A long chapter! The 1848 flashback picks up from last chapter. Two samurai and one attendant woman have happened across Miki and Hiko 12 on the mountain.
1848
Lying upon the outskirts of the prefecture was a mountain, and upon the mountain in the midst of a thick wood forrest was a clearing, and in the clearing stood the last of the onna-bugeisha class, a long endangered species, and her young disciple, a well-bred, privileged boy from a line of nobility that had all but died out. They stood packed together like startled rabbits in tall grass, swordsmen caught out by strangers and their polite greetings, like they hadn't a clue civil society still existed out there.
"Young Master Himura! I salute you." The woman Miki recognised as an attendant of his family fell to her knees, bowing deeply.
Hiko Seijuro the Twelfth and Miki had no choice but to put their argument on standby and act like they had not just been screaming at each other when the newcomers came rushing up to them. They separated quickly, Miki violently pushing Hiko and himself apart, Hiko prodding Miki away with the sheathe of her sword.
"Young Master, oh my gods, thank the buddha! You're alive. You're alive and well!" The attendant let out a dramatic sob, and actually grasped at the ends of Miki's hakama. She looked up at him with large, hopeful eyes, as if he were the last part of an important equation, a complete puzzle spread.
The other two men followed, going to their knees before Miki and looking at him with just as much enthusiasm. "Oh…it is you, Young Master. We've finally found you."
"We thought you were dead, Young Master!"
The men muttered incessantly, rising from their knees.
Hiko Seijuro took one look at them and her demeanour changed. She took a measured step back, a spring ready to support a charging attack, and reached for her sword.
"Shishou!" Miki leapt in front of her. "Please, don't. I know them — I know their faces. They were in my father's employ. They're from my clan."
Hiko stared at the newcomers with a surprisingly loathsome face. But as her eyes lowered to Miki's, the thin line of her mouth softened. She gave him a sympathetic look. "You don't have a clan anymore, Miki."
She was right. Below the mountain there used to lie not a few scattered, penniless villages, but a strong, wealthy clan estate, and within that estate there used to be a powerful, proud family, and now there lay nothing but scattered ashes on the wind, abandoned wastelands from which people fled from war and wildfire, long grass watered by blood.
Hiko Seijuro was right. Miki had no clan. But the truth in her words inflamed Miki, causing him to grit his teeth and see red. She had promised him there was no one else. She had even gone down the mountain to check, to look for survivors or clan vassals, each time coming back shaking her head.
Had she lied to him?
Had she deceived him so Miki could be keep being her disciple?
Blissfully ignorant.
Miki turned back to the attendants. "Don't call me Young Master. I was never called that before. What are you doing here?"
The samurai and attendant looked at one another. "We're here to bring you home, Young Master…there have been rumours that a Himura heir survived the fire! When we who were loyal to your father heard this, we immediately set out to find you."
"Young Master Miki," the attendant woman said, getting off her knees to look at his face, regarding him like he was the centre of the universe, "we're here to bring you home."
"I don't have a home."
Miki looked to the Himura Clan insignia on their clothes: two ginkgo leaves on a single stalk. Splayed like fans in symmetrical fashion. Still bright and proud. It had been too dangerous to wear this identifier after Miki had left; he had stripped his gi and locked the ginkgo insignia away in a chest. But here they were, scratched but still adorned on samurai armour, on vassals who were pledged to the Himura Clan.
"What happened after the fire?" Miki asked. "Were my mother, father, and brother's remains ever found? Where have they been laid to rest?"
The attendants shuffled, looking between each other forlornly. The attendant woman stroked her dagger. "Young Miki, we'd tell you everything, but…"
Her eyes darted to the looming form of Hiko, who had crossed her arms and was looking at the surviving Himura attendants with a look of distaste. Like she was having trouble swallowing a particularly bitter pill. As they all turned to stare at her, Hiko shut her eyes, uncrossed her arms, and began walking away.
"Take your guests to the house, deshi. Speak to them there. Ask them whatever you need to, get it out of your system," she said, as she wandered away. "I'll go to the well, fetch some water."
With that, Hiko Seijuro coldly left them.
Miki, now feeling especially exposed out in the open — where he hadn't been able to sense the attendants until they were practically in his face — invited them indoors to the hut. Once inside, the samurai kept staring about the hut, taking in the humble shelves, the dirt floor, the simple, straw shades, and seemed shocked at the living arrangements of the last surviving Himura heir. The only thing not made of clay, terracotta or straw in the hut were a few wooden bokkens and swords on a home-made rack.
It seemed, quietly, to dawn on the guests that this was the perfect cover to hide a prideful Himura.
Even if they had the gall to make the trek up the mountain, no one could possibly think of a wealthy Himura heir squatting in such a humble abode. Hiko Seijuro the Twelfth had been a wanderer herself, travelling to find a disciple until she ended up in the crossfire between the Himuras and their enemies.
The samurai and attendant knelt opposite to Miki, all eyes on him. "…So this is where you've been all this time, Young Master?"
Miki nodded. "I didn't know…I was not aware there was still…still people left. I thought the Hanadas burned everything."
"They did," the first man said. "Those Hanada scum!"
"They burned everything to the ground," the second said. "…Your family perished, that is true, Young Master…but some of your people survived. Many still loyal to your father. After we heard one of your father's sons had escaped, had survived — we went looking!"
Miki could barely believe his ears. He asked after his family again, but the samurai looked down, ashamed, before they told him nothing was ever found. The fire had destroyed everything, no remains could be recovered. The surviving Himura loyalists from his father's employ had sent scouts out to find the surviving son, hoping to restore the clan. Although they did not say it, Miki could tell by the conflicted looks on their faces they had hoped it was his strong brother who survived. Miki briefly wondered if the samurai and attendant were disappointed to find him instead.
Before long, the conversation turned to their current affairs. The attendant laid out their wishes to have him return.
"Please, come with us," the samurai begged. "Come back to the village. You can't be safe here. We're not the only ones searching. There are also scouts from the Hanada Clan, who have heard the same rumours as we. They are hunting you, Young Master."
"You must return," the attendant said. "You're a Himura."
Miki shuffled on the ground uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at them. He hadn't known there were people this loyal to his father, to his Clan, that there were people waiting for his return, no matter which son had survived.
People had fled for their lives from the villages at the foot of the mountain, from the many farmlands scattered around. They had fled from war and conquest. To Miki, there was no one else on earth more adept in the art of war and conquest then the Himura Clan, who had started those wars, sparked conflict, snatched land after land, and drove many other clans to extinction — all under the insignia of the twin ginkgo leaves.
Miki didn't know what to think.
At this moment, the attendant brazenly reached out, seizing Miki's hand. It prompted Miki to look up in alarm.
"Please, Young Master," she said, smiling with hardship behind her eyes. It seemed like she was the one who was having trouble swallowing a particularly bitter pill, forcing words out of her mouth. "Come back with us. We will protect you."
Miki thought about it. Thought about the great, white cloak whipping in the wind, the crescent moon insignia upon his master's sword. The number thirteen. These things were once promised to him. When his brother Masakazu started training with the sword, his father, Himura Kin, had renamed Masakazu with a proud warrior's name. His father never gave Miki another name. Miki felt branded with a child's name, a civilian name, a name without meaning or heritage. But this problem seemed so transient, so temporary — as he'd known for almost every day since Hiko Seijuro the Twelfth took him in that he would inherit her's.
Now even that promise seemed to be broken, and he was the one to break it. Everything that Miki knew was like a bunch of dust flying away on the wind, dispersing into the air. Rays of sunlight easily obscured. Writing in sand, washing away. Himura Miki had nothing here. And yet, when his father's samurai asked him to return, to take his place as his father's heir, he said:
"No."
"Young Master?!"
Miki stood up. "No. I am not going back. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but no one called me Young Master when — within the Himura Clan. My brother — he was the Young Master. Himura Masakazu was the heir. My father hated me. I was called a bastard son, nothing in his eyes. And I'm not a naive child," Miki said, facing towards them with fire in his eyes. "…What my father did was nothing I can, or should be proud of. I'm not going back with you.
Miki gestured to the door. "You should leave."
He expected them to anger. To beg and plead. To have a reaction, to yell out, curse him. But instead, the attendant just shrugged, giving a measured, amused look to the others. She seemed to share unspoken words with the two samurai. None of them were looking at Miki, and none of them acted as if they'd heard a single word Miki had said.
Instead, the attendant rolled to the side off her knees, lounging with languid ease. "Oh well, it would have been better if he came, but we can do it here."
"You think so?"
"The tall lady's probably two hundred steps away. No one's coming for him."
"Yeah, I guess. This is the perfect place, 'suppose."
"No one to hear a scream, right?"
"Okay, we'll do it your way."
"Right. You two can ambush the tall lady when she brings us drinks."
That Miki could think there were people that were actually loyal to his father and Clan, or that there could possibly be people waiting for his return, was an almost comedic fantasy. That they had called him 'Young Master' and he, like a fool, did not pick up on the joke, just proved that he was just as much a child he was the night he was scared of something as elementary as the dark.
Believing their stories, their indulgent white lies, even if for a moment, was a boy playing make-believe.
Miki dived for the swords. But the first samurai moved when he did, a hand clamping shut on his ponytail. Miki was yanked back by the hair, pulled sideways to smash into the wall, and then yanked back up again.
"Oh, Young Master — young, young, dumb, dumb, Master. Should have looked at your face when we said you could come back. Tsk, tsk." He put his hand over Miki's face, pushing him violently into the shelves, smashing his head through them.
"Wait, wait, Yin, don't mark his face!" the attendant said, her voice piercingly loud. "We need him to be recognisable when we put his head on a Hanada pike."
The other of the two men grasped the collar of his gi, hauled him back up. He pushed him into the opposite wall hard, forcing him against it. Then he leaned in, speaking into his ear. "Bastard boy, did you really think there could be anyone left loyal to Himura Kin?"
Miki said nothing, just spat his defiance.
The samurai sighed. He pointed to the Himura insignia on his armour. The twin ginkgo leaves gleamed, the scratches on it clear to him now. They had been inflicted deliberately, scratched out with the tip of a sword.
"See this, bastard?" The samurai shook Miki forcefully until he looked. "This shit is real. I worked like a dog for your father. Your father, your blithering, murdering, thief of a father. How do you think we started working for him? Oh right. He burned our farms, killed our dads, sold our mums. Fucked our sisters. Then he made us fight for him. Bleed for him. Do you want to know how the Himura estate could possibly have been breached by those petty little Hanada scum? It wasn't. The fire was started by us. By Himura clansmen. We signalled whatever was left of the Hanada Clan to attack with the fire. We were done slaving for a man like Himura Kin."
Miki wriggled out of the man's hold, yelling and grunting. Deep down he knew they were right. His father was not a good man, far from it, and he probably deserved his end. He had killed hundreds of people needlessly, beheaded generations of men and women for his own gain. The more the Himura estate grew, the more of their subdued enemies there were to be forced to submit. Himura Kin was hated by everyone, the Himura name nothing but a tainted one. A warlord's name. A tyrant's call to arms.
But tears streamed down Miki's face anyway, because these men started the fire that burned down his house; they started the fire that killed his mother, that killed his beloved brother Masakazu — and that was unforgivable.
Miki grabbed the first sword he could, slipped to his side, and with all the power he could muster, and with all the fury of the Hiten Mitsurugi ryu — he pushed forward with perfect, concise battou-jutsu.
A large chasm of a breakage appeared in the traitor samurai's armour, pressing parts of the distorted chest piece into him. He screeched in pain. Miki braced to attack again, but the training sword he'd picked was heavy and largely blunt, one of the ones he hadn't yet worked up the strength to train with yet; the second samurai easily parried, wedging it deep into the walls. Miki yanked, trying desperately to free it, but was forced to let go as the samurai slashed at him.
In the time the samurai and Miki had clashed, the attendant woman had moved as well, snatching the rest of the swords away, well out of reach. With no sword, the second samurai laughed and threw his own sword confidently away. Then he advanced on Miki. They scuffled about in the hut, legs, arms, knees kicking and whacking. Miki, no match in strength to an adult samurai, was easily pushed to the ground.
"Pst! Miss Eiku! Hand me my sword."
"Why did you throw it if you were just going to get me to hand it back?" the woman, Eiku, said indignantly. She reached out. As she did, her outer cloak parted, exposing the round crest of another clan insignia. A single, four-petaled hydrangea flower. The insignia of the Hanada Clan.
Eiku unsheathed the sword, awkward in her movements as someone who wasn't used to handling them.
But the second she handed the sword to him, Miki would die.
Yet the sword never reached Miki's would-be-killer. The high pitched sound of tamehagane steel clashing with metal sounded, the pleasing, familiar clang of Winter Moon breaking the atmosphere. Blinking up, Miki was just in time to witness Hiko Seijuro put her sword through his attacker's throat. Through the throat, the tip of it was pointed straight in Miki's face.
"Get up, Miki."
Eiku screamed, her voice piercing, and she and the first samurai Miki wounded, Yin, escaped out the hut.
The dead samurai's body fell forward on Miki, his blood wetting his clothes, pooling on the floor.
"Himura Miki, I said get up!"
Hearing his master's voice clearly, Miki obeyed.
"Hold back the woman!" Hiko commanded. "We can't let them escape. They know your face and where to find you!"
The samurai with the chest wound turned to face Hiko, unsheathing his sword adorned with the twin ginkgos. He charged at her. Hiko's sword strikes looked like a series of flashing mirrors, all blue and white glint as she chopped him to pieces. There were no screams to be heard.
But as Miki stared down the traitor attendant at the same time, her hateful eyes locked on him, the Hanada insignia triggering images in his mind — his sword weighed down on him down once again. He hesitated to use another battou-jutsu. Eiku looked at him, saw the hesitation in his eyes. Then, lips turning up, she simply turned away and ran into the woods.
Hiko yelled in frustration. "Miki!"
She stared down on him incredulously, like she couldn't believe he couldn't take such an easy target. "Why did you not use Hiten Mitsurugi ryu?"
"Shishou, I—"
"This is what I'm training you for!" Hiko yelled, throwing her hands up in the air, the blood on Winter Moon flicking onto Miki's face. It was warm. "This is the entire point, Himura Miki! If you can't do this then why did I make you my deshi?"
She looked at him, ashamed of what she saw. Miki simply breathed, then faced her. "You can read ki. You knew they would draw their weapons on me."
Hiko's eyes narrowed. "Baka-deshi. A disciple at your level should have easily been able to defend himself."
Hearing this, Miki's face went placid, calm. He relaxed abruptly. "All you care about is Hiten Mitsurugi ryu."
Hiko grimaced. She was shocked and unready for his words. "…If you won't even use it to save your life, then don't bother forfeiting your role as my successor, I'll drop you like a sack of potatoes!" She said, annoyed. "Yes! I care about handing down the style, yes, baka-deshi! My ryu cannot be lost to time. Do you have any idea what I had to go through to be what I am? I will not be the weak link, I will not disappoint all eleven of my forebears because you forgot swordsmanship is the art of killing!"
Miki grimaced back at her, balling his hands into fists, screaming back. "I am the son of samurai! Of course I know! I know it!" he screeched back. "—That's why I know there's no honour in killing your master!"
Hiko stared down at him, hearing his accusations. That she was dishonourable, because she learned the succession technique — and her master was dishonourable, because he learned it too; and his master, and his master, and his master. That no technique could justify the greatest sin in bushido, as swordsmen. That Hiten Mitsurugi ryu was ignoble.
She had carelessly revealed to him the succession technique. Only now did she know how much of a mistake it was.
The silence stretched on between them, the blood on Hiko's sword dripping obscenely, every moment they stood there staring a moment more for the enemy Eiku to escape.
Miki looked away. "If not me, you can get another deshi."
Hiko Seijuro's eyes widened perceptively. Then she shut her mouth, curled her cloak around her, and stalked after the Eiku woman, walking into the woods and leaving Miki behind.
"Yes. I can."
Miki watched her tall, white form disappear into the thick of the woods, her prints appearing alongside the attendant's. He began walking back, past the several pieces of the first samurai, back to the hut where another body lay.
Then he simply walked past the hut, out of the clearing, into the woods on the opposite side, until he, too, disappeared.
1885
"Hello, Madam! What may I get for you?"
"Information."
"—Pardon?"
"About missing persons, preferably," Hiko said without losing a beat. She laid her arms on the table, taking up space.
It had been weeks since Hiko Seijuro the Twelfth had killed the traitor Himura samurai, weeks after she spent hours hunting the Hanada Eiku woman in the woods like a needle in a haystack, and weeks since she had turned her back on Miki — and he'd vanished.
At first, she'd paid no mind to the missing Miki, thinking it was much more pertinent for her to silence the Hanada assassin. But after days had passed, the guilty itch at the back of her head had magnified. Neither of their shadows had ever shown up. Hiko Seijuro soon realised Miki had left, going out into the open where Hiko had just let loose a Hanada assassin who knew of his existence.
"Missing persons…have you filed a police report?" the waitress asked, bewildered.
Hiko held back a sigh. "I have," she lied, "but I hear that the owner of this shop could give me a little more…precision for what I want. I'm looking for a boy. I don't trust the police." Besides, whenever did a such a thing as an armed assault group, a body following no lord, occur? Hiko had basically turned around and the Tokugawa Shogunate instated an entirely new thing called a police force. It seemed highly dubious to her.
She tapped a finger on the end of the table, a little show of impatience.
The waitress began wiping down the table, prompting Hiko to lift her arms and lean back into the seat. "I'm sorry, Madam, but the Shirobeko is a restaurant and tea house. If there's any food or drink I could get you, please ask."
Before the waitress could leave, Hiko seized her sleeve, stopping her. Before the waitress could protest, she dropped it. It was an awfully rude gesture, but Hiko had left all her qualms at the mountain, fearing nothing. Not even of looking discourteous.
"It took me a long time to find the Shirobeko," she said lowly. There were a few sparse customers sitting in the teahouse solitarily, but otherwise the place was mostly empty at this odd hour. Hiko swallowed and looked the waitress in the eyes. "They call themselves the 'Yakuza.' You know of them?"
A few of the other patrons turned their heads. Some of them tried to mind their own business, looking intently away. One of them stared openly.
The waitress's eyes widened in more bewilderment. Hiko felt like a bully after noticing the flash of fear in her eyes. It seemed that 'Yakuza' was a name she should remember, if this girl was afraid of them. "Yes, yes. I'll get the manager for you."
It was getting late outside, but not late enough for a teahouse to close its doors, though most of the other patrons began to thin out and leave. The waitress tended to them before disappearing into the back. Hiko eyed the few others at the table, mostly men enjoying a drink after a day at work. Out of the corner of the eye, she briefly noticed the patron who had turned to stare before only had nine fingers as he lifted his cup.
Another lady's shoes clacked against the floorboards, bringing her attention to it. With a small, practical apron covering the intricate flower pattern over her kimono, and her hair tied up casually with a sash, she placed a tea set upon the table with a slight bow. There were two cups on the tray. She sat down opposite her. "Allow me, Madam," she said as she poured the tea.
"You must be the owner, I presume?" Hiko asked, impressed.
"Yes. I'm Saekihara Sae, nice to meet you."
Hiko smiled. Guilt tugged at her suddenly, to bother these civilians while their establishment was near closing time, but she had no choice.
"Call me Seijuro, please," she said, not wanting to give away her surname lest someone recognised it, but all it seemed to do was draw Sae's attention that it was a man's name. "I'm very sorry about startling the waitress. Would you please convey my apologies to her later?"
"Of course," Sae said, taking a sip from the cup.
Hiko did the same. "I am looking for someone I've lost. A boy. But it's been a while now and I'm beginning to get concerned. Wandering aimlessly around isn't helping anyone and I need to find him as soon as possible," she said quickly, straight to the point.
Sae nodded once, concern falling over her face. The man at the other table seemed to look over again.
The second Hiko mentioned a boy, Sae's features had softened with sympathy. "I'm so sorry. It seems you've fallen prey to those kidnappers too. If you've seen the posters outside the police station, you'll know many children have gone missing as of late. I'm sorry."
Sae looked down. "You've already contacted the police, I hear. It's a good start, they'll do everything they can to help you."
"The police seem to me to be concerned with only law and order," Hiko said, like all lordly authorities. "All I want is my boy back."
Sae sat there, blowing softly on her tea. Then she stared at it, as if it held all the answers to this conversation. Most of the other patrons had filed out by this point. The man at the other table, with the nine-fingers, also got up and left. After a while Sae sat up and smiled politely.
"You're not with the Yakuza," she said abruptly.
"No. I'm not." Hiko frowned. "Is it such a title that elicits fear?"
Sae nodded. "Things are changing again," she said, without the fear of being overheard. "There will always be crime in Kyoto city, but the Yakuza have elevated it into art form. They grow more violent by the day. " She shrugged into the tea. "Some have grown strong enough to force shops and restaurants to pay levy." Sae smiled again, but this time it was a smile with nothing behind the eyes. She refilled Hiko's cup. "But anyway, you haven't come to right place, unless you were looking for conversation and tea. The Shirobeko really is just a restaurant."
"A restaurant with protection."
Sae blinked, something working behind her eyes, going crystal clear again as thoughts undoubtedly raced behind them. Hiko leaned in. "I'm not here for trouble, I swear it, Miss Sae." She pulled her sword from her obi, placing it silently on the ground. Sae's eyes had been darting to it all the time, her figure straight and guarded.
"I was led to the Shirobeko for a reason. You do not pay a levy to the criminals because there are consequences for touching your restaurant. Your establishment is not intimidated because you have powerful friends. At least, that is what I hear." Hiko finished, hoping that Sae would fill in the details so that she wouldn't have to keep listing.
Sae sighed, putting down the pot. "Not powerful in such a fast changing city," she corrected, "but good friends." She tipped her quarter-full cup over, water spilling atop the table. Then, dipping her finger into it, Sae began to draw out a crude map over the tabletop. After the first few lines of the street were drawn, she paused. "I only tell you this because you're looking for someone important to you. This isn't something to be shared openly," Sae warned, and Hiko nodded at her conditions.
So Sae continued, drawing a line of blotches, and then a line more of blotches. Then a straight lines connected to show streets and roadways. Kyoto was already much more complicated than Seijuro remembered, but it looked worse upon bird eye dots-of-water-on-table.
"This is the Shirobeko," Sae pointed. "This is one of the main streets. Here, the market. The head police station. And here," she accentuated, eyes flickering up, "The Aoiya Inn."
Seijuro lifted a brow, wondering what was so ominous about the larger water splotch of inn. "The Aoiya," she repeated. "Alright."
"It's a mid-sized inn, quite well-known in Kyoto, run by Kashiwazaki Nenji and his family." Sae looked up, as if the name should ring a bell. Or perhaps Hiko just had a face that looked like important names would ring a bell. Hiko did accept that she lived beneath the equivalent of a rock.
"When you get to the Aoiya, you will ask to see Kashiwazaki-san. Miss Seijuro, when you see Kashiwazaki-san, you will address him by another name. 'Okina.' "
Hiko tapped on her knee, as the table was occupied, filing the instructions away. "Okina," she echoed. "Understood."
"Okina is the one that can help you find who you're looking for." Sae wiped the table with her hand, rubbing out the map. "But please don't alert anyone else of what I've told you. The Aoiya is the only one capable of inhibiting the Yakuza like they do. They are the only ones who have stood up to them. Their base in secret. If they accept the task of finding your son, they will take it seriously. They will take it more seriously than even the police. Please be discreet."
Hiko nodded. She did not try to correct her that her missing boy was not her son. She got up, picking up her sword, tying it to her obi again and parting her cloak to do it. It revealed the worn hilt of a smaller wakizashi sword beneath, eliciting a surprised look from Sae. "I understand completely. Thank you, Miss Sae." And then, "…You trust this Aoiya and Okina, do you not?"
Sae got up and bowed. "Yes. Many do. And yet no one knows what they're really doing for this city."
Hiko bowed her head in Sae's direction and got up to leave.
"Wait," Sae said, and Hiko did. "How did you know to come here?"
Hiko pursed her lips, looked to the ceiling as if in thought. "A nice man told me before he, so unfortunately, died."
Then Hiko departed.
Behind her, someone followed in her tracks, keeping to the dark.
In the Market
"Yes, but I don't understand why we need two of those." Yahiko crossed his arms, boredly eyeing the two woven baskets Megumi was holding up for inspection. "Are we here to buy the whole market?"
"Not we. She." Megumi nodded in Kaoru's general direction. Kaoru hadn't retorted like she usually would have, she seemed completely absorbed by the large mountain of turnips teetering on the edge of a market vendor's table.
Megumi and Yahiko stopped dead for a minute, genuinely mesmerised by Kaoru picking up each individual turnip and inspecting them as if trying to discover a new strain of bacteria. She seemed to be hyper-focused, in deep thought. A large, filled sack of purchases was already slung over her shoulders, and no amount of manoeuvring could have possibly fit another turnip into that bag.
Thus, Megumi deliberated with Yahiko on which basket to purchase.
Sano, lounging in a chair that was for sale, shrugged. "She's the one holding the money. Kaoru decides."
"Because you're a good for nothing slacker, yes." Megumi reached into her sleeves to produce her own wallet as Sano fumed at the comment.
"Sir, are you going to buy that chair, or?" the chair vendor asked.
"Um."
They watched Sano get booted from the seat with smug satisfaction. But even that could only briefly distract them from the gravity of their situation. It seemed strange — counter-productive — that they were here, critiquing things in the market, when their dear friend was busy being accused of murder.
This could have been any ordinary day in Tokyo. Going out. Bickering. Going shopping. But it was not.
"Are we done yet?" Yahiko uncrossed his arms and straightened up from leaning on a stall. "If we're done we should get back to Kenshin." He sniffed, making a face. "I don't trust the Shinsengumi police."
"Tch. You're not special. We all don't trust the Saito police," Sano added snidely.
Megumi put the basket in Yahiko's arms before he could jump forward and wrestle Sano in the middle of a crowded market. "That's besides the point." She gave them both a hard look. "Kenshin trusts him. And that's all that matters."
Sano's eyes popped, looking as if he couldn't believe Megumi could be this level-headed. But then he sighed tersely. "You realise what he's accusing him of is crazy, right?"
"Yeah! Crazy!" Yahiko heatedly dropped the basket before quickly picking it up again.
Megumi rolled her eyes. "Look. I'm going to tell you how the rest of this evening is going to go. We will graciously get back to Ken-san at the station, by which time this will all be resolved — we will graciously thank Saito for his kind and thoughtful invitation, and then we will graciously take the evening train back to Tokyo."
Megumi's pleasant voice dropped as she turned to Sano again. "I don't care about your personal misgivings about the Commissioner. If you try to jump Saito in front of the station I swear I will poison your tea," she said with none of the grace she meant to exhibit.
Megumi emphasised this by grabbing the woven basket off of Yahiko and using it to whack Sano in the head. Sano did not dodge, even though he easily could have. The action barely moved him. Instead, he just stared at her, looking a little hurt she did not understand his sentiments.
"That's…that's not it…" Sano went quiet for a moment. "I don't have a problem with Saito. If these accusations prove anything — it's that Saito has a problem with Kenshin." Sano mashed his hand to his face, looking stricken and wanting to be taken seriously. Never a wordsmith, he tried again.
"Think about it. Saito's had beef with Kenshin for — well, since the last damned era! They still haven't figured out who'll come out on top in a fight," he said, gesturing largely in typical Sano fashion. "As long as he sticks to that Aku, Soku, Zan code of his, he won't try anything weird. But, listen. If he's just looking for excuses to stab Kenshin, then he's looking for the wrong guy." Sano cracked his fingers, making a fist. "I'm the one with the Aku kanji on my back."
Yahiko and Megumi stared at him.
"You think Saito summoned Kenshin here to settle a personal vendetta?" Megumi said, mulling the thought over.
"You think he's framing him?" Yahiko said. He looked down, making a face, his nose all scrunched up.
"Well, Kenshin can still beat him," Yahiko said vehemently. His hand curled around the wooden training sword at his side. It was a very Kenshin-esque motion, and both Sano and Megumi noticed this with some fondness.
But as Sano and Megumi shared a knowing look with each other, things seemed much more dour. Years ago, Kenshin was on startling equal grounds with Saito, who had brought him dangerously close to reverting back to the Battousai persona he'd vowed he'd shed. They both knew if it came to blows, it would not be clean nor easy. A fight between them now could only end in death.
Megumi shook her head to expel those thoughts.
"Where's Kaoru?" she said, changing the subject.
The three spun their heads, looking over the turnip stall where it was completely deserted.
Kaoru wandered the streets, heavy bag on her shoulder weighing her down as she tried to busy herself with thoughts of what to cook tonight and what vegetables she should purchase. Never mind that she never cooked at home, that was Kenshin's job, and the Aoiya would gladly feed them all so long as they stayed under their roof. But it worked for a while, Kaoru wandered down the market vacantly until she passed a newspaper stand.
Then her mind was occupied with Kenshin again.
The paper boy by the stand barely had to advertise, people were grasping paper after paper, hundreds of identical pieces all printed with a familiar heading:
New Victims Named: Hitokiri Battousai confirmed returned to Kyoto.
She'd already read every word. Kaoru knew she shouldn't be worrying about Kenshin or feeling like coming here was a mistake, but she couldn't help it.
"I need to go to Kyoto," Kenshin said. He was on edge. She heard it in his voice, felt it in the way he smiled at her to reassure her. Kaoru was far from reassured.
"But are you sure? What's wrong with a strongly worded letter?" someone else said. Megumi, perhaps. And then a bit of an argument ensued.
Kenshin had smiled. "This is too important. I have to make the trip in person. Forgive me."
"It's alright," Kaoru piped up. "If you have to go, we'll go with you."
Their hands intertwined, Kenshin leaned into her. "We'll be your bodyguards," Kaoru said, and meant it.
And yet she had let Kenshin go to see impossible evidence alone. Kaoru sighed, struggling to keep bits from falling out of the bag. There was something about this city that made Kenshin vulnerable. It held too much history and bad memories. It was the place Battousai was born and the hunting ground Battousai once ruled. But even the rumours were out of proportion. Battousai had killed, yes, but he was a revolutionary. He killed on the command of the Ishin Shishi. This was hard to understand for most, but Kaoru was not a child; Battousai was not some boogeyman breaking into people's homes, killing anyone, drawing any blood. The papers did not care for that, they seemed only concerned about fanning the flames of hysteria. Their Battousai was a rabid dog that bit anyone within its vicinity. A loose canon that struck any destination blindly. A monster.
History had become legend, and legend had become myth, and myth had devolved into rumours in Kyoto gossip columns, again claiming he was a man six feet tall, hair raven black, with red eyes, or blood-stained teeth, or made of formless smoke, invisible assassin. It was endless. Battousai folklore was something so divorced from Kenshin, there was barely any connection between them anymore.
Besides, the culprit to these murders could not literally, physically be Battousai, because Kaoru knew Battousai didn't exist anymore.
They didn't need to come here. Kenshin owed the Kyoto police and Saito nothing. But they came, because Kenshin needed to, and Kaoru and the others would support him. He came here because he was a good man, not caring about clearing his name — that was beyond saving — he only wanted to stop more people from being hurt.
Kaoru's heavy things were about to slip right out of her fingers when suddenly, they became weightless. She looked up, wondering where her purchases had floated off to, when she was met with a shadowed silhouette. A large man was blocking out the leaving sun, coat fluttering about her. It was rather like walking into a wall. Kaoru took a step back, recognition working in her eyes. Then she bounded forward as she realised who it was.
"Hiko-sama!"
"…Hiko is fine."
Hiko Seijuro the Thirteenth had lifted the heavy bag off her as if it were featherlight, slinging it easily against his back. He even rearranged the turnips, making it magically fit with the rest of the items, before turning sideways slightly to return the sunlight to her.
"Miss Kamiya," he greeted, nodding once and trying his best to hide his surprise. He was as surprised at seeing Kaoru as Kaoru was seeing him in public. "Hello."
"It's nice to see you again, Hiko-san," she beamed, glad to get the weight off of her arms. Kaoru looked around to alert the others only to realise she'd strayed from them. She was alone with Hiko Seijuro.
"Er, fancy meeting you here. What brings you down from the mountain?" she asked.
Kaoru regretted saying this immediately. She asked with a tone of befuddlement, like she'd spotted a nocturnal animal during the day, or a bird from a species that should have already migrated.
Why was it so hard to believe Hiko was here? He had to come down the mountain sometimes. He didn't literally sit around in his hut all day.
Hiko towered above the sea of people, his great, white cloak falling handsomely down his shoulders. It did its job, hiding his physique but emphasising his height. He kept his hair in a low ponytail, just like Kenshin — or was it the other way round — though he was able to keep his neat and tidy. Mingling in the marketplace, taking care not to obstruct Kaoru's light source or crash into kids running around the stalls, Hiko seemed, for the first time to Kaoru, utterly normal. Someone going out to do his groceries just like everyone else.
"I've been out of town for a while, actually," Hiko told her, and Kaoru realised he was performing small talk. "Which was just my luck. The weather's been especially disagreeable, as you must have experienced firsthand. I returned from Osaka just this morning." Beneath his cloak, jugs of alcohol clinked against each other. "Surprisingly, I, too, need supplies from the market," he deadpanned, parting his cloak to show his own sack of supplies.
Kaoru's face reddened, but she laughed at his quip.
"But fancy seeing you all the way from Tokyo." Hiko continued in the direction Kaoru was going. Kaoru speed walked at his side while Hiko walked in an easy, relaxed manner. "What brings you here?" he asked.
"Well." Kaoru paused, and paused too long.
It wasn't as if she could tell Hiko Seijuro, the master of her husband, that Kenshin was here to settle a dispute regarding the multiple murders attached to his name. His old name, albeit. Of course Hiko would know eventually if he didn't already, but Kenshin should be the one to tell him. But then again it didn't seem right for Kaoru to outright lie to him either. She began to sweat just a bit.
Then, a thought occurred to Kaoru. She remembered what Kenshin had said on the train.
"What's up with your Shishou now?" Sano asked, insensitively.
"My Shishou lives near Kyoto. He must have heard of these allegations...I wonder what he thinks of me."
Kaoru turned back, resolved to tell a half-truth. "We're here to visit Tomoe-san's grave."
The diversion seemed to have worked as Hiko's brows rose, taken aback. After some thought, he uttered, "We?"
"All of us from the last time, Hiko-san. Megumi, Sanosuke and Yahiko included."
"That's quite a troupe to be visiting a grave."
"Yes. Festive." Kaoru mentally kicked herself, blurting out the first thing that popped into her mind.
"Yes," Hiko said without a beat, and he looked mildly confused as he said it.
They walked on in silence. There seemed to be something about Hiko that made Kaoru want to stare. He held himself in an almost…regal, aristocratic way; calmly sure of himself, graceful in spite of his tallness. Time had finally touched him. There were a few more lines on his angular face, a few grey hairs beginning to sprout amidst black. The fact that he hadn't gotten rid of them told her he didn't care how people viewed him. His vanity was not tied to his appearance. Kaoru wondered whether he even owned a mirror.
Hiko said he'd gone on a trip to Osaka. Even Kaoru knew how Hiko hated interaction with the outside world, why would he go so far from home? As Hiko walked, the clink-clink of the sake bottles seemed to reverberate in Kaoru's ears, louder than they actually were. Kaoru looked down, finally tearing her gaze away. Was this what Hiko did all day? Make pots, travel by himself, and drink sake all alone in his little house?
"Kenshin," Hiko said.
"Pardon?"
"Kenshin…How is he?"
Kaoru thought about how to answer. She and Kenshin hadn't seen Hiko since more than five years ago, during Shishio's attack. When Kaoru and Kenshin had married, they sent a letter to the Aoiya, inviting everyone there to Tokyo for the ceremony. They had imagined a small ceremony, not expecting a big show-up — just their close friends and loved ones — but the entire Aoiya had come all the way with presents, sake and good cheer. The Aoiya had also helped them deliver another letter, penned to a lone potter on a lonely mountain, but their friends had come with news the letter was received but not answered.
Kenshin hadn't the heart to let himself expect his master would come. It had taken so much encouragement on Kaoru's part to make him pen Hiko's invitation. Despite not knowing him well, Kaoru understood that Hiko was as close to family as Kenshin had. What she didn't understand was why Hiko didn't write back at all, when the man clearly cared about Kenshin.
"…Why don't you ask Kenshin yourself?" Kaoru piped up pleasantly. She placed a hand on his arm, "I expect us to go up the mountain very soon anyway. I know Kenshin didn't alert you that we were coming, but the trip's been very last minute. Don't be too hard on him, Hiko-sama."
Hiko smiled a little this time. There was a hint of him being taken aback in the way he rolled his shoulders, raised his brows. Like he did not share the expectation that Kenshin would visit him, and was happy to be assured of it. He looked at Kaoru warmly.
"Hiko is fine."
Then he stopped and lowered Kaoru's purchases back into her hands.
"This is where I leave you, Miss Kamiya."
Kaoru bunched up her things. She looked up seriously. "You don't have to call me that, you know."
Hiko turned back, locking eyes with her. "You're right. A married woman should go by Lady. Lady…" Hiko trailed off.
His easy, aristocratic grace dissipated. In its place was a strange, far-away look in his eyes, cloudy with sudden realisation, until they went suddenly clear again. Hiko's mouth parted, and he looked at Kaoru as if seeing her for the first time.
"Lady Himura," he said.
Upon that admission, Kaoru chuckled. She was pleased with the address. But she shook her head, prompting two turnips to roll onto the floor. "Just Kaoru!"
To her surprise, Hiko actually bent to pick up the fallen turnips. His hair fell forward, his white cloak brushed against the dusty floor. He arranged them nicely back into her sack. Even picking up turnips from the floor seemed especially dignified when coming from Hiko.
"Alright, Just Kaoru. Goodbye."
Kaoru watched him leave. It soon became clear to Kaoru that he'd walked her through the market in the opposite direction to where was going. Simply a kind gesture. Kaoru watched as he went further and further into the distance, into the thinning crowds, until he disappeared.
Somewhere behind her, familiar voices called out.
"There she is, finally!"
"Kaoru! Kaoru, over here! Do you even look where you're going?!"
"C'mon, Kaoru, we gotta get Kenshin now!"
Outside the Shirobeko, Sae and Hiko Seijuro the Twelfth had bid their farewells before Hiko set off into the streets in the evening light.
There were many things about the city that made her deeply uneasy, like where all the money for all these built-up houses had come from, what on earth all the strange and otherworldly contraptions she'd seen were: the oddities in the windows, the lamp lights that stayed on forever. It had been years since she'd returned to Kyoto, but ever since she woke up in the rain after months of drought, head throbbing, the world felt alien to her. More labyrinthine, different to the point where it took her nearly a week to navigate Kyoto to find a simple teahouse.
After all the strangeness she had witnessed, however, the sound of footsteps shadowing hers and the feeling of being followed did not bring her unease like the city did. Since leaving the teahouse, not once did Hiko Seijuro the Twelfth feel compelled to look back. She simply went where the winding streets took her until it was dark and deserted enough to confront the one who'd been following her.
Hiko turned around leisurely. "Who's there?"
From a corner, a man showed himself.
"Why are you following me?"
"You brought a lot of attention to yourself at the teahouse, asking after the Yakuza," the man spat. "Yet, still so clueless."
He reached his arm inside his loose clothes, producing a short sword. It must have been strapped down to his side, hidden out of sight. At once, Hiko counted his nine-fingers. The man from the opposite table at the teahouse, who had obviously listened in. She felt utterly unsurprised.
"You must one of them."
"Yes," he said. Admitting he was Yakuza, sitting in the Shirobeko, staking out Sae's teahouse for whatever clandestine reason. Except he had happened upon Hiko instead. "I'll tell you what's going to happen, woman. You have two choices. You're going to tell me about the Shirobeko's benefactors. Whatever the teahouse owner told you. Or I kill you."
Hiko shook her head. "No. I will tell you what's going to happen. You have no choice. I have no need to shake you for information, I've plenty. I am going to kill you to protect the teahouse owner's secret." Hiko parted her cloak, reaching for her sword. "I did give her my word."
The nine-fingered Yakuza laughed. "You're out of your mind."
Without warning, he sprang forward, short sword raised, charging to kill.
Hiko sunk into battou-jutsu stance.
Notes.
Most of the plot points in the 1848 flashback were extrapolated from Siriusfan13's excellent fic canon and I hope to expand on them here. I was so proud of Hiko 13's dad joke, ha! Ok, 'just Kaoru.' If it was Kenshin who Hiko ran into shopping, there's no way he'd have been as nice as to pick up his turnips. He'd kick them into his face and cause a nose bleed or something.
Hiko and Kenshin have a complicated relationship. They seem to barely stand one another, but they'd give up their lives in a heartbeat for the other. They want to talk, but they're estranged. Hiko said he and Kenshin had no master-disciple relationship anymore, Kenshin casually rejected being the 14th heir and casually told Hiko he was ending the Hiten Mitsurugi ryu line. Kenshin didn't feel like Hiko would care enough to come to his wedding. Hiko got the invite and didn't feel like he should come. Family is complicated, but Kaoru is standing in the middle like, '...can't you guys write some goddamned letters and call once in a while?'