(Thank you to ScarredPunLover, MetalDragon, Sunny, and KoreanWriter for their help brainstorming and editing.)
"...And I'm almost positive that Tzuna, the hawk-keeper at the Seven Li Western Waypoint, is on Danzo's payroll too."
With that, Jiraiya dropped the list of suspected agents he had uncovered in the tributary villages surrounding Konoha onto Orochimaru's desk and stretched expansively, knuckling his back with a grimace of relief.
"So, yeah, Danzo's been busy," Konoha's new spymaster concluded. "Spreading lots of money around, buying secrets to leverage into blackmail for where the ryo just isn't enough… A few honeytraps, but," he added with a leer, his veneer of professionalism cracking ever so slightly, "not as many as I'd expect, and certainly not as many as I'd use myself, were I setting up a network to spy on my own home village."
"Hardly surprising," Orochimaru drawled. "You and Danzo are both slaves to your appetites and those appetites inform your decisions. You believe everybody else is just as much a slave to their desires as you are, while Danzo believes that cooperation is only possible at the end of a kunai, so to speak."
"Goes to show what you know, you scaley bastard," grumbled the most notorious intelligencer in the Elemental Lands, sulking like a child. "I'll have you know that a wandering lech makes for an ideal cover; nobody really wants to ask any questions. Danzo, on the other hand, probably can't even start his morning without traumatizing some poor bastard or another."
"The truth certainly is the best cover, I'll grant you that much." The Hokage idly shot back as he picked up the list and ran his eyes down the names, noting how Jiraiya had added a few pertinent details after each.
Messenger hawk-keeper, message station scribe, hawk-keeper, message station groom, message runner, hawk-keeper… Plenty of agents in communication nodes. Not unexpected, but… vexing.
We had better start recruiting; plenty of vacancies will be open soon.
"Also," Jiraiya added, speaking in the offhanded way he always did when, in Orochimaru's experience, he was feigning disinterest in his topic, "I doubt most of these fools know they're working for Root, since Root isn't even supposed to exist and all that. I'd bet my last ryo that most of them presume they're on the payroll of some noble back in Hanyu with an interest in how Konoha's gonna jump."
The unspoken plea was clear.
"Disloyalty is disloyalty…" Orochimaru started, but then stopped himself.
Like an irritating rash, the bonds of his old teammates itched at the back of his mind. What if Tsunade heard that?That damned itch whispered. What would she do? …What would she do if she heard something else?
"But, perhaps the correction will be… unofficial." It was as far as he was willing to go. False once would always prove false again. "So long as no tangible evidence proves their awareness of their true employer, their pensions will go to their widows, along with the standard apology for accidental death.
"If any of them did know…" Manda's tongue slipped between his lips, flickering above the list of the walking dead. "There is no reason for the crime of the father to pass down to the son."
Two concessions…Orochimaru glanced up, looking Jiraiya dead in the eyes.Take it or leave it, old friend.
Jiraiya met his gaze squarely and held it, then, with aching slowness, finally nodded. "I'll make the arrangements."
"Now, do you have anything else to report?" Orochimaru set the list down and jotted down a note to ask for a grant to hire new messenger hawk-keepers when he next visited the court at Hanyu. "If not, my next appointment is already waiting."
"Throwing me out already?" Jiraiya pulled a face, but started to lever himself up from the chair with a graceless difficulty Orochimaru hoped was entirely feigned and not the product of some licentious off-hours activity. "Fine, fine… Is it the clanheads again? If so, you really should have tidied the place up beforehand; it looks like a papermill exploded in here."
"Not the clanheads, thankfully," Orochimaru replied, ignoring the jibe about the state of his office. He had little choice but to ignore it; any retort or denial unaided by deceptive genjutsu would be pointless in the face of the abundant evidence surrounding the small ordered island of his desk in the sea of stacked paperwork and unarchived reports. "Actually, I will be interviewing a prospective secretary, at Lord Inoichi's recommendation."
"Oh?" A broad grin flashed across Jiraiya's face and he immediately tugged his chair across the office to a wall, dropping himself back down into the groaning furniture. "Well, in that case I'd better stick around then, shouldn't I? As Konoha's chief of intelligence, I need to assess her talents, if you–"
"Out," Orochimaru commanded, pointing first at the door and then, reconsidering, at the window. "I mean to cripple Danzo's eyes and ears before the solstice, and if I miss that deadline, I'll turn you into a rug. Back to work, Jiraiya."
"Yes, Lord Fourth," grumbled Jiraiya, heaving himself back up from his chair to bow sarcastically low to the still-seated Orochimaru. "Anything you say, Lord Fourth. Shun the humble advice of this wandering sage, Lord Fourth…"
"Out."
Only after the window swung closed behind the Toad Sage and Orochimaru detected his old teammate leaping away from the roof of the Academy and off into the direction of downtown Konoha did the Hokage relax. He really hadn't wanted Jiraiya in the room for this interview; considering his old friend's pigsty of a mind and the candidate's particular variation on her clan's jutsu, his presence would have been nothing but an incredible distraction.
Then again, Orochimaru mused, idly summoning an Anbu with a gesture and sending the masked nin to usher his prospective new secretary in, perhaps his presence would have yielded useful data on just how good her poker face can be, and how adept she is at maintaining it during challenging circumstances…
Not to mention that, considering how she would be in an extremely sensitive position if I chose to hire her, I really should expect my spymaster to be capable of interviewing her as a professional.For a moment, Orochimaru considered recalling Jiraiya to his office. His presence could potentially be both productive and amusing, at least for him. It would probably constitute some measure of light torture to his potential new secretary, but what was training but light, carefully moderated torture?
In the end, only professionalism stayed Orochimaru's hand. Torture served many valid purposes, research, training, and private entertainment among them, but when it came to subordinates and coworkers it was best reserved as a punishment for failure or laxity. Only thus was its value as a deterrent preserved.
And I will be relying on her quite heavily, should I accept her for the position… Besides, while our beloved village's newly appointed spymaster is infamous for his wandering eyes, berating him in front of a subordinate on her very first day in my direct service would do nothing but undermine his authority, and my own for having appointed him.
Oh well.Sighing, Orochimaru shook his head and let the thought go, and felt ever so slightly older for having done so. The damned hat really was getting to him. Maybe I'll introduce them after she's gotten settled in. Something to keep her on her toes… Can't let anyone get too comfortable around me.
A light knock announced the candidate's presence. When Orochimaru didn't immediately respond, she let herself in after a respectful pause.
She was blonde, as all of the Yamanaka by blood seemed to be. Just like the rest of her clan, she wore her hair tied back in a high tail which, due to how short her hair was cut, was just barely long enough to qualify as ear-length. Of medium height, she also possessed her clan's willowy build, though the dark olive eyes behind their round-framed spectacles held nothing of the usual Yamanaka range of blues and light grays.
Apart from her chuunin flak vest, nothing about her sartorial choices particularly stood out in Orochimaru's estimation. Her black hakama trousers, below whose cuffs the usual ankle-height sandals common to most nin protruded, paired with an off-white tunic whose wide sleeves were rolled up to just below her elbows, together conspired to convey an image of a professional ready to blend into the background and to get to work without any particular fuss.
Upon her brow, Konoha's Leaf gleamed proudly from her hitai-ate, worn in the traditional manner and, unless Orochimaru missed his guess, freshly polished.
Well done, thought the Hokage. It's those little details that count, wouldn't you say?
"I agree, Lord Hokage," said Yamanaka Sarina in reply to his unspoken statement, just as Orochimaru had expected. She dropped to one knee and pressed a fist to her chest in salute. "Thank you for this opportunity."
"When Lord Inoichi explained your innovation on the old clan jutsu, I had to see it for myself," Orochimaru explained, allowing himself to indulge briefly in his private fascination. Oh, how he yearned to pick her brain on this fascinating new development! "Tell me, Chuunin Yamanaka, is it much of a drain on your chakra reserves to keep that jutsu perpetually running?"
"A small enough drain that you probably wouldn't notice, Lord Hokage," Sarina murmured. "Although, Lord, if I may be so rude… I suspect you would regard the constant noise of other people's thoughts to be quite tiresome. The permanency of the jutsuvery much makes it a guardless sword with no scabbard."
"...Lord Inoichi led me to believe that you could adjust the range of your technique." Leaning back in his chair, Orochimaru steepled his fingers and peered down at the still kneeling chuunin through lidded eyes. He wondered what she was hearing, from him and from the several Anbu concealed in and around his office, and perhaps from the Academy administrators working away on the floor below them, depending on just how wide the area of her jutsu's effect currently was. "Did I misunderstand your uncle's explanation?"
"No, Lord Hokage." And now she had gone pale for some reason. Most peculiar. "I can adjust the range, from as little as an armspan to a distance around ten times my height. The usual range is about five armspans, though, and constricting or widening the range increases the chakra draw. I can choose to sacrifice chakra for focus, hearing one thought more loudly, or for intake, hearing several different peoples' thoughts all at once, but unless I'm alone there's no way to shut out other peoples' thoughts completely."
"How much can you hear?" Orochimaru pressed, increasingly curious. "How do you know that you are actually hearing the thoughts of other people in your range instead of auditory hallucinations fabricated by your technique, based on what you could reasonably guess others around you are thinking?"
The infamous Shintenshin no Jutsu of the Yamanaka Clan, the Mind-Body Switch Technique, was straight ninjutsu, as were, to his knowledge, all of its variants and child techniques. What Sarina was describing sounded almost more like a genjutsu with its lack of any alteration of the material world and its effective alteration of the user's senses. He would be greatly disappointed if this turned out to merely be ajutsu that emulated schizophrenia for the user.
…On the other hand, he thought, mind wandering, perhaps such ajutsucould prove a useful tool for the Torture and Interrogation Unit? Forcing a subject's own mind to torture them for us… it might be rather entertaining to watch, and certainly cost effective. Probably easy to clean up as well, always a useful consideration.
"Ah…" Sarina blinked, nonplussed by the second question. "I… can't say that I'm particularly creative, Lord Hokage," came her careful answer. "Nor would I say that I'm particularly good at cold reading people either. If I could reasonably guess at people's thoughts to the extent where I could instantly guess what they were thinking constantly, I would be very impressed with myself.
"As for how much I can hear?" She squared her shoulders and lifted her eyes to meet Orochimaru's gaze directly. "I can only hear surface thoughts, Lord. If you don't actively think about something within your internal narrative, I can't hear it. But… If you do think about something, and if you're within the range of my effect, I will hear it. I have no other choice."
"...You seem ill at ease, Chuunin Yamanaka," the Hokage observed. He had a feeling he knew why, but teasing the words out from his new subordinate's own mouth rather amused him.
Ah, foolish of me, I seem to be slipping into bad habits,he chided himself, recognizing his own indulgence. It wouldn't do for me to end up like Danzo, hmm? A miserable old fool unable to trust anyone without breaking them first. No, no, a wise master understands that they must trust their tools.
Orochimaru directed his thoughts towards his potential new secretary, allowing himself to radiate his intentions where normally he would strive to keep them concealed. You can trust me,ChuuninYamanaka, to take your words in the spirit intended. Is there a particular reason for your disquiet? You have my permission to speak freely.
"You have contemplated vivisecting me four times since I knocked on your door, Lord, and simply killing me seven times," Sarina reported, her voice level with only a hint of a tremble to betray her nerves. "Lots of men notice me and think about me, so I've grown used to thoughts like thosefrom Lord Jiraiya. Few people think about people quite the way you do, Lord.
"A-and…" she swallowed, her face blanching still further somehow, "I apologize for hearing yours and Lord Jiraiya's thoughts before you called me in. I was not deliberately eavesdropping and I constricted my range when I realized who those thoughts belonged to. I will not speak a word of what I heard to anybody, not even my clanhead.
"Please don't kill me."
I really should, you know, Orochimaru thought, unable to suppress amusement from bubbling up within him as he watched the Yamanaka's throat work. From this angle, she did look undeniably mousey, a word whose definition varied significantly in his mind from the common understanding. You are a walking security breach… but, you are also quite a fascinating specimen.
More than that, you have quite the potential to be a useful tool. What kind of fool would I be to discard such a promising subordinate for a reason as banal as fear?Orochimaru smirked, already thinking of all the foolish ways his Teacher, or worse yet, Danzo, would have squandered such an asset. Besides, if I indulged every inclination I felt to make someone bleed, I'd be the Hokage of an emptied village before the first weekly council session concluded. This job, regrettably, requires slightly more little more self control than that.
Although… Speaking of control…Orochimaru's mind twisted back to an all too unpleasant experience of being under someone else's. Stick out your tongue,ChuuninYamanaka.
She promptly did so, no doubt reading from his thoughts exactly why he had asked.
Peering forward, Orochimaru inspected the offered organ, his own forked tongue flicking out to taste the air, hunting for familiar chakra like cold iron and old, wet cellars.
Finding no trace of Danzo's chakra nor the characteristic dark lines of the cursed seal that sealed the tongues of all Root members, Orochimaru nodded and Sarina gratefully closed her mouth again.
"I'm satisfied that you aren't a spy," the Hokage decided. "Now, convince me you'd make a useful secretary.
"Start by telling me just how you would impose order on all this," he gestured at the piled scrolls, the stacked leaves, and drifting pages of forms, reports, and notes by the dozen, and felt his lip curl involuntary, "mess… and then we shall discuss your compensation."
In the year before his elevation, Orochimaru had spent the bulk of his time in the south-east of the Land of Fire, far from both the Northern and the Eastern Fronts, where the war's fury consumed ally and enemy alike in a hungry furnace. Still, even though the South had been a "quiet front" as far as such terms could be applied, there had still been plenty of work to go around.
As one of Konoha's ranking jonin, the time-consuming responsibility for leading counter-raids back across the border had often fallen upon his shoulders and dragged him away from the crude laboratory he had established to keep what experiments he could running. When months turned into years and more and more of Konoha's best were sent north to replenish losses sustained against Kumo and Iwa's crack forces, his responsibilities had grown into the void left by the absence of other jonin. By the peak of summer, Orochimaru was the ranking jonin in the drizzly southeast, and so his responsibility had engulfed and swallowed whole the entire border march.
Recognizing the encroaching chains of paperwork reaching out to enfold him as a menace to his research time, Orochimaru had shamelessly shifted the responsibilities for most of the boring trivia to any subordinate foolish enough to volunteer. Or, at least, foolish enough to not make themselves scarce when he'd arrived at some regional headquarters or another. A task he had only now managed to repeat at his current level of responsibility by appointing Chuunin Yamanaka as his personal secretary. The only responsibilities incumbent with his new authority he had taken truly seriously were those of battlefield command… and of course the implicit politicking that accompanied leadership positions in organizations of a certain size.
While fulfilling the role of battlefield leader had been the most enjoyable part of his responsibilities by far – and it was enjoyable – the political dimension of his various roles were of far greater use to Orochimaru. No amount of geographic distance or trivial tit-for-tat bloodshed ever kept him from participating in the political struggles back home in Konoha and in the Daimyo's capital at Hanyu; even the thorough training and close supervision his genin required had been set aside when he scented opportunity.
That scent had been thick on the salty coastal breeze when the Sandaime Hokage first began contemplating a peace without reparations, without punishment, and without consulting his liege lord in Hanyu. An unforced error, and one that Orochimaru had struck with the speed of a viper lunging for an unwary mouse. First via letters sent back from his headquarters in a miserable little town called Nankoku, and then in person at the plush noble compounds of Hanyu and their more spartan counterparts in Konoha, Orochimaru had quickly made his objections known.
It had been those objections – rendered to fellow jonin and clan heads within Konoha, and to many others without – that had ultimately elevated Orochimaru to the supreme command of all of Konoha. In the process, his responsibility had grown yet again, another great meal of power and necessity glutting his throat. Beyond team, mission, or command, all of the responsibilities and debts incurred by Konoha were now firmly wedged in his craw.
Including all the debts incurred by his predecessor.
"Naughty, naughty, naughty," pronounced Maresuke, Nidaime Daimyo of the unified Land of Fire and hereditary Lord of Hanyu, as he waved a chiding finger in Orochimaru's direction. "Whatever were you thinking, Lord Hokage, to think you had the right to sign treaties with foreign powers without our permission? Such naughtiness…"
"From the depthsss of my heart," replied the genuflecting Orochimaru, speaking slightly louder than usual so the echoing eaves of the audience hall would carry his voice to every corner of the great room, "I sincerely apologize for my unfounded arrogance."
Frozen in the formal posture of submission, alone in the center of the palace receiving chamber, Orochimaru buried his burning pride deep beneath knotted roots and knelt before his sworn lord to speak for all of Konoha.
It was all ritual, of course, and as with all other rituals, the entire ceremony dripped with symbology and trappings.
Trappings such as the blank porcelain mask Orochimaru wore for this formal interview, whose white surface was relieved only by the Leaf gilded across its forehead.
Long before the network of alliances between formerly warring clans coalesced into the hidden village system, masked and veiled representatives of the ninja clans knelt before lords and would offer their services in exchange for ryo. In those grim days of unceasing and borderless warfare, death could come from any angle and at any time. Furthermore, carelessly revealing one's identity could be quite the risk in and of itself.
This led to few ninja presenting themselves as such in public and fewer still doing so without the benefit of a mask to conceal their features. To be identifiable was to be marked out forever as a target. Obscurity was the finest armor and only the supremely strong or the fatally stupid aspired to be recognized on sight.
Some remnants of those days remained. The Hatake Clan still wore their masks whenever anyone not bound to their clan by blood or matrimony could chance a glimpse at their faces. Most members of that dwindling clan even swore to kill anybody who could plausibly identify an unmasked Hatake on an infiltration mission. The Anbu, anonymous in the service of the Hokage, were stripped of clan and personal loyalties for so long as they wore the masks of that special division. The traditional court masks, featureless save for the shining clan symbols painted across the forehead, were another remnant of that old tradition.
Like many traditions, the court masks had once served a crucial role. A surfeit of obscurity was just as crippling to the career of a shinobi or a clan as an instantly recognizable face, fordaimyo rarely handed out contracts to no-name swords for hire. Or, more accurately, they rarely handed out contracts where the mercenary who accepted it could reasonably expect to come back alive to collect. The noble houses could always find a use for disposable bodies, after all.
So, to balance the benefits of continuing to draw untroubled breath with the need for lucrative contracts, the tradition of the court mask arose. Devoid of any identification save for the mark of the clan, whoever wore the mask in negotiation with daimyo paymasters spoke for the clan.
In practice, as few clan leaders trusted intermediaries to make such high stakes agreements in their names, it was all but assured that the ninja under the mask was the clanhead, or at least a close relative or ally. Still, the fig leaf of anonymizing obscurity was enough for the tradition to take hold, especially as the turbulence of those times meant that it could never be taken as granted that the clanhead of today would see tomorrow. The court mask, featureless except for the silver insignia, helped to reassure clients that they dealt with the clan as a whole rather than whatever entirely mortal representative happened to trouble their audience chambers that day.
The coming of Lord Hashirama had changed all of that, of course, as the Shodai Hokage had changed everything else. The man had fought his battles and led his clan with his face bared and his name on the lips of friends and enemies alike. By the time of Konoha's founding, both he and his brother were living legends, as was their fellow founder, Uchiha Madara. None had any use for masks, and so Lord Hashirama had worn no mask when he knelt to the Daimyo of the Land of Fire and pledged his loyalty in exchange for land and privilege.
Tradition, though, is like water, and like water, the tradition of the mask took on the shape of its new container. With the transition from wandering clans free of long-term loyalty or entanglement to settled villages with feudal contracts, the title and role of the Hokage itself became a mask to all outside of Konoha's encircling walls.
When any Hokage spoke, all past and future Hokages spoke as well; the head below the hat might change but the hat would always remain the same.
And so, the hat of office upon his head and his face concealed behind the same porcelain mask first commissioned by Senju Tobirama for his own oath-taking ceremony and worn by every Hokage at every appearance at court since, Orochimaru had come to Hanyu to apologize for "his" overreaches and violations of the sworn loyalty between a vassal and a lord.
All a ritual, but still undeniably a humiliation. Especially since he hadn't been given permission to rise from the submissive posture, as was usually the case, and the Yondaime Hokage would have preferred to immerse himself in acid rather than bow his head for the smirking eyes of the watching courtiers.
"Once would have been bad enough, Lord Hokage, but this really is a repeat thing with you ninja, isn't it?" Maresuke reclined back on his throne, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. As if all of his thoughts didn't have their ultimate source in the various members of his Council of State. "Really, we can't have vassals deciding our foreign policy for us. It simply isn't right!"
As if everything more important than which pair of slippers you will wear today isn't decided for you by your vassals and ministers.
"As you say, Lord," the Hokage replied blandly, eyes firmly locked on the carpeted floor. "I apologize for my arrogance."
This visit to Hanyu had been ill-starred from its inception, to Orochimaru's utter lack of surprise. He had, after all, come to the capital as little more than a beggar, the primary purpose for his visit the renegotiation of Konoha's precarious financials and the securement of further loans to keep the machinery of war greased.
Predictably, just as how he had scented his Teacher's weakness on the winds earlier that year, rivals great and small had in turn sniffed out his own weakness, and in that musk, had scented opportunity.
With its exemption from taxation by the daimyo and its control over a broad swath of highly productive forests, fertile farmland, and the tax and labor base presented by their own vassal communities, Konoha was its own formidable city state. One resented by every aristocratic landlord, temple abbot, and prominent merchant for its favorable contracts and rich holdings in the very core of the Land of Fire. The samurai clans equally resented Konoha as a rival in the mercenary market and, in some cases, for far more personal reasons stretching back to the bad old days predating Konoha's founding.
And that's not even touching on all of Danzo's many puppets, noted the Hokage, recognizing several of the politely sneering faces in his peripheral vision from missions he had conducted on behalf of the Root. Blackmailed, blackmailed, purchased, blackmailed, and… what hook did that old spider have on Lord Yoshimura, again?
Orochimaru pursed his lips behind the mask as he leafed through his memories. Was he the one who reported to a rival nation's Lord, until Danzo suborned and then replaced his contact…? Yes, that sounds about right.
"Apologies alone are not enough to blot your offense from our eyes," came the lofty reply from the empty robe sitting on the throne. "And even if they were, Lord Hokage, We are not the only one you have wronged through your cavalier dealings! Why, our cousin in the Land of Wind is outraged by your continued dealings with his recalcitrant vassal, Sunagakure. Do you know how much effort We had to exert to convince him that We had no role in Konoha's continued refusal to accept contracts from him, even at above market rate?"
Very little, I'd imagine.
"Sssincerely, I apologize for my offense." This time, the Hokage attempted to inject an extra degree of humility into his reply. It was quite difficult, considering just how empty this entire ritual was.
Anything of importance would only happen once the audience was over, when the men who truly wielded power in the Land of Fire established the price for their continued financing of Konoha.
As if proving the point, Maresuke turned to glance over at the row of ministers flanking his throne. One of the robed figures must have given him a sign to conclude the audience, for when the Sovereign of the Land of Fire turned back to the genuflecting Orochimaru, his mask of interest had already begun to slide away.
"Well, let that be a lesson to you," Maresuke vaguely declared, without deigning to elaborate on the specifics of that lesson. "Our council will assess the specifics of the apology you will render to us… and see that this doesn't happen again, Lord Hokage!"
"As you say, Lord," the Hokage murmured, toying with the thought of slipping a few drops of Wind Viper venom into Maresuke's cup, and just how long it would take for the paralytic agent to immobilize the useless twit's diaphragm and leave him to slowly suffocate under the weight of his own ribs. A deliberate choice, that particular poison, for its use as the agent of Maresuke's end would guarantee that the Daimyo would, at least for once, be forced to confront a fraction of the crushing weight of duty that he had spent his whole life shirking.
But then we'd have to source anotherdaimyo, and that could be inconvenient… After the war's over, though…
As Maresuke was swept out of the audience room and a chamberlain announced the court's close for the day, Orochimaru rose from his kneeling bow, doffed the ever-uncomfortable ritual mask, and glanced around the echoing hall. He made careful note of which faces had left with the daimyo whom he had recognized as Danzo's agents or the tools of other major figures in Land of Fire politics and dismissed those as unimportant, mere puppets upon the stage. The remainder, those who had stayed behind in the audience hall and who were still watching him, either from the concealment of small groups busy with "idle conversation" or bold-facedly staring at him, were not quite so unimportant. Relatively speaking.
Some of that last group were even ninja, and even though some had once worn the Leaf upon their brow, Orochimaru was under no illusion that meant any would be inclined to support him in any way. The Twelve Guardian Ninja belonged to the current Lord of the Land of Fire and were sworn to his personal service. This bodyguard of ninja, drawn from members of Konohagakure on detached service and from ninja hailing from the Minor Villages, would act only in accordance with Maresuke's wishes, or, at least, the wishes of those who controlled Maresuke.
But what poor tools Maresuke was able to buy! Standards are slipping everywhere, it seems, including in the Twelve Guardian Ninja.
If Orochimaru had been the captain of his daimyo's bodyguard or in any way particularly concerned with Maresuke's welfare, he would have despaired at the current quality of his new hires. None of the Konoha nin in Guardian sashes were full jonin, with tokubetsu jonin predominanting alongside a handful of over-age chunin.
Of the foreign imports, Orochimaru recognized several from old intelligence reports and threat assessments; only one of the foreigners, a woman from Kusogakure, was accredited as a full jonin and all of Grass's best were deployed alongside Konoha's forces as part of their obligation to their suzerain. None of the Guardians had featured in current reports or assessments, and those who had any deeds of note had left them behind years ago.
Dismissing the ninja, the Hokage proceeded across the audience hall towards one of the small knots of conversationalists, whose feigned nonchalance had fallen completely away before he even got halfway to them. Faces bearded and wrinkled grew sober and guarded, while wizened eyes still bright with intelligence grew sharp and watchful.
Orochimaru concealed a grin. Unlike both the washed up bodyguards and the puppet on the throne, these men were serious people, and had the brains to treat him seriously. Certainly not friends of Konoha nor of his, but infinitely better than the useless puppet they ruled through along with the rest of the advisors and ministers on the Council of State.
"Lord Okubo," Orochimaru named the Minister of the Purse, who returned a fractional nod in greeting. "Lord Hayasaka, Lord Tsuji," the Hokage nodded in acknowledgment to the Minister of Armies. "Captain-Minor Sakakibara. Captain-Minor Itagaki."
"Lord Hokage," drawled Lord Hayasaka, greeting him on behalf of the group. By far the most junior of the knot of influential lords, that act alone was a small snub courtesy of the rest.
A small reminder that, while Hayasaka in particular had been instrumental in Orochimaru's previous gambits at court, past familiarity counted for little with Hiruzen's overstepping as yet unavenged.
"Lord Hokage," said Sakakibara, along with a curt nod from his fellow samurai, Itagaki. "About time you got here. Come," he turned and gestured to a loitering servant, who nodded, bowed, and opened the door he had been guarding, "we have a room prepared."
"Ah, what foresightednesss…" Orochimaru murmured, falling into step between the two samurai clanheads, carefully placing himself just a slight fraction of a step back so that any motion from either man for the swords belted at their waists would be easily spotted. "Are you playing host today, Lord Shosuke? Will you be pouring the tea?"
"Would you drink it if I did, White Snake?" asked Sakakibara, his ratlike teeth on display in a quick flash of a yellowed grin. "No, don't answer that. You might just give cause for insult and put Konoha further in the hole."
"Captain-Minor Itagaki," Orochimaru purred, turning to address the other samurai.
Bald as an egg and sporting a bristling gray beard that reached his chest, Itagaki, like Sakakibara, hailed from the Land of Fire's north, and, like the Sakakibara Clan, his clan retained considerable holdings in the lands bordering Wind, Rain, and Earth. Unlike Sakakibara Shosuke, Itagaki Hidekai hadn't been made a shugo by the Daimyo and so was compelled to follow the constable's lead, despite the bad blood between their clans.
"Any news from the north? Nara Matsumuro sends his regards and best wishes, by the way. I do hope your wound is improving?"
"Tell the jonin the wound has healed," grunted the samurai, "Lord Hokage," he added a moment later, belatedly remembering that he wasn't at the front anymore.
"I will," assured Orochimaru, eyes roving the small conference room Sakakibara had led them to. "Though, only after you tell me more about the circumstances of your injury, Lord Itagaki… Jonin Nara writes quite the reticent report, you see, and pulling details from him…" Orochimaru chuckled. "I'd have an easier time extracting his teeth!"
The conversational chitchat limped on as seats were found on the cushions around the low table and the tea was poured – by servants in the livery of the Hanyu Palace, Orochimaru noted, instead of any of the nobles' own household – until the last servant had bowed his way back out of the room and closed the door after him.
With the soft clack of wood on wood, the conversation fell silent as every eye turned to Orochimaru.
"We can speak openly," the Hokage assured the assembled potentates of the Land of Fire. "I do not detect any interlopers within these walls and I have erected a barrier against sound or movement across the thresholds of this room. Unless either of the captain-minors is in possession of a different opinion, our wordsss here are guarded."
Itagaki tensed for a moment, then grunted something vaguely like agreement. His interest piqued, Orochimaru smiled politely, mind whirring as he vivisected that little gesture.
A bluff, perhaps? A chakra skill thatsamurai have concealed? Perhaps some ally of Itagaki's once taught him a few pieces ofninjutsu? Unconventional, yet hardly impossible.
Or simply the accumulated wisdom of an old warrior who has survived on chakra-rich battlefields?
"Well then…" sighed Okubo, stroking his beard. "No sense dragging things out…" The old treasurer's eyes sharpened as he fixed on Orochimaru. "So, Lord Hokage, what's to be done, hmm?"
"At present estimatesss, Konoha will become insolvent in two months," Orochimaru bluntly stated, setting his teacup aside and steepling his hands before him. "I don't believe I need to spell out what that will mean for the war effort, gentlemen."
Nobody contradicted him. Everybody in attendance well-understood that gold was the sinew of war. They also understood that ninja fought in exchange for ryo and that, if a village or a clan was unable to pay their ninja, those ninja might soon seek employment with someone who could. Some defections could be sustained, but past a certain point the downward spiral where the lack of ninja and ryo fed upon each other would leave nothing of any hidden village but a withered husk.
"Sad news," said Lord Tsuji blandly, who, as the Minister of Armies, was partially concerned with fielding the forces raised from the fiefs held by the Daimyo both as part of his office and as a lord in his own right. His chief concern at the moment, however, was ensuring that supplies and stipends reached all the forces raised by the Land of Fire, vassals included.
To such a man, this was no news at all.
"Unfortunately," Tsuji went on, "as the Minister of the Purse here will tell you, while war is excellent for the economy in some ways, there is an unfortunate tendency for raiders to wander about slaughtering merchants. Not to mention the swarming bandits and deserters descending upon the Land of Fire like locusts in a field of corn. Suffice to say, Lord Hokage, you are far from alone in your troubles."
"And unlike you," Sakakibara butted in, "the rest of us have to pay taxes on top of all the costs associated with fielding an army, all while trying to keep the roads clear and the scales honest."
"And not all of us have Konoha's enviable proximity to the main highways," noted Itagaki, backing up his fellow northerner. "Nor, I should point out, the luxury of a safe home, afforded only to those lucky enough to live far from the frontier."
And thesamuraitake the opportunity to press for their own grievances, Orochimaru noted, carefully picking his teacup back up and swirling the steaming beverage.
He peered over his steeping tea to eye the two warlords across the table. I believe Itagaki's fief was raided back when the war started, but he's had abundant opportunities to rebuild now that Iwa's offensive has been thrust back… Or he would have, had he not all of his outstanding gambling debts to service. As for my old friend Sakakibara…
"Lord Sakakibara," Orochimaru shook his head indulgently, smiling at the rat-faced samurai across the table, "come now. We are all ssserious men here! Leave the rhetorical gamesss for the fools outside in the audience chamber. We both know, and Lords Okubo and Tsuji can attest, that all the lords who are taxed are financially supported by the Daimyo and hisss Council of State while their armies are at Hisss Highnessss's service. Konoha, due to our unique state of vassssalage, tender our contributions to the common purse in livesss and steel in exchange for the charter of our village."
"...The Yondaime Hokage is correct in his point," said Okubo, interceding before Sakakibara could speak. "But regrettably, while Konoha might be lacking the liquidity necessary to continue paying your ninja for their services, the Minister of the Armies is correct in his assertion that we are all in a tight spot."
The old scholar brought out a long, intricately gilded opium pipe, ivory yellowed with age and use, along with a miniature ceramic jar. When he removed the lid, the rich taste of the resin, shockingly mediocre for a man of Okubo's rank, numbed the tip of Orochimaru's flickering tongue.
"I fear that matters will fail to improve any time soon," the Minister of the Purse went on, carefully working a small ball of the sticky poppy distillate into the pipe's bowl. "The harvest was bad this year, Lord Hokage, quite bad. Too much rain in the north, too little in the south, and too few hands all around to help with the harvest. While I doubt we will see any particular food disruption, much less famine, the price of rice and all other grains will rise dramatically. Considering how our alliance with Wind, and with Sunagakure, relies heavily on the export of cheap grains…"
"...Most unfortunate indeed, Lord Okubo," Orochimaru murmured, fingers drumming against his teacup.
Well, I hardly expected these old fools to hand over their money without a fight… But food prices? What do they think I can do about the price per bushel, I wonder?
The pace of his drumming accelerated slightly.
No… Orochimaru's tongue slipped out to taste the private room's air, a mingle of sweet wood and lacquer, fresh tea, halitosis, and the unmistakable earthy funk of opium. Ignore the particulars. They know that Konoha is stretched thin, and so are taking the opportunity to place a premium on the aid they know the village requires.
In that case…
Yellow, vertically-slitted eyes roamed around the tea-room, weighing up each of the five other occupants. Orochimaru had memorized the salient points of each of their dossiers before he had left Konoha.
Lord Okubo Sadao, a non-samurainoble who sits on the Council of State as the Minister of the Purse, in control of the finances of theDaimyoand his government. He is independently wealthy, thanks to his clan's large landholdings and productive forests. A rich man, he employs a commensurately large number ofashigaruand clanlesssamurai. He is an opiate addict, but the narcotic has yet to dull his mind.
Lord Tsuji Jinzaburo, asamuraiwho fought during the Second Great Shinobi War before dedicating himself to politics, rising to sit on the Council of State as the Minister of the Armies despite not being the head of his clan. Despite his keen mind and monk's face, he has an appreciation for the pleasures of the flesh that might even make Jiraya blush. Though, fortunately, not to the point that it reduces the quality of his work. Resents his elder brother Kazushige for his position as the head of the Tsuji clan, a position owing entirely to Kazushige's birth and nothing to his lackluster achievements that pale beside Jinzaburo's own.
Lords Sakakibara Shosuke and Itagaki Tetsuzan… are just here as representatives of both the northern landholders and thesamuraiofficers on the Northern Front. Both are properly titled Captains-Minor when leading troops in the field, but neither can claim to be in contention to be a Captain-Major, though Sakakibara unquestionably has ambitions to rise further. Itagaki is heavily in debt due to his gambling habit, while Sakakibara pays hush money to cover up multiple murders committed during those little fits of his that earned him the nickname 'Head-Chopper.'
And lastly, Hayasaka Suemori, quietly watching from the corner of everyone's eye and doing a fantastic job blending into the background… A rich man with a decent following, his real power is that he's connected to everyone and everyone is, somehow, connected to him. He specifically has good relations with many of the merchant houses and municipal bureaucrats here in Hanyu.
Their demands and desires are as varied as they are pressing. Settling all the debts my predecessor has bestowed upon Konoha with them will be… Orochimaru winced, watching in his mind's eye as the accumulated leverage of years was flushed away,difficult.
But… he licked his lips. I have… options. And there is no value in a tool that cannot be used in due season.
"My lords," Orochimaru set his teacup down, allowing the slight thump of ceramic on wood to punctuate his words. "I believe I understand the root of your concerns quite clearly. You are… concerned… that Konohagakure is not, as it were, quite pulling its weight."
All five faces were impassive in their cool regard, peering over teacups or, in Okubo's case, the trailing tail of pipesmoke. Orochimaru favored them all with a smile.
"It is an understandable worry," he continued, "especially after Konoha has done so much in recent months to undermine your confidence in our commitment to this war. My predecessssor did not consult you before he sought peace with the enemy, nor did he consider your losssses when he signed articlesss of peace with them that lacked any restitution for your lost property and honor. Were the enemy not so foolish as to tear up those treatiesss before the ink had even dried, we would be sadly bound by them still.
"But words are cheap, while action is dear, yesss?" Manda's stolen tongue flickered out between his lips, caressing the air and delivering the emotions his audience sought to conceal behind their own courtly masks straight to Konoha's White Snake. "Allow me then, my lords, to offer some small tokens of Konoha's commitment to its allies.
"Lord Okubo," Orochimaru addressed the old scholar first, shoving his disdain for the man's poppy-eating habit down; at least now the Minister of the Purse could dull his mind with product of a quality worthy of his station. "When you return to your estate this evening, you will find a small gift from the golden plains of the Land of Earth waiting in your personal chamber. I understand that the vagaries of war have made purchase of the finest quality product quite difficult to manage."
Ancient eyes gazed back at him from the haze like a turtle staring up through the water. Orochimaru met Okubo's stare boldly, holding still as the man sized him and his promised gift up.
Yes, we both know the score, don't we? You do put quite a lot of work into your security, don't you, Lord Okubo? And yet, I reached your bedroom all the same.
"A kind gift indeed, Lord Hokage," Okubo nodded at last, and took another drag. "Very thoughtful."
"And for you, Lord Tsuji," Orochimaru turned to the Minister of the Armies, master of the marching troops yet never the master of his own home, "I'm afraid that someone informed the husband of your brother's mistressss about his little escapades.
"Regrettably, the dishonored husband has put out a considerable bounty on your brother's head." Orochimaru shook his head, a feigned expression of sympathy plastered across his face, "Quite the considerable sum, for the master of a relatively lowly household, but more than enough to qualify for the attentionsss of any joninlooking to earn a tidy profit."
"Is that so," Tsuji said, low and husky as if fearing being overheard… Or as if he was giving voice to an emotion he had kept carefully pent up for a very long time. "I suppose I should thank this mysterious benefactor who cares so much about the sacred bond of matrimony, shouldn't I…?"
Orochimaru's grin grew another fang wider.
"Yes," the Hokage agreed with an exquisitely humble nod. "You are most welcome, Lord Tsuji."
By the time his gaze found Sakakibara's, the man already looked angry; Orochimaru had known the samurai for years, though, and knew enough to look past the anger to see the fear behind it.
"Don't bother," the constable growled. "Whatever you are offering, I'm not interested."
"Why bother purchasssing what I have already bought?" Orochimaru wondered aloud, and made a show of rolling his eyes. "You and I have already worked out our understanding, have we not, Lord Sakakibara? War to the end with Lightning and Cloud, and with Earth and Stone whenever the Tsuchikage ceases to dither and rejoinsss the war in earnest. How can I deliver on that promise, Lord Sakakibara, without the ryo necessary to keep my ninja in the field?"
The rat-faced samurai grew red, and he opened his mouth to voice some irritated protest. Orochimaru opted not to give him the chance.
"But!" Orochimaru held up a hand and reached into the folds of his robe, "Let it not be sssaid that I am a miserly vassssal of the Land of Fire. I can still spare a small gift for you too, Lord Sakakibara. Consider it a… token of our friendship…"
The storage seal atop the small piece of paper the Hokage retrieved disgorged its contents in a belching cloud of smoke. When the fumes of the summons dispersed, three severed heads each with a neatly bound stack of ryo notes protruding from its lips sat in a neat line in front of Sakakibara.
"The slanderers who have tarnished your good name have been permanently dealt with, Lord Sakakibara," Orochimaru happily explained, "and the monies they have extorted from you have been reclaimed from their next of kin. Whoever that might be. Konoha looks after its allies, Lord Sakakibara."
Sakakibara sneered at the heads, but didn't voice any further protest. More to the point, he couldn't hide the look in his eyes, the one that spoke of a man who wasn't entirely displeased with this turn of events.
"And on a similar note," Orochimaru turned to the second samurai, a second piece of paper in his hand. Instead of a summon seal, though, only a list of names and figures occupied this sheet. "Lord Itagaki, you may ressst easy at night in the confidence that all passst… misunderstandings have been wiped clean from your account."
"That is… most generous of you, Lord Hokage." The burly samurai retrieved a kerchief from his sleeve and mopped his bald pate. "The fact that we cannot just subsidize Konoha remains outstanding, though."
"Ah!" Orochimaru held up a quelling finger, "Let'sss not get to that quite yet. I still have a token for Lord Hayasaka, as well as a small offer for all of you."
"Oh? For me too?" Hayasaka leaned forward, the facade masquerading as a face shifting into an expression of earnest anticipation. "I wonder what it could be!"
"Asss, I am sure, is everyone else in attendance," the Hokage smoothly replied. "And yet, perhaps best not to be too forthright… I will just say, Lord Hayasaka, that should you find yourself heading north from Hanyu and you choose to stop in a town called Beppu, I would advise you to ssseek out an inn called the Five Fragrances. When the proprietressss asks for your reservation, say that the Toad Sage sent you, and be sure to requessst the special menu. Anything you order will go on Konoha's tab."
Or more specifically, on Jiraiya's. And, Orochimaru concealed a private grin,he can't do a thing about it because this is an entirely legitimate bribe placed to advance the interests of the village!
"I will keep that in mind, Lord Hokage," the courtier promised, relaxing back onto his cushion and ignoring the sidelong looks from the other four men in the room. "Now… I believe you mentioned something about an offer?"
"Did I?" Orochimaru mimed surprise, and then chortled to himself, a signal to the rest to join in a round of appreciative laughter. Orochimaru took the opportunity to sip some tea to soothe his throat, and found to his disappointment that it had gone cold and bitter. "Yes, I did sssay something to that effect…"
Setting the cup aside, the Hokage steepled his fingers before him and surveyed the lords arrayed before him.
Representatives of the ministerial faction, representatives of the northern army, and a representative of the urban elite of Hanyu… More than enough.
"The Black Book is reopened," Orochimaru announced. "Any contracts that require sensitive, discreet handling… of any sort, no questions asked, will now be accepted. Targets within the Land of Fire will be accepted, so long as they are not presently involved in prosecuting the war."
Officially, the Black Book did not exist; officially, Konoha had never accepted the contracts tucked away in the folio sealed into a hidden drawer in the Hokage's desk. Unofficially, Hiruzen had put the word out over a decade ago that Konoha would no longer accept certain kinds of contracts, and that efforts to challenge him on this matter would result in very definitive no-warning penalties.
Combined with Konoha's vigorously enforced monopoly on all ninja work within the Land of Fire, this had left nobles with only crude mortal instruments in their pursuit of goals best kept far from the light of day. While some would likely continue to opt for those means, cheap and disposable as they were, Orochimaru was convinced that the truly serious customers would jump at the opportunity. Black Book contracts commanded high premiums, as discretion closely-guarded even by ninja standards did not come cheaply bought, but the results would speak for themselves.
And unless my understanding of human nature is dramatically misinformed, that should mean that a considerable level of accumulated and pent-up demand is simply waiting to pourryoupon us, to thrust coins into Konoha's coffers hand over fist. Regardless of the size and availability of direct subsidies from theDaimyoand his ministries, the Land of Fire's nobility will support Konoha as customers if not as reliable allies.
"Please spread the word to your fellows or keep it from them as your heart desires," Orochimaru concluded, smug in his victory. He could already see the looks on their faces, the desire burning in their eyes, each private and intense. "But, my lords, should Konoha lack for business… or for funds, I shall make a point to advertise our services more broadly.
"Now, let us return to the topic of Konoha's liquidity, shall we?"
Two hours on into the private meeting, the topic had drifted away from the present and back into the misty past.
Itagaki, Tsuji, Sakakibara, and of course, Orochimaru had all fought for the Land of Fire during the last Great Shinobi War, back when it had been Wind and Sunagakure who fought alongside Earth and Iwagakure, the eternal enemy, in place of Lightning and Kumogakure. While Orochimaru had little fondness for recalling his own exploits in those four long years of mud, boredom, and blood, he listened keenly and attentively as the other three veterans expounded on their own war stories.
After all, it wasn't often that a shinobi had a chance to listen to multiple accomplished samurai describe their own impressions of war and what they had learned from it. Such information was always at a premium; considering how much killing even a mediocre samurai required, any information that hinted at hidden capabilities, weaknesses, or psychological vulnerabilities was precious indeed.
"–ouldn't you know it, but that damned puppet came back again!" a decidedly red-cheeked Tsuji was saying, his spare face lively with alcohol-fueled enthusiasm and sake dribbling down his arm as he gestured, choreographing the swing of the long since smashed puppet's final dance. "That wooden sonofabitch had a fucking spike hidden in its torso, you see – popped right out when I hit it last – but that Suna fool must have tangled up its strings because it slammed into me crotch-first, not chest-first!"
An appreciative round of chuckles went up from Hayasaka and a very dreamy Okubo, who along with Orochimaru had fallen into the vague role of audience for the trio of old warriors. Orochimaru abstained from that particular chuckle because of the slight but incessant sensation of pressure against the ward he had erected around the room earlier. Unlike the servants who had come in and out with refreshments, this pressure had a familiar chakra signature that the Hokage recognized as one of his Anbu guards.
Making his excuses, Orochimaru slipped out from the conference room and down a servant's hall. Once he was confident he was alone, save for the unseen Anbu, he gestured for the shinobi to emerge.
"What is it?" snapped the Hokage, while surreptitiously wiggling his fingers in a non-verbal challenge. He only relaxed when the baboon-masked Anbu made the correct gesture back.
After all, anyone could wear a mask. That was really rather the point.
Feigning a chakra signature would be considerably more difficult, of course, but complacency is death.
"Report," demanded the Hokage again. "What's on fire?"
"No fire this time, Lord Hokage," replied Baboon. Then, the professional detachment wavered somewhat. "It's… Uh… quite a bit worse than that, my lord."
Frowning at the unexpected note of trepidation in the masked chuunin's voice, Orochimaru again reached out with his senses to make sure that the man hadn't been replaced or somehow put under control. Sensing no technique and tasting only the man's scent, Orochimaru gestured, somewhat frustrated, for him to get on with it.
"Sarutobi Hiruzen, the Sandaime Hokage, is dead, lord. A messenger hawk just arrived. He was found out in his garden, slumped over. The medic-nin who examined him believes it was poison."
The man paused. Orochimaru could almost imagine his jaw working, below that expressionless monkey mask.
And how fitting it was, he realized, that a monkey should bear me the news that the Monkey King is gone.
"The… The rumor, my lord… The rumor is that you were the last one to see him, my lord, and that… you killed him."
For a long, long, moment, the Hokage only stared at his Anbu, his eyes distant, calculating. The masked chuunin, despite the incredible discipline beaten into him by years of training and hard experience, despite the resolve that would see him die to order without a whisper of objection or dissent, began to fidget under the weight of his gaze.
Eventually, Orochimaru's eye twitched, his hypnotic spell breaking in that minute show of human emotion. As the chuunin Anbu tried not to sag with relief, the Hokage snarled under his breath, "...I wish I had killed the damn fool.
"...That way, at least, I might have gotten some kind of satisfaction over his death. As it is…" The Hokage's eyes refocused on the luckless Anbu, seeming to see him again. "Send word to the others," he ordered. "We return to Konoha tonight."