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, people might be writing ME a library of thank-you-for-this-useless-Christmas-present letters instead of the other way around. 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, Yamashina Ito, and several other minor characters are my own ideas. Use your head. If it never appeared in anywhere in the Kenshin series, 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 6:
A BLACKSMITH'S HOUSE

Soujiro was a dark wind whistling down the streets of Ichibou as midnight drew near. He was out of shouting distance of the Iron Dragon Inn within moments, and was halfway to South Street before anyone noticed that he was gone.

South Street had never noticed his absence. The lights burned, the crowds milled about as though it were the central market at three in the afternoon, and people called to friends or potential customers with characteristic abandon. People barely even noticed his swords, as some called out in trying to secure his business and others, less sober, mistook him for a friend or relative. One person even thought he was a salesman he had met some time ago. Soujiro slowed to a brisk walk as he reached the street; somehow, someone running as he was capable of through a crowd with swords at his side didn't seem like a good idea.

He had almost reached the door of the Red House once again when a frightened whinny broke through the din of the rest of the crowd. Shouting suddenly turned to frightened screaming as a riderless black stallion broke free of its handler, who had bumbled unhitching it from a hitching post less than a hundred feet away from Soujiro. The horse galloped off across Soujiro's path, and people scattered in every direction trying to avoid being trampled by the animal.

With an exasperated sigh, Soujiro loosened his older katana in its sheath. He didn't really want to hurt, much less kill, the animal, but it was better than letting it trample someone that didn't deserve to be hurt. On some level, he still really didn't care if civilians were hurt or not ... but any civilian casualties would draw much more attention than a simple frantic horse that was brought back under control before anyone got hurt. Attention was something he definitely did not want right now. And on some level, he really didn't want anyone to get hurt just because some clumsy horse handler had mishandled a horse.

He kept looking for a good chance to strike, but the milling crowd never really gave him one, as many of them were fleeing in his direction. Eventually, he struggled free and got a clear run at the horse, just as it reared up on its hind legs. Soujiro gasped and sprang into motion.

Bolting forward faster than any cobra that ever lived, Soujiro closed one arm around the waist of the frightened man who had fallen and landed badly as he tried to jump out of the horse's way. The stallion's hooves came down where he had been lying a moment later, thudding loudly on the hardpacked ground. The man landed a few paces away; Soujiro had not had time to be gentle as he grabbed the man. Soujiro himself slid several yards across the street, his sandals throwing up small spirals of dirt and dust around his knees. He turned quickly, more set than ever on ending this before it got out of hand.

Now, however, he was trying to catch up with it from the rear. He could catch it instantly if he wanted to, of course, but that would give away far too much with far too many people watching in the full light of South Street. So he opted instead for a lesser super speed, still faster than a galloping stallion, and cut the stallion's rear legs out from under it before it managed more than a few more strides, using a crushing slide attack. He left two long tracks that looked almost like carriage skid marks behind as he slid, driving himself forward and taking out the stallion from the side. The horse fell with a whinny of pain and fright.

Soujiro quickly circled around in front of it, and looked it dead in the eyes. "Now behave, OK?" he said as he faced the animal as it struggled to regain its feet.

As if to punctuate the remark, a loud, harsh gong sounded in the foundry only a short walk to the west. Soujiro thought he heard another one or two similar gongs sounding simultaneously further northeast in the town.

The crowd began to scatter and melt away like shadows at sunrise. Even people who had been avidly watching him try to stop the raging stallion only moments earlier suddenly turned and vanished to the north. Many carried torches with them; it was a light a small river of lights streaming forth from a dam that had just burst on South Street. Even the horse seemed to become shy and hesitant. Soujiro gave the animal a confused look.

"I don't suppose you can tell me what that means, can you?" he asked the long equine face. The horse just shook his head at him.

As if in answer to his question, town watchmen began to push through the crowd, shouting remarks along the lines of "Closing time! Out you go! Party's finished! Sorry, you gotta go now!" Soujiro decided it was better to get out of sight before one of them saw his swords and took them as a challenge.

He dashed into the closest cover he could find, an alley on the south side of South Street that ended back against the town wall. It was still three or four buildings away from the Red House. Soujiro thought for a moment that he would just wait out the dispersion of the crowd and come out again when everyone had left, but that thought only lasted a moment. The workers were going home, too, he realized, not just the partygoers. He saw girls in waitress outfits leaving the two restaurants that he could see across the street and vanishing into the rest of the departing crowd. His eyes narrowed. If Young-eun vanished into the crowd and into the darkness like that, there would be no way for him to find her before tomorrow evening, at least not on his own. She had even said something about not being a waitress all the time, so she might not even be back then.

Making a quick check to be sure that no one was actively watching him, he blurred into action, dashing up the rough stone face of the inside of the town wall. When he reached the level of the roof of the building that he had been standing next to, he sprang backwards into a backwards somersault and landed lightly on the back corner of the roof. Without hesitating, he dashed off along the rear of that roof, running halfway crouched over in the manner that the samurai often ran through the woods. He wasn't concerned about low branches, but he did worry that someone might see him over the barely-pointed roof of the building, even though he did stay at the back of it.

He reached the next building with an effortless leap, and the one after that. His legs were as powerful as anyone's, even some people twice his weight, and the buildings were not very close together. He had managed harder jumps in tighter situations without even considering that he might fall. The last building took a little more effort, because it was two stories and the first two had been only one each, but even with the extra difficulty, he landed lightly on the roof of the taller building without even having to catch himself with his hands. He dashed across the roof and looked down into the alley next to the Red House. He jumped back. It was a good thing that he had not jumped down without looking because someone was there. One of them looked like the man whom Young-eun had been talking to while standing in the kitchen door earlier in the evening. The other was a stranger, but there was clearly a katana belted at his waist.

"Shimazu," the stranger addressed the man whom Soujiro had seen before, "I don't think our employer will wait much longer for these games of yours. He is thinking more ... direct ... action may be called for."

"I see," Shimazu replied. "I take it she declined my offer, then?"

"She saw right through it," the stranger replied, "and wanted nothing to do with it."

"Good luck," Shimazu answered mirthlessly.

"She's still living in Ichibou, obviously," the stranger agreed. "Eventually, she'll cave."

"And you intend to hurry her up a little?"

"Like I said, our employer is getting a little ... impatient. With you, as well as with her, I might add."

"Genji, I would think twice before trying anything too drastic. You haven't spent much time around her. I have. She's not your ordinary waitress."

"Obviously not, with the attention she's getting."

"I'm not talking about her looks!"

"What is she? A demoness in disguise?" Genji joked.

"Not that bad, I suppose," Shimazu replied. "But there's something ... cold .. about her." The man was plainly having trouble explaining, but Soujiro knew exactly what he was talking about. He had sensed the same thing about the only waitress they could be talking about earlier that evening.

"Maybe our employer likes them that way," Genji replied coldly. "He's not the most warmhearted person himself."

"True, true," Shimazu replied.

"Remember, none of this would be your business if she didn't work for you. Which she won't for much longer. So keep that in mind."

"If I need to, I can find another waitress, if that's what you mean."

"Possibly. I have to go now," Genji said suddenly. "I have other work to do, and I think something might have happened in another part of town that needs my attention."

"Wait!" Shimazu called. "You didn't tell me what you need me to do yet!" But Soujiro could sense that the other man was still moving, off into the side door of the Red House.

"Just be ready by ..." and they had disappeared back into the building. Soujiro needed no more opportunity than that. He landed softly in the alley, his feet barely disturbing the loose layer of dirt. Seeing that a window into the common room was open near the front of the alley, he slipped up to it and looked in.

Young-eun was indeed in the common room, a common room now completely empty except for her. The other two were somewhere else in the establishment, probably in the back where the side door led to, and the fire had dwindled to embers. The little Korean girl was cleaning the tables, moving from table to table effortlessly, almost like a dance with a score of immobile partners. Soujiro was more than impressed with her agility, especially hampered by a waitress' dress. Most women would not be so agile in a Ninja outfit. Every so often, she paused to throw a chopstick into a small tub of water that she had set on a table in the center of the dining area. No matter where she threw it from or from what angle, she never missed. Behind her back, over her shoulder, bouncing off the ceiling, every throw was rewarded with a faint splash.

Suddenly, she paused once, just as she was about to throw one, and instead continued gathering the others that had been left on the table into her hand. Soujiro only wondered about this for a moment before Shimazu walked into the room from the kitchen. Soujiro's eyes widened. She must have known somehow that the man was approaching; he guessed she must have heard him, since she was much closer to the kitchen door than Soujiro, but Soujiro's hearing was better than most. He didn't think that the apparent owner of the Red House had made that much noise coming through the kitchen.

"Almost finished, Mr. Shimazu," Young-eun said politely as the man came forward. Soujiro had begun to become used to her accent, but her voice still had a very foreign sound to his ears. It was not unpleasant, only different, and even then, not much so. Her Japanese was certainly better than some of the Japanese people he had met on his travels.

"Good, good," the owner replied, "but you don't need to hang around here any longer. The gong rang a while ago now. Why don't you take off? I'll take care of the rest. I don't think I'll be sleeping much for a while anyway."

Young-eun gave her employer a stare that said, 'Huh?' as loud as any words, but after a moment, she shrugged and said, "Well, thank you then. See you tomorrow." The words were familiar, but there was really no familiarity in her voice that Soujiro could detect. They were not really friends. He was her employer, after all.

"Yes, tomorrow," Shimazu replied wearily as he watched Young-eun head for the door.

Soujiro waited only a moment to see if he was going to follow her at all; then, seeing that he wasn't, took off to catch up with the enigmatic Korean girl. He came out of the alley beside the Red House just in time to see her disappearing into the darkness of the street on the far side of South Street. He noticed that she was headed more northwest; almost everyone else in the town lived to the northeast. After all, that was where most of the rest of the town was.

Soujiro had to wait until the three guards left on the otherwise vacant street all had their backs turned, and then blurred across the street and into the darkness. He could still see Young-eun's silhouette faintly in the dim moonlight. The moon was less than a quarter full, but the night was clear and the stars were spangled across the midnight sky. The breeze from the north had picked up slightly as well, stirring up and carrying away much of the stagnant air of Ichibou.

Young-eun turned around as Soujiro drew closer to her. "Soujiro?" she called softly, "is that you?"

"Hai," he responded. He didn't see the need for such silence, but he did lower his voice a little.

"Did you want to talk to me?" she asked.

"Anou ... a little," Soujiro responded. Once again, he was growing uncomfortable around her. He had never been able to understand women very well.

Sensing his hesitation, she continued, "Do you want to walk with me for a while?"

Surprisingly, that eased a little of the tension out of Soujiro's throat. "Sure," he said, a little more easily. "Why not?"

They started off again, heading generally north and slightly to the west. Young-eun began the conversation. She seemed surprisingly willing to talk, though it was clear that she didn't know where to begin.

"Did anything bad happen at your inn?" she asked. She actually did sound at least slightly concerned.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Soujiro responded without thinking. There was no bragging behind it, and Young-eun did not take it as such. It was a simple statement.

"That's good, I suppose," Young-eun responded hesitantly.

"You suppose?" Soujiro was not really annoyed at all. It just sounded like she somehow wanted to say more.

"I mean, I really didn't want anything to happen to you. It's just that I'll probably get in trouble for it."

"Why? Because you didn't tell them enough about me?" Soujiro asked. Once again, he really wasn't annoyed. He really didn't care what she had told them, since he hadn't really told her anything.

"Maybe. Maybe just because I talked to you."

"Hmm?"

"There are people here who don't like it if I talk to strangers. I think they're worried that I'll hear too much of the outside world and want to leave."

"You've never been outside Ichibou? But I thought you're from another country."

She laughed then, shyly, but it was nonetheless a laugh. "A long time ago, Soujiro-kun, a long time ago. I was about this high." She held her hand just above her waist. Then she sighed. "Sometimes I wish I could be that young again." Her smile was gone.

Soujiro actually missed a step, so obviously that Young-eun put out an unsteady hand as if she would try to catch him if he fell. He gave her the strangest look he had ever given anyone in his life. Why in all of earth, heaven, or hell would someone wish that? Scattered, suppressed memories of his own childhood flared for a minute, and he shuddered. Then it was gone, an he was himself again.

"I have been out of town occasionally," she continued, "but only to the estate in the hills to the east. The owner of the iron mines has a little palace up there."

Soujiro nodded. "I know about Yamashina."

Young-eun nodded resignedly. "I doubt you know everything, though."

"People tell me that a lot."

"No, no! I just meant that ... never mind. It's too hard to explain."

"Then don't," Soujiro said lightly. "I probably wouldn't understand it anyway."

Young-eun smiled again, though she did not laugh. Her smile was beautiful, though. Soujiro wished she would smile more often. Actually, when he thought back, she had smiled most of the time in the Red House, as well, but it was not like this. Even in the darkness, this smile lit up her face. He wished she would do that more often.

"I think you underestimate yourself, Soujiro-kun."

Soujiro shrugged. "Maybe." He wished she was right, but he didn't feel like disagreeing with her.

Young-eun continued, "I guess you know about Senkaku, too?"

Soujiro nodded. "Yup. Actually, I knew him before he came to Ichibou."

Young-eun arched an eyebrow at him. "Really? Then again, I guess he really hasn't been in Ichibou that long. It just seems that way."

"He isn't a very nice person, I guess," Soujiro admitted. It was somewhat discomforting to admit that aloud. He knew it was true, but he also remembered Senkaku fearing for his life when Soujiro was in sight. Had he really been that bad?

"That's an understatement," Young-eun agreed.

*Thanks, I needed that,* Soujiro thought to himself. Aloud, he said, "He used to rule Shingetsu by brute force. It's a village a few valleys off."

"Why did he leave, then?"

Soujiro shrugged. "He fell into disfavor with Shishio-san after he lost to the Battousai. He vanished from the area."

Young-eun suddenly stopped, and turned a long eye on him.

"Something wrong?" Soujiro asked uncertainly.

"Well, this is my house," Young-eun said, motioning to a surprisingly spacious, if somewhat unkempt, dwelling behind her. "My dad's a blacksmith, and it's also his workshop, so don't think I've got all this space or anything."

"Hmm? ... Oh!" Soujiro said. "Well, I'm glad I got to talk to you for a little while."

"If you wanted to come in, we could talk for a little longer, I suppose," the Korean teenager replied. Her tone was dry; Soujiro could not tell how she felt about it one way or another.

"S ... sure ... I guess," he began.

"One condition!" Young-eun interrupted, holding up a finger. "Actually, just one question, and I want the truth."

"Hmm?"

"Who are you? No, forget that. Who were you?"

"Sumimasen?!" Soujiro said, an edge coming into his voice as he backed away a step uncertainly.

"You heard me," Young-eun replied flatly.

"Why do you want to know?" Soujiro asked, recovering his wits a little.

"You say you knew Senkaku before he came to Ichibou. You talk about the Hitokiri Battousai, practically a tall tale, like you've met him. And you're sober. And just now you called Shishio Makoto, the only man who conquered this village in living memory, 'Shishio-san.' I'd swear you were drunk, but then you'd have told me something more exciting. And even then you wouldn't have said 'Shishio-san.'"

She had him in a corner, but there was a very obvious way out. He really didn't want to lie to her anyway, and she looked sturdy enough to handle the truth. He took a careful look up and down the street to make sure no one else was watching or listening, then leaned in closer to Young-eun's face anyway. "I was Shishio's assistant. He was my mentor."

"You mean you were a samurai?"

"No. An assassin." That conversation he had had with Yumi about the negative connotations attached to that word floated up in his mind again, but the word was already out of his mouth. Young-eun's only reaction, however, was a soundless "Oh."

"Do you not want me to come in, now?" Soujiro asked deferentially. He wished he could say he didn't care if that had made her decision one way or the other, but he really hoped that she didn't think less of him just because he used to kill people on a daily basis.

"No! I mean yes. I mean ... oh, just come on in," she said at last. "You're more honest than most of the visitors we have coming to call, anyway. At least you admit it."

"I'm not that assassin anymore."

"I know you're not. Shishio's dead."

The coldness in her voice suddenly coalesced when she said that, and he realized who it was that she had been reminding him of all this time. It was himself, of course. She had more emotion than he had had at her age, perhaps, but only barely. Like himself, she had had a badly troubled childhood and had suppressed almost all of her emotions; perhaps not as bad as his had been--she at least sounded like she wouldn't mind seeing, after all--but bad enough. Like himself, she hid behind a veil of neutrality, even of happiness, but it was definitely a veil. He could see that now. Everything fit ... her voice, her face, her attitude, the questions she asked, even the cold precision and the ability to sense auras of emotions in others. Like so many things, they were so much easier to see when you lacked them yourself. A surge of empathy welled up in him unexpectedly. It was not sympathy; he had not felt that emotion for as long as he could remember, even in his most deeply buried memories. It was empathy, a feeling of thinking on the same wavelength, that he had not even always shared with Shishio.

Without warning, he smiled at her, a genuine smile, not the cold one eternally engraved on his face. "I think I'd like to talk a little longer," he said. "I think that'd be great."

She merely nodded. "Come on in then."

Soujiro followed the Korean girl through the screen door. Young-eun's house was indeed not as spacious as it looked from the outside; actually, the workshop was simply bigger than it looked from the outside, making the living space that much smaller. It was ample enough, however, and the place was much better kept on the inside than the outside. Everything was orderly and organized. The table in he center of the room was clean, the items on all the shelves were in perfect rows, and the wooden floor was polished and spotless, except around the doorway where it really couldn't be helped. Soujiro nodded approvingly.

Young-eun had darted immediately across the sitting room and into what appeared to be a bedroom. "Father!" she heard her call. "Father, there's someone I want you to meet." Once again, that instinctive disbelief crept up on Soujiro. He was certain that he had never said that in his life.

Young-eun's adoptive father came out of the bedroom. He was only an inch or two taller than Soujiro, but he had to be at least eighty pounds heavier. His arms were forged of solid iron, but he moved fairly easily, especially for a man of his apparent age. He had to be almost forty, if he wasn't already, but he moved like he was thirty, or younger. His hair was a little unkempt, and he was still clearing the sleep from his eyes, but his smile was friendly and his stance was unthreatening.

"Seta Soujiro," Young-eun announced, "this is my father, Ukita Shimiro. Ukita-san, this is Seta Soujiro." Soujiro noticed that while she called the man her father, she addressed him more as a friend. Still, that was more than he ever would have addressed his adoptive father as, so he really didn't think it was worth mentioning.

"Soujiro?" the man's eyes widened for a moment. The man shook himself, then recovered. "Se ... Someone I know mentioned a Soujiro to me some time ago," he finished lamely. "But you don't seem the type, Seta-kun."

"He is." Young-eun's voice was completely dry. Yes, he's an assassin. Who cares?

"Oh really?" Ukita's eyes turned towards her. "I don't think you were here when this man and I had this conversation, how would you know?" His tone was only mildly annoyed, though.

"He told me." She nodded towards him. "It doesn't matter, does it?"

"Well, it could, you know."

"You never let that stop you before."

"Before? I don't think you've ever had a guest over here since you were eleven."

"Well then, it's about time, isn't it?"

"I don't think that's the way these things are supposed to work," he began in a typical fatherly tone, but then he caught the look in Young-eun's eyes, and relented. "Then again, I guess this whole thing hasn't worked the way things are supposed to, has it? Oh well, one more can't hurt."

Soujiro had not said anything this whole time, but spoke up now that he was clear that the blacksmith was a little uncomfortable by his presence. "If you want me to leave, I will, it's not a problem," Soujiro offered.

Ukita actually laughed. "Oh, come now, boy, I'm not about to turn you out into the streets after midnight. I've had worse than you come through that door, believe me. I'm just a suspicious person."

Soujiro took a wild guess. "Most of the samurai that survived the Bakumatsu are."

Ukita chuckled. "You've got a keen eye, boy. You're right, though. I was one of the Ishin Shinshi, a long time ago. I managed to come out of the Bakumatsu with nothing but a pair of little scars, but then again, I never saw the worst of the fighting. Not that what I saw wasn't bad enough or anything."

Soujiro shrugged. "I was trained to be able to recognize fighters out of a crowd."

The man laughed again. "It's been a while since I picked up my sword. After the Bakumatsu, I realized that I had the hands of a samurai, but not the stomach."

Soujiro was a little confused by that. What did a man's stomach have to do with wielding a sword? That must be some hidden technique. Only, he was convinced that the ex-Ishin meant something else.

The blacksmith sighed wistfully and continued, "can I get you anything? I'm afraid we don't have much here, I wasn't expecting company."

"Just a water?" Soujiro asked.

The man smiled. "That I can do." He walked off into the bedroom again.

Young-eun offered him a place at the table, which he took gratefully. He had not sat down in a long while. He made sure that he offered her a place, first; it was not that she needed him to offer her a place at her own table, of course, but he had never sat down before a woman in his life. Of course, the only woman he could remember eating dinner with was Yumi, but she had always liked it when Soujiro held her chair for her. Young-eun certainly didn't seem to mind, either. Soujiro drew up his own chair after Young-eun sat down.

"He likes you," Young-eun said immediately. "He really does. But his nerves are shot. The last few months have been horrible for him, too."

"I thought you were the center of all the attention."

"I am," Young-eun said, once again in that carefully neutral tone of voice that Soujiro guessed hid her deeper emotions, the ones she couldn't handle. "But he constantly puts himself in between them and me. He's the only reason I wasn't taken away months ago. He can't fight them off forever, but his samurai spirit won't let him back down. It's ... breaking him." Soujiro nodded; he understood, at least on some level.

"So Senkaku and Yamashina are afraid of him?" Soujiro asked. If they were, the man's sword and skill couldn't be that rusty.

"No. Well, Senkaku might be, but not Yamashina. Yamashina still holds off out of respect, I think. Barely."

"Respect? I thought he was a mob boss."

Young-eun replied immediately, "I was right. You don't know everything." Soujiro wrinkled his nose at her. The Korean girl sighed and continued. "Yamashina was an Ishin Shinshi as well. One of their best, a Hitokiri. He doesn't want to move against the wishes of another member, but he will, sooner or later. He's the coldest man I've ever met, but ambition still burns in his belly, and during the Bakumatsu, he would've outranked Ukita." Soujiro cocked an eye at her. If this Yamashina was enough to make her characterize him as 'cold,' then he had to be a breathing block of ice. He was going to ask her more about it, but at that moment, Ukita came back into the room, carrying a few tin cups and a small keg of water.

"Young-eun," he said immediately, "why don't you go clean yourself up and change out of that waitress' outfit? Or I might be tempted to make you do the pouring and watch while we drink." Young-eun made a face at him, but quickly got up and headed through another door out of the room.

Ukita plunked the keg down on the side of the table and opened the tap; it had been a wine cask long ago, Soujiro realized, it was just being reused to hold water.

"I heard that last part," the blacksmith said as he handed Soujiro the first cup and opened the tap for a second. "About Yamashina being cold and all. She's right, you know. If you're thinking about getting involved with this, I suggest getting out of town first. This isn't your fight."

Soujiro's expression was thoughtful. "I think I'm probably already involved with this," he sighed regretfully. "And it may be my fight after all."

Soujiro proceeded to tell Ukita about the incident at the inn, starting with the meeting between Shimazu and the group's leader outside the Red House. He downplayed a lot of the moves he had used, just saying that he had fought the group of them off. He said honestly that he hadn't killed any of them, and let the former Ishin make of that what he would. He ended by saying that he had guessed that Young-eun was involved somehow, and so he had took off for the Red House again after the incident.

"And I really don't want anything to happen to her," he finished.

The blacksmith smiled. "You like her."

"Hmm? Don't you?"

The blacksmith's smile only brightened, but he shook his head. "Never mind." Soujiro was a little puzzled. He had a definite feeling that he was missing something there. He didn't want to think about it now, though. Too much thinking always put him in a bad mood.

"So why don't you just pack up and leave?" Soujiro asked. "If you can't fight them, you might at least be able to get away from them." It was uncomfortable to even suggest running from a fight, but even he had known the virtue of caution on occasion.

The blacksmith's laugh held no more mirth. "I'd like to, but I wouldn't make it a league in any direction without getting picked up or gunned down. As long as I stick around, Yamashina will play my game."

"I think he may be growing a little tired of games," Soujiro warned. He told the former samurai about the conversation he had overheard between Shimazu and Genji. When he had finished, the other man's face was clearly troubled.

"I guess the game is about played out then," he conceded sadly. "Maybe I'm going to have to take some larger risks soon."

"Don't do anything foolish," Soujiro cautioned. "Young-eun wouldn't like it if you got yourself killed."

"That's what I'm afraid of," the man said grimly. "She's somewhat cold around me; I haven't been much of a father to her, and my wife died less than two years after we took her in. The last few months, I've even been trying to push her away."

Soujiro gave the man a questioning look, and he continued. "Sooner or later, Yamashina is going to go threaten her with me. As long as he continues to threaten me, everything is fine. She's protected. But I can't be with her all the time, and eventually, Yamashina will approach her directly. I don't want her doing anything she doesn't want to for my sake."

Soujiro touched his head in an informal salute. "Once a samurai, always a samurai," he said. Shishio's words came back to him again. The man had blown those words all out of proportion, but they still held. *Those who live the life of a Hitokiri, die the death of a Hitokiri.* He continued, "you may have put down your sword and taken up a hammer, but you'll never think like a blacksmith."

Ukita nodded wryly. "Even when I'm smithing, all I make is swords unless I have a specific order for something else." He stood up, and walked to a small upright cabinet built into a wall in the corner of the room. He threw the doors open, and Soujiro's eyes widened. The man had a very impressive collection of blades, ranging from short Kodachi to longer Chotou. A peg on the inside of the door supported a leather chest strap with what looked to be at least twenty shuriken slipped into individual pockets within it. Ukita turned to face Soujiro again. "The blades keep getting better, but I'm afraid the hands that wield them don't get younger."

"You're not that old yet," Soujiro told him. It wasn't even really meant to be a compliment, or trying to get on his good side. It was just a fact.

Ukita grinned. "Maybe so, but I don't have that long left. I'd rather not make any new enemies now, when they might be able to wait a few years and take advantage of a slow old man. Old enemies are bad enough."

At this point, Young-eun reentered the room, and Ukita quickly shut his weapons closet. "Well, you certainly clean up well tonight," the blacksmith smiled approvingly.

Soujiro gaped. The man was not kidding. The little Korean girl wore a slim and comfortable kimono of sheer cotton, so thin that Soujiro could see through to the opaque down lining on the inside. The robe was of a pale sky blue, almost identical to Soujiro's own ensemble, only perhaps even a little lighter in color, though the hems at the sleeves and across the chest were covered with soft white fur. A string of baroque pearls accented her neck. A slim, silvery circlet held her hair away from her face, but behind her it tumbled loosely to the small of her back. A few errant waves tumbled idly in front of her shoulders, and a few locks had slipped free of the circlet in the front, framing her face in midnight. Her sandals were lower than the ones she had worn to work; these were soft brown leather, flexible but sturdy. The did make her seem an inch or two shorter than she had been earlier, however.

She glided forward into the room. "Showing off your craftsmanship?" she asked the blacksmith.

"Don't even talk to me about showing off," he growled, but there was clearly affection behind the gruff words. Young-eun suddenly grinned, bowed her head slightly, and ran an almost guilty hand through her hair. Soujiro had the sudden feeling that he was the butt of an inside joke, but he couldn't quite grasp it.

"Anyway," she continued, "can I steal him from you for a little while? I think he wanted to talk to me for a little while, anyway."

Ukita shrugged. "He's your guest. Just don't make a mess." Once again, the way he said it sounded very pointed, like he meant something more than knocking over something in the bedroom. Soujiro wished Yumi were here. She would know what they were talking about, he was sure. It was just all well beyond him. And Young-eun was telling the truth; he did still want to talk to her for a while.

"We won't," Young-eun replied deferentially. "Come on, Soujiro-kun. There's something I want to show you." With that, she turned and strode back into the bedroom. Soujiro followed her hesitantly, casting a somewhat apologetic look at Ukita as he did so, but the man's face was indecipherable.

He turned back just to see Young-eun's foot vanishing out through the ceiling of her bedroom. There was a hatch in the ceiling that apparently led out onto the roof. There were no stairs or ladder up to the opening, however; she had simply jumped from her bed and vaulted out onto the roof. Soujiro was not incredibly surprised to see it, though; she was in good shape, after all. He walked over to the opening, stepped up on the rim of Young-eun's bed, and sprang up onto the roof.


* * * * *


CHAPTER 7:
THE SPIRIT OF THE NORTH WIND

The night breeze was a sudden shock against his skin, but it was not all that cold. He had just been used to being in the house, and the blacksmith had kept the fire stoked. Young-eun was sitting a few feet away on the roof, her knees bent in front of her and her arms wrapped around them. She didn't appear to be huddling, though. Her head was tilted back, her eyes gazing out above the tops of the mountains to the north. The north wind blew her hair out behind her face, rippling in the breeze behind her. The silver circlet in her hair and the pearls at her neck gleamed faintly in the darkness, capturing the faint light of the stars. The breeze rippled the edges of her kimono. The brisk air from the north and the dim glow of the heavenly bodies of the night gave her the appearance of more than mortality. She was a spirit of the winds that had taken form and alighted on the roof, not a girl who had just jumped out of a hatch onto her roof to look at the night sky. Soujiro's eyes widened appreciatively. Not even Yumi had ever had such an unknown but yet compelling presence.

It was a moment before he could make himself go over and sit by her. It was also not until he did so that he realized that the circlet and the pearls were not the only things that were glistening. Her eyes were glistening wetly as well. Soujiro's eyes widened further. A minute earlier, she had been smiling and joking with her father. Now she looked like she was almost about to break down crying. Memories of his fight with Himura forced themselves back into his awareness. Banging his head on the floor, holding it in both hands. Screaming and clawing on the ground. He honestly hoped she wasn't about to put on a scene like that. He didn't know how he would handle it. Himura-san had handled it by knocking Soujiro out with his most powerful technique. Soujiro thought it might be somewhat rude to try that on her.

As soon as he sat down by her, however, she smiled again, and the tears faded, though they did not vanish. Without looking at him, she asked, "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

"Hmm?" Soujiro asked quietly. He didn't know why, but something told him that this was not a time for normal volume.

Young-eun eased herself down onto her back before answering, and patted the roof beside herself to indicate that it was fine with her if Soujiro did the same. After a moment's hesitation, he did so. He was feeling very awkward; he had been through a lot together, and he had been alone with a woman on any number of occasions--even if it had never been anyone but Yumi--but this was somehow very new to him.

"The stars," the little Korean girl answered dreamily once Soujiro was settled down next to her. Soujiro looked at them again. He had never really bothered to look at them before. Some people claimed that they could read the future in them, but Yumi and Shishio had always told him that such people were more foolish than even the government that they had both hated. Soujiro had never seen the future in them, but he had never really seen beauty in them. Aesthetics and artistry were not his strong points.

"I guess," Soujiro answered passively.

"They're free," Young-eun went on. "They can be beautiful and free and never grow old, and no one can touch them." Soujiro stole a glance at her, and then back up at the cloudless night sky. He suddenly did see what she was talking about, at least in part. It did not move him the way it obviously moved her, but at least he could understand it a little.

"Is that why you come up here?" Soujiro asked, his mind working as fast as it ever had. "To feel free?"

Young-eun laughed then, but it was not in mockery. It was an absolutely musical sound in the darkness, and the smile was plain on her face even in the dim light. "They say nothing evades the eye of a Hitokiri," she mouthed in agreement. "You're a lot smarter than you look, Soujiro-kun."

Soujiro was about to disagree, but found that he couldn't even make himself voice the words to disagree with her in the slightest in this place. He felt it would be rude somehow. On the other hand, she had somehow got him thinking in ways in which he had never thought before, and for the first time, she was evoking memories that had always been painful to him ... and he didn't feel the pain. At least, not as much. "I don't think you'd really want to be a star, though," he said at last.

"Really?" she asked. She didn't seem to be offended at all that he had disagreed with her, and Soujiro believed that it was genuine. For some reason, she seemed to let her guard down here. He found that he liked the effect. "Why not?"

"I don't know. I think I tried to be one once." There was absolutely no sarcasm in his voice, but Young-eun gave him a sidelong look without raising her head from the cusp of her hands behind her.

"You tried to be a star?" she asked.

"Do you really think the stars are so free and untouchable?" he asked her.

"Do you know anything that can touch them?" she countered.

"No," Soujiro answered, "but they still can't move. And they're cold. I mean they don't care about anything, they can't feel anything. And they have no way out of the darkness unless they fall all the way to earth. Until then, they're just frozen in the dark. I think I was like that." He shook his head to clear the philosophy from his brain. "But you're right," he finished a moment later. "They are beautiful." He couldn't help thinking to himself, *if Yumi-san were here, she'd have my head examined.*

"I never thought about them that way," Young-eun admitted. She still did not look at him, though. Soujiro stopped berating himself for rambling. Then she continued, "but sometimes I think I'd rather be one anyway. Sometimes I think not feeling anything would be good."

"Maybe," Soujiro responded. "But things don't usually work that easily."

"I know that," she sighed regretfully. "But that's during the other twenty-three hours of the day. This is where I come just to dream."

"You dream?" Soujiro asked.

"Of course," Young-eun answered, as if it were obvious. "Doesn't everyone?"

Soujiro shook his head sadly. "Not everyone," he answered. "I stopped dreaming a long time ago. It was never much fun for me." To himself, he thought, *stars can't dream,* but that line of conversation was finished. He had spouted more than enough philosophical dribble for one night; he had no idea what had come over him.

It was Young-eun's turn to be surprised. Then she shuddered. "How can you stand it?"

Soujiro didn't move, but the question made him very uncomfortable. He really didn't know. That was one of the answers he was looking for, he supposed. He had no idea what to say. So he just kept looking at the stars and admitted, "I don't know."

"Is that why you became an assassin?" Young-eun asked. Even now, when she seemed to let her guard down, her voice did not falter over the word.

"Maybe," Soujiro said. "I guess it all started in self-defense. Then I went away with Shishio-san. With him as a teacher, I never learned that there was anything wrong with it."

"Self-defense?" she asked. "Defense against who?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could think about them; he wasn't about to lie to her here, anyway. Without hesitating, he answered, "My parents."

Young-eun gave a frightened gasp and sat bolt upright. Startled, Soujiro did the same, only slower. Young-eun turned her eyes on him, but there was no fear in them. He couldn't see anything in them, but the tears that had never completely gone away were back now. She still had the look of a wind spirit, but the wind was weeping. Soujiro wished he had thought about what he was saying before he spoke. He could have thought of something softer. He could have just said a corrupt rice merchant, or something like that.

Suddenly, the little Korean girl huddled herself up, bringing her forehead to her knees and wrapping her arms around them. She could no longer hold back the tears in her eyes. Soujiro was stunned. He had not expected this kind of reaction from her at all. Yumi-san was right. He knew nothing about women. Young-eun looked up at him then. Even after crying, her eyes were beautiful, Soujiro decided. Like stars.

"My God," she rasped. "How do you stand it?"

Soujiro bowed his head sadly. He had made her uncomfortable, which he had never wanted to do, and she deserved a better answer than he could give. He did the best he could. "I don't know," he said again. "At first I tried to be strong. That didn't work. So now I'm looking for new answers."

"You say you're not strong?" Young-eun asked. "You're a Hitokiri."

Soujiro smiled sadly, and met her gaze again. "I thought I was strong," he answered her. "I thought I was stronger than just about anyone. But I wasn't. I was just hard. Strong things don't break. Hard things do."

"And you were broken?" Young-eun asked. Soujiro nodded, though it was plaing that Young-eun already knew the answer.

"Soujiro?" she said again, a new light coming into her eyes.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think I'm strong?"

Soujiro had been trying to decide that for himself for a long time now. He looked into her eyes for a long moment, looked up and down her body, but no answers came to him.

"I don't know," he answered at last. She nodded, as if she had been thinking the same answer herself. There was an uncomfortable silence, and Young-eun looked away into the face of the north wind again. Her eyes were almost dry again, though.

"Young-eun-chan?" he asked suddenly, "Do you like the wind?"

She nodded, and the beginnings of her smile cracked the corners of her mouth again. "I always thought it was strong and free and beautiful, too. Like the stars." Soujiro smiled.

"I think the wind really is," he said. "I used to like the wind a lot when I was little, too. I used to dream of being able to move like the wind."

"Back when you could still dream?" she asked, the smile returning to her face. Soujiro was glad to see it again. He had a feeling he had just survived a crisis somehow, the first one in a long time that did not involve steel.

"It was one of the last ones to go," Soujiro said. "It was one of the only ones I still had left when Shishio found me." He didn't go as far as to say that Shishio had helped him make it come true; even with her, there was an iron lock on any words that would relate to his fighting style. Shishio had had techniques and secrets that he never even revealed to Yumi, and he would have trusted her with anything.

"Beautiful and strong and free," Young-eun repeated thoughtfully, almost wonderingly. "I think you're a lot closer than you know." Soujiro gave a start, but his smile brightened.

Once again, he was going to make a remark to the contrary, but she was smiling again, and he didn't want to disagree with her and risk her crying again. It made him uncomfortable when she did, and it obviously wasn't that much fun for her, either. So he decided to turn the conversation back to her. "I think you are, too," he answered.

Soujiro had a feeling that for once, he had said something right. The last tears faded from her eyes. There was a kind of tension gone from her as she threw back her head, put her arms out onto the roof behind her, and laughed lightly into the breeze. As if spurred by her sudden outburst, a the wind picked up in a momentary gust, rippling her kimono and sweeping her hair out behind her face again in a raven tail. She kept laughing for so long that Soujiro couldn't help but smile a little. He almost laughed himself.

She sprawled loosely on the roof again, her hands cradling the back of her head and looking at the stars. Soujiro did not lay down again; he just shifted where he was sitting to be able to face her better. She was still laughing softly.

"Strong and free and beautiful," she whispered into the wind. "You don't know if I'm strong, and it doesn't look like I'm free." She propped her head up on one elbow and stared into his eyes. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"

Soujiro was completely taken aback by the question, and an actually puzzled expression crept over his face. This was one of those things that he really knew nothing about. Even Shishio had had better appreciation of aesthetics than him. Why in the world was she even asking him this? He wouldn't know one way or the other. Yumi had once tried to get him to appreciate art, telling him the history of some of the famous masterpieces in Shishio's private collection, showing them to him, going on and on about form and color and style, hoping that something would sink in. Nothing ever had. Yumi had eventually given up on the idea as a lost cause. The results had been the same when she tried to get him to appreciate music. He had fallen asleep in the middle of the fourth movement of the only classical concert Yumi had ever taken him to; she had woken him up by smacking him on the head with her umbrella and saying something along the lines of, 'You hairbrained lout! Don't you have any respect for beauty at all?' It was another one of those memories that he had repressed.

Nevertheless, he was determined to make a stab at it. The little Korean girl had made him think things he had never thought before, and had made him look at her in a way that he had never looked at anything before. He supposed that had to count for something. "Yes," he said after an awkward moment of silence. "I think you are."

It was a long time after that before either of them spoke again. Neither one knew what to say after that. Soujiro suddenly realized that this moment might have been as awkward for Young-eun as it had been for him. Only, she seemed so in her element here, that seemed impossible. This was clearly the real her here, but even the real her might not be any more experienced with men than he was with women. He remembered that she wasn't exactly the social type here. He remembered her adoptive father saying something about her not having guests over for years.

He was startled out of his woolgathering when something touched his hand. He looked down to see the slender hand of the little Korean girl resting on top of his own. He suddenly hoped that she didn't feel as awkward as he did. He felt this awkward since Shishio had taken him out on a frozen mountain lake to teach him how to fight on ice, and that awkwardness had only lasted a few minutes. He somehow doubted he would ever get used to this. He flinched, and almost drew his hand away, but he simply swallowed hard and forced his nerves to settle. A moment later, the tension drained out of him, and he relaxed again. The situation was still awkward, however, and he didn't know what to do. So he didn't do anything, and simply allowed Young-eun to leave her hand lying on his. It was awkward, though, and he couldn't think straight while looking into her eyes for some reason. So he decided to try what she had done several times already that night. He turned and looked into the face of the north wind.

The air was definitely brisk when he allowed it to hit him full in the face, but he found that it cooled his head a little. The feel of Young-eun's hand still loomed large in his awareness, though. It had been a long time since he felt comfortable with anyone touching him. He still didn't, even now. Even Shishio and Yumi had learned to keep their hands to themselves with him, however much they were all over each other. Shishio had never patted him on the back or shook his hand after a good workout or mission. Yumi had never rubbed his hair or given him a hug after a long absence. The time she had hit him with her umbrella was one of the few times she had ever touched him at all. He had not even known Young-eun for half a day yet. The girl's touch still made him uncomfortable, but now he found himself thinking that he could probably learn to get used to it. Eventually.

After another few minutes of silence, the moment was broken when Ukita called up from the hatch to ask if everything was all right. Young-eun shook herself at the sound, and got up to leave. The wind spirit was gone.

"Thank you, Soujiro," she said as she made her way back to the hatch. "It's been forever since I had a night like this."

Soujiro smiled, though he really didn't know what she was talking about. Nonetheless, he answered, "You're welcome." Well, he really didn't know what he had given her, but she had said 'thank you,' so that was what Yumi always had told him to reply when anyone said that.

He suddenly realized that she was waiting for him, and he got up. It was time to go. He walked glided over to the hatch, cast a last smile into Young-eun's eyes, and dropped down into her bedroom again. From there, he helped her down from the roof. Ukita was not in the bedroom; Soujiro could hear him moving around in the room on the other side of the wall, the room he had guessed to be the former Ishin's own bedroom.

Soujiro and Young-eun exchanged farewells, and Soujiro turned to leave, when Young-eun called after him. "Soujiro?"

Soujiro turned halfway.

"Will you come back tomorrow?"

Soujiro thought for a moment. No longer. "Sure. Maybe a little earlier would be better, though?"

Young-eun shook her head sadly. "I can't, I have to work until midnight again."

"OK, the same time then."

She smiled again. "Thanks," she replied, almost as if relieved.

"You're welcome," Soujiro answered instinctively. Young-eun laughed lightly, and the two of them walked out through the living room to the front door. Soujiro turned and called out a farewell to Ukita, still hidden in the bedroom, but the blacksmith did not come out to answer it. Soujiro shrugged slightly, turned one last glance on Young-eun, and vanished into the night.

* * *

Young-eun leaned back against the door for a long while after she had closed it, her eyes closed and her breathing deep. She had lied when she told Soujiro that it had been forever since she had had a night like this. She had never had a night like this. Without even really thinking about it, she ran a hand through her hair, pulling the silvery headband away to allow it to hang free. She could not believe that someone like that had been an assassin, whatever he said. He couldn't possibly have been very good at it.

Suddenly, she realized that cold wisps of air were blowing across her skin, and it occurred to her that something was wrong. She tensed, all thought of the little blue-clad assassin vanishing from her mind. Ukita-san had not come out of the bedroom to say farewell to Soujiro, and then he had not even come out to talk to her after the boy had left. That was completely unlike him.

She slipped cautiously to the bedroom door and looked in. Then she screamed. Ukita-san was lying on the floor unconscious, an ugly black and blue lump glaring at her from atop one of his temples. The window was hanging open, the source of the cold draft she had felt.

Her scream was cut off, though, by a rough foot in her chest that swung down from above her head, followed by the rest of Genji Taku. Spots danced in front of her eyes at the impact, and she stumbled back into the sitting room. The crashing sound of another man, perhaps several more, clambering through the rear window reached her ears.

A scream of rage and fear broke loose from Young-eun's lips as she returned the attack. Her hands grasped for something, anything, and she was rewarded with a heavy ornamental iron bowl that her father left on the table. The bowl left her hands at an incredible speed, but Genji sidestepped it, though he barely managed to do so, and there was a sickening cruch as the man behind him, who couldn't see what Young-eun was doing, got a hard welcome in Ukita's house.

Young-eun used the momentary delay to make a dash at Ukita's weapons cabinet, but Genji moved fast enough to cut her off, slamming the door closed with his foot the moment Young-eun began to open it. Young-eun responded by ramming into his knee with her own, but her kimono hindered her movement, and his first kick had stunned her. Too late, she saw the tiny knife in his hand as it flashed out and licked along her exposed leg before she could draw it back. She pulled back, but she felt her leg stiffening, and she could not move like she usually did; there was more than her blood on the surface of that knife.

"Yamashina-sama would like to meet you again," he drawled, as several more shadowy figures burst into the room, dressed in full Ninja attire so that she could not see their faces. "I'm glad to see that you have no objections worth talking about."

"Kushou ... kushou ..." (1) Young-eun gasped as the numbness in her legs began to spread to the rest of her body. *Soujiro!* she screamed into the blackening silence of her mind. *Where are you?!*


* * * * *


CHAPTER 8:
ALONE

Soujiro reached the solitude of the Iron Dragon Inn without any difficulty. The town might as well have been deserted. The crowd at the stable had long since departed, and the horses were peacefully asleep again. Karachi's wagon was gone. So the merchant had not been lying about getting out of Ichibou immediately; had thought that the merchant might have backed down at the last moment and spent the night at the inn. The man must have been pretty frightened to forget about the money he paid for the rooms.

Soujiro suffered from no such fear. He walked back into the inn, across the common room, slightly less busy now, and up to his room. Soujiro's eyes widened when he saw his room for the first time; Karachi had made good on his word. The quarters were spacious, and the sleeping pallet and pillow were stuffed with soft down. A small plate of fruit and a decanter of water occupied a small end table against one wall, and there were tasteful hangings on the walls. At least, Soujiro assumed they were tasteful. He had never been much of a judge of such things.

He was alseep moments after his head touched the pillow.

Soujiro awoke at sunrise, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes groggily. He started, and leapt from the bed, reaching for his sword before he realized where he was. He was in his room.

*What happened?* he wondered. *A moment ago I was with ...*

His eyes widened silently. *I was dreaming.*

It had been so long since Soujiro had dreamed that he had almost forgotten what it was like. He couldn't believe it. It had seemed so ... real. And yet not. He clutched his hands to his head. Why now? As if he didn't have enough problems. Of course, thinking back on it a second time, the dream had not been unpleasant. It had been even longer since he had had that experience.

He stood at his window, staring at the sunrise for a long time. It was the second sunrise he remembered seeing since the last sunset. Only in the first sunrise, there had been someone else there. Now he had awakened again; now was alone again.

After a light breakfast of water and moderately fresh fruit, Soujiro set out to explore the town again. It was an interesting experience walking through a town with no true purpose in mind. He allowed himself the thought, *No one to kill.*

Once again, Soujiro noticed that the vast majority of people of the town did not live in fear the way Young-eun apparently did. Most of them looked to be just normal people on their way to work, to breakfast, to the market, to a friend's house, to anywhere else where they might want or need to go. Soujiro could sense fear, and he never sensed it on any of the people strongly enough to be able to pinpoint the oppression that he had heard of. On the other hand, the town was clearly missing some kind of vibrancy. The place seemed almost ... dead ... compared to other towns he had been to, except for perhaps Shingetsu where Senkaku's oppression was completely open. The streets were dirty, buildings were in disrepair, and people were untidy. The night had hidden much of that, aside from the smell, but the return of daylight only illuminated the fact that nothing had changed.

Soujiro wandered from place to place in town, but gradually grew more fed up with the place until he wandered right on out the south gate that he had entered less than twenty-four hours previously. The guards paid him no heed whatsoever.

Soujiro spent most of the day clambering amidst the lower reaches of the rocky foothills to the southwest of the town. It was good exercise, and it was good to breathe free air again. It was good to have a few hours of solitude as well, and even with the wind whistling through the crags in the rocks, the land seemed far more still even a single mile from the town. Soujiro had always had a deep inner affinity for silence, even though he blended into crowds like a shadow.

After several hours of scampering around in the lower foothills, he stopped for a rest in a rocky alcove in a rock face high above the valley floor, and a good distance above the southwest corner of Ichibou as well. From here, he could see across the entire town to the northeast, and even beyond. A long, low slope ran for several hundred yards to the east of Ichibou before the land broke; two sharp, jumbled, rocky slopes reared skyward on either side of the entrance to a heavily forested ravine that ran down the slope on the far side of the crest and out of sight. To the north, the pristine spires of the Japanese Alps towered majestically above the rest of the mortal world. And in the middle of it all lay the dark spot of Ichibou. There was no other word for it; the uncleanliness of the town was vivid from Soujiro's vantage, especially since he was closest to the southwest corner of the town, where the heavy industry was concentrated. The breeze from the mountains that he had savored during the night had died; the air seemed to stagnate even as it rose from the town.

Once he had rested, Soujiro climbed down from the alcove and spent the rest of the day in the meadows of the valley below, where the crude stone wall of the town hid the sight from his eyes. He still knew that nothing was changing while he wasn't looking, but at the moment, he didn't care. He found a low area sheltered from view of either the road or the town, and worked out for a little while before returning to town.

He returned to Ichibou just after sunset. He noticed that the guards paid him slightly more heed coming in than coming out, but he guessed that was only natural. He couldn't shake the feeling that they paid him a lot more attention than they had even paid Karachi when the merchant and his wagon had arrived, even though the merchant had had to bribe the guards to let him through. The guards had only been mildly interested in the merchant. This time, he felt their eyes on his back even after he passed through the gates.

He had planned to go immediately back to the Red House for dinner again, but the nagging sensation of being watched convinced him to alter his plans. He had an instinct about such things that had been highly developed even before Shishio had discovered him, and he had learned to trust it when it whispered to him. Instead, he took a route that led him a few blocks northward to the main open-air market of the town, where the last of the day's crowd was beginning to thin out. It was enough for him, though. He ghosted through the crowd as though it wasn't even there.

As soon as he reached one of the farthest streets leading out of the market, he stopped and turned to see if he could catch a glimpse of anyone who might have been shadowing him. He thought he caught a glimpse of a black-clad figure that vanished into a doorway as he turned, but he could not be sure. It didn't matter. Whoever it was could not see him for a brief moment. It was all the time he needed. He slipped into a patch of shadow and vanished, and not even the vendors and customers at this end of the market were any the wiser.

He made his way back to the Red House without any real difficulty after that. The sensation of being watched was gone for the moment, though he had no illusions that whoever his second shadow had been had given up. South Street was not as busy as it had been the previous evening, but it was also a little earlier in the evening than it had been on Soujiro's first visit.

The Red House was noticeably less busy as well; there were several empty tables, and few of those that were occupied were full. There were only two waitresses working, and it looked like they were more than able to keep up with the business at the moment. However, Young-eun was not among them. Soujiro searched back in his memory. Hadn't she said she was going to be working tonight? Maybe she wasn't working until later ... only, it really wasn't that early. It was dinnertime, after all.

He took a table and waited for one of the waitresses to come to him. It did not take long. The real crowd probably wouldn't come in until later, he guessed.

"Hi, my name's Azami," she began in typical waitress fashion. "Ready to order? Or can I get you something to drink first?"

"Actually," Soujiro answered, "I wanted to ask you a question. Did Young-eun come to work today?" He didn't see any real point in beating around the bush. If there was something going on, he doubted that the waitress would be involved; in his experience, usually the owners and managers were the ones that got involved with the things that they shouldn't, and their employees were left to deal with it as best they could.

An irritated look entered Azami's eyes. "No, and she was supposed ..." she cut off suddenly, and her expression changed from annoyance to a touch of worry and hesitation. "Sorry, I don't know where she is," she finished haltingly. Soujiro focused on her eyes, though; in the instant that her expression changed, her eyes had been gazing over Soujiro's shoulder, not at him. Soujiro turned and shot a glance out of the corner of his eyes in that direction; the curtain over the kitchen door was just swinging closed. Soujiro's eyes narrowed. He somehow doubted that the sight of the kitchen door had changed her mood so quickly.

"Sumimasen," he said as he stood up. "But I just remembered, I have something else to do before I can eat dinner." He stood up, apologized again to a surprised and confused Azami, and darted out the door. Somehow, the red light district was losing its appeal at the moment.

As soon as he reached the shadows beyond South Street, he took off, retracing the steps in his mind that he and Young-eun had followed on their way back to her house the previous night. He had to stop and think a few times--he had not exactly been focusing on street signs at the time--but he eventually arrived at the familiar entrance of the blacksmith's abode. Only, there was not much familiar about it.

The house was completely dark and silent, which it certainly should not be, since the blacksmith ran his shop from his house. It was still prime working hours; in fact, Soujiro could hear hammers busily at work in two other buildings along the street. There was a crude plaque fastened to the door as well, of rough black wood with red print. Soujiro darted up to it. His eyes narrowed as he read.

*NOTICE*

*The residents herein are under arrest for civil disobedience. All property rights are forfeit. The former residents will serve the state at hard labor for an indefinite period. Signed and sealed, Senkaku, Lord Mayor of Ichibou.*

Soujiro stood and stared at the door for almost a full minute after that. His face was absolutely expressionless, though he felt like his blood was boiling. Slowly, the Oh-Waza-Mono blade slid free of its sheath. Soujiro looked at it for a full minute as well, holding it sideways so he could look at his own reflection in the polished edge of the blade. The only glow was that of the dim street lights, creating a hellish contrast to the emotionless, boyish smile that crept slowly across his face.

A sudden blur of steel ended the short life of Senkaku's notice. Soujiro tried the door, but found it locked. After that, he tried the rear, but the workshop door was barred and the rear windows had been boarded up. He searched his memory, but he was sure that they hadn't been as of last night. He had never noticed one way or the other, but Ukita would never allow any wall of his house to fall into such disrepair. However, Soujiro knew of one more entrance to the house.

Coiling himself, Soujiro drove himself skyward and onto the roof. The hatch came up effortlessly in his hands, and Soujiro dropped softly into Young-eun's bedroom. A sinking sensation came over him. Whoever had taken them must have come almost immediately after he left, not even waiting for morning. Her bedroom was exactly as he had left it, and it was plain that she had not spent the night there. She probably would have at least locked the hatch before she went to bed, but the bed was still only partially made. The pallet still bore the impressions from where the two of them had jumped up off of it and back down onto it the previous evening, so it was a little rumpled, but otherwise, it was still made. No one had slept in it.

The rest of the house bore more signs of struggle. Furniture and tableware had been broken and scattered everywhere in both the sitting room and Ukita's bedroom. There were dried stains on the walls, especially in the bedroom; apparently the fighting had been worst there. The boarded window was in the bedroom as well, so Soujiro guessed that Senkaku's minions had entered from there. Ukita's weapons cabinet had been torn open and nearly cleaned out. A single blade lay on the floor, apparently discarded by whoever had been clearing out the cabinet. Its sheath lay a few feet away.

Soujiro turned and was about to leave when something stopped him. He moved closer to get a better look at the sword that had been left behind. The light in here was very poor, but there was something about it that caught his eyes. He lifted it up, and ran one finger across the blade. It was completely dull. *No wonder they didn't take it,* he thought to himself. He made a few practice passes in the air with the blade, with surprising ease. The weight and balance of the blade were almost perfect. Soujiro wished that Ukita would have taken the time to sharpen it, only it would probably have been taken then.

Suddenly, he jumped back in surprise, and the blade clattered to the floor. He had just rolled the sword across his right forearm along the back edge of his blade, using a trick ShiShiO-san had taught him to change blade hands without lowering one's guard. It didn't work with this blade the way it should have. The back edge of the blade had made a thin slit in Soujiro's jacket, and he had felt the cold bite of sharpened steel against his skin.

It was a sakaba sword.

It did not even occur to Soujiro not to take it with him. He dropped the old katana that he had taken from one of ShiShiO's former soldiers in a garbage heap in Ukita's workshop, picked up the sakaba in the sitting room, headed back into Young-eun's bedroom, and sprang out the hatch in the ceiling. He only touched down on the roof once; his next leap carried him over the front of the roof and back down in front of Ukita's home. He landed in a low crouch, and only straightened when he saw that there was still no one else on the street.

The shards of the notice board that Soujiro had destroyed drew his attention. The bottom quarter was still intact, and had landed face up in front of the house.

Signed and sealed, Senkaku, Lord Mayor of Ichibou.

An emotionless smile crept across Soujiro's face, and he directed his eyes up at the stars. Cold. Distant. Dark. There was only one person still living, perhaps two, who knew what hid behind that smile. Even Shishio's other highest subordinates had never seen what the Battousai and his sidekick had. But behind those boyish eyes, a red-golden light was beginning to simmer.

"Senkaku," he said aloud in a voice that was almost friendly, but would be bone-chillingly familiar to anyone who had known him under ShiShiO, "I don't think you should have done that."

A cold wind out of the north began to gust and swirl through Ichibou as Soujiro turned towards Senkaku's town hall on the north side of the town. As he closed on the autocrat's headquarters, dark clouds began to sweep across Ichibou out of the north as well, riding the north wind. Their shadows descended on Soujiro like a phantasmal wall of midnight, but Soujiro melded into the dark as though he were part of it. The sky was completely lightless as Soujiro finally came into view of the town hall. Even the stars were hiding their eyes.

* * * * *

(1) Damn


COMING SOON: Chapter 9, "Senkaku," and Chapter 10, "The Iron Mines." At least, I think so; if you read this part of the last installment, you'll notice that I made a few changes to my outline as I went.

At any rate, Senkaku has learned a few new tricks since being taken out by the Battousai as well; someone has been giving him a few pointers, and he's picked up a new weapon. However, Young-eun and Ukita are not with Senkaku; they're being held somewhere else. (Not that this earns him any sympathy from Soujiro.)

Thanks to everyone who read & reviewed any/all of the first three installments! I'm glad that people are showing a little interest in my work, and I hope to hear your thoughts on this section as well! Viva Soujiro!