September 22, 2012 at the Abstergo facility in Rome, Italy
"Alright Steve, what is it this time?"
I sat up with my eyes on the ceiling intercom as I awaited a response from the disembodied voice. All I received was silence.
"Look, could you at least explain the point behind this bullshit."
Silence again.
"Please don't make me explain why this is bullshit."
"Please report to-"
"Your Animus chamber. Yes, I get it. What is it you wanted me to see last time?"
"What do you mean?" El gaspo! He speaks!
"Last night, you promised me something Vidic didn't want me to see, but you picked up exactly where we left off. There's no way you could have known what was coming up."
"I knew what you needed."
"Well shit, if you know what's coming up, why don't you just save the rest of us Templars some fucking headache and do this yourself? Just let me go to sleep."
"We need you synched with your ancestor as quickly as possible."
"Vidic said that could get ugly if we move too fast."
"I have big plans for you. You and another."
"Who's the other poor sleepless bastard?"
"I cannot tell you."
"Well why the shit not?"
"Because you do not need to know yet."
"Okay Steve, this is already sounding really fishy, so I'm going back to bed," I pulled the sheets back over my shoulder as I curled up in bed.
Beeepbeepbeepbeep!
"Fucking fine!" I threw my sheets off the bed. I had really hoped that last night was just a dream, too.
March 7, 1855 in Choshu, Japan
Tsume dipped a slice of his beef into the sauce. He stared at it for an indeterminate length of time before finally taking a bite. It was fine enough, but the situation weighed too heavily for Tsume to enjoy the dinner properly. He looked around to see if anyone else was having the same problem. To his right, Sensei, Hitsu, and Joseph had been eating well enough. Across the table, Rangiku's face was obscured by her hood. Tsume hadn't seen her without it ever since the assassination. She appeared as if that pained expression had become a scar in its own right, never to move again except to blink and occasionally wince when she touched the burns left on her face by Egawa's fire. Koizumi Saburou, Fumito's father, took another cup of sake. His drunken eyes half-examined everything while they floated his attention around the room. Azusa fidgeted with her chopsticks. Asuka's son Tairo slept with peace in his mother's embrace. Tsume could not see her eye from where he sat, but her head's angle indicated that she was gazing to the middle of the table while her free hand slowly dipped and ate her beef.
"Aakuraito-sama, tell me about Fumito's last mission," Saburou finally broke the silence, "Was he courageous? How well did he fight the Tokugawa?"
"Yes he was, but I was not with him at the time," Sensei pointed to Asuka, "Kasai-gozen was watching over him at the time, but she tells me that he was a fine warrior."
"Well then, Kasai-san," Saburou shifted the conversation, "Did he fight with honor?"
"He fought courageously," Asuka answered plainly, "He also died courageously, if that is what you wanted to ask."
"Did he die fighting?" he took a sip of sake.
"If it were not for his sacrifice, we would not have been able to save those books that day without larger casualties and Tairo would not be with us," Asuka's cheek nudged her son carefully so as not to wake him.
"But did he die fighting?"
"He still has his honor."
"Who defeated him?"
"He was never defeated. He was captured by an honorless shinobi."
"What happened then?"
"He was dragged out with Toriyama," Asuka motioned to Rangiku, "and myself. Egawa said he was going to kill us all at the same time, but he did not know about Washio."
Saburou filled his cup and drank again, "Only a coward would want to kill a woman first, even if she was a ronin."
Asuka calmly nodded without removing her watch from the Assassins' host, "Fumito demanded that he be killed first. He wanted to buy Washio some time."
"I asked you to make a man of the boy," he pointed to Sensei, "and I see that he died like a man. Did he do anything else important?"
"He was my finest scout," Sensei confirmed, "He was very good at keeping attention away from himself. Kasai also tells me that he killed a man who was giving a speech in favor of Tokugawa's actions."
"Any friend of Tokugawa is an enemy of Choshu and therefore an enemy of mine. Otherwise, I would never have trusted my son to a gaijin {barbarian}, no matter how well you speak Nihongo {Japanese}," Saburou pushed away his dry sake cup, "But you've surprised me, and for that, I am thankful."
"I noticed that you have another son."
"Hai," Saburou's pride squeezed a grin out of his face, "I expect great things from Toyo someday. Moreso than his brother."
"We could train him," Sensei's hand opened as if Saburou would just drop Toyo into it like a coin.
"I will not allow it," Saburou's empty cup hit the table, "Not after you trained Fumito for a year, and allowed him to die first."
"Koizumi-sama, due to the nature of our work, we can never assure who will survive each mission."
"I suppose I should have expected it would be Fumito. So tell me," his finger wagged between Azusa and Joseph, "If the other two were actually with him on the mission, then what are you two doing here?"
Azusa opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Joseph answered for her, "We are Fumito's friends."
Tsume could tell that Joseph was lying. He rarely spent much time with Fumito, but Joseph was Joseph. He had either come as emotional support for Tsume or out of curiosity to see a Japanese funeral. Regardless, Tsume spotted Joseph tapping both ends of one chopstick on the table while his eyes kindled a fire of contempt for their host.
"Hmph," Saburou smirked, "He made friends with a strong gaijin and a cute girl. What about you two?" he now pointed to Tsume and Rangiku, "Were you his friends too?"
"We were," Tsume responded, "but he was closer to Azusa than anyone else."
"How close?" Saburou leaned toward Azusa.
"Close enough," Joseph answered for her.
"Koizumi-sama," Sensei interrupted, "We came to discuss the matter of seeing your son's wishes carried out in the future; not his life in the past. We also came to discuss the possibility of recruiting Toyo; not the decision to recruit Fumito."
"I just want to know," Koizumi defended himself before returning his focus to Azusa, "Did you ever sleep with him?"
As Azusa recoiled from Koizumi, Tsume heard something snap to his left. Joseph had broken the chopstick. His slacked jaw concealed no shock from the audacity of Fumito's own father. It was not a sentiment with which Tsume could disagree.
Saburou then pushed into Rangiku's space, "What about you, girl? I'm sure you were pretty once."
Joseph bolted up from the table, "Shitsurei shimasu {Excuse me}," once he reached the door, he turned around to address the table, "I will be waiting to leave. Is anyone going to come with me?"
Silence.
"Hitsu?" Joseph reached his hand to Tsume's brother.
"I want to stay with Tsume," Hitsu grabbed onto his brother's arm.
Azusa stood up slowly while silently wincing her pain, likely because her ribs were still not fully healed. Rangiku rose with her hand covering what little of her face was visible under the hood. Tsume patted on his brother's hand, "We're going with Joseph, Hitsu."
"No, you stay here," Sensei commanded. Tsume faced him in response, but Sensei was pointing to Azusa, "Ishikawa, you knew Koizumi better than anyone else. It would be best if you stayed here to discuss his last wishes with us. The rest of you may leave."
Azusa nodded and resumed her place at the table without making a sound. She picked up a slice of beef and ate it without sauce. It was probably the first bite she had taken since dinner began over an hour ago.
Tsume felt a tug at his arm. Hitsu's hands were begging that the boy be lifted. Tsume reached down and raised his brother, who was apparently getting too heavy to spend much more time hanging in other people's arms, from the floor.
When he turned about, he saw the door closing behind Joseph and Rangiku. He followed them away from the strained warmth of the Koizumi household and into the brisk winter night. Joseph opened his arms to offer Rangiku a hug, but she withdrew from him, never removing her gaze from the ground.
"Tsume, can you believe that asshole?" Joseph blurted in English as soon as the door shut, "His own kid is dead and all he does is cut him down."
"I think that maybe that was the sake talking," Tsume somehow wanted to defend Saburou.
"Oh no. Mr Koizumi gave Fumito to Arkwright to get rid of the kid. Said he was disappointed in his son and wanted to make a man of him."
"Mr Koizumi was drinking a lot of sake." Maybe it was because Tsume never really liked Fumito. He knew it was unwise to speak ill of the dead, but Fumito never seemed like he would amount to much. He was something of a liability, and his fun time with Rangiku still bothered Tsume, even though he knew she was the one to blame for that.
"Alcohol makes you say things you want to hide," Joseph removed his pipe from his kimono, "He wasn't hiding shit. He's just a drunk."
"And Fumito had to grow up with him." Somehow, Tsume knew he'd have a harder time bringing himself to criticize Rangiku for her decision. He wanted to blame her because he knew that made sense, but he couldn't. She had been through too much already.
"That's what gets me. Fumito was never very down. Something kept him going," Joseph struck a match which he burned in the pipe's bowl.
Tsume's eyes shifted to Rangiku. She had not moved apart from her teeth clenching onto what remained of her thin upper lip. "Rangiku," Tsume spoke, "Are you okay?"
She shook her head.
"Maybe you should go rest by the horses," Joseph suggested with a puff of smoke.
She shook her head again, this time with her mouth open as if she were trying to speak, but had forgotten how.
"What's wrong, Rangiku?" Joseph asked her.
Her lip remnants ceased their attempt to form words, leaving her jaw to hang loosely. Her eyes clamped tight. A single tear grew in her less-damaged left side.
"What is it?" Joseph's voiced lowered to a whisper.
"Loved me," she choked.
"What?"
"He said he loved me. Then he..." she dropped to her knees "Before he..."
"What?" a voice said from behind. Azusa had stepped out of the Koizumi house, "Yariman {Slut}!"
Rangiku's head rose to face her accusations. Her remorseful expression overcame her scars at that moment. Both of her eyes streamed tears down the new ridges that replaced her cheeks.
"It's your fault," Azusa's arms quivered as she moved to the huddled mess of Rangiku, "The Templar didn't kill Fumito; YOU did! YARIMAN!"
Shame pushed Rangiku's face into the shadows. Sensei appeared from the house to restrain Azusa around the arms. Azusa twisted at the shoulders to free herself, but she was not strong enough to break Sensei's hold. His hand muffled her accusations from everyone else's ears, but they were far from silent.
"Listen to me, Ishikawa," Sensei reasoned, "Listen!"
Azusa squirmed less and less until she slowed to a tearful stop.
"Is this what Koizumi would have wanted?"
Azusa's screams quieted her of their own accord. Her arms again cradled her chest where the ribs had been broken. She didn't cry any more, likely because of the pain, but tears flowed from her eyes anyway.
"No," Sensei continued, "He did the right thing and made a smart move."
"Yeah," Joseph added, "Asuka's baby wouldn't-"
"Not now, Kent," Sensei growled.
Asuka emerged from the Koizumis' door with her Kimono open on the left side to allow Tairo to feed, "Azusa! Koizumi-san has agreed to grant you some of Fumito's ashes if it will calm you the hell down."
Azusa mournfully nodded.
"Good," Sensei replied, "Kent and Washio, you two prepare the horses. Kasai and Ishikawa, you two get the ashes. Toriyama, you come with me."
April 10, 1855 in Charlton Arkwright's office in Edo, Japan
"Could I get something better than an intelligence mission?" Garen pleaded with his father.
"No," Sensei affirmed, "and you will bring Washio, Igarashi, and Maruya to Yoshiwara."
"Yoshiwara, you say? Well that changes things."
Tsume's ears perked at the mention of Edo's famed pleasure district. Like Asakusa, Tsume had never been, but had overheard no shortage of stories. Unlike Asakusa, Tsume had always wanted to go there. There, he had heard that a man was only worth as much as the coins on his string, and no man was exempt from that rule, not even nobles. In fact, Kennosuke's mother and the Assassins' teacher, Nariko, once worked there as a geisha.
"But don't get distracted. Your team has been chosen to play to their strengths, so the rest falls to you."
"You mean this team?" Garen's arm swept to highlight the three Assassins behind him, "What kind of team is this? I want to change it."
"You don't get to change it."
"Then I want you to change it. Add Azusa."
"I've already told you that you will not be working with Ishikawa directly."
"But Papa-"
"Don't Papa me," Sensei's finger whipped into his son's face, "I want you to gather your things and be gone by sunset."
Tsume could not see Garen's face, but could tell that he was staring down Sensei. "Add Azusa," he demanded.
"No, and that's final."
"Then I suppose you don't need me to go on the mission."
Sensei straightened and faced away from his students, "I had no idea that I was paying you to romance one of your fellow recruits instead of doing Assassin work. I know that I never hear any complaints from Ishikawa."
Garen's head dropped, "So, what's the objective?"
"Our contact in Yoshiwara has complained of Yakuza interference. She said that he suspects these Yakuza to be working for the Templars if they are not Templars themselves. If that is true, then we are at risk of losing our most vital information channel as well as our largest source of income."
"So what are you asking us to do?"
"I want you to investigate any connection between these Yakuza and the Templars. After that, I want you to stop the harassment."
"Excuse me Sensei, may I interrupt?" Igarashi announced, not really asking permission, "Did our contact specify which Yakuza clan?"
"That depends," Sensei's eyes broke contact with Garen, "Are you speaking out of turn?"
"I am."
A silence hung the conversation in the room. Tsume scanned to gauge everyone's reaction. Kennosuke's head was down and his eyes were closed so he was probably praying for some kind of safe mission or something, as usual. Both Sensei and Garen's attention fixed onto Igarashi. Sensei had taken on a what-on-earth-is-wrong-with-you face while Garen's mouth curled upward in amusement. Igarashi, however, kept his brows perked expectant of an answer. His smugness was as plain as the tattoos on his arms.
"No, Madam Kitsunagi has not specified any clan," Sensei added, "Unfortunately for us, she does not have a penchant for details, so you will need to find out the rest for yourself. And go without your uniforms. The last thing I need is for any Templars to know that we're running that particular house."
April 10, 1855 outside of Yoshiwara in Edo, Japan
"I still think we should have done something funny to the priests while we were in Asakusa," Tsume mused aloud as the four Assassins approached the northern edge of Asakusa. The fallen sakura petals swirled like dust in the wind in the plaza. Tsume saw a giant red torii in the nearing distance. Behind that Great Gate, Yoshiwara waited.
"That would not have been polite and we have a reputation to keep," Kennosuke responded.
"Yeah, how bad would that look on us? Especially since you're the one who killed Egawa Hidetatsu," Igarashi continued for Kennosuke, "the Asashin have become a lot more respected by the people of Edo. I've heard people say that we're protecting them from the spooky gaijin. If they knew our Sensei, then they might be saying something different."
"But Tokugawa's approval rating is awfully low, so as long as the Templars support him, we shouldn't have TOO many problems," Garen included from behind the others.
Tsume could see the massive bustle of brightly colored kimono beyond the gate. The overwhelming smells of many different perfumes filled the breeze as heavy as smoke, but was not as enticing as Tsume had imagined it would be. However the sun was falling behind the western walls of Edo, ready to pass its job to the moon. Yoshiwara's party was only beginning.
Tsume thought it clever on part of the priests that the path to Yoshiwara ran through Asakusa. Or was it the path from Yoshiwara instead?
"Chotto matte {Slow down}," a hand crossed in front of Tsume. A samurai on guard had halted him from entering the world of decadence that was waiting just beyond the gate.
"Is something wrong?" Tsume rested his hand on the hilt of his katana.
"No swords allowed in Yoshiwara," Kennosuke answered for the samurai to whom he passed along his swords.
Tsume hesitated for a bit before he removed the swords from his obi, "When do I get them back?"
"When you return from your … visit," the samurai gave a slick grin while he removed a small parchment and brush from a station behind him, "You just ask us for your swords and we will return them. What is your name?"
"Washio Tsume."
A shocked puzzlement seemed to mark the samurai's face as he wrote down the name, "That's the name you chose for yourself?"
"Your point?"
"Nothing. Move along," he tied the name to the sword with a length of string.
Tsume bowed with a smirk, "Domo arigato, kisama {honored sir}."
The samurai glared, "I said to move along."
Tsume entered the gate with triumph in his stride. He had finally made it to Yoshiwara. Within these walls were the next trends of Japan. Food, fashion, plays, and some other things Tsume had yet to imagine were all birthed here before being released into the rest of the world. In a way, Tsume had just walked into a future he was eager to conquer. For the first time in years, Tsume wished he were not an Assassin, just so he would not feel guilt for enjoying Yoshiwara.
"Exciting, isn't it?" Igarashi said as he approached Tsume, "You look like you've never been here before."
"A little hard to visit when you've never had money to spend."
"Well, I can't say I've spent much time tasting the fruits of Yoshiwara," Igarashi pulled his arms out of his sleeves and allowed the kimono to hang from his obi, exposing the sarashi around his gut and wrists as openly as the tattoos that covered his wiry arms, "My dad runs a business here, so I've been a regular visitor. It looks so different here, but I guess I should have known that since I haven't been here since Kasai recruited me here."
"I take it that it looks nothing like the Yoshiwara you knew."
"The crazy thing about Yoshiwara is that the more it changes, the more it stays the same."
"That is pretty crazy."
A tapping on his shoulder caught Tsume's attention. He checked to see Kennosuke standing patiently behind him. "The samurai would not allow Garen in, so he said that he'll meet us here when he can."
"I hope he's smart enough to leave his weapons outside," Igarashi replied, "The last thing we need is an incident because someone is carrying around their weapons in the open."
"That reminds me," Tsume included, "Igarashi, where's your hidden blade?"
Igarashi showed the wrappings on his left forearm. They bulged a bit under the wrist, but not so much that it would be glaringly obvious. "Don't worry. I didn't forget. I just wanted to show people that I'm not carrying any other weapons."
"Oh no, Igarashi Yuudai isn't dangerous; he's just a Yakuza."
"Heh, is it the same reason you left your geta {sandals}?"
"I think of it as something to be proud of. I'm not an eta any more. Also I forgot to put them on."
"You've been doing that a lot lately, I noticed."
"I was raised barefoot. I can't just tattoo geta to my feet."
"You may want to buy a pair while you're here. Some of the houses won't appreciate the extra dirt on their floors."
"Yuudai?" a voice came from the side. A young man with an open kimono and a chest full of yakuza tattoos was intruding the conversation.
"Satoshi?" Igarashi's eyes lit like a dog about to receive a treat, "What are you doing here?"
"I was eating some sushi at a bar nearby. You should join me."
"I ate on the way here, but why not." Igarashi left, completely forgetting about the mission, his teammates, and everything but his yakuza friend.
Tsume raised his brow, "So Kennosuke, that just leaves you and me to not be conspicuous," he was choosing to ignore his scar, "While we're waiting on Garen, did you maybe want to go look at the oiran {prostitutes}?" Tsume pointed to a brothel nearby with women in blue sitting behind a grated window.
"I would not want to visit an oiran tonight, thank you," Kennosuke answered.
"I didn't say we should hire them. I just said we should look."
"This place is full of temptations and I would like not to take part," the annoyance in Kennosuke's voice was growing more prevalent.
"Don't tell me that you're about to get high and mighty on me again." The 'again' was something of an exaggeration. Neither Kennosuke nor Nariko ever made a habit of self-aggrandizing themselves like the Buddhists. In fact, Kennosuke never made a habit of bragging about anything.
"No. We came here on Sensei's orders. This is not the time to play."
"Is there ever a time to play for you? We are in the most awesome part of all of Edo."
"I'm familiar with Yoshiwara. My mother was a geisha here for much of her life. My father died before I was born, so-"
"So you grew up getting to know the geisha and familiarizing yourself with Bushido and the Assassin's Creed."
"Hai."
"Oh yeah, I haven't heard that story enough from Asuka."
"You should have told me sooner."
"How? You were on a tangent."
Kennosuke's eyes moved to the ground, accepting the defeat in a simple argument. Tsume was proud of himself. Once again, he had managed to humble Sensei's golden boy. No such victory could be too small.
"Hey suckers!" Garen announced from behind, "What did I miss?" Tsume clutched his chest over his heart. Kennosuke remained perfectly calm. Garen laughed as he brushed the hay from his kimono, "Did you miss me?"
"Oh yeah, we were trying to figure out what we would do without you," Tsume answered Garen's likely rhetorical question, unsure how much of his answer was a lie and how much was selective truth.
"Okay smart ass," Garen scowled, "How about you get Igarashi and shut the hell up?"
"Okay the-" Garen's hand paused Tsume.
"AND shut the hell up. We're going to the geisha house. Kenny, what was it called?"
"Sakura Okiya," Kennosuke answered.
Tsume silently scoffed at the sheer level of creativity that must have gone into that name. Maybe they could have named it something like 'No Assassins Here.' That would at least grab some more attention. Maybe not good attention, but someone would certainly believe it.
Tsume spotted Igarashi exactly where he was expected; at the nearby sushi stand. "Hey Igarashi!" he called out through the crowd, "Time to go!"
A hand jerked Tsume about. Garen's eyes held no humor when his hands clamped Tsume's arms. They only threatened, "AND shut the hell up. Don't make me tell you again."
Tsume nodded, careful not to break eye contact, lest he show any fear. There was plenty of fear. He just didn't want it to be known.
"Alright I'm back," Igarashi caught up to the others, "You have no idea how good it feels to be called Yuudai again. Could you just call me that while we're on this mission?"
"No," Garen answered as he released Tsume's arms, "We don't want to get you mixed up with the other Yuudai. Let's go. Kenny, you lead the way."
He had always been referred by his surname to distinguish him from the other Yuudai, Shimoda. In fact, both Yuudai received that same treatment. It was only fair.
As the Assassins passed the buildings, Tsume noticed that the mass of tangled smells each belonged to a separate building. Each oiran house had a unique scent that was much more pleasant up close. That was not to mention the smells of food or the tea smell of the geisha houses. Tsume also noticed that the geisha would travel in the street near to their house while the oiran would stay perched in their crowded window like objects to be purchased. In a way, that was more true than it needed to be.
"Here," Kennosuke stopped with his finger pointing to a two story building. The edges of the wood was painted red and hung several pink lanterns which a geisha was taking the time to light in preparation for the coming night. Next to the entrance was a sign reading 'Sakura Okiya.'
Inside, however, was much more gaudy. The colors were subdued enough with dark brown framing individual white sections of the wall. Well, they would be white if they were not all painted. The subject of each painting varied, but most seemed to relate to the arts. They were even signed by the artists, but all in feminine names. They were likely made by the geisha of Sakura Okiya themselves.
A woman dressed in a green kimono stood in the center of this room. It was impossible to tell if she was beautiful through her thick white makeup and reddened lips and eyebrows. Her hair was tied high and wide in a manner that looked especially heavy. She turned about with grace, probably to keep her neck from snapping.
"Do you have reservations?" she smiled as best she could without opening her mouth.
"Arkwright," Garen responded holding up the back of his left hand showing every finger but his retracted ring finger.
The geisha's eyes widened, "Oh, certainly. I will inform Okāsan {Mother}."
"Arigato," Garen bowed.
"So Aakuraito sent you?" a woman's voice said from around the corner ahead, "Konbanwa," a stunning woman appeared wearing a lavish pink and blue kimono and the same closed smile as the geisha before, "My name is Kitsunagi Ayame."
She moved closer to the Assassins, but she did not take step, at least not visibly. He feet were not visible under her kimono and she seemed to be gliding. The only indication Tsume could see of individual steps was how often her head tilted ever so slightly.
"I'm Garen Arkwright, and these are Maruya Kennosuke, Igarashi Yuudai, and Washio Tsume."
Ayame bowed, "Shall we discuss important matters before business picks up?" She raised the back of her hand with her ring finger curled to the palm.
"Lead the way."
Ayame turned about, again showing no movement from her legs. She lead to the left with a staircase around the corner. Upstairs was similar to ground floor, but much less open. It was a series of hallways with sliding doors. Each panel of the wall had a different painting, once again probably depicting geisha services. Dancing, singing, reading, calligraphy, painting (of course) and images of many other arts covered every wall. From within the rooms, Tsume could hear the sound of music. It sounded like something rich people probably liked, but was much too slow for his tastes.
"Here," Ayame opened a door at the end of a hallway.
The room was empty except for a shelf of artistic instruments on the wall and a tea table in the middle. Yet more paintings covered the walls here, but something seemed odd about them. They seemed almost too... Tsume could not place it.
"Would you like some tea?" Ayame sat on her knees to pour a cup.
"No thanks," Garen answered.
"I would love some," Kennosuke bowed and graciously received a cup.
Tsume and Igarashi remained silent, apparently neither desiring tea.
"You said you were having a Yakuza problem, Kitsunagi-san," Garen sat across from Ayame.
"Hai, this is true."
"Which clan?" Igarashi asked out of turn.
"I do not know," Ayame sighed, "They had no tattoos, but they did wear the mon of the Shimazu clan."
"That doesn't sound familiar."
She withdrew a drawing from her kimono. It was a circle with a cross inside. The cross was not a Christian cross, which is long at the bottom, but rather equal on all sides.
"The Shimazu are powerful Daimyo in Kyushu," Ayame added, "but the men who came here did not have Kyushu accents."
"Templars. Definitely Templars," Garen muttered, "Shimazu Nariakira is a known Templar, so maybe he hired some thugs."
"Or shinobi?" Tsume posited.
Garen glared in Tsume's direction, "I never said you could talk."
"An Asashin takes orders from no one."
"But a student takes orders from his superiors," Garen's attention turned away from Tsume and back to Ayame, "What kind of trouble have they been stirring for you?"
"Well, they have been claiming that one of my girls has given one of their men a disease. She insists that she did not touch him. I am inclined to believe her."
"Why? Maybe she had sex with him."
Ayame's face straightened into unamusement, "Oiran please the body. Geisha please the soul. There is a perfectly good oiran house across the street."
"Alright. I'm sorry. Continue."
"They offered a truce. They said that I should allow a Tokugawa official to sponsor one of my girls and they would leave me alone. They chose one of my higher-ranked girls. I am aware of how many Templars work for Tokugawa, so I really could not say which one they would choose."
"It could be anyone, but as long as you work for the Asashin, you can rest easily. We'll protect you."
"Okāsan," a geisha entered the room, "We have a guest visiting on behalf of the Tokugawa."
"Inform him that I am busy," Ayame raised her tea to her lips.
"He said you would would not make him wait, Okāsan."
"Then inform him that I am coming," she placed the tea gently on the table before addressing the Assassins, "Please don't do anything too rash. We're under heavy enough scrutiny for dealing intelligence."
Garen extended his hidden blade, "Don't worry. I'm still armed."
Her eyes closed as if that were exactly what she hoped not to hear, "And the rest of you?"
The recruits all bared their blades as well. Tsume explained, "The guards only asked for our swords."
"And you," she looked to Igarashi, "And you are yakuza as well as Asashin?"
"As long as I am both Asashin and yakuza, you also have the protection of the Yamaguchi-gumi. I want the Templars to know that my clan will watch over this house."
"That would be best."
Ayame led the Assassins back downstairs and into the main room of the geisha house. Several men waited for them there. Tsume's heart sank when he saw their black robes and covered faces. The shinobi had come. However, there was one man who was not disguised. He was a pudgy man in dark green robes, but that wasn't the only thing striking about him. His hooked nose looked distinctly familiar. He must have been one of the Templars from Fuji. His dull eyes gave the impression that he did not wish to be here, but here he was.
"Ah, Ayame-gozen, there you are," the pudgy man bowed, "Konbanwa."
Ayame bowed in return, "And the same to you, Abe-sama."
"You, boy, with the scar," he pointed to Tsume, "You killed Egawa Hidetatsu, did you not?"
"I did. Does that mean I'm famous?" Tsume was only slightly taken aback by how easily he was identified. Is this how Garen promised that the scar would betray him? He glanced over to Garen whose face seemed to be accusing Tsume of smugness in a grim situation.
"Very famous. Perry-sama will be very grateful to see your head. And you," he now focused on Garen, "You are the son of Aakuraito, correct."
"What is it to you?"
"Ayame-gozen, you did very well in bringing me good Asashin."
"Domo arigato, Abe-sama," she moved toward the Templars.
"You bitch!" Garen grabbed Ayame before she could move very far, brandishing a revolver to her head, "You sold us out!" then he stared Abe in the eyes, causing the Templar to step back.
"You promised they would be unarmed!" Abe pointed at Ayame.
"A good Assassin is never unarmed," Garen fired a bullet into Ayame's temple and allowing her body to fall to the floor among bits of blood and brain, "I want to introduce you to my good friend Mr Colt. He seems very eager to meet you," Garen aimed the pistol to the Templars, "Say hello, Mr Colt."
He fired into the Templars indiscriminately, only hitting one who jumped to protect Abe.
"Kill them!" Abe screamed, "Kill them all! And the geisha! Bring me their heads!" He then rushed out the door of Sakura Okiya house in fear for his life.
Tsume readied his hidden blade for combat. The shinobi encroached in a mobile combat stance with wakizashi drawn. Since neither the Assassins nor Templars had the element of surprise, this would come down to combat. If a high-ranking shinobi like Osamu being killed by a basic Assassin recruit like Kennosuke was any indication, then the shinobi could not be much better fighters than samurai.
One shinobi jumped Tsume, but was countered by Tsume's hidden blade. The shinobi dodged and rammed him into the wall. Tsume ducked under the wakizashi slash and stabbed the shinobi's gut with his blade. He then gripped the black robes as he rose and stabbed his enemy again in the head.
When the corpse fell, Tsume spotted a shinobi running upstairs to the geisha rooms. Tsume opted to pursue him rather than stay in the chaos of the fight. When he reached the stairs, this target had already disa-
Tsume's face smashed into a step, splashing hood from his nose to the floor. He pushed himself up, but stumbled. He checked behind to see what was holding him to the ground. A shinobi had managed to snare his leg with a chain. The shinobi himself was armed with a kama {sickle} connected to the chain.
Tsume kicked his free leg against the chain, hoping it would release him from its hold before the shinobi came too close. The shinobi lunged. Tsume rolled as far as he could to his right, but could not avoid a kama dug into his shoulder. He fell onto his back and punched his assailant's face. With the shinobi distracted, Tsume was able to remove the blade from his bone and assist the kama blade in passing through its owner's neck.
Warm blood splattered onto the wall and Tsume's arm, but he did not have time to clean it off. A geisha screamed above. He would not even have time to take the kama. He unwound the chain from his ankle to run upstairs. In the hallway, he saw two girls, one of them being the girl in green from earlier, laying in blood that poured from their necks. If they were not yet dead, they soon would be.
Another scream came from one of the geisha rooms. A sliding paper door shattered open to make way for a man who did not have time to open it like a normal person. The man, most likely a patron, was escaping from what was likely a shinobi inside. Tsume pressed his back to a wall hidden from the door. Inevitably, a shinobi appeared, possibly in pursuit of the patron. Tsume managed to catch him off guard with a blade to the neck.
"You really don't want to go down there!" Tsume called to the patron downstairs.
The man had already been halted by the shinobi cadaver which guarded the steps. The sounds of swords and screams assured that the fight was not yet over. Tsume tapped the patron's quivering shoulder, causing him to jump.
"Come on upstairs," Tsume informed him, "It's safer there."
The man shook his head. From the look of his shaved pate and the emblems on his robes, he was a samurai. Tsume rolled his eyes at the prospect of helping one of his oppressors, but the job could not have fallen to Kennosuke or someone like him. It just had to fall to Tsume.
"Okay, you can stay down here and probably get killed," Tsume began upstairs. He had not taken two steps before he felt a pull at his bloody shoulder. The samurai was bowed deep behind him, leaving Tsume in a position he knew he would enjoy for a long time; power over a samurai.
He lifted the samurai by the shoulders, "Can you fight?"
The samurai shook his head again.
"Not good at conversation, are you? Listen, we're going upstairs where we're going to check all of the geisha rooms. If you see any more of these men in black, scream like a little girl, so I'll know it's you."
He patted the samurai's back on the way up to give him a head start. Tsume heard a shriek up ahead. It wasn't really a shriek though, more a wail. In the hallway one of the girls was cradling the green geisha. Her eyes poured tears as she cleaned the geisha's wound with her obi.
"Yoko," she pouted, "Yoko please don't go."
Tsume knelt next to the fallen geisha. The other girl kissed her on the forehead before burying tears into her nape.
"Tsume!" Kennosuke called, "Tsume, are you- oh Yesu {Jesus}, Yoko. Kazumi," he addressed the crying girl, "Kazumi, I need you to listen. Kazumi!"
The girl pulled away to face Kennosuke, "Yoko is still bleeding. That means she's alive. Grab me some cool water and a bandage. We will bring her back to you. Tsume, how many girls are hurt?"
"Two more that I know of."
"I want you to make sure that they may be alive."
"I already sent a man to take care of that."
"Good. How is your arm?"
Tsume had completely forgotten about the wound he had received, "I think it'll be fine."
How couldn't it? He did manage to forget about it, after all.