Shifting the Balance complete

by draxal

The completed version of Shifting the Balance, originally posted under P.L. Nunn. Kenshin's world is rocked when his family is brutally kidnapped by a nefarious Englishman with ties to Kenshin's past. A gravely wounded Kenshin is joined by Sano in a pursuit that takes them on an epic chase that spans the ocean. Yaoi and non-con warning. Ken x Sano. Ken x Kaouri.

6. Chapter 6

Chapter Twenty

Ceylon sat at the Western entrance to the Bay of Bengal, separated only by a narrow strait from the mainland of Hindostan. India. It was a large island, as large as Hokkaido, the northernmost island of the four major islands that made up Japan, and according to Saitou, nearly a million and a half souls inhabited it, made up of various tribes of native Cingalese, Malabars, Mahomentans, Coolies and Dutch and English settlers. It had once been a great center of civilization, Saitou said, having done his research quite thoroughly, possessing a great many ruins of ancient cities, canal, bridges and aqueducts within the interior of the island, but those ancient empires had faded and what was left was a subjugated population, passed from the Dutch to the English.

But the port they sailed into held no hint of ancient wonders. It was crowded with boats and ships, small vessels and junks that hardly looked fit to ride the waters of the ocean. Jetsam floated atop the gentle waves of the harbor, probably a combination of bilge from incoming ships and trash from a harbor overflowing with human life. The British flag flew from the highest building and no small number of British ships, both commercial and military sat at anchor. It was clear where the balance of power lay in this port, if not all of Ceylon. The British were not shy about flaunting it. British customs agents boarded their ship upon docking and British soldiers in their crisp uniforms with their ever-present rifles patrolled the dockside.

"The Indian problem," Saitou said, when Kenshin eyed the passage of a troop of armed soldiers warily. "They're having a hard time of it on the mainland. A great deal of disillusionment with their methods of government. I would imagine they don't want the same sentiment to get out of hand here."

"I hate guns," Sano said, watching the same group of Brits with their practiced step and their air of superiority, make their way through the crowd of darker skinned natives crowding the dockside. "It doesn't take much skill to kill a man with a gun."

"The skill is in avoiding it," Saitou said. "The greater part of that, being knowing when to keep your mouth shut and your ears open. Can you do either of those things, Sagara?"

"I can, asshole."

Sano glared. Saitou just had to get in as many nasty shots as he could. It was like the man thrived on pissing Sano off. Maybe Saitou wasn't happy unless he was aggravating somebody and he sure hadn't been concentrating on Kenshin. Of course, Kenshin was preoccupied. Between worrying over his family and worrying over Sano, Kenshin's attention tended to drift. Sano thought it was a much appreciated favor he was doing him, every time he managed to draw him into more physical pursuits, because that was about the only time that Kenshin wasn't worrying.

They had no choice but to follow Saitou's lead. So they gathered all their belongings and marched after his tall, lean figure through docks crowded with cargo coming and going, fishermen bringing in hauls of seafood, and British customs agents running to and fro, damned and determined that no tariff went unpaid. Once off the main portside avenue the traffic became more pedestrian, more shops, more booths selling wares, more smells of cooked food, instead of the briny odors of fresh fish. There were carts and carriages and open top calash's pulled by native bearers. Saitou waved down one of those and the three of them crammed into the narrow seat, piling luggage at their feet and in their laps.

"Japanese embassy," Saitou directed, and Sano felt a twinge of pity as the bearer grunted, straining to get the calash moving under their combined weight, but once the vehicle was rolling, the man seemed well enough able to bear the burden.

Sano shifted the duffle in his lap and stretched out his left arm behind Kenshin's head along the back of the seat. The city was a mixture of the exotic architecture that Sano assumed to be of Indian origin and the more austere buildings of European design that he'd seen the likes of in Japan in the Dutch quarters and the English embassy houses. The natives were dark skinned and round eyed, the women exotically alluring with their graceful movement and their colorful sari's. He turned his head more than once to follow the passage of native lovely.

Kenshin was watching too, but not so much the women as the lay of the streets, the way the crowd moved and the number of British soldiers with their ever-present firearms strolled among unarmed civilians. Kenshin's sword was wrapped in canvas, along with Saitou's, the both of them stuffed inside the largest duffel. Traveling through the streets of this foreign city armed and so traditionally to boot, would have roused suspicion and Saitou was very adamant about avoiding trouble of the public nature. Saitou preferred to precipitate very private trouble in the dead of night.

They were deposited finally at the gates of the Japanese embassy. It was a large stone house that hinted at native design and some age. It had probably been a private house of some well to do merchant or politician back before the city had started changing hands from one foreign ruler to the next. It had tall iron gates connected to a tall iron fence which ran the perimeter of the grounds and a great deal of effort had gone into turning those grounds into something more appealing to the Japanese aesthetic.

The guard at the gate ushered them in, exchanging courteous nods with Saitou and ignoring Sano and Kenshin altogether as they followed with the bulk of the luggage in Saitou's footsteps.

"Why doesn't he carry his share?" Sano groused, overburdened and glaring at Saitou's back.

"He has to make an impression." Kenshin said quietly, sitting down his own burden at the bottom of the steps when Saitou motioned for them to wait.

"What? That he's got servants to lug around his shit?"

"Shush." Kenshin suggested, eyes gone a little narrow and speculative as he watched Saitou introduce himself at the door. The attendant who answered, after exchanging a few words with Saitou bowed his head respectfully a few times before ushering the man in. Saitou beckoned Kenshin and Sano with a flick of his wrist.

"Leave the luggage there. We'll find lodging elsewhere."

Sano grumbled, wondering why they'd lugged it all the way up the walkway then, but kept his silence, climbing the stone steps after Kenshin and entering the embassy. It was very tastefully done, he supposed. A mix of traditional Japanese, a touch of Ceylonese culture and a smattering of the European craze that was presently going through the higher echelons of Japanese society.

The attendant showed them to a small waiting room, and soon after returned, saying that the ambassador would see Saitou. Kenshin and Sano were not invited to attend that meeting. Kenshin seemed unoffended at the exclusion. Sano sat and stewed, glaring at Saitou's retreating back, figuring the smug bastard would probably be plotting things behind their backs. What things he wasn't entirely sure, but knowing Saitou, there were bound to be conspiracies afoot. The whole thing was fishy to him and confusing, politicians and shoguns and merchants and foreigners colluding for the right to dock ships that pretty much were coming into Japanese harbors regularly already. He didn't quite understand who actually wanted these incursions and who didn't and who thought they'd profit over somebody else. It seemed a big mess and he'd rather not know details that would make his spin and wouldn't matter to an honest man who didn't have his hands in other people's business.

Which was why Saitou was all over it, not being honest by any means and always having his nose inserted directly where it didn't belong.

What Kenshin thought - - well, Kenshin had his bland face on - - so who the hell knew what was going on behind those long lashed, violet eyes of his? Kenshin understood more of intrigue than Sano did, though. Having lived more of it during the war. Kenshin understood motivations that baffled Sano, Sano being straightforward and honest.

After about an hour of waiting - - with not even tea being offered to them while they sat - - Saitou came skulking back out, moving past them with barely a jerk of his head to indicate they follow, like mewling servants, in his footsteps.

Sano growled a little, muttering dark things at the narrow eyed bastard's back, but curbed the desire to complain too loudly when Kenshin dusted a light touch across his arm. Warning him to good behavior. He and Kenshin picked up the luggage as a carriage pulled up outside the gates, this one with a horse attached and a wizened little Japanese driver outfitted in English livery, who bowed his head politely to Saitou and gave Sano and Kenshin the evil eye as they piled luggage onto the rack behind the seats. There wasn't room for three on the one bench behind the driver without a lot of squeezing in, so predictably, Sano had to perch on the back, behind the luggage.

He glared at the back of Saitou's head most of the meandering, bumpy way to the lodging the embassy had arranged for them. Down past the crowded main city streets to a quieter neighborhood where palm trees swayed and there were more thatch-roofed buildings than stone faced structures. There were more natives here, than foreigners, or uniformed British soldiers.

Men that walked bare chested, with short sari's around their hips, women with bared middles and sun darkened skin going about daily errands. Darker skinned than Kenshin or him. Rounder eyed. But over all a pretty people, Sano decided. Their inn was a low, thatch roofed affair shaded by trees. Tall plaster walls separated it from the street. A native boy came running out to meet them when the carriage pulled up outside the front gate. Saitou stepped down, taking in the street while he lit up a cigarette, waiting for the luggage to be off loaded. Sano let the kid struggle to haul it down, finished playing servant to Saitou.

Saitou said something in a language Sano didn't understand. Sinhala, Saitou had said the native language was, on the ship, when he'd been about trying to teach them a spattering of foreign words.

"I'm not sharing another room with you," Sano stated and Saitou barely flicked an eye at him, so Sano felt the need to expand. "Had enough of the stench of your tobacco on the ship. Not to mention your damned sour personality."

"There's room in the stable. You're better suited for a stall," Saitou commented and Sano bristled, before Kenshin stepped between them, calm and cool and slim, in his cotton gi, a few strands of flyaway red hair escaped from the loose tail at his neck. A lot longer, that hair, than it had been when Sano had first stumbled upon him.

Kenshin, he very much wanted to share a room with. A room preferably with some sort of door with a lock, where Kenshin wouldn't be afraid of unwanted persons walking in at delicate moments. Where Sano might steal a few more fleeting moments of something that he might not see again once Kenshin found Kaoru. He held no illusions. Between the two of them he knew very well who Kenshin would choose. Almost a man might wish the girl never found and his own fortunes improved- - except - - except that sat wrong with him. And there was a kid involved - - and damn, but he didn't want to think about it. About what would happen once they'd found Kaoru. Easier not to. Easier to live in the here and now and take what he could when he could.

"Saitou," Kenshin said softly, looking up under his lashes at a man considerably taller. "If there are plans, I'd very much like to know them."

Saitou took a long drag off his tobacco stick, then shrugged, tossed it onto the dirt road, and strode into the yard behind the gates. They followed, having little enough choice but to trail him like dogs on the heels of their master. There was a long teak desk with a steward behind it, alerted of their arrival by the boy maybe. A room to the left that might have been a tea room, there were mats and low tables, suggesting very much that this was an establishment that catered to visitors more eastern than western. It made his stomach rumble, and his thoughts drift to the notion of sampling native dishes. He was ever open to the possibility of discovering savory new foods.

Saitou conferred with the steward and shortly thereafter the boy appeared again to help lug the bags and Saitou's trunk to rooms which lay in out buildings across a well manicured yard. They had one of their own, small and plain, but clean. The sort of room servant's might get while their master lounged in more luxurious environs.

Sano couldn't complain much. They'd stayed in worse by far these last weeks. It was a mish mash of cultures, a hard backed English chair and stilt legged table with an oil lamp. A basin with water, and a paper screen for privacy. There were low futons with thick mattresses and soft western pillows, instead of Japanese headrests, which honestly, Sano rather appreciated. He'd enjoyed that bed with its soft mattress and its plush pillows in the inn in Manila. He'd enjoyed more what they'd done in it.

Saitou was avoiding the whole of the truth, of that Kenshin was sure. It was no surprise, Saitou being Saitou, and Saitou's goals broader and probably considerably more intricate than Kenshin's own. Kenshin had not gone into this, in Saitou's company, expecting anything else. But he was as willing to use Saitou and Saitou's resources as much as Saitou was willing to use him and his. Which made, at the very least, an uneasy alliance. It always had.

Still, he'd like to know what Saitou had learned, after an hour in the company of the ambassador. There were things a man with limited resources might never learn if not for connections in high places. So cultivating Saitou, being reasonable with Saitou and courteous to Saitou was no great sacrifice, despite Sano's thoughts on the subject.

He knocked on Saitou's door, in the larger bungalow across from the one he and Sano had been shown. Saitou opened the door, glanced over his shoulder at Sano's sulking figure before ushering them in.

"The ambassador is putting out feelers," Saitou informed him before he could ask. "One has to be circumspect when inquiring too boldly into the activities of the English here."

"Winter? Does he know of him?"

"He does not, but the man is a merchant and not nobility, so that means nothing. There are no doubt many merchants that escape the attention of our esteemed ambassador."

"The ship? Is it in harbor? I assume you acquired that information before we left the dock."

Saitou's mouth twitched, nothing so mundane as a smile. "No. Not under the name that it left Japan under, at any rate. But this man we are after is a very clever man."

Kenshin clenched his fists, a sudden surge of frustration welling. What if it weren't here? What if they had followed the wrong trail?

Saitou took a drag of his cigarette, at ease when Kenshin felt the inescapable need to move. To do something. Anything.

"Patience, Himura. When I know, you'll know."

Kenshin inclined his head, forcing that smile he used as a mask for darker things.

"Of course." He half bowed, and Sano muttered angrily behind him, something of not trusting politicians in general and Saitou in particular. Saitou ignored him.

His sword was in the bag with Saitou's and he retrieved it, slipping past Saitou as he did, retrieving another something from Saitou's person as he did. He might have felt guilt over it, never even in less than fortunate times enjoying the mantle of thief, even if he'd worn the one of assassin, but he trusted Saitou to let him know the things he needed not at all. To discover for himself he'd need proper funds and Sano had eaten or drank or gambled away what they'd had between Tokyo and here.

Back to their own room, and Sano expelled a breath and a curse with Saitou's name attached. "I don't trust that narrow eyed bastard to tell us anything."

"No," Kenshin agreed, skimming a hand along the hilt of the sakabatou before leaning it in a corner.

Sano paced a few spaces, throwing out long arms in frustration. "So - -? What do you want to do?"

Kenshin turned a somewhat less blatantly false smile to him. "Lunch would be nice."

Sano blinked, not expecting that of him.

"Really?" There was an endearing note of hopefulness in his voice. Sano was so very much more honest than he ever had been in the things that motivated him. Straight forward and loyal, despite all his bluster and bluff. And young. Still very young.

Kenshin stared at him a moment, snared by a sudden wash of grief. He'd backed himself into a box these last weeks. A box with no easy way out, with Kaoru on the one side and Sano on the other. When he found her, and he would, he wouldn't lie to her. He couldn't. He'd tell her what he'd done. He'd endure her wrath, her hurt, whatever she wished to throw at him. If she wanted him gone, he'd go. If not - - then there would be Sano to deal with. Sano who he wasn't sure if he could let simply disappear again into the unknown.

There was no way out. No solution he could see that didn't involve pain and suffering, hurt and betrayal. His own fault. His own weakness. If he could have taken it all upon himself and spared the two of them, he would have. He doubted it would be that simple.

All he knew how to do was move forward, to find the man who'd taken her and Kenji, to get them back and to make him pay. And somewhere along the way, somewhere between that rainy night in Tokyo when they'd first been taken and here - - that vow he'd made so long ago not to shed mortal blood had fractured. Whether it broke entirely - - well, that depended entirely on Winter and what harm he'd done to Kaoru and Kenji. She might just hate him for that failing as well as the other.

"So I saw a place on the way here," Sano was saying, drawing him out of dour musings. "That smelled like it might be worth visiting."

"Hn. I was thinking, maybe, a tavern." Kenshin walked out of the room before Sano could gape at him in surprise.

"You're kidding me?" Sano trailed him out. Kenshin was not generally the one out of the two of them that suggested visiting taverns.

Kenshin waited until they were out on the street, amidst the traffic of mid-day, pedestrians and mule carts, vendors hauling along their wares, the occasional pair of uniformed English guardsmen, before he said. "We need sources of our own, Sano."

Sano stuffed hands into his pockets, thinking that over. "Yeah. Okay. Who?"

"Someone who speaks the language here as well as our own. Someone familiar with the underbelly of this city."

"Ah," Sano's eyes sparked, finally getting it. "The sort of someone you might find loitering in a tavern."

Well Sano might know, having spent no small bit of his own youth doing just that, mingling with miscreants and layabouts that always seemed to know things honest, hard working folk had no notion of.

"We'll need money," Sano said. "Doubt information's any freer here than at home."

Kenshin jingled the little leather purse he'd liberated from Saitou and Sano's eyes widened.

"Where'd you - -? Shit - - you lifted that from Saitou? And got away with it?"

"I had a need."

Sano laughed, greatly amused at any misfortune suffered by Saitou.

There were no shortages of taverns, and Ceylon was sprawling and myriad in its gathering spots. The ones that catered to the English and the merchant classes they avoided, touring the lower rent establishments, where Ceylonese and Indian, Chinese and Japanese patrons frequented.

Sano mingled well, whether he spoke the language or not, as at home here as he was at any place that served liquor. Kenshin quietly observed, as easy in the shadows as Sano was carousing at the bar. So, so easy when he had a goal, to blend with the darkness and seek prey. No, not prey, simply a suitable source of information that might lead him to what he sought.

He flexed his hand, feeling the lingering stiffness, but the pain was tolerable. Easily ignored. The scar was flesh colored now, a little shiny. Tight, but he was working that out. Sano had proved a good nurse, following Miss Megumi's orders to a T. Weeks shipboard had gone no small way to healing his wounds. He'd have a few more scars, but he could hold a sword. Another few months and he might not notice the wounds had ever been there.

Third tavern, and no few drinks and two suppers on Sano's part, and they found a boy. A young half Ceylonese, half Japanese street kid that couldn't have been much older than twelve. Sly eyed and quick fingered, with that belief that the young tended towards, of invincibility. He tried to pickpocket Kenshin's pick pocketed purse. Kenshin caught his bony wrist, twisted it with a patient smile of reprimand, while the kid cursed at him with words he was very well familiar with.

"So, looks like you found a translator, huh?" Sano sauntered up and the kid cursed twice as loud, drawing attention.

"Do the authorities here take kindly to thieves stealing the purses of tourists?" Kenshin asked pleasantly and the kid snapped his mouth shut, glaring between them.

"Fuck you," the boy muttered and Kenshin pressed the bones of his wrist a little more sharply, smile never wavering from his lips. The boy reminded him somewhat of Yahiko, when he'd been that age. Surely and overly overconfident of his own abilities.

"That's impolite. Who taught you manners?"

"I'll give it a shot," Sano offered, leaning down, glaring into the eyes of a kid that was half a head shorter than Kenshin. "I'm all about manners."

The boy drew back, Sano's height and Sano cracking the knuckles of his big hand proving intimidating.

"Perhaps," Kenshin said genially, the less visibly threatening of the two. "You'd like to earn coin instead of stealing it?"

The boy scowled. "I don't do that. Pervert."

Kenshin felt his smile straining. Sano snorted, grabbed the kid by the ruff of his threadbare collar and hauled him into the narrow alley between buildings.

The boy's name was Kai. His mother was Japanese, lured away from home in her youth by a charming Ceylonese sailor. If he saw his father once in a year, it was a miraculous thing. The boy claimed sullenly that it was no loss of his.

Kenshin produced a small coin from Saitou's purse and the boy became more obliging. Most certainly he knew the lay of the city. When the work was available he ran errands from one end of Colombo to the other. His mother did laundry in the house of an English merchant and took work from many others.

"Where do they live, the wealthy Englishmen?" Kenshin asked, and the boy shrugged, waving a hand. "Colpetty. A lot of them along Galle Road. The richest out past the city in walled estates."

"Show us."

Having nothing better to do, the boy did. Mollified by the lure of coin, he made an informative tour guide, parting with information easily. Colpetty seemed the hub of English occupancy, an area crowded with shops and stone buildings and paved streets with gas lamps on the corners. A great many of the natives doing business here were dressed in western clothing.

"I don't know of a Merchant called Winter," the boy admitted. "But the English come and go as if they own the island."

Which of course, the English thought they did. Men of the west, Kenshin had discovered had the tendency to assume other civilizations beneath them, and fair game to manipulate or conquer. He wished very much the Meiji government had not welcomed them into Japan.

They spent the day touring the haunts of the English, and the boy, at the lure of more coin promised to discover what he could of Winter, or a japans lady of quality that might have come to the island. Winter had a purpose and Kenshin had not forgotten. Kaoru had a part to play in his plan and if he were to pass her off as the daughter of a man of power, he'd not slip her in under cover of night.

There was nothing to do but return to the inn after they'd set the boy on his task. Nothing but to let Sano draw him to the tearoom off the main lobby. The tea was strong and dark, and the food spiced liberally with curry. Sano liked it. Kenshin preferred subtler flavors. Sano downed a locally brewed lager, then another that smelled of cinnamon and spices and made Sano sigh and wistfully consider a third before Kenshin had sat all he could, and rose, leaving a few coins on the table, and returning to the room.

They saw no light from Saitou's bungalow in passing, and assumed he was about whatever it was Saitou found to occupy himself at night. No good things, Kenshin was sure.

Sano lit the oil lamp, when Kenshin would have done very well in darkness, and rustled around the room, while Kenshin sat cross legged on the futon, thinking dark thoughts.

She was here. She and Kenji. They had to be. They'd made good time, Saitou had said, and despite his injuries and the time he'd lost - - too much time - - there still might only be a week - - a little more than a week between them. Wishful thinking, but the other option was admitting they might be far beyond his reach.

Sano had rustled as much as he could, and finally sat down nest to Kenshin, legs sprawled onto the floor before him. "So, what do you think Saitou's up to?"

A great many things, no doubt. Kenshin shrugged minutely. "Much the same as us, I would guess. Information gathering."

"Hn. Think he missed that purse?"

"Eventually."

Sano sat there, fuel for conversation dried up. He shifted a little and his thigh touched Kenshin's knee. Deliberate move.

Kenshin shut his eyes. He couldn't, not with her possibly on this island - -in this very city - - with him. He'd betrayed the trust she had in him enough. He'd betrayed Sano's trust enough.

"Sano," he said softly. "We cannot."

He felt Sano tense. Felt the very aura of the air around him go still.

"Yeah. Sure." After a moment, and Sano pushed himself up. Unrolled his own futon and sat down with his back to Kenshin, busying himself with unrolling the cloth around his wrists. Offended. Hurt. And why would he not be, Kenshin having very much been willing to engage since they'd boarded the ship in Manila.

Kenshin's fault. It felt like knives slicing him up from the inside out. He couldn't understand how he'd been such a fool. How he'd been so weak to allow things that would only hurt the people he loved.

He bowed his head, while Sano sat there, simmering, so obviously simmering and imagined her expression when he told her. Imagined her eyes wide with pain, brimming tears, imagined Kenji at her side, not understanding the depths of his father's betrayal. Imagined Sano's back, at the rail of a ship, sailing out of his life leaving him to face a marriage that would never be the same. His choices. His misdeeds. No blame but his own.

"She's here - - somewhere, Sano," he whispered in the flickering light of the lantern.

Sano said nothing.

"I cannot - - with her so close." Irrational excuse. It made no difference how far a distance she'd been when he'd made his choices.

The linen over Sano's shoulders were taut, the faintest trembling of muscle. His hair was a dark collection of messy locks, but so much softer than one might think.

"You know what I wished?" Sano said, low, rough voice. "Just for a moment wished?"

"What?"

"That you'd never find her. That you and me - -" he broke off, showing Kenshin half a profile in the shadows. "But I don't want that. I want that girl and your kid back safe at the dojo - - and that just sucks for me - - because there's no place there for me anymore that I can see."

His voice broke a little, and Kenshin did, clenching his fists, feeling stinging wetness at the corners of his eyes.

He rose, dropped to his knees behind Sano, pressing his forehead against Sano's hair, an arm around Sano's neck. Sano lifted a hand, fingers biting into Kenshin's forearm. One of them was trembling.

Sano spun him around, dragging him to the futon under Sano's weight, Sano's arms fast around him, Sano's face in the crook of his neck. Lay there for a long moment, breathing in the scent of each other, the feel of hearts thudding beneath flesh and bone. Sano's hands moved to his hair, freeing it from the tie that held it, threading his big fingers and grasping tight, immobilizing Kenshin's head.

He looked down, eyes dark and serious. Not a look Sano usually wore. "I will fight for you. Not sure how, against a wife and a kid - - but I'll figure a way."

Kenshin laughed, miserably, bleakly and Sano cut it off, mouth over his. Devouring kiss, like he was staking a claim. Kenshin couldn't stop it. Didn't want to stop it. It was relief when Sano pinned his wrists and licked his way down his throat, nipping at collarbone, nuzzling aside the thin material of the gi and fastening his mouth to an already hard nipple.

He gasped, arching up, wrapping his legs around Sano's waist, wanting him closer. Wanting all of Sano he could get. He loved Kaoru, he cherished Kaoru and the things she represented - - the life she represented - - but she didn't make his body scream like Sano did. She didn't wipe everything clean, everything blank and white and blazing with sheer sensation when she slid inside him, remaking him for if only a few precious moments into something other than what he was.

"It'll work out. I'll make it work out," Sano was saying, afterward, damp, naked flesh against damp, naked flesh. Sano's arms tight around him, his face pressed into Sano's neck while he shuddered. It took a while before his mind started working enough to comprehend Sano's optimism.

Kenshin didn't believe it.

Chapter Twenty-one

Sano slept afterwards, easy in his slumber. Sano never let little things like guilt or emotional turmoil disturb either appetite or sleep.

Kenshin envied him that, lying awake well into dawn. The muffled patter of rain on the thatch roof was a constant, drowning out the chatter of nighttime insects. Once he tensed at the almost imperceptible sound of a body moving outside, but it was only Saitou, he thought, when the door across the walk opened and closed. Sano never moved, one long arm draped across Kenshin's stomach, one leg curled over his thighs, the warmth of his body enough to discard covers altogether. The tickle of his breath against the side of Kenshin's temple was pleasant.

His utter quiet was. Soothing in a way different than sleeping with Kaoru had been. Igniting different things inside him than she had. They both gave him peace of a sorts, though Sano's was tinged with the guilt of betrayal. They both chased away the red stained veil that was always with him. She with the mantel of normality, offering him the chance to be what he'd never been before her - - a simple man. She gave him someone to protect. She let him be simply a husband and a father that helped maintain a dojo for a living instead of darker things. Sano - - Sano didn't offer so much of that façade. Sano just made it easier to bear. Sano made him not hate so much the parts of him that were so ingrained that he'd never completely shed them. He hid things from Kaoru - - things he never wanted her to know. There was no need with Sano. Sano knew things, admitted on the hard roads they traveled together that he'd never admitted to anyone else. And Sano didn't judge. Sano had his own demons.

He only found sleep after the rains stopped and dim grey light began seeping through the cracks in the window shades. He was half aware of Sano shifting, rising, but the sleep that he'd finally found, dreamless as it was, was too precious to surrender. Eventually, Sano came back, settled down next to him and he sank back down again into dreamless void.

Next he opened his eyes, the light coming in through the shades was bright and Sano was gone from the room. It was well into the day, if he were any judge and he'd slept later than his habit. He pushed himself up, rotating the shoulder with the healing bullet hole. The one in his leg he hardly noticed, but the shoulder was stiff in the mornings and it took a little while to work it out. He ran a hand through his hair, finger combing it into a semblance of coherency before gathering it up again in fastening it into a tail. Not as long as it had been when he'd been a rurouni, but a hands width longer than when he'd left home.

Sano had a fascination, that he'd admitted, half embarrassed, when he'd had his hands tangled in it, that he'd had since the less than peaceful day they'd met. Kenshin hadn't had a clue. But then sometimes the interpersonal things escaped him.

He dressed again in simple clothing, cool, thin linen that alleviated the humid heat of the island. Sano was not within the environs of the inn, nor was Saitou. He held little concern. It was a city, foreign and new and Sano had a love for experiencing new things. Kenshin thought, while he waited for word from the boy, that he might partake of one of the Ceylonese bathhouses. After a week ship bound he felt the dire need.

Afterwards, he took a simple breakfast and walked the path the boy had taken them yesterday, careful to dip his head, letting overlong bangs obscure his face and give courteous right of way to the patrolling English soldiers with their crisp uniforms and their ever present rifles. In his peasant garments and his alacrity to give right of way they never looked twice at him. No one remembered the servile.

The boy had said there were estates further out, the homes of the wealthiest of the British occupiers. Merchant lords or English power brokers, whose domains overlooked the vast tea crops and the dark line of ever encroaching jungle beyond the fields. He spent a while, never allowing himself to seem without purpose, never arousing interest in those he passed, memorizing the lay of the streets, the paths in and out of ally ways, places the patrolling soldiers liked to pause and talk among themselves, partaking of the same tobacco that Saitou so liked. If he came back in the dark of night, he'd know his way.

He went back to the inn well into the afternoon. Found Sano leaning against the wall outside it, flirting, despite the gulf in language, with a pretty Ceylonese girl. Sano looked over her glossy head at Kenshin's approach. He spat out the reed he'd been chewing on and grinned at the girl, pushing himself off the wall and strolling leisurely down the dirt street to intersect Kenshin's path. Fell in beside him, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his trousers.

"Find out anything interesting?"

"Only that there are a great many soldiers with guns patrolling Colpetty. The English have a firm grip on this city."

"Hn. Somebody came round and met with Saitou."

Kenshin canted Sano a look, inquiring.

Sano shrugged. "He left with the guy. Didn't feel the need to tell me where he was going or what it was about."

"No, I don't imagine he would have."

Worrying what Saitou was up to, or what Saitou was hiding from him would get him nothing but strained nerves. Better to accept the notion that even though they were not exactly working at cross purposes, that their paths had diverged.

The boy, Kai, found them at supper, eating curried fish and rice in an establishment a few doors down from the inn. He stood at the door, waited until Kenshin looked up, noting his presence, before jerking his head and retreating back outside.

He waited outside, against the side of the building.

"So," the boy said. "Found out some stuff."

"Yeah?" Sano asked, leaning a shoulder against the wall next to him.

The boy gave Sano a smirk, then canted his dark head at Kenshin. "Money first."

Sano laughed curtly. "What do you think, we're stupid? I found out a bunch of stuff today, too, but none of it worth anybody paying for it."

"Sano," Kenshin could appreciate Sano's skills at haggling, for surely they were greater than his own, but this was too important to risk. He tossed the boy a silver coin. "There's another if your information is useful."

The boy stared the silver lustfully for a moment, before saying. "Yeah, well, you were looking for a Japanese lady, right? The cook that works with my mother talked to another cook who says her master had a guest last week, that he told her to prepare a proper Japanese dinner for. Japanese nobility, the cook says."

"Last week?" He kept control of his breathing, kept himself from clenching and unclenching his fists. "And was she accompanied by a pale haired merchant?"

The boy shrugged. "There were guests. Cook was in the kitchen. Didn't get a look at them all."

"A child?" There was always that tremulous hope. That confirmation.

The boy shook his head. "She didn't mention a kid. Just the lady that her master went to trouble to impress."

"Where?"

"House of Lord Kilbourne at the end of Galle. He's a bigwig - - owns a bunch of ships and has the Lord Chancellor over for tea twice a month, word is."

Kenshin had gone quiet and serious since talking with the boy. Not the quiet and serious he'd been since Sano had found him - - where he was worried and trying hard to focus on the goal of tracking Kaoru and Kenji - - when he'd had injuries that should have had him out for the count. But the deadly quiet, hard eyed serious he got when he'd been pushed to the point where the wonderer façade began to crack and the Battousaibegan to seep through. That scary look he got that anyone with half a brain had the common sense to back off and give him lots of room around.

Sano never had been strong in the common sense department. Kenshin had gone back to the room then, not speaking a word, had sat there, kneeling on the hard wood floor with the sword across his thighs with a narrow eyed look that invited no comers.

"So what the hell are we gonna do? We don't know if it was even her."

The inquiry of which, after Sano could stand it no more, had gained Sano a slow flick of shadowed eyes and finally. ""I pay the house of this English lord a visit."

Sano could get behind that idea. "So when do we go?"

"We don't."

It took Sano a moment to get it. His exclusion. "The hell! You think after all this I'm just gonna let you pull something like this without me?"

"I'm not giving you a choice."

Sano clenched his fists until knuckles popped. Pissed. Just pissed off that Kenshin could discount him so. "What? You don't think I'm up to it? You're the one that's off his game. I'm damn sure on mine."

Kenshin rose, one fluid movement, and almost Sano took a step back, on the off chance that Kenshin had lost his grip on sanity and decided to prove Sano wrong. But he only slid the sword through his belt, giving Sano a hard look. "If my goal were to take on the whole of the house, your company would be welcome, Sanosuke. I have quieter intentions. I simply want to see this house that she might have been."

Sano drew himself up, more offended than before. "Are you saying I'm only good for busting heads? I can sneak around if I want. And if you're just going to look around, why do you need that?" Sano jabbed a finger at the sword.

Kenshin looked at him a moment, then he half smiled, inclining his head, granting Sano that one. But Sano didn't believe the smile. It didn't come near to reaching Kenshin's eyes.

"Grant me this, Sano. You come, and keep watch for Soldiers outside and if there is a need, you'll hear it."

"Right, because you always make such a big racket when you work," Sano said sullenly.

Kenshin's mouth twitched again, this time Sano thought a little of that humor might have reached his eyes.

It was fully night when they left, slipping through dark streets, avoiding the lampposts with their flickering lights. Kenshin knew the way as unerringly as if they'd been traveling the streets of Tokyo. Sano was all turned around in the depth of night with the landmarks he'd only glimpsed once obscured by darkness.

The boy had told them which house, the number, and the description. A big stone mansion with tall stone walls surrounding it. A garden behind it, and an ally between it and the neighboring house. Beyond that was a causeway with old mangroves leaning over a narrow canal. They waited there, in the black shadows for a good while, listening to the sounds of things sliding in and out of the water, of the occasional clip of hooves as some late night traveler passed on the street, or the quieter sound of booted feet, as soldiers patrolled.

Finally, after about an hour, when the sky had actually begun to turn from inky black to purple, Kenshin rose.

"Be careful, damnit," Sano warned softly.

Kenshin nodded, almost indistinguishable from the night in his dark clothing. If it weren't for the pale of his face, he might have blended entirely. He made no sound at all, not even a rustle of cloth, when he moved. And if Sano had blinked, he might have missed entirely him gliding up that wall and disappearing over the top of it to the garden on the other side.

Not nearly so off his game as Sano had accused. Maybe not off it all, after the hardships he'd suffered. Pain, Sano had discovered the hard way, tended to bring out the best in some men.

The garden behind the house was lush and well tended, secluded from the rest of the wall by tall stone walls. The lights in the house were dark, snuffed out some while ago. Time enough for the inhabitants to have fallen into slumber. He was no stranger to skulking in the night. To sliding invisibly into the places he had no honest reason at being. He had been given no few missions, when he'd had a master whose word to a samurai was law, which had been distinctly lacking in the sort of honor a man practiced in the light of day. In his prime, the ninjas of Akabeko had had nothing on him.

He wasn't here to take heads. He'd just as well not have to draw the sword at his side at all and from the heaviness of the sleepers here, he doubted he would. He simply needed to see for himself if there were trace of her here. To see if, by some miraculous stroke of luck that he seemed long overdue, if she were still here. And failing that, perhaps to see what clue of Winter might linger. Her mark on an agreement, he had said, when he'd been taunting Kenshin. He needed the legitimacy of the daughter of a shogun to fool a business partner into complacency. The world had been turned upside down in the need for that charade.

So he invaded this house, with its tall glass windows and its rooms full of western furniture and sought a trace of what he hoped for. The servants slept upstairs, in a narrow attic area, all of them Ceylonese. A floor down, on the second story were more fashionable rooms. The great one on the end, issued the sound of two sleeping bodies. The lord of this place. Kai had said Lord Kilbourne. The other rooms were empty. There was a cellar, full of racks of wine and crates of unknown things, but no life save for mice.

Back up stairs again, to a great room lined with western books and a huge desk sporting orderly stacks of paper, pens and inkwell, an open book with incomprehensible English writing. He shuffled through a few things, frustrated at his lack of comprehension for what he looked at, until he found a folder tied with a ribbon, holding several pieces of parchment. All save one written in English, and that one, in neat Japanese. A great deal of formal language, detailing trade agreements, which he only skimmed the barest portion of. There was a mark at the body, a signature in a less precise hand than the one that had written the document. Not Kaoru's name, but it could have been her messy scrawl. She hadn't the patience for flowing, neat penmanship.

Kenshin closed his eyes, forcing a series of calm breaths before rolling the papers and slipping them into his noragi. There would be evidence here, that men who might prefer their grand plans not see the light of day, would bargain to keep secret.

He stood for a moment, staring towards the second story. There was a man up there who had seen her. Who might very well know where she had been taken.

He was moving before he'd fully decided on a course of action. Up the stairs to the thick door of the master's bedroom. This might be a mistake, a terrible mistake, setting the whole of the island's authorities on alert - - but again, this lord was part of a pact seeking to undermine competitors and countrymen in pursuit of lucrative Japanese trade. He might be a man to whom silence was more valuable than seeking justice.

The door was unlocked, the room large and silent, save for the stuttering snore of the man on the bed. Big man, little of it muscle. Receding hairline off set by thick sideburns that reached the round jowls at his jaw. There was a smaller figure asleep with him. Dark hair, dark skin of one naked shoulder, and the small frame of a girl. A very young girl. Kenshin clenched a fist around the hilt of the sword. Angry to the point his vision narrowed, thinking of the things Winter had said he'd do to Kaoru. The 'friends' of his that would enjoy a young, Asian mistress. And if she'd played her part already - -

He pushed the curl of revulsion away, forced it back to a place that kept it from interfering with his present goals. Drew the sakabatou, flipping it about, gently laying the sharp edge against the rolls of flesh at the Englishman's neck.

Cold steel against flesh was an unparalleled way of rousing a man. Small, pale eyes fluttered open, filled with disorientation, with fear as Kenshin pressed the blade closer, leaning in and whispering 'shu', a universal suggestion of quiet.

The man lay still, very much aware of the death at his throat, trying to squint through the darkness and make out his assailant. The girl stirred at his side, smothering a gasp as she saw the glint of sword, saw Kenshin looming over the bed.

He ticked a finger at her, one sharp motion that stayed her, and she cowered, clutching the sheet to her breast. Very young indeed. Two witnesses, but it was dark enough that everything bled into.

"Do you speak Japanese?" he asked. It would surely be a difficult conversation if the man did not.

The fat man stared at him, sweating, belly heaving under the sheet.

"I do," the girl whispered.

Good enough. Kenshin spared her another glance. If she were fourteen, he'd be surprised. Old enough to marry at home, but with this old, fat Englishman, it just seemed obscene.

"Ask him of the daughter of Lord Erizawa, who came in the company of the Englishman Winter."

The girl did, haltingly and the fat lord's mouth thinned. He said something, careful with his words, careful of the edge against his throat.

"He - - he doesn't know what you speak of," the girl stammered. "He - - he says the English authorities will hunt you down and execute you for this."

Kenshin smiled, let the blade bite into flesh and a trickle of darkness seeped across pale skin. "He lies."

The man said something, sharp, panicked, trying to raise a hand to push the blade away. Kenshin clucked his tongue, increasing the pressure of the blade.

"Wait," the girl said, her fear as sharp as her master's. "He says wait."

The Englishman babbled something and the girl translated. "He says she was a guest in his house, this lady. But that she has gone. Left to return home to the house of her father."

"That too, is a lie," Kenshin whispered. "Tell him I know of this scheme of Winter's and his wealthy backers. Tell him that there will be no legitimate backing in Japan. Tell him this man Winter is a liar and a cheat and that the Lady he presented was no daughter of Erizawa and that Erizawa knows it."

She blinked at him owlishly, and awkwardly tried to repeat all that. Kilbourne's eyes darted to her, narrowing, then back to Kenshin.

"He asks," the girl said, after the man had hissed a few words at her. "What you want?"

"I want this girl and I want Winter."

"Who are you?" She translated, but Kenshin had actually halfway understood that question, remembering the remnants of Winter's lessons in English.

"Better for you not to know," he said, voice soft and dangerous, letting himself feel the cold indifference he'd once out of necessity, clung to.

There'd been a time he could have backed an aspiring opponent off without drawing his blade. Just a look, and that quiet, deadly aura of a true swordsman whose blade had tasted no small bit of blood. The girl flinched and huddled into her pillows, the fat man did as much as he was able.

"He does not know," the girl whimpered. "He says he does not know where this man is, but he will find out, if you spare his life."

The fear was genuine. Kenshin could scent it, rolling in waves off the man. Whether the offer was, was another matter. Kenshin slipped the roll of documents from his shirt and the man's eyes tracked to them.

"Tell him, there are people very interested in this deal of Winter's. Very interested in those colluding with him. These papers would hold great interest for them. This man lied to you. What loyalty do you owe him?"

The Englishman shook his head as much as he dared with the edge of a blade at this throat after the girl had repeated that. "None. None. He'll find out what he can, he promises."

Kenshin held no faith at all in the promises of westerners, but it was a start.

Sano was pacing the canal when Kenshin came out. Kenshin simply nodded to him and Sano followed silently along the bank behind the row of houses until they were far enough away to slow to a unassuming walk along a narrow side street where there were no streetlamps to illuminate the shadows.

"So what the hell?" Sano had held his silence as long as he was capable. "You said ten minutes in and out. That was a lot damn longer than ten minutes. I was about to come in after you."

"There was a change of plan."

"No shit. What happened?"

"I had a conversation with Lord Kilbourne."

Sano stopped short and stared at him through the darkness. "Of for shit's sake, Kenshin. You blow our cover?"

Kenshin lifted a brow. "We had a cover?"

"We didn't have the law after us." Sano complained.

"We don't have it now. Lord Kilbourne understands, I think, the consequences of alerting the authorities."

"Oh yeah?" It was Sano's turn to lift both brows skeptically. "What consequences? "

Kenshin pulled out the roll of documents. "She was there, Sano. Winter had her sign his treaty, as well as this lord and most likely the others participating in the plan."

"And that's it? This treaty everybody's all riled up over?"

Kenshin smiled.

"Saitou'd love to get his hands on that," Sano predicted.

Saitou most certainly would, though Kenshin had no intention, at the moment. of giving it to him. Not when it was leverage he could use to find Kaoru and Kenji.

"That he would."

"But you're not gonna give it to him."

"Lord Kilbourne would prefer very much not. Lord Kilbourne will go to lengths to keep this from the hands of his government and ours."

"Soooo - - you're blackmailing the guy?"

Kenshin considered. It wasn't a tactic he'd stooped to before, but he supposed that was as accurate a term as any.

"Hey, its fine with me," Sano said, clapping a hand on his shoulder as they walked, when Kenshin didn't respond. "You do what you have to do. The bastard that took Kaoru sure isn't practicing restraint."

Two days. Two frustrating days, with no word, from either their own streetwise source or any contact from Lord Kilbourne. Almost Kenshin was ready to venture back into that grand house and inquire none too politely if the man had misjudged the seriousness of his request. But, no English guardsmen had come looking for them, and on his brief encounters with Saitou, no mention was made of waves made or complaints made to the Japanese embassy, so one had to assume that Kilbourne had kept his silence regarding Kenshin's visit. Which meant he understood what was at stake.

Saitou had, upon one meeting in the inn's tea house, given the both of them long looks, before settling his gaze on Kenshin and remarking, that he hadn't realized their funds so vast and suggested he not let Sano gamble them away.

Sano, predictably had taken offense, entirely forgetting that those funds had belonged to Saitou. Saitou had simply sucked on his cigarette and remarked to Kenshin that his hands must be healing nicely if his fingers were so nimble.

Sano had taken offense at that as well - - it seemed to be a morning for Sano to be prickly - - and sullenly demanded of Saitou why he assumed Kenshin was light fingered and not him.

One had to shut one's eyes and sigh at the pride prompted blatant admission of guilt and thank the powers that be that they were far from home where Saitou held no real power of enforcing justice.

Saitou did have the power to piss Sano off though, by lifting a dubious brow, flicking his ash almost onto Sano's bowl of half eaten breakfast and scoffing at the notion that Sano had the ability to be nimble about anything.

It dissolved rapidly from there, and Kenshin, whose patience was usually a great deal more durable than it was at present, silently rose and distanced himself from Saitou baiting and Sano snapping like a hungry snakehead.

It was misting outside. A fine sort of glistening precipitation that was incongruous with the sun shining down between gaps in the light cloud cover. He didn't mind. It felt cool on his face, and slowly dampened the thin cloth of his noragi. He headed dockside, walked the busy street where races of all ethicality mixed. Men, women, sailors, peasants, merchants. By far a headier mix than even the progressive Meiji government allowed on the streets of Nagasaki where the largest of the ports that catered to foreign merchants was. If Winter and his compatriots both English and Japanese, had their way, Kyoto would be as bustling a foreign port as well.

Bound to happen, he supposed. One way or another. He'd rather it was under public control than at the whim of a few wealthy backers pulling strings within the government.

The mist let up and the sun overpowered the clouds, beaming down with relish, drying the puddles and making the mud thick and hard. Kenshin headed back to the inn, and almost didn't recognize the girl who scurried up to him before he reached the gates.

The girl from Kilbourne's bed. It was disconcerting that she'd recognized him before he'd taken note of her, but he supposed of the two of them, he stood out more on these streets. He looked around warily while she bowed her head at him, wringing her hands nervously.

There was no one of note watching them. No one loitering or pausing at all in their commute. Just the girl, with her long hair swinging free and her middle bared by a native sarong.

"Sir - -? You are - - ?" She stammered, perhaps not so sure after all, what he looked like.

He inclined his head, gesturing to the shade of an alley. She looked hesitant to retreat there with him. He'd given her good reason to fear the last they'd met. "You are safe with me," he soothed her, smiling gently.

She took a breath, eyes wide, faltering in her unease. He had a way with children, and she was not much more than a child herself. She moved into the seclusion of the ally, pressing her back against one wall and he urged her to speak with an inquiring look.

"My lord has arranged for you to meet with someone who has the information you seek," she said.

"Who?"

She shook her head helplessly, dark eyes glued to his face. "I do not know. But, you are to go alone, my lord says. The bearer of this information will meet only you in the park on the east side of Beira Lake at noon. If anyone else comes - - they will leave and will not attempt to meet with you again."

"And?"

"That is all I was told." She tried to slip away and he put a hand out, on the wall next to her head. She froze, trembling, and he hissed a breath through his teeth, and stepped back, letting her leave. She was a messenger and not likely to know more than what she'd been told to relay. And little enough information that was. A mysterious meeting in the center of the city. A vastly public place at least, surrounded by businesses frequented by westerners and patrolled by English soldiers. A carefully chosen place as well, that no man who did not wish to end up in English custody, would dare to walk with a blade at his hip.

He looked up at the sky, the sun almost at its apex. Close enough to noon now, that if he hurried, he might just make the lake in time. Just as well not to tell Sano, because he wouldn't agree to not accompany him, and even if he lurked at the edges, he was not adept at blending into the background.

Chapter Twenty-two

Beira Lake sat wide and sparkling, surrounded by green park and public paths, by the fine facades of homes on the one side and the bustling row of shops that catered to the Westerners on the other. At mid-day it drew crowds. Vendors hawking their wares around the edges, native children playing, couples strolling the paths now that the rain had let up, or sitting on benches along the shore, watching small boats drifting in the lake amidst flocks of water fowl. Soldiers - - always English soldiers - - reminding everyone who held power here.

Kenshin walked the path around the lake, watching passerby from under his hair, looking for that tell tale sign of a body who was here for anything but casual enjoyment. He felt the eyes on him, that sixth sense that a man who'd lived by his wits for too many years to ever comfortably dissipate, making the hair on the back of his arms stand up.

There was a man sitting casually on a bench at the lakeshore a paper bag of breadcrumbs at his side that he idly tossed to the greedy birds loitering at the water's edge. Immaculate western suit, cropped pale hair. Kenshin's step faltered - - for a moment it seemed his heart did - - as Winter inclined his head, one brow quirking. Smiling.

Instinct made him reach for a sword that wasn't there. He caught himself, stilling the motion. Stilling everything - - emotion, expression, the rage that wanted to boil up and explode. He stopped, a half dozen paces from the bench, afraid if he allowed himself to get too close, he'd have his hands around this man's throat.

Winter leaned back, draping an arm across the back of the bench, those pale eyes of his boldly assessing. "I wouldn't have believed it, if my own eyes weren't looking upon you. It takes a good deal to impress me, but you standing here, is a testament to tenaciousness. Bravo."

"Where are they?" His voice came out hoarse.

Winter dipped his hand back into the bag, and almost Kenshin expected some weapon, tensed himself to respond to it - - but it was only breadcrumbs that Winter tossed to the fowl. After a moment of watching them gobble down the bread, Winter said.

"Safe. I promised, did I not? I take no pleasure from killing women and children."

"Erizowa's daughter might debate that."

Winter waved a hand, dismissive. "Ah, that. She would have betrayed me. Endangered my carefully wrought plans. She had to go. Your little wife - - so far from home - - is no danger at all. And your child - - he's far too young to even fully understand. He thinks it all a great adventure. Charming lad. Already he speaks passing English. He'll make someone a fine manservant when he's older. She'll make a spirited mistress to a man who prefers his women lively. You'd be surprised how in demand household staff of an 'exotic' nature are these days."

Kenshin went still, that calm he'd forced fracturing, killing cold flowing in from the cracks. So very, very wise of Winter to meet him here, where he wouldn't have gotten two blocks during the light of day with the sword at his hip. He'd have had it at the bastard's throat in the middle of the park, or buried in his black heart, and vows be damned. That Winter could sit there, so outwardly calm and provoke him so - - either the man had lost his grasp on sanity - - or he possessed a self confidence that was wildly over inflated.

Winter canted his head at him, studying him. "Ah, I see it now, those things she told me about you. There is something distinctly hair-raising about that look in your eyes. She had great faith in you, you know, before she thought you dead. She told me what a great mistake I had made, evoking your wrath. But then, once I'd figured out who you were, I'd figured that out myself. I didn't know you'd vowed not to kill again. She's proud of you for that, you know? As if a little judicious killing would stain a man beyond repair. Of course she thinks it might. Not a lot of faith in you in that regard, huh? Just as well for me though. Hard to practice convincing retaliation without the threat of death. Still, I thought it prudent to meet without the benefit of weapons. At heart, I'm a businessman, not a fighter."

Kenshin might argue that point. It felt as if the words were slicing into him with no less accuracy than a well-aimed blade.

"Where are they? Just - - Just tell me where they are?"

"Why should I? I had a profitable venture in the cards, before you decided to screw it up. Lord Kilbourne is not pleased, let me tell you. Your damned fault."

"You're a murderer and a liar. You deserve what you get."

"Pot. Kettle." Winter smiled at him and Kenshin didn't get it. Winter sighed and waved a hand. "I'd wager you've killed far more than I, manslayer. So save your self-righteousness for someone with more blood on their hands than you."

Kenshin took a step towards him, thinking of ways he could hurt this man without a sword in his hands. Winter lifted a brow at him and glanced at a pair of passing English soldiers.

"Your boy has more your look than hers," Winter said, idly. "Your hair. Your eyes. He'll be pretty."

"If you've touched him I won't need a blade to rip you apart. And it won't matter where you are, or who you try to find to protect you," Kenshin said softly.

Winter scoffed. "Do you think me some mewling pervert who preys on children? I assure you my tastes run - - older." He smiled, eyes drifting over Kenshin. "I must say, I like the look of peasant garb on you. "

Kenshin felt the chill of goose pimples on his skin, the sickening lurch of memory of this man's hands on him when he'd been in no condition to protest the indignity. Of this man's sibilant whispers in his ear. A snake. A western snake that sat there at such ease as if perpetrating atrocities was his birthright.

"What do you want?" Kenshin asked softly.

"Those papers you stole for a start. Then I'll consider releasing the girl and your child."

"What sort of fool would I be to trust you at your word when you've proven that honor holds no meaning for you?"

Winter's mouth twitched in a tight smile. "My honor or lack of, is not at issue. Yours is. I think you're a man that will do whatever needs doing to secure the safety of those he loves."

Winter crumpled the bag into a ball, and rose, walking to stand closer to Kenshin than was safe for either one of them. Kenshin tightened his fists, controlling twin urges to step back or drive a fist into any number of places that would cause this man great hurt.

"You understand the nature of men without honor and the things they might do to innocents." Winter said softly, bending his head, leaning close enough that Kenshin felt the warmth of his breath. "You will do what I tell you to do, because you understand the consequences if you do not."

Kenshin stared over his shoulder blindly, the lake a hazy wash of color, not nearly so vivid as he imagined the color of Winter's blood would be.

"Who are your companions?" Winter asked and snapped him away from his visions of death.

When he didn't answer, Winter smiled. "You think I don't have resources on this island? You think the moment I realized someone had arrived that had an interest in my business that I did not know? The older one is some sort of Japanese authority, I'd gather, though he's kept his dealings frustratingly obscure. The other one not so much. Young. Loud. Pretty eyes. Not the boy Kaoru spoke of at the dojo - - the one you gave your precious sword to? Another friend picked up along the way? Tall for a Japanese."

Kenshin said nothing. Threatening the man to stay away from what was his would only assure him that he'd struck a telling blow. "You'll have your documents when I have Kaoru and Kenji."

Winter lifted a brow at him. "Ah, so now we're bargaining. Will you have one of your friends hold them? The dangerous one with connections? What's the point in me having them back if the people I wish to keep them from have already perused them?"

"He hasn't seen them. He won't, if you keep to your word."

Winter sighed. Waved a negligent hand. "As you wish. Unfair of me to want to hold all the cards in our little game, I suppose and I'm feeling generous. I felt bad, that I had to leave you to them. If I'd had the time to spare, I would have given you a much cleaner end than those mountain bandits. I'd have enjoyed that."

Kenshin lowered his head, eyes narrow. He flicked them to the side, glancing at the approach of a pair of English soldiers.

"Where?" he asked, harsh whisper. "Tell me where and I'll bring the papers in exchange for them."

"No bother. I'll have them fetched myself." Winter put a hand on his shoulder, and Kenshin almost struck out at the man for the indignity, but the soldiers hadn't passed by, they'd walked right up, hands on their guns, and now that he focused on anything but the man before him, he heard the soft thud of boots from behind him of another set fast approaching.

"Life is so fragile," Winter squeezed, fingers biting into the flesh above the collar of Kenshin's noragi. "We both know how much damage a bullet can do."

He might have evaded them. There were only the four of them and Winter, and they were slow, these English. But bullets were not and there was no cover between here and the road, just broad grassy park, and the street beyond was spotted with more soldiers. And Winter had him at a disadvantage. Had from the unfortunate day they'd met managed to maneuver Kenshin into a position of his wanting. The man was correct, in that as long as he held Kaoru and Kenji in his power, Kenshin's choices were limited.

Winter spoke to them in their language and they nodded, giving Kenshin dark looks. Another hand landed on him from behind, gripping his arm, moving down to his wrist as they pulled his hands behind him. He let them, staring levelly at Winter.

"Friends of mine." Winter explained, while they fastened cold metal around his wrists. "The East India Company has great influence in the colonial government and my uncle is a shareholder. They think you're one of my houseboys, absconded with property of mine."

They jerked him around, hauling him between two of them across the park, while Winter strolled leisurely behind, chatting with one of the others. People made way for them, English and Ceylonese alike, staring at the procession curiously.

There was a carriage waiting on the street, a dark, covered affair, with two attendants perched on the back and another that might have been Japanese on the high seat, holding the reins.

Winter caught up, slipping a hand again onto Kenshin's shoulder and leaning over to taunt. "A servant stealing from his master at the very least is cause to lose a hand. Execution is not unwarranted if the issue is pushed."

Kenshin stared at the crest on the door of the carriage, mouth tight, thinking more about those documents in his and Sano's room, and the possibility of Sano being there when Winter sent men to retrieve them. Sano wouldn't let them go peacefully. If Winter sent simple thugs, Sano could hold his own, but if he sent guardsmen with guns - -

Let Saitou be there when they came. Just that much good fortune fate owed him.

"I've convinced them," Winter was going on, very much attracted to the sound of his own voice. "That I prefer to discipline of my servants personally."

Kenshin's mouth twitched in a humorless smile. "Of that, I have no doubt."

Winter pushed him towards the coach and that was okay. If the man thought he held all the power, then he'd be more likely to take Kenshin to where Kaoru and Kenji were. And for that, Kenshin would endure a great deal.

He'd thought maybe, one of the large houses along the row on Galle Street, but the trip was much longer than that. Kenshin sat squeezed between two English soldiers, while Winter and a third sat across, speaking in low tones now and then, words Kenshin could not understand. The shades on the windows were down, casting the interior in shadows, trapping the smoke from the cigar Winter had lit, and the one's he'd offered to the senior of the trio of Soldiers. It was a sweeter stench than the cigarette's Saitou smoked. No less strangling after a while, trapped in the haze of it.

The sounds of the city receded, the sounds the wheels of the carriage made muffled on soft dirt. There were the sounds of countryside, of birds and the rustle of trees close by, the occasional jolting as the carriage hit a rut. Outside the city then. Well outside.

By the time they rolled to a halt, his hands had gone numb, trapped between him and the hard seat back. The light flooding in the carriage when the Japanese servant jumped down and opened the door was momentarily blinding. The soldiers blinked, stretching no doubt stiff limbs, one of them deliberately elbowing Kenshin in the process, a small enough cruelty for putting them out. They pulled him out and he stared at the façade of what seemed a very old building. A grand house of what he thought might be Ceylonese design and not western. A grander yard that spilled down a rolling lawn to lush gardens ripe with tropical blooms. No other buildings within his line of sight. Nothing but forest far to the left, and vast fields of low greenery - - tea - - he thought, to the right of the sprawling estate. He could just see tiny figures out amidst the crops, working the fields.

Winter waved a hand at the house and said in Japanese for Kenshin's benefit. "The house of my uncle. As he's gotten older, he's found the climate and the society of England more beneficial to his health. He leaves me free usage of it."

"Are they here?" He asked and one of the English soldiers cuffed him, a sharp blow against the side of the head for the atrocity of speaking. Winter waved a hand, amused, and spoke a few mollifying words to the guardsman, who glowered, no great proponent, it seemed, of disobedient servants.

"He thinks me too lenient," Winter explained, as he led the way into the house, through doors opened by bowing Ceylonese servants.

The Japanese, a man of perhaps fifty, with short cropped hair and a small, pursed mouth, hurried ahead, through a massive foyer with high stone ceilings carved with intricate art. They followed him, the two guards, hauling Kenshin between them, Winter striding behind, the tap of his shoes echoing on hardwood floors. He only caught flashes of elegant rooms as they passed by, heading for the door the Japanese man had disappeared through. A basement at the bottom of wide stone steps. A large cold space with walls lined by crates and barrels and unused furniture. The servant had lit a few lamps along the wall that chased shadows away. The same servant trotted up, as they held Kenshin in the middle of that space, a thin smile on his small mouth, a set of leg irons in his hands.

Kenshin met his eyes, unflinching, putting promise behind his stare and after a moment, the smile faltered, replaced by a tightening of lips, and the man knelt, fastening the irons around Kenshin's ankles. Hobbled then, with little more than a foot of chain between his feet, and then Winter felt safe enough to have them unclasp one of the cuffs on his wrists so they could force his hands up over his head to dangling loop of chain and refasten the cuffs around it.

The guards laughed among themselves then, duty fulfilled, and Winter spoke with them, clapping on the back in a comradely fashion. The manservant glared darkly at Kenshin while his master escorted the soldiers to the top of the stairs.

"Do you enjoy licking the boots of the English?" Kenshin inquired softly, and the man's eyes narrowed.

The man stepped closer, bolder with no viable threat from Kenshin. "Foolish boy, to cross my master."

"He does look the boy, doesn't he, Jun? " Winter remarked, descending the stairs again alone. "But it's deceiving. This is a manslayer, who fought for the Meiji in the revolution."

The servant, Jun, lifted his brows, reassessing. He looked closer, eyes narrowed, reaching out a finger to graze the cross shaped scars on Kenshin's cheek. Kenshin jerked his head away with a baring of teeth.

"Ahh," Jun breathed in surprise. "So he is. I understand your caution, master Quinton. You should kill him now. No good will come of keeping him alive."

Winter dismissed that suggestion with a wave of his hand. "Not just yet."

He moved around Kenshin, trailing a hand across his back, stepped in close to his back and loosened the noragi's belt. Slid a hand across his bared stomach, up to the shiny pink scar where his bullet had ripped through Kenshin's shoulder. "It's fate you know, that you survived to find your way back to me. I denied myself the leisure to discover the limits of your tolerances personally before and I regretted that. I've no appointments to keep at the moment to keep me from such pleasures now."

"Are they here?" Kenshin repeated the question he'd asked earlier. Teeth clenched this time, skin shivering involuntarily from Winter's hand upon it.

Winter sighed, dragging his fingers through the tail of hair at Kenshin's neck, loosening the band that held it, grasping a handful and raising it to his face in inhale.

"No," he said. "Not anymore. I would imagine they're a good ways out to sea now, on a ship that sailed three days past. The man they're bound for has a taste for Asian women. She'll be well taken care for."

Kenshin shut his eyes. A sound escaped him. A growl that sounded less than human. He slammed his head back, catching Winter full in the face. The man howled, staggering back, clutching at his face, blood spraying from his nose. The servant came at Kenshin with a cry, driving a fist into his gut, another in his side. He hardly felt the pain.

Gone. Gone. So close and he'd missed them. Wasted time chasing this soulless bastard while the distances between them grew. He'd let himself be taken - - again - - and for nothing.

A hand grasped his hair, winding it around a fist, jerking his head back between his arms. Winter glared down at him, nose already swelling, blood flowing freely down his chin, dripping onto his white shirt. "You will pay for that. And if this deal goes sour because of your actions - - you'll beg me for a quick death."

"Master, let me tend to you - -" Jun urged, hovering.

Winter snarled, jerked once - - sharply - - on Kenshin's hair, before releasing him. He shrugged off his manservant's hands and stalked for the stairs. Jun gave Kenshin a killing glare, before extinguishing the lights on the lanterns, and hurrying up the stairs after his master.

When the door banged shut, it plunged the world into utter, inky black. Kenshin hissed, jerking at the chains, but they were fastened securely and all he managed to do was bruise his wrists and tear skin to the point that he felt the warm trickle of blood down his arms. He bowed his head, bereft in that darkness, a wave of frustration washing over him so strongly it made his eyes water. The dead were laughing at him now, he thought. All those dead, finally getting their due of him. Urging karma all this time to deliver him one harsh blow after another.

Sano downed the last of his ale and slammed the mug on the countertop, annoyed. The light outside the tavern door was tinted grey with afternoon showers. Late. Not more than an hour or so to dusk and Kenshin hadn't shown back up. Up to things that he no doubt thought Sano too 'clumsy' to participate in. Not at the fat old lord's house, Sano had already figured that out by loitering around the premises earlier in the day, and seeing nothing to suggest that the master of the place had been accosted in the light of day. Servants and vendors came and went and the fat old bastard himself left himself a few hours after noon, which ended Sano's reason for surveillance.

So, he'd wondered to the docks, where he knew Kenshin had an interest in inquiring of foreign sailors about his elusive Englishman, but no Kenshin there either. Sano ended up sampling a good deal of various alcohol. Native brewed beer, English whiskey, an Indian brew of fermented rice called manri. Sporting a buzz didn't do much to dull his irritation.

Losing most of the money he'd gotten Kenshin to give him from Sano's purse in a game of dice he'd found didn't make it better. He ought to kick Kenshin's ass when he got back, he really ought to, only the mood Kenshin was in these last few days, he probably wouldn't let him get away with it. Kenshin hadn't been much for bed since the house on Galle street, even when Sano complained. Had sat there in the dark with that sword leaning against his shoulder and dozed like he was in the midst of war.

Sano figured he was, warring on the inside as well as the frustrating one he was fighting against a foe that wouldn't show itself. A little sex, Sano had tried to argue, could only make things better, but Kenshin wasn't buying it. And Sano couldn't fault a man for narrowing his focus when his endgame just might be in sight. Well, he couldn't fault him too much. He might have been a little more compassionate about Kenshin's struggle, if he wasn't the one going to end up with the short end of the stick when Kenshin got his family back.

His own damn fault anyway, he supposed. If he'd had any idea, when he'd been nineteen and stupid and stubborn and ready to leave rather than hang around watching Kaoru domesticate Kenshin, that he'd wanted anything more than Kenshin's friendship - - well he might have stuck around and given the twit a little competition. Nineteen hadn't been his smartest year. Hell, a lot of years hadn't been his smartest. And maybe he had known, just hadn't been comfortable enough with himself to admit it.

He lost his way trying to get back to the inn. Too much drink and his sense of direction sometimes got muddled. Wondering around Colombo for an hour as dark was falling, managed to clear his head enough to recognize a landmark and get himself turned in the right direction. He skulked through the gates and followed the path around the back of the inn to the bungalows. There was a light in his and Kenshin's. Kenshin back then, and Sano hoped he'd been worrying as much about Sano being gone all day as Sano had about him.

With every intention of giving Kenshin a piece of his mind, Sano jerked open the door. He got two steps into the room with his mouth open in mid rant, and stopped dead, catching half a look at the faces of two Ceylonese men in the midst of rifling through his stuff before they launched themselves at him, short, curved blades glinting in the shadows.

He staggered back in surprise, holding up an arm to ward off the slice of a blade, and felt the sting of it cutting into his forearm. He ducked under it as the man drew his arm back for another slice, and drove his fist into the guy's sternum. The guy sailed backwards, knocked right off his feet and into the table with the oil lamp. Sano didn't wait to see him hit the ground, busy back peddling to avoid the other one who was trying to stab him in the kidney. Not too hard to avoid. They weren't that adept with their blades. He'd fought better by far.

He caught the second guy's wrist as he was making another jab at him, twisted hard enough to fracture bones and the man howled, trying to jerk away. Sano didn't let him until he planted his other fist into the thieving bastard's face.

The both of them were down and the flame from the oil lamp was flickering damned close to spilled oil. He snatched it upright before it could ignite it. There was the sound of men approaching from outside, the clop of hard soled boots and the voices of Englishmen who never bothered to practice subtlety.

"Sagara!"

Sano whirled, fists clenched, and glared at Saitou in his doorway. Saitou jerked his head towards the inn proper and snapped. "Come. Now!"

Normally, Sano would have balked at following any order Saitou gave, but at the moment, the hairs on the back of his neck were bristling and staying here seemed a damned bad notion with the sound of English soldiers pounding down the walk. He lunged for the rolled parchments Kenshin had stolen, tucked behind their rolled bedding, then grabbed Kenshin's sword, and bolted for the door. Saitou had already disappeared into the darkness towards the back of the inn yard. Sano ran that way, towards the wall at the back. He made a leap for it, caught the top and hauled himself over. Saitou was already there, a pale face in the shadows that jerked his head and ran, keeping close to the darkest of the dark places, down the alley behind the inn.

After a good distance, when the only sounds were the normal, calm ones of a town at night, Saitou spun on him, slamming him back into the wall of a building, fists clenched at the collar of Sano's jacket.

"What have the two of you done?"

Sano shoved him away, indignant. "Get your hands off, bastard."

Saitou hit him. A blow against the side of the head that Sano didn't even come close to see coming. He braced himself against the wall to keep his knees from buckling and cursed while the spots receded.

"Where's Himura?"

"Fuck you, Saitou."

"No. We're all fucked, Sagara, if he's done something to set the whole of the English occupation of this island on our heels. They fear rebellion, and if they scent the seeds of it, whether real or imaginary, they'll raze everything in their path to destroy it. Now what have the two of you done?"

"Your damned job," Sano muttered and waved the hand with the rolled documents.

Saitou narrowed already narrow eyes and snatched the roll out of Sano's hand.

"Got it from some English lord - - Kilbourne or something - - it's the whole shifty trade agreement. He's using it as leverage to get to Winter."

Saitou closed his eyes, drawing a hissing breath through his teeth.

"Fools," he breathed, finally. "A pair of fools. Him more than you because he has the intelligence to know better."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

Saitou just shook his head and started walking.

Sano pushed himself off the wall and stalked after. "What the fuck, Saitou?"

"You don't think they'll betray one another, even in their duplicity, to the benefit of a lowly foreigner, do you? To them we're all savages."

"I think they're a bunch of greedy bastards who don't know a damned thing about honor."

"Where's Himura?"

"I don't know," Sano barked, disgusted. "I haven't seen him since this morning."

Saitou stopped, glancing back at him narrowly. "And it didn't occur to you that this brilliant plan of yours might have backfired?"

"Yes, it fucking occurred to me. I've looked all over - - I - -" he stopped, clutching the sheath of Kenshin's sword. "Backfired how?"

Saitou didn't answer. Just started walking again a brisk stride that even Sano with his long legs had to jog to keep up with. "Where are you going?"

"Tell me exactly what happened with this lord Kilbourne?"