Chapter 8

Kenshin spoke slowly as he began to disentangle the story, part by part. He told them about the haiku, the mansion, and the arrow that had struck him. He didn't mention what Aoshi had told him about the apothecary or his reaction when he had seen the woman's face in the dark corridor. Somehow, that had to do with Aoshi in a way that Kenshin didn't feel the permission to tell.

"We have to find Misao!" said Kaoru when he had finished speaking, her blue eyes sparking. "We have to find her!"

Sano shook his head. "No, we can't."

"Why not?" she asked, whipping her head around to glare at him.

"Because that's what Aoshi is doing right now," he said, not moving from his lounging position against the wall. "Am I right, Kenshin?"

"This one doesn't know for certain. But it is most likely that he is."

"And he probably doesn't want our help. Am I right, Kenshin?"

Kenshin smiled slightly. "Probably not."

"But are we going to just sit here and wait to see what happens?" demanded Yahiko, gripping his bokken impatiently.

It was Sanosuke's turn to smile. "Probably not."

x-x-x

Aoshi slid his fingers underneath the metal lid, feeling it lift underneath his pull. The tiny hinges creaked shrilly with rust and age. He paused and looked around the clearing. The dense forest that surrounded him was still and quiet in the summer afternoon sun. Lowering himself onto the ladder, he slowly made his descent, raising one hand to move the lid of the entrance so that it covered most of the hole. When his feet touched the bottom, he looked up. A thick shaft of light penetrated the dank darkness of the tunnel.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, he cursed himself for not thinking of bringing a lantern. He hadn't been thinking clearly when he had crept to the mansion early that morning. The dawn had just begun to break the clouds, and his only thought had been for Misao. But he had foolishly forgotten how dark the tunnel was.

He walked forward tentatively, testing the damp cobbled stones under his feet. Some were loose and they moved under his step, so he went on carefully, keeping one hand on the rough stone wall.

Again, memories. That dark night when he had stumbled through that same tunnel, the four heads of his dead comrades in his hands. He had slipped into the secret passage when he had been left alone, standing in the empty ballroom, the bullet-riddled bodies of those men in front of him. He remembered, with nausea, the sickening thunk of his kodachi, severing their heads from their bodies. How he had staggered through the tunnel, an icy madness overcoming him, feeling only one desire: to kill the Battousai, the last of the Ishin Shishi.

Now, Aoshi paused and looked down at the floor, squinting in the gloom. The floor was speckled with dark red marks. Splattered blood that had dripped from the heads in his hands.

Taking a breath, he pressed on. Had he lost every sense of concentration? What of those endless days of meditation? Had they taught him nothing? He had thought to have conquered the discipline of the mind, the ability to focus. Yet, these last two days had shown him it had all been in vain. He could not keep his scattered thoughts at bay. They constantly tormented him, like the pricking of hot needles to his heart, recalling scars he had thought long healed.

At last, he came to the end of the tunnel that ran with evenly with the ground. Another ladder awaited him, he knew. He could barely make out the metal rungs in the shadows. The dim light from the mouth of the entrance did not reach this far.

Gripping it tightly, he began to climb the ladder, knowing that he was inside the walls of the house. The climb seemed incredibly long and dark, his kodachi sheath periodically clanging against metals rungs. He remembered when he had climbed down this ladder the last time, how his fingers had been slick with blood. He had nearly lost his balance once, had almost crashed down to the bottom, where his body would have been crushed against the jagged rock floor. Indeed, he remembered he had almost wished that he had had the nerve let go of the slippery rungs, to fall to the stones below. But for that one man he had so fiercely desired to kill.

He stopped abruptly when he saw the small door, inches away from his face. The rungs of the ladder ended. He reached out and pushed it forward slowly, blinking in the light that shone through. All was silent.

Crawling through the hole, he saw that the attic looked unchanged. Wooden crates and barrels lined the walls, some of them opened. He looked away from one group of barrels all labeled "Oil". Those had been Hyottoko's personal hoard. One lone window let in bright sunlight, which gave the room a sort of fraud cheerfulness, grating on Aoshi's nerves. He quietly kicked an empty crate away from his path as he went to the door and pressed his ear against it. Still silence.

With deliberate movements, he pushed the door open. Down the hall was the observatory. He listened for a moment, and the absolute silence that met his ears bade him to go forward. Taking careful steps, he made his way down the corridor, towards the observatory.

x-x-x

Misao sat on the stone floor, trying to find a comfortable position against the rough wall behind her. Her body felt stiff, but it was painful to walk or stand. The burn on her leg was getting worse. The blisters had grown larger and it stung with such intensity that she had a hard time thinking of much else.

Think of escape. She closed her eyes, focusing on the thought of escape. Perhaps if she thought about it long enough, she would think of something.

After a few moments of trying to concentrate, she opened her eyes and frowned at Soujioru irritably. He was walking up and down the in front of the gate, his hands folded behind his back, singing a song to himself over and over. His face was frozen into a delighted expression, a broad smile on his lips. He never blinked. He only stared at the floor as he paced, up and down, singing all the while.

There's something wrong with that guy. Misao thought as she watched him pass in front of the gate again. Suddenly, he stopped singing and was quiet as he leaned against the wall, fingering his wakizashi.

Finally. She closed her eyes again and tried to clear her mind, like she had seen Aoshi do at the temple. Just then, Soujirou began singing the song again and resumed his pacing.

"Hey!" she said loudly. He paused and looked at her questioningly, the smile never leaving his thin face. She noticed how sunken his cheeks looked and the dark circles under his eyes. "Could you stop that singing?"

In response, he laughed and began pacing, starting the song again with more gusto, watching her with amusement as she turned away from him with her face to the wall.

"Great," she muttered. "I'm stuck in a stone cell with a crazy guy as my guard. Just my luck." She shifted uncomfortably. "And I need to go."

The idea struck her like a lightning bolt. Why hadn't she thought of that before?

Struggling to her feet quickly in her excitement, she limped over to the gate and leaned on the bars.

"Hey, I gotta go!" she called, her voice echoing loudly down the hallway.

Soujirou stopped and stood in front of her, his nose inches away from hers. "Go? Go where?" he asked.

"As if you didn't know," she snorted. She raised her eyebrows knowingly.

"Ah. I see. There's a pot over there." He gestured to the battered bucket in the corner of the farthest corner of the room.

"A pot?! I'm not using any pot!"

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"But I really have to go," she insisted. "Maybe if the pot was in another room-"

"No. I'm not stupid, Misao-san," he said, his smile growing deeper. "But I am a gentleman and I'll go down the hall for a moment." He gave her a short, mocking bow and turned away, strolling down the corridor, humming that irritating song as he went.

She kicked at the gate angrily, then grimaced when she realized she had done it with her bad leg. Getting out of from behind this gate, even for a few seconds, would have been more than enough time to get herself out of there. She would have knocked him on the side of the head, then a kendo kick to the face. And then-

"How long is this going to take, Misao-san?" Soujirou called from down the hall.

Grinding her teeth, she limped over to the bucket and stared at it. She really did have to go. Bad. And the creepy guy was out of sight, for the moment.

Guess I have no choice.

x-x-x

Takara knew he was in the mansion. She could almost feel the moment he touched its walls.

Turning from the window overlooking the front lawn, she went down the halls, and down many steps that led to the basement. Though it was mostly covered in darkness, she had no trouble in swiftly navigating her way through the twisting corridors. Dark rooms were on either side of her, some of them still filled with their wares. Tools, boxes of dynamite, crates full of bullets. One had a broken gatling gun.

She slowed her pace when she neared the wooden door that led to the hallway where the girl was kept. It was quiet on the other side.

She wrapped her gloved fingers around the handle and jerked it forward. Soujirou was standing in front of her. He blinked in surprise.

"Soujirou," she snapped. "What are you doing?"

He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, grinning like a fool. "Well, she said she had to go."

Glaring at him in distaste, Takara shoved past him. He scurried behind her, nearly stepping on her cape.

When Takara neared the gate, she saw Misao limping away from the pot in the corner, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. She tried to meet Takara's eyes, but looked at the floor when she saw the taunting smile on her face.

"Soujirou, take the girl to the ballroom. But do it quietly, and make sure she is silent." Misao lifted her head, defiance already flashing in her eyes. Takara met her gaze squarely, narrowing her eyes warningly. "Or there will be hell to pay," she whispered.

She ignored Misao's angry stammering as she turned and walked back down the hall, her fingers quivering in anticipation, a sly smile on her pale lips.