It was almost deep into the night when Miryu and Graham appeared before Algren in his quarters, with a whole cart-load of books and illustration regarding the samurai. Some of them, she had obtained from her own little personal library that she had amassed over the years, and others, were from Graham's collection. However, those with the most beautiful and dazzling prints came from her maternal grandfather, Reiyama Reiji (whom she had reconciled with not long after the Bakamatsu). Page, by page, Algren studied them, his eyes darting towards Miryu after every few moments. Yes, there was the occasional woman depicted in those prints, but there were even fewer depicting them bearing weapons as the men did. According to Graham, very few women of the samurai class could actually fight, but Miryu's maternal ancestors had always trained their daughters as they would their sons, their names all containing the word "Ryu".
"Very vexing people, the Samurai," the Englishman noted, "No offense to Miryu, of course… They're bloodthirsty, honorable, cruel, and fabulously artistic." He had seen the terrors of the Bakamatsu wars before, just as he had come to Japan at the climax of those dark days. Working as an interpreter for the British government and the Choushu-han, he had seen both hitokiri Battousai and Battouryu at work, and was very much horrified at their extreme precision and ultimately brutal ways of dispatching their enemies. "I've wanted to write a book about them for years, but they tend keep to themselves." Miryu just smiled, and poured the men more sake. Apparently, Gant and Algren did not know how potent it was, having downed their fifth cup, with the effects of the alcohol slowly creeping into their systems.
Gant leaned in closer to look at the prints, and found something very peculiar. Even in the most recent photographs depicting the samurai, few of them were seen without their armor. "Bastards still wear armor," he commented. He had never known any army that would still do such a thing. Surely, if they did not die of heat exhaustion from marching under all that weight, they would still die by the bullets their enemies would have used. It was something that the Irishman regarded as rather impractical, as well as, well, less technologically-advanced, which was a polite way to say that the samurai were rather primitive.
The very second after Gant had finished speaking, Graham fired back, "Yes, and when the Irish were still comporting themselves in loincloths, the samurai were already the most sophisticated warriors on earth…"
Before the two of them could get in a fight, Miryu put down the bottle of sake on a nearby table, and said, "Boys, break it up. We have enough in our hands as it is." She looked at Algren, and sat next to him, watching him in his deep contemplation. His eyes, they reminded her so much of the vast blue ocean, dark and tumultuous as a storm. "Captain, surely there is some information you wish to obtain from these books?" she asked Algren, waving her hand before his eyes to make sure he was still glued to reality.
Algren looked at her and regarded her for a moment, answering, "I want detailed accounts of their battle-tactics." Why was it just so damned hard to concentrate when she was less than twenty feet away from him? Maybe it was that little bell she had tied to her katana, or the glimmer of the silver embroidery of her kimono. Just what was it that caused his attention to stir whenever she was around?
"I have several books on it just waiting to be translated," Graham replied with a bow. At those words, Gant enthusiastically elaborated that the captain would have been able to speak in Japanese in no time, and that he should hear Algren blather on in Blackfoot. Raising an eyebrow to herself, Miryu wondered if this man really was a linguist. If so, he would have been more surprising than she thought he would be. Indeed, he was a man of many talents. "Really, a fellow linguist?" Graham asked, "Oh capital! Come on, sir, a word or two in the savage tongue…"
There was no mistake in the glance that Algren had given to Gant, for it was enough to shut the latter up almost immediately. As the moments passed, Graham continued to pester Algren about speaking in the languages and dialects of the Native Americans, which proved to be a large source of discomfort for Algren, something that he did not say, but had been visible to Miryu, who decided to slowly walk towards Graham and stop him from saying anything further. Even Gant, who was usually tactless and spoke without using his cognitive functions was able to judge how uncomfortable it was for the captain. "Early day tomorrow, Cap'n darlin'," he said, hoping that Graham would take a hint. "Time for bed, isn't it?"
"Simon, that is enough for the day," Miryu said, trying to coax Graham from going too far. No matter who a warrior was, he or she would have had times when they completely regretted what they had done, even for the greater good. From the way Algren was reacting to Graham's words, she had guessed that it was the same issue that Algren was going through. However, the Englishman was still too engrossed in his little fascinations. He went on as far as to expressing his curiosity about the technique of scalping, something which sounded foreign to Miryu's ears. What was it, she did not know, but she could see the change in Algren's eyes, and it was not for the better. She was about to try to usher Graham out of the room but Algren had beaten her in getting to him instead.
Those ocean-like eyes no longer contained the mystery of a calm storm, they held the sheer force of a hurricane, a change that was quiet, and subtle, something that only one like Miryu, who had fought so many, and watched so many, could ever know. "Imagine someone who hates you with the utmost intensity," Algren said, "Grabbing a handful of your hair while you are lying prostrate and helpless…" There was a dark terror in his words that Miryu could not comprehend. This… "Scalping", must have been something that Algren had seen countless times, something that must have come from his enemies for him to find so much pain in describing them. He stood up, holding the knife used to cut the fruits on a dessert-plate. At that moment, Miryu too, stood up, suddenly fearful for what Algren would do. Her job might have been to protect him, but Graham's death would mean that she would have to mourn the loss of another great friend, an outcome that she would rather not witness. "… and scraping the dull blade of a rusty knife on your scalp with a saw-like motion… and let your imagination grasp, Mr. Graham, the effect of a strong, quick jerk on the turf of your hair to release any clinging particles on your nervous system… then you'll have some ideas on how it feels to be scalped."
Miryu slowly took the knife from Algren's hand once he had finished speaking, and placed it carefully back on the dessert-plate, quickly noticing that he had already held her free hand. "Algren, are you alright?" she whispered, receiving a quick nod in return after he released her hand. Heaving a sign of relief, she poured herself a little more sake and sipped gently. "Try to get some sleep, Captain," she said, gazing into his eyes, which have returned somewhat to normalcy.
"How soon can you translate those books?" Algren asked Graham, placing his cup down.
"I shall not sleep until it is done," Graham answered with a small bow, almost tipping himself over as he rose from his chair. "Ah… sake…" he murmured with a slight flourish. The only person he knew that seemed almost inert to the effects of the Japanese rice-wine was definitely Miryu, who drank as much as they did, and still was sober. "I bid you goodnight," he said, and left with Gant and Miryu.
But just as they reached the door, Miryu stopped in her tracks. Something… was not right about Algren. She had never seen him so… tortured before. She knew that there was something wrong with him that night, and decided to see it for herself. "Boys, I think I shall stay with the captain tonight," she said, before closing the door shut at them, so as to avoid any of their questions. Taking her katana out of her obi, she sat on the couch opposite Algren's chair, and found him already in some sort of trance, his eyes, once again, filled with pain, and regret. She could see tears running down his handsome face as he reflected on memories past, and she knew that it was something that only he could come to terms with, something that only he could overcome.
Throughout the night, she watched him, sapphire eyes fixed upon him until sleep took her, and when morning came, she rose, and woke him up as well. It was a new day, and at least, hours and hours before what he had seen would haunt him once again.