Chapter Six—Yōkaii-chan

“Sank you,” Hiro said with a nod, his accent a little thick. That did not seem to bother the fisherman who returned the gesture with a smile, then went back to his boat to tidy up and to gather the day’s catch. Regarding their communications, Hiro wondered if either he or the fishermen understood a third of what came out of the other’s mouth. He chortled to himself.

Since landing, the chop of the seas had continued, though it seemed to have lessened for a time. But now the clouds within the skies were darker and a stronger wind became apparent.

It had taken the pair nearly an hour to find a fisherman who was willing to take them to the other side of the stone outcropping where Hiro knew—just knew a village would be. After pondering that with Haru for some time, the younger rōnin simply suggested they ask some of the fishermen if his intuitions were true.

“Why, what a good idea, Haru-kun,” Hiro had said. “Now you are using your head.”

And you were never using yours, Haru had thought, and rolled his eyes as the older man proceeded to ask a fisherman. His intuition was indded proven to be true, and eventually the pair found a man willing to take them that way, on account that he was heading back himself, to his wife with the day’s catch.

The fisherman was elderly with thin white hair and missing teeth, his sun-brown skin aged and wrinkled like old parchment. Haru could understand very little of what he said, despite the man speaking the same language they did.

“Come, Haru-­kun,” Hiro said musingly as he turned about and regarded the village. The shores were made up of small flat stones and shiny agates, intermixed with brown sand. Not a painting by any thought of the imagination, and the houses, most of which were shacks on the front of the shores with high stilts, were ramshackle at best.

“How are they not destroyed in the storms?” Haru wondered aloud.

“Mm?” Hiro noised, but did not turn as he led the way up the beach. They crossed some rocks and made their way to the stone path. The sea rocks on the edge of the city walls jutted up high above them, the walls of the city massive.

This village was situated on the very edge of the city walls, and by what the fisherman had told them, had originally began as a place where undesirables of the city came. Not allowed to enter, they had made their homes here. That was decades ago, and now the village was an accepted part of the city, called Jiǎo Luò Village. The old fisherman seemed proud of that.

On the path, they were surrounded by structures, and it seemed as the beach inclined as it neared the base of the walls the better the structures became, the final row positively luxurious in their quality with many floors and balconies. Their fresh paint, clean windows and banners of many colors and symbols that Haru knew nothing about, waved in the wind.

The roof tiles were similar in design with what they had in the Mikuma Empire. The tiles were often a dark grey-green or grey-blue and the edges of the roofs were up turned in the eastern fashion.

Villagers ran to and fro with things in their arms while women quickly pulled laundry off of the lines crisscrossing overhead. Lanterns from some previously laid out festival still hung while the vestiges of shredded paper remained upon the ground.

Two children chased each other in the path, stopped and looked upon Haru and Hiro, two gaijin from across the water with rags for clothes and expensive swords on their hips, however in Hiro’s case, he wore his long broadsword katana across his back.

“Boy!” Hiro called. The boy’s eyes widened and he and his friend paused. They said something to the effect of a question in their language. “We—” Hiro began, “My friend and I… We are looking for a tavern.”

The village boys said more between themselves, their language strange to Haru’s ears with intonations he was not used to hearing. They turned to the two rōnin after a moment and rubbed their fingers together, uttering words eagerly.

“Oh… Wakatanai… Drink! We. Want. Drink?” He mimed with his hands and the two children nodded, smiles on their faces. “Where is the tavern?”

They pointed behind themselves. Hiro nodded, thanked them and the two children brushed passed quickly, laughing and chasing one another.

“Mm,” Hiro nodded with a smile. “They seem friendly, yes?”

Haru shrugged. He was not certain what to think as of yet, but—

The two boys sniggered loudly from behind. “Stupit oh’d man!”

“Ay!” Hiro snapped, turning to address them and he looked up. They were both atop a roof now, both smiling broadly as one jingled several coins in his hand while rubbing two more together.

“I think they have robbed us,” Haru said flatly.

“Nani?” Hiro checked his belt where he had hidden the coins and jerked about, looking into the pouch as if the coins cou;d possibly have sunk into the bottom and remain obnscured to his knowledge. Then he glanced back up at the urchins and growled. “You little shits!”

They laughed again, turned and scampered away atop the roofs.

Hot anger flushed into the older samurai’s face. Unable to control his temper, Hiro screamed, then he jumped up toward the roof, landing perfectly atop the tiles. The children glanced back and screamed in horror to see a man they had just robbed with such quick reflexes and agility.

“Give me back my money!”

“Hiro-san!” Haru called up, feeling like an arrow might pierce his back—not literally, but his sense of apprehension was currently high. “Hiro-san—come down from there! The guards—they will—“

But the other rōnin gave chase, his form disappearing over the rooftops. Haru sighed heavily and glanced about. There were onlookers, but as far as yet, no guards.

“Ahhh!” he hissed in frustration, and pursued his friend. But for himself, he had to climb the stairs. He moved his body to the side railing and jumped, lifting his sandaled feet high enough to get atop it, then from there he was able to jump, take hold of the roof with his free hands and pull himself up as though his weight were only that of a child’s.

As the view of the many cascading rooftops revealed itself, he caught Hiro jumping from one set of roofs to the other, landing noisily as he jumped into a street beyond the next row of buildings where Haru could no longer see him.

Taking his scabbard at the hip in one hand so that it did not bob about awkwardly as he ran, he pursued as fast as he could.

*

Jaw dropping, one of the spectators, a short girl with golden hair, watched as the second foreigner, the young one with the shorter sword, went after his friend. His style was not as impressive as the old man’s, but he moved swiftly, as though he had practiced this very thing for a play. This was exactly what they needed.

“Perfect,” the girl said. “They can help us.”

“Mmm,” a squeaky voice intoned.” “I am not so sure.” The second speaker would not have been visible to either of the rōnin even if they had been standing beside the girl.

“Trust me, Fuwafuwa.”

Then, like clockwork, six figures advanced from various semi-hiden places, wielding curved knives and cudgels.

“See!” the girl said, pointing. “Let’s keep watching to see what happens.”

Whoever the girl spoke to, a sigh from that unseen person followed.

*

Cursing with every step while townsfolk watched Hiro chase these rats, he kicked his feet wildly as he neared to catching the one he had stayed on while his little friend darted off in another direction. As he ran, the disgraced samurai reached his arm back to keep his broadsword from slapping across his back.

The little rat screamed, tossing the coins away in the hopes that his pursuer would leave off chase, but Hiro kept on, screaming like a dog that had now found its hunted quarry, unable to stop because of its own predatory instincts.

But the filthy boy in his trousers and sandals jumped for a drain and went in quicker than Hiro could manage to grab him, though he almost caught hold of the boy’s foot as he reached into the narrow space.

Someone behind him yelped, startled at the sight of what was happening. With his running and shouting and cursing, the impressions of the villagers must have been one of strong concern.

Breathing heavily, Hiro backed away from the drain pipe and stood up, glanced about for his coins, but of course, unless he scoured every crack in the stones, he would never find them.

They were looking at him, and in a manner that was not friendly.

Not at all…

“Gomenasai,” he said with a smile on his face, and clasped his hands together flatly. He bowed several times to the townspeople, muttering apologies all the while. “Gomenasai. Gomen. Gomenasai.”

Hurried footfalls came. “Hiro-san!” Haru called as he turned the corner, but he saw Hiro bowing and muttering his apologies and came up short. With a heavy sigh as he glanced between the townsfolk who were now muttering curses themselves, he moved forward as he caught his breath.

“Away!” a woman cried, and shoved her broom in his direction from atop her porch. “Gomen,” he said, a slight tinge of annoyance taking him. He neared the older man.

“Ah,” he smiled. “Haru-kun. Did you see those little rats? They took our coin.”

The men from before, the ones in league with the urchins that neither of the rōnin had seen, moved in unison, their knives half-hidden. Their movement drew the eyes of Hiro-san first, because he was the older and more experienced of the two warriors. But it was not long before Haru-san caught on, his reaction barely perceptible, since he was the younger of the two. Though he had reacted so slightly, none of the untrained men with knives were aware, because they lacked heightened awareness of the higher warrior classes.

“I know they took our money,” Haru said with a nod, a nod that indicated to the muscled swordsman specific intent of action. “Do you see what you are doing?”

The other man glanced about with an air of embarrassment. “Yes, yes. I see. I made a mistake. I will not do it again.”

“Good,” Haru said. “We have made a terrible impression upon the townspeople. What will they think of us—“

The men struck out in unison, the first lunging in at Hiro’s back. Haru saw, reacted and lashed out with his fist. He hit the man in the face, the force of his blow hard enough to shatter teeth and crack bone, though he pulled the punch to avoid injuring the robber beyond the point of moderately difficult recovery.

As two more men rushed in with their weapons, one with a knife and the other with a cudgel, Hiro whirled, grabbed the cudgler with his hand and kicked the man in the midsection. He frunted, stumbled back and fell just as Hiro brough the cudgel to bare, definding himself from the knife attack.

The blade clunked into the wood harmlessly before Hiro angled the weapon forward with the strength of his thick arms, taking the thug in the collar bone. There was a cracking sound of bone and the man cried out, clutching at his wound.

As the older swordsmen dealt with these two, Haru had defended himself from the attacks of one more man, who lunged with the tapered end of his knife. The point would have taken Haru in the stomach, but he turned his body sideways, narrowly missing the blade by intend. Then he grabbed the man by the wrist and struck him on the side of the head with is elbow.

He went down, clutching at his bleeding ear. With two of the robbers yet untouched, though four of their number easily dealt with, the of their gange turned and ran, the injured of their group making their slow and staggering escape as well.

“Mm,” Hiro noised musingly. “You are right. We should, keep a low profile, as you say, my friend. Yes, you were right.”

“Mm,” Haru nodded.

They walked on while the townsfolk remained ignorantly unaware of the truth concerning the scuffle that had taken place. They glowered at the samurai, and one man said something about fetching the guards, while what sounded like a young girl’s voice calling out in excitement over what she had jusut seen.

Neither of the swordsmen knew, but a girl and her friend were watching, the voice the the girl they had heard belonging to none other than her. She had been watching, and she found immense satisfaction and intrigue as she bore witness to their ease at handling six armed thugs.

They stalked forward.

“I feel like knives are going into my back, Haru­-kun.”

The younger man snorted, both in frustration but also in mirth. Hiro-san was a terrifying warrior capable of slaying the entire town, their best defense would merely be an afterthought, and yet he feared their glares on his back.

Haru cared what they thought, had not wanted to make a commotion. He was happy to know Hiro felt similarly.

No—they were not villains.

They were rōnin, yes.

Never villains.

They turned at the end of the street where they met a brick wall and fence where ornamental shubs and plants were growing.

“I am freezing,” Haru said, making no motions to display such.

“Really?” the other man asked. “After chasing those rats, I have worked up my blood. This wind feels amazing!” He said the last words with rising excitement as he raised his arms exultantly.

“You there,” a voice called, and both of the samurai glanced up and frowned.

“Oh no,” Hiro said. “More thieving children. What will we do this time, Haru-kun?”

“Hey!” the girl said indignantly. “I’m no thief, old man.”

“Wha—“ Hiro barked and cocked his head back. “’Old man’? Who is she calling an old man?”

Haru raised an eyebrow. “We are very sorry for the disturbances,” Haru said. “We are leaving now.”

“I saw what you did,” the girl said at their backs. “It was impressive.”

They turned.

She looked at them and they regarded the golden-haired girl, her rough, pocketed trousers and her leather jacket with the upturned collar flaring outward in strips of green. The toggled of her jacket consisted of polished wood and her shirt contained silken ornamentation at her cuffs the like Hiro and Haru had never seen.

Money, Hiro thought, just as the younger man mused how strange the child appeared—like a rich foreigner, but why was she here—and speaking to them of all people?

They were only gaijin—and in rags.

“There are many warriors in this world that can do that and more,” Haru said. “Pay it no mind.”

“Mm,” Hiro added to his statement with a nod. But he thought that she dressed in a manner that was quite well off, something Haru­-kun did not seem to recognize. The young man had much to learn.

Putting on his best smile, Haru spread his arms. “I am Haru Yousha. I am a...”—he shared a glance with Haru and cleared his throat—“we are samurai.”

“Samurai?” the girl asked, the intrigue in her tone readily apparent. “Can all samurai do what you two did—more particularly, you, old man?”

“Well,” Hiro said in self-satisfaction, “Firstly, I am not an ‘old man,’ and you need to learn respect for your elders.”

The girl sniffed. “No irony in that sentence…”

Hiro’s last few words came out as he turned his body sideways, as if he were making his body smaller for the beginning of a duel—and furthermore, he pointed his finger at the girl, as if it were the tip of a sword. Everything about his coment and mannerisms made Haru think of the bickering and the jesting between Hiro-san and Ujiro-san.

He rolled his eyes.

The girl laughed. “I’m called Yōkaii-chan. Pleased to meet you.” She bowed in such a manner as to make Hiro’s mouth drop open a little more. When she took her bow, she had flourished her arms and crossed her ankles. It was very showy, like that of a noble, but what caught his attention even more was her Mikuman name. It seemed to be a cross between “kawaii” and “yōkai.” Yes, very cute.

Smirking, the older samurai said, “That is not your real name.”

The girl said nothing about that. “And your name, sir?”

“Mine?” Haru asked, gesturing to himself.

“Is there another ‘sir’ present, sir?”

“Ah,” Haru said, a bit embarrassingly. “I am Haru Tantaiama. Also a samu—“ but he broke off.

“Yes, we are samurai,” Hiro said quickly as Haru faltered on the word. He did not want to tell a lie, it seemed. “We are foreigners in this land, and you have a very interesting name, child. However, we have much to do and we are on our way into the city. Ganbatte!” He turned, deciding that they had given too much information to a stranger, a strange one at that.

“Won’t get through the gate without coin,” the girl said.

His heel was like that of a pivot designed to turn him around in short order. “What would you know of our coin situation?”

“Hmph!” the girl scoffed with a bratty little smile. “I know you two are freezing and that you need a drink. I have something of a proposition for you.”

Hiro blinked at her and touched his chin. “Pro—propo...”

“Proposition,” the girl repeated. “You know, when one ‘proposes something’?”

Hiro shook his head, turned to the younger man. “Do you know this word?”

“I think… so?”

“It means I want to make a suggestion. You want coin, right?” Then she bent at the waist and started speaking as if to the dumb. “Mon-ney?”

“She is rude,” Hiro said, feeling a tinge of annoyance come over him. It was not lost on Haru of the similarities between Hiro-san and Yōkaii-chan in how they communicated with their older counterparts. What was also not lost on him was the tone in Hiro-san’s voice. It was one of utter incredulity and quite possibly of mild hurt.

He sniffed, bemused at the other outcast’s mild hypocricy.

“What is funny?”

“Nanimo,” Haru said. “Let’s listen to her proposition.”

Hiro scratched his beard and his eyes narrowed with mirth. “All right, little brat. We will listen to your… pro-po-sition!” He emphasized each syllable of the word with barely contained annoyance that showed n his physical being.

“Good!” she said. “Told you these guys would come along.”

“What?” Hiro asked. “Who are you speaking to?” He glanced about.

“Just Fuwafuwa.”

“Who?” Hiro asked again as if he were hard of hearing.

“Fuwafuwa,” the girl repeated. “He’s my friend.” She stepped in front of them and turned, leading the way as she walked backwards. It was just then that Haru noticed a rapier at her belt. “He’s a yōkai! You know—a spirit?”

“I know what a yōkai is,” Hiro said flatly. “And what,” he asked, “he sits on your shoulder like your little friend, whispering advice to you?” He asked the question while trundling his fingers disparagingly.

“Actually,” the girl smiled, “he does. Look!”

Something did appear there, a fluffy yellow creature with big watery eyes and a wide nose. It had tiny little horns poking out of its head and it squeaked.

His mouth fell open. “Whoa!” Hiro said, stopping and pointing. “Look.”

“I see it,” Haru said, wondering if the creature were indeed a yōkai. “Does it… speak?”

“Of course I speak,” the creature said, its tone high pitched and annoyed.

“And you called it a ‘he’?” Hiro asked. “With a voice like that?”

“Of course I’m a he, and I don’t appreciate being called ‘it,’ Hiro-san.”

“Fuwafuwa can be a bit like you, old man.”

Hiro growled at her use of the “old man” again. “How is that?”

“He talks too much.”

“Great.”

“We are happy to meet you, Fuwafuwa-san.” Haru said.

“At least one of you has some manners,” the yōkai squeaked.

“Yōkai…” Hiro muttered trailing off. “Maybe a yōkai’s pet, but not a yōkai.”

“Ha!” Fuwafuwa barked challengingly. “Do you want to duel, big man?”

“Ehh…?”

“Nono!” Yōkaii-chan said. “No duels—no fighting. That’s not why we need them, remember?”

“And why do you need us?” Hiro asked, tone still dubious as his long hair whipped in the wind. Haru’s earlier impression during the voyage of Hiro’s rugged wildness was not lessened—even if he did act the fool at times. He was a powerful fool, a dangerous one, a man that none other but himself could now tell what to do—not lords or emperors even.

“Listen, you cranky samurai,” the girl said flatly. “Do you want to come with me to the tavern for a hot mulled wine so we can talk in quiet, or do you want to freeze out here and look at me funny?”

She regarded them with bright blue eyes as her shoulder-length golden hair waved in the wind. Fuwafuwa’s fluffy fur was also waving and he seemed to shiver for a moment.

Haru looked at the older outcast with a question on his face that said, “What do you think?”

“You know, I am always willing to accept a drink.” Hiro said with a smile. “Lead the way, Yōkaii-chan.”

She nodded. “All right. Come on.”

She took them up the street, the city walls looming high in the sky above them. Both samurai looked up at it, craning their necks to take it all in. Hiro thought he felt a crick in his neck, while Haru simply marveled, taking note that their young companion did not so much as glance at the wall.

Though a foreigner she was, she seemed to be well acquainted with the city—perhaps even born here.

“Oh!” Hiro exclaimed as they came up to the in. There were more villagers in this part and many of them came and went, and no small few of them were gaijin. Hiro saw a cat eye couple, an oni woman with human-like skin, not the red-skinned types like some of those bedeviled people’s had.

Actually, they were not even real oni.

As they came below the eves, the sounds of the tavern became apparent, the glass on the windows bright with interior lighting as the tavern goers enjoyed the company of their friends and family.

The door opened to admit a group of skinny men, most of them fishermen who probably lived within Jiao Luo. As they entered with the young girl at the lead, the warm air and smells of food hit them all—but most impactfully upon Hiro, who glanced about with a wide smile on his face, his mouth watering and his stomach growling like an angry fighter.

“Ah,” he noised, rubbing his hands together. “This is good, Haru-kun.”

“Yeah,” Yōkaii-chan said. “It’s all right. Serves its purpose, I suppose.”

“Mmm,” Hiro noised in acknowledgement, though he was barely listening as he surveyed the common room. In the hearth was a big fire with a suckling pig, a bright red apple in its mouth. A man was there, turning the spit and serving up big slices of the greasy meat while another mixed and fried vegetables. People laughed, played some friendly dice and milled about with drinks in their hands. The tables were clean, and the serving girls had large breasts. Oh, this tavern was wonderful!

“Oh, Adrienne!” a voice called. They all looked up, though in Hiro’s case he whirled. It was the tavern keeper. “It’s you. Again. Why, if you didn’t come in here at least six times a day, I would surely go out of business.” He laughed, his face full of good cheer and mirth. He was a big fellow with narrow eyes and a doughey face.

Was he speaking to—?

Yōkaii-chan half-covered her face with one hand. “I told you not to call me by my name, Bao!”

“Oh-oh!” he said, realizing his terrible mistake. “I am sorry. Err…” He scratched his temple with a meaty finger as if remembering something. Then he nodded. “Yōkaii-chan.” He winked at her. “Can’t have your accomplices finding out who you really are, eh?”

“Ugh,” she growled. “Give us a booth, will you?”

“Yes!” he said excitedly, and led them out of the common room. “I have a most perfect place for you to confuct your… dealings. Who are your friends?”

“Nobody,” she said, “Just some washed up losers that flopped into town.”

“Hey!” Haru said indignantly.

But Hiro smiled. He was starting to like this little troublemaker. He wanted to see what she was all about, and even if she had nothing real to offer them, at least she had the money to buy them some hot drinks. To be out of the cold, even for a few minutes, was a welcome relief. Despite heating up in his chase after those little cutpurses, his nose was cold.

“Ah,” Bao said. “I will not bother you any further, Adrien—err, I mean Yōkaii-chan!”

She glared at him, and Hiro thought she might make a fist.

“It is right here, please, please.” The fat tavern keeper said—but now that Hiro had had a look around, this was much more than a tavern, it was an inn. The innkeeper ushered them into a private booth of plush seats lined with maroon-colored fabric.

“Ah,” Hiro said, his tone a bit gravelly. “Very nice.”

“Mm,” Haru noised with a nod of approval.

Between the seats was a square table of thick polished wood. There was a small stove pipe in the middle of the table that provided heat, and inside a little flame crackled. There were also little grills for cooking. Was strange that this inn required its gests to cook their own food?

In any event, they all sat down.

“Bao,” the girl said. “Send over some mulled wine. The spicy stuff. We need something to drink while we decide what we want to eat.”

“Of course,” he said, bowed and left them.

Hiro’s stomach growled like a Nikushi worm trying to punch its way out of his stomach. He was famished!

“Now,” the girl said. “I say we get some drink into us, and then we can talk business while we wait for the food. Sound good?”

Hiro laughed, surprised and delighted all at once.

“You drink alcohol?” Haru asked. “You are mutch too young for that, yes?”

“Hey!” the girl said through an indignant glare. “Who do you think you are?”

“Uh…” Haru stammered, and laughed. “Gomen,”

The other man simply chuckled, not caring in the least that this girl thought herself some kind of mercenary, especially one capable of dealings like this.

They drank. They talked about nothing. They ate and drank some more—and then they drank some more. The little lady was loaded with coin. It was a wonder she hadn’t been kidnapped and ransomed, Hiro thought. Finally after he slammed down what seemed like his forth or fifth mug, Yōkaii-chan said, “Now I have a deal to propose to both of you.” As she said her next words, she waved her hand about. “It will require some manner of finess.” She glanced between them, “And possibly some sword skills, too.”

“Mmhm!” Fuwafuwa, who had appeared in the midst of their drinking, and was now quite possibly the most intoxicated member of the bunch, nodded vehemently. “That’s right!” he said through a hiccup.