*baseball sliiiiiiiides in with this chapter* Shhh, it's still Sunday for, like, another hour in my timezone. Edited because I accidentally the whole last line, whoops.
Also, warning: this chapter contains graphic depictions of violence and torture! It's the final scene of the chapter, so it's probably difficult to skip. The scene itself is a more graphic depiction of canonical events from Chapter 88 of the manga, so if you're an anime- or movies-only fan, whoops.
Sawagejou watches him for a solid minute. Aoshi doesn't move from his position, ready to see if his kodachi can break this Hakujin no Tachi with a well-placed Gokou Juuji. Usually, he would use it to take out both the carotid arteries of an enemy at once —
But it would be better to snap the tip off this ridiculous amalgamation of sword and chain whip. He may well need Sawagejou alive.
Houji, he could not take. But Sawagejou? So minor a player Aoshi had never even heard him mentioned, but as one of the Juppongatana, he will be just knowledgeable enough to be useful.
The Sword Hunter extends his arm, flicking his wrist in the process, and the Hakujin no Tachi unfurls, unfurls, unfurls across the space between them. It's a genuinely ridiculous length for a sword, even a sword that's meant to be an edged whip. Misao's earlier question about Arai Shakkuu — was he drunk? — returns to him for a moment; he finds himself in agreement.
There's no doubt Arai Shakkuu was a master swordsmith. He was also insane, it would seem.
Metal moving. Ringing, chiming, slithering behind him.
Aoshi drifts sideways, not quite out of range, and turns, wheeling in the footwork he uses for the Kaiten Kenbu. He catches the Hakujin no Tachi between his kodachi and then sweeps them out. A blade this long, with a name like 'Thin-Bladed Sword,' must surely be easy to —
It doesn't snap.
Behind him, Sawagejou laughs. "Not a bad idea, but, well. Arai-sama was good at what he did. And you ain't even the first guy to try that."
All right. Time to see how well Sawagejou blocks at close quarters. He might think he controls the range of this fight, but that's a lot of steel to move around.
"Comin' straight for me?"
Aoshi's right-hand kodachi narrowly misses tearing into Sawagejou's lower lip. The Sword Hunter didn't even raise his hand to block, merely dodged.
"Seriously, the mouth?"
"A swordsman who talks is only a man who fights poorly," Aoshi replies. If onmitsu had proverbs, that would be one of them; he doesn't bother to use the standard dialect for the phrase he'd heard all through his childhood. Never aimed at him — he's always been quiet — but always there anyway.
"You're from Kansai, too! Huh. But not from Kyoto? Where, Nara?"
Aoshi lashes out, kicking, and manages to land a blow to Sawagejou's solar plexus. Even at his weakest, he'd been able to surprise Himura with his kicks; Sawagejou stood no chance of dodging or even realizing it was coming.
His enemy bends forward, wheezing. When he looks up, his eyes are dark, furious. "Well now I'm just mad," he says. "You can tell because my hair —"
Aoshi swipes at Sawagejou's head, more to remind him that they're not having a conversation yet.
Sawagejou actually drops to the ground to dodge the strike. He rises back up a few feet away, drawing his arm back and extending it again.
Aoshi dodges once more, then a third time. He adjusts his grip on both kodachi, preparing, and then flings them toward Sawagejou's right shoulder. He sends the right-hand kodachi first, then the left, just behind it.
This Onmyou Hasshi doesn't feel awkward at all. The movement is fluid, smooth, and he's all but proud of it.
Sawagejou manages to get his blade up to block the first, but the second catches him by surprise, and he takes two inches of steel to the shoulder. While he's still distracted by that, Aoshi closes the distance again.
A standing kick sends his foot straight into Sawagejou's nose. Aoshi strikes his left fist into Sawagejou's stomach, then grabs his own right arm by the fist to drive his elbow into Sawagejou's throat.
Sawagejou flops gracelessly to the ground, swordhilt still clenched in his right hand.
Just to be thorough, Aoshi stomps on Sawagejou's sword hand, grinding his boot against it — and grinding hand and hilt into the cobblestones — until it loosens reflexively. He kicks the hilt a few feet away, then bends over, recovering both his kodachi. He sheathes them before crossing the courtyard to the tree where the Sword Hunter had stashed Iori.
He looks up, concerned at how high up in the tree the child is hanging. Had that idiot thrown the boy? Aoshi really can't discount it. He allows himself a sigh, then punches the tree with enough force that the wakizashi saws through what remains of Iori's collar. He catches Iori from mid-air, cradling him against one hip the way he'd held most of his younger clan kin, at one point or another, and returns to Sawagejou.
He grabs this lesser member of the Juppongatana by his unruly hair and makes his way down the steps of the shrine. Hannya meets him halfway down, his head tilted as if to suggest amusement.
Aoshi gives Sawagejou over to Hannya and keeps hold of Iori.
"The Arai family?"
"I took them to the Aoi-ya to await your return with their son. Their home is unlikely to be safe until we've concluded the Shishio matter."
Iori bears the trip back to the Aoi-ya with surprising good grace, especially when Aoshi lifts him to a shoulder. Perhaps anything, even travelling in the arms of a stranger, is better than hanging from a tree by his collar, or perhaps he's simply interested in all the new sights.
They pass undisturbed until they've almost reached the Sannen-zaka and are just a few streets away from home. Here, Aoshi and Hannya are better known, and at least three different women stop Aoshi to make much of the boy in his arms, cooing and tugging on his cheeks. Iori bears it in good humor, smiling and waving his fists.
Hannya sneaks by unnoticed, disguised as someone ordinary-looking, and the hold he keeps Sawagejou in disguises his broken nose and bruised throat. Seen from the outside, they might well be a pair of drunks stumbling away from a tea shop, possibly after a brawl.
Aoshi finds Arai Seikuu and Azusa in the Aoi-ya's courtyard, sitting by the shishi-odoshi, drinking tea. Both seem nervous, with fast heartbeats and twitchy movements. Their simple, uncomplicated relief and joy at having their son back is… uncomfortable to witness.
He returned their son to them, but he's the reason their son was taken in the first place. He doesn't need their effusive thanks. So he exits the conversation as quickly as he can. More quickly than would be personable, perhaps, but at least without rudeness.
He finds Hannya standing outside the entrance to the Aoi-ya's cellar. "Sawagejou is within?"
"Yes, Okashira," Hannya replies.
"How deep does it go?"
"Nobody will hear him scream, even if Okina questions him."
Deep enough, then. "Aa. Then we should prepare for dinner."
"Yes, Okashira," Hannya replies.
Aoshi heads up the stairs to his bedroom, wondering as he goes if this is the future of the Oniwabanshu. The occasional kidnapping, the occasional torture in the cellar, layered over with laughter and the mundane business of running a ryokan.
Not the quiet life he'd told Gein he was perfectly willing to live. And yet not a life that's any more or less than he deserves.
Himura finds him as he's exiting his room, scrubbed and dressed again, carrying his uniform. The rurouni opens his mouth, pauses, and then says, "After dinner, we should go for a drink, we should."
"If you want to drink, speak with Shikijou or one of the others. I prefer not to." Similar to the answer he'd given Himura the last time they'd had this conversation — though they're having it earlier than he recalls. Has he won Himura's personal respect, or is this about something else?
Himura raises both brows in surprise for a moment. "As it's your company I'm after, indeed it is…" He trails off, leaving the offer open.
"I will make tea. Has any of the staff showed you where my office is?"
"They haven't. I'll be sure to ask."
Aoshi nods and heads for the scrub room the women of the Aoi-ya have set aside for laundry and the sewing that accompanies it. Mostly they use it for their uniforms — there's no harm in hiring an outside service for civilian wear — and he's only mildly surprised to find Misao and Okon within, both at work with needles and bolts of dark fabric. Misao looks up as soon as he slides the door open, and one corner of her mouth crooks a little higher, turning her smile mischievous.
He takes the time to pick the seams of his uniform apart, then drops it in one of the baskets for washing later.
He can still feel Okon watching him as he leaves.
Aoshi sets one of the boxes of tea supplies from the kitchen in his office before he heads down to dinner. The Arai family doesn't join the staff, having evidently been served earlier in the evening, but Himura does.
"My staying here will mean great danger for the Oniwabanshu," Himura says in his office later that evening.
Rather than say anything in reply, Aoshi draws a bamboo whisk around in swift circles in Himura's teacup, mixing matcha powder and hot water together. He keeps his eyes on the tea, watching for lumps, waiting until the surface froths.
He slides the chawan forward, and Himura offers him a slight seated bow as he accepts the cup.
While he mixes his own tea, he asks, "Will you place us in more or less danger than the member of the Juppongatana we have in the cellar?"
Himura's only response is a soft, "Oro?"
"Sawagejou Chou attacked the Arai family this afternoon. Hannya took him to the cellar to wait until Okina and I have time to question him." He pauses, considering, and then decides he's said enough. Instead, he takes a sip of his tea and forces himself to relax.
"You're keeping him here?"
"When he doesn't return, it will take Shishio's people some time to determine whether or not he's dead. If we're swift enough, I will be able to transfer him to Saitou's custody before the Juppongatana can realize I was directly involved." Aoshi takes another sip of tea.
"You know Saitou?" Himura raises an eyebrow.
"The Lietenant Fujita who demanded my presence. You addressed him as Saitou. Is he not Fujita Goro, once known as Saitou Hajime, Vice-Captain of the Third Squad of the Shinsengumi?"
Himura shakes his head, focusing on his tea for a moment. When he sets his chawan down, he says, "It's almost frightening, how well-informed you are, that it is. Is there anything about this city you don't know?"
Aoshi allows his expression to soften in his amusement, relaxing the tension of his jaw.
"None of the Oniwabanshu know what Shishio intends with all that gunpowder. Nor do we have any specifics on his plans to overthrow the government." Aoshi pauses, drinking again, before he says, "Sawagejou will help with that."
"Aoshi," Himura says. His voice is soft, but there's something firm in his tone. "You should hand him over to the police tonight, that you should. Saitou has complete authority over the Shishio matter — and I would not want you to bring greater danger upon yourself than necessary, that I would not."
"You insist on it?"
"I do."
Aoshi draws in a breath, letting it slowly before lifting his chawan back to his lips. He had asked Himura to trust him the day before. Someone outside the Oniwabanshu might argue that he's obligated to trust Himura now.
When he sets the chawan down, he says, "Very well. Hannya."
And, as always, Hannya materializes from seeming nowhere. His heartbeat had been present — too many Oniwabanshu heartbeats are always present — but where, specifically, Hannya had been, Aoshi can't begin to guess. He looks up at the ceiling, anyway, and feels his expression soften from its usual neutrality.
Hannya left one of the ceiling tiles shifted aside.
"You called for me, Aoshi-sama," Hannya prompts.
"You and Misao will retrieve Lieutenant Fujita Goro tonight and bring him here."
"Yes, Okashira."
"Hannya," Aoshi says, keeping his tone abrupt. There had been no sound to indicate that Hannya had begun moving, but he knows his second-in-command has stilled. "Lieutenant Fujita was once known as Saitou Hajime." He doesn't need to say anything else on the matter — Hannya knows him well enough to hear the warning in those words.
"And Misao-sama as well?"
There is no use in expecting or requiring Misao and Saitou to get along in any but the briefest, most superficial of encounters. Still, Aoshi replies, "Aa."
Stranger miracles have happened to him, in this second life. And she kept her temper well enough during her first meeting with Saitou.
"It will be done, Okashira," Hannya tells him. A whisper of moving silk — Aoshi does not need to look to know that Hannya has bowed with his fist over his heart — and then the door slides open, and Hannya's heartbeat fades away.
Once he's gone, Aoshi returns to his tea. "Are you going to insist again that your presence here endangers us?"
"I just watched one of your men appear from nowhere, that I did. And it would seem you've been watching this threat longer than I have." Himura sighs. "I worry, of course I do, but…"
"Any danger we're in is danger we chose, Himura."
"Are you truly willing to see Beshimi or Misao-dono get hurt?"
No. "Aa," he says, because it is what the Okashira of the Oniwabanshu must say. "The cause of the Oniwabanshu is greater than any one life within it — including mine."
But he has seen what living that way does.
Himura smiles sadly. "You say that, Aoshi, and yet I see the despair in your eyes at the very thought, that I do."
It catches Aoshi in the chest — something like annoyance, at losing his control of his countenance, and something like gratitude, that Himura is learning to see and hear what he cannot say. He should not be pleased that Himura saw through him, and yet he is. He's starting to recall what made this friendship so uncomfortable, and it wasn't just his awareness of how badly he had failed those he loved the most.
"They are my family." It's the only possible reply he can make.
The sadness falls away from Himura's expression, leaving only the smile.
"You were trying to justify something," Aoshi says, and watches the smile drop, replaced by a flicker of annoyance and then a wary expression.
"I was," Himura agrees. "I need to find my master — the man who taught me the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu, that I do. I suppose I needed to believe that you would all be safer if I were gone."
Aoshi permits himself a frown. "Or you needed me to believe it." He doesn't point out that he worked for the Shogunate and then a number of criminals; he knows the opening pitch of a bribe when he hears one.
Himura must hear what he chose not to say, because the smile returns, this time wry. "In trying to convince myself of what must be done, I insulted you. I apologize, Aoshi — that was never my intention, that it wasn't."
"Aa." Aoshi takes another sip of tea. Even the matcha for staff use is a really superior blend. He spares a moment to wonder if Shikijou has taken over the ordering for it or if Okina still handles that. "If you want me to find someone, I'll need a name."
It hadn't remotely been a joke, but Himura laughs anyway. "The name I know is Hiko Seijuurou. But it wouldn't surprise me if he used another — he's always been a bit of a hermit, that he has."
"Okina will find him," Aoshi assures him with all the confidence of knowing that Okina has already found him once.
Judging by his posture, Saitou is annoyed at having been dragged away from the minshuku he'd been staying in to come deal with a prisoner. Hearing that the Oniwabanshu are about to present him with one of the Juppongatana he'd been seeking doesn't improve his temper.
"If you don't want me sending police to your door, Shinomori," Saitou all but snarls, "then do me the courtesy of not sending that weasel after me."
Misao's eyes glint, amused and smug at once. Hannya crosses his arms.
Aoshi ignores all of it and slides open the door to the cellar. "We haven't questioned him yet."
"Good," Saitou snaps, and heads down the stairs.
Misao watches him go and says, "I thought he'd be happy I gave him back his adjutant's stuff."
"He was Shinsengumi," Aoshi says. She knows her history. It's enough of an explanation.
Misao waves a hand. "Going all Aku Soku Zan about a little friendly pocket-picking is just silly."
And that, he suspects, is the deeper reason she and Saitou didn't get along in his previous life.
"Perhaps you should have taken only the key," Aoshi says, and Misao laughs, heading down the stairs after Saitou.
He and Hannya follow.
Saitou stands near one of the cellar walls, casual. He's lit a cigarette and a few lanterns. The very tip of the cigarette glows bright red in the bleak gray-white cellar.
"So you can tell me nothing?" He asks.
Sawagejou rolls his shoulders, then lolls his head, apparently at his ease. "'S there some reason to talk to a dead man?"
"A strange way of looking at things, considering you're the prisoner, here."
"You just wait until Shishio-sama figures out where I am." Interesting, what Sawagejou's heart just did. His voice sounds completely confident, no subtle notes of tension, but his heartbeat doesn't agree.
Rather than pursue that, Aoshi says, "He won't."
Saitou's eyes gleam gold. Sawagejou just looks annoyed.
Misao asks, very quietly, "Are you sure that's even what you want?"
Swagejou looks at her like she's beneath him, but his heart hammers, and his eyes dart between the four of them. "What, you think I don't believe in what Shishio-sama is trying to do? What he's going to accomplish? He'll roll right over this weak government —"
This time, it's Hannya who cuts in. "And he will believe you when you say you didn't betray him? When you say that you believe wholeheartedly in his cause and gave us nothing, he will hear this and think every word is true?"
Misao smiles. "I don't, and you've been totally boring."
"If he does not believe you, you will die. But if he is wise, how can he hear any truth in such a fanciful story?"
"Ain't a thing fanciful about it," Sawagejou replies, tone hard. "It's what's gonna happen."
Hannya nods, tilts his head —
And peels off his mask.
Sawagejou rocks back in his chair, moving with such force that the chair tips over. That surely accomplished the opposite of what he'd hoped, because Hannya steps over to him, crouching close to Sawagejou's face.
"You may certainly believe that you will tell us nothing," Hannya says. "I can hardly disapprove of such determination. But I want you to think about the fact that the police, and not Shishio's group, are the ones who know where you are. I assume you will be leaving him in our care, Lieutenant?"
Hannya asks that last while he's lifting Sawagejou back up, righting both the chair and the Sword Hunter.
"Hn. Safer than the cells, for now. Everybody knows how to find a police station, and I don't want to make my men any bigger targets than they have to be."
"You're fine if the Juppongatana target us, though?" Misao arches both her brows.
"Shinomori took one of the Juppongatana down by himself, Weasel; I really don't think this place has much to worry about."
Without his mask to conceal his features, they can all see Hannya's eyes widen at the use of Aoshi's name before a prisoner. Without his mask, it's a gruesome sight. Saitou watches without any sign of discomfort, and Misao knows Hannya too well to be in any way uneasy at his face, but she's lifted one hand to her mouth in surprise. Her gaze flickers toward Aoshi, as if asking how she should respond.
Aoshi simply turns his back on Sawagejou and leaves the room. There's a light tread behind him, deliberately heavier than usual, that can only come from Misao.
Once they've all reached the top of the stairs, Saitou asks, "How long are you comfortable keeping him?"
"Seven days. Fewer is better," is Aoshi's immediate reply.
"I'll take him by five, assuming he hasn't cracked yet."
"He'll speak much sooner than that," Hannya says, confident. He has reason to be: while the Edo Castle cell hadn't had much reason to bother with torture while Aoshi led it, they're all proficient with it. And even if the Edo Castle cell should somehow fail, Okina won't.
"Oh, I know he'll talk to you," is Saitou's reply, casual. "I'm just not sure what kind of shape he'll be in after."
Misao snorts. "Do you actually care?"
"As an officer of the law, I probably should, but no. I don't. As far as I'm concerned, you can chew his toes off. I just want something actionable out of it."
She shakes her head and stalks away, annoyed. Her braid swings behind her, twitching like the tail of an angry cat.
Saitou turns his eyes back to Aoshi. "Are you going back down there?"
"No," Aoshi says, turning away from the cellar entirely.
Hannya explains, "We've given him enough to think about. Best to let him wonder for a while."
And with that, Hannya goes, too, leaving Aoshi and Saitou standing outside the torture chamber Okina has apparently decided to pretend is a root cellar. With business taken care of, Aoshi has nothing more to say to Saitou, so he simply offers him a nod.
"You can find your way back to your inn from here?"
"Of course. Next time, tell your people they don't have to drag me over the damn roofs."
Interesting, that Saitou assumes there will be a next time. Duty discharged, Aoshi walks away.
According to Okina, Hiko Seijuurou the Thirteenth is a reclusive potter who produces very fine sake jugs, very poor tea bowls, has a reputation for being supremely arrogant, and lives in the woods like a charcoal burner. The amusement this causes both Okina and Shikijou is probably unseemly, but given that Shikijou wants to set up some sort of deal between their sake and shochu brewers and the potter mostly known as Ni'itsu Kakunoshin, Aoshi ignores it.
Okina passes the information off to Himura, and Himura vanishes that very afternoon, as though he'd never been there at all.
Two days later, Shirojo returns from his free afternoon — Misao having taken over his preparations in the kitchen — bearing a paper announcement and a wild-eyed look. The expression is hardly a surprise, and neither is the way he storms over to Aoshi's table, kneeling and presenting the announcement in one movement; of their generation in the Oniwabanshuu, Shirojo has always burned the hottest.
"This," Shirojo is saying, "this cannot happen. It's going to get somebody killed."
Aoshi picks up the announcement, reads it, and puts it down. He reads the whole thing, though he agrees with Shirojo's conclusion by the time he gets through Missing: Himura Kenshin.
If the handwriting weren't familiar — the same neat, clear strokes he'd once seen in a letter to Misao — he'd assume the Juppongatana had grown desperate. And if he thinks back far enough, he remembers seeing Myoujin and Kamiya shortly after Himura had evidently disappeared from Kyoto. Had Okina known Kamiya and Myoujin were in the city, when he'd pretended to Aoshi that he had no idea where Himura was?
It should feel like puzzle pieces falling into place. It does, a little — but there's a dizzying feeling, like the world is spinning out of his control. His changes have affected Shingetsu Village, have saved his men, but they've also drawn Sadojima Houji's attention, and he seems to have stumbled into events he had no way to predict.
"Where did you find this?"
"On a notice board outside the Shirobeko."
That draws Omasu's attention. She brings a pot of tea over and pours more into Aoshi's cup, but her focus is on Shirojo as she asks, "Why were you there?"
"They serve beef skewers," Shirojo says as if it's an explanation in itself. When Omasu's blank stare proves otherwise, he says, "You know I wanted to see if we could add to our menu for the tea shop. We've talked about this."
"Do you have Okina-han's approval?"
"I have an agreement going back years — the menu belongs to the cooks."
"Are you sure Okina-han's going to remember that?"
"Someone's looking for Himura by name and description," Aoshi says, a warning to get back to the point.
Omasu's response is a horrified, "But that can't be!" while Shirojo folds his arms and frowns, thinking.
But Aoshi already knows what to do. "Shirojo. When you return to the kitchen, send Misao to me."
Shirojo recognizes the dismissal. "Of course, Aoshi-sama."
Omasu watches him go. "You'll send Misao-chan with it? But what if it's —"
"Misao-san," Aoshi says, carefully allowing his use of the honorific to be the only thing that emphasizes it, "will be fine." She'll probably come back with two more guests, but Kamiya Kaoru, her dearest friend outside the clan, would never choose to harm her.
Omasu has no way of knowing that, though, nor any way of knowing the role Misao will play in the Great Kyoto Fire or the Juppongatana's assault on the Aoi-ya. He doesn't blame her for staring at him for a long, shocked moment before departing his table with a small crease between her brows, the only evidence of how troubled she must be.
Misao accepts her assignment with a mix of amusement and anger. The anger isn't aimed at him, but at whomever decided to write red hair, cross-shaped scar on the announcement under the description.
"Not too many people recognize the name Himura, but everybody knows what the Hitokiri Battousai looked like," Misao says. "I can't believe someone friendly to him would pin that on his back."
"You think this is enemy action?"
"No, Aoshi-sama. I don't think even Sadojima would try this. I guess you could say I think it's idiot action."
Aoshi pauses as he lifts his teacup to his lips. "You are aware that Himura was…?"
"The Hitokiri Battousai," Misao says. "Hannya-kun mentioned it days ago. But just because that's who he is doesn't give anybody any excuse to come and out say that's who he is."
He almost wonders how the topic came up between them, but Misao's opinion of Himura seems to vary wildly between respect, amusement, and annoyance. Likely Hannya warned her of who Himura had been in an attempt to change the way she treated him. He needn't have bothered; the dynamic between the two as they are now seems similar enough to the way they had been in his previous life.
Aoshi merely nods. "You'll handle this, Misao?"
She bows her head, raising her fist to cover her heart. The sight of it freezes something in him — this, he has never seen from her. Not in his previous life, and not yet in this one.
But here, he is Okashira.
He says her name again, softly, and her mouth curves into a smile. She drops her hand and looks up at him. When he nods, she stands, taking the announcement with her as she makes her way out the door.
She returns within the hour with Myoujin, Kamiya, and Takani all following her. Myoujin looks faintly dazed, while Takani simply takes the Aoi-ya in with a shake of her head, flipping her hair back over one shoulder.
Kamiya's eyes, once locked onto Misao, catch sight of him. She says nothing before she changes course, making for his table. Misao stops a moment, watching her before joining.
"Shinomori-san," Kamiya says. "I — I know you told Kenshin where you would be, but I didn't think…"
"I'll say," Myoujin adds. "This place is way nicer than the Shirobeko."
Kamiya chides him immediately, but his words only make Misao laugh.
"Well, I'd hope so," she says. "Everyone here knows the Aoi-ya. We've got a reputation to keep up!"
"A reputation as ninja who run an inn?" Myoujin's brows furrow.
Misao looks to him. Aoshi looks back. She was always closer to these three than he was — Myoujin had feared him too deeply to trust him wholeheartedly, and he'd spent over a year of Takani's life deliberately keeping her too afraid to resist Takeda.
"Something like that, I guess," Misao says. "But more like we've got a reputation as a great ryokan. Seriously. Everybody knows how nice our rooms are and how good our food is."
Kamiya brings them back to the matter she's most anxious about: "And Kenshin was here?"
"Aa," Aoshi says. He flicks a glance toward Misao, who could hardly need him to speak in order to hear this question. At her nod, he says, "You want to know where he is?"
Kamiya nods, but her heartbeat seems too swift. Either she's confused or upset about something, or she'd been running from the Shirobeko all the way to the Aoi-ya. He somehow doubts it was the latter.
"Misao has discussed the danger of your announcement with you?"
"She asked Kaoru if she was crazy," Myoujin says. "It's been ten years, you'd think people would —"
Aoshi shakes his head. "It happened here — people won't forget it so easily. One of my agents worried that your announcement was Shishio's."
That brings Kamiya's hands to her mouth in horror. Misao tilts her head at the way Kamiya's heartbeat speeds up. She reaches a hand out, touching Kamiya's shoulder.
"He's not even in town right now," she says, "so don't worry. And Shishio's probably not gonna post a sign just asking people if they've seen Himura Battousai — out of pride, since that's all he's got."
Neither he nor Misao actually believes that Shishio has only his pride left.
Aoshi rises from the table. "You will escort the three of them."
Before Misao can answer him, Takani says, "There's no sense in my going. I didn't come to see him, I came to make sure there was a doctor on hand for the inevitable fighting."
"Aa," he says, and turns to search out Okina's heartbeat.
There are some who hold that the worst aspects of the Gehou must be performed at night, when fear holds better sway and fewer people are about to witness it. Aoshi has certainly performed his share of horrors after sundown, but he's never seen the point in the superstitions some onmitsu attach to their work.
There really isn't better cover for the noise of torture than a popular ryokan during the day: there's the busy teashop, full of drunks laughing and joking, the sound of the cooks at their trade, people coming and going, and the jinrikishafu on the street outside, constantly screaming.
And it's not like Sawagejou has any idea what time it is, anyway. They haven't starved him, but they haven't brought him meals at predictable intervals. Misao and Omasu enjoyed taking him as much of a kaiseki breakfast as would fit on two small trays in the hour of the pig.
Okina wears his old uniform as they head down into the cellar. Beshimi carries their instruments.
When Aoshi lights the lanterns again, Sawagejou stares from Beshimi to Okina, hardly seeming to recognize Aoshi's presence.
"Now's when you start torturin' me, right? Well, you can do what you want, but I won't —"
Okina interrupts without even a flicker of his eyelids, acting as though Sawagejou hadn't spoken. "This is the one?"
"Aa."
"Your successor mentioned he feared his employer?"
"Aa."
"More than he fears us. Given who his employer is, I'm unsure if he's wise or not. We won't kill him."
"Aa."
"On the other hand," Beshimi points out, "we might just turn him loose on the street. If he goes straight back, Shishio will kill him out of hand. And if he tries to run, he'll only confirm his guilt."
"Yes, our Okashira's chosen successor said something similar."
There's something in the way Okina says 'chosen successor' that unseats him, but Aoshi can't pin it down. A wryness to the tone, perhaps, as if he doubts Aoshi's motives. Or perhaps this is yet another facet of his disapproval of bringing Misao fully into the work of the clan.
"See, you say that, but I don't see any reason to worry. You're not seriously gonna let me go free," Sawagejou says. "Not until you get somethin' out of me."
"But you're so adamant, Sawagejou-han," Okina says. Between his tone and guileless expression, he all but radiates innocence. "If torture were truly to be useless, why not set you up for a nasty death? And if we let you go without a mark on you… What conclusions will Shishio have to draw?"
Sawagejou's bored expression doesn't change, but his heartbeat speeds up.
Okina smiles.
"If you give us information, we'll give you to the police," Aoshi says. "If you don't, we'll send you to Shishio. Directly." He doesn't doubt that Shishio has headquartered himself in the same place in this life as in the last. That fortress had been too well-crafted not to have been a project of some duration.
And Sawagejou throws his head back, laughing. "Ha, overplayed your hand! You don't know where he —"
"A fortress within Mt. Hiei," Aoshi cuts in. He keeps his voice calm and level.
And he watches the realities of the situation finally close in around Sawagejou: he is trapped in a building with hostile forces who have far too much knowledge of Shishio's operations. His only option for getting out of any of this alive is to cooperate and hope they keep their word.
"If you know all that, I'm not sure what you could possibly need me for."
"Start with the gunpowder," Okina says.
"I'm not too clear on that part — Kamatari's handlin' it. Somethin' about blowin' up the symbol of the new government."
Beshimi's eyes glint. "But that would be a diversion, of course. That can't be all Shishio has planned."
"No, that's the fire. The gunpowder's more — I don't know, an opening salvo? A mission statement? It's like that." Sawagejou closes his eyes, sighing. "The rest of us — except the Tenken and Houji — are on the fire. You know about the Ikedaya Affair, right?"
"The Ishin Shishi's plan to set Kyoto and the Imperial Palace on fire, or the torture in its wake?" Okina's voice has turned grim.
"It's the perfect first stroke, isn't it? Destroy a symbol of modernization, then take out the spiritual center of Japan — and all using the Ishin Shishi's own plans against them. That's the genius of Shishio-sama."
Symbol of modernization. The incomplete train station? Aoshi says nothing, too busy trying to put pieces together. He knows how lost he was, and yet he curses his former self for paying so little attention.
"Genius?" Beshimi practically spits the word. "Stealing a plan from the Bakumatsu and using it out of a sense of irony is genius? Our own Okashira could have done better at sixteen."
"Yeah, well, did your Okashira have five hundred men to surround the city and make sure no one escaped? Or how about a force like the Juppongatana, huh, who'll be all prepared to capitalize on the confusion and take out the government officials here?"
Beshimi tenses at both the implied insult and at the slaughter inherent in such a plan. The Oniwabanshu could save themselves and leave —
But the Aoi-ya cell — and, more importantly for Beshimi, Hyottoko, a member of the fire brigade — would never agree to go. For better or worse, Kyoto is their home. They won't surrender it under any circumstances.
"Enough," Aoshi says. "You claim this is a diversion?"
"Well, yeah. Shishio-sama isn't going to stay in Kyoto for it. He's headed to Tokyo on a steamship of his own. The old man remembers the Black Ships, doesn't he? I'm gonna assume you other two don't. You look pretty young."
July 8th isn't far away. It will have been exactly twenty-five years since Perry's Black Ships sailed into Edo bay. And with the news spreading of Kyoto on fire, Tokyo will collapse into panic, just as it had before the Meiji Era, when it had been Edo. In their fear, the people of Tokyo will begin to turn on anything they can blame — including each other.
It's a perfect recipe for the chaos Shishio lives for.
"Of couse I remember," Okina snaps.
"We know enough," Aoshi says, because if they have to listen to more, he's not sure Okina will let Sawagejou live. And he's not sure he would stop his mentor from killing a man who could lavishly praise such a plan. "Send him to the Lieutenant."
He turns on his heel and walks away. It doesn't stop him from hearing both Beshimi and Okina murmur, "Yes, Okashira," but at least he doesn't have to see the expression on Sawagejou's face anymore.
The root cellar is cleared within the hour. Aoshi settles back into the tea shop, listening to the various conversations that swirl around the room.
It doesn't take long for Takani to sit down at his table.
"You disappeared," she murmurs.
"Aa."
"So I take it none of you are quite so retired as this town thinks you are?"
He sees no reason to answer that question, so he doesn't. Instead, he pours himself a cup of tea from a pot Omasu rests on a bamboo stand on the table.
"Do you regret any of what you did?"
He sees no reason to answer that, either. He sips at his tea.
"You don't, do you? Why should you? It's not as if you've suffered any —"
Aoshi glares, and she falls silent.
This latest remark does demand an answer, but there's none he can give her. He doesn't feel any need to justify himself to her. Perhaps he should — for her, those wounds are fresher — but how could he even begin to explain any of it?
Hannya had believed him. Misao would, if he shared it with her. No one else.
"If staying here is a problem for you, go back to the Shirobeko." The words are cold, but he tries to soften his tone.
Takani's eyes glitter for a moment, but then she inclines her head. She understood, then.
"I suppose it should be enough for me that Ken-san trusts you," she offers.
By which she means that it isn't enough. He understands all too well.
"For what was done — I regret the necessity." Unless tomorrow he wakes up at the start of the Takeda contract — a thought he doesn't seriously consider, if only because he's not sure he could endure it — he can't change the past. It's as close to an apology as he can offer.
"I suppose you're not all terrible," Takani sighs. "You've been… helpful."
And that's as close to accepting his apology as she'll ever come. He offers her a nod. It seems she will ally with him again.
Misao returns late that night, long after the staff dinner. To his surprise, Kamiya and Myoujin follow behind her; he tilts his head to listen to all three of them settle in for the night.
Over the next few days, Misao and Kamiya seem to befriend one another, just as they had in his last life. The Aoi-ya is set to participate in one of Gion Matsuri's opening ceremonies, but the rush of preparations for it seems to pass him by, blurred and distant.
He has other matters to worry about. He sends Hyottoko and Beshimi to the train station to see if they can neutralize Shishio's "opening salvo," but either the explosives aren't in place yet, or Aoshi is wrong about the target. Another member of the Juppongatana slaughters fifty hand-picked police swordsmen in Kobe, and Sawagejou insists it couldn't have been the Tenken. One of Sadojima's men sets another fire near the Sannen-zaka —
That particular fire spreads, destroying three other houses before the fire brigade and water drivers manage to contain and then douse it.
And all the while, Aoshi gleans what information he can from the rumors of petty criminals, unable to act until Himura returns. It would be galling, but he knows better than to fight Shishio alone.
It had taken all four of them, and none had managed to strike a killing blow. Even now, at his strongest, he has no chance of killing Shishio without assistance, and he will not risk the entire Oniwabanshu on such a hopeless plan.
As the time passes, it would seem either Sadojima or Shishio himself loses patience with the careful game they've been playing.
He knows precisely what wakes him: sound when and where there should not be sound, without the subtlety of Hannya's movements, or the backdrop of a familiar heartbeat. Aoshi does not open his eyes, instead listening.
Six people moving outside his door — slow, almost shuffling steps they believe to be silent; breath rhythms and heartbeats he doesn't recognize. Air currents, moving within his room as one person approaches.
The Owl Clan that Sadojima had been so proud of. It doesn't seem as if they're any more competent in this lifetime than they had been in the last.
He doesn't bother to speak or move until the other onmitsu is nearly upon him. And then it's all too easy: he rises in the very same movement that draws his kodachi, swiping for the stranger's throat and dodging the spray of blood that follows. He catches the body before it can fall, lowering it gently to the floor, so that none of the others will be any the wiser.
In the last timeline, they had gone after Okina. He opens his door silently, about to turn and head for the old man's room, when the soft sounds of fighting reach his ears.
Kurojo and Shirojo handle a trio of onmitsu — Kurojo, who is the gentlest of them all, calmly beats a man to death with a kanabo; Shirojo is less calm, if equally quiet, when he breaks another man's neck — while Omasu and Okon take care of enemies of their own. Okon cuts throats from behind, using Omasu as a diversion, with the silent efficiency she's had since childhood. Omasu is more direct, laying about with a fuuma shuriken in swift strokes that never fail to draw blood.
Hannya leaps down from a ceiling tile onto one, stabbing with tekagi before launching himself at another, while Beshimi throws poisoned darts at others, nicking them with blades so sharp they won't know they've been struck until they find themselves unable to breathe. Shikijou is more boisterous, as always, grinning as he attacks with fist and foot and elbow.
If he hadn't learned to do the same thing as a child, he would be impressed with how quietly Shikijou can break bone.
Aoshi has almost reached the rooms by the stairs, where he'll find Okina and Misao, when he hears the night's first loud noise: the sound of wood splintering and paper tearing. He runs toward the sound, only to find one of the Owl onmitsu on his back in the hallway. There's a vaguely man-shaped hole in Misao's shoji door.
The sound of silk moving, footsteps on tatami, and then a second onmitsu stumbles backward, knocking the door entirely out of its frame as he falls.
Misao walks through, immediately turning toward the fighting. Her eyes narrow for an instant, and then she opens Okina's door harshly, slamming the wood against the far side of its frame.
They enter almost as one unit, to find Okina still unarmed, blocking and dodging blows from four other onmitsu. He lashes out with his fists, striking one in the throat, and the man goes down heavily, warping the tatami mats away from the hardwood floor. Okina kicks a second one, sending him crashing into a wall.
Misao takes down the third, lashing out with tonfa to break both his kneecaps and then a strike to the crown of the skull to stun him; Aoshi strikes the other in the back of the head with the hilt of his left-hand kodachi, knocking him out swiftly.
The Aoi-ya cell drag the few survivors of the nearly silent battle down to the root cellar.
Aoshi doesn't need to order Hannya to dispose of those who didn't survive. They both know that the bodies cannot remain in the inn overnight; the fish in the Kamo river will eat well for the next few days.
Down in the cellar, they all gather, both to watch over their prisoners and to learn what they can of them.
Misao deliberately pokes one in a bruise, then moves to inspect his discarded gauntlet while he tries to conceal his wince. She runs a fingernail along the blade, clearly curious as to how he'd intended to use it. Hannya's claws are an odd enough weapon, but these blades are thick and curved inward, almost like they were some sort of digging tool at first.
Naturally, Misao remarks on it, saying, "I honestly don't know which is dumber. That sakabatou or this idiot's… whatever this even is." She wanders away before the enemy onmitsu can reply, crossing the room to join Aoshi.
Omasu steps forward next. Her air is as curious as Misao's had been, blunted with the gentle kindness she shows almost everyone. "It seems obvious that they're Shishio's men," she says as she tugs away the veil hiding the face of one of the prisoners, "but I don't understand what they could have wanted."
This particular onmitsu has red embroidery on the border of his uniform, etching bloody-looking nonsense lines on his collar. And that face, now that Omasu has stripped him of his veil —
Aoshi remembers the ruin Okina had made of this man's hands. He'd been the only one of the Owls to return, and he'd done so with a message carved into his back.
Kurojo asks, "Why would they just attack the Aoi-ya like this?" He sounds troubled. But then, spilling blood in their home wouldn't sit well with him.
Omasu doesn't move away from the man she'd been questioning. Instead, she kneels so that she can look him in the eye. "We're not monsters," she tells the onmitsu. "Of course, it's our Okashira's decision, so I don't want to make any promises, but if you answer our questions, we'll probably let you go."
Rather than answer, the onmitsu spits in her face. Omasu jerks away, dodging backward, and Shiro snarls something wordless and furious, surging forward with clenched fists, his face red with rage. Kurojo actually has to drop his kanabou and haul Shiro back, though his expression suggests he'd be perfectly happy to let Shiro rampage, if someone would only give him an excuse.
Okon casts a disdainful look at the prisoner before pulling a cloth from beneath her obi and wiping at Omasu's face.
"Does he want to die?" Misao asks him. She sounds tentative, like she can't quite understand his motive, but there's a thread of anger running beneath her tone, and he can hear her heart racing.
Aoshi nods. "He was trying to infuriate us into killing him quickly."
"Not a bad plan, for a third-rate spy. But it would seem these poor excuses for onmitsu somehow don't know who they're dealing with," Okina says, and his voice is confident, no sign of age or exhaustion.
Aoshi drifts forward, away from Misao, to stand by Okina in front of Shishio's spy. "Tell me," he says. "Have you heard the name Okina before?"
"I was once called the most terrible of the Oniwabanshu," his mentor adds. "Crossing me is the very worst kind of folly. Before I begin my work, would you like to tell us why you're here, and where you would have reported had you not failed your mission?"
Their enemy stares.
Okina doesn't sigh. He gives no sign that what's about to happen bothers him in the slightest. It probably doesn't. The Oniwabanshu are effective, masters of their art, but for all their honor demands professionalism, it does leave room for vengeance.
"Okon, Omasu," Okina says. "I'll need some candles and nails. And a hammer. Oh, and do we still have a gag around? It's inconvenient if he damages his tongue."
Aoshi shifts just enough to nudge Misao's arm with his own elbow. He keeps the movement as subtle as he can; when nobody looks their way, he says, "Join them." He doesn't have to tell her not to return until and unless they call for her.
Misao murmurs, "Yes, Okashira," and, without saying anything else, follows Omasu and Okon.
Kurojo and Shiro follow Misao back up the stairs, away from the cellar. They know there's no need to witness what's about to happen next. The door opens as the kunoichi exit the cellar, then shuts. They wait only a few minutes — all of those minutes spent in silence — before the door opens again, and Shiro brings down a box that rings faintly with each step.
"Everything you asked for, Okina-han," he says. He bows to Aoshi and then retreats again. Footsteps. The door a third time.
And then silence again.
The silence is very shortly interrupted by screaming. The scent of hot wax fills Aoshi's nose. He watches it done — how Okina decides to leave the spy's feet alone. The bulge of the man's eyes, the noise he makes around the gag as the first nail goes in.
Okina taps evenly with the hammer. Never too hard, keeping the nail driving at an even pace, but never too soft, either. To strike with the hammer without moving the nail would be sloppy, after all. The purpose is pain — and a candle-holder — rather than simple damage.
Okina reaches up and loosens the gag. "Why are you here?" He asks. "Where is Shishio's headquarters?"
The onmitsu spits a mixture of blood and saliva. He does so without force, simply opening his mouth and drooling intently.
Okina backhands him. "You can answer the question, or we can put the gag back in and try some more."
More wordless drooling.
Aoshi tightens the gag himself, then steps away to let Okina get back to work. He sees no need to hover.
After the second nail, the man begins to vomit. Either he's in agony or he's squeamish about the damage to his hands, the blood that they stop by raising them above his head; Aoshi doesn't really care which. Okina reaches up without looking away from his source's hand, pulling the gag out in one quick, efficient tug. He steps back as he does it, and the victim bends forward.
Aoshi steps up to slap the man's back, forcing his mouth open wider with his fingers, making sure his airway is and remains clear.
He evidently hadn't eaten much. He finishes quickly, though he spasms and retches dry for a few moments after he's emptied his stomach.
Shishio's man howls when Okina works the candles onto the spikes with delicate, relentless motions. He shakes and twists, trying to escape; Aoshi drives a fist into his solar plexus, just to rob him of breath for a few moments so he'll quit being difficult.
By the time Okina lights the second candle, Shishio's spy is a sobbing, broken mess. He answers every question put to him, quite willingly clarifies any point he wasn't clear about the first time, and continuously begs that the candles be snuffed before the wax can get into his veins or inside his palms.
When he finally sags helplessly to the ground, lying on his side, Okina simply nods, as if he'd been expecting it for some time.
"Will you teach her what comes next, Aoshi-sama?" Okina's voice is toneless as he asks.
He desperately doesn't want to. He had never wanted any of this for her, beyond whatever she might need to know to survive the war he'd known they would be plunged into.
But the life of the Okashira of the Oniwabanshu is not about what he wants.
"Aa," he says. He watches their source for a moment and then turns, ascending the stairs. He opens the door and says, into the waiting darkness, "Omasu. Misao."
Silk whispers as someone stirs. "You and Okina-han need me, Aoshi-sama?"
"Bring your good knives," he says, and heads back down.
Misao follows him immediately. Her steps are just slightly louder than usual, and her heart thunders in her chest as if it's trying to escape.
By the time he and Misao have reached the cellar, Omasu is already on her way down. She steps more fully into the room, her eyes alighting on Shishio's spy. Even kind and gentle as she is, she looks at the ruin of a man who would have murdered her, who spat in her face, and seems to feel nothing.
"Are we sending a message?" Omasu asks this even as she opens the lacquered box containing her best knives. A few are curved, but many are long and straight, and some are thin, almost needle-like. They'll bend even as they pierce his skin.
"Aa," Aoshi says.
Misao's expression clouds as she looks between the room at large and the knives in Omasu's hands.
Omasu kneels down at cuts away a square from the back of the onmitsu's gi. When she's done with that, she looks up and asks, "Do you want to learn, Misao-han?"
Misao looks between Aoshi, Okina, and Omasu. Okina's expression is either neutral or unreadable. Aoshi merely tilts his chin, letting her know she can choose to leave.
But she stays, kneeling next to Omasu. "Yeah," she says. "I'll learn."
"What's the message, Aoshi-sama?"
"Do nothing which is of no use."
Omasu nods. Once he's stepped forward to hold the man steady, she begins to cut, not bothering to question. She and all the kunoichi of the Oniwabanshu were taught kanji from childhood, and though no onmitsu wholly abides by his philosophy, they all recognize the words of Miyamoto Musashi.
Even if a man as educated as Sadojima fails to recognize it, it's sure to incense Shishio. Perhaps it will even infuriate him into making some new mistake.
Aoshi sets a few lanterns on the ground around them and watches as Omasu's hands move the knives over the onmitsu's back. Watches as Misao leans in, looking closely, and even mimics some of Omasu's gestures. They talk quietly; he works to ignore what they say.
"Aoshi-sama," Omasu says eventually. "Shall we sign it?"
He doesn't even stop to consider. "No," he says, and then, "cut his throat."
The onmitsu makes no noise of objection. A knife bites into flesh for the last time. The scent of blood overtakes the smell of hot tallow.
The other survivors, he turns over to Hannya and Shikijou for disposal, most likely in the Kamo. He makes his way to the stronghold in Mount Hiei, stringing the body up from a tree just beyond the sentries' range.
The dawn is gold over Kyoto by the time he returns to the Aoi-ya. Misao waits for him at the door, holding a cup of hot tea.
Is this, he wonders once again, what life will be like, should the Oniwabanshu take Kyoto as their client? Torture at midnight, and tea in the morning?
Her hands are warm when when he takes the tea from her. Only their fingertips touch.
Quick note: old-fashioned Japanese time-telling used the Chinese zodiac. They divided the day into twelve 120-minute hours and assigned them all a zodiac animal; it started around midnight with the rat and ended around 11PM with the pig.
For those who don't speak Japanese history beyond some basics, the Black Ships incident that Chou refers to, and which Okina remembers, was the arrival of Commodore Perry in Edo bay in 1853. (Aoshi would have been a year and a half old at the time, as he was born in January of 1852; Kenshin was about three.)
Speaking of the Ikedaya Affair, that's one of the Shinsengumi's great victories and is the thing that put them on the map in the civil war. (Sort of. Verification for a lot of it is… spotty.) According to the Shinsengumi, they invaded the Ikedaya, an inn that also served as a staging ground for Ishin Shishi forces, and discovered an insane plot to set fire to Kyoto in the course of their investigation. This plot was supposedly discovered via torture and was later denied by other high-ranking Ishin Shishi who were there, which makes the Shinsengumi's claims suspect, but it would have been accepted as fact in 1878.
As a fun little history note: Hijikata Toshizou, on whom Aoshi's character was based, was alleged to have extracted the vital confession by hanging a prisoner by his ankles, driving nails through his hands and feet, and then attaching lit candles to the spikes, so that wax dripped deep into his calves. (This is difficult to verify. He may well not have done this — but again, in 1878, it was accepted as fact.)
And, yes, Okina's actions in RK Chapter 88 were most likely a reference to that exact incident.