The two men were so alike in bearing and manner that they could have been brothers. They stood side by side, a respectful distance from each other. To the casual observer, they would have appeared to be a couple of exceptionally handsome youths, around seventeen or eighteen, soberly dressed and a little weary as if some recent activity had overtaxed them – a tough exam, perhaps, or sporting event.
To the casual human observer.
Others might have seen something else.
Two sets of eyes, one steel-grey, one the colour of garnets and framed by rectangular lenses, regarded the opulent Persian rug on the wall with something bordering on reverence.
"Your gesture is much appreciated, Mukami Ruki-san," remarked the bespectacled male.
"You're quite welcome, Sakamaki-san," said the grey-eyed man. "It is no more than you deserved for your kind assistance. This is excellent tea, by the way; you have splendid taste, for a quivering old maid."
"Thank you, you snivelling half-breed peasant. It's a custom blend; I have it shipped in from India. And I was only too happy to render my assistance for such a task."
"Even so, it was not strictly your concern."
"Fufu~. Such a powerful rogue element would have become everyone's concern, sooner or later. And he was intent on taking the young for his little games. I find such appetites… distasteful," said the man called Sakamaki. "I do hope your unfortunate brother is recovering? Silver weapons, especially enchanted…"
"Azusa-kun should be as good as new in a few days. The wounds are healing well, although it's possible he's made a new 'friend' or two. Had you not retrieved him as promptly as you did, the outcome might have been significantly worse."
"Don't mention it. If the poor lad hadn't inadvertently decoyed our late acquaintance, the fellow might have continued abstracting human juveniles instead. Your brother rendered my household a service by wandering off with him, albeit inadvertently." The bespectacled man sipped his tea. His eyes never left the rug. It was possible that he had not blinked.
"You show an unaccustomed concern for the human population, given that you don't have an ounce of humanity in the long streak of milk gruel you call a body," noted his companion. "Perhaps your recent association with a certain mutual female associate is softening you somewhat. I confess, she has the reverse effect on me."
Reiji grinned smugly. "I took on board rather more than an ounce of humanity before I went out last night to deal with our demoniac friend. That individual you mention was good enough to furnish it."
The grey eyes narrowed fractionally; but Ruki didn't rise to the bait.
"As for my concern," his colleague went on, "well, the demon-summoner's chosen prey would have been exceptionally inconvenient. Human children are less durable than ours; and if they're removed in quantity, it would draw awkward attention to this district. They're as much of a nuisance dead as they are alive, although less noisy. Oh, do excuse me; I sometimes forget that you were once one of their number."
"Forgiveable, under the circumstances. You seem distracted, you grotesque demonic snob."
"Merely enchanted with the design of this rug, my ignorant arriviste encumbrance. The colours are divine."
"Silk allows for an uncommon purity of tone, does it not?" another small sip of tea.
"Ahh, yes. Nothing else has a similar lustre. I suppose everything else in the house was lost, was it? I regret that I could not have waited longer, but –"
"But you'd missed your three-a.m. Valium and you flipped at the first siren like an elderly terrier. Quite understandable; hopefully those blue flames will make the gas leak story easier to sell. I did manage to salvage what looks like an early Rothko from the dining-room. Well, what was left of the dining-room."
"Oh. Rothko." A sigh. "Ah, well; it can't be helped."
"In truth, though, there was little to lose. This –" Ruki gestured at the rug – "was almost the only thing of real beauty in his house, and the fool had it covering that summoning circle in the back room. The rest of the place was all shag-pile carpeting and ersatz Louis XIV."
"Dear, dear." The small shudder was mutual.
"There were one or two small French Baroque pieces which I suppose might have been worth selling, but frankly I felt it a disservice to the Arts not to leave them behind. The fire could only have improved them."
"I am aware of your distaste for the art of the Ancien Régime, Mukami-san." There was a note of approval in the Sakamaki's voice. Evidently he felt something similar.
"The tail-end, anyway. Their paintings alone would have justified the revolution."
"You would have thought our well-connected friend could do better, considering the deal he made."
"I suppose my late mother was correct in her assertion that one cannot buy good taste."
"He certainly couldn't. The creature had a reproduction Lichtenstein in the entrance hall."
"Now, would that be zenith or the nadir of redundancy?"
They shared a polite chuckle.
"It's always the same," reflected the Sakamaki. "They invite beings of incalculable wisdom and potency into their world, and it is always for such trivial reasons. Mundane power. Vulgar material wealth. An outlet for their banal perversions." He sighed.
"Some of them ask for mastery of music or the arts."
"True; but most of those only want such mastery as a means to access wealth and sex. They destroy a dozen or so tiny mortal lives – lives that would be snuffed out in a few short years anyhow – and think it confers upon them any importance. Ah well. I suppose they give the demon world a source of entertainment."
The man identified as Mukami Ruki set his cup down on a side table. The garnet eyes were finally torn away from the silk carpet's elaborate pattern.
"Ah, Ruki-san, it seems your cup is empty. Would you care for some more tea?"
"I would indeed. It's quite delicious."
The tea was duly poured and presented. "Dozo."
"Arigatou. Incidentally, you four-eyed buffoon, I am immune to arsenic."
"I assumed as much, but I was in a hurry. I did not wish to insult you by neglecting some token attempt to rid the world of your noxious presence."
"I appreciate your effort on my behalf, you neurotic obsessive. Is there a possibility that our late friend's patron might seek some sort of interview?"
"Unlikely. We would already have been approached. Fufu~ It's probable that the esteemed patron in question is even now entertaining himself with his new toy, since the mortal's soul was forfeit." Those red eyes wandered the rug again, and Reiji became silent.
"You seem to have lost yourself once more, Reiji-san," commented Ruki.
"It is an exceptional piece. Since you have gifted it to me and my household, I suppose I may assume that it is cursed in some way? Tainted with the blood of the mage, or the ichor of his infernal associate? The silk is from worms reared in one of the less salubrious hells?"
"No. It's just a very nice rug."
"You astonish me."
"In fact, it may even be finer than the one my father had in his study when I was a boy. He told me something rather interesting about the Persian artisans who wove such things."
"I doubt anything imparted by a mortal to its spawn could be described as interesting, Mukami-san, but do go on."
"The religious leaders of that time and place favoured certain prohibitions against representative art. Their thinking was that to make depictions of living things was to trespass on what should be the preserve of Allah."
"Indeed. Any schoolchild is familiar with this story. But you may as well conclude your tedious narrative."
"These geometric designs, however – they were perfectly acceptable. You'll note how complex and detailed they are; only the very best weavers could have produced something with detail this fine."
"It is breathtaking. outstandingly well-preserved, too; barely a trace of wear. You can see all of the patterns in the finest detail, and they are perfect, simply perfect… I assume there's a point to all this?"
"I am coming to it. Well, as I say, these geometric designs were acceptable under the religious laws of the time, unless – and here is the important part – they were executed with too great a degree of perfection. That, too, was seen as being outside man's proper sphere. So to make absolutely certain that they avoided blasphemy, the artisans of Persia would introduce a single deliberate error in their designs as a gesture of humility. A voluntary… imperfection."
There was a soft choking sound from the other man's throat. Ruki glanced at him with some interest. Reiji's expression had not changed; it had only frozen in place, his face now an immobile mask.
"The phrase 'Persian flaw' derives from this very practice," Ruki continued. "If a rug lacks such a defect, it is probably a modern copy, machine-made. This, though – this is definitely the real thing. Paradoxically, to be as perfect as it is, the rug has to be imperfect." He set down his teacup again. "interesting, isn't it?"
There was no response from the other man, not even a gesture. He could have been a figure carved from stone.
"Well, I shall take my leave of you – and that lovely rug." Ruki walked a couple of feet past the immobile Sakamaki, then stopped and turned around. He leaned in a little, speaking softly to the still figure that stood with its eyes fixed upon the rug.
"It could become the instrument by which you win free of your obsession; the fixation with unattainable perfection that is slowly strangling your life. A map, if you will, which you could follow into healthier mental territories. Narrow-minded and inflexible as you are, I am working on the assumption that it will drive you quite mad instead."
The white lips parted only a fraction, a hoarse voice grating from between them like the last breath of Medusa's fabled victims. The two words were faint, but spoken with the venom of a curse. "Mukami… Ruki..!"
"Either way, your company will be rendered somewhat more entertaining," remarked Ruki, as he walked towards the door. "Sayounara, Sakamaki-san."
THE END