http://clampfix.fanworks.net/tb-fix/badblood6.txt </head><body><pre>Bad Blood - Chapter 6. A Rurouni Kenshin x Tokyo Babylon fanfiction by Ariane Kovacevic, AKA Fuu-chan. Rain was coming down in a steady drizzle, drawing small rivulets of water on the western-styled windows. The sounds of the drops hitting the crude building's roof had a hypnotic quality to it. That and the gentle warmth of the fire in the nearby hearth would have lulled me into sleep if I hadn't been waiting for my father. It was close to sunset, and he should have been back by now. He had left for Osaka early in the morning to inspect a new shipment of steel that had just arrived from the continent. It was true that the materials used in the railroad construction had to be of the highest quality and that he had sent back another such shipment less than two weeks ago, but I had my doubts as to the reason for this trip. On my left, one of the logs split in two almost perfect halves with a familiar crack, and I turned toward the fire. Losing my gaze in the flames was easy, frighteningly so, and I was almost tempted to allow the fire to embrace me. As I had once before. Laughter, ethereal, filled the small room. Laughter, cold and mocking. Cruel, it reached out to me and I looked into the flames. I stared at the Shadows dancing there, transfixed. <We are the ones painting the pools of light and warmth,> they whispered silently. <We are the ones with true substance, we are the only reality. The paintings of light are an illusion we cast and tolerate because they're amusing. They are ours, as are you.> I summoned a smile to my lips, and nodded. Laughter rippled in the air, unreal, and vibrated inside me. It was a cold snake which dimmed the fire's light and warmth--it played with the flames as if they indeed belonged to it. As it resounded within, I knew that my smile was nothing more than a snarl of defiance. In a slow motion, I turned away from the hearth. The door was slightly ajar, and the gust of cold northern wind had managed to worm its way inside the room. I felt its icy caress on my cheeks and heard its insubstantial hiss in my ear. <Laugh all you will,> I told it. <Laugh, it won't change anything.> Then I stood, repressing the urge to shiver in the sudden chill that had come over the small office, and went to close the door. "Yes, it will do, but barely. I'll see you tomorrow." I froze as I recognized my father's voice, and in the next moment he pushed the door open. I closed it behind him and turned to face him. His back to me, he took off the heavy oiled coat that had protected him from the rain and threw it on a chair. "Damn fucking weather," he snorted, then he reached for the bottle of brandy set on the table and served himself a drink. "I hate winter in this country." He took a long swallow, and faced me. "Out with it." Out with what, father? What I think of the way you treat me, even when we both know it's not necessary? I stared at him steadily. Am I such a heavy weight on your conscience, father? "I chose to go with the bargain that was struck," I told him, and I had the satisfaction of seeing him wince. For a fraction of a second, he looked away, as if he was ashamed, and I laughed--an echo of the ghostly laughter which had invaded the room earlier. I scorned Gwenaël O' Sullivan, like Winter scorned the both of us, as well as all those who had come before us. It lasted for a long, ugly moment, then eventually I managed to keep it back. I knew the source of the impulse that had spurred me to react that way. <You're easily amused,> I told the Shadows on the wall. <Yours are petty games.> As my father reached for his glass for another sip, I joined his side and poured myself a drink as well. I grimaced as the potent liquid rolled down my throat. It was too strong, it had no other taste except that of fire and ashes, but it was better than nothing. "I know, Bran," he said somberly, his eyes set on the window and the cold rain outside. With a shrug, I dismissed the whole subject. "Shunsuke's mother has returned from her self-imposed exile," I said in a quiet voice. "Sumeragi Tokio has come back, and she's the clan head. Shunsuke never claimed leadership. It will be she who makes whatever decision you await. I think she'll associate her son to it since he's her heir, but how much his opinion will weigh, I have no idea." A smile came to my lips, unbidden, as I saw my father start from the corner of an eye. He hadn't expected this. "There is more," I added, taking another sip of brandy. "Her husband came with her. His name is Saitou Hajime, and you'd do well to gather all the information you can concerning him. He's one ruthless, cunning son of a bitch. Worse than you, I think." I stole a quick glance from him, but he didn't take the bait. Sobering, I told him, focusing on the memory of the lean man whose features bespoke harshness and a total absence of mercy, "He's a shark, that one, and what's more a shark swimming in familiar waters. Somehow, he has guessed a lot of what's going on around the Sumeragi clan right now, and he's convinced that westerners are involved in whatever matter will be presented to his wife's clan for advice." "Does he suspect you?" I gave him a quiet nod. "He does, he told me so in an informal discussion between him, his wife, Shunsuke and I. He has no proof, however." I shrugged in apparent unconcern. "And I could almost think he doesn't care so long as he believes he's aware of all that goes on around him. Anyway, I'm Shunsuke's guest, and neither Saitou Hajime nor his wife have a say in that. They and Shunsuke are at odds for the moment, which might be useful if that man decided to act against me." I didn't tell Gwenaël O' Sullivan that if ever Saitou Hajime decided that I was a threat to his family, I wouldn't live to see another day. It had been in those amber eyes, so much like Shunsuke's. So like, and so different. "Concerning what they expect as a summons," I went on in the same calm voice, "they believe that matter's importance is great enough to be of consequence for other countries besides Japan itself. Whatever decision they make will be carefully considered. Theirs is an old clan, with a duty to their country which has been upheld for countless generations. If the interests of Japan and the western countries clash, you can be sure their advice will run contrary to the direction you're wishing for." "Not necessarily." My father gave a single shake of his head, and then looked at me, his eyes glinting. "It's much more complicated than you think. The consequences of each choice can lead to both good and bad. If they're smart enough to see several moves ahead, they'll choose the way that is desired. If they can grasp the whole picture, they won't--well, not as the situation stands right now. That," he said with a cold smile, "may change, however." Playing, I thought as I looked away from the feral expression on his face. You're playing again. "You may have found an opponent who'll best you at your own game, father." I turned to face the fire in the hearth. When he didn't reply anything, I raised the glass of brandy to my lips and emptied it. "There's one last thing," I whispered, concentrating on the flames and their warmth. "It seems that other factions are aware of what's going on with the Sumeragi clan." I willed my voice to remain steady as I said, "They might have hired a master assassin to watch the Sumeragi and take care of the matter for them. Where they stand, I do not know. The assassin's name would be 'Sakurazukamori', and its an old enemy of the Sumeragi clan." I denied my memories of the woman while my father nodded thoughtfully. I wouldn't tell him about the attempt on me, I wouldn't tell him how far Shunsuke had gone to help me--how much of himself he had given in order to heal me. Gwenaël O' Sullivan would have realized at once he had a weapon, a lever against the Sumeragi. I wouldn't let him turn me into a tool against them. I owed Shunsuke that much. Shunsuke, whose voice had reached out to me in the storm--who had held me back. Shunsuke, whose touch was gentle and warm. Safe. It had been so good to lean against him and feel his arms encircle me. It had been so good to let go and close my eyes. Foolish though the impulse had been, insane though it had been, it was too late to regret it. "What are you waiting for, Bran? If you're done with your report, then go." All of a sudden, I realized I had remained frozen in front of the fire, silent. Lost in thoughts. Rousing myself from the memories of the previous night, I pivoted to confront my father. "Actually, it's not," I told him, unruffled by his harsh words. I wouldn't let him distract me from this. "The tension between the workers' crews has worsened even more." I locked my gaze with his. "It has spread beyond the work site to the quarters of Kyoto. Brawls have become common, and the population is growing restless. If nothing changes, we'll soon have riots on our hands." When I saw that he wouldn't reply anything, I sighed. "Father, this is pure insanity. You won't compensate for the delay in schedule this way. You have to reconsider your position and get back to fair treatment of both Japanese and foreign workers." "So," he mused at last, "the Koreans have decided they wouldn't take any more of this 'unfairness', hey." He scoffed. "Before you go, tell Sima that I expect him and his men by sundown. The steel shipment should start arriving from Osaka by then, and I need them to store it properly. I expect that to last during the better part of the night." "Damn you!" I gave a wild shake of my head. "Did you hear a word I said?!" I snarled. "You'll set them at each other's throat with you madness!" Gwenaël O' Sullivan smiled at me. I froze, feeling cold all over. <That may yet change, however.> That was what he had told me. Oh gods, could he intend something as ugly as this? "What is this decision the Sumeragi must give advice on, father?" I slammed a hand down on the table. "Curse you, answer me!" "It has to do with a treaty signed between China and Japan in the year 1885 over Korea," he said quietly. "And it has to do with a recent uprising there." I looked at him, horrified. His eyes set on me, he added in a gentle whisper, "You care too much, Bran. You allow yourself to be involved too deeply. I might even believe that you have feelings for strangers whom you know are nothing but tools. Should I tell you to abandon your position here and return to Tokyo?" I shivered, unable to help myself. That threat was a real one, and I couldn't let him carry it out--but not for the reasons he thought. Grimly, I shook my head. "No. There is no need for that." "Well," he gave me a benevolent smile. "I'm glad this is settled and you understand where your priorities lie. Now I suggest you leave this place and tell Sima to get his ass here before he can get back to the sake and whores of the shantytown they've built for themselves." I turned away from him and forced myself to exit the building quietly. I had to bear with this--it wasn't that difficult. As Gwenaël O' Sullivan had told me, Sima and his workers were tools. Considering the goal, they were being used with the best efficiency possible. Tools, I repeated myself as I went out in the rain. I had to get ahold of Sima, then I'd go back to the Sumeragi mansion and join Shunsuke in the dojo. It was where I belonged, and I couldn't let my father threaten that. Quickly, I spotted Sima and jogged toward him. Tools. I nodded. Just tools. The vibrations of the shamisen's chords course through her being every time her fingertips brush against them. Closing her eyes during a few minutes, she focuses on the strangely pleasant sensation. It soothes her heart, even more so than the haunting melody does. There is no one to attend her, which is her wish. No customer will come, she won't see anyone. She hasn't taken any life since she set foot in Kyoto. She tells herself it's because she can't risk bringing unwanted attention to herself--because the remaining Oniwabanshu would recognize her mark behind the strange deaths she leaves behind. She can't imperil the mission entrusted to her by Saigô Tsugumichi. Deep down, she admits to herself that she has no wish to confront Shinomori Aoshi again. She has freed the ex-Oniwabanshu leader, she has let him go. He has seen her vulnerable, defeated and her heart bared for the Sumeragi to claw at. He has forborne to kill her, although she wished for nothing but death at that time. He chased her away instead, and he has vowed to kill her if ever she returned. She's here, now, and familiar places have become tainted with the alienness of memories. With the alienness of remembered pain and grief. It's a strange feeling when images of the past bring a chill to rooms that are warmed with the glowing embers of a fire in its hearth. At first she thought it was because of the unbalance that has come over the city--that it influenced her somehow. Now she knows it's not so. She has wandered along the Kamo-gawa, she has treaded along Nishijin and the old imperial palace, and she has watched over the gigantic work site east of the city's borders. Eventually, she decided to come back here, to this small inn in Shimabara that is the closest thing she can think of as a home. Concentrating on the intricate melody created by her fingers on the shamisen's chords, she refuses the image that comes to her mind. She refuses the memory of a house and its garden in winter--of her mother and father. Of blood painting the pure white snow. From very far away, she can feel her heartbeats speed up, and she wills calm to settle over her. Here and elsewhere, the ancient Sakura whose roots plunge deep into the earth and whose canopy of leaves and branches touches the sky rustles with an ethereal breeze. The great tree reaches out to her and embraces her. It cloaks her in a soft mantle of blossoms and shields her from a pain that she can never face. Lifting a hand, she caresses one of the unreal branches and smiles softly. There is no need of words, there never has been. The Sakura is her heart. Her kin. The Sakura is her name. Her roots. Abruptly, a dissonant noise intrudes in the melody. Carefully, she holds the Sakura close and then releases it, stepping back to herself. As she sets the shamisen down on the wooden floor, she realizes what the sound is: someone is rattling at her window. Intrigued, she goes toward it and blinks as she gets a glimpse of the one standing on the other side. Yuta. She opens the window and watches him as he steps into her room. Her home. He has never come here before, and she didn't think he would. His presence disturbs the quiet atmosphere of the place as he goes over the threshold of her territory, but almost instantly the glow of her fire envelops him and the room's serenity returns. He belongs here. The thought is sudden and somehow unsettling, but it warms her heart. "You're cold," she observes in a calm voice as she rests the palm of her right hand against his cheek. "It's winter outside," he replies. He wants to hold her in his arms, she can see it in his eyes and in the way his body is tensing while he fights to control the impulse. He doesn't try to hide it from her, he never has. Nodding at him, she pulls at his sleeve and brings him closer to the fire. As he takes off his coat, she looks at his face, and finds it lined with traces of exhaustion. The weariness in the dark brown eyes is heavy enough to drag any man down, but not him. He has come to the main gate of the Sumeragi mansion early in the morning. She has watched him be ushered in the sanctuary that is denied her. Sumeragi Tokio is there, she has felt the woman's presence in the relief that has washed over the place. They have all gathered there, the pawns of the game. And yet she cannot enter the ancient house. The wards set around the old stones and wood shine brightly. Proud and strong, they defy her. They dare her to try and win past them, but she knows better than to take up that challenge. It's the Sumeragi's son who set them. Shunsuke. She has felt his name in the wind when her quarry called out to him. He stood in the night and confronted her. He's Fire, so strong and bright that she had to stop so she wouldn't be burnt. He's like the sun in summer, and when she felt him mingling with the wards, lending them his strength, she knew that she was defeated. He has claimed what she had marked as hers--the young man who spills power like a wild mountain stream. He was hers, and Sumeragi Shunsuke has stolen him from her. Even now, she longs to touch Asano Bran, to reap the bounty he can never use himself, but she knows that the young gaijin is now out of her reach. With a little sigh of regret, she refocuses her attention on her visitor of the night. Yuta is still standing beside her, despite the fact that he's bone-weary. She hasn't bid him sit, and so he stands. Chuckling softly, she reaches out and holds him close, like the Sakura did for her. He's cold, it's true, but she doesn't mind. She brings him against her and finally his arms wrap around her, returning the embrace. She listens to the sound of his heartbeats in silence, and then releases her breath in a sigh as a hand cups the base of her neck, its fingers gently kneading away a tension she hadn't realized was there. A tangled knot deep inside her slowly, reluctantly loosens and frees her. She closes her eyes while something painful and sweet rises and enfolds her heart. There's a lump in her throat, and realizes with a pang of fear that what Yuta's presence has eased within her has a name. Loneliness. She has never been lonely before, she had the great Sakura to comfort her and love her, but Yuta has become a presence she's grown accustomed to. Yuta is warmth beside her, warmth that exists only for her. He loves her, despite everything. And she needs him. Once again, as many other times before this one, she wonders whether she shouldn't put an end to this charade here and now, and be done with the man she's holding close. As always, she hovers on the edge of that decision and then steps back. A charade. It has gone beyond that. Yuta is no longer a mere toy, and this is no longer a child's game. It's a tangled web of contradictions and impossibilities--one that she should sever, but she refuses to do so. She allows it to go on, half-curious, half-dreading to find out where that path will lead them. Death, most likely, but still they have a chance, and she won't throw it away. Gently, she frees herself from her lover's embrace, and then kneels down on one of the cushions set next to a low table, bidding him to do the same. The silence stretches on while she pours him a cup of sake. She doesn't ask him what he told his sister. She doesn't ask if he revealed to Sumeragi Tokio the connections he has with her arch-enemy. She knows he hasn't, and she knows that in doing this is he has betrayed his clan. For her. She smiles, aware that she mustn't think that he did so because he's so enthralled by her that he has lost his wits. The sharp intelligence in Yuta's brown eyes has never varied, and he has never shied away from using his mind to get a grip of painful situations. What he chooses to do or not to do, he has carefully considered. His decision to keep their relationship a secret is a deliberate one. He has confronted his feelings and chosen his path. Perhaps it's time she did the same. "I missed you," she tells him softly as she holds out his cup of sake to him. She looks at him as he freezes and as his eyes go very wide. It's as if those three simple words had swept away all of his walls and defenses. Eventually, the moment passes and he reaches out to take the cup. For a fraction of a second, his hand covers hers and gives a fierce squeeze. His acknowledgement of her feels like a seal that secures the bond between them, and she releases her breath in a small hiss. It's set, then. The path she will walk down beckons. Nodding to herself, she sits back on her heels and stares at Yuta steadily. "You didn't have to come here." The words elicit no response from him, so she smiles at him. "In doing so, you placed yourself into my hands to be used as a tool against your sister." A shadow veils Yuta's gaze, and he gives her a reluctant nod. "I suppose that's true." Then he shrugs. "I don't think it will change anything. She'll never let anything endanger the clan. You could dangle me in front of her nose as a hostage, she wouldn't step away from her duty of answering the emperor's summons." "No, of course not!" She laughs. "But I think you know very well what I meant, and chose to answer another question instead." A mocking smile comes to her lips, but he waves her words aside. "Perhaps." The dark brown eyes suddenly lock on hers. "That feud of yours is madness, but you will do what you want with it. If you wish to use me to harm my sister, I can't prevent you from trying to do so, but I'll never allow you to play me like a pawn in that particular game. I think you know that what you already hold is enough to hurt her and satisfy your desire for revenge." His heart. His life. His love. That's what he means, and it just might be he's right. Slowly, she bends toward him and whispers in his ear, "We'll see about that." There's hunger in the tone of her voice, but he doesn't recoil. Sometimes there's fear in him, but never refusal. He knows her, and he accepts her. Sumeragi Tokio doesn't know how lucky she is to have such a brother. Yes, she decides suddenly, perhaps what she holds is precious enough. Perhaps. Softly, she kisses him, and then she reaches for her shamisen. Haunting and beautiful, the chords' song echoes in the night. The ground under my fingers was hard, much too hard. With an exasperated sigh, I straightened from my squatting position and looked at the horizon before me. In the north, lake Biwa seemed to spread until infinity, sparkling like sapphire under the afternoon sun. Even though it had been decided to stick to the plain of Osaka for as long as possible, the trail of the new railroad kept bringing it higher in altitude. The ground was frozen here, way too hard to be dug with shovels. Pickaxes would do the job, of course, but it would be a slow, painstaking thing--not to mention that it would mean further delay in the whole work's progress. "It's no good." I gave a shake of my head as I turned toward the man who had led me to this spot. "You were right, Sima-san," I offered, but he just sighed. "Yes, I was, but does it change anything?" There was something close to desperation in the man's voice. "The work still remains to be done, and we'll be the ones to bleed while the Japanese set the rails at their leisure." The anger smoldering in the Korean's eyes was a frightening one. As I had known it would, resentment among the foreign workers' crews had festered into anger and hatred. Before my father had decided to toy with them in earnest, the contempt and rejection had only come from a small minority of Japanese guild workers. Now the foreigners echoed those feelings a thousandfold. Every morning when I left the Sumeragi mansion to get to the work site, I wondered if the situation had at last exploded. That it hadn't done so yet was a credit to Sima's restraint and influence with his people. It wouldn't last much longer, however. "That's true," I said suddenly, my decision made, "but it doesn't have to be so bad. There are machines which can assist with the digging. I'll arrange to have them moved over here. I'm sure they can spare them for this." After all, it was my task on the work site to see that everything ran as smoothly as possible, as well as to be an intermediary between the workers and the engineers. My decision wouldn't please my father, but he wouldn't be able to do much about it. "I'm afraid not." The words reached me just as the sound of approaching steps did. Whirling around in surprise, Sima and I turned to find two men climbing up the small slope to stand beside us. One was Japanese, and the other was a westerner. "And why is that?" I lifted up my chin, ignoring the abrupt lurch in my heartbeats. Esaki Yuusaku and David Milton were agents who dealt with my father on a regular basis, and their area of expertise wasn't railroad construction. Sometimes they worked with him, taking his orders, and sometimes it was the opposite. That they were present on the work site was a sure sign of trouble. "Because I say so, and because those machines are put to a much more efficient use where they are now rather than to help these lazy scum," Milton replied easily. Before I could say anything, Sima stepped between them and me. "Who are you to contradict Asano-san's words? You're no men of the work site, we've never seen you arr--" As quick as a panther, Esaki walked up to him and struck savagely, without the slightest warning. Sima hadn't expected the blow, he was given no opportunity to defend himself. He went down with a cry, while Esaki snorted. "Dogs should know their place--as should you," he added in a quiet voice as he looked at me. "We're taking charge of things here," Milton continued with a sneer. "You've been officially removed from your position to be promoted as the personal assistant of Gwenaël O' Sullivan, the chief engineer." Looking out at the site and the workers below us, he grimaced. "We're here to see the job done in a correct fashion. No more slacking around from worthless Korean dogs," he spat at Sima who was trying to gather himself from the hard-frozen ground. Then, turning to face me, he said, "Your daddy called for you, Bran." Scoffing, he added, "Looks like he at last realized the truth of what I told him before: a fragile little thing like you shouldn't be out in such a weather." I looked at him, and forced a grimace of revulsion from my face. I looked into his eyes and at the leering smile on his lips, and felt the irrational urge to tear it from his flesh with my nails. I didn't protest, I didn't argue. I knew it was useless, and that those two would never have come here with such words and actions if they hadn't been ordered to do so. There was simply nothing I could do. With the years, I had learned it was better to yield when you stood no chance of winning. It spared your energy for what awaited ahead. I had learned that, and another thing as well. "Very well." I nodded at Milton. "Walk with me a bit." Inwardly, I laughed as I saw the light of triumph in his pale blue eyes. The man was a pig--a dangerous one to be sure, but still a pig. As I started climbing down the slope, abandoning Sima to Esaki with small doubts as to how things would go between them, David Milton followed me. He had no reason not to, and besides I knew he'd never pass a chance to gloat at my discomfiture. Once we were out of sight, I drew the bokken that hung on my right side. It's really convenient I decided to always have it with me since the master assassin's attempt, I idly mused as I focused on my fingers' grip upon the hilt. In the same movement, I pivoted and struck at Milton's left flank. A smile twisted my lips as I saw pain flash in his gaze and as he fell to his knees in front of me. Before he could react, I set the wooden blade's tip against his exposed throat. "Fucking bitch!" Gently, I pushed the tip of my blade against the tender flesh of his throat, and told him in a pleasant voice, "Never talk to me like that in an outsider's hearing again, Milton. Never again, or I will kill you." For a moment, I thought he'd say something, but he looked at me and something he saw in my face's expression made him reconsider. Growing wise in your old age? I wondered. I gave my words a moment to sink below his thick skull, then I walked away. David Milton knew to tread carefully around my father, and it was high time he learned to do so around me. Idly, I wondered if he'd be mad enough to try and attack me now that my back was to him, but soon I heard him get to his feet and then climb back up the slope. He'd vent his anger and humiliation on Sima, but there was nothing I could do about that. A thin smile crept up my lips as I considered the possibility that Gwenaël O' Sullivan had told the man to goad me this way, aware of what must ensue. It took me a bit less than an hour to reach the heart of the work site, where my father had established his quarters. When I knocked at the door of his office, no answer came and I let myself in. Likely he was busy overseeing something or other--or he had no wish to bear with any angry protestation he expected I'd send his way. I heaved out a silent sigh as I squatted down beside the hearth. Reaching out, I took a long metal pinch and stirred the fire to life. Once I heard the flames' quiet hum, I turned toward the low table set next to me. Contrary to the main table which always held plans, schedules and progress reports, this one usually was the refuge of books that my father would read whenever he needed to take his mind off the work. There was one such book resting upon the wooden surface, beckoning like a lantern in the middle of a rainstorm. Smiling to myself, I yielded to the sudden impulse and took it in my hand. "The last years of the Bakumatsu and the coming of the Meiji Restoration, an accounting," I read aloud. What a convoluted title for a history book. It was thick, incredibly so for a book which claimed to cover a period of time that spanned less than half a century. The accounting had to be an extremely precise one--and boring. What could have possessed my father to read such a book? Absentmindedly, I went through a few pages, allowing myself to sit back against the hearth's left side and to be mulled by the fire's very enjoyable warmth. The book had been opened often at a particular page. Curious, I stared at the two-page spread map of Kyoto, and hummed quietly to myself as I pondered the meaning of all the small marks on the map. Eventually, I gave up and turned the page to find out. Details of the fires lit in the city during the night of August twentieth n the year 1864, during the incident known as the Hamaguri Gomon Jiken. Thirty thousands houses had burnt in the fire, and the gods knew how many people had perished. I went back to the map and stared at it in morbid fascination. I had no idea Kyoto had lived through something that bad. It was true that some parts of the wing Shunsuke inhabited in the old Sumeragi mansion showed traces of recent work, and that he had mentioned a fire taking out almost everything before he was born. I'd never have imagined he had meant something on that scale. Suddenly, what should have been nothing more than a historical recounting came to life before my mind's eye. The roar of the fire. People screaming. The smell of smoke and burnt wood. The stench of charred flesh. Snorting, I sent the dark fantasy's images away and set the book back on the table where it belonged. I had better occupy myself with something, or I'd fall asleep next to the fire, and I was quite sure my dear father would be all too happy to wake me up. With a heavy sigh, I stood up and stepped to the main table. Just as I started to examine the papers laid on it, the door swung open to let my father in. In spite of myself, I shivered as a gust of cold wind accompanied Gwenaël O' Sullivan's entry, and I hurried to close the door behind him. "You've been sitting too long next to those flames," he commented while he took off his coat. "Whose fault is it, do you think?" I retorted amiably. "Next time you send your dogs to fetch me, pick some who have manners." He grinned at that. "Whatever happened, they had it coming to them--especially Milton. He's been a pain in the ass since that affair in Rome." Was there a glint of pride in the look he had given me? I discarded the stupid question, and stared at my father steadily. "Why did you send them? If you wanted me to tip the balance and spark the fire, you just needed to say so." As soon as the words were out, I wished I had remained silent. They sounded lame, and the tone of my voice had been that of a petulant child. Gwenaël O' Sullivan shot me a surprised glance, then he shrugged. "They're better at that than you are--they enjoy being bullies and tormentors. Besides, I'll need you to help get things back under control once we've achieved our objective. All the workers' crews respect you, so it stands to reason to withdraw you from the gameboard for the time being." I gave him a grudging nod. His thinking was sound, but I-- With a start, I realized that I had wished to remain as an intermediary so that I might somehow preserve a semblance of peace and prevent chaos. Stupid. Ludicrous. Have you forgotten what you are? I asked myself in silence. Since when do you have delusions of righteousness? I released air from my lungs in an almost imperceptible hiss, furious against myself. I knew the answer to that last question, it was easy. Shunsuke. It was his influence on me. He never said anything, never lectured--he simply went around being Shunsuke, the proud and noble Sumeragi clan heir. Like a fool I had allowed myself to be swayed by the way he lived--I had let myself bask in the bright summer's warmth. Even though it could never be mine. "Since you have nothing to do, help me go through the last week's accounts," my father told me, apparently unaware of the anger bristling inside me. With difficulty, I set the matter of Shunsuke aside. I didn't want to deal with that problem, I didn't want to think about it. If I did, I'd have to act. I'd have to leave the Sumeragi mansion, and that thought was somehow unbearable. Eventually, it would happen, there was no pretending otherwise, but still, for now I wanted to enjoy the moment. I didn't want to think about tomorrow. Not yet. Sighing, I bent over the main table and started gathering the reports and invoices to be examined. The afternoon wore on; time became an endless stream of numbers which danced around me and mocked my inability to hold them in my hands. Metals, oil, barrels, nails, tools and food--there were too many of them. Never before had I been aware of how huge the work site was. It was a real city we had to provide for. At last, we came to the end of the papers, and I bowed my head in relief, shoulders slumped. Outside, the sun was setting. As I closed my eyes and focused on the rhythm of my breathing, I realized that I had been tense during the whole afternoon, and that tension was slowly ebbing away from my body. It was quiet; there was no disturbance on the work site. No angry rumor rising up to the engineer's offices. No people running in panic. So. I smiled to myself as I understood the source of my fear. Lifting my head, I told my father quietly, "It looks like your riots are a bit slow in coming." "Riots? Here at the work site?" He laughed, and said with a shake of his head, "Come, Bran, did you expect me to go for so little?" Still laughing, he reached for his coat, then went for the door. "Put the papers into piles and go back to the Sumeragi mansion. I need to talk to Milton and Esaki." With that, he was gone and I started to gather the papers into a semblance of order. It took me a bit more than half an hour to complete the boring task. Once I was done, I stepped over to the hearth. I needed to make sure that the fire would die quietly. As I squatted down before it, I noticed papers on the small table, under the book I had read earlier. Cursing under my breath at the unwelcome addition of work, I reached out to set them aside, and froze. A map. It was a map of Kyoto, with the new quarter that the foreign workers had built on the outskirts of the city--a very detailed map. There were spots marked on it with small crosses of blue ink. A lot of spots. I stared at the pattern drawn before my eyes, and drew a sharp intake of breath. "No!" I bit my lower lip. "No, this cannot be!" But it was, I knew it as I knew my name. Gwenaël O' Sullivan had purposefully given me all the keys to figure it out, and it was so simple it made me sick. Fires. Fires set by "Japanese people" in this new quarter of Kyoto--in this set of ragged houses which would burn as easily as fir trees. Fires, set by people who'd take care to be seen. My father had been right to laugh when I had spoken of riots at the work site. What he intended was much fouler than that Women and children would die. They would burn with their poor attempts at homes. Hatred would drown the hearts of men, and they'd take revenge on those they believed were responsible. They'd set Kyoto ablaze. The city would sink into a sea of fire. Nothing could hope to stop it, not with so many people involved. Countless lives would be lost, sacrificed on Gwenaël O' Sullivan's gameboard in a harsh, brilliant move. No, not brilliant. Evil, as black as the one committed so long ago. Before my eyes, Shadows danced in the hearth of stones. Shadows danced, and laughed. Slowly, I straightened, and turned away from the fire. "Don't just stand there, man!" Jostled aside, I staggered and barely caught my balance. Belatedly, I realized that I had stopped right before the building's gate, and that I was indeed in the way. Snorting at my foolish distraction, I stepped back and sighed. My feet had led me here without my being aware of it. There had been no carefully considered decision made in my mind, just the gut, instinctive certitude that this must not happen. That I must not let it happen. A brutal gust of wind swept in the street and slapped me, wildly flapping my cloak. I blinked, the full understanding of what I was about to do dawning in my mind. I'd betray Gwenaël O' Sullivan, I'd set myself as his enemy. <True to your name,> the cold winter wind whispered in my ear as it enfolded me. Shivering, I dragged in a shuddering breath. I couldn't let myself dwell on this, I couldn't envision the consequences, or fear would paralyze me. I didn't want to turn against my father--no matter what had happened between us, he was the one living, stable point in my universe. I couldn't cut myself from him. I needed him. No, I wouldn't betray him. It wasn't necessary. All that mattered was that I prevent the fires to be set to the poor houses of the Korean quarter. I couldn't walk away from that. Never before had I considered there should be limits to what one did to accomplish one's goals, but here I had suddenly glimpsed lines clearly drawn--their blinding, glittering light leaving searing marks upon my soul. Crossing them.... Reflexively, I grasped my left wrist with the right hand and squeezed hard. <Begone!> I willed the burning ice that was cutting through my flesh to eat at the bones of my forearm. <Begone!> I closed my eyes tightly shut, but I couldn't win free of the bracelets imprisoning my wrist. Releasing my breath in a ragged hiss, I looked at my left arm and gave a grim smile when I caught sight of a dark glint of silver from the ring enclosing my middle finger. Then I stepped up the small stairs leading up to the building's front gate, and entered the police station. A thick smell of oil and smoke greeted me as I went through the threshold. It was hot and stuffy here, as if there was no sufficient ventilation. There were also traces of food smells in the air--that and sweat. I jumped to the right as some policemen came in behind me, leading a very much bedraggled and drunk man toward the cells' area. "What are you doing here?" a voice challenged me from a desk set in a shadowed corner on my right, impatience clear in its tone. Steeling myself, I stepped over to the man who had called to me, and bowed. "Sir," I tried to keep my voice steady, "I've come to warn you that some people intend to start riots in the Korean quarter. They plan to set fire to the houses there and set the whole area ablaze. If you have a map of the place, I can point out the spots they've planned to use to start the fires." The man on the other side of the desk gave me a blank look. "They're going to do it tonight." I rested both hands upon his desk. "You have to stop them!" The man set an elbow on the table and leaned his chin on the palm of his hand. "Proof?" he asked me with a sigh. I blinked. Proof. What did he think? That I had asked my father for a detailed, signed confession of what he intended to do? "I don't have any," I replied between clenched teeth, fighting to control my temper. "You must know how bad the situation is over there," I told him. I drew in a deep, steadying breath. "It's a powerhouse awaiting the spark that'll make it explode. You can't ignore what I told you. If it blows up there, people will die, a lot of people, and the gods know if you'll be able to bring it under control." "I can't?" The man snorted disdainfully. "Patrolling that shithole would require dozens of our men, and we don't mobilize people on the word of a gaijin who brings nothing to support his wild claims." "Damn you!" I slammed my hands on the table. The cold snake of dread had uncoiled inside me and was slowly, lazily enfolding my spine. "Didn't yo hear me?! They'll set fires everywhere and drown this city in chaos! They're going to kill people, innocent people! Just because they're not Japanese doesn't make them any less human or precious than you are!" That was the wrong thing to say. I realized it as soon as the words left my lips, but it was too late to take them back. The man leaned back against his chair, and gave me a pleasant smile. "We make no distinction between citizens or foreigners when it comes to protecting this city. You," he told me quietly, "are making me waste precious time. If you don't leave this place in the next minute, I'll be happy to offer you the hospitality of one of our cells for the night and you'll be free to rant all you want there." For a fraction of a second, I contemplated punching the man's smile from his face. Then I reined in the fury overwhelming me, and nodded. "Very well." I gave the man a smile of my own. "I am Asano Bran, and I'm a guest of the Sumeragi clan. I'm going to leave, but I'll come back with the Sumeragi herself. Then perhaps you'll listen." He froze, a look of uncertainty flashing in his eyes. The order to throw me in one of the cells hovered on his lips, but eventually caution won over annoyance. "Miyagi!" he called out to a man who was standing by the door, idly looking out at the falling night. "Get that madman to Cho's office, and good riddance!" The man led me through a endless sequence of corridors, and just as I was sure he had been going around in circles, he pointed toward a door on our left. It was slightly ajar, and a ray of light was leaking from it. Wordlessly, I nodded at my companion, and went to knock on the door. "Yeah, what?" someone barked. I pushed the door open and stepped into the office. It was small, more like an antechamber of sorts. I could see another door leading from it to what was most likely another, bigger office. Spartan didn't even begin to describe the room. It had a table, two chairs and shelves fastened directly to the wall. The desk was covered with papers spread in complete disarray, and a cup of what might have been tea was set in the middle of all that chaos. There was a bottle of sake on the floor, but it was empty. The man who looked at me from that messy assemblage had unkempt hair which looked more like a broom than genuine hair. It didn't help that it was dyed blonde. "What are you doing here, boy?" There was weary annoyance in the voice. There was little chance this one would listen, but I had to try. Wrinkling my nose at the odd mixture of incense and cigarette smoke hovering in the air. I gave him a slight bow. "I was sent here," I replied in a voice as quiet as I could muster, "by the incompetent fool who's in charge of listening to people who come to report crimes to this place." "Incompetent?" He raised an eyebrow at me quizzically. Calm, I willed myself. Be calm. "Listen." I took in a deep breath, and then I confronted the weird guy. "I have no time for games, and neither do you." Locking my gaze with his, I said, "Tonight, fires will be laid to houses in the Korean quarter in order to start chaos such as you've never seen. People will die, a lot of them, and the rest will retaliate. This will escalate into a bloody, deadly racial war if it's not stopped." I heard the desperation in my voice, but I was unable to master it. "You have to do something, you can't just sit back and tell me I'm insane. It's a risk you dare not take," I added between clenched teeth. "Please." "Fires?" He grinned at me. "A reenacting of the whole Ikedaya and Kimmon affairs? Now that sounds strangely familiar!" he said genially. Glancing up at me, he asked, "And I suppose these grave revelations come without even the smallest shred of proof?" He left the words hanging, but I didn't reply anything. There wasn't anything more I could say that would convince him, except by truly betraying my father. I couldn't do that. The silence stretched on between us, until a voice came from the other office. "Bring him here, Cho. Now." The tone was crisp and sharp, oddly familiar. Whoever had spoken would bear with no delay in the way his orders were carried out. "Well, well," the man named Cho muttered even as he stood up. "Follow me, mister, and gather your strength and your arguments, or you'll be torn to pieces." Quickly, he led me to the other door and I followed him, distantly wondering what he had meant by that. The door closed behind me, and I suppressed a cough with difficulty. This room's atmosphere was drowned with cigarette smoke. It was also dark in here, the only source of light being a lantern set beside a pile of papers on a desk. "Why, if it's not Asano-san," the shadow sitting at the other end of the room said, its voice dripping with sarcasm. As I froze, it lifted an arm and lit a match. Saitou Hajime. Transfixed, I watched him lit a cigarette and bring it to his lips. The amber eyes of the man were set on me, intent as a wolf's. In a rush, I remembered all I had glimpsed of Shunsuke's father during our interview. I felt a smile twist the corner of my mouth. It all fitted perfectly, so perfectly that I should have guessed that he must be an agent of the Japanese government. It had all been displayed in the duel we had played at the Sumeragi mansion. During a full minute, I stayed frozen by the door. Eventually, I shrugged off fear and doubts. No matter who was sitting before me and the consequences of this meeting, I had come here for a reason. I stepped toward him, and asked, "Did you hear what I told your man?" He drew on his cigarette, and gestured toward the desk. "Show me." Reflexively, I followed the direction he had indicated, and all of a sudden I realized there was a map spread on the table--a map of Kyoto complete with the latest additions to the Korean quarter, richly detailed. I didn't pause to wonder how he had known. Briskly, I designated the spots I had memorized from my father's map. "Here," I told him. "Here," I continued, focusing my mind on the image I had called up. "Here and here." There had been two dozens of sites, carefully selected to ensure the fires would spread to the whole quarter. Just as I straightened after marking the last one, he stood and snatched the map. "Cho!" he barked. The broom-haired man came at once and took the map, then left without a word. "So," Saitou Hajime said, pivoting to face me, "let's talk, Asano-san." "Talk?!" I confronted him and shrugged. "What is there to talk about? I have no proof I can give you to vouch for the truth of my words. You've heard me tell your man so." Slowly, lazily, Shunsuke's father sat down and gestured for me to do the same. I looked into that predatory gaze, and complied. There was no denying him. He was both the best and the worst person I could have called to for help. The best because he'd listen. The worst because he'd never let me rest. "I suppose I'm curious to know why you decided to betray your people." For a moment, I stared at him, numb. The casual brutality of his words echoed inside me, covering the sound of my heartbeats. He meant to let me know he was aware of me and that I had given myself into his hands to do as he pleased--he meant to let me know that to him I was a stranger, a gaijin and not a guest of his house. I was his enemy, and he would deal with me accordingly. It didn't matter. Outside, night had fallen. Time was running out. "The only things I'm betraying are pieces of conversations overheard at the work site," I told him in a voice carefully devoid of emotion. Refusing the instinctive reaction to look away from him and flee this place, I sustained his cold, steady gaze and went on, "I work there as an intermediary between the crews and the engineers. I coordinate the different works in progress, which means I come into contact with a lot of people, be they Japanese or foreigners. This afternoon, I overheard a group of Japanese workers discussing this plan of setting fire to the Korean quarter. Since the beginning of the work site, there has been discontent among the guilds of Kyoto because we employ too many foreigners--poor devils who accept much lower wages and less favorable work conditions. Because the managers of this project have refused to hear their complains, discontent has festered into anger and resentment. As more and more foreigners were brought to this city, it has finally blossomed into a hatred that calls for blood. That's all I can tell you," I finished with a helpless shrug. "Really?" He smirked. "I might have pretended I believed you if you had come here with that tale a month ago." His smile revealed his teeth as he went on, "Unfortunately, I'm very much aware of the situation at the work site, and I know that lately the Japanese work crews' grievances have almost all been met. There is hatred poisoning the work site's atmosphere, that's true enough, but it's coming from the Koreans, who've been mishandled and mistreated so thoroughly it would seem insane to any normal man." He took a long drag on his cigarette, and then he sighed. "I don't have you in chains and locked into a cell because I know you've fought the insane decisions that led to this mess with each step, but don't think to play me for a fool, Asano-san. It would be a mistake you would regret." Threats. Stupid, useless threats. Who did he think I was? With an abrupt shake of my head, I retorted, "Do what you feel you must, it's no concern of mine." Laying the palms of my hands flat on his desk, I locked my gaze with his and allowed anger to seep into my voice as I said, "This is no time for games of cat and mouse. I have no doubt you can squash me like a bug if you feel like it. If you don't act, chaos will engulf this city during the night. Perhaps you should address that insignificant matter first." He laughed. "You have guts!" A shrewd glint came into the amber eyes, and he added quietly, "You truly care about those people, don't you?" He didn't wait for a confirmation, but instead gestured toward the door of his office. "Don't worry, Cho is taking care of the matter. No house will be burnt tonight, and what's more we'll deal with this in a way that won't lead your father back to you." I started at that, and heard a sudden, sharp hiss rise in the air. Too late, I realized that it had come from me. I hadn't envisioned this, I hadn't thought that far. But the man in front of me had. Father, I thought silently, you've found more than your match in this man. Saitou Hajime smiled at me, and it was all I could do not to flinch. He had me, but I wasn't about to bow down and admit defeat. "You've crossed the line," he said all of a sudden, in earnest. "I'm sure you're intelligent enough to see it. For now you waver between two opposite directions, but that can't last long. You'll have to make a choice, and decide where your loyalties lie." Loyalty. I shivered. Loyalty had no meaning--couldn't have one, ever. There was a path before me, a road glowing with its own dark, beautiful light. The mark of Winter was wound to my flesh, its cold silver a sign that couldn't be denied--a sign that he should have recognized, that Shunsuke should have recognized, but the knowledge of it had faded from human memory. It wasn't my fault, the flaw lied with them. It was in their blood and in their short mortal lives. <In yours,> hissed a Shadow within, <in yours as well, but you we will never allow to forget.> Eventually, I shook my head and told him the truth, "There is no choice for me to make any longer." I looked into the amber eyes and allowed sadness to seep into my voice as I added, "You come years too late." "Perhaps," he conceded calmly. "We'll see. Tonight you'll sleep here. No sense in having you seen around town at night. I'll send a message to Shunsuke so the fool doesn't start looking all over for you." Shunsuke. I tensed, and he sniggered. "Hadn't considered that, had you? Well," he took another drag of his cigarette, "you're as hopeless as he is. In truth, you're well-matched, the both of you." Thanks to a desperate effort of will, I managed not to react to his words. They might mean anything, I couldn't be sure he suspected me and had seen through my careful disguise. He couldn't know. He couldn't, and I must not betray myself. "Are you hungry?" he asked, apparently unaware of the storm he had sparked to life within me. Numbly, I nodded and then sunk into a chair as he called for soba to be brought to his office in a sharp voice. I could only hope they'd somehow prevent the fires from being started. I could only hope that Saitou Hajime would allow me to escape from this. Mine had been an insane, reckless move, and it might be that the price to pay for that would be high--higher than I wanted to envision. Outside, a sudden wind rattled at the office's window and I stared numbly into the darkness, refusing to heed Winter's call. Refusing to think. Refusing to remember my name. End of chapter 6. </pre><p><a href="./">Back</a></p><p><a href=http://www.dreamhost.com/donate.cgi?id=216><img border=0 alt="Donate towards our web hosting bill!" src=https://secure.newdream.net/donate1.gif></a></p></body></html>