"Calm down, Brat – you'll find me a most accommodating employer as long as you behave appropriately." After brushing his finger across my wrist one more time, Mitsuhide finally let go and retreated to his desk. "Shall we discuss our terms?"

I presumed that was rhetorical and stayed mute. I also presumed that "our" meant "my."

"I do not want the headache of keeping you a physical prisoner here, nor do I want to waste precious time hunting you down if-" he flicked a quick glance at my face, "-when you escape. Therefore, let's agree on this – if you help me find Mai and Hideyoshi, I'll return the favor and help you find Akihira."

Ugh. I didn't want to work with him… but he was probably right that we'd have more success if we pooled our resources. "Even if he's not with them, even if we find your friends first, you'll continue to search for Aki."

"Even if." He nodded at the shogi board that was sitting on the corner of the desk. It was a reminder that he and Aki were friends of a sort and had known each other for several years. "I expect the same of you. If we locate Akihira first, you will continue to help me."

"Of course." I'm a professional. If I agree to something, I stick to it. Sure, I'll happily lie if necessary, and successfully at that. But if I make a promise, I keep it. Hm, speaking of professional… "We should write up a contract."

"I hesitate to put anything in writing that I wouldn't want anyone unauthorized to see." He tapped the top of the desk. "After all, some sneak thieves can pick locks."

Oh, enough with the locks.

However, it might be worth it if he thought that I knew how to pick locks, and thus not bother to lock things. "I would feel more comfortable with a written contract, but if you're really that concerned, we could write it in code." That awarded me a single raised eyebrow. Hm, could I put, 'please teach me the single eyebrow raise' into the contract? "I'm the only person who knows all Aki's codes, so it's safe."

"All of his codes?" He unearthed a blank scroll of paper and patted the cushion at his side. "So be it."

With a shade rattle of doom echoing in my ears, and an odd anticipatory feeling coursing through my veins, I moved to sit next to him. Why does it seem like I'm making a contract with the Devil? After a quick conference we decided to use the code that he normally used to correspond with Aki and got to work laying out the terms of our agreement.

The first rule, the quid pro quo of helping each other find our missing friends was the easiest. After that, things devolved rather quickly…

"I don't see why we cannot have equal say in everything. It's not like I'm planning to boss you around." Internally, I saw the point of having one person – Mitsuhide – be in charge. But his attitude made me want to protest everything. Besides, if I appeared to give way on the things that I was prepared to accept, then hopefully, he would be accommodating when I ran across a deal-breaker and wouldn't budge.

"Were you and Aki equal partners?" The look he gave me dared me to lie.

"No. But Aki is my father." At least Mitsuhide thought he was, and I wasn't about to disabuse him of that right now. "And you are not." I had always trusted Aki (more or less). This one, I did not, would not, could not, trust. "I only want to have a say in things."

He placed one finger on the side of my jaw, turning my head to face him, forcing me to look into those amber-gold eyes. I had the impulse to hold my breath. No. He would notice that. Natural breathing. Ha! Like that's possible.

His voice was low, and clear, and all the teasing and amusing was stripped from the tone. "I have been doing this kind of work long enough to know that some decisions need to be made in an instant. Orders need to be followed without question or people could die. Is that quite clear?"

I nodded.

"Good." We stared at each other for a moment, until he let his hand drift back to his side.

That weird prickly feeling returned. I felt off balance, needing to pull back some control. "When we're in our disguises, or when we are in an urgent situation, you may be in charge." I managed to infuse that with an unspoken 'I'm doing this because I want to and not because you say so' tone to my voice. "When we are here, in private, at our leisure, I will do what I want. And I want my own room."

"As long as when we are in public, you dress as I say, act as my concubine, and follow my orders to the letter." He watched over my shoulder as I wrote that down. "When we are alone in this building, if we are not actively working, you may happily ignore me." He sighed. "I shall endeavor to live with the loneliness."

"And my own room? I will not in truth be your bedmate." I shouldn't have needed to spell that out, but better to do so now and avoid an awkward conversation later. If this place didn't have a second bedroom, I supposed I would have to bunk in this not terribly private office.

"A bed technically is not required. You might be surprised at what can be accomplished against a wall, or … on a desk." He ran his fingers along the smooth lacquer of the desk. The sound his nails made as they slithered across skittered down my spine.

He was teasing again… I think.

Not interested in either kabedon or desk-a-don. "Well, what is life without a little unsolved mystery?"

"What would you say if I pointed out that our charade requires that we be able to act as if we've enjoyed certain intimacies?" Before I could move myself out of reach, he tangled his hands in my ponytail, leaning closer as if he meant to kiss me. He smiled, gazing at into my eyes as if I were the most precious person on earth. "Lovers… have a specific look to them. They smile and flush when exchanging glances. Intimate touches when they believe no one is watching." He let go of my hair, and his hand stroked my cheek before his expression and attitude returned to the more familiar amused condescension.

"I can pretend." I can pretend as well as you just did. "In any case, people saw you buy me. Noone would be surprised if I look like I hate you." Something evil inside me made me add. "I doubt you're unfamiliar with the concept of 'faking it.'" Before he could react to that … in fact, afraid that he would indeed react because I had probably gone too far there, I hurried to write, "no sex."

He lifted the brush out of my hand, carefully dipped it in ink, and added, "unless she begs."

"Are you crazy? That's horrible!" I snatched the brush back and marked out his words with thick dark lines.

"You certain display a lot of confidence for one so young." He tapped his finger on his lip, drawing my attention to it again. "I promise you, if would not be 'horrible.' While it is true that I am renowned as a torturer, what people don't understand is that one can torture with pleasure as easily as with pain. If I put my mind to it, I could have you on this desk, desperate for me. You would most certainly beg… and eventually discover that 'horrible' would be the very last word you would use to describe the experience."

He'd done nothing but speak. That's all he had done. He hadn't touched me at all. Yet I felt a jolt of … revulsion, yes, revulsion, it had to be that, all through me.

Ok Jareth-with-better-teeth, dial it down a few hundred degrees.

"Well, thanks for that warning – but that wasn't what I meant. Begging is demeaning. It's …" Gross, but he wouldn't understand that word. "If, in the, completely improbable case that I decide, I decide that I want to sleep with you, I will inform you of that fact."

"Inform me." There went the eyebrow.

"Well, how would you like it if I told you that I would only sleep with you if you begged me?" I could almost picture the look on his face if I said that. It would probably be similar to how he was looking at me right now. Snarkily amused.

"Point taken." He took the brush and wrote, Intimacies in private will only occur upon mutual renegotiation. "Does that meet with your approval?"

I had a feeling he was just humoring me, but I had gotten what I wanted so I let that go. "It will do."

In any case, the chances of my wanting to renegotiate that particular item basically lived in the category that also contained airborne pork and figure skating in hell, so it probably didn't matter all that much anyway.

Once again, my brain inserted a shade rattle of doom into my thoughts.

The rest of our contract was less fraught with disagreement. I mean, it wasn't completely peaceful by any means, as he seemed determined to tease me into agreement, but in general, his requests were as reasonable as mine (or as unreasonable – I refused to be the only one responsible for cooking and cleaning) and after concluding the negotiation, he'd guided me to the top floor where I would indeed have a room of my own. "Kyubei has been sleeping in here, but as I've sent him back to Azuchi to pretend to be me, no one will be using it anyway."

I filed away the information that he and Kyubei regularly swapped places as potentially useful. I supposed that explained why Mitsuhide was wearing that long dark wig. When he and Kyubei stood next to each other, they did look pretty similar.

"Does this meet with your exacting approval?"

It took me a moment to realize he was talking about the room, and not his current hairdo, so I spared a glance around to check it out (not that I believe he would have cared at all if I didn't like it… the room or the wig). It was on the small side, but with a fair amount of neatly built in shelving. The color scheme was rather grim, though. The red and black lacquered panels from the hallway had continued into this room, and a trifold screen depicted a wood carving of a yokai transforming from a basket into a snake. "Interesting décor. Did you pick out the furnishings yourself?" That screen at the very least, was going to need to be turned to face the wall.

"The prior owner, who found it necessary to vacate the premises urgently, sold it to me, furnishings included." He lit a lantern for me, an act that added sinister shadows to the room. "It does not reflect my taste. Nor does that brown atrocity you're currently wearing."

Ugh, yeah, the brown kimono was a relic picked out by Fume, who had never warmed to me (and that's a kind way of describing it). I brushed away some of the day's dust from the front of it. "It is impolite to comment on a lady's attire. This charming outfit fits the role of Kaya the maid, whose unfortunate displacement in the war led to her appearance in the slave market."

"The alias, you may keep. Kaya." He gave the brown kimono another judgmental glance. "The clothing must go. 'Kyubei' the merchant," he pointed to himself, "prefers his playthings in silks, hrm, yes, pink, pale green, and lavender."

Ugh, why does it have to be pink? Pink… and my least favorite nickname. I was trying to figure out which battle to choose when he preempted me.

"No argument? Good. Be ready just past sunrise tomorrow. We need to remedy the deficiencies in your wardrobe." With a mocking bow, he left me standing in the middle of the room.

"I hate pink!" Too late. He was gone. I would have to revisit that debate tomorrow.

Even if I had to wear the dreaded pink when 'Kaya' was in public with Mitsuhide, there should still be an opportunity or two for me to investigate Sakai in my 'Katsu' disguise. At least, I hoped so. Mitsuhide couldn't demand all of my time. Unfortunately, I had left all of my personal items at Francisco's and I couldn't count on him to bring them to me (or… find Mitsuhide's townhouse again).

So, as soon as I could be certain (or relatively certain… or… ok, I guesstimated) that Mitushide was tucked into his own bed for the night, I climbed out the window of 'my' room, scampered up to the roof, and hurried the few streets over to land on top Francisco's machiya. The front door would likely be bolted shut at this hour, but why use a door when a window will do?

Francisco apparently didn't sense my entry (probably because he was snoring loud enough to muffle anything short of an explosion), and rather than bother to wake him up, I simply retrieved my clothing and weapons from his office. I wasted no time returning to the identity where I felt the most me. Between the boy's kimono and hakima pants, my sword, and my archery equipment, I felt almost fortified enough to deal with Mitsuhide (not that I planned on shooting him if he annoyed me – but it's good to have options). Unfortunately, the brown kimono, as ugly as it was, might still be a useful disguise at some point, so I stuffed it back into my pack.

More important than the Katsu disguise, and admittedly the reason I had snuck out of Mitsuhide's house, was Aki's letter to me. I unlocked Francisco's desk and retrieved it, and after a moment's consideration, liberated some of my money too. Though I wanted to sit down and read the letter right away, I only had an hour or so before Mitsuhide's prescribed 'be ready at sunrise,' and another visit to make. So, I retraced my steps past the still snoring Francisco, and in moments was making my way across the rooftops to Shojumaru's warehouse.

Though dawn was only hinting at the horizon, the building was already a hub of activity, with sailors hauling crates inside. From my perch on the roof across the street, I could see young Hiko darting about, looking like he was directing the workers to stack the boxes, while a white-haired man dressed in rich gold and brown silks was inspecting the boxes themselves.

He was clearly in charge – was this then, the merchant Shojumaru?

The angle of the roof to the street wasn't sharp enough to allow viewing of what was in the crates. Most were only carried by one man, so they couldn't be too terribly heavy. Fabric, maybe Chinese silk or Indian cotton, seemed to be the most likely contents. At least today then, no one was importing Nanban weapons.

I considered climbing down and introducing myself, using Hiko as a facilitator, but decided to observe Shojumaru from afar first. If I wanted to ingratiate myself with him, it would be good to have an idea of how he personally operated. The sailors who were bringing in the goods treated him with deference, though he kept a healthy amount of personal space between them. He was more overtly affectionate toward Hiko, treating the boy to a rare, and seemingly genuine smile. The only time I noticed him becoming at all uncomfortable was when a poorly balanced crate fell off a cart, landing a puddle with a splat.

A spray of watery mud was flung out in a circle, splashing everyone in the vicinity. When the mud hit Shojumaru, he froze and a look of revulsion crossed his face. He whipped out a hand towel and scrubbed at his cheek and clothing.

After brushing off his clothing, Shojumaru tossed the hand towel to Hiko, and disappeared inside the building, which pretty much ended any plan I might have had to casually encounter him and Hiko in the street. I supposed I could go in and simply introduce myself, but someone just doused in mud was unlikely to be in the friendliest mood. Then again, people who are upset tend to reveal more about themselves. Still, it wasn't great timing, and…

Timing.

Crap. I needed to Cinderella myself back to the townhouse before my "master" woke and found me gone. With a few regretful thoughts about the less than successful morning, I turned, and hurriedly retraced my steps, zipping across the rooftops as if I were a vampire and the sun would turn me to ash.

But even though I managed to return before the sun had fully risen… Mitsuhide was indeed waiting for me when I climbed back through the window.

Speaking of vampires…

Mitsuhide lay on my futon, his arms folded across his chest, almost in a vampiric pose… hm, if he were a vampire, it would explain a lot.

Without opening his eyes, he said, "Good morning, Brat. Did you have a fruitful morning ramble?"

He didn't sound angry.

The second thing I hate about Mitsuhide. He never gets angry at me when I expect him to.