DISCLAIMER: All CLAMP stories were created by CLAMP. Characters have been adapted without authorization or approval, and I am making no profit from their use.

"Let the Games Begin" is the seventh story in my Pirates vs. Ninjas alternate universe, "Fifteen Mokona on a Dead Man's Chest". Reading the previous stories is not required. That said, if you would like to read the stories in order to take advantage of the continuity, details are on my profile page.

NOTE: The ghost story contained in this chapter contains noticeable moments of gore, and reference to child imprisonment and human sacrifice. If you are sensitive to these issues, you should proceed with caution.

[Wherever It Takes You]

He'd barely arrived at the stone-paved garden full of hyacinth and jasmine before he realized exactly why Princess Tomoyo had left him a note instructing him to report here, along with the purple-lapelled dress coat and knickers she'd made. Over his shoulder, Syaoran heard Sakura's voice, sweet as a bell in a room made for echoes, calling out, "T-Tomoyo! Where are we...?" His heart was in his throat by the time she got to asking, "...Syaoran?" The heat from his cheeks burned down to his shoes, like it'd melted his feet to the ground.

He knew, when he turned around, Sakura would be standing right there (which was good!), but also he knew the meaning of finding new dress jackets in his room with no warning. Jackets always showed up that way when Princess Tomoyo finished a dress for Sakura and he was supposed to take her somewhere, because Princess Tomoyo always made sure they matched. Which he didn't... mind. But it meant that, when he turned around, his Princess would be wearing something.

Of course, she was always wearing something... but... something special.

Syaoran shook his head to get the silly out, just in time for Sakura to duck in front of him. "Syaoran? Are you okay?"

"I... I... umm! ... Princess... You..." He could feel his face turning a red so bright, he was surprised the whole garden wasn't glowing with it. And Sakura was beautiful, covered with flowing scarlets and gold curlicues, and peach ruffles and ... and there were feathers, too. That were purple, he thought. Kind of. And she was beautiful. He tried to pull his voice out of the dry sand that was his throat. "H-hello."

"Do you need to lie down?"

"No, I... I'm. Hi. I'm fine."

"Okay!"

Her Imperial Highness, Princess Tomoyo clasped her hands under her throat. "I want everyone to be dazzled by Sakura-chan's entrance at the bonfire tonight, so while the rest of the competitors are there getting ready, why don't you two take your time out here? Syaoran-kun, you can practice escorting Sakura-chan up and down stairs. You both had intended to go walking in the garden, hadn't you? This seems like the perfect time!"

The first few times Syaoran moved his mouth, nothing came out, but finally he managed to hold out his arm and say, "Princess... I'd be honored." He thought his stomach might turn into bees and fly away when she took his elbow. She was wearing that smile. The smile that turned his throat into one big choke.

"Be on stage by the stroke of nine," Princess Tomoyo whispered. He couldn't see which way she'd gone when she disappeared. That really wasn't where he was looking. Somehow, he was walking, though. His legs moved and everything. He wasn't sure how that was possible.

"This sure is a clear night!" Sakura said. "The moon is just as pretty as I thought!" She squeezed his elbow, bouncing up on her toes to point at the sky. He looked down the line of her red-gloved finger with a gulp. The soft warmth of her hair was on his cheek, but even so he managed to hear every word she said. And he'd probably remember it for life. "Sometimes, I think about how the moon now is the same moon it was when I was young, that he looked down over everything I ever did. And I feel like, in my dreams, I can hear him whispering everything I used to know. One day, I'll wake up in the middle of that dream and ... I know I'll remember, then. I just know." Flashing him a grin without a hint of sadness (because she could never be any wistful kind of sad), she said, "And then I'll tell you all about it!"

He'd never, ever, contradict Princess Sakura's insistence that the moon was a boy. She could sense things about natural spirits. Her gift didn't present as strongly as Princess Tomoyo's but it was still a gift.

"I... look forward to that. Whether the moon tells you or not. And... tonight, the moon... I mean... You. You look... nice. Tonight."

"It's not too much embroidery? I told Tomoyo she didn't have to do so much, with everything that's going on and it just being a few days but... you like it?"

"I... li-" He clamped his mouth shut when she blinked, her eyes as green as sunlit summer fields. "I mean, I... I lo-" He shook his head. He couldn't. He might slip and say the wrong thing.

"Syaoran?"

"It's... that's a lovely color. And. On you. It's ... nice."

She clasped both his hands in hers. "You're not nervous about being on stage, are you? I know I am, but it's just like the shows Tomoyo does at home, right?"

"It's... not... that."

Somewhere, he heard someone stepping around a twig so they wouldn't break it. In a heartbeat, he'd swept Princess Sakura behind him against the nearest gazebo wall and had his sword out to the darkness. "Who's there?! Show yourself!"

In any other situation, he'd expect a single enemy to step into the light. Five separate people edging out of shadows with apologetic waves and walking away, two of them apparently long lost friends who hadn't met since some old mission and wanted to get a drink, left Syaoran less sure of how to react. Maybe he'd been too abrupt in pulling his sword? None of them seemed threatening, not even that damned Hiiragizawa jerk waving as he left. Putting his sword away as casually as he could, Syaoran offered his arm to his lady again.

"My apologies, Princess."

"It's okay! And you know, now that we're alone - actually, really alone, I mean - you can call me-"

"Don't count us out just yet!" rang a voice from a nearby bush. As startled as could be, Syaoran watched a black-haired stick of a man and a brown-haired man who was rolling his eyes emerge from the branches. A purple cape fluttered off the dark-haired man's shoulders, the only pale things on him being his skin and the Civic armband he wore. He pointed at Syaoran's nose, fingers splayed wide, until Syaoran wondered if he should have kept his sword out after all. The man didn't give off any air of wanting to do more than scoff, though. And scoff he did. "We will learn your secrets, and we will defeat you!"

"Huh?" Sakura asked, beating him to words by a mile.

The brown-haired man grabbed his companion by the shoulders. "What he means is, we tracked you here thinking you were having a meeting about the Cooking Contest tomorrow because we're your opponents, but since that's clearly not what you're doing, we're leaving now. Come on, Lulu."

"Suzaku, we are not leaving until-"

"We're leaving. Let's go." While pushing his friend toward the town, the one named Suzaku offered them a grimace. "Sorry about him."

"I will not be moved!"

"Fine. Then I'll just tell Milly you can't join her and the gang in the hot tub because you needed to brood in the gardens. I'm sure she won't show up wearing nothing but a towel to bring the party to you. And maybe those sketches of you modeling her Fall/Winter-"

"On second thought, it's just a Cooking Contest. How could we possibly fail?" The one whom Syaoran now assumed was Lelouch vi Brittania (or Lamperouge, as he was apparently calling himself here to "stay anonymous", and not impressing Syaoran much with his skills at it) gave them a purple-eyed glare, then huffed away. "We'll see you tomorrow at the Coliseum!"

Princess Sakura waved after them. "We look forward to it! Nice to meet you!"

So much for the walk under the moon he'd imagined he'd take with Princess Sakura, when he could imagine it at all without going completely blank. In his dreams, there had always been no one but the two of them, and time went on forever. He'd look into her eyes. He'd get lost like he always did, but in his dreams he never had to pull away. In real life, he clearly couldn't trust any place to be free of prying eyes. And... even if the Princess hadn't had that something about her, where she got under his skin and melted his brains so he had to pull away or he'd be useless - he'd still have to pull away. This week had been full of reminders that old promises wouldn't let him love her, not that Meiling was the only reason. He'd probably die if Sakura found out how he felt, and decided she couldn't talk to him again because of it. How could he stand losing the best friend he had?

As he watched the Civic ninja disappear, he cast an eye at the rest of the bushes for anyone who might still be watching. There was no one; at least, no one he could spot. Thank goodness, the thought, scraping his toe on the ground while he turned back to wondering if he could ever give up wanting to feel Sakura's warmth in his-

His arms. Crap.

While they'd been talking - while he'd been defending her - somehow... His arms. Her waist. She was right there, and her head was on his shoulder and her breath was on his neck, and he definitely couldn't move, and for a second he wasn't sure if-

He couldn't remember what he wasn't sure about. She looked so happy, with a little curl of a smile on her lips as she laughed into his coat. It felt nice to hold her. Almost natural, just for a moment. Then, as if she'd just realized the position they were in, the Princess jolted up from his shoulder, meeting him wide-eyed gaze to gaze. They both jumped back about two feet, and he knew the shy way she clasped her hands behind her back the same way he knew the sun coming over the horizon in the morning.

"They seemed interesting!" his princess laughed.

"I don't like the look of them."

Sakura laughed at that too. She always told him he was too suspicious, just like he told her she wasn't suspicious enough sometimes. They said it so much, they didn't actually have to say it anymore. So he'd been about to skip straight to why that was a very valid opinion... but the words left him when she reached out, looking down at her hands covered in red silk while he couldn't take his eyes off the curve where her shoulders met the bows on top of her opera gloves. All her court etiquette lessons hadn't broken her habit of scrunching her shoulders around her ears when she was nervous, and he hoped they never did. He loved how honest every move she made was.

Her hands wrapped around his. This was it. His heart was going to use up all of its beats at once and he was going to die right here. Of course, he thought that every time they were alone together. He should have known it wouldn't happen, but it always seemed so likely.

"So, Syaoran. We could... still practice stairs. While there's time. If that's okay?"

"Princess..."

She frowned that frown, the one with eyes that said she'd never lose, or give up, and the mouth that made a hard pout he could almost tas-

No. No he couldn't. He couldn't ever.

"Sa. Ku. Ra," she told him.

That was the one thing he couldn't say, any more than he could say how special she was to him. She could be so at ease with him now, when they were two people who'd grown up together. He could feel himself blushing like a tomato, and wished he knew how much time he'd lost staring at her. Did they even have time left? What if the bells had already rung? And she wasn't worried at all. He could ruin all of that by saying the wrong thing. Or letting her hear the wrong thing in his voice when he said her name. At least, that's what he told himself when his tongue turned to sawdust every time he tried.

"We... did you want to-" He gulped down the rest of the words that wouldn't come out right anyway and held out his arm again. He was going to do this right if it killed him.

She clasped his arm again. "... Yeah," she said, her voice trembling just a little.

Stairs. He could do stairs.

He'd walked up a thousand flights of stairs as her escort. It never became less thrilling to see... her. She did what she called the 'long-and-fancy dress walk' up the stairs, pinching up her skirts neatly and stepping like a dancer in line on the stairs like Princess Tomoyo had taught her, not running the way she did on any normal day. She could do it without her mouth clamping into a driven line, most of the time. Only once did he have to cough into his hand to tell her she had her concentration face on. She snapped out of it with a blink and a smile two steps below the end of the flight they were on. And... somehow, when they'd reached the top, he'd ended up pulling her into position for a dance when he'd taken her hand.

That... hadn't been intentional, and she looked as confused as he felt. But it was as if he could hear some voice whispering, "Ask if you can kiss her!" over the plucked notes of a waltz.

Was he imagining things?

"Syaoran... do you hear... music?"

"Huh?"

"And I guess the feathers have been because of Kamui-san, but we don't know anybody who makes rose petals, right?"

He looked over Sakura's head. Just like she'd said, there were rose petals falling everywhere. And if Sakura could hear the music as well, that meant he wasn't imagining it. Only one person could be doing this. He was so sure of that, all he could do was stare at his feet and bite his lip. He'd been had, without a doubt. Sakura had noticed, and he'd been too caught up in his daydreams to see what was around them. It was like Kurogane always said: a ninja can't afford to be in love with someone they've sworn to protect. Of course, the chimes chose that moment to ring, signaling quarter to the hour.

"Oh no! The contest!" Sakura gasped as she charged toward the bonfire's glow, more than able to sprint despite her high heels. Syaoran stayed just a moment more.

"Imonoyama-san, if I may?"

The Chairman of Kragero University, their host for the week, stepped out from the shadow of the gazebo, Takamura and Ijyuin behind him as always. "Of course, Li-san. I had imagined you'd want to discuss something."

"That was low."

"I assure you, no disrespect was intended."

"You invaded our privacy. We may be ninja, but you-"

The truly unsettlingly pretty man raised both hands to signal peace. His smile was so blinding and his manner so... theatrically proper, Syaoran was befuddled beyond words. And some hint of light seemed to be coming from behind Ijyuin, as if permanent daylight followed Kragero's inseparable Board of Directors no matter the time of day. Of course, given Imonoyama's habits, that could be hidden lighting in the garden turned on to satisfy his sense of drama. "I must apologize for that, of course. Unfortunately, my desire to understand the Princess's suffering overwhelmed my sense of decorum. But now it's clear her pain is something I cannot cure: the trouble in her heart is a matter for the two of you."

"I..." He wasn't sure what to make of Imonoyama-san's drive to help women in pain, except that helping people had seemed all very well and good until someone had shown up out of the blue to claim that Sakura, his Sakura whose life and happiness he'd defend to his last breath if he had to, but who always made it clear that he never would have to because she'd always be all right - that Sakura had some kind of heartache that wouldn't simply melt away. But the other thing he'd heard was that Imonoyama Nokoru was never wrong when it came to the heart of a lady. Ever. "What can I do?" Syaoran asked.

The Chairman handed him a rose corsage the same color as the purple Princess Tomoyo had put on both his suit and the trim on Princess Sakura's dress. "You can listen when she tells you what would make her happy. Now, I have a bonfire to attend, and I believe you do as well. Farewell, Li-san. Please give my best regards to your Princess." And with that, the three of them stepped back into a shadow, and probably down into a secret passage that would take them to the festivities.

Which he himself did need to attend, and meant to. And if he flicker-stepped instead of running, he stood a chance of catching up with Sakura so he could give her the rose corsage before she reached the stands.

~/~

The bonfire with the beauty contest finals were always better than the other bonfires, Hikaru thought. Not just the twelve hot people got dressed up! Half the people in the audience wore something fancy, too, like Presea-san and Sierra-san in their best dresses and bangles as they chatted with Clef-san in his robes, or Chun Hyang-chan from Xinan dressing up to match her mother. It gave the whole crowd an extra special party feel.

She, Umi-chan, and Fuu-chan were all in their dress armor to support Lantis, of course. Even though they'd tried to tell him he'd do better if he wore something flashier, he'd decided to go with his old black and silver armor like always. It was okay. Hikaru liked him in his armor even if the judges never did.

She hopped on a bench to hug him. "You look great," she whispered through a nuzzle under his ear. They couldn't really cuddle with six inches of plate armor between his chestplate and the bronze wings on her shoulders - it was hard enough to hug without metal screeches - but she could see a hint of a smile in his cheek.

"Well, Lantis always looks ravishing," Eagle cut in, goosing them both at once despite the armor. Her extra large boyfriend glared at their skinnier boyfriend, as usual. "It's that parsimony of expression! It keeps his skin young and elastic! No fine lines around the mouth or eyes..."

As they laughed, Watanuki-sempai, who was never parsimonious with any kind of expression, drowned out every other noise around the fire. He was spiraling around the stage, showing Maru and Moro how to prop up Lady Yuuko's three chair's-worth of bustle and train so it didn't wrinkle, and yelling at Doumeki-san with every turn he could spare. "Did it ever cross your mind that going to the drinking contest might be out of step with my plans for the night? Hmm?! Of course it didn't. When did you even ask what I wanted out of this ... this situation?!"

The pirate shrugged at him. "If you don't want to go, don't go."

"And when exactly did I say I was talking about me, you idiot?! - Not under the wheels," he hissed at Maru and Moro while Lady Yuuko cackled behind her fan. "Think of the stains! Use the pillows, the pillows! - Now, where was I?"

"Not drinking?"

"Exactly! I will thank you to spend at least one night of this festival not out drinking with my boss! What kind of visits to see your lover do you pirates think are appropriate?! Not even going back early to spend the evening in bed once... Honestly, I don't know how I-!"

"Hey," Captain Doumeki said, opening his eyes almost all the way for a second. Hikaru giggled at the sight of him nearly smiling almost as much as she giggled at Lantis elbowing Eagle and clapping a hand over his mouth before he could whistle.

Watanuki-sempai just about jumped out of his skin. "My name is not, 'Hey'! And what's that look for? Stop it. It's horrifying."

"Are you saying you want me to go back to the room with you?"

"Of course that's what I'm saying! Are you deaf now as well as delinquent?! I should hope that's not too much to ask of my boyf- Well, not my boyfriend but certainly my sig-"

Cutting him off with a kiss that looked like both of them had forgotten how embarrassed Watanuki-sempai got when people accused him of dating a pirate, the man who was definitely a pirate murmured, "I'm fine with it."

"Well, then, what in hell were you waiting for?!"

"That," Doumeki-san answered, then threw Watanuki-sempai right over his shoulder and jumped off the stage to walk away without so much as a nod to Lady Yuuko to ask permission. It looked like he wasn't wasting any time!

Watanuki-sempai flailed away at the cheering crowd, batting at them with the pirate's feathered hat. "This is not a public display of affection! Mind your own business," he grumbled. "Shoo! Shoo!" Hikaru would've been clapping herself if she hadn't known how much Watanuki-sempai hated the attention, but she was sure Doumeki-san would make it up to him when they got back to the dorm. Meanwhile, she gave Lantis and Eagle each a peck on the cheek while they shined their fingerprints off of Lantis's armor plates and draped his cape.

"Everyone looks fabulous!" she squealed, taking another look around the crowd as more competitors showed up. "I don't know how I'd pick if I were judging!"

Resettling her armor-spiked tiara on her head, Eagle laughed, "You ought to be concentrating on your own performance, hot stuff. You go on stage to tell your ghost story before Lantis goes up to be radiant for his public. Doesn't she, Mr. Beauty King?"

Lantis stared at Eagle in his, 'Why do I like you?' way, then nodded at Hikaru and tilted his head to the East. And who was walking in but Kamui-san, leading the Impala crowd with Sayaka-san, dressed up in the cutest pink tuxedo!

He'd actually shown up! "You owe me ice cream," she told Umi-chan, who was staring at the Impala group blinking her gorgeous blue eyes.

Umi-chan fanned herself with a smirk. "If he's going to strip on stage again, I think I'll need some ice cream."

"You don't think the pink washes him out?" Fuu-chan asked. "The black and purple he usually wears brings out his eyes so much better."

But Hikaru didn't stay long enough to debate that. She jumped off her hugging-Lantis bench and broke into a sprint, crowds falling back to avoid her cubit-long bronze wingplates. For the last six yards, she bounded at her friend in a flying leap. "Kamui-san!"

He executed a quick turn, to exactly the right angle for her to hit his shoulder and spin onto his back. His feet were perfectly braced to absorb the impact, too. Kamui-san didn't even wobble, where most people couldn't take her glomps without falling down. Even Eagle couldn't do that all the time, so it wasn't just a sea legs thing. He must've trained in anti-glomping techniques for years!

He was still scowling, though. "Don't fly at people when you're covered in armor!"

"That was for avoiding me before! But yay! I finally get to see you and say hi!"

Sayaka-san held out a hand, which Hikaru shook from over Kamui-san's shoulder. "It's an honor to meet the Shidou Hikaru of Hundhammeren. I've heard so much about you."

"Just Hikaru is fine!"

"And I'm Okiura Sayaka. It's really a pleasure. But would you mind giving me Kamui-san for just another moment? There's something not quite right about this tuxedo..."

Hikaru dropped off Kamui-san's back, looking over the pink suit. From up close, she could admire even more the super cute wings embroidered on the back, and how all of it seemed perfectly tailored for a garment that Kamui-san wouldn't have been caught dead owning. The shoulders seemed to fit right, the cuffs hit the right part of his hands and the pants broke properly on his shoes. Even the waist came in nicely, and Kamui-san's torso was pretty short compared to his legs, so that detail couldn't have been off the rack. Still, Sayaka-san was right. Something wasn't perfect enough.

"Allow me," a new lady's voice cut in. Behind Sayaka-san, Hibiya Chitose had shown up wearing yards and yards of iridescent purple flowing off a corseted bodice that made her cleavage lookamazing, plus an absolutely adorable riding hat and veil to match. "Shirou, untie that bow tie, unbutton your two top buttons, and put this on, won't you?" She was holding a vinyl strap with a complicated looking buckle that Kamui-san grabbed with a growl. "I won't have you stand in for Sayaka-chan looking like somebody's last-minute usher. I intend to beat you fairly."

He buckled the vinyl choker thing around his neck, which - between that and the bowtie hanging all disheveled around his open collar - Hikaru had to admit really set off his collarbones, and added some pop back into his face. Maybe Fuu-chan had been right about the pink washing him out? Or maybe it was just that Kamui-san was looking angry again instead of resigned and befuddled. "Just so we're clear, I'm doing this for her, not you."

"Nothing could make me happier, Shirou. Here, why don't you swap this harness for that cummerbund, and you can put these on your-"

"I know how to wear straps! Do you think this is my first time in fetish- You know, don't answer that," he muttered at the crowd of faces gathering around him, all of them getting more blushy and starry-eyed as he got all the leather and buckles in place. Hibiya had been dead right about what would look good on him.

"This must happen to you a lot!" Hikaru said with a grin.

"Only every time Fai puts on a magic show, or Sorata starts a game of Truth or-" He coughed back his sentence midway. "Wait. I mean, what makes you say that?"

"Well, you got that harness on without taking off your jacket! Even I can't do that."

While Kamui blinked at the leather decorating the tuxedo that now looked much more his style, the two ladies dressing him kept debating what they were going to do about how washed out he looked. Which, to be fair, he looked like he hadn't slept in days, and Hikaru got the feeling from the way he rubbed his temples that he actually hadn't.

"Sayaka, do you have eye pencil? I've only got liquid liner on me, and Shirou here would really look better with a more smudgy style."

"Oh, of course! Are you thinking a smoky eye, or more of a-"

"Give me that!" Kamui growled, lifting the pencil from Sayaka-san's hand. He whipped the compass Hikaru remembered from their last adventure out of nowhere (she'd known he'd be good at ninja techniques if he tried!) and used the mirror in the lid so he could line his eyes and blend well enough that even Chitose-san looked impressed.

This definitely looked more like Kamui-san had to look! "One more thing," Hikaru said, and ruffled her friend's hair. He glared, naturally, because when he was awake he always glared as long as she'd known him (and two weeks was as long as you had to know anybody, really). "Your hair was wilted," she told him. "I fixed it for you!"

"I didn't ask for anybody's help."

"That's why we're friends!"

Kamui-san got three long blinks in, which wasn't enough for him to figure out what to do with that (hint: admit he'd been got) before the nine o'clock bell chimed. Malvek's Princess Sakura appeared on the nobles' seating platform looking every inch the glamorous royal with her embroidered red gown and her boytoy on her arm, seeming to double the light at the bonfire with her entrance. Definitely, she got her share of oohs and aahs. Although Hikaru had to wonder why she didn't ever use the traditional style, Her Imperial Highness the Spring of Havoc's Cry, like rare third princesses or princes did when they sat in the thrones of Malvek with Her Imperial Majesty Whose Divine Eminence Blazes from Heaven and Her Imperial Highness Who Gazes Upon the Moon. The Imperial family had never formally adopted her, but it had to be just a formality at this point, right? Princess Tomoyo seemed pretty set on making her part of the family whether she'd been born to it or not.

But oh well. There were other things to worry about now. Announcer-san had taken the stage up at the front of the bonfire.

"Welcome, all, to the fourth night of our Ghost Story Contest! I hope you're ready. We have some treats in store for you tonight. First to share his tale with us tonight: Hiiragizawa Eriol of England, telling that perennial classic, 'The Demon and the Phantom Cats'!"

Hikaru froze. That couldn't be right. 'The Demon and the Phantom Cats' was her story. Announcer-san must've gotten the cards mixed up! But it didn't look like Hiiragizawa-san, calmly lighting his candle and holding it where the wax wouldn't drip on his navy tailcoat, had any tale in mind except the one that'd been announced.

The crowd around them settled into their seats with their marshmallows and their significant others. Hikaru knew that from sound and memory because her eyes were locked on the stage, where Hiiragizawa-san was smirking directly at her. He knew he was stealing her story. He'd done this on purpose, she was sure of it, but she settled into a seat next to Kamui-san without making a scene. If she couldn't beat a cheater, what was the point? She wasn't going to ruin her first year actually qualifying for the ghost story contest by calling foul on the most foul-ing-est ninja in the history of ever. She'd just have to be better than him!

"Once upon a time, deep in the darkest reaches of Hell," he began, his grin made perfectly creepy by the light of the candle, "the young demon Kouryuu heard the pitter-patter of footsteps running down the hall, right where they shouldn't have been..."

Every word out of his mouth, Hikaru felt her jaw clench tighter, and her hands stuck in fists on her knees. She didn't have to see anyone's faces to know the whole audience had been sucked in by his performance. She could feel the change in the air, could sense everyone leaning closer to the stage when he softened his voice ever so slightly. And even for a story as well-worn as this one, he still got a gasp echoing around the fire when he did Kouryuu's voice asking, "Did I just see something running up the stairs?!"

"What's wrong?" Kamui-san whispered. He wasn't paying any attention to the marshmallow he was roasting over the coal brazier (they couldn't all be right next to the bonfire), but then again no glowing coals would cook a marshmallow as much as Kamui-san liked.

She gave him a half-smile, or tried to despite Hiiragizawa-san's mastery of the situation. "I think he just beat me, is all, and I haven't even gotten on stage yet."

"Who are you, and what did you do with Hikaru? Two weeks ago, you were more optimistic about getting found on a frozen island in the middle of nowhere while tracking an artifact that wasn't supposed to exist. He's just telling a ghost story."

"He's telling my ghost story, not the one he auditioned with," she clarified, "And he's doing it better than me."

Kamui-san looked at the stage with so much disgust, it seemed to stir up a wind around him just to ruffle his hair. "This 'cheating is fair play' thing you people do is bullshit. Am I allowed to kill him?" Hikaru very nearly giggled.

"Better not. He's Lady Yuuko's friend. But I've got five minutes to decide if I take my chances on telling the same story, or if there's another one I can pull off without rehearsing."

"You've got to know another good ghost story."

"Not one people here haven't heard ten million times."

Pursing his lips at the browning marshmallows on his skewer, Kamui-san loaded a second skewer and passed it to her to hide his hands shaking. "You know one."

"Not..."

"Can you not make me say it?"

"But are you sure it's all right? That's not, like... classified intelligence or anything?"

"Pirates don't need secrets. That's your guys' vocation."

She reached down and poked his marshmallows with a smile, all three of them bursting into flame to get nice and crackly on the outside.

"Thanks," he muttered. "I would have gotten it eventually, though."

"Uh-huh."

She had just enough time to eat a perfect s'more before Hiiragizawa-san said, "So... Kouryuu gave up searching for the cats in the house, and ran to the demon prince Kokuyou for help... only to find that Hari and Ruri had been in his throne room the whole time." The audience burst into applause.

Now it was her turn. She'd show him for messing with her! Zipping to the stage, she took a candle and lit it with a puff of breath. Announcer-san quieted the clapping crowds. Hikaru tried to still the nervous butterflies in her stomach.

"All right, everyone! Thank you, Hiiragizawa-san, for that wonderful retelling. And now one of our neighbors from Hundhammeren, Shidou Hikaru, is here to terrify you with 'The D-'..."

He caught his tongue. She waved to the crowd with her brightest smile before he could get around to asking why the title was the same as the last story. "Hello! I'm Hikaru! It's nice to meet you all. There was a mistake on the card, so it has the wrong story name on it. I'm actually going to tell you a true story I heard about a pirate ship, a few weeks ago when I was on a mission with Kamui-san... Oh right! People call him Death Shirou! But his friends call him Kamui."

Murmurs raced around the audience. Jackpot.

"Say hi, Kamui-san!" she sang out, waving to him in the crowd.

He sighed, but still put up his hand while he glared at her. "Just tell the story, would you?"

Over with the Kragero people, Kentarou-san jumped into Takeshi-san's lap, gripping his boyfriend by the neck. "I handed a bucket to Death Shirou?!"

"Sit the fuck down and listen, would you?"

"That sounds like quite a story you've got for us, Shidou-san," said Announcer-san, quieting the audience again - all of whom were now paying complete attention. "Shall we begin?"

She lowered the candle to where it lit up her whole face without blocking the audience's view. "Well, you see... it all started when a volcano shot us around the world to a tiny, deserted island, just far enough South to freeze your skin but not your blood. The volcano isn't the part that matters, though. It was the ship sailing off the Eastern shore. Glowing blue in the night, with all her sails in tatters, and a figure of a winged lady on the prow - her head severed clean at the neck." She made a slice with a finger across her own throat, and saw Eagle's face turn bloodless. He dropped his s'more, too, but luckily Lantis caught it for him. "And what should Kamui-san say to me but, 'It's the Clover Belle. The actual fu-' ...Well, Kamui-san used the f-word, but you get the idea. It was the very Clover Belle people say has sailed for five hundred years, and now I'm sure it's true. So Kamui-san said, 'The one in blue'll be the Captain, Mihara Oujirou,' which of course we've all heard. Who doesn't know how Oujirou left Fahren in the Clover Belle after he lost the love of Princess Shuuko to his brother, the swordsmith Mihara Ichirou? But everything Kamui-san told me next... well, that I'd never heard before."

She took a deep, deep breath, and tried to remember exactly what he'd said back on that beach and everything she'd learned since. But mostly what he'd said, right down to the tiny tremors in his voice.

~/~

This isn't the story of how the Clover Belle was trapped by a demon and forced to sail the seas for eternity in the tempest where she should have capsized. No one really knows how that happened but the crew on board, and no one's had a chance to speak to them. And when I say no one's had the chance to speak to them, I really mean that. They were totally busy battling the demon and stuff when I saw them, and it seems like that's how it always is, so when would you have time to ask and get an answer?

No. This is the story of when the pirate nation of Lifan became the first to catch sight of the Clover Belle after she and her crew were cursed, and of everything that happened after.

It was a calm and sunny day in Xinyi, a little town off Ransu Harbor in the north, when all at once the seabirds flew inland, screaming like a cloud of imps. Storm winds blew fast enough behind them to bestir the feathers of the ones who couldn't keep up. The seas turned black without a moment's warning, the waves churned high enough to swallow buildings whole. The winds whipped like razors on the skin, and the people heard the clanging bells from the watch tower to say a foreign ship had been sighted on the sea.

Yet, the villagers noticed as they huddled inland, no one who they knew lived on the harbor shore had come to join them. More odd still, the watch tower bell stopped ringing without any ship putting into port to save itself from the waves. Like all storms, it passed in time. This storm passed with heavy clouds breaking to the clear, inky black of a moonless night. The lanterns in their hands were the only glow to light their paths. But what they found when they went searching befuddled them, almost as it shrunk their hearts with fear.

First along the seaside road, they found an old fisherman, his hands torn and raw as if he'd been tied to a post with rope, but neither post nor rope to be found. His back had been flayed open with a whip, his blood staining the sand in red arcs all around. But not fresh blood, nor fresh wounds. It looked as if he'd baked three days in the sun despite everyone remembering how they'd greeted him, alive and whole, that morning, not a lashmark to be seen. Sixty strokes if it was ten, one woman whispered at the mass of lines on his back - sixty strokes of the lash, just the punishment for a mutineer, as a brand on his back marked him to be (though the brand, it must be mentioned, was as bloody as the whip tracks, and none had seen it on him before).

They rolled him over and covered his eyes, leaving three people to pray for his soul while the rest continued to the watch tower. Halfway along, what did they find but the boat builder, lying dead among his half-made frames and wooden planks? But he hadn't been whipped to death. Oh no. He was covered in the bites of one hundred snakes. Seeping holes pocked the thickness of his bloated, darkened, poisoned skin. The boat builder's eyes were open, his mouth contorted with terror, and the color he'd turned was like a corpse left out for a week, even though the shavings on the ground from his work were barely hours old.

Once again, they laid him out, and they straightened his limbs, and they laid a handkerchief over his eyes, leaving three more of their number to pray over his corpse. The villagers willing to go on, who didn't run to their homes to light candles and bolt the doors, carried on towards the watchtower. Here, everything was soaked from the storm. The high tide line went far past the beach. Flotsam lay scattered over the sand. Even at the very top of the watchtower, seaweed hung on the roof like groping hands trying to slink through the open windows. The inside was utterly dark.

"Ahoy the tower!" their leader called out. "Ahoy, can you hear me?"

But no one answered.

They climbed up the first flight of stairs, listening for any sound at all. "Ahoy the tower! Ahoy, do you live?!"

But no one answered.

Holding their breaths as one, the five bravest men and women, all who dared scale the steps, waited outside the door. Even though the sun had come back, everything smelled of wood drenched with seawater, and the inside of the watchtower was too dark to see anything. They knocked as loud as they dared. "Ahoy the tower! Make some noise if you hear us!"

But no one answered at all.

They opened the door, its hinges creaking like the sighs of an ancient hull in the deepest seas. The first man to tiptoe past the threshold struck a match to light the lantern, but the wick was too damp for the flame to take. The sunlight trickled into the shadows, as if it feared to step inside as much as the people did. Inch by inch, it showed the five villagers what had become of the watchman in the tower.

The floor was streaked in red blood - drip, drip, dripping from the stumps of his hips. His legs had been torn from his body, you see, and chewed to bones besides. All up his back were the marks of claws laying open his coat, scraping down to his ribs. It would've taken an animal six feet high if he were an inch to make claw marks that size, but there were no tracks in the blood on the floor, and certainly none below. The watchman had died screaming, it seemed, at least what they could tell from the mottled, decaying remains of his corpse whose blood denied the months it seemed to have moldered. No amount of salt brine could blow the stink away. His hand was planted on the desk under his telescope, as though he'd been keeping it closed even as he'd been torn apart. He'd been pushing down on the desk lid with the last of his strength, bracing the stumps of his legs against the floor.

As the four strongest villagers bore his body down the steps, the last of the five stayed behind to lift the desk lid marked by the watchman's bloody handprint. Inside was a single sheet of paper, new enough that the ink had smudged ever so slightly when the watchman had slammed it inside the desk - to protect it, now it seemed. His brushstrokes showed a ship upon the stormy waves, with three masts and storm-shredded sails, locked in battle with a roiling black cloud. All the crew had fallen on the decks, save the captain at the wheel. In the lowest corner of the page, the watchman had drawn the flag on her mast in detail: a four-leaf clover over two crossed bones. This, the people said, was the mystery ship, and to be sure an ill wind had blown it to their shore.

Back on the beach, with six people praying over the watchman's severed corpse, just to be safe, the village leaders argued between themselves what to do - what could be done. Should they simply bury their dead and go about their lives? Seek out a priest from the capital to rid their town of haunts? Perhaps spread warnings throughout neighboring villages, should they stand any chance of reaching them in time. No wall, they knew, could keep the sea storms out, and even if it could, the sea was their livelihood.

It was then a bottle drifted on shore, corked and sealed with wax, with a torn sheet of paper curled inside. The note inside the bottle had been written with a rushed hand. Drops of ink staining the corners, but the text itself was clear:

Step not in the tide
That summons specters from dreams
Till the lady's song
Summons the cursed ones home
And quiets the demon's storm.

And it was signed, "Mihara Oujirou, Captain, the Clover Belle".

Well, the man holding the bottle dropped it then and there, drying his hands on his sleeves, looking over his shoulder for whatever might attack him. But the calm sea did him no harm. It was only in the stormy waters when you could see the ship herself that those who touched it were cursed.

Fast as the villagers could go, they formed a party to take the picture and the note to the Wizards' Council in Guodu. They packed their bags with food and water for the long overground route, none of them wishing to risk the seas just then. It wasn't long before they learned their village was far from the only one to see the ship. Along the way, they met other villagers who, like them, had tales of gruesome deaths as soon as someone touched the water. One girl had seen her father burned to ash when his toe had touched the tide. She had even seen the fearsome beheaded lady on the prow, looking just as it had in the watchman's picture.

By the time they reached the Citadel, their number was one hundred strong, and the Wizards could hardly refuse to see them. "What news?" the First Among Five asked the throng. "What drags you over land to come before us with your shoes in tatters?"

At first, the Wizards could hardly believe the tale these villagers spun. A mirage, surely, had deceived them! But one among the Wizards could read the truth from objects he touched. The instant he laid his hands on the picture and on the Captain's note, he cried from the horror of what he saw. A demon had indeed taken the boat hostage. She would sail forever, battling her otherworldly foe, and all who touched the water within the power of the demon's storm would die by the stroke of their worst nightmare.

The Council granted each village five gold coins as reward to help them rebuild, taking the picture and note into their own safekeeping. They agreed to keep watch for this ship over the next week, to see if it would leave their waters, or if some action could be taken to make the waves safe to sail once again. As that week turned into a month, and the bodies of those who wouldn't heed the warnings piled higher, it seemed as though nothing could be done by mortal hands. Whenever the ship peeked over the horizon, no one was safe. All trade to and from Lifan shut down. All her harbors were closed and her boats beached on dry shores, lest the cursed waters stick to the ships.

It was then a family brought their young sons before the Council, triplets of somber countenance barely past the age of ten. So the mother said, they'd been speaking to the ghost of Mihara Oujirou, who had asked them to come to the abandoned dock. They, who could hear his voice, the Captain had said, might be able to end the curse. News like that thrilled the people, but the Wizards were more cautious. Could the family's words be trusted, they wondered? They decided to take the boys to the dock under guard, to test what might happen. But the seas that always seemed on the verge of tempest since the ship had appeared didn't grow calm when the boys stood forth, and the dark clouds didn't clear. Instead, the ship drew nearer the land than it had ever come before - near enough to see blue sparks flying off the mast where the storm clouds appeared to grapple with the ship like hands.

"The ship is coming for them!" their mother cried, and the legion of guards pulled them clear of the dock. Only when they were on solid ground did the Clover Belle turn away to head back to the deeps.

From that day on, the children were forbidden to go near the docks, but like creatures possessed they tried again and again, always struggling more fiercely. And as if the ghost ship had imbued them with terrible powers, they learned to draw weapons and tools from nothingness to fight their way to the docks. Now, this wasn't the same as the nothingness where we ninja hold things we've prepared. It was creation, like an inborn magic. I've seen them do it.

But the people of Guodu couldn't stop them any longer. It took the studied magic of all five Wizards together to bring the boys to heel. At last, their mother begged the Wizards to take the boys' memories away, in the hopes that clearing every trace from their minds would break the hold the ship had on them. So the Council did as she asked, wiping the boys' minds clean of all they'd known, including their names, and marking them with a three-leaf clover so that all who saw them would know that these were the three who should never be told of the ghost ship.

The very next night, however, the boys broke free of their chambers, climbing out the window to the street below. The last thing their mother said she saw was the shimmering figure of a man in blue, scowling at her as he stood between her and the window. She couldn't run through him, that apparition of Mihara Oujirou himself. She couldn't call down to the street without going to the window. By the time she ran out her front door to beg someone, anyone, to stop her children, she couldn't find anyone to stop. The boys had disappeared.

People say the three boys appeared on the docks in a swirl of metal and light. Perhaps it's true, perhaps it's not. What no one can question is that the Clover Belle rode close to land again that night, and the waves towered higher than the tallest parapet on the Citadel.

The number of people who died in that storm is lost to memory, but the water's spray didn't harm the children, only the guards who came close enough to grab them. With all the strength of magic the Wizards could muster, they built a shield to hold back the water, slowly approaching the children, but they came too late. One of the boys saw them, took his brothers' hands, and dove into the water. The ship was close enough that, when they reached the Clover Belle, anyone with a telescope could see them clamber onto the empty decks to use their magic against the dark cloud haunting the ship. Somehow, people thought, they'd come through the water safely.

But while the people held their breaths, they saw one of the boys slit another's throat, then saw the third back away from the first boy's knife along the length of the bowsprit. With conviction in his eyes, he jumped from the prow to the choppy seas, and though the Captain cast a rope overboard, winds hauled the ship past the horizon. No one could hope that he'd lived. The next day, however, the skies had turned blue, and the people saw their first fair wind in what felt like an age.

That wind lasted five years, even as the country hoped with a mother's tears that it would last forever. But five years was all they had before the Clover Belle came back over the horizon, and that wasn't all that came back. When the Wizards called for the painting made by the watchman in Xinyi, they found the painting was not as they had left it. The bodies of Oujirou's former crew were gone. Now, the three boys who swam to the ship had taken their place, caught there in the acts of murder and sacrifice. And indeed, when the ship came within reach of a spyglass's sight, that was the very thing they saw. The horrors of five years before repeated before their eyes. All at court and across the countryside asked themselves, what price will the ship demand this time?

The price, they learned before the week was out, was a girl. Her name was Suu. She told me so herself. The people of Lifan heard of her first when she ran unthinking ran through a second-story window after the apparition of the Clover Belle's captain. She might have died but for the the metal wings she summoned to her back, to land gently on the ground like the birds she so loved to watch.

As much as her family might have wished to hide her, there was no chance. The Wizards called her in, and had her marked with a four-leaf clover. No simple room would hold her, so they locked her in a cage where she gazed forever at the sea while the Council decided what to do. Would they lock her away forever, to keep the cursed ship from coming nearer? Or send her to certain death for a few more years of peace? Perhaps even a lifetime, if her sacrifice to the ship's song would break the curse.

No reason to play coy. As they walked her out to the pier, one of the guards asked her why she was so calm when the three boys before had turned so violent.

"Because I could hear them all talking," Suu answered. "The Wizards, the townspeople, the villagers, the Captain. I could hear them all, and I knew they'd bring me here."

"But aren't you worried? You could die of that curse, like all the others."

"I'd rather die out here than wait, forever alone."

When the ship came, as they knew it would, she lit into the air on her metal wings before the waves could reach the shore, flying over and around the spray, diving straight into the battle with the three boys and the Captain. When the ship left once more, sure enough the girl's picture had found its way into the painting made by the watchman years before. And from then on, whether a few years had passed, or a few decades, when the Clover Belle came back over Lifan's horizon, five hundred years of Wizards' Councils have kept a sharp eye for the children they call "Clovers". And every few years, or every few decades, the people of Lifan boxed the Clover child into a wooden cage they could float into the harbor, so the ship could collect its tribute without approaching their shores. Whether the child begged or fought for the right to stand on the dock, or whether they simply cried for freedom, they did it all the same.

Though you may have guessed from how I began this story that the Clover Belle now charts lands far from Lifan's shores. Some say that's because of the very last Clover. The last Clover, and the first since Suu to be held on shore long enough for true powers to take hold. Old Toujou, lately First of Five on the Wizard's Council, was little Kazuki's grandfather, you see. He knew there was no way to hold off the sacrifice forever, but each time he asked for just one more day, the other Wizards agreed. Thus, Kazuki stayed in the cage, like Suu - alone, with only Old Toujou's conversations for company - for all of ten years, and Toujou's visits grew fewer and fewer as his grandchild sank into silence.

At last, the Council said it had been long enough. Enough people had died. The child would be marked and sent to the sea. There were no conversations with guards this time, only a wooden box carried out to the dock. People wondered if Old Toujou would beg one more time before the tiny craft went out to brave the waters, but he held himself as stone. No, it was the Clover who stopped the procession, just at the water's edge, turning the box to splinters with a single whip of the cloth belted at their waist.

In silence, the youth knelt to wash their own face in the stormy sea, though the battle of theClover Belle raged ever closer. Some say, when they did, the Clover brand on their forehead changed to the mark of a lotus. When the old man gasped, "Kazuki! You'll die!" the man's grandchild said the first words that had crossed their lips in years.

"By what nightmare? I died in that cage, and now I am reborn. My name shall be Nataku. I say, no more children will go to that ship. The chain breaks with me."

The rest of what Nataku had to say, they said to the Wizard's Council alone - before the Council Hall fell to rubble and ash in a fire set by no natural spark. And as that Wizard's Council died one by one over the next year - one by suicide, one by drowning, one in fire, one by falling, and Old Toujou asleep in his own bed wearing a mask of fear - Nataku is the only one who remembers. All the rest of the world can say for sure is that their proclamation held true. The next Council agreed that no more Clovers would be marked or tithed, even if the ship returned. Nataku, beyond anyone's powers to say them nay, became an admiral with the strength to join the Pirate King, and indeed, whatever they did to the old Council, the Clover Belle has left Lifan's shores for a good long while.

But though in wider waters, the ship still sails. So be mindful when storm winds blow, and carefully check the seas. If the Gray Lady sails headless on the waves, hope on your life her song calls not to you.

~/~

In the still silence around the crackling bonfire, Hikaru blew out her candle and watched the smoke curl.