Not so much of a bluff as I might wish, Obi-Wan thought ruefully the next morning, ensconced on a cushion on the back porch with one of Kaoru's books and a cup of cool well water. All I want to do is lie here and ache.
Head, joints, muscles - everything hurt. Though even that wasn't enough to slow down his racing thoughts.
Old Republic archaeologists on the Kanto Plain...
No reason to believe those folk Kaoru had mentioned so casually had been his parents. Yet - no reason to believe they weren't, as well. The time seemed to fit. The bounty hunter's report, his illness, his fragmented memories...
Watchman Ulloriaq.
He could remember images of her, much as he hoped the Force might have granted Leia and Luke memories of Padme; a small woman, not too different in appearance from the locals, with a certain hard edge that spoke of the sort of utter dedication to the Code he'd once thought right and proper. A very unhappy woman, from what little Obi-Wan remembered; as who wouldn't be, with the unmannered youngster he'd been shivering under her gaze and whispering that he wanted his parents, he wanted his ani, please-
Owen, Obi-Wan realized, sunk in the memory. I was asking for Owen. Our parents were gone, I could feel it even if I didn't want to believe it - but he was alive. Somewhere.
Alive, but not important, apparently. In memory Owen might loom tall and strong, but an adult's reflection judged that he likely hadn't been any older than Kaoru was now-
And Kaoru's old enough to look after an apprentice.
Basic didn't have the words. He lapsed into Huttese instead, laying yet another curse on the Council and its hidebound resistance to looking outside Temple walls. "If it's not in the Archives, it doesn't exist." Damn it all-
A leafy rustle brought a scent of spicy green. "That sounds," Kenshin said plainly, "most unpleasant."
Obi-Wan opened his eyes to look at that almost-not-there presence in the Force, studying violet eyes as Kenshin knelt down and took off his shading reed hat. Red sleeves were still tied back, and dirt tinged pale hands; a woven basket of leafy greens, red stems, and a host of plant-things Obi-Wan couldn't identify rested on the porch by the man. "Shouldn't you be resting?"
"The garden needs tending. Which is restful, to this one. And on the matter of rest..." Violet studied him in return. "One is not entirely familiar with your... style's use of techniques, Kenobi-san. Kaoru-dono knows of the healing trance, as most samurai do; one has seen her use it. Do you?"
"Yes." Though for some odd reason, Obi-Wan had found himself reluctant to slip into one. The memory of Force lightning lingered in his veins like the damp earth left by a thunderstorm; until he could meditate more fully on the Light Side of the Force, he was better off using it as little as possible.
"You should not use it for another day." In deliberate view, Kenshin touched callused fingers to the back of the Jedi's hand; a soft skirl of the Force, like a breeze from a shaded glen. "The Miasma is in retreat, but if it were encouraged to grow now, even hashima would be hard-pressed to keep you well."
"Encouraged to-" Obi-Wan cast his mind back to what Gensai had showed him of the parasite's life cycle, and stifled another curse. Damn. That close to being an independent organism, rather than an illness - yes, a trance might well have that effect. "Well. That could be rather less than pleasant."
"Yes."
Obi-Wan let his eyes narrow slightly. "You've seen it."
"Yamato was torn by war even before the Clone Wars began." Kenshin's gaze was elsewhere, peering into mists of memory. "One has seen choices made, when allies or foes were ill and gravely wounded. Sometimes the wrong choice."
"Your master took you onto the field to heal?" For a Jedi it wouldn't have been unusual; once chosen, a padawan went everywhere with his master, even into the thick of battle. But every padawan Obi-Wan had ever known had been trained by Yoda first. Even the youngest Jedi apprentice knew what to do with a lightsaber. How does it work on this planet?
"One's training was more in battle than in healing." Kenshin smiled faintly. "One has tried to keep learning." The red head tilted. "And you, Kenobi-san?"
"Obi-Wan," the Jedi said firmly. I haven't really heard my name said in years. I've... missed it. "I'm afraid I've never truly been skilled at healing." If I had, that duel on Naboo might have been so different... No. Qui-Gon's injury was too grave. Wishing it otherwise is self-delusion - and that is of the Dark Side. "Nor... gardening."
Kenshin gave him a skeptical look. "By which one thinks, you have never tried." A slight shrug. "Not that one can blame you for avoiding the attempt. From what one has heard of the Republic's agri-worlds, that is no more gardening than droid-made goods are hand-fired tea ware." Violet darkened. "Perhaps life on Coruscant hardens a soul. But one cannot help but think the Agri-Corps is a fate no one who can feel the joy of ki would seek."
Curiosity and wariness stirred in equal measure; Obi-Wan stilled the one, but let the other have just the slightest of room to move. "How much do you know?"
"Of Jedi?" Kenshin said levelly. "More than most. Less than you, one thinks. Enough to make many one has met uncomfortable, one knows." He settled back on his ankles. "You were tested near birth, or young, and found to have a midi-chlorian count the Order decided was useful. Your guardians, such as the Order knew them to be, were approached and asked to give you up. You were raised on a world that is stifled by a city even the most fervent Edokko would find impossible to bear, among guardians who claimed to know nothing of love, or grief, or the common jealousies and hatreds most sentients suffer. You were trained as the Council saw fit, in war and diplomacy and kami knows what else - and at thirteen your fate was sealed." His voice softened. "One hopes you found joy in it, Obi-Wan. It sounds... empty."
"One who follows the will of the Force is never empty," the Jedi said firmly. Sighed, and acknowledged the younger man's point with a faint, wry smile. "Though for many years it has been lonely. As I suppose it must be for a wandering swordsman..."
The very faintest flicker in the Force, like far-off lightning. But Kenshin only smiled. "Yet if one did not wander, Obi-Wan, how would one have met such interesting people?" He shrugged. "One will stay until Takeda's threat is dealt with. Then - well, perhaps then the winds of time will blow again. Who can say?"
Well, you're definitely not saying, my young friend, Obi-Wan thought wryly. You're good, Kenshin, you're very, very good... but while I may be rusty, I am a Master. You are lonely. And somehow, some way, you believe you deserve to be.
A lonely, possibly angry man who'd taken great risks to protect a young woman who all but shone with good intentions. Sithspawn. I've seen how this tale ends.
Or perhaps not. Kenshin might look the age Anakin had been when he'd started that disastrous relationship with Padme, but he most emphatically was not a headstrong padawan determined to get his way no matter what the Code might require. He'd made no oath to the Code or Council, for one thing; and even if he had, Kenshin's thoughts and manner toward the sensei spoke only of a wistful wish for friendship, a breath of not-loneliness. Not the burning obsession that had lurked in his young apprentice.
Though he is good at concealing his thoughts, Obi-Wan noted. And as for the Code...
---------------
He is very good at concealing his thoughts, Kenshin thought darkly, watching the Jedi without making it obvious he was watching. For Jedi he undoubtedly was; he could sense the flow of the Living Force about the man like mist, much as it did around Shishou, loosening age's grip to a feather-light clasp.
Near Shishou's age, he must be, Kenshin realized. Which would make him no padawan when the Empire took hold, but a seasoned Knight. And if what I have learned is accurate, all the Knights were at least acquainted, if not friends. Which would mean I-
No. Bury that thought. Bury even its shadow. This was a good man, that was all that mattered. Leave the past as past, and let Kaoru have her joy in the presence of another of her kind. Soon enough he would leave again, and neither of them would need to worry about whom - what - he had been.
"Are there certain oaths samurai uphold? Evidently, Kaoru can pass for what's seen as normal on this planet..."
Kenshin blinked back surprise, reflecting on the question. True; that Kenobi should know, if Kaoru meant to claim him as a cousin. Her reputation determined whether her school would live or die, and her kin's behavior would reflect on her. "It is well known that every school carries its own code," the rurouni answered. "If Kamiya Kasshin should happen to have one that was once heard on Coruscant - well, who here would know?"
"Besides you?" Obi-Wan said mildly. "What code does your school have, Kenshin?"
The first principle of Hiten Mitsurugi: the sword swung in my name is wielded to protect the innocents of the world.
Shishou... I failed you so...
But none of that could he tell this man.
He set the pain aside, and shrugged. "Hiten Mitsurugi is very old," Kenshin stated. "The first meditation, is this.
"Emotion, yet peace.
"Ignorance, yet knowledge.
"Passion, yet serenity.
"Chaos, yet harmony.
"Death, yet the Force."
Something flickered in blue-green. "That is-"
"Do not," Kenshin said levelly, "mistake this one for Jedi. One is not. One never could be."
"You don't know that," Obi-Wan said gently.
I know the second meditation, Kenobi-san. And that would send you for your lightsaber, did you have one. "One is only a rurouni, Obi-Wan. No more." He moved to stand-
"Tell me about the war here," came the quiet request. "I sense it is of great importance."
One knee lifted, Kenshin hesitated; gathered up his frustration, acknowledged it with grace, and released it into the flow of ki through them both. "It is." He hesitated. "One cannot claim to be a disinterested observer..."
"In war? No one is." Wry amusement. "Not even a Jedi."
Kenshin sighed. "What do you know of Yamato?"
"Beyond what I've seen within these walls? Not much," Obi-Wan said frankly. "Though any world that hosts such a deadly disease, yet still has people on it with the compassion of Dr. Gensai, milady Kamiya, or even Sagara... it can't be so bad."
"Yes; Sano is a better man than he would like to believe," Kenshin nodded. "Katsu... well, one does not consider him to have ill intent, but while his newsletter brings useful news to Tokyo and beyond, those who serve the Empire on this world read it as well."
"He runs a newsletter?" The tiniest flicker of unease.
"The Meiji Inter-world Dispatch. Kaoru-dono has shown me some past issues," Kenshin inclined his head. "No details of their cargoes, or... passengers... are ever mentioned."
"Good," Obi-Wan breathed. Shook his head. "Smuggler and reporter. I'd hate to be in his boots if the Empire should happen to catch him-" he grinned slightly, "-black-handed."
"One cannot fault their reasoning," Kenshin said dryly. "It was propaganda such as Katsu's that fomented dissent with the Shogunate, and the plodding legalities of the Republic, to begin with. They took advantage of that anger before; they cannot fail to see its danger now." What can I say? How can I make a stranger - a Jedi - understand the desperate struggle here, with no true wrong or right, only ideals on either side that were betrayed by both...
Tell him the truth, baka deshi, memory growled at him. Tell him, and let him decide what he will. We instruct those who do not feel the will of the Force as we do; we do not control them.
For to control another's will - to make them think as we will - is of the Dark Side. And we are Shadows.
"After the flight to this world, we lost star travel," Kenshin began, casting his mind back to some of Hiko's earliest history lessons. "All of us; humans of various worlds, Zabrak, and Fireryo alike. Some say it was fear; others, deliberate acts by one group of ki-users or another, trying to protect us from the horror that might yet remain among the stars. The reason matters little. We spent the next three millennia as sentients do when they think themselves alone in the universe; warring, making peace with each other, living and dying and contributing to the will of the Force.
"Then, perhaps seven decades ago, we were found again. But not by the Republic.
"Who it was that found us... the names are not important. They were traders, smugglers, out to gain profits laws of the Republic would never allow. With drugs, or slaves - or simply goods taken at the point of a blaster. And while our people did resist them-" Kenshin slanted a glance toward Kenobi, "-one believes you know how fruitless it is to pit only lightsabers against starships."
"Would that I didn't," Obi-Wan said under his breath. "Yet a Jedi Watchman did come here."
"Hai, one did," Kenshin nodded. "But only after the Shogunate had been coerced to sign various... agreements, with those who would exploit our world." He shrugged slightly. "They themselves had always exploited the rest of us, of course; but at least they were our people, who would have to live with the consequences of their actions. They could not take everything. Not if they wished to survive. Yet now they were bound to those who would take what they could, who did not care if they left Yamato a poisoned cinder..."
His hands were shaking. Kenshin closed his eyes a moment and simply breathed, listening to the buzz of hari-choucho visiting flowers, the quiet creak-creak of a kamutobu advertising its garden territory full of juicy insects to any female that might bury eggs in moist dirt.
Ki was alive, and it flowed through him. It had flowed before he came here, and it would flow after he was gone.
My world still lives. That much I have done.
"There were good people in the Shogunate, who appealed to the courts of the Republic," he said at last. "Even, at the last, to the Senate. Or so it is said. The truth is not known. The messengers sent died; suicide, it was believed. Some say, because the appeals were rebuffed. Some say they were merely mired in endless debate, shuffled off, and forgotten, and they could not stand the shame of bringing failure to their Shogun. Some," he cast a sober look at Obi-Wan, "even say that it was the Jedi who made them appear as honor-suicides, for off Yamato, who else carries lightsabers?"
"A Sith," the Jedi said grimly. And sighed. "But the High Council believed they were extinct."
"And so they would not hear us, and would not hear even their own Watchman," Kenshin nodded, recalling Hiko's gruff mentions of secrets confessed by the undercover gaijin he'd gotten drunk with a time or two. "And she, of course, had her own problems, once it was rumored she had stolen a child from his clan-"
"She?" Sea-green pierced him. "You knew her?"
"The tale spread like wildfire, Kenobi-san," Kenshin said evenly. "Before I was born, it was known from Edo to Kyoto and in every hamlet and fisher's hut between. By now I do not doubt it has crossed the oceans, and is whispered in the ears of misbehaving children even among the snows of Ezo."
Yes. Think of that; of the tales he had heard from the moment he could crawl, whenever sidelong glances had not lingered on the demon's mark of red hair. Of the woman he thought his shishou might have loved, if ever her Code would have allowed that, before rage and despair crumbled her iron soul. Think only of that, and not a grim, too-ancient figure on a Kyoto rooftop, eyes blazing the sickly red of unleashed Darkness...
The past is past. The future is in motion. All we have is now.
And in this now, I must not remember.
So he did not.
"Just what we needed," Obi-Wan murmured. "Even more bad press." He leaned back slightly. "So. There was a Separatist movement here?"
"Impossible," Kenshin shook his head. "We were not part of the Republic; the treaties the Shogunate had been forced to forbade that. No; the Ishin Shishi were a movement to join the Republic. Under Palpatine's enlightened guidance, of course." He couldn't restrain a brief flash of anger at that bitter irony. "And if the Shogunate's treaties made that impossible by Republic law... well, he would never spark revolt against a world's rightful leaders, of course, but if the Shogunate no longer existed..."
"I see." The Jedi frowned. "And you were with these Ishin Shishi."
He knows, fear whispered.
Of course he knows, sanity replied. He may be Jedi, but if he's survived this long, he can think.
"Forgive me for being blunt," the Jedi went on, "but if Palpatine knew of you, I'm rather surprised you're still breathing."
"This one never came to his attention." Because even though Katsura had wanted to believe, the Ishin Shishi leader was still a samurai of Yamato, born breathing its politics, its plots, its assassinations. Hitokiri Battousai had been his blade against his enemies - of the Shogunate, and elsewhere.
And against such a power as Palpatine, the best blade was the one no one even suspected existed.
"Which was very fortunate for you, my young friend," Obi-Wan said soberly. "You wouldn't like what would happen if he caught you."
"One has seen the holo-casts of his speech to the Senate, when he was made Emperor," Kenshin said bleakly. "That damage... no power of the Jedi would have warped him so. He has let the Dark Side take him."
"He is Darth Sidious."
For one frozen moment, Kenshin could only think, Oro is not going to cut it.
"Kenshin?" A hand reached out, not quite touching; a warmth in the Force. "Kenshin, breathe."
The rurouni cleared his throat, chills tingling down his spine. "Forgive, but - one had the sudden, desperate desire to find a very deep hole..."
"Been there, tried that," Obi-Wan said lightly. "This isn't a desolate sand-pit on the Outer Rim. The Empire does rule here. How in the galaxy have you been missed this long?"
"The simplest way of all," Kenshin admitted, ducking his head. "When the Empire took control of Tokyo, with Yamagata to lead the stormtroopers and Katsura, Okubo, and Saigo to aid Prince Meiji as he became Imperial governor... I was not here."
"Not on the planet?"
"Not with the Ishin Shishi," Kenshin corrected. "A year before the Clone Wars were ended, there was a battle outside Kyoto. Toba Fushimi. The back of the Shogunate's forces was broken. Any battle beyond then would only have been... only was... needless slaughter." He drew a painful breath. "I told my commander that, and reminded him that I had sworn to be with him only so long as I was needed. So I gave him my lightsaber, and I left."
For a moment, he thought Obi-Wan would choke. "You what?"
"There was only pain in that blade, Kenobi-san. I could not bear to carry it a moment longer." Kenshin shrugged, setting the years and grief away. "One has wandered ever since. Which is not so difficult as one thinks you believe. The Empire rules this planet, yes - but outside Tokyo, very lightly." He lifted a red brow, smiling. "After all, even stormtroopers have their pride. And it is very - damaging - to morale, should your troops be ordered to, oh, search a particular warehouse for illicit goods, only to find themselves repeatedly searching at the other end of town..."
Obi-Wan coughed, the faintest trace of humor glinting in sea-green. "I imagine even Imperial officers would catch on eventually."
"Ah, but many of those same officers are samurai," Kenshin pointed out. "There are not so many among them who are ki-sensitive, it is true; Katsura Kogorou was chief of those, and grief and illness slew him almost a year ago. But there are few who do not have relations with a measure of the ability." He felt his jaw tighten; deliberately relaxed it. "And not even the new power of the nobles, who have never been of samurai blood, or Governor Meiji's... revealed distaste for ancient superstitions... can outweigh the bonds of clan. Not yet."
The Jedi sat a hair straighter. "This dojo's very existence is a rebellion."
"Not quite," Kenshin corrected. "The harsh and strict might name it ranbou, but even they could not call it rouzeki."
He sensed more than saw the confusion on Kenobi's face, and stifled a sigh. Sometimes he forgot how archaic his accent truly was. Shishou had always understood the ancient words that peppered his speech, and a great deal of his time with the Ishin Shishi had been spent among those who lived and worked in Kyoto's Shimabara, where archaic words and turns of phrase were scattered like flamegem spangles, and for much the same reason. Shimabara, Tokyo's own Yoshiwara, the far more mercantile pleasure quarters of Osaka; everywhere, geisha and tayuu modeled their dialect after ladies of the millennia-old nobility, the better to catch the interest of rich customers. Though his had been antique even for Kyoto, heart of sentient settlement on this planet for as long as history could remember. Which - combined with exotic red hair, and a build easily mistaken for a woman's - had drawn its own set of problems...
Let's not think of how often one has needed a lightsaber, Kenshin thought wryly. "If the law wished to force the issue, training samurai might be considered ranbou, an act of violence. But as there has been no order not to train those with the talent, it does not outrage laws and lords."
"I take it outraged lords are rather to be avoided?" Sea-green danced. "Still. It is resistance."
Kenshin inclined his head. "Kamiya Kasshin, Maekawa-sensei's Chuetsu Ryu, some few others within Tokyo's walls; all defy the ways of blaster and starship that Meiji has ordered are to rule Tokyo. They are tolerated, so long as they are humble, and quiet, and never claim to be better than Imperial technology; for in their quest for power in the Empire, the nobles have discovered a love of dueling. Often with bokkens. Sometimes, with vibro-blades." He lifted a red brow. "Some few of them are truly skilled."
Obi-Wan accepted that warning with a thoughtful nod. "So the Empire claims all of the planet, but only holds Tokyo..."
"And the allegiance of many outside it, who recall the terrors suffered under the Shogunate, and only see improvement under Meiji," Kenshin said bluntly. "Never forget that, Obi-Wan. For all the Empire's evils, it is better here than it was." His fingers curled; deliberately, he relaxed them. "Yes, there have been rebellions here. There is a rebellion, even now. But the worst of the poison-makers have been driven off this world, the civil war has stopped, and Meiji is young, handsome, and beloved of his people. If there is still slavery, if the courts are swift to punish the low and swifter to release the powerful, if the ancient ways of ki are laughed at and cast aside - most will say, that has nothing to do with them."
"I doubt Megumi would agree." The Jedi frowned. "Not that I fail to believe Katsuhiro, but I'd prefer to have a bit more information than 'very bad guy'. I've asked Dr. Gensai, but... are there any sort of archives in this city? Anything we might access without drawing attention?"
"To the first, yes," Kenshin said plainly. "To the second - one thinks we both need another day's rest, first."
That earned him a narrow-eyed look. "Precisely how do you define not drawing attention?"
Kenshin blinked innocently. "Oro?"
---------------
"Dead," Shinomori Aoshi said levelly, perched on a rooftop out of casual view of the Edokko passing below. Not that a twist of ki could not have turned any gaze away from him, obliterating even the thought that he might have been there. But that was no reason to be sloppy.
Especially considering the pair he was following. Samurai, even if one bears no blade. Samurai who tried to protect Takani...
But as his own teacher had drilled into his head, for those who shaped ki, there was no try.
"Dead and cooling!" Beshimi insisted, once again. "I would not fail you in this, Okashira-"
Aoshi's gaze was emerald ice. "Your eyes can deceive you, Beshimi. You should know that as well as any of us."
The cat-eyed ninja almost protested; pressed thin lips together, and bowed instead. "Okashira. Inform a spy so much the lesser why you doubt him."
"Doubt you, Beshimi? No. It is Takani that I doubt." The tall ninja flicked a glance at the pair now passing a noodle-maker's stall, careful not to let his gaze linger too long. The one was barely recovered from illness, likely Miasma; the other, too small a ripple in ki to likely have much training. Even so... "If she had simply wished an honorable suicide, she had dozens of opportunities in the past."
"Perhaps, being trapped so close to escape-"
"Perhaps," Aoshi nodded slightly. It was possible. After all, she was neither samurai, nor Oniwabanshuu; she had none of the training that hardened mind and soul to living diamond. Victory snatched from her grasp, the threat of Kanryuu's rage - yes, she might have shattered.
And yet...
"Learn more of the Kamiya dojo," Aoshi ordered. "Pass the watch to Han'nya when I return."
"Return?" Beshimi stammered. "From where?"
He was already gone.
Are you going where I think you are going, samurai? And if so - why?
No need to ask why the pair were being so circumspect as they approached the Imperial Medical Center. So near to the Governor's palace, traditional samurai garb drew unfriendly eyes at the best of times. Had the smaller samurai not tucked his lightsaber into his sleeve, those eyes would have been lethal.
They still should be, Aoshi frowned, ghosting past stormtroopers outside the hospital in the samurai's wake. The guards here are good, Security sees to that; they should see he's hidden his weapon-
If they saw him at all.
A lesser ninja than himself might have fallen out of the shadows in shock. But the pattern was there.
Moving with the wind.
Sickness still impaired the taller swordsman's movements, but his companion seemed to be taking that into account. They moved with the flow of crowds and shadows and paper blowing in the wind at his slower pace, slipping past distracted eyes in that one moment their owner would swear they were paying attention - and be lying all the same.
Fascinated, Aoshi followed. Other onmitsu? I know of none of ours who live samurai identities in Tokyo. Yet who else has such skills?
Which made that threadbare whisper, that he had only Beshimi's report, and not a body in his hands, rise to a nagging snarl...
He circled into the broad alley behind the Medical Center with the breeze, searching for his quarry. Where did they-?
Click.
Inaudible to ordinary ears; ki brought it to him like a gift. Aoshi focussed on the window that had just closed five stories up, nodding in admiration. No grapnels, no repulsor-lifts, no vehicles of any kind. Nothing to set off the webwork of sensors woven about this medical fortress. Only two twists of will; the one to jump, the other to unlock the window and its accompanying forcefield the only way possible.
From the inside.
Aoshi reached out with his feelings. One soul restlessly tossing in fevered sleep, the sharp edges of emergency-room doctors, the rough warmth of ward nurses, two more quiet presences slipping away into the maze of corridors...
He slipped through the unlocked window, setting it and its shielding back exactly as they'd been left. Not that he needed this means of escape, Kanryuu's influence would allow him to walk out in plain view if he chose. But he was Okashira, and he chose to be mysterious.
Where are they going? Aoshi wondered, white trenchcoat blending into white corridors. A revenge killing? Samurai are usually not sneaky for less, and yet... Kamiya Kasshin is spoken of as the sword that does not kill. And I sense no anger. Only curiosity, and a hunger to know.
In a hospital? That made no sense-
Only as his quarry flitted ever upwards to the penthouse medical units, the Okashira realized it made perfect sense.
These suites are reserved for nobles and high Imperial officers, Aoshi thought, gauging his moment to sneak past a pair of unobtrusive yet highly armed security officers. People who have work to be done, whether or not they are ill. Work that requires high-level, even classified, information access.
Which was not something a traditional samurai would know. Who in the galaxy was he following?
They've stopped.
Eyes closed, Aoshi touched the decorative panel that hid a medical supply closet, coaxing it open with a touch of ki. With foes so skilled, he had no wish to even attempt to sneak into the same suite. But there were always ventilation ducts, and listening.
Settled in a shadowed corner, he reached out for the feel of fingers touching datapads whose rights of access really, truly didn't belong to them.
There.
"You realize if our host comes around, we'll have quite a bit of explaining to do."
The taller one, Aoshi thought. The man who stopped Beshimi's dart.
"One doubts he will, Kenobi-san. You heard Gensai-isha. Jaguchi-san has a habit of going on... binges."
Ah. A name. Useful; while Kamiya had amended her household register to include apprentice Myoujin Yahiko, so far the only other new entry was visiting rurouni. She'd have to add the other man by the end of the ten-day, or face more legal trouble than even a would-be Rebel wanted to handle, but knowing the name now would speed matters considerably.
"Nasty habit," Kenobi muttered. "I've never understood why sentients would want to fry the brains evolution gave them... how did you guess that code?"
A quiet laugh. "Those who work within these walls are here because they are not well, Obi-Wan. Which includes being uncertain of memory. Particularly on passwords."
Kenobi made a choked noise. "Are you saying someone's left the system on default?"
"That is why one asked Gensai-isha if rumor knew of a particularly impaired patient, yes."
"Himura, you continue to amaze me."
Aoshi frowned. Himura? Why did that name sound vaguely familiar?
"We will not be able to access much beyond the lowest levels of classification," Himura warned.
"No, no, this should be fine," Obi-Wan murmured. "Let's start with Kanryuu... oh, this is really not good."
Eyes closed, Aoshi caught the subtle bleeps of data being downloaded into handheld storage. So. They were not acting as amateurs, who would read and be amazed into being caught. No; the subtle feel of them held a knowledge of risk and danger, a steady determination that would snatch the information now, and analyze it later, in safer environs.
Professionals. But whose?
"Ten minutes until the shift change," Kenobi sighed. "Let's go-"
"There is enough time." A shift in that quiet voice, as if Himura turned back to the console. "Kenobi... start with the gaijin records, and work outwards."
"Kenshin, my personal matters are hardly worth-"
"We are here, Kenobi-san. Who can say when we will have another chance? Nine minutes. Search quickly."
Gaijin records? Aoshi squashed the shock of disbelief. A gaijin, passing as samurai?
Or - perhaps not. This was the capital of Meiji, after all; a weakling who favored the Empire at every turn, and denied not only the power of the ninja who had failed the Shogun, but that of the very samurai who had rallied to put him in power. If a man had records on Yamato, even an off-world name might not mean much.
"Star's End..."
"Record it and keep searching," Himura said abruptly.
"But a legal protest-"
"One's not entirely surprised. We'll read it later, Obi-Wan, that we will. But the flow of ki is becoming- Keep searching. Please."
"Ulloriaq," Kenobi breathed. "How could you?"
Aoshi frowned. That name is almost familiar...
But his quarry dropped no further hints, tapping out searches he couldn't identify, downloading information with all the grim haste of worried professionals. Minutes trickled by-
And his sense of them vanished.
A trained onmitsu was never alarmed. Concerned, possibly. Startled, perhaps. But never alarmed.
Not alarmed, Aoshi slipped out of hiding, using ki and skill to guide him back out of the hospital, unseen. There would be a way, even if he had to grasp the darker shades of ki and make one.
There. Retreating from the wide transparisteel doors of the center's Emergency entrance, heads bowed in seeming grief. Just another pair of awkward, old-fashioned relations, who never would have been near a place so steeped in the new ways of the Empire had it not been for a heart-rending accident.
Neatly done, Aoshi assessed dispassionately. They looked, and felt, like sorrow-haunted samurai, wanting only to be away from the place where their kin were in pain. Native manners would politely ignore such distress, and so ignore them, and never mind those gaijin battle-flags of red-touched hair...
Red hair, and the stealth of an onmitsu. It tugged at his heart, like a story from long ago. But what?
Think about it later, Aoshi told himself as the pair headed away from the Imperial district toward the rougher streets that led to Tokyo's docks. They're blending into a crowd, don't lose them.
Only it seemed their concentration was slipping; a pale Kenobi caromed off a red-nosed samurai, tried to apologize-
But the drunk samurai had friends, one of whom took a head-to-toe look at auburn hair, pale skin, and swordsman's bearing, and turned white as fresh paper. He drew his vibroblade, tried to yell - barely managed a choked gasp Aoshi could not quite hear-
Half the crowd screamed. The other half drew whatever they had, and charged-
And Aoshi suddenly found himself very busy, trying not to get trampled to death.
Okashira squashed by rabid mob, Aoshi thought in that brief instant before he gave himself to ki and moved. Okina would never let me live it down...
---------------
Sprinting like mad, Kenshin calmed himself and jumped, touching down on blue roof tiles like a startled neko-ao.
If only I could blend that well, the rurouni thought ruefully, all too aware how red hair and gi stood out even this high off the ground. He crouched instead, moving fast to the roof corner nearest an alley, where he could dangle the sleeve-cord from his gi out of sight in the shadows, but still in leaping range of even a sick Jedi following the pale glimmer in the Force that was Kenshin's wry, resigned goodwill-
Weight struck the end; he pulled and pulled, the flex of muscle a mere guide for the stronger grip of ki on his traveling companion. Sandals touched roof tiles; he threw them both flat, wrapping a sense of shadows about them, of not-important, not-enemy.
Below, the mob charged past, screaming death to the monster they were certain was just ahead. One or two glanced toward the alley, but not even dust stirred to indicate any had passed that way, and it was soon forgotten.
The sounds of the mob roared away. Silence fell; then, slowly, the rhythm of Tokyo's streets picked up once more. Kenshin let out a relieved breath. "One thinks it may not be a good time to be on the streets, that I do."
"Space..."
A red brow went up at that feeling of unease. "Are you well, Kenobi-san?"
"I'm not injured."
True. But not an answer. So much hate. It has to have hurt him. "Forgive this one. We should have worn hats-"
"Who in the galaxy is Battousai?"
Tread carefully. "A hitokiri - assassin - during the Bakumatsu," Kenshin said plainly. "Long dead by this time, one hopes. But his reputation was so terrifying, there have been those who took up the name to do murder, using fear as their right hand. As a man named Hiruma Gohei did here in Tokyo not long before one arrived here. A truly deadly swordsman, even without ki; Kaoru-dono and this one caught him, and delivered him to the Guard, but fear still breathes on the streets."
"And they mistook me for-" Obi-Wan sat up, indignant. "I'm not even from Yamato!"
"But your accent is odd, you are somewhat taller than the norm, and your hair gleams as if gilded with blood," Kenshin noted. "For those still caught in the nightmare of Gohei's two months of murder, it can be enough."
An intrigued brow went up. "This assassin was a redhead?"
"Legend claims it was dyed with the blood of his victims," Kenshin said grimly. "Red hair appears in the mountains, Kenobi-san, but it is rare in Tokyo. We must be cautious."
"More me than you, it would seem." Obi-Wan gave him a rueful smile. "I suppose you're lucky to be short."
"Very," Kenshin agreed, relieved. "Come. Ayame-chan and Suzume-chan will worry if we are out too late, and this one still has many places to show you."
Hesitation, like the barest riffle of a breeze across a koi pond.
Were he samurai, he might think this an insult. "Safer places," Kenshin said frankly. "The rougher parts of Tokyo are used to dealing their own justice. They will not be so quick to leap to fear."
"It's not-" The Jedi sighed. "I am far more out of practice than I realized. I should have sensed that mob before it happened."
"Today you are not well. Tomorrow, you will be better. Meditation will help." Kenshin smiled. "And the advantage of mobs is, our follower has lost us most thoroughly."
"Hmm." Obi-Wan sat up, thoughtful. "And who - or what - was that?"
"Onmitsu, most likely. A spy, or ninja," Kenshin clarified.
"Another one?" Obi-Wan sighed. "Or are they working with the cat-eyed man who attacked Sano?"
Kenshin shrugged. "It would be unlikely for the Kamiya dojo to have drawn the attention of more than one such group."
"Unlikely for Kamiya, yes," the Jedi agreed. "Unlikely for you? That, I'm not so sure of, my young friend. Not at all."
"Kenobi-san-"
"Kenshin." A trace of Miasma's fever might still grip the older man's body, but his gaze was clear and sober. "Who's after you?"
Who would not be? But the rurouni buried that thought, only allowing the slightest fragments to slip to the surface of his mind. Examined them, in all their painful familiarity. Let them be the whole of the dread ever shadowing his footsteps. Exhaled, and told their truth. "When one left the Ishin Shishi, Katsura accepted the reasons of one's commander. Saigo never did."
Obi-Wan frowned. "And Saigo supports Governor Meiji-"
"No. Now Saigo leads the rebellion. For Palpatine and Meiji have both betrayed what Saigo holds as right and true, and the one thing Saigo cannot forgive is betrayal." Kenshin shook his head. "One suspects that while Katsura lived, respect for him stayed Saigo's hand. But Katsura is dead now. And Sanosuke has confirmed that Saigo has laid a price on this one's head." He lifted beseeching eyes. "Do you see why, once Megumi-dono is safe, this one cannot stay?"
"Kaoru would never betray anyone," Obi-Wan nodded slowly. "But it can be rather difficult for some people to understand that simply not doing what they want is not a betrayal."
"Yes," Kenshin said softly.
"Yet you still don't think this ninja was after you."
"He was alone," Kenshin said dryly. "Saigo knows better."
"Really."
Kenshin hid a grimace at the amused interest glimmering in the Jedi's ki. Pride kills, baka. No matter how true its claims. "One's known to be able to blend into crowds. Saigo had experience enough in the Bakumatsu to know that one cannot reliably follow a target with less than four watchers. So. Our follower was most likely a companion to our most unwelcome guest, looking in on those who leave the dojo in case one should be Megumi in disguise." He shrugged, and stood to jump off the roof.
"A moment." Rising slowly, Obi-Wan gave him a measuring look. "What was it you did just now? So the crowd would not see us?"
Do the Jedi not know of this? Shishou said their Temple was supposed to have gathered millennia of learning. "It is the shadow-cloak," Kenshin answered. "One attunes one's ki to that about one, becoming but one leaf of the forest of life. Outer eyes will still see one, but the soul within will not recognize one as more than a bright feather in the wind."
"Hmm." But the Jedi said no more, waving a hand to invite them both to continue down the street.
Where are we? Ah, yes, Kenshin thought, consulting his memory of Kaoru's maps of Tokyo. "This way."
Kenobi walked beside him silently for quite some time, only raising a brow slightly as the balance of the streets began to turn more to men than women, and a certain lustful scarlet colored local ki. "And now we are...?"
"Chou ye yuku."
"What?"
"Well, naka ye yuku, one thinks they say now; one has found that some things have changed since the Great Mirror of the Yoshiwara was written..." Kenshin caught sight of the baleful black willow weeping by the great arch that led into the Nightless City, and drew to a halt. "Kenobi-san. Here is a danger Kaoru-dono would warn you of, did she realize how swiftly it can snare a gaijin not familiar with its peril." He nodded toward the tree. "Reach out with your feelings. Carefully."
"Space..."
Kenshin felt it as well, despite his shields; the numbing thrum within ki, that whispered there was no danger, no danger, only the overpowering urge to sleep...
The Jedi shook off the thrall. "What is that?"
"Yanagi no kuroi," Kenshin answered. "The black willow. In the wild, one of the great predators of our forests."
"And you have it planted here?"
"Its keepers sweep it every week, looking for the hiru-ito that make its wild kin so dangerous." Kenshin held his hand flat, palm up, tracing the length from thumb to little finger. "Thin as hairs, and translucent green, to match the leaves they nest among. Maroon, once they have sucked their fill of blood."
Kenobi swallowed dryly.
"It is a symbiosis," Kenshin informed him. "The hiru-ito receive shelter, and meals brought down within range to crawl; the yanagi are fed by the hiru-ito's droppings, and the bodies of those not strong enough to escape death. This one, they feed with chicken blood." His voice dropped slightly. "Or executions."
Obi-Wan let out a slow breath, releasing wisps of fear and disgust to the ki about them. "But - why?"
"Some of those within Yoshiwara," Kenshin said levelly, "are not there by choice. The yanagi's influence makes it more difficult for them to escape." He let free his own soft sigh, knowing the beauty and grief that waited within those walls. "And one supposes it is in the nature of some of one's folk to enjoy walking close to the edge of the blade. Fugu would never be so popular a dish, else."
"Fugu?"
"A poisonous fish. Most of those in Tokyo licensed to prepare it are within Yoshiwara. One will not be visiting those cooks." Kenshin let wry humor creep into his voice. "One has had quite enough of people trying to kill one, without inviting one's dinner to take a turn."
Obi-Wan coughed, hiding a smile. "So. If we're not here to meet toxic seafood-?"
"Actors."
"I'm almost afraid to ask."
"Street performers," Kenshin clarified. "Kaoru-dono is samurai, beyond question; one had only to inform her of certain options for folk she might speak with, and her own standing smoothes the way. But you, Kenobi-san - forgive, but you are gaijin. Sword-smiths will not speak to you without proper introductions. So. We will start with those whose honor is not offended by speaking with you in my company. Their introductions will lead us to others, and theirs to others still, who will lead us to those you must speak with to obtain the parts for your lightsaber-to-be. And one thinks the best place to start is here, in the Nightless City, where those with money and proper manners are always welcome."
"It may take time, but it's not that hard to improvise a lightsaber," Kenobi argued.
"In the Empire? Perhaps. On Yamato, the components one would need are not so easily found," Kenshin said frankly. "We lost starships, Kenobi-san. We did not lose lightsabers, but only because our sword-smiths made crafting those components tradition, passed down from father to son, mother to daughter; sacred rites whose mystery even samurai do not understand." Violet met sea-blue. "They are proud folk, they are honored, and they are not common."
Obi-Wan held his gaze for a sober moment, then smiled. "Of course." He inclined his head. "I bow to the master."
"Do not!" Calm. Calm. "One is no one's master, Kenobi-san. One never will be." Glancing away, he nodded toward the guard-post beyond the arch. "All visitors must register. Write a name you feel comfortable allowing common knowledge. And once inside, remember that it is more acceptable to be the ignorant, rustic boor who cannot help lacking iki, whom the refined will consider naively charming, for a barbarian, than to play at being the sophisticate and be caught short."
"Is that what you do?"
Kenshin blinked innocently at the Jedi. "But one is a backwoods swordsman, Obi-Wan. Anyone can hear it. How could one step above one's poor station to pretend otherwise?" With a slight smile, he headed for the arch. Kuso. This man thinks too much.
Which could help or hinder, once Kanryuu was dealt with and he could vanish from Kaoru's life. What he'd seen of Jedi so far indicated they might be slow to act, but they were quick to judge; almost the opposite of what a sentient needed to survive Yamato's tangled nets of relation and obligation. While Koshijirou was alive, he must have reined Kaoru in, Kenshin thought. No dojo master should have offered me shelter; his obligation to his students would come before any gratitude to a wandering rurouni. She places herself at risk.
Like a Jedi.
But this is Yamato, not Coruscant-that-was. Can she learn that? Can Kenobi?
Can they learn it before I must vanish again?
They'd have to learn something. He couldn't change the world for them. He'd tried that once already, against all his master's warnings and the agony of his own heart. And while he might not change the path he had chosen - at least, not most of it - still, some of the results had been... awful beyond imagining.
I will show them what I can, while I can. For the rest - Sanosuke knows the shadows of this world, and Yahiko has a sturdy soul under all that young temper. It will be enough.
I hope.
His musings had carried him through the registration and beyond the yanagi's influence. Kenshin stopped in the eddy of foot-traffic around an inari-zushi vendor, smiling at the rich scent of sweetened grain and fried tofu. Do I- yes, I have enough.
Obi-Wan caught up in time to shake his head at how fast the sticky concoction disappeared. "Are you certain you're not still a teenager?"
"Mmph?" Kenshin chewed and swallowed. "Forgive, Kenobi-san, but have you seen Yahiko-kun eat?" He regarded the half-wrap left in his hand; he could tuck it away in his sleeve for later...
I'm your master, which means your training is my business, old memory scolded him. Which means when and what you eat is my business. You skip another meal to work on a technique against my orders, I will pound what's left of your scrawny frame through the river bottom. Are we clear?
He'd been on the road with little rest for months, ever since Katsura's death had honed the edge of the whispers pursuing him. Sleeping under the same roof this many days together had started to re-knit his raveled strength, but he knew full well he was not in true fighting condition. Not yet.
Hai, shishou, Kenshin thought now, taking his time to munch through the rest of the treat as Obi-Wan studied his surroundings with quiet curiosity. Very clear.
"Incredible," Obi-Wan murmured. "I'd never thought... for all the pain, there is great beauty here as well."
Kenshin followed his gaze, looking over the colored lanterns that would be lit with nightfall, the flowering trees planted along the avenues; the newspaper sellers and blind shampooers and fortune-tellers and flute-players surrounded by silken-bright colors of kimono, samurai garb, and noble dress, made all the brighter by haughty individuals in drab Imperial gray. High officials, those would be, visiting the quarter on what claimed to be the Empire's business. They'd discard such uniforms after dark, without question. Not even the might of the Empire could influence Yamatoans into adopting such drab colors for their leisure, no matter what the rest of the galaxy might consider stylish.
A certain bright-and-pale contrast caught Kenshin's eye; a young lady, no more than fifteen, mincing down the lane on high wooden geta, face painted white above embroidered blue-and-red kinu cloth, brocaded obi tied behind in a long trail from a simple but elegant knot. Her night-black hair was pulled back and oiled in high fashion, ornamented with two silver combs like tufts of phoenix feathers, and her teeth gleamed like black pearls when she bowed and smiled shyly to passers-by. This near the gate? Interesting...
Beside him, Kenobi had stiffened. "What is it?" Kenshin murmured.
"What's a young noblewoman doing-" Kenobi caught himself at Kenshin's blink of surprise. "Not noble, I take it?"
"It is possible she could have been, once." Thank the kami we both can use ki to speak quietly enough no one else should hear. But where in the galaxy have you been, that you have seen such nobles? "Don't speak with her. Not unless you intend to explain to Kaoru-dono how you spent enough money for a week's grain in the space of an hour."
"You're... not kidding," Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, eyeing him. "Who is she?"
"More what. She works in-" Kenshin hesitated a breath, "companionship."
"...Ah."
"The knot of the obi, the simple hair - she could be maiko. An apprentice entertainer, student of a geisha, who makes her living providing dance, conversation, and entertainment for men," Kenshin explained, drifting through the crowd in the young woman's wake. "But the blackened teeth could be geisha or oiran - courtesan. And the richness of her furisode, the display of her combs... those would make her shinzou, a young oiran, perhaps being groomed as a future tayuu - the highest rank of that profession."
"But you're not sure."
Kenshin shook his head. "What rights women had on Yamato, the Empire has busily eroded. And so the nobles have been encouraging a blur between oiran and geisha, much to both sides' displeasure. Either way, she is in full array, so she is working. And those who engage her company must pay for the privilege."
"Which begs the question of, precisely why are we following her?"
"She is alone."
Obi-Wan laughed softly. "You were born curious, weren't you?"
"Er... well..." Kenshin flushed. "If she were jigoku, walking alone outside Yoshiwara, none would question it save the Guards tasked to catch her and bring her here."
"By force?" Obi-Wan caught his look, and sighed. "I see."
"But for such a young woman as this to be traveling so - someone has paid much to be conspicuously discreet."
The Jedi raised an intrigued brow.
"An oiran should not be unescorted so near the gate," Kenshin explained. "Almost all of them are sold into this work, and some few do try to escape. Were her intentions lawful, she would be waiting at a teahouse for her customers, or traveling with some of her sisters to advertise their house, or perhaps walking with a kamuro - a maid of her own - to a boat party or restaurant."
"And if she's not an oiran?"
"If she is maiko..." Kenshin frowned. "Their contracts are lighter, and so they are more trusted. She could walk alone. Even through the gate, if she wills; for geisha may be called to entertain anywhere. But she should not be walking without instruments, or dance fans. Not on an ordinary engagement."
"And everyone knows this?"
Why is there never an earthquake when you need one? Kami, he could feel his ears burning. "No, not everyone."
Humor rippled through the ki around Kenobi. "And you know because...?"
"One was - young, and not full grown, among men who would spend their days in blood and their nights with - well." If it were possible to die of embarrassment, Shishou would have killed you decades ago. You'll only wish you were dead. "One very often ended up helping out in the kitchens, listening to the women talk."
"I sense that this was a source of trouble for you."
"You have no idea," Kenshin muttered. And this one is not telling you, Kenobi-san, so don't ask.
Bad enough he'd had to flatten more than one drunken Ishin Shishi who'd mistaken him for a willing young girl. And even more who'd mistaken him for a willing young boy - though those incidents had all but ended after his first month working for Katsura. He still wasn't sure which had been worse; being regarded with terror as his comrades whispered among themselves about the Demon of Kyoto, or being watched with sniggers as those same comrades enjoyed themselves and he walked always alone.
The past is done. Let it go. We're almost at- Kenshin slowed, yielding to a twinge of caution and waiting until a gray-haired grandmother's back was turned, before he stepped around the tops she made dance for a delighted crowd of youngsters stealing an hour away from work in this, the hottest part of the day. Well, well. "A hikite-jaya," he murmured to his companion. "Not one of the best."
"Another anomaly?" Obi-Wan looked over the multi-story wooden building, gauging their options. "I assume the front door would not be the best of choices."
"She's moving inside, waiting," Kenshin murmured, reaching out with his senses to follow her shy ki. "The maidservants are waiting for her, one has left again... upwards..."
So easy, to slip back into the hunt.
He was on gold-flecked blue tiles without consciously registering the jump, or the slip away from the crowd's eyes that must have come before it. Ki called out to him, flowing clear as snowmelt; answering to his quick questions of who and where and why. Eyelids, roof - neither was a barrier to the luminous glows within his mind that traced every life within half a mile.
Pull back. Focus.
This was the true strength of Hiten Mitsurugi. Not speed; though that kept its students alive. Not sword-skill; though that granted life to those its students defended. But the ability to read ki, to see it, bright as candle-flames on a moonless night...
One of those bright flames scrambled onto the tiles beside him. Kenshin held up a hand, intent clear as snowflakes in the wind: Silence.
Ghosting with the roof breeze, Kenshin stopped above the shy, frail flame that was their target. Others blazed there as well; the bustling flicker of servant maids, the cool focus of a bodyguard, the probing flash that was Inspector Uramura, the steady, all too familiar burn of a mature warrior...
"Namiji-chan." Definitely an older warrior; the voice had the rasp of one used to yelling commands over a battlefield. "I expected your mistress."
Yamagata!
Not real. Couldn't be real. The smoke of Kyoto's fires was in his lungs, and this could not be real-
Warmth touched him. Safety. Not alone.
Chilled to the bone, Kenshin listened.
Silver feathers chimed sweetly as their wearer bowed low. "My honored older sister Koubai-san sends her regrets, Yamagata-sama." Namiji's voice was young and sweet, edged with the faintest hint of concealed fear. "While she has added her first efforts to the linked verse you asked of her, the limits of the composition remain elusive as mist. Perhaps, if there were a pillow-word our gracious guest particularly favored..."
A whispery crinkle. A scrap of kinu, Kenshin knew, sensing the faint ghost of it in that brief instant as it passed from hand to hand. Written on, the translucent ribbon could be concealed from eyes and ki in a samurai topknot - or a maiko's elaborate hairdo. "The falling rains," Yamagata said gruffly. "Tell your mistress I will favor haste over perfection."
"As you ask, Yamagata-sama."
A clap of hands, and a rustle of kimono; moving far enough away that the men could converse unheard, Namiji's shy fire burned just a bit brighter, as she plucked a samisen someone must have brought.
Cloth whispered, and Yamagata chuckled. "Relax, Uramura. A man might think you'd never been in Yoshiwara before."
"I would prefer to do this in my office, sir."
"Where everything's recorded? You may be a good Security officer, Uramura, but you have no sense of political survival." Liquid poured; sake, by the slurp that followed. "It's not enough not to fail. Allowing the over-eager to precipitously bring good news to high ears - that can be just as fatal."
"Good news, sir?" Uramura said warily.
"Has he been found?"
"He?"
Yamagata snorted. "I was delayed by the mopping up of the Seinan riots - had to be sure all the Rebel bodies were checked to ensure one wasn't our prize after all, damn that slippery eel Saigo - but the rumors came straight to me."
"Ah." Uramura's voice was even, cautious. "Battousai." He cleared his throat. "It appears that whole business was a hoax."
"What?"
For a moment, Kenshin almost thought he'd shouted it himself. Why would Uramura-?
"Hiruma Gohei was apprehended by the assistant master of a local dojo, Kamiya Kaoru of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu," the inspector said plainly. "He's been held and charged with the murder of several security officers and stormtroopers; I expect he will be shipped out to Kessel quite soon."
"A woman?" Yamagata growled. "Kamiya, did you say? Not possibly any relation to Kamiya Koshijirou-"
"His daughter, sir," Uramura said firmly.
"Damn. She'd know." Yamagata sighed. "Oh, wipe that look off your face, Uramura. There were a few Revolutionaries who risked speaking to the Demon of Kyoto outside of assignments. Koshijirou was one of them." He tsked. "That man could see the good in anyone."
He did, Kenshin recalled, remembering a few frail sparks of kindness in those last bloody months before Toba Fushimi. Kaoru must have truly favored her mother; he hadn't known her face at all. He saw good in the lowest of us, even a man who'd killed, in one blind moment in the darkness...
"With all due respect, sir," Uramura hesitated, then plunged on, "you sound as if you hoped the rumors were true."
"Hmm? Oh, not the murders," Yamagata said firmly. "He'd never use his lightsaber in such a mad way. It's true he killed many earning the name 'Hitokiri Battousai', but never once did he slay out of self-interest. All he did, he did for Meiji and the new era. There's no blood on his soul."
Liar... damn you... I drown in that blood, every night...
"He saved the lives of many of our warriors. Without him, the Revolution would not have succeeded. And instead of the Empire's open arms, we would have met its crushing fist." A scrunch, as Yamagata snuffed a smoke-wrap out. "We could use that strength again."
"I will report any further rumors at once, Yamagata-san," Uramura nodded sharply.
...What?
"Hmm. Well, you'd do well to keep your eyes open on your way out," Yamagata said wryly. "He may have been cold as ice, and lethal as a demon straight from Makai, but he knew his way around teahouses as well as any Choushuu revolutionary." A dark chuckle. "Sometimes, on the really bad nights, I wake up thinking he's right in the shadows there, the same way he'd just appear next to Katsura..."
A plinking note stumbled.
Not frail ki; dispersed! She's kunoichi!
Grasping his companion's sleeve, Kenshin fled over the crest of the roof.
We're not here. No one is here... you heard a hato pecking for windblown grain, nothing more...
A jump from roof to roof; a ki-slowed leap down, one hand out to the wall to deflect some of gravity's anger into wood and stone instead of flesh and bone...
Let luck run with us, so Megumi's foes grant us a few more days' rest, Kenshin wished, hearing the soft pant of his own breath as he stopped and listened in a quiet alley away from the main thoroughfare. A week, one hopes, for Obi-Wan's sake.
"I take it," the Jedi drew a quick breath, "Yamagata's conversation wasn't nearly as private as he intended?"
"Maiko, Namiji-dono is," Kenshin said grimly. "But kunoichi - ninja - as well. And where there is one..." Closing his eyes, he reached outward with his senses, like a feather-touch of wind. There.
A street, a quick step into a shop doorway as swaggering townsmen brushed by, another street, a jump-
Lying along an awning, ki making him light enough for cloth and wood to hold his weight, Kenshin looked across the thoroughfare to the spinning tops among the children. And the woman who wasn't a grandmother at all.
"Koubai?" Obi-Wan's murmur carried to his ears.
"Most likely." Kenshin waited until the pressure of eyes vanished, curled out of cloth, and dropped to the pavement. We need to get away from here.
The Jedi sensed his tension, holding back what must be a score of questions as they wove their way into a maze of smaller alleys away from the arch, where shops more pedestrian or more discreet than teahouses and candy-stalls held sway; hair-dressers, secondhand kimono dealers, and-
Kenshin looked again at the fine steel-ribbed fan spread decorously in the shade of one striped awning, and laughed softly in relief. Twenty years wandering the countryside might have numbed his sense of direction for a city's twisting mazes, but it hadn't dulled it completely.
"A woman's fan?" Obi-Wan asked, following his gaze.
"A fan for dance, or defense," Kenshin corrected. "Serifu. One had the name from a kabuki player one met with Kaoru-dono a few days ago." Reaching out with his senses, he sought within the shop with care; one kunoichi surprise was enough for one day. "Yamagata-san may not have known where Koubai-dono was, but given those instructions, he knows she is kunoichi. Though one doubts he realizes her young assistant is as well, else he would not have allowed her to remain within the same building."
"His problem is not poetry, I take it."
Kenshin had to smile at the wry distaste in the Jedi's tone. "She likely has composed some as well. It is a common convention in intelligence assignments. Poetry may discuss anything, and there are enough pillow-words - words that allude to other words - that one may give the most gruesome of assignments in the most innocent of ways." He thought over that short bit of coded speech, knowing that half the meaning might have been in eyes and posture, only hinted at by ki. "It would seem she has traced rumors on the subject, but found nothing concrete."
Obi-Wan nodded. "And is that subject Battousai, or Saigo Takamori?"
"One's no way of knowing." Falling rains. Blossom-fall. Cherry blooms, like lives, loosed to the wind...
You. You made the rain bleed. You, a woman's voice accused across the decades.
"Kenshin." The Jedi looked him in the eye, gentle and sober. "Yamagata would know you if he saw you?"
"One hopes not," Kenshin whispered. "One does not agree with Saigo-san, but one has respect for him. To be... associated... with the man hunting him, would be unpleasant." He dredged up a wry smile. "And dangerous to Kaoru-dono. Which would be poor repayment for the gift of her shelter, ne?"
"So it would," Obi-Wan said thoughtfully. Shrugged slightly, and glanced at Serifu. "And why, precisely, are we in search of fans?"
"They are said to sell supplies for dance, and kabuki," Kenshin replied, relieved. "Acting, on stage. One does not know how it is on other worlds, but from the holo-casts one has seen, your actors are like kabuki, in that they try to have realistic equipment for their roles."
"Yes, that's true, but-" The Jedi stopped. Looked at him, then glanced at the shop, where a pair in concealing sedge basket-hats had just stepped out with bundles in their arms; dressed roughly as the street but with hands suspiciously clean and unworn. "Do your kabuki actors happen to portray samurai?"
"And sorcerers, ninja, wandering priests, kitsune - historical plays are very popular," Kenshin nodded, moving forward.
"Kitsune?"
"A creature of forests and fields who casts illusions, using ki," Kenshin murmured. "Be curious, but courteous; one needs to see what is here before one knows what to ask."
"Welcome, welcome!" the loosely-dressed shopkeeper smirked, paintbrush still in hand from where he'd been touching up a festival mask. From the slight crease of his eyes, the red hair shocked him; but he smiled onward. "O agan nanshi!"
Very close to Kyoto's Shimabara dialect, Kenshin thought, relieved. And almost amused; the man had thickened his accent deliberately, counting on its difference from modern Yamatogo to bewilder unwanted gaijin into going elsewhere. A typical subtle Kyoto insult. Two can play that game. "Uso-uso shimee yo. There's only the two of us yabo, here to look at fans."
Which meant, of course, that they weren't there for fans at all; but it would do to start. One hopes Jedi are taught more patience than Kaoru-dono has yet shown...
---------------
I haven't heard anything this convoluted since the time I had to negotiate a trade dispute between Bothans, Corellians, and that Zeltros matriarch, Obi-Wan thought, delighted. Kenshin was playing a wide-eyed, bashful youth to the hilt, stumbling from one conversational pitfall to the next just inches shy of insult, winsome as Gensai's little ataru as he wove his way through every display in the little shop, shyly introduced "Kenobi-san of Kamiya Kasshin", and gave the softly regretful impression that while he liked everything he saw, he didn't see quite what he wanted.
And just what is it he does want here, I do wonder - strings?
Looped and tied, along with a small, inked list; they appeared in Kenshin's hand like a magic trick.
"Aaah," their proprietor exclaimed, pride buffed and beaming as Kenshin arranged the loops along his flattened palm, shy and diffident. "Of course, of course! For the war-fans, of Serizawa; it's always exciting when one can use a real vibro-blade onstage! Let me see..."
And suddenly, the spacing of those loops made perfect sense. Finger measurements. "Armor gloves?" Obi-Wan murmured.
"Kote," Kenshin nodded. "One has not worn them for some time, but with ninja involved - one is not interested in losing a hand if they strike the swifter." He hesitated. "And there is a move in Yamato sword-styles one suspects you do not know. Should you encounter it unaware, it could kill."
Ominous. But here was their host, back with a small box of what looked almost like swoop-bike gloves; thin but tough chestnut brown leather, thicker across the back, some with hints of green, others glints of violet. Fingertips were left free, but the rest of the hand would be quite well sheathed, as would the wrist and arm almost to the elbow. And this is supposed to resist a vibro-blade?
Useful, if it did. Still. Something about those gloves made him even more uneasy than Kenshin's wide-eyed innocence. Innocence that had turned hesitant, almost timid, as the redhead looked between the wares their proprietor was avidly praising and Obi-Wan's own polite silence.
Oh, you wouldn't.
A spark of mischief danced in violet.
And the shopkeeper had already picked up the silent cue, all but waving one glove under the nose of the man who must be in charge. "And as you can see, only the finest stitching..."
What in space am I supposed to say? Obi-Wan floundered. Wait - use the Force, think- "Unacceptable!"
The proprietor choked to a halt. "Sir, what-"
"Impossible!"
"But I assure you-"
"Unthinkable!" Snatching the glove from the man's grasp, unable to stop an inward shudder at some wrongness in its touch, he slammed leather to the counter. "Do you expect samurai to believe that this could stop a blow from the great Serizawa?"
"Great?" the shopkeeper sputtered. "He was Shinsengumi!"
Oops. Who are they? Think, think! "And we know a man by the quality of his enemies, don't we?" Obi-Wan improvised. "This will never do!"
"Sensei, surely they cannot be that poor of quality," Kenshin intervened, surprise and worry written across his face. "Our host is an honorable man, who could not possibly attempt to pass off leather from poisoned ametrine as that of one killed with swift mercy-"
"Could, and did!" Obi-Wan scowled at the man, cold and distant as he'd seen ruder samurai act on their way here. "Look, my young student, and learn." Though which of us is looking, and which learning... oh, dear.
"The color is flat," Kenshin said, as if realizing it for the first time. "There is no true play of opalescence... honored sir, how could you?"
"I - I assure you, I-"
"Yes, yes; I'm certain," Obi-Wan said testily. Gave the redhead a speaking look. "Well, young one? Is there anything in this excuse for an establishment that can demonstrate to our good host how badly he's been swindled?"
With a bow, Kenshin leapt up and over the counter, reaching in through its back to take out a pair of fans that had been tucked behind their more gaudy sisters. These were plain, undecorated; black metal ribs spanned with red folds of paper, that in turn were edged on their outer rim with a familiar translucent blue. Could that possibly be-?
As Kenshin snapped one fan open with a swift flick of wrist, blue lit with the hum Obi-Wan had once heard from the Black Sun Lord Xist's vibro-whip, and he knew it was.
The shopkeeper's eyes bulged. "No, don't-!"
A thrum of air; the barest sense of a flux in the Force that told him Kenshin had moved, too fast for human eyes to see-
Like paper in a breeze, the two halves of the glove drifted apart.
"I... I swear I didn't know, honorable sirs, I..."
He's afraid we'll kill him. Obi-Wan concealed a dry smile; looking over the shaking man with cold eyes. I imagine some of his customers would. He's lucky he got us today. "Who would know?"
"Kawa," the shopkeeper whispered, face distinctly green as Kenshin snapped the fan closed, vibrating edge still aglow and deadly. "Densetsu Kawa. He's the only one who could make kote to stand up to... that." He gulped. "You... know Serizawa Kamo's war-fan technique?"
"It is well remembered in some wards of Kyoto," Kenshin said evenly. He inclined his head, red bangs shadowing his gaze. "One thanks you for the permission to demonstrate."
"Of - course," the proprietor forced out. "I'll be speaking to my suppliers immediately, this will not be allowed to stand..."
"It had better not," Obi-Wan said dryly, turning as if to leave, then pausing, and glancing back at the shivering shopkeeper. "Oh. And one more thing." He eyed the price-tag still dangling from Kenshin's hand, mentally halved the amount, added a fraction back for the man's obvious terror, and tapped the appropriate coinage onto the counter. "We'll take the fans."
Now, if we can just get clear of here without breaking up laughing...
A block away, moving through the crowd around a trio of elderly sisters chanting war-legends, Obi-Wan finally risked a glance at his partner in crime. "It's been a long time since I've played good CorSec, bad CorSec." He lifted an auburn brow. "And a very long time since someone handed me bad CorSec."
"Oro?"
"...Never mind." Obi-Wan shook his head, still amazed at that innocent blink. You polished his ego, flailed around verbally like a teenager out to impress, all but drew him a sign saying "I am innocent and gullible; take advantage of me." And you told me we were here to make connections. You never said anything about buying. I should have picked it up sooner. "What would you have done if I hadn't read your cues fast enough?"
"Talked faster." Kenshin's smile took on a more sober edge. "Kaoru-dono can deal with such folk more easily; she was born here, she belongs, there are limits to what they will try. But you look even more gaijin than this one does, Obi-Wan. One needed to know if you could hold your own."
In a situation where the consequences would be less than fatal, Obi-Wan filled in. No, you're not nearly as naive as you like to appear.
"Though... one is a bit curious as to why..." Kenshin's fingers brushed his sleeve, where the fans were tucked away.
"I'm getting too old to blast into fights with weapons I've never seen before," Obi-Wan said dryly. "You look as if you know your way around those." And one, two, three-
Red touched his companion's cheeks. "One is far from expert. One's shishou... demonstrated some of the basics, long ago, and one did see Serizawa fight, but..."
"Which is far more experience than I have," Obi-Wan said plainly. If he blushes like that now, he must have had a hell of a time twenty years ago. No wonder he doesn't want to talk about it. Though he had a sense of other pieces that didn't quite fit, nestling sharp-edged in the corners of his mind. Patience. Meditate when we're home. The answer will come. "Those are good quality, are they not?"
"Of the best." True pleasure glowed in violet as the swordsman held out one deactivated fan for view. "Durasteel ribs, so it may be deadly as a dagger even without power. Crimson paper, easily replaced should it be unbearably stained in defense. And, of course, the edge." Kenshin nodded. "These days, a fan so plain is the weapon of a geisha, or a last means of defense for samurai women against dishonor - yet even thirty years before, it was considered honorable for a samurai never to activate his lightsaber against lesser foes, but to defeat them with his fan alone."
"As Serizawa Kamo did?" Obi-Wan gave him a curious look. "Precisely who are the Shinsengumi?"
"Ah." Kenshin slipped the fans out of sight. "Now that, Kenobi-san, is a very long story..."
---------------
Translations and Info:
On geisha, oiran, and Yoshiwara in general: I am not an expert, merely fond of history books which sometimes (often!) contradict each other. Also bear in mind the corrupting influence of the Empire. The denizens of the "floating world" have to adapt just like anyone else, meaning historical errors are probably scattered through this story like popcorn. (And may even be intentional.) Remember, this is the same universe where Naboo has an elected monarchy, Hutts keep alien slave-girls of entirely different species, and there's sound in space.
Ani - older brother.
Baka deshi - "Idiot apprentice".
Chou ye yuku - "Going to Chou"; antique saying for going to Yoshiwara.
CorSec - Corellian Security; well-known cops as tough and stubborn as the smugglers they chase.
Furisode - "long sleeves". Type of formal kimono.
Geisha - art persons.
Geta - wooden sandals.
Hai - formal yes.
Hari-choucho - "butterfly-sting".
Hato - pigeon.
Hikite-jaya - "leading-by-the-hand teahouse"; place for introductions and requested affairs.
Hiru-ito - "thread-leeches".
Hitokiri - "manslayer", assassin.
Iki - "refinement", being "cool".
Inari-zushi - sushi prepared in the style of the Inari shrines; usually sweet, given foxes love sweets.
Jigoku -"hell woman"; prostitute.
Kamuro - young female pages.
Kamutobu - "hop-munch".
Kitsune - fox, fox-spirit.
Kote - armor sleeves.
Koubai - red plum blossom.
Kunoichi - female ninja.
Kuso - "damn".
Maiko - apprentice geisha.
Makai - hell realm, "hell on earth".
Naka ye yuku - "to go inside", to visit Yoshiwara.
Namiji - waves.
Ne? - Isn't that right?
Neko-ao - "blue cat".
O agan nanshi! - "Please come in." This is archaic dialect, not at all modern Japanese.
Oiran - courtesan.
Onmitsu - spies; ninja.
Pillow-word - certain words, often ancient, used as poetic conventions in waka and haiku; often because they bring in multiple metaphoric associations or a degree of punning.
Ranbou - violent acts that do not necessarily represent an open defiance of authority.
Rouzeki - "an outrage". Open defiance of authority, such as provoking military force after an order to cease and desist.
Serifu - lines (in a stage play).
Shinzou - "newly constructed"; a young courtesan, often a former (or current) assistant to a more senior courtesan.
Tayuu - high-ranked courtesans.
Uso-uso shimee yo. - "Don't be excited." Archaic.
Yabo - Stranger unacquainted with a place. Archaic.
Yanagi no kuroi - "black willow".
