~~~

Stepping back through the hidden panel into the onsen room, Akira went straight to the tub and, using his non-injured hand, splashed water on his face.

‘Kuso…it’s still boiling.’

Miho appeared a couple of seconds behind him, brain clearly still with the glowing red spider lily madness in the cave as he replied zombie-like, ‘try washing your face.’

‘Snap out of it, that lunacy happened five minutes ago.’

‘Sorry…’

‘Don’t say sorry, just get your bag and go.’

‘Back to our old room?’

Akira stared at Miho as if the answer was obvious, then shifted his gaze to the onsen spoon hanging loosely from his hand.

‘Honestly, I don’t know if I can sleep after that. Himiko…she just-…’

‘She got what she deserved,’ barked Akira, grabbing Miho by the yukata sleeve and pulling him through to the main room. ‘Standing like a fucking statue while that psycho green thing tried to bite my head off. Kuso…scalp still feels weird…itchy.’

Miho touched the wound on his cheek, vaguely aware that his luggage sack was being shoved into his arms by Akira.

‘We’ll go down to the lobby, see what we can salvage. Make a splint for this messed up wrist of mine. Then…’ Akira paused at the door panel, looking back at the ashigaru-shaped hole in the wall. ‘Ah, no choice anymore. We need to get out of Kai province fast, both of us. Head up to Suwa.’

‘Salvage?’ asked Miho, standing in the middle of the room, staring past Akira at the red spider lily sketch on the shoji screen.

‘Okay, we’ll leave that part until you’re awake again. For now, the lobby. Come on. Move.’

Scratching his scalp again, Akira hurried off towards the steps outside…then ten seconds later popped his head back round the side of the door panel.

‘Faster than that. And drop the fucking spoon.’

Confused, Miho looked down at the hand with the luggage, then the other hand, and slowly pieced together what he was being asked.

It was tough. His boss had just disintegrated inside a glowing flower hole. And a green demon had tried to bite off his cheek. And no matter how many times he’d blinked on the journey back through the cave, the dream hadn’t ended.

This was the real world.

With demons of varying colour.

Dishonest belt merchants.

Samurai who were actually ashigaru, saying the word salvage instead of steal.

Girlfriend missing gods knows where.

Miho blinked again, then dropped the spoon.

Okay then.

Reality.

For Yuki’s sake.

~~~

The courtyard was lit pleasantly by the moon and completely ignored as Akira and Miho jogged across its well-manicured, snow-flecked dirt and through the open entrance of the ryokan lobby.

As expected, the place was deserted, though Himiko had made the effort to light the various okiandon dotted around before leading them into the death trap of Room 28.

Keeping his hand on his katana guard, Akira took the fastest route to the main desk and immediately disappeared under it.

Rummaging sounds could be heard, as Miho sat down on the nearest rolled-futon and again pictured Himiko’s face breaking into dust-like pieces. In some of the recreations, he tried to reach out and save her, but then his arm disintegrated too, so he stopped doing that and instead stood at a safe distance, hand raised a little bit, mouth letting out a whimpered, ‘Himiko, look out.’

Finally, the scene changed itself entirely, with Himiko morphing into Aya and the muteness of the glowing spider lily becoming the sounds of someone rifling through drawers, looking for salvage.

Re-initialising the lobby environment, Miho took a moment to adjust then stood up and started walking to the cabin rooms. ‘We should find Aya,’ he said, vaguely in the direction of the main desk, ‘let her know what happened.’

A grunting noise came back in return.

‘Actually…she could be hurt herself…she did try to warn us. Maybe the green demon found out and-…’

‘Forget about her.’ Akira shot back up from behind the desk, holding a wooden box in his hand. ‘She’s probably in on it too.’

‘No, she tried to warn us…’

‘Which means she knew what was going on. And did nothing.’

‘I don’t think that’s what-…’

‘Fucking silent accomplice. The worst kind of coward. She’s lucky I don’t go up there and cut her legs off.’

‘She’s not an accomplice. And I am going to find her. You can stay here and fiddle with your box.’

Akira put the box down on the table and tilted his head at Miho. ‘Ah, the rabbit found his teeth. Okay, fine, you go and fetch her, see what she’s got to say for herself.’

‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’

‘And bring back a pillowcase for my splint. Rope too.’

‘You can make a splint out of that?’

‘My grandma’s very own recipe. Go, go…’

‘What if there’s no rope?’

‘Rope substitute.’

Miho nodded despite not really understanding and walked to the corridor leading out to the first block of cabins, then stopped and put his hand on the wall frame. ‘You’ll definitely still be here?’

It was a futile question as Akira was now loudly shoving a pin into the lock of the wooden box, his face coloured with the same lunatic determination that the green demon had shown when biting the ashigaru’s skull.

Probably won’t answer a second time either, Miho thought, facing the corridor and moving forward, relieved that it wasn’t quite as dark as the tunnel that led to Himiko’s face and arm crumbling off.

No, stop thinking about it, he ordered himself.

It’s done.

And Akira’s half right, she did deserve it.

Kind of.

To a degree.

As long as he held tight to the image of Himiko with her back turned, listening to their death screams.

Yeah, she deserved it.

Mostly.

~~~

Unlike the box containing the sadistic purple psycho either posing as or existing as Atta Noe, the ryokan money safe was sealed tight.

Akira had broken three pins in four minutes trying to jimmy it open and the fourth wasn’t faring much better.

It’s like it wasn’t even a lock.

Or it wasn’t acting like a normal lock should be acting.

He stopped, looking around the lobby. Maybe the money wasn’t in the box at all. Maybe it was hidden behind one of those generic mountain landscape paintings. Or some other place that regular people wouldn’t notice.

Walking back round the desk, Akira sized up the lobby as one big set then started ticking off all the names on his internal list.

Futons? No.

Floorboards? Too awkward.

Under the doormat? Too obvious.

He paused, glancing at a painting of Lake Suwa with a giant tear along the side of the shore [the same one he’d damaged two days earlier].

But what if it isn’t obvious, he counter-thought.

That cold…quite good-looking…psycho could have known thieves would dismiss the easier places, spots that only amateurs would check, and hid the money there on purpose.

Or was that overthinking it?

He ran his finger along the rip in the painting, wondering which clumsy oaf had caused such improbable damage. Then switched back to Himiko, making an attempt at evaluating her psyche, what kind of thinker she was, whether she matched her cold exterior internally or put it up as a façade.

It was difficult…he’d only known her a short while, and, unlike Miho, she was very guarded. Very austere. Even asking if they had enough energy to get up those steps to Room 28 had felt like a judgment.

His finger went under the tear, digging up more of the well-painted slope.

Outside, something crashed to the ground.

Probably a sign knocked over by the wind, he thought, still lost in his Himiko assessment.

There was one emotional aspect. When she ran after the green demon, she’d called out a Japanese name. No, not called…wailed it. Then got ground up into dust for him. Fed guests from her own ryokan to an inhuman sociopath. Not a good way to build up a business. Which meant she couldn’t have really cared about the business. Only the guy pretending to run it with-…

He stopped, the crash from a few moments earlier knocking on the walls of his brain.

Wait, what wind?

There wasn’t even a slight breeze when he’d-…

Footsteps on the creaky floorboard by the entrance told him he was an idiot. Spinning quickly, left hand reaching for his katana guard, he modified instantly to dead idiot.

Three samurai, definitely not ashigaru, were stood opposite, two of them already edging shiftily round the side of the lobby to cage him in.

He recognised one of them, but couldn’t recall his name. The other two must’ve been transfers, brought in after the Imagawa alliance.

‘Kotoku-dono?’ the one by the entrance said, dusting absolutely nothing off the sleeves of his yellow-patterned dōbuku.

Akira did his best squint, then smiled and moved his injured hand up to his belt. ‘Wah, for a minute there I thought I was in trouble.’

‘Name?’

‘Ōsugi-dono. Travelling in from Uedara…getting a bit of fresh mountain air away from all those annoying town folk.’

The yellow-pattered samurai finished dusting and pulled down the ends of his sleeves. Then removed his dōbuku completely and placed it carefully on the futon to his left.

‘You’re a talented liar,’ said the samurai now perched by the main desk, glancing at the wooden box laying on its side, and the four slightly bent pins next to it. ‘If I didn’t know you by sight, I may have believed you.’

‘Well then…for that compliment, I shall kill you last,’ replied Akira, side-eyeing the door to the cabins and muttering kuso as another samurai appeared, his katana already half out of the scabbard.

‘Ashigaru…’ the yellow-patterned samurai said, virtually spitting it out.

Keeping his injured hand near the katana guard, Akira mapped out his options. Drained from green demon attack, sprained wrist on his fighting arm, no back-up. Survival was unlikely, but if he could confuse them, keep them off guard then perhaps…

Outside, a bird made a whistling sound, better than any Akira had ever done.

Using it as a signal, he launched into action, gripping the tear in the painting next to him, ripping off the shore section and throwing it roughly towards the samurai blocking the corridor exit.

Then, with his injured hand stuck to his guard, he charged across the middle of the lobby, aiming about three feet to the left of the complimentary samurai…pointing like a lunatic at the desk and saying, ‘now, press it, press it.’

It was complete nonsense, yet it almost worked.

Altering course at the very last millisecond, he bit down on the pain, drew his katana with his bad wrist and swiped upwards at the samurai’s neck…connecting with the smallest of scratches as his opponent pulled back, falling onto the table behind him.

If it had been one on one, or even one on two, Akira would’ve had him, but the other two at the sides had already closed the distance and any move he made to finish off the scratched samurai would leave him wide open. And if they’d guessed by his sloppy stroke that his wrist was sprained…then he might as well cut his own head off and roll into a box cos he’d be done.

Unless…

Could that work?

He played out the scenarios, trying to kill off his own hope.

Nah, it was futile. Impossible. Worth a shot.

Reaching back, he picked up the wooden safe box with his non-sprained hand and flung it at the samurai to the left. Out of pure luck, it hit him with only a slight deflection on the temple, and that was enough.

Akira leapt two deft steps in the same direction and poked his blade into the complimenting samurai’s stomach, grimacing in unison as his wrist folded over.

Ride it through, he told himself, turning the moan into a battle cry and extracting his katana.

As expected, there was movement, an attack.

He darted back into open space and turned on the right-side samurai, who had no choice but to halt his own charge forward and adopt a defensive posture.

‘Hold back, hold,’ said the yellow-patterned samurai, closing the distance from the middle. ‘He’s desperate, don’t fall for his tricks. Protect the kitchen exit.’

Both samurai nodded, as the fallen one clutched his stomach wound and made groaning sounds.

Kuso…stalemate again, thought Akira, the throbbing pain in his wrist making it harder and harder to keep his katana steady.

Which in this case means death.

Cos there’s no way I’m beating three of them.

Not in this state.

Almost on cue, the samurai to the right fell face-first onto the tatami, leaving Miho in the space behind, staring in surprise at the portable lantern in his own hand.

‘Fucking madman…’ Akira said, his voice almost cracking in elation.

‘Couldn’t find Aya…’ Miho mumbled, for some reason addressing the yellow-patterned samurai.

‘Who are you, boy?’

It was said in such a genuine, sharp tone that Akira almost didn’t notice the slight flicker of the yellow-patterned samurai’s left thumb…

Pivoting left and raising his katana up in vague defence, Akira knew straight away he was done. The samurai to the left had moved too fast, swatting away Akira’s katana then jabbing forward. Somehow, with almost preternatural instinct, Akira managed to dodge the blow, swerving to the right…but his opponent seemed to half-expect this as he ditched his sword and hit Akira with a left hand to the gut, and then a swift follow up to the back of the skull.

Miho was still glaring at the portable lantern he’d just used to crack the invader over the head, and when the yellow-patterned samurai walked over to him, he held it up again and mumbled a genuine, ‘sorry.’

‘You’re with him? Ashigaru?’

‘What? No, I was just-…’

The yellow-patterned samurai let Miho get as far as the no then kicked him in the shin.

Miho dropped the lantern and bent over, rubbing his leg and saying, ‘why there?’ as the samurai brought his katana guard down on the side of his temple.

The tatami welcomed Miho into unconsciousness, his head landing on the samurai’s foot before being quickly shaken off.

Satisfied, the yellow-patterned samurai moved over to his fallen comrade, who was still busy acting out his death throes, and told him to die with honour.

Nodding, the injured man reduced his groaning to muffled grunts.

‘Is he out?’ the yellow-patterned samurai asked, joining his other comrade, who had his foot pressed down hard on Akira’s sword hand.

‘I think he’s pretending.’

‘Agreed.’

Pointing the tip of his katana at Akira’s neck, he waited for the ashigaru’s eyes to open. And they did. Along with a groaned slur of, ‘nice signalling.’

‘Practised.’

‘Lucky too.’

‘How so?’

‘If you’d killed me outright, you wouldn’t have known about the money.’ Akira raised a trembling left hand and tried to point it across the lobby. ‘The box…’

‘Has about twenty mon inside,’ the yellow-patterned samurai finished, making a small cut on Akira’s neck. ‘If you haven’t stolen it already.’

‘No, no…much more than twenty…the owner of this place, she was rich, really, the daughter of-…’

‘Is there anything honourable you wish to say, before your end?’

Akira opened his mouth, but an abrupt wailing noise from the dying samurai nearby took the words out of his head.

Doesn’t matter, he thought, staring up at the two wobbly faces. This yellow guy looks like he hates money anyway. And ashigaru. Probably better if I just close my eyes.

Akira let out a long breath and closed his eyes. Pictured Himiko’s arm disintegrating, the green demon biting into his skull, his dear Asami doing her salt merchant impression, Miho holding that spoon. Then opened them again and told the yellow samurai to go fuck himself.

‘Typical ashigaru…’ the yellow-patterned samurai said back, slapping his neck in annoyance, swaying a little…then stumbling backwards like a lush into the desk behind him.

Channelling Miho in the onsen room, Akira stared forward in a gormless state, watching as the yellow-patterned samurai slid lethargically down the side of the desk, then passed out with his neck at [what had to be] a very uncomfortable angle.

Turning to the last remaining enemy, Akira flicked the lights back on and scrambled for a plan of attack. His hand was still pinned down, the katana was out of reach, it was too far to the-…

Akira stopped, feeling the weight on his wrist vanish as the samurai who’d knocked him down went through the same routine as his comrade. Slapping his neck, stumbling backwards, and flailing around awkwardly as he lost consciousness with his face in the dying samurai’s gut wound.

‘This is not-…’

Akira forgot the word real as he pulled himself partially up and crawled over to his katana. Barely able to grip it with his mangled wrist, he straightened up and staggered back to the yellow-patterned samurai.

‘Tell it to the gods, comrade,’ he said, checking that the other three were really all down, then sliding his blade into the man’s heart.

A sudden arm spasm made Akira jump a little, but that was probably down to adrenaline, and he was careful not to repeat it as he made the rounds to finish off the other three.

‘What a night…’ he said, dropping his katana next to the last guy’s legs and collapsing on the futon near the door.

Something buzzed near his neck, forcing him to slap at the nick the yellow-patterned samurai had made. Not as bad as it could’ve been though. The green demon and these bastards….with their obvious, overly-rehearsed moves and…

His whole body folded.

Energy gone in a flash.

Like a skin of nothing but air and alarm, he fumbled sideways, forwards, falling frantic down onto a stained patch of tatami.

‘Kuso…’ he managed, eyes and brain blinking out.