The Failed Mage

He felt fine. This would be easy. He’d had until midday to recuperate. Lawrence wouldn’t have any trouble forcing some street-rat thugs to cooperate. Apparently the city was infested by local gangs, all fighting and gnashing to get an advantage over their competitors. They forced a lot of local farmers and artisans to pay them monthly coin for “protection,” as Tomiichi and Hitomo were telling him. A known problem that persisted anywhere there was unchecked crime. It was as old as the hills.

The four of them were standing in an alley after leaving the Nakamura residence. There had been a palpable fear at the house before they left. Neither Tomiichi nor his father said anything to the two women, but the mercenary saw them exchange looks, and Sakura told them to be careful as they headed out.

They stalked through a lot of narrow streets and alleys, taking a winding path for nearly an hour before Hitomo abruptly stopped at the end of an alley that dead-ended, no one in sight, though the odd voice or occasional shout could be heard from the residences overhead, which seemed to story upward higher than the sun itself. It was chilly back here, and dark.

“I want to come with you,” the Ishi demanded.

Why he had let Ishi trail them this far, he didn’t know. Lawrence was mildly out of breath, but he felt the strength to head into an alley fight. “I said no.”

“But—“

“You packed my tent and washed my clothes. You’ve never fought on the battlefield, much less a tavern brawl. I don’t need you getting in my way, boy. Go back!”

Had it not been for the young man, Lawrence would probably be dead. He had awoken with a tourniquet wrapped around his upper arm, having had no medical treatment, and certainly no magical intervention for the wound. He had stumbled back to his tent, the whole area on the verge of being taken by the enemy. That’s where he had found the boy, waiting for him, dutifully as ever and in a near fit of tears due to his prolonged absence.

The best attendant the gods ever knew, he thought. He waited for me even though they had been defeated in the field, the enemy closing in.

The boy let out and exasperated sound. Lawrence ruffled his hair, sending him into further annoyance. He shrank away, face reddening in front of Tomiichi and his father, a grizzled old war veteran.

The gate commander laughed. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your chance soon enough.” Abruptly he became stone-faced, as if he remembered that levity was forbidden. “Right now your friend is right. You need to stay behind. These men are no gutter rats. They’ll kill you without a second thought, or sell you as a slave to some filthy cat eye.”

The boy, clearly dejected, nodded and began to make his way back. “Be careful,” Hitomo said. This is no place to walk alone. Keep your eyes open.” He said the last part while gesturing to his own eyes with two fingers. Then the old man strode over to him and removed his wakizashi from his sash and handed it to him. Ishi hesitated, but took the weapon when Hitomo pushed it toward him. “Take it.”

They watched the boy walk down the alley and turn out of sight before getting down to business.

Good, Lawrence thought. Most of my friends died last week. I don’t want a child’s death on my hands.

He made eye contact with each man in turn, then said, “Why do you need me? Surely you have friends or underlings willing to take care of your problem. What does a city watch commander and an old samurai need with a mercenary mage? Aren’t they just some back-alley thugs?”

“They have many numbers,” Hitomo said. “It is true, many of them are simply thugs, but put enough of them together and you have an army.”

“You want me to fight an army?” the failed mage asked incredulously. “I’ve nearly been killed once this past fortnight.

Hitomo looked thoughtful.

“I still think you should wait,” Tomiichi said. “Gather your full strength.”

Why wouldn’t they tell him what this gang did to them? Were they hiding something? Lawrence had no qualms about searing some flesh, not when the flesh involved was that of filthy gutter scum forcing honest folk to pay taxes they didn’t owe. But this was about more than extortion.

And I’m getting sentimental, he thought. Some mercenary I am.

“How many are there?”

“Their headquarters might have twenty or thirty fighters, but no more than that,” Tomiichi said, then glanced about furtively. These men were afraid of being seen dealing with a mercenary about to be sent to go attack this gang. Perhaps they should be. Reprisal attacks would surely come afterward.

Lawrence said as much, but the father and son simply ignored the idea. They seemed nervous, though. Finally, impatient and tired of waiting, Lawrence said, “I’m grateful that you took me in, Nakamura-san, and that your daughter saved my life. But if you don’t tell me what your aims are, there could be problems. I don’t like stalking into unscouted territory waiting to be ambushed.”

The old man squeezed his eyes shut. He seemed to be battling between anger and fear, and being an old warrior, Lawrence guessed leaning more to the side of anger.

“It’s my other sister,” Tomiichi said. “Yoko.”

Lawrence frowned. Fear then, and anger at not being able to do anything about it. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

The old man gritted his teeth and Tomiichi spoke on. “It’s a great dishonor what they’ve done to her—to us. Our family is proud. Sakura could be ruined, kicked out of her troupe. The Akaima Dancing Fans performs for the Emperor himself! And that’s nothing to say of poor Yoko’s future.”

“That’s why you did nothing when they took her away?”

“I almost did,” Hitomo said. He snarled. “I marched up to their front doors, katana in hand, ready to strike the heads from their shoulders, but…”

“I stopped him,” Tomiichi said. “I wanted to join him, but we’re only two men, and besides, Yoko was missing for nearly two days before they sent us any demands. The damage has been done, and we would be lying in a heap in some alley had we gone in on that day.”

“Better that it be me,” Lawrence said. He wasn’t being sardonic, just a statement of fact. That’s what mercenaries were for. They were expendable.

“No!” Hitomo barked.

“Easy,” Tomiichi said, putting a hand on his father’s shoulder. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“We’re coming in with you,” Hitomo said, clearly one hair’s breadth from snarling at the failed mage. He swung a wrapped package off his back and revealed two katana hilts therein.

“You’ll be seen,” Lawrence warned.

Hitomo said nothing, simply gestured over his face that they would be going incognito. Now Lawrence realized that they were both dressed in plain, low-cut breeches and tunics of a drab blue, almost grey. They were both wearing jika-tabi, a sturdy, close-fitting type of footwear split at the toe, common with ninja, while he wore his tattered leather boots.

“Fine,” Lawrence said. “We go in together, get your daughter and get out. But they’ll know it was you.”

“We don’t care," Tomiichi said. “No one but us and them will know, and if they come after us later, we’ll fight them, except this time we’ll be ready.”

Looking to the gate watch commander, he said, “Why not get the city guard involved?”

“We do not want a scandal,” Hitomo said. The words evidently pained him. His conflict between doing anything to rescue his daughter and preserving his family’s reputation must have been difficult.

“And if either of you are killed?”

“So be it,” Hitomo said. “It’s the duty of a father to protect his children.”

“And that of a brother! We’ll avoid a scandal if we can, but not at all costs.”

“All right,” Lawrence said. “But we do this my way.”

They both nodded.

“Then let’s go.” He began walking down the alley, then called behind his shoulder. Brooking no argument, he said, “Go back, boy…”