"Mr. Samuels!"

"Sir!"

"Have twelve of our best marksmen assembled and armed with gunnery equipment. We must, and will, kill that creature, tonight. We can't allow it to limp away under the pretense that it's immortal, lest we be denied a handsome sum of gold and silver."

"Sir."

"Also, this is a delicate situation, and I'm not particularly trusting of the lord's opinions of us. You remember what happened on Shikoku."

"Not a day goes by that I don't forget."

"Good. I want you to gather together my personal armaments from the hold and bring them with us to the shore."

"Sir."

"Oh, and be sure to bring Mr. Crick along. I certainly don't want him thinking that he would be left out of tonight's planned events."

"Sir, yes sir!"

"There's a good man. But, please, try not to smile that much when you talk with Mr. Crick. You even make me think you'll enjoy the look on his face too fondly."

"Are we ready?"

"To the best of our circumstances."

"Okay then, let's do this."

Inuyasha was making a quick confirmation of Sango's plan and its preparations. It was modest in aims, but it was going to require some small degree of finesse. The timing, above all else, would have to be precise.

"I think you're enjoying this a little too much, Miroku."

Sango's was a commentary bubbling with muted rage. She knew that he was, undoubtedly, enjoying his good fortunes that Inuyasha's shoulder was far too agitated to hoist a human's body; a human female's body.

"Dearest Sango," he, unconvincingly, demonstrated his innocence in calm tones, "I have no idea what you are talking about. I am, if anything else, overjoyed with the fact that our incarceration will soon be over."

The admonition was hard to accept, of course. Physical evidence of the monk's guilt was on display as he quietly rubbed his fingers along whatever portion of Sango's thigh he could manage to tinker with. Even more damning proof was found in a face that slightly reddened, not from embarrassment, though he should be ashamed, regardless.

All of this drove Inuyasha to lament, "For crying out loud. Can't you take this seriously?"

A shortness of time and patience compelled Miroku to hold his peace. Of course, compulsion to do so had manifested itself in a very strong, if small, fist. The monk reeled a moment or two from Sango's familiar violence towards his "harmless" antics.

"Now," she commanded, "take me to the window."

As an abraded lump swelled atop Miroku's crown, he meekly complied. The human totem pole arrived at the window after two steps, whereat Sango began to set her plan in motion. Taking a deep breath, she hoped that everything would fall into place. Her one merit was that her temper was still in play.

At least Miroku serves that much of a purpose: keeping me mad.

Kijiro Nairuta was a simple peasant who had grown tired of standing ankle deep in rice paddies. When His Lordship's retainer came to the village seeking healthy young men, he was easily tempted into exploring a, hopefully, more adventurous life in soldiery. It wasn't long until he had found himself in an ashigaru unit, marching off to the great affairs known as battles that made samurai living legends, and made peasants into samurai.

Unfortunately, his explorations reached a dead end. Nairuta had quickly discovered that samurai of high quality were required at the front. Ashigaru were better fit for guard duty. So it was that the life of a military "hero" was just as dull as the life of the peasant in a paddy. The only real difference, as far as Nairuta had discovered, was the fact he now held a yari in the hand that just effectively wielded a hoe. Of course, there was one thing Nairuta did like about his newest occupation.

Being a less motivated "warrior," Nairuta had soon learned of prime pieces of ground suited for napping, something he rarely got to take part in back in the village. Of course, he had already explained, to himself, how it was that he could sleep with a clean conscience. Night shift was always the quieter shift, he had learned, as well as the fact that he was only lightly prepared for battle, sporting a cheap helmet, a cheap breastplate, cheap shin guards, and a cheap yari. Of course, this would protect him. From an inexperienced assailant, that is. But, an expert ninja could quickly dispatch him. This was something that he had accepted, with a macabre resignation, as something that, if fated to happen, would happen, regardless of his economical weaponry. It was thanks to an education such as his that had taught the already shiftless peasant to be an equally shiftless guard. Hence, why he was soundly sleeping, if for only so long.

A dull-sounding, open-palmed, smack snapped across the guard's backside with enough force to awaken him and cause him to roll over from his armrest and land face first in the dirt. With a bottom and top equally agitated, the annoyed sentry spun around, scrambling up onto his hands and knees. With ire in his teeth, he spat at the obvious assailant, "Wench! Why did you hit me?"

Sango's look was of smug self-righteousness and haughty judgment. "You were asleep at your post. That's not what a guard should be doing. Where are you loyalties?"

This was a man who had accepted conscription some time ago, with open arms. As his voluntary action became a mandatory one, though, he had come to detest his job. Still, he felt immediate indignation that anyone would call his honor into question, regardless of his laxity at the time. Worse, it was a prisoner, a female prisoner, who would dare speak to a man in his position, and in such a tone.

"How dare you!"

The insulted guardsman would gladly have said something, anything, much worse than that. However, his words had log-jammed in his throat, since he was trying to push his limited vocabulary through all at once. Instead, he sputtered a moment or two and mentally resolved that physical abuse would satisfy him faster than verbal assaults would. As such, he began grasping for his yari. Remaining on all fours, he continued searching for his weapon.

"Looking for this?"

The low-level soldier squinted at the small child before him, Shippo, for a moment or two. Realizing that he was, on the one hand, a fox-demon, and, on the other hand, clutching a guard's weapon in his small hands, the sentry panicked and made an effort to jump to his feet. Instead of landing solidly, his feet failed him, and he landed on his, already sore, backside.

Shippo raised the heavy spear-weapon as high as he could, with the full intention of punishing the guard for his insensitive napping. With all his force, and the benefit of gravity, Shippo brought the heavy weight in the yari's base to bear. The guard, for his part, realized the necessity for the helmet he had easily discarded earlier. It got in his way while sleeping, but would have certainly obstructed the blow to his head, if he were wearing it. Immobilized, the guard's consciousness was ended by a secondary blow. With two rough welts forming on his crown, Kijiro Nairuta fell into a contusion-induced nap. He began dreaming of how life in the rice paddy was suddenly more enticing.

Somewhere between the castle and the shore, and sometime between yesterday and tomorrow, the small procession wound its way to a fateful event. The grim cavalcade of fourteen men and a single maiden passed through the forest with considerable noise. Bandoliers, loaded with cartridges of gunpowder clicked and clacked as the men on foot trudged along the path. In the center of the small column the only female accompanied the only man on horseback.

Kagome sullenly traipsed forward, her hands bound in shackles, a change to the ropes the gnawed at her wrists. Instead, the cold metal chilled her wrists and, when combined with cool night air, made her fingers hurt. The chain that restricted her hopes of escape jingled solemnly with each step. A few feet behind her, a pudgy little man who showed her nothing but utter disdain marched along, the end of the chain clasped firmly in his meaty digits.

Marlowe, in great contrast, rode along with as much imposing appearance as before. However, the feeling of power was heightened by a few additions to his personal appearance. Strapped across his back and chest, a heavy iron breastplate gave the appearance of an invincible warrior. A pair of holsters, slung over the horse's back, just in front of the saddle carried the most advanced firearm in the crew: a pair of flintlock pistols. A second brace of pistols, invisible due to the cloak, were mounted in a two loops fixed into the lower back of the breastplate. Lastly, a double-edged sword occupied a scabbard buckled to Marlowe's waist. Aside from the obvious appearance of such dangerous implements, Marlowe banked on giving a show of such force that the lord would not have an excuse to decline a purchase. But, the lord was a secondary thought at the moment.

Riding along, staring straight ahead Marlowe spoke, "Why are you so silent Kagome?"

Kagome stole a nasty glance in his direction, "Because. I'm a prisoner."

The manacles didn't pinch and chafe her, since they were designed for manlier wrists. If Kagome were more flexible, there was an excellent chance that she would be able to slip free the loose binds. However, her school never offered lessons in contortion. Which was just as well. It would be another class she would be behind in.

"Now, now," Marlowe attempted a soothing tone, still not looking at her, "it's for your own good. If you were allowed to walk about freely, you'd be tempted to flee. Then, Mr. Samuels and the men would have to fire upon you."

"If it weren't for you," she glared fiercely at him, "they wouldn't have to shoot me."

With applied leg pressure, the horse halted, causing the entire procession to come to a complete stop. Since there was some distance between her and the two men ahead of her, Kagome managed to take one more step. Suddenly, her entire person was violently twirled about by the wrists. Compelled by the chain, which was firmly within Marlowe's left hand, Kagome took forced, faltering steps toward the horseman. In a moment, she was looking into a very stern face.

Wrapped in his armor, Marlowe appeared like a great furnace, with a face of flame and blonde hair that emitted sparks. He rasped, "That's quite enough!" Somehow, he managed to keep from exploding, despite his reddened cheeks, his harsh eyes, and tight fisted grip on the chain.

In a calmer voice, "That's quite enough," he repeated. "It has been through my good graces as a good host that you have enjoyed the privileges given to you, thus far. However, I have stood for your impertinence for as long as I so desire."

Kagome nearly panicked as Marlowe, using a strength earned from years of manual labor, easily hoisted her light frame a full foot from the ground. The churlish furnace hissed, "You are now an East India employee, in the service of England. See to it you act accordingly!"

"But," Kagome's voice threatened to crack under the intense pressure, "I'm not English…"

"Neither is Polaris."

An owl hooted the late hour in the wilderness, a horse snorted in dull-witted boredom, and a length of chain jingled lightly as a young woman began to rediscover her footing on the ground. The next sound to break the calm was a low, distinct volume of Japanese words that were carefully breathed out of English lungs and lips.

"Polaris was once in the service of a wretched Portuguese merchant, whose fortunes had taken a decided turn for the worse. Despite being sold to pay off debts, the little African was very loyal to his former master. Another tribe of black savages, when he was a mere babe, had captured him and sold him to the Portuguese when he was old enough to carry out orders. All he had known was the Portuguese world, the Portuguese language, dress, religion, and every other vile Portuguese thing. Needless to say, he was very desirous to leave my service.

"One night, as we were cruising off the coast of your island, Shikoku, he managed to jump overboard and swim for shore. I had paid too much to let go of the boy, so several men and I went ashore and quickly apprehended him. Unfortunately, the robbers and ronin of the island did not like dealing with outsiders and gave chase to us. One man they killed outright and we were forced to abandon him. Another man they fatally wounded, but he made it back to ship and died of his wounds a few days later.

"I had had enough of Polaris's abstinence, just as I have had my fill with yours now. I locked Polaris in with the dying man. He stayed with and received his meals there, watching the results of his rebellious nature. I then kept him locked with the corpse for a week thereafter. Finally, he began pounding on the door, screaming, 'Me no 'scape! Me no 'scape!' That was a year ago

"Polaris soon learned that I could be a terror in his life, a cruel and violent man with whom he would have no hope, only misery. However, when he repented of his misdeed, he learned with greater rapidity that I could be his friend and confidant. But, only if he realized how generous I could be, rather than retain his savage and stupid habits. To that end, he has diligently attempted to adopt as many English mannerisms as his small mind can retain. Ultimately, he has come to love me, in return I hold nothing but my fondest feelings of warmth."

Kagome's eyes were upturned at this absolutely gargantuan man. She felt small and meek, now, in the presence of this mortal from another world. Her upturned eyes were deep pools of sorrow and horror met by the downcast steel of Marlowe's. For her, Polaris was a boy whose spirit and will to resist were broken, ground beneath an unrelenting will that towered over his. She realized that she could not let the same happen to her. But, how would she resist? What force could resist this man?

"Now, then. Forward lads."

Kagome only resumed her portion of the trek when the fat little man, better known as Simon Crick, came alongside her and gave a tug to her chains. She made the remainder of the journey with downcast eyes.

"Guard! Guard!"

The machinery was set in motion, and success lay in Shippo's small hands. It was he who stood at the cell-door, calling for the sentry on duty. When the watchman came to the locked door, he was greeted by one of his counterparts.

"Hey," the suspicious watchman queried as he glanced in the small peephole. "How'd you get in there? I don't remember seeing you come in."

"What's it to you," Shippo snapped, fighting back an amateur's concern that he had been discovered.

"Oh," the man on the opposite side of the door was taken aback by this kind of audacity. "Look buddy, my memory is pretty sharp. If I'm not mistaken, I don't remember letting you in there."

Shippo's courage ebbed. The disposition of his intended victim was something he hadn't planned on. In a flash, however, he reminded himself that failure was potentially fatal and rose to the occasion.

"Idiot! The shift before yours opened the door for me so I could interrogate the prisoners! Now," he rattled the door with his all his might, "open this door, or I'll 'interrogate' you! Now!"

The guard quailed under Shippo's impressive antagonism. Instead, his suspicions about this man were directed toward his sanity, rather than his identity. Fearfully, he made all haste to loosen the door for the impostor. As soon as the tumbler clicked, the door quickly swept inward and Shippo strolled out, a look of confidence on his face. As Shippo passed before him, the cowed sentry took notice of something unfamiliar.

"Wait a minute," the guard said as his suspicions returned. "What's that?"

"Huh?"

Shippo sheepishly regard himself. The both his and the guard's collective attention was guided toward the unmistakable tail snaking out from underneath his clothing. The "adorable" appendage threatened its possessor's life.

"Well," Shippo stammered, "you see-"

"Now!"

Before Shippo could fumble with an explanation, or before he or the guard could react, the latter was tackled to the ground by the interned trio. Once his mind caught up the series of events, Shippo joined the daring assault. With the wrenching and coiling of mortal and supernatural bodies, the short-lived struggle was quickly decided in the favor of the four atop the guard. Hardly a sound had issued forth since Inuyasha's command had been given. A few grunts, the rustling of some clothes, and dull thuds were all that could be heard. The crescendo came with a sharp cracking sound. In moments the guard was subdued, bound, and gagged.

"Whew!" Shippo sighed, reverting to his usual form. "Am I glad that worked!"

"Even though you nearly blew it," Inuyasha reprimanded.

"I can't believe you, Miroku," Sango scolded the monk, not paying attention the others for good reason.

Miroku, wearing his guilt in a red mark across his cheek, defended himself. He protested the accusation with dignified resilience, "In such a chaotic scuffle, how can you be sure of who grabbed what?"

"How can you say I nearly messed up? You're still out of your cell, aren't you?" Shippo was arguing against his own prosecutor.

"Because," the two accusers simultaneously exploded, "I know how you are!"

Adamant prosecution, such as this, was enough to make the shaky defenses of the accused collapse and the defenders to shrink before the determined scowls of their friends. Like naughty children, they apologized and admonished forgiveness, which was reluctantly granted. However, just like naughty children, the fox-demon and monk were inwardly unrepentant and made notes to recidivate.

With one guard occupying their former quarters, and the other guard tied to the prison bars and gagged, the escapees made for the nearest exit from the castle dungeon. Unsure of whether or not time was on their side, they had already decided that they would rescue Kirara first.

Meanwhile, in the courtyard of the same castle, English sailors, well armed and well-trained, stood in ranks of two, six abreast. To their front, Marlowe again stood before the lord of the castle.

"So," the lord languidly greeted, "you have returned, Marlowe."

"Yes, your lordship," the English bowed, hat in hand, with great flourish, and relish. "Although, when we part this time, you will gain a power unheard of in your domain."

"And you, a man with greater wealth?"

Marlowe stoically accepted the questioned, then smiled with feigned innocence, "Perhaps."

The lord only responded with a grunt.

Clearing his throat, Marlowe began his final sales pitch to the master of this particular castle. "Your lordship, I present to you, the actual destruction of the fiercest of creatures to step its unholy paws into your lands. Witness, with your own eyes, the righteous might of European firearms over one of the oldest and most formidable monsters to plague your ancient islands. After tonight, you will be able to smite the entire devilish host of Hell itself!"

A wave of the captain's hat directed Samuels conduct the gunners into action. A simple "wheel right" and Kirara was put to their face. Away from the line, Kagome stood horrified and powerless, while Crick held the reins of Marlowe's horse and the chains of Marlowe's new crewmember.

"Stop this!" She shrieked, "You have no right to do this!"

Marlowe focused all his senses on the intended target. Kagome had might as well be back aboard the Elizabeth. Only Crick made any undertaking to curb her tongue and tugged at her chains. "Now, now," the stubby English grumbled as the chain jingled.

"Kirara! Don't just stand there! Fight back! Run away, do something!"

Like the men around her, Kirara paid no mind to the shrill voice in their midst; trapped in a mystic stupor. The only response to Kagome's words was the incomprehensible English Samuels barked to the gunners.

"Make ready!"

The first rank knelt down, while the second rank raised their weapons.

"Take aim!"

Both ranks opened their flash pans, placed their fingers on their triggers, and began sighting the dull-witted target.

Though the thoughts of everyone present were as diverse as the persons themselves, every heart beat with greater rapidity as anxious energy entered their blood. None of them were truly sure what would be the result of the coming event. Only Kagome feared the chance of success. The girl's fears and outraged sensibility flooded her every emotion, driving her eyes to tears and her breaths to come in heaving sobs.

"If you allow this to happen," Kagome's words were cracking and warbled into the still air, "I'll never forgive you! I'll hate you forever!"

Marlowe ignored her. Without thinking about looking to Kagome, the captain looked directly into Samuels eye. The second mate held his hand overhead, prepared to give physical and verbal commands. The captain nodded.

The hand fell.

To Be Continued…