Chapter 2
Michelangelo turned up the volume on the old boom box. "Getting us psyched," he said, as the heavy hip-hop beat throbbed against the curved walls, and with a slick roll of his shoulders, he broke out into impromptu dance, slide-popping over to where Leonardo was bending over the hose that snaked down the tunnel, into their lair and onto the kitchen faucet.
"What're we at now? Seven?"
"Seven," Leo agreed. Sometimes, he thought with a smile, there really was a perfect solution. They had the unrelentingly hot weather to thank for upending what, with Raph and Don being out, might otherwise have been a quiet night, and instead spawning the unholy marriage of shuriken throwing practice (his idea) with water balloons (Mike's idea). Leonardo tied off one last balloon and added it to the pile Mike was gathering in his arms.
"Ready?" Mike called, when he'd backed several feet down the tunnel.
Leonardo rolled the palm-full of needle shuriken in his hand. "Ready."
Balloons began flying at him as fast as Mike could whip them. He nailed the first four- they burst in sprays of latex and water- the fifth one nearly got to him but he punched it out of the air, the sixth one hit him square in the chest and exploded, drenching him, and the seventh one bounced, jiggling, to the ground, because Mike was laughing too hard to throw straight.
Leo jumped on the wobbly yellow sphere and mimed beating it into submission. When he looked up, Donatello and Raphael were standing there, looking far too serious. "Shuriken practice. You guys are missing out," he said, standing and wringing the water out of his mask. "Did you get what you were looking for?"
"We were attacked. Sort of." Donatello handed him a white cloth scroll. "Foot soldiers tailed us and shot this over on an arrow."
Sobered in an instant, Leonardo unrolled it, deciphering enough of the kanji to understand the message. Mike ran up, ready to pelt his freshly-returned siblings with water balloons, but stopped short when he saw Leo striding back into the lair, shutting off the boom box as he passed it.
"Sensei," Leonardo said, and Splinter, hearing his son's grave tone, turned off the television show he'd been watching as Leo handed over the cloth.
Mike studied the writing from behind Splinter's shoulder. "I stink at reading kanji. Is this... an invitation?"
"More like a summons," Don said. "The Foot want to meet, in two nights time."
"For tea and crumpets," Raphael added sarcastically, throwing himself into the nearest armchair with a scowl, his foul mood, no doubt, a result of being denied the fight he'd expected.
"What do you make of it, sensei?" Leonardo asked.
"It is... curious." Splinter said. "And vague. The formal wording suggests an occasion of importance, but it is not clear what for."
"Why not ignore it?" Mike said. "Pretty much every meeting we've ever had with the Foot has sucked, so odds are they're not throwing us a garden party."
Leo was re-reading, his eyes lingering on the red insignia of the Foot stamped at the bottom. "It does say our safety is guaranteed. Under formal seal of the Clan."
"How kind," Raph scoffed.
"Maybe it's sincere," Don said. "Being at war against the Rising Hand, maybe they want to keep peace with us."
Leonardo looked questioningly at Splinter, who said, "While it is possible that this is a deception, it is against sacred code of honor for a ninja clan to break a sworn contract. It may be just as dangerous for us not to respond and thus be ignorant of their intentions."
Don said to Leo, "Two of us could go. That would cut down the risk."
Leo considered it, but shook his head. Better a unified showing than a half-strength party that would be interpreted as an insult to the credibility of the Clan seal. "We'll go together."
###
The Foot compound was under reconstruction. As the turtles neared it, they could see that the east side of the main building was mostly intact, although some parts, presumably fire damaged, were under repair, with plastic and scaffolding laid over them. The west side of the building was a hollow skeleton with beams and drywall being erected. Despite having laid vacant while the rubble was cleared, and even now, gutted as it was, the headquarters of the New York Foot Clan never failed to send icy tendrils of apprehension down Leonardo's neck.
Two Foot soldiers flanking the entry gate hastened to swing it open. Leonardo caught the slight, involuntary hesitation in his own stride as he led the way over the threshold.
It took immense willpower not to react, not to reach for his katana. He saw Michelangelo go pale, and Raphael's hands twitched for his sai before he closed them into fists.
The courtyard was filled with Foot soldiers. Silent and black-clad, they stood at attention in military-style rows, forming a corridor up to the main building. Every Foot ninja in the region must be gathered here; the assembly looked to be over two hundred strong. Not as many as there had once been during the reign of Oruku Saki, but plenty enough to intimidate.
A man stood on the short flight of steps leading up to the building's entrance. His hands were clasped behind his back as he surveyed the gathered ninja and the four mutant turtles now standing across from him. He was dressed in a formal, unadorned black kimono and his lined, weathered face was impassive.
The gate swung closed, leaving uneasy silence. Clearly, they were the final expected attendees. The man descended the steps and walked towards the turtles. When he reached them, he bowed in subdued but respectful greeting. "Watashi no namae wa Kan Masataro desu."
Leonardo waited a beat, then returned the bow. "Leonardo desu." He indicated each of his brothers in turn. "Michelangelo. Raphael. Donatello."
"It is an honor to meet ninjas of such legendary repute," Kan Masatoro continued in Japanese. His voice, like his demeanor, was slow, firm and precise. He looked at them curiously, one by one, as if matching them with stories he'd been told. With a sweep of his arm he indicated the silent rows of ninja. "I have been appointed jonin of the American branch of the Foot. These are all the full ranking members." Turning back to them he said, "I appreciate your attendance. It is important that they see you here."
Raphael had no patience for niceties. "Wareware wa koko de... de nani - What are we doing here?" he demanded, aborting the attempt at Japanese.
The line of Leonardo's jaw stiffened at his brother's ill-mannered outburst, but Kan seemed unperturbed. In accented English he replied, "Turning a new page."
As if on cue, the doors to the main building opened and a figure emerged into the glow of dusk. She was dressed in a pure white kimono that seemed to imbue her with a cold radiance. Her hair was pinned up elaborately, showing off her pale slender neck and the high cheekbones of her oval face. Though her eyes were hard, and she had the look of someone who'd aged a great deal in a short time, she still possessed an intimidating beauty.
"Karai," Leonardo breathed.
Unhurried, she advanced to the center of the courtyard. A woman in a black kimono trailed close behind her, carrying a tray. When she stood in the midst of the assembled onlookers, Karai turned slowly, surveying the Foot soldiers that until recently had been under her command. Her gaze fell upon the turtles and something in her serene expression changed, just for a second, but then she turned away and her words rang out so that even the most junior Foot soldiers in the back rows could hear her.
"The Foot Clan has been weakened," she declared in Japanese. "The serious defeat we suffered against our traitorous enemy occurred under my leadership. The disgrace is mine."
She knelt on the concrete pathway, carefully, as if to avoid marring the spotless white silk of her kimono.
Leonardo's eyes widened in alarm. He turned to Kan. "Kore wa hitsuyō arimasen," he insisted. This is not necessary.
"Meiyo no kōdo nishitagau hitsuyō ga arimasu," Kan replied.
"What did he say?" Mike whispered to Don.
"Something about the code of honor being obeyed," Don whispered back.
Karai's attendant came forward and laid the tray on the ground in front of her. On it lay a dagger with an ornately carved wooden hilt.
"My God, is she going to-" Mike started, but caught himself when he saw the grave warning look that Leonardo turned on him.
Karai exchanged a brief glance of understanding with Kan. She swept her gaze around the assembled onlookers and her eyes met Leonardo's. Acceptance, sadness, bitterness, regret... he wasn't sure what he saw. He stared steadily back, silently beseeching her, his head moving almost imperceptibly, no.
No. You shouldn't have to. You're not responsible.
Karai turned lastly to her attendant and gave her a small, grateful nod. The young woman had two silent tracks of tears on her face, the only thing at odds with her remarkable composure.
Karai fixed her eyes on a point far off in the smoggy New York skyline. In one unhesitating motion, she grasped the dagger and with a soft cry, plunged it deep into the left side of her abdomen.
There was a gasp; no one could tell from whom. With unfathomable strength of will, clutching the hilt of the dagger with both hands, Karai began pulling the blade across her body, left to right. Blood spread like a blossoming flower down the front of her kimono. A faint but horrible moan escaped her lips as she pitched forward slowly, as if falling through water.
Just before her forehead touched the ground, her attendant, her kaishakunin, moved. She lunged forward, drawing a katana from the scabbard that had been hidden in the folds of her robe. In less time than it took to blink, the blade completed its arc through Karai's neck. The head flopped forwards, still attached to the body by a thin layer of flesh.
For several seconds, no one moved. The courtyard was frozen in a state of macabre artistry; a sea of black with a single white and red blot in the center. Leonardo heard himself swallow; the sound of it seemed unnaturally loud. He felt frozen, as rooted to the ground as a mountain underneath whose immovable surface molten lava was roiling. Mike looked sick. Donatello wore a revolted grimace, and even Raphael looked shocked. They had seen plenty of death before, but nothing like this, so chillingly ceremonial.
With a ritual flick of the blade, Karai's kaishakunin shed the blood from her katana and sheathed it. She knelt, head bowed, by the body of her mistress. Kan Masataro, the new leader of the Foot Clan, walked up the pathway and mounted the stairs where he had been standing when the turtles had first entered.
"Discipline. Secrecy. Honor." Each of Kan's words lingered over the assembled troops. "These traits define the ninja. Here in America, they are easily forgotten. Over-ambitious growth, personal ego, leniency, treason... these have been the reasons why the Clan has had missteps.
"We must return to our roots if we are to rebuild." He motioned towards the construction site behind him. "And we will rebuild. Our ways have survived for hundreds of years because we place Clan above all else. No one that acts for personal glory or revenge acts in the best interest of the Clan. My family line runs generations deep in the Foot. I stand here with one goal: to see the American branch of the Foot emerge stronger than ever."
He looked straight at the four turtles, and every one of the Foot soldiers followed his gaze. They were pinned under the eyes of two hundred ninja. It was hard to read expressions behind masks, but the crowd emitted wary hostility. Beneath his composure, Leonardo felt his skin crawl. Beside him, Raphael made a sound in his throat like a low growl.
"The Foot seek neither allies nor enemies." Kan said. He motioned for the compound gates to be opened. "But know that we will respect the former and destroy the latter."
###
As soon as they were below ground, Leonardo broke into a run. He set a bruising pace for his brothers to follow, akin to a hard training run. No one argued; they all needed to release tension from the ordeal. Up until the moment they'd cleared the gate, they'd half-expected to be set upon by a murderous mob of Foot. Two hundred against four.
In wordless agreement, Don and Mike fell back slightly, giving space for Leonardo's silent intensity to blaze its path through the subterranean tunnels. Only Raphael ran alongside him, not letting him pull ahead with his own thoughts, demanding a response with each stride he matched. If Raph felt any fatigue or weakness from his recent period of convalescence, he did not show it. Leonardo spared him only one glance, just before he dropped his pace as they turned the bend in the final stretch before home.
Splinter was waiting for them. He always had the same look of relief when they returned together, whether from a dangerous mission or from watching a movie at April's.
"Master," Leo said, with a quick bow. He hesitated, catching his breath, not sure where to begin. "Karai is dead."
"Seppuku?"
"Yes."
Splinter did not look surprised. "The new leader?"
"Kan Masataro. Sent from Japan. He seems… strong. Traditional."
"The name is familiar to me," Splinter said. "In the Foot Clan, the Kan family are well-known as master swordsmen."
Raphael straightened up from taking a drink of water straight from the kitchen faucet. "All that crazy shit- he wanted us there to watch. Why?"
"To leave no doubt that he's in charge," Don said. "And to make it clear that he's going to run things differently. Differently from Karai. Differently from the Shredder."
"Man, talk about stressful pop quiz in Japanese language comprehension." Mike dropped onto their beaten-up brown sofa, rubbing his temples. "It seemed like he was putting the ball into our court. And sending a message to his soldiers too. That rebuilding the Foot isn't about going after us."
"The Foot have a long history," Splinter said. He tugged on his whiskers thoughtfully. "It has changed a great deal, but it was once a venerable Clan."
Raphael made a contemptuous sound. "The Foot big shots in Japan can send some new guy over here to fix things, but no matter what speech he gives, the ninjas who were there tonight still hate us. You could feel it. It's not gonna be so easy for them to just change." He grabbed a towel and stalked off for the shower.
His brothers watched him go. "Yeah," Mike agreed under his breath. "Well, they're not the only ones."
Leonardo said nothing. The night's events hadn't sunken in yet; his mind kept replaying the same elegant and horrifying thirty seconds. After a minute, he went to his room, closing the door behind him. He felt culpable, in a vague but profound way. When he circled closer to the feeling, he could discern how everything he had done for the sake of his own family had been a link in the chain, one that ended in a dark crimson flower on white.