Chapter XIX—Declaration of Murder

The samurai could barely believe what he was seeing.

“Rōkura?”

“Shinjiro?!”

Her mouth fell open.

“Don’t look so surprised to see me.”

“But…” Hans told me you didn’t want to see me anymore! “I…”

He stepped forward and smiled. “I am glad that I found you. When I heard of your ship sinking off the coast, I feared the worst.”

Rōkura blinked. “Why have you come back?”

He frowned. “Are you unhappy?”

Is that why she left without saying anything?

“No—I… I’m confused, Shinjiro.”

“You said that, and now I am as well. What is going on here?”

Narrowing her eyes, a suspicion overcame her thoughts. “Hans told me that you didn’t want to see me in Momori Kazō.”

There was a pause as a flash of lightning lit the dark skies. “Is that what he told you?”

“Hai!”

Shinjiro glanced off to the side of the street, part of him shocked, another part surprised that Rōkura had believed him. She had been acquainted with Shinjiro longer after all. Damn him!

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking…” he said heavily, “that I’m going to strangle that cat man.”

She snorted, and Shinjiro cocked his head in surprise. Rōkura didn’t even understand why she had almost burst out laughing.

Perhaps it was because her heart was filled with joy that her friend had returned to her. Yes—that’s it. She nodded. “I am happy you’re here, Shinjiro.”

She smiled.

He returned the smile in a way only a confident samurai with his sheathed sword laying across he shoulder could.

Then his face hardened. “Where is Hans?”

“You’re not going to try to kill him, are you?”

“Of course not. But…”

Rōkura nodded, firmly as she remembered how hard Hans’ “news” had hit her. A flash of anger took her and she almost snarled.

“We need to talk to him!”

“Indeed.”

“Follow me. He should be camped near the road just outside of the city.”

Shinjiro glanced up at the roiling clouds. Off on their western flank, an orange glow persisted. “Looks like it’s going to be a storm.”

“Good,” said Rōkura. “Maybe it will help put my fire out.”

As Shinjiro took her side and they began walking, he said, “You started it?”

“I… Yes—it was part of the plan.”

“The plan?” he asked with surprise as he glanced down at her.

“I’ll explain it on the way. For now…” she cut to their right and went toward a smaller road behind the main thoroughfare of Chōdaira. “Let’s take the smaller roads. I don’t want to be noticed.”

“Plans. Fires. Skulking in back alleys.” He chased after her. “Just what have you been doing in this city, you troublesome oni?!”

With a laugh, Rōkura picked up her pace to a near run as the wind whipped her hair about. “Come on!”

“What do you mean ‘come on’? I’m the one with the horse!”

The wind picking up and the skies were a roil of black and grey. Hans had decided not to stop quite at the half way mark.

They needed shelter, and since Hans had espied a rather dense cops of trees within the forest with a small road leading within, he had told the carriage driver to take that path. What they found was a small meadow with stone slabs, ancient alters?

In any event, the coaches had stopped under the trees. Hans had gone out to see each of the drivers as the once-hostages came out with curious glances, excitement and happiness due to their freedom evident on their faces.

Offering them enough coin to stay the entire night if needs be, he waited for Rōkura as he watched the skies and kicked about the grasses. The trees here were thick and dense, their canopies providing good cover against the weather.

To signal to Rōkura where they were they had stopped, Hans had tied a red kerchief onto a branch near the road and waited. Hours seemed to go by when finally a horse and rider—a rider and a passenger it seemed—arrived.

Upon recognizing Shinjiro he wanted to curse.

His heart fell.

Well damn.

They came closer, both the returned samurai and the oni glanced down at Hans. Shinjiro’s feelings were evident upon his face, but Rōkura lit up and jumped off the back of the horse and ran to the others.

They laughed and embraced, and Rōkura gasped over Aki and Shin’s baby. Hans watched for a moment as he heard Shinjiro dismount his horse.

Shinjiro’s anger was more intense than he had felt it since Rōkura’s ship had left port. Back then, he had been more confused and disappointed with himself than anything else, but now…

Now he wanted to grind his teeth.

“I see you returned,” said Hans cheerily, though in his tone, Shinjiro could hear an understanding that he expected Shinjiro not to be pleased.

The yōkai I’m not pleased. He strode up to the little man. “You’re here sooner than—“ He started saying, and that was when Shinjiro balled his fist and swung.

Oh good. Hans didn’t move away from that blow. Because of their level difference, Hans had already calculated the potential damage of the attack and deemed it meager. That was due both to Shinjiro’s level, but also because the samurai clearly did not put as much force behind the attack as he could have.

Purposely, he did not move out of the way.

White flecks danced in his vision for a moment as his glasses fell from his face. Hans lifted himself onto his elbow as he lay in the grass rubbing his jaw.

If you mark my face, it will score my sympathy points with Rōkura.

Maybe she would feel sorry for Hans and forgive him.

“That’s for lying to me, Hans Bellefeuille!”

“What’s going on here?” asked Rōkura as she strode forward.

“Oh!” said Hans quickly as he picked up his glasses and slipped them back over his face. He glanced about with his sea-blue eyes and his sly vision. “Nothing I did not deserve, Oni-san.”

Rōkura crossed her arms and looked up at Shinjiro, then back down to Hans as he got up. You had this coming. “I want to know why you told me Shinjiro didn’t want to see me, Hans.”

Clearing his throat, he rubbed his jaw some more to accentuate the damage done. Anything to gain him sympathy right now to lessen the fallout. And Hans, you manipulative bastard. But he was who he was. “Of course, you are right to want answers.”

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose again and spread his arms.

“What—no answer?” asked Shinjiro. “Just a smug look?”

“I will be honest with you—“

“That would be a change,” said Rōkura.

“Rōkura-san—“

“Don’t ‘Rōkura-san me,’ Hans!” she said through her teeth. Then she narrowed her fingers at him. “I’m this close to giving you a mark on the other side of your little face!”

“Would that make it better?”

“Maybe!”

“Then have at me, Oni-san.”

“I would rather you explained yourself.”

Hans sighed heavily, both because this was tiresome. Oh, but he did hate drama, but also because he had to put on a little bit of a show for them both. “I serve at Ogai-sama’s pleasure, you know?’

“Do not”—Rōkura warned as she raised a finger—“tell me a lie about Ogai-sama and how he told you to get rid of Shinjiro.”

The golden-haired supported glanced past Rōkura where the rest of the party waited. They had curious glances and had spread out to listen. He sniffed with amusement. “Two steps ahead of me, I see.”

“So you did intend to lie to Rōkura?” asked Shinjiro? “Even now?”

“No-no… What I was actually going to say, was that I serve at the pleasure of Ogai-sama. And he has left your… care up to me.”

Narrowing her eyes, Rōkura didn’t want to trust Hans as far as she could throw him, which was a terrible metaphor, since he was so small, she could probably toss him pretty far.

That might not be a bad idea.

“Listen,” Hans continued. “Rōkura, your powers are…” he paused, thinking for the right words.

“Don’t say something you will regret,” Rōkura said. He wanted to grind his teeth. She doesn’t trust me—and maybe for good reason.

Hans glanced down into the grass. “Shall we take this conversation someplace where there aren’t prying ears?” he asked, trying to seem reasonable as he glanced off toward the line of carriages.

Rōkura looked over in that direction and realized that probably wasn’t a bad idea. “All right, Hans.”

They moved under some trees a stone’s throw away from the carriages. The rain had not yet begin to fall, but the wind was strong and cool and wonderful on everyone’s skin on this hot summer’s evening.

Especially having been in the city jail for a time, the fresh air was wonderful, and Hans agreed. After going in and subduing the few guards, and then moving their unconscious bodies where the others wouldn’t see then, he had unlocked all the cells and they had walked out.

Despite some curious glances and questions concerning the location of the jail staff and the guards, Hans had calmly and quietly walked the group down the street to where he had the carriages bought and paid for and waiting.

And still he had worked up a sweat.

Now he breathed in deeply, wishing he could get some even colder air.

Or perhaps a drink.

He was on the edge of a cliff with Rōkura

“Well?” she asked. Part of Rōkura wanted Hans to come up with a good answer. He was too useful. And besides, he was good company. She wanted to trust him.

“I was going to save that revenge is a messy business, Rōkura. It is never clean.”

Shinjiro glanced between then, wondering what he was getting at, or whether he was trying to manipulate by twisting the conversation in order to rationalize his decision to lie to her and leave Shinjiro behind.

Hans knew that he needed to be as forthright as possible, or else Rōkura would reject him, and Ogai-sama would be rather displeased. In fact, he would be quite furious, if Hans knew anything about the deity, he knew that much.

While Ogai was a live and let live sort, the kind of god that didn’t bother with the little thing, who brushed off responsibility and reveled in excess and good times, he was also not one to suffer fools who couldn’t carry out his plans.

His immature attitude was bellied by his terrible rage, a rage Hans had only ever seen the spark of—and even that had frightened him.

How was he supposed to juggle Ogai’s expectations against that of a girl who wanted to be a goody two-shoes? She had massacred everyone in Administrator Fujiwarai’s estate with little more than a downward cast of her eyes and a promise she “wouldn’t do it again.”

Who does she think she is?

As Rōkura watched Hans think, the muscles in his jaws quivered and he made fists. It was clear to her that he was angry about something.

Shinjiro wondered what the cat man thought he was justified in being angry about. He can’t get out of this one. But what is he going to do about it?

He doesn’t have an answer. That was what Rōkura decided. “Come on, Shinjiro.” She turned her back and strode in the direction of the carriages.

Shinjiro followed.

Hans’s eye twitched. So what? This was the end? They were leaving him behind? Because he told a lie? He kept his mouth shut, but had he not, Hans would have snarled through his teeth.

How did this happen?

“You think…!” he said, trailing off.

Rōkura turned, and so did Shinjiro, but only just over his shoulder, giving Hans very little attention or time to explain.

Narrowing his eyes, he continued. “You think Ogai-sama cares one whit how many people you massacre? Do you truly believe, Rōkura—that he cares if you get your revenge?”

She swallowed, feeling a sudden pit in her stomach, because everything Hans was saying, at least about Ogai-sama, she knew to be true.

“You made a contractual agreement with a god! You cannot walk away from that!”

“I’ll do things my way,” she said, and she turned.

Shinjiro shook his head. Threats… Is that all you have left, Hans Bellefeuille? He followed Rōkura, when suddenly he heard Hans beating feet behind him.

He tuned to react, when to find Hans pummeling him in the chest, his fists flying in rapid flurries, each hit harder than the next that send vibrations though his core and up into his teeth.

There was a scream from the women at the carriages and Rōkura turned just as Hans slammed his leather shoe atop Shinjiro’s chest.

The samurai grunted—“Hnngh!”—grasping at Hans’ calf, the gold buckle on the tongue of his shoe glinting in torchlight from the carriages.

“HANS!” snapped Rōkura. “What are you doing?!”

Twisting his foot, Shinjiro groaned as the muscles in his arm tensed. It was clear to Rōkura that he was trying to peel Hans’ foot off of his chest, but Hans was far higher in level than the samurai.

“Like a baby!” Hans said, his glasses glinting with smart villainy as he pushed them up higher onto his nose. “I could crush your samurai right here now now.”

Hear heart lurched. “Hans—stop this now!”

“I could cave his chest in and he would—like that,” he snapped his fingers, “be dead, Rōkura. He is of no use to use. He’s baggage. A mouth to feed. Dead weight.”

“Hans…” growled Rōkura, her face heating as she made fists. “If you don’t get off of him right now—“

“You will do what?” he shot back and spread his arms arrogantly. “Without me you wouldn’t even know who to kill next, Rōkura.”

Everyone behind her gasped and whispered. Rōkura didn’t move and she didn’t’ glance behind her shoulder. The wind whipped her shoulder-length hair behind her. “I’m not going to ask you again, Hans.”

Except, holding Shinjiro down like a pinned leaflet was all Hans could do right now to make the silly girl listen to him.

“You are not prepared for what lies ahead.” He twisted his foot and Shinjiro growled in pain. “You have many corpses to make—and most of them aren’t even the people you want dead.”

He twisted his fut.

Rōkura’s eyes widened.

“That’s right,” said Hans. “Most of your ‘targets’ are on Ogai-sama’s list—not yours.” He twisted his foot.

“Hnngh!”

She ground her teeth and tilted her head in a jerky gesture. “Hans!”

“Shinjiro…” Hans looked down at him with contempt and even a little bit of hatred. This fool was getting in the way of their mission, of Hans’ mission. We have people to kill! “This samurai makes you soft, Rōkura.”

“Revenge…” Shinjiro growled through the pain and through his teeth, “is not the only way to move on. In fact, you might even say it’s the wrong way.”

“You see?” Hans asked through an arrogant smirk of self-satisfaction. “The words came out of his own mouth. Whether you want revenge or not, you will kill whoever Ogai-sama wants you to kill.”

Hans—I told you to let Shinjiro up, and I have repeated my waning against—

He twisted his foot and Shinjiro groaned. It was all Rōkura could take, as her anger flared like a crucible of molten metal turned over atop a pile of dry leaves.

The oni Blinked, appearing next to Shinjiro and Hans, and then she screamed as she brought her fist up under Hans’ chin. She put her shoulder and back into it, and the hit whipped Hans’ head back, sending his glasses high into the air, and him too for that matter.

Hans’ small frame arced through the air and came back down where he landed heavily on his back with a grunt of pain.

Rōkura forgot about him as she kneeled down beside Shinjiro. “Are you all right?”

With a grunt, he nodded. “I’m all right,” he said.

She helped him up.

Shinjiro rubbed his chest, the pain of Hans’ punches and then later where he had his foot on the samurai’s chest smarted, but he pretended it wasn’t as bad as it felt.

She glanced back toward Hans, still unbelieving that she had just hit him like that. He lay motionless on the grass as her heart thundered inside her chest. “Is he… all right?”

Just as she asked the question, he stirred, lifting his head as he looked at them. Hans blinked, the pain in his jaw made his vision swirl. Where are my glasses?

He grunted and turned, pulled himself forward over the grass as he bent his legs. Reaching out, he took hold of his glasses and put them on.

Despite the clarity of the world returning to him, his vision swayed. He laughed. “That was a good punch, Rōkura-san.”

“You should leave,” Shinjiro said.

Hans stood and glanced up at the sky, his body barely held up. Like a scarecrow he stood there shaking his head with a smile on his face.

Then he walked away toward the final carriage driver to get a ride away from there. The people occupying that carriage could squeeze into the others.

With a final glance, he turned back over his shoulder.

Rōkura narrowed her eyes. This was best. If Hans was going to lie to her, to break her party up and to do things that would lead to her massacring people, then she didn’t want him here.

And yet…

Everything he said was true.

She swallowed.

“He’s wrong,” Shinjiro said. “Do not dwell on it.”

That hung in the air.

She nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Rōkura turned back toward the others, who all seemed too afraid to look or talk to her. She sighed heavily. “Does anyone have any food?”

They shook their heads. Of course they didn’t have any food—they just got out of sitting in the Chōdairen jail.

“Really?” asked Shinjiro. “You’re hungry? And after everything that just happened?”

“What?!” she asked indignantly to hide her sheepish feelings.

“Unbelievable…”

Rōkura pulled back from her embrace with Aki, who looked at her with tears in her eyes. Shin smiled. “You will be in the Capital by morning. Hans has provided enough gold for all of you to find a place to stay for a few days.”

“This really is goodbye,” sobbed Aki.

Rōkura nodded and pursed her lips, her own hot tears stinging her eyes. She wiped at them. “I’ll be coming to the Capital soon. Who knows,” she said with a shrug and a smile. “Perhaps we will see each other again?”

With a wan smile, Aki nodded. Then she glanced down to little Nobu. “Say goodbye. Say goodbye to Rōkura, Nobu!”

He made a little sound and Rōkura looked at him, touched his chick with her nailed finger. “Goodbye little Nobu-kun.”

Aki sniffed. “All right, I have to go or I’m just going to stand here crying all night.” Shin helped her into their carriage and Rōkura waved to her as she stepped away.

To the driver, she called, “Take care of them.”

“Hai! Wakatte masu!”

“Kao! Kao come here! We are leaving!”

The little boy turned to look at his mother, who was pointing and dragging her finger across the ground as if she could catch her rambunctious little monster who seemed to always be getting into trouble.

Eventually he turned and went to her, but before reaching her, he looked at Rōkura and waved.

Taro was nowhere to be seen. Rōkura suspected he had left the group, or perhaps had not bothered to get out of whatever carriage he was in.

Thasarian was his friend, and he had been killed by the ninja before the Taisho Six members had arrived to save them.

And Banjo…

They had asked after him, and Rōkura had been forced to tell a lie. That he had left the group to go his own way after being released from the custody of the Chōdairen military.

Now…

It is time to avenge you, Banjo. And my parents.

“Are you all right?” asked Shinjiro.

She glanced up at him in surprise. “I’m…” she peered across the windswept meadow one more time as they stood next Shinjiro’s horse. Rōkura smiled. “Yes—I’m all right.”

“Then we should get going.”

Shinjiro mounted his horse and lowered his hand to help her up. With her abilities. Rōkura could easily jump the horses rump and land behind him, but she was grateful for his offered assistance and even might have blushed a little bit.

While Rōkura put her arms around Shinjiro’s waist, Hans sulked in the back of an empty carriage box as it trundled along, his arms crossed and his gaze slicing at the plush seat in front of him.

Thunder rumbled angrily overhead.

The shōgun and his administrators came into the throne chamber, flanked by two dozen of his black-clad samurai and several other guards of whom Shōzu was unfamiliar with.

The Taisho Six were an elite mercenary company, and they strode in behind the shōgun’s company, their formation lose, almost disrespectful as they sauntered at the rear of the procession.

Among them was Ryuunosuke, come from Momori Kazō after failing to save Administrator Fujiwarai. She had been an advanced scout, sent before even the rest of the Taisho Six to make clear for the shōgun’s arrival.

Shōzu’s administrators were all present as well as many of the nobles of Chōdaira, and including his wrinkled hag of a wife who was ten years his senior. She looked on with immense satisfaction on her face.

The daimyo of Chōdaira was certain to attain the blessing of the shōgun to become the next Administrator of the city. With the fire raging in the Tsurugo district, how could he not?

Of course, there was still that loose end about the girl. She would come to him soon enough, begging and scrapping for him to release her pathetic “friends.” At that time, Shōzu would decide what to do with them all.

If she proved to be too powerful for his samurai to defeat, then he would give her the prisoners, who, even at this point, were no more aware of what was happening to them than the one he had ordered killed in front of the oni girl.

Except for that Shōzu was also unaware of a several events that had happened. Mainly that his hostages were gone, and that “oni girl” was well on her wake back to Chōdaira at that very moment.

The shōgun strode forward for all the court to see and watch, including Daimyo Shōzu. The men stamped their feet and shouted a clipped battle cry.

Now, according to custom, Shōzu had to leave the dais and allow the shōgun, who outranked him militarily and socially, to ascend and sit his throne. While he was here, Shōgun Daichi Ashikaga was the ruler of Shōzu’s district, and indeed, the rest of the city.

The daimyo hated this custom with a burning passion. Watching the shōgun sit in his place, irked and rankled, and yet he could do nothing about it. Worse, he had to bow and scrape for his good graces.

“Your shōgun has arrived!” called Shōzu. “Salute!”

The chamber saluted while Shōzu and the nobles watched. Moments passed an an entire banquet was set up in the middle of the throne chamber. Wooden tables, stained and lacquered to a high sheen and set out. Around the tables, mats and pillows will places.

Then came the plates and bowls and the banquet foods themselves. A veritable army of servants had been ordered for the occasional, and as they scurried like ants, more men came in with long poles. The lantern lighters lit the lanterns overhead. There were dozens of them providing a soft white-yellow glow.

Shamisen performers began to pluck their strings and dancing girls in shimmering silk kimonos and painted faces sauntered though the chamber on graceful feet as they flipped their fans.

The men muttered appreciatively, but the shōgun was more interested in the food—and in what was happening in the Tsurugo district where Daimyo Wenhui ruled. Was the city safe?

His Taisho Six warriors and preceded him to Chōdaira and made certain the city was safe for the shōgun’s arrival.

They might have been legendary warriors, but that did not mean they were perfect. Daichi left the throne as sat upon his pillow. “Let the meal be served.”

The servants came forward, cutting meats and tossing salads and sea foods brought fresh from Momori Kazō—another troubled city where Administrator Fujiwarai had just been killed.

“Is the city secure?” asked Daichi of Shōzu as he sat.

The moment he sat down to join the shōgun, then came his wife and the other nobles. The servants prepared their dishes and waited on them with fresh spring water and sake rice wine.

“How can one know for certain?” asked Shōzu. “I requested an audience with Daimyo Wenhui, but she would not see me. For my own part, the district of Ginzuare is secure and safe, Ashikaga-sama.

While Shōzu spoke those words Rōkura and Shinjiro stalked through the darkened streets of Chōdaira until they came to the Ginzuare warehouses.

In her hand she held a lit torch.

The building had been shut up for the night, but inside, goods in crates were stacked, waiting to be inspected and taxed. Many of the goods shipped directly to the Imperial Palace in the Capital were stores here, though neither Shinjiro or the oni girl knew that.

It simple seemed like a good place to burn down. It was a building where government officials worked and were large amounts of revenue passed through. But the goods weren’t what Rōkura wanted to burn.

Many traders and businessmen would have their goods there, and she did not want to deprive of them of their goods. However, the tax offices themselves, were an excellent target.

“Are you sure about this, Rōkura?”

She looked up into the samurai’s eyes. “He killed Banjo for no reason, Shinjiro. In front of me. I had to watch him struggle and choke to death on his own blood.”

He glanced away for a moment. “I am sorry.”

“Me too.”

“Let me do it.”

Really? Rōkura lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you certain you want to do this, Samurai?”

“I owe nothing to Shōzu, and since he did what you said…” He nodded. “Hai!”

She thrust the torch toward him and he took it.

Then they stalked around the corner where the tax offices were located. The structure was larch, a double stories building with slanting tile roofs and in the local fashion, upturned on the corners.

There was a massive gold lion at the front of the offices on the roof and under it a white sign with brush script that read CHŌDAIRA TAXATION AND GOODS OF SALE. It was perfect.

In the front of the structure, a samurai strode on patrol. There was no way they would get in without making a ruckus.

“You approach from the front,” Rōkura said. “I will attack him from the side when he least expects it.”

Shinjiro looked at her, surprised. “Have you done this before?”

Taking pause for just a moment, she knew that she had not. She was a princess—at least back in her own world. Of course she had never burnt anything down in her life. Except for maybe in that dream I had this morning.

Just thinking of it made her heart shudder. “I… No—of course not.”

He nodded. “Mm!”

“Wait for me,” she said.

“Hai!”

Rōkura left him there as she ran down the street. Lanterns that hadn’t had the opportunity to be plucked off their wires swayed violently in the wind.

It was cold and dark and the orange glow in Tsurugo was gone now. The wind whipped Rōkura’s hair about. It felt good.

The rain would come soon—she knew it.

Arcing around the next block, she came out onto the main street where the taxation office was located. Because of the weather, the streets were mostly deserted, and still the samurai stalked about outside.

If it started to rain, no doubt he would go up onto the decking with the roof overhung. But now, he strode back and forth. When he turned his back, Rōkura ran up the street toward him.

She saw Shinjiro standing, his torch guttering in the wind as if he were unsure of where he was. The samurai glanced his way, saw him, but did not react. He had no need to—not unless Shinjiro came forward.

Which he did.

And with a torch in hand, the samurai’s first thought was to perform his mandate—to protect the ward, that being the the building behind him, specifically.

“Stop!” he called and grasped the hilt of his katana protruding from his hip. “I said stop!”

Rōkura rushed up the street, her feet stamping the street stones fast and hard, and yet she was almost silent because of two things. The first being that she was barefoot, and the second reason was because the strong winds were blowing down the thoroughfare in her direction, damping the sound of her running from the samurai’s awareness.

And besides, samurai were moderate level warriors anyway—most of them at least. Shinjiro continued to approach and the samurai bared a hand’s breadth of his sword’s steel with a metallic chink that Rōkura hardly heard.

Rushing him, he heard her at the last instant and turned.

She swung her fist and pummeled him in the stomach, bowling him over. His sword did not come out of its scabbard as he rolled across the ground.

Shinjiro was quick on his feet, thinking that he wouldn’t want to be punched by Rōkura.

The samurai shook his head and scrabbled to get up, but Shinjiro hit him in the face, knowing him senseless.

“Be careful,” she said, then in way of explanation she added, “The blood.”

Shinjiro nodded. “Right.”

Leaving him there, Rōkura gestured to the building. The washi paper and the wood would make the structure burn up fast and easy.

Shinjiro pulled his arm back, about to throw the troch through the door, when Rōkura stopped him. “Wait. I want to make sure no one is inside.”

Thank the gods. Shinjiro nodded and stayed his shaking hand. He had never done such a thing before, and even had he been in Rōkura’s place, he doubted he would ever approach a similar situation in this manner.

It was…

Extremely direct and aggressive.

Rōkura kicked the heavy door in. There was some washi paper in the middle, but the portal was by no means a shoji slider that could easily be torn through. Even so, the door shook and fell off its hinges in a loud slam.

The noise didn’t bother Rōkura. Not with this wind and the darkened streets. As she stalked into the building, she glanced about into every room, calling out warnings that she was going to burn it down to the ground.

With no one coming out, she went to the second level and performed a similar action of warning.

Even for Rōkura, this was, in a way, out of character.

After she had been killed with her parents, and most of her memory wiped by Ogai-sama, she was timid and she questioned herself.

Until recently.

Now… her confidence and arrogance showed.

And these things surprised her.

And my reaction to killing people, too.

Was there something wrong with Rōkura?

She came back downstairs where she found Shinjiro. “Do it!” she called and she walked passed him. As Shinjiro tossed the torch, Rōkura ignored the rest of what happened as she started making her way down another street with Shinjiro close behind her.

Hans had thought the shōgun would come to Chōdaira, and he had been right. When Shinjiro told her of his arrival, she knew exactly what she had to do.

Hans…

He was right.

Rōkura shook her head, looking and thinking for something else to burn. This whole place would be swarming with samurai and other soldiers in no time at all. Shōzu’s army was encamped not far from here, just on the outskirts of the city where the statue of Nomikinan was located.

It would take some time to occupy the city, but that didn’t matter. Rōkura had no grand plan, no backdoor into Awara Castle where she could sneak into Shōzu’s fortress and assassinate him.

Surely she could wait until summoned—but then he would be ready!

“Where are you going?” asked Shinjiro.

“To the castle.”

“But… I thought you wanted to burn this place to the ground.”

She glanced back at him, her glowing aqua-blue eyes flicking to the conflagration on the other side of the darkened buildings in front of them. “This will be enough,” she said quietly.

Then a warning bell began to toll from far off.

Chōdaira was situated in a basin, but on the outskirts of the city, small mountains had been chose to build keeps and look outs. It was one of these lookouts to the south where the bell was tolled.

“Come on,” she said, leading the way. “We need to stay on the smaller roads.”

Shōzu watched the small performance in the throne chamber of acrobats and dancers. They performed a rather silly play that made the guests laugh, some of them hysterically.

Even the shōgun was amused, though his stern-faced aide clearly was not. Perhaps he would like the play later that night. A full performance, serious in its presentation and lacking the more comical aspects.

Servants came around the table, providing little sweets and sake rice wine as the guests laughed and ate. For all intents and purposes, the shōgun’s visit was to choose a ruler for Chōdaira and to inspect the state of the armies of both districts.

A servant came to Shōzu and whispered in his ear. He leaned in as the man spoke. “Urgent, my lord daimyo. One of the government buildings has gone up in flames.”

While Daichi was inspecting his daimyos, he liked very little to be on the outside of their inner dealings. Daichi did not want to know what was on the face of Shōzu’s administration—he wanted to know what was behind the curtain.

When the daimyo’s eyes widened slightly, to most a gesture that would go unnoticed, the shōgun used this as his chance to glean some useful information about his host.

“You!” he called, and the servant stopped, turned.

The servant seemed to be rather discomposed for a moment. He pointed to himself. “Me? My lord?”

“”Hai.”

The servant dropped to his knees and bowed his head. “What may I do for you, Ashikaga-sama? Anything would be my supreme pleasure.”

“Anything?” he asked.

Shōzu was alarmed, though he kept his worry from his face. What was the shōgun doing? Is this some kind of stunt?

“Anything!” said the servant. “I am here to please you, my lord shōgun.”

“Then tell me…” he let the words hang as his eyes sliced over toward Shōzu, who grinned like a powerful man amused by something in the performance. “What did you just tell your lord?”

The servant looked up. “I…” He trailed off, his gaze flicking toward Shōzu.

Baka! He will find out soon enough. He nodded to the servant, giving him permission to divulge what had been passed between them.

“M—my lord! The alarm bells in the south have been tolled. I have received word that an administration building has gone up in flames.”

Daichi smiled. And this is the secret. “It seems…” he said slowly, “that the city is not as secure as you thought, Daimyo Shōzu.”

The Daimyo’s jaw flexed, but he said nothing, though the flat stare in his gaze, avoiding of Daichi, told him all he needed to know. He shared a glance with his top bakufu, Hikaru who betrayed neither emotion nor thought.

Daichi asked questions of his subordinates for a reason.

No one could lie to him. Not with his ability Purveying Truths. He always knew a lie when he heard one.

Presently another servant entered the hall, slamming a side door noisily as he ran up in his tabi slippers. He came to the daimyo and whispered in his ear.

“No!” said Daichi. “What you have to say”—he gestured with his hand, cutting the air—“we shall all hear.”

The servant’s eyes bulged. “But, my lord!”

He dropped to the floor and the shōgun rolled his eyes. This is becoming tiresome.

Shōzu huffed with a clipped sound, a general order of frustration and command. The servant swallowed. “The… arsonist is…” he pointed and began stuttering as Daimyo Shōzu looked at him with a blood curdling glare that promised later retribution.

Daichi knew how to handle this. He smiled broadly. “You are a good servant, are you not? Loyal, self-sacrificing. Yes?”

The man swallowed again. “H—hai!”

“Then…” said Daichi, “you will serve in my bakufu. My administration has need of some more men behind the shōgun’s administrative curtain.

“But my lord,” protested the servant. “My loyalty to my daimyo us—“

“Enough,” said Daichi. “You will come to me, and you will serve me.” With this proclamation, he had just promised the aide protection against any retribution from his lord.

Daichi was no savior. He did this to affect the outcome of what he wanted—and what he wanted was to know what was going on in Daimyo Shōzu’s inner court.

“Now,” he said with a smile. “Tell me what you told your previous daimyo here.”

“The arsonist is outside the castle, waiting on Shōzu-sama to make… an appearance.”

The last of his words were squeezed out in a nervous attempt not to be killed on the spot, and of course he was not. The shōgun was sitting right there.

Everyone around the table gasped, especially the women. “How perverse,” the daimyo’s wife said. “How is it that criminal rabble—“

Shōzu cut her off with a look. Then he said, “Arrest the criminals.”

“No,” Daichi said.

“No?” asked Shōzu, his eyes bulging.

“Let us go out and meet this criminal demanding to see you,” said Daichi. “Or… would you rather that he came here in the throne chamber? It is much quieter—we may yet have a better audience in here.”

“Outside will be preferable,” said Shōzu. “I would not want to splash any of this bandit’s blood upon your kimono, my lord.” Shōzu bowed, grinding his teeth while he was at it. Am I being made a fool of?!

Rōkura waited in the wind as little drops of rain splashed upon her forehead. It wasn’t raining yet, but the coming rains were being presaged at that very moment.

“I cannot believe we are doing this!” Shinjiro said. ”Rōkura—are you mad?”

“If you must,” she said, “I want you to run, Shinjiro. I will survive this encounter with the daimyo.”

“I am not going anywhere.” He shook his head, wondering what kind of woman Rōkura was. The truth was, he barely knew her.

Was she really a killer?

Narrowing her eyes as they waited, Rōkura took in deep breaths. Her heart was hammering inside her chest, but the best course of action now was confidence and arrogance. She felt both, and yet, felt as small as a kernel of rice at the same moment. If Hans knew what I was doing, he would kill me.

As it so happened, Hans was watching at that very moment, and he muttered, “If she doesn’t kill herself, I’m going to kill her—fool girl!”

Shōzu and his court filed out of the castle after the shōgun’s honor guard of samurai, followed by his own samurai.

Everyone in the court was shocked and whispered among one another with questions and exclamations of surprise. Some few thought this a terrible bother, while most were excited and exhilarated. They wanted to know what awaited them outside and whether or not it would be a good show.

They hoped it would be.

Shōzu felt that he was being marched naked for all to see—for his lies to be exposed and for his good honor to be stained. But what could he do? Refuse the shōgun?

He knew Daichi Ashikaga too well—knew in his bones what sort of man he was, and the way he conducted himself. Kami-sama—can I not be rid of him somehow?

Daichi smiled, with self-satisfaction, waiting to see what would come of this little stunt. And if Shōzu thought he was being singled out, he would be wrong, for the shōgun would treat Daimyo Wenhui similarly to find out the secrets she tried to keep, the face she tried to present.

Even if her mask was already sullied.

The samurai parted into a lines that flanked both the left and right sides, leaving a path for the arsonist and his accomplice.

Shōzu looked at Daichi, and the shōgun shrugged. “This is your city. You lead, Daimyo Shōzu.”

The daimyo swallowed as his nerves frayed and his veins bulged. He was going to have all of his servants executed after this. Stepping forward, the shōgun kept pace beside him, and behind Hikaru followed, as well as a finely dressed swordsman of whom the shōgun did not know.

This swordsman was none other than Kota Hasegawa, a samurai and warrior—the best in Shōzu’s army. His abilities were similar to that of the Taisho Six, who brought up the rear as they fanned out to meet the arsonist.

Swallowing, Rōkura stepped forward, slowly and cautiously with Shinjiro at his side. She almost couldn’t believe they had come out to meet them.

We are either very lucky, or very unlucky, and I know which it must be…

The oni wondered if she made a mistake as the daimyo and shōgun met them at the center, their small procession of guards at their back. Rōkura recognized Yuki Arinatto and two of the others.

Behind them, Ryuunosuke stood, recognition and surprise in her eyes. Rōkura ground her teeth and made fists.

Daichi put up a hand and laughed. “You are…” he looked at her horns. “You are a woman.”

“Hai,” Rōkura said with a nod.

Shōzu said nothing.

Daichi was intimately aware that Shōzu was stalling against this interaction, and probably had chosen to meet this bandit outside to obscure their conversation in the wind.

But it wouldn’t work.

The massive braziers burning and cracking behind the lines of samurai lit the area as well as provided warmth. Daichi quite liked it.

“Go on,” said Daichi. “Tell us, why you are here—and why you are burning down the city.”

“My lord!” said Shōzu in protest. “I must disagree to this. This…”—he looked Rōkura up and down as if she were a stray dog—“bandit, should not be afforded an honor like this. You do me a disservice.”

“I serve at the pleasure of the emperor,” Daichi cut in. “The emperor trusts me with the nation’s administration and army. Do you dare to question my methods?!”

“N—no, my lord!” Shōzu said with a bow.

“Then… the bandit may speak.” He looked at Rōkura. “Now you will explain yourself, and tell me exactly why you are burning the emperor’s city of Chōdaira.”

Rōkura swallowed, hoping she wouldn’t suddenly slip and fall on her face. Shinjiro looked at her, and when she met his eyes, he nodded reassuringly.

I’m glad he is here with me.

“Do not waste time,” warned the shōgun.

Rōkura narrowed her focus on the great military leader of the nation as if she were a wakizashi blade cutting through flesh. “I am here…”—she pointed a finger at Daimyo Shōzu—“to kill this daimyo!”

Shōzu was unsurprised, but Daichi’s eyes widened with incredulity as the court gasped and the samurai present blinked.

The one’s words hung in the air.

The braziers crackled, spreading their warmth and smoke as the wind blew, whipping about any lose hair from the men and women standing outside.

Thunder rumbled ominously overhead, cracking and tumbling across the sky as the clouds were alighted with blue-white flashes.

Finally, the shōgun spoke. He said one word in a flat monotone.

“Why?”

Rōkura glanced among the many eyes watching her.

“In front of all these witnesses... and yourself… I will have my revenge against this murderer, who has sought to falsely imprisoned my companions and threatened their lives. For my friend. Banjo—who died at his hands for no other reason than to make a point—a threat! And for forcing me to commit crimes against this city—and the emperor. I have come for my revenge, Shōgun. And I will have it!”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Tonight, I will murder Daimyo Shōzu!”