MASKS
A Rurouni Kenshin fanfic
by Peregrine Vision
Chapter One - Letters
It was as if he'd known something was going to happen.
Aoshi was uneasy. It wasn't like him to feel so restless, and he knew it pointed to some underlying problem. But things couldn't have been better. Misao was settling in wonderfully as Okashira. The Oniwabanshuu had several new recruits, whom they were training more assiduously in collecting information than in martial arts. The Aoi-ya was doing brisk business, and there was even talk of opening another branch in Tokyo--Misao's idea, put forward with transparent eagerness.
So there was no reason to suspect anything brewing, which naturally led him to suspect something was brewing. Old habits did indeed die hard.
But old instincts were well founded, as he soon discovered. One of Aoshi's contacts--his personal contacts, kept apart from the Oniwabanshuu network in the event of internal conflict--left him a message at the dovecotes. It was proof of the softer times that Aoshi didn't bother to leave word with Misao, that he went to see the man purely out of curiosity...and that twitchy feeling.
The letter was no mere curios. When Aoshi slitted it open with his tanto, the first thing he noticed was a sharp chemical smell. The second was the little paper packet that fell out onto the table.
The man sitting across the table gasped. "Okashira, that's--"
Aoshi's sharp gesture silenced him. The former Okashira went to the door of the little apartment, open to the street, and slid it shut.
"Ishigawa," he said evenly, sitting at the table again, "you've been a good and loyal follower over the years. But there is only one person to whom you owe the name of Okashira, and that is Misao. I hope I won't have to remind you again."
Ishigawa lowered his eyes. "Yes, Aoshi-sama."
Aoshi carefully undid the folded triangle of paper with his fingertips. It contained a tiny amount of sticky dark substance. The cloying smell increased. It smelled fermented, like a rice sweet drowned in sake and then gone rotten.
"This is opium."
"Opium?" Ishigawa looked surprised. "But...it smells so strong!"
"Yes." Aoshi narrowed his eyes at the drug. Time enough for that later. He unfolded the letter that was in the envelope. It was thin, rough rice paper--cheap stuff. The calligraphy was just that--calligraphy. Fine brushwork, small and neat, apparently rushed but still flowing and with tiny flourishes where appropriate. Which made the tone of the letter so jarring in contrast.
"Hey, does this seem familiar? Not quite, I bet. Old business still unfinished, I guess. Coming into Canton by the shipload from Japan. Need you to find out how. Will contact you again. Jaa."
Part of Aoshi's extensive Okashira training had been in the recognition of speech patterns. Most organizations, for example, had a common speech pattern among their agents, which was always useful to know when sniffing out spies. The individual also had unique speech patterns, unmistakable if one knew them well enough.
Aoshi's advantage in this case was in that this person had sent another letter over a year ago. Even before that Aoshi had, over long acquaintance, managed to pin down his speech pattern. With those circumstances in his favor, the manner of wording in the letter was as obvious as if the writer had included a portrait.
Sagara Sanosuke.
And he was working with at least one other person. Aoshi had seen Sagara's handwriting, and it was quite unlike this small, delicate hand. He didn't recognize the hand, but it betrayed a personality quite opposite to Sagara's: precise and controlled, perhaps even repressed. Highly sensitive, perhaps even slightly unstable. How had Sagara come to trust someone like this?
He frowned at the letter, and then at the portion of opium. Gingerly, he took a miniscule bit on a fingertip, and crumbled it. Then he touched it to his tongue, ignoring Ishigawa's alarmed protests.
Sharper than ordinary opium, practically alcoholic. This sample was a very poor imitation, but still quite familiar.
It took him a while to make up his mind. Involving people outside the organization was dangerous, on both sides. But he didn't have the expertise in this field, and there was only one person he knew who did.
"Ishigawa."
"Yes, sir!"
Aoshi took a scrap of paper and a bit of charcoal from a pocket sewn into his glove. He wrote a name on the paper and handed it to his informant. "Find me the address of this person. Last I heard, she was living in Aizu. I need to know where."
His thoughts turned briefly toward Misao. Should he let her know about this? He glanced at the letter again. Sagara had not signed it; he had even had someone else write it so that his hand wouldn't be recognized. And he had sent it here, not to his friends in Tokyo.
This did not seem like a situation Misao would understand. She was growing up quickly and learning much, but she was not old enough yet for this kind of subtle reading of clues. She would see no reason not to tell Himura. Aoshi resolved to teach her something more of it after this was over. For now, regrettably, it would be his task alone.
He instructed Ishigawa to use only his private network in the search for Takani Megumi. The man's eyes widened, but he said nothing. Good. Aoshi didn't pay him for personal opinions.
He tried to quell the rising feeling of guilt as he headed back to the Aoi-ya.
* * *
Two days later, he had an answer, although not in the way he'd expected.
A rather stunned Ishigawa met Aoshi at a tiny ramen house, owned by another contact. It was a frequent Oniwabanshuu meeting place. Ishigawa was accompanied by a younger recruit, who also looked a bit twitchy. The young man had a swollen bruise over one eye. Aoshi raised an eyebrow, sensing something amiss.
"This is Kazuya," said the older man nervously. "He's the one who, ah, found Takani-sensei. We have, ah, established that she is living in a prosperous district in Aizu, practicing medicine in a joint clinic with her brother."
Ishigawa's eyes slid sideways to Kazuya, who was growing increasingly agitated. Where had they found this idiot? Oniwabanshuu were supposed to be more in control of themselves. The boy was as transparent as a glass box.
"We have the address," went on Ishigawa. Aoshi proceeded to memorize the address he gave and the route to follow there, all the while keeping an eye on Kazuya.
Finally he lost patience. "All right, you," he snapped at Kazuya, who jumped and looked guilty. "What aren't you telling me?"
"She--she sent this, sir!" blurted the younger man, handing Aoshi a note.
Aoshi's eyes narrowed. "She sent--?" He leaned forward, clenching the note in his fist, and said in a very low, even tone, "Exactly how stupid can you get? What did you do, knock on her door and ask her, 'Excuse me, are you Takani Megumi and do you live here?'"
"No, Aoshi-sama!" Kazuya gripped the edge of the table, trembling under Aoshi's icy glare. "She...she knew me, sir. She realized I was Oniwabanshuu."
Aoshi rolled his eyes. "You didn't use the trees, did you? You're an agent, not a ninja retainer from the Tokugawa period! Weren't you taught a little subtlety?"
"I didn't, sir. I...pretended to be seeking her help."
Aoshi leaned back against his chair, reaching into himself for patience. "Am I to understand that you actually tried to establish contact with Takani Megumi?"
Kazuya bowed until his forehead was pressed against the table. "Forgive me, Aoshi-sama!"
"Will you at least explain *why* you thought it was necessary to speak to the lady herself?" But the question had already been answered; in the bright sunlight coming in through the windows Aoshi could clearly see that the young man's ears and the back of his neck had turned bright red. Another victim of the lady doctor's charm. The thought irritated Aoshi, for a reason which, once realized, only served to irritate him further.
"Did it occur to you," he said in a poisonous tone, "that a *doctor* might notice that you weren't sick?"
Kazuya was silent, quivering. Aoshi turned his stare on Ishigawa, who also wilted under it.
"You call this an agent? Send this man back to the training house until he finds some wits. And if you want to regain your position in my esteem, you will make sure no one else finds out about this."
"Yes, Aoshi-sama."
They left, not bothering to disguise their relief at the escape.
Aoshi unfolded the note. It read: //Don't send your skulking shadows around my clinic. If you want to know something, come here and ask me yourself.//
Warring feelings of chagrin and admiration rose in him. The negative emotion won out: here was something else he owed her an apology for. He cursed Kazuya's incompetency and his own oversight. From hereon he would screen all recommendations for his personal network himself.
Now he just had to find a way to disappear for a while without making Misao suspicious.
* * *
"The nerve! The absolute *nerve* of that...that..."
"My children are in the next room, Gucchan," pointed out Takani Shigeru, who had been sitting at the small Japanese writing desk in the corner of the room. Megumi spared her brother another glare for the ugly childhood nickname.
"That bloodless, poker-faced, sneaking madman," she finished, enunciating each word. "Sending a...a *lackey* to spy on me! Shameless!"
"I think it was rather wise." Shigeru grinned. "Considering what you did to the lackey."
Megumi paused to stifle a smile. The satisfying ring of the chamberpot against that man's skull still echoed in her memory. Her hands clenched into fists, the smile disappearing. Too bad it wasn't that Shinomori Aoshi who'd suffered the blow! Then again, what defense was a chamberpot against a skull of solid bone?
"The nerve! The gall! The overwhelming arrogance of..."
When she had been reduced to incoherent spluttering, Shigeru stood up. "So, what did he want?"
Megumi stared at him. "What?"
"What did he *want*, Gucchan?"
"Don't call me that!" A laugh was her only answer. Megumi sighed in irritation. "How should I know what he wanted? Why, for that matter, should I care? Ugh. Shinomori Aoshi!" She said it like a curse.
Shigeru's grin only got wider. Several years older than her, Geru had the foxlike Takani eyes, although they were creased about the corners from long years of hardship. Geru had not been so lucky in finding friends as Megumi had, but eventually he'd been able to return home and settle in, even raise a family of his own. Megumi knew their relationship was not quite the same as siblings who had grown up together in a happy, safe environment. Much of the time they still teased each other like the children they had been. In fact, Megumi usually had the upper hand, needling Geru on his fatherly waistline, his indulgence with his children and his wife, his slovenly habits in the office. This was his chance to even the score a little.
"So, who *is* this man?" he teased. "You're obviously close, for him to pluck your strings as he does."
Megumi made a noise of distaste. "Shinomori Aoshi *plucks* none of my *strings*."
Before Geru could press her further, the bell attached to the front door announced that another person had come for treatment. This one turned out to be a regular, a woman with a mild but chronic lung disease whom Geru had been looking after for some time.
He poked his head back into the small, cluttered office. "Gucchan, could you mix up some more of that stuff with the eucalyptus and honey? Tsuneo-okusan is almost out, she says."
"All right."
His eyes twinkled. "Don't think you've been spared. I expect to hear about this mysterious person over dinner."
"Don't spoil my appetite," she retorted. He chuckled and ducked out again.
Already rolling up her sleeves, Megumi left the office. She set her equipment up in the small part of the kitchen which was separated with a divider, to make a tiny pharmacy/laboratory. As she ground leaves and mixed liquids in a clear glass bowl, Megumi let the familiar routine of her work soothe her.
She couldn't tell Geru everything. How could she? //I'd been making opium for a man who hired Aoshi as an assassin. Aoshi gave me a knife to help me commit suicide. A year or so later he came back and offered to do the job himself. I also watched him cut up the body of my dead friend, but it turned out it wasn't her body and she wasn't dead. However, that's all in the past. We're sort of friends. Or we were, but now...//
But now it seemed Shinomori Aoshi was playing his sneaking games again, and she wasn't about to play helpless pawn this time.
The cough mixture went into a small jar, to be taken with hot water in small amounts every day. Megumi sighed and took off the kerchief she'd put on to work, shaking out her hair. Whatever that man was up to, he was on his own. It had nothing whatsoever to do with her.
-end one-
Chapter One - Letters
It was as if he'd known something was going to happen.
Aoshi was uneasy. It wasn't like him to feel so restless, and he knew it pointed to some underlying problem. But things couldn't have been better. Misao was settling in wonderfully as Okashira. The Oniwabanshuu had several new recruits, whom they were training more assiduously in collecting information than in martial arts. The Aoi-ya was doing brisk business, and there was even talk of opening another branch in Tokyo--Misao's idea, put forward with transparent eagerness.
So there was no reason to suspect anything brewing, which naturally led him to suspect something was brewing. Old habits did indeed die hard.
But old instincts were well founded, as he soon discovered. One of Aoshi's contacts--his personal contacts, kept apart from the Oniwabanshuu network in the event of internal conflict--left him a message at the dovecotes. It was proof of the softer times that Aoshi didn't bother to leave word with Misao, that he went to see the man purely out of curiosity...and that twitchy feeling.
The letter was no mere curios. When Aoshi slitted it open with his tanto, the first thing he noticed was a sharp chemical smell. The second was the little paper packet that fell out onto the table.
The man sitting across the table gasped. "Okashira, that's--"
Aoshi's sharp gesture silenced him. The former Okashira went to the door of the little apartment, open to the street, and slid it shut.
"Ishigawa," he said evenly, sitting at the table again, "you've been a good and loyal follower over the years. But there is only one person to whom you owe the name of Okashira, and that is Misao. I hope I won't have to remind you again."
Ishigawa lowered his eyes. "Yes, Aoshi-sama."
Aoshi carefully undid the folded triangle of paper with his fingertips. It contained a tiny amount of sticky dark substance. The cloying smell increased. It smelled fermented, like a rice sweet drowned in sake and then gone rotten.
"This is opium."
"Opium?" Ishigawa looked surprised. "But...it smells so strong!"
"Yes." Aoshi narrowed his eyes at the drug. Time enough for that later. He unfolded the letter that was in the envelope. It was thin, rough rice paper--cheap stuff. The calligraphy was just that--calligraphy. Fine brushwork, small and neat, apparently rushed but still flowing and with tiny flourishes where appropriate. Which made the tone of the letter so jarring in contrast.
"Hey, does this seem familiar? Not quite, I bet. Old business still unfinished, I guess. Coming into Canton by the shipload from Japan. Need you to find out how. Will contact you again. Jaa."
Part of Aoshi's extensive Okashira training had been in the recognition of speech patterns. Most organizations, for example, had a common speech pattern among their agents, which was always useful to know when sniffing out spies. The individual also had unique speech patterns, unmistakable if one knew them well enough.
Aoshi's advantage in this case was in that this person had sent another letter over a year ago. Even before that Aoshi had, over long acquaintance, managed to pin down his speech pattern. With those circumstances in his favor, the manner of wording in the letter was as obvious as if the writer had included a portrait.
Sagara Sanosuke.
And he was working with at least one other person. Aoshi had seen Sagara's handwriting, and it was quite unlike this small, delicate hand. He didn't recognize the hand, but it betrayed a personality quite opposite to Sagara's: precise and controlled, perhaps even repressed. Highly sensitive, perhaps even slightly unstable. How had Sagara come to trust someone like this?
He frowned at the letter, and then at the portion of opium. Gingerly, he took a miniscule bit on a fingertip, and crumbled it. Then he touched it to his tongue, ignoring Ishigawa's alarmed protests.
Sharper than ordinary opium, practically alcoholic. This sample was a very poor imitation, but still quite familiar.
It took him a while to make up his mind. Involving people outside the organization was dangerous, on both sides. But he didn't have the expertise in this field, and there was only one person he knew who did.
"Ishigawa."
"Yes, sir!"
Aoshi took a scrap of paper and a bit of charcoal from a pocket sewn into his glove. He wrote a name on the paper and handed it to his informant. "Find me the address of this person. Last I heard, she was living in Aizu. I need to know where."
His thoughts turned briefly toward Misao. Should he let her know about this? He glanced at the letter again. Sagara had not signed it; he had even had someone else write it so that his hand wouldn't be recognized. And he had sent it here, not to his friends in Tokyo.
This did not seem like a situation Misao would understand. She was growing up quickly and learning much, but she was not old enough yet for this kind of subtle reading of clues. She would see no reason not to tell Himura. Aoshi resolved to teach her something more of it after this was over. For now, regrettably, it would be his task alone.
He instructed Ishigawa to use only his private network in the search for Takani Megumi. The man's eyes widened, but he said nothing. Good. Aoshi didn't pay him for personal opinions.
He tried to quell the rising feeling of guilt as he headed back to the Aoi-ya.
* * *
Two days later, he had an answer, although not in the way he'd expected.
A rather stunned Ishigawa met Aoshi at a tiny ramen house, owned by another contact. It was a frequent Oniwabanshuu meeting place. Ishigawa was accompanied by a younger recruit, who also looked a bit twitchy. The young man had a swollen bruise over one eye. Aoshi raised an eyebrow, sensing something amiss.
"This is Kazuya," said the older man nervously. "He's the one who, ah, found Takani-sensei. We have, ah, established that she is living in a prosperous district in Aizu, practicing medicine in a joint clinic with her brother."
Ishigawa's eyes slid sideways to Kazuya, who was growing increasingly agitated. Where had they found this idiot? Oniwabanshuu were supposed to be more in control of themselves. The boy was as transparent as a glass box.
"We have the address," went on Ishigawa. Aoshi proceeded to memorize the address he gave and the route to follow there, all the while keeping an eye on Kazuya.
Finally he lost patience. "All right, you," he snapped at Kazuya, who jumped and looked guilty. "What aren't you telling me?"
"She--she sent this, sir!" blurted the younger man, handing Aoshi a note.
Aoshi's eyes narrowed. "She sent--?" He leaned forward, clenching the note in his fist, and said in a very low, even tone, "Exactly how stupid can you get? What did you do, knock on her door and ask her, 'Excuse me, are you Takani Megumi and do you live here?'"
"No, Aoshi-sama!" Kazuya gripped the edge of the table, trembling under Aoshi's icy glare. "She...she knew me, sir. She realized I was Oniwabanshuu."
Aoshi rolled his eyes. "You didn't use the trees, did you? You're an agent, not a ninja retainer from the Tokugawa period! Weren't you taught a little subtlety?"
"I didn't, sir. I...pretended to be seeking her help."
Aoshi leaned back against his chair, reaching into himself for patience. "Am I to understand that you actually tried to establish contact with Takani Megumi?"
Kazuya bowed until his forehead was pressed against the table. "Forgive me, Aoshi-sama!"
"Will you at least explain *why* you thought it was necessary to speak to the lady herself?" But the question had already been answered; in the bright sunlight coming in through the windows Aoshi could clearly see that the young man's ears and the back of his neck had turned bright red. Another victim of the lady doctor's charm. The thought irritated Aoshi, for a reason which, once realized, only served to irritate him further.
"Did it occur to you," he said in a poisonous tone, "that a *doctor* might notice that you weren't sick?"
Kazuya was silent, quivering. Aoshi turned his stare on Ishigawa, who also wilted under it.
"You call this an agent? Send this man back to the training house until he finds some wits. And if you want to regain your position in my esteem, you will make sure no one else finds out about this."
"Yes, Aoshi-sama."
They left, not bothering to disguise their relief at the escape.
Aoshi unfolded the note. It read: //Don't send your skulking shadows around my clinic. If you want to know something, come here and ask me yourself.//
Warring feelings of chagrin and admiration rose in him. The negative emotion won out: here was something else he owed her an apology for. He cursed Kazuya's incompetency and his own oversight. From hereon he would screen all recommendations for his personal network himself.
Now he just had to find a way to disappear for a while without making Misao suspicious.
* * *
"The nerve! The absolute *nerve* of that...that..."
"My children are in the next room, Gucchan," pointed out Takani Shigeru, who had been sitting at the small Japanese writing desk in the corner of the room. Megumi spared her brother another glare for the ugly childhood nickname.
"That bloodless, poker-faced, sneaking madman," she finished, enunciating each word. "Sending a...a *lackey* to spy on me! Shameless!"
"I think it was rather wise." Shigeru grinned. "Considering what you did to the lackey."
Megumi paused to stifle a smile. The satisfying ring of the chamberpot against that man's skull still echoed in her memory. Her hands clenched into fists, the smile disappearing. Too bad it wasn't that Shinomori Aoshi who'd suffered the blow! Then again, what defense was a chamberpot against a skull of solid bone?
"The nerve! The gall! The overwhelming arrogance of..."
When she had been reduced to incoherent spluttering, Shigeru stood up. "So, what did he want?"
Megumi stared at him. "What?"
"What did he *want*, Gucchan?"
"Don't call me that!" A laugh was her only answer. Megumi sighed in irritation. "How should I know what he wanted? Why, for that matter, should I care? Ugh. Shinomori Aoshi!" She said it like a curse.
Shigeru's grin only got wider. Several years older than her, Geru had the foxlike Takani eyes, although they were creased about the corners from long years of hardship. Geru had not been so lucky in finding friends as Megumi had, but eventually he'd been able to return home and settle in, even raise a family of his own. Megumi knew their relationship was not quite the same as siblings who had grown up together in a happy, safe environment. Much of the time they still teased each other like the children they had been. In fact, Megumi usually had the upper hand, needling Geru on his fatherly waistline, his indulgence with his children and his wife, his slovenly habits in the office. This was his chance to even the score a little.
"So, who *is* this man?" he teased. "You're obviously close, for him to pluck your strings as he does."
Megumi made a noise of distaste. "Shinomori Aoshi *plucks* none of my *strings*."
Before Geru could press her further, the bell attached to the front door announced that another person had come for treatment. This one turned out to be a regular, a woman with a mild but chronic lung disease whom Geru had been looking after for some time.
He poked his head back into the small, cluttered office. "Gucchan, could you mix up some more of that stuff with the eucalyptus and honey? Tsuneo-okusan is almost out, she says."
"All right."
His eyes twinkled. "Don't think you've been spared. I expect to hear about this mysterious person over dinner."
"Don't spoil my appetite," she retorted. He chuckled and ducked out again.
Already rolling up her sleeves, Megumi left the office. She set her equipment up in the small part of the kitchen which was separated with a divider, to make a tiny pharmacy/laboratory. As she ground leaves and mixed liquids in a clear glass bowl, Megumi let the familiar routine of her work soothe her.
She couldn't tell Geru everything. How could she? //I'd been making opium for a man who hired Aoshi as an assassin. Aoshi gave me a knife to help me commit suicide. A year or so later he came back and offered to do the job himself. I also watched him cut up the body of my dead friend, but it turned out it wasn't her body and she wasn't dead. However, that's all in the past. We're sort of friends. Or we were, but now...//
But now it seemed Shinomori Aoshi was playing his sneaking games again, and she wasn't about to play helpless pawn this time.
The cough mixture went into a small jar, to be taken with hot water in small amounts every day. Megumi sighed and took off the kerchief she'd put on to work, shaking out her hair. Whatever that man was up to, he was on his own. It had nothing whatsoever to do with her.
-end one-