He was such a gentle soul, the Captain of the Shinsegumi. Isami Kondō – for such was his name – was referred to by his peers as Kondō-san. An honorific title, the equivalent of our "sir". Open and kindhearted, he instructed me in the most basic traditions of his people. Now, I was getting the hang of those diminutive suffixes. – san – chan – kun – sama – sensei had no secrets for me, and, as I tried very hard to find an equivalent in either French of English, I realised the way of thinking was far too different to do so.

Better to embrace the culture, rather than compare it to mine. It was alright, though. Japanese traditions were incredibly complex, and just as fascinating. Luckily, the magic of my necklace also embedded in my brain whatever knowledge was needed to speak and write Japanese. It wasn't that I was translating; the words came in my mind in Japanese, as if it had been my mother tongue. That was a nifty trick; thank the Valar for this piece of technology. After all, given they threw me in all sorts of situations without instructions, they also provided me with the means to blend in.

Well… aside from the whole brush thing. Even though I wrote with a calligraphy fountain pen – a rottring, the technique was way different from using a brush. Kondō-san caught my potential soon enough; seeing that I could read, and synthetise any of his reports with ease – scientific mind forever – but couldn'y, for the life of me, write anything, he taught me how to trace the patterns. If the discrepancy between my knowledge of writing Japanese and my inability to use a brush puzzled him, he didn't show. Patiently, he showed how to hold it and trace them, and allowed me to train in my room.

I never got tired of tracing the Kanji, Hiragana and Katakana with a brush. It felt as soothing at shooting the bow. At length, Kondō-san soon grew fond of my rounded style, and got me to write letters for him.

Whether he felt guilty for my reception at the hands of his men, or didn't want to push me, Kondō-san didn't interrogate me further. By then, I'd learnt that gaijin – foreigners – were forbidden in Japan. Simple as that. Except for a few Dutch traders who resided on a guarded island in Nagasaki, and dragged to the Shogun every year to renew their licence.

Hence the Kitsune joke. Fire hair, as they called it, was unheard of in Japanese population. My henna wavy hair looked like the Kistune's numerous tails because they naturally gathered in ringlets after a while.

The nickname stuck. To them, I was Kitsu, Kondō's page. Kitsu, condemned to hide and stay away from the rest of the compound because of her foreign features. People still guarded my door, and I wasn't in any shape to escape anyway.

"You cannot let Itō-san and his followers see you," Kondō told me, a week after my arrival.

I was drafting a letter for him, and the name 伊东甲子太郎武明 got me sticking my tongue out. He was one of the military advisors of the group, albeit I had not seen him yet. I laid my brush down, and frowned; was there any good reason for me not meeting the fourth member of the leaders? Actually, Kondō had strictly forbidden me to mention Sanan-san as well. Weird, but I wasn't in position to ask questions. Not those, at least.

"Itō ? Why not?"

Kondō's eyes lowered, as if he was ashamed.

"He's close to the Chōshū Sonnō jōi"

Right. Great.

"Eh?"

His eyes crinkled at the corner, as if laughing at my less than ladylike exclamation.

"I forget how you don't know much of our politics. Ten years ago, black ships came to Edo and forced the Shogun to open trade. As a result, some rebels turned against the shogunate, and adopted the Sonnō jōi doctrine: Revere the emperor, expel the barbarians."

I nodded. I could understand the extremist's point of view. An epidermic reaction to a less than tactful move in the first place. What money brought into the world… I had the grace not to ask Kondō if he shared those views; the very fact that he was hiding me in plain sight was confirmation enough.

"I never thought I could be a symbol, but I guess my foreign features are nearly an insult to those guys, right?"

Kondō nodded thoughtfully. In Kyoto, I would be a rare sight. And without official papers… I shouldn't even be free to walk around.

"Have you been living under a rock?" came a harsh voice as the shōji – the sliding door – was forced open. By now, I was rather used to that deep voice, so often laced with anger.

"Where do you think a Kitsune lives?" I retorted hotly.

Hijikata narrowed his eyes at me, irked by the smile that lifted Kondō's lips. I suspected the Captain of missing his family in Edo – Tokyo, at least a week's journey away – and to use me as a past time. His fatherly behaviour was welcome enough, even though he was probably thirty-five at best – seven more than I. Wars and responsibility aged people fast.

Hijikata was about to respond when Chizuru's voice echoed from outside.

"Sumimasen. I am bringing tea."

Chizuru got in, a tray balanced in her hands, then knelt with her knees stuck together. Conversation died as she poured the green tea expertly; a deferential silence for the simple act of serving tea. I thanked her profusely for her thoughtfulness.

"Thank you, Chizuru-Chan."

Her eyes widened for a moment, and I wondered if I had messed up my suffix.

"Demo … how do you know?"

"Know what ?"

Oh… It'd called her a girl. Did she really think I was fooled by her wearing hakamas? Her voice, her manners, her subdued looks and posture were just so feminine. And despite her silhouette being still very androgynous, there was no mistaking the lines of her face.

"Er. Perhaps you can shed the pink hakamashita, it might do wonders for your disguise."

Her doe eyes opened wide, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

"But… pink is a man's colour !", she squeaked.

"Really ?"

She nodded, her face totally flushed. Ooops. Mortified, I watched Kondō reach out to pat her hair in a very fatherly move.

"Do not worry, Chizuru," he said gently.

Their protectiveness was cute. Warriors, turned into guardians.

"Your secret is safe from the men," Hijikata added, glaring at me. And despite the animosity, I couldn't help but relish in the lilt of his voice. It was like a storm washing over the countryside, fierce and benevolent as the same time. A force to be reckoned with; no wonder his men feared him.

Three hundred; this was the average of the Shinsengumi's forces from what I'd learnt from the Captain. Truthfully, I was pretty amazed that he allowed me in his room, even if he kept all strategic letters to himself. I, mostly, was kept to mundane tasks; the most boring ones to him. To me, writing letters with a brush was a wonderful exercise.

"Hai!" Chizuru responded to Hijikata, skin flushed and bow stiff.

Her squeak was so cute, akin to a mouse's. The little lady left us with the tea, and I waited for the Demon commander to reach for his cup before I picked mine. I was learning that, in Japan, everything had an order and a protocol; drinking before the higher ranked officers could be an insult. Or not, who knew?

Flustered by my blunder, I inhaled the rich, sencha tea that Chizuru always brewed perfectly. I'd never smelt such a soothing scent; almost mesmerising. My mind blanked, a wave of peacefulness washing over me.

Perhaps luck was on my side, after all. There I was, safe from extremists and officials. A foreigner, protected by an honourable man in the midst of a warrior's compound. And even though I wasn't out of the woods yet – Hijikata might still decide to execute me – I felt relatively safe. I'd feel even safer with my sword and bow, but water would go under the bridge until I could wield them again.

By my side, the Vice Commander sighed. His features softened as he took a sip. How cute. The demon, appeased by a brew of green tea. I smiled in my cup, trying to enjoy that beautiful moment of peace.

Unfortunately, peace didn't last as Hijikata turned to Kondō.

"You shouldn't tell her so much. She could still be a spy."

Anger replaced serenity at once; how dare he speak of me was if I wasn't there? Glaring daggers, I set my cup on the platter harshly.

"For whom? The terrorists that execute foreigners? Or you mean I purposefully asked Sōji to crack my head so I could infiltrate you?"

Kondō nodded by my side. "You have to admit that it seems very far-fetched. Our first captain isn't known for his magnanimity. She could have died. And who would choose to challenge Saitō if not a stranger?"

Hijikata's features morphed to surprise. Was his friend siding against him in my favour? His jaw clenched and I was surprised I didn't hear them crack. Yet, I chose to ignore the waves of aggressiveness that radiated from him.

Spending time as the Captain's page allowed me to catch more expressions than outrage and anger on the vice Commander's face. It was almost a privilege. Sometimes, even, his eyes turned soft when he watched Kondō-san; they shared a tight bond, not unlike siblings. Brothers in arms. I respected that.

"Beware," he warned over the rim of his cup. "She brought Saitō down with a wicked move. She could be Kunoichi."

"She…", Kondō started. But I'd had enough, and interrupted rudely. "She is still right there, so I'd appreciate to be talked to rather than talked about."

"My apologies, Frances-chan."

Kondō was the only one that called me by my name, even though it felt all scrambled with his accent. It felt more like a Fairancésu, with the second syllable eaten away. Yet, I appreciated the gesture of peace and bowed my head slightly.

"Sumimasen. What is a kunoichi?"

"A ninja woman," he stated, watching my face for signs of recognition. At my nod, Hijikata's eyes narrowed. I realised he had misunderstood me, so I backpedaled.

"I'm not… koitchee. But I worked with the…"

Which one would be more believable ? Trainee at Interpol, or US air force consultant ? I'd done both, and decided to go with something more down to earth, literally.

"I was a trainee with the police. This is where I learnt to defend myself."

Sort of. But not only. Most of my dirty tricks, though, where from learning krav maga in Interpol. The revelation didn't seem to please the commander one bit.

"The Shinsengumi fight fair and square. We follow the code of Bushido, under pain of death."

I snorted. "Although you don't sugar coat, you distil threats like sweets, Hijikata-san". Irony wasn't a thing in Japan, for silence followed my words until Kondō-san took a long breath. He probably felt like a father trying to appease a sibling's squabble… Given what I'd seen of the Shisengumi captains, this probably wasn't the first or the last time he played mediator.

"There will be no Seppuku for the Captain's page, Toshi."

Toshi, short for Toshizō. I carefully stored the information away, noticing how softer than Hijikata-san it sounded. So far, I had managed to learn the names of half the people I'd met in the room. Okita Sōji, the brat. Harada Sanosuke, who had fished me out of the river. Saitō Hajime, the left-handed swordsman and emerite fighter. Heisuke … the youngest one with Chizuru Yukimura.

"She is not part of your men," Kondō added, his eyes more serious.

"Good, because I would never allow such distasteful methods."

What was it, with this man, that pushed him to insult me! I was about to jump at his throat once more, but took a deep breath. Perhaps we suffered from a case of culture shock.

"Choosing not to attack a man with his weapon of predilection is no dishonour, Hijikata-san. It is survival instinct."

Would the honorific title appease him? It apparently did, for his expression turned serious, but not murderous.

"Warriors are ready to die at anytime."

He believed in it so strongly that the warrior's spirit filled the room. That resolve shone in his eyes, and I wondered how those men walked the fine line between heroic sacrifice and wisdom. It was Kondō who answered the question for me.

"But we don't throw our lives away, Toshi."

A mournful silence filled the room, and I took the brazen initiative to pour some more tea to all of us – who knew how many rules I broke then. But no one – meaning, the Demon – yelled at me, so I allowed my gaze to get lost in the steam that rose from my ceramic cup.

As the Keeper of Time, I was appointed a task. I didn't have the luxury to die in battle until my mission was fulfilled. It didn't quite matter than I usually ignored whose life I was to save, or which set of events would cascade from my presence.

My first and most important task was to stay alive until the necklace pulled me out of the place.

"When you are fit to fight, I want you to show Saitō those moves you used. I don't want them to be exposed against people like you."

The insult didn't sting as much; I understood his reasoning. And by asking me to share my knowledge, he also acknowledged my skill and protected his captains. So I nodded my assent, then closed my eyes to enjoy the scent of sencha tea. That, and my head was swimming from the confrontation. Damn dizziness, how long would it take to go away!

"Stop pressing my page, Toshi."

Kondō's firm voice caused the Vice Commander to rise beside me. I didn't spare him a glance, but saw, from the corner of my eyes, the numerous plaits of the grey hakama reorganise in a shuffle of fabric. He didn't bow on his way out; I noted it was a sign of closeness.

The Captain sighed by my side, but I kept my senses engulfed in the tea. Mmm. I loved it.

"I'm sorry about him. Toshi is very protective of us all."

I only smiled as affection and exasperation laced in his voice. I could understand protectiveness when you faced enemies and death, recalling a less than heartfelt welcome from another man, in another time.

"He carries a heavy burden," I murmured, sipping at my tea. "This tends to make people paranoid, and I'm not exactly conventional."

The great man closed his eyes a moment. "Hai. Being responsible for people's safety is not easy." I heard what he wasn't saying; he understood, and wished that his friend learnt to be diplomatic. Needless to say, that it would be like trying to change the course of a river; some warriors were just blunt to the core. Tristan would have been an abysmal diplomat if he'd lived.

"I've met worse."

Kondō's eyebrows knitted in surprise; his Oni Vice Commander stroke fear in the heart of Kyoto's bandits. He didn't imagine, one bit, how civilised Hijikata was compared to the men of the fifth century.[1]

"Really?" The Captain's curiosity was so genuine that I decided to share a piece of my past story with the knights. I just kept the date, and the Arthurian legends out of my tale.

"Well, you see, there was this gruff scout whose trusted friend was a Hawk…"

And thus was the day I taught a Samuraï about Tristan, knight of the round table, who had nearly crushed my windpipe in suspicion, before deciding I was a little fairy, and not a witch.

And here, now, I was a Kistune.

In ancient Roma, I was the red witch.

Well, nothing new for the Keeper of Time.

[1] See "All Hail to the King"