeding vigorously.

Still in complete silence, the cloaked man coaxed Kenshin to lie down on the stone floor, absently brushing aside stones that were in the way. Exhausted and a little drunk, Kenshin was entirely obedient as he was eased down, and merely closed his eyes when the man began to wash his wounds with sake.

He started violently when Hiko took his left arm, rightly associating anyone fooling around with the tortured limb with pain, but he subsided under a stern glance, lying still as best he could as his hand was unwrapped. The bandaging was old, dirty and stained in spite of Sanosuke's effort to wash it for re-use at the hot springs. The hand beneath was, amazingly, better than it had looked like it might be. Effort had been made to ward off infection, so while the wound was raw and seeping, and the flesh torn again from Kenshin's efforts to climb the felled bridge, there was no festering. Not yet.

Hiko's face was expressionless as he irrigated the wound with the sweet-smelling alcohol. Kenshin was quiet throughout, writhing a little, but otherwise trying to be still.

Still not a word had been spoken. Saito raised his eyebrows when Hiko brought out a small bag from somewhere under his cloak, from which he pulled several rolls of clean new bandages, setting them aside. Evidently, this man came here prepared.

He stood, helping Kenshin to his feet. He stripped away the bloody remains of the hakama, shredded now the point it no longer protected but the most essential modesty. More wounds were treated on his legs and thighs. Saito noticed the way the cloaked man's eyes loitered on individual bruises and welts, almost as if counting or taking stock of the signs of abuse and undernourishment.

Kenshin's wounds were bandaged, neatly and skillfully, and in a display of foresight more impressive even than the thought to bring bandages, new clothing was pulled from Hiko's travel bag.

Kenshin, now very drunk, was more hindrance than help in dressing himself. Hiko spoke finally, impatiently snapping, "Be still!" and Kenshin desisted, staring muzzily forward as his arms were worked through the sleeves of a deep red gi, the ties of the new hakama tied neatly about his waist. The clothes were of the right size, as were the tabi and sandals also brought forth from the travel bag. This man knew him well.

The rurouni was teetering by the time the man put away the leftover rolls of bandages, the cup, and tied his sake to his belt. Hiko caught him, lifted him easily into his arms. Kenshin was small, seeming even smaller held this way by his benefactor. Still, decently dressed and shod for the first time, he looked better. Human again. The flush of drink on his face gave the illusion of health, and both his expression and his body were relaxed as he rested his head on the caped man's shoulder and sleepily closed his eyes, as if certain beyond all doubt that he was safe.

"You're not part of this conspiracy to harm him."

"No," Saito said.

Hard eyes fell on the discarded jacket Kenshin had been wearing, the distinctive sign of "aku" somehow having managed to survive where the rest of the garment was beyond hope. Perhaps he had met or seen Sanosuke because he asked, "His friends are nearby?"

"We were separated," Saito said. "They're somewhere a level above here." Hiko nodded and turned away from him, presumably going in search of them.

Saito paused bent to retrieve Aoshi's kodachi, wiped it quickly on the remains of Sanosuke's jacket and took it with him.

-----

Kenshin's father seemed to know where he was going, a fact for which Saito would not begrudge him, however much he disliked the fact that his own sense of direction was destroyed now that he couldn't see the sun or stars or feel the wind.

Kenshin's father? Saito frowned at himself, not certain where that thought had come from, or even if it was correct. It made sense in some ways, but not in others. For one thing, Hiko and Kenshin did not share a surname, though there could have been a number of reasons for this, from possible illegitimacies to one or both of them living by a name different from the ones given to them at birth.

There was also the fact that they didn't look a thing alike, the two of them as different from one another as they could possibly be. Physical resemblance suggested they weren't related at all. Yet there were similarities, subtle ones. Mannerisms, mostly of facial expression, or the way their hands behaved on the hilts of their swords…

They stopped once, a short break in which Hiko had Kenshin sit down for a bandage change and then made him eat pieces of bento, sitting in front of him with his arms crossed in a posture that suggested the rurouni would eat every crumb of what he was given if he knew what was good for him, and Hiko was going to be watching closely to make certain he did.

This was interesting. Kenshin's manner with this man was wholly different than with any of his friends. He had not made a single attempt to speak, nor would he look the bigger man directly in the face. But he wasn't withdrawn, being mostly aware of everything going on at least within a few feet around him. He was simply…subdued. Saito considered this might have been because of the cry earlier, or partly fatigue, but didn't think so. Kenshin seemed, perhaps, vaguely afraid of Hiko. He was reassured by his presence, comforted by it. Saito could see layers of fear and pain and confusion had been repressed in ways his friends couldn't manage, and the man hadn't said anything Saito was aware of other than the terse, "Be still!" hours before.

And still, a small but solid sense of fear. Like a son with a strict father, never entirely certain the wrong thing done or said that could result in being whacked upside the head.

Hiko didn't look inclined to hit him, though. And rigidly stern as his face was, his hands were gentle when he changed Kenshin's wrappings, and Kenshin did not wince away from him.

At length, Saito grew bored with trying to deduce the truth himself and asked directly, "Are you his father?"

Hiko was startled by the question, his arms dropping a little as his face turned toward Saito. Kenshin looked up too, small piece of hardtack he had been forcing himself to eat under Hiko's austere gaze held halfway toward his mouth, first opened to receive it, and then remaining so in surprise.

He looked up at Hiko for the first time, mouth still open. Then blinked once, and then said, "Are you, Master?"

Hiko stared at Kenshin for ten heartbeats before he answered, dark eyes fixed on his questioning face, slightly narrowed. "Kenshin," he said softly. "You know I'm not."

Kenshin stared back for nearly as long, then turned his face away.

Hiko wasn't satisfied with this, however, and reached out to grasp his chin, turning his face back to his. "You know I'm not," he said. "Why would you ask like you didn't?" His voice was calm, but his face was slightly strained.

"I d-didn't…" Kenshin whispered, looking even more strained. He closed his eyes. "I…I'm sorry. I…I g-get confu…confused. I'm sorry."

Hiko let him go and sat back. Another long moment went by. Then he said, "Finish eating, Kenshin."

"…Yes, Master."

Hiko did not offer Saito any of the bento, but he did not eat any of it himself. When he deemed the brief rest over, Hiko made Kenshin drink another two cups of sake and then pulled him to his feet, and set an arm around his shoulders to support him and began walking again.

Saito followed thoughtfully behind.

-----

Hikaru couldn't confess to much of an appetite, but he ate a little of a dried fish snack that had been one of Tan's favorites. He could admit readily that he missed his cousin, but might have settled for one of his attendants. As it was, not even Hoshi or Oaka had come back.

He heard voices. Just from time to time, so indistinctly that he could only make out every fourth word. He might have dismissed them as his own madness. Sanity had no value to a dead man. Or at least, not this dead man. But he had lived deep under earth for far too long not to understand the strange directions sounds can take, when they bounce off the solid stone instead of passing through it like wood or paper. A voice next to one's ear could come from a mouth tunnels away.

It was not minotaurs, but people with language were close by. It wasn't likely they, whoever they were, could find his hiding place, leaving Hikaru free to wonder who they might be.

He doubted any of the prisoners were roaming about. They had feared these areas before because of Hikaru's men, but now they were probably crouching in whatever holes they could find, those who had not already come into the mercy of the minotaurs. He supposed some might soon become desperate enough to come out of hiding to search for food and water, but he didn't think enough time had passed that desperation would overcome terror. A few more days, perhaps, but not just yet.

No, it had to be someone else. A few of his enforcers, perhaps, but he doubted this, too. Most of them had been dismissed or warned away just before the minotaurs were unsealed. Primal fear was more than enough to overpower whatever loyalty, mindsifted or otherwise, they had for Hikaru.

He considered it might be the intruders who had caused all of this disruption in the first place. He frowned, slowly chewing his dinner. It was possible that all of them had managed to stay together, find their hitokiri, fight their way through the minotaurs, and not get too lost coming back but…very improbable.

Hikaru finished eating and dusted his hands on his shirt. The only other explanation was that there were more uninvited guests in the labyrinth. Amazing how difficult it was to keep a secret these days. But then, he had to suppose that it was unreasonable to believe that Himura Kenshin's friends had ventured all this way and had told no one where they were going.

Fingers dancing lightly on the metal surface of his pistol, Hikaru straightened his shoulders, brightening somewhat with decision. He would go investigate.

Why not? He was beginning to feel the effects of boredom, what with all this unproductive waiting. If he wanted death, perhaps he'd meet it out there in the swift, indirect way he desired. If it was the Kamiya woman and the other trespassers, this could be his chance for revenge. Maybe they would have their hitokiri, and a good clear shot to his head, the red of it a beacon among the dark heads of his companions. A quick death, like Tan had wanted. The debt paid up at last, and after that, what did it matter? Whatever became of the labyrinth then would no longer be of Hikaru's concern.

If it was absolutely anyone else, then at least his curiosity would be satisfied. And there was, of course, his duty to defend the Mindsifter, to keep it secret. Yes, there was always and ever that.

-----

The voices were floating out through the tunnels leading to the firepit entrance.

It took a bit of maneuvering to get there. The minotaurs' pounding had made the small tunnels unstable or so littered with rubble that it was difficult to pass through by wheelchair. Still, with the knowledge that he had nothing better to do but go back to the storeroom and wait for something to happen, he made the attempt. At times he had to leave his wheelchair to clear a path of rubble by hand, crawling on hand and knee to bat and shove aside rocks in his way. Then he would hobble or crawl back to the chair and hope the way ahead wasn't as bad.

Finally he had to abandon his chair altogether, leaving it in the shadow of a boulder when it became obvious that it would be far easier to let his wrecked and twisted body carry him through the tunnels. It wasn't far now anyway. Hikaru held his lantern in one hand, a pistol in the other, his spare gun thrust in the back of his belt.

He kept his shoulder against the wall for support, grotesque gait wobbling and slow. His attention lapsed too deeply in keeping upright and moving forward, so that he was more surprised than anyone when he nearly walked directly into a uniformed police officer at the tunnel's end.

The officer jerked back in surprise, and Hikaru was so astonished he dropped his lantern.

The inner lip of the tunnel was plunged into darkness, causing the policeman to cry out in protest. Hikaru quickly dropped to one knee, to avoid hands groping in the dark, thinking fast.

"What?" a sharp voice from further in demanded. "What is it?"

"A boy is here, Sir!"

"A boy?"

Footsteps, coming closer. Bringing with them light from more lanterns.

Hikaru could have laughed. Centuries unnumbered since this labyrinth was born, and never once had eyes of authority gazed on its tunnels, the most informed minds in Japan, even the world, not even knowing the island existed. A seething, bottomless pit where a person could be made to disappear forever, or dangerous and unwanted knowledge could be ripped from their brains without taking their lives, most consigners not even wanting to know just how it was done. And now--police! Quaint little law-enforcers! There was little hope of the labyrinth remaining beyond the knowledge of the outside world now.

Unless…

He smiled to himself in the darkness, mentally cataloguing the Patterns that had not been damaged when he had closed the wall on the Mindsifter. Maybe he could--

Quickly Hikaru set his pistol down and pushed it into a small pile of rubble. He jerked at his shirt, pulled out the tails to conceal the gun at his back. A lantern shone in his eyes, and he hastily widened his eyes and arranged his features in an expression he hoped was one of fearful innocence.

"Please help me!" he said. "I've been trapped here forever, and there are monsters everywhere!"