Chapter 4 – Roots
The younger one is suspicious. I can't stay here long. I'll take what the old one gives—he knows what he's doing, and I need the healing—and then I'll leave.
His pain was much less now, thanks to the herb and the cave's cool, damp air, and his mind could think again. He had much to think about. He had been completely unprepared for his betrayal, and now had to reassess his role in Japan's future, as well as his loyalty, clearly misplaced, to those who had turned on him. His knowledge of the players, both friend and foe, of their motivations and weaknesses, and his insight into the shaky, shifting alliances that formed the unsound foundation of this new era: he had assumed all this made him invaluable, indispensable even, to the new government.
He remembered the first time he'd been contacted by the Ishin Shishi. He had actually been expecting it, had known his destiny had arrived.
"You sent for me, father?"
His father stood in the center of the bridge spanning the garden's large koi pond. It was a spot often shared between them: lately, they preferred certainty about the confidentiality of their conversations, and they shared a soothing appreciation of the beauty of the koi and the lotus, of the faint croaks of the black-spotted pond frogs and the buzz of the darting dragonflies. Now, deep in winter, snow mounded on the pool's banks and dusted the planks of the bridge; in quiet corners, the sheen of paper-thin ice sheets reflected and refracted the pale rays of a weak, ghostly sun.
Today, Makoto could sense the difference even before his father turned to greet him: the atmosphere around Mareo was charged, almost shimmering with intensity, with spiritual heat, in spite of the chill winter air.
"Yes, son. Come with me."
Falling into easy step by his side, the young man followed. They kept a heavy silence until they reached his father's private study. Makoto had rarely entered this room: Mareo treasured his privacy and considered the sanctity of this room as the seat of his being, his soul's retreat and haven in a household grown ever larger and busier.
Which made it all the more surprising to find it occupied.
The two men perched uncomfortably on the Western-style chairs managed nevertheless to bow from the waist as Mareo entered. Mareo settled himself in the leather-upholstered chair behind his massive desk, but Makoto chose to stand.
Mareo leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk's warmly glowing surface, hands clasped loosely around his fan. "Makoto, this is Katsura Kogoro. He is the leader of the Choshu clan."
Makoto made a small bow in the direction of Katsura. He had studied the clan's activities, along with that of other factions in this time of unrest, and was impressed with the man's strength of character and clarity of vision. In spite of his family's position in the Shogunate, both father and son approved of the move to restore the Emperor to power. The irony of the ancient formal title for the shogun, Seii Taishogun, "generalissimo who overcomes the barbarians", rankled in the face of the growing intrusions onto their shores and into their politics by the West, and Shogun Togukawa Yoshinobu's appalling governmental reforms, relying so heavily as they did on assistance from France, accompanied by that ridiculous farce of a "resignation in favor of imperial restoration" had served to cement Makoto's attitude toward the raging civil war.
"Katsura-san, this is my son, Makoto." The bald statement of fact lacked any word of praise or acknowledgement; its very plainness had the effect of a solemn imperial announcement: the room seemed almost to quiver with significance of the unspoken phrase, "in whom I am well pleased."
In the silence, Katsura and Makoto regarded each other levelly.
"Makoto, Katsura-san has a request to make of you."
Now he understood that his very strengths had been his undoing: I am a threat to them. Because I am my own master, and no one's lapdog, and they are weak and stupid, they can find no better solution than to try to eliminate me. What fools! They should have made me their leader instead!
Japan, and they, would have been safe now.
"I think this is completely unnecessary," Gozaemon grumbled at Yoshi, even while packing a small bag of provisions for his trip. "You haven't even been here a whole day yet! We didn't get to go fishing, and I wanted you to help me dig out that sapling that's growing too close to the coop."
"Thanks." Yoshi took the package from Gozaemon's hands and added it to his pack. "I won't be gone long. And I promise to be discreet," he interjected quickly, heading off his friend's predictable lecture on the odd subject of the right to personal privacy.
I'll never understand his views about that. After all, if you live a good life, why would you have anything to hide?
"Where will you start, even? Who can you ask?" More than anything, Gozaemon simply didn't want Yoshi to leave so soon: it had been longer than usual since his previous visit, and the old man had missed him sorely this time.
It's not like I have as many springs in me as I used to, he thought querulously.
"You remember my telling you about Kentaro, don't you? My friend I stay with in Kyoto?"
"Is he the one who worked for the Ishin Shishi? The messenger or something?"
"Yes, that's the one. Actually, he was usually stuck in the kitchen or the stable, but he was sharp enough to be a pretty good messenger. He has the knack of moving through a crowd without being noticed, in spite of his size."
"Big fella, is he?"
"That is one of the reasons they keep him around; you know, for hauling firewood, and rice barrels, sake casks, that sort of thing." Yoshi paused and grinned at own memories of his friend. "He's also got what you might call 'excellent hearing'…"
"Listens at keyholes, does he?"
"Something like that. Anyway, he knows a lot more about their inner workings than they realize." Just as well, for his own sake. They don't consider him any kind of a threat. Clever boy. "Some of the stories he has …"
"Yes, I remember the ones you've told me." A sober silence settled on them. "No one's hands are clean, are they?"
"Well, exactly. Anyway, he's nothing to them, so he's slipped through the net of reprisals and purges, and seems to ride happily whatever tide comes along."
Despite Yoshi's cavalier manner, Gozaemon had the uneasy feeling they were delving into dangers beyond their usual ken, and his disappointment at his friend's premature departure dissolved into serious concern. "How can you be sure contacting him is safe now? Especially about something like this?"
Yoshi quirked a half-smile. "We both know no one can ever be sure of safety. But…" He held up his hands against Gozaemon's mouth, already opened in protest. "He is smart and crafty, and has not survived this long by luck alone."
Long before daylight, he was startled into wakefulness by the panicked voices, ineffectively muted, in the hall right outside his room. Irritated by the commotion, he threw off the futon and hauled himself out of bed. Purposely, he strode heavily across the room, and he heard the voices cease altogether as his footsteps thudded through the floor's planks, telegraphing to his disturbers the approaching storm of his displeasure.
Roughly, he slid open the shoji. "What is going on out here?"
As one, the three men dropped to their knees, three foreheads tapping the floor almost in unison. From one of the hidden mouths came the muffled apology: "Please forgive us, Katsura-san! We didn't mean to wake you!"
Sighing heavily, he adjusted his yukata beneath its obi. "I'm sure that you did mean to do exactly that. I do wish you would simply knock the next time: I despise these juvenile charades."
The three craned their necks to turn their faces upward, but remained bent low to the ground.
"Oh, do get up and come in." The three rose, and Takashi and Toshiko managed to enter the room before Katsura stretched out his arm, his hand flat on the third man's chest stopping him abruptly in his tracks. "Not you, Tadashi-san. You can go to the kitchen and fetch us some tea."
Tadashi spun around and scuttled off, down the stairs toward the back of the inn. Katsura watch him go, a slight despondency settling into a corner of his mind.
How did I end up surrounded by such craven…
He snorted and turned back into his room, only to be greeted by two huddled figures on the floor. He sighed again, feeling the dull beginnings of a headache.
"Well, out with it. What's this all about?"
Takashi—or was it Toshiko, he never could keep them really straight—blurted nervously, "We couldn't find anything. You know, this morning. When we went back. I know we went to the right place, but it wasn't there!" He ducked his head back down, bumping it forcefully on the tatami.
"Went back where? What was missing? You'd better start from the beginning, man."
The door slid open, and Tadashi shuffled in bearing a tray on which rattled a steaming pot and four cups. Head down between hunched shoulders, as though fending off a beating, he knelt just inside the room, nervously filled one of the cups and held it high above his head toward Katsura.
Hardly looking at him, Katsura took the cup from the trembling hand; he was actually grateful for the fragrant brew, and he sipped deeply, then turned back to the two quivering masses in front of him.
"Get to it. Quickly!"
This time, Toshiko—or was it Takashi—lifted his head and answered, almost hiccupping with anxiety. "They did it. Last night, they did it!" He paused, and wrung his hands, and gulped. Then, in a single rush of breath: "They told Shishio-san that you wanted to see him and they hid in closets and outside the door and when he got there they blew out the candle and they jumped him and they tied him up and they took him out to the woods and they shot him." He stopped, giddy from lack of oxygen, wobbling slightly as he sat.
"What? Are you talking about Shishio? Shishio Makoto?" Katsura was livid. "I expressly forbade anyone's moving against him…"
Takashi—or Toshiko—added, helpfully, "And then they set him on fire."
Toshiko—or Takashi—added, hopefully, "We weren't there, you know."
Tadashi just sat and tried to disappear. Three cups rested completely and permanently empty on the tray in front of him.
Katsura was speechless, stunned. When they had brought him the ridiculous scheme, born of abject fear, profound misunderstanding, and a depressing lack of imagination, he had crushed the idea. He'd known that Makoto was to be denied the position he'd counted on—that even Katsura had wanted for him—but he'd always found the young man, quite contrary to common opinion, ultimately reasonable, when handled correctly. And Katsura was sure he would be able, finally, to negotiate for Makoto a slot commensurate with the talents he had to offer to the new era.
He had absolutely forbidden the action, and had even publicly reprimanded the ringleaders. He had thought the matter ended. He'd been wrong.
Now, this man, this seemingly indestructible man, this man with fire in his breast and never easy under authority other than himself, was clearly alive—Katsura had no doubt of that—and damaged and betrayed.
And out of anyone's control.
A/N: Just for fun, Yoshi's friend's name, Kentaro, means "sharp, big boy". Also, for a bit of whimsy, the unhappy trio who bring Katsura unwelcome news are named Tadashi, Takashi, and Toshiko just for the sound of their names; you know, sort of like Ping, Pang, and Pong, the three executioners from Puccini's opera, Turandot. Unfortunately, this affected the development of their characters, and even leaked over onto Katsura a bit; I apologize if the goofiness too much interferes or is wildly improbable given the setting. Following chapters will return to my normal over-dark, purple prose.
Review Responses:
LadyRhiyana: Wow, you must have read this just seconds after it was posted! I agree that Shishio's destiny was probably set early on (the nature of tragedy, after all, ne?). I'm so glad you liked the trio; they just sort of appeared and stumbled their way into the scene before I could take proper precautions. "set Kenshin on him" made me laugh out loud—a great image and a delightfully campy turn of phrase! Thanks for the review—I live for them! Lolo popoki: Better late than never, eh? I'm glad you like the background--I was (still am!) a bit nervous about this. You know, just making up out of whole cloth, and without anyone else's work to go on, a backstory for such a major RK character. But I'm finding it GREAT fun, so I guess I'll just keep on doing it. I, too, was a bit surprised about how the Katsura scene came out. I'd assumed Katsura was "in on it", but it came out this way, instead. There is a line in the movie "Galaxy Quest" where they've been testing a new transporter, and things go quite wrong. Someone says: "And it exploded." In context, it's hilarious. Takashi-or-Toshiko's line, "And then they set him on fire" should be read with that same delivery. Omasuoniwabanshi: Oooh, I have SO much I could say in response, but won't because I want to write it into upcoming chapters! So I'll just sort of "skim respond". I was really going for Shishio's arrogance here, but sort of "shrouded" in what he (as well as his father) considers his fate: the "small bow" he makes to Katsura (a clan leader, of all things!), and his attitude that "of course Katsura came to me". He certainly doesn't consider himself a "hired killer"—he's much more into the idea of his "holy purpose". As for Katsura's "not approving" of the plot to kill Shishio, I think it's more along the lines of thinking it's not smart; that any failure of the plot would result in the very monster it created. Yes, a "complex" "nasty little social Darwinist", isn't he? Skenshingumi: Ha! Those words are actually Omasu's, and she's speaking of Shishio instead of Katsura. It is ever true, isn't it, that one can be judged by ones compatriots, ne? I agree that the plan is fundamentally ill-suited to Katsura. However, his pragmatism would push him toward, as you put it, not giving up a strength that could still be of use to him. Maybe his arrogance would mislead him into thinking he could "manage" a force like Shishio…