DISCLAIMER: We both know I don't own Soujiro, ShiShiO, Kenshin, Senkaku, or any of the other characters that are making Watsuki Nobuhiro and his corporate sponsors/affiliates rich. If I did, I could afford a better computer than the piece of crap that I'm using to write this. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not ... chikushou, aku baka!
That reminds me ... my Japanese is next to nonexistent. Don't fault me for it. At least I'm trying.
Happy reading!
ANTI-DISCLAIMER (would that be just a "claimer?"): Some of these characters ARE my own creation, as well as many elements of the setting; the town of Ichibou, Kim Young-eun, Karachi Hoebu, and several other minor characters are my own ideas. Use your head. If it never appeared in any of the Kenshin series episodes, then it's probably mine. Not that anyone cares but me.
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: To Kenshin TV ep 61, "Remaining Ju Pon Gattana, Choice of Life."
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CHAPTER 4:
THE STREETS OF ICHIBOU
The shadows had deepened considerably in the time it had taken for Soujiro to help stable the wagon and get permission to explore the town for a while. The spreading darkness gradually absorbed the sight of the filth that covered the streets, but their smell still permeated the otherwise crisp mountain air. The smell was not as bad as it would have been if a brisk breeze was not blowing in out of the pass to the north, but breeze and smell alike passed by Soujiro unnoticed. He had been trained to ignore such things.
Soujiro was glad of the newfound darkness. He needed some time to be alone, and he felt safer in the dark than he did in daylight. He had been told that other mothers in Japan told their children that dark things lurked in the darkness. Soujiro had never had a real mother. He had killed his adoptive one. He guessed that made him one of those dark things. He was in a dark mood.
It had been a long time since Soujiro had been afraid of street thugs, even in groups. He thought he spied a band of them once, but they could have been just a group of town guards not in uniform. The guards here were obviously not known for their personal hygiene. Soujiro steered away from them, and he doubted any of them ever knew of his presence. He had come within thirty strides of them, but it was dark, and the streets were very poorly lit, even on the main thoroughfares. Even other Hitokiri had trouble sensing his presence. He had no aura the way other elite fighters did. That was at once a strength and a weakness; he could not terrify opponents with his battle aura the way Himura and ShiShiO had been able to. On the other hand, it also meant that he was nearly impossible to read or sense. It was said that the Shinsen Gumi could sense the presence of one of their captains even through stone walls fifty paces away. No one sensed Soujiro until he was right on top of them. No one sensed him at all if he wanted to avoid them. One of the dark things in the night, indeed.
Soujiro was looking to do a little more than hide tonight, however. There was something about Ichibou that confused him, and Soujiro was unused to being confused. He could not quite put his finger on it; of course, if he could, the odds were that he wouldn't be confused. So he searched.
He had no clear direction in mind when he began his wandering, but more and more, he found his steps headed in the direction of the foundry and the sprawling industrial sector that formed the southwest side of the town. The sounds of the smithies still rang in the night air, even louder now that the daily bustle of the open-air market and other daytime social spots had ended for the evening. As Soujiro wandered further and further to the southwest, he began to hear the sounds of society again, however, and he began to encounter groups of people making their way through the streets on their way to or from some social destination.
Most of the people he saw, however, gave him and his katanas distrusting looks and hurried on, if they saw him at all. Many scuttled right past, less than ten feet from him, with their eyes so downcast that Soujiro doubted they ever knew he was there. The air of depression did thin somewhat as he made his way into the industrial zone, but it never vanished from the back of Soujiro's mind.
Then Soujiro turned a corner, and his eyes widened. He had been drawn to this street simply because he had seen that it looked like it was somewhat more lit than the rest of the area. Standing at one end of it and looking down its length, he realized how much of an understatement that was.
He was on the southernmost street in Ichibou. To his left, the southern wall of the town rose crudely but darkly against the midnight blue of the Japanese evening sky. Aside from that, however, the darkness of Ichibou was gone. Lights danced before his vision from a dozen, a hundred different venues on both sides of the street. Lights blazed in windows, in doorframes, and under awnings. Many were in various shades of red, green, and blue, colored by translucent filters of fine cloth. The street stretched down for as far as Soujiro could see, almost to the southwest corner of the wall, where it ended at the gates of what looked to be a small compound, perhaps a guard's barracks. It was impossible for Soujiro to tell at this distance ... which meant the street was long.
There were people, too, more than Soujiro had seen during the entire hour that he had wandered around before arriving here. Many were dressed like they were going to a festival or a party, and the air was full of conversation. Soft music and singing drifted out of a half-dozen different doors within Soujiro's hearing. What on earth was this place?
The answer came to him as soon as he recovered from his initial surprise enough to glance at some of the words illuminated in such brilliant colors and lights. "Delirium," read one sign. "Dark Rapture," read another. More than one displayed plugs for exotic dancers, and even more pegged one drink special or another. Signs for gambling were interspersed among them as well. Soujiro had stumbled headfirst into Ichibou's red light district.
At first, Soujiro was tempted to turn around and leave. He had never really had a penchant for hanging out in such places. On the other hand, that had usually been because he had someplace cleaner and in somewhat better repair to hang out. This place looked like it was actually better kept than much of the town, despite the fact that the streets were in the worst repair of anywhere in the city only a block away. From the looks of things, business was booming. A tiny corner of Soujiro blushed at the thought. Then again, Yumi-san had come from a place like this, and had lived there for a long time before she fell in with ShiShiO-san. Soujiro wondered why she had never taken him someplace like this before. Maybe she wanted to leave it all behind for some reason; Soujiro had always held a special bond with her because he sensed that her past was as painful as his own, and if a place like this had been part of it, she was right not to want to go back. The people here seemed to be having fun, however.
After another moment's hesitation, Soujiro stepped forward into the full light of the street. He was immediately set on by the doormen of two different establishments, a disappointingly modest looking club called the Fiery Fan and what appeared to be a somewhat more successful casino, Well of Fortune.
"Hey, little boy!" the first called. "Looking for a good time? We got plenty o' room to spare!"
"Baka!" the other answered. "His club can't tell good music from cats screaming! Come on, boy! Give us a try, you won't find a better time in town!"
Soujiro's mouth tightened again, and he hurried on. For some reason, being called 'boy' had never rankled him so much. Yumi-san had called him that all the time, but these people were not her. Being called 'boy' by complete strangers was not the way to win his business. Besides, his purse strings were fairly tight. Karachi had not paid him yet, and he didn't feel like wasting any of the cache he had managed to grab during his escape from Kyoto on drinks or gambling. So he simply walked on by and out into the middle of the street like the other two did not even exist.
All the way down the street, the story was the same. "Boy," this. "Boy," that. The kinds of businesses didn't matter. Clubs, taverns, restaurants, casinos, even a clothier that apparently specialized in nightlife garb all had someone at the door trying to usher in his business, and their hook lines were almost all identical. Soujiro smiled at them politely ... and kept on ignoring them.
Soujiro was almost at the end of the street when he saw a place that might suit him. He was after information, and it sounded like there was more talking than music coming from inside this place. The sign above the entrance read simply "The Red House," and indeed most of the letters and lights on the building were in red. It was a long, flat establishment, and apparently the front half of the building was all one large common room. Looking through the door, he saw a fairly large and talkative crowd, and most looked like locals, not outsiders like himself. He nodded to himself, then to the doorman, tossed him a coin for the cover, and went into a red light district establishment for the first time in his life.
The crowd within the establishment was as large and festive as it had appeared from the outside. Soujiro quickly estimated that there had to be at least forty patrons, and the air was filled with conversation and people shouting at the waitresses for drinks. Many of the patrons looked like they had already had plenty of the latter; Soujiro did not need a particularly refined sense of smell to detect sake on the breath of at least half the people in the room. Even one of the waitresses looked like she might have been drinking on the job, given the way she stumbled from table to table.
Soujiro took a small table to himself as close to the middle of the room as he could manage, and simply let his awareness drift out over the crowd as he had done before in the little restaurant on the road. Most of the conversation was useless, but here and there he picked out mentions of troubles, both on the road and in the mines. One person whispered something about someone having been "sent to the mines" as though the person was already dead. Another whispered something about a sister that had been "taken in by the Hall" as though it were equally a calamity.
"Sumimasen," a soft voice spoke behind him. "Are you ready to order?"
Soujiro wheeled around. Standing before him was a fairly normal-seeming girl, probably two or three years younger than he himself and dressed in a standard waitress' uniform. However, there was something about her that completely surprised Soujiro. He had not sensed her presence until the moment she opened her mouth to speak. He began to suspect he was losing his touch.
"Anou ... uh, I think I need a few more minutes," he managed politely.
"Sure," the waitress said with a calm smile, and moved on to another table.
Soujiro stared after the girl for a moment. She had a faint but odd accent, as though she were not from anywhere on the islands that he knew about. She also had a poise and balance about her movements that spoke of being in outstanding physical shape, much more so than the vast majority of Japanese women.
Another man was coming up behind Soujiro, but he needed no heightened awareness to hear this one coming. The man moved like a drunken ox. "Admiring little Young-eun?" the man said, taking a seat next to Soujiro without even bothering to ask.
Soujiro turned his attention to this new face. "No, she just surprised me, that's all," he replied. "Am I supposed to admire her?"
The man laughed. "Oh, most of us do, boy, most of us do." Soujiro had no idea what the man was talking about; his first guess was that the man had drained one more flask of sake than was good for him.
The man continued, ignoring Soujiro's cold shoulder. "New in town, eh? You picked the right night to come here. She doesn't work more than two or three nights a week. They keep her doin' other stuff most days."
"It didn't sound like she's from in town, either," Soujiro pointed out.
"No, no, she's from the mainland, or so I hear. Korea, if I remember. Long time ago, though. She's one of us, now." Soujiro's mind flickered back to the first good image he had gotten of the girl. Maybe this man believed she was just another citizen, and maybe the rest of the town believed it, maybe even the girl herself, but he didn't. There was something about her that was very different from the other people in the town. He couldn't put his finger on it.
He was still sorting through his memory when a sudden new sensation made the hackles on the back of his neck rise. His back was to the door, but he knew that a group of people had just walked through it that the rest of the patrons were none too happy to see. He quickly made sure that his swords were invisible from the doorway, and peeked in that direction out of the corner of his eye.
A group of five men were walking across the room in his direction. They were clad in black leather armor and had a red sigil of some kind emblazoned upon their breasts. All carried swords, and walked with the confidence of people who knew that they were in charge. The leader, shorter than the rest, wore a red bandana and bore an impressive scar across his left eye. They stopped at his table. Soujiro still gave no sign that he had seen them. It turned out to be for the best, as far as he was concerned.
"Haitou, what are you doing here?" the leader asked smugly. Soujiro suddenly understood why the man who had been talking to him had suddenly fallen silent and ashen-faced. He somehow doubted that these men were here to award him a prize.
"Hi guys," the man slurred. He had definitely had far too much to drink. He even still had a flask in his hand.
Soujiro tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, even though the black-garbed group was all standing around him. The rest of the people in the room were trying the exact same thing, though the air of discomfort that Soujiro had been missing earlier was clearly palpable now. Nonetheless, they seemed to somehow understand that they wouldn't be involved if they didn't choose to make themselves involved, so they all huddled at their respective tables like children at the windows waiting for the lightning to go away so they could go out and play again.
One of the other soldiers laughed grimly. "Haitou, why the hell aren't you out of town by now? We even gave you time. As well you didn't, though. Senkaku-sama wants to have a little talk with you." The man actually flinched at the mention of that name! Soujiro had to hold back a smile! He was even more surprised when the man actually got up and allowed the five mysterious figures to escort him from the room; although his eyes were downcast and frightened, he did not seem to be fighting. Soujiro was so stunned that he forgot to interject something in the man's behalf, though on second thought, that might have done more damage than good, anyway. Nonetheless, he really didn't want to see any harm befall the man, even if he had been a little offensive.
Less than a minute after the men were gone, life was as usual in the Red House. It was as if the entire episode had never happened. Another minute or two after that, Young-eun came back to ask if he was ready to order yet.
"Anou ... aa," Soujiro said finally. He glanced up at the large menu plaque that filled a large part of the wall near the entrance. "Just the tofu and baked rice," he continued. "And just water to drink," he added.
"Sure, just a minute," she said, and began to turn away.
"Anou ..." Soujiro called, not sure what to call her; he was certainly not about to use her name, not when he hadn't even met her. Yumi-san would come back from the grave and scold him in public if he did that.
The girl stopped and turned around again.
"Anou ..." he was going to have to stop beginning every sentence with that. "That man ... the man they just took ... what's going to happen to him?" he asked.
The girl shrugged. "I doubt they'll kill him. He'll probably get sent to the mines." The way she said it made it sound like she was reading a grocery list, despite the fact that less than an hour ago, he had heard another group mention being sent to the mines in a hushed whisper filled with dread and anxiety. Obviously getting sent to these mines was not a pleasant experience. The girl managed to treat it casually anyway, like it was of no more or less concern than his order.
She turned and walked away again, and for the second time that night, Soujiro found himself staring at her back and wondering what it was about her that was so different from everyone else. It could not possibly be just because she was originally from another country, could it? If it was, he wondered what kind of place this Korea must be.
He took another good look around the room while the girl was gone. The red-filtered lights in the house gave the place an almost surreal quality; if it had not been managed well, he might even have called it hellish. There was table space enough for perhaps forty people; he had one of the few tables available with an open seat, and his was only a table for two. A small dance floor lay on one side of the tables, with a small stage on the far side. It was not being used at the moment, but it bore the general signs of frequent use. On the other side of the tables from the dance floor were the kitchens and latrines, and immediately in front of them, the bar. It had a surprising amount of Western influence blended into its design, Soujiro realized, even though the decor was strictly local.
Before long, he espied the girl returning. Soujiro took a second, quizzical look at the trays in her hand; she had brought twice what he had ordered. There was no way he was going to eat all that. As it turned out, he was absolutely right.
"Here you are," she said with a smile as she laid his order in front of him. She hesitated, then continued, "Both the servants' tables are being used, do you mind if I sit here? I'm on my break."
Soujiro did not hesitate in his response. "Please," he said, rising to hold her chair for her as she sat down. She smiled as he did so; she probably was not used to such manners in a town like this, Soujiro reasoned cynically. Not everything ShiShiO-san had said was a lie, or about war. "Disrespect to a woman," he had instructed shortly after taking the tiny terror under his wing, "is an affront to the samurai code of honor itself. Those who would call themselves samurai and disregard the feelings of a single woman are nothing but pretenders."
"Can I ask your name?" Soujiro asked as he resumed his seat. "I'd rather not call you 'waitress' the whole time." The girl's smile warmed, but only barely. It still lit up her entire face. She was like Yumi-san in that, if nothing else.
"Ah, sumimasen," she replied without a touch of embarrassment. "Young-eun. Kim Young-eun, but just call me Young-eun, please."
Soujiro nodded. "Seta Soujiro," he responded in kind without having to be asked.
Young-eun nodded in acknowledgement. "So what is a boy like you doing in a place like this?" she asked.
"A boy like me?" Soujiro asked blankly. For once, the address 'boy' did not tighten the corners of his mouth like it usually did. He simply didn't know what she was talking about.
Young-eun smiled. "You've got more manners than the rest of this lot put together, and you're younger than just about anyone here but us." She gestured at her waitress' uniform. "This doesn't seem to be your kind of place."
"Ah," Soujiro said, scrambling for his answer. It was especially difficult because he really didn't have one, even for himself. He answered somewhat lamely, "I just wanted to see the area."
Young-eun gave a low laugh. "Wanted to see the area? You must've come from somewhere pretty ugly if this is your idea of a scenic tour."
Soujiro shook his head. "I'm from Kyoto." The girl gave a start. "Hmm?" he asked wordlessly.
"Nothing ... anou ... it's just ... you're a long way from home," she finished. Her answer was as lame as his had been, though she didn't give any hint that she knew it. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite put his finger on who.
"It's not my home," he replied emotionlessly. "I'm never going back there again." This time he had to force himself to sit still to keep from starting at his words just the way Young-eun had. *I'm never going back there again.* Ten years ago, a red-haired teenager of about his age had said the exact same thing before vanishing into the wilderness.
The girl actually seemed interested, though. "Really?" she asked. "Why not?"
Soujiro shrugged. "I guess I just didn't like it there." It was true enough, in its way, though it ignored most of the big picture. "I needed to get out on my own for a while." That captured a little more of it.
"You could do that?" Young-eun asked. "Just get up and leave?" Her eyes were wide with surprise and ... what? Something else ... frustration? Envy? Soujiro couldn't tell, but it was plain that the question meant a lot to her.
"I guess so," he answered simply. "Though food and money got to be a problem after a while." That was not entirely true; he still had a lot of ShiShiO's money squirreled away, but that did not enter his mind often.
"So you're here looking for work?" she asked skeptically.
"Oh no, not now. I'm a merchant's guard at the moment."
"Really?"
"Just for a few days."
Her laugh this time was a little more open than her last one. "Just until whoever it is gets through town, eh? Smart merchant."
"I guess so. Mostly I just sit on the back of the wagon and think."
"You think? Wow. You really aren't like other merchants' guards." Soujiro knew she was making a joke, but it had been years since he had laughed, and she really wasn't all that good at making jokes. Her voice didn't have the inflections that others had when trying to be funny. Of course, Soujiro had never laughed at them.
"Are you the merchant's son or something?" Young-eun asked.
Soujiro's eyes widened imperceptibly for a moment. "Iie! Iie!" he gasped. "Merchants don't hire their sons as guards, at least I don't think so." Did they? He had never even thought about. But why would they? His head hurt again.
"I didn't think so either," Young-eun admitted, "but you have more the look of a merchant's son than a merchant's guard. Just wondering."
Soujiro looked down at himself. He guessed she was right. He really didn't dress that much like Sasaki. "I haven't been one that long," he admitted. If he did this forever, would he end up looking like Sasaki and the other merchants' guards he had seen? That was a definite reason to get out of the profession early.
"So why did you become one now? You really don't look like the kind of boy who wants to do that kind of thing for a living."
*That's a good thing,* Soujiro thought to himself. "I really don't know what I want to do now. I'm kind of off on my own for the first time."
"It must be nice," she said, with that same touch of emotion that she had asked about his ability to just get up and leave. Soujiro suddenly wondered if she was as happy here as she seemed at first glance; she seemed to be enjoying her job more than any of the other girls working as waitresses here, but he wondered if she really was. Once again, she reminded him of someone, but he could not put his finger on whom.
"Would you really want to just get up and leave if you could?" he asked her. He had never been much good at subtlety, despite years of being an assassin. Nonetheless, he immediately regretted saying it, because she turned her face away from him, and a shiver ran through her. It was all the answer he needed.
"I'm sorry," he apologized immediately. "I had no right to ask that."
She held up her hand. "No, no, it's OK," she answered. "I'm just not ... I could get in trouble if I talked to you any more," she answered. The suddenness of that remark startled Soujiro. "I need to get back to work," she said, her voice as cold as ever again. Without warning, she stood up and slid her chair in. "Enjoy your meal, Soujiro-kun. It's on the house." Without even waiting for a thank you, or an offer to pay for it anyway, she turned and walked back towards the kitchen. For the third time that evening, Soujiro was stuck staring at her back in silent puzzlement.
Soujiro watched her until she reached the kitchen entrance, where a burly, middle-sized man was waiting for her with a stern expression on his face. She bowed her head meekly as she went by the man into the kitchen without even looking at him, but his eyes followed her all the way into the kitchen, the look on his face never changing. As soon as she was inside, he stepped away from the doorframe, into the kitchen, and out of sight.
Soujiro ate slowly, trying to digest tenfold as much information as food. He realized now that the girl had said very little about herself, having done most of the questioning herself. She had had to go back to work before saying much about herself, and she had made Soujiro very curious. She had been very forward for a woman, especially a servant of any kind, in asking to sit down with him, but on the other hand, she also seemed extremely shy and withdrawn about many things. Maybe even most things. The idea of leaving home had definitely struck a nerve in her, though, and Soujiro guessed it was much more than usual teenage fantasies about travel and adventure. She had not asked about anything he had seen on his travels, or if he had been in any battles, or anything else about his journey. The only thing that had seemed to matter was the fact that he was on a journey at all. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. She was definitely a lot less happy than she had let on. She had given no reason, however.
Young-eun came out of the kitchen several minutes after disappearing into it, but did not speak to him again. She avoided his table. A full hour passed, and she did not come within a table of him once. He was going to have to catch up with her again, but it could not be here, not without being more conspicuous than he wanted to be. Even he possessed more subtlety than that.
Eventually, the tofu and rice disappeared, and Soujiro had run out of excuses to stay. He wasn't accomplishing anything by staying, anyway; he was just taking up space at a table, and the room was noisy, which made thinking hurt his head that much more. Young-eun had said the meal was on the house, which meant he couldn't even call her over to pay his bill. So he simply got up, belted his swords up again, and headed for the exit. As he reached the door, he turned and looked for Young-eun again. He saw her, and she saw him, but the expression she turned towards him was neutral, just a very faint smile that did not touch her eyes. Soujiro couldn't read it one way or the other. Shaking his head, he turned and strolled out once again into the streets of Ichibou.
The street that had seemed so appealing to him earlier was not quite what he was in the mood for now. It was still well-lit and festive, but Soujiro wanted some time alone at the moment. He strolled off the street--South Street, he noticed the name as he left--and headed for the murky solitude of the darkness two blocks away. As he drew farther away from South Street, the quality of the buildings deteriorated into the more familiar disrepair that he had been used to seeing in the slums. The streets were dirty again, and the smell was strong in his nostrils again now that there weren't a thousand distractions from it in sight.
Something had clearly happened between Young-eun and that man, whoever he was. He was not smart enough to deduce what it might be, but he was not dumb enough to miss it altogether. However, even after almost an hour of strolling the streets, racking his brain for answers, he was nowhere close to anything worth dwelling on. He still had a couple of hours left before he promised to be back at the Iron Dragon, but he was tempted to go back early and just forget the whole thing. It was too much thinking. He thought about the man by the doorway, the sudden offer of free food, the talkative man who had been removed by the black-clad men, and the crowd that had been sitting near him. He thought about the strange Korean girl that managed to be both bold and shy at the same time. More and more, he thought about Young-eun. There was something about her that was clearly different from the other people in the club, much more than could be explained by her being from a different country. She fascinated Soujiro; she reminded him of someone, of that he was sure. And somehow, she was clearly involved in something that she didn't want to be involved in.
He turned his footsteps back towards South Street. He still had plenty of time to kill, and even if he didn't come up with any more answers that night, he had enjoyed South Street. He needed a little more relaxation. He had done too much thinking. His brain was tired.
He arrived back at South Street a good distance from the Red House, but he immediately cast his eyes in that direction nonetheless. The crowd in the street had actually grown, not diminished, in the two hours since Soujiro first entered the club. Still, Soujiro was able to get a few decent glimpses of the distant doorway. His eyes narrowed when he got his first good look. A man stood outside the door, and it was not the doorman that he had casually flipped the cover charge to so short an eternity ago. It did seem that way at times. But now the man's place had been taken by the same man that he had seen in the kitchen doorway only an hour before. Soujiro could see that he was scanning the crowd, trying to be inconspicuous about it but not doing a very good job of it. At least, not by Soujiro's standards. Soujiro wondered if he was looking for him.
Suddenly, another figure in the crowd drew Soujiro's attention, and Soujiro realized that it wasn't him that the man from the kitchen was looking for, at least not only him. A black-garbed figure came into view, and a silent look passed between him and the man at the door of the Red House. It took only a moment to resolve into the short, stocky figure of the man who had removed Haitou from the Red House only hours earlier. Wordlessly, the pair walked off together around the side of the building.
Immediately, Soujiro wanted to know what they were saying. Reacting instinctively, he simply wandered out into the crowd. Mingling was an art of his, though he scarcely considered himself an artist. Nonetheless, he slid through the crowd like a soft breeze, swiftly yet barely seeming to be in any hurry whatsoever. However, he was still fifteen paces or more away from the entrance to the alley when he saw a shadow that warned him that at least one or the other was emerging. He quickly sprang into the shelter of the alley nearest him, placing a building in between him and the shadow. He then glanced around the side.
The short, black-garbed man was the only one to emerge; Soujiro guessed that the other probably had a side entrance to the Red House, if he wasn't just hanging out in the alley so that he wouldn't be seen any more than necessary with the other. Or maybe he just had to relieve himself. At the moment, Soujiro didn't care. The man that had come out of the alley was walking with a definite purpose, and quickly reached the dimmer light of the street on the far side of South Street. Soujiro suddenly saw four other dark shadows in the dim light that had escaped his notice before. They did not move until the first man reached them, and then they simply melted away to the north and out of sight. Soujiro's eyes narrowed again. He had a very bad feeling about this. Quickly, he hurried across the street and took a street parallel to the one they had left on.
It did not take him long to find them; they turned east as soon as they were away from South Street, and thus they came out in front of him from the left shortly after he reached the shelter of the shadows. They were heading northeast. They turned north again as soon as they came out of the street to Soujiro's left, and turned right immediately and the next street to the north. Soujiro followed them wordlessly, but in his gut, a suspicion was growing that grew louder at every turn.
*Someone checked up on me,* he thought grimly to himself. *Young-eun must have told them something.*
As the group made its silent way through the dark streets of Ichibou towards to the Iron Dragon Inn, Soujiro's hand subconsciously drew closer and closer to his sword. He had a feeling he was going to need it.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 5:
THE YAKUZA
Soujiro sat silently in the darkness of the stable of the Iron Dragon Inn, hidden in the deep shadow behind Karachi's wagon. His new katana rested idly across his lap. A single torch was all that kept the room from pitch darkness, and it was on the far side of the wagon from Soujiro. The stable was not large, but it was not small, either, and it was empty. Sasaki was nowhere in sight.
They were out there, he knew. He could feel their anticipation even through wooden walls. They would come. They were just waiting for their chance. It was only a matter of time.
As soon as he had been absolutely sure that the black-garbed group was indeed headed for the Iron Dragon, he had slipped off down another street and raced back to the inn ahead of them. Quickly, he had extinguished all but one of the torches in the stable, and he had placed a bucket of water under the last. He intended to cut the tip off of that as soon as possible, and he didn't want to start a fire; he also didn't want them to be able to without going into the inn, unless they had brought their own torches. He didn't think any of them had. He had also sent the single remaining stableboy away with a few yen and instructions to take a break for an hour or so. He didn't need other people getting in the way, and he certainly didn't want any blabbermouthed adolescent seeing what he was capable of and announcing it to the entire town. The others would see it, of course, but they would be more loath to speak of it.
A slight change in the air was all that told him he was no longer alone in the stable. He sighed wistfully. "Yare yare," (1) he murmured to himself for the second time that day as he stepped out from behind the wagon, carrying his new katana in its sheath and leaving his old one hidden in the shadow underneath the wagon.
The five men were just crossing the threshhold of the stable, and were still some distance away from Soujiro, because the stable door was at the west end of the stable and Karachi's wagon had been stabled in the easternmost stall. The torch was almost evenly spaced between them, so they could each see each other, though not clearly.
"Konnichiha," (2) he greeted them. "Are you looking for someone?"
They stopped. Gradually, the leader came forward into the torchlight. Soujiro came forward to meet him, he didn't want anyone closer to that torch than he himself.
"You, actually," the short, black-armored man responded. "I think we might need to have a talk with you."
"With me? About what?" Soujiro was not dumb enough to think that they were really here to talk, but he decided to play dumb anyway. If these people hadn't seen him fight before, then the odds were that they didn't know as much about him as they thought. He had not told Young-eun that much about himself. She might have seen his swords, but she had never even asked about it.
The leader did not answer him directly. Instead, he nodded towards Karachi's wagon. "That's a precious load of cargo you're guarding there," he said. "It would be a shame if anything bad should happen to it. Especially while you're guarding it."
Soujiro continued to play dumb. "Well, I'm a merchant's guard. I make sure nothing bad happens to it."
The leader and a few of his followers chuckled grimly. "You weren't doing a very good job of guarding it earlier tonight."
"I didn't need to be back until midnight. I'm actually starting early."
"A merchant let his guard away from his ward? You must have a very kind employer."
Soujiro though about that for a moment, then shrugged. "Not really. But I doubt yours is very kind either." He said it simply, not meaning it to be a question.
"You would do very well to remember that," the leader snarled.
"Why? I don't work for him."
"No, but you might find that more people than you might care to believe do."
"Such as Young-eun-chan?" Soujiro asked. His tone was as level as it had ever been, but the man suddenly burst out in anger.
"She is none of your business!" he shouted. Then, in a deadly whisper that might have chilled any other man, he said, "I think our conversation is finished. Get out of Ichibou. Now. There will be a little inn fire here, and we can make it seem like you were caught in it. Or we can make it so you actually were. The choice is yours."
Soujiro's eyes narrowed. "Iie," (3) he said firmly. "The choice is yours." He took a step forward.
"There will be no fire." He took another step.
"This wagon and I will leave Ichibou tomorrow." He took another.
"And you will stop hurting Young-eun-chan, however it is that you are." He stopped, standing less than two paces from the leader. His fellows had either fully or partly drawn their swords, and they stood around him now in a cluster.
"If the Yakuza has a problem with this, you can resolve it with me. Either way, you leave her alone. One is just much less painful. For you." They did not bat an eyelid at the mention of the Yakuza; that answered that question. Soujiro's voice was completely innocent, and the small torchlit face smiling emotionlessly in the dim torchlight looked utterly harmless, even foolish in uttering such daring words.
The man's katana slid free of his sheath.
Soujiro merely thumbed his an inch free of its scabbard and crouched slightly, weight balanced on his front foot and ready to spring forward.
"Have it your way," the man growled. "Kill him."
The Yakuza henchmen rushed forward as a mob, swords raised. Their battle cries turned to cries of confusion and fright, however, as Soujiro sprang into action. His blade came free of the sheath as he leapt forward, and he knew the gangsters would focus on it. He used the moment's confusion to crack the leader across the bridge of his nose with the sheath. At the same moment, the Oh-waza-mono blade neatly clipped the tip off the lone remaining torch. Darkness enveloped the stable with a steamy hiss as the burning tip fell into the water bucket.
Soujiro took advantage of their momentary confusion. Their silhouettes were still clear to his eyes, and he could feel their presences as differences in the air, even if none of them were strong enough to have a true battle aura.
Standing in a small clear space in the midst of them, he asked politely, "Everyone OK?" There were roars of rage from all around him, then from below him. Driving himself skyward with his powerful legs, he had vaulted up into the rafters well above the heads of his assailants.
Meanwhile, below him, there were screams of confusion and pain. Two of the Yakuza had reacted instinctively and slashed at the place where he had been, naturally meeting the blades and bodies of their comrades. It took a full thirty seconds for the leader to get them all under control again, as the two that had immediately attacked their comrades had been countered instinctively by those comrades, everyone believing they were fending off the blade of the pesky merchant's guard. Soujiro smiled appreciatively. Yumi-san might have been right; he was not brilliant. But at least he wasn't stupid enough to be a mobster.
"Dammit! That's me, Yoshiro!"
"Matsuo, stop it!"
"Hayashi, give it up! It's me!"
"STOP!" bellowed the leader at last. He had had to fend off the blade of one of his own men for a moment. "Baka! Baka baka baka baka bakabakabakabaka BAKA!!!!" (4) When silence reigned for a moment, he roared again, "Where is he?!"
Soujiro landed lightly at the wide door of the stable, allowing his silhouette to be outlined in the moonlight and the crystal spark of the legendary sword to glitter under the stars. "Again," he asked politely, "is everyone OK?" Feeling that the leader might need a little extra push, he added, "Any noses broken?"
He had successfully divided them. Two of them came raging at him in spite of their leaders efforts to call them back, while the other three stayed hidden in the darkness.
Soujiro held his sword horizontally in front of him, wrist twisted down so the flat of the blade faced the oncoming pair. He was remembering a move he had invented on the spot to stop a striking snake in the dark shortly after leaving Kyoto, and had nearly perfected since then.
"Aoi Denkou Ryu," he called out, "Meimei Moui Sen!" (5)
Both of his attackers were holding their swords almost at head level, so diving in under them barely even required any effort. A moment later, as they came within range, Soujiro uncoiled skyward, simultaneously unwinding his legs, torso, arms, and wrist. The flat side of his blade crashed into all four of their arms at a blistering speed. Their swords went flying skyward, while they themselves went flying backward and landed on their backs. They were not unconscious, but they didn't look like they were about to get back up again either. One made it as far as his hands and knees before collapsing again; the other simply rolled around feebly on the floor, clutching him arms to his chest in agony.
He settled back into the stance that he usually used to begin his Shuku-chi, intending to rush as soon as one of them spoke or made a noise that he could pinpoint. He held his sword raised in front of his chest, crouching ever so slightly, just enough to give him some forward spring when he leapt into action. "Doushita?" (6) he asked.
A slight whispering sound in the still air of the stable was all the warning he needed. His sword blurred, and there was a sharp metallic ring and a small blue-white spark. A shuriken chipped off the ground several feet to one side of Soujiro and skittered across the hard earth of the courtyard. Soujiro's eyes widened. That had been a pretty good toss; it might have clipped his shoulder had he not blocked it. He hadn't picked any of those people to be able to hit even a stationary target at that range. Oh well.
On the other hand, the trajectory that the Chinese star had come from had to lead back to its thrower, if he reacted quickly. His mind worked quickly, thinking back to a move that Himura had used on him when they had battled. He had dodged it, but he doubted that whoever threw that would be able to.
"Kuzu Ryu Sen!" he said as he bolted forward. The Kuzu Ryu Sen only struck with the hilt of the sword, but it was nonetheless an extremely painful blow. He had not practiced it much, though he had tried it on a few defenseless saplings in the valley several weeks ago. What he lacked in Himura's precision, however, he made up for in speed. Blurring into motion, he flew forward into the darkness, and was rewarded an instant later with the sharp feeling of impact on the hilt of his sword. It didn't hurt that he had misjudged the distance slightly, either; he had been aiming for a spot about a yard behind where he felt the impact, so his thrust carried right through the gangster. He rolled quickly to one side, in case any of them were quick to recover.
There was a horrible crunching sound as a jagged, man-sized hole opened in the east wall of the stable. Soujiro got a memorable picture of the stocky silhouette of the leader flying through the moonlit air, ringed by a storm of splinters and wood chips. His sword flew from his grasp, and he landed in a crumpled heap.
Up until then, the fight really hadn't been that loud. Even when Soujiro annouced his moves, he did not do it like other fighters; he did it almost conversationally. The leader had yelled once, and the time when the Yakuza men had been confused and striking each other had been ugly, but that was about it, and Soujiro was usually very good at striking silently. However, the noise thus far had been more than enough to awaken all the horses in the place. The detonating sound as the henchmen's leader crashed through the wall was more than enough to panic them. There suddenly began a tremendous cacophony of horses and men screaming, the men because the horses were, the horses because the men were. The remaining two Yakuza bolted for the convenient hole in the wall as the sounds of many running footsteps sounded in the courtyard of the Iron Dragon. Soujiro let them go. They meant nothing. They couldn't, or wouldn't, take the leader with them. He had three of them. He had a bigger problem now. A half-dozen trapped, panicked horses were much more dangerous than a pair of desperately running street thugs.
Fortunately, some of the new arrivals were better with horses than he was, and a few of them had brought torches. Karachi was among them.
"Soujiro!" he exclaimed over the din of the horses. "What the hell happened? Where is Sasaki?"
"Horse thieves," Soujiro said aloud. Then, more quietly, in Karachi's ear, "Yakuza." The merchant's eyes grew wide with fear and surprise.
"We won't wait until morning, then. We'll have to leave Ichibou tonight."
Soujiro nodded. The man was probably right. "Does this mean that you're only going to pay me for one day?" he asked innocently.
The merchant gave a start, and looked at Soujiro. He then looked back at the two Yakuza still stunned on the floor, and over Soujiro's shoulder at the unconscious leader lying on the ground outside. With a light laugh, he pressed two days' pay into Soujiro's palm. "Take it," he said lightly. "You've earned it. But if you want to keep working, I'm sure this isn't the last time I could use your help. Even if it is this noisy." He motioned at the whickering horses, which were almost under control again, thanks to the efforts of the innkeeper and several veteran stablehands.
"Thank you, Karachi-san," Soujiro answered. "But I'm not really a merchant's guard."
Karachi arched a quizzical eyebrow at him.
"I'm a rurouni," Soujiro continued, the word coming to his lips even more easily now than it had before. "And right now there's someone who needs my help more than you do."
Karachi shrugged. "OK, then, but if we ever meet again, I hope you've changed your mind. Being a rurouni doesn't pay well, or so I've heard."
Soujiro smiled. "Right again, Karachi-san, but this is more important. I'll live, trust me. I can take care of myself."
Karachi smiled back, one of the few times he had seen the man do so. "I believe you," he said. He then returned to his more businesslike tone. "Well, your room's been paid for the night, if you really feel like sleeping. And this should cover the food I promised you." He pressed another handful of change into Soujiro's hand. Soujiro eyed the money wonderingly. The man must not have eaten much more than the scallops Soujiro had seen him with earlier. Then again, they really had not been here that long. It wasn't even midnight yet; in fact, it was barely eleven, and they hadn't arrived until after six.
"Good luck," the merchant said as he turned to the stablehands to order them to ready his wagon for departure.
"Thanks," Soujiro said as he turned away as well. He didn't need to speak to stable hands, however. He needed to speak to a gangster.
Soujiro stopped briefly to reclaim his second katana from underneath Karachi's wagon on his way out to where the Yakuza leader lay. The leather-armored man was just beginning to regain consciousness when Soujiro reached him. Only two other people had gone out to check on him, and both of them scurried away wordlessly when they saw Soujiro coming.
Soujiro sat on the ground near the prostrate figure and waited for him to arouse himself enough to open his eyes. The first thing he saw when he did so was Soujiro sitting only a few feet from him, and his katana was on the far side of the former Tenken. He groaned and covered his head.
"Who sent you?" Soujiro asked, sliding his katana an inch free of its sheath once again with his thumb.
The leader only groaned and tried to growl some curses out at Soujiro, but all he managed was a string of horrible hissing sounds through clenched teeth.
"Sumimasen?" Soujiro smiled, sliding the blade another inch free. "I didn't catch that."
"Go ... fuck ... yoursAAAAAAH!" he growled, the last changing to a cry of pain as Soujiro popped the man in the jaw with his sheathed sword. Soujiro made sure that the didn't put that much force behind it; he didn't want to knock the man out again.
"Manners, manners," Soujiro quipped lightly. Himura-san might have proved that killing was wrong, and if Soujiro had thought about the philosophy behind it, he might have thought that the same principle applied to torture. Unfortunately for the leader, Soujiro was not much of a philosopher. Besides, this was fun. "Now, who sent you?"
The leader spit, then gasped in pain several times before managing weakly, "Yamashina. Yamashina Ito."
Soujiro nodded, though the name meant nothing to him. "And where does Senkaku come in?"
The man's eyes widened in shock at that. "Senkaku and Ito ... I don't know."
"Oh, I think you know something."
"They talk. That's all I know. I don't know who gives the orders." The man was gasping in pain, but it sounded like he was telling the truth. It was all the same, anyway, however they were linked.
"One more thing. How does Young-eun-chan fit into all of this?"
A wary and desperate look crept into the shorter man's eyes at the mention of that name. Eventually, however, a resigned look overtook that desperation, and a leaden dullness entered his voice. "Yamashina-sama and Senkaku-sama both have their eyes on her."
Soujiro's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed with scorn. *Senkaku, you bastard,* he thought grimly to himself.
He decided to avoid the topic of Senkaku and Young-eun at the moment. It was too much to think about, much less talk about. He turned back to the mystery man pulling the strings here. "Who is this Yamashina?" he asked.
The man arched his eyebrows, forgetting the pain momentarily. "Didn't you see the sign above the foundry? Yamashina Ironworks?"
Soujiro's eyes narrowed again. The man was hiding something. "There's more to it than that, though, isn't there?" he asked. "What else?"
"The mines," the man rasped. "He owns the mines, too."
Soujiro's mind raced. The men from the 'perimeter security' had called Senkaku the Lord of Ichibou or some such. It probably meant that he had forced his way into some kind of position of power here.
"Senkaku runs the town," Soujiro thought aloud, "and Yamashina pays for it," he finished. The man glowered in sullen silence. Soujiro continued, "people that cross either one of them are sent to the mines ... Senkaku gets rid of enemies, and Yamashina gets free labor. The only problem is Young-eun." The man could no longer meet his eyes. Soujiro thought he might even be crying. Of course. By telling Soujiro about them, the man had probably sealed his own fate. Soujiro really didn't think he deserved to die, though.
He looked up to see if the other two Yakuza henchmen that he had taken out were up yet. He couldn't even see them through the crowd in the stable, which probably meant they hadn't seen anything either. All the better. "When you wake up, I got frustrated because you weren't talking, and knocked you out again, OK? Thanks." Without waiting for another word, he brought both of his swords around, still in their sheaths, and cracked the man on each temple like a giant pair of blunt scissors coming together. The man collapsed like a wet rag.
Soujiro stood up and sprinted away into the darkness, his legs blurring as he ran. He needed to a have a little chat with that mysterious Korean girl. He flew through the darkness of Ichibou as the clock wound down to midnight, wondering why he even bothered, why he felt like getting involved, and why he couldn't get the image of the little Korean teenager out of his mind.
* * * * *
(1) Oh well
(2) Good day, greetings (often misspelled/pronounced conichiwa or konnichiwa)
(3) No (I think it's considered rude to disagree with someone using this, however)
(4) Stupid; morons
(5) Dark Fury
(6) What's wrong?
COMING SOON: Chapters 6 & 7, "A Blacksmith's House" and "The Iron Mines." Soujiro gets to meet Young-eun's adoptive family, and also acquires yet another sword. Shortly afterwards, however, her family is tragically torn apart, and Soujiro is left fighting terrible enemies and horrible memories.
Thanks to everyone who read & reviewed either or both of the first two installments! I hope you've enjoyed reading this. I enjoyed writing this so much that I could barely step away from the keyboard; I hadn't planned on having it finished before Christmas. Happy holidays, everyone! Once again, thanks for all your thoughts about the previous chapters, and please let me know what you thought of this!
That reminds me ... my Japanese is next to nonexistent. Don't fault me for it. At least I'm trying.
Happy reading!
ANTI-DISCLAIMER (would that be just a "claimer?"): Some of these characters ARE my own creation, as well as many elements of the setting; the town of Ichibou, Kim Young-eun, Karachi Hoebu, and several other minor characters are my own ideas. Use your head. If it never appeared in any of the Kenshin series episodes, then it's probably mine. Not that anyone cares but me.
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: To Kenshin TV ep 61, "Remaining Ju Pon Gattana, Choice of Life."
* * * * *
CHAPTER 4:
THE STREETS OF ICHIBOU
The shadows had deepened considerably in the time it had taken for Soujiro to help stable the wagon and get permission to explore the town for a while. The spreading darkness gradually absorbed the sight of the filth that covered the streets, but their smell still permeated the otherwise crisp mountain air. The smell was not as bad as it would have been if a brisk breeze was not blowing in out of the pass to the north, but breeze and smell alike passed by Soujiro unnoticed. He had been trained to ignore such things.
Soujiro was glad of the newfound darkness. He needed some time to be alone, and he felt safer in the dark than he did in daylight. He had been told that other mothers in Japan told their children that dark things lurked in the darkness. Soujiro had never had a real mother. He had killed his adoptive one. He guessed that made him one of those dark things. He was in a dark mood.
It had been a long time since Soujiro had been afraid of street thugs, even in groups. He thought he spied a band of them once, but they could have been just a group of town guards not in uniform. The guards here were obviously not known for their personal hygiene. Soujiro steered away from them, and he doubted any of them ever knew of his presence. He had come within thirty strides of them, but it was dark, and the streets were very poorly lit, even on the main thoroughfares. Even other Hitokiri had trouble sensing his presence. He had no aura the way other elite fighters did. That was at once a strength and a weakness; he could not terrify opponents with his battle aura the way Himura and ShiShiO had been able to. On the other hand, it also meant that he was nearly impossible to read or sense. It was said that the Shinsen Gumi could sense the presence of one of their captains even through stone walls fifty paces away. No one sensed Soujiro until he was right on top of them. No one sensed him at all if he wanted to avoid them. One of the dark things in the night, indeed.
Soujiro was looking to do a little more than hide tonight, however. There was something about Ichibou that confused him, and Soujiro was unused to being confused. He could not quite put his finger on it; of course, if he could, the odds were that he wouldn't be confused. So he searched.
He had no clear direction in mind when he began his wandering, but more and more, he found his steps headed in the direction of the foundry and the sprawling industrial sector that formed the southwest side of the town. The sounds of the smithies still rang in the night air, even louder now that the daily bustle of the open-air market and other daytime social spots had ended for the evening. As Soujiro wandered further and further to the southwest, he began to hear the sounds of society again, however, and he began to encounter groups of people making their way through the streets on their way to or from some social destination.
Most of the people he saw, however, gave him and his katanas distrusting looks and hurried on, if they saw him at all. Many scuttled right past, less than ten feet from him, with their eyes so downcast that Soujiro doubted they ever knew he was there. The air of depression did thin somewhat as he made his way into the industrial zone, but it never vanished from the back of Soujiro's mind.
Then Soujiro turned a corner, and his eyes widened. He had been drawn to this street simply because he had seen that it looked like it was somewhat more lit than the rest of the area. Standing at one end of it and looking down its length, he realized how much of an understatement that was.
He was on the southernmost street in Ichibou. To his left, the southern wall of the town rose crudely but darkly against the midnight blue of the Japanese evening sky. Aside from that, however, the darkness of Ichibou was gone. Lights danced before his vision from a dozen, a hundred different venues on both sides of the street. Lights blazed in windows, in doorframes, and under awnings. Many were in various shades of red, green, and blue, colored by translucent filters of fine cloth. The street stretched down for as far as Soujiro could see, almost to the southwest corner of the wall, where it ended at the gates of what looked to be a small compound, perhaps a guard's barracks. It was impossible for Soujiro to tell at this distance ... which meant the street was long.
There were people, too, more than Soujiro had seen during the entire hour that he had wandered around before arriving here. Many were dressed like they were going to a festival or a party, and the air was full of conversation. Soft music and singing drifted out of a half-dozen different doors within Soujiro's hearing. What on earth was this place?
The answer came to him as soon as he recovered from his initial surprise enough to glance at some of the words illuminated in such brilliant colors and lights. "Delirium," read one sign. "Dark Rapture," read another. More than one displayed plugs for exotic dancers, and even more pegged one drink special or another. Signs for gambling were interspersed among them as well. Soujiro had stumbled headfirst into Ichibou's red light district.
At first, Soujiro was tempted to turn around and leave. He had never really had a penchant for hanging out in such places. On the other hand, that had usually been because he had someplace cleaner and in somewhat better repair to hang out. This place looked like it was actually better kept than much of the town, despite the fact that the streets were in the worst repair of anywhere in the city only a block away. From the looks of things, business was booming. A tiny corner of Soujiro blushed at the thought. Then again, Yumi-san had come from a place like this, and had lived there for a long time before she fell in with ShiShiO-san. Soujiro wondered why she had never taken him someplace like this before. Maybe she wanted to leave it all behind for some reason; Soujiro had always held a special bond with her because he sensed that her past was as painful as his own, and if a place like this had been part of it, she was right not to want to go back. The people here seemed to be having fun, however.
After another moment's hesitation, Soujiro stepped forward into the full light of the street. He was immediately set on by the doormen of two different establishments, a disappointingly modest looking club called the Fiery Fan and what appeared to be a somewhat more successful casino, Well of Fortune.
"Hey, little boy!" the first called. "Looking for a good time? We got plenty o' room to spare!"
"Baka!" the other answered. "His club can't tell good music from cats screaming! Come on, boy! Give us a try, you won't find a better time in town!"
Soujiro's mouth tightened again, and he hurried on. For some reason, being called 'boy' had never rankled him so much. Yumi-san had called him that all the time, but these people were not her. Being called 'boy' by complete strangers was not the way to win his business. Besides, his purse strings were fairly tight. Karachi had not paid him yet, and he didn't feel like wasting any of the cache he had managed to grab during his escape from Kyoto on drinks or gambling. So he simply walked on by and out into the middle of the street like the other two did not even exist.
All the way down the street, the story was the same. "Boy," this. "Boy," that. The kinds of businesses didn't matter. Clubs, taverns, restaurants, casinos, even a clothier that apparently specialized in nightlife garb all had someone at the door trying to usher in his business, and their hook lines were almost all identical. Soujiro smiled at them politely ... and kept on ignoring them.
Soujiro was almost at the end of the street when he saw a place that might suit him. He was after information, and it sounded like there was more talking than music coming from inside this place. The sign above the entrance read simply "The Red House," and indeed most of the letters and lights on the building were in red. It was a long, flat establishment, and apparently the front half of the building was all one large common room. Looking through the door, he saw a fairly large and talkative crowd, and most looked like locals, not outsiders like himself. He nodded to himself, then to the doorman, tossed him a coin for the cover, and went into a red light district establishment for the first time in his life.
The crowd within the establishment was as large and festive as it had appeared from the outside. Soujiro quickly estimated that there had to be at least forty patrons, and the air was filled with conversation and people shouting at the waitresses for drinks. Many of the patrons looked like they had already had plenty of the latter; Soujiro did not need a particularly refined sense of smell to detect sake on the breath of at least half the people in the room. Even one of the waitresses looked like she might have been drinking on the job, given the way she stumbled from table to table.
Soujiro took a small table to himself as close to the middle of the room as he could manage, and simply let his awareness drift out over the crowd as he had done before in the little restaurant on the road. Most of the conversation was useless, but here and there he picked out mentions of troubles, both on the road and in the mines. One person whispered something about someone having been "sent to the mines" as though the person was already dead. Another whispered something about a sister that had been "taken in by the Hall" as though it were equally a calamity.
"Sumimasen," a soft voice spoke behind him. "Are you ready to order?"
Soujiro wheeled around. Standing before him was a fairly normal-seeming girl, probably two or three years younger than he himself and dressed in a standard waitress' uniform. However, there was something about her that completely surprised Soujiro. He had not sensed her presence until the moment she opened her mouth to speak. He began to suspect he was losing his touch.
"Anou ... uh, I think I need a few more minutes," he managed politely.
"Sure," the waitress said with a calm smile, and moved on to another table.
Soujiro stared after the girl for a moment. She had a faint but odd accent, as though she were not from anywhere on the islands that he knew about. She also had a poise and balance about her movements that spoke of being in outstanding physical shape, much more so than the vast majority of Japanese women.
Another man was coming up behind Soujiro, but he needed no heightened awareness to hear this one coming. The man moved like a drunken ox. "Admiring little Young-eun?" the man said, taking a seat next to Soujiro without even bothering to ask.
Soujiro turned his attention to this new face. "No, she just surprised me, that's all," he replied. "Am I supposed to admire her?"
The man laughed. "Oh, most of us do, boy, most of us do." Soujiro had no idea what the man was talking about; his first guess was that the man had drained one more flask of sake than was good for him.
The man continued, ignoring Soujiro's cold shoulder. "New in town, eh? You picked the right night to come here. She doesn't work more than two or three nights a week. They keep her doin' other stuff most days."
"It didn't sound like she's from in town, either," Soujiro pointed out.
"No, no, she's from the mainland, or so I hear. Korea, if I remember. Long time ago, though. She's one of us, now." Soujiro's mind flickered back to the first good image he had gotten of the girl. Maybe this man believed she was just another citizen, and maybe the rest of the town believed it, maybe even the girl herself, but he didn't. There was something about her that was very different from the other people in the town. He couldn't put his finger on it.
He was still sorting through his memory when a sudden new sensation made the hackles on the back of his neck rise. His back was to the door, but he knew that a group of people had just walked through it that the rest of the patrons were none too happy to see. He quickly made sure that his swords were invisible from the doorway, and peeked in that direction out of the corner of his eye.
A group of five men were walking across the room in his direction. They were clad in black leather armor and had a red sigil of some kind emblazoned upon their breasts. All carried swords, and walked with the confidence of people who knew that they were in charge. The leader, shorter than the rest, wore a red bandana and bore an impressive scar across his left eye. They stopped at his table. Soujiro still gave no sign that he had seen them. It turned out to be for the best, as far as he was concerned.
"Haitou, what are you doing here?" the leader asked smugly. Soujiro suddenly understood why the man who had been talking to him had suddenly fallen silent and ashen-faced. He somehow doubted that these men were here to award him a prize.
"Hi guys," the man slurred. He had definitely had far too much to drink. He even still had a flask in his hand.
Soujiro tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, even though the black-garbed group was all standing around him. The rest of the people in the room were trying the exact same thing, though the air of discomfort that Soujiro had been missing earlier was clearly palpable now. Nonetheless, they seemed to somehow understand that they wouldn't be involved if they didn't choose to make themselves involved, so they all huddled at their respective tables like children at the windows waiting for the lightning to go away so they could go out and play again.
One of the other soldiers laughed grimly. "Haitou, why the hell aren't you out of town by now? We even gave you time. As well you didn't, though. Senkaku-sama wants to have a little talk with you." The man actually flinched at the mention of that name! Soujiro had to hold back a smile! He was even more surprised when the man actually got up and allowed the five mysterious figures to escort him from the room; although his eyes were downcast and frightened, he did not seem to be fighting. Soujiro was so stunned that he forgot to interject something in the man's behalf, though on second thought, that might have done more damage than good, anyway. Nonetheless, he really didn't want to see any harm befall the man, even if he had been a little offensive.
Less than a minute after the men were gone, life was as usual in the Red House. It was as if the entire episode had never happened. Another minute or two after that, Young-eun came back to ask if he was ready to order yet.
"Anou ... aa," Soujiro said finally. He glanced up at the large menu plaque that filled a large part of the wall near the entrance. "Just the tofu and baked rice," he continued. "And just water to drink," he added.
"Sure, just a minute," she said, and began to turn away.
"Anou ..." Soujiro called, not sure what to call her; he was certainly not about to use her name, not when he hadn't even met her. Yumi-san would come back from the grave and scold him in public if he did that.
The girl stopped and turned around again.
"Anou ..." he was going to have to stop beginning every sentence with that. "That man ... the man they just took ... what's going to happen to him?" he asked.
The girl shrugged. "I doubt they'll kill him. He'll probably get sent to the mines." The way she said it made it sound like she was reading a grocery list, despite the fact that less than an hour ago, he had heard another group mention being sent to the mines in a hushed whisper filled with dread and anxiety. Obviously getting sent to these mines was not a pleasant experience. The girl managed to treat it casually anyway, like it was of no more or less concern than his order.
She turned and walked away again, and for the second time that night, Soujiro found himself staring at her back and wondering what it was about her that was so different from everyone else. It could not possibly be just because she was originally from another country, could it? If it was, he wondered what kind of place this Korea must be.
He took another good look around the room while the girl was gone. The red-filtered lights in the house gave the place an almost surreal quality; if it had not been managed well, he might even have called it hellish. There was table space enough for perhaps forty people; he had one of the few tables available with an open seat, and his was only a table for two. A small dance floor lay on one side of the tables, with a small stage on the far side. It was not being used at the moment, but it bore the general signs of frequent use. On the other side of the tables from the dance floor were the kitchens and latrines, and immediately in front of them, the bar. It had a surprising amount of Western influence blended into its design, Soujiro realized, even though the decor was strictly local.
Before long, he espied the girl returning. Soujiro took a second, quizzical look at the trays in her hand; she had brought twice what he had ordered. There was no way he was going to eat all that. As it turned out, he was absolutely right.
"Here you are," she said with a smile as she laid his order in front of him. She hesitated, then continued, "Both the servants' tables are being used, do you mind if I sit here? I'm on my break."
Soujiro did not hesitate in his response. "Please," he said, rising to hold her chair for her as she sat down. She smiled as he did so; she probably was not used to such manners in a town like this, Soujiro reasoned cynically. Not everything ShiShiO-san had said was a lie, or about war. "Disrespect to a woman," he had instructed shortly after taking the tiny terror under his wing, "is an affront to the samurai code of honor itself. Those who would call themselves samurai and disregard the feelings of a single woman are nothing but pretenders."
"Can I ask your name?" Soujiro asked as he resumed his seat. "I'd rather not call you 'waitress' the whole time." The girl's smile warmed, but only barely. It still lit up her entire face. She was like Yumi-san in that, if nothing else.
"Ah, sumimasen," she replied without a touch of embarrassment. "Young-eun. Kim Young-eun, but just call me Young-eun, please."
Soujiro nodded. "Seta Soujiro," he responded in kind without having to be asked.
Young-eun nodded in acknowledgement. "So what is a boy like you doing in a place like this?" she asked.
"A boy like me?" Soujiro asked blankly. For once, the address 'boy' did not tighten the corners of his mouth like it usually did. He simply didn't know what she was talking about.
Young-eun smiled. "You've got more manners than the rest of this lot put together, and you're younger than just about anyone here but us." She gestured at her waitress' uniform. "This doesn't seem to be your kind of place."
"Ah," Soujiro said, scrambling for his answer. It was especially difficult because he really didn't have one, even for himself. He answered somewhat lamely, "I just wanted to see the area."
Young-eun gave a low laugh. "Wanted to see the area? You must've come from somewhere pretty ugly if this is your idea of a scenic tour."
Soujiro shook his head. "I'm from Kyoto." The girl gave a start. "Hmm?" he asked wordlessly.
"Nothing ... anou ... it's just ... you're a long way from home," she finished. Her answer was as lame as his had been, though she didn't give any hint that she knew it. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't quite put his finger on who.
"It's not my home," he replied emotionlessly. "I'm never going back there again." This time he had to force himself to sit still to keep from starting at his words just the way Young-eun had. *I'm never going back there again.* Ten years ago, a red-haired teenager of about his age had said the exact same thing before vanishing into the wilderness.
The girl actually seemed interested, though. "Really?" she asked. "Why not?"
Soujiro shrugged. "I guess I just didn't like it there." It was true enough, in its way, though it ignored most of the big picture. "I needed to get out on my own for a while." That captured a little more of it.
"You could do that?" Young-eun asked. "Just get up and leave?" Her eyes were wide with surprise and ... what? Something else ... frustration? Envy? Soujiro couldn't tell, but it was plain that the question meant a lot to her.
"I guess so," he answered simply. "Though food and money got to be a problem after a while." That was not entirely true; he still had a lot of ShiShiO's money squirreled away, but that did not enter his mind often.
"So you're here looking for work?" she asked skeptically.
"Oh no, not now. I'm a merchant's guard at the moment."
"Really?"
"Just for a few days."
Her laugh this time was a little more open than her last one. "Just until whoever it is gets through town, eh? Smart merchant."
"I guess so. Mostly I just sit on the back of the wagon and think."
"You think? Wow. You really aren't like other merchants' guards." Soujiro knew she was making a joke, but it had been years since he had laughed, and she really wasn't all that good at making jokes. Her voice didn't have the inflections that others had when trying to be funny. Of course, Soujiro had never laughed at them.
"Are you the merchant's son or something?" Young-eun asked.
Soujiro's eyes widened imperceptibly for a moment. "Iie! Iie!" he gasped. "Merchants don't hire their sons as guards, at least I don't think so." Did they? He had never even thought about. But why would they? His head hurt again.
"I didn't think so either," Young-eun admitted, "but you have more the look of a merchant's son than a merchant's guard. Just wondering."
Soujiro looked down at himself. He guessed she was right. He really didn't dress that much like Sasaki. "I haven't been one that long," he admitted. If he did this forever, would he end up looking like Sasaki and the other merchants' guards he had seen? That was a definite reason to get out of the profession early.
"So why did you become one now? You really don't look like the kind of boy who wants to do that kind of thing for a living."
*That's a good thing,* Soujiro thought to himself. "I really don't know what I want to do now. I'm kind of off on my own for the first time."
"It must be nice," she said, with that same touch of emotion that she had asked about his ability to just get up and leave. Soujiro suddenly wondered if she was as happy here as she seemed at first glance; she seemed to be enjoying her job more than any of the other girls working as waitresses here, but he wondered if she really was. Once again, she reminded him of someone, but he could not put his finger on whom.
"Would you really want to just get up and leave if you could?" he asked her. He had never been much good at subtlety, despite years of being an assassin. Nonetheless, he immediately regretted saying it, because she turned her face away from him, and a shiver ran through her. It was all the answer he needed.
"I'm sorry," he apologized immediately. "I had no right to ask that."
She held up her hand. "No, no, it's OK," she answered. "I'm just not ... I could get in trouble if I talked to you any more," she answered. The suddenness of that remark startled Soujiro. "I need to get back to work," she said, her voice as cold as ever again. Without warning, she stood up and slid her chair in. "Enjoy your meal, Soujiro-kun. It's on the house." Without even waiting for a thank you, or an offer to pay for it anyway, she turned and walked back towards the kitchen. For the third time that evening, Soujiro was stuck staring at her back in silent puzzlement.
Soujiro watched her until she reached the kitchen entrance, where a burly, middle-sized man was waiting for her with a stern expression on his face. She bowed her head meekly as she went by the man into the kitchen without even looking at him, but his eyes followed her all the way into the kitchen, the look on his face never changing. As soon as she was inside, he stepped away from the doorframe, into the kitchen, and out of sight.
Soujiro ate slowly, trying to digest tenfold as much information as food. He realized now that the girl had said very little about herself, having done most of the questioning herself. She had had to go back to work before saying much about herself, and she had made Soujiro very curious. She had been very forward for a woman, especially a servant of any kind, in asking to sit down with him, but on the other hand, she also seemed extremely shy and withdrawn about many things. Maybe even most things. The idea of leaving home had definitely struck a nerve in her, though, and Soujiro guessed it was much more than usual teenage fantasies about travel and adventure. She had not asked about anything he had seen on his travels, or if he had been in any battles, or anything else about his journey. The only thing that had seemed to matter was the fact that he was on a journey at all. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. She was definitely a lot less happy than she had let on. She had given no reason, however.
Young-eun came out of the kitchen several minutes after disappearing into it, but did not speak to him again. She avoided his table. A full hour passed, and she did not come within a table of him once. He was going to have to catch up with her again, but it could not be here, not without being more conspicuous than he wanted to be. Even he possessed more subtlety than that.
Eventually, the tofu and rice disappeared, and Soujiro had run out of excuses to stay. He wasn't accomplishing anything by staying, anyway; he was just taking up space at a table, and the room was noisy, which made thinking hurt his head that much more. Young-eun had said the meal was on the house, which meant he couldn't even call her over to pay his bill. So he simply got up, belted his swords up again, and headed for the exit. As he reached the door, he turned and looked for Young-eun again. He saw her, and she saw him, but the expression she turned towards him was neutral, just a very faint smile that did not touch her eyes. Soujiro couldn't read it one way or the other. Shaking his head, he turned and strolled out once again into the streets of Ichibou.
The street that had seemed so appealing to him earlier was not quite what he was in the mood for now. It was still well-lit and festive, but Soujiro wanted some time alone at the moment. He strolled off the street--South Street, he noticed the name as he left--and headed for the murky solitude of the darkness two blocks away. As he drew farther away from South Street, the quality of the buildings deteriorated into the more familiar disrepair that he had been used to seeing in the slums. The streets were dirty again, and the smell was strong in his nostrils again now that there weren't a thousand distractions from it in sight.
Something had clearly happened between Young-eun and that man, whoever he was. He was not smart enough to deduce what it might be, but he was not dumb enough to miss it altogether. However, even after almost an hour of strolling the streets, racking his brain for answers, he was nowhere close to anything worth dwelling on. He still had a couple of hours left before he promised to be back at the Iron Dragon, but he was tempted to go back early and just forget the whole thing. It was too much thinking. He thought about the man by the doorway, the sudden offer of free food, the talkative man who had been removed by the black-clad men, and the crowd that had been sitting near him. He thought about the strange Korean girl that managed to be both bold and shy at the same time. More and more, he thought about Young-eun. There was something about her that was clearly different from the other people in the club, much more than could be explained by her being from a different country. She fascinated Soujiro; she reminded him of someone, of that he was sure. And somehow, she was clearly involved in something that she didn't want to be involved in.
He turned his footsteps back towards South Street. He still had plenty of time to kill, and even if he didn't come up with any more answers that night, he had enjoyed South Street. He needed a little more relaxation. He had done too much thinking. His brain was tired.
He arrived back at South Street a good distance from the Red House, but he immediately cast his eyes in that direction nonetheless. The crowd in the street had actually grown, not diminished, in the two hours since Soujiro first entered the club. Still, Soujiro was able to get a few decent glimpses of the distant doorway. His eyes narrowed when he got his first good look. A man stood outside the door, and it was not the doorman that he had casually flipped the cover charge to so short an eternity ago. It did seem that way at times. But now the man's place had been taken by the same man that he had seen in the kitchen doorway only an hour before. Soujiro could see that he was scanning the crowd, trying to be inconspicuous about it but not doing a very good job of it. At least, not by Soujiro's standards. Soujiro wondered if he was looking for him.
Suddenly, another figure in the crowd drew Soujiro's attention, and Soujiro realized that it wasn't him that the man from the kitchen was looking for, at least not only him. A black-garbed figure came into view, and a silent look passed between him and the man at the door of the Red House. It took only a moment to resolve into the short, stocky figure of the man who had removed Haitou from the Red House only hours earlier. Wordlessly, the pair walked off together around the side of the building.
Immediately, Soujiro wanted to know what they were saying. Reacting instinctively, he simply wandered out into the crowd. Mingling was an art of his, though he scarcely considered himself an artist. Nonetheless, he slid through the crowd like a soft breeze, swiftly yet barely seeming to be in any hurry whatsoever. However, he was still fifteen paces or more away from the entrance to the alley when he saw a shadow that warned him that at least one or the other was emerging. He quickly sprang into the shelter of the alley nearest him, placing a building in between him and the shadow. He then glanced around the side.
The short, black-garbed man was the only one to emerge; Soujiro guessed that the other probably had a side entrance to the Red House, if he wasn't just hanging out in the alley so that he wouldn't be seen any more than necessary with the other. Or maybe he just had to relieve himself. At the moment, Soujiro didn't care. The man that had come out of the alley was walking with a definite purpose, and quickly reached the dimmer light of the street on the far side of South Street. Soujiro suddenly saw four other dark shadows in the dim light that had escaped his notice before. They did not move until the first man reached them, and then they simply melted away to the north and out of sight. Soujiro's eyes narrowed again. He had a very bad feeling about this. Quickly, he hurried across the street and took a street parallel to the one they had left on.
It did not take him long to find them; they turned east as soon as they were away from South Street, and thus they came out in front of him from the left shortly after he reached the shelter of the shadows. They were heading northeast. They turned north again as soon as they came out of the street to Soujiro's left, and turned right immediately and the next street to the north. Soujiro followed them wordlessly, but in his gut, a suspicion was growing that grew louder at every turn.
*Someone checked up on me,* he thought grimly to himself. *Young-eun must have told them something.*
As the group made its silent way through the dark streets of Ichibou towards to the Iron Dragon Inn, Soujiro's hand subconsciously drew closer and closer to his sword. He had a feeling he was going to need it.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 5:
THE YAKUZA
Soujiro sat silently in the darkness of the stable of the Iron Dragon Inn, hidden in the deep shadow behind Karachi's wagon. His new katana rested idly across his lap. A single torch was all that kept the room from pitch darkness, and it was on the far side of the wagon from Soujiro. The stable was not large, but it was not small, either, and it was empty. Sasaki was nowhere in sight.
They were out there, he knew. He could feel their anticipation even through wooden walls. They would come. They were just waiting for their chance. It was only a matter of time.
As soon as he had been absolutely sure that the black-garbed group was indeed headed for the Iron Dragon, he had slipped off down another street and raced back to the inn ahead of them. Quickly, he had extinguished all but one of the torches in the stable, and he had placed a bucket of water under the last. He intended to cut the tip off of that as soon as possible, and he didn't want to start a fire; he also didn't want them to be able to without going into the inn, unless they had brought their own torches. He didn't think any of them had. He had also sent the single remaining stableboy away with a few yen and instructions to take a break for an hour or so. He didn't need other people getting in the way, and he certainly didn't want any blabbermouthed adolescent seeing what he was capable of and announcing it to the entire town. The others would see it, of course, but they would be more loath to speak of it.
A slight change in the air was all that told him he was no longer alone in the stable. He sighed wistfully. "Yare yare," (1) he murmured to himself for the second time that day as he stepped out from behind the wagon, carrying his new katana in its sheath and leaving his old one hidden in the shadow underneath the wagon.
The five men were just crossing the threshhold of the stable, and were still some distance away from Soujiro, because the stable door was at the west end of the stable and Karachi's wagon had been stabled in the easternmost stall. The torch was almost evenly spaced between them, so they could each see each other, though not clearly.
"Konnichiha," (2) he greeted them. "Are you looking for someone?"
They stopped. Gradually, the leader came forward into the torchlight. Soujiro came forward to meet him, he didn't want anyone closer to that torch than he himself.
"You, actually," the short, black-armored man responded. "I think we might need to have a talk with you."
"With me? About what?" Soujiro was not dumb enough to think that they were really here to talk, but he decided to play dumb anyway. If these people hadn't seen him fight before, then the odds were that they didn't know as much about him as they thought. He had not told Young-eun that much about himself. She might have seen his swords, but she had never even asked about it.
The leader did not answer him directly. Instead, he nodded towards Karachi's wagon. "That's a precious load of cargo you're guarding there," he said. "It would be a shame if anything bad should happen to it. Especially while you're guarding it."
Soujiro continued to play dumb. "Well, I'm a merchant's guard. I make sure nothing bad happens to it."
The leader and a few of his followers chuckled grimly. "You weren't doing a very good job of guarding it earlier tonight."
"I didn't need to be back until midnight. I'm actually starting early."
"A merchant let his guard away from his ward? You must have a very kind employer."
Soujiro though about that for a moment, then shrugged. "Not really. But I doubt yours is very kind either." He said it simply, not meaning it to be a question.
"You would do very well to remember that," the leader snarled.
"Why? I don't work for him."
"No, but you might find that more people than you might care to believe do."
"Such as Young-eun-chan?" Soujiro asked. His tone was as level as it had ever been, but the man suddenly burst out in anger.
"She is none of your business!" he shouted. Then, in a deadly whisper that might have chilled any other man, he said, "I think our conversation is finished. Get out of Ichibou. Now. There will be a little inn fire here, and we can make it seem like you were caught in it. Or we can make it so you actually were. The choice is yours."
Soujiro's eyes narrowed. "Iie," (3) he said firmly. "The choice is yours." He took a step forward.
"There will be no fire." He took another step.
"This wagon and I will leave Ichibou tomorrow." He took another.
"And you will stop hurting Young-eun-chan, however it is that you are." He stopped, standing less than two paces from the leader. His fellows had either fully or partly drawn their swords, and they stood around him now in a cluster.
"If the Yakuza has a problem with this, you can resolve it with me. Either way, you leave her alone. One is just much less painful. For you." They did not bat an eyelid at the mention of the Yakuza; that answered that question. Soujiro's voice was completely innocent, and the small torchlit face smiling emotionlessly in the dim torchlight looked utterly harmless, even foolish in uttering such daring words.
The man's katana slid free of his sheath.
Soujiro merely thumbed his an inch free of its scabbard and crouched slightly, weight balanced on his front foot and ready to spring forward.
"Have it your way," the man growled. "Kill him."
The Yakuza henchmen rushed forward as a mob, swords raised. Their battle cries turned to cries of confusion and fright, however, as Soujiro sprang into action. His blade came free of the sheath as he leapt forward, and he knew the gangsters would focus on it. He used the moment's confusion to crack the leader across the bridge of his nose with the sheath. At the same moment, the Oh-waza-mono blade neatly clipped the tip off the lone remaining torch. Darkness enveloped the stable with a steamy hiss as the burning tip fell into the water bucket.
Soujiro took advantage of their momentary confusion. Their silhouettes were still clear to his eyes, and he could feel their presences as differences in the air, even if none of them were strong enough to have a true battle aura.
Standing in a small clear space in the midst of them, he asked politely, "Everyone OK?" There were roars of rage from all around him, then from below him. Driving himself skyward with his powerful legs, he had vaulted up into the rafters well above the heads of his assailants.
Meanwhile, below him, there were screams of confusion and pain. Two of the Yakuza had reacted instinctively and slashed at the place where he had been, naturally meeting the blades and bodies of their comrades. It took a full thirty seconds for the leader to get them all under control again, as the two that had immediately attacked their comrades had been countered instinctively by those comrades, everyone believing they were fending off the blade of the pesky merchant's guard. Soujiro smiled appreciatively. Yumi-san might have been right; he was not brilliant. But at least he wasn't stupid enough to be a mobster.
"Dammit! That's me, Yoshiro!"
"Matsuo, stop it!"
"Hayashi, give it up! It's me!"
"STOP!" bellowed the leader at last. He had had to fend off the blade of one of his own men for a moment. "Baka! Baka baka baka baka bakabakabakabaka BAKA!!!!" (4) When silence reigned for a moment, he roared again, "Where is he?!"
Soujiro landed lightly at the wide door of the stable, allowing his silhouette to be outlined in the moonlight and the crystal spark of the legendary sword to glitter under the stars. "Again," he asked politely, "is everyone OK?" Feeling that the leader might need a little extra push, he added, "Any noses broken?"
He had successfully divided them. Two of them came raging at him in spite of their leaders efforts to call them back, while the other three stayed hidden in the darkness.
Soujiro held his sword horizontally in front of him, wrist twisted down so the flat of the blade faced the oncoming pair. He was remembering a move he had invented on the spot to stop a striking snake in the dark shortly after leaving Kyoto, and had nearly perfected since then.
"Aoi Denkou Ryu," he called out, "Meimei Moui Sen!" (5)
Both of his attackers were holding their swords almost at head level, so diving in under them barely even required any effort. A moment later, as they came within range, Soujiro uncoiled skyward, simultaneously unwinding his legs, torso, arms, and wrist. The flat side of his blade crashed into all four of their arms at a blistering speed. Their swords went flying skyward, while they themselves went flying backward and landed on their backs. They were not unconscious, but they didn't look like they were about to get back up again either. One made it as far as his hands and knees before collapsing again; the other simply rolled around feebly on the floor, clutching him arms to his chest in agony.
He settled back into the stance that he usually used to begin his Shuku-chi, intending to rush as soon as one of them spoke or made a noise that he could pinpoint. He held his sword raised in front of his chest, crouching ever so slightly, just enough to give him some forward spring when he leapt into action. "Doushita?" (6) he asked.
A slight whispering sound in the still air of the stable was all the warning he needed. His sword blurred, and there was a sharp metallic ring and a small blue-white spark. A shuriken chipped off the ground several feet to one side of Soujiro and skittered across the hard earth of the courtyard. Soujiro's eyes widened. That had been a pretty good toss; it might have clipped his shoulder had he not blocked it. He hadn't picked any of those people to be able to hit even a stationary target at that range. Oh well.
On the other hand, the trajectory that the Chinese star had come from had to lead back to its thrower, if he reacted quickly. His mind worked quickly, thinking back to a move that Himura had used on him when they had battled. He had dodged it, but he doubted that whoever threw that would be able to.
"Kuzu Ryu Sen!" he said as he bolted forward. The Kuzu Ryu Sen only struck with the hilt of the sword, but it was nonetheless an extremely painful blow. He had not practiced it much, though he had tried it on a few defenseless saplings in the valley several weeks ago. What he lacked in Himura's precision, however, he made up for in speed. Blurring into motion, he flew forward into the darkness, and was rewarded an instant later with the sharp feeling of impact on the hilt of his sword. It didn't hurt that he had misjudged the distance slightly, either; he had been aiming for a spot about a yard behind where he felt the impact, so his thrust carried right through the gangster. He rolled quickly to one side, in case any of them were quick to recover.
There was a horrible crunching sound as a jagged, man-sized hole opened in the east wall of the stable. Soujiro got a memorable picture of the stocky silhouette of the leader flying through the moonlit air, ringed by a storm of splinters and wood chips. His sword flew from his grasp, and he landed in a crumpled heap.
Up until then, the fight really hadn't been that loud. Even when Soujiro annouced his moves, he did not do it like other fighters; he did it almost conversationally. The leader had yelled once, and the time when the Yakuza men had been confused and striking each other had been ugly, but that was about it, and Soujiro was usually very good at striking silently. However, the noise thus far had been more than enough to awaken all the horses in the place. The detonating sound as the henchmen's leader crashed through the wall was more than enough to panic them. There suddenly began a tremendous cacophony of horses and men screaming, the men because the horses were, the horses because the men were. The remaining two Yakuza bolted for the convenient hole in the wall as the sounds of many running footsteps sounded in the courtyard of the Iron Dragon. Soujiro let them go. They meant nothing. They couldn't, or wouldn't, take the leader with them. He had three of them. He had a bigger problem now. A half-dozen trapped, panicked horses were much more dangerous than a pair of desperately running street thugs.
Fortunately, some of the new arrivals were better with horses than he was, and a few of them had brought torches. Karachi was among them.
"Soujiro!" he exclaimed over the din of the horses. "What the hell happened? Where is Sasaki?"
"Horse thieves," Soujiro said aloud. Then, more quietly, in Karachi's ear, "Yakuza." The merchant's eyes grew wide with fear and surprise.
"We won't wait until morning, then. We'll have to leave Ichibou tonight."
Soujiro nodded. The man was probably right. "Does this mean that you're only going to pay me for one day?" he asked innocently.
The merchant gave a start, and looked at Soujiro. He then looked back at the two Yakuza still stunned on the floor, and over Soujiro's shoulder at the unconscious leader lying on the ground outside. With a light laugh, he pressed two days' pay into Soujiro's palm. "Take it," he said lightly. "You've earned it. But if you want to keep working, I'm sure this isn't the last time I could use your help. Even if it is this noisy." He motioned at the whickering horses, which were almost under control again, thanks to the efforts of the innkeeper and several veteran stablehands.
"Thank you, Karachi-san," Soujiro answered. "But I'm not really a merchant's guard."
Karachi arched a quizzical eyebrow at him.
"I'm a rurouni," Soujiro continued, the word coming to his lips even more easily now than it had before. "And right now there's someone who needs my help more than you do."
Karachi shrugged. "OK, then, but if we ever meet again, I hope you've changed your mind. Being a rurouni doesn't pay well, or so I've heard."
Soujiro smiled. "Right again, Karachi-san, but this is more important. I'll live, trust me. I can take care of myself."
Karachi smiled back, one of the few times he had seen the man do so. "I believe you," he said. He then returned to his more businesslike tone. "Well, your room's been paid for the night, if you really feel like sleeping. And this should cover the food I promised you." He pressed another handful of change into Soujiro's hand. Soujiro eyed the money wonderingly. The man must not have eaten much more than the scallops Soujiro had seen him with earlier. Then again, they really had not been here that long. It wasn't even midnight yet; in fact, it was barely eleven, and they hadn't arrived until after six.
"Good luck," the merchant said as he turned to the stablehands to order them to ready his wagon for departure.
"Thanks," Soujiro said as he turned away as well. He didn't need to speak to stable hands, however. He needed to speak to a gangster.
Soujiro stopped briefly to reclaim his second katana from underneath Karachi's wagon on his way out to where the Yakuza leader lay. The leather-armored man was just beginning to regain consciousness when Soujiro reached him. Only two other people had gone out to check on him, and both of them scurried away wordlessly when they saw Soujiro coming.
Soujiro sat on the ground near the prostrate figure and waited for him to arouse himself enough to open his eyes. The first thing he saw when he did so was Soujiro sitting only a few feet from him, and his katana was on the far side of the former Tenken. He groaned and covered his head.
"Who sent you?" Soujiro asked, sliding his katana an inch free of its sheath once again with his thumb.
The leader only groaned and tried to growl some curses out at Soujiro, but all he managed was a string of horrible hissing sounds through clenched teeth.
"Sumimasen?" Soujiro smiled, sliding the blade another inch free. "I didn't catch that."
"Go ... fuck ... yoursAAAAAAH!" he growled, the last changing to a cry of pain as Soujiro popped the man in the jaw with his sheathed sword. Soujiro made sure that the didn't put that much force behind it; he didn't want to knock the man out again.
"Manners, manners," Soujiro quipped lightly. Himura-san might have proved that killing was wrong, and if Soujiro had thought about the philosophy behind it, he might have thought that the same principle applied to torture. Unfortunately for the leader, Soujiro was not much of a philosopher. Besides, this was fun. "Now, who sent you?"
The leader spit, then gasped in pain several times before managing weakly, "Yamashina. Yamashina Ito."
Soujiro nodded, though the name meant nothing to him. "And where does Senkaku come in?"
The man's eyes widened in shock at that. "Senkaku and Ito ... I don't know."
"Oh, I think you know something."
"They talk. That's all I know. I don't know who gives the orders." The man was gasping in pain, but it sounded like he was telling the truth. It was all the same, anyway, however they were linked.
"One more thing. How does Young-eun-chan fit into all of this?"
A wary and desperate look crept into the shorter man's eyes at the mention of that name. Eventually, however, a resigned look overtook that desperation, and a leaden dullness entered his voice. "Yamashina-sama and Senkaku-sama both have their eyes on her."
Soujiro's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed with scorn. *Senkaku, you bastard,* he thought grimly to himself.
He decided to avoid the topic of Senkaku and Young-eun at the moment. It was too much to think about, much less talk about. He turned back to the mystery man pulling the strings here. "Who is this Yamashina?" he asked.
The man arched his eyebrows, forgetting the pain momentarily. "Didn't you see the sign above the foundry? Yamashina Ironworks?"
Soujiro's eyes narrowed again. The man was hiding something. "There's more to it than that, though, isn't there?" he asked. "What else?"
"The mines," the man rasped. "He owns the mines, too."
Soujiro's mind raced. The men from the 'perimeter security' had called Senkaku the Lord of Ichibou or some such. It probably meant that he had forced his way into some kind of position of power here.
"Senkaku runs the town," Soujiro thought aloud, "and Yamashina pays for it," he finished. The man glowered in sullen silence. Soujiro continued, "people that cross either one of them are sent to the mines ... Senkaku gets rid of enemies, and Yamashina gets free labor. The only problem is Young-eun." The man could no longer meet his eyes. Soujiro thought he might even be crying. Of course. By telling Soujiro about them, the man had probably sealed his own fate. Soujiro really didn't think he deserved to die, though.
He looked up to see if the other two Yakuza henchmen that he had taken out were up yet. He couldn't even see them through the crowd in the stable, which probably meant they hadn't seen anything either. All the better. "When you wake up, I got frustrated because you weren't talking, and knocked you out again, OK? Thanks." Without waiting for another word, he brought both of his swords around, still in their sheaths, and cracked the man on each temple like a giant pair of blunt scissors coming together. The man collapsed like a wet rag.
Soujiro stood up and sprinted away into the darkness, his legs blurring as he ran. He needed to a have a little chat with that mysterious Korean girl. He flew through the darkness of Ichibou as the clock wound down to midnight, wondering why he even bothered, why he felt like getting involved, and why he couldn't get the image of the little Korean teenager out of his mind.
* * * * *
(1) Oh well
(2) Good day, greetings (often misspelled/pronounced conichiwa or konnichiwa)
(3) No (I think it's considered rude to disagree with someone using this, however)
(4) Stupid; morons
(5) Dark Fury
(6) What's wrong?
COMING SOON: Chapters 6 & 7, "A Blacksmith's House" and "The Iron Mines." Soujiro gets to meet Young-eun's adoptive family, and also acquires yet another sword. Shortly afterwards, however, her family is tragically torn apart, and Soujiro is left fighting terrible enemies and horrible memories.
Thanks to everyone who read & reviewed either or both of the first two installments! I hope you've enjoyed reading this. I enjoyed writing this so much that I could barely step away from the keyboard; I hadn't planned on having it finished before Christmas. Happy holidays, everyone! Once again, thanks for all your thoughts about the previous chapters, and please let me know what you thought of this!