DISCLAIMER: We both know I don't own Soujiro, ShiShiO, Kenshin, or any of the other characters that are making Watsuki Nobuhiro rich. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this while I'm supposed to be studying for a German final. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not ... chikushou, aku baka!
That reminds me ... my Japanese is next to nonexistent. Don't fault me for it. At least I'm trying.
Happy reading!
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: To Kenshin TV ep 61, "Remaining Ju Pon Gattana, Choice of Life."
* * * * *
PRELUDE:
A NEW BEGINNING
*Everything seems so new* Soujiro thought to himself as he lay looking at the stars. It had been almost two weeks since he left ShiShiO-san's headquarters, and other than a lingering bruise from Himura Kenshin's succession technique, he carried almost nothing with him from that world. It was an entirely different world now, he realized.
News of ShiShiO's death had reached him, though it didn't grieve him as much as he thought it would have. He had never been very emotional, but ShiShiO had been very close to him. The man had saved his life, and had taught him how to defend himself. He had taught him how to be strong. Unfortunately, ShiShiO had also taught him how to be a killer, something he had never really wanted ... but Soujiro had been convinced that being strong and being a killer were the same. Soujiro would not blame ShiShiO for his own blindness.
The Ama-kakeru, Ryu-no-Hirameki had opened Soujiro's eyes. Had Himura been using a true katana, it would have only been Soujiro's top half flying through the air. The Battousai had shown that strength and killing need not go hand in hand. That realization had ended the world that Soujiro had lived in before. Now it was up to him to rebuild it, and build it right this time.
Leaving the Kyoto area had obviously been the only choice. People probably wouldn't like him there. Despite what Yumi always said, Soujiro was not a complete idiot. He wasn't particularly afraid of Saitoh springing at him from the shadows--he wasn't particularly afraid of anything--but nonetheless, taking some time to himself seemed to be the right thing to do. It had been what Himura had done when he vanished from Kyoto more than a decade before then. Himura had found his answers somewhere.
Of course, Himura had needed less answers than Soujiro. Himura had been a normal person aside from the whole killing people on a nightly basis thing. Soujiro was ... different. He had never really minded being different, but the fact was that he was simply not like other people on the inside. Himura had discovered that he did have emotions, but they were still buried deep within him. He had to learn to let them out occasionally. Otherwise, when they did come out, they would probably be as graphic as the last time, he thought with a wince, instinctively rubbing his forehead. He remembered smashing it into the floor, screaming loud enough to shake the walls as the Hitokiri looked on in shock. The memory was clear, but faint, as though it was someone else's memory. Still, he would rather not make another such memory.
There were also more material matters than memories to deal with. Food was beginning to become a problem. Well, hunting was not difficult, though Soujiro had seldom considered that he would ever have to use the Shuku-chi against animals. It gave him the chance to keep in practice, anyway; animals had better defenses than most men, when he stopped to think about it. In fact, he had been forced to develop a few new techniques to take birds out of the air with a katana; he had a lot of time on his hands, and had no intention of getting rusty. The best way he knew to do that was to work at getting better. Plus, he found that roast crane made a fantastic entree.
But as far as the rest of his diet, well, he found that Yumi-san had been right. Baka this, baka that. He had no idea which plants and roots were edible, and he couldn't live forever on just meat. Just about the only plant that he knew was edible was rice--and that really didn't grow wild. He remembered that he wasn't supposed to eat azaleas for some reason ... but he couldn't remember what an azalea looked like. He really didn't have the money to head into towns for food all the time, and he didn't want to be around other people at the moment, anyway. He wanted to be alone. He did wonder what had happened to ShiShiO's fortune, however. He doubted ShiShiO had ever made a will. The man had thought he was immortal. Soujiro had believed it.
*Oh, well. Life goes on,* Soujiro smiled to himself as he drifted off to sleep. *At least for me.*
* * * * *
Soujiro awoke with a start. Someone was nearby. Soujiro let his hand drift quietly closer to the hilt of his katana. Whoever was nearby was strong; Soujiro could feel his battle aura. Although the aura wasn't necessarily strong, it wasn't weak, either ... it was just ... erratic. Soujiro realized that whoever it belonged to was wounded.
Rising to his feet, Soujiro trotted off in the direction of the sensation. The moon was just past full, and there was more than enough light to see by; the mountain forest had a surreal beauty about it that Soujiro had learned to appreciate--and work within. Soujiro's feet glided noiselessly over the dreamlit landscape.
He found him in less than a minute. A man lay on his hands and knees on the banks of a small stream less than half a mile from where Soujiro had been sleeping. Blood dripped from several different wounds on his body, and a naked sword lay next to him. Even in the moonlight, Soujiro could see that the blade was stained red.
"What happened to you?" Soujiro asked as he leaned down to help the man into a sitting position. It did not take him a very thorough look to realize that the man did not have long to live.
"H ... help ..." the man gasped.
"I don't think I can help you," Soujiro said, as he took the man's arms around his shoulders. It was true, and they both knew it.
"Not me ... my vill ... aagh!" The last came as Soujiro set the man down, as gently as he could, against the base of the nearest tree. "Ichibou! My village!" he rasped.
"Ichibou?" Soujiro asked. He was more interested than his voice implied; he had never been good at making his feelings known. "What's happening in Ichibou?"
"Yak ... yakuz ..." The man's aura winked out.
Soujiro stood up and let the man lay undisturbed for a time. He was definitely intrigued, and for several reasons. First, the man had had the aura of a powerful fighter, so if there were gangsters that could do this to him, they were no ordinary ones. Second, Ichibou had been one of the ten small villages like Shingetsu that ShiShiO's troops had conquered during the high tide of ShiShiO's power. It was the furthest afield from Kyoto that his forces had spread. Soujiro had never been there himself; it was well off the main route, and apparently ShiShiO's army had never had any problems there that required his assistance. Third, he had intended to stop there anyway, since it was the next major town on the mountain road. It was larger than Shingetsu, actually, and a small fortune ran into the town from an iron mine that lay at the west edge of the town. That was the reason ShiShiO had chosen Ichibou as the first place that far from Kyoto to strike.
Eventually, Soujiro thought he had stood there long enough. He knelt down, said a silent prayer for the departed, and began to look through the man's belongings. It never occurred to him that he was acting like a criminal, and being so close to a dead person certainly didn't bother him. Besides, the man might have something much more useful on him than money. He might have information.
The man certainly didn't have much money. Soujiro sighed wistfully. It seemed to be a common thread among samurai these days. Then Soujiro spied something on the hilt of the man's sword. On impulse, he picked it up and took a closer look. He gasped.
Just below the crossbar of the hilt lay a sigil that he recognized. He had ruined a sword with an identical marking against the Battousai's sakaba at their first meeting. It was one of the Oh-waza-mono, a set of thirty-one of the finest katanas ever made in Japan. "Any warrior would die to possess it," Yumi-san had told him once. Soujiro took another hard look at the fallen. If he had been good enough to have earned such a blade--and he did not have the look or the aura of a thief--then he must have been VERY good. A Hitokiri of some kind, by all accounts.
With a touch of what might have been envy in another man, Soujiro remembered the sword that he had been using ever since he left ShiShiO's stronghold. It was a common soldier's blade that he had picked up off of one of ShiShiO's fallen troops. The Battousai had destroyed three swords in Soujiro's hands, though one had not been without hope of repair. He had sent it back to ShiShiO, however, and sworn never to walk down that road again. He had been looking for a better weapon than the economy-grade lump of scrap metal that he had been killing birds with--but he had never dreamed that one of the Oh-waza-mono would fall into his hands.
He picked up the sword, and unbuckled the man's belt with the sheath on it. There was writing on the scabbard, Garou no Kokoro, Heart of the Hungry Wolf. He slid the sheath onto his own belt, and slid the katana into it, making sure to clean it as best he could in the creek first.
"Ichibou, eh?" he mused thoughtfully once he was finished. "I
guess I should still go there," he thought aloud. "I owe him that much for the sword." In addition, he was mildly interested in what had happened to ShiShiO's empire now that ShiShiO was gone.
Since he still wanted to get some sleep before morning and he had brought his knapsack with him, Soujiro curled up and slept a few feet away, just out of sight of the dead samurai. Nothing bothered him about sleeping so near a corpse, but his sleep was troubled anyway. Something had killed a wielder of one of the Oh-waza-mono. He had known one of them, and had wielded one of them himself on occasion. They were not the kind of men that died easily, even in the face of overwhelming numbers.
"Living the life of a Hitokiri has a price," ShiShiO's voice returned to him.
"A price?" Soujiro had asked.
"Living the life of a Hitokiri means dying the death of a Hitokiri," ShiShiO had continued. "There are only two things that can kill us. The first is a stronger Hitokiri. The second is the lord of Hell himself."
Soujiro awoke at first light. He had been sleeping until well into most mornings of late, but his sleep had been too restless for a long, carefree snooze. He stole a peek around the bole of the tree he had been sleeping against, taking another look at the man who had uttered his last words to Soujiro.
The man had laid it upon him to go to Ichibou, and that had been where Soujiro had been heading anyway, so he really had no reason not to continue. It was either go through Ichibou or turn around and go back the way he had come; Ichibou occupied the southern entrance to the only pass through the mountains within several days' walk in either direction. The pass itself was bad enough, Soujiro had heard; trying to climb the mountains themselves just to avoid the town would be senseless. Besides, Soujiro wanted a good meal, a warm bath, and a soft bed. It wasn't that he couldn't rough it ... well, OK, it was. He was learning, but learning could wait. Besides, he really did want to see whoever or whatever it was in Ichibou that could take out a Hitokiri. It never occurred to him that it might be dangerous; living with ShiShiO-san as a mentor had erased all knowledge of danger from his mind.
*There are only two things that can kill us. The first is a stronger Hitokiri. The second is the lord of Hell himself.* Somehow, he doubted that the Lord of Hell was taking a vacation in Ichibou. The Lord of Hell would probably choose someplace warmer.
Girding himself with his new sword, as well as his old one, he turned back to the mountain road and continued on his journey northward. To Ichibou.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 1:
MEMORIES, MEALS, AND MONEY
The sun had just crested the horizon to the east, and there was a thin cloud cover darkening the morning as Soujiro crested the last rise before coming into view of Ichibou. A puzzled look momentarily overshadowed his smile, and a single thought leapt into his head.
"ShiShiO sent his army this far afield," he wondered aloud, "for this?"
Ichibou was not the prettiest town in Japan. Soujiro guessed it probably wasn't the ugliest, but it was the ugliest he had ever seen. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years. Yumi-san would have thrown a fit. A single decrepit merchant wagon lumbered languidly along the mountain road towards the town, and another lone, dusty wagon was trudging away from it down another trail that led to the east. The town's modest fortifications seemed as though they had been repaired rather hastily, and crudely. In fact, it had probably been done by ShiShiO's troops, since what was left without those repairs didn't look like it could stand up to a hard wind, much less an invasion. It wasn't even as big as Soujiro had assumed it must have been, for a mining town that was supposed to be fairly rich. If they had so much money, why didn't they dip into it to buy soap every now and then? Even with it barely within sight, Soujiro wrinkled his nose. His stay there might not be as pleasant as he had hoped.
Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, he wandered back into motion. He had never truly been in a hurry, but now he really wasn't. There was certainly no rush. He had plenty of time to make it to the town before nightfall, and he had no real desire to get there any sooner than he had to in order to ensure himself that he would spend the night in a real bed. Thinking of what the beds would probably be like, he shuddered again. Maybe roughing it wasn't so bad after all.
Ichibou lay on the flattened crest of a grassy hilltop across a small valley several miles long. The hill Soujiro stood on lay perhaps half as high above the valley floor as Ichibou, so he was going to be in for quite a climb whenever he decided to make the last mile into town. There was a smaller hamlet down in the valley, however, easily within an hour's walk, that looked much more tidy. It was set on the banks of the mountain stream that flowed through the valley after passing through Ichibou. There looked to be perhaps ten or eleven houses that he could see, and while they were in no way as good as the estates he had occupied in Kyoto, or even Shingetsu, they looked like someone somewhere within them cared a little about the quality of their residence.
It took him well under an hour to reach the little cluster of houses. Most of the trek was downhill into the valley, and he actually caught a goby in a small creek along the way. He was getting better at that; for some reason, fish were harder to kill with a katana than people. Especially because Soujiro really didn't want to get his clothes wet. He wondered what Yumi-san would say to that. He even wondered what ShiShiO would say to that. At least he was still using his old sword; he wouldn't dream of putting one of the Oh-waza-mono to such menial labor. He was tempted to make sushi out of the goby, but he decided to wrap it and see if he could charm anyone in one of the houses up ahead to cook it for him.
When he reached the little group of houses, he was surprised at how serene everything was. A battallion of ShiShiO's soldiers had no doubt marched through this village not so long ago; most of them did not share his views on stealth. Many of those soldiers had probably turned to thievery and robbery once news of ShiShiO's downfall reached them. It was the kind of thing soldiers did. A conversation he had had with Yumi came back to him.
"Don't call yourself an assassin," Yumi told him. "You're better than that."
"Oh?" Soujiro replied. He had wondered what word there was for someone better than an assassin. He was better than most assassins, after all. He just didn't know any other word for what he did. Then again, Yumi was much smarter than him.
"You're not an assassin, boy. You're one of the Ju Pon Gattana, ShiShiO's highest army. You're a soldier."
Soujiro donned a puzzled expression. "How is a soldier better than an assassin?"
"Being a soldier is a mark of pride and honor, and soldiers carry their pride with them wherever they go. Assassins are just killers."
Soujiro gave her his most puzzled expression. "I still don't understand."
"Why not?" Yumi barked.
"I just kill. But soldiers kill people and then steal from them, or steal from them and then kill them. Sometimes they even kill people they weren't sent to kill. What makes them better than me?"
Yumi thought for a moment, then replied, "Soldiers have no need of stealth. They can show themselves in daylight."
"I don't hide in daylight, either," he pointed out.
"But you don't tell others that you're an assassin, either."
"No, I don't think people would react very well if I did."
"Exactly!" Yumi said smugly.
"But most people don't seem to like having soldiers nearby, either," Soujiro had pointed out. "I was just at a restaurant when soldiers walked in, and everyone else got really uncomfortable or left. Some of the soldiers didn't even pay for their tofu."
"Then those soldiers have no honor, either."
"Then they aren't like other soldiers?"
"They aren't like other soldiers should be!"
"Good. That means I don't have to be like other assassins," he had finished sweetly.
Soujiro found himself smiling as he came out of his reverie. Thinking of Yumi always made him smile. Still, it reminded him that most of ShiShiO-san's soldiers were probably not that much different from other soldiers--given some time without their paychecks, they might not be as honorable as Yumi had thought soldiers should be.
And yet, as he had noticed before, everything was peaceful. A few children, many not even as old as he had been when he left his home with ShiShiO-san, smiled at him as he walked into the hamlet. He smiled at them, hoping that all of them were living happier childhood days than he had. Instinctively, he looked around apprehensively to see if any of those buildings could possibly be a rice warehouse. That might bring back too many unpleasant memories to let him stay here. Fortunately, none stood out at him in that way.
"Konnichiwa!" a young woman called at him from under the awning of the largest of the buildings in the little hamlet. The lower half was apparently the entire commercial district. The left half was occupied by a small restaurant and tavern; the right half was a small general store that looked like the owner was ready to fix broken wagons at a moment's notice.
"Just passing through?" she called again.
"Anou ... I guess so," Soujiro said uneasily. He remembered that he wasn't in a hurry to get to Ichibou, but he really didn't have the money to be eating at every diner he passed. Just getting groceries was expensive enough. He had never had to worry about money while he was with ShiShiO, and while he had brought what was left of ShiShiO's secret cache with him, it would not get any larger.
Sure enough, the woman was a professional saleswoman. "Aren't you hungry? You look hungry. Come on! I know you can't be enjoying eating trail food every day!" She was right enough about that.
After another few moments of indecision, Soujiro gave in. The restaurant looked fairly busy, actually, which probably meant that the food was good. It also probably meant that there was useful information lurking in the minds of some of the customers. It was the only restaurant in the hamlet, and it was the last one for several days' ride to the south, especially to those burdened by wagons. Soujiro spotted a few wagons parked in a vacant lot next to the restaurant; that clinched it. If anyone in there even accidentally dropped a clue as to what was happening in Ichibou at the time, it might be worth the stop ... and the cost.
So it was that Soujiro, once the paragon of assassins and highest subordinate of the man who struck terror into the hearts of the entire Meiji government, wound up sitting idly in a small restaurant in an isolated valley far away from anywhere he had ever been before, enjoying a light but delicious meal of baked rice and chicken teriyaki. He even allowed himself a single glass of sake, something he had never done while living with ShiShiO. Actually, that had been because of Yumi, though he had been told that Yumi herself had drunk on occasion.
However, like all men of his former profession, his awareness was not solely on his food. The conversation in the restaurant was not exceptionally stimulating--but it was plentiful.
"Do you think we planted early enough?" "We won't be able to tell until the rains come." "They had better come soon ..."
"No, the bloody leak won't be fixed for another month." "That's a shame." "So what are you doing in the meantime ..."
"I wish I could, but my mother-in-law and her whole family are coming down from Osaka next month, and I have to cook for all of them ..." "So how long are they staying?" "Too long."
"Do you really think I've got a chance?" "Aw, go for it! What've you got to lose?" "But what if she says ..." Soujiro averted his ears from the rest of that conversation quickly.
"No, nothing's changed up north." Soujiro's mind perked up. "It still costs a bloody fortune to get through. Genji's boys take everything they bloody feel like off your hands on your way through, too."
Soujiro risked a look in the direction of those voices. The speaker was one of a trio of men sitting in a booth catty corner across the aisle from his. Two had the definite look of merchants; Soujiro guessed that the third was the bodyguard of one of the merchants, probably the one that had been speaking.
"You still need to get through that badly?" It was the same voice that Soujiro had heard speaking before; it came from the merchant whose back was to Soujiro.
"Unfortunately," the other merchant confirmed glumly. "I'm staking an awful lot on this run. This stuff is selling for six or seven times what I paid for it in some of the more isolated areas a few days north of the divide. If I lose out on this, my livelihood for the year is pretty much suspect."
"Good luck to you, then," the first merchant replied, obviously feeling some sympathy for the other man, though Soujiro doubted it was as deep as the man let on. "I strongly suggest you try to find yourself some more tough types to help you, though, just until you get north of town."
"I already have a guard," the merchant whose face Soujiro could see answered. "A veteran of Shingetsu, he says, wherever that was. I don't keep up on the battles, unless they're in my area." Soujiro's eyes widened. Someone else from Shingetsu was here? He was paying attention almost openly now; his interest was more than piqued. "I just picked him up before I left Kyoto," the northbound merchant continued, "but he has a scar or two on him to prove it, so I'm going to take him at his word. Those are pretty hard to fake."
"Maybe." The first merchant sounded doubtful. "But I'd hire another one or two if I could. You may need more than one, especially if you haven't seen him fight yet."
"Not that I don't want to," the other one answered wistfully, "but the locals here don't generally seem the fighting type. Most of the people here looked nervous just because Sasaki was carrying a sword. Even if he is isn't as good as he says, and I'm sure he's not, I'm not going to find anyone better between here and there."
"Take my advice," the first merchant countered pointedly as he rose from the table and prepared to leave. "Try."
"OK."
The first merchant and his guard walked out. It might have been just a trick of the light in the doorway, but Soujiro thought he caught the faintest hint of a smirk on the man's face as he stepped out into the daylight. After another moment's thought, Soujiro shrugged and turned his attention back the the northbound merchant. He was going to have to stop being so paranoid--only he somehow doubted the world had changed that much just because everything was different. He knew that thought didn't make much sense. Thinking too much just hurt his brain, though, so he didn't bother correcting it. His attention was now on the merchant still in the restaurant, who was staring dejectedly at the table, his displeasure at the choice of evils before him clearly evident on his face.
"Chikushou!" the merchant snarled after a minute, rising to his feet and calling for the tab. He kicked at the ground sullenly.
The waitress came to collect the bill, and it just happened that she came from behind him. The merchant had to turn around to pay her. When he did so, his eyes widened immediately, and Soujiro knew that his swords had been spotted. Soujiro made sure he was paying religious attention to what was left of his chicken teriyaki, but he smiled inwardly. Soujiro was far too professional to allow his weapons to be seen when he didn't want them to be.
"Sumimasen!" Soujiro called. "Check please!" He didn't want to give the merchant much time to think. He paid his bill with a polite smile and a well-deserved compliment to the chef, picked up his swords and travel bags, and headed for the door.
Sure enough, the merchant just happened to fall in alongside Soujiro on the way out. "Hello, lad," he began cautiously.
"Hi!" Soujiro responded lightly.
"What direction are you headed?" the merchant asked.
"Oh ... I think I'm going to keep going north for a while." Soujiro's voice was always casual, but this time he made a conscious effort of it.
"Really?" the merchant sounded genuinely interested. Merchants were usually good at sounding genuinely interested when they weren't. "Funny I should run into you then. Karachi Hoebu, at your service."
"Funny?" Soujiro was puzzled. "It's the only road around that goes north."
The merchant apparently could not decide if Soujiro was making a joke, was encouraging him to come straight the the point, or was just completely ignorant. He decided to come to the point, though perhaps not completely straight. "Looking for work?"
"Maybe." It was an honest answer; he hadn't been at all until minutes earlier, and the idea had just popped into his head.
"For just a few days perhaps?"
"Hmm ..." Soujiro didn't really know what he was supposed to do here; he had never had to negotiate a job for himself before.
"Maybe just two days?"
"What did you have in mind?"
"I need someone to protect my wagon in that town up there." He motioned towards the town on the far side of the valley. "I've heard that it's gotten rough these days."
Soujiro did his best to look mildly interested. "Well, I don't have any real work right now," he began.
"Perfect!" the merchant crooned.
"But," Soujiro continued, and the merchant stopped short. "A merchant's wagon with lots of expensive goods will probably attract a lot more trouble in Ichibou than just me by myself."
The merchant quoted a price for two days. Soujiro had never been much of a mathematician, but the number was less than the lowest soldiers in ShiShiO's army had made. Soujiro gave him a sidelong look. His mind was racing, and his mind hurt when it raced. Soujiro had always been told that he looked innocent and unassuming, and he had always accepted that and just gone on with his life. It never really made much of a difference. Yet, he had a feeling that this merchant thought that he was dealing with a complete amateur simply because Soujiro did not have the look of a fighter.
Soujiro thought for a moment, then flatly quoted a figure that was time and a half what one of ShiShiO's sergeants would have made, and added a stipulation that he was to receive the same type of food and lodging for the first night in Ichibou that the merchant bought for himself. It was the merchant's turn to fix a shrewd glance on the man he was dealing with. Soujiro had not asked for all that much extra--the man might have paid almost twice his orginal figure--but the fact that Soujiro asked for more at all apparently came as a surprise. Maybe the little innocent wasn't as inexperienced as he looked. After a long moment the merchant smiled, and nodded his acceptance.
"We'll be leaving in just a few minutes," the merchant said. "Oh, by the way, what was your name again?"
"Anou ... oh ... Soujiro. Seta Soujiro." He wondered if he shouldn't have let that slip. He had never thought that he might need a new name for himself. His old one was starting to get a little stained. Of course, he had no idea what kind of a new one he wanted. He had figured dropping the Tenken title was enough, like Himura had dropped the Battousai. Memories of the Tenken were fresher in some people's minds, though, and the merchant's other guard had apparently been at Shingetsu.
"I'll be right back as soon as I pick up something at the store," Karachi said. "If you want, you can just wait by my wagon; it the last one in the back behind the restaurant. It's the biggest one there."
"Thank you. I'll do that" Soujiro said, and quickly turned and hurried off towards the small group of wagons. He wanted to meet whoever this "veteran of Shingetsu" was before Karachi returned.
The wagon was not hard to find; it was indeed the largest there, almost half again the size of the second largest. It was heavily laden, but everything in it was covered with thick canvas. Soujiro couldn't see anything of what he was guarding. He couldn't even see the shape, since everything was apparently packaged in oversized boxes or crates. Everything looked like it had been fairly securely packaged, however; even the rear gate had been securely bolted shut. Whatever was in there was apparently fragile. It certainly wouldn't be coming out into the road.
There was a man sitting on the wagon tongue, keeping his eye more on the horses than on the wagon. Soujiro didn't recognize him, which was probably a good thing; he might have had trouble explaining himself had the merchant's guard turned out to be Senkaku or someone more familiar. Just to prove a point, Soujiro flitted lithely over to the wagon from the rear and climbed on top of it without disturbing it enough to realize him. The boxes under the canvas were sturdy; the footing was as firm as solid ground.
"Konnichiwa!" he called to the man sitting below him.
The man spun around, his hand dipping clumsily to his sword and his elbow accidentally knocking over a small flask of sake that had been hidden from Soujiro's eyes before. "Who the hell are you?!" he demanded. "Get off! This is private property!"
"Yup! Karachi Hoebu's, I know. He just hired me, too."
"Nani?" the man looked shocked. From what Soujiro had just seen, however, Karachi was right to want extra protection. Soujiro wondered what this man had been hired to protect against.
"For just two days," Soujiro said calmingly. "Just until you're out of Ichibou. I won't be any trouble."
The man relaxed a little. "Hmph. OK." With that, he turned back to his sake.
"Ah, I see you've met!" Karachi's voice rang out. "Just in case you hadn't gotten to the names yet, Soujiro, this is Sasaki Shingo ... Shingo, this is Soujiro."
The other guard turned a look on his new companion. "So your name's Soujiro?"
"Hai," Soujiro responded politely.
"I knew a Soujiro once," the guard went on.
"Did you really?" Soujiro asked, wondering if the man actually knew him or not.
"Yup. We were at Shingetsu together. I doubt you're as good a fighter as he was, however. He was the right hand of ShiShiO-sama!"
"Was he really?" Soujiro's smile was starting to become genuine.
"Yup. He was six feet tall, and had the strength of a horse behind every blow. It was all I could do to defend myself whenever I sparred with him."
"Seriously?" Soujiro had put on the most innocent expression he had ever worn. "What did he look like? Really scary?"
The man hesitated for a moment. "Well, he's kinda hard to describe, but he was totally ripped. Most muscular man I've ever met. My old boss, Senkaku, was a real brute--huge fellow, and fought with huge blades on each hand--even he talked about this Soujiro like the man might have him for breakfast at any time."
"Wow," Soujiro continued. "You must have been pretty high in ShiShiO-san's army if you could even hold off against him in a sparring match."
The man flashed him a look, and Soujiro realized he had slipped. He had said "ShiShiO-san." Most people didn't do that unless they were in an unbelievable hurry to get to the next world. Fortunately, the guard shrugged it off.
"I was Senkaku's chief lieutenant," he boasted.
Even with Soujiro's vaunted tight rein on his emotions, it was all he could do not to giggle. Senkaku's chief lieutenant had been at least fifteen years older than this man, and had longer hair that was beginning to go gray in patches. He had also been several inches taller, had a much deeper voice, and had been walking with quite a limp ever since the Battousai had gotten his sakaba on him. Apparently Himura-san hadn't been happy at the sight of villagers dangling from the gallows or something. Soujiro hadn't watched the actual fight.
Although Soujiro's eyes were sparkling with laughter, he managed to keep it out of his voice. "Impressive. Hoebu-san should be safe with us."
"Excellent!" the merchant cried, and hauled himself up onto the wagon seat beside Shingo. "Let's get going!"
Soujiro nodded, and calmly slipped back to the rear of the wagon. He had only shown emotion twice that he could remember; once was fear, once was anger. He was worried that if he remained at the front of the wagon with the others much longer, he might add uproarious laughter to that list.
"Six feet tall and ripped," he mused to himself as he sat with his feet dangling over the back of the rearmost canvas-covered crate. "I'm going to enjoy this trip."
* * * * *
That reminds me ... my Japanese is next to nonexistent. Don't fault me for it. At least I'm trying.
Happy reading!
SPOILERS/BACKGROUND: To Kenshin TV ep 61, "Remaining Ju Pon Gattana, Choice of Life."
* * * * *
PRELUDE:
A NEW BEGINNING
*Everything seems so new* Soujiro thought to himself as he lay looking at the stars. It had been almost two weeks since he left ShiShiO-san's headquarters, and other than a lingering bruise from Himura Kenshin's succession technique, he carried almost nothing with him from that world. It was an entirely different world now, he realized.
News of ShiShiO's death had reached him, though it didn't grieve him as much as he thought it would have. He had never been very emotional, but ShiShiO had been very close to him. The man had saved his life, and had taught him how to defend himself. He had taught him how to be strong. Unfortunately, ShiShiO had also taught him how to be a killer, something he had never really wanted ... but Soujiro had been convinced that being strong and being a killer were the same. Soujiro would not blame ShiShiO for his own blindness.
The Ama-kakeru, Ryu-no-Hirameki had opened Soujiro's eyes. Had Himura been using a true katana, it would have only been Soujiro's top half flying through the air. The Battousai had shown that strength and killing need not go hand in hand. That realization had ended the world that Soujiro had lived in before. Now it was up to him to rebuild it, and build it right this time.
Leaving the Kyoto area had obviously been the only choice. People probably wouldn't like him there. Despite what Yumi always said, Soujiro was not a complete idiot. He wasn't particularly afraid of Saitoh springing at him from the shadows--he wasn't particularly afraid of anything--but nonetheless, taking some time to himself seemed to be the right thing to do. It had been what Himura had done when he vanished from Kyoto more than a decade before then. Himura had found his answers somewhere.
Of course, Himura had needed less answers than Soujiro. Himura had been a normal person aside from the whole killing people on a nightly basis thing. Soujiro was ... different. He had never really minded being different, but the fact was that he was simply not like other people on the inside. Himura had discovered that he did have emotions, but they were still buried deep within him. He had to learn to let them out occasionally. Otherwise, when they did come out, they would probably be as graphic as the last time, he thought with a wince, instinctively rubbing his forehead. He remembered smashing it into the floor, screaming loud enough to shake the walls as the Hitokiri looked on in shock. The memory was clear, but faint, as though it was someone else's memory. Still, he would rather not make another such memory.
There were also more material matters than memories to deal with. Food was beginning to become a problem. Well, hunting was not difficult, though Soujiro had seldom considered that he would ever have to use the Shuku-chi against animals. It gave him the chance to keep in practice, anyway; animals had better defenses than most men, when he stopped to think about it. In fact, he had been forced to develop a few new techniques to take birds out of the air with a katana; he had a lot of time on his hands, and had no intention of getting rusty. The best way he knew to do that was to work at getting better. Plus, he found that roast crane made a fantastic entree.
But as far as the rest of his diet, well, he found that Yumi-san had been right. Baka this, baka that. He had no idea which plants and roots were edible, and he couldn't live forever on just meat. Just about the only plant that he knew was edible was rice--and that really didn't grow wild. He remembered that he wasn't supposed to eat azaleas for some reason ... but he couldn't remember what an azalea looked like. He really didn't have the money to head into towns for food all the time, and he didn't want to be around other people at the moment, anyway. He wanted to be alone. He did wonder what had happened to ShiShiO's fortune, however. He doubted ShiShiO had ever made a will. The man had thought he was immortal. Soujiro had believed it.
*Oh, well. Life goes on,* Soujiro smiled to himself as he drifted off to sleep. *At least for me.*
* * * * *
Soujiro awoke with a start. Someone was nearby. Soujiro let his hand drift quietly closer to the hilt of his katana. Whoever was nearby was strong; Soujiro could feel his battle aura. Although the aura wasn't necessarily strong, it wasn't weak, either ... it was just ... erratic. Soujiro realized that whoever it belonged to was wounded.
Rising to his feet, Soujiro trotted off in the direction of the sensation. The moon was just past full, and there was more than enough light to see by; the mountain forest had a surreal beauty about it that Soujiro had learned to appreciate--and work within. Soujiro's feet glided noiselessly over the dreamlit landscape.
He found him in less than a minute. A man lay on his hands and knees on the banks of a small stream less than half a mile from where Soujiro had been sleeping. Blood dripped from several different wounds on his body, and a naked sword lay next to him. Even in the moonlight, Soujiro could see that the blade was stained red.
"What happened to you?" Soujiro asked as he leaned down to help the man into a sitting position. It did not take him a very thorough look to realize that the man did not have long to live.
"H ... help ..." the man gasped.
"I don't think I can help you," Soujiro said, as he took the man's arms around his shoulders. It was true, and they both knew it.
"Not me ... my vill ... aagh!" The last came as Soujiro set the man down, as gently as he could, against the base of the nearest tree. "Ichibou! My village!" he rasped.
"Ichibou?" Soujiro asked. He was more interested than his voice implied; he had never been good at making his feelings known. "What's happening in Ichibou?"
"Yak ... yakuz ..." The man's aura winked out.
Soujiro stood up and let the man lay undisturbed for a time. He was definitely intrigued, and for several reasons. First, the man had had the aura of a powerful fighter, so if there were gangsters that could do this to him, they were no ordinary ones. Second, Ichibou had been one of the ten small villages like Shingetsu that ShiShiO's troops had conquered during the high tide of ShiShiO's power. It was the furthest afield from Kyoto that his forces had spread. Soujiro had never been there himself; it was well off the main route, and apparently ShiShiO's army had never had any problems there that required his assistance. Third, he had intended to stop there anyway, since it was the next major town on the mountain road. It was larger than Shingetsu, actually, and a small fortune ran into the town from an iron mine that lay at the west edge of the town. That was the reason ShiShiO had chosen Ichibou as the first place that far from Kyoto to strike.
Eventually, Soujiro thought he had stood there long enough. He knelt down, said a silent prayer for the departed, and began to look through the man's belongings. It never occurred to him that he was acting like a criminal, and being so close to a dead person certainly didn't bother him. Besides, the man might have something much more useful on him than money. He might have information.
The man certainly didn't have much money. Soujiro sighed wistfully. It seemed to be a common thread among samurai these days. Then Soujiro spied something on the hilt of the man's sword. On impulse, he picked it up and took a closer look. He gasped.
Just below the crossbar of the hilt lay a sigil that he recognized. He had ruined a sword with an identical marking against the Battousai's sakaba at their first meeting. It was one of the Oh-waza-mono, a set of thirty-one of the finest katanas ever made in Japan. "Any warrior would die to possess it," Yumi-san had told him once. Soujiro took another hard look at the fallen. If he had been good enough to have earned such a blade--and he did not have the look or the aura of a thief--then he must have been VERY good. A Hitokiri of some kind, by all accounts.
With a touch of what might have been envy in another man, Soujiro remembered the sword that he had been using ever since he left ShiShiO's stronghold. It was a common soldier's blade that he had picked up off of one of ShiShiO's fallen troops. The Battousai had destroyed three swords in Soujiro's hands, though one had not been without hope of repair. He had sent it back to ShiShiO, however, and sworn never to walk down that road again. He had been looking for a better weapon than the economy-grade lump of scrap metal that he had been killing birds with--but he had never dreamed that one of the Oh-waza-mono would fall into his hands.
He picked up the sword, and unbuckled the man's belt with the sheath on it. There was writing on the scabbard, Garou no Kokoro, Heart of the Hungry Wolf. He slid the sheath onto his own belt, and slid the katana into it, making sure to clean it as best he could in the creek first.
"Ichibou, eh?" he mused thoughtfully once he was finished. "I
guess I should still go there," he thought aloud. "I owe him that much for the sword." In addition, he was mildly interested in what had happened to ShiShiO's empire now that ShiShiO was gone.
Since he still wanted to get some sleep before morning and he had brought his knapsack with him, Soujiro curled up and slept a few feet away, just out of sight of the dead samurai. Nothing bothered him about sleeping so near a corpse, but his sleep was troubled anyway. Something had killed a wielder of one of the Oh-waza-mono. He had known one of them, and had wielded one of them himself on occasion. They were not the kind of men that died easily, even in the face of overwhelming numbers.
"Living the life of a Hitokiri has a price," ShiShiO's voice returned to him.
"A price?" Soujiro had asked.
"Living the life of a Hitokiri means dying the death of a Hitokiri," ShiShiO had continued. "There are only two things that can kill us. The first is a stronger Hitokiri. The second is the lord of Hell himself."
Soujiro awoke at first light. He had been sleeping until well into most mornings of late, but his sleep had been too restless for a long, carefree snooze. He stole a peek around the bole of the tree he had been sleeping against, taking another look at the man who had uttered his last words to Soujiro.
The man had laid it upon him to go to Ichibou, and that had been where Soujiro had been heading anyway, so he really had no reason not to continue. It was either go through Ichibou or turn around and go back the way he had come; Ichibou occupied the southern entrance to the only pass through the mountains within several days' walk in either direction. The pass itself was bad enough, Soujiro had heard; trying to climb the mountains themselves just to avoid the town would be senseless. Besides, Soujiro wanted a good meal, a warm bath, and a soft bed. It wasn't that he couldn't rough it ... well, OK, it was. He was learning, but learning could wait. Besides, he really did want to see whoever or whatever it was in Ichibou that could take out a Hitokiri. It never occurred to him that it might be dangerous; living with ShiShiO-san as a mentor had erased all knowledge of danger from his mind.
*There are only two things that can kill us. The first is a stronger Hitokiri. The second is the lord of Hell himself.* Somehow, he doubted that the Lord of Hell was taking a vacation in Ichibou. The Lord of Hell would probably choose someplace warmer.
Girding himself with his new sword, as well as his old one, he turned back to the mountain road and continued on his journey northward. To Ichibou.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 1:
MEMORIES, MEALS, AND MONEY
The sun had just crested the horizon to the east, and there was a thin cloud cover darkening the morning as Soujiro crested the last rise before coming into view of Ichibou. A puzzled look momentarily overshadowed his smile, and a single thought leapt into his head.
"ShiShiO sent his army this far afield," he wondered aloud, "for this?"
Ichibou was not the prettiest town in Japan. Soujiro guessed it probably wasn't the ugliest, but it was the ugliest he had ever seen. It looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years. Yumi-san would have thrown a fit. A single decrepit merchant wagon lumbered languidly along the mountain road towards the town, and another lone, dusty wagon was trudging away from it down another trail that led to the east. The town's modest fortifications seemed as though they had been repaired rather hastily, and crudely. In fact, it had probably been done by ShiShiO's troops, since what was left without those repairs didn't look like it could stand up to a hard wind, much less an invasion. It wasn't even as big as Soujiro had assumed it must have been, for a mining town that was supposed to be fairly rich. If they had so much money, why didn't they dip into it to buy soap every now and then? Even with it barely within sight, Soujiro wrinkled his nose. His stay there might not be as pleasant as he had hoped.
Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, he wandered back into motion. He had never truly been in a hurry, but now he really wasn't. There was certainly no rush. He had plenty of time to make it to the town before nightfall, and he had no real desire to get there any sooner than he had to in order to ensure himself that he would spend the night in a real bed. Thinking of what the beds would probably be like, he shuddered again. Maybe roughing it wasn't so bad after all.
Ichibou lay on the flattened crest of a grassy hilltop across a small valley several miles long. The hill Soujiro stood on lay perhaps half as high above the valley floor as Ichibou, so he was going to be in for quite a climb whenever he decided to make the last mile into town. There was a smaller hamlet down in the valley, however, easily within an hour's walk, that looked much more tidy. It was set on the banks of the mountain stream that flowed through the valley after passing through Ichibou. There looked to be perhaps ten or eleven houses that he could see, and while they were in no way as good as the estates he had occupied in Kyoto, or even Shingetsu, they looked like someone somewhere within them cared a little about the quality of their residence.
It took him well under an hour to reach the little cluster of houses. Most of the trek was downhill into the valley, and he actually caught a goby in a small creek along the way. He was getting better at that; for some reason, fish were harder to kill with a katana than people. Especially because Soujiro really didn't want to get his clothes wet. He wondered what Yumi-san would say to that. He even wondered what ShiShiO would say to that. At least he was still using his old sword; he wouldn't dream of putting one of the Oh-waza-mono to such menial labor. He was tempted to make sushi out of the goby, but he decided to wrap it and see if he could charm anyone in one of the houses up ahead to cook it for him.
When he reached the little group of houses, he was surprised at how serene everything was. A battallion of ShiShiO's soldiers had no doubt marched through this village not so long ago; most of them did not share his views on stealth. Many of those soldiers had probably turned to thievery and robbery once news of ShiShiO's downfall reached them. It was the kind of thing soldiers did. A conversation he had had with Yumi came back to him.
"Don't call yourself an assassin," Yumi told him. "You're better than that."
"Oh?" Soujiro replied. He had wondered what word there was for someone better than an assassin. He was better than most assassins, after all. He just didn't know any other word for what he did. Then again, Yumi was much smarter than him.
"You're not an assassin, boy. You're one of the Ju Pon Gattana, ShiShiO's highest army. You're a soldier."
Soujiro donned a puzzled expression. "How is a soldier better than an assassin?"
"Being a soldier is a mark of pride and honor, and soldiers carry their pride with them wherever they go. Assassins are just killers."
Soujiro gave her his most puzzled expression. "I still don't understand."
"Why not?" Yumi barked.
"I just kill. But soldiers kill people and then steal from them, or steal from them and then kill them. Sometimes they even kill people they weren't sent to kill. What makes them better than me?"
Yumi thought for a moment, then replied, "Soldiers have no need of stealth. They can show themselves in daylight."
"I don't hide in daylight, either," he pointed out.
"But you don't tell others that you're an assassin, either."
"No, I don't think people would react very well if I did."
"Exactly!" Yumi said smugly.
"But most people don't seem to like having soldiers nearby, either," Soujiro had pointed out. "I was just at a restaurant when soldiers walked in, and everyone else got really uncomfortable or left. Some of the soldiers didn't even pay for their tofu."
"Then those soldiers have no honor, either."
"Then they aren't like other soldiers?"
"They aren't like other soldiers should be!"
"Good. That means I don't have to be like other assassins," he had finished sweetly.
Soujiro found himself smiling as he came out of his reverie. Thinking of Yumi always made him smile. Still, it reminded him that most of ShiShiO-san's soldiers were probably not that much different from other soldiers--given some time without their paychecks, they might not be as honorable as Yumi had thought soldiers should be.
And yet, as he had noticed before, everything was peaceful. A few children, many not even as old as he had been when he left his home with ShiShiO-san, smiled at him as he walked into the hamlet. He smiled at them, hoping that all of them were living happier childhood days than he had. Instinctively, he looked around apprehensively to see if any of those buildings could possibly be a rice warehouse. That might bring back too many unpleasant memories to let him stay here. Fortunately, none stood out at him in that way.
"Konnichiwa!" a young woman called at him from under the awning of the largest of the buildings in the little hamlet. The lower half was apparently the entire commercial district. The left half was occupied by a small restaurant and tavern; the right half was a small general store that looked like the owner was ready to fix broken wagons at a moment's notice.
"Just passing through?" she called again.
"Anou ... I guess so," Soujiro said uneasily. He remembered that he wasn't in a hurry to get to Ichibou, but he really didn't have the money to be eating at every diner he passed. Just getting groceries was expensive enough. He had never had to worry about money while he was with ShiShiO, and while he had brought what was left of ShiShiO's secret cache with him, it would not get any larger.
Sure enough, the woman was a professional saleswoman. "Aren't you hungry? You look hungry. Come on! I know you can't be enjoying eating trail food every day!" She was right enough about that.
After another few moments of indecision, Soujiro gave in. The restaurant looked fairly busy, actually, which probably meant that the food was good. It also probably meant that there was useful information lurking in the minds of some of the customers. It was the only restaurant in the hamlet, and it was the last one for several days' ride to the south, especially to those burdened by wagons. Soujiro spotted a few wagons parked in a vacant lot next to the restaurant; that clinched it. If anyone in there even accidentally dropped a clue as to what was happening in Ichibou at the time, it might be worth the stop ... and the cost.
So it was that Soujiro, once the paragon of assassins and highest subordinate of the man who struck terror into the hearts of the entire Meiji government, wound up sitting idly in a small restaurant in an isolated valley far away from anywhere he had ever been before, enjoying a light but delicious meal of baked rice and chicken teriyaki. He even allowed himself a single glass of sake, something he had never done while living with ShiShiO. Actually, that had been because of Yumi, though he had been told that Yumi herself had drunk on occasion.
However, like all men of his former profession, his awareness was not solely on his food. The conversation in the restaurant was not exceptionally stimulating--but it was plentiful.
"Do you think we planted early enough?" "We won't be able to tell until the rains come." "They had better come soon ..."
"No, the bloody leak won't be fixed for another month." "That's a shame." "So what are you doing in the meantime ..."
"I wish I could, but my mother-in-law and her whole family are coming down from Osaka next month, and I have to cook for all of them ..." "So how long are they staying?" "Too long."
"Do you really think I've got a chance?" "Aw, go for it! What've you got to lose?" "But what if she says ..." Soujiro averted his ears from the rest of that conversation quickly.
"No, nothing's changed up north." Soujiro's mind perked up. "It still costs a bloody fortune to get through. Genji's boys take everything they bloody feel like off your hands on your way through, too."
Soujiro risked a look in the direction of those voices. The speaker was one of a trio of men sitting in a booth catty corner across the aisle from his. Two had the definite look of merchants; Soujiro guessed that the third was the bodyguard of one of the merchants, probably the one that had been speaking.
"You still need to get through that badly?" It was the same voice that Soujiro had heard speaking before; it came from the merchant whose back was to Soujiro.
"Unfortunately," the other merchant confirmed glumly. "I'm staking an awful lot on this run. This stuff is selling for six or seven times what I paid for it in some of the more isolated areas a few days north of the divide. If I lose out on this, my livelihood for the year is pretty much suspect."
"Good luck to you, then," the first merchant replied, obviously feeling some sympathy for the other man, though Soujiro doubted it was as deep as the man let on. "I strongly suggest you try to find yourself some more tough types to help you, though, just until you get north of town."
"I already have a guard," the merchant whose face Soujiro could see answered. "A veteran of Shingetsu, he says, wherever that was. I don't keep up on the battles, unless they're in my area." Soujiro's eyes widened. Someone else from Shingetsu was here? He was paying attention almost openly now; his interest was more than piqued. "I just picked him up before I left Kyoto," the northbound merchant continued, "but he has a scar or two on him to prove it, so I'm going to take him at his word. Those are pretty hard to fake."
"Maybe." The first merchant sounded doubtful. "But I'd hire another one or two if I could. You may need more than one, especially if you haven't seen him fight yet."
"Not that I don't want to," the other one answered wistfully, "but the locals here don't generally seem the fighting type. Most of the people here looked nervous just because Sasaki was carrying a sword. Even if he is isn't as good as he says, and I'm sure he's not, I'm not going to find anyone better between here and there."
"Take my advice," the first merchant countered pointedly as he rose from the table and prepared to leave. "Try."
"OK."
The first merchant and his guard walked out. It might have been just a trick of the light in the doorway, but Soujiro thought he caught the faintest hint of a smirk on the man's face as he stepped out into the daylight. After another moment's thought, Soujiro shrugged and turned his attention back the the northbound merchant. He was going to have to stop being so paranoid--only he somehow doubted the world had changed that much just because everything was different. He knew that thought didn't make much sense. Thinking too much just hurt his brain, though, so he didn't bother correcting it. His attention was now on the merchant still in the restaurant, who was staring dejectedly at the table, his displeasure at the choice of evils before him clearly evident on his face.
"Chikushou!" the merchant snarled after a minute, rising to his feet and calling for the tab. He kicked at the ground sullenly.
The waitress came to collect the bill, and it just happened that she came from behind him. The merchant had to turn around to pay her. When he did so, his eyes widened immediately, and Soujiro knew that his swords had been spotted. Soujiro made sure he was paying religious attention to what was left of his chicken teriyaki, but he smiled inwardly. Soujiro was far too professional to allow his weapons to be seen when he didn't want them to be.
"Sumimasen!" Soujiro called. "Check please!" He didn't want to give the merchant much time to think. He paid his bill with a polite smile and a well-deserved compliment to the chef, picked up his swords and travel bags, and headed for the door.
Sure enough, the merchant just happened to fall in alongside Soujiro on the way out. "Hello, lad," he began cautiously.
"Hi!" Soujiro responded lightly.
"What direction are you headed?" the merchant asked.
"Oh ... I think I'm going to keep going north for a while." Soujiro's voice was always casual, but this time he made a conscious effort of it.
"Really?" the merchant sounded genuinely interested. Merchants were usually good at sounding genuinely interested when they weren't. "Funny I should run into you then. Karachi Hoebu, at your service."
"Funny?" Soujiro was puzzled. "It's the only road around that goes north."
The merchant apparently could not decide if Soujiro was making a joke, was encouraging him to come straight the the point, or was just completely ignorant. He decided to come to the point, though perhaps not completely straight. "Looking for work?"
"Maybe." It was an honest answer; he hadn't been at all until minutes earlier, and the idea had just popped into his head.
"For just a few days perhaps?"
"Hmm ..." Soujiro didn't really know what he was supposed to do here; he had never had to negotiate a job for himself before.
"Maybe just two days?"
"What did you have in mind?"
"I need someone to protect my wagon in that town up there." He motioned towards the town on the far side of the valley. "I've heard that it's gotten rough these days."
Soujiro did his best to look mildly interested. "Well, I don't have any real work right now," he began.
"Perfect!" the merchant crooned.
"But," Soujiro continued, and the merchant stopped short. "A merchant's wagon with lots of expensive goods will probably attract a lot more trouble in Ichibou than just me by myself."
The merchant quoted a price for two days. Soujiro had never been much of a mathematician, but the number was less than the lowest soldiers in ShiShiO's army had made. Soujiro gave him a sidelong look. His mind was racing, and his mind hurt when it raced. Soujiro had always been told that he looked innocent and unassuming, and he had always accepted that and just gone on with his life. It never really made much of a difference. Yet, he had a feeling that this merchant thought that he was dealing with a complete amateur simply because Soujiro did not have the look of a fighter.
Soujiro thought for a moment, then flatly quoted a figure that was time and a half what one of ShiShiO's sergeants would have made, and added a stipulation that he was to receive the same type of food and lodging for the first night in Ichibou that the merchant bought for himself. It was the merchant's turn to fix a shrewd glance on the man he was dealing with. Soujiro had not asked for all that much extra--the man might have paid almost twice his orginal figure--but the fact that Soujiro asked for more at all apparently came as a surprise. Maybe the little innocent wasn't as inexperienced as he looked. After a long moment the merchant smiled, and nodded his acceptance.
"We'll be leaving in just a few minutes," the merchant said. "Oh, by the way, what was your name again?"
"Anou ... oh ... Soujiro. Seta Soujiro." He wondered if he shouldn't have let that slip. He had never thought that he might need a new name for himself. His old one was starting to get a little stained. Of course, he had no idea what kind of a new one he wanted. He had figured dropping the Tenken title was enough, like Himura had dropped the Battousai. Memories of the Tenken were fresher in some people's minds, though, and the merchant's other guard had apparently been at Shingetsu.
"I'll be right back as soon as I pick up something at the store," Karachi said. "If you want, you can just wait by my wagon; it the last one in the back behind the restaurant. It's the biggest one there."
"Thank you. I'll do that" Soujiro said, and quickly turned and hurried off towards the small group of wagons. He wanted to meet whoever this "veteran of Shingetsu" was before Karachi returned.
The wagon was not hard to find; it was indeed the largest there, almost half again the size of the second largest. It was heavily laden, but everything in it was covered with thick canvas. Soujiro couldn't see anything of what he was guarding. He couldn't even see the shape, since everything was apparently packaged in oversized boxes or crates. Everything looked like it had been fairly securely packaged, however; even the rear gate had been securely bolted shut. Whatever was in there was apparently fragile. It certainly wouldn't be coming out into the road.
There was a man sitting on the wagon tongue, keeping his eye more on the horses than on the wagon. Soujiro didn't recognize him, which was probably a good thing; he might have had trouble explaining himself had the merchant's guard turned out to be Senkaku or someone more familiar. Just to prove a point, Soujiro flitted lithely over to the wagon from the rear and climbed on top of it without disturbing it enough to realize him. The boxes under the canvas were sturdy; the footing was as firm as solid ground.
"Konnichiwa!" he called to the man sitting below him.
The man spun around, his hand dipping clumsily to his sword and his elbow accidentally knocking over a small flask of sake that had been hidden from Soujiro's eyes before. "Who the hell are you?!" he demanded. "Get off! This is private property!"
"Yup! Karachi Hoebu's, I know. He just hired me, too."
"Nani?" the man looked shocked. From what Soujiro had just seen, however, Karachi was right to want extra protection. Soujiro wondered what this man had been hired to protect against.
"For just two days," Soujiro said calmingly. "Just until you're out of Ichibou. I won't be any trouble."
The man relaxed a little. "Hmph. OK." With that, he turned back to his sake.
"Ah, I see you've met!" Karachi's voice rang out. "Just in case you hadn't gotten to the names yet, Soujiro, this is Sasaki Shingo ... Shingo, this is Soujiro."
The other guard turned a look on his new companion. "So your name's Soujiro?"
"Hai," Soujiro responded politely.
"I knew a Soujiro once," the guard went on.
"Did you really?" Soujiro asked, wondering if the man actually knew him or not.
"Yup. We were at Shingetsu together. I doubt you're as good a fighter as he was, however. He was the right hand of ShiShiO-sama!"
"Was he really?" Soujiro's smile was starting to become genuine.
"Yup. He was six feet tall, and had the strength of a horse behind every blow. It was all I could do to defend myself whenever I sparred with him."
"Seriously?" Soujiro had put on the most innocent expression he had ever worn. "What did he look like? Really scary?"
The man hesitated for a moment. "Well, he's kinda hard to describe, but he was totally ripped. Most muscular man I've ever met. My old boss, Senkaku, was a real brute--huge fellow, and fought with huge blades on each hand--even he talked about this Soujiro like the man might have him for breakfast at any time."
"Wow," Soujiro continued. "You must have been pretty high in ShiShiO-san's army if you could even hold off against him in a sparring match."
The man flashed him a look, and Soujiro realized he had slipped. He had said "ShiShiO-san." Most people didn't do that unless they were in an unbelievable hurry to get to the next world. Fortunately, the guard shrugged it off.
"I was Senkaku's chief lieutenant," he boasted.
Even with Soujiro's vaunted tight rein on his emotions, it was all he could do not to giggle. Senkaku's chief lieutenant had been at least fifteen years older than this man, and had longer hair that was beginning to go gray in patches. He had also been several inches taller, had a much deeper voice, and had been walking with quite a limp ever since the Battousai had gotten his sakaba on him. Apparently Himura-san hadn't been happy at the sight of villagers dangling from the gallows or something. Soujiro hadn't watched the actual fight.
Although Soujiro's eyes were sparkling with laughter, he managed to keep it out of his voice. "Impressive. Hoebu-san should be safe with us."
"Excellent!" the merchant cried, and hauled himself up onto the wagon seat beside Shingo. "Let's get going!"
Soujiro nodded, and calmly slipped back to the rear of the wagon. He had only shown emotion twice that he could remember; once was fear, once was anger. He was worried that if he remained at the front of the wagon with the others much longer, he might add uproarious laughter to that list.
"Six feet tall and ripped," he mused to himself as he sat with his feet dangling over the back of the rearmost canvas-covered crate. "I'm going to enjoy this trip."
* * * * *