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.

9. Chapter 9

Chapter Twenty-six

Saitou had brought clothing back, when he'd returned the first time with the food. Kenshin was not certain if it were consideration on his part, or if he simply didn't want his own escape possibly hindered by Kenshin wondering about the dockside, attracting attention in bloody, torn clothing. Rather, he suspected the latter. Saitou's courtesies tended towards the practical.

Still, it was appreciated, shedding blood crusted trousers and donning the clean, loose native clothing Saitou had appropriated. He might have preferred his own clothing, setting out yet one more time after Kaoru, but that was lost to him, in the inn where they dared not return. So he belted on soft brown trousers, and a coat not unlike a hanten, over his shirt that was long enough to hide the sakabatou. Ever practical, Saitou. He'd even brought sandals.

Sano had seen to his wounds. Sano had tended them with that gentle, competent touch that had surprised Kenshin since the mountains, but still, he stopped Kenshin when he was changing shirts, a hand on his shoulder where one of the dogs had gotten a tooth hold.

"This is your sword arm. You gonna have a problem if we run into trouble?" Sano's hand lingered, palm cool against the fevered skin around the bite. It was sore, a little stiff, but he'd battled through worse.

"No."

Sano nodded, sliding his hand to Kenshin's neck, under the hair he'd refastened into a tail, and Kenshin thought the question a pretense. Sano's insecurities were understandable - - Kenshin shared them - - but he hadn't the time or the patience to deal with them at the moment. Not when he wanted very badly to find the ship Saitou had procured for them, sooner rather than later, in the case they did run into that trouble Sano had suggested. But Sano didn't say anything more, just sighed and laid his forehead against Kenshin's, big hand on his neck. A surprising act of quiet commiseration that made Kenshin draw breath, off balance, not having expected it.

Then Sano drew away, embarrassed maybe, that evasive look in his eyes that hinted at it, at least, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Okay. You wanna get out of here, then?"

Kenshin nodded, crossing the lapels of the shirt and belting it, slipping the sword through that and donning the jacket loose to hide it. He would not go weaponless again, regardless of the local authorities disapproval. If he had to take up the argument physically, so be it. He had no intention of being here for longer than it took to board that ship and leave Ceylon behind him.

Sano snuffed out the candle and followed him out into the darkness. Hours yet till dawn and the sky was inky with cloud cover that spilled a steady, driving rain. No moon, no stars, but even with the lost time and disorientation he'd suffered, Kenshin's internal clock tended towards accuracy.

Sano didn't second guess Kenshin's sense of direction this time, following along, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his own native jacket, eyeing the dark alleys and the places possible danger might lie concealed. On edge as much as Kenshin. But the streets were quiet, abandoned in the hours of pre-dawn, the rain driving even the most relentless late reveler or diligent authority inside.

There were lights along the harbor though. Lanterns flickering weakly against stormy darkness. Always there were men awake and aware at the harbor, keeping ship's time, which was ruled by tides instead of night and day.

The port of Kolomtoa was one long stretch of boardwalk and docks, none of them labeled for the uninformed. Kenshin had no idea if a Dutch Schooner differed from a British one or an American one and comprehending foreign names painted on the bows of no few ships was beyond him. A daunting task, finding a particular ship, when the masts sprang like a vast, barren forest for what seemed miles of harbor. When only a portion of them were moored along the pier, a great many anchored in the bay, traveled to and from in small boats that even now dotted the water.

There was nothing to do but ask, which Sano did, having a greater grasp of the native language than Kenshin. Sano, like Kenji, had a knack for picking up foreign words and retaining them. Though he'd scoffed at Saitou's offer to teach on the voyage here, Sano having little patience for lessons that did not involve fighting techniques or sport, he'd picked up casual words easier than Kenshin. Sano claimed to be fairly adept with at least two Chinese dialects that he'd picked up during his travels on the mainland.

They were directed far, far down the harbor, by an inebriated old dockhand. A miserable walk, drenched and frustrated by the time they reached a stretch of docks where a round eyed sailor pointed when Sano spoke the name of the ship they were seeking and they saw a schooner three berths down with a modicum of activity. Men hunched under canvas coats in the rain, loading the last of provisions and cargo onto a fat bellied schooner with a much chipped, weather worn, golden haired mermaid gracing her bow.

"About damned time," Sano muttered, heading that way.

Kenshin started after him, then hesitated, something making the skin on the back of his arms prickle. He caught the edge of Sano's jacket, stalling his progress. Staring with intent into the shadows along the warehouse side of the dock, even as Sano paused, glancing back in question. He saw a glint of something. The almost imperceptible flicker of movement in the shadow of an alleyway.

Sano gave him a look, questioning and Kenshin flicked his eyes that direction, a subtle warning. Sano narrowed his own, glancing that way, but there was nothing now. Sano kept moving, casual saunter, that Kenshin followed, arms folded across his middle inside the jacket, fingers grazing the hilt of the sword.

The stone at Sano's feet spat up, simultaneous with the crack of gunfire. Sano yelped, dancing back, even as Kenshin looked for the source of the fire and found it as light flared from the muzzle of a gun on the roof of a building ahead of them. Sano was cursing, flinching as another shot hit too close, running for the closest shelter of an open doorway of a darkened warehouse with Kenshin on his heels.

Darker inside than out. The smell of tea battled with the stale smell of mold and dust, bales upon bales of dried leaves stacked within. There were the sound of footsteps pounding towards them, the tell tale clatter that he'd come to be familiar with from English soldiers when they ran. He did not wish a fight with them on the docks, within view of a ship he wanted badly to board. Why they were waiting for them here and now was in question though. Had they known they were coming, or simply posted at the docks, waiting to for them to attempt to escape?

He urged Sano deeper into the darkness, through the corridor made by bales of tea, even as men entered the warehouse in their wake. Turned down a maze made by bales and barrels and crates, and came to wide aisle where there was a light square of grey towards the far end. A back entrance leading out into stormy pre-dawn. That way then, towards avoiding this conflict and working their way around to the Gravenhage, slipping aboard unannounced if need be, in efforts to be on her when she sailed.

A man lunged out of the dark at them from between bales, wielding a knife, hard to see in the dark. Sano smashed a fist in his face before he could jab at him with it, and the man tumbled backwards into a bale. But he was only the first. Others scurried out like rats from the darkness, blocking the way out.

Natives mostly, with knives and clubs, but English soldiers mixed in. But not the usual spotlessly uniformed ones that usually patrolled the city. Collars loosened, jackets rumpled as if they'd spent hours at ease or, from the faint smell of alcohol, hours at a tavern, before they'd come here. It made sense. Winter had no official power here, but he'd claimed to have no few of his countrymen in his pocket. Off duty soldiers doing favors then, like the ones that had apprehended Kenshin at the park.

Kenshin stopped next to Sano, fingertips on his arm, a quiet warning to think before he jumped into a fray that involved no few guns. A few of them held lanterns, a stuttering light that cast more shadows that they chased away. But it would give them the light to aim by.

"The carrying of weapons is not permitted," one of the soldiers barked, rifle held at ready. Kenshin shifted his stance somewhat, giving them his side, not relaxing his hand on the hilt of his sword. Eyes traveling among them until he settled on a figure moving in from the darkness at one side. A bruised, sorry seeming man with darkened eyes and a bandage covering one side of his face.

Winter. Who had survived after all and stood there, between two of the English, a revolver in his hand, that he brought up, pointing directly at Kenshin.

"I should have listened to Jun's advice and killed you first chance I had."

Kenshin said nothing. Didn't move. Just stood there meeting Winter's gaze.

"I want those papers back, damn you," Winter snapped.

"I don't have them," Kenshin said softly.

Winter laughed, and there was the faintest trace of desperation amidst the bravado. A man that had risked much and lost much in the process. A man with very little more to lose but pride and his chance at vengeance. Sano's viper, waiting for his moment to strike.

"Did you think," Winter hissed. "I wouldn't know when passage was booked on the first ship out of port on the trail of your little girl?"

Kenshin's thumb caressed the tsuba of his blade, not quite enough pressure to slide the sword from the mouth of the scabbard.

"So, this is the bastard who caused all the trouble?" Sano casually inquired, giving Winter the once over.

Winter's eyes flicked to him. Others did, a shifting of nervous men.

"Looks like you kicked his ass right good," Sano remarked.

Winter's eyes narrowed and Kenshin saw the faint tensing as his finger tightened on the trigger. He moved before the retort of the gun echoed in the cavernous chamber, sword drawn so fast that sparks spit from the metal clearing the sheath. No thought involved, simply instinct that directed the blade and he felt the impact of bullet glancing off metal, a tinge in the tight scar tissue on his palm. He stood there, half in front of Sano, who the bullet had been meant for, glaring narrow eyed at Winter.

"Shit," Sano said, after the fact.

Winter blinked at him. No few of them did, scrambling to readjust weapons, the British glowering, trying stubbornly to seem unimpressed, the natives casting nervous looks amongst themselves.

Sano could hold his own against them, thugs with clubs and knives, given the chance, but guns were a whole different matter. There were only so many bullets that Kenshin could keep track of, before they cut one or the other of them down. The light was a problem. Men needed light to aim by, and there were two lanterns providing that.

"Kill them both, " Winter made a short, frustrated wave and Kenshin moved. Had to hope Sano did, as gunfire exploded, echoes of it reverberating through the warehouse.

He darted in, low, fast, feeling the blood rushing in his veins, the thud of his heart, the smooth leather of the hilt in his hand. He shattered the barrel of a gun before the second shot rang out. Knocked out the first lantern, and the man holding it. Delved into the mass of them, focused on nothing but the blade and the almost slow motion movements of the bodies around him. Took out the second lantern and this one shattered, the flames guttering on the ground. It needed a body to extinguish them. He provided it, toppling a native with a Billy club.

Darkness now, the warehouse plunged back into shadows. A few shots still ringing out, men yelling, and he couldn't spare a moment to discover if Sano were in the midst of it. Had to figure Sano was, Sano having a tendency to wade into danger instead of away from it. Sano would have to take care for himself, Kenshin could not allow himself to be distracted by it. His distraction, his weak spots for the things that mattered to him was how Winter kept getting the upper hand. And he had his own weaknesses to contend with, old wounds half healed and new ones reminding him very avidly of their existence.

He propelled himself over the back of the man he'd just dispatched, feeling the buzz of a bullet that whizzed past his head, lucky coincidence, and took a man with a rifle down. Came down and spun low, cutting the legs out from under another. Anything but the sakabatou would have hamstrung a man. Anything but the sakabatou would have left a trail of death in his wake.

Men cried out, scuffling, disoriented, the sounds of conflict that wasn't centered on him, letting him know Sano was holding his own. Kenshin crouched for a moment, half kneeling on the man he'd most recently downed, finding his bearing in the darkness. He took half a breath more to flex his hand around the hilt. He could ignore the pain, but he could not afford for a hand not entirely whole, to cost him his grip.

He saw the silhouette of a man in the doorway. Jammed the hilt of his sword into the gut of one staggering towards him from behind. Cut down another few unlucky enough to get in his way and took off after Winter.

Winter, half turned, fired at him as he ran out into the jumbled alley behind the warehouse. Kenshin dodged to the side, lunged in low and Winter fired again, not even aiming for him this time, aiming behind him. He heard a curse that sounded like Sano, ignored his own sense of self-preservation and looked back, seeing Sano clutching his side, back against the edge of the warehouse door.

Kenshin hissed air through his teeth and spun back and found himself facing the muzzle of Winter's gun. Too familiar a position. He froze, staring past that dark bole to Winter's eyes.

"You son of a bitch," Winter snarled at him, a furious man. A desperate one. "You've destroyed my prospects twice over. If you think I won't find your woman and your brat after I put a bullet through your brain and do the same to them, you're naïve."

He squeezed the trigger, but his finger lost strength even as his mouth opened, gaping, eyes shocked wide, looking down at the blade in his gut. A killing blow that angled up towards his heart. The same sort of blow that had killed Erizowa's daughter.

"You - -" Winter gasped on the last of his breath, then toppled, sliding off Kenshin's blade.

Kenshin stood there, staring, thinking he should feel something more than he did. When he'd killed the man at Winter's mansion it had been unintended - - a desperate reflex action and he'd regretted it. This - - he'd known exactly what it was he was about and gone about it with clean, quick efficiency. His vow truly thrown to the four winds and he couldn't - - at that moment - - work up the emotion to care.

The rain was washing the blood off his blade, turning it pink and translucent.

Blood.

Sano. He spun, numb washed away like the blood, as he recalled Sano hit. The look of surprise on his face. But Sano was still on his feet, back against the warehouse door, one hand inside his jacket against his side, but looking less than mortally wounded.

"Sano?" Kenshin moved towards him, blade still naked in his hand. There were bodies in the warehouse that were groaning, painfully trying to push themselves up.

"Winged me," Sano said, trying for a grin, but wincing instead. Kenshin swallowed, not believing him, reaching out with his free hand and lifting Sano's jacket. Sano moved his hand so Kenshin could see. A gouge above Sano's hip, bleeding profusely, but not deep.

He looked up, meeting Sano's dark eyes. Worried eyes.

"You okay?" Sano asked.

Kenshin was not aware that he'd taken wounds. But then, he didn't think that was what Sano had meant. He shook his head, finding that he could not, at the moment, speak of it. He thought Kaoru would be terribly disappointed in him. All her faith shattered. She might not look at him the same again and she might have the right, because all it took to invite the stain back in was the blood at the end of a blade. He'd spent years convincing himself of just that, after all.

Sano's fingers caught his jaw, and he blinked, surprised, into Sano's eyes again. "Remember. Snake. Head. You did what needed doing. Don't forget it."

Sano wasn't sure Kenshin believed him. Despite the grim look on Kenshin's face, there was something hollow in his eyes. Guilt, self-recrimination - - who the hell knew what was going through his head with his sword fresh from gutting the son of a bitch who lay in a wet heap in the mud beyond them. The rest of the bastards were certainly alive, some of them struggling back to painful consciousness even now.

Sano pushed himself off the wall and put an elbow into the face of a man that had staggered out from the shadows of the warehouse, and Kenshin blinked, having missed the movement entirely, which just boded damned ill if Kenshin's attention was that badly shot. Kenshin didn't miss things. Not even the little stuff.

Sano caught Kenshin's arm, getting them moving, ignoring the sting of the bullet graze in his side. Hard to tell if it were blood or rain dribbling down his hip, but he didn't have the luxury to stop and find out. Kenshin shook off whatever had been stalling him, and sheathed the sword, picking his way behind Sano through the narrow little passage between this warehouse and the next. Garbage littered and treacherous, it was as quick a way back out to the pier as they had available to them.

Onto the dockside street and other than a sailor at the rail of the closest ship at berth staring with sluggish interest in the direction of the warehouse, their little scuffle, gunshots and all, had caused no one to spill out into the streets to find out the source of the commotion. Sano figured anyone sleeping it off on this street, was probably too drunk for a little late night or early morning brawl to disturb them.

Kenshin slipped warily past him though, hand on the sheath of his sword, moving that way he did when he was on the prowl, that perfectly lethal grace that he moved with when he wasn't trying to hide it and make the world think he was something less than what he was.

Sano was less cautious and strode out, staring up at the rooftops, figuring if there was somebody still up there willing to shoot at them, they might as well get it over with. But no shots came. Nobody came pursuing them at all, the hired thugs probably running soon as they realized their payroll was dead, and English soldiers more than likely not wanting to have to explain how they'd come to be embroiled in this to begin with. But that wouldn't last. Somebody would grow balls and report it to somebody not in Winter's pocket. So he and Kenshin needed to be safely out of here before the law descended.

Their ship was a couple of berths down, maybe far enough for the men scrambling around deck not to have noticed the scuffle down the street. Maybe not, because a big, pale haired guy with a glower and wicked boat hook in hand, barred their way before they even got the end of the boarding ramp.

"Gravenhage?" Sano pointed to the ship.

The guy nodded warily and Sano gave him his best, least threatening smile and said in Ceylonese. "We've got passage booked."

The guy stared at them dubiously, stared down at the hilt of Kenshin's sword and damned if Kenshin didn't have an expression on his face that might have given any sane man pause. So Sano sort of shouldered in front of him, amazed that he was the one having to put on the harmless, negotiators face, and repeated, slower, in case he'd spoken it wrong, or the guy didn't understand the language any better than he did.

"Sagara." He indicated himself, then jerked a thumb back at Kenshin. "Himura. Guy booked us passage yesterday."

The sailor frowned, then barked something over his shoulder, and another darker fellow came to the end of the ramp and looked down and said something back. Completely incomprehensible language. It didn't even sound like English.

Then, the dark one said in heavily accented Japanese. "You late. Another few minutes - - left without you."

He beckoned and they edged past the boathook and up the ramp.

"No baggage?" The dark one asked.

"Traveling light." Sano shrugged.

The sailor motioned them to follow as if he had better things to do, and led them to the hatch leading below decks. "Cabin this way."

They passed the open door of another cabin, where a matronly woman in a sari and a girl looked up at their passage, then down to the end of the corridor to a room little larger than a closet with two hammocks on hooks, one above the other, neither one long enough, Sano thought, to accommodate his length. Figures Saitou would book them the cheapest berth possible.

He leaned against the door while the sailor left, wondering if they'd get breakfast, while Kenshin stood half in the room, staring blindly at the dusty corner. Reliving things inside his head, Sano figured. Second guessing himself maybe. Thinking up ways to ramp up that guilt he liked to carry around. Idiot.

Sano lifted his jacket finally, looking down at the finger thick furrow in his side. It was still bleeding, soaking into the waist of his trousers.

"Sano," Kenshin finally swung his attention back to reality, and stared with concern at the wound.

Sano shrugged. "No big deal."

"We need to stop the bleeding." Kenshin looked around for something to accomplish that. There were wool blankets inside the unstrung hammocks, but damned if Sano wanted scratchy wool against a fresh wound. He was ready to tear a few strips off the hem of his jacket when there was a soft feminine gasp and the older woman from down the hall stopped in the passage and stared with dark, black rimmed eyes at his bleeding side.

"It's okay -" he started, figuring she'd freak out and maybe call one of the crew and the last thing they needed was trouble before the ship was out of dock. But she only called something to the girl, who stuck her head out their cabin door, then swept past Kenshin who was standing there dripping, and not doing much of anything useful, and took charge like a woman who was used to men who didn't have the sense to care for their own needs.

"How long has this been bleeding? Come, come," she urged him out of the doorway and down the hall towards her cabin. He gave Kenshin a bemused look in passing and let her pull him that way. He half saw Kenshin slide the sheathed sword out of his belt and set it inside their own small cabin, before he drifted after, standing in the corridor outside the door while the girl gave the woman strips of cloth to clean the wound, then opened a box filled with little jars.

The woman spoke excellent Japanese, though she was Hindu if Sano were any judge. Old enough to be his mother. Hell, old enough to be his grandmother, maybe, but still not bad looking with her black hair only lightly streaked with grey and pulled back tightly in a bun at the back of her neck. She had a red bindi dot on her forehead, and large dark eyes that spoke wisdom and mystery.

She dabbed ointment of some sort into the furrow, which stung like a bitch at first, then turned the whole thing blessedly numb. Then placed a thick wad of clean bandages over it and secured it with a strip of cloth wound round his waist a time or two.

"Thanks - - for this," he indicated his newly bandaged wound, shrugging on his damp jacket again, feeling a little embarrassed, standing there with bare torso in front of a pair of strange women. "Umm - - you speak pretty good Japanese."

"As do you," the woman smiled at him and he thought maybe there was a gentle jibe there, but wasn't certain.

They stood staring at him, the old one and the young one, who was looking up from under her lashes, a slight smile on her face, less subtle than her mistress.

"Um - -yeah. Thanks," Sano backed out, feeling awkward. Kenshin bowed at them politely, silently, and preceded Sano down the corridor back to their own cabin. Better to stay off deck and out of sight until the ship sailed out of dock.

"Well," Sano said, taking stock of the cabin. There was a spindly table bolted to the wall with a chamber pot atop it. A couple of nets for stowing gear hanging from hooks inside the door. That was it. The top hammock, when strung up looked to put a man's face not far from the low ceiling. Neither one offered many options to do anything other than sleep, unless a man got damned creative. All things considered, Sano doubted Kenshin would be up for anything mundane, much less creative for the foreseeable future. Which meant this was going to be a long five days sailing to Madras.

"You get the top bunk." Sano flopped down on the newly strung bottom one. Kenshin gave him a tired look. Slowly let himself fold down to a comfortable position, cross-legged against the wall next to the corner where his sword was, gone silent, turning things over in his head.

Sano sighed, figuring that going over it again a waste of his breath. Kenshin would chew on this as long as he had to, either coming to some reasonable conclusion or some skewed, honor bound one that only someone raised in the way of a hidebound samurai could fathom.

"I think I'll take a nap." Sano stuffed his hands behind his head, finding a comfortable enough position in the hammock if he let one leg dangle just so. "Wake me if they ring the breakfast bell."

It wasn't breakfast that woke Sano from his doze, but a crack of thunder. He started awake, clutching for support that wasn't there as the hammock swayed. This was no ship at port, but one well out to sea, he could feel it in the constant, rollicking motion when he put his feet to the deck.

"Damn, " he swore softly, having no fondness for storms at sea. The last one, on the boat back from China to Japan, had had him vomiting into a pail for a day and a half. That was one of those little details he'd left out of his adventures when he'd recounted them to Kenshin.

Kenshin who still sat against the wall, arms across his knees, head down, dozing maybe, despite the storm in that guarded position he'd resort to when there were enemies at his back, or demons nipping at the edges of his sanity. Sano figured those demons were mightily agitated now.

He sighed, swinging his legs off the hammock and perching there a moment as the boat tipped under him, trying to steady his head and his stomach. Whatever had been blowing into port when they'd boarded this ship, they'd apparently sailed right into. He blew out a breath, trying to find that calm that would stave of nausea. Stretched and winched a little at the pull from the wound in his side. His clothing was dry though, so he'd slept a good few hours, he guessed.

He nudged Kenshin with his foot and his head came up, eyes mostly hidden by unruly hair.

"So looks like we've got a storm." Sano stated the obvious.

Kenshin didn't offer response. He looked a little paler than usual. Maybe not dealing so well with all the rocking of the deck either. It made Sano feel a little better, the idea of shared nausea.

"I'm hungry. Gonna head to the galley. Coming?"

Kenshin shook his head. The long silences always tended to make Sano a little crazy. A little irritable.

"You gonna sit here and sulk?"

Kenshin slanted a narrow eyed look up at him.

And it wasn't fair, accusing him of it. Really it wasn't. This was a no small thing to Kenshin. It had been no small thing when he'd admitted to the death at his hands at Winter's estate and that hadn't really even been his fault, far as Sano could see. What he'd done to Winter - - well, Sano had heard those threats - - Sano would have killed the guy and it wasn't even his family that had been on the receiving end of them. It was a wonder Kenshin had been thinking at all. Likely, he hadn't been.

But, Kenshin pushed himself up. A little less graceful than usual. A little effort put into gaining his balance once he had his feet under him. The sway of the deck maybe - - maybe he'd just gone stiff and sore from the damage he'd taken under Winter's care, finally. It was overdue.

Sano stuffed his hands into his pockets, and headed out the cabin down the corridor and the hatch leading down. Found the galley easy enough by the scent of food. It smelled like gruel and exotic spices - - not an entirely appealing smell when he was a little unsteady on his feet - - but his stomach was rumbling despite it and Sano was game to give it a try.

A long narrow cabin, with two plank tables with benches bolted to the floor and a swinging door leading to the galley proper. This was the passenger galley, not the crew one, and there were about a half dozen people already there. The two Indian women. A group of Hindu men with beards and turbans gathered together at the end of the table. An elderly European looking man with his nose in a book, ignoring them all. The women were playing some game involving an embroidered, cross-shaped piece of cloth and an array of small gaming pieces.

A ship's boy, dark skinned and skinny and not more than twelve, asked in English what they wished. Sano caught part of the question. The elderly Indian woman was kind enough to translate. "He asks if you wish breakfast?"

"Sure," Sano said and glanced at Kenshin

"Just tea."

The lady told that to the lad, and the boy scurried through the galley door.

Sano sat down not far from the women, Kenshin settling beside him. He leaned an elbow on the table and put on his smooth smile. He had hit and miss success with women, some loved him, some hated him and damned if he knew exactly what any of them were thinking, but these two had helped him out and he assumed some good will from them.

"Thanks. Again. I keep meaning to pick up a little English."

The older woman inclined her head. "Wise choice. The English are voracious in their pursuit of empires. Knowledge of their tongue is only prudent."

"You're pretty good at a lot of languages, huh?"

"My husband was a scholar of some repute."

The boy brought out a trey with a bowl of lumpy, white porridge and two metal mugs of tea. Kenshin looked at Sano's bowl, then away. Sano took a breath, figured if it came up again, it couldn't look much worse than it did now, and delved in.

"What game is that?" Kenshin asked softly, sounding a little strangled, and probably not really caring about it as much as he was trying to get his attention away from the sight and smell of Sano's breakfast.

"It is called Chopat," the older one said. "It is a very old game."

Kenshin gave her a faltering smile, inclining his head, but his heart wasn't in engaging in conversation, that was clear. Sano slid down the bench, leaving his empty bowl behind, and looked at the game himself. It didn't seem the sort of thing one might easily place bets on - - it seemed rather a long, complicated mess, so his interest was limited. But the younger girl was pretty - - dark and exotic - - and it was better than sitting there trading silences with Kenshin.

"So, you two headed for Madras, huh? You live there?"

"For many years," the matron said. "I am Pakshi wife of Narasimha Chopras. This is Satya, my niece."

The girl lowered her lashes and gave Sano a flirty look. A man had to be flattered, especially sitting next to Kenshin who had the irritating and entirely unwitting ability to draw female attention. Sano remember fondly how it had habitually driven Kaoru mad. Doubly so when Kenshin hadn't noticed half the time.

"Satya. Pretty name." Sano grinned at her. The girl didn't blush, and she should have, sitting next to her aunt and looking at Sano the way she was looking. Or maybe it was just him being used to Japanese girls and not Indian ones, and she wasn't really casting him an invitation with her pretty eyes.

"Thank you, Pakshi san, for your help before," Kenshin said. And maybe he'd noticed the invitation in the girl's eyes too - - amazing - - because there was actually the slightest hint of edge in his voice, which made Sano's grin all the wider.

She inclined her head, accepting that. Waiting for them to return the favor of names.

Sano jumped in when Kenshin didn't immediately. "I'm Sano. He's Kenshin."

"What business do two fine Japanese gentlemen have in Madras?" the niece asked tartly, and Sano had to laugh, never having had the occasion to be called a fine gentleman before.

"We're after a ship," Sano said, and caught the barest flicker of Kenshin's eyes. Not happy with him blurting their intentions for all to hear. Kenshin could be damned secretive, but then, Kenshin had grown to manhood in the midst of a lot of dicey politics and backstabbing during the revolution, so maybe it was just survival instinct. Sano sure hadn't had to deal with the dark maneuverings of the minds behind the Meiji when he'd been doing his part in that same revolution. He hadn't been anybody's weapon - - not like Kenshin had been.

"Ah. Many ships travel to Madras."

"This one has a girl and a kid on board - -"

"Sano - -" Soft warning.

"Yeah? I don't see what difference it makes."

Kenshin said nothing to that flare of temper. Just folded his hands around the mug of tea and stared into its faintly rippling surface. The woman, Pakshi, watched him for a moment, dark eyes moving from him to Sano.

Finally she turned her attention back to the game. "Would you care to learn - -?"

"Sure." It was close to a week's sailing time from Colombo to Madras, India. What else did he have to do?

Chapter Twenty-seven

The storm dwindled to uneasy seas and light rain by nightfall. By the following day, the skies were blue and the seas ahead clear and smooth, the deck rolling gently underfoot instead of bucking with the vengeance of angry sea spirits. A relief to have equilibrium back. Kenshin felt naked without it. Sunlight was a welcome thing, after a day spent in the musty underbelly of a ship. Passengers and crew alike found reason to be on deck.

The ladies had spread a blanket on deck towards the stern, long, colorful scarves protecting them from spray and wind as they chatted, embroidering complicated patterns on cloth. Sano sat with them, outside the edge of their blanket, having failed during the previous evening to find a game of chance among the crew. The Gravenhage's captain was a man of fervent Christian faith and frowned mightily upon gambling or drinking or carousing of any mischievous nature on his ship. Which left Sano no option but to find entertainment where he could.

Kenshin was admittedly poor company, his focus narrowed and aimed at a goal that was very close to his reach. Four days. Four days and they would close a gap that had seemed insurmountable at times. The lady Pakshi had offered, when they reached Madras, to have one of her boys guide them in the city to the most likely places travelers would stay waiting for their ship to sail.

Sano had told them more than Kenshin would have preferred, but perhaps Sano's openness had gained them something - - an interest from a lady of wealth, in what must have seemed, from Sano's abridged story, a great adventure. Sano had a knack for story telling and an imagination for changing relevant facts with flourish. The ladies had been rapt. An abducted wife and child. An exhausting pursuit. Sano glossed over the blood and the pain as if it had all been some grand adventure and Kenshin, finally having taken all he could, had left the galley and retreated, sick to the core from causes above and beyond the tossing of the ship.

Angry at Sano. Shamed by the looks of pity the women had passed his way, because of tales he'd very much rather Sano had not spun. He hadn't spoken to Sano till the next morning, pretending sleep, when Sano finally returned to the cabin. And Sano had given him a look then, a careless, smug arch of the brow when Kenshin finally had to confront him - - hard not to in a room barely bigger than a storage closet - - that made Kenshin grind his teeth and work hard to subdue the urge to do him some violence. Until Sano told him about the aid he'd garnered from the lady, who, Sano confided was very concerned with the plight of a woman and child stolen from their home.

Kenshin had bowed to her when he'd seen her on deck, and quietly offered thanks, and she'd patted his hand and given him another of those sympathetic looks that made him curl up a little inside in embarrassment. One could only guess what else Sano had told them after Kenshin had left him to his own devices.

Through the morning, he sat with his back to the deckhouse and watched the endless patterns of light and shadow in the swells. Lunch broke the pattern and he had enough of an appetite back to take rice and a bit of salted fish on deck. Sano sat down next to him and consumed his own food with the quiet intensity Sano usually devoted to meals.

Sano sat afterwards, giving him a sidelong look. "Still pissed?"

"I wasn't - -"

Sano snorted at that flat out lie.

Kenshin picked a last grain of rice from his bowl with his fingers and flicked it over the rail into the sea. "No."

Sano grinned. "Sometimes you have to give a little to get a little."

Kenshin rolled his eyes, snorting himself. "You, the great philosopher."

"Hey, don't sell me short. I'm deeper than I let on, you know."

He sat his empty bowl down, leaned back against the deckhouse. Quietly admitted. "I know."

Sano turned his own bowl in his hands, chewing that admission over, seeming a little embarrassed.

"So, you ought to come over and sit with the ladies. Pakshi's teaching me a few phrases in English - - you know - - the sort of things you need to know how to ask in a foreign city."

Kenshin recalled nights spent at the dojo, Kaoru eagerly soaking up the knowledge Winter was all too willing to impart. Of Kenji running to him on his short legs, his round face beaming with the delight of picking up a new word. A foreign word. Kenshin had no desire, he really didn't, of learning that tongue. What was the need once he found Kaoru and Kenji and returned them safely home?

Sano said something in that language and sat there, waiting for Kenshin to inquire after meaning. It was either give in or sit there under Sano's stare, so he sighed and asked.

"Where's the brothel?" Sano cackled, utterly pleased with himself.

"She did not teach you that?" It seemed improbable that a lady of Pakshi's apparent quality would.

"Satya did. She's got a wicked streak. I like her. I've heard stories, you know, about some of the things Indian women know how to do to please a man."

"She's not a prostitute, Sano."

"Who said anything about prostitutes? I saw pictures, when I was in China."

Kenshin remembered very well Sano's tales of his adventures on the mainland. At the time of telling, not long on the trail from the mountains beyond Tokyo, he'd felt no particular concern. It bothered him a little now, the idea of Sano and the women he'd claimed to have bedded. It bothered him in a new and unique way when Sano flirted shamelessly with a sloe eyed Indian girl behind the back of her Aunt, if not directly in front of her. He wondered if it were jealousy. He'd never had the occasion to experience the feeling before. He'd loved two women in his life and neither had given him the occasion to doubt. Properly raised Japanese girls both and above repute.

Improperly raised, street brawlers, who drank and gambled and had no shame visiting the red light districts - - having wheedled and whined trying to talk him into visiting with him on no few occasions - - put him off his balance in ways that he'd never been off it before.

"I would not mention these pictures to the ladies, if I were you."

"You think not?" Then Sano considered, eyeing him with speculation. "Some of those pictures - - interesting positions, you know? Crazier than any shunga I've ever seen. Be interesting to try some out."

"Sanosuke." Kenshin felt vaguely scandalized, speaking of such things mid-afternoon, with no few people on the deck with them. He cast a look under his hair to see if anyone lingered close about.

Sano chuckled, still amused with himself, then pushed himself up, gathering the bowls to take back to the galley.

"So, I 'm game to learn a little more before we get there. Should've taken Saitou up on it on the first boat ride - - but Pakshi's a better teacher. Doesn't make me want to smash her face in every other sentence, so just as well. When you feel the need for company, come on over."

He did eventually drift over, settling against a coil of rope and listening to their talk. Sano was charming in that way he had, uncouth, but earnest, with that white grin and his black rimmed eyes and the unruly fall of dark hair that had the ladies, even matronly Pakshi giggling at his wilder claims, and listening avidly as he told of this exploit of his or that. Kenshin did not doubt there was no small bit of exaggeration if not downright fabrication in some of the tales. Sano had a taste for fable and happily wove it into his own stories when he was out to impress impressionable listeners.

With evening came cloudy skies and light rain, which chased them below decks. The ladies retreated to their cabin, and Sano and Kenshin to theirs, having little to do after supper but while away the time in cramped quarters. Kenshin unsheathed his blade, the first time since the fight on the wharf, and went about meticulously cleaning it. The rain had washed away the blood, but there were always nooks and crannies in the leather of the hilt, or the steel of the guard that might hide specks of red.

He'd spent the night before, waiting for some guilt or shame or feeling of failure on his part to wash over him for Winter's death. But none came. Only the subtle relief of knowing the man would plague him and his no longer. He worried that it came too easy, the acceptance of that death at his hands, when very few of the deaths he had carried out in the name of the restoration had. He remembered faces, even the briefest flashes of the death masks of men that he'd cut down in passing, obstacles to some greater goal. Heads that had tumbled under the arc of his steel, staring up at him in shock, before someone else came to claim them as trophies in a war of change. Not all warriors. Innocents too, that had met their end at his hand, at the command his masters, houses of the Shogunate that could not be allowed to be a point at which their soldiers rallied.

Those were the worst. There had not been a night, for close to five years after he'd left the service of the Meiji that he'd not dreamt of those faces and woke sweat drenched and shivering, despising himself for the things he had done. He'd cleaned his blade those days, to the point of fanaticism.

Sano watched him lazily, sprawled in his hammock, arms folded behind his head. Supper tonight had been fish stew and flatbread and fresh fruit. It was a short voyage, from Ceylon to Madras and the ship's cook could afford to splurge. Sano was happily full, barefoot and shirtless, and sucking on a stick of flavored sugar that Pakshi had given him. She had changed his bandage after supper, as well and Sano had begged a small portion of the salve she used and a few clean bandages for the wounds on Kenshin's shoulder and leg. The worst of the dog bites that were not healing as quickly as the rest.

"You've been at that for a while. You think it's clean yet?"

Kenshin ran the cloth up the length of steel and wished for a whetstone. There was the tiniest whisper of a knick on the sharp side. The result of the bullet he'd deflected from Sano, perhaps. It bothered him, that faint imperfection in his blade.

Sano swung off the hammock, ambled over and slid down the wall next to Kenshin.

"Want some?" He offered the sugar stick and Kenshin shook his head.

"Tastes sweet, with heat at the same time. Exotic."

Kenshin paused, canting a look up at him. "You like the idea of exotic."

Sano shrugged. "Yeah. Guess so. There's nothing like discovering something new. Learning something new. New foods. New faces. New trouble to mix up." He grinned.

"So - - if you had a girl like Satya - - new and exotic - - would you be happy?"

"Why? You think she's looking for a husband or just a good lay?"

Kenshin snapped his mouth shut, turning the blade to examine the guard.

Sano made a sound, and risked the naked steel in Kenshin's hand to lean against him, one arm snaking around his neck to draw him close. "You're an idiot."

"Occasionally," he admitted, the sword carefully across his knees.

Sano sighed, leaning back, arm still draped across the back of Kenshin's neck. He smelled of the rainwater they'd both washed up with before the supper bell and sweet spices of the sugar stick. If he found a woman, it would be a practical thing. Best for all involved. But not an Indian one. Not unless she were willing to live in Japan - - because Sano across a sea would not be an acceptable thing. A quiet, Japanese wife, who would take care of him. A good cook - - Sano would like that - - but plain faced, who might inspire very little creativity with Sano in the privacy of their room. Or none at all. Perhaps this fictional wife and Kaoru might become fast friends, keeping each other company, while he and Sano - -

He shut his eyes, grip tightening on the hilt of the sword and thought, this is what I've come to. No honor left to me and I can't stop it.

He slid the sword back into its sheath. Sano broke off the end of the sugar stick and offered it. This time Kenshin took it, closed his own eyes and leaned against Sano as the sweet spices melted in his mouth. Sometimes simply soaking up Sano's heat, shoring himself up against Sano's youthful vitality when he felt his own waning - - and sharing his company - - was enough.

There were gulls soaring overhead, specks against the blue sky, diving now and then into the waves, fishing for mackerel. The surest sign that land was not far ahead. A day, the captain promised, and they'd see the coastline of India.

Not soon enough. Holding onto patience and calm seemed an insurmountable thing, when his body wanted something - - anything - - to occupy it. He wanted to pace the deck, and had, until the crew began giving him wary looks. He supposed they would take less kindly if he brought the sakabatou on deck and went through patterns and stances and guards, disciplined repetitive moves that blanked the mind of anything but the weight of the sword and the balance of the body it was an extension of.

Sano tired of trying to talk to him mid-day and retreated to the company of the ladies. Kenshin thought, after two days of their company, that Sano was infatuated far more with Pakshi than her pretty niece. Pakshi treated him like an indulgent mother, offering praise and sweets and Sano lapped it up.

They were playing some game involving cards, on a blanket on the deck, one of the male Hindu passengers making up a fourth, when the crewman high up in the crow's nest above the rigging called out, and sailors moved to the forward deck to see what was about.

The captain strode out himself, with his looking glass, and stood with his first mate, pointing at square white sails in the distance. The passengers crowded in amongst the crew, shading their eyes and watching the steady approach of the other ship.

"They say it is a frigate," Pakshi said, standing at the rail between Sano and her niece. "A British warship."

Kenshin scanned the horizon, the sky darkening just enough to the east to hint that the weather was fouler there than here. There was a tiny flash of reflection there. A glimpse of shape against the grey.

"There's another there."

The ladies turned, Satya commenting to a nearby crewman, who called forward to his superiors. There was a murmur then, of question among them, as the captain swung his glass east.

"War ships usually patrol the coast?" Sano asked.

Pakshi shrugged. "They come and go. Madras is a major port."

It took better than an hour for the frigate to close on them and there were signals exchanged, a combination of flags waved between ships and the Gravenhage's captain called for this crew to furl the sails, and slow the ship to a crawl as the warship sailed close, portside to starboard. The frigate rode taller in the water than they did, sporting more sails, longer stern to aft. Its deck was crawling with crewmen and crisply uniformed officers, its hull lined with the dark mouths of canon ports. The captains met at their respective rails, exchanging hurried salutations, a rapid-fire chatter of information none of which Kenshin could comprehend. The crewmen seemed rapt though, whispering among themselves, passing bits of information down the line as their officers conferred.

Pakshi brought a hand to her breast, a look of dismay on her face.

"What? What is it?" Sano demanded, his few phrases in English not enough to understand what they were saying. What the whispers among the crew were about.

"They're searching for survivors," Satya said, before her aunt could wave a sharp hand at her in warning.

"Shush, girl. Listen for the details else you speak falsely."

Satya shut her mouth, biting her lip. Looking towards the bow - -distinctly not looking at him.

"Survivors of what?" Sano asked and Kenshin was glad of it, for he found himself oddly short of breath.

"A ship," Pakshi said softly. "A ship gone down in a storm three days past. They're asking our captain if we've seen wreckage - - or sign of survivors."

"Oh," Sano said, eyes scanning all those dark portholes with their hidden cannons. Then sliding back to the men at the rail. Finally asking the pertinent question. "What ship?"

"This time of year, the storms come and go fast. Ships sink. Fishing vessels litter the ocean floor. I'll go and find out." She beckoned Satya and the girl fell into line, the two of them weeding their way though the mulling crew towards the ship's officers.

The Frigate was moving away, ponderous grace as she cut through the waves, rocking the smaller schooner with the backwash of her departure. Kenshin stood with his hands on the rail, wood biting into his palms.

"It's not her ship," Sano said. "Like Pakshi said, some fishing vessel out too far, caught in a storm."

Kenshin stared at the square back of the departing frigate. "Would the British send their warships to search for the survivors of some native fishing boat?"

Sano didn't have an answer for that. Kenshin didn't look at him to see - -he couldn't take his eyes off the swell of waves. His pulse was thudding, racing like he was in the midst of some great battle. He blew out a breath, forcing calm. Trying to quiet the riot his thoughts wanted to stir. Sano was right. It could not be her ship, among all the ships that came and went from a port the size of Madras. And three days past - - her ship should have been in port - -unless - - unless it had taken the passage slower, laden with more cargo than this sleek, lightweight passenger schooner they traveled upon.

"Kenshin, stop worrying. It can't be her ship. Our luck can't be that bad, right?"

"Of course," he said, hardly hearing himself. Not their luck. His luck. His karma that had demanded so little payment of him for all the black marks he had against him.

The ladies were coming back, two graceful, colorful figures among a sea of men in seaman's drab. The niece behind with her head down, shawl covering her glossy hair, hiding her expression, the aunt with her face set - - not a woman who let emotion get the best of her. And he was scared of a sudden of what she had to say. Terrified to the core of him.

"Well?" Sano turned on them, impatient.

She turned her eyes to him instead of Sano. "It was a vessel that sailed under the flag of the British East India company. She was the Eastcourt. So far no survivors have been found. I am so very sorry."

"Wait. Wait, are you sure?" Sano was pressing her. "But they're still searching, right? Why would they still be searching if they didn't think - -?"

She was answering him, calmly, softly, and Kenshin couldn't focus on the words. As if the Japanese she and Sano spoke had turned into foreign gibberish. He stood there, swallowing and swallowing. Lost. Nothing he could do with a sword and all the skill in the world to prevent a storm from consuming a ship. Three days down. Three days - - and Kenji couldn't swim. Kenshin, having no skill at it himself, had never had the occasion to teach him. Remiss of him, really, living in a city full of canals on the edge of Tokyo bay.

A hand on his shoulder an intrusion into personal space and indignant anger exploded. He spun, catching the offending wrist and shoving backwards. Sano yelped, staggering, wide eyed and shaking the hand and Kenshin stared at him, red around the edges of his vision, half aware of the shocked faces of people beyond him. Blurred foreign faces that meant nothing.

"Don't touch me."

"Damnit, Kenshin - -"

It could have been one of the woman, who stared at him, beyond Sano, that he'd lashed out at and a woman's bones fractured easier than a man's. That would have been regrettable.

"Don't touch me," he said, softer, the cold creeping in around the edges.

"They're still looking - -" Sano flung an arm.

He turned his back, staring at endless water. Not even a sliver of land yet.

"Leave him alone," he heard Sano say, before he stopped listening.

He stared into water long gone black, even the reflection of stars hidden by cloud cover, only the occasional flicker of reflection from the ships lanterns slithering along the water's surface. He'd stood here all the afternoon, the movement of people like ghosts around him. Sano come and gone. Come and gone again. Saying things - - perhaps sensible things - - reassurances, consolations, urging him to hope for things that any reasonable man knew were fantasy.

Numb throughout. Sometimes not thinking at all, dully surprised when the sun edged down the horizon, the sky all washed in grey. Everything washed in grey. Death was no stranger. Death followed him, preceded him, courted him no matter that he tried to avoid it. For the sake of his soul - - if one believed in such things. For the sake of kami, if one wished to believe in more traditional fabrications. His parents had believed.

His parents, what little he could recall of them - - slivers of memory that formed no cohesive whole - - had been superstitious folk. He remembered wards on the door. Charms against evil. Tales told of this demon or that malicious spirit and what ills they could bring on a boy whose kami was stained. A trip, through mud and rain, to the peasant shrine outside their village, to offer what little they had when the sickness had struck.

He remembered the flames when the villagers had burned his house, his parent's bloating bodies within, dead from the sickness, stricken as so many had been by the ill favor of the gods. Because of something they'd done, surely. Some impurity that had stained them, some terrible tsumi that must have warranted so cruel a fate.

He'd believed in the old spirits, in the wives tales until Hiko had wrenched those fears out of him, Hiko Seijuro having no fear of earthly or other earthly beings. Hiko invited the wrath of demons with a vengeance, challenging all and sundry to test his wrath. That utter irreverence, that utter lack of apprehension about the things that dwelled just outside the realm of men - - was a very appealing thing to a boy who had only ever known superstition and fear. So Kenshin had learned at the feet of master Hiko, that tales of the old spirits and the wrath of the gods and the consequences of karma were things that the old and the weak and the poor, and the easily led used to find their way in the world. Excuses to explain away their own failings. Men made their own luck and they lived and died by it.

Only he'd always recalled the whispers of those early years, before Master Hiko. Made the occasional trek to this shrine or that - - if it happened to be on his way - - to try and wash away a little of the stain. Hiko would have laughed at him. But then Hiko didn't harbor a niggling fear in the back of his mind where childhood memories dwelled, of the wrath of vengeful spirits.

Hiko didn't cleave to things that he might regret losing should he fail to intimidate those wailing demons. Nothing but a shack in the mountains, with threadbare mats and a leaking roof. Not even a dog to tempt fate.

Much less a wife and a child. With the blood on his hands - - the copious oceans of blood - - it had only been a matter of time. His fault. His tempting of fate - - when he'd known - - he'd damned well known, that he didn't deserve the relief he had found. This was vengeance upon him. Payment for his sins, taken by something so vast he couldn't even raise a sword against it in retaliation. As if one could retaliate against karma.

He curled his fingers on the rail, forcing images on himself, brutal imaginings of bodies plunged into unforgiving, unfathomable depths. Sinking, sinking, drawn under along with wreckage, huge and heavy and black. A child's pale, cold face, eyes wide and cloudy, small limbs drifting and lax in the void. A wash of black hair, swaying like silk in the current, parting to reveal the soft curve of a woman's cheek.

He shut his eyes, pressing his forehead against the rail, silently screaming through his clenched teeth. Horrified by the imagery, beckoning it in like the glint of a wakizashi towards his gut. Her wide, accusing eyes. Staring at him as she floated, dead pale thing below the waves. Payment for your sins. Your sins, not ours. You should have known. Selfish. Selfish. You betray me and then you let me die - - the least you could do, is join us - -

Her voice echoed in his head and he blinked, the cloud of numb that he'd been wallowing in since he'd understood them gone, simply washed away with her sensible solution. The pain rushed in to fill the void. Rocks filling his insides, cold and hard and heavy, lancing through his guts like acid and he screamed again, this time a howl that broke the silence of the ship. He had betrayed her - - betrayed Kenji - - the things that he cherished the most. Betrayed them by inviting death among them in the form of a murderous Englishman. Betrayed them with Sano. Betrayed them by not having the sense to put himself far distant from them - - taking his impurity and the ill fortunes it always seemed to bring upon him well away from them.

Fool. Fool, to have thought differently. He slammed his forehead against the railing, again, that dull pain not even making a dent against the utter agony gripping his insides. Innocent eyes looking up at him - - trusting. Small hand in hers as they walked - - looking back at him, trusting he'd keep them safe. Wetness blurred his vision, and he wasn't sure if it were blood or tears. It hurt. It hurt and he'd have died a thousand times to have avoided this. She was right. It was the least he could do - - the very least - -

Hands grabbed him from behind, jerking him back from the rail and the darkness that had swallowed his world. The rushing of the ocean filled his head, the frenzy of some desperate need to escape, and he fought the hold, growling with animal intensity. Howling with it when he couldn't break the hold that pinned his arms and kept him from free movement. Feet against the edge of the aft deck house and he propelled himself backwards, the body behind him impacting the rail with enough force to shatter wood. He heard a cry of pain, a scrambling for footing that almost allowed him freedom, save the damned long arms refused to loosen their grip - - tightening it if anything - - wrenching the air out of him, wrenching him off his feet and slamming full force into the deckhouse wall.

"You crazy son of a bitch - - you want to kill us both? That what you want?" The voice got through, screaming in his ear. A forehead drove into the back his skull, driving his own into the wood. Vision swam, warm salty wetness seeped inside his mouth. It ran down his face. Blood. It had to be blood. And the sobbing - - he could hear the sobbing echo of ghosts - - too many damned ghosts - - drifting just beyond the range of his vision.

It was a blessing when they drew him down with them into darkness.

Sano let Kenshin fall. Leaning one forearm on the deckhouse wall, twisting the other hand to his back, which blared pain from the damned hard impact against the railing. He looked over his shoulder, at the broken guardrail. They'd come that close to crashing through and getting swallowed up by the sea. Probably with none the wiser, black as the waters were. Or maybe not - - from the footsteps of crewmen roused to alarm by the scuffle.

A few poked their heads around, warily and Sano held up his hands and said in English learned from Pakshi.

"Okay. It's okay."

He didn't know how to explain more. Even if he'd been speaking his own tongue, he wouldn't know how to explain this madness of Kenshin's away. And madness it was. A complete leap off the edge of sanity into whatever morass of grief and guilt that Kenshin had pulled himself into.

The crewmen were staring, wary, and damned if Sano wanted to wait for them to call ships officers to stick their noses into a private matter. He grabbed Kenshin's arm, got him up enough to haul over a shoulder. Sano's back complained, his shin did, and his knee where Kenshin had gotten in good shots. He shouldered his way through them and they let him pass. Maneuvered down the steps to the lower deck and their cabin, and tossed Kenshin into the lower hammock.

His back hit the wall, and he braced himself there, staring at the blood trickling from the corner of Kenshin's mouth, the trail of it from his nose, thinking - - Idiot. Idiot. And not being able to get past that. Just pissed and rightfully so, because Kenshin always had gotten stupid in his grief - - but this - -

He let himself slide down and sat there, wetness trickling down his own nose. He wiped a hand and it came away red. His nose throbbed a little, but he'd taken worse hits. A lot worse. He clenched his teeth, clenched his fists to keep from shaking when he thought again how close they'd come to going overboard. Thinking what might have happened if he hadn't been there, keeping vigil. Something in his gut having warned him not to trust Kenshin, who'd been stretched too damned thin for too damned long in this thing to take this sort of blow without breaking one way or another.

And Sano shared the pain. For Kaoru, who'd he'd enjoyed riling - - who he'd been a little envious of - - who'd been a friend. For a kid, that he'd never met, but was Kenshin's - - and that was enough. For Kenshin, who carried around enough guilt and didn't need this one more massive block weighing him down.

Sano hit the floor. A solid rap of knuckles. Again, thinking how's he gonna get over this? Because all that talk he and Pakshi had been spewing about there still being hope - about them still searching so maybe they'd find survivors and maybe a girl and a kid might be among them - - well, that was just somebody refusing to accept reality, days after the fact. Realist that he was, Kenshin had already accepted it.

Sano looked at Kenshin's sword, propped in the corner, thinking the last thing Kenshin needed access to at the moment, when the grief was fresh and his sanity was a little in doubt, was a blade.

Kenshin slept like the dead. Not a groan, not a movement, even when the ship shuddered when she gently edged into dock, hull bumping pier. Sano had to slap him awake, finally, and he felt no compunction against putting a little force behind it, having gotten a glimpse at the damned big bruise on his back and feeling it with every movement.

Sano backed away from the sudden jerk - - the sudden defensive movement of hands as Kenshin snapped back to awareness.

"Up," Sano said, as Kenshin was blinking in disorientation. Sano hoped he had one hell of a headache to match the ache in Sano's back.

Kenshin didn't move, the hammock swaying gently under him, things starting to register behind forced-sleep hazed eyes. He looked up at Sano, one sharp glance, before flicking his gaze away, maybe preparing to plunge back into that morass of self-pity he'd been wallowing in. And Sano was willing to give him ample time to grieve, really he was, but he was damned well going to do it like a sane person.

"We're here," Sano said, planting his fists on his hips. "We've gotta get off the ship. We're going with Pakshi to her house, then she's taking us to the port authority offices to find out what we can about the Eastcourt. Now, if you've got a problem with doing all that like a rational human being, well, I don't have one with knocking your ass back out and hauling you out of here like baggage. And if you think I can't, in this little room with no space for you to move - - think again."

Another flick of the eyes to him. A tightening of the mouth, then Kenshin pushed himself off the hammock. Didn't manage it with anything resembling grace, but then it was hard to gracefully exit a hammock and his head probably was throbbing. Good.

He waited for Sano to move, allowing him a path to the door, then stopped with his hand on it, staring at the corner where the sword had been.

"Where's my sword?" Very softly asked.

"Don't worry about it. Taken care of."

Sano got a profile then, a look from narrowed eyes, before Kenshin lowered his head and hair obscured it. Sano pushed past him, heading for the deck and off this boat. The stench of the docks hit before he even sat foot on deck. The sound of life and activity a buzz in the air before he actually got the vantage to see the sprawling docks. Madras was the central hub for maritime traffic for all of Southern India. The center of operations for the British on this side of the continent. Hundreds of ships and boats and barges weighted down with cargo fought for right way in the harbor. Further down, towards what Pakshi said was the British command post of Fort St. George, military ships rested at dock.

It was early still, only hours after dawn, and the air was already sluggish from encroaching heat. The whole place stank of human sweat - - too damned many people about their business dockside. Sano sauntered down the ramp, after casting a casual glance behind him to make sure Kenshin was trailing him still. Into the crowd of half naked brown bodies. Vendors and dockworkers and those hopeful for day work, westerners here and there among them, administrators or sailors or uniformed soldiers. He saw Pakshi and her niece across the wharf, standing in the company of a middle aged woman and a skinny boy of perhaps ten, at the head of a cart with a very old seeming donkey, piled with their luggage.

"My daughter, Nanda," Pakshi introduced the woman, who eyed Sano, and Kenshin behind him, warily, before inclining her head. "And her son, Rajiv, who is the man of the family."

It took some time to maneuver the little procession through the dockside mob. There were great walls, protecting the city from the port. Very old seeming walls with wind worn carvings that allowed them egress to Madras proper though a towering round portal with raised iron gates.

Once inside, color and sound and smell assaulted them. Hundreds of traveling shops, people set up on blankets, or carrying their wares from their persons, entertainers and acrobats and musicians all trying to coerce a bit of silver. Desperate sounding merchants who screamed at each other in rivalry when not screaming at possible customers to stop and examine their goods. And beggars. Dozens of beggars, beseeching passer by for succor.

If he had not experienced the market streets of Hong Kong, or the poorer, more dangerous slums of Shanghai - - it might have been more overwhelming. As it was, he palmed the very light purse in his pocket to make sure it stayed on his person, and soldiered through. He kept an eye on Kenshin - - fell back to walk a little closer, not wanting to loose him in the press and not sure Kenshin was focused as fully as he might have been on navigating it.

The crowds thinned though, as they departed the harbor district and a body could breath again without inhaling the stench of too many other bodies. Still the crowds were thick, the brown shoulders of young men, the colorful saris of women, all about their business. Still no few beggars, who accosted passer by and most certainly foreign seeming passer by. A trio of mounted English Soldiers in their red jackets and their flat topped black caps, forced back a group of particularly adamant beggars, who closed in on their horses in passing. The rest of the crowd made hasty way for them, wary of skittish horses in their midst.

"The famine," Satya dropped back, walking beside him. "It has driven many into the city, seeking food. And the food comes here in mass, in the belly of cargo ships, but the Company sends it back out, to richer peoples. Sometimes they don't even send it out. I've heard of cargo sitting on the docks - - untouched. But they'd rather let it mold than give to those who cannot pay and starve without."

Sano watched the soldiers in their passage though the crowd. A different sort of military than the British who walked the streets of Colombo. Hardened men, who enforced rule upon a population that so vastly outnumbered them, it was unimaginable.

"You're not crazy about them?"

She shrugged. "Some say the British rule will bring India to a new age. Others - - disagree. Aunt Pakshi says the rule of the Company was worse than the rule of the Empress."

Sano cocked a head, not understanding.

Satya smiled and explained. "Victoria. The queen of the British. They and the maharajas and the powers that be in their wisdom proclaimed her Empress if India when the Governors of the East India Company lost their power to govern. I don't know if ever she's set foot here. I don't care."

Sano grinned back at her. "I sort of think you do. You have opinions."

She arched a brow. "You don't like women with opinions?"

"No, I do. Long as they're not about me."

She laughed and Pakshi's daughter turned a frown back at them. Not approving, Sano thought, this notion of bringing strange men back to their home that her mother had devised.

Pakshi's house was at the end of a residential street lined with closely built houses of some distinction. Several stories tall, made of stone and plaster, with a pair of ornate wooden doors that opened before their little group approached and spilled out a multitude of females. Young and old, plump and thin, all of them in colorful saris and scarves and chattering like a flock of agitated birds.

Sano stopped by Kenshin, who'd snapped out of the fog he'd been walking in to stare with some misgiving at the pack of women.

"These all Pakshi's daughters and nieces?" Sano asked of the boy, Rajiv, who also seemed reluctant to delve into that perfumed mass.

The boy shuffled his feet and nodded.

"Rajiv's Japanese is not so good, but he's learning," Pakshi said, welcoming them into the open courtyard beyond the doors. A second story balcony looked down, protected by gorgeously worked wooden railings. The women skirted in around them, whispering and curious until Pakshi called them to order and introduced them.

"My dears, remember your manners. These are our guests, Sagara Sanosuke and Himura Kenshin. They have come from Japan

And she went about introducing the gathered women. Two more daughters, two nieces, a daughter by marriage, the elderly sister of her late husband, five granddaughters, one great granddaughter who was still in swaddling, and poor lonely Rajiv, alone in a house bursting at the seams with females.

All of them stared with wide-eyed interest, at the two of them, whispering, the way women did among themselves, as if they thought men hadn't the acuity of hearing to realize they were being talked about.

"Ladies," Sano said in English, figuring he'd take the plunge, and walking among them.

The younger ones giggled at that, and gathered around, not demure at all, asking questions he could only barely understand. A press of soft bodies and whispery scarves, and exotic scents that a man couldn't help but find pleasant when he was the center of it.

Kenshin hung back, against the closed doors to the street, as if he were considering bolting, not pleased at all with this press of excited women, hardly knowing what to do with flirting women at the best of times. Pakshi shooed away the few that had abandoned Sano for him and promised coaxingly.

"Allow me to rest my feet, and for us all to quench our thirsts, and then we shall go find out what we can of the ship."

Kenshin did the courteous thing and nodded, but Sano knew him well enough to see the strain. Kenshin holding it together for the sake of appearances, in the company of women to whom he did not wish to shed face. Thank the gods, at least, for the remnants of staunch Samurai pride.

Pakshi had Rajiv show them to the well, inside the courtyard, and the partitioned section beyond it, where they were invited to wash the dust of the road away. The boy led them then to a room, all of three stories up, the only unused room in a house full of women, which looked as if it were primary used now for storage. But there was a breeze, large ornate windows on either wall, the carved shutters of which let through dappled light and air. When the shutters were thrown open there was a view of the sprawling city, with its domes and towers in the distance on the one side, and the Bay of Bengal, sparkling and azure and dotted with ships on the other.

Kenshin sat on the wide ledge staring out at the sea, while Sano prowled the room. There were blankets enough to make a comfortable bed, room to stretch his legs. He went to the window finally and leaned against the opposite sill from Kenshin.

"There might be good news at the harbor master's. Might be survivors they picked up that frigate we passed didn't know about." It was easier to promote optimism than try and find the words adequate for the occasion of losing a wife and child. Sano had never been that good at expressing those deeper things - - easier to avoid them. Easier to let anger and physical action take the place of allowing the world to see emotional weakness. He supposed he was not unlike a great deal of men in that. Uncomfortable with the things that women dealt with daily. Half the women downstairs, that shared Pakshi's house had lost husbands or sons or brothers and they went on.

Kenshin's gaze didn't waver from the Bay. For a while Sano thought he wasn't going to answer at all. Then softly. "Perhaps."

"Gotta hold out hope, right?"

Kenshin's eyes did flick to him them, a somber look, as if Sano were the one that needed solace. And after a moment, he turned his gaze back to the Bay. Clay faced. Not a glimmer of anything resembling emotion in his expression. Cutting himself off. Sano had seen it before. Honestly, he'd rather the raving insanity. That was something he could deal with.

"Sano, could you leave me alone? For a little while?" Very quietly asked. And if he had not had a sane look in his eyes, Sano might have hesitated. As it was, he figured the grieving Kenshin had to do needed a quiet place, with no witnesses.

"I'll come get you when we're ready to leave."

Chapter Twenty-eight

Sano left and it was like relief of pressure that had built and built, held at bay the entire walk here, held rigidly in check while women with faces that were blurred in his memory had clustered, speaking too fast, too loudly to be anything but light and noise.

In this quiet place, in the shadows, with the sounds of a city muted and distant - - with no witnesses - - he choked on a breath - - leaned over his knees on the window seat, chest burning with the raw ache of spiritual pain made physical.

Arguing with Sano about the validity of hope was not a thing he could do and keep any semblance of composure. But he knew - - he knew that luck had swung his way on an edge finer than a sharp blade for far too many times for it to turn his way this one last crucial time. He felt it in his gut.

Images and smells and sounds slid across his memory, one by one, relentless, welcome, devastating. Her voice, her scent, the ghost of her smile or her scowl, of her furrow of concentration when she was intent on getting a stance just so, so as not to embarrass herself in front of students, the curve of her body in the darkness when she shed her robes - -

He dug his fingers into his hair and rocked, wetness winning past the barrier of clenched lids. She made him weep. She made him ache with a pain that pieced him to the core. Kenji thoughts made him want to find a bottle and drown himself in it. Made him welcome that offer of violence Sano had made him when he'd woken this morning - - made him very much wish for painful oblivion to escape the notion of his child dead.

He wasn't sure he wanted to go to the shipping authority and have his fears confirmed. He wasn't sure he wanted to go on period, when he doubted the pain and the grief and the guilt would ever go away.

Hiko would have laughed at him in scorn and called him a coward. Sano would have and cursed him. But he hurt and he was tired and there was a point fighting it became too hard.

The women and damned, there were a lot of them filling the courtyard that seemed the main gathering spot for the extended family, were more somber when Sano came back down. Pakshi and Satya had informed them of the details of the situation, and a multitude of somber, painted eyes turned to him when he shuffled into the courtyard.

The invited him into their midst with a clatter of beckoning, braceleted hands. They had a platter of cut fruit and a pitcher watered down wine on a low table that the majority of them sat around on pillows and strewn cushions. He sank down on a cushion between Satya and a plump girl of similar age. Two or three of them offered him wine simultaneously, and glared at each other afterwards. The old woman, Pakshi's husband's sister, if Sano recalled, poured it herself and Sano hid a grin at the miffed looks exchanged between the younger girls.

"How is he?" Satya asked, leaning forward with the superiority of longer acquaintance.

"Better, once we find out something one way or another." Sano didn't want to discuss Kenshin with them. He didn't want Kenshin a subject for speculation among them, when Kenshin was teetering on the fine edge of losing it.

But women were women, and they spoke among themselves of the tragedy. Of how horrible to die swallowed up by the sea. Of how terrible for a husband to lose a wife and child. But he was certainly young enough to marry again and father many more children. And was Sano married? Tall and fit as he was, he'd father fine sons.

Sano swallowed his goblet of wine and edged it over for the old woman to refill. She gave him a wry look, understanding his need and filled it to the rim.

"Uncle Narasimha left very respectable dowries for his nieces," the plump one, who he thought was called Natun, hinted.

"This is a nice house," Sano veered off that subject uncomfortably. "What did your uncle do?"

"Our father was the second son of the brother of a prince of Oressa." The old woman said. "Family money, even after the British tried to tax it to death. Narasimha had his books and was renowned in all of India for his studies. Even among the English, who consider themselves the only truly educated people. There is a room in this house filled with his books and his scrolls. Pakshi refuses to be rid of them, even though we could use the space."

She waved a hand at a quiet, very pregnant young woman at the edge of the gathering.

Sano slid his gaze across the assembled collection of women. Rajiv had made himself scarce, as well as Pakshi herself. No husbands, no brothers, only the one son. It was an unusual lack of men in a house full of women of marriageable age.

Pakshi descended not long after, in a sari of finer quality than her traveling one.

"Have they been pestering you with their nonsense?" She asked after stopping at a niche with the stone image of a graciously endowed, multi-armed woman and offering respect.

"He's a man," the old woman said, waving a dismissive hand. "What man shrivels under the attention of pretty girls?"

Pakshi gave her a sharp look and Sano got the feeling the two of them, eldest of the household, butted heads frequently.

"Fetch Rajiv from where ever he's off to. I'll need him as escort."

"I'll go," Satya said.

"No." Pakshi said simply and the girl settled back down, pouting.

"So, we ready to go?" Sano asked and the woman nodded.

"Okay. I'll get Kenshin."

The Madras port authority complex was on the north side of Fort St. George, which served as the headquarters for the British government in Madras. There was a concentration of English there, diplomats, soldiers and their families, and the architecture reflected that with a touch of European lines.

It was close to an hour's walk from Pakshi's house, but the afternoon had cooled somewhat, rife with a strong breeze in off the bay and the path she led them on was less congested than the way in from the docks. The streets here were more orderly once they reached the north side, a great deal more white skinned people mingling with the brown. A great many uniformed soldiers, both British and Indian on patrol.

The Port Authority was a sprawling, white washed stone complex that looked as if bits and pieces of it had been added on with different flavors of architecture over the years. There was a congestion of traffic outside, carriages and wagons and tethered horses. People coming and going from various offices, on various errands.

Pakshi, one of the few women in evidence, weeded her way inside, with Rajiv, Sano and Kenshin in her wake. Her sex and the rich cut of her sari afforded her some respect, men making way and doffing caps. There were no few military men in evidence, some in red-coated uniforms, some in sand colored ones. Pakshi found a clerk and made inquiries and was directed to offices in the back. Another clerk took note of her, as they made their way forward, and rose to politely inquire what service he might grant. Their exchange of English was too rapid for Sano to easily follow, so he stood there, next to Kenshin, and watched a cluster of men who were very obviously military outside an office at the end of the hall. There were raised voices within and soon a man of some rank, if the array of decoration on his uniform breast were any indication, came storming out. The lot of milling soldiers outside the office fell into step as he stalked down the hall, passing them with nary a glance.

Rajiv tugged on Sano's sleeve, eyes wide and whispered in his halting Japanese. "It is him. Sir Fletcher."

"Who's he?"

"He commanded the order of the Star of India, the fiercest of regiments. He is second only to Lord Roberts in command of the army in Southern India."

"Seems pissed," Sano observed, watching the retreat of the broad shouldered, balding man in the company of his subordinates.

Pakshi, after a pause while the General passed, was still speaking with the Clerk. After a moment, the man went to the very office Sir Fletcher had stormed out of, and spoke quietly to the occupant. He waved them forward as a harassed looking Englishman stepped out.

"Lady Pakshi," he said and glanced past her to them. She indicated Kenshin and him and spoke in English and Sano picked up words here and there. Kenshin was very still and very quiet, picking up less than Sano, Sano figured. The man offered Pakshi a chair on one side of a cluttered desk. Kenshin refused, standing just inside the door, so Sano stood with him, waiting while Pakshi spoke with the official.

There was nothing in his face, as they spoke, that indicated the good fortune of having found survivors of a shipwreck. Whenever he cast a glance at Kenshin, all he saw was hair shielding his eyes, and a mouth taut with tension. Finally, the man rose and Pakshi did, the former showing her out with a hand hovering at the small of her back. Inclining his head respectfully at her, and casting them all sad, tired looks, before he retreated back into his office.

"What did he say?" Sano asked, before the door had even closed.

She didn't answer, moving through the press of people, scarves swaying. Finally, when they'd breached the doors and stood on the wide stone steps outside, she turned and tried to take Kenshin's hand in hers.

He refused to let her, backing a half step away and asking simply. "Tell me what he said, Pakshi San."

"They have found no survivors. The Eastcourt went down far enough from land that they hold little hope for finding any. The Company has called off its search and the only reason that the British navy still carries out its own search is that General Fletcher had a son on board the Eastcourt and has great influence with the admiral of the British fleet here in Madras. But soon, they too will stop their patrols. I am sorry."

"Thank you, Pakshi San," Kenshin said quietly.

"Wait, but there's always a chance, right?" Sano said. "You hear of sailors or fishermen whose ships went down in storms floating around on debris for days until somebody finds them."

"Such things do happen," she agreed, but she sounded less than hopeful. "They will carry word to you at my residence if anything is discovered.

It was easy enough to slip away. Even from Sano who kept casting him worried looks, but was willing enough to give him the space that he so badly wanted. Simple to fall back, as they walked, Sano distracted by something on the street, and melt into the crowd of a bisecting road.

Towards the bay and the dock street that ran adjacent. Through those crowds that he barely registered, until the docks became fewer and more dilapidated, and finally the wharfs gave way to stone jetties and eventually to sand beaches. The docks were far and away, the forest of masts grey in the distance. The outline of the city was as well, its profile foreign and strange from the rooftops of Japan he was used to. The sounds of it were muted by the crash of waves.

There was nothing here but fishing shacks and trees shielding a dirt road leading towards the city outskirts, where the occasional person walked, baskets or bundles perched on their shoulders, or balanced on their heads. There was the shrill laughter of a group of boys, playing tag with the surf. Further down a pair of fishermen hauled in a wide expanse of net. Kenshin stopped on the beach staring out into the water at the darkening vista of the horizon. Afternoon coming to a close and he wasn't sure where the day had gone. It seemed only hours ago that Sano had woken him on the ship.

The boys screamed in delight down the beach, having found some spidery crab and tossing it among themselves. He thought he saw a smaller one out in the waves, past the white crashing surf. Bobbing in the current, face small and round and paler than these Indian boys. Familiar. He shaded his eyes against a sun close to the horizon, trying to make out that small shape. He was in the water before he realized he'd been moving that way, fighting his way through waves that wanted to knock him off his feet, looking for that small dark head, but the swells kept hiding it from him.

A surging whitecap knocked him off his feet and he went under, struggling up desperately seeking that vision. But it eluded him. All he could see was foam and the occasional gull riding the waves that inexplicably pushed him back towards shore. He sat on wet sand once he'd reached it, the froth rushing up and dragging the earth out from under him with each pass. Dug his hands into the sand helplessly and stared into the face of the uncaring sea. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could do. The thought kept repeating itself in his head, again and again. Sometimes in her voice. Her tones of accusation. Useless. Everything he was - - all his skills, all the experience in the world at the sorts of things he'd been brought up to deal with - - useless to them. He'd as well grown up that superstitious, ignorant peasant farmer as a swordsman of notorious repute for all the help he'd been them. That farmer might still have a family, safe and poor and working their fingers till they bled in someone else's fields. But alive. At least we'd be alive.

Nothing he was had made any difference for them and he knew what he had to do. He rose, an odd, faint numb in his extremities. An odd muffled numb padding his senses. He'd wondered far from Pakshi's house, but he knew the way back. Stone sober, he could find his way back to any path he'd previously tread.

It was dark by the time he reached Pakshi's house. Her street was filled with the smells of supper cooking, of grilled meats and spices. A wealthy street to boast such scents. He stood outside the door and listened for Sano's presence. Heard his voice, finally, amidst the voices of women, likely in the courtyard. Not this way in, then if he wanted to avoid confrontation. There was an alley between houses and he navigated that, a neat stone path, well tended, that led to a walled enclosure where chickens rustled quietly in the growing shadows. The gate was latched, but up and over was not a hindrance for him. He hesitated at the top of the wall, and instead of dropping to the yard below, leapt to the open sill of a window on the second floor.

He crept through a darkened room that smelled of perfumes and spices, with silks over the arms of a chair and womanly things scattered on a vanity with a small, scuffed mirror. It did not smell of Pakshi's scent, so he moved on, silently moving out onto the railed deck that overlooked the courtyard. A large yard, with a fruit baring tree, and a fountain, and a large stone pit which a fire crackled in merrily, roasting skewers of something, while women sat on the edge, keeping charge of the cooking. He saw Sano sitting cross legged under the fruit tree, several of the young women not charged with the cooking, gathered around him. Sano looked less than pleased with their chatter, a scowl on his face, his mouth tight. Not so much annoyed with his feminine hosts, Kenshin thought, as with him. Sano would be upset and angry.

Pakshi was not below though, and he moved on, quiet as Cat on the prowl, until he found a room with a presence within. He knocked once, softly on the door, before slipping in. She looked up in surprise at him, her hands stalled in the process of twining her long hair.

"Forgive me, Pakshi san, for the intrusion. But I need my sword."

She stared at him, large dark eyes, a woman that had without doubt been a beauty of her generation in her youth. Carefully she laid her hair, unbound, across her shoulders and nodded. Rose, and went to a large trunk just inside her door. Inside, atop folded clothes and cloth and the packages a woman might buy to take home with her on the completion of a long journey, lay his sakabatou. She retrieved it and offered it to him upon her open palms.

"He was afraid for you when he gave it to me for safekeeping."

Kenshin closed his fists around the sheath, meeting her eyes for a long silent moment. Not entirely remembering what had happened that night on the ship after he'd learned of the sinking of Kaoru's boat. Perhaps he had given Sano reason to doubt.

"Thank you - - for everything. Thank you for taking care of him - -" he broke off, not sure what it was he needed to ask of her. Too many things battling for dominance in his head. He couldn't shake the vision of Kenji bobbing in the waves - -or the sound of Kaoru's voice in his head.

He backed away, leaving her the way he'd come, heard her call out, but ignored her. Down that walk like a shadow and out the window to the garden gate.

No meandering slow journey this time, sure of his path as he was, back to the outskirts of the city and the beach. Full night now, the moon risen high and casting wan blue light upon the world. The dark shielded him and the weapon he carried from late night travelers that he passed. Held close to his body, even the night watch were none he wiser.

The beach was deserted when he returned to it. Fishermen returned to their homes, nets neatly stacked far enough up the beach that the tides could not reach them. Even the gulls had left, retreated to wherever it was that they nested for night. The only life was the small, skittering crabs that rushed in with the tide, scampering across wet sand, before the returning water pulled them back out. There was a twine ball, lodged in the sand, the toy of some child left behind when he returned home, safe and sound to the arms of his mother.

He drew in a shuddery breath, vision wavering on that abandoned toy. Kenji had had such a ball, that he used to play with Cat, the one game Cat lowered herself to engage in, the stalking of that tossed ball. He could hear Kenji's laughter, delighted by so simple a thing as a cat pouncing on a ball.

He could hear it now, a whisper amidst the crashing of the waves. A fleeting shimmer of white in the corner of his vision and he thought he saw a figure standing out in the waves. A woman in a pale, drenched kimono. Dark hair streaming across her face.

What good is that? She whispered and he clenched his fist around the sheath of the sword. Look where you and your ideals got us.

The waves crashed against her back, but she remained unmoved, the only wavering of her form from the water filling his eyes. He saw, hiding half behind her, a small figure, clinging to the back of her kimono.

"Forgive me," he whispered, thigh deep in the surf, and flung the sword out into the water. It was swallowed up, beyond where she waited, with barely a splash.

"What are you doing?" The question came in the form of a bellow and not in her tones. H glanced away from her, to a figure stomping down the beach. Sano, trudging through the sand along the trail of his own footprints.

"Go away," he yelled back, Sano part of the problem. Sano one of his sins against her.

"The hell - -" Sano stalked down the beach towards him, maybe having followed him all the way from Pakshi's house, alerted by that lady.

When Kenshin looked back for Kaoru, she was gone, flitted away in the white caps. He drew a desperate breath, furious at Sano for following him, for interfering, for chasing her away.

"Damn you! I don't want you here - -" He screamed it at Sano, shoving him backwards when Sano splashed into the water. "She was there - -they were there - -"

He flung an arm out towards the vastness of the ocean, where nothing but moonlight glinted now, nothing but vast darkness broken by the pale lines of whitecaps rolling towards the beach. Sano stared in confusion at the water, then back at him.

"You threw your sword away." That was Sano's concern.

"What good did it do them?" He backed away, deeper into the water and a wave crashed against his back, staggering him. "She blames me. I see it in her eyes."

"She - -? Who? Kaoru? Have you lost your damned mind? Get out of the water."

Sano made a grab for him and Kenshin hissed, evading him, but not the wave that crashed into his back, the solid sand under his feet one moment and nothing the next, turbulent water sucking him under. His back scraped bottom, salt water invaded his ears, his nose, his throat. Burning. He lost his sense of direction for a moment, no notion where surface was. Panicked. Every instinct he had screaming to fight for the surface - - even though part of him said, don't - -this is what they felt. Take the path they did and let the scales balance.

But when his feet found sandy bottom his body followed instinct and he launched himself up, spitting water and gasping for breath, considerably further out than he'd been when he'd gone under. Sano was a dark shake a dozen yards further down, desperately searching the water. Sano saw him and cursed, hair clinging to his face in dark streaming strands.

Kenshin tread water, the bottom out of his reach. There was nothing here but waves and beach and Sano. No ghostly wives. No ghostly children. The waves carried him closer to the beach and he didn't fight it. Sand under his feet again and he staggered towards shore. Sano fought his way through the waves, angling towards him. Kenshin had lost a sandal along the way. Sano still had both of his.

"She's gone, Kenshin," Sano barked at him, jaw clenched, fists clenched. "And I'm sorry- - I'm truly, truly sorry - - but she's not blaming anybody for anything anymore. And even if you weren't fucking losing it and seeing her ghost - - well her ghost would be a damned bitch if she's blaming you for any of this."

"Shut up," Kenshin cried, indignant, wailing rage blackening the edges of his vision. He hit Sano, and Sano staggered a pace back, raising a hand to his mouth. Looked at the blood on his fingers and pulled back his lips in a red rimmed grin.

"Yeah - - okay - -" he swung back and Kenshin didn't even try to avoid it.

Sano probably pulled the punch - - and it still knocked Kenshin back onto the sand. He lay there, both hands over his eyes, blood in his mouth, jaw throbbing. World reeling, and it wasn't from the blow. He could take a decent blow.

He felt the shifting of sand as Sano knelt next to him. Not touching. Just a presence.

"What do you want, Kenshin," Sano asked hoarsely. "You wanna die and join them? That what she's asking you to do? That what you want? "

"Yes," he said through clenched teeth. Then, with sinking despair. "No." Because he didn't - - not deep down where the center of him was. And maybe that was the worst betrayal of all.

"Whatever you think you're seeing - - hearing. It's not her." Sano said. "I know the twit - - and the last thing she'd ever want was you dead. She loved you, idiot."

Loved. Past tense. Sano had admitted it finally - - given up on his pretense of hope. It was a blow of sorts that he hadn't expected.

"He was three years old, Sano. He was only three - -" Everything was a blur. His throat so thick he could barely get the words out.

"I know - -I'm sorry - -" Sano did lay hands on him then, hauling him up roughly, wrapping long arms around him. Kenshin balled a fist in Sano's wet shirt, pressed his forehead against his shoulder and sobbed.

Sano swallowed blood and a little bit of sand and knelt there while Kenshin let out his grief. Other than that craziness on the ship, it was too long coming. Craziness tonight, too, with Kenshin claiming to see ghosts. He cast a wary look at the ocean, having a healthy respect for the things in the shadows and ghosts in particular - - the shades of Buddhist monks haunting their dilapidated shrine had cemented that, thank you - - and he half expected to see something hovering out there.

But there was nothing but waves, and the occasional glimmering white cap, that he supposed someone crazy with grief might in their gnarled, fevered imagination think to be a figure drifting in the water. And he believed what he'd told Kenshin. If Kaoru ever came back to haunt him as a spirit, she'd be a benevolent one, not some accusing shade pushing him towards whatever it was Kenshin had been trying to convince himself of. She'd spent the entirety of the time he'd known her damned and determined to convince Kenshin that he wasn't the monster he thought past deeds had made him.

Of course that didn't mean Kenshin wasn't seeing some sort of kappa, out to cause mischief. Water spirits were notorious for sensing weakness and exploiting it. And Gods knew, Kenshin had enough vulnerabilities now to fall prey to it.

Sano drew his brows, wishing they were further up the beach, out of the edge of the tide and things that held power in it. But he'd brave the ill intentions of water spirits if he had to, to let Kenshin get this out. Sano had lost a person or two in his life and all holding back the grief got you was messed up. You screamed, you cried, you beat the shit out of something if you had to, but you let out. Didn't mean you didn't carry it with you forever, one way or another - - but at least it got you through the day. And the next. And the next.

Kenshin wrung himself dry eventually, limp against Sano for a while after, until he stiffened a little, maybe embarrassed at the show of weakness, and pushed himself away. His hair, come loose from its tail in the waves, was a sodden, sand crusted mess clinging to face and shoulders.

"So - -" Sano had no idea what to say. So he pushed himself up, reached down and caught Kenshin's arm, hauling him up whether he wanted up or not and got them further up the beach where the sand was soft and dry, out of the domain of anything possibly out there lurking in the water. He collapsed back down then, and after a moment, Kenshin did beside him, barefoot and hollow eyed.

"You lost your sandal." Stating the obvious seemed safe enough. Sano was almost afraid to mention the sword, lost out there in the water. Gods knew what Kenshin had been thinking doing that - - but if Sano were any judge it had been some guilt-ridden attempt to punish himself. He'd regret it, Sano figured, sooner or later.

For a long time they sat there in silence, watching the waves, the slow migration of the moon, the distant silhouette of some ship sailing towards Madras harbor.

"It hurts," Kenshin whispered, barely audible.

"Yeah."

Kenshin dropped his head, tangling his fingers in his hair and didn't say more.

By the time it started misting, the moon was far behind them and the horizon over the bay turning purple and red with the onset of sunrise. Sano figured they'd sat out here long enough, clothes gone dry becoming damp again with early morning showers.

"C'mon," he pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand for Kenshin. After a moment, Kenshin accepted it and let Sano pull him to his feet. It would be a long walk back in the rain to Pakshi's and he hoped they still had a place in her home after all the drama. A smart woman, with a family of her own to look after, might well rescind her offer to houseguests not acting entirely within their right minds.

He got as far as the jetties and the houses at the outskirts of the city, before he lost his way entirely, standing in indecision at an unfamiliar cross road. He hadn't been paying a great deal of attention to his surroundings when he'd been scrambling to keep on Kenshin's trail out here. He'd barely caught sight of him at the end of Pakshi's street after she'd alerted him of Kenshin's coming and going with that sword.

Kenshin took the lead then, silently, taking the path Sano would not have chosen, if it had been left to his devices. Leading them a meandering way through grey, mostly deserted city streets in the hours before true dawn, towards Pakshi's house.

Almost he was embarrassed to knock on her door, at this hour, but he was tired and wet again and manners had never figured greatly into Sano's decision making. So he pounded a fist against the doors, while Kenshin stood mutely behind him. She answered it herself, after a few minutes, wrapped in a long robe, with her hair in a long braid across her shoulder.

Kenshin bowed deeply to her, without quite looking her in the eye. "I'm very sorry for the inconvenience, Pakshi San."

She looked more relieved than irritated, Sano thought. "What is life without its inconveniences?" she said. "I rise before the girls, regardless. I was awake."

She ushered them in, out of the rain. The courtyard was glistening with it, water running across the flagstones to a central drain. "If you wish to avoid answering questions from the girls, go upstairs now, though. You'll find dry clothing in the big blue trunk - - my husband's - - my son's - - that should make due. Go, before they rouse."

There was very wan light seeping through the inner shutters in the attic. Just enough to see by without lighting a candle. Sano found the trunk, filled with men's clothing. The belongings of Pakshi's dead. He found he wasn't picky, very much tired of wet cloth against his skin. The clothing, size wise was more suited for Kenshin - - Pakshi's men having been of average size and height, but they were loose enough to fit, even if they were short in the arm and leg. Even the plain ones were of a very fine, very soft fabric, with fine embroidery along the edges.

It had been a very long time since Sano had slept, none since the night before he'd sat vigil on Kenshin on the ship. He felt it now, that seeping exhaustion. He fell into the pile of blankets he'd tossed against a wall, trusting this time, that he could leave Kenshin to his own devices. He was asleep before he'd fully nestled down into his pallet, the sound of the rain on the roof a quiet serenade.

Chapter Twenty-nine

The smell of food woke Sano up. He lay there, sunlight coming in from the inner shutter slats slanted across his face, and figured it was close to noon. Breakfast was long gone, so it must have been lunch smells that were drifting upstairs to disturb his sleep. Of course, hunger tended to trump sleep with him. Always had.

He yawned, stretched and pushed himself up from the nest he'd made for himself. There was a lump across the room, where Kenshin had made his own bed, which showed no signs of stirring. He pulled on his borrowed shirt and ran a hand through his hair, then ambled over and toed Kenshin under his blanket. He got a look for that, from under tangled hair.

"So, I think they're making lunch. You wanna come down with me and get some?"

Kenshin made a non-committal sound and shifted an arm over his eyes.

"That a no?" Sano stood there, waiting.

"I'm not hungry."

"Yeah? When's the last time you ate? You remember?"

A long silence, and Kenshin finally moved his arm to stare up at Sano. He looked about as enthused at the idea of eating as he might about the notion of amputation. "I'll get something later, Sano."

Sano huffed, not entirely understanding how a body could ignore not having eaten for two days, emotional turmoil or not. Nothing had ever had the capacity to dull his appetite. But he allowed Kenshin the courtesy of not arguing the point and went downstairs by himself.

Lunch was indeed underway, most of the household in the courtyard about the task. The chatting paused when he appeared, all eyes turning his way, before he got the smiles and a bevy of enthusiastic greetings. The younger ones, Satya, Natun, and Disha abandoned their work to descend on him, flirting shamelessly. He could understand Kenshin maybe not being up to braving this.

Sano soldiered through, letting them lead him to the low table and offer him a prime place in the pillows. Pakshi came out not long after with her daughter, bearing bowls of food, not all of it recognizable or particularly appealing visually. She asked after Kenshin and Sano shrugged.

"He's not up to much of a big meal."

Pakshi nodded. "I understand. I'll see he gets something later without a houseful of girls to pester him."

"We don't pester, aunt," Natun pouted defensively.

The old sister-in-law, whose name he believed was Vachya, snorted. "Ha. The way the lot of you pant over this one and talk about the other, you'd think there were a shortage of men in India."

"Vachya," Pakshi waved a hand at her. "Don't stir trouble. You embarrass our guest."

The old woman chuckled, not deterred in the least. Sano gave her a look, amused.

Pakshi shook her head, smiling slightly. "There is a favor I would ask of you."

"Sure," Sano was more than willing to work for his board.

"Rajiv usually accompanies the girls to the river with the laundry, but he is behind in his studies and I would keep him here for extra lessons today - -" she ignored the boy's groan and went on. "Would you accompany them to the river? With the unrest from so many come to the city because of the famine in the north, I would feel better if the girls had the escort of a man."

Which was how Sano found himself at the Cooum River, sitting on the broad stone steps that descended into the edge of the water itself watching Satya and two of her cousins while they scrubbed their laundry, laughing and chatting amongst themselves, sari's pulled up to bare brown legs. Hundreds of people gathered here, washing either clothes or bodies in the brown waters. The women not too modest to show a little skin as they pulled sari's up, or down as they worked or bathed. Nothing like Japanese women. Sano rather liked it.

He waded into the water himself, trousers and all, not quite so bold that he was willing to strip down to nothing but the loin clothes that some of the men had, and washed off the dried residue of seawater and sand that the rain on the walk home last night hadn't already rid him of.

Afterwards he sprawled on the steps above the water line and let the warm sun dry his clothes while the girls finished up. They bundled their damp wash up and balanced it atop their heads, graceful even under their ungainly burdens. Sano strolled along, devoid of burden himself - - and he had offered - - taking note of the vendors hawking their wares along the street as they walked.

A few people ran towards them and he craned his neck, taller than most of the people around him, looking down the street towards some sort of disturbance that rippled through the crowd ahead. There were the sounds of shouting and of agitated people. A regiment of city guard, mostly uniformed Indians, but a few Europeans among them, rushed by, almost clipping one of the girls in their hasty passage. Sano caught her arm, keeping her from losing her footing and stared after the retreating soldiers.

"What do you think that's about?"

"Another riot," Satya said. "Someone stealing food from a merchant, who objects and it gets out of hand. The city regiment is not lenient with thieves. Less forgiving still with those the British think incite rebellion against their rule."

"We should go another way." Natun said worriedly.

"I've heard tales," Satya said as they veered down a side street away from the gathering crowd along their original path. "Of bodies littering the streets of towns to the north, where people protested the British rule. Terrible tales."

"Rumors," Natun said unhappily.

"They're not," Satya snapped. "They cling to their rule like tyrants and those that oppose them meet violence. Aunt Pakshi and uncle Narasimha didn't wish to believe, because they were wealthy and supported the British and only saw the kind hand of their masters."

"Shush," Natun said sharply. "Or I'll tell Aunt Pakshi what you say."

Satya pouted, but shut her mouth.

Sano looked back, at the distant figures of more people running from the riot. There was the faint pop of gunfire and the girls started. He clenched his fists, thinking of unarmed crowds and frightened soldiers with guns in their hands.

"C'mon," he urged them to a faster pace, taking the huge bundle from Disha, the smallest of the lot and slinging it over his shoulder. The sooner he had the girls away from the outskirts of the mess back there, the better.

The view from the attic window was spectacular. The Bay of Bengal a sparkling blue expanse of water, dotted here and there with the shapes of ships. It was peaceful sitting there, staring out upon it - - a mindless activity, which required nothing of him, yet drew his thoughts away from other things.

It was there Kenshin was sitting, back against the sill, knees drawn up, when Pakshi rapped softly on the door. She entered, a covered bowl in her hands that he supposed Sano had asked her to bring him. The thought of food made him vaguely sick, yet there was an emptiness in his gut, a parchment thin feeling that made his hands shake just a little, that was sign enough that he'd gone too long with no nourishment. He'd gotten soft. There had been lean days when he'd been wondering after the war, that he'd gone longer with only water to fill his belly.

"Pakshi san." He inclined his head to her and she sat the bowl on the sill at his feet. Simple white rice with a piece of grilled flat bread atop it.

She stood staring out at the bay with him for a long moment, then smiled wistfully. "I spent many days with no appetite for anything but sleep and tears when I lost my first child."

He looked at her sharply, surprised at that admission. "Pakshi san - - I'm sorry."

"If not for Narasimha I might have wasted away, a young mother adrift in her grief. But he was adamant, my husband, even in his own grief, that we go on."

He stared at her, at the lines on her face and imaged the tales they told.

"So we tried again, and we had Nanda, my eldest daughter, and she thrived. As did Rajiv - - who young Rajiv is named for. I lost my fourth child to a fever not a month after he was born. And the fifth was still born - - but I had taken a fever in the weeks before his birth - - so I blame myself for that. Rajiv the elder lost his life in the service of his country. His regiment went south two years past to help with the flooding, and he was killed when the supply wagon he guarded was overturned in a river crossing."

Kenshin sucked in a breath, horrified at that calm confession. At so many young lives lost before their time. "I - - I'm so sorry - -"

"What is - - is," she said. "If my faith is to believed, they will live again. I do not know what yours dictates."

He shut his eyes, having little enough faith of any kind to believe in optimistic fairytales. His beliefs tended towards darker things. Vengeful things.

"We go on - - those of us who survive. What other choice do we have?" she asked.

None, he supposed, since he'd found he had little taste for the notion of death. He couldn't answer her, but she didn't seem to require one of him. She inclined her head with a jangling of earrings, and left him to his contemplation of the bay.

He pressed his palms against his eyes and leaned that way over his knees for a long while, before he blew out a breath and straightened. There was nothing to do but reach for the bowl of rice and flatbread.

Sano came back, after being gone for most of the day. He smelled of river water and spoke of half naked women bathing in public and riots in the streets. Kenshin sat in the window and listened to the sound of his voice.

He declined dinner downstairs and Sano gave him a look verging on a glower, patience running thin. Kenshin held up a placating hand and murmured, 'tomorrow, perhaps.' Which Sano did glower at, but left, muttering under his breath.

Sano returned to the attic room late into the night, this time smelling of curry and wine and perfume, staggering just a little. There had been music and laughter that had drifted up even to the attic. Sano brought with him a small urn and a bowl with rice and a skewer of meat and onions. He thrust them both on Kenshin with a lazy grin and sank down almost on the spot he stood, to sit cross-legged on the floor by the window.

"Pakshi used to be a temple dancer, did you know? She's taught the girls - - and damn, but its something to see."

Kenshin picked at the food, sipping at the wine direct from the urn since Sano had neglected to bring a cup. He found the taste marginally more appealing than he had the last time he'd eaten. Perhaps it was the distraction Sano provided. Sano's half drunken talk soothing in a strange way.

Sano drifted off, and Kenshin sat with his mostly empty bowl and watched him for a while. The flutter of thick lashes on tanned cheeks. The disheveled way that dark hair, which was growing longer than Sano usually wore it, fell this way and that across his forehead and cheek. The smooth skin of youth. Sano had scars, but none of them showed. He tended to heal well, scars fading almost to obscurity. Kenshin knew where they all were, each and every one.

He shut his eyes, not so soothed of a sudden in this room with Sano and the things Sano made him ponder. He rose, silently gathering the urn he'd drained and taking it and the bowl with him as he left the room. The house was quiet now, its occupants retreated to their beds. He traversed the stairs, recalling the creaky ones and avoiding them. He took the bowl to the kitchen off the courtyard and rinsed it in water someone had drawn and left in a basin on the counter. Then he took himself to the well and the little alcove with its wooden bench to cleanse himself. He drew a second bucket to rinse his hair - - he very much suspected there were still grains of sand in it - - and twisted it to wring the water out after. He stood in the courtyard, borrowed clothing damp against his skin, staring up at the square of starry sky above.

He hoped very much that Pakshi was right. That Kenji's young soul would find life again. That Kaoru's would. It was a nice thought. A comforting one. He tried to repress the pessimistic realist inside him that insisted that that was the very reason it was probably not true. The world was simply not that kind and death, he very much suspected - - was simply death.

Sano stirred upon his return, blinking at him blearily. Kenshin went to the blankets he had against the wall by the window, shut his eyes and sat with his back against it. He cracked them open when he heard Sano moving. Sano gathered up a blanket of his own and tossed it down by Kenshin. Kenshin opened his eyes fully and gave him a wary look, in no frame of mind for any notion Sano might be entertaining in his not entirely sober head.

"Sano - - ?"

Sano waved a hand at him, frowning. "Shut up. Give me some credit, will you?" He sank down next to Kenshin, glaring at nothing in particular. He didn't say anything for a long time, then finally - - "I understand a lot more than you think I do, you know?"

Kenshin stared at his hands across his knees and conceded that point. "I know."

"Just so you do."

They sat for a long while, side by side, a cool breeze drifting in from the open window. It smelled like rain might be moving in. Sano finally reached out an arm, draped it across Kenshin's shoulders and pulled him against his side. Kenshin shut his eyes, things fluttering inside him. Guilty things - - that he could allow himself the utter comfort of Sano's physical presence - - that he could crave it - - after having failed Kaoru so utterly. Cold and alone was what he deserved. And then, fool, take what you can get. A voice inside his head that wasn't Kaoru's - - Hiko's maybe. Or something Sano would have said. Or maybe just the pragmatic part of himself that knew if he let it, the misery would eat him alive.

Days at Pakshi's turned into weeks and Sano was content enough with the excuse that word still might come of some miraculous discovery of shipwrecked survivors. He didn't think Kenshin believed it. Kenshin knew too much of death to ever believe it. But Kenshin was getting better - - if you considered leaving the retreat of the attic to actually appear in the courtyard with the rest of the household better. Engaging in conversation would have been a whole other realm of recovery, but he wasn't there yet.

The girls loved him though, as girls of any nationality tended to. Maybe it was the quiet manners when he did actually do more than nod at a comment directed towards him, or the aura of tragedy, because he had that in spades. More than likely, though, Sano figured, it was as much the pretty face and the way he moved.

They earned their keep. The roof got patched, the chicken coop in the back garden rebuilt, the garden wall plastered, the interior wall of the well patched, and any number of other things that required a man's touch. If nothing else the labor snared Kenshin's attention. Sano was man enough to admit that he had little talent in the way of woodwork or construction. He could do heavy lifting all the day long, but building a coop that was square on all sides and didn't tilt a little precariously was beyond him. Kenshin was enough of a perfectionist that he couldn't stand idly by and let Sano mangle a job. Though he was far from a master carpenter himself, he was better at it than Sano. Or at least patient enough to think things out before plunging into the project.

They discovered the city, sometimes in the company of one or more of Pakshi's household, sometimes on their own, which Kenshin preferred. Walking in silence and taking in the ambiance of an ancient city that seemed to ever change with the times, and yet still retain the bones of its origin. The temples scattered about were varied, dedicated to multiple deities. The one Pakshi and her family preferred was dedicated to her patron goddess, Shakti the Mother goddess. Pakshi had served in her temple as a young girl before she had married.

Sano picked up a great deal of English and some Hindu. Kenshin learned slower, but then his heart wasn't in it and he was less likely to sit with the women for hours after supper while they chatted before retiring. Sano thought he understood more than he spoke, though. Kenshin was very adept at appearing oblivious when he was anything but.

But as the weeks melted into a month, and then two and it became painfully apparent to all concerned that no word was coming, Sano began to sense a certain restlessness in Kenshin. An unease when he sat too long in the comfort of the house, or had a meal before him that was large and sumptuous, with the company of a household of women that seemed very much content with their addition. As if he thought he might not deserve it.

And Sano, who liked to think he knew Kenshin very well indeed, thought it might be just that. That mindset he'd had before Kaoru had convinced him that he deserved a place to call home as much as any man. The mindset that had set him wondering for close to ten years after the war - - just punishment in his mind - - for the acts he had committed.

But he spoke nothing of it. And it was only Sano's intuition that had the hairs on the back of his arms standing up sometimes, when Kenshin stood too long staring at the haze of distant land beyond the city.

They were on an errand for Pakshi one day, escorting Rajiv to market for supplies. The boy skipped ahead, happy to be out without the watchful eyes of mother or grandmother, while Sano and Kenshin strolled behind, enjoying the mid morning sun and the strong breeze coming in off the bay. Sure sign of a storm on the way, but for the moment it cut through the oppressive, humid heat that seemed a constant in the city.

The market street was lined with shops with colorful awnings under which merchants displayed their wares. Women in their colorful sari's and girls in their pavadas. Men in their traditional sarongs, or their dhoti's, the Sikh's in their turbans as well as the ever present influence of western fashion worn by the English and those that wished to be like them.

Rajiv had run ahead, pausing, as a boy might to gawk at a merchant's display of knives. Curved daggers with ornate sheaths that looked more decorative than practical. Sano gave them a look in passing, not so jaded that a display of weaponry, even small daggers of dubious efficiency did not catch his attention. Kenshin didn't glance that way, his eyes fixed on something in the crowd ahead of them.

The boy skipped ahead, weaving through the crowd and Kenshin called his name sharply of a sudden, but the call was lost in the clamor of the crowd.

"What?" Sano started even as a man in the crowd ahead of them cried out, brandishing a curved blade longer and more wicked than the ones on display. People cried out in fear and surprise, scattering away from the screaming man, even as he descended, weapon raised, upon a crisply uniformed English soldier who'd been browsing the stalls with a lady of European descent upon his arm. The woman screamed and the soldier fumbled for the firearm holstered at his side. Neither wild eyed attacker or startled, gun wielding English officer seemed to notice the boy standing like a fear frozen rabbit between them.

Sano swore, shoving aside people trying to flee the area in an attempt to approach it. But Kenshin was already there, the Indian with the scimitar howling, clutching at his empty hand and what might have been a broken wrist, the cry of the English soldier, as his gun arm was knocked aside, his aim badly disrupted as Kenshin staggered against him, as if he had lost his footing. The boy was on his backside in the dusty street no few yards from where he'd stood in the middle of the conflict, round eyed and stunned.

"Clumsy oaf," the Englishman was cursing Kenshin, who backed away, holding up empty hands, apologizing in his rudimentary English. But it wasn't Kenshin who was his primary concern, but the bearded, wild-eyed Indian, who still clutched his wrist. The crowd gathered around, hemming him in as the soldier called for the city guard, his gun pointed threateningly at the man who'd tried to attack him. The man's sword, surprisingly enough, was lodged in the wooden beam of the second story awning of the building behind them.

Sano hauled Rajiv up by the collar. "You okay, kid?"

The boy nodded mutely, staring with no few members of the rest of the crowd brave enough to have stayed, at the sword still quivering minutely above their heads. There were murmurs in the crowd, as more uniformed soldiers arrived, of Thagi.

"I don't know what happened?" Rajiv finally admitted shakily. "I was there - - and then, I was not."

"Yeah, funny that." Sano looked over his head at Kenshin who had worked his way out from the center of the conflict and was weaving his way through the outer edges back towards the two of them.

"What's Thagi?" Sano asked and the boy looked up at him with white around the rims of his eyes, frightened.

"No good is what they are. Thieves and assassins who kill for the honor of Kali. They're few now - - because of the English. But they appear now and then causing trouble. They hate the British."

He glanced at Kenshin, who shrugged a shoulder. "He did appear to have a grudge."

"You don't see them in the city much," Rajiv said, craning his neck as the crowd dispersed, the city guard having hauled the sword wielding Thagi away. The British officer and his lady had also melted into the crowd. "I've heard Auntie Vachya say they used to roam the countryside, strangling travelers and cutting out their eyes in the name of Kali, then stealing all their belongings."

"Ouch." Sano placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and got him moving. The merchant they'd been sent to visit was no more than a few blocks down. "Sounds like the British taking them out was a good thing."

The boy nodded in agreement.

Rajiv stayed very close the rest of the trip, carrying his sack of rice, while Kenshin shouldered the cask of wine, and Sano the sacks of grain and flour. The women were appropriately shocked and relieved when they returned to the house and the boy told them what had happened. Rajiv was pressed for some time to his mother's bosom, while she bemoaned ever letting him from her sight again.

The storm did come that night, blowing in off the bay and pelting the city with rain and winds. Two days and when the sun next came out, the city was waterlogged and already high humidity became unbearable.

Sano came back to the house, as shirtless and barefoot as Rajiv, the both of them having accompanied a few of the girls to the river, to find Kenshin holding some conversation with Pakshi in the courtyard. Kenshin bowed to her when they burst into the house, the chattering lot of them, and retreated. Pakshi forced her frown into a smile, and welcomed them back, offering watered wine to ease their thirsts.

Sano stood in the midst of the girls and watched Kenshin ascend the stairs, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end.

Sano was happy. Sano had a place that he was welcome - - more than welcome - - that he was needed - - that he might build a family. Kenshin wanted that for him. Wanted Sano happy more than any other concern he had left. Wanted Sano safe - - as safe as this world would allow - - at any rate.

Sano deserved that. Deserved more than his company, when he wasn't sure if he could ever be whole again. He felt - - displaced and fractured and not all the warm comfort of Pakshi's house could ease it. He thought it might even be making it worse. He couldn't stay. The grief, the guilt, the unease churned under his skin like grains of sand itching for him to just - - move. To walk and not stop walking. Again. Like he'd felt before. Owning nothing but the clothes on his back and the sword at his hip. Calling no place home. No companions to ease the solitary nature of the road.

Only he had no sword. He'd given that to the sea. And the companion he had - - he wanted safe and sound away from the ill luck his presence seemed to bring. Only he didn't - - oh, he surely did not wish the lack of Sano and Sano's bad fortune with money, and Sano's tendency to provoke conflict and Sano's sour temper when his stomach was empty.

A quandary to be sure. But an easy one. Sano safe was worth more than his own selfishness. So he did what needed to be done and told himself that was all there was to it.

He gave Pakshi the courtesy of forewarning. Thanked her for her generosity and wished well upon her house. He waited until Sano was out of the house, accompanying the girls and Rajiv, to see the lights at the nearby temple, then gathered what few things he had. The most serviceable of the clothing that Pakshi had given him. A battered travel pack with the bare essentials that a man on a long road would need. A knife that she had given him that had belonged to her son. An old blade in need of sharpening, eight inches long, with a plain sheath. For his needs, it would do.

It was past dusk when he left, bowing again to Pakshi and old Vachya who had come out with her sister-in-law to watch him leave. Pakshi handed him a very small pouch, which he tried to return, but she folded his fingers about it, promising it was but a pittance. Enough to see him fed for the next few days, should he need it. He hated accepting it, but standing there arguing with her was pointless, with old Vachya glaring and calling him a fool.

He knew the way out of the city. North, to the city gates, which were open still, to late travelers. Beyond were fields of rice and imported corn and the outlying villages of the farmers who tended them. There was a tributary of one of the rivers that cut through the city running parallel to the road, and smaller fingers of that feeding the fields.

Other than out of the city, he had no destination in mind. There were roads that led to places. He would figure it out as he went. It was a plan that had served him well enough in the past. He tried to ignore the pang of unease that stirred in his gut at setting out on it now. Tried to ignore the regret because his loss would surly be someone's gain.

He stared with intensity at the distant dark haze of foothills, easy to see past the miles of lush flatland with its web work of tributaries and flooded paddies. There were other travelers on the road. A tiny speck of a man leading an ox. A small cart pulled by an old man heading towards the city. A group of men with no baggage at all, workers perhaps or some of those poor that gravitated towards Madras in hopes of food or work. Travel worn men who eyed him with keen speculation as they passed on the road. Out of reflex he went to lay his hand upon the hilt of a sword that wasn't there and took a breath, clenching his fist over nothing.

They passed each other peacefully enough on the wide dirt road between paddies. Trees swayed on one side, rustling in the breeze. A dog lay in the intersection of a small path leading off to a tiny shack off the side of the road. It growled low in its throat as he passed. A gentle warning to keep his distance.

Its dark eyes flicked beyond him, towards the road he had traveled, ears pricked at the sound of another traveler moving up the road. Keener ears by far than Kenshin, who glanced over his shoulder and barely saw the shape of a lone man some ways back, steadily making progress in a distance devouring lope.

He turned back around, not slowing his pace. He shut his eyes as he walked though, breathing deep, heart thudding in something that might very well have been relief.

It took perhaps half an hour for Sano to catch up with him. He had a pack over his shoulder and a pissed off look on his face. The sound of his teeth grinding was audible as he slowed his jog to a walk and stalked beside Kenshin. Kenshin said nothing, hardly knowing what it was he actually did want anymore, too many things churning about inside him to have a clue. Sano happy. Sano safe. Sano and the temptation Sano brought with him safely distant from him, because when he got too close he could not shake that terrible guilt of the betrayal he'd dealt her. Sano's company. Sano.

"You're a bastard, you know that?" Sano finally stabbed a finger at him, maneuvering around to stand in his path, stalling his forward progress. "You slip out of the house without even the courtesy of telling them goodbye. What sort of asshole does that?"

"It would only have been painful. For everyone."

Sano let out an explosive exhalation of breath. "Right. And slipping away like a thief in the night because you're too much of a coward to deal with a little emotion isn't hurtful at all."

"I spoke to Pakshi," Kenshin said softly.

"Really. Pakshi. Figured she'd tell me the news with the rest of the house, huh?"

"I thought - - I thought it better that way."

"You thought - -? You son of a - -" Sano growled and swung at him. Kenshin just shut his eyes and let the open palm of his hand connect, let Sano get out the frustration and the anger that had the veins in his neck standing out.

And it hurt. He staggered, ear ringing from the impact of palm against the side of his head. Sano had very little concept of just how strong he was.

"Are you completely addled?" Sano shouted at him.

Kenshin barely heard it through the ringing. "Possibly now," he muttered, rubbing gingerly at the spot.

"Damn you, Kenshin. You really thought you were gonna get away with leaving me behind? Without even a fucking word? Like I don't mean anything more to you than any of those girls back at the house? You damned ass. I should of just let you go you and to hell with you."

"You should have," Kenshin agreed softly.

"Why? Who are you punishing? Me? You? The both of us?"

"I'm not - -" Kenshin snapped his eyes up to meet Sano's in denial. "Not you - "

Sano nodded, sneering. "Right. You then. I figured that. I wanna kick your ass so bad right now."

"I'm sorry, Sano."

"What you are is frustrating. And so damned tangled up you don't know up from down anymore, much less the difference between a good decision and a bad one."

Kenshin looked away at that, not entirely sure Sano wasn't in the right there.

"We had this conversation, Kenshin." Sano reminded him. "More than once. Thought I'd made myself clear."

"Sano - -" his voice broke and he had to swallow and try again. "I don't know what I want - - I don't know that I can be - - content again. I let myself for a little while and - - I paid for it. Kaoru did and - - and Kenji. You even. Go back to Pakshi's - - go back to Japan - - find the home you deserve, Sano."

He moved around Sano, taking to the road again. Sano stood for a moment, fists clenching so hard that Kenshin heard the joints popping.

"What about your home?" Sano snapped, stalking after him. "You've still got one, remember? You just gonna abandon it and leave everybody back there wondering?"

The very idea of going back to the dojo made Kenshin short of breath. Of going back to the place where Kaoru and Kenji's essence dwelled. The place where Kenji had been born, where Kaoru and he had shared a room and a bed and a life. No crevice or corner of that place wouldn't destroy him. Bad enough when he'd only thought them kidnapped and believed with all his heart that he'd get them back. To return there now - - was beyond him. It was cowardice and he didn't care.

"There's no more home for me, Sano. Not there. I can't - - not where we lived - - not - - " He swallowed, vision wavering for a moment, before he blinked it clear again. "Yahiko will take care of the dojo. He'll need a place of his own. He's a master now of the Kamiya Kasshin-ryu style. He can carry on Kaoru's father's legacy. The widow is there and her daughter. They'll feed Cat - -"

His voice broke again so he stopped talking. He'd said enough. He felt sick.

"Yeah," Sano said bitterly. " Guess they'll all be fine thinking we're all dead then."

"You could return and tell them."

"Fuck you, Kenshin."

Sano stalked along in silence for a while after that. Then after a good half mile of muddy road, he said through clenched teeth. "You know what? You're right in one thing - - home's a funny thing. Without people there that matter - - its nothing more than a roof and four walls. You're my people. Where you're at - -that's home for me. Whether it's in a nice snug house with plenty of food or starving our asses off on the road. You don't get that - - well, I got no problem pounding it into your head."

Sano looked at him, as if he were expecting something from him and it felt like there was something huge and ungainly stuck in his throat. He worked to swallow it down, bereft of words. Sano had said enough for the both of them. So he simply nodded. One quick jerk of his chin that was all he could manage, before lowering his head and letting his hair fall over his eyes to hide the embarrassment of water spiked lashes.

"Think you're gonna leave me behind - - asshole," Sano muttered, reiterating his initial thoughts on the matter.

"It was a mistake."

"You think?" Sano snorted. Then after a bit. "So, where we headed?"

"I don't know."

Sano stuffed his thumbs through the sash at his waist. "Okay. I've been that road before. It's a big country. A lot of places to see."

Not much now though, with night fully fallen and only a few stars out to keep the whole of the world from stark darkness. The road was clear enough though, for a pair of men used to traveling at ungainly hours. And the sun would rise again soon enough and illuminate the way.

No matter the state of the rest of the world, it always did.

Epilogue

The Pang Nyu was a Chinese junk out of Kiungchow. Her crew lovingly called her the Fat Lady, for her bottom was broad and her construction sturdy. In the lean years of the second opium war she'd been a steadfast pirate of British and Dutch vessels. Her voyages now were mostly mercantile, making the slow trade route south east of China to the rich ports of Bangkok, Singapore and Rangoon and even distant Calcutta when the money was good.

In her seventy years of service, she'd weathered war and storms and political upheaval. She'd had four captains all of the same family linage, and a crew of sons and grandsons, brothers, cousins and uncles. Experienced sailors all, and still the storm that had ripped across the Bay of Bengal had cracked the mainmast and flooded the hold and likened to sink the old lady, crew and all. It was only by the grace and the good will of accumulated ancestors that she weathered it and limped into port at Calcutta.

Two days to repair the mast and it took the funds that otherwise would have finished filling her hold with trade goods. It was a disgruntled crew that headed home with a half empty hold. A disgruntled crew that four days later came upon a tiny boat, adrift and for all appearances abandoned, caught in southbound currents. There was still enough of the pirate in the old captain that he swept down upon it with salvage in mind. At the very least it was a dingy of European design that could bring a few yuan.

At first, when they closed in they thought they heard the squall of some gull, swept far, far from land, but as they pulled in beside the little boat and threw out lines to capture it, they saw instead the face of a child, sun reddened and twisted in the midst of a tantrum as it sat in the bottom of the boat, clutching the robes of a woman who lay very still next to it. There was a man as well, who sprawled equally as silent, dressed in the garb of a well to do Westerner.

As men of the Pang Nyu scrambled down lines to the tiny boat, they called up to the faces looking down from above that the two adults had every appearance of severe dehydration. The single flask on its leather strap that hung around the child's neck, long empty of water. There were no other rations on the boat. Only a tarp that had been constructed at the prow, that the woman lay half under, shielding her from the unyielding sun.

A woman, if her garb were any indication, of Japanese origin. The man was clearly European, though there was just the slightest hint of Asian tilt to his closed eyes. There was gold in a purse in his pocket though, and a fine pocket watch, which the crew tossed up to the captain, who took an experimental bite of a foreign coin. Gold was gold, though, no matter the origin and could be melted into whatever form a man wanted. And a man that carried a purse of gold on his person was no doubt a man of means and men of means might be worth more gold if handled properly.

The captain signaled and his crew went to work transferring the occupants of the small boat up to the Pang Nyu. The man roused first, as water was forced down his throat, blinking and sputtering weakly, croaking in his indecipherable English, desperate in his flailing until he saw the woman and the child also under the care of the crew on deck.

She came around more slowly, pale skin sun reddened and blistered in places, but still an attractive enough young woman, who clutched the child to her and cried, when she was sensible enough to realize he was there at her side.

"Japanese?" The captain asked, standing over her, casting her and the boy in his shade. She looked up at him dazedly and nodded.

"English?" The captain cast a dark look at the man, with his rumpled western suit and his mustache above a stubbled chin.

"Yes, I am English. We're indebted to you for our rescue," the man answered for himself in Japanese better than the captain's own.

"Rich?" the captain asked.

The man hesitated, glancing at the woman and child, uncertainly, wise enough not to blurt out such things in the company of strangers. But the gold in his pockets told the tale well enough.

"There might be a reward," the man said slowly. "For your kindness."

The captain glanced at the girl, who had her arms around the child. "And her? Is she your woman?"

"No!" the man seemed offended. An honorable man. "She is under my protection, though and by God, I'll see her and her son safely home. I promise a reward to you, if you drop us at the nearest port. Where are we?"

"West of Rangoon. But we'll make no port until home. We can talk of our reward there."

"Where is home?" the man asked warily.

"Kiungchow."

"China?" The man looked to the girl and the child she clutched in her lap. She looked back with wide, reddened eyes. Finally he nodded, accepting the inevitable, pushing himself painful to his feet. A tall man, though young, despite the years the sunburn and the mustache tried to add to his age.

"Good enough. Better than dying in a life raft with none the wiser."

"Yes," she said softly, bowing her head respectfully at the captain.

"I am Ian Fletcher," the Englishman said extending a hand that the captain only stared at curiously, until the man withdrew it uncertainly. "The lady is Kaoru and was taken by force from her home in Japan, along with her son. It is my duty, as it is the duty of any man of honor, to see her safely back to it."