A day early on this one, but I may be driving to Albuquerque tomorrow and I'll be in El Paso tonight, so: an early chapter.
Perhaps the worst part of his plan is that it leaves Aoshi too much time to think. The Oniwabanshu turn almost entirely nocturnal — with the exception of Shikijou and Hyottoko, who are competent at stealth, but are unsuited for subtlety — as they work on retrieving and then altering years of records, inventing new ones entirely, should they need to, and then planting them in the Takeda mansion.
He has no doubt that they will succeed. Between the Oniwabanshu's skill, Kamiya's law-abiding reputation, Takani's desire to set right a world she had wronged, and Himura himself, failure seems impossible. But after this, once Takeda has been thrown into prison, what next? He knows that there had been some time before Himura left Tokyo for Kyoto; he and Misao had arrived in the middle of June. By July, Shishio had launched his first attack on the Aoi-ya.
But what can he do to stop any of this that won't somehow worsen an already unstable situation? Should he resume his place in history, appearing to join the Juppongatana?
Aoshi isn't sure he can pretend to believe in Shishio Makoto or care about the man's goals or ideals. At the time, he had cared for nothing beyond a chance to kill the Hitokiri Battousai. Now, with his men surrounding him and Okina and Misao sure to welcome them all gladly back to the Aoi-ya, what point is there in seeming to condemn Kyoto to Shishio's fire?
Beshimi's voice rouses him from his thoughts. Aoshi closes the book he hadn't been reading with a snap.
"Aoshi-sama, have you considered how you will disguise our wages?" Beshimi asks, flipping through yet another logbook while Hannya pries a bookcase away from the wall, checking to make sure Takeda hasn't left anything they don't want there.
Hannya radiates disapproval, although he heaves the bookcase back where it goes with no sign of finding anything. It moves soundlessly. "Why mention it at all?"
"Why not use something embarrassing? We owe him nothing less than total ruin, for what he was willing to do to us." Beshimi's voice turns dark. "He wanted us all dead — including you, Aoshi-sama. We should reward him as a traitor deserves."
"I see no need to take risks," Aoshi tells him. "Our involvement must be go undetected."
Beshimi bows. "As you command, Okashira." He looks up, eyes glittering with malice, and says, "I'll be happy so long as he suffers."
"I hear prison is deeply unpleasant," Hannya offers, checking another bookcase and unearthing a stack of records.
This thought draws a snicker out of Beshimi. "And Takeda's never truly suffered a day in his life. What a wonderful thing to dream of, Hannya."
"You're too personally invested."
"And you, ever the professional, hardly care at all that he intended our Okashira's murder." Beshimi arches his eyebrows. "Tell that to someone who might actually believe it. Takani, maybe."
"Such flippancy doesn't suit you." The air of disapproval intensifies. "This is not about personal revenge, Beshimi. We're removing a threat."
"Enough." Both Hannya and Beshimi look to him. Aoshi adds, in a tone he knows they will not argue with, "Enough for the night. We will finish this tomorrow."
Beshimi takes the rooftops back to the outpost on the edge of town. Aoshi watches him go, and considers following immediately. He catches sight of the tension in Hannya's shoulders and decides against it — though they take the rooftops as well, it's more to explore Tokyo, to test routes, than to go anywhere specific. Hannya keeps pace with him as he moves about the city, observing first one street and then another.
They end up on a roof outside Yoshiwara, overlooking the entrance. Here in the hour of the rat, the lanterns blaze bright, and men navigate between tea houses and brothels, and there must be at least one play or collection of plays still ongoing, if the distant shouting is indeed an audience and not some sort of brawl. Geiko in brilliant silks trickle back from the rest of the city through the gates of Yoshiwara, returning to their okiya, and likely speaking to none but their own kind.
He has heard clients say that Yoshiwara is Tokyo at its best, or at least its most interesting, though he's never particularly agreed. Tonight, it certainly seems like Tokyo at its loudest. Which makes it the perfect place to have this conversation.
"Something troubles you, Hannya," Aoshi says.
Hannya's only reply is, "Something troubles you."
Of course he's noticed. Aoshi will be lucky if Hannya is the only one who did. Shikijou almost certainly has, and while he is less close to Beshimi and Hyottoko, he has little doubt they've noticed his mood — although they may believe more easily that it stems from Takeda's plans for them.
"This change of mind — I do not disapprove," Hannya adds in a tone more careful than his slow, deliberate progress along the roof, "but it is sudden."
Less subtle than Hannya's usual requests for an explanation. Aoshi closes his eyes and focuses on the sharp wind that blows around the rooftops, allowing himself to recall their earlier, similar conversations. He does not particularly believe in gods or spirits or miracles — his world has always been too bloody, too rooted in human darkness, for the supernatural to seem relevant — but he can admit that the chance to speak with Hannya like this, alive and well and curious, is a marvel.
He's already lost his men once. He is not foolish enough to take them, or these chances to be among them again, for granted.
"If I told you I dreamed it?"
"I would assume you saw something without recognizing it, and, asleep, you solved the puzzle you didn't know you'd noticed." Hannya pauses. He tilts his head for a moment, thinking, and then — here, above the city, where no one will see them — removes his mask. "But that's not what happened."
If he left aside everything else — what he knows of Shishio Makoto, what he knows of Yukishiro Enishi, of Gein — it would be the perfect explanation. "It's a good theory."
"Aoshi-sama."
Nothing else. No movement but the play of people in the lights that try to drown out the stars, no sound but the thriving yuukaku below them.
"If I said I dreamed more than that?"
"I would ask what you meant." Hannya's voice is wry.
With anyone else, save perhaps Misao, it would be ridiculous to think of saying it. Certainly he could not tell Himura or the rest of what Myoujin calls the Kenshin-gumi. And what purpose in telling Okina or the rest of the Oniwabanshu? Some of it can be verified, but much cannot. Why place that burden upon them?
Hannya says nothing further. The degree to which he says nothing is impressive, though perhaps it's only made so by his memories of months without Hannya or his men. Silence and stillness radiate out from him, and when Aoshi turns to look, Hannya's featureless face is peaceful rather than expressionless. He is waiting. He will keep waiting until Aoshi either explains himself or makes it clear he will not.
Aoshi sorts his thoughts, trying to find a way to begin this tale. The very ambiguity of his experience — his dream, or his memory, proved right in so many details, but his own lack of clarity as to how this is so — makes finding the words for it a greater challenge.
At length, he settles on: "I have lived all this before. Or dreamed it. I fell asleep in August of this year, and awoke in April. If we had pursued Takani and antagonized Himura Battousai, you and the others would have died tonight. And I…" There is no use finishing that sentence.
Hannya dips his head in a sharp nod. He knows Aoshi well enough to know what would happen, if he'd lost all of them in one night. "You know, because you remember?"
"The Gatling gun," Aoshi says.
"Then you know what happens next?"
"Some of it. The world did not matter to me." There is a silence, and he does not need Hannya to ask to know that his lieutenant wants to know. He pauses, gathering up words, sorting through the necessary facts, the things he knows he must say and the ones he knows he could not bear to. He begins the telling with, "In the mountains near Kyoto, Shishio Makoto is gathering forces for a second civil war. He intends to burn Kyoto to the ground and intimidate Tokyo with a second Black Ship."
Hannya listens without speaking, until the tale — insane as it must sound — is over, and Aoshi's voice has run dry.
"How much of that do you believe?" He could resist asking it, but why should he? Better he should know now. Better they should both have it out.
His intelligence master, his oldest friend, doesn't even hesitate. "All of it, Aoshi-sama."
Hannya steps to the edge of the roof, soundless and careful, and then crouches to look out over it for a moment. When he straightens, he turns to face Aoshi. His face bears its usual lack of expression; it would seem he is as troubled by what Aoshi knows as Aoshi is by the fact that he knows all of it. Still, Hannya says, "Your heartbeat was that of a man sharing an uncomfortable truth, not a liar. But even if I had never learned to hear and listen as Oniwabanshu must — you would not lie to me."
"No," Aoshi agrees.
"We should go to ground. There is much to be done tomorrow." He pulls his mask back on.
The days and nights pass quickly, until the morning Aoshi and Hannya step into the Kamiya dojo. Sagara had been absent for days — but it would seem he's finally returned to the home of his friends. He half rises from the engawa as they approach, his expression confused, his heartbeat speeding up. Sagara naturally has no idea who they are, and isn't happy to see them or their uniforms.
"Jou-chan," he calls toward the house. "Looks like some police have come to see you. What's that fox-woman Kenshin brought back gotten you into?"
Kamiya emerges, scowling. "Don't forget your part in bringing her back, Sano. Kenshin never would have even been there if you hadn't taken him along." She turns to face Aoshi, schooling her expression to something more polite. Her eyes remain blank, no light of recognition in them. "Is something the matter, officers? Can we help you?"
Hannya merely bows, fist over his heart. Aoshi says, "Everything is in position."
Kamiya's expressions change as fluidly as Misao's. And, open as Misao has always been, Kamiya Kaoru seems too easy to read, as alarm, confusion, vague recognition, and then full understanding war across her face. At length, she says, "Shinomori-san. I didn't even — well, obviously I didn't know it was you."
"Aa."
And here is another place where the world differs from the one he remembers. In the time before Himura's party had returned to Tokyo, they had become familiar enough with him, with how he spoke, that Kamiya would have expected a simple yes as an answer. Here, now, she searches his face as if worried or confused by his response.
"Everything is in position," he says again.
This time, the words prompt real understanding, and she smiles. "Of course, Shinomori-san. I'll go get Kenshin and Megumi." As she turns away, she catches sight of Sagara, and says, "Sano! Do you want to help us take down Takeda?"
"Looks like you got a pretty convoluted plan going, Jou-chan. A plan I'm not part of. And if it means bein' around cops, I'm probably not gonna be much help. They don't exactly like me."
Sagara looks over at them both, his eyes narrowing as he evaluates them.
Aoshi returns the gesture, though without changing his expression. Somehow, this version of Sagara seems younger than the man he'd only truly met during the flight from Shishio's headquarters, when neither Himura nor Kamiya seem much changed. But he doesn't remark on this; instead, he says only, "Shikijou is always in favor of a brawl. If you wish to join him, he's near the warehouses by the docks. Find him, and he'll fill you in on his role."
Sagara rocks back on his heels, surprised. His expression turns thoughtful. "Shikijou. Big guy? Lots of scars, like somebody took him apart and sewed him back together like a quilt?"
Aoshi forces himself not to go stiff at the casual insult to one of his people. The fact that Shikijou is alive and would laugh to hear himself so described helps.
Beside him, Hannya freezes for only a heartbeat before relaxing. "That is most likely Shikijou," he confirms.
"Sounds like my kind of party," Sagara says, grinning broadly. "I might be there."
Which means he will, but Aoshi sees no need to point this out.
"I dread to even ask," Takani says, voice prim. Her eyes land on both Hannya and Aoshi, and her expression turns disdainful for a heartbeat. But it passes, her expression softening just barely.
Himura and Kamiya take Takani to the police station of an inspector known to them. The building is far too easy to slip into, unnoticed in the crowd. Takani causes a stir when she tells what must be one of the higher ranking officers present — a man with spectacles and an inspector's uniform — that she wishes to confess a crime.
The officer takes her to a room beneath the main floor, leaving Himura and Kamiya behind. Everyone else that Aoshi can see cranes their neck, blatantly trying their hardest to eavesdrop.
Aoshi and Hannya simply lean against the wall by the staircase. The building is too large to pick up everything they might wish to hear — the distance and echo swallow and distort some of Takani's words. But Takani's tone remains even, measured, spiced with bitterness without being wholly bitter.
A fine performance, for one not trained to it. But Takani is very good at surviving.
Piece by piece, she feeds the inspector the story they had all agreed on: Takeda had approached her during her apprenticeship with another doctor, demanding that she learn to make opium for him, and threatening to call in the doctor's gambling debts. Both she and the doctor refused. She fled; the doctor died shortly after.
"None of this sounds like a crime, Takani-san," the inspector says. The words might sound bored, or disinterested, but even through walls, Aoshi can hear the note of hunger in his voice.
"I ran away, and began apprenticing under Doctor Oguni Gensai," Takani says. She pauses for some reason, and when she speaks again, her voice breaks. "I could have — should have — said something sooner. How many lives have been ruined, because I was a coward?"
Aoshi steps away from the wall. The thing is done, then. He steps into the melee of junior officers, all waiting for orders, curious about what the woman the inspector took away could possibly have said. Nobody even looks at him or Hannya twice.
The inspector brings Takani back upstairs, returning her to Himura and Kamiya. He waits only long enough speak urgently with the two of them before finally nodding, and when he turns away, his expression has sharpened.
He calls out a list of ranks, and then shouts orders: "You will accompany me!"
The station wit replies, "Oh, you know we'd follow you to hell, Uramura, at least until payday, but where are we going?"
"To catch a criminal who has taunted us for years," Uramura says, and it's easy, so easy, to become lost in the shuffling and confusion as multiple police officers outfit themselves and leave the building.
Telling no one specifically where they were going was unexpectedly clever of the inspector. While it places the junior officers at a disadvantage, it also leaves less chance for anyone to warn Takeda that the police are coming.
And yet, despite such precautions, Takeda is nowhere in the house when they arrive. Aoshi clenches a fist, trying to call back months' old information about Takeda's appointments. But he's drawing a blank; in the wake of his men's deaths, nothing about him had mattered anymore. Between that and how long it's been —
He remembers most of Takeda's habits from his employment. He could guess where Takeda might be. But that doesn't change the important fact that Takeda is not here. There will be no smooth transition from Takani's story to Takeda's arrest.
Onmitsu do not panic when their carefully laid plans threaten failure. Aoshi takes a deep breath in through his nose, letting it out, silent and slow, through his mouth. It helps to calm his furious heartbeat while he tries to figure out where, Takeda would have gone.
One of the junior officers picks up a record book and, flipping through it, suddenly cries out. "This mentions warehouses in the harbor! Could he be there?"
"We'll need to investigate the contents of his warehouses anyway," Uramura says. "Surely he can't have bought this many —"
"Sir, we found — sir, it's — I think it might be a cannon," one of the junior officers yells from the direction of the ballroom.
Didn't take them long to find the gatling gun. Aoshi exchanges a satisfied glance with Hannya. Owning a stockpile of smuggled firearms is bad enough, but there is no reasonable explanation for keeping such artillery in one's home. What could Takeda possibly fear that he would need that?
A question Uramura will be asking himself — and Takeda.
"Alright, men. Half of you will stay here and take notes on everything you find. The rest of you are with me!" Uramura begins calling out names and ranks, gesturing for the other half to follow him.
It's almost too easy to fade out of sight. He and Hannya follow the police toward the harbor from a few streets over. Aoshi discards his uniform jacket — too distinctive, too much chance of being remembered — and undoes a few of the buttons on the white shirt beneath it. The run he's chasing the police at knocks the collar out of position, until its tabs hang down, loose, even as he works on rolling his sleeves up. He tucks the uniform gloves into his pocket; no dock worker would own white gloves.
He has a number of small blade scars all over his arms and hands, but they only serve to cement the impression he wants to give.
Aoshi turns down a side street, listening to the junior officers curse as they try to cross one of the busier avenues, and ducks through several small alleys. It gets him to the harbor first.
Knowing as much as he does about Takeda's business sends him to the warehouse where Shikijou, Hyottoko, and Beshimi all await him. Sagara has joined them; he stands near Shikijou, grinning. All around the inside of the warehouse are wooden shipping crates, stamped with what he assumes are Prussian letters, then painted over with Chinese characters.
"You guys just never run out of surprises, do you?" Sagara cracks his knuckles.
Aoshi says, forestalling the question Sagara is about to ask, "The police are on the way."
"Oi! I didn't sign up to get in trouble with the damn cops again."
But Aoshi turns his attention away from Sagara, instead looking to his men.
Shikijou's answer is a sharp smile. "But it's about to get fun."
"He'll get what's coming to him. Thinking he could betray us. Betray you, Aoshi-sama." Hyottoko pounds his fist into his palm.
Hannya once again radiates disapproval, his body tense, his spine stiff. But before he can correct Hyottoko, Beshimi speaks up. His words come out in an amused drawl: "Hyottoko, you forget yourself. We're removing a threat to the Oniwabanshu, not acting on a personal grudge."
"Really?" Hyottoko turns wide eyes toward Beshimi.
"Hyottoko," Hannya snaps, and then all of the Oniwabanshu save Shikijou turn toward the door.
Beshimi nods his head once. "Footst
eps. They'll be here soon."
"Then we'd better look busy," Shikijou replies, almost affectionately.
By the time the police open the warehouse door and swarm in, Aoshi has made his way to assist Beshimi with one of the crates of guns. Hannya has found the rafters, while Shikijou, Hyottoko, and Sagara all handle their own crates.
As the police officers enter the building and spread out, Aoshi and Beshimi drop their crate heavily to the ground. Beshimi winces just a touch too obviously, then tries to rub at his shoulderblades. Aoshi waves a hand at the other three, and all drop their crates and stop moving.
The building falls silent — save for the echoing thud of a crate having hit the ground — for a few heartbeats.
And then of the junior officers steps forward as he draws out his club, pointing it at Aoshi. "Who are you?" The officer demands. It's difficult not to note too obviously the way the hand brandishing the club twitches on its handle.
Concealing his identity has rarely seemed necessary — a job was best done if nobody knew he had even been present. But it's easy to slip into a role, to sink more fully into an Edokko accent as he answers. "Inoue Jun. Dock foreman. Why are the police here?"
"That's none of your business! Do you work for Takeda Kanryuu?"
Aoshi allows his hold over his expression to falter, giving the junior officer the dead-eyed look of a busy man forced to be polite to somebody in his way. "No," he says slowly, clearly, as if hoping the officer will catch on. "I'm a dock foreman. I work for the harbormaster."
"The inspector's here!" one of the other officers calls, nervously, to the one trying to question Aoshi. The first junior officer quickly tucks his club back into his belt and steps away.
Inspector Uramura strolls into the warehouse. He makes his way straight for Aoshi. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but are you the lead worker here?"
"I'm the foreman," Aoshi repeats.
The junior officer says, hastily, "Says his name is Inoue Jun, Inspector. He claims to work for the harbormaster, not Takeda."
"I supervise the longshoremen. I don't even know this Takeda you're talking about."
Uramura nods, then gestures with his chin toward the wooden crates. "Do you know what's in these?"
"Something from China, if those are hanzi." When Uramura raises his brows, Aoshi adds, "I'm paid to make sure the longshoremen unload the crates where they belong and don't steal anything. I'm not told what they're unloading."
Uramura seems to accept this. He gestures again, and asks, "Would you mind opening one for us?"
"Kijou," Aoshi snaps, and Shikijou retrieves a pry bar from the wall.
They all watch as Shikijou digs it into the seam of the crate. He works at it for a few moments longer than he needs to, muscles visibly straining, and then the lid moves. Shikijou tosses the lid aside, and they all stare at the contents.
Guns.
"More weapons," Uramura says, as if to himself.
Aoshi tenses as familiar footsteps approach. Before he can say anything — before Uramura can say anything else — there's the sound of a gunshot, and a bullet buries itself in one of the crates.
They all look toward the new arrival.
Takeda.
His usually impeccable high collar suit is mussed. Something or someone tore part of the jacket, and his tie is entirely missing. There are sweat stains down the neck of his white shirt.
And in his right hand, he's holding a revolver.
"I shouldn't be surprised you've done this to me," Takeda says. "You never liked me much, did you? You never respected me."
Aoshi can't afford to freeze. He can't. If he freezes, someone's going to die.
But the words are so familiar. Not quite the same, no, but —
"You've been looking down on me this whole time. You act like good, honest business is worse than the water trade, like I'm scrabbling for coins in a pigsty! You look at me like you scraped me off a shoe, but —" Takeda raises the gun again, firing in Aoshi's direction.
The shot goes wide, burying itself in yet another wooden crate. Everyone but Aoshi moves aside anyway. The police officers scatter, wanting to stop Takeda, but unwilling to step in front of him. The Oniwabanshu are considering their options.
Aoshi raises his hands as if surrendering, stepping toward Takeda. If he can move quickly enough, none of his men will be able to get between them.
Even now, even knowing what lies in store for Kyoto, even thinking of what it will do to Misao, he's willing to die here, if he must.
One of the higher-ranked officers draws his own gun. "Put that down, Takeda-san," he says. "Nobody wants this to go any worse than it has already. None of us want anybody else to get hurt."
Takeda ignores him, not advancing into the room. He paces its edges, and Uramura's rookies dart away from him, unwilling to engage with somebody who's so clearly lost his mind. Aoshi can't even blame them; smart opponents are difficult enough, but madmen are capable of anything.
Still, he'd rather not have to die, and he'd rather not be shot.
Moving straight for Takeda seems to surprise him. He takes a jerky step back, swinging the gun wildly. And, while he's distracted, one of the junior officers leaps forward, grabbing Takeda's gun hand at the wrist and elbow. The officer forces Takeda's arm to point the gun toward another of the crates, and while Takeda struggles, he fires two more rounds.
Aoshi swiftens his step to a full run, and just as the officer is beginning to lose his struggle to keep the gun pointed in a safe direction, Aoshi intercepts. He clenches his right hand into a fist, then strikes out, throwing all his weight into the punch.
He gets Takeda on the bottom of the chin, driving him upward. Before Takeda can get his balance back, Aoshi jabs with his left fist, hitting Takeda full force in the solar plexus. And, just for good measure, he jabs again with his right fist, this time aiming his knuckles for Takeda's throat.
Takeda wheezes once, twice, and then folds up, dropping to the ground.
Aoshi fights down the urge to kick the man while he's on the ground. Or to start stomping on his throat, and stop when the police pull him away.
Instead, he shakes out his right hand, rubbing at the knuckles as if the two strikes have actually managed to hurt him. He massages the knuckles of his left hand for a moment before returning to the right.
A few of the junior officers crowd around. One crouches, first pulling the gun out of Takeda's hand, then poking him in the ribs. Takeda never stirs.
Uramura's eyebrows are up near his hairline. "You say you don't know Takeda, but he certainly seemed to know you."
"The man was obviously crazy," Aoshi replies. "He was willing to try to shoot people in front of the police."
It's not a great lie, but it's workable. And as he watches, he sees Uramura nod, accepting the explanation. So far, Inoue Jun has been convincing — and Takeda's behavior was certainly irrational enough to cast doubt on the idea that Takeda seriously knew him, or was specifically targeting one person, rather than whoever happened to be in front of him.
"If you don't mind, please don't leave town until we have taken your statement, Inoue-san."
"I live here, anyway," Aoshi says.
Uramura cracks a smile. "Of course, of course. Now, if you gentlemen don't mind clearing off for the night? It would seem we have a great many crates to open."
"Yeah, boss, there's gotta be someplace to get shochu still open. After that, I need a drink," Shikijou says.
Sagara says, "No kidding."
And just like that, the Oniwabanshu are free to leave the scene.
Aoshi doesn't bother to look back at Takeda's unconscious body. But he can't help noticing, as he leaves, that the heroic junior police officer says to Uramura, "I will escort them somewhere they can wait, sir! Shall I have them in your office in two hours?"
Uramura distractedly agrees, already trying to pry open another of the crates, and the junior officer hurries to follow them.
Shikijou was serious about finding a place to drink shochu. They try three different tea houses until they find one that meets his and Sagara's approval. Aoshi settles himself in a corner and refuses all offers of liquor.
And now that he's actually looking the junior officer who helped him —
"Hannya," he says, startling Sagara, though not anybody else at the table. "Well done."
Hannya's expression doesn't change, exactly. But the corners of his eyes soften even as his jaw relaxes. It's about as close as he comes to a sincere smile, when he's in disguise. "I did as I knew I must, Aoshi-sama. Nothing more."
Hyottoko laughs. "He means he couldn't let Takeda ruin the performance of your life. A surly dock foreman — who could have expected that from you, Aoshi-sama?"
Beshimi knocks back a cup of shochu and says, "Honestly, I was reminded of when we were children. You almost sounded like you were arguing with Okon again."
"It was necessary," Aoshi replies.
Beshimi mimics a shudder, purposefully misunderstanding him. "I know she grew up to be a fine kunoichi, but she had the most dreadful ideas as a girl. Still did, actually, the last time we were in —" He cuts himself off, even before Hannya can turn his head to stare at him.
"He meant the Inoue act, Beshimi," Hyottoko says with a put upon sigh. "I swear, Aoshi-sama, you and Hannya and I are lucky we outnumber the idiots."
The words start a back-and-forth that lasts the rest of the evening. Aoshi doesn't tune them out, but he doesn't focus on them, either. Instead, while the other Oniwabanshu bicker and drag Sagara into their arguments, he turns most of his attention to Hannya.
"You have grown stronger, Aoshi-sama," Hannya says.
"Oh?"
"I felt the impact of those blows. A week ago, you did not hit so hard." Hannya raises a cup of tea to his mouth. He takes a few sips, then sets the cup back down on the table.
Aoshi inclines his head. He could argue, could say that of course he doesn't strike so hard when they spar, but he suspects Hannya isn't wrong. And he finds himself wondering, once again, if he merely had some vision of the future, or if he has walked backwards through time somehow.
Hannya considers him for a few moments, and then says, "You have completed the Kodachi Nitou Ryuu, then?" He actually spares a chuckle when Aoshi jerks his head backward, startled. "It is easy enough to see, Aoshi-sama, if you're looking for it. You struck twice with your right hand. Your defensive hand."
He's right, of course. Aoshi hadn't even considered it in the fight. But of course Hannya had noticed. He can only hope that nobody else has, or that if they had, they saw no significance there.
"I should have expected you to be so observant," Aoshi says.
"I am your intelligence master, after all." Hannya tilts his head. "Okashira, have you considered where we will go from here?"
Aoshi flickers his gaze to Sagara and then back to Hannya, a reminder that they're not alone. "I have considered it, yes. But there is something I must do before we can leave Tokyo."
"Besides have another kodachi forged?"
No, that will have to wait until they return to Kyoto. While the Aoi-ya cell would accept that Aoshi returned to them proficient in the Nitou Ryuu, the others of the Edo Castle cell would be confused. He is confident in his reworking of Makimachi-sama's style, but there is always room for improvement. And he can think of no reason not to test a style in its supposed infancy against Hannya's tekagi, or even Okina's tonfa, if he can persuade his former mentor to drag his old weapons out.
But all he says is, "That would delay too long."
Two days later, Aoshi waits across the street from the Kamiya dojo, watching from behind a broadside newspaper until Uramura and his junior officers retreat. Once they've moved far enough away and have turned their attention ahead of them, the Oniwabanshu cross the street and step into the dojo's courtyard.
The Okashira of the Oniwabanshu does not bow to outsiders, so Aoshi merely nods his head in greeting.
"Shinomori-san," Kamiya says, startled, while Himura looks up from laundry he'd either resumed or not stopped washing while Uramura was there.
"Aoshi," Himura says.
None of Aoshi's men bristle at the presumption. It's strange, but he's proud of them — that they can see people worthy of respect in this dojo. They all have a great deal of reflection to do, but it's a start.
"The Oniwabanshu will not remain in Tokyo," he informs the Kenshin-gumi. He wonders if someday Myoujin will consider him a part of it.
Myoujin himself is staring, wide-eyed, while Sagara looks up from his place on the engawa.
"Already? But I haven't had my chance to punch Shikijou in the head yet!"
"Sano!" Myoujin says. His gaze has landed on Beshimi.
In another world, Beshimi had nearly killed the boy. Indeed, until Myoujin had showed up at Takeda's door, Aoshi had believed him dead. But there is no such history here, and Myoujin's expression is merely curious.
"What? It's fun for us, kid. I know Kamiya Kasshin is all about the swords that give life, but a good fight can really make my day, you know?"
Himura laughs. "Sano socializes in his own way sometimes, Yahiko, that he certainly does." A pause, and those pale, guileless eyes turn piercing. None of his calculation shows in his voice when Himura says, "It is courteous of you to tell us, Aoshi, that it is. I am sure Megumi-dono thanks you for it. But the Oniwabanshu do nothing without reason, that they do not."
Aoshi dips his head again, acknowledging the point. "The Oniwabanshu is in your debt, Takani. And yours, Himura. If I may speak to you for a moment? Alone?"
Himura rests one of the pieces of silk he's scrubbing against the rim of the wash basin and rises. Suds cover one of his arms, frothy white, and he scarcely seems to notice. Instead, he offers a polite bow and indicates toward the house.
Aoshi doesn't let them travel all the way to Kamiya's sitting room. As soon as Himura has shut the outside door, Aoshi raises a hand, stopping the Battousai's progress further into the house.
"If you are ever in Kyoto," he says, slow and deliberate, "come to the Aoi-ya, near the Sannen-zaka. The Oniwabanshu will provide whatever assistance it can."
Himura's eyes widen for a moment before he controls his expression again. "I assume the Aoi-ya is where the Okashira of the Oniwabanshu will be found?"
Aoshi says, "It is where the Oniwabanshu will be found."
Himura bows once more. It is clear he knows what such a statement would have to mean, coming from the leader of an onmitsu clan. What a monumental gesture of trust it is.
"Thank you, Aoshi. I will bear that in mind, if ever I am in Kyoto again, that I will."
Aoshi nods again. When he leaves, Hyottoko and Beshimi are staring at him open mouthed. Hannya is back in his mask, but his posture speaks of surprise. Shikijou alone seems more confused by his fellow onmitsu, rather than by Aoshi's actions. But Shikijou was not raised in the clan, and does not share their hearing.
"What?" Shikijou demands. "What did they say that's got you all looking like that? C'mon, even the old man is acting like Aoshi-sama's blown his damn mind."
"I told him where to find us next, Shikijou," Aoshi says.
Shikijou can't even summon a response. Beshimi tosses his head and says, "I hope such unsubtle people can appreciate what our Okashira has done."
"I would not have told him if he could not understand, Beshimi," Aoshi replies, tone a little sharp, and Beshimi immediately bows an apology, fist to heart.
Aoshi nods a goodbye to the dojo at large and then turns away, walking out the gate. He doesn't have to tell his men to follow. They would always have followed him anywhere, and today, they follow him away from the Kamiya dojo and out of Tokyo.
A breeze blows in off the ocean as they make their way out of town, toward the Tokaido Road, ruffling Aoshi's bangs and toying with the collar of his coat. He closes his eyes for a moment, almost permitting himself a smile at the feel of it, at the knowledge that his men are at his back.
Those four graves will not be filled for many years yet.