CHAPTER TWO
While Jack slept, Aku returned to the Pit. Simmering, he slammed the door and stomped to his throne. The nerve of that samurai, sneezing in one's face like that! Some people had no upbringing. Aku's throat was already feeling scratchy, he was doomed to catch the samurai's cold. His day was ruined. Maybe some gratuitous cruelty would perk him up. Aku called a general assembly of his minions. He would look them over and kill a few.
Presently they stood before him in neat, nervous rows. The more experienced ones, who had survived previous general assemblies, were doing their best to be inconspicuous. Scanning the assembled multitude, Aku suddenly pointed at one in the front. "You! I have been told that you have said you would like to have another position if you could!" The minion stammered. He might, or might not, have said something like that at some time or other. It didn't matter. "I'll do better than getting you a new position. In view of your service, I'll allow you to retire. You need never work again! Consider yourself retired!" On the last word, Aku blasted out a pair of eyeball rays that reduced the hapless minion to smoking cinders. He zapped five more, selected at random, and then surveyed the sweaty, fidgeting survivors. Not a one of them was worth a fart in a high wind, he thought. If they couldn't even face their own benevolent employer without quailing, how in the world could they successfully tackle that savage samurai? No wonder Aku was still plagued with him, burdened as Aku was with minions like these. If it weren't so difficult to find minions at all, one would be tempted to slaughter the lot and start over from scratch.
His glare swept over the ranks. The minions hardly dared breathe.
"And as for the rest of you..." Aku hissed and snarled. "As for the rest of you, I have only one thing to say, and that is..." He paused for effect. "...that you're all doing a fine job under very difficult circumstances, and I'm giving you all a forty per cent raise."
Dead silence. Aku couldn't believe what he'd just said. Certainly it was not what he had intended to say. The minions couldn't believe it either; he could see them glancing sidelong at each other, checking: Did you hear what I thought I heard? Then they erupted into cheering, cheering him, the almighty Aku. He had never been cheered in his life, and it was not at all to his liking. He didn't want to be cheered. He wanted to be feared.
"Get out!" he yelled. They got out. Aku sneezed. Damn that samurai. Aku was going to get hold of him, and...
Aku turned to his screen, stating his request with less of a snarl than usual, as if his voice were softening. The picture popped up. There was the samurai, and, finally, Aku had caught him asleep! Asleep and off guard! He was tossing restlessly in bed, flushed and feverish, looking even sicker than when Aku had seen him earlier today. Certainly he would be in no condition to defend himself.
"Got him!" Aku murmured triumphantly, and bellowed out an order for the minions to reassemble, which they did post-haste. Using the nearest minion as a tissue, Aku blew his nose. He wadded up the minion and threw him away, and said, "See that samurai? He's practically helpless! Sick as he can be! Go get him!"
Or that was what he intended to say. What came out was, "See that picture? Isn't it clean? Isn't the color realistic?"
The minions agreed enthusiastically. (They would have agreed enthusiastically if Aku had said it was snowing in August.)
"We'll never have another opportunity like this!" Aku tried to say. What came out was, "We'll never attack someone who's too sick to defend himself!"
The minions looked bewildered, but no one dared ask any questions.
"So go kill him and bring me back his head!" That was what Aku wanted to say. What he did say was, "So we won't be attacking the samurai today."
The minions looked even more bewildered. Aku's head and horns were beginning to ache. He dismissed them, shut off the picture, and tried to slump on his throne, but he couldn't. Suddenly he didn't feel right when he slumped. He felt more comfortable when he sat up erect.
"I'm not at all myself," Aku said. "What I need is to get out and get some stale air." So he headed for the busiest area of the Central Hub. There he stood on the corner of the main street, took a deep breath of exhaust fumes--and broke into a paroxysm of coughing.
"What in the world--?" Bewildered, Aku passed his hand over his head. A horn came off painlessly in his hand. He looked at it. The stump of the horn wasn't bleeding. He tapped his head. No wound. It was almost as if the horn hadn't been his...
The exhaust fumes were making his headache worse. Aku went to a park and sat down on a bench, trying to make sense out of the increasingly strange feelings washing over him. His nose was starting to drip, too. He should have thought to bring along a handful of minions.
A woman came along and sat down on the other end of Aku's bench. "Hi."
"Who dares to sit on my bench without an invitation?" Aku's voice had become a silken purr. No wonder the woman didn't look frightened. Instead, she looked intrigued.
"Well, invite me," she said, and smiled flirtatiously.
"What?"
The woman giggled. Aku fled. As he was hurrying down the street, he noticed the sidewalk seemed a lot closer, and the buildings a lot taller. "I'm shrinking!" Aku cried.
A group of women waiting for the stoplight heard, and turned to look. One said, "Sweetie, I think you're perfect just the way you are!" They all giggled madly.
How could women giggle at the almighty Aku? And why weren't furious lethal rays shooting out of his eyeballs? What was wrong with him? Sneezing now and then, Aku walked on; he didn't know what else to do. Preoccupied, he nearly bumped into the little boy who stood crying on the sidewalk. "What's wrong?" Aku asked, wondering in passing why he should care.
The little boy pointed to a nearby group of laughing, lounging teenagers. Sobbing, he said, "They knocked me down and took my popsicle!"
Good for them. The thought drifted faintly through Aku's mind, like the barely remembered voice of a long-unseen acquaintance, and then it was incinerated by white-hot rage. He stepped up to the teenagers. "You owe this young man a popsicle and an apology."
"Bite me, samurai!"
It infuriated Aku even more to hear the honorable word "samurai" issue from this wretch's mouth. Wasting no further time on talk, he shot out his foot, snapping the lout's knee. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one coming for him; he threw that one over his shoulder and into the others, knocking them all down. A kick to three mouths, one right after the other, put their owners out of the fight. Aku pounced on the last lout, forcing him down prone. Applying an arm bar that made the lout whimper, Aku said to the little boy, "Reach into his pocket and take what you need."
The little boy complied. "Thank you, samurai!"
"My pleasure," Aku said, and indeed it had been. He addressed himself to the lout. "Tell him you're sorry and perhaps I will not break your arm."
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
Aku lifted an inquiring eyebrow.
"Oh, let him go," the little boy said, and Aku stepped back. The louts who could still walk picked up their friend with the broken knee and struggled off. The little boy hugged Aku.
Aku returned the hug. "I will see you home."
"Oh, that's okay, I only live four houses down." The little boy peered up at him with concern. "Samurai? Are you all right?"
"A slight cold, that's all. Why?"
"Well..." The little boy scrutinized him. "Um--your eyebrows look sort of--er--charred. Like they'd been on fire. I know it sounds strange..."
"I shall look into it." Aku bowed. The little boy bowed too, and ran off, waving.
The next time he passed a plate-glass window, Aku used it as a mirror. Certainly he didn't feel well, but there was nothing unusual about his appearance. A perfectly ordinary-looking samurai, with heavy dark eyebrows and a square chin, stared back at him from the window. He didn't understand what the little boy had been talking about. Maybe the poor kid had cracked his head when he had been knocked down.
Aku moved on. Even though he'd caught this awful cold somewhere or other, meeting the little boy had made him happy. Was this not the highest purpose in the life of a samurai, to defend those who could not defend themselves? What a privilege!
His satisfied smile vanished suddenly. He had not always been this way. There were things he had done...he could not now remember why he had done them, maybe he'd been drunk, but they had been terrible things...dishonorable things...
Aku knew what he must do. As the sun sank low, he walked on, planning his strategy.
While Jack slept, Aku returned to the Pit. Simmering, he slammed the door and stomped to his throne. The nerve of that samurai, sneezing in one's face like that! Some people had no upbringing. Aku's throat was already feeling scratchy, he was doomed to catch the samurai's cold. His day was ruined. Maybe some gratuitous cruelty would perk him up. Aku called a general assembly of his minions. He would look them over and kill a few.
Presently they stood before him in neat, nervous rows. The more experienced ones, who had survived previous general assemblies, were doing their best to be inconspicuous. Scanning the assembled multitude, Aku suddenly pointed at one in the front. "You! I have been told that you have said you would like to have another position if you could!" The minion stammered. He might, or might not, have said something like that at some time or other. It didn't matter. "I'll do better than getting you a new position. In view of your service, I'll allow you to retire. You need never work again! Consider yourself retired!" On the last word, Aku blasted out a pair of eyeball rays that reduced the hapless minion to smoking cinders. He zapped five more, selected at random, and then surveyed the sweaty, fidgeting survivors. Not a one of them was worth a fart in a high wind, he thought. If they couldn't even face their own benevolent employer without quailing, how in the world could they successfully tackle that savage samurai? No wonder Aku was still plagued with him, burdened as Aku was with minions like these. If it weren't so difficult to find minions at all, one would be tempted to slaughter the lot and start over from scratch.
His glare swept over the ranks. The minions hardly dared breathe.
"And as for the rest of you..." Aku hissed and snarled. "As for the rest of you, I have only one thing to say, and that is..." He paused for effect. "...that you're all doing a fine job under very difficult circumstances, and I'm giving you all a forty per cent raise."
Dead silence. Aku couldn't believe what he'd just said. Certainly it was not what he had intended to say. The minions couldn't believe it either; he could see them glancing sidelong at each other, checking: Did you hear what I thought I heard? Then they erupted into cheering, cheering him, the almighty Aku. He had never been cheered in his life, and it was not at all to his liking. He didn't want to be cheered. He wanted to be feared.
"Get out!" he yelled. They got out. Aku sneezed. Damn that samurai. Aku was going to get hold of him, and...
Aku turned to his screen, stating his request with less of a snarl than usual, as if his voice were softening. The picture popped up. There was the samurai, and, finally, Aku had caught him asleep! Asleep and off guard! He was tossing restlessly in bed, flushed and feverish, looking even sicker than when Aku had seen him earlier today. Certainly he would be in no condition to defend himself.
"Got him!" Aku murmured triumphantly, and bellowed out an order for the minions to reassemble, which they did post-haste. Using the nearest minion as a tissue, Aku blew his nose. He wadded up the minion and threw him away, and said, "See that samurai? He's practically helpless! Sick as he can be! Go get him!"
Or that was what he intended to say. What came out was, "See that picture? Isn't it clean? Isn't the color realistic?"
The minions agreed enthusiastically. (They would have agreed enthusiastically if Aku had said it was snowing in August.)
"We'll never have another opportunity like this!" Aku tried to say. What came out was, "We'll never attack someone who's too sick to defend himself!"
The minions looked bewildered, but no one dared ask any questions.
"So go kill him and bring me back his head!" That was what Aku wanted to say. What he did say was, "So we won't be attacking the samurai today."
The minions looked even more bewildered. Aku's head and horns were beginning to ache. He dismissed them, shut off the picture, and tried to slump on his throne, but he couldn't. Suddenly he didn't feel right when he slumped. He felt more comfortable when he sat up erect.
"I'm not at all myself," Aku said. "What I need is to get out and get some stale air." So he headed for the busiest area of the Central Hub. There he stood on the corner of the main street, took a deep breath of exhaust fumes--and broke into a paroxysm of coughing.
"What in the world--?" Bewildered, Aku passed his hand over his head. A horn came off painlessly in his hand. He looked at it. The stump of the horn wasn't bleeding. He tapped his head. No wound. It was almost as if the horn hadn't been his...
The exhaust fumes were making his headache worse. Aku went to a park and sat down on a bench, trying to make sense out of the increasingly strange feelings washing over him. His nose was starting to drip, too. He should have thought to bring along a handful of minions.
A woman came along and sat down on the other end of Aku's bench. "Hi."
"Who dares to sit on my bench without an invitation?" Aku's voice had become a silken purr. No wonder the woman didn't look frightened. Instead, she looked intrigued.
"Well, invite me," she said, and smiled flirtatiously.
"What?"
The woman giggled. Aku fled. As he was hurrying down the street, he noticed the sidewalk seemed a lot closer, and the buildings a lot taller. "I'm shrinking!" Aku cried.
A group of women waiting for the stoplight heard, and turned to look. One said, "Sweetie, I think you're perfect just the way you are!" They all giggled madly.
How could women giggle at the almighty Aku? And why weren't furious lethal rays shooting out of his eyeballs? What was wrong with him? Sneezing now and then, Aku walked on; he didn't know what else to do. Preoccupied, he nearly bumped into the little boy who stood crying on the sidewalk. "What's wrong?" Aku asked, wondering in passing why he should care.
The little boy pointed to a nearby group of laughing, lounging teenagers. Sobbing, he said, "They knocked me down and took my popsicle!"
Good for them. The thought drifted faintly through Aku's mind, like the barely remembered voice of a long-unseen acquaintance, and then it was incinerated by white-hot rage. He stepped up to the teenagers. "You owe this young man a popsicle and an apology."
"Bite me, samurai!"
It infuriated Aku even more to hear the honorable word "samurai" issue from this wretch's mouth. Wasting no further time on talk, he shot out his foot, snapping the lout's knee. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one coming for him; he threw that one over his shoulder and into the others, knocking them all down. A kick to three mouths, one right after the other, put their owners out of the fight. Aku pounced on the last lout, forcing him down prone. Applying an arm bar that made the lout whimper, Aku said to the little boy, "Reach into his pocket and take what you need."
The little boy complied. "Thank you, samurai!"
"My pleasure," Aku said, and indeed it had been. He addressed himself to the lout. "Tell him you're sorry and perhaps I will not break your arm."
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
Aku lifted an inquiring eyebrow.
"Oh, let him go," the little boy said, and Aku stepped back. The louts who could still walk picked up their friend with the broken knee and struggled off. The little boy hugged Aku.
Aku returned the hug. "I will see you home."
"Oh, that's okay, I only live four houses down." The little boy peered up at him with concern. "Samurai? Are you all right?"
"A slight cold, that's all. Why?"
"Well..." The little boy scrutinized him. "Um--your eyebrows look sort of--er--charred. Like they'd been on fire. I know it sounds strange..."
"I shall look into it." Aku bowed. The little boy bowed too, and ran off, waving.
The next time he passed a plate-glass window, Aku used it as a mirror. Certainly he didn't feel well, but there was nothing unusual about his appearance. A perfectly ordinary-looking samurai, with heavy dark eyebrows and a square chin, stared back at him from the window. He didn't understand what the little boy had been talking about. Maybe the poor kid had cracked his head when he had been knocked down.
Aku moved on. Even though he'd caught this awful cold somewhere or other, meeting the little boy had made him happy. Was this not the highest purpose in the life of a samurai, to defend those who could not defend themselves? What a privilege!
His satisfied smile vanished suddenly. He had not always been this way. There were things he had done...he could not now remember why he had done them, maybe he'd been drunk, but they had been terrible things...dishonorable things...
Aku knew what he must do. As the sun sank low, he walked on, planning his strategy.