Avatar:
The Last Airbender Created By: Michael Dante DiMartino, Bryan
Konietzko
Avatar: The Last Airbender Owned By: Nickelodeon, a
subsidiary of Viacom
All original content and characters ©
Acastus
Author's Note: Thanks for all the great reviews, folks! And thanks once again for your patience! Updating ASN, San Diego Comic Con and all sorts of things have been happening, but I'm glad I now have some time for this story. I hope you enjoy!
Chapter VIII – Painting The Town
Red
Iroh had stopped drinking long ago. So had Gan. Both looked across the rough iron table in concern at Nikon, the hoods of their black cloaks leaving their faces in shadows. The young commoner had not stopped drinking. It was now long past midnight and it had been more than an hour since Xian had given them the ominous news.
The General had met them at the seedy Ten Bells tavern where they now sat. Lying in the middle of the infamous Shinjuku section of the city, the Ten Bells and its neighboring establishments were notorious for both the routine acts of violence that played out within their walls and as houses of ill repute. Dark, dangerous and heavily overpopulated, Shinjuku was the lowest of the slums whose streets were ruled by gangs of vicious thugs. Nikon had never taken Iroh to such a place before and, looking around and breathing deep, Iroh was glad this was so.
The tavern was a single, cavernous room with high ceilings and no windows. The walls were lined with booths made of wood and tables of iron, all except the east wall which was occupied by the bar. The booth in which Iroh and his friends sat was directly opposite the bar. Two huge fire pits provided the main sources of warmth and light for the dirty establishment, though a few sorry looking brassieres burned along the wall above every other booth. The tavern was loud, packed with people, and smelled like a toilet. Everyone except the bartenders and prostitutes, however, were obviously drunk beyond caring.
Against Iroh's advice, Nikon had dragged them out for a night on the town in a vain attempt to drown their collective sorrow at Master Chen's arrest. Xian had volunteered to petition Azulon for Chen's release. However, it had not gone well…
The door to the tavern banged open. Xian stood in the doorway, unrecognizable in his dark brown cloak to all but Iroh and his friends. Behind him the wind whipped a cold rain into the entryway. Their commanding officer shut the door, approached them and sat down heavily.
"He won't have it. The Fire Lord refused to dismiss the charges."
Iroh clenched a fist as the anger against his father and Tien Shin welled up within him.
"But why?" asked Nikon, grabbing the edges of the table, his whole body tensing in visible frustration.
"Tien Shin has him convinced Master Chen was plotting rebellion along with conspirators unknown."
Iroh squeezed his eyes shut at the pronouncement. It meant death.
"Based on what evidence?" asked Gan softly.
"Is any required, Gan?" retorted Nikon in anger.
"No names!" hissed Iroh, his eyes darting around the crowded tavern to see if anyone had overhead. Gan was the second son of General Shu and occupied an important post in the Ministry of War. Addressing him by his name – or certainly that of the Crown Prince or his cousin would instantly turn the situation into an uncontrollable circus. Admonished by his friend, Nikon looked down sullenly at the half empty glass of liquor in front of him. He finished the drink in one swift motion, hardly noticimg the burning liquid coarse down his throat.
Xian looked around quickly as well before addressing Iroh, "And that's another thing. This was a stupid idea. It's your business what you did with your friends before you were assigned to me. But if we're exposed here the scandal would destroy our reputations. Besides, these streets are crawling with thugs who delight in terrorizing the streets."
Almost on cue, the room came to a standstill as a fight broke out at the bar. A thin young woman with garish makeup and revealing dress had just broken a glass pitcher over the head of a huge, heavy set man wearing a hooded cloak. She screamed as the heavy set man grabbed her by the hair and slapped her to the ground. A man in leather armor tried to intervene, but the heavy set man picked him up and casually threw him over the bar.
The woman's antagonist then moved toward her once again. He was stopped by the tallest of his equally hooded comrades. The tall man whispered something in the heavy set man's ear as several large bouncers approached, their fists aflame. The hooded figures left the tavern, followed closely by the bouncers who accused them loudly of being gangland scum. It was the fourth such altercation, and probably the least violent, that Iroh and his friends had seen in the short time they'd been there.
As the fascination around the latest spectacle dissipated, Iroh began, "I should have spoken to Father, cousin. Maybe I could have done something."
"Be thankful you didn't. Not only would you have been no more successful, but you'd have set yourself up as an object of fear and suspicion in the eyes of the Fire Lord, as I have."
The Crown Prince refocused on his cousin with a sudden start. Gan, shaking his head slowly, swore under his breath. The heat and noise of the room suddenly receded in Iroh's perception as Xian's last three words echoed in his mind.
"What do you mean?" he asked softly.
The general turned his hooded head slightly from side to side once again. Leaning forward and dropping his voice even lower he replied, "It was as I feared. He knew, right from the start, that I was there to ask for Chen's release. He questioned my loyalty and hinted that I might even have been involved. I escaped death only by offering him my own sword to cut off my head. He declined, but after enough hesitation for me to know that I had rolled the dice – and lost."
The group fell silent as each weighed the import of this unhappy news. The raucous sounds and rank smells of the tavern, which had receded when Xian was speaking, now rushed in upon Iroh's senses. The Crown Prince surveyed the room as Xian reached over, stole his cup and drank a mouthful.
"Was that how it ended?" asked Gan suddenly, breaking the group's sullen reverie.
"Yes. He dismissed me with a warning to put my effort where it belonged."
"Do you suppose there was a conspiracy?"
Iroh snorted and replied, "Maybe, but Master Chen? He is a man of iron loyalty. Grandfather trusted him with his life. The whole idea is stupid."
Addressing Gan's original question Xian replied, "I can't get any answers. Several other arrests were made," then with a glance over at Nikon, who continued to look down at his drink in silence, "including several of Chen's current students."
"I don't understand," Iroh whispered in an intense voice, "Tien Shin can't just bury men of honor with a pretty tale."
"Why do you doubt the evidence of your eyes, cousin? Tien Shin has buried many men with his pretty tales, as you yourself have seen. Would you be all that surprised to hear after a few weeks that he killed himself after signing a confession? We've heard that before, and how many times?"
Nikon looked up at this and met Xian's eyes from underneath his hood.
"They're as good as dead, aren't they?" he asked in a husky whisper, his expression hollow.
Avoiding the question Xian replied, "We've one card left to play. If the weather breaks, I will move up the date for The Crossing. If he lives long enough Master Chen will still be prosecuted, but not by Tien Shin. I fear it may not alter the outcome, but it's all I can do. Now, I must leave this place, and I urge you three to do the same. Staying here in this squalor and depravity is surely proof of madness."
Without another word Xian finished Iroh's drink and left.
The next several hours had been spent rehashing the facts, debating various courses of action, and watching Nikon sorely test his legendary tolerance for alcohol. Iroh vacillated between anger at Tien Shin and his father and worry for Xian and his friend. Nikon for his part had sunk into an uncharacteristic brood. His face, normally graced with a smile, was now occupied by a vacant look and a drawn countenance. He barely participated in the conversation after Xian left. Gan, true to form, quietly and methodically tried to analyze the situation and produce alternatives. Though the effort was praiseworthy, no palatable option materialized.
Events were proceeding too fast for Iroh and he reproached himself bitterly for not taking some decisive action to resolve the situation. Even as he savaged himself he knew there was little he could do. Regardless of the facts, Master Chen was now officially a traitor. Iroh did not believe Azulon truly suspected Xian of rebellion, but he was clearly angry with his cousin. Nikon, as a former student of a public enemy; that was different. How long could Iroh protect him? He made a silent prayer that Xian delivered on his promise to advance the date for the invasion. At this moment, the front lines might be the safest place for both his friend and his cousin.
Soon another fight erupted that involved almost twenty people, broke half a dozen tables and set several patrons on fire. The proprietors proceeded to throw everyone out with loud cursing and threats. Iroh and Gan were both relieved as they had tried and failed several times in the last hour to get Nikon to leave.
As they exited the tavern, their hoods still covering their faces, a woman's scream was heard nearby as well as the sound of a fight. Behind the tavern what seemed a few streets over a plume of flame went up. Iroh and Nikon looked at each for a split second before Nikon ran in the direction of the scream. Iroh and Gan followed, both cursing loudly. The tavern regulars exiting the establishment ran away from the sound of the disturbance as fast as their various states of inebriation allowed. It was well known that the gangs not only killed for money and plunder, but also tortured for pleasure.
The Crown Prince fought down terror as he ran behind his friend. Consciously forcing himself to relax, he began to regulate his breathing in preparation for the fight he felt was coming. As his gait settled into a sustainable rhythm, the words of Master Chen echoed in his mind, "When he applies his mind, he is neither impulsive nor rash in his judgment." Sadly, Iroh was certain that his friend had applied very little of his mind in his decision to rush into whatever situation lay ahead of them. Though he had drunk heavily, Nikon's stride betrayed no undue influence, only his judgment did.
As they entered the area Nikon thought the sound and flame had come from, they realized the sound must have bounced strangely off the surrounding structures and that they had overshot. Nikon stopped for a moment, just long enough for his friends to catch up, then cut through an alley on their left back towards to the tavern. The sounds of the fight grew loud as they turned right into an adjacent alley.
As they ran down the narrow passageway Nikon was almost knocked over by two women, their clothing torn, running past them in the opposite direction. At the end of the alley they saw four hooded figures fighting with several other men. As the combatants launched blasts of fire at each other, the ground was briefly illuminated to reveal a slight, crumpled figure on the ground nearby. Another man getting up off the ground was obviously wounded. He struggled to his feet and ran up the alley a short distance to the nearest street and disappeared. The hooded figures, one of whom was obviously the heavy set man from earlier in the evening, were clearly dominating this fight.
Nikon stopped, requiring a moment to take in the scene. Iroh, his mind unencumbered, assumed the worst and engaged the nearest hooded assailant, the tallest, without hesitation. Iroh could feel his senses sharpen as he tuned out the noise and focused completely on his breathing, his body, and his opponent. The tall man was advancing quickly on a smaller man who, though brandishing a sword, was falling back in fear. The tall man raised his arms, bathed in fire, in preparation to strike.
The blast never came as Iroh, in a single fluid motion, grabbed the tall man's left arm at the wrist, twisted it around to his back and swept his feet out from under him. Surprised, the tall man fell on his back. Iroh brought his foot down to stamp on the tall man's stomach, but his opponent rolled out of the way. Summoning a ball of fire Iroh hit the tall man square in the chest as he got to his feet. Iroh's opponent slammed into the brick wall of the alley with a distinct clang.
Steel armor, Iroh thought, not only a coward, but a rich one.
As Iroh advanced, he saw out of the corner of his eye one of the defenders receive a sword through his belly from the heavy set man. Nikon then rushed past him, kicked the sword out of the murderer's hand, and tackled him to the ground.
Sidestepping lightly Iroh launched a blow with his fist that erupted in a plume of fire. The blast and his fist were blocked by the tall man who responded with a blast of his own. The Crown Prince spun around and crouched low, allowing the blast to pass over him. Behind him a pile of refuse instantly caught fire and filled the alley with heat and dull, reddish orange light.
The respite lasted but a moment as his opponent launched several follow up blasts in quick succession. Iroh jumped backwards and aimed a gout of fire at a sewer manhole located on the ground between them. His blast popped the cover out of its hole, causing it to somersault through the air towards the tall man. It was not fast enough to hit Iroh's opponent, however, who simply stepped out of its way.
As Iroh and his opponent took momentary stock of each other in the hellish light of the burning trash, the tall man reached into his waistband behind his back and produced a pair of war fans. Iroh focused on them in horror. Though it was difficult to be certain even a few feet away, the fans were metal with a dark enamel coating. The tall man was knocked to the ground as the heavy set man collided with him, propelled backwards by a joint blast of fire from Nikon and Gan. The remaining defenders and Gan had forced the other assailants to the ground where they lay groaning.
Iroh's shock was compounded when the heavy set man and the tall man regained their feet. The heavy set man's hood had fallen. So had Nikon's. They all stared at each other. The heavy set man, even as shadows danced across his cruel face, was instantly recognizable.
"Macro!" choked one of the defenders. All but one of the men who had been with the women then fled, gasping in terror as if a very demon from hell had appeared before them. This was in fact the case. The heavy set man was indeed none other than Yotaku Macro.
Which meant…
The tall man suddenly put his war fans away and grabbed Macro's arm as the sound of tracked vehicles approaching was heard. Macro turned and led the tall man and their two barely recovered companions down the alley.
Still in shock, Iroh ran over to the crumpled body. Beside her was the small man with the sword, which now lay flat and useless beside the woman's body. The man sobbed uncontrollably. Gan knelt down next to her and grimaced. The alley was damp with the rain from earlier in the evening, but he recognized the sticky wetness of blood as it soaked his garments. He felt for a pulse.
"She's dead," he said dully, "Look's like her throat, and… some other things have been cut."
Looking up the small man spoke thickly to the heavens, "I…loved her! I loved her… and he just… he just…killed my poor Xia!"
The man slumped over the girl's body, her heavily painted face and filthy, torn clothing visible in the flickering light. She was obviously the same prostitute from earlier that evening, the man either her john or her pimp.
Gan stood up and asked in a subdued voice, "So, do we feel worse? Or better?"
Iroh thought about this for only a second before opening a door into a nearby building, "No time for that now, we've got to get the hell out of here."
The three men fled into the night.
