They paused outside a room with a game of han chou going on inside, the smell of lamp oil and sweat seeping into the hallway. A big man sat just within the entrance, uncurling to his full height as they approached; his eyes flicked over the sword hanging at Mugen's back. As Mugen watched, the man's hand came to rest casually on the hilt of the single sword at his hip. Hmm.

"You play?" the glasses-man asked.

Mugen shrugged. "When it's not fixed."

The faint smile that had been on the glasses-man's face widened. "I like this guy," he said to the big man. The big man nodded, silently padding after them as they continued down the corridor. They emerged at last in a quiet space, a small table in the center set with food and drink, a platter of crab taking pride of place in the center. Glasses-man sat and poured himself a cup of tea.

Mugen raised his eyebrows. "You got a name?" He dropped to the mat, pulling the sword in its scabbard from over his back; the big man tensed for a moment, relaxing only when Mugen set the sword down.

"Rikiei," glasses-man said. "Ishimatsu, why don't you sit outside? Enjoy the garden. Get some fresh air."

The big man obediently went out, but not far; he sat on the engawa just outside, his back against a post. Mugen felt the corners of his mouth tugging upward. The yakuza enforcer — there was no way the man could be anything but, given his size and Rikiei bothering to address him by name, unlike the tanto fodder in the teahouse — would be clearly visible from any other part of the building, a signal they were there to do some business.

What sort of business, though: that would be the interesting part. "This your place?"

"It is now," Rikiei said.

Mugen raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"I should get rid of the old man and put someone else in charge, but I like it here. It's quiet," the yakuza boss admitted. "And sometimes I see things like that."

He gestured toward the garden behind Ishimatsu and its teacup-sized pond to where a frog sat, barely visible behind the deer scarer; Mugen glanced over as the frog's long tongue darted out and snatched a passing insect, only to find Rikiei watching him as he looked back.

"The world's like that." The other man folded his hands around the cup thoughtfully. "The strong eat the weak. That's how I got here today — one by one, I ate those who were weaker than I was."

Mugen let that pass and picked up a fat crab from the pile in front of him. It was a little heavier than the ones he was used to; maybe the crabs around here ran to more meat? It was crab season, yeah, and maybe this far north — he bit into one, the shell crunching between his jaws. "Chewy," he commented, through a mouthful of shards.

Rikiei watched him for a moment, then chuckled.

"What?" The shell tasted of seawater; he picked a long splinter out of his teeth, the flesh sweet on his tongue.

"You're a strange kind of guy," the other man said. "So. What about it? You want to come in on my little venture?"

Mugen flicked the splinter behind him.

"As a partner, not muscle like Ishimatsu here." Rikiei shifted position, resting his weight on one arm as he leaned back. "You could have anything: more koban than you could carry, enough power that you don't need to worry about the han, whatever you want."

The muscle's eyes shifted from the outside of the building to the boss, a crease appearing in his forehead as he looked at Rikiei. A surprise to him, then, that the yakuza was in the market for new partners: not that Mugen could blame him, much — the chances of a stranger being offered the direction of an established gang were about as good as those of the garden frog putting on a festival yukata and going to the O-bon dancing.

On the other hand, the chances a frog could find himself in the stew pot — he thought those chances were very good, indeed.

"Don't have to worry about the han, huh." Mugen swallowed the mouthful and picked a leg off the platter, cracking it in half with a sound like a finger bone snapping. "What's in it for you?" He slurped the meat out of the shell.

"You don't think I might want some help?"

"I think you're full of shit," Mugen said, and nodded at Ishimatsu. "You want help, you got your dog right there. You don't need me. So what're you getting out of this?"

Rikiei threw back his head and laughed outright.

They reached Motomachi in the early evening, sun gilding the treetops as they left the Tokkaido Road in favor of a riverside path leading into town. There was far less traffic on the path, as welcome a change to Jin as the soft grass underneath his sandals. "How do we find Shoryuu?" he asked, as they reached the foot of a bridge across the river.

"We won't. He'll find us." Kariya's steps rang out sharply on the wooden planks.

Jin frowned but followed, fine hair prickling along the back of his neck.

It soon became apparent that the older man had been to Motomachi before, and more than once; he led them unerringly down a crooked street to a sake stand that was more tent than building, slipping past the awning and sliding some monme across the counter before Jin's eyes could adjust to the dim light inside.

The counterman looked at them questioningly. Kariya gestured at the seat next to him, the counterman setting another cup in front of Jin as he sat. "Sake?"

"Thank you." Jin took a sip, the sake a thread of fire down his throat and into his stomach where it set up a pleasant burn. "How will he know where we are?"

"He spends more time with the bottle than he used to," Kariya said. "A teahouse would not be as welcoming to him as a place like this." He glanced downward, Jin following his eyes to the ground under their feet where a patch of trampled grass had gone the color of dust.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the counterman busying himself in the back of the stand out of earshot. Jin wondered whether it was that clear they were to be left alone. Not that he blamed the man — there was something about Kariya that discouraged casual contact, even in his anonymous clothing. "What happened once he had taught you?" he asked.

"Very little, actually. I remained the captain of the guard, but the government asked me to find others who might be able to learn the kacchuu kudaki and train them in its use. Even in a time of peace, a resource of that kind is not anything to waste."

"Did he teach anyone else?"

"No. He did try, but killing pupils makes for a certain reluctance in parents to send any more of their sons," the other man added in a dry voice. "In the end, he never stayed in one place long enough to pass the knowledge."

Jin nodded.

"And neither will we, not until later. Finish your sake. We're leaving." Kariya beckoned the counterman closer. "We must go, but another friend of ours will be stopping in — about as tall as the boy here, long nose, talks like a scholar. If you see him, would you tell him we'll be at the place by the bridge tonight? It's a long way from Nagasaki and it's been too long since I've seen him." He let a pile of shining coins fall next to his abandoned cup.

The counterman swept the money up, metal glinting as it disappeared into the recesses of his apron. "It would be my pleasure to reunite old friends, gentlemen. You can count on me."

"I'm sure we can," Kariya said. "But if we should happen to miss him, I expect you'll see me again tomorrow morning."

"We don't open until midday."

Kariya smiled pleasantly. "Oh, I think you might make an exception for us."

The man opened his mouth and closed it again, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

The moon had replaced the sun, clouds scudding across its luminous surface, by the time the slow footsteps came crunching across the gravel.

It was late. Motomachi had gone to bed some hours ago, the only people still awake watchmen who passed by in pairs with their lanterns. Across the counter, their server dozed, jerking awake periodically to blink at them for a moment, then subside against a post as his eyelids fluttered closed. As he stifled another yawn, Jin envied the man.

He had stopped drinking sake after the pleasant burn had become a deep sleepiness, only shaken off after enough of the last place's tea to leave a lingering taste like compost in his mouth; he'd stopped drinking tea an hour (and two trips to the little copse of trees near the river's edge) after that. A pot of tea mixed with waiting was nearly as bad an idea as waiting combined with weeks of too little sleep.

Which he should have known; he was no stranger to the effects of too much tea after a night spent staring into the dark with his head on the pillow, as the dormitory around him snored and muttered in its dreams.

At his side, Kariya poured a thin stream of sake into his cup and sipped. The wine had as much effect on him, as far as Jin could tell, that pouring it out into the river would have had.

Which seemed to be the general tendency, these days.

Jin suppressed the urge to sigh and stared instead at the patch of ground right outside the entrance, where the patrons had worn the grass down to beaten earth. Good old ground, he thought. So dependable. By the way, have you seen any swordsmen with unusual techniques recently? No? That's too bad. It was ridiculous to be thinking fondly of dirt; but as unexciting as it was, it was still undeniably easy to figure out. Dusty and crackling? Pour water on it. Wet and soupy? Let it dry out. Dirt was simple: no matter what happened, it was always there.

This barren patch of earth very probably had been there forever, or at least long enough that the difference didn't matter. The dust-colored track that had been worn into the grass between the river path and the sake stand looked the same vintage as the hollow in front of the steps that led into the main building at the Mujuu, and as stubbornly resistant to the idea of improvement. It never changed — gravel could be poured into the hollow by the cartload, eradicating any sign it had ever been there, and the next morning, the hollow would be as bare as it ever was.

He had never missed anything so much.

It had been a short time after coming to stay with Kariya, when he realized his anger had made the imperceptible shift into despair, the feeling of dislocation threading into everything like a particularly persistent cold. If he had been more like himself, he would have laughed; everything he had done since the age of five had revolved around the Mujuu and the idea that, if he only worked a little harder, practiced a little longer, cleared his mind a little more thoroughly, been a little better, he would be as good as his shishou wanted.

And now, he was.

It was funny; so funny, in fact, that Jin thought if he did start laughing, he might not be able to stop. The idea that he had spent three-quarters of his life striving to learn everything the dojo had to offer him, only to find that once he had, he was completely unprepared for what he was to do with it. There was a bitter taste to the irony that, whatever he had accomplished until now, what he seemed best at doing was making a fool of himself. Maybe he was meant to do with his knowledge was to be miserable.

It was growing cool, the stand's single lantern doing little against the breeze coming off the river, and Jin tucked his hands into his sleeves against the chill as the barman stirred. Even if he would make a bigger fool of himself than he already was, the habit of keeping his hands as warm and limber as possible was too ingrained to be able to break it. He flexed his fingers and concentrated on the slide of the tendons underneath the skin.

Not that it was likely Kariya would ask him to do anything, given how poorly he did against Sara.

This time, Jin did not bother to be quiet as he let out a frustrated breath; the indulgence, however, was swallowed by the clink of pottery being replaced on the shelf next to the sake as the barman wiped his cups down with a cloth. "Some more?" the man asked, his voice hopeful.

Tranquilly, Kariya regarded the middle distance. "No," he said after a moment had passed.

"Ah. Well." The barman went back to polishing a cup, the cloth squeaking against the lacquer as if he was determined to rub it completely away. It was, Jin admitted to himself, understandable. They had been the stand's only customers since before the sun had dipped behind the rooftops. There had been a ronin having a drink when they arrived, who had looked at Kariya and left without finishing; and the two laughing merchants who had pushed aside the awning over the door had frozen, then excused themselves as having meant to meet a third in that other stand. Jin presumed 'other' meant 'without the scary bearded guy', but you never knew.

As the cloth eeeked round the bowl of the vessel, Kariya looked up —

— and then Jin heard it; the slow sound of gravel ground underfoot.

He let the sleeves fall away from his hands.

The footsteps were light and unhurried, a man stopping for something warm against the cool damp of the night before going on his way, and Jin sat utterly still as they came closer along the path to the stand. There was a sudden tickle along the back of his neck, the impulse to run curling along his spine, and he pushed it away with distaste. He rested his hand on the sword next to him, the silk of the grip comforting.

The barman lifted his head from his task, polishing cloth coming to a stop against the cup.

The footsteps came to the edge of the door flap; a step, and another, and then the heavy cloth was being pulled back —

The stranger paused in the entrance, a tall thin man dressed like an illustration from a story about the vast country to the west, hair streaming down his back from a precise knot at his crown and a cloth bundle under his arm. He had the face of a man who would fight with his nails, as well as sword and fist. "I had heard you were looking for me," he said, and let the flap fall behind him.

"So I was," Kariya replied.

"Mm." The stranger — Shoryuu, Jin assumed — took a step forward. "I'd buy you a drink, but it would seem impossible."

Not moving his head, Jin flicked a sideways look to the space behind the bar; the server was gone, loose canvas at the back of the stand the only clue to how he had disappeared without drawing attention.

"Thank you. But I've had enough."

The thin man gave a slight nod, mouth curling in a half-smile. "In that case, it's a pleasant night for a walk next to the river. Unless you care to stay?"

Kariya shook his head, rising to his feet. "The river will do very well; a good choice. Jin?"

The man chuckled, squinting into the dark, as Jin stood up in the shadow thrown by the lantern. "Another one? For a moment, I'd thought you were here with Sara. Too bad. I would've liked to see her again."

"I'll tell her you were thinking of her." Kariya gestured for Shoryuu to go ahead of him. "Or maybe I won't? Difficult to know."

"Keeping your little ones in the dark. How surprising," the man commented, and slipped past the awning. Kariya followed; uncertain, Jin brought up the rear of their little procession.

They had walked nearly to Motomachi's main bridge, Shoryuu making small talk about an eel stand that had closed down, before the thin man came to a halt beside a stand of willows. He eyed them with an expression that looked like approval and turned to Kariya.

Kariya surveyed the river under the moonlight and nodded. "Your taste always was impeccable."

Shoryuu made a small sound of acknowledgement, his attention shifting to Jin where he stood separate. "Though hardly prudent. Is this your boy? I'm insulted," he said, giving him a cursory glance. "I can still smell the dojo on this one. Has he even — " He stopped, eyebrows knit together as his eyes returned to Jin. "Enshirou?"

Over the man's shoulder, Jin caught a glimpse of a smile fleeting over Kariya's face.

" — which is impossible, because that was twenty years ago," Shoryuu finished.

"A cousin," Kariya commented. "He was shorter, but there is a resemblance, I think."

"I see. And you've brought him here. What a story that must be."

"No less than yours, I think. You've made a name for yourself," Kariya said. "Shoryuu."

"Hn." The thin man gave Jin a last appraising look, and turned his attention back to Kariya. "Nothing like you or Enshirou, but then I never did have the opportunities you had handed to you. Tell me, was it your idea or theirs to send him? I've always thought it must have been yours, knowing your sense of humor."

"I am Edo's loyal dog," Kariya replied, resting his fingers on the sword at his hip.

Shoryuu snorted. "A dog perhaps, but not loyal. Certainly not to Edo."

"Oh, Shoryuu: that you would lecture me on loyalty. I notice you've returned to the place of your sickness, though, so perhaps you do know something about crawling on your belly to your master. Come to ask him to take you back? Roll onto your back and show him your throat, hmm?"

Shoryuu's mouth tightened. "My business here has nothing to do with the government."

"The government has nothing to do with your business, that's true. Did you think they wouldn't notice the road of the dead you have behind you? You've gotten sloppy. You killed three men while you were in Nagoya alone."

The thin man gave a sharp noise of amusement. "Three only? It has been slow, certainly, but that slow — I'd no idea. My apologies." He made Jin an abbreviated bow. "I'm afraid I'm hardly worth your bother, little Takeda, but if you like, you're more than welcome to travel with me."

"Off so soon?" Kariya asked. "I'd thought to ask you to teach Jin a few things."

"So sorry," Shoryuu said. "It's past time I went home."

The other man relaxed his grip on the hilt. "Of course. How rude of me — and I quite agree. Time you were where you belong."

His face was smooth, relaxed; the mouth inside its frame of beard and moustache was set in a soft smile, as if they were back in the garden and Sara about to play on her shamisen for them.

But inside the serene mask, Kariya's eyes glittered.

"In fact," he said, "Jin will take you. I insist."

Oh, Jin thought, the reason why Kariya had brought him along suddenly clear. Oh.

The thin man coughed with laughter. "Oh, I take it back; you weren't looking for me at all. I should have known. What did they say in Nagasaki, you know a workman by his tools?"

Jin missed Kariya's response, his heart hammering loudly in his chest; he felt ridiculous and stupid. He had known that facing someone outside the practice space would be different, but now that the moment when he would use what he knew (and for one horrifying moment, the possibility that he would forget everything yawed before him, a vast and terrible gorge with its lip crumbling underneath him) was here, the only thing that registered was how much he was afraid.

He forced himself to stand straight, feet planted solidly on the ground. He could do this.

Shoryuu looked at him. "So, little Takeda?"

Slowly, Jin nodded.

He wrapped his fingers around the hilt and drew —

— and in that moment, the knot in his stomach that had been there since leaving Kisarazu, every last breath of worry and doubt, blew away into nothing like so much dandelion fluff before a gale.

There was nothing: no homesickness, no sense of betraying the purity of the Mujuu, no thought of disappointment or failure — nothing mattered but the rightness of the sword in his hand.

The man chuckled and pulled a sword from the bundle under his arm; out of the corner of his eye, Jin saw the cloth flutter away, falling to the side of the road. There was the space of a breath as the man assumed a fighting stance, his weight resting on his back foot as he held his weapon — which looked ancient, the blade a wide arc of steel that tapered to a point, how did he think he could fight with what had to be some sort of ceremonial sword — high.

Jin frowned.

An odd style, but . . . Shoryuu's eyes were steady, no sign of fear in their depths.

The man drew a hissing breath, and moved —

— Jin twisted to the side, the sword passing close enough to his cheek that he felt the current of air disturbed by its passage against his skin.

Shoryuu made a sound deep in his throat, a short huff of affirmation, as if finding something he had set aside some time ago. He drew the sword back to his original position, holding it high, and stepped slowly to the side, circling around with movements that would not have been out of place in a temple. "Would you like to begin, or should I continue to warm up?" he asked.

The fury seething in Jin's blood lessened to a low boil, enough to permit thought; still too much for the comfort of the Mujuu, but sufficient that he would not kill himself right away by doing something stupid

He brought the katana up, and blocked: Shoryuu's strike rang out, metal on metal, and the man was there in his face pushing against him.

"Why are you fighting me?" Shoryuu's voice was calm. "It can't be for the bounty, you've never been interested in that."

The cold night air stung, as Jin caught his breath. What —

"Perhaps you simply need killing," Kariya replied, from somewhere to the right of Jin's shoulder.

The thin man smiled. "How noble of you. Not true, but it has a good sound." His attention shifted back to Jin. "Should I ask which one of us he means? I don't suppose he'd say, of course." He leaned harder on the sword, Jin's shoulders beginning to burn with the strain of holding him up; Shoryuu was more solid than he looked —

— which, of course, would have been what his shishou would have told him to use, that familiar voice dry in his ears.

Jin pushed back, taking care to let the edge of the katana dip just low enough —

— as the other man's sword slid off, Shoryuu leaping away as the katana whistled through the space where he had been. Slowly, his smile broadened, as Jin drew back.

"Oh, brightboy," Shoryuu whispered. "You're thinking, aren't you? You're paying attention. How he must love that." He raised the sword high once more, and struck —

— as Jin dodged, his hakama fluttering as he leapt onto the bridge, the wooden railing at the edge of the path splintering into pieces behind him.

The monks' technique, the tiny part of him separate from the fighting noted dispassionately. It looked like it came from the sword: it actslike a sword so it's possible that if I treat it as —

He ducked, then, narrowly avoiding the sword itself as it passed through the air above his head.

"No time for the dojo, little Takeda," the thin man rasped. "If you won't use the sword, what good are you?"

Jin ignored him, staying in the crouch for a second breath, longer than he should have, waiting waiting waiting —

(ah)

And there it was, the monks' technique, as Shoryuu gave in to the temptation of a stationary target as Jin moved, a stone that had been under his sandal shattering into a thousand fragments; there was a searing burn over the side of his ankle and he knew one of the pieces had torn the skin there, but there was no time, no time before the man could raise his sword again, and then —

The space of a heartbeat, and then —

(open he's open he doesn't see it)

— and then the moment stretched, Shoryuu's breath as clear and slow as the tide outside Kisarazu; Jin could smell pickled vegetables and a memory of the dojo kitchens in autumn washed over him —

(have to now or he'll)

— and Jin ran him through, the katana sliding in underneath the man's breastbone.

The man gasped, his eyes widening. There was a warmth coating Jin's hands as Shoryuu's momentum pushed the blade deeper; it felt almost pleasant, a contrast to the chill of the evening, before the significance of the warmth registered and Jin's stomach did a lazy roll within him.

(oh)

The thick reek of blood rose up to meet him, the sourness of a voided bladder twining round it. The part of his mind that would not be silent catalogued a note of alcohol in Shoryuu's urine; the body shuts down its processes before death occurs, Niwa-sensei lectured him, a thousand years away. Food, drink, breath — it no longer needs what we gave it in life.

Useful advice: it did not, however help with the immediate problem, which was the fact that he was in danger of throwing up from the smell, and — was that blood, seeping over his feet?

Jin swallowed hard, trying not to gag.

The voice droned on, a backdrop to the moment turned suddenly sharp as the grain of the bridge railing carved itself into memory.

The other man shifted then, a gentle slouch that turned into a slump forward. He staggered, sliding down along the katana, coming to a stop close enough for the delicate tracery of red veins overlaying the whites of the man's eyes to come into sharp focus before he sagged. Jin automatically braced under the additional weight.

There was a peculiar sound: a wet sort of noise that Jin could not immediately identify, a moment passing before he realized the man was chuckling. "You haven't had this one long enough, Kariya," Shoryuu rasped. "You would've dropped me."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jin saw Kariya take a step forward. "Leave him. He's already dead."

A crooked smile formed on Shoryuu's face, the skin around the lips taking on an undertone of violets. "I've been dead for years. Do you think a few moments will make a difference?" he called, then grasped at Jin's collar. "Put me on the grass, boy."

Jin obeyed, dragging him as gently as he could with the sword sticking out of the man's torso; Shoryuu grunted as he came to settle on the ground, his fingers still clutched around the cloth as Jin bent down.

"Good," the dying man told him, breath beginning to hitch. "Should — listen. Listen. Lies."

"Listen to what?" Jin asked. "Who lies?"

There was a horrid sucking noise as the man fought for another breath, a rattling gurgle that left the hair on the back of Jin's neck rising; then the fingers around his collar slid free, Shoryuu's arms relaxing as the gurgle trailed off into a silence that was more horrible still.

Jin rocked back on his heels, unable to look away.

Mugen slowed, hearing a loud thump from the direction of the roof; he looked up, half-expecting to see a dead branch cascading off the tiles, but saw nothing.

He shook his head — this crazy country was finally getting to him — and managed to go another two steps before a roof tile shattered on the ground ahead. A muffled exclamation followed on its heels, drawing him up short.

He'd heard that voice before, but — what was she doing here?

Amused, he watched as a pair of familiar feet dangled off the edge of the roof; one of those ridiculously impractical zori fell off, dust pluming around it as it thumped onto the packed dirt of the brothel courtyard. "Oi," he called softly. "I can see straight up your kimono from here."

There was a squawk as the feet disappeared, to be replaced by her head poking out over the eave. She looked — well, maybe pissed off was understating it a little, he decided. Severely pissed off? No, that wasn't quite it either — "You," she hissed.

"Me," he agreed, shoving his hands into his pockets. Homicidal: that was the word he was looking for. "D'you think you're doing up there? Break your neck, that way."

"I," she said through gritted teeth, "am escaping. Now shut up and get out of the way if you're not going to help."

"How do you think you're gonna get down from there? That's at least three times my height."

"Is not."

"Is too, you dumb broad."

"Is not! And I'm not talking to you, you jerk."

"Uh-huh." Absently, he ran his tongue over a piece of something stuck between his incisors. He could really go for some more of those crunchy crab thingies — "How's that working out? 'Cause I can still hear you."

Her face screwed into an angry knot. "Just go get lost, for — I'm getting out of here, see if I don't."

Mugen eyed the way the roofline brushed against the treetops. "Not from there, you can't."

Her face reddened to the point where he halfway expected her head to begin whistling like a teakettle. "Will you go away?"

"Your funeral." He shook his head and went inside, the building humming with giggling whores and distracted yakuza. He made his way past a maroon knot of men lounging around Ishimatsu, the big enforcer's eyes following him as he walked past; he hadn't done himself any favors there either, he thought.

Mugen made a face. Eh, popularity was overrated anyway.

He found Rikiei sitting in a back room, smoking a pipe. "Ah, partner. I was hoping to see you."

"Yeah," Mugen said, and made himself comfortable as he leaned against the wall. "You know you got a woman hanging off the roof out there?"

The Nagatomi boss blinked, taking the pipe from his mouth. "What?"

"Small. Kinda pink." Mugen considered. "Noisy."

"Oh, for — Ishimatsu!"

While Rikiei waited, Mugen took the opportunity to indulge in a long and luxurious scratching of his armpit before cracking his knuckles. At some point, he really was going to have to find a bathhouse for his own use, he reflected. Spending days on the road meant a certain amount of grubbiness, which was fine; but eventually sweat and salt from seawater had to be scrubbed out of clothes or risk chafing in places he preferred to keep in good working order, thank you very much.

And it felt good. He could think of at least one person who probably wouldn't believe him, but he wouldn't turn his nose up at a hot soak if it was on offer. Which Rikiei could undoubtedly arrange, if he took the man's offer; though it would be a good idea to keep an eye open as he soaked, in case anyone would want to lodge their pink tanto in his ribs for safekeeping.

Hn.

He liked women, especially the ones who were the right kind; not the clinging kind, who got what she wanted through manipulating some poor bastard into doing it for her, but the ones who did as they pleased and were strong enough to go about it without needing to be shored up. Trouble was, the ones who did as they pleased tended to be ones who did as they pleased, which usually made for a short career once someone bigger noticed they might have something worth taking.

Add to that a place that leaned hard on its women to sit down and shut up — he shook his head. Even if it turned his stomach, it was hard to blame them for using someone too dumb to know he was being used.

A shadow passed in front of the light coming in to the side chamber from the main room, and his eyes flicked from Rikiei to the entrance, automatically looking for the sword.

Ishimatsu was at the door, his attention fixing on Mugen even as he turned his face attentively to the yakuza boss.

Mugen grinned, drawing up his lip to let the other man get a good look at his canines.

"There's a woman — one of ours?" Rikiei asked, turning his head to face the door as Mugen nodded. " — trying to get down from the roof. Go get the idiot before she kills herself."

Ishimatsu grunted and took a step away from the door, but paused as Mugen spoke.

"Might wanna be careful. If that's the one I'm thinking of, she got bounced from her last place," Mugen said. "Nasty lice or some kinda crud or something." He scratched himself in a leisurely manner.

Rikiei took off his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose with disgust. "Ecch. Tell Komatsu to have the girl checked over before she goes on offer."

The big man nodded and moved off down the corridor, as the yakuza replaced his glasses.

"Nice of you to let him off the leash like that," Mugen commented. "That what you got in mind for me?"

The man pushed the frames into place on his nose with a fingertip. "No. He's good enough at what he does, which is what I tell him; what I want is a partner."

"To do what? Doesn't look like you need one."

"For this? No. I don't need one, if all I want to do is stay in this pissant little town."

"Which you don't?"

"Not much left here: tea. Getting laid. Eating crab." Rikiei drew on the pipe, letting smoke trickle from his nose. "All right for a couple of months, but then — " He shrugged.

It made a certain sense; an ambitious yakuza boss would have to worry about his back almost as much as he would about pushing other gangs out. But there was still something that sat weirdly with him. Why make an offer of partnership to someone he'd met that day, instead of a place as an enforcer?

"Well? How about it?" Rikiei asked. "You're not saying yes."

Mugen scratched himself thoughtfully. "Ain't saying no right now, either."

"When do you think — " The man broke off speaking at the sound of a struggle outside; he turned to watch as the noise came closer.

Interestingly, the glasses provided a clear reflection of what was going on in the hallway, without any need to move away from the screen; Mugen could see the yakuza whose throat he'd almost cut (and how had that happened earlier in the day? It felt like it had been weeks ago) in the main room with a skinny whore in his lap, both of them looking up as — oh.

Heh.

Mugen tried, unsuccessfully, to stop a grin from forming again as Ishimatsu proceeded down the hallway with a hissing, clawing pink burden held at arm's length; the other man looked as if he'd eaten a sour apple, his face twisted into a grimace. Fuu wasn't making it easy for him, either — Mugen could hear her bitching over the noise of the outer room even after they'd disappeared into the depths of the building.

Give the girl credit, she wasn't scared of anything, he decided. Shame she'd ended up here.

He shoved the tiny chip of — not guilt, he assured himself; guilt was for losers, a complete waste of time, and it wasn't like he had anything to feel guilty about, she'd known what he was when she'd tried busting him out in Edo — down, and turned his attention back to Rikiei, who he realized had been talking to him since he'd stepped out into the hall.

The Nagatomi boss looked at him enquiringly. "What do you think?"

Mugen made a noncommittal noise. "Sweet deal you got for yourself here."

Rikiei laughed. "Give people what they want, and they won't care what you take," he said. "So what about it? Come on: be smart. You'd be a fool not to take the offer."

— yeah, he would, wouldn't he.

Coolly, Mugen used his fingernail to fish out that stubborn fleck of shell still stuck in his teeth. "Could be you have something I want," he commented.

From their seats inside the inn, Jin could smell the wisteria that had been planted next to the kitchen. Outside, the sun was rising in a wash of rose and copper; it was going to be a glorious day.

He picked up a fragment of pickled peach from the dish in front of him. The peach was soft and yielding between the sticks, the pink-tinged flesh — he set the peach down, bile rising in the back of his throat.

Across from him, Kariya ate voraciously, helping himself to seconds as the innkeeper hurried between the serving hatch and their table. "You're not eating? It's very good." He picked up a piece of fish and popped it whole into his mouth, the muscles of his jaw working as he chewed.

"I'm sorry. I'm not hungry."

"Ah." Kariya swallowed. "I find an evening's work gives me an appetite. Drink some tea, at least; I'd prefer to not have to carry you back." He turned his head toward the kitchen; the man had been watching, and was at their side before Kariya finished moving.

"More fish, sir?" the innkeeper asked. "Or perhaps the young man would prefer some dumplings? A little soup?"

"Tea."

"Yes, of course. I'll bring it straightaway."

As the man turned to go, Kariya stopped him. "You look familiar. Do you come from Edo?"

The innkeeper held the empty tray against him like a shield. "No, sir. I've never been further north than here."

"I know your face. You have — " — Kariya frowned — " — a brother. I remember a brother."

"No, no brother. Only my wife and myself, sir. Just us, no one else."

Kariya's face cleared. "Nagasaki: that's where it was."

There was no answer; the knuckles on the hands gripping the tray were as white and bloodless as snow.

"You did have a brother."

The man looked sick. "Yes," he said softly. "I had a brother."

"Hn. You came here; interesting," Kariya replied. "I have heard this is a good place for families. You have no children?"

"No children."

"You should. Plant a garden."

Sweat had gathered along the man's hairline; he swayed faintly where he stood and, watching, Jin felt a wave of pity for him. "The tea, please?" he said, before the man collapsed.

"Yes. Right away." The man scuttled off, vanishing into the kitchen. Jin doubted they would see the tea for some time; or, for that matter, the bill.

Kariya smiled at the fish. "I'll have to remember to come back here."

There was a crash at the end of the hallway; Mugen broke into a trot, the loud yelp breaking off abruptly as he reached the sliding door.

He shoved it open, the wood frame making a loud crack as it met the edge of the screen that divided the room from the hallway. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim lantern light of the room; there was a brief impression of an open window, a rumpled futon — he pushed past the door sticking crookedly in its track.

Fuu swung round, breathing hard and glaring at him for all she was worth, a drift of perfume rising up to him as the fancy kimono she was wearing settled back into place. She looked all right: no visible injuries that he could see, and nothing to suggest he'd gotten there too late to — well, not to rescue her, because he wasn't in the rescuing business — though her face wore more paint than he would have thought strictly necessary and that kimono was open low enough for him to see the delicate tracery of her collarbone.

The floor crunched sharply underfoot as he took a step forward; he frowned, looking down to see a spray of pottery shards crushed beneath his geta, then glanced back up at her.

"D'ja break something?" he asked needlessly.

Her eyes went from his to the corner. He turned his head to see a pudgy man crouched there holding his head in his hands, blood seeping through his thick fingers.

Mugen turned back, raising his eyebrows.

She shrugged.

He shook his head. Chicks. "Least the building's not on fire," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothin'. You all right?"

Her mouth thinned. "No," she said. "No, I'm not."

He swung around to glare at the man, who raised his bloodied head to reveal a moon face behind a pair of spectacles, made even more unprepossessing by a tip-tilted nose and a pair of protruding teeth, giving him the look of a chunky rat. Which, Mugen noted to himself, might be a good reason behind the man's presence in a brothel. "Did he — "

"Him?" she scoffed. "Please. He's just a pervert with a . . . thing. It's not like he's someone who would, oh, abandon a person who saved their life, or who'd refuse to help that person when she was trying to escape."

The pervert looked offended. "Hey!" he protested, nose twitching. "I'll have you know I was just named the second bookkeeper at the brewery. And what do you know? You're a whore! My mother says any woman would be lucky to have me."

Her face like a thundercloud, Fuu drew in a deep breath. "Look, your mother can sti— "

Mugen pressed a fingertip to the spot over the bridge of his nose that was beginning to throb. Not half an hour, and already she had him missing his peaceful cell back in Yokohama.

Right.

"Oi! You. Quiet," he said to the rat man, who nodded frantically, glasses bobbing on the end of his nose. He turned back to the girl. "And you: get your shit, we're getting out of here."

She planted her fists on her hips. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What — " Mugen stared at her. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm busting you out of here, that's what I'm doing."

"I can't believe you! You couldn't help me before, and now, what, you just changed your mind?"

"I couldn't — ? Let me think: hmm, you're pissed off because I didn't help you kill yourself by helping you fall off a tall building? Yeah, I can see how that would have helped. Are you a goddamn idiot, woman?"

"And how is your idea any better?" She flung her arm out to point at the hallway. "There's like a hundred people out there. People with sharp, pointy things, in case you hadn't noticed. How are we supposed to get through them, just ask?"

"They're not organized enough to be a problem, and I — "

The rat man took this opportunity to begin edging toward the door. "You two seem busy. I'll just come back later?"

In unison, they turned toward him. "Shut up!"

The man retreated to his corner, making himself small near the broken pieces of ceramic.

Fuu scowled after him a last time, then twisted to face Mugen. "You don't think a hundred people is a problem?"

He rolled his eyes. "For one thing, there's maybe — " — he raised a hand, counting on his fingers as he thought — " — maybe eight. Maybe. That's not a problem for me. You get behind me and stick close, and we'll get out of here."

She glanced toward the hallway, then back to him.

"Come on," he said, holding out his hand. "I promise."

For a long moment, he was convinced she was going to let him stand there like an idiot; but then, she reached up and twined soft fingers through his.

He grinned down at her. "Let's go."

Not waiting for a response, Mugen darted through the door, pulling Fuu along in his wake toward the voices growing louder in the corridor.

They were nearly to the end before they saw the first group of yakuza, who gaped at them in surprise; Mugen skidded to a stop, reaching over his back with his free hand to pull out the sword.

Behind his shoulder, Fuu let out a small sound of temper. "That's way more than eight!"

He rolled his eyes.

"My goodness."

The amusement in Kariya's voice broke through his jumbled thoughts; he looked over at the other man and saw his attention focused on a pair of slight figures in the courtyard, sunlight bright on their hair. The smaller was instantly recognizable as Sara, the plum of her kimono vivid against the tub of yellow sunflowers, but the other —

Jin's stomach gave an abrupt lurch. Oh no, no, no —

"I take it the second of the Mujuu's promising students has arrived. What an honorable man your shishou is," Kariya said, the ghost of a chuckle in his tone as the two walked forward to meet them. "Ah, Sara, you have brought us a guest."

"A new member of the family." Sara smiled at Yukimaru. "Hojo-kun has come to study with us as well."

"Ah." Kariya turned to the boy, as nausea curled through Jin's midsection. "A great pleasure. I look forward to having you here, Hojo-kun; I have been impressed with Master Mariya's work so far," he said. "I hope I can expect the quality of work that I have already seen from Takeda-kun."

Yukimaru ducked his head. "I hope that too, someday soon, Kariya-dono."

Sara coughed delicately. "Jin? Hojo-kun has the room next to yours, so if I may impose — I'm afraid that a pest has been at one of the plants." Kariya glanced at her once, before striding off toward the garden as she followed, and Jin was left with Yukimaru.

"Jin!" The boy was grinning, a broad smile that lit his face. "You're back — I'm so glad to see you. When you left the Mujuu, there were so many rumors," he said, the words coming out in a tumble. "Kawamura-sensei said you'd gone to study at another dojo, but Enjoji said you'd been sent away: I knew Enjoji was jealous, but he was telling everyone and I almost forgot, I beat him right before Master Mariya said I was to come here and it worked exactly like you said, I made him attack and let him defeat himself."

The pleasure at seeing him was ebbing from Yukimaru's eyes, uncertainty taking its place. "Jin?" he repeated.